#jarpad x reader

[ghostgvrl]

jared padalecki x stoner!fem reader headcannons 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

fluff & NSFW!

18+ MDNI!

warnings: stoner!reader, mentions of oral, (f receiving) piv, masturbation, phone sex, just unholy thoughts about jared tbh.

A/N: these r kinda random tbh i just really wanted to write for jared. he is so dear to me. i hope you like them <3

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ jared hates leaving you for filming & cons so he just brings you along. this man kind of has a huge ego (as he should) so wherever he is, you’re right by his side.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ he lovesss to smoke you out. you just came back inside from smoking a joint, and he’s already loading your bong for you, giving you a flirty smile & wink. he likes to get you nice and relaxed, maybe he’ll give you a massage, or maybe he’ll eat you out so good you have to hold onto him so you don’t float away.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ in situations where you are apart, he can’t help himself but send you a lewd message or a sexy photo. he doesn’t always expect one back, but you just can’t help yourself. so when you do send something back to him, he’ll palm himself in his jeans to it. and maybe even send you a video of that too.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ as for actual phone sex, i feel like they’re mostly just quickies. this man is so successful which means his schedule is absolute chaos. but, nevertheless, he always makes time for you.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ jared loves your pussy so much. he could spend hours inside of you, he loves the feeling of your perfect, tight, warm heat wrapped around his beautiful dick. he’s also a huge munch. again, he could spend hours inside between your legs, his rough fingertips slowly circling your cute clit while he fucks you with his tongue. it’s his favorite. <3

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ literally obsessed with you. he lives for watching you doing your makeup routine, especially if you smoked before doing it. he loves watching you get all dolled up while your eyes are all low and red.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ one of his favorite things in the world is kissing you. it doesn’t matter if it’s small pecks or a steamy makeout session, he loves the feeling of his lips on yours.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ jared is a man who gives you the best of both worlds. he can fuck and he can make love. when he fucks you, he prefers you riding him, so he can stick his face in your tits. or in doggy, he loves the way your ass ripples when he fucks you from behind. but when he’s making love to you, he wants to see your beautiful face, so probably missionary. he’ll whisper so much sweet praise into your neck while rolling his hips oh so deliciously.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ this man worships you. will literally fall to his knees and kiss your feet if you ask him. you might be a stoner girl, but you are his drug of choice.

[castielscaplan]

3Am Fights

Summary: You confront Sam for cheating on you.

Warnings: angst, cheating Sam, swearing, alcohol use, drunken Sam

WC: 890

Read on ao3!

A/N: i could have written this so much better but i literally don't care, LOL.

The sound of the key turning in the lock was soft—hesitant, like even the metal wasn’t sure it wanted to let him back in. The door creaked open slowly, hinges protesting in the silence of 3:47 a.m.

You were already awake. You hadn’t even tried to sleep.

The bed beside you had been cold for hours. So instead of rest, you stared at the ceiling with tears drying on your cheeks, gripping the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring you to the version of your life you thought you had. A version where he still chose you.

But now you listened as Sam stumbled inside, the heavy thud of his boots hitting the floor echoing through the apartment like a taunt.

He was drunk. You could tell by the way his keys slipped from his hands and clattered to the hardwood. By the uneven rhythm of his steps. By the way he swore under his breath when he tripped over the jacket he’d tossed on the couch yesterday and never picked up.

You sat up, switching on the lamp with a steady hand even though your heart pounded like a war drum in your chest.

“Did you have fun?”

His silhouette froze in the hallway. He was just a shadow there—towering, familiar, wrong. The kind of wrong that hurts in your bones. He didn’t speak, just stood there like he didn’t know whether to keep walking or turn around and disappear.

“You heard me,” you said, louder now. “Was she worth it?”

Sam stepped forward, finally, into the light. His shirt was wrinkled, misbuttoned. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles like someone had run their hands through it a thousand times. Lipstick—not yours—was smudged faintly on the curve of his jaw.

He smelled like alcohol. Like perfume. Like everything you weren’t.

“Don’t start with this,” he muttered, voice low, tired. So tired, like you were the one exhausting him.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Don’t start? Sam, this started months ago. When you stopped coming home before midnight. When you stopped texting. When you stopped looking at me like I was someone you wanted.”

He ran a hand down his face, slow and heavy. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“No, I bet you didn’t. You probably thought I’d be asleep, huh? Thought you’d sneak in, crawl into bed, let me hold onto a lie for another night.”

He stayed quiet. Which hurt more than yelling would have.

“I know you’re cheating on me,” you said. There. Out loud. The words tasted like ash and betrayal and something sharp enough to cut you open.

Still, he said nothing.

“You could at least lie, Sam. At least pretend like you regret it. Make it harder for me to hate you.”

Finally, his eyes met yours—bloodshot, hollow, distant. “I never meant to hurt you.”

God, those words. That pathetic, recycled excuse.

“You didn’t mean to?” Your voice broke, rising. “You didn’t mean to take off your ring when you were with her? Didn’t mean to disappear for hours, not answer my calls, not care if I was worried or scared or wondering if you were dead in a ditch—or just in someone else’s bed?”

He winced, just a flicker. But it wasn’t enough.

“I thought we were building something real,” you whispered, arms wrapped around yourself like you could keep your heart from falling apart. “I thought I was enough.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Sam said. “I—I thought I could. But I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t know how to stay.”

You stared at him. Really looked at him.

This wasn’t the man who used to kiss your shoulder in the morning before coffee. The one who left notes on your dashboard just because. The one who held you like the world could crumble around you and he’d keep it back with nothing but his arms.

That man was gone. Or maybe he never existed outside of your hope.

“Don’t you dare make this about your damage,” you said, voice shaking with the force of what you were holding back. “Don’t you dare twist this into something you couldn’t help. You chose this. You walked into that bar, into her arms. You made this bed.”

Sam stepped back like you’d slapped him, jaw tight, eyes flicking away.

“She didn’t even let you stay, did she?” you asked, voice quieter now. Meaner. Sharper. “Is that why you’re here? Because she didn’t want to deal with you after last call?”

That hit its mark. His eyes met yours again—and this time there was something in them. Shame, maybe. But not enough.

“I don’t want you in this bed,” you said. “Not after you’ve been in hers.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you were already out of the bed, walking past him, heart pounding in your ears.

“Get out, Sam.”

“Y/N…”

“Get out. And don’t come back until you can look me in the eye and tell me you never loved me. Because if you can’t do that—then you don’t deserve the pieces you broke.”

You didn’t watch him leave.

You listened to the door click shut.

And you cried.

God, you cried.

[castielscaplan]

Demonic Taunts

Summary: The Winchester brothers were psychotic in their own rights.... it seemed as though they'd gotten off on the fact that you were being tortured.... maybe so.

Warnings: Demon!Reader, torture, swearing

WC: 205

Read on ao3! Tag List!

You grit your teeth as he landed hit after hit on your torso. You wouldn’t make a damned sound; you’d be an utter fool to give him any satisfaction of him hurting you.

“Still not going to speak, bitch?” Dean twisted the knife that he’d grabbed off the table and brandished it in front of your eyes.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, you grinned at him, licking your teeth. A chuckle fell from your lips as you noticed the green in his eyes minimize to dust as his pupils grew wide in anger. You wouldn’t speak, you wouldn’t tell Winchester where his brother was being kept.

Dean sliced a thin line across your cheek, almost causing you to wince in pain. But you held steady, glaring at him through blackened eyes. The poor man you were possessing banged against your skull. You ignored the incessant pains and tilted your head at Winchester.

“I won’t tell a soul,” you sang in an offbeat tune taunting him. “Oh wait,” you chuckled, “Sammy has none to swear upon, right?”

Having heard enough of your taunts, Dean took the knife and stabbed you in the eye, glowering as the glowing light of your entity left the broken man.