Okay, okay, now that I have your attention (clears throat) ...
My girl @amanda-teaches is turning 30 in July and we want to take this opportunity to honor her and join you to help us celebrate the fangirl, the writer, the ahhhhmazing human that we all love.
So without further ado, please join @alleiradayne , @suitofvibraniumarmor and me as we collaboratively host a
TALK 30 TO ME CELEBRATION
-- or --
Flirty, Dirty, and 30
Call it what you want 😁
Thirty prompts (probably more), so many ideas, lots and lots of dirty birthday thoughts and one just day.
No signups! We won’t be doing any maintenance, so if you sign up, be accountable. Just grab a prompt (or two or ten) and write something fantabulous just for Amanda!
Remember Amanda is a Dean girl if Supernatural is your thang. Or if you swing Marvel, you can’t go wrong with some Steve, Bucky, or even Sam.
So go do your thing friends! No rules, just remember to tag appropriately. If you’ll got questions, HMU.
Tag #AmandasFlirtyDirty30 and tag @amanda-teaches and us
Supernatural: @atc74 and @alleiradayne
Marvel: @suitofvibraniumarmor and @okay-maybe-i-like-marvel-too (my side blog that never lets me tag it)
Amanda’s birthday is July 21 so post on or before then!
Here be your prompts:
“You come here often?”
“So...you expecting someone?”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Look at us...we’re basically a couple anyway.”
“I bet you would look even better without your clothes on.”
“Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“Can I hold your hand?”
“What’s the worst pickup line you’ve ever heard?”
“What are you doing for the rest of your life?”
“Do your weekend plans include me?”
“All that blood looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes.”
“You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this.”
“Would you like me to whisper in your ear?”
“I must be in heaven.”
“Hey, let me in. I’m outside with your favorite pizza.”
“Your lips are so soft. I could kiss them all day.”
“When you love someone, you just don’t stop. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy...even then. Especially then!”
“Rumor has it, I make you nervous.”
“I can’t focus with your damn hand in my ah-oh!”
“Do you not like it when I look at you like that?”
“If you were a triangle, you’d be acute one.”
“I give you permission to wake me up if you’re horny.”
“The sound of you fuckingme. I love that sound.”
“I’m going to kiss you until the only name you will ever taste is mine.”
“I wanna fuck you so bad right now.” “What…?” “Damn autocorrect. I meant hey.”
The gasp in your ear on the first thrust
“We seem to fukc like rabbits with rabies every time we meet.”
I swear to you I won’t stop until your legs are shaking and the neighbors know my name.”
“If you like it, lick it. Everybody knows that.”
“I never craved attention until I tasted yours.”
“What would you ask for if you knew the answer was Yes?”
“Shhhh, show me.”
“Touch me without using your hands.”
“He smiled and all I could think was ‘oh shit’.”
“Do you even realize how much you turn me on?”
“I wanna make love to your mind until your body can’t do without me.”
“I just need you to touch me more.”
“Just shove me up against the wall and make out with me.”
There are days when the only thing I can think of is how amazing you taste.”
“Who says it has to be on a bed?”
“Push me up against the wall and do dirty things to me.”
“I know you’re busy today, but can you add me to your to-do list?”
“I sometimes get turned on just by seeing your name pop up on my phone.”
“I don’t know what has gotten into me lately, but I wish it were you.”
“Let’s drink just enough to have dirty rough sex that leaves only mild bruising and bite marks, but not enough to wake up sick with hangovers.”
“If you could read my mind, you’d need a shower and a cigarette.”
“I want a sweet kiss and some naughty, dirty sex.”
“I wanna get under the table and make it hard for you to talk.”
“Orgasms are like cooking. I could do it myself, but I prefer someone else do it for me.”
“Nice pants...can I test the zipper?”
“I can’t sing, but I have other oral talents.”
It’s not that I’m horny all the time. It’s just that you’re always so fucking sexy.”
“Boobs are the best place to rest a sad face.”
“If you kiss my neck, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
“Life is always a little more fun when you’re a little more naughty.”
“My mind is currently busy thinking of all the naughty things I want to do to you to make you feel good.”
“Life is too short to pretend you’re not into some kinky shit.”
“I don’t feel like doing anything today. Except you. I’d do you.”
“I wish I could copy and paste you into my bed.”
“Yes I have a dirty mind and right now you’re running through it...naked.”
I am aware that is 60. This is going to be twice as awesome!
tagging for interest and signal boost: @crashdevlin @iwantthedean @evansrogerskitten @supernatural-jackles @muchamusedaboutnothing @rockhoochie @idreamofplaid @carryonwaywardkansas @hannahindie @thinkinghardhardlythinking @waywardbaby @our-jensen-ackles-love @fangirlxwritesx67 @janicho88 @whatareyousearchingfordean @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms
Summary: She’s had a crush on Dean since the moment she met him, but age differences and attitudes seem to set them on edge with each other. That is, until one random morning on the road.
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester
Author’s note: for @amanda-teaches’ Writer + Reader Challenge with the prompt “The skirt is supposed to be this short.”
Many thanks to my best girls @mskathywriteswords @cracksinthewalls @boondoctorwho @there-must-be-a-lock for your patience and words and reading and re-reading. 🖤🖤🖤
Part 1 | Part 2 | more to come...
“Christ,” Dean groans. “You gonna put pants on before we leave?”
“Lay off,” I say, smoothing the edge of my bottom lip before turning from the mirror and capping my lipstick. “It’s called a skort, Dad. It has shorts underneath — see?”
I flip the skirt up and Dean freaks out.
“GAH!” he exclaims and covers his eyes.
I roll my eyes. I’ve had a crush on Dean since the moment I laid eyes on him six months ago, and this over-protective big brother act is wearing thin.
“Sammy,” he whines, eyes pleading. “Will you look at what she’s wearing, please.”
Sam gets that deer-in-headlights look then the why-are-you-like-this-Dean look then shakes his head and sighs.
“Dean-” Sam starts, but Dean ignores him — probably doesn’t like his tone or something.
Dean turns his attention back to me. “You can’t go interviewing people in a cheerleading uniform,” he rants, motioning wildly in my general direction.
“Cheer-” I begin to argue but realize it’s a futile attempt to get him to understand women’s fashion or comfort. “You know what? I’m not arguing with you.”
I turn back to the mirror to adjust my high, sleek ponytail and take one last sweep of my outfit.
Cute t-shirt, sport skirt, Vans. Comfy.
“The skirt is supposed to be this short, Dean, so you can suck my dick,” I say as I turn toward him, and Dean’s face is priceless.
Sam bursts into laughter and Dean gawks at me.
“Excuse me?!?” he exclaims
I ignore his outrage because I really am 100% over him treating me like I’m 12.
“I am going to research anyway,” I continue. “I don’t feel like talking to people so have fun without me.”
I breeze past him toward the door as he stares me down.
Dean is movie-star handsome and pretty much a perfectly proportioned male specimen. That said, he’s made it more than clear that I’m the annoying kid sister at best, so I gave up trying to impress him a long-ass time ago.
Now I just try to keep him from having a coronary every time I show some leg.
“Listen, smartass,” he growls. “You’re not gettin’ out of this that easy.”
“Like research is easy,” I huff, with my hands on my hips and a growl of my own in my chest.
Dean’s eyes automatically drop to my tits and a flush pinkens his cheeks.
“What?” I snap.
When I look down, I realize that my stance has my not-quite-cropped t-shirt ruched around my chest in a way that accentuates my thin, delicately cut yoga bra underneath — and the way that bra... supports me.
I slowly drag my gaze back up to find Dean quickly licking his lips and squeezing his eyes and fists shut tight.
My own eyes go wide and dart to Sam, who’s smirking like a 12-year-old at a peep show watching this all go down. Then I haul my gaze back to Cranky McCrabberton.
He’s grumbling and fidgeting, checking his pockets and stomping around the room. He does this every time he’s annoyed with me and my lipstick or hair or, like today, my short skirt. Sam always acts like it’s some kind of surprise — as if Dean isn’t an irritable bitch 24/7.
“Could you at least put a bra on?” he asks before turning his back to me and grabbing his Fed jacket.
I slowly let it all sink in.
Maybe he’s just irritable and distracted around me. Maybe this is like those schoolyard pranks where the boy pulls the girl’s hair because he likes her. But I’ve watched Dean with women and he’s velvety smooth, right?
The thought that Dean could actually be into me has me seeing things from a very different angle. It’s as if I’m seeing him for the first time.
“...there’s rules, sweetheart,” he talks down to me as he shrugs into his jacket and adjusts his tie. “You can’t just waltz around like there ain’t. Believe me, I don’t enjoy dressing up like White Collar Warner, but we’ve got a job to do-”
“Okay,” I say, and Dean starts.
I never let him have his way without dragging him, so he must be shocked. I wanna test my theory, though. If I’m nice to him, if we can get along for a bit, maybe I can glean some evidence that he actually likes me.
I lock eyes with him and my insides flip at what I see.
He’s irritated, yeah, but he’s also breathing heavily, licking and biting his lips, and his pupils are a little too dilated for this brightly lit motel room.
“Okay, what?” he asks and his voice is low and softer than it has been all morning.
“I’ll change and go with you,” I reply just as softly. “Just gimme a minute.”
Dean’s chest rises and falls heavily and the air crackles.
For a few beats, he holds my gaze. It seems like a challenge and I’m not sure what his point is. Then he nods and his shoulders relax.
“Okay.”
I nod in return then look to where Sam is sitting quietly, eyebrows raised.
Before questioning things further, I turn to my garment bag and retrieve my Fed get-up, kick off my Vans, and slip inside the bathroom before closing the door.
I draw a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror.
So much just happened, and my mind reels with what to do next. Should I broach the topic with him in the car? Should I test the waters? Should I keep my fucking mouth shut and hands to myself?
“Ugh!” I exclaim and shake my head before swaddling myself in my wrap dress and stepping into my black wedge sandals.
I leave the jewelry and make-up, not wanting to chance Dean snagging on something else, or we’ll be here all day. I decide to just play it cool and let him lead.
I step out of the bathroom and Dean’s waiting for me by the door. His eyes quickly skim my body from head to toe and back again. His nostrils flare and I shiver. I feel pretty dumb for reading that reaction of his as one of distaste instead of desire.
After grabbing my handbag with my wallet and phone, I join him at the door.
As I approach he stands straighter and more solid with every step I take.
Something has shifted and not just my point of view. Dean is much less fidgety and awkward. Maybe it’s because my tits are better disguised now.
“Ready?” he asks with cool nonchalance as if he didn’t just have a meltdown over a tennis skirt and the air between us isn’t hyper-charged.
“Yeah,” I answer then glance at Sam.
His eyebrows are still shot to the ceiling but he has the good sense to keep the words I know he’s dying to say from tumbling out of his gaping mouth.
Dean and I make our way to the car in overloaded silence. There’s a kind of resolve to his every move as he settles into the driver’s seat and starts the car. He looks over at me as Baby rumbles and lets his eyes roam.
“Since when do you give in so easy?” he asks, pulling his gaze back up to the rearview mirror and carefully backing out of the parking spot before turning onto the gravel road.
“What makes you think I’m givin’ in?” I ask.
Dean rolls his eyes and sighs at the road ahead. “Our little spats usually last at least 20 minutes longer than that one. Somethin’ stalled you out.”
I feel my face flush and I bite my lip from smiling then look out the window with a shrug.
We’re quiet for a few minutes until he breaks the silence.
“I’m not tryna be your dad,” he says.
I inhale slow and deep then let it out. “Okay,” I say and sneak a peek at his profile.
He clenches his jaw and tilts his head. “And I’m sorry for bein’ so bitchy about your clothes and whatnot.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “It’s none of my business.”
I watch him as my stomach flips and my heart flutters.
“It’s okay, Dean. You’re just lookin’ out for me.”
He turns to look me in the eyes and searches my face. His eyes are hot and he seems to be holding something back.
He looks back at the road. “Yeah,” he says.
We don’t speak again until we reach our destination, and then it’s all business. The tension between us loosens slightly as we focus on the job, but I’m flustered.
He catches me staring at him twice. It’s just all so new. I’ve spent months hiding my feelings for Dean, and now I can openly feel them. I can’t stop wondering, though, if he’ll keep me at arm’s length anyway, even though the cat’s finally out of the bag.
Dean’s a good 12 years older than I am. It would be questionable if I were 18 and he was 30, but I’m 28; I’m not a child, and I know what I want. The fact that I can let my front brain contemplate the possibilities of being with him has me at once giddy and a wreck.
After our interviews, Dean asks if I’m hungry.
“Starving,” I answer. “I forgot to eat this morning.”
“That why you’re so keyed up?” he shoots me an amused smirk as we take the block on foot to the diner. “Too much coffee on an empty stomach?”
I glare at him. He’s teasing me. He knows why I’m keyed up.
“Yeah, exactly,” I answer and roll my eyes.
Dean chuckles and opens the door for me and I slip past him inside.
We’re seated pretty quickly and place identical orders. I watch Dean make notes on the interviews we conducted. His letters are blocky and concise and he scratches everything out deftly.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, and Dean pauses his pencil momentarily before bringing his gaze up to meet mine.
“Shoot,” he says, acting casual, but I watch his throat bob as he swallows thickly.
“This morning...” I start and Dean tenses.
“I told you I was sorry,” he says.
“I know, I just wanna know why.” I wonder aloud more than ask him.
Dean shifts uncomfortably then tucks his pencil into his notebook and slips them both inside his suit jacket.
“Why, what?” he asks, giving me his full attention, neatly clasping his hands together on the table between us.
I huff a small, anxious laugh. He isn’t going to make this easy.
“Why you’re sorry, for starters,” I explain. “Why you care so much about how short my skirt is or how much lipstick I wear.”
I need to hear him say it.
Dean chews his lip before answering. “I guess I’m protective of you,” he answers finally.
I nod. “Like an older brother?” I ask, vying for the utmost clarity.
He blinks slowly and leans forward, holding my wary gaze with that signature confidence and intent that makes my knees weak.
“No,” he answers plainly, and I forget how to breathe. “I don’t want other men looking at you. I don’t even want Sam looking at you the way I look at you.”
I gasp for air and shudder. Dean doesn’t flinch and he doesn’t look away.
“Why?” I breathe.
“Because I don’t like to share,” he answers as our server arrives with our plates and drinks.
Dean leans back into his seat and slowly drags his gaze from mine, leaving me stunned and vibrating.
“Two bacon cheeseburgers, two cokes, and two fries,” she announces.
“Thanks,” Dean replies with a killer smile and she winks before leaving us to it.
Just this morning, I had him a confused mess by simply putting my hands on my hips, and now he’s all cocksure and composed and I’m the confused one.
Dean flips his tie over his shoulder to dig into his meal.
“Dean,” I call his attention, and he looks up at me but doesn’t halt his motions.
“Eat,” he says. “We’ll talk in the car.”
I can barely get my food down but I do as I’m told as my mind races.
I’ve never felt quite like this. I’m used to taking Dean’s orders in the field, not in the context of a potential relationship with him — not in the context that he’s telling me to eat my food and assuring me that we’ll talk about him not sharing me later.
God.
Thankfully, not talking while eating gives me a boost of confidence and the ability to think about what to say once he welcomes it. I imagine all the ways I can try to further clarify what he really means and how we might move forward.
Will he want to move forward? How long has he felt this way? Was he intentionally holding me off, or did he think I didn’t feel the same way because I’m always arguing with him?
Once we’re buckled into the front seat of Baby again, I can’t hold my tongue any longer.
“So, why now?” I ask, feeling my face flush anew with the nerves of execution.
Dean grins wryly. “You and that mouth,” he mutters. “You showed your hand, sweetheart. You’re such a little smartass but the second you saw me checking out your rack, you blushed like a schoolgirl and turned to mush.”
He eyes me sideways and I squirm under his scrutiny. “There it is again,” he says, reaching across the bench-seat to draw a small circle on my exposed knee with his fingertip. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
He pulls his hand back and grips the steering wheel again, shifting himself. My eyes drop to his lap and even inside the darkened car, I can see he’s hard.
This back and forth is exhilarating. I decide to push the envelope a bit and slowly hike my dress up to show Dean a little more thigh.
He said he didn’t like other men looking at me the way he looks at me, so I’m gonna let him look
Dean glances my way and groans. “Slow down, princess,” he says, but he can’t stop darting his eyes to what I’m doing with my hands.
“Gotta make up for lost time, Dean,” I tease, trailing fingertips over my collarbone and breastbone and along the edges of the dress neckline. “Months wasted. And for what?”
“You called me old man last month,” he says pointedly. “Kinda kills the mood.”
I stop abruptly and sit up straight. “You called me a brat last week, so I think we’re even.”
Dean clears his throat and bites back a grin. “Fair enough.”
I settle back into my seat, toying with the hem of my dress, and feeling like a dipshit.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“For callin’ me old or bein’ a brat?” he asks, and I scoff.
“Are you serious right now?” I raise my voice.
“I was kidding. Too soon, I guess,” he says.
I slump back into my seat for the rest of the ride back to the motel. I yelled because I’m mad, and I’m mad because I’m bruised. I can’t help but feel like a child next to him since I’m already sorely lacking in the confidence department.
Maybe it’s me with the age issue and not him at all.
We pull into the motel lot, and he parks Baby in front of our door. I remain still as Dean unbuckles his seatbelt. He notices I‘m not getting out and stops from opening his door.
“Talk to me,” he says.
I shake my head. “Everything I say is wrong today.”
“I dunno. I kinda liked it when you said you’d go with me this morning,” he shrugs, and when I look him in the face he’s smiling and his eyes are sparkling.
I smile back, but I’m still feeling timid and uncertain. I need to know I’m not making a huge mistake.
“You think Sam’s in there?” I ask, nodding to the room we share.
I hope Sam’s not in there.
“I texted him when we left the diner to be gone in 10 minutes,” Dean answers, resting his eyes on mine.
“So we can be alone?” I ask.
He purses his lips and nods. “So we can be alone.”
“Okay, then,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Let’s go be alone.”
I breathe my way through climbing out of the car and not overthinking things. By the time I reach the door, Dean’s got it unlocked and is swinging it open for me.
Neither of us says much as Dean hangs his jacket up and I kick my shoes aside. When he turns to me, he’s cuffing his sleeves. I feel like I should be doing something other than staring at his thick forearms, but I can’t think of what it might be.
He walks toward me at a leisurely pace, and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. When he stops, mere inches in front of me, he’s towering over me with a roguish grin.
“You’re blushing,” he says, sliding one hand in his pocket and the other along my jaw.
He brushes a thumb from my mouth up over my cheekbone as his gaze drops to my lips.
“Your fault,” I murmur.
He nods almost imperceptibly. “We should talk, but I kinda just wanna kiss you.”
“Think we can do both?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
He slides a boot between my bare feet as his fingers wrap the nape of my neck. He looks down at me for a moment and I realize that everything is about to change forever.
As he dips in and his lips brush mine my breath stutters, and I grip his tie in one hand and skim the other into his short, soft hair.
He hums quietly and deepens the kiss, moves in a little closer, places one hand at the small of my back.
He’s so gentle -- not at all what I imagined he’d be like. I’m surprised but not disappointed because he’s still somehow overwhelming and consuming me with warmth and attention. The nuanced power is pure Dean.
We stand and sway, kissing, exploring. It feels like more than just kissing, though. It feels like more than hands over fully-clothed bodies and tongues slowly twisting. It feels like this means something, that it isn’t a stepping stone to something else.
I realize that I’m shaking when Dean pulls back and holds my face in his hands. “Y’okay?” he asked quietly.
I nod. “You’re just...” I swallow and shake my head. “This is all so much.”
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s sit. Use words.” He smiles before kissing me once more and leading me to the small couch where I’ve been sleeping.
I take a seat and Dean loosens his tie. “Want a beer?” he asks. “Somethin’ cold to sip on, somethin’ to do with your hands?”
“Were you a shrink in a past life?” I ask.
Dean laughs and shakes his head. “Just plenty of practice working through shit of my own. Beer?”
I smile and nod.
I do a little box breathing as he retrieves and opens two beers then returns to the tiny sofa. He hands me my drink and takes a seat with his broad back wedged against the corner. He looks sort of ridiculous trying to relax on this almost doll-like furniture.
He’s quietly watching me, so I start talking.
“I’ve had a crush on you since we met,” I say, not looking him in the eye. “And I thought you thought of me as a bratty kid.”
I look up at him and he’s watching me intently, eyes narrowed.
I could say a lot of snarky things about Dean, and I have. But the real meat of Dean is that he’s kind, strong, and he listens.
“So I’ve said a lot of stupid things. To protect myself? My feelings.”
Dean nods.
I draw in a deep breath. “Are you gonna say anything?” I ask nervously, taking a shaky sip of my beer.
Dean leans forward and sets his beer on the table and pauses before speaking.
“I thought it was just a crush,” he says, shrugging. “I figured you’d get over it once you were with us for a while.” He turns to look at me with a sad smile.
“But I didn’t,” I say, and he nods. “Today wasn’t really any different than any other day except I thought maybe I had a chance with you.”
Dean chuckles ruefully. “Sweetheart, you have always had a chance.” He leans back into the corner of the couch again.
I shake my head. “But you never-”
“Yeah, well...” He nibbles his top lip.
“Dean, why?” I ask. “If it’s not my age, then what is it?”
He scoffs dryly. “Not just age... it’s everything. I’m not relationship material and you still have a whole life ahead of you.”
“So, why now?” I ask again. “You told me before in the car that I showed my hand like you just realized I liked you, and now you’re saying you’ve always known.”
He shakes his head. “Couldn’t help it anymore,” he says, turning to look me in the eyes. “Had to have you.”
My heart dances in my ribcage.
This isn’t cut and dry or simple; love never is, from what I’ve heard, but this is somehow more.
It’s more dangerous, it’s scarier, and I’ll probably get my heart and soul shredded and handed to me by this man; but I can’t deny that it’s all I want right now. I can’t think about anything else.
I swallow my fear and knee onto the couch, take the few short strides to reach him. He watches me, arms stretched across one couch arm and the back, and lets me lift my skirt and straddle his lap.
“I can’t promise anything,” he murmurs as he slowly wraps his arms around me and lets me kiss him.
“I don’t want promises,” I answer between licks and nips. “I just want you.”
Then Dean grips me close, stands, and crosses the room to his bed, kissing me deeply the whole way.
How about Steve x Reader with going to Coney Island? :)
You stared up at the huge ferris wheel and audibly gulped. The ferris wheels at your state fair were no problem - but they also looked like children’s rides in comparison to this bad boy.
“The Wonder Wheel,” Steve breathed. “Sure isn’t the same as when I rode it back in the day.”
Your mouth was too dry to respond. You held tight to Steve’s hand as he handed over your tickets to the operator, then sat next to you in the gondola. The ride started with a jerk; you tried not to white-knuckle the metal bar in front of you when Steve released your hand to put an arm around your shoulders.
“Wait for the top,” he whispered in your ear, “hopefully you’ll see the fireworks.”
You weren’t entirely sure your eyes would be open at the top, even for a fireworks show, but when Steve cupped your face and guided your lips to his when the wheel stopped with you two at the top, you understood what he had meant.
Happiest of International Nash Days to You!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well I thank you muchly, and to you as well, my dear! I hope you had a great one!! 😁🎂 (It’s a joke, y’all.... we’re pretending my bday is a national holiday.... but I mean it should be on all your calendars.... okay bye)
