#Dean x Reader series

[dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy]

Rearview - Prologue

Summary: After Cas helps you move into a friend's apartment under unfortunate circumstances, he offers his support and an invite to a party in his apartment complex.

Pairings: Dean x Reader, Cas x Reader!Platonic

Characters: Cas, Charlie (Mentioned), Jo (Mentioned), Nick (Mentioned)

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: cursing, implications of sex, bad writing probably

Author's Note: this is my first time ever writing a LONG ass series like this, so you can be brutal. also this is not beta'd so i apologize if this is not thoroughly scanned

Song: Go Slowly by Radiohead

Series Masterlist - Chapter 1

The noise was so much worse on this side of the city.

You loom over the pathetic two-by-two window set in the middle of the bedroom, staring off into the rush-hour traffic. Bumper-to-bumper, you watch and wonder if it ever slows, or if 2:00 P.M. was a common time for classes to get out over here, or if that damn blue hatchback will recognize that the green traffic light means go so that the grey truck can stop furiously honking. You catch yourself.

I have no right to complain, I’m lucky to be here, you scoldingly thought to yourself.

You can’t afford to be selfish, not at a time like this when Jo and Charlie took you in without a second thought when you would've been scrambling for a place to live two months before school started again. Not when they offered to make their two-bedroom closet into a three-bedroom. The last of the boxes in your hands grows heavy along with your guilt, and you mindlessly place it by other boxes close to your twin bed frame, which has a piece of copy paper attached with your name handwritten on it along with a heart drawn next to it. You carefully tear it off, smiling at the gesture, Charlie’s doing, for sure.

You and Charlie met freshman year. There was a prerequisite class you shared during your first semester at school, and the professor placed the two of you in a group project. The connection was almost instantaneous, bouncing back and forth on each other's obsessions and new bands, talking for hours after class. You loved, and still love, her character. She was sunshine on a rainy day- one of the most radiant girls you've ever met. Eternally positive- something this world could use a little more of. The two of you were inseparable that year, even though you've both found your small circles of friends here and there during sophomore year. Charlie is part of the Dungeons & Dragons Club, and a Coding Club, while you were in the Youth Education & Mentoring Program. Although both being rather involved in academics, there was always a time to catch up at the campus Starbucks or grab a bite together after class.

Jo, however, was more of a recent acquaintance. While you met via Charlie (since they have been roommates from the start), you've really only hung out with her a handful of times. Never one-on-one, just with Charlie as a trio. And she was alright. Just alright. She was nice to you when you would visit- talkative, friendly, and such...but never quite as warm as Charlie was. She had personality though, she was tough shit. And quite a stunner. When you and Charlie would watch TV in her room, Jo would be walking guys in and out of hers. And you never judged, not once. A girl has needs, you understand. But, you were deeply curious about why Jo never really secured a meaningful relationship with any of them.

“I fear that I’ve pissed off some of your downstairs neighbors,” Cas warns, pulling you out of your thoughts as he horizontally drags the mattress from the hallway to your empty frame. He had offered to help move you out of your ex's apartment the moment you had mentioned it to him. Charlie offered too, but her and Jo had class, and there had honestly only been a couple of boxes. There was a bit of urgency to get out, or escape, rather. “They didn’t think it was feasible to fit this in the elevator.”

You turn to him, holding back a small laugh, “And?”

“They were wrong.” He confirms, unbothered by the situation. He places the mattress on the frame, ensuring it fits properly and evenly. Backing away from the frame, he wipes the slight perspiration beginning to form under his hairline, turning to read you, and his face softens, “This may seem like a lot but… I have faith this will be a good change for you.”

You nod strongly, pushing away the negative memories that would inevitably arise from this transition, “No, you’re right, Cas. You’re absolutely right. I mean,” you huff a quick laugh, “I already know my roommates, the rent is cheap, I'm a semi-walking distance to my classes… life is good.”

Cas doesn’t buy it, but at least he tries to conceal his disbelief, “No one said you had to pretend everything is okay. You went through a lot-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s done with.” You cut him off with a grin, that might’ve passed more as a grimace. He studies you, quietly sighing before adding, “If you feel unsafe, or uncomfortable…or need to-”

“Then I know who to call.” Only a ghost of a genuine smile is what you could muster, even though the thought means more than he'll ever know. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas acknowledges your gratitude with a quick dip of the head. It was almost unsettling to see how much concern he's openly portrayed towards you. Not to say Cas doesn't care, not at all, but it's rare to see the couple of seconds of his face twists with pain when he looks at you, a reminder of all you've had to overcome the past summer. It's a weird feeling, having being studied under a microscope, peering through the slips and cracks of the walls you've built with distraction and repression, waiting to see when you'll break, if you will. But, his hyper-attentiveness isn't out of his own discomfort or fear. Cas has an innate care for his connections- with everyone in life. It's otherworldly. He was one of a kind that way. You knew it the day you met him, too, at your part-time job at one of the local restaurants of the city, Silver & Flame. As the youngest servers there, you were drawn to each other and got along well. And as soon as your problems with Nick started to escalate, he was there for you, every time and until the relationship crumbled from it's foundation. And you feel indebted to him after his kind favors and words and offers and presence and protection. You would be stuck if it wasn't for Cas. And even if he knew that... he didn't show it. He didn't help you for anything in return, nor would he want anything but your normalcy back.

He opens his mouth, hesitant to speak, but offers, "You know, the apartment building three blocks down on Bay Street, where I live," he pauses, trying to gauge a reaction, "One of the tenants throws a 'Welcome Back' party the week classes start. Open invite. The food is mediocre, and the drinks are far too strong, and the music is atrocious..."

You and Cas give a quick chuckle at that, he continues with slight hope, "Maybe you would consider coming. Bring Charlie and Jo, if they haven't already heard." It's clear he had thought of inviting you for a bit, but wasn't sure if you were ready to come out of the corner you've been hiding in.

"I'd like to introduce you to one of my good friends if you'd allow me to." Cas finishes, the offer becoming more of a persuasion.

You sway on your feet for a moment, your facial muscles tightening slightly, "I don't know."

"I'll be there, and by all means, you wouldn't have to stay long."

You inhale, glancing at anywhere but his pleading eyes, finding a stain on the beige carpet underneath you, before relenting and meeting his gaze again, "I'll get back to you."

Cas presses his lips together, before dipping his head slightly, knowing it's most likely a losing battle. "Alright." He places his hands on his hips, taking in the boxes left to unpack, "Do you need any more help?"

"No- no, that's okay, you've already done so much, Cas." Your eyes are full of appreciation, "Thank you."

His face warms, a soft grin paints his face, "Of course."

He takes a few steps backward, giving you a second chance to ask him to stay. At your quiet farewell, he turns to face the door, walking himself out.

The hum of the A/C and distant traffic are the only real ambiance in the congested room. You don't bother looking back down at the boxes left, falling onto the naked mattress.

Your mind stirs, a rough pattern of waves crashing over each other in your head. Things are better.

Aren't they?

Why does this sudden peace feel more like a mirage than anything? You're safe now. You're out of Nick's dingy apartment, away from him and his ring of criminals, on a completely different side of town. Your friends have been there to help before you even had to ask...and things have gone your way. But just...

Why...

Why does it feel like you need to hold your breath?

[ultravi0lence14]

SWEET ANGEL

dean winchester x angel!reader

2.5k | angst, enemies to lovers, szn nine

summary: with angel now living in the bunker, dean has to swallow his pride and realize not everyone is out to get him.

WHEN ANGEL FALLS IN LOVE

the drab walls of your room in the winchester’s bunker stared back at you, almost taunting in how their beige and gloomy colours looked around you. it was coming up on week four post fall, almost a month since you were locked out of heaven, and you seemed to be making absolutely no progress.

sam had tried to teach you about humans, explaining different types of slang and technologies that they had created. though, he decided to stop after his brief pop culture unit turned into a brutal argument stemming from your confusion.

it didn’t make it any better that you had no clothes. your white dress from the day you were found under the wilting willow was all you had; grass and mud washed away though the memories still lingered.

everything was starting to become unbearable. the scratchy sheets on your bed, the barren walls with no life or colour. your day to day routine wasn’t too bad. wake up, talk with sam about humanity and it’s customs, try a new snack, and then hobble away to your room where you’d indulge in copious amounts of youtube videos and pinterest boards.

there happened to be an old laptop of sam’s lying around, and after some grumbling from dean, both he and his younger brother helped you set up and navigate the device.

dean was a topic you wished to never bring up or even think about. the man stuck to his word, not talking to you unless you initiated first. even then he sometimes wouldn’t respond. when he did, it was always snippy responses that had you rolling your eyes, retreating to where you actually felt wanted; an enigma of a place that you created in your own company.

the internet was something you marvelled at. looking at a plethora of video content on youtube, and all different types of pictures on pinterest.

a sense of fashion was something you started to pick up on, looking at countless pieces online and even grabbing magazines from the store when sam would take you out with him.

your angelic roots peaked through in the fashion and aesthetic you gravitated towards. a girly vibe was always something you enjoyed, but you also seemed to like the more quirky and unique styles. skirts, plain and colourful tights, bright sweaters and form fitting tops seemed to find a way into your brain; the drab cotton dressed you landed on earth in going to shame as you looked at all the different patterns and fashion choices.

it finally dawned on you that this is what you needed. the boring walls, uncomfortable bedding, and borderline empty room just wasn’t doing it for you anymore. you needed to find yourself, express who you wanted to be without the chains of heaven wrapped around your body.

you needed to go shopping, and fast, but there was simply one problem. sam had left yesterday to go help some hunter friends on a case, leaving in their car and expressing how he’d be back in two weeks time. so, it seemed as though dean was the only person who could help you with your recent epiphany.

the plan was a lost cause, but begrudgingly, you got up from your bed and made the short walk to dean’s room. twirling your hair nervously, you found yourself stood in front of his door, hearing the faint sound of music coming from what you assumed to be his record player. slowly lifting your hand, you let a delicate knock linger on the wood; a drastic change from the intense music playing from behind the door.

music halted, a metaphorical record scratch being heard as heavy feet came towards the door. wind blew the front pieces of your hair back, and you were greeted with dean’s gloomy face as he stared down at you from where he stood.

“what do you want, feathers?” his words had a cadence of annoyance, like he’d rather be doing anything else but talk to you. it made you wring your fingers together, picking at your cuticles as you looked up at him through your lashes. “i have a favour to ask.”

if this were any other occasion, dean would say no. hell, he’d probably slam the door in your face. but those eyes, those goddamn eyes that stared into his soul. they were big, giving your already angelic features a doe-like look. dean was mentally kicking himself at how easily he was folding.

with a sigh, he cocked his head to his right, staring at you intently, a way to mask how your look was making him feel. “i’ll only say yes ‘cause sammy’s away — but tell me what it is first. i’m not going on some whack ass trip all ‘cause you batted your eyes at me all pretty.”

the words that left dean’s lips had your own parting in shock, eyes widening even more. he was so strange. one second he hated you and the next he was flirting like you were a girl he saw at the bar. but you decided a while ago to not question dean’s ways, for diving in too deep would be like swimming in the mariana’s trench.

with a light cough, you continued your recent proposal as dean looked down at you with a cocky grin on his face. “i want to decorate my room, get new clothes, really integrate myself into society. and before you complain, i’ve been wearing the same dress for a month; it’s time for a change.”

dean would love to say no, he truly would. he’d love to laugh in your face, tell you that your sweet and innocent act wasn’t working on him. every angel — besides cas — that sam and dean had come across left them with more problems then they started out with. why should dean trust you?

but over the past weeks, he couldn’t help but realize how unreasonable he was being. cas trusted you, and sam seemed to be doing just fine in hanging out with you everyday. dean had to swallow his pride and realize that someone wasn’t planning to hurt him or his brother, that all you had on your mind was reinventing yourself and not dwindling into psychosis by staring into your empty abyss of a room.

though it was dean at the end of the day, and he could never admit that for once he was wrong. so with practiced ease, he pushed down those feelings and huffed loudly, reaching across the door frame for his keys and pushing past you out the door.

“c’mon feathers,” he grumbled as you stood by his door shocked, not knowing how to react to dean actually wanting to help you. “hurry up before i change my mind.”

the car ride was tense, an awkward tension that had you smushing into the side door. dean’s music blared through the speakers, a testimony on the fact he didn’t want to talk to you. there was no place in your bones that had you wanting to talk to him, but after 2 hours in the car, you got confused on where he was going.

“umm, dean?” you questioned, turning your body towards his and watching as his jaw ticked from his side profile. “where are we going?”

he didn’t turn his head, didn’t look away from the road as his jaw tensed and his fingers gripped on the steering wheel. “minnesota.” your lips parted, confused on why he was going to a whole different state before he spoke again. “you’ve never been to the mall of america. i’m giving you important life experiences, feathers.”

dean watched as your eyes widened, pouty lips opening wide as shock filled your body. he honestly didn’t know why he was driving a whole ten hours for you to go shopping. it was unnecessary, but dean couldn’t stop himself from continuing his drive.

“oh.” your voice came out breathy, your head going down to your chest as you fiddled with your fingers. “well, i’ve never been on a drive this long. what do you do?”

what did you do? when he was with sam, it was like muscle memory. sit in silence for a bit, jokingly bicker back and forth, sam would sleep for a bit. but you had never done this before. so dean had to think of a whole new way to keep you entertained.

he truly was trying to work on his animosity towards you. so with a sigh he turned slightly to look at you. “some people sleep, some talk to the whole time. what do you wanna do, sweetheart?”

“can you tell me about your views on the world?” your words had dean fully turning his head to look at you. he briefly gave you a confused look before turning back to the road. why would you ask that? he understood you were an angel, a heavenly creature that didn’t know anything about her own father’s creation, but why did you what to know his views on it?

sensing his confusion, you backtracked as best as you could, shaking your head and staring out the car window at all the trees and fields melding together like molten lava. “i just mean, i’ve heard how sam feel’s about certain things, but i want to know how you feel. your favourite music, movies, what your dreams are. i don’t know dean, i just want to know more.”

he was shocked, not ever having someone ask him what his dreams and favourite things were. he slightly turned his head again, eyes watching as your hair curtained your face. tentatively, he pulled his hand away from the steering wheel so he could brush the strands away from your face. your cheeks blushed as he tucked it behind your ear, hand gracing your cheek softly as he let it fall down your arm.

“sure, whatever you want, angel.”

that’s how you two spent the rest of the drive; dean raving on about all his favourite things while you silently listened, inventively taking in all his interests. you noticed how over time he became more open, excitedly talking about his interests from childhood to now. it was nice, listening to all the things that made dean, well, dean.

it wasn’t even like he wanted to stop. this was one of the most relaxing drives he’s had in a while. you didn’t interrupt him, you just sat and listened. sitting in his front seat like the heavenly angel you were and looking more like a painting than a celestial being.

dean even drove through the night, not wanting to wake you as you slept so pretty in the car. he didn’t mind not getting any sleep if it meant not waking you up to go to a motel. he was also accustomed to not sleeping for days, so he was honestly fine.

the mall finally came into view just as your eyes peeled open. you were confused, not used to the notion of sleeping. it was like a massive weight had lifted off your chest, arising like snow white out of her bed of flowers. as you noticed where you were, you excitedly looked at the structure, eyes wide in awe as you scrambled out of the car and dashed towards the entrance.

you were like an excited bunny, hopping around from store to store as dean kept a close eye on you. each shop you came out with something new — god bless fake credit cards — and dean had to stop himself from thinking about how pretty you looked in certain items.

at first you needed to figure out what your size was, so dean would be succumbed to sitting in stuffed changing rooms with obnoxious pop music playing while you tried on tops and skirts behind a flimsy curtain. when you came out in your first outfit — a long sleeve black and white striped top with a denim mini skirt — dean almost passed out in the fucking store.

his breath almost lodged in his throat, making him choke on his own breath like a damn child. that white dress of yours never let him see how long your legs truly were. they exemplified the skirt low on your hips while your just as long torso helped the shirt fit perfectly.

he knew you were a tall person, but holy shit.

you were like a fucking model. dean had to remind himself of his forced hate towards you for if he didn’t, he’d push you into that change room with his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

when dean awkwardly mentioned that you probably needed to buy some undergarments, he sat outside the victoria’s secret as you toddled in with a perplexed look on your face and his credit card in hand. the bag you came out with was massive, and dean was enough of a gentlemen to not look inside or too close to it.

the rest of the stores were a blur. a plethora of bags filled with tight fitted zip ups — some knitted, multiple skirts, tight fitted tops, cozy and colourful sweaters, a multitude of coloured tights, brown and black suede boots, and even more dresses that dean swore that it wouldn’t all fit in the impala.

it didn’t make it any better that you even shopped for your room. floral sheets with ruffled pillow cases, a white comforter, multiple tall, thick and short candles to decorate the space, and a multitude of prints and paintings that had dean shocked by your artistic eye.

as you finished at the mall, dean decided that a couple of thrifts store wouldn’t hurt. you were enthralled, looking around and grabbing as many cool trinkets as you could for your shelves. he found you a used cd player, taking you to the section with cd’s so you could pick out some music.

sam had gotten you a spotify account, so you knew the stuff you liked. songs and albums from artists dean didn’t even know you knew about graced your cart. britney spears, alanis morissette, carrie underwood, abba, fleetwood mac, and other similar artists that dean didn’t simply like, but he’d buy them just for you.

he even saw you pick up old one direction and justin bieber cd’s, and decided to not even question you on it.

you were so excited, and dean didn’t want to dim the ravenous sparkle that lilted your eyes. you rambled on about how you were going to revamp the old furniture without even needing to buy new ones, how the art studio stool that you bought for the desk was going to be so much better than the uncomfortable wood chair.

dean promised he’d take you to shops around the bunker to get essentials like comfy clothes and pajama’s, but for now, it was time to go back home.

the ride home had dean’s heart pumping just like before. you kept asking him more questions, asking stories about his childhood and how long he’d been hunting for. you were so interested in his life, which sent a wave of electricity through dean’s bones.

he started to admit to himself that he may be an asshole. how could he be so mean to such a sweet angel like you. your innocence, darling nature, and soft yet exuberant aura left dean feeling like he was floating on a feather.

you just made everything simple, and dean realized that helping you become human was the best thing cas had ever decided for him.

TAGS: @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @ostaramoon @haunteres @fallbhind @rubyvhs @foolinthera1n @taurus0queenie33 @vaiieydoii @jasvtsc @bitchykittenconnoisseur @angel-inspiredblog @galacticalllcafffeine @pascal-rascal424 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @fayeisuppose @geisterfvhrer @bluemerakis @si1ver06 @drqstqr @wh0s-ra3 @supernatural-bangtanboys @whump-loverz @mostlymarvelgirl @d3anwinchesterswife @youdontknowe @oceanolokys

*creating my perfect 2000s makeover montage in this chapter and living vicariously through it. also poor angel doesn’t know what online shopping is. she’s going to be a depop warrior tho i will tell you that much.

[rubyvhs]

who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, car sex (just fingering), angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to. 

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them). 

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree. 

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way. 

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI. 

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean. 

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer." 

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way. 

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends. 

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times. 

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever. 

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one. 

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes. 

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers. 

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you." 

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth. 

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever. 

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw. 

"We— Dean, can't here—" 

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing. 

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right." 

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?" 

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance. 

"De, someone can see—"

"Don't overthink it." He says, burying his head between your breasts, kissing, biting, licking and loving all the noises you're making. He groans into your skin, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot that has you moaning out loud. "God, sweetheart, love that sound."

He moves his hands to your waist, thrusts his hips once, checking your reaction. A little tremor passes through you. Eyes hood over. 

"Can't believe you're here, and all for me." 

"Yes," you breathe, resting your forehead against Dean's, overwhelmed by his words and how close his hand is to your inner thigh. "Please."

"If I slide my hand up your skirt, will I find you dripping wet for me?" Another shudder shakes you gently. 

"Yes."

When he grips your knee and your neck, closing your lips with a kiss while his other hand travels higher, you start feeling your pulse hammering in your ears. The windows start misting over, giving you privacy— not that you particularly believe Dean cares. 

Dean moves his seat back, then pushes you until your shoulder blades hit the steering wheel so you're more comfortable, your legs bent on either side of him, hands braced against the door and his chest. 

"Dreamed about this," He says, his voice low and husky. The way his eyes are raking over your body, you're not even sure you're supposed to hear him. "Thought about this everyday for six years, sweetheart. Now I get to have you." 

He glides one finger between your lips, sliding up and down slowly. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans, eyes focused between your legs and you fall over, your head on his chest, before he pushes you back against the steering wheel, "nu-uh, wanna see it. Wanna see how wet you are for me, baby."

You have so much to say— a lot of apologies and 'I miss you's’ and so many more beautiful words and kisses and you want to tell Dean that you care about him as much as he does you and why you left—

He dips two fingers inside you. Curls them immediately, and just like that, he finds your most sensitive spot. 

You half pant, half moan, the words 'Dean, oh my god, please' a jumbled drowned-out mishmash because he starts torturing your clit, his thumb rubbing perfect circles, hard and fast, reducing your bones to liquid. But when you're right there, he eases away, lazily pumping two fingers in and out. 

He smiles, exhaling a content breath as his gaze zeroes between your thighs, ignoring your pleas. "Yeah? you wanna come, darlin’?" the pet name and the question both bring out a loud moan you didn’t know you were holding, your hips involuntarily moving against his fingers until he stops you. you’re about to whine again but he increases the pace, crooking his fingers inside you while his thumb rubs your clit, and that’s all it takes.

The orgasm rips through you, powerful, relentless, so intense you think you might just black out. You’ve never felt so boneless in someone's arms, until your head falls right into his chest as he works your pussy, the sensation easing off and then coming again like waves crashing against the shore.

Dean doesn't stop. His fingers are rough, his thumb still being put to good use, and the release lasts so long. So fucking long you think you have an out-of-body experience. 

It takes a minute until you're able to breathe anything but his cologne. When you can, you sit up slightly and move into the seat next to him, thankful for the lack of a console to separate you since you don't get very far, just lay your head on his chest. 

He kisses your head. You can even feel his smile against the kiss until you notice the bulge of his pants and frown. You quickly get up and Dean's entire face falls. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—" 

Dean grabs your wrist before it makes it halfway to his dick. "This isn't an exchange, sweetheart." Your entire body is like jelly, you can't move and you're pretty sure if you try sucking Dean off, you’ll pass out. But it feels… rude. "You're spent. I'll get you home so you can take a hot shower, and we'll pick this up again when you're ready. How about that?" 

You can't fucking believe your luck. Dean wants an 'again'. 

[legalmente-loca]

An Angel In His Eyes

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Angel!Reader

Summary: Dean sees you as pure and himself as dirty. But you crave him and you must show him that there is nothing wrong with him.

Word Count: 3,115

loca's notes: This idea came from this image.

Tags/ Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, lost of virginity

You are perfect in his eyes. A real angel who fills his insides with grace. Anyone who saw you would say you were normal, just another girl looking for her way. But he knew the truth. Created centuries ago, your name too strange not to be given nicknames, heavenly gaze…

You were an angel.

A divine angel, a soldier of God, a warrior of heavenly battles.

And you were perfect for him.

You could see it in his eyes. Maybe you are not used to people's feelings, but you know how to read them. They are very easy to read. And Dean longed for you, in a way that made you feel unique. Being an angel of God was already something unique, but somehow, Dean made you feel more special.

But he also saw something in you that he could not shake off. Your innocence. What innocence? You are a warrior, you had blood on your hands, you had seen your brothers die and you had sought revenge for them. You had observed humans, their pleasures, their ailments, their perfections and imperfections. And likewise, Dean was the human who shined out from all the others. A soldier for his own father, like you. But a man nonetheless who longed for forgiveness. There was too much guilt inside him and as you got to know him better, you could see that he was even drowning in it.

And, of course you, as an angel, wanted to save him.

But he didn't want to be saved, he didn't see himself as someone worth saving.

That’s why he ignored you most of the time. Whenever you tried to get close to him, Dean would pull away. He would even start arguments with you just to have an excuse to get out of the room.

You see, Dean was fighting the lust he felt towards you. How could he not feel lust towards a sweet angel like you? After all, you were perfect. People interested you to a point where you wanted to gain knowledge about how they thought just to feel empathy.

He didn’t want to ruin that. To ruin something so perfect with his dirtiness, because he was dirty. He really was compared to you.

That’s why, when you walked into the motel room, he grabbed his jacket and got ready to leave for a bar where he would meet another woman. But you stopped him with your melodious voice.

“Wait. I want to talk to you.”

He turned around to look at you.

“About what?”

“Why do you seem scared of me?” You asked with clear confusion, tilting your head.

He shook his head in amusement and took off his jacket again.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“And why do you run away every time you see me? You don’t even want to talk to me. You know, I was one of the angels who dragged you back from doom.”

“I know, Cas told me.”

“So where does this fear I feel radiating from you come from?” You walked over to him.

He sighed. The war that was in his head downstairs was now in his head upstairs. He wondered if it would be a good idea to tell you how he felt about you. But he also thought that you wouldn’t understand, that he would have to explain it to you. How do you explain something that even you didn’t fully understand?

“Look, sweetheart…” He ran a hand across his forehead. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m hundreds of years old, my knowledge goes beyond that of any human.”

“Not in this field.”

You looked at him curiously. You knew about history, both human and celestial. You knew about plants and the other gods. You had watched how the different creations of humanity were created. What could he be referring to?

He noticed that you wouldn’t give up, so he decided to give in and tell you.

“I feel… Things for you.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well… Things like…” He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. “Like lust.”

“Lust…”

You had known Lust, even fought they. You knew who they were and what they did, how they rented people out. Was that the whole big deal?

“That’s all?”

He frowned.

“All? Sweethearth, I just confessed something big to you.”

“Not really.” You shook your head. “You say you feel lust, that’s normal. You’re human, my vessel too. The attraction you feel towards this body is normal.”

“You don’t understand…”

He looked away towards the window. It was starting to rain, a strong wind had been present since the afternoon.

“I feel lust towards you, not just your body.” He returned his gaze to you. “I feel lust when I think about your gaze, not your eyes. When I think about the way you move, not your legs. When I think about the tone you use to speak…” His gaze ran from bottom to top until it reached your eyes. “I feel lust towards you, angel.”

You were speechless. This human didn’t feel things for your vessel, but for you… For you and only you.

You swallowed, the emotions were confusing inside you. And what do you feel for him? You wondered. And you remembered his laugh, his jokes, the way his green eyes looked in the light, and also in his darker form; when he hunted and killed without a second thought, without mercy.

You placed your hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“I have feelings for you too.” You murmured.

Dean gulped, clearly nervous. But no, this wasn’t something he could ruin.

He placed his hand on yours and gently pushed it away.

“I’m not good for you, angel.”

You tilted your head in confusion. A human no good for you? Well, yes, it was against all the rules. The fruit of your union would be cosmic chaos on its own. But you sensed he meant something else.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I’m a killer. My job is to kill. I’ve seen more blood than I have in my body and you… You’re an angel. I could never corrupt you like that.”

You held his hand. So that was it. Self-hatred.

“I’ve seen wars made up of bloodthirsty men,” You said. “Destruction of all kinds and cruelty throughout the centuries. I’m not afraid of you and your darkness, Dean. Because I know it really isn’t as bad as you think.”

He sighed and brought your hand to his cheek.

“You’re something from another world… You’re an angel.” He whispered.

You took another step forward and your gaze dropped to his lips. You ran your thumb over them before bringing your own lips closer and kissing them softly. But Dean pulled away from the kiss, at least at first. After a few seconds of looking into your eyes, searching for some sign of regret that he couldn’t find, he kissed you again. He moved his hands up your arms, moving up to your cheeks, where he caressed your skin with his thumbs.

It was your first kiss. You had never kissed anyone in any form, so you weren’t quite sure what to do. Dean seemed to notice this, as he guided you with his lips slowly and gently, taking his time to savor the moment and your mouth. You slowly walked back until your legs touched the edge of your bed, causing you to sit up. Dean stared at you, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

You opened your mouth and licked his finger without taking your gaze off of him. He groaned and closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to hold back. But you didn’t want him to hold back. You brought your hands to his belt and undid it before unzipping his jeans. But he stopped you, placing his other hand over yours.

“Are you sure?” He asked softly.

And you could only nod. Your angelic voice was lost in your throat. It was enough for him and he let you continue.

Dean let you pull his jeans down and you looked at the bulge between his legs, causing you to clench your legs together. He noticed this movement and smiled.

“You look so cute right now.” He looked down at himself and placed his thumbs inside his boxers, pulling them down until his cock sprang free.

You gave a small gasp at the sight. The red tip, glistening with precum, eager for you.

You reached up and touched him gently, running your slender fingers along his skin. He couldn’t stop the small moan that came from the back of his throat and he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t do that or it will be over sooner than we both want.”

You nodded and moved back on the bed until you were sitting on your knees. You held the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. You looked at him waiting for a reaction, your bra in full view.

“You are beautiful.” He murmured, looking at you in awe.

You smiled and shook your head.

“This is not my real form, Dean.”

“Yes, it is.” He said without hesitation. “Because it’s as beautiful as you.”

You tilted your head, but you didn’t have time to think about it too much as he took off his shirt and climbed onto the bed. He brushed your hair out of your eyes and kissed you softly again. His hands traveled down your body until they reached your bra, which he unclasped.

Your breasts popped free and a shiver ran down your spine. No matter how many moments you had lived, the sensations of now were unique.

Dean pulled away from the kiss and looked at your chest, his lips parted as he whispered something you couldn't quite make out, but you suspected it was almost the same thing he said before.

His hand ran along the edge of one of your breasts and you bit your bottom lip, feeling more moisture between your legs. Dean gently pushed you down to lay down, which you did.

You rested your head on the pillows and looked up at him. The light made him look like a God. Different from the ones you knew, but a God somehow.

He parted your legs and positioned himself between them before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Your body needs to be worshipped.” He murmured as he placed another kiss on your nose. “And that’s just what I’m going to do.”

He trailed his kisses down to your neck, where he licked and nibbled, causing you to let out small gasps from your pretty mouth. He continued down until he reached one of your breasts. He watched you intently as he took your nipple into his mouth and played with it with his tongue. Your breathing changed, your chest rising and falling faster as Dean continued to worship you. He bit down softly and pulled away slightly, tugging at your nipple until he released it from between his teeth until he moved to the other, giving it equal attention until both breasts were wet with his saliva and red from his bites.

He continued his way down your body, scattering kisses across your skin until he reached your waist, where he paused to look at you.

He wanted to know if you were still on the same page as him and you nodded.

“Good girl.” That comment made your legs shake. “Oh, you liked that, huh?” He chuckled softly and pulled your pants down.

Your panties were seen by him and he licked his lips. He could already feel your sting on the tip of his tongue, even before he leaned down and ran his tongue along your core over your panties.

You let out a moan and buried your head into the pillow. Your desire finally being satisfied, even though it was just beginning.

He continued to lick until he noticed your panties getting wetter and wetter, leaving a wet spot. He bit the fabric and pulled it down, patting your hips to signal you to lift them up. He slid your panties down your legs slowly, teasing you, and tossed them to the floor above his jeans.

He didn't beat around the bush and buried his face between your legs, licking and nibbling slowly at first, then faster. He licked like he was thirsty, like your grace was leaking out from between your legs and he wanted to collect it all.

You moaned and held the sheets beneath you firmly as you felt his tongue running over your purest place.

Then he gently inserted a finger, watching your expressions intently. He slowly slid it in and out of you, your walls squeezing him and he couldn't help but imagine his cock instead of his finger. That drew a whimper from him and he rubbed his face against your thigh before giving it a small bite.

He licked your clit as he pushed another finger into you and your eyes rolled back.

“Oh God…”

The name of your creator fell from between your lips as you felt a wave of pleasure rush through you from head to toe, making you shiver and tense your body, closing your thighs around his head as your back arched and your eyes turned blue making you believe that maybe you had teleported to heaven once again.

Dean moaned against your core as he licked up the last of your nectar. He pulled away and licked his lips as he watched your chest rise and fall in gasps with complete lust. He crawled up your body until he was close to your face and kissed you with more fervor than before. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue.

“You were a very good girl.” He murmured against your lips. “And now you must continue like this, understand?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. He let out a growl.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Dean…” You whispered.

“That’s my girl.” He placed a kiss on your nose.

He moved his body until he was more comfortably positioned between your legs. He held his member in one hand while resting the other on the mattress beside your head.

“Tell me how much you want this.” He rubbed his lips against your cheek while rubbing his cock against your folds. “C’mon, tell me.”

“I want it so bad. Please, Dean, give it to me…”

He placed one last kiss against your lips and slowly pushed the tip of his member into you. You moaned louder, the sensation taking you by surprise. You held onto his arms tightly.

“That’s it��” He murmured, his breath against your face as he went a little deeper. “You’re doing so well.” He scattered kisses all over your face to relax you.

You felt a sting, at first. More of an annoyance than pain, but that faded as he pushed another few inches in. You felt a trail of your grace run through your body.

“Dean…”

“That’s it, baby.” He kissed your lips, to which you responded gladly.

He reached the bottom and you felt him touch your cervix. He stilled, cursing, waiting for you to give him permission to continue. And you did, nodding and holding him tightly, your foreheads together.

He pulled out of you slowly, leaving just the tip inside before he entered again. You moaned and frowned, your breathing quickening as you felt him part your inner walls. He started to have a steady rhythm, your juices staining your thighs and his pelvis. The rain getting stronger outside.

“You feel so good, baby. Like heaven itself.” He rested his elbows on the sides of your head as he kept up his pace.

“Faster.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please.”

He nodded and placed a kiss on your cheek before going faster. You moaned louder and your eyes rolled back.

“Oh, fuck.” Dean cursed. “You’re so tight I can barely get out. You don’t want to let me go, do you?” He exhaled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t move away.”

His movements turned into thrusts, the bed beginning to rock and hit the wall.

You turned your face and noticed the cross that was on a wall beginning to bounce.

“Oh, God, Dean.” You whimpered.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby.”

He took your chin in one hand, guiding your face to his again, kissing you passionately as he continued to pound into you.

You felt that trail run through your entire body again, and your eyes lit up. Dean watched in fascination as your eyes turned blue. That trail surrounded your body, and this time, Dean could admire it.

You arched your back and pressed yourself around him, causing him to moan and swear he saw the shadow of your wings expanding across the bed.

“T-that’s my good girl. C’mon, cum for me.”

You moaned his name, and your angel power exploded, the trail becoming too bright for Dean’s mortal eyes. He had to close them, but his movements didn’t stop, though it’s not like he could move too much since you were practically squeezing him tightly.

Dean came shortly after you did, his cum filling you, staining your walls and spreading out.

He dropped down beside you so he wouldn’t crush you, both of your breaths panting as you tried to get back to normal. He looked you up and down and leaned in close to you.

“You okay?” he murmured, running his hand through your hair.

You looked up at him and smiled tiredly.

“I’m doing great…”

He laughed and pulled your body closer to him, your head on the side of his neck, and you breathed in his scent.

“Was this okay? No regrets?”

You shook your head as you traced lines across his chest.

“None. And you?” You looked up at him.

Dean smirked and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“Nah.”

You laughed and snuggled into his body. Dean grabbed the sheet and covered both of your bodies.

“So… now what?” You asked.

“Now what?”

You shrugged.

“So… How does this go? Did it just happen this time, will it happen again or… Will it turn into something more?”

He looked down at you.

“Oh, this will definitely turn into something more.”

He hugged you tighter and placed a kiss on your hair.

You smiled and closed your eyes. Being an angel might give you a lot of knowledge in many things and innocence in others. Having a relationship with a human would go against the rules of heaven and The other angels would probably talk behind your back. But you didn’t care. You had Dean.

Dean Winchester One Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Masterlist

Join my Tag List

@yjessi @s7nburn @tommysaxes @depressionbarbie2023 @im-roxx @rxouxcesss @thedevilortheangel @ariasong11 @mrs-nesmith @jackles010378 @ineffable-moons @ailishnovak @dilfsandmartinis @cravemeintellectually @montyrokz @v1v1-3 @l-05 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @s0urw00lf @lmpala1967 @luvwillz

[thesilmarillionblog]

WASTE ── series masterlist. (COMPLETE.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 61.102

Warnings: +18!, SMUT!, loss of virginity, unrequited love, heavy angst, hurt, drama, jealousy, sexual tension, painful, confessions

Trope: Friends to Lovers Ao3 Link is here.

♱ Waste: Chapter: 1 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 1

♱ Waste: Chapter: 2 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 2 (Soon)

♱ Waste: Chapter: 3 ♱ Waste: Special Chapter 3 (Soon)

♱ Waste: Chapter: 4

♱ Waste: Chapter: 5

♱ Waste: Chapter: 6

THE PLAYLIST 🎧

1- Waste by Kxllswxtch

2- It Takes A Lot to Know A Man by Damien Rice

3- Honeythief by Halou

4- Now the One You Once Loved Is Leaving by Lydia

5- Deathbeds by Bring Me the Horizon

[allthosepeopleilovetofangirlover]

DATING DEAN WINCHESTER HEADCANONS

Dean is the guy who'd pretend that he's the best in the entire universe, but he'll get nervous if he ever sees someone slightly more attractive than him.

He loves to watch movies with you, even more so if they're of his choice. Cuddling on the couch in the Bunker and watching a movie is his favourite evening activity, and he's constantly looking at your face throughout the movie to see if you like it or not.

Dean doesn't want you to accompany him on hunts, especially if the creature you have to hunt happens to be particularly dangerous, like a vampire or a werewolf.

He'll never try to control you, but he will get insanely protective of you and you have had many arguments based on that.

Arguments that almost always get resolved by angry sex or intense makeout sessions.

But for the ones that don't, you two eventually find your way back to each other.

He'll never admit it, but he loves it when you treat him with affection and give him flowers.

If it wasn't obvious, Dean is touch-starved, and you figure it out very soon into your relationship. You make sure to give him reassuring touches ever so often, especially in the times of stress.

Dean is very grateful for those touches, and keeps reciprocating the gesture, but in a much wilder way.

He is very possessive, and will glare daggers at anyone who stares at you for too long. Men who know him know how dangerous he is, and how well he can fight, so they stay away from you. But the strangers who try to look at you in any way other than respect, Dean will not hesitate to throw punches.

For all his playboy ways, he's extremely loyal to you. Will not even look at any other girl when you're in the picture. You're the only one he wants and needs.

Dean likes to pull pranks on you. They're harmless, obviously. He loves to see that adorable expression on your face when you don't know what's wrong when you're being pranked. Once you realise it however, it doesn't take a lot of time for that expression to go from adorable to angry.

You love to pull pranks on him as well, often teaming up with Sam to teach his older brother a lesson. Sam loves it, and though Dean pretends to be angry and offended, he's laughing on the inside.

Frequent rides in the Impala, especially when it's drizzling and a cool breeze is blowing. He just likes to go on long drives with you, no distance is too long with you by his side.

Dean tells you stories of his childhood, yes, even the bad ones. The good ones to get a good laugh while the bad ones for you to get more acquainted with his reality, to know who he really is.

He had taken a lot, and I mean a LOT of time to open up emotionally, it was extremely difficult for him to not be guarded at all times. But nothing is too difficult when it comes to you.

Now, he opens up to you and talks to you about how he feels, instead of hiding his real emotions behind corny jokes and sarcasm.

Whenever you get mad at him, he immediately gets to know and tries his best to make sure that you aren't mad, the process including more corny jokes but you learned to love them anyway.

Sam loves the way you have a positive effect on his brother, how you calm him down from both anger and stress, how you make him less reckless and more affectionate.

The most important thing however, is the fact that you make him less self-destructive. He takes a lot of care of you, but along with you, he has started to learn how to cherish and love himself as well.

You bring out the best in him, and he brings out the best in you.

You're his yin, and he's your yang. Both of you wouldn't have it any other way.

[yoursweetsix66]

i say this from the bottom of my heart, if I was hallucinating jeffrey dean morgan he simply would not be wearing pants ever

is that so wrong? I mean look at him

Now imagine if his pants were taken by a mysterious wizard who may or may not be named “yoursweetsix66” but that’s neither here nor there

[bluemerakis]

────── ❝ his for the taking ❞ ── ⋆˙ 𖦹 ˚.⋆

─────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ──

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x anxious .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, portrayals of anxiety, lip biting, consumption of blood (if u squint), finger sucking, masturbation f receiving, grinding, overstimulation, pet names, ben being a tentative cutie bf with his own idea of therapy lmfao

synopsis ─ it’s one of those devitalising days that’s got you biting your lip raw. soldier boy notices, and if there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s seeing his girl all worked up at the hands of something that isn’t his.

word count ~ 3.4k

──────────────────────

The apartment’s living room brims with the static of the television, the muffled voice of a man narrating a football game forming a pesky backdrop that’s otherwise repressed by your busy mind. You’re tucked into the end of the sofa, legs cluttered together in a tense cross while you cradle your forehead in the palm of your hand.

On the other end of the Sofa, Ben has settled himself into a shameless manspread—a thawed beer clutched in the hand propping the arm rest while the over fans his thigh. All his attention is trained onto the game blaring from the television’s beaming display, and occasionally, he lets slip some exasperated cuss, followed by a short-lived rant that falls entirely on your deaf ears.

Your head’s tilted down to the textbook splayed open in the crook of your lap, where your free hand’s armed with a rigid index finger that slowly cuts down the expanse of the page you’re reading. The words feel so inexplicably cluttered that you find your eyes flicking back and forth across the blocky text—resetting the sentence every so often. And just when the information seems to settle amongst your comprehension, your mind flashes with a mental list of everything you’ve yet to do. It fills your chest with an overwhelming dread that usurps your focus entirely, nipping your academic grind—or an attempt at one—at the fragile bud.

It frustrates you to the point of flipping the book closed in a hot flurry, the lower lip you’d been slowly tenderising between your teeth now captured in a harsh bite. Your head buckles into both palms as an audible groan echoes from within the suffocating grip, and in your lap, you feel the textbook’s back shift against your skin. You figure it’s about to fall, but you’re at your wits end with the unsuccessful study attempt, so you decide to let it—out of petty spite.

Just as the textbook tilts along your calf in fragile balance, the cushion beside you dips with the weight of Ben’s prying presence, and his hand must’ve come to the book’s rescue because when it finally slips the ledge of your lap, there’s no thump to solidify its downfall. And his heroic act is confirmed when you finally hear a dull thud of the book amongst the coffee table before you, followed by a brisk whistle that’s a telling remark in its own.

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He asks pointedly. When you don’t look at him, he pushes his advance further by settling his palm against your closest knee—which, unbeknownst to you, had been besieged by a compulsive series of bounces. It was an absentminded habit that tended to escalate on the nights seemingly determined to fracture your composure—nights like this one.

And Ben, he always notices.

You adore his attentiveness—you really do, but the irritation you’ve been hoarding throughout the study session compels you to fashion silence at his question. But your boyfriend’s not—and never has been—tolerant of being ignored, so the palm he’s cupped over your rattled knee applies just enough pressure to still your busy body, and once you finally comply with a lax leg, you feel his hand sag down and across the bare hump of your thigh. He settles at the inner for a firm squeeze, his fingers burrowing divots into the flesh.

“You gonna talk to me ‘bout it? Or you gonna keep up the ragin’ bounce house campin’ out on your knee, hm?” He probes again—and it’s underlined by a low, husky tone of impatience. He’s tolerant of your avoidance, until he’s not. He’d once claimed that it was his brand to don, not yours.

“Sorry,” you murmur into your palms, making the conscious effort to throttle any further urge to fidget. Behind the privacy of your hands, you snag your lip on another bite, and your tongue retreats with an acrid-tasking visitor—a trail of blood. The split flesh begins protesting its hostage situation, throbbing with a force that makes you want to recapture it in a numbing grip.

“Not what I wanna hear,” Ben responds disinterestedly, releasing the grip on your thigh to furl his fingers around your nearest wrist. There, he gives one, effortless tug that collapses your mask of self-pity and finally exposes some fraction of your thoughts to him. “Look at me,” he demands—but it’s soft, curious, and his grip on you doesn’t falter. Instead, his thumb starts stroking gentle lines across the pulse point of your wrist, as though he’s consulting your biology to gather the information you won’t tell him.

And your heart is racing—so much so that it thuds at the cavity of your chest like a caged bird trying to escape. But you don’t look at him. You torque your chin the other way, choosing to settle your eyes on a dark corner of the room that’s blind to the frustrated tears pricking at your rims. You’re so inexplicably overwhelmed that everything’s starting to weigh on you. Heavily. And you’re not sure he can help with something so abstract—so confined to the battlefields of your mind.

You love him, and he loves you—and while he is a soldier, he’s not the kind that can fight your internal wars for you.

“Hey,” he calls again. It’s firm, and decidedly his last warning before he finally releases your wrist to graze his fingers along the underside of your jaw. He manages to frame you in his hold, where he topples your stubborn resolve by tilting your face in his direction. “Enough o’ this silent treatment shit,” he scolds, but his tough display drops along with his gaze as he spots the blood welling on your bottom lip, the hand guarding his beer finally banishing the beverage to the armrest.

Immobilised by Ben’s grip—with nowhere to escape his prying gaze, you blink away the moisture lingering along the rims of your eyes, your hands fumbling together within your lap like it’ll throttle the nerves bristling at your fingertips.

“Well, shit,” Ben breathes somewhat amazedly, neglecting the sight of your bloody lip to catch your eye once more. “If you were into that sorta thing, you shoulda told me.” There’s a mischievous glint to the green depths of his glare, one that you could appreciate on any other night—but not this one.

At his poke, you suckle your lower lip self-consciously, faintly surprised at the impressive bead of blood that rolls onto your tongue. Ben’s throat rumbles with a disapproving noise, his grip on your jaw shifting to elevate his thumb to your lips. There, he drags the pad over the tender tissue before pushing it between the bloodied flesh, where he curls it downward to hook your lower lip free of your teeth.

You’re briefly surprised by the intrusion, but your jaw seems to slack with the motion, and you realise, then, just how much tension you’ve been hoarding in the form of a clench. You catch a hint of salt as his thumb presses into your tongue, but it’s not an unpleasant—or unfamiliar taste. And it doesn’t overstay its welcome as Ben retreats from your warmth, the separation formally announced by a characteristic pop that feels laughable.

“You’ve gotta stop doin’ that,” he says with a light squeeze of your face—like he’s solidifying his will.

You pass your tongue over your lips to collect the saliva trail his thumb has marked in its wake. “I can’t help it,” you say softly, feeling the way the cut bristles at the stinging caress of the room’s air. “I don’t know I’m doing it until it’s too late.”

Ben’s grip on your jaw finally relents, though not without a playful pinch to the divot of your chin. The corner of his lips quirk with a smirk that’s owed to an amusing thought he doesn’t care to share, his hand lowering back down to your thigh. He settles at the curve, delivering a squeeze that’s demanding of something more than a possessive place to rest.

“Get over here,” is all he says, his hold transforming into more of a pull. You’ve never been good at resisting him, so you surrender yourself over, jittery legs uncrossing to allow the shimmy of your knees along the sofa’s length. His hand withdraws from your thigh to allow you the ease of movement, and when you’re close enough, his large palms find you at either hip—like you were made for him to cradle.

“I need to continue studying,” you say tensely, but the words feel like more of an attempt to silence the guilt that lingers at the front of your mind, and you know that you have no intention of seeing it through as you reach Ben’s lap.

“The books can wait,” he decides, the hands clasping your hips helping to manoeuvre you across his lap, and his hold on you doesn’t shy—even once you’re completely straddling his thighs. “You’ve been at it for the whole fuckin’ evenin’. Give your pathetic body a break.”

“Pathetic?” You scoff, shifting within his lap as you try to position yourself amongst the wide, v-like formation of his legs. Ben picks up on this, and in no time he’s shifting his legs closer together, taking pity on the way your lower half spreads with difficulty to accommodate his slack pose.

“Yeah,” he affirms casually, as though blind to the offence that underlies your question. “Fragile thing like you? You’re bound to break under a shit load of pressure—so take it easy is all I’m sayin’.”

“And I’m fragile why?” You shoot back, but the truth has always lingered between you—as clear as the air connects your contrasting beings. Compared to his super-abled, indestructible—unmovable mountain of a body, you’re nothing but a brittle pebble. And he’s seen your body fracture under stress more times than you’d care to admit.

“Don’t go lookin’ for arguments—y’know exactly why,” Ben chuckles faintly, head tilting slightly as he drinks the view of you in—like he’s marvelling at your beauty all over again.

But you don’t allow yourself to get swept up in those cursed eyes of his—a soldier’s glare he’s managed to mould into something akin to a puppy-stare. It’s rougher, more refined, but still honest enough to admit that he wants you. “Maybe if you’d stop riling me up with thinly-veiled insults, I’d have less reason to run my mouth.”

“What I say doesn’t count for shit,” he retorts with a knowing and amused furrow of his brows, one of his hands neglecting your hip to drag teasing patterns along your thigh. “You’re always riled up, and you’re worse than those crappy, goddamn toy dogs with the built-in windup mechanism. Y’know the kind? The ones always runnin’ frantic lines all over ‘em kids’ stores.”

“Just shut it, actually,” you huff, and Ben—to your utmost surprise—listens with a surrendering smirk.

“Wanna talk it out or drink it down?” He averts, chin jutting past your shoulder to where his peeping tom of a beer defrosts amongst the armrest—beads of moisture pooling onto the worn leather.

“None of the above,” you murmur, and with a spent sigh, you shift in his lap one last time before melting entirely into the comfort of him. “Just hold me.”

“Yeah, I got you, baby girl,” he mumbles gruffly, hand rubbing a comforting circle across your lower back before he finds your hips in a steadying hold once more.

Your hands glide up his chest and along the broad contour of his shoulders before slipping past his neck, where they connect in a fumble that cages him in—but he doesn’t seem to mind. His own hands settle for a cupping of your waist, where his thumbs rub lines across the point of your hip. The sensation soothes you, like his very touch was made to melt away the chill of your anxiety—the kind overwhelming enough to tremble every inch of your body.

You find your head buckling into the crook of his neck, where you nestle your cheek like it's the welcoming comfort of your pillow. And for a while, neither of you speak, but the tv continues to ramble on in the background with enough chatter to compensate.

Ben’s hold on you is one that tethers you—a physical presence that reminds you of what’s real, and what isn’t. It coddles you enough to persuade your mind into pushing back the anxious thoughts that plague it, but the sentiment is so deep-rooted within your DNA that your body resorts to doing what it does best—all that it knows. Fidgeting.

Your knee starts bouncing into the sofa, your ankle flexing with every intent to help drive the movement. And as though it’s the first collapse that sets off a cascade of trouble, the familiar feeling of dread settles itself back into your bones. You try to fend off the unwelcome intrusion, but your body betrays every viscous attempt with the rapid beating of your heart, and the tension that returns to the muscles of your jaw.

“Jesus Christ—I can help, y’know?” Ben says suddenly, peeling back the cosy silence that has settled over you both like a comforter. His playful grip on you stills as his chest shifts against your own. “I can hear your heart beatin’ off like it’s employed by a fuckin’ marchin’ band.”

You hum in acknowledgement, your hands unclasping to rub your palms down the muscle of his back—like you’re seeking out the stimulation to numb your shaky hands. “Not with this, you can’t,” you say pessimistically, and the words are slightly slurred by the way your cheek melts against his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges in a murmur so unconvinced, it’s almost mocking. And as if to prove his point, one of his hands dip along the inside of your thigh, fingers roughhousing with the fabric of your pyjama shorts before he successfully slips into the flimsy keep. There, his hand fans over the sheer fabric of your underwear, his middle finger employing a rhythmic line between your folds while his thumb pinches at the waistband for grip. “Let me know when you’ve changed your mind.”

The line he traces along your slit causes your eyes to flutter closed in helpless surrender, and suddenly, you’re biting your lip for a whole different reason. Your hands drag up the length of his back to run along the nape of his neck, where occasionally, you tumble with the lengthy strands of his hair. His chest reverberates with a sonorous sound that acts as a seal of approval, so you don’t slack in your ministrations, and he doesn’t falter with his, either.

You let out a soft, muffled moan, and a second later, you feel the chafe of Ben’s beard against the shell of your ear as he nuzzles his jaw against you. “You like that, huh?” He coos softly—but the way he retains the gravelly edge to his voice shamefully strikes your core. As a feeble response, your hands tighten within his hair. You’re too far gone to equip your words.

Ben’s a welcome siege on your senses—to the point where anything and everything he does sets your frail nerves alight. It’s a type of plague that makes you restless in all the ways that your anxiety does. But with him, you welcome it. Embrace it. Crave it—and he knows it.

He loves it.

The hand nestled between your thighs begins to pick up its steady pace—but you’re greedy, so you add to the stimulation with a buck and sway of your hips. “Maybe this is helping,” you breathe out in scattered words, head pulling back from his shoulder to gaze at him through hazy eyes while a cheeky half-grin pokes through.

Ben drinks you in with sultry eyes that rival your own lust, a self-satisfied smirk settling onto his vain features. “Yeah, I’m employee o’ the fuckin’ year,” he huffs amusedly, the other hand he’s got gripping your hip softening an inch to aid the roll of your pelvis. His eyes drop to drink in—and almost admire—the rocking of your hips. “But I gotta say—you’re makin’ runner up with this eager participation o’ yours,” he adds with a low chuckle.

You hum in response, head tilting back with the overwhelming pleasure that trickles through your body. The air you take for granted thins in your chest as the stimulation pushes you to your breaking point, your hands taking root at either shoulder to steady yourself. Your underwear clings to your folds with every compressive movement—drenched by the pent up arousal that Ben’s fondling has managed to enlist thus far.

“I can’t hold on anymore, Ben,” you whimper softly, your hips staggering with your dwindling strength.

“But you’re gonna,” he responds unfeelingly, and the hand gripping your hip presses down into the flesh until you’re a quieted, miserable mess amongst his hand. You groan at the loss of stimulation, your high recoiling like a thief in the night.

“Ben,” you protest feebly, your grip on his shoulder softening with the disappointing fruits of your labour.

“Don’t Ben me,” he mocks, his chin perking with intent as he deals you a challenge within his glare. “You wanna move? Then move,” he instructs, his hand delivering a light squeeze to your sensitive clit before he withdraws it entirely and settles it beside his other at your hip. Beneath you, his legs shift until his thigh is wedged between your own. “If you’re gonna burn through every control you got, might as well put it to a damn good use—so go on, have your fun.”

You gaze at him for a few, clueless moments before understanding settles in, and you begin rocking your hips against the muscular bulge of his thigh. Ben’s eyes lower down your body in an agonisingly slow motion, where he settles on every drag of your mound against him.

“Atta girl,” he praises, the hands at your hips tightening in a resistance that rivals your efforts—because he absolutely loves seeing you go above and beyond to settle your urges. You know it spurs him on, so you don’t argue against it. It’s a favour you decide to reciprocate—ensuring he gets his own fill of entertainment while you get yours.

“Fuck,” you hiss as your swollen, sensitive mound regains its flutter with every drag against him—the fabric shrouding your heated core bundling with the movements and only adding to your heated stimulation.

“Yeah, you’re doin’ good, baby,” Ben hums encouragingly with a light squeeze of your hips. “Just like that—you got it.”

Your hips don’t stutter in their pace as you grind yourself against his thigh, and with each round, you’re pressing yourself further and further into the bulk of his muscle. The stimulation bruises and burns your clit raw, but you’re in the hot pursuit of a release, so you endure. And then your high arrives in a muffled, broken grasp—your lower lip instinctively drawn into a bite as you cope with the wave of pleasure that rises overhead and collapses back onto you. Your head lolls back in the midst of your blissful moment, and your chest heaves with the struggle for air.

Ben pats your thigh in a physical expression of bravo before his hand strays from its place to curl around the arch of your neck. There, he glides his way up to your jaw, forcibly tilting it down to where he has a full view of your exhausted face. Immediately, his glare snags onto the lip you’re throttling between your teeth, and his brows cock on a look of disapproval.

“Stop that,” he says, releasing your jaw to flick a finger across your lips. You wince softly at that, your lip plopping from your toothy grasp before you’re shooting him an indignant glare.

“I’m trying!” You say defensively.

“Not good enough.” His hand moves to curl around your nape, where he selfishly pulls you in for a kiss—but his lips hover just shy of you, his eyes seizing yours in a glare that borders on a silent warning. “You better try harder, ‘cause I’m the only one that’s allowed to roughen you up like this,” he murmurs, and before you have a chance to respond, he’s pressing his lips flush against yours.

There, he consumes you with a vicious kiss, his tongue finding yours in a tumble that feels frustrated. And somewhere in the mix, he sucks at the tender flesh of your lip. It’s an action that feels soothing—like he’s laying down a bandaid, until he seizes it between his teeth, and you realise that he’d always intended to rip the bandaid right off.

With your lower lip captured between his teeth, Ben sinks in a light nibble that delivers well on his claim—that you’re all his for the taking.

──────────────────────

a/n ─ first off, don’t talk to me about how this is too long for a drabble bc in my yapper mind anything less than 5k words is a drabble. secondly, this goes out to all my anxious girlies that stim with lip biting. just one of those days where the anxiety is kicking in full-fledged and i bit my lip raw 💪 need me a comforting sb fr. n e ways, i feel like sb, with all his past trauma and emotions he pretends not to notice, he’s developed all his own anxious body languages that he does absentmindedly—toe tapping, jaw-clenching, fidgety hands, tense shoulders. and so it’d be pretty easy for him to pick up on likewise behaviours radiating off of you, and he’s immediately addressing it. but at the same time if you had to bring it up with him and point out his own anxious behaviours, he’d deny every second of it bc bro doesn’t think he’s subconsciously troubled. he so is tho and reader tends to do something about it anyway with massages (drabble on this is coming), scalp massages, jaw mobilisations (i learnt this on animals and applied it to myself and it’s heaven actually). yeah that’s it for now. and thank you all from the bottom of my heart for 700+ followers, take this piece as my token of appreciation <3

thank you for reading! likes & comments are appreciated, but reblogs go a much longer way—so please support your writers with it! <3

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @angelicjackles @deansbbyx @titsout4jackles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @honeyryewhiskey @daylighted @deansbeer @deansbbyx @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @whisperingdaze @st4rmarley @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @chi-raz @youdontknowe @misatxox @lixiesbrowniess @ilovedeanwinchester4 @beelzebzb @lunaleah @kr804573

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[ambiguous-avery]

When He Slides In...

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2768

Summary: ...And says “Fuck, I missed you.” After a hookup with the (in)famous Dean Winchester, you figured that would be the end of it. Too bad you could never seem to get him out of your mind. People always told you that you got attached too easily. And they were right. You were just another notch in his belt. He couldn’t possibly remember you...

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI, no use of Y/N, she/her pronouns, femme nicknames (sweetheart, pretty girl), reader is AFAB, oral (f receiving), P in V sex, PWP (Plot? What plot?), pining, pure filth because I have no chill, no beta we die like men

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long. This was the title of an audio I listened to, and the line lives in my head rent-free. Plus I figured this would be a great birthday gift for our one and only boy!

The first time you met the Winchesters – and subsequently ended up beneath the eldest – was when you had called for some back up with a vampire nest you had found in a rural town in South Dakota. It was a routine hunt, but the nest had taken up residence on a farm with far too many places to be ambushed from. Thankfully, there was enough practiced experience between the three of you that the hunt only left you with several bruised ribs, Dean with a too-close-for-comfort almost bite, and Sam with a bloody gash cutting across his cheek. All in all, it could’ve been much worse. You had joined the two of them at a bar in town, eager to take a well-deserved moment of reprieve. And you left the bar with Dean. Just Dean.

After you parted ways, you fully accepted that it would be a one night stand, and your paths would never cross again.

Fate had different plans for you.

It was a standard haunted house case that pulled you to a small town in the middle of bumfuck, Iowa. Something something father killed his family when he was discovered having an affair before turning the weapon onto himself. And now he was killing other cheaters in the town. You’d have been tempted to leave him be – was he really doing harm by getting rid of those kinds of people? – if it weren’t for the fact that he would go after the affair partner as well who wasn’t always aware of just who they had gotten in bed with. It was a cut and dry case. Except you couldn’t find where the damn body had been buried, so you were having a hell of a time salting and burning the bones. The extended family had been so ashamed of what their son had done that they had buried him in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of town. 

You had just about hit the end of your rope when two very familiar Winchester boys rolled into town in a sleek Impala that purred like a kitten. And there he was. The one and only Dean Winchester, all swagger and bravado, and fuck, had he gotten hotter? Seriously, God hadn’t played around when chiseling him from marble.

“Hey, sweetheart, long time no see.” He grinned at you, his voice rumbling. 

Leave it to the grave-desecration-brothers to pinpoint where the cheater had been buried. It took several hours in the library pouring over a convoluted family tree before the three of you eventually found a living descendant and another hour talking with her and convincing her to let you guys go through old family books she had stored in her attic. Cheater’s sister happened to jot down which grave was his in her diary. Bleeding heart saved the day. You had ‘cheers’ed to that before knocking back your beer and excusing yourself from the bar with Dean in tow. 

Despite the long span of time you had spent apart, Dean was still familiar to you. The way his lips felt as he kissed you. The way your body seemed to slot against his just right. You couldn’t forget how he felt. Not when every touch of his had seared your skin and left imprints in its wake. Dean had ruined you for anyone else. Because he didn’t just leave his marks on your body. He had carved out a piece of your heart and taken it, leaving a hole in it that ached with every beat. Dean was a heartbreaker, and you were just another name on a long list of casualties. But you were on that list, and you lied to yourself, convinced yourself that it was good enough for you. 

“Dean,” you sighed against his lips, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Glad you didn’t forget me, sweetheart,” he said quietly, kissing you again. You could never forget him. Could never forget the way his hands felt as they teased at the hem of your shirt before sliding up your side. Could never forget the scent of leather and bourbon and cedar that encompassed him. Could never forget the way he looked at you and you let yourself believe just for a fleeting moment that maybe, maybe, you were something more than a hookup in his eyes. Dean’s touch was a flame, and he was going to kindle your entire world to ashes. And as long as he kept looking at you like that, you would let him. Over and over and over again. 

He trailed kisses along your cheek, across your jaw, and further down the side of your neck. His lips left your skin just long enough to slide your shirt over your head and make quick work of the clasp of your bra. He sucked a bruise just below your collarbone then soothed it with his tongue before dipping lower. Dean was attentive, leaving no part of you physically untouched but all of you still wanting. His nose dragged between the valley of your breasts, leaving another mark there. 

“You’re gorgeous; I hope you know that, sweetheart,” he murmured, and your response died in your throat as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, toying with it with his tongue.

There was so much you couldn’t say. Couldn’t tell him how much more you wanted from him. It was silly. You barely knew him in the bedroom and even less outside of it. But there was an undeniable spark between the two of you that you couldn’t shake. An unspoken pull. Something that kept the two of you in the other’s orbit. You were doubtful Dean felt it. It was just you and your silly little heart looking for anything to quell the loneliness that threatened to consume you. 

Dean moved lower, deftly ridding you of the last of your clothing so you were bare for him. And then his mouth was on you, stubble scratching lightly, and all thoughts were wiped from your mind in an instant. His fingers dug into your thighs, all lips and tongue on your clit and folds and fu-uck. You carded your fingers in his short hair, nails scratching against his scalp. He groaned, a low and guttural sound that sent vibrations through your core, and your answering cry was breathless, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his head or the bed sheets or anywhere. The sigh you let out when he slid a finger in you must’ve unraveled some of his self control because a second one joined it none too soon. He curled them, and your back arched.

 If you could form coherent thoughts, you might have had the wherewithal to wonder about when or where or how he learned his talents. But such wasn’t the case as everything tightened. Your tension collapsed into a litany of moans and gasps, and Dean was a solid presence between your legs. He was a maestro, and you were his instrument. He plucked at your strings until you came shuddering around his fingers, your nails biting into his skin. He coaxed you through your release, gently sucking and keeping a steadying hand on your leg. Your head fell back against the pillow, chest heaving. There were too many words that threatened to be the next to spill from you, so instead, you pulled Dean up by the hair and put every word you wanted to say to him in a kiss. It was deep and longing and you tried so hard to tell him just how lucky you felt that you got him for the night with it. If that’s all you ever got of him, it would be enough. It wouldn’t really, but you could delude yourself long enough to convince him.

He met your passion, one hand tangling in your locks and the other slipping beneath you to press against your lower back to provide counterpressure as he rolled his hips against yours. Your jaw went slack as you felt the length of him pressed against you, hot and heavy and hard beneath his jeans. You tugged at his shirt, desperate to get more skin to skin contact. Gasoline coursed through your veins, and if Dean didn’t set you ablaze this very instant, you were sure you would spontaneously combust. Thankfully, Dean was a smart man. He picked up on your desperate plea and stripped out of his shirt before briefly standing up to strip out of the rest of his clothes. 

As he looked down at you, his green eyes met yours, and you could see him searching for something. Acceptance? Approval? Adoration? All three? You’d give him all of those. Whatever it was, you could only hope that he found it as you looked up at him, sprawled out on the bed and propped up on your elbows. You took your time taking him in. The cut of his jaw. The broad expanse of his shoulders. The tattoo that sat just above his left pec. Your gaze dropped lower, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip before dragging your eyes back up to his again.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at the edge of your lips.

Dean pounced. He yanked you into a kiss, messy and primal, crushing you into the bed with his weight. You responded in kind by dragging your nails down the length of his back, needing to leave a mark of your own on him so maybe he’d remember you for more than a fleeting night. Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound ringing in your ears. There were no barriers left between you two, and you arched your body up into his, looking for all the contact you could possibly find. His hand dropped down to your ass and pulled you against him, his cock frotting against the junction of your hip. You raked your fingers in his hair and pulled it, pressing your mouth to the side of his neck and biting and sucking there until Dean was cursing under his breath.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Dean bit out. You released him, eyes locked onto the angry red mark you had left. He fumbled with his discarded pants for a brief moment before pulling a condom from the pocket. 

“Smart man... smarter than me." 

It was good that he had his wits about him because you were more than ready to throw caution to the wind. You were a hunter. You risked your life every day. What was one more risk? You knew you’d be thankful when your brain wasn’t drowning in lust, though. He rolled the condom over himself before kneeling between your legs again. He grabbed the backs of your knees and spread your legs wide, lifting your ass off the bed before settling it on his thighs. Dean took a moment to guide his cock into place. His gaze met yours again, waiting and pleading. You gave him a subtle nod.

Dean rolled his hips, sinking into you with slow thrusts. You audibly sighed as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He said your name, reverent and sincere. He said your name. Not sweetheart. Not baby. Not some nickname he probably used to mask the fact that he forgot the name of the woman under him. Your name. You whimpered.

“Dean... I missed you too,” you admitted. But he didn’t understand the depths of your words. He couldn’t. He kept a hand on your knee, keeping you splayed open for him. You braced a hand on the headboard and turned your face aside, biting the knuckle of one of your fingers and panting into it.

“No, no, pretty girl. Keep your eyes on me,” he said, leaning forward to grab your chin and guide your eyes back to him. The shift caused him to sink just a little deeper into you. You squeaked when your eyes met green ones. There, behind the lust and desire, there was Dean. And for a moment, you could see the vulnerability there. The lonely man who wanted to be needed. Needed to be wanted. 

“Move, Dean. I need you.”

And that’s all it took. Dean surrendered to what felt good and snapped his hips, pounding into you, thrilling at the way you moaned and moved with him and accepted every aggressive stroke like you were made for it. He lowered his body and leaned forward onto his hands so he could drive himself deeper into you. His hands found yours, and you entwined your fingers with his. He pinned you to the mattress, caging you beneath him. You shouted in response, your legs clenching against Dean’s sides and the drag of his cock setting every nerve alight. 

“There you go, pretty girl. You can take it. You can take me. I know you can.” His words were fuel for the inferno that threatened to devour you. You were trembling. Aching. He was the musician; your body was the instrument. You were a violin string. You were tuned too tight. You were breaking.

Your groans and cries turned to fervent whimpers, and you fought against his hold as your release danced just beyond your reach. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Dean clicked his tongue, commanding your attention. You stared up at him, eyes wide and bright, drinking in the sight of him as though it would be your last.

“Please,” you begged. Your voice sounded so utterly wrecked in your own ears, but you didn’t care. You had abandoned your dignity long ago. “Dean, please. Need more.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He let go of one of your hands, and his thumb found your clit, drawing tight circles around it. “Come on, pretty girl. Need you to come on my cock.” His breaths mingled with yours, and your answering cry was high and thready as you lost yourself in him. Your voice, so needy and desperate, must’ve been enough to be Dean’s undoing because the hand holding yours tightened as he rutted into you until he came in hot, throbbing pulses that sucked the energy out of the rest of his body. You clenched around him, and he let out a strangled groan as his whole body shuddered above you.

He pressed his forehead against yours, brushing stray hairs out of your face with his free hand. His other still clasped yours tightly, fingers still laced together. You leaned up to kiss him, and your lips met in a tender way. An unburdened, unhurried kiss. A kiss for the sake of kissing.  You could’ve stayed like that forever, but all too soon, Dean broke the kiss and peeled himself off of you, his hand leaving yours. He stood, moving to discard the condom before grabbing a towel from the bathroom. You sat up, watching his retreating back and taking pride in the red lines your nails had left in their wake. You could only hope he would remember you.

When he returned with a damp washcloth, he coaxed you back against the pillow as he wiped the sweat from your brow, muttering sweet nothings all the while. There was silence between you for a long while, and you realized too late that your time with him was coming to an end. He had set you aflame, and now you would have to find a way to rebuild. But you’d do it all again if Dean asked it of you. But when he spoke, you hadn’t expected the words that came out of his mouth.

“Do you maybe wanna... you know... stay?” he asked quietly. “For the night,” he added. You swallowed.

“Um... isn’t Sam due back sometime... soon?” Why were you making excuses? This opportunity didn’t even show up in your dreams. Dean wet his lips, not quite meeting your gaze.

“Well... not to be presumptuous or anything... but I might have told him to get his own room for the night.”

“Oh.” Oh. He had planned on you staying with him? You were done for. 

“Yeah... Uh, nevermind. You don’t have to. You’ve probably got somewhere better–”

“I’d love to stay,” you blurted out. “With you,” you clarified, as if it weren’t obvious. The smile that split across Dean’s face was blinding, and it became your new life’s mission to do whatever it took to see it directed your way time and time again.

“How about I order us some food? We can watch a movie and cuddle?” And really, you were only human. A request like that from Dean Winchester was as easy to fulfill as breathing.

---

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Taglist: @aylacavebear

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[bettystonewell]

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 coming 21/02 🇦🇺🕕

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

The demons in your life, though? They’re closer than he realises, more personal, and his inner alpha won’t let him leave you behind with them. But can Dean embrace everything that comes with claiming someone? 18+ only MDNI

Tags: omegaverse, soulmate AU, pregnancy, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, SMUT, breeding, claiming, knotting, nesting, angst, fluff, endgame is Dad!Dean (and the parenting skills we all know he has), Protective!Dean, (dual POV), somewhat of a fix-it

WARNING: This story implies/references some potentially triggering topics including domestic violence and abuse, sexual assault, a past miscarriage (chemical pregnancy), and follows the journey of how the characters deal with it. Please consider these carefully before reading. I can’t stress this enough!

A/N: This all started out as a one shot idea of Dean playing with kids and nerf guns. That one shot hasn’t been written yet because my brain wanted to know where the kids came from, but Dean will get his hands on a nerf gun in this fic. —————————————————————

CHAPTERS

uploading weekly on Fridays 🇦🇺🕕

Chapter 1 - Yearning (21/02)

Chapter 2 - Harbouring

Chapter 3 - Confronting

Chapter 4 - Familiarising

Chapter 5 - Languishing

Chapter 6 - Domesticating

Chapter 7 - Honeydaying

Chapter 8 - Disconcerting

Chapter 9 - Ruminating

Chapter 10 - Saddling

Chapter 11 - Containment

Chapter 12 - Sentiment

Chapter 13 - Derisionment

Chapter 14 - Announcement

Chapter 15 - Dissappointment

Chapter 16 -

Chapter 17 -

Chapter 18 -

Chapter 19 -

Chapter 20 -

TIMESTAMPS TBA

EXTRAS/RELATED

Writing Game Snippet

100 Followers Celebration Sneak Peak

—————————————————————Please Remember folks, abuse isn’t always physical. It’s also not easy to admit when you’re going through it, or sometimes even realise. Look after yourselves, and keep an eye out for signs from those you love. ❤️ —————————————————————If you'd like to be tagged in this series or any of my other works, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

I’ll be tagging all the lovely people signed up for my DEAN TAGLIST too, of course 🥰

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Rumor Has It

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: minor angst

Summary: Your boyfriend is a well-known street racer who will never back down from a challenge. When someone new comes to town challenging him, he’ll do anything to come out on top… and that includes giving you up.

Square Filled: street racing (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Harry straps on his racing gloves as you’re watching him from your spot on the bed. He spent the last two hours getting ready for what will be a disaster waiting to happen. Your boyfriend is known for his love of cars. There is a group of guys that pick a spot in every city and race their precious cars. It’s illegal as shit and nearly gets someone arrested every time they do it, but there is no stopping him.

He quickly climbed the ranks of being one of the fastest yet riskiest racers this town has ever known, and now there aren’t many who want to go up against him. These days, he races with friends in a friendly game rather than for money. Not this race. This race is different. Someone new came into town last week and has been passing rumors to everyone.

Rumor has it that this man is a beast. Rumor has it that no one has lost against him. Rumor has it that someone like Harry is child’s play compared to the men he’s been up against. The racers always pick a desolate part of town to race in knowing there won’t be anyone on the road to block them, but not this man. He’s known to race in the open with other cars on the road.

Not once has he crashed and not once has he been caught. His name has been filtered through every town he’s been in, and it managed to reach all the way to your small town in the middle of nowhere. Of course, as soon as Harry found out that he was coming to town, he had to challenge him to a race. There is something Harry wants, and he’s going to make sure he gets it after he wins this race.

Harry’s good but he’s not Dean Winchester good.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask. “Do you not realize who you’re going up against?”

“I’ve been preparing for this all week. I can do it.”

“You’re either going to lose or get caught. The police have been cracking down on these races lately.”

Harry turns and glares at you through his shaded glasses.

“The only one who is going to get caught is Dean. I don’t need you worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

Normally, you never go to these races because you don’t like them. In one race, someone crashed into a pole and lost his life. It was cold outside and he slipped on a patch of black ice. Ever since that, you’ve been asking Harry not to race. Still, he won’t listen to you. Lately, he’s been dismissing your every thought. He’s been more distant since Dean got to town, and you tell yourself it’s because of the race. Dean will leave soon and he’ll go back to being yours.

Why is it that when you think about that, you become empty inside?

Harry is a good boyfriend but he’s not the best. He’d choose racing over you any day. Why do you stay with him, then? Maybe being in a relationship with him is better than being alone. If you think that, you shouldn’t be in a relationship. What else are you going to do? You moved to this town for Harry so your entire family is on the west coast.

You can’t go back to them no matter how much you’re hurting here.

The only reason you’re going to this one is because of Dean. You can’t help but be intrigued by the mystery surrounding the man. You’ve heard he’s a ladies’ man and oozes sex appeal. Guess you won’t know until you see him, huh?

You and Harry leave for the race that’s happening on the outskirts of town. There is a guy who runs in Harry’s circle whose father is the chief of police. He knows he won’t be sticking his nose in their business tonight because of some case they’ve been working on for weeks, so this race should be free of police. There is already a crowd forming when you get there, and an even bigger following since Dean is here.

Harry’s prized race car is a 1987 Chevy Monte Carlo SS that he only uses whenever he’s racing. She hasn’t let him down since, but you think that’s all going to change. Dean’s prized possession is a 1967 Chevy Impala that Harry has always wanted. It’s one of his dream cars. The fact that Dean has one and is flaunting it here pisses Harry off.

Harry leaves your side and approaches Dean with the intent to trash-talk him. The crowd forms around the two men, and you stand on a few rocks to get a better view of Dean. His back is turned to you but from what you can see, he is a beastof a man. Tall, muscular, and not at all fazed by Harry’s attempt to shake him down.

“Is this supposed to make me fear you?” Dean chuckles.

“No, but you better watch your back, Winchester,” Dean smirks but he doesn’t say anything. “Care to make this interesting?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“A bet on who wins. If you’re not scared, that is.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who gets scared?”

The crowd whispers to each other at his comment, and Harry glares at him. You push past the crowd to get to the inner circle where you have a full view of Dean. Damn, he looks even better from the front. Sharp jaw, short hair, and bright green eyes. Harry might be threatening him but there is a mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes.

“Alright, Winchester. If I win,” Harry looks around the crowd and smirks, “I get your Impala.”

The crowd gasps and chatter picks up. There is no way Dean will ever give up his precious car, so most think he will back out on this deal. Dean knows he’s going to win but it’s amusing to play Harry’s game. His eyes scan the crowd and they land on you, and you freeze from the intensity of his gaze. There’s something… primal… with the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re his prey but you know he won’t hurt you if he catches you.

“Okay,” he draws his gaze back to Harry, “if you win, you get my car.” Again, the crowd gasps. “If I win,” he looks at you with a smirk, “I get your girl.”

“Fine, yes, she’s yours. Take her.”

You gasp at the audacity your boyfriend has for just giving you away like you’re property or something to own. Someone blows a whistle and the crowd disperses to the side since the race is starting. People push past you but you seem to be rooted where you stand. You can’t take your eyes off Harry.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” You look at Dean who winks. “I don’t lose.”

You find your footing and step back to the sides where everyone else is. Harry and Dean get in their cars and start them up. Harry revs his engine loudly to show off but Dean stays calm. He doesn’t win races by being cocky. The race is twenty miles long, and there are people every couple of miles to track their progress who will then report back to the announcer so he can inform the crowd what’s going on.

The person who whistled whistles again and they’re off. Dean and Harry take off down the road, the crowd cheering for both of them. Half think Dean is going to win while the other half cheers for Harry. Harry passes the fifth mile first with Dean right behind him, but Dean passes the tenth mile first. They’re neck and neck with one passing the other constantly. Once they reach ten miles, they have to turn around and come back, so that’s what they’re doing now.

You bite your thumbnail nervously as you wait for someone to come around the corner. Do you want Harry to win? Absolutely not. You can’t stand the idea of him getting his way after he pulled that shit with you. Do you want Dean to win? Maybe? Maybe he’s the reason you’re looking to end things with Harry. He’s the courage you never knew you had.

The entire crowd falls silent when they hear the rumble of an engine approaching. Five seconds later, the sleek black Impala comes racing around the corner, picking up a shit ton of dust. The crowd erupts in cheers knowing Dean is going to win this race. Harry is less than half a mile behind him but it’s too late. Dean crosses the finish line and screeches to a stop. He hops out of the car and stalks over to you.

Harry’s scar screeches to a halt right next to Dean’s car, and he gets out with an angry red face. Dean grabs your waist and pulls you in, kissing you deeply. He slides his hand into your hair and holds your head steady so he can control every aspect of the kiss. To say you’re surprised is an understatement. He’s a great kisser, better than Harry, and you’re wondering if he’s like this in the bedroom.

“Call me when you break up with him,” he says when he pulls away. “You might be my good luck charm.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He walks toward the crowd and accepts his victory while Harry hangs behind with his close friends. You touch your lower lip and watch Dean reap the rewards. Yeah, Harry’s gone. He’s no one compared to the great Dean Winchester.

x

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[watermelongirl01]

Sweet Rescue - 01

Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: None, I think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touching words Charlie, they are really heartwarming.”

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

“Got it.”

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

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

Those eyes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He narrowed his eyes at you, calling your bullshit.

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

He chuckled. “That I can see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A bribe? That's illegal.”

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

“Of course it is Dean.”

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

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

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

“No, bad idea, don’t ask Jo.”

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

“Just don’t, trust me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Awesome." He said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ll make sure to be there."

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

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

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

“Shut up, Sammy.” 

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

Dean simply nodded. 

[ultravi0lence14]

WELCOME TO THE BUNKER

dean winchester x angel!reader

1.5k | angst, enemies to lovers, szn nine

summary: waking up inside of the winchester’s bunker, you quickly start to realize that only one of the brother’s want you around their home.

WHEN ANGEL FALLS IN LOVE

“damn, she sleeps like a log.”

your mind was starting to wake up, the faint sounds of a gruff voice piercing through your veil of sleep. your eyes peeled open like worn out book pages, taking their time as you brought your hand up to shield your retina’s from the blinding lights.

how long you’d been asleep was a mystery to you. your body felt well rested, but it also felt like your bones had been dormant for years. the plush material beneath your body felt like a cloud, having you realize that the winchester’s had probably laid you to rest in a bed of sorts.

“dean!” you heard another voice exclaim softly in shock, a thud being heard from an unknown source. “she fell from heaven for christ’s sake, i’d also be asleep for a week.”

a week? was that how long you’d been asleep for? yeah, you fell from the sky at an inhuman speed, but you didn’t expect to be out for seven days.

when your eyes finally decided to peel open, a cream and industrial space was there to greet you. the winchester’s bunker is where you expected to be, but you didn’t plan on it being this nice. from this room alone, it seemed massive, and you were starting to already get overwhelmed.

it didn’t help that two large bodies loomed over you. as the clutches of sleep let go of your weak body, it didn’t allow you to realize that it was sam and dean who were hovering over you. so in a fit of fear, you leapt up in bed, shocking the brother’s to jump backwards as you scooted towards the headboard.

your eyes were widened in fear; even as your brain registered that it was sam and dean in the room with you. wether it be the aftershocks of the fall or adjusting to being awake after seven days you didn’t know, but your body couldn’t help but cower back as sam reached out towards you.

“hey, it’s okay.” sam spoke softly, coming to stand by the bedside while kneeling to be close to your frame. “we aren’t going to hurt you.”

the wide eyed fearful stare you gave sam softened as his reassurance sunk in your bones. all you could do was nod, looking from sam to his brother who didn’t share as soft as a reaction as sam did. “where am i?”your voice was soft, yet the gruffness of dean’s impending response hardened any of your feathery words that remained.

“our bunker,” his arms were crossed across his chest as he stood at the foot of your bed, looking down at you from his nose as he silently judged your presence. “in kansas. not a lot of supernatural creatures know about it, so don’t go flapping your gums and telling everyone.”

“dean!” it was like sam was conditioned to say his brothers name like that; shocked and full of distaste for how his brother was acting. “the poor girl just fell from the freakin sky, she’s probably confused. why would that be something she’d plan on doing?”

sam’s reprimanding had you shrinking back into the bed, making you realize how unwanted you were here. it wasn’t that sam didn’t want you around, it was just dean clearly didn’t want you there. if sam had to scold him so much, his animosity towards you was probably very high.

wringing your fingers together, you looked down at your bandaged hands as you attempted to pick at the skin around your fingers. “i don’t have to stay if that’s what you want, dean.” you mumbled, looking up at him as he stared you down. “i can go like cas, figure out how to live in this world alone.”

sam’s hand grasping yours had your head turning sideways, neck stiff as you tried to look him in the eyes. “no, you are welcomed here.” his words were steady, assured, like what he was saying was a fact. “we want to help you, that’s what cas wanted. so stay in bed for a little while, and when you’re ready, i’ll show you your room.”

you couldn’t help but feel a sense of something wondrous flow through your body. you weren’t too keen on emotions yet, but castiel had explained to you what some of them were and what they meant; and you were pretty sure you were feeling a sense of gratitude towards sam winchester.

he didn’t stay for much longer, briefly mentioning how he was going to find a room close to him or dean’s for you to stay in before he departed. with a blanket of silence falling over the room, you could finally take a moment to really sink into your mind and understand your emotions.

this was a new experience, and honestly, you were rightfully nervous. it was going to be hard, adjusting to having no grace and no angelic powers. you couldn’t fly, and you couldn’t heel people. you also felt a strange rumbling sensation in your stomach, and you were faintly sure that meant you were hungry.

everything was so new, and you realized that you had to figure out how you were as a person. all you’ve ever known is being an angel, how to be apart of a team and how to serve heaven. but now, you were your own person, and you could figure out whatever you wanted to be or who you were.

the world was still new to you, and you didn’t understand most of the things sam or dean talked about, but you were willing to try. you’ve been alive for millennia, yet you never truly lived.

falling was truly a blessing in disguise; because now, you could really enjoy life, and understand what it’s like to be alive.

“sam is the nice one y’know.” dean’s voice coming from the rooms entry had you jumping, eyes widening as you whipped your head to where he stood. his arms were crossed as usual, and his eyes held their usual steely gaze. he didn’t look happy, yet you weren’t surprised, for a sour expression was all he seemed to dawn around you.

visibly gulping as he descended towards you, your voice scratched against your throat as you attempted to talk to him. “i mean no harm dean, i swear.” the words came out in a croak as you attempted to plead your case, yet all dean could conjure up in response was an eye roll.

“i’m not stupid feathers,” the name didn’t come out tender, not like how cas would call you sweet pea. it came out demeaning, like he believed you to value yourself as some higher being who felt above him and his brother. “i know how you angels work, and i won’t allow you to come in here and judge me and sammy. if you thought i’d let you get away with being a bitch, then you are very wrong.”

his words made your lips quiver, eyes widening even more at his crude words. his entire life was centred around people leaving him, showing they never really cared. it wasn’t shocking that he didn’t trust you, that he would build such high walls around his emotions, that you wouldn’t even be able to get a peak inside. yet his words still left a stinging sensation on your gut, leaving a sour feeling in your chest.

“why are you so mean?” the words came out like a childish plea, a solemn whisper that had you reprimanding yourself at how dean made you feel like you were nothing. you were an angel for heaven’s sake. truly, you were above him. but you never thought like that, never believed that different species were placed in a tier.

castiel could be right sometimes. you were too sweet, a true angel. rightfully deserved of the description that people gave your kind. you believed that everyone should be treated equally. and like cas, you were too kind for your own good. so with dean standing above your rested frame, eyes cold as they stared at you, you attempted your last breath at making him see your true intentions. “you don’t even know me. i’m not like the other angels, i promise.”

all dean did was laugh, a bitter sound that scratched at your ears. “your promises mean shit to me, sweetheart. come and talk to me when you and your kind do something other than ruin me and my brothers lives.”

with that he stalked towards the door, not even letting you get a word in before he pipped in one last comment from the door. “try and stay far away from me, feathers. because if you try and piss me off, i’ll show you how mean i can really be.”

“is that a threat?” you wearily replied, trying to show some confidence as you weren’t up to be mistreated. you might be a kind person, but that doesn’t mean you were going to let people walk over you.

“no,” dean replied coolly, hand on the door frame as he was one step from being out of your sight. “that’s a promise.”

when you were finally alone, it suddenly set in that cracking dean winchester was a lost cause. he was cruel. a mean man that didn’t care about anything but what catered to him. sam was an honest and nice man, and if you would have to learn how to live by tip toeing around dean with his younger brother, then so be it.

TAGS: @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @ostaramoon @haunteres @fallbhind @rubyvhs @foolinthera1n @taurus0queenie33 @vaiieydoii @jasvtsc @bitchykittenconnoisseur @galacticalllcafffeine @pascal-rascal424 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @fayeisuppose @angel-inspiredblog @geisterfvhrer @bluemerakis @si1ver06 @drqstqr @wh0s-ra3 @supernatural-bangtanboys @whump-loverz @mostlymarvelgirl @d3anwinchesterswife @youdontknowe @oceanolokys

*sorry chat, i kinda made dean a raging bitch. but i swear!!! he will change!! we all know our man and his trust issues!!!

[rubyvhs]

CHASING FIRE

pairing. firefighter!dean x sex addict!fem!reader

wc. ongoing

summary. dean, a well known and respected firefighter helps you through something you never thought you’d get help for and falls for you along the way. dean winchester saves your life and, unknowingly, you save his — think fire country meets addicted to you (by krista and becca ritchie).

tags. reader is a sex addict, which is something I did research heavily before writing and a lot of it is from the addicted to you books. mentions of hiv/aids, cursing, smoking, smut between reader and dean but also mentioned reader x moc and just soo many mentions of sex and pornography. a little bit of blood and injuries because of dean’s job, chapters will be tagged accordingly.

꩜ .ᐟ deal with it — deans pov

꩜ .ᐟ pounding rhythm — your pov

꩜ .ᐟ seconds, hours — deans pov

꩜ .ᐟ silver spoon — your pov

꩜ .ᐟ goddamn patience — deans pov

[caplanbuckybarnes]

In The Lonely Shadows (2/2) Dean W.

Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben.

the first part of this was requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March.

Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists. 

A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.

A/N #2: people were rabid about asking me for a part two. So please, enjoy!

WC: 1.7K

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowley’s nice, dean returns. sassy & protective crowley

[READ PART ONE HERE]

Read on Ao3!

--

Dean watched as your chest heaved up and down with every breath you took. The wind was howling outside, with rain pouring down. He was only partially soaked, having run for cover under teh pitiful awning above your hotel door. A suitcase was tucked into one hand and a backpack filled with supplies slung over the shoulder. He'd wanted to say goodbye before he left. But he couldn't. He was a coward, after all. He'd had a few visits from Castiel and Crowley, neither of them saying a word about you.

Though, he asked. He hasn’t spoken a word about Sam, either. The horror of watching Sam fall into the pits of Hell with Adam devastated him. So he ran away. He ran away to the person who would get him away from the hunter’s life, Lisa and Ben. He played pretend for as long as he possibly could.

Until he couldn’t keep up with the facade anymore. All he did was think about you, and the life the pair of you could have had. He’d find himself hovering over your name in his cellphone but never pressing the call button. Oftentimes, he’s stay up late at night, while Lisa laid peacefully next to him sleeping.  He knew he couldn’t lie to her forever about what - or who - truly had his heart.

Oftentimes, when he dreamed, it was about you, your face and your hands wrapped tightly in his as you started behind him on hunts. Thats what he loved about you the most, how much you trusted him to protect you.

So months after he departed, he located you in this dingy motel, where rodents and garbage littered the parking lot, and a few street lamps flickered dangerously in this damned storm. He’d gotten a replacement key to your room, claiming to the sketchy old man at the kiosk that he was your husband and you didn’t leave the key outside for him. So, on the threshold of the hotel room is where he stood, his fight or flight response kicking in the moment he laid eyes on you again.

He hadn’t seen you in months, far too long. But not long enough to forget the way your cheeks puffed out while you were embarrassed or the way your hair always fell into your face when you’d laugh at his stupid jokes. He couldn’t forget the way you would shuffle into his warmth at night, either.

God, did he miss the way you infected all of his clothing with your perfumes. 

He hesitantly stepped into the room, only to stop midway through in almost a panic. What if you moved on? What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you shot him? He wondered at that moment if you held any protection on you, or if you’d thrown all of it away.

But he took the chance anyway and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He quietly toed out of his shoes and turned around before fully surveying the room. He couldn’t see any other person’s belongings in the room, so he assumed you were indeed alone.

Nervously, he tiptoed to the bed and studied your face for a long moment. He remembered everything about you-- your eyelashes, the dimple on your cheek. He wanted to reach out to you, nearly stopping himself as he felt his arm move without his command. He brushed his fingers against your cheek before he knew what he was doing and stepped back as your eyes had flung open in terror.

“Y/N,Y/N, it’s me, it’s Dean,” he said, reaching behind him for the pistol he always carried with him, though, he would never attempt to hurt you in any sort of way. “Hey, hey.”

“Dean?” you blinked through the darkness of the room. You must have been sleeping. Because you thought you heard Dean’s voice. And you thought you seen him standing mere inches away from where you slept on the bed.

Before he could get the chance to respond, another voice filled the room, a voice you’d come to recognize and acknowledge throughout these last few months.

“She doesn’t need you, Squirrel. She’s doing great without you.” Crowley’s voice echoed in the small room. 

Pulling yourself into a sitting position on the bed, you wiped at your eyes before switching your gaze between the pair in front of you. Crowley had been watching you over the weeks, which you had grown weirdly accustomed to, so it was no surprise that he had appeared out of the blue. What had startle you, was the other man standing mere inches away from you. If you just lifted your arm a few inches, you would be able to clasp your hands together.

“You left her high and dry after Moose had fallen into the depths of Hell, where, mind you, he’s been shacking it up with Lucifer. You should hear the agonies and woes from him.”

You could see the agitated twitch in Dean’s cheekbones, even in the poor excuse of light shining through the cracked window curtains.

“But now, back to the matter at hand, hmm?” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two-night lamps turned on, casting the room in sudden brightness that none of you was prepared for.

“How’s Lisa and Ben?” Crowley smirked as Dean looked entirely uncomfortable at the jabs. “Didn’t want to be a family man anymore, huh? Did she decide she didn’t want your baggage?”

“It’s none of your business, Crowley,” Dean quipped. He snuck a look towards you and almost melted at the sight of tears in your eyelids. He wanted to erase the heartbreak he had caused you. He wanted to erase the pain away from you.

He only wanted you to forgive him. He wanted you and only you. He wished he hadn’t run off after Sam had gone to Hell, but he was broken and insecure. He was scared that you would leave him as well, so he did the only thing he could think of doing at the time: He ran away.

He begged for Lisa to forgive him, and she did. She took him in immediately, even after he explained all that went down with Lucifer and Adam and Sam. She took care of him. And for a while, he could forget all the pain. He could mourn the loss of his brother in peace. But there had always been a hole in his heart that Lisa nor ben would veer be able to fill.

He hadn’t known it at the time until he had sat up the night before and wallowed in misery after having nothing but dreams and nightmares about you for months.

“No harsh words, Not Moose?” Crowley taunted as he took a step toward you, causing Dean to nearly topple backwards onto the bed you were still sitting on. “No quips? Nothing? What do you have to say for yourself? Because while you were playing house, I was left to pick up the piece of her broken heart! How noble of you.  Leave her behind to wallow in misery, and now what? You expect her to swoon because you're back? Pathetic."”

You never thought you would see the day when the king of hell would be red in the face at the Winchesters. But here he was, pointing a threatening finger in Dean’s direction while the other man looked like a kicked puppy. 

You wanted Crowley to stop the insults at Dean. But the fact that he was protecting you in this way meant so much to you. You never knew how much Crowley actually cared about you. 

"I bet she’s just thrilled to have you back. Nothing says 'I care' like a good old-fashioned abandonment, right?" Crowley scoffed.

“Crowley, enough,” you sighed as you finally pushed the duvet away from your body and stood up, causing Dean to look at you with hope. With your request, Crowley quieted down, though he didn’t cease the glare or scowl on his features. Ignoring him, you took a breath, taking Dean’s height in stride. “So, what? You show up at my doorstep and nearly scare me to death, for what?”

“I was wrong,” Dean swallowed, blinking slowly as tears piled against his eyelids. “I never should have left you the way i had. You were mourning Sam as well, and I was a coward for leaving you. I never once stopped thinking about you. I never once let you out of my mind. Lisa knew it, Ben knew it.’

“I’m not forgiving you, Dean.” you held your ground, even as you had to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. “How could I forgive you? Do you know what the hell I’ve been through? You weren’t the only one to lose a brother, you know? Sam was my family as well.”

He opened his mouth, only for you to cut him off.

“It’s been fourteen months, Dean—fourteen long, terrible months. I celebrated Sam’s birthday without you. I celebrated your birthday without you. Crowley was the only one to check with me. Do you know he saved me from death on numerous occasions? That could have been you.”

He looked utterly defeated at the mention of the birthday celebrations. He could only imagine you singing to yourself with some cheap cake and a gas station lighter, wishing for the family you once held as you blew out the candles.

“Dean, I don’t know whether to hit you, kiss you, or put a bullet in you.” you scowled, pushing past him to walk over to the bathroom to wash your face. Leaving the door open, you heard Dean shuffle around Crowley to get to you again. 

“I can’t leave you, not again. Never again,” he watched your reflection as you grabbed for a hand towel and wiped the water from your face. 

Glaring at him momentarily, you sighed heavily before turning around and leaning against the counter. “Crowley will kill me for this. But I can’t help but think that I’m still in love with you. We can talk more about this in the morning. I had a long few weeks, and I’m absolutely exhausted.” 

Eagerly, Dean followed you out of the bathroom, barely noticing Crowley’s absence as he tucked you into the bed before he climbed in himself.

--

**totally up for a part three IF people want it. So please, please, please, if you enjoyed this reblog this & leave comments.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

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

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

AN: "Smoke eater": a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.

Get ready for an AU! Several SPN characters will make their appearances: Sam and John Winchester, Castiel as "Cas Novak," Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Jack Kline, Benny Lafitte, Gordon Walker, Meg Masters, Chuck Shurley, Nick (yes, even him), and more!

Series Tags/Warnings: (**18+ only!) There will be a lot of heart, a lot of fun, drama, heartbreak, protective Dean, and even a murder mystery. Rating for eventual smut, perilous situations, and other chapter-specific tags.

🎵 Listen While You Read:

The Smoke Eater Playlist: YouTube || Spotify

Chapters:

Part 1 - Class and Style - Podcast Version!

Part 2 - Lieutenant Winchester

Part 3 - Got a Hold on Me

Part 4 - Rocky Road

Part 5 - Twitterpated

Part 6 - Just Casual

Part 7 - Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle

Part 8 - Likewise, Baby

Part 9 - Do Not Disturb

Part 10 - Toil and Trouble

Part 11 - Heart of the Home

Part 12 - All in the Family

Part 13 - Boiling Point

Part 14 - Message in a Bottle

Part 15 - The Good Part

Part 16 - Break Down the Gates

Part 17 - The Real Deal

Part 18 - V for Vendetta

Part 19 - Sacrifice

Epilogue - Easy as Pie

Series Complete!

Bonus One-Shots:

Something Real** Now that you and Dean are officially engaged, you take some much needed time off together for a family vacation. But even with the wedding set for next year, the two of you are still at odds when it comes to one key part of your future together…

(Want to listen to the podcast version? Keep scrolling below!)

🎙️ Podcast Fics:

Listen to Part 1 in podfic form!

(A "podfic" is where you can listen to the story narrated.)

(Cover image and narration by @talltalesandbedtimestories)

Or listen to the official Idling in the Impala episode of Smoke Eater Part 1 on YouTube:

Or listen on Spotify.

Listen to the Idling in the Impala podfic episode of the sequel story, Something Real below:

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