Local Dumbass Cryptid

Tolly. He/Him. Of Legal Drinking Age. Somtimes I write or do art. I'm mostly just a creature who was given access to the internet.

[wendichester]

⋆｡ ˚ war crimes in the name of pranks

summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ after dean’s pranked you one too many times, you decide you’ve had enough and go all in. pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( gn ) ft. sammy wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 2094 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ deeply unserious warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ prank war, sam trying not to die laughing

notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ gif cred. to @/seriously-dude-what-the-hell

dean winchester is a dick.

that’s not an insult anymore. it’s a fact, filed neatly beside other undeniable truths, such as salt burns ghosts, vampires need their heads removed, and sam gets that tight little forehead wrinkle when he’s two seconds away from pretending he’s not judging everyone in the room.

dean being a dick is, unfortunately, also kind of your fault.

you worked hard to get him to trust you. months of hunts, patched-up injuries, late-night diner coffee, standing shoulder to shoulder in graveyards while ugly things crawled out of darker corners than neither of you wanted to talk about. you earned the version of him that doesn’t flinch when you reach across him for the weapons bag, the version that tosses you the impala keys without acting like he’s handing over his firstborn child, the version that grins too openly when you insult him back.

and what do you get for all that patience? intimacy? vulnerability? a tender breakthrough? no.

you get a plastic spider in your boot at six in the morning. you get a fake bloody hand in your duffel. you get your shampoo replaced with dish soap, your favorite jacket hung from the motel ceiling fan, and one deeply traumatic morning where every single pair of your socks had been dampened just enough to make you question the mercy of god.

dean thinks this is love language.

you think he needs consequences.

sam knows something is coming before dean does, because sam has survival instincts and dean has whatever the opposite of that is. he watches you from the motel table while dean’s in the shower, your expression calm as you hide the supplies back inside your bag: green food coloring, red hair dye, a bottle of body wash you found in a sad little drugstore clearance bin labeled classic musk, and one large box you have been guarding for three towns.

sam lowers his laptop screen by an inch. “should i ask?”

“no.”

“is anyone going to the hospital?”

“emotionally, maybe.”

he looks at the box. “is that for the car?”

you smile.

sam closes his eyes for a second. “i don’t want to know.”

“correct.”

the setup takes precision, spite, and the kind of quiet focus usually reserved for summoning rituals or assembling ikea furniture without crying. you’d inject the toothpaste with enough green coloring to make the inside of the tube look cursed, swap dean’s shampoo for a violent red rinse that promises temporary color in letters so cheerful they feel legally suspicious, and replaced his body wash with the elderly musk gel that carries the aggressive aura of mothballs, dusty church pews, and a man named eugene who owns three cardigans.

then comes baby.

you move fast in the parking lot, heart beating with the kind of joy that feels criminal. hello kitty steering wheel cover first. pink seat covers next. matching floor mats. a soft blanket stretched across the backseat. tiny headrest bows. one dangling charm from the rearview mirror that swings innocently in the dark, completely unaware it’s about to become the focal point of dean’s psychological collapse.

when you get back inside, sam is sitting exactly where you left him, hands folded beneath his chin.

“i’m not involved,” he says immediately.

“you’re a witness.”

“witnesses can be killed.”

“then maybe keep the poker face.”

he makes a strangled sound and goes back to pretending to read.

dean emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later with a towel around his waist, red hair, green teeth, and the full confidence of a man who hasn’t yet processed that he looks like christmas tree coming to life. the red is not subtle. it clings to the short spikes of his hair in damp, furious streaks, especially near his temples, where it has taken on a cherry-cough-syrup intensity that makes your soul leave your body for one beautiful second.

his teeth are worse.

bright green. radioactive. cartoon-villain green.

you stare.

sam makes one tiny noise from the table and immediately turns it into a cough so violent it almost deserves an emmy.

dean narrows his eyes at both of you. “what?”

your mouth trembles. “nothing.”

“why are you looking at me weird?”

“i’m just admiring,” you say, voice thin with restraint, “your commitment to personal grooming.”

dean points at you with the hand holding his shaving kit. “don’t start. i have a date.”

that nearly ends you.

sam’s shoulders start shaking.

dean looks at him. “you got a problem?”

sam presses his lips together so hard they almost disappear. “nope.”

dean accepts this too easily. he tosses the shaving kit onto his duffel and keeps moving around the room, utterly unaware that every step sends that tragic old-man body wash clouding behind him. he gets dressed anyway. jeans, boots, dark shirt, leather jacket. somehow, horribly, he still has the posture of a man who thinks he can pull this off.

you sit on the edge of your bed with both hands folded in your lap, nails digging into your palms.

“so,” you manage. “big night?”

“absolutely,” dean checks himself in the mirror, then stops. properly stops. his face goes still in that dangerous little way that means his brain has finally caught up to his reflection, and for one beautiful second, the whole motel room holds its breath.

sam sinks lower behind his laptop.

dean leans closer to the mirror, lips parting just enough to reveal the green. bright. wet. horrifying. his eyes move up to his hair next. red. aggressively red. not cute copper, not sexy auburn, not even passable under bad motel lighting. just red in the way emergency exits are red. in the way cough syrup stains your tongue red. in the way warnings are red.

you press your lips together so hard they hurt.

dean turns slowly. “you.”

you blink, angelic. “me?”

“don’t me me!” he points at his own mouth. “why do i look like i ate a glow stick?”

sam makes a noise so high and strangled that it barely sounds human.

dean whips his head toward him. “you knew?”

sam’s face is pure suffering. “i didn’t know about the teeth.”

“but you knew something.”

sam looks at you, then at dean, then back at his laptop with the dead-eyed survival instinct of a man who has spent his whole life between two disasters and learned to choose silence when necessary. “i wasn’t part of it.”

you finally lose the fight and smile. big. bright. no shame.

dean stares at you for another second, furious, hair red, teeth green, and somehow still carrying the wounded dignity of a man betrayed by his own kingdom.

“rookie work.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“rookie,” he says again, rummaging through a duffel with unnecessary aggression. “you think this is my first rodeo? food coloring in toothpaste? hair dye in shampoo? come on. i practically invented bathroom warfare.”

“you invented bathroom warfare?”

“ask sam about the nair incident.”

sam closes his eyes. “please don’t.”

dean disappears back into the bathroom with all the purpose of a man going to war. water starts running. drawers open and slam. something clatters into the sink. you hear him muttering to himself, low and offended, and then—“sammy! i’m using your toothpaste.”

“why mine?”

“because mine’s been violated.”

you snort so hard you nearly choke. you sit on the edge of the bed, swinging one foot lightly, joy humming through your whole body.

the bathroom door opens again ten minutes later, and the worst thing happens.

dean looks good. of course he does. idiot. absolute curse of a man. the green is gone from his teeth, scrubbed clean by sam’s betrayed toothpaste and probably half a bottle of mouthwash. his hair is still red, but damp and pushed back now, the color settling into something annoyingly intentional under the yellow motel light. it should look ridiculous. it sort of does. but dean has the unbearable confidence to make even bad decisions look styled.

he steps out, jacket on, boots tied, jaw tilted in that way that says he knows he has recovered far too well. “see?” he says, spreading his arms. “still hot.”

you hate that you agree. deeply. personally.

dean catches the tiny shift in your face and grins. “oh, don’t look so disappointed. you made me hotter.”

“your hair looks like a traffic cone.”

“a sexy traffic cone.”

“those don’t exist.”

“i’m making history.” he checks himself in the mirror one last time, turns his head left and right, then nods with disgusting self-satisfaction. “yeah. date’s still happening.”

you keep smiling too much.

dean notices.

his eyes narrow. “what?”

“nothing.”

“no.” he points at you. “that’s not nothing. that’s your evil face.”

you fold your hands in your lap, sweet as a hymn. “have fun tonight.”

dean studies you for another second, suspicion flickering over his face, but ego wins. he grabs his keys from the table, twirls them once around his finger, and heads for the door.

“don’t wait up,” he says.

“wouldn’t dream of it.”

he leaves. the door shuts.

for two seconds, there’s silence.

sam slowly looks at you.

you look back at him.

outside, dean’s boots crunch across the gravel parking lot. there’s the faint jingle of keys. a pause. another step. then—“SON OF A BITCH!”

you’re already laughing by the time the door flies open again.

dean storms in with the kind of rage usually reserved for demons, betrayal, and people who put dents in baby’s doors. his face is red now too, almost matching his hair, which feels thematically excellent. he points toward the parking lot with a shaking hand.

“m-my car.”

you gasp, delighted. “is something wrong with baby?”

“do not call her baby right now.”

“why? she’s dressed so cute.”

“she has bows on her headrests.”

“yes.”

“pink floor mats.”

“mhm.”

“a hello kitty steering wheel cover.”

“limited edition.”

dean stares at you as if you’ve personally rewritten the laws of nature just to hurt him. “my car looks like it got stolen by a twelve-year-old.”

sam makes the mistake of laughing. not much. just one sharp little burst he tries to smother immediately with a cough.

dean turns on him. “oh, you think this is funny?”

sam’s eyes are wet. “no.”

“you’re crying.”

you lose it again, falling back against the mattress while dean glares at both of you, his date forgotten, his dignity in ruins, his red hair glowing under the cheap motel light. for a second, he holds onto the anger. really tries. you can see him fighting for it, clinging to the righteous fury of a man whose soulmate-on-wheels has been degraded by pink polyester and cute cats.

then his mouth twitches. “i’m homicidal.”

“you’re smiling homicidally.”

that breaks him.

dean laughs, sudden and rough, one hand bracing against the doorframe like even he can’t believe how badly he’s been played. the green teeth are gone, which is a shame, but the red hair and the old-man body wash still do plenty of work. he laughs until sam finally gives up pretending to cough and just laughs too, shoulders shaking over the table.

“okay,” dean says eventually, pointing at you. “truce.”

“no.”

his smile drops. “no?”

“beg.”

“i will absolutely not beg.”

you lift your eyebrows. dean glances toward the parking lot. you can almost see him picturing baby sitting out there in all her hello kitty glory, exposed to the public, vulnerable to witnesses, one stray pedestrian away from permanent humiliation.

his jaw works. his pride takes a knee. “please,” he says tightly, “remove the tiny cat cult from my car.”

you beam. “and?”

“and…” he exhales through his nose, already planning murder behind his eyes. “i’ll stop pranking you.”

sam snorts again.

dean does not look away from you. “temporarily.”

“there it is.”

“i’m honest.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you started car crimes.”

“you put a rubber finger in my cereal.”

“that was funny.”

“so is baby’s soft era.”

his grin comes back slowly, dangerous and warm at the same time. “enjoy it while you can.”

you should be scared. honestly, you are a little. dean winchester with a wounded ego, and red hair is not a safe man. but he’s laughing, and sam’s still wiping at his eyes, and for once the motel room holds nothing sharp or haunted or waiting to kill you. *just this—*dean looking ridiculous and happy and too fond of you to hide it properly.

“worth it,” you say.

his eyes linger for half a second longer than the joke needs. “yeah,” he says, quieter under the laughter. “we’ll see.”

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.

[fatallyfixated]

Need You

Dean Winchester x Reader (gn, no use of y/n)

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You and Dean fight, but he comes back from a hunt touch starved as hell.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, fluff, needy Dean

A/N: This was inspired by the beginning of a Leon Kennedy Fic by @sonarspace, except I still can't write smut so it went a different way. Idk how it even came up on my feed, I've never played RE lmao, maybe it's a sign I should.

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

You sit alone in the motel room, after hours of pacing the room and trying to distract yourself by walking around the parking lot. You had half a mind to call a cab or steal a car and go to them, but Dean told you to stay put. You fought about it, actually. You and him had already been on rocky terms, and it just made the waiting a hundred times worse.

* * *

“Dean, I’ll be fine.” You said as you kept changing out of your FBI clothes. “You worry too much.”

Dean grabbed your arm and waited until you looked up at him. You didn’t see even a hint of the usual smirk he usually wore. “No. Not this time, it’s too dangerous.”

“Well if it’s too dangerous for me, then it’s too dangerous for you too. Now what, we just sit here twiddling our thumbs while more people die?”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

Things started to escalate before you knew it. You fought back and forth with him, about the same thing as always. He worried for your safety to the point of being controlling about what hunts you went on. You told him you were just as capable as he was, which you both knew was a blatant lie. There was no other hunter like Dean. But you hated when he babied you, even if you knew he just did it out of love– out of a desperate need to keep you out of harm’s way.

You finally conceded, and sat down at the small table in the room as he and Sam went without you. Dean sighed as he stopped at the door and turned back to you.

“I’m sorry, alright? I just… I can’t… I love you. We’ll be right back.”

You scoffed at him. You were tired of the same fight. You should’ve said it back, but your stubbornness took over instead. “Fuck off, Dean…”

You stood and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door on him before he could shut the motel room door on you.

* * *

You sit and wait now. Sam already texted you after they wrapped up the hunt. They didn’t exactly come out unscathed, but they’re alive. He told you Dean got the worst of it, but didn’t give any more details after that. You hear the low growl of the Impala’s engine outside, but you don’t stand. Your body won’t listen to you. Instead, you slide your laptop over and open it, pretending to be busy with research, or looking for the next case when the door opens. You feel as if a weight has been lifted from your chest as Dean walks in and drops his bag.

“Hey,” he says casually, as if he didn’t look utterly beaten and battered.

“Hey,” you respond back.

You see the blood and tears in his shirt. You say nothing as you get up and grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. He walks over to you, sits in the chair, and lets you start patching him up. He doesn’t even put up a fight as you carefully take his jaw in your hands and tilt his head to better inspect the cut on his forehead, which is usually an indicator of just how exhausted he is.

He keeps his eyes glued to yours. His shoulders are slumped, and he looks like he’s about two seconds away from nodding off, but he can’t tear his gaze away from you.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

You pause and look at him. The spark in his stunning green eyes had gone dull. You go back to his injuries. “I know…” is all you whisper back. You clear your throat. “This one isn’t deep but I’ll need to clean it.”

You step back and look at the rest of him, more specifically at the torn shirt stained with blood. “Your side?”

“Just a scratch.” He reaches out for your wrist.

“Dean–”

“Just a scratch,” he repeats as he pulls you closer.

Despite his reassurances, you lift up his shirt anyway and take a closer look. It’s definitely a bit more than a scratch. You sigh. “Dean…”

“I know,” he mumbles as he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and letting his head rest against your body. “Just… give me a minute,” he says quietly.

You bring your hand up and run your fingers through the short hair at the back of his head. “It’s not gonna fix itself, y’know.”

As the words leave your mouth, you realize they could have a double meaning. You’re obviously talking about his cut, but it also applies to your situation. Your fights. It won’t get better if you keep ignoring it like you always do, the both of you just waiting for the other to cool off and pretending nothing happened.

Dean doesn’t notice though. All he can focus on is your presence. Your scent. The warmth from your body.

“Just needa hold you… Will you let me hold you for a bit, sweetheart?” His voice comes out rough. It makes you wonder if something happened out there, or if he just felt bad about the way he left things. “Missed you.”

“You were barely gone a few hours.”

He shakes his head. “Not just tonight.”

The realization hits you like a splash of cold water. You’d been on the verge of fights constantly for weeks now. There was a noticeable space between you when you went to sleep at night. Your conversations were shorter than usual. The casual touches had grown less frequent. The whole time, Dean acted as if everything was fine. You thought he hadn’t noticed.

You let him hold you, standing between his legs. You would think he fell asleep against you if it wasn’t for the hand that keeps rubbing up and down your back. After a few minutes, you look down and see the blood stain that covers the cut on his side has gotten a bit bigger. You pull back.

“Okay… Time’s up, let me stitch you up.”

He begrudgingly sits up straight and loosens his hold on you. He slides down a bit in the chair so that you can have better access to his side. You grab the sutures and kneel down in front of him. You pause for a moment with your eyes fixed on his cut.

“I’m sorry.”

He lets his head fall back. “Yeah. You’re okay, sweetheart, I know the drill.”

He thinks you’re apologizing for the pain the stitches are about to cause.

“No,” you shake your head. “I mean… for earlier. I’m sorry too.” You sigh, still keeping your eyes on his torso instead of looking up at him. “I could’ve handled it better. We could’ve talked it through better.”

He lifts his head back up and looks down at you. He brings a gentle hand to your cheek, and you finally look up at him. “We both could’ve handled it better,” he says softly.

You nod and turn your head to place a kiss on his palm, before getting to work on the stitches.

He’s right, he does know the drill by now, so he hardly makes a noise as you pass the needle through his skin. It only takes a few sutures to close it, so you’re done fairly quickly. He lets you clean the surrounding area, and every other minor scratch he picked up.

As soon as you toss the final wipe onto the table, he stands and pulls you against him. His lips find your neck as he breathes you in as much as he can. He doesn’t leave marks– not this time. This time, it’s all about having you as close to him as possible. He wants to be surrounded by you, to drown in you.

He walks you backwards until you reach the bed, then gently lays you down, letting his own body follow, despite the aching in his muscles.

“Dean…” you breathe out.

“Shh,” he kisses your lips. He’s gentle as he slowly moves against you, yet it still somehow feels desperate, like he can’t get enough no matter how hard he tries.

“We can’t. You’ll tear the stitches,” you protest, even though deep down you want to almost as much as he does.

“It’s okay. We won’t go that far. I just–” he lets out a breath and it almost sounds like a whimper. “Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

You can’t help but chuckle softly, almost sadly, because yeah, you’ve missed it too.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Love you too, sweetheart,” he says as he settles in beside you, face buried in the crook of your neck.

You don’t care about the blood starting to dry on his shirt, or the fact that he was still a mess from the hunt. You don’t push him to go shower, or even kick his boots off first. You just lie with him, holding him as he holds you. His breath dances on your neck as he nuzzles against you, placing the occasional kiss there. Eventually his kisses slow, and he goes still. His eyes flutter shut and his breath evens out. But the one thing that doesn’t change is his grip on you– how firmly he holds you against him. Because even in sleep, Dean Winchester will be damned if he lets go of the one thing he cares about more than anything else.

[godsfaith]

dean sneaking in through your window because he cant sleep!

tw. fluff. slight angst. slight sub dean? teasing.

the tap against your bedroom was so gentle you convinced yourself you’d imagined it.

but then it came again- a soft tap tap tap, more insistent this time like whatever is waiting on the other end is getting impatient.

groggily you peeled yourself from the cozy duvet, rubbing your eyes as you crossed the room to the windows ledge. pulling back the curtain you nearly jump-

“you’ve gotta be kidding me…”

dean winchester grins up at you from outside- all pearly and proud with a pile of stones in his hand. he waves smugly as you unlatch the window, pushing it open enough to feel the cold breeze.

“dean,” you whisper trying and failing not to smile. ..”what are you doing outside my window?”

“i..” he rubbed the back of his neck. “didn’t wanna wake your dad up..”

“you woke me.”

“yeah.. sorry bout’ that.” he huffed leaning back on his heels.

despite it being nearly midnight and the weight of getting into trouble hanging heavy on your shoulders- you laugh curling your finger at dean to climb up.

a few grunts and “fuck..” under deans breathe is all you hear before his boot curls over the window, then his hands as he pulls himself over before landing on your floor with a soft thump. his dirty boots leave a print on your carpet making you scowl.

his brown hair was a mess like he’d been running frustrated hands through it for hours, wearing an old led zeppelin shirt and gray sweatpants instead of his usual jeans. you shut the window behind him.

“you know you could text..” you murmur.

dean pats his pockets. “i lost my burner phone- sorry.”

with your arms crossed you watch as dean walks around the room- fingers trailing on the desk before reaching for the picture of you and sam sitting in the back of the impala. he laughs under his breathe before placing it back down gently.

something wasn’t right, noticing his tense shoulders and how nervous he seemed to be. the complete opposite of the annoyingly cocky dean you know.

“i came to ask you something.” he says suddenly turning back to you. you shift on your feet hoping dean cant sense how fast your heart is racing.

“okay..”

his embarrassed smile made your chest ache- something you’d never seen before. “i was wondering if i could y’know.. sleep in here, with you. i sleep better when theres somebody there-“

you didn’t answer immediately, a little shocked and flushed at what he just asked.. how it would work. the dark circles under his eyes are what finally convince you.

“sure, d.” you mumble.

relief washed across his face so quickly it nearly broke you. your heartbeat finally slowed as his shoulders relaxed.

“i don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“you wont.. just take your boots off. i dont want dirt in my bed.” you teased while dean chuckled, kicking off the boots and leaving them at the window.

silence filled the room after- you could tell dean was nervous about sleeping with you even though he seemed to brag about having a lot of experience.

you grabbed his hand gently, calloused skin pressing against your soft as you climbed into bed- dragging dean along with you.

he hesitated looking between you and the cot before crawling in next to you gently- like even the mattress will push him away with rejection. for a man who usually carried himself with so much confidence, he somehow looked uncertain about where to put his arms.

you reached out first slipping an arm around his waist. he seemed to tense up- like a beaten dog feeling soft pets for the first time, then almost instinctively melted into you.

he buried his face carefully against your shoulder like every muscle in his body had finally been given permission to let go.

“you okay?” you whispered.

a tiny nod- before his arms wrapped carefully around your torso, thumb brushing against your flushed skin.

his breathing slowly began to even out.

“you know..” you murmured into his hair “next time you don’t have to climb through the window.”

his sleepy voice came muffled against your shoulder.

“…yeah?”

“you can knock.”

he hugged you just a little tighter. “…can i come back?”

you brushed your fingers through his messy hair, the scent of his shampoo mixing with your pillow.

“you never have to ask, d.”

dean didn’t answer- his breathing slow and steady, the tension finally gone from his body. within minutes the hunter who looked like he’d been up for days was fast asleep, held close in your arms where you know he’ll finally be safe.

[eunisyn]

"All this for lil ol' me?"

[eunisyn]

"All this for lil ol' me?"

[grakkie]

The corvid are sparring

[godjustkys]

“𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲 𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑶𝑼𝑻.”

SYNOPSIS: dean asked questions he should’ve kept to himself. and most importantly, he had been coy about it. idiot.

CHARACTER: older!male reader x dean winchester

NOTE: mmm, countertop sex.. part ²? yes? maybe yes.

WC: 0.5k

TAGS: age gap,, rough sex,, countertop sex,, kitchen sex,, bottom dean,, top reader,, anal,, unprotected sex,, light masochistic dean,, first time anal,, big dick reader,,

“o-oh, yea—mmff, fuck—” dean gasped out, a loopey grin spreading across his face.

have you ever had sex with a man?

“oh my fuckin’ go-ohd—” his fingers tightened around the edge of the marble countertop. your countertop.

what’s the youngest you’d go?

“mmh-mmm-ah shit!—” the back of dean’s head hit the marble, though he paid no mind to it. the pleasure was so intense that the pain didn’t even register.

what about a guy in his twenties? would ya shag him?

you still remember the grin on his face when he asked that.

“ghhh-sonovabitch..” his voice was higher pitched. slurred. broken, even. shirt bunched up to his chest. he shivered violently when your teeth just barely grazed his pulse point.

“god—fuck—please—” such a pleading tone. he was begging.

“please what?” you whisper, eyes flitting up to his face, fingers digging into the skin of his thighs like a brand, rough yet grounding. there. definitely not meaningless. “you wanted this. now take it.”

dean whimpered before a sob tore out from his throat, head thrashing around against the marmoreal stone, hips stuttering, cock twitching—untouched, leaking, aching. neglected. just barely rubbing up against your abdomen.

your pace fastened, not by a lot, but enough for dean to arch his back and struggle against your hold. his thighs quaked, legs hanging off of the counter, toes curled.

you were big. thicker than he anticipated. first time with a guy and he was already getting stretched to fucking oblivion. he felt full. it hurt, of course it did, but what was dean if not a masochist.

with a broken, loud moan, he willed his shaking body to meet your relentless, sharp thrusts. his ears were ringing and he could barely even hear himself, the only thing clearly audible was the sound of skin slapping against skin.

“you—you told me i could ask you- a-ah—anything..” he panted out, glossy eyes barely open as they locked onto yours.

“…and look where it got you.”

your response was simple, almost mocking. with a deliberate roll of your hips, you had dean’s eyes rolling into the back of his head, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp as he bared his neck.

the brutal drag of your cock inside him made his brain turn to mush. he clenched around you, involuntarily of course, just because his imagition was conjuring filthier images. he couldn’t help it. the thought of you fucking him whenever you wanted wherever you wanted? it practically made him salivate.

“dean.”

he keened. at the sound of his name on your lips, he fucking keened. desperately so, like he was just happy you were acknowledging him. and maybe he was.

“dean,” you repeated, moving a hand to pat his face before gripping his jaw. “eyes on me.”

oh you didn’t have to tell him twice. you had that quiet authority, one that made others do exactly what you asked with no need to reiterate. dean loved it. he craved it.

his hazy eyes locked onto your own.

“you with me, space cadet?”

always, he wanted to say. but he bit it back with a choked groan, in response only nodding his head, though the action was barely noticeable.

“say yes.”

“ngghhh—” his thighs tensed as you stopped your thrusts, his hole pulsating around you. “sorry—yes—fuhhcck… uuh-hh..” his pretty face was flushed pink, right from the tips of his ears down to his chest. and he glistened with sweat—how gorgeous.

[oliver-cicero]

Dean Winchester mlm Mood Board

[chaotic-tolly]

“He came in through the window, last night….”

[winchestrr]

sam and dean & their theatre kid partner

sam winchester x reader, dean winchester x reader

— fluff, blurbs?? hcs???? WHAT ARE THESE CALLED? gn!reader, separate not poly

a/n - okay so ive been super busy with literally everything in my life but this idea hit me earlier today and i haven't finished my other drafts that i want to post. also this is extremely self indulgent i love broadway u guys okay enjoy heh FEEDBACK, INBOX, AND REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

if you enjoy this please consider liking and reblogging! <33

sam winchester

HE'S A THEATRE KID TO ME. (he ran tech once)

okay, maybe not a theatre kid, but like he dabbles in it do you get me. like he's listened to the more popular (pun intended) ones.

like one day you're listening to music together and something from hamilton pops up and you can suddenly hear him humming or rapping along quietly

can you imagine him trying to do the helpless run (i love you phillipa soo)

yes he has absolutely slow danced to "all i've ever known" with you but his favorite to slow dance with you is "what you mean to me" from finding neverland.

on harder days its "you matter to me" from waitress.

now, if you were actively in theatre, he doesn't hesitate at all to help you run lines.

he picks you up from every rehearsal and sometimes even sits at the back row of the theatre, almost in tears every time you open your mouth because he loves your voice so freaking much

he's at every opening night and every closing night too, always with a big bouquet of flowers because his partner only deserves the best?????

he also keeps every program your name is on, as in EVERY ONE all the way till its finally a playbill.

safe to say he's extremely supportive of you and your dreams

apart from the musicals, he looooves going to plays too, maybe more than musicals because its just his kind of thing i feel.

he probably has a collection of plays too

theatre kid sam you are real to me.

dean winchester

he HATES musical theatre

allegedly

he's mortified when you introduce him to jukebox musicals ESPECIALLY the ones that are rock because why are they doing that to his favorite songs

he does love moulin rouge! though because he thought nicole kidman was hot

what? you love it because ewan mcgregor is hot. aaron tveit too. dean thought he was hot too.

"come what may" is probably the only song dean openly sings with you?????? he slow dances to it with you too because he's a romantic like that and if it made his baby happy it makes him happy too. but its the movie version, not the broadway version.

the first soundtrack you introduce him to, though, is bonnie & clyde. something western for a kansas boy right?

he loves it a little too much. like he actually knows the songs. like he's fully watched the proshot multiple times.

it's his first real introduction to stage musicals and he won't admit it but he's fully hooked

one night he slow dances to "how 'bout a dance" with you and you thought it was actually the most romantic thing anyone's ever done with you (even though he somehow steps on your feet a few times)

ok so anyways if you're actively in theatre, he's always picking you up from rehearsals (obviously). there was one time where his playlist played and you swore you heard the opening chords to "this world will remember me" before dean was smashing the next track button.

when it comes to lines, he seems useless at first but he can pick up on the lines easily. its just that he can't act with his voice, but he's already remembered the line.

he's fully in awe when he comes and watches you perform though!!!!

he's def the loudest in the crowd during curtain call, especially when you're the lead and you come out and take your big bow.

he's parading you around the lobby right after and boasting about how you're his partner while you're desperately trying to stop him.

you smacked his mouth closed.

he's got a big bouquet waiting for you in the backseat of the impala every time

speaking of the impala, the glove compartment is just fully stacked with programs stuffed in there. all of them have your name in it.

he breaks the music rule ONLY ON your opening and closing nights and he lets you pick out the music that you play in the car!

for his sake you put your shared favorites.

that is all thank you winchestrr out

[velinxi]

The most beautiful spell ✨ My Witch Hat Atelier illustration for Crunchyroll! I've always been in love with the beautiful artwork of WHA, and Kamome Shirahama's masterful line work has been a huge inspiration for me! I did my best to recapture the grandeur and magic in this piece. Super excited for the finale next week!!

[greyfeu]

erm...... fanart of @wesslan cards on the table!!!!!!

[wesslan]

i’ve been non-stop staring at this since i got the notification that someone tagged me in a post, this artwork is wonderful!!! it’s so beautiful and detailed, and i just adore the soft light from the lantern and his outfit and everything AAAAAH!!! <333 im in love with the way you do shading and highlights!<3

would you be alright with me linking to this in the notes of the fanfic? :)

[pigeonthesloth]

for the fanfic “Cards On the Table" by @wesslan. This fanfic single-handedly broke me out of a months-long art block. The vibes for the story were immaculate, I would highly recommend.

[wesslan]

AYO??? this is GOLD!! :D

he totally would use a fancy robin cane, you are soooo right. the details in this are amazing, ive been staring at it for a good five minutes now😩

would you be cool if i linked to this in the notes of the fic? 👀

[hanasnx]

anakin skywalker doesn’t have a gag reflex and when he’s sucking you off he looks up at you like he resents you

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 4 

Darth Vader/Anakin skywalker + dacryphilia 

This is burned Vader, I always write burned Vader. Give him his prosthetics, his scars, his bald head. I love burned Vader. 

Reader is Kaleesh, cuz hehe. I love non-human reader. Reader is also force sensitive. Not jedi levels but like, he can sense it. Cuz I love how deep a bond can be with the force. Alien biology hcs too. 

Kinktober 2025 masterlist 

Kaleesh were not a species known for being vulnerable, emotional or even kind. Being a powerful warrior, wearing your kills with pride, and carrying strength was more important.  

That was why you had left your home world of Kalee, tired of the same old battles, again and again. There had always been something more pulling at your senses, at your very soul, pulling you out there, into the wide unknown. 

The empire was in its young years when you encountered your first inquisitors, and experienced your first battle with the force. You had believed it magic for a long time, and though you were weaker than them, your many years of experience helped you kill these inquisitors. 

That was how you first met Darth Vader, after making a name for yourself in the galaxy. A Kaleesh who blasted through the stars, looking for the biggest beast to slay, but even you weren't dumb enough to go for Vader. 

At first you were mostly just the preferred bounty hunter of Vader, taking that spot from the skilled Boba Fett. Maybe it was because you reminded him of his past, as Anakin, of Grevious and what once was. 

Your mild force sensitivity made you pleasant to be around too, even if you didn't seem to understand the power you possessed. But how could you have known that Vader could feel your weak force presence, poking at his own, before coiling together like snakes. 

Falling in love had never been in your plans, as a Kaleesh and a warrior. It definitely had not been something Vader thought possible for him, to grow fond of somebody again. The love he felt for you wasn't the same as the one he once carried for Padme, but it was just as strong. 

It was enough to shake the Sith, to the point where he retreated to his fortress on Mustafar, away from everything and everyone, to suffer in his silence and darkness. 

If you hadn't been who you were, maybe you would have left it alone, but that pull in your chest and warriors' spirit, made you fly after him, following the Sith like he was your newest prey. 

Neither of you were ever good with words, so the silence was heavy and charged. In the end, you make the first move, removing the mask your species always wore, exposing your less human face to the being you felt such strange feelings for. 

For Vader, the act of removing his helmet was different, heavy and almost forbidden. But maybe it was the softness you made him feel, even when you were all rough edges and filled with the fire of a warrior. 

Maybe it was a good thing you weren't human, and hadn't been raised around them. It meant you had no opinion or preferences when it came to how humans looked, all you saw was Vader, not the pale, scarred, sad remains of a man. 

Acting on desire, you reach up to cradle his face, movements so careful as Vader wheezed, still assisted by his suit to keep living.  

Vader let out a breathless raspy gasp as your skin met his. He had never realized how sensitive he was, how just the faintest of touch made his entire body tense, his skin tingling almost to the point of burning. 

But like a man stuck in a desert, Vader couldn't help but lean into the touch, his tired, so exhausted and sad looking eyes, sliding shut as tears ran down his pale cheeks. 

Kaleesh didn't cry, so seeing somebody spilling tears was always so fascinating. Normally it only interested you as a way to watch your prey break, but with Vader it felt like more. 

The scent was salty, mixed with the bacta that was regularly applied to Vader's damaged body. Your split tongue flicked out, licking against your bottom lip as Vader outright trembled, near pained quiet noises leaving his lips, his expression twisting into something pained but full of yearning. 

It was like he couldn't control the tears as they started pouring, though Vader didn't sob. His crying was silent, outside of his gasps and breathless rasping. At his sides, Vader's hands trembled, the prosthetics not responding to his wishes as he cried into your hands, his human body parts jolting when your sharp talons brushed against his skin. 

The flames of Mustafar had taken many things for Vader, and one of those things was the parts of his body he had once used for pleasure. All this time, his misery had been so extreme that Vader had felt no need for it. But now, being held by you, sparks of something he had almost forgotten dripping through his body, Vader yearned for them back. 

“Pretty” you mumble, leaning in, unable to resist the allure. Vader finally opened his teary eyes, just in time to catch your long tongue sliding out and lapping against his cheek, sipping up his tears like a delicacy. 

If your hands had been a lot, your tongue was overwhelming. Nobody would believe that a Sith lord like Vader would struggle to stand from just a tongue alone, but he was. His knees buckling, and only holding him to his feet because of the mechanics of the prosthetics. 

Vader hadn't been kissed in so long. And you, you had never kissed anybody. It was so clumsy, uncomfortable and sloppy. Vader was inexperienced and so sensitive that he sobbed as your tongue slid into his mouth. And you kissed like you fought, hungry, all-devouring and dominant. 

Your weak force presence coiled itself around the sun that was Vader and his power, your tiny trickle trying to cover it and squeezing, an instinctual part of you want to show you were here, with him. 

The Sith lords' noises became louder, pained and so breathless you almost pulled back to worry about him. But Vader held you close, the force almost crushing you against him as he sobbed into your kiss, almost blind with overstimulation from touch and kiss alone. 

Vader didn't possess the ability to physically orgasm, not anymore, but he still felt it through the force. It felt more intense than anything he could ever remember experiencing with a body built for it.  

It was so extreme that his legs finally gave out, and you had to scramble to catch him, shuffling awkwardly until you got him pushed against a wall so you two could keep standing. 

You felt so heated yourself, as Vader wheezed, his suit struggling to keep up with the sudden influx of everything, still crying like he had no control. 

He was adorable, in his own way, even knowing what he had done and planned to do. Even if he was what many other humans would see as horrifying and ugly. You simply saw the tear-stained face of the being that made you feel so soft and vulnerable, and so possessive it almost drove you crazy. 

[artkiving]

Inspired by the absolutely brilliant fic by Faithwood (yep she's back) — BEHOLDEN

this is how I pictured the ending of chapter 4! also since Harry looked really cute without glasses, here's an alternate version too

Reblogs and Shares appreciated!🩷 kissing animation here

[ahqkas]

♯ ME AND THE DEVIL ; mattheo riddle

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! they didn't understand how you did it, how you tamed the devil, how you made him fall so deeply in love with you that the darkness in him seemed to shrink in your presence. but the truth was, you hadn't tamed him at all. you’d simply loved him, and that was all mattheo riddle ever needed to be tamed ( based on this req.!! )

WORD COUNT! 1.6k

WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, reader is described to have hair . lmk of more if found please

NOTES! proud to say i’m obsessed with this relationship dynamic && how this turned out . all the credits to the pretty devider below belong to @/menschenopfer !

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE DEVIL IS REAL AND HE IS NOT SOME LITTLE RED MAN WITH HORNS AND TAIL LURKING IN THE SHADOWS. He can be beautiful because he's a fallen angel and he used to be God's favorite. He wears the face of a man, a smile that can soothe even the most restless heart, and eyes that seem to hold all the answers you've ever sought. He is beautiful, captivating in a way that makes you forget the dangers of dancing with darkness. In his presence, you'll find no fire, no urge to flee — only the slow, seductive burn of a flame that whispers promises too sweet to resist.

That was your Mattheo.

There was a certain reputation that followed Mattheo Thomas Riddle wherever he went, an aura of danger and unpredictability that made students give him a wide berth in the corridors of Hogwarts. Hushed whispers went after him like a shadow, tales of his dark family history and the fierce temper that boiled just below the surface of his skin. The mocking smirk that often played on his lips only added to the mystery, and the way he carried himself — confident, unyielding — left little doubt that he was someone to be reckoned with.

But then there was you, someone who seemed to have done the impossible.

You, with your quiet strength and unshakable resolve, had become the only one who could temper the storm within him. It wasn't just that you weren't afraid of him, it was that you saw him, truly saw him, beyond the name people tagged the boy with. Where others saw only the 'son of You-Know-Who' or 'Voldemort's one and only heir', the devil's progeny, you saw the boy behind the names. You saw the struggles he came from, the vulnerability he buried beneath layers of bravado.

People ouldn't help but stare as you walked down the hallways together, your fingers comfortably intertwined with Mattheo's. You were his opposite in so many ways — where he was brooding, you were bright; where he was sharp, you were soft. It was a juxtaposition that made everyone wonder just how you managed to tame the so-called "devil" of Hogwarts.

You'd hear the murmurs as you passed by, the way some students would quickly avert their eyes as if afraid to be caught staring. Others, more curious or perhaps bolder, would watch with a mix of awe and disbelief, as if trying to solve a puzzle that didn't quite make sense. How could someone so seemingly gentle be with someone as dangerous as Mattheo Riddle?

But they didn't see what you did. They didn't see the way his gaze softened whenever he looked at you, the way his tough exterior melted when it was just the two of you. They didn't see the way he'd listen intently to your every word, his attention unwavering, as if nothing else in the world mattered because it was the truth; nothing else mattered to him than you.

And perhaps most surprising to them would be the way he smiled — truly smiled — when he was with you. It wasn't the sharp, almost menacing grin he'd flash when someone annoyed him, but a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. It was a smile that told you, and anyone else who bothered to look close enough, that Mattheo Riddle was more than just the dark reputation that surrounded him.

You'd catch the way his hand would tighten around yours in a crowd, his thumb brushing against your skin in a gesture of reassurance. Or the way he'd lean down to press a kiss to your temple when he thought no one was looking, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. These were the moments that made you smile to yourself, knowing that despite what others thought, there was so much more to him than they could ever understand.

There was an incident once, in the Great Hall, where some younger Slytherins were laughing too loudly about something — until Mattheo glanced their way. The laughter died almost immediately, replaced by nervous glances and shuffling feet. But then, with you beside him, you nudged your boyfriend gently and whispered something in his ear. Whatever you said made him chuckle, the sound low and rich, and just like that, the tension in the air dissipated. The younger students exchanged bewildered looks, clearly wondering what spell you'd cast to make him laugh like that.

It was in these moments that the real magic of your relationship showed itself — not in taming the so-called devil, but in understanding him. In knowing that beneath the hard exterior, Mattheo was someone who needed love just as much as anyone else. And you gave it to him without reservation, without fear, seeing the good in him that others were too blind to notice.

Of course, there were times when that darkness would surface, when his temper would flare or his patience would run thin. But even then, you knew how to bring him back, how to calm the storm that raged within him. A soft word, a gentle touch, and he'd remember himself. He'd remember that he didn't have to fight the world alone — that he had you by his side.

And so, the students of Hogwarts continued to wonder, to speculate. They'd see you together in the courtyard, Mattheo's arm draped casually over your shoulders as you talked about everything and nothing. They'd see the way you'd laugh at something he said, your smile lighting up the space between you, and how he'd look at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

The two of you were sitting beneath one of the old oak trees in the courtyard, the late afternoon sun casting dappled shadows across the grass. You were leaned against the trunk, a loved book in your lap, while Mattheo sat beside you, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders. The gentle breeze played with your hair, and every now and then, your boyfriend would reach over to tuck a loose strand behind your ear. It was a small gesture, but it made your heart flutter every time.

You couldn't help but notice the way students passing by would glance your way, their eyes lingering on the Riddle heir with a mix of fear and curiosity. You'd grown used to it by now, the way people would whisper behind your backs, wondering how someone like you had ended up with someone like him.

"They're staring again," you murmured to him, your eyes flicking up from your book to catch the gaze of a group of Ravenclaws who quickly looked away when they realized they'd been caught.

Mattheo unwillingly tore his attentive gaze away from you and followed the line of your vision, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at the sight he came to see. "Let them," he said casually, leaning closer to press a sweet kiss to your temple. "They'll get over it eventually."

You smiled slightly and leaned closer to his lips, the warmth of his affection soothing any unease that brewed in you. "It's just . . . I know how they see you," you said, your tone more thoughtful than concerned. "And I know they don't really get us."

He tilted his head, studying you with a calm expression on his face. "Do you care what they think?"

"Not really," you admitted, glancing back at him through your eyelashes. "But it's hard not to notice, you know? Sometimes I just wonder what they're thinking."

The Slytherin shrugged, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "Probably trying to figure out if you've got me under some love spell. Because obviously, there's no other reason I'd be with someone like you, right?"

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly. "You sound ridiculous."

"But I'm right," he teased, his smile softening. "They only see what they want to see. They don't know you like I do."

"And what do you see?" you asked, curious despite yourself.

He paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "I see someone who's smart, kind, and who doesn't put up with anyone's nonsense — including mine. And I'm good with that."

You couldn't help but smile at his words, appreciating the simplicity of them. "And you? What about what they think of you?"

"They can think what they like," he said easily, his fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder now. "I'm not here to make anyone else comfortable. I'm here because I want to be."

You nodded, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. "Yeah. Me too."

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the courtyard filling the air around you. You leaned into his side, your book forgotten as you let yourself relax, content just to be there with him.

"So, who's got the next match against us again?" your boyfriend asked suddenly, his tone casual as if he hadn't just been talking about something far more serious.

You laughed softly, glad for the shift in conversation. "Gryffindor, next Saturday. And I'm not missing it."

"Good," he said, smiling as he looked out at the courtyard. "Because I want you there."

They didn't understand how you did it, how you tamed the devil, how you made him fall so deeply in love with you that the darkness in him seemed to shrink in your presence.

But the truth was, you hadn't tamed him at all. You'd simply loved him, and that was all Mattheo Riddle ever needed to be tamed.

[rafesslxt]

But like Imagine you waking up and seeing this after Mattheo told you to take a nap after you told him you‘re tired.😭💀

This is kinda fun 🤝🏻

xoxo sarah <3