#and dean is making his little jokes AH

[papercorgiworld]

Apologies and love confessions

The Slytherins guy’s are jealous because you have a date. When your date flops, they show up: to make up or make out, or both…

General story introduction and then you pick your favourite Slytherin. Or all of them, I won’t judge.

Theo, Blaise, Enzo, Draco and Mattheo.

Warning: a little bit of smut bc of Enzo and Mattheo ofc.

Not proofread, so if a sentence hurts your brain, my apologies. Let me know and safe an innocent reader.

After months of not writing, I present you… whatever this is.

You took one last look in the mirror and turned to your friends, Pansy and Hermione. “Acceptable?” You asked sheepishly. “More than acceptable.” Hermione smiled. “Hot.” Pansy bluntly stated.

It was a late Saturday afternoon as you made your way to the great hall to meet your date. A few days ago, Neal - a Ravenclaw one year older than you - had asked you out. You hadn’t talked much but all of your friends liked him and he wasn’t bad looking. As you almost reached the great hall you ran into the notorious Slytherin boys. When you spotted them you wanted to turn on your heels, but Enzo already called for you. “Y/n, you’re looking fine.” He slurred the last word a bit as he looked you up and down. Your cheeks went red as all the guys stared. “Ah, your date’s today, right?” Blaise asked nonchalantly. You nodded, getting a little nervous. “What was his name again? Dirk… Dean?” Draco asked with his usual voice filled with arrogance and annoyance. His eyebrows went up and down as he leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. “Neal. And I should be going.” You blurted. Theodore was slow to move aside and you passed him, his eyes never leaving you. As you walked away you could hear Mattheo snicker and your heart sank.

Up until recently you had gotten along with them just fine. You were Pansy’s friend and by association also theirs. Just like you were Ron and Harry’s friend because of your friendship with Hermoine. However, there was a difference. You always wanted to be liked by the Slytherin guys, or just by one. Unfortunately, ever since you mentioned you were going on a date they had collectively decided to ridicule your every move. Making you feel terribly insecure.

***

Your date flopped. Neal was a great guy. Accept for the fact that he was obviously still hung up on his ex-girlfriend. When you entered the Three Broomsticks and chose a table near a window, he told you his ex liked to sit by the window too. When you ordered drinks, Neal told you his ex didn’t like your choice of drink. When he mentioned her for a third time, you fell silent and gave him a tight lipped smile. Oh Merlin. This was the worst.

After a little over an hour you said your awkward goodbyes. You started to walk back to Hogwarts, dreading the idea of telling your friends about your date or worse all those other gossiping people finding out.

As you arrived at the courtyard the ones you wanted to avoid most were there. You tried to subtly speed walk past them. This time it was Mattheo who was first to speak. “Y/n! You’re back early.” You simply sighed and Mattheo smirked. “How long were you gone? Didn’t even last two hours.” Mattheo turned to Theodore who let out a short laugh. Pansy who sat next to Enzo shot up and started yelling. “Oi, shut it!” Your friend took your arm to guide you away from them, towards the castle. “Pay up, Blaisy-boy. Not even two hours, so I win.” You heard Riddle say and you shot one last look at them, seeing how Blaise grimaced and reached inside his pockets to pay up. You were nothing more than a joke to them.

Pansy held onto your arm while you walked towards your common room. Hermoine spotted you from afar and pushed Ron and Harry aside to get to you. “So how was i…” Hermoine’s question was cut of my Pansy aggressive signal to shut up. “So, should we hex him?” Hermoine suggested as she saw that your eyes were welling up with tears. “No, it’s not him. I mean it was a bad date. But, so what. No biggie. But those, those, those… twats! They, they are the worst!” You yell, attracting the attention of students nearby. Hermoine looks over to Pansy with a confused look. “Will hex all five of them.” Pansy said and Hermoine caught on, she knew exactly which five morons you were talking about.

You nodded and sighed. “I need a moment alone. I’m going up to the astronomy tower for some quiet time.” Your friends were understanding and you left.

Theodore

“This is my hang-out.” Theodore says, pulling you out of your train of thoughts. “This is the spot people go to when they’re sad. If this is your hang-out, then that says a lot about you.” Theo halts for a moment, feeling a little exposed by your analysis, but joins you nevertheless, his arms resting on the railing. You notice how he plays with a cigarette between his fingers. “I won’t light it. I know you don’t like it when I smoke.” You raise your eyebrows. “I also don’t like it when you ridicule me, but that’s never stopped you or your merrie band of delinquents from mocking me.” Now, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

He’s about to open his mouth and give you some lame excuse for his behavior, but you stare at him with unimpressed eyes. So, he closes his mouth and lets out a nervous laugh. He takes a step back from the railing and throws his hands up in surrender. “I’ll admit, I’ve not been on my best behavior the past week.” Now, he has your full attention. You wanna hear what he has to say. “But neither have you.” He points to you and you scoff, no longer wanting to listen. “Going on a date with… what’s his name again. Of course everyone’s laughing.” You let out a laugh of disbelief. “Unbelievable.” You sigh.

“How about you go out with me? No one will laugh.” When you didn’t immediately respond he tried to sell the idea a little. “I’ll tell Matt and the others to behave. No more mocking.” You tilt your head in amusement to his suggestion. This guy, unbelievable. “You can do that, tell them to behave?” Theo takes a step closer towards you, leaving no space between you two. “Uhu.” He absentmindedly breathes while his hand softly caresses your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And will you behave?” You ask, subtly taunting him. “I’ll be good.” He says softly and licks his lip.

“I’ll think about it.” You say taking a step and putting some distance between you two. But Theo quickly reaches for your arm, pulling you back towards him. “Don’t play with me.” As soon as you look into his eyes, his lips are on yours. The kiss is filled with longing, his thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in. Theo pushes you against the railing, never breaking the kiss. Your hand finds their way to his messy hair. The more you tug on one another and push into each other, the sloppier the kiss gets. He squeezes your ass and as a reflex you gently buck your hips into him. “Fuck.” He growls. You smile at his reaction and seize the moment to push him away.

Walking past him, you never take your eyes off the confused man. “I’m looking forward to that date.”

Blaise

“I lost a bet because of you.” Blaise says with a loud voice while he’s still on the stairs almost at the top, but still out of sight. You turn towards the stairs waiting for him to arrive. “I mean really, not even two hours.” “No.” You cross your arms in annoyance. “I mean you're annoying sometimes, but-“ You shove his shoulder. “I was not annoying! I AM never annoying. I’m a blessing to be around.” He raises his eyebrows, but you ignore him and continue your rant. “You! You on the other hand are frankly unbelievably childish!” You poke his chest, being more than a little shocked at how muscular he is, but you push that thought aside. “Betting on my misery, have you no shame!”

He spreads his arms in defense. “Well, that was Mattheo’s idea. No morals, that guy.” You raise an eyebrow in response. Just Mattheo. Think not. All of you, you’re a bunch of demon children. “You joined in.” You throw at him, like a lawyer making their case. “And lost.” Blaise says sheepishly. “Don’t be mad at me. I lost money, my day is already bad enough.” You turn on your heels, away from him. “Well what about my shitty day.”

“Ah, about that, your shitty day, I can make it better.” In a split second you’re facing him again, eyes shining with curiosity. “This better be good, Zabini.” He simply grinned. “There’s this guy, who’s been into you for months now. Incredibly hot. Sixpack and everything. Really into quidditch, a bit of a jock, but also really likes wizard chess and magic history. And has a soft side, secretly loves to watch muggle-movies. That’s some boyfriend material, uh?” You’ve been nodding along searching for the catch.

“What’s the catch, Zabini, no dude’s that good. Definitely not one that happens to have a thing for me.” He smiles as takes a step closer. “He would like to ask you out. So.. what do y’say?” You drop your head and shake no. “I’m not going out with him until you tell me what the catch is.” “Fineee, the catch is… he’s me.” You frown in confusion. “You, Blaise Zabini, want to go out with me?” A nervous and adorable smile appears on his face. “Yeah, and I would like it to last longer than two hours.” You give his shoulder a little push. “Depends, are you going to talk about your ex the entire time?” “What? That’s how Dirk ruined your date? What a git.” His name was Neal, but whatever. I got a new and better date.

Enzo

Enzo has his back against the railing. His eyes trace your face. “Didn’t go well did it?” Your eyes meet his and he sees your forehead wrinkle at his stupid question. “Well, look on the bright side. You’re back on the market.” You shift yourself so you’re leaning against the railing with your side and facing Enzo. “I was never off the market. I went on one date.” He also shifted so he’s facing you. “Yeah, you’re right. I was overreacting. I shouldn’t have worried so much.” You look confused at him, but he doesn’t immediately explain. “Why were you worried?”

“Well, uhm, you know, maybe you would’ve liked him.” He tried his best to sound casual, but you could tell he was a little nervous. You took a small step towards him. “Why would that be a bad thing?” He huffed like the answer was obvious. “Because it’s wrong to ask out a girl who's dating.” You frown. “You’ve lost me, Enzo, I don’t follow.”

“Wait, wait. This will clear it up.” He closes the space between you two and cups your cheek. What followed was the softest kiss ever. After a moment you both opened your eyes, but didn’t move away from each other. “See, I couldn’t have done that if you were dating Neal.” You nodded. “I follow.” You brushed your lips over his. A cheeky smile covered his face. “You know, if you’re interested… there are a lot of things we can do now that it’s just you and me.” “Care to give an example.”

“My pleasure.” Is all he says before his hands find their way to your hips lifting you up. Your legs tangle around him as he pushes you against a wall. The cold stone makes you arch into him. His mouth nips on the flesh of your neck. “You and I should go on a date.” Enzo breathes in between kisses. “You two need to find a room.” You're both startled by Neville’s sudden appearance. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Enzo says, looking at you with lust. “Mine or yours?” You ask as you lick your bottom lip.

Draco

You sighed, letting the view and silence calm you. Suddenly you hear footsteps and when you look up Draco’s walking towards you with his usual flair. “What a tool, that Neal-guy. Taking you to the Three Broomsticks.” You roll your eyes and look away from him. “You should’ve known, a guy like him is no good.” Before he opens his mouth again you whip your head around towards him, eyes ready to kill. “He’s no good? Neal’s not the problem. You are! You’re no good, with you mocking and ridiculing. You’ve been acting like a total ass the last few days! So get lost, Malfoy!”

Draco remains quiet for a moment. The frown on his face grows as he realizes his jealousy might have taken the upper hand these past few days. Falling back in his normal composure, his hands reach for the cold railing as he comes to stand next to you. “I just didn’t think it was a good idea. You, going out with him. You need someone who buys you a dress and takes you to a fancy place.” When you look up at him in confusion, he continues staring in front of him. “I think you deserve better.” You huff, indulging his lame excuse for his behavior. “Know any guy like that?” You blurt out thinking back to your miserable date.

Draco inspects the rings on his fingers as he searches for the courage to say what he so badly wanted to say these last couple of days. “Me.” He says so quietly you almost didn’t hear, but you did and you look up at him with wide eyes. Where is this going? “I would like to take you somewhere fancy. Spoil you.” You let out a laugh and he immediately snaps at you. “No, need to laugh. A simple ‘no thanks’ would have sufficed.” You press your lips together and take a step towards him. The scowl on his face falls when your hand reaches for his tie, gently playing with it. “I think I’m going to take you up on that offer, Malfoy.” Your face inches towards him and his lips brush yours.

The kiss immediately becomes more passionate and his hand tangles in your hair holding you in place. His other hand snakes to the small of your back pulling you close. You whimper softly at the feeling of your bodies against one another. This gives him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss even more. You break apart to catch your breath, but you stay close. “You were jealous, weren’t you?” Draco scoffs. “Not. It’s simply a matter of principle. Classy women belong with classy men.” You roll your eyes. “Draco, kiss more, talk less.” He huffs in annoyance, but obliges.

Mattheo

“I told you so.” Mattheo’s voice sang as he approached you. You didn’t turn around, instead you just rolled your eyes. “That guy just wasn’t for you. Don’t be so upset about it.” You shook your head. What’s he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be laughing behind your back with friends? When you stayed quiet Mattheo got worried and his tone softened. “He didn’t hurt you or anything? ‘Caus I’ll deal with him. He’ll never bother you again.” Okay that’s it, Riddle. You angrily grab onto the railing you were leaning on before turning around fuming. “He didn’t hurt me. He was just boring. But you on the other hand, you hurt me with your constant mockery. So why don’t you punch yourself in the face and stop bothering me.” Mattheo looked away from you for a moment, making you think he actually felt bad. But when he looked back up, he was back to being his cocky self. “Can’t punch this pretty face.” He said, pointing at himself, grinning.

You turned away from him, hoping that he would leave. You couldn’t see it but his face fell again, really feeling bad about hurting you with his stupid jokes. “I just knew he wasn’t the guy for you.” No reaction from you. “Look, we can split my win from the bet with Blaise.” You let your head fall, looking at him from the corner of your eyes. The audacity. He came to stand next to you and also rested his arms on the railing. “I know, I can be an ass sometimes. So, just tell me, love, how do I make this right.” Your eyes meet his, you’re surprised by his gesture. “I guess it’s alright. I’m a forgiving soul.” He turns away from the view, towards you and lays a hand on the small of your back. “No, don’t be forgiving. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

He uses his body language to make it clear that he’s willing to do anything to make it up to you, shuffling closer, leaning into you and licking his lips suggestively. “Are you really trying to seduce me into forgiving you?” You ask not believing that that’s the best he can come up with. “Well no, love, I’m going to fuck you into forgiving me.” This man. Who does he think he is… well, the dark lord’ son, but still. Unbelievable. Mattheo falls to his knees, his hands moving from your back, sliding over your ass to your legs. He looks up at you with soft eyes before gently pushing your skirt up. This man… should be my future husband. Mattheo places soft kisses on your thight, slowly getting closer to your panties.

You close your eyes and let out a soft moan as he gently tugs down your panties. “If we get caught up here. I’m never going to forgive you.” He places a featherlight kiss between your legs and you instinctively reach for his curls. “Are you sure? Because I think I’m really excelling at apologizing, don’t you think so, love?” Damn you, Riddle. You’re good, and you know it.

[mxltifxnd0m]

too tongue tied ఌ s. winchester

summary: social media/modern era au with stanford! sam winchester

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader

warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', fluff, slice of life, unofficial part two of must be love, can be read as a standalone, title is a lyric from must be love by laufey

a/n: lol i hope you guys enjoy this unofficial part two of my other smau with sam. a part two got requested quite a bit so i gave the people what they wanted 🤭

remember a comment or reblog helps out a lot and i hope you guys enjoyed this as much i did while making it 😁

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

jessymoore

liked by yourusername, dianahhboo, and 2345 others

jessymoore me and my wife (and her bf ig 😒), 📸: @ dianhhboo

tagged: yourusername and samwinchester

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bradybunch why wasn't i invited to the beach day 😞 ↳ jessymoore we did, we banged on your door but you never answered 🙂 ↳ bradybunch oh 😦

dianhhboo today was so fun!! (even if it was supposed to be a girls day) ↳ jessymoore 100% agree ↳ yourusername guys 😭 we don't own cars and sam was the only one who does and volunteered to drive us the entire time ↳ dianhhboo @ yourusername still supposed to be a girls beach day ↳ jessymoore @ yourusername yeah, plus me and you were supposed to make out not you and sam ↳ yourusername i legit can't with you two anymore 😭

samwinchester could you send those last two photos jess? ↳ jessymoore maybe, if you break up with your gf so i can have her ↳ samwinchester im not going to do that ↳ jessymoore then youre not getting the pictures ↳ samwinchester 😐😐

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yourusername

liked by bradybunch, jessymoore, and 2005 others

yourusername surprise date night to celebrate sam passing the LSATS! (thanks for gatecrashing dean 😒)

tagged: samwinchester and deansbaby67

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deansbaby67 you're welcome 😊 besides i needed to congratulate my little brother for almost becoming mr. law boy ↳ yourusername you couldn't have done it the day after? ↳ deansbaby67 ah what's the fun in that? you love seeing my face sweetheart 😉 ↳ yourusername hate to break it to deanie but im into the taller winchester

samwinchester thanks for the surprise babe even if dean ruined it ↳ deansbaby67 hey! can a guy not celebrate his little brother's accomplishments? ↳ samwinchester not when you almost break into our apartment to do it! ↳ deansbaby67 its called a surprise visit for a reason ↳ samwinchester we're going to change the locks on the door ↳ deansbaby67 bitch ↳ samwinchester jerk

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yourusername

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yourusername level up: +1 one degree, +1 boyfriend, -∞ mental stability

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winchestersmary congratulations honey! you looked beautiful ☺️ ↳ yourusername thank you mary!! 😊

dianhhboo we're finally done 😭 ↳ yourusername yes we are 😭😭 ↳ jessymoore @ yourusername wdym we still have nursing school ↳ yourusername @ jessymoore FUCK DON'T REMIND ME

deansbaby67 congrats ig ↳ yourusername wow dean don't get jumping out of your seat or anything ↳ deansbaby67 im kidding im proud of you ↳ yourusername gasp! is that a genuine compliment from dean?! everyone call the press! ↳ deansbaby67 why my brother is dating you, i'll have no idea ↳ yourusername its probably bc of my dashing personality and tits 😁

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yourusername

liked by jessymoore, dianhhboo, and 2467 others

yourusername one step closer to my dreams with him <3

tagged: samwinchester

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dianhhboo OMG CONGRATS BESTIE ↳ yourusername THANKS YOU IM STILL NOT REGISTERING THAT HE ACTUALLY PROPOSED 😭 ↳ samwinchester @ yourusername well better get used to it fiance 😁

jessymoore great now i have to share you with him (im joking CONGRATS LOVE!!) ↳ yourusername kinda your fault when you introduced me to him 🤷‍♀️

deansbaby67 do i dare ask what this dream is? ↳ yourusername its being a rich lawyer's trophy wife 😍 ↳ samwinchester 🤨 ↳ yourusername @ samwinchester i meant YOUR trophy wife 😘

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samwinchester

liked by winchestersmary, deansbaby67, and 1981 others

samwinchester can't wait to spend the rest my life with her ❤️

tagged: yourusername

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winchestersmary ahh im so happy for you two sammy! do you guys have a date set? ↳ samwinchester thanks mom <3 and not yet, don't worry, we'll text you when we figure it out

deansbaby67 FINALLY! i thought you would have chickened out on asking her ↳ samwinchester shut up dean ↳ deansbaby67 but seriously im happy for you man ↳ yourusername @ deansbaby67 thanks deanie 🥰 ↳ samwinchester @ deansbaby67 yeah thanks dude ↳ deansbaby67 ugh you guys had to turn into a chick flick moment ↳ samwinchester 🙄🙄

yourusername can't wait to be yours forever sammy 💛 ↳ samwinchester can't wait for you to be mrs. winchester ↳ yourusername that all? 🤨 ↳ samwinchester 🙄 can't wait to be yours forever either baby ↳ yourusername i love you, sassy ass and all ↳ samwinchester i love you too honey <3

[ghoastixx]

what about spn boys with an S/o who pranks them with the ‘monthly shed’ thing? How would they react to that?

SPN boys being pranked with the monthly shed

synopsis above

notes: I hope you know, whoever you are, I love you for this. This.. this is amazing.

Author's notes: Gender Neutral Reader, but AFAB body. Mentions of menstrual cycle.

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

Dean Winchester

Freaks the hell out.

Brother does NOT understand, he hardly understands makeup as a whole so he would never even think of it as an option.

"Is it like your period?? Is it a side affect??" "Baby, what do you mean? It's my monthly shed." "I THOUGHT THAT WAS YOUR PERIOD."

He is stressing.

He would 100% ask if you need anything. Tries to tell you that you look amazing, though he does wonder if you're a monster.

Will ignore you once he finds out you were joking. You scared him, he's petty.

Will ask you how you did it.. he wants to try it on Sam.

Sam Winchester

Now, Sammy is a smart boy. He's lived with a girl before, I feel like he'd know better. He knows how makeup works.

..but you're so persuasive.

He shakes himself out of it, he knows very quickly you're bullshitting.

He's mostly just interested on what exactly you had on to make it look like you could peel your skin off. He wants to know how it works, how you put it on, what it is.

This is what you get for loving a smart boy.

Castiel

He's confused

genuinely so confused.

"Does this have to do with a humans menstrual cycle..I was not aware..the human body could do that.."

Asks if there is a way he can help..what you do with the skin..how to treat this..how long you've been dealing with it.

Genuinely if you were to go further with the joke and use the siren-esc route I've seen on tiktok where they mention that "To keep our beauty we have to drain it from men" he will actually tweak a little bit.

He doesn't remember Eve having to do that?? When was this update??

Please reassure him you're joking, he might have a crisis.

Gabriel

Even if he knew that you were joking, he would soo play into it

"Sugar, what are you doing?" "My monthly shed," "Your monthly shed?" "Yes, why is something wrong?" "I've never seen something like this before, sugar. What is it that you do for this again?" "Ah, I have to drain a man to keep my beauty before I wilt." "OH. SO THAT'S WHY YOU'RE WITH ME."

It literally goes exactly like that. Nothing else.

He does ask you how you do it though, sure he could do the same thing if he wanted, for real, but he wants to see you do it.

Lucifer

He is slightly intrigued.

"My dear, whatever are you doing?" You mention you're peeling your skin off?

"Darling, you're shedding?"

Immediately (Ironically) compares it to a snake in his mind. Wonders if his father punished humanity finally.

"My darling, I was around. I do not remember this being..necessary."

He sniffs it out so fast.

Would act unphased but he sort of does want to know about your odd illusions you can do with the odd..face paint you insist on wearing.

Crowley

Only a tad bit concerned.

Humans don't normally..do that.. do they.

I think he would be confused but would want to act like he knew what was going on.

Like..yes this is totally normal! oh- a joke- psh yeah I knew that, I was only humoring you, angel.

What a charmer.

[gay-dinasaur]

"This tastes weird," Sam say, taking Dean aback.

He raises his eyebrows and waits for his brother to correct himself - Sam has done a lot of things in his life that pissed Dean off, but he's never acted disrespectful towards the food Dean made him, at least not since he was old enough to read and write.

"I said it tastes weird," Sam repeats, now looking just as confused as Dean is. "What I meant to say is, I don't really like it, but I'm gonna eat it anyway out of politeness," he adds, not really making things better.

Sam stares in dismay at the soup and Dean does the same. The liquid looks the same it did a few minutes ago, nothing out of the ordinary, just a plain pumpkin soup.

Perhaps too plain, for Sam's refined taste.

Normally, he would make a joke and leave it at that, but this situation is too similar to something they've been through and Dean does not like it one bit.

They both look at Jack, who has been up to this point contently eating said soup, apparently without any complaints.

It takes him a few seconds to realize what's happening, but then he's shaking his head. "It wasn't me," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean really wishes he didn't believe him - that way, they could do something about it and fix it, but Jack has probably been affected by the spell as well as is telling the truth.

"Ah, great," Dean sights, "fucking great."

Sam finishes the soup quickly and excuses himself, running out of the room as fast as his giant legs carry him.

Jack tells Dean that he didn't mind the soup at all, which raises Dean's mood a bit before he starts washing the dishes. It's distracting enough that Dean doesn't notice the remaining inhabitant of the bunker walking into the room.

"Do you want help with that?" Comes the gravelly voice and Dean drops the plate he's holding.

Thankfully it doesn't break, only falling a few inches into the sink.

The water is still running as Dean stares at Cas, who tilts his head at him after a few seconds.

"Uh, sure," Dean manages after carefully thinking it through.

Last time, some people even said their truths out loud unprompted, just yelled them out for the world to hear. Dean can't let that happen here. He has to finish this as quickly as possible and then get the hell out of earshot.

Which, fuck, probably means at least a mile, since Cas is an angel who can hear lot more than he should.

Good news is, they both have an appreciation for silence. Sometimes, they don't need to talk, don't have to talk. It's incredibly rare and incredibly calming. Dean doesn't have to fill that silence, doesn't have to make sure Cas isn't angry at him. They just are. Right now, they are standing next to each other, shoulders pressed together and it's relaxing like few other things in this world.

Which is bad, Dean realizes - but only after the words leave his mouth.

"I love you."

That's it.

Three little words; three stupid little words and Dean's life as he knows it is over.

Cas stares at him, unmoving, and Dean thinks about what to say to salvage the situation before coming up with nothing.

Cas stares some more and then carefully puts down the glass he was drying.

Dean's hands are empty too and he's not sure what to do with them.

Cas doesn't seem to have the same problem - his hands grab onto Dean's, holding him in place and Dean realizes he was starting to back up out of the room.

"Dean," Cas says, like he always does. Dean doesn't think anyone else has ever pronounced his name like that.

"Look. It's just... It's... There's this spell, I didn't... I didn't mean to say that. At all, I didn't want to say that, I didn't..." Dean continues mumbling, feeling worse every second as Cas' face falls.

It's subtle, but Dean has years of experience reading his angel - Cas' mouth freezes in place and he sets his jaw and Dean knows he's going to let go of him and pull back just before he does.

Dean's hands feel cold, suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"You remember what Jack did, after we lied to him? Well, he's not the one responsible, this time, but it looks like we can't lie."

"Ah," Cas responds, turning away.

"Wait."

"What, Dean? You wish to repeat it again, you wish to make it clear that you don't love me like I love you? Because I already--"

Dean interrupts him by pressing his lips to his.

Cas sights into it and then blinks up at Dean when he pulls away. Then he lowers his eyes to Dean's lips and they both lean in again, not wanting to be separated for long.

Dean's brain is nothing but fireworks, the notion of kissing Castiel so novel and yet so right, like this is what they are supposed to be doing.

He doesn't know how long have they've been kissing, but if it's anything less than a century, it's not enough.

"Guys, get this--"

Sam shrieks after turning the corner.

Dean - very reluctantly - pulls of Cas to glare at his brother, who promptly turns around and runs out of the room for the second time this hour.

"So. I take it that you do, um, love me?" Cas says sheepishly.

"Yeah." Dean swallows.

"I do."

Suptober, Day 26 - Enchanted

[fandomtherapy44]

Coffee Meet-Ups Sam Winchester x Fem! Reader One Shot!

summary: Y/n needs a tutor, and Sam is happy to help.

Warnings: A little bit of cussing, kissing

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cafekitsune

WC: 1,434

AN: Hey Ya'll, I thought I would do a fluff fic for our boy Sam Winchester, I've done fics for Cas and Dean, so I thought it was time for Sam. I also just put out a Dean Fic with smut if you're interested, I hope you guys enjoy!

The air is crisp and cool leaves are falling down, the sky is full of orange and brown. I could see my breath make puffs like I was smoking. People in Harvard sweaters were walking to their classes. A slight hint of cinnamon and apple drafting through the atmosphere really gives you the Fall feel. A real Gilmore Girls picture. Too bad I didn’t have the time to enjoy it. I am currently running to make it to my tutor meeting on time. 

“Excuse me!” I said rushing in between and out of people making it look like I was crazy.

I finally made it to the on-campus coffee shop. And there is my tutor looking very disappointed while looking at his watch and then at me like a mother would if you missed curfew.

“Hey, Steve I am so ready to learn all about the integration of advanced criminal law.” I try to soften everything with a smile. 

“Great, my suggestion is to sit down and open the book I’ll see you around.” He walks past me and I grab his arm.

“Wait Steve, please I will fail this class without you.” I pleaded almost begging.

“Y/n you are smart but you don’t imply yourself enough and I don’t have the time to do it for you, good luck.” With that, he turns and walks out letting the cold hit me with the realization that I no longer had the very expensive tutor that my parents were paying for. I sighed deeply racking my brain about what I was going to do and turned and ran into someone and something hot.

“Ah fuck! Shit holy that fucking-” I looked up and I saw one of the cutest guys I had ever seen. And suddenly my burn from the coffee didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry, here sit down I'll bring napkins.” he leads me to a chair very carefully. He brings napkins with cold water on them. “Agan I am very sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going and I-” He stops and does the same thing I did. 

“I’m babbling and this is the the first thing I should have asked, are you okay?” His eyes peer into mine and they are a deep chocolate brown.

“Yeah, I'm okay nothing like a mini heart attack to start the day.” I joke to lighten the mood.

“Definitely, I’m Sam.” He brings out his hand to shake. I take it and he has a nice firm handshake. 

“Y/n, so where were you going with such hot coffee so early?”

“Just classes.” 

I then see the books he’s carrying.

“So law huh? Same here.” He looks kind of shocked at that.

“Really what made you want to do law?” He asks now intrigued.

“I want to… make a difference really fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves, basic I know.” I picked at my fingernails to try to distract myself from my own self-deprecation.

“No no, I like that, a lot of people become lawyers for the wrong reasons.”

“Well, it's not like I'll even be able to come one.” 

“Why?” He asked with true wonder for some reason about a stranger.

“I am totally failing my classes that’s why I was actually here I was meeting my tutor but I screwed that up too.” 

Sam then gets an idea.

“How about I tutor you.” He says with complete seriousness.

“What no I couldn't ask you to do that Sam, I'm sure you're super busy.” I blinked my eyes not believing the offer.

“Well you're not asking I’m offering, it can be me making it up to you for spilling coffee on you so what do you say?” I look at him and his sincerity in his eyes and for some reason I believe him which is weird for a guy I barely know.

“Okay, you are on Sam.” We shake on it.

I am actually early for once to a tutor meeting. Books open, coffee ready. I didn't want to waste Sam’s time. He walks in looking cute without even trying he’s in some jeans and a brown sweatshirt matching his hair. 

“Hey, you ready?” He sat down and pulled out his book.

“Yes teach!” I pulled out my pencil and was ready. 

“Ok good.” He chuckles at enthusiasm. “So let’s start with chapter fifteen…”

About two hours later I had been taught and understood more about law than I had from my tutors and teacher. 

“Wow, Sam, I think you're the best I've ever had.” I blush at what I just said and try to quickly backpedal. “I mean I the best tutor I mean.” I mentally slap my forehead.

“Thank you and you are welcome. And you are the best student I've had.” He smiles at my clumsy put together complement.

“No way I mean I got like ten questions wrong.” I was flattered but a little shocked at that.

“Yeah I mean I don’t usually tutor and you actually want to learn unlike some people here.” 

“You don’t usually tutor then why me?” I asked hoping that it wasn't pity.

“I saw you're potential and thought you deserved a chance too.” 

I didn’t even notice that tears were in my eyes.

“Thank you, Sam. I won’t let you down!” I gave a big smile and a thumbs up.

“I know.” 

It had been about two weeks into these tutor sessions with Sam and the information was actually sticking like never before we also had started to build a friendship.

“So worst injury from when you were a kid, go.” I half demanded in a friendly way while sipping my coffee we had been an hour in but got distracted by talking about our childhoods I can't even remember who asked the first question.

He sits back in his chair thinking for a moment. “Mhh I broke my arm when I was four.”  

My eyes light in surprise. “Really!? How?” 

“I had followed my brother on top of a shed and we were dressed as Superman and Batman and he had convinced me that I could actually fly so I jumped off and lold and behold I broke my arm so Dean had to take me in his handlebars on his fisher price bike.” he finished off with laughing and I joined in.

“Wow, I don’t know if I can top that.” I slapped his arm.

“Oh come on it’s your turn.” 

“Okay well, when I was six I sprang my ankle.” I see his face and he tries to hold back his laugh. “Hey hey, I never said it was good.” I also laugh.

“Well, I guess it's good that it wasn't worse but it doesn't really make for a good story.”

“That’s what I told you!” I then think about my test.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“You think I can pass this test?” I picked at my fingernails again.

He grabbed my hand. And directed my head to meet his.

“I fully believe in you Y/n, you are going to be a damn good lawyer.” Again I look into his eyes and believe him.

I grab my test and run to find Sam. I ran through in-between other people not caring if I bumped into them. 

“Sam! SAM!” I yelled all the way to the coffee shop with the test paper in my hand arm raised looking crazy. And I did not care. I get there and see him in there standing in line. I pulled open the door and full on ran to him.

“Sam SAM! LOOK! LOOK!” Everyone looks at me with a look at this girl who belongs in the coo-coo place. “Sam I passed!” I hand the paper to him he takes it studies it and sees the grade.

“I knew you could go it!” He picks me up in a hug and spins around in excitement. He puts me down both of us high and giddy from the good news our eyes met and we both decide to go for it. We meet in the middle of a sweet kiss. It was slow with a tiny bit of earning behind it. His lips were a bit chapped but still soft somehow. We both let go at the same time.

“Wow, that was amazing.” He said while gently grabbing my hand.

“Really, me too.” I smiled at our hands joined. “I guess it’s lucky you bumped into me.”

“And I guess I'm lucky you needed a tutor.” I giggle at that and we kiss again.

Thank you for reading!

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Imagine # 1,051

Gif NOT mine.

Year posted - 2023

"Wait no no no!" (Y/n) gasped in surprise as she slid off of the beanbag chair she'd made the foolish mistake to sit in. "Oof." She grunted softly as she landed on her butt, her back colliding with the side of the beanbag chair, then the floor when she tried to wiggle in an attempt to get up. "Fuck." She huffed in annoyance, wiggling around fruitlessly in an attempt to get up, or get leverage to pull herself up. Nothing was working, and her round pregnant belly was to blame. "Great this is just great." She murmured in annoyance, perking up when she realized her phone was still within reach. "Now to text your daddy." (Y/n) mused absentmindedly at her belly, quickly pulling up Dean's contact. "That should get his attention." She chuckled at her joke, knowing it was bound to either confuse him, or send him running to her aid.

"What?" Dean muttered aloud as he read his newest text, catching Sam's attention. "What's up?" Sam inquired. "(Y/n) just texted me." Dean told him, still frowning at his phone. "What's it say?" Sam pried for an explanation. "Turtle down." Dean read it aloud, the meaning of the text suddenly clicking in his head. "Shit!" Dean jumped to his feet, and sprinted to his and (Y/n)'s shared bedroom, practically kicking the door open. "Hey babe!" (Y/n) waved from her spot on the floor, unable to see him over her belly, but knowing it was him. "What happened?" He asked as he rushed to her side, looking for any sign of discomfort or pain. "Ah well you know... Massive belly, terrible sense of balance, poor choices. The usual." She smiled at him, assuring him silently that she was okay. "Everything okay?" Sam asked from the doorway, having chased after his brother after a moment of thinking about the text.

"She's alright Sammy." Dean assured, and Sam nodded before walking away wordlessly. "Can you walk?" Dean asked as he pulled her up into a sitting position. "No idea, but there's only one way to find out." She mused casually, holding her arms up like a little kid. "Uppies." She demanded in a kiddy voice, making Dean chuckle. Leaning down he wrapped his arms around her torso, one just under her arms, the other around her waist. Pulling her up off the ground effortlessly, and being mindful not to hurt her. "Thanks baby." (Y/n) pecked his cheek, standing stable on her feet. Dean pouted a little, bringing his lips close to hers, demanding silently for a real kiss. "Awe baby wanta kissy-wissy?" (Y/n) teased playfully, despite closing the distance before he could retort. "Damn right." He breathed out when they parted, quickly leaning back in for another kiss, his hands holding the sides of her big ol' pregnant belly affectionately.

Buy me a coffee sometime? ☕️

(Click the coffee for my Kofi link, IT'S NOT NECESSARY BTW.)

[hunterscabin]

First Date

Summary: The reader reveals to Dean that she is nervous about a night out with a Lebanon local after being assaulted by the last man she dated. Dean offers to accompany her undercover, and the feelings they’ve been hiding from each other are revealed.

Pairings: Dean x Reader 

Warnings: Brief mention of previous sexual assault; mild pining; fluff.

Word Count: 1.4k

Dean reached your room just in time to watch a tweed skirt cross his eyeline in midair. He followed its path and found you buried in your closet. Dean leaned against the doorframe and smiled. You tossed another piece of clothing, and it fell to the floor among, what appeared to be, your entire wardrobe. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.

“She’s adorable when she’s flustered,” he thought.  

At the sound of Dean’s laughter, you leaned out of the closet.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie, but you’re clearly busy,” he joked.

You let out a sigh that landed somewhere between frustration and exhaustion.  

“I have a date.”

“A date?” Dean questioned, sounding more surprised than intended.

“Yes, Dean. A date. I’m not that undesirable.” you teased, stepping toward your mirror. You held a dress against your frame, cocking your head to the side.

“Of course you’re desirable, Y/N.” Dean awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Hunters just don’t usually date. One night stands? Sure. But an actual dress up, get dinner, talk about your life date? Not so much.”

“He’s not a hunter.” you corrected. “It’s Matthew.”

“Ah, yes. Matthew.” A huge grin spread across Dean’s face.

Matthew managed the local general store, and he’d been infatuated with you since the moment you arrived in Lebanon. Sam and Dean loved going on supply runs with you, if only to watch Matthew fawn and fumble in your presence. It was fodder for many of their jokes and a constant source of teasing.

“He finally wore you down, huh?”

Dean crossed the room and settled on the edge of your bed. He picked up a rejected blouse lying next to him, and it took all of his willpower not to lift the shirt to his face so that he could catch his favorite scent in the world: you. Much like Matthew, Dean only had eyes for the woman before him. You met the Winchesters during a witch hunt in Louisiana. Impressed with your skills and knowledge, the boys knew you’d be a valuable asset, and they invited you to call the bunker home. After some reluctance, you surrendered your independent nature and joined the brothers in Lebanon. Dean had been attracted to you from the start, but his fondness only grew, once you moved in. He loved your confidence and loyalty and the way you looked holding a gun. Dean knew he had feelings for you, but he hadn’t realized just how far he’d fallen until tonight. In no other circumstance would he be this jealous of an underdog like Matthew.

“Where’s he taking you?” Dean asked, trying to sound apathetic.

“The Italian place in town.”

“He’s really pulling out all the stops!”

“Don’t make fun.” you chastised, holding up another dress. “You know I only said yes to appease him.”

“You seem pretty nervous for someone going on a pity date.” Dean noted.

“Excuse me?” you eyed him.

“Your hands are shaking.”

You looked down and noticed that Dean was right. Pre-date jitters were the norm for you, but after a particularly grabby suitor, you were a little more than skittish around new men. It’s why you agreed to go out with Matthew in the first place; you knew he was harmless. Still, your body betrayed your confidence.

“Yeah, well, the last time I went on a date, the guy turned out to be…” you paused, carefully choosing the right phrasing, knowing how Dean might react.

“A monster?” Dean interrupted. “We’ve all been there. Just ask Jody.”

“If only you knew.” you thought.

“No he…”

Silence filled the room as you struggled to find words. Dean looked up to see you fidgeting with the collar of the dress in your hands and immediately became aware of what you were trying to say. You could practically hear his fists and jaw clenching.

“He tried to force himself on me.” you confirmed.

Unable to look at Dean, you busied yourself with putting the dress back on its hanger.

To your surprise, Dean’s body relaxed. He stood up, closing the space between you, and pulled you into a comforting hug. He placed one hand on your lower back and the other gently held your head to his chest. After a moment, he leaned down, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

You smiled as you slowly pulled away. You didn’t want to dwell on bad memories, so you put on a brave face.

“You know I kicked his ass.”

Dean smirked, holding you at arm’s length. “That’s my girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “My girl.” Ever since joining the boys, you were head over heels for Dean. He enchanted you with his strength and resourcefulness. You loved the way he selflessly looked after you and Sam, and you couldn’t help but swoon every time he licked those perfect  lips. So many times you wanted to exclaim your feelings, but you always decided against it, never knowing if he felt the same. You turned toward your closet, hiding your now rosy cheeks from Dean.

“I’m just being silly.” you shook your head. “Not all men are monsters.”

“You’re not being silly, Y/N/N. What you went through…” Dean trailed off, not wanting to upset you.

“You know what?” he asked, changing the subject. “I’ve got a taste for a plate of spaghetti and a full bodied Cabernet.”

Dean’s comment caused you to whip around.

“What?” you questioned.

“Why don’t I go in as back up?” he offered.

“Dean.” you reasoned. “We both know he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I’ll keep quiet at a corner table,” he promised. “And if anything happens, you just say the word, and I’ll destroy the guy.”

You looked to the older Winchester, who had clearly made up his mind, and conceded.

“It might be nice to have a familiar face nearby.”

Dean leaned down and kissed your cheek, clearly excited about his scheme. Maybe he did care for you after all.

“Give me three minutes to get dressed!”

He was almost to the hallway when you called his name.

“Dean?” He turned, placing a hand on the doorknob. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Dean winked before closing the door behind him.

The date went as well as one could expect. There were many questions about family and work, and you skillfully avoided them all. Every so often you’d lock eyes with Dean, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his voyeuristic adventure, of which your date was blissfully unaware. Matthew was cute, attentive, and chivalrous; if you were any other woman, he’d be a catch. But when all was said and done, there was absolutely no chemistry. Standing outside of the restaurant at the end of the date, you were thankful that the cold winter temperature didn’t allow for loitering. You said a quick goodbye to Matthew, thanking him for dinner with a kiss on the cheek, and sent him on his way. As you watched him drive off, Dean joined you on the sidewalk.

“How was it?” he asked.

“I don’t think we’re a match.” you said plainly.

“I’ll say.” Dean scoffed. “He drives a Prius.”

You laughed, playfully whacking him with your purse.

Dean unlocked and opened the passenger door for you before getting in himself. He turned on the car and cranked the heat. You were surprised when, instead of putting Baby in gear, he shifted toward you.

“You okay?” Dean questioned. “He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“No.” you confirmed, your heart fluttering at Dean’s protectiveness. “He was a perfect gentleman. We just didn’t have that spark.”

Dean nodded before reaching over to place his hand on top of yours.

“Thank you for telling me, Y/N/N.” Dean’s voice was quiet.  

“Thank you for listening. And for coming with me.”

There was a comfortable stillness in the car. You felt safe with Dean.

“Why did you come?” you questioned timidly.

“I don’t like when my girl is scared.”

There it was again. “My girl.”  

Dean leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple. His lips lingered longer than usual. When he pulled away, you saw in his eyes what you felt in your heart.

“You deserve so much, Y/N.” His face lingered close to yours.

Dean didn’t want to take advantage, so he held his stance, putting you in control. You leaned forward, pausing to make sure that this was what he wanted, before ghosting your lips over his. At your invitation, he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. The feeling of his body against yours was pure ecstasy. After a few minutes, you pulled a way to catch your breath. You smiled as Dean rested his forehead against yours.

“That was…” you breathed, at a loss for words.

“That was a great first date.”

Masterlist

[unsurprisinglyren]

Happy Wincest Wednesday, lovely <3 Have any headcanons about Dean during Sam's Stanford years? Him yearning, spying, spiraling out. etc.?

Happy Wincest Wednesday to you too, lovely!!

Yes 🙌🏻 Stanford era is top tier for me! And stalker!Dean is a deliciousness I can never resist!!

I imagine he tries to call Sam a few times, in the very early days of Sam leaving. But the number doesn’t work. Whatever. If Sam wants to cut him and dad off, what’s it matter. Right? Wrong.

He can’t sleep, can’t focus on the hunts, on anything other than what Sam is up to. Studying. Sure. But what else?

So he visits. Telling himself he’ll just get a glimpse and if Sam is all good, he’d leave and not bother him.

He tracks him easily. Watches him for the entire day, skulking. He goes unnoticed and it’s a heady victory. But it doesn’t end there. It keeps happening. He knows more about Sam than ever before. He sees him at 4am going for a walk to clear his head, and he knows Sam doesn’t go back to bed. He stays awake with copious cups of coffee and his head buried in his stupidly large textbooks. Studying. Distracting, just like he used to when they hunted. Always seeking a way out of reality.

He sees him make easy friends, Sam’s handsome and friendly and who wouldn’t gravitate towards him? And he sees Sam build up his facade and block out the other side of himself. Persistent and taciturn. He refuses to acknowledge it ever existed. Which pisses Dean off.

I think Dean would have been tirelessly working to keep his head on the job, the next hunt, dad’s orders, but in vain. Because all he could think about was Sammy. Hence the stalking. Knowing Sam’s every move. Checking out who he’s hanging out with. The works. His protective big brother instincts kicked up a notch, because Sam is his. He shouldn’t have left in the first place. Shouldn’t have strayed from Dean. So Dean digs his heels in, refuses to fully give Sam his space, his autonomy. He watches and keeps tabs and drinks more and more often on the nights he’s not there to survey.

I think he realises at some point that it’s gone beyond the bounds of brotherly by a long shot. But by then he doesn’t care. He’s determined to get Sammy back and have him all to himself.

(Jealous-stalker Dean drabble)->

The beer is sitting heavy in the bottom of his stomach. A slosh of fizz and yeasty sweetness and Dean swallows hard. His attention is zeroed in across the bar. Unwavering. Unnerving, probably. But he doesn’t care. He’s beyond it. Beyond the insistent, persistent, unrelenting, unyielding loneliness.

The bar is quiet. It’s a Monday evening, after all. But he’s not here for the oblivion of an alcohol induced stupor. He’s here for his little brother.

Not that Sam is aware of his presence. He’s three sheets to the wind, cheeks flushed and teeth showing as he grins at something the pretty blonde beside him whispers. And ah. Yeah. Nah. Dean frowns hard, sparing his beer a glare. A glance. Before his eyes are once again on the far side of the bar, the secluded little corner where Sam and the blonde girl had sequestered themselves away in. Obscure.

She’s new. Though, he’s seen her around the campus before, seen her flitter her way over to Sam on occasions, never hovering long, but clearly she’s decided to change that.

Dean doesn’t like it. He likes it even less when Sam jokes back, quick-witted, a trait dad used to say he got from mom. And the blonde laughs, her head tipped back, golden hair falling down her back, between her shoulder blades. Then she’s leaning in. And Dean finds his beer sitting very badly. A churning maelstrom in the confines of his gut.

He stands. A jerky, uncoordinated movement, knocking the edge of the table and just about spilling his half-finished beer. Not because he’s sloshed. He’s barely had enough to feel the languidness of tipsy let alone be drunk. It’s wholly because of the way Sam leans in too. The way his hair falls into his eyes, messy. Just like it had been when Sam was young. Boyish. And something about the way Sam tucks his chin, hiding his crooked smile from the girl has Dean’s stomach clawing itself up his throat, raw-edged, sharp and painfully ruthless.

It feels a little like anger. Hot under the collar of his leather jacket. A stain flushing across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. It feels a lot like stark jealousy. Bold. Unhindered. Untethered by the attention of the blonde, eye-lashes fluttering at his little brother, and unbound by the beer in his stomach.

He can name it. Call it out. He’s not beyond such self-introspection. He knows why he’s at some out of the way bar frequented by university students. He knows why he lingers outside Sam’s dorm, watching the window until the blinds are pulled shut and he can see nothing but the muted light shining through the fabric of the curtains.

He knows. Yet the vehemency in which his breath is ripped out of him by the proximity - the closeness Sam is willingly allowing - is discomforting.

He wants to hit something. Someone.

He wants to storm over and interfere. Interrupt.

He wants his baby brother all to himself.

[girls-alias]

Have A Little Faith - Dean Winchester P2

Title: Have A Little Faith - Dean Winchester Part 2

Words: 1,079

Relations: Dean Winchester X Reader

TW: SPOILER S1E12.

Part 1

It had been a few hours since Dean and I talked. Nurses came in and out to do checks on us and other people in the room. My doctor came in with the same fake smile as always. I chuckled as I sat up and perched on the edge of the bed as he put his gloves and face mask on.

"I'm getting too predictable," He joked so I chuckled as I waited.

"Almost, you had soup rather than a sandwich today," I explained as he positioned himself behind me to start dressing my wounds. He chuckled.

"I still have no idea how you always know, you're like a psychic," He chuckled. "Sharp pain," He added nonchalantly like he had said it a thousand times. I sucked air through my teeth. Groaning from the pain of applying the cream to sterilise it.

"You have a spot of red on your shirt that isn't blood," I explained through my groans. He seemed to pause for a second probably to look at his shirt. He laughed seemingly noticing it.

"Impressive," He added before applying my bandages and smoothing them down. I gripped the side of the bed as the pain jolted my whole body. "All done, you can relax," I sighed with relief and relaxed. "The nurse will come in with your morphine," He added making me smile, ah the good stuff! I rested back in bed, my muscles tensing when I sat back and a sharp pain ran up my spine. I groaned slightly and rested my head back. The doctor walked out. I looked over at Dean to see he was watching me with sad eyes.

"It is as bad as it looks," I joked, Dean chuckled but his eyes still showed his sorrow.

"When will you be able to leave?" He asked softly like he was afraid to hurt me. I thought for a second.

"I don't know," I explained sadly, looking away to try to hide my tear-filled eyes. I hate emotions and crying. It's a waste of time but being stuck here is really taking its toll on me. Dean seemed to understand and respect my want for silence and didn't press for me to talk. I was given my morphine and not long after fell asleep.

I woke in the middle of the night when I heard shuffling around and groans of pain. I quickly looked over to Dean in a panic. I saw him struggling to get up so I rose to my feet and helped him.

"You should have woken me if you needed the bathroom," I sleepily informed but he chuckled at me as I helped him stand up.

"I'm not going to the bathroom, I'm breaking out," He smirked at me. I didn't even hesitate to help.

"They're not just going to let you walk out, Take a wheelchair, I'll be back in a second," I said and hurried into the hallways. I approached the nurse's desk.

"Hi, I was wondering if you could page Doctor Raylor, he's urgently needed." I lied to the new nurse. She started training today so didn't question it.

"Wait here. I'll be right back with someone who can do that." She said rushingly. She hurried down the hall so I walked around the desk grabbed her jacket from the back of her seat and threw it on. I saw a guy's hoodie from another doctor and grabbed that too for Dean. I walked back to see Dean in a chair trying to push himself but from the pain, he was struggling. I threw the hoodie at him and started pushing him towards the exit. He put the hoodie on.

"What's the plan?" He asked.

"Walking out the front door," I shrugged.

"What? That's a stupid idea." He sighed. There was a stand of equipment so I pocketed a couple of bottles of liquid morphine, sterilising cream and bandages just in case. "Walking out isn't going to work…" He added in a knowing tone. I shushed him as I approached the front desk. The guy behind the counter looked at me.

"Hi," I said in a seductive tone and bit my lip. He smirked at me.

"Hello, beautiful," He replied in a deep voice.

"I was wondering when your shift finished," I smirked suggestively before sending him a wink. I heard Dean lightly scoff behind me as I made sure to rest on the desk pushing my boobs and butt out.

"3," He quickly said.

"See you then," I smirked again and started walking Dean out the door.

"This isn't going to work," Dean whispered but was silenced once we made it outside with no argument.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" I sarcastically asked, gloating about my skills. Dean just laughed as we approached a random car. I pulled a knife out of the waistband of my underwear, Dean looked impressed and confused.

"A part of me wants to ask where you just pulled that from the other part of me is saying to leave it to the imagination," He commented making me laugh.

"I didn't realise you were such a flirt, Dean," I replied.

"I'm a dying man, I've got to make it worth it by at least getting one kiss from you," He smirked as I pulled the handle of an unlocked car and used the knife to hotwire it.

"In your dreams," I giggled but it was in my dreams too. what can I say? He's crazy attractive!

"We do more than kissing in my dreams." He added making me laugh before the engine roared to life. I winked at Dean before rolling him to the other side of the car and helped him into the passenger's seat before I got on the driver's side.

"So, where's Sammy boy?" I asked and Dean told me the place of a motel in which they were staying. I started driving for it.

"I still don't see how it worked, you flirted with the guy at the front desk, I mean I had a nice view where I was but you distracted him so much that he let us just stroll out," He spoke out of nowhere, I giggled.

"What can I say? It's a talent," I chuckled making him chuckle.

"You must have magical eyes," He added so I smirked. My eyes are a vibrant Y/E/C, everyone always loves them. I've been told many times that they sparkle when I'm flirting. It really is magical.

Masterlist

Working On

[famwhy]

Desperation

Yandere Jason Dean (JD)

Word Count: 3,583

Ready to rekindle your love for Heathers the musical?

Your eyes crinkled in sympathy as you witnessed your good friend, Jamie, get completely ignored by his long-time crush, Veronica, in favour of her swooning over the new kid beating up two jocks.

Your legs carried themselves over to his pitiful form, a low whistle drawing out from your lips when you reached his side as you both gazed at the back of the infatuated teen.

"Damn, buddy, tough luck." You patted the nerd's back, watching his shoulders shrink further into himself. "How long have you liked her now? Couple o' years?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

Another low whistle. "And she just falls for that dude straight away? Dammmnnn, and I thought my luck was shit when I bet on black and lost half my savings."

"You bet on black? What type of idiot bets on black?" He rose a brow.

"The hell do you mean 'what type of idiot bets on black'?! It's a 50/50 chance! What type of idiot gets rejected by their crush without even confessing first?!"

Cue the disheartened expression returning to his face and you suddenly feeling like that wasn't the right time for that joke.

"Shit, dude. Too soon?"

Another sigh left his lips.

"Cheer up, man. I mean, he doesn't reciprocate the feelings right? Seemed like he didn't when they spoke a bit ago."

Your words caused his expression to light up again. However, it wasn't lit up out of relief, no, it was lit up with an idea. You did not like that expression of his one bit.

"Yeah!" He exclaimed brightly. "You're right! And he won't ever be able to if you charm him first!"

"Wha-?!" Your eyes widened as he trained his gaze on you with a grin so bright, it was blinding. "Hold on! I never agreed to be your guinea pig!"

"Come on, pleaassee." His fingers intertwined with one another as he begged you. "You still owe me for all that money you borrowed."

You glanced at the new kid one more time, taking in his looks and mannerisms to assess whether or not you had been given a good deal.

Oh, who were you kidding? Of course you got a good deal, in return for a thousand dollars, you just had to charm one guy and keep him away from a girl.

"Fine, I'll do it."

Jamie cheered, launching himself into you so that he could wrap his arms around your neck in an appreciative hug. "Thanks! You're the best!"

"Yeah, yeah, you obsessed little freak." 

.

.

.

"Ah, shit." You cursed your luck.

Why exactly were you cursing your luck? Well, simple, because Veronica was about to make her way to the store the new kid was in so that she could pick up some snacks for the Heathers.

How did you know the new kid was in there? Let's just say you did a little... observing of his schedule.

The things people do to get out of debt.

Anyway, if they were in the same store, no doubt the new kid would approach Veronica out of interest from their earlier interaction.

You absolutely could not let that happen.

"What to do, what to do..."

You snapped your fingers, an imaginary bulb basically lighting up above your head.

"You sure you wanna get snacks from there, Veronica?" The brunette jumped as you approached her.

"Oh, Y/N, hey."

"'Sup."

"Sorry, uh, what was it you just said?" She looked a little confused. You didn't blame her, you never really approached her outside of school.

"I said, are you sure you wanna get snacks from that store, Veronica?"

"How did you-?"

"After all, you can't possibly be ready to face your bestie after what you just did to her right?" You sneered. "I can't imagine that bodes well with your subconscious."

Instantly, her expression faltered and her eyes filled with guilt. "I- I didn't..."

"Yeah, well, you did." You gave her a little glare. "And you can't be telling me you wanna see her again right after that. If I were you, I'd head to a different store."

"I-!" She looked ready to defend herself, but just one look at your scowl and she backed off. "Yeah, you're probably right."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, the atmosphere around her filling up with gloom.

Yikes, you may have overshot it there.

Oh well, Jamie could use that as an excuse to comfort her anyway.

You casted a glance to the shop, taking in a deep breath and praying your drama skills were good enough to get you through this. 

As you stepped through the doors, you immediately spotted your victim by the slushie machines. This caused you to, almost immediately, make your way over to him.

Once you were close enough, you acted like you were looking at the flavours, casting a sneaky side-glance his way to see he wasn't staring at anything in particular, before choosing your moment to strike.

"Y'know, for a new kid, you sure don't take shit from anyone."

Please work, please work, pleasework-

"Yeah? Well, you seem like the type to understand why." He smirked your way.

Holy shit- it actually worked.

"Greetings and salutations, my name's Jason Dean, though you can call me JD for short."

'Greetings and Salutations'? Dear lord, he's a weirdo-

"Y/N."

You reached out for his hand, shaking it firmly.

"Those were some good moves back there."

"Yeah?" He smirked your way. "You pick up on these things when you're constantly moving around."

"Ah, a parent's job?"

"Yup, my dad own a deconstruction company. You know the one on all those commercials where he goes-" he then proceeds to imitate the commercial you always saw on TV during every programme's commercial break.

"Must be tough moving so often, I could never imagine what it's like." Your head shook from side-to-side.

"Heh, yeah. I usually just stick to myself and refrain from making any bonds."

"How's that going for you this time around?" You sent him a knowing smile.

"Not too good so far." He reciprocated.

Okay, this conversation was moving at too much of a snail's pace for you. It was about time you sped things up.

"So, tough guy, you gonna ask me out or what?"

"So soon? Where's the fun in that?" JD's rough fingers ran through his hair, swishing his locks to the side as his grin never faltered.

"Oh," you slowly took a few steps towards him, basically swaying your hips as you closed the gap between the two of you, pressing your body up against his before speaking in a breathy whisper, "there's plenty of fun in that."

His eyes grew half-lidded as he slid an arm around your waist, the slushie in his other hand practically forgotten. "Oh yeah? Sounds great..."

"But-!" You slipped out of his grasp, sending him a cheeky wink and a suggestive smirk. "You're right, there's no fun in that."

His dazed expression didn't let up as you continued on your way out of the store, casting a last glance over your shoulder to confirm that he did, in fact, still have a cloudy expression.

Lo and behold, he was still out of it.

Hook, line, and sinker.

You're welcome, Jamie.

.

.

.

"So did you do it?" Jamie was the first to approach you after the end of your first period class, bouncing on his heels in excitement. 

"Only time will tell, dear friend." Your voice dropped an octave and your expression turned serious.

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means my master plan has yet to give me desired results because it's just started." You rolled your eyes, making your way to your locker with your folders tucked tightly into your chest. 

"Have they met then?"

"Of course not, I was very meticulous. All I had to do was play with that little snake's feelings and- oh!"

Your steps screeched to an abrupt halt, causing your friend to crash straight into your back and stumble back a bit.

"Why is your back so sturdy-?"

"MIKE! BUDDY! PAL! FRIEND-O!" You tossed your arm around the person that caught your eye, your grin feigning cheer. "How are you doing?"

"What do you want?" The playboy narrowed his eyes in your direction.

"Well, you see, I happen to-." You didn't even need to finish your sentence for his eyes to start widening and your own smile to turn sinister.

"Shit, I should've known you would've gotten a hold of it. Fuck! Look, man, I don't have money on me, please. Gimme a day, I swear I'll get you the money you need to feed that sick obsession of yours."

"You better." Your expression darkened. "Or you can say bye-bye to that new car your parents promised you."

He shuddered, immediately rushing off. 

After that interaction, you and Jamie continued towards your locker, this time in silence.

Well, that was until you reached it of course. Jamie decided that was the perfect time to speak.

"You're still doing this, Y/N? Don't you think it's a little... excessive? This addiction has really messed with your head."

"I love you, Jamie, I do-" you shoved your things into the empty space before you. "-but you need to know when it's time to butt out of business that isn't yours."

You slammed the locker shut, jumping slightly when you noticed the new form that stood there, leant against your neighbour locker. "You have a minute?"

You immediately brought your act up again. "Of course~."

It was then that JD's eyes trailed to your friend's, narrowing at the shorter male in clear distaste. "Alone."

"Ruh-right!" He rushed off without a second thought.

"My, oh my," the spotlight was placed back on you. "So harsh."

"You 'love' him, huh?" Though, his narrowed eyes stayed narrowed. 

"Jealous, are we, Mr Dean?" Your fingers trailed up his torso, gently tracing his muscles through the thin line of fabric separating skin-on-skin contact.

Your touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat, the familiar expression he wore yesterday returning to his face. "You know, I wouldn't mind you being called Mrs Dean."

"Woah-!" You quickly pulled your hands a way. "A bit too soon, don't'cha think?"

"Weren't you the one who said there's plenty of fun in that?" He smirked, dipping his head closer to your own.

Get the fuck away, you lil' sh-.

The familiar chime of the bell caused you to breathe a quiet sound of relief. 

Saved by the bell really is a thing.

"Well, looks like we have to continue this conversation later."

You went to move away but were stopped abruptly by a tugging force on your wrist. 

"Oh no you don't," your back met with a rather sturdy chest, "you're not getting away like that again. Let's ditch together."

You gritted your teeth, cursing yourself at that exact moment for not using blackmail on Jamie when it came to taking money like you did with every other student. Damn that boy for making you soft.

"Fine. Where'd you wanna go?"

"7-eleven." He grinned, turning around and starting to walk out of the premises with you in tow, grip on your wrist never faltering for even a second.

.

.

.

Once you arrived, he rushed over to the slushies, immediately buying two random flavours. 

"I didn't even tell you what I liked." You grinned in amusement as he gave you one. 

"Sometimes you gotta take risks in life y'know?"

"Okay, Mr. Bootleg Shakespeare."

He bowed with a little smirk. "In the flesh."

Okay, so that got a little chuckle out of you. He was still a weirdo though.

"So, I've heard quite a bit about you, y'know," he started off.

"Oh yeah?" You rose a brow. "Like what?"

"Like how... oh, I don't know, you're very keen on using blackmail to get what you want."

Almost immediately, your facial expression darkened.

"What's it to you?" 

"Nothing." He absentmindedly looked to the side. "I just find that really hot."

The drink came flying out your mouth. "I'm sorry- what?!"

"You heard me." He hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you in so close, you could feel his breath on your face. "I. Find. It. Really. Hot."

This guy was weird. Almost unnervingly so.

"Hm. Good for you." You slipped out of his grasp yet another time, sending him a playful smirk in response to his frown.

After that little interaction, you stopped speaking in favour of just hanging around in a comfortable silence.

Well... that was, until he spoke up once more.

"So, I've been thinking..." He trailed off. "Wanna be my girlfriend?"

"Hmm. Sure."

Had he not been so elated from the affirmation, you were sure he'd have realised how strange your response was.

.

.

.

Some time passed and you spent so much time with JD, you barely got to see Jamie anymore.

But judging by the way you passed him by once, with the emo boy walking beside you, and he sent you a grin as well as a thumbs up; he didn't mind. Veronica beside him though? Now, she definitely had a problem.

Oh well, that's on her, not you.

"Y/N!" Oh, was that Jamie just now? "Y/N!"

"Hey Jamie, I haven't- woah!" You cut yourself off when he launched himself at your arm, clutching you so tightly, you could've sworn he stopped your blood flow.

"Y/N! You need to leave the new kid!"

So much for him being happy about your new relationship.

"He-he's psycho!" Jamie was panting really hard. "He threatened me to stay away from you! You need to leave him!"

"Aren't you the one who wanted me to get with him in the first place?" You rose a brow, priorities obviously not straight.

"Yeah, that was before I found out he was a psycho!"

"But isn't it in your best interests to listen to his threats instead of warning me?"

"Y/N, you are literally asking all the wrong questions right now . JUST LEAVE THE-!"

"Leave what?" A new voice piped up, causing Jamie to jump out of his very skin.

"Uhhhh..."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, it was JD.

"Oh, great!" You beamed, fixating his gaze onto you almost immediately. "You're just on time. I needed to talk to you."

Both men looked at you with surprise. "Oh? What-?"

"I'm breaking up with you." Your expression fell flat within the next second, cold gaze trained on his figure.

"Wha-?" His face fell, eyebrows creasing as it seemed like his whole world fell apart before him. "Why?"

"I'm just not feeling it anymore." You stared at your nails, pulling off the whole disinterested thing way too well. "It's not me, it's you. See ya."

You took to turning around and walking off- or, at least, you wanted to before he seized your wrist.

"Yuh-you can't do this to me, baby." His eyes were blown wide, pupils shaking in his desperation. "I love you."

His attempts to make you stay were starting to get annoying. "Really now? Shame. Looks like you'll have to move on."

You ripped your arm from his grasp, sending him a glare as you did so. His grip was tight but thanks to your sudden movements, you were able to free yourself.

After that, you wasted no time in leaving him behind, gesturing for Jamie to follow you as well. The boy took one glance at the heartbroken expression on the new kid's face before gulping and rushing after you.

.

.

.

Your footsteps echoed through the barren halls, the slurping of your slushie being the only other sound to accompany them.

The light of the moon was the only thing illuminating the hallways and keeping you from walking straight into a wall.

Why exactly were you at the school at night.

Well, you received a peculiar note when you got home from school earlier that day.

The contents?

Greetings and salutations darling,

I love you. I know you love me too. We are meant to be. The only reason you left me is because of that asshole who calls himself your friend. He's keeping you away from me. He made you blind, messed up your mind but I can set you free!

Meet me at the school tonight, your class. I'm waiting.

Yours forever and always,

JD

Now, you could fully ignore this note and just go about your life as normal, not even considering giving JD the time of day.

But...

He successfully caught your interest.

You were bored and your gambling addiction couldn't be satiated so you found temporary reprise in this little meeting.

Plus, there was always the fact that this was potential blackmail material-.

Your train of thought was halted when you reached the door of your homeroom, left hand leaving your pocket to push on the handle, swinging it open with a look of nonchalance.

Inside, you were greeted with quite the sight to behold.

Standing above a puddle of crimson, the lifeless eyes of your former good friend looking up at you in a permanent expression of horror.

Your lips parted from the straw as a low whistle drew out from them. "Damn, buddy, always did have such rough luck." 

"No thanks to you." The chuckle of a boy dressed in dark clothing reached your ears. "Oh babe, I find it so fucking hot that you didn't even fucking flinch at this."

His lips grazed your ear, shaky breath hitting you at uneven intervals as one of his arms looped around your waist and pulled you into his chest, the other reaching for your left hand and intertwining each of your fingers with his own. 

"Shit..." He spoke breathily. "Let's fuck up the world together, baby."

BONUS! FEAT. VERONICA AND THE HEATHERS

Veronica's blood boiled in her veins as she watched your fingers graze the arm of the new kid she was crushing majorly on, teeth gritting as he seemed to fall in a deeper pit of his own infatuation for you.

"Hey," she spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper but her anger incredibly apparent. "Do you guys think we could... screw with Y/N somehow?"

"Y/N?" One of the Heathers spoke up, her hands adjusting the mascara on her eyes with a look of total concentration. "Why?"

"Because she stole the emo boy Veronica has a major crush on." Giggled the other two.

"Well," Heather Chandler scoffed. "I'm afraid we can't touch Y/N."

"Why not?"

"Oh, Veronica, you sweet, dumb, little girl." The brunette shook her head from side-to-side. "You've never come across her bad side."

"SHUT UP, HEATHER!" Chandler screamed at the girl clad in a green blazer before clearing her throat. "I'm telling Veronica."

The other girl whimpered out an apology.

"Anyway," the blonde rolled her eyes, "Y/N is a no-go for targeting. That girl has every dirty secret ever known to the whole school. Getting on her bad side is not just social suicide, it's real suicide."

"Real?" Veronica tilted her head to the side, attention now on the leader of the group.

"Yeah, do you remember Hailey?" 

Veronica rose a brow. "Who's Hailey?"

"Exactly."

The Heather with the yellow colour-scheme piped up. "She tried setting Y/N up to be jumped by a bunch of jocks but they told Y/N about her plans because she had dirt on them."

"What happened then?" 

"...she got rid of her." The blonde cut in once more. "Y/N got rid of Hailey, completely. She's a dangerous woman."

"A dangerous woman addicted to gambling. It's why she even has blackmail on everyone to begin with, so that she can take people's money and gamble it all away."

"Wow." 

"I know."

EXTRA BONUS! FEAT. JAMIE AND JD

Jamie had noticed some things. 

First of all; he, himself, was being noticed increasingly more. Although, not by the person he wants to or in the way he would like it to be.

JD, the new kid, was the one noticing him more. 

He would glare at the shorter male whenever he approached you. Fists clenched so hard he drew blood.

Something about the kid was fishy.

And this just confirmed it.

"I'm sorry- what?"

"Stay away from my Y/N." JD repeated himself, hand reaching into his pocket to pick out- was that a switch-blade?! 

"What the fuck?!"

"She's mine. I will kill you if I found out you disobeyed my orders."

'Disobeyed his orders' who the hell did he think he was? The fucking King?

Jamie needed to warn you; and fast.

Writing 'commercials' instead of 'adverts' is so weird-

Also, I had to slip in a few iconic lyrics y'all can't blame me-

In case you didn't notice, Reader's a bit of a sociopath in this. Thought it would be nice to change it up a bit.

[beanzwrites]

Hi! I just love your works, they are so good! Do you think you could do Winchester sister who really likes Boba but she doesn’t get it often due to their lifestyle, then one day either Sam or Dean suprised her with one? Thought it would be so cute!

Boba, How I've Missed You!

A/n: Hello, thank you so much for the request! I'm really sorry it took a bit to get to it; life got quite busy. I hope you enjoy this though! Also, thank you so much! That means a lot and I'm glad you like my writings! <3 Fun fact, I've never had Boba before, but would love to try it at some point! | ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── |

Being a Winchester was definitely no easy feat. Constantly moving from place to place, there was no guarantee that you could indulge as much as other people would. Though (Y/N) was the youngest out of the Winchester family, she knew what kind of responsibility that her family name carried.

The good thing about being with her brothers though, is that they both have a sweet tooth just like her. She enjoys it when they are able to take a breather and stop by a coffee shop or bakery to feed their cravings.

(Y/n) recently found that she loves Boba and will take any chance to order it. Her brothers find her giddy nature over a sweet beverage endearing, and though they make the excuse that they need a cup of coffee, they love to make their little sister happy.

Those memories are some of the bests (Y/n) has; however, they don't come around often. Her family has been quick on their feet the last few months, and with the stress that carries over her brothers as of late, it's hard to say when those memories will come to reality again. (Y/n) knows what is more important and keeps to herself as her brothers' work.

However, there was one night where her brothers were in a more chipper mood. They were talkative over their TV dinner, joking around and bringing up past experiences.

---

"Really, Dean? You just had to bring up THAT moment..." Sam snorts, his brows furrowing in a pout.

"It was hilarious, Sammy! Of course, I'll bring it up. You had coffee all over you," Dean laughs before taking a big bite of a chicken tender.

"Man, I miss going to coffee shops. I haven't had Boba in so long," (Y/n) giggles, "It's been a hot minute."

The sudden silence between her brothers causes her to stiffen. They're both staring at her with unreadable expressions, frowns etched on their lips. (Y/n)'s heart skips before she shakes her head frantically.

"I didn't mean anything by that, I'm sorry! I know we've been busy..."

"That's okay, Squirt. I miss those moments too," Deam says, leaning back. "We gotta get back to it at some point."

"Man... How long has been now?" Sam asks to no one in particular, "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

---

That next morning, (Y/n) woke up to the motel room being empty. The sun was already peeking through the curtains as (Y/n) lazily ventures to it, looking out to see that the Impala was gone. A sigh escapes (Y/n), but she couldn't help but to bite her cheek. Her brothers would usually tell her if they were going somewhere, and though uneasiness tried creeping into her thoughts, she busied herself by getting ready for the day.

As the girl climbed out of the shower a few minutes later, she heard the front door open with her brothers' voices carrying soon after. She takes her time dressing before a knock is heard.

"Hey Little Bit, you almost ready?" Dean's voice resonates on the other side of the bathroom door.

"Yeah, hold on!" (Y/n) answers before opening the door. "What's up?"

"Sammy and I got you something," Dean smiles.

Sam walks over to his siblings, his own lips forming into a big smile, before gesturing to something in his hand.

"Boba!" (Y/n) cheers, grabbing it and taking a sip, "Ah! How I've missed you! Thank you, guys!"

"No problem, sweetheart. We know how much you love it," Sam says.

" Come on, you two! Stop with the chit-chat! I'm ready to dig into that Pumpkin Roll!

[spnexploration]

Collared part 38

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: You go for a run with Sam

Warnings: None

Word count: 1.6k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 37 <- -> Part 39

Sam opened his bedroom door and was surprised to see you sitting on the floor opposite it. You looked up and hastily jumped to your feet when he saw you.

“Y/N? What's wrong?” he asked, worried. He wondered if Dean had done something to upset you, given you'd come to him not Dean.

“Umm, nothing’s wrong,” you said, a little awkwardly. He waited for you to go on, having found silence to be the best encourager. You were fidgeting with your hands, which he thought usually meant you were worried about what you were going to say. “Can I- umm- can I come with you on your run?”

That was it? He wondered. Why were you so scared to ask that? “Of course you can,” he said with a smile, trying to reassure you. It did make sense about why you'd come to him now.

“I, umm, I don't think I'll be as fast as you,” you muttered, looking at your feet. Ah, he thought, perhaps this was the reason for your hesitation.

“Hey, it's ok, we’ll go as fast or slow as you need to. I can always go again later if I really want to.”

You nodded, looking pleased. He noticed you were already in exercise gear, despite it being quite early. “How long were you waiting out here for me?”

“Uh, probably longer than I’d like to admit,” you joked.

“You sure everything's ok?”

“I'm fine, just wanna go for a run and don't want to scare Dean again.”

He'd wondered when Dean would come up. He might see if you'd talk more on the run.

“Ok, let's see what you've got, Bambi. I'll send Dean a text to tell him where you've gone.”

---

“So, is there a reason for the sudden interest in running?” Sam asked while he jogged alongside you. “Or have you always been keen and we were depriving you?” he joked.

“Oh, depriving, obviously,” you laughed. “Nah, I was never a huge one for running, but I thought I might need it now.”

He had a feeling he was getting close to your reason, but he didn't want to spook you and stop you from opening up. So he replied in an interested but casual tone of voice, “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Just, umm, just in case I need it.”

He looked at you sideways. That wasn’t really an answer and he knew you knew it. He waited. Your pace had slowed and he was walking alongside you now.

“For, umm... Forwhenyougoonhunts.”

It was hard to distinguish your words, but he thought he understood what you were saying. “You're worried about us going hunting again?” he asked gently.

“Umm, well, I'm not sure if worried is quite the right word... I mean, yes, a bit. But, umm...” you trailed off. He waited patiently.

“I don't want to be a burden,” you said very, very quietly.

He stopped walking and reached out to tug gently on your arm so that you would stop too. He tugged again until you faced him. “Believe me when I say, you are not a burden,” he said sincerely.

“I'm stopping you two from hunting,” you said with a choke in your voice.

“Did Dean say something?” He couldn't imagine Dean calling you a burden, but he could easily imagine him saying something that you'd interpreted that way. You had a tendency to see the worst in statements and Dean had a tendency to speak with his temper.

“No, no. But I'm sick of being the damsel in distress, only able to go outside with my bodyguards-come-minders, and getting in the way all the time at home. Not to mention stopping you from doing your jobs .”

“We don't think of you like that at all,” he said sincerely. He tried to wrack his brains for anything he or Dean had done recently that might have led to this. “Is this about when Dean got mad when you went outside? Or the weapons cache?”

“No, it's not really any one thing. Well, I mean, I guess the fact I couldn't even remember to pay for pants without Dean stepping in...”

“You're going to make mistakes, you were under a mind control spell and enslaved. But you can also learn from them, I bet you'll never make that mistake again.”

“But that's just it, I'm sick of needing supervision! I was an absolute mess the last time you guys went hunting, and you haven't done it again. There are people out there not being saved because I am incompetent!”

He opened his arms, wanting to hug you but giving you the choice to come to him. It seemed to him like there were two issues here – your worry about them not hunting, and then another, perhaps deeper and more strongly held, lack of self-confidence.

You took a step forward and leant against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close, grateful you were willing to accept his comfort.

You pulled away and he let you go, his hands hovering near you a few seconds longer than strictly necessary as he gauged whether you might be unsteady on your feet. Old habits die hard, and his protective mannerisms towards you were certainly in that basket.

“Dean and I had discussed when we might start hunting again,” he started, mildly concerned how this conversation was going to go with you. Two weeks ago and you'd probably have started screaming at him already. “But we don't want to rush things with you. We've been sending hunts that we see to other hunters we know, so people are being saved even if we're not there.”

“What about the hunts those hunters would've been on otherwise,” you said sullenly. “And aren't you two, I dunno, particularly good at hunting? Surely not everyone has an angel at their beck and call and an underground giant lair.”

Sam didn't want to lie to you, but he also didn't really want to brag or escalate your feelings of being in the way. “Uh, ok, yes, we’re fairly good at our jobs.”

“And you want to get back to it.”

His heart wrenched. “Eventually, yes.”

“What do you mean ‘eventually’? It's been weeks and the only people you've hunted have been for me.”

Sam thought it was debatable whether Dean had wanted to get Azaneth so badly for you or because of what he'd done to you, but he wasn’t going to say that. “Healing takes time, not to mention that for half of that you still had a collar.”

“My point is that I am stopping you. You can't argue, it's true.”

This was going in circles. He decided to change tact, “You said you wanted to go for a run so you were ready. Is there anything else you've been thinking about?”

“Well, you guys don't like leaving me because I'm too useless, so-”

“Whoa, whoa, you are not useless.” He was right, it was the underlying lack of self-confidence. He put his hands on your shoulders. “I will take you running with me if you want it. I will, and I'm sure Dean will too, teach you anything you want to know, anything that you're interested in or that makes you feel safer. But I will not do it if you’re doing it because you think we need to see that. If you think you need to prove something to us, because you don’t.”

Tears gathered in your eyes and you brushed them away. “Thanks, Sam.”

“You have a think about if there's anything you want to do for you, and we will make it happen.”

You leant forward and gave him a hug again. He knew his words wouldn't fix things overnight, but he was pleased they seemed to have landed well with you for now.

“Dean's going to think I'm slower than a tortoise if we take any more time,” you joked, gesturing to the track. He chuckled and started jogging alongside you again.

---

“What's up, Bambi?” Dean looked up from his phone to ask, as you walked into the room.

“Can we, umm, try again with the gun? I thought about bringing one to you to ask but I didn't want to make you think I was threatening you, and I know it went badly last time but I think I'll be ok this time, but I'm sorry in advance if I’m not, but I-”

“Sweetheart, relax. You're rambling. Of course I will show you how to use a gun again.”

You gave him a small smile. It made your whole face light up.

“You wanna do it now?”

“Only if that's not inconvenient to you.”

“I look like I'm solving world hunger over here or something?” he said, gesturing to his phone in his hand. “I'm just doom scrolling.”

“Doom scrolling?”

“When the world is going to shit and you’re just scrolling social media and shit.”

“Right, well, can't say I know much about that.”

“Fuck! We never got you a proper phone. Right, let's do guns now and then when Sammy’s done making lunch, make him do some research with you on what kind of phone you want.”

You were staring at him incredulously. “Uh, if you wanna do that first I guess I can take over from Sam in the kitchen...” he said with a lot less confidence, not really sure what it was he'd done wrong but hoping that would fix it.

“No, no, I don't mind waiting. I just... That wasn't the reaction I was expecting. I didn't really think about a phone at all, haven't used one in so long.”

“Yeah, that's on me.”

“Dean, you don't have to take everything as your fault.”

“You been getting some speaking points from Sam?”

You laughed. “Come on, show me how to fail at loading a gun again.”

.

.

.

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[bigmouthlass]

Title:  I'll Gitcha Fixed

Series: Supernatural B-Sides

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: Our Mr. Winchester takes it upon himself to help correct a friend's toxic thinking patterns..

Tags:  Dean Winchester, Female Reader Character, Female You, Depression, Toxic Thinking, Plus Sized Reader, Smallfat Reader, Songfic

AN:  The song is "Come to Poppa," written by Earl Randle and Willie Mitchel, performed by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band-- one of the filthiest songs ever recorded that stays within the bounds of good taste. I was in a Mood and this happened. For purposes of clarity, the You in this story is a smallfat at best-- i.e. needs to shop in the Plus section but can find clothes easily at most major retailers. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

The door opens with the sounds of Lynard Skynard music and the stench of spilled beer and old cigarette smoke, the BEER’O’CLOCK showing just past eleven on a dead slow weekday night.  You're still decked out in that stupid dress, high heels swapped out for your biker boots.  You look, and feel, utterly ridiculous.  “Whiskey, neat,” you tell the bartender.

“You got it.”

Ah, Jameson.  Cheaper than therapy and available outside business hours.

"Heya baby--" at your death glare the fog of booze smell that might've once been a guy floats away, listing all the unflattering yet true facts that mean he wasn't really interested anyway.  God willing your standards will never drop that low.

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.  "Whiskey, neat."

"Hey," you greet the Devil as he toes over a stool and parks it next to you.

"Hey," Dean Winchester greets you back, tossing the whiskey down his throat and tapping the glass for another.  "You okay?"

"Peachy," you lie through your teeth.  "What happened?  You strike out at the Honey Hive?"

A shrug of those wide shoulders.  Stood next to the physical specimen that is his younger brother, it's easy to overlook certain things about Dean.  Like those big hands, those long legs.  "Wasn't in the mood I guess."

You narrow your eyes.  "Okay who are you and what've you done with Dean?"

He glares at you.  "That's not funny."

"Of course it is."  A twinkle on Dean's hand and you shake your head.  "Dude, if you're looking to hook up maybe take off the ring."

"What, you don't like being fake-married?"

So not the problem.  "Operative word being fake."  Don't fucking tease me, you want to say, nobody with working eyesight bought that we were anything other than the geek show.  It'd gotten the job done, distracting everyone at that party long enough for Sam to sneak in, set the fire, and sneak back out.  As Hunts go it'd been a layup.  Certainly not enough to make you forget the tittering, or the blowjob jokes, or the endless She's So Fat bullshit, as you and Dean playacted the tipsy bickering couple with no discretion or volume control.

Smiling that gotcha! smile, Dean says, "Then how come you're still wearing your rings, honey?"

"For the same reason I wear a wedding ring any time I go out drinking.  Men only think pussy's unavailable if somebody else's already got his name on it."

The smile disappears.  Maybe you were a little too mean with that one.  "What're you getting pissed off at me for?"

God damn it, you're just drunk enough to feel oversensitive and weepy.  Bob Seger's voice in the background singing low and insinuating -- if you neeeeed . . . a pacifier, call anytime . . . I'll try to be your satisfier -- doesn't help.  Part of you is back in the hot garage of your childhood listening to your older brother's friends make filthy jokes about your early-blooming body.  "Never mind.  Never mind," you finish your water and go fishing for your wallet.  Stupid fancy dress making you feel simultaneously overdressed and naked, stupid tiny clutch purse, stupid ring set that’s just loose enough to keep snagging on everything . . . you’re wrapped in fucking layers of stupid.

"No wait a minute--" you slip Dean's grabbing hand as you shove a twenty under the empty glass and a five into the tip jar.

"Leave her alone pal," the bartender warns.

"It's cool, it's cool, she's my wife," Dean says.  For that, you could cheerfully shoot him.  Instead you hit the door and juke around the side of the building, cutting back across the alley and over the fence to your motel.

The light's still on in Sam and Dean's room.  Of course, Sam must've kicked Dean out for some face time with his girlfriend, Dean struck out at whatever bar he'd gone to looking for company, and decided to come poke at you for lack of anything more entertaining to do.  It’s a pleasure working with Sam and Dean.  It’s the not-working parts that give you trouble.

You're halfway out of that stupid dress when a fist hammers on your room door hard enough to knock it off the hinges.  "Let me in!  I need to talk to you!" Dean yells.

"Get lost!" you yell back.

"No!"  You hear him swear under his breath.  "You got to the count of three before I get out my lockpicks!  One . . . two . . ."

"All right, all right, all right, shit," you surrender, "gimme a second."  You yank on a pair of leggings and your lucky green Mavs jersey.  Dean all but shoulder-checks you out of the way when you open the door.  "Won't you come in?" you grouch as you shut the door and lock it.

"Don't mind if I do," Dean sarcasms right back.  He turns around and his eyes widen.  Oh right, between the leggings and the lucky green Mavs jersey you look like a chubby leprechaun.  A chubby, braless, saggy titted leprechaun.

"What do you want, Dean?  I'd like to get some sleep since getting drunk's not an option."

“Okay," he counts on fingers, "one, getting drunk is always an option.  And two, why did you just assume I struck out somewhere else?”

“Be-cause you sure as hell weren’t looking for me?” you say, speaking slowly and clearly as one does with drunks, small children, and the obviously delusional.

“I was looking for you!”

“Like hell you were.”  Because like hell he was.

“Yes.  I was.”

“What the hell for, man?”

“Oh I dunno-- I kind of liked acting fake-married and I wanted to spend some time with my fake wife?”

“As opposed to literally anyone else on Earth,” you snap.  This needs to get over with before you start sniveling.  Stress weeping, you’ve done it all your life.

Dean blinks.  He opens his mouth as if to say something, closes it.  “Okay.  Explain something to me.  Why do you think any red-blooded American male with taste would not want to spend time with you?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake--”

“Answer me.”

“You and your brother were practically raised by wolves so let me clue you into one of the unwritten rules of modern etiquette,” you say.  You want to get mad, you need to get mad, but your voice isn’t co-operating.  The joke’s on you because it always is, and you’ve never been a talented enough comedian to take control of it away from the bastards.  “It’s polite to at least wait until the fat freak is out of earshot until you start laughing at her.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Especially when you’re supposed to be aforementioned fat freak’s fucking husband, you douche.”

Closing his eyes and using your name like a parent correcting a naughty child, Dean says, “I.  Wasn’t.  Laughing.  Shit I was this close to knocking that asshole’s teeth out.  Only reason I didn’t is somebody would’ve called the cops and blown our cover.”

You snort.  “Like anybody bought that we were a couple anyway.”

With a look in those beautiful green eyes you can’t read, Dean says, “Why not?”

You point at him.  “All-American eleven.”  You point back at yourself.  “Texas three, and that’s if the lighting is generous.”

“Jesus, babe!”

“Don’t call me that!  Just get out,” you whirl to run for cover in the bathroom and pray it’s got a lock.

Next thing you know you’re smushed against Dean’s chest, wrapped up like a rat in a snake’s coils.  The motherfucker’s cuddling you, swaying a little on his feet and rubbing your back.  You lose it and start sobbing.

“Sweetheart I’m sorry,” Dean keeps saying as you weep into his shirt.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” you snap.  “You’re not the one being a fucking crybaby!”  Over what, some sniggering and the same jokes you’ve been hearing all your damn life?  Christ.  He’s pulled the claws from your anger and all that’s left is humiliation.

"I had no idea you were thinking that,” Dean says.  Something presses against your hair.  You refuse to believe it’s Dean’s lips.  “I thought . . . when we had to get that rent-a-cop’s attention, I thought we had a moment there.”

Oh yeah.  The moment.  When Dean had taken it upon himself to interrupt your fake arguing with a firm kiss that had not felt at all fake.  You’d felt like a fraud all evening, dressed up in that stupid cocktail dress intended for someone a bit taller and a lot thinner and effortlessly outshone by Dean in white tie.  Trying desperately to prune back a totally inappropriate crush is what had driven you to the nearest dingy bar with every intention of slowly drowning your sorrows, having a hardcore mope in the privacy of your room, and moving on in the morning.  Storing the memory of that kiss somewhere dark and safe, only to be pulled out on very special occasions.

You’re sitting down on the bed and Dean’s bringing you a glass of water and a cool washcloth.  With a tenderness you totally wouldn’t have expected, he cleans you up and watches you drain the glass.  “I’m sorry,” you mumble, too embarrassed to look at him.  You might never look at him again.  “I’m a weepy drunk.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Dean says, taking a seat next to you.  “Hey-- look at me a minute.”  With your chin held in the crook of his forefinger, Dean tips your head until your eyes meet.  “I get not wanting to make a habit of blowing your own horn but good God damn, the shit you’ve been saying is just cruel.”

“It’s not cruelty if it’s true Dean.”

“That’s the thing though.  It’s not.”

“Well!  Let’s go from head to toe, shall we?”  Talking over Dean’s protests, you start with your lifeless too wavy to behave and too straight to be interesting hair and end with your ski-barge flat feet and ankles that roll like marbles unless you strap them up like a ballplayer’s.  “And that’s before we get into weird hobbies, picky eating, terminal dullness, self-centered assholery.”

Dean’s gone very pale.  “If I heard anybody saying shit like that about you I’d break their fucking necks.”

“Start with the one and only drunk impaired enough to hit on me at the bar.  Something about putting a sock in my mouth and a bag over my head, and only if he could put it up my ass.  Look, I ain’t pretty, I ain’t rich, and I don’t care.  I just want to get out of the day with a little bit of my goddamned dignity.  I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“Am I allowed to speak now?” Dean asks.  Before you can say yes no or maybe so he says, “I wasn’t laughing with, at, or anywhere near you.  Sam was having trouble getting out from between those rosebushes and I needed to distract that dumbass with the cane.  The drunk wasn’t the only guy there checking you out.  I mean, does your brain just go bleep whenever anybody says anything nice about you?"

“Add stupid to the list,” you remind yourself.

“Stop it,” he orders.  “You’re not a freak, you’re not stupid, anybody staring at us was jealous, and they were jealous of me, not you,” he heads you off.  “I spent an hour after we got back to the motel pacing a hole in the carpet wondering if I should just grow a sack and come over with some dinner.  Sam finally kicked me out.”

What?

“What?”

“Swear.  Ask him.”

“He’ll lie.”

“Nope.”

If you were a computer you’d be bluescreened.  “You guys could be pranking me.  Of course you’re pranking me,” you say.  “Hah hah, very fucking funny.”

“Right, my brother and I are conspiring to play the world’s least funny joke on a chick who’s got three-tenths of a second and never goes anywhere without two knives and a Beretta nine millimeter,” Dean says dryly.  “Do I look suicidal?  Never mind,” he brushes off.  “Anything I say, you’re not gonna hear.  So let’s try this.”

You’re not ready for Dean to take your face between his hands and kiss you.  Like, really kiss you.  Not a half-angry smack of lips like earlier.  Those perfectly soft, plush lips gently tug at yours and your heart kicks straight into Overdrive.  He sighs into your mouth as you open for his tongue.  "You're so sweet," he murmurs, trailing kisses along your jaw, nibbling on your earlobe.  "I'm gonna find that stupid hoodie you always wear and burn it."

"What?" you ask.

"Are you kidding?" Dean asks you back.  His hand drops to your hip, sliding down your leggings and not finding a ridge.  "I knew it.  No panties either.  Come to the door, no bra, no panties . . ." he trails off as, careful not to pull, he takes the elastic out of your ponytail and spreads your hair in a cool curtain down your back.  "You're so mean, hiding all this from me all this time."

"What?" you can't help but ask again.  This isn't computing, your brain's blown a microchip or two.

"Fuck-- you still think I'm lying or something don't you?"  Dean sighs, closing his eyes.  It's so not fair, even his eyelashes are beautiful.

Your brain tries one last time to cut this off before something irrevocable happens.  “I’m not a pity fuck Dean.”

Dean’s eyes open and fix you with a look that dries your mouth out.  “Good.  I don’t do pity fucks.  Now where were we?  Oh yeah,” he takes one of your hands and kisses the palm, presses it to his cheek.  “This is where you kiss me.”

So you do, tasting whiskey on his breath.  Slow, giving you time, making you wait, he presses a hand up your ribs, caresses up to your tits.  Here it comes, the cringe when he feels the squish and the sag-- there's no cringe.  Why isn't Dean cringing?  God knows you do, and you have to live with the damn things. 

Dean pulls back, staring into your eyes.  He gulps.  “If you want me to stop tell me now,” he says.  When you don’t say anything, he adds, “I’m serious.  If you want me to leave I’ll leave, if you want to just hang out we can do that--”

Of course.  “If you want to go just go already!”

“I don’t-- shit.”  Dean grabs your wrist and presses your hand to his-- “I’m so hard I could break fucking boards.  I don’t want to be anywhere but where I am.  With you.”  His hand flexes, shapes your hand around his bulge.  He’s not lying.  At least not with that part of him.  “When you showed Sam that leg holster I damn near ripped the zipper out of my pants.”

“That was two months ago!”

“My point.  Why do you think I keep calling you for backup?  You’re smart, you’re tough, you’re fucking beautiful.  Jesus, I thought . . . I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t picking up the hints I was dropping.  Why do you think I volunteered to dress up and do the monkey dance?  I hate hanging around rich bastards!”

“Free finger sandwiches?”

Dean opens his mouth, closes it again and shrugs.  “The crab and cream cheese ones were pretty good.  Point is,” he says, and he’s not holding your hand any more and you can . . . that’s him, hot and hard and with no reason to lie.  “Point is I’m here because I wanna be.  So it’s your call.”

Something in you goes click and it hits you all over again just how fucking beautiful he is, all strong jaw and shining eyes and perfectly kissable fucking lips.  God damn it, you think as you feel the first high hit your brain, you do not need to be falling in love right now.  Not now, not here, not with this man.

There are, however, two very powerful factors working against your common sense.  Heterosexuality and eyesight.  “Stay?  I want you to stay.”

“Oh thank God.”  Dean pulls you close, grunting with you as he lays back on the bed.  “Climb aboard,” he laughs as the two of you make a mess of getting your legs up off the floor.

“I can’t, I’ll hurt your back--”

“No.  You won’t,” Dean tells you as he rolls you underneath him, a knee pressing between yours and opening a space for his body.  “I’m not hurting yours am I?  Pretty sure I’m bigger than you.”

“I . . . what’re you doing?”

Dean looks up from where he’s been kissing down your chest, on the fabric of your jersey.  “Kissing you.  What do they call it on your planet?”

“You’re being a tease!”

Grunting a negative, Dean says, “I’m on a mission now.  I’m gonna make you forget every minute of bad sex you’ve ever had.  And all I need from you is a little patience.  Can you do that for me honey?  Can you be patient for me?”

“Oh-- okay,” you agree.

That proves difficult.  Dean’s just . . . touching you.  His fingertips find your nipples, stroking them in itty-bitty arcs until they’ve poked up against your shirt.  All the blood and sensation in your body pounds downstairs.  Oh God, you’re soaking into your leggings, you can feel the fabric sticking to your pussy.  Protective reflexes are going by the boards; there’s no evidence Dean’s just waiting for you to take a hint and suck him off or give him your ass or something.

You gasp as he touches your damp crotch.  Christ your clit’s throbbing so hard it hurts.  Dean takes his fingers, sniffs at them.  You feel your face get hot.  No time to get a shower; you must fucking stink.

As though reading your mind Dean pushes your thighs further apart.  Hot lips fall to the wet patch between and you cry out, “Fuck!”

“Can’t resist,” Dean says without looking up.  More heat as his tongue presses to your wet tights and you writhe as Dean hums the yummy hum.  “Never understood that,” he says to himself, pressing and caressing until your entire center throbs against the hot material of your wet leggings.  “How can any man who loves pussy resist going down on one?”

“Dunno,” you manage.  Your fingers claw into the bedspread, taking up huge handfuls of cheap printed polyblend.  “Oh God, fuck,” you whine.  “Dean, please.”

“Patience,” he reminds you, sucking your honey from your leggings with an obscene sclurp.  Off he shucks his blue button-up and black T-shirt.  Oh fuck, how he manages to keep such a beautiful body on a diet of no sleep, max stress, and all the grease is a modern science mystery.  The flies on his jeans are undone too, and through his open zipper you can see his oh my poking up against his briefs.

You sit up and grab his face in a kiss.  Dean opens to you with a little surprised squeak.  Your tits drop and jiggle as he pulls your T-shirt off and throws it somewhere.  His hands feel like warm suede on your skin, all strong fingers.  You bite your lips on a moan as Dean kisses down and around and not where you need.  Holding you in place with a hand between your shoulderblades, he just keeps making you wait.  Lips and tongue and rough whisker-shadowed cheeks driving you clear out of your mind.  When Dean’s lips finally close around your painfully tight nipple you clench.  Your fingers sink into his soft hair, nails digging into his scalp.

“Ouch!”

“Shit!” you yelp, shoving Dean away.  “I’m sorry!  Are you okay?  I didn’t--"

Dean shuts you up with a kiss.  “I’m fine.  Just gotta get my boots off.”  He kisses you again.  “Don’t move.”  You don’t.  You just watch as he sits up and bends to untie his laces.  How does he do it, make every move look totally natural and artfully choreographed at the same fucking time?

“Lose the tights,” Dean orders, “or I rip them off of you.  I’m not kidding.”

He sure as fuck doesn’t look like it and you peel off your leggings.  Now it’ll come-- the little cringe when he sees the wiry hair between your legs, more twig pile than bush.  And the doughy look of your thighs.  And the stretch marks low on your belly.  And the literally everything because--

Dean shucks out of his jeans and naked, naked, he is naked now, nakedness is happening.  Something in your brain short-circuits.  Dean by-God Winchester.  Naked.  Bed is also there.  With you on it.  Also naked.  So much nakedness.

And good Lord he’s beautiful.  All the way to the wide head of his cock.  Which is hard.  Pulsing.  Leaking tiny beads of precome.  Which you can see because he’s naked with no clothes on.  Looking at you, Dean gulps.  “Fuck you’re beautiful.”

Don’t lie to me, you almost say, you don’t have to lie to me.  You can’t say it.  Not with Dean’s cock staring up at you.  Dean hisses through his teeth as you curl your hand around him.  “Hang on a sec, hold on, shit,” he says.  He fishes in his jeans pocket and slips you a condom.  “Wanna do the honors?”

“Sure.”  You can’t resist playing with that beautiful cock some more, making Dean squirm and flush.  Please Lord let this not be a one-time-only happening, you need time to enjoy this cock.  Pet it, kiss it, lavish it with affection.

When he’s finally wrapped up, Dean pulls you underneath him.  His hips fuck forward, rubbing his latex-covered cock along your soaked cunt.  “There we go,” Dean says as you reach between your bodies and fit him to you.  The air leaves you as Dean thrusts home, gliding and stretching and feeling fucking perfect.  “Fuck,” Dean whispers.  “Oh my fuck you feel good.  Knew you would,” he kisses your cheeks, your eyelids, nibbles on your neck hard enough you know you’ll be wearing marks in the morning.  He reaches up to cup your face and you moan when you feel the cool arc of the fake wedding band on his finger.

Even through the thin barrier of the condom Dean’s blazing hot inside you.  Instead of how it normally is during sex -- a vaguely pleasant rubbing that doesn’t really add up to anything -- as he moves, God it feels like he’s stroking up against every feel-good nerve in your body.  Not just with his cock, he’s pressed against your entire body, like he’s enjoying having all of you touching all of him, like he really isn’t grossed out by any of you.  For the first time in your life the sounds you’re making are totally unprompted; you’re not going for an effect, you physically cannot keep quiet with Dean making you feel this.  He’s making sounds too, dirty and sweet and they’re turning you on so fucking much.

Dean pauses.  “Don’t,” you cry, so softly.  Like this is a dream and you’ll wake yourself up to an empty bed and a tear-stained pillow.

“I’m not,” he says, kissing you and groaning when you quiver around him.  “Next time it’ll be slower.  Better.  I promise.”  Your brain’s still melting from the implications of the words slower and better when Dean shifts his weight a little and his hips start working in earnest.  He’s . . . somehow this magic fucking man’s rubbing your swollen clit and fucking you so beautifully, you’re afraid of the feelings building and building and building--

You choke back a wail as everything crashes into white sparks and you come in a full-bodied clench.  Christ it hits so hard your vision actually goes weird a second.  Dean cries out as your cunt clamps down on him.  His back arches on a final slam of a thrust and he moans his climax out loud to God and anyone else who might be listening.

“Oh man,” he heaves, collapsing on top of you in a hot press of skin and muscle, “that was awesome.”

A giggle pops out of you.  “Off.  Squishing.”  You ooze out from under Dean’s body and wobble upright on shaking legs.  Oh woah.  This is gonna hurt tomorrow.

After using the facilities you wash your hands and splash some water on your face.  You catch sight of your night-dark reflection in the mirror, lit only by the streetlight coming through the window.  Even in the gloom you can see whisker-burn on your skin and red marks on your neck because holy fuck you just had sex with Dean Winchester.

Your knees start trembling and you brace your hands on the counter.  Sex.  Sex.  Sexsexsexsex . . . your brain stutters.  Through the closed door you hear movement.  Of course.  Dean’s getting dressed and running for the hills.  Filing you away in his mental Regrets folder.  You linger there, staring down into the sink because you can’t bear to look at the marks Dean’s left on you.  I don’t do pity fucks your ass.

Quiet outside the door.   He must be dressed by now.  Maybe he’s already gone and you just didn’t hear the door.  Dean can be damned quiet when he wants.  God you’re tired.  You need sleep.  Reset the system.  Give yourself a chance to wake up from this dream.

Dean hasn’t left.  He hasn’t gotten dressed either.  He’s lying to the left, curled up a little on his side.  At the sound of your feet scuffing the carpet, his eyes open and he smiles.  “C’mere baby.  Come to Papa.”

You chuckle.  “Gotta love a man who loves the Silver Bullet Band.”

Dean’s eyelids lower and his lip curves into a come hither leer.  “If life is haaard to understand,” he sings in a low, tuneful, fucking erotic baritone, “and your life gettin outta haaaaand . . .”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you say.  Dean holds up the covers and you slip into bed.  Reflex has you perched far to the side, leaving plenty of space for Dean.  You take up more than your fair share of everything, including the bed meant for two.

Dean demonstrates his disagreement by pulling you close and tucking you next to him.  Like he a cuddler or something, like he actually doesn’t mind having your naked skin touching him.  Like he enjoys it or something.  Making a sleepy noise, Dean kisses you.  “You okay?”

Boy that’s a complicated question.  “Ask me again in the morning.”

“’Kay.”  Like a cat sinking itself into a cushion, Dean stretches and shimmies deeper into the blankets.  In the process, one of his arms goes around you, warm and heavy.  Your common sense is MIA.  Nothing’s telling you to take it easy, remember what you are, be careful with your feelings.  Your mind is quiet, peaceful.  You’re safe here.  You can lie here and be safe, for just a little while.

Just for a little while.

---

AN2: Ya know, I think this song's within Mr. Ackles's vocal range . . . um, 'scuse me, I think my ovaries just melted. 😉

[allthesmutl0vers]

The Fate Of Us: Chapter One

Chapter One

Y/n

I adore nights like this, with rain cascading outside my window, rhythmically tapping the glass. The night sky, a rich, velvety blue, almost black, hovers above the majestic oak trees. This is the idyllic weather for writing. I place my steaming cup of coffee on my rolling desk, position my laptop on top, and glide it to the inviting couch. I cocoon myself in the soft, warm throw blanket I knitted yesterday and flex my fingers, ready to dive into the world of words.

As I open my computer, launch my browser, and open Google Docs, I revisit the last chapter I penned. Sam and Dean are on a hunt, on the verge of discovering that the girl they’re saving is the love of their lives. But it can’t be that simple. No, I need to infuse tension, lingering gazes, and a hint of angst. It’s what my readers crave, after all.

I write a few chapters, doing my best to perfectly captivate the moment when all of their feelings are laid on the table, the point where there is no going back to being ‘just friends.’ My heart races as the words appear on my screen, longing to feel that moment in real life.

My reality is mundane. My books aren’t soaring in popularity, a reality any budding author faces. We can’t all be H.D. Carlton or Colleen Hoover, but we dare to dream. So this is where I find solace and also where I cultivate ideas for my books. I would give anything to immerse myself in the world I create, to live the life of a hunter.

But unfortunately, it’s just a TV show. So instead, I write about it. I write out different endings, save the characters I wish to save, and make love to fictional characters through the words on my screen.

A few hours later, my coffee cup is empty, as well, as my brain for ideas to finish the last chapter of my story.

Why are endings so hard to write?

As my eyes drift closed, exhausted and ready for a good night’s rest, a knock sounds against my front door. I look at the clock on my phone—1:36 a.m. My brain instantly goes into panic mode. Why would someone be knocking so late? Is there a fire? Is it a serial killer? Did someone I know die? I quietly laugh to myself about the second thought. I mean, why would a serial killer knock on the door of the victim he’s about to kill?

I stand up from the couch and move to the front door, looking through the peephole. I can’t believe my eyes, unlocking the door, and suddenly embarrassed of the oversized ‘Castiel #1’ t-shirt I’m wearing, which is stupid because it’s the middle of the night. This just adds to my curiosity: Why is he here?

I open the door with shaky hands, still unable to believe that Rob Benedict is at my door. “Hi, um... Can I, uh, help you?” I ask timidly.

He smiles widely, somehow dry as the rain continues to pour from the sky. “Hello, y/n. May I come inside? It’s a little wet out here,” he jokes with a soft chuckle.

I instantly move aside, allowing him to enter. “Oh, of course. Um, it’s so nice to meet you,” I say as he enters the door of my one-story cottage-style home. I close the door and turn to face him again. “Wait, how did you know my name?” I ask curiously. I don’t remember putting my name into a meet-and-greet raffle, and I’m fairly certain that those meet-and-greets don’t happen in the middle of the night.

He looks around my home, sweeping his eyes across the layout before finally meeting mine again. “I apologize. I haven’t formally introduced myself,” he holds out a hand to shake. “I’m Chuck. Chuck Shurley.”

I can’t help but chuckle softly as I shake his hand. “You mean you play Chuck Shurley,” I say as I shake his hand. He looks back at me with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head. “You’re… Rob Benedict. I’m a huge fan of the show,” I say, motioning to Supernatural playing on my TV in the living room.

He tilts his head up slightly, his eyes relaxing as he smirks. “Ah, I see. Well, it seems that I have found the right house, at least,” he chuckles. “I’m sorry, maybe I should be a little more clear. I’m happy to explain. Do you mind if we sit?” He asks, motioning to the couch.

“Oh, yes. Please, make yourself comfortable,” I say, motioning to the couch following him to sit down. Once we’re sat down, I close my laptop and give him my attention again.

“So,” he claps his hands together. “I understand if this is all a little strange. So please allow me to explain,” he says more stoicly. I nod my head and wait for him to begin, mentally making notes of questions to ask.

He holds out his hands, taking a deep breath. “This may sound unbelievable. I understand if you’re confused, but I really am Chuck Shurley,” he says. I narrow my eyes; this must be a joke. “It’s true. All of… this,” he motions to the TV, playing the show still.

“As I’m sure you know, I met a very unfortunate end. All well deserved, I admit,” he holds out his hands again before putting them on his knees. “But I want to change that. And I believe you can help me,” he looks at me seriously, his voice calm and a little hopeful. “I’ve read your writings, y/n, and they’re really good. You’re fanfictions, too,” he nods to my computer.

“You’ve… read my fanfics?” I ask, feeling the heat of embarrassment tint my cheeks.

Chuck chuckles softly and smiles. “I have, you’re really good. The way you move the story along without it being boring. The way you perfectly capture the characters and expand on their emotions and feelings,” he talks with his hands. “Your writing is right up there with the greats, in my opinion.” He says with a hand to his chest.

Am I really believing this right now? Am I dreaming?

“So, here is my proposal,” he sits up straighter, interlocking his fingers together. “I want you to come to our world. I’ll put you right in their line of sight. I can even make them fall in love with you,” he winks. “All I ask in return is for you to help me give myself a different ending.”

I shake my head in disbelief. This can’t really be happening right now. “Wait a second, how are you here? If you’re, you know… dead?” I ask.

Chuck sighs and leans back. “That part was a little tricky. See, I had to go back and change a few things,” he says. “Let’s see. I took out Abbadon, so the mark of Cain was never in the equation, meaning my sister never comes back. Oh, but I am still planning on bringing someone back,” he winks.

“Bobby?!” I ask excitedly.

“No, I wasn’t planning on bringing him back,” he looks at me. “Unless it would persuade you to come with me. I have been in this universe long enough to know how much everybody loves him.” He looks at me with a hopeful expression.

I bite my lower lip anxiously. Is that something I want? What do I want? I feel like, at this point, I could ask for almost anything and get it.

“I don’t know… I mean, if Amara isn’t coming back, that means he’s still in heaven. I don’t want to take that peace from him,” Chuck nods his head in understanding. “But, on the other end, I feel like he’s more accepting, and it would give me a better chance to be introduced to them.” I weigh the options in my mind.

“That it would,” Chuck says, nodding his head.

“Okay. I’ll help you, but I have a few conditions.” I say sternly.

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” Chuck laughs.

“First of all, don’t make them fall in love with me. If they do, I want it to be real,” Chuck nods, and I continue. “Secondly, I do want Bobby to come back, his house and everything the way it was before the leviathans,” Chucks nods. “Third, I’ll do my best to help you be a better God, but I will not kill Jack. And, if you want to be a better God, you actually have to put in the effort to be one. That means no fucking with Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Jody, Donna, anyone just because you’re bored,” I raise my eyebrow at him.

“And if you do end up not being a better God, then no sending me back here just as I am about to explain myself or smiting me or anything like that just because you think you’ve lost,” I explain.

Chuck breathes deeply. “Okay, I’ll agree to that.”

I try to think of anything else I want or any other loose ends to tie up. I snap my fingers. “Oh, and I want all of the knowledge I have about the show and its ending to stay with me. And if Metatron isn’t dead already, I want him to be. I don’t want to deal with his bullshit.”

Chuck laughs wholeheartedly. “Yeah, I don’t blame you for that one,” he seems to think the rest of my deal over in his mind. “Alright, you have a deal,” He stands up. “Pack a bag with whatever you need. I’ll wait here, and then we’ll go.”

“What about Bobby?” I ask as I stand up.

“Already done,” he smiles. “Go pack your bag, y/n, and we’ll get going.”

Chapter Two

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Fourteen (Part 2)

When my phone buzzes in my pocket I feel a jolt of anxious nausea, but still, whip it out so quickly that it almost slips out of my gloved hand. I release my thumb to tap the screen, anticipating another message from Dean, but this time it isn’t him. 

It’s Jude. 

A weird half-laugh half-cry escapes me and my stomach flutters. The last person I ever thought would message me, as I fully expected to never have to hear from him again, but here he is, lighting up my phone on an ordinary Friday afternoon. Curiously I open the message. 

Thought you’d followed me to Berlin. 

He writes. Quickly followed by a photo of a girl standing ahead of him in a bakery. She has the same coat as I do, and the same hair cut and colour. She really does look like me. I watch the little dots bounce as he types another message.

Looks like you have a German doppelganger.

A smile quirks on my lips, I can’t help it, and then quickly I open my camera and point it up towards a corner of the Cathedral eaves where a horrible gothic gargoyle sits guard with its grotesque little mouth wide open in a silent scream. I giggle softly to myself as I zoom in on it. 

So weird. 

I type back, attaching the photo. 

Because I just saw your doppelganger too. 

I’m glad that there’s nobody around to see how self-satisfied I am, smiling at my own joke. 

Yikes, spitting image.  Still snowing, I see.

Relentlessly. 

So much for springtime. Weather in that country is so fucked. 

I frown. There he goes again with that “your country, that country” stuff. 

Wait, are you not Irish anymore? I remember you making a bit of a song and dance out of the ‘half’ part when I met you. 

Fair enough. Weather in OUR country is fucked. 

Ah yeah, that’s more of it now. Too late Jude, you’ve already disowned us. As a collective nation we’re devastated.

I smirk as I tease him, beginning to pace around, feeling charged with new energy, but then my heart leaps to my throat when my phone comes alive in my hand, buzzing with a phone call from him. I hit accept. 

“Hello?”

His voice comes down the line, deep and low in my ear. “Sorry, I just wanted to infer from your tone whether you’re annoyed or amused.”

I smirk. “Insecure, much?”

He laughs and I hear something crinkle on his end. “Well, alright, I knew you were amused, I just didn’t want to juggle eating my lunch with one hand and trying to text you with the other.”

“What did you get?”

“Hm?”

“In the bakery, like, what did you get for lunch?” 

“Oh, it’s like a multigrain bread roll thing. With cheese and salami.”

“Sounds nice.”

I hear him take a bite out of it. “Mhm. And for after I got this thing called a Puddingteilchen.”

“Sounds enticing.” I say, giggling at the goofy German accent he just put on.

“It’s essentially a vanilla pastry, they love things with gluten here, I try as many new foods as I can.”

“Mhm, how adventurous.”

“I’m in a very ‘trying-new-things’ phase at the moment. What did you have for lunch?”

“A flat white.” 

“Explains why you’re eating vicariously through me.”

I laugh. “Well if there were any food places open I might have gotten something more substantial, right now, honestly the caffeine is just making me feel jittery.”

“Oh no.” 

I walk out of the Christchurch grounds and start ambling back down Dame Street with the phone pressed to my ear. “I’m looking right now and there’s genuinely nothing to eat, I swear they’re treating this snowfall like it’s the apocalypse.”

“They always do that, don’t they?” He says, and then quickly corrects himself. “Oh, sorry, we always do that. We, the collective Irish people, a group to which I still very much belong and have not dissociated myself from now that I live abroad.” 

I roll my eyes and chuckle. “Okay, I get it. You think I’m dramatic.” 

“Never.”

“So what are you doing today? Do you have college?”

“On Fridays I only have classes in the morning, so actually, right now I’m about to go looking for a costume.”

“A costume? For what?” 

“This party I’m going to next month.” He says. “I’m looking for something from the eighties.”

“There’s an 80’s theme?”

“80’s movies, so like, specifically a character from a famous flick. I can’t just be some generic 80’s man. These people have strict rules.”

“Aha, so is this some kind of ticketed event?”

“No, it’s a house party.”

“Strict rules for a house party.”

“You have no idea.” He laughs and I hear him moving about, presumably getting up from wherever he had been sitting to begin walking around. I try to imagine where he might be, but having never been to Berlin it’s difficult to visualise the way that the streets might look. “My friends, the ones hosting the party, they do this all the time. There’s always a theme and you have to adhere to it directly otherwise you don’t get to come in.”

“Yikes.”

“I know, and really, I’m not a costume guy, at least I wasn’t. I showed up to the first party, which, by the way, was themed as ‘Wild West’, in jeans and a t-shirt. They asked me where my cowboy hat was and then closed the door in my face.” 

“Wow, that’s intense.”

“Yes, but it’s all in the name of creativity, I guess. Astrid likes going to them, actually, it’s where we met, so I try to make my best effort.”

His mention of Astrid makes me feel some kind of strange way, but I ignore my unsettlement. “So what are you thinking for this one?”

“Well, any ideas?”

“Hmmm… Marty McFly?” 

He laughs. “There will be at least three other Marty McFlys. Red puffer vest and blue jeans? Too easy.” 

“Well excuse me! You asked for a suggestion.”

“I was hoping for a good one.” 

“I forgot how sassy you are.”

“You missed that about me, I bet.”

“Did you assume I missed anything about you?” There’s a pause then, in which I instantly feel horrible, and the feeling only increases the longer he waits before saying anything. 

“Well-” He starts, but there seems to be a delay in the line as I end up cutting him off with my next panicked words. “So what idea did you have for a costume?”

He laughs in a somewhat self-conscious way, probably glad of the swerve. “Well I was thinking maybe Maverick from Top Gun.”

“Typical man choice.” I say immediately, which makes him laugh. “Sorry, is that too predictable for you?”

“I can see you doing that. Wearing your little bomber jacket and aviator shades, very hyper masculine. Men just love Tom Cruise.” 

“I am many things, but I don’t think I qualify as hyper masculine” He snorts. “Have you seen my cute little earrings?” 

“No, you’ve never once mentioned them.” 

“So I’m curious, what costume would you have picked if you were invited?” 

“Baby from Dirty Dancing.” I say immediately, because I’ve already been thinking about it for half this conversation. “I want to do that curly thing to my hair and see if it’d suit me.” I catch sight of my reflection while passing a stop window and pick out a strand of my limp, straight hair that has never seen texture beyond the loose waves that remain after I’ve taken my plaits out.

“It would. And the costume, would you go for the shirt and shorts or the pink dress from the ending?”

A smile twitches on my lips. “Sounds like you know Dirty Dancing pretty intimately.”

“A good movie is a good movie, I’m not embarrassed.” 

“I wasn’t suggesting you should be.”

“I can’t believe it, Evie.” He says with that easy laugh he always had. “You’re the very same as you used to be.” 

I baulk a little bit, because I don’t feel in any way the same as I used to back then, when every little thing I did would make me second guess myself, every word I spoke I’d agonise over, and now I don’t feel that easy as much. Now when I speak, people listen to what I say and seem to believe that I’m interesting, even if I don’t. The Evie I was back when he met me and the Evie I am now are nothing alike. “I’m not the same.”

“Well, I think that you are. You’re still so cheeky, you don’t let me get away with anything.”

“I don’t think I was like that back then.”

“What? Seriously?”

“No, I was just shy and awkward and self conscious all the time. I was a nightmare to be around.”

I hear him pause to consider this. “With all due respect, I probably wouldn’t have spent so much time with you if you were like that. You were shy, sure, but you were always funny.” 

“You thought I was funny?” 

“You don’t remember how much we used to laugh at everything?”

“Yes, but I felt like I was just laughing at the things you said because you were so funny.”

“I’m not that funny.” 

“Come on.”

“I’m not funny enough to carry an entire one of our conversations all by myself.” A pause. “You really don’t like that I’ve said that you’re the same, do you?”

“No.” I admit with some reluctance, glancing through the gates of George’s Street Arcade, all of the stalls chained and boarded up inside, seeing it so silent and empty for the first time. Eerie. 

“I’m sorry. You’re different too in loads of ways, I was just trying to say that the things I liked best about you are still intact, and I’m glad of it.”

“It’s okay, just sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy. I seem to remember things wrong a lot.”

“Mm?” He says encouragingly.

“Like, I dunno, it’s as though the way that I’ve stored things in my memory bank is different from how normal people do it. I tend to twist things to fit my own narrative, does that make sense?”

“Like what narrative?” 

“Like, I don’t know… like that I was a loser, or something.” My face gets hot despite the frigid air, and I feel I’m being too frank with him. He probably doesn’t care to hear it. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not really sure what I mean.”

“You were never a loser.” 

“That’s nice of you.” 

“I mean it! I always thought you were cool.” 

What on earth? I was never cool, especially not when I was seventeen, and I can’t help but scoff. 

He sighs. “Well, I’m not here to convince you. I’m just telling you what I thought, you can choose whether or not to believe me.”

“I don’t.”

“Damn, okay, well, you got me. You were the worst, and I hated hanging out with you.” Even though he’s clearly being sarcastic his words still kind of sting, as they reflect almost exactly what Kelly had said to me on Stephen’s night. Jude might not mean them, but someone else had. He seems to sense this and quickly backtracks. “Sorry, that was a stupid joke. Like I said, I’m not that funny.” 

“You are.” I say. “Actually, your whole thing is that you’re funny, but in a slightly mean way.” 

“So I have realised. You know I used to be really mean? Like when I was about fourteen, and I’ve always worried that the vibe stuck around. Did you think I had a mean boy vibe when we used to hang out?” 

Kind of, but I didn’t hate it.” I laugh through my nose, and my breath clouds in the air. “In fact I felt bad for liking it.”

“Who was I even mean to? I don’t remember.” He pauses and then adds, “Which I suppose goes to show how often I was a dickhead – I can’t even remember my own crimes.” 

“Liam.” I say.

“Oh yeah” He says remorsefully. “He probably didn’t deserve the shit he got. We were all mean to poor Liam. ”

“Speak for yourself, I was nice.”

“Oh come on, you were meanest of  us all.”

I scoff. “In what world?”

“Please, I didn’t reject his debs invitation and leave him destitute, crying on the beach in a wetsuit.”

“You’re created an entire false narrative here, he wasn’t crying.”

“Okay, sorry now, but there’s no scenario in my head in which he wasn’t. I just can’t imagine that. He was sobbing in my version of events.”

“Trust me Jude, he was fine. He drove away from me that day without shedding a single tear. Nobody was crying over me back then.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and for some reason my skin prickles like an icy wind has licked over me despite how I’ve warmed up from all of the walking. The silence only lasts for a beat and then his voice returns, bright and easy as ever. “So tell me, who did you end up taking to your debs in the end?”

“Oh God.” I breathe. “Where do I even begin with this? How much time do you have for the highlight reel of sixth year?”

“Lay it on me, Evie.” 

He keeps me company all the way back to my house, and doesn’t even hang up when he starts going in and out of shops in search of his Top Gun costume, giving me updates on what he’s finding, open to any and all suggestions I have about how to create his own patches that match the ones Tom wears in the film. I made him promise to send me a photo of the costume before he wears it out, and when he says he will I find myself actually believing him. 

I start feeling a little sad when I turn onto my street, knowing that I’ll have to hang up soon. We’ve been having so much fun and then… 

“Oh Jesus.” I say to myself as The front of my building comes into view, and I completely cut him off in the middle of a sentence. His voice comes back at me through her receiver, alarmed. “Did something just happen?”

“No, it’s fine, just, I have to go.”

“Okay well, call me back anyt-”

I hang up the phone and stuff it into my pocket as I march up the front steps to the apartment, feeling anger rising inside me.

“Dean!” I cry. He’s standing by the door, shoulder resting against the wall as though he’s been waiting there for a while, and he doesn’t look surprised to see me, fuming, charging up the steps towards him. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Prev // Next

[armandgender]

I am trans dean content starved, so please gimme a little crumb, a little something something, a measly little headcannon (or 30), a rant, anything, I beg of you 🙏 I am on this hellsite only for trans dean Winchester content and I just know you know what's up fr

okay sorry this took SO long to respond to but nothing was coming to me. anyway here’s 822 words of a trans dean s12 rewrite where Mary comes back and they both have to cope with how much everything has changed

—

When he spots her, shrouded in that nightgown, long hair as golden as he remembers, he assumes that Amara lied—that her gift for him was to die, and to go to heaven.

That wouldn’t be a bad gift, actually. To finally rest.

But this doesn’t feel like paradise. There’s still an ache in his knees and his upper back, and he’s almost choking on the sticky summer heat.

He takes a few steps, hands flexing, cautious. “Mom?”

Mary rises from her seat and fixes him with a look that lands somewhere between fear and confusion.

When she doesn’t say anything, Dean struggles to fill the silence himself. “Are you.. really…” he struggles to find the words, heart hammering in his throat “…real?” One hand extends towards her shoulder, shaky. It might just pass through.

But before he can make contact, she whips both hands across to grab his arm, hooks her foot around his leg, and slams him face down into the grass. She plants a foot against his neck to hold him there, surprisingly strong.

Yeah, she’s real.

“Where am I?” She demands, the smallest waver in her voice giving away her fear. “Who are you?”

This is gonna be a hard one to explain. “Ah—“ he grunts as she presses her heel harder against his neck. “I’m your son.”

“…Sam?” She starts to ease up.

Oops. “The other one.”

The air hums with cicadas. Dean is suddenly grateful for the fact that he’s facedown in the dirt, because he hasn’t had to acknowledge this truth about himself with anyone in a long, long time, and his face feels traitorously red.

“Deanna?” He tries, the name feeling ancient and foreign, like something he’d read out of one of the old lore tomes back in the bunker.

“No… my Deanna is four years old, and…”

Dean shifts beneath her, taking in a shaky breath. “A girl? Yeah. Didn’t stick,” he jokes.

She tightens her grip painfully.

“Ah— mom. I was four years old when you died,” he reminds her, shaky.

In a flash her grip is gone, feet scuffing in the grass as she stumbles back. Dean rises, palms out to catch the next attack—but Mary is bracing herself on the bench, bent over at the waist like she might throw up.

Believe it or not, Dean knows the feeling. The human brain doesn’t really want to remember its own death, and it hurts like a bitch when it all comes racing back in. He keeps his distance, trying to remember how Mary sees him—imposing and unfamiliar. A stranger.

That’s what he sees reflected in her eyes when she finally looks at him again.

“Listen, I know it sounds insane. I know,” he starts, but trails off, losing his pace. That’s his mom. Not a ghost. Not a memory. She’s real.

“How long have I been gone?” She asks, finally getting her balance back.

“Thirty-three years.” Longer than she was ever alive. Long enough that Dean has all but erased any trace of the child she remembers. “And you’re…” she looks him over again, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Dean,” he supplies. He tries to take it as a compliment when she looks skeptical. It would be hard to imagine him as a four year old girl, looking at him now. He’ll give her that.

“Listen, I… I know you, okay? You met John Winchester in 1972. Didn’t like him much at first but he grew on you, and the two of you got married in Reno in 1975. Your idea.” He huffs out a laugh, trying to ignore the anxiety building in his gut. “Your favorite song is Hey Jude. We used to dance to it in the kitchen. I tried to cheer you up by putting it on when dad walked out on us for a few days.”

Mary’s gaze softens. Dean searches her eyes, dying for an ounce of recognition. Love, even. Would she still love him?

She takes a few steps closer, stretching out a hand to rest against his chest, over his heart. Like she’s making sure he’s real. “Dean,” she repeats, trying the name on for size.

“Hi, mom.” Nice to meet you.

They teeter on the edge for a moment. Dean is ready to turn away. To hide his face when she rejects him.

Instead she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around him, warm and tight and god, she even smells the same. It’s a scent that doesn’t quite have a name. Just the scent of home, and of safety. Somewhere under his thickened skin, there’s just a four year old kid hanging onto his mother, burying his face in the soft fabric of her nightgown.

They linger there. It’s Mary who pulls away first. Dean turns to look towards the road, desperately trying to blink away tears. “We should, uh… everyone thinks I’m dead. We should get going.”