G'day, I'm Beth! Libra sun, cheeky—professional over-thinker...
I write fem!reader inserts for Dean Winchester and the other two guys below ↓ Expect smut, explicit language, and adult situations. Please mind ALL warnings—I'm a mum of two little boys; I don't need or want anymore responsibility, thanks!
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Dating the Demon (working title) ⤑ Dean x Reader
body-swap series
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summary: dean's teasing gets him more than he bargained for
tags/warnings: mdni, smut, friends to lovers, admitting feelings, dean's a fucking tease, hand stuff female receiving, kissing, jealousy, kissing, older dean, dilf era dean, implied reader is younger than him, referenced m*sturbatin, referenced toys, teasing, pining,
notes: if dean grinned at me id be sat watching him like the meme of abby lee miller
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Dean hadn't been prying, honestly. It hadn't even been his idea to go through your duffle but when he'd asked for Advil, to soothe the ache in his back from where that stupid ghost from last night had hurled him into a bookshelf, you’d directed him to the small toiletry bag nestled down in the bottom of it.
“Huh,” he said after a moment of rifling through your various bottles and tubes, his hand curling around a small hard lump of plastic.
“What?” you asked, not looking up from where you were tying your boot. You’d been on your way out, doing a last sweep of the motel to make sure you had everything before you headed back to the bunker. But Dean didn’t reply, forcing you to look up. And there watching you with the biggest shit eating grin you’d ever seen him pull was Dean, holding a small, pink vibrator between his fingers. You froze, your eyes wide and your face flushing as Dean’s chuckle rang in your ears when you immediately reached for it. But he raised his hand above his head and laughed.
“Dean give me that!” you said, trying to reach for it but he blocked you.
“What this?” he teased as you swiped once more, your fingers barely grazing his hand.
“It’s not funny!” you grunted, your cheeks on fire. Dean didn’t seem to notice; he was enjoying your embarrassment too much.
“Oh come on don’t be embarrassed. It’s fine, I get it, you know everyone needs a little release now and then,” he laughed, turning to get out of your way. But you weren’t even registering him now, you were serious. It wasn’t funny. The embarrassment of someone, especially Dean, seeing that made you want the ground to swallow you up.
“Give it!” you grunted as you thumped him, toppling him onto the bed. He kept it buried underneath him as you straddled his back, trying to swipe your hands under the solidness of his torso.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he said, flipping you with one roll. He landed on his back, stashing the toy beneath him as you scrambled to get over him again. But his hands caught yours, holding you tight enough by the wrists that they just flapped, swiping at his face which only made him laugh harder.
“You want it back that bad huh? Wow, didn’t have you down as a toy kinda girl,” he teased. You weren’t listening. You were sure you looked a state now. Your hair was all over and you had a sheen of sweat from how frantic you’d been and you were sure that your cheeks were near the colour of the offending object, hidden underneath him.
“Dean give it,” you said, and then, in one last ditch attempt you shifted your knee in a way that made him drop your hands on instinct, his own hovering over his crown jewels as you fell, hand swooping underneath his back so you could fish it out. It was a dirty move, dirtier still if you’d actually gone through with it but you weren’t at that stage just yet. Once it was safely in your grasp you scrambled off him, scowling as you stuffed it back in your bag.
“Oh, come on I was just messin with ya,” Dean said, lying spent on the bed, a grin still on his face though you refused to stop pouting. Your heart was hammering in your chest though you knew you were being ridiculous, that he was just joking. Of course it was natural, you knew that. You also weren’t naïve to think that he and Sam never found moments to themselves at the bunker or in the dingy motels you stayed in. But right now you couldn’t see the funny side, couldn’t join in on his teasing. Because this was Dean.
Dean who told silly jokes to make you laugh or teased you a little until you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. Dean who laughed when you did, his grin burning bright like the sun in a way that you couldn’t help but stare at. Dean who put his hand on your thigh when you were driving like it was nothing. Dean whose touch felt like it would melt your skin, leaving a mark only you could feel. Leaving behind an ache that you could never get rid of. Dean who didn’t need to do that. Dean who went out and found someone to warm his bed for the night when he was lonely. Dean who made you lonely when he chose to do that. Dean who crept into your thoughts when you were alone in the bunker. His smile, his touch, the way he looked at you making you reach for the tiny pink helper which was nothing in comparison to him.
He called your name but you didn’t listen, you just swung your duffle on your shoulder and muttered that you’d meet him at the car. Dean sighed and flopped back on the bed, hoping you’d forgive him before you made it over state lines.
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The road home was long but straight. Two lane black top edged by dense forests for nothing but the next two hundred miles. It had been pretty at first, but the thickness of the trees meant the radio reception was spotty to say the least and given that you had refused to speak for the last two hours, your eyes glued to your phone through the intermittent periods of silence, it was painfully awkward.
You could feel Dean watching you, his eyes leaving the road every couple of minutes to glance your way, shifting like he was going to say something before he thought better of it. It was only when the radio cut out for good did he clear his throat, waiting for you to look at him. You didn’t. Dean sighed.
“Are you still not talking to me?” he grumbled. You looked at him with a glare before you turned back at your phone, scrolling through your Facebook looking for someone who’s life was even bigger of a mess than yours to make yourself feel better. Dean huffed, “oh c’mon. It’s not a big deal.’
“You were out of line,” you muttered.
“It was a joke,” he reasoned, earning himself another glare, “I didn’t mean anything by it, honestly. It’s not a big deal, we all do it. It’s natural.”
“So? I don’t bring up every long shower and extended car ride you take, do I?” you said.
“Yeah, but I don’t mind,” he shrugged, “because I’m grown up enough to know it’s not a big deal. Whatever you do in your room-”
“Is none of your business,” you snapped. Your phone was forgotten now, slung to the side as folded your arms across your chest, trying to keep yourself together. You could feel the tightness in your chest, the embarrassment from before creeping back in. Dean shifted. He could see you were getting self-conscious, your cheeks tinging pink like they always did when you were nervous. It was how he knew he’d fucked up, knew he needed to back track and steer the pair of you back on course. One that didn’t make you torture him by shutting him out.
“Look I’m sorry okay,” he said quietly, clearing his throat, “I didn’t mean to tease you…it just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you scoffed. Dean shifted, looking awkward himself as he said, “you know…I just didn’t think you’d need a hand in that department.”
“I don’t,” you laughed in disbelief. You couldn’t believe you were having this conversation, that you were telling him about this. The pair of you never talked about sex, not really, not yours anyway. Dean made jokes or showed up with hickeys from nights before but it was never mentioned. He did it to make Sam squirm or roll his eyes. When you mentioned a man he changed the subject, like the thought of you doing anything like that was ludicrous. Like you were some kid.
Still now you felt the need to explain yourself. That you weren’t some sex-crazed teenager who took every opportunity to lock herself away because she couldn’t bring herself to trawl dive bars like he did.
“It’s just quicker sometimes. You and Sam are just kind always around and sometimes…well sometimes it’s hard to be…” you trailed off, ears bright red, watching as Dean waited expectantly, before the word slipped out, “quiet.”
Dean looked at you, mouth agape as the words lingered in the car between you, a thousand images running through his head. He shifted, trying to ignore he way his jeans felt distinctly tighter than they had a moment ago. You continued to look at him, that beautiful clueless look you always gave him whenever you said something that unknowingly drove him wild.
“What?” you asked.
“Nothing,” he lied, looking back to the road as he tried to focus. But the road was deserted, an expanse of asphalt, bleak and boring and no match for the thoughts in his head. He could still feel you, writhing against him, all hands and heavy breath against his neck as you fought for the damn thing. Now he could feel your eyes on him, a grin growing on your face as you chuckled.
“What?” he panicked.
“Nothing,” you said, breathing that adorable laugh you did whenever he caught you off guard with a joke.
“No c’mon,” he demanded, heat creeping up his neck.
“I just, I thought I was flustered but you’re downright embarrassed,” you giggled.
“No, I’m not,” he scoffed.
“Oh, come on Dean. Like you said it’s natural besides don’t tell me you’ve never had…help,” you said.
“Never need it sweetheart,” he rebutted. You rolled your eyes, “you know it’s a friend not an enemy right? Nothing to be scared of.”
“Oh shut up,” he said, though he didn’t want you to. He’d take all the teasing in the world if it meant hearing that giggle. If it meant you’d keep talking to him like this. You’d never done it before. He couldn’t stomach it. Hearing you talk about other men, how they touched you, got to hear all those noises you made. Loud ones apparently. Well he couldn’t cope with that.
“Clearly you just don’t know what you’re doing,” he countered, “you need more practice.”
“Oh yeah should I get it down to a tight five minutes like you?” you asked.
“Efficiency, when needed, is a skill,” he said proudly.
“Right,” you drawled, “and it’s nothing to do with-”
You trailed off, going quiet as you looked out the window. He glanced over, confused at whatever you’d stopped yourself from saying, your fingers fiddling with a hole in your jeans awkwardly. Dean frowned, “what?”
“Nothing, never mind,” you muttered.
“No go on princess,” he challenged, “out with it.”
You hesitated, not meeting his eye as you said, “well you’re not exactly complicated, guys, I mean. It’s not really a skill…”
“Is that right?” he said.
“Yeah, I mean a stiff breeze could get your motor running,” you said.
“That’s what you think huh?” he asked, jaw ticking. He couldn’t help but take it personally, that you saw him as some horny teenage boy. When you had no idea. No idea how he tried his best not to fawn over you, how every move or look made that heat pool in his belly. How he’d had to shove it all down, only allowing himself to dwell on all that when he had a moment to himself. How it wasn’t just anyone who did it, it was just them he had to run to because he couldn’t put that all on you. It wasn’t fair. You meant too much to him and he couldn’t ruin that.
You seemed to notice how you’d upset him but you didn’t apologise, just persisted in the way you did, the way he normally liked as you sighed, “oh come on! are you really gonna pretend I’m wrong here? How many girls do you bed on average per week? You only have to think about sex and you're out the damn door! And then you make fun of me for having one fuckin’ vice on the rare occasion I get the bunker or the motel to myself-”
Dean had stopped listening, the impala turning down a long dirt road in the middle of the thicket. You stopped your ranting, confused as to what the hell was doing as you demanded, "Dean where are you going?”
He didn’t answer, just put the car in park and looked at you. You could feel your heart pounding, in a different way to before, the look in his eyes making you squirm as you realised you’d upset him.
"You really think that?" he asked.
"Think what?"
"That I'm like that," he replied.
"Dean, I have eyes," you sighed. Was he really taking issue with this? Did he think you'd never noticed? That it didn't drive you crazy to watch his endless pursuit of anything that moved?
"And you never wondered why?" he laughed.
"Why what?" you snapped, wondering what you were missed.
"You don't see it, do you?" he said, looking at you like he couldn't believe how dense you were.
"Dean what are you talking about-"
"It's you!," he cried, "it's not random! I'm not obsessed with sex; I'm obsessed with you!"
"What?" you whispered.
"The way you look at me. The way you smile or roll your damn eyes at me when I'm trying to make you laugh. You touch me all the time and don't even notice and then I'm like a fuckin' twelve-year-old poppin' his first boner. And I can't think, can't function 'cause I'm thinking of you all the fuckin' time-"
"Dean," you breathed.
"And then I watch you on cases, at bars or whatever. The way guys look at you, it makes me want to rip their damn heads off but you're so fuckin' nice you never see it. So I just pretend it doesn't bother me, pretend it's not driving me insane. Find a cheap skirt or a bar to stop thinking about you," he ranted, his chest heaved, words coming out without him giving permission. He seemed to realise all too late he'd said too much but he was too far gone, too broken from watching you just gawk at him like he was crazy, "have you never wondered why we don't talk about this shit? It's because the thought of you with someone else, hell even that stupid fuckin' thing might make my head explode-"
His words were cut off as you launched yourself at him, crashing your lips to his. He took a moment to respond, to comprehend what you were doing but then he moved against you, pulling you closer as you as he held your face in his hands. It was hot, heavy and left you breathless, his hands like fire against your bare skin as the pulled at your hips.
“What was that for?” Dean breathed as you broke away, forehead pressed to his, your chest heaving but so full of fervour you didn’t care. You laughed, your thumb sweeping across his jaw, his big green eyes wide with disbelief. And he called you clueless.
“Dean who did you think I was thinking about?” you asked, pressing a kiss where your hand had been, his stubble rough against your lips as you moved to whisper in his ear, “you’re right. I don’t notice any of them. It you, it’s always you I notice. You I want instead of that thing-”
That was it. Without warning he pulled you onto his lap, lips returning to the assault as you squealed his name. He didn’t stop, just kept kissing you as you pressed yourself to him, making him groan as his hands found their way under your shirt and found nothing but bare skin.
“You trying to kill me,’” he grunted, hips bucking against you as he took your nipple between his fingers. You moaned, you thighs clenching together as the heat in your belly started to grow, desire chugging away at rapid pace. As his mouth moved your neck his hands continued downward, the layers between you yanked away until he was touching you, fingers burying inside you without warning.
“You’re fucking soaked,” he said with a breathy laugh, “here I was thinking you were just clueless. This what fighting with me does to you honey?”
“Fighting, arguing, hell just looking at you,” you breathed, rocking forward until his hand flat was against you, sounding slick and desperately filthy as his thumb found your clit.
“And to think I’ve been running to bash one out every time you smiled at me,” he panted, sucking against that sweet spot on your neck that made you see stars. You didn’t know how your brain managed to function, to come to from the ecstasy that was building by the minute but his words and the way you could feel him, straining against his jeans, begging for you pulled you to reality. Your hands moved to his belt fumbling to get him out but he grabbed your wrist and stopped you.
“Dean,” you whined, entirely too needy, you could see by the way his eyes glinted. He always did like teasing you too much.
“Nuh uh sweetheart. I’m gonna make you regret ever thinking this isn’t pure skill,” he said, grinding he heel of his hand down against you, the friction making you clench around him.
“Oh god,’” you cried, rocking needily in tandem with it, your mouth barely working against his as he worked you, sloppy and desperate. It was everything you’d ever wanted and more, something you were sure he never did with those girls.
“Actually the names Dean,” he teased, laughing as you still managed to roll your eyes. Even here, a quivering wreck barely managing to string a sentence together he was still trying to make you smile.
“Shut up,” you panted because that was all you could muster, your release was coming, tightening around him, you nails in digging into his shoulder.
“That’s it baby,” he cooed taking in the sight of you. Maybe he should’ve talked about this with you before because no matter what you said he was sure no one had ever gotten you like this before, slack jawed half lidded and moaning his name like it was a god damn prayer. Not even that stupid toy could make you feel like this he was sure if it.
You came with a whimper, a gush over his hand that could’ve made him blow his load right then and there. He was sure at some points he’d come close. And that was just by watching you, the way you giggled when he teased Sam or how you put your hand on his arm to get past him in the kitchen in what he now realised was plenty of space. But now, as you collapsed against him all heaving chest and loose limbs it was all he could do not to throw you on the seat and bury himself until you’d taken everything he had. But you just rested against him, lips branding his skin as you mumbled expletives.
“You good?” he chuckled, holding you tighter as he wiped his other hand on his jeans.
“That was…” you couldn’t finish. Couldn’t make the right words for that form in your brain.
“Worth the wait?” he whispered, his lips muffled by your hair.
“Annoyed we could’ve done it sooner,” you countered. Dean chuckled; you weren’t wrong. You pulled back, smiley and happy, your fingers running through is hair and down his flannel until they rested, fiddling with his belt.
“So,” you smiled.
“So,” Dean replied,
“Back seat?” you suggested,
“Definitely,” he said leaning up to kiss you once more “but first I’m gonna need an apology.”
“What for?” you giggled.
“Well by my watch, Mr No Skills got Little Miss Complex here from arguing to a puddle in five minutes flat,” he grinned, smug as anything.
“Oh shut up!” you said thumping him on the chest but he caught your wrist pulling you against him so he could kiss you again , “not a chance.”
Dean calling someone honey just does it for me now. I cannot un-see him only ever using sweetheart once towards a girl in canon now. - This was great! Sweet sweet pining and two idiots who just wanna bone each other ❤️
Don’t mind me , just sliding in here to see if it’s Tuesday yet .
Nope ? Not yet ?
Well okay then.
Well since im already cozy in here , wanted to ask :
What is your favorite trope or genre to write and what’s your least favorite?
Besitos!!
Aww, my love! 🥰
WELL it's Tuesday where I am, just two hours until the new chapter of Sun Bleached Flies, so you made under my bed to my blog just in time!
As for your question: I'm more a scenario gal than a trope gal, but a few will always be fun to me:
Magical shenanigans - amnesia, curses, time travel, alternative universes - anything that puts the story on its head and asks "what if?"
AUs - whether just canon-divergent or a fully different world/genre, it's just so interesting to see how characters would be different if they existed in completely different circumstances
Gender swap - WELL. Do I need to say anything about this? 😄 I guess this could technically count as an AU (or even be part of magical shenanigans if it happens as a result of that), but it's special enough to me to deserve its own mention.
I don't know if there is anything I don't like at all. I think I can see the appeal in pretty much anything, so long as the circumstances are right. Is that cheating? 😄
How about you, @aniresrene? And would also love to hear the answers from some other people (and anyone else who wants to share!): @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @kblognar @aseafullofstars @mellowyellowdaydream @theedaythatnevercomes @thesundontshineontheseeyebrows @myceliumsunshine
Oooooohhhh - interesting and hard lol (But ah yes, the old magical shenanigans)
I dunno if these are actually tropes, but give me these—I LOVE these:
omegaverse - give me all the knots and nests and heats and claims
slow burn - give me all the tension and make me scream at the screen to “just kiss already” - BUT after it’s done, I’m going to need to see the relationship continue. Don’t cut me off after they’ve finally got their act together. I wanna see the relationship grow
Idiots in love/mutual pining - kinda goes hand in hand with me screaming at the screen. As frustrating as it is, I loovvveeee to see some dumbassery
Don’t give me:
cheating (although you’ve given me the exception to the rule Sorry-love)
kid/pregnancy fics without some research first - I’ve seen one too many smut scenes taking place two weeks or so after that poor girl has pushed a watermelon out her hooha—JUST OW! (I’m sorry, I had to add this)
I was wondering about the bunker having a sauna and couldn't stop thinking about it
i think sam dean and cas would all enjoy a sauna, but i think sam would do it the american way in swimming trunks or even worse in gym clothes, dean would go in completely nude aka the right way idk i love how safe he feels in the bunker, cas struggling to understand which level of nudity is okay at different social gatherings is very funny to me like he's either drowning in layers or nude, i think he did some research and chose to use a towel like most people do he is #NORMAL. jack goes in nude because dean does that is his little duckling <3
A lot of work goes into producing a contest like this, and we worked our little butts off. But, none of this would have been possible without you.
Thank you to the participants who crafted amazing stories over a long year.
Thank you to our incredible consortium of judges who combed over every sentence, comma, and storyline to determine the winners.
Thank you to our followers and readers who help us promote the awesome fanfiction and art that we hope to push into the fandom world and make fic fun again.
We are grateful to you all, and we hope to see you for round two of @storytellers-contest !
Sam Winchester x fem!Reader
***SERIES IN PROGRESS***
Summary: You’re Lucifer Morningstar’s personal assistant, so you’re used to putting out fires. Except for the ones in your own life. Your computer decides to take a sabbatical. And to make things worse, an upcoming business event requires you to bring a plus one. Fortunately for you, the solution to both problems might come in the form of a very tall, very pretty IT guy.
Tags/Warnings: Office AU, meet-cute, fake dating adjacent, fluff with feelings, romantic tension, reader is overworked and underpaid, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men
Each part will have its own list of tags included in it
This fic is part of a Fic War put on by @mariekoukie6661, and is written with @roadhousearchives. They and I will alternate between writing chapters. We each have our own prompt and trope we're writing for, but we must adhere to all the previous canon that the other person writes. Tags will be added as the chapters are added.
Read it on Ao3
Chapter 1: Date Not Found (@ambiguous-avery)
Chapter 2: Coming soon! (@roadhousearchives)
Chapter 3: Coming soon! (@ambiguous-avery)
Chapter 4: Coming soon! (@roadhousearchives)
Chapter 5: Coming soon! (@ambiguous-avery)
Chapter 6: Coming soon! (@roadhousearchives)
---
Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!
I can’t believe you and @kblognar have got me excited for a Sam centric story A!I’m sorry, this Dean girl needs a Dean romance, and yet from the parts I’ve seen, I’m fucking hooked on the outcome!
(Being buddies with writers is the best when you get to see all that goes into the work)
Dean comforts you during a thunderstorm, the best way he knows how. 783 words 18+ Only MDNI (smut, fingering)
A/N: Big thanks to the lovely @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth for giving me the idea and motivating me to write something (I was sick last week and feeling all over lethargic lately), and @my-stories-vault for reading over this before I hit post ❤️
There’s nothing like the sound of rain on an old tin roof. The patters. The ringing when a raindrop hits just right over a nail or whatever else is up there before the heavens open up.
It’s melodic; it’s soothing. And with Dean whispering filthy things in your ear, you’re more than relaxed—until the room lights up around you and the clouds clap in answer, ripping the storm through the twisted sheets and you.
It rattles your bones, pushes your heart against your rib cage. Threatens to jump into Dean’s, who only squeezes you tighter in his arms.
The man’s a brick. Thick in the head, thick in the lower one. Fingers just as, as they toy with you.
He thinks it’s hilarious when you nudge him. Twitches when he reels your arching spine back into his embrace and loops his leg over yours.
“They’re just talking to each other, sweetheart,” he says, swooping in to trail his free hand and lips along your jaw.
You let him, of course, lean your chin to the side and surrender your neck. You card your fingers through his hair, breathe in his soap and crisp mint from his toothpaste. Concentrate on his warm breath, and the warmth spreading between your legs instead of the rumbling outside.
He’s right, stole the line from Julie Andrews, but that’s what happens when you make a man watch the Sound of Music over yet another slasher film. Give him some head to soothe the ego, too, but it doesn’t change the fact that the motel is still creepy with or without your lips sampling his cock. The shadows of branches and leaves still reach through the curtain as before when you did.
Frayed carpets and dusty furniture made it hard to breathe through just the nose. Flickering lights that required Dean getting out the EMF before you stepped foot inside, not that the idea of ghosts scared you; you just dealt with one and needed the peace.
You’re certainly at peace now, even if your heart still quickens in your chest. Dean’s hand makes sure of that, working your tired muscles from the core out. Though the rain chills outside, it’s warm in the room thanks to your flushed skin and tingling, Dean’s palm massaging your mound.
It adds to the flames deep in your belly. The leg over yours presses his arousal into yours. When the clap returns and the room lights up like the first spark of a pyre, he’s laughing at your jolt. The hot air puffing through it ghosts your Cupid’s bow and flicks up into your nose.
He’s trying to make you forget. His fingers do a mighty job. The way they curl and scoop back and forth over your soft walls has you panting, trembling, repeating his name while the thunder rumbles over you.
You’re supposed to be sleeping. Getting some decent shut-eye because Bobby’s is still a day’s drive away, and even Dean was getting antsy being on the road in this weather. But, “Still scared?” he says, and you’re nudging him harder this time.
“You were too,” you say, but your moan follows. His thumb on your clit rolls the skin just so.
“Only for her paint job.” He chuckles, vibrations rumbling low in his stomach. “And you.” He steals a longer kiss, rutting his shaft into your hipbone; his pre-cum into its crevice.
He pulls your lower lip between his and sucks, drawing a whimper. Pulls his hips back, and it would leave you disappointed, only his hand is on your shoulder, and he’s rolling you over next thing, pinning you beneath him, positioning himself on the right side of your legs. “Couldn’t exactly calm ya when my hands were keeping her steady. S’just you and me now, though. No Caspers. No monsters.”
“No more making me wait?” He grins. You shrug. “You talk too much.”
“You love it,” he says.
“I’d love it more if you were moving.”
His kiss turns hurried then.
His whole body dips and his tongue swoops at yours, and while you’re appreciating all this extra care and time during the nasty storm, you’re slipping your arm between just him and you and lining him up so he catches, hopefully takes the hint.
He does, but he teases. “You didn’t ask nicely.” His green eyes blow wild, brewing their own storm under the surface. But when the thunder crackles, ricocheting off the walls and right through you, they narrow, soften, and he gives you what you need.
“That thunder has nothing on the sounds you make,” he says with his lips on yours again.
(There ain’t nothing like the way he talks to you either.)
New Episode Alert: BettyStonewell on Dean Winchester, Reader-Inserts and Fanfic Inspiration
Sandra and Kasey meet @bettystonewell, a rising voice in reader-insert fanfiction who's crafting compelling hunting worlds and Dean Winchester reimaginings on AO3.
In this interview, Beth shares what drives her to write late into the night, whether it's a massive series or intimate one-shots. We dive into the art of reader-insert storytelling and fanfic inspiration that captivates Supernatural fans.
Listen on Spotify
Watch on Youtube:
Chapter Timestamps
00:00:00 - Intro
00:02:39 - When did Beth get into Supernatural
00:07:26 - Beth’s Blorbo
00:13:20 - Show thoughts
00:21:07 - Haircuts and jawlines
00:25:07 - Kasey’s got more show questions
00:32:50 - When did Beth find Supernatural Fandom
00:35:16 - Reader Insert revealed
00:37:24 - Supernatural Subreddit
00:41:13 - Tumbling into tumblr
00:45:30 - The first SPN fic Beth wrote
00:49:13 - Mark of Cain and Deanmon
00:52:31 - Reader reactions and writer focus
00:55:17 - Original writing?
00:56:05 - Why writing fanfic flows
00:58:13 - Reader Insert
01:03:11 - Approach to Writing and WIPs
01:13:16 - Writing Challenges
01:16:38 - Fave tropes and HEA
01:18:55 - Fave SPN FanFic Authors
01:23:18 - Kasey Questions and Sandra Tangents
01:33:56 - Final thoughts and outro
Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (established relationship)
Summary: Drunk and desperate for Dean, you push hard against his ironclad rule: no drunk sex. He refuses to break it, even when your persistence tests his resolve to the limit.
Warnings: Alcohol intoxication, consensual sexual tension/frustration, clothed grinding, erection mention.
Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :)
If you love it, please comment and/or reblog. Let me know your thoughts! :)
**IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT DON’T READ IT**
A/N: thank you to my best friend for challenging me to write something a bit different than my usual work. After a few episodes of SPN we got to talking about how Dean and Sam would be so set on full consent after everything they’d been through. I will be posting a Sam version as well!
Read part 2 here: “Morning Graces”
The stale beer-and-sawdust scent of the bar clung to your clothes and hair as Dean half-carried, half-guided you through the bunker’s war room door. Your head swam pleasantly, a warm, heavy buzz making everything soft around the edges, especially Dean’s sharp jawline and the way his flannel shirt stretched across his shoulders.
All you could think about, with a single-minded intensity only tequila could provide, was getting him naked and beneath you. Or on top of you. Against the map table. Anywhere.
“C’mon, De,” you slurred, leaning heavily against him as he steered you towards the bedroom corridor. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. “S’been ages. Miss you.”
Dean’s grip tightened, keeping you upright. His voice was low, strained with an effort that wasn’t just physical. “I know, sweetheart. Miss you too. But you’re three sheets to the wind. We talked about this.”
“Your stupid rule,” you pouted, letting him guide you into your shared room. The familiar scent of gun oil, leather, and Dean filled the space, making your desire coil tighter. “S’dumb. I want you. Drunk me wants you so much. S’not fair.”
He gently deposited you on the edge of the bed. “It’s not about fair,” he said, pulling off his shirt and crouching down to untie your boots. His movements were careful, methodical. “You’re not in your right mind. Makes me feel… wrong. Like I’m taking advantage.” He tugged off one boot, then the other. “Even if you say you want it now, you deserve better than that. We deserve better than that.”
You watched him, the stubborn set of his jaw illuminated by the bedside lamp. He was so infuriatingly noble sometimes. And so incredibly hot. As he straightened up, you hooked a finger into his belt loop.
“Not takin’ advantage,” you insisted, pulling yourself shakily to your feet. The room tilted slightly. “I know what I want. It’s you, De. Always you.” You pressed yourself flush against him, tilting your face up, your lips seeking his.
For a heartbeat, Dean hesitated. You felt the tension thrumming through him, the hitch in his breath. Then his lips met yours – not tentative, but deep and hungry, a groan rumbling in his chest as his arms encircled your waist. His kiss was fire and whiskey and everything you craved. Hope surged. He’s breaking. His hands slid down, gripping your hips, pulling you impossibly closer as his tongue tangled with yours.
Fueled by his response and the alcohol blurring your inhibitions, you broke the kiss just long enough to shimmy out of your jeans, kicking them aside so you stood before him in nothing but your thin cotton panties. His eyes darkened, sweeping over you with a heat that made your skin prickle.
“See?” you breathed, swaying slightly as you stepped back into his space. “Want you.” Before he could protest again, you pushed him back onto the edge of the bed. He landed with a soft ‘oof’, his eyes wide and fixed on you. You didn’t hesitate. You climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, the rough denim of his jeans a stark contrast to your bare skin. You ground down slowly, deliberately, feeling the unmistakable, hard ridge of his erection pressing against your core through the layers of fabric.
Dean’s head fell back against the mattress with a strangled sound. His hands flew to your hips again, not pushing you away this time, but holding on as if anchoring himself. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched tight.
“Please, De,” you whispered against the sensitive skin of his neck, kissing and nipping lightly. You rocked against him again, relishing the friction and the sharp intake of breath it pulled from him. “Feels so good… please… just… wanna feel you…”
His fingers dug into your hips almost painfully for a moment before he suddenly lifted you clean off his lap.
He stood up so fast you stumbled back a step, catching yourself on the dresser. He put several feet of space between you, running a shaky hand through his hair. His chest heaved.
“No,” he said, the word thick but firm. His eyes met yours, blazing with conflicted desire but unwavering resolve. “I can’t. Not like this.” He gestured vaguely towards your state. “Look at you. You can barely stand straight. This ain’t consent I trust right now.”
“But De—” you whined, taking an unsteady step towards him.
“No,” he repeated, sharper this time. He held up a hand. “It stops now. Tonight is sleep. That’s it. Tomorrow… tomorrow morning, when that tequila fog clears and you can look me in the eye sober? We can talk then. We can do then.” He softened his tone slightly, seeing your bottom lip tremble. “I promise. It’ll be better. Worth waiting for.”
Tears of pure frustration pricked your eyes, mixing with drunken exhaustion. The fight drained out of you as quickly as it had flared. You wobbled again. Instantly, Dean was there, catching your elbow.
“C’mere,” he murmured, all traces of sternness gone, replaced by that deep well of care that always undid you. He guided you to the bed again, pulling back the covers. “Get in. Just sleep.”
You crawled under the cool sheets in just your panties, shivering slightly despite the bunker’s ambient warmth. Dean quickly stripped off his jeans, climbing in beside you wearing just his boxers. He didn't hesitate; he pulled you firmly into his side, wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders and tucking your head against his chest. The solid warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart under your ear – it was both comforting and maddeningly chaste.
You snuggled closer anyway, nuzzling against the warmth of his broad chest. “But De…” you mumbled drowsily, one hand drifting down his stomach towards the prominent bulge still tenting his boxers. “You… you want it too…”
He gently caught your wandering hand and brought it up to rest against his chest, lacing his fingers through yours. “Yeah,” he admitted roughly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His voice was a low rumble against your temple. “Course I do. Want you more than my next damn breath. But it’s okay. This is enough for tonight.” He squeezed your hand. “Just sleep now.”
You let out a huff of protest but snuggled deeper into him. His other hand came up, fingers sinking gently into your hair. He began to stroke it rhythmically, the repetitive motion incredibly soothing against your fuzzy scalp.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his lips brushing your forehead. His voice was impossibly soft now, a gentle murmur just for you. “Just relax. Got you. Always got you… Gonna take such good care of you tomorrow… Make it perfect… Promise…”
His whispered promises – sweet nothings about lazy mornings and slow kisses and taking his time – wove through the haze of alcohol and exhaustion like a lullaby. The persistent throb between your legs gradually faded beneath the warm comfort of his arms and the hypnotic stroking of his fingers through your hair. Your eyelids grew impossibly heavy.
The last thing you registered before sleep pulled you completely under was the faint outline of Dean’s stubborn jaw above you in the dim light and your own slurred mutter into his chest: “…stupid… damn rule…”
Dean’s arms tightened around you in response, a silent vow held in the stillness of the bunker night.
I don’t care what anyone else says, that man is chivalrous, and would definitely treat a girl right (we won’t talk about him being a dick towards Sam and other people tho lol)
thank you guys for being so patient with me over the months it has taken to put this together. and thank you to everyone who donated to this project through ko-fi! below you will find links to the youtube playlists, which includes the 469 episodes of days of our lives that jensen appeared in. there are also a handful of episodes that he makes minor background appearances in, which you can find on the drive if you’re willing to do a little where’s waldo. i’ve added the ENITRE 1997, 1998, 1999, and 2000 seasons to the drive for anyone who wants to be extra about it or have access to the files. please feel free to download or to make gifs or post excerpts. idc i just want people to have fun!
youtube playlists: 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000
the jarchaeology vault - google drive
now that this is done, i still have quite a few projects that i’m working on. if you feel like supporting this weird research i’ve fallen into, please do! i promise that whatever i find, i will make available on my blog. 💖
If you're writing anything involving cons, scams, heists, or morally questionable characters who are very good at lying, here are some free resources I've been using for research. Saving you the "why is this in my search history" anxiety.
1. The FBI's Famous Cases & Criminals archive (fbi.gov/history/famous-cases) has detailed breakdowns of real fraud cases, Ponzi schemes, and confidence operations. The language they use is clinical and precise, which is perfect for getting the procedural details right.
2. The FTC Consumer Sentinel Network publishes annual reports on the most common fraud tactics in the US. Great for understanding how modern scams actually work and what makes people fall for them.
3. The Smithsonian's American Art Museum has a free digital collection of forgery case studies. If your character forges documents or art, this is gold.
4. Court Listener (courtlistener.com) is a free legal database where you can read actual court transcripts from fraud trials. Want to know how a real con artist talks under oath? This is where you find out.
5. The Internet Archive's collection of old newspaper crime sections. Search for "confidence man" or "swindle" in papers from the 1920s through 1960s and you'll find incredible real stories that would feel too dramatic for fiction.
Bonus: The Psychology of Fraud section on the Association for Psychological Science website has accessible articles about why people trust, how deception works cognitively, and what makes someone a convincing liar. Essential reading if you want your con artist characters to feel psychologically real.
Reblog to save for later. Your WIP will thank you.
Summary: You and the Winchesters have been through some strange times together, but none exactly like the one at hand.
WC: 890 Pairing: Dean Winchester x gender neutral!reader
Warnings: language, witches, Dean being cute... I think that's it.
A/N: This is my weekly entry for @flashfictionfridayofficial I have been missing Dean, so I decided to dip my toe in while I wait for the poll to finish! I felt so rusty lol but it was nice to dust him off.💓
“Does anybody else feel like that was resolved a bit too easily?” Sam asks as he climbs in the back seat. He looks almost comical in the small space, all knees and elbows.
“Hey man, don’t look a free evening in the mouth.” Dean huffs, sliding behind the steering wheel.
“Dean that’s not-” Sam starts, only to be cut off by Baby’s rumble as Dean turns the key. He cranks up the radio, obviously in a decent mood despite not having slept for the past forty eight hours.
“You comin’?” He asks, patting the seat beside him. “Or you just gonna stand there lookin’ pretty?”
“You want the front seat Sam?” You ask as he shifts uncomfortably behind your seat.
“Sammy’s fine, he’s used to taking a backseat to beauty.” It draws a real laugh from Dean, the kind that crinkles his eyes at the corners and makes you love him a little more each time.
A sigh and his signature eyeroll and then Sam continues. “I’m good, just get in so he’ll shut up, I’m begging you.”
You oblige, climbing in beside Dean with a smile. He’s dancing to the radio as he drives, Sam still turning over the case from the back, worrying that witches rarely go without at least a little fight.
“Maybe they knew they were outgunned?” You offer, trying to keep the peace.
“Maybe they just wanted us to think we had the upperhand.” Sam muses, still looking over the files he had pulled from his bag.
“Maybe we discuss this over beer and burgers and not the Stairway to Heaven guitar solo?” Dean fusses, still drumming on the wheel. “It’s blasphemous.”
“We’ll look it over later Sam otherwise John Bonham here is gonna lose it.”
A few hours later, fueled by cheap liquor and sleep deprivation, the discourse reignites much to Dean’s chagrin. Sam had managed to pull you to his side, and now you were questioning the case as much, if not more, than he was.
“You mean you’re siding with Sammy instead of me?” Dean fusses, words slurred ever so slightly. You’re sitting at the rickety table with Sam, pouring over the files, music playing in the background. “You know I basically raised him, so I’m really the brains of the operations here.” He’s kissing at the back of your neck, working hard to distract you.
“I think he might be on to something, baby.” You chuckle, earning a huff from him. His lips move into a frown against your skin, a barely perceptible whine escaping him.
“ Wouldn’t you rather me be on something, sweetheart?” It’s a poor attempt at a whisper and it earns him a gag from Sam.
“Dude, I’m literally right here.”
“Sounds like a you problem.” Dean quips, unmoved.
“It’s also a me problem, Dean. I haven’t been into people watching since 2018.” It shakes him, and he moves around to read your face, unsure how to respond. Curiosity and intrigue mingle on his face, a little grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“We will revisit this later when innocent ears aren’t present. If you two want to be Poindexters then I’m going to bed. I have about a six month sleep deficit I need to make up for anyways.” He gives you a quick kiss and sulks off to bed.
A few hours later and no closer to a resolution, you and Sam follow, the amber glow of dawn sneaking around the edges of the worn curtains.
It feels like you have just fallen asleep when a loud boom shakes the room.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells, pushing up his satin eye mask.
“Really Dean?” Sam sighs, judging him openly.
“Beauty is pain.” Dean shrugs a rebuttal. “Check on Baby, Sam. That sounded close.”
“Really?” Another sigh, but he climbs out of bed and pulls back the curtain. “Um guys?”
“Oh hell no, what did they do? I bet it was that Tesla driving son of bitch next door.” Dean scrambles over you, slipping on the rug in his fervor.
“What the hell?”
The commotion had fully pulled you out of your slumber, and you were watching their antics with a smile.
It’s small at first, the feeling like something was off. It wasn’t something you could necessarily pinpoint, but you think it was the smell. Or better yet the lack thereof. Everywhere you three stayed had a very distinct smell; mold, age, dollar store detergent, alongside things you didn’t want to think about. It was never pleasant, but it was a constant companion.
Now it just smelled…
New?
It smells like clean linen and fresh paint, a gentle hint of cigarette smoke like it had wafted through the vent from next door. The comforter is soft and fluffy against your skin, the mattress suspiciously devoid of lumps.
“Guys? What’s going on out there?”
“Well, as much as I hate to admit it I think you and Sammy were onto something.” Dean fusses, turning to move towards the desk that looks entirely different than it did when you fell asleep. “At least they didn’t send us back further than Baby, the dicks.”
“Excuse me, what?” You ask, even more confused.
He holds up the calendar he finds there, colored in yellows, oranges, and browns. “Those charmed freaks sent us back to 1969. They’ve freakin’ broken time!”
