#Bobby Singer x reader

[super-incorrect]

Bobby - You are the first person in the recorded history to have ever started a fire with water, ya idjit.

Y/n, moved to tears - Oh my gosh, thank you!

Dean - THAT WASN'T A COMPLIMENT!

[shelbgrey]

Dating Dean Winchester Headcanons:

Paring: Dean winchester x Singer!Reader

Summary: just some headcanons about Dean dating Bobby Singer's niece. -NSFW content warring.

A/n: the winner of the latest poll, there will be a new one up next week. I was so excited and suprised on how many people did the poll, my first one only had six and the latest one had over 100.

❤️Mood board ❤️MasterList

Being Dean's girlfriend isn't always easy, but you get through it. So let's talk about it.

There was always something between you guys, but with your choice of life there was always something in the way.

You two practically grew up together, with Bobby being your uncle and John being his father you two were always around each other.

I think Dean also had a slight fear of Bobby, you were his niece and your practly his daughter.

Bobby wasn't clueless, he saw the way you two looked at each other. He wanted to kick Dean's teeth out, he's extremely over protective. Bobby also knew if anyone would keep you safe it wold be Dean.

“I know you'll take care of her”

On a side note, Bobby refuse to call you 'idjit'

The last thing he's said before he died was, “take care of my girl.. You idjits”

Anyway, Even if you two kept denying it or if your just clueless, everyone would know.

Other than Sam and Cas, your the only one he 100% trusts you. He'd trusts you with his life and your his partner in crime.

What makes your relationship stronger is that you started off as best friends and allies.

You always thought you were losing him, he would always have one night stands and there was Lisa. Of course they ment nothing to him, he just thought he'd never be good enough for you.

He thought you deserved better. “I'm not what you need...you deserve better”

That was the first time you opened your heart out to him, but he put his walls up. The he pretended like nothing happened... Until you went on one particularly hard hunt.

Everything was happing so fast thst neither one of you remember that night. There was blood everywhere and Dean did everything he could to save you, Castile healed you and Dean confessed something he's been wanting to since he was 18.

“I love you... Please don't leave me, I can't lose you”

Since everything moves fast in your lives you both decided to take things slow. Dispite his rugged appearance he's nothing but a gentleman to you.

He's extremely over protective of you, to the point hunts with him got annoying.

“I'm not some damsley in distress, Dean!”

He knows what a badass you are and he knows you can hold your own, but he can't help but be your shield.

That's really the only times you fight, your both very reckless and laugh in the face of danger. You guys stress each other out on hunts.

But, lets get to the good stuff now.

Your the only other person who can drive the impala, you'd rather just have him driving with you setting with him.

You guys love the same music, so your always singing on the top of your longs to old rock songs. Your guys song is Angel Eyes by The Jeff Healey Band.

You always have to be sleeping next to each other to get a goods night rest, even when you weren't together you two shared a bed in the old motels.

Dean refuses to sleep unless you have fallen asleep first, he just needs to know your okay before he can have a good night sleep.

You bake the best pies in his opinion and Sam loves your homemade salsa.

When you guys moved into the bunker you guys made great use of the kitchen, Sam loves your guys cooking.

Speaking of Sam, he's one of your best friends. Cas is your first, but you and Sam have a long history together. You were even the first one to hear he got accepted into college.

We know Cas is like the Winchesters gardian angel, well Gabriel is yours.

About three years into yours and Dean's relationship you broke up, it was around the time Sam went to hell and you guys just pushed each other away.

Gabe knew you guys loved each other, so he worked really hard to get you back together. He did succeed.

You guys might argue about the little things, but he always know how to make them better.

You guys just like staying in and watching movies or Scooby-Doo. You guys love cuddling up in the Dean cave and just ignore the world for a few hours.

He loves cuddles, if your in bed or on the couch he needs to be holding you. He loves it when he's laying in bed and your lying on top of his chest.

He also loves it when you hold him, maybe after a rough hunt he'll love just rest his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

You love just being in his arms, there's no feeling better than that. He loves snaking his arms around you and resting his chin on your head because he just really needs to being close to you.

He's really just a big ol' teddy bear.

He's a rough kisser, he's way taller than you so usually he hold your chin between his fingers and lift for head up to kiss you.

There's a lot of neck and forehead kisses being handed out by this man. He loves wrapping his arms around you from behind and just trail soft kisses down your neck.

He also loves it when you kiss his forehead. It just a small, loving gesture he absolutely loves.

If your cold you'll steal his flannels or his jackets, he had this black and red flannel that he now only sees if your wearing it.

when ever your busy doing research Dean always deliver a tiny kiss on your forehead. He'd just be walking by and he'll give you a quick kiss just to make you blush.

He's good a making you blush, he thinks it's adorable.

Trust is a big part of your relationship, you both had opened up about the abuse your fathers and dumped on you. That was the reason Bobby took you in, he could bare you being in the type of environment he grew up in.

With that Dean made a promise to never hurt or scare you. He refuses to lay a hurtful hand on you. It'll break his heart if you flinch away from him during an argument.

As much as you love Dean, demon Dean scares the hell out of you. The demon knew this and used it to his advantage. He Dean went back to normal he could barely look into your eyes. He blamed himself for the bruises around your neck the demon caused.

“I promised you I'd never hurt you... I'm so sorry” he said. “it's not your fault”

On a more positive side... You guys have lots of nicknames. You call him Deano or bub and he calls you just about anything but your actual name, Sweetheart is your favorite.

And with FBI names, you take a different approach. While he uses rock aliases you use actor or fictional names.

“agent Sweets, really?” he said playfully. “What? I like the show Bones”

Your like a mother to Claire, she loves you so much and your the only person she trusts other than Jody and the boys.

Speaking of Jody, she took you under her wing immediately. You never had a mother growing up so it was a relief to have her in your life.

You become a mother to Jack too, and your relationship hit a really bumpy road during that time. You hated how Dean treated Jack and it always turned into a fight.

“if you touch him, I swear to God, Dean!”

Den didn't want to be like his father and after awhile Dean's shell broke and he started to grow a soft spot for him, after your lives calmed down you both did end up adopting Jack.

But to legally do that you had to get married. You both wanted to get married so bad, but with your lives you never got the chance.

You weren't gonna get a white wedding, you knew that and Dean thought the Cort house wasn't good enough. So you got married in the church of Elvis in Las Vegas.

NSFW headcanons:

Dean prefers being on top and being the one in control.

He'll mark your thighs with his teeth and biting hard enough to leave a light bruise.

Loves eating you out,your legs around his head. He loves your legs in general and loves leaving kisses on the insides of your thighs. He'd rather pleasure you for hours than receive.

Hair pulling, he loves feeling your fingers in his hair or he'll tangel his fingers in yours and tug on it when he's getting head or about ready to cum.

Bondeg kink, ropes, his ties, belts, he'll tie you up with anything if your comfortable with it.

definitely a fan of overstimulation, he loves the way that your body twitches and you whimper from his touch.

car sex! All the way. loves to take you in the back of the impala, loving the way the windows fog up and the small area gets loud with the noises you make.

He's a soft/mean Dom, it just depends on his mood. But no matter what he always makes sure your comfortable. He loves to take control in the bed but would never push you.

He would really get off on marking you up. He didn’t think he would, as it wasn’t something he thought too much about but when he did it there was no turning back.

He definitely has a Praise kink too, he loves making you feel loved and appreciated. He love how he can easily make you blush. “your so Beautiful”

“you feel so amazing Sweetheart”

He loves hearing you moan. If you try to hold back or even muffle them when it's unnecessary, he'd put an end to it. “don't hold back, let me hear your voice”

He has big chocking kink, he won't be too rough about but he loves wrapping his fingers around your neck and feeling your pulse when he's ramming into you.

This man is amazing when it comes to aftercare. He knows exactly what you need. After your both cleaned up, he'll pull you to his chest to cuddle.

[bi-bard]

Scrapbooks - Bobby Singer Imagine [Supernatural/Criminal Minds Crossover]

Title: Scrapbooks

Pairing: Father Figure!Bobby Singer & Winchester!Reader

Word Count: 824 words

Warning(s): mention of John Winchester, unhealthy family dynamic

Summary: [During Season 1] (Y/n)'s reconnection with their brothers leads to them wanting to rebuild some old bridges.

Author's Note: Y'all remember this oc? The one that started as a joke but then became a serious thing that allowed me to talk about found family/trauma bonds/etc.? I remembered it.

Also, this story is kind of a sister story to this part of this oc. Wanted to compare similar events ;)

Dude. The Bobby gifs are disappointing, not gonna lie.

More of this OC!

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

After I found out that Sam was out hunting again, I found myself calling him a lot more.

I don't know what I wanted to be for him. I don't know if I wanted to protect him or if I just wanted to make sure he knew that I could help him escape that life if he needed to.

I always knew that Sam was the best of us.

He deserved more than the hand he had been dealt. I don't think he ever knew that or would ever believe it if someone said it to him, but it was true.

He had fought so hard for some kind of normal life.

Maybe I just wanted him to know that there was a door to one.

Sometimes I wondered why I didn't do the same thing for Dean. I think that I wanted him to be what I had tried to be for Sam. I wanted him to be there. To support me in running away from that life. I wanted to know that he never hated me for it. But I couldn't believe that.

I knew that my dad had gotten into Dean's head more than Sam's. I knew that I was called selfish and cowardly and ungrateful. I knew that if I ever had to look my dad in the eye again, he would see nothing more than a traitor. I knew that he would do anything to convince Dean that I was one.

There weren't many connections in the hunting world that I felt guilty about losing. So many of them were purely professional or momentary.

My brothers were obviously an exception.

And so was Bobby Singer.

He had been the first person I talked to when I realized that I didn't want to be a hunter anymore. I sat on his couch while my brothers were upstairs. I cried and begged for some solution or forgiveness or just anything.

He just handed me a wad of cash and said that when I ran, I needed to run like Hell was at my heels.

I didn't call him after that night.

I think I just wanted to make sure that my dad wouldn't be pissed at him for what I did. Bobby had done enough to protect me. It was my turn to protect him.

It took some time after reconnecting with my brothers for me to ask Sam for Bobby's number.

He chuckled at first, jokingly asking "Which one?"

"Whatever one will get me an answer," I replied simply.

I scribbled down the number I was given before giving Sam a quick goodbye and hanging up.

I stared down at my phone as if I was waiting for the number to dial itself. It didn't matter how many deep breaths I took. I was still just as nervous as before.

"Fuck it," I mumbled, rapidly dialing the number.

It rang a few times before I was met with a very familiar, very gruff voice. "Agent Kayser."

"Hey, Bobby," I said.

"Who is this?"

"It's... It's (Y/n)... (Y/n) Winchester." I held my breath for a moment, tears welling in my eyes as I waited for him to hang up the phone. He didn't. "I... I know that I'm probably one of the last people that you wanna hear from-"

"Shut the hell up," he snapped at me. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to call me?"

I let out a breathy chuckle, letting my head fall forward.

"Dammit, kid, you just about scared the life out of me when you ran off," he continued. "Didn't have your number. Didn't have a clue where you went. You popped up in the paper a few years ago. Hold on a second."

I heard some ruffling in the background.

"I started keeping track of the articles that mentioned you," he explained. "Got 'em all here in a scrapbook. Saving kids and stopping some real bastards."

I wiped my eyes. "You kept them?"

"Of course I did! Are you kidding?"

"I guess... I guess I just assumed that you hated me."

"What, because you didn't want to be a hunter anymore? Kid, I'm not that much of an ass."

I chuckled.

"Listen," he said. "I don't know how much time off you get with that big FBI gig, but... I have an extra room for whenever you need it."

"I would really like that," I replied. "I've missed you."

"Missed you too, kid," he muttered. "Try not to go years without calling this time."

"I'll do my best."

Hanging up was almost bittersweet. I had established contact. That was good. But ending the conversation made my heart drop slightly. I knew how quickly each of our lives could change. Every phone call could be the last.

But all I could do was take a deep breath and push that thought away.

I didn't have time to think like that.

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

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Everything - @geeksareunique

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[raz-writes-the-thing]

"This is my favorite part of the day—just us, no worries.” with bobby singer if you could!! thanks for giving him a shot!! <3

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Bobby groused, pulling his cap off and throwing it onto the coffee table next to his recliner. He gestured for you to come relax on his lap- which you did without hesitation, melting into his embrace.

Bobby let out a sigh of visceral relief, his arm rubbing yours as you curled up to him, resting your cheek upon his shoulder.

"Those boys will be the death of me," he said absent-mindedly, hand rubbing soft circles against your tee. You hummed, pressing a hand to his chest so you could feel his heartbeat. "Idjits."

"Enough about the boys, Bobby," you said, adjusting to press a kiss to his cheek. Bobby's lips curled into an affectionate smile.

"Yeah," he agreed in his classic drawl, cuddling you closer and reaching for the television remote for some background noise. "You're right. Let's enjoy our time to ourselves while it lasts."

That sounded like an excellent plan to you.

[game-of-reading]

“You’re too good for me.”

Pairing: Bobby Singer x reader | Supernatural

Warnings: None I can think of

Spoilers: Technically takes place during season 5 episode 2 “Good God, Y’All!” but doesn’t actually include any lines from the episode

Word count: 690

You help Bobby, your boyfriend, come home and start his adjust after his recovery in the hospital.

*gif not mine, found it online so credit to who made it*

Bobby was staring out the hospital window as he waited for you to fill out his discharge papers to take him home.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle being in a wheelchair, or how he was going to handle not going on hunts anymore. He knew he was lucky to have you by his side, but even then he wasn’t sure if you’d remain with him.

“Ready to go, baby?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts and turned his head to look at you as you approached his side.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Bobby grumbled in response before sighing.

“Want me to push you or are you gonna push yourself?”

Bobby contemplated your question, appreciating that you didn’t just assume if he wanted to be pushed.

“Probably be faster if ya pushed.” Bobby decided, managing a small smile.

You nodded and moved behind his chair, gripping the handlebars and turning him around to head out to the hall.

It was silent between the both of you as you pushed Bobby out of the hospital and to your car, stopping beside the passenger seat.

“Okay, do you want help getting in or do you want to try on your own?” You asked while unlocking the car and opening the passenger door, looking at him to see him staring at the car.

Again he appreciated that you didn’t just start to help, instead giving him a chance to decide.

“I want to try first,” He mumbled and you nodded, stepping back as he rolled closer before putting the brakes on the chair.

You watched as Bobby grabbed and moved each of his legs off of the chair and to the ground, bracing his left hand on the car you held a hand out so he could haul himself up.

“Okay?” You asked when he didn’t move.

“Just…” Bobby trailed off, looking at his feet before your face as you gave him an encouraging nod.

“Take your time, babe. There’s no rush.” You said, and Bobby knew you meant it.

With a deep breath, Bobby steadied himself before taking his left hand off the car to move it onto the passenger door, twisting himself and allowing you to ease him back into the seat.

Once he was sitting you let go of his hand and began to fold the wheelchair so you could put it in your trunk. Bobby took his time lifting his legs into the car and getting comfortable, closing the door just as you got in the driver’s seat.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” You said, looking at Bobby with a small grin.

~ later at home ~

You had spent time arranging a bed to the side of the library, upset that Bobby wouldn’t be able to just go upstairs anymore, so you decided to make sure he can still feel a sense of normalcy while being stuck on one floor.

“The hell are ya doing?” You turned to look at Bobby, slightly confused.

“What’s it look like?”

“Looks like ya brought down the whole bed set.” Bobby clarified, pushing himself closer. “Ya plannin’ on sleeping on a bare mattress?”

“I plan on sleeping beside my boyfriend.” You stated, sitting on the edge of the bed, grinning at Bobby’s reaction.

“No, I can’t ask you to give up that bed.” Bobby shook his head.

“Good thing you’re not asking, Bobby.” You said, leaning forward to grab the armrests, pulling him closer so you could place your hands on either side of his face, forcing him to keep his eyes on yours. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you, I will take care of you however you need me too, because I love you. So if you want me to, I’ll sleep up-” Your speech was cut off by Bobby’s lips on yours, your eyes automatically closing as you kissed back.

Bobby broke the chaste kiss, a smile on his lips as you moved your hands to rest on the chair’s armrests.

“I love you, too.” Bobby murmured, bringing his hand up to cup your face. “You’re too good for me.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hope this finds the right audience :)

I'm not much of a poster and I don't usually share my works but I thought someone else might like what I manage to put in words. And, hey, sharing my creative-ness might help.

If you do like my work, feel free to request something!

[fandom-lover2]

Commissions Are Open

Hello Supernatural Fandom!!

So, I recently got royally screwed over by my last job and lost a lot of money I'd been saving in the hopes of seeing my mom in San Francisco when she comes over from our home country and am trying to find ways to earn a little cash on the side.

Given my gift, I'm hoping this reaches the right people and you guys can help out a bit.

Here is my masterlist if you wanna check out my other works

What I write:

Comfort Letter - $5 (500 words)

Written as a pick-me-up/comfort letter from the character of your choosing. Great for a bad day or gift for a friend who's having a tough time

Personalized Comfort Letter - $7 (500 words)

Comfort Letter written by the character of your choosing addressed to you covering any topic of your choosing

(here is an example I did for a friend)

Drabble (500 words) - $5

Short story (1000 words) - $10

Full fic (1500 words) - $15

Full fic (1500 words) - $15

Long fic (2000/2500 words) - $20/$25

I also love rewriting scenes from movies and TV shows and adding in my own lines/lines for my characters to add, if you've ever wished you or your oc could have been present in a scene I will rewrite it and add your chosen dialogue. Price will depend on word count.

Characters:

Dean Winchester

Same Winchester

Bobby Singer

Castiel

Jack Kline

Crowley

Rowena

Jody Mills

Donna Hanscum

Benny Lafitte

Will write:

SFW

NSFW

Hurt, comfort

Hurt, no Comfort

Fluff

x reader

Oc x character

Oc x Oc

Oc x reader

Won't write:

Rape or rape fantasy

Hate speech - character cannot say anything racist, homophobic or transphobic.

Editing and proofreading (beta reader)

If you need help with editing or re-checking your fic, I'm your girl

500 words - $2.50

1000 words - $5

1500 words - $7.50

2000 words - $10

Please DM if you'd like anything or have any questions

Thank you!

[wolpertingerprompts]

I’ve been re-watching season four of Psych, and now I need a Bobby Singer/Reader western!au.

[merdeeokercee]

Bobby Singer/Reader (Microfic)

1st Person Microfiction

Rated Mature 18+

Words: 367

Tags: Fluff, Short and Sweet, One-Shot(?), In Bobby's Chevelle, bewbie touch, but that's literally it, nothing beyond that so, yeah

Title: What Does Love Taste Like?

Summary: After taking out a Vampire nest, Bobby and reader share a kiss in the front seat of his car. 

“...Because only he could get away with kissing me after two days of chasing a vamp nest with no dingy motels or their bathroom sinks.”

Do not steal or copy and paste my work anywhere else. Thank you, enjoy!

***There is an "authors note" at the end***

-----

What does love taste like?

Well, I imagine that if love had a taste, it would taste just like this—whiskey. Whiskey that has settled into a bed of cigarettes and iron, then aged for 48 hours in 98 degrees of Robert Singer.

There is a note of desperation, a minim of ache between us, and we ride them both with our tongues.

Yes, if love had a taste, it would be this. The lips, tongue, and spit of a man—one who means the world to me. Because only he could get away with kissing me after two days of chasing a vamp nest with no dingy motels or their bathroom sinks.

I took to a bottle of water and a toothbrush, but it seems Bobby kept it real.

“Ever heard of a toothbrush, Singer?” I ask him the moment we part. His knees spread as I straddle his thighs in the front seat of his Chevelle. He doesn’t even attempt to appear guilty or ashamed; he just shows off his signature crooked smile.

“Fergot,” he says with a lame shrug.

“Yeah? Well, you taste like a twelve-pack and stale man.”

“Well, Sugar,” Bobby blows steam in my face, hot and heavy. “Hate to break it to ya, but—I am a man.” One of his hands slides up my back and settles on the middle of my spine, while the other finds my stomach. He looks at me, his grin gone, but his eyes still shining. “See? See these big man hands? You have any idea the things they want to do to you?”

Bobby splays his fingers. They’re rough and calloused, thick and strong. Today, I watched them strangle the handle of a machete while he whacked off a band of vamp heads. Tonight, I imagine they’ll be digging into my skin while holding me tight as I ride.

The words in my head evaporate, and with a face on fire, I croak,

“I don’t know… why don’t you show me?”

Bobby tilts his chin up, holding my gaze. I bite my lip as his hand on my stomach travels up and up until it settles over a breast.

He chuckles, deep and rolling.

“Oh, gladly, Ms.”

-----

"Authors Note"

So, this is my first time writing fanfiction on this site, I've been gawking trying to learn how it is done by others, but, please do let me know if I have missed anything? Doubt ppl will see this one cus, allas, not enough Bobby Entreprenuers around here if you ask me, but that's what pushed me to post this one first anyways.

I'm also aware first person and microfictions seem to scare ppl off but hey, I enjoy writing both and that's all that matters to me.

If someone does read this one day lol, tell me what you think- LIKE COMMENT AND SUBSCRIBE LMAO- but fr... pls. COugh. <3

[cuntiel]

[spn-incorrect-quotes]

Y/n : We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends.

Cas: ... Your what?

Y/n : My friends.

Sam: Are they saying “friends”?

Bobby: I think they're being sarcastic.

Dean: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Y/n ! All of your friends are in this room.

[deanwinchestersbabygirll]

Protective~ Dean Winchester imagine

Warnings// angst, fluff and cock blocking

lil summery// just a lil cutesy protective Dean Winchester

*REPOST FROM MY OLD ACCOUNT*

Dean x Reader

Word count// 1400

(gif from Pinterest)

You Sam and Dean had just finished a pretty rough ghoul hunt, once you guys had all showered the remnants of the night, dean suggested you guys head out for a few drinks to celebrate, once you got to the bar Dean and you slide into a booth, deans arm wrapping around your shoulders pulling you into his side “you get the first round Sammy” Dean said smirking at his brother, Sam rolled his eyes “fine but you’re next” he said walking to the bar

“So how you feeling after you’re first ghoul sweetheart” you looked up at your boyfriend “well I’ve gotta say I won’t be chasing one for a very long time, much prefer a simple salt and burn” Dean chuckled kissing the side of your head, “alright beers are severed” Sam said sitting down with the drinks “thanks Sammy” you said taking a drink out the bottle

You and the guys were having a great time talking about passed hunts before you’d met them “he just looked at me all upset and said ‘I lost my shoe’ all because he lost the damn rabbits foot” Dean laughed finishing his second beer, “alright my round boys just another beer?”you questioned getting up “yeah thanks Y/N” Sam said “yeah me too thank you sweetheart” you hooded moving to the slightly crowded bar you quickly got the bar tenders attention “hi three beers please” the man nodded “that’ll be 12 bucks gorgeous” he said placing three beers in front of you, you nodded handing him a 20 dollar bill, the bar tender went to get your change leaving you standing for a few minutes

“what’s a beautiful girl like you doing at a place like this” a man grumbled out from one of the bar stools, he looked to be a drunk creep no younger than mid 50s “I’m here with my boyfriend and friend” you said back hoping he’d back off at the boyfriend comment “ah bet your boyfriend doesn’t treat you like I would” the man said moving closer to you “look buddy I’m not interested I’m in a relationship” he didn’t seem too happy with that “you better watch yourself you bitch I’m giving you a choice the only thing you should be saying is yes sir, because that’s the only damn thing you’ll be saying when I’m pounding you in front of your little boyfriend you slut!” he spat out, “is there a problem here miss?” The bartender asked returning with your change “no everything’s fine thanks” you said grabbing the change stuffing it in your pocket before taking the beers back to the winchesters

“Hey sweetheart everything good? You were gone a while” Dean said grabbing his beer and pulling you back to your place at his side “yeah fine just waiting for my change” you answered quietly, you could see the man from the bar staring at you his hand holding his glass tightly in his grasp as he wouldn’t break eye contact “I’m gonna head back to the motel after this one guys I’m pretty tired” you said feeling uncomfortable either the stares the man wa giving you, dean nodded “yeah I think we’ll all head out then, you good with that Sam?” Dean questioned, Sam nodded

Once you guys finished your drinks you made your way to the exit, from the corner of your eye you seen the man get up, following your trail to the exit, starting to feel scared you grabbed deans hand tight, Dean turned to look at you concerned “you okay Y/N? You hands really sweaty” you nodded to answer him too nervous to even speak, you thought the night air would make you feel better but knowing the man was following behind was just making your feel sick, before you could get into baby dean stopping you, both hands on your arms as he looked at you “sweetheart my job is lying for a living, I know somethings bothering you and I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what it is” Dean asked alerting Sam “what’s going on?”

Sighing you looked behind the brothers to find the man staring at you from behind a car “there was a guy at the bar, he freaked me out a little bit I didn’t care too much until he sat staring at me for the last hour so I wanted to leave but he followed us out here” you said, your heart pounding in your chest, Dean got an angry look on his face as he turned searching the parking lot “where the hell is he!” Dean moved to look around finding him quickly, Dean stormed over “hey! The hell do you want jackass? You think you can harass my girlfriend I wouldn’t find out” Dean grabbed the man by his shirt “not my fault she’s a whore man, just wanted a little taste of her sweet p-”Dean didn’t let him finish his sentence before he was released punching him in the face “my nose!” The man yelped but dean wasn’t done yet, Sam was holding you in a hug blocking the fight from your eyes

Once dean was done teaching the man a lesson in how to respect women he walked back over to you and sam “alright he’s down, let’s get back to the motel” Dean said getting in the drivers seat. Once you guys made it back to the motel you followed the brothers back to the room, Sam went into the bathroom leaving you and Dean alone

sighing dean sat on the bed you two would be sharing, he started to wrap his bloody knuckles you let out a shaky breath before sitting beside him and taking his hand “I got it” you said taking out the rubbing alcohol and rubbing it on his wounds, Dean flinched slightly at the sting “why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He asked softly you looked up giving him a small smile “I just didn’t want to bother you, I just didn’t realise how big a creep the guy was till he followed us out” dean nodded “sweetheart if someone or something is ever bothering you I don’t give a rats ass how by or small, you tell me and I will take care of it” you nodded “yeah I will I’m sorry dean” Dean was shaking his head “you have nothing to be sorry for Y/N you did nothing wrong” you wrapped your arms around deans shoulders pulling him to a hug, we wrapped his own around your waist holding you close to him

You pulled away to give him a small kiss, however a small kiss with Dean was never really just a small kiss, this one being no different as Dean was swiping his to tongue along your bottom lip, you parted your lips allowing dean to explore your mouth, you moaned quietly when dean pushed you slightly to lay back on the bed as he moved to lean on top of you as you continued to make out, deans hand was tugging at the hem of your shirt, and just when you were about to take it off the bathroom door opened, the younger Winchester emerged in his pyjama pants and shirt “seriously!” He yelped turning away

Dean sighed moving to stand up “relax Sammy were decent” you chuckled as you moved to get up and get changed in the bathroom, Dean following close behind “seriously don’t guys I don’t want a repeat of the hunt back in Chicago” you giggled “I promise Sammy we’ll keep it PG” you and Dean changed into your sleepwear, Dean sporting the same as sam, minus the shirt, he found them to be annoying when it got too hot in bed, you in a pair of shorts and deans old led zeppelin shirt

When you both emerged from the bathroom Sam was already tucked in for the night, all lights off minus the one in the bathroom, you and Dean made your way to the bed getting in either side Dean quickly grabbed your waist tugging you close enough so you could rest your head on his bare chest and tangle your legs together “we’re definitely getting our own room next hunt” Dean whispered kissing the top of your head, you chuckled at his remark closing your eyes “whatever you say Winchester”

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

lil repost of one of my personal favs from my old account :))

[imbadatwrighting]

I never knew a season of a tv show could be so “we’re not gay!” while actively being gay before I watched spn season five

[jakegyllenbaalz]

i❤️ supernatural

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean has a conflicting dream about you, his best friend, that has him questioning feelings he'd never allowed to see the light of day before. However, he might not be the only one…

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings/Tags: Swearing, feelings, some spicy times, nothing too heavy...

AN: Happy Release day!!🎉 Honestly, i can’t thank you all enough for the excitement around this series since announcing it! I've fell in love writing this story 🥹 and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it ❤️

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Dean smiled lazily as he felt a warm palm slide up his chest, the body behind him pressing closer. Soft lips trailed kisses along his neck and shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He hummed in contentment and shifted onto his back, his tired eyes opening to the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Her eyes sparkled with warmth and mischief, her lips curving into a playful smirk before she leaned down, peppering gentle kisses along his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut again as she sucked lightly at his pulse point, his breath coming quicker. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he gripped her waist, pulling her up into a heated kiss.

Her tongue caressed his, her touch sending fire through his veins. Her hand slid down his abdomen, fingertips grazing lower and lower beneath the sheets, his pulse pounding—

"WAKE UP, LOSER!"

Dean's eyes shot open, his body jolting as the blaring shriek of an airhorn filled his room. He yanked the covers tighter around himself, his heart racing from both the rude awakening and the remnants of his dream.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he growled, glaring at the culprit as he covered his ears. You grinned triumphantly and finally put the airhorn to rest.

Dean huffed, flopping back down on the bed and throwing an arm over his face, trying to will away the heat rising to his cheeks.

What the fuck? Was all he could think, his sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of why he’d just had a sex dream about you.

You, meanwhile, were way too chipper for his liking. 

"C’mon, Dean-o, up and at ’em." You patted his leg, and he flinched like you’d just burned him. You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

"What’s with the drill sergeant wake-up? Can a guy not sleep in on a Saturday?" He grumbled, voice still rough from sleep, and other things.

You pouted. Actually pouted. And Dean had to force himself to look away from your lips—lips that had just been doing unspeakable things to him in his dream.

"You promised you'd go Christmas shopping with me.” You reminded him, completely unfazed by his mood.

Dean frowned. "That doesn’t sound like something I’d promise."

You hit him with your classic 'don’t bullshit me' look. And, yeah, okay, he remembered now. He'd offered last week, wanting to help you survive the chaos of last-minute shoppers—and use the trip to grab gifts for his own family.

"Fine, yeah. Just give me ten minutes to wake up, alright?" He relented, desperate for you to leave so he could deal with his little… Issue.

“Thanks, Buddy." Your voice was smug, like you knew he’d never actually say no to you. Because, let’s be honest, he never did.

Dean sighed as you closed the door behind you. He let his head fall back against the pillow, running a hand down his face.

What the hell?

Why was he dreaming about you like that? You were his best friend. You’d been inseparable since fourth grade. Sure, you were beautiful, but that had never been an issue before.

…Had it?

Dean groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Nope. Too early for a deep dive into that mess. He rationalised it away—one, you were attractive. Two, you were close. And, statistically speaking, didn’t most guy-girl friendships eventually veer into weird territory at some point?

Yeah. Totally normal. No big deal.

Except… Two hours later, standing in the middle of a lingerie store, Dean realised he was totally screwed.

Before that, he’d spent the last two hours hauling around a bunch of your shopping bags like a damn pack mule. Only one of them happened to be his, with his completed gift purchases for everyone he needed to buy for. Though to be fair to you, your arms were just as full. He was bewildered at your ability to buy so much for so little.

Your immediate family only consisted of three people—Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—but you had argued that you had your friends, his family, and him to buy for. The latter of which, he’d told you not to do.

However, it fell on deaf ears as always. Every Christmas and birthday, it was the same. But Dean couldn’t fault you for it—you always got people gifts that were meaningful to them, and you got so much joy from giving that he could never say anything other than thank you.

What he wasn’t thankful for was your complete inability to stay focused. Every shop you entered, you’d get distracted by little knickknacks, convincing yourself someone needed them, rather than the original item you came for. It made the day so much longer, but despite the fatigue in his arms and the chaos of holiday shoppers, he was enjoying himself.

Though, that was a given with you.

You were naturally a people pleaser, but knowing how much Dean hated shopping, you’d made it your mission to keep him entertained. You’d made him laugh—laugh to the point his belly ached and tears were shed. The day had surprisingly become enjoyable. But then you'd dragged him into this store, and his brain short-circuited.

The window displays alone had him spiralling, lace and silk-covered mannequins taunting him with thoughts he really didn’t need to have. About you. And then you, completely oblivious, pulled a matching red lace bra and thong off a rack, holding them up for inspection.

Dean swallowed hard.

He’d done your laundry before. You two split chores in the apartment, and he’d handled your underwear plenty of times; never thinking twice about it. So why the hell was he suddenly imagining you in them now?

Was this really because of the dream? It had to be.

And then, like you hadn’t already sent him into cardiac arrest, you giggled, holding up another pair. "Hey, check this out—crotchless panties."

Dean barely choked back a groan as you stuck your fingers through the open section like it was the funniest thing in the world. His brain, on the other hand, provided a detailed mental slideshow of all the things he could do to you in them.

Jesus Christ.

He needed air.

"I—uh—I gotta step outside. Promised Sammy I’d call about a gift for Mom," he lied, voice tight.

You barely glanced up. "Okay."

Dean bolted like his life depended on it, shoving through the doors and inhaling the crisp winter air. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" He muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

A passing woman gave him a scandalised look as she walked by with her kid. He shot her an apologetic smile before leaning back against the brick wall, blowing out a heavy breath.

He tried to clear his mind, but every time he pushed the R-rated thoughts away, softer images replaced them. The way you smiled. The way you laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling. That stupid fluttery feeling hit his stomach again.

Dean frowned.

Was he sick? Hallucinating?

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something.

But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Another half hour crawled by before you finally emerged from the store, a small bag swinging from your wrist. Dean’s eyes locked onto it like it held the answers to the universe, his mind immediately spiralling.

What the hell did you buy?

He told himself he didn’t care. He really didn’t. But his brain clearly had other plans because now he was picturing you in every single thing you could’ve possibly picked out.

Lingerie? Pyjama's? Something sheer, lace- nope!

He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on literally anything else, but it was a lost cause. By the time you both made it back to the apartment, he felt like his brain had been put through a damn blender.

You, however, were completely unbothered, tossing your bags onto the floor with a content sigh before flopping onto the couch. "Pizza should be here soon. You wanna pick the movie?"

Dean blinked, barely processing the words. Right. Normal best friend things. Hanging out. Eating pizza. Watching a movie. That’s what you two did. That’s what you’d always done.

Maybe that’s all today was—a momentary lapse. A weird, fleeting thing brought on by lack of sleep, the stress of shopping, and, most probably, the objectifying dream he’d had of you. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Yeah. He could shake this off. No big deal.

Letting out a slow breath, he dropped onto the couch beside you, snagging the remote. "Fine. But if I pick, you’re not allowed to bitch about it."

You hummed, already scrolling through your phone. "I make no promises."

A small smirk tugged at Dean’s lips. This was normal. Easy. Just like always.

And for the first time since this morning, he let himself believe it.

The following Friday, Dean found himself at the Roadhouse with Benny, Cas, and Gabe. It was the kind of place that felt like a second home.

The Roadhouse wasn’t fancy—hell, half the decor was older than they were—but it had its own charm. The regulars, the outdated rodeo-style décor, the worn wooden bar top that had seen more spilled whiskey and thrown punches than anyone cared to count.

The walls were lined with old beer signs, neon lights buzzing softly under the hum of conversation. The jukebox in the corner cycled through rock classics, always a little too loud, but that was part of the place’s charm.

Dean and the guys had been coming here for years—long before they were even old enough to drink. You had, too. Being Ellen’s stepdaughter meant you practically grew up in this place, and while Ellen had a strict no-bullshit policy, she wasn’t blind to the fact that teenagers would be teenagers.

As long as you and the guys stayed under her watchful eye, she let you each have a beer or two when you were younger, making damn sure no one got carried away. And if anyone so much as thought about sneaking more? Well, Ellen had a way of shutting that down real quick. She was tough, sharp as a whip, and had a stare that could make a grown man fold—but she cared, more than she’d ever admit.

Jo helped out too, working the bar some nights in between her law enforcement studies. She’d been slinging beers and rolling her eyes at the group’s antics since she was old enough to work behind the counter, always quick with a sarcastic remark when any of them got out of line. 

You and Dean had spent countless nights here, watching as the Roadhouse shaped who you all became.

Benny leaned against the pool table, lining up his shot with an easy, practiced confidence. Dean had seen him do it a hundred times—his friend had a natural ease about him, a steadiness that made him damn good at their job. 

They spent most of their days working maintenance for RHP Properties, fixing busted pipes and dealing with tenants who thought every flickering light meant the world was ending. Benny made the long hours bearable.

Cas sat nearby, nursing a whiskey, his sharp blue eyes scanning the table like he was analysing some historical battle strategy. He always had that serious, thoughtful air about him. It made sense—he was a history teacher, working his way toward becoming a professor. His brain just worked differently.

And then there was Gabriel, though he liked to go by Gabe, Cas’ cousin. Though you’d never guess it just by looking at them. 

Where Cas was serious, methodical, and downright broody at times, Gabe was his exact opposite—carefree, unpredictable, and always ready with a joke. The contrast between them was almost comical, like night and day, order and chaos.

Currently half-draped over the bar like he owned the place, Gabe was laughing at something Rachel, the new bartender, had said. She was easy on the eyes—exactly the kind of woman Gabe set his sights on. And judging by the way she giggled and blushed under his usual blend of wit and charm, he’d hit his mark.

Gabe had always been that guy—the one who could talk his way into or out of anything, a natural-born trickster with a grin that could disarm just about anyone. No one was entirely sure what he did for a living, some mix of marketing gigs and side hustles that somehow kept him afloat. According to him, it was all about “the art of persuasion.”

Dean just called it bullshit.

The night had settled into an easy rhythm—drinks flowing, pool games stretching long enough to become more about talking shit than actual competition. Gabe, as always, had the floor, spinning some ridiculous story about a one-night stand gone wrong.

“I’m telling you; she had three snakes. Just slithering around the damn apartment like it was normal,” Gabe insisted, gesturing wildly with his beer. “One of ‘em was watching me, man. I swear it knew.”

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Gabe shrugged. “What can I say? I have a hard time walking away from an adventure.”

Cas, who had been nursing his whiskey with a bemused expression, finally spoke up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Give it time,” Benny muttered, sinking his shot.

The conversation shifted, everyone throwing in their own weird hookup stories—bad timing, embarrassing moments, things they wished they could forget. Dean had been mostly listening, chuckling at their dumb-assery, when the thought that had been nagging him for days finally slipped out.

“Is it, uh… normal to have a sex dream about a friend?”

Benny didn’t react at first, too focused on sinking his shot, but Gabe, ever the opportunist, caught onto it immediately. “If it’s about Y/N? Yeah, totally.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What? No—it’s not—”

Gabe grinned, tilting his head like he was enjoying watching Dean squirm. “Not what? Not about her? Or not just a dream?”

Dean scowled, scrambling to recover. “Jesus, Gabe, I didn’t say it was about her. It was hypothetical.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe leaned against the pool table, twirling the chalk in his fingers. “Sure, man. Hypothetical.”

Dean exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weird, twisting feeling in his gut. “Just saying, dreams don’t mean anything, right? Just… brain static.”

Benny chuckled, finally looking up from the table. “Depends on the dream, brother.”

Dean glanced between them, suddenly feeling like he was the only one missing something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gabe smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’ve been making googly eyes at her since we were, what—fifteen?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “The hell I have.”

Gabe ignored him, tapping his chin. “Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Benny sighed, shaking his head as he sank another shot. “Sorry, brother. Gotta agree with the gremlin on this one.”

Cas, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice calm and matter of fact. “It’s always been very obvious.”

Dean stared at them, mouth opening and closing. “You guys are insane.”

Gabe shrugged, completely unfazed. “Denial’s a hell of a drug. You’ll catch up eventually.”

Dean gripped his pool cue a little tighter, his next shot suddenly feeling a lot more difficult than it should have.

Benny, ever the voice of reason, leaned on his cue. “Ain’t anything bad, Dean. You two have known each other since you were what? Nine. Been joint at the hip since. You know all her family, she knows yours. Hell, she’s practically—”

“If that were true, something would’ve happened by now,” Dean cut in, shaking his head.

Gabe snorted, swiping Dean’s beer before he could stop him. “Not if you’re in denial, my friend.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, frustration curling in his chest. Their words were ringing too damn true, and it was freaking him out. “You’re all outta your damn minds.”

Gabe just smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Winchester.”

The conversation haunted him. All the way back to the apartment.

He’d walked the couple of blocks from the bar to your shared place, his friends’ words swirling around his mind, needling into places he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Dean knew he cared about you—he always had. But wasn’t that normal after knowing someone for so long? You were practically family.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met you. Fourth grade. The old, rusted swing set at the park near his house.

He’d been shoving loose gravel around with the toe of his sneaker when he heard a loud laugh—sharp and unbothered. Looking up, he saw a girl launch herself off the swing at its peak, landing in a heap on the ground with a thud.

He winced. That had to hurt.

But instead of crying, you rolled onto your back, a grin splitting your dirt-smudged face as you stared up at the sky. "Holy crap, that was awesome."

Dean frowned, more confused than anything. "You just busted your knee."

You sat up, inspecting the scrape with a shrug. "Eh, I’ve had worse."

Then you looked at him—really looked at him—and grinned. "Think you can jump higher?"

Dean, never one to back down from a challenge, snorted. "Duh."

And that was that. A competition was born.

For the next hour, you and Dean had taken turns swinging as high as possible before flinging yourselves off, measuring who could get the most distance. By the time the sun dipped low, both of you were covered in dirt and scrapes, laughing like idiots.

When his mom finally called him home for dinner, he’d hesitated before brushing off his hands and looking at you. "Same time tomorrow?"

You grinned, teeth flashing. "You’re on, Winchester."

And just like that, Dean had found his best friend.

Now, years later, that same friend was tangled up in his head in a way he couldn’t ignore.

And it scared the hell out of him.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else. 

Splitting rent was cheaper, and as best friends, it had made perfect sense. Somehow, though, the whole thing had felt oddly domestic from the start, and Dean had cracked the joke that first night—throwing open the door with a smirk, announcing himself like some sitcom husband. You’d groaned, thrown a pillow at him, and it had just stuck. Something easy, something comfortable.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, your voice called back, warm and casual. “Hey!” You greeted him as he shrugged off his worn leather jacket and toed off his boots with a sigh, rolling his neck to ease the tension there. 

“How were the guys?” You called out again.

"Yeah, they're all good," he answered absentmindedly, trying not to think about that last conversation he’d had with them as he headed straight for the fridge, already contemplating his options.

His hand gripped the cool metal of the handle as he swung it open, his face falling at the sad excuse for groceries staring back at him—half a six-pack, expired milk, some takeout containers he didn’t even remember ordering.

Right. Grocery shopping. Definitely overdue.

"Hey, you feel like ordering in tonight?" He called out over his shoulder. "Pizza? Chinese? Maybe both, live a little?"

But before he could get an answer, movement in the corner of his eye pulled his focus, and his breath caught in his throat.

You stepped out of your room, and just like that, Dean forgot how to breathe.

His hand slipped from the fridge handle as his entire focus tunnelled in on you. You weren’t just dressed up—you were knockout gorgeous. 

A sleek, black dress hugged your figure in a way that should’ve been illegal, the fabric clinging in all the right places before tapering off mid-thigh. Your legs—long, smooth, and so much more on display than he was prepared for—were accentuated by the sharp cut of your stilettos, heels so high they had no damn business being on your feet, yet somehow, you walked like you owned the world in them.

Dean swallowed hard.

His gaze flickered to the subtle details—the delicate chain resting just below the hollow of your throat, the way the dim lighting in the apartment caught the shimmer of your earrings, how your makeup was just enough to highlight what was already perfect. 

You smelled different too—a new perfume perhaps? Something subtle but undeniably you.

The air in the apartment felt thick, like it was pushing down on his chest.

You didn’t even notice his staring. Instead, you were focused on the couch, leaning over slightly as you grabbed your purse, your fingers quickly checking through its contents. "I can't," you said lightly, barely looking up. "Got a hot date, remember?"

Dean blinked, your words cutting through his haze like a blade.

“Date?"

His stomach twisted.

You straightened up, finally glancing at him with a smirk. "Yeah, with Gary from marketing?" You prompted, slinging your purse over your shoulder. "He asked me out last week—I told you about it?”

Gary from marketing.

Dean’s brows furrowed as the memory came rushing back—how you’d offhandedly mentioned it while he was distracted with something else, how he’d muttered some half-assed response at the time, maybe even made a joke—

"The guy with the tragic haircut?" he muttered, the words coming out before he could stop them.

You laughed. "That’s the one."

And just like that, it hit him.

He’d been so caught up in his own damn thoughts about you lately—trying to reason with himself, trying to make sense of the way things had shifted between you lately—that he hadn’t even thought the world would still be turning for you.

He’d been sitting in the passenger seat, clueless, while you’d been steering your own damn life without him.

And now?

Now, you were standing there, looking like that, all dressed up for some other guy—some idiot named Gary, who got to pick you up and take you out, who got to be the reason you put on that dress, who got to see that smile meant for him tonight.

Dean’s chest felt tight, a slow, bitter realisation creeping in.

This wasn’t like all the other times.

You’d gone on dates before. He knew that. He’d teased you about them, had even tossed out protective big-brother-ish warnings to guys who had no clue the words felt foreign in his mouth. But he’d never felt anything about it before.

Not like this.

Not like his chest was caving in.

Not like a bitter, ugly heat was curling around his ribs, settling deep into his bones.

Not like he wanted to throw his jacket back on and hunt down ‘Gary from marketing’ and make damn sure he knew he wasn’t good enough for you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Right." His voice was quieter than he meant it to be, rough around the edges as he forced the word past the lump in his throat.

He watched as you did one last check in the mirror by the door, smoothing your hands down your dress, adjusting your lipstick in a way that made his stomach tighten even more. You looked excited.

Dean clenched his jaw.

And just like that, the jealousy settled deep in his bones, hot and unyielding.

He didn’t want to picture it—you laughing at some stupid joke Gary made over dinner, Gary sliding his hand over yours, maybe leaning in close at the end of the night, lips hovering over yours.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And it wrecked him.

You shot him one last glance, oblivious to the storm raging inside of him. "Don’t wait up, Winchester."

And with that, you were gone.

Dean stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

His chest felt tight. And then the bitter realisation hit him. 

His friends had been right.

Dean couldn’t sleep.

For the past two hours, he had been tossing and turning, alternating between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. It never did.

How the hell could he sleep when his mind was torturing him with images of you—with Gary?

His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of it, bile rising in his throat. His mind painted vivid, unwanted pictures: Gary’s hands on you, his lips on your skin, your soft laughter, the way you might be looking at him right now—the way you should be looking at Dean.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if it would shake the thoughts loose. It didn’t.

With a frustrated exhale, Dean sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. This was pointless.

There was no way in hell he was going to get any rest like this, not with his heart pounding and his mind running laps. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his sore muscles before making his way into the living room.

His feet carried him straight to the kitchen, to the cabinet under the sink where he kept a bottle of whiskey for special occasions.

This qualified.

He poured himself a shot and downed it in one go, barely wincing at the burn as it slid down his throat. The second one went down just as easily, a bitter warmth settling in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the storm in his head the way he hoped it would.

His eyes flicked toward the clock on the microwave.

1:37 AM.

You were still out.

Another shot. Another slow burn in his chest.

Dean knew he had no right to be this worked up about it. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t anything to you except your best friend—your roommate. That was the problem.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

It wasn’t just the dream. Sure, it cracked something open in him, but if he was honest with himself, there had always been something simmering underneath. He could see it now—in the way his past relationships never worked out, how no one else ever seemed enough because in the back of his mind, he was always comparing them to you. The way he told you things he didn’t tell anyone, not even his own mother.

Seventeen years.

You had been in his life for seventeen years. That was longer than most marriages. 

Damn, he really was an idiot. How could he have been so blind to it, so ignorant to what was staring him right in the face the whole time? 

Then, he heard it.

The distinct jingle of keys outside the door, followed by a clumsy, muffled “shit" breaking him out of his reverie.

Dean sighed, setting his glass down before pushing off from the counter. He made his way to the door just as he heard another "fuck", then a quiet thud—like something hitting the floor.

Through the peephole, he spotted you crouched down, fumbling for your keys, struggling to fit them into the lock.

You were clearly drunk.

Dean shook his head with a smirk, unlocking the door from his side just as you managed to steady yourself, one hand braced against the door handle. The moment he pulled it open, you stumbled forward, nearly toppling over—until his arms caught you.

You crashed into his chest with a soft “Hmph.”

Dean's arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you up as you melted against him, giggling into his shirt. The scent of alcohol clung to you, a mix of whiskey and whatever fruity drink you had been sipping on all night.

“Jesus." You huffed, pushing off him, though you wobbled as you tried to find your footing. Dean kept his hands out, ready to catch you again if needed.

"You good, sweetheart?" He asked, raising a brow as he took in your dazed smile and glassy eyes.

You grinned up at him, your expression pure blissed-out drunkenness. "I'm just perfect, Dean’o."

Dean smirked at the nickname, but before he could say anything, you reached up and grasped his jaw between your thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“Okay, alright—enough of that.” He groaned, peeling your hand away. You didn’t seem to realise your own strength at the moment, and if you squeezed any harder, you were gonna leave a dent in his damn face.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, before your attention drifted over his shoulder. Then your expression dropped into something heartbreakingly close to a pout.

“Awww,” you whined. “You’re drinking without me?”

You sounded genuinely upset, your lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated fashion. Before Dean could respond, you made a clumsy grab for the bottle on the counter.

But Dean was quicker.

Before your fingers could wrap around the neck of the whiskey bottle, his hand closed over yours, pulling it away with ease. “Yeah, no. You’ve had enough,” he said firmly, setting the bottle behind him and out of reach.

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

Dean smirked, amused at how downright grumpy you looked, like a kid being denied dessert. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You need some water, sweetheart. Not more booze.”

You huffed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want water, I want whiskey.”

“Tough,” Dean said, already turning to grab a glass from the cabinet. “You’re getting water.”

Your pout deepened as he filled the glass from the tap, sliding it toward you. You eyed it like it personally offended you before reluctantly picking it up and taking a sip—your way of conceding to his demand, albeit with an exaggerated sigh.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. You were something else.

Once you were distracted with your water, he leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest. He could still feel the tension coiling in his gut, the jealousy he’d been drowning in all night, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So,” he started, keeping his tone casual, but his fingers clenched against his biceps. “How was it?”

You blinked up at him, confused. “How was what?”

Dean gave you a look. “Your date.”

At that, you scoffed, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “It was awful.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised by how quickly you admitted it. He’d expected you to defend the guy, maybe try to convince yourself it had been a good time. But no—just flat-out awful.

“Yeah?” He prompted, keeping his voice even, but he could already feel his chest loosening just a little.

You leaned against the counter, your drunken state making you extra expressive as you talked with your hands. “First of all, the guy is so uptight. Like, I swear, he’s never laughed in his life. I tried joking around, and he just blinked at me like I was speaking another language.”

Dean snorted, already picturing it.

“And then,” you continued, eyes wide with disbelief, “all he did was talk about himself. Nonstop. Like, dude, I asked him one question—one—about his job, and suddenly I was stuck in a TED Talk about marketing strategies. Like I don’t work for the same company.” You threw your arms out in a ‘are you kidding me’ gesture.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, holding up a finger. “So, we order food, right? And I get a cheeseburger, because, you know, I wanted a damn cheeseburger.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “Good choice.”

“Right?” You gestured wildly, as if proving your point. “But Gary—freaking Gary—looks at me and goes, ‘Are you sure you wanna eat that? You should really watch your figure.’”

Dean froze. His smirk disappeared.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of your mouth.

Then his expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wish.”

Dean’s grip on his bicep tightened, his teeth grinding together. That prick. He had known from the start that Gary was a tool, but this? This was another level.

“So,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I did what any rational, level-headed woman would do in that situation.”

Dean arched a brow. “And that was?”

You grinned, leaning in like you were about to tell him a secret. “I threw my drink in his face and left.”

Dean stared at you for a beat, then—He laughed.

A deep, genuine laugh that rumbled in his chest as pride swelled in him. “No shit?”

“No shit.” You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “Right in his smug, stupid, judgy face.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. That’s my girl, he thought, though he would never say it out loud.

“But instead of coming straight home,” you continued, twirling your glass of water between your fingers, “I didn’t wanna deal with your I told you so—”

Dean smirked. “I would’ve said it.”

You shot him a look. “—so, I went to the Roadhouse instead. Had a few drinks, bitched about my failed date to Jo and Ellen. Ellen cut me off and called me a cab.” Dean huffed. That sounded about right.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the way you had perked up again, the lingering frustration in your eyes slowly melting into something softer.

You were here.

Not out with Gary. Not waking up next to some guy who didn’t deserve you. Not letting some self-important idiot tell you who you should be.

You were home. With him.

And as much as he wanted to tell you that he had been losing his damn mind all night, picturing you with someone else—he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, and smirked.

"Well," Dean said, tilting his head with a smirk. "At least you got a good story out of it."

"Yeah, I guess." You hummed, swirling the water in your glass. The initial amusement faded as your shoulders dropped slightly. Dean caught the shift immediately, his brows pulling together.

"C’mon, you can’t really be cut up about a guy with an Edward Scissor-hands haircut and zero game." He teased, hoping to pull you out of whatever downward spiral you were heading into.

It worked—your laughter bubbled out, a full, belly-deep laugh that made the tension in his chest ease. But then you sighed, the sound quieter this time, more pensive. "It’s not him I’m cut up about."

Dean watched you carefully as you traced the rim of your glass with your finger. "I just feel like I can never meet a good guy."

Something inside him twisted.

What about me?

The thought came unbidden, sharp and intrusive, and he shoved it down before it could take root. Instead, he nudged you with his elbow.

"That’s not true." His voice was lighter now, teasing again. "What about Mikey? The guy with the lisp?"

His grin widened as he mimicked a lisp, knowing damn well you’d dated the guy for barely two months in your sophomore year before his clinginess drove you up the wall. The look of horror that crossed your face had him biting back a laugh.

"Oh my God, Dean!" You gawked at him before landing a solid punch to his arm. "That is so mean!"

"Ow," he complained through his laughter, rubbing the spot you hit. "I’m serious, though! He was a real sweetheart.” He exaggerated the lisp again, barely dodging your next swing.

"I swear to God—" You huffed, turning to stomp off, but before you could escape, he caught your arm gently.

"Okay, okay, I’m done. Scouts honour." He held up three fingers in a mock solemn gesture.

You gave him a look—like you absolutely did not believe him—but still, with a huff, you reclaimed your spot opposite him and took another sip of water.

Then, almost absentmindedly, you sighed. "I mean, it has been a long time."

Dean’s brow furrowed. "A long time since what?"

You hesitated for a brief second before shrugging your shoulders, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. "Since I’ve had sex."

Dean choked on his own damn saliva.

You frowned in concern, but he quickly waved you off, reaching for his whiskey to cover up the way his throat had suddenly gone dry.

You leaned back against the counter, lost in thought, completely oblivious to the war you’d just started in his head.

"I just—I don’t even need romance, you know?" You shrugged. "At this point, I’d settle for a little fun. I even bought new lingerie for tonight, just in case, and now"— you gestured vaguely to yourself, "totally wasted."

Dean swallowed—hard.

His mind was already in dangerous territory, but now it plummeted straight into the gutter.

You’d bought lingerie? For tonight?

His gaze instinctively flicked down for half a second before he caught himself, before he could let himself really think about what you were implying. Because if you had planned for tonight—if you were wearing it right now—

God help him.

The image hit him like a freight train. You, laid out in something lacey and delicate, something sheer enough to tease but not reveal, maybe even those crotchless panties you’d pointed out the other day in that damn store—his stomach twisted, his fingers curling around his glass with a little too much force.

And the worst part? Some other guy was supposed to see you like that tonight.

That thought sent something hot and possessive burning through his veins.

Dean exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck as he forced his gaze anywhere but at you.

"Gary didn’t deserve to see you like that." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his voice lower than before.

You scoffed. "Yeah, well, no one else is seeing it either, so it really doesn’t matter."

It matters to me.

Dean forced himself to take another sip of whiskey, as if that would drown out the thoughts swimming in his head.

With a stretch and a yawn, you set your empty glass down and pushed off the counter. "Alright, I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for making me drink water, Mom." You teased, because Dean was always more like a mother hen than a strict father.

Dean smirked, watching as you stepped closer. He expected you to give him a casual pat on the arm or maybe ruffle his hair like you sometimes did when you were feeling particularly annoying.

Instead, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Or, at least, that’s where it was meant to land.

At the last second, whether it was the whiskey in your system or just bad aim, your lips caught the corner of his mouth.

You gasped softly, your breath fanning over his lips, and then you giggled. "Shit—sorry."

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because you were still right there, inches away, your body just barely brushing his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

Something in the air shifted.

The easy playfulness between you dissolved into something else—something warm and electric, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Your smile faded, lips parting slightly as you lingered, hesitating just a second longer than necessary.

Then, before he could say a damn thing, before he could even think—

You leaned in again.

And this time, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt like a question. Like you were giving him the chance to pull away, to stop this before it could turn into something neither of you could take back.

Dean’s entire body locked up. His mind screamed at him to push you away, to remind you that you’d been drinking, that this was just a moment of drunken impulse, that tomorrow you might regret this.

But then you pressed in closer, deepening the kiss, your fingers skimming up his arm, and his resolve shattered.

A low, quiet sound rumbled in his throat as he gave in. Completely.

His hands found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you against him as he kissed you back. And not just kissed you—devoured you. All the tension from the past few days, all the frustration, the longing, the confusion—it poured out of him like a damn breaking.

Your lips were warm, soft, intoxicating in a way no drink could ever compare to. He let himself get lost in it, let himself feel it—how perfect you felt against him, how natural this was, like it had been inevitable all along.

You sighed against his mouth, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and Dean groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further.

He didn’t know when his hands had moved, but now one was tangled in your hair, the other splayed against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. And fuck, you felt good. Too good.

This was dangerous.

And when you finally pulled away, lips kiss-swollen and breaths unsteady, Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. His heart pounded like a war drum; each beat a sharp, insistent reminder of the storm raging inside him.

He should say something. Do something. But every word he might’ve spoken tangled in his throat, choked by the weight of what had just happened.

“Woah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Your eyes flickered between his and his mouth, never quite settling, like you were just as caught in the moment as he was. Your cheeks were flushed, heat radiating from your skin, and the ghost of your breath still lingered against his lips, dizzying and sweet.

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t dare move. The air between you crackled, fragile and electric, holding him captive in a moment he wasn’t ready to break.

He was waiting for you. Like always.

Your breath ghosted against his lips, and that was all it took.

You kissed him again, this time with more heat, more purpose, fingers tangling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him in. Dean let out a rough sound—somewhere between a groan and a sigh—before his hands found your waist, gripping tight as he backed you up against the counter. The edge dug into your lower back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way he was pressing into you, solid and warm and overwhelming in the best way.

His hands slid down, grasping the backs of your thighs, and before you could fully process it, he lifted you effortlessly onto the countertop.

A surprised gasp left your lips, but Dean was already there, swallowing the sound as he kissed you again, deeper, slower, his fingers digging into your hips. You pulled him in, locking your legs around his waist, desperate to feel more of him, and his hands wandered—exploring the soft, bare skin of your thighs, gliding higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he went.

He trailed kisses down your jaw, moving to your neck, and when his lips found that one spot—the spot—you let out a soft moan, your head tipping back instinctively.

Only to smack it straight into the cabinet behind you.

The entire moment shattered.

You winced, immediately bringing a hand to the back of your head. Dean jerked back, eyes wide with concern.

“Shit—are you okay?” He cupped your jaw, scanning your face for any sign of real pain.

For a second, you just blinked at him—then, out of nowhere, you started giggling.

Dean frowned, still searching your eyes, but when you kept laughing, it broke him. He snorted, shaking his head, then let out a deep, full-bodied chuckle, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He pulled back, still grinning, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s gotta be a sign, right?”

You sighed dramatically. “That the universe hates me?”

Dean smirked, his hands settling on your hips. “That you’re not sober enough for this.” His answer was loaded, a heavy realisation for himself that you were in no state of mind to be making any rational decisions right now, and that he should've known better than to take advantage of that. 

You pouted slightly, but you both knew he was right. Still, there was something soft in his expression as he helped you down, steadying you with warm hands on your waist. The moment your feet hit the ground, you swayed a little, still a bit disoriented.

Dean caught you instantly. “Okay, yeah. You need to lie down, sweetheart.”

You groaned but didn’t fight him as he led you to your room, making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet. Once you were settled, he disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting them on your nightstand.

“You’re a saint,” you mumbled, already sinking into the mattress.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Not quite. Just don’t want you becoming a pain in my ass in the morning when your head’s pounding.” He said as he helped pull off your shoes and settled you under the covers.

You cracked one eye open, looking at him with something unreadable, something soft. “Could never hate you, Dean.” You mumbled half asleep. 

He looked at you, lingering for a second too long. Then stood, with a small exhale.

“Call me if you need anything.” He told you as he walked to the door. You hummed your acknowledgment, and with that, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dean barely made it to his own room before he collapsed onto the bed, dragging both hands down his face.

What the fuck just happened?

The feel of you, the taste of your lips—it was burned into him now, like some kind of cruel brand.

It was just a kiss. Just a few incredible, amazing kisses. But now he knew for sure, no one would ever compare now.

And that thought terrified him.

Because tomorrow, you might not even remember. And if you did, would you be embarrassed? Regret it? Or worse, hate him?

Dean stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, mind racing.

Yeah. He was so fucked.

AN: There we have it folks, the first chapter! It was a long one 😅 I know, but I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback etc ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom

Next Time...

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth. Shit. Because now you could feel it again. The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life. Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back. "I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual. It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.” Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass." Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone." Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer. Yeah. You were so screwed.

[watermelongirl01]

Sweet Rescue - 01

Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: None, I think.

A/N: I hope you like it, please let me know if you do!

Your parents always warned you about the dangers of driving late at night, but did you listen?

It all happened too fast. As you were waiting for the red light to change, out of nowhere you felt a violent impact on the left side of your car, launching you across the empty street. Shattered glasses splattered down your face and you instinctively squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the worst, only opening them again until your car finally came to a stop. 

The front of your car was completely destroyed, which is likely the reason why your legs felt trapped. You tried to move them to get out of the car, but it didn’t work. Your eyesight started to get blurry. You reached up to touch the side of your head and immediately felt a wave of nausea wash over you when you looked at the blood on your fingers.

There was no room to move, your throat felt dry and tight, refusing to let you scream for help. Your phone was nowhere to be found, and with each passing moment, your eyelids grew heavier, as if sleep was pulling you under.

You weren’t sure what the handsome firefighter was trying to tell you, you weren’t even sure when they arrived at the scene, let alone who called for them. 

The only thing you were sure of, was that the man in front of you had the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire existence.

Suddenly, the shock wave left your body, and all the noise came back. The blaring sirens and flashing lights complicate your vision, their brightness finally blinding you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you blinked again. The dryness in your eyes stung a bit, giving you a hint of how long you had been frozen at that moment.

“Sweetheart?” A deep and raspy voice caught your attention. 

“You have pretty eyes.” He flashed a smile at you.

You saw how he gestured for the other firefighters to help him get you out of the wrecked automobile.

“Don’t move your head, sweetheart, my friends here are going to take good care of you.” He pointed at two women who seemed to be the paramedics.

——

“Oh God, I came as soon as I heard.” A worried redhead barged into your hospital room. “Are you okay boss?”

Charlie has been there since you opened the bakery. Doesn’t do a lot of baking but she’s really good at managing business.

“I’m okay, they just wanted me to stay the night to monitor my contusion.” You reassured. “I will be discharged in a couple of hours. Just remind me to never drive at night again.”

The redhead sat on the end of the bed. “What happened?”

“A drunk driver, luckily the street was empty, it was just me, so it wasn’t a big accident.” You quickly explained.

“I heard the firefighters got you out.” She narrowed her eyes. “Pretty? Hot? Spill it.”

You chuckled while shaking your head. “Pretty hot, I would say.”

“We’ll have to thank them to save the best boss ever.”

“Oww, I knew you cared, Charlie.” You said placing a hand on your heart.

“Well of course, if you die I become jobless.”

“Touching words Charlie, they are really heartwarming.”

“No, really boss, I’m glad you’re fine.” She smiled softly, grabbing your hand between hers. “I should come back to the bakery, and make sure Donna hasn’t burned anything, but I will come back in a few hours to get you home, got it?”

“Got it.”

You waved goodbye to her and smiled to yourself. There was nothing much to do but stare at the white, sterile walls around you. No phone to distract you, it was probably destroyed in the accident. You’d been planning to replace it anyway, though not before buying the new refrigerator for the bakery, paying the bills, and—oh right—baking the wedding cake for your aunt, along with cupcakes for that birthday party. Damn it, you were way too busy to be hospitalized.

Before you could spiral further into your thoughts, a throat clearing from across the room caught your attention. You looked up to find a tall, green-eyed man staring at you.

Those eyes

“Hey, I'm Captain Winchester, I don’t know if you remember me, but I —.” You interrupted him.

“The firefighter who pulled me out of the car, I remember.”

He smiled widely. “You do?” He chuckled a little. “I came to drop some patients and found out you stayed overnight, so I came to check on you.”

“Yeah, apparently they wanted to monitor my head injury and the concussion, but they will discharge me in a minute.”

“It was a pretty nasty cut, huh?” He pointed at the baby pink Hello Kitty band-aid covering your tiny wound.

You laughed a little embarrassed. “Hey, it could’ve been dangerous, I almost died out there.”

“Not on my watch, sweetheart.” He leaned on the end of the bed, getting closer to you. You struggled to breathe.

Your hand traveled at the tiny band-aid in your head, suddenly remembering your choice of style.

“You know, they didn’t have normal ones, so they gave me no choice.”

“The hospital didn’t have regular band-aids and forced you to use a Hello Kitty one?”

“Yup, those bastards.” You frowned, not able to hide your smile.

He narrowed his eyes at you, calling your bullshit.

“Fine, I chose it, but it was because it’s the only band-aid that fits my personality.”

He chuckled. “That I can see.”

Captain Winchester stayed for about half an hour, chatting with you. He would have stayed longer, but one of the paramedics—Jo, as you had learned—came looking for him.

“Dean?” You looked up in surprise at the blonde girl standing in your doorway. Captain Winchester seemed equally caught off guard. “The guys are waiting for you. They want to rest.”

“Oh, sorry,” Dean muttered, glancing at his watch in confusion. “I kind of lost track of time.” He turned back to Jo. “This is the lady from the accident. Jo is, well, you know her.” He gestured to you. “Jo’s the paramedic who helped you.”

“I remember. Thank you so much, Jo,” you said, offering a genuine smile.

Jo nodded, her expression briefly softening. “That’s my job, but glad to see you’re okay.” Her focus quickly shifted back to him, barely acknowledging you.

Dean gave you a small smile, his fingers tapping on the bed rails. “I should get going, but I’m glad you’re alright.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “Need a ride? There’s room on the truck.”

Jo raised an eyebrow at his words, clearly confused by his offer.

“Oh, my friend should be on her way. But I appreciate it, really.” You smiled at him.

He returned the smile, more warmly this time. “Alright. see you around, then.”

“Bye, Captain,” you said, your voice soft as you watched him leave.

——

“See you around? Are you stupid, Dean?” 

“Jeez Sammy, I’m sorry, my mind blocked for a moment, okay?.” Dean looked up at his brother, feeling slightly offended.

“Clearly, how are you gonna see her around if you didn’t even ask for her number.”

“I’ll ask Cas, he’s a doctor there, maybe he can get me her phone number?.”

“No, he can’t, it’s against the hospital policies.” 

“What if I invite him a beer in exchange?” Sam shook his head in disbelief.

“A bribe? That's illegal.”

“No, it’s not.” His fingers grabbed the bacon on his breakfast plate.

“Of course it is Dean.”

“It’s not illegal if you don’t get caught.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it.” Sam massaged his temples with his fingers.

“Fine! I’ll ask Jo if she can do a follow-up and help me get her number.” The older brother took a bite out of his bacon, shrinking his shoulders. 

“No, bad idea, don’t ask Jo.”

“Why not?” Dean looked at this brother in utter confusion.

“Just don’t, trust me.”

Dean's mouth opened to argue back, but before he could say something a soft voice interrupted him.

“Excuse me? I'm looking for Captain Winchester.”

And there you were, looking beautiful, a different band-aid adorned your forehead, this time it didn’t have a Hello Kitty on it, it was simple in a pretty cherry red color. You were juggling with a bunch of pink pastry boxes, Dean recognized the logo, it was from his favorite bakery.

“You’ve found him.” You smiled when your eyes found his green ones. 

He immediately stepped forward to help you with the boxes, noticing there were at least six of them, each in a different size.

"This is for you," you said, offering him a warm smile. "Well, for all of you," you added, glancing at the curious firefighters who were watching. "It’s just a small way to say thank you for saving my life."

"Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t have to do this," he replied, smiling at you.

“It’s really no trouble,” you said with a shrug, your voice softening. "I didn’t know what to bring, so I grabbed a little bit of everything, pie, cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, cookies, I hope you like it." You clasped your hands together. "It was baked with a lot of love and a big thank you."

"How do you know it was baked with a lot of love?" came from Jo’s voice, echoing from the doorway as she leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

Dean winced, but you didn’t seem bothered by her tone.

"Uh, I baked them." you said, smiling softly.

"Do you work there, sweetheart?" Dean asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Well, kinda," you chuckled lightly. "I actually own the place."

"You own the bakery with the best pies in town?" Dean asked, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice.

"I don’t know about the best pies in town," you said with a small laugh, "but yeah, I own it."

"Awesome." He said.

"Excuse my brother." A deep voice said from behind him. A tall man with long hair stepped forward and offered his hand with a smile. "He really does love your bakery. I’m Lieutenant Sam Winchester."

You shook his hand, handing him a piece of paper as you did. He glanced at it, looking slightly confused.

"I wasn’t sure what would be enough," you explained, suddenly feeling a little shy. "But being there during the accident, seeing all of your faces, it just made me feel like I had another chance. So, I wanted to give you something to show how much I appreciate what you did for me."

You took a deep breath, watching his expression carefully. "For the next year, you can go to my bakery and get anything you want. My treat."

Sam blinked, surprised. "What? That’s too much, Are you sure?"

You nodded with a smile. "Yes, absolutely. I’ve already talked to all my employees. If I’m not there, they’ve been instructed to let you take whatever you want every morning. No charge."

"That’s really kind of you," a voice said from behind you. "We really appreciate it."

"Sweetheart, this is Chief Singer, Bobby Singer." Dean said, introducing you.

"A pleasure, Chief. You have the finest firefighters in town." you said with a smile.

Bobby grinned. "That I know." he replied, clearly proud.

You glanced at Dean, suddenly reminded of your to-do list. "I really should get going. I need to take care of some things for the insurance company."

"Let me walk you out, sweetheart," Dean offered.

You nodded, gathering your things as you made your way toward the door, stopping to say goodbye to everyone in the room.

"Thanks for the pie, beautiful," Dean said teasingly.

You felt your cheeks flush. "Thanks to you, for rescuing me and for checking on me."

"Always," he said, his smile softening. "I’ll be there tomorrow, first thing in the morning."

"I’ll make sure to be there."

"You better." he said with a playful grin.

And he stood there watching her leave the fire station,  her red high heels clicking against the gray concrete floor and hips moving side to side as she walked out.

“Oh my god, you really like her.” A voice coming from behind him said.

“Shut up, Sammy.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s been a year already.” The younger sibling looked at him, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s okay to move on.”

Dean simply nodded. 

[midnightdahlias]

Lone Wolf

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summery - Bobby calls you when two hunters seem to need a rescue word count - 2.8k cws - gn!reader, kinda fluff (ig), typical supernatural hunt violence, mentions of weapons, mild language, mentions of injury, lmk if i missed anything a/n - the amount of times i've rewritten this fic-, i do hope you like it though, and as always rebloggs and comments are appreciated. happy reading !

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Driving was the calm between the chaos.

For hunters like you, it was the only time life didn’t feel like one giant nightmare. No claws, no teeth, no windows to get thrown through. Just the hum of the engine, the occasional song on the radio, and miles of open road.

Being a solo hunter? Even better. No one to babysit, no one to lose. It was just you and your thoughts. Peaceful.

...Well. Mostly.

Because, let’s face it, solitude had its downsides. You weren’t a robot. Sometimes, you wanted someone to talk to who wasn’t a bartender or Bobby Singer on the other end of the line. But people were a luxury you couldn’t afford—not when you knew what this life would do to them. You’d already learned that lesson the hard way, thank you very much.

But somedays you’d find yourself working with others, and today was one of those days.

“Hey, Bobby, got a case for me?” you asked, cradling the phone against your shoulder while you tightened the strap on your duffel bag.

“Not a case so much as a rescue mission,” Bobby said, and you could practically hear the grimace in his voice.

“Rescue?”

“Couple of knuckleheads went dark in Chicago. I sent ’em a case, and now I can’t get ahold of ’em. Might be nothin’, but…”

“Better safe than sorry,” you finished for him.

“Exactly.” He sighed, and you could hear the faint clink of a whiskey glass on his end.

“Why me? Don’t tell me I’m your only option.”

“You’re the best shot I’ve got, and you know it,” Bobby said gruffly. “Now, are you gonna help or stand there flappin’ your gums?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m on it. Send me the details.”

The drive to Chicago was quiet, a welcome break from the chaos that usually followed you around. It gave you time to think: about Bobby’s call, about the hunters who’d gone dark, and about how you were the one he trusted to find them. You didn’t mind the weight of that responsibility. If they were still alive, you’d get them out. If not… you’d make sure the job was done. Either way, it was your mess to clean up.

Your first stop was the police station, where the missing hunters were last seen.

Flashing your fake FBI badge, you approached the front desk. “Couple of angets were here investigating some strange deaths. I’m their superior. Mind telling me what they found?”

The officer barely looked up. “You’ll want Detective Hayes. Down the hall.”

Hayes didn’t waste time. “They were looking into some deaths. Real messy ones. Claw marks, missing hearts, looks like a wild animal got to them. Weirdest damn thing.”

Missing hearts. Yep. Definitely your kinda thing.

He handed you the case file. You didn’t miss the way he watched you, like he was waiting for you to explain it all away. Instead, you nodded, thanked him, and left. The morgue confirmed what you already knew—this wasn’t some rogue animal. This was werewolves.

The victims were last seen at a seedy little bar on the edge of town. Sounded like your next stop.

The bar smelled like beer and poor life choices. You grabbed a seat at the far end, where you could see the whole room without sticking out too much. Years of hunting had taught you to trust your instincts, and right now, they were screaming something’s off.

Hours passed without incident. You were just about to call it a night when a hooded figure walked in, immediately drawing your attention. He moved with purpose, scanning the crowd before slipping a small envelope to a woman sitting alone, and walked out without a word.

Because that’s definitely not suspicious at all.

The woman opened the envelope, scanned its contents, then locked eyes with you.

You froze and your pulse quickening. Was it obvious you were watching her? Maybe. Did she seem like the type to care? Also maybe.

Just when you thought she might try and approach you or something, she stood and left without a word.

Again definitely not suspicious…

You waited a beat, and against every bit of common sense you had, you followed her out into the night.

You knew fully well that this could be a trap, but you also knew that this might be the only chance you’d get. You tailed her car at a cautious distance until she turned into an alleyway. Parking just past it, you got out and crept closer on foot.

The alley was dark and silent, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp. You kept your distance as she climbed out of her car, a sleek white sedan.

That’s when you saw it. A black ‘67 Chevrolet Impala parked behind her car.

Your heart stopped. No. Fucking. Way.

Everyone in the hunting community knew that car. It belonged to the Winchester brothers and if it was here, so were they.

Heart pounding, you crept closer to what looked to be an old theater near the alley. The door was left slightly ajar. Definitely a trap, but again what choices did you have other than to follow.

Knife in hand, you slipped inside.

The old theater was in disrepair. Dust covered the seats, and the air smelled of mildew. Yet the stage area seemed oddly intact, as though it were still in use. Before you could explore further, a low growl stopped you in your tracks.

Out of the shadows stepped a werewolf, its eyes glowing an unnatural yellow. You barely had time to react as it lunged at you.

“Of course,” you muttered, diving to the side. Your silver knife caught its flank, but the thing was fast. Claws swiped, catching your arm, but you kept moving, twisting the blade into its chest until it dropped.

Before you could catch your breath, a second growl echoed through the room.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned.

The woman from the bar stepped into the dim light, her face twisted, fangs bared.

“I knew you’d be trouble. You just had to poke your nose where it didn’t belong” she snarled, lunging at you.

You fought with everything you had. Her speed and strength outmatched the first werewolf by a mile. Claw marks tore through your jacket, and pain flared in your ribs, but you pressed on, besides you’d been through worse. Finally, a lucky strike drove your blade into her heart with every ounce of frustration you’d built up in the last 24 hours.. She crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Panting, you staggered to your feet, surveying the room as you did so and spotted a faint light coming from backstage. You followed it and found the Winchesters tied up and unconscious but thankfully alive. Working quickly, you untied Sam, and began your attempts at waking the younger of the two brothers up.

“Come on Sam, wake up!” you whispered-yelled, shaking him furiously. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked at you in confusion.

“Who—”

“Hunter. Bobby sent me. We can swap stories later.”

Before you could untie Dean, another werewolf burst through the door.

“Son of a—” you curesed under your breath, turning back to Sam “You handle your brother. I’ll handle him.”

The fight was grueling. This werewolf was stronger and faster than the others. It pressed you relentlessly, forcing you to dodge and counter with every ounce of skill you had. At one point, it pinned you, its jaws snapping inches from your face. Desperately, you reached for your knife, plunging it into its side. The creature howled in pain but didn’t relent.

You tried to reach for your blade again, but the creature had beat you to it and thrown it far out of your reach.

Just when you thought you were screwed, a gunshot rang out. The werewolf collapsed right on top of you.

‘’Ugh, seriously’’ you muttered, annoyed, even though someone had just saved your life.

You pushed away the werewolf, revealing Dean Winchester, awake and armed, smirking like he’d just saved the day.

“I had him,” you panted, brushing dust from your jacket.

Dean grinned, holstering his gun. “I think you mean, thank you.”

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I didn’t need saving, but appreciate it anyway.”

You sat up, your body aching more now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Your hands were shaking, but you steadied them, trying not to show how badly you hurt.

You glanced over at Sam, who had just come into the room, taking in the full scene in front of him, his gaze flicking from you to the wolves you had ganked before even getting to the boys. "Did you—?"

You nodded, your muscles protesting as you stood. The reality of your injuries hit you all at once—scrapes, bruises, and a deep ache in your ribs. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, but the exhaustion was creeping in. You’d deal with it later, when you had the space to breathe.

"Yeah, well, Bobby sent me to save your asses," you joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Would’ve been pretty embarrassing if I’d gotten myself ganked in the process.”

Sam didn’t laugh. His gaze was fixed on you, scanning your face, the bloodied scratches on your arm. He was looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"You’re hurt," Sam murmured, his voice softer than you expected.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, brushing him off with a wave. “Just a few scratches. Nothing I can’t handle.”

But Sam didn’t look convinced. His jaw clenched, and he took a step toward you. “You sure about that?”

You laughed, a little too sharply. "Mhm. Besides, you should be worried about yourself. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

You were used to being the tough one, the one who didn’t show weakness. But there was something about the way Sam was looking at you, his eyes filled with concern, that made it harder to pretend you were unaffected. It was sweet, but you weren't ready to let him in on just how much it affected you.

He didn’t answer, just kept looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart fluttered, but you shook it off. “Seriously. I’m fine,” you said gently. “We should get out of here. Let Bobby know you two are alright.”

He didn’t answer, just kept looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart fluttered, but you shook it off. “Seriously. I’m fine,” you said gently. “We should get out of here. Let Bobby know you two are alright.”

“Wait! I didn’t get your name,” he called out.

You smirked, turning to face him. “That’s because I didn’t give it.”

Sam frowned, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll just have to track you down next time.”

“Good luck with that,” you teased, climbing into your car.

As you drove away, the open road stretched ahead of you, peaceful as ever. But this time, you couldn’t shake the thought of a certain tall, hazel-eyed hunter. Maybe working alone wasn’t as perfect as you’d always believed. And as much as you hated to admit it, the idea of a little chaos... didn’t seem so bad.

The hum of the engine mixed with the music on the radio filled the car as you drove into the night, your mind still running a few steps behind, tangled in thoughts of Sam, of Dean, and what came next.

You couldn't help but wonder—was this the last time you'd cross paths with the Winchesters? Somehow, you doubted it.

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