gifs are for morons

Imagine Crowley has a confession for you

Crowley X Reader

“We need him, whether you guys like it or not.” You stood in front of the demon, your hands on the blades you kept in your pockets, ready to pull them at any second. The Winchester’s exchanged surprised glances at your behavior. “You kill him, I kill you. Got it?” You looked between the two, waiting for an answer other than their shocked facial expressions.

“What has gotten into you?” Dean growled, taking a step towards you. You pulled out one of the blades and rested it against your thigh, a subtle threat.

“I’m doing my job without letting my emotions get the best of me. You should try it sometime.” You snapped. Dean’s jaw clenched, obviously more than annoyed with you. This was out of character for you. You always showed Sam and Dean the upmost respect, but something about the man behind you caused a shift within. You knew you had to protect him.

“Then you deal with him.” Dean pointed a finger at you, something a father would do to his daughter, and then turned to leave, Sam following behind. Sam looked over his shoulder at you, concern in his eyes. You sighed, giving him the smallest of smiles to reassure him. Once the Winchester’s were gone, you turned to face the cause of the situation.

“That was quite the show, Poppet.” Crowley smirked. “Seeing you get so defensive over little old me gets me bothered in all of the right ways.”

“Shut up.” You snapped, running a hand through your hair and pulling up a chair so that you could sit across from him. “I just need you to tell me about the deals going on in this town. There’s too many and we don’t know how to stop them all.”

“You don’t. They’re deals, (Y/n). Once those morons lock lips with one of my demons, that’s that.” He shook his head at you. “Why don’t we talk about something else, yeah? How about the way you can’t stand to see me tortured and beaten? Or the way you’re constantly trying to justify the evil things I do?”

“Don’t try and turn this into some twisted romance. I’m here to save those peop-”

“Romance? I didn’t say anything about romance, Kitten.” Crowley raised his brows, feigning innocence.

“I don’t care what you said.” You threw your hands to your side, starting to get aggravated.

“How about you tell me why you haven’t pulled a knife on me for pissing you off when you were so quick to threaten Moose and Squirrel. They’re like family to you and you were ready to kill them to protect a demon.” He was getting inside your head. You stood up from your seat, turning away from him. You considered pulling out your other blade, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Why couldn’t you do it? You shook your head, annoyed with yourself. “You know, I’ve done the same thing.” You turned back to him, confused.

“What are you talking about?” You almost snapped.

“Have you never found it off that none of my demons have ever come after you?” He asked. Honestly, you never really thought about it, but now that he’s mentioned it, you can’t remember a demon ever attacking you specifically. “That’s because when the thought even crosses their mind, I take their head off their shoulders.” Crowley’s eyes were following your every move. “Because I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You blinked, more confused than ever. “Listen, I just want to know how to stop-”

“No, you listen.” Crowley interrupted. “You’ve been dancing around this for far too long and I know damn well if I’m not the one to say this, you never will. We care for each other, (Y/n). We protect each other, we go out of our way to make sure only good things come to one another. What does that look like to you?”

“Are you trying to say that you’re in love with me, Crowley?” You walked towards him.

“Well, when you say it like that..” Crowley raised his brows and looked to the floor. “Yes, I guess that is what I’m trying to say.”

Some weird fluffy/cracky shit I guess with this hottie @impalaimagining

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Proposals On Set

“Pop! Pop! Pop that crotch!”

You burst out into laughter as you watched Jensen thrust like a moron. 

How a man that hot could be such a dork was beyond you. 

“BAM! BAM! BAM!”

He accentuated each word with a hard thrust, walking towards you, a grin growing on his face. 

“Like what you see?”

You bit your lip, glad most of the crew were getting lunch, while you sat on set with Jensen, enjoying the little time you got to be alone.

“Mmm…I think I’d prefer if you were naked and inside me”, you whispered, standing and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You guys are so gross”.

Rolling your eyes, you looked over your shoulder to glare at Jared.

“Shut the fuck up, Jared. You know damn well if your wife was still here, you’d be drooling over her, like you always were”.

He blushed slightly, shaking his head, before leaving you and Jensen alone.

You turned back around to see Jensen’s eyes on you, a look of amazement in them.

“What?”

“Just-you think it’s time we became the married couple on set?”

Your smile grew as you bit your lip, suddenly becoming shy around the one man you’d always been so comfortable with.

“Mr Ackles. Are you asking me to marry you?”

He shrugged, his arms tightening around you as he puled you further into his body.

“As long as it’s a yes. I’m pretty sure the ring sat in the drawer at home is tired of waiting to be worn”.

Pulling him down, you kissed Jensen softly, your fingers playing with the soft hairs at the base of his neck.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to, if the ring’s sad”, you sighed dramatically.

Jensen chuckled, kissing your nose.

“You’re such a dork”.

“And you love it!”

“Damn right I do”.


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Dean was pissed.

God dammit if you weren’t the most stubborn, strong-willed, unruly wildcat of a woman he’d ever met. Normally Dean considered that a good thing. You were a kick ass hunter, and had literally and figuratively knocked him off his feet the first time the two of you met. He’d been a love-struck fool, pulling out all the stops to try and win you over, using his best lines, turning up the charm - the whole nine yards. And you’d laughed in his face, giggling at his attempts to hit on you, which had been quite a shock. But somehow the chase was even better, and boy had you given him one. It had taken months of friendship, getting to know you slowly, working through all the walls, all the emotional barriers you had. You were a challenge, a conundrum, but Dean loved every moment of figuring you out.

And when you’d finally opened up to him and everything had fallen into place, he suddenly found that you might just be his saving grace. Your spirit hadn’t changed and you were still feisty as all hell, but you were caring. You had an enormous heart, and you were fiercely loyal. Dean found that you calmed him down, had a settling presence whenever you were around. You were home.

But good god you could be such a pain in the frickin ass.

You were currently mad at him for shamelessly flirting with a witness, and Dean, feeling rather insolent about the whole thing, had defended himself when you brought it up. He’d done it to get information, was just working the case to figure out what was going on.

That apparently hadn’t been a good answer.

After some yelling followed by a slammed door and an evening of sullen silence and angry glares, you, Sam and Dean went out for dinner. Unfortunately for Dean, the local sheriff’s deputy was sitting at the bar, and after he gave you a wide smile, you’d joined him. The two of you were well into your third round of drinks, and you were laughing at something he said, leaning in to rest your hand on his shoulder.

“Oh boy,” Sam muttered around his beer, making Dean’s head snap around.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” his brother said quickly, “It’s just he was checking her ass out this morning at the station.”

“She’s just doing this because of that witness,” Dean grumbled, glaring back over at you. He was sure you could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, but you didn’t turn.

“Dean I’m sure she’s just trying to get under your skin,” Sam offered.

“Yeah that’s not really helpful, Sammy,” Dean growled, sparing him a glare before turning back to glower at you.

“I’m just saying that you know she isn’t serious. She’s crazy about you, man.”

“That doesn’t look serious to you?” Dean demanded as that goddamn deputy put his hand on your thigh.

“Dean, calm down. She’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Well she’s succeeding,” he snarled, tossing back the rest of his whiskey and pushing out of his chair.

“Dean!” Sam called, but Dean wasn’t listening. All he could see was that guy’s hand on your leg, and the rest of his vision had become a blurred red.

“Y/N,” he barked, making you jump slightly and look up, eyes wide and surprisingly guilty. Deputy Douchebag just raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconcerned about the intrusion. “We’re leaving,” Dean informed you. Those words seemed to change something, though, and your gaze hardened.

“I’m having a nice time, Dean,” you said dismissively, beginning to turn back towards the bar.

“Don’t think you understood me, sweetheart,” Dean snapped, grabbing your upper arm, “that wasn’t a suggestion.” He yanked you off the bar stool, making the deputy shoot to his feet.

“Hey, take it easy now,” he said, holding his hands out.

“Don’t start with me, moron,” Dean muttered, pulling you along easily across the bar despite your vehement protests and struggling. Dean was grateful to hear Sam’s voice behind him, calming down the concerned officer, assuring him that he would never hurt you, that everything was just fine. You started yelling as soon as the two of you stepped out into the cool evening air.

“You caveman,” you snarled, “let go of me!”

“Nope,” Dean said calmly, still leading you along through the parking lot.

“I swear to god, Winchester, let go!” You shouted, but Dean ignored you, heading straight for the impala.

“Get in the car,” he commanded.

“Screw you,” you spat, finally yanking your arm free of his hold.

“Excuse me?” Dean asked, his voice dangerously low. You were standing by the passenger door, Dean in front of you with his arms crossed.

“You heard me. Can’t take what you dish out, huh?” You asked with a bitter laugh, turning like you were going to head back towards the building, “Fucking figures-” Dean grabbed you, pushing you up against the car so fast you let out a little squeak of surprise.

“I did not have my hands on that woman, and I certainly didn’t let her feel me up,” he growled right in your ear. He didn’t miss your shaky breath as he pressed his body against yours, pinning you against the impala. “You. Are. Mine,” he breathed, smiling smugly when you shivered. Despite your anger and general dominant attitude, you absolutely fell apart whenever Dean got all authoritative like this, showing a surprising amount of submission.

Dean took advantage of that knowledge, running one hand up into your hair.

“Now you’re going to get in the car and we’re going back to the motel,” he said quietly, lips brushing against your neck as he tugged gently on your hair. Your eyes fluttered shut and you let out a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan. “What was that?” Dean demanded sharply, making you drop your head forward onto his chest.

“Yes, god yes, Dean…” you moaned, making Dean’s pulse race.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, planting a kiss on top of your head before opening the door behind you. Surprisingly, you hesitated for a moment, the dangerous glint in your eyes suggesting you might just disobey him. But with one last look, you ducked into the car.


Submitted by @duherica (sorry it took so long!)

“We have to create culture, don’t watch TV, don’t read magazines, don’t even listen to NPR. Create your own roadshow. The nexus of space and time where you are now is the most immediate sector of your universe, and if you’re worrying about Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton or somebody else, then you are disempowered, you’re giving it all away to icons, icons which are maintained by an electronic media so that you want to dress like X or have lips like Y. This is shit-brained, this kind of thinking. That is all cultural diversion, and what is real is you and your friends and your associations, your highs, your orgasms, your hopes, your plans, your fears. And we are told ‘no’, we’re unimportant, we’re peripheral. 'Get a degree, get a job, get a this, get a that.’ And then you’re a player, you don’t want to even play in that game. You want to reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into a half-baked moron consuming all this trash that’s being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world.”

Terence McKenna 🍄

Found this one just for you <3

@notnaturalanahi :Last one… maybe not, idk. I have no idea what’s going on here! 

U both know me…so some weird fluffy, slightly cracky stuff for u, @notnaturalanahi @impalaimagining. Also, this is for @wayward-mirage RPF Appreciation Day. 

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Metaphors

“So-anyway-to answer your question, yes, I was in fact naked in that picture. And no. No one else, apart from y/n, gets to see me like that”.

Misha chuckled at the responses, reading comment after comment as they arrived on the screen.

He read through a few more questions, until he came across one he was waiting for.

“Where’s y/n right now?”

He smirked, looking over at you.

Turning the laptop around, he let the fans watch as bit your lip in concentration, typing away, not noticing the eyes that were on you as you continued working.

“Perfect, right?” he asked, turning it back around, a proud smile on his face.

The fans gushed in the comments section about the two of you. 

Relationship goals’ they called it.

Hell, they referred to you as royalty, even though they barely knew anything about you.

But who was Misha to complain about that?

In his eyes, you were royalty.

Hell, you were better than royalty. 

You were the most precious thing in the world.

In his world.

You were everything.

“Hey, y/n!” he yelled, getting your attention for a second.

“Hmm?”

“I love you!”

You smirked, blowing him a kiss, never turning down any declarations of love, no matter how busy you were.

“Love you too, dork”, you said, winking, before getting back to your work.



You heard Misha say your name a few times during the live-stream, your ears perking up for a second, before your attention went back to your own stuff.

But then, you heard him talk about you again.

Except, this time, you actually caught a few seconds of what he was saying.

“So, what y/n does is hold it really tight, like so”.

You looked over, to see Misha gripping a banana with his hands, holding it tight, before he peeled it.

“Peel that skin back. Nice and slow”.

He knew you were listening.

He’d watched you working for hours now.

Misha knew you needed a break.

And what better way to get you distracted and away from your laptop, than to make you think he was revealing all your bedroom secrets.

“MISHA!”

He jumped up, watching as you raced over and snatched the banana away.

“What the hell!”

He held his hands up, eyes wide as he moved back.

“What did I do?”

You scoffed, standing and glaring down at him. 

“Really? I say to peel the skin back? To hold it tight?”

“What? That’s how you taught me to peel a banana. Remember?”

You opened your mouth to say something, not sure if you should trust him or not.

“Hmm…guys! What was he talking about?” you asked the fans, coming round and leaning on Misha’s shoulders, your face beside his.

You waited, reading their responses, as Misha stared at you.

He pecked your cheek, his chapped lips rough against your skin.

You couldn’t help the smile on your face, knowing you couldn’t stay mad at him. 

Besides, the fans had proven his innocence. 

“Fine. You’re off the hook”.

You were about to go back to your laptop, but Misha held your hand.

“Stay for a bit. They wanna talk to you”.

You groaned, but obliged, secretly loving to talk to the fans every now and then.

“Oh, by the way, that was totally a metaphor. Y’know…banana…BANANA!”

You smacked Misha on the chest as he burst out laughing, shaking your head and trying, but failing to keep the grin off your face.

“Moron”.


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