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｡˚☾ Fanfic Writers of the SPN Fandom - A fun, safe, and welcoming environment for SPN fic authors of all experience levels to access help resources, join monthly challenges, and promote their work. Must be 15 or older to join. We follow the "ship and let ship" and "your kink isn't my kink and that's okay" rules! And you can choose which channels you see via self assigning roles!
The Fanfic Writers of the SPN Fandom Discord Server is once again hosting our annual Kinktober and Fictober writing challenge!
For adults, you may use either, or both prompt lists! For anyone under the age of 18, you may only use the Fictober list!
You do not need to be a member of the Discord server to participate!
That's right! This event is open to EVERYONE! So long as you abide by the rules and post correctly, anybody is welcome to write along!
NEW FOR THIS YEAR: We are also accepting ART SUBMISSIONS!!! Please check the rules linked below for more information!
Here are our super awesome prompt lists!
ALL SHIPS ALLOWED INCLUDING OCs, X READER, AND SPN RPF
IMPORTANT LINKS!
Rules
If you would like to join our Discord server, click >>here<< for the invite! Again, it isn't required to participate, but if you did, that'd be super cool! We'd love to welcome you to the FFW Family!
i didnt realise ao3 was started in response to lj deleting account relating to p//edophi|ia and they explicitly support the posting of such works yikes
it wasn’t, like, ~~~we luv pedophilia, it was way more complicated than that!
although it’s true AO3 does allow all fannish content provided it’s properly warned for, there’s a long history there - of spaces being used by fans until the host decided whatever we were doing was too weird and distasteful and either kicking us off, banning certain content, or changing the nature of the site until it was no longer viable as a host.
you’re referring to the LJ Strikethrough of 2007, which, being an ancient crone, I lived through, and since I was hanging out in the last vestiges of SGA and in bandom, I saw some of the fallout. this was before LJ was sold to the Russians (which is a whole ‘nother story), when it was still owned by Six Apart; in an effort to clean up LJ’s act, Six Apart decided to delete all accounts using tags like underage, incest, rape, etc.
this was supposed to get rid of actual child porn on the site, and I hope it did, but it also targeted fan communities. this was a problem for a couple reasons; for one thing, not every story tagged with these words is in favor of them; for another, these things happen to real people and these personal posts were also potentially in danger of being attacked; for the last one, look, I ain’t into this kind of fic but people write about what people write about, and if it’s fictional and not explicitly banned in the TOS (correct me if I’m wrong; I don’t think written content about this stuff was banned?) then it’s not cool for a content host to just start deleting communities without warning.
but that’s what happened! these deletions were also primarily targeting slash communities, which smacked of some serious homophobia since things were deleted that had nothing to do with any of this kind of content.
eventually someone found out it was this super conservative religious group who’d sent a list of journal names to Six Apart, and who if I remember correctly targeted slash fic on purpose, even after it became clear that the fic was, well, totally fictional. after a while, Six Apart admitted they’d made a mistake and started to reinstate journals, but all of fandom was pretty shaken up.
THEN Boldthrough happened, which was essentially the same debacle several months later, at which point fandom began its long slow migration from LJ to GJ, IJ, and eventually AO3, Twitter, and tumblr.
AO3 was opened in 2008 in response to several incidents, of which Strikethrough was a really intense one. remember, also, that back in 2008 the stigma surrounding fandom was significantly greater and more shameful than it is today, so finding hosts willing to archive fic was difficult unless someone had the dough to pay for server space - often not an option. this was also back when fanfic.net’s HTML restrictions were so great that users couldn’t use any special characters or bold or italicize anything, and it didn’t allow R-rated content, so it was clearly not ideal. in addition, although cease & desist letters were much less common than they were in the early 2000s and before, DMCA takedowns were still a phantom on the horizon.
LONG STORY SHORT, even though pedophilia is reprehensible and I personally cannot stomach fanfic that involves that kind of content, AO3 was founded specially as a safe space for fandom communities that could not find homes elsewhere. it requires warnings precisely for that reason, and if you find a story that is not properly warned, you can alert the admins and get the story labeled appropriately.
IDK, maybe it’s just because I am, again, ancient, but I was in and around fandom before homosexuality was legal in all 50 states. so were most of the people who started AO3. for most of my formative life, being gay was associated with pedophilia, and so was writing about gay characters. just - it’s a lot more complicated than you might expect, and there’s a reason many older fans who have been involved in several generations of fandom were so grateful to have AO3 as an option.
I don’t read, for example, Hydra Trash Party fics. They squick me, and I generally feel they are pretty gross. But writing noncon body-horror is not the same as saying “yeah, I totally want to go out and rape and torture people for years while brainwashing them!” or even “yeah, I wouldn’t do it myself, but it would be totally okay if someone did!” Nobody is hurt by it, and nobody is going to be hurt by it. So should I have the right to go, that is gross, you don’t get to write or read that? No.
In the same way, writing about underage teens getting it on–sometimes with each other, sometimes with adults, sometimes consensually, sometimes not–is not the same as child pornography, nor does reading a fic about Hermione and Snape getting it on while she was his student mean someone thinks that would be a good and/or healthy thing in real life.
Fiction affects reality, but fiction is not reality. And writing about something does not mean you want to do it in real life, or believe that anyone should.
Let’s take a closer look at that “Ao3 supports pedophilia!” shall we?
1) The only fics I have ever come across that had actual pedophilia (i.e. someone having sex with a child), it was clearly and explicitly abuse. It was not meant to titillate or arouse. It was meant to horrify. It was seldom explicit.
2) There’s a lot more incest, but it is usually portrayed either as explicitly mutually consensual (i.e. Sam/Dean) or as abusive.
3) I’ve been in fandom for a decade and a half. When people start getting upset at “omg pedophilia, think of the children!” the fics they are usually objecting to aren’t actually pedophilia. Usually, it is teenagers having sex, especially queer sex. And people don’t like that, and use pedophilia as an excuse to shame people for writing/reading sex they don’t like.
Let’s look closer at Strikethrough, shall we? I hope that, if there were any communities of actual pedophiles on LJ, they got taken down, too. But here are some of the communities that got taken down that were not in any way supporting pedophilia and/or rape and/or incest that got taken down:
1) at least one support community for survivors of sexual abuse.
2) a literary book discussion group that was reading Lolita.
3) lots of slash fanfic communities, for things like Draco/Harry fic set in their fourth year (when both boys would have been 15).
Basically, this very conservative “family values” group hated porn, and they hated queer stuff even more, and used “but think of the children, it’s pedophilia!” to pressure LJ to get rid of huge swathes of things they didn’t like. And one time taking down the worst of it wasn’t good enough for them. No, this was step one on a moral crusade. If you acceded to their demands, all that did was whet their appetite, and soon they would be back with a new list of demands. This is why the 2007 strikethrough was not an isolated event, but rather one of a series of events, nor was LJ the only website thus targeted. It starts with anything that can get labelled “pedophilia” or “incest” because that’s low-hanging fruit. But they use that to go after anything relating to queer teen sexuality. Then anything with teen sexuality. Then once the community is already divided and diminished, they go after anything with non-con. Then whatever is next on their list. It doesn’t stop until they’ve won the point and nothing but suitably “family-friendly” fics that match their purity test are allowed.
Which is why AO3 has no morality content in their terms of service. You can’t break copyright beyond fair use (and AO3 has an expansive view of “fair use” and a team of lawyers on call). You can’t use AO3 for commercial advertising. And you can’t post ACTUAL child pornography, i.e. the things that are legally prohibited, i.e. actual photographs or videos of actual children (not teens) in sexually explicit positions–you know, the stuff that actually hurts kids. Other than that? It’s fair game. You can post anything you want, and the archive will not judge. There is no handle for the Moral Majority Family-Friendly Thought Police to latch onto, no cracks they can exploit to divide and conquer.
We’ve been down that road. It doesn’t lead anywhere good.
Reblogging this for the excellent explanation of what exactly the moral crusaders did last time. They had an explicit agenda of anti-queerness, and they specifically targeted slash and femslash communities in particular, such that many ship communities became (or started as) deliberately members-only. You had to apply, and your personal blog had to look like a real person and a fan. You were vetted, a la 1990s private servers.
During this period, Dreamwidth was also targeted by attacking its payment processor. They had to get a new one. These “Warriors” (literally called themselves that!) were totally on board with destroying fandom as a side effect of destroying the parts of fandom they didn’t like.
If you’re carrying out harassment of people right now because they’re posting works with sexual elements you don’t agree with? (And it’s always sex, never non-sexual violence, how strange….) If you’re doing that, you’re also totally on board with destroying fandom as a side effect of destroying the parts of fandom you don’t like. Because your tactics are fandom-destroying, and so is your agenda.
reblogging because this is important: strikethru and boldthru and all the various “purges” that fandom went thru about 10 years ago: this had to do with OUTSIDERS deciding that fandom in general and fanfiction in specific were evil and needed to be destroyed; unless we were writing and shipping good vanilla M/F married people. These were outsiders, going after fictional writing about fictional characters.
AO3 and OTW are HUGE, because now we have an organization, with very smart women and a lot of lawyers, that have our back. Fannish history is important, people! It has not always been this way.
This is so, so important: there’s that other post about AO3 and fanfiction floating around, about our history. People decry violent video games but no one is trying to force companies out of business. But people can and do attack fanfiction: an activity primarily written by women for women, about fictional characters. And often about sex. We have to constantly defend ourselves, protect ourselves, support each other against charges like “paeodophilia”.
Throwing this in because I was also present: This was during the American Government’s attempts to pass censorship laws on the internet. As MOST of those domains had their serves in America, they were beholden to those censorship laws. A great deal of fanfiction.net was removed because they happened to lose a goddamn courtcase. I’ve been on the site since 2002. They may not have ‘officially’ allowed NC-17 rated content (what it used to be listed as in the filters), it never did a damn thing to remove it. Ever. They had it listed as a rating option during ‘New Story’ uploading after all. It was i nthe search filters. After they lost the courtcase however, they legally had to start doing things about the mature content reports they got. The admins and mods were not actively looking for fic to remove, they were just responding to reports they had already received.
tl;dr - I know tumblr is all about black and white “you’re either all right or all wrong” thinking, but it’s important to understand what actually happened before going “ew ao3 was made to give pedophiles a safe place to post” because that is 110% not what happened.
This is why so, so many of the comparatively older fannish folks on tumblr like me are so vehemently against stuff like the anti movement and “all ships are valid UNLESS”. It smacks of censorship and content policing - and we’ve been there. We got our shit deleted and our accounts banned because someone else thought what we were reading or writing or talking about needed to just… not exist. No warning. Literally overnight. We just woke up and stuff was gone.
And yeah, the group was legit called Warriors for Innocence (or maybe of). I knew several people that were members of survivor/support groups that lost their groups - and their main support network - when Strikethrough happened (ten years ago holy shit).
You antis need to listen when us older fans tell you that the censorship you’re advocating for, when put into practice, is NOT a positive thing; it’s an extremely scary thing!
I can guarantee that you would be very, very upset if another event like LJ Strikethrough were to happen today because *you* are just as vulnerable as the rest of us! If you support the rights of marginalized groups of people, if you’re a slash or fem slash shipper, if you support gender identities that aren’t defined by biological sex, if you care about representation, if you support women, if you have any kind of kink, if you care about fandom in any capacity beyond its eradication, YOU DO NOT ACTUALLY WANT THE SORT OF CENSORSHIP YOU’RE ADVOCATING!!
People were terrified during Strikethrough. I was there. Communities were being shut down, individual users were being shut down. People were losing access to their own fics, their feedback, their comments – a LOT went on in comments on LJ. Think more coherent reblogs, much more personal, very widespread. Comments were also very important, and in terms of networking/communicating, were absolutely critical.
LJ was, for many people, central.
It was a fundamental part of the infrastructure of fandom at the time.
Having it attacked, having parts of your fandom’s territory just deleted like that, was very very scary. People didn’t know who was next. Every day, the list of stricken journals grew. And not all of them came back, not all of them recovered their content. Some people even voluntarily deleted their content as a form of protest. It was a bad time.
You do not have to interact with fic that grosses you out or makes you uncomfortable. Tagging is a thing. And even outside of tags, you are responsible for curating your own fandom experience. It is not right to expect it to be curated for you. And it is not right to lash out when someone refuses to do so and expects you to walk away from things that do not concern you.
I was gonna say “things that don’t harm anyone” but I realize you can argue that. If you get triggered, that’s upsetting. That could be considered harm. And I have sympathy for that. I do.
I have run across fic that triggered me. I have pretty specific triggers, and people don’t always think to warn for them because they aren’t that big a deal for a lot of people. Or it’s sort of bundled into kink and is presumed, that if you’re okay with certain kinds of kink, you’re okay with this. So I’ve been blindsided by it before. And it sucks for a couple of days while I get over it.
That was not the fault of the authors! You could argue that tagging should have been used, and maybe it should, but ultimately that’s not an ironclad obligation. It’s a tool people provide out of courtesy.
That was not the fault of the site! The site is there to give authors a way to make fiction available, not to judge each work and interrogate its validity and make sure everything is tagged so that nobody has to see anything bad, ever.
That was not even my fault! It was my responsibility to try to curate my experience, and I tried, but it wasn’t my fault because I didn’t deliberately set out to trigger myself.
When I get triggered, unless it is by a deliberate act, it is actually the fault of the people who hurt me in the first place! And I refuse to let them off the hook and blame perfectly innocent people who just wanna write their fanfiction! I may hate that fanfiction, but that is irrelevant to the question of whether or not people should be allowed to post whatever they want.
Also, some people cope by writing about fucked-up shit. My best friend in the whole wide world has shared her fic with me, and HOO BOY it is messed up. She wrote it during a time in her life when she was in and just coming out of a horrifically abusive relationship. I mean, it was exactly the kind of relationship all of us here on Tumblr love to hate. She was married to a shitty, abusive man who preyed on someone younger than he was and used his influence over her to treat her in a way that would be right at home in that Lundy Bancroft book Why Does He Do That? He was a real rapist, a verified grade-A bad fuckin’ guy. (She was lucky to escape. I have immense respect for her.) And she wrote some fucked up fic to deal with it, and she shared it, and people were invested in it. And because this was early 2000′s, she had to host it on a foreign server and cover her tracks, because at that time no-place was safe to post it.
“Yeah, but if she’s writing it for therapy, she doesn’t have to post it where other people might have to see it!” I hear you say.
But like … what the hell??? “Shut up, don’t talk about it, it’s bad to talk about these things, because these things are bad!” is something used against folks with trauma.
“This isn’t good for me, I can’t talk about this, I can’t be your audience for this,” that’s fine, those are boundaries that people with trauma use to defend themselves. You should learn to say those things! It will help you!
But expecting other people to never create and share art about trauma is just so thunderously oppressive I lack the ability to fully articulate it.
And nobody should have to disclose their history of trauma to prove their motives are pure or virtuous enough for their speech to be protected. I’ve only really been able to openly say “I was assaulted, it was traumatic, I am a little fucked up from it” for the past couple of years, tops. I couldn’t talk about it before that. Couldn’t! And it was over 20 years ago!
I also believe, very firmly, that you don’t need a history of abuse to find writing really messed-up shit satisfying, or to find reading it cathartic. I believe 100% in the freedom of creative expression, and the freedom to read whatever fucked up shit you want to read.
All y’all fandom youngsters can spit nails all you want over gross rape fic, incest fic, whatever.
Fine, I don’t like it either!
But that fucked up shit? That fucked up shit helped carve out the spaces we have today. You don’t have to like it, but campaigning to get it deleted, harassing content creators, calling people rapists and pedophiles who have never done and would never ever do such a thing, that is not the way to improve the world, it doesn’t keep actual kids or teens or assault/rape victims safe. It wouldn’t have made me feel safe when I was 16 and did’t want what was going on. It doesn’t make me feel safe now. I can say with the perspective of someone 24 years away from that event, it doesn’t make the world safer for people like I was. It actually makes it worse.
Learn to steer clear of the messed-up stuff you don’t like. It’s a skill, you get better with practice. Have someone else vet stuff for you if you need help doing it now.
Everything that is sketchy and gross is not criminal, and writing about a thing is not morally the same as doing it. Please stop acting like writing about an adult and a teenager having really questionable, gross sex is as bad as the actual registered sex offender they caught hanging around an actual elementary school two neighborhoods over from mine, just trying to talk to the kids. The former is, at most, in poor taste, and potentially triggering to abuse victims. The second makes me want to vomit because even though he was just talking, that guy was gearing up to try something and create another abuse victim. A g a i n.
The first can be avoided because it is imaginary and you, an adult, have power over your back button so that you don’t have to witness harm to imaginary people. The second, those very real kids had to rely on real adults and real law enforcement to keep them safe from very real assault. (It worked! The neighborhood rallied! He was arrested for violating parole!)
Pretty sure Sleazebag McDongface didn’t read some gross NC-17 Draco/Lucius fic before deciding to harm an actual human being. Pretty sure not having read it didn’t keep him from doing it. ‘Cause he fuckin’ did it. And he would have done worse. But actual people stopped him.
I get wanting to protect victims when so many of us are victims ourselves, but man, going after fiction is not the way to do it.
An author is not a perpetrator. Stop trying to make those things synonymous in the minds of other fans, and in the minds of other recovering victims.
I’m a crone who also lived through strikethrough, and all y'all young fans need to read this and understand it if you don’t want history to repeat itself someday.
Here’s the thing, also: it doesn’t stop with fic about objectionable stuff.
If you have a website with TOS that includes any kind of “objectionable content” rules, there will be parties who will use those rules to try to silence other people whom they want silenced.
Let’s look at the alt-right and MRA movements today, or GamerGate a few years ago. What is one of their primary weapons? They report black or feminist or really any leftist YouTube channels (or Twitter accounts, or whatever) whose message they don’t like and claim those channels are are violating TOS by posting hate speech or incitations to violence or whatever bullshit they can come up with, in an attempt to silence those channels.
When Anita Sarkeesian of Feminist Frequence came under fire for starting a crowdfunding endeavor to fund the production of her Tropes vs. Women in Video Games series of videos, male gamers tried to get her KickStarter and various social media accounts shut down by reporting her for for hate speech and promoting terrorism.
Luckily, that became a big enough story that the dudes failed and their efforts backfired. But a lot of times, these tactics work.
How do I know this? Because it happened to me. Not over major shit like the examples above, but over something completely petty.
Back in the mid-to-late 90s, before LiveJournal really became the place for fandom, before FF.net was really a thing, you had to create your own personal website on whatever free webhost you could find (GeoCities was popular, but there were others) if you wanted to host your fic somewhere.
And back then, TV studios and book authors were still sending their lawyers after people who wrote fanfic, issuing cease and desist letters to not only the authors, but also to their webhosts.
At the time, I was writing perfectly het Mulder/Scully fanfic. No rape, no pedophilia, no slash. Maybe a little BDSM. But largely it was unobjectionable.
Then the 8th season of X-Files started, David Duchovny decided he only wanted to be involved part-time, and the show decided to bring in another male character. The fandom lost their shit–as fandoms do–over the idea of “replacing” Mulder blah blah blah.
One of the most popular fanfic mailing lists–one that had previously had no restrictions on what characters or pairings could be posted–decided that if you wrote fanfic involving this character, you were no longer welcome. Well, this was the mailing list with all the readers. Sure, authors could go to other mailing lists, but they wouldn’t have exposure to the sort of readership this other list boasted.
I spoke out, saying that this change was unfair to fic authors and that the moderator of this list was behaving in a pretty vile way. The moderator and her friends took aim at me and began a campaign of harassment, and a few days later, suddenly my website with my XF fanfic was TOSed because someone had reported it. So was the next site I tried to create to host my fic, and the one after that.
Thanks to the way AO3s TOS are constructed, that sort of shit doesn’t happen now. I can speak up if I need to, and while I may receive harassment on my various social media accounts, there’s no chance they can have my fic taken down just because they have an agenda and don’t like me for reasons not relating to my fic.
So yeah, AO3′s rules protect fic a lot of us might find objectionable. But they also protect fic that is in no way objectionable from being targeted by unrelated harassment campaigns. And since any of us could find ourselves in the sights of those sort of campaigns at any time, we need to thank our lucky stars for that.
When I helped write the ToS for AO3, I wasn’t primarily thinking about strikethrough. I was primarily thinking of FFN, where so many people post things that are technically against the ToS but that the community tolerates. Any time someone gets pissed off, they can go on a grudge-reporting spree and target their enemy’s work. Often, that means guys targeting slash or Twilight fic because it’s “for girls” and thus sucks. Sometimes, it’s one ship vs. another. I was also thinking of Miss Scribe and all of that other Harry Potter fandom drama. (And if you think fans are above destroying an entire archive just to strike at one enemy, think again!)
We can’t force people to like each other. We can’t force people to be nice to each other. But we could take away fandom bullies’ favorite tools.
Thank God for AO3. Thank you to all those who lived through the censorship attacks and came together to give the world an amazing place to freely coexist with each other.
AHHHHH okay so I don't do digital art all too often; I typically do heavy photoshop/photo-manipulation art that involves me taking parts from lots of photos, and piecing them together to form a new image... because I'm lazy as hell and impatient, and photoshop for me takes less than half the time that traditional pieces do 😆 That being said, any gaps between body parts (i.e. attaching heads or arms to a body) I draw to fill in any gaps. Or draw bits to alter expressions, etc.
Lately, I've been practicing digital art like this more and more. Following different procreate tutorials and tips to create things like my Sampunzel art, or the art set I did for "Down the Rabbit Hole" (all posted under my art tag). Though I love all the art I've posted, I am particularly proud of this art set! It's just one step up from the last digital art I created, and I had soooo much fun doing it. 🥹💕
Video is all of the WIP process, plus a speed run of my favorite part, the coloring stage! I still used a little bit of my photoshop "expertise" to create a base image for line work, but none of that is visible by the end product! TW for flashing lights and pulsing effect at the end of the video!
Happy Belated Birthday, Dean! My fic's a little late, but still here in January!
Title: Birthday Blues (please let me have one good day)
Rating: G
Author: Mulletbro
Word count: 5018 Paring: Castiel/Dean (Endgame)
Summary:
Honestly, Dean's never had great birthdays. Sometimes he gets something nice- the Impala when he was 18, for example. But normally his birthday kind of blows.
or
Five times Dean had a shitty birthday and one time he finally got everything he wanted.
---
1. 1985 (6)
This was going to be his second birthday since his mom died- since he started having to be a big boy and take care of his brother. He thought he was doing a very good job. He'd figured out what each of his brother's cries meant and how to soothe them. He made sure baby Sammy was quiet when their dad was in a bad mood. It was hard to remember his fifth birthday- he wasn't entirely sure he'd been in his body. But he'd found his way back and it his birthday again.
Wow Asch, what a beautiful journey! You captured Dean's voice so perfectly in every era, and the emotional payoff in the last section was everything he deserved. Going from a kid who just wanted something as innocent as a Scooby-Doo toy, to absolute depression and devastation over birthdays, to a man finally surrounded by a massive, loud, chosen family who adores him... I'm so 😭😭😭 for this. Thank you for giving him the happy ending he earned! I really really loved this!
If you want to join in on our Discord server's reader challenge, click here to be taken to the rules post!
Chosen for "reblog a fanfiction with less than 50 notes"
Tags: Post-Episode AU: s15ep18, Fix-It, Established Castiel/Dean, Stanford Era Dean, Castiel in Alternate Vessels, Older Dean, Lost Castiel, Humor, Light Angst, All The Feels, Sam Has Powers, Jack Looks The Other Way, Gabriel Is Helpful, Stripper Dean, For One Night Only & Then Never Again, Unless Cas Asks Real Nice, Dean on Dean, Except Cas Is Using One Of The Dean's As His Vessel, Song: Faith by George Michael, Grace Shotgunning, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean, Happy Ending, Castiel is Saved from the Empty, Written for the @deanwbigbang, Original NSFW Art by @lenaarting
Summary: All Dean wanted was some peace and quiet to eat his breakfast. But a goofy little guy named Gabriel invited himself into Dean's booth at the diner and conveyed a wild tale, where Dean was the only person in all of creation who could rescue a lost angel, who had taken refuge in an alternate vessel. Dean didn't understand most of the nonsense that Gabriel was spouting, but a few finger snaps later, and he was beginning to believe. When he finally ended up taking the stage, to give the performance of a lifetime, he realized that sometimes, all you truly need, is a little faith...
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
Wow! I'm so thrilled to finally be posting this fic! Mostly because its rattled around in my head for a few years already. I want to give a huge thank you to @lenaarting for being inspired enough to create some incredibly fabulous art! And no, I can't give you a preview here, but it is so amazing! Please check it out! And also, a great big thank you to @jld71 for being the biggest Dean-girl extraordinaire! She not only organized the bang, but she beta'd my fic and I can't thank her enough for pulling double duty! I hope everyone enjoys this fun little fic that is full of humor, love, a very little angst, and the happiest ending! 💜🦄
Fic on AO3 (with uncensored art) | Art Post on Tumblr
What a wild ride! I absolutely loved how this fic started out looking like a classic Gabriel trickster prank, but then shifted into something more emotional and romantic. The concept of future Sam resurrecting Gabriel just to fix Dean’s timeline is brilliant, and Cas finding his way back to Dean across dimensions was beautiful. The karaoke night ending was also a perfect way to wrap it all up! Thank you for sharing this!
If you want to join in on our Discord server's reader challenge, click here to be taken to the rules post!
Tags/Warnings: Smut, choking, rough sex, threat/talk of a gangbang, sex in a public bathroom, no aftercare, face fucking, deepthroating, cunnilingus, fingering, dry humping/thigh humping, hair pulling, degradation, dirty talk, spanking, slapping, unprotected sex, cream pie, squirting, pussy slapping, finger sucking, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, Sir kink if you squint, masochistic reader, brat reader, no use of Y/N, reader has no descriptors other than being slightly shorter than Dean and has enough hair to pull.
Summary: It's been six months since you struck the deal with Dean, and true to his word, he comes back like clockwork—even when you're not at home.
Word Count: 7.7k
Author's Note: Title from the song Animal by Chase Holfelder
A part two to this post from 2025 Kinktober was requested, so here it is!!
This counts for the Mirror Sex square for @j3bingo
Thank you to @gappyswife for beta-reading this for me!
Dividers: Line Divider 1 by @olenvasynyt Line Divider 2 by @omi-resources SPN Divider by @talesmaniac89
Tag List: @copperboom82 @sleepycues @xpurdyglambertx @flanneledfae
Neon paints your body in hues of red and blue as you cross the dance floor. The dive bar has little by way of illumination beyond the signs on the wall depicting beer and food, half-naked cowgirls, and the name of the joint. A few yellowed lights hang from the ceiling, joining the bright colors to shine down on the crowd below.
You wind your way through the throng of sweaty bodies, their boisterous conversations meld with the thrum of music soaking into the atmosphere. Cold glass bites into your palm as you carry your fresh beer back to the edge of the dance floor.
It’s standing room only— a regular occurrence on Thursday nights where ladies drink free— and since your friends have long since returned home, you don’t see the point in trying to snag a high-top for yourself.
No, half drunk on the music and the cheap beer, you don’t want to sit–you want to dance.
Between line dances, you down long-necks and tall glasses of water alike, feeling like you’re sweating it out faster than you can consume; the last thing you want is to wake up in the morning with a splitting headache, even if your freelance job awarded you a day off.
After being contained to your apartment by the threat of being ripped to shreds at the razor-sharp claws of a pack of supernatural beasts, you want to spend your new lease on life as you pleased, and right now, you are doing just that.
You’ve lost count of how many dances you’ve finished by the time your bladder begs you to vacate the floor and empty it. Reluctantly, you shuffle off the dance floor, having to only wait behind three other girls before you snag an open stall.
The bathroom itself leaves something to be desired. Dingy tile line the floors; you aren’t sure if the patterns were actually design choices or were poorly cleaned stains. Raunchy love notes cozy up to random phone numbers with instructions to ‘call for a good time’ with crude pictures of dicks on the cheap stall walls and door.
Noting the bathroom was empty, you finish up and wash your hands, smiling at the additional graffiti etched into the edges of the dirty mirrors. Most of it is hazy anyway, the blanket of alcohol warming you at the edges. You pull your tube of lipstick from the pocket of your miniskirt, the denim barely covering you enough to avoid a public indecency charge.
You don’t think much of it when the music grows louder, too busy shoving the lipstick back into your pocket. The door to the bathroom creaks open before it shuts hard with a thud, muting the sounds once more.
It isn’t until you hear the snick of the lock sliding into place that you look up to see a figure standing behind you in the reflection of the mirror. Your heart drops to your stomach in the same second your pussy throbs violently when you whirl around to familiar green eyes that blink black before returning to their alluring jade.
“Hiya, Sweetheart,” Dean purrs, stepping closer so that there’s less than a foot of space between your bodies. “Forget what day it is?”
Your boots have a bit of a heel, so there’s less of a height difference than the first time he visited you. Usually, you’re at home. Most of the time you’re already in bed when he arrives, sometimes in the shower, sometimes making food.
“No. Just lost track of time.” Somewhere between the dancing and the drinks and your phone being tucked away in the purse you’d brought, the time had slipped away.
His head cocks to the side, the move more animalistic than human. “That so?”
“I wanted a night out with my friends. Sue me.”
His eyebrows raise but he says nothing.
Not right away at least.
Instead his attention drifts from your face, slipping down your body.
You can see his eyes catch on your strappy tank top where the halter neckline plunges to near obscene levels, showing off the scalloped lace of your bra. The green in his gaze goes dark in a different way than you are used to the further down it travels, down all the way to the bare expanse of your legs and where your boots sit upon your feet.
“Must’a had every guy in here tonight drooling over you,” Dean says appreciatively, eyes flicking back up to yours.
You brace your hands on the sink behind you and lean back with a shrug, trying to act casual and not like your pussy isn’t growing wetter by the second. The heat that rises to your cheeks is in humiliation. He hasn’t even touched you yet and here you are like a bitch in heat.
You’d noticed the heated stares, the way some of the men in the bar’s eyes would pop out of their skull like some cartoon, and you’d be lying to him and to yourself if you said you didn’t revel in it.
He leans in, and you’re not sure when he got this close to you but you’re assaulted with the intoxicating smell of him. Something masculine and dark that makes you want to bury your face in the crook of his neck.
You jump a little when the warmth of his palm spreads along the inside of your thigh, too entranced by his gaze, heavy and focused, to notice his arm slipping between your bodies until it’s there. His fingers tease along the soft skin, the tips just inches from the throbbing need between your thighs.
“Too bad your pussy’s already got someone takin’ care a’her, right?” He croons, slipping his hand up.
Words escape you as he slides your panties to the side, not that the lacy scrap of fabric was covering much to begin with.
Your mouth gapes open at the first teasing touch, the calloused tips of his fingers sliding through your slick, bumping against your clit. Hands gripping the edge of the sink so hard you’re sure the porcelain will crack any second, your hips buck up against his hand, seeking the stimulation.
The sense of euphoria is short lived when his other hand shoots out, wrapping around your neck. A gasp gets stuck in your throat and your eyes flare wide. His fingerprints dent your skin.
“Right?” He asks again with a darker edge this time.
The bathroom around you narrows to the tightness of his grip on your neck and the pleasure derived from his fingers still working over your soaking core. Every inch of your body erupts in tingles, and you would have nodded if his hold allowed it.
“Yes,” is all you manage to choke out.
It is a funny feeling. Dean quite literally has your life in his hand. By all accounts you should be pissing-yourself-terrified. But you’re not. Instead, all you can focus on is the dark whorls of lust eddying in the depths of his eyes, the green heightened with his enjoyment, and how his middle finger is circling your clit with precision.
That was, until it retreats and you nearly whine at the loss of contact.
You sense where his hand is going milliseconds before his open palm makes contact with the side of your face. It’s not hard enough to do any damage beyond a buzzing beneath your skin that will last probably as long as this encounter, but it’s hard enough for tears to sting at your eyes.
“Yes,” you wheeze, his grip on your throat just loose enough for the words to squeeze out. “My pussy’s yours.”
Another slap, this one no less gentle than the first. “Say it again.”
Your hand slips up, wrapping around his wrist. “My pussy’s yours.”
His pulse is even under your frantic grip. If it weren’t for the desire written in his gaze and the sizable bulge straining against the front of his jeans, you wouldn’t have guessed he was enjoying this. You’re painfully aware of arousal dripping down your inner thigh, your core clenching around nothing.
Dean’s hand connects with the side of your face one last time then returns between your thighs. The edges of your vision start to go fuzzy, and the moan he pulls from your lips when his fingers press harshly against your clit comes out more like a high pitched keen.
He leans in, keeping steady pressure on your neck. “You’re gonna cum for me before I let you go. Can you do that for me, whore? Not like you need to breathe, anyway.”
“Yes,” you choke out, voice a little louder than a whisper.
“Yes what?” Dean asks teasingly, his fingers moving across your core in a way that makes it really hard to formulate words.
“Yes, sir.” Your words are slurred, but they seem to suffice anyway as his hand picks up the pace.
Your hips grind against his palm, matching the rhythm he’d created. You feel dazed when his hand slips lower, two fingers shoving inside you while the heel of his palm acts as the perfect surface to grind your clit on.
He doesn’t seem to notice or care when your nails dig into the inside of his wrist, your other clawing at his shoulder to brace yourself against the rapidly growing wave of pleasure stemming from between your thighs.
His muscles shift under your grip as he angles his arm better so he can send his middle and ring finger even deeper into you, curling them up towards your belly. Your hips grind down against his hand, the rough surface providing the most divine friction against your needy clit.
An amused chuckle from Dean vibrates through your body. “I can feel your pussy clenching around my fingers. Fuck, I can’t wait to feel ‘er around my cock.”
A strangled whine is all you can muster as he curls his fingers inside you, stroking that soft spot within you that darkens your vision even further. Arching your back, you press your chest into Dean’s, his preternatural warmth soaking into you.
You’re sure he can feel the way your nipples are hardened, even through both your shirts. The bralette underneath is little more than decorative lace with a paper thin backing there to not irritate your skin.
His blood-red button down is immaculate, tucked into a pair of dark wash jeans; it’s similar to the outfit he wore the first time you met him.
Well, he’s nothing if not consistent, you think before stars burst behind your eyes, which you squeeze shut as the tightness in your belly gives way.
You cum harder than the first time he fucked you. Harder than you ever have in your life.
Your body goes rigid, trembling from head to toe as electric shocks spark through you all down your spine. The ache of pleasure pulses through your body as he works you through the throes of your climax.
Head lolling to the side as Dean’s grip on your neck lessens, you gasp in air. The room around you spins as you gulp down oxygen the best you can through your unabashed moans.
Dean’s lips slot over yours, drowning out your sounds of ecstasy and you can taste the whiskey on his tongue when it sweeps into your mouth. Your hand slides up his shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the shaggy ends as you kiss him back with matching intensity. A low rumble of satisfaction emanates from his chest.
As you slowly come back into your body, Dean’s hand slows, his fingers leisurely dragging out of you and stroking your oversensitive clit on their way out from between your trembling legs. He grips your chin none too gently, breaking the kiss.
There isn’t enough time for you to miss the feeling of his lips on yours, to savor the tingling he left behind, before his fingers are in your mouth.
The calloused tips press down your tongue and instinctively you wrap your lips around the second knuckle. You can taste yourself as you work them over with your tongue, your whimper turning into a gag when Dean shoves his fingers deeper into your mouth.
“That’s right,” Dean all but purrs, looking on with a lust-drunk expression. “How are you gonna take my cock if you can’t take two little fingers?”
He’s right, you think, but I wouldn’t call his fingers small, either.
His grip on your chin relaxes just enough for you to work your jaw open more. Viscous saliva floods your mouth as Dean moves his fingers in and out of your mouth. Every time he bottoms them out, you cough and gag as the tips wiggle against the back of your throat.
Tears sting your eyes, spilling down your cheeks in fat droplets when you blink up at him. There’s a hungry edge to the way he gazes down at you, obsession bleeding in as he fixates on how your spit collects on his knuckles and rolls down his hand.
Another rush of want crashes over you at the way he’s looking at you and in response, your thighs clench together unconsciously. The miniscule movement isn’t missed by Dean, not that you were really trying to hide your insatiable need anyway.
“God, you’re such a greedy slut,” he groans. “I just got you off and you’re already wanting more, aren’t ‘cha, Sweetheart?”
With his fingers shoved into your mouth, all you can do is hum in agreement.
Dean hums his approval, and with the slightest nod his fingers slip from your mouth, the hand on your jaw following suit. You suck air in greedily, the strings of drool starting to cool on your chin.
With eyes half-lidded out of pure lust, you watch him raise the hand pulled from your mouth up to his own. A particularly strong pulse of arousal nearly sends you to the floor as his tongue darts out from between his lips. The sounds that come from him slurping your spit from his hand are purely pornographic, all while he keeps his eyes locked on yours.
“Knees. Now,” he commands, wiping the mix of your spit on his jeans.
With how shaky your knees have become in the aftermath of his display— as well as the leg-shaking orgasm he gave you— you’re tempted to comply. A glance down to the bulge in his pants is enough for saliva to pool under your tongue, but the alcohol in your system has made you bold.
“And if I don’t want to?”
His head cocks to the side, eyebrows quirked up. “No?”
A shake of your head as you look up at him through your lashes. “No.”
“You don’t want me?” He asks, his hand curling around your wrist, bringing your palm to rest on the evidence of his arousal. “You don’t want my cock?”
His grip disappears, but you press the heel of your palm against him, dragging your hand along the length of him. “No, I don’t.”
Dean gives you a knowing smirk, and the moment stretches wide between you before he finally speaks.
“Liar.”
His hand moves too fast for you to react, fingers tangling painfully in your hair as he grabs a fistful.
You cry out softly, half from the pain and half out of shock. He leans forward and the sound dies out into a quiet gasp. Your eyes dart from the depths of his gaze to his lips, which are still tugged upwards in a satisfied grin, and back again.
“You want me. I’ve been inside you. Tasted you.” His thumb traces the plush of your bottom lip, smearing your lipstick even further. “I know just how desperate you are for my cock, whore. You can’t ever pretend otherwise.”
Your knees make contact with the grimy bathroom floor and you can feel yourself tremble with anticipation as Dean angles your head to look up at him.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he says, undoing his belt with his free hand.
“And if I don’t?” You ask before you can think better of it.
Dean doesn’t even bother to shove his jeans and boxers down his muscular thighs. They barely make it down past his balls before he’s languidly stroking himself, the tip red and already leaking.
Your throat bobs and you barely flinch when he grips himself at the base and slaps his heavy cock against your cheek.
“Oh, Sweetheart. Don’t make me ask twice,” he says.
Heart beating a million miles a minute, you barely feel the small sting of contact nor the dull ache of the tight grip he has on your hair. Your world is narrowed to the throbbing need in your pussy and Dean’s hard cock bobbing in front of you.
“Now don’t be difficult and open your fucking mouth,” he growls, shoving his cock towards your mouth.
You have the good sense this time to obey, your lips parting without hesitation. Tongue lolling out, you barely have enough time to situate yourself before his cock is halfway down your throat.
Instantly, your throat is on fire and you gag at the sudden intrusion. Hands flying up to brace against his denim clad thighs, you brace yourself as Dean holds your head in place.
“Fuuuck,” he rasps, dragging his hips back and briefly allowing you to breathe. “I missed this. Had a lotta girls, but none of their mouths feel half as good as yours does.”
It takes a second for you to adjust to how he’s stuffed into your mouth. Drool has already started to leak out of the sides of your mouth with every thrust of his hips. The stretch of your lips, the taste of him is just right. He smells warm, like sweat and skin and some clean, masculine soap.
And it’s pathetic the way you silently enjoy him pressing your face further onto his cock until your nose is buried in the thick, curly hair at his pubic bone. Your throat spasms as he holds you there, unable to breathe and frozen with sensory overload.
Hot tears crawl down your cheeks, blending with your drool on your chin. Just when the edges of your vision start to blur, Dean yanks you off his cock by your hair. You cough and sputter, replenishing the void of oxygen in your lungs.
Thick strings of drool stick to your chin and neck, and you just know your mascara is running down your cheeks, half-dried to your skin with your tears.
“Such a messy girl,” he coos, honey-laced words dripping with condescension. “See, all you needed was a good dick in that brat mouth.”
You welcome the sting as his hand leaves another hot print on your cheek and you have to resist from leaning into his palm when it caresses the hurt. It slips away just as quickly, and in turn you wrap a hand around the spick-slick shaft of him.
“Gonna keep fucking my face, or do you want me to make it actually feel good?” You ask, locked on his eyes as your mouth closes around the head of him.
The groan Dean utters when your cheeks cave around him, when your tongue slides along the sensitive underside of his cock, is all the answer you really need.
You’d learned early enough on that you really had to squeeze your hand around his cock when stroking him. “Harder, bitch,” he’d growled. “Don’t be fucking scared. You’re not gonna break it.”
His fingers still threaded themselves in your hair, the tips gliding across your scalp as you descended back down upon him. His head falls back, and the red ambient lighting in the bathroom gleams along the column of his throat, skin dewy with sweat.
You’d like nothing more than to stand and lick the salt from his skin.
Tongue pressed to the underside and cheeks hollowed, you slide his cock all the way to the back of your throat. Your gag reflex balks, but you ignore it, pulling back barely half way before bobbing your head back down. The small whimpers and moans that you make no attempt to stifle travel along his cock.
Dean’s hand curls further into your hair, leaving your head littered with sharp pinpricks. All it does is add to the slickness between your thighs. Thighs that you press together seeking any kind of friction; you can feel your arousal roll down the insides. Your skirt is still hiked up around your hips, leaving your dripping pussy exposed to the cool air.
A dull ache makes itself known in your knees, the bathroom tile extremely unforgiving on the joints. You do your best to ignore it, hand sticky with spit abandoning his shaft in favor of cupping his balls.
Dean’s hips buck into your mouth at the additional touch, seeking the wet heat.
“Oh fuck,” he grunts. “Keep doing that.”
So you do, fondling him there while maintaining your rhythm; push your head down on him until you can feel him in your throat— until you gag harshly— then pull back enough to breathe through the spasm. Rinse and repeat all the while your free hand inches closer to your throbbing pussy. The wet, sloppy sounds from your mouth meld with his decadent grunts and groans, filling the bathroom.
The system works, up until the point it doesn’t.
You come up for air only for Dean’s hand to press against the back of your head, pushing you back down onto his cock. Your eyes screw shut as your nose is mashed into the mess of curls at his pubic bone.
A sound of displeasure vibrates from your lips up the length of him, and after a second you try and pull your head back. It ends fruitlessly, though, as Dean only presses harder.
“Shut up. Just a little longer,” he growls. “Fucking take this cock. Fucking choke on it like the whore you are.”
Your tear-filled eyes screw shut as your throat spasms hard. Bracing a hand on his muscular thigh, your fingernails dig into the denim. Dean’s cock moves, barely pulling out an inch before it’s back, harshly slamming into your throat. A soreness grows in your jaw for how long you’ve kept it open.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he moans, his chest heaving. “Gonna fucking cum, baby.”
That fuzzy, floaty feeling returns as you struggle against the need to breathe, against the intrusion of cock in your throat. He starts to twitch against your tongue, and the pistoning of his hips grows sloppy and uneven. Pushing through the haze, you swallow around him, earning yourself a string of curses from above you.
The crass words are cut off by a garbled moan. You hear your name somewhere in there, but you’re too busy swallowing down Dean’s cum to pay much attention to what he’s saying. He holds you there, cock pumping his seed down your throat until he stops twitching and his length softens a bit.
Lines of spit connect your lips to his cock once he finally wrenches himself from your mouth, and they snap back against your chin when he takes a step back. Your body is wracked with wet coughs as you gasp for air. Heart beating what seems like a million beats a second, you lean back on your heels and wipe the spit from your face.
Out of the corner of your eye you see Dean tuck his half-flaccid cock back into his boxers, leaving the jeans unbuttoned.
“Up,” he rasps, still breathing hard from his climax.
On shaky legs, you rise up, wincing at the stiffness in your knees. You brace a hand on the sink behind you as the feeling returns to your lower extremities.
Dean’s hand slips around to the nape of your neck, drawing you in. His lips capture yours before your brain can catch up. He licks into your mouth and you whimper when his leg slots between yours. The top of his thigh bumps against your neglected core and you nearly cry at the sensation.
“I can fucking feel you soaking through my jeans, baby,” he says, sliding both hands to your hips. “Soaked just from sucking cock, just like a proper whore.”
Your brain buffers, overloaded with the repeated deprivation of oxygen and the way the roughness of denim feels against your needy clit, your panties still pulled to the side. All that leaks out of you is a pathetic whimper that’s mostly intelligible.
Dean laughs cruelly, kissing a line of fire down your jawline. “So dumb, baby, and you haven’t even had my cock yet.”
He bounces his thigh against you and you cry out, hands scrambling to find purchase on his broad shoulders.
“Please,” you manage to whine.
“Please what?” His teeth graze the line where your jaw meets your neck.
“Need’a cum. Please.”
“You think you deserve it?”
“Mhmm,” you nod vigorously. “Please, Dean.”
You can feel the wet spot your soaked pussy has made, now. The dampness of the fabric allows you to slide easier along the rigidness, your movements barely a fraction of what you need.
“You think you can make yourself cum on just my thigh?” He pulls back from your neck, an amused tilt to his lips. “Gonna hump my leg like the dog you are?”
“Please,” you say barely above a whisper, legs trembling again.
“I’m not gonna help you. Gonna have to be a big girl and do it all yourself.”
“That’s okay, it’s okay. I can do it. Please, please,” you babble nonsensically now, much to his sadistic satisfaction.
“Better get on with it then,” he says.
No sooner are the words spoken into existence are your hips grinding down against his thigh. You feel him flex his quad beneath you, creating a ridge that feels mind-numbingly good against your clit.
You cling to his shoulders for stability, wanton moans spilling from your lips unimpeded. It takes less than a minute for a tightness to grow low in your belly. The heat from his body, the smell of him, it all wraps around you and soaks into your veins like an aphrodisiac.
There’s no sane part of you left to care how humiliating this is, how desperate you are to dry hump his thigh just from having a dick down your throat. Everything in you is narrowed down to how good dragging your pussy along his thigh feels. How with every shift of your hips, sparks of pleasure threaten to set you alight.
“Such a dirty girl,” Dean croons in your ear as you puff out breathy moans. “So goddamn pathetic it’s almost sad.”
Your pussy clenches on nothing at the words, at the names he’s calling you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, hiding the way your cheeks warm. The scent of him is stronger here, and you inhale deeply.
Dean’s hands have moved to the sink directly behind you, his body effectively caging you between the solidness of his torso and the cool porcelain. It’s that fact alone that keeps you mostly upright, your legs shaking. It grows worse with each drag of your pussy along his thigh, pressure building between your legs.
“I can feel you shaking, you close?” Dean’s words rumble through you.
You nod against his neck, moaning into his skin like you can imbue your need to cum into his system. You squirm and hump against him, mouth falling open as you rapidly approach the edge of your orgasm. It’s so close, the final build up making your movements erratic as you push yourself just that little bit further.
But just as you are about to tip over the edge, Dean pulls his thigh from between your legs and steps back enough you have to reach behind you to keep yourself from collapsing to the ground.
“No!” You cry out, very nearly at the verge of tears. “Wha—what the fuck?!”
Dean chuckles darkly, meeting your frustrated gaze. “Did you really think it was going to be that easy? God, you’re dumb.”
“Fuck you,” you spit at him.
“All in good time, baby. Now turn around, put your hands on the sink.”
You scowl and instead you reach down, tugging your skirt back over what little it covers before crossing your arms over your chest. “No.”
Dean’s head tilts and he pouts his lip mockingly. “No? Gonna throw a little tantrum now?”
“Fuck. You.” You say again.
“You’re really gonna try this with me?”
He’s stepped closer again, so if you really did want to go anywhere, you’d have to push past him.
But you don’t, and he knows it.
It’s all part of the game. You play it up, act like you don’t want him, just so that he’ll snap and manhandle you into whatever way he wants you. The best part about it is, he wants to fuck you just as much, so no matter how much you brat, how much you pretend, you’ll end up with his cock shoved into you anyway.
It’s a welcome change to all the hook-ups you’d had before. Men— boys, really— who would give up at the slightest bit of pushback, who’d pussy out at the level of roughness you so desperately craved.
And that’s why, even though Dean popped up once a month to rock your world and leave you sated, you never felt the need to indulge the men like the ones who’d been at the bar tonight. They could never satisfy you in the same way.
“Turn around, and put your hands on the sink,” he instructs again, both of you knowing you won’t before the words even leave his mouth.
You stand taller, looking him straight on. “Make me.”
You can see the instant his resolve snaps. Something in his face twitches and his expression darks the millisecond before his hands grasp onto your hips roughly. A gasp makes its way out of you when you’re spun around and shoved roughly into the sink.
The edge digs into your stomach, but that’s the last thing you’re paying attention to when Dean kicks your legs apart with his boot. His hand presses into the middle of your spine, pressing your upper half forward so you are half laying across the sink.
Looking up, you are met with your reflection for the first time since Dean walked into the bathroom.
You were right to assume you looked absolutely wrecked. Mascara is streaked down your face, your red lipstick smeared across your kiss-swollen lips. Then your eyes cant up and you catch Dean staring, but not at your face. His eyes, pupils blown so wide you can barely see his green irises, are trained lower.
Bent over like this, your skirt rides up an obscene amount, baring your panty-clad pussy to him. His lower lip is caught in between his teeth, and he almost looks contemplative in his admiration.
“Gonna keep staring or are you gonna do something?” You snark, watching his eyes snap up to yours in the mirror.
“And what are you gonna do if I don’t?” He asks in turn. “What if I just make you stand like this and let all those guys out there who were eye-fucking you come in here and take their turn?”
Your pussy clenches at the thought, and even though Dean no doubt caught the motion, he makes no comment.
“You wouldn’t. You’re too fucking possessive,” you respond, calling his bluff with not a bit of confidence in your statement.
Dean smiles, and it’s not a kind expression.
Warm skin against the backs of your thighs makes you flinch a bit, even though you can see him take a step forward. His hands slide your skirt back over the swell of your ass, bunching the fabric around your waist.
“Maybe, maybe not,” he muses, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. “Maybe when I’m all done with you here they can fuck you while my cum’s still leaking out of you.”
Cool air meets your soaked core as Dean drags your panties down your thighs, down your legs. His fingertips skate your skin as he lifts your feet, removing the scrap of fabric completely. Your mouth twists in a fleeting moment of disappointment when he shoves them into his back pocket.
Those were my favorite pair.
“Either way, I still get to cum,” you finally say.
You yelp as his hand comes down hard on your ass. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. It stings, leaving your skin tingling. The sensation shoots right between your thighs, reinvigorating the swelling need inside you.
“You really wanna cum that bad you’d let strangers fuck you?” He says with a condescending incredulousness. “God, you’re more pathetic than I thought.”
Another slap, this time to your other asscheek. Your fingers grip the edge of the sink as you resist the urge to rock back towards him. Your cheeks burn from the sting of his words, but he’s not finished.
“Do you think of me when you fuck yourself?”
You didn’t think your cheeks could grow any hotter in embarrassment, but he never fails to surprise you.
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” You squeak.
“The kind I expect answered,” he says with another slap to your ass.
His hand smooths over the warm skin and you nearly moan when it slides inward, his thumb ghosting across your pussy.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I wanna know if I make you scream my name even when I’m not here to fuck you senseless.”
Your mouth opens and closes as you try to formulate a sentence, but it’s hard to focus with his thumb stroking the slickness of your core. It’s teasing, not enough for the sensations to build, just enough to keep you on edge.
You cry out, flinching forward only to be stopped by the sink, when Dean’s hand makes contact with your exposed pussy this time. It hurts more than your ass, but the pleasure that it turns into isn’t diminished.
“Answer me, slut.”
His hand comes down on your core again and you can’t contain the moan that comes with it.
“Yes, I think of you,” you relent, gripping tighter to the sink.
His thumb presses against your clit and your breath catches in your lungs. The pad rubs circles around the nub and you could cry from the direct stimulation.
“Good.” Is all he says before you lose sight of him in the mirror when he sinks to his knees behind you.
Your head drops forward at the first puff of his hot breath against your core. His tongue follows, licking a hot stripe up your pussy. A soft moan leaves your lips as he does it again, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit as he uses both hands to grope your asscheeks.
His stubble scrapes against your inner thighs, the combination of sensations making your head spin. You rock back against his face, and surprisingly he lets you. His tongue and lips lick and suck at your core, and nothing about the way he’s eating you out is quiet.
Your hips buck when his teeth close around your clit, not ready for the sudden second of pain. His tongue is right there following, licking away the immediate hurt. His thumb takes over, his tongue dipping inside you.
“Don’t stop, please,” you moan, grinding back on his face.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, pulling away from your pussy just long enough to say as such before going right back.
The pressure of your climax rushes up and you barely have enough strength in your legs to keep yourself upright. The orgasm roars through you in one giant wave. Your mouth falls open as his mouth works you over through it.
In the mirror, you see him stand, and then you’re being flipped around so that you're leaning back against the sink again.
His lips connect with yours and you can taste yourself on his mouth as he kisses you. It’s not gentle, his teeth clash with yours, your tongues dancing and somewhere in the way he licks into your mouth you feel his hand slide between your bodies to your pussy.
You’ve barely recovered from the orgasm he just brought you to, and now his middle and ring finger are slipping inside you.
Carding your fingers through his hair, you kiss Dean hard, letting his mouth swallow your desperate moans. Stars spark behind your eyes as he curls his fingers up towards your belly. Quickly, he finds that soft spot that makes your legs feel like jelly, threatening to send you to the floor.
“De-Dean! Oh fuck,” you cry out.
His mouth has migrated to your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point. You clench hard around his fingers, a different kind of pressure building low in your belly. Another orgasm builds slowly, especially as the heel of his palm presses against your clit.
“That's right, bitch. Scream my name. Scream it loud so everybody out there knows who you belong to.”
He shoves his fingers further into your sloppy pussy, wet and obscene sounds reaching your ears. Your head lolls to the side, allowing him better access to kiss and nibble on your neck. You’ll have to wear make up to cover up the hickies that he’s undoubtedly placing along your skin like a sign to say you’re his. He punches his digits in and out of you, petting that fucking spot.
Your thighs are trembling so hard now— so is the entirety of your body. The pressure just keeps building and building. He’s everywhere, between your legs, other hand groping your body, his mouth on your neck. Nowhere is left unattended and it is so much.
“Feel you clenching so fucking tight on my fingers, baby. Gonna cum again for me?” Dean says against your neck, leaning up to nip at your ear.
All you can do is nod. Words don’t feel real to you right now and no amount of anything could change that.
Your nonverbal confirmation seems to satisfy him well enough. Then, he does something, something so good and he keeps doing it. Everything around you fades to just his ministrations and the feel of his body caging yours, and you feel the pressure snap.
Everything goes white and your body seizes up with the intensity of which your orgasm slams into you. But Dean’s fingers don’t stop. They continue to pump into you, curling into you. You don’t even feel in control of your body as you feel yourself gush all over his hand.
Dean curses under his breath and you just barely acknowledge it as you gasp for air, clinging to his shoulders with all your might.
Dean draws his fingers from you and a perverted sense of deja vu hits you as he licks you from his fingers. He keeps you upright with his other arm snaked around your waist, and for that you are grateful.
“Did— did I just…?” You pant, slowly realizing what’d happened.
“You just squirted all over my fucking hand,” Dean affirms, wiping his hand on his jeans. “Wish I would’a just stayed down there. Drank it right from the source.”
You groan at his obscene words, unable to stand the way his verbal filth immediately makes your overstimulated body respond in kind.
He taps your cheek none too gently. “Don’t go tapping out on me now. We’re not done yet.”
You’re putty in his hands as he spins you around, bracing your hands on the edge of the sink. He let’s go, and on shaky legs you stand there watching him shove his jeans and boxers back down his thighs.
“You’re so wet, not gonna have any issue getting in,” Dean mutters quietly.
You moan softly at the drag of his cock through your arousal. The spongy head of him bumps against your clit and you whimper, the overstimulation becoming borderline painful.
“What’s a’matter?” Dean asks. “Too much?”
“Uh huh,” you nod.
“Too fucking bad.”
You moan weakly as Dean presses forward, shoving the blunt tip of his cock inside you. Involuntarily, your hips sway forward, away from the stretch. With how wet you are, there’s not much pain, but his fingers can only prepare you for the girth of his cock so far.
Dean’s hands grab fast to your hips, pulling you back to him, the motion sinking you down onto him almost to the hilt. You gasp a moan, feeling unbelievably full to the point it knocks the air from your lungs.
“Where you goin’?” he grunts, working his hips forward and back. “I know you’re not running from my cock after crying for it.”
“So big,” you gasp, inner walls clenching around him as you try to adjust to the sudden stretch.
Dean leans forward, rutting his cock into you. “Stop your fucking whining and take it, pathetic slut. I can feel you dripping down my balls.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words hit their mark. It’s all so much; you can practically feel every vein and contour of him inside you. As he drags himself out, the bulge of his head catches on that sensitive spot, immediately making your legs shake.
“Oh, baby, cry all you fucking want,” Dean lays a sloppy kiss to your bare shoulder. “All it’s gonna do is make me harder.”
As if in emphasis, he snaps his hips into yours. You are thrust forward, the unforgiving edge of the sink digging into your lower stomach. Blinking, the tears leak down your cheeks, rewetting the paths from the ones that had fallen earlier.
His arm snakes around to your front, pulling you back against his chest. A big hand pulls your shirt and bra to the side, enveloping a breast. He rolls the hardened nipple between his fingers, every movement made with expert precision.
You swear you can feel his cock in your stomach with every grinding thrust into you. His hips barely break contact with your ass like he can’t be bothered to pull out for even a second. The outcome is his cock stimulating that sensitive spot; the pressure is helped by the way the sink edge ensures he slides along it with each and every movement.
“So fucking tight, baby,” Dean moans in your ear, still fondling your breast. “Always a perfect fuckin’ cumslut for me.”
Your hand reaches behind you both, sinking your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. His balls slap against your skin as his thrusts grow longer, his hand sliding up from your tit to your neck. He doesn’t squeeze this time, but just the feel of his calloused palm and fingers circling your throat makes you clench around his cock.
“Fucking me…so good,” you moan out, holding a hand to his wrist.
“Say my name, bitch. Who’s fucking you so good?” He growls, nipping at your shoulder.
“You are, Dean,” you babble.
The hand not on your throat dips between your legs, finding your thoroughly abused clit. A whine crawls its way up your throat and you feel his hand tighten almost imperceptibly around your neck.
“Shut up. I don’t wanna hear it,” he snaps. “Just take it. Fucking take it.”
“But—”
“I don’t care. Not my fucking problem.”
And he doesn’t, his fingers speeding up their motions on your clit. Sharp pangs stab at you with each brush of his callouses over your swollen nub. It all melts into pleasure and all you can do is push your ass back against him, meeting his thrusts.
Dean moans his approval. “See, that’s a good whore. Feels fucking good, don’t it.”
“Yes,” you keen, slamming yourself back on his cock.
His thrusts don’t let up. Instead, they become more forceful, sending you into the sink hard enough you’re sure you are gonna have bruises on your hips tomorrow morning. His cock throbbing against your inner walls, and his panting moans in your ear have become ragged. His fingers on your clit are unrelenting, pushing you towards the brink of yet another orgasm.
He’s all but draped over your back at this point, snapping his hips into yours erratically. Just when you think you can’t take any more, Dean groans into your ear.
“Gonna fucking paint this pussy white, and you’re gonna take it all. Y’hear me?”
Your pussy pulses in response. “Yes, please cum in me.”
Dean moans and it’s one of the sexiest things you’ve ever heard. “That’s fucking right. Beg for my cum, bitch.”
His hand slides from your neck to your shoulder, bracing you and himself as he thrusts harder, balls slapping harshly against you. The grip is bruising, but you’re too far gone to care.
“Please, cum in me, Dean. Need’a feel you fill me,” you whimper.
“Oh fuck, baby.”
You feel hips stutter then, his cock throbs as his orgasm hits him. He’s not quiet, moaning your name loudly.
You can feel his cum filling you, thick ropes spurting into your pussy, and that alone sends you over the edge, yet another orgasm crashing into you. This time, your violently shaking legs give out.
Instantly, Dean's arm wraps around your waist, holding you there as he gives a few more rutting thrusts into your pussy, milking his cock. You both stay there for a second, heavy breathing filling the room as you gasp for air.
He breaks the silence first. “Can you stand?”
You take a second, assessing your still trembling body. Finally, you nod.
Taking you at your word, Dean relinquishes his hold on you, leaving you to brace yourself on the sink as he walks over to the paper towel dispenser. He snags a few, using them to clean his cock off before tucking himself away.
He doesn’t offer you any, instead he turns and unlocks the door.
Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he gives you that sharp grin. “So, same time next month?”
You tug your clothes back into place. “Fuck you.”
“Darlin’, you just did,” is all he says before he disappears out the door.
Please like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed. Feedback is appreciated and encouraged!
So I don't typically read reader inserts, but this fic was absolutely feral and I loved every second of it! I was hooked just from the description alone; you got me at demon Dean 😭🤣 You write him so incredibly well, and the dynamic between him and (reader) is just mind meltingly hot and sexy! God and Dean's dirty talk... I'm gnawing the bars of my enclosure... UGH AND HIS PARTING LINE!!! Stellar job @spnbabe67 !
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Chosen for "reblog a fanfiction about your favorite character"
PAIRING: Fem!Dean Winchester x Fem!Castiel, Destiel
GENRE: Angsty & Smutty, but nothing too explicit (Rated Mature, MDNI!)
SUMMARY: Dean suggests Castiel should practice her flirting skills. The offer backfires when the angel actually manages to make the huntress crumble.
WORD COUNT: 2.8k
NOTES/WARNINGS: Bisexual!Dean and Femme!Dean truthers unite, season 4 or 5-ish Destiel but make them sapphic, angst (sorry idk how that happened), religious trauma/guilt, mentions of John, mentions of Alastair and hell, emotional hurt/comfort, pining, kissing (steamy), Dean whimpers (a noise that can be both sad and horny), purple prose
A/N: Based on this request by @mahi-wayy, thank you, friend! Can you believe that in my 10+ years of shipping Destiel I can't remember ever writing a fic about them? This was supposed to be a drabble. But since I want sapphic Destiel to be my legacy, here you go. Thanks a ton to @justwhisperingfantasies for being an amazing betareader <3 Much love xoxo
CREDITS & LINKS: Supernatural Masterlist ──〃★ request here ──〃★ Impala & lipstick divider by @easytiger-xo ──〃★ reblog divider by @cafekitsune ──〃★ Ao3
The sweetness is the first thing that sends Dean into orbit.
She should’ve known better, given how Cas always makes her heart race as is. The effectiveness of a simple touch still takes her off guard. All that it takes is Castiel shifting closer, over the box of cassettes that separates the driver’s from the passenger’s seat, until she’s straddling Dean’s lap — awkwardly, but in no way embarrassed. More like she’s unsure how to actually do it without bumping her head. Or, you know, in general.
Bumped heads or not, the sudden change of position comes with a whiplash Dean couldn’t brace herself for.
Dean knows how pretty Cas is. How smooth her voice sounds. How wise her mind is — much smarter than Dean could ever hope to be, especially when the angel is in the same vicinity. Something about that celestial aura of hers makes Dean’s brain short circuit every damn time.
However, the sweet scent of the heaven-sent is quite literally the cherry on top, overwhelming all of Dean’s senses.
Castiel smells like honey and powder. Clean. Warm. Light. Like cotton candy, delicate strings of sugar woven into her dark locks. Like syrup, the stickiness swirling in the sea-blue of her eyes demanding attention.
“Like this?”
Castiel’s question is so innocent it has Dean tense.
The rasp of her voice is laced with curiosity and for a second Dean wonders if she’ll be sent to hell — again — for this.
Is she corrupting one of God’s pure soldiers? Taking advantage of what has to be naïveté? Because frankly, there is no way she deserves a holy creature making herself comfortable against the curves of her mortal and unworthy body.
When Dean doesn’t answer immediately, a crease forms between Castiel’s brows and she does that signature, stupid little tilt of her head, which seems to shift the axis of Dean’s world right along with it.
“I’m doing this wrong,” Castiel grumbles. Pouts even, which triggers a different panic in the huntress.
Instincitvely, and hastily, Dean’s fingers grasp at Castiel’s form, as if she was scared she’d slip out of her lap. One hand settles at the fabric of the angel’s trenchcoat, the other curls around her bare thigh. Both are soft to the touch, too rich and divine for someone like Dean to stain.
Silk that might fray at the edges if Dean isn’t careful enough. Flesh that part of her wants to take apart at the seams.
Still, she claws at the sweet, feathery thing in her lap. Like one might keep a dove in a cage. Like one might keep a secret in their heart. Held close and locked away.
“You’re a natural,” Dean mutters, the fake smirk on her glossed lips about as brave as the tremble of her hands.
Castiel’s brows furrow further, some frustration mixed into the confusion now. “You’re not being sarcastic,” she states. An observation, not a question. “But you’re also not very convincing.”
If there’s any reason Dean can’t say it with her whole chest, it’s because the heart within is beating so fast that it might jump out of her throat, were she to say too much. Reveal too much. Admit defeat.
Fluttering like a restless bird that wants to break free and reveal the secret at the top of its lungs.
Ever had your heartbeat hammer against your ribcage so hard you thought you might die?
If that happened to Dean, which angel would even guide her into the light, when the only one she wants to follow is right with her in this moment?
“You just took me off guard, Cas,” Dean mumbles, clearing her throat and averting her gaze. It’s a pathetic attempt at hiding the warmth in her cheeks, especially when Castiel’s face follows her movement. Somehow, she leans even closer, taking the last of Dean’s breath away.
“You said flirting is a useful method for hunters,” Cas points out and holds up her hands to gesture quotation marks in the air, “You wanted to teach me how to ‘get some bastards real flustered’ and—”
“Alright, alright,” Dean interrupts her. “Said I’d show ya and I will, just gimme a moment to, y’know… adjust.”
The warmth spreads from Dean’s face down to her neck.
Yes, she suggested this dumb lesson. Actually, it was somewhat of a half-joke, despite her words being true. Being able to wrap someone around your finger is a useful skill to have as a hunter.
But this scenario? In all honesty, Dean didn’t think Castiel would jump right into it! Not by immediately climbing into Dean’s lap, the driver’s seat of the Impala now way too cramped. As if the huntress doesn’t feel small enough as is in comparison to an almighty, ancient, charmingly clueless angel on top of her.
Castiel’s eyes wander across Dean’s face, silently counting the freckles dusting the flushed skin like constellations dotted over a galaxy. Her gaze drops down the slope of her nose, stops briefly at the nervous twitch of her mouth. Dean feels the stare like a laser beam burning her up.
“Adjusting means…?”
As Cas trails off, blue eyes now searching for mossy green ones again, Dean exhales slowly — lets out some of that tension, allows a pinch of the secret to fly freely. Part of her hopes Cas is able to decipher the silent breath. That she can decode the longing for either freedom or shared pain in Dean’s little sigh.
The plush of the angel’s thighs brackets the huntress in place and even though the Impala has always been her home, it’s never felt more right than this.
Her fingertips toy with the hem of Castiel’s skirt, smoothing over it. A pencil skirt, too damn tight for her own good. For both hers and Dean’s. The fabric is dark, matching Castiel’s tie, which Dean wants to grab and pull at.
It’s raw fear that prevents her from doing so. Whatever Dean touches, it breaks. Always has. Always will.
She’s not made to tend to things — Baby being an exception, maybe. She’s created to destroy. Not even a soldier, like she thought her father had raised her. No, she’s no protector. Her fate is not to defend at all costs, even though violence.
Her fate is violence itself.
Dean’s doomed to strike. Nothing more, nothing less.
Michael’s blade. Just a weapon, a tool, sharp-edged and pointed, used for attacking and attacking only.
She swallows, wanting to take and to push away at the same time. Instead, she looks at Cas, the one thing in her life that’s ever looked at her like she’s worth more than battles, blood, and bruises.
“Means you gotta give me a chance to get used to this,” Dean huffs in response, trying to recollect her thoughts.
At the end of the day, is it really that serious?
How many women has she tasted in the backseat of this very car? How many guys did she have the pleasure of making out with at random dive bars? How many lovers did she kiss in motel beds? None of which she regrets, per se.
But also, how many of them have looked at her like she’s worth the trouble — any trouble? Actually looked at her, like she was the one who deserves to be saved and protected for once. How many of them actually did go out of their way to rescue her when her hands were stained with blood and her body raw with injuries and her heart heavy with responsibility?
Sure. This, Cas and her in the car, is supposed to be just play-pretend. Like one of those dumb dares kids giggle at in high school. More of a spin-the-bottle thing than anything, although Dean’s head is the only thing running in circles.
There’s a small voice in the back of her mind, reminding her that she should do this the right way or not at all. That it should at least mean something. That with Cas everything always means something.
“Dean.” Castiel always says her name with such ease and compassion. Dean has mistaken it for reverence more times than she could count. “I can sense you’re uncomfortable. We do not have to do this if you don’t want to—”
“I wanna do this, Cas,” Dean admits and just like that the secret is no longer this sacred, scary thing.
It’s still ugly. Still raw. It has the same shape as the rage she feels when she thinks of the way her mother was killed and the need for revenge. It resembles the desperation she felt when she sold her soul to save Sammy and the fear when she took the knife from Alastair to start torturing.
But it’s out. Like a bubble bursting, or rather the pop of a balloon, loud and explosive.
“That’s the whole problem, feathers. I want too much. Things I shouldn’t have.”
“And why shouldn’t you have them?”
It’s a question Dean didn’t expect. There’s lots to unpack here, veiled confessions and blunt self-loathing. Then again, if anyone was ever subject to this part of Dean, it’s Cas. Of course she understands, or at the very least wants to. Actually wants to. Doesn’t shy away from asking, sees the ugly, and finds a way to coax out something else.
“C’mon, Cas,” Dean chuckles, nervously, but her hands are still resting on the brunette’s curves. “I talked a literal angel into seducing me and she expects me not to fear being smited by the Lord?”
“That’s not what you’re scared of.”
Dean pauses. Blinks. Shrugs. Drops her gaze, head hanging low. “Well, not literally. Just…”
Angels are warriors of heaven, but when Castiel’s hands reach out to cup her face, the touch is gentle. Her skin isn’t calloused, yet her movement is that of a fighter. Graceful and precise as she wipes away Dean’s tears.
They’re hot even against Dean’s flushed cheeks, a stark contrast to Castiel’s fingers. Cold, not icy. Cooling, similar to the way fluttering wings cause a soft breeze. Her grasp is firm, determined, filled with purpose.
It’s clear that she’s familiar with carrying blades. She just never had to soothe one before. Usually weapons don’t weep. They get stained with blood, not sorrows. At least not their own. While they bend to their master’s will, they don’t melt into their grasp.
“I told you in that shed,” Cas whispers as though she’s Dean’s personal angelic choir, “Good things do happen. And just because you’re not used to experiencing them, doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of them.”
Heat flashes through Dean’s spine and it’s hard to distinguish between the familiar anger and the bottled hunger when both are flames. Her fingers curl into fists, so tight that the rings dig into her skin. She stares at Cas, glares at her through wet lashes and tears and hurt.
When she finally gathers the courage to square her shoulders, the woman shifts on top of her, rolls her hips against the rough denim of Dean’s jeans and presses forward. Left speechless, Dean wonders if that lesson was ever needed to begin with.
“Cas—” What’s supposed to be a warning is just pathetic. The whimper is broken, somewhere between despair and desire, both pained and desperate.
What makes angels so terrifying is that they’re so easily underestimated. Their power is brutal and their words cruel. Or maybe it’s just that one in particular, the triple combo wrapped in a trenchcoat — eerie strength that intimidates, glowing warmth that intoxicates, and that goofy sex appeal stacked on top of each other.
“Who said you’re the only one who wants this?”
Dean can’t wrap her head around the idea that anyone could genuinely want her. Not like this. Least of all the very epitome of all that’s supposed to be pure and good and righteous.
Not until Cas leans impossibly closer and Dean’s protest dies on her tongue. Not until Dean feels her own eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones and her breath hitches, before Cas sweeps in to catch it.
She catches all of Dean, every little gasp, the flutter of her heartbeat. The broken pieces and the solid ones. All collected in a single kiss.
Their lips lock, first chaste then deep.
There’s no biblical disaster crashing down on the car’s rooftop, no ground shaking beneath them to open a pit to hellfire itself.
Just Castiel’s mouth on Dean’s and Dean’s arms around Castiel.
Being kissed by an angel tastes a lot less like rebellion and a lot more like salvation than Dean would’ve guessed. Doesn’t make it any less fulfilling. Definitely makes it way more addictive.
Dean sits up straighter, pulls her closer, only to be pushed back into the leather upholstery. The force of Castiel’s palm on her chest, holding her in place, nearly has her groan. Her pants come out in short puffs of warm air and kiss-drunken whines, until the windows fog up and shield them from the things that go boo at night.
“Sit back. And let me.”
While it’s not the first order Dean would’ve easily thrown her life away for to fulfill, the angel’s command is definitely the only one that could’ve made her heart stop on the spot.
A squirm, a nod, reluctant but trusting nonetheless.
A subtle gasp when Castiel pushes the leather jacket off Dean’s shoulders, another when her fingers explore the newly exposed skin underneath. Short nails tracing freckled and scarred arms and leaving behind goosebumps, a hand placed on top of that print — a perfect match.
All Dean can look at is the curve of Castiel’s lips. Their color are that of a dusty rose petal, remnants of cherry lipgloss lingering now.
She finally understands why it’s called a cupid’s bow, a powerful weapon from above. Because the next kiss is as much of an arrow shot at her heart as the first one. Sinking deeper and deeper, then wandering down her jaw, nibbling at her neck. Right over her pulse, stirring her to life; yet again.
Maybe Dean finds herself not minding dying — screw hell or heaven or whatever lurks in between —, if resurrection always feels this holy. Or sinful. Pick your poison.
“Looks like you didn’t need a teacher after all,” Dean chuckles in between little mewls.
The vibration of Castiel’s voice against her flushed skin causes a deep shudder, as if it has shook the ground and opened up the earth numerous times before.
The words themselves, however? She’d be lying if she said they don’t make her cringe.
“You learn a lot by observing.”
“That’s not— you know what, that one’s on me,” the huntress utters, half-embarrassed and double-defeated. Lots to unpack there as well. Though she’d much rather focus on the moment than think about how often she’s had a tongue shoved down her throat after hunts — unaware of any witnesses.
Seriously, the only tongue that matters is the one that moves like a prayer. It speaks her name like one too. Slow. Deliberate.
You think of angels as these delicate creatures, innocent and gentle. Or at least, Dean did, until one decided to run her fingers through her hair. Castiel curls one of the longer pieces, one from the nape of her neck, around her finger like it’s some kind of prophet’s scripture. Like it holds the secrets of the world in every strand.
Then she grabs a fistful and pulls with just enough force to start another apocalypse.
For someone who claims to be just observant, Cas is quick at picking up all the different ways to make the woman unravel. She’s mapping out the bumps of Dean’s collarbone, the outlines of her tattoo, and the swell of her breasts like she’s trying to memorize the valleys and veins of a planet.
Or maybe it’s like Cas herself is the moon, rounding each corner of her skin, gracing Dean’s body, pushing and pulling. Ebb and flow.
Dean’s mouth seems to be the sun then, breathing life into it all — through gasps and whimpers, which the moon chases like it’s the light she wants to reflect.
It’s when Dean gets impatient from just sitting back and she dares to burn brighter that Cas knows the metaphor fits. The touch is warm. Searing hot, even — reshaping Castiel into a molten Icarus.
She kisses back as if she’d just discovered a new flavor, the forbidden fruit too sweet to resist.
Dean’s hands are rough, with nails bitten and some monster’s blood always beneath, with scars that connect the freckles like they’re stars aligned. They’re hungry hands, desperate to reach for the sky and harvest its softness.
Castiel finds herself squished between Dean and the steering wheel, which digs into her shoulder blades. Briefly, at least. Until she reclaims the upper hand by shifting and pinning the huntress down across the bench seat.
Humanity at her fingertips, splayed out for her like some offering at the altar. Skin glowing like simmering gold, veins and limbs trembling like dancing flames, green eyes glassed over like a rainforest; and peering up at her in search for something.
Maybe approval. Or her own worth. Or just the connection. The collision a lesson where Dean is the student.
I don't have a Destiel taglist... yet? Would you guys be interested in one? Let me know!
UMM hello??? This was my first time reading fem!destiel and man... SO fucking hot!!!! I love how in character they are as well in terms of canon, regardless of the genderswap. And flip-flopping from hot, to vulnerability, back to hot again was UNF... chefs kiss!!! You knocked it out of the park @chevroletdean !!! KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH
If you want to join in on our Discord server's reader challenge, click here to be taken to the rules post!
Chosen for "reblog a fanfiction that was posted 1+ year ago"
Howdy! Here's the masterpost for our June monthly challenge entries for The Fanfic Writers of the SPN Fandom Discord Server! Go show these fics some love!
This month's prompts were:
Prompt 1: What better way to fight for equal rights and to celebrate pride than a pride parade? Write a fic with your favorite character(s) attending a Pride March. ,
Prompt 2: "Family don't end with blood." Acceptance and support can run thicker than blood. Write a fic with the Found Family trope. Bonus points if you can make it related to Pride Month!
Prompt 3: Sand under your toes, sipping on fresh lemonade. Don't forget your sunscreen when you write a fic about your favorite character(s) enjoying a day at the beach.
Want in on the fun? Join our Discord group! New prompts are dropped on the first of each month, when there are no other events for that month, and the minimum word count requirement is only 500 words! We'd love to welcome you into our family!
Priding In The Impala 2026 by @talltalesandbedtimestories
Rating: Teen And Up
Word Count: 1,926
Pairing: Gen
The boys get called in to help out with a case that Sandra and Kasey have researched. Dean's gonna have to be bait and show some pride in the process.
Link To Podfic featuring @sam-is-my-safe-word
Family Doesn't End In Blood by @spnbabe67
Rating: Teen And Up
Word Count: 2.9k
Pairing: Dean Winchester & Fem!Reader (Platonic)
After a disastrous meeting with your dad, you end up back at Bobby's and have a heart to heart with Dean
Weird, but nice by @hectatess
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 1,926
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
In a rare lull in between hunts, the boys decide to take a little vacation on the seaside.
It’s going to be Castiel’s first time at the beach, and Dean is not prepared.
Untitled by @fire-of-unknown-origin-fanfic
Rating: Teen and up
Word Count: 1,170
Pairing: Dean x Female OC
That is, considering Dean knows how to relax for a minute. Wrote it as an independent detour, following the main story of my fic Fire of Unknown Origin!
If You Don't, You're Gonna Regret It by @flanneledfae
The Fanfic Writers of the SPN Fandom Discord Server is once again hosting our annual Kinktober and Fictober writing challenge!
For adults, you may use either, or both prompt lists! For anyone under the age of 18, you may only use the Fictober list!
You do not need to be a member of the Discord server to participate!
That's right! This event is open to EVERYONE! So long as you abide by the rules and post correctly, anybody is welcome to write along!
NEW FOR THIS YEAR: We are also accepting ART SUBMISSIONS!!! Please check the rules linked below for more information!
Here are our super awesome prompt lists!
ALL SHIPS ALLOWED INCLUDING OCs, X READER, AND SPN RPF
IMPORTANT LINKS!
Rules
If you would like to join our Discord server, click >>here<< for the invite! Again, it isn't required to participate, but if you did, that'd be super cool! We'd love to welcome you to the FFW Family!
FanFiction Writers of the Supernatural Fandom [Reader Challenge 2026]
(Fanfiction) Writers love praise & attention! Interaction is the fuel that motivates us to create. Sadly, engagement is dwindling across fandom spaces. This Reader Challenge is a chance to give your fellow and favorite authors some well-deserved love. Support your creators and earn yourself a little reward in our Discord Server. Anyone can join, whether or not you are a member of our server — but prizes can only be claimed by members. Join our Discord here!
INFO & RULES:
The goal is to highlight as many fanfictions as possible. To do so, please reblog and comment on some amazing writing on Tumblr! Use the #FFWotSPNF Reader Challenge 2026 hashtag in your reblog. Add this little banner at the end of your reblog-comment to spread the love (Can also be found in the Discord Server):
If you need a little inspiration or are unsure what/how to comment, here are some possible guidelines: Fanfiction Comment Guide, 101 Comment Starters, Guide to Leaving Long and Detailed Comments, A Simple Guide To Not Being Afraid To Write Comments To Fic You Read. A general rule of thumb is: Even something short and simple like “I loved reading this”, a heart emoji, or even happy keyboard smashes are much appreciated. You don’t have to write the perfect essay (but you are welcome to do so, if you want to).
At the end of this challenge, post a “Reader Masterlist” of all the fanfics you reblog-commented to Tumblr. It can look something like this, for example, but you’re free to shape it to your own liking. If you need help creating a masterlist, message Liane @chevroletdean or one of the mods. The only rules for the masterpost are as follows:
Include a link to this information post for our Discord Server somewhere in your Reader Masterlist.
Use the #FFWotSPNF Reader Challenge 2026 hashtag.
Submit the post to the #reader-challenge Discord channel (or tag @fanficwritersofthespnfandom on Tumblr).
The deadline is Friday 08/28/2026, 11:59 PM, CET.
The 9 Reader Challenge Prompts are the minimum, the list of which can be found below. There is no maximum. You are always welcome to reblog more than that – even stuff outside of the prompts.
The FFWotSPNF Reader Challenge 2026 is open to ages 15+. However, if you are a minor, we ask that you interact only with SFW material. Every adult participant must mark 18+ / NSFW content accordingly in their “Reader Masterlist” (for example, indicate adult content with a clear warning). Violation of this rule leads to exclusion from this event and a ban from our server!
The fanfictions can be of any length, about any ship (including reader and OC inserts), and of any genre.
Since we are a SPN community, the fanfictions should be within the Supernatural fandom or adjacent to it. RPF and fanfictions of fandoms that include SPN actors (for example The Boys, Walker, etc.) are also accepted.
READER CHALLENGE PROMPT LIST:
REWARDS:
Every participant who completes the list will get a customized badge posted in our Discord Server.
Every participant who completes the list will unlock a badge next to their Discord username
Every participant can win a prize. The more fanfics you reblog, the higher your chances are. The winner may choose one of the following prizes:
Fic Feature: One of the mods reads and gives a detailed review/promo of a fic you've written, of your choosing (max word count of 30k)
Custom server emoji (must be SFW)
Custom Art or Banner for your fic: @xpurdyglambertx does an art piece or banner for a fic of yours, of your choosing (as long as it isn't a squick for Liz)
This was so much fun! Thank you to all the participants, y'all were so great. And the supporters, who cheered us on from day one. You guys are the absolute best!!
Without further ado, all this year's Sam/Cas Big Bang collaborations are below the cut.
Locked Away
Author: @cerberus-s
Artist: @chevroletdean
Rating: Explicit
Pairings: Temporarily unrequited Sam/Cas, past Dean/Castiel
Additional Tags: Sam Winchester/Castiel, temporary unrequited Sam Winchester/Castiel, past Castiel/Dean Winchester - Relationship, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content
Fic Summary: For so long, Sam loved Castiel in silence while the angel was with Dean. He ignored the sharp ache in his chest whenever Dean and Castiel built a life right in front of him. He swallowed his feelings between hunts, skipped meals, and long nights pretending he was fine.
Unfortunately, Dean finds out.
Even more unfortunately, so does Castiel.
Now, between all the heartbreak, guilt, and quiet devotion, there's apologies, grief, and the terrifying possibility that Castiel might love Sam back.
Summary: After Gadreel, Sam refuses to let himself be possessed again. He has a plan, but he needs an angel. Naturally, there’s only one he trusts. Castiel, for his part, is willing to play the role of the hostile invader, though not without difficulty. It's a dangerous thing to share a body with someone you're secretly, hopelessly in love with.
Link To Fic | Link To Art
Dragon Natural
Author: @karategirl80
Artist: @chevroletdean
Rating: Teen and Up
Pairings: Sam Winchester/Castiel
Additional Tags: Dragons eating prey, blood, Supportive Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Homophobic John Winchester, dragon-rider!Sam, dragon-rider!Cas, Dragon!Ruby, Dragon!Meg, Dragons eating prey, blood
Fic Summary: Loosely based on Anne McCaffery’s Dragons of Pern series. Sam is the son of John Winchester, Lord of Winchester Hold. He’s been obsessed with dragon riders his entire life, and wants nothing more than to join their ranks. His father thinks this is a waste of his son’s abilities, when he should be learning more about helping his brother run the Hold. So when dragon rider Gabriel comes to Winchester Hold to search for possible dragon riders, John does everything in his power to keep Sam away from the rider. Despite John’s best efforts, Sam manages to catch the rider’s attention and is swept off to the dragon weyr, where he finds himself way out of his element. Particularly when he meets Gabriel’s nephew…
Link To Fic | Link To Art
Yesterday's Memory Of Tomorrow
Author: @samanddean76
Artist: @xpurdyglambertx
Pairing: Castiel/Sam Winchester Rating: Mature | Word Count: 8,718
Tags: Protective Castiel, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Prophetic Dreams, Time Travel, Castiel's True Form, Natural Disasters, Mt St Helens 1980 Eruption, Visions, Researching Sam, Protective Dean, Naked Sun Bathing, Castiel Helps Sam To Get Dean An Awesome Gift, Canon-Typical Violence, Sam Rescues Castiel, Top/Bottom Versatile Sam, Top/Bottom Versatile Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Happy Ending, Written for the Sam/Cas Big Bang 2025-2026, Original
Summary: Castiel had gone missing. Yet again. But this time felt different to Sam. Mostly because of the vivid and wildly disturbing dreams that had been haunting him for weeks. The dreams felt almost prophetic in their intensity, and Castiel kept appearing to Sam, trying to give him clues as to how he might be able to rescue the wayward angel. All Sam needed to save the day was a little Latin, a touch of time travel, and the faith of his convictions. Oh, and to try to not look guilty as hell whenever Mt. St. Helens might get mentioned.
Fic Summary: A few months after losing his brother in the barn, Sam reunites with Castiel. Trouble arises when Sam is abducted and cursed to have an insatiable desire for Castiel's angel blood. Sam fears attacking Castiel to drink his blood. Cas is desperate to help him no matter the cost. Rowena's idea for a cure is getting good magic from another world. She gives them an easy target– a dying good witch named Chris Halliwell. Not wanting anyone else to die, Sam stops Cas from stealing Chris’s magic and demands Cas save him. With Jack's god power at his disposal, Cas heals an otherwise fatal injury. While in Chris's childhood home, Halliwell manor, they have three hours to remove Sam's curse. But death stalks the witch and forces delays in finishing the countercurse spell. Their time in this other world takes them to the manor's attic where an eerily empty playpen remains after a recent kidnapping down to the basement where an evil shadowy creature resides and lastly, a demon's underground lair where death lingers. It doesn't help that Sam and Cas also must sort out their feelings for each other following Castiel's love confession to Dean. Can Sam be freed from the curse before time runs out?
Link To Fic | Link To Art
Agents of Trauma
Author: @jupiterinkwell-blog
Artist: @leporidaee
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Sam Winchester/Castiel, Tyson Brady/Sam Winchester
Additional Tags: Violence, drug use, non-consensual drug use, angst, FBI, AU, Hurt Sam Winchester, Autistic Castiel
Fic Summary: Agent Sam Winchester is one of the best in his field. He proves every day that he can still do his job even after past traumas. With his brother as his partner, he's on the case of the murders of an organization called the angels, but things get complicated when Castiel Novak is brought in as a private consultant. Sam hates him at first, but they soon find they have more in common than he thinks.
