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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

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If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

TAGLIST (cont’d in reblogs): @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @redhotkitchen @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @kamcrazy123 @wclverine

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mxltifxnd0m · 24 days

Text

sub! sammy headcanons ⟡ s. winchester

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader [can be read as gn/afab! reader]

word count: 1.5K

warnings: mentions of sub/dom dynamics, cursing, oral m/f receiving, praise, hair pulling, sam being a brat, pain/marking kink, bondage, pegging, choking, cock- warming, written with early seasons sam in mind, barely edited

a/n: MINORS DNI!! i will use the block button if you do :) anyways i was inspired by the whimper audio of jared in house of wax and it sparked this idea that i got around too lol

also, i will be posting a weekly recap of my week during this semester of school so go and check that out! ik i said i wouldn't be posting that often, but perhaps i lied, but then again its only the first week back lol

anyways enjoy! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me loll!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

⟡ a preface? idk some pre thots before the headcanons lol

okay so in my mind, sam is a soft dom 100% but can be a switch when the situation calls for it

due to his stature, it can be hard to imagine sam as a sub, but trust me, he can be

i think he’s more of a sub when he’s younger, like in the earlier seasons of the show

but in the later seasons, he def would want more control in his sex life (would go more in-depth about this, but this is not the place for that lol)

anyways time for the headcanons loll

⟡⟡⟡

⟡ praise kink

is this even a debate?? The answer is no its not loll

this goes both ways; he loves giving you praise but also receiving it

thrives on the pet names you give him “pretty boy”, “handsome”, “good boy”, etc.

makes his brain turn into literal mush and doubles down on whatever he’s doing to do, whether it's going down on you or fucking you straight into the mattress or thrusting up into you harder as you’re on top of him

⟡ certified muncher

mari did some NSFW headcanons a while back for sam (check that out!) and i mentioned that he was a certified muncher and i stand by it 100%

sam is a pussy fiend™️

like do we not remember that sam had a sex dream about bela and he “went down” on her???

yeah, you can’t sit here and tell me he isn’t one but yes he loves going down on you!!

he’s obsessed with the taste of you and how warm you are as he drags his tongue through your slit

if he gets just a taste, he's a fucking goner he gets pussydrunk so fast he’s damn good at it too

ruts his hips into the mattress unconsciously as he goes down on you because giving you pleasure gets him off

is obsessed when you ride his face, like yes use his face to cum!

like he loves the feeling of your thighs cushioning his ears as you grind against his face, his nose bumping your clit perfectly as his tongue is as deep as he can get in your cunt and lets out muffled groans, sending vibrations through you, and makes you rut into his face even harder

could (and has) cummed untouched just by eating you out there have been times when you had to physically haul him off of you because you were overstimulated to the point where it almost hurt

“pretty boy, please.” your voice was wrecked as your hands were weaved into his brown hair and tugged him away from your cunt. he whined like a baby when you pulled him off, and sam looked like the poster boy of debauchery. the bottom half of his face slick with your arousal, lips puffy and pink as his hair was standing up in all different directions, and his eyes were glazed over with lust.

⟡ hair pulling

speaking of his hair standing up in different directions the man loves and i mean LOVES, getting his hair tugged/pulled at

sam likes it when you play with it, he curls up into your lap as you play with it, but as you start, you tug on it lightly; low moans and whimpers leave his mouth as he burrows into your lap and shoves his face in your crotch

but he loves it when you tug on it as he goes down you, sending jolts of pleasure through his spine and to his cock

one time, he came in his boxers when the two of you had an early morning makeout session, and you tugged a little too hard, and he let out a choked moan against your lips. you pulled away from him for him to shove his head in the crook of your neck, riding out his orgasm. when he came out of his hiding spot, he had a red hue on his cheeks as he looked sheepish

⟡ vocal

oh, this man is vocal [this whimper audio is what sparked this all] at first, he was shy about making noise, only letting out small grunts and groans

but as you guys were together for longer, you slowly coaxed it out of him

“come on, make some noise for me, handsome; wanna hear you,” you said as you kissed around his hips and down his v-lines, scraping your teeth along the skin before kissing the tip of his cock. A small groan left his lips before a louder moan erupted from his chest as you took his tip in your mouth and suckled on it.

But once he got over not making noise, oh god, he sounded beautiful as you overstimulated him and milked him for what he was worth as he let out noises and babbled out nonsense from his cum-drunk mind.

⟡ bratty

we’ve seen the sass on this man; he is 100% capable of being a brat

but when he is one, he revels in being difficult

but it just means you get to put this 6’4 man in his place (you act like it doesn’t do wonders for your ego, but it does lol)

when he acts like a brat, you’re rougher with him, and sam loves it he loves feeling the sting of your hand against his ass or the scraping of your nails along his chest as you ride him

this also means you edge him for hours, bringing him to the edge, his cock drooling precum and flushed red. tears leak from his eyes as he whines, the noise echoing through the empty motel room.

“pl-please! I wanna cum.” sam’s voice was higher than it had ever sounded and absolutely ruined from the amount of times that you’ve denied him sweet relief. you clicked your tongue at him, “have you learned your lesson?” your hand was tight around the base of his cock as you planted teasing kisses around his pelvis and thighs, sucking hickeys wherever you so pleased.

⟡ pain/marking kink

sam isn’t one to love pain, considering the life he leads but he relishes in the pleasurable pain of your marks.

loves to feel the slight sting on his back as he stretches or puts on his shirt from your nails biting into his skin and scratching it up his thighs being sensitive and tender from the number of hickeys that you left in your wake as you blew him

sam didn’t think he’d like being slapped, but you asked him if you could and he was surprised that he moaned in response as a red handprint bloomed on his face (you don’t do it often, but its always welcomed if you do it)

⟡ bondage

sam has the innocent facade down to a T, but he’s a kinky motherfucker behind those puppy dog eyes of his

loves being tied up and at your mercy he doesn’t mind handcuffs, but he’s more partial to the silk ropes you use to tie his arms together and to the headboard and use him in any way you wanted

he knows that he could get out of the ties if you wanted (you guys have a system in place to let the other know if they want to tap out), but he likes surrendering himself to you and knows that you’ll take good care of him

when you get him all tied up and when you’re done with him, he’s practically shaking with pleasure and blissed out to the point where he doesn’t know where he is sometimes

sam in shibari makes you go feral (you learned how to do the ties and mentioned it to him one day and pleaded for you to do it on him)

⟡⟡⟡

bonus headcanons!

⟡ pegging

it was an experience that you both thoroughly enjoyed

he finally had gotten a piece of what you were like the day after of an intense night with sam sam was surprised by the ache he felt, but it was a pleasant one

this was one of the times when he was the loudest, and it’s one of his favorite things to do with you

⟡ choking

you don’t exactly choke him you either leave your hand on his neck to rest there as your hips swivel around his cock

or you put the slightest amount of pressure on his neck, not cutting off his airflow but the blood flow, and when you let go, he was catapulted into an orgasm so hard his eyes crossed.

⟡ cock-warming

he loves it when, after an intense session, staying connected to you as long as he can

sometimes, after you guys clean up and head for bed, he always asks if he could just stay in you since it’s comforting for him You always oblige him since you love it, too

It’s slightly uncomfortable at first; his soft cock doesn’t exactly sink in as smoothly compared to when he’s hard

but the two of you sleep soundly until the morning, where he had grown harder in you as the night progressed, and it usually leads to slow morning sex

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prettypinkporkchop · 12 days

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I need a Paul x nerd reader in my life I think there dynamic would be so cute

I fucking love the jock x nerd trope (i know Paul's not a jock but close enough)

How it began:

You're peacefully reading your book at the public library behind a shelf. You hear two loud guys behind you out of the book aisle. You think to yourself how you're thankful for graduating school! You close the book and step out toward the checkout to buy it. You're stopped dead in your tracks.

Paul Lahote and his friend, Embry Call. Embry is being quiet and looking around for something. You gasp and hide behind the shelf. Paul Lahote. He bullied you for the longest time. When he left high school to join Sam's cult, you were already graduating. He's a year younger than you, but he was mister popular. You were just a book worm with straight A's. You've never even been in a relationship.

Embry has always been respectful. You've always questioned why he associates with him. But getting that quick view of their new hair made you extra nervous. You know Embry won't acknowledge you. Paul might even though you guys are grown now. You don't know! He's always unpredictable and hotheaded.

You take a deep breath and lower your head, quickly making your way to the check out desk. Before you reach it, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You swiftly turn and meet Paul. He's smiling his taunting smile, but it quickly fades. He seems lost in thought. Embry is standing next to him and grabs his arm. "Paul." He whispers. Paul snaps out of it and then looks down. "Hey, y/n. Good to see you." Then he walks away.

You can't help but wonder what the fuck that was about. Embry turns to you with a look of "yikes". "Sorry about that, y/n. Uhm, good to see you! Gotta blast." He gives you the peace out sign and walks away. Oh, Embry. What a dork! Oh, wait...

Now:

"Babe! Come play with us!" Paul calls out. He's holding the soccer ball in his hand. You look up from your book and push up your glasses. You can see some of the guys in the water. The other imprints decided to go shopping. It wasn't really your thing, so you stayed with Paul.

"No, sweetie. You know I'm no good at that stuff." You laugh. He groans and tosses the ball to Jared. They start playing again. But Paul stops and runs over to you, playing on your back, tackling you, and holding you down. You laugh loudly as he begins to tickle you. You toss the book and completely lose your place. "Paul!" You yell and then reach for the book. "It's got sand in it, and you made me lose my place." You sigh. He grabs your face and kisses you hard. You kiss back and hold his face, too, rubbing your thumbs on his cheek.

"Think fast!" You hear Quil running to you two. You pull away and see the ball coming right toward you. Paul reacts quickly, catching it with one hand. "Bro, really?" He glares at him.

You guys get home, and Paul is watching football on TV. You're sitting on your phone, looking at Pinterest crafting ideas. Easy ones that'll keep you out of bordemn in your free time. "YOO!" He yells and laughs. He points at the screen and looks at you. "Did you see that horrible defense?! Hell no." He turns back and laughs. You just smile and nod your head, not understanding a thing he said. He turns back to you and grabs your thigh. "Right, my nerd." He leans in and peppers kisses all over your face. You lay back and pull him on top of you. He holds himself up, looking down at you. "When you are focusing on reading or anything else, really, you're so cute. When you tutor Brady and Collin for math, I love it." He smiles. You blush and wrap your arms around his neck. "Thank you, sexy." You giggle and pull him down for a kiss. His lips land on yours for a moment, and he pulls away, looking down at you. "Do you want to play video games together? How about Madden? It's not real football. I'm sure you'll like it!" He sits up and turns on his Playstation. You suck in a breath. "Last time you made me play a sports game, I nearly fell asleep." You giggle. He laughs and then goes through his downloads. He skips animal crossing SOOOO fast. "Hey!" You call out. "Nope. Nope. I'll settle for Minecraft, but that's all you get." He shakes his head. "How about we meet in the middle? GTA?" You grab the other controller that's on the coffee table. He smirks and turns to you. "I pick the music when we steal a bus."

#twilight #embry call #jacob black #jared cameron #paul lahote #sam uley #seth clearwater #twilight wolfpack #leah clearwater #quil ateara #paul lahote x reader

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pagannatural · 5 months

Text

2.14 Born Under a Bad Sign

-Meg possesses Sam which forces the brothers’ dynamic to develop. Dean really reclaims a sense of himself this episode after spending all season in various degrees and types of turmoil over what to do about Sam. I don’t think he ever really considered killing Sam, but he agonized over his role and what he should do. He lied to a drunk Sam in Playthings and said he would kill him.

- Dean has called Ellen multiple times about Sam going missing, so much so that Dean doesn’t even refer to him by name on the phone, he just calls asking Where is he. Dean says “I’m losing my mind here.” He’s desperate to find Sam. I wonder if Dean ever lost Sam when he was a baby, like at the store or something.

- Dean also says it’s like when John went missing all over again. Dean sought out Sam for help and comfort when that happened. It’s a little kernel of insight into Dean’s state of mind when he broke into Sam’s house in s1, he was probably a lot more afraid than he let on to Sam because he was trying to keep it together.

-when he gets to the motel room Dean kneels in front of Sam, who’s sitting on the bed. He’s off to the side rather than right in between Sam’s legs but when he zeroes in on the blood on Sam’s shirt, on his lower stomach, he starts moving aside Sam’s jacket and touching the bloody fabric. It looks very intimate. Dean reaches directly into Sam’s personal space and even moves his clothes aside to check for injury.

This quick shot of his fingers feeling Sam’s stomach is particularly intimate. Meg!Sam says that he doesn’t think it’s his blood. Dean certainly thought it was Sam’s blood, he wouldn’t have been considering other options at that moment. So Dean is touching Sam’s wound on his lower belly, as far as he and the viewer know. It’s a sexual and feminine image. Although he’s not actually injured, Sam’s body has been invaded and controlled by a demon. It’s a sexual assault parallel, a first taste of Sam’s fall from grace. Throughout the episode, Dean fights for him and refuses to harm him. As long as Sam is still in there somewhere, Dean will protect him.

-Meg is inside of Sam’s brain and body and she has a pretty good understanding of Sam. She’s acting the way she thinks he would and also in whatever way plays to her advantage with Dean, so she has a primary interest in the nature of their relationship. She knows about Dean’s promise to John and to Sam about killing him, so she must have some access to his memories. She plays up Sam’s pleading eyes more than anything, which means she knows Sam’s memories that this has worked on Dean in the past.

- Dean reacts with deep skepticism to the gas station clerk telling him that Sam was drinking, smoking, and behaving violently.

Dean has also picked up on a couple of other specifics that aren’t like Sam: the name he gave at the motel is the name of a Bon Jovi band member, which Dean doesn’t think Sam likes and isn’t one of the names they would recognize for each other; and if Sam did smoke, Dean seems convinced he wouldn’t smoke menthols. He knows Sam so well.

- Dean says that smoking and throwing bottles at people sounds “more like me than you” which tells us that Dean is sometimes an angry drunk and sometimes a smoker, both of which make perfect sense for his character. There’s a lot we don’t directly see on the show.

-Sam moves differently, seems more feminine, and when Dean continues to insist he might not be a murderer he looks annoyed and almost rolls his eyes. Jared Padalecki is so good at being Sam possessed by Meg.

-Meg is basically begging Dean to feel horror that Sam killed someone- a hunter! with a family! caught on camera!- but Dean is like Ah fuck okay I’ll just run through the crime scene cleanup checklist quick and then we can take a nap together at home before we go okay babe? Babe u okay?

- Meg!Sam asks Dean to kill him, kinda using the puppy dog eyes but not quite selling it because it’s not needy enough, and Dean says “I’ve tried so hard to keep you safe…I can’t. I’d rather die.”

This is Dean admitting outright that his promise was bullshit and that he will either save Sam or die trying, and he’s faced so many trials to be completely sure and ready to say it. It doesn’t matter what Sam does. Dean had to understand more consciously his feelings for Sam before he could commit to this because it’s a fundamental part of who he is and his love for Sam. He feels guilty about his love, but he can’t doubt the strength of it and I think this is where he first accepts his role as Sam’s savior. The way he looks at Sam here is with such open love and desire. He’s like Wesley looking at Buttercup.

-Dean calls the phone company to get Sam’s location by pretending Sam is his son. He says “my son” and calls him Sammy and fuck if it isn’t the cutest. Dean is Sam’s dad now. Succession.

-Meg!Sam is so irritated that Jo is carrying a torch for Dean. She seems to be using Sam’s real memories and feelings to get what she wants, and in this case I think Sam is probably annoyed by Jo’s crush and wishes she understood she doesn’t have a chance with Dean, so Meg is using her weaknesses. She really enjoys using Sam’s characteristics and twisting them. For example, after tying Jo up she uses the puppy dog face again and says “c’mon it’s me, you can tell me anything” which echos Sam’s role as sympathetic ear to the victims and other characters. So when she talks about Jo wanting Dean and Dean not wanting Jo and then attacks her in a very sexually charged way, it feels like she’s playing with both their desire for Dean and Sam’s desire to be more like him. She seems to be telling the truth in these scenes, just truths that Jo wouldn’t want to know. So telling her You want him but he doesn’t want you and aren’t I the next best, when Sam in reality does not want Jo, makes Jo into a proxy to act out unrequited love for (and from) Dean.

-Meg!Sam shoots Dean and he falls into the water from the dock and Jo finds him soaked and bleeding and you have three guesses as to the first words out of his mouth (“where’s Sam?”).

-Bobby asks where Dean is so Meg!Sam tells him Dean’s with a girl somewhere. Bobby asks if she’s pretty and Meg’s eyes go black and she says “if you ask me he’s in way over his head.” The visual cue and emphasis make it clear Meg is talking as herself here, not as Sam, and it seems like she’s talking about Dean’s situation with Sam. It’s also a pun because she thinks he’s underwater, but regardless she’s connecting Dean being with some girl and Dean being in trouble because of Sam.

-she also smirks at Dean pretty wickedly and tells him “you wouldn’t wanna bruise this fine packaging” ie Sam’s body that she knows Dean thinks is mighty fine. What I wouldn’t give for her to taunt him more in this way.

- she tells Dean he’s worthless, he can’t save Sam, and the people he loves would be better off without him. Which means his worst beliefs about himself (as far as Sam knows) are that he isn’t good enough and that he’s actually bad for Sam. Why? Why would Sam know that Dean fears he would be better off without him? He’s protected and cared for Sam his whole life, both Sam and John have explicitly told him that they’re grateful, and even Dean can’t blame himself for the way he and Sam grew up. It’s possible this is about the fact that Sam is in danger hunting with Dean, but he would’ve been in danger in law school too. It fits better with Dean’s guilt over his feelings for Sam and his knowledge that Sam is in love with him. Sam knows that Dean blames himself.

-Dean refuses to hurt Sam when Meg!Sam is punching him, and she punches him four or five times. Then when Sam is back unpossessed, Dean punches him in the face. When it was about saving Sam Dean refused to hurt him, but now that Sam is safe it’s like his anger at Sam comes pouring out. He needed some form of resolution for the fact that his little brother scared the shit out of him for a week straight going missing, murdered someone and didn’t even help clean up the crime scene, pistol whipped him, shot him in the shoulder, punched him, named his worst fears, threatened to bite his own tongue off, and pressed his finger into his wound and laughed. Obviously Sam did none of those things and it was all Meg, but I think it’s completely understandable that Dean reacted this way after not only keeping his shit together for Sam all that time but also actively protecting him. It’s a reasonable trauma response for him to have fought back. I’m not saying it’s ethical or anything just that it’s exactly what Dean would do and it gives his episode arc some catharsis.

-for his part, Sam isn’t upset with Dean for punching him. He never is. As evidenced by Sam’s little smirk when Dean makes joke about Bobby’s charms for keeping the demon from “getting back up in there.”

-Dean checks in with Sam in the sweetest way, gently prompting him to answer if he’s okay. Sam explains that what’s troubling him isn’t the memory of his own hands killing a man, it’s the knowledge that even then Dean wouldn’t kill him. They both know for sure now.

-Dean teases Sam about having a girl inside him and Sam grins. It’s just one of many references to Sam having someone inside him and otherwise sexually being referred to as the girl.

-Dean’s “if it’s the last thing I do I’m gonna save you” hits different when you’re on tumblr and you know the show ends 13 seasons later with Dean dying and Sam living out some kind of a life.

#supernatural #wincest #samdean #spn meta #sam and dean #spn 2x14 #born under a bad sign

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pink-sparkly-witch · 10 months

Text

Spring in Fall

Summary: Jensen Ackles has spent his whole adult life in front of the camera, but now he wants something more. Something he’s not been able to find yet: an omega to settle down with. When Y/N Y/L/N arrived on the set of Supernatural, the alpha may just find all he’s ever wanted – his true mate.

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: Teen

Bingo Square: Scent Bond for @jacklesversebingo

Warnings: Omegaverse, A/B/O dynamics (no smut or anatomy talk), fluff, scenting.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This WIP has sat unfinished for over a year. When I got the ‘Scent Bond’ bingo square for Jacklesverse, I just knew this would be the perfect fill and found my fluffy bone long enough to get this finished! I hope you love this absolute floof 😘

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite or leaving a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

Jensen was irritable. That much was obvious from the Goddamn moon. In fact, irritable was too polite a word for what he was. His ruts were no joke since he hit forty, knowing that his biology dictated he should’ve settled with a mate long before now. The problem was work always got in the way.

If it wasn’t sixteen hour filming days, it was every other weekend at conventions. If it wasn’t conventions, it was catching up on sleep; if it wasn’t sleep, it was an awards show, corporate event, or some other function he was obligated by contract to attend.

Jared had been lucky in finding his true mate on set, and Jensen always hoped the same fate might come to him, but so far, twelve seasons into the show, it hadn’t happened and his hope was starting to wain.

He couldn’t deny that he wanted what all his family and friends had. He was lonely—not that he liked to admit that out loud to many people. All that would achieve is a sudden string of blind dates that always ended in disaster.

The alarm on his phone went off with the reminder to buy a present for his nephew’s birthday, and when he registered the date, he frowned. Quickly, Jensen ran through the math in his head, and his frown deepened. He wasn’t due a rut for another week.

Then why was he so on edge?

“Mr. Ackles? They need you on set in five.” One of the PAs, Riley, he thinks, shouts through his trailer door.

“Alright, thanks,” Jensen calls back, trying to put it to the back of his mind for now. He had a job to do, and if Jensen was anything, he was a professional. He would never let personal issues bleed into his professional life.

Plus, they had a very important guest star for the next couple of months. Y/N Y/L/N had signed on for an eight-episode story arc, and everyone was excited. She was the most popular actress the network had ever had on their books. She was making waves in the acting world, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time before she moved to a bigger network or the big screen and began cashing in on prestigious award wins.

Not only that, but Jensen had a massive crush on the beautiful omega, and Dean would be having a really good time with her sassy, sexy character for the duration of her time here. He knew it was unlikely that she’d be his true mate, but maybe, if he played his cards right, she’d at least go on a date with him, and things might work out for them. Plenty of couples he knew weren’t true mates and life was great for them.

“Can you smell that?” Y/N asked no one in particular in the hair and makeup trailer.

“Smell what?” Jared asked from the hair chair.

“Leather, and…” she turned her head and sniffed again. “Sandalwood. Mmm, whiskey.” She felt her cheeks heat up and a tingle in her belly that wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to her; neither was the scent she was detecting. It smelled like home. “Spearmint, too?”

Jared smirked through the mirror at Frida, the hair lady, and Y/N caught the grin on the makeup lady, Tanya’s, face. “What?” she asked. Tanya just shook her head, her grin getting wider.

“Come on, Tanya! There’s something you’re not telling me! What is it?” she whined and pouted playfully.

“Jeez, don’t give me that look!” Tanya laughed. “Damn it! Or those eyes!” she stepped away, laughing harder, when Y/N pulled out the big guns. “You know, Jared, Y/N’s puppy eyes are better than yours!”

Jared laughed and mumbled something that sounded a lot like: “Jensen’s gonna be in so much trouble!” as he looked over at the confused omega, who was still subtly sniffing the air with an adorable frown on her face.

“Is it getting hotter in here?” Y/N suddenly exclaimed. “My God, it’s hot,” she fanned herself with her script, feeling the heat rise from her toes upwards as if she’d just sat in a tub filled with water that was too hot. “Can we open the door or something?”

“Sure, I got it,” Frida said as she left Jared in the hair chair and opened the door to the trailer. “Jensen!” she gasped as she opened the door and saw the green-eyed actor reaching for the handle. “You scared me!” she giggled and stepped back, allowing the tall alpha to enter the trailer.

As soon as Jensen stepped inside, he stopped short, his green eyes blown wide and pupils dilating at the sight of his famous crush sitting in what was usually his makeup chair. She looked beautiful with her big doe eyes as wide as his and her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“Omega,” Jensen purred, momentarily shocked at how pathetic he sounded. Certainly not like the big, strong alpha he wanted to be for her, that’s for sure.

“Alpha,” Y/N whimpered in response, bowing her head as a sign of her submission to him.

Jensen stepped out of his trailer and took a deep breath of fresh air, frowning at the scent he caught on the wind. It smelled like home. Like The Dallas Arboretum and Botanical Garden in the springtime, to be exact. Cherry blossom, lilac and honeysuckle all mixed in with a hint of lavender, making his mouth water. But that was impossible. Except for the lavender, those flowers only appeared in the spring or early summer. It was October.

He didn’t think they’d have flowers on set for any reason, but he supposed that didn’t mean someone didn’t get sent a bouquet or something. The smell of lilac was unmistakable to him; his mom had a huge lilac bush in her backyard, and he’d grown up with it. He’d know that smell a mile off.

Shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts of home, he continued towards the set. He was really excited to work with Y/N, and he hoped she was as sweet and kind as he’d always heard she was. Nothing was worse than having professional respect for someone, meeting them, and finding their personality or attitude lacking.

Jensen spotted Rich across the lot and walked towards him to welcome him. The kind beta was directing again, and Jensen wanted to greet him properly and make sure he knew where to go if he needed anything. Not that Rich needed the reminder, but Jensen was nothing if he wasn’t a gentleman.

“Hey man, good to see you again,” Jensen said as he greeted Rich with a hug.

“Looking good, Jensen. How are you doing?” Rich asked.

“Ah, you know,” Jensen said simply. Rich was one of the few people who knew how desperate he was to find a mate, settle down and have a few pups of his own instead of always being the fun uncle.

“She’s out there, Jay. And I have a feeling she’s closer than you think!” he smirked.

“Ha!” Jensen scoffed. “You sound like Jared! He’s convinced Y/N’ll turn out to be my true mate!” he chuckled.

“Hey, I get why he thinks that! I remember all those nights in your trailer or apartment, and if you saw her on screen, you just froze and stared at her until she was off camera again!” Rich laughed heartily.

“Well, she’s incredibly beautiful. And I’m no worse with her than when you see Scarlett Johansson or Jared was with Nina Dobrev!” Jensen laughed.

“True, but your eyes glaze over, and you get this stupid smile, and…” Rich trailed off at his friend’s head tilt and look of sheer concentration.

“Can you smell that?” Jensen asked.

“Smell what?” Rich asked.

“It’s like a spring garden or something. I smelled it earlier and can’t get it out of–” Jensen whipped his head around and began stalking towards the hair and makeup trailer. Rich followed him, staying a safe distance behind the prowling alpha.

The alpha stopped in front of the trailer door and sniffed, purring low in his throat at finally finding its source. Just as he raised his hand to pull on the handle, the door whipped open, and his senses were assaulted with the most delicious and delicate scent he’d witnessed in his whole life.

Jensen stepped into the trailer, his gaze fixed on his celebrity crush, and felt the air being sucked from him as her Y/E/C eyes met his green ones, wide and submissive. “Omega,” Jensen purred, momentarily shocked at how pathetic he sounded. Certainly not like the big, strong alpha he wanted to be for her, that’s for sure.

“Alpha,” Y/N whimpered in response, bowing her head as a sign of her submission to him.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Jared grinned, raising his hands at the older alpha, showing he was no threat to them. The two women showed the same respect to Y/N, raising their hands as they left the trailer.

“I think Jay just found his true mate!” Jared grinned, pulling Rich into a hug.

“He’s gonna absolutely hate that you were right. I hope you know that!” Rich smirked.

“Hell yeah! And I’m never gonna let him forget it!”

Rich chuckled as he pulled the walkie from his belt. “We got a code 143; I repeat, a code 143 is in progress. All filming is suspended until further notice. Ladies and gentlemen, Jensen Ackles has met his true mate in none other than Y/N Y/L/N. Over and out,” Rich spoke through the device and smiled, high-fiving Jared when they heard the cheers erupt from all over the lot.

“Alright, I’ll start with the phone calls. Have you got the numbers for Y/N’s family? I’ll let them know she’ll be off grid for a few days at least,” Jared asked Rich, who handed him a sheet of paper with her emergency contacts listed.

“I’ll get some betas to keep the parameter clear from here back to his trailer. The last thing we need is another alpha getting too close to Y/N. Or an omega to Jensen, for that matter. Then I better call the Network and let them know their golden boy and girl are officially off the market!” Rich chuckled.

“They’re gonna love that!” Jared laughed.

It’d been suggested to Jensen before by numerous executives that he and Y/N should meet and see if there was a spark, but Jensen was stubborn and said if they were meant to meet, it’d happen naturally. Apparently, so was Y/N. They’d heard a few times that it was the same response she gave them whenever they asked her about it.

Once the door was closed, Jensen stepped towards her and kneeled at her feet. “Do you want this, Y/N? Want me?” he asked shyly. Yes, they were true mates, but he had a few years on her, and she might not want to settle with an older man. She might not want to settle at all. Being in the prime of her career might mean she wasn’t ready to start a family yet.

“Yes, Jensen. I want this… want you, Alpha,” she purred, placing her hand on his cheek and smiling softly. The gasp of pained relief from the big, strong alpha broke her heart, and she wondered if he’d been let down as many times as she had in the past or if it was more.

“Can I… uh… can I scent you, Omega, please?” Jensen asked quietly, and Y/N giggled at his cuteness. She’d always hoped she’d have an alpha with a softer side, and it seemed like she got one.

“Yes, Alpha. I’m yours now,” she said softly.

“Not quite,” his fingers rubbed softly over her mating gland. “But I intend for you to be mine very soon,” he smiled softly before slowly leaning forward and nuzzling his nose into her neck. His hot breath against her sensitive skin made Y/N shiver, and her body erupted in goosebumps. The intimacy of the gesture was overwhelming, and she felt tears sting in her eyes.

Jensen whined as he got in closer and breathed her in. “You smell so good, Omega. And so beautiful,” he whispered to her, gently placing his hand on the back of her neck and pulling her closer still. Y/N tilted her head and rested her cheek on his shoulder, nuzzling her nose into his mating gland, her neck still open, and began to scent him in return.

Within seconds, an overwhelming sense of tranquillity and contentment at being exactly where he needed to be rushed over him, and he had no idea if it was coming from him, her or both of them. And it was the most elating feeling in the world.

“Sweetheart, I could sit her for hours and do this,” Jensen whispered, placing the softest of kisses on her neck between each word he spoke. “But I wanna take you somewhere more private if you’ll let me.”

“Okay,” Y/N answered, a whine escaping her throat as soon as he pulled away from her. Jensen chuckled at her pout, stood, held his hand out for her to take, and pulled her protectively into his side when she was on her feet.

“What hotel are you staying in?” Jensen asked.

“I’m not. I’m staying with a friend. Her apartment is just outside the city,” Y/N responded.

“My place is closer. Is that okay with you? I’d rather we have complete privacy, but if it would make you feel better, we can go to my trailer or the place you’re staying,” Jensen spoke softly.

“Let’s go to your place, Alpha,” she beamed brightly, chuckling when Jensen purred in approval of her answer.

Stepping out of the trailer, Jensen pulled Y/N into his body and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. The omega responded instantly, winding her arm around his waist and moving as close to him as their bodies allowed. The alpha smirked and puffed his chest with pride at hearing the wolf whistles from the crew, who’d gathered to wish the new couple well.

Jensen noticed his driver standing next to an SUV and headed straight towards him, determined to get them out of there as quickly as possible. He’d waited long enough for her and didn’t want to wait any longer.

Helping Y/N into the car, Jensen quickly moved to the other side and climbed in beside her. He’d barely sat down when the omega slid over to his side and cosied up to him, burying her nose in his neck and scenting him contentedly. He purred, happy to finally have his omega in his arms, scenting her hair, allowing her aroma to mingle and settle in with his own, binding them together in a bond that would become unbreakable the instant he claimed her, which Jensen had every intention of doing before the sun came up.

“Forever starts now, Omega. You ready for it?” Jensen murmured into Y/N’s hair.

“I’ve never been more ready, Alpha.”

Tags: @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#jacklesversebingo #spring in fall #omegaverse #alpha!jensen ackles x omega!female reader #alpha!jensen x omega!reader #jensen ackles fluff #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o universe #a/b/o

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sofreddie · 2 months

Text

Resigned 8

Summary: After the incident, Y/N and Jensen deal with the aftermath. While Jensen is ready to fight, Y/N wants to hide.

Characters: Alpha!Jensen x Omega!Reader, Clif

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Omegas are second-class citizens/treated awfully, Angst, Fluff

WC: 2,406

A/N: I have so many plans for this story and am so excited to share it with you. Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is appreciated. : )

Resigned Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part 7

Jensen sighed and relaxed in the back of the SUV as Clif escorted him from yet another interview. He'd been busy since the incident with Y/N and the Alpha, which someone had recorded and posted online. Fighting and disagreements over Omega Rights had been causing large-scale uprisings all over the globe, and Y/N's recent incidents and his claim of her were cited as another example.

Those fighting for rights and equality used her as another publicized victim and an example of why change was needed. Y/N's face and incident videos were posted all over the news as people debated her and her actions, which led to debates over Jensen as her Alpha and the roles of Alphas in society. He networked with his lawyers, politicians, other activists, and charities, going public and donating tons of money. He even launched a campaign, with the help of Jared and others, and spoke about it every chance he got at interviews and conventions. Jensen was a highly visual and extremely vocal Omega Rights activist when he wasn't on set.

When he returned to work after the incident, he expected the producers and executives to be upset with him, if not fire him for his actions and negative publicity. Instead, he was met with understanding, compassion, and support. They all seemed invested in change and greenlighted him taking a public stand, especially in light of what had happened. Jensen was less surprised but equally grateful when the whole cast and crew became very involved, promoting Omega Equality on every platform and taking a stand the way he had.

Jensen's openness about the incident and his relationship with his Omega caused a ripple that inspired many other Alphas to do the same and step forward on behalf of their Omegas. Many were too afraid, just as Jensen had been, but they seemed to feel if he could do it, so could they. He didn't mind being an inspiration or a public face, especially if it meant a better life for him and Y/N and ending the barbaric social traditions of Alpha and Omega dynamics.

Sitting upright and rubbing the sleep from his face, Jensen turned his attention to Clif in the driver's seat. "Where to next?"

"Home," Clif responded, flashing his eyes to the rearview mirror before returning to the road again. "You have tomorrow to rest, and then it's back to set."

Jensen nodded and sighed, slumping back into his seat. Home. He hated to admit it, but home was hard lately. He and Y/N had been struggling since they left the police station. After everything that had happened, she was afraid to go outside, scared to get in trouble for the slightest thing. She kept herself locked in the apartment and stopped watching TV entirely since she constantly saw herself and the incident. He knew it was hard for her but was frustrated that he couldn't break her out of it. He felt like he was losing her.

"How is she?" Clif inquired, and Jensen smiled softly. Clif looked out for all of them, and Jensen knew he genuinely cared.

"Not great," Jensen admitted as they approached his building. "She won't go outside of the apartment."

"You're a newly mated pair, and it hasn't been easy. Maybe focus on and enjoy the bond. She might need reassurance before she's comfortable going out again. I can't imagine how awful it is what she went through."

Jensen sighed and nodded, knowing he was right. He needed to make things okay between them first. Then, maybe he could bring her out with him. He'd been so focused on work and activism - and, admittedly, a bit of revenge towards the dicks that did this to them - that he hadn't spent much time with her.

Thanking Clif for the ride, Jensen entered the building, taking the stairs instead of the elevator to burn off some of his extra energy and prepare his mind for Y/N. Finally standing outside his front door, he fidgeted with his keys, took a deep breath, and entered the apartment.

"Y/N, I'm home."

Y/N jumped to attention from where she was folding and putting away laundry in the bedroom. Setting down the clothing, she walked towards the sound of her Alpha's voice with hurried steps. With a broad smile, she rushed to Jensen and wrapped her arms around his middle. She purred when his arms wrapped around her, rubbing her cheek into his chest. She missed him while he was away and was always glad when he came back to her.

She rushed to the couch, cleaning up the various books, magazines, and printouts from the sofa and the coffee table. She loved to read and was constantly in a book. However, since the incident, she'd stopped with her preferred novels and instead focused on everything related to Omegas: roles, laws, behavior, and biology. The more knowledge she had, the better armed she'd feel to deal with the world and her role within it.

Stacking everything neatly, she returned to Jensen. Taking him by the hand, she led him to the couch, sat beside him, and curled into his side.

"How was it, Alpha?"

Jensen sighed, hugging her closer to him. He wasn't sure if she was aware or not, but she hadn't called him by anything other than his title since the station. Every time she called him Alpha instead of his name recently, it reminded him of how it was at the start. More and more, it felt like the OE ruined the progress they had made with each other and their relationship.

"I think we're making real progress," he responded with a kiss on her head before removing her collar. Another unwanted change, she'd put on her collar every morning, and Jensen would remove it every night. He told her repeatedly that she didn't need to wear it at home, but she still insisted.

When Y/N returned from the police station, she was hurt and terrified—terrified of what she had gone through, of what could happen in the future, and even of her Alpha. Jensen quickly eased her worries over him, showing that he was the loving, caring Alpha he'd promised to be when they'd first mated.

He wasn't like any other Alpha she'd encountered, recently or in the past. He cared about her to the point that he was trying to fight for Omega's Rights and change laws. He was trying to change the world for her, and she couldn't be more grateful to have someone like him in her life. But as lovely as that was, she wasn't optimistic. She appreciated his efforts but felt they were useless, fighting a battle they could never win.

"Alpha?" Y/N spoke, and Jensen hummed to let her know he was listening. "You don't have to work so hard, you know? Maybe you could spend more time at home with me?"

Jensen gave her his full attention, her tone more than a little concerning as she slipped into her natural Omega submission. He tried to control his Alpha, who was stirring with quiet anger. Though he and Y/N had mated and he'd claimed her, they were still new and hadn't mated nearly as much as they should have. His hormones were still off-balance, his body trying to recover from being out-of-whack and near feral. Mostly, it made him fiercely protective and possessive over Y/N, but it also made him quick to anger, and he struggled to control it. He even briefly entertained the idea of going on suppressants, but he couldn't bear the thought of anything between them.

"Maybe you could come out with me?" he instead suggested. "To some gigs or on set? It would do you good to get out of here."

Y/N shook her head and abruptly moved to the kitchen, wandering about and keeping herself busy to avoid the conversation. Jensen groaned and ran his hands through his hair, tugging the strands in frustration. It wasn't the first time he'd tried to convince her to leave the house, and she turned him down or avoided the conversation each time. He tried to be patient and understanding, but those were running thin. It didn't help he was utterly exhausted from stretching himself so thin, but he knew it was worth it.

"Please, Y/N, talk to me," Jensen pleaded, leaning against the counter opposite of her. "I know you're scared, but I'll be with you."

"I'm a bad Omega," Y/N huffed, shaking her head. I've been reading about the laws and requirements, and I'm trying to do better. I'm one step away from being sent away from you, and I don't want to risk it."

"You're not just an Omega, Y/N. You're my wife, my partner, my person. And you're amazing. You're not bad, Y/N; the world is."

She started to cry at his words, and he gave in to the need to comfort her, rounding the counter to take her in his arms again. As her tears started to ebb and her knees wobbled, he lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her legs and cupping her face. He wiped the remaining tears away with his thumbs, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"I'm sorry, Alpha."

"Don't be sorry. And you can call me something other than Alpha every now and again, you know?" he added with a chuckle, trying to make it light, though it was starting to bother him. Just as she was more than an Omega, he was more than an Alpha. She simply nodded, and he sighed. "Have you watched the news or gone online at all lately?"

"No," she responded. "Last I looked, everyone was plastering my face everywhere and talking about me as a bad Omega. I didn't want to see it anymore."

"You're not a bad Omega," he insisted again, cupping her face and tilting her head to meet his stern gaze. It's not just about you being a 'bad Omega.' It's not just about you. More Omegas and Alphas have come forward, and activists, lawyers, and politicians are debating on every channel daily. There are protests around the world. Change is coming, and it's what I and others have been fighting for."

She dared to let her heart soar with hope at his words, and Jensen could feel it. It made him even more determined.

"We're wrapping up filming in a few days, and then we'll be heading home to Texas," Jensen reminded her. "Why don't you come to set with me? It'll get you out of the house, you'll be with me, and everyone on set is supportive and part of the fight." Her eyes widened, and her body stiffened as she readied to reject his request again. He had to close his eyes and breathe deeply to keep back the anger that wanted to break free. Eyes locking back on hers, he spoke slowly and deliberately. "Please don't make me command you. You need to get out, and we need to spend more time together."

Y/N's mind flashed back to the beginning of their relationship when he held her hands and pleaded with her: "All I ask is that you be mine. Give me and us an actual, real chance together."

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't still scared, worried that one foot out of the house would have her stepping into trouble simply because of her biology—because of something she didn't choose and couldn't change—because of who she was born as. But Jensen was so sure, so enthralled by the idea of freedom and equality, that he wouldn't be stopped. And, apparently, he wasn't alone—not by a long shot.

After they had both calmed down, Y/N insisted on making Jensen dinner. He sat on the sofa, looking through the various media she'd been reading. One book in particular—Alpha, Beta, and Omega Dynamics Throughout History: A Comprehensive Study—caught his eye. The book was thick, and Y/N placed many small tabs to bookmark various topics, one of which had him reading intently: True Mates and Biological Compatibility.

The author spoke about traditional ideologies and modern societal structures. They mention the old wives' tales of True Mates and how modern science preferred the term Highly Compatible. They suggested that one could have many potential biological mates, but, in theory, everyone had a potential mate that was 'the one.' Jensen began to lose interest as the author continued into the fantasy and fairytale of True Mates throughout time and literature. He was about to abandon the book when the next paragraph of the text stopped him and had him reread it several times.

True Mates share a unique bond and, thus, are connected on a unique level. When the Alpha claims his Omega, they are bound and connected. However, according to ancient texts, true mates once claimed each other—a mutual claim that created a deeper and unbreakable bond. This tradition was abandoned over time as Alphas became the dominant members of society. Marks on an Alpha are frowned upon in modern times as they suggest equality and are considered an antiquated and unnecessary practice.

Jensen returned the book to the table and turned his attention to Y/N in the kitchen. He watched as she moved about comfortably, the delicious smells starting to drift through the apartment. It was one of the few times she looked at ease and unburdened by the world. He could see his claim, now healed and scarred, shining silvery against her neck, proclaiming to the world that she was his.

Their bond felt weak, tested by their circumstances and time apart, and despite it all, his cycle and hormones were still off. Maybe if they dual-bonded—if he claimed her again and she claimed him, too—it would fix him and them. He'd never imagined taking a claim, but suddenly, it was all he wanted: to be wholly and genuinely connected with his other half, for her to be connected with him, and to know they were equal.

"Y/N?" he asked as he entered the kitchen, smiling as she finished cooking and gave him her attention. "There's something I want to ask you."

She tilted her head and furrowed her brow, and Jensen chuckled at the adorable sight.

"Ok."

Taking a deep breath, he vocalized his thoughts, "I want you to claim me."

PART 9

FOREVERS:

@lyarr24

@hobby27

@kazsrm67

@maliburenee

@440mxs-wife

@writercole

@spnbaby-67

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@leigh70

@laycblack

RPF:

@smoothdogsgirl

JENSEN ACKLES:

@slamminmine

@deandreamernp

@akshi8278

@mimaria420

RESIGNED:

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@sexyvixen7

@deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma

@muhahaha303

@deansimpalababy

#resigned #alpha!jensen x omega!reader #alpha!jensen #jensen ackles #supernatural #spn #supernatural rpf #spn rpf #rpf #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #reader insert #a/b/o dynamics

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hologramcowboy · 2 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/hologramcowboy/757094913914617856/i-loved-your-answer-about-the-compliments-from-the?source=share

Now, this is getting a bit over the top 🤣. Are you telling me you haven't heard the stories from wait staff, cashiers, airport workers, car hires, etc., over the years? The reports are consistently the same: he's very down-to-earth, kind, and polite. Many have said they didn't even know he was famous until someone else mentioned it; they just thought he was a nice guy who always showed an interest in how they were doing. There are stories from other sets he's worked on that highlight how well he gets along with both actors and, importantly, the crews. His first TV dad on Days of Our Lives mentioned his great relationship with the crew. On Dark Angel, a producer pointed out how friendly he was with the crew. On Smallville, Lionel Luthor actor John Glover noted how the crew just loved him. His close relationship with the SPN crew is very well known. Even on his most recent projects, it's clear he's continued to be appreciative toward the crews and maintains good relationships with them. On My Bloody Valentine 3D, the writer was impressed by how he treated the crew and how he introduced himself because lead actors generally aren't known for taking an interest in the writers. The writer was also impressed by how collaborative and generous he was, noting that Jensen gave away one of his character's best lines because he felt it would work better for a different character. Guest actors have often commented on how he learned their names (apparently, this often isn't the norm), read lines with them, etc. And the stories from people who went to high school with him all describe positive interactions.

Also, who was at the hospital when Rob had the stroke? It was Rich, Jensen, and Misha—not Jared. Jensen was the one the SPN crew depended on even more than Jared. Jensen was the one who stopped the production of SPN twice, once when Misha was very sick, and another time I can't recall. I'm not saying Jensen is perfect or a saint; everyone has their flaws and makes mistakes. However, discrediting Jensen's endless hard work and kindness on the sets and in public when he was the one who encouraged fans to approach them out in the 'wild' is not fair. You don't know these stories because you always have your Jared-centered glasses on and think it was Jared who made SPN welcoming when guest stars have said it was Jensen who did that. It is quite telling that Jensen can remember guest stars' names, flight attendants' names, and other people's names, and recall events that happened when he was with them. So, where are the stories like this about Jared?

How did this become about Jared? Are you trying to remove attention from what I said? Is that it? Because, I have news for you, what I wrote is 150% truth and anyone who is a professional actor will fully get it, those who are not don't know the inner dynamics and that's fine. Again, being courteous as an Actor is a *requirement*. All actors must behave courteously on and off set to maintain image and promote their projects. Not doing so can end with being fired on the spot.

Jensen keeps saying he wants to be a light in the world but does zero to achieve that and solely relies on flirting with fans and simple "hello, how are you?". His so called "kindness" is very much contradicted when he displays incredible arrogance and ignorance.

I don't know about you but just because someone is nice on the surface doesn't mean they get my vote. Also, I wasn't talking about everyone, I was specifically talking about lines said by TB actresses for PR reasons and now we know why, Jensen's new series is upcoming.

#jensen critical

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mxssingmemories · 1 year

Text

Go Fish, Bitch

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x teen!reader, a little bit of Jared Padalecki x teen!reader as well

Summary: When Jensen gets bored, he tends to cause chaos. Today, he brings Y/N into the chaos, and she loves it. In which a card game commences, and Jensen loses by a long shot.

Warnings: None. Pure, tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: 870 ish.

A/N: Hello lovelies! I'm going to try to start writing for the SPN cast, I honestly really love their dynamic. As always, requests are open :) Feel free to send in any asks/requests/random thoughts!

Standing at the door to Y/N's trailer, Jensen knocked twice. Another boring day on the set of Supernatural meant he had nothing to do. He'd already teased Jared and Misha and filmed his scenes, so for once he could say he had nothing to do.

A minute later, you opened the door.

"The hell do you want, Jense? You know I love you and all, but I'm really trying to do my homework." you grumbled, despite the goofy smile on your face. Truth be told, Jensen was one of your favorite people. Seeing as you were 16 and still in school, Jensen and you loved playing pranks on the rest of the cast. If you asked Jensen, you were the only one who had his sense of humor.

"I'm bored out of my mind, kiddo. I've filmed my scenes and Jare and Misha kicked me out, I literally have nothing to do."

"Fine," you sighed, "come on in." Opening the door, Jensen walked in, plopping down on the couch while you shut and locked the door.

"So, how're you doing today?" he asked, turning on the T.V.

"Please don't make me think about my life." you groaned, laying back on the couch. "what do you wanna do, anyways?"

"Well, I kind of brought cards..?" he said sheepishly, and a smile found its way onto your face.

"Fuck yeah! Ever played Go Fish?" you asked excitedly.

"Okay, first of all, language. Second of all, obviously, I'm not that old." he rolled his eyes, taking the pack of cards out of his jean pocket.

"You shuffle and I'll deal?" you asked, grabbing the hoodie in the corner of the room and doing your best to clean off the kitchen table. He nodded, and you set out a bag of chips. You both sat down, you dealing the cards and Jensen grabbing the bag of chips like it was a lifeline.

"Okay, I'll go first since you so rudely took my focus away from my homework. Any fives?" Jensen groaned and handed you his five, already prepared to lose the game.

"Any twos?" you asked with a smug grin on your face. At Jensen's shit-eating grin, you begrudgingly drew a card from the pile.

"Do you, my fair lady, happen to have any nines?" You sighed as you handed him your card. You both had 5 cards left-the game could go either way.

"Okay. Any threes?" You handed him another card, and he laid down the match with a proud expression on his face. "Aces?"

"Nope. Go fish, bitch." Jensen gasped, pretending to be offended. He drew a card.

"How dare thine disrespect me like that!" he exclaimed in a posh accent.

"Well, British guy, do you have any Kings?" Jensen threw his King across the table.

"Queens?" He once again threw a card at you. You decided to test your luck.

"Any twos?" He muttered some version of a curse word as he threw the card at your face. You had two cards left, and he knew he was screwed.

"Any fours?" He shook his head, and you drew a card with a sad expression on your face.

"Do you have any Aces?" he asked, hopeful. "Nice try, Jens. Nope! Go fishin'."

"Do you have any sevens?" you asked, and he once again handed you his card. "I'm really good at this," you mumbled, once again left with only two cards.

"Do you have any jacks, Jay?" you asked, your grin only getting wider when he handed you his card.

"Do you...Jensen Ackles... have an eight?" "Fuuuuck!" he exclaimed, hurling his card at you.

"I WIN!" you yelled, getting up and doing a victory dance that could only be described as terrifying.

"Y/N, you probably just alerted the whole crew of your little victory," Jensen sighed, throwing his head in his hands dramatically.

"Well excuse me if I'm a little excited about my win. I've been having a rough day, you can't rain on my fishy parade."

Jensen accepted the loss, and gathered the cards, putting them back in the box. He smiled as you practically dragged him to the couch, throwing yourself on top of him to get in your self-proclaimed "spot".

"Watch yourself, squirrel, or I'll throw you right off the couch!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatcha wanna watch?" you questioned, grabbing the remote off the floor where it fell during your scuffle.

"Brooklyn Nine-Nine?" he asked hopefully, and did a happy dance as well as he could from his position. You put on his favorite episode, the one where Jake tries to join a bike group to find out evidence.

You both end up falling asleep curled up on the couch, and when Jared comes to get you because you missed a scene, he audibly 'awws' when he sees the scene. Quickly taking a photo and posting it on his Instagram to make the father-daughter fans happy, he wakes you two up gently.

"Y/N, honey, you missed your cue. The directors are calling for you, c'mon."

At his call, you rush out of the trailer, homework long forgotten.

Jensen may or may not finish it for you, but if asked, he will definitely deny it. It's a dad's duty, right?

#spn rpf #jensen ackles x teen!reader #jensen ackles fluff #jensen ackles x daughter!reader #my writing #in love with this #supernatural

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whoawardwinchester · 3 months

Text

A Winchester Chronicle (c3)

Please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging. It fuels the creativity and lets me know you're enjoying my hard work.

Summary: Chapter 3 delves deeper into the filming of "Supernatural" as Y/N grapples with developing Raven's character amid personal and professional challenges. Tensions escalate when Jensen confronts Y/N about her health scare, leading to a heartfelt confession and a pivotal decision. Meanwhile, Jared's romantic developments spark joy amidst the drama, setting the stage for unexpected changes in relationships and dynamics among the cast and crew. The chapter ends with Jensen's revelation and a lingering sense of anticipation for what lies ahead.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Content Warning: (subject to change per chapter as this series is written) Body insecurities, Smut, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, teasing, erotica reading. Readers are advised to proceed with caution due to these themes and scenes.

Rating: 18+ for the whole series.

This is a work of fiction. There is no hate for anyone in real life.

If you want to be added to the tag list for this series, just let me know! Also be sure to tell me how I'm doing or request anything related to Jensen/Dean!

Masterlist

Chapter 3: Based off of the episode "In the Beginning"

The sun rises on another intense day of filming, the air buzzing with anticipation as the crew prepares to dive into a pivotal episode of "Supernatural." You arrive on set, your mind still swirling with the events of the previous day. The tension with Jensen and the lingering effects of your medical incident weigh heavily on you, but you push it aside, determined to focus on your work and your character, Raven.

As the director gathers the cast and crew, he pulls you aside privately. "Y/N, are you still okay to keep shooting today?" he asks, his concern evident.

You nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's do this."

Unbeknownst to you, Jensen is trying to eavesdrop on the conversation, his curiosity piqued. He leans subtly against a wall, straining to hear your reply. Just as he catches a snippet, Misha sneaks up behind him and whispers, "Boo!"

Jensen jumps, knocking over the coffee bar in the process. Cups and stirrers clatter to the floor, causing a commotion.

"Sorry!" Jensen mutters, embarrassed but grinning as the crew chuckles and helps clean up the mess.

The first scene to film is Sam sneaking out of the motel room. You stand off to the side, watching Jared transform into Sam. The tension is palpable as he slips out the door, heading to meet Ruby once again.

You exchange a brief, tense glance with Jensen as he prepares for his next scene. You can see the concern in his eyes, but you quickly look away, focusing on your script.

Filming Dean's Time Travel Next is the scene where Castiel appears beside Dean's bed, ready to transport him back to 1973. Misha, in full angelic attire, exudes a calm yet commanding presence as Castiel.

"Action!" the director calls.

Misha places a hand on Jensen's shoulder. "You need to stop it," he intones, his voice resonating with celestial authority.

The scene shifts to Lawrence, Kansas, in 1973. You watch as Jensen expertly navigates the emotional terrain of meeting his parents' younger selves and his maternal grandparents. There's a depth to his performance that draws you in, making you momentarily forget the tension between you.

As Dean discovers the truth about Mary's desperate deal with Azazel, your character, Raven, is introduced in a pivotal moment. Raven is a mysterious figure who has been watching over the Winchester family line, aware of the supernatural deals and their consequences.

"Raven, what are you doing here?" Dean demands, his voice a mix of anger and confusion.

"I'm here to help you understand, Dean," you reply, your voice steady and enigmatic. You then stride across the room, your hips swaying with confidence. Jensen's eyes follow your movements, his concentration slipping as he gets distracted.

"Uh, you need to know there's more forces at work here than you can see," he blurts out, inadvertently mixing his line with yours. The set erupts in laughter at the unexpected blooper.

"Cut!" the director calls, chuckling. "Let's take it from the top."

Jensen shakes his head, embarrassed but smiling. "Sorry about that, Y/N. I… I…" He debates telling you how Raven's walk caught him off guard but settles on trying to ask how you are. "I wanted to see how you are doing?"

You give him a shrug. "Never better, Winchester. Thanks for the concern."

You were mad. Now, he wanted to ask you now? There had been plenty of time to ask you. Hell, he could have called you, texted you, pulled you aside in between takes, and he chose now in the middle of a scene to ask you how you are?! You were fuming. You finish the scene with no more mistakes and take a moment for yourself.

During a break, Misha approaches you, noticing the tension. "Hey, Y/N, are you okay? You seem a bit off today."

You glance at him, your expression a mix of frustration and sarcasm. "Oh, I'm just peachy, Misha. Why wouldn't I be?"

Misha raises an eyebrow, sensing your irritation but doesn't respond. Instead, he walks away, heading straight for Jensen.

"Misha, what's going on?" Jensen asks as Misha approaches.

"What's up with Y/N?" Misha inquires, his tone serious.

Jensen sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's Dee. She wouldn't let me help Y/N after her medical incident. We argued, and now Y/N is avoiding me."

The set pulses with tension as the crew prepares for the episode's climactic scenes. You immerse yourself in Raven's character, channeling your frustrations into your performance. The scene where Raven confronts Dean and reveals crucial information about Azazel is intense, and you pour all your energy into it.

Jensen matches your intensity, and for a moment, the tension between you fuels a powerful dynamic on screen. But as soon as the director yells "Cut," the walls come back up, and you're left with your unresolved feelings.

After the day's shoot, you decide to offer to take everyone out to dinner. "Hey, how about we all grab some food together? My treat," you suggest, hoping to lighten the mood.

Jared smiles but shakes his head. "I appreciate it, Y/N, but I have plans with Gen tonight. We're going on a date."

Everyone is excited for him, and Jared gushes about how wonderful Gen is. Jensen makes a joke, "So, am I invited to dinner, too?"

You ignore him, focusing on the rest of the group. "Alright, everyone else, let's meet at the diner."

As the group heads out, Jensen approaches you. "Y/N, wait."

You snap, unable to hold back your frustration any longer. "You hurt my feelings and I feel like I can't trust you."

Jensen looks taken aback. "I just want to know what happened to you. Why did you pass out?"

"I can't tell you. You don't deserve to have that personal information, Jen." The way his nickname falls from your lips makes him catch his breath. He hadn't heard you call him that before, and it stirs something in him.

Jensen shifts uncomfortably, trying to hide his growing erection. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I really am. I just want to make things right."

You shake your head, the hurt still fresh. "It's not that simple, Jensen. Not anymore."

He watches you walk away, feeling a mix of regret and longing. He hesitates, then reaches out for your arm, gently but firmly pulling you back to face him. His voice goes to a low grumble as he whispers at you. "I cannot stay away from you, Y/N. I can't even begin to tell you how badly I wanted to stay by your side when you were unconscious. To hold you… to… I even called Jared to help you." You didn't take Jensen to be an emotional person, but tears were welling up in his eyes. You could feel the remorse.

You step forward and embrace him in a hug. "Jen… I didn't realize that you called Jared to come help me. I appreciate you so much." You hug him tightly, feeling his erection poking you in your lower stomach. You look down briefly at it, then back up at him.

"Jensen," you whisper, your voice softening. You look at him with concern. Disdain for Dee rising in your chest. You didn't want to hurt either of them, but you realized you're attracted to Jensen more than just a friendly face in your archive of make-shift family. You suddenly noticed his breath on your cheek, warm, with a lingering scent of a mint he just ate. His lips luscious and inviting. He was leaning closer to you, his green eyes fixated on your mouth, too. "We can't!" You say firmly, creating distance between the two of you.

"I know," he murmurs, shifting to conceal his still growing erection. "I know…" He repeated, lower.

You clear your throat and turn to walk away, but turn back again. "You're welcome to come eat, if you'd still like to." He contemplated your invitation. "Thanks. I'm just going to head home though. See you tomorrow."

Later, as you sit in the dim light of your trailer unwinding with a cup of chamomile tea, your phone buzzes with a message. It's from Jared: "Hope you're feeling better. We're all here for you. See you tomorrow." You smile faintly, touched by his kindness, and you text back, "Thank you. I am feeling much better, thanks to you and Misha. I hope your date went well! TTYL." But your thoughts quickly turn back to the unresolved tension with Jensen.

Suddenly, there's a knock on your trailer door. You open it to find Jensen standing there, looking tense and determined with sweat glistening off his body.

"Y/N, can we talk?" he asks, his voice strained trying to catch his breath.

You step aside, letting him in. He paces for a moment before turning to face you. "I just broke up with Dee," he says, his voice heavy with emotion.

Your heart skips a beat. "Wait. Jen, I never wanted this to happen. I had my family. I…" You just about spilled all of your grief in a pile of word vomit at him. To this man, whom you really do barely know, because he just broke up with his girlfriend? You felt crazy. "Jensen, please tell me this is a joke. That you just wanted to prank me." You settled on.

He shakes his head, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sadness and resolve. "It's not fair to her, or to you, to keep pretending everything's okay. I can't stop thinking about you, Y/N. I need to figure out what that means."

The weight of the situation hangs in the air as you both process what it means. "Did you say you HAD a family?" Jensen asks realizing what you had said. "N…No. I mean, yeah, but…" You stuttered. "Are you married?" He asked closing the small space between you, looking at you with worry and lust. You felt your panties dampen as he inched closer and closer. "I… was. Yes." You said holding up a hand to his chest to keep him away. His heart beating irregularly under your small appendage. You could smell his sweat mixed with cologne and it set your senses tingling. He was still breathing heavy, as you looked him up and down trying to figure out if he was still trying to catch his breath from running here or because of you. "Explain." He demanded in a Dean Winchester voice that made you shrink a little under his gaze. "Jensen… I can't do this. I can't be more than your friend. I was married, yes. My…" You looked down in a moment of guilt as you remembered your sweet husband. "My husband passed early last year and I'm just not…" Don't you dare tell him you aren't ready. Y/N, get your head straight. "You need to get back together with Dee…" You quickly tried to finish your explanation. He cut in, his voice low and fierce. "DON'T YOU SAY HER NAME." He grabbed your hand and removed it from his chest and pinned it above your head on the door frame. You moaned involuntarily as you both made a thunk on the trailer.

His voice was softer now. "You WERE married, and I'm so sorry for your loss. You have nothing to be guilty of, though. This…" he grabbed your other hand and pinned it, too. You didn't even fight it. "Is a normal feeling." He hovered his face above yours as you looked up at him deeply in his eyes. "Jensen" you said softly. "Say it again, princess." You melted. Your juices were flowing, and the butterflies were in full force now. He noticed. "You like that, don't you?" He whispered as he brushed your neck softly with his nose. "Princess." A moan escaped your mouth as you turned to face him buried in your neck now. "Jensen…" "I bet you smell just as sweet… down… here." he teased as he released one of your hands to caress your body, slowly moving toward your dampness. He grabbed you firmly. "Damn, you're ready, aren't you?" He smirked feeling the fluids through your lounge pants. He didn't give you time to answer. He flipped you around to face the door and he ran his hands over your curves. "You are perfect. You know that?" He exclaimed through gritted teeth. One hand rested on your ass before he gave it a swift smack. "MMMMM." you moaned. "Fuck…" he whispered throwing his head back. He pressed his dick to your ass through his jeans. You could feel the length of him throbbing through the fabric. You turned to face him, and you sank to your knees. He gathered up your long hair into a fist and pulled it slightly. "If you do this, you're mine. You know that, right? If you do this… YOU. ARE. MINE. Y/N." His eyes were dark with need now. Glaring into your face. "Yes, Jen." You barely got out as you hastily undid his belt, buttons, and slid his pants down. You were not hesitating now. You grasped his penis in both hands and circled the tip with your tongue. "Deeper." He urged you with his hand still tangled in your hair, firmly pushing your mouth closer to him. You take him as far in as you can slowly. You gag. "You've got it, princess." You moan and gag at the same time. "Take it all" he gently demands as he continues to guide his dick down your throat. You touch your lips to the base of his cock and slide him out and in, finally past your reflex. He moans as he throws his head back again, "yes Y/N, Fuuuuck." He looks back down at you. Your face is red, hair's a mess, spit slipping out of the sides of your mouth. He slowly pulls your hair back to slide himself out of your mouth. "Come here." He stands you up and spins until your back to facing your bed. He picks you up and grabs your voluptuous ass as you wrap your legs around his sturdy torso. You grab his face with both hands as he walks you back to your bed. You kiss him and not in a soft 'checking for chemistry' kiss. Your tongue explores every crevice of his mouth and his does the same to yours. He doesn't ease up on the kisses as he lays you down on your back, crawling on top of you in the process. He supports himself with one arm as he starts to take off your pants. His hand eases down your curvy belly and slips your panties and pants down your legs with ease. He walks his fingers up your legs barely touching your skin, giving you goosebumps. He almost gets close to your fupa, again, and you react.

"Jen. STOP." You gasp as you sit up and hurry to cover your lower body before he takes a good look at it. "I'm not ready." You say sheepishly tucking some hair behind your ear avoiding his gaze. You're about to cry.

"What is it? Did I do something?" He asked, his tone soft and caring now. Nothing like his lusty one a few seconds ago. You look at him as he takes your chin in his hand and turns your face toward him. "You deserve someone small like Dee, Jensen. You… trust me… You don't want all of this." you motion toward the parts of your body you're most insecure about. "What?" He sits straight up, looking at you shocked. "Jensen, I just mean…" you aren't sure how to get words out as the heat of the moment was still whirling in your mind. "Don't. Look at me. Y/N, look, at me." He coaxed as he scooted closer to you. "I don't want anyone else, but you, right here." He started saying as he wrapped his arms around you. You look at him. He seemed so sincere and loving. His rugged face inches from yours, as he lowered his tone more. "Y/N, I don't know what your insecurities are, but I want to be the one who makes them feel loved. YOU deserve this." He kisses your shoulder. "And this." He moves to your collarbone. "And this." He moves to your breasts, nipping at your hardened nipples through your shirt. You flinch a little, locking eyes with him. He faces you again. "I'll stop, right now, if you can give me one good reason that you don't deserve all of this," he stands next to the bed, fully naked now, wiggling his hips. "…that doesn't consist of a single bad thing said about your body." You giggle at the sight of him, but also sigh. A few tears fall from your eyes, and you wipe them away. You face him as he sits back down next to you, resting a hand on your thigh. "Jensen, what if we're moving too fast?" you said, disregarding his last statement altogether. "Hey, missy, don't change the subject." He smirked. "No, seriously though, do you feel like we are? I'll go home, now with no hard feelings about it, if so." He stated, half preparing to pull his clothes back on.

"I…it didn't feel like it." You said softly, tucking hair back behind your ear again. "I love it when you do that, and you look at me. It's so sexy." He said taking in the moment. "And if you don't feel like we are moving too fast, then let me show you the love you deserve." He said softly as he guided to lay back on the bed, slowly removing the covers from your body. You watched him, half intrigued and completely turned on by his tenderness. He scooted down your body to position his head just above your tummy while looking at you. "This," He kissed you softly. "Is beautiful." He noticed your c-section scar. He gently traced it with a finger. "This is beautiful." He kissed it, too. He gently moved his hands down to your thighs, placing his hand on the inner parts and separated them. "These, are gorgeous." He swooned as he trailed kisses along your inner thighs. You wiggled at his gentle advances, feeling tingles shoot through your body. He crawled back up to face level and hovered for a moment. "All of you is beautiful beyond measure. Especially what's in here" and he kissed your forehead. "Be kinder to it."

You couldn't take it anymore. You grabbed his face and pulled him closer, kissing him sloppily. You didn't care, let it be messy, let it feel wrong, but also let it feel so so right. Jensen pulled you out of your shirt in between kisses and then watched as your breasts were exposed. You covered them out of habit, and he looked at you and moved your hand away to replace them with his. He suckled your nipple, rolling it under his tongue. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter again. You grabbed his hair and pulled slightly, making him moan in pleasure. He came back up to your lips and kissed you again, sliding his body in between your legs. You could feel his penis outside of your opening, pulsating. You thrusted your hips to move against him. "I need you now, Jen." you moaned in his ear. "Say it again, baby." He returned.

"Jensen, I WANT you now." You changed. He wasted no time, as soon as you said it, he placed his tip at your slit and slid all the way in. You gasped. "Oh!" clutching at his hair in both hands, holding his head to yours. You looked at him, pleasure placed on both of your faces. "Shit. You're so tight!" he moaned as he grappled with thrusting into your cunt. You moaned over and over again, moving in rythm with each other. His grunts matching yours as you both climb with sensation. He moves your legs so your hips change angle slightly and you hit the high. "Jensen. Jensen. JENSEN!" You screamed, clawing at his chest now, writhing in your climax as he pumped into you faster and faster. He held your thighs firmly as he watched you come. "Fuck!" he exclaimed and he jerked shallowly into you as he filled your womb with his seed. He folded over you, shaking.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him as he slowly pulled out of you, both of your juices dripping from your pussy. He collapses next to you and pulls you to his chest. You both slow your breathing, as the euphoria of the night eased your muscles.

Your eyes became heavy, and you heard "Goodnight, beautiful", with Jensen's hands stroking your hair as you fell asleep to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat.

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 5 months

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Hello again !

Read the new drabble and as always, it was great to see the dynamics between the JTI couple.

I have an ask for JTI y/n-

We know what Jungkook thought of you when you guys met for the first time. But what was your first impression when you met Jungkook for the very first time? Anything out of the ordinary?

Just want to know all the dirty little secrets and get inside their heads now don't you 🤭

No but this is a fun question and I would write a drabble for this but I feel like her just answering directly would work out better this time.

~~~~

Oh gosh the first time? That was almost six years ago but okay, I guess I'll try to remember.

If we're talking physically I obviously found him very attractive.

Tall, charming and oh so alluring. One might say he was rather flirtatious when we first met but I knew I was an easy target being a little bit on the shyer side at that point.

Although I will admit I still get pretty shy around him.

I swear I'm so nervous for our first date like I don't know what to do! How should I do to my hair? What should I wear? What if I make a fool of myself and he realizes I might be too immature for him? Ahh I guess I'll just have to wait until then.

Anyways back to the first time we met.

I felt like he was looking at me as if he wanted to devour me and I'm not even sure if he knew that that's what he was doing at the time. It was very obvious to both Jina and I knew what he was thinking but I didn't dare say anything.

I knew that Jina would scold him about it later but I almost wished she wouldn't.

She apologized and said he doesn't get out much and is super friendly but I knew there was something more to it. At the time I thought it was just my naïve self getting excited at the thought that there was an older man that might like me.

(Yes I have daddy issues alright, it's very obvious at this point)

My heart always raced when he was around and although Jared and I were together at the time he never really made me feel the way that Jungkook did. Hell he didn't even have to say a word to get me wanting to fawn over him.

I sound like a lovesick puppy don't I? But at that time I was falling for the fantasy of it all.

Because who doesn't love a good fantasy right?

Anyways sorry my answer is all over the place but I can't help but ramble with our first date coming up! Who knew going on a date with an older man would make me all giddy like a little girl again?

Wait...that sounds wrong! See I told you I'm nervous! I really should stop talking now but thanks for the question babes.

~~~~

She's a mess lmao

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook #fanfic #fanfiction #just take it #just take it character ask #just take it ask #jti

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lupaeusarc · 9 months

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𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘌𝘌𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘗𝘖𝘚𝘐𝘛𝘐𝘝𝘐𝘛𝘠 𝘝𝘐𝘉𝘌𝘚 𝘐𝘋𝘒

i saw some people doing these end of year posts and i'm in a sappy mood so happy holidays and here's some people i adore !!

@stanfordprepped JARED my bestie my love the light of my life you're genuinely one of my best friends and an absolute day one ride or die i can't even describe how much samemma and cassdell mean to me and our other ships are top tier as well i'm so glad i met you and i'll get to updating cassie's aesthetic and bringing some cassdell to the dash right after this 🤍

@carp3diems ceejay . bestie . partner in crime . sounding board for every chaotic thought that goes through my mind . i adore you and our plots and threads and the way i can just hop into your dms like " hey can i traumatize our muses rq " and you're always down lmao you're so talented and i'm just very thankful for you and for colbemma and for all of our chaos

@multi-royalty maddieeeeeee i love you so much my big little sissy 🥹 the only person i'll write em in the tvdu for and the reason i'm still writing at all i owe so much to you and i appreciate that even if we don't talk constantly you know i think you're the bees knees and you make the rpc a better place you absolute ball of sunshine

@stilesstylelinski trick you fuckin goblin i don't know what i would do without our bullshit or your unconditional emotional support you and i have both had a pretty shit year and i'm just really glad we could lift each other up even a little bit throughout all of it . stemma owns my soul and i'm still just in awe of your portrayal okay you basically pull the boy off the screen

@boundforhale MOM mom i love you mom i'm so grateful for you and for the gremlin chat and for all the support and love you give . you're so talented and kind and you need to be NICER to yourself for taking your time with replies i would be happy with a reply a year okay plus derek is a stubborn asshole it wouldn't make sense if he woke up all the time lol when he does he comes out swinging though you knock it out of the park every time

@ruinedmyself twin 🤍 i think you're so neat okay the way your brain works is so fascinating and the love you put into your muses is like palpable you're so cool and so talented and brooklyn and sam are so fucking funny i can't watch the basement yard anymore without thinking of them . i'll make more edits of them soon the accuracy is just so unreal lol

@inkedmuses VVVVVV listen i have such brainrot for john b and emma right now they make me so happy all of our ships are so cute and interesting and i love them so much you have some of the coolest plot ideas ever it's so chaotic and so fun to just yell ideas at each other and bring them to life

@guiltye LILLY i mean i just could yell forever and i will i WILL yell forever i can't even believe how intricate and deep and unique all of our plots are i'm constantly in awe of your mind every time i get a meme or reply from you i'm starstruck i love you and i love yelling about noah with you and i just think you're so fucking cool and so creative and talented and interesting and strong as all hell and you just never fail to make me smile *mandolin playing* you got all my love 🤍

@n0prom1ses lumiiii listen i love these idiot sisters so much already and i think all of our ships and dynamics are so neat 🥹 i'm sad we lost so much time especially knowing why but i'm so glad nature is healing and that sonny is once again dragging asher by the balls bc frankly it's what he goddamn deserves

i could literally go on for hours but i do want to get some things done lmao so here's some more people that my note to is this : i adore y'all and i hope you have the best holidays / new year and that 2024 brings you everything you hope for 🤍

@svnflowehrs , @escapedfromthevoiid , @hellgiven , @qapsiel , @westwingsolo , @r4chelamber , @ofcrxwns , @ofblackskies , @neverrcry , @gunchamber , @controlledvolatility , @sarcasticsnackpack , @localsalt , @fuckmeupindie , @hstoryhuh , @mecwmellc , @surgcns , @unitcd , @unbearablyindifferent

#{ if i missed you i'm sorry and i hope you have the best holidays as well !! }#୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ so when my thoughts take off may i breathe deep ⌗ ooc .#୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ you’ll always be a flower on my skin and the pain that i am in ⌗ mentions .

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arazialotis · 1 year

Text

Get Him to the Con - Part 5

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: About 7500

Summary: The reader stumbles into Jensen at her favorite bar, a very drunk Jensen. She soon realizes Jensen was booked for a con this weekend and has to be eight hours from town in only two.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: Language, Mutual Pining, Creepy NPCs

I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time as hobby. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

-----

What the hell was he thinking? What the hell did he just do?

Jensen paced the length of the cramped motel room. His hand trailed through his hair and down his jawline. He really wanted to call Jared, but based on their last conversation, he already knew how that would go. Leading up to it, he had been so at peace. The whole day had simply been magical. And you, your smile, your laughter, your teasing, and your thoughtful remarks had cemented how his heart yearned for you. Even so, he knew he should take things slowly, slower than a snail’s pace. Yet how you were seated there, lost in another world, the sun glowing against your skin and shining on your lips; he couldn’t, didn’t help himself.

Jared was right, he thought. You were a fan, naturally, which put you both at a disadvantage. Aside from your conversations, what did he know about you? He could be falling for Superfan99, and Jared was the logical one here. Maybe he should have run a background check. Maybe he should have had someone look into your internet identity. Maybe Jared’s proposal of a non-disclosure agreement wasn’t such an outlandish idea after all. And then there were the power dynamics that you had hinted at earlier in the day. His status, wealth, and privilege put him at an advantage and could influence your behavior. One wrong move and it could all backfire in his face with lawsuits or defamation.

He sat on his bed. No. No. This was stupid. He did know you. He did like you. A lot. He was just panicking. Not only from the look of horror on your face after your lips parted but from the fact what he really wanted to do was knock down your door and spend all night entwined together. All these thoughts that Jared had planted in his head, out of brotherly concern, Jensen reminded himself, were surfacing simply because, in fact, you were correct earlier today. His balls were very blue indeed, and he needed to think with his head instead of them.

Jensen flopped on the bed, his hands weaving through his hair yet again. Hastily, he grabbed his phone and quickly googled ‘celebrities who married their fans.’ Okay, now he was definitely rushing and overthinking things. You weren’t even dating, nor had you indicated any interest outside of a friendship. Despite this, he scrolled anyways, needing some affirmation that if this did progress, it could work.

“Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes.” He scoffed allowed. “Come on, that doesn’t count.”

Make-up artists, producers, designers, and public relations. All these people were in the film industry. They got it to a certain extent. Understood the life, the pressure, the criticism. He kept going. Bartender? That caught his attention.

“Matt fucking Damon!” Jensen exclaimed. “Get it, man. Get it.”

The phone clicked off, and relief flooded him. Yet the peace was temporary. He closed his eyes, and all he could feel were your soft, plush lips against his. And how it had been too short, far too short. He wanted more. His heart raced inside his chest, and he attempted to take long, deep breaths to steady it, but it was futile. It was going to be a long fucking night.

---

The anticipated knock on your door startled you nonetheless. You were close to ready but still needed a few touch-ups. That wasn’t really what was on your mind; you weren’t sure how you could possibly face him again. The butterflies had completely taken over your entire being. What had happened last night was unreal. It couldn’t have possibly happened. But it did. He had kissed you. And then practically ran away! What the hell was that supposed to mean?! Were you a bad kisser? Did he regret doing it? Was he just being a gentleman? Should you make the next move? It was too much.

The weight of the door was heavy as it slid across the carpet. The morning sun radiated off him. How was he so perfect, especially this early in the morning? He was in a denim button-up that made his skin glow. Skin you so badly wanted to taste. Oh god, did you swoon in front of him?

Jensen cleared his throat. “Mornin'.” His voice was gruff.

You couldn’t find words to speak.

“I brought coffee.” He held it out like an apology or peace offering.

You eagerly grabbed it from him. “God bless you.”

He chuckled. “Ready to hit the road?”

After finishing a sip of coffee, you responded, “Yeah. First, gotta tackle this mess.” You gestured to your hair and headed back for the mirror.

“Don’t do it for my account; I think bedhead suits you.” He squinted his eyes shut and tilted his head. Filter, filter, he reminded himself.

You were glad your back was turned as to conceal the blush wishing it was him who had given it to you rather than the restless night.

Say, something, anything else. He floundered, "Sleep well?"

"Mhmm." You responded with a high-pitched lie. "You?"

"Absolutely," He also lied and added to sell it. "Surprisingly comfortable mattresses."

"Right?" You agreed. "So rewarding after a long day."

As is with most mascara wearers, it was only natural for your mouth to part while applying it to your lashes. Jensen was honed in, his mouth matching yours. Quickly, he shifted attention to your luggage lest his body start to betray him. A few more finishing details, and you caved. Your hair was as good as it would get for the day. Besides, you'd be in the car mostly if yesterday were any indication. Jensen wrestled with your suitcase out the door, his muscles straining against the denim. What had you swooning early now had you envious. You bet he just woke up like that versus the forty-five minutes it had taken you. It wasn’t fucking fair. After a final sweep of the room, you joined him in the car.

Learning from yesterday, you didn’t pull up a map to navigate, for your only destination was west. However, during your restless sleep last night, you took advantage of the motel’s Wi-Fi and downloaded a few playlists and podcasts, assuming service would be spotty again at best. Jensen was back at the wheel, starting the day again. As he reversed, his arm stretched to the passenger seat, the gravel crunching underneath the tires. The toned definition of his arms demanded the most attention, yet yesterday you had overlooked the rich tan he had developed over the summer. The scent of cedar and rosemary plagued your mind again, and if you came away with one thing from this trip, you hoped it would be the name of whatever hygiene products he was using because, god, you needed more of it in your life.

The air was silent as you waited for him to say something, anything. It’s not like you had anything to discuss. It’s not like anything monumental had occurred last night. Oh, wait. No, that’s right. He kissed you! He kissed you and then ran away. Not giving you a second to process or respond. Just up and left as it was the most casual thing in the world. And how he sat across from you now, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the temperature. So nonchalantly, like what happened wasn’t a big deal. Maybe he was waiting to return to the highway to bring it up so he didn’t have to multitask thinking about directions. Or maybe he had regretted it and wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened.

The highway came into view, and the open road called your spirit onward. Jensen brushed his knuckles against his lips. Oh, those lips you wanted so badly to feel again with your own. He placed his grip back on the steering wheel, pinching his lips together and then licking them as if they were chapped. From last night you knew they were anything but. You squirmed in your seat, needing pressure and relief. The son of a bitch let out a huff of a chuckle, then covered it up as if he was clearing his throat. It was like he was teasing you, goading you, knowing exactly what he was doing, making sure you’d be the first to bring it up.

Well, two could play at that game. You fished through your purse, finding a sheer lip tint. You flipped the sun visor down and then meticulously and precisely began running the stick over your lips before pressing them together to spread the light shade and releasing it with a pop. You could feel his eyes on you, and you tried with all your might to keep a smirk from spreading. To top it off, you delicately ran a finger along your lip’s edge as if correcting a mistake. His chair creaked, and from the corner of your eye, you caught him adjusting the seam of his pants. There it was. You snapped the visor shut and threw the tint back in your purse. And you thought it was silent before.

Play it cool, you told yourself, but you couldn’t handle it anymore. “You wanna listen to a podcast or something?”

“Yeah,” He squeaked out and then adjusted his voice, grateful for a distraction. “Yeah. What do you got?”

You scrolled through your Spotify. “Hmmm… Ooh, um, The Cult of Multi-level Marketing, a few Lore episodes, one on the philosophy of simulation theory….”

“Simulation theory?”

“Yeah, like this reality isn’t the true base reality. We’re living in a computer program.” You explained.

“So, like The Matrix?” He asked.

“Kinda, except that it’s most probable that humans are controlling the simulation, and we don’t have actual bodies that need to be awakened and are not being harvested by machines. Think more along the lines of humans creating a computer program very similar to their world but then introducing situations and factors to see how it would play out in reality so that they can better prepare for, I don’t know, a global pandemic or World War III.” You tried your best to give an overview. Or like a fan and a celebrity randomly bumping into each other and going on not only one but two road trips, because what other possible explanation was there for this?

Jensen raised an eyebrow at you skeptically. “You believe in that crap?”

“First of all, it’s not crap. Neil deGrasse Tyson believed in it for years.” You defended.

“Oh, well, if Neil deGrasse Tyson…” He mocked.

But you cut him off because you weren’t finished. “Second. Of course, I don’t believe in it, but it is fun to think about and keep an open mind.”

“I don’t think I’ve had enough coffee to explore the metaphysics of life quite this early in the morning.” He went to sip from his cup.

“I also have a conspiracy theory regarding Princess Di.” You offered.

“I’m noticing a trend here.” He waved his hand around your space. “I’m not sure what the theme is exactly, but it is saying a lot about you.”

“And here I thought avoiding my regular cold cases would be enough to dissuade your concern.” You both chuckled. “I did also download a 30 for 30 series.”

He snapped his fingers, not needing to hear the further details. “That’s the one.”

“Fine,” You rescinded. “It’s only a matter of time before I turn you to the dark side, and then you won’t be able to stop.”

Two episodes in, and you were bored out of your skull, having solely downloaded a sports podcast for his benefit. But at least the tension had lifted. If he wasn’t ready to talk about it, you weren’t going to force him. You were making good time too. It wasn’t even noon, and you were already past Omaha.

“At this rate, we’ll be in Denver a day early.” You remarked. “Which is cool; I’m sure there’ll be a lot to do and explore tomorrow.”

Jensen chewed it over. “Say, which way is Kansas? We gotta be nearby.”

You thought about it for a second and then confidently pointed south.

“You up for a detour?” He asked.

“Lebanon or Lawerence?” You questioned, voicing your agreement.

"I've been to Lawrence once," He recalled. "At least I think it was Lawrence… Can't say the same about Lebanon."

"It's settled then."

Thankfully, you were still close enough to Omaha for a signal when you brought up maps. Despite Jensen’s spontaneity, you were glad you still had a signal; looking at directions now, you’d never have been able to find your way. It wasn’t like there was a direct highway leading there. It would require a lot of zigzagging on country roads used primarily by farmers and truck routes.

You stopped in Lincoln for brunch and, more importantly, a second cup of coffee. The conversation was casual and playful, yet not as flirtatious as if you were tiptoeing around a cliff's edge. One false move and you’d tumble off to your inevitable demise or learn, very quickly, how to fly. After brunch, you found a quaint park with a lake that you strolled, stretching your legs before another long jaunt in the car. Jensen learned about your aversion to geese and teased you incessantly until one started hissing and honking at him. Then his attitude changed from ‘We're not in a hurry to be anywhere’ to ‘We should get back on the road.’

With a third cup of coffee on the go, Jensen finally surrendered and let you listen to the podcast on simulation theory. A heated debate followed it; Jensen, the logical skeptic, and you, the blind follower, simply for the pleasure of pushing his buttons and riling him up. Needless to say, further podcasts were not queued up. As predicted, cell service became less frequent, so you switched to the downloaded playlist with the theme of road-tripping. Songs included There She Goes, Life in the Fast Lane, and Take Me Home, Country Roads. Carefreeness overtook you as you opened up, signing along with Jensen, unworried about your voice or inventive lyrics.

It felt like flying off the highway, with the windows rolled down and Jensen pushing the modern Impala to its limits. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky therefore requiring sunglasses, and Jensen placed his ballcap on your head to keep your hair from flying all over the place. You crossed your legs up on your seat, and your hand hung out the window.

He chuckled. “Just like Jared. I don’t know how y’all do that.”

“Occasional yoga,” You answered. “Keeps me flexible.”

“There are benefits to being flexible.” Jensen pondered and cleared his throat as you both thought about the same thing. Sparing you the need to respond, he turned up the radio, “Oh, I love this song.”

What was it? Oh, right, Go Your Own Way. He fumbled through the second verse but gave a decent performance, so you were none-the-wiser.

It was midafternoon when you neared Lebanon. Out of the farms and fields sprouted a sign on US 281.

“Geographical Center of the Continental US.” You read aloud.

“What on earth?” Jensen asked.

“We have to go! Hang a righteous!” You instructed, fearing he would miss the turn.

“The more you talk, the less you are making sense.” He said.

You flailed your arms. “Take a right, right here!”

He had to press the brakes harder than he would have liked, but he made it.

He giggled and repeated, “Hang a righteous. What do you say when need to go left?”

“Leftovers for breakfast, obviously.” You responded.

“Obviously.” He chuckled.

“Oh my god,” Realization dawned on you. “This is why they picked it for the show, isn’t it? The center of the US, not counting Alaska and Hawaii, of course.”

“Yes,” He drew out unconfidently. “That is exactly why.”

“You didn’t know either!” You playfully accused.

“I knew.” He brushed it off. “At some point, I’m sure.”

You approached the park at the T in the road. Kansas stretched on for miles around you. Not a single car or person was in view. Thankful to get out of the car, you stretched and walked around the small plot of land with the smallest little chapel, one monument dedicating the space, and a bulletin board with news clippings with pieces of paper shoved in saying ‘so-and-so’ was here.

You wandered over to read the monument; Jensen trailed behind.

“So, how does it feel to be at the center of the country?” He asked.

You gritted your teeth and whispered, “Anti-climatic.”

“At least we didn’t have to pay for this tourist trap.” He remarked.

“Shut up. You loved the mystery spot.” You teased back.

You inspected the bulletin board closer, seeing the visitors' names and everywhere they came from, surprised at how far some people had traveled, and hopefully not just for this.

“Hey, you got a pen and paper?” Jensen asked.

“I think so.”

After quickly running back and forth, you brought a sharpie and a torn journal sheet to him. He jotted something down and signed his name before shoving it in along with the rest of the notes. You got a closer look, and it read ‘Dean Winchester was here,’ today’s date, and signed by Jensen Ackles.

“One for the fan girlies.” He announced, proud of himself.

“Very kind of you,” You agreed, for it made your own fangirl heart flutter.

Turning back on the road, you headed for downtown Lebanon. It was smaller than you expected, though you weren’t sure what you were expecting to begin with. A few houses were cute and quaint, and most needed work like paint touch-ups and a good weeding. Some needed a lot of work. The stretch of downtown truly brought to life the meaning of a one-horse town.

Though there were some recent renovations for tourists, Jensen leaned against the main city sign, avoiding stepping on the flowers and shrubbery. You happily snapped a few photos for him, and he returned the favor as you got a couple in the historical city jail replica.

“Does this count for the bucket list?” He asked.

“Pfft.” You leaned against the frame, arms sticking out between the strap-iron bars. “Hardly.”

“I could ask if they’ll keep ya overnight.” He offered, pointing over his shoulder back to city hall.

“Oooh, we could plan an intricate escape plan and heist, becoming the next Bonnie and Clyde.” You elaborated. “I like it.”

“Alright,” He started to walk away, calling your bluff. “I’ll go get you arrested for something.”

“Wait,” You squealed. “No. Jensen! Let me out!” You strained to reach for the latch keeping you caged.

“Not a chance.” He kept walking. “You gotta prepare for the real deal. If you can’t survive a night here, there is no way you will survive the feds.”

“Wait until I get out of here.” You threatened. “You are in for it.”

You poked your arm through another gap and stretched for the latch. Your fingers grazed it, and you pushed a little further, finally unhinging it. As promised, you ran after him, fully meaning to tackle him. However, he braced himself, knowing what was coming. A small grunt escaped him as you jumped up on his back. He gripped the underside of your thighs, supporting you, and carried you on his back to the car.

“Now you’re really caught.” He chuckled.

“Bull.” You said and wrapped your arms a little tighter around his chest. “We could play this out like Westley and Fezzik, and I’m telling you now, I’d win.”

“Inconceivable.” He said.

“You keep using that word…” You quoted.

And he finished. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

You laughed as he set you down on the pavement. “So… which way to the bunker?”

He flipped the keys in his hand, mentally preparing for another few hours at least in the car. “Aw, I’m sorry. Insider secret. You have to be a person of letters to get that knowledge.”

You faked a pout but chuckled, then stretched your back, not quite wanting to get back in the car. “I reckon the only bunkers round these parts are corn-filled.”

“Or poultry-filled… I reckon,” He matched your southern drawl.

“They should add one, though. Reach a wider range of tourists. Or, at the very least, make a little museum. Maybe that’s what I’ll plan for my midlife crisis. Move to Lebanon, and open a bookstore slash cafe slash flower shop slash Supernatural museum.” You rambled. “And then I will finally start leeching off our relationship, and you can bring me free stuff from set that I can stock in the museum.”

“That's a lot of slashes. I’m either impressed that you made that up all on the spot or concerned that has been your plan from the get-go.” He said. “And I’m equally concerned that you are planning a midlife crisis, not letting it happen spontaneously as nature intended.”

“I’m trying to be spontaneous, okay?” You whined. “This is a big step for me. Having things planned out and knowing what to expect helps a lot with anxiety. I’m learning to find the fun in stuff like this.” You waved your hands around as if to showcase this whole trip.

“I’m sorry,” He apologized. “I was teasing you, Y/N. It’s good to have a balance of both. I have my whole day to days planned out by someone other than me, so trips like this with no agenda to follow are refreshing. But I realize if you lived like this 24/7, it would be more than chaotic, and you’d potentially miss out on a lot.”

You huffed.

“It’s a good thing.” He observed. “We balance each other.”

You could accept that. “I am trying. And there’s a lot we’d have missed out on, too, if I had planned everything out.”

“I could have missed out on the mystery spot.” He agreed.

“You are never going to let that go, are you?” You envisioned.

“Never.” He grinned. “Let’s get back on the road and grab a snack…”

“I’m not hangry.” You said, but his eyes challenged you. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Stopping on the way out of town for gas, you both went inside to grab a cold drink for the road. Jensen nudged you with his hip once you went for your wallet and beat you to the draw. You blushed from the contact and linked your elbow around his, placing your hand in his. He interlaced his fingers with yours. And you weren’t sure if it was his pulse or yours that you felt violently pounding against your wrist.

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest little lovebirds,” The cashier remarked, and you pulled your hand out of his, realizing what you had done. “What brings you two out to Lebanon?”

Jensen grabbed it back as he responded, his voice leaning more into that Texas accent that rarely peeked out, “Passing through. On our way to Colorado.”

“Oh, well, if that is the case, you gotta play clouds or mountains!” She exclaimed.

“Clouds or mountains?” The question barely left your mouth, too focused on Jensen’s thumb now brushing the length of yours.

“Sounds like a drinking game.” He remarked.

“It better not be since you play it when you’re driving. But anyways, me and my friends play it anytime we’re headed out that way. Trust me, when you grow closer and closer, you can’t tell the difference if it’s a cloud or mountain, especially in the spring with the white caps, but I suppose your a little late for that.” She explained.

“What does the winner get?” You asked.

“Oh, trust me. You’re both winners at the end of that game after driving hours on a flat road.” She chuckled. “Though I suppose you could make a bet to sweeten the pot for whoever guesses mountains correctly first.”

Jensen thanked her for the advice and drinks, but she wasn’t finished yet. “Say, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Nah,” He waved it off. “I have one of those faces.”

“Sir,” She scolded. “Trust me. You do not have one of the faces. Sweetie,” She directed at you. “You better keep him on a leash. More than a few ladies round these parts would be more than happy to take in a stray.”

Your brain stopped functioning. How on earth were you supposed to respond to something like that? First off, it was completely derogatory. It’s not like you would claim him, or any man for that matter, as your property. Second, he wasn't even yours to claim. You both shared a wide-eyed look, and he smirked, intervening with that natural charm.

"I don't need a leash to heel for this one. She buys the brand name kibble and gives the best belly rubs." He boasted.

Your cheeks flushed with magma.

“Lucky son of a gun. If you ever find yourself in the doghouse, you come back around here anytime.” She offered.

Jensen winked at her, thanked her again, and the door chimed as you exited. You were both about to return to the car when your exasperated huff stopped Jensen. Your brows were furrowed together, and you were shaking your head. The heel of your foot squeaked as you turned sharply, marching back.

“Hey, hey.” Jensen chased after you and became a wall in front of you, blocking you from the building. “Where are you going?”

“I am going back in there and telling that woman,” You pointed furiously, “Exactly what I think.”

Jensen chuckled, this new fury in you surprising yet equally adorable. “And what exactly do you think?”

“You don’t talk to people like that!” You nearly shrieked.

“It’s fine Y/N,” He tried his best to diffuse the situation. “She meant no harm.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” You protested, glaring into the storefront.

He grabbed your shoulders and leaned down to capture your gaze. “Make like Elsa, and let it go.”

You tried so hard to hold onto your anger but failed, a snicker escaping.

He physically turned you and forced you back to the car, your feet dragging the whole way.

“‘Sides,” He remarked, “I’m a Doberman. I can fight my own battles.”

Now you snorted. “You’re a corgi at best.”

A sharp tinge pinched at your ribs, and you yelped in response. “That’s a lot of smack coming from someone ranking in as a chihuahua.”

You gasped, “How dare you!”

“A little furball of fiery rage ready to defeat the cosmos one ineffective ankle bite at a time.” Jensen laughed harder at his own antics when you shook your head. “You even got the shakes down!”

“I’m so done with you right now.” You fake fumed and slouched into the passenger’s seat.

“You love it.” His tongue peeked out between his teeth.

You tried again to hold onto the anger, but then it melted into a cheesy smile and confirmed with a head nod. Once he knew the beast had been tamed, he shut your door, and you headed for another long stretch of road. Consulting your map while you still had service seemed like the best bet, but directions were simple enough.

“Few minutes south outta Lebanon, then west on 36. Straight shot to Denver from there.” You tucked your phone away. “Let me know when you want to switch.”

“I still got a while in me.”

Time flew by as the scenic pictures of rural America repeated; fields, run-down farms, junk piled to the sky, and an occasional wealthy, newly renovated estate. Small towns came and went, some lasting a mere crossroads, others three blocks maximum. The estimated arrival time was slowed by the inconvenience of no longer having the expressway. Rusted-out trucks from the 80s and semis carting full loads of goods from produce, dairy, to livestock slowed the traffic. At least Jensen was still driving as he had the gall to pass the slower vehicles. Conversation was frequent but not constant. The time was filled with more tunes, podcasts, shared pining, and wondering if you could feel the other’s lips properly the second time if it ever came.

He was rubbing his own lips and lost in that exact thought when you broke his concentration.

“Hey, Jensen?” You asked.

“Hmm?”

The last remaining rays of sun brought out the dusting of freckles on his skin and the gold flecks in his eyes. No Instagram filter could compete. He looked at you almost as if he was thinking the same thing. Wishing he could capture this scene forever, but no photo could truly do it justice.

You cleared your throat and nodded ahead. “Clouds or mountains?”

That shocked him out of whatever thought he was lost in. He looked at the clock and wondered if he had missed the state line. Surely, you were not in Colorado yet. But then he looked ahead and whistled. The sun was disappearing between purple and blue luminous clouds towering into the atmosphere.

“That is one big ass storm system.” And you were headed right for it.

---

Rain pounded against the windshield that the wipers futilely attempted to clear. The sky had gone as dark as the middle of the night, and the wind howled as its only goal was to force the car off the road. The headlights only scouted out a few feet ahead, and the tail lights in the distance indicated others were just about as thrilled as you. Jensen’s knuckles were stark white, gripping the steering wheel as tight as he could. There was no conversation, no music, the only focus on making it out alive. Even at the slow pace of thirty-five miles per hour, your eyes squeezed shut as gusts of wind pounded into the side of the car, or thunder roared up ahead. Lighting cracked across the sky, and the world lit up as it made contact with the lone tree in the field next to you.

“Jesus!” “Shit!” Both of you swore in unison.

Jensen slowed as you watched embers spark from inside the tree despite the downpour. That was the final straw. You pulled up your map, and though it shouldn’t have surprised you at this point, there was no service.

“Remind me to switch phone plans if I get back.” The irritation in your voice rose through. “Is yours any better?”

Jensen fished his out of his pocket and unlocked it before handing it to you. No luck.

“And here I thought you’d have some fancy-schmancy satellite plan. For god's sake, they send people to the moon and have had full conversations; you would think Verizon and T-Mobile could get their shit together!” You ranted.

He chuckled, but it was tense.

“Oh, oh, my map is loading, just not directions.” You tried to give him some semblance of hope. “We’re coming up on a town on the right, just a few miles. There might be a motel or a least a place to stop and wait for the rest to pass.”

A few more miles and the semi-truck ahead of you turned right, looking for an escape as well.

“This must be it.”

“What the fuck?” Jensen whined upon seeing red sign after red sign lit up with no vacancy.

“There!” You pointed.

He pulled in, and it was obvious you were the only car in the parking lot. With all the other hotels full, it sent a shiver down your spine. Before either of you committed to brave the rain, you connected to the motel’s wi-fi to check the weather radar. The storm was going nowhere. Not tonight, at least.

“Purple?” Jensen asked. “Is purple even a radar color? That can’t be good.”

You both ran to the motel’s office, soaked instantly from head to toe. The door was locked and but the office light was on. You were about to read the sign to Jensen, but thunder boomed around you, so instead, you just pointed, saying honk for service. Unlikely that anyone could hear it over the sound of wind and pounding rain. Yet Jensen ran back to the car, blazing the horn a few times before rejoining you under the awning.

A light appeared in the house next door, and soon a figure in a bright yellow poncho appeared, frantically looking for his keys and corralling you inside.

“Wow,” The toothpick of a man gasped out of breath. “You sure know how to pick a time to check in.”

If you had to guess, the office around hadn’t been updated since the 70s. Burnt orange carpet matted down, wood paneling that went halfway up the walls transitioning into yellow floral wallpaper, and the smell of cigarette smoke embedded into everything. Taxidermy birds and sketches adorned the walls. Ducks, a kingfisher, a pheasant, and an owl who stared down at you with spread wings and haunting yellow eyes. You stepped closer to Jensen.

“We’ll take two rooms for the night.” Jensen requested, and you started shivering as the cold wettness of the rain soaked through to your bones.

“We’re currently under renovations and just have the one, but it’s a double.” He went through a paper ledger; there was no computer in sight.

Jensen had joked about the twilight zone yesterday, but now it was as if you had actually stepped into it. You shared a look and silently agreed to make it work, not wanting to risk going out again in this. The thunder and flash of lightning outside confirmed your decision.

“We’ll take it.” Jensen decided and laid his card down, wondering if they even accepted cards.

When the man accepted it and slowly typed the numbers into a machine, Jensen noted he needed to carefully review his next few statements. He seemed to be in his late thirties but still had a boyishness. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had never left this town.

“Jensen Ackles.” The man remarked. “An unusual name. I have a plain old name. Anthony Perkins, though I suppose you don’t hear the name Anthony so much anymore. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Jensen said tersely.

“And what might your name be?” He asked innocently enough, but his eyes bore into you similar to the stuffed owl’s.

“Y/N… Ackles.” At this point, you didn’t care if it made Jensen uncomfortable; you didn’t like how this man looked you up and down.

Jensen’s jaw flexed.

Anthony laughed sheepishly, “Then I suppose you won’t mind sharing a room, that is, unless you’ve had a fight recently or little ones in the car.”

He was right; your lie didn’t make sense. “Siblings, actually.” You stuttered out.

“Ah,” His eyes lit back up, and handed Jensen back his card.

Your eyes flashed him a help me sign, but he didn’t catch on. Anthony began writing down in the ledger and passed it to Jensen, indicating where to sign. He watched impatiently, bouncing as Jensen wrote his information and signed.

“You folks in town for the cattle auction tomorrow?” He asked.

“Yes.” Now that you had started a lie, apparently, you couldn’t stop, but you wanted this man to know nothing about you.

“You don’t look like the rancher types, if you don’t mind me saying.” He remarked, and you very much did mind.

“We recently got back into it.” Jensen finally caught up to your uneasiness. “Our great-grandfather started a ranch north of Dallas and passed it down to his son and then our father. We both tried to leave, Y/N for a law degree and me for… veterinary services, but we got roped back in.”

“That’s nice, though, and your areas of study fit the business.” Anthony said. “My mother started this motel, and now I run it for her that she is unable. There’s nothing like a family business.”

“Right.” You agreed. “That’s what our ranch is. The family business. Saving cattle…” What the fuck was coming out of your mouth.

You looked at Jensen for aid, and he thinly smiled. “Hunting… deals.”

“Saving cattle?” Anthony asked, confused.

Your eyes blinked rapidly. “Oh, you know, from the big corporations, like McDonald’s. Small farm life, pasture-raised, so much more ethical for the animals. So finding deals at auctions like this for a cow nobody wants is rewarding in its own way.” You swallowed hard. Nobody in their right mind would believe this bullshit.

But Jensen was having the time of his life with it. He leaned against the counter. “Our dad was supposed to come up this way for the auction but went missing three weeks back. So you see, I came looking for him but got no leads. Y/N, with her fancy Hartford law degree, has better luck with the police usually.” He paused, looking back at the ledger and scanning the other names. “Say you haven’t heard about any missing people around here?”

You covered your face, looking contemplative, but truly you were hiding a smirk. Anthony swallowed and shook his head no.

“What about anything unusual?” He pressed further.

“Unusual?” Anthony repeated.

“Yeah,” Jensen’s voice cracked. “Problems with the electricity, smells of manure, phantom mooing.”

He chuckled. “With the cattle auction nearby and the fields all around, it always smells like manure, but I don’t see what that has to do with your missing father?”

Okay, this had gone on long enough. “You like birds, Anthony?” You attempted to divert the conversation.

“Oh yes, very much so.” He grinned. “Their elegant, delicate, free creatures. I do most of the work myself, though some I purchase. I’m quite pleased with the owl and the sketch of the flock of crows. You almost remind me of a bird. I’d like to sketch you if you have the time.”

And that was enough fun for Jensen. He stood up straight. “Maybe next time.” He said firmly but didn’t want to offend your host. “Let’s grab some food…”

Anthony grabbed a key from behind the desk and handed it to Jensen. “I think most restaurants closed early tonight for the storm, but Mother and I were just sitting down for dinner before you came. I’m sure she would be happy to share.”

“Thank you,” You offered. “But I’m not that hungry, and we have plenty of food in the car.”

“If you change your mind, feel free to come up to the house; we don’t bite.” He offered one last time.

You were towing your luggage and the snack basket as fast as you could out of the car and under the awing next to room number 6.

When you were certain Anthony was back in the house, you exhaled, “What the fuck was that?”

“Saving cattle? Really?” He critiqued your improv skills.

You slapped his shoulder. “That’s not what I’m talking about, but while we are at it, phantom mooing.”

But then you and Jensen laughed until another roll of thunder caused you to jump.

“Get us inside,” You coaxed him. “After all that, I’m glad there’s only one room.”

Jensen fumbled with the keys. “Renovations, my ass; he just doesn’t want to clean two rooms. But I would have insisted on one after all that anyways. That guy gives me the creeps. I’m not leaving you alone near him.”

The door swung open, and Jensen stopped at the threshold.

“Bates motel much?” And then you saw why Jensen froze. You stuttered, “When he said double, I was thinking two twins.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agreed. “Double as in a full-sized mattress.”

You surveyed the town around you. Aside from house lights, nothing else was open except the motel down the street, with its sign still reading no vacancy. The parking lot filled to the brim with livestock trailers now made sense. As if the night couldn’t get worse, the wind picked up again, and the thunder grew in intensity and frequency.

“We... We’ve, we’ve,” You couldn’t spit it out. “We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Yup.” Jensen gulped.

“We’ll make a pillow barricade.” You suggested.

“Pillow barricade?”

“Is something the matter?” Anthony called from down the porch. “You’ve been standing out here for an awfully long time.”

You squinted your eyes shut.

“No, thank you, Anthony,” Jensen yelled over the wind, guiding you inside.

Once inside, you shivered from the chill. The decor matched that of the office. Jensen wrestled with the window on the far side of the room. It was futile. The window was completely busted, stuck open.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered to himself.

Your teeth chattered.

“Why don’t you get a shower,” He instructed. “It’ll warm you up.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, yet you carefully got all the necessary items. Now that you were in here, the steam rolling up to the ceiling, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Only the door separated you and him. And you found yourself shaking again. You encouraged yourself with deep breaths and let your jeans fall around your ankles, followed by everything else.

You survived, taking a quick shower to leave hot water for him before snuggling into your pajamas, much more comfortable than before. Jensen looked up for the edge of the bed once you exited. He licked his lips and found he had trouble breathing. You couldn’t help but blush. He seemed to want to say something but decided against it.

“It’s all yours,” You offered.

“Thanks.” He rushed past you.

The water started again, and your mind wandered imagining the two of you joined in the water’s steam. Heating yourselves not just with the water but the with each other, your mouths exploring every inch of skin, tugging on hair, pressed against the tiled wall. A new shiver ran through you, and you had to distract yourself. You flipped on the TV and rested against the headboard.

When Jensen came out, he did not have the courtesy of fore planning. His waist was wrapped in the white cotton that was practically a dish towel. The drops of water accentuated the lines of his muscles. The v that traveled down… You forced your gaze back to the TV, though you couldn’t see the picture, the image in your mind too distracting, the pounding of your heart too loud to hear the words.

He seemed completely unaffected by this precarious situation. He dried his hair with the spare towel.

“Silence of the Lambs, really?” He scoffed. “You’re not going to be able to sleep tonight.”

Oh, I won’t be sleeping tonight, but that is not the reason why. “It was this, the weather, or Fox News.”

He rolled his eyes before returning to the bathroom to change into gray joggers and a white undershirt. “Hannibal it is.”

You squinted your eyes shut; the joggers were as sinful as the towel. The weight of the bed dipped, and the springs creaked as he slid in next to you. His arm snaked behind you and drew you in. It felt natural; it felt like home. You leaned your head against his shoulder, and your racing heart stilled, perfectly content.

“I ate his liver,” Jensen quoted along with the movie. “With some fava beans and a nice chianti.”

You huffed a laugh. “Jensen?”

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Will you protect me from Norman Bates and Buffalo Bill?”

“Not Hannibal?” One of his brows raised.

You snuggled in further to him. “Give it fifteen to twenty years, and I think you’d be perfect for a remake.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” You explained. “He’s protective, polite, intelligent… occasionally spontaneous and the only man in the movie not to objectify Clarice, though objectifying can be nice if the occasion calls for it.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on him,” He observed.

You snorted. “No, absolutely not. Oh, but that one scene where he grazes Clarice’s finger...” You exaggerated a shiver.

“Macabre,” He suddenly announced. “That’s the theme I was looking for early. You’re very macabre.”

You giggled. “Goes hand in hand with your show, I guess.”

“Fair,” He agreed, and then his stomach grumbled. “Where did those snacks get off to?”

You reached for them, never leaving the bed, and settled them on his stomach, producing a grunt. Jensen dug through the basket, and you cuddled in closer. Underneath the sheets, his barefoot rubbed against yours, and even though the wind whipped through the open window being next to him would keep you warm all night.

Heat followed Silence of the Lambs, which Jensen was thrilled by, but even though it was earlier for you than usual, you began dosing off, your head rising and falling with the breathing of his chest. His scent surrounded you and lulled you further. He gently stroked your hair and pulled you closer.

------

Continue here to Part 6

GHTTC Tags: @maggiegirl17

#Jensen Ackles #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #supernatural #spn fanfiction #SPN FANDOM

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