Cowboys from all over the American West travel to Abilene, Texas, just to get a taste of Dean Winchester, one of the only—and best—male prostitutes out there, and he makes good money from them, too. Unfortunately, most of that money goes toward his family, who he’s not even allowed to see on account of his no-good piece of shit daddy who kicked him out.
When tenderfoot cowboy Castiel rides into town, Dean starts to crave something he hasn’t had in a long while— a real home.
Together, Dean and Castiel have to navigate the inhospitable world of the American West, and discover for themselves what family means, when family pushes you away.
Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader
Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.
Chapter Warnings: +18, angst, crack, implied smut, unwanted pregnancy & mentions of abortion, fluff, a break-up, one-sided pining by an idiot
Word Count: 4.4k
A/N: Here we go... 🤓🍿 By the way, for the assholes who are planning to send me some lecturing ask about this, here’s a lesson for you: I. NEVER. LEARN. Chances are you’re only gonna make it worse, so... Enjoy the drama, babes! 🖤
<< 10 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist
11. Glory Days
Sometimes it only takes one little mistake, one drunken decision, to completely ruin your life.
In Y/N’s case, that mistake definitely was sleeping with her best friend’s husband. She paid direly for that error of judgment. And still, the punishment doesn’t seem to be over. Life just loves to screw her.
Oh God, no pun intended…
Groaning loudly, she lets her head fall into her palms as she sits on the cool edge of the dirty bathtub in a motel she calls her home these days and ponders where it all went wrong. Why does it never seem to stop?
“Y/N?”
The young actress startles as she hears the director burst into her room and call for her. Two nights ago, they camped out together by the pool, and it was nice. She’s caught another glimpse of the real Dean, the one that’s hiding underneath all the cynicism and white powder. And she can’t lie – she really likes that guy. That Dean is incredibly smart, quick-witted, and, most surprising of all, kind.
And maybe in another world, another life, Y/N could see something more than a collegial friendship with him. However, she clearly seems to be stuck in the wrong universe.
The bathroom doorknob rattles before being met with resistance, causing her to frown as the director’s voice chimes outside, “Hey, why is it locked?”
“Dean! I’m-… I’m busy here, okay? Why would you just barge into a bathroom that isn’t yours?!”
“Busy, huh?” Y/N can hear his smirk even through the door, her frown only deepening. “Doing some self-love in there, sweetheart? Want some help?”
“No, I’m-… I’m not feeling well,” she splutters and lets a sigh past her lips.
“Oh, uh… you want me to get you something? I can run to the pharmacy,” he offers, and admittedly, it’s the sweetest thing he’s done so far. So sweet, in fact, it cracks her heart a little when she has to push him away.
“No, I’m good. Thanks… Can you-, uhm… can you just leave me alone for a little while, please?” Y/N presses lips and eyes tightly together during the beat of silence, forcing herself not to sob like a baby and make a fucking noise. He won’t leave if she does.
“Yeah, uhm… sure.” He doesn’t have to say a lot for Y/N to know he feels defeated. “Just… I’ll be in my room if you need anything, alright?”
“Okay, thanks, Dean.”
And once she hears his footsteps fade into the distance and the motel room door close again, she releases the sobs she’s been holding in.
Life in paradise was good for a little while. After their cozily intimate sleepover by the pool, everything was perfectly fine and better than ever between the director and the actress – new heights. Then, forty-eight hours later, according to Dean’s clock, Y/N inexplicably withdrew herself. The last two nights, she declined to hang out with him because she wasn’t feeling well. Aside from that, she talks less, she’s quieter and less vivid than usual, and she sticks mostly to herself, even around the other girls.
He may be reading too much into the situation, and she might just really feel under the weather. Women do get moody sometimes, so maybe it’s just that and nothing personal against him. Dean’s noticed mood swings with the other women before as well. So far, he has identified two cycles of the moon and avoids each cluster of pack sisters accordingly whenever the time comes. Still, he wants to make sure he hasn’t accidentally upset Strindberg with his attitude again, so he planned a little bonding trip for them today to get to the bottom of this issue.
It’s sleuthing time.
So, in the early morning hours, Y/N’s knuckles tap on his door as she peeks her pretty head inside his office. “You wanted to see me, boss?”
“Yeah, uh, you wanna go see a venue with me? Cas is MIA, and I could use a second opinion,” Dean explains, offering her an inviting smile. “Pilot’s just around the corner.”
“Sure,” she beams excitedly. “I’d be honored to have a say in the decision-making process.”
“Oh, you’re not gonna have a say, sweetheart. I just need someone to disagree with, so I can clarify my own instincts,” Dean quips and eagerly grabs his leather jacket from the chair, joining her by the door with a cheery smile. A work excuse was the best option to get her to agree to spend time with him. She never says no to more work.
“Oh, uh, of course, boss,” Y/N nods, ever the pleaser. “I’d be happy to do that, too.”
Dean stops inches in front of her and wets his plump lips, a daring smirk shaping into form as he leans closer and pins her in the doorframe, her small body caged in by his strong arms. “What else would you do for me, huh, sweetheart?”
The director’s flirting has become more brazen recently, loving how he always makes her squirm. God, all he wants to do is fuck her, please her, and praise her.
Shit. Maybe that’s why she’s been avoiding him. Dean was under the assumption she’s grown accustomed to his flirtatious nature at this point in their friendship and knows it’s only fun and games, but perhaps he was wrong.
However, Y/N’s easy reply only leaves more question marks behind in his mind. She smirks teasingly and pats his chest, “I’d give you CPR if you overdose. C’mon, tiger, let’s go location scouting!”
“We had a booking cancel at the last minute – Styx. But you didn’t hear it from me,” the vixen event manager in a short skirt and a lot of cleavage gossips with a wink as the pair tours the grand theater Downtown.
“Whoa,” Y/N gasps as her mesmerized eyes roam the theatrical decor of the giant hall, sparkling gold and velvet purple adorning its walls, carved with beautiful and extensive ornaments.
“Good, right? Used to be a porno theater,” Dean adds with a sly grin.
“Well, it must’ve been the golden age of whacking off,” Y/N giggles. “Was it Aztec porn?”
“Mayan, actually,” the event vixen tells her. “This used to be part of the Mayan Revival movement of the 20s.”
“Huh. Did it involve blood sacrifice?” Y/N quips and barely holds in her snort as the vixen shoots her a glare.
“Your girlfriend is quite the comedian,” the woman grits and aims her death stare at him now.
“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend,” Y/N throws in quickly. Too quick. She could hesitate a little, you know? Do the awkward dance with him of who gets to say it, but instead, she even sends him a wink like she’s his fucking wing woman, trying to score him a date with the vixen. No thanks. Why does she never understand that he wants to spend time with her and her alone?
The woman then informs them about the price and excuses herself with great relief, leaving the pair to look around on their own.
“I mean, the place looked great in Indiana Jones,” Y/N notes jokingly.
“What’s the matter with you? You’re here as a benign sounding board,” Dean grunts, feeling strangely attacked. He knows he’s only overreacting because he still doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. He doesn’t like being ignored, and it’s clearly messing with his brain chemistry. “You’re not the director. You don’t have my vision.”
“Fine, calm down.” Y/N only rolls her eyes in amusement over his defensive grumpiness. She knows him too well already, and it doesn’t help to erase the twinge in his heart. “What are you picturing? Tell me about your vision.”
“Well, alright.” Enthusiastically, Dean steps into the center of the huge theater and rubs his palms together, explaining his next vision of pure genius, “So, we’re gonna put the ring right in the middle, get rid of that stage, and change out those shitty ropes we have and make ‘em pink.”
His grin is only getting wider the more he talks about it, close to giddily jumping on the spot. The director is in his element, and it only helps that his muse intently hangs on every word that leaves his lips, an impressed smile and admiring gaze following his movements.
“Now, there’s gonna be people up there-,” he thumbs over his shoulder to the gallery, “-so we’re gonna put a stationary camera up here, maybe add a camera on a jib, moving around... But I’ll leave enough room around the sides of the ring, so I can get in with the handheld, and the audience can feel the struggle, the drama, the victory, the defeat… I mean, this could either feel dinky or it could feel epic, so let’s go big. Let’s make it visceral, let’s make it like a-... a fucking rock show!”
“Dean, this is amazing,” Y/N beams a bright, thousand-watt smile, and his heart is close to detonating when she looks at him like he’s a goddamn genius. The massive effects her tiny bit of admiration and praise can have on his dick are astounding. “This is perfect!”
“Told ya,” Dean winks cockily, but his ears and cheeks are blushing scarlet red, feeling the eagerness of the butterflies rushing through his stomach and conquering his heart. They’re downright somersaulting in there. “Hey, uh, I was thinking since we’re already on the road, why not make a day out of it? Let’s grab some greasy lunch, maybe drive to the pier, see a movie…”
“Dean, I-, uh, I can’t,” Y/N tells him with a remorseful look and chews her lip almost bloody.
Jesus fucking Christ, that woman really knows how to crush a man’s soul. She’s a true heartbreaker, which means she’s completely unaware of her evil spell. They’re the worst kind.
“C’mon, why not? We’re friends, right? You said you liked our friendship,” he reminds her with a playful smile.
His boyish charm coaxes a small giggle out of her, but the reluctance remains, “I do, but–”
“Then, let’s hang out together! I promise it’s not weird. I’m your boss, so I should know, alright?” How did he instantly make this weird again? She’s not supposed to think of him as her goddamn employer. Why the hell does he keep mentioning it? Well, aside from the kinky little fantasy he has buried in the back of his brain… On second thought, that’s probably exactly why he mentioned it. Never mind.
“It’s not that. It’s not about you. I’m just not feeling my best this week, okay? We can do something next week,” Y/N explains, her look pleading with him to just accept her flimsy answer, but he can’t. He’s stubborn like that. “I was actually hoping you could give me tomorrow off?”
“What, why? You can’t just have the day off,” he snaps with a stern brow. Why is she trying to avoid him? What, now she doesn’t even wanna come to the gym anymore? She loves that filthy place, and she never has anything better to do. That woman breathes nothing but work. “Look, I know I said we’re friends, but I can’t just make exceptions for you.”
“It’s something personal I have to deal with, okay? I’m ahead of everyone else, anyway,” Y/N argues with a hint of desperation in her voice.
“Yeah, and I’m gonna make sure you stay ahead because I’m the fucking director,” Dean barks and scratches the nape of his neck, the crazy thoughts itching his snowed brain. “Is this about me? It is, isn’t it? Look, if you don’t wanna be friends and hang out with me, just fucking say so. Don’t give me some bullshit excuse. I’m a grown man. I can handle rejection, okay? What, you think I’m gonna fire you like some pathetic child?”
“Dean, what? No–”
“Is this because I said I liked you?” he continues his spiral of conspiracy theories, not paying attention to her in the slightest as he starts to pace the theater floor, arms wildly gesturing. “I’m sorry, okay? I think our wires just got crossed… I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I like you as a person, alright? I’m not trying to fuck you or weasel my way into your goddamn pants, sweetheart.”
Oh boy, that’s a lie if he ever heard one. It’s all he does, day and night, but he has a reason for it, you know? And it’s not just plain horniness. He actually likes her personality, which is rare. He usually hates most people, but he supposes hate always comes easier than love.
“I know that. It’s not–”
“So, this is about the kiss again? I thought we already talked about that shit and were good,” he huffs and shakes his head, feeling at the end of his wits. What else could it be?
“We are,” she reassures him through gritted teeth. Why is she suddenly so angry?
“Then what the hell is going on with you, huh? Why the fuck are you ignoring me and don’t wanna eat lunch with me? It’s just goddamn lunch, Y/N! You always act like I’m such an unbearable monster. I mean, yeah, sometimes I’m a little inappropriate… But still, I’m a pleasant person to be around, okay?! I’m adorable! There’s a lot of people, women specifically, who love spending time with me–”
“OH MY GOD! WOULD YOU SHUT UP?! I’M PREGNANT!”
As the remnants of her sentence echo through the deathly silent theater, his throat closes and cuts off all air supply to his lungs. He gapes at her like a fucking idiot, close to hyperventilating, while Y/N waits patiently for his shock to subside. His heart isn’t racing, though. It’s a steady, strong beat that ticks like a time bomb in his ribcage, the countdown ringing in his ears.
And then, his mind does something incredible. It begins to think about offering to raise the kid with her, conjuring up a perfect, suburban life with a white picket fence. Y/N has zero dollars in her bank account, while Dean owns a small home in Burbank. It’s big enough for three, and he’s certain her bestie’s husband is not going to volunteer for that job. All of a sudden, there’s a warmth spreading in his gut and climbing to his frozen heart, growing and festering around his beating muscle like poison ivy. His right knee also gets the weird urge to bend down.
“Oh, uhm…,” Dean stumps, which is probably better than proposing on the spot.
“You don’t have to say anythi–”
“Is it mine?”
“Especially that,” Y/N finishes her sentence, mouth agape, her eyebrows drawing together and meeting in the middle – the only possible reaction to a moronic question. “Dean, how-… how could it be yours? We never even… You know that, right?”
Dean runs a palm over his freckled face, barely believing his own stupidity, and squeezes his eyes shut with a pinch of his nose, nodding, “Yeah, yeah, I know… I was just-… never mind.”
As if he needed a damn reminder that he never had sex with her.
“I mean, your kiss was good, but I don’t think you can get women pregnant from it,” she jokes lightheartedly. “Although, as cocky as you are, I can see how you would believe that.”
Dean places his hands on his hips, swaying back and forth on his heels. His mind races, repeating her words over and over. His lips purse before a nervous smile appears, “So… the kiss was good?”
Y/N’s look darkens to an irritated scowl, “Read the room, dude!”
“Right, yeah,” he swallows hard and scratches the scruff on his throat. “So, uhm, the married guy got a shot in?”
Don’t blame him. His social skills end with small talk about the weather. He’s not emotionally equipped for these kinds of conversations.
Folding her arms over her chest, Y/N clicks her tongue and bites the insides of her cheeks in discomfort. “I don’t know. Probably.”
His brow furrows, “Probably?!”
“I-….” She flails her arms helplessly, her pupils wide and gleaming with desperation. “There were two others I was seeing. They all sorta… There was some overlap, okay?”
“Look at you being so slutty,” Dean teases her, broadly smirking. He’s trying to keep the situation light, even though he admittedly feels the jealousy bubbling in his chest. While knowing it’s wrong and misplaced, he can’t help but wish he would’ve gotten a chance with her instead of those three losers. They didn’t even appreciate what treasure, what fucked-up little angel, they held in their filthy palms, or else they’d be here and not him.
“Well, thank you for that,” Y/N mutters with an offended scowl, bitterly tightening the grip of her arms over her chest.
“Wha-… I didn’t mean… I-I was just making a joke, okay? As if I would ever judge you,” Dean frowns. He’s the sluttiest of them all! “Three is nothing. Three is like my weekly ratio.” Nope, that sounds worse. “I mean, it used to be, you know? When I was your age…”
Shut up, shut up, shut up…
Y/N only lets out a long sigh in response, shaking her head at his idiocy before finding his eyes. She prompts, “Ever knocked someone up?”
“Uhm, I-, uh, I’m-,” he splutters and clears his throat a few times, trying to cough up the lump. “Uh, not that I know of, no? I mean, no one ever told me, so… Kinda have that advantage, you know?”
Y/N blows a raspberry, her head in one constant shake at this point. “I really hate your gender,” she tells him then and sounds more defeated than angry.
“Yeah… Yeah, I get that,” Dean admits and rubs his mouth. “So, uh, what are you gonna d–”
“It’s not a big deal, okay? So, let’s not make it one, alright?” Y/N announces.
His head tilts in confusion like a lost puppy’s. “It’s not?”
Y/N hesitates and swallows with a harsh intake of air, eyes stubbornly focusing on her sneakers. “No, it’s not,” she confirms and insecurely meets his gaze. “I-, uhm, I have an appointment tomorrow at ten, so…”
“Oh.”
Honestly, Dean feels nothing but relief, and it’s not because it’s someone else’s goddamn kid. He doesn’t give a shit about that; he would’ve raised that fucker like his own. But he knows the possibility of Y/N quitting the show and disappearing from his life forever is more likely than her playing house with him. The latter was just wishful thinking on his part. The reality is: The show would fall apart without her, and so would he.
“Please don’t try and talk me out of it,” she begs him, a pouty look adorning her features as she roughly bites her lips.
“No, of course not,” Dean quickly assures her and sees her exhale a breath of relief. “I’m fully supporting your choice here, you know? I mean, if I were you, I would’ve already, you know… like yesterday…” God, he really needs to stop blabbering and shut his cakehole. “And you should take the day off tomorrow. No problem. You know what? Take the whole week. You’re perfect, anyways. You’ve trained enough, sweetheart.”
“I don’t think I need a whole week,” she says with a smile of amusement. Yeah, Dean would laugh at himself as well if he were her.
“Well, if you want the week, you can have it, okay?” Dean offers her nonetheless. “Ten, right? I’ll drive you. Gonna knock on your door at nine sharp.”
“You don’t have to–”
“No, no, I want to,” he swiftly brushes her concerns away. “You shouldn’t be alone for this, alright? I-… I don’t want you to be alone.”
A grateful smile shapes on her pink lips upon his proposal. It’s cute. “Thank you… Can you just, uhm, not tell anyone? Keep this between us? I haven’t told any of the girls. I don’t want it to get back to, uhm… Jo,” she explains, swallowing nervously.
“Yes, absolutely, sweetheart,” Dean assures her with a firm nod and offers her a warm smile, “This stays right here between us. Just you and me.”
The words inappropriately make his heart flutter – you and me. God, he’s a mess.
“Thank you,” Y/N says, smiling gratefully. She then wraps her arms around his torso and buries her head in his chest, squeezing the oxygen right out of his lungs.
Dear God, his entire body goes rigid. What is this? Is she hugging him? This is a hug, right? What is he supposed to do? Aside from not getting a goddamn boner, of course.
When was the last time he ever genuinely hugged someone? He honestly can’t remember. She’s so warm, and her frame is so small and fits perfectly into his like a matching puzzle piece. Can he hug her back?
He supposes he can and greedily slings his arms around her, one hugging her shoulders and the other hand cupping the back of her head. Then, he even goes one step further and rests his chin on her crown, her lemon coconut shampoo filling his nostrils.
Fuck, this feels fantastic. Can he hug her now all the time? Is this a new development in their friendship? God, he hopes the answer is yes.
“Dean, I-I think you can let go,” she giggles and winds herself out of his embrace.
Oh, he so doesn’t want to but fine. He also doesn’t want to make it weird and risk never receiving these glorious hugs from her again.
“So, uhm, I’ll be here tomorrow at nine, waiting for you, okay?” Dean reassures her for what feels like the millionth time as he slowly kills the engine in the motel parking lot. He’s stalling, doesn’t want her to go just yet.
Y/N smiles softly, “Okay. Thanks, Dean.”
“Dean!” Their heads turn out the windshield, watching Bela rush to the Impala and vividly wave her hands in the air.
Dean sighs deeply and falls back into his seat, wanting to disappear under the floor mat. “Shit… I’m-, I’m gonna break up with her. I’m gonna do it now,” he announces determinedly. If Y/N can master the hardships of life with her head held high, he supposes so can he.
“Uhm, I don’t wanna be here for that, so I’m gonna go, but, uh… good luck. Be nice,” Y/N says and then quickly flees the car, just in time before Bela slides into the passenger’s seat like a game of tag between the women.
Dread immediately spreads through his whole body. He’d rather spend the day with Y/N. They could be at the pier right this minute, waiting for the sunset, waiting for his lips to find hers in the golden glow. Instead, he has to be here and talk to the girlfriend he never wanted. What a waste of a beautiful day. All because that fucking wimp husband couldn’t wear a fucking condom…
It only takes one asshole to ruin the playground for everyone else.
“Dean, we need to talk,” Bela starts with a stern look on her face, all puckered lips and crinkled brow. Oh, how he loves that particular sentence, especially from a woman’s mouth. “I don’t think this is working between us.”
“Oh, so you’re gonna do it for me? Okay.” Honestly, he loves that solution for him. Life is still good sometimes.
“Do what?” Bela’s eyebrows quirk together in question, and he knows he should probably do a better job of hiding his grin.
“Uh… nothing. Please continue, sweetheart,” Dean smiles innocently.
“I just feel like this isn’t working, you know? I don’t think I can do this with you any longer, Dean. You disappear all the time. Donna even thinks she saw you hiding in a bloody locker two days ago, so I’m ending this,” Bela shares her feelings. She looks at him ruefully as if she even has the power or authority to break his plastic heart. He tries not to snort.
“Fantastic,” Dean accidentally lets slip. The fucking coke’s at it again today.
“Fantastic?”
“Yeah, you know,” he nods bravely, trying to remain cool, calm, and collected, “I know you were just fucking me because you wanted shit like-, uhm… a bigger part, or-, uh, or a horse, right? I’ve been around this block before. It’s okay.”
Bela frowns and rolls her eyes, groaning in annoyance. “Dean, I wasn’t shagging you because I want things! You’re so bloody paranoid all the time… I mean, I do want a horse, but that’s not why I was sleeping with you. It’s like I told you after the party – I saw your dating video and thought you were sweet. You’re funny and really, really smart. And handsome and sexy… I really fancied you.”
“Whoa…” Dean’s brow furrows in disbelief while his dick tingles. “Really? You like me?” Well, color him surprised. Maybe he underestimated her a little. Plus, a woman praising him is his goddamn weakness – the cross on his back. Between Y/N hugging him and Bela schmoozing the shit out of him, his blue jeans are getting uncomfortably tight. Fuck, he needs sex right goddamn now.
“Yes,” Bela nods like it’s obvious.
“Okay, can we-, uh, can we just reset, maybe?” Dean suggests with a flirty smile and wiggles his eyebrows, shifting closer to her on the seat.
“Dean!” Bela frowns deeply, shaking her head in irritation. “I’m not some sex robot. You can’t just push a button and reboot me.”
“Look, I’m not good with this stuff. I have a shitty history with women, alright?” Dean bats his eyelashes and shrugs sheepishly, hoping he can smooth things over with the brunette. Just one more time. All he needs is three thrusts max. Promise. “We-, uh, we can go over it if you like, sweetheart. Does that sound like fun, huh?”
“Dean, you don’t actually like me. It won’t work,” Bela rebuffs him and rolls her eyes. He’s just baffled at this point. “Besides, you’re obviously in love with Y/N.”
“I’m sorry, what now?” He’s thoroughly stumped for good, green eyes blinking at her rapidly like the wings of a hummingbird.
“You should tell her. I think she likes you, too,” Bela says her final words, kisses his cheek in a sweet goodbye, and hops out of the Impala, joining a few of the women by the pool.
What the fuck?!
12. The Warrior
Get ready for some really terrible, terrible jokes in the next part. I went all out ‘cause if we’re already here, why the fuck not, right? 😂🤷♀️ *throws shit into the fan like it’s confetti*
Welcome to my masterlist for @kinktober2023! I'm not sure I'll get to post something for every day this month, but I am going to be posting as much as I can. This year, all of my Kinktober 2023 content is going to be exclusive to my website subscribers as a thank-you for being the best and having my back this year when things have been rough.
Day 1 - Leather & Latex (Sam Winchester x Reader)
Day 2 - Roleplay | Titfucking (Cordell Walker x Stella Walker)
Day 3 - Hate Sex (Sam Winchester x Reader)
Day 4 - Teratophilia | Rimming | Prostitution
Day 5 - Omorashi | Collaring | Sweat
Day 6 - Dubcon | Frottage | Chastity
Day 7 - Virginity | Waxplay | Stuck in Wall
Day 8 - Breeding | Gore | Master & Slave
Day 9 - Glory Hole | Lactation | Stripping
Day 10 - NTR | Fucking Machine | Praise Kink
Day 11 - Petplay | Humiliation | Sensory Deprivation
Day 12 - Medical Play | Somnophilia | Costumes
Day 13 - Menophilia | Size Difference | Heartbeat
Day 14 - Armpit | Orgasm Denial | Cloning & Selfcest
Day 15 - Noncon | Shotgunning | Temperature Play
Day 16 - DP in One Hole | Gags | Public
Day 17 - Threesome / Moresome | Fisting | Vore
Day 18 - Body Modification | Spanking | Olfactophilia
Day 19 - Uniform | Exhibitionism & Voyeurism | Feet
Day 20 - Watersports | Mind Control | Foodplay
Day 21 - Panties & Lingerie | Tentacles | Tickling
Day 22 - Lolicon & Shotacon | Intercrural Sex | Bondage
Day 23 - Collaring | Scat | Deepthroating & Facesitting
Day 24 - Sex Toys | Oviposition | Crossdressing
Day 25 - Human Furniture | Pregnancy | Edgeplay
Day 26 - Masturbation | Grooming | Overstimulation
Day 27 - DP In Two Holes | Emeto | S&M
Day 28 - Daddy & Mommy | Body Worship | Cockbulge
Day 29 - Incest | Breathplay | Feeding/Stuffing
Day 30 - Free Use | Overstimulation| Sounding
Day 31 - Combo / Free Day
Summary: Y/N was different from the rest; living in a quaint lakehouse, on the edge of one of the most rich and prosperous towns in America. She was surrounded with the elite, the wealthy and people who never took responsibility for their actions. Money gave them everything, while in turn, it had taken something from her. In result, she kept her distance, never wanting to get involved with high society, until one fateful night changed her life…forever.
Rating: 18+
Warnings: Angst, slow burn, swearing, hate, family drama, sex talk, violence.
A/N: Chapter Five! I hope you guys love this chapter! I know what's coming soon and with each chapter, I'm getting more excited lol. I only hope you guys will be too! Thank you so much for your support <3 I also want to say a massive thank you to my wonderful @deanwanddamons for being my wonderful beta, and for kicking my ass where needed.
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Morning had arrived, and the annoying sound of a vibration on wood awoke Dean from his slumber. With a low groan, he peeled his eyes open, squinting at the intrusive bright light that was illuminating the room. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to leave the silk covered comfort he was nestled in. His head was cushioned within his goose feather pillows, his nearly naked body lightly wrapped in his Egyptian cotton sheets while his three thousand dollar mattress supported his weight.
With another moan, and another slight twitch of his muscles, he began to unfold his arms from beneath him, his cheek warm from the pressure of being buried inside the expensive cocoon. Through a squinted gaze, he noted the time from the clock on his bedside table; it was just a little after 9am which resulted in a frustrated whine leaving his throat. Rolling onto his side, propping himself up on one forearm, he reached for the device that had awoken him from his peaceful dreams. Dean’s head throbbed with the movement, and he really started to regret drinking nearly a full bottle of Jack Daniel’s Monogram Whiskey the night before.
With a few more blinks, his blurred vision cleared and he could focus on the blaring notification screen of his iPhone. With one, long intake of breath, his lungs filled before he let out a long and sombre sigh. There were a few alerts from social media and his email, but fresh at the top of the list was one missed call from the bloodhound who never left him alone, alongside two text messages. He toyed with the idea of opening them, but the preview wasn’t giving him the full information he needed so he had to bite the bullet. That was the moment he scolded himself internally for leaving on the read receipt feature.
Bela: [Picture Attached]
Bela: Just a little teaser for what is in store for you later. I can’t wait to see you later. Meet you in a lights out chamber ;)
With another loud groan, Dean threw himself back into the pillows, letting his device fall onto the mattress beside him. Bela was persistent, relentless, like a bitch in heat that was in search of a bone, and the only one that would satisfy her was his. Her lingerie picture and the way she was acting was enough to prove that. She had all but begged him to stay the night that previous evening. Her time had been spent draping herself across him, kissing at his neck and palming at his cock in the hope of an instant reaction. He had to admit, he was close to giving in at one point. Not because he desired her company, but because he craved the feeling of his dick being warm and buried inside of a pleasurable hole.
Dean had made the excuse that he wanted to save himself for tonight, alluding her to the premise that she would be in for an extra special evening if she was patient. But in all honesty, he would be happy to not even attend the event tonight and hide out in his bedroom like a moody teenager instead. This had been a day he had been dreading ever since his name was pulled out of the crystal bowl at last year's Lights Out party. He had been chosen to be the one to turn his manor into a place to fit this secret society’s standards, where every member met because it was a tradition, something that went back to when his great-grandfather was alive.
He hadn’t even been awake ten minutes and already he wanted to finish off the bottle of whisky. He needed something, anything, to get him through the day of organisation and planning. Dean was dreading the amount of questions he was going to be asked the moment he opened his bedroom door. There were other staff working on the premises, aside from his usual chef and maid, as it had been arranged for the event team to arrive as early as 8am. That meant that the manager overseeing the preparations, Rowena, would pounce on him as soon as he emerged. The quicker it was all over and done with, the better. At least then he could focus on getting his life back to normal.
Sitting up in bed with another long sigh, he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress. The first aim of the day was to have a shower, one that was warm and with immaculate pressure to get him at least a little more awake. Planting his feet on the floor, his fingers wrapped around his phone that had been buried under the covers in his movement, before he began to stand to make his way towards his en-suite bathroom. Rubbing at one tired eye with the heel of his free hand, the other spotted the tuxedo that was hanging from his wardrobe, readily dry cleaned and waiting to be worn. It was like a taunting reminder of what tradition he had to uphold, how there was no room for the slightest mistake or he could cost his family everything.
Sure, it’s no big deal, he thought to himself, a small scoff passing his lips at his own sarcasm, only got to ensure the fun of fifty plus people. Make sure they get the business network they want. No pressure at all.
The sound of his ringtone was the jolt he needed to break free of his musings, and when he looked down at the caller ID, he wished he had stayed lost in the corners of his mind. It was his father, and for a moment, the green-eyed Winchester just stared at the screen as the phone vibrated in his hand. He knew exactly what this was going to be about. So, biting the proverbial bullet, his thumb pressed the green answer button before drawing the device to his ear.
“Tonight’s the night, Dean,” his dad stated loudly on the other end of the line. There wasn’t any greeting, not even a hello, just straight to business. Something that come naturally to John Winchester.
“I know,” Dean sighed, turning on his heel as one hand came to rest upon his hip, his fingers partially slipping underneath the waistband of his boxers.
“Me and your mom won’t be arriving home till an hour before it’s due to start,” his father continued to explain. “You got everything under control?”
“As far as I’m aware,” Dean muttered, trying his best to hold back his frustration at his own dad's micro-management.
“That’s not good enough,” John berated, his tone harsh and clear. “This has to go perfectly. The Winchesters have always provided excellent Lights Out events, it is one of the reasons why we are the most prestigious family in this valley. This has to go without a hitch.”
That was the moment that Dean snapped, his voice carrying sharpened words, “If you don’t trust me to do this, then why not come and organise it yourself?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy,” his father snarled, warning his son to back down. “And besides, I already have workers on route to help prepare for this evening and they’re paid for.”
“I already have people working,” Dean argued, his fingers carding through his short hair as he paced back and forth across his room. “You are joking, right?”
“Not about this,” John fired back with ease. “We have a tradition to uphold, people to impress; we need to keep our name in good standing, you hear?”
Before Dean could put his point across, to stand his ground and fight back for some more control of his own event, his father quickly hung up the call, leaving his son fuelled with anger. It had always been the same when it came to his dad; he said jump and his sons had to say how high. If ever either of them disobeyed, the consequences were horrendous. Even now, as a fully grown adult with his own manor, John Winchester could still make his son feel as though he was nine years old again, powerless and weak.
In a heated rage, Dean tightened his grip around his phone and he was about ready to snap it into two, when another text alert lit up the screen and stopped him in his tracks. It was from one of his best friends, one who didn’t have this kind of life, one who had the freedom of being normal. Without hesitation, he opened the SMS with a double click of his thumb, and a small nod left him when he read the message.
Benny: Part has arrived, brother. Bring her down to the yard when you’re not too busy and we’ll get it fitted.
Fuck it.
Like hell was he going to spend the day pandering to his fathers every whim. Like hell was he going to listen to his dad's points of view of how this event should be run. It was Dean’s party, his turn and therefore he was going to run it the way he had planned to in the first place. With that defiant thought in mind, he turned away from the bathroom and instead, opted to search for some jeans and a black top. He had decided against the shower, knowing that he was about to get greasy and dirty anyway. It was also a decision he made because he was desperate to get out of his own house, away from this town and valley, and into the quiet of the country where he could just think.
Dean was getting so fed up with John’s interference in his everyday life. At first it started with small things like the lessons he and Sammy took at school, or the extracurricular activities. But then it morphed into something bigger, where his father controlled their career paths and what they could and could not wear. Telling them the entire time that it was ‘for the family’ and ‘what a prestigious man would do’. Well fuck that.
As he pulled his jeans up his legs, he opened up the browser application on his cell and searched for the number of the event planners he knew John would have hired. Once found, he pressed the call button before he held the device between his shoulder and ear as he fastened the button on his pants. Moving towards his drawers, he slid one out and grabbed at a black t-shirt, trying his best to get it over his head before a staff member picked up on the other end of the line. As he reached for his car keys that were resting on his bedside table, he was quick to greet the receptionist before he cancelled the extra assistance for his event with apologies.
Screw you, dad.
Even with that one action, Dean felt a little more free, the metaphorical chains around him loosening as he took back a little of the control. Shoving his phone into his front pocket, he reached inside his wardrobe for his denim flannel before shrugging it onto his shoulders. He pulled on some socks, slipped his feet inside some boots and headed towards his door. This was where he was going to have to be sneaky, to get by Rowena before she got her claws into him.
With a gentle turn of his door knob, he slowly pulled the wood towards him, allowing a small crack to form that he could look through. When he saw the coast was clear, he wasted no time in striding down the hallway and towards the stairs at the back of his property. As he moved down a level, he was met with the event staff he had hired, emptying the rooms along this corridor. His stomach turned as he walked, watching through open entryways as windows were blocked of light, dark film being layered upon them as any and all breakables were removed.
Dean had made a slight adjustment to his Lights Out event, one that he hoped his guests wouldn’t mind. He hadn’t told his father of course, in fear of all hell breaking loose but in his eyes, it was the safest and more reasonable option. All the rooms on the right were for singles only, the bachelors and bachelorettes looking for a fun time. The ones on the left were for married duos or couples that were in a relationship. If they wished to mix it up, then that was on them and they could only do it with other individuals who were taken, but were committing to the sex side of the event. That way, he was ensuring that nobody was getting caught with their pants down, fucking another mans lady without permission. He had learned that one from experience.
Finally, the exit to his garage was in sight as he jogged down some more stairs that led towards the back of his estate. He felt the pressure on his chest being lifted at the thought of getting away, and a smile actually started to form on his lips at the idea. That was until a hand wrapped around his bicep and stopped him from walking.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Turning around to face the person that had stopped him, his eyes landed on that of his cousin and Dean had to do all he can to not physically roll his eyes at the man in front of him. Instead, he raised one eyebrow and looked down at the fingers that were still holding tightly to his arm.
“I have errands to run, Chris,” Dean returned simply, shrugging himself out of the tight grasp before he turned to continue to walk towards the exit.
“And you have an event that you need to prepare for,” Christian sniped back, moving fastly to block Dean’s path. “This is our legacy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” The green-eyed Winchester remarked, his brow now creased in frustration at the man who had dared to try and stop him.
“Not by the way your behavin’, disappearing to god knows where on one of the most important days for our family!” His cousin shouted, gesturing to the few members of staff who had now come into the room to grab some supplies. “You should get one of these minions to do your dirty work so you can focus on what’s truly important.”
This cocky, son of a-
“Here’s what’s important Christian. My house, my rules. My name was pulled, not yours. You’re not in control here, you’re never in control when it comes to our family so I would advise quitting while you’re ahead of yourself,” Dean snarled, squaring up to the man who had dared to talk to him in such a way in his own home. Who the fuck does he think he is?
“One day it’ll be my turn and you’ll be sorry that you squandered this chance,” his cousin sneered, pressing his forefinger hard into Dean’s chest with his next words. “You should stand in line and do as your father says like a good little soldier.”
“You want to tell me what to do again?” Dean growled, his voice loud but authoritative as his fists came to curl around the shirt Christian was wearing. It was at that moment, that he saw his friend and ally out of the corner of his eye come rushing towards them.
“Hey, easy!” Castiel ordered, his gravelly tones echoing off the walls as he pushed himself between the two men, using himself as a shield to stop any fight from breaking out.
“Listen to me, cousin,” Dean demanded, his tone laced with seniority. “I know what the hell I’m doing so don’t you fucking interfere with a single thing, you hear me? I won’t be squandering anything on my watch,” he spat, his hardened stare unmoving as he began his journey again towards the garage. “Cas, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”
With a huff, and one last dirty look thrown his cousin's way, Dean was out of the door and on his way to find his Impala. In his angered state, it didn’t take him long to reach the driver's side of his beloved Chevy, the black hinges creaking as he stepped down to sit behind the wheel. Once he was in position, he slid the keys into the ignition and allowed his car to roar to life, the sound a comfort to him as he put the car into drive and pressed his foot down gently on the gas. He was out of there.
He thought he would feel bad about squaring up to a member of his family, but the truth was, Christian annoyed the ever loving fuck out of him. If he wasn’t up Dean’s arse showering him with praise, he was waiting outside of his house with a torch and pitchfork while yelling slanderous accusations. Of course, that was all metaphorical, although the slander wasn’t too far from the truth.
He had to scoff when he repeated the words ‘good little soldier’ in his head. If anyone acted like that in this family, then it was most definitely his cousin; never wanting to break the rules, always wanting to over achieve. It made Dean wonder just what was in it for him, because surely just the place in the secret society wasn’t enough to have him acting like a total douchebag. But then again, maybe it was. He had been told some stories while growing up and being a part of all this, hearing about how they had covered for each other if there had been a lawsuit or a crime, wanting to ensure that everyone was safe from punishment.
Okay, yes, it was handy to be a part of it at times. There had been a few occasions where Dean had been involved in a bar brawl, or had consumed one two many whiskeys before his drive home and a cop had pulled him over. And thanks to the secret society, he had managed to walk away from everything without so much as a ticket. He guessed he didn’t really know where he stood in regards to it all for on one hand, it was a useful tool to have in his belt, like the get out of jail free card when you play monopoly. On the other hand, it was like a curse. The rules and regulations, the things you had to commit too just to ensure you could keep a hold of all the perks. It was tiresome.
Still, with the gentle wind blowing through his now open window in his car, Dean allowed the smell of freshly rained on roads to filter into the cabin as he made his way towards the scrapyard. The storm the night before had been relentless, the rain hammering down like it was something from biblical times as the wind loudly howled itself into existence. But Dean could appreciate that weather, it was almost as if nature was pressing the refresh button on the world to allow things to grow if needed.
On his drive, he opted to take the more scenic route, wanting to avoid being spotted in town. He already knew that this would probably get back to his father, with his cancellation of his staff and the fact that Christian was so pissed about his departure, but he still wished to keep all the gossipping to a minimum if he could help it. Besides, he got to appreciate the quiet this way, got to floor Baby without the worry of traffic every other mile.
After about fifteen minutes, the exit for the familiar country road was ahead of him, and he turned down onto it with ease. His fingers drummed against his steering wheel as he listened to his AC/DC mixtape, his focus on what was ahead of him as he continued his drive. He was looking out for one of his favorite sights, the landmark that told him he was only five minutes out from the scrapyard, and within moments, it came into sight.
A large lake rested proudly against its green backdrop, tall trees and meadows surrounding it like it was a scene from a postcard and coming up on his left, was the quaint house that sat upon the waters edge. Each time Dean drove past it, he always thought how peaceful it looked and wondered what it must be like to live out here. It reminded him to maybe look into a holiday home of somewhere similar, somewhere that he would keep private incase he ever needed to get away from the chaotic and structured life that he led.
With a soft smile, his focus went back to the road as he began to slow down, looking for the small gap in the forest that would reveal the path he needed to take. Once found, he turned into it and waited for the clearing that would show a small house with a very large metal archway that read ‘Singers Salvage Yard’. This was his home away from home, his refuge from the prestigious life he had been brought up in. This was the place where he could truly be himself without any questions.
Pulling up in front of the porch, Dean killed the ignition and exited the vehicle. The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked towards the wooden stairs, his boots thudding against the oak before he raised his fist to knock loudly upon the front door. He didn’t have to wait long before it opened, and he couldn’t stop the grin from pulling at his lips when he saw the older man that greeted him.
Bobby Singer.
“Well ain’t this a surprise,” the scruffy looking mechanic muttered, his hands wiping on a dirty rag as he stopped aside to allow Dean to enter. “What are you doing out here, son?”
“Benny texted me, said he had the part he needed for Baby,” he simply replied, walking into the small but slightly messy living room.
“But ain’t tonight the big event?” Bobby questioned, following the green-eyed Winchester as he walked through the house to get to the back of the yard.
“Yeah,” Dean sighed, a little shrug in his shoulders, not stopping in his stride. “Dad’s on my case to make it perfect.”
“So you come runnin’ out here to escape it all, huh?”
That was the question that made the visitor stop in his path. He turned slightly towards his peer, giving him an unconvincing smile before explaining, “Just needed to get the passenger door lock switched in the Impala.”
“A job that could have been done at any time as it ain’t that important,” Bobby reminded him, and just like that, Dean’s shoulders sagged. “You can’t fool me, boy.”
It was the truth, he couldn’t. Sometimes Dean wondered if Bobby knew him better than his actual father did. John never picked up on his tells or his excuses, could never read when he was upset or pissed or tired. But Bobby? He could sense a change in him faster than he could change a tire, it was damn freaky.
Still, he supposed that it had something to do with the fact that Bobby had a lot to do with the Winchester family back when he and Sam were only little. He was his dad’s right hand man, until a disagreement shattered the friendship and Bobby became forced to live on the outskirts of town. Dean never agreed with it, always thought it was a bit out of order to banish someone that was so close to them but his father had never really divulged the full story, and neither had Bobby. So instead, when Dean was old enough to drive, he found his way to the salvage yard and spent time with the older man who had taught him many lifes lessons, ones that included more than just mechanics.
“Benny in the back?” Dean questioned, ignoring the suspicious look Bobby was giving him at that time. With a slow nod however, it was confirmed that his cajun friend was where he suspected and he exited the building to head in that direction.
Across the yard, he saw his friend under the hood of an old Ford Mustang as a few southern swear words filtered into his ears. Benny had always been the same. He was a giant teddy bear on the inside but if you happened to hear the expletives that left his mouth on a job, you would honestly think otherwise.
“Having some trouble?” He asked with a cocky smile on his face as he crossed his arms to lean against the wheel arch of the vehicle.
“Hey chief,” Benny greeted, wiping some of the morning sweat off his brow as he stood straight. “What you doin’ here?”
“You text me about the part,” Dean replied bluntly and to that, his friend frowned.
“Yeah but you have the–” Benny started, before looking at his feet, kicking at some gravel as he looked back at him, “--it can wait, it’s just the lock for your passenger side door.”
“Rather get it done now,” Dean commented matter of factly, shrugging his shoulders lightly as he watched how his friend nodded his head slowly.
He gestured with his hand for the Winchester to follow him to the makeshift garage, something that he did willingly as he pushed off the mustang and chose instead to slide his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Now I know better than to pry but somethin’ tells me that you’re pissed off,” Benny commented as they walked, his southern twang sharp on his words. “And if I had to take a guess, my money would be on with your dad, or Christian.”
To that remark, Dean just gave him a side-eyed look but chose to remain silent which gave his friend all the information he needed to know. To that, Benny just pulled a tight lipped smile before he clapped Dean on the back, his palm landing between his shoulder blades. “So it’s both. Rough mornin’, brother.”
“Dad’s just been on my back about the event and Christian, well–”
“-- he just wishes it was him in the spotlight huh?” Benny interjected, and Dean could only sigh as they walked into the space that was filled with engine parts, tools and everything else mechanical.
“Something like that,” he returned, pulling his hands out of his pockets as he reached for one of the screwdrivers that were resting on a workbench. He played with the metal, twisting it between his fingers as he waited for his friend to locate what he was looking for.
“Look, if there’s one thing I can say, after all my time of knowin’ you, it's that you don’t back down from a challenge easily,” Benny commented, searching through the cardboard box of freshly delivered parts that were resting open on his desk. Once he found what he was looking for, he turned with it in hand to face Dean. “You got this, and if not, you just slip into one of those sex rooms that’s bein’ set up.”
“You make it sound so sleazy,” Dean commented, a little smirk resting on his lips as he chuckled and pointed towards him. “We have rules.”
“I bet you do,” Benny laughed, raising his eyebrows as Dean could only pinch the bridge of his nose. He was digging himself a hole and he knew it.
“The part, now,” the green-eyed Winchester commented, wiggling two fingers back and forth as he awaited the metal to be placed into his hand.
Within moments, Benny had thrown the lock over to his friend, who caught it with ease. Then together, they walked around to the front of the house to get to work on his impala. As soon as Dean started to work underneath the blazing sun, music playing from an old radio sat on the porch fence, he found himself naturally smiling. For this, it was his happy place.
There were two career paths he had always had in mind ever since Dean had been a young boy. The first was to be a firefighter. To go inside of flaming buildings and save lives, to help those in need. But his father had denied him of that, telling him it was too dangerous for a man of his prestige and that he should think of doing something a little less treacherous. So the second choice was to become a mechanic as he loved cars. Growing up, he watched as his family mechanic, Bobby, worked on the impala. He would always ask questions, always offer to help which was something that was encouraged by the older man whenever they were in each other's company. That was until John found out and put a stop to that too, claiming that ‘he was too rich to get his hands dirty’. It was bullshit.
It was another reason why Dean continued to sneak down here to the salvage yard. He continued to learn from Bobby, always striving to be hands on and be taught about the inner workings of a vehicle. He adored it. But of course, no one could know, not even his own family. And in this case, where he did just need to get away, he didn’t allow Benny to fix his car as he was more than capable of doing it himself.
A few hours, a delicious hamburger and a couple of beers later, Dean had managed to replace the lock on the passenger side door of his car. He stood, his knees slightly sore from being on them all day, before he kindly handed the screwdriver back to his cajun friend who was sitting on the porch steps.
“See you tonight?” Dean asked, hoping to whatever gods resided above that he would not be left alone with rich people. He hated them, even though he was one of them.
“I’ll be the one in the black dress,” Benny teased as he stood, one hand coming to gesture down his body and the green-eyed Winchester could only laugh.
“You’re hilarious,” he commented and to that, the southern charmer saluted him with two fingers from his forehead.
“I’ll find you, chief.”
It was a promise that he was grateful for, and as he stepped inside the drivers side of his car, he quickly returned the same gesture towards Benny and Bobby, before turning around in the yard, and heading in the direction of his home.
Yet, driving back, Dean was in no hurry. He knew he was against the clock, knew he only had four hours until the event started but he just wanted to take some time for himself before he got surrounded by people who cared about anyone other than themselves. So, as he turned back onto the country road and saw the all too familiar lake in view, he pulled over to the side and got out, walking the short distance it took to get to the water line. A few feet away from him, he noticed an old fisherman's dock that sat out further into the lake. Making the snap decision, it was there he stood as he took a deep breath. It was tranquil, quiet, serene; everything his soul wasn’t at that exact moment.
As he stared into the beautiful countryside, his eyes landed on that of the lake house that was over the other side of the body of water. It looked so peaceful and he found himself imagining what it must be like to wake up in bed and look out of the window to see nothing but this. He never thought he would be a man that would appreciate a view, or the calm that came with it, but here he was surprising himself. He really wished he didn’t have to go back to his manor. In fact, he would much rather stay here on this fishing dock all evening than pretend to be someone he’s not.
While lost in his thoughts, the loud chime of a text message sounded out in the quiet atmosphere and Dean could only roll his eyes. He knew that this could only be a handful of people, and he had his money bet on one individual in particular. So, pulling the device out of his pocket, he let out a sarcastic ‘would you look at that’ to no-one in particular when his prediction was right. It was Bela, the woman who was so desperate to be on his arm. She was another reason he so desperately wanted to avoid this evening.
Bela: Hope you’re not ignoring me handsome. I can’t wait to feel you inside of me again.
God, she was needy. Not that he didn’t like his women going for what they wanted, in fact at times, it could be a turn on but this? This was more than a little off putting. Where was the thrill of the chase? The excitement of being turned down so he had to try that little bit harder? For years, all he had to do was mention his name and the opposite sex would flock to him. It wasn’t fun anymore.
He loved to be in charge, to be in a position where he called the shots and maybe have a little bit of pushback to make the game more interesting. But with Bela, and every other woman he’d had the opportunity of dating, they hadn’t really satisfied that urge. He was frustrated; felt like a bear trapped in a cage with no hope of being set free. He could only hope that at the event, he would be able to slip away from the crowds unnoticed and retreat back into his room till it was over. That or he would lock himself in the wine cellar with his whiskey, drink himself into a drunken stupor before burying his dick into a woman who would be so readily available.
Still, if there was one thing Dean Winchester was sure of, it was that he had no idea what the evening was about to entail. No clue on what surprises might be in store, or how they could change his entire life. All he could do was smile, paint on a brave face and hope that it doesn’t all end in disaster.
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Chapter Six
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A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Another little peak into Dean’s side of things. Thank you so so much for reading.
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If you want to be step into the darkness with me, then let me know HERE :)
Co-Written by @friendofcarlotta and @dothwrites | Rated: E | Chapter 8/18
Summary: Dean Winchester is looking for his father. Castiel Harvelle is looking for revenge. Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore are the perfect couple… unless you count the secrets they’re keeping from each other. One night, these four lives collide, and nothing will ever be the same.
{Read from the beginning here}
{Read Chapter Eight here}
Preview: Castiel is frozen. He stares down at his phone screen until it goes dark.
Poughkeepsie.
After what seems like a small eternity, but is probably only a few seconds, he types out, What’s wrong? Are you ok?
He grips his phone tight as he waits. Two minutes pass, and Castiel has just resigned himself to not getting a response when the screen lights up with another message.
Summary: Existing without her sounded impossible, and Doyoung planned to end himself once and for all until you got in the way
Characters: Kim Doyoung x reader
Genre: Vampire au / angst
A/N: Welcome to my third story for Frightful October, this weeks theme: Bloodlust!
Word count: 1,277
This was it. Doyoung had made up his mind and there was no turning back now, not that he wanted to, he could never imagine a life without her. In all the years Doyoung had existed, he never once comprehended how his life would be without her. She was always there, a constant, one he didn’t think he would ever have to be without, but unlike him she was human. She had aged gracefully over the last sixty years, having lived her life to the fullest, raising children and then grandchildren. It came as a surprise to everyone, Doyoung included when she was diagnosed with dementia. She slowly faded away, at first she appeared the same vibrant woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago, her smile never waning, but one day that changed, her brown eyes looking at him as if he were a complete stranger. It broke Doyoung’s heart to see her this way, a shell of the woman she once was, unable to recognize her family, him or even herself. Her health deteriorated rapidly after that and within a couple of months she was gone.
Doyoung had lost many people throughout the years, learning how to say goodbye and deal with their death, while he still existed. With her it was different. He wasn’t prepared for the gaping hole he’d now found within his heart. It no longer beat but he felt as if it had vacated his body completely. He had no inclination to be here any longer, what was the point? The one thing in his entire existence that kept him going and kept him in control was nowhere to be found. He’d struggled the days following her funeral, unable to attend the ceremony as it was during daylight. He’d cursed himself, his emotions overriding his common sense, and finding himself consuming human blood for the first time in decades.
He’d found himself wandering the silent streets in the darkness of the night in somewhat of a daze, unable to stop himself from heading towards the cemetery. It had become familiar to him recently. As soon as the sun had set Doyoung made his way to visit every night, sitting in the damp grass and talking endlessly to the headstone that bore her name.
He stood in front of that same headstone now, his dark brown eyes scanning over the flowers and gifts scattered around it, his fingertips lightly grazing over the indentation of the letters on the cold cement.
Tonight was different. Tonight he would not leave when the sun rose.
Doyoung couldn’t fathom existing any longer in a world without her in it. Sighing heavily he was resolute in his decision as he made his way to a nearby tree, slipping down and making himself comfortable against the tunk. He was unsure of how long he’d been in that position, as a warm feeling began spreading throughout his body, a smile playing on his lips at the sensation.
“I’ll be with you soon” he murmured.
Suddenly he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, shaking him vigorously. “Doyoung! What are you doing?” He knotted his brows together in confusion, not wanting to open them yet, the fear that his mind was now playing tricks on him. It couldn’t be.
“Doyoung the sun is rising you need to move” You attempted to pull him up from his position under the tree as the sun started to rise. You failed, his hands tugging you down to meet him. Landing in his lap he leant forward, whispering in your ear.
“You came”
Opening his eyes slowly he scanned your features, the smile growing at the realization that you were here. His hand softly grazed your cheek, the coldness sending shivers down your body and goosebumps to form on your skin. He chuckled to himself before moving closer to you, his hands now cupping your face.
“I’ve missed you”
Your heart began to race inside your chest at his declaration, although you knew it wasn't meant for you, the sudden closeness of his body to yours as he leant forward ceased your thoughts. You felt it then, his lips pressed onto yours gently, hesitant at first, as if waiting for permission. You let out a small moan as your arms wrapped around his neck, and in that moment the kissed changed. Doyoung pulled you further into his lap, your body instantly heating up at the new found closeness, his hands resting on your hips as you straddled him, getting lost in the embrace. You had waited so long to hear those words from his lips, that it was overwhelming. Your hands moved slowly down his toned chest, just to make sure he was real. That’s when you noticed the smell. Something was burning.
“Doyoung we need to stop. You need to get out of here” you said breathlessly as you pulled away “You’re on fire!” Panic rushed through you then as you stood up, tugging Doyoung with you, pleading for him to move.
“It’s my time” he said, his voice far too calm and relaxed “I’ll be with you forever” he mumbled.
You understood completely then that he had no desire to leave, even though the sun was rising and he was now on fire. Tears started to form in your eyes as you pleaded with him one last time. You couldn’t lose him too.
“She wouldn’t have wanted this. She would have wanted you to keep on living Doyoung, -I- need you to keep on living”
He opened his eyes at your words, his expression confused as he watched you. It was then that he realized who you were, the granddaughter of his love who had often surprised him with how alike you were to his only lover in this life. His mind was frazzled, why were you so upset and readily accepting him? And in the delirious state of being close to losing his existence, he relished in your contact especially since you were the spitting image of her.
Moving towards him gently you took his hand in yours “Please let me save you”
“I don’t deserve to be in this world, not without her”
“You’re a good man Doyoung. She wouldn’t have loved you her whole life if she didn’t think you deserved to be here”
“You don’t know the things I’ve done Y/N. You wouldn’t say that if you knew”
“I know exactly what you are, and what you’ve done” you stepped closer to him, your hands cupping his face, turning him to face you abruptly “Nothing you could say or do would make me walk away from you. Please listen to me when I tell you, we need to go”
He sensed it then. The desperation and determination in your voice as you pleaded with him, unlocking a door within his mind. How he had not realized it earlier on astounded him. It was so clear now. He could see the pure adoration you felt for him in your eyes, in the way you touched him and how you were never afraid of what he was. He had been so consumed with the loss of his first love that he did not realize he had found another, and she stood right in front of him.
“Okay. Let’s go” He smiled brightly down at you, his hand slipping into yours instantly, holding onto it firmly. “Hold on tight” he whispered, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek as he sped off out of the sunlight, with you in tow.
He had a reason to stay on this earth, to exist, to truly live again.
You.
Welcome to Frightful October, a collab between myself and @prettywordsyouleft… this week’s theme is Bloodlust! To follow more of the stories check out the links below:
Other stories in Bloodlust: Deal // Saviour // Culmination // His Salvation
I was thinking, since I like drawing kids and I find interesting exploring the relationships between the angels, why not starting a series of comics about them? Let me know if you'd like to read such a thing.
Also, seriously, why is Cass the only angel who doesn't like eating? I mean Gabe loves sweets, Balthazar has his wine.. why Cass is the only one complaining about molecules?!
A/N: For @idreamofhazel‘s Throwback Challenge! Thank you for letting me join in on the fun, and for the extra time! This was fun as fuck to write. I totally have a headcanon that Sam was a closet emo kid, and used to listen to MCR and shit behind Dean and his dad’s back. This is also based on that time I snuck out of boarding school to see the Academy Is...
My prompt was Memory, by Sugarcult.
“I’m going out,” Sam says, and he throws his backpack over one shoulder, trying to look like he gives exactly zero fucks. Dean’s giving him laser-eyes, so it’s probably not working.
“Where?”
“Out. To a show. With a girl.” He can’t help but smile a little bit on the last word.
“What girl?”
“Y/N. Just a girl.”
She is, emphatically, not just a girl, but Dean doesn’t have to know that. In fact it’s much better if Dean doesn’t know that, because if Dean figures out exactly how many butterflies are crashing around in Sam’s ribcage, he’ll have to endure a lecture about getting attached and how stupid it is when they’ll be moving on in a week or two anyway. And Sam knows all that. He does. But he’s seventeen, and he has a crush, and he doesn’t want to fucking hear it.
They’ve been dancing around each other for a few weeks now, since Sam accidentally tripped her in the hallway (thanks, gigantic clumsy teenage feet) and then immediately caught her before she could fall (thanks, ninja-like hunter reflexes) and then she grinned up at him with these sparkling eyes all smudgy with black eyeliner. God, she’s cute.
He realizes he’s smiling as he thinks about it, and Dean is looking at him suspiciously. He waves and turns to go before Dean can call him on it.
“Do you need a ride?” Dean asks.
“Nah, she’s picking me up at the diner down the street,” Sam says. It’s partly because he doesn’t want her to know that he’s staying in a seedy-ass motel, but also because he needs to change his clothes where Dean can’t see and make fun of him.
Because Sam maybe bought skinny jeans the other day. And he’s totally comfortable in his masculinity and all that, and he knows he looks good in them (the salesgirl said so, and then she gave him her number, so she definitely meant it) but he also knows exactly what Dean would say. And if Dean knew he was going out to a pop-punk show? Holy shit. It would be bad.
“Well, I’m going out with Amber,” Dean smirks. “So make sure you have your key, cause I might not be back til really late.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Bye, Dean. Have fun.” He holds back the “Love you.” It’s been a while since he could say it casually like that, but sometimes it still jumps unbidden to the tip of his tongue.
He walks down the block quickly, dodging a hooker and a dealer, and gratefully opening the door of the all-night diner that’s become his favorite place in town. He’s been coming in every day to do his homework at the counter with a strawberry milkshake.
“Hey, sweetie,” says the motherly woman behind the counter. “The usual?”
“Just a coffee?” Sam asks. “Thanks, Maggie. Be right back.” He heads to the bathroom to change, shimmying into the black skinny jeans.
She raises her eyebrows when he comes back out, but doesn’t comment, and he’s grateful. He gulps his coffee nervously.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
“Hey, Sam!” he hears, and almost falls off the stool as he spins around.
“Hey,” he says breathlessly, and jumps up to give her a hug. She keeps her arms around him just a second too long, and he loves it. Her hair smells like strawberries.
She leads him out to where her best friend’s car is idling by the sidewalk. The front passenger seat is also occupied by a girl with purple hair that he vaguely recognizes, which means the two of them get to slide into the backseat.
He doesn’t know most of the songs that play too loudly on the CD player as they drive to the venue, but it doesn’t matter. She sings along to every one. Her voice isn’t great, it cracks noticeably when she’s trying to sing that one Fall Out Boy song, but he watches the easy confident grin on her face, the line of her neck when she tilts her head back to really belt it out, and his face hurts from smiling.
They put on the CD of the band they’re going to see, Sugarcult, and he maybe got the CD at the mall and listened to it in secret for a while, just so he wouldn’t look like an idiot at the show, and so he knows the words to this one. Her eyes light up when he joins in on the chorus, and that makes the last of the self-consciousness evaporate. He drums on his knees, getting into it, and when the song ends they skip back to the beginning and listen to it again, and he rolls down the window and screams the words out at passing cars.
There’s this warm liquid glow in his stomach, fluttering and perfect. It’s her, partly. Those fucking butterflies are multiplying by the minute. But it’s something bigger, something to do with the reckless speed of the car and the blistering volume of the stereo, something about how goddamn normal it is. He feels carefree in this ecstatic, invincible way that he never wants to end.
He reaches out and takes her hand before he can talk himself out of it. She beams at him in the intermittent yellow light of the streetlights, and her fingers are soft and perfect between his.
When they get to the venue, this tiny shitty club, there’s a line out the door of boys and girls with tight jeans and studded belts and flat ironed hair, and they wait impatiently and then get in, with big black X’s in Sharpie across their hands. Y/N makes a face at him, showing off those X’s and rolling her eyes, and he takes it as an opening to grab her hand and hold it again. She smiles that sweet, secret smile, looking up at him through her lashes.
He’s fought demons, for fuck’s sake. He knows how to shoot and how to use a knife and how to get rid of a fucking ghost. But the lights go up and the first chord vibrates through his chest and the crowd surges forward, and the adrenaline rush of it is like nothing else. The entire room screams as one, and he can feel the scream ripping through his throat but he can’t hear it, can’t hear himself in the chorus of voices, and then the drums are snapping out a beat and the singer is leaning out over the sea of upturned faces, and Sam gets lost in it.
He dances, sort of. He jumps up and down, at least. The crush of bodies around him means that he only has so much freedom of motion, but it also means that he has an excuse to be pressed up against Y/N the entire time. They dance, and they shout along, and sometimes they hold hands, fingers clasped tight, and she’s so fucking beautiful when she dances, sweat shining on her cheeks, purple and green and gold in the lights, and sometimes she closes her eyes and smiles blissfully as she sings, and Sam is so, so, so fucked. But he also hasn’t been this happy in a long time.
His favorite song starts, the single, and they’re jumping up and down in sync and shouting the words at each other with big, goofy grins, and when he kisses her, everything seems to freeze. It’s a good kiss. It’s such a fucking good kiss. Everyone around them is going nuts, dancing and moshing and jostling against them, and they’re so still, locked together in the middle of the chaos, and Sam forgets about everything except her and her soft lips and her strawberry-scented hair running through his fingers as he holds her.
They have to leave before the last song, because her friend has to get home before curfew. They hold hands as they run through the parking lot and they’re still holding hands when they collapse breathless and giggling in the backseat.
Her friends in the front seat turn up the stereo and sing along again, but they sit quietly. He runs his thumb over her knuckles. His chest is swelling as he looks from their clasped hands to her beautifully flushed skin and messy hair.
He knows it’s stupid to get attached. He knows they’ll be moving on in a few weeks. But it feels so good to let himself fall, to let himself have this one stupid night of being a stupid careless teenager with a crush.
He kisses her again before he gets out of the car, a quick peck on the corner of her mouth. “See you Monday,” he whispers.
He changes in the bathroom of the diner, and because he’s sure he can’t go to sleep yet, he slurps down a strawberry milkshake and tells Maggie about his date.
When he gets back to the motel, the room is dark and empty. He doesn’t bother showering before he gets in bed. It’s sorta gross, the way his skin is getting sticky, but he doesn’t want to wash the night off yet. He wants to hold onto it as long as he can. He dozes off with drumbeats echoing in his skull and the memory of her smile glowing behind his eyelids.
“Wakey wakey, Sammy,” he hears when he starts to stir. “Time to get packed.”
“What?” he says dazedly. Dean is tossing his backpack onto the bed.
“Time to go,” Dad’s saying. “Hunt wrapped up sooner than I thought. It was a djinn.”
They pack. They get in the car. Sam knows it’s pointless to protest, and he manages to hold back the tears.
He pulls out his Walkman, once they’re on the highway, and turns up the song loud enough to drown out the Ted Nugent cassette that Dean’s been obsessed with lately. He closes his eyes, and tries to relive the high of it, the way her lip pillowed between his, the press of her palms against his back.
This could never start
We could fall apart
And I’d be your memory.
.
.
.
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