Jackalack

21+, Rodimus prime is my wife, reblog 18+ stuff mdni, cringe but free, robobfucker broke as fuck, self shipper and multishipper

[jackalackqwq]

about me: any pronouns are fine, I’m a multi-shipper and self shipper, I’m anti censorship.

my writing blog where I barely get any writing done

My art

contains some NSFW minors please go away.

Also, some of it is old and might look wonky compared to my art now

Art tag: jackalackqwq

Rodimus

Boothill

Genshin Impact

oc

Transformers

oc/cadet au

DC

[buffygifs]

Buffy Summers & Rupert Giles in Buffy the Vampire Slayer 2x14 | "Innocence"

bonus:

[jackalackqwq]

Oh Giles the man that you are 😭

[strangeroffiction]

Hiiii omg first off I love your writing sm you’re too good

I had this idea where the reader and Sam are watching tv or a movie or something and she starts touching him and kissing him or whatever and obviously he’s into it and trying to be responsive but she tells him to focus on the tv and not do anything

Idkkkk I thought it might be good!!!!

The movie is good, but not good enough to keep your attention, not when you’re snuggled up with your back against Sam’s chest, your body nestled between his long legs. His chin is on your shoulder, watching the flickering images coming from the television, his arms around your waist comfortably. The movie had been his idea, some film you’d only pretended to be interested in seeing because he’d sounded so excited at the premise of watching together, but you have things other than the plot of the movie on your mind. 

You subtly turn in his arms, and he smiles down at you. He takes the hint when you purse your lips, giving you a quick peck before letting his attention wander back to the screen. Inevitably, you want more. 

Innocently, your hands start roaming. He sighs as you caress his chest over his shirt and leans his head into your hands as you gently scratch your nails against the back of his neck. You press a feather light kiss to his skin, just above his collar, and his breath catches, but he keeps watching the screen. You keep kissing random spots on his neck and jaw while one hand grips the firm bulge of his bicep. 

Sam shifts underneath you, easily distracted by the press of your soft lips. With one giant hand, he brushes your hair away from your face before meeting you in a slow, deep kiss that has your heart beat resonating between your legs. He pulls you closer, handling you as if you weigh no more than a ragdoll, his tongue taking immediate ownership of your mouth. The audio from the television fades into the background, lost behind the sound of your joined ragged breaths and the shameless smacking of your lips. 

“Missin’ the movie, baby,” You murmur, pulling away from his now glossy, saliva coated lips. His gaze is locked on you, your lips, then your eyes, pupils blown wide. 

“S’fine,” He mumbles dismissively, leaning in to kiss you again, but you stop him with a soft hand to his lightly stubbled jaw. You turn his face towards the screen. 

“C’mon, you’ve been talking about watching this all week,” You purr. “Don’t let me distract you.” 

But the second you start kissing and gently sucking just below the ramus of his jaw, he wiggles underneath you, breathing shakily. 

“But you are,” He asserts, hand sliding down your back. “Not that I mind-“ 

“I think you should be capable of multi-tasking,” You murmur with a teasing grin, again turning his face away from you and towards the screen. “Keep watching.” 

He rolls his eyes but it’s softened by the covert lift of the corners of his lips. After relaxing against the arm of the couch, hands flexing against where they now loosely hold your hips, he obediently watches the television. Suspenseful music fills the room, but you really couldn’t care less about the plot or the characters, not when it’s much more fun to play with Sam. 

Feeling particularly devious, you move from laying between his legs to fully straddling his lap, putting your body flush against his as you once again enjoy running your lips over the territory of his neck. You feel the stiff outline of his swelling cock through his sweatpants, only your little, soft cotton shorts separating you from it. As you start to create friction on his lap, his fingers dig into your hips. You’re partially lost in the feeling of his hardness pressing so snugly against your beating clit that you don’t immediately notice that once again, he’s abandoned the movie. With an unhinged jaw, he’s watching your hips move between his hands. A moment later, he’s guiding your movements. 

You let your teeth scrape against his pulse point, your palms on his chest catching the way he shudders at the sensation. “Pay attention or I'll stop.” 

“You won’t stop.” He challenges. 

You smile. “Try me.” 

He holds eye contact with you for a few seconds as if debating arguing further. Before his eyes slide beyond you, back to whatever is happening on screen, he calls you a brat under his breath. You reward him by continuing to rub yourself up and down the obvious shape of his erection, feeling your wetness dampen the thin material between your legs. Besides the occasional twitch and lift of his hips to meet your movements, he watches the movie with a tight jaw and an almost blank stare. But you can tell by the color rising on his cheeks and his breathing that you’re getting to him. 

You give up grinding your pussy along his length to grip him through his sweatpants with one hand. His head rolls to the side in response, attention unwillingly pulled away from whatever cinematic action is unfolding in front of him in favor of the feeling of you rubbing him. 

“You really love making this hard for me,” He mumbles through shallow breaths. 

“No,” You muse. “I love making you hard for me.”

“You sure you don’t want me to pause it?” He asks, eyes darting toward your mouth quickly as you sloppily lick the palm of your hand. 

“Just keep watching.” You say plainly, as if you aren’t sliding your hands into his sweats to hold his hardness. He huffs the instant your hand wraps around him, hips driving forward slightly to thrust into your waiting fist. “We’re almost to the end, right?”

“Not even halfway,” He says around a gasp, as your thumb dips into the generous amount of precum oozing from his tip, spreading it around his throbbing cockhead. 

“Then this is gonna be a long movie for you, baby.” 

You tug at his cock slowly. Frustration is practically radiating off of him but he keeps his eyes glued to the screen, though his expression is a dead give away that he’s only thinking about the torture you’re putting him through. You smile to yourself as you have fun with him, massaging his cock too slowly to encourage his peak but enough to have his breath catching and his heart racing, his hips occasionally twitching against the urge to start fucking your hand at his own pace. 

Minutes pass and his cock continues to leak as you play with him. 

“Feel how wet you make me, baby.” You pull your damp shorts aside, then take his paw of a hand and guide it between your legs. Sam releases a shaky breath as you let his fingers brush your molten heat. You freely whine, using his hand to touch yourself while he maintains concentration on the television. 

“Holy shit,” He groans under his breath, his fingers easily finding their way to your pulsing clit. “You’re fuckin’ soaked,” He turns his head to meet your eyes. “Let me take of care you, honey.” 

You’re momentarily disoriented by the stroke of his skilled fingers, your hand pausing on his length as you let yourself get lost in the feeling. 

“Y’clearly need my attention.” He murmurs. 

“Mhm,” You lick your lips, surging forward to meet him in a sloppy kiss. He responds enthusiastically, wrapping his thick arms around your waist, practically crushing you against the solid wall of his chest. He keeps playing with your pussy, the slip of his fingers in your wetness competing with the sounds from the movie. 

He takes your hand and brings it back to his throbbing cock, and you respond by grasping him automatically. 

“Wait-“ You gasp as your thighs begin to tremble from the intensity of the pleasure sparking from your core. “You’re supposed to be watching.” 

“I’d rather do this,” He says into your neck. “Dont act like you don’t want me to make you cum.” 

You really can’t wait anymore. Fuck the stupid movie.

“Fine-“ You concede, grasping the roots of his hair in both hands as you begin to move your hips frantically against the firm press of his fingers, his stiff cock forgotten between your bodies. “Then you keep watching-“ 

It sounds like some pretty epic action is unfolding on the screen, but you’re effectively deaf from the rushing of blood in your ears as your orgasm builds and builds. Matching the motion of his hand, you grind down, chasing the friction that you so ruthlessly had been denying him. 

“That’s my pretty girl,” He praises in a low, breathless voice. “Fucking love your sloppy little pussy. Love that you’re always fuckin’ soaked for me.” 

You cry out weakly, tugging at his shaggy strands carelessly as your back arches, pushing your hardened nipples into his chest. 

“Love that you can’t even watch a movie without reaching for my cock.” He presses his forehead against your temple, panting. “And fuckin’ love when you try to boss me around.” 

“You’re always-fuck! Always such a good listener, Sammy.” You whimper, using your harsh grip on his hair to bring his mouth back to yours. 

Your orgasm explodes suddenly, your body tightening and convulsing with the overwhelming force of it. He holds you tighter as you wiggle in his arms, crying into the kiss, until the heat stoked between your legs dampens enough for you to regain control of your body. 

“You’re missing-“ 

He cuts you off with another searing kiss, grasping his cock and rubbing the dripping head up and down your throbbing seam. You forget the game you were playing and forget that he’s not watching the film anymore, completely losing your train of thought as he begins to stuff his cock inside of you. You gasp at the stretch, tightening your grip on the roots of his hair until he hisses, sharply snapping his hips upwards, fully impaling you on his full length. You swear you can feel him nestled inside you guts, unable to even take a full breath with him filling you so fully. 

“Don’t care about a fuckin’ movie,” He grunts into your ear, his darkened eyes holding your heavily lidded gaze. “How the fuck am I supposed to focus on anything when you’re actin’ like such a desperate little slut for my cock, hm, honey?” 

“Sam-“ You moan, tightening your arms around his neck as he roughly thrusts into you, using his hold on the plush globes of your ass to manipulate your body to meet his movements. 

“Always got this cock on your mind, is that it, baby?” 

He fucks you, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s the opposite of what you intended. Of course, you always wanted this to be the outcome of the night, but you hadn’t wanted him to miss out on whatever’s happening on screen, even if you personally couldn’t care less about whatever the main characters name is. 

He comes fairly quickly, with all the teasing he’d endured, spilling into your pussy as you grind down onto him. With his cock still buried deep inside of you, he circles your clit with his thumb until you’re gushing around him again, crying weakly and gasping for air as your pussy uncontrollably flutters. 

You collapse forward onto his chest, ignoring the mess of liquids spilling between where you’re still connected.  

Suddenly, the light in the room is gone and you realize the credits of the movie are playing, the screen dark. 

“Oh shit.” You blurt. “We missed it.” 

“There’s this thing called rewind.” Sam says with a smile, hand rubbing up and down your back. 

“I’ll do my best not to distract you this time.” 

[lupityjupity]

[gremlingal222]

[evieeion]

Hydrogen and Helium Au Optimus Prime and Rodimus Prime

[stupidneko]

[voidsetup1]

and out of the darkness - you you you you you

[stupidneko]

don't worry sweet cheeks, well be quick :D

[jackalackqwq]

S:3 E:22

I love the weird relationship between Lucifer and Daniel 😭 also Dan looked so sad when it dawned on Lucifer, why chole said yes to Peirce and the whole thing about stability.

[jackalackqwq]

Sydney

I was playing around with uniform ideas (off brand Startrek)

connected to this

[binary-bird]

kon i'm so sorry you gotta deal with this guy again

bonus uncovered version

[not-withoutyou]

battle couples has gotta be one of my favorite tropes though. The “you got me?” “Yeah, I got you.” The kiss for good luck. Fighting alongside each other for so long they know every strength and weakness. The dichotomy of being fucking terrifying to their enemies, but so soft with each other. When one is in danger and the other goes feral, protects them at any cost. When everything is over and done, it’s all “let me see where you’re hurt,” and washing off the dirt and blood.

[jackalackqwq]

Yesyesyes

Literally my favorite trope

[strangeroffiction]

Take It On the Run

masterlist

pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: What you and Dean have is casual with no strings attached, so why do you get so upset when he shows interest in another woman?

Content warnings: smut, dissociation during sex, reader has less emotional intelligence than dean but we love her for it, mentions of bruising from sex, semi rough sex, doggy style, angst, kinda shameful feelings relating to sex, angst, cursing, lowkey self worth issues

wc: 5k

a/n: requests open!!! there most definitely will be a pt2!!

~~~

“You’re unbelievable.” 

Dean’s eyes move to the scowl on your face, cutting short his beholden gazing at the waitress’s ass. He’s entirely unapologetic to be caught staring. The fact that he looked at all irritates you, but him doing it so brazenly in front of you infuriates you so much you lose your appetite. 

“Easy there, tiger.” He says with an aloof smirk. “M’just appreciating the scenery, that’s all.” 

He’s allowed to appreciate whoever he wants. That’s not the problem. The problem is that it's happening in front of your face this time, and you dislike this pretty waitress a little extra. She’d been so focused on calling Dean sugar and sweetie that she’d brought you out the wrong eggs. You’d been surprised she remembered your order at all, with how little attention she paid you. 

You give Dean a sour smile. “Can you at least try to keep the drool to a minimum? I’m trying to eat.” Really, you’re just pushing the food around your plate. 

He watches you for a second, then he waves the tacky waitress back over, and you stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“What can I do for you, sugar?” She asks suggestively, only acknowledging Dean. 

“Sorry to bother you, sweetheart,” He apologizes with a charming grin. “My friend here ordered over-hard.” He gestures to the two eggs on your plate, which are very obviously undercooked. “Think you could run them back and get her new ones?”

“Of course,” The waitress smiles and then takes your plate without even looking at you. She seems delighted by Dean’s labeling of you as a friend. 

When she’s gone, Dean stares at you expectantly. You ignore him, so he says, “Y’know, it’s polite to thank someone when they do you a favor.” 

“How is wooing the waitress a favor for me?” 

“C’mon, we both know you won’t eat eggs like that. You don’t like when the yolk is runny.” He raises his eyebrows as if to say you know I’m right, why are you acting crazy. 

He is right. You think runny yolks are gross. In any other situation, you might even think the gesture was thoughtful, and that it showed that he paid more attention to you than you thought. But right now, you’re annoyed and dedicated to maintaining your attitude. So the most logical explanation for the whole thing is that Dean cared less about getting you what you could eat, anx more about about getting another view of the waitress walking away. 

“I’m not hungry, anyway.” You say. 

“You gotta eat. Y’need to keep your energy up after last night.” He winks at you like he’s sharing some inside joke, as if he’s totally oblivious to how exasperated you are. 

Him bringing that up irritates you even more, which you didn’t think would be possible. You look at your arrangement with Dean for what it is. You sleep together occasionally, partly because it's convenient and partly because he’s good at it. Scary good, sometimes. There’s no romance between you. The sex is hard and dirty. It’s not a situation you’re particularly proud of, especially when the nonchalant, non-committal nature of your relationship is thrown in your face, like it is right now. But the sex has proved too good to walk away from. The longer it's gone on, the more apathetic you’ve become to the arrangement, and Dean himself. You sometimes aren’t sure if you even like him. 

Sometimes, you wonder why you bother answering when he calls. The easy answer is that it’s safer for you as a lone female hunter to work with someone else watching your back, but you know that’s not the entire truth. There are a handful of other sole hunters and groups that you work with when you cross paths, but Dean is the only one you see so frequently. And the only one you sleep with. 

And you two certainly argue. A lot. It’s kind of your thing. Every so often, you team up to work cases, inevitably end up bickering, and then unavoidably end up fucking. The circle of life, as Dean would call it. He’s capable and reliable on a hunt, and you’d guess he felt the same about you, but once the job is done and all sexual frustrations are relieved, you don’t stick around. You don’t overstay your welcome or wait for Dean to ask you to leave. You find your next case and are gone by the next morning. He never asks you to stay. 

That’s how it works. Just a few days together and then you leave the man with the emotional capacity of a teaspoon in your rearview. 

Maybe the problem now is that you’d slept with him before finishing the case. So now there’s no avoiding him the morning after. Instead, there’s sitting at the dinghy town diner, forcing yourself to stomach breakfast while he openly lusts after another woman after being inside you not even twenty four hours ago. 

Not the best start to your day. 

“I could’ve handled it myself.” You snap. “I just didn’t want to get in the way of your eye fucking.” 

“How considerate of you.” He says flatly. “Really, what’s got you so pissed?” 

Literally everything you’re doing. But you say, “I’m not pissed.” 

“You sure? You’re looking at me like you wanna murder me.” 

You’re spared from having to answer when the waitress comes back, giving Dean big eyes as she sets the plate down in front of you. He smiles at her. 

He catches you glaring at him. “I’m just teasing you, sweetheart.” The corners of his lips twitch into a smirk. “Don’t you worry. You don’t have any competition.” 

You recoil. “That’s not- I’m not-” Stammering, you give him a look of disbelief. “I don’t care about competition. There is no competition, I mean.”

Dean smiles wider at your reaction. “Then what’s with the attitude?” 

You stare at him as he eats for a second, trying to formulate a thought that isn’t kick him hard in the shin under the table. “I always have an attitude.” 

“Ain’t that the damn truth.” He agrees around a mouthful. He swallows before continuing. “But you’re extra feisty today.” 

This time you give in to the urge to roll your eyes. You’re reaching your wits end and he’s smiling at you, acting like this is all a game for his entertainment. 

“I didn’t sleep well.” You say sharply. “I’m used to sleeping alone. You know, without someone taking up all the space in the bed.” You cross your arms over your chest. 

“I don’t think that’s it.” He muses, still smiling smugly. “Looked like you slept like a fuckin’ baby to me.” 

Your face heats up at that comment. You internally cringe as you're confronted with the thought of him perceiving you while you were asleep. It just feels like something too intimate for the insouciance between you. And even though Dean truly did take up the majority of the bed with his large frame, you’d slept well. You hadn’t even stirred when he got up to shower, so now you don’t have a good defense. 

“Whatever, Winchester.” 

“Y’sure you’re not jealous that I’m giving attention to-” 

“Now I’m pissed.” You interrupt. “Get a grip, Dean. I don’t care what you do or who you give your attention to, alright? Now can you hurry up and finish eating. I don’t want to stay in this town any longer than I have to.” 

Though your tone had been cutting, Dean appears unaffected, simply shrugging in response. “What’s the rush? Got your rocks off and now you’re ready to skip town. M’starting to think you might not enjoy my company.” 

“Well, don’t think too hard. Might hurt yourself.” 

“Cute.” He sneers. “But you seemed to enjoy my company last night, though.” He pretends to think. “In fact, you couldn’t get enough of my ‘company’ last night, if I’m remembering it right.” He leans across the table towards you and drops his voice, mirth glittering in his verdant eyes. “Hell, I’ll give you ‘company’ right now if it’ll fix that attitude-” 

The more primal part of your body stirs at his provocative tone and the deep timber of his voice, but your annoyance quickly beats that side of you back into submission. 

“At this rate, you’ll never have my company again.” You lean forward and taunt. You know it’s a total lie but it feels good to threaten him anyway. You’re also curious how he’ll react. You've tried to be done with him before, but for some reason, when he calls, you feel inclined to answer.

In his typical withdrawn nature, Dean deflects with a dismissive joke. “Oh, come on, woman, y’know it breaks my heart to argue with you like this.” 

“But you have such a talent for it,” You say with fake sympathy. 

“Fightin’ with you is just a hobby. My real talents lie elsewhere.” He counters with a smirk. 

You recognize the innuendo immediately. Dean practically defaults to making sexual insinuations, and does it frequently that it frankly annoys the hell out of you. It’s just a constant reminder that the only thing between you two is sex. Sex and hunting. And you know he’s more than capable of handling a spirit or two on his own, so that makes your true value to him more than clear. 

“Yeah, like driving me insane?” You mutter. 

“If I’m driving you insane, sweetheart, it’s only because you gave me the wheel.” He gives you a deliberate look with his eyebrows raised. A look that somehow says and we’ll keep riding until we crash. 

You roll your eyes and check the time. “Whatever that means. Hurry up. Library’s open.”  

A few minutes later, the same waitress brings over the check. Dean snatches it off the table quickly, but not before you see the phone number written in pink glitter ink at the top. The corner’s of his lips lift as his eyes sweep over the digits, and you’re not sure why that makes your stomach flip. 

You spend the next several hours at the library looking through old paper records. The research takes you both much longer without Sam but you’re thankful he’s not here. Though he’s easier to get along with than his brother, you don’t enjoy the looks he gives you and Dean when you fight, like he’s dealing with children. Like he knows something you both don't.

Eventually, you find the death certificate you were looking for. A hitchhiker had been struck and killed in a hit and run accident over thirty years ago, and now the spirit was apparently haunting the isolated stretch of road where he’d been hit, alongside the big cliffs on the east side of the town. The remains were buried by the family on the side of the road, at the site of the accident. 

You meet Dean outside in the parking lot outside the library. He’s busy looking at his phone, so he doesn’t see you coming at first. Despite yourself, you find yourself admiring him as you approach. God knows he might be annoying and callous at times, but he sure is good looking. Tall and broad as he leans against his car, and when he looks up and sees you coming, his smile is blinding. No wonder you keep coming back. How does a girl say no to someone like that? 

Dean slips his phone into the pocket of his jacket. “We ready to go?”

“Yeah.” You put the road map on the hood of the Impala and point out where you’ve circled the radius the burial site should be located in. “Bones should be somewhere in here.” 

He’s standing close to you and you can smell the rugged mix of leather and cedarwood that follows him around. It makes your head swim for half a second, so you focus your attention on the map. He glances at the map, but then you feel him staring at you. 

You flinch when he brushes hair away from your neck, stepping away from him immediately. “What are you doing?” Your heart races at your confusion from the intimate gesture. 

“You’re a jumpy thing, aren’t you?” He muses. “Just noticed you have a bruise on your neck.” 

Using the side mirror of the Impala, you examine your neck. There are three little bruises at the base of your throat, the exact size of Dean’s fingers you’re sure. He has a habit, which you enjoy but would never say it out loud, of holding you by the throat when he fucks you. 

“So?” You ask with regained composure. “S’from you. Now let’s go.” 

“From me?” He asks but you’re already getting into the passenger seat. He climbs into the car as well before glancing at the bruises again. “You mean from last night?” 

“Yeah,” You say impatiently. “Can you start driving now?” 

“In a second. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

You give him a bewildered look. “About what?”

Dean looks away and starts the car, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He seems unusually tense. “I must have fucking hurt you last night, then.” He finally says. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

You roll your eyes. “You didn’t hurt me. Seriously. I always have bruises after.” 

“What?” 

His scandalized expression makes you realize that he would have no idea about the bruises he leaves you with after you hook up because he never gets the chance to see you the next day. It irks you that he’s pretending to care about it, though. He’s not exactly the most gentle lover, so what did he expect? The bruises are always very minor, from getting caught up in the heat of the moment, and you’ve never held it against him. 

“It’s just a bruise, Dean.” You murmur. “I’ve had worse.” 

“Yeah but not from me.”

“It’s not a big deal. Now come on. There’s a three mile radius we’ll have to search. Better to get it done while there’s still daylight.” 

Dean starts the car but he’s uncharacteristically quiet for the majority of the ride. Usually, you’re wishing he would shut up or turn the music down, but the volume is set at a respectable level and he’s not even singing along. You’re not sure what his problem is, but it puts you on edge. Part of the reason your arrangement with him works so well for you both is that it’s simple. No nuances, no extra baggage or anything like that, but today, it doesn’t feel simple. But it’s not your problem because you don’t let it be. He can be quiet all he wants. You don’t have to wonder why. 

By the time he pulls off the road, there’s only a few hours until dusk. You grab the weapons and supplies you need from the trunk, which Dean offers to carry, and then start the tedious task of walking along the stretch of road, searching for any sign or marking of the grave site. After the first hour of walking and Dean’s phone constantly going off, you’re frustrated. 

“Who’s even texting you, anyway?” You snap. 

“Oh, that’s Sam.” He says, putting a hand on your shoulder as you step back from the side of the road the same moment a car goes speeding past. “Just checking in. You know how much of a tight ass he is.”

“Well, maybe you should answer, so he can stop checking in every five minutes.” You mutter, rolling your shoulder out of his grip. As far as you’re concerned, he’s only allowed to touch you in the bedroom. Any other time and anything else is off limits. 

Another hour passes. A fairly strong breeze blows over the cliffs, blowing the dust and debris on the road, making the grass you’re walking through sway around your ankles. Your mind starts to wander and lands on the ghost of the hitchhiker. You cruelly compare him to yourself. At least he had someone who cared about him enough to mourn his death and bury his body. That’s more than you have. The thought surprises you, but there’s no time to grapple with its implications because Dean calls your name. 

“Looks like a grave to me, what about you?” He asks. 

Hidden in a tangle of weeds and tall grass, there’s a malformed wooden cross, desiccated from time and the elements, and an inscribed stone. Despite your arguments, Dean insists upon doing all the digging himself, even when you complain that it’s going to take longer than if you helped. 

“Just be a doll and hold my jacket, will you?” He requests with an appealing smirk, holding it out for you to take. “Good girl,” He says when you do. 

You narrow your eyes at him but stay quiet. He begins to dig while you just watch. In no time, he’s covered in a layer of sweat, glistening in the low hanging sun. You look away occasionally to avoid getting caught, but you sneak appreciative glances at his body as he continues the hard labor. His biceps swell with each lift of the shovel, the muscles in his back flexing as well. 

“Rest in peace, you son of a bitch,” Dean mutters after salting the bones. He drops the match, and you’re just relieved you’ll get to skip town. 

It’s after dark by the time you make it back to the inn on the edge of town. It’s a rare occurrence that a hunt goes so well, and you want to keep that momentum going. You see your truck where you left it in the parking lot and linger only to give Dean a half hearted goodbye. He’s texting, probably messaging Sam back that the case has been closed, but shoves his phone away at the sound of your voice. 

“You’re headed out now?” He asks incredulously. 

“Yeah. I can stop if I need to sleep.” 

Really, three days with Dean has been more than enough for you. You feel thoroughly disoriented, like you’ve been adrift from yourself just by being near him. Driving through the night, alone with all the thoughts you’ve so savagely wrestled into tight little cages, doesn’t really appeal to you, but you know better than to linger where you’re not wanted. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dean barks, jerking his head to gesture towards the inn. “I’ve got the room for another night, and I don’t wanna live with you falling asleep at the wheel on my conscience.” 

“I’m perfectly well rested-” 

“Thought this morning you said you didn’t sleep well?” He counters with raised eyebrows. 

You concede without much other convincing, mainly to avoid getting back into that whole argument again. If he wants to pretend he wants you to stay because he’s worried about you, that’s fine, but you know why he really wants you to stay. 

Not even an hour later, he’s coming on to you. The events of the day have soured you against him, but your body still wants him, still responds more willingly than your mind ever does. He’s pressing you up against the wall, with one hand tangled in the roots of your hair, the other pawing at your ass in your jeans, lifting your leg to hook it around his waist as his mouth ravishes yours. 

“This what you needed?” He pulls away a fraction to murmur, his wet lips brushing yours. He lets go of your hair to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Round two to get rid of all that attitude-” As if sensing that you’re going to say something snarky back, he rolls his hips against you, pressing the hard line of his erection against the seam of your jeans just right, so that you have to bite your lip to suppress a whine. “Such a bad girl all day, and now you’re playing nice ‘cause you want my cock.” His voice is making you wetter with how breathless, low and gravelly it is. 

He dives in for another filthy kiss, his taste completely overwhelming you. His hand engulfs the base of your throat and he uses his hold on you there to pry you away from the wall and toss you onto the bed. 

“Now you’ve got nothing to say?” He taunts, standing before you at the foot of the bed while you lay on your back, panting. 

Dean pulls his shirt off before reaching for his belt and you feel your pussy spasm with interest. “Come on, you know the drill. Take all that shit off.” He gestures to your clothes. 

A few moments later, he’s got you on your hands and knees, both of you entirely bare. He’d teased you with his fingers for what felt like forever, edging you until you left angry scratch marks down his chest. Stingy with getting you to your release as punishment for being mouthy all day. 

“Fuck-” He hissed, pulling his hand away from the puffy, wet mess of your pussy to glance down at the fresh red lines running from his pecs to his ribs. “Kitty’s got claws, huh?” He smirked. 

You hadn’t meant to hurt him, but the last time he’d stopped rubbing your clit right before you were going to come made you nearly deranged with desperation. 

Now he’s dragging his cock between your legs, coating himself in all of your sticky arousal, before you feel the burning intrusion of him plunging inside. If he notices the little black and blue imprints from his fingers dotting your hips and the plush flesh of your ass from the night before, he doesn’t say anything. 

He fucks you hard and fast, just the way you like, so that you can only focus on the sensations and not any of the shit flying around in your head. He fucks you like he hates you, and it brings tears to your eyes. Your jaw aches from clenching your teeth against the screams you hold back. You’re honestly surprised he has the stamina to fuck you so raw and aggressively, given he had exerted himself over digging up the bones not too long ago. 

Dean folds his body over yours, so his sweaty chest sticks to your back, grunting in your ear with every slam of his hips into you. His hand is around your neck again, squeezing you in a firm grip but without really restricting your airway much. You like the drunk, fuzzy feeling you get from it, and you like the way he’s just making you take it. 

“Such a fuckin’ bratty little thing,” Dean uses his grip on your throat to lift your head a bit, so he can murmur directly into your ear. “All fuckin’ day, until I give you what you’re too proud to ask for.” 

His dirty talk is constant but you miss about half of it. While during the day your mind runs things, right now, with him pounding into you like it's his job to bruise your cervix, your mind turns off, and you’re just your body. Your pussy is throbbing, muscles in your arms and thighs shaking from the effort of holding yourself up, even with his help. You let him make you feel good. And you do feel good, like you’re floating, like you’re not real. Times like this might actually be the only time you do feel good, so you surrender completely to the feeling. You’re not yourself when you let him fuck you. You’re someone different, someone better and worse at the same time. Or maybe, when he’s using you like this, when you let him use you like this, you’re nothing at all. 

He squeezes the flesh of your ass before slapping it hard, and you moan in response. He pulls at your hair, and you whine at the pinpricks of pain that you love, pussy clenching hard as you get dangerously close to coming. 

“What a fucking whore,” Dean pants in your ear. “Can feel the way your pussy loves that,” He slaps your ass again and laughs darkly. 

He makes you cum by sliding a hand between your legs and playing with your aching clit. You scream into the pillow, as if you're cumming against your will, and he doesn’t relent until you stop shuddering, stop tightening your pussy around him. He comes, still with his hand around your throat, like he owns you, like you’re a dog he has on a leash, and when you think about that in the shower later, it makes you feel sick. 

He lets you shower first, and then when you’re done, he goes. You never shower together. And you might sleep in the same bed afterwards, but it’s not like you cuddle. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, slowly coming back to yourself from the post orgasm haze. You listen to the muffled noise of Dean singing in the shower, staring at the steam that billows out from under the door. Your body is satisfied and fairly tired, but your mind is restless. You’re thinking maybe you should have left town tonight when Dean’s phone rings beside the bed. 

Expecting it to be Sam, you answer it. It’s just like Dean to focus on getting laid, before assuring his brother that he’d made it back unscathed. “Hey, Sam,” Your voice is a little hoarse. 

“Sam? What? No, this is Penny, from the diner. Who is this?” 

You blink. “You have the wrong number.” 

“No,” The insufferable waitress says in her snotty little voice. You can barely hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. “I’ve been talking to Dean with this number all day.” 

Your stomach drops to your feet. “Wrong number.” You repeat before hanging up. 

You know you probably shouldn’t but you open up the message threads on Dean’s phone. No recent messages from Sam. Just a shit ton from this same unknown number. There’s bile rising in your throat as you realize what it all means. That Dean had taken the number from the restaurant this morning, had reached out to the tacky ass waitress, and had continued to flirt with her via text all fucking day. While standing beside you. And when you’d asked about it? He lied to your face and said it was Sam. And to make the entire situation worse, he’d fucked you after it, too. He’d kept you both on retainer, two chicks on the line so if one fell through, he’d still be able to get his dick wet. 

Jesus, you’re such a fucking idiot. You let him do this to you, too. 

You read a few of the messages before you feel so sick you have to stop. But you see enough to realize they were making plans to meet up. Tentatively for tonight. He calls her baby and beautiful and other shit he never says to you. Instead, he calls you whore. 

Emotions boil under your skin, and you can’t make sense of any of them, until anger surfaces. You know there’s no real reason to be angry with him, other than the fact that he lied to you. You have no claim on him. He’s not yours. Not by a long shot. But you feel humiliated, insulted, and worst of all, fucking hurt. But that only lasts for a second before you smother it under more anger. 

Dean steps out of the bathroom with a towel hanging low on his hips, torso naked. Your nail marks on his chest stand out against his tanned skin. “Think I pulled something in my back towards the end there. Think you could-” 

“You were texting Sam today?” 

The nonchalant expression leaves his face at your tone. He stares at you for a second before heading over to the side of the bed, where his clothes are. “Uh-yeah-” 

“Really?” You press. 

“Can’t a man get dressed before he’s interrogated.” He half heartedly jokes, but then catches the hardness on your face and becomes sheepish. 

“Just answer me.” 

“Unless you wanna waterboard me, too. In that case, I can keep the towel-”

“Jesus christ, Dean!” You yell. “This isn’t a fucking joke!” 

He stares at you, maybe shocked that you raised your voice, or surprised he’s been caught. “Yeah, I’m not exactly laughing here, sweetheart-” 

“You asshole-” You round on him, shoving him as hard as you can but even then he only stumbles on step backward. “Keep lying to my face, Dean. Go ahead. I fucking know it wasn’t Sam. God, you must think I’m a fucking idiot.” 

“You know that’s not true-” He raises his voice slightly but it’s only to be heard over your own ranting. 

“Oh my god, you’re actually disgusting.” You shake your head at him. “You disgust me.” 

“I didn’t exactly do anything.” He frowns. “They’re just messages…and we’re not- uh, you and I don’t- You said it yourself. You don’t care who I-” 

“You lied to me, Dean.” You bellow. You’re vaguely aware of the dramatics of the scene you’re causing, and later you’ll probably be mortified by your behavior, but right now, you can’t control yourself. You’ve never been this fucking angry at him, never this disappointed. It just confirms what you knew all along; you’re entirely nothing to him. 

“You lied to me, and then you fucked me!” 

“I didn’t think you would care! She’s just-” 

“Then why the fuck did you lie about her!” You nearly scream, getting in his face. “You wanna fuck her, then do it! Don’t ask me to stay the fucking night with you, when you’re telling some other bitch you’re gonna see her tonight! God, are you really that stupid, Dean? You didn’t think I would care? No, you didn’t think about me at all, you piece of shit.” 

He gapes down at you and says your name pathetically. You just stare at him, chest heaving. Finally, he says, “You’re right.” 

“Fuck you.” You say, the anger leaving you fast. You have to get out of here. “I’m done. I’m so fucking done with you.” 

You’ve had that thought about him before. But this time, as you let the door slam behind you, you think you really mean it. 

[sgrimp]

[docvigne]

Second comm from my Inst. Everyone's Rickrolled after this💃

[aizawashuichi]

the thing is, i feel like sometimes self-shippers don't fully embrace the idea of a character being in love with them. instead, the character looks like they are pretending to be in love, like unwillingly putting on this role on the side, as they continue their own life as their canon self, you know what I mean? you need to be more self-indulgent. you have to disrupt their in-character persona in some way, because love is now present and it alters things and people. someone who is in love with you, as aloof and emotionless as they may seem, will care for you and will change if necessary. they will do things for you that they wouldn't normally do for others or even for themselves, because you are not just a random dude showing up next to them. you are their person.