#Imagine if he crocheted this in the bunker

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: language, violence, oral (male receiving)

Chapter Word Count: 5306

—-MDNI—-

A/N: kind of an odd chapter tbh, there was a few things that I wanted to write so it felt best to squeeze them all in together. I want to start getting into the romance side of things with Dean, so I guess that starts here. Also I’ve been away sick so I’ve added a bit of spiciness.

New readers start here: Prologue

Previous Chapter: Chapter 13

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 14

I grasped the hanger off the rail and slung the pair of flared jeans over my arm to join the other items I was purchasing. Dean had been kind enough to give me a hundred bucks in cash - God knows where from - to get myself whatever I needed whilst he and Sam sauntered off to the menswear stores. As I browsed, lifting a crocheted crop top up before scrunching my nose at the thought of how little it would cover, the bell to the store jingled as someone else walked in. I heard footsteps slowly pace down the short aisle I was in, and as I placed the top back on the rail, I almost jumped out of my skin as someone started talking.

“Oh hey, it's (Y/n) right? You're bunking with the Winchester boys?”

I snapped my head up at the female voice, not expecting anyone out here but Sam and Dean to know my name. My eyes met a pair of warm brown ones, faint crows feet in the corners from years of joy and smiles. I recognised her; she was the short haired woman in the bunker kitchen the night we got back from the strip club.

“Uuhhhh ye- yes! You know Sam and Dean?” My expression was clearly confused as she grinned and held out her hand.

“The names Jody Mills. I've known the boys for a while now - through hunting. It's a pleasure to meet you at last - I've heard great things about you,” I juggled the clothing in my arms and grasped her outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake. She seemed to grin at that.

“Oh, they talk about me? I had no idea,” I suddenly felt a little nervous, the knowledge that I've been the topic of conversations unbeknownst to myself made me sweat a little. Jody seemed to notice this.

“They've only had great things to say, so don't panic! Especially that boy Dean. Not sure how you've done it chick but you really got that wild card wrapped around your little finger,” she raised her eyebrows almost suggestively and I felt heat start to prickle my skin.

“Wh-what? No no no, he's not-” I watched as her head tilted in my direction, eyebrows still raised as a slight grin tugged on her lips. “Have I really?”

She hummed and nodded her head, starting to flick through the clothing rail that I'd been looking at before.

“I've known that boy a few years now, and I've never seen him run to anyone the way he ran to you that night you appeared in the kitchen, looking like a kicked kitten,” she smiled softly and squeezed my arm, “you're something special to him honey, so try not to break his heart.”

“Oh,” was all I managed to say, with what I can imagine was the dumbest look on my face as I felt myself getting redder by the second. A phone ringing suddenly pulled me from my dazed thoughts as Jody reached into her pocket and answered the call. She spoke in a sterner tone than what she'd used with me, and after a few words were exchanged she hung up and returned the device to her pocket.

“I've gotta get going, but I'll try and catch you all again later. I'm in the area for a bit so I'll try and pop by. It was lovely to meet you (Y/n),” she squeezed my arm one last time before turning to leave, the bell on the door signalling her departure. I stood for a moment, my mind spinning from what she'd said about Dean. There was absolutely no way that what she'd said was true. I mean, I beat the crap out of him when we first met, and we've bickered a lot. I guess we've not argued for a good few days. And we've had sex. Oh the sex. I bit my lip as thoughts of us tangled in his sheets came to mind. Not just thoughts, but memories. Like I said to him this morning, we're just fuck buddies. Right?

*

Leaving the store with two large paper bags in one hand and my phone in the other, I first dialled Sam to find out where he was down this stretch of high street. When it went to voicemail, I hung up and dialled Deans number instead. It rang and rang, and when I thought his was going to ring through as well, he finally answered.

“Hey sweetheart, what's up?”

“Hey, I'm finished getting what I need. Whereabouts are you?”

“Uhhh…” I heard him turn to the shop assistant and ask for the name of the store he was in before he relayed it to me.

“Cool, I'll be there in two minutes. See you soon.”

“See ya.”

And with a click I hung up and tucked my phone into my back pocket and walked no more than two hundred yards to get to where he was still trying on boots. As I gingerly walked in, well aware it was a men's store and I was currently the only woman in here, Deans head snapped to the door when the arrival bell jingled.

“Hey sweetheart, you're just in time! I have no idea what to get.”

I couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the thought of the great Dean Winchester getting stumped by the more domesticated side of life.

“Well I'm here to help,” I placed my bags on the bench next to his discarded jacket. “What are the options?”

We must've spent half an hour going over the ones he'd shortlisted, then he chose an entirely different pair anyway, unrelated to the ones he'd picked out for himself.

Leaving the store and a quick phone call between the brothers, we all concluded that now was the best time to stop for lunch. Dean and I made a quick trip back to Baby to drop off our bags, with Dean opting to sport his brand new boots in favour of his old and decrepit ones. It was a short walk back to the high street now that we were bag free, and I could see Sam a mile off - his tall frame loitering outside the chosen diner, the occasional woman walking past throwing a few looks his way. He, of course, was oblivious to those looks, and when he spotted us as we neared he offered a wave. He sprouted a wide, friendly grin as we came to stand next to him.

“You guys get everything you need?”

“Yep! Took Cinderella a while to find the right boots but we got there in the end,” I flashed Dean a playful smirk as he tilted his head in slight annoyance at the nickname, which pulled a light hearted laugh from Sam.

“Oh yeah? Well, at least I didn’t spend twenty bucks on a thrifted Carhartt hoodie.”

“Hey that is durable shit, it’s worth every penny.”

“You could've had one of mine, I don't wear hoodies much anymore.”

“I somehow feel like there'd be a catch with that.”

“Uuhh, I got my jacket, if anyone cares?” Sam decided to interject, and we both turned to look at him.

“Good for you Sammy.”

“Yeah, nice one Sam,” I looked around for a second, not seeing any bags, “where is it?”

He gave me a funny look.

“What?”

“Seriously?” He asked, looking between Dean and myself. I looked at the older Winchester and seemed to have the same questions I did.

“Guys, I’m wearing it. Did you seriously not notice?”

I bit my lip.

“It looks exactly the same,” Dean spoke my own thoughts out loud.

“Well I mean technically it is. But it's not all scuffed up. Look you can clearly tell it's new,” he gestured with his hands that were still in his pockets, flapping the jacket around like he was an elongated flying squirrel.

“Not really.”

“Nope,” Dean popped the ‘p’ before he walked past both of us, “come on guys I'm starving, can we just go in?”

*

A simple lunch in the diner turned into beers in the bar which somehow turned into karaoke followed by shots. The place was bustling - all tables and booths occupied and a permanent flow of people ordering drinks. Most of the guys were of similar tastes, donning boots and leather jackets whilst the few women that were there pranced around in short-shorts and low cut tops. I for one felt a little out of place. The three of us were lucky to snag a booth, albeit close to the small stage situated up front, and I’d tucked myself into the corner, cradling my rum and coke. Dean had left his jacket beside me whilst he’d ventured off to challenge a group of guys to a ‘friendly’ game of pool, his laugh occasionally flowing over the chatter and music towards where Sam and I were sitting.

“How long do you think it’ll be until they realise they’re being conned?” I quizzed, taking a gulp from my glass and letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue before swallowing. Sam chuckled, taking a second before answering.

“Uhhh I don’t think these guys will find out until tomorrow morning.” We both laughed, knowing full well that Dean will spend all night gloating about how great he is, how we should bow in respect of the swindle master. I was lost in thought for a moment, wondering how much money he would actually walk away with when Sam’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“(Y/n), can I ask you something?”

I took another gulp of my drink, knowing full well what that puppy-dog look in Sam’s eyes meant, that furrow in his brow only accentuating it.

“Sure, go ahead.”

He took a breath.

“Are you ok? Like, really ok? Because if I’m honest, if I saw someone who I thought was dead - that I used to be in love with - stand before me after years of believing I’d never see them again; I don’t think I would be ok.”

I fiddled with the hem of Deans shirt sleeve for a second, my brain swarming with every thought I’ve been avoiding since the other night and keeping every little buzz under lock and key. I hated to admit it, but I was afraid to open Pandora’s box for the fear of ice cold confrontation. It wasn’t the wisest option, but putting the skeletons back in their closet and throwing out the key was what I genuinely thought was best. I let out an emotionally exhausted sigh before slumping back in my seat.

“I’m not ok. It still feels like some sort of fucked up fever dream, but… but thinking about it isn’t going to make me feel any better. Talking about someone who’s been dead to me for years isn’t going to take this messed up feeling away. In my mind, there’s nothing to get over where he’s concerned. Yeah, he was my teenage sweetheart, but I’m a grown woman now with a whole new brain and a whole new heart,” I could’ve kicked myself for letting my eyes flick over to Dean.

Sam sighed, resting his elbows on the table, a small smile twitching on his lips.

“If you’re sure, because you know I’m always here if you want to talk.”

“I know, thanks Sam,” I gave him a soft smile, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Although, just one thing…”

“What’s that?” He sat up straighter.

“I don’t think it’s Daniel as a person that has me feeling like this - I grieved him and moved on from him years ago. I think… I think it’s the thought of that soul crushing sorrow coming back that scares me the most. The kind of sorrow that makes you forget what day it is; that stops you from eating and going outside and taking care of yourself. It makes you lose friends and interest in hobbies. It makes the whole world look grey and lifeless. You feel so unbearably numb that you aren’t even sure why you’re alive anymore. It makes you want to die.”

“(Y/n)…” Sam seemed at a loss for any other words as he held my hand softly across the table, running his thumb gently over my knuckles. I took a deep breath before carrying on.

“I felt like that when I lost Daniel, but when I lost Bobby, I… I…” I felt my voice crack slightly, “when I lost Bobby it was so much worse, I genuinely never thought I’d be normal ever again. Luckily for me, Charlie found me,” I grinned, remembering her determination to piece me back together. I looked up from where our hands joined, meeting Sam’s gaze.

“The only way I’d go through any of that again would be if I was to lose you guys. I know it’s not been long, but for once I’ve found something that makes me want to get out of bed in the mornings. That shit is hard to find.”

We both took a moment, feeling the weight of my words as we shared a gaze. I knew from the way his brows drew together and that far away look in his eyes that he felt everything I’d said. He’d experienced it first hand. And he knew that he didn’t have to say much, if anything, to convey that he understood. Slowly pulling my hand out from under his and placing my palm over his knuckles, I gave a gentle squeeze before standing, letting him go and grasping my glass. I threw the last mouthful back, the liquid vigorously fizzing down my throat before warming my chest. As I swallowed, I held my glass up and raised an eyebrow at Sam.

“Well shit, would you look at that - my glass is empty. Guess I’m heading to the bar. You need a top up?”

“Yeah, please. Remind me to get the next round,” he grinned as I slid out the booth and headed towards the bar. As I waded through the crowd I passed the pool table, glancing over at Dean who was deeply engrossed in taking a player's hard earned money out of his grasp. I watched the smug grin spread over his lips as he counted then pocketed the cash.

I looked up to see an opening at the bar so I squeezed in, perching myself on a stale beer-scented barstool whilst I waited for the barman to notice me. After a couple of minutes of being served he placed the drinks before me and I paid on one of Deans ‘special’ credit cards, scooping all three glasses into my grasp - with an insane amount of skill - and turned to leave. The moment my ass left the seat cushion however I found myself toe-to-toe with a very tall and very rugged stranger, the smell of cigarettes and old leather wafting around him.

“Not seen you around these parts before doll; I know I’d recognise such a pretty face,” he had a grim smirk on his face and his voice was like sandpaper - rough but certainly not sexy. I tried to take a step back but only ended up seated back on the barstool.

“Just passing through,” I did my best to flash a polite smile in the hopes he would sense I didn’t want to have this conversation. No such luck.

“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be in a place like this all alone. Things might…happen.”

A shudder ascended my spine into my neck and I tried my best to subtly shake it out before I gave into my more defensive side.

“Who the fuck do you think I am with this many drinks? They’re clearly not all mine… ergo, I have company.”

His gross grin widened, the subject of my statement clearly not settling correctly in the empty space between his ears.

“Getting feisty… I like it. Can’t get much better than a little thing with a mouth.”

I shuddered again.

“What part of ‘I have company’ do you not fucking understand? And even if I was alone, I definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere with you.”

His grimy smirk faltered slightly, finally absorbing some of my words that seemed to be floating in the air around his thick skull.

“Aw don’t be like that.”

“Oh I’m gonna ‘be like that’ until you leave me the fuck alone.”

He took a lumbering step forwards, pushing me further onto the barstool.

“See now there’s a point when a mouth on a pretty thing becomes down right obnoxious, and you’re nearing that point sweetheart.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘sweetheart’ me you dick,” I was mentally preparing to buy another round of drinks as the thought of throwing these three at this asshole was becoming sweeter by the second, and people were starting to watch on but there wasn’t a single white knight in sight.

“Well now you’ve just crossed that line,” the second I saw him start to raise his arms my instincts kicked in and I gave into my previous thought and doused him in liquor, the amber liquid running down his face and neck and soaking into his clothes. He looked down at himself in disbelief before lifting his head back up, this time baring his teeth and raising his hand as if to slap me. I reflexively raised my arms and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

“You stupid bitch.”

“If you touch a hair on her goddamn head ‘imma put you six feet under.”

My eyes shot open and I lowered my hands to see a seething Dean Winchester, a single strong hand wrapped around my harasser's wrist.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The faintest smirk pulled at the corner of Deans mouth before disappearing as quickly as it appeared, leaving nothing but quiet rage burning across his features.

“I’m about to be your biggest fucking problem.”

Before the asshole could even react Deans hand went from twelve O’clock to six O’clock in half a second with a sickening snap, breaking the jerks elbow with deadly skill. Practised skill. Whilst my harasser cried out and cradled his limp arm, Dean let go of him before a few of the onlookers gave Dean a nod of approval before escorting the creep out. Once he knew he was out of the building, Dean turned to me, softly grasping my chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Are you ok? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He tilted my face left and right, scrutinising over my unharmed skin. When he was sure that there wasn’t a scratch on me he let go, relief flooding his gaze as he sighed.

“Dean I’m fine, I promise,” I reached up, fingers hesitantly grazing his stubbled cheek before I thought better of it and dropped my hand to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“I swear to God (Y/n), if he’d laid a finger on you he’d get a lot more than a busted elbow,” his hand came to rest on my bicep, his long fingers gently wrapping around my arm in subconscious comfort, almost pulling me towards him. My own hand seemed to slide down from his shoulder to rest softly on his chest, my fingertips feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath.

“I know,” I reassured, giving him a little smile to which he returned. I felt my soft smile turn mischievous as thoughts started conjuring in my mind.

“Come on, Sam is waiting for another drink, let's order and get back to the table.”

The bartender had seen Dean step in to help me, so luckily for us this round was on the house. As we slid into the booth opposite Sam I slid his drink over to him.

“What happened back there?” He asked, mildly concerned.

“Just some asshole thinking I was gonna leave this place with him,” I sighed, sitting down, Dean taking his seat beside me. Sam's eyes flicked between the two of us.

“I'm sure I saw him leave with his arm all out of shape, was that-”

“Yeah well, shrimp-dick had it coming,” Dean was doing his best to act nonchalant, however the moment our eyes met over the top of our drinks we couldn't stop the giggles from tumbling out.

“Guys, Dean, you can't go around breaking elbows-”

“Relax Sammy. No one's gonna say anything, they all saw him acting like a creep. Just didn't have the balls to step in. Anyway,” a darker look clouded his eyes as his gaze bore into his younger brother, “he was harassing our girl, Sam. Ain't no way in Hell I was gonna let that slide.”

There was a moment of thick silence before Sam nodded, finally agreeing with Deans actions, knowing that if it had come down to it, he might've done the same. I raised my glass to my lips, taking a long sip before placing it back on the table, looking between the boys as they continued to have some sort of silent conversation that I wasn't a part of. The mischievous thoughts from earlier kept bubbling in my mind, and it didn't take any self-convincing for me to act on them. I shuffled slightly closer to Dean, not enough to draw attention to myself but enough to be in touching distance. I glanced up at him, making sure he was totally unaware and focused on his drink before I reached out slowly, letting my soft fingertips glide over the rough denim of his jeans. I glanced up at him when I heard him inhale his drink, spluttering slightly as I squeezed the inside of his thigh. I traced the length of his inseam, watching his grip on his glass tighten, the tanned skin over his knuckles paling.

“You ok there?” I asked, feigning concern with a quirk of a brow.

“Oh I'm just peachy sweetheart,” his voice came out low, lower than I think he was expecting it to as his eyes nervously darted to Sam who was too busy opening his laptop to notice. Dean leant back on the bench, the worn leather creaking under his weight. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, pausing for a moment before lifting his arm closest to me, as though inviting me to sit closer. Eager to oblige I scooted towards him, nibbling my bottom lip when I felt his large hand rest softly on my back, subconsciously pulling me in. I crossed one leg over the other, turning into him slightly, tilting my head to get a better look at his face.

“I think I left something in the car, would you mind coming with me whilst I grab it?”

He looked a little puzzled for a moment before shotting the last of his whiskey and nodding his head.

“Sure thing,” he turned to his brother, “hey Sammy, we’ll be back in a few.”

Sam grunted a reply, too lost in the article he was reading to pay much attention to us. Dean slid out of the booth and held his hand out to me, which I grasped. His long rough fingers enveloped my hand as he pulled me to my feet. Leaving his jacket behind, we left the bar and made our way to the impala.

The night air had turned chilly, biting at my flushed cheeks as we paced across the lot, taking all of about thirty seconds to reach the impala. Dean was a few steps ahead of me, having unlocked the rear passenger door by the time I'd arrived.

“There you are, grab what you ne- whoa!”

He was caught off guard when I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him down into the car, his broad form filling the space in the back with ease. I climbed in after him, closing the door and crawling along the back bench towards him. It took a moment, but Dean eventually caught on.

“Oh, I’m liking where this is going.”

I chewed at my bottom lip, watching him settle beneath me as he propped up slightly on his elbows, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching thin over his muscular chest.

“I wanted to thank you for being my hero. That’s the second time you’ve rescued me - I wanted to thank you properly. You know, to really show my appreciation.”

It was Deans turn to pull his bottom lip between his teeth, the corners of his plush lips turning up.

“You know, I’m starting to think you might be trouble,” his voice was getting lower with every word, each syllable rumbling in his chest and vibrating into my fingertips.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, feeling some truth to them as I scooted down the bench to sit between his legs before slipping into the large footwell. I patted the seat in front of me, and it didn’t even take a second for Dean to slide himself into it, sitting up straight. As I sat between his knees and looked up at him, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sight; the way the streetlights painted his face in warm amber, softening his battle-hardened features and reflecting in his eyes like dancing embers from a stoked fire. The shadows didn’t seem contradictory - the darkness we were sitting in was far from cold. Dean Winchester was not an artistic man by any means, but he himself was certainly a masterpiece.

I reached up and unbuckled his belt along with the button on his jeans, carefully dragging the zipper down after and tugging the thick fabric along with his boxers off his hips; just enough to dip my hand in and pull out his cock, already hot and heavy in my palm. He made an almost strained noise on contact and my stomach fluttered at the thought of him being so sensitive. So sensitive at my mercy. I adjusted my grip on him before going up and down, once… twice… three times… over and over at a sinfully slow pace. His hands gripped his thighs like they had nowhere else to go, and when I looked up he was watching every move I was making with knotted brows and parted lips. His eyes only found mine when I straightened my back and leant forwards, gliding my tongue up the thick length of him but avoiding the tip. Mimicking my hand, I licked up and down again and again, ever so slowly gaining speed before I finally dragged my tongue over his tip and plunged his whole cock down my throat.

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasped out, his large palms flying to my hair - long fingers knotting with the soft strands. I could tell he wanted nothing more than to shove my head down as far as it would go, but his self restraint shone through. I started to move, slowly at first, head bobbing without missing a beat. The feeling of his cock pressing against the back of my throat over and over was fine at first, but the longer I sucked him off the urge to gag grew. The size of Deans cock was not something to be taken lightly, and after a couple of minutes the impending gag hit and I pulled him out of my mouth.

“Shit, (Y/n)… How are you so good at this?” He hissed out in a breath I’m sure he’d been holding since I'd started. I assumed the question was rhetorical as I gave him a few pumps, swallowing the excess spit and precum on my tongue before leaning back in. One by one I placed hot, wet kisses up his length, placing the final one on his tip before I pulled it back into my mouth. With the new found sensitivity of my gag reflex ever-present, I avoided taking him too far down my throat, this time using one hand to reach where my mouth couldn't at his base. Adding a little twist, I felt his grip tighten once again in my hair, his long fingers absently scooping loose strands away from my face. The combination of feeling him lose his mind beneath me and the tenderness of his touch sent a flutter to my heart which quickly travelled south at the sound of his euphoric groan, his head lolling back and eyes closing. As I pressed my tongue to the large vein scaling his length I could feel his rapid pulse, my own heart rate almost as fast as his. As I continued to bob my head, I could feel him gather all my hair in one hand, his other softy tracing down over my temple, my cheek and my lips before stopping at my chin, a single swipe from his thumb removing most if the spit and precum that was threatening to stream down my neck. I would consider my next move a grave mistake - looking up through my damp lashes to meet Deans white-hot gaze fixated and fascinated with every little motion I made. The blissed-out look in his eyes could have turned a weaker woman into a puddle right then and there, and I surprised myself with my own resilience. He continued to hold me with one hand in my hair and a soft grip on my chin, my own free hand moving to grip him near the inside of his thigh. Another soft moan slipped from his lips as I started to speed up, not caring for the ache in my jaw or mess he was now too preoccupied to swipe away. I was surprised when no words left Deans lips, his usual blasphemous language replaced with velvety moans of pleasure. I could tell he was nearing his peak when his cock twitched between my lips, again and again before before he finally groaned out a strained:

“Fuck, oh shit.”

His grip tightened, like he was trying to pull me off him, however when that telltale throb made his cock graze the back of my throat I removed my hand from his base and enveloped him in his entirety, a final, breathy gasp and groan tumbling from Deans lips before the sensation of warm, viscous liquid spilled across the back of my tongue. It took a moment for the ropes to stop coming, and when they did I pulled him from my mouth slowly, looking up at his breathless form. Not taking my eyes from his, I parted my lips slightly to show his cum, glazing my tongue, before closing my mouth and swallowing the thick liquid down. He let out another groan, his grip finally releasing my hair as he ran his hands over his face, taking a moment for his eyes to find mine again.

“Holy shit, sweetheart… I feel like I just died and went to heaven.”

I couldn't stop the stupid giggle spilling from my lips as I wiped the spit from my lips and chin with the bottom of Deans shirt that I was wearing.

“For a moment there I thought you had too.”

He grinned down at me, perhaps a little bashful as he tucked himself back into his pants and refastened his belt. As he finished up, a few moments of silence hung over us as I still remained nestled between his strong thighs. His eyes met mine and they seemed to hold a thousand words that he wanted to say, and when nothing came from his lips he simply held out his hand to pull me into his lap. Just as my fingers grazed his, however, there was a loud rap at the window which spooked both of us out of our skin.

“Motherfucker,” Dean muttered before rolling down the window, and a small wave of guilt and embarrassment washed over me when I heard Sam's disbelieving yet humoured voice coming from outside.

“Guys are you fucking serious?!”

——————————————————————

@suckitands33 @jackles010378 @aliceeinwonderland420 @tina-theslytherin @deans-queen @hobby27 @sobearcowboy @girls-alias @selfdestructionandrhum @ericasabe @lacilou @littlemadamred @anneanirac @deans-baby-momma @swimregulas @ashdoctor @littlemarvelstan8 @atcamillanorrman @deangirl96 @zannemes @kr804573 @foxyjwls007 @divadinag @cookiemonstermusic258 @mysterialee @ababy-girl @joonseuph0ria @mxltifxnd0m @deans-spinster-witch @st4bl3-ch40s @feyresqueen @roseblue373 @clusterfuck-meup @urinternetmom @rachiem4-blog @ceeshellecee @mojos-hidden-castle @snowayumi @evzyi @mymuseisbipolar @magssteenkamp @koharuheartfilia @spookyysinsanity @safiyas-world @uncle-eggy @happyt0exist @supernaturalstilinski @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrsjenniferwinchester

[justkending]

It's just a hobby. (Drabble)

Summary: You took up a new hobby, and Dean likes to poke and tease you for it, but you feel the need to seek a little revenge for the constant joking. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3300+

A/N: I started this during the summer when I started five different crocheting projects (ADHD carried my summer hobbies) and decided to finish it before school started back up. I am currently still writing Found Memories, but I have to put a pause on it as the first month of school tends to take a lot of my time away from hobbies like writing… I’m moving to teach 8th-grade English this year and could use all the energy you’re all willing to send my way! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short story, and I’m happy to have the inspiration to write for Dean again :)

(Also, this is the closest to smut I think I've ever written...)

_______

“Seriously?” Dean grumbled as he looked in the rearview mirror seeing me pulling yarn to untangle a knot I had created. 

Knowing where he was going with his normal banter, I just laughed and continued to focus on the craft in front of me. 

“I pulled this out like 20 minutes ago. How are you just now noticing?”

“I’m watching the road,” he argued, and I rolled my eyes. As always, he had been sneaking glances to the back of the cab at me every other minute. “The hunt wasn’t even 40 minutes away from the bunker. Why did you bring that?” 

“Why do you listen to the same three Led Zeppelin songs when you're upset about a hunt?” I countered, and he opened his mouth to disagree, but I answered for him to skip the sarcastic conversation brewing. “Comfort Dean. It’s all about comfort.”

“Why are you so weirded out by a normal hobby?” Sam jumped in, smirking, and sporting one of the many beanies I had made him with said hobby, which he had come to love. He looked down at a newspaper in his lap, no doubt already scoping out a new hunt. 

“It’s not-” Dean stumbled on his answer. “I’m not weirded out by it. It’s just not a hobby I imagine someone like Y/N taking up.” 

“You just described why you’re weirded out by it,” Sam looked at him with a blank stare. 

He ignored him and rolled his eyes. 

“What kind of people do you imagine the crocheting community to be full of?” I smiled, still looking down at my hands and knowing his answer already. 

“Grandmas,” he replied almost immediately. 

“Hmm,” I hummed as if surprised by his confession, even if it was wrong. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll stop wasting my talents on things for you.” 

I could see his eyes shoot up in the mirror and a look of regret ghost over his green orbs. 

Dean liked to make a big deal about this particular hobby I had started up a little over six months ago. I think a part of him just liked to tease me about it, but deep down, I knew he was proud of my growth. He was just bad at voicing it.

The first things I ever crocheted were just simple squares in different stitch work to learn a variety of them better. Those squares became washcloths and, surprisingly, were still used daily in the kitchen. 

I learned to make bags, socks, hats, sweaters, stuffed animals, and even a few blankets. 

“Just 30 minutes ago, you took down five security guards, wrestled three teenage vampires, and booby-trapped half of his nest. Now you’re crocheting a sweater for Charlie that says, ‘What’s up bitches?’ in the backseat. Mind you, with blood still smeared on your face,” he raised an eyebrow at me in the mirror. 

I looked up and leaned toward the front to get a better look at myself. 

“Oh, shit, I thought I got it all,” I groaned, seeing a smear on the side of my face I must have missed. 

“It doesn’t add up,” he shook his head, but I could see a joking smile on his lips. 

“Much to your surprise Dean, girls can have more than one personality trait. I know you boys are all, ‘Ugh, monsters! Kill, kill, kill! I need a scotch in my hand and The God Father playing on loop in the background to show how manly I-’

“Hey,” Sam cut me off and looked at me with his sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m on your side.”

“You’re right… You also like to read and share fun facts,” I winked, touseling his hair and getting a scoff of a laugh as he swatted my hand away. “See how hurtful it can be when you forget our brains have the capacity to do more than one thing?” I turned back to Dean with my arms crossed on the bench seat in front of me. 

“I don’t think you're incapable of having more than one interest in life; I just think it’s interesting that you chose a 90-year-old women's side gig as your hobby,” Dean countered, pulling into the garage. 

“Well, if you can’t appreciate it, then you can’t have the gifts my hard work creates,” I huffed, gathering my things and sliding back to the door as Dean parked the car.

Once the car was in park, I was the first out. I wasn’t actually mad at him, I was a hundred percent messing with him, but he deserved it for teasing me this long about it when I knew he loved everything I had made him this far. 

He had a favorite blanket that he preferred to sleep with now. He had a nice sweater he wore around the bunker when he was cold. He had a few pairs of socks he preferred over store-bought ones. He even had a miniature plush Batman figurine that sat on his desk that I had learned to crochet just for him.

“Y/N, you don’t mean that!” he called after me, standing in the door on the driver's side of the Impala and shouting over the roof of it where I was walking inside. 

“We'll find out soon,” I yelled back, never turning around. 

The next three days, I teased him like he had me about this whole ordeal, but in my own way. 

When we were cooking in the kitchen or doing dishes, if he grabbed one of the squares that now acted as our kitchen hand towels, I would steal it from his hands and say, “Sorry, merchandise can only be used by those who value it.” 

With which he would respond, “Wait! I need that!” with his hands drenched in water after washing his hands. 

Just for extra measure, I took all the towels and moved them to a new place only Sam and I knew. He was happy to join in on my little prank, and every time he had one, he made sure Dean saw him with it. 

“Where did you get that?” Dean would jump up from wherever he was and march over to him to try and steal it. 

“Only the VIP customers have access to these,” Sam would wave it above his head out of reach of Dean. 

Another time, after a hunt, it was freezing in our motel room, where the heater barely worked, and the hotel didn't have enough blankets. Luckily I had one packed in the trunk of Baby, and I used it for extra coverage.

Even though Dean and I shared a bed, I wrapped it around me as I slept and said, “Sucks that you hate this so much, or else I’d share with you…”

He stared at me with complete annoyance when I gave him an exaggerated “Oh well” face before stealing it all for myself. 

I did, however, wake up to sharing it, but only because he had stolen it, and I was too tired to fight him about it.

I think one of my favorite times I rebuked him of his privileges was when he was wearing a pair of socks I had made him for Christmas around the house. I may have gotten a little more intense than I needed to, but the look on his face made it worth it.

He had come into the movie room to binge a few episodes of a new series I got him hooked on, and after he called me in to watch with him, I noticed the specific socks he had on. 

I grinned once my brain had formulated a plan to make him regret ever giving me hell for a hobby he obviously loved himself.

“Claire said there was a show called Love Island we should watch. I have no clue what it’s about, but she said it was popular and what the kids are watching now,” Dean conversed as he grabbed the remote from the table and stood with a blanket (not one of mine, as I had relocated all of them so he couldn’t find them) around his shoulders. 

He was in the perfect position for my plan. 

I walked over and, instead of facing the TV, stood right in front of him and looked up at him. 

“You know what we could do?” I whispered in a low and sultry voice, bringing my hand up to his chest and inching my fingers up to the collar of his t-shirt before pulling at it gently. His eyes instantly darkened, and he was frozen in his place. 

“Wh-What, uh, what can we do?” he stammered out. Even after three years of dating, he still got nervous. I loved it. 

“I think you know what,” I said, tiptoeing upward to quietly say in his ear, bringing my hand from his chest to the back of his neck, softly pulling him closer to me. 

“I think I have an idea,” he replied more confidently, immediately bringing his free hand to my waist and squeezing it. 

I could have faltered there, but I held strong. I was going to make him pay for all his little ‘grandma’ jokes he had sent my way the last few months. 

I pulled back, sending him a smirk that I knew revved him up. He returned it with his own and started leaning down, forgetting his grip on the blanket and remote. Now both of his hands sat on my hips with a stronghold. 

Before he could lean down any further, I pushed him backward harshly on the couch, and at first, he was shocked, then he was excited. 

Slouched into the cushion, looking up at me, his tongue came out to lick his lips and ended with a bite to his lower lip as he eyed me up and down as I stood over him. 

“Dear God, Y/N,” he hummed under his breath. 

I guess it helped that I was wearing some of my shorter PJ shorts, ones he had told me were his favorites, and a shirt that was cropped and slightly falling off my shoulder.

He had a thing for me being in a disheveled manner like this. Reminded him of how I looked after we fucked around, and he held pride knowing he played a part in the kind of glow I gave off. 

I wasn’t sure how long I could do this without failing myself on the original mission. I came here to fuck with him, and now he was the fucker. Or at least he was going to be if I didn’t follow through with my plan in the next minute. 

“You know, you should be happy you were by the couch,” I smiled, stepping to him and strategically bringing my legs to straddle his hips teasingly. 

His breath hitched at that, and I knew I had regained the upper hand. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he hummed as he admired my hands pressing into his chest as I leaned in, bringing myself closer to him. 

“I was about to take you wherever I found you,” I whispered, looking him dead in the eyes with a soft smile. I looked him up and down and bit the inside of my cheek. That seemed to trigger his hands back to my hips instantly. This time a much more possessive lock on them. 

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I can’t complain,” he said lowly, and I knew he was hooked. Now it was time for revenge. 

“Can I ask you a question?” I hummed, running my finger lightly over his hair down to his jaw, using the tip of it to push his chin up so I could see his eyes better. 

“Please,” he buzzed, drunk with lust. 

“Hmm,” I hummed, smiling more, dropping my gaze to his lips, then back at his eyes where he was drowning in dopamine by our current position. “Those socks you have on?” He didn’t catch on immediately and just furrowed his eyes as he processed what I asked. “They look familiar.” 

I leaned back from my seat, still straddling his hips, but not with nearly as much pressure as before. 

“What-” Dean started, but it dawned on him mid-thought. His eyes went from ready to tear my clothes off to annoyed realization. “Seriously.” 

“What?” I feigned ignorance and stood up, repositioning myself between his legs, both hands on his knees as I looked at him and leaned over. 

He couldn’t tell which way this was going for him, and that was the point. I was still winning this little game. 

I eased myself lower, squatting with my knees going into the couch and in between his thighs. My hands went flat on his knees and slowly started working up his thighs. 

“I can’t tell what you’re doing here, Y/N,” he said in a breathy voice. I watched as he tried to control himself, looking up away from me but not being able to help react to my hands on him. 

“I’m not doing anything,” I said in a voice that made him lower his nervous wandering eyes back to me. The amount of green in his eyes disappeared slowly. 

“You’re teasing me,” he said shortly as if he was worried his voice would tremble if he didn’t get it out quickly. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” I shrugged with a pursed lip before bringing my hands slowly back down his legs. 

“You’re mad at me,” he stuttered the last word when my hands worked their way back up, but further up than before.

“Now, why would you think that?” I tutted, shaking my head with an exaggerated look of hurt. 

All he could do was take a slow, deep breath in as I tilted my head and smiled devilishly at him.

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t play innocent.” 

I grinned.

“You and I both know I’m far from that…” My tone was darker than before but in a seductive and tempting manner. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He shot up from his slouched position and leaned forward, grabbing my forearms in his hands and pulling me up in his lap with his nose mere inches from my own. 

“If your goal was to make me suffer, you won,” he whispered so quietly; if I wasn't this close, I wouldn't have heard it. He tilted his head up just enough for our noses to brush before pulling back. 

“Keep it together, girl… Keep it fucking together,” I repeated in my head. 

“Did I? Or am I just getting started?” I snarked, and that caused the new grip on my thigh to tighten, and I almost groaned at the pressure. 

“Don’t start a war you can’t win,” he smirked, feeling as though he possessed the power. 

Two can play that game. 

I smiled, bringing my free hand up and tracing it behind his ear before wrapping it slowly around the back of his neck. I brought his face closer to mine but stopped right when I could feel the brush of his lips. 

Our chests were pressed into each other, and I could feel his heart rate pick up. Perfect. 

I nudged our noses again and smiled as his eyes closed, and he naturally and lazily chased my lips. 

I rocked my hips in a measured manner, placed perfectly in the middle of his lap, and he sucked in a breath at the friction.

“Women don’t start wars. They finish them,” I whispered before promptly standing up and, in a swift motion, yanking the socks he had on off and walking to the exit. 

“Y/N!” I could hear his shout from the couch from where I knew he was with a full hard-on, unable to move just yet. 

“This granny is going to bed!” I shouted, speed-walking to my room in case he decided to run after me. 

“You little-!” the shout still seemed far behind me, and I quickly shut my bedroom door and locked it. 

Thankfully, I think I left him incapacitated for a second, and he didn’t follow me immediately. 

I actually didn’t hear from him for the rest of the night. I hoped I didn’t upset him, but also, the whole reason I had done what I had was because he had become a little ass about my favorite hobby. I don’t mind the jokes, but after a while, you want a pat on the back for learning something new. Especially from someone you care about. 

I went ahead and did my normal nighttime routine and got into bed before I started to read a book. I must have dozed off while reading because I woke up to the lights out, my book on the end table, and Dean crawling into the other side of the bed. 

Before I could say anything, his arms came around my waist, and he pulled me to his core. He was in his boxers and one of his soft t-shirts I made him wear to bed. 

For the record, I was perfectly fine with him in no shirt (or pants, for that matter), but when he did wear a shirt, I made him put on a certain kind cause his band and certain graphic tee ones were itchy on me when we cuddled. 

He took a deep sigh and nuzzled his face into the crevice between my neck and shoulder, one of his favorite places. 

“Why’d you lock your door?” he asked, already knowing I had woken up. 

He had definitely picked the lock.

“I thought you were going to hunt me down, and I forgot to unlock it,” I replied sleepily. 

There was silence for a minute, and eventually, he spoke up, whispering in my ear his apology. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” I sighed with a winning grin he couldn't see, knowing why but playing coy anyway. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you how much I appreciate your brain,” he answered. 

That was not what I expected, but I was intrigued. 

“Hmmm,” I smiled, moving my hands to his that were wrapped around my ribs and nuzzling my backside closer to him. “Don’t stop now; you’re on a roll.” 

He laughed and invited my attempt to fit into him like a puzzle piece.

“You’re ambitious with everything you want to learn to do, and I don’t tell you enough how much of a turn-on that is,” he hummed, rubbing his head into mine and peppering a kiss on my neck here and there. “And I know you know how much I love the skills you gain, but sometimes I’m bad about just saying how impressive you are to me.” 

“You like my crocheting skills, Winchester,” I chuckled, turning my body to face him now and throwing one of my legs over his hips, pulling back in some. “Just say it.” 

“I love your crocheting skills,” he replied with a wide grin and brought a hand up to move the stray hairs that fell on my face. “I love your baking and cooking. I love your impressive TV show-binging skills. I love the random facts you have stored in that beautiful brain of yours. I love your surprisingly nerdy side of Marvel and superheroes. I love your attempt at being a gardener.”

“Hey, I have three plants that are thriving right now!” I argued, poking a finger in his chest, which he grabbed and kissed the tip of. 

“I love everything you’re passionate about,” he finished off. “I don’t tell you enough, and sometimes I like to see that face you give me when I tease you.” I gave him a look. “Maybe more than sometimes… But! I do love all those things and more about you, Y/N.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” I replied, scooting in closer. “But it is nice to hear it from those captivating lips of yours.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

We started smiling at each other, and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about earlier. 

“I’m sorry I teased you,” I sighed, moving to where I was embedded in his chest, and he wrapped himself back around me. 

“Don’t be. I deserved it,” he replied, chin on my head before he bent down and kissed the top of it. “I will say, though, I’ve never been mad about seeing that side of you.” 

“What side?” I looked up at him. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing,” he chuckled, pulling my head back to him. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed after a minute. “Hey.”

“Hm?” 

“You’re my favorite person. You know that, right?” 

“Feelings are very much mutual,” he answered, caressing a hand up and down my back. 

“Good. I’d have to kill you with one of my knitting needles if you said otherwise. Who said needleworking wasn’t dangerous, right?”

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente​ @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose  @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan  @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @drakelover78 @caruhleener

Supernatural Tags:

@flamencodiva @hobby27 @sucker-for-dean @deans-baby-momma @squirrelgirl67 @death-unbecomes-you @snffbeebee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @musiclovinchic93 @vicmc624 @carryon-doctor-lock @perpetualabsurdity @herscrunchiehairtie @spnwoman @shamelesslydean @monkeymcpoopoo @winchestergirl82 @luciathewinchestergirl @deansyahtzee @thatgirl1456 @sucker-for-dean @atomicloverdonkeyperson @screechingartisancashbailiff @akshi8278 @supernatural3002

[qverdia]

abilene giggled , the sound and feeling of joyful warmth blossoming across her face almost entirely foreign to her after so long in the darkness of the bunkers , as alex climbed beside her . she needed little invitation , her head resting between his shoulder and chest as his arm curled around her .

a part of her imagined that they slotted together like puzzle pieces , that she fit perfectly snuggled at his side . her hand rested on his chest beside her head and one of her legs laid across his . abilene had not known peace like the kind that alex brought her . her heart until it matched the beat of his she heard in his chest , and the trembling of her limbs slowed .

abilene hoped that she could offer him the same feeling he gave her . she hoped that alex found a bit of peace in her arms , that he let her shoulder some of the heavy burdens that tugged him to the ground . she let out a shaky breath and shut her eyes for only a moment before alex spoke .

❛ this is my government issued blanket , it's a crime to hog it . ❜ she teased back , a quiet laugh leaving her lips . she couldn't recall him stealing blankets before , or stretching out until she was pushed to the edge of the mattress . then again , she thought , they'd been sharing mattresses that were hardly big enough for one between two or three people .

she let out a soft sigh , closing her eyes as she thought back to h o m e . her heart ached for the flat plains , the lowing of cattle , the chirp of chicks . she missed the dry heat , the summer storms , a cat weaving between her legs with a purr . . . soon , she told herself . soon she would be back with alex and his boys .

❛ strawberries , ❜ abilene smiled . ❛ they're a requirement in any garden we have . . . i'll make you and the boys the sweetest desserts with them . ❜ it had been ages since she'd had a nice strawberry , the thought nearly made her mouth water . ❛ supposing i don't eat them before they make it inside , which is more likely than you'd think . ❜

❛ knit and crochet ? you're a man of many talents . ❜ abilene propped herself up slightly on one of her elbows , a teasing smile on her lips . ❛ my favorite color is purple , or maybe yellow . . . ❜ abilene moved the hand on his chest to rest against his cheek , her thumb brushing against his skin once more . ❛ . . . but i'm growing very partial to blue . ❜

❛ are you sure you're okay , alex ? ❜ her eyes moved from alex's face to the bandage around his opposite arm , and her brows furrowed in worry . ❛ i can't have you getting a gnarly scar 'cause of little ol' me . ❜

alex nuzzles into abilene’s palm,  much like a stray dog or an affection-starved cat might.   pale blue eyes closing briefly,  his own fingers curling around her dainty wrist just to keep her from moving her hand away too quickly.   he wants to be soft around her,  knowing she’s witnessed too much violence,  seeing they’re surrounded by nothing but pain and death and grief,  but there’s a side of him that craves revenge.   he hasn’t yet reached her level of acceptance —   deep down,  no matter how hard he attempts to quench those urges and desires,  he still believes that every person from the capitol should pay for the crimes of their leader.   in his darkest dreams,  he sees rivers of blood rushing through the streets of capitol,  flames engulfing all the tall and mighty buildings,  turning them to dust.   for sarah.   for his father.   for abilene’s brothers,   the voice in the back of his head justifies.   but he doesn’t want to be that kind of person,  doesn’t want this war to turn him vengeful.   it’s a constant internal struggle.   his own personal battle.

the only time when his heart’s truly at peace is when he’s with abilene.   she’s his light in the dark.   his compass.   “i know,  but…   you deserve to know what exactly happened.   you deserve a closure or to be reunited with your brother.”   and he’s determined to find a way to give her just that,  refuses to even consider the possibility that it might be out of reach —   maybe they’ll never know what exactly happened to angus.   “i’ll take you home,  abi.   we’ll go as soon as this is all over,  alright?   i’d take you home tomorrow if it was possible.”   would they be considered deserters if they just ran away?   would anyone look for them?   where could they go?   he doubts sleep will come to him tonight,  and so he’ll use the time to think about the answers to all these questions.

“yeah?”   recognizing the words,  the same ones that he’d used many moons ago to make her feel safe,  less alone,  a soft,  almost sheepish smile blooms on his lips and he finds himself snuggling up to her.   his boots kicked off,  his arm curling around her,  inviting her to rest her head on his shoulder.   the uninjured one.   “i don’t think you know what you’ve just gotten yourself into.   i tend to hog the blankets and sleep like a starfish,”   he playfully warns,  hoping to coax at least a faint chuckle out of her.   “tell me about home…   what will we plant in our garden?   have i ever told you that i know how to knit and crochet?   i’ll crochet you a blanket,  whatever color you pick.”

[leafdrake-haven]

it is getting rather crisp in my part of the hemisphere so I wanted to ask how do your ocs get cozy?

This is a cute and fun one!

Rhynn likes big comfy blankets with a hot beverage (spiced coffee, mulled wine, or cocoa preferred!) However, optimal coziness can only be achieved after spending some time out in the cold first. Bonus points if playing in the snow!

Helis looooves getting cozy. He wants all the typical sort of things. Big, heavy comfort meals (especially stew!), hot drinks (hot, spiced mead or cider are his go-tos but he likes cocoa too). A big roaring fire in a fireplace, comfy clothes, blankets, and slippers. He also loves cuddling under the blankets with a partner to keep each other warm. Optimal coziness for Helis happens if he can watch the cold weather through his windows. The fire feels even warmer if he’s watching an endless rainstorm or the snow piling up on his window sill.

Elrick is also a fan of hot beverages and good food. Mulled wine is a favorite of his, but good teas and coffee are also nice. He enjoys wearing his fine, fur-lined coats this time of year as well. Cozy as well as fashionable. And when he’s at home only, a pair of very comfortable slippers.

Blix isn’t too bothered by the cold being a weather mage and all, but he does appreciate coziness. He has a pet steam elemental in the shape of a house cat and she gets extra cuddly in cold weather and he doesn’t mind as it keeps him warm (not to mention Dumpling is a special girl that deserves all the cuddles, don’t tell Blix any different!). He also enjoys hot food and drink but for him instead of just temperature, the spicier the better. You can’t be cold if you’ve got a fire burning on the inside.

Lena doesn’t hate the cold but she has very little tolerance for it. She is already using her heavier clothes and blankets by the end of autumn. Drinks her weight in chai during the cold months and always holding a mug to keep her hands warm. She eventually gets her own couple of pet pigeons and she loves cuddling with them in the colder months when she’s at home. Also at home she usually switches to hot toddys to warm herself up. Don’t forget the 7 layers of blankets, extra thick robe, and fuzzy slippers (all matching of course)!

I feel like cold probably doesn’t overly bother Ravnican merfolk? Since they came from living on like the literal underground ocean floor of Ravnica which must be chilly to say the least (unless it’s warm which could be interesting world-building also 🤔). But Myree loves the cold as long snow is involved. Why bother being cold if there’s no snow? She’s always trying to get Blix to invent and build her a snow machine (He probably caves eventually and manages one that makes a snowball amount of snow or something xD) Myree loves dressing up in the hats/gloves/scarves that Rhynn knits/crochets for her (Even though they are very very clearly homemade. She does get better with time!) Also any excuse for hot chocolate is a good one.

Tali doesn’t enjoy the cold OR snow so I could see her just planeswalking away to somewhere warm for the winter xD If she does have to bunker down though, I imagine she tries to build a sauna or something wherever she’s staying. Can you be cozy if you’re cranky about it?

Breeze is kinda in the same boat as Myree, cold doesn’t really bother her. However, being part of a giant cuddle-pile of flock-mates to keep warm is always a favorite thing for her!

[thesleepy1]

Written Before I Knew

A/N: I got a request for a Jack Kline x Winchester sister fic. This is one of my first requests besides the ones from friends or mutual so I hope I do it justice. Also sorry that this was so late. I had a lot going on and I wanted to actually try and not rush this. Unbeta’d as always. I’m so, so, so sorry. This was written before I learned of what happened between Destiel. I wish you all the best of luck. I’m sorry. @head-over-heart

 “Could do something with the reader being Sam and Dean's little sister, and Jack is always trying to do things to please her, and make her proud of him, so Dean is jealous of his big brother.”

 Pairings: Jack Kline x Reader, Jack Kline x Winchester reader 

 Summary: Jack tries his best to please you, Dean takes notice. 

 Word count: 790 

 Warnings: None that I know of besides the fact that we are all aware of.

 When you go hunting with the boys no one believes that you’re their sister. They always think you’re Sam and Dean’s daughter, or wife, or girlfriend, or something completely wrong. The wife thing was far too common an occurrence for your liking. 

 So after a certain point you couldn’t help but get used to it. At times you even played into it, posing as Sam and Dean’s little girl who they just couldn’t leave at home. It was fun even, teasingly calling your older brothers Dad and Papa. And everyone you’ve ever worked with bought it from the beginning. And you were okay with that until Jack entered your life.

 The two of you just clinked from the start. Dean would jokingly call you childish all the time and though it hurts being around Jack made you feel normal. He is so new to the world and is still learning. You just can’t help it but want to join him along the way.

 “Like this?” Jack held up his work of crochet, a half finished jellyfish head. 

 “Yeah, you’re a natural at this,” you praised, looking over his handiwork. He really was talented. “Do you want to use another color?” you added, grinning as his cheerful nod.

 “What are you two doing?” Dean poked his head into your corner of the library that you and Jack turned into a pillow fort. There were string lights hung up and cushions thrown all around the place. Blankets and sheets were taken from your respective bedrooms and were used as well. 

 “Nothing.”

 “Making friends.”

 “Making friends?” You silently curse out the golden retriever that is your friend, hoping to convey all of that through a single glare. 

 “Well, not really but-”

 “Look what I made!” Jack held up his jellyfish head for Dean to see. The older man raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips, and looking like the confused older brother that he was. 

 “That just looked like a butch of yarn.” 

 There was also that time in the kitchen. The Bunker had just been attacked and everyone was just trying to calm down. Live in the few moments of peace that you were allowed and everything. So you decided to make everyone pancakes. Jack for whatever reason was also up at the ungodly hour and wanted to help. 

 Making pancakes is not as easy as it sounds.

 “What’s going on?!” Dean coughed, waving away the smoke as he stumbled into the kitchen.

 “We’re making pancakes,” Jack replied, waving his spatchal over the only salvageable pancake. It was a little too dark and burnt at the edges. But some people linked crispy pancakes, at least that's what you were telling yourself.

 “No, you’re starting a fire.” Dean pointed to the flame that had caught your apron. 

 “Argh!” you begin screaming, throwing the arpon off of yourself and onto the ground. Before the whole Bunker could be set on fire Dean puts out the flame with the fire extinguisher. 

 “You okay?” Dean asked, waving through the smoke. 

 “Y-yeah,” you stumbled, suddenly realizing where you were. Jack’s arms were around you putting his body in front of yours. You were the same height but it didn’t matter as you stared at his beautiful eyes. They were slightly teary from the smoke but they just looked stunning.

 “Are you going to make out or clean up?” 

 “What’s make out?”

 “C-clean up, of course,” you rushed, running to the storage closet to get the broom.

 And that wasn’t even taking into account of the rain day.

 “I think that piece goes there,” you motion towards the section of the puzzle with the same color and texture. 

 “Oh you’re right,” Jack smirks, putting the piece into place. You were staring at his charming smile and he just so happened to look up at the same time. Getting caught off guard was one thing but getting caught off guard by that face was game over. You were swooning before you even realized it.

 “Alright alright, six feet apart. I don’t want to deal with any grandkids,” came Dean’s gravelly voice.

 “Dean!” you shouted, embarrassed out of your mind and trying to hide your face within your arms. 

 “What does he mean-”

“I mean unless you plan on marrying my sister, stay away from her,” Dean explained threateningly.

 “Why?” Jack tilted his head like a puppy.

 “Because I want her attention too, and with you around I barely get the time of day from her. Can you imagine how much she would talk to me with a little kid running around? Actually don’t.” 

 “Little kid?”

 “Argh! Dean, go flirt with Cas or something,” you begin the dull process of shoving your brother out the door. “Leave us alone.” 

 “Cas doesn-”

[perlukafarinn]

for @inacatastrophicmind who made this gorgeous gifset at my request <3

After the dust has settled, after Chuck has gone and yet another apocalypse has been averted, Cas tells Dean that he wants to be human again.

Why, Dean wants to ask but he keeps his mouth shut. Cas’ brief stint as a human sucked in most ways imaginable but so has his much, much longer stint as an angel. Maybe he needs the change. Maybe they both do.

He disappears for a little while and when he returns, it’s with a smirking Rowena in his front seat and a vial of grace in a delicate chain around his neck. He hands it to Dean, and Dean accepts it even though he knows he doesn’t deserve that kind of trust. He’ll have to do his best to earn it, even if it takes him the rest of his life.

He also accepts it when Cas kisses him, because that part is at least familiar.

*

What isn’t familiar is what comes after.

Peace. Stability. Basically all things synonymous with ‘domesticity’ and isn’t that a strange thought. God is dead and Dean got his happily ever after sharing a bed and picking out curtains with the former angel who pulled him out of hell.

The curtains, for the record, were not Dean’s idea.

“I don’t get it,” Dean says, eyeing the lacy, mustard-yellow monstrosity that Cas is holding with disdain. “We live in an underground bunker.”

Cas turns the fabric over in his hands. “They would just be for show. Bare concrete is depressing, at least this would be nicer to look at.”

“Disagreed. And since when were you so into decorating?”

“I kept you, didn’t I?” Cas says dryly. 

That’s probably the most sarcastic, round-about way Dean’s ever been called pretty. 

“Aw shucks, thanks honey.”

Cas puts the curtains down, picking up another, even uglier pair. They’re pea-green and crocheted; he has to be messing with Dean at this point. “I like that.”

“If you buy those, I’m burning them,” Dean warns.

“Not the curtains,” Cas says. “You calling me ‘honey’. Please do it more often.”

That effectively shuts Dean up. He can’t be snarky with Cas when he gets this sincere.

*

Dean wakes up to an empty bed.

It’s rare enough these days that the realization immediately puts him on edge. He reaches over to Cas’ side, relieved to discover that the mattress is still warm. Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, he sees that it’s only a little past six.

Despite the early hour, there is no way Dean can go back to sleep without knowing where Cas is so he sits up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He stumbles into the hallway in just his boxers and shirt, already missing the warmth of his bed.

As he nears the kitchen, he can hear someone moving around in it, and when he rounds the corner he spots Cas by the stove, spatula in one hand. 

“Cas?” Dean asks, voice still husky from sleep. “What’re you doing?”

Cas doesn’t so much as glance back. “It’s supposed to be an omelette.”

Dean walks up to him, hooking his chin over Cas’ shoulder and wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist. The supposed omelette is a burnt, scrambled mess of eggs, vegetables and sausage on the pan. 

“If you wanted an omelette, I could’ve made you one,” Dean says. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Cas sighs, removing the pan from the heat and turning it off. “I’ve seen you make it before, I thought I could do it myself.”

“Maybe next time follow a recipe?” 

“You don’t need a recipe,” Cas says, frustration leaking into his tone.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve been cooking for myself and Sam for thirty years. You can’t expect everything to come easy to you. Some stuff you gotta learn from scratch.”

“Nothing comes easy to me.” 

“I don’t know, you’re pretty good in the sack.”

Cas huffs out a small laugh at that and Dean smiles, relieved. Sometimes, making flippant comments only serves to frustrate Cas further. It’s a delicate line to walk and more often than not, Dean flounders off it and falls right on his ass.

“Now, c’mon, wash the pan and get started again.” Dean tightens his arms around Cas for a moment, dropping a quick kiss on his shoulder. “I’ll guide you through it.”

*

‘Happily ever after’ should be overstating it. 

It’s not like they’ve reached some blissful, unchanging state. Not like they never argue, or go to bed unhappy, or need to spend days apart because they’re feeling cooped up and everything they do pisses each other off. 

But, Dean thinks, there’s just no other phrase for it. 

Cas disagrees.

“Our story isn’t over,” he says, trailing kisses down Dean’s chest and this is so not the kind of talking Dean likes in bed, but he is the one who brought it up. “We don’t have a story, that was the point wasn’t it?”

Dean tugs at his shoulder and Cas acquiesces, straightening on top of Dean so they are face to face. 

“So you don’t wanna ride into the sunset with me?”

“Perhaps.” Cas looks him up and down. “What kind of riding did you have in mind?”

Dean laughs. “I have been such a bad influence on you.”

Cas grins and leans in, giving him a nice and thorough kiss. There’s no talking after that, theoretical or otherwise, and Dean supposes it’s just as well. Cas is right.

They’re not a story anymore. 

[mc-and-elise]

I posted 1,782 times in 2022

That's 1,737 more posts than 2021!

23 posts created (1%)

1,759 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@marshmallowprotection

@rfaromance

@itsmeohmyo

@antiochean

@brighteststar707

I tagged 89 of my posts in 2022

#mystic messenger - 37 posts

#vanderwood - 19 posts

#saeyoung choi - 15 posts

#mystic messenger seven - 11 posts

#mystic messenger vanderwood - 11 posts

#mystic messenger headcanon - 11 posts

#mary vanderwood 3rd - 11 posts

#agent vanderwood - 8 posts

#mystic messenger imagines - 7 posts

#mm vanderwood - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 111 characters

#(yes the teacup is a reference to them being british i didn’t play sword/shield so i’m not familar with galar-)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Some Vanderwood headcanons

Part of a Vanderwood content contest with @antiochean !

Their real name is Marion. It's a male variant of Mary

Seven calls them Mary as a nickname.

Vanderwood is British. They haven't been back to their homeland in a long time, though.

Is a neat freak due to their trauma of growing up surrounded by filth.

Following Seven's route and afterstory, ends up moving into the bunker with the twins and MC.

Works as one of Jumin's bodyguards and occasional nightguard at the office

They're nonbinary. They go by he/him and they/them.

They love detective stories. Their first edition Herlock Shlomes books are their prized possession

20 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

#4

Random Vanderwood headcanons I came up with

Vanderwood is nonbinary, and goes by "they/them" and "he/him"

Prefers they/them

Is from Great Britain. They refuse to say where exactly.

Their full name is Marion Vanderwood. After Saeyoung makes them a new identity, it becomes Marion Stark Vanderwood.

Knits and crochets in their spare time.

Will never admit it, but more or less adopted Saeyoung (and later, Saeran) as his brother.

When flustered/upset, their cockney accent slips out

While they threaten Saeyoung a lot, would never hit him. Taze? Sure, but physically beat him when he didn't get work done? Hell no.

Grows their hair out as it's the first thing they ever had full control over

Gets a job at C&R as one of Jumin's bodyguards and the occasional night guard after the SE

Lives with the twins at the bunker

Eventually becomes an unofficial member of the RFA, providing security at events

44 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

#3

Vanderwood and their relationships in the RFA

Part of a content contestwith @antiochean

Yooosung

They've joined the "Focus on school dammit" group

"This kid is still innocent and I'm not about to let Seven corrupt him"

Teaches him some recipes and tries to get him to eat better

Yoosung is trying to get him into LOLOL. They're intrigued by the tabletop version of it.

Zen

Bonds with him over motorcycles and theater

Is a secret theater nerd.

Helps him practice lines often.

They both share haircare tips with each other.

If they're dating MC, Zen is a bit less overprotective of MC, but instead of calling them a wolf, they're a "leopard"

Jumin

He's their boss

No really.

Vanderwood is a member of his security detail. They also occasionally work as the night guard at the office.

Jumin finally has someone else in the chat room who doesn't understand memes

And gets his protectiveness of Elizabeth the Third

They're still grateful for him rescuing them following the Secret Endings

Vanderwood isn't afraid to call him out sometimes, but not too harshly

He's still their boss

If Jumin and MC are together, they're one of the few people he trusts to leave MC with alone.

If MC ends up with Vandy, Jumin is more generous with time off and scheduling

Jaehee

Mom Squad™️

The two bond over their complaints over working for Jumin

Knows she could easily kill them. Is impressed.

Helps her towards her dream of opening a coffee shop

Seven/Saeyoung

See the full post

49 notes - Posted August 9, 2022

#2

I have a thought: We all know Unknown tries to kidnap MC is almost every route aside from Jaehee's (probably bc she could dropkick him into the sun if he tried). What if, instead of MC needing rescuing, it was instead a member of the RFA?

Mint Eye does hope to essentially absorb the members of the RFA into their own group, so either way their plans are progressing.

What would MC do? I'm assuming that Seven in every route aside from his own would be helping her find them, whether it be through their phones or Unknown willinglyletting the location slip in hopes of luring everyone there, but in his own route, would she have to rely on Vanderwood to hopefully find Magenta?

I just have so many questions.

70 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Saeyoung would totally make a IRL Baymax. Full size too.

76 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →