#Dean fanfic

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Dean and You Getting Hurt On A Hunt

Pairing: Dean x reader

You could hear Dean asking a paramedic a million questions, not a single one concerned about himself. You opened your eyes to find yourself in the back of an ambulance, Dean lying on a stretcher beside you. He could tell you were awake and struggled to reach over to you but couldn’t. Instead he thrashed his head back against his pillow in defeat, straining against the straps that held him down.

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” said the paramedic as you blinked slowly at Dean. You knew something was wrong with you, with both of you, but you weren’t quite sure what that was yet. You struggled when you saw Dean upset. You wanted him to feel better. “You need to relax, she’s seeing you panic and that’s making her do the same.”

Dean stopped as he took in how your heart rate had skyrocketed, how scared you looked. He sighed and forced himself to stay calm. You saw him relax and heard him say it was okay. Neither of you enjoyed the feeling of being tied down, especially when the both of you were in plain view of one another and couldn’t reach each other. You tried to speak but couldn’t as you felt how raw your throat was. 

“We’ll be at Mercy West in just a few minutes,” said the paramedic to Dean as you half-listened. 

“No, take us somewhere else!” yelled Dean suddenly, fighting again. The paramedic sighed as you both started struggling once more. You didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on but if Dean didn’t want to go there, it wasn’t safe. 

“I’m going to give each of you a sedative and by the time you wake up, you’ll be in your hospital beds feeling a lot better,” he said gently. 

“No, don’t you touch her,” said Dean as you started to get very sleepy. The last thing you saw was Dean shutting his eyes as you finally remembered what had happened.

If Sam didn’t get to you soon, you were screwed.

___________

[barnesboo1967]

DMs with Dean

[imagineteamfreewill]

From the Dead - Five

Pairing: Soldier!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Hearing loss, pregnancy, nervousness, nausea, mentions of PTSD, and fluff

Summary: Dean Winchester died as a war hero during his third tour overseas. He left Y/N behind, and she decides that she needs a change. She leaves Lawrence to work at Camp New Moon, where a mysterious visitor shows up almost five years after Dean first left for his tour.

A/N: This is the final part of the “From the Dead” series. As always, thank you for supporting me whether I’m writing Supernatural or Marvel, both here and on other websites. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

From the Dead Series Masterlist

The months practically fly by after Dean receives his hearing aid. As part of his therapy, he creates a list of things he wants to do now that he’s back in the States, some of which you’ve never done together. One by one, you check things off the list. You spend sunsets—and a few sunrises—snuggled up on the beach by the lake, and when the fall hits, you and Dean are able to get away for a few weekends for hikes in a nearby state park. It’s on those nights at the lake and in the cabins you rent at the parks that Dean talks to you more about his tour. He can’t tell you all the details, especially since Sam is still advising you on whether or not to sue for everything you’d been put through, but he talks to you about his life in the village. Sometimes you lay together in bed as he talks, and other times you sit facing him so you can read his expressions. Sometimes he cries. You do too. It’s cathartic for both of you.

When winter descends on the South, you take him to Atlanta for some of the Christmas festivities. You go to a concert, go on a fancy date at an even fancier restaurant, and walk hand in hand while you look at Christmas lights. His family drives down for the holidays, and you put them up in a few of the empty staff cabins. Mary tells you one morning while you’re watching the sun rise over the lake that she understands why you’d want to stay at New Moon. It’s one of the best Christmas gifts you get.

Dean surprises you with trips to the zoo, aquarium, and museums. He takes you shopping, compliments you with every new thing you tried on, and he carries your bags. He cooks you elaborate meals and brings you picnic lunches. You’re pretty sure that he and Meg text because he always seems to show up for lunch on the days where you need his company the most.

Life is sublime, even on the rough nights when you sleep very little. Dean’s nightmares wake you up on occasion, but you don’t mind. He shows you his love in a thousand little ways, and lying with him and comforting him is one of the few ways that you do the same. You both lay on your sides, facing each other, and you murmur reassurances in the dim light from the bedside lamp. You’ve gotten used to sleeping with it on, especially now since you found out that the darkness is something that worsens his PTSD.

Some nights, you stay up late worrying about the girls. Others you spend sitting up with them or talking with them when they need support, or intervention. Oftentimes, on those nights, you walk back to your cottage in the dark, following the path with just an old plastic flashlight to guide you. Your phone is usually dead and you’re always bone-tired, but without fail, you open the door to find Dean waiting up for you on the couch. He has the TV playing low in the background, and if you haven’t eaten dinner, he has a plate of food ready to be reheated for you. He listens when he can, too. You tell him whatever isn’t confidential, and he listens in silence with a hand on your leg as you curl up to him on the couch, or he holds you close as you lay together in bed, just like when you listen to him talk about his time overseas.

It’s on one of these nights in early March when you’re curled up together, sometime just past midnight, that you realize you’ve been home late almost every day this week and that Dean had been alone almost all day, every day. Your thoughts roam back to the first dinner you’d had with his family since his return. He’d thrived in the living room bustling with people he loved, and he’d lit up any time he’d interacted with his niece and nephew. You haven’t seen that exact look on his face since.

“Dean?” you murmur. He doesn’t answer right away, but he keeps stroking your hair, so you carefully turn your head on his thigh to look up at him. He took his hearing aid out an hour ago, which meant he probably just hasn’t heard you.

“You need something, sweetheart?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Do you… Do you still want kids? We haven’t talked about it since you got back, but before your deployment…”

He hums thoughtfully and sits up a little more on the sofa. You sit up when he moves, pulling your legs in and propping yourself up with one arm on the top of the back cushions. He keeps looking at the TV, but you can tell that he really isn’t watching it. The show is something pedantic—a black-and-white sitcom from the 60s that only comes on during late-night television. It’s one of a few that are on rotation during your late night talks, and you know enough from the subtitles that you’ve seen this episode at least three times.

“Did you hear me?” you ask, reaching out to gently touch his arm with your fingertips.

Dean nods. His eyes still stay focused forward. “I heard you. I’m just… thinking.” He turns to look at you after a second. The furrow between his eyebrows is pronounced, and his lips purse ever so slightly as he searches your face. “Why? Are you—?” He glances down at your stomach, just for a split second.

Quickly, you shake your head and scoot closer on the couch so that your calf is pressed up against the side of his thigh. You reach out and grab both of his hands in yours. He turns slightly more towards you, and his thumb drifts over your knuckles as you answer,

“No. No, I’m not pregnant. I just…” You trail off and look down at your joined hands, trying to put thoughts to your words. Finally, you sigh and look back up at him, squeezing his hands. “When we were at your parents’ house, with Sam and Jess and their kids, you seemed really happy.”

“Those little guys are awesome,” Dean replies, chuckling lightly. The worried crinkle between his eyebrows relaxes at the memory. “I had no idea how much I’d really missed them until we got there. The videos you’d shown me on your phone weren’t nearly as good as the real thing.”

“It wasn’t just that. It was the way you cuddled and played with Jacob, and the way you held Ella and talked to her. You love them.”

“Of course I love them, Y/N, they’re my niece and nephew.”

His voice is patient as he gives you the reminder, and though you know that he isn’t trying to make you feel bad, you still find yourself searching for the right words to get your point across. You’re exhausted, and your thoughts are already scattered.

Maybe I shouldn’t have even brought it up, you think.

Nonetheless, you nod and squeeze his hands again. “I know. I just… It reminded me of all those conversations we had before you left, you know? And I see the way you look at babies and little kids whenever we’re in town. Anyone could tell that you want a kid of your own.” You pause and shake your head a little. “I don’t know, it’s late. Maybe I’m just thinking too much. If it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen, right? I mean, if that’s what you want.”

Releasing him, you rub your face with one hand and stand from the couch. He looks up at you, watching in silence as you gather your dinner dishes, along with the mug he’d been drinking from when you got home. Your stomach twists as you move, and though you hope he’ll speak up and put you out of your misery by giving you some kind of response, Dean says nothing.

“I should shower,” you tell him. The lights in most of the cottage living area are off already, and the light from the TV casts strange shadows over him and the couch. It’s enough light for you to see Dean already looking away from you, staring at the long wooden coffee table you’d bought from a thrift store shortly after starting at the camp.

As you pass by, however, he scoots forward on the couch and reaches out. His arm blocks your path and his hands rest on your opposite hip, holding you in place. Your heart skips a beat.

“I do want kids,” Dean admits, quieter than before. He holds your gaze. Though the room is dark, the hesitance in his expression is clear.

Has he been thinking about this too?

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, dishes still in hand as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, so you set the dishes on the side table to his right and take matters into your own hands.

“Yeah?”

Dean’s shoulders slump and he nods. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring it up. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for? Why didn’t you want to bring it up?”

Carefully, you lower yourself to sit on his thigh with your back resting against the arm of the couch. You drape your legs over his lap. Dean reaches his arm behind you and holds your hip to help you keep your balance on his legs, and almost immediately his thumb is rubbing small arcs on your side, back and forth at a steady tempo. His other hand rests on your thighs. It’s warm over your legs, and you can feel his body heat even more where your shirt has come untucked, revealing the bare skin on your side where his thumb has found purchase. He’s almost too warm to be this close to him, but you can’t bear to complain, not after so many painful years apart. You rest one arm over his shoulders, and with the other you cup his cheek, turning his face so you can look at him properly.

“I was nervous that you’d changed your mind,” he admits. The low sound of the TV almost drowns him out, so much so that if you were any farther away, you’d be straining to hear him. “It’s been so long since we talked about it, and I wasn’t sure if that was still what you wanted.”

His next words go unspoken: with me. Dean has never expressed it outright, but you know that he still sometimes feels insecure about wearing his hearing aid and his struggle with PTSD from everything that happened overseas. You’ve joined him for several video sessions with his therapist, and you know that they’re working on strategies to deal with both of those things. You try not to interfere or give your opinions on his recovery—he needs a wife and a partner, not a second therapist—but you support him in every way you can without overstepping. You never want him to feel alone because of what he’s been through.

You lean in to kiss him on the cheek opposite your hand, and you smile gently as you say, “I love you, Dean. It’s still what I want, but even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t change things between us, at least not on my end. You’re still my main man, no matter what. Kids have never been the endgame. It’s always just been you.”

The lines on Dean’s face relax, smoothing out to reveal the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. They’re just starting to reappear now that the winter is fading and he can comfortably spend more time outside. Your stomach untwists as he smiles back at you. He shifts the hand on your hip and squeezes it just a little.

“I love you too, Y/N. No matter what.”

Dean kisses you on the lips, and it’s long, slow, and sweet. He’s warm against you. You’re bone-tired, but you close your eyes and kiss back, soaking up his warmth and the feel of being in his arms after a long day at work. It’s heavenly. You never would have predicted this moment a year ago. If someone had told you that Dean wasn’t dead and that he’d find you at New Moon, and that you’d be having a conversation at one in the morning about having kids, you would’ve thought they were crazy. Now, however, you’re just grateful.

After a few moments, Dean eases his arm under your legs instead of resting it over them, then stands. He carries you to the bedroom and you relax in his arms, keeping your eyes closed for the short walk. When he sets you down on the edge of the bed, you open your eyes to look up at him. You brace your hands on the mattress behind you to keep from toppling backwards as the memory foam dips under your weight.

“I don’t want to stress about this,” you tell him. “I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t help anything. If it happens, it happens.”

He nods in agreement, then yawns. You chuckle and sit up a little more so you can stand without fighting against the mattress. Dean always complains that it’s too soft, but you like the way you can sink into it after a long day. 

“Get to bed, soldier,” you order, patting his arm. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

A month ago, Dean had decided he was ready to get back to work. You’d offered to put him on the payroll at camp as a maintenance worker or groundsperson, but he’d opted for an online position, at least for the time being. It’s a dull job compared to his work with the military. Secretly, you’re thankful that he’s chosen a safe route and that he’s feeling well enough to get back to work, but you also worry a little. For as long as you’ve known him, Dean’s been a hands-on type of person. He likes to build and fix and create. His therapy appointments are virtual too, which means that he spends most of the day cooped up in the cottage, sitting at the kitchen table or on the couch in front of a laptop. Not only is it not the healthiest thing for him physically, you know that he pushes himself to work harder than anybody should, simply because the job seems so much easier than what he used to do. Plus, being that he’s home most of the day, he’s taken on most of the cottage upkeep, cooking, and shopping so that you can spend as much time together as possible whenever you are home. You don’t mind that as much, but it does make you feel a little guilty.

“I’ll wait for you to be out of the shower,” he replies, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. You’ve waited up long enough for me, De. You need to sleep—you’ve been burning the candle at both ends just so you can see me in the morning and at night, and I’m starting to get worried. You were falling asleep during your meeting the other day when I came home for lunch, remember?”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

Sighing, you wrap your arms around his waist, reaching up until your hands press against the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Your cheek presses up against his chest and you close your eyes again. He returns your embrace, and after several long moments, you feel his body relax against yours. 

I could go to sleep right here, you think with a tiny smile.

“Come on,” you say as you finally pull away, then pat him on the chest with one hand. “Go lay down. I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Get the bed warm for me.”

He nods in agreement, and you step away. You hurry to get your pajamas from the dresser before heading into the bathroom. Dean had changed long before you’d gotten home, as he always did on late nights like these. You need to shower, but you know Dean would force himself to stay up until you’re ready to go to bed too, no matter how much you push him and try to coerce him to take care of himself first. You’re exhausted, too, and the thought of having to shower before you can crash isn’t appealing.

So, you forgo your normal shower and stick with simply washing your face and brushing your teeth after changing into the pajamas. You can shower in the morning, even though it means you’ll need to change the bedding sooner than usual. Though it isn’t quite as hot as it normally is this time of year, the humidity makes everything sticky, and you’ve spent most of the day outside. A thin layer of sweat coats your skin, making even your pajamas feel gross.

When you turn off the light and step out of the bathroom, Dean looks up from the book he’s grabbed from his nightstand. It’s a novel, if you remember correctly, but you’re not sure what about. The cover picture has a cactus on it. It’s probably another western—he’s been catching up on some of his favorite authors since Sam convinced him to get a library card in December.

“You didn’t shower,” he notes, clearing his throat and sitting himself up further against the headboard. He doesn’t fool you, however. You know that he’s been nodding off instead of actually reading the library book. He’s been on the same page the past three nights.

“I’ll shower in the morning,” you reply. You throw your clothes in the hamper against the wall. “I need to change the sheets anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

Dean hums and sets his book back in its place, then reaches over to pull the covers open for you. You climb into bed and wait until he’s dimmed the lamp beside his nightstand to cuddle up against him. The room grows darker once he does, and your eyes take a second to adjust, but you can still hear Dean’s dog tags clink as he shifts to get into a comfortable position with you at his side. You slip one arm over him, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes. To no surprise, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep. 

The next morning, Dean’s asleep when you wake up, which is a rarity. Despite the fact that you’re somehow still exhausted, you know that you need to get up before he does. If you doze until he’s awake too, he’ll want to get up and make you breakfast while you shower, meaning that he won’t get the rest he needs. His PTSD symptoms start rearing their ugly heads whenever he’s overtired, and you don’t want that for him.

Showering without waking Dean would be tricky, but after a few moments of lying in the dark, you find a solution. There’s a small bathroom attached to your personal office in the main camp building, and though you haven’t used it in a while, you know that it’s clean and that it still has your normal soap and shampoo. Before Dean, you spent most of your late nights sleeping on the futon in the office, then showering and dressing in the bathroom, rather than trekking all the way back to your cottage. You hadn’t had a reason to go all the way home back then, but now you do. The shower hasn’t been used in almost a year. This morning, however, it will come in handy.

As silently as possible, you roll out of bed and gather up the few toiletries you’ll need that aren’t already in the office bathroom. You pull on a pair of sweatpants over your pajamas, plus the faded Stanford hoodie you’d gotten in support of Sam shortly after marrying Dean. You grab a bag for the toiletries and a set of work clothes to change into after you shower, then shove your feet into a pair of sandals and slip out of the cottage to head towards the main cluster of buildings.

The sun is barely up. It casts an ethereal glow over the grassy field that separates your cottage from the rest of the camp. Dew dampens the path, and it makes wildflowers and the tips of grass blades glitter in the lingering sunrise. In the trees, birds sing and coo. The soft tap of your feet on the stones is the only other sound.

You pause to breathe in deeply, then exhale. Mornings at New Moon are special to you, especially after a long, stressful night. They remind you of why you stayed—every girl needs the peace and calm that the morning brings. They deserve it. You’ve certainly needed it many times yourself.

“You’re up early.”

You turn, already speaking as you meet Meg’s steady gaze. “I needed to shower, but I didn’t want to wake Dean. He’s been staying up late for me every night.”

She mutters something in acknowledgement, then tucks her phone in her jacket pocket as you close the distance to join her outside the only empty cabin, which she’s been checking for trespassers. It’s on the outskirts of the camp, and the four girls that had occupied it for most of last year transitioned to a more traditional foster home only last month. From what you’ve heard from their social worker, they’re on the path to reunification with their family.

Now that you’re closer, Meg’s giving you a strange, almost curious look, and you frown when she lifts her chin. Her eyes glitter with a secret. 

“I’m a little afraid to ask,” you say, “but do you know something I don’t?”

She chuckles and crosses her arms in front of her. Her lips press together in a smug smile. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

Unsure of what she means, you start walking towards the office. Meg falls into step beside you, just as you knew she would. 

“Fine, I suppose,” you slowly reply. You’re careful to give vague answers, just in case she’s looking to start a tiff just for her own amusement. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Just wondering.”

A minute of silence passes as you walk together, and the path changes from stone to gravel. It crunches beneath your feet, and all around you, life begins to stir in the cabins as the girls wake and get ready for the day. They’ll be coming outside with their counselors and gathering outside the dining hall within an hour, which means time is running out if you want to shower and have time to mentally prepare for the day.

Meg holds the office door for you and you mutter your thanks, then head down the hall to your personal office. You’re just reaching the door when she calls your name from the lobby.

Turning, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. She stands near the receptionist desk, her hands at her sides, and for a second, a genuine smile flashes across her face. It’s quickly replaced with her usual nonchalant look, however, so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure that you’d seen it. You must be more tired than you’d thought.

“You should take a test,” Meg says.

You frown at her, confused, and set your bag of clothes and toiletries at your feet, against the wall. “A test?”

She nods, widening her eyes as she repeats, “A test, Y/N. You know, the tests you keep in the first aid closet? For those rare, special emergencies?”

For a moment, you just stare at her. There are very few emergencies that you handle at the camp. True, due to the nature of your job, you’re trained in a litany of thing, ranging from first aid and de-escalation to basic animal control and building maintenance, all of which is in addition to your psychology degrees and training, but the rest of the camp staff is so well-trained that rarely do situations ever become actual emergencies that you need to handle.

If you’re handling a first aid emergency, however, you do basic triage before an ambulance can arrive. You keep most of the supplies in your office, both in a cabinet and in a bag, but there are also small first aid kits in all the cabins, as well as in every building and down by the lake.

You shake your head, a little baffled by Meg’s strange behavior and comments. Neither one of you needs any kind of first aid right now, at least not that you’re aware of. Turning, you reach for the doorknob on your office door, but you stop as soon as your fingers graze the metal. It’s as if lightning has struck you, and you immediately straighten, dropping your hand back down to your side as you whirl to face her again.

“What?” you exclaim, shocked at her brazen assumption. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs and leans against the wall opposite the desk, her arms once again crossed. Her stare, as always, is unrelenting, but suddenly it makes your skin itch with anticipation. Does she know something about you that you don’t? You pride yourself on being self-aware, but is it possible that you’ve missed something?

“You’ve been nauseous on and off for almost two weeks now, and you’ve been moody. More than some of the girls, actually,” she huffs.

You narrow your eyes and cross your arms, almost a mirror image of her. “Really? Moody? That’s your argument for this, Meg?”

“Don’t hurry to prove me right,” she teases, and you quickly drop your arms again, heat rising in your cheeks. “You’ve been constantly complaining of being too hot and then too cold all week, too. Didn’t you say that was one of the things your mother-in-law complained about when she was pregnant with Dean?”

It was, and a strange feeling rises inside of you now that you remember the conversation you’d had with Meg about it. How she remembered such a detail from a random discussion you’d had almost months ago is beyond you, but it doesn’t matter. She’s put the thought in your head, and with it comes another reminder—your period hadn’t come last month, and you’ve been due for almost a week now. If it was coming, it would have been here already.

You inhale shakily and give her a terse nod.

“Right,” you say. You smooth your hands over your thighs, trying not to seem so blown away by her hypothesis. “Okay. Okay. I’m—” Shaking your head, you close your eyes and try to focus on the mental to-do list you’ve made for yourself. Then, after a second, you grab your bag from the floor. “I have to shower.”

Meg nods. “Shower,” she repeats. 

“I’ll see you later.”

She nods again, then turns on her heel and walks out of the building, leaving you standing in the hallway. You stay still for a second, listening to the front door open and close. Outside, Meg shouts at someone for standing on a bench, but the sound of her voice fades as she gets farther away from the building. Finally, you turn and open the door to your office, then quickly close it behind you.

You close your eyes and press one hand to your stomach, over the sweatshirt. It’s bulky over your pajamas. Logically, you know that if you are pregnant, the baby would still be too small to show, but it feels wrong not to feel for a baby bump now that it’s been suggested.

Not daring to get your hopes up just yet, you let your hand fall as you march to the locked metal cabinet in the corner of your office. It’s mounted to the wall and reaches almost to the ceiling, and the pregnancy tests are at the back of the top shelf. You don’t use them often, considering that New Moon is only for girls, but you keep them on hand just in case you need them for a new arrival. You’ll be lucky if the test is still good, considering you haven’t had to use one in so long.

You dump the bag from your cottage on the desk, then fumble with your keys until you find the right one. The bag falls over and knocks a pen off the desk, but you ignore it as you unlock the cabinet, pull over your rolling desk chair, and carefully climb up on it to grab one of the tests. After checking the expiration date, you tuck the flimsy cardboard box under your arm and head to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the cabinet or right the bag that’s tipped over and dumped onto your workspace. All thoughts of showering and getting ready for the day are gone. They’ve been replaced with a nervous energy that buzzes beneath your skin, making your fingers feel weak as you open the box.

The lock on the bathroom door is sturdy enough to help you feel a little bit more secure as you take the test, all the while trying to take deep breaths. Your heart feels like it’s beating too fast, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re nervous or excited. Maybe you’re both.

Calm down, Y/N! Freaking out isn’t going to help anybody!

You wash your hands and read the back of the box again, checking the wait time printed in tiny black letters. The test sits precariously on the countertop, in between the sink and the edge of the counter closest to the toilet, and you give it a wary glance before unlocking the bathroom door and going to sit in your office while you wait. After setting the timer on your phone, you end up pacing in front of your desk instead, from the wall to the futon and back again. 

Finally, the timer goes off. You flinch at the loud ringing, then hurry to silence it. Your hands fumble with your phone and you stay tense when the office falls quiet again. Silently, you slip it back into your pocket and go back into the bathroom. When you reach the sink, you brace your hands against the front of the bowl, on the thinnest part of the counter. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long few seconds, pointedly not looking down at the test that’s resting only a few inches from your hands. Inside your chest, your heart pounds even harder than before and your hands shake. Everything feels so unsteady, from your head to your feet, and for a second, you worry that you might pass out. Closing your eyes, you try to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself and to slow your racing pulse.

You’re reaching for the test on the counter when there’s a knock at your office door.

“Y/N? You in there?”

“Yes!” you yelp, almost too loudly. Your hand, outstretched and only an inch from the test, knocks it sideways, sending it clattering to the floor, along with a tube of toothpaste.

Dean calls for you again and you frantically scramble to right the bathroom. You practically throw the test onto the counter. It slides into the sink, and you’re pulling the bathroom door shut behind you just as Dean pushes the office door open from the hallway. He meets your eyes and you force a smile that you hope seems normal. 

“You left before I was up,” he says. He’s dressed already, in jeans and the green jacket you’d got him for his birthday, and his hair looks damp from the shower. 

Accepting a kiss on the lips, you hum a little and let go of the door handle to wrap your arms around his waist. Can he feel your heart beating too hard inside of your chest? What about your hands trembling against his back?

“I needed to shower and I didn’t want to wake you up. I have a shower here that I used to use when I was by myself.” You tilt your head back slightly, towards the door behind you.

Dean frowns. “You could’ve showered at home.” He looks down at you, and not only does his frown deepen, but the furrow between his eyebrows appears again. His worry lines are out in full force. “What’s wrong?”

Your stomach drops. Are you supposed to tell him? What if the test turns out negative? What if—?

“Sweetheart,” Dean soothes, pulling away so there’s space between the two of you. He takes your shaking hands in his and searches your face for an answer to his concerns. “What’s on your mind? I can see all the gears turning in there.”

The tips of his fingers touch your temple. You swallow thickly and look away. A line of dust lays gray on the hardwood where your old rug used to be. You moved it just last week to clean, but apparently, you’d missed it.

“Did I do something?”

Frantic, you shake your head and find his eyes. “What? No! No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?” Dean steps closer, crowding close in a tentative way that allows you enough time to move away, if you want. You don’t, and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathe in his scent and soak in his warmth. Your hands move to clutch the sides of his shirt, pulling him infinitely closer until your front is pressed against his again. Then, for the first time all morning, you relax. Your shoulders slump and you rest your forehead against him.

“I think…” you finally say after a minute. You take a breath, willing the words out on your next exhale. “I think I might be pregnant.”

There’s silence in the moments that follow, and though you know he’s probably just processing the news, it kills you. You stay frozen in place, unable to move as you wait for Dean to speak. 

Finally, you release his shirt and step back, just enough that you can see his face without tilting your head at too uncomfortable of an angle. He’s staring at the closed bathroom door behind you, with both eyebrows raised and with long creases along his forehead. His whole body is tense and the longer he stares at the door, the deeper the furrow between his brows becomes.

“Dean?” you prompt. “Say something, please.”

“You think? Or you know?” His voice is hoarse and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then looks back down at you. 

“I don’t know. I took a test. I was just about to look at it when you knocked.”

“Oh.” His eyes flick up again, over your shoulder at the door, then down to your face. The second hand on the wall clock ticks as you stand near each other, Dean processing the news and you holding your breath as you wait for a more concrete response from him. The ticking feels louder than it did before. Has it always been that loud?

His fingers against your cheek make you look away from where you’ve been watching the black plastic line clunk around the circumference of the clock face.

“What do you want it to say?” Dean asks.

You inhale shakily and search his eyes, hoping for an answer to the question. “What do you want?” you ask in return.

Dean shakes his head, then runs his hand over your shoulder and down your arm until he can lace his fingers with yours. You glance down at your joined hands, unsure of why he’s not answering. He’d told you only just last night that he wanted kids. His hesitation makes you wonder if something’s changed in only just a few hours.

“It’s not up to me. It’s your body, Y/N.”

The words tumble out before you can even formulate the thought. “I just wasn’t expecting this so soon. I thought we’d have more time with just the two of us. What if this changes everything? What if it’s not everything we thought it would be?”

“We’ll still have time together,” he tells you, gently squeezing your hand. “It just might be less than we’d anticipated.”

“Would it even be a good thing if I was pregnant now? I know you said last night that it’s what you wanted, but we also said—”

“We said that if it happens, it happens,” Dean interrupts. “And if it’s happening now, then that’s a good thing. If it happens later, that’s also a good thing.”

You nod and take another deep breath. The butterflies in your stomach are out in full force. You have to close your eyes as you take breaths, trying to stave off the sudden wave of nausea that accompanies your worries. Dean’s hands in yours keeps you grounded as you breathe through your nose.

When you’re finally feeling more settled, you open your eyes and silently glance behind you at the bathroom door.

“You want me to wait out here?” Dean asks.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. Tears burn in your eyes, and you wipe them away with one hand, embarrassed by your reaction. “Why am I so scared? We just said that this is supposed to be a good thing.”

Dean squeezes your hand again. “This is a big thing, Y/N. It’s okay to be scared. I can be brave for both of us, okay?” He smiles a little, his lips pressed together, and you nod in response, inhaling deeply through your nose.

You feel stuck in place. Part of you wants to go look at the test, but another part of you is rooted to the floor, keeping you in this moment. The results of the test could turn your life upside down for the second time in a year, and you aren’t sure if you’re ready for that. What if you aren’t a good parent? What if you aren’t able to do your job while you’re pregnant? What would you do instead?

“Hey.”

You blink, then meet Dean’s eyes again. Another tear rolls down your cheek and you sniffle, wiping it away with the back of your free hand. His smile has disappeared, and now he watches you with a concerned frown that makes his lips turn downward at the corners and makes the wrinkle between his eyebrows reappear.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart. We’re in this together, and I’m with you no matter what. Do you want me to look first?” he asks.

After a few seconds, you nod. You don’t know what to say, but you know it won’t matter to Dean whether you speak or not. He’ll do and be whatever you need in this moment, just like he always does.

He releases your hand and carefully steps around you, opening the bathroom door to retrieve the test from the sink. You’d left the light on in the bathroom when you’d shut the door, and now it floods your office from behind you. Dean’s footsteps are soft and his jacket rustles as he picks up the test, and you hold your breath as you listen for some kind of sign or clue as to the results. When there isn’t any, you turn in a circle to look at him.

“What’s it say?”

His profile gives you very little information about the results, and you take a tentative step forward when he doesn’t move or say anything. Maybe he just didn’t hear you? His bad ear is on the other side, but it’s still possible.

“Dean?” you prompt, stepping closer a second time. You wonder if he’s disappointed and that’s why he hasn’t said anything. The thought makes you nauseous again.

“You’re pregnant,” he answers. His voice shakes as he stands staring down at the plastic stick. It’s so small in his hand, and an image of him cradling a tiny newborn flashes in your mind.

You freeze a few feet from the bathroom threshold. “It’s positive?”

He nods and looks up, meeting your eyes. Tears glisten on his lower lash line, and you press your hands over your mouth, inhaling deeply as your heart leaps inside your chest. The wrinkle between his brows is gone once again, replaced with the kind of shock you’ve only seen a few times, the first being when you’d told him you’d loved him all those years ago.

“We’re having a baby,” Dean tells you, letting out a laugh. A smile grows on his face as tosses the test onto the counter and closes the distance between you in two long steps. He crushes you against him in a tight hug.

Too shocked to hug him back, you let Dean wrap his arms around you and lift you off the ground. Your feet dangle for a second before your instincts catch up with you. Hurriedly, you move your hands from your mouth to his back as your legs come up to wrap around his waist. You bury your face in the crook of Dean’s neck as you smile. Your cheeks already ache and you’re blinking away tears, but it doesn’t matter.

“We’re having a baby!” you exclaim. He spins around with you in his arms, and you push away from his neck and pull one hand from his shoulders so you can cradle his cheek in your palm. 

Dean’s eyes are alight with joy, making the green of his irises seem even more vibrant in the morning sunshine coming in from the office window. Your smile matches his as the scruff on his jawline scratches at the soft skin of your palm.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” you tell him, gently rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

He takes a few steps, then sets you down on the only clear space on your desk, beside the bag you’d brought with you this morning. You let your legs fall from around his waist so they bracket his hips, but you don’t drop your hand from his face.

“I love you,” Dean says. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over your abdomen, and you laugh when it tickles. There’s no bump yet, but the effect is all the same. Dean smiles wider, his eyes flicking to your stomach, then back up to your face. “I love both of you.”

You laugh and pull him down for a kiss. “We love you too, Dean Winchester. Forever and ever.”

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[imaginesforfandom]

Heartbeat Symphony

AHHHH i love this man too much lmao. this is short and sweet so have fun my lovelies!

how have i not written for this man yet like-

Dean Winchester x Reader

No pronouns used

Summary: After a long day on the road, the couple finds solace in the comfort of the Impala. The story explores the quiet moments between hunts, emphasizing the deep connection and love they share. Back at the bunker, they unwind together, appreciating the simplicity of being a team both in and out of the field. The narrative highlights the strength of their bond and the sense of home they find in each other's company.

Heartbeat Symphony

Dean Winchester sat in the driver's seat of the Impala, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel as he glanced over at you. The rhythmic hum of the engine was the backdrop to the comfortable silence that filled the car. You had been on the road for hours, chasing down the latest lead on a case, and now the two of you were finally heading back to the bunker.

As Dean drove, he stole glances at you, appreciating the way the soft glow from the dashboard highlighted the contours of your face. The quiet moments between hunts were just as precious as the action-packed ones. He reached over, fingers brushing against yours, and a warm smile formed on his lips as he interlaced them.

"You doing okay, Y/N?" Dean asked, his voice a soothing melody that echoed through the Impala.

You nodded, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder. "Yeah, just tired. Ready to get back and hit the hay."

Dean chuckled, the sound vibrating through both of you. "Well, we make a damn good team, don't we?"

You smirked, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "The best. Team Winchester."

As the familiar sight of the bunker came into view, Dean couldn't help but feel a swell of contentment. The two of you had been through so much together, and yet, every moment felt like a new adventure with you by his side.

Once inside the bunker, you kicked off your boots and flopped down onto the worn-out couch in the library. Dean joined you, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed against each other. He reached for the TV remote, flicking through the channels until he found an old black-and-white movie.

"You know," Dean said, his arm finding its way around your shoulders, "we make a pretty good team in and out of the field."

You laughed, snuggling closer. "Yeah, we do. I wouldn't want to hunt monsters with anyone else."

Dean turned his head, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Me neither, Y/N."

The movie played in the background, but you found yourself more captivated by the steady cadence of Dean's heartbeat. It was a comforting symphony, a reminder that you were home, safe in the arms of the person you loved.

As the night wore on, you both drifted off to sleep on the couch, tangled together in a mess of limbs and blankets. The bunker echoed with the quiet sounds of the TV and the distant hum of the machinery that kept the place running.

In the darkness, Dean whispered words of love, promises, and gratitude, knowing that every day with you was a gift. And as you slept, you couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of his love surround you like a protective embrace. Together, you faced the challenges that came your way, hand in hand, heart in heart, a team bound by something stronger than any supernatural force – love.

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

i loved writing this OMG!! i can't believe i haven't written for Dean yet. i absolutely adore him so so much lmao

[deanwritings]

Capeesh?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request: So excited you're back! Can I request a protective/jealous!Dean x reader fic with an established relationship? Vibes of "don't touch her" would be much appreciated 😅

Summary: A fun night out at the bar takes a turn for the worse when a handsy patron approaches the reader.

Word Count: 1,928

Warning: Descriptions of violence & self defense related injuries. Cussing, if that bothers you.

Gif:

A/N: Years ago I went to a gym with my dad and the trainer/owner, this HUGE muscle head and really sweet man, gave me a free self defense class, which I still keep in mind to this day and peppered into this story.

And Happy New Year's y'all!

You lean against Dean as you take a sip of your beer, Dean's hand resting against your waist as you both politely listen to Sam as he shares a new piece of lore he learned during your latest hunt. You nod along, slightly intrigued with what Sam's found, but really wishing he could have saved the shop-talk for a time you weren't trying to unwind. Your body was still sore from the arachne fight, and you could use a break from all things hunting, even if it was just for a night. You can't see Dean's face from your vantage point, but if you had to guess, your boyfriend was likely staring his brother down with a straight face hoping he'll shut up.

You tip your bottle back again, but are disappointed when only a few drops trickle out. You give the bottle a little shake as you look through the brown glass, confirming with yourself that it was in fact empty.

You place the bottle down and step away from Dean, his hand falling from your waist. At the movement, Dean looks down at you and frowns.

"Be right back, need a new beer." You tap the glass as your straighten up from the high-top table. "Anyone need anything?"

Both brothers shake their heads and you make your way over to the bar, thankful for a break from the earful of arachne lore.

It's a fairly busy evening for Wednesday night, most tables occupied and the bar itself swimming with patrons. Luckily, you eye an opening just big enough for you to squeeze into and you step into the space. After a few moments, one of the bartender spots you as you rest your hands against the slightly sticky bar top and gives you a nod as he pours a blue liquor into a cocktail shaker.

You purse your lips as you look around the room, the crowd mostly older, with a few twenty-somethings mixed in. It seemed to be the only bar in town when you had Google Maps a spot earlier, so you weren't surprise that this seemed to be the local's go-to pub.

Your gaze falls back to the bar, taking in the bottle labels on the tiered shelves as your nails tap against the wood beneath them.

Jameson. Crown Royal. Bacardi. Bacardi Tropical. That's a new one.

A man brushes besides you as he steps into the very small space that had been open on your right. You look up at him and frown, quietly expressing your annoyance at the invasion of your person space. You get it's crowded, but the guy could have just waited behind you or someone else until a space opened up.

Rude much.

But rather than be turned off by your vexed welcome, the man just smiles down at you.

You huff and roll your eyes, looking for the bartender, his back to you as he appears to be serving two cocktails to a pair of older women.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The man next to you raises his voice over the noise of the crowd, leaning in towards you to make sure his question is heard.

His smile is still plastered over his pale face, his blonde hair shaggy over his forehead. You just glare up at him, your annoyance growing as it appears the man is incapable of reading social cues.

You see the bartender approach you, and you turn your shoulder away, squaring yourself up to the bar.

"Just a Bud Light, bottle, please." The bartender nods at you and turns to squats down at the fridge casing all the bottles.

"How about a name?" Warm breath tickles your ear, and your shoulder scrunches up at the sudden closeness as your stomach tightens.

The bartender places the beer back in front of you and asks a question with his eyes.

"The Winchester tab, thanks." The guy nods and and punches the drink into the POS.

You turn to walk away when that pestering voice calls out again.

"Winchester, huh?" You take a deep breath and turn to face the thorn in your side. "How about a first name?" His elbow leans against the bar and his eyebrow is raised at you. His grey t-shirt stretches across his chest at his position and he continues to smile at you.

He's looks like the poster boy for punchable assholes.

"Since you seem to be too dumb to figure it out on your own, let me spell it out for you." You smile tightly at him. "I'm not fucking interested." You feel your eyes crinkle along the edges as your lips tighten.

Finally, his smile falls, and he straightens up.

"Cunt," he spits.

Ah, there it is.

"You know it." Your forehead rises as you raise your beer and take a drink before turning on your heel.

As you approach your table, Dean is standing at attention, his jaw tight.

"All good?" You come alongside him, your shoulders brushing.

You look up at him and smile, genuinely.

You weren't surprised he was watching the interaction. Dean usually had his eye on you if you weren't by his side. You weren't sure if he knew that you knew he was always watching. When you first started dating, it had bothered you. It made you feel like Dean thought you couldn't handle yourself. But the more Dean opened up to you, you realized that it was just a part of Dean he was never going to shake; he had to know that his loved ones were safe, no matter where they were. A lifetime of losing everyone you've ever loved will do that to a man.

"Nothing I can't handle." You bump his shoulder and his body relaxes with a sigh. His jaw loosens and his smile returns as he throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side.

Another two beers later, ones that Dean insisted he get, your bladder was uncomfortably full, and you excused yourself to the bathroom.

The bathroom was in the very back of the bar away from the crowds, and as you washed your hands, you took a moment to appreciate the quietnesses. You loved bars and going out drinking with Sam and Dean; it was one of the few normal things you did in your lives. But it was nice to take a break from the noise and masses to reset before you threw yourself back out there.

After drying your hands, you take a moment to readjust your ponytail, a few hairs having gone astray from Dean's hand playing at the nape of your neck.

You shake your head at the thought with a smile.

Once you're all set, you exit the restroom, your eyes looking down the narrow and dimmed corridor when a hand wraps around your bicep and twirls you around.

You smile at the movement until your back is thrown against the wall, your head bouncing off the wood on the impact.

Before your vision catches up with the rest of you, you already know whose body heat is radiating in front of you; not your boyfriend, sneaking up on you for a private make-out session, but a scumbag barfly who had been harassing you early.

"Maybe next time you won't be such a bitch," whiskey wafts over you. Your nose scrunches and you turn your head away from the smell, but fingers wrap around your chin forcing you to look into his dark eyes, his pupils dilated and eyes wildly jumping back and forth as an elbow lands heavy on your windpipe.

You glare at him, your heart rate calming as you take a breath.

This asshole has no idea who he was dealing with.

"And hopefully this time you'll learn your lesson," you wheeze out as his elbow digs into your throat, restricting your breath.

He cocks his head at you and before he can react, your right hand flies to his fingers wrapped around your chin and you grasp his thumb. With a swift surety, you snap his thumb back with a sickening crack. A howl leaves his throat as his hand and arm fall away from your body. He begins to back away, his eyes looking at his broken thumb in horror, but you grab onto his shoulders, driving his body back to yours as you ram your knee into his crotch, nothing but a strangled cry and a lone tear in his eye as his knees hit the ground and he doubles over.

Your chest in heaving as you look down at the pathetic man in front of you; his good hand holding his bruised boys and his mangled hand cradled against his chest.

"Y/N!" A familiar voice echoes down the hallway. You turn towards the shadow racing towards you, and Dean is illuminated in the dim light above you as he reaches your side.

"What the fuck happened?" His forehead is wrinkled as he takes in the battered man in front of him.

"Like I said," you glance toward the pathetic excuse of a man whimpering on the ground. "Nothing I can't handle."

Dean's eyes find yours before they quickly scan over your face, then your body, making sure you were actually okay.

"C'mon," his hand lands gently on the same bicep that had been grabbed just a few seconds ago. "Let's get out of here."

You and Dean turn away but a rasped voice calls out to you.

"You psycho bitch! You'll get yours."

You just shake your head and continue your way back to the table, but Dean stops beside you.

"Dean," you say in a low warning. His head glances back slightly over his shoulder.

"What'd you say, douchebag?" Dean ignores you as he turns around and you reach out to him, though he brushes you off as he stalks towards the man picking himself off from the dirty bar floor.

His eyes find Dean, and he squares his jaw.

"I said," the man rolls his shoulders back. "Your girl's a fucking psycho and I'm pressing charges."

You're a step behind Dean, and before you can reach out and stop him, Dean's got the man pinned against the wall, holding him up by his t-shirt that looks like its about to rip.

"Press this, dick," Dean growls as his fist whips into the guy's nose. Blood spews as Dean drops him and he crumbles to the ground, tears now streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the gruesome stream flowing over his lips.

Dean squats down the the man's level, his finger his in the man's face.

"Touch her again, and there will be no one to press charges, capeesh?" Even without knowing Dean, anyone with a brain could tell it wasn't a question.

"Fuck you guys!" Blood sprays as the man yells.

Dean just rolls his eyes and stands up, taking one large step to your side.

"How about we call it a night?" Dean smirks down at you, unaware of the splatter on his flannel as he throws an arm around your shoulder.

"Sounds like a plan to me." You arm wraps around Dean's waist, your fingers only reaching the far side of his back as you smile up at him.

The two of you take a few synchronized steps before Dean glances over his shoulder again. You watch him closely before his eye face forward, a proud smile on his face.

Dean's elbow closes around your head as he pulls you into him, his lips pressing against your temple.

"Nice job, sweetheart."

A/N: Sorry, I really wanted to have a badass reader with Dean coming in for assistance vs. Dean coming to save the day. Figure if the reader's a hunter, she can definitely handle a handsy guy on her own. Protective!Dean is just a bonus. Hope you enjoyed, anon!

Forever Tags

@iprobablyshipit91  @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @deansgoddess @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28

[soaringeag1e]

Christmas Boredom

Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language?, A Mix of Sadness and Fluffiness

Words: 782

Main Masterlist - Patreon

A light dusting of snow was leftover from a bit of snowfall earlier in the week, but nothing that jeopardized the roads too much. Christmas was right around the corner and honestly, it felt different this year. In a good way though. A really good way.

Needing some things for dinner and just a few things to stock up the cabinets at home, you had run out to the store along with a trip to the post office and stopping for gas plus a few other things that came to mind while you were out. Needless to say, instead of spending just a couple hours out and about, you were gone for more than five hours. But you felt accomplished, your to-do list was now crossed off.

Once you pulled down your street, you admired all the decorations that your neighbors have been putting up over the past few weeks, loving how creative a lot of them were. It’s only when your eyes catch a certain batch of new decor that you become a bit shocked.

Pulling into your driveway, you can’t take your eyes off the roof as you put your car in park. Leaving the groceries for the moment, you climb out, your eyes glued to the top of your house as you walk a little closer. Your smile slowly comes back along with an excitement within you as you look over the string of lights that somehow just decided to blanket your house for the season.

“I can’t tell if you’re in the Christmas spirit or if you’re just bored!” Those gorgeous green eyes you love so much eventually pop out from behind a large snowflake decoration that’s standing tall on the shingles and then something else you love joins them. That damn smirk of his.

“Uh…both!” The man admits before securing the snowflake for good and then he turns to climb off the roof. You know he’s perfectly capable of doing such a task, but the thought of him falling still makes you nervous.

When his boots land on solid ground, he turns, his smile growing as he leans down and kisses you sweetly, melting your heart and probably even the snow around you.

“Hi.” his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine and always has. You love it just as much as you love him.

“Hi.” When your eyes go to scan his handy work, his green orbs drop to the snow at your feet before he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to not look up weird things or to check the news for suspicious activity?” Your expression softens. “I mean…I am trying so hard but it’s just…” he huffs, slapping a hand to his thigh as he scans the neighborhood.

Feeling his struggle, you step forward and place your hands on his cheeks. He seems too ashamed to look you in the eye at first, but eventually he does. But you can see how bad he’s beating himself up for all this.

“I want this.” he admits, his voice coming off crackly. “I really do. I want you to know that.”

“I do know that.” you tell him, your voice as soft as your touch. But he still hates himself for struggling with the normal life.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you tell him, a little more firmly. Your hands press a little tighter on his face as you force him to look at you once again. “It’s hard. I know it is and I am so proud of you.” he scoffs, not because he doesn’t believe you but because you know that he doesn’t think there’s anything for you to be proud of. “Hey. You’re doing better than you think.” He tries to hide his eye roll, but you know him too well. “One day at a time.”

“I just don’t want to let you down.” Hearing that hits you hard. Your chest starts to hurt and tears instantly fill your eyes.

“You’re not.” you tell him as strongly as you can, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be. “I swear to you that you’re not.” With tears in both your eyes, Dean leans in again, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in years. “Now…” you get out when he takes a second to breathe, getting him to hold off on another kiss. “If you end up going on a hunt and lie to me about it? That’s a different story.” That’s what brings his grin back.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Damn straight you won’t. Because you’ll be taking me with you.” Dean’s smile grows before he captures your lips again.

“That’s my girl.”

[deanwbigbang]

No Direction Home

Author: amypond45 Artist: midnightsilver Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 15K Tags/Warnings: amnesia, Stanford-era, first time

Summary: Dean is overwhelmed with guilt when Jessica dies at the end of the pilot. Sure that it’s his fault, he leaves Sam and runs, eventually finding a witch who agrees to alleviate his suffering by removing his memories. But what Dean doesn’t count on is losing his memories of Sam, and when a handsome young man starts haunting his dreams, Dean’s life changes forever.

Fic: LiveJournal | AO3 Art: AO3

[aloneatpeace]

SHADOW OF THE PAST

Chapter one

┌───── •✧✧• ─────┐

New home

└───── •✧✧• ─────┘

    

.→✒️:★: ͜͡✿͜͡ →. So this is a fic as usual the main protagonist is reader along with Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester from supernatural. There will other characters as well .

Im hoping to write this fic as horror / paranormal au . Hopefully it come together like that .

So that's it enjoy the fic please please tell me what you think and i appreciate every single of you reading my all fics thank you ❤️

                             

           

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ

The warm sunlight's glade through the open windows curtains as you and you and your love of your life lay peacefully. Never in million year you thought that you will get to live the dream life you always wanted with guy you hopelessly and enormously in love with, an energic dog that always love to steal your attention every time he waltzes in, a peaceful home where you don't have to worry about anything nor your family chewing on every breath you take or friends who always around when they only wanted something. This is all you wanted, needed and dreamed off.

"What is going on that pretty head of yours? "

you heard his in raspy morning voice, The voice that you would love to hear for all eternity. You glanced at him to see his mesmerizing green eyes staring back you.

" Just thinking about how life is awful back then "

You said with laughing following in behind he joins in with you. Seeing the pure happiness on your face making his heart flutters. He could help but put his arms around you and pulled you closer to his side and you both sigh at feeling of being in each other's arms. The pure blissful moment was interpreted when a golden fluffy ball come in between the two of you and made himself home in your chest.

" Sometimes, I wonder if he is trying to steal you from me "

Your husband says and you chuckle and rub your dog's ear.

"Aww but I love you babe, don't worry your still my favorite"

max who probably smarter than average dogs you looked at you with what you assume 'are you serious ' face  at you.

"I'm kidding" you whispered

"I heard that " comes from your husband who getting himself out of the bed and going to bathroom.

"So are you going to work today or are you going help unpack the boxes because there is a lot and i don't want to do it all by myself" the two of you moved in new house for fresh start leaving everything behind and having new start is what you always wanted and luckily your husband also happy about that idea.

" Trust me I don't want leave you alone especially when we are new in this area and doesn't really know how the people in here. But you know I have to go to the station".

It's true after all being with you where he felt more alive and happier and your happiness also what he gives importance to. Starting a relationship with you, falling in love with you, marrying you was the best things that happened to him and he wanted to give you everything and make you smile every day.

" It's okey Dean, I'm so thankful for what you done for me and love you so much "

You said coming behind him wrapping arms around his bare middle.

" I love you too sweetheart, you know I do anything for you my soul "

He turn around to see you lifting your chin up to look at him and he brushes his thump on your lower lip as he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss that rich in love and passion, one that makes your knees weak and heart to rush. his hands moving down your body desperately try get closer to as possible.

tugging on the shirt that he wore last night. his mind racing with last night's memory of how you looked up to him with the needy look on your face as he gives himself to you and how you tasted like fine dessert that still lingering in his tongue every time making him wanting more and take him on another level of ecstasy.

The bliss full moment where neither of you don't want to leave but with Shakey breathe you parts away from him. Before you can speak, he picks you up making you squeak as he continues to move a loud break the two of you as both turn to look at your dog who running towards you. You both look at each before laughing out loud.

"See every time he does this shit, man she is my wife. find someone else"

Dean put his head in neck as you still in his arms as you still laughing.

" Laugh all you want, wait till I get one puppy who loves me and I give all my love and attention to the puppy " he says with a challenging look as he puts you down.

you exit the bathroom to bedroom squeezing your dog in big hug as both make way your way to kitchen.

" Don't burn down the kitchen please we still new " He shouts form bathroom.

" No promise " you say back. You can hear his laugh as you made it to the kitchen.

You look around "That's a lot of boxes "

If your memory was correct, you put some milk and bread in the fridge with couples of things that you don't remember. As you open the fridge you hear sounds of running in living room

"Hey,no running around the room max"you say as you collect the things you need in hands and close the fridge with your foot. As you turn you see max standing in top of one of the boxes in the kitchen his ears sharp staring at living room and starts to bark.

" Hey boy, you want something " He turn to you and come towards you and lay down beside your foot looking up you with round eyes.

You crouch down next to him give him pat on his head.

" How about we have a walk around and how some fun time? How about that" He barks with enthusiasm.

" Good boy " You go back to making breakfast as dean comes wrapping his around your waist giving a kiss on your head.

" You didn't burn down the kitchen woah that's an improvement".

As you open your mouth to defend yourself he cuts you off with kiss" Don't say it's one time it still happened "He starts to take a sip of his coffee and hums.

"Okey I won't, hey I was thinking maybe taking max for a walk get know the place around "you said take a sip of your own coffee.

" Yeah, that good idea, but if you need anything don't hesitate to call okey " he said finishing his own coffee and having some breakfast.

You slap his butt when he gets up "are you assaulting a officer?'" he dramatically gasp at you

"Oh shut, up as if you don't like it "

He shakes his head at you before getting up to leave and as he passes, he rubs max on his back." Hey buddy take care of our girl will ya "and move to the front door.

" Good luck with work I really hope everything will work out I really likes this place" you said following behind him with files on hand.

You hand that him as you reach the front step

" Me too sweetheart, I love you, now give me a good luck kiss" he says pulling you towards him with a smile on his face.

You let out a small giggle and kiss him passionately.

He parts ways from you giving you cheeky wink and get in his car and look back at you mouthing 'I love you ' you repeat the same as drive away.

Both of you not seeing that shadow that watching you form the inside.

You make your way inside the house.Max was biting a box that labeled his name

" alright we unbox some and then we take a walk "a bark was all your answer.

Opening max's box first you give him his toys and move on to next and then to next.

You don't know how many hours passed but you are down to the last box.

You collect the wrapping and torn boxes into a trash bag and walk towards the trash can to dumb it.

"Are you the new resident of this house?" a female voice behind you said. You turn around seeing a woman standing there with a smile on her face.

"Yeah, we just moved here." You tell her feeling her presence only out of pure curiosity

"I'm Amy Peterson, I live down the street with my family. What's your name?"

You tell her your name "well, welcome to our neighborhood. It's a very quiet here but its peaceful. And you don't have worry about noisy neighbor since all the house are in a decent amount of distance"

Nodding your head at the it's also a main reason you and dean decided to move to her. "Yeah, it's nice..." before you can continue max comes running towards you when he saw you chatting with stranger abandoned his toy that he is chewing

You ruffle his hair beside his ears as he stands next you. "Oh, he is beautiful. is it you and this cute alone here?"

You shake your head with a smile on your face "no I'm with my husband."

"you're married, what does he do?" she asks

"Yeah, he is cop" you said proudly

She gives a wide smile "that's wonderful. Good thing now we have cop living here" she laughs. "See you soon, I have to go before my kids flip the house upside down the"

You sigh at her retrieving foam "well good to know we have nice neighbor. Isn't it."

Getting in shower you let the cold water pour down your head and shoulders washing away the soreness. You change into leggings and white sweater combing your hair until you're satisfied with a result. As you promised you took max out for a walk.

                                  

Dean was getting to know his co-workers at the station. He assigned with a man named Castiel. "So how you like in it here?" Castile, ask he shows the towns map and some report files with data of some local criminals. "Too early to answer that" he answers observing the file.

"I suppose it is, but our crime rate not that high aside from some random robberies other than that it's quite peaceful here."

"Yeah, my wife always wanted live in quite nice place" dean said "You have wife huh! Seems like those ladies don't know that yet" castile said making dean look up to see two females smiling at their direction dean and Castiel share a chuckle.

You were watching tv when dean came in, max run towards dean huffing demanding for pets from the man.

"You unpacked everything huh?" dean ask he take off his uniform

You nod without taking your eyes off the tv "yep, and I met one of our neighbors and took max out for a walk"

Finally taking off his uniform he pushes your legs apart and lay between them head laying on your chest you run your fingers through his hair making him groan. "Who is this neighbor?"

"Amy Peterson, just street down. How was your day?"

"It was great, apparently there aren't really much of crime here, so that a good thing. My partner also from here castile, seems like great guy" dean glance up at you with a serene look on his face "seems like everything is in favor, baby" he takes in your peaceful relaxed face, that was gone for a past couple of moths but its back now and he never felt so grateful for that.

Your eyes find his face a large grin on your face so it's transferred to his lips as he pulls himself towards you pressing his full lips on yours slowly knowing that he has all time in the world just savoring the feeling of you. You tilt your head side to get deeper hands gripping each other.

Dean hands grip your hip as he presses himself closer to you to feel you near him as close as possible, his grip get stronger as he starts to tug down the waistband of the leggings something fall down in the hallway.

"Shit something broke?" you get with dean as you both walk towards the hallway, a broken glass from the picture that you hung scattered on the floor.

Max walks towards it but dean held him back not wanting him to get hurt "hey you both stay there. I'll clean it up" he said

"You sure?" you ask he nods at you. Taking max with you, you both returns to couch max lie next you his eyes blinking up to you. You ruffle his hair cuddles to him. 

Series masterlist

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐓𝐋 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

Summary: When Y/N needs help on a hunt, she doesn't expect Bobby to send Dean Winchester to her. Now the two must work together to solve the case and Dean has to deal with Y/N's sarcastic and biting personality, that maybe he likes a little too much.

Pairing: Dean × F!Reader

Warnings: nightmares, swearing, cheating

Word count: 2283

Series

A house on fire, screams, his father, a crying child, creatures hidden in the shadows.

"Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes, and could see with relief that he had only had a damn nightmare.

Y/N seemed to be awake for hours and was standing in front of the bed.

"Hey. Are you okay?" She asked.

The man rubbed his face, holding back a huge yawn. He noticed with surprise that it was already morning from the rays of the sun that filtered through the window into the motel room, yet the time he rested had seemed so short.

"Mh, yeah, I'm fine. What time is it?" he asked hoarsely, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed, confused by sleep.

"It's almost seven a.m," Y/N replied, giving him one last look as if to make sure he was really fine, then shaking her head and going back to what she was doing, getting ready to leave. She was wearing some kind of secretary's suit and Dean couldn't help but think that it fit her very well.

He found himself observing the way her clothes enhanced her body in all the right places.

"Well, that sure doesn't help," he muttered to himself, alluding to something that usually happened to all men early in the morning.

"What?"

"Nothing," he murmured, waving a hand dismissively. "Forget it."

He sat up and sighed. Y/N repeatedly told him to hurry up, that whatever they were hunting would attack again. Dean, after getting ready like her, dressed in a suit and tie, reminded her that without having breakfast he would not go anywhere.

So, after three pancakes and a slice of pie, the hunter got behind the wheel and Y/N got into the passenger seat.

"Recap: I'm Agent Hetfield, FBI. You're my lovely colleague. We're here because we find there are similarities to some of our old cold cases. Okay?"

"It's not the first time I've pretended to be an FBI agent, Dean" she replied "And I can even pick better fake names than yours. James Hetfield? Seriously? Just hope that woman isn't a Metallica fan." She laughed reaching out her hand to remove his badge from his jacket and check with her own eyes that that was the right name. Dean let her do it, not giving her the slack she wanted.

"Fix your tie," she murmured waiting for someone to open the door.

"Okay, mom," muttered Dean in a childish way but following her advice that seemed more a threat.

When an elegant woman appeared before their eyes, dressed in black and with a handkerchief in her hand, they understood that they were facing the widow Dubois, wife of the first victim.

Before Dean could pull his badge out of his pocket, taken away from Y/N's hands only at the end of the car ride, the girl anticipated him.

"Hello Mrs. Dubois, I'm Agent Cobain and this is Agent Hetfield," she indicated him with a quick serious and professional glance.

Dean nearly rolled his eyes, so he couldn't pick the Metallica singer's name but she could use that surname surely borrowed from the Nirvana singer.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband."

The woman, at first seemed reluctant to let them in but then she made them sit inside her immense residence.

The house very large and obviously belonged to someone very rich.

Bernard Dubois was a financier, the woman explained.

"In the financial field, it's impossible not to have enemies," said Fleur, also of French origins like her husband, between sobs. "The police said it was a wild animal."

A wild animal? In their house??

"We have to consider all possibilities," Dean informed her cordially. Routine sentence of a hunter that everyone believed.

"Do you know if your husband knew this man?" Y/N asked, showing her the photo of the second victim who died under the same circumstances.

"Of course. He was my beloved Bernard's business partner. The manager."

Bingo!, Y/N thought immediately, exchanging a knowing look with Dean, sitting next to him.

So as Dean imagined the two victims had known each other and also for quite some time.

"They were working on the Lake Eire project," explained the woman, her nose red and her eyes tired.

Dean and Y/N raised their eyebrows in the exact same confused expression.

"They're building a dam," she added, when she noticed their questioning faces.

"Oh," they said in unison.

There was a silent pause during which Y/N ​​and Dean looked at each other, accomplices. Both were thinking the same thing: it was a matter of revenge, and since the victims were business partners and therefore knew each other, there was a sure connection to that lake.

"Your husband was found here, right?" Dean asked.

"Yes" the woman nodded and began to sob again.

Dean and Y/N felt sudden discomfort, both of them looking in opposite directions, not knowing what to say. "He was in our bedroom...how a-am I going to live without him?!"

Dean cleared his throat and asked Mrs. Dubois where the bathroom was. He followed the staircase, as suggested, but instead of reaching the last door on the left, he sneaked into the woman's bedroom, where the victim had been found. He pulled out the electro magnetic frequency detector, hopeful. But it didn't light up, nor did it make that weird, usual sound.

So he put aside the revenge-seeking ghost theory.

He sighed deeply and shook his head slightly then noticed something on the floor, it looked like a leaf or something. Dean frowned and picked it up. It was a seaweed... what was a seaweed doing in Bernard Dubois' bedroom?

So the targets all had something to do with that project. Y/N really hoped that that was the right lead because, frankly, she didn't see any other way to solve that fucking case.

As soon as she saw Dean get up from the couch, she knew his intentions. He would check upstairs while she continued to question the woman, even though she didn't seem to know much about business, at least not as much as her husband.

"Has this project been going on for a long time?" She could hardly ask her: the widow kept sobbing and sniffing.

The woman shook her head but not to convey her ignorance about it: it was a no.

"We came back from Paris specifically for this job. We've been here for a week... and now my beloved Bernard is dead!" And she started crying again.

"Excuse me, but these days have not been easy..."

"I can imagine that," Y/N nodded.

"I've seen him so seldom. Since the works began he was always on site: he monitored progress to calculate an approximate deadline." The woman said blowing her nose.

"So the dam is already under construction?"

"Agent Cobain, it will be better to go back to the police station" Dean's voice announced as he returned to the room: he had found something.

"Look at this!" Dean said handing her a plastic bag, back in the Impala.

"What the hell is that?" she asked looking at it.

"What does it look like to you?"

“Okay, let me ask you in another simpler way: what do you think a seaweed was doing in that guy's bedroom?”

He shrugged. "We need to check that dam."

It was quite obvious at that point that the answers to their questions were in that project. Whatever was affecting the victims was in that lake and had left them a souvenir before leaving.

"I bet that crap was also in the second victim's room," Dean said with conviction.

He drove until he reached Lake Eiere, where the dam seemed to be already under construction. There were a couple of workers here and there in orange hats setting up a surveillance system. A man dressed in black, in a suit and tie, observed the area with a dull gaze. Another, a little taller, clapped him on the shoulder in consoling pats.

Dean and Y/N glanced at each other and, as if reading each other's minds, decided that those two were the right ones.

"Hi," Dean said, showing them his FBI badge. "Agent Hetfield, and this is my partner, Agent Cobain."

“We're investigating the deaths of Bernard Dubois and Mark Stern,” he added professionally.

"Weren't they attacked by a…?" stammered one of them, the shortest, in confusion.

"No," Dean replied dryly. "They were killed."

The two looked frightened, as if they were aware of the danger they were all in, because they were the other two business partners.

"You are?" Y/N asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Michael Connors and Peter Johnson," answered the taller man, considerably less traumatized than his colleague. “Bernard and Mark worked with us on this project.”

Dean and Y/N exchanged a quick glance, aware that those two would be the next victims.

After the usual routine questions, they didn't come up with anything new: no enemies in particular (not to want them dead, at least), no suspicious behavior from builders, engineers or anyone working on that project.

"We have to follow them," said Y/N as they walked away, raising her head to the sky, noticing that the sun was already setting over the construction site. And from what they understood that thing that was attacking business partners especially loved the dark. "We'd better keep an eye on them, after all that thing probably lived in the lake and could attack them even now." Y/N said next to Dean once they got back into the Impala.

They walked around the block to make the two think they were gone but after a few minutes they were hiding in the small place around the lake, an ideal location for a stakeout.

"So we are going to follow them, probably spend a sleepless night and wait for a monster to attack them. And we don't even know what it is or how to kill it?" She heard Dean complain. "Right, that's so clever!"

“But it's the only thing we can do. We don't have time to go back to the motel and do more research, we risk losing another fucking partner!"

"We don't even have anything to eat!" Added Dean dramatically, Y/N rolled her eyes even though, thinking about it, it wasn't a good plan at all.

"And which of the two are we gonna follow?" He asked indicating Michael and Peter with a nod of his head. "As lucky as we are, we'll end up following the man dropped from that bastard's menu."

"I don't think it will be a problem," she murmured with a frown, following the shadows of the two men moving towards the same car. "Company car?"

"I don't know, but we'd better keep up with them."

The two partners got into the dark and shiny car, then they left and Dean did the same, following them staying a bit far away, without attracting attention. The journey was very silent, neither of them spoke, maybe because they were too tired even to fight, even though that was their favorite hobby when they were together.

"Look" Y/N said after a while, nodding towards the car in front of them.

It had just turned right, entered an alley that led to the garage of a small house. Dean watched the scene frowning, then exchanged a look with his colleague. He pulled up across the street and they both stopped to look at the two guys. They looked like they were hiding something, and they moved stealthily, as if they were afraid of being discovered. Were they going to do something illegal or something?

It was clearer when, after the two men had entered the house, one of the ground floor windows lit up and they saw the two guys right there, looking into each other's eyes. The taller man slowly approached the other and then pulled him to him to kiss him on the lips.

Dean's eyes widened.

"Well, they say never reveal your next move, right?" The girl sitting next to him laughed.

"Y/N, c'mon! Those two are married and have kids."

"Do you think I've never seen worse?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

Dean rolled his eyes. “D-do you think… we should go in there?”

"What is it, you wanna join them?" She laughed and Dean just snorted.

Night continued to fall, dark, making that scene more intimate for the two in the house and more complicated for the hunters in the car who, unlike the first ones, were certainly not having a good time.

"How do we kill it?"

"I like to improvise," Y/N said, brushing her hair back with a lazy wave of her hand: just another way of saying she didn't have the faintest idea.

"Very enlightening, thank you," Dean said sarcastically, shaking his head.

He noticed with relief the two had disappeared from in front of that window. They had probably moved upstairs to the bedroom. He glanced at his watch: midnight.

"Well, at least they'll die happy and fulfilled," he joked, with a smirk that faded as Y/N glared at him. "I'm just trying to look on the bright side."

Several hours passed and when Dean checked his watch again, it said two in the morning. He was desperately trying to keep his eyes wide open, but his lids were closing on their own from exhaustion. Y/N, on the other hand, seemed attentive, staring at the house as if she expected to see something at any moment.

"Dean?"

"I'm awake!" he exclaimed suddenly. He was not always a good liar.

He had dozed off despite his best efforts, but he opened his eyes and rubbed his face, stifling a yawn.

"What's up?"

"The thing. It's here."

Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731 @impalaslytherin @rudy-the-winged-wolf @dean-winchester-6767 @samanddeansannoyingsis @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse @random-spn-fan

Series: @stitchintimefan

[thsillystringbeanscribbler]

Bunny Slippers: Chapter Two

Summary: Julia shares the research John had asked her help with, giving the brothers a small insight into what led to their father disappearing. Is it possible that John not only put his sons in danger but also the Blackburns?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader [ OC: Julia Blackburn ]

Warnings: mostly fluff with violence and angst, maybe slow burn

Word Count: 6,408 words

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the previous chapter and for all your support. I hope this chapter is just as enjoyable for you! I have had this story in the drafts for a while, using it as an excuse to avoid doing my research proposal... Also s/o to Ness and my thesaurus

(gif from Pinterest)

The initial jolt of hearing the "Yellow-Eyed Demon" mentioned had sent a shockwave through Dean, but it quickly settled into a focused urgency. They fell into a rhythm, each leafing through the contents of Julia and John's collective research, a dance of minds across the pages.

Sam was absorbed in a notebook, the elegance of Julia's script weaving through the more rugged annotations of their father. Dean, positioned across the table, glanced intermittently between the lines of text and Julia, who was gracefully navigating the bookshelves in search of a volume Sam had inquired about. Her movements were a silent ballet, her curls keeping time with her search until she found her mark.

"Aha!" The sound was a soft triumph. Dean watched, a half-smile playing on his lips, as Julia stretched on her tiptoes, reaching for an ancient cloth-bound book just beyond her grasp.

Before she could concede to the shelf's height, Dean was on his feet, moving towards her. His fingers brushed hers as they both reached for the elusive book. "Let me help with that, short stuff," he offered, his voice low and playful.

Julia glanced over her shoulder, and as her eyes traced the path up his chest to meet his gaze, Dean realized just how close he was, her scent enveloping him like a sweet spell. "Actually," she murmured, her hand dropping away as she adjusted her glasses, "that would be great. Thank you."

His heart thrummed a more animated rhythm, and with an easy reach, he retrieved the book. Handing it to her, he didn't miss the brief flicker of her eyes to his arm and back to the book, a silent acknowledgment of his strength.

"There you go, just your friendly neighbourhood book retriever at your service," he quipped with a wink, handing her the tome. "But if you need someone to reach the high notes—or anything else—just let me know." His smile was as cheeky as his words, his flirtation unmistakable yet light-hearted, a playful offer hanging in the library air.

Julia's smile was a mix of amusement and a touch of bashfulness as she accepted the book from Dean. "My very own hero," she teased, giving him a playful shoulder bump that spoke of a burgeoning camaraderie. She then turned towards the table, eager to share her find with Sam.

As Julia started explaining the contents of the book to Sam, he listened intently, his expression a blend of professional interest and brotherly concern. He managed to sneak a quick, warning glare at Dean, silently urging him to tread carefully in this dance of flirtation and research.

As Julia excitedly shared her findings, the rhythmic sound of footsteps ascending the stairs punctuated the room's quiet buzz of concentrated study. Rob, appearing at the archway with a tray laden with sandwiches, announced his contribution to the day's efforts with a warm smile. "Since I couldn't assist with the bookwork, I thought I'd at least keep the researchers fed," he said, his voice carrying the comforting timbre of familial care.

"Thanks, Dad," Julia responded, her voice a mixture of gratitude and a touch of embarrassment as she shuffled papers around to make room for the food, surreptitiously concealing the more sensitive research materials from her father's unsuspecting gaze.

Rob's eyes swept over the trio, a smile of paternal pride playing on his lips as he witnessed their dedication. Dean, unable to resist the lure of a good sandwich, eagerly grabbed one, his actions bordering on comical in their haste.

Clearing his throat, Rob adopted a more conversational tone, "I'm off to the store for some dinner supplies," he announced casually, hands resting on his hips as if bracing for a light-hearted debate. "And I insist, you boys are staying over tonight. Julia's barely scratched the surface with what she's got to show you. For all I know, she's got an entire Encyclopedia Britannica of notes stashed away," he joked, affectionately ruffling Julia's hair, causing it to stand on end from the static. Julia, caught in the warmth of the moment, could only blush and smile, her heart swelling with love for her father.

Sam, always the diplomat, responded with a gentle sincerity that was characteristic of him. "Rob, that's incredibly generous of you, but we wouldn't want to overstay our welcome," he said, his voice infused with genuine concern for their imposition. He glanced at Dean, who was now trying to listen while simultaneously battling with the sandwich stuffed in his mouth, a silent plea for his brother to back him up.

Dean, momentarily pausing his enthusiastic eating, chimed in with his trademark blend of humor and charm. "Rob, you sure you know what you're signing up for here?" he quipped, a playful glint in his eye. "I mean, Sam's snoring could wake the dead, and I'm not exactly a light eater, as you can see." He gestured to the sandwich, now considerably diminished. "But if you're insisting, who are we to turn down such hospitality? Just prepare yourself for the full Winchester experience," Dean added, his tone light, yet laced with an underlying gratitude for the warmth and normalcy that Rob's invitation offered.Their focused discussion was interrupted by the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. Rob appeared in the archway, his presence commanding yet affable. "I might not be of much use with the books, but I've prepared lunch downstairs. if you're all hungry," he announced with a warm smile.

Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes, a gesture laden with affection and exasperation, as Dean's antics continued. Their banter was interrupted by Rob's voice, brimming with amusement and a touch of challenge. "No worries, boys. I've had my fair share of tussles with Winchesters in the past," he declared with a playful wink, signaling his departure with the soft clatter of keys and the closing of the front door.

The trio settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the sound of contented munching as they each enjoyed the sandwiches Rob had prepared. Julia, having claimed the last available seat beside Dean, quickly finished her meal and delved back into her research. She sifted through the piles of notes and books, determined to uncover any piece of information that could aid Sam and Dean in their quest.

As daylight began to wane, the boundaries between afternoon and evening blurred. Unnoticed by the trio, Rob returned, the soft sounds of dinner preparation echoing from the kitchen. In his absence, a seamless dynamic had formed among them: Sam, ever curious, peppered Julia with questions, while Dean contributed sporadically, often caught up in the fervor of Julia's animated explanations. Her hands danced through the air, accentuating her points with a flourish, her enthusiasm infectious.

The day's energy gradually dwindled, and the room fell into a serene quietude. Julia, now seated closer to Dean, was engrossed in an ancient tome, her fingers absentmindedly braiding a lock of her auburn hair as she concentrated. Dean watched, fascinated by the rhythmical dance of her fingers, the way they skillfully entwined her hair into a delicate braid only to gently unravel it moments later. A longing stirred within him to reach out, to brush her hair aside, to feel the softness of the braid beneath his fingertips. Yet, he restrained himself, his attention momentarily captured by the way Julia's hand paused, holding the braid in place, while the other turned the page, her focus unwavering. Dean's response was a wry smirk, his pen held lightly between his teeth, his arm casually resting on the back of Julia's chair, a silent observer to her studious fervour.

The evening had settled in fully now, the darkness outside pressing against the windows of the library. The room was bathed in the soft, amber glow of scattered lamps, casting long shadows between the rows of books. Julia, seated at the table, wrapped in the cocoon of their research, suddenly shivered, her skin pebbling with goosebumps. Dean, his arm casually resting across the back of her chair, noticed the subtle shake of her shoulders and the way she pulled her arms close.

"Hey, you cold?" Dean's voice was a low murmur, a gentle note of concern threading through it as he leaned in slightly, his hand moving instinctively to rub warmth back into her arms.

Julia offered a small nod, her teeth capturing her bottom lip in a fleeting gesture of discomfort. "Yeah, just a bit. I'll go grab my cardigan," she replied, her voice a mix of gratitude and a self-deprecating chuckle for her own vulnerability to the chill.

With a helpful nudge, Dean slid Julia's chair back, giving her space to stand. She moved with a swift purpose across the room, her form briefly silhouetted against the windows that opened onto the back terrace. As she reached the bookshelf lined wall that seemed nothing more than an elegant feature of the library, she revealed its secret—a door concealed within the bookcases. She opened it, the shelves swinging away with silent grace, and slipped through into the room beyond.

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the hidden passage, a flicker of astonishment crossing his face. "Sammy, check this out," he called out, a note of disbelief mixed with admiration in his voice, beckoning his brother to witness the unexpected twist in their surroundings.

A few heartbeats slipped by, the library humming with the quiet sound of ticking clocks and the soft rustling of pages. Then, the hidden door within the bookshelf swiveled open once more, and Julia stepped back into the library. She was now clad in a cozy red cardigan adorned with oversized brown buttons, her fingers lingering on the spine of a book as she gently nudged the secret door closed behind her.

When she turned, she was greeted by Sam and Dean, who were both staring at her with expressions of startled curiosity. Their eyes were wide, the sort of look that comes from boys who have seen countless wonders yet still find themselves surprised by new magic.

"What's wrong?" Julia asked, her voice tinged with amusement at their astonished faces.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, their shock melting into boyish intrigue. "Wrong?" Sam echoed, his tone light with excitement. "That was just—well, that was awesome."

Dean, ever the one to embrace the unexpected with a mixture of charm and bravado, couldn't hide his grin. "I mean, secret doors? Hidden rooms?" he said, stepping closer to where Julia stood. "This is like something straight out of a mystery novel. You got any more surprises hidden in this place?" His voice was a mix of jest and genuine wonder, as if the discovery of the secret passageway had added another layer of intrigue to Julia herself.

Julia's laughter, light and musical, filled the room as she watched Dean's and Sam's reactions. "No, it doesn't lead to Narnia," she said with a wink, "just to my bedroom. Want a quick tour?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached for a book spine, pulling it to swing the door open once again.

They were greeted by a short hallway, its walls lined with various framed pictures and memorabilia. Directly across from the secret door was a small walk-in closet, and to their right, a door hinted at a bathroom. Julia led them to the left, towards her bedroom.

With a gentle push, Julia's bedroom door creaked open, and Dean stepped through the threshold into a world that was unmistakably Julia's. The room was a cozy sanctuary, walls painted in a rich, warm hue, adorned with shelves teeming with books, their spines a rainbow of worn colours and titles. A lush array of plants breathed life into the space, their leaves spilling over shelves and hanging pots, framing the window that looked out into the night.

The bed, a solid wood frame, was draped with a thick, multi-coloured quilt that spilled over the sides, its pattern reminiscent of the vibrant cover art of classic rock albums. Beside it, a nightstand held a small lamp, casting a warm glow over the room, and beneath it, a stack of classic rock CDs leaned against an old radio, their presence an echo of tunes that had undoubtedly filled the room many times over.

Posters of rock legends like Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones graced the walls, their corners slightly curled from age, sharing space with intricate tapestries that softened the room with their texture. The scent of incense lingered faintly, mingling with the earthiness of the plants.

Dean took a moment to absorb the details, his eyes lingering on the details that spoke volumes about Julia's personality—a fusion of intellect, nature, and rock 'n' roll. "This is... pretty cool," Dean admitted, his voice low, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the tranquility of the space. "You've got great taste in music," he added, nodding towards the CDs with a grin.

Julia's reply came out in a bit of a jumble, the words tumbling over each other in a charming tangle. "Oh, uh—thanks," she managed, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She was just about to delve into a conversation with Dean when her father's voice, calling from the library, cut through their moment.

Back in the library, Rob stood framed in the archway, the light from the lamps casting a welcoming glow around him. "Hey, dinner's on the table, folks. Time to take a break and eat," he called out with an easy smile.

Julia's eyes lit up, a playful grin spreading across her face. "I'm so ready to eat, I could probably finish off the whole kitchen!" she exclaimed, her stomach seconding the motion with a well-timed grumble.

They watched as Rob retreated down the stairs, his footsteps echoing gently. Once he was out of earshot, Julia turned back to Sam and Dean, her expression shifting to one of urgency. "You guys head on down. I need to stash these papers away—Dad can't see this stuff," she said, her hands swiftly gathering the scattered documents into the folder she had used earlier to conceal their more secretive research.

The descent to the kitchen was a welcome break from the intensity of their research. Rob had prepared a simple yet hearty meal, filling the kitchen with the inviting aromas of homemade cuisine. The group gathered around the table, engaging in light, easy conversation that offered a brief respite from the weight of their task. There were laughs, shared stories, and an air of camaraderie that made the meal feel like a gathering of old friends rather than a recent acquaintanceship born of necessity.

After dinner, Sam and Rob, deep in discussion, migrated back to the living room, leaving Julia to start clearing the dishes. Dean, noticing her effort, felt a pull to lend a hand. He approached the sink where she was filling it with soapy water.

"Hey, let me give you a hand with that. Wouldn’t be right to enjoy your dad’s cooking and not help with the cleanup," Dean offered with a charming grin, rolling up his sleeves in preparation.

Julia looked up at him, her smile reflecting both surprise and appreciation. "That sounds like a plan. You wash, and I’ll dry," she proposed, her tone light and friendly.

As Dean plunged his hands into the sudsy water, he glanced at Julia and found an opening for a lighter conversation. "So, Van Halen, huh? Didn’t take you for a fan of the classics," he remarked, picking up a plate to wash.

Julia, drying a dish, chuckled softly. "Oh, I have a pretty eclectic taste in music, but yeah, Van Halen's definitely on the list. My dad and I used to jam to their tracks when I was a kid. It's like a time capsule of good memories," she shared, her eyes lighting up at the reminiscence.

"Can’t beat the classics," Dean agreed, his movements in sync with hers as they fell into a comfortable rhythm. "Their music's got this timeless edge, kind of like this place," he added, nodding subtly to the surrounding kitchen.

As they continued their task, Julia stood beside Dean, their arms occasionally brushing against each other. Each accidental touch sent a subtle current through the air, a silent acknowledgement of the chemistry building between them. The conversation flowed naturally, punctuated by shared smiles and brief glances, creating an atmosphere that was as warm and inviting as the kitchen they stood in.

As they worked side by side, Dean noticed Julia's striking green eyes and long lashes, focused on drying a plate. He remembered a photograph he had seen earlier on the mantelpiece, featuring a younger version of the people present, including a woman with auburn curls similar to Julia's. "That picture on the mantle, with your dad and my folks, that was your mom, wasn't it?" Dean inquired, trying to connect the dots.

Julia's lips curved into a small, proud smile. "You've got a sharp eye, Winchester," she replied, her pace slowing a bit as she engaged in the conversation.

Dean, curious yet cautious, ventured further. "And your mom? Where is she now?" he asked gently.

Julia paused, her gaze drifting to the courtyard visible through the kitchen window. "She... she passed away when I was eight," she said, a hint of sorrow in her voice. Before Dean could respond, she added, "It was a car accident."

Dean felt a pang of empathy, knowing all too well the pain of losing a parent at a young age. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said softly, his tone sincere. "Sam and I, we lost our mom too when I was just a kid. It's tough, losing someone like that.”

Julia glanced at Dean, her expression softening. "I'm really sorry you went through that too, losing your mom," she said gently, her hand reaching out to touch his arm in a comforting gesture. Dean offered a small smile, trying to play it cool despite the flutter in his chest from her touch.

As they wrapped up the kitchen duties, Julia handed the last dried plate to Dean along with the towel to dry his hands. "Here, looks like you might need this," she said with a light laugh, breaking the solemn mood.

Dean chuckled, drying his hands. "Thanks. You know, talking about Van Halen earlier got me thinking. What's your take on Led Zeppelin?" he asked, shifting the conversation to a lighter note as they started moving toward the living room.

Julia lit up at the change of topic. "Led Zeppelin? Now we're talking. 'Stairway to Heaven' is a masterpiece, but 'Kashmir' always gets me," she responded enthusiastically.

"Ah, 'Kashmir', that's a solid choice. I'm more of a 'When the Levee Breaks' guy myself," Dean admitted, as they lingered in the hallway, neither in a hurry to end their one-on-one time.

As they finally stepped into the living room to rejoin Sam and Rob, Dean and Julia shared a look, their eyes locking in a moment that seemed to stretch, charged with an unspoken understanding. The brief, intense connection was broken as they merged into the group, but the spark between them lingered in the air.

As they emerged into the living room, Dean and Julia exchanged a glance, their eyes holding a silent conversation that needed no words. It was a fleeting moment of connection, yet it seemed to hang between them, a subtle charge in the air that neither of them quite wanted to let go of.

They slipped into the flow of the evening seamlessly, their presence fitting into the ongoing conversation as if they had never stepped away. Laughter and the rich timbre of shared stories filled the room, the passage of time marked only by the deepening night outside.

Eventually, Rob glanced at the clock, a look of mild surprise crossing his face. "Well, I'll be—time's flown by," he commented with a chuckle, shaking his head in mild disbelief.

Julia, who had been captivated by Dean's animated recounting of a particularly wild hunt, was pulled back to the present by her father's words. She covered a yawn with her hand, the late hour catching up to her. "Guess it's about time to crash," she said, her words tinged with humour and a tired smile playing on her lips.

Everyone rose from their seats, stretching and sharing satisfied smiles after a night of good company. "All right, gentlemen, follow me. I'll show you where you'll be bunking tonight," Rob said, giving Sam a friendly pat on the back as he led the way to the stairs.

They all ascended the stairs, the soft murmur of their footsteps a contrast to the laughter that had filled the room moments before. At the second-floor landing, Julia paused, turning to the brothers with a gentle smile. "Good night," she offered, her voice soft, echoing the sweetness of the evening they had shared.

With a wave, she disappeared around the corner into her room, leaving the brothers to continue their ascent. Reaching the third floor, Rob pointed down the hall. "Your rooms are right over there. Mine's just back this way if you need anything," he said, giving them a nod before retreating to his own space and closing the door with a quiet click.

Dean and Sam each chose a door, finding themselves in rooms that mirrored each other in their simple, understated elegance. Dean's room was marked by deep, forest green walls that exuded a serene, calming energy. The solid wood bed frame was dressed in linens of a matching green hue, and a knitted throw lay casually at the foot of the bed. A bedside table held a vintage lamp, its warm light inviting a sense of peace. A single, potted plant added a touch of life to the room, its leaves gently rustling in the night breeze that whispered through a slightly ajar window.

Dean set his bag down, taking in the room with an appreciative nod. "Not too shabby," he remarked to himself, a low whistle of approval escaping him. He glanced around, noting the lack of his usual motel-room amenities but also the unique charm of this place. "Gotta say, this beats the usual digs on the road," he mused aloud, even though only the walls could hear him. With a final glance at the room that felt unexpectedly like a home, Dean allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation before he prepared to call it a night.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The morning light was a subtle intruder, sneaking through the narrow breach between the curtains, and it was the soft rapping at his door that finally stirred Dean from his slumber. The familiar cadence of a gentle knock, followed by a voice he was quickly growing fond of, coaxed him awake.

"Dean? You decent in there? I've got coffee," Julia's voice was soft but clear through the door, tinged with a laughter that hadn't quite bubbled to the surface.

"Yeah, come on in," Dean called back, his voice gruff with sleep but warm with invitation.

The door creaked open, and Julia peeked around it with caution, a visual check to save them both any embarrassment. Dean took in the sight of her, looking just as effortlessly charming as she had the day before. Her hair was swept up into a bun that defied the laws of gravity, and she was swathed in an oversized Van Halen t-shirt paired with flannel Batman pajama pants tucked into tube socks—one white, one grey—topped off with pink bunny slippers. It was an ensemble that Dean found unexpectedly endearing.

She tiptoed over to where he sat up in bed, the covers sliding to his waist to reveal the lean muscles of his torso. Julia's eyes briefly danced across his skin, the blush on her cheeks deepening, before she averted her gaze to the safety of the coffee mug. "Heard you might be hitting the road soon," she said, her eyes finding his again. "Figured you could use a caffeine kick to start your day."

Dean accepted the mug, the steam curling up to mingle with the stubble on his chin. He took a sip, the rich flavor hitting all the right notes. "Mmm, that's perfect. You're a lifesaver, Julia." He winked, the gesture softening the rugged lines of his face. "This is exactly what I needed.”

A bashful grin spread across Julia's face as Dean's wink sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. With a nervous little push of her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she began to retreat from the room.

"I–uh, I should..." she stammered, her words trailing off as her eyes inadvertently drifted back to Dean's uncovered chest. The close encounter with Dean's rugged appeal was unexpectedly disarming, and in a flustered haste to regain her composure, she moved to leave more quickly. "I've got to get ready for the day, so, see you out there," Julia rushed the words, nearly tripping over them as she made her swift exit, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Left alone in the quiet room, Dean couldn't help but let a self-satisfied smirk creep across his lips. There was something gratifying about this mutual, unspoken attraction, the way they both seemed to fumble a little in each other's presence. He took another sip of his coffee, the warmth of the brew a perfect echo of the heat that had risen in his cheeks from their exchange.

The aroma of sizzling bacon guided Dean down the staircase, the rich, inviting scent a herald of the morning's feast. As he entered the kitchen, he found Rob and Sam already embroiled in a hearty conversation. The absence of Julia was a silent note in the room, leaving Dean with an anticipation he wasn't fully willing to acknowledge.

"Morning," Rob greeted him with a friendly nod, serving up another portion of bacon onto a plate already heaping with eggs. "Hope the bed was comfortable."

Dean nodded, taking in the spread on the kitchen table. "Yeah, slept like a rock, thanks. You guys sure know how to make a guest feel at home," he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting in appreciation as he piled his own plate high with breakfast.

"You tuck in, Dean. Julia'll be joining us shortly," Rob assured him, the clatter of utensils against the plates punctuating his words.

Sam chimed in from across the table, his attention momentarily drifting from the conversation he was having with Rob. "Yeah, make yourself at home, Dean. We're not exactly in a rush this morning," he said, his own plate a more measured portion, indicative of his methodical nature.

The usual backdrop of Led Zeppelin was absent that morning, replaced by the low hum of familial chatter. The calm was pleasantly disrupted when Julia made her entrance, her presence as much a jolt to the room as caffeine. She was dressed in a pair of high-waisted denim flares that hugged her frame before flaring out dramatically past the knee, paired with a fitted ringer tee that featured a Styx band logo across the chest. Her hair was kept back with a simple headband, her scholarly glasses framing her bright eyes as she walked in with a bounce in her step.

"Morning," Julia greeted the room with a chipper tone, her voice infusing a burst of energy as she went about compiling her breakfast with a certain cheerfulness. She couldn't resist snagging an extra strip of bacon from the platter, biting into it with a satisfied grin as she took her seat.

"So, you boys thinking of hitting the road today?" Rob inquired, glancing over at the brothers as he took a sip of his coffee.

Sam leaned back in his chair, considering their schedule. "We've got a bit of a drive ahead of us, but we're in no hurry. Gonna enjoy breakfast first," he said, his tone easy and relaxed, indicative of their momentary respite from the road.

Dean, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying the pancakes and bacon before him, but from the moment Julia entered, his gaze intermittently drifted her way. Her casual, unassuming charm was a stark contrast to the intensity they shared earlier, and he couldn't help but be drawn to it, his eyes following her every move until she caught him looking and offered him a warm smile.

The remnants of breakfast lay scattered across the table—a testament to the good food and better company. Dean pushed his chair back, the wooden legs scraping gently against the floor, and gave Sam a firm pat on the back. "Alright, Sammy, time to hit the road," he announced, his voice carrying a slight edge of reluctance.

Rob nodded in understanding as they all moved towards the front door, the echoes of their morning together still hanging in the air. "Sounds like you boys have got places to be," Rob observed, a hint of a fatherly tone to his voice.

Standing in the entryway, Dean extended his hand to Rob, gripping it firmly. "Rob, you've been great. Thanks for the hospitality, and, you know, for not asking too many questions," he said with a half-grin.

Rob returned the handshake with equal firmness. "You fellas ever find yourselves back in this neck of the woods, you stop on by. We'll have ourselves a little catch-up over dinner," he replied, clapping Sam on the shoulder with a warm smile.

Before they could step out, Julia's voice cut in, "Oh shoot, wait up!" In a flurry of motion, she dashed upstairs, leaving Dean and Sam exchanging a puzzled look.

Moments later, Julia bounded back down with a folder in hand, which she eagerly extended to Dean. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, a jolt of connection sparking between them at the touch. Julia's blush was immediate and vivid, her eyes darting away as she stepped back. "It was, uh, really nice meeting you," she said, her voice a mix of earnestness and nerves as she fumbled with her glasses.

Dean, holding the folder now, allowed his eyes to linger on hers a moment longer. "Julia, the pleasure was all mine," he said with that signature Winchester smirk, "And thanks for the intel—looks like we owe you one."

As they walked out onto the porch, Julia leaned against the doorway, her voice carrying down to where Dean stood by the sleek black Impala. "Don't forget, I get a ride in this beast next time!"

Dean turned, his smile as bright as the morning sun. "It's a deal, Juliet. I'll even let you pick the music," he called back, the promise hanging in the air like a vow.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Dean caught the amused yet exasperated expression on Sam's face. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" Sam said, the words light but pointed, a brotherly tease that carried all the history of their shared lives.

Dean just chuckled, sliding the key into the ignition. "Jealousy's not a good look on you, Sammy," he retorted, already looking forward to the road ahead—and the promise of returning.

–––––––––––––––––––––––OoOoO----------––––––––––––––––––

Months had slipped by since their last visit to the Blackburns, each day filled with the unrelenting rhythm of the hunt. Now, a new case on the East Coast presented the perfect opportunity to reconnect with their newfound allies. Remembering Julia's number, which he had wisely secured during their previous encounter, Sam turned down the volume of the rock anthem blaring through the Impala's speakers, much to Dean's chagrin, and dialled the number.

"Hey Julia, it's Sam," he spoke into the phone, his voice carrying a blend of professionalism and the warmth of a burgeoning friendship.

Dean's attention, previously focused on the road, sharpened at the mention of Julia's name. The memory of her – the wild auburn curls, the vivid green eyes, her eclectic taste in music, and her infectious passion for knowledge – had a way of occupying his thoughts in the quieter moments between hunts.

From his side of the phone, Sam's smile grew at whatever Julia was saying on the other end. "We're heading your way for a case and thought we'd call ahead before showing up at your doorstep," he said, only to be interrupted by Julia's response.

Chuckling softly, Sam replied, "Thanks, Julia. We appreciate it. See you in a few hours."

Dean, who had been following the conversation with increasing anticipation, couldn't contain his curiosity. "What'd she say?" he asked, his voice a mix of eagerness and an attempt at nonchalance.

Sam turned to Dean, a knowing look in his eyes. "She's invited us for dinner and offered to let us stay the night," he revealed.

Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise, a hint of excitement flashing across his features. "Well, that's unexpected. Guess we're having dinner at the Blackburns'," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Sam nodded, turning his gaze back to the road ahead. "Yeah, and it's good timing too. We could use a friendly place to crash, and it'll be nice to catch up with them. Especially after all the help they gave us."

Dean nodded in agreement, his mind already racing ahead to the evening. The prospect of seeing Julia again added an unexpected but not unwelcome dimension to their impromptu visit. As the Impala ate up the miles, the brothers settled into a comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts about the case ahead and the reunion to come.

Early afternoon had found Sam reaching out to Julia, the day still ripe with potential. But as the Impala cruised into Boston, the city was cloaked in the hues of a setting sun, casting long shadows and painting the skyline in shades of orange and purple. When they finally pulled up in front of the Blackburn residence, dusk was settling in, the day's light fading fast.

Stepping out of the car, the Winchester brothers approached the house, the familiar steps creaking slightly under their weight. Dean's gaze swept over the red-brick façade, noting how the warm glow of the setting sun played off the building's features. The once vibrant wisterias had transitioned into less leafy, more dormant vines, a testament to the changing seasons.

Reaching the front door, Dean moved ahead to knock, his hand raised. But as his knuckles made contact, he felt an unsettling give in the door. His eyes narrowed, observing the signs of forced entry—the door had been broken in.

Motioning for Sam to close in, Dean's hand instinctively went to the gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans, his movements swift and practiced. Sam, understanding the unspoken signal, mirrored his brother's caution, his own hand inching towards his weapon.

Together, they slipped into their well-rehearsed hunting stances, a silent dance of readiness honed by years of facing the unknown. With a gentle nudge, the door swung open, its creak breaking the eerie silence that enveloped the house.

Inside, the quiet was almost tangible, a heavy stillness that set every one of their trained senses on edge. Dean took a cautious step forward, his eyes scanning the dimly lit interior for any sign of movement, any hint of what might have transpired within these walls. Sam followed close behind, his gaze darting to the shadows that lurked in the corners of the entrance hall.

The familiar warmth and charm of the Blackburn residence now felt like a distant memory, replaced by a palpable sense of danger and the unknown. They moved forward, each step a blend of caution and readiness, prepared for whatever they might find.

Stealthily, the Winchester brothers made their way into the dimly lit interior of the Blackburn residence. The entry hallway, to their relief, seemed undisturbed, a calm front to the storm they feared lay within. They moved forward with practiced silence, every sense attuned to their surroundings.

Suddenly, a loud crash from the second floor shattered the stillness, jolting them into high alert. Exchanging a glance, they wordlessly agreed to investigate. With cautious steps, they ascended the stairs, each creak underfoot sounding thunderous in the eerie silence.

Reaching the second floor landing, they were greeted by the last remnants of dusk light streaming through the bay window. The scene that unfolded before them was one of chaos. The once meticulously organized room was now a landscape of destruction. Shelves had been toppled, their contents strewn across the floor in a wild disarray. Drawers and cupboards had been violently emptied, their innards scattered without care.

Amid the wreckage, they heard the sound of frustrated rustling. Dean, gun in hand but aimed safely at the ground, cautiously stepped further into the room. Peering around a corner, his gaze landed on a towering figure standing by the large window overlooking the terrace. The figure's build and presence were unmistakably those of Rob Blackburn.

"Rob?" Dean called out tentatively, his voice laced with a mix of concern and caution.

At the sound of his name, the dark form of Rob whirled around to face Dean. The warm, inviting eyes they had known were now an abyssal black, cold and unyielding. It was a jarring sight—their ally, transformed into something sinister.

As Dean stood there, staring at the unnaturally black eyes of the man they had come to know as an ally, a chilling thought cut through the tension: Where is Julia? Her safety suddenly became the most pressing concern in his mind, overshadowing even the immediate threat of the demon before them.

"Where's Julia?" Dean demanded, his voice firm, his weapon still pointed safely at the ground but his stance ready for any sudden moves. The question wasn't just a tactical one; it was personal, fueled by a concern that had grown deeper than he'd initially realized.

The demon inhabiting Rob's body let out a low, menacing chuckle, a sound that was all the more unsettling coming from Rob's familiar frame. "Worried about the girl, are we?" it taunted, its voice a twisted echo of Rob's.

Dean's jaw clenched, a mix of anger and worry flashing in his eyes. He exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with Sam. They both knew that finding Julia was now their top priority, but they also couldn't ignore the demon standing before them.

The situation had escalated beyond a simple hunt. It was personal, and the stakes were higher than ever. The brothers needed to navigate this carefully – one wrong move could put Julia in even more danger.

To be continued . . .

Chapter Three

[loaksx]

DEAN WINCHESTER . . .

ılı.lıl now playing …

RUNNIN’ WITH THE DEVIL

Van Halen

↺͏͏° < ll >> ⋮≡

↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

EXTRAS . . . smut ✦ , fluff ✩, angst ✧

SERIES

ONESHOTS & IMAGINES

BLURBS

DEAN'S MOODBOARDS

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Leon Day

Summary: The reader makes Dean breakfast on Leon Day and explains what the day is. While she has some fun things planned, Dean shares some of his own future plans with her...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,000ish

Warnings: language, 15x20 finale spoiler (fic takes place post 15x20 though)

A/N: Enjoy!

_______

“Y/N,” said Dean, scratching his head when he came into the kitchen for breakfast. “I haven’t been in a coma lately right?”

“No...why would you ask that?” you said. Dean pointed behind him to the string lights hanging in the hall, colorful lights twinkling along the wall. “Oh that? It’s Leon day.”

“Who’s Leon?” he asked, padding over to his usual stool, yawning and curling into himself. You ruffled his hair and slid a cup of coffee in front of him.

“It’s June 25th. Exactly six months from Christmas,” you said.

“Is it Leon’s birthday?” he asked. “Whoever he is?”

“No silly,” you said, returning your attention to making pancakes.

“Can I have chocolate chips?” he asked. “Please.”

“Uh we’re out of chips but blueberries instead?” you asked, holding up the package.

“That’s fine,” he said, spinning in his seat. “So...lights?”

“Well Leon is Noel backwards and since it’s six months from Christmas it’s kinda like a mini-Christmas day,” you said.

“Never heard of it.”

“Well most people have never heard of a devil’s trap but that’s a thing that exists too,” you said. He hummed and sipped on his coffee, crossing his legs on his seat. He looked younger like that and you smiled, hoping he was in a good mood this morning. “I only decorated a little bit.”

“So it’s like Christmas? I didn’t get you any presents,” he said.

“We don’t have to do presents. It’s more about, doing things together, making cookies, having a nice dinner together. Maybe take a day off from hunting,” you said. You put your back to him and finished with his pancakes, dropping some fresh blueberries on top for him when you were all done. You hummed and slid the plate in front of him, giving him a fork and knife along with a glass of water.

“I uh, actually wanted to talk to you about hunting. Sam and I saw something online,” he said. You sighed and poured more batter into the pan.

“A new case?” you asked, forcing a smile into your voice.

“This big house in Lawrence. Not obnoxiously big but it’s big, big enough for like eight people I’d say,” he said.

“Is it haunted?” you said, watching the batter bubble and begin cooking.

“It’s for sale. We were thinking of buying it. He was gonna talk to Eileen and I said I’d talk to you about it.”

“About…”

“Buying it,” said Dean. You turned and frowned at him, Dean shoveling his second pancake into his mouth. “What?”

“First off, chew. Second, why would you guys buy a house? You’re not suddenly going to become the Property Brothers are you?”

“No silly. The house would be for us. Obviously we’d ward the shit out of it but yeah, house. What do you think?” 

“Why would we get a house?” you asked. Dean rolled his eyes and you put the rest of the pancakes on a plate, bringing them over and taking a seat beside him. “Like, is there something wrong with the bunker?”

“Nothing wrong with her. But Jack and Cas are up working in heaven and the world’s not so scary...and I did have a house in heaven when I was there.”

“You still haven’t told me about whatever space time continuum crap you broke in order to be back from the dead.”

“Jack just said it was alright so I’m back and considering you weren’t up in Heaven like we all thought you were, we all decided on a do over. I missed you and I liked that house but I want you in that house with me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying...let’s go live in a house and maybe I hunt every once in a while, maybe I run point for some other hunters, if we decide to go that route. Maybe I do something different for work. But I’m also saying, I like waking up and having pancakes and having random holidays and being happy and I can decide to do what I want, for me. I want a warm happy house with my family. You can decorate it for whatever holidays you want if I can have that.”

“We can have that,” you said quietly. You reached over and he already was meeting you there, hugging you with a happy sigh. “You’re really ready to leave all this behind?”

“We can always come visit this place. But I think our family should grow up the way we didn’t get to. We deserve that at the very least.”

“And you said you didn’t get any presents,” you said, holding him tight.

“I may have known you were planning this,” he teased. “I waited a little longer to share the news than I was hoping to but I figured you wouldn’t mind your Leon day present.”

“No, no I don’t,” you said. He kissed you and grinned before he hopped up. He dug around in the pantry and pulled out a bag of peppermint white chocolate chips. “Well now you’re just bragging.”

“I heard we were making cookies,” he said, dropping them on the counter. “Later though. After my yummy breakfast.”

“After your breakfast,” you said, kissing his cheek. “Love you. Best mini Christmas ever.”

“Love you too sweetheart. This Christmas you’ll have a whole house to decorate. Think you can handle that?”

“Absolutely. As long as I get some help?”

“Yeah I think you can swing that,” he said. He kissed your temple and hummed, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “So where’s my present in all this? I mean, I got a house and like a life changing decision for you and I got pancakes?”

“You fucking love pancakes,” you said.

“Guilty as charged,” he said. 

“I’ll make you them every single day if you want, how’s that sound?”

“Every single day?” he hummed.

“For the next week.” He chuckled and nodded. “Love you.”

“Love you back Dean.”

___________

[jawritter]

Carry On

Chapter 16

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Angst, and the beginnings of some changes...

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67​​​​ Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

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Sam was home… with Eileen… Tense wasn’t the appropriate wording really, but Y/N didn’t have an adequate vocabulary to describe the atmosphere in the bunker. In fact, the moment the heavy metal door closed behind them as they descended the iron staircase; Dean’s countenance changed, and the atmosphere shifted. That was three weeks ago; it had not gotten any better, and as far as Y/N could tell it wasn’t going to anytime soon. 

The only time Dean came out of his own room was to go to the kitchen to eat something, even though most of the time Y/N just brought it to him, or to go to the bathroom. If he had to do physical therapy, he’d come to the gym. Other than that, he stayed far away from Sam and Eileen. At first, Y/N didn’t understand why he was avoiding him. Sam and Dean had gotten into their fair share of spats over the years, but never had they gotten into something like this; or at least not in a long, long time. 

She knew Dean was angry with Sam, he’d made that point VERY clear the night Sam had left the bunker to go with Eileen on that hunt, but she didn’t realize he was that angry… Until she realized he wasn’t angry at all…

Y/N had gotten up early one morning about a week ago to grab herself and Dean some coffee before they started to work on his physical therapy for the day, when she heard Sam and Eileen sitting in the library scouring the internet in search of cases. It hit her then just why Dean was hiding away the way he was; he didn’t want to see it. Sam was hunting, actively hunting with Eileen, and Dean could no longer do it. Dean wasn’t mad, he was hurt.  

It wasn’t even that Sam really did anything, Eileen either. It was the fact that Dean felt useless, like he served no other purpose than to be a burden to Y/N and everyone else around him. Even though Y/N didn’t see Dean as a burden at all. She’d said it before and she’d ment it. It was a damn HONOR to take care of Dean. Dean himself could not stomach watching his brother do what he once did, and was now ripped away from him. It was all he’d known, now that was gone, and it just drove that useless feeling even deeper. 

The biggest problem was Y/N didn’t know what to do about it, or how to fix it. 

Sam hadn’t really helped in that aspect either. All he said to her was when Dean was ready, he’d talk to him, until then he wasn’t going to twist his arm and push him, and to Y/N that was bullshit. He could have at least extended a hand;let Dean know that he wasn’t useless. Better yet, he could have at least been honest with his brother that he was hunting again, and if he’d been honest from the beginning, things might not have escalated the way that they did. 

Physically, Dean was doing better. A lot better. He no longer needed her help doing basic, everyday things. He could now bathe himself, and make his own food, when he wanted too. He could even walk now without the aid of holding onto the wall, or needing someone to help him go long distances or needing to take a break. 

The only time you’d know something happened to Dean, was in the morning, when he first got out of bed, he was still slow, and at night, when it was time to go back to bed, his body started to hurt and slow down. That, or by that time Dean had just grown weary from hiding the fact that he was hurting all day long, and the truth had started to show itself… either way, with Dean, that was hard to tell. All she could do was trust that he was being honest with her about his pain level. 

He still couldn’t run a marathon, and probably never would be able to, but he was slowly becoming Dean again. Dean being who he was, had put a good bit of distance between Y/N and himself. Which is what she feared most through all of this. It was the uncertainty of what would happen  when he got better and didn't need help anymore. He still wanted to cuddle with her at night when they were held up in the Dean cave watching TV, or in his room; depending on how bad he felt that night. He still wanted her somewhat close to him whenever he could, but he was quiet. He wasn’t asking for help anymore. He always tried to do it himself, and he always made sure to be out of bed before she was in the morning. There was a distance growing between them, and she hated it; but she didn’t know what to do about it. 

Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she knew that he was just trying to get some independence back, but it still scared the hell out of her all the same.

Just this morning, she figured she’d see him in the gym or the kitchen when she climbed out of bed, and padded her way down the hallway; but all she found was Sam and Eileen making breakfast in the kitchen, and Sam informing her that he heard the Impala start up early that morning. 

Dean would sometimes climb in Baby and go for a drive, but he usually always invited her to join him, he rarely ever just got up and left, leaving her behind. Mostly because he still wasn’t confident enough to venture out by himself in the event he started to hurt too bad to drive back.

“I’m sure he will be back soon,” Eileen said, seeing Y/N’s crest fallen face as the reality that he really didn’t need her anymore started to set in. “All he had in his hand when he left was his keys and his cell phone.”

“You saw him?” Sam questioned, and Eileen nodded. “I was on my way to the kitchen when he left about two hours ago.”

Sam’s mouth tightened to a thin line as Y/N poured her coffee; doing her best to ignore the tight, uneasy feeling that was creeping up in her chest. 

“Well, apparently he’s feeling better,” Sam said after a moment. 

Y/N bit back the comment that probably would have sounded a whole lot like, “yea, no thanks to your ass.” 

“He is,” she voiced instead. “He probably just didn’t want to wake me up, Eileen is right, he’ll be back in a little while.”

Without another word, Y/N turned to leave the kitchen, and the happy couple behind her, when Dean rounded the corner, scaring the crap out of her and Eileen, who was standing closer  to the door of the kitchen than Sam. 

“Fuck,” Y/N breathed as she jumped backwards, somehow managing to not spill her coffee on ether her or Dean, Dean smirked, a mischievous look on his handsome face. God she didn’t realize how she missed that look until she saw it again for the first time in a long time. It still made her stomach flip excitedly just as it did the night she’d met him. God she was a goner! This man owned her. 

“What’s the matter princess, not used to me being able to move this fast?” Dean teased, ignoring Sam and Eileen all together as he threw his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, and steered her towards his room. 

“No, not really,” she admitted, “but I’m glad to see it.”

Dean shrugged, “I have my moments.” 

Y/N repressed the sudden urge to point out that he’d been apparently having more moments than he allowed her to be aware of; seeing as he kept disappearing lately, but kept her insecurities to herself, because she didn’t want to look weird, or fuck up any progress he might have been making. 

“I know it’s early,” Dean continued, not even breaking stride as he pushed the door open to their shared bedroom, “but I need you to shotgun that coffee, and get dressed; I have something I want to show you.”

She had not seen him THIS excited, in well, forever, and it got her curiosity humming like it never had before. Dean got excited about VERY little lately.

“What are you up to Dean’?” Y/N questioned, as he virtually started pulling her clothing out of her dresser drawer and laying them on the bed for her in order to make her hurry, it honestly made her chuckle, it was cute to see him this happy. 

“You’ll see! Just hurry up and meet me at the car,” Dean said as he hurried for the door, his footsteps echoing down the hallway towards the garage as he went. 

Y/N shook her head with a stupid smile on her face as she pulled her shirt off, and replaced it with the hoodie Dean had left on the bed for her. 

Honestly, he could ask her for anything and she’d agree to it with the way he was acting right now, it was refreshing from all the pain and hurt he’d been through to see a smile on his face. Whatever it was that he’d found or come up with, even if it was another woman; which her insecurities were screaming at her it was. She’d support him, because even if it hurt her, it made him happy, and seeing him smile again was all she could ask for right at that moment. So much so she’d sacrifice her own happiness, just to see his. 

Logically, Dean was not taking her to meet his new girlfriend at 8 in the morning, but there was always a nagging voice in her head that told her things like this; things that would keep her up at night when Dean was sound asleep next to her. 

So she shook it off, and tied the laces up on her boots, seeing as it was a frigid 18 degrees  Fahrenheit out there; completely forgetting her coffee as she started to make her way towards the garage with her heart pounding in her ears, and her hands shaking with a mixture of excitement, and fear. Because she had a feeling that whatever Dean had that he wanted to take her to or show her, it was going to change things for them;  possibly forever. 

The worry she was feeling melted away though, as soon as she saw him posted against Baby’s shining hood, phone in hand; that same stupid smirk she loved so much plastered on his face that turned into a full fledged grin as he looked to see her approaching, and hurried around to open the passenger door for her to slide into Baby’s warm interior. 

“Will you at least tell me where we’re going, Winchester?” Y/N questioned as Dean slid into the passenger seat, and put her into drive as the garage doors opened in front of him. 

“Lawrence, but that’s all I’m telling you for now, the rest you will have to wait and see,” he beamed at her, and she just laughed and shook her head. 

This was going to be a long three-hour drive…

Forever:

@britnwinchester​​

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat​

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996​​  

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe​​

@jensenslady79​​

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@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men​​

@stixnstripesworld​​

@fullwattpadmusictree​​

@nancymcl​​

@christycreature​​

@whiskey-infused-dreams​​

@supernatural79impala​​

@deandreamernp​​

@forgetthisbull​​

@miraclesoflove​​

@slamminmine​​

@deanwanddamons​​

@rvgrsbrns​​

@chevyharvelle​​

@i-love-superhero-movies​​

@lyss-dw79​​

@magssteenkamp​​

@lemondropirwin​​

@squirrelnotsam​​

@hobby27​​

@spnbaby-67​​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​​

@defenderrosetyler​​

@thecreatiivecorner​​  

@vicmc624​​

@busy-bee-angel-misska​​

@justanotherwinchester​​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​​

@idksupernatural​​

@lyarr24​​

@emoryhemsworth​​

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​​

@flamencodiva​​

@itmejado

@thoughts-and-funnies​​

@teresa-67​​

@hearteyes-j2​​

@peaches007​​

@bobbie3939​​

@vulgar-library​​

@writercole​​

@fairlyspnfanfic​​

@sexyvixen7​​

@spngi​​

@b3autyfuldisast3r​​

@donnaintx​​

@maliburenee​​

@the-family-business67​​

@agirlwithdemonblood​​

@captainsoldiergirl​​

@twinkleinadiamondsky​​

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma​​  

@impalaslytherin​​

@perpetualabsurdity​​

@msmarvelouswinchester​​

@akshi8278​​

@love-jackles​​

@irmcpar​​

@pink-sparkly-witch​​

@deans-spinster-witchs-favorites​​

@herstarburststories​​

@mimaria420​​

@deanwinchesterswitch​​

@charred-angelwings​​

@pascal-rascal424​​

@myloversgone​​

@fortheloveof-jackles​​

@eevvvaa​​

@bts-spnlvr12​​

@jxackles

@lassie-bird​​

@samsgirl93​​

@shawnie74​​  

@kaz11283​​

@mlovesstories​​

@ladysparks78

@sarahgracej​

[imagineteamfreewill]

An Imagined Life

Title: An Imagined Life

Pairing: Author!Dean x Interior Decorator!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: Y/N and Dean have been best friends since childhood, and though they’re both adults with busy lives, they still manage to keep up their weekly traditions.

A/N: Wow! It's been SO long since I posted on here. Hey everyone! This kinda came out of nowhere, but nonetheless, it was fun to write. Thank you to everyone who supports me here, on Patreon, and on ao3. Thank you for reading, and enjoy! Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

There’s no response when you knock on Dean’s front door, and you smile to yourself as you crouch down to pull the spare key out from behind the loose siding at the base of the house. He’s never quite gotten around to finding a new place to put it, even after his dad found the hiding spot and trashed the place while the two of you were out of town, but it really doesn’t matter anyway. Very few people actually know who Dean is. You’re fairly certain most of his neighbors think that he’s a hermit, rather than a bestselling author.

Once you’ve wrangled the door open, you set the key on his entryway table and shift the plate of hot pancakes so you can carry it with both hands.

“Dean!” you call, peering up the stairs. There are no lights on in the hallway. His living room’s a mess, and you have to step over several piles of books as you cross through to get to the kitchen. “Dean, I brought pancakes!”

He still doesn’t answer and you sigh, shedding your jacket and tossing it on the island before heading back through the living room and up the stairs to his room. He’s probably still in bed. There’s no doubt that he’d been up late writing again, considering the various pages spread across the couch cushions. His laptop sits nearby, too.

The couch is his second favorite place to write—with the back porch being his first—despite the fact that in the beginning, he’d been adamant against your choice in seating. The two of you had argued about it for over an hour. He hadn’t liked the legs. You’d insisted that he’d needed it, and in the end, he’d relented. After all, he’d hired you to decorate his new house, and he trusted you to do a good job. Even though you’d played pranks on him ever since you were little, you wouldn’t dream of screwing up a client’s house, even if it was Dean.

You and Dean have been best friends since kindergarten. During your very first week of school, he’d stood up for you when another kid had tried to take your beloved coloring book during a rainy day recess. The two of you have been like velcro ever since. You’d gone to all the same schools, even for college, and you’d both moved across the country to pursue your dreams after graduation. He’d moved into a modest fixer upper on the outskirts of the city and you’d moved into an apartment nearby the studio where you’d started your career, but the commute hasn’t stopped either of you from continuing your tradition of Sunday morning breakfasts, or in this case, Sunday afternoon breakfasts.

Knocking on his bedroom door, you carefully push it open and poke your head into the room. Sure enough, Dean is sprawled out across his bed, the blankets covering one bare leg and his upper half. The only thing visible at the top of the comforter is a tuft of brown hair. Smiling to yourself, you open the door the rest of the way and cross the room to open the curtains. You slide the plate of pancakes onto the only clear spot on his dresser as you pass.

“Rise and shine!” you cheer, and Dean answers you with a singular, sleepy grunt. Chuckling, you leap onto his bed, making him bounce on the mattress. He groans again and pulls the covers closer around him from the inside. 

“Come on, Dean! I brought pancakes this week!”

Silence answers you, and just as you’re opening your mouth to try and coerce him for the third time, Dean grumbles,

“Remind me to hide the spare key.”

You grin and yank his pillow out from under his head, then lean down so you can speak directly into his ear. “You and I both know you’ll never do that.”

He groans again, and you briefly wonder how he ever managed to start a career when his vocabulary is so limited in the morning. When you tell him as much, Dean reaches his hands out from under the blankets, pulls his pillow from your grasp, and flips the blankets off his head before shoving the pillow back under him where it belongs. He turns onto his back and rests his head back on the pillow as he squints up at the ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the midday sun streaming in through the tall bedroom windows.

“Did you really have to open the curtains?” he asks as he rubs his eyes with the back of one hand. His voice is thick from sleep, making it gravelly and just a little deeper than normal. It makes you smile. You love Dean in the morning, even if he is a grump.

“Probably not,” you reply. Flopping down beside him, you stare up at the ceiling fan in silence, letting him wake up the rest of the way on his own. You’ve done your job spectacularly.

Finally, Dean sighs heavily and sits up, letting the blankets slide halfway onto the floor as he shifts his legs over the side of the bed. You turn onto your side and prop your head up with one elbow, watching him. He’d gone to bed in just his black boxers again, leaving his back exposed to you. The sunlight turns his skin golden.

He’s been out in the sun, you think. His freckles stand out more than usual, and as he stretches, your mind wanders. The two of you have never dated, which is strange. You enjoy spending time with him, and it’s not like you think he was ugly. In reality, Dean is one of the most attractive people you know. He could convince you to do anything if he smiled while he asked. If he asked you to date him, you’d say yes. Hell, if he asked you to marry him, you’d say yes.

“You just gonna stare at me or are we gonna eat?” Dean asks, and you grin, pushing away your thoughts as you quickly try to make up for your long silence.

“Eating sounds good, but I can’t say I’m opposed to staring at your back for the rest of the day. It’s a nice back,” you tease.

“Shut up.” Dean turns and grabs his pillow, tossing it at your head.

You laugh and move your hand from where it’s supporting your head, effectively blocking the hit. Dean smiles down at you, despite his initial grumpiness after being jarred awake, and you grin even wider when his expression softens.

"You have a good week?" he asks, and you nod.

"You? Looks like you got a lot of writing done."

Dean nods slightly and stands, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. You force yourself to look away.

Why am I suddenly thinking about dating Dean?

Silently, you scold yourself and sit up on the other side of the mattress. Your back is to him, which gives you a moment to compose yourself. It’s too early for crazy thoughts about going out with your best friend. That’s more of a 3:00 AM thought.

You don’t want to mess with a good thing, you remind yourself. It’s the reason you avidly avoid the topic of dating when anyone brings it up, especially at holidays. For the longest time, your mom and Mary Winchester have been conspiring to get the two of you together. Back when you were younger, you fielded their questions with ease by telling them that you only thought of Dean as a friend and that you were more focused on your career, but you can practically picture their expressions if they ever heard your private thoughts about Dean’s back. These thoughts will have to be something you take to your grave.

You clear your throat and get up, grabbing the plate and rounding the end of the bed. “Ready?” you ask.

Dean grabs a t-shirt from the laundry basket on top of his dresser, then pulls it over his head. He glances at himself in the mirror before running a hand through his hair and heading out into the hallway. You follow him down the stairs and to the kitchen, plate in hand.

He starts pulling down plates, cups, and silverware for the two of you while you stick the plate in the microwave. 

“There’s syrup in the fridge,” he tells you, pointing just behind you. “Can you get the creamer, too?”

You hum in acknowledgement and turn around to do just that, and he starts the coffee maker. Dean knows exactly how you like your coffee. The thought that he does makes you smile as you hunt through the contents of his fridge.

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asks.

Glancing over your shoulder, you grab the syrup from the door before closing it and taking a few steps to the island so you can dump the bottle of creamer there, too. You settle on one of the bar stools and watch him from the side as he makes your coffee. Last year, you’d convinced him to buy a fancier coffee maker, and though he’d been reluctant to change and get rid of the faithful machine that had helped him through his first bestseller, Dean eventually agreed that the newer model was better. Plus, it meant that he could make you some truly great breakfast drinks, not just plain coffee with creamer like he normally has.

“Besides pancakes? I have to run to IKEA and look at some decor options for a client. Do you want to come with?”

His nose crinkles enough that you can see it from your seat. “Shopping?”

You lean forward over the island, propping your chin on your hand as you give him the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. “Please, Dean?” you whine. “Please spend time with your oldest, prettiest, and most talented friend so I don’t perish of loneliness before I can settle down like a good, upstanding citizen. I need someone with me to ward off all the suitors that might harass me while I do my weekly throw pillow shopping.”

Dean snorts. “You’re insane.”

“Am I?” You drop your hand down and push yourself up on the counter, just enough that your reach is long enough to reach the cup of coffee he’s brought over for you. You pull it closer and lift it to your nose so you can breathe in the rich aroma, then take a sip. As predicted, it’s perfect. With a sigh, you plop back onto the stool.

“Yes, you are,” he laughs.

The microwave beeps and Dean abandons his mug to get the pancakes, and you busy yourself by arranging your plate and silverware in front of you. You don’t have to ask Dean to heap your portion onto your plate. He does it automatically, piling pancakes in front of you until you give him a satisfied nod. As he plates his own food, you start dishing up your toppings.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get out of the house a little today,” Dean says after the two of you have had a chance to tuck into your food. 

You look up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise and a loaded fork held halfway to your mouth. “Really? You actually want to go shopping with me?”

He shrugs and takes another bite.

“Okay, then I’m going to finish these pancakes so we can get going before you change your mind,” you tell him, and you start to shovel your food into your mouth more earnestly. He smiles a little before doing the same.

After you and Dean clean up from your late breakfast, you pile into the Impala. He has to stop for gas, so you spend that time searching through your inspiration photos and the screenshots of items you’d looked at on the website. It’s nice to not have to drive, and it gives you a better chance to focus your thoughts on what the most important items will be. As much as he loathes shopping, Dean likes to wander, which means you can’t get distracted from what you really need for the houses, rather than what you’ve walked past four times.

“All good?” you ask, glancing up from your phone when he climbs back into the driver’s seat. Dean hums in agreement and turns the key in the ignition again, then cranks the music as he pulls out of the gas station. You laugh a little when he punches the accelerator once you’re on an open stretch of highway, and you lock your phone, leaning back in your seat.

It’s a nice enough day that you can have the windows down. The wind in your face reminds you of the long road trips you’d taken together in college, and the drive you’d made to move from college to your current home. Those are some of your happiest adult memories with Dean. Some of the moments you replay over and over again in your head each night are from those trips. 

“So what exactly are we getting here?” Dean asks as he turns into the massive store lot. “Throw pillows? Vases with fake grass? Giant, framed, sepia-toned pictures of cows?”

You roll your eyes at the design cliches he always teases you about. “A couch and a coffee table,” you shoot back. “Although, you seem to know a lot about those cow pictures. Have you been researching one for your own house?”

He sends you a scathing look, but it’s quickly replaced by a small smile when you laugh at his reaction.

Climbing out of the car, you pull out your phone again. “I haven’t picked out a coffee table, but the couch…” You scroll through the pictures until you find the one you want, then hold it out for him to see. “Here, this is what I’m looking for. I just hope they have it here—they don’t ship this one and I don’t want to drive four hours to the next IKEA.”

Dean glances over at the Impala, and his smile is gone. “That’s not going to fit, Y/N. If I’d known you were getting furniture—”

“I’m just reserving it.” You shake your head. “I’ll have one of the interns pick it up tomorrow morning.”

He nods back and his shoulders relax slightly as you head into the store. Thankfully, it’s less crowded than you’d anticipated, which lets you keep a lazy pace as you walk. You’re not quite wandering, but you’re not worried about people trying to get past whenever you and Dean stop to look at one of the room displays.

“This one’s nice,” Dean says. He nods at a metal coffee table in one of the fake living rooms. 

You crinkle your nose, feeling a little bad that you can’t agree. “It’s okay. Not quite what I’m looking for, though. It’s not really the vibe of the family.”

“Yeah?” He glances over at you as you hum and pick a pillow to inspect the design closer. “What’s the vibe?”

You set the pillow back in the giant metal basket and think about it for a second. “They’re more natural, like a… spa commercial. Lots of light natural woods, white linens, birdsong in the background, that kinda thing.” You gesture vaguely with one hand.

“Ah, so the daughter’s name is Serenity and the mother does weekly yoga with the other women from the neighborhood,” Dean replies.

“Exactly.”

“Dad’s probably a workaholic, and he goes along with whatever the mom wants because he knows it’ll keep her off his back. He doesn’t mind all the organic stuff, but he’s not above getting McDonald’s for lunch. He pays with cash, though, because his wife keeps careful track of their money,” Dean continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really fleshing this one out, aren’t you?”

He shrugs with a little satisfied smile, then pushes the cart forward to the next display room.

“Okay, so what about this one?” you ask. You wave your hand toward the half-dining room, half-living room display that’s been set up. It’s clearly meant to mimic a small apartment, because almost everything doubles as storage. The decor reminds you of your own apartment when you’d first moved out of college. You’d been broke after the cross-country move, and most of your things had been leftover from your dorm. You didn’t get “real” furniture until almost two years later. Dean had offered to help pay for the basics, but you’d turned him down. He’d already had his hands full with fixer-upper he’d bought with the advance from his first book.

Dean considers the faux apartment, letting his eyes sweep over each item with care before he finally answers, “They just moved cross-country. He’s planning on proposing to her, but he doesn’t have a ring yet because they spent all their money on the new apartment. It’s barely big enough for them, let alone the stuff they have from college and from their parents’ basements, but she loves it anyway. She likes to decorate with things she finds at thrift stores and the flea market, and he’s secretly been saving every penny he can to buy her the ring he thinks she deserves. If everything goes his way, he’s hoping to ask her next summer, and he’s going to string up the living room with lights because she always mentions how much she misses the fields of fireflies from where they grew up together.”

You smile to yourself, imagining the couple as Dean weaves his story around you. The aisles in this area of the store are empty, and his voice draws you into the picture he’s creating on a whim. It’s warm and homey, and it reminds you a little of your own life, just enough that you can imagine it clearly.

“I like that,” you finally say, after several moments have gone by. “What about that one?” You point a little farther down the aisle.

“The kitchen?” Dean asks. You nod in response. “Well, our couple’s gotten older, but he still hasn’t proposed. They still live together, and they’ve got a better place now that they both have better jobs, but every time he sees a ring or thinks it’s the right time to pop the question, he starts second-guessing himself. So, since they have a backyard now, he gets her a dog, instead.”

“What kind of dog?”

He looks over at you. “What kind of dog do you want it to be?”

You nudge him with your elbow, smiling. “Come on, Dean. You know me. I’m always gonna answer that they need a golden retriever. Every cheesy romance novel and movie has a golden retriever.”

He laughs a little and looks back at the empty kitchen. “A golden retriever it is, then. He’s a rescue, so he’s already three, but she spends every extra minute she has training him. She’s worked hard to make their house a home, you know, so she has to make sure to keep his muddy paws off the couch.”

“Of course,” you agree.

Dean pushes the cart forward again, and the two of you walk a little further, passing by countless closets, more living rooms, a plant display, and another kitchen. Finally, you reach a children’s bedroom, and you pause just for a moment. It’s long enough that Dean notices, however, so he stops and looks over at you.

“Did you find something you like?” he asks. “I didn’t see that couch you wanted earlier when we passed through the sofa section.”

Something about the first story Dean had come up with today stuck with you, and as you peer at the display, you can’t help but picture yourself crouching down beside the ladybug-themed bed. You imagine yourself brushing hair back off a child’s forehead, and you chuckle at the idea of a golden retriever who would hop up by the kid’s feet though it’s too big for the bed.

“What about this?” you ask, quietly, almost so quiet that the music covers it up.

Dean’s silence for a second. “We have a kid now, and he’s everything we’ve ever dreamed.”

You don’t fail to notice that Dean’s changed his story—it’s no longer “them” and “the couple”. It’s we. He keeps his eyes focused on the bed as he talks, but you look over at him. His eyes are a little glossy, and his expression is far away as he continues,

“We still live in the same house, and I’ve got a ring stashed away in a box of rough edits. You haven’t found it yet, but every time I go out, I’m worried that you’ll try to tidy up my office and find it.”

You swallow thickly and stare at him, wide-eyed. Careful not to disturb him too much, you move your hand a little. Your fingers bump against his, and Dean lets you maneuver his hand so it’s wrapped around yours, but he still doesn’t look away from the display bedroom. People are walking past you. Their voices and the music playing overhead feel far away, like they’re in a totally different universe. You’re so focused on Dean that you can’t see, feel, or hear anything outside of your little bubble.

“You’ve totally taken over everything,” Dean continues, chuckling. His lips turn up in a smile. He speaks without hesitation, and with enough passion in every word that you know he means everything he says. This isn’t just pretending anymore.

“The house is amazing, and you’ve gotten into gardening. Everything you touch seems to thrive, including me. I’ve got two more books on the bestsellers list, and it’s enough money that I don’t have to worry about how we’re going to make it. I know that we’ll be okay, no matter what happens. Your business is doing great, too. You stepped back since Robert was born, but you’ve got a partner and enough employees and interns that you can relax.

“You’re up here, right now,” he says. He lifts your joined hands to point towards the bed. “Tucking Robert in.”

“I am?” you prompt.

He nods. “When you’re back downstairs, I’m going to propose.”

“How are you going to ask me?” you murmur, almost afraid to ask.

Dean looks away from the display. His eyes meet yours, and you inhale sharply when he reaches behind himself to push the cart further away. He sinks to one knee and takes your other hand as you gape down at him.

“Dean…”

“I have loved you since the moment I saw you, Y/N,” he says.

You can sense people watching you, and to your left you can see someone holding up their phone to take a picture or to record you, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. Tears are welling up, making your vision blurry, and you blink them away. They roll down your cheeks. In any other circumstance, you’d be embarrassed to cry in public, but it’s Dean. He chases all your fears away, and his hands in yours pull you into a moment you never thought you’d see.

“I have thought about proposing to you since we moved here,” Dean continues. “I think about it every day. Every morning, I wake up, Y/N, and I wonder why I haven’t asked you yet. Sometimes it feels like if I go another minute without being engaged to you, I’ll die. I don’t even have a ring; I haven’t been able to find the perfect one, but I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I want to reach our goals and make new dreams together. I know this is sudden, and it’s a lot, and you can say no—I know that you weren’t expecting this—but I can’t let another day go by without asking.”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s right— you weren’t expecting this. You and Dean aren’t even dating, but the idea of spending your life with him doesn’t feel wrong or far-fetched. It feels perfect. You may be blindsided, but you’re not afraid of admitting when something is right.

Dean rubs his thumb over the side of your hand, and it draws you back down to him. “So what do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?”

After a second, you find yourself nodding. You throw yourself down into Dean’s arms. “Yes,” you say into his ear. You sniffle and press your face into his shoulder, and though your voice is muffled by his shirt, you know he’ll understand. “Yes, Dean. I love you so much.”

There’s scattered applause from all around you. Slowly, you sniffle and pull away, wiping your eyes with a smile and a laugh. Dean helps you stand again, and you brush the dust off your knees as shoppers crowd in to congratulate you. You nod along and thank them, a little embarrassed at all the attention, but soon you’re following Dean out of the store. An employee stops you at the door to give you a gift card from management, which you pocket in a daze. 

Neither one of you has bought anything, and you’ve totally forgotten to reserve the couch and coffee table you’d come for, but Dean leads you out to the Impala anyway. Then, once you’re away from prying eyes and the warmth of the sun is on your skin, he kisses you. His hands find your hips as he presses you back against the passenger side door, and you wrap your arms around his neck. Dean’s kiss is sweet and slow, and you know that it’s going to be something you remember for the rest of your life.

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[chucksfavouriteprophet]

𖤐 Dean Winchester Masterlist 𖤐

Oneshots

Deja Vu - you’re on a hunt with Sam and Dean that brings back some dark memories. While trying to make sure the outcome they know doesn’t happen again, you get yourself into an unfortunate situation and can only hope the brothers reach you before it’s too late. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Giving Up - Today I got rejected from my dream job, and I just felt really lonely and lost. I suddenly thought about how Dean would react if I told him, and I pictured it would go a little like this. It made me feel a bit better. Fluff

I’ll Never Leave Your Side - After you return from Purgatory, exhaustion takes over and the reality of the past few months hits you. But, as always, Dean is there to take care of you. Pure fluff

Healing - After a horrific experience at a bar, you blame yourself for letting your guard down and getting in the situation in the first place. As always, Dean is there to clean you up and help you get through it. Hurt/comfort, fluff

The Cowgirl - (Requested) Sam and Dean head to a bull riding show on a job, only to be met with a headstrong girl with a talent for riding big burley bulls. With a passion for all things cowboy, you and Dean click pretty quickly. Smut

Heaven is a Place on Earth - (Requested) After Cas is killed by Lucifer, a strange new Angel turns up claiming to have been sent by him. Dean doesn't like the sound of it, but maybe a Guardian Angel is what he's needed all along. Season 13 spoilers, angst

Not Waving but Drowning - (Requested) After fighting with Dean, you get into trouble on a hunt. Separated from the boys, your life hangs in the balance and they must put their feelings aside to save you. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

End of the Line - (Requested) Your relationship with Dean is on the rocks, and after a miscommunication on a hunt, things go downhill. Angst

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Series

The Girl Can Bite Too, You Know - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - While trying to keep your business afloat, you get caught in the crossfire of a Winchester hunt and have no choice but to get involved. Much to Dean's enjoyment, you're a feisty one with no intention of letting the monsters get the better of you. Thus starts a whole new opportunity for adventure. /completed/

The Intrusion (master list) - 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 - Having lived alone in your secret batcave for years now, the last thing you expected was two burly hunters to come storming in acting like they own the place. Somehow, you've got to make this strange dynamic work, but inevitably secrets will spill and hearts will break in the process. /completed/

[trexrambling]

Broken Heels (III / III)

Request: “There's a protective Dean and Sam some kind of thing. They're friends with fem!reader, a shy and graceful girl. A long time ago the brothers took her in and a deep friendship was born. She only helps with research because she suffers from a heart failure, which leads to her being often dizzy nauseated and breathless. The brother care for her and always keep an eye out on her. Dean is secretly in love with her and vice versa. But neither of them admits it. One night Dean brings home some of his flings and the girl is really cruel to the reader.... Reader spirals into a rabbit hole, taking the things the bitch said to her to heart.... And shit hits the fan?! Some angst, drama and fluff, protective Winchesters.” - by anon

Word Count: 2,120

Warnings: language, negative self-talk, heated/arguing conversation, angst, fluff

A/N: I broke this request into two three parts because it ended up being much longer than expected. This last part took me forever to finish, still not sure I love how it turned out but here it is. No beta, all mistakes are mine, please message me if you see any! Watercolor heart from the header image credit.

(Read Part 1) (Read Part 2)

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You’re not really sure where he’s driving you, because it’s not back to the town you were hunting in, and it’s not towards home, either. It feels aimless, like he’s picking turns at random for the sake of the familiarness of being behind the wheel, like it’s the only thing that’s grounding him right now. The sun has made its venture into the sky, climbing with each passing minute and painting the wisps of clouds in orange and pink. The quiet in the car is becoming unbearable, the inevitable conversation that’s about to take place encroaching with each passing second.

You decide to just go for it, like that first jump into a cold pool. Just get it over with. It’s either that or tuck and roll out the passenger door. Though…the latter option might prove to be less painful when all is said and done.

“So…” you start quietly, “where’s Sam?”

“Oh, Sam’s still working on the case.” Every word is wrapped in frustration. His jaw is tight, fingers gripping the wheel with more force than necessary. You don’t have to check for a speed limit sign to know that he’s exceeding it.

“You left Sam?”

In a split second you find yourself almost relocated to the floorboards of the car, the lap belt cutting into your waist the only thing keeping you from sliding off the seat as Dean slams on the brakes. You manage to catch the upper half of your body weight with a hand on the dash, eyes wide as he veers off the side of the road and continues right on into the neighboring grassy field. The Impala’s wheels find a small rut, bumps in and out of it, the frame vibrating from the uneven ground. He goes a few more feet and then comes to a complete halt, throws the gears into park and shuts off the engine. You quickly undo the seatbelt to rub your stomach.

“Dean, what the hell-”

But he’s already opened his door and is exiting the vehicle, the loud slam of it shutting making you flinch. You watch him through the windshield as he walks a short distance into the field, then he stops and just stands there with his hands in his jacket pockets, his back to you.

You stay in your seat, staring at him, a bit stunned. You’ve known Dean for years, and in that time you’ve seen his rough edges, watched him dissolve into anger that would leave him unable to speak, observed his elated highs alongside the dismal lows. But you’ve never seen him like this… At least, not with you. Not because of you.

A steady breeze is blowing the tall, spring wildflowers around his legs, pushing small tufts of his hair in all directions. His stiff posture is a direct contrast to the serenity around him; a tranquil view from a distance that’s lacking all of its peace up close.

“Ah, screw it,” you mutter to yourself. You pop your door open and step out, the immediate onslaught of wind attacking your hair as you walk across the grass to stand beside him. You’re not really sure how you feel, not sure what to think. A short hour ago you’d been on a bus, trying to get as far away from him as possible. And now…

“Alright, spill. What’s going on with you?”

He turns sharply, fire in his eyes. “With me? What’s going on with me? Are you serious right now?”

He wants to pick a fight, to throw everything that’s built up out into the open, and part of you does, too. You fold your arms, meet his glare with a steady one of your own. “Yes, with you. How could you leave Sam to work a case by himself?”

Air snorts out of his nose in disbelief. “I left the case? Are we forgetting that you’re the one who just up and hopped a bus in the middle of the night? Without saying anything?”

“I texted Sam.”

“Oh, you texted Sam. Of course. My bad.”

You throw your hands up in the air in exasperation. “You literally just drove god knows how many miles and tried to run a bus off the road, and you’re acting like I’m the crazy one. I have every right to go wherever I damn well choose to. I’m not a child, Dean, I don’t need to get permission from you.”

“You didn’t even pick up your phone, Y/N. I’ve been calling you for hours, and I just kept getting your voicemail. What was I supposed to do, supposed to think? Since when do we not talk to each other? What the hell happened?”

His voice has progressively gotten louder with each question, and though he’s not quite yelling, the harshness has you blinking back an unanticipated bout of tears. Your mood shifts, the fight leaving you as doubt and dejection take its place.

Dean notices the change, and his eyes lose some of their sharpness. He rubs a hand on the back of his neck and lets out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just don’t understand much of anything that’s been happening the past few hours. Why did you take off? Why did you just leave us like that?”

You wrap your arms tightly around your midsection, fixate on the grass beneath your feet, and manage to softly say -

“Do you… do you really not know?”

He doesn’t say anything, which is ten times worse than all of the worst possible things you’re imagining he could say. You gnaw on your lower lip, anxiety building with each second that he doesn’t speak. You can’t take it anymore, can’t take this, whatever this is. So, like a broken dam, you open your mouth and let it all flood out.

“I know that we’re not equals. I know I could never hold my own on a hunt with you. Hell, I proved that last month, didn’t I? And you deserve someone who can have your back, someone who can actually help you when the time comes. I know you guys say I help, but that’s different. It’s reading lore and making lasagna, and anyone can do that. And to top it all off, I’m an absolute mess. I cough up blood and I can’t walk a mile without feeling like I'm going to faint. I’m like this broken thing, this deadweight that you keep dragging along with you for some reason. And I don’t get it. I really don’t understand why I’m still here, because…because you don’t need me.”

He’s still not saying anything. You give in to the weakness in your knees and sink down onto the ground, tugging your jacket around you and staring out at the borderline of trees in the distance as your fingers absentmindedly pick at the surrounding grass and flower stems.

“And then I was waiting in your room for you to come back from the bar, and instead that woman showed up. And she was just-” you chuckle dryly- “so delightful, by the way. A real charmer. And you didn’t ask her to leave, so I left. I got out of your way. And I just… I couldn't stay, Dean. Don’t you get that?”

He joins you on the ground, close but not quite touching you. You dare to glance at him from the corner of your eye, surprised by the solemness his features carry.

“You don’t-” he clears his throat, digs his fingers into the dirt- “you don’t really want me, Y/N. Not the way you think you do.”

You turn your head sideways, rest your ear on your bent knee so you can look at him. He avoids your gaze, but keeps talking.

“That girl…she’s easy. Someone I can lie to when she asks me questions, that I can be a completely different person for. It’s just an escape, a night that doesn’t matter because I’ll never have to see her again, never have to think about her again, worry about her again.”

Your face tightens. “And you want that?”

“It’s been pointless to want anything else. To let myself want something else. This life…it’s not safe to let yourself get close to anyone.”

“Well…sometimes you can’t help it. Sometimes it just happens.”

He looks at you then, the right corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then in one swift motion his arm goes up and around your shoulders, firmly scooping you into his side. You shuffle close and willingly lean in, resting your head in the crook of his neck. One of his hands stays wrapped around your arm, the other finding yours in your lap. A deep sigh leaves your body with the contact, the pent up tension you’d been carrying since last night dissolving with his touch.

“You’re the farthest thing from broken, you know,” he says softly. “And don’t you ever let me hear you say that we don’t need you. Sam and I are damn lucky to have you.”

“It doesn't always feel that way,” you whisper. “I still feel like I’m broken all the time. And not just because of my heart problems, but because of everything that’s happened to me, every mistake I’ve made, all the things I want to do, want to change… but I just can’t ever seem to get there.”

“I get that,” Dean says, giving you a small squeeze. “I’ve been there. But if I’ve learned anything, from Sam or Cas or anyone else in our lives, it’s that the broken heals. You just have to be willing to let it.”

You smile faintly, tilt your head up to look at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for chasing me down. Literally.”

He meets your eyes, his face serious. “I didn’t sleep with her, you know.”

Your blink, surprised. “Okay…why not?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, but doesn’t answer.

You squeeze his hand. “You know, you deserve to be with someone you can fully be yourself with. Someone you can talk to without having to fabricate your life, someone that actually gets it. And it may not be easier, but…I think it might be worth it.”

His features change then, and he’s suddenly looking at you in a way that takes you back to a flour filled kitchen, with mixing bowls and a pie waiting on the counter while he’s standing over you, your hand in his, heat and tension and a deep underlying desire filling the small space between. You swallow deeply, take in a shaky breath through your nose.

“Dean-”

His lips on yours cut you off, no hesitation as he tilts your chin up with his hand to draw your face closer. Warm fingertips trail down your cheek and then tangle in your hair as he gently pulls at your bottom lip. It’s a single, long, perfect kiss, and you can’t breathe properly, but you don’t really want to. He pulls away, kisses you lightly again, once, twice. And your head is spinning and your breathing is ragged and you can feel a goofy grin stretched wide across your face.

“You good?”

You nod, breathless, still smiling. You’re not sure if you can stop at this point. You’ve wanted this for the longest time, wanted him. And now that it’s happening, you still can’t believe that it’s real. It feels like a dream you never want to wake up from.

Dean releases his hold on you and stands up, snapping you from the moment. He stretches his hand out, a smile on his face. “Ready to go?”

You raise your eyebrows, still trying to collect yourself. “Go? Go where?”

Your smile fades, uncertainty underlying the pure flood of euphoria you’d just experienced. Were things already back to normal? Just like that? Did you imagine the last few minutes? Did the bus you were on crash, and you’re actually in a coma?

He’s smiling at you, waiting expectantly, and your face flushes from embarrassment. You grasp his hand, and he effortlessly pulls you to your feet. He doesn’t give you a chance to step away, though. He keeps a firm hold on your hand and tugs you back into him. Toe to toe, your chest flush against his, he cups the side of your face, erasing any of the doubt as he says -

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

And then he’s kissing you again, firmly holding you tight against him while he steals the breath from your lungs.

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^Thank you for reading! You guys and your feedback are the reason I kept writing this one :)