love em leave em

Hookup

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 5,531

Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving) fingering, this is PWP

Prompt: Sam meets up with the reader at a bar, and neither of them want to go home alone. Both their jobs require them to move around a lot, and sometimes, they get a little antsy and crave the affection of another person. That leads them to Sam’s motel room for one night of pure fun.

You didn’t want, or even need a partner to settle down with. You had grown used to being alone and working alone and doing just about everything alone. But, a girl gets antsy from time to time.

Keep reading

So i’m not really in Supernatural fandom, but my roommate is and I’ve seen the series (except for the most recent few episodes), and I wanted to share a revelation I had.

Some fans have noticed the inconsistency between the episodes “After School Special” (4x13) and “Bad Boys” (9x07).

The flashbacks in the two episodes should only actually be a few months apart.  But in “Bad Boys” Dean is shown to be a fumbling teenager who has his first kiss…

We don’t see him and Sam together, but the glimpse we get of Sam is a little kid playing with a toy plane out the Impala’s window.

In “After Schools Special” Dean is portrayed as a towering badass love ‘em & leave 'em sex god

And Sam is a realistic highschool freshman.


Anyway… I figured out why this makes PERFECT SENSE!  Because “After School Special” is a Sam-centric episode, and the flashback we get is thus shaped by his POV.  So remembers himself accurately, but remembers Dean as this mature badass.

On the other hand “Bad Boys” is entirely Dean’s POV, so he remembers himself accurately, but remembers Sam as a sweet little kid, even though he should have been pushing into his teens at the time.

So in other words Dylan Everett (2013) and Colin Ford (2008) accurately reflect high school aged Sam and Dean at the same time.  Brock Kelly is just how Sam saw Dean.  And the little kid with the plane is how Dean saw Sam.

A Little Pathetic

Peter Quill x Reader, fluff.

My first Peter fic ever, so be nice.

Fooled Around & Fell in Love by Elvin Bishop

Drax’s words ran miles in Peter’s head as he nursed a cold drink in a sleazy bar, on some planet they decided to take a break on.

There are two types of beings in the universe: those who dance, and those who do not.

Peter groaned into his drink, annoyed at the pulling in his stomach.

You need to find a woman who’s pathetic, like you.

Keep reading

Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em:Part 1

Originally posted by whovian182

Characters: Y/n, Derek, Lydia

Pairing: Derek x Y/n (FEMALE READER)

Warnings: Swearing, smut, unprotected sex, fluff, angst-abandonment.  

Word count: 2368

Summary: Y/n and Derek have a night together resulting in life changing consequences. 

A/N: This is based on a request I got from @sallyp-53Could you write about a vampire female reader being a part of the pack in teen wolf, where instead of Derek ending the party thrown at his loft he ends up hanging out with her at the party, I know they can’t get drunk but for stories sake it happens and they end up sleeping together. They are still good friends after but the reader later finds out she’s with child and keeps trying to figure out the right time and way to tell Derek Sorry if this is way to long or not to your liking ❤️ ur writing! Ok, so once u read this, you will realise the request has been changed a bit. I was initially going to do a fluffy oneshot, but it ended up becoming an angsty 2 parter. Sorry. Hope u like it!

Tagged peeps: @sallyp-53 @december-sunrise @beaconhills17 @winchesterreid @helvonasche@fly-f0rever @kaitlynnlovegood

Masterlist


The music was blaring and the all the teens were dancing. 

Y/n didn’t think it would be good idea to do this.

Not in Derek’s loft. But they went ahead and did it anyways.

So, y/n was stood there, watching basically the entire high school dancing, paint on their bodies ,as their nasty hormonal asses grinded on each other.

It was sickening to her. 

Not because she was grossed out by the grinding. 

But the hormones. 

They smelt putrid.

You see, y/n was a vampire. 

She was born one. 

She’d always had a heightened sense of sound, smell and sight. 

Also super strength, speed, night vision. 

On top of that, she was a special kind of vampire. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Between the shows Lucifer and Goblin, which one do you like better?

Goblin is by far the superior show. Goblin was a finely-crafted four course meal where every dish was a recontextualization of my favorite foods. (Surprise redemption arc confit! Destined arranged marriage on a bed of pin(ing) nuts! Coq-au-enemies-to-reluctant friends!) It was visually stunning and I went through the entire cycle of human emotions watching it, from surprise and affection and delight to grief and aching and—it never once lost me. It’s carefully and persuasively written, and so, so good.

But Lucifer is more fun, Lucifer is a bag of chips, or a chocolate bar—junk food sure, but reliably delicious and easy to swallow; a romp propelled by the incredible chemistry of its cast and the different things Tom Ellis can do with his face. It doesn’t have to be a Modern Television Classic, it’s just here to give you a good time, hit its character beats (unerringly, I should mention) and go home. And that’s exactly what it does, time and again.

They’re so different—lucky for me, I don’t have to choose just one.

Hold On, I’m Coming (Part 4)

Originally posted by yourfavoritedirector

Summary: Bobby confronts Dean at work. Later, you decide to fix things once and for all, but Dean thwarts your plan.

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,300

Warnings: language, mild angst

Check out the Series Masterlist

Keep reading

since it’s been One Thousand Years since i’ve uploaded a fic (tsnm will be updated soon i promise), here’s a reminder of some of my oneshots, for all your multishipping needs!

Why Taylor Swift Is The Greatest Living Songwriter (Under 60) Taylor

I recently found myself at a BMI Awards dinner where the song publishing rights organization was handing out some career achievement awards, the first of which went to the classic ‘60s team of Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil. And then they gave one to Taylor Swift, in one of those cases where they have to name the award to the person it’s being given to because it feels a little too uncomfortable to give the standard “lifetime” award to someone in her 20s. In her speech, Swift gave props to her elders: “I first wanted to say to Cynthia Weil, to Barry Mann, and to Carole King, you, the Brill Building, your legacy, are the reason we do what we do. Many of us in this room can’t dream of accomplishing what you guys have accomplished.”

Except she already has. And (heresy alert!) more. Swift is a rightful heir to the Brill Building tradition, with all the mastery of pop craftsmanship that entails, but she’s also the finest contemporary inheritor we have to the confessional singer/songwriter throne. She’s Barry Mann and Bruce Springsteen, together in one silver metallic mini dress-wearing package. That’s why I say Taylor Swift is our greatest living songwriter—under-60 division, just to be safe. But I digress.

I am glad I’m alive in the prime era of Taylor Swift the same way I felt glad to be alive in the half-century of Dylan and Springsteen and The Beatles and Costello. I’ve leaned forward into my first listens to 1989 and Red the same way I thirsted for the on-sale moments of The River and Nebraska and Imperial Bedroom and Time Out of Mind. These are the moments — all too infrequent in the 2010s, if you’re a recovering rock snob — that you live for as a music fan and especially singer/songwriter aficionado: the opening of a magazine you subscribe to, in which the editor-publisher has promised to bleed onto every page in some fashion. You look forward to admiring the craft and you want to know that you’ve been handed the next six months’ or year’s worth of earworms all at once. But most of all you want to feel you’re about to make that passionate connection with a deep-feeler who knows you better than your own best excuse for a best friend.

Where Swift is most like the great confessional rock writers, and least like the Brill Building set, is in her propensity to fill her songs with seemingly stray details. If you’re writing by the books, you learn early on not to include random asides that throw listeners out of the commonality of the lyric. But Springsteen, Dylan, Costello, et al. have faith that, whatever is lost in relatability by including something specifically autobiographical is a gain for fans who know that that weird minutiae confirms the rest of the emotions as authentic. When Swift interrupts Out of the Woods to mention “Twenty stitches in a hospital room/Remember when you hit the brakes too soon,” that’s about as un-Brill as Bruce talking about Crazy Janey and Greaser Lake. But the specificity of the bridge makes the universality of chorus more meaningful, even if the unstable relationship you’re being reminded of by the song didn’t involve a visit to the ER. It may seem peculiar to the 21st century that we can confirm who the significant others in Swift’s songs are by picking out lyrical details about eye colors or fire signs or scarves and checking them against her exes. But is finding out whether All Too Well was about Jake or Harry that terribly different than the thrill of figuring out whether Dylan’s It Ain’t Me, Babe was about Suzi or Joan, but with Google taking the place of waiting years for a biography?

The position that Swift is Actually Quite Awesome is not nearly as controversial among the older white guy set than it would have been a few years ago. You only get a B for courage now, not the former A, if you speak up at a cocktail party and say, “No, I don’t mean it’s good for what it is, or she’s a positive role model for my daughter or a gateway drug to Courtney Barnett, I mean she is truly the shit.” (Crickets may still ensue, mind you, if no longer outright shaming.) You can attribute this in part to Ryan Adams, whose album-length cover version of '1989’ did a fairly excellent job of indie-splaining Swift to people who only needed to hear that her songs could be rearranged in the styles of The Smiths and Elliott Smith to sign off on her. As much as I enjoy Adams’ '1989’, it falls just a little short as reinvention, or revelation: You kind of sense him wanting to get credit for being the first to discover that Swift’s frothiest sounding songs all have minor chords and melancholy under the Max Martin-ization. The real problem with Adams’ interpretations—which is not a fatal problem, given how good Wildest Dreams sounds as an R.E.M. song—is that he doesn’t really have that much use for the words, given how uninterested he is in emphasizing particular words or phrases and how he throws away some of the best lines. (To be fair, this is pretty much Adams’ approach toward his own lyrics, too.) Not that with Swift the lyrics are everything, when she has such a gift for melodic delights and surprises… but, yeah, the words are kind of everything.

Going back to Swift’s 2006 self-titled debut now, it sounds a little primitive, in retrospect. Which is fine: “primitivist” is exactly what you’d expect or hope for from a girl who released at 16 an album of songs she’d mostly written at 14 and 15. No one should sound 30 as a teenager, unless she’s Fiona Apple. (Hearing Apple’s eloquent teen jadedness when she was a freshman artist felt as impressive and spooky as Captain Howdy’s voice coming out of Regan MacNeil’s mouth.) At the time, it was a widely held assumption that co-writer Liz Rose was the brains of the operation. But you couldn’t help but notice that the best song on the album, Our Song, was a solo Swift composition, penned before she had access to the best song editors Music Row could offer. It sounded utterly conversational , establishing Swift’s knack for writing in complete sentences in a way that sounds completely diaristic and completely musical. It embraced both metaphor (“Our song is the slamming screen door”) and the meta (being one of those songs that is self-conscious about how it is, in fact, a song). It was winsome, guileless, and juvenile—in the best way—on top of being freakily expert for a song written by an underclassman for a school talent show.


Two years later (Swift’s follow-up albums have always been two years later, up until now), she came up with Fearless, which was so much more accomplished that it won her the Grammy for Album of Year, the first time that’d been accomplished by a record made by a teenager. But looking back at it now, you can see it was the only time she ever really marked time, stylistically, as a record-maker. The breakthrough that mattered was 2010’s Speak Now, which was her first real “pop album” (at least for those of us who pay attention to content and not the officially mandated tropes that insisted that honor belongs to '1989’). Just this once, she wrote the entire album by herself, in a rather deliberate F-you to everyone who figured she’d been propped up by Nashville pros. Similar auteurist turns by pop and country artists with points to prove have not always gone so spectacularly but Swift used the opportunity not just to defend but to diversify, as great writers and investors will. This DIY show of tour-de-force ran the gauntlet of effervescent girl-group pop (the title song), Evanescence goth-rock (Haunted), cheerful neo-bluegrass (Mean), girl-on-mean-girl pop-punk (Better Than Revenge), and even a token transitional single in the country-folk style of the first two albums (Mine).

'1989’ is the masterpiece of her career so far
'Speak Now’ also incidentally included the most searing, stark, boldly confessional song by a major artist since John Lennon’s Cold Turkey. (Hyperbole intended.) This was Dear John, a slow, epic-length missive to a love-'em-young-and-leave-'em type that was jaw-dropping in its vulnerability and rage. Never mind the lucky stroke that apparently had the rock star who used and discarded Swift being a guy really named John; Swift does like her literalism, so she probably wouldn’t written a public dear-John letter to a Tom, Dick, or (even) Harry. It’s a ballad that creates the illusion of the artist having vomited onto the page—for those of us who like that sort of thing—but actually belies a severe level of craft beneath the bile. The song rises to an emotional victory, as Swift goes from paying witness to “all the girls that you’ve run dry (that) have tired, lifeless eyes 'cause you’ve burned them out” to being the one who “took your matches before fire could catch me, so don’t look now: I’m shining like fireworks over your sad, empty town.” Compare this to the other great fireworks song of 2010, Katy Perry’s, and there is simply no pyromaniacal contest.


With 'Red’ another couple of years later, she bid a fond F-you to her own previous F-you and reintroduced co-writers to her stable, now adding Max Martin and Shellback as collaborators on a choice trio of songs, as if to say: I dare you to knock this block off. Aside from the handful of tracks with those guys, though, 'Red’ felt more like a classic singer/songwriter album than anything she’d done before or certainly since. It was all about lost love, and hardly for the first time, but now Swift was jettisoning her “better than revenge” approach to achieving payback in song and taking equal responsibility for relational failures, and it was all very sensitive and self-examining and enlightened. So when I got my first listen to the determinedly frothier '1989’ a couple of years still later, I lamented the loss of the previous album’s hard-fought breakthroughs in songwriting maturity.

Lamented it for about two minutes, that is. '1989’ is the masterpiece of her career, so far, and that’s not withstanding the thick gloss of candy coating that covered the whole endeavor now that Martin was fully on board as guiding executive producer as well as hands-on guy on about half the tracks. The meme favored by some critics, that Swift had sold out on us with all this interference by the reigning kings of the pop machinery—and after all we’d done to defend her as an artiste!—was misguided even by the usual standards of stick-up-one’s-ass bias and entitlement. It may seem counter-intuitive, for those of us who usually live and die by singer/songwriter yardsticks, to say that '1989’ is Swift’s most mature album, when there is barely a guitar anywhere in earshot for the singer’s tears to fall upon. But as it turns out, it is possible to talk intelligently, walk in rhythm, and chew bubblegum at the same time.

Yes, '1989’ is a less outrightly emotional album than any of its predecessors. Swift herself has said it’s the first time she wasn’t writing in the wake of a heartache. And that’s part of what makes the album so seasoned and smart. If all the previous albums were her “breakup album,” '1989’ is her maybe-we-are-ever-getting-back-together album. It’s about being just a little bit rueful about past relationships—in a less world-ending, drama queen-y fashion than the take-no-prisoners approach that admittedly made a lot of us fall for her in the first place – and largely about that impulse to reconnect, even as you sit by the phone and consider what a terrible idea that would be. She’s thinking back on a breakup that wasn’t that traumatic (possibly one with Harry Styles, if we’re to take the cheeky title of Style literally), and considering every negative and possible angle to rekindling an old flame. As a result, a lot of the songs on '1989’ are about mixed emotions, which are by and large the hardest kind to write.

She understands more brilliantly the power of dynamics — that even the most grandiose song can benefit by suddenly getting completely naked for 40 seconds.

And here is where we quote another great pop writer, F. Scott Fitzgerald, who famously said: “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.” Swift is showing us that first-rate intelligence when she encapsulates the divisions we all experience as we find the good and bad in people, lovers and otherwise: “You always knew how to push my buttons/You give me everything and nothing.” “Ten months sober, I must admit/Just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it.” “This love is good, this love is bad/This love is alive, back from the dead.” As the CEO of her own corporation, Swift has had a lot of time to think about risk/reward ratios. Grappling with that in matters of love is part of her giftedness and increasing talent as a writer.

I think again of the congratulations Ryan Adams got for bringing out the sadder emotional undercurrents in '1989’’s material. He deserves some of it, but it’s not as if Swift didn’t make that a fairly easy discovery. Bad Blood is the most blatantly confectionary song on '1989,’ with a sing-song-y quality of the chorus makes you think Avril Lavigne, if you’re making comparisons. But would Avril, or any other pop star you can bring to mind, have interrupted the beats and chants for a lengthy, virtually a cappella bridge that brings the mood down with its warnings about bullet holes and living with ghosts? It’s akin to the hyper-produced song on her previous album, I Knew You Were Trouble, where Swift puts an end to all the dubstep to very quietly wonder, almost sotto voce, whether the object of her affections ever loved her, the other girl, “or anyone.” In the big beat era, she understands more brilliantly the power of dynamics—that even the most grandiose song can benefit by suddenly getting completely naked for 40 seconds.

Blank Space, meanwhile, shows Swift to have under-heralded skills as maybe the greatest comedy writer since Eminem. As probably everyone who wasn’t completely divorced from pop culture in 2015 knows, Swift wrote it as a sort of spoof of her own image as a serial romancer (which is to say, a girl known for dating about half as many partners as a typical guy her age). When she says she’s got a blank space “and I’ll write your name,” it’s understood that she means she’ll write an excoriating song about the dude later on—she’s in on that joke. But amid the nearly Randy Newman-esque humor and exaggeration, there’s a real undercurrent of pain and possible self-knowledge. The time limits that come up in lines like “I can make the bad guys good for a weekend” and “Find out what you want/Be that girl for a month” don’t sound like they’re being played strictly for ironic laughs.

She is maybe the greatest comedy writer since Eminem.

Is she a spokeswoman for a generation? You might be on thin ice using that kind of phraseology for someone who spends so little time writing outside of the relational realm. But Swift does have an understanding of impermanence that seems uniquely millennial. She’s talked about how she looks at the length of her parents’ marriage and no longer takes it as a given she’ll find a lifetime partnership, which would probably come as a surprise to the younger Swift who wrote Love Story. But she finds a haunting beauty in what we might call planned obsolescence. “Wildest Dreams” pulls off the particularly tricky time-traveling feat of looking ahead to a future in which you’re looking back to the past… and of being intensely sexy and rueful at the same time. “You’ll see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night, burning it down,” she sings. “Someday when you leave me, I bet these memories follow you around.” That moment when you’re in the heat of passion, leaving your body just long enough to realize you’ll be nostalgic for it someday? If you’ve ever experienced it, you probably never thought somebody would nail it in a song.

Not that you have to be a millennial to be capable of considering how things are likely to end even in the midst of everything going right. I was trying to remember what song the future-nostalgia of “Wildest Dreams” reminded me of, in some weird, roundabout way, and then it came to me: Dylan’s You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go. It’s maybe heretical to compare the bard with this girl from the north country, but not so heretical to say: Great minds wistfully think alike. And we should all feel a little lonely if either of them ditched us.

Mistaken Identity

Originally posted by highwaytosupernatural

Summary: Mistaking Dean for your blind date saves your life… literally

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,500

Warnings: making out? Home invasion/being attacked in your own home. 

A/N: This is for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog trope challenge! My prompt was #22: mistaken identity leads to a relationship. Considering doing a part 2, but unsure at the moment. Enjoy!

Keep reading

Yuri on Ice ep 10 thoughts!!

i already thought Yuri on Ice was incredibly well structured, but ep 10 has BLOWN MY FUCKIN MIND omfg. now we know about yuuri’s ~drunken escapades~ we can view the entire damn show in a different light. like:

  • yuuri literally IS the love-’em-and-leave-em playboy in the Eros story?? HE AND VICTOR ARE EVEN POSING TOGETHER IN THE SAME WAY IN THE CREDITS PHOTOS.
  • yuuri was subconsciously dancing his own damn love story.
  • so… when victor was all, “i know you can do this Eros programme, yuuri,” HE KNEW FROM PERSONAL EXPERIENCE because they’d already ~danced the night away~ together.
  • can u? even? imagine? victor’s internal monologue? every time yuuri nervously said he couldn’t portray Eros and had to imagine a pork cutlet bowl for inspiration??
  • victor! didn’t know!! that yuuri couldn’t remember that night!! LOOK AT HIS DAMN FACE WHEN YUURI SAID HE COULDN’T REMEMBER:
  • so victor has spent almost an ENTIRE YEAR wondering if yuuri is being standoffish or embarrassed or what? which paints the beach scene in an entirely new light.
  • AND ALSO it totally changes the tone of victor’s arrival in Hatetsu! like, his ~flirty behavior originally felt comedic but quite silly and OTT, whereas now… we know he actually arrived on yuuri’s invitation, thanks to a combination of Drunk Dancing Eros Yuuri and the more ~serious and meaningful~ epistolary invitation of the Stay Close To Me video.
  • victor literally came to hatetsu BECAUSE YUURI ASKED HIM TO, effectively leaving his own figure skating career in the dust
  • when victor offered yuuri a commemorative photo, he definitely meant “commemorative” omfg but yuuri assumed victor thought he was a fan… while victor thought he was blanking him. WHAT MIXED SIGNALS!!! i die.
  • also this whole ep is a great depiction of how yuuri is totally convinced that he’s socially isolated, meanwhile the rest of the skating community is like, “let’s have dinner together! remember last year when all of us saw you get drunk and dance in ur underwear?”
  • like, seriously yuuri. you thought victor wouldn’t know who you were, when you were literally in the Grand Prix Final, a competition with only six people in it?
  • victor was jaded and alone at the peak of his career, looking for a new direction in life, when yuuri appeared and turned the formal Grand Prix banquet into a hella fun party and dipped Victor in a ballroom dancing move and then asked for him to be his coach, AND THEN delivered a perfect rendition of victor’s gold medal-winning program… and then proceeded to spend the next 11 months acting like it’s no big deal.

in conclusion: Yuri on Ice is the Pride & Prejudice of our era.

why i went into guardians of the galaxy vol.2 apathetic & with low expectations and came out with my crops watered, my skin cleared, my bills paid for and the angels singing (or – why everyone should please watch this blessed movie – MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD IF U CARE ABT THAT):

i just rly need to make this post bc this film was just So Good it took over my whole bitter-at-marvel being in under a week k thanks love u byyye:

1) okay, first: the whole movie was character-centric and contained. you had REAL EMOTIONAL RESOLUTION. and you had that real emotional resolution because they BUILT THE PLOT around the characters, rather than establishing a plot and having the characters enter from stage left. for one of the first times ever, I watched an ensemble superhero film where every single character got a decent individual arc that somehow complimented the central arc of the film, also character centric, and it worked. nearly all the arcs felt satisfying, because they were all interrelated, because they whole thing was about family. someone said that it was like, a really good fast and furious film in space but with no casual sexism, and tbh like …. really tru boys. the stakes of the film were in the characters, not the End Of The World or in some MacGuffin device. yes, ego’s machinations would have caused death and destruction on a galactic scale, but that was secondary to the real conflict; peter’s understanding of who his real father was, and, ultimately, who he was, through his relationship with his family – the other guardians. the movie was frickin’ hilarious, action-packed, and entertaining the whole way through, and gave you a unique story structure that didn’t feel like a cookie-cutter rehash of so many other action/superhero films we’re given lately. and when the movie ended, you felt alive. you felt like you really had closure, and that everything came together well, but you were also sad, and yet had also simultaneously had a really!!! fun!! time!!! 

just … i’ve seen so many sad attempts at ensemble movies in the past and while it’s obvious that writing an ensemble story is tricky, they really, really, truly, for the first time ever gave me the ensemble superhero film I have always wanted.

moving on:

Keep reading

Of Women and Winchesters

A/N: Okay, so I was gonna try to write this angsty sister fic, but it turned into this little drabble. It’s a little longer than I expected, but still a not as long as my usual fics. I apologize if you don’t find it as funny as me, but I do have  weird sense of humor. So…tell me what you think and all that good stuff

Warnings: Language (Inappropriate), Mentions of Sexy Times, Slightly Drunk Reader, Terribly Funny (Or Terribly Not Funny…), Slight sexual spoilers from the show I guess…let me know if I missed anything

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in anything by sending a message or an ask

Word Count: 902

Sam x sister!reader (Twins)

Dean x sister!reader

I face claim Sophia Bush as Sam’s twin because this (but of course imagine yourself or whoever you want)

Masterlist

Originally posted by ice-eternity

Another week, another successful hunt. There were after all perks to being the best hunters in the business. It had been a fairly simple one. Some vengeful spirit haunting a small town bookstore. Something that Dean hadn’t stopped bugging Sam about since you hit the road.

“You say books aren’t evil? I beg to differ! That damn spirit almost took me out with a book about pregnancy. What To Expect When You’re Expecting or some crap.”

“Bet you weren’t expecting that.” You mumble from the back seat of the beloved impala.

“What was that?” Dean glares at you through the rear-view.

Keep reading

Take It Easy On My Heart

Characters: Reader (Y/N), Sam, Dean, Lisa (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: ANGST

Word count: 2010 (with lyrics) 

Prompt: Song Mercy by Shawn Mendes 

A/N: It’s written for @thevioletthourr‘s “Fif’s Milestone Challenge” as well as  SPN Angst Appreciation Day 2017. I hope you guys enjoy. I tried my best :) Feedback is appreciated. 

Beta: @deantheotherkingofkinks Thanks a lot for the eleventh hour editing! :) 

My Masterlist

She hadn’t seen Dean Winchester for years and now here she was, sitting right in front of the man who she used to love - or maybe she still did.

“So, Y/N, how’s life been?” Sam asked taking a sip from his beer.

“Good… Good. Yeah. Pretty good,” she swallowed a big gulp from her bottle, “You guys tell me, I mean you have been hunting more than me.”

“Well, we’ve met god and his sister and something tells me that’s way more than hunting,” Sam said as if he was proud of himself.

“That sounds crazy, even though I know about hunting,” She said, now her eyes met Dean, “So, Dean, I heard about the mark and you becoming a demon. Is that all true?”

Keep reading