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lila-lou · 4 months ago

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✨Taking her in - Pt. 1✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 4536

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Living with the Winchesters had been a strange yet oddly comforting experience. A few years ago, you were just a scared kid, barely surviving on your own after your mom passed away. The world was a cruel place, and you had learned that the hard way. But that night—when those men had cornered you, when you thought it was all over—Dean appeared out of nowhere like a guardian angel, though with a lot more anger and fire in his eyes.

You still remembered the way he looked after it was all over, standing over the bodies of those men, his breath heavy, his knuckles bruised. Dean Winchester was no stranger to killing, but that night had been different. These weren’t monsters. They were people. And yet, he had done what he had to do, without hesitation, to save you.

When he brought you to the bunker, you were too shocked to argue much. The bunker was unlike any place you’d ever known—safe, hidden from the world, and full of secrets you could never have imagined. Dean had said it was just until you got back on your feet, just until he was sure you were okay. But somehow, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and now, years had passed.

You never talked about that night, not in detail. Sam had tried a couple of times, but you always shut him down. Dean never brought it up either. Maybe it was because you all knew there was nothing left to say. Or maybe it was because none of you wanted to face what it meant—that Dean had killed for you, that he had saved you in a way you couldn’t quite repay.

But despite the horrors you had faced before meeting the Winchesters, the bunker had become a home. It wasn’t like the life you had before, where survival meant scrapping by on whatever you could find, sleeping with one eye open. Here, you had a family. Dean and Sam—despite all their mess and chaos—had become the brothers you never had. They taught you everything you needed to know to protect yourself from the supernatural, but more than that, they showed you what it meant to have someone’s back, to care about someone even when the world was falling apart.

Now, your 18th birthday was coming up, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of you felt like you should leave, like you should go out and start your own life. But another part of you—the part that had grown accustomed to the safety of the bunker, the warmth of the Winchesters—didn’t want to let go.

Even after all this time, the question still lingered in the back of your mind: why had Dean been so insistent on bringing you back to the bunker that night? It wasn’t like him to make such impulsive decisions, especially when it came to something as personal as taking in a stranger. Dean was a protector, sure, but he didn’t make a habit of dragging people into his life, especially not into the heart of the Winchesters’ world.

But with you, something had been different. Something had driven him to take that extra step, to bring you home, and even now, none of you could quite figure out why.

Dean had always been guarded, keeping his thoughts and emotions close to his chest. But from the moment he had found you, something had shifted in him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The way he watched over you, more protective than usual, always making sure you were okay, even when you didn’t want to admit that you needed it. Sam noticed it too, the way Dean would check in on you late at night when he thought no one was watching, or how he would get that distant look in his eyes whenever the topic of your past came up.

It wasn’t that he pitied you—Dean Winchester wasn’t the type to pity anyone. It was something else, something deeper. And yet, no matter how many times you tried to puzzle it out, you never came any closer to understanding what had driven him to act that night.

Dean never took you with them on a hunt, no matter how much you argued or tried to convince him that you were ready. It was frustrating, especially after all the training they’d put you through, drilling you on everything from how to banish a ghost to the proper way to handle a silver blade. The supernatural world had terrified you at first—so much so that, in the beginning, you’d freaked out so badly that Sam and Dean had to tie you down until you could calm yourself. But you’d learned, adapted, and eventually, you stopped being scared. At least, you stopped showing it.

Still, no matter how much you insisted that you were ready, Dean refused to let you join them on hunts. He was firm about it, more so than usual, and it always left you feeling like you were still that scared kid they’d found all those years ago.

Today, the frustration had reached a boiling point. You’d spent the day in the bunker, alone, while they were out doing what they did best. By the time you heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling into the garage, you were practically seething.

As soon as the garage door creaked open, you saw them—Dean, covered in blood, and Sam, looking equally worn out but less battered. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice but failing miserably as you grumbled, “How was it?”.

Dean didn’t even look at you as he brushed past, his expression dark, a sure sign that things hadn’t gone smoothly. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something sharper, more on edge, and that only made your frustration spike.

“Still a bit fucked up since I had to stay behind. Again”, you added, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Dean froze in his tracks, his back stiffening. He slowly turned to face you, and for a moment, you saw something flash in his eyes—something between anger and fear, though you couldn’t quite pin it down. His voice was low, almost a growl, when he finally spoke. “You think I want you out there? You think I’m keeping you here just for fun?”.

Sam, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, clearly torn between stepping in and giving you space to work it out. But he stayed silent, letting Dean handle it.

Your irritation flared. “I’ve been here for years, Dean. I know what’s out there, and I’m not some helpless kid anymore. I can handle myself”.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not keeping you here because I don’t think you can handle yourself. I’m keeping you here because I don’t want you out there, getting hurt, or worse”.

You didn’t back down, meeting his glare head-on. “That’s not your decision to make, Dean. I’ve been through enough. I deserve to be out there, helping, not sitting around like some… liability”.

Dean’s face twisted into something almost pained, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you what was really going on, why he was so adamant about keeping you out of the field. But then, just as quickly, the mask was back, and he shook his head, frustration radiating off him.

“Enough, Y/N”, he snapped, turning away from you again, as if the conversation was over. But you weren’t ready to let it drop.

“Yes, Dean, it’s enough!”, you shot back, stepping into his path. “You keep treating me like a kid, but I’m not. Why can’t you see that?”.

Dean’s eyes blazed as he glared at you, his face a mixture of anger something deeper, more desperate. His voice came out like a whip, sharp and cutting. “Go to your fucking room, Y/N!”.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Dean had been angry before, sure, but this? This was different. The raw intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but instead of backing down, you found yourself standing your ground, defiance burning in your chest.

You raised your brows, trying to decide if you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of him ordering you around like a child, or scream at him for treating you like one. The corner of your mouth twitched upward despite the tension, and you could see the effect it had on him immediately. If Dean was pissed before, now he looked like he was barely holding himself together as he saw the hint of a smirk on your face. It was as if your defiance was the last thing holding him together, but also the thing threatening to tear him apart. His fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles still raw from whatever fight he and Sam had just returned from, and for a moment, you thought he might actually lose it.

But instead of yelling again, instead of pushing further, he just closed his eyes for a brief second, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain control. When he opened them again, his expression had shifted—still intense, but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. Pain? Fear? It was hard to tell.

The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension as Dean’s voice, low and dangerously calm, filled the space. “I fucking swear, Y/N, if you won’t go to your fucking room now, I’m gonna lose my shit”. The words were delivered with such a raw, barely contained fury that it made your breath hitch in your throat. You’d never seen him like this before, not even during the worst of hunts or the most heated arguments. Even Sam, who had seen Dean at his worst, looked shocked—his eyes widening in surprise and concern as he watched his brother teeter on the edge.

For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wanted to push back, to keep fighting, but the other part—the part that had spent the last few years learning to read Dean, understanding the depths of his pain and the limits of his patience—knew that this wasn’t the time. The way his chest heaved, the tightness in his jaw, the wild look in his eyes… He was hanging by a thread, and if you pushed him any further, you weren’t sure what would happen.

Your smirk faded as the seriousness of the situation sank in. You weren’t just in the middle of an argument anymore; you were standing at the edge of something far more dangerous. The fight left your body all at once, replaced by a heavy, sinking feeling in your gut.

“Okay”, you said, the defiance in your voice replaced with something calmer, more measured. You held your hands up in a gesture of surrender, trying to show him that you understood, that you were backing down. “I’ll go”.

Dean didn’t say anything, just watched you with those burning eyes, his fists still clenched so tight you could see the muscles straining in his forearms. He looked like as if the smallest thing might set him off.

You walked away without another word, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly down the hallway as you left Dean and Sam alone in the heavy silence of the bunker. The tension you left behind was palpable, thick enough that it seemed to hang in the air, making it difficult to breathe.

Sam watched you go, his brow furrowed with concern, before turning his attention back to Dean. His brother was still standing in the same spot, fists clenched at his sides, his entire body taut as if he was ready to snap at any moment. Sam knew Dean well enough to recognize when he was dangerously close to the edge, and right now, he was teetering on it.

“Dean”, Sam started cautiously, his voice low and calm, trying to diffuse the tension. “You need to take a breath, man. You’re too worked up”.

Dean didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were still locked on the spot where you had just stood, his mind clearly racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate. It wasn’t until Sam took a step closer, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder, that Dean seemed to snap out of whatever dark place his mind had gone.

“Dean, talk to me”, Sam urged, his voice soft but insistent. “What’s really going on?”.

Dean’s eyes finally met Sam’s, and for a moment, it looked like he might shut down entirely. But then, as if the weight of everything he was holding inside became too much to bear, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, shaky breath.

“I’m losing it, Sam”, Dean admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and stripped of all its usual bravado. “I’m losing it with her”.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulder, his concern deepening. “What do you mean?".

Dean shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand how dangerous this life is. I can’t… I can’t let her go out there, Sam. Not her”.

Sam sighed, understanding more clearly now what was eating away at his brother. “Dean, I get it. You’re scared. But Y/N’s not a kid anymore. She’s strong, and she’s been through a lot. You can’t keep her locked up here forever”.

But that was exactly the point, and it gnawed at Dean in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend—or maybe just didn’t want to. He didn’t want to accept the fact that you weren’t a kid anymore, that you were growing up right in front of him. Every day that brought you closer to your 18th birthday was like a ticking clock in the back of his mind, counting down to a moment he wasn’t ready to face.

No one knew how Dean really felt about you. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he understood it himself. From the moment he had saved you years ago, something had shifted inside him. He could still remember the look in your eyes that night, the way your fear had melted into a kind of cautious trust as you looked up at him, and how, in that instant, his heart had clenched in a way it hadn’t in years.

He’d buried those feelings deep, refusing to acknowledge them, convincing himself it was nothing more than a protective instinct. You were just a kid, after all, someone who needed looking after, someone who had no one else in the world. And Dean was good at protecting people—that was what he did, what he had always done. But as the years passed, that simple instinct grew into something more complicated, something that twisted inside him, especially as you grew older.

Dean knew he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t afford to explore. You were still so young, and he had no business feeling anything for you beyond what a protector should feel. But now, with your 18th birthday looming, the reality was hitting him harder than he ever anticipated. Soon, you’d be legally grown up, able to make your own choices, live your own life. And the thought of losing you to that, of not being able to keep you safe the way he had for the past years, was driving him crazy.

Sam’s words echoed in his mind—You can’t keep her locked up here forever. He knew Sam was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Deep down, he was terrified. Not just of the dangers you’d face out there, but of what it would mean if he had to face the truth of his own feelings. Feelings that he had buried so deep that even he couldn’t fully acknowledge them, but that were starting to claw their way to the surface.

“Dean”, Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, grounding him. “You have to let her grow up. She’s strong enough to handle this, and you know it. What are you so afraid of?”.

Dean swallowed hard, his throat tight. He could feel the storm of emotions churning inside him, but he couldn’t let them out. Not to Sam, not to anyone. He forced himself to meet Sam’s gaze, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t quite hide.

“I just… I can’t let anything happen to her, Sam”.

“I get that, Dean. But she’s got a right to make her own choices. You can’t keep treating her like she’s still that scared kid you found years ago”.

Dean didn’t want to think about it any longer. The more he let his mind wander down that dangerous path, the more tangled and twisted his thoughts became, until it felt like he was drowning in them. The knot in his chest tightened, and the walls of the bunker suddenly felt too close, too confining.

“I’m gonna take a shower”, he muttered, the words coming out gruff and clipped, as if speaking them was a chore. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as if each step required more effort than it should.

Sam watched him go, concern etched into every line of his face. He wanted to follow, to press Dean further, but he knew his brother well enough to recognize when he needed space. This was something Dean had to work through on his own, at least for now.

Dean’s mind was still racing as he reached the bathroom. He closed the door behind him with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the small space. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him was a mess—bloodstains on his shirt, smudges of dirt and grime on his face, and eyes that looked far more exhausted than they should.

He tore his gaze away from the mirror, not wanting to face the reality of what he saw there. Instead, he focused on the mundane task of stripping off his clothes, each movement deliberate and methodical, trying to find some semblance of control in the routine.

The hot water hit his skin like a scalding wave, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he welcomed the burning sensation, hoping it might somehow wash away the thoughts that were eating him alive. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the physical sensation of the water, his mind kept drifting back to you—how you had looked at him with defiance and hurt in your eyes, how you had walked away without another word.

Dean leaned his head against the cool tiles of the shower, letting the water cascade over him, trying to drown out the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

He rubbed his face hard. The tension in his body only seemed to tighten with every second. Frustration bubbled up inside him as he blindly reached for the nearest bottle of shower gel, squeezing a generous amount into his hand. But the moment the sweet scent of vanilla hit his nose, his body reacted instantly, and not in the way he intended.

His breath hitched, and he cursed under his breath as blood rushed down to his crotch, his body betraying him in a way that made his skin crawl with shame. It was your scent—soft, warm, and undeniably you. The same scent that clung to the spaces you frequented in the bunker, that lingered faintly in the air whenever you passed by. He’d never let himself acknowledge how much that scent affected him before, how it seemed to wrap around his senses and pull him into thoughts he had no business having.

Dean’s hand tightened around the bottle, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to control the unwanted arousal that surged through him. He didn’t want this—didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to be the kind of man who thought about someone he was supposed to protect like this. But the scent was inescapable now, filling his lungs, invading his mind, and dragging him down a path he had tried so hard to avoid.

“Damn it!", he muttered, slamming the bottle back down on the ledge with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the steamy space. His free hand pressed against the tile wall. He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to think of anything else—anything but the way your scent clung to him now, making him think of how close you were, just a few rooms away.

But his mind wasn’t cooperating. Images of you kept flashing in his mind—your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you were teasing him or Sam, the way your body moved with a confidence that had grown over the past years. He could see the way you looked at him, the mix of frustration and something else in your eyes, something that made his heart stutter in his chest. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, those thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter, the guilt and shame mixing with the undeniable need that was pulsing through him. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were someone he cared about, someone he was supposed to look after, not someone he was supposed to feel like this about. But the more he tried to deny it, the stronger the pull became, the harder it was to ignore the way his body responded to you.

“Get it together”, he growled to himself, trying to will his body to calm down, to stop reacting to something that should have never been an issue in the first place. But it was no use. The scent of vanilla was too strong, too intertwined with the image of you, and the more he tried to fight it, the more he felt like he was losing control.

Desperation clawed at him as he turned the shower knob, the water suddenly turning ice-cold. The shock of it hit him like a punch to the gut, but he welcomed it, hoping the frigid temperature would snap him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. The cold water rushed over his skin, causing goosebumps to rise and his muscles to tense.

His hand still pressed against the wall, Dean leaned his forehead against the cold tiles, letting the water beat down on him as he tried to focus on anything but the ache that was building in his body. He needed to get control, needed to shove these feelings back into the box he had locked them. But it was harder than he had expected—so much harder than it should have been.

Minutes passed, the cold water numbing his skin. Eventually, his breathing slowed, and the intensity of the arousal began to fade, leaving behind a cold, hollow feeling that settled in his chest. He felt like he’d crossed a line, even if only in his mind, and the shame of it was almost unbearable.

Finally, when Dean couldn’t stand the cold water anymore, he shut it off and leaned back against the shower wall, his breath coming in slow, steadying gasps. The biting chill had done its job, numbing his skin and, to some extent, dulling the raw edge of his thoughts, though the shame lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

For a moment, he just stood there, eyes closed, trying to push everything out of his mind. He knew he needed to get a grip on himself, to regain some semblance of control before he faced you or Sam again. The last thing he wanted was to let them see just how close to the edge he was, how badly he was fighting to keep everything in check.

With a deep breath, Dean grabbed his own bottle of shower gel and squeezed a small amount into his hand, the familiar scent of cedar and spice grounding him. He lathered it up quickly, scrubbing his skin with a kind of urgency, as if he could wash away not just the grime from the hunt, but the thoughts that had crept into his mind uninvited. He repeated the process with his shampoo, letting the suds rinse away the last remnants of the day, trying to focus on the simple, repetitive motions.

Dean finished rinsing off and turned the water off with a sense of finality. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then stood in the small, steamy bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror once more. His face was flushed from the hot and cold water, his hair damp and tousled, but it was the look in his eyes that bothered him the most.

He looked… haunted. Like a man fighting a battle he knew he couldn’t win. And maybe that was exactly what was happening. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, to push it down, the feelings he had for you were there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for a moment of weakness to break free.

But he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. You deserved better than that—better than him. You were young, strong, full of potential, and you had a life ahead of you that didn’t need to be weighed down by his baggage. By his feelings.

Dean clenched his jaw, forcing those thoughts back down, locking them away in that box inside his mind where he kept everything that threatened to break him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it, couldn’t afford to let himself slip. He had a job to do, and that was protecting you, keeping you safe.

With that final, resolute thought, Dean wrapped the towel tighter around his waist and opened the bathroom door. His mind was still racing, but he forced himself to focus on the immediate task—getting dressed, getting his head on straight, and burying these unwanted feelings deep where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

———————————

A/N: After I already started a damn long story for Jensen and Soldier Boy, here's one for Dean.

Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

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#jensen ackles #dean and sam #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #taking her in

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shanastoryteller · 2 months ago

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Sam seems convinced this is going to work, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s just a load of crap. Bobby’s even more convinced that it’s a whole lot of nothing, although he had admitted that he couldn’t read every symbol that Sam had added to this mess up devil’s trap. That didn’t mean it would work. It just meant that Sam had thrown everything he could think into it.

The real reason that Dean is going along with this, and probably Bobby is too, is because it means that Sam wouldn’t be alone after Dean is dragged to hell. Although standing in the middle of Bobby’s junkyard in a mess of spray paint isn’t exactly how he’d wanted to spend the last hour of his life.

“You really think Lilith is going to show?” he asks. He doesn’t know why she would. She just has to send the hellhounds, who’s howls and yips Dean has been hearing for days. And those things have never been stopped by any sort of devil’s trap.

“Yes,” Sam says, tense, not looking at him.

That’s another thing. For weeks Sam has barely looked at him, barely talked to him. Which sucks, because he’d really wanted to spend the last weeks of his life just looking and talking to and spending time with his brother, but Sam hadn’t been interested in that. At all.

He shares a look with Bobby, who just shrugs, hands tight on his shotgun.

Then the hellhounds come, just like he knew they would, no Lilith in sight. “Sammy,” he says, reaching out for his brother. Not because he thinks he can do anything, but because he wants to touch Sam one last time, one last memory to sustain him through hell.

Sam snaps out his hand and the hellhounds go skittering back, letting out pained yowls.

Dean stares, not understanding. “What did you – wait. You can see them?”

Only he should be able to see them. He’s the one that made the deal.

Sam still won’t look at him, damnit, even as Dean fists his hand in the back of his shirt. Sam's voice is low and pained when he says, “I’m sorry.”

Fear clenches in his gut. But before he do anything, there are demons surrounding the devil’s trap, appearing one by one in Bobby’s junkyard. They’d needed to take down his protections so Lilith could get in, but they hadn’t expected this. Of course she brought a freaking audience.

“Which one of you is Lilith?” he barks out, dragging Sam behind him. He refuses to let the last thing he sees be his brother hurt, or worse.

Dozens of demons stand there, human vessels with pitch black eyes. The hellhounds whimper and slink around them, but don’t seem interested in getting any closer. Dean can’t blame them.

Sam pries his hand off of him, stepping away before Dean can grab onto him again. He leaves the safety of the devil’s trap, which is fucking stupid. Dean’s lunging forward to stop him, but then there’s Bobby’s arm holding him back, face pale with a horror Dean doesn’t understand. He hadn’t looked like that even at Cold Oak, when they’d seen the gates open to hell.

The demons bow.

He blinks, not understanding what he’s seeing.

Sam is standing there in front of them, no protections, and they’re all bowing to him.

Except one.

Ruby is there, stupid red leather jacket and blonde hair and the smirk he hates so much. She walks around the demons up to Sam, who’s face is cold and expressionless. “She’s coming.”

“I know,” he says. “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you.”

“Promise?” she returns. “If this doesn’t work, death will be a mercy.”

Dean tries to push Bobby off of him, to get in between Sam and this bitch, but he doesn’t let go.

Then there’s a little girl in a white dress, head tilted to the side. “Something here belongs to me.”

Ruby flinches, stepping just slightly behind Sam.

“Not you,” she sneers. “You haven’t belonged to me in a long time, I fear. You really think that this boy can save you?”

“Sam,” Ruby says.

He sighs, like this is a trial, and raises his hand.

Lilith’s sneer drops from her face. Her upper body yanks forward, but her legs won't move. “You bastard,” she snarls, raising her hand in return, but nothing happens.

For the first time, fear flickers across her face.

Ruby steps forward, her own terror swallowed up by arrogance, by delight.

Dean tries to move, but finds he’s just as frozen as Lilith, even more so. He can’t twitch a single muscle. Going by Bobby’s unnatural stillness next to him, he assumes he’s in the same boat.

“Samuel is the heir of the light bringer,” Ruby says. “He has taken his birthright. You can’t touch him.”

What’s she talking about? What birthright?

What has Sam done?

“No,” Lilith snarls. “He’s nothing more than one of Azazel’s experiments.”

“A night, a full day, and then morning,” Ruby says. “That’s what he was. Then he rose on the third day.” She shoots a mocking look his way. “If it weren’t for his brother, he would have died nothing more than a failed experiment. But he has risen.”

No. What does that mean? What’s she saying? He had just wanted Sammy back.

Did he do this? Is this his fault?

“Ruby,” Sam says, a note of warning in his voice.

“Right, right,” she sighs. Then, back to gleeful, “Her eyes.”

Sam’s finger twitches and Lilith’s eyes bleed black tears.

She screams, the sound even worse because her vessel is a child.

Ruby lists thing after thing, pulling out her fingernails, peeling her skin. Her blood is black, none of it red, and the injuries shouldn’t really be hurting her but they clearly are. Dean watches helplessly as Sam tortures Lilith at Ruby’s command, enacting one terrible thing against her after another.

Lilith lies there, moaning, limbs broken, body in pieces.

“That’s enough,” Sam says.

“Enough?” Ruby hisses, turning to face him. “You know what she did to me! She – she–”

Sam’s stoic mask breaks, creasing in sympathy. Dean would prefer it wasn’t for a demon, for Ruby, but at least he now recognizes his brother. He raises his free hand to her head, his touch an oddly gentle counterpoint to everything he’s done to Lilith. “I know. But it’s enough.”

Tears glint in her eyes, just for a second, then she swallows and nods, stepping away from Sam’s hand.

He steps forward, crouching in front of Lilith. “You shouldn’t have come after my brother. Now we both have to live with the consequences.” His mouth twists. "So to speak."

Whatever she would have said in response is lost in her screams. Black smoke pours from her, then lights up, like a spark in steel wool, the fire moving through her reminding him almost of the Colt.

Lilith dies. Sam kills her, no Colt, no devil’s trap. Nothing but his own terrifying powers.

“Will you bow to me now?” he asks.

Ruby tears her eyes from Lilith’s corpse and her irritating fucking smirk slides back into place. “Now?” She steps closer, tilting her head back almost like she’s about to kiss him, then falls gracefully to her knees in front of him. It looks more like she’s about to give him a blowjob than a form of subservience, but he thinks that for a moment Sam almost seems amused. “I bowed to you first.”

“So you did,” he says softly. He raises his voice. “Move out. Casey. You know your job.”

“Yes, sire,” says one of the demons, voice almost familiar.

Then Sam’s walking away, Ruby just a step behind him. The other demons follow suit, the hellhounds not even glancing at Dean as they get caught up in the procession.

Sam still won’t look at him. He only sees the back of his brother��s head as he leaves him behind

The only demon left is Casey. He knows her, he recognizes her, the demon he’d been trapped with in that city full of sin, the one that Sam had shot and killed. He’d seen him kill her.

She gets to her feet, offering him a smile as she draws closer. “Hello, Dean. I bet you never thought you’d see me again.”

She steps right into the devil’s trap and presses a hand to him and Bobby each. As soon as she touches them, they’re able to move, darting away from her and leaving her stuck in the devil’s trap.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, wishing his voice wasn’t shaking, but he has more important things to worry about.

She turns to face them. “Samuel does not want you to die. He did what he had to do to ensure you wouldn’t.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Bobby asks gruffly.

“I told you back then I was ready to follow Sam,” she says, stepping out of the devil’s trap like it’s nothing, which she definitely shouldn’t be able to do. Bobby hadn't thought that this thing would be able to contain Lilith, but Casey’s nowhere near Lilith’s level. It should work on her just fine.

Bobby’s hand darts out, throwing holy water over her, but it doesn’t so much as steam.

She just looks amused. “That won’t work on me now. Neither will an exorcism, or any of the usual tricks. I have been purified.” She holds out her hand to Dean and it’s the Colt, the one that they’d lost when Bela sold it. “This is the only thing that will kill me now.”

“And you’re just handing it over?” Dean asks.

“I have my orders,” she says steadily. “Samuel wants you to have it.”

His entire body goes gold.

“What do you mean purified?” Bobby asks, shooting Dean a concerned look. “You’re a demon. Purifying you should kill you.”

“And was Lucifer a demon?” she asks. “I have taken the sacrament.”

Dean doesn’t know what that means, but Bobby’s expression shifts from disgust to shock to a horror filled curiosity. “You drank Sam’s blood?”

She did what?

“I have taken the sacrament,” she repeats, lifting her chin. “Samuel purified me.”

How the hell would Sam’s blood do that? Why had she drank it in the first place? She’s a demon, not a damn vampire. Dean pushes those questions aside and instead asks, “How are you even alive?”

“Samuel resurrected me,” she says. First he can kill demons, and now he can bring them back? “He knows we had a rapport and he thought it would be easier if it was me.”

“What would be easier?” he asks. His head is spinning and his heart hurts and he doesn’t understand anything that just happened. At least being dragged to hell would have been simpler.

She presses the Colt into his hands. “Samuel doesn’t want you to die. He knows this will be difficult for you, that you’ll make poor choices. I have my orders. I am to stay with you and keep you alive. We’re going to get to know each other very well, Dean.”

“Like hell,” he says gruffly, hand tightening as he takes the Colt and raises it to her head. “What’s to stop me from killing you?”

“The same thing that will stop you from killing Samuel,” she says and he flinches. “Nothing.”

He stares at her. He can’t bring himself to speak.

“You’ll have to hunt him down the old fashioned way,” she says casually. “But if you can find him, you can kill him. We’re all under orders not to touch you. Samuel won’t stop you if you want kill him. The same way I won’t stop you if you want to kill me.”

“Why?” he asks.

She shrugs. “It’s always been up to you, Dean. He trusts you. If you decide that he must die, then he’s willing to die.”

Dean sold his soul for him. He’s not going to fucking kill him.

But the Sam he sold his soul for wasn’t capable of doing that to Lilith. He wouldn’t have even wanted to be.

“What about your demon lover?” Dean asks, thinking of the priest that Casey had embraced and kissed, the demon she’d begged to spare Dean’s life before Sam had killed them both. “Sam bring him back too?”

Grief chases across her face before she smooths it away. “He will. If I am good, and obedient, and loyal, then Samuel will bring him back for me.”

Dean’s stomach rolls to hear Sam described like that, like some sort of tyrant or king. Like Dad. “You really believe that?”

Casey meets his gaze steadily as she echoes the words she’d said to him in that basement as she spoke of Lucifer, except now she’s talking about his brother. “I have faith.”

#children yearn for the original S3 ending #supernatural

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wildwestdean · 1 month ago

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wish list

summary: dean shares his christmas wish with you

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 845

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, confessions, idiots in love

a/n: a short and sweet piece for day one of the Promt-Mas 2024 event in our lovely supernatural writers community; prompt 1 'all i want for christmas'

“What do you want for Christmas?” you asked, phone cradled to your ear.

It was a simple question, one that had been asked many times before, yet it still made Dean stop in his tracks as he hesitated over his answer.

“And don’t say pie,” you added playfully, pulling a chuckle from his lips.

“Well, I can’t answer your question then, sweetheart,” he teased.

“Oh, c’mon!” you groaned. “There has to be something you want.”

Dean sighed, kicking his feet up on the table in the war room as he leaned back in his chair. He’s starting to feel like he never leaves this spot, sitting here like a sad puppy waiting for you to walk through the bunker door ever since you left two weeks ago, eager to help Jody and Donna work a case; a case that ended in the three of you taking a girls trip to some retreat in the mountains.

He wanted you to come home.

“Dean?” you called softly, pulling him from his thoughts when he took longer than usual to answer.

“I don’t want anything,” he lied, shrugging his shoulders despite the fact you couldn’t see him.

“Liar,” you laughed, easily picking up on his fib.

He couldn’t help but smile, the fuzzy feeling settling in his stomach once more at the realization of how well you know him.

“What do you want?” he asked, hoping to flip the spotlight onto you.

“Nuh-uh,” you tsked. “You’re not getting out of this so easily, Winchester.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” he joked, voice laced with laughter.

“I can be even worse!” you threatened with a laugh. “What if I guess? Will you tell me if I guess it?”

“Sure, why not?” he agreed, mainly because he knew you’d never get it right.

He listened with a grin as you rambled on, listing every possible thing that came to your mind for what he may want. Some were things that he himself didn’t even know he wanted, and while he did admit to them being good ideas, he remained adamant they weren’t his main wish; yet still refused to give an inch as to what that may be.

“Would you stop being so stubborn?” you huffed in exasperation, knowing you should admit defeat but not wanting to; you were just as stubborn as him when it came down to it.

“Why is it so important to you?” he asked with a laugh, finding your irritation over the situation rather endearing.

“Because you’re important to me,” you told him. “I don’t want to get you just anything and call it a day. Yeah, I have some things for you already, but I want you to have something that’ll make you truly happy. Something special, y’know?”

Dean fell silent after your explanation, your words bouncing around in his head as he tried to think of what to say, as he wondered how best to tell you.

“Are you embarrassed to tell me or something? Because you should know by now that I’d never-”

“Come home,” he said quietly, cutting off your speech.

“Stop trying to change the subject,” you chuckled, not understanding what he was telling you.

“No, I-” he started, taking a shaky breath. “That- that’s what I want.”

“You… want me to come home?” you questioned, clearly confused.

“I want you,” he admitted, his heart hammering against his ribcage so fiercely he wondered if you could hear it.

You fell so silent on the other end that he actually had to pull the phone away to make sure the call was still connected.

“Me?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“You,” he confirmed, chuckling nervously. “You’re what makes me happy, sweet girl. Hell, there was a point that I thought I’d never be truly happy again… and then one day, you showed up. There’s nothing that’ll be more special to me than you, sweetheart."

“So… what you’re saying is that I don’t need to spend money on you this year?” you asked playfully, trying to cover up your nerves with a joke.

He let out a laugh, feeling some of his nerves starting to settle. “I’m saying all I want for Christmas is you.”

“Only for Christmas, though, right?” you wondered, and Dean could just about hear the grin you wore.

“Well,” Dean said contemplatively. “I was thinking I might keep you for, say… rest of our lives?”

“Are you seriously confessing your love with a phone call?” you asked with a giggle, feeling giddy beyond belief.

“No,” he said casually. “I’ll wait until you’re finally home to really say those words.”

“Oh, okay,” you replied in understanding. “Well, guess it’s a good thing I’m home, then.”

Before he could respond, the bunker door screeched open as you finally stepped inside, and he quickly met your gaze as you grinned down at him from the railing. He matched your grin, standing from the chair as he ended the call.

“Well,” you called down to him, laughing with glee. “Don’t you have a confession to make?”

taglist: @roseblue373, @redmaro86, @snowayumi, @iluvdeanwinchester, @winharry, @star-yawnznn, @jc-winchester

if you'd like to be added or removed from this list, please let me know!

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willowsages-blog · 8 months ago

Text

the charming man: Dean Winchester x female reader

Warnings: demon Dean x innocent female reader

“It’s not going to fit.” You say warily.

“We both know that’s not true.”

Dean's sitting in front of you, hand lazily moving up and down. You raise an eyebrow.

“Are you forgetting you took my virginity like only a week ago?”

He smirks at that, hand movements speeding up slightly.

Dean has spent the past week fucking you, spending all his free time trying to get you in bed with him. He seemed to be insatiable, having had a taste of you and not wanting to let go.

You were brushing your teeth one evening when he comes up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist.

You smile around your toothbrush, always welcoming the presence of your boyfriend. You had just figured this was his typical clinginess, wanting to be beside you every minute he can until you fully take him in through the mirror, noticing his appearance was different.

His hair was tousled as if he’s been running his hands through it for the past couple of minutes, and he was already planting sloppy kisses along your neck, trailing from your collarbone upwards.

He’s suddenly murmuring into your ear, “Wanna see you on top of me, angel.”

Everything you two had done for the most part has been pretty standard, missionary every night and alternating sloppy head in the morning.

You hadn’t ventured too far into the sex world, and now that he was bringing new positions up, nerves were starting to ignite in your stomach.

“ I, I don’t know how.” You admit, knowing that that was already obvious to him. However, you were still caught up in wanting to impress him and make every new experience for you even better for his years of experience.

“Don’t care, I’ll show you.” He mumbles, still focused on marking up your neck, moving on to another side when he gets bored of the other.

Which is how you found yourself standing in front of him, you still in bra and underwear as he’s completely naked.

He’s stroking himself, watching you like you're his own personal playboy, and you can’t help but clench your thighs at the imagery.

“C’mere.” Dean grabs your waist, pulling you, so you’re directly on top of his upper thighs. You squirm slightly, and Dean can feel you dripping onto his leg.

“Why don’t you want to?” He’s not teasing you, just simply wanting to understand your boundaries and ease any nerves.

“Are you forgetting the part about you being too big?” You roll your eyes.

While he had been able to bottom out since the first time, it still was a stretch, and he had to prepare you every time, fingering and eating you out before he could finally chase his own relief.

You were unsure how you were going to be able to focus and be in control like how he clearly expected; you were so used to him guiding you through everything.

You trusted Dean, knowing that he would never settle for anything less than the best for you.

And you know this was all still part of a deep-rooted insecurity of him having more experience than you, but he leans up to kiss you deeply,

and you’re moving on his thighs again, dragging wetness across his tattoo. He groans lowly in his throat, looking down at the small wet spot on his leg before looking back up at you.

“Want you to fuck me. Please - angel.” There’s something so pretty about the way begging sounds coming from him that you nod, knowing that he could drag you to hell and back if he asked nicely enough.

You lean in to kiss Dean, feeling brave, and slowly slip your mouth open, tongue brushing against his. You position yourself, so you’re sitting on top of him as he trails his kisses down your neck and chest, leaving dark marks along the way.

“ I know you’re wet for me, want it just as much as I do.” He murmurs after a particularly harsh suck on your collarbone, dragging a finger under your clothed center to prove his point.

You buck your hips slightly, missing the way he drags his finger, so it just barely brushes your clit, and Dean gets the message, pushing one finger in between your slit.

You’re used to this, familiar with the way he fingers you and stretches you out so you can take all of him.

He adds another and then another, watching at the way your body takes three of his thick fingers.

In his defense, he is patient. He curls his fingers inside of you, repeatedly moving as you continue to leak more and more for him. You moan slightly, chest arching into him.

You keep moaning, louder and louder, until your cumming all over his hand, only the first orgasm of the night.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty for me, angel.” Your face heats up slightly, hiding in his shoulder while he sucks your arousal off his fingers shamelessly.

You’re still not used to his excessive praising even if your body reacts differently. Still,

it does light a fire in you, wanting to keep hearing the sweet compliments come out of his mouth.

He's helping you get undressed, unclasping your bra and tearing your underwear off until you push him back,

making sure he’s flat against the bed and rising so your pussy is directly above him.

Dean watches intently, eyes never leaving the way you slowly sink down on him.

He lets you get adjusted, getting used to the fact you can feel every throbbing inch of him. You both let out a soft moan,

his head falling back when you slowly rise back up.

You get to the point where only his tip is still inside you before dropping back down again, slowly grinding up and down his dick.

It’s not breakneck, nothing too incredible, you still trying to get used to the pace and too wrapped up in your own head on what’ll make him feel good.

, Dean, however, is in his own world. On Cloud 9, as he watches you drag yourself up and down, up and down.

His eyes are glued to where the two of you are connected,

trying to commit every single moment to memory, so he never forgets this.

“Look so fucking good like this.” He growls, placing a hand on your ass, not doing anything but to ground himself in this euphoria he seems to have found himself in.

He leans up to suck on your nipple, harshly sucking on your tit while playing with the other.

You whine loudly, rhythm faltering as his tip grazes against your g-spot.

“Fuck, Dean. So big.” The only thing that comes to mind, is because he is. Even underneath you,

you feel overwhelmed by just him: by his body, by his dick, by the twisted look of pleasure on his face,

by the low grunts that keep spilling out whenever you twist your hips a certain way. It’s overwhelming, and his presence seems larger than life when he’s stretched out like this underneath you.

He wraps an arm around your waist, noticing how your pace is slowly starting to falter as you get tired, and starts thrusting up into you, planting his feet so he can reach even further and deeper than before.

Your moans pick back up, watching as his face is set in concentration.

It’s funny how you had set out on making this night about him, and yet he’s grinding his hips into yours, set on making you cum before him.

He smiles smugly up at you, watching as your eyes roll back when he thrusts deep inside.

“Shit, Dean. I thought I was supposed to be - fuck” You whine out the last part loudly, him moving his hand down to rub your clit. “ S'posed to be fucking you.”

He doesn’t say anything, choosing to watch your body tremble slightly above his. Between your tits in his mouth, him rubbing your clit, and the incessant rolling of his hips, your orgasm is fast approaching.

Your nipple pops from his mouth, nipples wet and shiny from his spit as he looks up at you with his pupils blown.

“Wanna see you cum all over my dick instead.” And if his actions before didn't do it, how fucking wrecked his voice sounds causes you to squirt harder than you ever have before,

your orgasm lighting every part of your body alive as your body trembles on top of him. You moan loudly, collapsing on top of him as ragged breaths come out of you, trying to catch your breath.

Dean keeps thrusting underneath you, too close to his own release to want to stop and feel the way you squeeze tightly around him, your own high forcing his body into overdrive. He’s snapping his hips relentlessly, and it’s almost too much for your body to handle, pubic bone brushing your clit into overstimulation.

You whine out, not knowing whether it’s for him to stop or keep going. But one look at the fucked out, determined look on his face gives you your answer for you.

“Baby,” you purr. “Cum.” It’s a simple demand, but it’s enough to get Dean to falter, Cumming deep inside you as he grinds through his orgasm. He lets out a deep, guttural moan, you are getting used to the familiar feeling of him pulsing inside you.

He leans back onto the pillow, you falling on top of him. Both your chests rising and falling in tandem, as you listen to his erratic heartbeat try to find a steady rhythm.

“Have I ever mentioned how fucking hot you are?”

“Once or twice, yeah.” You mumble, sleepiness falling over you.

“You’re fucking incredible. That- that - was fucking incredible.” You start to grow shy under his constant praise and are quick to point out his work as well.

“Even if you did half the work?”

“Next time, you can be in charge,” Dean promises.

You smile wickedly, not even trying to hide the mischief in your eyes.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean whinchester #dean winchester smut #dean x reader #character x reader #supernatural #supernatural drabble #oneshot #multi fandom blog #fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x yn #dean winchester fanfiction #Spotify

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the-winter-spider · 2 months ago

Text

Invisible | Part Four

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Angst

A tense silence hung in the air after your exit. Steve shot Bucky a sharp look, muttering under his breath, “What the hell, man?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, trying to play it off with a shrug. “I was just joking around,” he muttered, a defensive edge creeping into his voice as he took another swig of his drink.

“Joking?” Natasha’s voice was laced with disbelief as she glared at him, not letting it slide. “That wasn’t joking; that was cruel.” She pushed at his shoulder, forcing him to scoot over as she slid out of the booth, clearly fed up with him. Without another word, she walked off in your direction, leaving Bucky with a mixture of confusion and something that almost looked like regret.

Kate looked at him, her brows furrowing. “What was that about?” she asked gently, her hand resting on his arm, her gaze both puzzled and a little disappointed.

Bucky opened his mouth, as if trying to explain, but nothing came out. He just watched Natasha head toward the bathroom, a strange knot forming in his stomach as he began to process what he’d said—and how it landed, but he couldn't have meant it like that right? It was you, why would he intentionally try to hurt you?

“Not tool Buck, not cool” Sam shook his head in disapproval.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, you were struggling to keep it together. The tears you’d been fighting so hard to hold back finally slipped free, and you swiped at them quickly, determined to regain your composure. But the hurt lingered, twisting deeper the longer you replayed his words in your head.

The door creaked open, and Natasha stepped in, immediately spotting you by the sink. Her expression softened as she approached, her eyes filled with concern. She didn’t waste any time, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a reassuring squeeze.

“He was completely out of line,” she said, her voice warm and comforting. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You shook your head, giving a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I don’t get it, Nat,” you whispered, the words tumbling out as you fought to keep your voice steady. “I don’t get him. Why would he say something like that?”

Natasha rubbed your shoulder, giving you a small, knowing smile. “Because he’s a stupid boy who doesn’t realize what’s right in front of him,” she said, her voice firm and confident. “And sometimes, people say things to hurt the ones they care about without even realizing why.”

You looked at her, a glimmer of hope trying to break through the sadness. “Do you think… he even cares?”

Natasha tilted her head, considering her words carefully. “I think he cares a lot more than he wants to admit. But you can’t wait around for him to get his act together, babe. You deserve someone who’ll see you for who you are without needing a wake-up call.”

Natasha’s hand gripped your shoulder gently, grounding you as she leaned against the bathroom counter. “Screw him,” she muttered, her tone fierce with loyalty. “He doesn’t deserve you. You’re gonna love Dean.” With a mischievous smile, she pulled out her phone, tapping through her photos until she landed on one. She tilted it toward you, her grin widening.

“Here he is,” she said, showing you a picture of Dean. He had tousled dirty blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and a chiselled jawline that made him look straight out of a movie. The complete opposite of Bucky in every way, his gaze was soft but captivating. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

You managed a smile, though your heart still aches. “Yeah… he’s cute.”

Natasha let out a playful scoff, giving you a nudge. “Cute? Babe, he’s more than just cute. Look at that face!”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as she nudged you again, her energy contagious. “Alright, alright, he’s definitely hot.”

“That’s more like it.” She wiped away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek, her thumb soft and gentle.

A hesitant smile broke through your sadness “So… next Saturday, huh?”

“Next Saturday.” Natasha squeezed your hand, her eyes warm and encouraging. “You ready to get back out there?”

You paused, taking a shaky breath. “Not really,” you admitted. “I think… I think I’m just gonna head home for the night.”

She studied you for a moment, concern flickering in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you replied softly, glancing down. “I just… I just wanna be back home.”

Natasha’s expression softened, and she reached out, pulling you into a tight hug. “I wish you’d stay,” she murmured, her voice low and full of understanding. “But I get it.”

You wrapped your arms around her, grateful for her support. “Thanks, Nat. For everything… tell them goodbye for me?”

“Anytime,” she whispered, squeezing you one last time before she pulled back, her hand resting on your shoulder. She gave you a reassuring smile, and you felt a little bit of your resolve strengthen.

As she turned and headed back toward the table, you took a deep breath, straightening yourself. With your gaze fixed firmly ahead, you walked towards the exit, grateful that it was on the opposite side of the bar from their booth. You didn’t look back. The noise of the bar faded behind you, and as you stepped out into the quiet night, a weight lifted ever so slightly from your chest. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

The cool night air hit you as you stepped outside, bringing a little clarity and calm to the storm swirling inside. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the ache still lodged in your chest but grateful to be away from the buzz of the bar, from Bucky’s laugh blending with Kate’s. You’d held your own in there, but now, in the stillness, the reality settled heavier on your heart.

You’d been holding onto the hope for so long, convincing yourself that maybe, one day, Bucky would finally see you as more than his best friend, his roommate. But tonight had shattered that illusion in a way you couldn’t ignore. The way he’d looked at Kate — so open, so warm — that had been all you’d ever wanted from him. And watching him give it so freely to her…

You took a deep breath, letting it go, but it came out shakier than you’d hoped. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk, you let yourself feel the sting fully, knowing it was time to start letting go. Natasha was right. Maybe Dean could be a fresh start, a way to move forward. You thought back to that photo on her phone and found yourself smiling, just a little.

---------

Natasha came back to the table, her gaze steely, but before she could say anything, she looked around, noticing Kate’s absence. “Where’d Kate go?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wanda answered for Bucky, who was still staring down at his drink, sulking. “She had to take a work call,” Wanda said, glancing between Natasha and Bucky with a bit of a frown.

Natasha nodded, then took her seat, her expression hardening as her eyes locked onto Bucky.

Natasha slid back into the booth, her expression colder than Bucky had ever seen. Steve’s gaze snapped to her immediately. “Where’s Y/N?” he asked, voice edged with concern.

“She left,” Natasha replied, a clipped edge to her words. She barely spared Bucky a glance, instead meeting Steve’s gaze, giving him a silent nod.

Steve’s face dropped. “Without saying goodbye?” His question was softer this time, almost to himself, as he began to slide out of the booth. He tossed a quick look to Natasha, who shifted over to take his spot, freeing him up to stand.

Steve grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, and Sam raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going, man?”

“I’ll be right back,” Steve said shortly, already turning toward the exit, his footsteps determined as he headed for the door. He didn’t spare Bucky a second glance.

The silence left behind was tense. Natasha fixed her gaze on Bucky from across the table, her expression steely, almost disappointed. “I hope you’re happy with yourself,” she said, her voice quiet but cutting.

Bucky finally looked up, his jaw clenched, and he let out a rough sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why the hell would I be happy with myself after that?” His voice was low, frustration simmering beneath the words. He avoided her gaze, instead staring down at his half-empty glass.

Natasha crossed her arms, her stare unyielding. “I believe you know exactly what you’re doing, Bucky. And you know it hurts her.”

His head shot up, his eyes flashing, scoffing “What exactly am I doing Nat? What do you think I should do? Just pretend none of this bothers me?”

Natasha held his gaze, not backing down an inch. “No, Bucky, I think you need to decide what you actually want. Because this back-and-forth, hot-and-cold thing you’re doing? It’s cruel. You can’t keep lashing out at her just because you’re confused or jealous or whatever it is.”

Bucky clenched his fists, his frustration spilling over. “You think I want to hurt her? I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. “I just didn’t expect her to… to….I dont know” His lip wobbled, eyes blurring before he chugged back the rest of his whiskey

Natasha’s eyes softened, but only slightly. “So that’s what this is about? You don’t want her, but you can’t stand the thought of her being with someone else?”

Bucky opened his mouth, then shut it, his expression twisted with frustration and something else—guilt, maybe, or regret. “I never said I didn’t want her,” he muttered, voice barely audible.

Natasha let out a sharp breath, her expression softening, though her disappointment was still clear. “Then maybe you should stop playing games and actually tell her how you feel. But don’t expect her to wait around forever while you figure it out, it's been years Barnes”

Bucky fell silent, his gaze drifting to the empty seat you’d left behind. He could still feel the sting of his own words, the hurt they’d caused you, lingering like a bruise.

“Look, Buck,” Natasha said, her tone gentler now, “you have a choice here. You can keep doing this—keep hurting her, and yourself—or you can take a risk and be honest. But you can’t keep stringing her along. It’s not fair.”

Bucky swallowed hard, staring down at the table. “I didn’t mean for it to go this way,” he admitted quietly. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.”

Natasha’s expression softened further, her voice turning almost sympathetic. “Love is messy, Buck. But if you’re not willing to be vulnerable, you’re just going to keep hurting each other. Think about what you really want, before it’s too late.”

She let her words sink in, then glanced away, as if giving him a moment to process. Bucky stayed quiet, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass, his mind racing, torn between fear and hope, knowing he’d have to face the consequences of his choices—one way or another.

Bucky nodded, barely. He stared down at his glass, the noise of the bar fading into the background as Natasha’s words echoed in his mind.

-----

The sound of footsteps on gravel pulled you from your thoughts just outside the bar. You looked up, expecting maybe a stranger passing by, but instead, there was Steve, hands in his pockets, watching you with that familiar, steady gaze of his.

“I thought I’d find you out here,” he said, voice soft. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

You shrugged, forcing a small smile. “Didn’t feel like there was much to say.”

Steve took a step closer, his brows furrowing as he studied you, picking up on the hurt you’d tried so hard to hide. “Nat filled me in,” he said gently, taking off his coat to place it on your shoulders. “He really doesn’t know what he’s missing, you know.”

The words hit you harder than you’d expected, and you felt the corners of your mouth waver. “It’s fine. I think I needed to see it… to know, really.”

He sighed, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “Maybe. But you deserve better than the way he acted back there.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Guess it’s time I started looking for it, then.”

Steve’s face softened, and he extended an arm, pulling you in for a warm, steady hug. You let yourself sink into the comfort he offered, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back as he muttered, “Good for you.”

As you pulled back, you felt a little lighter, the hurt still there but somehow dulled by the kindness of a friend who truly saw you. “Thanks, Stevie…for always being here.”

He smiled, giving you a gentle nudge. “You’ll be alright. You’re stronger than you know, you want me to walk you home?”

You smiled, of course he would offer Steve always was and always will be a gentleman “No im okay, i can make it just down the street, plus i got the warmth now” You laughed gesturing to his coat he gave you.

You could see the internal battle in his eyes of actually letting you walk home by yourself, you reached out placing your hand on his shoulder “Ill be fine okay?”

He sighed “Just text me as soon as you get home okay?”

“Of course”

“And i know how long it takes for you to get home from here, so i expect a text in no less than 7 minutes, got it?” His voice was stern

You saluted him “Yes sir” You shared a quiet look before he slipped back into the bar, leaving you with one last, reassuring smile. Taking a deep breath, you turned and started toward home, the streetlights casting soft glows on the sidewalk as you walked.

Tonight had broken something in you, but as you left, a strange sense of hope started to take its place. Maybe you really could let go. And next Saturday, maybe you’d start seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes — not as someone’s best friend, but as someone worth more than waiting and wishing.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes au #james bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #Spotify

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cheynovak · 4 months ago

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Tell me what it takes

Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character

Summary: REQUEST: Dean realizes after a near-death experience that he has nothing if Y/N isn’t in his life. He searches for her and finds her living in Lawrence, Kansas. When he shows up at her door, she’s shocked but lets him in. Dean struggles with small talk before finally confessing realized he needed her.

Warnings: 18+ romance, nothing too explicit, mostly making love, hurt, couple issues, friends to lovers,

English is not my first language

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

The sound of gravel crunching under the Impala’s tires was a familiar comfort as Y/N stared out the window, her mind miles away from the endless Kansas road. She had been living with Dean and Sam for years now.

It had become her life—hunting, saving people, the usual. She had loved Dean for years, they started out as neighbours, friends, but over time, something had shifted between her and Dean, something she wasn’t sure either of them knew how to define.

She and Dean were inseparable, tied together by years of shared grief, laughter, and battles fought side by side. She had helped him take care of baby Sam when their father disappeared on one of his many hunts.

Dean and Y/N had leaned on each other back then, and as the years passed, that connection deepened in a way that was never spoken about, but always felt just right.

Now, though, feeling it wasn’t enough anymore. She needed more, needed to know, hear it he felt the same for her.

They were staying in a rundown motel outside of town for the night, waiting on a lead Sam had tracked down for their next hunt. As soon as they checked in, Sam disappeared to do more research, leaving Y/N and Dean alone in the room they would share.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her heart heavy as she watched Dean peel off his jacket and toss it over the chair by the window. His movements were as casual as ever, but her mind was racing.

It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed, tangled together in moments of passion when the night was too long, and the world seemed too heavy.

They’d kissed, hooked up, and fallen asleep wrapped around each other more times than she could count, Dean had been her first and if it was up to her, also her last. It felt right with him but it always felt… temporary. As if none of it mattered when the morning came.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She knew he cared for her, more than just a one night thing, she noticed he'd stopped sleeping with other girls, he was protective of her and when a man looked at her in a way he didn't like, he held her.

Those are boyfriends trades, right? Than why didn't he ever admitted it to her, or did he made it official?

"Dean," she said quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He glanced over at her, brow furrowing when he saw the expression on her face. “What’s up sweetheart?”

She bit her lip, trying to find the words that had been building up for so long. "We need to talk." Dean stiffened, his jaw tightening slightly. "About what?"

"About us." Her eyes met his, searching for some kind of reassurance, but she found nothing there but his usual guarded expression. "Dean… I need more."

His brow furrowed deeper. "More? What do you mean?"

"I mean… I can’t keep doing this. The kissing, the hooking up, the sharing a bed… It’s not enough anymore. I need to know where we stand. I need to know that this isn’t just some… convenient arrangement for you."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Y/N, you know I care about you."

"That’s not what I’m asking," she said, her voice wavering. "I need to hear it, Dean. I need to know you... love me, like I love you."

The room fell into an oppressive silence, the only sound the faint hum of the highway outside.

Dean looked away, his face hardening in that familiar way whenever emotions came into play. His defense mechanism.

"Y/N, I…" he started, then shook his head. "I don’t do this type of things. You know that. I’m not good with—"

"With emotions? With feelings?" she cut in, her frustration rising. "I’ve been with you for years, Dean! I know you better than anyone, I never asked for anything, and I’m telling you, begging you, I need to hear you say it. I need to know that this isn’t just… nothing to you."

Dean’s eyes flicked back to hers, and for a moment, she saw something there. Fear. Pain. But then, just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by his usual bravado. He scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re overthinking this, Y/N. You know how I feel. Why do we need to say it?"

"Because I deserve to know!" Her voice cracked, and she stood up from the bed, her chest heaving with pent-up emotion. "I deserve to be more than just the girl you hook up with when you feel like it. I deserve to be loved, Dean. Really loved."

Dean’s eyes flashed, and he stepped toward her, his own frustration boiling over. "I’m doing the best I can, Y/N! This is who I am. You knew that from the beginning. You think I don’t care? I wouldn’t hold you all damn night! I wouldn't kiss you good morning! I wouldn't you know... hold your hand and stuff"

"But you won’t say it," she said softly, her voice breaking. "You won’t say you love me. You only kiss me when no one is around, you only hold me or my hand when you think someone is interested in me. Why is it so hard to tell me, just me Dean, you don't need to shout it of the roof!"

He clenched his fists, his expression hardening once again. "What do you want from me? I can’t just… say it because you want to hear it."

Y/N’s heart shattered at his words, the final nail in the coffin. She had hoped—prayed—that he would give her something, anything. But instead, he was pushing her away.

She took a shaky breath, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I can’t do this anymore, Dean."

His face paled, his bravado slipping for a moment. "Y/N, don’t act like that, don't —"

"No," she said, her voice firm now, despite the tears threatening to fall. "I can’t keep waiting for you to love me the way I deserve, the way I have loved you since you moved in next door."

"I ran away from home to help you and your dad take care of Sammy. I did anything for you..." a trembling sigh left her "I’m done."

Without another word, she grabbed her bag from the floor and headed for the door. Dean stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock, but he didn’t stop her. He didn’t call her back.

As she walked out of the room, the weight of everything hit her at once.

Years of friendship, of love—unspoken and unacknowledged—crashed down around her. She didn’t want to leave him, but she couldn’t keep sacrificing her heart for someone who wasn’t willing to give her theirs in return.

The door clicked shut behind her, and as she stepped into the cool night air, Y/N let the tears fall. She didn’t know where she was going, but anywhere was better than staying in a place where love was always just out of reach.

Inside the motel room, Dean stood alone, staring at the door. His chest ached, his heart pounding in his ears. He wanted to go after her, to pull her back and tell her everything she needed to hear. But the words stuck in his throat, buried beneath years of walls he had built to keep himself from getting hurt.

And so, for the first time in a long time, Dean was alone. Completely, utterly alone, the only thing he truly loved and cared for in this world, beside his brother, just turned her back and walked away.

A year later

The rain fell in steady sheets, drumming against the roof of the Impala as Dean pulled up outside a modest, two-story house on the outskirts of Lawrence, Kansas. It had been almost a year since Y/N walked out of his life, and for most of that time, he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. That he didn’t need her.

But he’d been wrong.

The last hunt had been a brutal reminder of his mortality. He had come inches from death, pinned under the crushing weight of a creature whose claws had torn into him, leaving deep gashes that still ached. In those moments when the world started to blur and his strength began to fade, there had only been one thought in his mind.

Y/N.

He had always pushed people away, afraid of losing them. But in doing so, he had lost the one person who truly mattered. The one person who had seen him, broken and scarred, and stayed anyway.

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he stared at the house. He didn’t know what he would say, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t leave without trying. He couldn’t lose her again.

With a deep breath, he stepped out of the car, the rain soaking through his jacket as he approached the front door. His heart pounded in his chest as he raised his hand and knocked. Each second that passed felt like an eternity until finally, the door creaked open.

Y/N stood there, her eyes widening in shock. She hadn’t changed much—her hair was a little longer, and there was a hint of weariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. But she was still Y/N, the woman who had always been a part of his life, whether he’d admitted it or not.

“Dean,” she said, her voice soft but guarded.

He gave her a small, nervous smile, shifting awkwardly. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the past year hanging heavy between them. Finally, Y/N stepped aside, opening the door wider. “You should come in. It’s pouring out there.”

Dean nodded, stepping inside. The house was warm, cozy. A far cry from the cheap motels and the constant chaos of the life they’d once shared. He could see small touches of her everywhere—books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the arm of the couch. It was a home, something Dean had never been able to give her.

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the wall as she watched him. “What are you doing here, Dean?”

He opened his mouth, but the words got stuck. He hadn’t exactly planned this out. He scratched the back of his neck, forcing a half-hearted smile. “I was in the neighborhood?”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Try again.”

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. I suck at this, you know that. I—” He stopped, his gaze dropping to the floor as he searched for the right words. He wasn’t sure there were any.

Y/N didn’t say anything, just waited. And for the first time in a long time, Dean felt like he needed to be honest. No walls. No bravado.

“I almost died,” he said quietly, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

Her expression softened for a moment, concern flashing across her face. “Dean…”

“No, listen,” he interrupted, his voice firmer now. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About us. About… everything. And for a long time, I didn’t get it. I thought I could just keep doing what I was doing—going through the motions, keeping everyone at arm’s length. But when I was lying there, bleeding out, the only thing I could think about was you. And how I had nothing if you weren’t there.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, but she stayed quiet, letting him continue.

“I messed up,” Dean admitted, his voice thick with guilt. “I was so damn scared to say what you needed to hear because… I’ve lost everyone, Y/N. My dad, my mom, even Sam, for a while. I didn’t want to lose you too, so I thought if I didn’t say it—if I didn’t make it real—then maybe you’d stick around. But I was wrong. And I know I don’t deserve it, but… I’m asking for another chance. A real one.”

Y/N’s arms dropped to her sides as she took a slow, steady breath. The silence that followed was almost unbearable, and Dean’s heart pounded in his chest. She was right to make him wait, to make him feel the weight of his actions. He hadn’t just broken her heart—he’d broken their bond. And that wasn’t something that could be fixed with a few words.

But he needed to try.

"You hurt me, Dean," she said, her voice soft but strong. "For years, I was there for you. I gave you everything, and you couldn’t give me the one thing I needed. Do you know how hard it was to leave? To walk away, knowing you’d never say what I wanted to hear?"

Dean swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I know. And I’m sorry. God, I’m so damn sorry. I should’ve told you… I should’ve told you how much...

I love you."

The words hung in the air, thick with the emotion he had been too afraid to show for so long. For a moment, Y/N just stared at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had waited so long to hear those words, but hearing them now, after everything, wasn’t the easy fix either of them had hoped for.

"Do you mean it?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Or are you just saying it because you’re scared to be alone?"

Dean stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I mean it. I’ve always meant it. I just… I didn’t know how to say it. But I’m saying it now because it’s true. I love you, Y/N. And I want to be with you. Really be with you. No more half measures. No more running away."

Y/N’s eyes searched his, looking for any sign of hesitation or doubt. She didn’t find any. Slowly, she exhaled, wiping at the tear that had slipped down her cheek.

"I can’t promise it’ll be easy, Dean," she said quietly. "You hurt me. It’s going to take time for me to trust you again."

Dean nodded, his expression serious. "I know. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll wait as long as you need. Just… don’t tell me it’s too late."

Y/N looked at him for a long moment, and then, finally, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. She didn’t say anything, but the way she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, told him everything he needed to know.

Dean wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself breathe. He let himself feel.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

He was home.

The warmth of her body pressed against his was like coming home after years of being lost. Y/N lifted her head from his chest, her eyes searching his face. There was something new between them now—vulnerability, raw and unguarded. For the first time, there were no walls between them, no unspoken words hanging in the air.

Dean’s breath hitched as she looked up at him, her lips parting slightly, and without thinking, he leaned in. Their lips met, soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters after everything that had passed between them. But it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, years of longing and unresolved tension flooding between them like a dam that had finally broken.

His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grew more urgent. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, needing him the way he had always needed her. The fire between them had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was consuming them both.

"Y/N," he breathed between kisses, his voice low and husky. "God, I love you."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, but this time, she believed them. There was no hesitation, no fear in his voice. Just truth.

Clothes were shed in a frenzy, their hands tugging and pulling, desperate to feel skin against skin. They stumbled their way to the bedroom, never breaking the kiss, their lips and hands exploring each other like it was the first time all over again.

Dean guided her down onto the bed with a tenderness that took her breath away, his body hovering over hers, his gaze never leaving her. "I should’ve said it sooner," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a wave of heat through her. "I should’ve told you how much you mean to me. How much I love you."

Her breath hitched as his lips moved down her neck, trailing kisses along her collarbone, her hands gripping his shoulders as her body arched into his. "Dean…"

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her again, slow and deep. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with a quiet intensity that made her heart race. This wasn’t just another night—it was everything they had both been holding back for years.

Dean’s hands roamed her body, gentle but sure, like he was memorizing every inch of her. The way he touched her was different now—there was no rush, no urgency to fill the silence. He wanted to savor this moment, to show her with every caress, every kiss, how much she meant to him. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips as he whispered, "I love you," over and over, like a promise.

He entered her slowly, their bodies moving together in perfect sync, the connection between them electric, yet soft and intimate. Each thrust, each movement, was filled with meaning, with the words he hadn’t been able to say before but was now making sure she knew. His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling as their bodies moved together in a slow, sensual rhythm.

"You're everything," he whispered in her ear, his voice ragged with emotion. "Everything I ever needed. I’m never letting you go again."

Y/N’s hands gripped his back, her nails digging into his skin as the pleasure built between them. She could feel every emotion he poured into her, not just with his words, but with the way he touched her, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. And for the first time, she believed it—she believed him.

Their pace quickened, the room filled with the sounds of their shared passion, their breathing heavy, their bodies entwined as they climbed higher together. Dean’s lips never left her skin, whispering sweet, broken confessions of love and regret, of promises for the future.

When they finally reached the peak, it wasn’t just about the physical release—it was about everything they had been through, everything they had lost and found again. It was raw, and emotional, and when Y/N cried out his name, she knew that this time, things were different. They were whole.

Dean collapsed beside her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as their breathing slowed. His lips brushed against her forehead, and in the quiet aftermath, he whispered again, "I love you."

This time, there were no doubts. No walls.

She looked up at him, her hand resting on his chest as she smiled softly, her heart full in a way it hadn’t been in years. "I love you too, Dean."

And in that moment, lying together in the quiet of the night, they both knew this was the beginning of something real—something they should’ve had all along.

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Tag list:-> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read!

@kr804573 @nancymcl @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27

@call-me-mrs-winchester @winchesterwild78 @deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @yvonneeeee

#jensen ackles #fanfic #jensen fucking ackles #x reader #fluff #dean winchester #spn #smut #supernatural dean #supernatural fandom #deanwinchester #dean x reader #spn fanart

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nuemanfilms · 3 months ago

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— imaging a needy, whiny sam who just wants to be your toy to play with.. and when you tell him to show you how he got off without you for months.. he wasn’t hesitant to oblige.

Content warnings m!masturbation, dirty talk, voyerism, reader makes sam do it infront of her, begging, use of degrading names (slut), Sam gets called ‘pathetic’, Sam is a slutttt for degradation from you, mentions of the past between you two (sexy times.)

A/N i wrote this at 3am..

I am not responsible for the content you consume if you are under 16. That is your choice.

Seeing your ex splayed out on his bed in the bunker with his big brother in the other room with his hand fisted around his cock was definitely a sight to see.

What made it better was how he was pathetically whining and begging for you, how he wanted to eat your pussy, how he wanted to bury his cock in your warm cunt again.

When you heard the whines and the groans coming from the younger Winchester’s room, you knew exactly what was going on. And your clit throbbed at the mention of your name in his heat of the moment.

Sam had no idea that you were standing in his doorway, his jeans pulled down to his ankles as he pumped his shaft, spilling out mewls and whimpers of your name.

“Don’t stop on my account,” You teased, snapping Sam out of his daze. His mouth went dry, and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

“‘m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“

“Nono, keep going, Sam. I want to see how you’ve been doing without me here.” His lips parted, a gasp nearly escaping him. When he saw that you begin to strip, he couldn’t help but rub his thumb over his slit again. A heavy whimper escaping him at the sight of your bare front. God, he missed that view.

When his hand began to move again, his head tossed back before you grabbed his attention again, “Eyes on me, Sam.” You spoke sternly, and he nodded with quivering lips.

He was so sensitive, well, he’d been so sensitive ever since you guys broke up. And seeing that Dean invited you for a few drinks, it drove him mad.

His hand pumped his shaft, and he tried to make eye contact.. he really did. He couldn’t stop thinking about your parted legs, revealing your wet pussy to him all those years ago.

He needed you, he needed that again.

“P-Please, I can’t- please, baby, I need you-“ he begged, “I need you- I want to feel you again- I wanna taste your pussy. I’ll be s’good.. please! ‘m your good boy- i wanna be good for you-..” He let out a whiny moan. He knew he was being loud, but he couldn’t help it, not with you standing there, teasingly playing with your peaked nipples that he desperately wanted to latch onto.

“Keep. Going.” You replied, he whined again. He could feel his balls tighten up- he could feel his impending orgasm. And he was letting out more whimpers and cries of your name in a desperate plea to touch you again. To make you scream his name again.

“You’re so dirty, Sammy.. is this what you do? You get off to the thought of me? You remember how I rode your cock? How I wrapped my tongue around you.. made you whine and squirm?” You teased, “How you desperately wanted to fuck your cum in me? Pathetic.”

He let out a noise between a whine and a whimper. He was so close, and as much as he wouldn’t admit it, he loved you having this control over him.

“Please.. Can I cum? Can I cum for you? I wan’ to cum for you- i’ll be so good.. so good for you!” He looked so dazed out, and he clearly wasn’t making eye contact anymore. But knowing his peak was approaching, it was nearly impossible.

“You’re gonna cum? Cum all over yourself just by me standing here, bare infront of you? Oh, baby..” You had this devil-like smile and he felt so small right now, he always did around you.

He let out a little ‘Uh-Huh’ at the sound of your degrading words. His hand rubbing faster against his length, and he couldn’t seem to stop.. not with your encouragement despite him pushing himself closer and closer to the edge.

“Go on, Slut.”

He let out a pathetic cry, his cock twitched as he made a mess on his hand and his lower abdomen. White spurts of his arousal was on his sheets, he really did make a mess out of himself.

“Don’t think we’re done yet.”

#sam winchester smut #supernatural #fem!reader #sam winchester #jared padalecki #sam winchester x female reader #sub!sam winchester

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kkbarnes · 4 months ago

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dean winchester headcanons

he frequently throws pet names around at different people as a common thing, but you’re the only person he calls baby. he only calls two things baby: you and his beloved car. it just shows your importance to him, and it’s his favorite thing to call you by.

he secretly likes watching the movies you prefer with you. he always complains about them being “chick flicks” and how they have no “action”, but deep down he’s just glad to spend time with you. he even finds himself smiling at your reactions and even laughing with you. and even though he’ll never admit it, he loves when you put on 10 things i hate about you.

he’s completely smitten by you. sometimes when you’re in bed, cuddled up together, he’ll whisper small reassurances against your neck when he’s starting to fall asleep. he’s not big on verbal affection, but he just can’t help it with you. he wants you to know he loves you.

he’s always more protective of you during hunts. he’ll go in front of you when entering a dangerous situation, and will almost always pose as the distraction when necessary. though you’re fully capable, he prefers wasting people instead of you doing it. he knows the toll it can take and he never wants someone else’s blood on your hands.

he loves kissing you. he’ll kiss you anywhere within sight. he’s taller than you, so he’s always leaning down a bit with you chin between his fingers to kiss you. he loves giving you neck and collar bone kisses. sometimes, when you’re alone, he’ll pepper your face in kisses because he loves your flustered reaction.

he absolutely loves the feeling of you. whether you’re in his arms or whether he’s in yours. he loves the softness of your skin, and how it contrasts to the roughness of his. he just loves touching you, it reassures him that you’re still there.

he likes brushing your hair. sometimes after showers or on a calm morning you’ll just sit in his lap as he combs through your hair, getting all the tangles out and smoothing your hair down. it brings both of you some calm in the midst of the heavy life you two lead.

he helps you shave from time to time. for example: he’ll sit you down on the counter of bathroom and shave your legs for you. at first he was kind of patchy, but now you’re left smooth every time. he knows how tiring hunting can be, and along with all the basic tasks you have to do; so, he does this with hope to make your life slightly easier.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #headcanon #canon #tumblr fyp #fypage #fyp #fypシ #fypツ #fypシ゚viral #fyppage #fypppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp #fypfypfypfypfypfypdypfypfypfypfypfypfyfpfyfpfyp #jensen ackles

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deanbrainrotwritings · 1 year ago

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— BEING DEAN’S WIFE

REQUEST : “Hey, can i request a hcs of be Dean Winchester or Jensen ackles wife? and be super sweet and pure girl that is younger than them” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : fluff, angst (if you squeeze your eyes together, til you make a crescent moon shape), a little bit of nsfw at the very end bc it’s hilarious

A/N : uh, yeah, here’s a little gift! I didn’t wanna do university work so i did this instead ☺️ anyway, i think this is just a list of things i love about dean… LMAO XXXX

he will just stare at you for no reason

well, the reason is actually that he thinks your lovely to look at LOL

all those chick flicks he secretly loves to watch? yeah, he’ll recite the romantic stuff because he’s literally down bad for you

… he’s cringing on the inside but also knows he means every word

he’s so pathetic for you and he doesn’t even care

he loves to give you forehead kisses

and he wants them, too, but your lips need to linger a bit, and he’ll close his eyes and just release all the tension in his body because he’s touch starved

he plays with your wedding ring when your hand is right there in his line of sight

he will hold your hand and just stare at the way the ring shines in the sunlight and he will grin like a gigantic dork

ex : if your talking to him or someone else, he’ll just take your hand and gently run his fingers over the ring

he likes when you hold his head against your stomach

when he’s sitting and you’re standing and you move between his legs just to hold his adorable little face close to you, HE LOVES THAT

you’ll let him talk for hours about things he likes, things he wants to share with you

and when you admit you have no idea what he’s talking about when he makes references to old pop culture stuff, he’ll show you everything

.. if all that stuff he references was associated with something else, now it’s all associated with you and him

it’s like THERAPY, to redo stuff with you, to make it his again, and yours

teaching him how to use technology because he’s an old man (affectionate), and he learns fast bc he’s SMART

LOL, witnessing firsthand how genius and resourceful dean is when something breaks [yeah, I can’t stop thinking about him making his own EMF and Sammy being a complete NIPPLEHEAD (affectionate) about it ! as a STEM girly that was so sexy of dean]

HELLO HE SINGS, TO YOU. HE WILL SING YOU ALL THE LOVE SONGS OMG

or he’ll just sing randomly and not even notice that you’re listening to him

silence, comfortable silence, not sad, just.. peaceful

he likes not having to say anything sometimes, just being there with you

he plays with your hair A LOT, he’ll take strands and just feel the texture of it between his fingertips, he’ll even try to do your hair if you let him, if it’s long enough

CUDDLES, he needs that, too.

but he’d rather be on top when you cuddle, with his cute face on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, to your breathing, falling asleep if you run your fingers gently along his back or if you play with his hair

Dean starts mumbling a lot against your chest or shoulder when you’re just relaxing and having lazy conversation as you cuddle

how about KISSING HIS LITTLE DIMPLES??? idk about you but I just wanna kiss his little dimples when he does that specific SMILE or POUT, ya know what I mean! •ᴗ•?? or •~• ???

he flirts with you because you blush so easily

he gets flustered when you flirt back, BC HE’S NOT USED TO IT

he looks like a strawberry, just eatable, with the tips of his ears all red, then the pinkish hue pouring across his freckled cheeks and down his neck in cute little splotches 😭 ALRIGHT YEAH I THINK ABOUT THIS OFTEN

teasing him ABOUT EVERYTHING because that’s hilarious, and he’s indignant but also knows you’re so right and he’ll roll his eyes at you and pretend he’s mad

he can never be mad at you, only playfully!

UHHH ! KISSING THE LITTLE WRINKLES AT THE CORNER OF HIS PRETTY EYES !!!

squeezing him very tightly when you hug and just holding him until he’s practically putting all his weight over you like a willow tree

he’ll bother you on purpose, especially if you’re serious

ex : he takes strands of your hair and will put it in your ear LMAOO or tickle your face with it bc he’s never gonna let a single moment be boring

he grins like the cutest idiot in the world and you can’t be mad at him because he looks LIKE THAT, like the cutest idiot in the whole universe

wearing his clothes and pretending to be him, he thinks it’s cute and funny

he’ll hold your face a lot

and kiss you all over bc you’re cute and pure and deserve all the affection he can offer

and his hands are big and calloused, but he’s so tender and gentle, and warm

hugs from behind

smashing your face into his back and taking in the smell of his body (Mrs Butters lied, Dean smells good)

he’ll love the smell of your hair when he nuzzles into your neck, or the smell of your skin, or the softness of it

going on cute dates, like picnics, watching movies, going to the cinema, going to comic book stores

watching Disney movies together and he can recite the Dory movie by heart because HE LOVES THAT FISH FR

he’ll make you playlists of songs that remind him of you

He takes lots of photos, Polaroids are his favourite because he gets to put them anywhere and everywhere so he can smile and see you if you’re ever busy

you’ll always dress up on Halloween or just for fun whenever he wants

✨healing his inner child✨

grocery shopping together, he pouts when you don’t let him be unhealthy

if you’re short, he’s making fun of you for being shorter than him when he has to reach for stuff on shelves that you can’t reach even on your toes

he teaches you how to cook if you don’t know how to

and you eat the crazy food combinations he comes up with, like those marshmallow mac and cheese he said he made for Sam when they were kids , I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THAT TASTES LIKE

he teaches you how to fix cars! he’ll stare at you when you’re being silly ANYWAY PLS TEACH ME DEAN PLS

HAHAHAHAH but like hahahahah as in, 👀 the cute little names he calls you, and you thought they were cringe when couples said them to each other but actually when HE says it to YOU it makes you swoon and you blush, but you pretend you hate it at first because you’re not used to it but he can see through you, you love it

(I’m convinced that if he calls me darlin’, I will die on the spot, or my illnesses will be cured idk idk, I just know something spontaneous or magical will happen)

sharing everything, as in food

he’ll eat your leftovers, if there are any

or if he likes your stuff better than what he’s got, he’ll eat it when he think you’re not looking, but you are definitely aware, you’re just pretending because he’s so cute

trying all the Starbucks drinks together

having to deal with his grumpiness in the morning

even better, you’re not a morning person either so you’re both grumpy

he’s so cute when he’s had his first cup of coffee in the morning :’)

when you shower together, you both play with the shampoo on you heads LMAO

he gives really good massages, like MIND-BLOWINGLY GOOD, I know them hands are magical

BUYING EACH OTHER JEWELLERY, he’s too pretty to not wear jewellery

kissing his freckles BC HES CUTE AND he blushes

kissing his scars (flashback of emo memes) NO, not saying anything about them, just gently pressing your lips on his sensitive skin so he’s not insecure about all of them

reading all sorts of magazines together BC THERES NO TOXIC MASCULINITY IN MY HOUSEHOLD AND MY BOY IS ALLOWED TO DO WHAT HE WANTS YA DUMB— right, anyway

he throws you over his shoulder and then walks around to bother you

butt smacking, that’s it, imagine the possibilities

pretending he’s picking you up at bars (like Claire and Phil from Modern Family 😭)

he’ll throw out his best pick up lines and you have to hold in your laughter at the faces he makes ALSO it works bc that’s your husband

being the best husband when you’re sick

making the yummiest foods and making sure your taking natural vitamins along with medicine

hanging out with you the whole time, not caring that you’re sick even though he’s kind of a germaphobe

whining a lot when he’s sick, but he’s partially just messing with you bc he wasn’t allowed to whine about anything as a kid (I’m right behind you, John)

he’s holding your boobs for comfort LMAO

I feel like he likes to bite, so he bites you a lot for no reason, and then goes about his day

pretending to have accents

more importantly, Dean knows how to speak Spanish, supernatural lied (all that porn and all those novelas and nothing stuck? nah, he’s very good at Spanish)

so he’ll try to seduce you with his Spanish speaking skills (and if you’re Latina/hispanic like me, you think it’s so sexy or it’s just plain cute, idk yet)

playing video games together and being very competitive

he’s very clean and very neat so you never have to tell him to clean up after himself !

he’s very protective of you, but never oversteps bc he knows you can handle yourself

he likes introducing you as his wife

it’s probably not even necessary but he’ll say it very loud and with a gigantic smile and he’ll embarrass you but it’s okay bc it’s Dean

he lies and says he’s your sugar daddy when people comment about the age gap

dude, dude, he’ll tease you a lot like… 🤣 he’ll copy your moans, or repeat stuff you said to him during sex. he’ll tell you very descriptively about how it all went down and the faces you made and the sounds you made.. you know, like in rock and a hard place [09.08]

especially if you’re shy

you wanna strangle him, but you don’t bc he’s the love of your life !

did I do this right? :( doesn’t matter, add some headcannons in the tags or comments 😭 i love husband!dean

taglist

@rominaszh @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x female!reader #1.4

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outlaw-apologist · 2 months ago

Text

Halloween With The X-Men (HCs)

Characters: Logan, Scott, Hank, Kurt, Remy, Jean, Ororo, Rogue

Logan:

You and Jean had to convince him to dress up, with Jean having to bribe him with the promise of extra Danger Room time and you sweetening the deal with all the mini Reese’s you could find. He grumbles and rolls his eyes when you hand him the costume, but deep down, he loves the whole get-up. You watch him tug on a pair of fake ears and mess his hair up even more than usual, the growl he gives you playful but... it sends a shiver up your spine. He thinks he looks ridiculous, but the way you’re looking at him, he feels like the most dangerous guy in the room.

He sneaks candy the whole night, ducking around corners to snag a chocolate bar or two before Scott notices. And every time he manages to snag a few pieces, he slips one into your hand with this mischievous, guilty little smirk, muttering, “I’ll replace ‘em, kid. Promise.” There’s always more candy in his jacket pockets than he’d ever admit to.

When the “Monster Mash” starts playing, Logan raises an eyebrow at Jean, half-accusing her of playing something so “dirty” at a kid’s party. It takes a good five minutes of explaining (with Jean laughing so hard she has to sit down) before he realizes it’s not what he thought. You’re still snickering about it later when he grumbles, “Ya can’t blame me for thinkin’ it was somethin’... else, alright?”

You’d shown him Supernatural weeks ago, and he’d taken to it immediately, bonding with Dean’s tough-guy act and wry humor. When you find him quoting Dean under his breath, it’s hard to hold back a grin, and Logan notices, giving you a look that says, Yeah, I know you’re laughing at me. But later, when no one’s around, he leans in close and whispers, “Gotta say, darlin’, I get why ya like that show... maybe that Winchester guy’s got a few tricks worth learnin’.” It’s the most subtle admission of affection he can manage, and it sends your heart racing every time.

As the night winds down and the kids go to bed, he pulls you aside, holding out his candy stash as if he’s making an offering. “All yours, if ya want it,” he mutters, looking almost sheepish. And even though he’d clearly been enjoying it all night, he’d rather see you smile than keep it for himself. You take a few pieces, sharing them with him and leaning into his shoulder. He might grumble about Halloween, but the warmth between you two makes him realize it might just be his new favorite holiday.

Scott:

He spends days agonizing over his costume choice, pacing back and forth in front of the mirror as he tries on a black leather jacket one moment and holds up a pair of pointed ears the next. “I mean, James Dean is cool… but Spock has that logical flair, you know?” He glances at you, looking genuinely torn. In the end, you pick for him, and the look on his face is priceless when he sees himself as Spock (because let’s be honest, you know he secretly loves it). If you want a couples costume you can go as sexy Kirk!

Putting up Halloween decorations with him is pure comedy. He’s dead serious about hanging every last ghost and cobweb at a perfect 90-degree angle, but it’s impossible to keep things that precise with autumn leaves swirling around everywhere. When one floats past him, he catches it without thinking, and you make a playful challenge of it, trying to out-catch him. By the end of it, you’re both laughing, arms full of leaves, and the decorations look delightfully messy.

“We’ve gotta make sure there’s no tricks,” he says, face all seriousness as you two prepare to take the younger kids out. You can barely hold back a grin. Yet despite his stern approach, he’s all smiles with the kids, holding their bags when they get too full, getting down to their level to talk to them, and even convincing a few hesitant ones to brave the spookier houses. When he hands you your own stash of treats at the end, he whispers, “Just in case you didn’t get enough.”

Watching Halloween with him before bed seemed like a fun idea… until you’re both lying in bed afterward, and he keeps glancing over at the shadow by the window. You offer to turn on a nightlight, but he stubbornly insists he’s fine. When you jokingly try to spook him with a little “Boo,” he jumps, and his hand immediately goes for your shoulder. You laugh, and he huffs, muttering, “Don’t push your luck,” even as he scoots closer.

Kurt:

He lights up the moment you show him your costume, practically floating over to you, his tail swishing with excitement. “You look so beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes shining as he gazes at you with that love-drunk grin. It’s clear that he’s more interested in showing you off than in what he’ll wear himself. You both end up with matching costumes because he’s delighted by the idea of everyone knowing you’re together. Throughout the night, you catch him glancing at you, pride and admiration all over his face.

He volunteers to string up all the lights, insisting he can do it faster and safer with his teleporting abilities. Halfway through, you hear all sorts of bumps and thumps from the attic, and suddenly, a handful of younger kids are running up to you, wide-eyed, convinced it’s “Casper the friendly ghost.” Kurt overhears them and plays along, going bamf around corners with a grin, happily feeding the mystery.

Unlike Scott, Kurt lives for Halloween mischief. While everyone else trick-or-treats, he spends the night popping out from behind trees, gently tugging on costume capes, and letting out perfectly timed ghostly groans. He has the time of his life being the “spooky” part of the evening, and every time he startles someone, he returns to you looking like he’s just won a prize.

The night winds down with you both curled up under a thick blanket, sipping hot chocolate as he recounts stories of Halloween in Germany. He shares tales of bonfires, costumes, and some of the eerie traditions he remembers, his voice low and warm as you snuggle up close, lulled by his stories and the comfort of his presence.

Hank:

Halloween costume plans aren’t really his thing this year, not when he already feels like a “big blue monster.” You and Logan, however, won’t take no for an answer. Logan grumbles that he’s not letting Hank skip out on a night off, and when Scott calls dibs on Spock, you offer a new idea: a “Ghostbusters” duo. Hank raises an eyebrow, but his resistance finally breaks when you promise to take the whole theme seriously. Watching you two suit up together, he can’t help but laugh, fully in the spirit.

He gets so into the holiday that he bakes trays of Halloween cookies – tiny jack-o-lanterns, witches, and a batch of sugar bats just for you. But after you find a stray blue hair in your ‘graveyard dirt’ pudding, you make him redo the cookies in his human form. “The sacrifices I make for good hygiene,” he jokes, but he looks happy, relieved to share the night in this way.

After you two watch Sleepy Hollow, he shakes his head, muttering something about folklore and local superstition. “We must visit Sleepy Hollow someday,” he insists, with every bit of his scientific curiosity sparking. “I’ll prove that headless apparitions are nothing more than myth!” You nod along, eyes glinting with excitement – though you’re half-hoping for an unexplained flicker of movement, if only to see him jump.

By the end of the night, you find yourselves wandering a gothic cemetery, Hank’s excitement as bright as ever, talking about spectrometry and ectoplasm while you playfully spook him, mimicking ghostly voices. Under the full moon’s light, the cemetery is eerie and quiet, the perfect end to your ghostbusting adventure.

Remy:

“It’ll be fun!” he insists with that irresistible grin as he holds up a Ouija board, eyes practically sparkling at the thought. You’re on board, of course, until Jean marches over, all serious, and insists he get rid of it. She’s adamant that there’s no way it’s staying in the mansion, but you and Remy get a good laugh watching her haul it out, grumbling the whole way.

He’s every bit the New Orleans vampire, cape and fangs, his accent somehow thicker and smoother when he leans in close to say, “Don’t I look the part, chérie?” You laugh, but it’s hard not to appreciate how much he gets into the role, his natural charm perfect for a little Halloween theatrics.

Remy decides to teach a “lesson” on the difference between Voodoo and Hoodoo, diving into stories about his home. You’re pretty sure his knowledge is spotty at best, but it’s worth it just to hear him talk about New Orleans, his love for the place adding color to every word. The students eat it up, fully entranced by the mystery and magic he spins.

Carving pumpkins with the kids, he decides to one-up everyone and light one on fire to show his “signature touch.” Within seconds, there’s smoke billowing, and he’s scrambling to put it out while you laugh, watching him juggle his pumpkin masterpiece in a panic. By the end, he’s muttering about “no appreciation for creativity” but looks at you with a glint of mischief, already plotting his next Halloween stunt.

Jean:

She’s a total Daphne Blake, decked out in purple with a bright orange scarf, every bit of her glammed up in Scooby-Doo style. You go as her Freddy (or Velma if the mood strikes), and when you two sneak a playful kiss in front of Logan, he goes visibly stiff, jaw clenched, looking at anything else in the room to keep himself in check. Jean catches it and just laughs, leaning closer to you with an exaggerated wink that has you both grinning.

She leads the arts and crafts with the younger kids, showing them how to make little bat cutouts, ghosts, and grinning pumpkin faces. By the end, the mansion is a patchwork of their colorful creations taped up in the halls, and the kids adore her, crowding around with their paper cutouts and glue sticks.

At some point, she grabs the face paints and convinces Scott and even the professor to let her and you paint their faces. Scott’s hesitant but ends up with a clumsy ghost on one cheek, and you give the professor a cartoonish bat that has him chuckling. Jean, of course, goes all out with her own look, adding vibrant purples and greens to match her Daphne outfit.

She’s a die-hard Scream fan, no question. You two settle down with popcorn, candy, and a blanket for a full Scream marathon, quoting your favorite lines and laughing at all the jump scares. Every time Ghostface pops up, she leans closer to you, grinning, totally at home in the suspense and thrill of the night.

Rogue:

She’s all Janis Joplin vibes, dressed up in vintage fringe, colorful scarves, and tinted shades. When you ask her to give you a little twirl, she laughs, spinning around before breaking into a few lines of “Piece of My Heart.” She’s all smiles, her voice playful and smoky, and you can’t help but cheer. Logan, passing by, gives her an approving nod. “Got the look down, kid,” he says, and mentions he’s even met the real Janis. Her eyes go wide with admiration, and you catch her humming songs under her breath the rest of the night.

“Coffin races? Morbid as hell, I’m in!” When you and Rogue decide to enter the local coffin race, Remy insists on joining, which only makes Scott even more disapproving. But with Rogue’s design, your ideas, and Remy’s flair, you three craft the slickest, wildest coffin go-cart in the race. The big day comes, and Remy gets a little too excited—he veers off course, and the whole contraption crashes in spectacular, hilarious fashion. You’re all laughing, even Scott eventually, but the coffin’s definitely seen its last race.

You two get your tarot cards read by a booth vendor, and she perks up, especially when it comes to the love life section. She blushes when she glances over at you, biting her lip before daring to ask her question. Her gloved fingers graze yours under the table, and there’s a shy smile she’s trying to hide.

The night winds down with the two of you curled up for Phantom of the Opera. Rogue’s eyes shine as she sings along to every song, voice soft in your ear, and before long, the film fades into the background. The night ends in soft, lingering looks.

Ororo:

At first, she’s hesitant when you and Remy try to talk her into dressing up. Halloween’s always felt too close to mockery to her, a night that could disrespect the spirits. But when she sees the kids’ faces light up at her Catwoman costume, she finally softens, even giving you and Remy an amused look before flashing her best fierce pose.

You settle in to watch The Haunting of Hill House, and Ororo pretends to be calm and collected. But by episode three, she’s clutching your arm just a little tighter, glancing nervously around the room. For days afterward, she avoids walking down dark hallways in the mansion, laughing it off but unable to shake the ghostly chill. She swears she sees movement in the shadows sometimes and gives Logan a hard time, accusing him of sneaking around.

When it’s nearing midnight and the students refuse to come back inside from their last trick-or-treat round, she raises a single eyebrow before quietly summoning a drizzle that quickly turns to a full-on rainstorm. The kids groan and race for the mansion doors, leaving candy wrappers and laughter in their wake. She sends you a conspiratorial smile, looking pretty pleased with herself.

Finally, with the horror out of the way, you both decide to finish the night on a lighter note, cozying up together on the couch with a stack of rom-coms. Sharing a bowl of candy, you end up feeding each other pieces as you laugh, the sweet quiet moments pushing all the lingering shadows far from her mind.

#x men #xmen 97 #xmen x reader #scott summers #Wolverine #remy lebeau #kurt wagner #rogue #ororo munroe #jean grey #hank mccoy #My writing #Halloween #headcanons

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lila-lou · 18 days ago

Text

✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 6✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Fuff, Dean being hurt

Word Count: 7683

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The two of you had only just drifted into a blissful sleep when Dean’s phone buzzed loudly, shattering the peaceful quiet of the morning. He groaned, reaching over to grab it from the nightstand, squinting at the screen before reluctantly answering.

“’Bout time you woke up”, Sam’s voice came through the line, laced with barely-contained amusement. “You know it’s almost eleven, right? Figured I’d let you sleep in, but we’ve got work to do, and I can’t exactly solve this on my own”.

Dean groaned, rubbing his face as he processed the reminder of reality creeping back in. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you”, he mumbled, still not fully awake but too comfortable to be annoyed. “I’ll be there soon”.

Sam’s tone turned playful. “And by the way, hope you got everything… out of your system”, he teased, clearly enjoying this a bit too much. “Because I need you focused now”.

Dean rolled his eyes, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t you worry about me”, he shot back, though there was no mistaking the relaxed, satisfied look on his face as he glanced over at you, who was stirring awake beside him. “I’ll be there soon”. he repeated, hanging up.

He sighed, running a hand over his face and turning to you with a soft smile. “Looks like duty calls”, he murmured, reaching out to brush a few strands of hair from your face.

You gave a sleepy smile, knowing this was just part of his world. “Guess you’ve got a brother to keep happy”, you replied with a small chuckle.

Dean hesitated, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he looked at you, clearly weighing his words. Finally, he broke into a small, almost shy smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, uh… are you free tonight?”, he asked, his voice softer, laced with a hint of vulnerability that you didn’t often see from him.

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth spreading through you at the unexpected question. “I think I could clear my schedule”, you teased gently, reaching up to brush a hand along his cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath your fingers.

Dean chuckled softly, his blush deepening as he looked down, momentarily avoiding your gaze. “I, uh… don’t really have a plan”, he admitted, a bit awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Just… didn’t want this to be it. Wanted to see you again. Later”.

The honesty in his voice, mixed with a hint of that rare vulnerability, made your heart skip a beat. Here was Dean, always so tough and confident, looking almost boyish as he waited for your answer, the faintest hint of nerves showing through.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your smile warm. “I’d like that, too. Plans or no plans, just… you”.

He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, relaxing as he gave you a small, lopsided grin. “Good. Then it’s a date. Or… not a date. Whatever you want to call it”, he mumbled, still slightly awkward, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Date sounds perfect”, you replied, making him smile even more.

As Dean moved around your room, pulling on his jeans and shrugging into his shirt, you couldn’t help but watch him, your gaze lingering on every detail. The way his muscles moved beneath his skin, the comfortable confidence in his movements—it all drew you in, each small moment only deepening the warmth in your chest. When his fingers worked the buttons on his shirt, your eyes followed, lingering just a bit longer as he adjusted the fabric around his waist, catching the faint lines of his hips.

He glanced up, catching you watching, and a playful smirk curved on his lips. “Like what you see?”, he teased, his voice low, that familiar, cocky edge slipping back in.

You felt a blush spread over your cheeks but managed a smirk in return. “Maybe”, you replied, crossing your arms and giving him a casual shrug. “But I’ve definitely seen better”.

He laughed, stepping close enough to brush a kiss across your forehead. “Liar”, he murmured, his voice soft, his thumb tracing over your cheek in a gentle caress. “I’ll see you tonight”, he added, his gaze lingering on you, full of warmth and unspoken promises.

As soon as the door closed behind him, you found yourself grinning uncontrollably, that familiar, fluttery feeling bubbling up inside you. It was like you were 16 again, caught up in a crush so intense it left you wiggling your legs and barely able to contain your excitement. Everything about him—his easy charm, the way he looked at you, that unexpected, almost shy invitation for tonight—had left you feeling giddy and weightless.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, leaning back against the pillow as if grounding yourself, but the grin wouldn’t leave your face. Memories of stolen glances and nervous excitement flooded back, blending with the thrill of the present. It was strange, a little overwhelming, and completely wonderful all at once.

Tonight was just hours away, and the anticipation brought back that same rush of energy, the same heart-flipping thrill that had first pulled you toward Dean all those years ago.

When Dean pulled up in the Impala, Sam was already standing outside their motel room, arms crossed, his face lit up with an all-too-knowing grin. The second Dean got out of the car, Sam didn’t waste a beat, his teasing tone loaded and ready.

“Look who finally decided to show up”, Sam said, his voice dripping with amusement as he raised an eyebrow. “Had a good night, did you?”.

Dean rolled his eyes, but the faint blush creeping up his neck was hard to miss. He tried to brush past Sam, heading for the trunk to help Sam load their gear. “Don’t start, Sammy”, he muttered, though his attempt at being nonchalant was betrayed by the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I’m just warming up”, Sam replied, following Dean to the back of the car with a wicked grin.

As Dean popped open the trunk, Sam leaned in, his grin growing wider. “So, did you manage to get any actual sleep, or was it… a marathon?”, he teased, waggling his eyebrows for good measure.

Dean shot him a look, a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You got a real talent for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, you know that?”.

Sam chuckled, unfazed. “Hey, when my big brother rolls in looking like he’s been hit by the ‘love truck’, I think I’m allowed to ask a few questions”.

Dean shook his head, but there was no hiding the soft smile that slipped through. “Alright, fine, I had a good night. You happy?”.

“Yeah, I am”, Sam said, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder with a genuine smile. “It’s good to see you like this, man”.

Dean gave him a sidelong look, a bit of warmth creeping back into his eyes. “Thanks, Sammy”, he muttered, shutting the trunk with finality as they loaded up their weapons. “Now, let’s get back to business”.

Sam gave a mock salute, but as they climbed into the Impala, Dean could see his brother’s grin lingering.

As evening fell, Dean stood in front of the motel mirror, groaning quietly as he shrugged on a clean shirt, the movement pulling at sore muscles. After the day they’d had, he was practically covered in cuts and bruises, his back aching from being thrown across half the room by one of the particularly nasty spirits at the haunted house. His chest and shoulders throbbed, the kind of deep, lingering pain that promised to stick around for a while.

He ran a hand through his hair, wincing as he twisted his sore shoulder just enough to catch his reflection. There was no hiding the tired look in his eyes, or the bruises scattered across his arms and neck. It wasn’t the first time he’d come out of a hunt worse for wear, but tonight, it felt particularly exhausting—maybe because he’d been looking forward to seeing you all day.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he reached for his jacket. He didn’t want to cancel or show up looking like he’d been through a war zone. Taking a final glance in the mirror, he gave himself a nod, pushing through the discomfort with the usual Winchester resolve.

Just as he finished, Sam glanced over from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed, observing Dean with a raised eyebrow. “You sure you’re up for this?”.

Dean shot him a look, brushing off the concern with a smirk. “Trust me, a couple of bruises aren’t gonna stop me”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, just try not to collapse halfway through, okay?”.

Dean rolled his eyes, grabbing his keys. “I’ll be fine. And… Don’t wait up”, he muttered, heading out the door.

Meanwhile, you took your time in the shower, letting the warm water ease any tension and lingering nerves. You’d been looking forward to the evening, feeling a mix of excitement and a familiar sense of comfort at the thought of spending time with Dean. The anticipation had a way of making you a little giddy, like you were preparing for a first date all over again.

You took extra care, smoothing on a favorite lotion with a soft, comforting scent that lingered on your skin. After you dressed, you gave yourself one last look in the mirror, brushing through your hair and smoothing down your clothes, making sure every detail was just right.

When the doorbell rang, you opened it to find Dean standing there with his usual confident grin, leaning casually against the doorframe as if everything was perfectly fine. He looked a little more dressed up than usual, but you noticed the faint shadows under his eyes and a hint of stiffness in his stance. He was doing his best to hide it, but it was clear he was dealing with the aftermath of a rough day.

“Hey”, he greeted smoothly, his tone light, like he hadn’t just spent the day dealing with angry spirits. “You look… amazing”.

You returned his smile, taking in the faint bruises along his jaw and the way he was holding himself a little too carefully. “Thanks”, you replied, giving him a once-over that you hoped looked casual. “And you look… sore”.

Dean laughed softly, though he couldn’t quite mask the wince as he straightened up. “Sore? Nah. Just a scratch or two”. He tried to brush it off, but you could see through his act, noting the way his shoulder seemed tense, the subtle flinch as he moved his arm.

“Uh-huh. Come on in”, you said, stepping aside to let him in, deciding not to push it—at least, not yet. He walked in, doing his best to look unaffected as he settled into your cozy living room, glancing around with a smile that softened the roughness from his day.

You went to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of drinks and trying to think of a gentle way to help him relax without making a big deal out of it. When you returned, you sat down next to him, handing him a drink as you leaned back, smiling at him. “You know”, you said, your tone teasing but warm, “it’s okay to admit you had a tough day”.

Dean glanced at you, giving a half-smile before looking away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe a little rougher than I’d planned”, he admitted, a bit sheepish.

As Dean slowly shrugged off his jacket, wincing slightly, you reached over to set his beer on the small table beside him, taking the opportunity to really look at him. The bruises and cuts peeking out from under his sleeves and collar told the story of his day more vividly than any words could. A particularly nasty-looking cut traced along his forearm, and there was a faint line of bruising at the base of his neck, disappearing under his shirt.

“You really got yourself into it today, didn’t you?”, you murmured, reaching out instinctively to brush a thumb over a small scrape near his wrist. He gave a small chuckle, though it came out a bit strained.

“Guess the ghosts had it in for me today”, he said, trying to sound casual. But his eyes softened as he noticed your concern. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be fine”.

Dean kept brushing off your attempts to tend to his injuries, offering dismissive shrugs and that trademark grin, though the discomfort was evident in his eyes. You tried one last time, softly suggesting he let you help clean up a particularly nasty cut along his shoulder, but he just waved you off with a quiet, “I got it, really”.

Eventually, you sighed and let your hand drop, deciding to give up on convincing him. “Alright”, you murmured, trying to hide your frustration. But before you could fully turn away, he reached out, catching your wrist and tugging you toward him with a surprising intensity, landing against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

Despite the sharp sting of pain that shot through his shoulder from the sudden movement, Dean held you close, determined to show you that he was fine, that he could handle it. His arms wrapped around you with a gentle but firm hold, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek reassuring in its strength. He took a deep, grounding breath, his hand coming up to rest on the back of your head as if to say, I’m here, and I’m alright.

For a moment, he stayed silent, letting the warmth between you speak for itself, the quiet comfort of simply holding you somehow managing to chase away the worst of the ache. “See?”, he whispered finally, his voice low and rough near your ear. “I’m alright”. The words were soft, but there was a quiet determination behind them, an insistence that he could handle himself—even if, deep down, he knew the care in your touch was something he needed just as much.

You pulled back slightly, searching his face, and he met your gaze with a reassuring smile, one that barely masked the lingering pain in his eyes. Gently, you reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, fingers grazing the line of a fresh bruise. “Dean”, you said, your tone soft but resolute. “I know you’re strong. Just… let me be here for you too, okay?”.

Dean’s voice softened, his words a quiet plea as he murmured, “Then help me get my mind off it”. With a gentle shift of his hands, he guided you to straddle his lap, pulling you closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that left little room for words.

You settled against him, feeling his hands trace up your back, grounding you both in the closeness. His touch was tender, careful, as if savoring each second. He brushed a thumb over your cheek, his eyes softened by the vulnerability he rarely showed anyone, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

With the world outside fading away, he tilted his head and leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. The kiss was slow and unhurried, an intimate embrace that seemed to melt the ache of his bruises and replace it with something warm and whole. His fingers trailed down to rest at your waist, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, a sigh of contentment escaping him.

After a while, as the kisses grew deeper and the space between you seemed to disappear, you reached for the hem of Dean’s shirt, your fingers brushing over his skin as you slowly pulled it over his head. The fabric slipped away, revealing the full extent of his injuries, and your breath hitched as you took in the bruises that traced across his chest, shoulders, and arms.

Your gaze lingered on the cuts and bruises, each one a testament to the risks he took, to the life he lived. A pang of concern tightened in your chest, but you fought back the urge to say something, knowing he would only brush it off again. Instead, you raised your hand, your fingertips tracing lightly along the lines of his collarbone, over the bruises with a touch so soft it was barely there.

Dean watched you, his eyes following every movement, his usual bravado softened by the tenderness in your touch. He took a shaky breath, as if the gentle care you showed affected him more than he wanted to admit.

“It’s okay”, he murmured, his voice low, as though he could sense your worry. “I’m okay”.

You met his gaze, seeing the resilience there but also a vulnerability, and without a word, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder, right where a bruise bloomed.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and he let out a quiet sigh, resting his forehead against yours. The silence was filled with an unspoken understanding, a quiet promise that whatever happened, you’d be there to share the weight of it with him.

It didn’t take long until you found yourself straddling Dean’s now naked hips, a rush of familiarity mixed with the excitement of the moment. His hands rested on your waist, grounding you, his touch both steady and encouraging as you took a breath, your heart racing with anticipation.

Dean’s hands gently guided you, helping to align himself with you, his swollen tip pressing softly against your entrance, the warmth and tension building between you both. He looked up at you, his eyes holding a depth of warmth and tenderness that reassured you, easing any nervousness that lingered. One of his hands brushed a reassuring stroke along your thigh, his other hand steadying you, showing that he was here, fully with you.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you began to lower onto him, feeling him stretch and fill you slowly.

Dean let out a low, guttural groan, his head tilting back slightly as you settled onto him, his hands gripping your waist with a blend of restraint and desire. His gaze dropped between the two of you, watching the connection you shared with a look of almost reverent awe. “Shit", he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this… to you”.

His eyes lifted, meeting yours, and there was an unguarded honesty in his expression that made your breath hitch. The way he looked at you—as though this moment was as profound for him as it was for you—filled you with warmth.

You began to move, easing yourself up and down slowly, each movement sending waves of sensation through you as your body adjusted to the fullness, the stretch pulling quiet whimpers from your lips. The sound only seemed to deepen the connection between you both, making Dean’s grip on your waist tighten slightly, his thumbs tracing gentle circles against your skin in an attempt to steady himself as much as you.

As you moved slowly, one of his hands drifted up from your waist, tracing a gentle line along your side before coming to rest on your breast. His fingers were careful, reverent, as he cupped you, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that sent another shiver down your spine. His hand lingered there, squeezing gently, adding another layer of closeness to the intimacy between you.

As you softly moaned his name, Dean’s response was immediate and gentle. His head dipped down, and his lips found your nipple, enveloping it with a warmth that made your back arch slightly toward him. His touch was tender yet deliberate, his mouth working in harmony with the hand that wasn’t idling; his thumb and forefinger gently rolled and tugged at your other nipple, creating a dual sensation that had your breath catching in your throat.

The combination of his mouth and fingers was intoxicating, pushing your senses to new heights as he alternated between sucking gently and releasing, creating waves of pleasure that rippled through your entire body.

As you moved against him, finding a rhythm that matched the pulsing desire between you, your nails unknowingly grazed over his shoulders, brushing the sensitive, bruised skin beneath your touch. A low, guttural sound escaped Dean’s throat—a mix of pain and pleasure that made you freeze. “Shit, Dean, I’m so sorry”, you murmured, pulling back slightly, your fingers immediately lifting away from his body, a flicker of shame crossing your expression.

But Dean’s hands shot up to hold yours, stopping you from retreating completely. His gaze softened, and he managed a reassuring smile despite the faint lines of discomfort around his eyes. “No”, he whispered, his voice steady, almost gentle, “don’t stop”. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, holding your gaze as if to reassure you, his expression filled with a quiet determination. “I’m okay”, he added. “I promise”.

Still, you hesitated, biting your lip, clearly reluctant to add to any pain he was already feeling. Sensing your concern, Dean pulled you closer, guiding your hands to rest against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your palms. “You don’t have to hold back”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, a hint of vulnerability lacing his words.

After a moment, you nodded, allowing yourself to relax back into the motion, but this time way more mindful.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Dean’s grip on your hips tightened as he tried to urge you back into the rhythm that had been driving you both to the edge just moments ago. “Come on, baby”, he murmured, his voice tinged with both encouragement and need. But when he looked up, hoping to see the same passion and enjoyment in your face, he found you avoiding his gaze, moving more carefully than before. The intensity, the joy that had lit up your expression just a few seconds ago, had faded.

He could feel the hesitance in your movements, how you’d withdrawn into yourself, and it tugged at something deep inside him. The thought of you holding back, bothered him more than he could put into words. With a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of just a few moments before, he loosened his hold on your hips, his fingers tracing soft, reassuring circles against your skin.

“Hey”, he whispered, his tone shifting to one of tender concern. He leaned up slightly, tilting his head to try and meet your eyes, one hand reaching up to cup your face gently. “Look at me”. His thumb brushed your cheek, encouraging you to lift your gaze to his. When your eyes finally met, he saw the worry and guilt flickering there, and his heart ached for you.

“You don’t have to hold back for me”, he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “I want you to enjoy this… to enjoy us. And I’m tougher than I look”. He offered a small, reassuring smile, one that made his eyes crinkle just slightly. “Promise me, alright?”.

Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips as he took in the way you bit your lip, the concern evident on your face. He loved you for it, for that soft, gentle way you cared about him—even when it led to stubbornness that seemed impossible to break through. With a soft, playful grumble, he murmured, “You’re still so damn stubborn, sweetheart”.

Before you could respond, he shifted, guiding you down onto the mattress, his strong arms bracketing you as he hovered above, his gaze intense and filled with both affection and a hint of challenge. Then, without hesitation, he thrust deeply into you, his movements full of purpose, as if he wanted to remind you of the passion that had brought you here.

The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and surprise that left you breathless. A moan escaped your lips, loud and uninhibited, followed by a soft curse as your head fell back against the pillow.

Dean’s eyes never left you, his focus entirely on making sure you felt every bit of his presence, the intensity and love that he poured into each thrust. “That’s it”, he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rasp.

But even as you felt yourself melting into the intensity of his movements, a small part of you still held back, reluctant to touch him for fear of hurting him again. But Dean could sense it—the slight hesitance, the restraint—and it only made him push deeper, his movements growing bolder, more intent on drawing every bit of feeling from you.

He leaned down, his voice low and rough with both need and affection. “If you keep your hands to yourself, baby, I might just have to make you grip me”, he murmured, each word filled with purpose as he thrust even harder, his gaze fixed on you with a quiet, challenging intensity.

The power behind his movements had you arching up against him, the depth of his thrusts leaving you breathless and drawing a soft, involuntary moan from your lips. Without thinking, your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as he pressed even closer. The warmth of his skin under your palms, the solid strength of him, reassured you, and the fear of hurting him melted away.

“That’s more like it”, he whispered, his own voice a little unsteady from the feeling of your hands clutching him.

As Dean set a rhythm that was both intense and unrelenting, he seemed to lose himself in the moment, his every movement driving deeper, harder, and filling you completely. His grip on you tightened, and though you didn’t notice, the cuts on his shoulders had reopened slightly. But Dean didn’t care, his focus solely on you, on the way your body responded to each thrust.

The pleasure was overwhelming, leaving you breathless, with his name the only word you could manage, murmured between gasps. His every movement hit your most sensitive spot, brushing your G-spot with a precision that had you shivering uncontrollably, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity of his pace.

You clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, leaving you completely at his mercy. The sensations built quickly, each one cresting higher than the last, pulling you closer to the edge until you felt yourself on the brink, teetering with each heartbeat, each breath.

“You’re mine, you know that?”, he murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin, each word punctuated by a deep, steady thrust that made you gasp. “No one else gets to see you like this… hear you like this”. His fingers dug just slightly into your hips, grounding you both in the moment, his touch a mix of gentle and firm, reminding you just how deeply he felt this.

He brushed his lips along your jaw, his words softening as his tone grew even more intense. “I love watching you fall apart for me”, he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “Every little sound you make… every shiver… it’s all mine”. His gaze held a mix of admiration and desire, his expression raw and unguarded.

“Just let go”, he urged, his hands steadying you, anchoring you in his hold. “I want to feel every bit of you, sweetheart”. The roughness in his voice was underlined with a quiet affection that made every word feel like a promise, a reminder that in this moment, you were his world.

Dean’s words hit you like a shockwave, the intensity of his possessive tone catching you completely off guard. The rough affection in his voice—claiming you, admiring every reaction you gave him—struck something deep within, sending a fresh surge of heat through you. It was unexpected, raw, and so deeply sincere that it pulled you even closer to the edge.

His gaze never left yours, filled with a fierce tenderness that only intensified the sensations building inside you. The way he looked at you, how his words wrapped around you like a protective embrace, made everything feel more heightened, more electric. The sudden surge of arousal swept through you, pushing you to the brink in mere seconds.

With a sharp, breathless gasp, you felt your body tense, a wave of intense pleasure crashing over you as you came, your entire form shuddering beneath him. The pleasure pulsed through you, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him, riding out the waves of your climax. Dean held you through it, his hands steady.

As you trembled beneath him, still caught in the waves of your climax, Dean couldn’t hold back any longer. The sight of you—your flushed skin, the way his name spilled from your lips, breathless and raw—pushed him over the edge. With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself in you fully, his body tensing as he joined you in release. The warmth and intensity of his own orgasm surged through him, his hands gripping you tightly, anchoring you both as he let go.

You kept murmuring his name, your eyes closed, lost in the lingering aftermath of your climax, still shivering as the sensation continued to ripple through you. Dean stayed close, his forehead pressed gently to yours as he caught his breath, his touch softening, fingers tracing tender patterns along your waist as he slowly came down.

You lay there, breath still heavy, feeling completely overwhelmed by the intensity of what you’d just shared. Your hands fell limply to your sides, every nerve in your body buzzing with the lingering effects of your climax. Dean stayed close, his gaze soft and warm as he looked down at you, still inside you, as if reluctant to let the moment end.

He reached up, gently brushing his fingers over your cheek, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. For a few heartbeats, neither of you spoke; words felt almost unnecessary with the way he looked at you, his eyes filled with quiet affection and wonder, as if he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice a soft murmur. “You’re incredible, you know that?”. His tone was laced with warmth, and you felt your heart swell, a smile breaking through despite the exhaustion.

You chuckled softly, your own voice a bit hoarse. “Right back at you, Winchester”.

He grinned, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead, still holding you close, as if he was content to stay like this a little longer.

After the shower, where the two of you had inevitably found yourselves wrapped up in each other again, Dean gently helped you into a plush robe, his touch lingering as he tied the belt around your waist. Your hair was still damp, strands sticking to your skin in delicate curls, and you looked up at him with wide eyes, a softness in your gaze that seemed to melt something inside him.

Dean brushed a few stray strands of hair back from your face, his fingers gentle, almost reverent, as they traced the line of your jaw. He paused, his thumb brushing your cheek, the familiar spark in his eyes mingling with something deeper, a quiet, unspoken affection that made your heart race all over again.

“You’re looking at me like that”, he murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he took in the way you watched him.

You bit your lip, feeling a shy smile break through, the warmth in his gaze making you feel giddy and adored. “Like what?”.

“Like I’m still that kid sneaking in through your window”, he replied, his tone gentle but playful, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

Dean looked at you for a moment longer, an unspoken tenderness lingering in his gaze, as if he wanted to say something—something deep and meaningful, words that hung just on the edge of his lips. But instead, he simply leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his hand gently resting at the back of your head, grounding you both in that quiet moment of intimacy.

As he pulled back, he offered you a small, affectionate smile before turning to slip back into his clothes.

You bit your lip, watching him with that familiar warmth as he lingered by the door, his presence filling the room in a way that made it feel safe, complete. A playful smile tugged at your lips as you whispered, “Up for a midnight snack?”.

Dean’s face lit up with a smirk, a spark of interest flickering in his eyes. “You know me too well”, he murmured, stepping away from the door and back toward you, unable to resist the idea. “I could eat”.

You chuckled softly, gesturing for him to follow you as you padded barefoot to the kitchen, the warmth of your shared laughter making everything feel light and easy. As you rummaged through the fridge, Dean leaned against the counter, watching you with a quiet contentment that made you feel like this was exactly where you were both meant to be.

Pulling out a couple of leftover treats and setting them on the counter, you felt his hands find their way to your waist from behind, his touch gentle but grounding. “Midnight snacks with you”, he murmured, his chin resting on your shoulder as he glanced down at the food, “best part of my life”.

You turned slightly to look at him, meeting his gaze as a soft warmth settled over you both. "Well, don’t get too comfortable”, you teased. “I’m not sharing the last piece of pie”.

He chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he tightened his grip on your waist slightly. “Oh, we’ll see about that”.

You pulled out the piece of pie, smiling as you held it up for him. Before you could even offer it, Dean’s hands found your waist, his grip firm but gentle as he lifted you effortlessly onto the counter. A surprised laugh escaped you as he settled himself between your legs, his hands resting on either side of you, trapping you in the best way.

“You bought this just for me, didn’t you?”, he murmured, his voice low, his gaze flickering between the pie and your face. There was a warmth in his eyes, softened by a hint of playfulness, as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Maybe I did”, you replied, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face.

Dean’s eyes lit up, but instead of reaching for the pie, his hands found their way to your waist again, fingers pressing into your hips. He pulled you closer to him, his warmth seeping into you as he tilted his head, his voice a soft murmur. “You spoil me, you know that?”.

Your heart fluttered at the sincerity in his tone, but before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips capturing yours in a gentle but insistent kiss. The pie was momentarily forgotten as his hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you melted into him, completely wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

Pulling back slightly, he gave you that familiar, mischievous smile. “Maybe we can share… unless, of course, you’d rather have me all to yourself”.

You couldn’t resist the playful glint in his eyes, so you leaned in, your voice soft but teasing as you set the cake aside on the counter. “Oh, I don’t know, Dean… maybe I do want you all to myself”. You let your fingers trail lightly over his shoulders, your wide grin matching his.

Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by the spark in your tone, his hands moving instinctively to your waist, squeezing just a bit. “Oh, is that right?”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against yours with a deliberate slowness that made your heart race. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure you don’t regret it”.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling the warmth of his breath as he held himself close, his hands firm around you. Every little movement, every touch felt charged, full of the anticipation that hung between you. Dean’s eyes lingered on yours for a moment, his gaze dropping to your lips before he finally closed the space, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was both sweet and filled with a simmering intensity.

As his lips left yours, he let his forehead rest against yours for a second. “Now”. he said with a grin, glancing over at the cake, “are we gonna eat that, or do you have other plans?”.

You smiled, savoring the feeling of his forehead against yours, the warmth of his presence making your heart flutter. With a teasing glint in your eyes, you leaned back slightly, your fingers trailing up his chest as you nodded toward the cake beside you on the counter.

“Well”, you said, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips, “maybe I thought I’d let you have a taste… of both”. You reached over, picking up a small bite of the cake and holding it up, daring him with your gaze.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head at you, clearly amused and entirely smitten. He leaned in, taking the bite from your fingers, his eyes never leaving yours, a playful look sparking in his gaze. “You’re trouble, you know that?”, he said, his voice low and warm as he brushed a crumb off your finger with his thumb.

“Maybe”, you whispered back, the warmth in your voice mirroring his, “but you don’t seem to mind”.

He smiled, his hands slipping back to your waist as he pulled you closer, his voice a murmur. “Not even a little”. And with that, he closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours once again, the taste of sweetness lingering as he kissed you, the world outside fading away.

Before you even had a moment to fully realize his intentions, Dean’s hands slid to the sides of your thighs, gently urging them apart as he pressed closer, his gaze locked with yours. In one fluid, instinctive motion, he pushed down his boxers, his movements both sure and unhurried, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race.

Your breath caught as he eased himself back inside you, the connection rekindling in an instant, filling you with an exhilarating warmth. The familiar feel of him, so close and intimate, sent a wave of sensation through you, and a soft gasp escaped your lips as he held you steady, grounding you in the moment.

He paused for a beat, just looking at you, his expression one of quiet reverence and pure, unguarded affection. Then, he leaned in, his forehead pressed gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours as he began to move, each slow, deliberate thrust bringing you closer, drawing you back into the spell of his touch.

His thrusts were deep and deliberate, echoing the quiet urgency that filled the space between you. The sound of your wetness punctuated the air. You bit your lip, your breaths quick and mingling with his, each exhale a whisper of pleasure.

“Feels good?”, Dean’s voice was low, a touch of his usual cockiness laced with a huskiness that sent shivers down your spine. His gaze was intense, focused entirely on you, watching for every reaction, every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face.

Despite the lingering soreness, the sensation of him moving inside you was overwhelmingly right. You nodded, unable to keep back a moan. “Always does”, you managed to say, your voice breathy.

You placed your hands gently on his forearms, careful to avoid his bruises, your touch light and tender. His steady, almost lazy rhythm had you melting into him.

After a beat, Dean’s lips curled into a small, affectionate smile. “You know”, he murmured, his voice a soft rasp, “I could get used to this… coming home to you”.

Dean’s gaze dropped, lingering on the place where your bodies connected, a look of reverence mixed with undeniable desire crossing his face. His lips parted slightly, clearly captivated by the sight, when you broke the silence, your voice breathless, barely more than a teasing moan.

“Home to me… or in me?”, you asked, a playful smile curving your lips even as you struggled to keep your voice steady.

Dean’s eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and he let out a low chuckle, his hands tightening on your hips. “Both”, he murmured, his tone filled with that familiar cocky edge, softened by something deeper. “But especially to you”, he added, his voice low.

Dean leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Wanna come for me?”, he whispered, his words laced with both encouragement and a subtle challenge that sent a shiver down your spine.

As he spoke, his thumb found your clit, moving in gentle, deliberate circles, each touch perfectly timed to match the slow rhythm of his hips. The sensation was overwhelming, each movement building the pleasure within you to a fever pitch. You felt your breath catch, your body instinctively responding to the pressure and warmth of his touch.

Dean’s gaze stayed on you, his eyes filled with that familiar intensity, watching every change in your expression, every subtle sign of your pleasure building under his hand. His thumb continued its steady, insistent motion, guiding you closer and closer, his voice a quiet anchor in the haze of sensation. “That’s it… let go”, he murmured, his words grounding you even as you felt yourself nearing the edge.

Your hands gripped his arms, his name spilling from your lips as the pleasure crescendoed, building until it felt like it was going to break you apart in the best way. Finally, the wave crashed over you, and you surrendered, every part of you consumed by the release as he held you steady.

As your body relaxed into the aftermath of your release, you felt Dean's rhythm begin to stutter, his grip tightening on your hips as he approached his own peak. His breaths grew ragged, each thrust carrying a mixture of intensity and urgency. Watching you, so wrapped up in your pleasure, had driven him to the edge, and with a low, guttural groan, he finally let go.

He held onto you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he shuddered through his release, his grip gentle yet unyielding as he stayed close. His body softened against yours, his breathing slowly steadying as he came down. Neither of you moved for a while, caught in the quiet aftermath, wrapped in each other’s arms.

After a few moments, Dean lifted his head, his gaze soft and affectionate as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You’re something else, you know that?”.

You held him close, whispering, “I’m not doing anything”, your voice soft, almost shy. Your fingers traced delicately over his skin, brushing against the fresh scrapes and bruises that had reopened. The sight made you bite your lip in worry, a pang of guilt flaring as you gently scanned for any tissues or something nearby to help clean him up.

Dean noticed your shift in focus, catching the worried look in your eyes. He gently wrapped his hand around yours, stopping your search. “Hey”, he murmured.

Dean gave you a soft, reassuring smile, his thumb brushing gently over your hand as he murmured, “It’s alright. Really”. But you just sighed, the concern in your eyes unwavering as you looked him over.

“No more action tonight”, you said, trying to sound firm, though a hint of softness lingered in your voice. “And by that, I mean… no more of this”, you added with a pointed look, hinting at the intense night you’d just shared. “Let’s get this cake and just… go to bed”.

Dean couldn’t hold back a playful smirk, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Are you trying to boss me around?”, he teased, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as if daring you.

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “I mean it, Dean. You need some rest, and, well… I need to keep you in one piece, don’t I?”.

He chuckled, feigning defeat as he straightened up. “Alright, alright. No more action. But”, he added with a grin, “I’m holding you to that cake promise”.

You handed him the slice with a playful smile, and he accepted it, taking a bite before wrapping an arm around you. “Guess this isn’t a bad way to end the night”, he said softly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

Together, you headed toward the bedroom, cake in hand, the warmth of his presence beside you making everything feel complete.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 7

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @globetrotter28 @ladykitana90

#jensen ackles #deanwinchester #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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pagannatural · 9 months ago

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2.11 Playthings 👭👬

-episode of my life. If you only ever watch one episode of supernatural let it be this one. Creepy dolls creepy dollhouse creepy little girls a lonely Connecticut inn a desperate drunken tousle between the incest brothers. It doesn’t get any better than this.

-Dean gives Sam a hard time about suggesting a case after they’ve been looking for Ava for a month. Dean doesn’t even know Ava, but he’s spent the last month looking for her because it was important to Sam. When Sam doesn’t respond to Dean’s teasing, he backs right off. Dean is controlling and possessive but he is also respectful and considerate because he thinks the world of Sam.

-Dean says Sam’s attitude “is just way too healthy for me, I’m officially uncomfortable now” which is funny because it’s not true that Sam’s attitude is healthy and he will get drunk and misbehave about it, but it checks out that Dean is uncomfortable with healthy dynamics.

-Sam smirks at Dean’s joke in this really cute way. It shows that he still looks up to Dean, even though he wouldn’t admit it.

-the innkeeper mistakes them for a gay couple and assumes they’ll want a king sized bed and Sam says “what? No—no two singles. We’re just brothers.”

Spot the difference between these two pictures

That mighty flustered, genuinely panicky “just brothers” sounds exactly like a “we’re just friends” moment between a will they/won’t they couple and it’s so weird that he says it that way. A normal answer would be “oh this is my brother” and then everybody moves on. But this is a tv show and there’s a reason for this scene to be included in this episode. It highlights that the nature of their relationship as brothers is more layered, and this messy denial tells the viewer that there is a romantic/sexual layer.

Back in Asylum in s1, Dean was mistaken for Sam’s boss specifically to make it clear to the viewer that Dean had more authority in their dynamic at the time, which played into Sam’s anger at Dean. This is a similar way for an outsider’s interpretation of the relationship to shed light on it. Their individual reactions to the assumption that they’re a romantic couple are meaningfully different—Sam is embarrassed and nervous like he’s been caught. Dean is feeling some kind of way.

He looks guilty, like he’s doing something wrong. He played along with people thinking he and Sam were a couple in Bugs and went as far as to slap Sam’s ass and call him honey. He seems pretty comfortable with his sexuality and with people being gay in general, like the joke he made about the only real thing about him being his boobs or the time he sarcastically told a scowling male store owner that his smile really lights up a room. He’s playful, he’s not weird about it (until season 8 but that’s another post). So something else is going on here.

His attitude toward this kind of mistake has changed since season 1. A lot has happened, but I think the point at which things shifted for Dean was that moment in Croatoan when he decided that he was going to stay with and protect Sam when they thought he was infected. The episode was a major turning point for Dean. That’s what pushed him to finally tell Sam what John said, and it was the first time Dean really thought Sam was going to die. It also paralleled the scene from Provenance in which Sam almost puts his feelings for Dean into words. Back then, Dean was able to take control of the situation to avoid Sam’s feelings and his own. In Croatoan, he’s the one forced to consider his feelings and why he would live and die and kill for Sam, and Sam alone. It’s no longer possible for him to ignore the feelings between them. He knows or suspects strongly that Sam has feelings for him, and now he can’t deny that he does too. It’s one of his major conflicts moving forward.

-Dean asks Sam why people always assume they’re gay, saying it’s a “troubling question,” and Sam says “you are kind of butch. They probably think you’re overcompensating” which Dean takes in as though it’s an equally troubling revelation. They look like a couple, and therefore they look queer, from the outside: Sam with his shy demeanor, soft voice, longish hair, deference to Dean in most situations (Dean goes to the front desk, Sam hangs back a little, his body mostly facing Dean), and just general feminine-coding throughout the show. Dean with his cropped hair, gravelly voice, overconfidence, and constant womanizing.

Queer people have this shared experience of never feeling like they’re doing masculinity or femininity correctly, and knowing or realizing that other people can tell they don’t fit in, but not really being able to name what they’re doing wrong. Sam is too feminine and Dean is too masculine and when they’re together they read as a gay couple.

Croatoan drew attention to this too, but again, it’s not really about coding them as lgbt, it’s about coding them as queer and incestuous in a gothic, monstrous way. They are Other and it’s in their blood just like the monsters they hunt.

-Dean has Sam pretend to love dolls, to further underscore his feminine role in their relationship for the viewer. It would be so cute if Sam really did love dolls as a kid.

-Dean tells Sam not to look at porn in their room, apropos of nothing.

-someone else dies. Shot of Sam, damsel, gazing out the window of his tower as the body is carried out and Dean talks to the innkeeper.

Dean goes into their room, where Sam is sitting facing away from the open door in a way that feels foreboding, like something is wrong. It’s similar to the shot of Rose a little later in the episode, with her in her chair facing away from the door.

Sam is drunk because he couldn’t save the guy who died, and “the more people I save the more I can change.” He’s afraid of becoming corrupted and at least some part of him believes that he will (that he already is) and needs to make up for it.

Sam says Dean has to watch out for him “and if I ever turn into something that I’m not you have to kill me.” He argues that John said Dean has to and Dean says “Yeah well dad’s an ass” which is a very bold thing for Dean to say about the dead father he once idolized. He obeyed John to keep Sam safe, and he’s finally letting himself be angry with John.

Sam says even now everyone around him dies. He says “please, Dean, you’re the only one who can do it. Promise.”

So Sam is drunk and in crisis over believing that he will become evil, in this episode that makes sure to emphasize the sexual undertones in his relationship with his brother, in an interaction that looks charged and erotic. He’s begging his brother to kill him rather than let him fall, holding onto Dean’s shirt and pulling him down toward him, his eyes locked on Dean’s.

Dean says “Don’t ask that of me” but Sam gives him the puppiest tear-filled eyes so Dean lies, he says “I promise.” At this point Sam is sitting on his bed and Dean is leaning over him, Sam grasping his shirt to keep him close and keep his attention.

Sam looks at Dean’s lips, says “thank you,” inhales, and grabs Dean’s face in both his hands, his thumb near the corner of Dean’s lip. It looks like he’s trying to kiss Dean. The fact that he inhaled rather than exhaled also just makes it feel more like a lead-up to something rather than a conclusion.

Dean pushes Sam away, closing his eyes as if conflicted, Sam still holding onto his face. It’s a little aggressive. Dean has to shove Sam off of him forcefully.

Dean pushes Sam onto his back on the bed, where he watches him turn to his stomach and nestle into the mattress, arching his lower back with his face in the pillow. Dean puts a hand over his mouth and traces his lips, his eyes dragging over Sam’s body.

Just describing the basic mechanics of this scene makes its eroticism clear. Dean touches his lips after Sam looks at them in a gesture loaded with restraint and tension. It’s another of those scenes that usually happen between romantic leads: the woman gets drunk and confesses something and/or needs to be taken care of and the man treats her respectfully but not so respectfully that he isn’t a little seduced. Dean could have let Sam kiss him (or do whatever he was going to do), but he has so many reasons not to: fear of hurting him, of Sam leaving him, of betraying his role as his savior and protector. Dean’s self worth comes from loving Sam, so if he loves Sam Wrong he feels worthless.

And that’s to say nothing of the fact that Sam is begging Dean to take ultimate control over his body by deciding whether he lives, and deciding whether he’s good or bad. His fears are soothed by the idea that whatever happens he can be Dean’s, he can belong to his brother. He’s okay with dying only if it’s by Dean’s hand. His whole life he’s felt something was wrong with him, so if it’s true and Dean confirms it, he is the only one who can kill it. The corruption in Sam (in both of them) has already been heavily linked to blood and their relationship and now Sam is verbalizing it—No! We’re just brothers. Why does everyone assume we’re gay? Sam holding Dean’s face, drunk, saying there is something wrong with me and it’s your responsibility. Please, you’re the only one who can do it.

-Sam is throwing up the next morning. Dean says something gross about a sandwich in an ashtray that makes Sam gag and say “I hate you” and Dean says “I know you do.” The way Dean says this sounds like he really thinks Sam hates him, which came up in Asylum as well. After last night, this has to have something to do with Sam’s feelings for him and the fact that Sam thinks Dean is the only one who should kill him. He thinks it’s tied to Sam hating him and his self-hatred for loving Sam wrong.

-Maggie tells Tyler “I can’t leave this haunted house and you can’t leave me.” Sam and Dean can’t leave the haunted house that is their life because they can’t leave each other.

-Maggie tells Rose “you’d do that for me?” which Sam has basically said to Dean, and “you kept me away for so long I thought you didn’t love me any more” which fits both of them at different times. Rose is the little sister choosing to die so that Maggie doesn’t have to spend eternity alone, and saving Tyler. It’s a creepy, haunting ending that parallels Sam and Dean. The sisters play together forever in a haunted house and the brothers drive off to hunt together out of the haunted houses and motels and backroads they were raised in.

#wincest #samdean #supernatural #spn meta #sam and dean #spn 2x11 #playthings

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stargazedwinchester · 20 days ago

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Friendship Bracelets ♡ Sam

Inspired by @promptsbytaurie #72 “What’s a friendship bracelet?”

Summary: You and Sam make friendship bracelets for each other.

Word count: 762

You sat comfortably on the sofa, a huge, cream blanket engulfing you. An episode of Gilmore Girls is playing and you’re engrossed in it. Currently, Rory has lost a bracelet that Dean had made for her, and she’s frantically trying to find it.

“Hey,” Sam greets, and you turn around and smile at him. “Hi.” You shuffle your feet up closer to your torso to make room for him. “What’re you watching?” He asks, grunting as he sits down. You rearrange your feet so they’re tucked behind his lower back. He takes a part of the blanket and lays it across his lap. “Gilmore Girls. You ever heard of it?”

“No, I haven’t, actually. What is… what the fuck?” He proclaims, and you look at him before darting your eyes back at the TV.

“Look, Sammy, he looks just like you.” You chuckle, pointing at Dean Forester.

Sam’s eyebrows furrow. His eyes concentrate on the kid on the screen. You watch him analyse the character in front of him. Dean goes on about a bracelet that Rory had lost and gets angry with her. A character called Jess had originally taken it from her bedroom. Rory talks about the bracelet that Dean made for her and Sam tuts. “I don’t get it. Why is he so upset?” He asks genuinely, obviously confused from not knowing a thing about the show beforehand.

“So,” you start, sitting up cross-legged and you face Sam. “Dean made Rory a bracelet because he loves her. She’s secretly in love with Jess, who’s a massive dickwad, but I love him. He’s great.” You smile at him, and he chuckles at you, gushing over Jess.

“So you’ve seen this before?” Sam questions, and you nod. “When it gets to wintertime, it’s the Earth’s way of telling me to rewatch Gilmore Girls.” You say when an idea sparks in your head. “How about we make friendship bracelets for each other?”

“What’s a friendship bracelet?”

“What do you mean?” You query, unsure of what he means by that. “No, seriously. What is it? I’ve never heard of it before.” He turns to face you. His innocent face and puppy-dog eyes make your heart melt. You explain to him what one is, and he agrees to make one for you.

After a couple of days, you had gathered materials from various craft stores and what you could find around the bunker. It’s enough to make a tweed bracelet for Sam. You attempted to dye it a navy blue, but it went darker than you thought. You found a few YouTube tutorials on how to make a pattern out of tweed and adding little charms along it. A spaced out row of patterned silver spaces and in the middle it spells ‘BFF’. You tried your hardest with what you had and the minimal craft stores around town.

You make your way up to Sam’s bedroom door. You knock lightly before entering. He’s sat on the edge of his bed, fiddling with what looks like your bracelet. He glances up at you before a proud smile creeps up on his face. Sam tucks his hair behind his ear and laughs nervously. “I tried my best, but…” He stands up, towering over you. “That’s the whole point, you big idiot.” You look up at him, his cute face lights up at your comment. You both trade bracelets and you can’t hide the smile on your face. Examining the bracelet, you see that he must have been very thorough with making this as the beads hang on an elastic string, with small, yellow stars and pink hearts sit together and make a pattern. In between it has 2 initials, SW, then another two. Yours.

You can’t help but laugh at the effort that he had put in, knowing he’s never done this before in his life. And you’re the first person he could do it with. Sam looks down at you, clearly proud of what he’s made. “Do you like it?” He asks, and you nod excitedly. “Do you like yours?” You hope for him to reply the same way, and he does. “I love it. Thank you for telling me about this. It was weirdly fun.” He admits, pulling it onto his wrist. You help him tie it up, and you put your bracelet on afterwards.

You both stand in front of each other, admiring the handiwork of each other’s bracelets.

“I guess we’re twins now.” A childlike smile forms upon his face.

“Yeah, besties for life!” You exclaim, looking up at him with adoration.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester spn #sam winchester x y/n #sam x y/n #supernatural x reader #promptsbytaurie

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v3nusxsky · 29 days ago

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I wanted to make a request of like dom!lesso and shysubby!reader where the reader is a quiet new librarian of the merging schools and they get off to an angsty start where lesso HATES the reader and the reader just wants to be friends and then maybe some smut happens and then lesso gets soft for the reader and they live happily ever after✨✨

Unexpected lover 18+

*Authors note ~ finally getting through my assignments which is freeing up some writing time to get through some requests I’m so sorry it’s taken me ages to get to it school literally is killing me*

Trigger warnings~ dom lesso, subby r, mommy kink, praise kink, thigh riding, sorta enemies to lovers?, degrading kink, begging, oral sex, slight pet play/humiliation kink

Prompt~ see ask^^^

You joined the schools staff team when the schools still held the divide. Good vs evil. And you happened to be the one stuck in the middle. As a librarian to both schools you had your fair share of encounters with people from each side. Sure the ever side was very sweet and friendly but there was something about the Never side that made your heart break, clearly they were misunderstood but trying to conform to why society makes them. Even with the two deans you could see the parallel between them. Despite her behaviour toward you, you were drawn to the dean of evil like a moth to light. She was just so intense and intelligent that your heart always beat an extra beat in her presence.

To Leonora, you were an annoyance. Her students raved about your calming aura and how respectful you were to everyone. How good. And that was a hindrance to say the least. Here she was doing her job, trying to mold the next villains into being successful and yet you seemed to fight against her every step by showing them kindness and respect. It was frustrating beyond belief. At least that’s what she told herself, it most definitely wasn’t that she felt drawn to you, completely and utterly ignorant to her own desires to be near you. Evil doesn’t love. Evil doesn’t like. Evil is chaos and mess, everything you weren’t. So she most definitely wasn’t drawn to something so… good. Pure. Fire would freeze over in hell before she admitted the truth that ate away at her heart.

You hoped with the schools merger that Leonora would come round. Everyone else in the schools had, the library was now filled with a gentle buzz, students mixing with ease, the staff seemed to be managing well too. All expect her. At first you blamed yourself. Perhaps you were too shy, too needy, or even weak to her. But then you’d remind yourself that everyone else likes you. Everyone else speaks to you in the corridor as they pass. Everyone but her. You are by no means a scary person, people often think you’re easily manipulated due to your timid nature, so it can’t be that. Leonora doesn’t strike you as the type of woman to be scared of little old you. All you wished for was the same cordial friendship with her that you had with others. Instead you seemed to be more of an annoyance to her, like she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you. Breathe the same air.

Every story to ever be told has had a meaning, a message to the reader. You loved discovering what the words on the page were trying to tell you. Most story’s you adore have the clear message that the line between love and hate, like and lust and fear and desire can be thin. Sometimes so thin it’s hardly visible. You like to believe this is true, you see it daily as someone who observes the coming and going’s of people frequently visiting the library. Each day there’s something new, a development in their own story, something you thrive on noticing. Little did you know, your story was about to get a new chapter, with a curve ball no one would have expected to occur.

The new chapter began like any other, working to tidy all the books and close the library for the night, ensuring every book was returned to its rightful spot while students began to filter out and back to their dorms from the late night study they were engaged in. Yet the presence of one dean in your usually calm atmosphere was throwing you off. She seemed to be engrossed in her book that she’d swiped from the curses and death traps section. She sat ever so regally by the heater in the corner of the room. It was hard not to notice the striking woman in your space, yet if she noticed you she didn’t seem interested as she flicked through the pages of her book.

By the time you’d sorted all the books in the library you’d made many hints of the time, the fact the library was closing and even going as far to stand behind the counter nervously drumming your fingers against the wood. You wished to have the confidence to ask the woman to leave, yet you couldn’t find it in your heart to approach her. Not when this was the closest to co existing in each other’s presence you’d got since you took the job. You’d be lying if you said she wasn’t slightly intimidating, it’s unsurprising that she was the one to make the move.

Meanwhile Lesso was getting irritated with the constant sound echoing round the room, interrupting her book. Your nervous energy was practically suffocating the woman. It was obvious you were waiting for her to leave, subtly wasn’t a strong suit of yours she decided. That’s when something snapped within her, this cat and mouse game needed to end. Evil doesn’t need to ask, evil gets one way or an other and you aren’t any different if you want her to leave her you’re gonna have to earn it.

“Got something to say dove?” Her words flowed like honey, the nickname coming from thin air but feeling so right it just flowed, “why don’t you just say it?” Leonora was talking to you. You. The shock clouded your mind causing her to chuckle, “cat got your tongue huh?”

“I- you- uh” you stuttered dumbly trying to not make a fool of yourself with trembling limbs you asked her to leave so you could close up. “If you want me to leave then you should come over here and make me” her challenge was set, yet she couldn’t be bothered to even spare you a look. If she did she would’ve seen the crimson blush covering your cheeks as you internally fought with yourself. Could you just walk to her and get her to leave? Would it be that easy?

Minutes later you slowly rounded the desk, hesitantly making your way to the woman only to be stilled by a tut of displeasure. “Did I say you could walk to me? No. Crawl dove, be a pretty pet and put a show on for me.” Crawl? Seriously? “I - what?” You mumbled causing the dean of evil to lazily click her fingers at you as if you were nothing more than a disobedient puppy.

You aren’t sure what bothers you more, that you sank onto your hands and knees or that arousal rushed through your body at the treatment. Scanning the empty library you started to crawl forward, eyes downcast as you obeyed her wish. The carpet scraped against your bare knees, the skirt of your dress dragging on the floor and getting stuck as you moved. By the time you reached the older woman, humiliated and aroused she had discarded her book to appreciate the view. The way your chest heaved and you kept your eyes to the ground drove her wild as you sat back on your knees. So pliant for her. So willing. Desperately trying to please her. She’d have some fun with a pretty pet like you. “What do you say we have some fun, show me what a good girl you can be.”

You swear you’ve had this dream before. The kind you wake in the middle of night questioning your subconscious brain. It’s only natural that you immediately nod along to her request. With a simple demand of “earn it then” and a snap of her fingers her pussy was on display for your curious eyes to view. With a simple gesture to get on with it you dove straight in. You always imagined she would like the tougher side of sex, she wouldn’t want the teasing build up and you were right. Her hand came to your hair, gripping the locks so tight it was almost painful. Almost. The sinful moan you let free was immediately swallowed by her greedy core cause the vibrations to hit her clit deliciously.

“Mm my what a good dove you are. Just like that baby” she grunted as her hips started to buck into your mouth, covering your lower face with her slick. “God what a good slut I have here. Wouldn’t have waited this long to claim you if I knew you were such a whore.” If you weren’t glued to her core you may have protested at the language she was using. Yet again, you weren’t in the position to argue as you ate her out with abandon. You could tell you were doing a good job when her thighs tensed and her moans seemed to be louder than before. The closer she got to climax the more praise she threw at you causing you to press your thighs together. Desperate for some friction. Relief. And that sight, you being nothing more than a needy whore on your knees, eating her cunt like it’s the last meal on death row was what threw her over the edge. Inner walls clenching as you lapped up your reward with ease.

You only pulled away from her warm core because she made you. Tugging you up to your feet by your hair. You stumbled slightly as the blood flow returned to your lower legs causing her to easily settle you on her lap. Your clothed pussy settled over her good thigh as her hand settled under your chin to guide you into a passionate kiss, tasting herself on your tongue. Unsurprisingly, as soon as the kiss started she was in control. The way she would nip at your lip to allow the metallic taste to dance between your tongues caused you to whine into her mouth. The level of need this woman awoke in you should be criminal. You couldn’t be more glad that she gave in and crossed the line between love and hate.

Instinctively, you began to slowly drag your clothed pussy along her toned thigh, seeking friction as she kissed you. A kiss so good you saw you forgot your own name. Her hand came to grip your hip, guiding your almost pathetic grinding. Pulling away from the kiss she couldn’t help but tease you. “A desperate thing you are hmm? So needy you are gonna use my thigh like a bitch in heat? Poor girl. Have I neglected this needy cunt?” Her words combined with the friction she provided was dizzying. So dizzying in fact, you mewled “mommy please” before your brain could even catch up.

“Oh it’s like that is it dove?” Her signature smirk graced her lips before she trailed them to your lips, nipping and sucking the silky smooth skin there. “I- oh, mm please mommy. Oh God” you whined chasing the pleasure she was providing too much to even care about the name choice. “Gonna cum for mommy darling? Gonna cum all over my thigh? Such a pretty slut for me. Go on, cum” she punctuated the last word by sinking her teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder causing you to hurtle over that edge, riding out every wave of pleasure that hit you.

Leonora couldn’t help but be star struck by the post orgasmic bliss that over took you, ragged breaths as you fought to calm your heart rate, shaking legs that tried to grip her thigh in order to keep the sensation alive. Big doe like eyes peering at her through hooded lashes. Stunning. A sight that should belong to the heavens alone. And in this moment where you collapsed into her, her arms wound around you too quickly to be thought of, she knew that you would be hers. Evil or not, she couldn’t bear to let anyone see you like this. A pretty little thing begging for mommy to help her. Perhaps good and evil could co exist. After all you fit so perfectly in her arms it would be sinful to separate you from her. Maybe just maybe, evil did get good, to love and to cherish and to enjoy.

Word count~ 2032

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #lady lesso #leonora lesso #lady lesso x reader #lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #lady leonora lesso x reader #leonora lesso x reader #lesso smutt #lesso #dean of evil x reader #dean of evil smut #the school for good and evil #v3nusxsky daily presents

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