#cas and dean need to use their words
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Imagine...Dean After A Rough Hunt
Pairing: Dean x reader
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Most of the time after hunts, the boys came home with a few bumps and scratches. Occasionally, they needed stitches. Rarely would they actually show any sign of pain. Never had Dean come home with a face beat to hell and no words to accompany him.
“Is he...Sam what happened?” you asked, Dean already walking to the bathroom to clean up. Sam didn’t look so great either but at least he’d said hi to you.
“He got his ass kicked. He’s not used to that,” said Sam. “Can you get him to talk? You’re good at that,” he said softly.
“I’ll check you out once I know he’s okay,” you said, giving Sam a smile that told him to rest while you were gone.
“You got it boss,” he said, taking slow steps forward. “I’ll be in my room.”
When you were sure he could make it there on his own, you quickly made your way to the bathroom you and Dean shared. He was struggling to get out of his over shirt, his shoulder looking like it had a nasty gash in it.
“Sit,” you said, dragging a stool over. Dean’s eyes said he could handle it but he wasn’t in the mood to fight and simply did as told. You used a pair of scissors to cut away the shirt, it was ruined anyways. You did the same to Dean’s tee until he was sitting there in just his jeans. “Baby...”
His back was covered in bruises, his chest the same, a few cuts, some large, others small scattered around. His arms were scratched up, his knuckles split open. His cheeks were swollen, cuts around his eyes. He had dried blood in the back of his hair, had dried blood everywhere, hiding even more welts you were sure.
You got him out of his pants, sighing as you saw a deep and jagged cut along his thigh.
“You stay right here and I’ll be right back,” you said, trying to run your hand gently on top of his head, finding another bump there. Dean stayed quiet as you left, telling Sam to start getting himself cleaned up as Dean would take some time.
You’d cleaned up Dean before, just as he’d done for you. But never had he looked defeated, avoided your gaze. You did your best to wash him without causing pain, his sharp inhales of air the only indication that even that small act was tortuous for him. As you focused on the larger wounds first, you wished Cas was around, that he could heal your poor baby. But he wasn’t and Dean was looking to you to take care of him, even if he wasn’t saying it.
It took a long time, longer than you expected, to stitch, clean and bandage everything you could. You would have made some joke that he looked like a mummy if it weren’t so painfully true. Dean changed into loose pajamas as you helped him, carrying most of his weight as you got him into your room and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m going to check on Sam,” you said, dashing out of the room. Thankfully Sam wasn’t as bad as you feared and he was half-asleep by the time you got back to him. “Drink this baby,” you said, handing Dean a glass of water filled with crushed up pain-killers when you made the trip back.
He drank slowly, as if that hurt him too, but were glad when he had the whole glass and then some. But he was still looking at you with sad eyes and you didn’t understand why. From what Sam had said, you’d saved the victims.
“What’s the best way for you to lay down?” you asked, seeing Dean shift to want to lay on his back. You smiled as you helped him, pulling the covers over top so he wouldn’t have to move before you crawled in beside him. You rested a hand on the top of his pillow, only your fingers gracing the top of his head, the motion not appearing to cause any discomfort.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a scratchy voice.
“For what?” you asked.
“You told me to never come home like this. To not be stupid and don’t get in a fight I have no chance in hell of winning,” he said quietly, tilting his head so he could feel more of you against him.
“You came home, that’s all that matters,” you said, kissing the top of his forehead that had come out unscathed.
“Thanks,” he said, easing some, his breath slowing as the medicine started to kick in.
“Get some rest, Dean, I’ll be here when you wake up,” you said, giving him a soft smile he couldn’t see but instead felt. In a few minutes, he was passed out, the look of pain gone. “I got ya.”
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#dean#dean winchester#dean x#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader imagine#spn#dean supernatural#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester spn#spn imagine#supernatural#dean spn#supernatural imagine#dean imagine#winchester#dean supernatural imagine#dean spn imagine#winchester imagine#luci in trenchcoats#imagine
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#people are always preaching about show don't tell but for some reason it's not acceptable in queer stories #wonder why... (via @a-couple-of-dumbasses)
"Dean didn't reciperate" is such a weird take. Watch his reaction during and after Cas' declaration. Then watch how he responds to the phone call when he believes it is Cas calling him. Words aren't always necessary.
#controversial opinion I guess but I don't want subtlety to be sacrificed on the altar of Visibility#like idc what the straights think of us that much I don't value our stories that way like it's somehow not legitimate if they don't get it#(but I also need people to stop being disingenuous and acknowledge spn is a censored text and ANALYZE ACCORDINGLY)#anyway when that's the final word on Dean when they made Cas' the emotional climax of the series so purposefully it IS canon. full stop#dean winchester#castiel#destiel#spn meta#spn is queer#15.18#15.19#fav
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Just Giving In
Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist
Read on A03!
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, truth curses (with a silly twist!), light fluff, angst, smut (fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n
Summary/Warnings: You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.
Author's Note: It's amazing how I'm able to delude myself into truly believing that I'll actually write something short and only horny. No. We must write 3k of story and 5k of emotional smut. Enjoy!
Title from Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine
Word Count: 8.6k
It’s past midnight when you get back to the bunker.
You were supposed to be back that afternoon, but certain complications arose, and you’re back now. You’ll have a long, sleepless night to come up with an excuse for why exactly you were five hours late, didn’t text Sam and Dean that you were going to be five hours late, where exactly you were in the first place, and why the car looks like that. Scraped and dented and wrecked, like it had been put through a meat grinder and spat out in a hunk of metal that somehow didn’t explode when you drove it.
You’re glad you didn’t take the Impala. If Dean yelled at you right now, you might start crying on the spot. Thankfully—in what should be a rare stroke of luck, but feels like a dagger right into your stomach—Sam and Dean seem to have given up on trying to wait for you to come home, so you’re free to retreat to your room and cry in private, like any reasonable adult who’s probably going to die within the week would-
“You’re back.”
A light behind you flicks on as Dean snaps from across the room, and you grimace as everything inverts. Dean did wait up for you, and that’s tiny and electric high that goes right up your spine. You’re also not lucky, but that just feels like a given at this point.
You will not cry in front of Dean. You have spent the whole night repeating to yourself that, no matter what happens here, you will not cry in front of Dean. He either think nothing of this week, and it will fade into the distance as you figure this out yourself and he never knows, or he’ll look back on it with nothing but simple grief and anger, remember you fondly and furiously instead of as a weak, emotional, manipulative bitch. Remembers you as the person you’ve spent so long proving yourself to be, instead of the feral girl they’d found you as.
It doesn’t make turning around to face him any easier. He’s sitting in his usual chair, glaring at you with his arms crossed, and there are bags under his eyes that you put there. A tight line to his lips that’s your responsibility, because you’d fucked up and he knows it. He always knows it.
Because you fuck up a lot.
“Hey, Dean, what’s up-“
“What’s up?” He snaps, and you have to force your body not to flinch. “You’re crawling back here at one in the goddamn morning without ever, I don’t know, thinking to fucking call when you realized you’d be late, and you’re saying what’s up?”
You swallow. “I lost my phone.”
“You, fuck-“ Dean rubs his jaw with a hand, giving you a look of pure disbelief. “You could’ve borrow someone’s, or prayed to Cas, or just, goddamnit-“ he mutters your name, looking at you with an exhaustion that makes your gut flail. “Where the hell even were you?”
“Um,” you glance down at your hands. “Hunt?”
“Hunt.” His voice is flat, and you wince. “That’s all you’re going to say.”
You nod. “Rowena called me. Needed help with something.”
“And you just fucking went with her, without telling anyone-“
“I didn’t just go with her, I brought a gun. I was careful.” you try to stand a little taller, looking back up to Dean, because you need to sell your half-truth of a story and get out of here. Out of where Dean’s just right there, and it’s making your skin crawl and your blood cold and your eyes push out of your skull the longer you lie to him. “And I did tell Cas-“
“Son of a bitch, that’s not enough.” Dean groans, pushing out of the chair to glower down at you. It’s an intimidation tactic you’ve seen him use before, where he makes himself large and furious, almost beast like. Sometimes it makes him look bigger than Sam, and he only pulls it out when he’s furious, and demanding answers. You don’t think he knows that, when he uses it on you, it does not have the intended effect.
“Dean-“
“Cas didn’t tell us.” Dean hisses your name, stalking across the room and getting far too close for your brain to function properly. “You need to tell us, because we were, I was-“ Dean cuts himself off with a grunt, his whole body rigid as he scans over your face.
“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and it’s the truth, so it’s like clear, fresh water over your head and down your throat. “I didn’t mean to freak you guys out. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”
“You didn’t-” Dean’s jaw is clenched, and his words seem pushed through his teeth. “Just go to bed,” he mutters your name, and you feel something in your chest snap. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
You nod weakly, and almost run away from him. But not to bed. You’ve already blown this up way too much to just go to bed.
You go right to Sam’s room and bang on the door, keeping a careful eye over your shoulder for Dean to walk into the hall.
It takes a very long, tense minute, but eventually you hear a groan from the other side of the door, tired words muffled through the wood.
“Dean, she’ll be back, and you’re not helping anything-“ The door swings open to reveal a messy haired, bleary-eyed Sam, and he blinks at you with a frown. “Oh, you’re back. You should go tell Dean-“
“He knows.”
“Cool, that’s good.” Sam scans over you—bouncing slightly on your feet, every movement and breath feeling frantic and borrowed—and frowns. “Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Oh, uh, you need to talk about it-“
You don’t bother to answer, pushing past Sam into his room and dropping on the end of his mattress, watching him blink at you, his frown deepening every second.
“Yeah, you can come in-“
“Can you please close the door?” You whisper, like Dean might somehow hear from wherever he’d gone after your fight.
Sam nods slowly, and the movement you hear the click of the doorknob, the words start to fall out of you like vomit.
“I fucked up, Sam. I really, really fucked up, it’s bad, I’m fucking fucked-“
“Woah, slow down.” Sam moves across the room, running a hand through his hair. “Just, start from the top. Where were you-“
“Rowena called me for help. Some sort of coven drama, she said she needed some backup because her magic was weakened.” You take a long, shaky breath, unable to look anywhere but the corner of Sam’s carpet. “I told Cas, just in case it was a trap, and left. I owed her a favor-“
“Wait, since when did you owe Rowena a favor-“
“Mark of Cain.” You mumble. “I told her I’d owe her if she helped Dean. One favor, cashable on anything.”
Sam says your name slowly. “You didn’t need to do that, we would have figured it out. I mean, Dean wouldn’t want you to-“
“I know, I don’t need you to-“ You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can we focus on one stupid choice at a time, please?”
“Yeah, sorry, keep going. Why are you fucked.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek, and decide to skip most of the details. Sam did not need to know about how the case was indeed at trap, or how you’d known it was a trap, but the favor had been a blood oath, so you weren’t able to run or call them. He didn’t need to know how you’d mowed down about five witches with the car—the sickening crunch still rattling around your skull—or how it wasn’t just blood and sweat on your brow, but something from an animal you’d really hoped you’d mistranslated from Latin.
He just needs to know the reason you hadn’t killed Rowena when you’d escaped and taken out the rest of the coven.
He just needs to know about the problem.
“It went to shit. Really big shit, Sam. I’m kind of… cursed.”
There’s a long moment of silence, and when you finally gather the confidence to look at Sam, he’s gaping at you, frozen in place.
“What do you mean,” his voice is low, every word slow and deliberate. “Kind of cursed.”
“I mean very cursed.” You mumble. “Really fucking cursed.”
“Shit.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I said you were probably fine, Dean’s gonna kill me-“
“No!” You stand up frantically, your voice almost a squeak. “Don’t tell Dean!”
“Why the hell wouldn’t I tell Dean?!” Sam snaps, looking at you like you’ve gone insane. “If you’re really cursed, we need all hands, and Dean-“
“He can’t know, Sam, please.” You might start crying, every word choked in your throat. “Don’t tell him.”
“I…” Sam trials off, his face dropping into a deep frown that seems to be mostly made of worry as he says your name. “What, exactly, is the curse?”
You sigh, hugging yourself as you speak. “If I don’t resolve my deepest secret, I’ll die.”
Sam blinks. “Like, die die? Death die?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” His eyes widen as the situation fully sinks in, his whole body going slack as he pulls the pieces together. “Fuck.”
You hum a soft agreement. “Fuck.”
“And why can’t I tell Dean? I mean, he’ll want to help-“
“You know why.” You whisper. “Please don’t make me say it.”
“Fuck.” Sam groans. “And you’d rather die than-“
“Yes.” You lower yourself down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you stare ahead at nothing. “I’m sorry, Sam, I just. I can’t. I don’t-“ You taste the sting of metal as you bite through your cheek. “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to d-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound, and hear the bed shift as Sam drops at your side and pulls you into a gentle hug.
“We’ll figure it out.” He mutters your name, and you make another weak, strangled noise. “I promise. You’re going to be okay.”
Over your first, weak sob, you don’t hear the door open. You only know it opens because Dean clears his throat, and your blood turns white-hot in your body, caught between embarrassment and nerves and a deep, soft and starved piece of your heart that’s trying to climb into your limbs and rip your body away from Sam’s to fly to Dean’s.
“Sammy, she-“ He cuts himself off as he sees you, and you die a little at how he says your name. Like he hates it. “You’re in here.”
You nod, keeping your face angled down, and you hear Dean shift slightly in the doorway.
“Why are you in Sam’s room.”
There’s no good answer for that, and Sam doesn’t seem to have one either. There’s no plausible lie for why you’re on the floor on Sam’s room, why you’re sniffling, and why he’s hugging you that doesn’t sound insane. Even the truth wouldn’t exactly be an easy sell.
And it hurts. When Dean just sighs and grunts that he doesn’t want to know—that you and Sam can go back to fucking braiding each other’s hair or whatever—and stomps out of the room, it’s like a knife to your gut. But you can’t tell him. Not the truth. Not any of it.
So this will only be the first knife. And you’d worry about what you would be telling him when this was over—how you could possibly explain yourself—if you had any faith you were going to get out of this.
But you don’t. The week crawls on, and it all only gets so much worse. Vague illness starts to feel like you’re being mauled from inside, and Dean’s anger turns to bullets.
You spend most of your days in the library with Sam, combing through book after book, looking for anything about how you can fix this, and every time Dean walks in, he looks like he wants to punch someone. Like he’s disgusted by your very presence where he can see you, like you’re a spider that’s crawled into his house and he can’t even stand the sight of you.
“I’m getting dinner.” He snaps on the third night, and when you look up from your book—Sam standing behind you, having hunched over your body to read the passage you’d been pointing to—Dean’s jaw is clenched, his fists curled at his side. “Neither of you got groceries, so I’m ordering. What do you want.”
His voice is flat. It makes your chest feel like it’s being run over by a train.
“I’ll take whatever you get.” You offer him a small smile, because you can’t help yourself, and it just makes him glare more. “But can I please have a milkshake as well?”
Dean narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t know where the hell I’m going.”
“You’re going to the diner, Dean.” You shrug. “You always go to the diner.”
He grunts, something hot flashing over his face that you don’t understand. “Fine. Milkshake.”
He doesn’t bother to ask any follow-up questions. He doesn’t bother to wait for Sam to say what he wants. Dean just marches up to the garage, vanishes for an hour—the diner is ten minutes away, and you start to feel your stomach and heart twist the longer he’s gone—and returns with a slam of the door, throwing a salad at Sam and placing a burger and milkshake in front of you before stomping out of the library.
Dean got your favorite flavor. You hadn’t told him to, but he had.
It tastes like chalk. And you’ve never hated yourself more.
After that, he barely speaks to you. Just low grunts and glowers at you whenever you cross paths, his presence in the bunked suddenly scares. He’d usually sit with you and Sam while you read, cracking unhelpful jokes that make Sam roll his eyes and you giggle, but he’s just gone. Locked in the Dean Cave or the garage, shuffling around the kitchen with a sullen expression, swallowing his dinner whole and refusing to really even look at you.
It hurts more than any anger could. It’s lonely and cancerous the longer it goes on, because you’re still talking to and hanging out with Sam, but he doesn’t count. Your whole heart isn’t orbiting around Sam. The curse is completely indifferent to Sam. The curse doesn’t care when Sam grumbles or frowns at you. It cares when Dean hates you. You think it can feel that this won’t be resolved—because it won’t be, you grow more and more certain with every passing day that this is how you will die—and takes the opportunity to root deeper into your body. Every sneer or glare Dean gives you sits under your nails to claw at your skin. It covers you in sweat in the dead of night, and chokes you when you’re in the shower and the water’s burning your skin.
Sam keeps trying to convince you to just do it, just say the thing to Dean because the worst that can happen is that you’re heartbroken but alive.
“And I really don’t think it would even come to that.” He tells you from across the table at 2am, because you’re running out of time and sleep isn’t something you can even remember how to do anymore. “I mean, it’s Dean-“
“That’s the problem, Samuel.” You hiss. The curse has started to make you mean, and if you make it out alive, you’ll have to buy Sam a million bottles of hair gel to make up for what you’re putting him through. “It’s Dean. He already doesn’t like me-“
Sam frowns. “Why would you think that-“
“Because I’m a responsibility.” You’re spitting, and it tastes like venom. “I’m your kid shadow, I’m Dean’s kid shadow, I’m a burden-“
“You’re not a burden,” Sam says your name slowly. “To either of us. I mean, if what you said about Rowena is true, you saved Dean from the Mark-“
“That doesn’t count. That was just a deal I made-“
“A deal you made for Dean.” Sam’s pushing back. You wish he’d stop. “Most people in our lives wouldn’t have done that for us. And Dean doesn’t think you’re his kid shadow, by the way. I mean, I’ve only ever-“
“Sam.” Your voice is flat. A little broken. “Please don’t. Even if he doesn’t hate me, I- I just can’t-“
“But Dean-“
“Please.” You’re going to cry again. “You won’t convince me.”
Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Well, we need to try something. I’m not just going to let you die.”
You don’t think that’s up to Sam. You don’t think it’s up to anyone anymore. You won’t tell Dean, because you’ve scanned over book after book about spell phrasing, and decided that telling Dean wouldn’t even help. You had to resolve your deepest secret. Rejection that burns your heart to ash, that clouds your lungs and makes you cower and falter won’t be resolving anything, and then you’ll just die in more pain.
You let Sam convince you to try something. More for him than for you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at your hideous reflection in the mirror—your skin a little sunken, your eyes lined with red, your lips raw from being chewed until they bled—and start speaking a whisper, because you can’t stand the sound of your own voice.
“I love Dean Winchester.” You tell yourself, as if you’re not so deeply aware of how your love is tattooed onto your every breath and heartbeat. “I love him. I am going to die, and I love him, and I am very-“ You choke slightly, your eyes stinging as the world blurs. “I am very, very sorry. Not for loving him, but for forcing him to be loved by me. I’m sorry I don’t know how to stop loving him. I’m sorry I’m leaving him. But I am not sorry for loving him. I… I spent a lifetime surrounded by cruel animals who called themselves angels, and he’s the only person I’ve ever- I could believe- I just-“ You drop your head, turning up the faucet to drown out every weak sob and apology. “I love him. And he… he’s too good be obligated to love me. So I think I’ll just…”
You trail off, and crumble onto the tile floor. When you dry your tears and yank yourself back together, Sam’s waiting for you a little down the hall. You shake your head, his shoulders slump, and that’s it. For Sam it’s not—he turns around and marches right back to the library—but for you, it is. You’re done.
You’ll hole up in your room and die alone. Like how’d you’d been meant to all along, lent only a little bit of extra time by Dean saving you to begin with.
And that time had run out. So you’ll just go die alone.
lay flat on your bed as your vision starts to dance with spots, and spend your time trying to image what a heaven you’re not allowed into will look like. Cas has told you every person gets their own, but you don’t really want that. It sounds like more of your life, and it’s pointless to worry about because you’re headed nowhere but down, but you’d still rather spend eternity with someone.
One person. You’d like to spend eternity with one person.
The same person who had somehow gotten into your locked room, and is snapping your name as he stands at the foot of your bed. You’d be angrier he’d just barged in if you could remember how to be anything but in pain. You’d snap back if your mouth knew how to be anything but numb.
“Dean-“
“What the fuck are you doing.” Dean hisses, and you close your eyes, the light suddenly painfully bright. “What the hell is wrong with you.”
“Nothing.” You whisper, and he scoffs.
“Nice shot, sweetheart. I’m not an idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Dean, I just don’t feel well.”
“That’s fucking bullshit-“
You sigh. “It’s not. I’m sick.”
There’s a moment of silence, then, “how sick.”
“Fever.” You mumble. “Stomach bug. Maybe the flu. You should probably leave-“
“No,” he grunts, and you hear his steps. He’s coming closer, and your skin might be boiling off your body. “I’m not leaving you-“
“It’s not leaving if I ask you to go.” You mumble, and you can feel the heat of his body off to the side, can hear his breathing—maybe even his heartbeat—and it’s making everything worse-
“I’m not going.”
“Dean, just, please-“
“No, I’m sick of you fucking ignoring me, and I- I don’t even care what’s going on with you and Sam-“
You frown. “Nothing’s going on with me and Sam-“
“I have eyes,” Dean sneers your name, and there’s a tone in his voice that’s almost wounded. “You were hugging in his room, you’re always fucking whispering and hanging out-“
“That’s not-“ You swallow, dragging your eyes open to find him glaring down at you. He looks wounded too. “It’s for a case.”
“What case? A case that I’m not allowed to know about? Because that’s not a case, sweetheart, that’s a secret-“
You almost throw up, just from that word. “It’s- I’m not keep any secrets, Dean, just please go-“
“No!” He’s almost shouting, and the sound is like a cannon into your gut. “I don’t know what the hell is up with you, but you’re suddenly putting yourself in danger, and stuck to my brother, and you’re not talking to me anymore-“
“You’re not talking to me, Dean.” You whisper, his gaze burning you right down to the cavity of your chest. “I’m always in the library-“
“Yeah, I know, with Sam.” Dean scowls, and you’re too tired to think almost anything, but that’s strange. Dean never says Sam like that. Like it’s a horrible word.
“It’s not a big deal,” you say, watching Dean carefully. “He’s helping me with something-“
“Something I can’t help you with?”
You blink, ready to lie and say no, but your mush of a brain doesn’t appear to be up to that task. “No.”
Dean’s brow furrows slightly. “So I could help you.”
“I-“ You feel a stab in your intestine, and your voice grows hoarse. “Please don’t ask me that.”
“Why-“
“Because I- Just go away, Dean-“
He shakes his head, saying your name in a stern, unwavering voice. “Could I help you-“
“N-“ You swallow a groan as your lungs contract, and this is dangerous. You’re too far gone to lie anymore, and that’s the only chance you have. If Dean keeps poking at you, you’ll tell the truth. You can’t tell the truth. “Please just leave me alone-“
“I’m not leaving you alone.” He snaps, dropping onto the side of your bed to prove his point. “You never left me alone, with the Mark-“
“That’s not-“ You can’t swallow your next sound of pain, or the whine that leaves your throat when Dean’s hand grabs your thigh. “Dean, please go-“
“Do you want me to go.”
“No.” You say it before you can think, and hate that the pain over your muscles lessens when Dean stays, and when his hand starts to rub slow circles. “But you- you have to-“
“I said I’m staying.” He grunts. “And you’re not changing my mind, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
“I did.” You whisper, closing your eyes again. Looking at his handsome, annoyingly determined face isn’t helping anyone. “I’m sick.”
“Fine. What’s making you sick.”
“Curse.”
Fuck.
Dean’s silent for a long moment, then-
“What the fuck do you mean, curse.”
“Me.” You mumble. “Curse on me.”
“And how did a curse get on you-“
“Rowena.”
“That fucking bitch.” He mutters, and you feel his grip on you tighten slightly. Almost protectively. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me-“
That was probably a rhetorical question. Your sudden truth-telling streak doesn’t seem to care at all. “I was worried you’d hate me.”
“I- what?”
“I was worried-“
“I heard you,” he grunts. “I just, why the hell would you ever think I’d hate you-“
“Because I suck.” You whisper. “And I can’t- I don’t deserve you.”
Dean’s silent again. You wish he’d stop doing that. “You think you don’t deserve me?”
You nod, barely a movement at all, and Dean groans. You’re still not strong enough to look at him.
“Sweetheart, you- I’m not-“ He cuts himself off, his hand resuming his circles, you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it. “I’m going to ask you something, and you need to tell me the truth. Got it?”
You hum. Like you’d even have a choice.
“What will cure the curse.”
“I need to,” you try to fight down the words, but you’re light-headed and faint and Dean’s hand is really warm, so you fail. “I need to resolve my deepest secret.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “What’s your deepest secret?”
You’re going to bite off your tongue. And when Dean says your name again, his voice a little rougher, it drags your eyes open to stare at him. Watching you with a focus you can feel in your bones, that’s prying the truth out of you, and he’s just looking at you and you can’t do this-
“Dean, I-“ You digs your nails into your skin, something flashes in his eyes, and you can’t look away. But you can’t stop yourself either, and if you have to watch Dean’s disgust, that might kill you right here. “Please turn around.”
He frowns. “What?”
“I need you to turn around.” You whisper. “Please.”
He nods slowly, twisting away from you, and it’s like a green light to your stupid, traitorous mouth. The words fall out of you like vomit, and if this is the end, at least it might be fast.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for years, and I’m sorry, but I can’t stop, and I don’t want to stop, and I love you. Only you. Just you. Can’t remember how to love anyone else, because I love you. I love your jokes and your grumpiness and how protective you are because you make me feel safe, and I love that you’re kind of a dork and a loser but you’re also so hot, I love your voice and your face and your hands, and I and I want you in a, um-“ You squeeze your thighs together, staring at the suddenly rapid rise and fall of Dean’s back. “A way that I shouldn’t talk about-“
“How do you want me.” He grunts, his voice low and a little gruff, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.
“On me.” You whisper. “In me. I want you on my face and in my hands and fuck, I want your inside of me. But I also want to wake up next to you and hold your hand and fall asleep in your lap, and fuck-“
You cut yourself off with a whine as something sharp hits your right in the heart, and Dean’s silent. He’s not turning around, or leaving, or doing anything but sitting and breathing for so long, for too long-
“You-“ He shakes his head slightly, and you could swear he’s leaning slightly backward. “You want me.”
“Yeah, I- yes.”
“You love me.”
“Yes.” Too late to go back now. “I love you, Dean.”
“Why- why didn’t you tell me?”
He sounds broken. He sounds sad.
You’re so confused. It’s almost enough to distract from the pain racking your whole body.
“I- I didn’t think you’d-“ Not care. Dean couldn’t not care. He cares too much. “I wasn’t sure what-“
“What I’d say?”
“What you’d do.”
“What would you-“ He’s definitely leaning back. He’s closer, too. “What would you want me to do?”
“What would I want?”
Dean nods.
“I- it doesn’t matter-“
“Yes it-“ He sighs, twisting around to face you. You can’t read the expression on his face. It’s lost and it’s afraid and it’s… hopeful. There’s this small light that’s so deep in his eyes that seems like real, true hope. “Please,” he mutters your name, and you might be melting. “Just, entertain me. What would you want me to do?”
“I’d want to tell me you love me.” You whisper, and if this curse is going to kill you, you hope it does it now, right before you lose all your dignity forever. “Like I love you.”
Dean shakes his head slightly, and your heart might be splitting in half. “But I- I tried to kill you-“
“The demon tried to kill me. That wasn’t really you-“
“Yes, it was-“
“No.” Your voice gains a little strength, and you push up on your elbows. “You saved me, Dean. You rescued me from the angels-“
“Anyone would’ve done that-“
“But they didn’t.” You snap. “You did. And I don’t love anyone, I love you.”
“That’s-“ He groans, his voice growing hoarse. “You- why?”
“What do you mean, why-“
“Why would you love me? I mean, unless this is some sick, fucked up prank-“
“It’s not a prank-“
“Well why?” He shouts your name, and he looks distressed. Like this is shredding him apart. “Why the hell would you love me-“
“Because I like loving you.” You grab his hand, his own panic starting to set into your own body, making this all the worse. “It feels right. And I- I know you don’t love me-“
You’re not sure what’s happening. Dean’s hands are cupping your face, and his mouth is on yours, and he tastes like whiskey and coffee and pecan, and you feel okay. You really feel okay. All the pain and sickness is dissolving from your body, and Dean is kissing you. Kissing you with an unforgiving, demanding desperation, his tongue down your throat and his body lowering down over yours, pinning you to the bed as he groans against your lips.
The sound jumpstarts something in you. Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck right before he can pull away or hesitate, and you throw everything he’s silently offering you back to him. Biting on his lower lip and wrapping your legs around his torso, grinding up into him as he makes a deep, satisfied noise and moves one hand to wrap around you waist, holding you steady against him as he rises up, moving you to stay in his lap.
“You’re, shit.” Dean lets out a low chuckle, pressing a small, gentler kiss to the tip of your nose as you breathe in ragged time. “You’re such a fucking idiot, sweetheart.”
You lean back to frown at him. “No I’m not-“
“Yeah, you are. But I am too.” He sighs, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and speaking against your skin. “Seems like we’re made for each other, huh.”
“Dean, I-“
“Wait, just-“ Dean kisses up the column of your throat, ending right behind your ear, and his voice a low sound that falls right down into your core. “Gimme a second.”
“Dean-“
“Please,” he mutters, and when you pull back he looks nervous. It’s strange, but adorable, and you nod. He needs a second, you’ll give him a million. Anything to keep him here a little longer, to keep the ebb of the sickness going.
“Okay.” You whisper, and—taking the biggest gamble of your life—lean forward to kiss him again. Just a light, almost innocent press of your lips to his. He tenses, his arms around you tightening, and you’d have panicked if it didn’t seem like he was clinging to you. Like he was afraid you were going to vanish.
“I- uh,” Dean says your name slowly, and it’s odd. You’ve heard him say it exactly like that a million, but this feels deeper. Like a prayer. “I lo-“ He cuts himself off, his brow drawing tightly together, and you can feel your heart in your throat. Set to either explode or move into Dean as you hold your breath. “You. I- you- it’s- fuck.” He scowls, and you offer him your gentler smile, running a hand over the soft stubble on his jaw, even as you feel your blood start to go cold again.
“Dean, you don’t have to-“
“Yeah. I do, I-“ He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and speaking against them as if he’s trying to tell your body more than your mind. “I love you. A lot. So stop being cursed.”
You stare at him, your voice barely a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Did it work?”
It did. The curse seemed to vanish the moment Dean kissed you—like it knew that what he was trying to tell you before he even said it—but now the world is just color and light and Dean. It’s enchanting. He’s enchanting. He’s all genuine and powerful focus on you, and. worry that makes you feel warm, and love you can suddenly see everywhere on him. You don’t know how you missed it before, because it’s in his eyes and coating his lips and in every flex of his body around you. It would knock you down if he wasn’t holding you.
“Yeah.” You smile at Dean, and his own mouth tugs up slightly. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He shrugs. “Any time. I, uh, sorry about getting pissed about you and Sam.“
“It’s fine, I-“ You paused, frowning at him. “Were you jealous?”
He scowls, his cheeks turning a little red. “Obviously.”
“Of Sam-“
“You were really close with him all the time.” Dean snaps. “And I- you seemed pissed at me, and super stressed, and usually you’d come to me for that stuff, but you were hugging Sam and talking to him instead of me-“
“Because I don’t love Sam. I love you, that’s why I told you-”
“I didn’t fucking know that.” He grumbles. “I- Sam doesn’t know everything about how I feel about you, but he knew enough, and I- I thought you were choosing him- And I- You’re not my girl but you felt like my girl and I didn’t-“
“Your girl?” Your face splits into a wide smile, and some of the tension seems to leave Dean as he nods.
“Yeah. If you want.”
“Yes.” You squeak, and Dean’s hand starts to run slowly down your thigh. “Yes, please.”
“You sure?” He raises his brows, and it’s really hard to think when he’s so close, and this is suddenly overwhelmingly real. He’s really broad and warm against you, and he’s really touching you, and he said the thing but that doesn’t mean-
“Yeah, but are, are you sure-“
“Baby, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He drawls, and you swallow as he leans in closer, his nose bumping yours. “And I’d be very happy to prove that.”
“Prove it?” You whisper, your eyes trapped onto his glimmering, darkened ones. “I, um, that, how-“
“However you’d like,” he says your name with a smirk, and it’s amazing how any all insecurity he had only a minute ago seems to have vanished. “You wanna tell me how’d you want me to prove it? Or do you need some suggestions?”
You might be drooling. “Suggestions, please.”
Dean hums, holding you carefully as he rises on his knees, bends you down onto the mattress, and starts to trace slow, taunting hands over your body.
“We could start slow,” he mutters, playing with the hem of your shorts, broad fingers brushing over your skin. “I could take my time with you, sweetheart. Do the proper thing, take you out to dinner and movie, wait until the third date to give you everything-“
“No!” You yelp. “Not slow-“
Dean’s hand slides under your shorts, his palm resting right over your already sore pussy, and he chuckles at your high gasp.
“Alright, baby, not slow.” He leans down to pull you into a long, slow kiss, smirking against your lips as you start to grind into his hand. “But we’re going on a date. I’ve had years to plan it, wouldn’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”
You nod a little stupidly, your nails digging into his arm braced near your head. “How- what do you mean years-“
“You’re not the only one who had that at first sight thing.” Dean mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve lost sleep over you, baby girl. We’re going to do this right, no witches involved, but,” he drops his head to kiss right behind your ear, humming as a high moan escapes your lips. “I’ve got a million things I want to do you, and fuck me if I’m going waste time not doing them.”
“Yeah, good, do that-“ You gasp as Dean’s thumb finds your clothed clit, starting to draw firm, fast circles around it. “Shit, Dean-“
“That’s my name.” He growls in your ear, flicking against you and smirking at your high whine. “C’mon, sweetheart gotta get you ready for me-“
“I, I’m ready-“
He chuckles. “No, you’re not. Wanna make you feel good, not break you.”
“What if, fuck-“ You feel a brief, sharp moment of cold air as Dean pulls your shorts and panties down, shoving two fingers into your cunt. He’s watching you so carefully, like he’s studying your every hitched breath and blurred gaze, smirking as he begins to slowly move inside of you, scissoring and crooking and pushing in deeper every time-
“What if what, pretty girl?” He teases, his pace increasing slightly. “Use your words.”
Your back arches off the bed as Dean re-angles his hand, pressing his palm to your clit and starting to rub strong, sharp circles as his fingers reach a blissful, almost painfully good pace, but remain too shallow to hit that sensitive spot deep your cunt and send you over the edge. “What if I want you to break me?” You gasp, your arm wrapping around his neck as he groans, dropping his brow against yours. “Please, Dean-“
“You, fuck-“ He grunts your name, and you feel something prodding at your inner thigh. “Not now, baby, need to be gentle-“
“No you don’t-“
“Yeah, I do.” Dean’s movements still as he rises on his knees over you, and you’re pretty certain the authoritative thing is supposed to be stern and intimidating, but it’s mostly just making you grind on his hand and reach up for him pathetically.
“Dean-“
“Listen to me.” He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the mattress, sighing as you moan again, squeezing around his fingers, still in your cunt. “Fuck, you nearly just died-“
“I’m okay now.” You whisper. “I feel great. I feel, fuck Dean, I feel so good-“
He hisses as you spread your legs, writhing on the bed for anything, at this point you’ll take anything Dean offers you-
“Fuck yeah, you do.” He mutters, his fingers starting to pump slowly again, scanning over your body with an almost awestruck expression. “Bet you feel like heaven, baby girl, but we need to go slow. I promise I can wreck you later, but today-“
“Slow.” You sigh, and he nods.
“Slow. But,” Dean’s free hand starts to trail under your shirt, palming at your breasts, rolling your nipples between calloused, strong fingers. “Doesn’t mean we can’t take care of you, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck this tight little pussy, still going to get you fucking cockdrunk. Okay?”
You nod, your eyes slightly glazed over, and Dean bends his fingers deep inside you, right one that spot, letting out a low gasp as you whine.
“Say okay, sweetheart.” He grunts, his hand moving from your breast, over your neck, to your mouth, pressing his thumb on your lower lip until it parts. You moan against him, your eyes fluttering slightly, and you’re already too high, too needy, to do anything but listen.
“Okay.”
“Good girl.” He coos, slowly pushing his thumb between your lips, his nostrils flaring when you start to suck on him with an abandon. “Fuck, so good, I can’t wait to ruin you, baby, you’re never gonna even think about another cock-“
You haven’t thought about another cock in years, and you haven’t even seen it yet. But Dean’s thumb is bumping the back of your throat, so all you can do is moan, give him your best pleading look, and let your head fall back as Dean’s fingers finally move inside of you, pushing and playing on the spot until your orgasm washes over you in bright waves of good. So good. Just, fuck, he’s good-
Dean’s thumb pulls out of your mouth with a pop, and he wipes a little bit of spit off on your upper lip before lowering his mouth to yours, this kiss far too soft and gentle for how you think you might die if he doesn’t fuck you now.
“Look so pretty, cumming on my hand.” Dean moves to the shell of your ear, his growling promise sending a shiver up your spine. “Bet you’ll look prettier fucking squeezing my cock.”
You barely have time to whimper when Dean yanks his fingers out of your cunt, rolls you over so you’re straddling his torso, and raises you up by your hips before pushing you right down onto his dick. You don’t even remember when he took off his pants, or where your shirt went, but those are worries for someone who isn’t being split open on Dean’s cock. Who doesn’t have him drawing small circles on their inner thigh, or isn’t being held up by his hand on their waist.
But you do. You have Dean everywhere, real and warm under your hands as you grip his shoulders, bumping deep against your cervix as he lets you adjust to the size of him, one broad finger reaching down to press—light and taunting—on your clit, and groaning as you squeeze around him.
“Shit,” Dean grunts your name, looking up at you under hooded eyes in a way you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you before. As if you’re somewhere they’d always expected to be, and they’re still in awe that you’re there. “Gotta be careful, want this to-“
Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you grind on him experientially, clenching again as he hits that electric spot deep inside you. He grabs you firm by your hips, stilling your every movement as he gives you a stern glower.
“You need to listen.” His voice is gravely and lower than you’ve ever heard it, and you’d do whatever he told you to, but that doesn’t mean you can’t whine and scratch lightly at his chest.
“Dean, move-“
“You gonna listen?”
“Yes, just, fuck-“ You gasp as he pulls you up with barely a grunt, slamming your right back down with a roll of your hips.
“Want you to feel good, baby girl, but you need to be careful,” Dean drags one had down to squeeze your ass, his hand still on your waist drawing light circles around your clit. “Or next time might be more than wrecking.”
Your moan is vulgar and shameless, and you’re more than ready to devote sleep to figuring out what more than wrecking will look like, but right now you just fucking need this.
“Need more, Dean,” you whisper. “Need it so bad-“
“I know, sweetheart.” He mutters, trailing his hand up your stomach to squeeze your breast, groaning when you squirm around him. “Think you’re ready to ride this cock? Think you can handle, shit-“
You’d stared to move the movement he’d said ride, rolling your body and arching your back, dragging every bit of confidence you have to grind down onto Dean’s cock, your nails sinking into his abdomen.
“Fuck, yeah.” Dean’s voice is a breath under you, and when you scan over him, he lookslike he’sa little wrecked himself.His eyes on yours are hooded and low, his voice dripping with that same dominating confidence, but something more delicate in the way he’s touching you. Not as if he’s afraid to break you, but afraid you’ll shatter him.
And you did that. You wrecked Dean. And that lights a wildfire in your gut, running through your nerves until they’re sensitive and bare, and into your brain until it’s all just Dean.
You start to move. Slowly at first to test the waters, but—when Dean just groans and ruts up into you—quickly picking up pace until you’re bouncing on Dean’s cock, your thighs squeezing his torso and your clit rubbing on his abdomen, his ever grunt and hiss and bruising grip just making your need grow bigger as you slam him onto that deep spot-
“Shit, I’m- Slow down-“
Dean’s hiss is low, and you immediately obey, changing to long, slow movements as Dean hums.
“There you go baby, such a good girl.” His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, rubbing soothing patterns as he praises you. “You’re so hot baby, fucking ruined on my cock-“
You make a high, breathless sound you don’t recognize, moving your hips in a circle to try and chase more friction, and Dean chuckles.
“You alright up there-“
“Good,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut to try and focus your all on Dean beneath you. “So good, Dean, feels so good-“
“Need a little more?”
“Yes-“
“More descriptive than that, sweet girl.” He teases, and when this is done, you’re going to kill him. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to-“
“You,” the word falls out without thought, because most of you belongs to Dean. “Just you, only need you-“
“You love me?” Dean’s voice is low, and when you open your eyes to look at him, there’s a small chink in his armor. You don’t know if you pried it open, or if you’ve just never noticed, but you can see right into him, and he still doesn’t really believe that you love him.
And that’s the only thing you’ve ever really know. You loving Dean has been the only truly certain thing in your life, because Dean’s a given and loving him feels like breathing.
So you smile at him, reaching forward to cup his face, and tell him with everything you have, hoping he can hear how the words are in time with your heart.
“I love you,” you whisper. “And I’m yours.”
He blinks at you, shaking his head slightly even as his dick twitches inside you. “You don’t need to be, it’s- you know, dirty talk-“
“I know.” You shrug. “I’m still yours.”
Dean’s nostrils flare, and you know you’re not getting control back from him for the rest of the night.
You’re fine with that. Dean starts to rock you back and forth around him, letting you just fall into and around him, and your lost to any world that isn’t Dean. Isn’t his hand splayed on your lower back or his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and ass. Anything that isn’t his cock hitting part of you that you didn’t know existed and filling you up so much you’re not sure how you’re ever going to manage being empty again.
You don’t think you will have to manage. Dean’s holding you like he’s trying to brand himself on your body, like he needs you feel him for the rest of your life. And you will. You’ll feel the bliss Dean’s drawing from your body that’s better than any heaven you could have imagined, rising slowing below the surface, ready to burst at any moment.
You’ll hear him too. Hear every deep noise of his own pleasure, hear the slapping of his skin on yours, hear his low praise echo around your head and ribs for the rest of your life.
“You’re mine, baby girl.” He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest and rolling right into your pussy, making you throw your head back with a breathy whimper. “Fuck, you’re so hot riding me, feel so good around me, tight and warm-“
Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you reach behind your body, your hand finding his balls to squeeze lightly.
“Goddamnit, sweetheart-“ He groans, jerking slightly inside of you. “Fuck, keep doing that, so fucking needy for me, fucking soaking this cock-“
You grind around him, and his pace starts to lose rhythm. Even after he swats your hand away you know he’s lost his own self-control, and fuck he looks hot without it. Starting to rut up into you in uncontrolled movements, pulling you to pieces with a lustful, ardorous gaze and brutal pace and strong hands, moving back to your clit and rolling it between his fingers-
Your mouth falls open in a silent, needy cry of pleasure as your orgasm bursts over you. It’s not sudden, but you couldn’t never anticipated the power of it—like someone had doused you in gasoline that smells like whiskey and fruit, lit a match, and turned to into a star—or how it rides on and on, never seeming to crest or crash as Dean slams home inside of you, warmth coating your pussy and running down your thighs as he moans your name.
Dean helps you float down to earth, leaving careful, deliberate touches on your skin and humming as his knees rising up to support you. You watch his gaze rakes down your body, lingering on where he can see himself spill out of your pussy, and moves to slowly drag through the mess, gathering some on two fingers before rising them up to your mouth. You open without hesitation and his throat bobs, his cock twitching inside you as you lick his release off his hand, your eyes never leaving his wide, reverent one.
“Son of a bitch.” He mutters. “How the hell did I get so lucky?”
You let out a soft laugh. “You stole my line.”
“Nah.” He shrugs, tracing a hand over your cheek. “You could have anyone you want, baby, but you’re here, with an asshole like me-“
“You’re not an asshole.”
“Yeah, I am.” He shrugs, like you can’t see how his own words pierce him through that chink. “Shit, I just accused you of sleeping with Sam-“
“And I’ve been lying to you for years.” You lean down, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your widest smile. “Neither of us are saints, Dean. And I happen to be the right kind of fucked up to let possessiveness hot.” You pause, giving him your best stern glare. “To a degree. I will slap you the next time you accuse me of fucking Sam.”
Dean laughs, his around wrapped—gentle and relaxed—around you. “Yes, ma’am.”
You hum, resting your head to the side, and you might be here for a hundred years. Time blurs and slows until it’s just Dean’s heartbeat near your ear, his thumb tracing a pattern on your arm, and his face buried in your hair. The end of the world might have already come to pass when his hand moves to your chin and he angles your gaze to his, and you wouldn’t really care. You’re still where you need to be.
“Would you,” he lets out a slow breath, all his cocky arrogance gone, his eyes on yours nervous. The hope is back, but it’s wrapped in soft fear. “I’m not good at- shit-“
He’s going to hurt himself, and you take pity on him. You lean does to press a sweet kiss to his mouth, letting your tongue trail over his lips, and rising back up with a small smile.
“Can we go on a date, Dean?”
He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. Whatever you want, baby girl.”
Your smile strains at your cheeks, because you only want Dean.
And you’ll have to write Rowena a thank you note, because you finally have him.
End Note: Me make a story with no prior lore challenge: impossible
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done. | d.w.

summary: you wake up to an empty bedroom, which isn't usually a good sign. but what you might find might not be too bad. OR, dean wants a normal life.
pairing: dean winchester x reader
word count: 1.7k+
warnings: fluff, surprise sam appearance, no specific pronouns used, no use of 'y/n'
a/n: it has been years since i've written any kind of fanfic, so please be gentle with me.
The moment your eyes fluttered open, you knew something wasn't right.
The air was a little too still, and your bed was a little too cold. There was no noise except for the gentle drip, drip, drip of the tap in your bathroom and the occasional rumbling of the bunker's old pipes. The light from your alarm clock illuminated the room in a dim red glow, and after rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you could just make out the time: 03:26.
You sat up slowly, squinting through the darkness to make out your surroundings. Your bedroom was in the same state you had left it in when you'd gone to bed, but there was something missing.
Rather, there was someone missing.
Dean's side of the bed was empty, the sheets strewn around haphazardly. There was no sign of him anywhere, not even the slightest thing to point you in his direction. You wondered if he'd had a nightmare and left the room to clear his thoughts.
You threw the blankets off your legs and shivered as the warmth from the covers instantly left you. Sliding your socked feet into your slippers, you wrapped your robe around your body, sighing in relief as the newfound warmth spread through you.
Despite being the only one in the room, you made sure to sneak out, careful not to make any noise. You tiptoed past Sam's room, knowing the smallest sound would wake him up—pure instinct.
There was no one in the library. Nor was there anyone in the kitchen. For the first time in what felt like a very long time, the bunker was empty. Normally, you were lulled to sleep by the faint clicks from Sam's keyboard or the light chatter from Cas or Jack, both of whom never needed to sleep –
A pang in your heart caused you to stop in your tracks.
Things were different now. The bunker was different. Two of the most important people in your life were gone, and you had no way of seeing them again. Despite your success in literally killing God, you couldn't help but mourn what used to be. You missed your little family, the little life you all made with each other.
You saw a faint flickering light from underneath the door to the "Dean-Cave" and heard a few familiar voices that made a smile creep onto your lips. Pushing the door open, you were greeted with the sight of just the person you were looking for.
Dean was fast asleep on one of the recliners, legs stretched out in front of him and neck craned at an awkward angle. A beer barely rested in his grasp as an episode of Scooby-Doo played on the flatscreen TV. Miracle was protectively curled around his feet, his big brown eyes staring up at you curiously.
You knew better than to wake Dean outright. For all you knew, there was a weapon expertly concealed and within arm's reach. Instead, you tiptoed into the room, reached for the TV remote, and turned down the volume slowly. Then, you took the beer from his hand and placed it on the side table before resting a gentle hand on his pyjama-covered knee, careful not to step on the dog.
"Dean," you whispered, thumb tracing gentle patterns.
Ever alert, Dean's eyes flickered open slowly. He looked around, confused for a moment, before his green eyes landed on you. For a moment, you worried that waking him was a mistake—he needed all the sleep he could get—but the faint smile that tugged on the corner of his mouth told you that you had done the right thing.
"Hey there, sleepyhead."
"Did I wake you?" His voice was laced with sleep, low and gravelly. If it wasn't three o'clock in the morning, your heart would have skipped a beat.
Oh, who were you kidding.
"No, no. You're okay," you smiled, standing back as Dean readjusted his position on the couch. He sat forward and winced as he stretched out his neck, finally rubbing his eyes. Miracle stood up, leaving the room with a huff, no doubt going back to your bedroom. "I woke up and you weren't there. I got worried."
"I'm good."
You raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"I'm good, promise," his tired eyes softened. "Just couldn't sleep before. Couldn't switch off."
You nodded in complete understanding. "Right."
You were going to try and get him to come back to bed—selfishly, you slept better when he was with you—but he just looked so damn comfortable in the recliner, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.
"You stay here," you said, voice still soft as a whisper. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm gonna go back to—"
"No, I'm awake now," he said, shooting you a pointed but playful look. He sat back in the recliner and patted his lap before stretching out his arms. "C'mere."
You used every ounce of energy you had to not run over and completely melt into his arms.
You moulded into him like a perfectly crafted puzzle piece, your legs and arms finding the most comfortable position almost instantly. Your head found its perfect spot somewhere just under the dip of his shoulder, and you couldn't help but breathe him in: smoke, beer, linen, and Dean. Your Dean.
"What were you thinkin' about?" you asked gently, wrapping one of your arms around his neck, your other hand intertwining with his. Dean was never really one to share his feelings, and though (with your help) he was starting to get better, there were times when you had to fight tooth and nail to bring down the steel walls he had put up.
According to him, it was one of your best strengths—being able to accept someone in their entirety, despite their faults, no matter how large. Your ability to empathise was beyond anything Dean could imagine. It was one of the reasons he loved and trusted you so deeply.
"Everythin'," he said with a sigh.
"Everything?" you repeated with a furrowed brow.
"Just," he began. "Everything that's happened. To Sammy. To me. To you. It's been a hell of a ride."
You nodded, trying to let your mind flick over the happier moments instead of the darker ones.
"It's been a lot," you agreed.
It was the understatement of the goddamn century.
"And I think about the people we lost," he paused, looking down at your interlaced fingers. "I think about every single one of 'em, all the goddamn time... And I wonder sometimes why I keep goin'."
You frowned, lips parted as you attempted to find some kind of response.
"But then I realised," he continued. "It's you."
You blinked. Once. Then twice. "Me?"
"After everythin', you're still here. I mean, you look at me like I'm some kinda hero or someth—"
"You are, Dean," you reassured. "I mean, you saved the entire world. More than once. You gotta stop saying you're not."
Dean sighed, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "See? All of that, and I’ve got nothin’ to give you."
"You give me everything just by being here. By coming home every day."
"You deserve more."
You rolled your eyes, sitting up to look at him directly with a firm, but loving look. This wasn’t a new conversation; in the past, the two of you had argued over whether or not you deserved Dean, or whether you deserved a life that was a little more sane… a little more normal. A life where you could wake up every day knowing that you didn't have to look over your shoulder and defend your every move.
These arguments usually resulted in screaming matches between the two of you.
Dean raised his hand, stopping you before you even got the chance to speak. "I didn’t mean that... I’ve been thinkin’... after tomorrow, that’s it.”
“What?”
“After tomorrow’s hunt. I’m done.”
You shook your head, disbelief quickly washing across your features. “You mean—?”
“I’m done.”
It felt like the air had been completely knocked from your lungs.
Done? You didn’t think such a concept existed for Dean. He had lived one way his entire life. Hunting was all he knew, all you knew. The idea of starting anew, starting fresh, was… oddly terrifying.
“I got a job application. I’ve filled it out—gonna hand it in at the end of the week.”
You could only shake your head in utter bewilderment.
“I’m tellin’ Sam tomorrow. He’s been thinkin’ about hanging it up too... for a while, I think.”
You had officially forgotten to breathe. You sucked in a deep breath, disguising your shock by clearing your throat. With wide eyes, you looked at Dean, thousands of words on the tip of your tongue, but none of them amounted to what you truly wanted to say.
You couldn't imagine it—waking up in the morning, working a 9-to-5 job, then heading back to a two-bedroom apartment in the middle of some city, drinking coffee, and going to meetings. You couldn't imagine leaving it all behind.
But then you looked at Dean, and for the first time, you noticed a hint of something different in his eyes. A spark of something that you just couldn't put your finger on. It was a look that made your insides buzz with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
"Okay," was all you were able to say. "One more tomorrow. Then we're done."
"Deal."
You fell back into Dean's embrace and listened to the steady thump of his heartbeat. Your brain was filing through a hundred different thoughts at a million miles an hour, but the heaviness of your eyelids began to take over.
After tomorrow, everything would be over.
But everything would begin.
+++
When Sam woke that same morning—mind you, at a way more reasonable time than 3 a.m.—he also woke to a quiet bunker. There was no quiet chatter from you and Dean in the kitchen, no breakfast being made or coffee being brewed. It was silent.
He eventually found the two of you, curled up together on one of the recliners. He couldn’t imagine the position you were in being comfortable in any way, all squished together on the tiny couch, but the peaceful looks on both your faces made him pause.
It was still early, and you hadn’t planned on leaving for another few hours anyway. So Sam left you there. He could get everything ready himself.
Besides, it was only a simple vamp hunt.
a/n: that job application will continue to haunt my dreams
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader fluff#dean winchester fluff#supernatural#dean winchester#spn#dean winchester x you#dean x reader#dean winchester x female!reader#dean x you#dean x y/n#dean winchester x y/n#sam winchester x reader#supernatural fanfiction#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester fic#dean fluff#dean fic#supernatural fic#*my writing
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Only Angel



dean winchester x angel!reader
1.9k | fluff, fem pronouns
summary: dean winchester needed a little clarity in his life, and you were just his only angel to do it.
dean watched as you sat on the sidewalk in front of the motel, back hunched and eyes raking over the passages in a book sam had given you. he could see the angelic side of you clear as day, but that could’ve just been dean admiring your pretty features.
around a year ago, when dean was taken out of hell and met the angel castiel, he and his brother learned that cas wasn’t the only angel who decided to touch down to earth. you followed behind cas like a confused puppy, looking at earth and all the things you’d only heard about in passing from different angels.
you were always catching dean’s attention. whether it be the way you just sat and stared sometimes, hands placed in your lap and eyes vacant like there was no thought behind them. but somehow, dean knew that you were thinking about heaven. you had rebelled just like cas, and he could see it on your face that those human emotions were starting to take a tole on you.
when he found you one night sitting per usual, dean couldn’t stop himself from gently grabbing your arm and leading you to the small field behind the motel. there, he instructed you to look up, showing you all the stars in the sky and telling you that whenever you missed heaven, just look up, and you can imagine all your brothers and sisters as those little beams of light.
he even tried to tell you that when lightening struck, you could envision it as your brothers and sisters bowling. but all you did was stare at him funny, informing him that angel’s didn’t play any recreational games in heaven.
since that night, you felt drawn to dean. always going to him when you had questions, staying close to him when you and cas were around. dean noticed it too, but he couldn’t find any place in himself where he wanted you to stop.
so the night you appeared to dean in his motel room, not saying a word as you quickly strode over to him and planted your lips on his, dean couldn’t find it in himself to push you away. he tangled his hands in your hair, bringing you close by the small of your back and drinking in the addictive feeling of your lips on his.
the movement of your lips were small and tentative, but dean didn’t seem to care. you being shy and inexperienced added more to the charm you already exuded, and dean loved every bit of it.
you later told him that the reason you kissed him was because that’s what sam told you to do when you felt fluttery feelings in your stomach around someone. dean swore to himself that he’d be owing sam for the rest of his life because of that.
that was all a couple months ago, and now, dean watched as you shifted a strand of hair behind your ear. the black and white striped tank top, alongside the dusty pink skirt that flowed around your thighs made him want to pick you up and take you right there in the back of the impala; but dean didn’t want to rush you, so he fought his self control as best as he could.
a soft sound of feet shuffling against gravel rang through dean’s ears as he leaned over the impala’s hood, tinkering with the gears and wires to make sure everything was okay. he didn’t think much of it, but since his back was facing where you were initially sitting, he had no idea that it was your ballet flat covered feet making all the noise.
“hey dean?” your voice rang from somewhere in front of him, not sparking any questions as he gravelly called out a ‘yes baby?’ in response to your ribbon like soft voice. “when are you going to teach me how to use this?”
he lifted his head in surprise, a quizzical look dawning on his face. when he turned and noticed you weren’t sat behind him anymore, he slowly moved his head towards the boot of the impala and watched with shock as you held a shot gun full of rock salt in your arms.
eyes wide, he quickly moved his head from under the hood and rushed over to you with breaths of ‘woah’ under his lips. in an instant, he took it from your hands, ignoring your adorable pouty lips as he placed it back in the trunk. “jesus feather’s, be careful. could’ve taken an eye out.”
you frowned as he simply just walked away, ignoring your original question and moving to the front seat of the impala. “you didn’t answer my question dean.” your feet planted themselves by the opening of the drivers side door. left foot tapping impatiently as you stared intently at dean’s side profile. “i want to learn how to use it.”
dean just chuckled, turning to plant his feet on the gravel and staring into your stoic eyes. instead of dangling by your side, you had your arms crossed over your chest in a defiance of anger. though dean couldn’t help but smile at how adorable you looked.
“i’m not kidding dean!” you basically whined, sending thoughts to dean’s head that he probably shouldn’t be thinking at the moment. “i want to be helpful. my grace can only take me so far.”
with a sigh leaving his lips, dean held back his immediate rebuttal to your argument. he wanted you to feel useful. feel how important you were to him and sam. he just selfishly didn’t want you to be corrupted by all the things that ruined him. you were so pure in your own sense. being able to use your grace to fight was one way you held onto that angelic side of you. he couldn’t bare do that to you.
dean also knew that you wanted to do this. all he could muster to do was grip your waist tightly in his hands and drag your body in between his legs. his arms went up to wrap around your lower back and torso, head tilted upwards so he could look at you through his lashes. you knew he was trying to use his charm and looks to sway you towards his ideas. you felt like a lovesick follow for following his bright green eyes so easily.
“you are helpful in your own ways baby, i hope you know that.” with a grin on his lips, dean stood up and rested his hands low on your ass, giving it a firm tap before kissing your cheek. “though if this is what you want, than get in the car. i have an idea.”
a light squeal left your lips as you reached on your tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on dean’s lips. your feet shuffled around the impala and into the passenger seat, watching as dean slammed the hood of the car down and situated himself behind the wheel. in an instant, he was backing out of the parking lot and speeding down the street.
he turned onto a desolate side street, fields and dirt roads in every direction as the smell of fresh grass wafted through the windows. you looked quizzically out at the scenery, wondering what dean had in mind as his hand rested gently on your upper thigh.
slowly stopping beside an open field, dean got out of the car, watching idly as his angel sat stiff and still in the car. grabbing one of the many hand guns from the trunk, dean opened the passenger side door and chuckled as you stared up at him with wide, curious eyes. “c’mon sweets. i’m gonna teach you how to shoot.”
with an eager and excited smile on your face, you scampered out of the car and flung your arms around dean’s shoulders. peppering many kisses around his face, you joyously mumbled thank you’s into each of your kisses. dean’s laugh reverberated off his chest as you ran off towards the middle of the field, waving him over when you found a good spot.
meeting you where the field took a decline to a hill; showing acres of grass and trees at the bottom, dean slowly handed you the gun as he situated himself behind you. “the first and most important thing to know is how to hold it.” dean snaked his arms around your body as he spoke, arms positioning your own as his hands clutched yours in the perfect position.
“there ya go angel. just like that, you’re doing amazing.” dean’s praise fell deftly onto the shell of your ear, his breath hitting a spot on your neck that made a deep sigh erupt from your throat. dean’s explanation on how to aim and the recoil of some gun’s fell deaf to your ears. all you could feel was his arms wrapped around you, his solid chest pressed to your back as his chin rested on your shoulder. this was too much. and you were starting to wonder if asking dean to fuck you, right now, in the impala’s back seat, was such a bad idea.
“now just put your finger on the trigger.” dean’s words started to register again in your brain, and when you felt him back up a bit and allow you to get into position, you felt the desire you had moments ago be replaced by the overwhelming feeling of learning something new.
dean watched you as you got into position. squaring your shoulders and lifting your arms up in aim as dean relished in how you looked at the moment.
you looked so out of place. so out of your element as you held one of his guns, skirt billowing around your upper thighs in the wind. you looked out of place, but so ethereal. so beautiful in dean’s eyes that he couldn’t believe you chose him.
“is this okay?” your voice snapped him out of his thoughts as you questioned the placement of your arms. dean couldn’t help but move closer to your back again as he looked over your stance.
“yeah lovely, that’s perfect. you’re doin’ amazing.” his words encouraged you to pull the trigger, a loud pop ringing through the air as the bullet whizzed right into the lone beer bottle that dean had grabbed earlier for target practice.
an excited squeak tore from your lips, legs jumping up and down as dean’s arms wrapped around your middle. he swung you around, exclaiming in happiness as you laughed with joy. you did it on your first try, and dean couldn’t be anymore proud.
“look at you baby, that was amazing.” dean’s excitement could be heard through his voice. when he spun you around, the glimmer of pride even sparked in his eyes. “i’m so proud of you, angel, you’ve come so far.” no words came from your mouth. all you could manage was a feeble hug to show your love. dean knew what you were implying, hugging you back twice as hard as his hand smoothed down your hair.
his mouth was by your ear, whispering sweet nothings as you held onto him tightly. with a gentle kiss on his collarbone, you pulled away and grabbed his hand, dragging him back to the car with a happy skip in your step. “c’mon! i wanna go back to the motel and tell sam and cas!”
how could dean say no to his perfect angel? his only angel.
#supernatural#dean winchester#imagine#sam winchester#supernatural x reader#fluff#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester one shot#dean winchester fanfiction
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They are IN LOVE!!!!!! They LOVE EACH OTHER!!!! They BELONG!!!! S2 They NEED TO USE THEIR WORDS and TALK!!!!! Oh, These TWO!!!! THIS IS SOOOO F* GORGEOUS!!!!! SOOO BEAUTIFUL!!!! SOOO SAD TOO!!!! COME ON, YOU TWO!!!! TALK TO EACH OTHER!!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!!! I LOVE THEM!!!! :D Thank YOU SO SO MUCH for this!!!! You are INCREDIBLE!!!! :) <3

and in my darkest hour, it was love not hate
that made me hurt the thing i truly love the most
#destiel#deancas#casdean#LOVE#they belong#they love each other#fanart#cas#dean#castiel#dean winchester#they need to use WORDS#they need to COMMUNICATE
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Fix me, Touch me, Kiss me
Summary: A week after Jack left, he brought Castiel back from the Empty — whole, alive, and standing in front of Dean like nothing had changed, though everything had. Dean’s grateful. Of course he is. But now that Cas is here, really here, Dean is left face-to-face with everything unsaid between them. He knows what Cas confessed before dying, and worse — he knows damn well what he feels in return. But saying it out loud? That’s another story entirely, because there's something broken inside of him.
Dean asks Cas for something no one’s ever asked of him before: to go back in time, to the moment something broke, and stop it from happening. Stop the moment that taught Dean to be afraid of what he wanted most. Stop the moment Dean got broken.
Stop John Winchester.
Beautiful art by: @mediamime
Tag list: @birdie-poe8 @wanderingcas @sanndh @alicevanblood-blog
Let me know if you want to be added!
Tags: Dean Winchester/Castiel, time travel, healing, Dean Winchester is definitely not well adjusted, John Winchester Gets What John Winchester Deserves, BAMF Castiel, Castiel is a Dean girl, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Homophobic John Winchester, internalized Homophobia, Angst with a happy ending, Dean Winchester needs to use his words, canon divergent, 15x20 doesn't exist, fix-it, and fix Dean while you're at it, Dean Winchester has self worth issues, Emotional hurt/comfort, Dean Winchester deserves to be happy, Castiel deserves to be loved.
Rating: E
Excerpt Chapter 1:
Cas was here.
Alive, breathing, and dwelling somewhere in the bunker again like nothing had ever happened, while Dean tried to remember how to be a functioning human being.
Don’t get him wrong. Dean was happy. Dean was fucking thrilled.
Last time he’d been this happy was when his mom somehow managed to patch up his favorite teddy bear after the neighbor’s dog got a hold of it and tore it to shreds. Dean had cried like it was the end of the world — because at four years old, it kinda was. Mary had spent the whole night sewing its ear back on.
(Ironically enough, it didn’t last because a few months later that teddy bear turned to ash — ending up the same as Mary.)
So yeah, Dean was happy now. Stupid, shaky, can’t-stop-smiling happy. Because now he knew Chuck was gone and they’d get their happy ending.
Which somehow only made it worse.
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how is supernatural so unapologetically queer like. cOME ON
it's 9.10 ("Road Trip") and Crowley is using Sam's head as a pin cushion so they can talk to Sam without Gadreel listening in. which is obviously not something that Dean can bear for more than a few minutes, so he walks away on the very visible verge of having a breakdown about this whole mess!! and Castiel follows him, and Dean who is infamous for never reaching out when he's in pain does not push him away or pretend he's not in agony!!
there is a generous amount of eye-fucking, but there's also Dean being completely honest about how guilt is eating him alive, which isn't something he tells anyone about! usually he shoves it down for later, because he feels even worse about burdening others with his own pain and regret. after all, doesn't he deserve it!! didn't he do this to himself every time he fell short!! he's not going to give himself the mercy of leaning on someone else, because he doesn't get to. not after failing. he doesn't get to tell someone else about how painfully inadequate and guilty and exhausted he feels, because he doesn't get to share the burden or be understood.
but then,
DEAN.- Cas, I'm sorry (...). Kicking you out of the bunker. That's uh... You know, not telling you about Sam. CASTIEL.- You thought his life was at stake. DEAN.- Yeah, I got played. CASTIEL.- I thought I was saving Heaven. I got played too. DEAN.- So you're saying we're both a couple of dumbasses? CASTIEL.- I prefer the word "trusting". Less dumb, less ass.
in waltzes Castiel with his own mistakes and crushing guilt, and two sentences are all he needs to do to comfort Dean. why does he get through to Dean when Sam has been unable to for 9 seasons now? what is it about this Angel of the Lord in a trenchcoat?
see, Dean thinks himself inferior to Sam in many ways. he couldn't follow his heart like Sam did, he couldn't stand up to their father like Sam did, he isn't fundamentally good at his core like Sam is—or so he tells himself. but Castiel. oh, Castiel, angel of Tuesday, he who fell from grace. he whose good intentions unleashed the Leviathan on Earth, he who thought he did not deserve to be saved and let go of Dean's hand.
what sets Castiel apart, time and time again, is the extent to which Dean trusts him as an equal. sure, he's an angel whereas Dean is a human hunter, but that's the least important thing about who they are in each other's eyes. the exchange above makes me feral because it shows, once more, just how deeply Dean trusts Castiel and values his angel's opinion of him. Sam would have never made Dean snap out of it in just two sentences, let alone make him smile, but Castiel? Castiel pulls it off like it's as easy as breathing. like he was born to ease Dean's pain.
they see themselves in each other's suffering, they are each other's mirror, they are their father's little soldiers who could never be enough, they keep trying oh so desperately to save the world and their kind, they both refuse to give up on protecting others even when it tears their heart apart.
only Dean can get through to Castiel with an "I need you"
only Castiel can get through to Dean with an "I got played too"
(...see, you are not fundamentally bad, I trusted the wrong people in my desperation to save the world too)
only Castiel is Dean's equal in every way that matters. only Dean is Castiel's mirror as he stumbles through the vastness of human nature. only Dean and Castiel are each other's tether in a world that keeps tugging at them in the hopes that it'll rip them to shreds, and the CW might be queerblind but I am sure as fuck not.
#every time i think peak Destiel has come and passed they have an episode with 2 or 3 scenes like this one that are just. UNHINGED#i am in hysterics. i need to chew on glass. i want to scream#heartbreaking how these two invented true love then weren't allowed to embrace it#gee watches supernatural#supernatural#spn#spn season 9#deancas#destiel#dean winchester#castiel#castiel angel of the lord#insane show for insane people#supernatural analysis#supernatural rant
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Not to be a Jackles defender bc I am not going to be a keyboard warrior for the rich actor man or claim to know what goes on in his head, but I truly don't understand people being actually mad about jackles dodging talking about Dean's feelings regarding Cas' confession. Like yes, you can read it as "Jackles doesn't think Dean reciprocates and is just trying to fence ride about it and not make anyone mad" but also like. guys. the man so OBVIOUSLY wants another season of supernatural to continue deans story. and there's been so much talk about it recently.
If he really does think Dean reciprocates, why the fuck would he spoil it at a random con?? Why would he spoil what could be a major plot point in the revival? Or make a promise about it that he may not be able to keep due to network interference? He told us that Dean KNOWS what Cas' confession was, and that his love for Dean was TEXT not subtext. He told us that CAS' feelings don't need to be resolved. Idk about you guys but this... it's not a nothing answer to me. It's carefully worded and thought out. To me, these are some pretty big pieces of what, for Jackles, a continuation of their story would look like. He's not closing the door, he's keeping it open
#idk idk maybe im wrong#but i just rly needed to get my feelings on this out#and it rly does confuse me how little i see ppl bring up that it doesnt make sense to spoil deans feelings if a revivals gonna happen#spn#supernatural#destiel#dean winchester#castiel#jensen ackles#spn revival#s16 clowning#cat spirals tag
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Got a nice long one for y'all, might be a little less smooth than the other chapters because this was written in increments during finals week when my brain was scattered like dust in the wind, but here's pt.6
_____
Becoming a regular face at the local, rundown dive bar has been an… interesting experience.
Cas has never been much of a drinker, save for special occasions or large events that he can’t stand attending without some form of buzz pushing him to socialize, but there’s something about The Roadhouse that keeps reeling him back in.
He could lie and say it’s a nice change of pace from his normal life, a way to get out of the house and socialize with people who aren’t his students. He could also say Gabe practically shoves him out the front door whenever Castiel mentions being bored, which is both true and false.
Gabe only forced him out of the house once, every other time has been his own volition, because, in truth, he’s become hooked on something he can only find at the bar.
Who knew a pair of green eyes and a bright, freckled face would be so addicting?
Dean’s astounding to watch as he works, making drinks and chatting with patrons, all with an easy grin. His spiky hair shines under the neon lights, his voice echoes throughout the room as he sings along to whatever’s playing on the jukebox and, while Castiel feels like a creep, watching him from a booth while he cradles his drink, he can’t bring himself to look away.
It took Cas a week to fully accept that Dean’s abduction of Jack was an accident, a second to begin to notice the way Dean was one of the most amazingly genuine people he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting, and another to realize he was well and truly in over his head.
Now Gabe’s joking about dragging Castiel to an AA meeting because almost every other night, without fail, after Cas tucks Jack into bed with a story and a kiss, he goes out to visit Dean on his shift.
“Hey, Cas!”
Speak of The Devil.
“Dean,” Castiel smiles at the bartender, who’s easily sliding into the seat across from him, “Are you on break?”
It’s barely past midnight on a Friday, these are the nights Cas barely gets a word in edgewise with Dean before he’s pulled to some other task.
“Nah, I’m off early tonight.” True to his word he has his jacket slung over his shoulder and his keys clutched in one hand.
“Oh?” Cas glances towards the bar, where two of Dean's co-workers (Jo and… Benny? Are those their names?) are watching the pair like hawks, “Why’s that?”
The burly man behind the bar shoots Dean a conspiratorial grin and a wink, leaving the bartender across from Cas sputtering out his answer, “N-no reason.”
Dean clears his throat, blushing so hard it disappears down the collar of his henley, “You headin’ out soon?”
The professor looks down at his long since empty glass, “It appears so.”
“Cool!” Dean jumps out of his seat, seeming to have recovered from whatever embarrassing circumstance his co-workers so desperately tried to put him in, “I’ll walk you out.”
Cas bites back a response about how he can manage a trip to the parking lot on his own, how he doesn't need someone to escort him back to his beat-up second hand truck.
“I’d like that.”
It’s quiet outside, a vast difference from the Roadhouse’s constant noise and clatter. The sky is cloudy, a few drops of rain are beginning to fall, but other than that it’s not awful.
Especially not with Dean at his side, grinning as they walk to Cas’ vehicle.
“Woah,” The bartender whistles under his breath once Castiel points out which parking spot he’s in, “Never took you for a truck guy.”
He’s heard this sentiment before and his answer is practically muscle memory at this point, “I’m not, but it was the cheapest vehicle I could find when I started school, and I haven’t had time to budget a way to replace it.” He purses his lips in thought for a moment before adding, “I use my brother's car whenever I need to transport Jack, though, since this doesn't have a back seat.”
“Smart.” Dean nods approvingly as Castiel unlocks the door, “Well it’s a nice lookin-” Cas turns the key in the ignition and his engine lets out a god awful shrieking noise, “Jesus christ!”
“It does that sometimes.” He shrugs, the clatter waning as the engine warms up.
“It shouldn’t.” Dean looks horrified, “Is this thing even driveable?”
Most likely not, “Yes.”
“I-” He looks like he wants to argue more but Cas sets his jaw and Dean leaves it be, opting to sigh and card a hand through his spiky hair, “Okay, you do you, man.”
“Thank you,” His fingers ghost over the handle, ready to close his door and head home, “Have a good night, Dean.”
Dean smiles, mouth opening like he wants to say something before it snaps closed, “I- yeah Cas, get home safe.”
“You too.”
Of course the night Castiel insists his truck is driveable is the night it decides to spite him.
Ten minutes from the Roadhouse, on some poorly lit back road, something begins to feel terribly wrong.
He pushes the gas pedal down in an attempt to accelerate, only for the engine to let out a pathetic noise while his speedometer stays stubbornly low. He tries again, flooring it this time, only to get the same results, never managing to get above 20 mph.
Panic surges through him as he jerkily pulls to the side of the road, cursing the stupid used truck that he knew was being sold for far too low of a price to be any good.
Castiel turns his key in the ignition and the vehicle falls silent.
What does he do now? Does he risk trying to drive back home when his truck might give out on him? Does he call Gabe to retrieve him?
No, Gabe’s at home with Jack.
A tow truck is his next best option, but it's late and the fees will probably be exuberant.
“Damnit.” He thumps his fist on the dashboard.
He’s not sure how long he sits there, glaring at the hood in front of him with betrayal, but it’s long enough for a sleek black car to pull up behind his truck.
Cas grumbles under his breath and grips his steering wheel tightly, headlights flashing in the rearview as a silhouetted figure approaches his window. He doesn't want to deal with someone else right now, no matter how helpful they end up being, he just wants to be home.
“Cas?”
Oh god. Castiel freezes, catching movement out of the corner of his eyes as the person becomes clear in the dim light.
“I thought that was you,” Dean presses his face up against the window, voice muffled as he shouts at Cas through the glass, “What’s goin’ on?”
Cas keeps his eyes firmly trained ahead of him, like he can will the bartender away if he doesn't acknowledge his presence.
“Helloooo-” Fingers tap on the glass, “Ground control to Major Cas.”
This is mortifying, the last thing he wanted Dean to see tonight was his poor vehicle maintenance.
“Dude? Are you okay?” He sounds concerned and that snaps Castiel out of his stupor, “Do you want me to call someone-?”
Castiel whips towards him, not intentionally, but it causes Dean’s eyes to widen in surprise for a moment. He fumbles for the handle, motioning for Dean to wait one moment, before popping open his door, “Did you follow me?”
“Nope.” Dean presses an arm against the roof and leans against the truck, “Just happened to be coming up the road when I noticed a certain bucket of bolts sitting on the shoulder. ”
Cas glares at the wet gravel below them, “I do not want to hear an ‘I told you so’ right now.”
“And you’re not gonna’,” Dean throws his hands up in surrender and flashes a brilliant smile, “I just wanted to offer my stellar roadside assistance.”
“I don’t want to keep you-”
“None of that,” He gives him a firm clap on the shoulder, hand lingering for just a moment, “Pop the hood, lets see what’s going on.”
Castiel does as Dean asks, finding the bartender's confidence too strong to disagree with.
He should have probably asked Dean what sort of experience with engines he has before letting him loose on his poor truck, maybe he’s even less knowledgeable than Cas and is only going to do more harm than good, but he moves with ease, ducking out of sight and under the hood like he’s done this all his life.
After a few minutes of rummaging around Dean seems to find the problem, shouting so he can be heard over the rain, “Cas, man, your spark plugs are fucked! When was the last time you took this thing in for a tune up?”
Castiel blushes and averts his gaze, even though Dean can’t see him with his nose buried in the engine. It’s ridiculous, really, he’s a university professor, he has an adopted child who he’s cared for since he himself was a student, and yet the idea of going to an auto shop to figure out why his truck hasn’t been acting quite right makes his stomach churn.
He’s heard horror stories of people being overcharged, scammed for parts they don’t need because they don’t know their way around an engine, it’s awful and Castiel isn’t sure he could prevent it from happening to him.
“Cas?”
Dean’s staring at him now, squinting through the rain, hair plastered to his forehead.
“I-” He swallows thickly and raises his voice, “I’m afraid I’m not very good at vehicle maintenance.”
“I caught that,” The bartender snorts, slamming the hood down so hard it makes Cas jump, “But you need some now, so…”
He circles around to the passengers side, easily ducking inside to avoid the distasteful weather as Cas groans and presses his forehead to the steering wheel, already dreading the inevitable hours of researching local mechanics he has coming for him.
“Ya’ know…” Dean speaks again, gentler this time, “My uncle owns a shop in town, might be able to get a discount.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I can totally work something out with him. Can you get the engine started at all?”
Castiel nods miserably, forehead thumping against the wheel, turning the key in the ignition to prove that his truck is capable of running (poorly), “It just refuses to accelerate.”
“That’s good!”
Cas shoots him a disbelieving side eye.
“Well, it ain’t good good, but it means we don’t need to tow it.” Bless Dean's heart, he’s trying so hard to keep things somewhat positive, “You follow me back into town and I’ll lead you to the shop and we can get it fixed up first thing tomorrow.”
He agrees to Dean's plan, if only so he doesn't stay stranded on the side of the road any longer, and he tails the bartender's impala into town at a painfully slow pace.
What should have been a five minute drive takes much, much longer. Castiel could almost weep with relief when a sign saying ‘Singer Auto’ comes into view and Dean pulls into an empty parking lot, Cas parking in the spot next to him.
“It’ll be fine here overnight?” He asks as he gets out of the truck and locks the door behind him.
“Yep, Bobby’s got security cameras galore, nobody’s gonna’ try anything.”
“Alright…” He wrings his hands as Dean settles next to him, leaving the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder against the truck, “I should probably call a taxi back home, shouldn’t I?”
Dean snorts, “No.”
“Pardon?”
Cas is given a look that makes him feel like he’s just asked if the sky was blue, like he’s just asked a question that has a painfully obvious answer.
“I’ll drive ya’,” Dean shrugs, like it’s the simplest decision in the world, “I don’t mind.”
“What if I live out of your way?” It’s a massive possibility, Cas forcing Dean to drive thirty minutes opposite of his home just because he can’t take good care of his truck.
“Then we go out of my way. Who knows-” Dean’s stepping into Cas’ space now, “Might be nice to spend some time together outside of the bar.”
Cas feels his face heat up, “I’ve been told I’m not amazing company.”
Dean throws his head back and laughs and, goodness, is it one of the most beautiful sounds on earth; he wants to hear it everyday.
“If I didn’t think you were awesome to be around, I wouldn’t be here.”
Now, here’s the thing, Castiel has never been great at reading tone. His siblings used to tease him constantly for it, his fellow professors still side-eye him when his sarcasms fall flat, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Dean is genuine.
Maybe it’s the glint in his eyes, or the fact that he could be at home but is instead standing in the rain with Cas, it makes the professor want to believe every word that comes out of his mouth.
“C’mon man,” Dean loosely grabs Cas’ wrist, dragging him back towards the impala, “You like classic rock? It’s the only music allowed in Baby.”
“I’ll enjoy whatever music you play.”
Dean lights up at that, opening the passengers side door for Cas and allowing him to get comfortable before he gets behind the wheel.
“Just tell me where we’re going!”
Cas watches the mechanics shop- and subsequently his truck- disappear in the side view mirror as he directs Dean between bits of conversation.
“-You’ve seriously never listened to Bob Seger!?”
“I can’t say I have- turn left here-”
Dean sings along to the music as he follows Cas’ directions, something a black-haired beauty. He has a wonderful singing voice.
“Turn right, Dean.”
“You’re the boss- Okay, so no Seger, you ever listen to Springsteen?”
“No.”
“What!? What about Zep? AC/DC-?”
“Are those singers or…?”
“Oh my god, I take back every nice thing I’ve said about you, we can’t be friends anymore- oh, are you laughing? Cas, are you fucking with me right now?”
“Go straight at this intersection.”
“Cas!”
“Dean I’m out of touch, I don’t live under a rock, of course I know about AC/DC.”
“Thank fuck-”
“It’s the next driveway on the left- yes this one- You’ve been saying nice things about me?”
Dean flushes and sputters as the impala rolls to a stop next to Gabriel's driveway, “W-well, yeah, obviously-”
“I’m flattered.” Cas can see a light on in the kitchen and a silhouette suspiciously shaped like his older brother peeking out the window, though it ducks out of view once Castiel spots it, “Thank you for the ride, Dean.”
He has to walk around the car to get to the driveway and he can hear Dean roll down the window behind his back, “Cas, come back here for a sec.”
Now it’s Cas’ turn to lean against someone else's vehicle, ducking his head so he can look Dean in the eyes, “Yes?”
The freckled man looks like he might have a stroke for a moment, “Listen, Cas, I’ve really enjoyed hanging with you so- ya’ know- I guess if you wanted to keep doing that- we-” He stumbles through a few more half formed sentences before he screws his eyes shut and mumbles under his breath, “Fuck it.”
There’s no time to ask what he means before Dean leans out the window, grips Cas’ chin, and plants a kiss square on his cheek.
It’s chaste, quick, not at all like the man who gave it, but it still sends Castiel's mind reeling as he takes a few stumbling steps back, his face certainly turning a brilliant shade of red.
“Okay, see ya’ Cas!” Dean’s back in the impala, pointedly not looking at the man he just made a move on, and shifting gears before Cas can react, “I’ll let you know when I get your car fixed up!”
“Dean, wait-”
But he’s already tearing down the road, leaving Castiel to watch him disappear around a corner, leaving him feeling impossibly warm and giddy despite the rain seeping through his coat.
That was possibly the clumsiest, most juvenile way to admit one's feelings that Castiel has ever witnessed, and it was perfect.
Next time he sees Dean he’ll have to return the favor.
_____
<<First│<-Prev│Next
#Dean proceeded to go home and sit in his driveway for an hour and freak out over how poorly he made a move#he was not suave#and Cas wouldn't have it any other way#destiel#castiel#dean winchester#supernatural#jukebox 78s
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pleaseee pleaseee PLEASEEEEE write more straight to gay dean or sam or cas or LITERALLY ANY GUY FROM HARRY POTTER OR SUPERNATURAL SJDNJDDJDKDKDKKDK
Dies



SYNOPSIS: team free will (separately) realize you’re their gay awakening!
CHARACTER: male reader x dean winchester, male reader x sam winchester, male reader x castiel
NOTE: made this for funsies and because this anon seems very desperate..
WC: 0.8k
WARNING: —
DEAN WINCHESTER
dean never questioned who he was. women, cars, burgers — simple pleasures, manly stuff. then you showed up, all calm danger and amused eyes, leaning in the doorway of the bunker like you’d always belonged.
at first dean didn’t even like you. you adapted too quickly, too smoothly. he didn’t like taking you on hunts either. you could be standing there, drenched in blood after destroying a vamp in the blink of an eye and you wouldn’t even brag. or gloat, if dean admitted you saved his ass.
the first crack in his built-up walls appeared when you insisted on patching him up. he told you he didn’t need it, that he was a grown man, all that shebang. you didn’t let up, stubborn as ever. the last thing dean expected was your gentle hands. the way you touched him like he was some antique china. like a little porcelain doll. call him crazy, but he needed that soft touch. hell, he craved it. for a guy who’s so gruff and independent, he leaned into the touches, hoping for more.
dean started thinking you were cool.. uh, just a buddy. a friend, if you will. until he started catching himself watching you when you weren’t looking. if he’d hear you laugh, his stomach would twist weirdly. if he’d see you working on a car, all sweaty with greasy hands, his hands would clench.
everything came crashing down when you two decided to have a sparring match. you pinned him to the mat, your forearm on his chest, your breath fanning over his lips. “yield?” you asked. dean’s heart pounded in his ribcage as he looked up into your eyes and thought ‘shit.’
he didn’t yield, but he didn’t stop thinking about that moment for weeks.
SAM WINCHESTER
sam had always prided himself on control. his mind was his shield. even with his complicated past — the demon blood, lucifer, the cage.. he could compartmentalize. rationalize.
until you walked into the bunker and looked at him like you could read him better than any book on the shelf. you weren’t a brute like dean, and you weren’t a soldier like castiel. you were composed. intense. you carried yourself like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. and sam? well he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of that kind of attention. at first, he dismissed the signs. you were just.. charismatic. charisma wasn’t attraction. but then, you started teasing him. nothing mean — just clever quips, a raised eyebrow, a brush of your hand when you handed him his coffee. sam liked it. too much.
it truly threw him off when he felt seen. you asked him about the lore he was studying, not out of boredom, but pure and genuine interest. you respected his intellect. and you pushed him, challenged his ideas, and didn’t let him retreat behind his usual walls. one evening, he caught you in the library — shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, reading and catching up on his new written notes.
“you really think this passage proves demonic possession predates biblical scripture?” you asked with a small tilt of your head. and sam... forgot how to speak for a second. that night, he laid in bed, heart pounding, staring at the ceiling. “i think i want him.” he whispered to himself.
CASTIEL
castiel had always been distant from human pleasures. emotions, carnal desires — they were secondary to his mission. but something about you pulled at him in a way he wasn’t capable of understanding.
he first noticed it in the way you moved. confidence wasn’t something castiel had words for until he saw it embodied in you. you didn’t need to speak loudly to command a room. you didn’t need a weapon to make people listen. you just existed with that self-assured stillness that hinted at raw power held carefully in check. what unraveled castiel wasn’t just your strength — it was the gentleness behind it. the way you looked at him like he mattered. like his confusion, his silence, his celestial awkwardness — none of it made him any less. one early morning, you patched him up. his grace was dimming and his vessel was bloodied. you sat him down, your hands warm, firm, capable. and when your fingers brushed his ribs, his vessel shivered. “you’re safe,” you said, voice calm. “i’ve got you.” it was then that something stirred inside him.
he couldn’t stop watching you. the way your eyes softened when you were focused, the slight curl in your lips when you teased dean, how you were never truly cruel and never passive. he was standing outside, all alone in the middle of the night, enjoying the feeling of a gentle breeze. “is this what longing feels like?” he murmured to himself, his eyes locked on the stars in the night sky.
he felt human around you.
© godjustkys ©
#dean winchester#sam winchester#castiel#male reader#dean winchester x male reader#sam winchester x male reader#castiel x male reader#dean winchester x reader#sam winchester x reader#castiel x reader#headcanons#castiel supernatural#dean winchester supernatural#supernatural#sam winchester supernatural#spn#team free will#anon★#ask#request
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Inspired by this post by @psychogirlfiend
To humans the inside of a microwave when it’s on is nothing special, just a glimpse into the spinning plate inside. Castiel knows this, because he was briefly human himself. Repowered, however, able to watch the interplay of radiation on fixed surfaces with focused attention, Cas has found that observing the reheating of a deflated burrito is equivalently interesting to watching fish at the aquarium, or birds at a feeder. This is why he almost lets Dean dislocate his own wrist.
“Ow! Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean cries out from behind him, attracting Cas’s attention enough to turn from the microwave, and Cas belatedly registers that there had been a pull on his shoulder. Dean is cradling and rubbing his hand protectively, but he stretches it forward immediately when Cas reaches for it and heals it. “You’re addicted to that microwave. Did you even hear a word I was saying to you?”
Cas thinks. “Something about…ghouls?”
“Yeah, they’re taking over Tampa, we’re heading out in 20. Man, that hurt like a bitch.”
“My apologies. I was distracted. I suppose this burrito will need to be ‘to-go’.” Cas goes to turn back to the microwave, but Dean stills him with a touch. He’s got a calculating expression as he scans over Castiel, the same as he gets as when he’s processing clues on a case. “Dean?”
Dean doesn’t reply, but he pushes Cas’s hip, directing him to stand flat against the counter, and follows him, close. Castiel’s pulse starts thudding in his ears. Dean takes Cas’s shoulder in hand and shakes him, then lifts his whole slack arm to do the same with that. Before Cas can latch onto the crazy idea that Dean’s going to entwine their hands, Dean drops his arm and takes hold of Cas’s chin. The idea of whatever Dean is going to do with him are only getting crazier: he can’t stop his gaze from sticking to Dean’s pink, partially open mouth.
“Dean?” Cas asks again, shocking himself with the slight quiver in his voice, but again he is ignored. Dean tugs down with his fingers then pushes up with his thumb, getting Cas to open and close his mouth like a puppet at his will. It takes a lot of effort not to whimper at the thought, Dean using his body like a toy. Dean’s grip changes, and his thumb brushes lightly over Cas’s bottom lip in a casual sweep. His other hand firmly grabs the knot of Cas’s tie, and he draws Cas forwards with both holds, stepping back as he does until Cas has to stumble to not fall over. Cas is on the verge of knocking Dean’s hands aside and diving in for the kiss himself when Dean suddenly smirks, pats his cheek and lets him go completely, leaving Cas to straighten himself up a beat later.
“Huh. Interesting,” is all Dean says, grin spreading big all over his face, then spins on his heel and walk out, calling back over his shoulder, “You coming, Cas?”
He’s out the door before Cas can respond with a “yes”, correctly assuming his obedience. The microwave beeps loudly behind him, knocking him out of his confused, fuzzy stillness. He packs the burrito in a bag, and follows in Dean’s footsteps in the direction of the garage. Anywhere Dean wants him, that’s where he wants to be.
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hiii it is i again \(^o^)/
was wondering if you could per chance maybe write a castiel x reader fic where he comforts the reader after a series of unfortunate events day. i need some fluff after not spontaneously combusting with the day i’ve had.
love your writing!!!
‧₊˚✩彡 in the quiet,
summary. you've been going through it. it's like the universe has personally decided to challenge you. and you're losing. luckily for you, you have an angel on your shoulder--or willing to burrow you one.
pairing. castiel x reader genre. comfort
wordcount. 607
notes / warnings. thank you so much for requesting this, sweets! hope it helps a little 😙 // light touch of anxiety and frustration, reader having a rough day, comforting physical affection (platonic kinda)
The door creaks softly as you push it open, shoulder first, too tired to care about stealth or politeness. You’re soaked from the rain, your hair sticking to your neck, your jacket dripping onto the bunker floor like the universe itself is mocking you.
You drop your keys. Again. Third time today.
“Perfect,” you mutter, crouching to pick them up with hands that are shaking harder than you’d like to admit.
It’s been a day. No—a series of days.
Coffee spilled. Car battery died. Case went sideways. Dean snapped at you. Sam accidentally erased three hours of research. And now, the sky opened up just to spit on you. Of course it did.
You barely notice Castiel until he speaks.
“You’re upset.”
You flinch, then sigh. “Cas. Jesus.”
“I am not Jesus,” he says calmly, stepping into the hallway light.
You snort weakly, rubbing your face. “Yeah, I know. Just a saying.”
He watches you. Head tilted. Gentle concern written in every line of his face.
“You are…” he pauses, looking for the word. “Frayed.”
That makes you laugh—a raw, tired sound. “That’s one way to put it.”
You expect him to offer a solution. An awkward question. Maybe another ‘why are you like this?’ angel interrogation. Instead, he just walks over to you. Silent, slow. Careful.
“May I?” he asks, already lifting his hands toward your face.
You nod.
His fingers brush along your cheeks, your temples, like he’s reading something there. You lean into his palm without meaning to. His skin is warm. Steady.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he says quietly. “You don’t even have to speak.”
Your throat tightens.
“I just wanted to come home and not cry,” you whisper.
“You are home,” Castiel replies, voice barely audible.
And then—he wraps his arms around you.
You tense at first. Not used to this. Not used to him being this solid, this close. But he doesn’t push. Just holds you like you’re something breakable, sacred. His coat smells like ozone and safety. His chin rests lightly against your hair.
You break.
Quietly. Softly. No big sobs, no theatrics. Just a long exhale, and then another, and then the tears come like they’ve been waiting at the gates all day.
He holds you through it.
He doesn’t try to fix anything. Doesn’t shush you or tell you it’s going to be okay. He just stays.
And in a world full of monsters and chaos and endings that never come gently—Castiel staying feels like a small miracle.
Eventually, your breathing evens out. Your fingers clutch the lapels of his coat like a lifeline.
“Thank you,” you murmur.
His voice rumbles low. “You never have to thank me for caring about you.”
You pull back slightly, just enough to see his face. “You care about me?”
His brows pull together, puzzled. “Of course.”
There’s something naked in his eyes—something unsure, like he’s worried he said it wrong. You smile, watery and crooked and real.
“I care about you too, Cas.”
His expression softens, like clouds parting just a little.
“Good,” he says simply. “That makes this easier.”
“This?”
He hesitates, then brushes your damp hair back from your face. “Letting you fall asleep against me without worrying you’ll wake up embarrassed.”
You blink at him.
“You’re—?”
“You’re exhausted,” he says. “And I’d like to make that better. If you’ll let me.”
You nod.
He leads you to the couch. Wraps a blanket around your shoulders. Sits close, warm and still, letting you lean against him without pressure.
You fall asleep before you can ask what he meant by easier.
He doesn't move all night.
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#castiel#castiel x reader#castiel x you#castiel fluff#castiel fic#castiel novak#castiel spn#supernatural#spn#.docx#.req
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Older (Dean Winchester)
Description: Y/N has a crush on Dean but they have a 20 year age gap. How does Dean react when she finally tells him?
Warning: Smut, Age Gap
Word Count: 1,743
Y/N watched Dean as he washed Baby. His big muscular arms on display with the tight white shirt that had dirt on it. Baby was soapy and wet as Dean wiped her down. Y/N was trying not to drool as he went in circular motions cleaning the car. She was too into the scene in front of her; she didn’t notice Sam coming up to her side. “Stare any longer he might just notice your obvious crush on him.” He said to me, making her snap out of it. She turned towards him and rolled her eyes. He chuckled and handed her a beer. She took it from him and took a drink. “Ya think maybe he’s too old for you.” He said. Y/N pushed him and they both laughed. She sighed and looked at Dean again. He was pouring water on the soapy car. She sighed and got up from her spot and walked into the house. She needed a cold shower to erase the dirty thoughts from her mind.
It was days later that she’d be staring at the older man as he made breakfast. They had just come back from a hunt and Y/N was hungry so Dean offered to cook for her. Sam was getting some sleep but the other two were wide awake. “How do you like your eggs?” He asked her as he got them out of the fridge. “Over easy.” She said and he cracked the two eggs on the pan. She watched as he put the bread in the toaster. “You really didn’t have to make me anything.” She said as Dean put the eggs on the plate. “But I wanted to. You deserve it putting up with us.” She laughed as he set the eggs and toast in front of her. She thanked him. “Well I like putting up with you guys.” She said. He got his plate and sat across from her. “What, you got a crush on one of us?” He joked but she didn’t laugh. “Nah we’re probably too old for you anyway.” He said. She stared at him without saying anything. She shook her head and went back to eating her food. “Yeah totally.” She said.
She woke up 7 hours later in bed and yawned. She remembered the cringey things Dean asked her this morning and she sighed. She thought for a second when he asked her that she was caught. Luckily Dean was oblivious.She got out of bed and stretched. She walked out of her room and noticed Dean at the table on the computer. “Where’s Sam?” She asked. “Grocery Shopping.” He said and nodded and sat down across from him. He looked up from the computer at her. “So back to early convo you probably like Jack don’t you?” He asked. She looked at him confused. “No, not the antichrist.” She laughed. “Do you even like anybody?” He asked. “Dean, can we not talk about this?” She asked not wanting to expose herself. “Yeah sure.” He said and went back to research. The silence now,awkward and unwanted.
Why was Dean so curious about who she had feelings for or if she did? She honestly thought that Dean was too old for her but that’s how she liked it. They were eating dinner and she had a glass of wine. Dean sat across from her and Sam sat next to Dean. Jack and Cas sat next to her. Everyone was in a conversation except her. She never talked much while eating. She sometimes butted in with Jack and Cas but other than that kept quiet. Dean noticed her silence and wondered if it was about his question earlier. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable. After dinner was over she helped him clean up.
She didn’t say anything to him so he figured he thought correct. “I’m sorry about the question earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He said. She looked at him. “You didn’t.” She said and poured herself some more wine. “If I did I would completely understand-” “Dean.” She interrupted him. He looked over at her and she was holding the wine and her upper body on the table a little. Her boobs are perfectly on display. “What are you-” She took a sip of wine and smirked. “I told myself I’d never fuck anyone old enough to be my dad.” She states. He stares at her in shock. She stood up and walked closer to him. “That was until I met you.” She said seductively. “Wait you like me?” He asked her confused but kinda turned on.
She nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And before you give me any of that age bullshit. I’m 22 i’m an adult.” He stared at her as her hands ran over his chest. “You have no idea what you do to me Dean.” She says and her hands lower themselves to the bottom of his shirt. She tugs on it and he looks down seeing what she was doing. “Y/N are you sure?” He asked her. She looked up at him with lustful eyes. “Are you sure Dean? Think you can handle me, old man?” He chuckled and picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.She laughed as he took her to his room. He threw her on the bed and smirked. “I’m 42 sweetheart not 72.” He said and took off his shirt revealing his amazing body. She was almost drooling at the sight. He crawled onto the bed and hovered over her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down in a kiss. He moved his lips against hers as his hands traveled her body. He lifts her tank top up a bit and she pulls away from the kiss. She sits up and removes it showing her white bra. He looks down at her boobs and cups them. “Wow you’re so sexy.” He says and moves his hands to her back. He unclips the bra and she lets it fall freeing her boobs. He smirks at the sight and leans down to put one of her nipples in his mouth. She gasps his name and her hands go to his head as he licks and sucks. Her hands moved to his jeans and she cupped his growing erection. He moans against her nipple. “Dean take these off.” She breathes out. He pulls away from her nipple and gets up to remove his jeans. He pulls them down along with his boxers. She moves herself to the end of the bed and pulls him closer to her. “I didn’t know if I want you in my mouth or inside of me.” She says and he chuckles. Her eyes staring at his long hard cock. “Both would be ideal but right now I really need to be inside of you.” He tells her and pushes her back on the bed.
She smiles as he pulls down her panties. He gets back on her and kisses her again. She runs her hands up and down his muscular back. He pulls away and sighs into her mouth as he lines himself up with her entrance. He pushes in slowly and she gives a sharp gasp. “Are you okay?” He asked. She nods. He pushes in deeper and her noises fill his ear. She hadn’t had sex with many people and certainly not with a guy this big before. Once he was in her all the way he let her adjust to him. They stare at each other as she adjusts to him. He got lost in her eyes not believing that this was happening right now. She pulled him out of his thoughts when she thrusted up. She moaned as the pain was gone and she was full of pleasure. He started moving his hips and she let out little moans. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened. He didn’t let his eyes close as he watched her facial expressions. He groaned as her hips started matching his. She grabs his neck and moans his name. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He breathes out and she opens her eyes to look at him. “You feel so good inside of me.” She whimpers. He leans down and starts kissing her neck. She gasped and pulled him closer if that was possible. “Dean, go faster.” She begged and he moved as fast as he could.His hips pounding into her hard and fast making the bed screech. His lips left marks on her neck. Neither of them cared at the moment.
He pulled out of her some and angled his hips. He slammed back in her and hit her g spot making her scream. He covered her mouth with his hand. “Gotta remember sweetheart we aren’t the only ones here.” He groans in her ear. She tried to keep her sounds to a minimum but with him pounding at her g spot that didn’t work. “Dean, you feel too good.” She mumbles in his hand. He nods. “Fuck I know baby. You feel amazing.” He moans. She felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge. He was twitching inside of her signaling that he was close too. “Baby I'm close.” She moaned and he groaned out a me too. She gasped out feeling him fill her up which triggered her orgasm. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her orgasm hit her. She bit her lip trying to hold back the loud noises that threatened to spill from her. Her hips moved up as she rode out her high. Dean watched her and almost became hard again. Her hips slowed and she opened her eyes seeing Dean already looking at her. “That was hot.” He smirked. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah well thanks to you.” She smirked back. He pulled out of her causing her to moan.
He got up and went to the bathroom and got a wet towel. He came back and cleaned her and him up. “Such a gentleman.” She teased. He laughed and threw the towel in the laundry bin. He collapsed next to her and yawned. “Tired old man?” He turned to look at her. “Baby I could go another 5 rounds.” He said. She turned towards him and smirked. “Prove it.” She said and he smirked. Sam couldn’t sleep that night but Dean and Y/N weren’t complaining.
#dean winchester#supernatural#spn#sam winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester smut#jensen ackles#jared padalecki
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Something To Believe In
Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist
Read on A03!
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, birth, pre-established relationship.
Summary/Warnings: You and Dean become parents.
Author's Note: The saga continues. Never done a birthing fic before, and I sort of used the "blur method" for it. Same universe as the other Dean fam fics, but can be read in isolation. Enjoy!
Title from Darling by Halsey
Word Count: 3.6k
You feel weird. It hurts, but in a low, building ache that’s been growing for almost the whole pregnancy, so that’s not abnormal. Most of the days lately have been filled with some sort of pain. Your feet or breasts or stomach, a constant need to pee and a lot of sickness when Dean brings you the smooth peanut butter instead of the crunchy stuff.
“You always liked the smooth though.” He’d frowned at you, running a hand slowly through your hair. “And they taste the same-“
“Baby doesn’t care.” You’d mumbled, your face still smushed into his chest. “They hate the smooth peanut butter. Can’t eat it, De. Makes me feel sick.”
“Alright. No more smooth peanut butter. Can I give it to Sammy for his dumb smoothies?”
You’d leaned back with wide eyes, and Dean had groaned.
“No-“
“Please?” Your hands had fisted in his shirt, and he’d grunted as your yanked him down to your eye level. “I’ll love you forever-“
“You’re already supposed to love me forever. That’s part of the till death do us part, baby, and you know death doesn’t agree with me-“
You shoved his chest. “That’s not funny, Dean-“
“It’s a little funny-“
“But I don’t want you to die again.” You’d whispered. “I want you to live to million and have thousands more of your babies.”
“I thought you hated having babies, you told Cas he’s never known pain yesterday-“
“He tried to make me smell a candle. And I- I said I was sorry-“
“I know you- Wait- Shit-“
You’d started to sniffle, your arms had—at some point—wrapped themselves around Dean’s neck, and he must actually love you a lot. You’re strangling him and all you’re getting in return is soft kisses on your brow.
“I’m sorry, babygirl.” He’d muttered into your hair. “I won’t die. We have a bazillion more babies, after we get this one,” He’d poked your side—near your ribs, the last spot that didn’t make you pee, and he seemed to have memorized—and you’d giggled. “Out of you.”
“Okay. Can I have a smoothie, please?”
“Yeah.” Dean had sighed, pressing one last kiss to the top of your head before shuffling away with a grumble you didn’t miss. “Can’t believe my baby’s a health freak.”
You’d laughed, because that was a vast exaggeration. The baby was not a health freak. Just today, you’ve eaten jerky dipped in Nutella and a cherry pie mixed with bread and butter pickles.
And you’d think that was what was making you feel weird. That, combined with the fact that Dean was out—getting baby stuff from Garth—and you didn’t like making Sam and Cas do things for you. This wasn’t their fault. They hadn’t sweet talked you into their bed over and over, then told you they loved you and fucked you on the roof of their car, then kept loving you until you always shared a bed and stopped using protection. They shouldn’t have to pay for the consequences of Dean’s actions.
But they were. With Dean out—just out, he was fine because it was just driving to Garth and that was nothing—they had to pick up all the stuff Dean usually did.
“He’s like a mom.” Sam had muttered this morning, frowning at the list of breakfast instructions on the table, and you’d sighed.
“I know. And I’ve told him I don’t need this, but he doesn’t want to hear it. You don’t have to-“
“Yeah, I do. Dean’ll kill me if I don’t.”
You wish he hadn’t, though. Sam had messed the breakfast up. You haven’t told him, because you’d been sobbing all of last night after Dean left and that had been enough for Sam to deal with—rubbing your back awkwardly as you’d sat on the floor with Dean on speaker phone—and you didn’t want him to feel worse.
So that’s probably why you feel weird. You’d gotten used to Dean’s attention and care, and now your body was paying for it.
But there’s something wet between your legs, and it’s not pee. You’re pretty sure it’s not pee. There’s too much of it to be pee. It’s not arousal, either. The unbearably horny part of the pregnancy had ended just a few weeks ago, and although that hadn’t slowed Dean down in the slightest, you were past wet for no explainable reason stage.
And you still feel weird. You’d been napping around noon, but you’ve done that a lot lately. You don’t need to pee, and you aren’t horny, and you would’ve felt your water breaking-
Not if you were asleep.
Fuck.
There are no contractions. You’ve read that there can be no contractions, and that they’ll probably start after, and you do feel weird. And it’s a lot of wetness.
This isn’t good. It doesn’t help that when you stand up, there’s a dark stain on the mattress behind you.
Fuck.
You shuffle into the war room, and Sam glances up at you with a small frown.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes? I- I feel fine.” You glance down at your stomach, sort of waiting for the contractions to punch into you without warning. “But I either wet the bed, or…”
You raise your brows, and you can see the moment Sam gets it.
His eyes widen, his mouth falls open, and he shakes his head. “Your- your water?”
“Yeah. Sam-“
“No!”
You gape at him. “What do you mean no?”
“No! Put it back!”
“I- I can’t-“
“But Dean- I don’t know how to do this!” Sam’s panicking. Running his hand through his hair and shaking his head like he’s about to give birth. “I can’t mess this up for you guys, and I- I’ve delivered a baby, but it wasn’t this baby-“
“When did you- Shit.” You double over, and there it is. White-hot pain lacing through your whole body, starting in your stomach and shooting out. “Sam- I- Dean-“
“Fuck, he’s still at Garth’s-“
“Then get him here!” You’re forgetting how to be calm. Sam got to freak out. It’s only fair you do too. “Sam, I- I swear to fucking Hell and back, if you don’t get Dean-“
“His in Missouri,” Sam yells. “I can’t fucking teleport him-“
“So call Cas!”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. That’s the obvious thing, isn’t it-“
“Cas-“
“Right, let me-“
There’s a whooshing sound, and suddenly a firm hand is on your shoulder. But when you look at him, Cas is—somehow—paler than Sam.
He mutters your name, scanning over you slowly. “You are in active labor.”
“I’m aware.” You mutter, slumping slightly over the table. “I- I need Dean-“
Cas nods, standing a little taller. “I can aid with that. We will meet you here?”
You shake your head. “Hospital- Don’t want Sam to deliver her-“
Sam blinks. “I thought you were on team boy-“
“That’s- Fuck-“ There’s another one. “I don’t care, I just- Dean-“
“I’ll take care of it.” Cas mutters, patting your head once. He might be trying to mimic Dean combing through your hair, and it’s not effective, but you still appreciate it. “Sam, drive her to the hospital.”
Before Sam can respond, Cas is gone.
You don’t think you’re going to remember much after this. It’s a painful blur of Sam helping you to the car and muttering apologies for his freak out, and the world spinning slightly through the whole drive. Sam’s talking, but you can’t really hear all of it. Everything is made of snapshots, as your brain tries to figure out how to deal with this.
And then there’s the panic.
Bigger than the yelling at Sam panic. Bigger than the where’s Dean panic.
There’s a person in you. And it’s coming out. You don’t know how to do that. You’ve never done that. And animals and people do it every day, all the time, but you can die from it. Or the baby can die from it. And they don’t as much anymore—you’d spent a very long night several weeks ago, pouring over birth mortality statistics until Dean realized and took the computer away—but they can. Maybe you’re going to be bad at this. Maybe everyone can do this just fine but you, or some new big bad is going to appear in the hospital and try to kill Dean before he meets the baby, or the remaining rogue angels are going to try and take the baby, or Lucifer’s going to come back from the dead and do something-
“Hey.” Sam says your name, his voice soft over the rumble of the engine. “You’re going to be fine. There’s no world I can think of where Dean lets anything bad happen to either of you.”
“But I could do it wrong.” You whisper, nails digging into your palm and a stinging starting in your eyes. “Sam, what if I do it wrong-“
“You won’t do it wrong.”
“But-“
“You’ve gotten through worse.” Sam shrugs. “With less reward at the end, y’know? And this is- This is really cool. Don’t tell Dean I said this, or he’ll never shut up about it, but this is- If Dean can have this, have you, there’s a chance for me too. And you guys deserve this more than anyone I know, and I’m really excited. To get to have a person who never has to know about… everything. Never have to experience it.”
You take a shaking breath, and he’s right. You’ve survived a whole lot worse, without even knowing there was light at the end of the tunnel. And the baby will never have to know what was lost and done to get them here.
And Dean will never let anything happen. To either of you.
“He’s going to be an awesome dad.” You mumble, running your hand over your stomach and Sam nods.
“Yeah, he’s- He’s really excited.”
“I know.” You offer Sam a small smile. “And you’ll be a great uncle.”
You can see the bob of his throat, and Sam’s voice goes a little hoarse. “Thanks. You’ll be a great mom.”
“Thanks.” You repeat back, and when Sam offers his hand, you take it.
You can do this. Dean will get here on time, and you can do this.
——————
Dean didn’t know it was possible to be this afraid. He should’ve known. Son of a bitch, he’s done shit a lot scarier than a childbirth. But other fear had always been undercut by an urgency or care.
Through most of his life it had been lined with anger. And when it hadn’t been anger, it had been the knowledge of life or death, how if he failed someone else would stuffer. And when he’d been afraid of Her—through the pregnancy—it had still been made of loving Her, and not wanting anything to go wrong.
There was no anger, here. Nothing to be angry at. Cas had grabbed him, gotten him to the hospital, and done some angel magic to the doctor when they freaked out about the two men just appearing in the room. Sam had stayed with Her, and was soothing Her with wide eyes and a pale face.
And She was doing so well. Only screaming and sweating, which was amazing, because the doctor let Dean look, and it was maybe the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.
Beautiful, because that was his baby’s head, but still disgusting. It could be both. It was both.
He’d wanted to ask if there should be blood, but freaking Her out was maybe the worst thing he’d ever do in his life. She needed him to be calm. Incredibly calm. Dean needed to hold Her hand—even as She almost crush his bone—keep Her hair out of Her face, and mutter that She was doing so well, sweetheart.
When She screamed that she hated him, Dean let it go. He’d hate him too, if there was a little person popping out of him and it was all his fault.
But he’d been so careful. The whole pregnancy, Dean had known it would come to this, and he’d need to do everything that he could to make this easy. But now they were here, and he might not have done enough. Or he couldn’t have done fucking anything, because it had come to this, and it would always come to this, and no amount of breakfasts or holding Her was going to stop it.
She really didn’t need Dean freaking out. She’d screamed with relief when She saw him. She’d been sobbing and both leaning into and away from Dean the entire time. And all he could do was wait, and stand here, and he fucking hated it.
He’d always been able to do something, when he was afraid. Fight. Shout at someone. Kill something.
This was the opposite of killing.
Dean could only stand here, and wait.
And his mind had rarely been his friend, but right now it was out to get him.
If this went perfectly—it would, it had to—Dean would have a kid. A child. Who needed him. And he’d all but raised Sammy, but that was different. Dad had still been there, and Dean hadn’t created Sammy. There had always been a sense of danger to protect Sammy from, and in a way, it had made things easier. Just like the fear, Dean could kill things that hurt Sam. He could target everything that would want to hurt Sam, and care for him knowing that it was just them, against the world.
But this kid would have a normal life. Dean would have to teach them how to read. Eat. Talk. Sleep. Walk. And he’d done some of that stuff for Sammy, but this would still be different.
This kid would look at Dean like he’d looked at Dad. He’d be able to disappoint and fail them, the way Dad had disappointed and failed him.
And when he looked at Her, eyes squeezed shut and doing so good, Dean didn’t know what he’d do, if something happened to Her like had happened to Mom. And he wished he didn’t understand why Dad went off the deep end. Just the thought made Dean a little fucking sick, and his jaw clench as a pointless fury rushed through his body. He’d kill anything that hurt Her. That was simple enough.
But the baby. Dean’s baby.
Crying.
There was crying.
Shit.
“Congratulations, mom and dad.” The doctor smiled at them, passing the baby—that was a fucking baby—into the hands of a midwife. “You’ve got a healthy baby girl.”
Dad.
Dean was Dad.
And everything was still moving too fast. They had to clean the baby off, and cut the umbilical cord, and they all got weird bracelets to prevent a baby swap. She got to hold the baby for a second—Dean standing stupidly over Her shoulder, not totally sure this wasn’t just a dream—before the midwife carefully pried them apart, and went to do a bunch of other medical stuff Dean didn’t understand.
“Cas.” Dean muttered, not flinching when Cas appeared at his side and watching the baby—his baby—be carried away. “Can you-“
“Done.” Cas paused before vanishing, giving Dean a small grin. “Congratulations. They are a universal blood donor, and will have your eyes.”
Dean hadn’t even seen its eyes yet. “Thanks.”
Cas vanished, and She was tugging on Dean’s hand, still crying, and he was finally allowed to climb into bed with Her once the midwives made sure she just needed rest.
“Where are they taking her,” She mumbled into Dean’s chest, fingers curled in his shirt. “Dean, is she okay-“
“She’s fine” Dean muttered. “She’s beautiful, sweetheart, you did good.”
“Why can’t she stay here-“
“They’ve gotta make sure she’s healthy. Don’t worry, sent Cas to double check. He’s more reliable anyway.”
She nodded slowly. “You won.”
“What?”
“It’s a girl. She. She’s here.” She let out a soft, breathy laugh. “She- She needs a name, I think.”
Dean chuckled. “Probably, yeah.”
There was a long silence, and She leaned back, giving Dean an odd look. “What did you choose?”
Dean blinked at Her for a second before he remembered. The bet. If it’s a boy, she names him. If it’s a girl, Dean names her. And it was a girl. Is a girl. And Dean gets to name her, because he won.
“You forgot, didn’t you.”
“It’s been a long day,” he grumbled, tucking Her back into his chest. “I was busy.”
“You were busy?”
“Emotional support is a consuming job, sweetheart.”
She giggled, rolling Her eyes. “Shut up.”
Dean obeyed, kissed Her brow, and paused. Their baby would need a name.
And he’d found Her list, hidden in the sock drawer. With boy and girl names, despite Her being so firm that it would be a boy. She’d even highlighted the gender-neutral ones, and starred the ones that were after someone.
And Dean didn’t want to name the baby after anyone—although he hadn’t missed how John and Mary weren’t included—but he still wanted to honor someone. He didn’t want the baby to be weighed down with the sins of Dean’s past.
He didn’t want to forget about everyone who’d gotten him here.
And he’d really liked one name. It had been honoring and after with only the right amount of pain to hear.
“How about Charlotte?” He mumbled, trying to say it like it was a suggestion. It was Her baby. She’d done all the work. Dean didn’t have any more of a right to name their daughter, just cause he won a bet. “Think it means free or something.”
“You think?”
“I know. Googled it.” Dean sighed. “Could be Charlie. For short.”
Dean heard Her slow breath, and She hummed against him. “I like that.”
Dean liked it too.
And She passed out soon after. She’d had a long day. And Dean still just needed to be here. He told the lady who came in a few minutes after that the baby should be named Charlotte Ella Winchester—the Ella was Her idea, like Ellen, but smoother—Sam moved in and out, and then suddenly, the baby was there.
“I, uh-“ Dean glanced at Her, still passed out on the bed. “Shouldn’t we wait for my wife-“
“Mom should keep sleeping. She’ll need it. And you’re Dad.” The midwives extended Charlotte—the baby had a name now—out to Dean, and he was frozen. “You should get to hold her too.”
He should. He’d need to. Dad hadn’t really held Sammy, not often. Dean was trying to be better than Dad.
The midwife passed Dean his daughter after he took off his shirt—something about skin-to-skin contact, and if the lady had any thoughts about Dean’s scars or tattoo, she was smart enough not to say anything—and he would be better than Dad.
Because looking at his daughter, Dean knew that—should the same thing happen to Her that had happened to Mom—he would never let himself do to Charlotte what Dad did to him. She was perfect. Small and peaceful, leaning into Dean’s chest like it was nothing.
And it was.
To Charlotte, Dean would only ever be Dad. No matter what, she’d be comfortable. Happy. This peaceful all the time. And Dean would teach her how to defend herself from the darkest parts of the world, but only when she was ready. Only when she asked why Mommy gets nightmares and Daddy keeps a gun in every single room. Why uncle Sammy has long periods where he doesn’t sleep at all, and uncle Cas is always staring at the walls and vanishing for days at a time. Otherwise Charlie would just be happy. No matter how much Dean hurts, Charlie will just be happy.
“Hi, baby.” He whispered, and Charlie didn’t stir at all. How could she. To her, the world was big and scary, but she had Dean. And she seemed to trust that.
Dean would do damn near everything to make sure he deserved this. To not fuck it up.
“My- I had a dad too.” He muttered, watching Charlie’s little chest rise and fall. “He’s gone now. One day I’ll tell you about the better bits of him. He had a good singing voice, and- Made good burgers. But there were also… worse parts. A lotta worse parts. And I promise,” Dean leaned forward, keeping his voice soft. “I’m not gonna be that for you. I’ll be whatever type of Dad you need me to be, and I’ll take care of you and your mom. You’ll love your mom. She’s the best of any of us, and I’m still not sure what I did to make her want me, but I’ve promised not to let her down. Won’t let either of you down.” He swallowed as Charlie let out the tiniest sigh he’d ever heard, his voice growing hoarse. “Swear it.”
“You’re so cute.”
Dean looked up to see Her smiling, and he couldn’t stop himself grinning back. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi.” She whispered, Her eyes flicking back down to Charlie. “Can you-“
Dean moved without another word, dropping at Her side on the bed and passing Charlie into her arms.
“She looks like you.” She mumbled, and Dean nodded.
“Cas said she’ll have my eyes. And that she’s a universal donor.”
“That’s good.” Her voice was soft, and when She glanced up at Dean, her eyes were glossy. “You’re gonna be a great dad, De. And we’ll always want you.”
A lump was forming in his throat. “Thanks. I love you- Both of you. Love you both.”
“I know.” She hummed, Her smiling growing, and Dean might be the luckiest son of a bitch alive. “You wouldn’t let me forget if I tried.”
End Note: I just want him to be happy while John suffers. Is that too much to ask.
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#x reader#reader insert#romance#canon typical violence#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fanfiction#godmadeaterribleerror#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester#dean x reader#dean x you#dean fanfiction#dean if you want a hug I'm free saturday#request#tw blood#pregnancy#tooth rotting fluff#fluff
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₊˚⊹𐙚 our naive little angel
pairing: sam, dean, castiel x fem!reader
summary: castiel accidentally finds your sex toy, confused, he goes to talk about it with sam and dean
cw: 18+ comical fluff.ᐟ heavy mentions of sex toy [dildo].ᐟ castiel is innocent.ᐟ dean teases you.ᐟ use of y/n.ᐟ established relationship [friends].ᐟ mention of lgbt & trans <3
word count: 1107
julia yaps: don’t let me daydream or else this stuff comes to life
────────── 🪽 ──────────
the bunker was filled with echoes of castiel’s footsteps as he walked down the hallway, as he got closer to the kitchen he could hear the faint sound of kitchen equipment being moved around.
“sam? dean?” castiel popped his head into the kitchen, hoping to find sam and dean. “hey man what up?” sam asked as he looked up to notice the puzzled expression on castiel’s face, a worried frown that was hard to miss. sam was sitting at the table with coffee and dean was making the ‘breakfast of champions’ as he called it. in other words – pancakes, eggs and bacon.
“i uh..” cas started, looking down the hallway to check if you weren’t anywhere near, then proceeded to walk closer to the two boys. sam and dean look at each other in confusion, their friend looks like he was away to spill a government secret or something. “well spit it out cas” dean grunted impatiently.
castiel sat down across from sam, inching closer towards both the boys. “is y/n a…what the lgbt community would call, a transgender?” he whispered loudly. sam’s face shown pure confusion whereas dean couldn’t help but burst out into laugher.
“what? what’s so funny?” cas asked confused as to what dean found so amusing, his frown making his eyebrows almost touch.
“cas where did you even get that idea from?” sam questioned, trying to get to the bottom of this ridiculous idea.
“well…” cas cleared his throat before he began explaining. “i went to wash my hands in the bathroom since my hands were covered in basilisk blood that we need for the spell, also did you know that in harry po-“
“yes chamber of secrets had a basilisk, to the point cas” dean interrupted, trying to get cas back on the track.
“right, so i walk into the bathroom and on the counter beside the sink… was a.. prosthetic male part” cas finally explained, his whole angel self confused. on the other hand sam and dean look at each other, checking if they heard correctly.
“it wasn’t real, i checked” castiel added as if to protect you from looking like a psycho that owns a cut off dick or something.
dean raised a brow at him, “a prosthetic male part?” cas looked into dean’s eyes with slight panic and uncertainty. despite him being on earth for centuries, socialising with human beings and all that, cas clearly still had a lot of innocence to him after all this time.
dean cleared his throat, trying not to smirk. “so on the bathroom counter there is a-“
“a prosthetic penis, yes” castiel confirmed, sam tried to hide the grin that grew on his face. both the boys looking at each other like kids that just heard the ultimate fart joke.
“is it big?” dean’s tone amused. sam nudged his side. “what? m’just curious” dean shrugged with a full blown smirk. cas squinted his eyes suspiciously but still answered, “it was way over the average size…statistically speaking”
sam spat out his coffee that he tried taking a sip off. dean just nodded with a cheeky grin, now he’s got a thing to tease you about. “oh this is perfect” he murmured to himself, already coming up with an evil plan as he rubbed his hands together.
“so.. is she transgender?” castiel asked with a head tilt like a questioning dog. as sam stopped coughing he cleared his throat and tried to explain to him the situation. “no cas, um..” sam was surprisingly shy about having to explain to castiel that it’s simply your dildo that he saw.
“y/n is a woman and what you saw was her sex toy” dean announced with no hesitation unlike sam, he looked over at sam and cas from the kitchen island as he was plating the cooked food on the ceramic plates. “see, wasn’t that hard to explain now, was it?”
sam gave dean the ‘have a little decency’ glare. “what? it had to be explained to our naive little angel over here” dean shrugged, unfazed. making sam sigh, although he did find the situation pretty amusing.
“ah yes, sex toys. i’ve heard of them before, it’s for pleasuring oneself or your partner” cas nodded, the confusion disappearing and being replaced with a calm smile. dean couldn’t help but snicker.
sam held the bridge of his nose, trying to hold in a chuckle himself. “god, dean you’re such a kid”
“oh come on you find it funny too” dean pointed at sam. then suddenly you entered the kitchen.
“morning guys” you spoke cheerfully, after a little solo session you slept like a baby, so you felt super refreshed. you walked to the fridge to take out milk for your coffee. there was dead silence for a long second, tension could be felt in the kitchen.
“someone’s in a good mood” dean spoke but only sam knew the meaning behind the words. you looked at dean, noticing he was smirking and sam was avoiding your eye contact. you couldn’t help but looked confused at them three.
“cas thinks you might have left something of yours in the bathroom, from last night” dean just couldn’t help himself, teasing you just came too easy. his arms crossed against his chest as he stood facing you with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen.
you look from dean to castiel, the wheels in your brain slowly starting to turn as you started to remember that you don’t recall taking your dildo back into the room with you after washing it. your eyes widen slightly, your cheeks turning pink and your heart started beating twice as fast.
dean noticed the subtle shift in your demeanour, the inner panic overflowing your body. but he didn’t stop there, oh no he had more to say, “did you have a nice workout with your seven inches?” he smirked.
“it’s eight inches actually” you clapped back, tilting your head sassily as you tried to regain your dignity. “but hey i get it, it’s hard to recognise anything bigger than 4 inches, right dean?” you teased him back, sam couldn’t hold in his laughter as you implied dean having a small one. cas only squinted his eyes, trying to understand the conversation between you two.
“ouch, someone got burned” sam chuckled, you brushed your hair sassily at his words.
“now if you guys don’t mind, imma go hide the.. yeah, and go hang myself in the war room” you jokingly said before casually walking out the kitchen.
you may have shut dean up but it was only temporary, you knew this wasn’t the end of his teasing.
thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3
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