#charity heist

[talesmaniac89]

Charity Heist - Masterlist

Hitter!Dean x Thief!Reader  - An SPN Heist AU

Pairing: Dean x female!reader (you)

Summary: The Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency is the best group of con artists in the world. But even though Y/N can crack safes, scale buildings and infiltrate even the most secure locations, she still can't find a way to deal with her all consuming feelings for the group's greek god of a hitter; Dean Winchester. How will she handle their next big heist, when she's forced to get up close and personal with the man of her dreams?

Warnings: Idiots in love, smutty thoughts, a lot of swearing, a ton of bad jokes.

A/N: This story is 50% jokes and 50% dirty thoughts. No deep angst, just fun and action! A Heist AU inspired by Leverage.

CHAPTER 1 - aka. The Pre-Coffee Preamble

CHAPTER 2 - aka. The Bad Guns

CHAPTER 3 - aka. Front Row Seats to the Gun Show CHAPTER 4 - aka. The Arm Candy Conundrum

CHAPTER 5 - aka. The Swanky Party

CHAPTER 6 - aka. Trapped in the Closet CHAPTER 7 - aka. The Scaredy Cat Stratagem CHAPTER 8 - aka. B is for Boredom, Bad Decisions and Bobo the Clown CHAPTER 9 - aka. Can’t be a Superhero Without a Sad Backstory CHAPTER 10 - aka. The Joys of Soundproofing CHAPTER 11 - aka. The Reluctant Rescue Team CHAPTER 12 - aka. All Chained Up With Nowhere to Go Ch. 13 - aka. INFORMATION REDACTED Ch. 14 - aka. INFORMATION REDACTED Ch. 15 - aka. INFORMATION REDACTED Ch. 16 - aka. INFORMATION REDACTED Ch. 17 - aka. INFORMATION REDACTED

New chapter names and publication dates will be revealed as the story progresses!

[tiny-huts]

He just abandoned his son, embezzled a ton of money, cheated on his wife, assassinated people, and took over a different city but it's fine. Don't worry about it. His son just had bad vibes

[spaceyshenanigans]

Time to force my family to listen to markiplier again

[onenettvchannel]

BREAKING OVERNIGHT: Western, Central and Eastern Visayas areas hits the Grand Lotto 6/55 Jackpot with a Lottery Heist of PHP236M using the Elementary Multiplication Math Table [#RadyoBanderaEXCLUSIVE]

DUMAGUETE, NEGROS ORIENTAL -- The Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office (PCSO), a government-owned lottery in Mandaluyong, National Capital Region had now been hit the Jackpot prize of Grand Lotto 6/55 worth PHP236,091,188.40 (U$D4,015,053.84) Saturday night (October 1st, 2022) excluding tax pursuant to 20% under the Republic Act #10963 or Tax Reform for Acceleration and Inclusion known as TRAIN law.

433 winners in our country's nation, including all the Visayas key area groups which are now listed overnight are the following: *Aklan (3), Antique and Capiz (1), Iloilo (10) & Negros Occidental (3) for the Western Visayas region. *Cebu (14), Bohol (4) & Negros Oriental (5) for the Central Visayas region. and *Western Samar, Biliran and Southern Leyte (1), Eastern Samar (2) & mainland Leyte (7) for the Eastern Visayas region.

Overall as final, only 53 out of 433 winners (12.24% per regional population) per all regions of the Visayas which can be split equally for PHP28,897,997.72 (U$D491,462.54) per winning combination of 09-45-36-27-18-54 in any particular order. It's a historic record breaking winning combination ends with a simplicity secret of Elementary Multiplication Math Table (EMMT).

In a tweeted post from the ABS-CBN Data Analytics head named Edson Guido and a video YouTuber named Nico David... The odds of 6 out of 55 winning numbers per multiples of 9, you'll get 1 out of 28,989,675 or 0.000003%. One YouTuber tells us exclusively to Radyo Bandera via YouTube LIVE, you are more likely as repetitive to be killed by a lightning strike thrice or maybe more. Even as much slightly worse, you will be invited in advance per backstage VIP pass to meet Robbert van de "Hardwell" Corput at the Ultra Music Festival or Tomorrowland, who was headlining thru the main stage to play in future events with a newest and exclusive Electronic Dance Music (EDM) single with a music selection of your own choice.

Others from the highest ranking in Metro Manila (151), Cavite (34) and Rizal (22) with a splitted individual prize of PHP112,865,764.68 (U$D1,919,485.80) as according to ONE News. Consolation prizes for the 2nd placer worth PHP100,000 for 331 winners (U$D1,700.70), 3rd placer worth PHP1,500 for 2,491 (U$D25.51) and the last 4th placer ends to PHP60 (U$D1.02). That's a lot of scientific lottery math per big win!

Former News Director of DYYD-FM 106.3mhz's Yes! The Best: Dumaguete and a current News Editor of ABS-CBN News named Raffy Iphraim Cabristante, the Philippine senator named Aquilino "Koko" Pimentel II will be investigated for a gaming activity to file a resolution at the senate hearing. Pimentel said, is to ensure the agency's integrity and protect millions of Filipino bettors, following the said result which can be called "strange and unusual".

Unlike any other lotteries in the United States of America for example, instead of 1 winner or more during a press conference Sunday afternoon (Manila local time) before the 2pm lottery draw as PCSO General Manager named Mel Robles in a statement, "We have found nothing wrong. In fact, we're pleased that a lot of people won, especially with Christmas nearing", he said.

The PCSO maintains lotto is a game of chance and there is no human intervention in choosing the said winning numbers. There is no room for error as of this writing of it: "PCSO assures every Filipino, whether you are playing the lotto or not that the conduct and result of every draw are very transparent and of the utmost integrity. One thing is certain, if you will not play the lotto, you will not have a chance to win and help the government and the country".

Grand Lotto 6/55 will be reset on Monday (October 3rd, 2022) to PHP29,700,000 (U$D505,102.04) and it will be drawn every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday nights. Those who have won the jackpot are asked to validate their winning tickets and 2 valid ID's to the PCSO's main office in Shaw Boulevard, Mandaluyong City, National Capital Region. All expense paid airport trip from the Visayas to Metro Manila is also a plus. Winning unclaimed ticket is valid for only a year or later forfeited and takes home separately to PHP545,245.24 (U$D9,272.90).

Negrosanons and the rest of the Visayas region can now enjoy to secure your future in a super huge multi-millionaire, along with your trusted financial experts and a lawyer first that can change your life forever for now.

Congratulations to all the 433 jackpot winners of Grand Lotto 6/55!!!

SCREENGRAB for REPRESENTATION: Google Maps BACKGROUND PROVIDED BY: Tegna

SOURCE: *https://www.facebook.com/100069066345193/posts/1457080784798329 [Referenced FB LIVE Video from the PCSO GOV] *https://lawphil.net/statutes/repacts/ra2017/ra_10963_2017.html *https://www.facebook.com/385030801902812/posts/1506619169743964 [Referenced FB News Article from ONE News] *https://www.facebook.com/100069066345193/posts/421852110126997 [Referenced FB Image Post from PCSO GOV] *https://www.mathsisfun.com/tables.html [Referenced EMMT from the MathIsFun website] *https://www.pcso.gov.ph/pcsofiles/cotejos/2022/10/cotejo20221001.jpg [Referenced Detailed Sheet from the PCSO website] *https://twitter.com/EdsonCGuido/status/1576219816100212737 [Referenced Tweeted Post from Edson Guido] *https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T80WSkrik7c [Referenced YT Video from Nico David (skip the timestamp of 15m1s)] *https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hardwell *https://news.abs-cbn.com/news/10/02/22/senators-eye-probe-into-suspicious-lotto-results [Referenced News Article #1 from ABS-CBN News] *https://www.facebook.com/100015222016326/posts/822162532470539 [Referenced FB LIVE VIDEO from a Press Conference via PC-SO] *https://www.manilatimes.net/2022/10/03/news/national/nothing-wrong-with-lotto-draw/1860693 [Referenced News Article #2f from The Manila Times] and *https://www.pcso.gov.ph/Games/Lotto/GrandLotto655.aspx

-- OneNETnews Team

[hana-no-seiiki]

Hi! I’m the one who asked about Cat Villain! Reader theme lol. It’s nice to have a person to think as same as me, anyway civilians probably confusing about how all 4 Robins so fond of the villain but they still have that kind of rivalry to them, at least in civilians’ views. STILL

I’d like to add another trailer song that I often use when rotting over cat villain! reader

Eula’s theme is such a good one for heists/a little tango with the bois.

I feel like the general public have a general clue as to the relationship of cat villain! reader and the robins

purely because some of the guys (*cough* Jason *cough*) has fucked them in public, and as much as Gotham is unsafe at night, and no matter how many measures the boys put to protect you, there will always be fanatics that’ll witness everything you guys do.

of course, the damning info is mostly kept in small circles due to the miraculous power of ‘paying people to take shit down’ the Waynes have but a lot of fans have headcannoned and could sometimes build an entirely accurate version of your relationships.

tim was definitely one of your top fansite keepers before he became robin (even though it wasn’t his main focus). he most likely influenced a very uh… ‘sasaeng’ type of attitude in your fandom. which wasn’t regulated well until he realized his mistakes. nowadays, he makes sure your fans are more tamed.

sometimes i imagine cat villain! reader to be a celebrity, less known in america and mostly abroad (bonus if you guys aren’t from there to begin with, so your popularity can just be focused on or around your home country) that is until they were suddenly seen with Dick Grayson in public. you two were very much young and not careful.

people know you as that person that dated Dick, and is now extremely close with his brother, Tim. Definitely scandalous. The only thing stopping Damian from being labeled as one of your conquests is that, dude only realized his feelings recently and he usually approaches your civilian form as Robin. why? Damian’s just a show off, but Robin can be a show off without being seen as arrogant. he’s just doing his job

you have your fair share of villain friends you enjoy hanging out/sleeping with. some of them do you favors in exchange for a night. mostly because they know it’ll piss off the Batboys and throw them off their game though it does come with the risk of being beaten down to death.

i also think it’d be funny if in civilian form as a celeb, cat villain! reader just likes to profess their ‘undying love’ to Bruce 24/7 and how he totally slept with them once and their heart has been taken since. just like to be a menace and cause more chaos with people accusing them of using his kids.

when you found out tim protected your image and generally surveyed posts about you 24/7 you got into a little argument cause you wanted the world to breakdown about your identity and the shit you’ve done

and last but not least, the only reason you haven’t been cancelled to non-existence is cause of your large donations to charity and very humble living. sure, you liked to troll the universe in its entirety but in the end cat villain! reader main purpose is to help the needy. you’re most likely one of Bruce’s biggest investors (again, just to be a little shit)

you’re a little shit yeah, but you’re the batfam’s little shit.

OH! and you like visiting Jason’s grave even after he came back. partly due to missing his old self, but it also assists with keeping his identity unknown with how often you guys are together.

bonus: you’ve interacted a fair bit with the batgirls and duke. by that i mean you’ve bullied them all at some point that it has become almost a christening ritual for you to be a menace to each member.

[flammingnachos]

“𝘰𝘰𝘱𝘴“ 𝖣𝖺𝖻（）𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝗌 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 （𝘔）

𝖲𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌；𝖠 𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖬𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖣𝖺𝖻𝗂－ 𝗈𝗁，𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀；（The reader is the #11 Pro-hero Nocturne whose quirk involves emitting ear-splitting frequencies. It's a mix between a bat and an owl, flying also included. Similarly, Nocturne cannot function in bright light at all without high-coverage goggles and works solely in the nighttime）

．

In retrospect, this was probably a long time coming.

Your eyes open and immediately close when you realize just how fucking bright it is, too bright—at least for your hypersensitivity to light.

The second thing you notice is that you're strapped to a chair, arms behind your back encased in what feels like handcuffs if the sounds of jingling are anything to go by. Your legs are similarly tied against the limbs of the chair.

You tug too hard on your restraints and pain shoots up the length of your wrists. It's on too fucking tight and you have no idea how you're supposed to get it off without breaking your thumb.

And the last thing you notice is that you aren't alone. There's someone in the room (it might be a warehouse) with you. You may not be able to see them right now but you can hear breathing as clear as day and it's not your own.

Briefly, you stop fighting against the cuffs and tilt your head to the side. "Enjoying the view?" You question boldly.

To be honest, you have no idea if the person watching you is a friend or foe... but the fact that you're tied up like this tells you that it's probably the latter.

"Oh, it's definitely been interesting so far." intones a deep voice somewhere in front of you. "I'm such a big fan of yours, Nocturne. You have no idea."

So they know your hero name. "I'd be delighted to give you an autograph. All you have to do is get these handcuffs off me."

The person gives a deep, low chuckle. You're inclined to believe that it's probably a man but you can't recognize the voice for the life of you.

And it isn't as though you can fucking see them either because your eyes are shot.

"You're cheeky, I like that." comments the unknown man. You hear the heaviness of footfall as he steadily moves closer to you. The ghost of his breath wafts across your cheek and you involuntarily shift away from it. "I'm going to enjoy breaking it out of you."

Over the heavy silence left in the wake of his words, you hear the sounds of waves lapping against the shore—and suddenly you remember what you're doing here.

You'd been investigating a heist at the piers with someone... gotten separated, and then been knocked out in the ensuing battle. You can remember the lick of blue flames against your skin, so close it was frightening.

You are here, trapped, because you fucked up badly and got too cocky in the heat of the moment. It was only a matter of time before your impulsiveness caught up to you.

(What you hadn't been banking on was that day being today.)

"You must be... Dabi." You whisper, the name rolling off your tongue effortlessly.

"The great Nocturne knows my name? I'm swooning." He says, confirming all of your suspicions in one fell swoop. You swallow harshly and ignore the light trying to break through your closed eyelids.

"W-Well, you know what they say. A hero's no good without a little charity."

He hums to himself, "Oh? I guess it's my turn to play the hero and pay you a little..." His hand moves to your throat. "Charity."

He doesn't squeeze down around your neck but he could if he so desired it. You know it and so does he. Despite your obvious disadvantage here, you can't help but feel like you're in command. Whether it comes from your own narcissism or your genuine beliefs that you can turn the tables on him, excitement still bubbles in your chest.

"I don't want to hurt you." He murmurs, but you know a false statement when you hear one. "I'm just doing my job here."

"Don't worry. I know all too well what that's like." You say sympathetically, holding still as he finally obscurs the source of light that caused you to shut your eyes in the first place with his body.

As far as villains go, Dabi is not ugly. In fact, he has quite a nice face if you look beneath the grotesque body modifications that mar his skin. The electrifying blue of his irises trap you like a bird in a cage, rendering you incapable of looking away. And you don't want to either.

He raises a brow as a smirk slowly begins to filter across his lips. "Eyes finally adjusted?"

"Sorta."

You're surprised that he doesn't know how your quirk works yet. It doesn't matter how long you sit beneath bright light and wait for your eyes to get acquainted with it... you still won't be able to see until it's dark again.

Where else would you have gotten the name Nocturne from?

"I have to admit, I like it when you keep your eyes on me." muses Dabi, "But then again, did you ever hear that once you take away sight, the other senses instantly become sharper?"

"I have heard that, yes." You say, humoring him.

"Care to test that theory?"

Your heartbeat jumps to your throat when you feel your chair tilting backwards, balanced on its two back legs as Dabi holds it up. The light assaults your vision again and you squeeze your eyes shut, a strangled cry falling fro𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍

There goes that power you thought you had.

If he drops the chair, you don't know what will happen to you, especially to your hands still tied behind it. The sheer feeling of being suspended in the air causes all of your senses to go on high alert.

If he intends to let you fall, you have no choice in the matter. In fact, as ideas filter through your head, you realize even if you break both your thumbs, the cuffs are so tight they still won't budge. You're stuck.

"What do you want me to do?" You hiss, struggling to keep your voice even. "Beg? Cry?"

"Nah, I don't get off on words alone." He shrugs, a curious lilt to his voice. "I'm looking for actions, Nocturne. Actions."

Dabi shifts his hand to the part of the chair beneath your head and brings his face towards you, a grin painting his normally impassive expression.

Half of you is thankful that he's drawn himself so close because this is the only way you can get a read on his expression. The other half of you is more than a little irritated that the lights behind him give him the ethereal glow of a halo – ironic.

The ball is in your court but he can take away the autonomy you cherish so badly if he wants to.

You really hope you're reading this man right because God help you if you aren't —

"Fuck it." You say and lean forward as much as your restraints will allow you to kiss him.

Dabi responds to your touch immediately, gnashing his teeth against your lower lip with so much intensity you feel the blood trickle down your mouth.

It sparks your senses to full awareness, eliciting an involuntary whimper from you when he slides his tongue against the wound he's created, lapping up the blood he drew from your skin. He's so into this that you fear he might drop your chair just from the high he seems to be getting from his own actions.

Dabi drops your chair back down to solid ground and undoes the bindings around your legs. The window for escape is right there but caught up in the heat of your own desire, you completely forget to use it.

The thought doesn't occur to you that you can kick his shins and free yourself until he picks you up and slams you up against a wall, hooking your legs around his waist. Your cuffed wrists are utterly useless, wedged behind your back in the most uncomfortable way possible.

Mild pain shoots up your spine when you feel his nails dig into the flesh beneath your thighs. He kisses you again, hard and bruising and then dips his chin to drag the flat of his tongue against your pulse point, nipping at your collarbone.

Your head tilts back, meeting the harsh resistance of the wall behind you. The thump sound is loud in the quiet of this... whatever this place is, and Dabi chuckles quietly. "Impatient?"

"I'm just getting started." You manage, the jingle of the metal around your wrists severely impacting your ability to get comfortable. "I'd be happy if you could get these cuffs off."

"Yeah? I'm sure you would be."

You try to convince yourself that the only reason you want the handcuffs off is so that you can run but you know better than to think that. You like this more than you care to admit and the proof is in the warmth pooling in your abdomen.

"Poor little hero, left all alone." sings Dabi, his lips moving to the shell of your ear. "This is one sticky situation you've gotten yourself into, Nocturne."

"I'm used to it." You retort, voice strained. "Besides... better me than..."

Oh.

You were here with someone.

The memories flash white behind your eyes; red wings, a stupid tawny coat, feathers that tried to carry you away to safety when the blaze broke out.

You were here with Hawks.

Dabi chuckles lowly. "You're remembering something, aren't you?"

Had he done something to Hawks? No. No, that can't be it. Hawks is the number two hero in all of Japan and Dabi is just a B-ranked villain, low enough that in the heat of a battle, your superiors would probably tell you to leave him be.

"Where is he?" You question, your voice wavering on lack of control. "Did you do anything to him?"

Dabi rolls his eyes. "Articulate, Nocturne. Who is he?"

You're almost hesitant to drop the name of your friend but Dabi intends to hold out if you continue to be so vague. "Hawks–Where is he?"

"Oh, him." He scoffs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your throat. "I couldn't care less about that dumbass."

"Well, fuck you too, Dabi."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The familiar voice has your stiff muscles immediately relaxing until you remember the position that you're still in. This would appear bad no matter how you spun it. You don't have a clue how to explain this to Hawks.

Over the width of Dabi's shoulder, you can faintly see Hawks at the doorway, expression impassive as he kicks the door shut and stalks towards you, the clomping of his boots drowning out the buzzing of blood in your veins.

"Bird-brain finally decided to show up." remarks Dabi against the hollow of your throat. "This should be good."

His teeth scrape along your skin, deep enough to draw blood which he immediately soothes with a chaste kiss as though that helps you any. The bruises on your skin after today's ordeal will be a bitch to go away.

"Welcome back." says Dabi. He may be dealing with you but his attention has already shifted over to Hawks. "Thanks for the little present. As you can see, we're having tons of fun."

You swallow and meet Hawks' gaze, finding that while he's frowning, the air of concern for your well-being that should be there... isn't. "H-Hawks..." You whimper, the rest of your words traded for a low keen when Dabi drags his teeth along the curve of your neck, tickling your sensitive spot.

"Alright, alright." sighs Hawks tiredly as he grabs a fistful of Dabi's hair, craning his neck back and forcing his mouth away from you. The loss of contact nearly makes you yearn for it again.

You're being rescued, finally. Maybe rescued isn't the word to use because loathe as you are to admit it, you're enjoying yourself so far. But Hawks has come to put a stop to this madness, bless his soul.

Dabi doesn't look put off by the way Hawks is handling him. In fact, to you he almost seems pleased, blinking languidly like a satisfied cat basking in its own chaos.

You're expecting a punch or to see Dabi's hands drip blue flames as he attacks. Anything.

Hawks drags Dabi into a hot and heavy kiss, making a great show of licking into his mouth and adjusting his grip on his knotted hair as Dabi seems to melt into the touch, groaning lower than you've bore witness to so far.

You gasp, eyes blown wide with shock that courses through the entirety of your body. That kiss was too familiar and too intimate to be considered as it is.

This isn't their first meeting.

Hawks pulls away from Dabi with a wet pop that does absolutely nothing to detract from your arousal. The dark-haired man drags his tongue over the seam of his lips and grins.

"You're friends." You whisper, a cold sweat dripping down your back. "And I've been played."

"Friends?" snorts Dabi, pulling away from the wall as he sets you back down on your feet. "That's one way to put it."

"Sorry, (Y/n)." says Hawks, but nothing in his voice actually makes you believe that he feels any semblance of guilt. "You'll figure it out soon."

Will you? Just how long have they know each other and been working together like this? There are too many pieces to this puzzle.

"Are you going to be joining us, Hawks?" wonders Dabi, bringing you flush against his chest as you feel the hardness of his cock on your thigh.

The hero in question hums to himself, "I'm considering it. You started without me after all..."

"I couldn't help it." Dabi's eyes flick back to you, a sly smirk forming over his features. "Why don't you ask (Y/n) for her opinion?"

You feel a rush of heat coil in your chest when he says your name. It tightens the more you stare into the bright blue of his eyes.

Hawks circles around you, slowly and steadily like a... well, hawk, and settles his hands at your hips as he noses at your jaw. "How about it?" rumbles Hawks, "Do you want me too?"

You find yourself nodding despite every brain cell in your body screaming otherwise. You'd be lying if you said you'd never thought about Hawks that way.

Until now, you'd always thought that he was capable, suave, sexy and a trustworthy dude–and everything except the last point still stands. You may not be able to trust him anymore but that doesn't mean you still can't want him to fuck you.

Your quick response has Hawks chuckling against your skin, the smooth sound causing a storm to brew inside of you. "Narcissist." He teases.

He's called you a before that before during TV interviews when you compliment your own good work before you do his. The context is wildly different now, though, but the familiarity is bruising.

"Maybe I am." You say, biting your tongue when he squeezes a handful of your ass. His skin is cold, a stark difference from the heat of Dabi's fingers.

"Haven't you been cruel enough, Dabi? Poor thing can barely see." says Hawks dryly.

"Huh, I never took you for the benevolent type." says Dabi, his palms finding the swell of your breasts. He brushes his thumb against one hardened nipple and your breath hitches in your throat.

"Benevolent? No, no." chuckles Hawks, "Don't get me twisted up for some sorta holier than thou hero."

God, just what the fuck is going on? How long has Hawks been two-timing the entirety of Japan?

"Okay, (Y/n)..." purrs the black-haired man. "I'll give you a choice. Handcuffs or the lights?"

Fuck. You'd really prefer to lose both. Your arms are aching but so are your eyes and a migraine is well on its way – "Lights." You say through gritted teeth, hoping that this decision was for the best.

A feather from Hawks' elaborate wings shoot out and destroy the light fixture overhead. You brace yourself for the rain of tiny glass shards but it never comes. More of his feathers have begun to sweep away the projectiles before they can even land.

The only reason you can tell is because the darkness engulfing the three of you finally enables you to see clearly. The true powers of Nocturne, laid bare and in the open.

It feels like you can get your bearings at last.

"Dabi, babe, you don't need the knife. There's a zipper right here." exhales Hawks, finding the zip on your side that can unravel your costume in an instant.

The pet name he has for Dabi draws a perplexed tick to your brow and the fact that Dabi doesn't protest the nickname makes it grow tenfold.

You hadn't even noticed the flamed villain toting a small hunting knife until it comes up in conversation. He tosses it aside and it clatters to the ground nearby. God, who knew what other weapons he has on him.

Hawks prods the zipper on your back and begins to zip it down slowly and tantalizingly. The costume pools at your feet, followed shortly behind by your panties as Hawks hooks his fingers at the waistband and tears it off.

The frigid midnight air sparks a layer of goosebumps along your arms and legs. You suppress a shiver, not yet sure whether it is the cause of the temperature or your own heady anticipation.

Dabi moves closer and sinks one digit into your heat, his fingers calloused but warm, jarring enough to make you jolt. He nudges your legs apart, just enough to press one more finger in and – fuck.

His thumb circles your clit and your knees suddenly feel like buckling. Without him and Hawks caging you between them, you know your legs would have given out by now.

"You're so fucking wet." coos Dabi, "I bet you'd be able to take both of us at once."

You shake your head instinctively, the mere idea outlandish to you. The amount of preparation that would need to go into that sort of thing... Astronomical.

"Let's save that for next time." chuckles Hawks, reaching over to palm your breasts. You have to wonder if he's trying to save you or just acting on his own merits.

Something about his flawless movements coupled with the processing of his words still sends a wave of dizziness down your back.

But still, next time? Was there really going to be a next time? You've barely made it through this round alive and you aren't done yet.

(The fact that you're even entertaining the idea is bad enough as it is. Fuck.)

You let your head fall back against Hawks' shoulder as Dabi twists his fingers, hitting the spot that will inevitably lead to your orgasm. God, you're so close already and nothing's even happened yet.

You arch your back and Hawks claims your half-parted lips in a searing kiss, distracting you from the pressure of Dabi sinking another finger into your pussy.

Three. You're up to three right now and it still feels like you can take another. You can feel your climax coming. It's so close you can taste it on your tongue, a saccharine sweetness that leaves spots in your vision as you try to ride it out.

"Hey. Any more and she'll come before we do." comments Hawks wryly. "Dabi."

The black-haired man sighs lazily and reluctantly slides his fingers out of you, stealing your deserved climax with it. The foreign feeling of emptiness draws an uncharacteristic whine from the back of your throat. Dabi meets your gaze as he licks your wetness from his fingers, slow and sweet as he taunts you.

"I'm losing my patience." complains Hawks, placing a firm hand on your waist as he bends you forward. The impact sends your nose into Dabi's chest and you cannot even right yourself since your hands are still restrained.

You hear the smooth unbuckling of Hawks' belt and brace yourself as his cock slides between your thighs, brushing against your overstimulated clit and dragging out another cry from your lips.

His nails carve indents in your hips as he thrusts into you seamlessly with all the purpose of a self-righteous asshole. He rolls his hips and a low moan of satisfaction leaves his mouth.

Dabi grabs your jaw, forcing his thumb past the boundary of your lip as he leaves the taste of your own pussy on your tongue. "Have you ever sucked cock before?" He asks, his voice low and husky.

"She's a fast learner." says Hawks in your stead. Any words you think you can imagine are swallowed up by a keen of pleasure as his palm strikes your ass.

Hawks takes his time with every thrust; sheathing himself all the way into your heat until you feel his abdomen against your back, and then he pulls all the way back before ramming into you again.

He leaves you feeling so fucking full but the pace is slovenly and it makes you want to tear your hair (or his) out in frustration.

"Open." says Dabi curtly. You turn your attention back towards him and find him stroking his cock to full length with one hand, his thumb still on your bottom lip with the other.

You part your lips and take his weeping slit into your mouth. If you had access to your hands, this would be much easier because relying on the strength of your jaw is time-consuming. You twirl your tongue along his shaft as you try to attune yourself to his size.

He's not enormous by any means, but the position of your body makes it hard for you to fully appreciate the length of his dick. "Fuck," He groans, canting his hips as he presses deeper into your mouth.

With each bob of your head, you take more of him into your mouth, humming around his cock. He cards his hands through your hair and guides you along his dick.

Hawks on the other hand, has upped the ante a little bit more. His hands shift from your hips to your stomach as he drives into you erratically, his hands flexing around the curve of your ass. "I'm close." He says over a groan. "Fuck, (Y/n)."

Me too, you think as your breath comes to stuttered halts in your chest. You're so fucking close, you can feel it again. You drag the flat of your tongue along Dabi's cock and feel him twitch in your mouth.

Every inch of your body feels like it might break down as a cool shiver wracks your spine. Your self-restraint gives one final shout and surrenders as soon as Hawks presses down on your clit, his last thrust powerful and fulfilling.

You don't know who you comes first but your orgasm hits you with such tremendous force that it causes tears to spill down your cheeks, mixing with the salt of Dabi's seed as he finishes in your mouth.

Hawks reaches the precipice of his orgasm last, pulling out of you just in time to coat the surface of your back with his cum. The sensation is uncomfortable but you're too exhausted to worry.

Your legs finally give out and you sink to your knees, finding that Dabi has caught you under your arms before you could hit the ground. He pets your hair with sickening sweetness and you feel his heartbeat, frantic but steadily decreasing speed.

"You okay?" breathes Hawks, picking up what remains of your clothes. "You held up pretty well."

"I'm–" Your voice is ragged and hoarse and your throat hurts more than you'd like to admit. "Can you please get these cuffs off now?"

Hawks sends another feather to the restraints around your wrists and the sharp edge singes it off. You still don't know how the fuck his quirk works but you aren't complaining. Being able to use your hands feels like freedom at last.

"Now that we've met all your demands, Princess." says Dabi thoughtfully as your vision suddenly tilts. You find yourself against the floor flat on your back, with him straddling your hips teasingly. "How about a second round?"

They'd made a fatal mistake freeing your arms while also leaving you perfectly in your element (the dark).

You scoff and kick your leg out, knocking the wind out of Dabi as you roll him over onto his back, hand splayed out around his throat. "On one condition." You say, lips pulling into a grin. "I'm on top."

Dabi, to his credit is unpertubed, his breath a mere wheeze as he stares up at you. "I like her." He says to Hawks, eyes glimmering with mischief. "Should we?"

"Oh, I can go all night." Hawks retorts, dropping to his knees beside you. "Question is... can you?"

"...Try me." You say, your voice perfectly level and controlled as you fight the smirk that threatens to form over your face.

You're walking a thin line between your own morals and needless self-indulgence. But you don't mind seeing where this takes you.

[iprobablyshipit91]

iprobablyshipit91 Fic Recs

So this started as me keeping links of all my favourite Dean Winchester fics that I finally decided to share so others could hopefully find some great stories and the authors would know how much I love their work. It’s kind of grown to a very, very huge list, but I love everyone of these works, they’re amazing and deserve so much love. I hope you find something you love on here 💕

There’s a mix of fluff, angst, smut, au etc. Please make sure you read the warnings for each story on it’s own page.

Beautiful Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Dean Winchester x Reader

Should I Stay or Should I Go by @daisythekitty

Sweet Dreams by @deanssweetheart23

Slip Up by @deanwritings

Bad Moon Rising by @hintsofhoney

Not the Planned Delivery by @lazydoodlesandfanfic

Unnamed by @lostdreamr-blog1

I’ve Got You by @spnexploration

Broken Ribs Against Fingertips by @the--blackdahlia

Motel Diablo by @waynes-multiverse

Sharing is Caring by @zepskies

Mini Date by @avanatural

The Talk by @avanatural

And Baby Makes Four by @carryonmywaywardone-shots

Nows the Time by @crashdevlin

Down on Dean by @deanwanddamons

The Prettiest One by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

Always You and Me by @deanwinchesterswitch

Bullets and Bands by @deanwinchesterswitch

Capeesh? By @deanwritings

I Ship It by @deanwritings

It’s Okay by @deanwritings

Safe Now by @deanwritings

What We Lost by @deanwritings

Tell Me About… by @impala-dreamer

Glances by @kasimagines

It’s Okay, I Love You by @kasimagines

Poison by @kasimagines

Obeying Temptation by @kittenofdoomage

Sweet Satisfaction by @kittenofdoomage

Nannas Love Sammy by @littlegreenplasticsoldier

Something New by @princessmisery666

Date Night by @princessmisery666

I Would Never Hurt You by @procrastinatorimagines

Frayed Ends by @scuttling

Must be Love on the Brain by @sleepywinchester

Below Freezing by @soaringeag1e

Promises by @supersleepygoat

Friendzoned by @talesmaniac89

Stupid Cupid by @talesmaniac89

Crazy on You by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Different by @watermelonlipstick

Labyrinth by @waynes-multiverse

Love on the Brain by @waynes-multiverse

Gesundheit by @waynes-multiverse

Dark Waters by @wearywinchester

Above Ground by @wearywinchester

I Won’t Say (I’m in Love) by @zepppie

The Wrong Winchester by @cherry3point14

Good Things by @crashdevlin

Baby Spoon by @deanwanddamons

Rumours by @deanwinchesterswitch

Blind Love by @jawritter

Faded by @kasimagines

Sacrifice by @kasimagines

The Last Call by @kasimagines

To Know You by @littlegreenplasticsoldier

Watch and Learn by @littlegreenplasticsoldier

Can’t Fight This Feeling by @pink-sparkly-witch

Mischief Managed (2) by @sinfulsoulx

A Few Moments of Madness | Last Time? by @smellingofpoetry

Familiar by @spnhunter4life

Dream On by @talesmaniac89

Well, Hello There Stranger by @talesmaniac89

If You Want it to Be by @zepskies

Midnight Espresso | Devour Me by @zepskies

Clear the Area by Alisha Ashton

Many of Horror by Alisha Ashton

Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks by Alisha Ashton

In the Dark by Alisha Ashton

Comfort by @fangirlingfromdownunder

Baby, We’ve got a Problem by @deanwritings

Night Falls by @deanwritings

Captives of the Court by @impala-dreamer

Carry On by @jawritter

My Saviour by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

Heart of a Hunter by @muchamusedaboutnothing

The Widow by @pink-sparkly-witch

The One That Got Away by @pink-sparkly-witch

Hold On I’m Coming by @ravengirl94

The Arrangement by @ravengirl94

Long Way Home by @supersleepygoat

Cross my Heart by @smol-and-grumpy

Home to You by @smol-and-grumpy

Collared by @spnexploration

Pack by @spnexploration

Limelight by @talesmaniac89

Charity Heist by @talesmaniac89

The Man in Apartment 43 by @talesmaniac89

Practically Magic by @thelibrarylesstrektraveled

Supernatural Series Rewrite: Season 1 by @waywardaardvark79

Supernatural Series Rewrite: Season 2 by @waywardaardvark79

Miscommunication by @winchest09

Don’t Say a Word by @winchester-girl67

Never Say Goodbye by @zepskies

[queenie-official]

Okay so you’re one of the only ones I’ve seen mention AJ recently so I wanted to come to you with this thought. You know the ‘write a prisoner’ website it went around tiktok for a little? Well I was thinking, in a universe where his ending is different (no spoilers just in case your other followers haven’t watched it) reader finds him on the write a prisoner site and they become penpals. You’re able to develop a genuine connection with one another and he’s able to talk and vent to you about everything that’s gone wrong/right in his life and you’re able to do the same thing. He ends up writing you sappy little poems and love notes eventually cause he realizes you are more than just a penpal to him. At some point you end up surprising him with an actual visit and it just solidifies his feelings being able to finally see you in person. If we’re going off of the mafia!au for him, then maybe he ends up having some of his men on the outside start to keep tabs on you..solely for protection purposes of course not because he wants to make sure he’s the only guy you’re talking to. There’s a couple videos I saw where the girls were still able to be surprised with flowers on the doorstep somehow by their penpal and I definitely feel like he’d do the same thing. There’d be a line in one of his notes afterwards of like ‘Did you get my little surprise, sweetheart? Just wait till you see how much I can really spoil you once I’m out of here.’ Ahhh maybe it’s just me that gets all giggly at this idea. Idk just a little thought 😅

main masterlist

OMG STOP I LOVE THIS SM!!

okay so ima break this up a bit because it’s easier for my brain to focus 😭 will start with looking at it from Aj’s character and then from if it was Mafia!Ani

(i’d also like to state idk how the ‘write a prisoner’ website works exactly but i feel like it’s pretty self explanatory so ima just roll with how it works in my mind)

Aj: becoming pen pals with a prisoner and bonding is a lot easier then you went into the website thinking, you only really go in with the fact you’ll be speaking with a criminal. once you see his photo your interest is peaked (i mean how could it not look at him)

anyway you guys start off with simple topics when messaging like favorite hobbies and Aj mentions to you that he has a love for playing the piano- (idk about you guys but there’s nothing hotter then a man who can play an instrument and play it well) maybe he even makes a promise to you that when he gets out he’ll play for you.

and Aj is such a sweetheart he so would write you poems maybe he starts off with something simple and sweet that can be interpreted in a friend way because for as confident as a guy he is you make him nervous. he only started writing you poems once you two where close enough for him to feel safe and be open with his thoughts and how he got into this situation. and honestly you don’t think he’s to bad of guy after all he never went out of his way to kill anyone during a heist and he always made sure to donate a percentage to charity organizations, so you’re able to push the fact he’s a criminal aside.

as your relationship with him progresses and his friendly poems slowly turn into something more you realize how badly you want to visit him. to see his pretty face in person (even if it is behind a glass frame) and to hear the voice you’d been imagining in your head. so with all the courage you can muster you do some digging and make plans to surprise him. Oh boy are you grateful you went through with it- seeing him in person was almost surreal. somehow he was more handsome in person and furthermore his gravely voice was definitely hotter then you ever could of imagined. he’s a smooth talker, seemingly more bold in person then he was through a screen (which shocked you since with most people it’d be the opposite). oh and when he sees you… sees your smile- the way you flutter your lashes when listening to him speak- he knows he’s done for, knows that there’s no one else he wants more in his life and even more importantly he cannot wait for his release date.

you make the effort to visit him as often as you can…

Mafia!Anakin: we all collectively agree Ani is a possessive man- even if he doesn’t always show it but Mafia Ani, oh that man isn’t afraid to show he’s possessive in fact as far as he’s concerned he owns you. so to no one’s surprise he 100% has men on the outside looking after you. making sure you’re safe, single unbothered by those around you.

Anakin has connections everywhere, i mean he’s the top boss. so if he wants to surprise you with something he will, and he’s got the money for it so honestly what’s stopping him?

waking up and getting ready to start your day only to here your doorbell go off, opening your front door to see a huge bouquet of flowers. it really confuses you at first- i mean you don’t really talk to other guys (probably because every time you did they suspiciously disappeared- if you had their number and messaged them all they’d say is they moved away) so who are they from. taking them inside and seeing a note on the ground that must of fallen out of the bouquet your question is answered.

‘Hope you like them Pretty girl’

it’s not even signed but you know exactly who it’s from. of course you confront him at your next visit, and once you do all he does is give you a sly little smile through the glass as you both hold the phone next to your ears.

‘just wait till you see how much i can really spoil you once i’m out of here’

ugh that resonantes with me sm 😩 he 100% would say that and then swiftly move the conversation along as you blush silently, something about how he said it or maybe it’s the look in his eyes that leaves you flustered.

i think i ranted a bit to much about this 😀 my apologies huns 😭 but anyways you’re so real for this and thank you for dropping it in my asks 🫶🏼

you’re actually my first ask too so 🤭🤭 thank you for the absolute serotonin boost this gave me Xx <3

[thebisexualdogdad]

The whip - Dick Grayson x Male!catwoman protégé reader

*Yoshi Sudarso used as a fancast*

It was the annual Wayne foundation charity gala, you and Dick showed up hand in hand in your nicest suits.

"Looking good boys," Bruce smiles at you when he passes by with Selina, your mentor, on his arm.

When they are out of earshot Dick leans in to whisper to you, "so exactly how long do we need to be here?"

"We can sneak out once the auction starts but be patient love because when we get home I'm going to tear that suit off of you and pound your ass so hard you can't walk right," you whisper back.

Dick gulps suddenly at a loss for words.

You grin and kiss his cheek, taking his hand and guiding him into the crowd of people to dance.

He's still dumbfounded when you put your hands on his waist and start to dance, "what's the matter Dick? Cat got your tongue?"

"You can't just say something like that and expect me not to be… distracted," he admits.

You lean in again and whisper, "well if you're good tonight boy wonder I might even bring my whip out to play."

"Is it time to go home yet?" Dick questions, his voice cracking, making you smile.

Two painful hours later Bruce finally takes the stage to thank everyone for coming and to get the auction started.

He finishes his speech while the first item hits the stage and Dick grabs your arm, "please tell me we can leave now?"

"Let's go," you reply and Dick is so relieved, the erection in his pants growing unbearable from you teasing him all night.

You barely make it home before Dick's lips start to explore your neck, carrying him through your apartment and to your bedroom.

You toss him down on your bed, undoing your tie and slipping your suit jacket off, slowly unbuttoning your shirt one button at a time.

"Please Y/N, I need you," Dick whines.

You smirk proudly, letting your shirt hit the ground as Dick stares at your bare torso in awe.

"Take your clothes off for me Dick," you order and he does as he is told, letting you grab his pants and tug them down his legs.

Once he's left in only his briefs you roughly flip him over so he's on his hands and knees, kissing the back of his thighs and slapping his ass.

Dick's hips are bucking, looking for any sort of contact as his cock is painfully restrained by his underwear.

He moans when he feels you tear his briefs apart from behind, tossing it to the ground and spreading his cheeks apart diving right in.

"Y/N!" He cries out, your tongue expertly working him.

You're massaging his cheeks, giving him the occasional smack as his back is arched in pleasure.

"You were very patient for me tonight baby, I think you deserve a reward," you say and Dick groans at the loss of contact but is also excited for his reward.

He looks over his shoulder, watching you go to the dresser and grab your whip from the top drawer.

It's bigger than your usual one and he shudders in anticipation, remembering you told him your whip was due for an upgrade and was going to purchase a new one with the money you made from a recent jewel heist with Selina but he certainly did not expect it to be that much longer and girthier than the last one.

"Fuck yes," Dick grunts but then his ass gets a sharp crack from your whip.

"Quiet," you demand, hitting him again this time on his back.

He bites down on his arm to muffle his moans, sweet pain coursing through him when you whip him for the third time.

"Look at that delicious ass of yours," you smirk, his skin turning bright red.

You give his ass two more cracks of your whip, Dick moaning loudly.

"Do you want me to fuck you Dick?" You ask but he's silent still following your order to be quiet so you give him another whip, "I asked you a question."

"Yes, yes please fuck me Y/N," he begs.

You give him one last hit to the back of his thighs before dropping your whip, removing your pants and stroking yourself as you get closer to him.

You rub his ass to soothe him but only for a moment as you position yourself behind him, pouring lube over your cock and harshly pushing it inside him.

He moans as you waste no time finding a steady rhythm, the whole bed shaking under you.

His body is covered in marks from your whip so you decide to scratch your sharp nails down his skin to leave even more.

You're absolutely railing him, Dicks eyes rolling back.

"I'm gonna cum," he mumbles, gripping the sheets tightly.

"Not until I do," you state, smacking his ass again.

He holds on, desperately waiting for you to fill him but it's nearly ten minutes later when you finally do.

Dick feels you cumming deep inside him, your pace never faltering and when he hears the words 'cum for me Dick' he lets go, seeing stars as he shoots cum all over the bed.

"Y/N!" He shouts again, so loud that surely your neighbors heard him, which wouldn't be the first time.

You held your promise, you made him cum two more times that night and he was not able to walk right when Tim called him for backup the next day.

"What's up with you?" Tim asks him as he hobbles across the roof of a building.

"Nothing, just took it a little too hard at the gym," he lies.

"Ha, is that what we're calling Y/N now? The gym," Jason snickers, "I saw you two sneaking out during the auction last night, I'm sure he did give it to you hard."

"Shut up Jay," Dick huffs, wincing as his suit rubs against his still sore ass.

[sitp-recs]

I just finished a great romcom and now Im wondering do you have Drarry recs that are romcom-y? It doesnt have to explicitly labeled as such but just a vibe...you know that after a serious of little hick ups and An Airport Run for True Love a pop banger playing in the background vibe :D

Hi anon! Oh that’s such an exciting ask, I’ve had lots of fun thinking about this one. I feel like I haven’t read enough romcom, would love to explore this genre further. I hope you enjoy these!

Mad Blood Stirring by provocative_envy (E, 3k) - Hockey AU

It's not like they've been angrily hooking up on the sly since meeting at a Juniors skills camp in fucking Manitoba four years ago, except that's exactly what they've been doing.

Burning Down the House by @peachpety (M, 4k)

Harry is happy as editor-in-chief of The Quibbler. From planning to printing, design to deadlines, he enjoys being in the hot seat. And after vanquishing Voldemort, managing fires is an easy part of the job. Until his scorching crush on his impeccably dressed fashion editor flares out of control, and he's forced to face actual fires.

Per my last letter (I hope you choke on it) by @fluxweeed and @lastontheboat (T, 10k)

Or: the one where Harry has writer’s block and Malfoy isn’t helping.

Love, Actually, is All Around by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 10k)

It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco works in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

Title of Their Sex Tape by @cibeewastaken (T, 12k)

What are the Wizarding world's most elite law enforcers doing when they aren't catching criminals? It seems Auror Malfoy is often caught throwing food into Auror Potter's mouth when he's mid-yawn. This story isn't about Draco throwing food at Harry. What it does have is: Undercover! Heists! Draco pining for Harry! Harry being oblivious, but also can't help noticing how good Draco smells! Banters and jokes! That's about it.

Crash (Into Me) by @sweet-s0rr0w (T, 14k)

Harry’s done plenty of ridiculous things for charity over the years, but Robards’ latest scheme really takes the biscuit. Or rather, the teacake. Good job Malfoy’s there to suffer alongside him this time, eh?

Yours Truly by @skeptiquewrites (M, 15k)

Every single one of Harry’s exes has gone on to marry the next person they date, and with the upcoming nuptials of numbers six and seven to each other, Harry’s feeling exhausted by it all. It doesn’t really matter if he lets people assume Draco Malfoy is his boyfriend for a moment of peace. In any case, Draco’s been away for five years and there’s no way he would find out, right?

The Courting by the Pureblood Who Only Has Five Milligrams of Romantic Intelligence and Thinks He’s Real Smooth by @cibeewastaken (T, 19k)

Draco could grab Potter and shove him into a stall before proceeding to suck his soul out of his dick, but secretly, deep down, in the part of Draco that he will never admit to anyone, he is (everyone pauses to shudder) a romantic. Potter is not someone Draco wants a one-off with. Potter is — Draco’s beloved!

Jumeaux by VivacissimoVoce (M, 19k)

Draco and Blaise own and operate a luxury spa resort together, and the Ministry's Auror department has scheduled a full service three-day retreat. Guess who's on the guest list?

Little Red Courgette by @blamebrampton (T, 31k)

When this season's purple courgettes are woefully thin, Draco Malfoy thinks it amounts to small beans. Next thing he knows, the Department of Standards is over-run with leeks, Brussels sprouts all sorts of legislative difficulties, and somebody appears to have put a roquette under Harry Potter. Can Draco seize a marrow victory? Or will his plans for peas be squashed?

The Four Ds of Apparition (or: Destination, Determination, Deliberation, and Dicks) by eidheann, firethesound (E, 36k)

After transferring to the Apparition Department, Harry's life becomes one big dick joke. And all his friends are arseholes. So is Malfoy, but what else is new? AKA Harry Potter and the eighteen twenty dicks.

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu (E, 75k)

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats (E, 104k)

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

[talesmaniac89]

Another little teaser to let you know, the dates and chapter names for the first few chapters will be revealed in just a few hours!

Charity Heist - An SPN Heist AU

Pairing: Dean x female!reader (you)

Summary: The Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency is the best group of con artists in the world. But even though Y/N can crack safes, scale buildings and infiltrate even the most secure locations, she still can't find a way to deal with her all-consuming feelings for the group's greek god of a hitter; Dean Winchester. How will she handle their next big heist, when she's forced to get up close and personal with the man of her dreams?

Warnings: Idiots in love, smutty thoughts, a lot of swearing, a ton of bad jokes.

A/N: This story is 50% jokes and 50% dirty thoughts. No deep angst, just fun and action! A Heist AU inspired by Leverage.

[gothamnewsnetwork-official]

The Social Event of the Season - the Wayne Enterprises Summer Gala

As summer comes to an end Gothamites often dread the upcoming season. School, heist season (see related articles), and Scarecrow’s annual Halloween gas attacks (see related articles) all being cited as reasons to hate the fall season.

That being said, the last few days of August leave us with a parting gift; the Wayne Enterprises Summer Gala (see related articles).

Long heralded as the ‘social event of the season’ by Gotham City’s (see related articles) upper echelons (see related articles), the Wayne Summer Gala is sure to stir up many a rumour.

Since its founding as a charity event, it has evolved into a yearly rager, though it maintains its charity ties; all profits from the gala (aside from staff wages) being donated to charities across our beloved city, the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation (see related articles) being one of the most recognizable examples.

Though it is invite-only, many Gothamites tune in to the red-carpet streams of many Gotham news outlets to get a glimpse of who will be attending and what scandals may unfold (see related articles).

Because of this, we have sent an intern to interview the host of the gala himself, Bruce Wayne (see related articles) ( @officialbruciewayne ), for further details on what we should expect. This is what he had to say on the matter -

“ Q: [to Mr. Wayne] What’s your goal with the upcoming gala? ”

“ A: Well obviously we're hoping to raise as much money as possible for charity.

I'd also like to use it the gala as a chance to network for the foundations, but nobody ever likes to talk shop at these things. Least of all me!

I plan to make off with every last mozzarella stick, get absolutely spannered and when I fall into the fountain this year, I'm going to take most of my clothes off and dance. ”

“ Q: And what about your newest adoptee, Duke Thomas? This is his first gala, correct? ”

“ A: I believe it's his first Late Summer Gala. He's attended- or almost attended -some other events. ”

“ Q: Are there any particular designers you or your family will be wearing for the gala? ”

“ A: Helena [ Helena Wayne (see related articles) ( @thebestofwaynes ), daughter of Bruce Wayne] has a new Balenciaga that suits her wonderfully. I plan to make a splash with some Tom Ford boxer-briefs.

I believe most of my wardrobe will be from a new menswear designer- though I'd prefer not to spoil their work ahead of time.

My tie was made for me by my daughter though. It was a birthday present. ”

“ Q: And what about press at the gala? ”

“ A: We have some independent reporters who are attending as guests- yourself included, I think, Clark Kent (see related posts) ( @official-clark-kent ) from The Daily Planet and Dottie McVeigh (see related articles) ( @dottie-mcveigh ), our standard press contingent, of course.

I’m sure Vicki [ Vicki Vale (see related articles), reporter for the Gotham Gazette] will be there, she might even entertain me. ”

“ Q: Are there any surprise charities or adoption announcements that we should expect? ”

“ A: I'm sure we'll find out at the same time - they don't tell me anything haha. ”

With that the interview concluded, and while we may not know the full details of this gala, this journal is sure it will not be one to forget.. We’ll be keeping you all updated on the latest developments of the event, so to all Gothamites, we recommend you stay tuned.

Let us know your thoughts on the topic (here)

Gotham Reports is certified in unbiased, fair, and reliable journalism

-

* Due to circumstances outside of this journal’s control, we will be reducing the frequency of our longer articles and updates may become more sporadic for an unknown amount of time *

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Five-Finger Discount (Dean/Reader)

Title: Five-Finger Discount

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean x Female Reader

Summary: It's supposed to be a simple case. A little undercover. A little burglary. A little spell. Dash of salt and burn. No muss, no fuss. So, why the hell are you getting these uncontrollable thoughts about Dean's... hands?

Word Count: 10,300

Tags: Hand & Finger Kink, Dean Winchester is a Scoundrel, Dean gets a Manicure, Fluff and Humor, Shameless Smut of the Finger Variety, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty

Notes: Because Jensen just can’t keep his hands to himself. See notes on AO3 for the offender/crime in question.

A persistent tapping on your bedroom door awakens you. It could be late evening or early morning in the windowless bunker.

Before you can check your phone for the actual time, Dean’s voice calls your name from the other side of the door.

You groan. Whatever time it is, it’s not ‘wakey wakey eggs and bakey’ time. “What?”

“Got word from Sam. He’s figured out what’s been killing the inmates in NSP.”

You sit up and feel for the lamp switch. After a turn and snick , you mumble, “Let there be light.” Your voice raises in answer to Dean. “That’s great.”

“Well, not that great.” The conversation is still happening through the closed door. “Sam figures it’s a ghost of a prisoner that died behind bars in 1870.”

“Why not great? Did you want more of a challenge? Ghosts are a milk run.”

You can hear the dramatic sigh, picture the tilt back and forth of his head, and the way his mouth mimics either you or Sam when the sarcasm leans on the excessive. Which is kind of ironic coming from the King of Snark. “Can I come in? You decent?”

“Yes.”

It’s definitely the middle of the night when you get a look at him. Dean’s hair is mussed. There are cheek and chin creases from scuba pillow diving when he sleeps on his stomach. “You got something formal to wear?”

“Huh?”

“A gown, dress, something promish or wedding worthy?”

“Promish?” That question reply to his question earns you a broad stance with hands on hips like a superhero as Dean stares you down. You twirl both hands around to remind him of the non-existent storage space in the bunker. Which should not be a thing in such a huge fortress where men dressed in three piece suits on the daily. “Sure. I have a whole rack of them hanging in my walk-in closet.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, smart ass. Well, we’re gonna have to go do this thing in less than twenty-four hours that needs you in a dress and me in a tux.”

You suck in your lips and try not to laugh at how pissed Dean appears at the thought.

“It’s a charity fundraiser in Lincoln,” he continues. “We have to act like a couple of out-of-state spenders with deep pockets to get our hands on the Hand of Glory that belonged to this ghost.”

“What about Sam? I bet he’d look much better in a dress than I would.”

Dean shrugs. “He’s got the hair for it. But we can’t risk somebody making him.”

Of course. The one time Sam goes investigating on his own. He posed as an FBI agent and poked around too many people. 

You and Dean are going to have to go shopping. The all-out kind. Max out a stolen credit card at the mall kind.

Dean is gonna be miserable. You can’t wait. Grumpy Dean, for some reason, is very entertaining.

“How about you in the dress and me in the tux?” you offer.

“I don’t have the legs for it.” Dean shakes his head. “Get a few more hours of sleep. Gonna be a busy day.”

You’ve been around Sam and Dean for a long time. Long enough to have gotten a little numb and even blase regarding certain things.

The dangers of a hunt. The stench of death. The amount of blood a beheaded vamp body can ooze.

As you tick the tasks off for the heist with a trip to a dress shop earlier and currently helping Dean pick out a tux, another thing you’ve become indifferent to smacks you right in the goddamn face.

The hotness of the Winchester brothers.

You were talking with the owner of the suit store when Dean parted the curtains of the fitting booth he’d been in for five minutes.

And there it was, dressed to the nines, cutting a fine figure in a black tuxedo. 

The plain as day fact of how unfucking-believably gorgeous Dean Winchester is.

Stephen, well-dressed and highly animated, claps hands in front of his face. “Oh. Wow, that is, it’s like you stepped right off the cover of GQ magazine,” he gushes at Dean. “Turn around, turn around.”

Dean blushes, spins on his heels, and averts your and Stephen’s gaze. You’re glad because you can feel the warmth racing over your own cheeks.

“Sir, that is screaming perfection. I don’t even think it needs to be taken in. It’s like a second skin.” You’d think Stephen was buttering him up for a sale if he was overexaggerating. But, he wasn’t.

“Well, good, cause it’s not like we’ve got time for a tailor,” Dean huffs. Then, you hear, “You’re awfully quiet. What do you think?”

“I-yeah-it’ll do.”

After Dean swipes the key card, he steps aside and lets you pass the threshold first.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

The suite is swanky. No motels for you on this trip. You’ve got to keep up appearances, after all.

Windows that meet the ceiling give you a sweet view of downtown Lincoln. It’s not the New York skyline, but everything looks impressive from a higher vantage.

Dean pushes the squeaky luggage cart. The door clicks closed solidly behind him. “Alright. We got a few hours to get ourselves presentable. Then we head on over to the Sheldon Museum of Art.” He hangs the garment bags containing his tux and your dress in the closet. The duffle bags each get a chuck onto the king-size bed.

You nod at the reminder. Sam will be at the fundraiser as well. Between the ruse of you and Dean as the wealthy Mitchums from Kansas and Sam’s Agent Dion, you’re confident the case will be resolved before another not-so-innocent victim dies. “Too bad we can’t really enjoy a stay at a place like this.”

“Eh, overpriced. I can’t wait to get home to the bunker. It’s a lot nicer.” He rolls the cart back toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He’s gone before you can quibble with Dean over your and his idea of luxury. But yours does have windows, excessive amounts of pillows, and room service.

Dean returns to find you’ve commandeered the entire vanity counter with makeup. He chuckles. “Never seen you put any of this crap on before. Do you even know how?”

“Asshole.” You thwack his tummy, but clenched stomach muscles anticipated the retaliation. “I’ll wear makeup for this case out of necessity. I don’t believe in going into debt to keep up with the latest beauty trend. This stuff costs a fortune.”

Dean picks up a packet of press-on nails and looks at the price tag. “Well, hopefully, it’s all worth it.”

As Dean inspects your haul, you notice the dirt under his own nails. “Your hands,” you state.

“Huh?” Dean’s brow furrows. He puts down the box and stares at his fingers.

“Those aren’t the hands of a millionaire.”

He smiles. “I’ve got a great rags to riches story I can use. You see, one day I was shootin’ at some food, and up for the ground came a bubblin’...”

“Ooor, you can look the part.” You cut off his recounting of how the Beverly Hillbillies came to be and sweep a hand in his direction. “Hurry up and shower. I’ll do your nails.”

His eyes bug out. “Do my nails?”

“Relax. Just gonna tidy them up. No polish. Although there’s nothing wrong with a little color on a guy’s nails. But maybe not for this event. We don’t need you to stand out too much.” You think about how he looked in that tux and realize how much he will stand out already at least in your mind. He’s still blinking at you, processing what’s about to happen. “Well, hurry up, Jeb. That oil ain’t gonna find itself.”

You gulp at the sight of a freshly scrubbed, washed, towel-dried Dean. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. You’ve seen him just out of a shower with his white t-shirt and sweatpants when you’ve been hunting on the road.

Maybe it’s the change of scenery. No motel. No mildew smells. No obnoxiously loud wallpaper to mask the soot and stains. No revving engines or wheels peeling right outside the door. None of the things that usually overwhelm and distract your senses.

His entire face is scrunched up in confused awe. Tools are neatly lined atop a towel on the small island by the kitchenette. Not the usual gun-cleaning ones, though. You clear your throat and pat the breakfast stool beside your seated frame.

“Is this gonna hurt?” he asks.

“Just a little detailing is all.”

He sits and eyes you warily.

A gimme gesture requests his left hand. He provides it, resting his fingers over the bridge of support yours creates. You try not to flinch in surprise at the warmth and weight. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before. But, you’ve never had the opportunity for contact to linger.

You lean down and in, lifting his fingers in inspection and deciding your plan of attack. Damn. They’re, well, you wonder how you haven’t noticed how big they are. His entire hand dwarfs yours in comparison. Dean’s a big dude. He is not as tall as Sam, but considering they’re both over six feet, you shouldn’t be surprised that his digits are substantial. You picture Sam’s hands in your mind’s eye in the usual situations. Tapping away on a keyboard. Flipping through their dad’s journal pages or some gigantic volume of lore in the bunker. Those fingers are long, but their slender and taut, proportionate to Sam’s body type and size. Jolly Green Giant size.

Dean’s? Well, it’s not that they don’t match Dean. They’re beefy, thick, and solid. All the things Dean is. But they’re more like a jumbo sausage sandwich than a hot dog that’s a little too big for the bun. Even the width of his palm seems way above average.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s question calls out and you wonder how long you’ve been staring at his freaking hands.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

You get to work, using a nail brush that’s been soaking in a bowl of warm, sudsy water. A sturdy grip wraps around two of Dean’s fingers - it’s all you can comfortably manage - and the bristles scrub back and forth in quick passes.

Dean chortles. His fingers pull back slightly. The look on his face is one of surprise. You grin and ask, “Did that tickle?”

He snorts. “What? No. I’m not ticklish.”

“Mm-hmm.” You tug his fingers toward the brush. “Hold still then.” You continue the process. Dip the brush in the water bowl. Play Dean’s fingers like a washboard. And you delight in how his jaw clenches and body squirms. He does an adorable shimmy shake that starts at the shoulders and ends with an ass cha-cha. But you only let the torture go on for a minute or two. “Okay. Give them another wash. Then we’ll clip ‘em, file and buff, and these nails will scream private prep school and ivy league polo.”

He rises. “As long as there’s no more brushing.” He punctuates how serious he is about that with one of those fingers right at your mouth.

You swallow the urge to bite that finger.

For someone who was uncertain about the thought of a manicure earlier, Dean is back in a hurry to continue the process. You exaggeratedly shake the nail brush out of the soapy water bowl and softball it into the stainless steel sink a yard away. It clangs about like a noon bell. You raise both hands, “I’m unarmed.”

He snickers, “Not so sure.” He skirts his gaze over the remaining items. “Sharp and stabby things.”

“You have used clippers before. You’re not an actual Cro-Magnon that drags knuckles on the ground and runs nails along some flint.” You grab one stool and carry it to the other side of the island, settling into position for the next step. “Sit and stop acting like a baby.”

“Damn,” he murmurs, following orders and taking his seat from before.

“Hands,” you request.

He harrumphs and splays his fingers atop the terry towel, like a cat stretching and digging in with their claws. His hands are creamy colored and speckled pink from the washing and scrubbing. Ten digits tap along the cloth in wait. And you stare, longer than you should.

What in the holy hell is going on? They’re fingers for chrissakes. The same fingers you’ve seen on Dean all the time, day after day in the bunker or in the car or on a hunt. It’s not like he got a hand transplant or something.

“Come on, Madge.” Dean snaps two of those fingers together. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me I was soaking in it.”

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Softens hands while you do the dishes?” He adds to the dramatics and unhinges his jaw. “Come on, we’re the same age. You gotta remember that commercial? Palmolive?”

“Oh, right.” You feign recollection, inhale to steady yourself and grab his left hand. It’s down to business time. “I’ve only lost five of my last six clients. Nothing to worry about.”

“Quite the comedian,” he razzes back.

“I am. Apparently you could learn a thing or two from me. The first? A punchline isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”

“Yeah, well…” He begins.

“Maybe come at me with ‘your face is a punchline’?” you suggest.

His lids blink in confusion. “It’s not, though.”

For some reason that shuts you both up.

You spend the next minutes manipulating each of Dean’s fingers, one by one in your palm as you clip. Tick, tick, tick. You give the nails a nice straight edge and round out the sides. His nails are stumpy, boxy and twice the width of yours. His skin is calloused, toughened in the spots you expect. From the thousands of hours he’s gripped Baby’s steering wheel, handled a shotgun, cranked a wrench, slid into the trigger of his Colt. But they are soft in other spots. The patterns of lines criss crossing and connecting like a terrain map enthrall you.

He’s quiet. Watching you work. You’ve forgotten to be mouthy for this bit. It’s hard to focus on anything but this and his breathing. You’ve forgotten the basic steps of inhaling and exhaling.

It’s when you’ve moved on to filing that Dean remembers how to word. “You’re good at this.”

“I should be,” you croak out then clear your throat. “I did my older sister’s nails all the time growing up.”

“Hm, I guess Sammy didn’t get the little brother memo about doing my nails.”

I grin up at him. “Maybe you should have had him watch that Palmolive commercial.”

His laugh is soft. His eyes gleam with that hint of mischief he dons when there is no imminent threat. When life is as close to normal as possible. You wonder what it would be like to take those hands and place them around your waist. Guide him to hold you steady, secure.

He opens his mouth, stops to lick his top lip.

It’s taking everything in your power to not catapult over the island and slam your lips against his.

He finally speaks. “We should get ready.”

And your daydreaming dissipates just like that.   

Two hours later, you and Sam wait outside the St. Charbel Chapel in Calvary Catholic Cemetery. It’s the closest church and holy ground from the museum Sam had found in his research.

A fire truck zooms down a nearby street, siren wailing.

You wait for Dean. 

Things had not gone according to plan.

At the fundraiser, Sam got cornered near the crudités by a Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office deputy. From what you overheard, Sam’s cover had been blown. He was in imminent danger of being arrested by Deputy Dickens for impersonating a federal agent. Dean was off in one of the acquisition storage rooms searching for the Hand of Glory.

You all were SOL.

You did what any hunter interested in self-preservation would do. Walked over to the nearest fire alarm and inconspicuously pulled the lever. Alarms went off. In the chaos of disgruntled partygoers filing out of the building, Sam dropped the deputy to the ground with a combo shoulder check and leg sweep. You were down on the floor in a flash, asking the lawman if he was alright. Before he could reply, you held a handkerchief doused with your travel-size bottle of chloroform to his mouth and nose. A clutch could only hold so much—such an inconvenience.

Sam pushed the passed-out deputy under the appetizer station’s floor-length tablecloth. You both did a hurried power walk past the crowd gathered in front of the museum. Sam tried his best to slow down his stride enough for you to keep up wearing heels. At least you only had four blocks to cover to end up at the cemetery, the agreed-upon meetup location.

You pace in wait. “He’ll be here,” Sam states with conviction.

You never want to leave a man behind. Especially not Dean.

Sure enough, Dean’s shadowed figure jogs up the cemetery walk in the dark minutes later. You recognize his panting first.

Sam shines a light in Dean’s direction. He’s a bit disheveled from whatever he had to do to skip out of the museum undetected. The hair, styled in a neat part earlier, is now askew.

“Guessing I have you two to thank for having to hop out a bathroom window and into thorny rose bushes.”

You shrug. “Sam was about to get handcuffed.”

Dean ponders for a moment. “Context is important to determine whether that’s good or bad for Sam.”

“Dean, come on, did you get it?” Sam asks with an impatient wave of his hand.

Dean pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and flaps it open with a wrist snap. He pulls out a gnarled, desiccated object under his jacket's lapel. “I did get it, using my five-finger discount.”

The burning ritual had at least gone smoother than the rest of the evening. Sam dropped the two of you around the back of the hotel in his rental car. You both had left Baby in the connected garage and taken a cab to the museum. 

“See you all at the bunker.” He smiles, energized, and pumped from a successful hunt. He’s glowing and adorable. You realize you have gotta dial back the internal ogling of your hunting partners and quick or it’s gonna get all kinds of uncomfortable in your head.

“See ya, Sammy.” Dean grins and salutes.

“Don’t take too long to get out of town.” Sam advises, flicks his bangs out of his eye line with a shampoo commercial head whip, then peels off with a wave.

The key card lets you sneak in through the poolside.

The ride up the elevator starts quiet. You spend the time zoning out and staring at the tapered triangle of shoulder and back that makes up Dean’s tuxedo jacket.

So, dialing back the ogling is going great.

“You looked really good tonight,” Dean murmurs. You catch his gaze in the door’s reflective surface. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “you still look really good. I never got the chance to tell ya earlier.”

The attention straightens your posture. You adjust the spaghetti strap of your little black dress. “Thanks.” It’s all you can think of to respond. You tear your focus away from the eye crinkles, now the newest sexy thing you’ve failed to notice. It’s safer to inspect the corners of the floor for dust. The small enclosed space heats due to Dean Winchester occupying it.

The elevator dings and you hold in a sigh of relief. You exit first, then halt so he leads. You trail behind him in silence to the room. He opens the door. Your steps scoot past his body.

“Got time to change?” Hopeful, you’re already rifling through your duffel for your jeans and flannel.

“Sam’s right. We should probably bolt.”

You groan.

“Let’s put some miles between us and Lincoln.” It’s not really a suggestion.

“Fine.” You give in, knowing he’s right.

You aren’t tired on the drive back. The sense of accomplishment after a successful case turns most hunters into live wires, you included. 

You and Dean have been chatting about the hunt. The lackluster food at the fundraiser. Sam’s impressive Latin skills. An apparent millionaire whose breath stunk like a month old convenience store burrito. And you knew what one of those smelled like from unfortunate firsthand experience. The conversation switches to some repairs that need to be done around the bunker. A casserole recipe on Pinterest you want to try. Who’s going to get the treat of washing all the MOL classic cars in the garage. The topics pogo all over the place. You love these moments with the brothers. 

You’re an hour and some change out from Lincoln, halfway to Lebanon, when Dean has an idea.

His finger wags at a mile marker. “There’s a decent bar in Bruning. Wanna grab a drink to celebrate?”

You stare at his unbuttoned tux jacket, then your dress. “Like this?”

“Sure. Why not?” It’s not really a question as he takes the exit.

You drew the line at wearing heels in the bar. Dean grabbed your worn cowboy boots from Baby’s trunk. He leaned against the car beside your open passenger door. You tugged on boots, leaned forward, giving any passersby a free show down the front of your dress. Arms folded, Dean scowled and puffed out his chest to any male who dared to glance in your direction.

A minute later you both entered the bar and did the usual routine without speaking. Head to respective bathrooms. Clean up and make yourselves respectable looking. But as you blotted your foundation and appreciated the staying power of your makeup in the mirror - okay, maybe that setting spray was worth the price - you considered who you were making yourself respectable for?

It’s not like either one of you were expecting to get lucky tonight. The bunker was less than two hours away. No one was gonna pick up a local and take them back to their motel room.

You applied a fresh coat of red berry lipstick.

So, that left only you and Dean freshening up for… each other?

You scoffed at the ridiculous idea, ran fingers through your hair.

A drink. One drink. To celebrate a job well done.

“That’s all it is,” you mumble.

You’ve played darts for an hour. Dean’s on his third whiskey. You’ve downed four fruity rum concoctions, mainly because you loved hearing Dean order the drink. 

Entertainment was the least he could do after beating you for the sixth time.

The waitress stops at your high top and grabs the empty plates and glasses. “What else can I get you two?”

Dean clutches a dart, deep in focus, squinting at the target board. “You wanna nother Bahama Mama?”

You suppress a giggle and smile at the waitress. “Just more water. Thanks.”

“We should probably load up on the grease before we head home.” Dean peers at the waitress over a shoulder. “Maybe some fries, darlin’, to go along with one last shot of whiskey?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She smiles, then waits for Dean to turn around before eyeing his backside in approval. With a grin, she taps your bare forearm. “Lucky you,” she whispers.

You are lucky. But not for the reason the waitress thinks. Being around Sam and Dean means safety and security. The eye candy is merely a bonus. One you are debating if you should indulge in more often or continue to restrict your caloric intake.

After all, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a work of art.

Dean had flung his necktie in Baby’s backseat and unbuttoned his collar during the drive. The casual way he now wore the tux was even more attractive. “Probably a good idea if you lay off the alcohol. It’s definitely affecting your game tonight.” He grins.

You lean your heavy weighted head against a palm for support. “Yeah, must b’it,” you slur, more than you like. Your gaze zones in on his fingers gripping the dart. Those damn fingers have been a distraction all night. He has to be unaware he’s sabotaging any ability to focus. Dean is an outright flirt with his targets. You’ve seen him lay on the charm thick and sticky the same way he slaps peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Subtlety has never been his thing.

Speaking of targets. The dart launches out of his hand and lands dead center. “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” Dean performs the ka-ching motion for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Normally, it’s annoying, but you battle your lids open to stare at his clenched fist in awe. Again. He slides onto the bar stool and inspects you with a concerned smile. “You usually drink me under the table. Sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” You hum. 

The waitress whizzes by and deposits Dean’s shot and a basket of fries. Dean’s voice floats in the air expressing his thanks to, you think he says, Linda. Then a pointed order hits you right in the face. “Hey, eat something. I ain’t carrying you to the car like some swoony duchess on those shows you binge.”

“They’ve got carriages, not cars.” You blink over and over and straighten up. A handful of fries fill your mouth. Your brain hasn’t caught up in time to tell you to shut up and chew. “Yud make a ghood ake.”

“What?” Dean smiles at you like he’s happened across his favorite Scooby-Doo episode while channel surfing.

You gulp down the gluey mashed goodness. “You’d make a good rake.”

“What’s that? Some kind of man servant? I was a handmaiden once.” He indulges in some of the fries before you eat them all. Those fingers push them past his lips.

“No. A rake’s-” You huff at the gall when he attentively licks the grease off his thumb. His tongue is quite, um, “Nimble.”

He frowns, obviously confused. “A rake’s nimble?”

You shake out the cobwebs in your brain, tripping you up with a collision of thoughts. “A rake’s a ladies’ man,” you mutter.

His spine stiffens, shoulders pop back in pride. “I do try to please the ladies every chance I get.”

“We are all well aware.” More fries thankfully save you from saying anything that may humiliate.

“Guess those aren’t your favorite characters. You probably like the stuffy types that are all serious, with their noses up in the air or stuck in a book.”

You shrug. “Nah, I go for the rogues.”

One of Dean’s brows quirk up. “The dangerous type?” One side of his mouth lifts as well.

“Yeah, a scoundrel. You know, the one you can’t quite figure out. They’ve got this bad reputation or some sordid past. But, they go after what they want. Take what they want.” You hum again and close your eyes. You can still see Dean’s grin in your mind’s eye.

“Too bad I don’t fit the bill.”

You freeze. Eyes still closed. He didn’t just… did he?

“I mean. It’d be all kinds of wrong. Me going for something I wanted, damn the consequences.”

You inhale and grip the curve of the table top. You open your eyes to find him sipping at his whiskey. “Don’t fuck with me,” you whisper.

He gives you a toe curling smile now. The glass clinks onto the table. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not your type.”

“I-wh-” It’s too late. You’ve never been on the receiving end of what is most definitely Dean Winchester flirting. “What makes you think that?”

He leans in. His breath meets your inhale and you take in all the spice and warmth. “I wouldn’t do a thing to mess this up. Not unless, you know, I knew.”

You nod, dumbstruck. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, yeah.” A whoosh of fatigue makes your head spin.

Dean smiles. “We live together, hunt together. Packed like sardines together twenty-four seven sometimes. Wouldn’t want to mess any of that up. Unless I knew, you know?”

“Knew what?” Your chin drops to your chest despite your best efforts. The weight of your body gets ready to do a face plant on the table top. You squish your lids shut tight and groan in horror at the inevitable.

But, Dean is there to save you. Again. His fingers swoop in to cradle your jaw and lift up your head. The embarrassment and alcohol finally overtake you. As you fade, you hear, “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’ll remember the answer.”

You woke up in your bed, back at the bunker. Again, with no idea if it was morning or night. No idea how much time had passed since…

You spring upright to sit. And, yeah, that was a mistake. Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry and tacky. Your stomach feels like it got turned upside down. Not that much time has passed since…

You groan and lay back down, slow and gentle. You piece the last snippets of memory together.

You stare up at the ceiling, grateful for the darkness. You want it to suck you up whole.

Did you pass out in the middle of Dean hitting on you? Did Dean end up swooping you up and putting you in the Impala? Driving you home passed out in the back seat - or God forbid the front passenger seat with you lolling about, mouth probably open and drooling - then carrying you throughout the bunker to your bedroom? Did he…?

You pat your chest and feel the spaghetti straps and silky fabric of your little black dress. You sigh. He had taken pity on you and only stripped you of your cowboy boots.

There’s a soft tap on your bedroom door.

“Oh no.” You pull the blanket over your head, mortified. You don’t think you can face him.

But it’s not Dean that says your name. It’s Sam.

“You alright? I heard you… uh… moaning.”

“Yeah,” you squeak. “Hungover.”

You think you hear Sam snicker. “Dean said you outpaced him by a mile. In darts and drinks.”

That makes you pause to recall. No, you definitely don’t think any of that’s accurate.

“He made some breakfast before he went out, if you’re hungry.”

Great, he can’t bear to face you, either. “Thanks, Sam.”

“If you’re up for it later, I could use some assistance researching.”

You take a measured breath to quell the nausea. “I’ll let you know.”

You’d chewed some aspirin and drank glass after glass of water from the sink in your room and somehow passed out for a few more hours.

You drag yourself out of bed around noon and shower in an effort to resemble something close to human. The stomach growls lead you to the bunker kitchen. At first, you smile at the plate of pancakes Dean covered with a clean kitchen towel for you. A frown follows at the odd shape of them. They aren’t his usual silver dollar pancakes stacked six high.

You tilt your head, attempting to figure out what Buttermilk Banksy was trying to create. The two pancakes, side by side on a large plate, obviously started out as circles. But then, four long tendrils were added along the top of each and a little offshoot one on the side. A turkey? Why the hell would Dean make turkeys? It wasn’t anywhere near Thanksgiving time.

“‘Bout time, sleepy head.” Dean’s voice wafts in from the doorway. He strolls in without a care in the world. There’s no hesitancy to lock eyes with you. Which is good. That has to mean you didn’t make more of a fool of yourself than you remember. He tugs on the fridge door. “Do you want something else or those pancakes enough?” He’s asking the interior of the refrigerator more than you, his head circling the shelves. “Was gonna pile on the grease but thought you might need to take it easy after last night.”

“No, this is great. Thank you.” You keep your voice low, hoping he’ll get the hint and not make too much noise.

He seems to, clicking the door shut softly after grabbing a cold slice of pizza. “Oh, I thought we’d do a movie night in the Dean cave. I bought angus ground beef for burgers. I’ll make some potato wedges. Grabbed your favorite microwave popcorn, movie theater butter.”

The menu, miraculously, doesn’t make your stomach lurch into panicked somersaults. “None of that sounds Sam approved.”

“He’s got that author signing book store thing in Stockton tonight.”

Oh, right. You’d forgotten for a moment how excited Sam was to listen to some guy read a chapter from his book on the evils of the Federalist Society.

“Think you’ll be up for it?” Dean asks, brows raised hopeful.

You smile. “I think I will.”

“Good.” He captures a third of the pizza slice in one bite. After four chews and a swallow he finishes with, “I’ll go easy on you.” The grin he flashes catches you off guard. It’s that one that if Sam saw it, he’d suspect you and Dean had a secret.

Problem was, you didn’t know what the secret was.

“We got weapons to clean in an hour. No matter what Sam says about research.” Dean taps the door sill on the way out of the kitchen. “Meet you in the library. Don’t be late.” He disappears.

You stare down at your breakfast, which is now technically lunch, and a queasy feeling erupts. But not from the hangover or the thought of eating.

The pancakes Dean made. You think you know what the shapes are now.

A pair of hands.

Time in the library with Sam and Dean is pure torture. 

You’re sat equidistant between the two of them, in the middle of one of the long massive wooden tables. Sam is on one end, flipping through page after page of a volume on corporal punishment. He’s trying to work out an easy cheat sheet - a work flow chart - that you all can use in the future. If you can identify what crime someone was charged with committing way back when, you’d have a better idea of the dismembered mummified appendage to track.

Dean occupies the other head of the table. A worn cloth laid out in front of him, all manner of weapons lined in a neat row atop it, awaiting his hands.

His hands. God, you hope the pancakes were merely a cheeky, inside joke on Dean’s part. Maybe it was a reminder about your insistence on the manicure. Or the friggin’ Palmolive commercial that, thanks Dean, you can’t get out of your head either. Because now all you can think about is Dean’s massive fingers dipped in a teeny tiny glass bowl filled with sudsy dish detergent. 

Between Sam’s page turns and Dean’s clink of weapons your brain can’t settle or calm down. You’re also trying to appease both hunters. You’re reading through a book on your right and sharpening a machete on your left. 

“That jugglin’ act might leave you with more than a paper cut if you aren’t careful,” Dean chides.

You swallow down the urge to quip something back. It’s only when the whetstone clears the curve of the machete and halts at the tip that you tear your gaze from the task and stare at Dean. “I can handle it.”

He smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you can HANDle it.” He shrugs. “Just wouldn’t want you to lose a FINGER.”

“How about you quit distracting her? She’s doing you a favor.” Sam’s brows lift pointedly at Dean. “And besides, why do you insist on cleaning weapons here when you could literally be doing it anywhere else in the bunker?”

Dean curls up the fakest smile at Sam. “Cause I love your company.” 

The boys settle after a few more grunts and scoffs at each other. You plunge nose deep into lore and wish the pages were waves pulling you out to sea. 

There’s no way Dean’s emphasis on “hand” and “finger” were accidental. Dean’s pretty intuitive. But you are a pretty good actor in your own right when you need to be. However, there’s still a chance that you said or did something when you were too intoxicated to remember.

It’s not helping that Dean’s performing his weapon cleaning like a goddamn seduction. Mr. Hand Model takes apart the sawed off, cleans the inside of and around the barrel, reassembles, and clicks all the pieces back into place. His nails look perfect, shiny and slick with the gun oil. His beefy fingers curl around the wood and steel in a way that makes you want to trade places with the firearm.

You somehow endure for 45 minutes. Last night’s indulgences are blamed in an excuse to head back to your bedroom. As you preemptively wish Sam an enjoyable outing later, Dean reminds you to rest up for dinner and a movie.

Ugh. You know how Dean gets when he won’t let something go that he finds hilarious. This could go on for a while.

It’s a trap. It’s gotta be.

Dean’s lowering your defenses with good food and good company.

It all started in the kitchen where dinner was served. He wasn’t kidding about the burgers. He made quarter pound medium rare works of art with cheese and all the toppings. The bun was Texas Toasted out. The guy even used the air fryer to produce ridiculously addicting potato wedges with a spicy paprika and chili powder coating.

Then, it was Dean cave time. No beer in sight, you were given pop to drink, with an offhanded “no repeat performance of last night” remark. You slid down the couch, groaning, pulling the hoodie over your face for dramatic effect. He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you on the couch and added, “You know, so you don’t pass out midway through the movie.”

You inhale the buttery goodness beside you and relax, popping back up in your seat. A swig of sugar wakes up your lethargic post-meal brain and settles the nerves that Dean is up to something. “So, what masterpiece do you have for us tonight?” you query.

He presses a button on one remote and the lights dim. Another remote in hand, another button press, and the television screen blares with an all too familiar soundtrack.

“The Empire Strikes Back.” You nod. “Good choice.”

“It’s your favorite one,” Dean reminds you.

“Yeah. Yoda. Duh.”

Dean chuckles.

Things fall into that easy going movie commentary that you and Dean are so fond of doing. It drives Sam crazy when he's watching stuff with the two of you. You’re spouting behind the scenes facts you know you’ve told Dean a half a dozen times already (like how the puppeteer who’s voicing Yoda also voices your favorite muppet, Fozzie Bear). Dean adds his own sound effects when the AT-ATs are firing, points out every Wilhelm scream, and helps Harrison Ford out by quoting all of Solo’s lines.

Leia is fixing some equipment on the Falcon and you comment, “I like the braid updo more than the cinnamon rolls.”

“Eh, I don’t know. The combo of beauty and baked goods is pretty hard to beat.”

Solo walks in and tries to help. Leia pushes him away. You sigh. “Here they go.”

Dean turns to you and raises an eyebrow. In perfect sync with Solo’s dialogue he utters, “Hey Your Worship, I’m only trying to help.”

You eye roll. “Would you please stop calling me that?” If it's a quote battle Dean wants, it’s on. If Sam were here, he’d be so done with the both of you right now.

“Sure, Leia.”

A huff for good measure. “You make it so difficult sometimes.”

Dean leans in. “I do, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”

Wait. Wait. Oh no. You don’t have to be looking at the screen to know what happens next. Leia hurts her HAND trying to turn a lever. You clam up at all the fucking context this scene now holds for you and Dean. You can’t say the next lines. Because you know that Solo grabs Leia’s HAND as she says, “Occasionally, maybe… when you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

That’s when last night’s rum-infested confessions cut to the front of the memory queue. You adore scoundrels, rogues.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat, though. He even gazes down at one of your HANDS. He continues the performance. “Scoundrel?” Face half cast in shadow, his lids widen, irises still manage to catch the light and entrance you. “Scoundrel?” A huge grin emerges. “I like the sound of that.”

Solo is massaging Leia’s HAND the whole time.

Leia whispers, “Stop that.”

Dean replies, “Stop what?” Though he’s not questioning the screen. He’s locked eyes with you. Daring you to break away first.

Leia answers, even softer. “Stop that. My hands are dirty.”

Dean tilts his head, uncaring. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” Oh, Leia, Don’t egg him on.

“You’re trembling,” Dean’s voice is softer. He’s edging closer, but there’s only so much distance he can cover with the popcorn bowl in the way.

You decide now’s as good a time as any to try and act your way out of a paper bag. “I’m not trembling.” You coat your response with steel.

Dean is only encouraged by your participation. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

You ponder for a moment. “I happen to like nice men.”

“I’m nice men.” Dean offers with complete sincerity.

You scoff. “No, you’re not. You’re…”

The music swells. Solo and Leia kiss.

But, you and Dean just stare at each other, for what feels like an eternity. You know C3PO is gonna interrupt the lovebirds at any moment. It’s the only lifeline you have, so you wait for the robot with the worst timing in history to save you from embarrassment.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice calls from the hallway.

You snap, stick straight, your back pressed against the seat. Sam must have come in through the garage.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Sammy. Come on in. Back so soon?”

The door flings open. Warm ceiling lights from the hall halo Sam’s figure. “You know how they say, never meet your heroes? Totally valid advice tonight.” Sam stumbles into the room, all lanky limbs, and sinks into the cushy side chair. He runs fingers through his hair, his profile scrutinizing the screen. “Jedi?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, how are we related?”

The three of you watch the rest of the movie without much commentary.

And you and Dean do not quote any other lines.

You cleaned up the dinner mess, alone, in the kitchen. You insisted it was the least you could do and Dean didn’t put up much resistance.

You find Dean’s bedroom door open on your way to your own for the night. You stop in the doorway to thank him again.

He’s putting away some shirts in his dresser, back turned. He looks comfy, cozy, showered, and perfect. You compose yourself in a split second when he senses you and cocks his head to the door. “Hey, everything okay?”

It’s his usual question, always assuming something needs fixing or solving. But, you sense extra concern in the tone this time.

You nod, wanting to ease the tide of Dean Winchester’s worry. “Thank you. Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, even with Chewbacca?”

You chuckle. “Be nice.”

He waves you in as he wraps up his laundry. You oblige and sit by the tiny corner table. “Yeah, you’re right. Solo actually wouldn’t mind Chewy hanging out with him and Leia.”

You smile. Apparently, it’s Star Wars character dissection time. “So, if Sam’s not Chewbacca…”

The drawer squeaks closed. “Luke.”

“Han doesn’t mind Luke. Annoyed, sometimes. But, everyone annoys Han at one point or another.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, facing you. He stretches, hands entwined and arms raised overhead. A white t-shirt hugs his form here and there. You get a glimpse of perky nipples pressing against fabric. “Luke was competition. Before the brother-sister bombshell,” Dean states.

“Yeah, guess so.”

“But, the three of them, they made a good team,” Dean continues.

You nod, deliberate and slow.

“It only takes one person to start getting feelings for another one in the trio and then the whole galaxy is in jeopardy.” Dean taps the pads of his fingers together.

You sigh. You didn’t want to have to rat yourself out. But, Dean’s got a point. So, how do you go about telling him you’re finding him unbelievably attractive all of a sudden? And how do you ease his apparent worry? What, you’ll do your best to keep it in check? It won’t interfere with the work you do?

“We’re a good team, right? You, me, Sammy?” Dean cuts through the silence with the questions. He scrubs at the nape of his neck.

“I-I’d like to think so. But, you’re right, Dean. It can throw the whole balance off in a good working relationship if someone starts to catch feelings that aren’t reciprocated.”

His eyebrows form a distraught mountain peak. “So, it’s true?”

He looks so unhappy at the possibility, but you’ve gotta be an adult about it. “It just started happening during the last case.” You shrug. “But, I don’t have any intention of acting on them.” A hand raises. “Don’t worry.”

His lips purse tight. Nostrils flare. He’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “But, you won’t know if you don’t act on it.” He nods more to convince himself now. “You should talk to Sam about how you feel.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Hey, I gave it a ‘good ole high school dropout that earned his GED’ try. We have established that I am not your type.”

“Wha-?”

“I’ll be fine with the two of you being a thing. I want to see you and Sam happy. If that means you both, together, that’s great.”

Your hands circle in front of you. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a minute.” Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“What?” He’s got that vacant puppy dog expression, every muscle in his face relaxed, wide open eyes.

You steady your breathing. “What made you think you were my type?” You can’t help the question. You only hope it doesn’t sound belittling or sarcastic. Right now, it’s your last defense of self-protection and attempt at fact finding. You gotta know if you are misinterpreting the revelation that Dean may in fact be upset if you and Sam were an item. Because… he wants you two to be an item?!

“You were acting… weird… ever since Lincoln and the manicure.” He twiddles his fingers. “I was picking up signals that weren’t there, I guess.” He shakes his head and mumbles. “Or, I probably was looking too hard to find something that wasn’t there. Like those times you tell me I’m sniffing around the wrong dog’s butt.”

You squish your lids at how crass you can be. It’s giving you less reasons to think he could find you attractive in any capacity. “Okay, but why was that so important to know?”

His arms extend from side to side. He’s getting riled up and more than a little miffed. But, you know that might work in your favor. His mouth tends to run on autopilot and the truth comes flying out. “Our, I don’t know, petri dish of co-existing in this jack-in-the-box wouldn’t get fucked up. I wouldn’t go off half-cocked and do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while unless I knew, for sure, that you felt the same way I did.” His hands retract and fall in his lap. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at his socked feet. “But, you don’t.”

You’ve got actual fucking butterflies beating their wings like bongo drums in your stomach. “What have you wanted to do for a while?”

His eyes track up to you. He’s inspecting you, hard. That’s doing nothing to quell the excitement inside. “What’s the point in telling you that now?”

“Because, maybe… you’re wrong and… you are my type.”

Dean’s lids lift a quarter of an inch. It’s a minute, micro reaction. But you catch it.

“Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for a while, because, like you. I didn’t want to mess things up. I love Sam.” You swallow, ready to bare all. “But, I haven’t been thinking about what his hands could do to me,” you whisper.

Dean inhales, sharp and quick through his nose at that confession. He exhales, adding, “Don’t fuck with me.”

You can’t do anything but grin in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a goddamn idiot. “I should have said that to you numerous times today. The pancakes. The gun cleaning. Freakin’ Han massaging Leia’s HAND!”

His lids widen. “Hey, it was me testing my theory. Like when we gotta douse someone with holy water to make sure they aren’t possessed. All but the movie, though. Swear I did not remember that scene until a few seconds before it started happening.” He sits up, rubs palms on his sweatpant clad thighs. “Well, okay, I didn’t remember the hand thing, but I wanted to see how you reacted to like THE best scoundrel ever.” Now, he’s grinning. “Been thinkin’ about my hands, huh?”

You roll your eyes merely to play along. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”

He cocks his head like a devilish rogue. “No need for a big head when I’ve got big hands.”

The giggle escapes before you can lasso it.

Dean slides his gaze up your seated frame. It’s a filthy, seedy expression. And hot as fuck. He stops to stare at your mouth, then licks his own. When his eyes meet yours, he commands, “Come on over and show me what you’ve been thinking of.” He pats his thighs. “I’ve got a nice warm seat for ya.”

He’s kidding, right? He wants you to sit on his lap. As if you’d even consider it.

And, yeah, you aren’t considering it. There’s no time for consideration when your legs have already propelled you out of the seat. You give his bedroom door a swing in a passing thought about closing it for privacy.

You can see the look of surprise on Dean’s face as you march over to the bed. But it’s mixed with want and eagerness. He opens his arms in welcome.

Warmth prickles your cheeks at the forwardness you display in accepting the invitation. One knee props up on the bed beside him. You anchor hands onto his shoulders, feel those fingers fan and lock onto your waist, and you bring the rest of your body up to straddle his lap.

You sigh, staring down at that kid in a candy store grin of his, and marvel at how very right it all feels. You settle, your ass firmly atop his thighs. The heat of him is immediate.

“Been wanting you like this,” he whispers, his nose brushing the skin exposed around your collar. A hand molds to the side of your neck, holding you in place. You shiver at the lips skirting upwards along the channel of your throat. “Now who’s ticklish?” It’s meant to tease, but his voice has lost that hint of mirth. It’s deeper, daring you to deny his observation as anything other than fact. “Maybe you aren’t ready for my hands. All.” A kiss at the juncture where your lobe meets your jaw. “Over.” A peck at the tip of your chin. He threads his fingers into the base of your hairline. He eases your head with a smooth tilt down. You lock eyes with his green ones once again. “You.”

The only response you can give is to connect your lips to his. Feeling the pliant, soft give of his mouth against yours. Then his insistent lean up and forward, forcing you to stand your ground while seated on his lap. You have to demonstrate your want is equal to his.

And you want. You so want.

Whatever you’re doing, his approving moan eggs you to continue. With each swipe and dip and dive of your lips, your mouth opens a bit more. The access encourages Dean’s tongue to taste. He laps at you gently, swirls around just enough that your core begins to ache. He pulls away and you groan. You’re drunk with desire, heavy and heady. 

Your lids blink open slow and sleepy. Thankfully you find Dean’s looking as blissed out as you feel. He’s inspecting your reaction through a hazy gaze. His hand captures the side of your face. Five pressure points sink into your skin. His eyes flicker to your mouth to watch his thumb outline the curve of your lip. The pad tugs and drags at your skin.

It’s only a second of wordless communication between the two of you. He asks with a lifting of his lids. You agree with an affirmative blink.

His thumb delves into your mouth, up to the first knuckle. You wrap your lips around. Suck with the gentlest of pressure.

His mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Good girl,” he whispers.

And, fuck if that doesn’t open your floodgates. You’re slick and ready.

Dean’s other hand runs along the waistband of your yoga pants. “You been thinking about my hands all over you…” His thumb glides under the fabric of your panties. “Taking you apart, piece by piece.” He delves farther down, until he taps the top of your mound. His jaw clenches at your gasp of anticipation. His thumb hooks under your tongue against the floor of your mouth to express just how in command he is right now. “You gonna do what I say, Your Worship?”

You nod. You’ll don a pair of cinnamon buns if he tells you to right now.

He smirks, cocky and full of confidence. “The better I make you feel down here...” He works his thumb between your folds and presses against your clit. You squirm in his lap. “The better you suck with that beautiful mouth, yeah?”

You nod again. He releases the pressure in your mouth, circles your bundle of nerves. He slips and slides while his fingers splay over your stomach to anchor in place. You latch onto his thumb again and suck on it like a straw

“Pretty sure this isn’t as wet as you’re gonna get,” he comments like a fucking weatherman. After only a few seconds, he sighs and shakes his head. “Too many fucking clothes.”

You’ve only sparred with Dean a handful of times. Every time, he’s bested you with graceful movements and quick action. He disengages from you for what must have only been seconds, spinning you around in his grasp and pinning your back to the mattress. He’s whipping off your t-shirt, pants, and underwear. Leaving you in only your bra.

He leers over you, hands running up the underside of your thighs. He kneels onto the bed, all of his clothes still on, to wedge against your ass. All of you is on proper display for him. And he takes it all in.

“Right, Gorgeous. Where were we?” One hand rides its way up your chest back to your mouth. You accept his index finger between your lips this time. His other hand resumes playing with your clit. “Hm. Much better.” 

A gasp escapes from your mouth. Your tongue ejects his finger so you can point out, “Who’s the one with too many fucking clothes on now?”

“All good things come to those who wait, darlin’.” He settles further, criss crossing over top of your flesh. His legs sandwich your right thigh while he strums your pussy. The hope of what else is to come pokes into your side through his sweatpants. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, slipping his finger into your mouth again. The pull of his left hand guides you to lean your head toward the right. He settles his beefy forearm onto the mattress above your shoulder.

His chest pins you down in a kinky wrestling move. Teeth snag your ear lobe. He applies pressure to the swollen flesh over a ridge of bone, then uses a flicking motion that makes your thigh twitch in delight.

You're sloppy with your technique of licks and sucks as he feeds you another digit. But, really, how is any gal supposed to mind their manners with Dean Winchester fingering her? You groan, helpless, as he explores your folds, finds your entrance with two tips. “I know you got a thing for my hands,” his hot breath tunnels into your ear canal, “but, if you want, I can fill you up real good with something else.”

You can’t reply with any actual words, only moans of agreement. The erection pressing into your hip bone sure does feel substantial. If it’s anything like his fingers - two fingers are currently surfing around your tongue and rubbing against your palate - he’ll have no problem filling you up.

To ground yourself in the reality of the situation, you snatch at the hem of his shirt and tug. Your pelvis tilts up at the slow insertion of one of his other fingers down below. “Damn,” he pants into your ear. “How long’s it been since someone took care of you, all nice and proper? So- so tight and wet.” He hums. “And warm.” A languid slide out with one finger, only to be accompanied with another when he pushes back inside. “Feel so good. Gonna feel even better around my cock after I make you come… Princess.”

You will not ever admit to the fact that you squealed with Dean’s fingers in your mouth. That you convulsed after only seconds of him playing with your clit and stretching open your hole.

Fireworks continue to skyrocket in your head. Your body tipped into the oversensitive zone. You’re aware of every bit of him plastered against you. He’s made you slick with arousal and sweat. Layers of fabric cling to skin. You should be suffocating with him laying atop you, but he feels like a weighted blanket. Warm, secure. Dean’s fingers don’t retract from your mouth or pussy. They are frozen in place. Your teeth nibble one set. Your muscles spasm around the other. 

He hasn’t moved. Hot breath huffs hard into the crook of your neck with an occasional sharp inhale and hold. You close your eyes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could fall asleep like this.

“Was that… too much?” He deep-throat whispers in your ear now. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“N-mph-,” you chortle around his fingers.

“Shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, the other slowly out of your hot core. Matching sighs release from you both.

“No,” you heave, and his chest rises up and off. “It was… awesome.”

He’s in your face now, all green eyes and pink lips, a veil of freckles along the bridge of his nose and forehead. “Yeah?”

You squint, trying to focus on all the glorious aspects. He’s studying you. You get the feeling he’s really not sure. “Why is the ladies man doubting himself all of sudden?” you tease, rocking to shuffle him out of the daze.

A shrug. “It’s you. I don’t always read you right.”

You lean your head back into his memory foam in an attempt to make full eye contact. “I don’t know how many ways you can misread giving me a mindblowing orgasm.”

He blinks, cautious. “Is what I did going to… you know… change things between us?”

“Oh.” You stop, dart your gaze to the ceiling past his shoulder for dramatic effect. “Oh, absolutely. I mean,” you pause, “how could it not?” You shake your head and feel his entire body go rigid. “It’s gonna be so awkward and uncomfortable around here.” 

When you dare to look at him, there’s a hint of something you don’t see often on Dean’s face. You think it might be fear.

You can’t bear it any longer. “I mean, I can already imagine the disgusted look on Sam’s face when we start making out right in front of him.”

Within seconds, the expression turns to one of relief and amusement, accompanied by the charming cockiness that’s gonna turn you to goo at the most inopportune moments from here on out. “Well, we don’t have to tell him right away. It might be fun to, you know, sneak around right under his nose.” He relaxes, sinks into you again. “I could have you all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places, doing our best not to get caught.”

You smile. “Don’t want to tell your brother you’ve stolen my heart with that five-finger discount of yours?”

He chuckles, rolls his eyes, then cups the heat of your folds again. “I mean, I sucked at Biology, but pretty sure this ain’t your heart, darlin’.”

“You’re wrong, you know?”

He blinks, all sass and spectacle, “This IS your heart?” He squeezes.

You peck his lips, roll your eyes, and curl arms around his waist. “No. Solo’s got nothing on you. YOU are the best scoundrel.”

A breathtaking kiss makes you all lightheaded. When he finally pulls away and allows you to exhale, he lifts one side of his mouth into a confident grin. “I know.”

THE END

[callmekenya]

Mal

Practicing spells and experimenting with new magic.

Exploring the Forbidden Forest at night.

Attending Auradon Prep’s Halloween events.

Painting murals around Auradon.

Sneaking out to the Isle of the Lost for old times’ sake.

Designing and customizing battle outfits together.

Stargazing from the top of Auradon Castle.

Sharing secrets and life stories.

Engaging in friendly sparring matches.

Planning pranks on unsuspecting students.

Baking enchanted treats in the kitchen.

Watching classic villain movies.

Attending royal balls and events together.

Discussing future plans for Auradon.

Going on scavenger hunts in hidden parts of the castle.

Helping Mal with her royal duties and responsibilities.

Drawing and sketching each other’s portraits.

Singing duets in private.

Practicing self-defense techniques.

Watching the sunrise after a long night of adventure.

Evie

Designing and sewing outfits in her fashion studio.

Attending fashion shows in Auradon.

Having spa days with homemade facials.

Decorating the dorm room together.

Taking long walks through Auradon’s gardens.

Hosting tea parties for close friends.

Practicing different hairstyles on each other.

Doing makeovers for friends at Auradon Prep.

Creating DIY beauty products.

Baking cupcakes and decorating them creatively.

Shopping for the latest fashion trends.

Watching fashion-related movies and shows.

Planning and throwing themed parties.

Visiting Evie’s 4 Hearts boutique on the Isle.

Helping Evie with her royal responsibilities.

Going on treasure hunts around Auradon.

Sharing stories about their mothers’ legacies.

Having deep conversations about their futures.

Volunteering for charity events in Auradon.

Taking photography trips to capture Auradon’s beauty.

Jay

Playing competitive sports, especially Tourney.

Sneaking out for midnight adventures.

Organizing and participating in Auradon’s obstacle courses.

Exploring the Isle of the Lost together.

Attending and cheering for Auradon Prep’s games.

Practicing martial arts and combat training.

Pulling off harmless pranks on Carlos and others.

Hiking in the mountains around Auradon.

Riding motorcycles and going on road trips.

Competing in various physical challenges.

Playing video games in the dorm.

Setting up campfires and telling stories.

Training with swords and other weapons.

Engaging in treasure hunts on the Isle.

Visiting Jay’s favorite places in Auradon.

Attending Auradon’s sports tournaments.

Working out and staying in shape together.

Helping Jay with his duties as the future Sultan.

Repairing and customizing vehicles.

Watching action movies and reenacting the scenes.

Carlos

Inventing and testing new gadgets.

Going on adventures with Dude.

Playing video games and having friendly competitions.

Attending tech fairs and conventions.

Setting up movie marathons with friends.

Building and racing go-karts.

Visiting the Isle and fixing up old tech.

Creating DIY projects together.

Playing with and training Dude in new tricks.

Watching classic villain movies.

Sneaking into restricted areas for exploration.

Attending Auradon’s science fairs.

Riding hoverboards around campus.

Working on robotics projects.

Attending Carlos’s Tourney matches.

Visiting the Auradon tech lab.

Discussing theories about their parents’ legacies.

Setting up treasure hunts with tech clues.

Taking part in Auradon’s talent shows.

Going on dates with Carlos and helping with advice.

Uma

Planning and leading missions on the Isle.

Sailing together on the Lost Revenge.

Cooking and preparing seafood dishes.

Exploring hidden parts of the Isle.

Practicing pirate combat skills.

Planning elaborate heists and treasure hunts.

Singing sea shanties together.

Having secret meetings in Uma’s cabin.

Helping Uma with her leadership duties.

Organizing raids against rival pirate crews.

Engaging in sword fights and combat training.

Discussing strategies to take down enemies.

Hosting pirate parties on the ship.

Decorating Uma’s quarters with stolen treasures.

Going on secret night swims around the Isle.

Plotting ways to challenge Auradon’s authority.

Helping Uma recruit new crew members.

Discussing their shared disdain for Mal.

Listening to the ocean’s waves together.

Exploring the sea caves near the Isle.

Harry

Practicing sword fights on the Lost Revenge.

Playing pranks on fellow pirates.

Sailing the high seas and discovering new territories.

Engaging in pirate-themed games and challenges.

Sharing stories of past adventures.

Creating new pirate songs and shanties.

Attending pirate feasts and parties.

Decorating Harry’s quarters with stolen goods.

Engaging in intense training sessions.

Helping Harry with his loyalty to Uma.

Going on treasure hunts around the Isle.

Spending time at the docks watching the ships.

Exploring secret passages on the ship.

Plotting ways to challenge Auradon’s rule.

Attending secret pirate meetings.

Sharing a flask of rum (non-alcoholic for the sake of Auradon Prep’s rules).

Practicing stealth and sneaking into Auradon.

Discussing their mutual distrust of Mal.

Helping Harry maintain his signature look.

Protecting each other from rival pirate crews.

Ben

Attending royal events and functions together.

Exploring the vast gardens of Auradon Castle.

Planning and hosting charitable events.

Discussing plans for the future of Auradon.

Going on diplomatic missions to other kingdoms.

Attending Auradon Prep’s football games.

Practicing speeches and royal duties.

Taking long horseback rides through the kingdom.

Engaging in political debates and discussions.

Helping Ben with his kingly responsibilities.

Going on secret getaways to relax.

Volunteering for community service projects.

Attending music and cultural festivals.

Hosting movie nights at the castle.

Preparing for royal balls and events.

Playing chess and other strategy games.

Exploring ancient ruins around Auradon.

Discussing ways to unite Auradon and the Isle.

Practicing ballroom dancing for formal events.

Going on boat rides around the kingdom.

Audrey

Attending and planning Auradon’s royal balls.

Practicing ballet and other forms of dance.

Hosting and attending tea parties with the royals.

Shopping for the latest fashion trends.

Designing and planning new ball gowns.

Going on spa days and pampering sessions.

Practicing etiquette and royal protocols.

Hosting sleepovers with the royals.

Singing duets and practicing for royal performances.

Going on royal tours around Auradon.

Visiting art galleries and museums.

Discussing the history of Auradon’s royalty.

Attending fashion shows and events.

Preparing for royal banquets and feasts.

Exploring the royal archives and library.

Hosting charity events and fundraisers.

Practicing archery and other royal sports.

Attending outdoor picnics in Auradon’s gardens.

Going on shopping sprees in the kingdom.

Watching classic Disney princess movies together.

[swanimagines]

SAIL TO ME | WYLAN VAN ECK

Summary: After you accidentally kiss Wylan, Jesper needs to make you believe that maybe it wasn't as embarrassing as you thought it was.

The meeting room was quiet, as the seven of you were looking over the upcoming plan - Kaz had just told your assignments, your job being fetching some stuff from the market. So now you were hunched over the corner table, writing down notes for your pre-heist shopping trip.

You put the quill away, pouring some sand over the paper and then picked it up, reading it over one last time. You turned around abruptly, not knowing Wylan was right behind you peering over your shoulder - and somehow, your lips met his as soon as you collided with him. You retreated right away of course - well, after a second or two because you were shocked - and caught a glimpse of Wylan’s face turning redder than Nina’s robe before he quickly turned away, and you swallowed, trying to play it off, clearing your throat and waving your shopping list towards Kaz.

“Okay, um… so we’ll go fetch some iron fake coins with Jesper. And a lock. Got it.”

“Fake copper coins. And not real copper, it’s too expensive, this will be a distraction and not a charity. Didn’t you pay attention?” Kaz retorted with a sigh, and you nodded, muttering a confirmation before making your way to the door before anyone else could say anything.

Jesper had to run for a few steps to catch you, and started to grin at you immediately when he fell into step with you. You endured it for a good five minutes, but when he wouldn’t stop, you groaned, stopping and facing the sharpshooter. “What?”

Jesper laughed. “You kissed the merchling,” he sang.

“No, I did not!” you exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly.

“And got flustered about it.”

“No I didn’t, stop it.”

Jesper shrugged. “Okay, why were you so close, staying still, after you turned?”

“Why does it even matter?” you retorted, then sighed. “We got spooked. Wylan was right behind me, and I didn’t notice him. I turned and Wylan didn’t have time to react, and… in the process our lips may have touched. I’m not sure though, it was over so quickly.”

Jesper snorted, looking at the grey sky for a moment before shifting his eyes at you again. “And you’re saying you didn’t enjoy it?”

“No…” you mumbled, shifting weight between your feet. “Well, a little.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows. “A little?”

You groaned. “Okay! Quite a lot. But I know he doesn’t like me back, it’s stupid to like him.”

Jesper huffed. “Not so sure about that. His behavior changes a lot whenever you’re around.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, he’s shy. Maybe I’m intimidating him,” you replied with a shrug.

Jesper chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I’m pretty sure I recognise lovey-dovey expressions when I see them. I’m the master of romance, after all.”

You rubbed your forehead in frustration, giving in. “Okay, I’ll talk to him. Later. Not now, we have shopping to do.”

“Yes! Finally. Nina owes me,” Jesper cheered and you laid a puzzled look on him, and Jesper grimaced. “Uh, we might have bet on which of us gets the ship sailing.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Charming. I’m flattered, truly.”

Then, you continued walking, quicker this time, and Jesper had to take a few running steps once again. You spent the rest of the shopping trip almost completely silent, letting Jesper ramble about his own love adventures, and now a small flame of hope was igniting your insides. You were nervous to talk to Wylan, but you also were excited for it - maybe it would lead to something you had dreamed about for a while.

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