ettadear

[ettadear]

Kryptonian Sex Stamina

You’d started the night cocky. Literally. Because after months of hearing Clark’s quiet bragging about “holding back” and “taking it easy” with you, you’d decided tonight was the night you proved he wasn’t that much better than a human man.

Mistake number one.

“Four rounds,” you’d panted into his neck after the third, riding the adrenaline high of thinking you’d actually worn him down. “Bet you can’t go five.”

Mistake number two.

Now it’s hours later. Your skin is slick, your hair is a disaster, and your voice is hoarse from begging and swearing and—God—crying out his name so many times you’re pretty sure the neighbors think you’re filming a porn.

He’s not even sweating. In fact, he’s grinning. Grinning. Like the smugest farm boy in the galaxy, holding you in place with one arm around your lower back while the other hand braces his weight over you.

“One more, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice all honey and sin. “You can take one more.”

“Clark—” Your voice cracks, half pleading half pleading him to continue. “You—” You cut yourself off to gasp when his hips roll. “You—smug—overpowered—alien—”

“Mhm,” he hums, utterly unbothered, like you’re not writhing beneath him. “And you love it.”

“Shut up,” you groan.

“I will,” he says sweetly, “after one more.”

Mistake number three: You don’t say no.

a/n: I fully support unhealthy obsessions

[ettadear]

Professional Conduct My Ass -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

You should’ve stopped at the second orgasm.

Maybe the third.

But Spencer had been looking at you like that—rumpled curls, shirt half-buttoned, a smug little smirk on his stupidly handsome face—and you had gone full slut. Now it was 7:12 AM, and you were in your bathroom mirror trying to make concealer do what no government-issued forensic cover-up ever could.

Your throat looked ravaged.

You tilted your head and winced. A neat ring of bruises, Spencer’s fingers like little trophies circling your neck in deep plum and ink-blue. And then the hickeys—dear God, the hickeys. He looked like a vampire victim.

You turned back to the bedroom, horrified. “We cannot go to the office like this.”

He was shirtless, bent over tying his shoes, and it was just—unfair. All lean lines and lanky muscle and a constellation of bruises blooming like wildflowers across his neck and shoulders.

You whistled. “I really went to town on you.”

“You bit me,” he said, straightening and pointing to a crescent mark just below his collarbone. “You left dental evidence.”

You shrugged. “It was a compliment. In the moment.”

He stared at you. “We have to go to work. With Hotch. And Morgan. And JJ. And Garcia. And we have a case briefing,” he said, rubbing his face like it physically pained him to remember.

You were too busy dabbing concealer onto your neck like a madwoman to look back at him. “You’re literally the smartest person in the Bureau and you let this happen.”

“Excuse me?” he shot back, slipping on his button-up with a hiss. “You bit me like I was a chew toy!”

“Only because you said—” You stopped yourself. “Never mind.”

He raised a brow. “‘Only because I said…?’ What?”

You muttered something about having a latex allergy and being turned on by fucking raw and kept blending.

You arrived at Quantico seven minutes late, coffee in hand, silently daring the elevator to move faster as you and Spencer stood like statues inside.

You sit down two chairs away from Spencer. Not next to him. Never next to him. You learned that lesson last week when you accidentally let your knees touch under the table and Morgan nearly imploded from curiosity.

He’s wearing a scarf.

Spencer Reid is wearing a scarf. In July.

JJ arches a brow. Morgan outright snorts. “Pretty boy, what’s with the neckwear? You join a jazz band?”

You immediately shove a too-hot sip of coffee in your mouth to avoid making a noise. Spencer blinks at Morgan like a man choosing violence.

“Had a sore throat this morning,” he says too quickly. “Didn’t want it to get worse.”

Garcia, bless her meddling heart, swivels around in her chair. “Oh no! Are you sick? Do you need tea? I have lemon ginger in my desk—”

“No! No. I’m fine.” Spencer coughs, like he’s trying to make the lie more convincing. “Just… precautionary.”

Emily’s eyes flick from him to you, to the scarf, to your turtleneck, then down to your wrists, where you accidentally forgot to cover one of his bruises with foundation. A ring-shaped imprint from his hand still lingers faintly. Her brow arches. Her mouth twitches.

You pretend not to notice. You focus on the whiteboard.

Hotch walks in, files in hand.

“Morning,” he says. “Briefing’s starting now. Let’s keep it efficient.”

9:12am Post-Brief Coffee

You’re waiting for coffee when Emily walks in, holding a mug and a smug look.

“Nice neck,” she says casually.

You freeze. “Excuse me?”

“You and Reid are really subtle, you know that?”

You nearly spill your drink. “We’re not—”

She holds up her hand. “Relax. I don’t care. Just… maybe cool it with the murdery makeout sessions before team meetings.”

Your face burns. “Noted.”

“And FYI,” she adds, stepping past you, “you’ve got a bite mark on your shoulder. Left side. Might wanna rethink the tank top.” You glance down and swear under your breath.

Walking back to your desk, coffee in hand before you collapse into your chair. Spencer sent you a text from across the bullpen:

SPENCER: We are so bad at being secretive.

YOU: I told you not to leave a fingerprint on my neck.

SPENCER: You told me to choke you.

YOU: I was drunk on your nerd dick. That doesn’t count.

SPENCER: Fair. Still. We need a new plan.

YOU: New plan: no more fucking before briefings.

SPENCER: Counter-offer: we fuck gently next time.

You met his eyes across the room.

That smug little smile was back. You bit your lip.

God help you.

You were going to do it all over again.

a/n: hehehe

[ettadear]

Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog 𐴱 More Incorrect Tweets

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[ettadear]

Eddie coded

[ettadear]

Eddie Munson NSFW Alphabet

Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog

Summary: NSFW Alphabet with Eddie. Y'all can thank @weepingwillowsways for this one.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Eddie likes to stay inside you for as long as possible after. He'll roll you over so that you're on top of him and hold you until he inevitably slips out. After that, he'll get you cleaned up and bring you water and a snack. He'll feed you while you lay in bed.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I think he likes his hands, especially with all his rings. He thinks they make him look cool. On you, Eddie loves it all, but he's completely obsessed with your thighs. He'd live in between them if you let him. He likes to use them as a pillow and stroke them absently while you watch TV.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This man is not afraid to eat you out after he's filled you up. He'll fuck his cum back into you with his fingers just to watch it seep out again and lap it up like a man starved.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not much of a secret but he's a total perv. A panty thief for sure and rubs up on you while you're doing literally anything and are too busy to pay attention to him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Either super experienced, or a complete virgin. I lean towards virgin since he's such a dork, but I could see him throwing away his V-card the second someone gives him the time of day, especially if it's a slightly older woman who's fawning over him after a show. I think he'd feel a bit hollow afterwards and hold off on having sex again until it's with someone he loves.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Eddie loves when you ride him, but he never lasts long. It's just too much watching the bounce of your tits and getting impossibly deep every time you grind your clit against the curly tuft of hair at the base of his cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's 100% cracking jokes during foreplay and aftercare if the opportunity presents itself. Its never mean and he doesn't make jokes about you. If anything, I think it would make you more comfortable, especially if you're both inexperienced. It's just so Eddie.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I don't think he spends much time at all thinking about manscaping. He doesn't give a fuck unless it's getting unruly. Then, he'll tidy it up, but I cannot see him fully shaving regularly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Eddie can be so soft and loving. When the two of you need a grounding moment, or are just having a particularly passionate time, He'll cage you under him with his arms and cradle your head so he can look right into your eyes as he goes slow, but deep. I could see him saying 'I love you' for the first time in this scenario.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

This man is insatiable. If you're not home and he gets all hot and bothered, he's fucking his fist after deliberating for a maximum of three minutes on whether or not he should just wait. He doesn't even need porn. He'll just picture you next to him, coaching him through what to do.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's a kinky little fuck and is willing to try literally anything. He's got so many fantasies cooking up inside his head on the daily, so you'll never run out of new things to try. I think his faves are body worship, over stimulation (On both you and him), and any kind of role play.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Eddie will fuck you anywhere. Outside of your shared bedroom, I think that his van is his favorite spot. He loves that he's basically got a bedroom on wheels and he can pull over at any time and crawl into the back with you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It doesn't take much to get Eddie Munson going. You could look at him with an ounce of hunger in your eyes and he's already at half mast. He sees your nipples through your shirt on a cold day? Hard. Your hair smells a little too good? Hard. You're eating ice cream? Hard.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't think Eddie would ever actually hurt you. He's probably down for some rough stuff, but he'd never make you bleed or anything like that. Bruises are fine, but only light ones. He doesn't want you to be hurting for days afterwards.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Complete Munch. And Christ, he's good at it. He eats pussy like its his job and he's up for a promotion. I think he's watched a shit ton of porn and learned a few tips from there, but mostly, he's just intuitive and focuses on the sounds you're making so he knows what you like. When it comes to receiving, he likes it, but he'd never let you give him head without him returning the favour at least twice.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I think he always starts slow, wanting to draw it out for as long as possible, but as soon as he feels your walls pulsating around him when you cum, he's a goner and can't help but snap his hips into you at a bruising pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

The two of you would constantly be sneaking off for a quickie whenever you have a particularly busy day. You just can't keep your hands off each other and a quickie is the perfect solution. The van is great for this.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Eddie is so beyond game to experiment. He'll try anything.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He will go until he literally can't anymore. You'll feel him get hard again while your laying together after finishing together, still inside you, within fifteen minutes and he's ready to go again. He'll overstimulate the fuck out of himself by refusing to give up and feel the consequences for days afterwards unless you cut him off after three rounds back to back.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think he has any, but he certainly wouldn't be opposed to getting some. He'd let you use them on him for sure. A vibrator would go crazy. he could use it on you and let you hold it against his tip until he's leaking and trembling beneath you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Eddie never lasts long when he's teasing you. First of all, the munch in him really cannot wait to taste you, but he'll edge you till you're crying and begging him to let you cum or he'll make you cum over and over again on his tongue till you're begging him to stop.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Eddie can't shut up. He's rambling the entire time. It's anything from telling you how beautiful you are, to pure filth. He'll tell you exactly what he wants to do to you and how long he's been dreaming of it. I don't think he's quiet at all, but he really tries to focus when you're trying to be sneaky.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He absolutely has jerked off to pictures of you before the two of you started properly dating. Not even dirty ones. It could be completely innocent. A photo of just your face, and still, it gets him off every time.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Eddie's got the prettiest cock. It's larger than average, but not daunting when you see it slap against his stomach for the first time. The tip is the same shade of pink as his lips and its always leaking and eager by the time you get his pants around his ankles.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Y'all are gonna be fucking like rabbits. Like I said, the man is insatiable. He's ready to go 24/7. He'll hump your leg like a dog to get off if you let him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I don't think he's the type to fall asleep right after. He'd rather lay there, tangled in the sheets with you in his arms, muttering softly to one another in the dark.

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us

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[ettadear]

matt murdock + manicures

description: it really is the little things

includes: fluff yay

wc: 282

a/n: this really has been sitting in my brain for awhile something short n sweet

matt murdock can’t see that you had your nails done. he can’t see the colors and the charms, or whether you picked almond or square. he trusts you when you tell him that they’re red like his glasses, or multi-colored like the billboard lights that cast a rainbow in his apartment.

but he can hear them clink against glass as you curl your fingers around a cup of water, soft and gentle against the honking of morning traffic and footsteps just outside. he can hear you absentmindedly tapping on objects when you’re deep in thought, gazing off into the distance while you create an unrecognizable rhythm on the wooden table. he can hear them clack against your laptop keyboard, a flurry of clicks and pauses as you hurriedly type out your ideas before you lose them.

he smells the lingering acetone when you initially come home with the manicure, and you smell faintly of polish for the time your manicure remains on your hands. he picks up on your cuticle oil and the hand cream you use every morning and every night.

your hands feel softer as they wrap around his torso and sneak their way under his soft sleep shirt. he can feel them raking through his hair, scratching against his scalp soothingly. your nails form little indents on the back of his hand from the amount of time you spend holding it walking home from a night out.

neither of you really care that he can’t see your nails. he’ll happily pay for them knowing that he falls asleep at night with your nails tracing patterns in his back, lulling him into a sense of calm no one can replace.

[ettadear]

Skull is always getting on Lucy's nerves because she's wearing Lockwood's sweater!

[ettadear]

I’m sorry to say, but boyfriend!Eddie would laugh at what his cock looks like after fucking you on your period. 

“This is crazy, it’s like I actually stabbed you with my dick. Sweetheart, look at this shit!”

That’s all. I hate him. 

[ettadear]

Thinking about college!Matt, who tells you all the time how he's nothing like those sex-crazed frat bros, how they're all just brutes, and how you'd deserve so much more than some drunken one-night stand on an uncomfortable and worn-out couch that you'd no doubt regret in the morning. He's practically offering himself to you as a guaranteed 'good time,' and despite your best efforts, curiosity eventually gets the better of you, and that's how you end up with your back against the wall, both legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms clinging around his neck. The worst part is that he knows that by the end of the night you're going to be craving his cock; he knows what he's doing and that it feels good for you, and he knows that after tonight you're going to end up inviting him back to your room so he can keep tossing your guts in a knot until he's fucked you on every possible surface in your bedroom.

Old draft I never posted \(-⭘-")/

[ettadear]

Eddie Munson Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Moodboard side-Blog 𐴱 More Incorrect Tweets

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us

[ettadear]

modern!eddie munson’s guilty pleasure is that he’s wholeheartedly a girl’s girl. he 100% has the windows rolled down, blasting charli xcx, chappell roan, sabrina carpenter. he’s SO into the girly pop music that you got him into and he’s only just a little embarrassed about it, but with time, he’s gonna be wearing a crop top with ‘brat’ in the front of it .

[ettadear]

Stay The Night

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, Dean gets protective and finds he’s got to keep an eye on you, something more coming out of it than expected.

Requested by @beauty-in-the-brkdwn: “Heya darlin!!! Is it okay if I make a request? 🤍 I was thinking about one for Dean, in which the reader gets kidnapped during a hunt by whatever you feel like for two days (“Two days too many” according to Dean) and after Dean and Sam finally find her, Dean has absent mindedly started making the reader sleep in his room with him. To keep an eye on her. He insists on taking the floor or the pull out couch but somehow always ends up spooning the reader (who he has put in his bed lol) because she’s still too far away. Because he of course blames himself for taking his eye off of her for too long during a hunt and then she was just gone. I feel like this easily has the potential to be angsty in a way but really, it’s up to you as long as there’s fluff/Dean being protective! Thank youuuuuu💕”

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst, injuries, swearing, nightmares, guilt, fluff, kissing

The hunt went wrong, it went fifty ways south of how the two of you had anticipated. You were staying at Bobby’s since that case had been in the next town over, saved yourselves that hassle of looking for a motel with a couple of vacant rooms to rent out. Sam had decided to stay back, more specifically, Dean had made that choice for him. He’d managed to break his arm a couple hunts ago, a real nasty werewolf that put up a good fight with the younger Winchester. You and Dean could pick up the slack of his absent help, you both would do fine.

And you did, until things went wrong.

Keep reading

[ettadear]

Safe

Title: Safe

Pairing: Reader x Dean

Word count: 3,119

Theme song: We Build Then We Break by The Fray

Request: I found an imagine and I love your blog and I was hoping maybe you could make it?? “Imagine Dean finding you half dead in the impala after a hunt gone wrong”

Can you do a one shot where the the reader is on a case with the boys and they come across another hunter that had hurt her, raped, or tortured her your pick :) and she ends up having such a bad flash back dean needs to calm her down. and he ends up beating the poop out of him :D

x

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——————–

Throbbing, persistent pain beat upon you with every thump of your wild heart and you tried in futility to steady your breathing. Your body was trying–just really giving its best shot–you had to give credit where it was due, but with every pump of your heart, more blood flowed sickeningly fast from your open wounds and onto the leather seat beneath you. You held one arm around yourself, your sticky hand not doing much to stem the flow of blood from the worst gash in your side. With your other, you held tight to the steering wheel, blinking rapidly from lashes that were clinging together to try to keep yourself awake. You were nearly there. You glanced out the rear view to make sure you weren’t being followed but the road behind you was as black as the edges of your vision were becoming, empty and dark.

You pulled in gasping breaths and tried to will away the ringing in your ears, the thought of how much blood you were actually losing. One of your eyes was blackening already, swelling around the edges and making it harder to see out the front windshield. You pressed down on the gas pedal and ignored the ache in your foot; you needed to hurry before you ended up losing consciousness and wrapped the car around a tree trunk on the side of the road. The town wasn’t familiar; you’d been in the passenger seat on the way in, holding hands and laughing, not paying attention to the signs. You wished now that you’d been more diligent as you wound your way too quickly through quiet streets, looking for the small motel you’d left hours ago.

Finally, mercifully, you saw the sign for it; touting itself as an inn though it was no more than a grimy roadside stop for truckers. You’d joked about it with Dean earlier that day; had it really only been this morning? No matter. Your brain could only focus on one thing and you chose breathing as you pulled into the parking lot, pushing your foot hard on the brake and coming to a stop at a skewed angle in front of the room, and just managed to put the Impala in park before you let your body go limp.

Keep reading

[ettadear]

Safe

Summary: You had hoped to get in and out when you heard what town the next hunt was in. Unfortunately, you can’t outrun your past. You, also, can’t outrun those old feelings–panic, anxiety and fear. You had hoped you’d never have to share this part of your life with Dean, but things don’t always work out the way we had hoped.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: ~3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence, fluff

As the sun began to set below the clouds, you felt a sense of relief. The day had been somewhat long; though really it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. It was a regular old vamp nest—nothing you couldn’t handle. Nevertheless, it was still exhausting. As after almost every other hunt that happened with the Winchesters, the boys had spotted the nearest hole-in-the-wall dive bar. Usually, you wouldn’t oppose a strong drink after a day of hunting. But this time was different. You were ready to put this town in the rearview of the Impala and hit the next. This town had…memories.

“Hey, uh…how about I meet you guys back at the motel?” You hesitated as your boots kicked up a bit of loose gravel from the parking lot. You pushed your hands into the back pockets of your jeans as the two brothers turned to look at you.

“Back at the motel?” The oldest Winchester took a few steps to meet you, his calloused fingers lightly brushed your hip. “You hurt anywhere, you feelin’ okay?”

A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. “No, no…I’m fine, I promise.” You smiled at him, your fingertips found his forearm and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’m just really tired. I could go for a hot shower and some sleep right about now.”

Dean smirked. “How ‘bout a drink or two, and then maybe I can join you in that hot shower?”

You felt the warmth rising in your cheeks. You glanced up at the neon sign on the bar, then back at his warm, but curious eyes. He knew something wasn’t okay, he just wasn’t saying anything at this moment for your sake. You were thankful for that—you really didn’t feel like explaining this part of your past in the middle of a gravel parking lot outside of a dive bar.

With your lips pursed, but the corners of them attempting a smile, you breathed with a nod. “A drink or two,” you agreed. There was more than one bar in this godforsaken town, you were sure you wouldn’t run into him here. That would just be some weird, evil coincidence and certainly you hadn’t pissed off fate enough for that to happen.

The three of you walked into the dimly lit bar. You walked through the clouds of cigarette smoke to a three-top table and pulled yourself up onto the stool. You glanced around. The sharp sound of billiard balls clacked together, “Stairway to Heaven” blasted through the jukebox, and loud conversations and laughter rang out around you.

You couldn’t deny your increased heart rate, or the way your eyes darted from one patron to the next. So far, so good—but you had to be certain.

“Uh, I’ll grab some drinks. Whiskey? Beer? Pick your poison,” Sam interrupted your thoughts. As your eyes found his, you saw the familiar look of good old Sam Winchester—soft, gentle, concerned.

“Whiskey and ginger ale for me, please,” you willed your voice to be strong and sure, so Sam wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Beer and a shot of whiskey,” Dean nodded in his direction, silently thanking him for giving him a minute to evaluate what was going on with you.

As soon as Sam left, Dean’s eyes were on you. His arm draped around behind you, his hand positioned on the back of the stool you sat on.

“That was a good, clean hunt back there,” you leaned forward, resting your arms on the high-top as you attempted to distract him. “I’m so thankful, we needed a break.”

Dean’s forehead furrowed as he eyed you carefully. “Nice try,” he said lowly. “What’s goin’ on, baby? I know something’s up.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the way that nickname rolled off his tongue–it was something you still hadn’t gotten used to, even after all this time. “I’m just tired,” you tried to smile back. You begged internally for your body to produce a yawn, but it wasn’t happening. Your blood was pumping too quickly through your veins. “It’s been a long few days.”

Dean dropped his head into a nod. “You’re not wrong. But I know you, and I know something’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. And the fact that you don’t wanna talk about it. You always wanna talk about it.”

He, too, wasn’t wrong. You were the type to face things head on—you always had been. So much so that sometimes it got in the way of your relationship with Dean. He was more of a “sit with it” kind of guy. He needed a breather (or two or three) before talking through some things. He knew you too well; you were quite the opposite.

You gave in, a sigh escaped your lips. “I just…I just don’t want to talk about it here…” you looked around the hazy bar. Your eyes drifted from one drunk patron to the next. And then they stopped.

“Fair enough. You’re okay though, right?” he asked, just as Sam returned with the beverages for the table. But you weren’t hearing him anymore. Your eyes had found him. Him. The man you prayed you’d never see again. The only person in the world you didn’t feel bad wishing harm on. Your ears only heard ringing, your eyes blurring. Your name fell from Dean’s lips, concern washed over his features.

You blinked, and it was then that you realized the blurring was from the tears that had formed. You swallowed the lump that had hardened in your throat and reached for the rocks glass on the table in front of you. You took a quick sip and looked back up at Dean. “Yep, I’m fine.” You lied through your teeth.

Dean looked even more worried now. Either Sam didn’t catch on, or he was throwing you a bone. He started talking about some weird “accidents” that were happening a bit south, just a three-hour drive. Something about witches and spirits…but you weren’t hearing him. Your eyes darted between your amber colored drink and the man at the bar.

As Sam spoke, Dean’s hand found your lower back—the flannel under your leather jacket. His thumb began to trace small circles on the flannel. For a moment, it pulled you back. Back to your seat, with Dean, safe. Safe.

Maybe if you told yourself you were safe enough times, your anxiety would calm and your heart rate would slow.

This time, it was Sam who called your name. You looked up from the table to meet his eyes again. He was worried.

“Sorry, I missed it—it’s been a long day. What’d you say, Sam?”

“Oh, uh…you cool turning in soon and getting an early start? I can take the first shift, but I was thinking we would try to get on the road by 6 or so,” he glanced down at the watch on his wrist but then back to your eyes.

“Turn in soon? Oh, definitely,” you pulled the glass to your lips and downed the liquid in one swoop. Both brothers looked at you a bit wildly—you weren’t much of a drinker; although you felt like it was a prerequisite to be somewhat of a drinker in order to hang out with the Winchesters. But you certainly couldn’t keep up with them when it came to liquor.

“Jesus,” Sam laughed as he took a swig from his beer. “Where’s the fire?”

You shrugged. “I’m just ready to go. But take your time, I can go wait by the car.” You thumbed towards the door. That was it; you just needed to escape before he could see you. In and out, no worries.

Sam and Dean exchanged a quick look. Ah, the Silent Winchester Language. It was one you hadn’t mastered yet, but you knew they knew something was wrong.

Dean took back his shot and one last pull from his beer. “I’ll walk out with you,” he placed his hand on your back gently once more as he guided you off of the stool. It remained on your back as you walked towards the exit.

You kept your eyes on the ground as you passed him. You held your breath. You even closed your eyes for a moment. You urged yourself to focus on the feeling of Dean’s hand—safe. You were safe.

As soon as you felt the crisp air, you took in a sharp breath; it almost burned your lungs a bit. “Alright, c’mere.” Dean’s hand moved to your waist. He pulled you to face him so you were inches away from his chest. His eyes moved across your face as he tried to read you under the yellow glow from a light pole illuminating the parking lot. “I really need you to tell me what’s going—”

And then you heard your name from behind you. You felt your chest tighten. No matter how many times you had willed yourself to forget, you never forgot that voice. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand straight; goosebumps flooded your arms even under two layers of clothing.

Somehow, it felt like Dean knew—even though you knew he had no idea. As he turned towards the voice, his grip on your hip tightened.

“I thought that was you, darlin’,” he was drunk. You could tell by the sound of his voice before he even took a few steps in your direction. He almost lost his footing as he stepped off of the curb. “You come back to see me, huh?”

Your throat was dry, the lump that had formed moments ago was now bigger than ever. “N-No,” you didn’t mean to stammer. You meant to sound strong, but you were having a hard time finding your strength. “I had a job, Matthew.”

“Ah, a job,” he almost chuckled as his feet crushed against the gravel below him with each step he took. His shadow grew longer as he made his way across the parking lot towards you. “You and those damn jobs. Oh, who’s this?” He suddenly seemed to realize you weren’t alone.

“Better yet, who are you?” Dean’s voice was low and deep, but powerful. Matthew stopped in his tracks. You wondered if he sensed that Dean wasn’t one to mess with.

“You must be the new guy. I’m the ex, or hasn’t she told you about me?” He smirked. He took a few more steps in your direction, now only feet away. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Can’t say I’ve heard of you,” Dean instinctively turned his body so you were just behind him, but you felt like you could see his jaw tighten through his words. His broad shoulders blocked your gaze and you were thankful. You wanted to hide—close your eyes and be whisked to the bunker. You found yourself praying to Cas.

“Well, you’re missing out on some fun stories,” Matthew tried to lean to the side, beyond Dean’s frame to catch your eyes. It wouldn’t work. You had your gaze on Dean’s back, unmoving. “We had a lotta fun…but man, she can be a bitch, can’t she?” He chuckled.

Even behind Dean’s leather jacket you could see his muscles tighten. His hands were clenched. “You’re gonna want to walk away.” You could tell by Dean’s tone that he wasn’t messing around. You closed your eyes tightly, your own hands balled into fists.

“Oh, come on,” Matthew began to walk in almost a circle formation around Dean to get a better look at you. Dean took a step for every step Matthew took. “You know it’s the truth. The bitch certainly has a mind of her own,” he put his hands in his pockets. “Ya know? I found if you knock her around a little she loses the attitude.” He nodded towards Dean, almost as if he was saying “you’re welcome”.

That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

In one step, Dean pulled his right arm back and lunged at Matthew’s face. “You son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered just as his fist connected with Matthew’s jawline.

You didn’t realize you had screamed until you heard it echo off of the cars around you. “Dean!” Sam bellowed from the door. He hurried out to where Matthew and Dean were plummeting each other on the gravel drive.

Sam was able to get a grip on Dean, pulling him off of Matthew. You pulled at Dean’s jacket with a grip so tight your knuckles ached. Matthew laughed from the gravel below as he wiped at the blood dripping from his lip. He turned to the side to spit—half blood, half saliva.

“Hey man, I was just trying to give you some tips on how to handle her.”

“You’re gonna get up, and get the hell out of here,” Dean practically growled. “If I ever see you again, a busted lip, bruised ribs and a black eye will be the least of your problems.”

A crowd had started to grow as bar-goers realized there was a commotion in the lot.

“Hey, what’s going on??” A bartender yelled as he made his way towards where you were standing.

“Dean, we gotta go,” Sam pulled on Dean’s shoulder. Dean kept his stare on Matthew as he took a few steps backward, before turning towards the Impala. His arm snaked around your waist and pulled you tightly to him. His eyes bore into you—you couldn’t help but feel embarrassment work its way through you until your cheeks flushed.

“You drive,” Dean tossed Sam the keys. Sam didn’t hesitate to rev up the engine as the two of you slid into the backseat. Sam didn’t question it as he drove you away from the yellow light until the Impala was bathed in the darkness of the night.

You turned to face Dean—the only light provided by the nearly full moon. Your eyes swiftly moved across his features, looking for any sign of injury. “Are you okay?” Your throat was still dry, but you were able to find your words.

His fingertips lifted your chin so he could find your eyes with his. “I’m alright. What…who…he hurt you?” He was trying to find the right question to ask. Your heart sunk; you were a hunter. You had almost always been a hunter. Here you are, able to gank monsters and exorcize demons, but you got beat on by your ex-boyfriend? You never wanted to have to explain this to him. “Hey, talk to me. Please.”

You heaved a sigh. His voice was soft, muffled by the sound of the engine. Sam had one of his cassettes in, so you didn’t think he could hear you—his eyes focused on the road ahead. You ducked your head a bit as you tried to find the words.

“I-uh, I used to live here. Well, sort of.” You closed your eyes and creased your forehead—come on, just talk to him. You tried an internal pep talk. “There was a job here. A long time ago,” you started.

You unloaded.

You told him about how you had to stay in town longer than expected to investigate. Bobby had you on a hunt with Jo and Ellen. Each night, you went to a bar in town—though, not that bar—to blow off some steam. Matthew started off slowly by buying you drinks, complimenting you. He would tell you how beautiful you were.

After the job, Jo and Ellen left. But you stayed. You had felt so lonely, and Matthew made you feel like you weren’t lonely anymore. Weeks turned into months, and things seemed good—great, even. But then one night, he snapped. 

Bobby had called. There was something close by, and he needed an extra set of hands. Matthew seemed jealous, even more so after you couldn’t explain why you had to leave for a few nights or what you would be doing on this trip. That was the first time he hit you—left a shiner over your eye. You had lied to Bobby; told him you had tripped trying to find the bathroom one night and landed on the door knob.

You couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes after you finished your story. Thankfully, the Impala slowed to a stop in a spot at the lousy motel just off the highway. The sound of the engine cut as Sam pulled the keys from the ignition. Dean stayed silent as you pulled open your car door. Sam gave you, what felt like, a pitiful small smile. He patted your shoulder with his hand.

“Uh, I’ll see you guys in the morning?” If he had heard anything, he wasn’t going to address it. And you were thankful for that.

“Night, Sam,” you mustered.

You still wouldn’t find Dean’s eyes. You could feel his presence behind you as you put your room key in the door and pushed it open. It smelled musty—like mothballs and mildew. You tossed the key down on the dresser and pulled your arms tightly across your body. You closed your eyes and lowered your head; you begged the tears not to fall.

“Hey,” his voice was gentle and low. His hand reached to softly grasp your elbow in an effort to turn you towards him. “Baby, hey, look at me.”

You nervously opened your eyes to be met by his warm green eyes. You watched the specks of gold and brown in them, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

“I am so sorry that happened to you,” his eyes bore into you—you felt vulnerable and exposed. You closed your eyes tightly.

“Please don’t feel sorry for me, Dean,” you moved out of his grasp and sat on the edge of the bed. “I was an idiot. I didn’t leave. I went back to him after the hunt with Bobby. I made excuses for him. I thought I deserved it, Dean! God, I was such an idiot.” The words tasted bitter as they fell from your lips.

“Hey,” he sounded firm as he took two steps to move in front of you. He dropped to kneel between your legs and pulled your hands away from your face. “Don’t you ever say that again, you hear me? You are not an idiot. You are smart, you are beautiful, and you are strong. So don’t you ever say that about yourself again.”

You nodded as you felt the hot tears begin to fall from your eyes. He brought his calloused hands to your cheeks to catch the tears as he urged you to look him in his eyes.

“I want you to always feel safe,” he emphasized the last word.

“I wasn’t strong enough to keep myself safe, Dean. I can hunt monsters but I can’t leave a shitty human?” You scoffed at yourself through the tears.

“Listen to me,” he stood and kissed your forehead tenderly on his way up. He moved to sit next to you, his hand found your lower back and made those small, comforting circles once more. “In the times you feel like you can’t keep yourself safe, I will take care of you.” Dean wasn’t one for sap—he never had been. But you knew that was his way of saying he would protect you. “I got you.” 

And you knew that he meant it.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I had posted this on a separate Tumblr but it was linked to a separate blog, so I wanted to create a new on and share here! Would love to hear your thoughts and feedback. Thanks so much for reading <3

[ettadear]

He Is Safety

I Was No One Special Pt 2

Dean x Prophet!Reader, Sam, Jody

Summary: What happens when Sam and Dean stumble across a shy girl who just so happens to be the key to finding the answers they have been looking for.

Word Count: 2960

Warnings: Language, fear, frustration, anger, a momentary twinge of guilt,  Nightmares <- mentions of blood. 

Part 1 | Series Masterpost |  Masterlist   |  Ask Me Anything  | Tag Lists

YN’s POV

They come in bits and pieces. Nothing clear enough to make out what it is, who it is, or what’s happening. Everything just sort of happens in a blur. That’s got to be the most frustrating part about this whole thing, but from the little I can gather, whatever it is, it’s no good. It’s pure evil.

Tonight is no different. My head is thrown side to side, and my muscles clench, as flashes of different events unfold in my dreamworld. My breathing picks up, as I appear in a dark, desolate town. The air is damp with the fog that’s rolling through on the howling wind. It’s all too quiet there. Something’s off. I start to walk down the empty street, trying my best to take in any details I could, but between the fog, and the haziness that are these visions, there’s not much to make out.

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[ettadear]

frank castle is the king of pet names. he uses every one in the book, almost excessively.

“you look gorgeous in that outfit, sweetheart. gonna have to beat off all the guys who stare at you.”

“you’re bein’ a real pain in my ass today, princess. do i need to give you an attitude adjustment or something?”

“cookin’ me dinner, angel? christ, how did i get so lucky?”

“i love seein’ you in my clothes, dollface. love when they smell like you.”

“how was your day, honey? what’d you get up to while i was gone?”

“hey sugar, you mind bringin’ me another cup of coffee?”

“morning, sunshine. thought you were gonna sleep all day. was wonderin’ if i was gonna have to come rescue you.”

“slow down, pumpkin, you’re gonna tire yourself out before we start. what’s the rush for?”

“you’re my baby, right? yeah, yeah you are. so sweet, just for me.”

“i put away the laundry and did the dishes for you, ma’am. anything else on your honey-do list, or can i watch the game?”

“look at you, darlin’. as pretty as the day i met you.”

[ettadear]

The Next Day

Seeley Booth x Reader

Warnings; None (Hungover?)

Masterlist

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“Oh, what the…” you groan like a dying walrus.

Your voice was horsey and tight, you attempted to open your eyes but were greeted by the blinding light of the morning sun bursting through the window, to match the burning, dry eyes your vision was blurred as your head hammered dangerously – like Irish dancers wearing steel shoes jigging on your brain – whilst your stomach lunged in strong waves of sickness.

Yesterday was the Jeffersonian’s annual Christmas party, which equalled lots and lots of booze and resulting in the paralysing hangover you were now experiencing, your only saving grace was Dr Brennan had given the entire team the next day off, except of course if there was an emergency or a murder – which ever came first.

Rolling over in a desperate attempt to get comfortable and sooth your pounding head, when suddenly a wave of sickness so violent you leaped out of bed and sprinted to your ensuite bathroom, collapsing to your knees and hugging the toilet bowl as you throw up violently.

After a few minutes, and lots of praying to a god you don’t believe in, you pushed yourself off the toilet to sit on the cold, tiled floor beside it, pushing your legs out in front of you, your bare feet touching the side of the bathtub in front of you, “I’m never drinking again.” you mumble, closing your eyes in an attempt to make the room stop spinning.

“Y/N?” a sudden rough, masculine voice, echoed through the bathroom making you jump and scream. The sudden movement caused you to lunge for the toilet again. The shower curtain that enclosed the bath was pulled back harshly revealing a very ill looking Agent Seeley Booth laying in your bath, from your spot beside the toilet it was obviously he wasn’t wearing a shirt, his eyes were sunken in and dark as his complexion is pale from sickness.

“Are you wearing any clothes?” you ask, moving yourself back to your original seat.

Booth looked down for a moment, “Just boxers.”

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