We’re Closed

The Reader is a bar owner to a favored gangster hang-out. A close shave for Officer Dick Grayson ends with a hot night for both of them.

Pairing: Nightwing x Bartender!Reader (Y/N)

Warnings/Promises: alcohol, slight violence, suggested smut

Word Count: 1060

Note: There was supposed to be more to this, but the week got away from me. If you’d like there to be a smutty part two, let me know. Any other thoughts, comments, and ideas can be sent to my requests, which is open for business. So is my tag list for a bunch of fandoms. Enjoy!

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When he walked in, he immediately stood out like a perfect target. The swagger was like something pulled out film noir. A bad one. And the “tattoos?” Even temporary tats should be applied over a few days so they don’t all look fresh, ignoring how fake they looked.

He blustered up to the bar and waved you over. You groaned.

“A martini, please. Sh-“

“I swear, if you say the Bond line I will kick your ass myself.” You made him the drink quickly, eyeing everybody that was eyeing him. He paid for it then and left a great tip. “Honey, that’s sweet and all, but you really don’t belong here.”

He nodded and took a sip. “I agree this is not my typical drinking destination. But I’m looking for someone.” The bar instantly went silent. The man continued on like nothing had changed. “He’s about six-two, balding, has a four-leaf clover tattoo cut through by a scar on his left shoulder, is wearing a bright blue shirt, and has a really bewildered look on his face right now.”

A man fitting that description stood at a back-corner booth. “Who’s lookin’ for ‘im?” He was a local gangster known for sneaking ammunition in and out of the city. Cináed by name.

The rookie didn’t look back. “Oh, a few people. But just me at the moment.” He finished his drink and swiveled around on his bar stool. “I was wondering if we could talk.” He reclined against the bar as Cináed’s men left their table and formed a circle around him.

“One more time,” Cináed growled, “who’s askin’?” His hand reached under his coat. “Everybody out!” He made eye contact with you. “Sorry, miss.” He pulled out a wallet and dropped a large fold of cash on the counter. “For your missed tips. This is your place, so you can stay and keep an eye on it. We’ll try not to get it too messy.”

You swallowed. “I’d appreciate that.” The last of the patrons filed out. You left the bar and went around collecting glasses. You cleaned them at the far end of the bar, straining your ears to hear what they were saying.

“I just want to talk. I heard about a little somethin’ you did on thirteenth street. Wanted to meet the mastermind.” He sighed and put his hands up as a goon patted him down. He bit down on his lip when the goon fumbled with the bottom of his shirt. “I can explain-“

“Officer Richard Grayson.”

Several guns clicked and cocked into place. Cináed pointed his ready piece at the officer’s head.

“What did you want to know, officer? ‘Cause you’re talkin’ to the wrong guy.”

“Am I? My apologies.” Grayson tried to stand up but was forced back down. “It was beautifully done. I thought perhaps it was your brother, but we found one of your prints at the scene. Unless he’s framing you.” He leaned back further as Cináed pushed his gun into his forehead.

“Is that so?”

“Boys,” you called out. “Don’t make a mess in my bar.”

Cináed nodded and stepped back. “My apologies, miss. Listen, Officer, even if my sweet kid brother was tryin’ to frame me… there wouldn’t be evidence. Try Okada. He keeps encroaching on my turf with his sales. If I’m out of the way, he gets twenty square blocks. Got it?”

Grayson nodded. “That’s what I needed to hear.” He licked his lips and looked around. “Do I get to pass this along to my superiors?”

The boss shared a look with the man to his right. He jutted his chin and the men started to leave, paying for their drinks on the way out. Cináed was the last out. “Get home safe, miss.” The bell over the door chimed on his way out.

The officer drew his hand across his face. He turned around to you. “Can I get a-“

“We’re closed.”


When you got home, your boyfriend was waiting for you. 

“Did you really have to be so dramatic?” You dropped your purse and escaped your shoes. “And what’s with the tattoos? They look terrible.”

Dick was laying on the couch shirtless. He smiled brightly. “Welcome home to you too. I got what I needed.”

“Mmm. And you almost got shot for the trouble.”

You avoided his grasp on the way to the bedroom. He groaned and chased after you. He didn’t catch you until it was just the two of you and your skivvies. You helped make it even by pushing down his sweatpants. When he leaned in to kiss you, all he got was air.

“I’m mad at you. You almost got yourself killed.” You stopped him from saying more with a kiss of your own. “I could have lost you. Right in front of my eyes.” You covered up his excuses with more desperate kisses. He hissed as you dug your nails down his back. He was there. You could feel him. He was okay.

Dick pulled you down to sit in his lap on the bed. “Hey. I’m okay.” He nuzzled into your neck. “I won’t promise anything because I can’t, but nothing is going to happen to me. Or you. Okay?” He pulled you ask close as he could. “I’m here. Safe.”

You leaned back with a chuckle. “Safe? Honey, you are stuck in this room with me. A very scared and horny me.” You licked your lips as he tilted his head.

“Did… did me staring down that guy turn you on?”

“A bit. Yeah.” You straddled his hips.

It was a lovely night, though you made sure he understood that if he almost blew your cover again, there would be serious consequences. Drowsily you played with the ink across his chest.

“You gotta get rid of the tats, babe. They are so fake.”

“What, you don’t like them? I even got one inspired by you.” Dick turned onto his stomach so you could see the rose between his shoulder blades.

“Fine. If you do ever go for it, you can get something like that.” You laughed when he tried to crawl back over top of you. “Nuh-uh. We’re closed.” You pushed him off and curled your back into his chest. It wouldn’t be long before circling your hips would inspire him to convince you to stay open.

Masterlist 

Forever Tags: @blondekel77 @hallemichelles @laochbaineann @lavitabella87 @ramblingsofabourbondrinker @savmontreal @tinyelfperson @zuni21798

Nightwing/DC Tags: @aquaschemer @awkwardlyadorablebeingtooshort @beatlesobsessionlove @boogiebunnies @borntobene @brickwall035 @can-i-feel @captainwinterrsoldierr @cecygee @charzar124 @cherryignacio @chi-mexican-ketchup @clairelovexo @comic-book-reider @crazynconfused @creatures4lyfe22 @cutie1365 @dickswallys @fallen-angel-assbutt @fanficimagine @ggrubi @girl-whos-sick-of-feeling @hoeimaginethis @itstheghostgirl @itswingedprincess @kawaii-satan-trash @kaylaphantomhive @kryptolipsx @mayorofzillyhoo @myawkwardascanbe @nightwing-rules @papichulostan @roguesquadron11 @s0cially-awkward-unicorn @sarcastickpopnoona @shockwavee @soundslikevanilla @starkling25 @supernovares @tamanamohain @thelarkknightrises @the-mermaid-diary @virusiswhatiam @xenocanaan @yandearies @yuukiitan  @buttoneyedwitch @if-youre-not-a-dog-then-leave @minchen0897 @randomadventure @ravenboysandstarwars @roxiera @sandatgp @solsticestorm 

Lessons from Jude

When a cursed piano needs playing, the Winchesters find out more about the reader than she wanted them to know.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings/Promises: secrets revealed, half-mention of loss of family, Supernatural-normal violence, SMUT, some spanking, FLUFF, implied further smut

Word Count: 2040

Note: Saw a cute prompt and came up with this hot mess. One of my more sensual smut writings. Reblogs and comments are fantastic ways to let me know you liked it. Tag lists and requests are open. Please enjoy!

“It’s just a hunt, Sam. I don’t need to learn to play the piano.” You stormed into the library. “Besides, where are we going to find a piano?” You turned to glare at Sam, closely followed by Dean. “Is there one hiding in the bunker?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Um, actually-“

“You can’t be serious.”

He shrugged and nodded his head for you to follow him. He led you to a back room that you could have sworn was filled with more shelves and boxes and dust.

“Sam was looking for some files, like we do, and while I was going through this room,” he opened the door and let you walk in first. “I found… yeah. Cleaned her up.”

It was a baby grand. Dark wood with a healthy shine. Gracefully carved legs. The golden inlays on the backboard caught the light. Under the fall were ivory keys slightly yellowed with age. You ran your fingers over them, smiling at the clear notes they sang with.

“She’s beautiful.” You sat down and looked over the music on the stand. Fur Elise. “Dean, I don’t know.”

He sat down next to you. “You won’t have to play much.” He bit down on his bottom lip and swallowed. “I… I could teach you. Just enough for the hunt.” He waited for your response, but it was caught in your throat. “If you wanted too. I mean, there’s always YouTube, or there’s an app for everything.” He waited with baited breath as you tried to keep your breathing even. Dean sighed and moved to leave.

“No, Dean, wait.” You licked your lips and tried to find the words. “I would… um… appreciate it if you could teach me a little.”

“Sure. Great.”

“Great.”


Sam stood watch by one door. Dean stood at the other. You were by the bar, nursing a whiskey on the rocks, drinking away your nerves. The piano sitting a few feet away was cursed. But, in a good way? If the person played what the piano apparated onto the rack, then any children of Eve (ie. monsters) would lose their ability to hide their forms from hunters, or anybody. This had led to a string of murders of pianists, in various ways meaning various monsters. Usually, the artists had been killed before the show before music could be played, but the last had been killed during an evening party. Her sister had helped get you as the replacement.

And now you had to play and hope that the guys could spot the monsters before they got to you.

Your employer for the evening gave you the signal. You walked up the few steps and sat on the bench. Under your breath, you cursed. The music on the stand changed from Fur Elise, what the last victim had been prompted to play, to Sonata Pathétique. Dean had skipped lessons on reading notes and had gone straight for memorizing the keys to play. You didn’t know this music. You shared a look with him, letting him know the situation.

All eyes were on you. They felt like icicles colliding with your skin from all directions. So, you took a breath.

The Winchesters almost forgot to watch the room as you played. Your hands glided across the keys, filling the room with the mournful tones dancing across the pages. It had been a while since you had to read sheet music, maybe it was like riding a bike, maybe it was the piano. The pages turned themselves, keeping up perfectly with your hesitant-to-practiced tempo.

Dean was so enraptured that he almost missed the vampire standing right next to him. Sam saw the teeth lower out of the man’s gums before either the man or Dean had noticed. When the shifter behind the bar began to shed his skin, the room suddenly emptied with screaming and plenty of pushing and stumbling. You kept playing, keeping the monsters visible. A few of them seemed surprised to see each other. The longer there was music, the less proportionate the room became between hunters and hunted. Thankfully during the bunker’s piano room cleaning, Dean had found a bomb-like item. The pages faded away and you dove behind the piano while the brothers hid behind the bar. When the dust settled, that was all that remained of the creatures.


“It was a shame we had to leave the piano,” you mused, dropping your heels on the library desk. Dean had called some other hunters with a large cursed object storage. It was probably never going to see the light of day again, much less be played. “It was such a beautiful instrument.” Sam went on a mental tangent, wondering if the piano in the bunker and that one were sisters. He left to do research. You cracked your knuckles and avoided looking at Dean.

“How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you known how to play?” Dean’s voice wasn’t hard. Or teasing. More… confused.

You braced yourself on the table. “My mother taught me. I was about to have my senior concert when… I haven’t even looked at a piano since then. Until the other day.” You flinched, surprised when Dean laid his hand over yours. His fingers lightly pressed on your fingernails like he had to ‘teach you.’ “I didn’t mean to hide. I didn’t think I could do it.”

Dean stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “But you did.”

It was getting harder to breathe. To think. “It must have been the piano. It knew, Dean. It knew my last recital piece.” He tensed behind you as what you said registered. “We got the monsters, though. That’s what matters.”

“We did.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He kissed your temple and went to step back. You stopped him by entwining your fingers in his. “Sam’s going to be back in a minute.”

You chuckled. “I doubt it. Research?” You turned to face him. “That could take all night.”

He nodded in agreement. “True. But there’s something I wanted to do first.” He took your hand and took you back to the piano. Before you could sit down, he fumbled around in the bench and found some music. “Close your eyes.” You did and let him guide you to sit down. His shoulder bumped into yours as he joined you. The first few notes he played confused you. By the chorus, you recognized Hey, Jude. Dean started singing on the second stanza.

Hey Jude, don’t be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better. And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder.” You opened your eyes for the nahnah’s and saw him looking at you with a small smile. “Hey Jude, don’t let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better.

You joined in for the nah’s and the yeah’s and the ‘hey Jude’s’ that filled up the rest of the song. Dean really got into it and sang the high shouting yeah’s like he was in the recording studio with the Beatles. You smiled and laughed, encouraging him to get wilder with it. By the time he finished, his lips were close to yours and your heart was thundering so heard you could barely feel it.

Dean lightly tapped the tip of his nose against yours. His shallow breathing puffed over your lips. You closed the last distance between you before either of you could change your mind. Everything you didn’t say over the years went into that kiss. It felt natural, giving it all to Dean. To have him listen in such a way where words weren’t needed, and to tell you in the silence that if you ever found the words that he would be there too.

Fingers fumbled with buttons and layers until your fingernails could rake down his torso and leave tiny red welts behind and he could do the same all the way down your back. He reached up under your skirt and made you buck when his fingers brushed over the soaked fabric covering you. You moaned into his mouth as he pushed it aside and began to stroke you, thrust into you, and open you up. Both of you were quickly covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He kissed across the curves of your face down to the hollow of your throat while he thumbed at your clit. You lost sight of his bright green eyes as your thighs tightened around his wrist, shivering and sending ripples through your body.

You closed the cover over the keys while Dean pushed down his slacks and briefs. His fingertips dug into your skin, controlling how fast you sank down onto him. It was a slightly awkward position, straddling him on the bench while he leaned back against the piano, but you were too focused on bringing back the earlier high to care.

He groaned as you tugged on the short hairs at the base of his neck. You whined, begging him to let you move but he adamantly held you down. He chuckled as you pouted against his lips. When you wouldn’t let him in, he smirked and gave you just enough of a thrust to make you gasp. He swallowed your cries as he continued to hold you right where he wanted. Finally, he had his feet planted firmly enough on the floor. You gripped his shoulders tightly for stability while he gave you what you wanted.

The edges of the bench dug into your shins, but you didn’t care. The room was stuffy and if felt like every particle of dust was collecting on your skin, but you didn’t care. You could tumble onto the floor at any second, but you didn’t care.

Dean could take you on the floor if he wanted too, as long as he kept moving.

Soon you had control and was bouncing with reckless abandon. Your eyes were heavy, and you fought to keep them open, so you could watch Dean. His lips were parted, panting, and perfectly pink like the tint in his cheeks. Your skin was probably equally flushed. To you it felt like ice, so cold it burned and sparked where ever Dean touched you. You jolted again. His touch trailed down your stomach, bypassing your sex to cross over your thighs and work back to your ass. You yelped shortly after the loud crack. Dean sputtered as your walls clamped down on his cock.

“You like that, Y/N?” He gasped and pressed his forehead into the valley of your breasts as you squeezed again. “I’ll save that info for later.”

“Please…” you begged. You reached down towards your front, but Dean beat you to it. Stars spotted your vision. You were so close. So. Close. The ringing in your ears barely let you hear what he was saying.

“Let go, Y/N. Cum for me, darling.”

With a short scream, you grappled at any of Dean that you could reach. He quickly followed you, pulling out to shoot onto your stomach. Some landed on him, dribbling down his soft stomach as it flexed. He waited for you to catch your breath before helping you off his lap to sit beside him.

You wanted more, whether your body could take it or not.

“When do I get round two?” you hummed, bringing Dean’s hand up to eye level and intertwining your fingers.

“My room or yours, sweetheart?”

“Hmm. Shower. We’re both sweaty and dusty.” You tried once to stand but almost fell over. “Then I’ll pick.” You braced yourself on his shoulder while your legs wobbled underneath you.

He chuckled at the sight. “I’m just going to get you all sweaty again if that’s what you want.”

“Deal.” You grabbed your clothes off the floor and stopped at the door. “Are you going to help me conserve water?”

“Hell yeah.”

Masterlist 

Forever Tags: @blondekel77 @hallemichelles @laochbaineann @lavitabella87 @ramblingsofabourbondrinker @savmontreal @tinyelfperson @zuni21798

Dean Tags: @19mmallory @aimee-grace-01 @akshi8278 @ashmonet @bits-n-bowz @bringmesomepie56 @castianityislife02 @castielsbecky @catackles16 @cookie-dough-lova @dancingalone21 @docharleythegeekqueen @eve05glee @gabbyrogers094 @helloenricanie @idontknow-canyou @its–killing–me  @juanitadiann @justtryingtogosomewhere @kaemarie23 @kittenofdoomage @lauriz67@livelovebands123 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @mein1928 @millie67 @mylostsoul28 @mysteriouslyme81 @peaceloveandplumbots @sabrinaoctaviagunner @sassy-losechester @savmontreal @sissysalvatore @supernatural-jackles @temprence-the-real-satan @thedeanwinchesterxperience @theriumking @tinyium @uzum4k1-uch1h4 @valerieshubin @vutdidyousay @windeango67 

Supernatural Tags: @bamby0304 @emoryhemsworth @ilostmyshoe-79 @jpadjackles @just-another-busy-fangirl @psychedelictripforkit @quixoticcat @smandrews3 @supernatural-jackles @tamtamlovebug @vvinch3st3r @wonderfulwinchestersmut 

Short and Short Tempered

The reader is trying to cook, but she can’t reach anything in the cabinets.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings/Promises: fluff, implied smut

Word Count: ~515

Note: For all my short readers, we’ve been here. Tall readers you can still read this and laugh at our troubles with Sam. Lucky. If you like the fic, let me know with comments and reblogs and… likes. If you want to be put on a tag list, or have a request, shoot me a message!

“Seriously, Winchesters?” You groaned as you tried to reach the casserole dish on the top shelf. “If you two would just stay out of my kitchen, I could reach everything.” With a growl you took a chair and stood on it. You also grabbed a few more things to replace at lower levels later. “This is my kitchen, and I’ll be damned if Dean moves things around again.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that. He thinks the kitchen is his.” Sam chuckled from his leaning position in the doorway when you almost fell off your perch. “If you needed help, you could’ve just asked.”

You crossed your arms. “But I don’t want to have to ask. I want to be able to reach everything without assistance.” You squinted at him as his face twitched with a grin. “What? Stop looking at me like that.”

“But you’re cute.”

“Sam shut up.”

“What? You’re just adorable. And tiny.” His sweet smile finally shined through. No, Y/N. You’re mad at him.

“I am average height, Winchester. Average. Height! You’re just ridiculously tall!”

He stepped closer to you. Balanced as you were, you didn’t have anywhere to go. “I don’t think you are, Y/N. If you were, you wouldn’t need a whole chair to stand eye to eye with me.” He stepped close enough to prove his point. It worked out better than he thought. You bobbed up on your tiptoes to actually glare at his level. He laughed at your movements. The cute one that sounded like bells that only happened when he was really feeling carefree.

“Your cute laugh isn’t going to make me less angry, stop hugging me, put me down! Put me down!” Sam lifted you up and scooted the chair out of the way. He sat you on the counter and stood between your parted legs. “No. I’m not kissing you. I’m mad at you for-“ You were cut off with a kiss. He broke away for a second, then cut you off again, repeating as needed until you leaned forward to follow his retreating lips. Your hands roamed up to the nape of his neck where your fingers could curl in his hair.

Then a thought popped into your head. A memory.

You placed a finger on Sam’s lips and pushed him away. “Dean didn’t put those dishes that high, did he? He never uses these dishes, nor can he reach the back of the top shelf either.” He averted his gaze, dimples making an appearance. “Sam?” you asked, drawing out his name.

“A guy likes to feel needed.” He leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“You could’ve just asked,” you repeated at him.

“Can I ask for something else first?”

You nodded, humming in delight.

Sam nuzzled his nose to yours then whispered in your ear, “will you come with me to my room?”

“Only if you help me off the counter first.” You squealed as he lifted you up where you could wrap your legs around his hips.

Dinner preparations were on hold until further notice.

Masterlist 

Forever Tags: @blondekel77 @laochbaineann @lavitabella87 @savmontreal @zuni21798

Supernatural/Sam Tags: @ilostmyshoe-79 @jpadjackles @quixoticcat @smandrews3 @supernatural-jackles @tamtamlov @vvinch3st3r @aimee-grace-01 @badwolfy08 @daniel-sharman-tho @gabbyrogers094 @ktchw @loveisjustfortheweak @mrsdeanwinchester16 @myshitismine4221 @nerdyalienhybrid1987 @parseltonguespeaking @sabrinaoctaviagunner @stealingyoupretty @vinylwinchesters