#make Jared dynamic again

[saltcxrcle]

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

[blackbirdie1234]

Jealousy

Paring-Paul Lahote! x Fem!Reader

A/N: A short one shot. You know the boys are werewolves in this btw, you just don't know that Paul imprinted. Not proof read!

Summary: Paul imprints on reader. Reader does not know. Paul does not tell reader and a comment from Jared pushes him over the edge.

Readers POV

" Hey Em, do you think this is a good consistency?" I ask looking over at Emily who was kneading dough in her hands. I hold up the bowl for her to look at.

"That's perfect!" she exclaims happily.

I smile back at her and then pour the mixture into the pan.

"The boys better worship the ground we walk on for this," I say humorously as we share a laugh.

We both look up at each other suddenly when we hear the sound of shuffling outside and then the sound of the front door being slammed.

"Calm down Paul!" Sam's loud voice echoes through the house as he and Paul walk through the door. Well, Sam was walking, Paul was storming.

The anger coming off of Paul was obvious, when Paul gets upset it's like you can physically see the steam coming off of his body. Sam continued behind Paul gaining speed and grabbing his arm forcing Paul to look at him.

"I'm not going to say it again Paul," Sam said with a stern look on his face. The kind of look of a true alpha, which he was.

Paul whips around and gives Sam a challenging look.

"You heard what he said!" Paul quipped as Sam, expressing his irritation.

Sam pauses, they share a look, and Paul trudges to his room without a word.

"What was that about?" Emily asked questioningly at her lover.

Sam walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, you could see his body relax as he sunk into the touch.

"Just Paul being Paul," Sam said heaving a sigh.

"It seemed like more than that," I pointed. Trying to get more information.

Sam and I had a brother-and-sister-type dynamic. He did his best to keep me out of things but I was just as stubborn as he is, so he knew I wouldn't give this up easily.

"Jared made a comment, in his mind, and Paul didn't take it too well," Sam said begrudgingly, obviously not wanting to bring attention to the issue.

"What was the comment?" I asked wiping my hands clean of some batter and flour.

I look up and see how tense Sam is now, avoiding eye contact with me he takes a muffin from the rack on the counter and sits down, starting to eat.

"It's nothing to worry about it's all been handled" Sam mumbles into the muffin "This muffin is delicious babe" Sam smiled up at Emily.

"Wow smooth change of subject, Sam" Emily says laughing a bit.

I think for a moment and start walking over to Paul's door.

"That might not be the best idea Y/N," Sam says from behind me.

I ignore him and continue walking. I reach the door and knock quietly. I hear a grumble coming from the other side of the door, and I open it to find Paul lying on his bed arm over his face.

"Are you okay Paul?" I ask, concern laced in my voice.

When he realizes it is you he perks his head up and starts to sits up. You walk over and sit at the end of his bed facing him.

“I don’t want to talk right now Y/N” he looks at you with defeat on his face.

“I understand Paul, but it might make you feel better. Just tell me what happened. Maybe I can help” I tell him putting my hand atop of his comfortingly. He looks at my hand on his for a moment before speaking.

“I don’t think you’ll understand” he says breathing out.

“Then help me understand” I say eagerly

He looks up at me and there’s something in his eyes that I can’t describe. He stares at me for awhile, just looking me.

“Jared made a comment” I could feel the heat in his body radiating off of him as he continued talking I squeezed his hand to show him that I’m listening.

“He made a comment about you” He started shaking thinking about it.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay calm down” I say taking his face in my hands and making him look at me.“I don’t care about whatever he thought, it doesn’t bother me Paul” I said trying to calm him down.

“It may not bother you but it bothers me!” Paul said cooling off a bit at my touch but still upset.

“What did he say that’s so bad?” I question

Paul sighs and looks down at his hands. “He was thinking about you, about how you are pretty, about how perfect you are, about how if he was your imprint he would tell you immediately.” Paul paused for a minute before taking your hands in his and fully facing you. “You’re my imprint Y/N, that’s why I’m so upset, that’s why it bothers me so much, that’s why he thought it, and that’s also why I smashed his face in the ground.” Paul said with a satisfying smirk at the last comment. “I know that you’re probably disappointed that it’s me but I can’t hide it from you any longer, I’m in love with you Y/N”

As soon as he finished talking and looked at you nervously you smashed your lips against his. The kiss was deep, hungry, you were a woman starved and Paul was a five course meal. The kiss lasted until both of you pulled away for air, Paul smiled widely at you and you shared the expression.

“ I could never, ever be disappointed by that” you told him genuinely “I’ve been in love with you since we were ten” Paul laughed with relief.

“Y/N will you be my girlfriend” Paul asked placing his hand on your check and rubbing gently.

“Of course I will Paul” you share another kiss, when you pull away you put your hand on his chest to stop him from continuing.

“What?” Paul asked looking like a kicked puppy, as you withhold your kisses.

“I love you but you better apologize to Jared, or no muffins for a week” you quipped jokingly giving him a smirk.

“No fair! he started it” He yells chasing after you as you walk out the door laughing.

[devilmademewriteit]

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

—

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[ardentpoop]

I get why casual viewers don’t enjoy the soulless!sam arc bc it isn’t my favorite to watch the whole way through either simply bc I miss our sam too much. I do however really enjoy how it fucks with the power dynamic between samndean and how it aggressively highlights the expectations for sam’s vs dean’s masculine roles when they’re both Playing Their Parts. the question of what supernatural believes a “soul” to be can be very thought-provoking (and troubling) as well when you look at how the show justifies dean’s behavior towards soulless!sam (see the conclusion to this arc) and the disturbing language most of the fans use to discuss him; essentially using this prominent Dark Sam iteration to monsterize him just as they do with his “bloodfreak” arc but notably do not do with Dark Dean variants, because the show moralizes about sam in a way it does not about dean.

I also like analyzing the fan response to soulless!sam’s behavior and how it is framed bc like sure you can call him Cartoonishly Evil. is he though, according to this fictional universe (this country, rather) that glorifies military masculinity? or is he just a good hunter? a better hunter than dean? should make you think, but here we are.

last thing about it that is heavily underappreciated is that jensen has spoken in detail about hating it because it threw a wrench into his chemistry with jared, which again. should make you think.

[all444glo]

FERTILIZER

🎞️|| Money was never the problem. Not really. You weren’t broke, you just acted like it. Jared constantly showed his love with gifts, however you grew up seeing generosity as leverage. The argument was unfortunately inevitable.

⚠️|| financial trauma, emotional conflict,soft dom!male oral (f receiving), trauma reflection, unresolved family dynamics, post-argument intimacy, communication issues, emotional vulnerability, one-sided silent treatment, Jared trying to make it right with head lol

“Well I heard that the flowers love to hear you sing, baby girl Put your ear to my heart, bet you won't hear anything Can I get you to sing baby? Give me something in E major? Pretty darling, your silence is driving me crazy”

The number one divisor between couples is money.
Not infidelity.
Not timing.
Not even sex.
Money.

It breaks friendships, ruins bloodlines, and chips away at love until all that’s left is resentment. You’d seen what it looked like for a woman to owe a man—watched your mama carry debt that didn’t have interest, just intention. Gifts with strings hidden under the ribbon. Help that came with conditions. You learned early that some men give just to feel entitled to take.

But it wasn’t just the men.

Your mother made you feel like you owed her, too. Like love had to be repaid. She’d say it in passing—“After everything I sacrificed”—but you felt it. In the way she’d guilt you for wanting anything she didn’t hand you first. In the way her love came tucked in expectation. You learned to say thank you before you even wanted something. You learned to perform gratitude.

So when you got with Jared, you made two promises to yourself:
1. Don’t let money ruin this.
2. Don’t ever feel like love has to come with conditions again.

You weren’t broke. Not even close. You were a research assistant, top of your class, just two years from applying to pediatrics programs. You knew how to stretch a check, how to live like you had less than you did because that kept you grounded. Safe. In control.

You grew up counting change before counting blessings. Even now—with a steady income, your own place, a man who would give you the world if you asked—you still pinched pennies like the rug could get pulled from under you any second. You ran mental math when you shopped, saved leftovers religiously, flinched at luxury like it might disappear if you got too comfortable.

It wasn’t about pride.
It was about survival.

And Jared? Jared had a Nike deal and a roster spot.

He came from a middle-class family—nothing wild, but stable. His parents showed love through giving, through consistency. They gave without needing applause. To him, your frugality was... cute. A bit. A personality quirk. He didn’t get that it was trauma. That every time he gave without asking, it kind of enraged you.

His love language was giving. Grand, expensive, thoughtful giving. You tried not to take that personally, but it did something to your spirit every time he handed you a gift that cost more than your rent.

Like tonight.

You came home from a twelve-hour shift to find a Louis Vuitton luggage set laid out across the bed like a showroom display. Inside: full-sized versions of every product you’d mentioned running out of. Moisturizer, bronzer, a new version of the expired palette you’d been using for years, three of those $42 lip glosses you were gonna wait until next your paycheck to replace. Sephora and Ulta gift cards tucked neatly in each pouch.

You didn’t mean to ruin the moment.

You didn’t mean to start a fight.

But your chest tightened. You blinked hard. Then you whispered, “How much was all of this?”

And all hell broke loose.

“I just asked a question, Jared.”

“Nah, you rolled your eyes, looked up the price, and then made that little face you always make like I slapped your mother.”

“Because it’s too much! I told you, I don’t want you doing all that.”

“You don’t want me doing that. You’d take those bags from anyone else.”

“Now we just saying anything.”

“Well then help me rationalize it, cause I’m having a hard time—”

“I don’t wanna owe you—”

“Owe me? I’m your boyfriend?”

“Jared, it’s just too much—”

“Too much what? Love? Effort?”

“No. Money.”

He blinked. Scoffed. “So you’re mad I pay attention?”

“I’m mad you won’t listen. I don’t want to be spoiled like this, Jared.”

“You don’t want to be loved like this. That’s what you really mean.”

You went quiet. He didn’t.

“Nah, cause you always feel attacked whenever I do something for you—even if it doesn’t involve money. You always got one foot out like I’m just gon’ dip. That’s not love, that’s paranoia.”

“And what if I am paranoid? You think I asked to be like this?”

“No, you didn’t ask—but you don’t do shit to fix it, Y/N. That’s the issue.”

You didn’t speak for hours after that. Not even in passing.

He was in the game room, yelling into his headset—something about lag and “gettin’ smoked off rip.” You were curled up on the balcony in a sundress, earbuds in, sun melting into the skyline.

But your mind was louder than your music.

You were mad, but not just at him.

You were mad that he was right.

Mad that the truth hurt.

Because yeah, Jared triggered you, often even—but you hadn’t done much to heal it either. You just carried it around, hid it, “accepted it”, wrapped your whole personality in it like it was a trait. And when someone tried to push past it, even gently—you exploded.

He never pushed. Never asked for your childhood story. But he noticed. The way you reacted to certain things too softly or too sharply. The way your silence screamed. He’d seen it before—in your jaw when he did the bare minimum, your eyes when favors came without an expected return date. He didn’t know the details, but he knew enough to tread lightly.

And still—you made him pay for loving you the only way he knew how.

You weren’t afraid of love.

You were afraid of debt. Emotional, financial, whatever.

You sat with that. Let it burn a little. Let the truth settle somewhere between your ribs and your pride.

But also? He was wrong. He was wrong to throw that in your face like it was a flaw you chose. Wrong to act like your trauma was some character defect and not something you were still learning how to live with.

So—you weren’t not speaking to him.

You just didn’t care to speak when he came to check in.

Nor when he stuck his head out the door to ask if you were hungry or wanted to come watch him play.

You noticed. You just felt too conflicted to react.

When the sliding glass door creaked open, you didn’t even turn your head. But you felt him—barefoot and slow, headset still hanging around his neck, the mic echoing someone calling his name in the background.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just dropped to his knees behind you like his body already knew what his mouth couldn’t find the words to fix.

You were leaned back, sundress creeping up your thighs, legs bent just enough for him to move gently between them.

His fingers grazed the inside of your knee, then his lips—soft, warm, careful. A kiss. Then another.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything—

But he was already tugging your underwear to the side.

“Jared—”

“Nah,” he murmured, mouth brushing your thigh. “I gotta talk to you this way.”

You let your head fall back as he licked one long, slow stripe between your folds—then flattened his tongue and circled your clit like he was trying to memorize it.

“F-fuck,” you whispered, already breathless. “You think this gon solve anything?”

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his lips shiny, eyes heavy.

“I think I know how to make you listen,” he said low. “And I think you like when I beg with my mouth,”

Then he buried his face between your thighs again like he meant it.

His tongue stroked firm and fast, then slowed just as your thighs started to tremble. He moaned against you when your hips bucked into his mouth, and the vibration alone had your head spinning.

“Jared, baby—”

“Mmhm.” He kept licking, kept teasing, using his middle finger to gently press inside you, curling just right.

“Stop playing,” you whimpered. “You know what I want.”

He smirked and kissed your inner thigh again. “Now you can speak?”

Then he kissed your clit, soft and sweet, like he knew you were close. Like he wanted you there.

“You always taste this good when you mad at me?” he murmured.

You whimpered, chest rising in shallow gasps. He looked up at you from between your thighs with a fire in his eyes—one hand gripping your hip, the other rubbing slow circles on your clit like he was trying to coax the words out of you.

“C’mon, mama,” he whispered. “Say it. Say you forgive me.”

You were too gone to lie. You nodded, voice high and cracked: “I forgive you, baby, please just—fuck, don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. He licked you through your orgasm, kept going until your legs were shaking and your hand was in his curls, tugging like you needed something to hold onto. Your whole body arched as you came again, back stiffening, mouth falling open around a moan that sounded like his name.

“Good girl,” he whispered, breath warm against your skin. “That’s all I needed.”

Later, tangled in sheets and silence, you spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

He pulled you closer. “Me too.”

“I just get scared. It’s not even about the stuff—I have never experienced non-transactional love, so this means so much more to me.”

He kissed your temple. “We can work through that. But you can’t push me away when I’m trying. I’d give you the world if you’d let me.”

“I’ll try. And you don’t have to stop gifting me things. Just… maybe balance it with other stuff. Like notes. Or that dumb lil back scratch you do when I’m sleepy.”

He chuckled, eyes finally soft again. “Deal. So I can’t get you the matching toiletry bag though?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “We’ll talk about it.”

[prettypinkporkchop]

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."

[hologramcowboy]

it’s fair to speculate on why Jared was not present at the premiere. if your children call this man their uncle and he is a chosen brother to you, why would he not celebrate your career endeavors, especially after working together so recently? vice versa with walker and the new series. Rob, Alex, and Richard latched onto the Countdown coattails and were present—do you think they had that bond?

we are so quick to make judgment on everyone else here, but there’s something deeply wrong with Jensen. he is the common denominator when it comes to his wife, his own children, his best friends, his coworkers, his anything!!! there’s definitely a reason to why his circle has dwindled and those who left have thrived. he is the sole provider of his family, which makes sense as to why he always works. that being said, Danneel doesn’t call the shots. i think he promises to care for his wife and children financially if she allows his freedom and fun while he’s booked. he bonded with JJ, so, when they’re needed for publicity or talk, he’ll beckon them, and solely them. other than that, I’m guessing Danneel and the kids shouldn’t bother him.

Jared is at a tier in his career where it’s not becoming to go be a part of the audience as he is meant for more and his team knows this. His lack of presence is solely a professional aspect. We all know how much Jared supports and looks up to Jensen. That kind of bond doesn’t fade with time. Jared may not be able to be present in person but he is definitely present soul wise. Danneel, on the other hand, is at a low tier in her career and is leeching off of Jensen in the hopes of getting her name out there again, that’s the reason why she showed up and, precisely because she has nothing going on of her own, she bought JJ along as a token. I don’t think either parent spends much time with the kids, they have two nannies, I don’t think they are the type of parents that are involved. Let’s just look at Jensen’s choices, he is constantly away from home after being away from home for 15 years. I can’t be the only one who finds that extremely strange for a supposedly happily married man. Where is his heart? Because it’s definitely not with his family. “We make it work” can’t be an excuse forever, there’s something seriously wrong in this family’s dynamic and the more they try to sell perfection the more suspicious I become.

[sofreddie]

Resigned 17

Summary: Jensen, Y/N, and their pack work to recover from the aftereffects of Y/N's treatment.

Characters: Alpha!Jensen/Omega!Reader, Alpha!Jared/Omega!Gen

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, RPF, Angst, Trauma Recovery, Psychological Trauma, Fluff

WC: 2,865

A/N: Jensen's so tired, poor boy.

Series Masterlist

Part 16

Jensen groaned as he exited the lot building, heading for his trailer to change out of his clothes for the day. Between working on set as Dean Winchester, he conducted interviews with anyone and everyone: print, network, internet - it didn’t matter. Anyone who wanted his story got it. 

He discussed the protests and the human rights violations that had occurred there and elsewhere. He talked about his Omega, Y/N, and what happened to her within the walls of the Omega Rehabilitation Center. Rehabilitation was a joke. They practically reprogrammed her into nothing more than her basic Omega.

Unfortunately for Jensen, her basic Omega brought forth his primal Alpha. Y/N was so broken when he brought her home that he had to resort to his Alpha and basic commands to get her to do anything. She wouldn’t eat or sleep or move unless he told her to do so, and it broke his heart and grated his nerves with every occurrence.

Jensen had taken to acting during the day on set and acting as Alpha at home. There was never a moment he could just be. He blamed it all on the Omega Enforcement, but as his Alpha side became more prominent, he often had misdirected outbursts.

Jensen’s Alpha had taken presence so significantly that he growled on set during a scene where Sam put his hand reassuringly on Dean’s shoulder. He snapped at his friend, teeth bared and a deep growl in his throat. Jared jumped in surprise, attempting to soothe him as he usually would if Jensen was moody or their Alphas were nearing rut and they got snippy. But when Jensen faced him directly and furthered the threatening stance, Jared knew he would have to deal with the Alpha, not his friend and coworker. 

He responded by standing tall, squaring his shoulders, and lightly snarling as he leaned in with a low growled warning meant just for Jensen’s ears, “ I am pack Alpha, do not challenge me.”

Jared hated that he had to pull rank, to use that trust in such a way, but Jensen was getting out of control. Once his words settled and Jensen backed down, he escorted the older Alpha off set and to his trailer, and Jensen vented about everything he’d been enduring. After chastising him, both for not keeping him in the loop and for making him pull rank like that, Jared promised to help Y/N and him through it.

“Hey, man,” Jared perked up from where he’d been waiting for Jensen to finish, making the older man groan again and rub his hands down his face to try and wipe away the exhaustion. “Carl called, he’s sending over a list of the upcoming court dates.”

Since his incident on set, Jared had been with Jensen every step of the day. The younger man insisted that he and Y/N stay with him and Gen after they came home from work one day, and Jensen simply snapped at Y/N with ‘Come, Omega’, too tired for anything more. Jared was intensely displeased with Jensen’s demeanor and insisted they stay with them, worried that he’d lose them both to their baser selves.

Y/N had to stay with Gen during the day anyway. Jensen had learned the hard way that he couldn’t leave Y/N alone. Without anyone to tell her what she was supposed to and allowed to do, she remained standing where he’d left her that morning. Gen had offered to watch over Y/N during the day. She had volunteered in her youth at clinics and shelters for abandoned Omegas and was familiar with how to handle situations, although it had been a while.

Jensen needed all the help he could get and was grateful to Jared and Gen, even if it hurt his pride and ego to need their assistance. But Jared had become just as involved as he, helping Jensen file lawsuits against the U.S. Government, the State of Texas, the behavioral center, and the individual OE suits and officers involved in her treatments and punishment. He’d have to review the notes his lawyer sent over and add the upcoming court dates to his increasingly crowded calendar.

After changing from their work clothes, Jared and Jensen shared an SUV ride back in silence to Jared’s house. Jensen needed the time to switch his brain from Jensen to Alpha, because their instincts were all that was left, and their relationship had changed in the wake of Y/N’s so-called ‘treatment’. He desperately missed the woman he loved, but was grateful he had some part of her left to cherish.

Jared stopped Jensen on the front porch with a hand on his shoulder, drawing the older man’s attention. “Maybe try easing up on the Alpha?” he suggested kindly. “Just be Jensen, and let Y/N come around.”

Jensen nodded, tired of switching from one mode to the other. Every night, he sat with Y/N, held her in his arms, talked with her, and tried to bring her back to herself. It was working little by little, he felt. But maybe Jared was right. It may have been time for Jensen to return to normal, and Y/N would be reminded of them and herself, and heal, too.

-

Y/N tried her hardest to be a good Omega, as she was taught in rehabilitation. She had understood that her past actions and who she was made her bad. And an Omega was valued and cherished only if they were good. But her Alpha and pack were bothered by everything she said or did, or didn’t say or do. She felt adrift and wondered if she was just rotten, a bad apple that could never be made good no matter how hard she tried.

When Jensen first brought her home from the facility, he had to return to work, kissing her goodbye as she stood in the middle of the living room. Omegas were supposed to clean, cook, and take care of the children. But there were no children, and the house was spotless, so she didn’t know what to do.

She thought back on what she had done before and considered removing her collar, since she was home. But just the thought made her flinch as her mind recalled the video voice explaining collar laws and why they were necessary. The collar remained around her neck, untouched. 

She thought over everything she could do - organize belongings, plan for meals and shopping, fluff the pillows - but each thought delivered a psychological shock that kept her frozen to the spot. She hadn’t realized she didn’t move an inch until Jensen came home and snapped her out of her thoughts.

He was unhappy, panicked as he took off her collar and sat her at the kitchen counter to feed her. She tried to jump in and make food, something Omegas were supposed to do, but in his frustration, he snapped, and she fell silent, bowing her head. 

Her Alpha was angry and displeased with her actions, and she blamed herself for them. She quietly asked, with her head bowed, how he would like her to present herself for her punishment. That sent Jensen into a tirade, yelling about what they had done to her and how she was acting. 

But her Omega interpreted that as directed at her. She tried to fight back her tears unsuccessfully and Jensen had to spend an hour soothing her, calming her down, and trying to tame his anger, though he was pissed at himself for not being more in tune to her mood and needs.

It was a challenge for both of them, as Jensen’s commands often contradicted what she’d been taught and the laws of Omega ownership; she would freeze and flinch, trying to stop the conflict within her mind. Jensen watched helplessly as she openly fought her internal struggles. His unhappiness was just further proof to her of how terrible a mate she was.

Which is why she was grateful, rather than embarrassed, when Jensen told her she’d be staying with Gen when he was away. Gen, to her, was a good Omega. She never got in trouble, other than the protests, which wasn’t her fault, and her Alpha was always happy and satisfied. Plus, she had come to feel comfortable in the small woman’s presence as she emitted an aura of family, motherhood, and safety.

Gen instructed Y/N to follow her around the house as she attended to the kids and did other tasks. She assigned tasks and provided choices about what to do, much like a parent would with a child. She also tried to lead by example, wearing her collar every day and removing it to show Y/N it was allowed. Gen devoted much effort and time to help Y/N, her sister by pack, in any way she could.

“Hey, Ladies, we’re home!” Jared announced as he entered the house, and Jensen followed closely behind. The woman came into the foyer to greet their Alphas. “There you are. How was your day?” Jared asked his wife as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pecked her lips. 

“Good day,” she grinned as the two moved to sit on the couch in the living room.

Y/N and Jensen watched the mated pair for a moment, almost as an example, before turning to each other. Jensen wrapped his arms around Y/N and buried his nose in her neck, kissing and scenting her mark. Silence and comfort in each other's arms seemed to be the only time everything felt regular and proper, untainted by their trauma.

“How was your day, Al-” Y/N paused, swallowing down her words and flashing an eye to Gen, who had talked with her about trying to connect with Jensen, not just the Alpha. “Uh, I mean, Jay. How was your day?”

She kicked herself for how awkward she was, stumbling over what to call her husband and mate. She began to feel the tickling of psychological reprimand, but it swept away under Jensen’s broad grin. He liked hearing his name from her again. She’d only addressed him as Alpha since she’d been home.

“Busy,” he responded, resting his forehead against hers as he removed her collar, tucked her hair behind her ears, and cupped her cheek to draw her into a tender kiss. “Better now. How was your day?”

Y/N swooned and flourished under Jensen’s attentions, drowning in the happy scent he emitted. It'd been a while since she’d smelled the sweetness of it; his scent nowadays was always tinged with bitterness and anger. 

“Gen taught me how to make a pie,” she proudly declared, wincing only slightly at the perceived wrongness of being proud of herself. “Would you like some?”

“Damn, you made pie?” Jensen’s tired eyes lit up, and he smirked. 

“Yeah, sit down. I’ll bring some for everyone.”

Jensen sat on the loveseat perpendicular to the couch, where Jared and Gen sat, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s retreating form until she disappeared around the corner out of sight.

“She’s doing better,” Jensen stated, smiling gratefully at Gen. “Thank you. Whatever you’re doing, it’s helping.”

“She’s still fighting the flinches, the feel of some punishment, and she needs a minute to fight it and make decisions. But she’s trying. She had a good day today.”

Y/N was happy, a bounce in her step as she worked to slice up the pie, plating the slices and gathering utensils and bottled beers, which she knew the guys enjoyed after a long day. Placing everything on a tray, she looked it over before deciding whipped cream would be good. She added that to the tray, then paused as an idea occurred to her. She shook the can of cream, ready to enact her plan of drawing a heart on top of Jensen’s slice. 

It’ll be cute, she thought, before pausing with the can above the pie, fighting off what felt like a tug on her neck and a whisper of a lash against her back. He didn’t ask for it. But it’s sweet and shows that I love him. He didn’t ask for it, he’ll be mad if you decide for him. It’s just whipped cream! Your Alpha decides, not you.

She dropped the can, and it rolled on the countertop as she gripped the edges of the counter, keeping herself from crying out at what felt like a more brutal lash against her spine. She hated this! Every decision, every action was a chore, and trying to do anything of her own volition was always accompanied by the phantom voice of the videos, the officers, or the remembrance of her punishments. 

Gen had encouraged her to fight it, to brace herself against the perceived attacks and push forward anyway. It was what Jensen had wanted, she’d said, convincing Y/N to try. Above all else, her Alpha’s happiness and well-being were of the utmost importance, and that was true before her trauma and still.

Biting back her tears, she forced herself to move through the pain, gripping the can and shaking it vigorously, before drawing a shaky heart on the crust of the pie. She set the can down and sighed, staring at her work as the pain and panic slowly ebbed from her body. Despite how trivial the action was, it felt like an act of raging defiance.

When she served everyone, her nerves were on edge. Jensen lit up at the heart on the pie, pecking her lips and thanking her before digging in. He moaned around a mouthful, and she was vaguely aware of the others enjoying and complimenting her as well, but her attention was entirely on her Alpha. His smile, satisfied moan, and elated scent, which she breathed in deep lungfuls to calm herself, made it all worthwhile.

-

Jensen drove through Austin, his hand on Y/N’s thigh as she sat quietly in the passenger seat. Things had gradually improved in their lives, but there was still much work to be done. Jared and Jensen had settled their lawsuits before they had to go to court, as the various entities wanted to keep a lower profile in the wake of global change. 

Several countries, including Canada, had passed Omega Rights and Equality laws, ending the barbaric practices of subjugation. Some U.S. states had also passed laws and were quickly growing with citizens who sought freedom from persecution. Despite all of that, Y/N was still traumatized, still buried beneath her Omega, still struggling to find her way.

“Would you like to know where we’re going?” He gently asked Y/N as he turned down another street. She still wasn’t good at vocalizing her thoughts or asking things, so he tried to ask her, giving her room to voice her thoughts.

“Yes,” she nodded.

He parked the vehicle along the curb in front of a nondescript office building bustling with activity in the middle of the weekday. Turning off the engine, he turned to her with a smile.

“Someone recommended a therapist to me,” he began to explain. “I’ve talked to her a few times. She works with couples and specializes in trauma,” he added. “I made an appointment for us.” He gave her a moment to process his words, waiting for her to work through whatever was in her mind and decide how to respond. 

Y/N hadn’t expected a therapist, and her mind immediately launched into a tirade against her: Bad Omega. He’s upset with you. Couples counseling. He wants to replace you with a better Omega. He’s going to therapy because of you. Broken. Bad Omega.

Jensen’s eyes widened as she began to cry, sobbing into her hands, the sight and sound wrenching his heart. He knew her mind was cruel to her, but he didn’t expect this. Luckily, she had shared her thoughts with him, which often revealed what was happening in her internal battles. 

“Y/N, Omega, Baby, look at me,” Jensen pleaded, cupping her face and wiping her tears. “You did nothing wrong, okay. You’re not a bad Omega. I’m not leaving you. This is just help, like how Jared and Gen helped us, okay?”

He placed gentle, barely-there kisses all over her face, wiping at her tears and letting her scent him until she calmed. She flinched and shook her head, and he knew she was still fighting those internal demons.

“It’s just like if you break a leg,” he tried to explain, rubbing her back and holding her close, her face buried in his neck, right at his mark. “You set it and cast it, and then it heals. That’s what we’re doing, Baby.” He pulled back, cupping her face again and meeting her eyes with an earnest gaze. “We’re healing wounds, okay?

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her tears stopped, and she caught her breath and cleaned her face before letting Jensen lead her from the car by the hand. Her heart still raced with trepidation, and the intrusive thoughts never ceased their torment, but she trusted her Alpha and would do whatever he asked of her.

FOREVERS:

@lyarr24

@hobby27

@kazsrm67

@maliburenee

@440mxs-wife

@writercole

@spnbaby-67

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

@leigh70

@laycblack

@kr804573

@nancymcl

RPF:

@smoothdogsgirl

JENSEN ACKLES:

@slamminmine

@deandreamernp

@akshi8278

@mimaria420

RESIGNED:

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@sexyvixen7

@deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma

@muhahaha303

@deansimpalababy

@evilunicorns4minions

@applelovesposts 

[vyladerz]

Season 8 didn't start off with a whole ton of hope. In fact it furthered the continuation of the poor characterization from season 7 with the addition of convoluted lore writing. However, after watching the last episode of this season, this show has restored my faith in it. It's like everything clicked together seamlessly, in a way I haven't seen from this show in a long time.

Now, I had a paragraph of complaints when I first wrote this but I'm choosing to let them go.

"So?"

Who knew the most devastating line in this show would be said with only one syllable. My heart sank down to the pit of my stomach when I first heard Sam say it. Oh man, Jared does such an incredible job at his wounding portrayal of Sam in this scene. This is by far his best performance ever (I'm getting choked up here just visualizing the scene in my mind). Sam's soul was purely human here and what a fragile soul at that. His guilt has manifested into a physical sickness and it's so haunting to see. Dean's reaction and apology elevates this moment to a song of sweet harmony. A duet between two sorry brothers who must put aside grudges and feelings of inadequacy to come together as whole. Finally they are able to see eye to eye after so many brutal instances of them being world's apart. A scene like this understands what Supernatural is to its core.

I wish I had more words to describe everything but I'd need more time. Still, god what a memorable scene. It's become my absolute favorite and I'm both intrigued and terrified to see if another scene later on can top it.

Okayyyy so what else did I enjoy?

-The ending was gorgeous with all the angels falling. (I constantly think about when I'm making fake edits in my mind.)

-I love Charlie episodes. I knew I would fall in love her immediately from the start. I'm glad she got some backstory to add some dimension to her character. She's a character I can definitely see getting far in the show.

-I LOVE BENNY! I miss Benny. Absolutely devastated, will not recover from losing him. Sadly, his character was always destined to be a tragedy. Even so, I will forever long for a happy ending for him. The wound is still fresh though so moving on.

-The whole "I need you" scene between Dean and Cas was everything to me and I will savor that scene forever. I will be craving another scene like this going forward. The desperation and intensity drawn from that moment is what I need more of from this show.

-The Parallels between Castiel and Sam this season was UGH so great. They're so willing to sacrifice every bone in their body not for the world (they can tell themselves that) but to save Dean from disappointment. Beautiful symmetry here.

-Sam and Crowley's dynamic is so fascinating. Crowley being slowly restored of his humanity is something I wouldn't have imagined possible in this show. Having Sam, the man who knows the path of forgiveness more than anyone else be the one to do it is perfect. Such an unlikely duo I'm excited to see explored.

-SARAH?? I didn't expect to see Sarah again whatsoever cause 1.) I thought the show would've just moved on and forgotten Sam's promise to return. 2.) I've unfortunately ran into a lot of spoilers but I never saw anyone talk about this so I really didn't expect it at all. I wish their moment lasted longer with more of a kick to Sam's character. I did cry, a lot, so if they wanted an emotional torment they got it. I'm still glad this scene exists though even after my pain and agony.

I really love this show, I hope that comes across here. I started watching Supernatural this year after years of peeking at it through window blinds. Every song reminds me of these silly fictional characters and everywhere I go I see a Supernatural reference. This series means the world to me and the mold in my brain. I know I'm new here spouting things that have been said before, for what, over 15 years? I'm just catching up to the surface of everything. For this review I wanted to leave my complaints for another time so I could romanticize all the good things that have happened and are to come. So if my next ranking is more criticism than praise, then so be it. I wouldn't do it if it wasn't at least fun!

[nancylou444]

Hi Nancy,

I hope it's okay I turn to you with this, but I just recently joined spn tumblr so I haven't really discovered many blogs I share my opinions with yet (though I did find some awesome blogs I'm excited to follow, but most of them only really talk about spn and the characters and not the actors, and this ask is concerned with j2m and danneel). Buckle up, this will be long because I tend to over-explain myself. Sorry in advance.

So I've been in the fandom since 2018 but haven't really paid attention to the cast other than watching some gag reels/bloopers, interviews with j2(m) and clips from cons. I never dug deep into the relationships/dynamics of the cast members (and also took like a 3-year break from the fandom so I'm not at all up-to-date)

I like to think I'm pretty good at reading people (in that when I find someone likeable they tend to prove themselves to be a good person and when I dislike someone seemingly for no reason I usually discover some pretty fucked up things about that person later on. Obviously with celebrities you never actually know what they are like irl but so far I've been right about people as far as I know.)

All this to say that I had an inkling about misha from the start, even though I never cared enough to do my research and justify my dislike towards him. I always got this pick me vibe from him, and like he's trying to insert himself into the j2 friendship to seem more relevant and likeable. And it seemed pretty clear to me that he is clinging to jensen and making it look like they are besties, ignoring jared or making him look bad as much as he can get away with only to fuel destiehellers in their belief that jensen also supports destiel and that jared is to blame for it not being canon. I've since found your masterpost about why you're anti misha, and finally feel justified in my feelings towards him, so thank you for collecting his shitty displays in one place.

So what my ask is about (getting to my point at last) is that in my browsing the anti misha tags I came across the anti danneel tag and decided to check it out out of curiosity (and arrogance, as I wanted to see if I was right about danneel as well, since I always got a bad vibe from her too (even though I never actually paid attentionto her)). And I did find some things that makes me think her and jensen's relationship isn't a healthy one built on mutual love and respect, and is possibly even abusive. I'm inclined to believe it not only because of my own instinct, but because of a video I saw where jensen's body language screamed that he is uncomfortable while sitting next to danneel who was rubbing/petting his back (though I don't have context for that clip so there might be another explanation for his body language that I'm not aware of). However the only 'evidence' about her being abusive was instagram posts that were (slight) jabs at jensen, that could just as likely be playful teasing as actual bullying depending on their relationship dynamic and whether the teasing is reciprocated imo (& there's no way of knowing how they interact in private so who knows). I'd be curious to know if there are more concrete instances of her treating jensen badly or generally being a bad person, but I couldn't really find anything useful in the tags.

But anyways, reading these posts I discovered yet another anti tag, this time anti jensen, which I definitely did not expect. I obviously know about The Winchesters drama but I thought they moved past it and are tight again, so I'm confused about what other reason there is for people to be anti jensen. I've seen some posts discussing him not standing up for jared/not being very supportive of him, siding with misha (though I'm especially sceptical about that one) etc.

I would like to be better informed about these things without having to watch hours of footage to analyse their interactions or read through hundreds of posts that either have some proof or not, without having to decipher whether what someone says is their opinion/interpretation or actual things that happened. From looking through some of your posts you seem to be well informed and trustworthy, so I'd kindly ask if you could explain the situation to the best of your knowledge or refer me to someone who has more information regarding danneel and jensen's relationship as well as jensen and jared's and can provide receipts. Thank you so much, and again sorry for this super long ask <3

Hello my darling.❤️ Nothing to apologize for.

@lightofraye recently posted an awesome anti danneel post with pics and videos. HERE

As for anti Jensen, for me, the prequel mess is a done deal. J2 have moved on from it and are besties again. I have the 'anti jensen' tag blacklisted. I really don't see him picking misha over ANYONE, let alone Jared.

Maybe @its-sassyboots @hologramcowboy or @walkergirlsposts can help you with the anti Jensen stuff.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

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

[pagannatural]

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.

[mxssingmemories]

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?

[maaarine]

Too many men lack close friendships. What’s holding them back? (Angelica Puzio Ferrara, Psyche, Feb 25 2025)

"Navid, 44, a Persian American business coach, spoke about being mocked as a teenager by his friends for expressing affection toward other boys.

For a look that lingered too long or a pat on the back that seemed more a stroke than a thwack, ‘they called me a faggot,’ he said, recalling the all-purpose signifier for any behaviour deemed ‘too feminine’.

Later, when someone in his circle made similar attempts at physical or emotional affection, Navid caught himself flinging the same word at them.

‘If I’m calling you that, there’s no way I can be it,’ he explained.

It’s a hallmark of how men surveil each other’s behaviour: the punished becomes the punisher.

In the pub, at school, in the office or on the sports field, men in most Western societies (though growing research suggests these dynamics are not geographically confined) are asked to perform a masculinity that values self-sufficiency and disdains emotional ‘oversharing’, especially with other men.

This process is learned.

For every commentator who suggests that boys are simply less community-minded and relationally intelligent than girls, there is a study that shows how boys are incentivised, through subtle and overt cues, to hide their sensitivity until – like any muscle that is not used – it atrophies.

The US psychologists Christopher Reigeluth and Michael Addis spotlight such cues in their research on the policing of masculinity.

One 17-year-old white boy in their study put it this way: 'I was just, like, depressed all the time. And my friend called me ‘a depressed little bitch’. And it really got to me because I had just lost my grandfather … When he said that to me, I learned to hide how I was feeling.'

In my own work, Navid demonstrates the protracted consequences of this social learning process.

Taught to retract his bids for connection, or risk mockery, he said: ‘I didn’t know how to have intimacy with anyone I’m not sexually attracted to,’ alluding to the one place – or person – many men turn to for softness and intimacy.

Over and again, men expressed a chronic sense of lack within their male friendships.

When I asked Eagle, 44, a mixed-race school administrator from Arizona, if he had close friendships, he replied: ‘Do you mean outside of my wife?’ looking confused.

Eagle sought male friends but, like many other men, he found that ‘friendship with men is a lot of activity and discussion about what is happening, and never really exploring your inner world.’ Jared, 40, felt similarly: ‘I wish it was easier to make friends and keep friends as a guy, but I think it’s easier to self-disclose with women.’

Women, he added, ask better questions and remember to follow up. As Kenneth, a white 28-year-old in Canada, put it: ‘Women offer me actual relationships, whereas men just offer me experiences.’

Many men in my work rely centrally on the women in their lives, even when these women do not centrally rely on them.

George, 24, a mixed race engineer in the UK, said: ‘My only social outlet apart from work is being with my girlfriend, and maybe mixing with her friends as well.’

Ed, 82, said: ‘I wouldn’t know what to do socially if my wife died.’

The idea that only women can provide nurturing companionship creates a fraught context for reciprocal relationships between men and women.

Few interviewees ever question whether they are, in one man’s words, a ‘leech’ on women’s time.

One group was an exception: queer and trans men – who often sit furthest from the top of the masculinity hierarchy.

This group was often acutely aware of how women in their lives – not just romantic partners, but friends, family members and colleagues, too – were heavily relied upon for a type of emotional support that my colleague and I call ‘mankeeping’.

Paul, 28, a Latino American gay man, finds himself caring for women friends who are burnt out by supporting their straight male romantic partners.

‘When straight men fail, we have to pick up the pieces,’ he said. He recommends that straight men ‘diversify who [they] communicate to. You can’t just rely on your wife or girlfriend to be your emotional labourer.’

Alao, 33, a Nigerian gay man, put it more bluntly: ‘Straight men have a lot to learn from us.’"

[ahgasegotarmy116]

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

[kmp78]

What happened between Shannon & Jared to make them so distant if they're not performing onstage?

I need background pls.

Well, I personally suspect their lopsided dynamic (= JL being younger and excelling in everything while SL the elder fumbled through life in his shadows) started waaaay back when they were kids cos it's very easy to imagine ecen fetus-JL being the attention hog star of the family and introvert SL just hanging back in the shadows being ignored.

I mean, traditionally in our society it's usually the OLDER bro who gets all the glory and attention and has big expectations laid on his shoulders as the heir to the family lineage, while younger siblings usually are just... extras. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Just look at Wills and Hazza! Older one gets the crown and is the main star, and the younger one is a completely ignored spare.

But here the situation is reversed: the younger one is the genius who has made a massive fortune and carved out a posh life for everyone in his family, while the "supposed heir to the family lineage" SL has done and achieved... nothing.

Everything he has in his life has come via his YOUNGER bro as a proverbial hand-me-down! 😬

That already sets up a potentially very strained dynamic! 🫣

I suspect there was already "bad blood" and simmering annoyance brewing for years behind closed doors, and it all came to a head in 2014 when JL's fame (and ego 🙄) exploded with the Oscar. 🏆

JL gets arguably the biggest award in the entertainment industry and a month later SL's drugging gets completely out of hand to a point where they have to cancel an entire tour for his rehab?

Yeeeeeeah... 🤔

That kind of coincidences DO NOT HAPPEN. 🤨

And then he gets clean just enough to get out of rehab and BAM!

Promptly gets himself a DUI and is tossed right back in rehab, which means he's gonna miss yet another tour! 🤦🏼‍♀️

And THIS RIGHT HERE imo is the moment where JL should have administered some seriously tough love and tossed him to the curb from Mars until he got his life properly in check. 😑

Buuuuut of course he did none of that and quite infamously NEVER EVEN EXPLAINED WHY THERE WAS NO FUCKING DRUMMER IN HIS BAND DURING THAT JULY 2014 TOUR IN EUROPE. 😒

Like...???????????

That's the level of respect he has for his customers. 🙄

And of course SL's fuck-ups don't end there, cos he relapsed AGAIN in 2015 resulting him AGAIN missing a tour! 🙄

And still JL did nothing! 😑

If that had been Tomo screwing up tours and JL's businesses, he would have been out on his ass so fast his head would still be spinning!

Buuuuut since it was SL, his enabler bro just patted him on the head and let him keep fucking up time and time again. 🙄

Anyway, I digress... 😂

My point was that nothing seemed the same after those debacles, and SL moving to Seattle also created a physical distance between them, on top of the mental/psychological problems and distance that had been growing for a long time. 🤷🏼‍♀️

And then of course when SL reconnected with Momtana and is now all about her her her her her and who seemingly is not interested in hanging with her bro-in-law and the feeling seems to be quite mutual on JL's side... 🙅‍♂️

Life has just torn them apart. 🤷🏼‍♀️

I'm sure they're still civil and cordial and probably do exchange Whatsapps and all that, but spending vacations and free time together?

That all ended a decade ago. 🤷🏼‍♀️