#black dog motel

[coyoteghost]

thinking about the impala as the winchesters' own personal barghest is enough to make me start biting my chains off.

#spn #seeing her sleek frame parked in front of your house or bar or motel brings the same heraldic warning as a black dog scratching at the door #txt

[deanscherrypie69]

Did it mean something? D.W𖧷

♡Dean Winchester X Female Reader♡

♡Warnings: Mentions of kissing, and language no use of Y/n. 18+ pls minors DNI!!!!!♡ please do not post my fics anywhere else expect tumblr, you have been warned!

♡Feedback is appreciated! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!!!♡

♡Depending how this does I’ll post a part two!♡

♡My inbox is open for anything! (It will be open for requests soon!)♡

It had been a few days after Sam went to hell. Dean had lost his brother and you had lost your best friend that day. It was hard on you both. You didn't talk about it.

You both had been pushing your feelings down, about the whole situation, too scared to open up. Since Sam had been gone you and Dean had been hunting nonstop. It had been an easier way to cope with everything. Just pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't.

You And Dean had just finished vamp hunt and he offered to get food for you both.

After the hunt It had been raining like cats and dogs, you had been stuck in the hotel room trying to get a signal on the tv. "Come on!" You scream hitting the sides of the tv, it had been going out since the storm started, you sigh and run you hand across your face, when you were met with black and white static.

"Piece of shit-" You mutter kicking the bottom of the tv stand. You huff and sit on the edge of one of the motel beds.

You and Dean had been laying low for the past couple of days. You didn't hear from Bobby nor cas. You flop back onto the bed with a groan.

That was until the motel door swung open causing you to look over.

"Still nothing?" Dean questions throwing a white fastfood bag onto the little table in the kitchen.

"Nope." You say still looking at the ceiling.

You hear shuffling for a second, then you see the green eyed hunter standing over you with something wrapped in tinfoil. "Eat." He says placing it next to you.

You quickly sit up and grab the burger. You watch as Dean sits on the bed opposite bed across from you, he begins to unwrap the burger he had gotten both of you.

You watch as he bites into it, but you also noticed his wet hair. You watch him take two bites before looking in your direction.

Dean stops chewing the food in his mouth, "What?" He questions when he catches you stare at him.

"Nothing." You say.

Dean mumbles an 'ok' and continues to eat.

For some guy who had lost his brother he seems to be doing just fine. You get up from the bed, and walk into the kitchen, pulling out the chair you pull back the motel curtain, you stare out the window and watch the rain fall.

You missed Sam, he was your besfriend - besides Dean you thought, you and Dean were never really close it upset you, he never really talked to you about anything besides Sam. When you entered the room he'd go quite.

You never understood why.

You had been staring out the window for too long to notice the green eyed hunter sitting across from you.

"You really should eat."

His voice rumbles through your body. "I'm good." You say looking from the window and to the man that had been sitting across from you for god knows how long.

Dean sighs and leans back in the chair.

"You okay Dean?" You Hum crossing your arms over your chest.

"As good as i can be." He huffs through his nose, "I could ask you the same thing, I know loosing your bestfriend is hard." He says.

You roll your eyes, "He's your brother Dean."

Dean leans forward on the table his arms resting against the table. He nods his head, "We'll get him back." Dean says taking a deep breath, "We always do." He gets up from the table tapping his knuckles against the wood.

You notice the bruises that sit upon his knuckles, they were purple. He had gotten them trying to fight of a vampire, to save you.

"Sorry about that." You swallow, your eyes still focused on the purple.

Dean follows your gaze.

"Its nothing, happens." He says walking over to the fridge, he opens it pulling out two beers. He holds one up, He knew you weren't very much of a drinker. You hated beer. But why the hell not, right?

You get up from your chair and make your way over to Dean where he was leaning against the counter. He flicks the bottle top off and plops it in the sink behind him.

You copy his motion, you step beside him and plop the top into the sink.

You bring the bottle up to your lips, the bitter liquid runs down your throat. pullinging the bottle away, you notice Dean's eyes on yours.

"What?" You hiccup.

"Nothing," He says bringing the glass bottle up to his lips.

You begin to fidgit with the bottle, you were still facing the sink, staring down at the two bottle tops in the sink. "Do you ever think about it?" You hum.

Dean turns his head in confusion, "Think about..? he questions, you noticed the confusion in his voice.

You take a deep breath, "Getting out, hunting. And living a normal life."

Dean stares down at his bottle, "All the time." Dean sighs.

He had called one of his lovers, Lisa hoping to rekindle something with her now that Sam was gone, she said yes. Dean was supposed to leave by morning.

But Dean didn't know if he wanted too, it would leave you alone and he knew that you were counting on him to be there.

You sigh.

You could see Dean shifing in his spot. What was he thinking about you wonder?

You place the beer bottle down on the counter, making your way over to the bed. The staic looking on the tv fills your ears.

"Do you think about it?" Dean asks putting his bottle next to yours. He strieds over to the bed and sits next to you.

Talking a shaky breath, you turn to face the green eyed man. "No." Dean watches you fiddle with your fingers, as he waits for you to contiue, "I never saw myself settling down, or getting out of this life, it's not for me. This is my life. There's no changing that."

Dean nods at your words.

You look up to find the man looking at you. His eyes searching your face, going back and forth between your eyes and lips.

It all happened to fast, Dean's lips on yours you his on his shirt, urging him to take it off.

This was wrong, you thought. You never felt this way about him. He was so mysterious, he never let you in on anything that happened to him, it was always Sam filling you in.

You both could barely be in a room together without one of you leaving because of the awkwardness.

But maybe it was Dean putting up a guard to try and protect you. He knew you didn't belong in this life, hunting and killing things. It just wasn't right for you.

You're different you aren't like him or Sam. And that's what Dean liked.

You were bought out of your thoughts when Dean nipped your ear causing you to squeal. "everything okay?" Dean questions looking up. You were straddling him.

His lips were pink and swollen from the kissing.

You quickly nod and grab his face, pressing your lips against his.

- - You had been woken up by a pounding on the door, you shoot up out of the bed, your eyes still trying to adjust from the light that was coming through the window.

You quickly pull the covers from your body, cold air hits your skin, you were naked. "Shit." You mumble, the pouding on the door didn't stop.

You looking over on the side of your bed where you were hoping to find Dean but he was gone. A bad feeling washed over you when you slide you t-shirt over your head.

You smelt him everywhere. In your skin in your hair. He was everywhere but no where all at once.

Putting the last leg into your jean's you fling open the door.

You were met with an old lady and a cleaning cart, "Room service!" She smiles, squeezing past you with her cart. You close the door behind you.

You quickly rush over to the bathrrom, maybe he'd just been in there, but you were met with a dark room. His duffle bag was gone. You swallow hard.

You walk back into the kitchen to find the beer bottles still sitting on the counter. Everything was gone, he was gone.

Tears form in your eyes. You grab your socks and shoes, and your coat that had been on the back of the chair in the kitchen chair.

You do a quick run through of the room to make sure you weren't missing anything.

Turing your head over your shoulder you had noticed the tv wasn't static anymore, an episode of 'Dr sexy' Was playing on the screen.

The cleaning lady had made her way over to the kitchen area, throwing away the bottles you and Dean had drank out of earlier.

You sigh and fish the hotel key out of your pocket before setting it down on the table.

You shut the door of the motel behind you, you fish out your phone and scroll through your contacts.

You click on the name before letting it ring a few times.

"Hey Bobby, care to give a girl a lift?"

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x you #dean winchester fic #supernatural dean #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam and dean #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural fic #spn one shot #spn fanfic

[darlingshane]

First, Last & Only

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: You don’t know his name yet, or much about the life of the tall and brooding coffee-addict that likes sitting on your section. The only thing you know, besides his favorite beverage, is that he’s traveling across the country, and that this little town in Indiana is just one more stop in his journey. He’s been staying at Odell’s Motel for a few weeks and during that time, he’s become a regular customer at the diner you work at, and sort of acquaintance of yours. His order is always hot black coffee. If you had it on tap, he'd drink it directly from it, you believe.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Fluff, Smut, Making Out, Vaginal Sex, Unsafe Sex, Pet Names, Coffee, Alcohol, Mention of Death and Kidnapping.

Word Count: 4,5k

A/N: This was inspired by the first episode of season 2 of the punisher. Reader is loosely based on Beth, but works at a diner instead, makes pottery, and has a cat.

— Read below or at AO3.

“If this was a bar, this would be the time to ask for your keys and call you a cab,” you smile, refilling your most notable bearded patron's mug.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” his voice sounds like gravel covered in molasses when he uses that pet name, only for you. “If I promise not to drive, would you sit down and have a cup with me?”

“I uh…” you quickly glance around the diner. There’s only one more customer left at the counter. “Sure, let me finish first.”

The man sitting at the booth gives a small nod, lifting his cup to his lips. You brush his shoulder with your free hand before walking back behind the bar.

You don’t know his name yet, or much about the life of the tall and brooding coffee-addict that likes sitting on your section. The only thing you know, besides his favorite beverage, is that he’s traveling across the country, and that this little town in Indiana is just one more stop in his journey. He’s been staying at Odell’s Motel for a few weeks and during that time, he’s become a regular customer at the diner you work at, and sort of acquaintance of yours. His order is always hot black coffee. If you had it on tap, he'd drink it directly from it, you believe. Rare nights he’s had any food. A couple of times, you’ve comped him with a sandwich or a piece of pie to make up for the fact that he always leaves generous tips.

As you set the pot in its place, you smile in his direction one more time before going back to your task. The kitchen has closed already and all you have left to do is clean your station.

While you wipe the tables, you casually glance at him from the corner of your eye to see him peering out the window as usual, like a dog on neighborhood watch. He seems to do that a lot. It looks like a habit; like you chewing the inside of your mouth when you're too focused on a task.

The next time you gaze at him, however, you catch him staring back at you, and you quickly avert your eyes away to your hand, wiping a rag on the sticky surface of the fourth booth.

You're not sure why, but you revel in the fact that he might be still staring at you right now.

Probably. Hopefully.

Do you want him to look at you and see you past the mustard-yellow uniform and white apron?

Maybe you're just lonely and can't help but see signs that aren't there. But like a moth to a flame, when you look at him a third time, his eyes, as you hoped, are still fixed on you as if wanted to pin you against the wall.

He's not a man of many words, but his stare speaks volumes right now. There are no mixed signals there. You've witnessed a handful of times that urge, that darkness, that comes from a primal desire. Whether it is voluntary or not, you can't say. But clearly, it isn't all in your head.

As you carry the tray with dirty dishes to the sink, you manage to contain the itch at the corner of your lip to curl into a grin.

“Look, they’ve found the two missing girls,” Hermann, the man at the counter, points at the TV, driving your attention to the screen above the bar.

You listen closely to the newscaster from the local channel at the scene, narrating how the two teenagers were locked in a basement in the outskirts of town for over a month, up until this morning. A stranger appeared out of the blue, told them they were safe now, before smashing the bolted door open. When they climbed out the staircase, their captor was dead in the living room, hanging by the neck on a wooden beam, and the vigilante that helped them escape was nowhere to be found. Presumably he was the one that killed their kidnapper, the police suspects. After all the information and gritty details, there’s some brief footage of the girls reuniting with their families before moving on to the next story.

“At least they’re home now,” you settle the dishes down, wash your hands, and pick up the money Hermann left on the counter.

“Have a good night, honey,” the old trucker says before heading out the door.

“Yeah, you too.”

Once Hermann is out, you’re left alone with the mystery man in the booth. It’s then that you pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit at the other side of the table.

“Guess nobody's waiting home for you either,” you say casually, capturing the warmth of the mug on your palms.

“What gave it away?”

“I don't know… Lonely recognizes loneliness, I suppose.”

“You feel lonely, sweetheart?”

“Sometimes,” your shoulders give a small shrug. “Don't you?”

He pauses, swallows as his stare goes down for a second to the beat of his tapping finger on the mug, “all the damn time.”

“Is that why you come here every other night and sit alone?”

“It's complicated.”

“I bet.”

As you take a sip from your mug, tall-dark and handsome produces something from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“I believe this is yours.” He slides a silver charm bracelet across the table that you thought you'd lost. “I found it on the floor the other day. I was going to give it back, but you were busy… I saw the clasp was broken and I–”

“You fixed it!” this time you can't really stop the smile taking over your lips. “I keep forgetting to take it off for work. I thought I'd never see it again. Thanks.”

“Don't mention it. I could tell it was important to you.”

Your chin bows as you secure the bracelet around your wrist.

“I was gonna leave it on the table and take off. But it felt… I guess it felt a little impersonal. And I'm leaving tomorrow and wanted to say goodbye.”

“Oh, you're going on a trip?”

“No, I don't think I won't be coming back. You were kind to me and thought I ought to tell you.”

Though you were seemingly aware that he was bound to leave at some point, you can't help but feel a little disappointed at the failed prospect of getting to know him better.

“I uh… I don't know what to say. I guess I'll miss seeing you around… Don't even know your name.”

There's a light pull up on the corner of his mouth as he spells his name, “Frank.”

“Hm,” you let it sink in for a moment as you try to erase the made up names your mind gave him. “I thought you were a Nathan.”

“Who's Nathan?”

“Someone that used to live around here. You remind me of him, so I gave you his name. It's stupid.”

“You've been thinking about me?”

“I don't know… Sometimes. I don't have anything significant going on in my life. Girl's gotta have some entertainment and mysterious guys like you, Frank, that come and go, and sit here for hours really help pass the time some days.”

“Glad to be of service,” he huffs, lifting the cup to his lips.

“Listen. This might be a terrible idea, but since I won't see you again, I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me. I mean something stronger than this,” you tap your mug with your nail twice.

There goes that stare again that makes your stomach drop. It's even darker up close but gentle and cautious. His eyes travel to your lips, and it feels like an eternity until they finally lock again with yours.

“Yeah, I'd like that.”

Taking a customer home might be the craziest thing you've ever done. It's not really like you to be that forward toward someone you hardly know, but there's something about Frank that fascinates you and pushes you into getting out of your comfort zone.

When your shift is over, you trade your uniform for a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater, while Frank waits outside by your car. He knows exactly which one belongs to you cause one night, while he was driving that flashy, big van of his, he happened to drive by you in the middle of the road, changing a tire. You didn't need assistance, but it was late and having his presence there eased you up.

“You're not like a stalker or a serial killer, are you?” you ask in a moment of trepidation before unlocking your car.

“Would a serial killer tell you that they're a serial killer?”

“I guess not.”

“Look, we can call it a night, sweetheart. No hard feelings.”

“C’mon, get in,” you grin, firmly using your chin to point at the passenger door.

During the short drive to your house, you poke around for some more information about what he was doing in town exactly and where he's going next. As usual, he doesn't give you more than a few vague answers. However, you do learn that he doesn't really have a destination in mind at the moment. He's just driving aimlessly.

After putting your bag down, you give Frank a quick tour around the living space.

“If you see a cat around, don't let her sit on your lap. She’s very territorial and likes to pee on strangers,” you warn him from the kitchen, collecting two glasses from the cabinet along with a bottle of bourbon while he curiously looks around the place.

“Got it,” you can hear a chuckle in his voice as his eyes are drawn to the messy dining table that holds an assortment of homemade pottery like bowls, plates, vases, mugs, jars… that you craft and sell online.

“Do you make these?”

“Uh-hm,” you hand him his glass and silently tap your glasses together before taking a sip at the same time. “You like them?”

“Yeah, they’re something…” he lowers his glass and slowly scans your creations, “I can't find the word for it… but they’re unique. I like the texture. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s Wabi-sabi.”

“Wabi-sabi?” his hand smooths his beard, letting a finger slide in the middle.

“Yeah, it’s Japanese. Simply put, it’s the philosophical concept of embracing the beauty of imperfection and simplicity that comes naturally from age or wear. Whether it’s something personal or purely artistic. It’s about accepting, loving, and living with those flaws in harmony. Like your nose.”

“What about my nose?”

“It’s kinda broken, but it fits with your face.”

He bashfully looks down at the amber liquid in his glass before taking a swig.

“Did you go to art school?”

You shake your head, and gesture at the couch, “I took a few classes at the community center when I was younger, then picked up a few techniques from books, videos… It’s mostly self-taught.”

“You’re really gifted,” Frank follows you and takes a seat on the armchair while you kick off your shoes and sit crossed-legged on the couch.

“I’m not. If I was, I wouldn’t have to moonlight as a waitress to keep the lights on. What do you do for a living, Frank?” You lift your drink to your lips.

“This and that. Construction for the most part.”

“Any secret talents I should know about?”

“Not really.”

“Hm. You’ve really mastered the man of mystery art, though.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

“I just… I’m not good at this. Talking to people. Or beautiful women like you.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Gorgeous,” he says under a breath, gazing intensely at you with those piercing browns that make your stomach flutter.

Trapping your bottom lip, you shyly glance down, unable to say anything other than a small, “thanks.”

“I’m not good at this either,” you confess after a beat. “I don't usually bring men that I hardly know home like this.”

“Does it make you nervous that I’m here?”

You lightly shake your head, “I don’t know why, but I trust you, Frank.”

“I trust you, too. It's funny how that works.”

“Yeah.”

You throw your glass back, downing half of it, letting it burn your throat and giving you the courage to stand up and take his hand.

Without objection, Frank laces his fingers with yours. His warm, large paw encloses almost your whole hand as you kiss his cheek, and guide him to your bedroom. Your heart pumps faster along the hallway and slightly settles when you turn on the lamp and feel Frank giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

As you turn to him, he releases your hand to hold your face instead. He captures your eyes with such care in his sweet browns, making your knees weak. His thumbs softly caress your cheeks and when he's ready, his head leans closer to press a chaste kiss on your lips. His beard tickles your skin, making your lips curve up the second time he sweetly captures your mouth. On the third try, his lips part and nibble your bottom lip. He lingers a bit longer before opening wider.

You close your eyes and follow his lead. It's hard not to. He takes it nice and slow, letting you get used to having his hands and lips on you.

Tentatively, you frame his waist while his tongue softly moves past your lips. Almost like asking for permission to enter, it swipes the curve of your mouth first and waits for your approval. You hum softly as you send yours to find the bittersweet taste of coffee mixed with bourbon lingering all over his mouth.

Once he's crossed that threshold, you both surrender to that underlying desire that's been clearly building up for weeks. One second is all paced and measured, the next one, he's eagerly stealing all the air from your lungs, claiming your mouth as his own.

“Wow,” you pull back to breathe, “I think I’ve found your secret talent.”

“Yeah?”

Top tier, you think, biting the inside of your cheek as your gaze falls to your own hands, still clinging to his sides. You watch them carefully move to unzip his black hoodie.

Transfixed, he watches your fingers just the same, letting you bare his skin. There's no shirt underneath when you push it behind his shoulders, just his hairless Greek-God defined torso molded in flesh and bones, adorned with several scars.

Frank lets the hoodie fall to the floor as you undo his belt, and tug the waistband of his jeans and step backwards in the direction of your bed.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” That's the word, the pet name, that makes you melt like ice-cream left on the sun-bathed pavement on a hot summer day.

“I've never been so sure of anything in my life,” you overstate on behalf of that dormant lust that has been neglected for months.

His lips curve up as he pulls the hem of your knitted sweater over your head. Subconsciously, you then cover his eyes the next second before he can take a good look at you in your underwear. His mouth splits his beard into a smile that shows his perfect, bright teeth. Your palm runs down his face, stroking his beard and when his eyes are uncovered, instead of looking down, his browns stay locked with your gaze. His head leans close, as one of his hands holds your jaw, keeping your face still while he steals another kiss from your lips.

When his face pulls back, he softly draws the curve of your wet lip with his thumb pad, reverberating under his breath, “absolutely gorgeous.”

It's a good thing the mattress is right behind you, cause you feel like swooning. You sit down and look up at him as your back falls down against the covers.

His pointer finger makes first contact with your skin, tracing a line down your stomach, producing a good laugh out of you.

You beckon him with just a look and a lip bite, and Frank takes that as an invitation to help your legs shimmy out of your jeans. His stare darkens at the first sight of your almost naked form. You could've picked sexier underwear if you knew this would be happening tonight, you think. It’s not like it matters, anyway, cause you can tell it's not going to last much longer on you as soon as he unzips his boots and crawls on top of you, nestling between your legs.

The buckle of his belt presses on your skin as he claims your mouth one more time, with feeling. One of his hands slips between your hair as the sweet undoing of his tongue drives you out of this world. Your palms land on his back, nails dig in his flesh as his hips roll slowly, rubbing his growing bulge in the right spot.

There's an electric force at the tip of his tongue, an urgency of his hand to wrap around your neck without pressing. It makes you hold your breath, makes him feel in control. If he wanted to squeeze the lights out of you, he could. It should frighten you, but it does just the opposite. Your core aches at the thought of letting him use your body however he'd like.

His work becomes more sloppy and needy the harder his erection strains behind the denim fabric. He curls an arm beneath you, blindly fumbles with his fingers to undo the clasp of your bra.

Once he’s rid of it, the rest of your underwear follows the same path to the floor, and so does his own clothes.

His head bows, planting his lips on your abdomen, and from there he leaves a trail of wet kisses and beard tickles up to your sternum. One of his large paws is drawn to your breast as his lips veer off the path to find your opposite nipple. He gently nibbles the hard peak, as your back arches. You sigh in pure delight, letting your fingers weave into his mop of curls as his puckered lips blow cool air over the wet patch he's left. It makes your skin buzz as he moves to the other one to pay it the same attention.

You're drenched in your own juices when you adjust your legs as he carefully guides his firm cock to your entrance. Looking at the ceiling, you shut your eyes as the blunt tip breeches and stretches your wet walls. It feels as big as it looks, takes all the room, but doesn't hurt one bit.

Propping his elbows on either side of your head, he waits for you to be ready to roll.

“You good, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flick open, “yeah, just… go slow.”

With a tender curve of his lips, he nods as you experimentally move your hips back and forth, taking him a little further in.

Frank moves with you, following your cues. His mouth stays close to yours, breathing you in, watching you enjoy yourself as your walls get slicker and tender stroke after stroke. It helps you move a little faster each time as you get used to his size.

First times are always awkward, but there's something about Frank that makes you feel at ease. Ironically, this is the first, last, and only time you'll have him like this. Which is something that just dawns on you as your breathing quickens.

The embers of your core turn to flames and spread like wildfire across your body, consuming every thought and nerve ending for the sake of that final gratification.

You moan Frank's name, and use your hands to push his ass lower, coaxing him to go faster, dig deeper. Every inch of your body deliciously aches with each thrust, each grunt with your name laced to it, and that beautiful beard that brushes your skin after every push. His firm body grows hotter and firmer beneath your palms. Once you've given him the go, he doesn't hold himself back. His drive is sharp and nimble.

Frank buries his face in your neck as the room is filled with a symphony of grunts and moans, measured by the adamant rhythm of his hips slapping against yours.

You close your eyes and savor this moment as he slowly takes you up to cloud nine. It's a daunting climb, but he takes the challenge and waits for the right second to fall off the edge with you. As your opening contracts around him, and you ride that torrent of pleasure that overcomes you, he releases the most animalistic grunt you've ever heard when his seed spurts all over your walls.

A man like him hasn't ever trembled in your arms after an orgasm. His body goes completely limp on top of you. And you hold him close, petting the wet curls as his nape while he slips out of you and that high slowly ebbs.

“And you said you had no talents,” you say hoarsely, with a dopey smirk plastered on your face.

“I don’t like boasting,” he grins against your skin before lifting his head tiredly to look at you.

Combing your fingers in his hair, you push back those tousled-damp curls off his forehead.

“Well, If I had known you'd be that gifted, I’d have invited you over sooner.”

“Yeah?” Biting his lower lip, his head dips to sweetly seize your mouth.

“Hm-hmm.”

“I can stay all night if you want. Could make it up to you for all the time wasted. Would you like that, sweetheart?”

What the hell. If this is the only time he'd be in your bed, better take the chance of making this a memorable night, you think.

You simply nod and watch up close, one of your fingers slide across the texture of the pockmarks on his cheekbone.

“You like those? Is it wasabi, too?”

“Wabi-sabi,” you point out with a light chuckle, “and yes, I like them. They're like moon craters.”

Cradling his nape, you pull his face down and kiss that beautiful spot on his cheek, before settling his head on your shoulder.

He hugs you back and stays in that position for a while, in comfortable silence, as you gather the strength to switch places with him and go for a second round. Straddling on his lap is a vastly different experience. You ride him slowly, while he molds your figure to the shape of his hands. There's no place left untouched when you're done, and shortly after, you both go at it a third time as if you were running a marathon. You share stories and drinks and food in between a haze of sex, kisses, and hugs before finally succumbing to slumber a couple of hours before dawn.

You’re the first one to wake up a few hours later. The sun is already out and before slipping out of bed, you watch Frank for a minute, committing to memory the relaxed expression of his rough features. Then, you carefully pad out of the room to fill your cat’s bowls with food and water and find her sleeping in her favorite spot behind the couch. She only rises from her resting position at the sound of the coffee maker. Soon, she’s slinking between your feet as you go around the kitchen and doesn't stop until you pick her up, give her a kiss and a cuddle, and settle her beside her food bowl.

“Morning,” you hear Frank’s early husky voice as he steps into the kitchen wearing only his pair of jeans.

“Good morning,” your lips curve watching him prop his hands on the edge of the breakfast bar. “Guess you smelled the coffee brewing, huh?”

“Guess so. It’s like a Pavlovian response, I can’t help it.”

You snort, gesturing at bar stools, “please, take a seat.”

“It should be me making you breakfast,” Frank settles his ass on the stool.

“Force of habit. Sorry.”

“I was starting to think you had an imaginary cat,” he points at your furry friend focused on her food.

“No, she's very real. She just likes hiding at night.”

You place a couple of mugs on the counter, fill Frank’s up close to the rim, and only pour half of yours.

“Be careful, it’s hot,” you place his coffee in front of him.

Frank scoffs, picking it up and lifting it up to his lips as he says, “that's never stopped me.”

You dread every second left after that, knowing that once he’s out the door, you won’t see him again. You’ve grown used to having him around the diner and last night, what you two shared, was just one of the best things that’s ever happened to you lately.

Rather than expressing that out loud, you put one of your handmade mugs in a box and give it to him as a parting gift.

Then, you drive him back to the motel he’s been staying at.

“Thanks for the mug,” he gives you one last tight hug. “Take care, yeah?”

“You know… you could stay a little bit longer,” you awkwardly suggest when he releases you. “We have that roast you like coming in today, I think. If not for me, at least do it for the free coffee.”

“That’s tempting, but I gotta move on now, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I get it,” you sigh, tucking your hands in your jacket's pockets, as one of his palms moves to hold your chin. His head tilts to the side to leave one last kiss on your cheek before stepping away.

After climbing into your car, Frank closes the door for you, and watches you from the sidewalk as you drive away before collecting his bags from his temporary room.

You go back to your usual routine after that little adventure you had with him. You run some errands around town, mail some orders from your online shop, go grocery shopping and have some lunch before your shift at the diner.

Frank barely leaves your mind that day, especially after you slip into your uniform and open the new coffee order in the pantry and start a new batch.

“I swear he has a thing for you,” Jody, friend and fellow waitress, says as you work the coffee maker.

“Who?”

“The hipster. He’s in your section again. Look.”

You frown and turn your head to see Frank sitting in his booth, flicking the pages of a newspaper. A smile instantly takes over your lips as you try to hold the excitement of running towards him.

“Wow, I guess you have a thing for him too. I don’t know how I missed that,” she realizes. “Well, go on, say hi before someone swoops him up.”

Swallowing, you wait till the pot is filled to walk over his table.

Frank licks his lips when he sees you stepping closer, and turns over the mug sitting on the middle table.

“So, how far did you get?” you hold the pot steady, filling the cup.

“Dunno… a couple of hours, give or take.”

“Hmm.”

“Guess it took me a second to realize how good that coffee was.”

“Want something to eat with that?”

“Maybe later when you’re done… we could… would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

#beardthalbash #frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal smut #jon bernthal #the punisher #darlingwrites #smut #fluff

[codtrashsammy]

Cute Meet?

Started as a kinda character study and idk what happened, i'ma be honest. I haven't written anything with length in awhile, so feel free to leave cc and let me know what you think <3 Just a cute meet kinda scenario, reader is an anxious lil thing and Simon 'Ghost' Riley is obsessed upon first glance. Love? No, not yet.. but obsessed, yes. Word Count: 1.3K Pairing: Simon Riley x Reader/You Warnings: No warnings, no use of y/n tho Enjoy :))

Ghost is the keeper. Ghost is stoic, cold, even apathetic. Ghost can kill a whole platoon without batting an eye, can be covered in the blood of his enemies and be entirely uncaring to watch it flow down the drain once he has enough time to scrub the caked blood from where it seeped through his clothes. He is in charge, able to control his emotions effortlessly, able to lead. He is everything he needs to be. And then there’s Simon. Ghost is the keeper. Simon is the man beneath the mask who needs one. Simon is more akin to a stray dog than a human at times. Face hidden from the world, yet teeth always barred and ready to bite. Hidden behind a mask, a carefully crafted mask that is Ghost. A man with more scars than flesh, a man with more trauma than peace, a man who simply longs for the normalcy of life without a way to reach it. And then came you.

Ghost couldn’t care less for you. The mask is on as he’s on leave, shopping in a grocery store to get something to eat on while he stays in that damned motel for the next couple of weeks before flying out once more. The mask stays in place, a protection, a show the keeper is in charge. You don’t mean to run into him, you’re definitely not the type to go looking for trouble- you’ve had enough of that in your life, and you’re just starting to get your shit together for the nth time. But as you’re both leaving, you stumble, bumping right into him and leaving a couple of his poor bags strewn about on the sidewalk rather than carefully held within each hand. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” Ghost grumbles with a sigh, clearly not pleased by the circumstances while watching a can of beans he had bought simply roll off of the sidewalk area and into the road- promptly ran over by a vehicle looking to park. No beans and toast now, british man. “I am so sorry-” You immediately apologize, the sheepish and embarrassed look on your face obvious as you dust yourself off and try to begin gathering the mess that you had caused. Ghost is annoyed at you. Just one look and he’s annoyed. But Simon? Simon is enchanted. The sweet, sheepish smile on your face, the way you scramble to help, the heat to your cheeks in your embarrassment as you scatter around trying to fix the situation. The way your hair falls and how you’re clearly nervous, but you still act anyway. You don’t care of how he looks- all brooding and intimidating with his hoodie over his head and the black medical mask over the lower half of his face. You couldn’t care less of that- you simply want to make things better. Simon notices that though. Simon remains frozen for a few moments, hidden interest in his eyes as he watches you scramble about, resorting your things just to have an extra couple of bags for his things. And you just hand things back over to him, the sheepish smile still on your face, the embarrassment clear- but gods, you look like such a sweet lil thing, lookin’ at him like he’s a human, a person. “‘S fine,” Simon eventually spits out, taking the bags from your hands and glancing once more at the beans staining the roadway now, before turning to focus his attention back on you. He could let you leave now. He could, it’d be so easy. He could leave it at that and walk away, probably never hear or see from you again. I mean, hell, he’s only known you for all of 5 minutes, and it’s because you’re a clumsy little shit who fucked up his shopping. It’d be so easy so why does it feel so hard. “D’ya always ‘ave to make such an impression?” Simon quips out, readjusting the bags comfortably in his grip. You can’t even pretend not to notice his accent- it’s unusual for where you live, you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything like it outside of the media you’ve consumed. It’s pleasant, rings around in the ears for a bit. You finally meet his eyes, and gods, they are gorgeous. Deep, rich, brown- like chocolate with golden flecks scattered. Especially in the sunlight- like they are now- pools of liquid gold swimming about a chocolate river. “Ah- No- Um-” You struggle to find the right words, now your cheeks are warmer, and it’s less from embarrassment and more from the pretty eyed stranger you just fucking throttled on accident. But at least he doesn’t seem angry, so there’s always that. “I’m so sorry,” You settle on apologizing again, one of your hands moving to nervously run through your hair, pushing some strands out of your face. “‘S fine. Really.” Simon says with a slight nod, and you can feel the burn of his eyes as they trail over you. You can’t decide if he means it or not, though, he sounds oddly monotone for such simple words. “Still, I feel bad, I uh- I’m kinda clumsy at best,” You blurt out, sheepish smile on your face despite its softness as you glance away from him before looking back once more, “I uh- just wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going- a real bad habit of mine, honestly- which is surprising cause you’re kinda huge and hard to miss-” 

What the fuck did you just say?!Your cheeks heat up further, hands moving to gesture with your words now. You’re rambling, you know you are, but god did not give you the ability to shut the fuck up. “N-Not that that’s a bad thing! You’re uh- very well-built!” what the fuck you’re making it worse- “I-I mean- You uh- You have lots of muscle a-and that’s a good thing! And you have pretty eyes- always a bonus!” Simon’s eyebrow slowly lifts, his eyes crinkling at the sides. Simon’s been called a lot of things in his life- but he’s realizing at this moment that no one has ever called his eyes pretty. They’re brown. He can recall Johnny referring to them as ‘shit brown’ more often than not.  And you just look so fucking adorable- continuing to ramble, but he’s hardly paying attention to the words now, watching your cheeks get darker, your hands gesturing with your words, nervously shifting on your feet as you try to ‘save’ the situation. Such a precious lil thing, too pure for this world.

Simon was enchanted at first glance.

Ghost decides he could be, too.

A pretty thing like you? In this world? Oh, love, that’s just not safe. You’re a lil bundle of nervous, clearly. How’d ya make it this far? Who made ya like this? Unsure, rambling, nervous? Ghost wants to learn you. Wants to figure out what events molded you into this cute lil thing. You clearly need someone- he won’t judge, Simon needs him, too.

Ghost decides he wants to know you. Simon has made that thought known.

“You know what? I’m gonna shut up!” You finally say, voice a higher pitch and the heat being felt in the tips of your ears at this point as you take a step away from the masked man, who you know you’ve done ruined the chance to know with your inability to shut the fuck up.

“Tell me yer name before ya do,” Simon says, voice smooth like it’s the easiest and most casual thing in the world.

He’s so… quiet. He let you ramble and make an absolute fool of yourself- but now he’s actually wanting to know your name?

After you manage to knock yourself out of your stupor, you finally offer your name to him, cheeks finally cooling down a bit. Only to heat back up once he repeats your name in that voice of his, all low and gruff- says it differently than anything you’ve ever heard before- like it’s something important, something that matters.

“Simon,” He supplies, adjusting his bags in one grip as he offers a hand to you.

Simon and Ghost are two very different people who share this skin suit.

But they both decide you’re theirs.

#simon ghost x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Puppy, (see premise post or series)

Summary: An ultra-shy man named Grant arrives with various friends to your family-owned motel. He opens up slowly over the months...and grows a fantastic beard. 🤭

While this part has no mature situations, this series will be 18+ only. MINORS DNI. This is mostly pure setup for the smut in every future chapter. Your media consumption is your responsibility; please choose for yourself if these matters trigger you. If so, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this work is not it! WC ~2k

He first arrives with only his friend—two fit fellas, one white, one black. They pay in cash, share a double room. The most information you get is Tom Smith, the more open of the two, joking that you’ll have to excuse Grant’s shyness.

Grant doesn’t seem to respond to his own name.

He’s a beefy blond, and your impression is the man doesn’t need to have a lot going on up top to get by in life. You do try not to judge, though. Your job is more about keen observation and recognizing the needs of your guests.

These two guests need privacy. They aren’t unfriendly, but they are not chatty. They go as quickly as they came. One night. The room is slept in, but they were clean enough.

The next time they show up they need three rooms, but you only have two available. Tom and Grant bunk up again, and a couple are with them who do not come into the office. The woman has beautiful auburn hair that she covers with a ball cap, and her very tall beau—whose hand she holds—shields himself in far more clothing than necessary this time of year.

They all sleep (you assume) during the day and only socialize at night when the other guests aren’t around.

Not that the party is loud; they simply seem more at ease when it’s harder to see. They stay three or four days, leaving rather suddenly early one night after paying for the time already.

Sporadically, this continues.

Once it’s only the couple. She is very reserved and he is very awkward, but again nice enough. They stay for nearly two weeks, enjoying hikes in the area, always holding hands. The woman relaxes significantly. It’s quite lovely to see.

Mister and Misses Durham, you know them as. They don’t always respond by name either.

Another visit makes five guests with the addition of a beautiful young woman. Her hair is cropped and bleach blond, and she is by far the most at ease.

It’s this visit that you realize they are just staying in their rooms during the day not sleeping, and you find the karaoke machine to take to Tom’s room.

He’s thrilled, thank goodness, because you don’t normally offer up activities to those who don’t ask about them, but Tom bangs on the doors of the other two (you think) couples so they can join him.

You’re about to leave when he asks you to do a duet with him.

Grant throws out that Tom enjoys Marvin Gaye. It’s the most you’ve heard him say, ever.

“I do,” Tom agrees, “but I don’t mess with the master.”

So you have the idea to sing Marvin Gaye—the song—with Tom as Charlie Puth and you as Meghan Trainor.

It’s quite a lot of fun, belting as best you can, finding Grant’s intense gaze on you for the lyrics:  I’m like a stray without a home… I’m like a dog without a bone…

Just as quickly, however, you have to go back to the front desk. Duty calls and all.

You make sure they know the machine is all theirs for as long as they want. Their rooms are too far down the line of the building to hear if they do enjoy it for long, but you get no complaints about noise. You hope for the best.

Later that night, Grant comes by the office, carrying the machine with a smirk on his face and the most genuine appreciation on his lips. He has a lovely deep voice you never knew about.

He just talks to you.

It’s all superficial conversation about the area, the weather, what activities you like on your days off, but even that seems a struggle for him.

Tom was not kidding. His friend is extremely shy. He has trouble thinking up casual questions. He can’t look you in the eye until responding, and he doesn’t give more than a few words in answer to anything.

You laugh--you have to—when Grant asks if he can walk you to your door, which…is ludicrous because you live in the house a whopping fifty meters past the main motel. Your family has owned and run this place for three generations. You’ve walked that path your whole life.

“I like walking,” he shrugs, though from the sheer muscles on him, he does way more than just walk. “I was gonna do a lap or two anyway.”

“Well, I have to wait for Clark to show up, but—“ you look him up and down “—okay.”

Grant is so sweet but so stiff. He holds himself with purpose when actively thinking, but you catch him having these distant moments. He withers like a violet, a shell that’s too small for his big body. He seems lost and lonely.

You’re glad to do whatever keeps him company. Your goal for the night is to make Grant smile as much as humanly possible, but that’s difficult when he won’t let you know anything about him.

Twenty minutes later, Clark, a local stoner kid who hardly looks up from his phone, waltzes in, stepping around Grant like a wall that’s always been there and throwing a “hey, man” out with zero regard for a response. Classic Clark. That’s why he’s on night shifts.

So you grab your bag and let Grant hold the door open for you.

Maybe you’ve been watching the Durhams too much when they come around, but you feel a compulsion to hold his hand. You don’t, obviously, because you only just heard this guy speak for the first time today. It would also be incredibly awkward to hold Grant’s hand in the dead silence that follows on your way up the gravel path.

You’re so consumed by figuring out what to say next that you don’t notice till the beast is right there.

An elk walks right in front of you, taller than Grant. From this angle the animal blocks the entire view of your house it’s so big, and you jump back, slamming into your startled escort’s chest.

You both freeze as it moves slowly at a diagonal to the other side of woods, bringing it and its gigantic horns closer still.

It squawks like some sort of awful banshee and stamps huge hoofs. You throw your weight backward and spin to flee, clambering over Grant’s body.

Why you’re so scared, who knows; you should be used to the wildlife, but no creature has ever done this before.

The most shocking thing, however, is how strongly Grant tries to hold you immobile.

The harsh grip on your waist and the way he hisses through his teeth for you to stop should be your hint, but instead you cling to him harder, asking quietly if the animal is gone.

“Uh…” Grant tenses against you. “It’s…it’s just—“ he shudders when you wriggle “—yes, gone,” he bites out, pushing you away by the hips.

He takes a second to breathe, buries his hands in his pockets, and leans forward, gathering himself.

It was scary. That could have turned nasty very quickly. You were lucky Grant was there and calm…except he was sorta the reason you were distracted in the first place.

Finally composed, he sighs and motions forward. “Let’s get you home.”

Two months later, Grant’s initial five o’clock shadow has come in nicely.

You’ve learned the routine of their check-in. There’s only one room available, unfortunately, but if they stay more than two days, there should be another open.

Tom shrugs and offers a playful, “we’ll see. We go where the wind takes us.” He smooths his palm over a fresh fade at his nape and the sharp angles of his goatee.

“And you, I see, have stopped in for a cut with Terrence in town. He loves the three slices like that.” That's how the barber marks his work. Terrence's shop is very popular.

“It’s a good signature. Wish I could'a convinced this big lug to get a trim.” Tom elbows his friend who stares at his feet.

Grant runs his fingers through his golden locks and swallows. “Yeah, well, maybe next time.”

Without realizing what you’re doing, you stand on the rungs of your stool behind the counter and reach for his lusciously full beard.

“Don’t you dare get rid of this,” you chide, fingertips grazing the skin of his cheek beneath the course yet soft hairs.

You should apologize. You should let go and sit back down. You should professionally hand them their key and be done with it, but instead, you linger, watching his blue eyes darken with a primal devastation.

He’s prey caught in a cage.

You release Grant’s face with an awkward laugh and a shake of your head.

Tom makes his own, very knowing face, and winks.

“You should do that more. Touch him. He could use it.”

Grant clears his throat harshly and blushes, mumbling something about which room number you said they had and that he’ll bring the other bags from the car. He leaves. Tom takes the keys with another wink and a sassy tap on the hardwood.

“Thank ya, ma’am. We appreciate it.”

It’s about twenty minutes later when your pen rolls off the edge of the counter, you find a small duffle left where Grant stood.

“He was joking. It was a joke,” Grant blurts when he finds you standing there to give it back.

You just smile and say Tom isn’t wrong.

“So, if you ever just want a hug…” you mutter, taking a chance to scratch at his bearded chin again. “Not like you’re gonna hurt me.”

He looks back inside, as if seeking permission or checking to make sure his friend is still in the bathroom, singing in the shower.

Grant can’t seem to meet you halfway, but he does inch forward, struggling to word a simple ‘yes.’

The tentative embrace starts with only the top of his chest touching you, bent so his butt is out, no pressure on his hands at your shoulders, so you push a little more and a little more. You get close enough he needs to wrap his arms around you instead. He has to stand straight so his chin doesn’t poke your forehead. He whimpers slightly when your own arms encircle his tiny waist.

A few breaths later, he relaxes into a lovely full-body hug, his rough fingertips on your bare skin where your shirt bunched up. You’re both being human, no more, no less, tangled in simple comfort.

Grant tucks his face into your collarbone suddenly and squeezes, not so hard that it hurts but not gently either. The move tickles you with his beard, your hands pawing up his back as you giggle, and he whines like wounded prey.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you soothe. “I can be here, if you want, to hold. It’s okay.”

That has the opposite effect you intended, knocking him out of some soft reverie and launching him back a foot, a necessary but unwelcome distance.

Grant looks guilty, needy, and resigned as he thanks you for returning the bag and sees you out the door.

dividers by cafekitsune and firefly-graphics

A/N: This will be the shortest (probably) of all the parts, and yeah, we get into some smuttier moments pretty quickly... Stay tuned!

[Next Part: Sweet Baby]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #nomad steve #nomad steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #touchstarved #touch-starved!steve #hideout series

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 16: PEGGING Eustass Kidd 𝘹 F! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: @thegrandlinesimp ➡ I am jumping and leaping forward for the kinktober list! Can we please get a bratty, demanding sub!Kid for day 16. Pegging 😍 tw: pegging. sub! kidd. dom! reader (kinda cruel). masturbation. orgasm denial. wc: 912 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

When you look at Kid, you simply know he is not a sub. His imponent frame and his violent demeanour are far from ever imagining for him to be under someone

However, when you came into his life things definitely changed… One of them, positions -quite literally-

Such a big man on all fours has to be an interesting  view. His spread buttocks, his lifted hips and curled back. Around his neck, what could be considered a dog collar. And, attached to it, a metallic leash.

His hair, crimson like blood, like hell, rains on his face and over his shoulders. He is not allowed to wear his goggles while you are in charge.

Red lipstick, smeared; Eyes a little watery that have turned his eyeliner into black drops falling through his cheeks. His whines, far from the usual beasty grunts.

“Should I peg you and let you come this time, Kidd? Or should I leave you on the verge of it?” you ask, drizzling a sweet slippery solution on your fake dick.

“Let me come, please…” he begs, with thighs trembling and toes curling. Kidd looks at you from the mirror of that low budget motel, the crimson lights of cheap LED lights on the ceiling bathe both of you.

You smirk, coating the dildo attached to your strap on very well with enough lubricant. And enjoy how desperate he is for you to fill his hole.

“Wiggle your tail for me if you want it. Be a good boy for your mistress”  you chime, looking at his delightful submissive reflection. There is something about dominating such big boys that makes you extremely pleased.

Kidd looks at you and begins to move his hips side to side; as if he had an invisible tail, he acts like a dog in heat.

“Such a good puppy boy! Come on, let me give you your special treat” you purr, coming closer to his pathetically attractive body and kneel right behind him. With your hand, you begin pumping his dick that hangs in between his legs. It has already made a little puddle of precum over that green -already sticky- carpet. A puddle you hope it becomes bigger the more he comes during the night.

Kidd’s head hangs down and his back arches more and more. His shoulder blades protrude, his fake arm carves on what’s left of his arm… and he doesn’t care, Kidd is now a slave of your hands… his body belongs to you, as well as all of his free will.

When he begins to tremble as you pump harder, and your index stretches his back entrance, you stop. Right, and exactly a second before he reaches climax. It is painful for him, as he quivers and moves his hips searching for more stimulation… being orgasm denied is quite a torture for him.

“My mistress… why?! Please, more… more” he begs. “Because I don’t want you coming just from my hand, puppy! I want to penetrate that man pussy of yours!” you scoff, spanking his left ass cheek. -Already pretty red and hot as you kept giving him sudden and rough slaps on it-

Eustass accepts the deal. If it’s you fucking him, he can stand not coming for once. You are amazed at how well behaved he can be when he wants his ass pounded; it’s glorious.

“Spread wide for me, ok? I don’t want you to hurt” you command, requesting for him to open his legs enough for his hole to be stretched really good.

He immediately obeys, because Kidd can’t wait a single second more for your belligerent hip thrusts.

You squeeze the lube bottle right over the small of his back, allowing for the silicone-based compound to slide down and in between his buttocks. It drizzles, coldly on his entrance, and then it keeps squirting until his perineum, causing him to almost mewl.

“Such a bitch you are, Kidd. You love being fucked in the ass, don’t you?” “It’s you, mistress. It’s just because it is you who is doing it”

You smile, pleased. His words are just more fuel to the flames. Violently, you pull from his leash, causing him to gag and choke and with a strong grip the jelly dick slides with little to non-difficulty into his insides.

He grunts at the first intrusive thrust, and the more he gets used to the pounding the more his eyes turn white.

“You like it, puppy?” you ask, fastening and deepening the rams. “Ye…. Yeah… I- do… more… please” he moans, throwing his hips back for more. Insatiable, desperate, eager to be destroyed, wanting to cum with no hands but a feral insides wrecking session.

And soon, you can tell that his hardness becomes even harder. Twitching, growing the puddle of precum, trembling, quivering, with his teeth chattering… should you stop again? Should you keep going? What do you prefer?

Maybe both… cry, Kidd… plead for your climax… beg for me to give you the right to finally release yourself.

“I’m coming, Mistress!!” “Are you puppy boy? How much you want it? How much you are willing to do for me to let you cum? Hm?” you ask, scoffing at his pathetic wiggles, at the way he is unable to touch himself. How cruel can you be, to take advantage of such poor man.

“Please, please don’t stop… please! I will do anything!” “Well, you’ve been a very good boy… so now, go ahead… cum!”

yes... my mistress... thank you ~

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic @fushiguroshotwife 💖🙆‍♀️

#eustass kidd #eustass kid imagine #eustass kid x you #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #one piece killer #killer x reader #killer one piece #eustass kid x killer #one piece fanfiction #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x oc #one piece kid #kid one piece #kid pirates #spicy week event #sashi ya #kinktober #kinktober 23 #kinktober 2023 #hentober

[deancaspinefest]

Something Happening Somewhen

Author: allthismusic | Artist: eggchef

Posting on Wednesday March 27

Dean is 24 years old, and a quiet night at a California dive bar turns into a near death experience turns into a trip through time thanks to the stranger he meets in the bar. When he lands in the bunker twenty years into his future, he finds out who the stranger is — and what his relationship is to Dean’s own older self. Dean’s not sure what he thinks about this at first, but when Cas takes him back to his own time (accompanied by the older Dean, who is determined to make sure that nothing they do in the past screws up their lives in the future), he gets to know the angel, and he gets a glimpse at a future he never would’ve dreamed that he might be able to have.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

In the cool evening air, Dean looks around. He’d left the Impala back parked at the dingy motel where he’d rented a room, but he’s not quite ready to call it a night. He opens his remaining beer and looks down the street to see if there’s another bar nearby that might be worth checking out, but before he can make a decision he hears the door to the bar he has just left open behind him. And he knows, he just /knows/, that it isn’t some other random patron headed home.

“What the hell is this, huh?” Dean asks, “Something about ‘not interested’ you’re not getting?”

And then the guy says his name.

“Dean,” the man begins, and Dean gets it.

“Oh, lemme guess, my dad tell you to check up on me?” Dean asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just begins to walk, knowing the man will follow. He’s a hunter, obviously. Explains the build, and the suit that is only meant to pass muster at a brief glance, like the fake police badge or FBI creds the guy probably carries. Dean should’ve clocked him from the start.

And for some reason John had thought that Dean needed checking up on. That he couldn’t be trusted to go it alone, nevermind the fact that he had finished the hunt his dad had sent him on two whole days ago and had yet to receive any new case coordinates from John.

To Dean’s surprise, he hears a laugh behind him. He stops, and now he does turn to face the guy again.

“No,” the man says. “I’ve lost count of how often I’ve been told I’m bad at following orders, but even if that wasn’t the case, I wouldn’t follow your father’s.”

“Oh yeah? Then how do you know my name?” Dean demands.

“You left your wallet on the bar,” the man replies, holding it up. It’s definitely Dean’s: worn black leather, secondhand from his dad, containing a meager number of bills and at least three fake IDs tucked behind a real one— well, real first name, although it gives his surname as Campbell, just in case.

“Oh,” Dean says, wondering for the second time that night if he has misjudged this guy’s intentions. Maybe he’s just a normal businessman trying to do a good deed for the day and return a lost wallet, despite the wallet’s owner being an absolute weird freak toward him. “Thanks.”

The man offers the wallet out to him, almost gently, like he’s proffering a bit of food to a scared, stray dog, and Dean steps forward to take it. “It’s your birthday,” he says, and before Dean can ask, the man explains, “I saw it on your ID. On one of them, anyway.” Dean nods. “Happy birthday,” the guy says. “I should’ve bought you a beer.”

(continue reading on Ao3 on Wednesday March 27)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2024 #pinefest previews #2024 Dean/Cas Pinefest #author: allthismusic #artist: eggchef #Pre/Post-Series Time Travel Fic #Established Relationship (and non-Established Relationship)

[according2thelore]

LITERALLY that "dad I'm gay and stronger than you" post had me like ..! my friend and I have been screaming for A Week Straight about the concept of Actual Child Monarch boykingofhell!Sam manifesting his powers early on and just. he and Dean figuring this is probably just another one of those Things We Don't Tell Dad. like, Sam who always knows where the radar traps will be on the interstate, and Sam jedi-whammying the motel clerk into forgetting their overdue payments... John flipping his absolute shit when he finds out; Sam being like "you can't stop me" and John being like "... You're /twelve/, yes, I can" and Sam being like "uh. you're just a guy, dad. I have all of hell at my disposal. do your worst, I guess???" John figuring that if he can't exorcize the hell outta Sam, he can at least make sure Sam can't get out of hell; telling Dean that he really tried but that the demonic forces killed Sam before John could save him; smash cut to early-20s Dean in his first year of solo hunting encountering a crossroads case, where the vics freak out anytime they're alone with him because "can't [he] see that massive fucking hellhound trailing after [him]?!" and the crossroads demon who can't believe who they're looking at when he finally gets them cornered. crossroads demon who smokes out under exorcism, but not before telling Dean "your brother wants to see you"

...anon...holy shit anon...

you are so correct!!

i think that in this situation (growing up with (to his knowledge) a dead sam, and a dad that "let" him die) dean would be more than passively suicidal. he doesn't care about himself, he failed. sam is dead. dean gets reckless, but he just barely avoids dying more than once, just a hairsbreadth.

he drinks until he can't walk straight, gets in the car, and wakes up in the motel parking lot. he goes half-cocked into a werewolf hunt, and he's sure that there's a werewolf behind him about to take him out (and isn't going to stop it, not really), but when he finally gets his finger around the trigger and turns around, the werewolf's ten feet away looking blank and confused. he puts a nominal effort into stitching up a bullet hole, doesn't even bother digging the slug out, and passes out in a random motel. next morning, the bullet's on the nightstand, and the stitches are even and tight. it's not enough to be completely concerned--hell, dean's borderline black-out drunk at any given moment, can't remember the last time he was completely sober--but it's...weird.

animals suddenly hate his fucking guts. dean used to tease sammy about it, about the fact that animals seemed to love dean and hate sammy. they would cringe away from sam's touch, skitter out from under his feet. birds would land on the impala if dean was driving, deer would poke their heads out of the woods if he walked past. but now...dean can't remember the last time he even saw a dog.

they just...flee. even at witnesses' houses, dean sees food bowls and chew toys and hears nails clacking on wood upstairs, but they tuck tail and run as soon as he knocks on the door.

after that first case, that first crossroads case where they name the thing, a Hell Hound...dean thinks it's bullshit. he's heard of black dogs, but this is new. it's weird.

he names it hooch. he and sam had seen that movie at a drive-in one summer, and he figures he's kind of fighting crime, right? he jokingly orders an extra patty on his burger and leaves it out for his imaginary dog, and the next morning it's gone. on the next hunt, the vampire doesn't even come within fifteen feet of dean before something rips its leg off at the knee.

when he calls the demon, it keeps looking down at dean's feet warily, back and forth, like something is pacing between them, something low. the demon keeps giving vague non-answers, distracted, and dean slaps his thigh, calls, 'hooch. down, boy.' and the demon...stops.

then those words...your brother wants to see you your brother wants to see you yourbrotherwantstoseeyou YourBrotherWantsToSeeYou.

dean is apoplectic. he finds the colt, finds the gate, heads into hell without a second thought, muttering to hooch the whole way (you better fucking rip some demons up you lazy son of a bitch).

sam's eyes are yellow, all the way through. bright yellow. he's huge. grown. beautiful. it's everything dean never thought he'd get to see. he dreamed about sam being this old, about sam having hands that dwarf a machete handle, of shoulders that blot out the stars.

sam doesn't react at first, knows that dad sent dean on a solo hunt before it all went down, but doesn't know how much dean knew about it, about dad locking him down here. dean doesn't even question why he's on a throne, why demons flank him on either side, heads bowed, why no demons even tried to stop dean from getting here, why they flinched away from him like something would swoop out of the dark and steal them if they brushed his shoulders.

"sammy," dean says--begs, really--for the first time in years, sam's smile falters. his eyes are hazel again, and his bottom lip trembles, and dean begs, "come with me, come home. please."

maybe it works, and they leave, and dean pulls sam into a hug so vicious that they both cry. maybe sam works from afar, and they relearn each other. their first hunt is ripping john winchester's head from his shoulders and trading kisses in his blood.

or maybe it doesn't. maybe dean stays, because they won't be separated like this, not again. the world's got other hunters, and dean has sam, and the rest of it can go fuck itself.

and sam has the life he's always wanted: power. respect. love. dean. (those last two are the same, really). and a dog, that keeps stealing dean's shoes.

anyway anon...much to think about...i love this...and you, coincidentally, mwah.

you and your friend galaxy-brained this one i fear.

-lizzy

#ask box #boy king of hell sam winchester #lizzy answers #wincest #wincest fanfiction #lizzy writes

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch01: Blue House, Black Dog

Summary: The Winchesters meet a new face, one who is not entirely human... Referenced Episodes: None CW: Minor gore. Change from 3rd to 1st person POV. Female reader -- no character description other than age. Lots of exposition :( Word Count: 5944 Recommended Song: Hungry Like The Wolf -- Duran Duran Series Masterlist -- Next Chapter

The motel room was eerily quiet. There was no bickering, no laughter, no witty comments. Only light snores from one bed and the gentle clicking of laptop keys from another. The screen glared on a shadowy figure, reflecting on the wooden backboard of the bed and spreading softly around the room. The figure would pause in his typing every few minutes to glance at the sleeping figure in the next bed. He would stop and his eyes would flash towards his brother, as if to check that the sleeping figure was still there, and then return on his mission.

The room was oddly barren and tidy for two young men to be staying in. The only loose item happened to be a long forgotten lacy, fuchsia-colored bra tucked neatly behind the TV stand, out of the sight of the younger brother. The curtains were drawn to allow minimal light into the room, though the occasional moth-eaten hole would ruin the effect. The sounds of cars could be heard on a distant highway if one strained hard enough to listen for them.

The younger brother rubbed his eyes in exhaustion and turned once again to glance at his comatose older brother. In just a few hours, he would be awake and they would be on the road again – whether the younger brother liked it or not. He laughed grimly and averted his gaze back to the computer.

A news headline for a rural Alabama city flashed at the top of his screen, showcasing a sizable town somewhere in the 'Black Belt', a rural farming district of the state. The district boasted smaller towns and massive, old plantation homes off the beaten path. The headline spoke of several recent animal attacks, with the carcasses ranging from ravished to nearly intact. They all lacked one key component – hearts. The younger brother chuckled again.

No less than three hours later, the two brothers were sitting in a shabby diner in Omaha, dim lighting reflecting off of their clean plates.

"You find anything about those coordinates yet?" The oldest brother questioned, a fork hanging from his mouth, not bothering to keep his voice down.

"The website says it was animal attacks. Coroner says all of the hearts were missing," his younger brother replied. He sighed and spun the laptop to face his brother. "If it really is a text from Dad... he might be onto something. Looks like maybe a werewolf."

The older brother raised a brow as he took another bite. Of course, his dad was onto something. "Great, a werewolf in the swamp. Go figure."

"You're thinking of Louisiana, Dean."

Dean dropped the fork from his mouth and leaned towards his brother, taking a swig of black coffee. "They're practically the same thing, Sammy. Both in the South, so both are swamps." He replied, his eyes still blurred with sleep.

Sam grinned and pulled his laptop towards him. "So far there have been nine victims. I've done some research, and I can't find anything they have in common. It looks like some wolf went on a feeding frenzy."

"Good. They're always the most fun to kill," Dean said enthusiastically, with a mouthful of food. Sam cringed. "I'll bring the car around, you've got the bill, Sammy."

Dean stood up from the booth as his brother started to protest and clapped him firmly on the shoulder. "Towns only a few hours away, you can sleep on the way.”

"Great," Sam grumbled. "Then we can get a motel room tonight and talk to the witness in the morning."

"Witness?" Dean inquired, stopping in his tracks. "You never said anything about a witness."

"Just some guy named Raymond Chavez. The police interviewed him, but they couldn't get anything good out of him. Thought maybe we could take a crack at him."

"Poor guy probably saw the monster and didn't even realize what it was."

"Probably. That's why I thought we'd talk to him tomorrow."

Dean nodded in understanding and continued on his way, the door to the shabby diner shutting behind him.

—

Sam rummaged in the glove compartment of their car, searching through a mess of fake IDs, finally withdrawing the pair he wanted. He snickered upon seeing the names. "Hetfield and Ulrich? I thought we were passed the Metallica names."

Dean snatched the IDs from his brother's hands, "Shut up. Like a grocery store worker is going to recognize Metallica."

Sam chuckled. "Whatever. You want to get us caught, be my guest," he said, hopping out of the car. Dean frowned and grumbled to himself, exiting the car.

The brothers walked up the steps of the shabby house. The blue-gray paint was peeling off the sides of the house, leached by the constant sun. The lawn was overgrown and unkempt. Christmas lights still hung from the eaves, though they weren't plugged in.

The boys got their badges out and Sam knocked on the door. There was a crash from inside the house and the brothers glanced at each other. Sam reached out to knock again, but the door was flung open in a hurry.

The man standing before them was just as unkempt as the house itself. A wore a white shirt, stained by obvious beer stains. His jeans were unbuttoned and his belt was undone, as though he had just hastily thrown them on. His hair was a mess and he wore no shoes.

Dean grimaced and flashed a National Forest Service badge. "Mr. Chavez?"

The greasy-looking man nodded, pulling a toothpick from his pocket and sliding it in between his teeth in a failed attempt to look put together. "Tha's me," he grunted, with an obvious accent.

"Mr. Chavez, we wanted to talk to you about the animal attacks," said Sam.

Chavez's eyes went wide for a quarter of a second, then his brows furrowed. "I already talked to the police about tha'." He scratched nervously at his pitiful attempt at a beard, bristled whiskers poking out from his chin.

"We just have a few follow-up questions," said Dean . Chavez thought for a moment, then shrugged. "C'mon in then. Sorry 'bout the mess."

The brothers glanced at each other in surprise upon entering the man's home. The house was surprisingly clean, with only the occasional item loose. The place was even dusted.

"Were you expecting company or something?" Dean asked, scanning the place.

Chavez tensed, hardly even noticeable unless you were looking for it. He whipped his head around and glared at Dean. "Do ya have questions or not?" he snapped, sitting down in a worn old chair.

Dean scanned the chair, noticing tufts of hair on it. "Do you have a dog?"

"No. I was pet-sitting."

Sam paced the room, inspecting everything, while Dean questioned Chavez. "So you told the police you saw an animal attacking one of the victims," Dean clarified, pulling a small notebook and pen from his pocket.

"Yeah, tore right into his throat. Saw it rip out the poor guy's heart," he said, unfazed. "What time of the month was it?"

"I weren't on my period or nothin' if that's what yer asking." His irritation was obvious at this question and his voice slipped into more of a southern drawl. He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs loosely.

Dean looked taken aback by his comment, "No – I just meant, was it close to a full moon or anything like that?"

Chavez thought about it for a moment and then said, "I s'pose it was. Say, what kind of Forest Service guys are ya, anyway? What's a full moon got to do with any o' this?"

Sam and Dean glanced knowingly at each other, avoiding Chavez's questioning gaze. "We're just tracking down a particularly nasty wolf," Sam said. "It likes to hunt around that time."

"Not all month?"

Dean shrugged, "It's a weird one," he chuckled. He pursed his lips and met Sam's eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly, motioning for him to do something. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver ring, glancing at Dean and showing it to him. His older brother nodded again and Sam slipped it onto his finger.

Chavez ignored the exchange, his fingers twitching nervously, and stood up. "If you fellas don't got any more questions, I got's to get to work," he said, stretching languidly.

Sam approached from behind, "We just have a few more questions for you." He placed his ringed hand on the man's exposed shoulder.

A sudden sizzling noise echoed in the room and Chavez shouted, breaking away from Sam and clutching his burned shoulder. Both boys reached behind them and drew their guns, aiming for the man. Chavez snickered, and shrugged with one arm, his other still covering his now charred wound. "Figured you two would be dumb enough to pass me by." He smirked and his once brown eyes flashed a dark forest green.

"Not likely. Take a seat, Raymond," said Dean, gesturing towards the chair. Chavez grimaced, but sat, glaring at the brothers.

"So here's how it's going to go," said Dean. "You play nice and tell us where the other werewolves are and you won't get hurt. Otherwise," Sam cracked his knuckles and Chavez glanced at him in fright, Dean grinned and continued, "- otherwise, I'll let my brother here do what he wants."

Raymond gulped and glanced between the brothers, back and forth obviously pondering his best course of action.

Finally, he gulped again and stared at Dean. "There's only one more. A girl."

"Where?"

"Not far out of town. Jes' take the highway north, it's the third turn off on the left. She lives there."

Dean scoffed, "And you're willing to sell her out that easily? You disgust me. You animals are meant to be a family."

Raymond smirked, yellow teeth showing. "She means nothing to me."

Sam glanced at Dean, and the older brother nodded. Sam raised his gun towards the werewolf's head. "Wait, wait!" shouted the werewolf, shuffling away from Sam. "I told you what you wanted, now let me go! I'll skip town, I won't come back, I'll even stop feeding! Just let me go!"

The brothers glanced at each other. Dean shrugged. "Might as well, not like he can do anything 'til the full moon. He's someone else's problem then."

Chavez breathed a plaintive sigh of relief. When he opened his eyes again, the boys were already gone, the roar of the Impala's engine speeding away into the distance.

Chavez smiled.

—

The Winchesters turned off the highway down a beaten dirt road, the tires easily slipping into the worn grooves in the road. They rounded the corner of the road to come face to face with a large, pale blue, ranch-style home in the middle of a large clearing. A sizable barn and another building, which looked like a bunkhouse, were positioned behind the house and painted in the same blue color. The clearing was wide and full of light, surrounded by many towering trees. The trees blocked the view of the house from the road. The house and property were well cared for and decorative flowers littered the area.

"A werewolf lives here?" questioned Dean skeptically, glancing up at the house as he got out of the car.

"According to the other one-" Sam started, but promptly cut himself off. Dean glanced over at him and opened his mouth, but Sam immediately shushed him, withdrawing his gun from his belt. Sam pointed to the side of a beaten old pickup truck, where a bag of groceries lay on the ground, the contents spilling out.

Dean drew his gun and paced towards the truck. He placed his hand over the hood and quickly withdrew it.

"Still warm," he whispered to Sam. The younger brother gestured towards the house, gun still raised, and together they moved silently towards the structure. The front door was slightly ajar, and Sam pushed it open, gesturing for Dean to go first. Dean rolled his eyes and stepped into the house.

They entered into a well-decorated living and dining area, with expensive furnishings. The ceilings were tall and dark oak beams held the ceiling up, giving it a cottage sort of feel. Several large-scale windows lined the left wall of the house, bright light filtering in. To the right was a staircase heading up towards a sizable loft.

Dean lowered his gun and turned to Sam, "I don't think anyone's home-"

A large black mass fell from the loft and flattened Dean to the ground, his gun falling from his hand. He shouted in shock, attempting to get the mass off of him before it crushed his chest.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, raising his gun and taking aim.

"Shoot it Sam!" Dean shouted back, desperation in his voice. The thing snapped its jaws at Dean's throat, the elder Winchester doing his best to keep it away.

"I can't, I'll hit you!" Sam screamed.

The thing clawed at Dean and a spray of blood hit the back of the couch. Dean yelled and pushed the thing off of him. He attempted to stand, claw marks raking down his right arm.

"What the hell is that thing!?" he exclaimed, dodging as the thing flung itself at him and onto the front porch. The thing kept running down the steps and paused a few yards from the front steps. It turned, its furious golden eyes piercing the brothers. Sam held his brother and both of their eyes widened.

"It's a wolf," Sam whispered, lowering his gun.

"What the hell is a wolf doing-" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence. The wolf charged towards them again, tackling Sam to the ground, snapping its monstrous jaws at Sam's throat and his gun slipping out of his hand. "Sam!" he shouted.

The wolf howled, sinking its claws into Sam's arms. He screamed and threw the animal off; it collided roughly with the wall, tumbling to the floor. On shaky legs, the beast stood and shook out its dark fur, standing to its full height. Its head was easily shoulder height on Dean, standing at about five feet tall.

"That is not a normal wolf!" shouted Sam, regaining his breath. Dean lunged for his brother's fallen gun, realizing with panic that they hadn't loaded their weapons with silver. He raised his newfound gun towards the wolf as it snarled at him, lunging for his throat.

The gun went off.

The wolf howled and fell back, its now injured leg flailing wildly in the air. A horrendous snarl escaped its lips as it hobbled to a standing position, leaning against the wall, yellow eyes blazing with hatred and fury that the brothers had never seen in another animal's eyes. Dean raised his gun again, aiming for the wolf's head. His stony features morphed to shock as the wolf's face began to change. The snout shortened, the ears shifted and the warm gold of the animal's eyes dampened.

His eyes widened as the wolf's form took the shape of a young woman, no more than twenty-four years old. Her eyes seemed to glow a bright shade as they locked with him. Before either brother even had time to register what had happened, the woman lunged for Dean's gun still laying in the doorway, and aimed it at Dean.

"Don't... move..." she said breathlessly. Blood stained her shirt from where the bullet had pierced her skin, though it appeared to have only grazed her. She hissed through gritted teeth and Dean's eyes widened as the skin around the wound trickled with blood, already thickening into a thin scab. She slipped one foot behind her and held her gun with a sense of confidence. She held the weapon in an easy, practiced grip.

Sam shifted his weight and held his hands up in mock surrender. He leaned his weight against the wall and slowly stood. She whipped to the right to face him and shot a warning shot over his shoulder.

"I said don't move!" she screamed, chest heaving with fury and anticipation.

"Woah, hey!" Dean shouted, waving his hands in front of him. "Listen lady, put the gun down, and let's talk!"

"Why would I want to talk to a couple of hunters that are trying to kill me!?"

Dean chuckled and shrugged, offering a charming, almost apologetic smile. "Well... we aren't trying to kill you now?" He smiled hopefully.

Her brows furrowed and she lowered the weapon slightly, staring over the barrel. "I've never done anything to warrant hunters coming after me. Why are you here?" she spat, finger resting loosely on the trigger, barrel aimed for Dean's chest rather than his head. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if that was an improvement.

"We figured there was a werewolf in the area,” Sam explained calmly, eyes flicking between the monster and his brother. "We tracked it here, then found the witness. Turns out the witness was a-"

"Shit!" she exclaimed, causing both men to jump in surprise. She lowered the weapon until it was aimed at the ground at her feet. "Weaselly looking guy, goes by Raymond?"

Sam blinked twice in confusion. "Yeah, how-"

The girl cut him off again, laughing. "Are you two new at this or something? You never trust the monster!" She laughed again, clutching her stomach. "First of all, you're not hunting a werewolf."

The boys glared at her and Dean rolled his eyes, pursing his lips. "Yeah, no shit. Mind telling us what we are hunting?"

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes, frowning at the brothers as though she couldn't believe they were that stupid. "You boys ever heard of a skinwalker?"

Sam quickly glanced toward Dean in confusion. His brow creased with worry as he watched his brother's sarcastic features morph into shock. "I thought skinwalkers were wiped out?" Sam questioned, looking between the two.

"No," Dean said, glaring at his brother. "No, dad hunted one years ago. You were barely out of diapers," his voice was dripping with awe and shock. "Don't think dad ever managed to get it- always thought it was one step ahead." He narrowed his eyes in suspicion and folded his arms over his chest, finger tapping the trigger of the gun. "Last successful skinwalker hunt I heard of was- what, maybe eighty years ago? Bunch of hunters think they're extinct."

"Skinwalkers aren't common," the girl interjected. "We like to stay hidden."

Sam snapped his gaze up to meet hers. "You're a skinwalker?"

She rolled her eyes again. "How else am I supposed to turn into a wolf? Magic?" She threw up her hands in exasperation, then clutched her bleeding arm, gun resting loosely in her hands. She wasn't too worried — it wasn't a silver bullet, so she would heal quickly.

"So you're buddy, Raymond-" Dean started.

"-He's not my buddy-"

"- is also a Skinwalker? Why'd he sell you out?"

The girl paused for a moment, thinking about her answer. "There's a pack near here, set up shop about six months ago. They only started killing people recently though. Used to hunt animals, kept a low profile."

"And you're not part of the pack?" Sam questioned, knowing monsters like werewolves tended to rove in groups. Skinwalkers were thought to be cousins to werewolves, as they had similar qualities, such as a vulnerability to silver and an infectious bite. He assumed the pack mentality would be the same.

"No," she snapped bitterly. "I'd never hurt people. I hunt animals, try to stay out of people’s way, y’know? Besides, I was here first; this is my uncle's place. I moved in with him a few years ago, and he left the place to me." She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and her eyes quickly swept over the house.

"Where's your uncle now?" Sam inquired, a tinge of concern in his voice.

"He's dead. Died a little over a year ago, on a wraith hunt."

"He was a hunter?"

"One of the best. So was my mom, before she got bit," she frowned at the brothers and threw her hands up in a gesture that was meant to say 'obviously.' "So yeah, I was kind of raised to not eat people."

She hung her head a bit and placed her hands on her hips, eyes fixated on a now-distant past. The brothers watched her for a few moments, taking in her appearance. Her dirty jeans had scuffed knees and were frayed around the edges, by her ankles. Roughened combat boots were tied tightly to her feet and an oversized denim jacket rested loosely over her shoulders, one sleeve now stained with blood.

Dean took in a nervous breath. The girl glanced up at him and the light highlighted the bags under her eyes. "Why does the pack want you dead?" he asked.

The girl paused again as if wondering how much to give away. She furrowed her brows in thought before once again meeting their eyes. "Packs have a hierarchy. Biggest dog is in charge. You only get to easily be the biggest if you're a pure-blooded skinwalker." Her eyes jumped between the boys, gauging their reaction. They still looked as confused as ever. She sighed and began picking at the bloody fabric of her jacket. The blood from her wound already seemed to be clotted.

"Pure-bloods... are ones who have two parents that were skinwalkers too. My mom... she was turned before I was born. My dad was pure-blooded. He was second-generation." She met Dean's eyes, a challenging glare set upon her features. "That makes me a third-generation skinwalker. A rarity in the monster world. Makes me top dog in a pack, something I don't want, and certainly not something an insecure alpha would want."

The room was silent. The only sound came from the wind quietly billowing through the open front door. "He's afraid you'll take his pack?" Sam asked, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She nodded.

Dean glared at the floor, his fists tightened. "Whatever reason he has to kill you doesn't matter. He still needs to be stopped - he can't just keep killing people." Sam nodded in agreement, holstering his gun and wiping his sweating palms on his jeans.

Dean turned to the girl and locked eyes with her, his green eyes cold. "You should leave. You don't want to be here when we take out the pack." He threw the last few words over his shoulder as he turned to exit the house, holstering the gun.

She scoffed at him, "You really expect to defeat a pack of fifteen skinwalkers, maybe more, on your own? Are you two amateurs, or did you hit your heads too hard?"

Dean visibly bristled, his back tensing as he whipped around and snarled, "What do you expect us to do!? We can either take them out or die trying!"

"I expect," she started, taking a few steps towards the porch, a surprisingly menacing glare adorning her features, "for you to take me with you."

Dean's mouth fell open in surprise and his eyebrows raised. "You want to help us?"

She flashed an almost wolfish grin, "Well yeah, how else do you expect to win a fight like this?" She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled widely. "Frankly, I'm tired of that asshole alpha harassing me and killing people. I just want a peaceful life, you know?"

Sam glanced nervously between the girl and his brother as Dean contemplated the pros and cons of the situation.

Pro: Another fighter that could help them win the fight.

Con: She might turn on them and attack them.

Pro: They're less likely to die.

Con: She might turn on them and attack them-

"Alright fine!" he exclaimed, "Fine. You can come with us."

She cheered, throwing her arms into the air in excitement. "About time you two decide to do something smart!"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever Scooby, just get in the damn car. And don't get fur on the upholstery."

"Wouldn't dream of it," her smirk audible in her words.

"Just get in fido."

"It's not 'fido'-" she grumbled, climbing into the backseat. The engine started with a loud purr and Dean rolled easily out of the gravel driveway. He met her gaze in the rearview mirror as her name fell from her lips.

—

I glowered thoughtfully at Sam from my place on his bed in their dusty motel room, legs crossed and fingers drumming rhythmically against my thigh. The brothers were focused on packing, shoving various weapons into duffel bags. The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun poked out of the duffel bag Sam was filling.

The younger Winchester lifted his head and met my cold gaze, fixated on the weapon. His eyes glanced down at the shotgun and he laughed softly. "Not everyone can fight with literal tooth and nail."

I collapsed backward on the bed and splayed my arms out by my sides. The only thing left from my fading bullet wound was a scab. Truthfully, I wished it would heal immediately – this fight was not going to be an easy one, and the brothers would need all the help they could get.

I huffed and folded my arms over my chest, glaring up at the ceiling. I hated fighting. Sure, I was used to it – my uncle had taught me how to fight and I had been on several hunts with him – but that didn't mean I enjoyed it. I shivered at the thought of killing, the taste of blood and malleable flesh all too familiar on my tongue. The kind of food humans ate would tide me over, but it wasn't enough to satiate my hunger.

"I could always bite you," I offered playfully, redirecting my attention away from my thoughts and back towards Sam. "Then you could fight 'tooth and nail.'" I sat up, resting my weight on my elbows. I liked him – he was smart, and to my surprise he didn't blink twice about my situation. The fact that I was a monster meant nothing to him.

"No thanks. I'd prefer to not shed constantly," he joked, a smirk adorning his lips. I scoffed, to which he laughed. "Just a personal preference." 

I don’t shed that much.

The door to the motel room burst open and I bounced on the bed in surprise, yelping at the sudden noise. Dean waltzed into the room, a smug grin on his lips as he dumped a mess of silver weapons on the bed beside me. I flinched and glared at the weapons that could easily kill me.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, a comical tone to his voice.

"No, you're not," I growled and shuffled away from the mess of silver. Invulnerability created a sort of superiority complex in most monsters. We were likely to be more reckless, knowing few things could kill us. Seeing one of those few things beside me was not something I relished.

"You're right, I'm not," Dean teased with a click of his tongue and a playful grin. He grabbed a pistol and a rag and wiped off the barrel.

"Fuck off," I grumbled crassly. The silver had certainly put me in a bad mood, making this approaching fight seem more real, more solid. I rolled off the bed and moved to the other side to help him organize. Dean only smiled at my comment, eyes never leaving his silver and white gun. "When are we planning on attacking these mutts?" I questioned.

I was eager to get rid of Chikaltio and his rag-tag pack. Seven months of that bastard harassing me and threatening my life was enough for me. I was so tired of it. Tired of not being able to go into town and buy my groceries without being snarled at. Tired of not being safe in my own home.

I didn't want to fight him. I hated the idea of challenging him, of potentially killing him – I didn't want to take over his pack, and I certainly didn't want to be responsible for another living being's death. Animals were one thing, people were… different. I had caused enough death in the past.

"Probably tomorrow," Sam said, checking his watch. My ears pricked, rejoining the conversation after being lost in thought. "It's already late, they'd have the drop on us at night."

"Not if you mask your scent," I suggested, just wanting the fight to be over. I wanted my life back.

"We wouldn't be able to see them," argued Dean. "We don't have night vision, like you."

I scoffed. "I don't have night vision.” I clarified, pointing a silver knife at Dean in a matter-of-fact way. "Dogs can see about five times better in the dark than a human can. I, no matter what you might think, am not a dog."

"So how much better are your eyes?" Sam asked, curiosity dripping into his voice.

I shrugged and ran a cloth over the blade of the knife. "About three times better."

Now Dean scoffed. "Right, you obviously can't see that much better."

"I never said I couldn't see that much better. I just said I don't have night vision."

"Yeah, whatever makes you feel better about yourself, Scooby," Dean muttered, intending to sound scornful, but he couldn't help the smile that slipped onto his face.

Sam chuckled from across the room. "Aren't you two supposed to be getting things ready for tomorrow?"

"We can multitask, Sammy," countered Dean, tossing a small bullet at his brother. Sam caught it and placed it on the desk.

"Are you two always like this before a hunt?" I inquired, shifting as far away from the flying silver bullets as possible.

"Not always. Dean is usually less annoying," Sam said, brushing another stray bullet out of his hair.

"Dean not being annoying? Is that possible?" I teased, feigning shock and placing a hand over my heart in surprise. I was beginning to like these boys – they were fun-loving and full of life, unlike the previous hunters I had known. Granted, those two hunters had been my mother and uncle, and they had seen some things that would make anyone less cheerful.

"Alright you two, knock it off. This isn't National Pick-On-Dean Day," Dean sneered, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. My eyes followed his movements, scanning his face, eyes jumping between his freckles and green eyes. I had to admit, he was handsome.

"Shame. I bet that would be my favorite day of the year," I countered. Dean glared playfully and dropped his hand, reaching for another gun.

"Get back to polishing those knives," he ordered jokingly.

"Sure thing, boss."

—

The room was dark except for the occasional flash of lights, signaling a car drifting slowly down the highway. I listened to the passing cars and the voices of people in rooms nearby, furry ears pricked and at attention.

Nighttime was my favorite time. Everyone was finally quiet, peaceful, and no longer bothersome. I didn't feel overwhelmed by the amount of noise and the smells. I didn't need to worry about what people thought when they saw me, a massive black wolf with searing golden eyes, or a battered young woman with scars littering her body.

I could be myself.

My tail thumped quietly on the side of the couch, chin resting on dark paws, claws resting on the leather surface of the couch. I focused my attention on the argument a couple was having six rooms down. They weren't even trying to be quiet.

I hated hearing people argue. It brought a familiar feeling of helplessness up my throat, making it hard to breathe. I had grown so used to arguments in my teenage years that I thought fights and throwing items were completely normal. Now, knowing that was the opposite, I hated the memories it dredged up. I made a low grunting sound in the back of my throat and lifted my head, black fur brushing against the leather couch. At this time of night, I'd usually be running outside, hunting, playing. Just enjoy being in my fur. I couldn't wait until Chikaltio was gone and I didn't need to worry about where I ran or who I ran into.

I hopped off the smooth couch, sharp claws digging into the plush motel carpet. A short run wouldn't hurt, right?

My claws had just barely touched the linoleum by the door when I heard a soft rustling from behind. With languid movements, I turned my furry head to see Dean glaring at me in the dark, his green eyes filled with sleep.

"Where do you think you're going?" he questioned, his voice raw from sleep. I found it odd how quickly he had grown accustomed to my inhuman abilities. It was pleasant, knowing I was accepted when often I didn't accept myself.

My hackles raised as I began to shift, fur receding and bones cracking, rearranging under my skin. I straightened my spine and stretched, feeling my muscles and joints pop from the stress of changing form.

"I was going to go for a run. Is that a problem?" I cocked an eyebrow.

Dean hummed, sitting up. "It's a bit of a problem. How do I know you aren't going to go tell the other skinwalkers about us?"

I rolled my eyes], though I was sure Dean couldn't see the gesture. For him, the room must have seemed pitch black, rather than the gentle shadows I saw. "I'm sure Chavez has already told the pack. You weren't very discrete with your intentions. I bet they also know that you didn't kill me."

"Even more reason for you to stay here," he challenged. "If they know you're not dead, they might be looking for you. You said it yourself - we can't fight them on our own, and you're no help if you're dead."

"I doubt some blockhead mastiff could kill me."

"Doesn't mean I want them to try."

I averted my eyes, gaze dropping to the floor, and picked at the hem of my shirt. Was he saying that because I was just part of the case, or because he really cared? It had been so long since I had met anyone who truly cared for me. I lifted my gaze to meet his green eyes, surprised to find them warm and full of concern.

"For a hunter, you seem pretty charismatic," I murmured. My uncle had held that same gaze when I showed up at his doorstep years ago. Dean, although rough around the edges, seemed to really care for the people he helped, monster or not. I admired that.

"For a monster, you seem pretty human," he countered. I bristled, insecurity fluttering in my chest. If only he knew some of the things I had done. Would he still see me as human?

Finding nothing of note in his steely gaze, I dropped my eyes and once again became interested in the hem of my oversized shirt. I picked at the loose strings of the ragged hem. Dean rolled onto his back, his eyes latching onto the ceiling. "You should get some sleep. It's a big day tomorrow."

"It's hard for me to sleep at night. It's kind of an instinct to want to be out there, to run."

He smiled, tucking his hands behind his head. "You can run all you want tomorrow, after this hunt. But for now-" he locked his eyes with mine, "- for now, you should get some sleep." I pondered this for a moment and then finally nodded.

This time, my feet hit the plush carpet rather than sharp nails. I slid onto the couch, cold leather pressing against my skin and my mind racing with several thoughts. A part of me was eager for tomorrow's fight, knowing that at the end of the day I may finally have my freedom back. But, another, more realistic side of me knew that the day may end poorly. I may end the day cold and bathing in my own blood, the brothers, who I was already so fond of, missing pieces.

"Goodnight," I mumbled, half expecting him to already be asleep.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #fluff #angst #honestly lots of angst #slow burn #supernatural x reader #x reader #female reader #cross posted on ao3 #cross posted on wattpad #supernatural fanfiction #monster reader #monster

[bipanicoverthegravessiblings]

Can I request Ashley x Vampire male reader please?

Ooohhhh

CW: Light Stalking and Forced feeding of blood

Ashley Graves x Male!Vampire Reader

You’ve seen a lot in your time on this miserable earth

War, famine, weirdos in power alike

…but Ashley Graves is….certainly something

Nightly hunt for blood led you to the secret meeting place of the Cultists.

You fully intended stealing the stale blood they used for the summoning circle when something….fresh caught your attention

You peered around the corner, your nose being your main guide as the fresh scent of blood filled it. Though the animal blood would serve- fairly decently, it was the equivalent of a sad TV dinner. You had assumed the hooded figures left, having done their little dance and went about their day- but no. One figure remained…

…and two- goth people?

The smaller of the two goths, a woman with pink eyes and black hair tied into a messy ponytail, sliced the hand of the cultist- who seemed far too eager to have their blood taken from them. Your eyes narrowed as her and the other goth- a man with shaggy bangs and green eyes- went over the circle in the fresh blood. It appalled you to see them waste such a thing.

The horrid music began, causing you to flinch back and cover your ears from the assault. How could any demon be summoned with that?!

From the muffled music you barely made out the demonic scream as the demon left, and with it the music. You blinked, slowly accepting that it was safe to uncover your ears when you peered back around the corner. The cultist was upset, about something or other- but the goths were….unphased.

Especially the smaller one.

The hooded man left in such a huff he didn’t notice you, and if he did he didn’t care. You looked back and the two were making their way to the elevator.

Mortals like this were too interesting to pass up…

So you stalked them. Their motel room was close by, and they went back in…

But- came right out with their stuff?

Confused, you began to follow them again only to bump into someone also tailing them.

They didn’t spot you, far too focused on following the pair into the park

Trailing behind the person, they hid themselves in the foliage

….free meal!

Andrew stood in stock horror at what he was watching. Gun held at the ready, but too much of a pussy to pull the trigger.

You were hunched over the now dead body of the hitman that had been chasing him and his sister. Far too engulfed in your meal- he hadn’t spotted you.

“Andddrreeewwww! Did you get him?” Ashely peered over his shoulder, her own eyes widening a bit.

The new voice caused you to look up from your meal. Hunched over like a goblin, you gave the siblings a stare akin to that of a dog that was chewing something he shouldn’t. Silence filled the air until Ashley broke it.

“Can we keep him?”

Andrew protested and protested- but Ashley made up her mind with you

A guard vampire! Every girl’s dream!

You were not happy being considered this girl’s “pet”- but frankly this woman terrified you.

Her reactions to things most mortals would flee in terror towards was….indifferent. If anything she was giddy

She even asked if you were going to share the hitman

So you became her “pet”. Her guard vampire

You were instructed to wait in the car as the Graves siblings took care of their parents- you were okay. The AC was on and you were listening to your favorite music.

Ashley inevitably came back though, alone and upset

“It’s so fucking stupid!” Ashley was leaning with her back against the van, her arms crossed under her chest as she glared down at the ground. The window had been opened and you folded your arms over the lip of window slot, listening to her woes, “Andrew is practically sucking mom’s dick, I thought the quarantine would’ve made him on MY side, but nooooooooo!”

“Your mother..” you finally spoke up, “We don’t like her?”

“Oh we hate the bitch!” Ashley confirmed, “But, I have a plan. One Andy can’t say no to!”

You lazily hung your arm over the car door like a cat, “And that isssss?”

Ashley gave you a devious look, mischief glinting in her eyes.

“You hungry?”

Unlocking the car and leading you to the Graves Family home, Ashley invited you in

Good cause you couldn’t have entered if she didn’t

Once again you were instructed to wait, this time in the basement, while she coerced Andrew into her plan

It wasn’t long til she was leading her mother down there, holding her at gun point

If she had anything to say to you, she couldn’t due to the weapon being held at her head

You so desperately wanted to jump the bitch and feast then and there, but Ashley had other plans.

Eventually her father joined, and Andrew had to take care of something while Ashley set up another ritual

“When it comes to mothers Ashley, I am a fucking Saint!” Mrs Graves hissed, leaning forward against her restraints to make her point.

You narrowed your eyes at her from your perch on the washing machine. You knew nothing about this whore, but you liked none of what you were hearing.

“Leave my mistress’ name out of your mouth.” You shot daggers at the bounded mother, if you can even call her that.

“And that thing!” She shouted to Ashley, “What even is that?”

“My pet!” She crossed her arms nodding, you nodded too- far too proud of that title, “You and dad wouldn’t let me get one so I got one myself.”

Mrs Graves’ eyes narrowed, her pupils darting between you and Ashley, “You…can’t be serious.”

“I am! Wanna see me feed him?”

The gears were turning in Ashley’s head, you could tell her primary thought was “How fucked up can I make this so my mother freaks out”. And she seemed content with where she landed. She took the knife she has used to cut into the meat bags, and carefully sliced into her hand. She turned to you, beckoning you down from your perch.

The new scent of blood made your mouth water, pupils dilating at the sweet scent. You hopped down from your perch, approaching Ashley. Before you could open your mouth to say something, she forced her cut into your mouth.

You choked on her blood, it overwhelming your tastebuds. Your hands clasped around her wrist, eyes cracking open slightly. Your eyes met Ashley, her glare telling you that if you pulled away- you would regret it. Knowing how this was going to go, you closed your eyes again and did your best to swallow the blood.

Her parents rightfully freaked out by what they saw, Ashley pulled her hand away and finally let you breath

Andrew soon returned, and things went about. The card limit was no more, the talisman was recharged, and Ashley made the 3 of you a lovely soup.

A part of you feared this woman, while the other part held nothing but respect and adoration for the fucked up mess she was

This started as “haha vampire follows the Graves Siblings” to “You are now her pet”- which ya know, is an appropriate amount of fucked up given this game. Hope you enjoyed dude, love your incorrect quotes <3

#the coffin of andy and leyley #ashley graves #x reader #ashley graves x reader

[mingisdoll]

A dare is a dare

Includes: yelling, cursing, mainly afab!reader

"OH COME ON GUYS! I'M NOT GOING IN THERE!"

"COME ON, Y/N! IT'LL BE FUN!"

"YEAH JUST TAKE THE DARE!"

"I'M NOT GOING INSIDE AN ABANDONED LOVE MOTEL AND STAYING A DAMN NIGHT IN THERE!"

Next thing I know, I was inside a random room at this godforesaken motel. Ok for some context. 

My friends and I got together to celebrate Valentine's Day. We were all lonely bitches. I was freshly single since my dickhead of an ex-boyfriend cheated on me. I cussed him out and broke up with him right after. While the pain was still fresh, I quickly got over it. My friends are the best group I could ever ask for and I wouldn't trade them for the world. 

Until now. 

I sighed shakily as I looked around the room. It didn't look abandoned per say. It looked brand new. I had a chilling feeling go down my spine as I kept looking around. I clutched my blanket and noticed a few things. 

First, the TV was on and it had a playlist on the screen. I assumed you can choose a song and have it play in the background while you had sex. 

Second, there was a table next to the dresser where the TV stood. A metal bucket was on the tabletop and inside it was a bottle of the finest champagne. Beside the bucket were two glasses. Two? Wait a minute... I then turned around and my eyes widened while my breath hitched in my throat. 

Finally, the bed

The bed had red and pink silk sheets with rose petals covering the top of the bed. Along with that, there were eight strange items sitting on the edge of the bed. 

What the fuck have my friends brought me to? Absolutely not. I brought my phone out and I tried to call them when my heart dropped. 

No service. 

I panicked and walked to the door. I breathed a sigh of relief as I was able to open it. I stepped out and shouted for my friends. I didn't want to go through with this dare. I'll just take the punishment. I'd rather be set up on a stupid dating app than pull through with this shit. 

When no one showed up, I grew angry. Those bitches must be hiding from me. Sighing shakily again, I stepped back inside the room and closed the door behind me. I walked to the bed and saw the items. The items in total were

1. A black arm band with some type of symbol on it

2. A dragon plushy. Was that Toothless?

3. A dog collar with some yellow fur on it. Must've belonged to a golden retriever.

4. A small crown

5. A cat collar with some ash gray fur on it. Must've belonged to a Siamese cat.

6. A black ring

7. A pair of red and white Nike shoes with black laces 

8. An apple

These items were strange and there was an even stranger aura emanating from each other. "Well then. Here goes nothing." I picked up the item of my choice.

#ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez #newworldnet

[house-of-slayterr]

What The Slashers Smell Like: 

Micheal Myers:

OG: Car Oil, Plastic Bags, polyester and Petrol

Rob Zombie: Brown Paper Bags, Snickers, Orange Lollies, and Hair Gel.

PeePaw: Marlboro, Suede, Smoked Bourbon and Well Water

Billy Lenz: Cobwebs, Silkworms, Acrylic Yarn and Walnut Floors.

Stu Macher: Sarsaparilla, Black Axe Body Spray, Quebec Gold Weed and Blue Moon Beer.

Billy Loomis: L A Looks hair gel, Blue Jeans, Corn Syrup and Cherry Pie.

Rusty Nail: Diesel, Worn Leather, Kevlar, Carbon Fibre and Corn Fields.

Lester Sinclair: Moss, Pine Needles, Dog Fur and Lady-Bird Beetles.

Bo Sinclair: Motor Oil, Flour, Steel Alloy, Linen and Rust.

Vincent Sinclair: Hot Wax, Oil Paint, Dry Mahogany, 3 Day Old Sweater.

Norman Bates: Motel Sheets, Gravel Roads, Laundry Detergent, Wood Polish and Anti Perspirant.

Candyman: Bees, Silver, Thrift Stores, Rope and Coconut Oil.

Brahms: Fibre Glass, Douglas Fir Wood, Cashmere Sweaters and Fire Wood.

Jason Voorhees: Muddy Puddles, Lake Water, Daisies, Tree Sap and Spruce Wood.

Sam: Three Musketeers, Marshmallow Fluff, Pumpkin Seeds, Mango Lollies and Fall Leaves.

The Grabber: Dirt, Flannels, Plaster, Eggshells and Paco Rabanne Pour Homme.

Pennywise: Buttered Popcorn, Latex, Rusty Metal, Funnel Cake and Faygo Red Pop.

Art: Paraffin Wax, Glycerin, Diner Fries, Squid Ink and Nail Polish.

#slahers #fang rambles #fangs headcannon #micheal myers #Stu macher #billy loomis #Billy Lenz #Rusty nail #candy man #Bo Sinclair #Lester sinclair #Vincent Sinclair #brahms heelshire #norman bates #jason voorhees #sam trick r treat #the grabber #Pennywise #art the clown

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Cas, invisible, comes across Dean getting reamed by Crowley during their demonic summer of love. He should leave. He should leave.

(He doesn't and they all have messy emotional sex).

You know the drowley fic I've been going insane over writing for the past few days? Here it is!!!! The Dog, the Lamb and the Butcher. Demon Dean somehow manages to cuck both Crowley and Castiel while having sex with both of them at the same time, and while being a bratty sub. Bravo I say! Here's the opening (Warning for non-consentual voyeurism):

Old habits die hard. It's not a phrase Castiel fully understood when he was an angel. He had often (to his shame, derisively) wondered to his Brethren why, when humans found that an action brought only pain and struggle, they repeated it over and over. He had been told that this was why angels were needed; to shepherd these stumbling, confused sheep back to the righteous path. Having now spent more time among the flock, and having stumbled himself countless times, he now recognises that it's not so easy to give up on something once you have begun. Pride - I know what I'm doing - cost - I've already come so far - and fear - if I falter here, the world that I adore will be lost - keeps the lamb tangling itself up in the barbed wire again and again and again. 

He lands silently and invisibly in the first room of the motel Sam is certain Dean is in, from a sighting of the impala mentioned in relation to a brutal death in a paper from one town over. 

"Shady Nights motel," Sam had said, grimly, pointing out the address on its outdated webpage, "If there's a horrible pun in the name Dean's going for it." 

Shady Nights is sparsely populated. And, Castiel notes, flying to check room number 2, sparsely shaded. Yellow light from the street lamps outside streams rudely through the useless closed curtains of room 3, 4 - 

Every light in room 5 is on. There is no mistaking what's happening on the bed. Dean, laid out on his back, naked, pushing his hips back gamely into Crowley who stands, also nude, reaming him. He knows where they are. He knows what they're doing. He has absolutely no reason to stay, invisible, watching it happen. It's long past the times when Castiel felt it necessary to sneak around the edges of Dean's life to keep him safe, and yet, well. Old habits. 

Crowley's penis is thicker than average. Cas can see it's girth whenever he draws back, and how it stretches Dean's dripping wet hole. Whenever his balls slap against Dean, Crowley lets out a little noise of effort, like a professional tennis player in the midst of a rally. Dean's noises are breathier, his eyes closed blissfully like he's finally able to relax after a long life of hardship. He frequently swaps over which of his ankles is on top to keep himself tight to Crowley's movements. 

The room stinks of cigarettes, sex and dried blood. Given the lack of apparent injury to either of the people on the bed, Cas is quite certain that he doesn't want to know what happened. Even the pictures allowed in that local paper had been...unsettling. 

For once, it's something of a relief that his powers are depleted. If he had come to this scene able to see Crowley's twisted black rose form rutting against the bounds of Dean's watered down soul, he might have felt sick to see it. As it is, he can see their human visages, which are much more pleasant to behold. Although, Crowley's strong, meaty shoulder frequently blocks Cas’s view of Dean's face. 

Cas circles around the bed, to get a better look at his friend. There's a glisten around Dean's penis, the aftermath of lube or perhaps saliva, suggesting considerate foreplay, and a glisten of sweat on his forehead. He looks innocent, here, guileless. His expressions shift and turn openly, his mouth slack and moving around only true sounds of pleasure. The only other time Castiel has known Dean to be so free of tension in his face is in sleep, but from the way the rest of his body pushes in to Crowley, he's not asleep. 

To see Dean unguarded is a gift Cas was not expecting to find. Or to steal.

read more on ao3. Please read the tags when you get there.

#drowstiel #deancascrowley #cawis creates #demon dean #they're all trans btw. i elaborate in my author's note

[munchymuchy]

New Money

(It’s the year 2006 it’s been two years since rikishi was released from the wwe. Though he’s still getting money and traction through doing his signings..it started to feel boring to him so he started doing something more fun to pull in money)

Rikishi sat in his car in nothing but a trench coat and a hat in front of the hotel waiting for one of his clients to come. After being released from the wwe rikishi found another way to make money..he was giving out personal stinkfaces to his fans.

Strangely his family had no problem with him doing it but told him to keep it on the low as not to make a media frenzy. Kishi kept looking forward to the motel in his own thought until he seen a car pull up into the lot. He waited to make sure before he got out that it was one of his client and surely enough it was.

It was man that looked like he was in his early 20s and looked like he weighed about 137 pounds with shaggy brown hair. He watched the man go inside and came back out with a room key. He sat for a little longer before he got just to make sure no one was around and made his move to the room door. He knocked a few times and waited for it to open.

Rikishi looked over his shoulder a couple a times to make sure again that no one was around and the door creaked open.

???: H-holy shit it’s really you

Rikishi gives a soft chuckle and softly push the door open and closes it quickly. The young looked as pale as a ghost, like he was a little scared. Kishi looked at the boy with concern and patted his head

Rikishi: Aw come on little dude, not gonna hurt ya.

The man seemed to look more relaxed and gave a nervous laugh. “Now, let’s get started” Rikishi said and started to take off his hat and started to untie his trench coat. The man sat on the bed watching the older Samoan man strip in front of him. He opened his trench coat revealing that he was wearing nothing under there besides a red thong.

???: wait, I thought you wore a black thong

Rikishi: You’re right, had to improvise since I gained all this weight. Booty got too big for the other one.

Rikishi seen the man blush a little when he said that. He gave him a small smile thinking he could have so much fun with this one.

Rikishi: oh yeah, don’t forget ya gotta pay me first before we start

Rikishi said putting out his hand out for money.

That snapped the man back to reality and reached into his pocket pulling out a wad of cash. It took rikishi by surprise that this young dude had this much money. He had atleast 1,000 dollars in a band. Rikishi put it on a desk and dropped his trench coat. He walked in front of the man and grabbed his face a little and then turned around to show off his butt.

Rikishi could feel the him breathing heavily on his butt. He could feel his hands on his butt squeezing one of his cheeks and wiggling the other. Seemed like the boy was having fun back there already. Rikishi hiked up his thong a little more and started to bend over signaling to him to dive his head in. The man wasted no time and put his face in his crack.

The boy started to sniff deeply taking in the scent with such an eager sniff like a dog. Rikishi started to move his hips in a circular motion so he could go deeper in his ass. After a couple of minutes rikishi stomach started to let out a low growl. Causing the man to pull back from his butt.

???: ya’know…if y-you need to fart..you can…you can do it on my face.

Rikishi looked back at the man surprised at what he said. He raised an eyebrow at him causing the man to almost back pedal.

???:O-or you d-don’t have to you can just let I-it out in bathroom or i-in a corner. I-I’m not gay or w-weird or anything ju-

Rikishi: what ya name son?

Finn: F-finn?

Rikishi: we’ll finn I’ll do it, don’t back pedal ain’t no judgement here

Rikishi reached behind himself to grab Finn’s head to place him in back his butt. Rikishi gave a little grunt and let off a 4 second fart into the man’s face. Finn moaned and grabbed the side of his cheeks to get in deeper. Another fart came out a lot stronger and bubblier. Rikishi looked down and saw Finn’s pants have a tint in the front. Rikishi laughed at the man getting a hard on after finn claimed he wasn’t gay.

Another growl emanated into the room. A lot deeper and louder..sounded like more gas was brewing and sounded like it was worse. He looked back at the small man deep in his butt sniffing away like a hungry animal. He pulled from the man’s face and started to peel his thong off showing his bare ass to the man.

Rikishi: hope your ready because your in for a treat!

Rikishi started to spread his cheeks wide, allowing finn to see the insides of his cheeks. Discoloration, a lil hair and his pucker. Before finn could react, rikishi backed his ass up onto his face. His ass wrapped around Finn’s head like a glove and let a wet fart fly out onto Finn’s face. His nose was right on his hole so every fart went straight into his lungs.

Finn started to get weak and his eyes started to feel like they were closing. However, his weakened state didn’t last long due to rikishi clamping his cheeks down on Finn’s face. With that, rikishi let off a fart that started off SBD and grew louder. It lasted around 12 seconds and Finn couldn’t handle it anymore blacking out inside the crack of this giant man.

Rikishi reached behind himself again and pulled the man out of his butt. Finn was basically a rag doll with a little brown smudge of his nose that look like a button. It even looked like he came in his pants. Rikishi got his stuff together, his money, and walked out with another satisfied customer.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you all enjoy the story. I kinda came up with this off the top of my head. I might do two more parts to this not sure yet.

#rikishi #fart kink #stinkface #stinkface story #slight shart

[rachi-roo]

Hiyaaaa, Rachi! How are you doing? If fic requests are open, may I please request a (romantic if possible) Lee! Fyodor Ler! Dazai fic?

You know how Fyodor is all calculated and menacing? Yeah, that flies out the moment he's tickled. Let me tell you, it's canon (prove me otherwise😂) that this rat man would be the cutest lee. I'm talking cute-ass nervous/anticipation giggles, his eyes furiously trained on the hands of the ler (our whore-I mean Dazai), twitching when he hasn't even been touched yet. And even Dazai is flabbergasted when he hears the rat's tickly laugh. It's uncharacteristically sweet😂. He doesn't even tease him about it because it's so adorable.

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Bungo Stray Dogs: "Did you know rats laugh when tickled?"

Hi friendo! Im doing fabulous, thank you! Hope you're well! Oooh! Another challenging one~ Thank you very much for the ask! FyoZai is an interesting ship, one I hadn't considered before now 🤔 Kinda gay but we love that XD Tough, menacing men's being turned into jelly at just sight of wriggling fingers will ALWAYS be a favourite! I've written them as kind of frenemies with benefits XD I hope it satisfies! ❤️🩷❤️

Summary: Dazai manages to break into Fyodors temporary secret residence and has an important fact he has to share!

Lee!Fyodor, Ler!Dazai, Ship

Tw: Mild 'suggestive' flirting/ physical contact

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Night fell over the busy city streets, Fyodor was sitting alone in an inconspicuous little motel rental apartment. It's just somewhere peaceful to stop off between his usual stabbing and hacking and whatnot.

The Russian sighed, running a hand through his ebony locks as he lay on the bed provided, wearing something a little less formal for his rest. Just some black joggers and an oversized shirt. Nice and comfy.

As he stared at the ceiling, he felt his eyelids grow heavy, starting to slip closed as his mind began to fog up with sleep.

Ssshuk-

The unmistakable sound of a sliding window being lifted startled the resting terrorist, making him sit up instantly, just in time to see a gangly leg and arm fall through the window.

"Hupsy daisy!" The lanky limbs belonged to none other than Dazai Osamu. He poked his head in with a smirk, looking directly at Fyodor with a chuckle.

"There you are~!" He chimed, pulling himself through the tiny window and dusting himself off. "Geez, I thought the information said room four. I just saw the little old lady next door completely butt nude. Not a pleasant sight." He cringed.

Fyodor was already at his mental capacity limit just by having this goon break in through the window. But he knew this was far from over.

"What do you want, Dazai?" He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He didn't bother asking how Dazai found his location. He knew the goober would probably just say 'magic' or something stupid like that.

Dazai grinned, sitting by Fyodors' side on the edge of his bed. "Awww, c'mon buddy. Do I really need a reason to visit my arch nemesis slash bestie?" He chuckled, kicking his shoes off and turning to sit cross-legged on the bed.

"Dazai," Fyodor sighed, covering his mouth as he yawned. "I'm tired, okay? Can we do this another time? Go talk to Granny next door if you're bored." He turned on his side, nuzzling his face into his pillow, hoping Dazai would just leave if he ignored him.

Obviously, that wasn't going to work at all. Being ignored only edged him on. "But I have a fun fact for you! Come ooooon!" He shook the russians arm playfully.

"Uuuugh... Will you go if I listen to your stupid fact?"

"Yes! Immediately!" Dazai nodded.

"Fine! What is it?" Fyodor kept his face half buried in his pillow before feeling Dazai suddenly grab him and flip him onto his back, straddling his waist and pinning his arms beside his head in one swift movement.

"Aaaalright!" The brunette beamed. "Did you know rats laugh when tickled?"

The floor fell from beneath Fyodor. He felt his stomach drop and then fill with butterflies. His heart rate suddenly shot up as his cheeks flushed with a pink glow.

"I did not know... That rats could do that. No." He felt so very silly at just how immediate his reaction was to a simple word. One damn word!

"You didn't know that? Whaaaat? That's craaaazy!" Dazai dragged out sarcastically, knowing he had Fyodor right where he wanted him.

"No, so, is that all? Or is th-ehee! No! No, stop that." Fyodors' demonic reputation was stripped from him. All Dazai had to do was raise his hands and flex those fiendish fingers, and Fyodor melted like cotton candy in a stream.

Dazai smirked, cruelly edging his teasing fingers closer to Fyodors torso, not giving any indication as to where he would actually strike.

"What's the matter, Fyodor? It's not like you're a rat or anything. Unless, maybe you are? Maybe you're a silly, giggly, ticklish little rat~!" God, his teasing was relentless!

Fyodor tried biting back his anxious giggling as he fought with Dazais hands. Swatting and grabbing at any advances the detective made.

"Stohohp! Dazai! This isn't fuhunnyyy!" He managed to grip both of Dazais wrists, grinning giddily up at his attacker as he tried to catch his breath.

"Oh, but it is funny! It's so, so funny to see you wriggling like a widdle wat!" Dazai smirked, letting Fyodor hold his wrists for a moment as he leaned down, softly placing a few butterfly kisses on his 'friend's' neck, making his shoulders bunch.

"Hehe! N-Noho! Dazai! G-Get ohoff!" He blushed profusely, his feet kicking against the mattress. In the split second that he was distracted, Dazai snuck his hands down, digging into Flydors' sides, kneading into them with his nimble fingers.

"Gotcha, ratty!"

"NYAHAHA! Shit! Shiiit! Naaahaha!"

Dazai put his full weight on Fyodor, keeping him trapped as he gripped his hips, drilling his thumbs into the protruding bone.

"Oh, what a skinny rat you are~"

"Wait! Dazai not thEHEHAHAHAAAAA!"

Fyodor wheezed as he tried to curl up, his hips bucking slightly against Dazais. The suicidal numpty chuckled, making silly false moaning sounds.

"Ah~ Fyodor~ Harder~!"

"GET OFFA MEHEHE! Y-You peheherv!" Fyodor pushed on Dazais cheeks, trying to wriggle himself free.

"You crehehEHEHEEP! AH! Ya ub'yu tebyahaha, ublyudok! UMEREHEHET!"

"Uuuh, no tengo espanol?"

"Screhehew you!"

"Ah~! How forward of you my dear~!"

"DAZAI!" Fyodor grabbed Dazais' hands, pulling them away from his hips only to have his own hands suddenly pinned over his head with one of Dazais.

"Got you nooow~" Dazai grinned evily, wriggling his finger close to Fyodors exposed armpits, enjoying the power he weilded as he watched his helpless buddy writhe and flinch beneath him.

"Stohop teasing! You neheheee! No!"

Dazai gasped, seeing Fyodors shirt had ridden up. "Ohoho! What do we have here~?" He cooed, slowly starting to drag his fingers back and forth over his exposed tummy, biting his lip as he watched Fyodors skin tremble.

"A-Aha! Gh-! Stoahahap! Hah-!"

"Coochie, coochie, cooo little rat~" He dipped his finger into his belly button, earning a satisfying squeal. "Hehe, what a squeaky little rat you are! Eek, eek!"

"I swehear I-Ihihi'm gonna kill you!"

"You what?"

"I'll kIHIHIIIIIYAHAHA!" The Russians body arched as Dazai suddenly switched his tactics, clawing at Fyodors underarm.

"Didn't quite catch that, buddy." Dazai taunted, smiling down at Fyodors' exasperated expression. His eyes scrunched shut, his tear stained cheeks a warm pink hue and his bright unyielding smile filling the room with his loud, relentless laughter. It brought out the sadist in Dazai, seeing his loved one like this.

"I could go all night with you like this~ It's quite a nice view. Tickle, tickle, tickle~"

"Plehehease! No! Noho! Mehercy! AHAHAHAAAAA!"

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Finally, Dazai was satisfied. He hopped off his partner, stretching his arms as if nothing had happened, slipping his shoes on casually as he listened to Fyodors heavy breathing.

"Did I go too hard?" He asked, turning to look as Fyodor curled in on himself, hiding his face in his pillow as he hugged it to his chest.

"Haha, awww, lil' rat is all tired. Darn, look at the mess you've made." He chuckled, gesturing to the bed sheets that had been pulled loose due to all Fyodors thrashing.

He smiled, gently tucking the bed sheets back under the mattress, so they were nice and neat. "Are you really ignoring me now?... Fyodooor?" Dazai chimed, swiping a finger across Fyodors bare foot, immediately getting smacked across the face with a pillow.

"DAMN IT DAZAI!"

"What!? I thought we were having a moment!"

"OUT! Get out!" Fyodor growled, his face beat red, steam pouring from his ears like he was ready to burst.

"But Fyodooor!"

"NO! Y-You're the worst!"

"Okay, okay." Dazai leaned in suddenly, placing a soft kiss on his partner's forehead, making Fyodor need a reboot. "I'll catch you later, ratty~" Dazai smirked, already halfway out the window again when Fyodor tossed his pillow at him.

"OUT!"

"Love you too!"

Fyodor sighed, flopping back down onto his bed with a huff.

"Yeah..."

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#BSD #Bungo stray dogs #fyodor x dazai #Lee!Fyodor #Ler!Dazai #bsd tickle #Bungo stray dogs tickle #sfw tickles #slight spice? #dazai osamu #fyodor dostoevsky

[novafics]

l Storm l

Dean Winchester x Reader 

Warnings: storms, Talk of potential injury, talk of animal abuse.

Summary: Coming back from a hunt you discover something very interesting, but how is Dean going to react to this discovery?

Word Count: 801

Masterlist

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You knew this was a bad idea the moment you contemplated doing it, but how could you resist?. 

You had just finished your solo Vampire hunt and was on the way back to the bunker. The hunt itself was relatively easy, only 1 vampire gone rogue and it was over faster than you thought it would be, so fast that you thought you would rather make the drive that very night back to the bunker instead of staying in the motel you had already pre-booked. You don’t know why, whether it was the lure of your soft, warm bed or the thought of Dean waiting for you in your soft warm bed but you were eager to return to your man. That, and you had a gut feeling that there was a reason you needed to make your way back early.

Half way through the drive back the weather took a turn for the worse, the sky looked dark and angry while there was rain pelting your windscreen with such force you thought it might just break. It got to a point that you had to pull over, the last thing you wanted was to survive a vampire hunt just to get taken out by a storm. You pulled over into a clearing on the side of the road, it was pretty much barren apart from a few trees now bare with the force of the wind stripping each and every tree of their remaining leaves.

As you sat in the car, the storm still causing havoc, you spotted something out of the corner of your eye. Over next to one of the trees sat a black bag, seeming to be moving with a force that was contained inside the bag and not from the forces raging outside. Deciding to investigate you took a strong breath in preparing yourself for the wet and cold you were about to face and you set off for the tree.

Slowly bending down you discovered that there was definitely something inside this bag, and it wanted out!.

Holding your breath once more you tore into the bag to discover a miserable looking,  cold and shivering puppy. ‘Who the hell would do such a thing?!’ you thought to yourself. You had seen some pretty gruesome shit in your time as a hunter with the boys but never something this inhumane to an innocent animal. 

Putting your anger aside for the sake of this little puppy you quickly gathered him up into your arms and made your way back to the temporary safety of the car. Once inside you checked over the puppy to see if there weren't any injuries you should worry about and after not finding anything for a solid 20 minutes you let out the breath you were holding finally realising that the innocent dog was ok.

Not even a second after you stop looking over the dog he climbed into your lap and started licking your face to show his gratitude. “What am I gonna do with you huh?” you asked the puppy as if he was gonna answer you. 

You knew that Dean was not a dog person, Sam yes so that wouldn’t be a problem but Dean? He was not gonna be happy, but as the puppy looked into your eyes, still sat in your lap how could you resist?

After the further 40 minute drive back to the bunker you were finally back, the puppy next to you eager to see everything inside. You pushed open the bunker door and made your way down the steps, you didn’t get much further before you were tackled into a hug by Dean.

“Where have you been?! I was so close to going out into the storm and finding you myself, are you alright sweetheart?” he said frantically, holding your face in his hands. “Yes I'm fine baby, i promise” you said finally giving in and kissing him as you had been wishing to for the last few hours.

“Hey is that a dog?” you heard Sam say from behind Dean. The puppy was currently sitting waiting patiently behind your legs waiting to be introduced. “Yes he’s the reason I was so late, someone just threw him away in a bag, can you believe that?!. Look I know you're not a fan of dog’s Dean but ..” your rambling was cut short with another kiss from Dean making you relax instantly and all the stress you had melted away. “I don’t care if you came back with an entire zoo as long as I have you here with me, '' Dean said, making tears come to your eyes.

“So, what should we name him?” Dean said, bending down to lovingly stroke the puppy. “I've been thinking, I think his name should be…. Storm”.

#supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernaturalxreader #supernatural x you #supernaturalxyou #spn #supernaturalfics #supernatural fics #supernatural faniction #supernaturalfanfiction #spn x reader #spnxreader #spn x you #spnxyou #dean #deanwinchester #dean winchester #deanwinchesterxreader #deanwinchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #deanwinchesterxyou #deanwinchester x you #sam #samwinchester #sam winchester