Sandra

55 Year old in love with SPN. Dean girl. Love dolphins and nutcrackers, Don't write ,but a reader

[ironreviewangel]

After having my tumblr for so long i had to make a new account because my new laptop can't change my password or anything. I was sandlee44 if i followed you before let me know please so i can follow you again. Thanks

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles | Man About Town, Spring/Summer 2022 issue 

[ironreviewangel]

Hot, one of my favorites

[reigningqueenofwords]

You're Adorable

Pairing: Eventual Bucky/Reader, Yelena/Kate Word count: 1,156 Summary: Tony is, well, Tony. He taunts Bucky about having you. Bucky is livid and wants you found.

Part 6 of His Angel

You groaned as you came to a couple hours later. The last thing you remembered was walking into your building. Why the hell did your head hurt so badly? Slowly sitting up, you winced as you looked around. Spotting a bottle of water on the side table you pondered if it was safe. However, your body chose for you. Your mouth was dry and it felt like you hadn’t had water in days. Grabbing it you opened it and you were thankful you felt the seal break. You started to chug it while the door to the room you were in opened.  “Good, you’re awake.” Came a man’s voice. If it were under different circumstances you’d say his voice was almost soothing. “Can I get you anything?” 

It took a moment to find your voice. “You can let me go home.” You managed. “I don’t even know who you are. Where am I?” 

He leaned against the doorframe. “You’re in one of my workshops.” As if that cleared anything up. “And where are my manners?” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “I’m Tony Stark. Currently having a bit of a turf war with your boyfriend.”

You furrowed your brows. “I’m not dating anyone. Let alone anyone who could have a ‘turf’ war…” Did he get you mixed up with someone else? “Isn’t that a gang thing?” Who actually used the term ‘terf war’, anyway? You’d only heard it in cheesy movies.

“Aren’t you just precious?” He chuckled. “I saw you text him about using his credit card for ‘new friends’.” 

A look of realization washed over your face. “You know who ‘B’ is?!” You gasped. “You know the man who’s been sending me money and gifts!” 

Tony stared at you. “Of course I know Barnes. He’s a pain in my ass.” He rolled his eyes. “Why are you acting like you didn’t kno- holy shit. You don’t know who he is. Do you?” 

A blush settled over your cheeks at that. “No, I don’t.” You admitted. “I lost my wallet a couple months back. B sent it back to me with a new wallet and some money. Since then he’s sent me a bunch of other stuff. My best friend and I agreed I should use them so he wouldn’t get upset or anything. I know it’s stupid to use things from someone who you call your stalker, but it isn’t like the cops would do a thing!” At this point holding back information felt almost silly. He had kidnapped you, and likely knew a lot about you.

He grinned. “You are adorable when all riled up, has anyone told you that?” When you shot him a glare he couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Anyways, your ‘stalker’ is none other than James Buchanan Barnes. Also known as Bucky.” At least now you had a name. Even if it came from the man who kidnapped you. “I’m famished. Join me for a late dinner?” 

Bucky saw red upon hearing who was behind this. He had been trying to deal with Stark in the best way possible, and yet Stark had you kidnapped. “I want you to find any building with ties to him.” He ordered Scott. “I want her found by morning.” Which was one hell of a task. It was nearly 1am at this point.

A silence settled over the room with only Scott’s typing being heard. “So far he has five properties, but I’m going to keep digging just to be sure.” He spoke up after a bit.

Hearing his phone, Bucky lifted it to see a text from Tony. It was a picture of you. You were sitting at a table eating a taco, clearly annoyed that he was taking a picture. Your hair was loose and a mess, your makeup was smudged, and he wished he could pull you to him through the phone. “Can you track where a text was sent from?” His eyes darted to Scott as Tony typed up a message. 

“I’ve never tried, but I’m sure I could manage it.” He shrugged. Bucky had gotten Scott out of being shipped off to prison five years prior. He’d already had one B&E under his belt and had been having a really hard time finding work. Having Cassie made Scott willing to do whatever he could to provide for her- when her mother let him see her. Tony had actually paid Scott to break into Bucky’s. Bucky caught him, and interrogated him. He gave Scott three options: work for him and be paid well, get arrested, or have his body parts sent to Tony as a threat. It was one of the easiest choices Scott had ever made. Not once had he regretted it. Now he had a nice apartment, got Cassie a few times a month, and was able to help her mom out a lot more. 

“Do it.” He ordered just as Tony’s text came in. Stalking, Barnes, really? Can’t get a girl the old fashioned way? Tsk tsk tsk. Bucky’s jaw clenched at that. She is just the cutest. Maybe I’ll keep her.  

I’m going to fucking kill you. He sent back quickly. “What’s so special about her?” Clint asked, honestly curious. “We’ve never seen you get so worked up over a woman before.” Hell, he couldn’t recall the last relationship Bucky had. 

He sighed. “I can’t even describe it.” He admitted. “She’s an angel who needs protecting. In a sea of dreary as fuck colors she’s a pop of pink, or light blue, or lavender.” 

Steve was relaxing on your couch as Kat made him a cup of coffee. As he looked around he saw various pictures of the two of you. “How long have you known each other?” He asked when she came in with two mugs. 

“It feels like it’s been our whole lives.” She smiled sadly, worried for you. Kat handed him his coffee before sitting down on the chair. “But we met in college and have been roommates for about four years.” 

“We’ll get her back.” He promised gently. “Buck will burn the city down for her.” 

Ket chewed on her lip. “Buck, that’s the guy who’s been sending her stuff?” Now she had a name at least. “We just knew him as ‘B’.” Letting out a sigh she just hoped you came home safe. “What’s he like? Is he a good guy? I mean as good as a guy can be while sending a woman random things. Like that couch.” 

Steve chuckled lightly. “I helped pick this out, actually.” He admitted. “And he’s my best friend. We grew up together. He’s not perfect, no one is, but I think he’s overall a good guy. His heart's in the right place.” While Steve didn’t 100% agree with how his best friend was going about this, he wanted him happy. “I’ll be with him to the end of the line. Whenever that may be.” 

Tagging: @vicmc624 @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[ironreviewangel]

Tony you are toast. Bucky will hurt that fool

[dilfgifs]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES in

THUNDERBOLTS* 2025, dir. Jake Schreier

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

World’s Best Dad Masterlist

Summary: One of the reader’s students has a problem and she confronts the girl’s father, Dean, about what’s going on. He owns up to his mistake and ends up asking the reader out to appease his daughter. The reader quickly becomes part of the Winchester’s lives and learns what that means as Dean gets a lesson of his own on how he might not be the world’s greatest dad, but he is a good one…

Pairing: single parent!Dean x kindergarten teacher!reader 

Word Count: ~60K (individual counts listed in parts)

Warnings: language, smut

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 (smut)

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

The Next Year Time Stamp

Christmas Time Stamp

The Nursery Time Stamp

Seventeen Timestamp

Graduation Timestamp

A/N: A super fluffy and cute story full of daddy Dean moments. This series is complete. <3

A/N #2: Ever wonder what World’s Best Dad would look like from Dean’s perspective? Check out This Evergreen Love to see the series written in Dean’s POV! 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Random reblog of one of the most adorable daddy!Dean fics I’ve ever done! 🥹

[ironreviewangel]

Need to read

[holylulusworld]

Tamponade

Summary: He doesn’t want them.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester

Warnings: blood, bleeding wound, stab wound, injured Dean, wrong medical treatment (almost), Sammypedia strikes again, talk about tampons, Dean’s manhood is in danger for a hot minute (not really), crack!fic, idiots in love

A/N: Bear with me. Dean has my blog in a tight grip again. 👀

“Fucking shit, Winchester! Stop making a fuss,” you mutter under your breath. Dean is wiggling like a worm, trying to get away from you and your capable hands. “I’m trying to save you from bleeding out!”

Dean is dizzy; he can barely look straight, but he won’t stop wiggling.

“Don’t get anywhere near me with that thing!” He complains loudly. “What am I to you? A lady?”

“Dude, a lady would let me help her instead of acting like I’m trying to kill them,” you bite back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Maybe I should call the waitress from the diner. I bet she can help you better!”

The hunter glares at the object in your hand, curling his upper lip. “I'd rather die than turn into a pussy.”

“Dean,” sighing his name, you look at the hunter. You can still feel the hunt in your bones and slowly lose your patience. “It’s a tampon, not the end of your manhood!”

“Exactly,” he rasps, his breathing becoming shallow. “It’s a tampon, sweetheart. I'd rather die like a man!”

“Christ,” you mutter under your breath, now straddling his legs to keep him from wiggling. With one hand pressing down on his chest, you try to push the tampon into his bleeding wound. “It’s good for one job, to stop the bleeding.”

“Actually, you shouldn’t use a tampon,” Sam throws in, stepping closer to the bed to end the fight between you and his brother.

“I knew you’d save my manhood, Sammy!” Dean sighs, relieved. “Tell her to stop! I don’t want to use the things she uses for her lady parts.”

“It helps my vagina!” You protest but look at Sam for confirmation. “It can help…right?”

Dean retches. “Don’t call her that. It’s…yuk.”

“No, you shouldn’t use it,” Sam replies. “Not because of his sensitive manhood, but tampons are highly ineffective and do nothing for trauma care. It’s dangerous to use them for a stab wound.”

“Oh man,” you whine, looking at the tampon in your hands. “Well, I save you for my lady bits then.” You say, leaning over Dean to peck his cheek. “Your baby brother saved your manhood, Sir.”

You retreat, defeated by Sammypedia once again. You sniffle and cross your arms over your chest. Why does Sam always know better than you?

“I only wanted to help, Sam.”

“Let me patch him up,” Sam is quick to open the first aid kit and patch another wound up. “I know you wanted to help, Y/N. But first aid ain’t your specialty. You are good at other things.”

“Pie,” Dean murmurs lowly. He dips his head to hopefully look at you. “You can make me pie when we are back at the bunker. You know, to make up for threatening me with a lady product.”

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter, but playfully punch Dean’s thigh.

He grins. “You love me.”

“No. I hate you.”

“You love me, sweetheart,” he says, a little more confident.

“Well…maybe I don’t hate you.”

“Guys, when I’m done here you should get a room,” Sam complains. He’s just done watching you beat around the bush for months. “I mean it.”

“Pie first,” Dean says, earning a chuckle from you.

“Pie first,” you agree. “Maybe we can talk about tampons later…”

[ironreviewangel]

OMG Dean is a trip, glad Sam stopped her from hurting Dean

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles | Man About Town, Spring/Summer 2022 issue 

[reigningqueenofwords]

Mr. Queen

Pairings: Eventual Oliver/Reader, Laurel/Tommy, Moira/Walter Word count: 2,199 Summary: Walter asks to see you at work one morning, Oliver lies to Walter about the pair of you, and Maggie is sick.

Part fifteen of For the Kids

Oliver worried when he didn’t hear from you. His thumb hovered over the call button. Taking a deep breath, he figured he’d check on you instead. You did work at Queen Consolidated, after all. He cleared his throat and quickly went to find you. As soon as he saw you, his heart skipped a beat. He watched as you took a message on the phone, eyeing your features. He waited until you were off the phone to approach you. "Good morning, Y/N." He smiled. 

"Good morning, Mr. Queen." You greeted him politely.

He raised his eyebrows and took it as flirting, grinning. “How was your night?” He leaned on the desk. 

"Mostly peaceful." You told him. "Played on my computer a bit, and he only woke me up twice. So win." 

He nodded. “I didn’t hear from you…” He said softly. 

"Well, when you said you were needed, I assumed it was important." You said with a small shrug.

“You’re important.” He said instantly. "You, and the kids. Speaking of, I think Maggie is having a growth spurt. She was whining about her PJ pants getting too short, and her knees hurt. I looked it up, and it suggested a growth spurt."

You melted. “That’s sweet. I’ll have to stop by the store after work.” You nodded. "I'm glad he's not having one, too. Last year they had two growth spurts at the same time." You chuckled.

“Don’t speak too soon.” He winked, his eyes traveling down to your cleavage for a second.

Blushing, you went to open your mouth when your phone rang. "Queen Consolidated, this is Y/N." You answered. "I'll be right there." You said, slowly hanging up. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but Mr. Steele needs to see me."

He frowned. “Let me know.” He said softly. 

"You needed to see me, Mr. Steele?" You said as you walked into his office.

He looked up at you. "I have received a few complaints, Miss Y/L/N." Me said smoothly. His accent made his words seem scarier than they were. "I can't have my employees flirting with my stepson." 

You instantly paled. “I’m sorry, sir. That wasn’t my intention.” 

"Intention or not, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to let you go." He sat back in his chair. 

“What?” You stammered. “My work hasn’t suffered.” You countered. "I rarely see Mr. Queen at work." 

“Apparently it is enough to get noticed several times. I’m sorry.” He said sincerely. “But we run a high establishment here.” He explained. "You may clean out your desk, and your last check will be deposited Friday."

You fought back tears. “Thank you for the experience.” You walked out. Fired. You had been fired. You couldn't go back to the club now, either. Panic set it as you rushed to clean out your desk, knowing you hadn’t flirted with Oliver that badly. Clearly, someone around you didn't care. 

Oliver was confused when he didn't see you the rest of the day, and you didn't text him. He waited until he knew you were home to call you. It took longer than usual for you to pick up. "What did Walter want?" He asked when you finally answered. 

"To fire me." You sniffed. "But, I'm looking for new jobs right now, can I text you later?"

“What? You’re serious? He can’t do that!” Oliver was angry. “Did he give you a reason?” 

You sighed. "He's received complaints." You told him. "About us flirting. I pointed out that I rarely see you at work, but it didn't matter." 

Oliver felt his heart hurt. “I’m sorry I was the cause. This isn’t fair. I’ll talk to him.” He told you. 

"No, I'll look for work somewhere else. Even if I went back, there's no telling how the other women would react. We both know it was a woman." You told him.

He sighed. “Yeah.” He agreed. “I’ll bring dinner while I help you look? I don’t want you back if the women are going to hassle you.” Even though he’d talk to Walter anyway. 

"Sure. The kids will be happy to see you." You agreed. 

"There you are, Walter." Oliver greeted his stepfather. Walter was with Moira and Theo in the living room.

“Oliver.” He nodded. “Sounds like you wish to speak about something?” 

Oliver nodded. "You fired a young woman today?"

“I did. Seemed to not be doing her job and instead spent her time flirting with you.” He shook his head. 

Moira raised an eyebrow at her son. He sighed. "Of course we're flirting, Walter." He threw his hands up. “We’re together after all!” 

Walter arched a brow. “I was not aware of this.” 

“Duh! Look how mere flirting with me hurt her. Who knows what those awful women would have done if they knew we were together.” It was way too late to backtrack now so he rolled with it.

"Why haven't we heard of her before tonight?" Moira asked. "Invite her to dinner!" 

Thea looked at her brother. "I thought Tommy said you'd been spending all your free time with some mom and her kids?" 

He sighed. “That’s her. She’s a single mom and is new to the dating world. I didn’t want to throw her into it.” He knew he was in deep and you’d be pissed when you found out. 

“Ah. She’s pregnant.” Walter suddenly remembered. 

“Yeah. You fired a pregnant woman. Congrats.” Oliver gave him a look. 

"I'm going to be a grandmother?!" Moira asked. "And you never said a word? Do you know what she's having?" She asked quickly. 

“A boy.” He easily responded then shook his head. “He’s not mine, mom.” He quickly held his hands up. She raised an eyebrow. "He's her late husband's." He didn't want to tell them something you wouldn't be comfortable with them knowing.

Thea stared at him. “Since when do you date moms? Is she old?” asked.

"Since now. And no!" He shook his head. "She's late twenties." 

“How old are her children?” Moira asked. 

"Clay is almost 9, and Maggie just turned 4. She's about 25 weeks with her youngest son." He explained. 

Moira and Walter looked at each other. “You have to give her her job back.” Moira told him. "She's a single mother." She turned to Oliver. "May I ask how her husband died?"

"He wasn't the nicest. Guess he pissed off the wrong person, and he got murdered." He shrugged. "She had filed for divorce just days before."

Thea smirked. “There’s the excitement.” She patted his arm. "You've never been one for boring." 

He shook his head. "That's another reason I didn't bring her up. She was with him since high school, and he really messed with her head." 

“Picking up the pieces?” Moira raised a brow. 

"Yes and no? I mean, Tommy and Laurel have been her friends for years." He told her. 

She hummed. “Well, I guess that is a good thing.” She noted. "I just don't want someone using you for your money."

He smiled at that. "She yells at me when I try to buy things for them." He assured her. "Scolded me the day we met about it. But, I'm expected for dinner. And if she told Maggie I'm coming, she's being pestered."

All three looked impressed and then Thea snorted. “I give it three months. No offense.” She shook her head. "You'll get bored." 

"Yes, because I sleep on a couch that's older than Maggie just to get bored." He rolled his eyes before making his way out. Once he was outside, he cursed. How was he going to explain this to you? You were going to kill him. He hoped to talk to you once the kids were in bed. 

You sighed as your phone rang and you answered it. “Hello?” You had just finished helping Clay with his homework. 

“Ms. Y/L/N?” Came Walter’s voice. 

You furrowed your brows. "Yes, Mr. Steele?"

“I would like to formally apologize for firing you today. I misread the circumstances.” He began. "I would like to offer your job back." 

You blinked. “You misread it? You believed your employees over a newbie. I’m sorry but me leaving is probably for the best.” You told him. "I'd rather not return to a work environment where the other workers make things up."

Walter cleared his throat. “Well, now I know the truth so that wouldn’t happen.” He promised you. 

"What changed your mind?" You asked, curious.

“Well your relationship was brought to my attention. Usually you would have to inform Human Resources, but Oliver graciously explained that this was new.” You could tell he was smiling. "We look forward to meeting you and the children." He said kindly. 

You were quiet for a moment. "I see. May I think about your offer?"

“Of course. Take the time you need. And I will take this time to remind you about our maternity leave policy. Six months paid.” He explained happily. "Enjoy your evening." He said before the two of you hung up. 

After you set your phone down, you stared at the table. Did Oliver assume you were in a relationship? Or did he just say what he knew would get you your job back? Either way you were a bit angry. 

When he walked through the door a few moments later, he knew. He swallowed, hoping the sound of little feet saved him. However, they didn't. "I got dinner from your favorite place." He tried. 

"Why on Earth did you tell Walter we're in a relationship?!" You asked. 

“It just came out.” He hung his head. "Once I said it, I couldn't take it back." 

You rubbed your head. “What made you say it?” You asked. "Was it just so he would offer my job back?"

“No. I was actually defending our flirting.” He admitted. “If I just wanted him to give you your job back I would have told him to fire the other girls.” He pointed out. 

"That's weirdly sweet coming from you." You sighed. "He expects to meet the kids now. If we correct him, you'll be in trouble for lying. If not, I have to go along with this." You ran a hand through your hair. "Laurel already thinks there's something going on between us." 

“Isn’t there?” He swallowed. 

You looked down, nodding. "But I'm scared."

He set down the food. “Me, too.” He said honestly. "How about we talk about this once the kids are in bed?" He suggested. "We'll have dinner, get them to bed, and then talk."

You chewed on your lip and nodded. “Okay.” You agreed. "Maggie's in her room. Can you go wake her up? She was tired after daycare."

He nodded and quickly went to do that, taking a quick deep breath. At least you didn't kick him out of the apartment. Stepping into Maggie's room, he made his way over. When he brushed her hair back, he furrowed his brows at how warm she was. “Mags?” He shook her gently. “You feeling okay?” He sat on the side of her bed. 

She groaned and tried to lay on his lap. “Oli…” She said with a whine. 

Oliver lifted her and held her close as she shivered. He quickly went to you. “Do you have a thermometer?” He asked, making you look up. "She's burning up."

“Oh no.” You said worriedly and rushed to get it from the bathroom. You hoped that she wasn’t getting sick. Coming back out, you turned it on and pressed it to her forehead. “Shit.” You said when it beeped and read a fever of 101. “Let me call her doctor.” You told him, going to get her some Tylenol from the bathroom.

Oliver sat and cuddled her to make her comfortable. “I got you.” He said softly, hoping it was nothing serious. He watched you as you called the doctor and listened intently. The phone was between your ear and shoulder as you measured her medicine out. You let out a sigh and hung up, coming over. “What did they say?” 

“Keep an eye on her, and if her fever doesn’t break, or gets worse, bring her to the ER.” You explained. “Come on, Maggie, you need to take this.” You said gently.

“Uh uh.” She shook her head. 

“For me?” Oliver asked softly. “It’ll help you feel better.” He promised her. “I’ll even stay until you get better, okay?”

She whined. “Okay.” She looked at you and opened her mouth. Once she downed it, she made a face. “Ew.” She shook her head before cuddling back up to Oliver’s chest.

“Yeah, I don’t like the taste either.” He hugged her close. “How about we get you some soup or something?” He suggested. “I can have some delivered.”

She shook her head. “Mommy makes it best.” She told him. 

“Can you watch them while I go get what I need?” You asked him.

“Of course.” He nodded. “Let’s go watch some cartoons, okay?” He asked, lifting her to move to the couch. 

You smiled softly, before going to tell Clay that you were running to the store, and Oliver would be watching them.

Tagging: @vicmc624 @megumisluciouslashes

[ironreviewangel]

Poor maggie. I am glad he told his family about her and that they are getting closer.

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

I had a dream jensen ackles died. I was devastated the whole dream. I woke up to check if he was still alive and thank goodness he is

omg that’s a nightmare! if the news was real, i’d die. yall wouldn’t hear from me for at least 6 months to a year

[ironreviewangel]

Definitely be a nightmare and devastating we would have to keep each other to get through that.

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

I had a dream jensen ackles died. I was devastated the whole dream. I woke up to check if he was still alive and thank goodness he is

omg that’s a nightmare! if the news was real, i’d die. yall wouldn’t hear from me for at least 6 months to a year

[ironreviewangel]

Definitely be a nightmare and devastating we would have to keep each other to get through that.

[holylulusworld]

Their little princess

Summary: Steve and Bucky love your daughter to pieces. And their little family too.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: overprotective super-soldiers, fluff, MMF relationship (implied), love triangle, daddy Steve, daddy Bucky, pregnant reader, mentions of collars

“Careful, princess. We don’t know if the dog is friendly,” Steve softly said as your toddler was about to run toward a puppy. The golden retriever sat next to its owner on the ground, watching your daughter chase a butterfly.

“Steve,” You tried to stop Steve from making a fuss over a dog again. “She’s more interested in the butterfly. The dog is a puppy and won’t harm her. I know their owner. It’s a sweet dog, and more clumsy than dangerous.”

“You never know."

Bucky was quick to pick your daughter up and carry her back toward your picnic blanket, where her elder brother was happily playing with Alpine, the cat Bucky brought into your family.

“One moment they look like a golden retriever, and the next you are the one wearing a collar.”

Steve made an odd noise at Bucky’s comment, but his eyes darkened for only a second. Memories flooded his mind, the naughty kind of memory you don’t talk about in front of strangers, or even friends.

“Buck, that’s not for the kids to hear,” you said, your voice stern. The last thing you needed was for your children to know what was going on in your bedroom behind closed doors.

"I only wanted to talk about the golden retriever," Bucky muttered under his breath.

“You are telling me about golden retrievers,” you said, looking at Steve. The blonde looked flustered, only for a second. He chuckled, and his eyes dropped to your swollen belly. “They are more dangerous than you’d think.”

“In a good way,” Steve said, his hand moving toward your belly to gently rub it. “Right, babies? Your mommy loves it when daddy turns into a dangerous golden retriever. She makes the cutest noises to make daddy two jealous.”

“Hey! You can’t say that to them. And she loves it when I turn into a big German Shepherd,” Bucky grunted from the picnic blanket. “And we don’t know yet if they are yours or mine. They are ours either way.”

“No fighting about dominance again,” you cooed, trying to calm the alphas down.

Lately, everything has been a threat to them. Blame it on your pregnancy, or the fact that they settled down only a few months ago. The super-soldiers were on edge. Not even a bug was allowed anywhere near you or the kids.

“He started this whole claiming the babies again,” Bucky pouted. The former Winter Soldier and deadly super-soldier pouted like your son when he didn’t get ice cream for breakfast.

“Bucky, no,” you whined, your instinct kicking in. You hated it when he made you pity him, only using his kissable lips. “Stop fishing for cuddles.”

“Cuddles?” Bucky's eyes suddenly lit up in an instant. “We are talking about cuddles now?” He said, scooting closer to your side. “Rough cuddles or sweet ones?”

“Buck!” Steve warned, not wanting his son to catch up on the meaning of Bucky’s words. Your baby boy was as sly as his father. And lately, he caught up very fast on things. “No mentioning of cuddles around the kids.”

“Daddy,” your baby boy said, looking at Steve. “Can mommy give me cuddles first?”

“Of course, bud,” Steve softly replied. He crouched down to kiss the top of his son’s head. “Mommy will give you cuddles first.”

“Mommy!” Your daughter immediately stumbled toward her big brother, grabbing his hand, tugging at it. She looked at him, full of trust, close to tearing up.

“Princess wants cuddles too.” Your son rolled his eyes, but he wrapped his arms around his little sister. “There you go. No crying.”

“Cudd—les,” your baby girl hiccupped, wanting to be held by her father. “Dada…mommy.”

“Little princess,” Steve sighed when Bucky picked his daughter up to gently hold her against his chest. He couldn’t deny the sting he felt for only a second. He loved your daughter the same as his son, but it hurt him that your baby girl clung a little harder to her biological father.

“Dadda too,” your daughter babbled. She held out one chubby hand to Steve, demanding his attention too.

“She knows how to get cuddles,” your son complained. “She pouts, and everyone holds her.” He didn’t show it, but your son was close to tears. He loved your little princess dearly, but felt left outside for once.

“Come here,” you sat down next to your son, and held out your arms. He crashed into your body, careful not to hurt the babies in your belly. Your son nuzzled in your chest, purring low in his throat.

“He knows how to get the girls too,” Steve proudly said.

Bucky snickered. “Maybe the boys too.”

“Guys, this is not the place or time,” you sighed deeply. “Steve Jr. just loves cuddles. That’s all. There’s nothing wrong with liking cuddles.”

Bucky and Steve’s eyes darkened for a moment. They kept their instinct in control, but you felt the subtle shift in behavior.

“Maybe we should head home!” Bucky was quick to say. He slowly got up, his daughter in his arms. “Right, Steve?”

“Right,” Steve cleared his throat. “We should have more cuddles later…”

[ironreviewangel]

I think they are jealous of the kids. They want all the cuddles and more

[wintcr-soldier]

Kiss me.

[little-rose-big-writing]

Morning Graces

Part 2 of “Whiskey Rules”

***GIF IS NOT MINE***

Rating: mature (mentions of sex but none)


Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (established relationship)


Summary: the morning after Dean’s refusal comes. And now that you’re sober the rules no longer apply.


Warnings: hangover, consensual sex, fluffy smut.

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: Got lots of requests for this! So here is part 2 to Whiskey Rules.

Read part 1 here: “Whiskey Rules”

Sunlight, harsh and unforgiving despite the bunker’s subterranean nature, speared through a ventilation grate directly onto your face. You groaned, flinging an arm over your eyes. Your head throbbed with the steady rhythm of a jackhammer, your mouth felt stuffed with cotton, and your stomach gave a queasy lurch. Memories of last night flooded back – the tequila shots, the desperate need for Dean, his infuriatingly steadfast refusal… the feel of him hard beneath you, the taste of his skin, and the crushing disappointment when he’d put you to bed like a misbehaving child.

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter. Stupid damn rule.

Then, awareness prickled. You weren’t alone. The warm, solid presence beside you was unmistakeable. Dean. He was propped up on one elbow, watching you, the early morning light catching the flecks of green in his hazel eyes. There was no trace of judgment, only quiet concern and… something else simmering beneath the surface.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep but impossibly soft. “Rough night?”

You managed a pathetic whimper, peeking out from under your arm. “Head… feels like an Impala engine’s tryin’ to escape.”

A small, understanding smile touched his lips. Without a word, he leaned over you, reaching for the nightstand. You heard the clink of glass, then felt the cool press of a water glass against your hand. “Small sips,” he instructed gently. Next came two aspirin placed carefully in your palm. “Take these. Then just lie still.”

You obeyed, the cool water a balm to your parched throat. He watched you swallow the pills, his gaze tracing your face with an intensity that made your pulse flutter despite the hangover. The frustration from last night was still there, a low hum beneath the physical misery, but it was tempered now by a profound sense of being cared for.

“Better?” he asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His touch was feather-light.

“A little,” you rasped. You looked up at him, really looked. His hair was sleep-tousled, stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked rumpled and real and devastatingly handsome. The memory of grinding against him, feeling his desperate hardness… heat pooled low in your belly, separate from the nausea. “Dean…”

He shushed you softly, leaning down to press a chaste, lingering kiss to your temple. “Not yet. Gotta make sure you’re okay first.” He shifted, sitting up fully. “Hungry? I could make toast? Maybe some weak tea?”

The thought of food made your stomach rebel. “Just… water. And you.” You caught his hand as he moved to get up. “Stay.”

He paused, looking down at your hand on his. Then he settled back against the headboard, pulling you carefully, oh-so-gently, so your head rested against his bare chest. His skin was warm, the steady beat of his heart soothing against your aching temple. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand resting protectively on your hip, the other beginning that familiar, hypnotic stroking through your hair.

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’m right here.”

You lay like that for long, quiet minutes. The aspirin slowly dulled the headache’s sharpest edges. The water settled your stomach. But more than anything, Dean’s presence, his quiet strength and unwavering care, acted as an anchor. The desperate, drunken lust had burned itself out, replaced by a deep, thrumming ache of pure want – clean and sober and entirely focused on the man holding you.

You tilted your head back to look at him again. His eyes were already on yours, that simmering intensity now blazing openly. He saw the shift in you – the clarity replacing the haze of the hangover and the tequila fog.

“Dean,” you whispered, your voice stronger now. You traced a finger along the line of his collarbone. “I’m sober.”

A slow, devastating smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. It was a smile full of promise and relief and barely leashed desire. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice dropping to a husky register that sent shivers down your spine. “You sure are.”

He didn’t move immediately. Instead, he lifted his hand from your hair and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your cheekbone. His gaze searched yours, deep and searching. “You still want this?” he asked, his voice thick. “Truly want it? Not the tequila talking?”

The tenderness in his question, the depth of his care in making absolutely sure, melted the last remnants of your frustration. “Yes,” you breathed, pushing yourself up slightly to meet his gaze fully. “God, yes, De. I want you. Sober mind, sober heart.” You reached up to trace the curve of his lower lip with your thumb. “No rules in the way now.”

A low groan escaped him at your touch and your words. The careful control he’d maintained all night and through the morning snapped. In one fluid motion, he rolled you gently onto your back, settling his weight over you without crushing you. His hips pressed down, and you felt him – hard and insistent against your thigh, even through the thin layers of your panties and his boxers.

“Thank Christ,” he muttered against your lips before capturing them in a kiss that was nothing like the desperate clash of last night.

This kiss was deep, yes, hungry with pent-up longing, but it was also slow. Deliberate. Reverent. He explored your mouth with a languid intensity, tasting you like fine whiskey he wanted to savor. His hands slid under the hem of your tank top, calloused palms skimming up your sides, leaving trails of fire on your sensitive skin. He broke the kiss only to trail his lips along your jawline, down the column of your throat, placing open-mouthed kisses that made you arch beneath him with a soft gasp.

“Told you,” he murmured against the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck, his breath hot. “Worth waiting for.” He pushed your tank top up slowly, inch by torturous inch, revealing your bare breasts. His gaze darkened further, pure heat and adoration mingling as he took you in. “So damn beautiful.”

He lowered his head, not rushing. He kissed the swell of one breast, then the other, before taking a peaked nipple into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His tongue circled, flicked, sucked gently, sending jolts of pure pleasure straight to your core. You tangled your hands in his hair, gasping his name as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, building the ache between your legs into a throbbing need.

His hand slid lower, over your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips instinctively, helping him slide them down and off. His fingers found your center immediately, slick and eager for him.

“See?” he breathed against your skin as he began to stroke you with exquisite slowness, circling your clit with maddening precision before dipping a finger shallowly inside you. “All for me now. Soaked and perfect.”

He added a second finger, curling them gently against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “This what you needed last night? Hmm? This slow burn?”

“Yes!” you cried out, bucking against his hand. “De… please…”

He chuckled, a low, warm sound vibrating against your skin. He withdrew his fingers slowly, making you whimper at the loss. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he quickly shed his boxers, freeing his erection – thick and straining and glistening at the tip. He positioned himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

His eyes locked with yours again, holding your gaze as he slowly, so slowly, began to push inside. There was no resistance; you were more than ready for him. But he took his time, inch by exquisite inch, filling you gradually until he was fully sheathed within you.

“Oh god…” you moaned, the sensation of being stretched and filled by him completely overwhelming. It felt different sober – deeper, more intense, every nerve ending screaming with awareness.

Dean let out a shaky breath above you, his biceps trembling slightly with the effort of holding back. He braced himself on his forearms on either side of your head, cradling you. “Feel that?” he whispered hoarsely, barely moving inside you yet. “That’s us. Really us.” He dropped a soft kiss on your lips. “No tequila. No rules.” He began to move then – not the frantic pace fueled by drunken desire you might have initiated last night, but a deep, rolling rhythm that started slow and built gradually.

Each thrust was deliberate, measured, designed to draw out every possible ounce of pleasure. He filled you completely with each deep push and withdrew almost entirely before sliding home again. It was an exercise in control and connection. His eyes never left yours as he moved within you, watching every flicker of emotion cross your face – the pleasure, the awe, the deepening need.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper still, meeting each thrust as best you could despite the overwhelming sensations. Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the powerful muscles flexing beneath smooth skin.

“De… so good…” you gasped.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly between deep thrusts that hit that perfect spot inside you relentlessly now. “Just feel it. Feel me.” He lowered his head to kiss you again – deep and consuming – swallowing your moans. One hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit again with unerring accuracy. He circled it in time with his thrusts, applying perfect pressure.

The dual stimulation – the deep fullness inside you and the insistent pressure on your clit – was too much.

Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, spiraling higher and higher with each deep stroke. You cried out against his mouth, clinging to him as the orgasm crashed over you like a wave. It was blindingly intense, stealing your breath and shaking you to your core as you pulsed around him.

Dean groaned your name like a prayer as he felt you clench around him. He buried his face in your neck as his own control finally shattered. His thrusts became deeper, harder, more erratic for a few glorious moments before he stiffened above you with a guttural cry of release, spilling himself deep inside you.

He collapsed onto you for a moment, breathing heavily against your skin before quickly rolling to his side, taking you with him so you lay cradled against him. His arms wrapped around you tightly as both of you trembled through the aftershocks.

He nuzzled your hairline as your breathing slowly evened out. "Okay?" he murmured softly against your temple.

"More than okay," you sighed contentedly, snuggling impossibly closer into his warmth. The hangover was a distant memory replaced by a profound sense of well-being and satisfaction.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His fingers started combing gently through your hair again in that soothing rhythm that always calmed you. "Told you I'd take care of you this morning." His voice was thick with satisfaction and affection.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, meeting those warm hazel eyes that held nothing but tenderness now. A smile played on your lips. "Yeah," you admitted softly, tracing the strong line of his jaw with your fingertip.

"Worth every second of waiting." You kissed him then – slow, sweet, and full of gratitude.

He deepened the kiss briefly before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Even the stupid damn rule?" he teased gently.

You laughed softly against his lips. "Maybe," you conceded, snuggling back into his chest where you felt safest. "But only because it led to this."

Dean held you close, his embrace warm and secure as the bunker settled into peaceful silence around you. The only sound was the steady beat of his heart under your ear and the soft whisper of his fingers in your hair – a perfect morning after a long night of waiting.

[ironreviewangel]

Naughty satisfying couple. Loved it

[little-rose-big-writing]

Morning Graces

Part 2 of “Whiskey Rules”

***GIF IS NOT MINE***

Rating: mature (mentions of sex but none)


Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (established relationship)


Summary: the morning after Dean’s refusal comes. And now that you’re sober the rules no longer apply.


Warnings: hangover, consensual sex, fluffy smut.

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: Got lots of requests for this! So here is part 2 to Whiskey Rules.

Read part 1 here: “Whiskey Rules”

Sunlight, harsh and unforgiving despite the bunker’s subterranean nature, speared through a ventilation grate directly onto your face. You groaned, flinging an arm over your eyes. Your head throbbed with the steady rhythm of a jackhammer, your mouth felt stuffed with cotton, and your stomach gave a queasy lurch. Memories of last night flooded back – the tequila shots, the desperate need for Dean, his infuriatingly steadfast refusal… the feel of him hard beneath you, the taste of his skin, and the crushing disappointment when he’d put you to bed like a misbehaving child.

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter. Stupid damn rule.

Then, awareness prickled. You weren’t alone. The warm, solid presence beside you was unmistakeable. Dean. He was propped up on one elbow, watching you, the early morning light catching the flecks of green in his hazel eyes. There was no trace of judgment, only quiet concern and… something else simmering beneath the surface.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep but impossibly soft. “Rough night?”

You managed a pathetic whimper, peeking out from under your arm. “Head… feels like an Impala engine’s tryin’ to escape.”

A small, understanding smile touched his lips. Without a word, he leaned over you, reaching for the nightstand. You heard the clink of glass, then felt the cool press of a water glass against your hand. “Small sips,” he instructed gently. Next came two aspirin placed carefully in your palm. “Take these. Then just lie still.”

You obeyed, the cool water a balm to your parched throat. He watched you swallow the pills, his gaze tracing your face with an intensity that made your pulse flutter despite the hangover. The frustration from last night was still there, a low hum beneath the physical misery, but it was tempered now by a profound sense of being cared for.

“Better?” he asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His touch was feather-light.

“A little,” you rasped. You looked up at him, really looked. His hair was sleep-tousled, stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked rumpled and real and devastatingly handsome. The memory of grinding against him, feeling his desperate hardness… heat pooled low in your belly, separate from the nausea. “Dean…”

He shushed you softly, leaning down to press a chaste, lingering kiss to your temple. “Not yet. Gotta make sure you’re okay first.” He shifted, sitting up fully. “Hungry? I could make toast? Maybe some weak tea?”

The thought of food made your stomach rebel. “Just… water. And you.” You caught his hand as he moved to get up. “Stay.”

He paused, looking down at your hand on his. Then he settled back against the headboard, pulling you carefully, oh-so-gently, so your head rested against his bare chest. His skin was warm, the steady beat of his heart soothing against your aching temple. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand resting protectively on your hip, the other beginning that familiar, hypnotic stroking through your hair.

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’m right here.”

You lay like that for long, quiet minutes. The aspirin slowly dulled the headache’s sharpest edges. The water settled your stomach. But more than anything, Dean’s presence, his quiet strength and unwavering care, acted as an anchor. The desperate, drunken lust had burned itself out, replaced by a deep, thrumming ache of pure want – clean and sober and entirely focused on the man holding you.

You tilted your head back to look at him again. His eyes were already on yours, that simmering intensity now blazing openly. He saw the shift in you – the clarity replacing the haze of the hangover and the tequila fog.

“Dean,” you whispered, your voice stronger now. You traced a finger along the line of his collarbone. “I’m sober.”

A slow, devastating smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. It was a smile full of promise and relief and barely leashed desire. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice dropping to a husky register that sent shivers down your spine. “You sure are.”

He didn’t move immediately. Instead, he lifted his hand from your hair and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your cheekbone. His gaze searched yours, deep and searching. “You still want this?” he asked, his voice thick. “Truly want it? Not the tequila talking?”

The tenderness in his question, the depth of his care in making absolutely sure, melted the last remnants of your frustration. “Yes,” you breathed, pushing yourself up slightly to meet his gaze fully. “God, yes, De. I want you. Sober mind, sober heart.” You reached up to trace the curve of his lower lip with your thumb. “No rules in the way now.”

A low groan escaped him at your touch and your words. The careful control he’d maintained all night and through the morning snapped. In one fluid motion, he rolled you gently onto your back, settling his weight over you without crushing you. His hips pressed down, and you felt him – hard and insistent against your thigh, even through the thin layers of your panties and his boxers.

“Thank Christ,” he muttered against your lips before capturing them in a kiss that was nothing like the desperate clash of last night.

This kiss was deep, yes, hungry with pent-up longing, but it was also slow. Deliberate. Reverent. He explored your mouth with a languid intensity, tasting you like fine whiskey he wanted to savor. His hands slid under the hem of your tank top, calloused palms skimming up your sides, leaving trails of fire on your sensitive skin. He broke the kiss only to trail his lips along your jawline, down the column of your throat, placing open-mouthed kisses that made you arch beneath him with a soft gasp.

“Told you,” he murmured against the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck, his breath hot. “Worth waiting for.” He pushed your tank top up slowly, inch by torturous inch, revealing your bare breasts. His gaze darkened further, pure heat and adoration mingling as he took you in. “So damn beautiful.”

He lowered his head, not rushing. He kissed the swell of one breast, then the other, before taking a peaked nipple into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His tongue circled, flicked, sucked gently, sending jolts of pure pleasure straight to your core. You tangled your hands in his hair, gasping his name as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, building the ache between your legs into a throbbing need.

His hand slid lower, over your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips instinctively, helping him slide them down and off. His fingers found your center immediately, slick and eager for him.

“See?” he breathed against your skin as he began to stroke you with exquisite slowness, circling your clit with maddening precision before dipping a finger shallowly inside you. “All for me now. Soaked and perfect.”

He added a second finger, curling them gently against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “This what you needed last night? Hmm? This slow burn?”

“Yes!” you cried out, bucking against his hand. “De… please…”

He chuckled, a low, warm sound vibrating against your skin. He withdrew his fingers slowly, making you whimper at the loss. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he quickly shed his boxers, freeing his erection – thick and straining and glistening at the tip. He positioned himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

His eyes locked with yours again, holding your gaze as he slowly, so slowly, began to push inside. There was no resistance; you were more than ready for him. But he took his time, inch by exquisite inch, filling you gradually until he was fully sheathed within you.

“Oh god…” you moaned, the sensation of being stretched and filled by him completely overwhelming. It felt different sober – deeper, more intense, every nerve ending screaming with awareness.

Dean let out a shaky breath above you, his biceps trembling slightly with the effort of holding back. He braced himself on his forearms on either side of your head, cradling you. “Feel that?” he whispered hoarsely, barely moving inside you yet. “That’s us. Really us.” He dropped a soft kiss on your lips. “No tequila. No rules.” He began to move then – not the frantic pace fueled by drunken desire you might have initiated last night, but a deep, rolling rhythm that started slow and built gradually.

Each thrust was deliberate, measured, designed to draw out every possible ounce of pleasure. He filled you completely with each deep push and withdrew almost entirely before sliding home again. It was an exercise in control and connection. His eyes never left yours as he moved within you, watching every flicker of emotion cross your face – the pleasure, the awe, the deepening need.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper still, meeting each thrust as best you could despite the overwhelming sensations. Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the powerful muscles flexing beneath smooth skin.

“De… so good…” you gasped.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly between deep thrusts that hit that perfect spot inside you relentlessly now. “Just feel it. Feel me.” He lowered his head to kiss you again – deep and consuming – swallowing your moans. One hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit again with unerring accuracy. He circled it in time with his thrusts, applying perfect pressure.

The dual stimulation – the deep fullness inside you and the insistent pressure on your clit – was too much.

Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, spiraling higher and higher with each deep stroke. You cried out against his mouth, clinging to him as the orgasm crashed over you like a wave. It was blindingly intense, stealing your breath and shaking you to your core as you pulsed around him.

Dean groaned your name like a prayer as he felt you clench around him. He buried his face in your neck as his own control finally shattered. His thrusts became deeper, harder, more erratic for a few glorious moments before he stiffened above you with a guttural cry of release, spilling himself deep inside you.

He collapsed onto you for a moment, breathing heavily against your skin before quickly rolling to his side, taking you with him so you lay cradled against him. His arms wrapped around you tightly as both of you trembled through the aftershocks.

He nuzzled your hairline as your breathing slowly evened out. "Okay?" he murmured softly against your temple.

"More than okay," you sighed contentedly, snuggling impossibly closer into his warmth. The hangover was a distant memory replaced by a profound sense of well-being and satisfaction.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His fingers started combing gently through your hair again in that soothing rhythm that always calmed you. "Told you I'd take care of you this morning." His voice was thick with satisfaction and affection.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, meeting those warm hazel eyes that held nothing but tenderness now. A smile played on your lips. "Yeah," you admitted softly, tracing the strong line of his jaw with your fingertip.

"Worth every second of waiting." You kissed him then – slow, sweet, and full of gratitude.

He deepened the kiss briefly before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Even the stupid damn rule?" he teased gently.

You laughed softly against his lips. "Maybe," you conceded, snuggling back into his chest where you felt safest. "But only because it led to this."

Dean held you close, his embrace warm and secure as the bunker settled into peaceful silence around you. The only sound was the steady beat of his heart under your ear and the soft whisper of his fingers in your hair – a perfect morning after a long night of waiting.

[ironreviewangel]

Naughty satisfying couple. Loved it

[little-rose-big-writing]

Whiskey Rules

***GIF IS NOT MINE***

Rating: mature (mentions of sex but none)

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.

Read Part 2 here: “Morning Graces”

[bettystonewell]

Oh hell yes! Head-canon accepted ❤️

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)

[ironreviewangel]

So good

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles | Man About Town, Spring/Summer 2022 issue 

[ironreviewangel]

Real sexy

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as MICKEY HENRY

➤• MONDAY (2020)