◟♯ . ─ BAMBII / LEE . . . 9teen , black , goth/scenemo , she/they , angry blond lover , multifandom blog , writer ˎˊ˗
when writing , i always have a black reader in mind, specifically a black fem reader! (but others can read my works too). my asks/request are always open unless i state they are closed! I DO NOT USE A.I ON MY WRITINGS!!
cw: f. // black , 1995!eminem, cocky!jimmy , soft!jimmy , smut , small banter, p in v (be safe, chat) , public s3x , 1k wc
a/n: i added more dialogue and scene movement because the scene on its own kinda felt a smidge too empty, off and a little dry. no shade. i loved it, but GIRL… also i alternate names for jimmy. (jimmy, rabbit)
you walk over to see what all the commotion is in the parking lot of rabbit’s work place. jimmy heard some back and forth going that he decided to butt into the rap battle that was happening and began taking shots at his co-worker, mike.
“you look like a pissed off rapper who never made it”
the crowd rises in “oohs” from the diss that was just spoken. the mini roast continues until he finishes, dapping up a co-worker as he lays his eyes on you. walking to you, he asks
“lookin’ for your brother?” he asks softly, subtly with a smile on his face.
you do a soft nod, fiddling with your burgundy scarf as you do.
“i was…”
the air is thick with tension as rabbit keeps eyeing your curves and the way your hair sits. stopping himself from taking you right then and there.
“do you wanna do somethin’ tonight, [❤︎]…?”
you laugh at him, tucking some of your hair back. your body swinging and sway as you stare at him.
“are you asking me out on a date, jimmy smith, jr.?”
he does that “deer in headlights” look, where his mouth is agape a little and his eyes subtly widen when you ask him that question. sizing you up then making eye contact with you.
“yeah, as a matter of fact, i am…” you walk closer to him when you speak.
“why don't you take me somewhere now?”
you look up at him, his face becoming stoic as he answers.
“come on…”
he takes your hand and leads you to the entrance of his job, putting his orange juice down on one of the bars, he helps you get through them, rabbit following through after you.
“everyone is still on break, so we got some time.”
you squint as you ask him.
“how would you know if someone was to come back, jimmy?”
he doesn't answer, continuing to walk you to a little spot where no one will be able to see you two.
both of your hands intertwine with one another, your foreheads touch and noses scrunch against each other.
the brunette shortly after begins to sloppily kiss you. you moan into the kiss, jimmy’s body physically reacting to it.
thrusting his hard-on onto your thigh. your hand escapes his as you reach for his beanie, dangling it behind his head before dropping it. he moves his lips to your neck, making you whisper his name.
“jimmy…”
it drives him crazy, moving his hands towards your torso, soft squeezes, caresses and fondles occur as he finally finds your sweater’s zipper.
zzipp.
upon opening your jacket, your chest sits beautifully as he oggles at you.
“shitt…”
he swears under his breath, softly rubbing his big hands over as his kisses go up and down on them.
pulling his pants and his boxers down, rabbit is intoxicated by how your eyes look at him as he positions himself at the right angle.
rolling down your matching burgundy stocking as he props your left leg up on one of the boxes behind you two.
your breaths match one another as he thrusts into you, your foreheads touch again as he speeds up, not lasting much longer within your walls.
leaning his head a bit to see that cute expression on your face, all that could be heard between the both of you were soft gasps and grunts.
kissing and nibbling on your ear, he nuzzles his head into your neck.
no words were spoken as he feels you’re about to come around him. he tries to restrain himself from releasing, but he comes shortly after you.
you gaze at each other with a satisfied look, from the high that you were both caught in and the fact that no one has called jimmy out on his rendezvous.
you both laugh softly, slowly coming down from your highs.
“you were so good outside”
you say to him smiling as you were still coming down from the high. he gives you a confused look
“in line at a lunch truck?”
“mhm”
you nod, giggling in agreement.
“y'know something jimmy?”
he replies with a hm? as he puts his beanie back on.
“my friends told me, you were crazy…”
he furrowed his eyebrows at what you just said, angrily pulling up his pants.
“yo, your “friends” don't even know me …”
you zip up your jacket and fix your hair.
“so? maybe they're wrong, jimmy.” he softens his furrowed eyebrows, picking up his beanie and putting it back on.
footsteps could be heard coming from the entrance as employees came back from their lunch break, you both are caught off guard.
“oh shit! i gotta get you outta here.”
rabbit takes your hand and you both duck not trying to be seen and to not make him lose his job. you both successfully make it outside behind the building, in the alleyway.
“i- uh, gotta head back in before my boss fires my ass. i do not want to go back to flippin’ pizzas and lil’ ceasar’s with future again…”
you laugh at him being flustered from almost being caught, kissing him on the cheek because of it.
“well i'll see you around then, jimmy smith jr.” you smile, letting go of his hand and fixing your purse. he scoffs to himself,
“see me around?”
you rolls your eyes, nudging his arm.
“i mean, see you later. you know what i meant”
you kiss him on the lips again before leaving. “bye jimmy” you pull his beanie over his eyes as you walk away, doing a little run when crossing to the other side of the street.
he pulls the beanie back up and does that snarky face and flips you off. you do the same to him, doubling your flipped bird. an ear to ear smile appears when you do.
I just got described as an "ad hating commie" by someone because I said a minute of youtube ads is unpleasant. fully spent 5 minutes arguing and defending youtube ads. insane stuff
some people don’t deserve fanfics, much less for free.
also even if authors didn’t tag any specific warnings but they used the “creator chose not to use archive warnings” tag, then that is your warning.
“omg you should’ve —” no one forced your entitled ass to read anything. fanfic writers write for themselves and their own enjoyment. if you don’t like what you’re reading, quietly leave. ao3 is not an airport. no one cares about your departure so no need to announce it.
summary: sam's working, you're comfortable. so what if dean takes a little nap on you ?
pairing: dean x reader (gn) ft. sam | genre: fluff !! | word count: 2.2k
warnings: cute sleepy dean and a ton of cat comparisons, some lore-accurate sam research-isms :]
notes: okay so i wrote this one MONTHS ago but i never posted it because i hated it lowkey </3 but i got a second opinion and i wanted to post a lil somethin for you while i'm writing exams, so here you go :]
taglist
It’s cold enough in the Impala that you can almost see your breath. Your fingers have been freezing for the last twenty minutes, even with your gloves on. You’ve tucked your feet up under you in the backseat of the car, but it’s not doing enough to fix the chill that’s living in your shoes. You don’t even have to touch your face to know that your cheeks and nose are freezing, probably already going a little numb from the cold.
Dean, on the other hand, looks perfectly fine. His cheeks are flushed a light pink, but other than that, he looks like the cold can’t touch him in the slightest. It’s infuriating, actually, but it’s to be expected. Dean ‘I run hot’ Winchester was not lying. His leather jacket is wrapped around your shoulders, leaving him in just a flannel and t-shirt, and he’s even got the sleeves on the flannel rolled half-way up his forearms.
He catches you glaring at him in the rearview mirror, sending you an exaggerated wink that has you rolling your eyes.
“What?” he drawls, twisting around in his seat to look at you.
“Can’t believe you’re not cold,” you mutter under your breath.
He smirks. “I already told you, sweetheart, I run-.”
“You run hot, yeah. I know,” you finish for him.
Dean’s hand comes over the seat, squeezing your thigh gently.
“Hey, we’ll be fine. Sam’ll be comin’ back soon.”
You raise an eyebrow. “And you know this how, exactly?”
He winces, knowing you caught his bluff.
“Wish we could’ve gone in all three of us, ‘s all,” you add, turning your attention back to your book.
“Me too, sweetheart. Me too. Can’t let lore boy have all the fun, can we?”
That wrangles a tiny smile out of you, and Dean grins like he’s just won the lottery. You avert your eyes back to reading the cramped lines of text and scrawled notes in the margins of John’s hunting journal. Sam’s a lucky bastard, you think as you read. The library seems to be the only warm place open in the whole town today, meaning every single person was in it. They’d only had capacity for one more, so the three of you mutually agreed that Sam would be the most efficient.
You’re regretting it now, the icy air biting at your exposed skin. You tuck Dean’s jacket tighter around you and shiver, goosebumps crawling up your arm. You start rubbing your hand up and down on your arm, and if you concentrate hard enough, you can almost convince yourself it’s working. Apparently, the rustle of fabric is frustrating Dean, because he opens his car door and steps out.
“Where are you going?” you shout after him, the door slamming shut before he turns and opens yours.
“Here,” he says cheekily.
“Close the door, Dean. ‘S freezing.”
He shuts the door with a little too much force, shaking his hand to get the tingles out of it. Dean slides down the bench until he’s mostly pressed against your side, head snaking over your shoulder to peek at your journal.
“Whatcha readin’ ‘bout?” he says in a sing-song voice.
You shoot him a glare, and he grins. “Your dad’s journal.”
“Yeah, I know that. I asked what you’re readin' about.”
You make a non-committal motion with your hand. “Dunno. Anything I can find that makes any damn sense?”
Dean hums, sliding closer. “Whatcha lookin’ at right now?”
You sigh, flipping a page back and pointing to a crudely drawn picture of a wraith. “That. Think it might be one of these.”
He frowns, taking the journal from you and examining it. You squawk indigently, but his eyes have focused on the page you were reading. His tongue pokes between his teeth just a little, and you can’t help but think it’s cute. Kind of like the tongues on cats when they finish drinking water or when you scratch them in that perfect spot behind the ears.
“So, what’s the verdict? Wraith?” you ask.
“What?”
“Wraith. Yes or no?”
“Yeah, probably.”
You raise an eyebrow again, thoroughly unimpressed. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t really care?”
Dean shrugs, kissing your forehead before sliding away from you and laying down on the seat, sprawling himself across the bench.
“Sammy’s searchin’. We don’t gotta do anythin’," he says, exaggerated as he stretches.
You tuck up into the corner, back jammed between the seat and the door. It’s not perfectly comfortable, and the metal is cold on your back, but you know Dean isn’t set on leaving you here. Not when he’s got that childish twinkle in his eyes that says he’s either about to do something extremely stupid, or extremely endearing.
“Dean,” you warn. “We’re working.”
“I know.” He rolls dramatically onto his back, staring at the roof of the car and stretching his arms up to touch it. “I don’t really care.”
You shrug your shoulders helplessly. “Why not?”
He twists his head around, craning his neck uncomfortably to stare at you. “’Cause I don’t want to.”
You swat at his head, and he ducks away from your attacks.
“Be nice to me," he whines.
“I am nice to you. You’re distracting me,” you complain.
He seems to realize that he has been and sits up properly on the opposite end of the bench as you. He hands the journal back to you, watching you get comfy in the space he’s vacated. Dean’s basically radiating warmth, and given that he’s so close to you, you’re already starting to warm up yourself. The beginnings of a smile work their way across Dean’s face, and you note the way it softens as it grows. Maybe his goal was just to warm you up after all.
You stretch your legs out on the bench, poking Dean with your shoe covered feet and pushing him even further into the corner. It’s a mostly unconscious maneuver, but now that you’re aware you’re doing it, it’s a little bit fun.
“Aw, c’mon, why’re you doin’ that?” Dean whines, swatting your feet away for the hundredth time.
“You were bugging me. I’m bugging you.”
He scowls, launching himself forward onto you not unlike the cat you’ve compared him to before. The air gets punched out of your lungs, and you laugh weakly as he shimmies himself around.
“What’s this about?” you tease, kissing the tip of his nose.
“You’re bein’ annoying,” he grumbles.
You run a hand through his hair, and he melts into you like butter in a hot pan. Completely boneless, like gravity decided to pull him against you and lay him out like a shag carpet.
“Am I?” you say softly, lowering your voice for his sake.
You’re calling his bluff before he even has a chance to push it too far. He gets like this when he’s tired; a little bit more annoying, a little bit whinier, a hell of a lot clingier. If he doesn’t have anyone to tell him off (Sam), he’ll drape himself over you wherever you are. Coincidentally, a lot like the cats he’s unfortunately allergic to.
“Mhm.”
He’s already drifting a little, his warmth soaking into you. You shuffle down the seat so you’re lying flat on your back. Dean has to fold a little bit to fit, those stupid long legs of his half-hanging off the seat, but he’s comfortable enough. You take off his leather jacket, balling it up and putting it under your head like a pillow.
“When’s Sam coming back?” you murmur.
Dean shrugs, grumbling something about how he could be years, I dunno. You chuckle, hoping Sam comes back in time to see his brother completely soft and pliable under your touch. Dean’s pride would never recover, but it would be funny.
You prop the journal up on Dean’s back, adjusting constantly to make sure his deepening breathing doesn’t disrupt your research. The minutes bleed together as you read, and you barely notice the snow starting to come down on the town outside the frosted car windows. With Dean laying on you, you barely even notice the chill.
Eventually, as the afternoon starts to bleed away into evening, the words on the pages you’re reading aren’t sticking in your brain anymore. They’re blurring together in new ways, merging so badly you could make your own language out of them. You close the journal, marking your page, and set it on the ground.
Hands freed, you rest them in Dean’s hair. You start moving them in slow circles, brushing through the dusty brown strands of his hair and gently massaging his scalp. He hums, the sound like rough gravel, melting infinitely deeper into your embrace. It’s almost pathetic if it weren’t so damn adorable; his big bad hunter façade completely leaves his body when you lay your hands on him.
In another life, you’re cozied up on your couch, in your very safe house, very unaware of the supernatural things outside your door. You’ve got Dean with you, but instead of lying chest down across your body, he’s curled up beside you. Maybe you’ve convinced him a cat is required, despite his frequent complaints, and maybe that cat is curled up in your lap right now. Your hand rubbing it on the head between the ears, its little paws tucked around you, purring softly.
That sounds too real. Something’s not right about this picture. You freeze, half-awake, distinguishing your daydreams from reality. No cat, no house. Dean’s here, and so is the purring.
When it finally clicks, your mouth opens slightly, an amused ‘o’ on your lips. The sound is coming from Dean. He’s sort of snoring; not a proper one, but not something you can confidently say is just an inhale. It’s kind of soft, actually, the way he’s letting himself dissolve into the warmth of the car. It melts something in your soul to know that he trusts you enough to let his guard down, even when he’s working a hunt. At this point, he’s too far gone to even care who comes in and sees him.
Which is great, because Sam’s back. He slides into the passenger seat, freezing for a second and looking around when he doesn’t see you or Dean. Craning his neck and twisting his upper body, his gaze lands on you in the backseat, Dean spread out across you.
“Aren’t you two cozy,” he deadpans.
“I’m being suffocated,” you tease.
“I’m sure. He doesn’t have a good concept of personal space.”
“I heard that,” Dean grumbles.
Sam stifles a laugh in the sleeve of his jacket. “You wanna head back to the motel then?”
Dean mutters something about how he’s getting up soon, but when he doesn’t move a muscle, you answer for him.
“Yeah, Sam. Might as well. ‘S warmer in there anyways.”
Sam hums in agreement. “Thought so.”
He slides into the driver’s seat before turning to you once again. “You find anything?”
You nod, pointing to the general location of John’s journal on the floor of the car. “I have some ideas. You?”
He nods excitedly. “So, get this. Turns out we are dealing with a wraith.”
You smile to yourself, having already made that conclusion, and gesture for him to continue.
“Apparently, one of the hospital patients said she remembers seeing a specific doctor come in to see her earlier in the week. Then, three days later, she says the same exact doctor came to see her again, acting like it was the first time. After that? Chance brush of a hand when she drops something, creepy face in the mirror, then everything goes all Girl, Interrupted.”
“Nice work, Sam,” you say, at the exact same time Dean says, “You talk too much.”
Sam and you exchange a look, bursting into laughter that makes Dean groan. You apologize with a light kiss to Dean’s lips, and he settled down again as Sam pulls the car out of the lot and back toward the motel. Dean’s knocked out by the time you get there, the steady hum of the road under the Impala’s tires making a perfect white noise for him. He’s not happy about being woken when you pull into the parking lot, making a show of groaning and complaining as he stretches.
“What, did we ruin your catnap?” you tease as you pull him out of the car.
“I was not havin' a catnap,” he complains.
“You absolutely were,” you reply.
“Was not.”
“Were too.”
“Was not.”
“Dude, you totally were. You were snoring when I came back in,” Sam chimes in after unlocking the door.
“I don’t snore, Sammy. Don’t spread lies about me.”
“Yes, you do. You talk in your sleep sometimes, too,” you finish defiantly.
You and Dean follow Sam into the motel room, arguing the whole way to bed about whether or not he snores, and whether the things he talks about in his sleep are “sexy and awesome”. You and Dean collapse on one bed, Sam takes the other, and when everyone’s settled again, it doesn’t take long to fall asleep. The motel room isn’t cold, and you have the deep breathing of both brothers to listen to and help lull you to sleep.
