#dean fics

[supernaturalfreewill]

reader pronouns: she/her "Uhh—Dean? Do you think it was a good idea to leave Y/N over there with those two idiots?" Sam asked.

"Huh?" Dean turned and looked across the restaurant at you standing with Harry and Ed. "I think it's fine. She's still smiling. ...Oh. God. She's—she's still smiling. Why won't she stop smiling like that?"

"Yeeeah, you better—"

"I better get over there before she kills them," Dean said, jolting into action. He rushed across the restaurant and stopped next to you, gently grabbing your arm. "You okay?" he asked you in an undertone. "You looked like you were about to throat punch one of them..."

"Oh," Ed said abruptly, eyeing you and Dean, his eyes flickering back and forth. "Is he—Are—Are you—Is he—?" he stammered.

You and Dean stared at him with furrowed brows.

"I wasn't hitting on her," Ed burst out abruptly. "I was just—I was—Are you—are you two—? Uhh..."

Dean glared at him and wrapped his arm around your lower back. "Yeah. We're together, dipshit," Dean growled.

"Ooookaaaay. I'll just—we'll just—Harry? Come on," Ed said and they made a hasty exit.

"They were hitting on you?" Dean asked, shooting you an apologetic look.

"I think they think they were," you said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Sorry," Dean said. "I shouldn't have left them unsupervised."

You laughed. "It's okay. I can handle myself."

"I know. But still..." He tugged you in close for a moment and snuck a kiss in your hair.

Prompt: "it's fine. She's still smiling. ...Oh, God. She's—she's still smiling. Why won't she stop smiling?"

[plaid-lover-bay25]

I’m reading your Dean stories right now. The pie one was so cute!!

Thank you so much!

My first ever series I wrote for Supernatural was Whiskey Lullaby.

Dean's kind of been my guy over the years.

I hope you enjoy them all.

[just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms]

Welp, that was actually pretty fun

It was super fun writing yesterday, and I think I’d like to sort of ease back into it

If anyone has a request, or just a concept you’d like me to give a go at, let me know!! (No promises on how it will turn out)

I genuinely do miss hearing from everyone, even just “hey” and “how’s your day” ☺️

[allthings-fantasy]

PSA: Fic Releases

I know I haven't posted any fics in a while, thank you nursing school, and I'm not even sure if any of my peeps are left. But for the past few months I have been slowly writing two fics and have gotten multiple chapters written for each. Now I'm trying to decide which one I should release first.

Fic#1: Dean and the reader were in love in high school, but after he moved away and left the reader high and dry, they both went on with their lives. When a hunt brings him to his previous home, the two spark up their previous relationship.

(dean x reader, angst, pinning dean, smut)

Fic#2: When Dean needs to blow off steam, the reader is just a call and drive away. After Sam leaves, Dean decides to live the apple pie life with Lisa instead. Now with the reader in the middle of a deal gone bad, she only has one person to turn to.

(dean x reader, lotta angst, smuuuut)

If anyone has a vote on what they want to see first just send me an ask or a message!

[trblhalfmoon]

Masterlist - updated 01.18.21

One Shots

Dissociate - angst, smut

RVNG - angst, smut

Trick or Treat - smut

Double Blind - humor, fluff

Blurbs/Warmups

warm up - smut

[sleepywinchester]

IMAGINE HAVING TO BREAK UP WITH DEAN

“That will kill you some day, Winchester.”

Dean hissed at the after taste of his bourbon.

He starred at the flask for a second as he closed the cap, then his eyes went up and met with yours.

“I’m not scared of dying, darling.” Dean told you, trying to humor you.

You smiled with your lips pursed, walking forward and having a seat next to him.

“I guess when you die more than one time, you lose the fear of dying.” You told him.

Dean scoffed softly, his eyes gazing into yours.

“Why are you here, Dean?” You asked.

“I missed you.” Dean said.

You smiled without joy, Dean Winchester made you feel every single emotion but frustration would always be the top one.

“You miss me, huh?” Your eyebrow arched. “I’m tired of this game, Dean. It was fun when we were young but… I can’t do this anymore.”

Dean had tried his best of always being there for you. It was the life he lived that always got in the middle of you and him.

You’d never thought you’d end up dating a hunter, but Dean Winchester wasn’t like any other man.

He’d drive you insane and made you want him more at the same time.   

You wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him, you owed him and you loved him but you loved yourself more.

“What do you want from me?” Dean asked.

“I want a normal relationship.” You replied. “I want being able to spend nights with you instead of spending them thinking you’re about to get killed.”

Dean sighed harshly, holding his hands together.

“You know what you signed up for, Y/N.” Dean looked at you. “I’m not a normal person. I don’t have a normal job or life. Let’s be honest, I’m a freak but… you’ve known that from the start.”

“I know, Dean… I love you but-,”

“- but love is not enough.” Dean answered.

gif by @justjensenanddean

[just-another-winchester]

Treatment

You’re Not Alone-Chapter 4

Series Summary: You didn’t have the easiest life, after losing your family you escaped everything you knew and went on the run. You were young and alone, until you meet the Winchesters, a long overdue meeting. Now together the three of you will face adventure, horror, romance and suspense. The Winchesters become your lifeline, and you become theirs. But you have no idea what kind of adventures you’re really in for.

Word Count: 1,379

Warnings: None.

Chapter Summary: Dean is pretty beat up after a hunt so you patch him up.

A/N: I had actually a lot of fun writing this, it does a lot I think for the relationship between Dean and reader, I really haven’t been more happy with something I wrote in a while. A huge thanks to @amanda-teaches for beta editing this for me, and for her feedback, it made me uber happy. I hope you all love this as much as I did. :)

FEEDBACK IS MY SUSTENANCE!!!

Catch up ya’ll! MASTERPOST

You never thought you could be this happy.

Hanging out with the Winchesters was about as much of a chore as looking for them, but it really was worth it.

It still hadn’t been long, only a week since you met them, and you knew both boys were leary of you still; you couldn’t blame them. But they were also patient with you, giving you every chance to prove they can trust you, and each time you passed.

Sam was pretty much your best friend. You two were more alike than you had pictured. After the hunt you’d been on with the boys, you were the one doing the research with Sam. You would be buried in a book or intently reading some online articles about whatever was happening.

You also spent time patching up the boys after the hunt, it felt like you did anyway.

Sam would accept the help, he would come out with a few scrapes, a blow to the head and maybe a few broken bones. It was what you expected as you’d seen them in action in your visions.

Dean was another matter entirely. The man was stubborn to say the least, but you were just as stubborn as Dean was.

“If you don’t hold still you’ll never heal,” you informed him, checking his bandages. After your last fight with a rougarou, the boys had come back to the motel beat up pretty bad. While Sam only had some glass stuck in his upper arm and just below his neckline, Dean had been burned, his arm lit up in flame according to Sam.

It made you happy you hadn’t been there. You weren’t sure if you would have been okay after seeing that happen to the man you love, but even now, Dean had more than just burns. The man broke his ankle, and he came out with a dislocated shoulder.

After everything those two had happen to them, this one knocked them more than usual, and that just worried you more as you changed the bandages on Dean’s arm.

Dean cringed as you carefully pulled the bandage off his burns, the burn ointment you applied seeming to be working. It wasn’t as bad as it was before, luckily. It was only a second degree burn, it could have been worse, but you were thankful that it wasn’t.

“Would you just hurry up,” he barked, causing you to give him a slight glare.

“Would you shut up and sit still?” you demanded. “I can’t do anything while you’re wiggling around like a kid.” you finally peeled the bandages away.

You bit your lip carefully as you studied the wound. It was pretty damn close to being third degree, but you were grateful Sam got the fire out pretty quickly.

“You know we can take care of ourselves right? You don’t have to play nurse,” Dean said, causing you to smirk.

“Okay, you wanna put the burn cream on this, go ahead and wrap it up again. And, next time, I’ll let you reset your own dislocated shoulder,” you remarked, giving him a look.

“And I’m not playing anything, Dean. You may suck at expressing your feelings, but this is how I express mine. And my gratitude. I owe you both a lot more than just a few patch jobs.”

Dean scoffed. His eyes travelled to his sleeping brother in the next bed over.

“It’s not like we saved your life or anything,” he said to you. You looked up, meeting his eyes.

“Maybe you did,” you said. He frowned, a slight grimace on his face as you began re-wrapping his arm.

“What do you mean?” he muttered, grabbing the bottle of beer from the bedside table and taking a swig. You shrugged as you looked at him.

“Who knows? If you hadn’t let me come with you, the next day I could have been alone, gotten, hit by a car, found by a monster, run into a wrong place, wrong time situation. But instead of being there, I’m here.”

“Well, someone’s an optimist,” Dean commented.

“One of us has to be,” you replied, as you finished applying his bandage.

“Who says I’m not?” Dean questioned.

You rolled your eyes, choosing not to touch that one with a ten foot pole.

Once you finished wrapping his arm, you then went to his ankle, being as gentle as possible as you lifted the foot. You had already removed the boot and sock and you began to carefully wrap up his ankle.

You had been left to assume his ankle was either broken or sprained, but you weren’t absolutely certain, and you didn’t have the heart to check because you knew it would hurt him, so you decided to let Sam take care of it once he had recovered somewhat.

You were careful as you wrapped his ankle, looking up at him as he cringed a bit. When you finished wrapping his ankle, you grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and adjusted so you were holding his foot up, sliding the pillow beneath it.

“Okay, you need ice?” you asked him curiously, offering him the bag from the table as you stood from the bed and reached to grab it.

Dean nodded, reaching his hand out to take it. “Yeah, thanks,” he said to you, accepting the bag but you shooed his hand away and carefully placed the bag on his ankle.

His soft intake of breath made you grin, but you quickly hid the smile before standing back to make sure the bag of ice would stay on his ankle.

Once you had deemed him taken care of, you grabbed your few medical supplies and offered Dean a satisfied grin.

“Alright, you should be okay for now,” you said to him, handing him a bottle of ibuprofen. “Take those with food please, I’ll check on you poor battered soldiers in the morning.”

Dean nodded and gave you a grin. “Hey thanks for the patch job,” he said to you.

For some reason that sent a pang through you. You couldn’t tell what it was, but suddenly you just felt like you wanted to walk over and kiss the man. You had to refrain from that. He still barely knew you, you had to give it time.

Dean had a bad habit of making your heart wanna jump out of your chest and make a home in his arms. You composed yourself enough to shrug and smile.

“I told you Dean, I owe you, it’s my pleasure.” You loved Dean, sometimes too much and, God, it killed you to know that he was right there but not the way you wanted.

This was an agonizing, so close but yet so far situation.

With your words, you finally made your way out of the room and headed right next door to your own. You set your bag down and flopped on your bed, the memories of your nights in alleyways and bus stops looming over you as you looked around.

You had finally found the Winchesters, they were taking care of you, teaching you, trusting you, and you were a stranger to them. You knew you would never hurt them, but they didn’t know that. All they knew was that they found a girl in a police station, who said she was a friend, who insisted she was just a girl on her own. For all they knew, it could have all been a front.

Of course, you knew it wasn’t, but that didn’t make much of a difference. You couldn’t help but be grateful to the Winchesters, and you knew no matter what you did nothing could make up for what they did for you. You’d never be able to thank them properly.

You sighed as you walked into the bathroom. Undressing and stepping into the shower, you turned on the water and felt it warm up, smiling at the warm water that sprayed down onto your head and body.

You would spend the rest of the life paying back the Winchesters, not just because you owed them, but because you loved them.

Even if it was just a few lame patch jobs, you were happy to do it as long as you could.

MY TAGS ARE WIDE OPEN!

My Girls

@spn67-sister @queen-of-deans-booty @ria132love @winchestergeekfreak

Hali’s Girls

@elizabeth-silverthorn @trustnobodyshootfirst @dizzy-sunshine @the--real-wombat @oreosatmidnight

[superbadassnatural]

Let me show you

Summary: After a rough week, Y/N decided to go out with a guy she had met. Unfortunately, things ran out of control and she ended up drinking her sorrows in a bar. Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader; Brandon (oc; only mentioned) Word count: 1,342 Warnings: Alcohol, mention of dating app, non consensual touch (barely there, only mentioned) A/N: I wrote this for Katy’s Wish Upon a Star Challenge by  @katymacsupernatural​. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always nice, please tell me what you think! 

Just one more, you thought. You had lost count of how many shots of whiskey you'd already drunk. At least, you still could come up with understandable sentences, so you could call a cab or order one more drink. You sure looked like an alcoholic to whoever laid eyes on you.  

With messy hair and bloodshot eyes, you smiled sympathetically at the ones that looked at you as if you were a creep. A woman sat by your side.

"Don't look at me like that," you said, and the woman rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed.  "I'm just having a bad day. I'm not some crazy bitch," before walking away, the redhead rolled her chocolate brown eyes one more time.

"Don't worry, Y/N," the waitress smiled at you, giving the most sincere smile. "You're not what these people say or think you are. No more drinking for you today," the brunette winked at you, putting the empty glass away. You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Don’t give me that. I’m just trying to take care of ya.”

Friday. The most awaited day of the week. You had been waiting for today anxiously after a tough week. The only thing that made the other four days lighter was Brandon. You had met him through a dating app. After talking for over a month, you had decided it was finally time to meet in person. You had agreed to meet at a fancy restaurant. You had put on one of your best dresses. The corset was tight, and the skirt loose.

You met, you talked, and you ate. He was charming. Although you've insisted, he paid the bill. Brandon convinced you to meet him at the motel he was staying, a smirk on his lips. He’d lead you to the motel. Once the door was shut, he changed. He shoved you on the bed, hands gripping at your arms. His touch hurt you, but not in a pleasing way. You tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t budge. He was stronger than you. Asking him to stop, you squirmed under him. His hand came up to cover your mouth. Brandon kept forcing himself on you, lifting your skirt. You managed to shove him away, knee pushing against his groin. He pulled away in pain. Picking up your purse, you ran out of the room.

Running down the street, you ended up in this very bar, drinking your bodyweight in alcohol. You were traumatized to say at least. Maybe being at a bar, drinking your sorrows away would make you feel better. Humiliation crawled at your skin. A tear rolled down your cheeks as you kept overthinking about all that had happened.

"Whiskey, please," a low voice echoed in your ears. You looked around and spotted a guy dressed in a flannel shirt. "Hey there," his green eyes met your teary ones as a small smile broke across his lips. "Are you ok?" the stranger leaned, his eyes narrowed.

"Why would you care?" you scoffed. Your voice was shaky as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. "S-Sorry. I- I didn't mean to be rude," you bowed your head, barely making eye contact with the green-eyed guy while you talked.

"It's okay," he reassured you, warm hand reaching to your forearm. "I wanted to know ‘cause, speaking hypothetically, I might know how it feels to drink your sorrows away on a Friday night. And hypothetically I thought that maybe you might want to talk to someone," He beamed. "I'm Dean, and I’m a great listener," he held out his hand.

"I'm Y/N," You took his large hand, shaking it.

"A beautiful name to a beautiful girl," Dean grinned at you, after swallowing his scotch. Heat creeped up your cheeks.

After nearly half an hour talking to him, Dean and his forest green eyes almost made you forget the reason you had ended up here. He ordered some french fries and burgers for you.

"So, Dean," you avoided his eyes, still sheepish. "you come to a bar, on a Friday night, seeming to have all the answers. Why? What brings you here, Dean?" you crossed your arms, lips curling into a smirk.

"I should be the one to ask you that, sweetheart," he crossed his arms, mirroring your expression. "What a gorgeous and interesting woman is doing in a bar, with her hair all messed up and bloodshot eyes?" he had a serious expression on his face this time. You ran your hands through your hair and, reluctantly, crossed your arms. "You can open up to me. I hear that opening up to strangers is easier," he pressed his lips together, forming a straight line.

“You’re not a stranger anymore, are you?”

You closed your eyes as you took a deep breath, sighing. You started to tell him the whole story without sparing the details. You still were shaken up about what had happened to you. Your voice trembled, and you tried to keep the tears from falling but failed miserably. Dean waited for you to finish. His green eyes reflected how it hurt him hearing the story. His hand reached yours, taking a hold of it. His thumb caressed the back of your hand.

"Where can I find this son of a bitch so I can punch him to death?" he growled abruptly, not knowing what to do to calm himself. Taking a deep breath, Dean called the waitress. "A beer for me and water for the lady, please."

"He made me feel like it was my fault," you sobbed. "I'm slut. He was right."

Dean reached your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. You leaned into his touch, feeling this good sensation of safety dig into your soul.

"It's not your fault, Y/N. Never was and never will be. You aren't what he said you are and neither what he thinks you are," a soft smile formed on his plump lips. "I don't know you. God knows I wish I did, but I notice some things about you. You are a beautiful, strong woman," his calloused hands cupped your cheeks. "And you know what I thought the second I entered this bar and laid eyes on you?" You mumbled at him, waiting for an answer. "You are the light in a sea of dark," he whispered, pressing your foreheads together. Your breaths mingled together, turning into one. Your heart thudded against your chest. Dean waited for you to close your eyes as permission for him to proceed. You did so and he pressed his lips against yours. A jolt of electricity ran all over your body. His mouth was warm. The caress of his lips softer than you had anticipated. You felt his tongue brush your lips, slowly asking for permission, you opened your mouth with an - almost - inaudible moan.

Dean pulled away. You slowly opened your eyes. Green eyes shone at you.

"You know what, Y/N? When life gets you down, do you wanna know what you’ve gotta do? Just keep swimming!" He said deadly serious.

"Did you just quote Finding Nemo?" You giggled raising your brows. You ran your hands through his hair, caressing it.

"Guilty," Dean put his hands up in fake surrender, and looked down, blushing. "What I meant is whenever you're feeling bad, you've just gotta keep going 'cause in the end, you might stumble into something good that can change your life," he whispered cautiously.

You grinned at the cute figure in front of you.

"By 'something good' you mean you?" You suggested, raising your eyebrow.

"Speaking hypothetically, yes, it could be me," a chuckle left your lips. He was glad he managed to make you laugh after such horrible events. Dean stood on his feet, searched for money inside his pockets, and paid the bill. The green-eyed man held his hand to you. As you took it, he put you on your feet.

"Let me show how your night should have ended," he whispered to you and led you out of the bar.

[sprinkleofhappinessuniverse]

Rochelle’s Dean Winchester Masterlist

A Masterlist of all my Dean centric Fics (so far…). 

If you wanna be added to my Dean Winchester tag list let me know! 

So You’re a Charmed Kinda Guy? - (Dean x Reader) 

Reader teases Dean for his choice in TV Shows. (Fluff) 

Support - (Dean x Reader) 

Movie date and the reader has a small surprise for Dean. (Fluff) 

Let Me Take Care Of You - (Dean x Reader) 

Dean why don’t you understand that people love you as much as you love them? (Mostly angst, a bit of fluff) 

The One That Got Away - (Dean x Reader) 

Ah, Dean Winchester. The One That Got Away. You gave up hope on ever seeing him again until the two of you are reunited after twelve years. (Angst and Fluff.) 

River Deep, Mountain High - (Dean x Reader) 

Dean overcoming his stubbornness and overprotective ways and admitting just how awesome you really are. (Fluff) 

What A Wonderful World - (Dean x Reader) 

You wake up to find youself with a house, kid and your spouse is…Dean? Of course everything is not what is seems. 

[supernatural-fanfic]

I need to step the fuck away from tumblr and the spn fanfiction tag. It just takes me saying "one more fic." At 11 pm then saying "Oh fuck." When it is 4:55am and a emotional mess.

[winterwolf57]

King of the Underworld

TITLE: King of the Underworld CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: Chapter 1 of ? AUTHOR: winterwolf57 CHARACTERS: Dean Winchester x Reader GENRE: Romance, fluff, smut in later chapters SUMMARY: AU where Dean is Hades, King of the Underworld.

“That’s it?” you asked dumbfounded. “Err… yeah. What were you expecting? Some kind of sexual torture and a forced marriage? Sorry to disappoint sweetheart, but the women who come to my bed are all more than willing. And they never leave without satisfied smiles on their faces,” he winked and threw a dazzling smile your way. Son of a bitch. That smile would surely be your downfall.

A/N: I’ve always been very fond of retelling Hades and Persephone’s story. I guess it’s because I’ve always imagined him to be a sexy, mysterious character who can actually be written as sorely misunderstood. In my head, Hades isn’t the monster he’s made out to be, just someone people can’t help but be afraid of. Because he is death, and no one really wants to die. 

Most stories I’ve read about Persephone and Hades are about how, after all his wooing, Persephone falls in love eventually; or how he’s always had feelings for her from the start, so I wanted to do something a little different. First by changing Persephone to a different character and second by making the character fall in love with him first.  

Anyway this was just supposed to be a one-shot smutty story, but it ended up longer. Smut will come in the next chapter or so. Hope you stick around for it. :)

Click for fore chapters of King of the Underworld.

Check out my other stories HERE.

The tension in the air was so thick you could have cut through it with a knife. Hades, King of the Underworld (or Dean as he now liked to be called) stood regally at the foot of your father Zeus’ throne. Half of his face was obscured by the hood of his midnight blue robe, and all you could see from your vantage point in the corner of the room was a pair of plump pink lips.

“You promised me one of your daughters and now I’m here to collect,” he said with an eerie calm. Unlike your father, the King of the Underworld didn’t need a booming voice or a show of muscles to intimidate anyone, the man had just spoken above a whisper and you already had goosebumps crawling all over your skin.

Hera sat to Zeus’ right looking, well, bored. Demeter on the other hand was more frantic. “You did WHAT?” she asked hysterically from the sidelines, automatically pulling Persephone back behind her protectively.

Ah yes, typical family drama. There really wasn’t anything new and frankly you were so sick of it.

“IS IT TRUE? DID YOU REALLY PROMISE MY DAUGHTER TO THIS CREATURE?” A seething Demeter asked turning to Zeus. There were plenty of rumors going around about Hades. Some say his flesh is rotting under that robe, just like the dead that fill his realm, other rumors peg him to be a cruel, merciless, sadist who takes pleasure in meting out punishments for those he judges.

However, if Dean was offended by the way Demeter referred to him as a creature, he showed no indication of it, instead waiting quietly for the king of Olympus to speak.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at your king.” His voice boomed across the sky palace. “And I promised A daughter, not Persephone in particular,” he said trying to assert the control he’d obviously lost in front of this angry mother hen.

Oh for fuck’s sake! I am really going to regret this. You thought but stepped forward anyway from the shadows you were hiding in. “I’ll go,” you said addressing your father.

The room went quiet save for Persephone’s audible gasp of surprise. Despite her overbearing and often times irritating mother, you considered your half-sister Persephone a true friend. Frankly she was the only one in your screwed up family you actually cared for. And if the rumors were true, then no thanks to her mother’s overprotection, this sweet and naive child wouldn’t last a day in the Underworld.

You also figured a change of scenery wouldn’t be so bad, you were never really a fan of sunlight anyway (no offense to Apollo) and the bi-weekly parties in Olympus (they found almost anything a cause for celebration) wasn’t something you were particularly fond of.

No one objected to your proposal and Zeus breathed a long sigh before nodding in defeat. “Very well. Pack your belongings and meet me back here,” Dean said in a monotonous voice.

There really wasn’t much to take with you to be honest. Just a few books and the plant that Persephone gifted you a couple of years back.

“My mother forbade me to make any more of this.” Persephone said handing over an oddly shaped plant with thin needles sticking out of it. “She said it was a hideous thing with all its thorns and dull green color; and it doesn’t even blossom. But I think it’s beauty comes from its resiliency; it can withstand extreme temperatures and it’s very strong. I made it because it reminded me so much of you,” she said sheepishly. 

You smiled at the memory as you carefully put it away in a box and into the small bag of your belongings.

Persephone stood waiting for you at the throne room, her eyes shone bright with tears. You removed the amber necklace you made for yourself and hung it around her neck before pulling her into a tight embrace. She sobbed onto your shoulder and you fought back tears as you told her you’d visit when you could. You told her to be strong and to learn how to stand her ground, something Demeter snarled at you for.

All the goodbyes after that were easy and finally you gave your father a kiss on the cheek. To your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you tight. “I may never have said this often, but you were always one of my favorite daughters. Stubborn but level-headed and independent. Give him hell,” he said winking before releasing you.

“Ready to go?” Dean stood up and took your small bag before extending a hand towards you to help you climb into his black chariot. Well, here goes nothing, you thought as you nodded, placing your hand in his. You were expecting it to be cold and lifeless, only to find it surprisingly warm.

The black horses with glowing blue eyes whirred before galloping powerfully, jumping off the clouds and plummeting straight down towards the earth. You looked back at Olympus, a home you never really felt like you were a part of despite your father’s parting words. When the ground opened and you were consumed in darkness, you finally realized what you had just done.

SHIT. You muttered to yourself in your head, panic rising in your chest. You remembered the stories about the Underworld that Demeter used to tell Persephone as a child while you sat nearby. About how it was dark and dank and filled with wails of the dead.

But when the darkness receded and the horses came to a slow gallop, you found yourself entering a beautiful castle made of glistening black glass, probably onyx, you realized. No flowers grew in the field surrounding it but there were rows of pomegranate trees as far as the eye can see.

You only realized your mouth hung open when you heard Dean chuckle beside you. “Not at all what you were expecting sweetheart?” he asked warmly, his tone and demeanor seeming more relaxed now that he was back in his realm. “I… yes it’s actually quite lovely,” you managed to say as you took it all in.

The horse’s hooves clacked along the pavement as you passed the bustling town. There were shops that mostly sold fine jewelry; you remember reading about how Hades was rich in precious stones that no other realm could rival. There was also the smell of freshly baked bread and an assortment of delicious looking pastries, there were children laughing and chasing each other, most of those you passed smiled and waved at Dean and he returned their gestures fondly. But most importantly, you realized there was light and a makeshift sun. It wasn’t nearly as blinding as Apollo’s sun, but it illuminated the kingdom in a soft white glow. You reserved your questions for later as you came to a stop by the gigantic castle doors.

You stepped inside and delighted at the very minimalistic but modern feel of it; all wood and black marble. You were led to what you assumed was a receiving area where a plate of those delicious looking pastries waited for you along with a pot of tea. “Please,” Dean said motioning to the seat across him. He selected a piece of pie from the assortment and you mimicked his actions, taking a bite from what looked like a danish.

“I’m sorry this is a little late, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced and I never got your name.” It wasn’t a question, but his tone suggested you needed to give him an answer. “My name is Y/N, your majesty” you said, unsure if you were supposed to shake his hand or stand up and curtsy. “I’m Hades,” he said before you could decide what to do. “But I prefer to be called Dean.”

He reached up and pulled his hood back so he could look you in the eye, revealing a perfectly sculpted face. He was a god, after all, but none of the books you’ve read or songs you’ve heard describes him like this. He had dirty blond hair that was cropped short, unlike Zeus and Poseidon who sported long, untamed locks; and his pouty lips looked like they’re perpetually kissed. The most striking feature about him though were his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that his eyes inspired the god who created emeralds; they were so beautifully green you could get lost in them forever.

“You are full of surprises today your majesty,” your eyes widened when you realized that you said this out loud. You tensed a bit but let out a breath of relief when he threw his head back in laughter. “Please, call me Dean. And I have a reputation to uphold after all,” he said shaking his head.

You cleared your throat before speaking again. “I mean no offense, but why do you let people describe you the way they do? I mean I’m sure you have an idea about your reputation…”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips but he answered seriously, “I can’t blame them for what they think. I’m the god of the dead; people are afraid to die because they don’t know what waits for them in death. And what they’re afraid of they portray as something ugly and twisted.” He said matter of factly, leaning back comfortably against his chair. “So you weren’t not offended? I mean when Demeter called you a creature…”

“Demeter is only a mother protecting her child from what she perceives as an imminent threat, I can’t fault her for that. Like I said, people are afraid of what they don’t know, hence the hood. Keeps the whole mysterious thing going on,” he smiled again gesturing to his robes. The only thing more beautiful than his eyes, you decided, was his smile.

“So I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s going to happen to me now?” you said nervously addressing the elephant in the room. “Right, about that,” he said scratching the back of his head. An odd gesture from someone perceived as very regal.

“First of all I’m sorry you had to get tangled up in all this. Zeus lost a bet we made and when he couldn’t produce what we agreed on, he promised me one of his daughters of all things. That sick son of a bitch. I mean what kind of a father gives away his children like livestock?” he frowned. “But I was angry and I agreed out of spite, which I realize now is really stupid. So now here you are. You’re free to do as you please, I guess. You can come and go as you please but you just gotta come back every day.”

“That’s it?” you asked dumbfounded. “Err… yeah. What were you expecting? Some kind of sexual torture and a forced marriage? Sorry to disappoint sweetheart, but the women who come to my bed are all more than willing. And they never leave without satisfied smiles on their faces,” he winked and threw a dazzling smile your way. Son of a bitch. That smile would surely be your downfall.

[iwantthedean]

Tonight: ice cream and catching up

On @daydreamingintheimpala's fics!!

[trblhalfmoon]

Dissociate

Summary: When you lose your sense of self, what does it take to bring you back?

wc: 4,138 - angst, smut

The last thing you hear as he leaves is the front door slamming. It’s late; you can’t even imagine where he’s going at this time.

You shudder as your body hits the wall, allowing yourself to numbly slide down to the wooden floor of your shared bedroom, clinging to yourself in a desperate need to feel whole again. Why does he always leave when you need him the most?

Your face is stained with tears, but you can’t feel them anymore as your head is clouded with anger and guilt; angry because you couldn’t get him to stay and guilty because you couldn’t get him to understand.

Communication is a two way street, but it’s impossible to meet halfway if the other person isn’t willing. What does that mean for you then, as someone who would easily walk that extra mile for someone who refuses to do the same?

His accusations echo in your head, fighting against your conscience as you try to sort them out. You know you’re not at fault here, yet the only thing you can conclude from the past hour of fighting is that you don’t know what you want.

It always starts with a question. Why don’t you do __ anymore? How come you don’t join us when we __? Why do you need so much time for yourself? What do you do when you’re alone anyway?

For the past few months, it’s carried on this way and to be honest, you’re never able to answer. Maybe it’s the way that people make you feel; being around them for too long always drains whatever energy you’re able to muster after pushing yourself to go out. Maybe it’s the way you’re always somehow just existing in any scenario, as if watching yourself from an out of body experience, unable to fully control your words or your actions. When was the last time you truly felt anything, anyway?

It’s always been for him. He knows how difficult things have been for you and he’s aware of how lost you’ve been feeling lately. Yet he continues to push you because he feels no one else pushes you hard enough.

But how do you tell him you’re trying your hardest? Why is it that people only notice your mistakes and slip ups and never the effort you put in?

Not enough.

You’re sick of the constant comparison he makes between you and them. His new friends, his new found solace. They’re all he’s been able to talk about recently, and your growing anxieties and insecurities take no time in consuming you with fear and jealousy. And then there’s her.

But how do you even begin to vocalize that?

Weeks of internalization have finally shown face, the scales tipping as the thin thread holding you together finally snaps. He was nowhere near as understanding as you hoped he would be.

You inhale a shaky breath, mopping your face with your sleeves and salvaging your sanity. You reach for the glass of water on the nightstand and force yourself to finish it, trying to nurse the impossible headache that’s been budding since he began yelling.

The bed seems uninviting, sheets neatly folded and made, a sign of vacancy. It only feeds your emptiness but you allow yourself to fall into them, shivering at their icy welcome. You stay like this, drifting in and out of unsatisfiable sleep only to wake an hour and a half later to find he is still not home.

Anger quickly surpasses the guilt and you force yourself up to leave as well, planning to drown out the emptiness in the only way you know how.

You wash your face, ignoring the saltiness to prep it for a clean slate of makeup. You change into your favorite dress, a green silk slip with a lacy bust, and head out to the first club that comes to mind.

It comes as no surprise to you that the place is packed with people, crammed into every corner possible in the small space. A soothing R&B rift plays on the speakers as you maneuver around the inhabitants who are too busy grinding against each other to pay you any attention. First order of business: the bar.

You quickly down two shots before hitting the dance floor, losing yourself in the music as you rock and sway to the beat. There’s something liberating about being out in this kind of setting by yourself; no one to entertain or watch out for.

Every couple of songs you make trips back to the bar to keep yourself afloat. By your fifth trip back, you are met with an eager male who watches you with interest.

“Hi baby,” he offers a crooked grin. “Whatcha been drinking?”

The room is swaying by now, so you lean against the bar for support and shamelessly eye him from head to toe before you decide he’s pretty average looking. Strands of his slicked blonde hair cling to his face with sweat, and he wipes away a few beads with the back of his hand. You turn away in distaste.

“Vodka, please,” you flag down a bartender.

The male doesn’t seem to catch your disinterest in him.

“I couldn’t help but notice you here by yourself,” he leans against the counter, cornering you between him and couple making out behind you. “What’s a beauty like yourself doing alone in a place like this?”

The bartender hands you your shot and you down it in haste. You slam the glass down on the counter, irritated that this man refuses to leave you alone.

“Sorry, not interested,” you slur.

He lets out a hearty laugh, amused by your rejection as he continues his endeavor.

“Hey, why don’t we have a dance together?” he playfully elbows your arm. The alcohol has it’s hold on you, so your recoil is delayed.

“I already said no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he tries again leaning in closer than you’re comfortable with.

“Boyfriend,” you try a different approach, focusing hard on keeping yourself together.

The alcohol now controls you, yet you can still feel the irritation building from his persistence.

“Oh do you now?” the blonde laughs again. “And where is he, sweetheart?”

He reaches forward to stroke your chin as an arm simultaneously wraps around your shoulder to pull you away.

“Hands off my girl,” a low, husky voice interjects the unwarranted male’s actions.

You squint, trying to focus on watching him as he studies the newcomer, clearly annoyed, but powerless in the situation as he rises from the barstool, cursing loudly as he leaves. Only then do you turn to face your savior.

You’re about to show your appreciation and quickly make your exit but immediately freeze to see a tall male standing before you. His jet black hair parts sideways, framing his forehead and his ears garnished with silver chains and hoops. Your attention is quickly drawn to a characteristic slit on his right eyebrow.

“Th-thanks for that,” you slur, clearly taken off guard by the attractive man.

He sips his drink and takes the seat of the previous man, eyes light and friendly as they watch you.

“Nothing is worse than a man who can’t take no for an answer,” he muses.

He takes another sip of his drink before placing it on the counter, turning away slightly to create some space between you two. You mistake it as his attempt to disengage, so you turn away as well, ready to order another shot to further send yourself towards oblivion.

The bartender pours something smooth and golden, placing it down on a coaster in front of you before bumping fists with your new companion. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to shake his head, adding a friendly, “Don’t worry about it.”

You gratefully try the drink, surprised to find no burning or distaste. You frown, turning to the male in disappointment.

“Is there any alcohol in this?”

He chuckles, a deep sound coming from his throat as it seems to shake his whole body, and he covers his mouth to hide his amusement. He turns towards you again to study your face, and you allow yourself to stare into his red, glossy eyes, only then realizing he’s just as gone as you are.

“That’s got some of the strongest stuff in there,” he nods towards the golden liquid, raising both eyebrows as your face twists in disbelief. “And what are we running away from tonight, babe?”

His gaze is intense, yet you can’t seem to look away. They seem to glimmer with an unspoken dare, twitching every now and then as if in anticipation. His brow is cocked, awaiting your response as you mull over all possible explanations.

You lick your lips, suddenly conscious of how hot the room seems to be. His eyes dart to the movement and quickly back to your eyes, but not before you notice how much more they seem to be gleaming. Is he waiting for you to make a move?

You reach for the glass before answering, trying your best to down it in one go. “Men,” you roll your eyes as your mind recalls the fight with your boyfriend earlier this evening.

“Mmm,” he subtly nods, raising his own glass to that in response.

You scoot a little closer, craving some form of comfort and human contact when your mind begins to retrace the argument. All you want to do is forget how angry he looked when you finally lost it, revealing everything that’s been on your mind since you suspected he’d been cheating.

You hate how petty and jealous you sounded, but once you broke, there was no stopping you. Weeks of internalization had come flooding out and you lost all rational thought just trying to chase your release. You run your hand messily through your hair, agitated from the thought of returning home to someone who refuses to listen to you.

A warm feeling on your leg calls for your attention and it takes you way too long to realize that the male is resting a hand on your knee. A strange feeling in your stomach begins to blossom as you peer up at him only to find he’s looking away, attention caught by something you can’t see, and you take the opportunity to slide a little closer to him, causing his hand to move further up your thigh.

“What’s your name?” you breath in to his ear to get his attention.

He turns his head back, eyes hooded and mouth slightly parted, clearly affected by your close proximity. The feeling in your stomach only grows stronger, sending sparks out towards the rest of your body.

“Dean.”

It’s almost a whisper, yet it wraps around your whole being, enveloping you as you become hyper aware of the small circles he’s rubbing into your thigh. You lean in a little closer, high off the skinship and fully controlled by the alcohol as you let his name roll off your tongue.

The corners of his mouth turn upwards into a small smile, liking the way it sounds coming from your lips. He leans in too, lips hovering close to your ear, his voice sending chills across your body and causing the tiny hairs on the back of your neck to stand.

“Say it again.”

The feeling in your stomach dips down below and you feel a surge of heat between your legs. A tiny corner of your mind tells you to walk away, escape while there’s still a little ounce of common sense left in you, yet it’s quickly overthrown when Dean begins trailing his hand further up your thigh.

“D-Dean,” you groan as he stops just before the area you want it most.

He almost loses his composure at the breathy sound of his name the second time, leaning back a little to study your face. Your eyes are blown out and hooded, it’s obvious you want more but he’s waiting for you to make the first move. You shift in your seat, leaning in to close the distance he’s created between you two.

Without a second thought, you slam your lips onto his and relish in the way he feels against your mouth. There’s no shame left in your body as he takes both hands to grab your waist, pulling you closer to him so you’re practically sitting on top of him. He allows you to devour him, lips moving smoothly against each other, testing the waters to how far you’re willing to let him go.

He runs his tongue along your bottom lip and you part them, allowing him entry as your own tongue dances along with his. He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes, but you don’t mind as the two of you continue to shamelessly make out at the bar.

Lust is a strange thing.

You can feel the room swaying as you desperately cling on to this man you hardly know for support, trying to keep yourself grounded from this high. All the sounds in the room are a muted buzz and the only thing you’re able to zone in on is the sound of your mingling lips.

It just makes you desperate for more. You move up his lap, trying to give yourself some release as you drag your core against his leg, but immediately realize your mistake when you graze against his hardened bulge. He groans softly at the contact, grabbing your waist harder to pull you back on to it, guiding you back and forth.

A few more minutes like this and neither of you can handle the limited friction anymore. He pulls away to nibble on your ear, panting from the kiss, “Let’s get out of here.”

You clamber off of him, noting how he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady while planting soft kissing along your neck line. He leads you out of the club and around a few blocks towards a nearby motel.

Once you’re both in the privacy of your own small room, he’s on you again before you have a chance to survey your surroundings. He grabs your face and smacks his lips to yours once more, slamming you into the door in the process. You are unrelenting as well, drinking up his kisses like a woman dying of thirst.

He uses both hands to tilt your head up, leaving him access to your neck, and he washes the expanse with open mouthed kisses, sucking a little too hard and leaving behind purple blossoms in his memory. You take this moment to rake your hands up and down his back, pulling his shirt out from his waistline and sneaking skinship inside.

You’re panting so hard from anticipation that your mind begins to blur. The room spins from the alcohol and you lean against him in support, unaware that when you press your body against his, it only agitates the male further.

He groans deeply against your neck and dips slightly down to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist for additional support. Your dress slips up above your waist in the process and he takes advantage of the fact as he gropes your ass with both hands, moving towards the bed.

His lips momentarily detach from your skin as he drops you onto the bed, and you gasp at the impact before he’s quickly climbing on top of you, lips finding their way back to your neck. He traces your jawline with his tongue, mopping up the lust with feathery kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.

Your eyes immediately open when you see his face behind your eyelids. Not Dean’s face...but his. For a second you’re disconnected, wondering why you’re in the situation you’re in and how you even allowed for it to go this far.

You whisper his name, the alcohol clearly fighting you to forget and live in the moment. This takes Dean by surprise and his kisses slow as he pulls his head up to look into your eyes for the first time since you left the bar.

“You alright, babe?” his eyes are hooded but just as blown out as yours as he tries with much effort to resist your lips, which are slightly swollen from all the kissing.

“Yeah, I just...there’s um, someone…” you struggle to finish your sentence. The alcohol continues to fight your conscience.

His lips twitch slightly upwards, fully aware what the problem is. He shifts up, planting a soft, slow kiss on your lips that leaves you breathless, it’s such a contrast to his harsh ones earlier.

“We’ve all got our problems, babe,” he breathes against your lips.

You continue to kiss him back, softly and almost vulnerably, groaning softly when he deepens it with his tongue. A few tears roll down your cheek but you ignore them, embracing the man on top of you as he shifts his weight to connect his hips with yours. Your desire for him is only fueled when he begins to grind them into yours.

The friction is much needed and you throw your head back to let out a soft moan, causing Dean to grind harder. His lips find your ear and he bites down softly at your lobe, panting a very breathy, “Is this what you want? Because I won’t stop.”

You don’t respond, instead only bending your knees and spreading them wider to give him better access. He takes this as your consent to continue and he increases the pace of his hips, soft groans leaving him as they traverse into your conscience, telling you he’s just as fucked out as you are.

Your hands slide down between your bodies, tugging at his waistline and he chuckles, brushing them away before you can tug his jeans off.

“You first, babe,” he reluctantly pulls away from you, resting on his knees to run his hands up the expanse of your legs.

He loops his fingers into the band of your panties and pulls them down, eyebrows rising at the almost nonexistent lacy fabric before tossing them to the floor. He then leans down, spreading your legs wide, salivating at the sight before him.

You peer down, making eye contact he as cocks his brow in silent permission and you shudder from the intensity of his gaze, threading a hand through his hair to pull him in. He smiles at your impatience but gets straight to work, flattening his tongue for a full sweep from bottom to top. A heavy sigh of pleasure leaves you, and he runs his tongue in this manner for a few more strokes before finding your clit.

Dean doesn’t waste any time. He hardens his tongue, using the tip to give it a few fast flicks before closing his lips around it and sucking hard. You gasp loudly from the intensity, almost cringing away from the sensation, unprepared for his antics, but he only grabs your thighs and holds you in place, forcing you to writhe underneath his touch.

He takes breaks from sucking by smoothing over your clit in slow, feathery circles before switching back. He keeps this up for a good few minutes and it takes everything for you not to fall over the edge in pleasure. Your hands cling onto his hair, continuously pulling and threading through them as if it will bring you some kind of release.

Just as you start to see stars behind your eyelids, Dean sticks two fingers into your entrance and slowly begins to pump them in and out. You cry out from the added stimulation, letting your hands fall from his head to the sheets, wringing them so hard that your knuckles turn white.

He pulls his head away to look up at you, intoxicated from your sounds and pleased by the effect he has on you. You stare back at him, eyes hooded and unfocused, feeling your release slipping away from the loss of his tongue.

“Just a little longer, baby,” he twists his fingers inside, curving them upwards in an attempt to find your most sensitive spot. He presses his thumb against your clit as he continues to work his fingers in and out.

His other hand attends to his jeans, fumbling with the zipper before pulling them down and slipping out of them. You eye the bulge outlined in his briefs, licking your lips and sitting up in anticipation, wanting to return the favor. He chuckles, a sexy, throaty sound that pulses your desire for him, only to motion for you to flip over.

Your slightly pout your lips, but you obey regardless, arching your back to give him ease of access. You can hear him quickly pumping himself a few times and the sound of foil ripping as he takes the time to slip on a condom, before leaning down to glide his length against your drenched entrance. He pushes your dress further up and grabs your hips, rocking himself back and forth to further coat himself.

You moan softly, wanting nothing more than for him to enter and help you chase your release and can tell from his harsh breathing that he wants his own release as well. You impatiently push your hips back to meet his and he chuckles again, wasting no more time to give you what you both want.

He slides in quickly, stopping briefly to compose himself and you take this moment to adjust yourself to him. You decide to experiment, squeezing your walls around him to fully feel his girth and he groans in response as he begins to rock his hips back and forth with fervor.

The feeling is divine, Dean grips you hard enough to bruise and you don’t hold back as you cry out in pleasure, moaning his name every so often to hear him groan in approval. You clench around him, which only fuels his desire as he snaps his hips into you at a faster and harder pace than before.

Your arms begin to tremble as you fall onto your elbows, causing your ass to ride up higher. Sparks of pleasure shoot throughout your body with this new angle, and you know it’s not much longer until your release. You reach in between your thighs, circling hard against your clit to give yourself the extra stimulation needed to send you falling.

“Let me hear you, babe,” Dean grunts between thrusts. “Let me know how good it feels.”

His voice has dropped an octave and his staggered breathing makes it come out as a breathy plea. You focus on the sounds and feelings the two of you create, and it’s not much longer  before the fire that’s been building in the pit of your stomach flares to the rest of your body, the embers burning a trail of pleasure in their wake.

Your body begins to convulse, shaking from the intensity of your release as you collapse onto the bed, vaguely aware that Dean is still gripping and thrusting into your hips. He leans in closer, moving his hands to either side of your head so he’s hovering above you, thrashing his hips a few more times before stuttering and falling into his own release.

He groans softly, mostly heavy breaths and curses falling from his lips as he collapses on top of you, riding out his wave alongside yours. Your body stills, spent and exhausted as your mind becomes fuzzy and clouded, and you feel your body slipping into hazy sleep.

Dean flips you onto your back to lie on top of you, massaging your hips and thighs while planting soft kisses across your chest. You subconsciously relish the feeling, running a hand through his hair while fighting the sleep that threatens to overtake you. He feels so warm, so comforting, so...secure. He’s the last thing you smell, the last thing you hear, the last thing you feel before you drift off into much needed sleep.

The first thing you notice when you wake the next morning is that you are alone. You wonder if things are better this way, waking up next to Dean meant facing your drunken decisions and mistakes.

It’s almost noon, and you look around the room for the first time to see sunlight peeking in through the closed curtains and your heels and panties on the floor. You’re still wearing your green dress but it’s severely crumpled and stained. You turn to the nightstand, groaning at the headache that pounds away at you, instantly regretting all the alcohol you allowed yourself to consume.

There’s an old receipt for a pack of cigarettes and you flip it over to find a phone number and a message scrawled in black ink.

“Whenever you need it.”

A/N: this fic was highly inspired by Dean’s song “Love,” specifically the line “I’ll fuck you if you let me baby” D: this is actually my first smut ever lol and ofc it’d be about dean...the man’s always got me feeling some type of way...  hope y’all like it! feed back would be much appreciated :)

[supernaturalficsblog]

Annoyed Isn’t Even the Half of It

Word count: 1073

Request: Can I just have a fic where the reader is super upset and just spends the day in the shooting range and ends up crying and punching dean, the cute dude who gave me his number has a girlfriend and didn’t bother to mention that, so Yea im kinda pissed 

To the requester, I’m not sure how long ago you requested this but no guy that does anything like that is worth your time. If you’re reading this then I hope you know you’re better than him and you deserve better x

Author: Sam

Note: I have a week off from college so my plan is to get some fics written ready! I think if I manage to write 4 this week then I can try to post 2 a week since it’ll be easier to keep up :)

Annoyed wasn’t even the term you’d used to describe how you felt. Synonyms weren’t much help either: irritated, vexed, angry and exasperated weren’t strong enough terms to convey the rage and upset that dwelled in your chest. It was a culmination of a lot of things really; the hunts hadn’t been going all that well lately and you’d had some bad experiences with guys at bars. The latest had been a jackass who’d given you his number, promising to take you on a date sometime, then later you’d seen him leaving with his girlfriend.

So pissed wasn’t even the half of it.

Surprisingly your aim was pretty good, considering the circumstances. It wasn’t helping though. Bullets ricocheted off the target, shells firing back and the recoil strong enough to make your hands a little unsteady when the emotions started to get the best of you. But you powered through.

Sure it wasn’t helping all that much. If anything you were closer to crying now than you were earlier but at least you were alone. The last thing you needed was an interruption.

There isn’t one, not for the first hour or so anyway. Sam had enough understanding to interpret that the outward demeanour was not one that required comfort from him by this point, right now it was something you had to channel for yourself. Even if your shots steadily become more inaccurate as tears blotted your vision.

It was an incredibly stupid thing to be so upset about, you reminded yourself. In your eyes it was anyhow, if you’d confided in a friend they’d have been the first to reassure you that your reaction was perfectly natural but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to see the same. You blamed a considerable portion of it on the fact that, with being a hunter, there weren’t so many opportunities that arose to actually be intimate with somebody. The ones that did were with fellow hunters and you endeavoured to avoid those. They could be dead on the hunt the next day and then things got all messy.

It didn’t help that Dean had been leaving with yet another busty blonde when it’d all happened; he was going into overdrive with them lately and you’d be damned if you said that that didn’t irk you.

He always resurfaced, tousled bed hair and reeking of sweat, padded into the kitchen and made himself a coffee. He always had an absurdly smug grin on his face. Until he noticed you were in there. His smile always seemed to fold and you told yourself it was out of pity. Sam had probably drunkenly told him about your feelings; drunk Sam was one hell of a blabbermouth.

Thankfully you hadn’t had to see that this morning.

You weren’t entirely sure if you were getting out your anger about this guy at the bar or your frustration towards Dean. It was a toss-up.

“Jesus Y/N,” Dean’s voice booms from the doorway, “What’d that target do to you?”

It’s only then that you notice just how full of holes the target is. Most aren’t even in the central regions, if you were imagining it as Tom from last night then boy would he have died slowly and painfully. He probably deserved it. You shake your head.

“I came down here because I wanted some privacy, Dean. You ever thought other people could use some space or is it only you that gets that privilege?”

He raises his hands as if in surrender, “Woah Y/N. Why don’t you cool it a little?”

At least he didn’t ask if it was your time of the month. You’d have punched him. Gritting your teeth, you blink and adjust your aim; you cock your gun and fire it straight at the centre of the target. Bullseye.

“What’s with all the bad shots?” He questions, walking ever closer, “I thought you had better aim than that. You might need some training if you’re planning on-”

You weren’t even intending to hit him, it just happens. Clenched fist collides with his jaw, a loud smacking sound accompanying his confused look and quiet wince. In the reflection of his eyes you can see you look just as shocked as he does. Tears start to well again. Fuck, how ridiculous you have to look right now; you just punched a Winchester and to make matters worse you’re crying about it.

“What’s wrong?” His eyebrows furrow; concern is rife within him.

You mumble something incoherent, words suffocated and stifled by the emotion that bubbles in your throat and threatens to choke you. Warm salty tears streak your cheeks.

His arms wrap around you after a moment of hesitation; the rigid muscle of his chest is soon pressed firmly against you. The cotton of his t-shirt is dampened in an instant. He pays no mind, smoothing down your hair and murmuring soothing hushes. So you let yourself crumble, safe in the hold of him.

“Sammy told me about last night, if this is about that guy then screw him Y/N. You’re smart, so smart, so good at defending yourself, hell I’ve never really had anybody who can shock me with a punch,” He chuckles, “This life is crap. I know that. You don’t deserve to be dragged into this, you deserve a sweet apple pie life if that’s what you want. You should have somebody who can love you and be able to say it.”

“I don’t think anybody is silenced in professing their undying love,” You mutter pathetically.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, “You’d be surprised.”

You allow him to wipe your cheeks and tilt you to face him, soft eyes boring into your own. There’s so much emotion that clouds them, the stodgy pressure of the hunting life is heavy in his chest and stops him from voicing them. But you know, you know now.

Elevated to your tiptoes, sweetly chapped lips brush yours. Worries and emotions seem to melt away, all the uncomfortable tensions evaporate in the smouldering sentiment. Calloused fingers pad your cheeks. This is okay. Not thinking about tomorrow, not thinking about an endgame; it’s all comfortable and soothing. It enables you to lose yourself in the way he tastes like apples and cherries, the manner in which his lips seek out yours again after a singular lapse in their contact.

“You know, there are better ways to take out frustration.”

[bonepoem]

read this [www(.)fanfiction(.)net/s/8471278/1/That-s-M-Boy] and cry with me, please....

WHAT. THE EVER LIVING. FRICK. MO.

That’s M’Boy, Meggin Lane

I AM COMPROMISED. WHY MO, WHY

cains-mane and deanandhiscas because YOU NEED TO READ THIS TOO

[lunaticambr0se-blog]

Can anyone link me any good dean fics?? I've literally read everything I could find and now I've ran out of decent ones