#dadfucker friday

[redmyeyes]

SPN parallels

↳ 2x22 ❝ All Hell Breaks Loose II ❞ // 14x13 ❝ Lebanon ❞

[private85]

[lovetransaction]

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Warnings: Underage Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester, John Winchester/Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Parent/Child Incest, Voyeurism, Possessive Behavior for dadfucker december 2023 / @dadfuckerfest​ Summary:

John develops a habit when they settle somewhere that's not a motel, and baby baby baby do you like it?

[dadfuckerfest]

JULY 28th-30th. DAD'S ORDERS COMING SOON.

[icarriedyouout]

Back Soon

John/Dean, 955 words, pre-slash

Dean's 14, and he's standing next to the car, alone, shivering. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, but the hunt is over, the monster is dead, and Dad'll be back soon.

Dad will be back soon.

[amiwritesthings]

piggybacking on @missmisdemeanor's ask, on this wonderful dadfucker friday, tell me all about your favorite works (if you're a writer) or your favorite fic (if you're a reader) [or both! both is good!]! let's give ourselves and our favorite writers some love!!

here are some of my absolute faves:

there's no i in team by @vintagedean

it may be pure smut but there is still so much going on beneath the surface and i keep coming back to this time and time again!

what it is by @wastemanjohn

what are you even doing with your life if you haven't read this one yet? it is *that* good, it will alter your brain chemistry forever.

new year's eve, 2002 by @egipci

it is melancholic and heartwarming at the same time and em's writing really doesn't get enough attention, so go check it out if you have a moment!

[wastemanjohn]

OKAY. for wincest wednesday i asked for thoughts on whether Bobby Knows - and now for dadfucker friday, same question! does Bobby Know, or vaguely suspect, or have a feeling? or does john try to keep it from him at all costs? If he does know how does he feel about it? is this the reason he nearly shot john? 👀 let me know what you think!

[deanwinchesterpregnant]

johndeanna with john watching her slut it up at some bar all night knowing full well she's gonna come home and nastysloppydirty fuck him later 👀👀

very tasty prompt, thank you ami <3

Deanna’s in one of her going-out-to-get-fucked outfits. John’s been more lenient about letting her out of the house like that since she turned 21 and especially since Sam left. Halter top that shows off her toned arms, tiny skirt, scuffed pair of boots. The ID’s still fake of course, but the age is real and it’s getting harder and harder for John to ignore that the baby in baby girl isn’t so accurate anymore.

He’s back at the pool table rustling up a couple hundred to cover both the tab and the cost of staying at the motel another week. Whatever they’re after, it’s not the wraith they thought it was. It’ll be another long day of research tomorrow, longer without Sammy here. Both John and Deanna are frustrated, snapping at each other over small shit, which is rare for Deanna if she’s not on the rag. And god help John, but he knows without a doubt she’s not on the rag.

“Your break,” says John’s opponent, slapping the quarter down on the table. He’d jump at the sudden noise over the din of the chatter if he were a civilian. The shiny head of George Washington stares back at him, and he nods, lining up his shot.

John could win a game of pool in his sleep, so losing the first game sloppily is a cakewalk even with most of his attention on Deanna and not the table. She’s leaning over the bar, tits all heaved up there for the bartender’s benefit. Her benefit too, John notes, as the guy slides a shot to her with a wink. He knows what that means. On the house, sweetheart.

He can feel the usual tremor of annoyance, protectiveness – whatever-it-is – run through him, but it’s easier to let it go when he knows exactly who Deanna’s going home with. It’s almost like foreplay for John; maybe Deanna knows that, maybe she doesn’t. She loves to flirt, his little girl, and she sure as shit knows how to do it.

John’s opponent sinks a striped ball and John fixes his cue to fumble a shot on a solid; Deanna’s moved on from the bartender and is chatting up a guy sat down at the end of the bar. The trucker type: grizzled beard and hands cracked with blisters and hat hair something awful. He thinks he’s got Deanna under his thumb and to his credit, she’s making him believe it. Leaning in way too close to his space, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Sauntering over to the jukebox to hit C5 – this is the only bar around, and they’ve been here enough times in the last couple weeks for John to know that it’s Communication Breakdown – and swaying her hips just a little bit off rhythm.

“Better luck next time, champ,” John’s opponent says. He’s got every stripe potted and is about to pot 8-ball while John still has a couple solids out and about. Easy fucking money.

His opponent wins of course, and John trains his face into an exaggerated one of disappointment, taking another shot of whiskey from the couple glasses he’s got lined up on the tall table next to him. Deanna’s tilting her head toward the shuffleboard table in the back with a raised eyebrow, but the trucker shakes his head and snakes an arm around her waist. Orders her another Jack & Coke.

“Alright, alright. How ‘bout a next time right now? Double or nothing?”

“Your loss,” the guy grins. “I’ll take that bet. I’m Tom, by the way.”

“John.” He shakes Tom’s hand and lays his money down on the table. “Your break.”

Tom chuckles, setting up the balls in a triangle and nods toward the bar. “You got your eye on her? Way outta your league, man. And she’s been all over at least three other guys since I got here.”

“Mmm,” John grunts. “Can’t always bag ‘em, I guess.”

This time, John takes care to pot a solid on his first shot, feigning shock. Maybe I’m a little better when I’m drunk. The trucker’s mouthing at Deanna’s neck, but for the first time all night, she looks back at John, biting her lip. She’s ready to go home.

Her legs are crossed delicately on her stool, which means she’s got no panties on. Cunt wet with sweat and want, John can practically feel the stumps of her shaved-a-couple-weeks-ago pubes brushing over his face. He’ll tongue fuck her first, get her all relaxed and open without even getting a finger in her. And when he fucks her it’ll be fast and hard. He’s got her on the pill with this most recent insurance fraud, so he can shoot in her the way she likes. The way he likes. The way his spunk will drip down her leg and they’ll wake up all sticky with it.

“Fuck!” Tom’s saying, frowning as John pots another couple balls. “Really thought you were shit at this, man.”

“Sometimes you get lucky,” John grins. Deanna’s made her way over to him by now, and he slips an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“Ready to go, Daddy?” she asks, a pout on her blowjob lips. Fuck, but if she doesn’t know how to get what she wants. He nods, twisting his fingers in her hair.

“You know what I mean, Tom?”

Deanna steps back, pressing a kiss to John’s cheek for the good luck they both know he doesn’t need. He sinks the 8-ball, and takes the money.

[missmisdemeanor]

Happy DFF Lana! I'm going to go for a horny question bc my brain is fried, what's John's favourite way to fuck Dean? Position, hard/slow, little idiosyncrasies... tell me the gross 👀

so this got away from me a little. smut under the cut.

It’s– God, almost four in the morning and neither of them have slept. John’s insomnia is an old beast, its teeth worn down from gnawing at him over the course of two decades. Dean’s is a brand new animal, and it’s teething. It bites red rings under his eldest son’s eyes, visible as Dean sits at the motel desk cleaning another gun. He’s given up any pretense of going to sleep, just like last night and the night before. Three nights prior, they’d finished the last of their store of sleeping pills.

John watches him from the unmade bed. They only get one-bed rooms these days, with Sam gone. John watches him, like he has for years. And it’s a dance. Dean sways subtly, arm pulling back. He puts the gun down. John follows arm with eyes in a fluid motion. “Dean,” he calls, lips loose around the syllable.

“Go to sleep,” Dean rasps. Every word is forced through the front of his throat.

“You know I can’t.”

John’s lips turn up. Dean is particularly beautiful in the low light, in the early hours, with red-ringed eyes and subtly shaking limbs. Like John, he’s scuffed from their years of violent life, like a rock endlessly tumbling down a jagged mountain, gathering chips and scratches along the way. His shattered edges soften under lamplight, under a haze of sleeplessness. Fog fills his voice and his body echoes a sort of delicateness it hasn’t truly held since he carried Sam out of the fire.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. Dry. There’s a sink in the bathroom, but he hasn’t had a sip of water in twelve hours, easy. Just one beer and a couple cigarettes. “I know.”

“Come here,” John says. Gentle, always gentle. Dean doesn’t fight like Sam does–or rather did. And John’s instruction is a plea far more than a command. He remembers Dean younger, standing with hands on John’s knee, seated. Dad, are you okay? Teenaged, a broader palm on John’s shoulder. Hey. Let’s all relax, alright? To Dean, the face of a put-together father has always been made of glass. 

He sees the man John is, so John doesn't try to hide it.

Dean sighs. Wordlessly, he stands on weak bowlegs. His feet are silent on the motel’s brown wall-to-wall carpet, and he sits next to John in bed.

“There you are,” John smiles. Dean doesn’t brush it off, not with a laugh or by moving away. 

This is routine– one two three, one two three. John sits up and his fingers dance along Dean’s jaw, across the coarse stubble he hasn’t bothered shaving. Dean’s hands pull John’s shirt off, almost like a parent helping a child change clothes. It’s not hungry, not insistent. Not yet.

John coaxes Dean from his cotton tee in turn, runs rough hands up Dean’s scarred sides. It’s redundant at this point to call him beautiful. Maybe the words leach out of John’s admiring eyes. 

Jeans and boxers too are discarded, and Dean’s legs are almost as hairy as John’s these days. Dean has John’s blunt jaw and his soft stomach. He has his mother’s eyes.

Dean’s legs come over John’s and press their cocks together. The hair on Dean’s is lighter, and it curves the opposite way if you really pay attention. Which John does. He’s made a mental study of Dean so meticulous and for so many years it could constitute a doctorate. His hand reaches out first, hairy-knuckled and gnarled as a storm-worn oak. It wraps around them both, stroking slow, breathing life into soft, tired bodies. 

Dean’s hand wraps on top of John’s, softer palms from youth but certainly not easy living. Slow, ever-tighter. They groan in unison, breathing heavily. When John looks up into Dean’s eyes, they’re half-lidded, his pupils blown wider than they were even with the room so dim. His cock’s hardening in John’s hand, the tip turning a stunning shade of pink-red. John’s cock fills half from pleasure and half from watching Dean, the way his stomach folds as he gets comfortable and his hips start rocking. His palm’s getting sweaty against the back of John’s hand.

John’s the first to break the relative silence. “Fuck…I could come like this.”

Dean grunts. A swarm of red bees descends on his summer-peach cheeks. They flit invisibly fast wings against his neck, up to his ears. “Don’t,” his voice buzzes, low. He leans into John’s shoulder and rests his warm chin there. 

John’s hand stills. “Holding out for something better?”

Dean shakes his head. His hair’s getting shaggy. John likes to put his fingers in it, and he doesn’t hold back from doing so now. “Yeah.” He breathes out in a stream, like blowing out a birthday candle. “Fuck me.”

They never say make love. They don’t kiss particularly often either. Dean doesn’t ham up his fuck me though, it’s gruff and sincere. John presses cracked lips to Dean’s oily hairline, that much is okay. “Of course.”

Dean situates himself like he has for months of late nights, stomach flat to the sheets. John takes the lube off the nightstand. They’d left it on top of the motel’s stationery the day they got there. A week ago, maybe. Stomach-to-back is their favourite position, and John doesn’t know how much of that is about avoiding each other’s eyes.

In any case, he’s dutiful. He owes that to Dean, who stuck around, who still hasn’t turned on him even though he doesn’t sleep anymore. Sam’s the one ghost they can’t hunt down. John squirts lube onto his fingers and presses them to Dean’s rim, pushes in with little preamble. The slide’s easy. Practised. 

Dean grunts, he lifts his hips off the mattress slightly. John curls two fingers inside him, spreading them apart slightly. He presses where he knows Dean likes it, and Dean moans into the sheets ever-so-quietly. John doesn’t miss details though. For once, he’s grateful to be hypervigilant. 

“Come on,” Dean complains, and it makes John laugh.

“Alright, calm down. I got you.”

Fucking Dean is a feeling like nothing else in the world. His tight rim chokes John’s cock as he pushes in, and he’s so soft and warm inside. Dean likes it wet, and the lube squelches as John starts thrusting into him. Pure bliss.

He's pressed to Dean’s back, coarse chest hair against the thin hair between Dean’s shoulder blades. It tugs as John moves, it hurts a little. “Oh, Dean…”

“Mm…” Dean ruts into the mattress and back up against John, up and down. John licks the side of his neck, tastes the cold sweat of his insomnia against the hot skin of arousal. He sinks his teeth into Dean’s shoulder, a claim.

Dean responds so sweetly to being touched. He’s good, so good. John pants in his ear and indulges himself, slow and deep. “Baby,” John groans, holding strong hips.

John likes being right here, feeling every one of Dean’s muscles activate as he writhes, searching desperately for more pleasure. He likes the feeling of Dean’s low, curved back, the way his round stomach fits right in that dip like they were made to slot together.

Clothes on the floor, diagonal on the bed. John leans forward to smell Dean’s breath as he exhales and it’s gross, sour and still lingering with cigarette smoke. 

“Love you,” John sighs, and Dean mumbles it back into the sheets. They’ve been saying it a lot more lately.

John picks up the pace, still with long, deep thrusts. He wants to feel the slide from base to tip. Dean moans openly, face full of fabric, arching his hips up for more. On another day, John might’ve teased him. Slut, good boy. You just love Daddy’s cock, don’t you? 

Not tonight. 

Dean’s body goes so lax under John’s he could be falling asleep. He isn’t, with the way those raw-throated noises carry on. “Touch me,” Dean asks, low and husky, and John could never say no.

He reaches a hand underneath to stroke Dean’s cock, appreciatively humming at how hard and wet with precome it is. He’s made the sheets wet too. Messy boy. “Mine,” John groans, canting his hips without finesse. “Close…”

“Mhh,” Dean tilts his head up to breathe properly as John squeezes his cock, thumbs at the tip, fucks deep into his wet asshole.

John comes hard, his abdomen tensing against Dean’s back. The tingling warmth spreads through all of his limbs. He stays still there as he finishes Dean off, which takes another minute of jerking him off and biting at his neck.

Dean’s especially beautiful when he comes, to the point where John likes Dean’s orgasms more than his own. His whole body shakes and he gasps, and John feels the spurts of wet come between his hand and the bed.

When he pulls out, Dean’s half asleep already. They’re not going to talk about it.

They never do.

[egipci]

Hi Em!!!! Happy Dadfucker Friday <3

There’s a very popular picture in the John/Dean community of a guy with a dirty boot print on his chest. Can you tell us a little bit about how that boot print got there? (Eg. was it consensual? Was it a punishment? Was it a sex thing? Did Dean ask for it? etc.) Thank you!!! <3

Cannabutter

What happened was, the first time, they were somewhere in rural Colorado, like near the mountains, and Dad had been gone for a couple of weeks on a case, and there was a girl. This girl, let’s call her Maggie, she was over one night in the little townhouse where they were staying, and she’d brought these brownies with her. And the brownies were really good, like objectively very fucking good brownies, fudgy at the center, etc., and Dean was hungry, had been eating mac and cheese everyday for a week straight, or you know, like feeling snacky or whatever, and he was seventeen, plus the girl was hot, and they were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch and he had sort of a lot of brownies. Like, half a sheet of those things. So good were these brownies he was like, “Yo, these brownies are so good. What’s in these brownies?” and it was all the usual stuff, of course, eggs, cocoa, sugar, etc. but you had to use brown sugar, that was the key. “You get the brown sugar,” she said, “and then you whisk in the cannabutter,” and he said, “A canna what?” And she said, “The cannabutter,” and he said, “Oh,” and as he said that he felt it, his heart banging against his ribs and face warming up, a shiver between his shoulder blades. And she was like, one of those hippy chicks with hippy parents and she and her parents smoked pot together or whatever, like they grew it themselves and made butter and tea and whatnot. And he said, “Oh, cool, my dad and I are really close too. He’s coming back soon,” except he couldn’t be sure if he’d actually said any of that or if he’d only thought it, and he must have been freaking out a little because she put her hand on his arm all fucking solicitous and asked, “Are you okay?” and of course he said yes, because she was hot, plus the roofies had felt different. And when he smiled at her she kissed him and pushed him to his back and got on top of him, put her hands under his shirt. And that was nice for a while, making out and her kissing up on his neck and pulling his shirt off.

Then: the sound of the car, and the girl whispering conspiratorially, “Is that your dad?” And at that point he was shaking and trying not to shake and he said, very seriously, “You have to go now,” like a freaking chick from a movie where the dad chases away all the boyfriends. And then he was vaguely aware of her getting up and putting on her shoes and saying something to Dad on the way out, and Dean thought if he got up he might throw up or something and Dad would find out how fucked up he was. So he just stayed there very still on the floor in front of the couch. Pretending to be asleep so that when Dad saw him he’d just leave him there. And Dad was moving around, taking off his jacket and washing his hands, etc., and Dean could feel him coming closer, to kill him or something probably, his boots making the floorboards creak, until he stood right there over Dean, and then he bent down with a grunt and stood up again, his knees cracking twice. And of course, because it was Dad and he’d been away so long, Dean opened his eyes and looked up, overjoyed to see him, having missed him so much, and Dad held the ziplock with the rest of those brownies up to his face, and he said, “Oh, man,” and just his voice made heat flash everywhere, sent Dean white-hot like a magnesium flare. “Dad,” he said, and Dad said, “Come on, dude. Get up.” And Dean said, “Dad. Dad, I’m so high,” and saying more than three words sent him laughing hysterically that something popped in his neck, or almost, and Dad toed his shoulder, said, “Get to bed,” except even then he didn’t sound super serious, like if Dean could see his face he would find him smiling, because he can tell things like that just by hearing Dad’s voice. And then, out of nowhere, Dad just put his foot right over Dean’s chest, almost straight across, but diagonal a little, with his boot still on, and like, shook him, like you would put your hand on someone’s shoulder and then rattle them a little. And the ridges on the sole were hard and wet from the dewy soil outside, but Dean’s hand latched around Dad’s ankle, over the boot, and then up around his skinny shin under the leg of his jeans, and Dad let him, just pressed his foot down hard. Not hard enough that Dean couldn’t breathe but there, good, like when he’d hold Dean down with his hands on his chest or his back, except even better because he was high as shit and the tip of Dad’s toe was grinding against his nipple, painful almost, but he could feel it everywhere, like this current to his balls, but it wasn’t just that, it was that it was Dad standing there over him, holding him down, watching him, and he made this embarrassing sound, whiny, so humiliating he couldn’t even do anything about it except call out for Dad again, and Dad said, “You’re good,” and his voice was so low it made Dean shiver, because he liked watching Dean and he was watching him now, even spread out pathetic on the floor Dad liked watching him, wanted to watch him even like this, even as he held onto Dad’s leg with one hand and unbuttoned his jeans with the other and pulled his dick out and his balls over the elastic of his boxers and came so hard in twelve seconds flat, even then Dad liked him. 

[private85]

[lovetransaction]

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Mary Winchester Additional Tags: HunterCorp Universe, The Winchester Family, Father/Son Incest, Normalized Incest for dadfucker december 2023 / @dadfuckerfest​ Summary:

A family, like a corporation, works at its best and smoothest when everyone understands their job description.

[dadfuckerfest]

In case you missed it:

Bar Trouble by @hadronicdecay

untitled flash by @esthershapiro

sit sitting spare by @lovetransaction

and over 20 sexy prompts still waiting patiently to be filled!

[icarriedyouout]

Hello hello happy dadfucker friday! Same question to everyone today: samjohn is controversial, do you ship them? If yes what appeals and if no what puts you off? ❤

Happy dadfucker friday! I love love love samjohn!

I don't ship them the same way I ship deanjohn (that's basically canon to me), but I think it's fun to explore. If it's treated seriously, it can be really compelling, especially when you add Dean into the mix. It's just so messy! And obviously it can't end well, so it hits all my tragedy loving buttons. Plus all the fallout from John's death is delicious.

Mostly I love that Sam doesn't put up with John's shit. And they're both so ready to grab each other and get all aggressively up in each other's faces! Thank you, Dead Man's Blood, for this beautiful scene:

So much tension! Maybe they should fuck about it.

But when they're not at each other's throats, they're soooo sweet

Look at that face, he loves his baby so much!

and they have matching dimples!!!

idk, it seemed important

samjohn is soooo good <3

[amiwritesthings]

happy DFF ami <3 may i ask something incredibly self-indulgent...

how would john react if he knocked deanna up??

ugh spike this question is KILLING ME for reasons i cannot elaborate on (yet) BUT

my johndeanna hcs tend to run a little darker than the johndean ones and i need you to know that john has been secretly fantazising about knocking her up for years. he'd never tell her or let it come out in some kind of breeding kink scenario but the breeding kink in his mind is mighty, he is just that unhinged about his baby girl.

to find out that he accidentally-on-purpose succeeded? best. news. ever. his external reaction kinda depends on how deanna is feeling about it/when in their lives it happens tho.

late teens/early twenties deanna will probably freak out, have all kinds of feelings about it and be a little afraid of his reaction bc she might have been unintentionally playing a little fast and loose with the birth control pills (she's not good with sticking to a schedule okay) but he will be so reassuring and kind and trying so hard not to appear too giddy bc this is his wildest fantasy come true and god he wishes he knew which time it happened, if it was a quick romp in the back of the car or when he had her spread out on a bed and taken her apart for hours and hours until she was too weak to even stand. and she will look up at him with her big disney princess eyes and ask, all small and worried, "You're not mad?" and he will brush the hair out of her eyes and smile at her and tell her that it's okay and they will figure it all out and kiss her so gently with his hand on her belly.

now, john and deanna a little later in life all settled down in their little incest cabin in the woods? elated! tears of joy! celebratory orgasms! best day of his life and not even trying to hide it!!

[wastemanjohn]

hi china! does deanjohn + drunk sex strike your fancy? i’ve been thinking about it lately

HI LANA and oooof absolutely

Scenario 1: They ONLY fuck when they're drunk. Post hunt adrenaline, a whole lot of whisky, John stricken with a rush of loneliness and Dean happy for the attention; backseat, bathroom stall, sometimes a motel bed, but it's always frantic and intense and rough and usually involves Dean bent over or with his face pushed into a pillow, so he never sees his father's face when he comes. And they never talk about it; never acknowledge it. They wake up the next day and go back to their lives. There's no talk of stopping, because there's no talk about it at all; in fact, John ends up taking it to his grave. And Dean - Dean spends the rest of his life trying to pretend those hazy memories are just snippets of dreams he must have had once, because with hindsight and distance - he can confront a lot of things about John, but not that. He'll never be able to look at that.

Scenario 2: They're fucking... maybe still never missionary, maybe it's never nice exactly, never candles and rose petals, but it happens whether they're drunk or not. But when John drinks - sometimes he can get a little mean. A little uninhibited. Sometimes he's a little emotional, that lid he just about keeps on his anger most of the time flies right the fuck off. When John's drunk, just sometimes, he seems so angry; and Dean gets the brunt of it. It doesn't feel that bad at the time; maybe he zones out, maybe he's too busy trying to be good, to be what Dad needs, trying to be there for Dad the same way he is when Dad needs someone to prise a bottle out of his hand and get him undressed for bed - no, Dean just deals with it, and it's not until the next morning that he realizes fully what it was. Sees it in the blushing purple bruises on his hips, his thighs, imprints of Dad's fingers; in the puncture wounds of Dad's teeth on his neck, some of them crusty with dried blood, god, Dad was so angry - and Dad still smells of whisky, and something stale and bitter like shame, and he doesn't look at Dean when he tells them they need to hunt apart for a while; and as always, Dad knows best, so Dean nods and takes it on the chin. Does Dean go to Bobby for comfort sometimes after nights like this? In my head yeah but that's another story.

Scenario 3: John's fucking pathetic and the only thing he has in the world is his pretty sonwife. And when hunting's going well and there are no raging storms hanging over them, when John's a little less tense than usual, when he's drunk on beer instead of liquor - those are the best nights of Dean's life. He's getting railed so fucking gently. He's getting kisses. He's getting endless, uninhibited praise. He's getting handholding. John may or may not also want to kiss Dean's lil pot belly all over and remark about how cute it is until Dean squirms and whines for him to knock it off - its not that soft, Dad, Jesus, you're giving me a fucking complex here - but again, that's another story.