#dean likes to garden now
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it's still nov 5 where I am so enjoy this long ramble fix it <3
It started with finding a flower growing by Baby’s tire. He plucked it and placed it on the dashboard as he drove away. Later the flower found itself sitting on Dean’s desk. Seeing the small yellow daisy grow in the cracks of old concrete reminded him of a certain someone. It made him smile.
So when he saw someone selling flowers on the side of the road he bought a bouquet of them. He then started to keep a 20$ bill on him at all times just in case he saw the opportunity to buy one or two.
The grocery store owner was throwing away some chipped planters and Dean offered to take them, giving the man the 20$ bill he was saving and buying some random flower seeds. That night he stayed up late looking up how to grow a flower.
Sam bought him a cactus—it had a little flower growing on top—and Dean added it to his growing collection on his desk. He now had some on his nightstand and over his bed too. Eileen mentioned how bright the place looked. She didn’t mention that Dean was starting to look better too.
Some plants didn’t make it, a lot of them needed sun and not just those bright lights Dean had to buy. He didn’t find it fair that he trapped all these beautiful things underground. Suffocating them. Ruining them. Killing them. He got a shovel and bought some fresh dirt. A rooftop garden shouldn’t be that hard.
Dean added umbrellas, beach chairs, and a cooler to his oasis. He had a small speaker playing an audiobook while his fingers were covered in dirt. Pulling weeds and encouraging his sunflowers to grow. He was alone and yet he felt surrounded by their presence. In everything beautiful, there was a little sign of his best friend.
Dean always imagined Cas like a natural disaster wanting to be a simple breeze. He didn’t want to break anything. He only wanted to exist in a world where he could watch everything grow. Wanting to help wherever he could. He wanted to be good. He desperately wanted to be good. Dean planted irises.
Onions, potatoes, and carrots are the next to grow. Jack enjoyed digging them out. He couldn’t wait to see how big his pumpkins would grow. Dean missed the beautiful colors of the flowers but his room still looked bright.
The sun was high up in the sky but Dean didn’t mind. He was singing his favorite song, had a cooling rag around his neck, and a big sun hat on his head. His rooftop garden has grown. There now was a tent shading the flowers that needed it and a little plastic kiddie pool for his feet to rest when he needed it. Right now he was content, seeing his garden so beautiful and full. In that moment he felt whole.
Sam and Dean lay on the beach chairs staring up at the stars. It reminded them of a time when it was just them. They had no home just a job to do. Just chess pieces in a game they had no choice but to play along with. Now they had a choice. Dean decided he wouldn’t soak his hands in blood anymore. Sam supported him. They’ll look for a place in the morning. Right now they’ll enjoy the sky.
Starting over alone didn’t feel right. The new house was a big fixer-upper but it felt like a place he could grow old in. Dean bought a bouquet of flowers to place in the middle of the kitchen table. Someday it will feel like home and he’ll be happy here.
He set a small table outside. He didn’t know how much he missed constantly being able to see the sky. His routine always involved being able to watch it turn color over the lake. He sat drinking his coffee and eating his omelet. He didn’t listen to the news but instead, he filled the air with his favorite cartoons. He was starting to feel like himself.
Starting a garden was easier when he didn’t have to climb so far up. He tried growing everything he could. Filling his land with edible plants and beautiful flowers. He made a path with some old bricks. He built a garden door. He added a wooden bench. There’s a bird feeder that Eileen gifted him hanging on the tree branch and underneath was a bird bath. Jack gifted him a little garden gnome and Sam brought a rainbow doormat. Dean rolled his eyes but he placed it at his front door.
It was snowing but it wasn’t sticking to the ground. Dean was in the kitchen cutting tomatoes for soup. He had plans to make the best-grilled cheese and watch Christmas movies. Next weekend everyone will show up to celebrate some sort of Christmas. Dean even had a tree in the corner, decorated with lights only cause his new cat knocked everything off. He didn’t mind.
Three years passed in a blink of an eye and Dean could still feel the hot grip on his shoulder. It woke him up time and time again, and just like every other time, he got dressed to take a walk. He hated to bother his little munchkin but she was asleep on her side of the bed. Small and curled up on her little blanket. He zipped up his jacket and gave her a little kiss. A promise to come back. He walked down the side of the lake, hands deep in his pockets, the snow was gone but some patches remained here and there. He hasn’t felt so alone in a while. Maybe it was all his guests leaving that brought this on but he couldn’t help but feel someone was missing the whole time. He’s always missing.
Another new year and Dean was in his garden preparing the dirt for the new harvest. His flower garden usually took priority but there’s not much he could do about that during this cold weather. His plants inside were thriving though. He was so into the audiobook that Dean didn’t hear the footsteps. He was on his knees pulling weeds and listening to the main character decide if love was worth the career she worked so hard for. She just shouted his name when he heard his own name being called. Dean jumped, ready to throw the small weeding hoe in his hand but instead, he froze.
“Hello, Dean.” He smiled. He had longer hair and a full beard coming in but it was him. “Um, Sam told me this is where you live now.”
Dean stood up. He felt cold, his legs shaking but he kept his stare on his visitor.
“It’s beautiful. Your home.”
Dean swallowed the lump as he whispered, “Thanks.” He started at him for a bit longer before taking a step forward. “Cas?”
Cas nodded, and his eyes started to water. “I’m back. I’m back, Dean.”
Dean didn’t hear anymore. He ran to him. Wrapping the angel in his arms and savoring every second of it. He felt the long brown hair between his fingers and the smell of rain still lingered on Cas’s skin.
It was him. Dean took a deep breath. It hurt his chest and he wondered how many years was he holding that in.
Dean took Cas’s face between his hands and felt himself fall in love all over again. How did he ever think he could live without him? Cas was everywhere in his house but it was never going to be enough.
“Welcome home, Cas.” He breathed out in relief and Cas chuckled, his hands on Dean’s waist.
“I’ve been waiting so long to hear that.”
Dean smiled, his eyes remembering every second of this moment. “Fuck, I missed you so much.” He leaned in and the next thing he knew they were kissing.
Finally kissing. Finally together.
Dean could taste both their tears as they kissed but they were unwilling to let go of each other. From this moment on they will never be apart.
“I love you.” Dean breathes into Cas’s lips. Kissing slowly and lazily. “I loved you for so long.”
“Me too.” Cas kisses Dean’s nose. Kisses Dean’s cheeks. Kisses Dean’s eyelids and then his lips. “My heart has always been yours.”
Dean knew that from now on, together they would grow and it would be beautiful.
Time has passed and the sun was high in the sky. They both worked outside, listening to a book about dragons and magic because it was Cas's turn to pick, and they created shade for their flowers. A little green house was next on their list but building the second floor was taking a lot of their time. Still they both enjoyed the outdoors. Dean made lunch for them and they sat outside on Dean's little table for two. They talked about the future with no fear, only excitement. And they held hands across the table, laughing about something stupid and creating memories they never thought were possible. Munchkin sat at their feet enjoying the sun just as much as them. The family will come over for dinner soon so they know they'll have to head inside but right now they're in their own bubble. Content and happy. Surrounded by growing love.
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Garden time 🌼
#spnfanart#destiel#destiel fanart#castiel#dean winchester#wiggleart#pixel art#listen I had this idea going to bed last night#initially th3re was going to be animated butterflies but I decided I didn’t want to do that if I couldn’t animate#their hair moving in the breeze or some flowers moving#and I couldn’t figure it out right now#but also I like the idea of how gardening makes someone happy#and them just completely losing composure after an hour of gardening or something#ENDORPHINS#or it’s the shorts#either way
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The Rosemary Tree is the first time I've had to put down a book so I could sob over how beautiful it was.
#elizabeth goudge how do you keep doing this?#her books are such a strange thing for me#either they're 'yes it's pretty but could you please get to the point and have something happen?'#or i am slammed with waves and waves of intense overwhelming emotion so i almost can't stand how deeply it affects me#i think it helps to read it at the same time of year the story occurs#the dean's watch during advent was a life-changing experience#and now reading this book in march is having a very similar effect#i actually had to go in a room by myself to properly cry#because someone caught me tearing up#and how could i begin to explain that i'm sobbing my heart out because miss giles is reading the secret garden?#i've cried over sad moments in books but i've never felt anything like this#such intense joy and sorrow all mixed in so you can't tell which emotion is causing the tears#it's been like two hours since that happened and i'm still shook#my world is upended#and i'm being reminded in an entirely new way of what really great literature can do#the rosemary tree#elizabeth goudge
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why is there no fic of accountant!cas helping dean with his taxes?
#destiel#dean who's never earned enough to have to declare tax bc he only ever did cash inhand odd jobs#handyman and mechanic work and bartending etc.#but now he settled down and has a real job with a bank account and he's above the threshold#and sam pointed out he had to do his taxes now and dean was like WHAT and freaking out bc the deadline is days away#cue dean showing up flustered and desperate and confused to (stranger) cas' office in search of help#cue cas unable to deny dean help despite being very busy already bc dean seems so earnest#and cas is sick of dealing with dodgy tax evaders so yes he'll help dean#cue a long couple nights of pouring over dean's loose receipts and emails and bank accounts#together bc cas needs dean to help add context and decipher everything#all this to say they bond and at the end of it not only is dean's tax done but#but he also got a friend or date out of it#and cas id a godsend taxwise but dean learned he'd rather be a gardener or raise bees#i'm having lots of thoughts on this#thoughts#fic fodder
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wanna finish writing my garden fic but i’m kinda wilting
#like. usually i'm very confident and like yeah !! i'm literally writing this for me and only me bc i make the content i want to consume !#but now im feeling like :( idk#like it feels like i'm putting in all this work for an audience of one#which is stupid bc i Know there are ppl who've expressed interest in the fic and asked to be tagged etc#but i'm like. what if it doesn't live up to the hype ?? ugh.#plus it's evolved a lot from my original concept which was just. dean grieving and planting a garden in cas's memory until cas returns#and now it's also very much a 'dean is a good parent to jack' manifesto#so now i'm doubting if i've gone off track idk too many conflicting thoughts and feelings but i'll be fine just a little bump#i think it's rly that i'm just feeling burnt out abt work stuff and stressed abt a trip i'm going on at the end of the month#and it's putting a damper on my creative energies and making me channel my other anxieties onto there#lmao @ me psychoanalyzing myself in the tags
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can’t tell if i’m confusing wanting to look like almost stereotypically macho men or just being wildly attracted to them. or both i guess
#i mean i always used to say bi dilemma but im realizing this is mostly just gay now godbless. trans rights#for context. im thinking like. young harrison ford (i Know.; the reason im saying this is i remember Both my mom and dad acknowledging him#as the og Macho Man™️) and because it crossed my dash. jackles. but not really young jackles like s1 dean but matured jackles like more rece#it’s funny cause in practice. the person ive been pursuing (while Also an idiot. maybe i should just accept myself as morosexual at this#point) is actually. very effeminate HAHAHDHAHSJDHSJ#to the extent that my mom has thought he was gay in the past. i was talking about him to my sister and she asked if he was gay LMAO#which is hilarious because as far as i know (and ive known him for… almost 6 years ig? pined for almost 5). i’m Only aware that hes had a#crush on a girl ages ago. but this was also thru a secondhand source we’ve never actually talked about that#we probably should but we’re both idiots i have no idea how it’d be brought up#but in terms of effeminate. hm. he’s actually Really tall maybe over 6ft? and he Can have a deep voice. i think he can sing bass? but he#actually speaks in a higher register. god i wonder if he’s doing the opposite of me. who’s always consciously deepend my voice LMAO#he’s a HUGE plant enthusiast. HUGE. i dont Think he’s ND (or at least he doesn’t from what i can tell. I get vibes) but he straight up has a#plant fixation. knows so much about care. when he worked in greenhouses he learned the latin names for a good portion of them. i know this#isnt exactly ‘effeminate’ but he does all the gardening. oh and to add to it ig. i dont know HOW. he was NOT. irked by gore and blood???#when i explained to him what my potential job as a crime scene cleaner could entail??? but he cannot STAND bugs. he FREAJED OUT (over text)#at the mention of a spider. so of course. me being the 8yo boy with a playground crush. proceeded to tell him all my Fun Spider Encounters#lets see i think he also really loves to bake? ive seen these elaborate cakes (tp roll for covid. a fish) he’s made on insta. and there was#that one time he brought me those three most MOIST chocolate cupcakes with raspberry buttercream icing. i deadass ASCENDED to heaven.#food IS the way to a man’s heart btw.#oh yeah and the fact that i met him in the first place — well. i play oboe in ensembles. and he’s flute/piccolo. yeaHAHSHAHSHH#LMAO remembering that while he doesnt keysmash (i’ve started to around him. it’s mostly emojis bless his heart) he deadass called me ‘hun’#oh and the best part? i couldnt think kf what to watch. and he’s over here saying he doesnt watch ANYTHING. like bro how do u NOT. listen to#any music past 1900. OR OPERA EITHER. and NOT have any favorite movies/shows??? wh??? like. he deadass was like ‘unless [gardening channel#on youtube] counts’ like girl i am so in love#but yeah i was literally sitting there sounding like a pretentious film nerd bro i cant fuckin believe it. but i FINALLY wriggle it out of#him. because apparently he cant concentrate on most movies (valid.). the ones he CAN are cheesy chick flick comedies#saying that he can recite 90% of mean girls. thats his favorite movie#and he also mentioned like. legally blonde#and i have a feeling he almost was avoiding it in case i would judge him or whatever but ngl i honestly fell harder HAHSHSJAJDJAJ#fuck 30 tags but let’s just say. very effeminate compared to me. a full on Dad
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not dean 'the very touch of you corrupts' winchester being blackmailed by the angel assigned to keep evil out of the garden of eden to stay away from his angel-turned-human boyfriend castiel
#chuck is homophobic thats why this happened#one interpretation is that cas is evil bc#like lucifer who gadreel was originally supposed to keep out of the garden#he made angels fall from heaven#or it could be dean 'the very touch of you corrupts' winchester being kept from cas 'fallen in love with humanity' tiel#becuase dean is corrupting this pure angel to the point that hes human now#but the FUNNIEST interpretation is that cas is homo and must be kept away from dean or they'll kiss kiss fall in evil gay love#castiel IS INFACT the evil gay your parents warned you about#homophobic god endgame#supernatural#shitpost#jk /srs#on one hand its interesting bc cas#who has made all these terrible decisions for angel kind#is being kept away from The Righteous Man Himself#on the other hand#gay gay homosexual gay#please#destiel#analyzing supernatural while trying to eat dinner#lgbtq+#spn#castiel#dean winchester#humor#deancas#im sorrrry#(not really)
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honestly this is the best use of a Savage Garden song in the history of anything ever
#like i cannot hear this song now#without seeing this#and just#its too good#supernatural#sam winchester#dean winchester#savage garden
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eat you alive the oh hellos jimmy novak amv. if i could make it i would but due to my lack of talent i will simply be posting
#eat you alive#the oh hellos#jimmy novak#she'll string you along and she'll sell you a lie...this beast that you're after will eat you alive..#cas as death in this scenario...death she is cunning and clever as hell#jimmy has wanted purpose to serve god so to speak.. being a devout man and all#and an angel from heaven above speaks to him! directly to him!! and finally. finally a mission. purpose#''ive seen the true face of the things you call life'' jimmy already HAD a mission is what he didn't get until after becoming a vessel#his family was his purpose. being there for claire getting to raise her see who she'll become#but he saw the divine and it was just so tempting#castiel was ironically the apple in the garden and caused all the strife and grief for the novak family#because jimmy so desperately wanted a bite. just a taste of that higher calling#she'll eat you alive is just...such a line for angels possessing humans but especially jimmy/cas#cos! jimmy really didn't know it would be like that. and neither did cas really. he was supposed to go right back to heaven#BUT whereas cas is playing the role of Death to jimmy...dean is doing the same to cas#cas devours jimmy whole. his life belongs to cas now. his family left in shambles.#but then cas is consumed entirely by dean and all that he is. his humanity his soul his ability to love so entirely#she'll eat you alive!!!#jimmy is consumed by cas who is then consumed by dean#wow vorenatural amirite#this post got long but like... im right.#vid ideas
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Steve Harrington x fem!reader[4.7K] a little oneshot looking into the relationship that follows from ISITTGG. just smut, my dudes 18+
Steve Harrington was throwing gummy bears at your bedroom window.
It was barely dusk, the sun just setting, that pretty kind of twilight light settling over the town in a blue-pink glow. The grass below your window was still too long, flowers still in bloom despite the way summer was leaving and September had begun. It smelled like honeysuckle and lavender, the air outside was clean like chlorine, like freshly cut grass and the crisp like the beginning of fall. It wasn't as warm as it had been, but when you braced your hand on the sill and looked down to the space between your house and the Harrington’s, your boyfriend was standing there in just a short sleeved t-shirt.
His jeans had a rip in the knee and his hair was wild, no doubt from driving around town with the car windows rolled right down, Eddie and Jonathan fighting over riding shotgun and the radio station. His cheeks were flushed, like he’d been going too fast, like he’d seen Chief Hopper’s flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror, laughed and gave him a chase.
Or maybe, just maybe, he’d been too eager to get back to you.
He grinned at the sight of you, head tilted back, the crawling ivy that trailed over the bricks of his house brushing his hair. He had more freckles than ever from the summer passed, a dust of them over his nose, the leftover line from a scratch on his right brow from when Eddie dared him to land an ollie after a keg party.
Steve couldn’t skateboard.
“There she is,” the boy called out. He leaned against the wall, ivy and honeysuckle staining his white t-shirt. “Did you get prettier?”
You snorted, an unattractive noise that only made Steve grin wider. You leaned out the window a little further, pyjama shirt getting pulled by the wind. “You saw me four hours ago, Harrington.”
Steve squinted up at you, a half smile, a half shrug, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek. He looked like trouble, some kind of James Dean daydream. “Point still stands, princess. You gonna let me in?”
You rolled your eyes like it was all too much effort, even though your heart was bursting against your ribcage and the thought of Steve sneaking in through the garden gate to see you, standing in wait at your front door so he could slip up the stairs behind you. He was leaning against the bricks when you met him round the front, cheeks hot when he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to one, ‘cause your parents were in the kitchen making pasta and drinking red wine, greeting the boy warmly and throwing half serious threats up the staircase about keeping your bedroom door open.
You ignored them, closing it behind Steve as he wandered into your room, throwing himself onto your bed like he always did. The window was still open, curtains catching in the breeze, the soft static of your record player singing something he didn’t recognise. You watched the boy stretch out across your sheets, sneakers toed off over the edge and hitting the floor with a thud as he grinned at you. Steve had been yours for a month now, best friends for a decade longer but the sight of him against your pillows still made your inside somersault. It was a giddy feeling, when he coaxed you closer, sitting up so you could stand between his legs, denim jeans scratching at the outside of your bare thighs and he hummed when you wound your arms around his shoulders, fingertips playing with the longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His hands found the backs of your legs, the soft skin just under the curve of your ass and he nosed at your sternum, grinning when he realised you weren’t wearing a bra.
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout you all night,” he murmured softly, lips grazing the cotton of your sleep shirt - his shirt. “Too soft, right?”
You couldn’t help but smile, the kind that made your feature scrunch up, cheeks warm and aching with that new kind of happiness that you hoped would never get old. “The softest,” you declared. “You were supposed to be having fun with the guys.”
Steve craned his neck back, face tilted up to you and the last of the sunlight that came through the corner of the window. It turned one eye lighter than the other, honey and whisky, his lashes casting shadows over one sunset coloured cheek. “I did, until Eddie tried to start a fight with Carver. Again.” His fingers pinched softly at the fat of your ass, making you squeak. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a kiss, huh?”
You pulled at his hair in retaliation, smirking when he only grunted in response. You ducked down a little to meet him, nose bumping his, loving the way his eyes found your lips, focused on your mouth. “He can ask nicely, for a start.”
You shrieked when you were hauled against the boy, laughter caught in your throat as Steve threw himself and you back onto the mattress, both of you landing clumsily amongst the pillows, on top of each other. He had you pinned before you could get your bearings, legs on either side of your hips as he grinned down at you victorious. He leaned in, crowding you, the smell of his cologne, smoke that you hoped was Eddie’s and not his, all around you. He was part of you now. Steve clung to your bed, he stayed in your sheets, left a part of himself behind on your pillows.
“Please, princess,” he whispered against your lips.
It was easy to give in, easier than trying to pretend you wouldn’t have kissed him without politeness. It was a sticky, soft thing. The sweetest kind of kiss, the kind that came from being so happy that you were finally able to put your lips to his. He tasted like vanilla, like cherry coke and Steve. It was the easiest thing in the world to let him tug you into him , his smile pressed against your own mouth, as he hummed, falling onto the mattress again and pulling you onto his lap.
You petted at his hair, pushing the mess of it away from his forehead so you could sit some kisses there too, grinning when he squeezed at your waist, the soft of your hips. “You hungry?” You asked quietly, enjoying the warmth of him underneath you, like he’d brought the sun home with him. “Have you had food?”
Steve shook his head, hair brushing your cheek as he tried to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, nosing at the collar of your shirt so he could kiss at your throat. “Had some cereal, at like, ten,” he mumbled.
“Steven,” you admonished, “s’almost nine at night.”
“Mmm, call me that again, s’hot,” Steve teased.
You shoved at the boy’s shoulder, rolling your eyes and hiding your smile even though Steve was grinning. You eased off him, lying next to him on the bed instead. Your gaze met his, so close you could count those new freckles. “I could make you somethin’. Grilled cheese? You gotta eat, babe.”
It was lighthearted the way Steve pulled one of your legs over his hip, palm climbing up your bare thigh, so big his fingers were curling round to the inside, close to grazing your cunt. He kissed a line over your jaw, nuzzling into the crook of your neck until you squirmed. His voice was salacious, only half joking when he said:
“Oh my god,” he groaned dramatically. “That sounds better than head right now.”
It wasn’t out of the blue, that kind of talk, not really. Your sex life with Steve was still new, experimental in the best way. It had been almost five weeks of learning about each other in a way that you’d never gotten to before, working out how the other liked to be kissed, touched, teased. There’d been hurried make outs in the back of his car, on your living room sofa before your parents came home, quick touches and messy grinding on his bed before you had to return to your own.
And when the time allowed it, when Steve got you to himself for hours on end, he kissed you until your jaw ached, until his lips were as pink as yours, working you up with his fingers until he could slide his cock inside of you and press you into the mattress. It was all new, shiny and glittery, warm bodies in the beds you used to make pillow forts out of, his cologne on your sheets, your perfume on his sweaters you stole. You shared bottles of sunscreen, swam in the backyard pools when the day turned to night and it felt like you were floating between stars, leftover barbeque smoke in the air as your legs touched Steve’s under the water.
It was a summer of sex and chlorine on skin, taking late night drives to the seven eleven in the next town over, icee’s for dinner, throwing gummy worms into the boy’s open mouth until he pulled you into his back seat and you could taste the sugar on his tongue. Steve was yours now, and god, your boy was summer incarnate.
But he hadn’t done that. Not yet.
You squirmed, feeling that too hot flush creeping up over your chest and neck. You rolled to the side, lying on your back so you could squint at the ceiling and try to work out how to make a joke out of it. You laughed, a little weakly, half shrugging and refusing to meet his gaze when the boy leaned up on his elbow to look down at you.
“I, uh, I wouldn’t know.”
Steve stared at you, one corner of his lips quirking up like he thought you were telling him a joke. When you didn’t laugh, he wrinkled his brow. “What?”
You didn’t feel embarrassed per say, in fact, you were reminded of a time - years and years ago - when you and the boy were trapped in a cupboard, standing too close to each other in the dark as you whispered about the people you’d kissed, the things you’d been to shy to do.
“What?” you shrugged, unaffected by Steve's bewildered stare. “So no one’s gone down on me, it’s not a big deal.” You tried hard not to sound defensive but Steve must’ve picked up on it anyway.
“No, no,” Steve reassured, leaning in closer to dot a kiss to your cheek, another on your forehead for extra reassurance. “It’s not a big deal at all, babe. I just, I just thought - I assumed - you know. An ex would’ve offered, or something.”
You took the hem of the boy’s shirt in between your fingers for something to do, your gaze lowered when you shrugged again. “I mean, I don’t think a girl’s pleasure was at the forefront of most seventeen year old boys minds - or eighteen - and then, I don’t know, Chris--”
Steve made a face at the mention of the other boy.
“--he tried once, kind of, I think and, I guess it was okay? He didn’t really do it for long? But maybe I just took--”
“Did you come?”
You snorted, unable to help it and Steve grinned. Any chance to one up Chris Maxwell, no matter how long it had been since he’d had to watch you go on dates with him, Steve would take happily. “No, I didn’t get the chance to enjoy myself. It felt weird, and honestly, he was too busy trying to get a condom out at the same time.”
“What an asshole,” Steve groaned and he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, your jaw.
“You’ve always thought he was an asshole, Steven.”
“Point still stands,” Steve scoffed and he pulled back, staring down at you with a sudden intensity. He worked his way between your thighs. “You trust me, right?”
You nodded. Of course you trusted Steve. You’d know him longer than you hadn’t. He’d already seen you naked, shit, he’d been inside of you. But there was something so incredibly new about the way he was lying between your legs, your knees by his shoulders as he pressed what was supposed to be a calming kiss to the inside of one. Instead, your heart jumped. It rattled inside of your ribcage, threatening to break the bones there.
“Can I try?”
You were speechless, blinking at the boy as you tried to imagine what it would feel like to have his mouth on a new part of you. His tongue, his lips, kissing over your cunt. You were suddenly burning.
“You don’t have to say yes, if you don’t want to, babe,” Steve murmured, sensing your hesitation. “If you don’t like it, we can stop.” Another kiss, this time a little higher in the inside of your thigh. “But I promise I’ll try to make you feel real good.”
“I know,” you whispered, hands fisting your sheets in anticipation. “I just— you wanna do this, right? Like this isn’t just ‘cause no one’s ever done it to me properly before?” You hated how unsure you sounded and you felt yourself go hot when Steve raised his brows at you.
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Steve laughed, not meanly, not at you. He moved closer, kissing a line up the inside of your leg until his shoulders were pressed underneath your thighs and god— his face was so close to the soft cotton of your pyjama shorts. “Babe. Baby, you’ve no idea how much I wanna do this. Just, relax for me, yeah?”
You looked down at Steve as he shuffled between your spread legs, curling his arms around the tops of your thighs so he could pull them apart a little further, making more room for himself. He looked up, his hair falling over his forehead, into his brown eyes. “Ready?”
You nodded, whispering a small, shy, excited ‘yeah,’ before Steve grinned up at you. You let yourself fall back onto the mattress. Eyes on the ceiling, body electric.
You expected your sleep shorts to be rolled down your hips, over your legs and thrown to the floor. But instead, Steve leaned in to kiss over them, the thin cotton not doing much to dull the feel of his mouth over your cunt. You jumped, gasping, head lifting back up and off of the bed to see Steve smile, his pink, full lips pushed into a pout as he kissed over your covered folds. He hummed, nose pushed to you in a way that made the fabric cling to you, damp seeping through already.
“Good?” Steve asked quietly, hiding his smile at your soft noises of agreement. “You like that?”
It was maddening, the soft lilt of his voice, teasing, gentle, earnest all at once. You wanted to cry out when he let his tongue drag over you, sleep shorts getting more and more wet as they stuck to the lines of you, your cunt almost visible through the damp fabric. Steve pushed his thumbs into the crease of your thighs, soothed you back down a little as he kissed your knee. “Your parents are downstairs, babe, you gotta keep quiet, yeah?”
His words made you spin, too dizzy to comprehend that you did actually need to shut the fuck up. But it hadn’t felt like this when Chris had made an attempt, a thirty second appearance between your thighs in the back of his car before he got too impatient and demanded you ride him. So you whined a little desperately and gasped at Steve’s touch, wondering when your boyfriend was going to put you out of your misery and take your shorts off.
But Steve ducked back down to kiss over you again, proper, open mouthed kissed against the folds of your pussy, his tongue sneaking out every now and then to bump against your covered clit and you were wriggling in his hands, head thrown back, vision hazy because you forgot to blink, lips parted in a quiet moan. You felt fingers at the band of your shorts then, warm and sure and you lifted your bum up in anticipation. But instead of being pulled down your legs, Steve tugged up.
Cheeks hot with a strange type of embarrassment, you gasped out, realising that the thin cotton of your tiny shorts were now tucked between your folds, a firm pressure on your clit that had you reeling. You couldn’t fathom what you must’ve looked like, but when you gazed back down at Steve, glassy eyed and panting, Steve was staring at your pussy like a man starved.
His own eyes were heavy lidded, dark and heated, his lips parting at the sight of you. Steve pulled up again, just slightly, groaning low when the fabric slipped further between your folds. He can see the outline of everything, the soaked patch that’s clinging to your entrance, the bump of your clit under pink cotton. He reaches out to trace it with a fingertip, swearing when you jerk forward, wanting more. He pulls you into him, hands grabbing at your thighs so he can push his face back between them and he licks a flat, slow stripe over your cunt.
You can’t help but arch up, biting down on the meat of one of your hands while the other finds Steve’s hair, fingers twining through the strands and pulling, hard. The boy moans at that, something you already knew he liked too much but it sends his own hips rocking into the bed, chasing any friction he can get, letting you know he’s enjoying this as much as you are. And once your underwear is soaked through, you’re fuzzy, feeling drunk and ready to beg for him to take them off but Steve is one step ahead of you, tapping your ass so you’ll plant your feet on the mattress and lift your hips for him.
You do it immediately, muffling a whine as he has to peel your wet underwear from between your folds, dragging them down your legs before settling back between them, kissing over the soft of your stomach as he pushes the hem of your too big shirt up your ribs. “Let me see you, princess, lemme see those pretty tits.”
The breeze from the evening came through the still open window but you were more than sure the goosebumps on your skin came from Steve’s words, his rough, wrecked sounding voice. You obeyed, pulling the fabric of your shirt up until it rested under your chin. “Steve, please, I really need—”
Another kiss, just below your belly button, another, climbing up your ribcage and the boy hushed you. “S’alright, I know, I know.” He swiped two fingers through you, feeling how warm and slick you were for him. “Shit, baby, wanna really feel me, yeah?”
You nodded, a furious movement that made Steve grin. You settled back on your elbows this time, legs open for the boy, eager to watch. “Please, yeah. Fuck, it’s— Steve, please.”
Steve didn’t hesitate, pressing himself down onto the mattress as he spread you with two thumbs, groaning at the way you glistened in the last of the lowlight, your bedroom turning seven shades of blue as evening rolled in. He could hear sprinklers turn on outside, the faint hum of your parents television from downstairs, the way your breathing picked up when he blew over your clit, pink and swollen for him and his touch.
“So pretty, baby,” he praised, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Don’t tell you that enough, huh?”
You scrunched your face at the praise, cheeks burning, your bare chest rising and falling faster and faster and faster. “You tell me that all the time.”
Steve laughed softly, ducking his head down to kiss you, a chaste peck in the dirtiest of ways, lips sliding over your cunt, still spread for him. You gasped, head falling back for a second, clenching down on nothing and you knew Steve would see, you knew Steve was watching. You heard him exhale roughly.
“Talkin’ about her, princess.” Steve hummed, licked over his lips to chase your taste and dipped down again to drag his tongue oh so fucking slowly from your entrance to your clit. “Yeah? Talkin’ about how pretty this pussy is.”
The compliment made you pull Steve’s hair harder, hips wiggling as you groaned, eyes falling shut when the boy huffed out a soft laugh and pulled you closer, nose bumping against your clit as he pressed his tongue into you, slick, wet noises filling the room and making your breath hitch. Up and down, up and down, up and down, Steve licked you like a popsicle, humming when your hips twitched, pushing his lips around your clit and sucking gently, teasing it with the tip of his tongue before he went back to kissing all you all over.
It was messy, wet, Steve’s lips and chin shining with you, his eyes fluttering shut every time he dragged his tongue through your folds, his hips rocking down into the mattress as he tried to ease the pressure in his jeans. He was harder than he’d ever been.
“Steve,” you whispered, your voice broken and cracking at the pleasure. “Steve, please, I’m so close.”
The boy murmured softly against your skin, a thing you were sure was supposed to soothe you but you just arched against his mouth instead. He pulled back, just slightly, smiling when you cried out, hushing you with wide eyes. “Princess, hey, hey, baby,” he kissed the crease of your thigh, licked the wet there that made your skin shine, growling at the taste. “You gotta stay quiet, yeah? Keep quiet baby and I’ll make you come, I promise.”
You nodded, doe eyed as you stared down your body at him, barely keeping yourself up on your elbows, legs quivering as Steve pushed them further apart. “Lie back for me, yeah? That’s it, good girl. M’gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, princess, tell me what you need.”
Steve sounded reverent, kissing over your stomach and the small thatch of curls before licking into your folds again, pressing his lips to your clit. “Fingers,” you gasped out, clenching your comforter in each hand. Your knuckles were white. “Please, fingers please.”
Steve didn’t even respond with words, he just sucked his middle and pointer into his mouth and pushed them into you, groaning at how easy they slid in. The feeling of being so suddenly full made your head fall back, huffs of air escaping from your lips and making the ceiling fuzzy, it was glittering. The stars didn’t seem to stay outside anymore.
“Pull your legs up, baby, c’mon, open up for me,” Steve rasped, pushing your legs up with his shoulders until you got the hint and pressed your knees to your chest, letting them fall open even further until you were sure you were going to die from the way you were so exposed for him.
But Steve whined, a needy desperate noise and you felt the mattress dip and lift as he jumped himself into the bed, chasing his own release as he gave you yours. “Oh, good girl, baby, that’s so good. That’s it, yeah? Can get my fingers nice ‘n’ deep, huh?” He proved his point by rubbing the tips of his digits in small circles, pressing into the spot you could never reach.
It made your legs shake, toes curling and you were able to gasp out, “mouth, use your mouth, please,” just as you felt yourself getting pulled into the mattress, a hook in your tummy that was getting warmer and heavier, a buzzing in your ears like white static and Steve’s tongue was almost lazy as it dragged over you clit, soft and slow and languid. You felt every bit of it, cunt fluttering around the base of his fingers, sucking him in until Steve swore into you, lips parting around your pussy in a messy, wet kiss and he sucked hard when your back arched, legs falling, feet hitting the mattress, ass lifting up and into his face. You pushed yourself against his mouth, uninhibited, eyes squeezed shut and your hands fumbling for a pillow, an old stuffed teddy, anything to bite into to stifle your cries.
“Shit, princess, so fuckin’ hot, Christ, that’s it,” Steve groaned, pupils blow wide as he stared up at you. “Touch those tits for me, baby, play w’them, yeah.”
The boy’s hands grabbed at your thighs as you obeyed, fingertips biting into the soft skin, pulling you into him, groaning almost too loud when you moved against his tongue, hips rolling as you came. You felt it everywhere, a slow roll into an orgasm that shattered, sending you reeling, unwound, undone. There was glitter behind your eyelids, stars, a new planet.
You bit down into the corner of your cushion, soft, muffled noises caught between your teeth and you felt something wet slip from one eye, a tear that rolled over your cheek and onto the baby blue pillow case. You twitched, whining as you tried to pull away, overstimulated, easing yourself back onto the bed and trying to catch your breath.
Steve ran his wide hands over your thighs, up and down, up and down, one pressing to the soft of your tummy as he soothed you. “Shh, princess, I know.” He kissed over your clit, cooing when you jerked underneath him. “Sorry, sorry, s’okay, just lemme—” he cut himself off to lick over you, soft, slow drags of his tongue that avoided that overly sensitive bump at the top of your cunt.
You sighed prettily, soft moans as your eyes closed again, sucking in deep breaths as Steve cleaned you up, licking away everything you gave him, kissing sweetly over your folds before easing your legs from his shoulders. You lay spent, eyes closed and cheeks warm as the boy crawled his way back over you, dotting kisses over your ribs, the curve of your breast, grinning as you whined when he grazed his teeth over a nipple. You clung to Steve as he burrowed into you, nosing at your neck and humming, letting you grab at his hair and drag his mouth to yours.
This kiss was as languid and hot as it was when he kissed you elsewhere, his tongue licking over yours, the taste of yourself making you whine. You could feel Steve smiling, lips still pressed to yours, his nose against your cheek. He leaned back, just slightly, one hand pushing your hair from your damp forehead, grinning wide at the sight of your glassy eyes.
“You okay?” He asked softly, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.
You mumbled something Steve couldn't make out and clung a little tighter, pulling the boy down until he was pressed against your chest and you could hide your face in his neck.
“That good?” Steve tried to tease but he couldn’t help but sound sincere, you were still trembling, doing your best to burrow into him.
“Insane,” you said into the cotton of his shirt, lips pressed to his shoulder. “Stupid good, yeah. Fuck.” You were whimpering a little, voice soft and half asleep sounding and it made Steve beam. You wriggled against him, the breeze from the window seeming cooler now that Steve wasn’t working you up and your thigh brushed against a damp patch against his crotch. “Did you come?”
There was no judgement behind your answer, just quiet awe. You smiled when Steve scoffed, nodding as he leaned in to peck at your lips again. “Uh, ‘course I did. How could I not? You were grinding all over me like some kinda wet dream, princess shit—”
“Steve,” you whined, a little embarrassed as the high wore off, cheeks too hot when Steve laughed. You crawled over him, thighs straddling his lap. Your shirt - Steve’s shirt - fell back down, pooling your waist and covering you back up. Steve pouted, hands diving underneath anyway, fingers spanning over your thighs. You raised a brow. “You still hungry?”
Steve smirked, squeezing at your legs, revelling in the warmth he could still feel from between them. “Oh, she’s got jokes now, huh?”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington x reader smut#steve harrington one shot
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nov 5 is anniversary dinner at the winchester household but it's like..no one talks about it. everyone gets together but they pretend like it's because it's just. you know. a regular coincidence! we're just hanging out! we didn't even look at the calendar! they're all laughing too loud and forcing jokes and being overly casual about it.
dean gets real quiet when there's a break in conversation or when he's alone. cas gets this look in his eyes like he's not where he is. if they can't bear to be separated on the day, well. no one has to know. or even if they do, no one mentions it. so they eat one handed and they hold hands under the table until their knuckles are turning white and they're just standing pressed together when they're supposed to be doing the dishes and they DON'T talk because they still can't figure out how to sometimes and today is definitely the day that is sometimes. and if they get hugged extra tight when everyone leaves, well. they don't mention it. they're grateful but they don't talk about it.
the first year, it's almost a wake in the house. well, there was no house then, but there was the bunker, and it was home. but yes. it was almost a wake, disguised as a celebration. they'd all crowded around the map table, sitting in chairs and on the surface and trading stupid stories and playing boardgames and throwing scrabble tiles at each other because that's not a fucking word, dean and then even when they'd tired of the act, they just sort of sat together and drank and said nothing like it was agreed upon beforehand that they weren't gonna let dean and cas be alone and dean had been so grateful he didn't know what to do with it. it was like this grief wasn't supposed to be there, you know? but it was. it was. and there was no ignoring it. but you couldn't let it drown you so you did what you could.
the year after that is more of the same, though the house had emptied before midnight . and yes there was a house by then. and a porch swing and deck chairs and kitchen windows and her gardens and retirement, even though dean didn't think he'd ever get used to the taste of that word in his mouth. dean woke up that year with a pit in his stomach and he'd panicked because cas wasn't there, cas wasn't touching him, cas was gone , gone, gone, but then he'd blinked his eyes open to see that cas had just curled away from him in the night, was still here, sleeping, soft and open mouthed, and dean could touch him without straightening the bend in his elbow and he did and he tugged until they were pressed together again and he'd closed his eyes and sighed. cas went somewhere far away during the day, and dean thought he was going to suffocate in the house because he didn't know how to bring him back, to make him aware of the ground under his feet. but then his family was there, filing into the house somewhere around noon, in groups of twos and threes. they brought food and wine and movies and they pulled at the arms of the men who'd turned hollow-eyed until something like light slipped back into them.
it's the third year now, and the dishes are drying on the rack and the house is emptied of its guests and the quiet is just a little bit more bearable than it was the year before but somehow that feels like enough, because dean's not drowning and neither is cas, even if the water pulls at their legs, and that's a damn win in his book. dean checks the locks on the doors and the windows of his house and brings cas an afghan, drapes it over his shoulders, pulls him close until he's lying back against dean's chest on the couch. and they turn on the tv and it's the kind of shitty programming that comes on when it's after halloween and not yet christmas and it's pushing 2 am on the oven clock, but it's good white noise, and sometimes cas laughs and dean feels it against his chest, in his bones, and he thinks that's all it's about anyway. that laugh's kind of the point of everything. so he sighs and hooks his chin on Cas' shoulder and doesn't say how scared he is, sometimes, even now, or how he doesn't want to close his eyes tonight, because he's not sure what he'll wake up to tomorrow and doesn't say that there's something stinging the back of his eye even if there's no reason for it. instead he just slips his fingers through Cas' and buries his nose in cas ' hair and breathes. and well, isn't that a miracle.
#nov 5th FEELINGS POSTING#is this fic it's not it's a headcano.#headcanon#destiel#IM SORRY#doe is talking again#IM SORRY BC IDK WHAT IM DOING
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The University of Sugar | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Summary: You take Bradley to a work happy hour, but nothing about it makes him happy, since your boss is clearly flirting with you. Was that man blind? Could he not see your engagement ring? Bradley was ready to fuck some sense into you. And you were so willing to let him.
Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut
Length: 2700 words
Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)
This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! This was written for a request. Banner by @mak-32
Check my profile for my masterlist
Bradley was exhausted. He'd had such a long week, stayed on base late almost every day. He was ready to get undressed, take you to bed, and pass out for at least twelve hours. But when he unlocked his front door and walked into the living room, you were standing there in a cute little dress, all made up. Maybe he could squeeze in a quickie before he passed out.
"You look like you're ready for me to take you to bed," he said with a smirk as he started to untie his boots. But then he remembered something that you had said... about... a happy hour? Fuck.
"You need to get changed. I don't want to be late," you told him, checking the time on your phone while he groaned. Now he remembered. He promised you weeks ago that he'd go to the happy hour with your coworkers from the math department at San Diego State University. But right now, he was dying to get in bed and stay there.
"Sugar," he whined, "Baby, I'm exhausted. Can't we just stay home?"
"No!" Now you didn't look pleased at all as he made his way closer to you. "Go get changed, Beer Boy."
He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you snug against him. "Come on, Baby," he crooned. "Doesn't our bed sound better than happy hour? I promise I'll make you cum. Twice."
You kissed him and smirked devilishly. "I'll hold you to that. After we get back from happy hour."
"Fuck," he groaned releasing you and heading to the bedroom to get changed. There was no way he was getting out of this one. He was going to have to chat with your coworkers all night. A bunch of boring math nerds. Because there was no way there was more than one hot, interesting math nerd at your school. You were an anomaly. You'd cornered that market.
Plus, Bradley just knew he was going to feel like an idiot all night. You were smarter than anyone he knew, and it would be like a bunch of clones of you walking around sounding extremely intelligent. He didn't even know what he was going to talk about.
"Ready?" you asked with a smile when he reemerged from the bedroom. You took him by the hand and led him out to the driveway. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone."
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It was worse than Bradley thought it would be. Apparently the median age of college math professors was eighty. He held tight to his bottle of beer while you introduced him to way too many people whose names he would never remember. He tried to smile, but he had to stifle a few yawns while he followed you around the small auditorium on your campus.
Everyone knew you. Everyone liked you. Everyone wanted to talk to you. Which was all fine and dandy until Bradley got cornered in conversation with Professor Rosenthal while an extremely handsome man walked up to you and gave you a lingering hug.
"Who the hell is that?" Bradley asked, completely cutting off Professor Rosenthal.
"Oh," he sputtered, turning to see where Bradley was looking. "Oh, that's Professor Philip Harding. The department dean."
Bradley's brain was buzzing now as he watched Professor Philip Harding put his hand on your lower back while you laughed. You had mentioned him before. Many times. You told Bradley that you frequently ate lunch with Phil on the benches outside your building next to the rose garden. Bradley was the one who lovingly packed those lunches for you.
He watched as you slowly took a step out of Phil's reach. "That's a good girl, Sugar," he muttered, now completely ignoring Professor Rosenthal.
But Phil closed the gap and was already next to you again. Was this guy blind? Or just stupid? Did he not see the engagement ring on your finger? Could he not comprehend that you were in a relationship?
"Fuck," Bradley growled, glaring at him as he set his empty bottle down and tore across the room. Phil was tall, dark and handsome, and Bradley knew you liked that kind of thing. Plus, if he was the department dean, he was probably as smart as you were.
Jealousy pulsed beneath his skin as he came up behind you and wrapped his hand around your perfect hip. "Hey, Sugar," he rasped, leaning down to kiss your neck. He loved the way you melted into his touch, but Bradley kept his eyes on Phil who cleared his throat loudly.
"Hello," Phil said, looking at Bradley with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. But he could just fuck right off, because Bradley wasn't impressed either. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Philip Harding."
You smiled up at Bradley. "Phil is the department dean. And his office is next to mine." Then you turned to Phil, and Bradley had to watch his gaze dip down to your chest as you said, "Phil, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."
"Her fiancé" Bradley added, rather too loudly.
Phil just smirked at him. "Ah, yes. I believe I've heard mention of you before. You work on submarines or something?"
Bradley clenched and unclenched his fist. "I'm an aviator," be ground out. "A pilot. I fly an F/A-18."
"Right," Phil replied cooly before turning back to you and asking you a question about your calculus lecture. And then Bradley had to stand there and listen to you laugh while he felt like a complete idiot.
After a few moments of listening to Phil's annoying voice, Bradley pulled you a little closer and said, "Please excuse us," effectively cutting off the conversation and luring you back toward the refreshment table.
"What's wrong?" you asked. "You're acting so weird."
Bradley's eyes bugged out. "I'm acting so weird? Sugar, what the fuck, Baby? That guy is flirting with you right in front of me."
"No, he's not," you replied with an eye roll. "He's always like that."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he growled. "Because it does not. In fact it makes me feel worse."
"He's harmless, Beer Boy. I eat lunch with him all the time."
Bradley managed to speak through clenched teeth. "The way you described him, I pictured a geriatric nerd with a receding hairline and fucking dentures!"
You burst into laughter, planting your hand on his chest as you cackled and gasped for hair.
"He's not old at all!" Bradley complained.
"No," you said, trying to reel in your laughter. "I think he's forty."
"He's handsome!"
"So are you." Your hand slid up to the back of Bradley's neck as you grinned at him.
"He wants to fuck you!"
"So do you," you replied calmly. "You're jealous."
Bradley took a few deep breaths. He would never, ever admit to that out loud. "He touched you," Bradley growled. He didn't even care if he was causing a scene right now. You were going to be his wife, and he would be damned if Phil didn't leave here tonight knowing damn well where he ranked with you.
"I told him to stop," you said sincerely. "I don't think he'll do it again."
"He better fucking not."
You leaned up and kissed Bradley's chin. "I can't believe you're jealous of him. You have no reason to be." You searched his face and sighed, that needy little sound you made when you were ready to go. "I love you. And you look so hot right now."
Bradley's cock twitched for you, and he pulled you snug up against him so you could feel that he was hard. You moaned softly, and Bradley glanced over to see that Phil was looking this way.
"Let's go fuck in your office," Bradley told you, possibly loud enough for someone to hear. And then he kissed you hard, slipping his tongue into your mouth until you were pulling him toward the door.
"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight," you whispered, ducking your head as you led him out into the hallway. "But I'm not mad about it."
Bradley followed you down the hall to your office as you clicked along in your high heels. He was very familiar with this room, and when you unlocked the door, he pushed you inside but not before he noticed Phil was also in the hallway.
Bradley winked at the other man before he slammed the door shut behind him. You had a smug, needy look on your face as the fluorescent lights started to warm up and brighten the small room.
"You're mine, Sugar," he stated simply, caging you in against your desk. "And next time you eat lunch with Phil, I want you to think about this," he whispered, reaching down so his hand was underneath your dress, grabbing the back of your thigh and making you break out in goosebumps. "And this."
You moaned softly as he gently pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss. "Bradley," you whined as his hand slid up to the front of your underwear. "I thought you were exhausted from work."
"I got my second wind," he promised, leading his gentle kisses along your jaw and to your ear. "Now pull your underwear down, bend over, and tell me how hard you want it."
The strangled noise you made had him laughing before he sucked on your neck. But sure enough, you started yanking down your own underwear, and then you turned your back to him.
You looked up at him over your shoulder, smiling sweetly as you said, "Hard."
Bradley was working on his own button and zipper as quickly as he could. "That's my sweet Sugar," he crooned, and you bent over your desk, moaning his name. He carefully pulled your dress up so your ass was beautifully on display for him. His cock was gliding through your wet pussy as he gently kicked your legs a little further apart.
You wobbled a bit on your high heels as Bradley ran his big palm along your ass, cupping and squeezing you. "Bradley," you gasped, wiggling yourself back against his hand.
"You want it hard, Sugar? First, you need to promise me that if that asshole Philip Harding ever touches you again, you tell me immediately." Bradley knew his tone was a little rough, and when you met his eyes over your shoulder, you nodded.
"Okay." Your voice was soft, just like your skin beneath his palm. Bradley squeezed you before spanking you one time. "Bradley!" you screeched, biting your lip and moaning.
"Promise me," he demanded. "He never touches your lower back or any other part of your body ever again." His fingers skimmed up along that exact spot on your back.
"I promise!" you groaned, still pressing back against him. Bradley thrust into you, hoping like hell that Phil was still out in the hallway. He wouldn't mind one bit if the department dean heard everything he was doing to you. And if your current volume was any indication, then perhaps everyone else in the small auditorium would be able to hear you, too.
"You wanted it hard," he grunted, absolutely slamming into you. "You're mine. Gonna be my wife."
"Yes!" you screeched, grabbing along the top of your desk, trying to hang on as he fucked you. Bradley ran his hand along the spot where he spanked you feeling the warmth there.
"You're smart, Sugar," he praised, slipping his hand around to your clit and bending so his front was pressed to your back. "Now tell me who you belong to."
"You!" Your voice sounded a little hoarse, and he could hear it quiver as his fingertips spanked your clit.
He growled next to your ear as he alternated between tapping and rubbing. "Say my name."
"Bradley!"
"Good girl," he praised, pinching your clit until you screamed. And then he spanked your pussy through your orgasm, tapping just hard enough that your legs started shaking.
"Fuck," you groaned, the single syllable loud and drawn out as Bradley took you by both hips and fucked you so hard, you were whimpering.
"Mmm," he hummed, palming your ass. "I'd love to cum all over your pretty face right now, but you'll get that when we get home. I'll spread it all around. Mess up your makeup and let you lick my fingers clean."
"Bradley, please?" you begged, but he spanked your ass and shook his head, fucking your harder as he got close. "On my face!"
"No. You insisted we come to happy hour, and it's already going to be obvious what we did without my cum all over you, Professor Sugar."
"I love it when you call me that," you crooned, clearly enjoying this entire interlude. "Now fuck me until you come."
It didn't take long after that. He came inside your tight pussy, painting it up and chanting your name. His hands were tight on your hips, and as soon as he withdrew, Bradley knelt down behind you. He kissed along your ass and your thighs as you tried to stand upright on your unsteady legs.
"Easy," he crooned, watching his cum drip out of you as he eased your cute underwear back up your legs. You spun to face him as he pulled your dress down. Your hair and makeup were a mess, your lips were a little puffy, and you couldn't stand up straight. You looked down at him, still kneeling before you. "I love you," he promised as you let your hands rest on his shoulders.
"I know, Beer Boy," you whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. "I love you, too. And I love when we fuck in my office or the study rooms on campus. It's kind of our thing."
Bradley stood and kissed you softly. "Academia really suits me. I went to the University of Sugar."
You bit your lip and giggled as he led you toward the door. He took your left hand in his and spun your pretty engagement around on your finger as you made your way back to the happy hour. When Phil exited the men's bathroom a few doors down from your office and wouldn't make eye contact, Bradley smirked.
"You were loud as hell," Bradley informed you just before rejoining the group. "And you look so fucking dissheveled, I can't wait to bust a nut on your face later."
"Beer Boy!" you gasped, following him with wide eyes as Bradley made his way back to Professor Rosenthal with a fresh drink. He had accomplished what he set out to do, and now Phil would think twice before he touched you again.
"So sorry we got interrupted before," Bradley said to the older man. "What were we talking about?" Then he listened to Professor Rosenthal talk about the politics of the math department, his upcoming retirement and his hip replacement. And all the while, you kept eyeing Bradley with a very satisfied look on your face.
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"Okay, Beer Boy," you muttered to yourself, sitting on a bench in the rose garden next to your building on campus. You were unpacking the lunch Bradley had made for you, which included a note with huge handwriting.
Sugar, Can't wait to get my hands all over you later. Love, Beer Boy
You snorted and tucked the note into your pocket. This is what he did now. Every day since he met Phil, Bradley wrote you a dirty lunchbox note. The first note last week had been about how Bradley wanted to fuck you in the Bronco when he picked you up from campus. And sure enough, he had done just that, in the parking lot behind the student union building.
Of course Bradley knew what he was doing, because Phil had accidentally seen that note. And he hadn't eaten lunch with you since then. But now you were waiting for your new lunch pal, Professor Rosenthal.
"You win, Beer Boy," you whispered, texting him a photo of the note along with a little message from you.
I want your lips and tongue, too.
You smirked and ate the lunch he packed you, excited to get home later. Excited to marry Bradley. Excited for everything.
----------------------
Love checking in with Beer Boy and Sugar from time to time! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32
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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster fanfic#rooster x you#rooster x reader#rooster x female reader#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x female reader#rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster x reader#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#roosterforme#the university of sugar#bradley bradshaw imagine
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What are some of your fave wincest fics?
Oh I'm so glad you asked anon! I am always looking for fic recs so I'm sure some followers will appreciate this little one here;
(in no particular order)
try asking by applecrumbledore
“Jerry says he saw them going at it in the back of that car of theirs outside Atlanta last year, I swear to God.”
“Listen, man, I don’t like them either, but that’s a low blow. Jerry’s a fucking pervert.”
outside POV ftw
other brothers by homo_pink
A callow boy can go from infancy to someone’s lover in the space of two wildflower summers.
Another outside POV but this writer I kneel at the altar for, absolute perfection. Read all their work, you're in for a treat
Howls in my bones by weefaol
When John gets a call to investigate a series of grisly animal killings, he drops Sam and Dean at an abandoned cabin two towns over. The boys find ways to keep busy — playing cards, watching movies, chopping wood — but with a howling winter storm on the way, there’s nowhere for Sam to hide his illicit feelings for his older brother.
As the lure of desire threatens to devour him, Sam must learn to face the wolves that lurk outside and the monsters within.
weecest
In the garden where sin began by nyoka
Some places, they grow for you.
weecest, beautifully written, so tender
one on, two out by deadlybride
In the fall of 2001, Deacon gets a letter from his old friend John Winchester, asking if John's son can stay at his house for a while.
not exactly wincest but I want to recommend this because it's just a great insight into a young dean and his vulnerability and there's a sequel involving wincest elements. Really really loved this
it started out with a kiss by intrepidheart
Sam has a date. That's not the problem. The problem is that Sam's asking Dean to teach him how to kiss. The problem is that this kiss changes everything.
rightly obsessed with jealous dean
the repeated image of the lover destroyed by hathfrozen
"Do you really love me that much?" Sam asks.
Dean laughs, a harsh sound, his body shaking underneath Sam.
"Look at me," Dean hisses, eyes still shut. "What the fuck do you think?"
see things so much clearer by deadlybride
Sam's been acting oddly. Dean learns how to use the history on an internet browser and finds out why.
somewhere there's blue by linden
Dean was just gonna go ahead and call this one: evenings which ended with Sam in a river were not evenings which had gone too well.
nickle and dime by linden
It was unlikely, Dean felt, that they'd be coming back to Montana: Child Protection Services had a real nasty habit of not forgetting people's names.
here's a few for now, I have more but I need to remember the names! I will probably reblog this with them but I hope you enjoy! Also if anyone has any recs please point me in that direction
much love
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Love On The Brain
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader
Summary: Dean and Y/N – hunting partners, bunker roommates & idiots in love. Sam is fed up with their constant “will they/won’t they” bullshit and decides to move things along with his own plan until these two fated lovers’ paths finally cross one night – naked.
Warnings: +18, smut (mentions of masturbation f & m, oral f, fingering, p in v), crack of the adorkable kind, nudity, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff
Word Count: 6.1k
A/N: Happy V-Day, babes! 💖 The V stands for... Welp, you know me well enough by now to know where I’m going with this 😝 This is a lot of moronic crack mixed with some sweet smut and fluff. We all know how much I love the “idiots in love” trope, and I fully dove into this one. So, grab your glass of favorite liquor & let’s settle in, shall we? ❤️😘
Written for a request by @imagine-all-the-fandoms after making some adjustments. Found Rihanna’s Love on the Brain fitting for this one, so that’s what we went with as a general mood. Hope you enjoy, m’ladies! 🖤
Feedback is highly appreciated! Get me drunk on it and fill my writer’s juice 🤓🥃
Main Masterlist | Dean Winchster Masterlist
Freedom! Thank fucking God…
Y/N exhales a blissful sigh as she saunters to the Dean Cave with a bag of still-hot microwave popcorn in her arms. The Winchester brothers have decided on a little overnight road trip to the next, bigger town over to see a movie – and for some brotherly bonding or whatever – which means Y/N can finally enjoy some goddamn alone time in the bunker. Not that she doesn’t love Sam and Dean to bits and pieces, especially the latter one. They are like family to her, the only one she’s ever truly known, but even family can grow exhausting sometimes.
Living with two boys can grow exhausting, honestly, so Y/N has decided to spend her alone time doing a bunch of girly shit she can’t do with Tweedledee and Tweedledum around – at least not without enduring some judgmental looks.
So, first on the agenda? Watching a bunch of chick flicks, aka any movie the oldest Winchester wouldn’t approve of. Mean Girls, Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You, You’ve Got Mail, and so on – you get the gist.
The second order of business is a long-ass bathroom time for a little much-needed self-care, including a hot and relaxing bath with an abundance of pink bubbles and soap that smells like the goddamn Queen’s flower garden. Then she’s going to shave and wax… everything. Admittedly, things got a little hairy in recent weeks. There wasn’t a lot of time between hunts and sharing close quarters with two men in motel rooms, and every time she did attempt a proper shave, Dean would yell outside the bathroom door, needing to pee or God knows what else, so she dropped the razor again. Honestly, it’s not like she’s being followed around by an array of suitors these days. It’s been months since anyone has seen her private parts or even her bare legs, including her. On the upside, at least her vibrator doesn’t mind the extra locks.
Oh God, she’s fucking sad, isn’t she? Yeah… It’s a sad affair all around, really.
Regardless, the mention of some self-love reminds her of her third to-do item on her list: sex. Well, technically masturbating to Ryan Gosling’s pictures. Maybe even Andrew Garfield, Sebastian Stan, that hot dude Jackson from Grey’s Anatomy… Leo in his prime. Brad Pitt – young and old. Seth Rogen… Whoa! Don’t judge, okay? It’s not all about looks. She loves when a guy can make her laugh, and his laugh is so sweet, deep, and… bear-y, alright?
Yeah, fine, she knows she needs to get fucked properly by a real dick instead of a fictional one – rather sooner than later before she goes for… the dick that’s been living right under the same roof, only three doors down from her own bedroom.
Shit.
Yep, Dean fucking Winchester – God of all Gods, monster hunter extraordinaire, hero of all innocent damsels, and idiotic clown of all clowns, shamelessly stole her heart since… well, pretty much the minute they met and she first laid eyes on him. It felt like being blinded by the sun, the golden freckles on his cheeks and nose resembling the twinkling, starry constellations in the night sky. In an instant, she was an unsuspecting, innocent moth to a blazing flame. How could she possibly resist that irresistible, boyish charm? There’s no vaccine against that green-eyed virus. She swears she’s seen women faint and gasp before him, and she certainly isn’t immune, either. No one truly is, not even other men, for crying out loud.
Unfortunately, Dean will never ever look at her in that way and see more than a friend in her. The thought alone is so ridiculous it makes her snort before she starts to uncontrollably sob and whine. But God, does she wish more than anything he could be hers and she could be his.
Admittedly, she feels a little lonely, especially with the ominous Valentine’s Day looming around the corner, or as Dean likes to call it – unattached drifter Christmas.
Dear fucking God, why did she have to fall in love with that dork? Why can’t it be some nice, normal guy without an abundance of commitment issues?
On the other hand, it’s a good thing the oldest Winchester isn’t here tonight, even though he’d probably love the fourth part of her evening: naturism.
Yup, walking around naked while you’re alone is the best fucking thing in the world and so goddamn freeing. Tits out. Let the ladies breathe a little, you know? Having the girls constantly locked up in bra prison is no way to go through life. And Y/N knows for sure Dean would not only agree with that sentiment but also highly support it. After all, he was the one that suggested Naked Tuesdays when she first moved in. Sam then established a rule that the oldest Winchester wasn’t allowed to “sexually harass” her. It was completely unnecessary but sweet nonetheless. Y/N knows Dean’s just a teasing goofball 99% of the time and would never seriously harm her or make her feel uncomfortable. In fact, she loves that the brothers are always looking out for her and have her best interest in mind.
So, as soon as she hears the big metal door of the bunker slam shut, Y/N excitedly begins her girl’s night alone, trying not to think too much about the green-eyed hunter and focusing on Gosling on the silver screen instead.
“So, this movie… is it like Zombieland?” Dean inquires with a wide grin, wiggling his eyebrows as he grabs a couple of beers and snacks from the fridge for their road trip to Wichita.
Sam’s brow furrows in confusion. “What? Dean, no… It’s not an action movie or a comedy. It’s an environmental documentary about how soil can counteract the climate crisis,” the younger Winchester explains, chuckling in amusement.
Dean’s face drops, his features morphing from excitement to shock as his eyes blink in rapid succession. “What?! But you said Woody Harrelson is in it! You lied to me!”
“Nooo,” Sam laughs, shaking his head, and corrects, “I said Woody Harrelson narrates it. It’s a good documentary. Trust me.”
“Fuck no! I don’t wanna watch a movie about dirt,” the older brother whines, his plump lips shaping into a pout. “Can’t we go see something with action and blood and guns? You know, something fun?”
“Dean, our whole life is action, blood, and guns. Would do you some good to care about the Earth and climate every once in a while,” Sam lectures him.
“Screw that! We’ve already saved the planet multiple times. All that Al Gore shit ain’t my problem,” Dean huffs, pops open a beer and takes a sip. “‘Sides, I don’t trust these environmental clowns. I know the first thing they’d wanna do is get rid of Baby, and then I swear I’m gonna start shootin’. I can’t stand for that insanity.”
“Fine,” Sam frowns and lets out a resigned sigh. “Then I guess you’ll have to stay here because I wanna watch that movie.”
“Fine by me,” Dean agrees with another sip of beer.
“Good. Since you’re not coming, I might even check out the Mid-America Fine Arts Museum,” Sam shares, the excitement gleaming in his hazel orbs.
“Yeah, nerd yourself out, little brother,” Dean snorts. “Did you know Wichita has a Pizza Hut Museum?”
“Uh-huh, yeah, you tell me that every time we go to Wichita, Dean,” Sam reminds him and suppresses the laugh. “Well, uh, have fun alone with Y/N then,” he smirks slyly, and Dean’s short-lived relief disappears as realization dawns, his brow knitting. “Who knows? Might even be a good opportunity for you to tell her you’re madly in love with her.”
“Wha-, uh, pffft, no?” Dean brushes his little brother’s lunatic accusations off the kitchen counter and awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, clearing the fluster in his throat. “Dude, are you drunk? I’m so not in love with her, alright? Don’t be ridiculous, okay? Do I find her incredibly hot, smart, sweet, brave, kind, adorable, and funny? Sure… That’s why she’s our friend, right? But that doesn’t mean I like… love “love” her, okay? At least not like that.” He forms sarcastic air quotes around the cursed word and grimly swallows his uncomfortableness and the lies down with a big gulp of beer. “And for crying out loud, keep your voice down when you say shit like that. I don’t want her to hear us,” he hisses, his green orbs nervously eyeing the kitchen door. “It’s echo-y in here, you know?”
“Sure, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam casually shrugs his shoulders, clearly not buying a single one of the green-eyed hunter’s words, and it only annoys the older Winchester more.
“Don’t-… Nuh-uh, don’t gimme that fake ‘whatever you say’ bullshit shtick. There’s really nothing going on, alright?” Dean assures anew, growing more irritated by the minute.
Sam twitches his shoulders once more and then cockily folds his arms over his chest, a teasing smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, so you won’t mind if I set her up with Matt, right? It’s just-… She seems a little lonely lately.”
“Lonely?” Dean arches an eyebrow in apprehension and scoffs, “She’s fine, Sam. She’s got us.”
Sam frowns for what feels like the hundredth time during this conversation. “Dean, you honestly don’t think that’s enough for her.”
“Why not?” The older Winchester shrugs, refusing to see clearly. “It’s enough for me. Our life is awesome. You don’t see me complaining.”
“Yes, you’re obviously the golden standard for healthy relationships,” Sam mutters sarcastically and rolls his eyes back.
Dean purses and smacks his plump lips, scratching the bit of scruff on his throat. “Well, uh… shut up, okay? And don’t set her up with Matt. The guy’s a douche.”
“Alright, what about Josh? You like Josh,” Sam suggests next.
“Yeah, as a hunting partner, he’s alright, not as a boy toy for our friend, Sam,” Dean grits bitterly and rolls his eyes, chugging the rest of his beer. “Seriously, what is wrong with you? You’re not her pimp. Just leave her alone, alright?”
“Look, if you don’t wanna date her – fine. That’s on you. Just don’t stand in the way of her happiness because you can’t stop self-sabotaging yourself, man,” Sam argues with a judgmentally raised brow.
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Dean grumbles, the offense clearly written in every deep wrinkle on his face.
“Uh-huh, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam deadpans and grabs his laptop bag, making his way out of the kitchen.
“Stop saying that!”
“Look, I’d love to discuss all your weird issues in detail with you, but I still have to pick up Eileen on my way to Wichita,” Sam notes nonchalantly as Dean trails behind him through the bunker’s corridors. “I’ve watched you two beat around the bush for years. It’s getting annoying. You guys are worse than Ross and Rachel.”
“Wait, Eileen? Did you plan all of this on purpose? Were you trying to trick me?” Dean’s voice rises with his exasperation. He hates when Sam puts his nose where it doesn’t belong, mainly in his business. It’s the typical little brother shit he had to deal with all his life. Siblings, man…
“Me? No, I would never,” his younger brother replies with feigned innocence, marching up the metal stairs to the exit, but Dean can hear the goddamn deceit in his words.
“I don’t believe you,” Dean grits with a sternly creased brow, narrowing his juniper eyes at his younger brother as he halts at the bottom of the steps.
“Okay, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam grins complacently and opens the door. “Just don’t be an idiot. Make the first move, alright? That’s all you need to do. Trust me. It’s gonna be fine. She likes you, too.”
With that, the youngest Winchester closes the door behind him, leaving Dean to ruminate in his convoluted misery.
The hunter then stomps through the hallways of the bunker, furiously mumbling to himself as he passes the Dean Cave on his way to his room. Hearing sounds coming from inside, he stops by the cracked door for a moment and realizes Y/N is watching a movie in there. He considers joining her before recognizing Gosling’s voice, a deep sigh leaving his lips. Of course, she’s watching chick flicks again, so he decides against his plan, knowing some silly rom-com could potentially be a slippery slope and lead to some dangerous innuendos.
He downright refuses to play into his little brother’s evil scheme. Sam’s not goddamn Lindsay Lohan, and this isn’t the fucking Parent Trap. It’s better and safer if Dean stays far away from Y/N for the entirety of Sam’s absence, so the hunter quietly retreats to his room.
Dean decided to watch a bunch of his favorite horror movies until late into the night, ignoring the boiling feelings under the surface. He then closes his laptop with a heavy sigh, ready to call it a night after a nice, warm shower.
With headphones on and some classic rock music drowning out his hammering thoughts, he takes off his clothes and wraps a towel around himself. During an earlier snack run to the kitchen, he noticed the Dean Cave had already been deserted, the room quiet and dark. Y/N luckily has withdrawn to her own room again, so he knows he won’t accidentally run into her. She still hasn’t left his mind, his head in a constant swirl since his stupid conversation with Sam.
So, naturally, Dean comes to the conclusion that only some self-completion down the shower drain might help to clear his thoughts and flush the huntress out of his mind for good. He’s not proud of it, but it’s certainly not the first time since he’s known her that he thinks about her while jerking off. Usually, it only happens when he has to spend too many nights in a row with her in a small motel room without a way to escape, but this time, though, he fully blames Sam and his big mouth for it.
Wandering down the hall to the bathroom, his head bobs to the rhythm of the music flowing through his ears, his green eyes fixed on his phone screen as he scrolls through his playlist. Mindlessly opening the door, he suddenly freezes as another body bumps straight into him.
It all happens pretty fast from there. There’s a loud, high-pitched shriek that filters through the music, his hand drops his phone, and his headphones fall down with it, severing the connection and leaving him in silence as his palms catch a taut-skinned body in his arms while the towel around his waist glides to the tiled floor. And then, he just stares into two big and shocked pupils, which are probably as wide as his own.
Fuck…
For a second, Dean feels incredibly exposed before noticing the warm skin that’s pressed flush against his own body. Yep, he doesn’t dare to check, but he’s certain Y/N’s completely naked, too.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…,” Y/N’s panicked voice chimes in his ears as both of them awkwardly avert their gazes in different directions to the ceiling and avoid eye contact at all costs while still clinging tightly onto each other, aware that if one of them moves, it’s game over and they’d see each other in their full glory. Basically, they’re each other’s damn shields – as uncomfortable as that may be. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”
“I, uh…” That’s when Dean realizes Y/N probably didn’t even know he stayed behind and let Sam go to Wichita alone. “Sam wanted to watch a documentary.”
“I know!” Y/N yells in annoyance and grits, “You were supposed to go with him! Granted, I was surprised you agreed to it in the first place, but still, you’re not supposed to be home!”
“He didn’t tell me it was a documentary about dirt, alright? Otherwise, it would’ve been a straight-up ‘no’ from the start,” Dean explains and tries not to get hard as he feels Y/N’s tits press against his chest. Judging by the precise feeling that’s poking him, she must be somewhat cold.
“Yes, he did! I was right there when you agreed,” Y/N argues. “He talked about it for over an hour.”
“Oh,” Dean stumps and clears his throat rather awkwardly. Who could blame him for not listening, huh?
“You never listen to people! It’s so goddamn annoying!”
“Y/N, you need to stop talking, sweetheart,” Dean begs her, squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrates on anything else for dear life.
Baseball, Sam drinking green smoothies, a scratch on Baby’s new coat of paint… He attempts to distract his mind from the unavoidable, but it’s no use. The skin-on-skin contact is his final nail in the coffin.
“Oh, I’m sure you would love that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N continues in a furious huff, “It’s not always about you–”
“Y/N, please… All that angry shaking isn’t helping, sweetheart.”
The huntress cocks an eyebrow high, almost reaching the messy bun on top of her head. “Helping with what?”
“Uhm…”
And that’s when he can’t control it any longer. There’s a distinctive twitch against her thigh, and he’s sure she’s felt it, too. Shit, shit, shit…
“Oooooh.” Y/N awkwardly presses her lips into a thin line, her fingertips tapping a nervous melody on his skin. Her single utterance makes his heart stop. It’s game over. She’s going to call him a gross perv, move out of the bunker, and then never speak to him again. “It’s-, uhm, it’s okay,” she says surprisingly, her head bobbing with a thick swallow as she reassuringly squeezes his biceps where her palms rest.
“Y/N, I’m-, uh… oh God… I’m so, so sorry,” he stammers, deciding to keep his eyes shut to escape some of the awkwardness.
“I-, no, it’s not-… This is a weird situation we’re in… It’s fine. Completely normal, right? Like, uhm, like a reflex?”
“Uh, yeah, guess so,” Dean gulps, his eyelids slowly fluttering open and gaze drifting back to the ceiling. It’s not a goddamn reflex, though. It’s all her. It’s the effect she has on him.
“We should, uh, probably, uhm, detangle…”
“Uh-huh, yup, nope, agree,” he says and clears his throat once more, hoping the fluster will leave his body soon. “You, uh, wanna bend down, and we both can grab our towels?”
Fuck, it’ll probably be awkward between them for months now. They’ll avoid each other during breakfast, lunch, dinner… They’ll stop watching movies together, Sam will have to be their buffer and hate it, and they probably won’t look directly into each other’s eyes till Christmas – and it’s only fucking February.
“Oh, uhm… I actually, technically didn’t, uh, come with a towel?”
His eyebrow twitches upward, head slightly tilting to the side as he thinks about her words. “Oh, uh… Wait… Were you, uhm, walking around like… naked through the bunker?”
Well, there’s an image Dean’s never gonna get out of his head. Now, he’ll forever wonder if she takes off her clothes as soon as he walks out the door.
“Look, I thought I was alone, okay?! Again – you’re not actually supposed to be here! Don’t judge me!” Y/N defends, the panic returning to her voice, and then adds something in an almost inaudible mumble, “Just wanted to let the girls breathe a little. Sue me…”
“What?” His head tilts some more, the fine creases on his brow deepening.
“Nothing… never mind,” she quickly splutters, her cheeks flushing bright red as she visibly swallows.
Dean snorts. He’s in love with a dork, isn’t he? God, she’s adorable.
And then, it fucking happens again. Dammit…
“Was that…”
“Again – I’m so, so sorry,” he apologizes once more, although he’s sure he can’t do it often enough. His dick is an escaped zoo animal and clearly on the prowl tonight.
“No, uh… So how do you wanna do this? We could, uhm, maybe turn 180 and then close our eyes and let go… I could, uhm, run really fast down the hall, and you could just quickly back into the bathro–”
Y/N doesn’t get to finish laying out her plan. Dean’s lips on hers stop any further words from spilling out of her mouth. The featherlight kiss doesn’t last longer than a painfully anxious second, his mind racing a mile a minute, his brain positively fried.
What the hell is he fucking doing? There’s only one rule in the bunker: don’t sexually harass Y/N. Dean’s pretty damn sure he’s breaking that rule right now and crossing too many goddamn lines. How’s he supposed to ever recover from this?
“What, uh…” Y/N’s speechless, every muscle frozen stiff in his embrace. Her eyebrows draw up and reach her hairline, eyes blown wide in shock. “Or that… you could do that…”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Dean groans in defeat and shame, hoping the Earth opens up and takes him straight to the burning fires of Hell. See? There aren’t enough apologies in this world to make up for his stupidity. “You know, this is all Sam’s fault… He just got into my head… I mean, this is obviously the wrong first move… I-I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just have a, you know, teeny-tiny crush on you, but still, this is obviously inappropriate.”
“You-, uhm, you have a crush on me?”
Dean swallows the hard lump in his throat. “Uh, yeah… Yeah, I do,” he admits bravely. “But don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just a temporary thing, alright?”
Y/N nods slightly in understanding. “For how long have you felt this way?”
“Well, uhm, like I said – not that long… Just a very short period of time… Like, since November 29th… 2012,” he gulps and shrugs sheepishly, watching her brow furrow in confusion.
“But… that’s the day we met,” Y/N points out.
Dean chuckles uncomfortably and rebuffs her concerns. “Is it? No…,” he rasps. “Well, uhm, anyways, that doesn’t change anything. Don’t worry, alright? No need to make this weird. I’m sure if we give it a couple more years, I’ll be completely over you.”
Y/N’s head bobs again, her lips pursing. “Okay, uhm… But what if you, uh, you know, maybe get over me in the literal sense… and I could get under you?”
The gears in his head start turning as he musingly squints his pine green eyes at her and studies her features. She seems nervous. There’s a bite of her lower lip and a light swallow in her throat, her pupils flickering insecurely. “Uhm, well… is that something you would like? I mean, to get-, uh, would you wanna get under me?”
“Uhm… yes? Yeah?” She looks up at him and meets his gaze, their eyes fully connecting for the first time since they have catapulted themselves into this mortifying situation.
“Is that a question?” Dean checks and chuckles lightly. “Because you kinda need to be sure about this, y’know?”
Another swallow and Y/N nods, determination gleaming in her eyes. He feels her weight shift forward, her feet rising on tip-toes as her palms move from his upper arms to the back of his neck. Her soft, pillowy lips catch his, a tender touch as their mouths carefully mold together. She sucks on his upper lip, nibbles on the bottom one before he feels the tip of her tongue lick between. He opens his mouth wider, lets her slip inside.
Dean’s hands then begin to travel, his confidence growing as Y/N’s fingers tug slightly on the short strands of hair in the nape of his neck, trying to draw him closer. One large hand cups her neck, the other one smoothing down her spine and pressing into the small of her back. He pushes her closer, deepens the kiss, and both of them moan needily while their tongues dance with each other. His grip on her becomes stronger, their bodies melting into one. Y/N gasps into his mouth, her hips pushing against his, skin on skin, as her bare pussy brushes his bulging dick.
“Shit…,” Dean mutters breathlessly against her lips, and Y/N breaks the kiss and meets his eyes with a hint of a smile.
Her lips are red and glistening, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. He cups her blushed cheek, thumb ghosting over the kiss-swollen flesh of her bottom lip as he mirrors her soft smile.
“You okay?” Y/N checks, giggling slightly.
Dean chuckles, palm still caressing her cheek. “Yeah, uh, just realized we’re incredibly naked.”
She snorts and nods, “Yeah, guess that doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, huh?”
“Definitely not,” Dean agrees and laughs a little, his cheeks blushing with bashfulness. “But, look, we don’t have to do anything tonight, alright? We can take it slow.”
Y/N thoughtfully chews on her lip, her dimples showing a smile before she shakes her head. “No, I think we’ve been taking things slow for long enough.”
Dean’s face breaks into a grin before he pulls her back to his lips for a searing kiss. Y/N’s hands lock around his neck, allowing him to lift her up, and her legs instinctively wrap around his waist. His hand weaves into her hair, still damp in the back of her neck from her bath, as the scent of her delicious body wash and lotion seep into his nostrils with each intake of air.
“You smell nice,” he notes, his mouth trailing along her jawline and down her throat, leaving wet kisses in his wake as he sucks her pulse point black and blue. “Like a flower garden…”
Y/N giggles, the cute sound in his ears causing his heart to flutter. She clasps his jaw and draws his attention back to her face, nuzzling her nose against his, whispering, “Bedroom. Need you inside me…”
“Jesus, Y/N… Going in for the kill, huh? You can’t say stuff like that to a man in a compromising position,” he jokes, making her laugh more. “Okay, hold on, sweetheart. You ready?”
She confirms it with a nod, and Dean adjusts his grip on her body, grabbing her a little tighter before bolting down the bunker hallway like a little kid on Christmas morning. The huntress squeals and giggles in his arms as he kicks the door open to his bedroom, gently laying her down on the mattress. She lets herself fall back and stretches out on the bed, her shoulder blades indenting the memory foam, and he hopes the thing does as advertised and fucking remembers her forever.
“You’re fast,” Y/N teases him as he quickly makes his way on top of her.
Dean chuckles, placing soft kisses on her lips in between his laughs. “Yeah, well, I’d run a mile just to get a taste of you, sweetheart. But don’t worry – not all of it will be this fast, alright?”
“Oh, I didn’t think it would be,” she giggles and licks her lips. “Can you just do me a favor?”
“Anything, sweetheart,” Dean assures her and lovingly brushes her hair behind her ears.
“Just judging by, uhm, size-,” she interrupts her sentence for a giggle, and he joins in. She’s so fucking cute. “Can you go slow?”
“Oh, trust me. I would’ve taken my time either way, but tell you what – I’ll even do you one better,” he says. His fingers then slide up her arm, along her collarbone and down to one breast. She shivers underneath him, her skin breaking into delicate goosebumps, soon soothed by his warm lips. His thumb brushes her bud, plays with it until it hardens and then alleviates the sensation with his hot breath and wet tongue.
“Fuuuuck,” Y/N sighs blissfully, her toes curling as a smile shapes on her lips, fully relaxing under his care. “Feels so good, De.”
His chuckle vibrates against her ribcage, his mouth traveling down her upper body, his kisses not missing an inch of smooth skin. Every rib, every beauty mark, every freckle gets the attention they deserve, even teasingly dipping his tongue into her navel. The last tender kiss is placed on her mound as he moves between her legs and spreads her thighs a little wider.
A smirk forms on his face as he leers at her pussy, bright pink and already glistening with her arousal. He catches her watchful gaze, sees a bit of insecurity shimmering in it as she nibbles her fingernails and bottom lip almost bloody, so he cheekily wiggles his eyebrows and sends her a wink, causing her to giggle and roll her eyes at his antics before she lets herself fall back into the mattress with a calming, deep breath.
Licking his thumb pad, he presses it against her sensitive nub, her thighs jolting for a second at the initial touch as a hiss escapes her throat, followed shortly by a strangled whimper. Y/N’s hands fist the bedsheet a little tighter, her knuckles turning white, every muscle wired to the nth degree. Her chest heaves frantically as her breathing grows more erratic with each little circle of his digit. His index finger then stretches and reaches her dripping entrance, rubbing at the tight ring before he easily pushes inside and curls it, poking the spongey spot.
“Fuck, Dean…,” she manages to croak out, biting down on her tongue.
Dean only chuckles, a giddy feeling spreading in his stomach and loving how responsive she is to his touches. There’s a loud whimper when he kisses her pussy lips, tongue dipping between and giving her clit a kitten lick, distracting her enough to shove his middle finger inside her cunt as well, scissoring them once he’s knuckles-deep.
“Oh God… shit,” she groans and whines above him.
He laughs lightly and curiously observes the torment on her face. “Wanna cum, huh?”
“Dean, I swear… I-… please,” she begs, her initial threat morphing into a soft plea for mercy.
“I got you, sweetheart,” he assures her amusedly and swiftly presses his mouth back on her pussy, sucking her sensitive bundle of nerves between his plump lips and thrusting his digits harder and faster inside her. It only takes three, four pushes and one skilled suck before she convulses, trembles, and soaks his face and fingers in her juices. He groans at the sweet taste of her on his tongue, his cock twitches gleefully between his bow legs, only too eager to slide in next.
“Oh God! Fuck… shit… D-Dean!”
The green-eyed hunter grins broadly up at her, his face almost split in half as he bathes in her blissed-out expression and the rosy cheeks that accompany it.
“Wow,” she breathes and shakily catches his swollen and wet lips as he comes back up to her eye level, propping his arms up on the sides of her head.
“I think you’re ready for the big gun now,” he laughs and places a loving kiss on the tip of her nose and another one on her forehead.
“Uh-huh, I’m not so sure after this,” she giggles, still catching her breath. She cups his jaw, kisses him deeply, and licks her arousal from his pillowy lips. “You’re… amazing.”
“Right back at you, sweetheart,” he winks, the softness of his smile contrasting his cockiness. “Do we, uhm, need–”
Y/N shakes her head, anticipating his question. “No, uh, I’m on the pill. I just need you.”
With a smile, he nods and ducks his head, entangling her in a blazing kiss as he devours her lips. His hand pushes between their heated bodies, fisting his achingly hard cock before he threads his dickhead through her folds, coats it with her slick before it catches at her entrance. His thick and leaking tip pushes inside, slowly entering her drenched cunt inch by inch till he’s buried deep and touches her cervix, stretching her tight walls around his impressive girth and hearing her little gasps of sheer pleasure.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps at the feeling of her pussy enveloping his cock and gently brushes her hair out of her face, kissing her deeply. “Taking me so well… Such a good girl f’me.”
“God, you feel like heaven,” she whimpers and wraps her arms around his neck.
As he languidly pulls out to the tip, he kisses down her neck, sucking a mark into her skin. His hand wraps around one of hers, pinning it above her head to the mattress, fingers tightly interlocking before he thrusts back into her heat. His hips then work up a rhythm, a slow and soft song, as he fucks her deep and slams home harder at just the right spot.
Her second orgasm builds slowly yet deeply, aiming to shatter her from within as she hears the ticking of a bomb in every muscle of her body, counting down the seconds before a massive explosion. She moans loudly as the earth-shattering climax hits her at full force, booming and wild as she curses his name over and over.
His fingers grip hers tighter, his thrusts growing sloppy as he lazily fucks her, her pulsating walls clenching around his firm cock. His hips begin to stutter, broad shoulders quaking as he spills deep inside her and stills. He grunts, her name falling from his lips, loud, strained, and primal when he cums, painting her walls with his milky seed.
“Wow,” Dean repeats her earlier sentiment, her giggle causing his heart to soar higher than the moon in the sky. “You okay?”
A wide smile spreads across her face, a tired nod moving her head. “Yeah, more than okay,” she assures him and seeks out his lips.
Dean places one last kiss on her hairline before removing his limp and drenched dick from her center, rolling to his side and pulling her onto his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around her frame. “Hey, Y/N?”
She wearily lifts her heavy head to meet his green eyes. “Hm?”
“Were you, uhm, lonely?” Dean asks, his fingertips drawing tender patterns on her back.
“I guess… a little, yeah,” she admits. “Why?”
He kisses her forehead and pulls her closer. “Nothing. Just… I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere, okay? You wanna move into my room?”
Y/N’s beam is blinding, her cheeks blushing brightly pink. “Yeah, I’d love that,” she replies and snuggles back into his chest.
Dean then notices her eyes falling shut, losing the battle against sleep as her breathing calms in his embrace, his own mind following her into dreamland soon after.
In the morning, Y/N and Dean are still soundly asleep, entangled in sheets and limbs, when there are a few abrupt knocks on the door before it pops open to its full extent, the youngest Winchester’s voice drowning in from the hall.
“Hey, Dean? I’m back! Look, I figured we could talk. I’m sorry about yesterd–… ay… Whoa!”
“Wha-!” Y/N jolts up from the bed at the unexpected intrusion, her elbow hitting Dean straight in the face as he rises behind her. The force of the blow knocks him out of bed, the hunter tumbling to the cold ground.
Y/N clasps her palm over her mouth, staring at Sam’s shocked expression, their eyes both wide before she glances over her shoulder to her lover on the ground.
“Ow! Jesus…”
“Y/N?”
“Hi, Sam,” the huntress smiles awkwardly at the younger Winchester, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders as she hides her naked body underneath the sheets. “Good morning. How-, uh, how was the documentary?”
“Uhm, good?” Sam doesn’t look any less freaked out by what his hazel eyes are witnessing, though.
Dean groans behind her, rubbing a palm over his aching face before sending his little brother a lazy grin. “Hiya, Sammy.”
Sam then lets out a long sigh through his nose and mutters, “About damn time…”
“Yeah, about that, little brother… Might call Eileen and book yourself a room for at least a week somewhere,” Dean tells him, smirking.
Sam’s brow furrows, “What? Why?”
“Oh, because I’m gonna rail Y/N in every room we have,” Dean explains casually, watching Sam’s eyes widen.
“Oh?” Y/N sends her boyfriend an intrigued look, which he responds to with a sly wiggle of his eyebrows and a wink. “Even the dungeon? Are you, like, gonna tie me up and stuff?”
Dean’s eyes look at her lovingly, causing her cheeks to flush with heat. “Where have you been all my life, sweetheart?”
“Oh God, what have I done…,” Sam groans with a thick swallow.
PHEW! And we’re done with one shot week, babes! 😮💨 I honestly hadn’t planned this but found some inspiration over the weekend and finished some WIPs, and since they were all about different kinds of love, I figured they were perfect for Valentine’s Day 💖
Hope you enjoyed these various journeys, and if you did, please consider telling me here and leaving me with some kind words 🥰 Now excuse me while I go work on a few Soldier Boy one shots. I’ve missed my toxic Ben-Ben. Read you soon, babes! 😝🖤
Everything Jensen Tags: @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @deanwithscissors @mrsjenniferwinchester @justrealizedimmascifygurl @akshi8278 @flamencodiva @chriszgirl92 @lhymer1995 @wittyboldsoul @djs8891 @leigh70 @snowlovespie @b3autyfuldisast3r @recoveringpastaaddict @ladysparkles78 @muhahaha303 @mimaria420 @creepzeyecandy @avanatural
Dean Tags: @parinarain @hobby27 @fromcaintodean
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x female reader#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester smut#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester one shot#dean winchester fic#dean winchester reader insert#dean x reader#dean x y/n#writing request#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x you#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural imagine#dean winchester#dean winchester fanfic
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(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 5 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)
tmr is just babygirl i don’t make the rules
Watercolors (Chapter One) — tom riddle x male! artistic! hufflepuff! reader
he could manipulate and possess me thus irreversibly changing my trust in people despite it never being mentioned again and i would thank him
yk, i absolutely love chamber of secrets, but who starts a new diary (obtained under questionable circumstances) with ‘my name is’?
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Tom Marvolo Riddle had been stuck inside of his diary since he was sixteen years old.
The diary itself, inside, was a perfect replica of Hogwarts, the boundaries stretching out well into the Forbidden Forest. Perfect, except for the fact that it was made solely of parchment and ink, and was completely devoid of color or life.
Tom hated the color of parchment.
The diary passed hands many times over the five subsequent decades. First there was the pathetic, sniveling man—the Malfoy sycophant—who all but groveled at Tom’s feet (metaphorically, of course).
Next was the littlest Weasley, the redheaded girl who bored Tom to (again, metaphorical) death. He could only pretend to be interested in how Dean Thomas held the door open for her so many times before he wanted to bash his head into one of the walls.
(He tried, once. The parchment just ripped and left him with a nasty paper-cut on his forehead. Tom missed the red of blood. Now, he bled only black, dripping ink.)
Then, Harry Potter, the boy fated to defeat him, (or whatever) who turned out to be really quite sweet. As a last fuck you to whom he became in the future, Tom aided Harry in coming out to the littlest Weasley’s mother.
That’ll show Lord Voldemort, the dipshit, Tom thought gleefully.
Eventually though, even lovely Harry became more distant, his newly rediscovered godfather being the rightful center of his attention. Tom supposed he might have been jealous of the acquitted Black in another life, but after fifty years of loneliness he understood the yearning for living, breathing friends rather than just paper that writes back, as Little Weasley once called him.
Then, out of nowhere, came the Hufflepuff boy with a tin of watercolors and an eye for the overlooked.
The first thing this wondrous creature made for Tom was a little stone cottage, complete with a warm hearth, a garden of pumpkins and berries, and an idyllic curl of smoke from the chimney. The cottage sat near the edge of the forest, wonderfully secluded and alive.
Tom had watched as gentle sweeps of a brush, suspended in midair, created a home. One that existed in both the physical diary and the hellish paper prison Tom resided in.
Everything existed.
The warm, brown thatched roof, the colorfully patterned bedspread, and even a fireplace.
When the masterpiece was complete, Tom, although he would never admit it, gorged himself on the garden’s sweet huckleberries and sour raspberries. Afterward, he explored his new house, even going so far as to stick his hand into the flames of the fire.
(They weren’t real. They felt like nothing more than a faint warmth against his skin. Disappointing, Tom supposed. But probably a safety hazard.)
Then he curled up in the big bed, under the vibrant bedspread, and closed his eyes.
For the first time in fifty years, Tom slept.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Chapter Two
i need you all to know that the original title for this was “Tom Riddle is a man-whore(crux)??? (NOT CLICKBAIT)” so-
#harry potter#fuck jkr#hp#hp x male reader#x male reader#tom riddle#tmrhp#tom riddle x male reader#horcrux#no but seriously if tom didn’t hate muggle stuff so much i’d say that he could hit me with his car but yk he DOESNT OWN ONE#x reader#tom riddle x reader
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The worst part of it all, if you don't take into account the hollowing feeling that threatens to eat you alive from the insides, the fear, paralyzing as anything, of not being able to function properly ever again, the idea of you doing the basics every day, powered by muscle memory alone because you have to eat and you have to breathe in a world that doesn't give a shit about anything and keeps going, it's when you don't even have a body to bury. And how can anyone mourn an angel, anyway?
When Cas died, he took everything that was beautiful and worth living for with him leaving behind only memories of touches, and comfort an protection and the painful realization that sometimes home can, also, be a person. All the things that Dean, damn coward he is, always took for granted.
He finds the house by the lake he (still) dreams of sometimes, one day he's aimlessly driving, alone, always alone those days, when Sam is far away living the life he always wanted for both of them. The construction is sturdy and well-kept despite the obvious state of abandonment. It looks like a nice place to start over again, whatever that means now.
Next to a big tree that still smells of rain Dean buries his jacket, the one with Cas's handprint on it, because he doesn't have anything else and thinks Cas might have liked it. Dean doesn't know how it feelt to be in The Garden of Eden before everything happened, but he wants to thinks it looked a lot like this, to be able to rest under a sky full of stars.
He doesn't notice the tiny flower that appears over Cas's grave at first, because after only a month there there's still a lot to do but once he does he can't simply stop staring at it. It's small and blue and a species he doesn't recognize. Not that he knows a lot about flowers but he's learning. Maybe it doesn't means anything, probably it doesn't means anything, but he prefers to think that Cas's memory, the physical imprint of an angel existence on Earth, has helped to grow a new life. So he starts taking a bit of his time to talk to the tiny flower everyday. Most of the time is nothing of importance, short trips to the nearest town to buy supplies he needs, a new idea he want to implements in the upper floor of the cabin, but some things are small and life-changing on their own, because in the folks in the town have started calling him by his first name, and he has an 'usual' when he appears at the local coffee shop and the old woman that owns the bakery uses him as her guinea pig when she bakes a new pie.
Time goes and the flower grows and the pressure around his chest is less constricting even if it doesn't disappear completely and probably never will but Dean's fine with it. It's a proof that he's still alive and kicking and that Cas, in his own way, changed him too.
One day the flower is gone and there's a familiar silhouette standing in front of the lake. Fifty-years old-knees from a life hunting can hurt like hell when Dean sprints toward a man that can be real or can be just his imagination playing tricks on him but the blue in his eyes when he turns over and call Dean's name in that soft voice of his, looks like the blue of the flower that Dean nurtured with patience and love for months. It looks a lot like happiness. It looks a lot like hope. 🌿
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