#Dean Winchester Soulmate

[my-stories-vault]

The Supernatural Wars. (Series Masterlist.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, voilence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

Series:

Author's Note.

Prologue.

Chapter 1: The Birthday Girl.

Chapter 2: Marriages Need Sacrifices.

Chapter 3: (12th January, 2025.)

Chapter 4: Coming soon!

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

Chapter 11:

Chapter 12:

Chapter 13:

Chapter 14:

Chapter 15:

Chapter 16:

Chapter 17:

Chapter 18:

Chapter 19:

More to be added soon!

[thenameisgul]

Every character on SPN: dean is a complicated man. He’s got issues. You never know what he’s thinking or feeling.

Cas: has him figured out in 0.05 secs and manipulating him accordingly

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I Could Have You

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving), light angst, soulmates, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

You'll defiantly be able to just ride this out.

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy it!

Title from Normal Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 6k

You’re losing your mind.

Your skin is on fire, your back is flat on the cold bathroom floor, and you’re moaning and whining and bucking into the air but nothing is fixing this. Nothing is relieving you, not your fingers or the pillows or the toy a very red-faced Sam had bought you. Nothing is going to save you, because only one, stupid, handsome, selfless idiot can, and he’s suddenly too good to just fuck you.

Hell, that idiot is the only reason this is happening. According to Sam and Bobby, Dean got hit with a sex spell in Colorado, you started whimpering for him in South Dakota, and you’re not allowed to have sex with him for… reasons.

Reasons no one seems willing to fully share with you, but reasons.

You know Dean wants you. You’ve known he wants you. Neither of you have ever been able to do something about that—never going beyond flirting and lingering touches and stares—but you’re certain he feels the same way. Maybe not the exact same way, because you want whatever Dean offers you, his body or mind or heart or very soul, but you know he’s attracted to you. And if the countless little pieces of evidence you’ve hoarded in your brain—winks and smirks and long, apperceive scans of your body—weren’t enough for you to know, this was. You’d heard Dean roar your name from outside Bobby’s cabin as the Impala door slammed. You’d seen the feral, lust-blown expression on his face as he’d charged at you. Sam had tackled him to the ground as you’d grown a little dizzy with need, and Bobby grabbed your wrist, dragging you upstairs. Away from Dean, from the cure, from his big hands and soft mouth and huge-

“You’re gonna need to stay in here.” Bobby had muttered, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuffled out of the room. “Least until we get Dean’s head right, or figure out what the hell is going on.”

It’s been almost a day, and they’ve made almost no progress. From Sam’s last update, all they’re certain of is: Sex spell, you and Dean, no other options except you and Dean.

“What do you mean no other options,” you’d said, leaning up to frown at Sam. “Did Dean-“

“No.” Sam shakes his head, giving you a sheepish expression. “I mean, Bobby and I suggested it, but he said no.”

“Oh,” you’d mumbled, falling back down on the mattress. “Why?”

Sam had shrugged, leaning into your line of vision. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“No, Sam, what the fuck-“

“That’s why.”

He’d stood up and left, and you hadn’t had a clue what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you didn’t want to have sex with him, but he was like a brother to you. Dean, somehow, wasn’t. Dean was Dean. And it wasn’t like you’d say no to a random, no-strings attached hookup right now-

Something had tugged in your gut, and you’d realized—staggering to the toilet and vomiting up your lunch—that you could not do a random hookup. You wanted Dean. You needed him. You might die if you didn’t get him, and it had to be him, and he must feel it too, but when you’d asked Sam he said no.

“No?!” You’d rolled over on the floor to glare up at him, wishing you could find the strength to surge up and punch him in his stupid, apologetic face. “What do you mean No?!”

“Dean, um,” Sam had sighed again, and if he kept doing that you were going to kick him in the balls. “He made us lock him in the safe room. He won’t come out until we cure him.”

“Why did he-“ You’d cut yourself off as it hit you, another, softer wave of sickness rolling over your body. The sickness lived in your heart. This sickness was made of the tragic reality that Dean might want you, but he didn’t want you. Maybe that was why he’d never made a move. Maybe he was attracted to you physically, but couldn’t see you like that, and didn’t really want to try to.

Maybe Dean was disgusted by the idea. Maybe he hated that his body found you hot, because he thinks of you like you think of Sam.

“Oh,” you’d rolled back onto your stomach, and prayed Sam would leave soon so you could go back to humping the floor. “Okay.”

Sam had said your name, waiting until you hummed an acknowledgment to continue. “We’re going to fix this-“

“I know.” You’d let out a long, slow breath, curling into your own body. “We always do.”

They would fix this. And then you’d have to look Dean in the eyes, and find a way to be okay with his rejection. Teach yourself how to not turn into a pining dumbass, chasing after someone who obviously didn’t want you. You wouldn’t lose him, he was your best friend, but you’d also have to learn to pretend it didn’t feel like your heart hadn’t just been ripped out of your chest and stomped on.

And now you’re here. Hoping Sam and Bobby will fix this soon, crawling into the empty bathtub to try and sleep. The bed is too warm, too intimate, to inviting of fantasies that will never be reality. Daydreams of Dean’s hands on you, trailing over your skin and setting of little sparks as he maps your body. Those same hands pushing open your thighs, two of his fingers teasing over your pussy, his mouth wrapping around your nipple as he started pumping and scissoring and crooking inside you-

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and you yank your own fingers out of your cunt, wiping them on the towel as you speak, your voice far too hoarse. “Yeah, Sam?”

“Not Sam.” Bobby grumbles, his voice slightly muffled through the door. “You decent?”

You toss a towel over your body, having long abandoned clothing. “Yep, is everything-“

You cut yourself off as Bobby pushes the door open, his face angled up to avoid you.

“I said I’m decent, Bobby, you can look.”

He grunts, and you sit up a little straighter, making your voice a little firmer.

“It’s weirder if you don’t, you know.”

Bobby nods, his gaze slowly dropping to yours as he sits on the toilet, bracing his arms on his knees. “Sorry.” He mutters. “Ain’t tryin’ to make it uncomfortable. Just not lookin’ to see one of my, uh-“

“I know,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the tile. “I get it. Must be weird seeing Dean as well.”

“Eh.” Bobby shrugs. “I’ve walked in on him with lady company before, this ain’t new-“

“But it’s new with me?” You ask, raising your brows, and Bobby glares at you.

“I didn’t help raise you girl. And you’re just as important to me as those boys, but you’re also a girl. I mean, not a girl, but I don’t got those parts-“

“Jesus, Bobby.” You mumble, bringing your knees up to your chest. “I’m teasing. I know what you mean, I promise, just,” you swallow, shaking your head slightly. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but his voice becomes a little softer, and far less panicked. “That ain’t nice, kid, you’re gonna give an old man a heart attack.”

“You’d be fine. I know CPR.”

He gives you a flat look. “We both know you ain’t in any condition to give me CPR.”

You wave him off. “I’d call Sam.”

“He wouldn’t hear you, he’s down in the panic room with-“

Bobby cuts himself off, and you roll your head to the side, giving him a bored glare.

“You can say his name, Bobby.”

“Fine.” He grunts. “Sam’s down checkin’ on Dean. He,” Bobby frowns at the air. “He still ain’t listenin’ to reason.”

You hum, hoping Bobby doesn’t notice how you’ve moved the towel between your thighs, just for something. “Reason?”

“We don’t have anythin’ to cure this except, uh, that way.” Bobby mutters. “And he’s still insistin’ we keep him chained up.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Awesome.”

Bobby says your name, and it’s gentle. Like he’s consulting a child who’s had a nightmare, instead of a grown woman who was just finger-fucking herself in a tub. “You don’t gotta pretend this ain’t hurtin’ you.”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel good-“

“Not the spell.” Bobby says, and you frown at him.

“What-“

“Dean. He’s bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass, and you don’t need to act like he’s not.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “He’s not what?”

“Killin’ you.” Bobby grunts, scanning over your face. “Rippin’ your heart out and take a big fat shit on it.”

You grimace. “That’s gross, Bobby-“

“Truth ain’t always sunshine and glitter-“

“It’s not the truth!” You snap, your voice suddenly harsh as something wilts and twists in his your chest. “I’m fine! I get it! Dean doesn’t want to do that, and that’s not his fault.”

Bobby leans back on the toilet, holding your glare with his own. “Why do you think you and Dean are the only idjits gettin’ hit by this? Why isn’t Sam humpin’ pillows and leavin’ stains on my walls?”

You feel a rush of heat from that thought—the image of Dean fucking into his hand flashing through your mind and leaving a mark between your thighs—and your voice is almost a squeak. “Because Dean’s the one that got hit?”

“Sam says he was in the line of that bitch’s fire too. But only Dean got,” Bobby makes a vague gesture over you. “This.”

“I don’t-“

“And Sam ain’t in love with his fuckin’ brother, so he was safe.”

You flush, gaping at Bobby for a long, wired silence, and when you speak your voice is a squeak.

“I- I’m, I’m not in love with Dean. I mean, maybe I have a crush, or something, but that’s, that’s not love-“

Bobby gives you a flat, disbelieving look. “You feel safer ‘round him?”

“Yeah, but I-“

“You laugh at all his jokes?”

“Maybe, but he can be funny-“

Bobby mutters your name, shaking his head. “I love that boy like a son, and he ain’t half as funny as he thinks he is.”

You frown. “He’s funny-“

“He can be,” Bobby shrugs. “But his jokes ain’t all winners. And you laugh at every single oneof ‘em. And,” he sighs, rubbing his beard. “He laughs at all’a your jokes.”

“Hey.” You scowl. “I’m a riot-“

“Didn’t say you weren’t. But even you can miss, girl. And he never seems to care.”

“So?” You shuffle on the floor, desperate not to starting grinding on the air in front of Bobby, but getting more and more wet from just the mention of Dean. “We’re friends, friends laugh at each other’s jokes-“

“Do friends get connected by sex spells ‘cross state lines?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “Never been hit by a sex spell before.”

“You weren’t hit by one,” Bobby snaps your name, starting to sound exasperated. “Dean was. And that’s my damn point. Sam and I, we,” he sighs, giving you a long, confusing look. “We got it. We know what’s goin’ on.”

“Fuck,” you sit up, glowering at him. “Why didn’t you lead with that-“

“Cause you ain’t gonna like it.” Bobby grunts. “It’s an old location spell. Back in the day rich assholes would cast it on their highest eldest sons, so he could find his,” Bobby cringes, his last word pushed through his teeth. “Mate.”

“Mate?” You repeat, letting out a dry, huffing laugh. “What are we, fucking dogs-“

“Soulmate.” Bobby mutters, giving you a look that might have been sympathetic, or kind, or pitiful, but you’re suddenly a little dizzy and can’t really think or see.

“That’s not,” you shake your head. “No, Bobby, soulmates aren’t real-“

Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “You should know better than to say somethin’ like that in our line of work. Sam called Cas, and he said they’re real, but population increases or somethin’ made them ‘logistically impossible’, so they aren’t on the shop line no more.”

“But- But wouldn’t we have like, I don’t know, noticed? If that was true?”

“You shoulda.” Bobby shrugs. “Cas seemed pretty shocked you hadn’t. Said he had assumed you knew, because the pull is like a magnet or some shit. Spell’s only an enhancer, to move the train along.”

“So why-“

“You hopped in right after Dean got back from hell.” Bobby mutters. “Dean’s soul mighta been fucked enough not to recognize you. Spell mighta jumpstarted it.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

It’s a few minutes before you speak again, and Bobby waits patiently as you spiral. Down, down, down in your head, trying to rationalize how this could possibly be true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way it was true. Sure, you’ve liked Dean since you first met him, from the moment he introduced himself with a cocky grin, smirk, and fake name. You liked him even more when you called him out on his fake name, and he’d just chuckled, figured out you were a hunter, and offered to buy you a drink. You’d liked him when that drink had turned into a long, sleepless night of only conversation, and when you’d joined him and Sam on the road. And you’d kept thinking of him like that, and you thought of him all the time, but that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t love him. It’s not like you feel better when you wake up in a motel bed and he’s next to you, or a smile always tugs at your lips whenever he so much as looks at you, or the thought of him being in alone or pain makes you physically ill. It’s not like, if he grabbed your hand and told you he was done with hunting—the only life you’d ever both known—then asked you to join him in a boring, easy apple pie life you’d immediately say yes and kiss him, because you’ll go wherever he goes and he’s the only person you’ve ever really-

Oh.

You might be in love with Dean.

You might be soulmates with Dean.

“What, um,” you swallow, watching Bobby carefully. “What did Dean think? Of this?”

“We have told him yet.” Bobby’s jaw ticks, holding your gaze. “We ain’t sure he’ll-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, turning your attention back to the ceiling. There’s a little crack on it. Jagged and split through the white paint, easy to stare at and get lost in. Helpful in pretending this doesn’t hurt like a bitch. “Okay.”

Bobby mutters a promise of at least trying to talk some sense into Dean, but you both know his words are empty. Because Dean won’t believe this. It won’t be a matter of you and Dean, it will just be Dean, believing something like a soulmate could never happen to someone like him. He’ll insist they’re lying, or Cas is wrong, or all of this fucking bullshit.

“You ever wondered about aliens?” He’d asked you once, leaning against the Impala as you lay on the hood, watching him from an upside-down angle.

“Just like, in general?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess,” you’d tilted your head at him. “Why?”

“I dunno, just curious.” There had been another moment of silence, then, “You think they’re real?”

“They have to be right?” You’d reached over your head, grabbing his chin and tilting it up, until he was staring at the night sky. “I mean, look at that, De. It’s huge.”

He’d chuckled, swatting your hand away. “Where have I heard that before-“

“Eat me, Winchester.” You’d rolled your eyes, and his shit-eating grin had grown. “No. Shut it.”

He’d raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say a thing.”

“Uh huh.” You’d let your own attention trail up, over the vast darkness above you, splattered in infinite stars that you think—if you really tried—you’d be able to grab and hold in your hands. Maybe offer one to Dean. He’d deserve it.

You were silent for a while longer, you watching the sky, Dean waiting for you to come back to earth, and when he’d spoken again his voice was soft.

“You think you’d want to go? If they were?”

You’d looked back to him with a frown, and found him already looking at you. “What, aliens?”

He’d nodded, and you’d furrowed your brow in thought.

“Maybe. I’ve never thought about it before. I kind of like Earth.” You’d rolled onto your stomach, swinging your legs around to rest in Baby’s open window as you looked down at Dean. “What about you?”

“Nah,” he’d held your gaze, pulling himself up to sit at your side. “Not now.”

“Not now?”

“I would’ve when I was younger, if I coulda taken Sammy with me.” Dean had let out a dry chuckle. “But I’m not that lucky.”

He wasn’t that lucky. Dean didn’t get to be abducted by aliens, because he wasn’t lucky. Because saviors and little lights to guide you forward don’t just drop out of the sky.

But you didn’t drop out of the sky. You’d been on the ground, and tangible, and very, very real.

You feel real, to yourself. You didn’t feel like a possibility, or a myth, or a lie.

And you might love Dean.

And you know that, the longer you don’t get to at least see him, touch him, breathe him, the more you go mad. The harder it becomes to speak to Sam and Bobby when they check on you, the less you allow them to even say the word Dean, because it makes you writhe and moan and everyone just gets very uncomfortable.

So if Dean’s too much of a righteous, noble, self-loathing buttface to do something about this, you will.

You wait until the house is dark and quiet. Until you hear Bobby mutter a goodnight through the door—about an hour ago you’d started whining every other breath and fucking the edge of the bathtub, so Bobby wasn’t coming into the room anymore—and Sam walks in backwards to make sure you’re not dead and have enough food and water. Like you’re a caged animal.

You do feel a little like one. You feel like someone’s sucked everything rational and careful out of your brain and replaced it with Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, you need him or you’ll die. He needs to need you, or something worse than death will happen.

And you’re willing to risk that, that small possibility of Dean looking at you—bare and wet and pleading for him—and still turning you away, because at least you’ll see him.

You need to at least see him.

It’s shocking easy to sneak around the house. For two seasoned, well-respected hunters, neither Sam nor Bobby seem to wake up as you crawl down to Dean, despite the floorboard creaking under you movements and the downright pathetic whimpers that keep escaping your mouth. It takes all your focus to grab the key to Bobby’s panic room, unlock the door, and push it open.

It’s dark. Pitch black. But you know Dean’s in here, because every nerve is trying to fly off your body and into the shadows. To Dean.

“What the hell are you doing,” Dean groans your name from the back of the room, and you feel molten. “You can’t be here-“

“It’s not your panic room, Dean.” You mumble, pushing yourself up on the wall and fiddling around for the light switch. “I can be wherever I want-“

“Not here.” Dean snaps. “Go.”

You shake your head, and the lights blind you as you flip them on. It takes a moment to adjust—blinking and hugging your body in a desperate play to not leap across the room to Dean the moment you see him—and when you do a high whine escapes your mouth.

Dean looks as feral as you feel. He’s just as naked as you are, just as drenched in sweat and flushed, and—if the proud, massive cock between his legs, standing at full attention and twitching as he scans over you, is any sign—just as aroused.

“Dean.” You whisper. “Please.”

“You need to leave.” He grunts, his fists clenched at his sides. “Now.”

“I don’t want to go-“

“Yes, you do.”

You frown. “You don’t get to tell me what I want, Dean. I want to stay-“

“No,” he hisses, and you might come just from him looking at you like that. Primal and wanting, with a gleam in his eyes that feels like a promise. “You don’t know what you want-“

That gets you to scoff. “Fuck off, asshole-“

“See!” He makes a dramatic gesture, then flinches back from himself. “I, I can’t let you do this. You don’t want me,” Dean mutters your name, running a hand over his face. “The spell wants me. Doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, the spell does want you, you idiot!” You take an unsteady step forward, and he steps back. “Because I want you!”

“No, you don’t-“

“Yes, I do! I need you, Dean, and I think you need me-“

“Doesn’t matter what I need.” He grunts, bracing his body and you take another step. “Go back upstairs.”

“Did Bobby talk to you?”

He scowls. “Bobby’s wrong. That’s- No.”

“Because it’s me?”

“Of course not,” he snaps, and it’s too quick. “Because that, that’s not a thing. People would be runnin’ around, selling soulmates in little bottles if they were real. And we’d have known by now-“

“We do know now.” You whisper, swaying slightly in the middle of the room. “And Cas says-“

“Cas is wrong.” Dean mutters. “I don’t, there’s no way that’s true. Not for me.”

His beautiful, deep eyes look so sad. Glossed over and weighted down of years of that being the truth. That things like that, like this, don’t happen for Dean.

You’d really love to be the first exception.

“What about for me?”

“What are you-“

“What about for me, Dean.” You watch his jaw clench, his nostrils flaring. “Does it get to be true for me?”

He doesn’t answer, and you push on.

“If it’s true for me, it’s you.” You talk another step forward, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “Just you.”

“It’s just the spell.” He mutters, and you don’t think he’s convincing himself. Not when his throat bobs and his eyes darken. “You don’t want me, baby, not really.”

You almost fall over from that. From Dean calling you baby, and saying it the exact same way he says your name. Low and rolling and lined with something soft.

“I do.” You hold your ground, raising your chin. “I want you, Dean Winchester. Fix this.”

He shakes his head, barely a jerked movement, and you start to feel a little faint.

“Dean. I need you to look me in the eyes,” your voice starts to rise, growing pleading and frantic. “And tell me you don’t want me. Say that you wanting me is just the spell, and I’ll go. I promise. I just need to you to fucking say it, Dean, just fucking say you don’t want me or need me or love me-“

He moves before you even realize what’s happening. Almost leaping onto you as his mouth crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face as he walks you back, back, back into the wall and growls down your throat. And you’d been wrong. His hand on you don’t feel like small bursts of electricity. They’re like lighting. Dragging something you hadn’t known existed to the surface, and setting off a storm of need in your body.

“Course I want you,” one arm snakes around your waist, pressing your right into his erection. “Always fucking wanted you. You’re smoking hot,” he starts to kiss over your face, his words slightly muffled against your skin as you cling to his body. “Funnier than I am, and smart as hell. You feel like home and smell so good and, fuck, I’ve lost sleep thinkin’ about how it’d feel to get lost in you. I’d have to be fucking blind and dumb not to want you,” Dean grunts your name, returning your mouth to yours with a painfully soft, gentle, featherlight kiss. “But I’m not-“

“If you say good for me,” you mutter, leaning back to glare at him. “I’ll punch you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, rumbling from his chest into yours. “I’m not-“

“You are.” You whisper, offering him a small, slightly broken smile. You need him to get this. You might start crying if he doesn’t. “You’re good for me. And I want you. I love you.” Something flashes in his eyes, and you don’t care if he believes you. He doesn’t have to believe you. He just needs to get it. “No spell, Dean. I’m here, and I’m yours. Take me.”

Your nails dig into his skin—attempting to leave a mark of him if he turns you away—and his breathing is ragged. Heavy and hot, fanning across your face as he stares at you, just stares at you, why is he just staring at you-

“Dean-“

This kiss is brutal It’s teeth and tongue and bruising lips, like he’s trying to move into your body. His hands are everywhere on you, squeezing your ass and palming your tits, rolling your nipple between two fingers before groaning down your throat when you moan.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters your name, his hand on your ass glides onto your pussy, playing with your folds and flicking at your clit once, twice, three times and you feel fucking high- “So wet for me-“

“For you,” you whimper, nodding stupidly as Dean presses him thumb down on that bundle of nerves, rubbing slowly. “Fuck, Dean, all for you-“ 

“Need to taste you,” he growls, pulling his mouth fully back, watching you grind onto his hand with a dark gaze. “You gonna let me taste you, baby? Let me eat that pretty pussy-“ 

You’ve barely nodded before he’s on his knees, one arm still around your waist to support you both as he dives into your cunt. 

Oh.

He’s good at this. Really, really fucking good at this. You can’t really think anything that’s not Dean, or make any noise that’s not a moan kind of good at this. He’s ravenous and starved, his nose bumping and pressing into your clit in an impossibly mind-numbing rhythm, his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt until your squirming above him, desperate for more.

“Dean,” your hand tug at his hair, and you don’t know if you’re trying to push him deeper or pull him away. “Shit, Dean, I’m gonna cum-“

He groans against you, his eyes opening to watch you come apart above him, and you think he might be getting off on this.

“Please,” you whimper. “God, please, I need to cum-“

Dean bites your clit, and your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s all bliss and relief and a high, bright haze of Dean, and then you’re falling down.

Dean’s pulling you down. Onto his lap as he leans back, moving you to straddle over him as his cock throbs between his legs.

You want to touch him.

You push back on him, just enough for his grip to loosen, and take him in your hand. He’s huge. And pretty. Dicks aren’t supposed to be pretty, but Dean’s is, and it might be because every part of Dean is pretty. Every part of him is impossible pretty, from his cock twitching in your hand as you run your thumb over the slit, to his lidded eyes and parted mouth as he watches you with wonder.

“Shit,” he moans your name, and fuck, even that was pretty. “What are you doing to me-“

“Handjob,” you whisper, placing your free hand lightly on his chest in a silent request for him to lay back. “I think.”

Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back with a smirk. “Ya think? You sure you know what you’re doing with that- Fuck-“

You hum around Dean’s cock, your lips wrapped around the base as your tongue swirls around his shaft, and his groans are sinful. The fire in your corse hadn’t lessened by any means from your orgasm, but it grows unbearable as you move Dean’s hand to your hair and let him guide you up and down. Let him set the pace, moaning when his hips jerk and he hits the back of your throat, and squeezing his thighs in silent reassurance that you’re good. You’re really, really good. You’re grinding onto Dean’s knee as he fucks your face, playing with his balls with your free hand and devouring every bit of slightly slurred praise that falls from his mouth.

“Fucking hell, baby, you always been this good at sucking cock? You’re, shit, you look like a wet dream, look like an angel, fuck.” He hisses at your teeth graze over him. “You look so good like this. Mouth stuffed full of cock, desperate and wet for me-“ You roll your hips against him, and Dean tugs you fully up, smirking at your swollen lips and glossy eyes. “Careful,” he warns, sitting up as his thumb swipes a little bit of drool from your cheek. “When I’m cumming tonight, I’m cumming in you, baby, got that?”

“Yes, please,” you whimper. You’re on the pill anyway. “Dean-“

“C’mere.” He tugs you into his lap with careful hands, scanning over you with a small shake of his head. “Son of bitch, you’re gorgeous. You’re sure you-“

“I’m sure.” You grind against his cock, never looking away from him as the head of him bumps your clit. It goes on for too long, Dean just watching you fuck yourself on his lap with his hands bruising your hips, and you start to whine. “Shit, Dean, need you-“

Dean surges forward, kissing you long and deep and slow, and keeps his brow pressed to yours as he looks down to where you’re moving on him.

“Hold on,” he mutters, and you follow the order without a second thought.

Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck just as he lines himself up, and you almost scream when he pushes into you.

“Shit,” he looks back at you, eyes wide. “Are you-“

“Don’t stop,” you moan, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, it feels so good, Dean, don’t stop.”

He nods, kissing the side of your head, and slowly moves into your aching pussy until he bottoms out with a long exhale.

“Gonna, fuck-“ He groans as you squeeze around him. “Can’t do that, baby, I won’t last a minute-

“Sorry,” you mumble against him, playing with the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Didn’t meant to-“

“It’s fine.” He grunts, still not moving. “Just, fuck, you feel so good. So warm,” he groans, pressing his face onto the top of your head. “So tight and warm, feel so good-“

“Dean, please-“

You gasp as he gives one, short thrust upward.

“So good,” Dean growls in your ear, making another small, dizzying movement that presses him right up against that spongey spot deep inside of you. “Ready?”

“Ye-“

You squeal as Dean rises to his knees, keeping himself sheathed inside you as he falls forward, his hand splayed on your back and holding you carefully against him. His face is resting between your breasts, his cock angled so deep inside you it might drive you insane if he doesn’t start to fucking move, and his eyes stay yours as you only watch each other for a long moment.

He’s asking permission. Dean’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving, because he’s offering you one last chance to turn him down. 

You move one hand to hold his face, wrapping your legs around his waist and squirming around him in silent encouragement.

It snaps something in him. Dean grabs your hand, moves it onto the back of his neck, and lowers you fully onto the ground so you’re caged between him and floor. He scans over you for only a second, a small, cocky smirk crawling onto his face, leans down to give you one last, almost sweet kiss.

A soft moan leaves you as Dean traces his tongue over your lips, and his low growl is the only warning you get before he starts to fuck into you like an animal.

It’s sloppy and wet and loud, skin slapping against skin as Dean abuses your cunt, and fuck you’ve never felt better. You feel full, split open on his cock and right where you belong, alive in a way that seeps right into your soul and ignites your blood into a holy fire of Dean. Groaning your name on your skin and touching you with calloused, big, expert hands. Watching you as you unravel beneath him, scraping your nails over his back and making needy sounds that only spur him on.

You’re going to fly out of your body. Dean’s muscles are ripping above and around you as he fucks you into the floor, and his mouth is mold perfectly onto yours. Neither of you seem to care to breathe, or speak, or do anything but nips and suck and lick at each other. Trying to get impossibly closer, to drag the other over the edge so you can fall with them. You grind up into Dean, and Dean bites your lip. Dean rolls his hips as he bottoms out, making your mouth fall open for his tongue to plunge down your throat, and you scrape and claw as his chest until he groans, and you manage to slip one hand down to play with his balls.

He wins he swats your hand away and starts to rub small, firm circles on your clit. He’s unrelenting, and watching you with an affection that feels a little misplaced for the carnal hunger on his handsome features.

“Always want you,” he mutters your name, pressing his thumb flat against you. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your vision blurs as you find release, and it feels like heaven. Like stars and fire and water and light under your skin, in your blood, like a halo around your head that’s all just the pleasure Dean’s is still wringing from your body. Your pussy is fluttering and gushing around his cock, and it sends him over the edge with a roar, his hips slamming home as he paints the walls of your cunt white.

And when you’re both spent and Dean rolls you over—carefully adjusting you to be right on top of him, his body a barrier between you and the now-cold floor—you feel good. Really, really good. Fucked out and high, nothing trying to burst out of your skin or eat at your stomach. You feel better than you might have ever felt in your whole life. The only warmth in your body is heat you’re trading with Dean, and you feel good.

“We, um.” You trace over his tattoo, looking up at him under your eyelashes. “We should probably talk, or something-“

“Or something.” He agrees, grinning down at you. “Don’t feel like it’s a rush though. Sammy and Bobby will find us in the morning. Right now,” Dean kisses your brow, squeezing his arms around your body. “You’re all mine.”

You can be all his. It’ll be really, really easy to be all Dean, because he hasn’t said he loves you, but he does. You know he does. It lives in how he’s still touching and holding you, still talking to you like you’re his best friend and not a mistake, and running his hands through your hair mindlessly.

And you’ll have a lot to talk about later. A lot to fight about, and fuck about, and laugh and cry and scream about.

But right now you just have to be Dean’s.

And that will be really easy.

End Note: Bobby Singer you are fifty times the father John Winchester could ever HOPE to be.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery

[borgialucrezia]

in the pilot's deleted scene, dean glances at his watch noticing that it has stopped moving (which indicates that demons are nearby) and he immediately realizes something is wrong and turns back to sam's apartment. but since the scene didn't make the final cut, jensen's explanation for why dean returned is because of brotherly intuition which makes it a million times better imo.

[swsoulmatesdw]

Dean being desperate for Sam… the way he grabs him, pulls him in, touches him… is just the icing on the codependent, erotic, crazy cake that is the brothers’ show.

[loosethreadsofyoursoul]

destiel is just. you weren’t made for me. we weren’t made for each other. we were both made to serve heaven. but because of the love i have for you, i created a better way; i forged a better life. you weren’t made for me, and i wasn’t made for you. but here, in this one life, we chose each other. in an infinite number of universes we’ll never know, we don’t exist in, we didn’t mean this much to each other. but in this one, despite everything, we chose each other anyway.

[wincestendgame]

Jensen Ackles today about Sam and Dean realizing they were soulmates

-Yeah, like it was that "I guess we ARE codependent". They knew it, and it being presented to them as actual truth, I think it just made sense, and they were like "okay, then we're doing what we should be doing, and we're doing it the way we should be doing it, which is together"

[witchy-worm]

Here's the art I made for the @destielsoulmatebang! This is for the fic "I swear I thought I dreamed 'her'" by @nexus-my-beloved

I had a great time working on this one with my awesome partner, it was really cool working on a fic that stuck close to canon but threw soulmates into the mix!

Check out the fic here: Link to Fic Here

Thanks to the @destielsoulmatebang for running such a smooth and wonderful bang!

[kvitka97]

🥰

Transcript (thanks to @patricided on X)

[thence-we-came-forth]

Today I'm bringing you my art for the woderful fic Risk It All by @avonlady42 for the @destielsoulmatebang !!! It was such a joy to work on this piece with an incredible partner as well!!

(Nude extra piece under the read more)

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 2 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Language, gore, voilence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name).

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 2: Marriages Need Sacrifices.

Education has been an adventurous endeavor for you. Most people disagree that books can give you a great travel experience, but books have been ninety percent of your education. You are great on the field of war, don't get you wrong, but you've always gotten a secret thrill in books. Learning about alternate universes, and their alternate lives. Following different spells, symbols, lores. Most importantly, you can apply it all in real life.

No knowledge goes to waste, your father would say. It's one of the rare places where you can find positivity, wallowing in knowledge. For you, it's akin to meditation.

While on the ship, you have been a few of the first to wake up for the morning training from the very first day, the crack of dawn every day. It would be from five to eight before all of your people were shooed into the lowest deck of the Bloody Princess. It was less training than what you wanted, but at least it was something. An energetic start to your days, you believed. After which, you would spend your hours cleaning the lower levels. Rarely would you be found sitting with your soldiers who all had been given three hours of recreational time in the day.

This routine took your mind off of the politics you hadn't stopped playing since the wedding; you would still have more meetings and strategy sessions, map-reading time, and so on, but at least it wasn't all you were thinking of.

As the vampires grumpily sludged through half-assed explanations, in the few days since the crash course had begun, you had learned to stitch leaves together as sails. Different uses of wood for different parts were taught to you; here, at least you were handy with a knife when it came to shaping up the pieces for a good and sturdy structure of the ship. And ropes - oh, there were so many things to do with ropes.

You realized quickly enough that to these monsters, efficiency mattered the most - you could understand that, even come to respect it. To them, the outward appearances mattered not, nor did hygiene. While you agreed to compromise on the first one, you still tried to maintain basic sanitation for yourself and your crew.

You had also found something that you absolutely sucked at.

It was climbing.

For the love of you, you had never been able to climb trees, let alone these long structures on this large daunting ship that stood so tall that they seemed to be caressing the sky. They didn't even have a lot of handholds or footholds that you could support yourself with. They had a long rope that danced with the wind, and you would have to hold it as you pulled yourself up.

You may be the best markswoman the world has seen from this generation, but your upper body strength was a joke for a climb this challenging. Which is exactly why you spent most of your free time on the ship scaling the longest and thickest pole of the ship.

Some nights when your mind was exhausted from the long talks with your team of the select five that you had, you would sneak out to the upper deck after bedtime and squeeze in a few more rounds with the toughest mast of the ship.

Since you were falling often, you had arranged for yourself the assistance of a vampire who was so passive that it would be a miracle to get a full sentence from him. He was named Scully, a fat immortal who was as powerful as ten men. He started catching you when you fell from tall heights.

Even with that precaution, your medic, Selina got so frustrated with your harmful rendevous that she started tagging along with you to heal your hurts - but mostly to try and talk you out of it.

'If the Captain spots you, it'll be our end!'

'You've always given people far too much credit, Ms Doll,' you whispered back, trudging up the last few steps to the higher level where the mast protruded. It was the second-highest level on the ship, only second to another upper deck where the wheel of the ship stood. There was a watch tower atop this mast that you wished to see the sea from one of these days.

The view would be the most breathtaking, you had to gather.

Scully was already waiting at the bottom, he grunted when you greeted him. Selina skirted around him, still as afraid of vampires as the first day she'd seen them.

You gripped the rope in your stinging palms - your rope burns were the worst injuries from this activity besides all the blows that had been delivered to your back when you'd fallen.

Scully placed himself near you, and the proximity tensed you, but you wouldn't be as overt as Selina about it. You placed your foot horizontally on the wood, pulling yourself up. Your muscles smarted as you took one step after another, walking vertically upwards to your goal. You made sure that your steps weren't too far apart, lest they throw off your balance.

Your highest mark yet had been eight feet.

In this round, you barely touched halfway when your right shoe lost its grip. Your hands tried to cling to the rope, but your skin was irritable against the rope's hold. You were free-falling next. You had the sense to curl up and turn mid-air to your side so that it wouldn't hurt as much.

Scully's hold never came, and there was a short scream that tore from Selina. You hummed your pain behind pressed lips as the wood groaned under your weight.

You were used to this by now.

'Why didn't you catch her?!' Selina rushed to your side, but you were brushing her concerns away.

'He doesn't dignify breaking my fall unless it's from really high, Ms Doll. You know that.'

Scully shrugged in response. You'd come to understand his mind enough to know that if you fell too soon, he would think that you deserved to get hurt. You'd come to terms with it.

'Still—'

'Please. I want to try again.'

Fuming, for she knew your decision was impossible to change, she drew herself to the side.

Your rise and fall continued for a while.

By the ninth time, something new happened: your hands started bleeding. And you fell from seven feet. Scully caught you. 

'Fuck,' you muttered, your body jolting when it hit his arms.

Scully sneered at your hands, and you scrambled to get out of his hold. He was further pushed away from you by your doctor who forgot her fear of vampires for a terse minute. Selina took your hands in hers. She wore a bumbag around her waist. Small vials of medicines and gauze were in it.

'I told you!' the scold left her. 'What were you thinking—stupid, stubborn, reckless—unbelievable . . .' and so went her mumbles under her breath as she hurried to patch you up. The skin around the wound was angry and red. The antiseptic burned against the already prickling area. The cut wasn't too deep, but stinging enough that it would slow you down in a fight.

You had only glanced at your hands for a second after which your eyes had gone over Selina's shoulder to stare down Scully whose face was the most expressive you had ever seen - he looked starved, as if it had been centuries since his last meal. To your right was Selina, so you tensed your left foot in case you needed to kick down Scully.

'Why ain't I surprised that you're a rule-breaker?' came the drawl of the vampire you had come to dislike the most on the ship.

He was the only vampire on the ship who could think—you disliked that in your potential enemies. The rest of his crew was pure brawl. While he hadn't done anything personally to you, you hated his guts for the same reason he didn't trust yours—the history of generations: the Supernatural Wars.

He threw a pair of gloves your way that you grew wary of.

'Those might help,' he said. He patted Scully on the shoulder who had a vein working in his forhead, barely stopping himself from pouncing on you. Having the permission of his Captain, he scurried of, probably to the food supply.

'Captain!' said a flustered Selina. 'We're, uh—didn't mean to insult your rules. We just, um—'

'You should be more careful, it's been a while since we tasted fresh blood.' His eyes were fixed hungrily on your palms that were quickly being wrapped in the gauze. He'd ignored (or hadn't heard) Selina.

You noticed Selina stifling a panicky expression, trying to focus on her job. You shook her off when she'd weakly knotted the bandages, pushing her subtly behind you as you bent down gingerly to pick up the weathered leather, keeping eye contact with Benny so you didn't appear to him as exposed.

'What do you want?'

'Consider it a gift,' he said, sincere.

You choked back a mirthless laugh. 'You're not serious?'

'You don't have the monopoly on truce offerings,' he said.

Your last truce had been met with the dust of his cabin floor. He must've noted the challenge in your eyes for he amended his words.

'Let it be a belated birthday present. Or whatever. I come with good conscience.'

You conisdered his "gift", a lance of suspicion trilling down your spine.

Yet it would make a good addition to your survial, help you reach the top of the mast as you've been craving. The gloves were fingerless, the leather was brand-new and they would slide smoothly over your palms, adjustible by strap belts near the wrists.

You couldn't take a long time to make a decision; you donned the gift and tightened it; nodding a thanks in the Captain's direction.

'You ain't heard of the witch, Rowena?' Benjamin posted.

You assessed him for his suddenness but you kept up the gossip. 'The Scottish-bred witch. Heard her son, Crowley's been lusting after the throne of Hell.'

'It keeps getting empty,' Benny said. 'Do you know why?'

The Harvelle legacy had the reputation of being the family that had killed most of Hell's Kings. None of the Harvelle ancestors held a candle to the latest Leader though, the Firstborn of South America, wife to a Celeste Middleton who went by the name of Charlie Bradbury for personal reasons.

Somehow you doubted Benny's intention was to praise a Human Leader.

'I have a feeling you will tell me,' you said.

'Rowena, tired of all the fighting, cursed the factions that ousted her. Said the humans had the decency to see grey areas, they were the only ones who treated her nice—she lent them a boon that an era will come where all the Leaders—'

'—will finish the world of all their enemies,' breathed out Selina, her eyes slightly wide with fear and curiosity. 'They're just myths. Rumours. There's no prophecy as such.'

'Then why do you think Rowena won't let her son ascend?' he countered.

You chose to believe your teammate over the vampire. 'Is there a point to this fable, Captain? I would think a rational mons—man,' you caught yourself, 'would know better.'

'I do know better. Just thought I'd let you know why I'm in your corner,' he said, raising his hands meaningfully. 'Even if I'm only a monster.'

Your eyes flared when he called you out. But you focused on what he meant: that he would help your faction asever he could.

The prophecy was the tale of woe of the witch that was currently the most powerful one in the world. Ages old, when she'd been starting out in dark magic, people and factions had kicked her about, inflicting various cruelties on her. Only some humans helped her. Rowena swore vengeance. When she grew into her witchiness, she formulated a prophecy that was never written down, only heard, and in the chinese whispers of these repeated lines, it was highly unclear what had been said. The gist was: twelve Leaders of a time would be successful in ending the other factions - it would be the era of the wars ending. But it would come at a great cost, at the cost of . . . well, that part had never been clear.

Before you could scoff to Benny's ridiculous gesture, you were interuppted by the call of your name. Climbing up the steps, huffing and puffing was your publicist. In tow—you frowned with annoyance—was her wife, Aurora - a hunter who enlisted for your little army to be with her only living family, Layla.

'It doesn't boost the morale of your entourage if you break rules!' she began with a scold. It was her belief that breaking rules would provoke vampires, and cause a fight.

Your annoyance deepend. 'If you'll please excuse us, Captain.'

Benny walked away, more out of respect, you felt - for all vampires had heightened senses, it was moot to wish to not be overheard on a ship infested with that kind. Unless, of course, you found some soundproof hideouts.

'Mrs Stun,' you addressed Lay with a forced smile, 'it's too hard to please you.'

'Not if you try,' Aurora muttered.

Lay was lightly tanned, but Aurora had a bit of a darker complextion. Lay was closer to your age than her wife was, and in the eyes of Aurora, you were still largely a child to be given the reins of an entire continent.

Aurora had been a loyal soldier of your father's. Her only motif to have joined your (far less important, according to her) ranks was to be closer to her wife. Short-distance relationships barely functioned in this dog-eat-dog world, long-distance fell out of question for most couples. Hell, you could probably count the number of couples on one hand's fingers that functioned on long-distance here. Soulmates were a far more common concept than that.

Love for her wife didn't stop Aurora from hating your methods though. Or your age, or attitude, or face . . . everyone gets the picture.

Lay warned her wife with a glance. 'Forgive her, Lady Y/N. The sea makes her crabby.'

'No mind paid. Mrs Stun,' you said, turning to Aurora, a bit stiffly. 'Would you be a dear and escort Ms Doll back down? I feel she's had quite the nightly adventure, don't you? Your lovely wife and I will probably just be talking shop.'

Aurora pursed her lips. She hated you, but she couldn't defy your direct orders. You waited till they trailed out of earshot.

'Is there any reason why you are out of safety, Mrs Stun?' you asked.

She threw a glance around, and took you to the edge of the ship, on the starboard side. She lowered her voice to a whisper. 'They declined our invitation,' Lay was indignant.

Your brow hooked upwards before a smile of understanding and mischief spread. 'Leaders, Winchester?'

'You don't have to be so happy about it,' she said, glaring lightly.

'I can try,' you said, although you made no effort at all to hide your grin.

She sighed. 'I know you like to do things your way, and you don't like being marketed as marriage material, but ties with the older Winchester might seal you a permanent spot.'

'Shut up.'

She frowned, 'That's no tone to take with your—'

'No, I mean it, Mrs Stun, shut up.'

Even from this distance, you could hear it. Your eyes grazed the sky, but it was a no moon night, just the black beauty that was littered with endless untouchable angelic stars. Your eyes scanned the horizons next; on the port side, it was just a smidge from here, but it was growing in size. Mrs Stun followed your orbs to the black outline. And she heard it then too—the howls. Strong, blood-stirring, snarling and snapping howls. You gripped her arm, gentle but firm.

'Alert the troops. Prepare the battalions and wear your armours. Bar the civilians somewhere safe. Do not engage until I tell you to - I'll see if the vampires can scare them off.'

Lay rushed before you, almost sprinting across the deck and disappearing below. You ran up to the other side, up the topmost deck, where you'd seen Benny retreat, at the ship's wheel. He was flanked by two soldiers who were chattering nervously.

'Captain—'

'I see them,' he said grimly, cutting you off. 'Purebloods. Rare to come by, but rarer would be the ships that live to tell the tale.'

'Any way we can outrun them?'

'They are the elite. Better ships, more knots. They'll catch up eventually.'

If you couldn't have flight . . . 'So we fight.'

His lips curled into a sneer. 'We?'

Your eyes flashed in anger. 'They are elite purebloods, do you think they'll leave you when they hear that you've been sheltering humans? Elite hates accomplices as much as their criminals.'

'We did it for the blood supply,' he explained. 'No skin off our neck.'

A thrill of horror crossed your features, but it was masked by anger. 'Mark my words, Captain - even if one of us survives, which we will - they'll take down the whole bloody ship. Some of you may die by the werewolves - all of you will die at our hands.' You squared yourself, eyes glittering with malice, 'Besides, if you really want to be on the "winning side" from the prophecy, earn it.' You turned about on your heel, hearing him curse under his breath; you throw over your shoulder, 'Tear pieces of your cloth and tie them around your right wrist - that way my kind would know not to kill you!'

Flying down the stairs, you took a sharp turn, through the door. The soldiers had filtered out into the corridor waiting for further instructions. Boa, your burly and taciturn personal bodyguard handed you an azure napkin, the color of Europe. You tied it around your right wrist, armoring up with Boa's aide.

'All right, Hunters,' you said. 'Werewolves. Purebloods. Silver. It is our job to make sure none of them reach the Commons.' (It was the slang your lot used for civilians.) You inserted the silver magazine in your gun that Boa had carried up. He also handed you a bow and a thick set of arrows, all headed with silver. Lastly, you were given two long silver daggers that you tucked against your ankles by tying them with a thin wire.

'Try to not be cornered against the ship walls,' the chief of your army, Baz, said. Baz had always been a people's person.

Boa was the one with a long scar running down from his shoulder to the tips of his left hand's fingers. It was how you usually distinguished between the twin brothers.

'Werewolves can swim, so throwing them overboard will only buy you time,' Baz revised.

'Pass around three vials of silver to the close-combaters - poison for last resort,' you said, gazing at the back of the crowd that was near the back door. The last woman there nodded and headed back down for the poison.

'Do we have a number?' grunted Boa.

You shook your head. 'But the vampires seemed scared.'

'Great,' Baz muttered, meaning it. The man thrived on danger. It was one of the reasons why you chose him.

'They're good for nothing,' the surlier twin said. 'Kill them, too.'

You gave him a look. 'Not unless they aren't on our side,' you tapped your cloth. 'Check for their loyalties. Furthermore, I would advise an element of surprise but—'

'Those dogs have probably already sniffed us out,' Boa completed. 'Do we have access to the cannons?'

'You have permission to collaborate with them on it, and take over if unhelpful,' you said.

Baz ordered a handful of soldiers to do that, they left into an adjacent room where the servant quarters were.

'Remember the aim isn't to win,' you affirmed, 'it's to get away. Do everything in your power to survive.'

Thirty vampires, many scores of werewolves, and about a hundred humans. Yet Mathematics failed you - it must be taking revenge for not being your favorite subject in school. Purebloods would not have been how you first introduced the new members of your army to the world, surely not one who seemed to have two centuries' worth of ancestry to back up their bestial habits.

The wolves were ripping into the skin of any human they could sink their teeth into, gobbling them up because they thought that converted werewolves were a disgrace. And from the carcasses, they took bones to play - as if it was some reward for "cooking" their own food. It disgusted you how much saliva they had brought to the ship's floor in just under half an hour.

One of your guns was already lodged in a werewolf that was now being stamped under furious and sparring footsteps. It was after you took a good six and a half down with its bullets.

You were shooting arrows from your vantage at the werewolves trying to get on the deck with the mast where you are, with nine other sharpshooters weeding out the tougher werewolves from a distance.

At least the vampires had worn the indicative cloths around their hairy wristbones.

Benny was dropping heads right and left, in the centre of the war on the level below you. Scully was ripping off heads with his bare teeth, a fearsome sight.

You notched three arrows to kill three on the other end of the ship, it was aimed a little higher to account for the wind. The bowstring went taut, and you released them, not waiting to see if they hit - knowing already that they had, if not killing, at least maiming - saving an eighteen-year-old on your team.

Your bleeding palms may hinder your close-combat, but they wouldn't fail you in your shooting.

You were taking one such aim when the floor under your feet slipped out with a large blast. You jumped to grab the railing as the wood under your feet crumbled and caved into the lower level.

Fucking cannons.

You strained to pull yourself over the railing and to drop on the other side of it - right on top of a werewolf that was trying to scramble away from the falling floor. You didn't have time (or courage) to see how many soldiers had been lost to that blast. You plunged the arrow in your hand through the brain of the monster, landing on your feet as it fell dead on its knees, between your legs.

You had to unsheath your daggers since you'd fallen where the close-combat was taking place. You aimed for their kneecaps, dodging their claws and teeth, even if your hair and shoulders did get snagged a fair number of times.

You soon realized that the werewolves weren't subsiding - no matter how many you killed. Your eyes found a plank and several ropes had been brought as connectors between the ships. Any vampire who tried to thwart that bridge was instantly overpowered by a group who stood guard on this ship, welcoming more of their members that never seemed to end.

You knew that if it weren't for the humans, the vampires would've easily lost by now.

'Boa!' you yelled. You signaled for the bridge, asking for cover.

He came to your side to swiftly slash the werewolves who came at you. You firmed your feet in your place, shooting at the five guards at that distance. As you killed the first two, and severely injured a third - the remaining two dodged out of the way. When they noticed you, they ran for you.

You ducked under a sparring couple of a vampire and a werewolf, sidestepped a dead human, and then used your momentum to strike your dagger through the left arm of the fourth guard, and into his heart. The last one tackled you to the ground, its jaws snapping way too close to your face.

The stench made you cringe, there were bits of skin in his bloody teeth. You locked your arms to keep his torso away from yours, struggling to keep him away with your weaker upper body even if the monster on you was only of a medium build.

Boa saved your ass. He swung his weapon in a powerful swing, and it was all you could do to shut your eyes and mouth tightly as the blood poured over you. You kicked the body off you, taking your bodyguard's hand to stand upright before he had to leave you to combat another wolf that threw itself in your direction.

You proceeded to the bridge to finish your job. You slaughtered the wounded guard. You kicked the bridge away, causing the four wolves on it to flail, and make a wide grasp for the ship. Two fell into the ocean, one caught the ledge, the other hanging onto the first one's pants.

The wind knocked out of you when a wolf threw itself on your back and your ribs must've bruised under the force with which you slammed into the ship's edge. Your remaining dagger followed the two wolves into the water, disappearing between the churning of the two ships. You bent forward on reflex when its breath came too close to your neck, his chest was to your back.

The heel of your shoes pinned through the right foot of the werewolf who yowled. Your elbow hit his chest, then his nose. It was thrown off of you. You extracted your first dagger from the werewolf guard you'd previously killed, in which time the one attacking you now, advanced on you again. You lodged your weapon in its ample belly that spurted blood. You coerced the knife up to his heart.

A new hand grappled for your shoulder, and you were pulled against the ledge again with a grunt. This time, your kidneys took the hit. The teeth of the wolf that had managed to halfway pull itself up the ledge was next to your ear. You whipped out an arrow and slammed it down into his hand. You bent down to pick your bloody dagger from the werewolf corpse and whipped around to plung it into his heart; following that you pulled the arrow holding him to the ship back out again.

The two hanging werewolves fell. The live one let loose a loud whine.

'Dogs,' you rolled your eyes.

Cannons had been blasting at regular intervals from both sides. The aims from their vessel was abysmal, and your team of humans had had a better chance of hurting their ship more, so there would be no chase when you got rid of these monsters.

But they did have a few good hits.

This particular one, which was just blasted, hurtled across the night sky with the faintest of whizzes and crashed into the tallest mast that you'd been trying to climb earlier.

Your eyes widened, and a gasp left the wolf who had you in a deadlock. You used its distraction to your advantage. You head slammed the bitch, and left her strong arms that had been choking you. You took two arrows out and speared both of her thighs. This didn't happen without a jarring blow to your stomach from her punch that brought blood to your mouth. But her shriek hid your groan.

You didn't have time to catch your breath. You had to jump out of the way of the mast that was careening your way, ready to bury you at the sea. Your legs were saved by inches when the thing toppled over the side of the ship. The bitch you'd maimed at the thighs wasn't as lucky and was made into a pancake.

Almost everyone aboard was lucky that it didn't fall on the inside of the ship where most of the battle was (you were sure that had been the intention of the werewolves when they had aimed for the mast) - it damaged a bit of your ship, yet it mostly, and most joyously, fell towards the other ship; the lovely irony: their ship was naturally lowered in height, making the mast tip in that direction, and in your favor.

Their ship buckled with a satisfying crunch of wood. The mast now forming the new bridge between the two ships. You hoped your soldiers would blast it soon so the werewolves stop coming over.

Before you could slide over the round wood, and back into the main fight, a large dog headbutted you. You fell on your butt, close to where the railing had been before it got destroyed, thanks to the fallen mast. Your left elbow absorbed most of the impact, the sea spraying your face when you came close to dropping off the edge.

Your attention was more fixated, however, on the actual wolf.

It was true that pureblood werewolves could access their powers anytime, but to turn into an actual wolf was a rare gift.

It pounced; you rolled away and onto your feet.

The mast had created a separate slice of battle. Only two other pairs were fighting here except you: Mrs Stun versus a werewolf, and a skinny vamp who was clawing out his werewolf's heart.

The vampire, noticing the wolf, sneered in hatred.

The wolf was distracted from you for a second. The vampire launched itself at the animal who cleverly sidestepped and caught the vampire's waist betwixt its maws.

Your mouth actually fell ajar when the wolf bit the vampire so hard that its body snapped into two. Color you surprised, this was something extremely hard to do. You knew wolves like these were powerful - it didn't induce you with confidence upon witnessing just how much.

It didn't bother to eat the vampire, gagging in disgust - they mostly had a taste for humans, and vampires who were technically dead humans, might've tasted like decaying food to it.

Its yellow lamplike slitted eyes turned to Aurora, the hunter wife of the Stun family; before it turned to you. With your left elbow injured after that fall, your hand hadn't stopped quivering; you had one arrow aligned which weakly skittered away to the mast's side because the wolf dodged it without much effort.

It used that jump to keep speeding towards you. It couldn't sink its teeth in you as it had planned because you had swayed your weight onto your right leg as you swiveled, barely keeping your balance; its claws did scrape superficial wounds on your skin, across your left hip though.

You re-slung your bow, no point without your useless left hand; and went for your quiver. Your hand clasped around four arrows - all that you had left. You took one out, gripping it tight in your dominant hand.

You knew you couldn't battle this one for long - it would take too much energy. Attack wasn't an option either if that vamp was a good example. Yet defense took too long sometimes - you could be dancing around with this beast till God knows when.

You took a step in the opposite direction for every step it took towards you. The prowl of the animal seemed casual, almost lazed. Then, it did something that almost made you drop your weapon out of shock.

'You must be the head bitch,' he talked.

You scoffed with false bravado. 'Great. A talking fucking wolf - just when I thought you dogs couldn't find more ways to whine.'

Its lips twisted into a smile that was surreal on a wolf. It must be a Pureblood Alpha with a fucking gift of shapeshifting. Alphas can talk in their wolf form, you knew, but you'd never seen one. The rumors had been from so long ago that you thought that they were just that - whispers of the fucking wind.

'Mock all you want,' the deep mesmerizing voice purred. It both fascinated you and frightened you. 'I can hear that heart pounding away like a friggin' hummingbird's - it'll be so delicious with all those hormones.'

'Creep,' your nose scrunched, walking in circles still. As you often did, you changed topics. 'Tell me, how'd you even find us out, huh? It's not like we didn't do a damn good job of concealing ourselves.'

'You don't know who you are, do you? The final piece,' he spat, an almost grimacing smirk fixed on his face. 'Couldn't let you preside Europe and ruin the world, could we?'

Your brows furrowed. 'Did Captain Laffitte call you?' you asked the most pressing question, though you had many.

The answering snarl meant "no". 'That vampire is a traitor to our faction,' it growled, its claws digging into the strong wood threateningly. 'Transporting humans, what a crime! I'll kill him when I'm finished with you.'

'Boy, do I feel special,' you smiled sarcastically, stopping in your tracks. 'Though, you won't be able to keep your word—you won't live past me, dude.'

As expected, his ego was hurt - you can expect that from a person so gifted, who felt so invincible. A person who was egoistic enough to underestimate you, and give you time to think.

It pounced once more and you didn't duck down until it was inches away. You had walked enough so that the mast had been against your back; the werewolf's snout crashed into the wood.

You had turned on the balls of your soles at the last minute so that your back had been to his front. Your hand had shot up and the arrow nicked a long line along his chest and down to the crotch. When he fell due to gravity, the arrow snapped in half, and the lower half of its body took you down with it. Your quiver dug painfully into your back - it wasn't your biggest problem though - you were suffocating under its heavy abdomen.

You punched at its legs and joints (the weakest points) vigorously till it rolled off you, and trembling, stood to its feet.

He snapped its teeth at your face. Your hair missed his bite by inches. The twig in your hand which had been the lower half of your arrow, you shoved it into the monster's mouth - it stuck painfully between his teeth even if he snapped it like a toothpick.

It gave you time to put some distance and retrieve another arrow; one seemed to have slipped out of our quiver when you were getting up, so only two were left with you.

Even weakened due to heavy bleeding, the Alpha of this pack was quick to attack. It swiped at your legs; you came down with an elbow to its brain which seemed to hurt you more than him because it was your left one. You twirled on the ground with your uninjured hand and jabbed the arrow in its left eye.

It howled in pain. Maybe you imagined it, but it felt like the voices of the battle seemed to slow down at the sound - as if the wolves sensed something was wrong with their Alpha.

Your intuition proved right when, out of your periphery, you saw heads turning in your direction - for which some wolves got killed.

You stamped the arrow down further in its face, gritting in effort. Even then, the wolf wasn't dying.

You pulled the arrow from his eye to make it painful for him and then swung a foot over its prone form, straddling it's back; you were facing the rest of the ship this way, and it was almost as if your enemies were holding their breath for your next move. You pulled the wolf up by its ear, his fur matted with claret; it was with struggle, bringing him into a chokehold with your throbbing left hand, your arrow poised at its heart for everyone to rue their day about.

'Whine, won't you?' your British accent curled your words into a certain menacing sweetness. 'I'll allow it this once.' Your arrow pierced his heart, the crimson fluid spouting from his chest and flooding into your palm.

The wolves howled as if it were a military salute.

You slumped as all of them ran like rats from the ship, using the mast to cross over because you heard people from their ship shout orders about retreating. The humans slouched back, relieved; so did the vampires. (Boa tried to stab as many as he could with his silver sword as they were trying to flee.)

You dragged yourself away from the fallen mast. Without imminent danger, your body started screaming about all the pains it had endured, that it had kept quiet about till now. Like pangs, your brain was being sent impulses of all the places that hurt, and all the degrees that it hurt in.

Broken ribs, sore back, left hand and elbow throbbed, cuts on hip, bruised stomach, bloody mouth - and so many more little tales your body had to tell. You were also tired - you needed water and sleep.

You took a deep breath, compartmentalizing all your pain, and already prioritising the order you would take care of yourself in. This was a habit you picked after having been through many wars like this before - never so intense, but wars nevertheless.

You also glanced around to take stock of your people; making plans in your head for the next few hours. Selina and her small group of doctors would have their work cut out.

Speaking of, the civilians were meekly peeking out.

You used the broken railing behind your back to slowly pull yourself up but almost fell back down when you heard a scream of dismay.

'AURORA!'

Her yell seemed to set everyone in motion. With cries, people started rushing to their deceased family members or the wounded ones.

You blinked in surprise as Lay came running, pushing her fellow humans aside - and that's when you finally see it.

Mrs Stun was being dragged away by her leg by the werewolf she had been fighting. She was being viciously stamped on because of all the hurried footsteps and the mad struggle. The werewolf who carried her was weak, and you saw the symptoms of being poisoned on his skin - the werewolf was avenging its posioned self by dragging an unconscious Aurora away. (At least you hoped she was unconscious.)

A coil of guilt made itself known, and you mentally cursed yourself for not paying attention to her when she'd been so close to you. She had been on your side of the mast.

You leaped to your feet, using your last arrow to aim. Your hand shook violently; you gripped the round bodice of your bow that much tighter. With careful aim, and ignoring the cries of Lay Stun who was being held back by the twins now, you shot your very last shot.

Your heart fell as your arrow fell into the ocean - missing its mark by inches. Still, there was a surprised bark from the poisoned wolf, and you noted one of your soldiers - Rory, also an archer - hadn't failed unlike you. The poisoned wolf toppled off the mast.

With a distressed yell, Lay broke free of her binds, and climbed the mast, pushing the werewolves into the sea - whoever came in her way - not that they were paying her much mind either. They all just wanted to escape to their ship before it left without them, all of them were mindless now with their Alpha gone.

So, there, in the middle of the makeshift bridge, Lay kneeled next to her wife.

There was another horrible blast, and a cannon had shot through the centre of the mast - it had been one of your shooters, probably hoping to break the mast in two and let the deadweight fall into the massive waters.

Sure enough, with the distance between ships growing, the hole in the mast was splintering into something larger as well. At this rate, the Stun family would either fall into the ocean or sail away with the werewolves.

You jumped onto the mast, your heels clicking loudly. Boa and Baz came after you. You all were effectively standing above the ocean as the wood cracked quickly under your feet - an ocean filled with werewolves who were trying to either swim to their ship or simply stay afloat. Even if your side of the mast was steady, you found yourself worried for Lay.

'Lay!' you yelled over the terrible sound of wood breaking. 'Give me your hand!'

'We have to bring her, Y/N!' she sobbed, holding the face of her lover in her lap. 'She still has a pulse.'

Almost unwillingly, your eyes darted to the multiple bite marks on the leg that Aurora had been dragged with.

'She needs help!' Lay didn't seem to be getting it.

'Please come over,' you urged. 'We'll see about her!'

'What do you mean!?' she shrieked. 'I'm not going anywhere until you help her!'

Boa, uncomfortable, mumbled to you. 'Aurora's infected, Lead.'

Your lips pursed. You extended your intact arm, 'Lay, please. The mast won't hold long.'

Her eyes wildly scanned yours. 'Take her, then! I'll come after her!'

'Lay, your wife made a choice. For this continent,' you said. 'For these wars! Let her sacrifice not be in vain—'

'What do you know about sacrifices?!' she screeched. Your lips parted in surprise; you'd never been talked to like that, not by Layla. 'What do you know about love!? You either take her, or you leave me!'

You took a step forward, hands raised placatingly. 'Lay—'

With a terrifying lurch, the wood gave away. You didn't think when you jumped forward, letting Boa figure out how he was to keep you alive - your outstretched hand grasped Lay, more than half of your body hanging out. But you were anchored. Your thighs were pinned under someone's weight - and you had a feeling that it was Boa, who must also have been held by several people behind him.

It was a good thing too because you wouldn't have been able to stay aboard under the weight of both the Mrs Stuns; Lay was clutching Aurora by the wrist.

'We can't hold long!' came a yell from Baz. 'It'll fall soon.' True enough, the mast was dangerously teetering on the edge.

'Lay, reconsider!' you said. 'You'll lose your life! Do you think she'd want that?'

'Stop talking about her as if she's dead already!' she growled, much like the wolves had been. You could see her straining, hanging like that, her lover's hand slipping slowly because she wasn't strong enough, and another hand stretched painfully in yours. She was clinging to your azure cloth, her long manicured nails digging into your skin painfully.

You saw her do another thing you never had: Lay Stun was crying.

'Lay—!'

'You don't,' her breath hitched. 'You don't know what she wanted!'

The ship groaned, tilting with the mast. You reinforced your grip, aided with your smarting left hand.

'And you don't know what I want,' she sobbed.

'We can talk about this, back on the ship!'

'No!' she yelled. 'You don't get it . . . y-you don't get—!' She gasped when her slick hands slid further out of your leather gloves. The azure around your wrist grew an unsteady knot.

'I love the work, Y/N,' she said, determined. She met your eyes. 'Pardon me if I couldn't marry it.' It felt more like an accusation than an admission.

She wildly jerked her palm away, your azure cloth unhinging from your wrist and falling with both the Mrs Stuns.

You were pulled off the mast to safety (you couldn't put up much fight against Boa), the mast was pushed into the sea by a hoard of vampires who had survived - before the mast could take you all down into the treacherous waters.

You felt dazed, glued to the starboard side of the ship, watching as the monsters helped the mighty ocean drown your teammate and her family by eating them.

The war had shown it's true colours again; you couldn't help the anger as you watched the blood infested waters getting smaller and smaller in the distance. You had left your friend, quite literally, to the wolves.

Selina was slammed; her group of doctors and the civilians aided her. About sixty humans fell under urgent care, the rest were managable for a while, twenty were dead (inclusive of the ones Boa had to execute because they were bitten). All the vampires were on standby (only eight of them died) - because, well, they were self-healing - they would be seen after the humans were taken care of, if they would even need it then.

You were an orange case. Betwixt the code red and the look-after-yourself-because-you-know-that-much group.

So there you sat, doing a mediocore job of bandaging the wound on your side, and making a sling for your left hand that could be a good joke for the team of doctors some day who were giving you a distressed side-glance everytime they saw you now. To be fair, they were giving everyone in your orange group that look.

You didn't stare back, unable to care about your state right now. Your eyes were fixed on your thoughts where the scene that conspired tonight was playing on a loop. There was a lump in your throat which was as heavy as the mast must have been - the reality seemed as unreliable as climbing that fucking pole.

'Lady Y/N,' called the grave voice of your chief of army. Baz awkwardly stood to the side, his voice low for your ears only. 'Um, do you want to address the crowd? The grievers? Um, Lay would usually, uh—' he shuffled uncomfortably. 'I can do it, but it's better if it comes from someone of higher in the hierarchy.'

You ran a hand through your hair which was a guise to press your palm into your eyes so that it could absorb the tears that were welling up.

I love the work, Y/N, her voice bounded within the confines of your head.

You stood up with a deep breath that pulled you straight on your heels, fully composed - yet with an empathetic mask that the survivors will want.

'Of course,' you said. 'This job shall fall on my shoulders.'

Pardon me if I couldn't marry it, Lay had blamed. Yeah, well, fuck that.

She doesn't have to marry the work because you already have. And marraiges need sacrifices - Lay and Aurora would have to be the first morsel from your personal life to this burning pyre that is your planet. 

A/N: Talk about a toxic relationship, eh 🫤? Ah, anyways, who's ready to get their Dean on in Chapter 3 👀?

Tag List.

@hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @globetrotter28

[zepskies]

The Old-Fashioned Way

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You and Dean are having trouble trying to start a family. What happens when you turn to a spell for a possible solution? [Soulmate AU]

AN: Happy Valentine's Day! ❣️ Welcome back to the Never Say Goodbye-verse, my first ever Soulmate AU! Feels appropriate to celebrate today with some soulmates lol.

Honestly, I have really missed these two. I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since I wrote this series! And I’ve been wanting to find a way to come back to it, so when I recently got this request, I couldn't resist:

The reader finds out she is pregnant and Dean’s reaction.

But of course, I couldn’t make it that simple… This story takes place five years after the Bonus Tracks (3-part sequel).

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship (marriage). Soulmates, angst, issues in pregnancy, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied smut.

❤️ Series Masterlist

Today marked five years that Dean had been an officer of the Sioux Falls Police Department.

After twenty-eight odd years of committing felonies of varying degrees…mostly for the greater good, he still found it strange sometimes.

He’d been partnered with his father-in-law, Jack, and by now, Dean had finally lost his sense of “imposter syndrome.”

Jody bought him a pie to commemorate the occasion, and while a little embarrassed, he wasn’t mad about it. The precinct employees now shared the dessert on paper plates from their respective desks and cubicles.

Dean sat in the bullpen with Jack (who was on a call), Jody, and even Jessie Deluca, the boy he’d once arrested for stealing candy and groceries from a gas station.

Well, Jessie wasn’t such a kid anymore. He was now their 18-year-old intern.

“How’s the boysenberry?” Jody asked Dean. Her lips curved upward when he turned to her with a crumb-covered smile. 

“Real good,” he said.

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I can’t with this. Come ‘ere.”

She grabbed a napkin and leaned over to wipe at his mouth the way a mother would her errant child. Dean just rolled his eyes.

“Really?” he snipped.

“You look like my five-year-old son after a round of SpaghettiOs,” she said.

“Makes you wonder how his wife deals with him,” Jessie muttered under his breath while he entered expense reports into his computer. Never mind that he had a purple berry stain around the corner of his mouth.

Dean shot him a wry look, along with his crumpled napkin.

“I don’t wanna hear that from a punk like you,” he teased. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since…what, junior prom?”

Jessie fended off the stained napkin with a grimace. But he also smarted at the dig. His arms crossed defensively as he leaned back in his chair.

“As a matter a fact, I’ve got a date on Friday,” he sniffed. “And no, I’m not telling you her name.”

Dean and Jody shared an amused look.

“Aww, look at him, pretending he’s got a date,” Dean said. He fought a deeper grin when Jessie threw the disgusting napkin back at him.

“Fine! Her name’s Annie. You happy now?” Jessie said.

Dean shared another look with Jody.

“Aww, he’s actually got a date,” said Dean. He smirked at the kid next. “Lemme know if you need to borrow some cologne. Chicks dig that.”

“Ugh,” Jessie groaned. He leaned his elbows on his desk and pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. He knew he’d be catching flack on this for the rest of the week.

Dean chuckled, but before he had a chance to tease their intern some more, his cell phone rang. It was you, and he felt his good mood continue as he answered.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey, how’s the day going?” you asked.

“Good,” he replied. “We’re on lunch break. Jody got me a pie for my five-year mark at the PD.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet…literally. She knows you too well,” you laughed.

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she really does.”

“Tell her and everyone else I said hi.”

“Will do,” he said with a smile. “You just callin’ to check up on me?”

“Well, that, and…when are you getting home tonight?” you asked. The smooth, leading note of your voice had Dean’s lips curving into a smirk.

“Ah, well…” He pushed away from his desk and stepped away from the bullpen for a little privacy in the hall. “That depends. What’s going on?”

“Let’s just say…I have an idea,” you replied. It had Dean’s brows raising. You’d been having a lot of ideas for the past year, and he’d been more than ready and willing for most of them.

“Oh, yeah?” he intoned. While he leaned against the wall in the main hallway of the precinct, his arm crossed under his elbow as he continued holding the phone to his ear. “What’d you have in mind?”

“You’ll just have to find out,” you said.

It only took his brain about a moment and a half to compute.

“All right. In that case, I’ll try to be home promptly at six, barring there’s no shootouts at the 7-Eleven,” he quipped.

“Ugh, please, don’t even joke about that,” you said, your tone sobering.

Dean realized, without even having to read his soulmate’s thoughts, that you were reminded of the last time an explosive incident happened at the local gas station, just two weeks before their wedding day. He dimmed as well. 

“Yeah, ‘m sorry,” he said, swiping a hand over his mouth. “Uh…okay. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Okay, be careful,” you said. You always said it—in the morning, whenever he left for work, whenever you two managed to talk during the day. It was routine, but it also wasn’t. 

And you still wished him a good rest of his day before you hung up. Dean pocketed his phone and returned to the bullpen, where Jody was putting away the rest of the pie. He eyed her just to know exactly where she was setting it down in the kitchen, for future reference.

Jessie peered up from his computer and asked if that was you on the phone.

“Yeah, she says hi,” Dean replied.

Jessie smirked. “‘Course she does. I’m her favorite.”

Dean shot him a look, knowing the kid liked you probably even more than he liked Dean. You’d become like a big sister to Jessie…but it didn’t stop Dean from occasionally being annoyed. 

“Shut up and eat your pie.”

Dean arrived that night, more or less on time, to find that you’d cooked up a feast. It was laid out across the dining table: steak, scalloped potatoes, carrots and broccoli, and even freshly baked cornbread with butter. 

“Is it my birthday again?” he asked, despite it already being February. 

He ventured into the kitchen where you were getting two bottles of beer. You looked up at him with a smile when he came over and held you from behind. You enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against your back, while his hands found your hips.

“I cook all the time, Dean,” you pointed out. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head in greeting.

“Hmm. Yeah, but now my spidey senses are tingling,” he said.

You set down the beer before turning in his embrace and twining your arms around his neck. Already he could feel your anticipation through the soul bond, but that was all you were letting him sense. You were keeping your walls up a bit, to stop him from hearing your thoughts. In this case, it felt like a tease.

You tilted your head, a smile playing across your lips. “Oh, yeah?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Oh, yeah.”

You laughed and let him greet you properly with a kiss. You returned it, affectionately caressing his cheek, but you stopped him before he could start pressing you harder into the counter. You held up a placating hand against his chest.

“Wait, wait, the food’s gonna get cold,” you said. And all too quickly, you’d extricated yourself from his arms and went to finish placing the silverware on the table. Dean begrudgingly followed suit by helping you with the glasses and plates.

Dinner was delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a steak that good; you two had been scrounging and saving to get out of this apartment and buy a house, along with other things you and Dean had been planning for your future.

By the time the leftovers were put away and the dishes were put in the dishwasher, he started to sense that you were ready to come around with the real reason you’d called him at work today, let alone made such a nice and expensive meal. You went over to where he stood at the kitchen sink and rubbed his arm.

“Hey,” you greeted.

Dean tried to stifle his knowing smile. “Yeah?”

But when he looked over at you, he realized you seemed nervous, not flirtatious. You were serious, and now, he was concerned.

“What?” he asked.

You sighed, hesitating for a moment. Then you went over to a nearby drawer and got some rubber gloves you always kept at work and at home—the kind doctors wore.

You went for your large work bag that normally stored your laptop and files, and instead, you pulled out an old book. Dean’s brows raised of their own accord, considering the last time you accidentally trifled with a book like that.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, with some trepidation. You laid the book out on the kitchen counter.

“It’s a journal of some kind, written in Latin, dating back from the late 1500s. Can you believe that?” Your head raised from where you were examining the cover and spine, but Dean was incredulous.

“What’re you doing with that?” he asked. Your lips pursed, and he felt a tendril of your guilt.

Most likely, you’d taken it from the museum where you worked without permission. You were in charge of the growing library of ancient texts that were stored there, and most of them were too old and valuable for exhibition, even behind glass. He doubted you were even allowed to open this book, let alone “borrow” it from the museum.

You sighed and held up a placating hand. “Okay, Dean, just hear me out.”

You opened the book to a page you’d placed a strip of paper in for bookmarking purposes. You pointed at a page filled with scrawled words that Dean didn’t really understand. Sam was always better at reading Latin.

“That is a fertility spell,” you said.

The weight of that fell between you for a moment, rendering Dean speechless. It took a few seconds for his brain to register what you were saying, followed quickly by a sad, contemplative frown as he stared back at you. You were serious about this, even hopeful. 

“Sweetheart, we don’t need that,” he said, shaking his head. Your expression firmed, though it became touched with melancholy.

“It’s been a year, Dean,” you said. “We’ve been trying for a year, and I’m still not pregnant.”

He blew out a breath. “The doctor said—”

“We’ve done everything the doctor said,” you snapped. “Fertility treatments are either going to take too long or are too expensive, and they still carry risks.”

“And this isn’t a risk?” Dean shot back, gesturing at the book. “You don’t know if this will work, or what the hell it’ll really do to you.”

Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t back down. You held your hands to your hips.

“Uncle Bobby said it’s legit,” you said. Dean blinked in surprise. He shifted back on his heels and crossed his arms.

“You ran this by Bobby before me?” he said. You could feel the small lance of his upset, as well as see it across his face.

You bit the inside of your lip. “I just wanted to make sure!”

Dean took in a deep breath. He mentally counted to five.

“What exactly did he say?” he asked.

You paused at that. “…Well, he said it was a real spell.”

His brows rose. “And?”

“And…that magic is unpredictable and we should talk about it first. But that’s why we’re talking now!” you reasoned. 

Your husband’s gaze lifted heavenward as he threw up his hands in aggravation.

“Dean—” you tried, but it didn’t stop him from snatching up the book. Despite your protests, he took it with him into the master bedroom you shared and shoved the book into his nightstand. You had followed him this far, but you stopped short when he turned around to face you.

“I will check this out,” he said, and his tone boded no argument. “But for the record, I’m against this. Magic is unpredictable at best, and not for nothing, it always comes at a price. I’ll be damned if you’re gonna pay it again.”

You paused. Hearing the vehemence in his tone, feeling the force of emotion behind his words, and your own circling memories of being possessed by a magic-wielding goddess…it had you nodding in agreement, even as tears welled up in your eyes.

Dean faltered a little inside. Always the damn tears. He gathered you into his arms and held you close in comfort. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” he said.

You tried to believe him.

Late that night, however, you couldn’t help yourself.

Once you were sure Dean was asleep beside you, hearing his deep, even breaths, you made your move. Dressed in just an old college shirt and some pajama shorts, you slid out of bed and tiptoed over to his nightstand to get the book.

You took it into the kitchen and started assembling the ingredients Bobby had reluctantly helped you translate. (He didn’t know that you had taken a couple of items from his house for the spell.) 

You prepared them in a bowl. The resulting liquid looked brown and disgusting. You mixed it around, grimacing at the smell, and carefully poured it into a glass. The last thing the spell required was a few drops of your blood, and then you were supposed to drink it. 

God, this is terrible, you thought. Part of you couldn’t believe you were going through with this, but…you grabbed a kitchen knife in order to make a shallow cut on your palm. 

The steel was poised against your hand. You took a fortifying breath, but before you could cut into your skin, Dean grabbed your wrist with a strong grip, startling a gasp out of you.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he said, or more like shouted. He was irate, his voice bounding off the walls of the apartment.

You knew he had every right to be, and you didn’t have a good answer for him. Shock had stifled you into silence.

Dean let go of you and took the glass next. He peered in disgust at the concoction inside, but he quickly dumped it into the sink and ignored your protests. He threatened to burn the damn book next.

“Dean, stop! Please,” you said tearfully as you stilled his hands on the book. “If there’s some kind of price to the spell, I’ll pay it!”

“What’re you talking about! Are you crazy?” he asked, through furrowed brows. You squeezed his hands.

“Believe me, I love what we have. I love our life, my job, all of it,” you said. “But I want a family, and I want it with you.”

Dean started to soften at that, when you met his eyes. You paused, taking in a shaky breath.

“It should be simple, but it’s not," you said. "I just can’t understand why it’s so impossible. Why…why there’s something wrong with me.”

Dean’s anger broke down, bit by bit the more you spoke. He let go of the book and reached for you. He held you against his chest, rubbing your back as you quietly wept. You tried to stifle it, but that just made your body tremble even more. He did his best to steady you, rocking you back and forth. His eyes closed for a moment.

You both knew that the expensive fertility doctor hadn’t found anything wrong with either of you, even after a month of testing.

“In certain cases, it just takes longer for some couples,” she’d said. But clearly, you had just been blaming yourself. Dean couldn’t abide that.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said firmly. “Believe me, I want that too. But I also want to make sure you’re safe.”

Emotion clogged in his throat when he thought about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped you. And in turn, you sobered even more when you managed to pick up on his thoughts.

“If something would’ve happened, and I was too late to stop it,” he said, clearing his throat. “…I just can’t, okay?”

After a moment, you nodded. You allowed yourself to rest against his chest and try to calm the racing of your heart. All the while, you tried your best not to resent him for stopping you.

The next day was a Saturday. You slept in because your body needed it, after the stress of last night. When you woke up, Dean wasn’t beside you. His keys and the Impala were gone, but he’d left you a text: he’d gone to your uncle Bobby’s place. 

And you saw that he’d taken the book as well. Predictable. 

You felt bad for how you tried to go behind your husband’s back, but if you were honest with yourself, you were still upset at him for stopping you, even if you understood why he did it. 

You sat on the edge of your bed. Not for the first time since you and Dean were separated by miles of roads and his family’s mission to find the thing that killed his mother, you found yourself praying. 

Please, God…or if there’s even anyone up there…please help me.

For a while, there was silence in the room. 

But even if your eyes were open, you wouldn’t have seen the being that was standing in front of you. He stared down at you with a tilted head, finding himself a bit too curious. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out and touched your forehead. 

You didn’t completely register the feeling that washed over you. It was like the tingling of a breeze across your skin. You took it for a chill in the room as you shivered a little. Then you opened your eyes, and resigned yourself to starting your day. 

Castiel left the room with but a thought and a flutter of wings. 

He knew he was only supposed to observe Michael’s vessel, not his soulmate. And yet, with one touch, he had sensed the rare genetic defect your doctor had missed.

Your mother had unknowingly suffered the condition as well. Your father never told you this, but she’d nearly lost you in the early stages of her pregnancy. It had been a miracle that you were born at all. 

Castiel fixed the problem. 

He knew what Uriel, or even Naomi would say. Perhaps they didn’t need to know, in this case. They were both far too busy for worldly trifles. Even so, Castiel knew he wasn’t authorized to heal you.

Still, it felt…right. And so, he did it. 

It confused him.

…Maybe it isn’t something to be closely examined, he thought.

With that agreement within himself, he resolved to leave that decision behind him, and continue watching from afar. Those were his orders, after all.

Visiting Bobby Singer wasn’t as productive as Dean wanted it to be. The men had been arguing in Bobby’s living room for close to an hour.

Dean was upset with him for translating that goddamn spell for you, but the old man didn’t have a good answer. They both knew you were like a daughter to him.

“She came in hot, all damn stubborn and sass up to here,” Bobby said, holding a hand up to his forehead. “But you try sayin’ no when the waterworks starts.”

…Dean could concede that, but he rubbed his face in frustration. 

“What do I do here, Bobby?” he asked, holding up the spell book in question. Apparently, it was more like a journal; it was rumored to have belonged to a sixteenth-century witch named Rowena. “I don’t trust this thing. Deep in my gut, I know it.”

Bobby considered him for a moment. In fact, he gave Dean a long-suffering look that made him really see Bobby’s age. 

“Then trust your gut, son,” was all he said. 

Dean returned home with a peace offering: some apple crumble pie. You were lying on the sofa watching mindless TV, still in your pajamas. Your mental walls were down, so Dean could both see and feel how miserable you were. 

He took out the pie from the small bag of groceries he carried and held it up so you could see.

“I come bearing sugar,” he said. He also set down a bottle of wine on the dining table. You were focused on the pie, however.

“Who’s that for, me or you?” you dryly remarked. 

“I got ice cream too,” he said, shaking the grocery bag. 

You smiled a little, but he could feel through the bond that you were still sour at him. He sighed and went over to you. He set down the bribery on the coffee table and settled a hand on your pajama-clad thigh. 

“Sweetheart, I am sorry.” 

Sighing, you turned off the TV and sat up against the other end of the couch. You eyed him with a frown.

“You’re not sorry about chucking the spell,” you accused. Or for stealing the book you’d eventually have to bring back to work, lest your boss notice something amiss in the inventory.

“No, I’m not,” said Dean. “It was dangerous. I felt it. And that gut feeling? That’s what’s saved me more times than I can damn count.” 

You were still upset, you couldn’t deny…but you understood his point. When he beckoned you over, you were more willing to go to him. After you scooted closer, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Look, I’ll go to whatever doctors you want, try whatever treatments, however long it takes,” he said.

You sighed, but you eventually agreed with a teary nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Even with that, Dean wasn’t convinced that he was getting through to you. He was picking up on a thread of hopelessness that you were trying to hide.

He’d just have to change that.

“But…” He earned your attention by squeezing your side. His lips formed a grin. “I still think we can do this the old-fashioned way.”

He slowly rubbed a hand up and down your back. With the other hand, he reached for your face, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. You smiled slightly at his teasing. Part of you wanted to heed the suggestion in his eyes, and the familiar warmth and promise in his touch. The other, more vulnerable part of you hesitated.

When you caught sight of something over his shoulder, you had to smile a little more.

“I see you got a bottle of Merlot,” you said. A notable upgrade from beer. You couldn’t remember the last time Dean had willingly bought some “bougie-ass” wine.

“A little pie, a little booze…” you noted.

Dean grinned. “I’m thinking we have a not-so-quiet night in.”

Your brows rose, and you hummed in surprise. “Is my husband trying to butter me up?”

“Nah,” he said, tilting your face back up to his. “Your husband’s trying to seduce you.”  

You giggled at that…at first. But it seemed he was serious.

You accepted his passionate kiss. Closing your eyes, you reached blindly for his shirt and held on while his lips moved ardently against yours. Through the bond, you felt his desire like it was your own.

In the five years you’d been married, and the years you were together even before, there were often moments where it was impossible to discern what was him and what was you. 

The beautiful thing about it was, that part didn’t matter too much. Especially not when you and Dean became a tangle of limbs, lips, and tongue on the couch. He ridded you of your threadbare pajamas, and you helped him halfway out of his shirt and jeans before he yanked the rest of it off himself.

And all while he drew lusty moans and sighs and pleasure from your body in the comfort of your living room, the ice cream slowly melted in its container on the coffee table—completely forgotten, along with the pie.

That night, you lied awake in his arms for a while. Round one on the couch had migrated to rounds two and three in the bedroom, and you were almost too exhausted to sleep. 

It had been months since you and Dean had sex without thinking of calendars and timing, optimal positions and ovulation.

This felt right, you thought, as you stroked his arm that was wrapped around your waist. Even though your skin was sticking to his under the sheets and your frizzy hair was probably tickling his neck, he didn’t seem to mind.

Dean? you tried through the bond, seeing if he was awake. He felt like he was still in-between wakefulness and sleep. At your prodding though, he slipped back into the former. 

“Hmm?” he replied. You let out a sigh in the dark. 

“I’m sorry I kind of tried to take matters into my own hands, with the spell.”

He hmphed in response. “Kinda?”

Your lips twitched upwards. 

“This is a ‘together’ thing,” you said. “I made it all about me.”

Dean shook his head at that. He responded through the bond. No, you didn’t.

I did, you insisted. You were right to stop me. I didn’t care about the consequences…but that’s not fair to you. To either of us.

He took that in with a deep sigh of his own.

“It’s okay. We want the same thing,” he said. “And we’ll get there, baby. Don’t you worry.”

“What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“…I don’t know. I just am.”

You closed your eyes, and once again, you tried to believe him. You let his heartbeat and the sound of his steady breathing lull you to sleep. 

Nine weeks later…

You were alone in the bathroom at seven in the morning. After almost a month late on your period, you were also staring at two positive lines on your last pregnancy test. 

Ho…ly…shit.

Dean was already at work. This wasn’t something you wanted to tell him over the phone, however. 

How the hell am I supposed to keep this from him all day? you thought.

But then again, maybe this was a good thing. You had time to make sure.

So you called out of work for a personal day, and you immediately called your doctor on your way out to the closest pharmacy. You were going to need a few more tests. 

When Dean eventually got home that evening, there were two pizzas waiting for him. The smell was already making his mouth water. He peeked under the hood of each box and rubbed his hands together. 

“Ooh, awesome.” Pepperoni, sausage, and double cheese. His favorite.

You appeared then from the kitchen with a strange smile on your face. 

“Hey!” you chirped, but you seemed a bit distracted as you pulled out a sheet pan of cookies from the oven. You nearly dropped them when the corner of the pan banged against the oven. 

Something was off with you. Dean knew it intuitively. He went over and tried to steady you with a hand on the small of your back. He could see that you were frazzled, but he realized, with a frown, that you had your walls up again. He couldn’t pick up on what you were thinking.

“You okay?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Uh…well, something,” you nodded and wiped your hands after you peeled the oven mitts off. “And I need to tell you about it before I bake everything in the house, including the expired bran muffins.”

Dean was growing more concerned by the moment. He knew for a fact he’d hidden that bran muffin mix deep in the pantry, so you wouldn’t force him to eat a “healthy dessert.”

“Okay, what?” he asked.

You paused, steeling yourself with a breath.

You then took his hand and led him to the bedroom, into the adjoining bathroom. Across the entire counter were no less than seven pregnancy tests. 

All positive.

Dean’s breath caught in his lungs. Slowly he turned back to you with his widened eyes.

“Surprise?” you smiled, a little nervously. 

Dean grasped the counter and had to sit down hard on the closed toilet seat. 

“Yeah, I did that too,” you said. You couldn’t help but giggle as you caressed his face. He grabbed your hip, both to bring you closer and for added stability. You two had been trying to make this happen for over a year, but the gravity of this being real was finally hitting him. 

He stared up at your face with a growing smile. “This is happening.” 

You nodded, smiling through your burgeoning tears. 

“Yeah. It is,” you replied. “Dean, you’re gonna be a dad.”

That realization had him nodding, swallowing hard and blinking past a sting in his eyes. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you in between his knees. You threaded your fingers through his hair, and his head came to rest against your stomach. He pressed a kiss there, over your shirt. 

After a moment to gather himself, he rocked back onto his feet. Then he enveloped you in a secure and warm embrace. He kissed the side of your head, and you felt his smile there.

“We did it, baby,” he said.  

“And that was the easy part,” you quipped, making him laugh. Yet the holy shit of it all hit him in a new wave—one you felt through the bond. You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself as well.

“Oh my God, this is happening,” he repeated.

You uttered a tearful laugh. “Uh, yeah, Dean.”

He was still smiling, but it started to dim a little. 

“We’re ready, right?” he asked.

You chuckled, wiping at your eyes. “We better be.”

Dean nodded and pulled back enough to see your face. You met his gaze. Maybe you’d just had more time than him to process it all, but you finally felt a sense of peace.

“Together, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Together.”

Dean let out a deep breath. “Shit, I gotta tell Sam.”

Your smile brightened and you squeezed his arms.

“Let’s call him!" you said. "Hopefully Eileen’s there too.”

The two had moved in together a couple of years ago, after Eileen officially retired from hunting. But she often had long shifts at her job, just like Sam did at the law firm he started working for after he graduated from law school, near the top of his class.  

While you and Dean went into the bedroom to call Sam together, an angel watched from a distance, unseen by human eyes.

He found himself smiling.

AN: Ahh I'm soft. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy this as much as I had fun diving back into Never Say Goodbye.

And I won't say that I'll never come back to it in the future...for obvious reasons. 😉

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Series + Dean Tag List (Part 1):

I did my best to get everyone who was tagged in the original run of the series first, then my normal Dean tag list.

@curlycarley @chubby-teddybear @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @deans-spinster-witch @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1

@icequeen1371 @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth @ohgodthebogisback @where-the-river-bends @loveprof6 @shadowcrowsworld @thespnlover @this-is-me19 @stevenknightmarc @leigh70 @syrma-sensei @brain-has-left

@hobby27 @ashbatz @saranghaey @jori21 @lillyrob @adoringanakin @agirlwithdemonblood @mimaria420 @nephil-with-a-gun @writethrough @iamsapphine @definitelymentallyderanged @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer

[perfica]

Brother-husbands be like…

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. Master List

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Each chapter will have its warnings posted. This is typical stuff when it involves the Winchesters, no matter what AU they are in, lol.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

A/N: Stuck with writers block on chapter 33 - update here.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 SMUT! Chapter 34 Chapter 35

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know, and I'll add you.

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @jamerlynn @jackles010378 @bruhidkjustwannaread @onthehuntforshinies

@chriszgirl92 @angzls @xolivvies-cornerxo @certainsaladstarfish @onlyangel-444

@nancymcl @muhahaha303 @suckitands33 @kr804573 @justrandomthougt

@suckitands33 @mxtansy @scarletqueenx @krazykelly @roseblue373

@whimsyfinny @ladysparkles78 @aaathazagoraphobiaaa @hobby27 @perpetualabsurdity

@cicibunbuns @n-o-p-e-never @vanessa-boo @foxyjwls007 @uoberpmollah

@xolivvies-cornerxo @certainsaladstarfish @kdadss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @reignsboy19

@bonbonnie88 @ghostieghoul711 @flamencodiva @kayleezee @stillhere197

@lexasaurs634 @enamoredwithbella @winchester-whiskey @brandinicole911 @swaggyemily

@megs-gadom @dianawinchester03 @nikimisery @cheekygirl2309 @ashleybutler

@deans-baby-momma @bobbdylan @tommysaxes @likedbygaslyy

[silverdrws]

soulmates au but ones an angel

[inbredbrotherhood]

Wincest is truly love taken to the extreme. Devotion to the point of it being a religion all of its own. Closeness that can only be rivalled with splitting one open sternum to groin and reaching inside — touching something private and sensitive and painful. Something that is so far beyond codependency it doesn’t even have a proper name, overwhelming in its entirety.

There is truly not a love story as equally beautiful and sickening as Sam and Dean’s because it isn’t just love. It’s indifference, it’s hero worship, it’s something both sacred and deeply rooted within the world. Those boys love each other so much and so fiercely it’s a disservice to pretend that they don’t.