spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

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John is an evil man

the way dean expects punishment but instead he gets concern from bobby

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I never thought of it that way. I love that episode of Doctor Who though. I see what they mean.

a comic about fix-it fanfics

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by ScarlettesQueen

Y/N has always been draw to Dean Winchester since he stumbled into her life when she was just a teenager. She was sure she’d be an omega, his omega. But things don’t always happen like you plan, and Y/N is determined to find a place where she fits, even if it means leaving Dean Winchester behind. But when curses break, and friendships rekindle, will that finally give them both what they have always wanter.

Words: 4731, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Supernatural

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Reader, You

Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/You

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, True Mates, Pining, curse, Alpha/Omega, Omega Reader, Angst, Unrequited Love

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

A Quiet Forever (Sam W.)

Summary: having a quiet night in was perfect for your anniversary with Sam.

Warnings: Fluff!, anniversary celebrations!

WC: 517

A/N: Written for @spnfanficpond Monthly Writing Challenge. The prompt was "Anniversary"

Read on ao3!

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The bunker was quiet for once. Not the tense, too-quiet kind it used to be after a rough hunt, when silence clung to the air like smoke and grief lurked in the shadows. This was a different quiet, soft and settled. The kind that filled a home, not a battlefield.

You padded barefoot into the library, the familiar scent of old books and coffee lingering in the air. Sam was already there, of course, tucked into the corner chair like he always was in the mornings, a book balanced on his knee and that sleepy look on his face—the one he only ever wore around you.

He looked up, and the moment his eyes landed on you, his whole face softened.

“Morning,” he said, setting the book aside, making grabby hands towards you.

“Morning,” you echoed, stepping closer until you were standing between his legs, your fingers sliding gently into his hair. “Happy anniversary.”

A smile pulled at his lips, sleepy and genuine. “Happy anniversary.”

You leaned down to kiss him, slow and steady, like the years between you had carved out a rhythm that didn’t need fireworks to feel profound.

Sam stood, towering and warm, and wrapped his arms around your waist. “You remembered.”

“I always do,” you teased, resting your head against his chest. “It’s the day you decided to marry a complete weirdo who met you on some random hunt in Texas.”

He chuckled, low and fond. “I married the person who made me believe I could have a future. That’s not weird—that’s the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

You let your arms curl tighter around him, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

The day unfolded quietly. No demons, no omens, no bloodstains to scrub out of the floor. Just you and Sam.

He cooked breakfast—pancakes that were a little burnt on one side—and insisted on serving them with the syrup he drove two towns over to find because it reminded you of that one trip to Vermont years ago.

You found an old Polaroid camera tucked in one of the bunker’s drawers, and you spent the afternoon snapping goofy pictures: Sam in his reading glasses, you pretending to swordfight with one of Dean’s old machetes, the two of you laughing so hard you nearly fell over on the couch.

That night, he lit candles. Actual candles. Said he wanted something “romantic,” even if it was in a bunker full of ancient weapons and ghost traps. You didn't care. He could’ve lit a candle in the middle of a salt ring and you'd still think it was beautiful.

When you climbed into bed, the laughter fading into the hush of the room, Sam pulled you close, his arm draped over your waist, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he murmured into the dark.

“You never gave me a reason to,” you whispered back.

And in that stillness, wrapped in his warmth, the years and pain behind you—you realized: this quiet, this softness, this man… this was your forever.

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@thedamsolangelofan report this to @staff . This is illegal and harassment with threats. This is also a threat and a hate crime. This is against @support ‘s Terms of Service!

Minimally, this is bullying.

Report them and then block them. Tumblr will handle this.

You said “don’t you dare threaten my moots” or something right?

I have someone who threatened me bad.

Tell me everything.

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SPN RARESHIP MINI BANG 2025-2026 SIGN UPS OPENING SOON

Hello everyone! As we felt the need for a Rare Ship bang arise in the Supernatural fandom, I (@heavenssexiestangel ), @hawkland, @atlas-assbutt and @michaelmilligan decided we needed to make one. After last year's success, here we are to bring you the second round 🤩

Sign-ups for both Writers and Artists will open July 1st, and you will receive the link to the Discord Server connected to the bang at signup.

Please review our Rules & Schedule!

Hope to see you participate:D

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The more I think on it, the more I realized in a/b/o (omegaverse)

Reproduction is not necessarily linked to their designation or presentation. With evolution incorporating it, it does seem like it is otherwise.

I view a/b/o (or omegaverse) as part of duties in the pack (hence the wolf influence), which has evolved into instinct.

Pack dynamics are a big part of communities. They’re essentially communes where the pack helps raise and protect the cubs. This would also mean that packs, in theory, would be more touch-oriented because it’s the easiest form of affection and comfort between people. It would also strengthen trust and increase vulnerability.

I would think they’d have lower infidelity rates overall but that doesn’t mean infidelity won’t happen. It also doesn’t mean polycule within the pack are abnormal. I don’t see why a mix of designations or presentations in relationships couldn’t happen. It could be that

Alpha females should be able to have kids but it’s harder, they have a lower fertility rate. They could even be true hemaphrodites where they have a functional penis, vagina, and uterus but the hormones from their ovaries and testes would be more towards the testes. Alphas are meant to be protectors, guards, vigilant, and learn what’s best for the pack as a whole. They’re big picture beings.

Betas don’t have fertility rate issues with each other or change them for alphas, but it is more challenging to impregnate an omega. Betas can take knots but not as easily as omegas. Betas and omegas have lower fertility rates, and betas and alphas don’t change the alpha fertility rates. Betas are meant to be able to handle things temporarily when alphas and omegas go into their mating cycles. This is why Betas don’t have mating cycles. Betas are to be second-in-command and maybe Jack-of-all-trades. They are detail-oriented and meant to aid the alpha within the pack.

Knotting does trigger hormones in the omega and alpha for bonding and increased fertility rates. It is a skin contact initiated, which is why even strangers who are a/o can get accidentally pregnant, even not during heat or rut. Genetically they’re very different, even their immune systems, which is why they’re so attracted to each other through scent (this determines compatibility).

Heats and ruts increase fertility rates and bonding between alphas and omegas. Bonding is most important for pregnancy to occur. That’s why the first few ruts and heats between alphas and omegas are more for bonding than procreation. If they aren’t bonded, how can they have a successful relationship?

Now, if the alpha and omega are bonded prior to mating, their first heat mated can be a normal heat and/or rut meant to result in a pregnancy.

I have not thought on population growth. For the moment, I think typical human population fertility rates overall and growth would be normal.

Now, omega males…it’s a ‘to each their own’ in views for writing.

Omegas would have hormones opposite of alphas where their ovaries are the dominant producer with testes being either secondary or what provided the necessity for the male phenotypes to be activated.

🤔 Maybe it is the sex chromosomes that determine appearance (phenotypes) while the designation determines reproduction but vice versa doesn’t make sense.

This has been written several ways:

A male-presenting person that has an average-sized penis or smaller (cocklet, which is large than a clitoris) and their large intestines essentially acts like channels for the vagina and part of the digestive system. This would mean they have extra fuctions in the large intestine, like the vagina, for sufficient self-cleaning and maintain healthy ph balance and bacterial growth. In theory, this would also evolve to lessen the likelihood of constipation or diarrhea that can lead changed ph-balance and bacterial growth.

A male-presenting person with a small penis or cocklet that does or doesn’t function. It’s entirely wired like a clitoris except it does have features like a penis, such as it produces seminal fluid without sperm or they have a very low sperm count if testes are included.

Another view is an androgynous person:

They are male-presenting with breasts and a vagina. The typical reproduction set up.

I do feel that they should have a penis of some kind since they’re considered male, even if it isn’t functional like one.

Fics never talk about them going to the bathroom. Is there a function to have the sperm/seminal fluid and urine coming out of the same exit or is that just evolution? 🤔

Alternatively, their chest appears like men and only increase breast size when pregnant and/or nursing their offspring.

From now on, all lube in my omegaverse stories are gonna be called slipknot

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Hiii for the director's cut asks ⭐

Thanks for the ask! Sorry it took me so long to reply.

So, I finally started posting my Ketch and Dean fic series. I didn’t mean to make it a series but it happened. I admit I’m stuck on what’s next. I want to do a smut fic but I feel like there need another fluffy fic where Dean starts trying to make it up to Ketch. Just haven’t figured out what and how.

I just love it went from Dean smacked Ketch with a chair and Cas who doesn’t like Ketch refuses to heal him. Ketch doesn’t want to push it with the angel. I just love that Dean demands Cas heal him because of how guilty he feels for what he did. 🤣

So, I want to play on that guilt. I’m hoping a wonderful mutual might be willing to help me bounce ideas since they know and write ketch so well.

Ketch is so complex, moreso than Castiel at times but that’s my opinion.

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Is there a fic of this? I need there to be a fic of this,

Please?!

happy pride month! enjoy this little comic of what cas and dean would be like if they met in s1 according to misha! enjoy~ c;

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That’s me

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Character

cas is doing courtly love nonsense because that’s the framework for romantic/erotic love thats most compatible with his ideas of how angels are supposed to be. meanwhile dean is like hey lancelot can you cool it with the noble knight shtick for 10 minutes and just answer your damn texts?

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Adding to my to be read list

On AO3

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Ex Soldier Dean Winchester, Cop Castiel, Drifter Castiel, Switch Dean, Switch Castiel, Past Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Minor Injuries, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Fanfiction of Fanfiction

Summary:

As a veteran, Dean has survived more than most people could handle without going completely cuckoo.  And he hasn’t exactly escaped being a little messed up himself.  So he’s returned home to the tiny town he grew up in, retreating from a world that has become too much.  But when you know everyone in town, the dating pool is shallow and it can be a little bit lonely, even when surrounded by friends and family who love him.  And then a drifter on a motorcycle rolls into town, and Dean thinks just maybe this might be the man he’s been waiting for.

While wandering the country in an attempt to escape his problems, Castiel’s motorcycle breaks down in a small desert town.  He’s helplessly drawn to Dean, the town’s handsome mechanic, and the feeling appears to be mutual.  After months of aimless traveling, he thinks he may have finally found his way out of the wilderness.

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friendly reminder:

sam has been suicidal

John kicked Sam out when he was 18

Sam prayed every night and yet the first thing an angel ever said to him was, “Sam winchester, the boy with the demon blood”

Dean threw the amulet out right in front of Sam

Sam was in hell for 180 years

Most people view Sam as a monster/abomination

Despite all of this he is still fighting

And despite all of this he has finally recognized that he is not evil 

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Jensen is such a fanboy that he got his fanfic turned into a tv show! Shush, Jensen. Misha is right.

how i like to imagine this conversation:

misha: that song was pretty. what's that one about?

jensen: oh. well- actually, haha, that one's kind of about dean and cas-

misha: (possibly snorting tea through his nose) what.

jensen: i mean, not entirely.

misha: you wrote a song for your band about dean and castiel? and put it on an album?

jensen: it's not ENTIRELY about-

misha: like you're a fan girl at a con with a ukelele and signed fan art-

jensen: i'm a professional musician, mish.

misha: okay, honey.

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Couple of icons right there. When Buffy met Claire.

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fuckin' alive — dean winchester x reader

summary: Fresh off a brutal demon hunt, bloodied and riding high on survival, Dean Winchester takes you on the hood of the Impala—hard, dirty, and desperate.

warnings: +18, unprotected sex, post-battle, car sex, rough, choking, aftercare, hair-pulling, anal sex

requests open!

The air reeks of sulfur and smoke, the field behind you still littered with scorched demon bodies. Your chest heaves, lungs burning, heart jackhammering from the fight that nearly got you both killed.

Dean kicks a demon’s charred corpse, muttering, “That all you got, bitch?” before turning toward you—blood streaked across his cheek, shirt torn, knuckles split.

You’re no better—smeared in dirt and demon guts, sweat dripping down your spine. But when your eyes lock with Dean’s, there’s no horror. No fear.

Just fire.

He crosses the distance fast, grabbing your face and crashing his mouth into yours. It’s brutal, all teeth and tongue and blood. You don’t even know whose blood it is.

You moan into him, and he growls, grabbing your ass, pulling your body flush to his. You feel the hard length of him through his jeans and whimper—because god, he’s hard already. So are you.

“Get on the hood,” he snarls, voice rough and low in your ear. “Now.”

You don’t hesitate.

You scramble onto the hood of the Impala, the metal still warm from the fight, the night air sharp on your skin. Dean steps between your legs, eyes black with hunger.

“Almost died back there,” he mutters, yanking your shirt over your head. “Not goin’ out without doin’ this first.”

Then he’s kissing down your neck, biting at your collarbone as his hands yank your pants down roughly. He groans when he sees how wet you are.

“Fuck, baby. Drippin’ for me already? Thought you liked it dirty.”

You whimper as he spreads your legs wider, lining himself up. There’s no ceremony—just the stretch of his cock as he thrusts in deep, making you cry out and claw at the metal.

Dean doesn’t give you time to adjust. He sets a brutal pace, hips snapping into you again and again, the Impala groaning under your bodies. You’re shaking, overwhelmed, nails digging into the glass behind you.

“Feel that?” he growls. “That’s life. That’s what it means to survive.”

You nod, moaning incoherently.

His hand finds your throat, thumb pressing lightly as he fucks you harder, rough and raw, his teeth clenched.

“You’re mine,” he pants. “Always fuckin’ mine. No demon, no apocalypse, nothin’ gets between us.”

Your scream echoes across the field, but Dean doesn’t let up.

He’s got one hand wrapped in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard you’ll have bruises for days. His cock slams into you, fast and punishing, the edge of the hood biting into your spine. Every thrust forces a gasp from your throat, tears pricking at your eyes—but you’re soaked, soaking, your body begging for more.

“You fuckin’ love this, don’t you?” Dean growls, voice dark with lust. “Love when I use you like this. Like a filthy little toy.”

You nod, whimpering, and he laughs—sharp, brutal. His hand leaves your hip, slapping hard across your ass. You cry out, the sting sharp and immediate, pleasure flaring behind it.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you like the pain.”

You gasp, “I love it.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ do.”

He spanks you again, harder, and you jolt forward on the hood, your knees slipping. Dean yanks you back by the hair, hips slamming forward, cock hitting deep. You’re sobbing now—half from the pressure, half from the sheer overwhelming need building between your legs.

Your nails scrape the hood, metal screeching under your grip as he leans in, mouth hot and filthy by your ear.

“Bet you’d let me fuck you bloody if I asked, wouldn’t you? Let me break this pretty body if it meant comin’ on my cock.”

“Yes,” you choke out, delirious.

Dean growls like an animal, dragging his teeth down your neck, leaving welts in his wake. “Then take it. Take all of me.”

He’s relentless—biting your shoulder, spanking you again, fucking you until the pain melts into pleasure, your whole body strung tight like a bow. You’re dripping onto the hood, thighs shaking, blood dried and fresh smeared across your skin—but you’ve never felt more alive.

“Don’t come,” he warns, voice gravel and fire. “Not until I say.”

And god help you, you obey.

You hold on, teeth clenched, every nerve screaming for release as Dean breaks you open beneath the stars and the weight of everything you’ve both survived.

Your body’s trembling, skin burning from where he’s slapped and bitten you, your cunt dripping from holding back the orgasm he denied you.

Dean pulls out abruptly, and you sob at the loss—empty and throbbing, begging for more.

He grabs your ass, spreading your cheeks, admiring the view like a man possessed. “You’re so fuckin’ wrecked,” he growls, running a thumb down between your holes. “But not finished.”

You whimper when his slick fingers circle your tighter hole, teasing, pressing.

Dean leans in, lips brushing your ear. “You ever had anyone back here, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, voice breaking. “No. Just you.”

He groans like that’s the best thing he’s ever heard. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

He spits—messy, filthy—and rubs it in with two fingers, loosening you up. It stings, it stretches—but god, it feels so dirty, so right.

“I want it, Dean,” you whisper. “I want you to fuck my ass.”

“Oh, you’re gettin’ it,” he snarls, lining himself up again, one hand gripping your hip, the other spreading you open. “You’re gonna take me like the cock-hungry little slut you are.”

The first push makes you gasp—burning, stretching wide around him. He groans behind you, inching deeper, his breath ragged.

“Goddamn, you’re tight,” he growls. “So fuckin’ good. Like you were made for this.”

He starts to thrust, slow but deep, and you sob—pain and pleasure coiling together, every nerve on fire. His hand comes down on your ass again, making you jolt forward on the hood before he yanks you back.

“Where do you want me next, huh?” he grits. “Cunt, ass, throat? This body’s mine, baby. Say it.”

“Yours,” you cry, back arching, tears streaking your cheeks. “All yours, Dean.”

He fucks you harder, relentless, pounding into your ass with bruising force. You feel stretched to the limit, wrecked and ruined, but you love it. You love him like this—feral, filthy, claiming every part of you like it’s a war won.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls, voice thick with lust. “Now come. Come on my cock with your tight little ass stretched around me.”

You scream—finally let go—as your orgasm crashes over you like fire and thunder. You clench around him, body spasming, and Dean groans behind you, hips jerking once, twice—

Then he growls your name as he comes, buried to the hilt, filling you deep.

You collapse onto the hood, utterly spent, body shaking, heart pounding.

Dean leans over you, panting, sweaty, bloodied, and satisfied as hell.

“Fuckin’ alive,” he mutters. “That’s what this is.”

***

The motel room door slams behind you with a thud, the broken silence ringing louder than the hunt, louder than the sex. You’re both still streaked in blood, dirt, and sweat—but now it’s the ache in your muscles and the raw sting between your thighs and ass that lingers most.

Dean’s quiet, jaw tight, keys dropped on the table. You watch him from the bed, not quite sure what to expect—if the roughness back in the field will carry over.

But then, without a word, he walks to you.

His hands are gentle this time as he peels your ruined clothes off, one piece at a time. The way his fingers trace over bruises—bruises he left—feels almost reverent.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, steady.

You nod, throat tight. “Yeah. Sore as hell, though.”

He smirks, a flash of that cocky bastard still lingering in his expression. “Yeah? Guess I did my job.”

You laugh softly, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kneels in front of you, hands resting on your thighs.

“Not jokin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I went hard. Too hard?”

You shake your head. “It was… exactly what I needed.”

Dean lets out a breath—relief, maybe—and presses a kiss to your knee. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.”

He guides you into the bathroom, starts the water, tests the temperature. Then, wordlessly, he steps in with you, pulling you under the warm stream.

He washes you slow. No teasing. No filthy words. Just quiet focus as his rough hands gently scrub away the blood and dirt. When he gets between your legs, he’s careful, his jaw clenching when you wince.

“Fuck,” he mutters, rinsing you off. “I really went too far, didn’t I?”

“No,” you say quickly, reaching for his wrist. “Dean… I wanted it. Every second.”

He looks at you, searching for the truth in your eyes. Whatever he finds there must be enough—because he nods and kisses your forehead.

Afterward, he lays you in bed with one of his clean shirts on your body and whiskey on the nightstand. He sits beside you, legs stretched out, one arm behind your shoulders.

You lean into him, warm and safe in his scent.

“You scared me today,” he says quietly.

You look up at him.

“Out there. You were pinned down. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You reach for his hand, squeeze it. “You didn’t.”

Dean kisses the top of your head. “Damn right I didn’t. And I’m never gonna.”

You fall asleep in his arms, the scent of smoke still clinging to his skin, the phantom ache of being owned still lingering in your body—and the sure knowledge that even in a world full of monsters, you’re his favorite kind of chaos.

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