#2. Dean can flirt with men

[this-is-a-nice-show]

What I love about destiel is that it is both simultaneously cannon and not cannon. It's not cannon because y'know...it wasn't reciprocated. But it is cannon because in my heart I know that Dean loves Castiel.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor. 

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile. 

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.   

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, ��Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time). 

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.   

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea. 

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up. 

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.” 

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable. 

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth. 

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful. 

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out. 

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed. 

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense. 

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said. 

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.  

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him. 

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[sweptawayghost]

Light My Fire Pt.2

JOEL MILLER X READER

DUEL POV

Word count 6.9K

Chapter warning: male masturbation, mentions of alcohol, age gap, mention of guns, slow burn, pov,flirting, friends to lovers, mentions of choking, angst, fluff, no use of Y/N, The R word gets used but nothing like that happens.

Chapter summary: Let the delicate dance begin. As winter fast approaches Jackson we try to head out on one more supply run before the weather gets too bad.  

We wake up with our toxic ex in our bed… again. 

This will be a slow burn 

Anything written in italic indicates someone talking to themselves.

///

YOU

I always loved fall. I loved the colours of the leaves and the sounds they made when crushed. I loved lighting fires and being curled up underneath blankets. Books seemed to be more interesting in the fall. The summer sun would feel like a slap to the face compared to how it would softly kiss your skin in the fall, even on the hotter days. Sometimes it felt like saying goodbye to someone you didn't want to leave. Soon the snow would start up and the real challengers would begin. 

I open my eyes to the non-stop thumping in my temples. I look over at my window, the curtain softly bloating with the breeze coming in from the open window. Glancing over at my clock reading ‘4:56 am’ 

I throw my feet off the edge of the mattress and gaze out of the window, the moon looks so beautiful, it casts my room in a ghostly grey, making outside look so ominous and gloomy.  

Leaving the warmth of my bed in favour of a hot shower. Along with the insistent thumping of my front door is the soft rhythmic snore of the man that lay in my bed. Fuck, I almost forgot he was here. 

Dean Hickman.

I cast a look back at him, he looked so peaceful laying there, the glow of the moon on his face, half of his naked body hanging out of the blanket on my bed, his hair sticking out every which way. I'll admit, I had been spellbound by his charm on more than one occasion. Last Night may have been one of those times. All it takes is one look into his hazel eyes and one sly knowing smile, a few suggestive words and before you know it you're falling into bed with him. Not to mention he was tall and tanned and could crush you with the muscles in his arms and god knows he had plenty to work with in bed… He just wasn't that good. 

The passion was there, the moves were there and he was great looking but he was just always way more concerned about getting himself over the line. Call it for what it is. He's a selfish lover who doesn't give head, doesn't know how to find a G spot, doesn't understand how to work your clit even after you've shown him on more than one occasion and really doesn't care if you come or not. 

Jackson didn't have the largest pool of men to play with so when a good-looking man like Dean comes into your life it's kind of hard to say no. There was a time when I called him mine. He was sweet and thoughtful and he knew all the right things to say, but then he started stumbling in late, whisky leavy on his breath and the smell of another woman hung from him. 

I remember the night he hit me. He was drunk out of his mind and the next morning he didn't even remember it. That was the final straw for me. If it hadn't been for that I would have put up with his cheating, his drinking, his screaming and shouting. 

When I told him it was over he threw himself at my feet, telling me he's sorry, that he loves me, that he wants me to have his babies, and it'll never happen again. It didn't take him long to fall into bed with one of his neighbours though. 

I told myself I wouldn't fall back into his clutches… but some nights are long, some nights are cold, some nights you just need to fuck. At least he could be of some use. 

I slip out of the room leaving his sleeping form sprawled out on the bed. I can still feel the mess he made between my legs and my body feels heavy with a layer of dried sweat. 

I let the warm water from the shower run over my body as if the water would wash away the feeling of shame lingering on my skin. I should start kicking him out during the night. If people see him leaving here in the morning I may as well just scream “I GOT LAID LAST NIGHT” in the middle of town. 

I didn't want to think about it today. I needed a clear head, a clean canvas, today I was important to the community.

Today I had patrol. 

Today I had patrol with a new partner. 

Joel Miller

Of course, I knew who he was, everyone did. Entering Jackson was like entering a small town where everyone knows everyone, everyone knows new faces, everyone likes to gossip, everyone knows who's sick, who's working where, everyone knows when you burp, fart or cough. 

He only lives a few doors down from me and I've walked past his house almost every morning since he's been here. Maybe don't tell him you know where he lives, might seem creepy. 

I know I can be hard to get along with, I'm not the easiest to talk to right away, I know I can be dismissive and blunt. It might be easy for people to forget about what's outside of these walls, but I won't. I can't. I don't like the folk who like to think everything is sunshine and flowers just because they don't have to leave the comfort and safety of jackson. The comfort and safety that I helped build and I continue to provide. 

///

“Hey” I slap Dean's shoulder where it pokes out from the blanket “You gotta go I'm heading out” 

He snapped his head up quickly in my direction, irritation flashed on his face for a moment. He inhales deeply through his nose and rubs his eye with the tips of his fingers “What time is it?” he asks, his voice coming out deep and crackling as he rolls over. 

“Time for you to get the fuck out” I whirl around my room picking up his clothes from the foot of the bed before throwing them at him and finding my own. I pull my favourite knitted sweater over my head. The one that I've patched up more times than I can remember because I refuse to let it die. 

“You don't have to be such a bitch you know” Dean spits out at me as he pulls his Jeans up his legs. 

Fuck here we go

“Dean, as much as I enjoy your ‘morning after dramatics’ I really don't have the time for it this morning” He does this every time. The thing with Dean is he can be so sweet and charismatic, he’ll charm your pants off and take you right to the edge. But as soon as the sun starts to rise the next morning he's the worst person you've met and the biggest asshole you’ll meet. It's like the magic spell wears off. Just when you think he's a prince he turns back into a frog. 

I leave him in the bedroom, muttering about how much of a bitch I am or how I'm not worth the hassle or something, I don't really listen, in a few days' time, he’ll come crawling back. He always does. And I always let him. I'm not sure why I let myself fall into his clutches time and time again. Maybe I'm just looking for a warm body to lay next to. Maybe I just want someone to kiss me and make me feel wanted. Maybe I'm just lonely. 

I watch him emerge from my room, leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in my hands. He reaches for his coat that's been abandoned on the back of the couch before reaching for his boots near the front door. He only casts me one sideways look with an ugly scowl on his usually handsome face. What does he want me to do? Cry? Say I'm sorry? He does this every fucking time. 

He reaches for my front door, ripping it open before trying the fly wire door that constantly sticks to the door jam. He pushes on it once, twice, three times, really putting his weight into it before he gives up and just kicks it almost clean off its hinges. 

“Fix this fucking door!” he shouts at me from across the room pointing a finger in my direction before he starts down my porch steps and into the street. 

I cross the distance from the kitchen to the front door “Asshole!” I shout at him before he turns around and flips me off. I return the gesture. 

I look down, assessing the damage to the door. The bottom hinges blown apart with the metal all twisted. The handle that once sat on the inside now lays just inside the doorway being ripped off completely. Now I have one more thing to fix around here. 

I pull on my boots and my pack, throwing in the sandwiches I made yesterday as well as some jerked meat and an old beaten-up metal drink bottle.

I stepped out the door, closing it behind me and leaving the wire door where it now sits. 

I start towards the stables. Knowing that patrol will take my mind off this morning's dramatics. It's a chance for me to escape, out there I have one job. I don't have to think about all the things that need to be done around here. All the things I should be doing right now and all the things that I should have started weeks ago. 

I really need to split and store some more wood before I run out of time.

I should go back to that woodshed before it snows.

I should pick up one of my knitting projects.

I should really start thinking about cleaning my gutters as well. I really don't wanna do that shit, can I just trade with someone to do it?

Now I can add ‘fix wire door’ to the never-ending list. 

The walk to the armoury isn't far and I really didn't mind it especially when the days started getting colder. As I approached the warm smiley face of Clay was waiting for me on the other side of the desk.

“I heard you were taking out the new Miller brother today,” Clay said as she leaned over the desk in my direction, her lips turned up in a big bright smile. 

She was part of the small handful of people I actually liked to talk to. Her hair sat just below her ear, a few dark strands hovering around her face, it was just that bit too short to tie up, during the summer months she would ask me to french braid it to keep it out of her face while she worked. Here's an idea Clay, don't cut it so short next time. Her dark eyes looked so glossy and bright in the morning light. God, you're a sucker for anyone with brown eyes, aren't you.  

For a moment I considered telling her about what happened with Dean this morning but thought better of it. Clay runs hot. When she cares she cares a lot. I consider her a friend, maybe even my best friend, Even after we slept together. 

We both blamed the alcohol for that one. I don't regret it even for a second. I think if we had met at a different time, in a different place, maybe not at the end of the world we might have worked out. I think we were meant to love each other but not be IN love with each other. There's a difference.

“Yeah, Tommy thinks it’ll be good for him to get out, apparently he’s chomping at the bit” I signed out one rifle in my name and the other I marked ‘J.M’ 

Ha! It’d be funny if his middle name was Aaron or Arnold then his initials would spell JAM. 

 “Well, good luck with him. I heard he's an asshole” she said while walking somewhere towards the back of the armoury, before reemerging with two rifles.

“But god is he handsome, even for an old guy” She slides the rifles across the desk in my direction. She has this far-off look in her eye, like she's remembering his face. 

“As long as he doesn't get me killed I couldn't give a fuck how much of an asshole he is” I chose to ignore the handsome part. 

“Speaking of assholes…” Clay trails off. I offer her a scowled expression as I let my imagination predict the direction this conversation is headed. 

“I saw Dean leaving your place this morning” 

Shit

At least I don't have to feel bad about lying to her. 

///

I headed for the stables after receiving an in-depth lecture from Clay about the dangers of falling into bed with Dean. She should give that talk to every eighteen-year-old in Jackson.

My mind didn't stay on The topic of Dean for long. I had so many other things to think about. Bigger things. Things that actually mattered. As I saddled up the horses my mind was swimming with the never-ending to-do list in my head. In a lot of ways, patrol felt like an escape from my responsibilities. 

I wondered how many more chances I would be able to get out before the weather got too bad. I wondered when the snow would start. I wondered how the food supply was looking for the winter. I wondered what day it was. Like what the date was and not just a guess we made that everyone agreed on. I should speak to Tommy about doing more supply runs before it gets too dangerous.

Yep, I'd rather be outside the gates, risking my ass than stay here and chop wood or check my roof for leaks.

I made my way to Jackson gates, the leather from the reins felt like butter in my hand, like they had been oiled recently. The weight of the rifles on my back felt more like a hug than deadweight and the soft morning light felt like a kiss. 

That's the first time I really looked at Joel Miller. 

I had seen him, and I could recognise his face and pick him out of a crowd but today felt like the first time I really looked at him. 

His eyes looked tired. 

I saw the lines in his face especially the ones between his brows

The way his jaw ticked when he clenched his teeth

The scar across his nose. 

The scratches and dents in the skin of his hands from years of fighting. And winning. 

He looked like a man who was forced to become what he is. 

a man who was made for so much more than what he is

A man who needed to be hugged, to be held, to be loved. To be seen as more than just the monster the world has turned him into. 

 ///

I spent all night thinking about him. He had this haunted look. Every time I looked into his eyes I felt like I could drown in them. Like I was going to be taken under. 

I noticed the way he would constantly twitch his right hand, like he was gripping something that wasn't there and I noticed small sparse patches in his facial hair, I noticed the broken shoelace that had been tied back together on his left shoe and I noticed the broken watch he wore on his left wrist.  

I didn't know it at the time but tomorrow would change the way I saw him. Tomorrow I would see a spark in his eyes. Tomorrow I would notice the bulge of his arms against his shirt. Tomorrow I would notice how adorable he looked when he smiled. Tomorrow I would offer him that bottle of Seth's home-brewed bourbon that I was saving for a special occasion. Tomorrow I would study the angels of his face and commit them to memory. Tomorrow I would give him his pistol back, the one that Tommy stole from him when he arrived here.

I didn't know it at the time but in a week he would be splitting wood for me in the backyard and fixing shit around my house. He would ask about the front door and I'll lie to him. In a week I'd be offering to mend his favourite pair of socks and offering to show Ellie because everyone should know how to sow. 

In two weeks I would be inviting him on more of my unofficial patrols. I would be going over for dinners and meeting him before sun up for coffee before we were expected on patrol. In two weeks He would be rolling off my couch in the morning after one night of heavy drinking. He could have walked home but I liked that he stayed. Ellie would be coming over after school. I think she liked having someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't judge her, someone who treated her as an adult and not just another fifteen-year-old. 

I just didn't know it yet. 

______________________

Joel 

///

I woke to find myself in a pool of sweat… again. 

Where I used to wake up from nightmares, I now wake up from dreams of you. 

I don't think you realised what you did to me. Every little touch, the brush of your fingertips against my arm, the way you grabbed a fistful of my hair that was beginning to grow out of control and would start falling into my face “You need a haircut miller” you had told me. I believe your touch was innocent but it lit a fire in my gut. 

I liked the way you pulled me, you pushed me, you ran your fingers through my hair, you traced bruises and scars that you saw. I liked it when you touched me. I liked when you smiled at me and I liked when you scowled at me. You would yell at me, you would cry to me, you would laugh at my stupid jokes and you would leave my home with an article of clothing that needed a hole patched up or to take the hem up on something for Ellie. Some of my things never came back to me but I didn't mind. 

Some nights I wouldn't go back to sleep and instead lay staring at the ceiling watching the light shift as morning broke through the night. Some nights I would think about you, what were you doing?

Were you thinking about me? 

Do you know I think about you?

What do you sound like when you touch yourself?

That was most nights lately. 

Now, I know I said it would only be one time but I couldn't help myself. I tried not to think about you, really I tried. I just couldn't help it. The way you smile at me, the way you smell, your laugh. Some nights I found myself rutting against the bed for relief, eyes sealed shut and whimpering for you, wishing you were here underneath me. Talking me through it. Telling me how good I'm making you feel. I wanted to see your eyes roll back as I worked you through your orgasm, mouth agape, moaning into my ear. I know you would sound so pretty for me.

God get a grip of yourself, Miller.

If I had to be honest with myself, It was scary how badly I wanted you. My body felt like it was engulfed in flames when I came thinking about you. 

My body stuttered as I held a death grip on the bathroom sink or the sheets beneath me. I imagined you smiling at me. Looking so fucking proud of yourself for how crazy you made me. How desperate and needy you made me. How you would let me finish inside of you because I was so good to you and I deserved it.

The lonely, empty feeling would catch up to me pretty quickly after. Some nights it was easy to lull myself back to sleep, other nights I wasn't as lucky. 

I would replay conversations we had. Like the time we were stumbling home from the Bison one night, you grabbed hold of my arm as we walked through the streets. I didn't know if it was just because you were drunk or maybe your hands were cold but I liked it regardless. 

You had told me how the silence of the streets was sometimes deafening. How sometimes it felt worse than being outside the walls. I couldn't have agreed more. 

I told you about how I found it hard to sleep and about how guilty I felt to be here and to be alive. 

I trusted you but I'm sure the abundance of bourbon in my system had a lot to do with the confession. 

If I hadn't just met you I would tell you everything. I would tell you about Sarah, I'd tell you the truth about Ellie. I would tell you about the ache in my chest when I wake up and I'd tell you how much it’s eased since I’ve met you. I'd tell you about how much I like you being around. You'd probably think I’m insane if you knew how much I think about you.

She trusts you, Joel. Don't fuck this up by letting your dick do your thinking for you. 

She's your friend, she trusts you and you're laying in bed thinking about how good it would be to creampie her. You’re fucked up.

///

There had been many nights since the two of us first drank together. I think we both needed it as badly as the other. Each time we got a little more comfortable with each other. Maybe we got a little too close, maybe eyes lingered a little too long and maybe the interlocking of fingers felt like more than just a friendly exchange. 

Sometimes I felt bad for it, sometimes I felt like I was dumping all my shit onto your plate that had just as much shit as mine. Sometimes I thought I should be demanding Ellie to stay home so we could spend time together, but teenagers are teenagers. At least I didn't have to worry about her going too far and no matter where she was there would be a gun nearby. 

But tonight I didn't feel guilty. After the week I had endured I think I earned a night of drinking and while I sat looking at you next to me on the couch I felt myself relax, my head was swimming with the alcohol in my system and the heat from the fireplace making me feel like I was going to melt into the couch. I loved nights like this. 

The last time I sat here with you I told you about the pit in my stomach and the hole in my heart. I told you about the nightmares I have almost every night when I close my eyes and the suffocating feelings that follow me when I wake up. I may have been drunk when I told you but I remember it clear as day. I could feel you searching for my eyes, but I couldn't look at you. I felt so weak. I closed my eyes trying to hide the evident emotion. I heard the shuffled movements as you closed the gap between us. 

I felt your hand on the back of my neck, the tips of your fingers cold despite the heat from the fire. You pulled me into the crook of your neck, resting my head on your shoulder and wrapping your arm around my middle. 

And for the first time in a long time, I let someone see the soft parts of me. The broken parts. I let my body relax in your embrace, I let my shoulder drop and I unclenched my teeth before wrapping my arms around your middle, letting my fingers interlock behind your back.  

You smelt divine. I felt the warmth coming off your body and the feeling of your hand in my hair was intoxicating and when you said “You’re okay, baby” You whispered into my hair I wanted to rip your clothes off and ruin you. 

Baby

Did you mean to say it? 

Baby

Or Did you call everyone that?

Baby

When I woke up the next morning you were still holding me, my head resting against your stomach, my chest pressed between your legs with both hands pressed into your back and one of your hands resting on my shoulder with the other one tangled in my hair. 

The fire was no more than dying embers in the hearth, I would have noticed the chill in the air more if it weren't for the blanket that was draped over my body and the heat coming off your body.

I ignored the ache in my back and the cramping in my hip that I was slumped over on as I looked over your sleeping form. You looked almost angelic in the soft morning glow that was flooding through your windows, the soft swell of your breasts pushing on the fabric of your shirt. My shirt. One that you stole from me. Your hair falls so lazily over one of the couch cushions, the slow rise and fall of your chest. If I were a worse man, the things I would do to you right now. 

“Joel, are you listening?” 

The sound of your voice breaks me from the memory, my attention snaps back to where you sit across from me on the couch. At this point, I consider this couch more of a home than the house I live in. I find myself here more often than not and on multiple occasions Ellie has also felt it was home. It felt like an old friend welcoming you home after you've been gone for a while. 

“I just missed the last part” I leaned over to pour myself another drink from the bottle that sat on the small nightstand on “my side of the couch”. Your words, not mine. I hear a huff escape your lips as you extend your own glass out to me, signalling for a refill. 

It was so cute when you faked irritation. 

“If you weren't so handsome I would slap the shit out of you” You pulled the glass back and threw back a swig before continuing, “I said…” I tried to concentrate on the next part but I let my eyes wash over your form. You were wearing that massive sweater again, the one that swallowed you up. A thick pair of woollen socks hugged your feet but your legs were out on full display in a pair of sleep shorts. My sleep shorts. Another thing you stole from me with the promise of “repairing it” never to be seen again. Oh wait shit she's talking to me. Stop staring at her legs. 

“We’d be out for three nights. We aren't expecting snow for another week but if it starts early and we’re still out there we turn back immediately, yeah?” You're Not asking, you're telling. “There's a string of supply sheds that haven't been checked on in a while. Tommy wants us to check them out before the weather turns on us”  

You could ask me to crawl across broken glass with hot coals on my back just to lick mud off your feet and I'd do it. 

“Yeah it's not a problem” that's probably the better answer. 

///

One thing I really liked about you was the fact that you didn't get small talk. You would ask me questions about my life before the outbreak, which made me feel really old, given you were only a child at the time. 

You would ask me what colour my first bike was or how old I was when I shaved for the first time. Tonight You asked me about my first serious girlfriend. 

It was the first night of our non-official patrol and possibly the last one until springtime. 

And while we had anticipated snow we didn't expect it to be raining sideways. Normally a fire is a surefire way to get into trouble but tonight we needed it, we were both soaked to the bone after spending the last hour looking for a somewhat secure structure to sleep for the night. 

The rain coming down so hard it muffled any noise the pair of you made and the wind picked up the smoke from the fire and carried it away into the night. 

"Hmm, I think her name was Stacy?" I said it more like a question than an answer

“Or was it Lacie?” 

I clicked my fingers before shooting my answer at you “No! It was Macie” 

I looked at your face from across the dancing flames. You looked tired. Your hair was drenched and the whipping of the wind left your cheeks red and blotchy. 

“Do you think you loved her? At the time” you asked from across the fire. You were laid down on your side with your head propped up on your arm. 

I can count on one hand how many girls I actually loved in my life and Lacie. no, wait… Macie. Definitely wasn't one of them. 

“No” I dropped my gaze and looked into the fire. The colour of late autumn leaves. “I was young and love wasn't really the first thing on my mind”  I didn't mind that it sounded cruel, I didn't need to lie to you. 

 I told you about the movies we would go see and the music we would listen to “Most of the stuff she liked was crap but I told her I liked it” I was a horny teenager what do you expect. I Would describe the creek we would go swimming in that summer and how we would ride our bikes around town before I saved enough money for a car. 

 "What kind of car did you drive?" I found it cute that you asked. As if it held any importance. 

"It was a red pickup truck, a hunk of shit really but it was mine" I felt like a doddering old man telling you stories about my past glory days. You would look at me and your eyes would sparkle like I was telling you the most interesting story in the world, mouth slightly open, hanging off my every word. I would tell you anything you wanted to hear as long as you would keep looking at me like that. 

“ I wish I was lucky enough to have a car” you said, turning over onto your stomach bringing your elbows up to support the weight of your head. 

You meant it sincerely but I remember that car very well. It has ripped-up fabric seats, no plastic covering on the dashboard, wires hung from under the steering wheel, no air conditioning and only the driver's side window went down and the fuel gauge didn't always tick so there was more than one occasion that I would be stranded on the side of the road with an empty tank. “It wasn't a prize by any means but it was special to me” You looked at me from across the fire, studying my expression. The smile that was lacing your lips now falls as the look of mischief overtakes your eyes. “Did you fuck her in the back?” and suddenly the space we share is too small, you're too close and the fire is too hot.

You asked me so blankly as if you were just asking me how my day was. 

I felt the flush creep up my neck and cheeks, the grin that spread over your face said ‘I'm trying to make you uncomfortable’. This was a look I've become all too familiar with. It was one you would flash me after one too many drinks, when the conversation would sway into dangerous places or when hands would linger a little too long. 

I didn't get to see it much when we were sober. 

I fucking hated when you looked at me like that.

I let my own lazy grin form on my lips while I looked at you, a shrug was the only reply I could offer. 

 “Wow, you're such a romantic Miller” Your face pulled up in a big grin that stretched across your face. The one I loved to see you wear. 

I blamed the heat of the fire when you pointed out the blush that still resided on my cheeks and neck. I blamed the day's hike for the numbness in my knees but I blamed you for the swelling of my cock. It's the way she looks at me, I can't help that. 

We agreed that I would watch at night and we would switch in the morning. I loved watching at night, I loved the sounds of the night and I loved that every other feeling in my body felt heightened and alert. I loved how night’s felt as if it would go on forever. But most of all, I loved looking down at your sleeping body that was now curled at my side, I loved the way the firelight bounced off your skin and I loved the sweet little moans and groans you would let out in your sleep. Like you were having the best dream of your life. 

“Goodnight, Joel” you whispered out to me before you drifted off. I knew once sleep had taken you under you would reach out for me, looking for some kind of contact whether it was me holding your hand or stroking your hair behind your ear. Some nights it was your arms wrapped around my upper thigh telling me to you. 

I could tell you hated sleeping alone.

///

“Wake up” 

The smell of coffee was the first thing to hit me the next morning. The second thing I noticed was the absence of your warm body curled up on the ground next to me. The third thing I noticed was the ache of my swollen cock as it pressed into the zip on my jeans. 

I Dreamt about you last night. 

I sat up, my lower body in the sleeping bag we packed and decided to share to save on space, seeing how only one of us would be sleeping at a time anyway. 

I stretched my neck feeling it pop as I moved it from left to right. I'm way too old to be sleeping on the ground. 

I looked over at you sitting at the foot of the sleeping bag, a knee propped up with your notebook leaning against it as you scribbled in it. A sight I have seen a million times now. You didn't go anywhere without that thing and I could give up my left testicle to read all your deepest darkest secrets.

 The worn dark leather held the pages together, there were newspaper clippings, stamps and postcards, elastic bands, paper clips, worn and ripped paper with rushed messy writing on them all jammed into the papers. I'd even seen you pick flowers and leaves that you thought were beautiful and press them into the pages. You also kept a hand pull of photographs that you had found. None of them were of your family or even of people you knew. You told me as long as you had the photographs these peoples memories would live on. 

I'd love to see all the notes you kept, all the things you never told me. I'd love to see what made you tick, to rip open your head and dig around in it. That journal would have to do though. You had confided in me about the mistakes you had made and some of the things you did to get here. You had told me about your love life, not that you had to say a lot. I could always tell when you had spent the night with Dean… mainly because I could see your front door from my front door. 

  it never seemed like it was enough. I needed more. 

You'd spoken briefly about your family, your early years in Jackson and your old patrol partner. Oh yeah, your old patrol partner. 

You had only brought him up once before which was what intrigued me the most. I should just ask Tommy, that bastard can't lie for shit. 

The soft slap of pages closing broke my string of thought. 

“Good morning” 

______

YOU

I loved doing Morning watches. I loved the sound of the birds as they woke, i loved watching the sun come up and i loved the crisp air that invaded my lungs. I loved watching Joel sleep, it's almost comical the way his broad shoulders and long legs dont fit into the sleeping bag. I loved brewing fresh coffee and stoking the fire as he lay there, he looked so peaceful. 

I took a sip of coffee from a beat up metal cup before looking down the admire my latest journal entry; 

Dear diary, today was the best day ever!

Just kidding its still the end of the fucking world and and i could have been beaten an raped in my sleep lastnight if it wasnt for the man laying two feet away from me. Funny to think about how adorable he looks right now compared to the animal that everyone claims he is. Not that i want to test him or anything. 

This is morning two of what’s supposed to be a four day journey. The wind feels like it's grating my skin and the rain hasn't let up. I think we left at the worst possible time. 

There's a fire tower about two miles away from where we are now, we are meant to be checking out as well as a few other stations before the snow but shit happens i guess. I think i'll let Joel sleep for a bit longer, i can tell he needs it. When he wakes up I'm gonna tell him we are heading home. If I told him why we were really out here I bet he would think I was an idiot for making him come out here. And if he found out tommy knew the reason he would be double pissed. Maybe I'll tell him when we get home. 

I had a dream about him last night. And it's not the first one I've had but it was the most vivid one. Feels weird to write it down but whatever, if anyone reads this I'll just kill them. 

In my dream we were having sex in the back of his truck, the one he told me about lastnight. But it wasn't just like normal boring sex that I'd have with Dean, it was raw and rough and animalistic, he was biting me and slapping my face and sucking on my tongue before spitting in my mouth. I woke up so fucking horny i almost ripped my clothes off and begged him to fuck me. 

Anyway. Tommy had asked me to try and set him up on a date with a few of the women in Jackson, which I'm not overly thrilled about. I would let him do unspeakable things to me.  

Joel moans alot in his sleep. I wonder if he's dreaming about me the way I've been dreaming about him… or if he's having a horrific nightmare that I need to wake him up from.  

I sit for a moment studying Joel's face as I sketch it out next to the latest entry. I wish i had a camera. 

/// 

It had been a few days since we returned. We made it to the fire tower regardless of the rain and the wind that threatened to sweep me off my feet. 

I remember how fucking cold i was. How my toes felt like they were going to fall off, my socks soaked to the bone, my nose was red where I had continuously crushed it with the back of my glove to collect the snot that was leaking from it. Very sexy. I stepped into the spray of the shower letting the hot water thaw my flesh giving me full body pins and needles. 

I Let Tommy know that the other supply shakes will just have to wait now. At least we know they’re there if we are in an absolute crisis.

I should tell Joel what's in the shed’s. I'm not sure if he’ll laugh or be angry at me. I don't want him to be angry.  

Right now I just felt bad enough about dragging him out there with me. I'll leave it for the moment, let him rest and recover and get something warm in his stomach. 

I felt a flush of heat rise in my gut as I thought about Joel and that dream I had. I let my hand slide between my legs as I massaged the aching bundle of nerves that had been calling my name. “Good girl” I could imagine the words sliding off his tongue with that silky southern drawl. This won't take long.   

After my shower I got into my cosiest clothes. One of Joel's flannels that had gone missing when I stole it so I could fix it and a pair of sweatpants as well as my thickest pair of socks. 

As I made my way into the kitchen, contemplating what to eat to soothe the growl in my stomach, there was a knock at my door. 

Throwing all my weight into pulling the door open, I stumbled back a little before looking up at the figure that filled my doorway. None other than Dean Hickman with a shit eating grin on his face and a knowing look in his eye.

“Hey Beautiful” 

He's not Joel but I can use my imagination. 

///

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[forelxsket]

Supernatural Season One

The first time I watched Supernatural was as a ten-year-old, sitting on the floor of the living room as my mom (who was the one who put the show on) braided my hair. I don’t remember anything from the episode except for a scene of Sam looking out of the car and Jessica, in a white dress, standing ominously. (Season 1, Episode 5: “Bloody Mary”) Something about that scene hooked me and ever since then, Supernatural has held a special place for me. 

Eight years after this moment, as I am getting ready to leave high school and move across the country for university, I get an edit of season 1 that reminds me why I loved this show in the first place. I am desperate for anything that reminds me of my childhood. Something that proves to me that the passing of time can be paused and that it's not inevitable. I hold on to this hope with my claws out, hoping I would have remains of it underneath my nails when all this is over. 

This past week I finished the first season of Supernatural and am just filled with so many emotions that sometimes I need to pause and go out for a walk. So hopefully without any spoilers (if you in the wonderful year of our lord, 2024, have not yet watched supernatural, I don’t know what to tell you. You missed out on a cultural reset that defined an era. The fostered community was so strong that it’s still the most popular fandom on Tumblr and AO3) I give you my thoughts, reviews and rants about season one of Supernatural.

I think the entire aesthetic and attention to detail in season one is so beautiful. My personal favourites are the accessories that Dean Winchester has. I love the ring and I love the necklace and the leather jacket? Oh my god. Revolutionary. Rewatching this show is so nostalgic. The entire show is like coming home, especially for me. It gives you insight into the late 2000s fashion and technology. 

I also think this is Dean’s best season at least looks-wise. The second episode (Season 1, Episode 2: “Wendigo”) is literally the hottest he has ever looked. The entire scene where he flirts with the girl while having a bandage on his neck? I think about that every day.  

My favourite episode from this season has to be Episode 13: “Route 666”. Cassie Robinson is a fascinating character that I wish had a bigger part throughout the show. Although I must admit that this episode is a personal favourite because I just enjoy watching Dean Winchester be hopelessly in love. There are several other great episodes and I genuinely believe that this is one of Supernatural’s best seasons. 

One thing that’s immediately super apparent is the target audience of the show. It's so obvious that this show is targeted towards manly men who love beer, gun, car and woman. It does objectify women a bit but for 2005-2006 it's alright. 

I don’t really have anything negative to say about this season like I said it’s one of the best. 

Final rating: 10/10 (sorry guys I’ll always love the early seasons of Supernatural)

I'll be live tweeting my rewatch so if you want to see that follow me :)

[welldonebeca]

Stupid Squeeze (1)

Summary: Sam and Dean meet a girl up in a bar. She is hot, with the hottest tits and ass, the softest body and curves, and wants the two of them. Good thing they know how to share. Pairing: Sam x Lily (OC) x Dean WC: 1.7k words Warnings: Sexual tension. Flirting. Older men/younger woman. Dirty talking. Seduction. Degrading kink.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

Dean sipped his beer, crossing gazes with the pretty curvy thing in the corner, sipping a glass of dark liquid on her own after her friend had gone and abandoned her.

She looked like she had just walked out of a porno: tight skirt with a shirt that cut deep, although she acted shy as if she didn't know the effect she had.

And those tits... those huge tits...

Fuck.

When was the last time he had gotten laid? Felt too long.

It wasn't like he could just pick up some hot twenty-something like the used to, he was over 40 now.

And it wasn't that he couldn't get up - well, there was this one night but it didn't matter! - just girls now didn't like the idea of more experienced men.

They always went to the young guys, the green ones.

Her brown eyes met with his again, and Dean just knew that if she let him take her to bed he would work all of that frustrations out of her and spoil her of any other man, just because he could.

Dean glanced at Sam, expecting to be on his phone or staring off into the distance, but no. His brother's gaze was laser-focused on her tight little skirt, and he was just as hungry as Dean.

Dammit.

He slapped Sam's arm with a hand as he put his glass down.

"She's been eyeing you for a while," he told him. "You should give it a shot."

His brother nearly gasped, eyes widening.

"Dean! She looks, like... 18!"

Dean scoffed at his deflection.

If only.

"At least 22," he corrected him. "You can ask for an ID if you want to, I bet she'd give you one."

She looked too nervous to try to have a fake ID.

Sam moved hesitantly.

"I don't know, Dean," he mumbled. "I think she was looking at you."

He shook his head.

"Give it a shot," he insisted. "And, hey, maybe she will want us both."

Dean chuckled at his own joke, but his brain quickly caught up with it.

"Like that little redhead back in Wyoming," he licked his lip.

That was a memorable night.

Sam chuckled, flustering.

"God, that had to be... what?" he looked at him. "Twelve years ago."

Dean just nodded.

"Fun night, wasn't it?" he asked.

His brother just chuckled, and Dean slapped his arm again.

"Do it," he insisted. "Before she finds someone else."

That was enough to make him move, at last.

Dean sat back, watching as his little brother walked up to the girl, looking a little awkward as he did.

How he had managed to get women, Dean never understood.

The girl turned to him with a large smile, puffing out her chest to show off to Sam, and he had to hold back a shake of his head.

She was fucking eager, wasn't she?

He couldn't hear them for a moment, but he knew two things - Sam was being awkward, and she was giggling very much, tossing her hair out to show him her tits, cocking her hip to show off her curves.

She pointed behind herself, to where Dean had seen her friend leave her and grinned largely, shaking her head, saying something that made Sam smirk too.

He couldn't help himself, walking a little closer while she looked away, and it was enough that he could pick up on what they were saying.

"That's not good," Sam hummed a little.

"I mean, you're here now," she giggled.

"Well..." his brother purred. "You could come to sit with me and my brother. And maybe we can talk a little?"

Her eyes darted up, and the moment she saw Dean, her flushed cheeks got even redder.

"Talk?" she asked, innocently.

Sam chuckled and Dean smirked.

"Maybe more, if you want to."

She looked at Sam again and then at Dean.

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently.

His brother slapped his arm as if telling him to play it cool.

"We just find you very interesting," his brother shrugged.

"And very beautiful," Dean added.

She looked at Dean again.

"We will talk, then?" she asked him.

He simply nodded, humming, amused.

It was a little game for her, he could see. She was already looking like she wanted to follow them anywhere they called her.

Little prey.

"Yeah," he confirmed softly.

They walked down to their table again, and she sat on the chair closest to the wall.

"So," Dean looked at her. "How old are you?"

The girl looked at him, seeming surprised by the question.

"24," she told him.

He hummed a little. Good, good.

"Is that important?" she leaned a little closer to him, smirking, almost serving her tits on the table. "I thought we were talking."

He didn't phase.

"You look a little young," he noted. "Had to make sure you weren't being a little tease."

She just shook her head, looking amused, and Sam got her attention back to him.

"What is your name?" he asked, tapping his beer. "I don't think I remembered to ask."

She sipped her drink - wine, Dean supposed.

"Helen," she told them, at least. "But you can call me Lily. Or Hela."

Sam chuckled.

"Why would anyone call you the goddess of hell?" he asked her.

The girl shrugged, amused.

"Cheat on me and you'll see."

Dean shook his head. Feisty.

"Lilies are my favourite flower," he noted. "They smell wonderful."

Lily raised her chin.

"What do you think," she cockled her head. "Do I smell wonderful?"

Dean leaned onto her, taking the invitation, inhaling the sweet perfume on her neck, and kissed her skin, making her breath in deep.

"You do," he agreed with a purr, lingering before moving away.

She moved, and he could see her cheeks flushing right when Sam moved by her side, his arm out of his view.

"So," she cleared her throat, all red on her face. "Do you two just casually talk to young girls all along at a bar?"

He chuckled.

"Well, you're not wrong," he looked at his brother, who was watching her face. "You see, little flower, Sammy and I... we don't mind sharing."

She licked her lips, relaxing some more on her chair.

"Sharing?" she asked, sultry voice soft.

Dean hummed positively.

"We are used to sharing stuff," he shrugged. "We're brothers, you know? Especially when we see a girl we both really like."

Sam leaned a little closer to her, speaking near her ear.

"Can I smell you too, little flower?" he asked.

Lily swallowed down, and nodded.

"Yeah," she spoke softly.

His brother leaned in and ran his nose over her neck, sniffing her.

"Why don't you tell her what you first saw, Sammy?" he told him. "For me, it was those tits."

Sam bit her neck, his arm moving discreetly.

What was he doing under there?

"That tiny skirt," he bit her earlobe. "Showing off those meaty thighs, made me want to bury myself between them."

"Is that why you got your hand there?" he asked.

Sam chuckled, and she blushed.

"Push that tablecloth away," he commanded her. "Show Dean where you put my hand."

The little minx complied, sheepish, and Sam's fingers were already rubbing her over her panties under her mini skirt.

"She tugged on my hand herself," his brother told him. "I can feel her panties getting wet already."

Fuck. She had come looking for someone to fuck her, she had to.

Dean leaned over, nipping at her neck and climbing slowly, until he was kissing her lips, and she moaned into his mouth.

Lily gasped and pushed her fingers into his hair, pulling her closer.

Oh, he loved a girl who knew what she wanted.

"Please," she whined in a little whisper when he pulled away a bit.

Dean looked down, finding his brother’s hands making circles and circles over the fabric.

Sam pressed his lips to his ear, though his eyes were focused on the bar, looking for people, making sure no one was watching them.

"Do you want more?" he offered darkly.

"Yes," she moaned softly. "Please."

Dean moved a hand to her face, raising her chin.

"You'll have to be quiet," he told her. "Or we'll be kicked out before we can even start having fun."

She stiffened up, as if trying to keep herself from moving.

Dean looked down, her white - fucking white - panties now with a big wet patch, and he watched as Sam moved his hand a bit to pull her lips apart, so he could focus on her stiff clit.

She squeezed the table, breathing very, very slow.

"I think she is close to cumming, Sammy," he tilted his head.

His brother's lips curled in a smirk.

"Oh, is she now?"

He nodded slowly.

"Look at her cunt," he pointed with his chin. "She has soaked through her panties. The seat will be all messy."

Her face turned very red.

"Such a dirty little minx," Dean purred. "Are you going to cum for us in the middle of this bar?"  Public masturbation.

Sam continued to rub her, though a little more focused.

"I think our sweet little flower is going to blossom for us," he hummed.

Dean watched her legs flexing closed and Lily's dazed eyes fluttered shut.

"Cum for us, pretty flower," Dean coached her. "I promise, it'll be just the beginning of what we can give you."

She did, moaning very softly, and he would see Sam practically drooling.

Fuck, Dean wanted to get between her legs and make her cum again right there.

They needed to get somewhere private.

"Come on," he stood up. "Have you paid for your drinks?"

Lily opened her eyes, looking a little soft and lost.

"I... have," she spoke slowly.

Sam took his hand from between her legs and placed a finger on her lips before tilting her chin up, giving her lips a little peck.

"Come with us, sweet flower," he whispered.

Dean adjusted himself, feeling his cock so hard it was practically bursting out of his pants.

She followed him holding her bag close, and he wasn't surprised to see his brother holding her hand as they walked out, guiding her.

"Where are we going?" she asked softly.

Oh, he was too hard to drive to the motel.

"Our car."

…

“Stupid Squeee” was posted on Patreon on February 2023. To read it now before anyone else, subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month and it helps a lot.

…

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[dw19791967]

That Type of Girl Part 3

Pairing: Dean x reader (Eventual), Sam x reader (Platonic)

Warnings: language, unrequited love, angst, mentions of torture, mentions of self-hate.

This is the third fic I have ever written, all mistakes are my own. Please be gentle on me!

______________________________

What does one wear to church? I wouldn’t know since I never really went as a kid and as an adult well, once you know who God really is, it can be hard to get past that. 

I decided on a long oversized maroon sweater, black leggings, and boots. I never really was a heels girl. Sure, I could handle a wedge or boots with a chunky heel, but I definitely wasn’t the type to wear six inch heels. I decided to leave my hair in its natural state, but I did twist my bangs together and pinned them back. I can’t braid, no matter how many times I have tried to learn. So twisting two pieces together is my go to, especially to get hair out of my face. I applied my regular makeup routine. I do it for me, not to impress people. I may be overweight and unappealing in other aspects but my makeup is something I am proud of. Years of practice have helped make it easy, and quick.

I walked out of the bathroom ready to go. “Alright boys, let’s do this.”

__________________

When we arrived at the church not a ton people were there. There was a small group gathered. A few women, they seemed to be in their late 20’s and a couple of men who seemed to be around the same age.

“Ok Y/N you ready? Remember, Dean and I will be here if you need us. We are going to try to scope the place out a bit” Sam looked at me. I am glad he was confident in my people skills, cause right now I am not. I do fine talking with people I know and even strangers. But the pressure of trying to force a conversation can be a struggle sometimes. And since Dean didn’t seem too confident in my skills earlier, I have been dreading this. How is it that the man who is supposedly my best friend, doesn’t believe I am capable of doing something I have done a hundred times before. 

“I guess.” I started heading towards the group of people.

__________________

We just arrived back at the motel. Sam sat down next to me “Well we found nothing, we checked all over the place. Nothing suspicious, no sulfur or EMF.” 

“Yeah and all the single chicks were a bust too.” Dean smiled.

Of course he would be worried about chasing tail.

I sighed. “Ok, I talked to a group of people at the church. They mentioned a guy Sarah worked with, his name was Ryan not sure on last name (Sarah was the most recent victim). They also mentioned Sarah had a crush on a dude at the church, Marshall. And last one, she had talked to Rick quite a bit at the church. One of the ladies said Rick has just been in town the last 2 weeks. Something seems off with Rick, but I’m not really sure what.” I looked over the case files again. I always like to make sure I am not missing anything.

“Well since we are at a stand still, I say it’s time to hit the bar. We need a break from researching and thinking.” Dean stood up.

“Maybe you're right, we can take a break and come back to it later.” Sam looked at me. “What do you say Y/N?”

“I think I’m going to stay here, try to figure out what is happening. Something is wrong in this whole equation.” I kept reading the files. I am also not in the mood to see Dean flirt tonight. But I will keep that thought to myself.

“Well party pooper, call if you need us.” Dean patted my shoulder. 

Maybe a break from the boys will do me some good.

I had just changed into a t-shirt and took my makeup off when there was a knock at the door. I figured one of the boys was back and forgot their key.

“I swear you guys can’t survive without me.” I headed for the door.

I cracked the door open. Rick. What the hell is he doing here?

“Hi Y/N, I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I just wanted to check on you and see if you maybe needed anything.” He rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous tick maybe.

“Um, I appreciate that. How did you know I was here?” This is weird for sure.

“Oh my aunt owns this motel, so I checked with her and she said you were here. She also mentioned you had two guys with you. Are you going to let me in?” He smiled at me.

“Uh, I guess.” I grabbed my knife and stuck it in the back of my leggings. A girl can never be too safe.

“So who are the guys here with you, brothers?” Rick made his way into the room.

“No, just friends. They came to be supportive. Can I get you a beer or water?” I had told the group of people at the church I was a cousin of Sarah’s, since she had no family in town it was an easy lie.

“I’ll have a beer, thanks.” I handed him the drink. “So where are your friends?”

“Out, they should be back shortly.” I was getting nervous. Something was not right here. 

“Oh I doubt that Y/N. You know Dean always enjoys working on his night moves.” Rick's eyes flashed black. Next thing I know everything went black.

Oh I am so screwed.

_______________

“Wakey, wakey sunshine. God, I can’t believe how stupid you are for a hunter. Who the hell lets someone they barely know into their hotel room?" Rick poked at me.

We were in an abandoned warehouse. I was cuffed to a chair. This wasn’t exactly how I planned on my night going.

“Well, what can I say? I’m prone to making stupid decisions. So why don’t we just cut the foreplay. What do you want? ” I smiled.

Whack. Damn. I almost had forgotten what it was like to get the shit knocked out of me.

“You know, all of the women I took. There was nothing exciting about them. I mean they wonder why they are single. Maybe it’s because they are so damn boring. But you, I mean besides being overweight and homely, there's a certain spark to you. And once I found out you were a hunter, well you had to be my next victim.” He smoothed my hair out.

“So are you doing this for shits and giggles or is there a bigger agenda you are playing into?” He made his way over to a table and brought back a knife. Great.

“Oh sweet Y/N, of course I am doing this for me. You see, I have played by all the rules and followed the main man's plan. But it’s time for me to shine and this is just the beginning. So whatcha say, are you ready to have some fun?” Rick started to slice into my arm.

Lucky for me, I have a high pain tolerance.

“You see, you were an easy target. Your self esteem is so low. Plus can’t forget your little crush on the elder Winchester. What makes you think he would ever look at you twice?” Rick now started slicing my thighs. “I mean you have a pretty face for sure, but you know Dean prefers his women slim. You will never be that type of girl ya know?”

“Screw you. You don’t know the first thing about me. I mean you do realize anything you say to me, I have either heard or said it to myself a thousand times before? Way to be creative.” I laughed. I have always been stubborn. I’m sure as hell not going to stop now.

“You know, you are really starting to get on my nerves. How about I find a way to shut that pretty mouth up. I doubt the Winchesters would even miss your annoying ass.” Rick punched me in the face.

I spit blood out of my mouth. I hope he gets this over with soon.

Tag List:

@hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist

[aylacavebear]

The Curse That Changed Your Life - Part 2 Chapter 2

With the witch taken care of, your hopes of being human gone, and dealing with sensations and emotions you hadn't before, life didn't seem like it was going to get much better. How would he look at you in the morning after what you'd said to him? What would you do after this? What would the next month hold, and how much like a cat were you? There were far too many questions you didn't have answers to and didn't want to ask. Would you find any answers in the month to come? Only time would tell.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2498

Warnings: Fluff, Dean being Dean. Not really much for this one.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

The next few days passed without any sort of incident. Dean would make comments here and there, mostly flirting with you, so you did the same in return. The others mostly stayed quiet when it came to the two of you, waiting to see who was going to give in first, even if none of them wanted to be anywhere near the bunker when it did finally happen. The sexual tension that was building could be cut like a hot knife through frozen butter.

You were doing your best not to let it show just how flustered you were getting, as Dean looked like he wasn’t flustered in the least. That was annoying you more than anything. The two of you still talked about stuff, but he seemed to enjoy making innuendos just to watch you squirm, which you did.

They were still trying to find something to break the curse, but when another case came up, it had to get put on hold. This was day five since he’d accepted the challenge you hadn’t meant to make.

“At least it looks easy enough. Simple salt and burn,” Sam said, his attention firmly focused on the laptop in front of him.

“When has anything for us been simple or easy?” Dean asked sarcastically, sipping his coffee.

You weren’t sure how you felt at the moment. You knew he was a hunter and that he’d hunt things. You just weren’t prepared for the emotions that sparked inside you at the thought of him being in possible danger and getting hurt. So, you sat quietly, sipping your coffee, just listening.

“I could go with you. It might go faster that way,” Eileen offered. She was getting the feeling of cabin fever and needed to get out for a bit.

“I am not getting stuck in a motel room with the two of you,” Dean groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Can’t be any worse than being stuck here with you and Y/N and the tension that both of you are only making worse,” Charlie added with a fair amount of sass.

“Then I’ll come along. Eileen and Sam can share a room, and I’ll share a room with Dean,” Cas pipped in, making you attempt to keep from laughing at the way it sounded.

“Cas, that’s just wrong, on so many levels,” Dean told him, not amused in the least.

Cas just looked at him, confused, “What’s wrong with two men sharing a room with separate beds? You and Sam do it all the time.”

Dean rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how to explain it to the angel, “Never mind, Cas. Fine, you can go.”

“Nice. I get to stay here, corrupt Y/N,” Charlie stated happily.

It was interesting to you how none of them seemed worried, in the least, about getting hurt while chasing some ghost. You looked over at Charlie, somewhat puzzled as to how she could corrupt you, but before you could ask, Dean did.

“How would you corrupt her?” Dean asked, now curious more than anything, glad that the focus was no longer on what Cas had said.

Charlie smiled in that mischievous way that she did, “Turn her into a nerd. Or I could just show her your porn collection that you meticulously keep neatly organized.”

Dean almost looked mortified, but you took the opportunity, “Pretty sure he’s soft compared to the things I enjoy when it comes to porn.”

“See, now you need to elaborate,” Dean stated, leaning his arms on the table.

“No, Dean, she doesn’t. We need to focus on the case,” Sam interjected quickly.

You mouthed the words “ha ha” before leaning back in your chair and sipping your coffee again. He gave that look that made your knees weak, and you were thankful you were sitting down. You knew he’d eventually get around to making a move; it was evident not only in the way he looked at you but also in the amount of pheromones he was giving off.

“You totally have to tell me about it when they leave,” Charlie told you quickly before dropping the topic, more due to the look Sam gave her.

The case was only a few towns over, so it wasn’t like they were going far. There was just this weird feeling nagging at your insides and fear that kept lurking in your mind. You just couldn’t quite pinpoint why you were feeling that way. 

When they were packing up, bags on the map table, it finally hit you. You were worried he wouldn’t make it back, that something terrible would happen to him. He was standing over his bag, double-checking the weapons he packed, and you watched from the library.

Your body moved toward him, seemingly on its own, the worry in your eyes that you couldn’t hide. He saw you out of the corner of his eye but didn’t turn to you. And when you were standing almost next to him, he finally spoke before you could.

“Come to see me off, propper like?” he asked fairly seductively, but when he looked over at you, his smirk faded, seeing how worried you were.

“I know you do this kind of stuff all the time and that you’ll probably be fine, but…” you attempted to explain, quietly to keep your voice as even as possible. “...Look, I know… I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t…” 

You couldn’t seem to get the words out right at the moment, so you took a deep, determined breath and then leaned up on your tiptoes, giving him a soft, gentle kiss with your hands resting on his chest. It was a plea for him to return to you, and you had to admit that you liked him far more than you’d wanted to admit to yourself.

Dean was a little startled at first but returned the kiss, cupping your cheek for a few moments before he pulled away. “I promise, I’ll come back,” he whispered, then went back to his bag, making sure he had what he needed.

The others in the room had been silent but now were smiling. Dean had enjoyed the last almost week of teasing you. Your brattiness had him thinking all sorts of wonderful things, but then there was your soft side. It drew him in in a way that scared the hell out of him, but craved it at the same time. 

As you listened to the Impala drive away, your heart sank while you stood in the war room, staring at the garage door. Charlie set her hand on your shoulder, “They always come back. Sometimes beat to shit, but they always come back,” she tried to reassure you.

You looked over at her, “How do you not worry about them?” 

She chuckled, motioning for you to follow her back into the library, where she returned to her seat and you to yours. “Those two have been fighting monsters their entire lives. Yeah, sometimes it is more dangerous than others, but they always come out on top. You’ll see,” she explained, back to her happy-go-lucky self again.

You glanced at the garage door, contemplating what she’d said. She had a point. Dean shared some stuff with you, and they had always made it through whatever they were up against. Hell, both of them had died, more than once. You knew it would only ease your worry some, now that you’d admitted to at least yourself how you really felt toward Dean.

“So, what do you normally do when they aren’t here?” you asked, looking back over at her. 

“Depends. Sometimes, I play online RPGs. Other times, I read some of the lore they’ve got here. That’s when I’m not hacking into some corporate system, having a little fun,” she explained, doing something on her laptop.

“Huh…” you mumbled, attempting to think of things a little differently than how they’d ended up in your head. 

I could always think of it like he’s at work, and I’m here, waiting till his shift is over, like a truck driver. What would I do if it was like that?

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, your mind wandering with your thoughts. Charlie watched you, your ears twitching, your tail swaying with your thoughts, but she stayed quiet for now. She was still goofing off on her laptop, but that girl could multitask like nobody's business.

During your stay with all of them, you helped out with simple clean-up in the kitchen and library. You even made sure to keep the bathroom clean after you used it. Right now, you knew there was no point in organizing the library tables, as they would return to their research when they returned. The kitchen and most of the bunker were already clean. 

It honestly surprised you at how clean the brothers were compared to what you’d heard about how men typically lived when they were ‘alone’, per say. You’d never been in Dean’s room, though, and that had made you fairly curious how he kept his personal space. 

“I need to do some laundry,” you finally broke the silence as you stood.

“Have fun,” Charlie replied absentmindedly as her focus went entirely to her laptop. She figured since the others would be gone for a few days, there was plenty of time to goof off with you later.

You headed down the hallway to your room but stopped outside Dean’s. It being across from yours always made you wonder what the inside looked like. Biting your lip, you reached out for the doorknob but stopped yourself.

Would he get mad if I just went in there without his knowledge?

The thing was, when your curiosity got piqued too intensely, you had to satisfy it, or it would drive you up the wall. You stood there, though, fighting with yourself as your hand slowly found the knob, your fingers gently tightening around it. 

I shouldn’t…

But you couldn’t stop the curiosity that just kept growing. You slowly turned the knob as your ears drooped a little with your apprehension, tail flicking with anticipation. Chewing on your bottom lip nervously, you slid the door open, then flicked on the light. 

To your surprise, it was cleaner than you had pictured. He’d hung weapons around the room, which you figured might hold some sort of memory he enjoyed, or perhaps they might be his favorites. You weren’t quite sure. His bed was even made. There were beer bottles dotted around, but it could have been worse.

It was his laundry pile that made you sigh, as it looked like there were at least three loads there. You didn’t even realize the man owned that many articles of clothing since you typically saw him in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel over it. He did occasionally wear sweatpants, but you’d only seen him in a red plaid pair, which were now sitting on top of his laundry pile.

I wonder if he’d get mad if I did his laundry.

You slipped out of his room, already feeling the guilt of invading his space like you had, closing the door behind you. Once in your own room, you pulled out your phone and thought about texting Sam, asking him the very question that teased your thoughts. You pulled up Sam’s contact information, went to the message section, and began typing out the question. Just when you were about to change your mind, you hit the send button.

While waiting for a response, you gathered your laundry and headed to the laundry room. At least you only had one load and could carry it without issue. Your phone vibrated in your pocket halfway there, making you grumble slightly.

It wasn’t a far walk, thankfully, and you set your clothes on the top of the dryer before pulling your phone out.

Text from Sam: Why do you want to do Dean’s laundry?

Text to Sam: I wanted to do something nice for him. Will he get mad or not?

You hit send and began getting your stuff into the washer when your phone went off again.

Text from Sam: I get doing something nice, but his laundry? 

You rolled your eyes, slightly annoyed he wouldn’t just answer you already.

Text to Sam: Can you just answer my question, please?

This time, you held onto your phone, tapping your foot as you waited, seeing the little dots appear at the bottom of the screen, showing he was typing.

Text from Sam: I don’t think he’ll get mad. It’s weird, though. You two aren’t even dating.

Again, you rolled your eyes.

Text to Sam: Thank you for answering my question. If he’d ever get around to asking

You reread it, then deleted the last part and started over.

Text to Sam: Thank you for answering me. What would you suggest that wouldn’t be weird?

That one you sent. The last thing you needed was for something he could show Dean that might only make things worse. You didn’t want it to come across weird through text, either. As you were getting your clothes into the washer, your phone vibrated.

Text from Sam: Maybe bake something? He likes sweets and pie. Oh, and anything that includes bacon.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that one, anything that includes bacon. You sent a quick thank you text, shoved your phone in your pocket, and took care of your laundry. Knowing the load would take nearly forty-five minutes to wash, you returned to the library, where Charlie was still sitting, on her laptop.

Plopping down in a chair, you leaned your arms on the table, thinking about what you could possibly do that wouldn’t come across as weird. Baking him something was a nice idea, and you were sure there were plenty of supplies in the kitchen; you’d just never made a pie before. 

“Whatcha thinkin' about?” Charlie asked you without looking up from her laptop.

“I was gonna do Dean’s laundry as something nice, but Sam said that was weird. He suggested I bake something,” you replied, half-mumbled

She looked up at you, raising an eyebrow, “Can you bake?”

“Yeah. Baking is mostly easy. I’ve just never made a pie before,” you answered, going through different recipes in your head.

“The man loves chocolate,” she chuckled.

Glancing over at her, a recipe came to mind, “I think I know what I’ll make. Do you know when they’ll be back?”

“Should be about three days, give or take a day,” she answered, “Why?”

“Cause the thing I want to bake is better the first day,” you replied with a small smile, letting his possible reaction play out in your mind.

“They usually text the morning they’re heading back,” Charlied replied, hyper-focused on whatever she was doing on her laptop.

That works. I can make it that morning and it’ll be ready for when they get here.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 3

Series Master List Part 1 Master List Part 2 Master List Past 3 Master List Main Master List

A/N: As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know in a comment. And if I missed your request to be tagged, please let me know. I know not everyone is interested in everything an author writes, so don't mind doing different tag lists for each piece of writing. I just get a lot of requests sometimes.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @zaratahir @jc-winchester @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never

@nancymcl @deans-spinster-witch @kindollss @flamencodiva @reignsboy19

@stillhere197

[10blue10]

The Hidden World Themes

(Rediscovered this on my computer and decided to dust it off and post it here on Tumblr XD)

The intended themes of HTTYD: THW, as far as I can tell, are about maturing, letting go, accepting change and standing on your own. These are all good themes and I agree with them in theory. The problem is the way they were handled. I’m sorry, but if the themes have gotten mixed up with implications about segregation and ‘otherness’, romantic vs platonic relationships being portrayed as a binary or one better than the other, and looking for a quick fix solution to avoid problems rather than face and solve them…then something has gone very wrong. I’m sure many of you may insist that Dean didn’t intend for these implications to be in the movie, but they are there regardless. If anything, the fact that Dean apparently didn’t notice or dismissed these issues with his script makes him more culpable, not less. Furthermore, does a franchise based on the premise ‘Vikings who ride dragons’ really need to be realistic? I’m not expecting a play by play of how history would change, but when you put dragons, or any supernatural element, in the ‘real world’, that changes things by definition. ‘Realism’ means addressing typically ignored consequences, not ‘copying’ reality (I recommend Overly Sarcastic Productions ‘Trope Talk: Realism’ for a more comprehensive exploration). That’s what reality TV is for. As I was saying…

Theme One – Coming of Age Dean wanted HTTYD to be Hiccup’s coming of age story, but he also projects onto Hiccup, and therein lies the biggest problem with the movie (and really the franchise as a whole). It revolves entirely around Hiccup, to the point that the other characters feel like NPCs, and Dean is simply ‘playing’ as Hiccup. Snotlout, the twins and even Fishlegs are all portrayed as being way more immature, irresponsible and ignorant than Hiccup ever was, but their complete lack of development is used for ‘comic relief’ (and I use the phrase very loosely). They don’t actually matter, because this is The Hiccup Show, aka The Dean Show.

What gets me is the fact that the movie seems to equate ‘coming of age’ with “get married”. Right from the start Hiccup is told he should marry Astrid, and then at the end when he sends the dragons away he’s rewarded for this ‘mature’ decision by… marrying Astrid. Something that was going to happen anyway, because of course it was. There was no way the franchise wouldn’t end with a Hiccstrid wedding scene. Let’s give the ‘coming of age’ arc to Snotlout instead, shall we? After all, he’s had development before regarding his dad Spitelout, so we can run with that. Instead of flirting with Valka (eww), we can have him be overly competitive towards Eret, to the point it’s affecting missions. Snotlout blames Eret for leaving Ruffnut behind, and Eret asks what Snotlouts’ problem with him is. To which Snotlout responds that he’s jealous, because Eret is tall, strong, handsome (wait what?), talented… even Spitelout likes him more! So Eret tells Spitelout that if he really said he prefers a complete stranger over his own son, he’s a shit dad, and then he punches Spitelout in the face. Because who among us hasn’t wanted to see Spitelout get punched in the face? Seeing this would give Snotlout the courage to stand up to his dad later in the movie. / Theme Two – With Love Comes Loss Oh boy. I get it; Dean was going for a classic ‘if you love them, let them go’ message and used this flashback scene to foreshadow/parallel it. But Stoick and Hiccup’s situations are completely different! 1) Stoick thought Valka was dead. It’s not like she decided to go and live with dragons, and he respected her decision to do so. They were separated by something outside of his control and he had to come to terms with that. 2) Stoick didn’t expect the other men on Berk to give up their wives because he’d lost his. Now then, who shall we give the ‘with love comes loss’ arc to? How about Valka and Gobber, who are also mourning Stoick. Perhaps they both unintentionally put pressure on Hiccup to be like his dad, trying to vicariously have Stoick with them through his son, if that makes sense. We could replace the flashback with a scene of them worried about Hiccup. One thing leads to another and they realise that they’ve been so focused on wanting Stoick back in some way that they haven’t just mourned and reminisced together. / Theme Three – Embracing Change “Look at you, embracing change. I’m proud of you” – says Astrid, to… I’m sorry, who? Hiccup? As in Hiccup ‘changed the whole of Berk’ Haddock? Hiccup ‘first Viking to ride a dragon’ Haddock? What the fuck? This line is stupid and makes no sense. Actually a lot of Astrid’s lines are stupid and make no sense, but I won’t get into that. The point is, Hiccup is the last person who needs to learn to ‘embrace change’. In fact, let’s just cut this theme entirely. There’s such a thing as having too many themes crammed into one story. / Theme Four – Stand/Fly on Your Own

Now for the theme that even the marketing played up. Hiccup thinks he’s nothing without Toothless, so he needs to let Toothless go. That’s the only way for him to stand on his own… or is it? Yes, in real life circumstances change, friends and even families drift apart, and people should be able to ‘stand on their own’ as independent individuals, absolutely – but we do this all the time without having to cut off ties to those we care about. There are hundreds of people in healthy, balanced relationships who still have friends beyond their significant other. ‘If you love them, let them go’ is a nice sentiment, but to me it applies better to unhealthy, imbalanced relationships i.e.: a parent who can’t deal with their child growing up, or an ex-lover struggling to accept that their partner has moved on.

As a real world example, if someone is dependent on another (often a romantic partner) for self-worth, the solution would not be to have them cut ties with their source of affirmation. It would be better to help them find self-worth within themselves, so they can ‘stand on their own’, without having to rely on another person’s approval or support…but that other person can still be there. So let’s address the Buffalord in the room; Hiccup’s apparent dependency on Toothless. For the sake of argument, we’ll assume he is too reliant on his best friend as a source of self-worth. The issue that needs addressing isn’t his reliance on Toothless, it’s his lack of self-worth without the dragons. Sending the dragons away didn’t need to be the ‘solution’ to this problem. He and Toothless had an equal, healthy partnership, shown through their matched missing limbs, similar personalities, and the way they treat each other.

HTTYD1 gives us a perfectly valid reason for why Hiccup would associate his self-worth with Toothless and the dragons. After all, if it weren’t for training Toothless, he would have stayed an outcast in his own tribe. People tell him “You’re nothing without your dragon”, but these people are usually the villains. As in the ones he has no good reason to listen to. If he believes them on some level, then that means neither he, Stoick, Gobber or Astrid ever addressed the issues that led to his lack of self-esteem and his need for an emotional crutch (which ends up being Astrid). That is the real problem, not his friendship with Toothless. If we want to give Hiccup an arc about ‘standing on his own’, let’s pick up where the second movie left off and have him still be torn between his duties as chief and what he actually wants to do with his life. At the end he understands that he doesn’t need Toothless or the dragons to define himself with, but he wants to keep studying and rescuing the dragons regardless. He chooses his own path rather than trying to follow in his father’s footsteps, thus culminating the arc of individualism/self worth that started in the first movie. I’ve also come up with a parallel negative arc for Grimmel that can tie into this ‘rewrite’, but that can be it’s own post, since this one is long enough as it is. So, how would you guys improve on the themes in THW?

[bideanwinchestertruther]

A non comprehensive list of the men Dean flirted with or had tension with (up to S04e10, Heaven and Hell)

Roy (The hunter hired to help the Collin siblings find their missing brother, S01e02, Wendigo)

The coroner (trying to be charming to get information, S01e05, Bloody Mary)

Scotty (In an attempt to be charming to get information, S01e11, Scarecrow)

Ash (For a moment there, S02e02, everybody Loves a Clown)

Gordon Walker (During like... the entire ep until it was revealed he was an asshole, S02e03, Bloodlust)

A policeman (S02e07, The Usual Suspects)

The Janitor (Kind of, Gabriel's fault, S02e15, Tall Tales)

Richie (Watch it again, tell me Dean didn't light up at seeing him, and that his face didn't fall the second the girl appeared, S03e04, Sin City)

Victor Henricksen ( S03e12, Jus In Bello)

Castiel. (.... it started in S04e01 Lazarus Rising, it ended in... uhhhh... never?)

I know Anna was a girl but 1, she got a crush from hearing angels talk about Dean, you can see it, and it sure as fuck wasn't Uriel. 2, if you tell me that her grabbing onto Cas' handprint while they had sex was not at least a little bit gay for Dean you're lying (S04e10, Heaven and Hell)

[malachiexists13]

Gay Or Nay?: Ikemen Series Edition

86% voted yes, 14% voted no, so here’s the post. Reminder that these are MY impressions of the characters, and this is entirely a joke. No need to take me too seriously. If you disagree with me, that’s fine. No need to argue, just make your own post. 

Also small spoilers for my ikemen ocs series.

------------------------------------------------

Ikemen Sengoku

Nobunaga Oda 

Have you SEEN his right and left hand men? He’s either an ally or bi-curious. Can’t decide. 

Masamune Date 

He flirts with Mai to hide his homosexuality /j 

Nah, I’ve seen how he admitted that he’d kiss Nobunaga. He’s gay. Bisexual if you please, but gay. 

Mitsuhide Akechi 

Is that even a question? Have you somehow not seen the way he flirts with Hideyoshi? Let’s be honest, he’s bisexual. 

Keiji Maeda 

Idk him well enough to judge that. 

Hideyoshi Toyotomi 

I know a lot of people are going to want me to say Hideyoshi is gay because of Mitsuhide... But honestly, Hideyoshi gives me the vibes of someone who says gay shit without realizing its gay. He seems more like a very supportive ally to me. 

Ieyasu Tokugawa 

Idk but I can see him as like, panromantic or something. He also screams femboy to me but we dont talk about that 

Mitsunari Ishida 

Confused ally <3 

Ranmaru Mori 

Confused ally pt.2 + closeted ace 

Yoshimoto Imagawa 

Gay (they try to push so hard that he’s pretty, and no straight man is supposed to be that pretty /j) 

Sasuke Sarutobi 

Nerdy gay 

Kanetsugu Naoe 

Either indifferent so like, some kind of mspec or somewhere on the ace spectrum, maybe both, not too sure 

Yukimura Sanada 

Awkward gay (secretly dating nerdy gay) 

Kenshin Uesugi 

That one token straight guy who no one is completely sure that he’s straight or not. 

Shingen Takeda 

In my brain, major flirt = major bisexual so- 

Kicho 

I’ve seen other people write him as like, indifferent or pansexual so I’m leaning towards that 

Kennyo 

Wdym? He’s homophobic- (THIS IS A JOKE. NO HATE TOWARDS KENNYO) 

Motonari Mouri 

Kinda gives me either disaster bisexual or ace/aro vibes. 

Ikemen Revolution

Lancelot Kingsley 

Gay but in the closet about it 

Jonah Clemence 

Confession time: I thought he was a woman at first LMAO- 

Gay 

Edgar Bright 

He’s straight and an ally, but enjoys teasing the others 

Zero 

I dont think he’d care tbh 

Kyle Ash

Didnt realize he was gay until after he started dating his boyfriend 

Ray Blackwell 

His whole thing about freedom and living how you want to or whatever makes me think he’s bi 

Sirius Oswald 

He’s an ally <3 

Luka Clemence 

Shy gay 

Fenrir Godspeed 

Overly supportive ally (especially since his gf is MTF) 

Seth Hyde 

Everyone thinks he’s gay, but correction he’s pan 

Harr Silver 

He’s pansexual 

Loki Genetta 

I dont know him well enough?? 

Blanc Lapin 

He’s straight, maybe a little curious tho 

Oliver Knight 

He’s another ally, gives me the vibes of someone who would punch a homophobe in the face for insulting his friend 

Mousse Atlas 

I chronically forget he exists, so idk 

Dean Tweedle 

The gay twin 

Dalim Tweedle 

The straight twin that gets confused for the gay one 

Ikemen Vampire

Napoleon Bonaparte 

As far as I’m aware, in history he had two different wives and he kissed the tsar (even apparently said if the tsar was a woman, he’d make him his mistress soo--) Napoleon definitely isn’t straight 

Mozart 

He’s straight and hates everyone equally (/j) 

Leonardo da Vinci 

Gay 

Arthur Conan Doyle 

WHORE- this is a disaster bisexual 

Vincent van Gogh 

the supportive straight brother 

Theodorus van Gogh 

the angry gay brother 

Isaac Newton 

Too anxious to question his sexuality 

Jean d’Arc 

I like to joke that he’s bi but denies it because he hates men 

William Shakespeare 

not too sure tbh 

Osamu Dazai 

another disaster bisexual 

Comte de Saint-Germain 

I feel like he’d be omni. Like he doesn’t care, but still has a slight preference. Also supportive father figure <3 

Sebastian 

Serious gay 

Vlad 

I pondered on this one for a long time.. and I still have no answer 

Johann Georg Faust 

Closeted gay who suffers with internal homophobia (i literally wrote a oneshot for him where this was the main premise-) 

Charles-Henri Sanson 

another bi guy 

Ikemen Prince 

Leon Dompteur 

straight but supportive 

Chevalier Michel 

Bro, it’s CANON that he’s pansexual (I think- idk. I played his route when it first came out in english so its been awhile) 

Yves Kloss 

I feel like he’s bi but doesnt really talk about it 

Nokto Klein 

He’s too slutty to be ONLY into women 

Licht Klein 

Straight but an ally 

Clavis Lelouch 

gay ass clown 

Jin Grandet 

Straight 

Luke Randolph 

I HAVE NO IDEA???? 

Sariel Noir 

I feel like he’s straight but also an ally, like he doesn’t care but absolutely will NOT tolerate homophobia 

Rio Ortiz 

unsure. 

Gilbert von Obsidian 

Silly little gay man <3 I can see him as like, pan or something. 

Keith Howell 

Excluding his “other” side.. I can see Keith as straight, but a supportive ally 

Silvio Ricci 

He’s homophobic (secretly not straight but in denial) 

[winterandwords]

📝 Contextual use of physical description and how it informs a character's identity

THIS IS NOT WRITING ADVICE! At its core, I guess it's about showing-not-telling, but I'm not into issuing instructions. There are no rules here.

It's an approach I take in my own writing that I've thought a lot about, refined over years, and am sharing because it might be useful or relevant to other people. I am in no way saying this is the only way or the best way or the way that will suit your story or your characters. It's the way that suits my stories and my characters. OK? OK.

I use physical descriptions very sparingly and rarely outright state someone's height, build, hair colour, or eye colour. When those traits are mentioned, it's usually from another character's perspective - what would they notice and why? I tend to refer to physical traits only when they inform a character's personality and experience in relation to the story.

This is partly because I love the idea of readers imagining my characters how they see them. Do I have a clear image in my head of every character I write? Yes. Do you have to have the same image in your head? No. It's also just a matter of preference. I don't particularly connect with straight-up physical descriptions of characters in stories. They're not bad or wrong. They're just not really something that clicks in my head as significant when presented as a list of details.

Example: Noah from November Breaks and Spin Cylinder

So what does he look like?

Noah is in his mid-forties at the beginning of November Breaks and getting closer to fifty in Spin Cylinder. He's 6ft 4 with a muscular build and broad shoulders. He has greying dark hair that's short in the flashback parts of November Breaks and longer in the later parts. He grows a beard before the present-day section of November Breaks. His eyes are dark blue. He's conventionally very attractive. Does he look like a big, built Jeffrey Dean Morgan in my head? Yes. Does he have to look like that in anyone else's head? No.

(Did I choose his height because that's my spouse's height and it's really handy to have a living human reference for height, build and physical strength so I can ask someone things like "Could you lift that?" etc? Also yes. Welcome to why that specific height and build shows up in my MCs more than once)

At no point do I outright state any of those descriptive traits (apart from his eye colour, but we'll get there in a minute). So how do I show them?

People get out of Noah's way in the street. He's accustomed to it but feels not-so-great about it sometimes, suggesting that it relates to a consistent aspect of his appearance.

He feels uncomfortable in small spaces, for example, not feeling like he fits right at tables in cafes (borrowed from my spouse's experiences and something I would never have thought about on my own because I'm 5ft 2)

He can physically overpower other adult men easily and doesn't feel intimidated or threatened by objectively threatening people or situations, even when there are weapons involved.

He can move corpses around without much effort.

Brett's first impression of him is He could really hurt me (desirable) with the observation that he looks like "someone who could throw a heavy punch" and has "shoulders that could hold up the world" and "arms that could crush the breath from my lungs and stop my mind from racing" (Brett is a very poetic masochist)

Brett also mentions "Silver like the strands interrupting the dark of your hair" when he's remembering a grounding exercise that involves counting things of a chosen colour.

Perry flirts shamelessly with him, refers to "Those big blue eyes" and asks if he used to model with "You look like an advert for everything you’re wearing" (Perry is a delightful twinky surfer who is one of the lighter elements of the books and a joy to write)

Noah is neither surprised nor flattered that someone assumes he might have been a model when he was younger, showing that he's accustomed to moving through the world as A Handsome Man rather than being perceived that way by one person who happens to find him attractive.

Growing his hair and beard is part of an attempt to distance himself from Clichéd Contract Killer Aesthetic. These traits are first referenced by Max, who has known him for years, as recent changes at the beginning of November Breaks, and Noah talks about them as aspects of his appearance that he struggles to reach decisions about or make peace with.

His mid-life crisis is also referenced at the very beginning of November Breaks, giving a suggestion of his age.

He goes to the gym. It's about routine and control, not about looking a certain way, but it still indicates what his physical build is likely to be especially when combined with Brett's descriptions of him.

Another layer of connection between his appearance and personality is that he never once describes himself as being good-looking, fit, strong etc or shows that he values those traits. Why does this matter?

Trope subversion, my beloved! Noah could easily be perceived as an aggressively no-homo big macho meathead tough guy based on his appearance and his job, but he isn't. At all. He is, in fact, 100% pro-homo, charming and polite, and has extremely refined tastes, valuing luxury not for status but for quality.

His observations of other people rarely relate to specific physical traits. Rather, he compulsively notices how people behave and how they connect with their environment and the people in it. How everyone else looks is mostly irrelevant to him. How he looks is mostly irrelevant to him too.

This isn't as much to demonstrate depth (this isn't a "not like other men" situation, I promise) as it is to show the privilege inherent in not having to care about his own looks because he's always been perceived as attractive. This exists in contrast to Brett, who is fully aware of the power of his appearance and knowingly uses it to his advantage at every available opportunity.

If you want to see any of this in action, November Breaks lives on Tumblr at @novemberbreaksbywintersimpson. Spin Cylinder's WIP info is here (correct as of August 2023) and snippets can be found in my #spin cylinder tag.

That's it for now!

I have lots of topics like this that I could happily ramble about if anyone's interested. I really don't want to come across like I'm telling other people how to write or suggesting that I know better than anyone else - I'm not and I don't. I'm just an obsessive weirdo who thinks a lot about everything.

Let me know if you'd be interested in similar posts in future about other aspects of how I build characters and stories 💜

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Past Due (Dean/OFC)

Title: Past Due

Rating: Mature

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Original Female Character

Pairing: Dean x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has an effect on an older woman he's known for years. Kansas, Men of Letters Bunker Setting. Set around Season 15 with some canon-divergent plotting. 

Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Explicit Language, Smut, Angst, POV First Person, POV Female Character, Librarians, Friends to Lovers, Protective Dean Winchester, The Winchesters Are On A Case, The Boys Deserved A Better Ending

Chapters 1 to 3 Word Count: ~ 5K   

Notes: Posted on AO3 10/2/20; Completed 7/16/21. 

Chapter 1

Am I being checked out while checking him out? 

I scan the barcode on the back cover. His eyes are trained on my face with a little more interest than usual.

Do I have some spinach between my teeth from the salad I had for lunch? God, why does he have to do that thing with his tongue?

I readjust the glasses on the bridge of my nose and make some quiet small talk with the gorgeousness in front of me. I do most of the talking and he does most of the nodding.

No. Dean Winchester is not checking me out. He’s just existing and breathing and short circuiting my brain as he tends to do on occasion with his proximity. 

I will not fuss with my hair like I always do when he’s close enough for me to smell him. Oh, Goddammit.

I feel like a sixteen year old around this man. Every damn time. It’s not fair. It happened the first time I met him six years ago. He’d handed over the paperwork and I processed his library card application. He smiled that lopsided grin that says, You poor unsuspecting creature. I’m so handsome I don’t even have to make much of an effort . 

That was the day he and his mountain man of a brother, Sam, walked into the Smith Center Library. Back when they had used Campbell as their last names on the application. And before they had helped with a haunting that blew their aliases. At least with me. It was a “job” for them that involved my brother five towns over. The house he had bought for a song at a sheriff sale, turned out, came with a supernatural squatter. 

“No shit it was cheap. Because someone was murdered in it. No offense, but your brother was pretty much asking for trouble knowing that going in.” I still remember Dean’s very accurate logic when they’d gotten the full history. 

I shouldn’t feel like a sixteen year old - when I’m 46, speeding toward 47 in a couple months - with a man five years my junior. Even if it is Dean Winchester.

He reminds me of my second husband, Lou. Full of sass, rounded out with some grump, and a sprinkle of edge. He drinks like Lou did. I only know that because I’d bought Dean and Sam a round of drinks one night a few years back. It was a thank you after they’d burned the remains of the poor soul that was stuck in what they called a death echo in my younger brother’s house. Top shelf scotch is Dean’s preferred drink of choice when someone else is buying, by the way. And he has a high tolerance for alcohol that one only gets after decades of experience. Like my second husband, Lou.

He drives a vintage muscle car like Lou did, too. You can hear it ten seconds before it turns onto West Court Street and pulls up to park in front of the library. That engine sound always gets my fellow co-workers on high alert and wide eyed, just like me. It’s a disappointment to all of us when it’s not Dean.

He flirts with every female between the ages of eighteen and eighty that crosses his path. Again, like Lou. It’s his default setting. He seems to prefer a tight skirt from what I’ve gathered through my research. But he rarely slights and denies the opposite sex his charms or thorough assessment if they decide to don pants or shorts.

My brain finally registers the title of the book he’s checked out on the computer screen. The attraction fog has lifted for a brief second. I turn the tome over on the counter and read the title aloud. “Fairies and Wood Nymphs? Do I want to ask?”

He shakes his head. I twist my fingers near my mouth to indicate my lips are sealed. Then he flashed me that weird look again. Almost like he’s processing some data. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in here for over a month and I’m paying every flinch and twitch even more attention than usual. I realize in real time I’m cataloguing all of these In case I don’t see him for another month. Or, God forbid, two months. “You really are, aren’t you, Winter?” He finally pipes up with a question, using my surname as usual. The smile returns to his face.

“What’s that, Mr. Campbell?” I respond with a way too giddy smile and slide the book back to him. My coworkers are probably snickering at me behind the periodicals as they watch the show. Sure, like they wouldn’t be putty in this man’s hands, either. Even Ronald turns into mush around Dean.

He bends and leans back a bit to rest those thick forearms on the counter. Plaid clad shoulders, green eyes, freckled skin, and pouty lips are now at eye level with my five foot four frame. “Good at keeping a secret.” He mumbles and lowers his voice more with every syllable.

That voice triggers the floodgates down below.

What the hell is going on right now? “Friends don’t call me ‘The Vault’ for nothin’.” I somehow get the sentence out. Being this close reminds me of the night at the bar. When the scotch had worked its magic at the Mexican restaurant. The neon green cactus aesthetic and terra cotta motif had lulled Dean into some sort of sarape security blanket. He’d divulged a lot after Sam, downing only one drink, had left in the Impala with the promise to pick up his brother in a couple of hours. By the end of the night, Dean said I was a good listener and not quick to judge. That I had a nice calming presence. That I’d must have seen some heavy shit in my lifetime, too. 

“Can I ask you something?” His brows raise.

My mouth has dried up so I can only nod in response.

He cocks his head to the library entrance. “Do you have a minute to talk outside?”

I nod again. I may not be the boss, but my seniority and elder status give me a little leeway.

He rises up, taps the counter and grabs the book. “I’ll be waitin’ in the car.” I get a full smile this time and almost pass out.

I push the front door of the library and spill out on the sidewalk a couple minutes later. His black beauty of a car is still there, waiting. The nippy Fall temperature is enough for me to wrap my cardigan tight around my middle. Dean is in the driver’s seat, windows open, with Lynyrd Skynyrd playing on the radio.

He has an eager and appreciative look on his face when he exits the vehicle and walks toward the hood to meet me. “Thanks.”

I shrug. “What did you want to ask me?” I wrap some stray, windswept strands back behind my ear.

“Sam and I, we could use some help at the bunker.”

I can’t help but gasp at the word. Bunker. This legendary place I’ve gotten sparse, verbal descriptions of here and there over the years. Their home base. Sam has boasted of its library to me.

“Well, mainly Sam could use some help. Because I’m useless when it comes to the library. And, he also doesn’t trust me when it comes to the books.”

Library. I’m able to stifle another gasp. I stand in silence, waiting for more.

He sighs. “Let’s just say we had an accident. A lot of the books got damaged, flew off shelves into a massive paper mountain.”

My head nods in a fury. “Yes, I’d love to help.”

He chuckles at my eagerness. “Great.” He hands me a note, like we’re in high school. “Meet me at this intersection and I’ll show you the rest of the way there?”

“When?”

“Whatever's good for you.”

I realize how non existent my social life is lately and offer, “Friday night?”

He nods. Another grin. “Eight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“It’s a date.” He winks.

Lou NEVER winked.

Chapter 2

I left my cottage in Smith Center that Friday after the sun had set. It was a twenty minute drive before I came upon Dean at the crossroads, waiting for me with a grin and a goal when my headlights spotted him. I followed Dean’s Impala in my Wrangler down the long, winding prairie road eventually overtaken by trees for another ten minutes. The radio kept me company in the dark. The wooded area closed in on each side as I drove behind the Impala’s wake. 

A clearing amid the trees to the right gets my attention. I peer up and gasp, braking in time to avoid a mild fender bender after Dean’s abrupt stop. 

The bunker looks like a massive detention center or secret government facility built into a rather large hill. It’s intimidating in its grey, drab, and impenetrable appearance. Illumination from the moon and stars in the Kansas sky provide a perfect backdrop. I can see the outline of the sharp roofline structure high above the tree canopies.

What the hell am I getting into? These brothers have provided the occasional glimpse into their lives with the weird research requests over the past few years. I should feel scared or worried. But, the quick pace of my heartbeat has more to do with the excitement of peeking at what’s behind the curtain. And, finally seeing the place Sam and Dean Winchester call home in Lebanon, Kansas.

The squeak of Dean’s driver side door as it opens and he plants boots on the gravel makes the blood pound in my ears. He eases, almost pours out. The door cinches shut with a creak. My headlights spotlight him again. He strolls over on those bow legs. I kill the engine. He leans against my open window, staring down, a hand and forearm reclining on the rooftop. “Still okay with this, Winter?”

I smile. He’s such a perfect mix of rugged and that kind of handsome they don’t make anymore. He reminds me of Paul Newman, Robert Redford, John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in their heyday. But, then he’ll shine some cheekiness that gives me the vibe of a Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin hosting a variety hour from the 60s. I stare at those lips a little longer than I should. Again. “Yep. This is already the most eventful Friday night I’ve had in forever.”

He taps the roof. “Alright, then.”

The temperature has dropped and I’m glad I wore a heavy jacket. The gravel crunches underfoot and Dean has enough courtesy and manners to lead the way in the dark with a flashlight.

“Got a few concrete steps here. Careful on the way down.”

I chuckle. “So nice of you to look out for your elder.”

He waves the flashlight in my direction, but low to my chest so it’s not directly in my eyes. “You do that a lot, you know.”

I stop in my tracks. “What?”

“Point out that you’re older than me.”

“Do I?”

“Mh-hm.” The flashlight rotates back around in his hand so we can continue the trek. He waits until we are both at the threshold of a large door. It looks like a bank vault. The click of a key in a lock is heard when he adds, “Why do you do that?”

I shrug in the shadows.

The door gives to Dean’s pull and sounds like he’s breaking some type of hermetic seal. In moments we are atop a stairwell. The door slams behind us and makes me jump. My eyes widen at the view below, something out of a 40s war room. Dean’s already halfway down the iron staircase before my feet are able to move. I track and inventory the vintage communication devices, the art deco architecture, the solid build of this secret place with brick and stone and marble. A huge table in the middle of the room has a world map lit up from below as its surface. Dean drops his backpack on the table without a second glance. “Sam!” He yells.

He walks to a large open entryway into another room with a step up. I glimpse the row of tables and shelves. And the books. The books scattered everywhere. The smell of leather and musky paper fills the air. I inhale deep and get that little whiff of smoke and vanilla that I love.

“I’d invite you to make yourself at home, but that’s not really possible at the moment.” He motions for me to follow. Dean shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the back of one of the chairs. I’m attracted to a nook in the beautiful hall filled with clutter. I drape my jacket on a wingback chair and pick up a hardbound book on one of the stacks. There are dozens of these book pillars piled in various heights, some reaching to my shoulders. “Where the hell is he?” Dean asks no one in particular.

I notice a Samurai sword on display to my left when Sam’s free floating voice calls out. “Be there in a minute, Dean!”

Dean sighs and slinks through the maze of books. He lands on my right and stares down at me. “Are you hungry? We’ve got a stocked kitchen for once. Sandwich? Snack? Beer?”

I shake my head, too busy splitting my gaze between his expectant green eyes and the volume in my hands. “Is this an actual first edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales?”

Dean opens his mouth but Sam answers, peeking over the Samurai sword on the bookshelf. “Yep. From 1909. Thanks for coming to help out.” He smiles.

“This is… wow.” I’m speechless.

“Well, I’m hungry.” Dean pipes in. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He darts and bounds up another small set of stairs leading out of the library.

“Remember,” Sam begins.

Dean halts in the other doorway. “I’m not bringing any food in here. I got it, Sam, nothing that might mess up your precious. You're worse than that goblin thing in Lord of the Rings.”

“Gollum was a hobbit.” I correct him.

“Stoor hobbit, actually.” Sam nods in agreement.

Dean purses his lips and raises both hands, then slams them in mock defeat against his thighs. “Thanks for clarifying. Looks like we found the best person to help.” He shakes his head and gives me a tiny smile before disappearing.

My heart beat skips at that smile.

*

Sam and I spend a good fifteen minutes deciding on a strategy to divide and conquer. He’s as giddy as I am to get these things back in their proper spots. The Dewey Decimal system makes the overwhelming task a bit easier. He really only needed another pair of hands and a bookish mindset. I’ll take one side of the library, Sam the other. He’s pulled out a pencil sketch of the shelves and their categories, as best as he can recollect.

“Dean got this glazed look when I asked him to help organize after we got them piled up and out of the middle of the room.”

I thumb through the index cards in the catalogue to get my bearings and hope to find homes for a couple books to start. Anything that doesn’t go on my side that I come across, I’ll leave for Sam on the table closest to the war room. He’ll place anything for me on the other table. “An actual explosion?”

Sam nods. “It was like an earthquake. Shook everything. And, then, there were the…” He clamps his lips tight and runs his fingers through his long hair. “Too much information for your first night. I want you to come back and help.”

I narrow my eyes. “I was already crazy enough to come. It would have to be pretty terrifying for me not to return.”

He shrugs and only repeats, “I want you to come back.”

We talk. He’s hesitant to indulge me with certain facts. But when I ask if Dean has any culinary skills to speak of, he’s almost an open book. Burgers and charring meat appear to be Dean’s specialty. I smile, feeling the tap and tug of my heart, thinking about how good my first husband, Rick, was with a grill and a smoker. I ask about Jack. Sam tells me that he’s staying with Cas for a while. 

One afternoon, a couple years back, Dean and I stood huddled by a monitor in the technology area. He was dressed in a sharp blue suit and wore a cologne that filled my nose with citrus and cedar. To this day, I’m not sure how I managed to remain upright.

He was in need of some topographic maps of Lebanon. I didn’t ask why and he seemed grateful. I asked about Jack, since he was fresh in my mind from a recent visit. Dean steeled his jaw before confessing he and Sam were having difficulty with their new charge. I learned they had saved Jack from a dangerous situation. I assumed it was something supernatural. His mom had passed when he was born and their friend, Cas, had taken the boy under his wing not long after that. Now that friend was in need of more assistance with Jack. There was more to the story, but I didn’t press.

I knew why he mentioned Jack’s mom. He knew about my first husband. It had been one of my confessions over those drinks years back. Rick had been my high school sweetheart. We’d married halfway through university at KWU in Salina. I got my bachelors. Rick had turned his volunteer firefighter position into a career, dropped out after two years at university, and kept telling me he was going to go back to school after. After was Rick’s favorite word.

We moved back to Smith Center after school. I got a job at the library soon after that. Our son Ricky came along a year later. Rick had promised a five year old Ricky at the dinner table they would go to the neighbor’s farm over the weekend. He’d get his first pony ride. After his 24-hour shift at the firehouse.

Rick never came home after that shift.

Chapter 3

I shake myself from the memory. I’m not sure how long it is before I turn around to grab from a new stack and find Dean standing right there. My nose brushes against his shirt. I avoid slamming the rest of me into him. 

I smell the fresh clean showered scent of him. He’s sporting loungewear like a male supermodel. The spiky damp hair is doing weird things to my insides. I want to run my fingers through them like I’m sprinting through a field of wheat. And, then I want to tug on those strands while he…

“Is Sam taking advantage of you?” He smirks, chin to his chest, looking down at me. “Free labor and all. Sure you aren’t hungry?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Getting in the zone.”

He nods into his chest. “Well, if you plan on it being an all-nighter, we’ve got plenty of space for you to crash.”

“Dean…” Sam side eyes and scolds him with a slight shake of his head.

I realize how curious I am to explore more of this amazing place. I also realize how much being this close to Dean makes me wish he’d never be more than an arm’s length away. See? Sixteen year old. My twenty-three year old son would be mortified at his mother’s behavior right now. Thank God he’s on his own and away at school, working on his Master’s in Library Science. He would love this book collection, though. “I could use directions to a bathroom.”

Dean smiles. “Sure. Follow me.”

I nod to Sam. His gives me a hesitant smile.

Dean leads out the library in slippers that remind me of something my father would wear. I stare at the heels of his bare feet peeking out from the slippers when he steps up. For a second I get an image of the two of us on the couch watching television. His long and solid frame spread out across all the cushions. I’m seated at one end with his calves propped up on my lap, massaging his tired and sore feet. “Coming, Winter?” Dean’s voice calls out. He’s turned to wait, a quizzical stare at me. Shit, how long have I been daydreaming?

I join him. He’s along my left down the marble and stone corridors. They contain a plethora of doors and intersections that turn my sense of direction on its head. The halls feel cold, antiseptic, even though the design and style is meticulous and elegant.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “You probably have a dozen more questions now.”

“Try a hundred. It’s just the two of you in this huge place?”

“Well, sometimes Jack. And, Cas.”

“Do you have a cleaning service come in or something?” I run a finger along the marble wall as I pass. I tilt my head in approval at the lack of dirt.

He chuckles. “We’ve got a really great filtration system. Just have the usual upkeep with the common areas and our rooms.”

“I need to get me one of those.”

“Or live in a secret lair with no windows.”

“Hm, that’s true, you don’t have any. You really could not know what’s going on outside while you’re in here.”

“It’s a hermit’s fantasy. Like that hobbit.” He grins and stops at a door. “It’s the bathroom slash showers. Don’t get lost in there. Or on your way back. Make a right out the door, left at the dead end.” He points down the hall with two fingers like a cop directing traffic. “Pass two cross streets, then make a right onto the next one. You’ll see the library entrance on your left. Eventually.”

I frown. “If I get lost?”

“Just call me, Winter.”

*

My flats shuffle down the hall. I make my way back to the library and feel like I’m at work. I shift into my quiet and unobtrusive mood. Unseen unless needed or called upon.

Dean’s instructions were clear and easy to follow. The slight panic at being in an unknown maze subsides when I hear their voices. I turn down the hall. The warm amber light from the library spills into the corridor yards away.

Their voices travel toward me. The acoustics are quite good in this place. I can tell they are trying to keep their voices low.

“You should ease up.” Sam sounds irritated.

“What?”

“Not every woman needs to be a conquest, Dean.”

“Shut it. I-I don’t think about Winter like-.” Dean stutters. “I’d never think of her as a conquest.”

And that. That’s what makes my heart drop into my stomach. Of course he doesn’t think of me that way.

Sam sighs. “I can really use her help. And, she’s always been nothing but nice to us.”

Dean sighs back. “I know that.”

I take a deep breath, beat myself over the head with reality. Cough for good measure so they know I’m coming. When I turn the corner, Sam is busy in his section and Dean is between the tables, ringing his hands, and smiling at me.

He’s been sweet because, why, felt bad for me? Placating me, maybe? He just knows he’s got that effect on women?

“Great at directions, Sam. Told ya.” Dean claps his hands. “I’ve been told enough space has been cleared and that snacks may be brought in.” He raises a finger in the air for emphasis. “I’ll be back.” A quick turn and dash around the corner of a table has him disappearing through the war room.

When I step in to assume my spot I catch his figure heading through a doorway by the stairwell entrance. I resume the work. Quiet and unobtrusive.

“Everything alright?” Sam notices the change.

“Yep.” I flash a smile full of teeth. “This is an amazing collection.” I pretend to rifle through the pages of one book with interest before placing it on a shelf.

“Did Dean… say something… to make you uncomfortable?” Sam strolls closer and leans on the table to sit. I think it’s an attempt to shorten our height differential. “He can get a little carried away.”

I fidget with the frames of my glasses. “No. I’m used to it. He’s like that with every woman, right?” I grab two books and study the spines.

Sam shrugs. “Kind of.” From my peripheral view, I can see him lean down farther and try to make eye contact. Or get a read on me. “I mean, it’s not like you’d be interested, right?” 

This weird sound comes out of my mouth that resembles a laugh being choked out of my windpipe. When I look up Sam has a deer in the headlights expression. The wrinkles on his forehead have multiplied.

He chuckles and blinks. “Right.” Fingers tap on the table surface and he’s back to work on his side.

*

I spend another hour and a half with the brothers in the library. Dean brought a variety of things to munch on. My heart feels a little heavy at my assumption about his interest. The fantasy couldn’t last forever in my head. But I try to enjoy Sam and Dean’s company and take everything at face value. They are nice guys, after all. I’m sure there wasn’t any intentional misleading on the part of my emotions.

I crunch my last carrot stick and slide another book home. “Alright, gentlemen. I do know how to party it up on a Friday night. But it’s close to 10:30. I should get myself home.”

Dean squints. “If it’s too late for a drive back…”

I raise a hand in protest. “They haven’t taken my driver’s license away from me yet due to old age. I’ll be fine.”

Dean’s half-hearted smile disappears. He stuffs a few potato chips in his mouth as he gets up. “Let me put on some shoes.”

“What for?”

He lifts both hands up. “Want to make sure you get home safe. I’ll follow you back.”

My mouth opens. There’s a thrill that I’m quick to squash down. “I might not want you to know where I live.” I interject without thinking.

His eyes widen and then he smiles. “It’s cute that you think we don’t already know where you live.”

My head whips to Sam. He shrugs. “Part of the job. We vet everyone who gets let into our little circle of chaos.”

“Be right back.” Dean confirms there’s no way I’m getting out of an escort home.

Sam is ever so grateful for the assistance tonight. He wraps me up in a huge friendly hug that’s warm and comforting. He thinks he can manage the rest of it on his own. But he offers to have me come back soon, inspect and approve what he’s done. The library is always open for me to visit in case I want to do some actual reading.

Dean returns a few minutes later, fully dressed again. The man is quick and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Could have been a firefighter.

I’m quiet on the way out. I follow him down to our cars. He provides the lead and lights my way to the Wrangler. He clicks the driver’s side door closed once I’m in and suggests a three point turn to head back the road we came in on. He offers to lead in the Impala. I decline, sure in my navigational skills.

I keep checking my rear view mirror on the drive back. I see the silhouette of the assured, confident Winchester. I’m positive that man has broken many hearts. But, probably provided some amazing memories for some lucky women. I’m also positive he’d be a hard act to follow for anyone that came after him. I’m not sure I could handle either of those scenarios at this point. 

And how lucky could one woman get anyway in a lifetime? I think back to Rick and the memories that have a grainy film overlay to them now. How special those years were. How misguided and unfair I was to Lou, constantly comparing him to the man I lost. Knowing that my expectations and a multitude of sins on his part led to our divorce five years back. 

It’s better like this: to admire Dean Winchester from afar with the occasional heart palpitations.

I pull into my short drive. I’m self conscious about the loud rumble of the Impala’s engine as Dean rolls past me to stop in front of my house. My neighbors are scattered here and there along the prairie road. No one is on top of each other. But it’s usually quiet this time of night. Jody or Harry will be peeking because of the noise. A second later my prediction is confirmed. I stare off to the right through my passenger window to see a light snap on in the Wilson’s kitchen window.

I hop out of the Wrangler, ready to walk over to Dean’s driver side and thank him for seeing me home. Dean cuts off the engine and emerges with an energetic self propulsion. I stall in my tracks. Even in the dark I blush at those eyes that I know are trained on me. Goddammit.

“Thanks.” I squeak out and clear my throat.

“No problem. Wanted to make sure you got home safe.” I hear his hands slide into his jean pockets. He’s closer now. My eyes have adjusted to the dark. His tongue peeks out and brushes that full bottom lip. It glistens in the moonlight. He cocks his head to my porch. “Alright if I watch you get inside?” He raises a hand. “Not me being stalky. Just cautious.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you have a target on your back or something?” A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s due to fear or standing for too long in the chilly October night.

He grins. “Not at the moment.” My mouth opens up at the cavalier response. He turns serious, maybe because of the look I gave him. “We didn’t want to tell you, didn’t want to worry you…”

“That’s a great way to start things off.” I frown and cross my arms.

“You should get inside, Winter. Gettin’ cold.”

“You can’t do that to me. Leave me hanging like that.” I hear a familiar screen door screech open on hinges that need greasing.

He sighs and nods past my shoulder to something behind me. “I don’t want to explain out here. We’ve got an audience.”

I turn around, past my Jeep and the drive to see Harry in his sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s leaning against a pillar under the floodlight of his porch. A sharp nod in my direction. Jody’s voice travels in the night air, asking her husband what’s going on over at my house.  I sigh and give the neighbor a wave. “Well, we’ve given them something to talk about.” I mumble. “Might as well come inside for a minute so I get all the facts.”

[pentacentric]

Oooh, tell me about "pretty when you cry"....??? 😊

copying some of what i previously answered for the background, since this is from the same series that's already stsrted being published. Things That Can't Be Seen is canon-divergent (but not excessively) AU, wincest, powers/magic-adept sam, heavy on the world-building (there's a bit more backgound and 2 excerpts under the cut)

firstly, i have to say Pretty When You Cry is named after the VAST song not the lana del rey one which i didn't know about at the time (it's also good but a very different vibe). the story's actually about 2/3 done and already ridiculously long. it was also actually originally started to fill a kinkmeme request (ikr) and it got out of control and then i ended up fitting it into the series

it's set during sam's years at stanford. sam's experiences have made him a lot more comfortable with the more extreme side of his sexuality than in the show, and he's lacking a very good idea of what normal is as well. he continues to mourn his relationship with dean throughout, but he meets brady and they become cluelessly reciprocally-pining friends and eventually lovers. they're into kink pretty heavily (sam's subby and masochistic and bratty, brady is brash and has some lovely repressed aggression but is also very empathetic). but also he and brady genuinely love each other. i'll admit this story is somewhat self-indulgent since i discovered i really love sam/brady while writing this. it's like 50% kink, 50% sam/brady banter, 30% world-building, 20% sam being awkward while trying to figure out how to act like a person. it will get around to demon brady and also jess as well

series background: the major world difference is that the hunting community is slightly more structured (though no less dysfunctional or dangerous, maybe more so) and that it includes dedicated magic users within it (though on the fringes and generally with a lot of reticence and, for some, active resistance). the magic and its systems are also somewhat different and much more developed than in the show. as far as the winchester family goes, john never bothers to hide hunting or the paranormal from either of them. sam starts showing signs of powers (and not necessarily demonic) from a young age. there's also a family ritual that involves painting sigils on one's body that is central to the story

excerpts

this is prob more than you wanted, but you get 2 excerpts because i couldn't decide. 1st is some banter between sam and brady because there's a lot of that in the story. the second is one of my favorite parts that shows some of the magic in this world. they're both kinda long, sorry!

excerpt 1:

............

He shrugs. "And, to top it off...I really didn't know if you were into guys, even."

Brady stares at him. "How could you not know??"

"Well, I mean, I never really saw you flirt with men or anything."

"Yeah, ‘cause I was kinda focused on getting into your pants, you know? Um, had my hands all over you? Sleeping together in the same bed?"

Sam flushes. "C'mon, you're pretty affectionate with everyone, so how was I supposed to know?!"

"You really think I treat all my friends like I do you?" Brady shakes his head in disbelief. "Damn, I'm kinda proud that you think I'm that easy."

"Well, you kinda are. Once you get past the do-you-like-me-check-yes-or-no notes stage." Sam grins.

"Maybe I should have given you one of those in the first place." He looks at Sam. "You know what it finally took to get me to man up and do something?"

"Um, getting me desperate and naked and sobbing in your bed?"

"Well, now you're just giving me ideas for later..."

"It's Thursday tomorrow."

"...seriously, you can be such a buzzkill." He huffs. "Sure, that was the spark and all, but the fuse was already primed."

"...you don't prime fuses."

"Well, maybe you don't...you know what I meant, bitch. Anyways, it was Nathan."

"Nathan? What does he have to do with it?"

"Well, what he wants to do is you."

"What?"

"...well, I'm kind of reassured that at least it's not just me you're oblivious to. Anyways, he saw you at The Crucible."

Sam almost chokes. "What??"

"C'mon, Sam, you think you're the only kinky bastard in our group of friends? I mean, you might be the most extreme and all, but, really? Like, tell me you at least know that Tara does photography for the kink scene?"

"..." 

"Oh, c'mon! It's not like she hides it!"

"Well, she didn't show us her actual pictures! When she said sexy photos, I figured, like, standard boudoir stuff, maybe some pinup."

"Nope. I mean, I think she does a little of that on the side, but most of her stuff is pretty hardcore. Beautiful, though. Hot. You should ask her to see it sometime."

"Huh. Wow. But, um...yeah, Nathan saw me at the goddamn Crucible. And told you about it?"

Brady shrugs. "He worried you might be runnin' around behind my back. Said he wasn't sure it was his place to get involved, and maybe we had an open thing going on, maybe at least where scening was concerned, but that if it were him, he'd want to know. When I told him we weren't like that, he was genuinely surprised. Didn't believe me at first, said everyone would be cool with it, we didn't have to hide anything. Once I convinced him, he was all well, I gotta warn you, if you don't go for it, I will. Told me I had no idea what I was missing out on, by what he saw."

"Oh my god. I only went there once, and...fuck." Sam shakes his head, swallows. "I'm surprised he can still look me in the face and act like everything's normal."

"Well, it's not usually your face I catch him staring at.' Brady smirks.

Sam groans and buries his face in his hands. "I think I've hit my RDA of humiliation today."

"Pssshh, Nate definitely didn't think any less of you for what he saw, I can tell you that much. Anyways, he musta seen something on my face, cause he backed off a little on the goin' after you. Said he didn't really believe in the 'calling dibs' thing, but it was clear you and I had something goin' on, even if we were clueless, and that he wanted to give us a chance to get our shit together. Told me not to wait too long, though. That was about a week before you showed up all fucked up at my door that morning." Brady rubs at the back of his neck. "Was gonna say somethin' to you on the night I made you dinner. Chickened out."

"Declarations of love over spaghetti? Very Lady and the Tramp of you."

"Shut up, bitch. You love to suck my noodle."

Sam shakes his head with a grimace of disgust. "No...just no, dude."

"Eh, can't land 'em all...shoulda gone with 'you're the one that's both the lady and the tramp,' yeah? Anyways, it all worked out in the end, obviously. I got my Disney princess." He picks up his pencil and turns his attention back to the papers in front of him. "Still kinda kickin' myself that I missed that night at the Crucible. Sounded pretty fucking memorable. 'S not my usual club, though."

Sam's brain stalls, reboots a few times. "Wait...you have a 'usual' club? You go to kink clubs?? Which ones? When?"

Brady smirks, doesn't look up, though. "Hmm, yeah, but I think that's a talk for another night. Might get us a little worked up, you know, keep us from gettin' to sleep right away." He turns a page in his book. "And it is Thursday tomorrow, you know."

"...I hate you."

"Whatever you say, Sammy." He innocently bats his eyes at Sam, who hasn't moved and is still staring holes into Brady's head. "Don't you have an essay to finish, baby?"

...

The next morning, as Sam's getting ready to walk into class, he feels the buzz of his phone in his pocket. He smiles, pulls it out, sees a message notification. Flips it open, and his smile disappears as he freezes in front of the doors of the Keck Building. 

G (2 new messages)

Gideon.

His heart clenches. Misses a beat, maybe two. He barely even notices the annoyed girl with the curly pink hair that elbows him; absently stumbling out of the way of the flow of students without lifting his eyes from the phone.

He selects the notification, presses the green button.

-Sam. None of your dreams will come true.

He lets out a long, shuddering breath, the relief outweighing the resentment. Thumbs down to the second message, opens it.

-I won't have to hold your debt for long. I'll contact you soon for assistance.

That feeling at the bottom of his gut; that cold, that clenching. It's not fear. 

It's not.

It's just relief that Dean, his dad are ok. Will be ok, for now. Everything else, he can deal with. It's all worth it, for that.

Right?

___________________________

excerpt 2:

............

"So," Brady says, arms spread out, slowly spinning, inviting Sam to take in the whole of the small harbor as if he, himself, had made the sand, waves, and towering cliffs. "This is Gray Whale Cove."

Sam tilts his head back, turning in place to take it all in. "It's amazing." He says, sincerely. "Beautiful."

So maybe he's looking at Brady when he says it.

"Yeah, not too shabby, right? I thought you'd like it here."

And Sam does. It really is spectacular; the slopes and peaks of the cliffs around them a mix of jagged grey stone and ground-hugging green brush, the half-moon of faded gold sand between the promontories jutting into the water on either side of them, the deep steel-blue of the Pacific churning itself through green into foamy white as it thrashes against the sand and crags. The air smells of salt and growing things, but with that base note of mineral you sometimes find in places surrounded by exposed rock. Everything's a little washed over and silvery with the sharp, pale winter sun. His skin prickles in the wind that whips through the cove.

But beyond even that there's a fierce power here that buoys and exhilarates Sam, sets his heart racing. Brady, while he's often so empathetic to the moods and needs of people around him that it still surprises Sam, doesn't have an ounce of sensitivity to the supernatural (and Sam has said a prayer of gratitude for that more than once). But even those without any gift sometimes feel the pull of places like this, without really knowing why. Sam can feel it thrumming through him, ramping up with each deep pulse through him, making his nerves twang like plucked chords, sparking tiny fires in his subtle body. It reminds him of the bass in the Impala vibrating through the seats when the sound's turned all the way up and they're pushing past a hundred on some straight-as-an-arrow, cornfield-choked, midwest backcountry road or a sandswept, broadly curving desert highway in the salt flats of the southwest.

Combined with his already nebulous state from the events of the nights before and today's blessing, he's soaring on it like a leaf in a whirlwind. He can't put away the grin that's cracking his face open. He'd worry about how his eyes must look to Brady (mad, crazy, dangerous) if he could bring himself to grab even a tiny thread of the concrete, the practical world right now. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to center himself a little. If he lets this build too much more he's gonna spin out. Do something dumb and hurt himself or Brady, or, at the very least, the surge is gonna burn through him too fast and he'll be left even more depleted and thinned-out after it's gone.

Regretfully, he pulls up a few of his barriers; not all of them, not all the way. Modulates the rush of energy tearing through him. Less firehose, more broad river to float in. He opens up his eyes slowly, nictitating their astral membranes at the same time, to get a look at the source of the energy swirling through the cove.

It's magnificent. A light-limned nest, a vast net of vital elemental magic and intrinsic etheric energy, woven, knit, exquisitely around them.

The major ley line that skims along the California coast, but only touches shore rarely, intersects here, running right up the length of the beach: a spitting, twisting, living rope of light, pulled taut between the bookend promontories, right over their heads, wide as a 6-lane interstate. But it also crosses no less than six smaller, less-deeply-sourced power lines. They spiral up and over and through the surrounding cliffs and hills; one even snakes up from the ocean floor, through the waves, its light refracting and breaking all green glowing through the turbulent water. But on top of that, there's also the confluence of three fundamental elements—the vast waters of the ocean, the earthy bare rock of the cliffs and hills, and the air of the blue sky high above and the wind funneled down into the cove. They're balanced well, the tension between where they push and pull and merge sending out fountains of branching, fractal luminescence at sudden and irregular intervals. 

Sam doesn't know all the power places in North America, of course, but he knows of the biggest, most important ones, and this place he's not heard of. It's much more modest than many of those famous ones in terms of sheer power. It's doesn't have the gut-wrenching sheer force of the convergence of two major ley lines that some spots have, nor does it have the fulgent potential of a place where all four elements meet in equal power, but the mix of the two types of earth energies makes for a delicious nexus of magics. It makes Sam want to strip his clothes off and bathe naked in it.

Which, considering the few other groups of visitors speckled across the beach, might not be the best idea.

Though he'd bet Brady would appreciate it.

With that thought pulling at the corners of his mouth, he turns and looks at his boyfriend standing on the sand behind him.

He's never looked at Brady before with the astral veil lifted, it's not something he wants to make a habit of in his new, normal life. But he can't resist, just this once, and he's not surprised to find the view just as magnificent as what surrounds him. In his own, entirely non-biased, opinion, of course. Brady's aura isn't simple, but Sam didn't expect it to be. It's tangled, knotted, bruised in some places, in others loops in on itself protectively. But it's bright, and threaded with colors that resonate and shift. And it's warm, so warm. It sends tendrils out in some place, seeking out the light of others; vulnerable, but full of a pure kind of desire to connect. Many of them keep drawing back to Sam, slipping along his edges, under the surface. Their borders melt together briefly when they touch, and Sam lets one of his barriers down, just a little, feels Brady penetrate him, warmth spreading out from where they touch. He shivers; it's so incredibly sensual, intimate; he can't help himself. He surges forward, drops his mouth to Brady's, slips his eyes closed; lets Brady's warm tongue and warm emanations push into him.

Breathless minutes later, he opens his eyes, the mundane world filling them now, all glimpses of the metaphysical tucked away again. Brady's smiling at him, bemused and fond.

"I guess you really needed this, huh?"

Sam smiles back. "I guess I did."

With his boundaries tamped down now, the thrumming energy of the place is muted now, in the background. And, while Sam’s still feeling some of the residual euphoria, it's more of a gentle invigoration instead of the inundation from before. He'll only leave here a little recharged compared to how he felt before, but he's also not at risk of spinning out on energy intoxication.

"C'mon," Brady gestures with his head towards the north end of the cove. "Let's walk a little."

[moteldogs]

stanford era dean is everything 2 me. he’s sleeping in the impala in bar parking lots and in the apartments of girls he’ll never see again and he’s not sleeping at three a.m. on a hunt or wrapped around a bottle of whiskey. and he’s showering at truckstops and never getting a motel room if he can help it because the cheapest room’s a double and he can’t look at the other bed without feeling sick. and he’s calling his dad and he’s not calling sammy and he’s flirting with men twice his age. and he’s puking up liquor in alleyways and somewhere in michigan he tries coke for the first time and somewhere in arizona he drops acid, and a few days later he thinks about getting a tattoo but chickens out. and he’s shoplifting butterfly bandages and whiskey, and he’s getting fucked on top of a dirty mattress thinking about how he needs to find a laundromat tomorrow. and he’s meeting his dad at a diner and his dad hands him a case and leaves before the food hits the table. and he still has sam’s number memorized even though it’s disconnected

[welldonebeca]

The Pack (II)

Summary: Sam and Jess decide to spend Spring Break with you and Dean and finally - after a good night together - join your pack. And you all mate. Of course. WC: 3.7k words Warnings: A/B/O dynamics. Tension. Hurt/Comfort. Flirting. Lactation kink. Masturbation. Spanking. Degrading kink. Foursome. Exhibitionism. Praising kink. Alpha/Omega Mating and Omega/Omega Mating. Smut. Vaginal sex. Oral sex. Breeding kink.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

You smiled at Jess when she sat between you and Sam, waiting as Dean set up whatever he had chosen for you all to watch.

"What's it about?" she asked.

You giggled.

"No idea," you shrugged. "Today is his day of picking what we watch."

Sam and Dean seemed to have settled their differences and were back to their normal selves now. You are all in comfy clothes now, waiting on your big bed-like couch.

"Place your bets, though," you joked, eyeing her with a little smile. "I think it's a western."

Jess's version of comfy was very skimpy, though. It made you regret trying to stay more covered up.

"I present to you," your husband announced. "No Country For Old Men."

Jess cooed in excitement, snuggling with Sam as he sipped his fourth cup of hot chocolate.

"Cold, Sammy?" Dean asked. "That's a lot of hot chocolate."

Sam's cheeks pinked.

"Your cocoa is really good," he mumbled.

"Oh," Jess perked up. "Can I have some?"

"Oh, yeah... sure."

You felt your cheeks hot when Jess took a sip and moaned a little.

"Oh, this is good," she praised. "Dean, that's very good cocoa! And the milk!"

Dean chuckled.

"Fresh milk from the nearest farm," he affirmed, not a full lie. "I'll make sure to get more while you two are here so we have enough."

You exchanged a look with him, who smirked.

"My favourite," your husband winked to you.

She giggled, giving Sam the mug.

"Thank you, Dean."

"Now shut up, everyone," he hopped by your side. "It's starting."

You pulled away from Dean and scooted closer to her, who just left Sam too.

"Everything alright, Jess?" you whispered.

"Warm," she mumbled, eyes shifting, and put her head on your shoulder. "You smell good, you know that?"

"I got a new shampoo," you told her.

"No," she moved closer, practically snuggling you now, and put her head on the crook of your neck. "Really nice. You smell really nice."

You adjusted yourself, leg between hers, and her chest just pressed against yours.

"Really good," she squirmed her hips.

You licked your lips, reflexes just making you do like Dean when you snuggled him like that, holding her hips and Jess cupped your face randomly with her hands, looking at you achingly.

"Please," she whispered.

You kissed her right away, and her lips were still sweet from the chocolate made with your milk.

Jess ground her hips against your thigh, tiny shorts warm and feeling a little slicky with each movement.

You were never dominant in the bedroom, but before you could overthink things, Jess took the lead, moving her hands over your body hungrily.

"More?" you panted, confused.

She pushed your robe away.

"Want more of your milk," she pulled your dress gown down, groping your tit. "Tasted so good."

You moaned.

What a smart Omega, she was.

"Of course."

Jess moved her lips down, thighs still moving against yours mindlessly, and you moaned when she wrapped her lips around your nipple, licking and sucking it hungrily, and your milk was quick to flow into her mouth.

It was only then that you looked at your husband and his brother, realising you weren't alone.

Sam and Dean were shocked, but positively. Looking like they were seeing something wonderful.

Oh, Alpha men…

Sam most definitely heard what Jess had said, and was looking at his cup and you, again and again.

"Omegas," he groaned.

You moaned, cunt flooding wet.

"Alpha," you reached out to Sam. "Please?"

Sam tossed his empty mug away before throwing himself at you, kissing your lips hungrily as his Omega drank your milk hungrily.

He gripped your chin, lips so rough you imagined he was desperate as he kissed yours, nearly overwhelming you with his suddenness.

Jess raised her hips from your thigh for a brief moment, and when they came back, her cunt was fully rubbing in your skin.

"There you go, good girl," Dean cooed. "Get yourself off on her thigh."

Sam pulled his mouth from your lips, rising down your neck, and you could see Dean behind Jess, speaking into her ear.

"How about we get you out of these," Sam hummed, pulling your robe away, and pulling you gown up.

Jess whined when he made her take her mouth away from your chest, but she was soon back to it once you were undressed, and Sam put his hand between your legs.

"And this," he growled, just ripping your panties.

You whined at the roughness, but it only made you wetter.

Suddenly, Jess's mouth was moved, and she whined in protest.

"Let Sammy have a turn, you greedy brat," Dean chuckled, pulling her to his lap.

"But she has two," she whimpered.

Dean held her close, spreading her legs.

"Don't make me spank your pussy," he threatened her.

Jess pouted and you whined.

Oh, you loved when Dean spanked your pussy.

"Oh, we don't..." Sam raised his head to look at him. "We don't do that."

Dean straight up laughed.

"Oh, how boring of you," you scoffed. "You know, Jess... my Omega loves it. It makes her leak like a tap and cum oh so sweetly."

She squirmed on top of him, and you could see how she was dripping slick.

"Do you want me to try it with you?" he purred into her ear. "Want me to spank you good?"

"Please," she pleaded. "I want it, Dean, please."

You rubbed your thighs together, needy, and Dean didn't miss it.

"Spank my wife's pussy, Sammy. Let's see who can make their Omega cum first."

More milk trickled down your chest and Sam licked it eagerly, hand still a bit soft on you.

"You want it, baby?" Dean hummed.

"Please," Jess begged. "Please spank my pussy."

"Harder, Sam," you whined.

Jess cried out in pleasure, and you arched your hips, jealous.

"Don't wanna hurt you," he tried to justify it.

"You won't," you assured him. "Please, please, Sam."

He hesitated, and an idea sparkled in your mind.

"Show Dean that you can spank me better than he can," you commanded him.

Sam looked at you, eyes sparkling with a challenge, and said nothing, just smacking your pussy like he meant it.

His hands were softer than Dean's - he was, after all, not a farm boy - but he still had a firm grasp, and you were moaning soon enough. But Jess was much, much louder.

"See how she likes, Sammy?" Dean hummed. "She's just a little Omega in my arms, right Jess? My needy slut, sensitive and hungry."

Your cunt squeezed around nothing at the degrading praise.

"Dean," you whined.

"Sammy doesn't treat her well enough," he cooed. "And he is being just as not-nice to you, baby?"

Sam growled.

"He denies you of so much, doesn't he?" your husband continued as Jessica cried and squirmed. "Won't even put a pup in your belly."

Her eyes rolled back.

"Please," she cried. "Dean!"

"Say it, baby," he purred. "Tell him what you want, but a good slutty Omega."

"Want a baby," she cried. "Wanna be bred, please, please. Fill me up with a pup."

Sam softened, moved by the conversion, and moved from you to kiss her.

Jess came very loudly, shaking on top of Dean.

You would find it cute if you weren't so on edge from being denied.

He moved to his girlfriend quickly, and you pouted, but Dean didn't leave you alone for long.

"Guess the happy couple needs a few minutes to celebrate," he hummed, hand already between your legs to rub.

"Alpha," you whined. "He didn't do it right."

“Oh, I know," he mocked you. "Sam is such a meanie, not slapping your pussy.”

You pouted at him, but didn't stay mad for much longer when he started smacking you the way you liked it.

"Dean," you cried.

“Don’t scream so loud, baby," he instructed you. "Hear them."

“Jess..." Sam moaned into her mouth, kissing her passionately.  “I’ll give you so many babies, sweet girl.”

“Yes, Sam, please!" she ground against his hips. "Want your big babies, want them so badly. Please, please."

You came, shaking on top of him, though your cunt still ached, needing to be filled.

“Dean?” you whined, squirming. “Please? Fuck me?”

“Shh, Omega,” he cooed, kissing your neck and shoulder. “Look at them. Watch them.”

He pushed his fingers into you, fucking your cunt at the rhythm Sam was pounding into Jess.

“Feel how hard I am, baby?” he ground his cock against your ass. “Gonna fuck you deep.”

“Please,” you whimpered.

Jess’s voice was loud when she came, taking your focus right to her.

“Sam,” she cried, wild as she shook on top of him. “Alpha, yes, please, please. Cum in me. Fill me up, knot me up, please, please. I need your knot, I need it, please, I need it.”

He had his face buried in her chest, sucking on her breasts.

Oh, how big would they be when she got pregnant? She was already bigger than you before you got pregnant!

“Cum again,” Sam growled. “Not gonna knot you ‘til you’re just a sloppy mess of me, Omega.”

Oh, the poor thing.

Your eyes narrowed down her cunt, watching as Sam’s cock went in and out of her.

“Sammy?” you found yourself calling him. “Can you turn her around? Please?”

Sam raised his eyes to you, seeming surprised with your request, and chuckled.

“You want to see her cunt better I fuck her?” he asked, eyes dark. “What a slut you are.”

“Please, Sam,” you whined, feeling mouth watering. “Please turn her around?”

He did, manhandling her to face you, making her bounce on his cock, and you took a glimpse of her tits before focusing down to her pussy again, and raised yourself off of Dean, crawling between her legs and holding her legs open.

Jess looked down at your face with a pleading pout, and nodded at your silent question before you stuck your tongue out and licked her folds and clit.

She moaned so pretty, sounding like those porn stars in Dean's videos, the ones he had on his computer.

You ate her out, trying to focus on her clit the way Dean played with you.

Now, hers wasn’t the first pussy you ate, but it had been quite a bit since you did, and you never ate one while the girl was being fucked.

Sam moaned behind her when you gave her clit and good suck, and pushed his fingers into your hair.

“Just like that,” he growled. “Gonna make our little slut cum while she is bred.”

So you did, licking and sucking her clit, holding her open, taking a little bit of her taste at each lick, and didn’t stop when she screamed your name.

You felt it as she came, and you pulled away just to watch Sam’s knot forming and filling her up before going back into devouring her, not stopped by her movement anymore. You only had a couple of licks and sucks before Dean pulled you back.

“Enough cunt for you for now,” your Alpha commanded.

You whined.

“But I wanna make her cum again,” you looked back at him.

Oh, to make her squirm on Sam’s knot, overwhelmed with the touches but locked into place, unable to do anything but cum and cum and cum…

"How about you make me cum, huh?" he teased you, like a big jerk, and you moaned when he made you sit fully on his cock.

“Dean,” you panted.

His cock stretched you quickly, thick and hot, demanding space inside you.

“Let’s make her watch,” he made your bounce. “Look at her, milky slut.”

You did, and Jess was watching your chest with hypnotised eyes as your milk dribbled down your skin, licking her lip and nearly drooling.

“Oh, she wants my little fleshlight so much,” he cooed.

Sam chuckled, smiling at the scene.

“Look at that, baby,” he slapped her cunt. “Left your cunt for cock.”

She pouted, and whined when he slapped her again, apparently learning his lesson now.

“She’s always been a needy cockslut, even when she acted like she didn’t want it,” he accused you. “Denying all the Alphas, making them all crazy for her and never giving them the littlest bit of attention.”

Your cheeks felt red, and he laughed, rubbing her clit hard.

“Look at her,” he spoke into her ear. “Must have fucked so many other Omegas while we all thought she was an innocent little virgin.”

You closed your eyes, head falling onto Dean’s shoulder, and your husband nibbled on your neck, scraping the skin of your mating gland.

“And now she’s an eager milk slut just for her Alphas,” he pulled your head back, showing your unmarked neck to him. “Maybe we should edge her up until you are ready to bite her, Sammy.”

He pulled one of your arms, exposing your wrist.

“Or maybe we will wait for you to take your claim, Jessica,” he suggested. “Do you want that? Uh? Be bonded to our milk slut?”

You squirmed.

Oh, he would let you claim her and be claimed by her too?

“Please, Jess,” you squirmed. “Want you, wanna be a pack.”

Dean laughed behind you, breathless.

“What, baby, no words to Sammy?”

Fuck, and Sammy too!

“Alpha,” you whined. “Wanna be theirs. Sammy…”

“Omega,” he hissed between his teeth, jaw tightly clenched.

“Make me yours too,” you panted, feeling close to an orgasm at the thought of being claimed by them.

Not just Jess, not just Sammy. Both.

“Please,” you cried, Dean’s cock pulsing inside you.

They moved closer to you, and you devoured Jess’ lips the moment they touched yours, holding her by her hair, but you were sent over the edge when you felt Sam’s teeth sinking into your neck.

You came right away, and Jess kissed you right through it, holding you close.

“Good slut,” Dean growled, sounding like he was trying to hold back behind you. “There you go, there you go.”

You felt yourself be filled up with his cum, but didn’t feel his knot, which was very confusing.

You were very puzzled when he slipped out of you, almost at the same time Sam pulled back, thought Jess stayed in place.

She kissed her way down your neck, licking your freshly bitten gland, and you whimpered, feeling your cunt fluttering around nothing, leaking cum already.

“Bite me,” Jess whimpered, though you weren’t sure it was to you or Dean. “Wanna be yours.”

You opened your eyes when you felt her being moved, and watched as your husband raised her ass, pushing her to lay by your side with her hips up and face near yours.

“Go on, baby,” he looked at you. “I’ll get her neck. You take her wrist.”

An Omega’s neck was usually reserved for their Alphas, but not their wrists. Their wrist were for their Omegas.

The deep bond of two people sharing a designation who want to show their fidelity to one another in such a sensitive and weak spot, where any bite out of place can be dangerous.

You took her wrist in your hand, sniffing her skin to find her gland until, and Jess moaned when you licked it, teasing it and teasing it to make it puffy.

She was so sweet against your lips. You had never tasted such a sweet thing before.

“Please,” she moaned.

You looked at her, tongue out, lips teasing her growing gland.

“Gotta see it,” you told her. “Gotta make sure my Omega is perfectly ready to take my bite.”

You heard Sam’s moan before you felt him spreading your legs, cock resting over your wet folds.

It was just then that you realised they had switched, and gasped when Sam nuzzled against your neck, licking his bite.

“I am,” she pleaded, eyes watery. “Please, Y/N, bite me.”

“Go on, Omega,” he moved his hips, not pushing into you but rubbing his cock all over your wet cunt. “Bite her. Take her.”

Dean pulled your free wrist, licking and sucking on it, and you rolled your eyes back, suddenly needy.

He let you go, though, maybe to show you how much of a tase you were being with your Omega.

“Please, Omega, please,” Jess pleaded.

You sunk your teeth into her skin the moment Sam pushed the tip of his cock into your cunt.

Jess cried out loud when you claimed her, sounding animalistic as she did, and you opened your eyes, finding your husband buried in her neck, and you didn’t need to see much more to know he had claimed her at the same time as you.

“Ours now,” he growled.

Your vision started getting hazy with pleasure as Sam slammed into you, and you moaned when you felt sweet, delicate lips on your wrist.

"Jess," you squirmed.

"Gonna claimed you," she promised, a single hand moving down your belly to play with your clit as Sam fucked you. "You're gonna be my Omega now. My own milk slut."

You trembled, closing your eyes, blinded by desire. Her lips were relentless, merciless as she sucked and licked your sensitive wrist, but not giving you want you wanted.

You could feel your tits still leaking, and cried in pleasure when Sam wrapped his lips around your nipple.

"Jess," you pleaded. "Please, bite me. Please, Omega."

Why wouldn't she take you? You needed it, you needed her mark, her claim.

Her finger played with your clit mercilessly.

"Bite Sam," she commanded, voice cut by her moans and the sounds of Dean fucking her hard. "Bit him and I'll bite you. Claim our Alpha."

You claimed him eagerly and cried in pleasure when Jess did the same to you, cumming around Sam's cock just a second before he knotted you, buried deep inside you.

"Fucking boy," Dean laughed. "Already knotting her, couldn't even hold back."

Sam huffed, hips still shaking over you.

"You try not cumming being claimed," he growled.

But you shushed him, brushing his hair with your fingers.

"Good Alpha," you cooed, panting. "So good."

Sam rested on top of you, exhaustion finally hitting you two as Dean kept torturing Jess, fucking her slowly.

"And here I thought you would be another load into our sweet Omega before she claimed me," your husband mocked. "Now I gotta keep your cum nestled into her until you're up again."

You ran your nails over his scalp and Sam whimpered into your neck, hips twitching.

"You like this, Sammy?" you cooed, ignoring them for a bit.

“I like you,” he hummed, and raised his head to look into your eyes. “I love you.”

You smiled at his sweet confession.

“I know,” you caressed his hair.

He kissed you, and you rubbed your nose on his when Sammy caressed your growing belly.

“Dean, please,” Jess whined.

You looked over at them, and your husband was holding her close to his body, holding her head back,  pining her by her hair, so she wouldn’t bite him.

“Wanna claim you,” she pleaded. “Please, Dean.”

Your husband chuckled, breath shallow as he fucked her very slowly.

“Just gotta lay down some rules, sweet omega,” he affirmed simply. “I’m not like Sammy, you know that. I’m the head Alpha of this family.”

She pouted, trying to grind her hips on his.

Oh, poor girl, she was just all needy.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“I’m not all sweet and gentle, sweet Omega. I’m here to protect you. Been doing this since I was a pup, I’m not going to stop just because I’m sharing two Omegas with my little brother.”

Sam scoffed, annoyed.

“He also has a big ego,” he huffed.

Dean just ignored him.

“I value your opinions as part of our pack, but I will always be protecting you, even if it means doing things that annoy you. Any of you.”

Jess nodded, and he kissed her sweetly before letting her hair go, showing his unmarked gland to her.

“Go on, sweet Omega, claim me.”

She put her head on his neck eagerly, and you watched in near awe as your husband’s face showed his deep pleasure when she bit him, and he grunted darkly in a way you knew too well.

“Fuck,” he held her close, hands nearly bruising her skin.

“Told ya,” Sam quipped. “Gotta be a machine not to cum with an Omega’s teeth on your neck.”

Dean scoffed.

“Well, got her bred up,” he pointed out.

Jess stiffened and Sam chuckled into your neck.

“Oh, shit,” she gasped.

Dean moved back, looking at her face, and raised his eyebrows to her.

“I took my pill today,” she confessed, and though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she was probably embarrassed.

Your husband stared for a while, and you held your giggles in response, but Sam just laughed aloud.

“We’ll throw them away tonight,” Dean decided. “If that’s what you want, of course.”

“I do,” Jess agreed, nodding. “I do, I really do.”

Sam raised his head from your neck.

"You still want to go tonight?" he asked, shocked.

Your husband smirked.

“What, two knots in a row is too much for you?”

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean sighed.

“But you’re right, we should let them rest,” he petted Jess’ hair. “I think our sweet Omegas had enough cock for the day.”

He picked Jess up and adjusted her in his arm before looking at Sam.

“Get her too,” he told him. “We have a big mattress. You two can fit right in.”

Jess gasped, squirming.

“You don’t have to,” she tried to argue.

Dean pinched her nipple right away.

“Hey,” he chastised her. “No back talking.”

You giggled, and held onto Sam’s shoulders as he carried you up.

“You better get used to that,” you told her. “Dean’s very good at spoiling us.”

She nuzzled onto him and you exchanged a little look with your husband.

"And punishing too."

He chuckled.

"I only punish brats," he pointed out. "And you won't ever be a brat, will you?"

"Never, Alpha," she promised him.

Sam snorted, scoffing.

"Are you kissing me? You are the brattiest Omega I've ever known!"

Dean shook his head.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll work that out of her."

Sam snorted.

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” he held you. “You’ve never seen Jess during New Year’s.”

Your husband didn’t look affected at all.

“We’ll see,” he promised.  “We have a whole week, after all.”

. . .

"The Pack" is the second part of "The Milk series". To read its sequels "The Farm" - a Castiel x Reader x Dean - and "The Family" - a Jess x Reader & Sam x Reader - subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and helps me a lot through these hard times.

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[multidimensional-trashcan]

So i saw @bobwess bi-section of Dean Winchester again and now you have to suffer through the consequences aka.:

Option 1:

the Bert and Ernie scene, you know the one, the one where they basically laid out the train of thought: gay - sex - me (Dean Winchester)

memory protocol: "There's two things i know for certain: 1. Bert and Ernie are gay, 2. You're not gonna die a virgin - not on my watch!"

Option 2:

dr. sexy, do i have to say more? really would like the reasoning behind this from a heterosexual perspective

Option 3:

Aaron Bass and the "rom-comy fluster" played by one jensen ackles. probably one of my favourite moments generally

Option 4:

The writers (and actors and also some of the fans) insistance that Dean is straight because he said so, while simultaneously showing that Dean often hides and represses his true feelings by acting a certain way (cue the "overcompensating" line), it is not uncommon for Dean to lie about himself especially about his sexuality

Option 5:

The audacity to have someone say "I cannot flirt with men because I am only interested in women" only for Dean to say "Okay, then I will flirt with this man for you." There are literally a thousand different ways this scene could have gone where the direct conclusion even a fifth grader would have come to wouldn't be "Charlie can't flirt with men because she isn't interested in them. Dean says he can do it, therefore he is interested in men". (Also the split screen *scream*)

Option 6: John - Dean parallels after Mary's, respectively Cas's death

Option 7: None of those. Please put your favourite in the tags because I'm very sure these aren't all of them.

Option 8: Okay, the siren also gets a place, even if there is a half-assed in-universe explanation but definitely counts into the WTF category. Also Sam's and Bobby's (non)reaction to the sirens "seduction" of Dean.

I'm also gonna make a specific poll for the Aaron Bass scene, if anyone is interested.