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deanbrainrotwritings · 1 month

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— LIFE AIN’T EASY WHEN YOU'RE A MYTHICAL CREATURE

SUMMARY : you don’t suspect that dean has been in the shadows of your life for months, but he’s managed to make you his friend. he feels hopeless about making you fall for him, and it’s worse when you agree to go on a date with someone unexpected.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, kidnapping, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, reader isn’t perfect, vague chronic illness, panty kink, masturbation (m.), dumbification, a bunch of kinks actually, kinky!dean, sub!dean, jealousy, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 5.2k

A/N : this series will soon fill the square for stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. back to the baking bc it’s so fun and cute to write dean like that. also, their relationship is going somewhere, or is it!? muahahah. xx

Deep in thought, Dean carefully sliced through the soft, warm dough with a sharp knife. The rolled up cinnamon rolls slowly took shape as they were severed from each other along the lengthy roll. Each was cut one-inch thick, all almost perfect and similar from years of experience. The delicious spicy aroma of sweetened cinnamon filled the space around him, keeping him in his affectionate state as he thought of you.

He usually had a handful of customers this early in the morning but never so many that he couldn’t work slowly and do the work all alone. If he hired anyone, it would only make it difficult for him to be relaxed and all by himself. It’s safer. With the speed he worked at, he didn’t need the help anyway, and with the time… he didn’t want to talk about the time.

Today, he didn’t have a problem with the idea of not seeing you—if it meant you were resting. It could have been either because he had been at your home or because he understood now how you spent most of your precious time. Perhaps it was all of those things, along with his sudden concern for your health.

Which was why he didn’t expect you to walk through the door.

It was Saturday. A too-early, cold Saturday morning.

He wanted you to sleep in, but he was thrilled that you were there anyway, letting in the chilly air as you clenched your fists tightly at your sides and shivered cutely. You brushed your hair off your shoulder with reddened fingers and Dean briefly abandoned the dough to admire you.

You looked more beautiful than he remembered. Could it be real, that you were so stunning? So, so breathtaking in that crisp morning sunlight as it poured over your body like glittery gold; with your delicate features, your skin bitten by the cold morning air, and your lips lightly chapped.

He wished someone could paint you. He wished he had picked up the hobby a lot longer and had the skill to do so himself. To paint the gentle wisp of your hair, the ethereal angles of your face, the plump shape of your lips, your glimmering eyes, and the elegance of your body. All on his own, because only he could capture every exquisite detail of you.

He was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard the way your lips brushed against each other as you murmured, “so fucking cold.”

He grinned adoringly, silently wishing to kiss your lips until they were bruised and warm. Your teeth clicked against each other quietly and you subtly shuffled on the mat in front of the door before walking normally towards him.

Your gaze slowly lifted to meet his own and your body visibly relaxed as the warmth within the bakery finally encompassed you. Dean relaxed his grip on the knife and let his shoulders drop, copying your movements subconsciously.

“Hey,” you grinned, standing in front of him and rocking on your feet with your hands behind your back shyly as you looked up at the menu.

He blinked. Was this real? Were you really here? Was the universe trying to embarrass him for what he’d done most of the night? He swallowed, his eyes glazed over at the memory of you naked.

“Hey,” he whispered, smiling softly.

“What have you been up to?” You wondered, letting your eyes move over him once again. Dean looked down at the abandoned cinnamon rolls he’d been making, he thought about your question, and felt a little bit guilty.

What was he up to, you asked? Stalking you, going into your house illegally, stealing your things, and thinking of you. Oh, and also jerking off to the image of seeing you naked, using your underwear that he’d stolen from your drawers.

Dean had eagerly peeled off his clothes as soon as he got home.

His clothes were strewn across the floor but the things he’d stolen from you, he’d thrown on his bed. Except for your underwear, he held onto that. He knew if he were human, he’d be burning red in the face with pinkish splotches spreading down his freckled neck and chest.

All he could think of was you.

And he’d been resisting the urge to touch himself every time his cock would harden at the thought of you for so long that he felt like he was going to combust if he refused any longer.

He settled into his bed and slowly dragged his calloused palm along his dick. Everything was done languidly despite his impatience, despite the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable in between his legs. Slowly, behind his closed eyes, your silhouette became more solid and more vivid—like a dream made true.

He swiped away precum and dragged it down along his cock, imagining that it was your spit instead. He moaned. The thought of you naked, breasts bared to him, just in the lace panties he’d stolen, leaning above him on your knees with a small smirk on your soft lips, made his stomach clench.

“Fuck,” he whined, trying to keep the fantasy alive. He imagined it was your hand wrapped around him, soft and small, slowly moving up his painfully hard cock.

“Dean,” you’d say his name the way you said it the first day he met you. You’d rub your thighs together and keep torturing him with gentle strokes. He’d take it because he finally had you and he didn’t care about anything else. “You wanna come so bad, don’t you?” You’d taunt, because he knew you were secretly wicked.

He wouldn’t even be embarrassed when he nodded dumbly, squirming as you waited for every dribble of precum to fully slicken his cock. He’d take every degrading comment as you slid your fist his base to tip, and he’d watch stupidly like a devout man as you touched yourself with your free hand.

Your fingers would pinch and brush against your nipples until they were tight, you’d teasingly squeeze your breasts, and then you'd sneak your hand inside your underwear to rub at yourself. He would only beg pathetically for you to let him touch you, but you’d never allow him to.

You’d just keep moving your hand up and down until he was glistening wet, hot and red at the tip, and throbbing in your soft palm. “God, look at you,” you’d tease. He’d drop his eyes from your naked body to watch his cock and the way it looked in your grasp. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck, yes,” he’d grunt steadfastly.

“Yeah, you’re so good for me,” you’d praise, because finally you had something you could control. Something that would change and adapt to your every need because you were his purpose. You were what he was meant for—who he was meant for.

And he’d moan loudly, bucking his hips upwards involuntarily, and shoving his cock fast into your hand because you finally recognized it. He’s good for you. Only you.

Maybe once he was stupid and desperate, you’d bring yourself closer. You’d drag your soft, warm lips across his cold skin. You’d drag your tongue across his neck and suck gently behind his ear and he’d still moan at the sensation.

Your hot mouth and hotter breath would drive him crazy. Your warmth, once you leaned over him completely, would make him feel alive again. And your warm hands would move over his body, desperate to feel every inch of him because you needed him as bad as he needed you.

“I want to fuck you so bad, Dean,” you’d murmur against his ear and then you’d drop your warm cunt down over his cock without warning. He’d moan softly as you gently rubbed the lace covering you over his painfully-hard cock. He’d be able to feel how hot you were between your legs and how wet you were as the soaked lace stuck to your folds.

He rubbed the cotton of the crotch of your lace underwear against his cock with a moan. He stained it with his precum and continued to tease himself as he imagined that you were on his lap, rubbing your clothed pussy against his cock.

You’d definitely torture him this way.

You’d pant against his mouth and balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders, rocking your hips against his. The lace would make him more tender and more desperate to finish, but he’d wait for you. As you undulated your hips and lifted yourself up just to drop your pussy back down, he’d finally be able to touch you.

His name would slip from your lips breathlessly and he’d bury his face in your breasts, licking, biting, and kissing at them until you were puffy and tender. You’d praise him for all the pleasure you felt and your words would be stemmed in affection and warmth.

He’d claim you with bruises on your soft body and he’d mark you with light bruises from his mouth on your breasts, shoulders, and neck. His bites would only be surface level and visible by redness and never by a wound. But you would be his entirely. And he would be yours completely.

“I��m so close,” you’d warn him and he’d plead for you to let go. And when you finally came, you’d moan his name a dozen times, and he’d feel your body tremble above his and he’d hold you up. He’d continued to grind against your pussy until you found yourself again. “Come for me, Dean. I want to see you.”

And he’d finally come. His entire body would feel the release and he’d shout your name because you’re all he’s ever wanted. “That’s right, Dean. Look at me.” He’d force his eyes open just to watch you and your amazement as his cum covered your thighs and his stomach. “You’re so hot, baby.”

Dean wished he could stay in his fantasy, but instead, he opened his eyes to reality. To his darkened room and the moon as it hung above him instead of you. He swallowed hungrily, his throat was dry and he forced himself to look down at your ruined underwear now covered in his release.

He bit his lip as he clutched onto your dampened lace underwear. And closed his eyes, smiling softly as if all of that had really happened.

“I’ve, uh- nothing.” Way too guilty Dean, relax, this is the woman you love. “Just trying out some new recipes. What about you?” For the first time, Dean realised you had dimples as you chewed on the inside of your cheeks. You looked cuter, if that were somehow possible.

“Workin’,” you answered with a small smile, “I’m gonna do some unpacking so I can just get it over with. I’d come here more often, but work is so chaotic.” You would? Did that mean you thought of him? Or did you mostly think of the food? He wished you would add why. Maybe you wouldn’t tell him, but offering to help you unpack was a great opportunity for him to insert himself into your life. Unfortunately, you started talking before he could ask, but he kept it close. “You said you were trying new recipes. Anything I can try?”

“I made a few giant pop tarts earlier,” he admitted and hesitantly resumed slicing through the roll. He wanted to keep watching you, to notice every change and every detail in your face as you spoke and looked around curiously.

“Oh really?” Your voice changed, more curious and excited than before. He looked up and smiled, setting the knife down now that he was finished.

“Yeah, wanna try it?”

“Yeah, soon as you’re not busy.” Your eyes flickered down to the unbaked cinnamon rolls he’d forgotten all about. You grinned playfully when he looked back up at you after slowly following your gaze. He chuckled. He appreciated your consideration, but leaving you was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Alright, I’ll finish up and get to you in a bit.”

He picked up the cinnamon rolls and put them into a tray as you walked away to sit at a nearby table. He stole a quick glance at you as soon as he got to the back with the tray carrying the cinnamon rolls to make sure he could safely put them in a baking pan and put them in the oven faster than humanly possible, but not so fast that you’d be a little too bewildered.

He waited patiently after he’d finished and listened to you as you tapped on the screen of your phone. You laughed quietly occasionally and he assumed you were texting someone or watching a video with the sound off. He couldn’t stand the thought of you talking to someone else and he also couldn’t stand not being there to see you smile.

So he stepped out of the back to get your attention and you instantly looked up at him, still trying to stop your soft laughter. He smiled at you and your flushed cheeks and your watering eyes. You shut your phone off and got up to meet him at the counter again.

Still, even surrounded by sweet sugary pastries, all he could smell was your flowery perfume. The heat of your body, from your blood, made him hyper-aware of you. You were a giant blossoming tree in the middle of a meadow, calling to him in a bed of pretty flowers. You were the most beautiful, always, among everything.

Your eyes flitted over his face, always so curious and confused in your eyes, but content in your smile. He wished to read your mind, to compel you to spill your truth and make your thoughts known to him. What did you see?

He forced himself to look away from your eyes to retrieve a medium tray containing what looked like a literally large pop-tart. The top-centre was coated in pink frosting and had white sprinkles, the sugary scent filled the small area between you and him.

“Strawberry filling,” he informed you, because he wanted your feedback. He wanted to know what you were thinking, always; but he didn’t want to ask that of you.

“Ooh,” you grinned, “my favourite. I'll buy it.” He blinked at you. Most people asked for samples before buying something they’ve never tried before.

“Want a drink with it?” He asked, starting to package it for you. You hummed softly.

“Anything with vanilla. Surprise me?” You surprised him with your request and he nodded dumbly. Were you always going to choose something different? Would he never be able to memorise your single favourite order and have it ready for you whenever you found yourself in his bakery?

He turned around and looked at the coffee machine, the coffee beans, the syrups, spices, and everything else, wondering what would go perfectly with vanilla. What was something that was so beautiful in flavour? Something that tasted the way he thought you would? Your skin, of course, not in a cannibalistic or vampiric way. What would your skin taste like when he pressed his lips to it, when his tongue smoothed across your flesh, when he sucked at your body?

You entertained yourself again on your phone, but this time you were quiet. For about ten minutes he looked over at you as he worked on your drink, adding the perfect mixture so that the final product alluded to you—at least to him.

You knew you were being watched. He figured by the way you bit your lip and hugged yourself with one arm as you played some game on your phone. He tried not to, but he couldn’t help himself. You were the most magnificent being in the whole universe. More wonderful, more unique, and more intriguing than the Hercules-Corona Borealis Great Wall.

It's how he ended up making a vanilla-lavender latte.

He handed it to you once he’d finished, the sun was shining a little brighter now behind you, against tinted windows. It was the perfect choice for a drink, as the sun created a celestial aura around your body, you didn’t know it. You never did.

“Is it okay if you try them now and tell me what you think?” He wondered if he was asking too much. He’d take it like a champ if you rejected his offer. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable, but he also couldn’t be so afraid that he’d never get to make a move and see the outcome of his choice.

You blushed and your brow twitched inquisitively, but after a few seconds you agreed. “Sure.”

You opened the paper bag and plucked the corner of the pop-tart, large enough to capture the filling and the frosting at the top.

He watched your mouth as it opened, your tongue as it held the treat, and then your lips shut around it. And he snapped his eyes up to yours watching you. Your cheeks burned timidly, and your eyes stared directly at his name on his chest, at the black word lined over his pink shirt above a white long sleeve.

However, you quickly relaxed and your eyes brightened as you chewed. You moaned softly and moved your eyes up to Dean, using your face to say everything. You thought it was good and Dean was a little too preoccupied with the way you moaned. The softness of it, slightly drawn out as the jam and bread sank into your tastebuds.

“That’s really good,” you told him cheerfully once you’d finished, then you moved on to the latte. You held it in your hands for a few seconds to test the heat of it in your palms and lifted it up to your lips. You took a few careful sips and your eyes became more vibrant. “It’s so good,” you moaned, then you licked your lips, and Dean had to keep himself in check. “How are you so good at this?”

He chuckled and opened his mouth, but a gust of wind followed by three young women swept through the door and stole your attention from him. They giggled, one of them stared directly at him and the other two whispered to each other, something about Dean being hot. He didn’t care.

“How much is it?” You asked, immediately turning back to him. His face fell and his mouth opened and closed. He didn’t want you to leave yet, but you suddenly became guarded all over again. He sighed and made his way over to the cash register to, once again, lower the price and wait as you collected your things before paying.

“Bye, Dean,” you murmured with a rueful smile.

“Um, bye,” he said stupidly, watching as the small group of women took your place. “Wait!” He called after you and made his way to you when you stopped to regard him with a lifted brow. Your eyes dropped down to his legs and quickly back up to his face. Did you just check him out?! Focus, Dean. “I wanna help you… unpack,” he added the last word after your confused face said everything.

“What? No, you’re busy here,” you blushed, and looked down at his feet. Just accept his help!

“I, uh…” Shit, what excuse could he make. “I can get off an hour early and I’ll meet you at your place,” he suggested. You still looked unsure and chewed on your lip as you thought it over. “If you're worried about my tiredness, don’t be. God knows I have too much energy at the end of the day, and can't ever sleep.” He knew you’d take his words as an over-exaggeration and you conceded with a sigh. He grinned and you smiled with a roll of your eyes at his triumphant expression. “I should get back to work…” he wanted to touch you now that you were so close to him, looking so soft and sweet. Now that he could feel your warmth a little more, like he’d been pulled even closer to your orbit, he almost wanted to just reach out and kiss you.

He just clenched his fists and bid you farewell again. He’d barely turned around to watch the three women stare judgmentally at you and him. He grimaced.

“Dean,” you stopped him. He turned to look at you without faltering, dazzled by the amusement in your voice. “You need my address, don’t you? And my phone number?”

“Oh, right,” he was embarrassed. Wait, your phone number? He grabbed his phone from his back pocket a little too excitedly and handed it to you, unlocked. Only after you’d searched his phone for his contacts did he hope he didn’t leave anything inappropriate about you open.

You handed him his phone and smiled softly. You appeared indecisive and he waited for you patiently, he’d always wait for you. And he was glad he did. You stepped closer and he held his breath, your warmth felt like sunfire now. You raised your hand, brushed your fingers against the softness of his cheek down to the stubble near his jaw. He knew you felt the unusual coldness of his skin when your touch lingered, but he hoped that it was because you felt as fluttery and breathless as he did. Then you dropped your hand.

“Sorry, you had a bit of flour on your face, but I guess it’s part of the job.” He could feel your blush even more now, it didn’t matter seeing it, just the feeling of your body reacting to being so close to him was making him feel like a feral animal. “It’s kinda cute so don’t even worry about it,” you shrugged and then blinked after realising what you said. You flushed and stuttered, “uh, bye, Dean. I’ll see you later.”

He blinked as you made your way out before he could process what you said and the way you’d touched him. His mouth was agape and he really thought he might just start singing. You thought he was cute after all? And you felt so warm.

He smiled boyishly and turned around dreamily, almost ignoring the three women he’d forgotten completely about as he found his place back at the counter to take their order.

After a few hours, once he was sure you were home safe he texted you—after thirty minutes of deliberation: hey, it’s Dean.

He knew his heart would be hammering against his chest only because he couldn’t stop clenching and unclenching his fist as he waited. Only a minute had passed when he saw you read his message, and he started to pace and tried to ingore his phone as he attended to his costumers.

And you’d responded after a few long minutes: hey, dean, do you like burgers?

4 months later — January, 2024

Dean had to admit, you played the mystery card fairly well.

You were relatively quiet and preferred to listen, which was hard because there was a lot Dean couldn’t say to you.

Even though you’d both hit it off the day he helped you unpack the heavier items in your home, there was still something in the way.

He knew that was the reason why you and him had a minimal distance that neither of you could crossover. He wished you were braver, but mostly, he wished he were braver. If he didn’t feel like he had too much on the line, because he did. Any information of his past could put you in danger and if he told you about himself and you didn’t accept him, that could put him in danger.

He was completely fixated on you and trying to close the gap between you and him that he had missed so much about the real world. But he couldn’t help it, you inspired him. Since he met you, he’s made dozens of new recipes and mixtures that reminded him of what you’d taste like or what you smelled like.

And when he wasn’t using work as a distraction for when you were busy at work yourself, he spent his time scrolling through your social media. Now that you had included him in your life, it was easier to keep track of you and the things that you perhaps wouldn’t share with him or anyone else unless it was behind the safety of a screen.

He knew about your colleagues, new friends, and even managed to find your professional account. It was how he got to know you a little better, seeing you from your years in highschool and throughout university. He read people’s comments on your posts, their niceties and their relationships with you. He looked over all your followers and the people you followed back.

He was just going to have to be content with what he had so far with you. He’d probably have carved his own heart out if you ended up falling for someone who wasn’t him. The only thing keeping his heart intact was the fact that you never spoke to him about anyone and when you did tell him about someone, it was because they’d upset you somehow.

It took everything in Dean’s body to not do something extreme about those people in your life. From your horrible colleague who never shared important information about work with you, to your irritating friend Nico who would “wait” for you to end up falling for him. It would be petty and dangerous.

And that infuriating part of his brain would sneer at him that he was no different than Nico. But he was! Dean was not pretending to be your friend so that you would miraculously realise he was the one for you. He wasn’t good to you because he wanted an advantage, he was good to you because he knew it made your life easier. He did things for you without you knowing because he loved you. He didn’t want anything in return, not even your love. That’s not why he did what he did for you.

He’d always keep you safe. He’d do anything for you, for the rest of your life. Even if the moment never came, that you’d never loved him as much as he loved you.

Now, here he was, watching you from his spot behind the counter as he kneaded the dough to make a new batch of doughnuts. He couldn’t help himself; you were always worth looking at.

He loved watching you.

You made cute faces when you were focused and you’d eventually find comfort as you sat in the corner alone working on your projects. He’d smile at you and you’d smile at him and it was perfect. It felt so intimate that you were just there with him. That there were no words that needed to be spoken. The space between you, filled with people and food was never enough to stop the way blood rushed up to your cheeks whenever he caught you looking at him.

There was no one who caught his attention anymore, but he still knew how to play it off—for frequent visits that he’d benefit from finally. Some things never changed. Unfortunately, he felt that this was the only way to keep his bakery open when he was so enthralled in your life. He may not lure women to their deaths for a nest, but he sure did lure them into his bakery so they invested in his business.

He’d considered that maybe his customers weren’t shallow, that it wasn’t true that he was attractive and that was his only worth. He hated thinking that it didn’t matter how good or bad he was at baking because to the people who frequented his bakery, he was pretty and that’s all that mattered. He hated having to settle for it, if it was what brought business to his bakery.

At least you were more interesting than that, he knew you were honest, and he knew when he’d really screwed up a recipe. It took him a while to get Mexican sweet bread right but you were the perfect person for that.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he pulled it out, brows furrowed, mouth still in a pout. He smiled effortlessly at your name as the text notification lit up his screen.

You: You okay?

He looked over at you and smiled reassuringly. Were you watching him the whole time? Oh, God, you were. He now realised your laptop was shut and you were sitting facing the front of the bakery instead of facing your laptop.

You looked down at your phone and started typing. He stared at you as you chewed on your lip and knocked your knees together, restarting your fidgeting habit. He only looked away to read your messages.

You: I think I want a concha

You: And maybe some coffee

You grinned at him when he lifted a brow at you, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. You were already restless, it wouldn’t help you to have more caffeine.

Dean: You sure about that coffee? It’s almost 6.

You: Make it small

Dean: Decaf

You: Fine :(

He laughed. You were so adorable. He felt it warm and bubbly as it rumbled through his chest and he heard the way you blushed. It made his body feel wild and tender every time he felt you became flustered. You laughed demurely and your fidgeting stopped momentarily.

He shook his head and put his phone in his pocket. Your wish was his command. He couldn’t bear to look at you for a second longer, you were made to be adored and loved by him.

When he walked over to you, coffee and sweet bread in hand, he sat down in front of you. You smiled cheerfully and leaned forward curiously, pulling the coffee into your cool hands. “What?”

“Nothing, just bored,” he shrugged with a smile. You hummed softly and brought the cup to your lips. You moaned at the flavour, he felt the warmth of it pouring down your throat and spreading through your torso. “Got any plans this weekend?”

You paused to look away and stared at the lid of your coffee as you brushed your fingers against the cardboard sleeve. Then, you relented. “I’m going on a date, actually. On Saturday.”

Dean felt his heart sink. His face emptied every emotion and he was glad you didn’t look up.

“Oh,” he muttered tightly, “do you.. like… the guy?”

Now, you looked up at him. He rearranged his face to smile softly. You shrugged, noncommittal. God, woman. He was not interested in hearing a yes, but he also hated the way you kept everything close to the chest unless it was eating you up inside. How could he hate something about you when he loved you? No, he was just jealous. Your mystery was part of your charm and knowing things about you that others didn’t, demonstrated your trust in him. No one else had gotten that close to you and he knew it because you dedicated a vast majority of your free time to him.

“He’s alright,” you faltered again. “It’s Clayton.”

The fucking mechanic? You're joking.

-> heartbeats and flatlines

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 2 months

Text

“Digging Your Own Grave” - Dean x Reader

Rating Teen

Dean x Reader

Tags: Humor, Grumpy Dean, Adult Language, Fluff, Kissing, Reader Insert for “Optimism” Episode 14.6

Word Count: 1,000

Dean’s ego is wounded because of Jack calling him an old man. You aren’t doing anything to help Dean feel better.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my dialogue, "Did you just kiss me to shut me up?" “Nooo?” square.

Big thanks to @zepskies for the chat and prompt that helped me rattle this little drabble out.

You’d scoped out the library for Dean and Jack a couple hours ago. Harper Sayles had a smile that took up half her face in greeting. You filled out an application for a library card with your fake Nebraska license in order to get some intel on this bad luck charm of a librarian.

Now, you’re waiting in Dick’s Red Rooster Diner while Jack swoops into the library to “save” Harper from the big bad FBI man that is Dean Winchester. To pass the time, you sip on a raspberry iced tea and relish a cinnamon roll while flipping through a spicy Nora Robert’s novel you also checked out. You’ll pop it into the drop slot tonight. You don’t need the specter of an overdue library book haunting your 2 am thoughts for years to come.

With the book fanned out in front of your face, you don’t notice Dean sat across from you until he clears his throat.

He looks miserable.

Totally fuckable but miserable.

“What happened? You peek out the picture window. “Where’s Jack?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Playing hero like we planned.” He grabs the cinnamon roll off your plate and stuffs half of it into his mouth and chews in deliberate, deep-in-thought, slow motion.

You frown at the sad state of affairs that is your significant other and also at the loss of your treat. “That’s good. He wanted to help on a case and he’s doing his bit.” You wait a beat. “Right?”

Dean swallows, then washes it down with some of your iced tea. “He called me an old man.”

Your hand holding the book flops to the tabletop with a thud that rattles the silverware.

You stare at him while he stares back at you with those apple green eyes.

He waits with those crow’s feet you love to trace with the tip of your finger when he sleeps. With etchings of furrowed forehead from years of contemplation and worry. With those perfect lips that aren’t quite as pouty as they used to be. With that one gray hair poking out atop his head of spiked strands.

“What’s funny about that?” Dean asks in irritation.

You realize too late that you’ve been grinning.

“Dean, he was probably just acting… you know, pointing out the obvious age…” You clamp your lips shut.

Dean’s eyes widen and he straightens in the chair.

“I mean, it’s Jack. He’s still learning the nuances of language.” You try and salvage what you can.

His brows quirk up. “He’s not the only one.”

You’re about to fire something back when Dean’s attention shoots to the window. You follow his lead. Jack and Harper are on the sidewalk outside the library. There’s another man talking to them before they part ways.

“Son of a bitch did it,” Dean mutters. “I’ll follow them.” He stands. “You,” he points at the linoleum by your feet, “Stay here.”

“Dean…”

“I don’t need a walker or a chaperone. And I don’t want to have to worry about you getting in trouble. If I need you, I’ll press my Life Alert button.”

“Be careful.”

He nods and manages a sort of smile.

~~~

You have stayed quiet since Dean called you to drive Baby to the back alley behind the library. Vance’s body was stuffed in the trunk by Dean, even though Jack offered to help. Vance’s body was pulled out of the trunk by Dean, even though Jack offered to help, and carried to the open grave by Dean.

Dean tossed Jack a proverbial bone with the shovel when Vance was safe and sound, coffin lid creaking shut. “Dig.”

Jack was downright giddy to shovel piles of graveyard dirt over what would now be Vance’s, hopefully, final resting place. The stake through the heart should ensure Harper’s zombie boyfriend stays good and buried.

You haven’t lifted a finger in the cemetery. Mainly because Dean hasn’t let you. You’ve kept careful watch over Jack and Dean and surveyed the surrounding pitch black for any danger. Harper Sayles sailed away and you don’t want any happy returns.

You should feel more at ease with Dean joining you by Baby’s trunk. But you can sense he’s still prickly. He’s breathing deeply in and out through his nose. He’s trying to hide the exhaustion and exertion of the entire ordeal.

He stands next to you, shoulder to shoulder. He’s got your six, staring behind you as you survey Jack’s shoveling form in front of you in the lantern light. He’s chucking and tossing dirt in hyperdrive mode.

“Jack,” you whisper yell and his head whips in your direction, his bangs following a second later. “Bend at the knees.”

He nods and smiles, offering a thumbs up before taking your suggestion and getting back to work.

“Kid doesn’t need to worry about his joints. He’s not an old man.” Dean’s comment drips with sarcasm.

“Never too early to learn proper form.” You counter and look up to side-eye Dean. He stares down at you briefly, his mouth quirks up in a grin that lightens your heart.

It’s quiet except for crickets and the cyclical sounds of Jack’s shovel slicing into soft earth and the subsequent spatter atop the coffin lid.

You muster the courage to speak. “Dean, you’re not old. I mean if you’re old, then that means I’m old. And I am in no way, shape or form ready to admit that.”

Dean hums to let you know he’s listening.

“If anything you’re just older, you know. A seasoned hunter. Someone that Jack looks up to. Wants to emulate. Because of how much you know. How much good you’ve done. And, besides, you know what they say. With age comes…”

Your words are cut off by Dean’s lips, pressing with force against your open mouth. You moan at how warm he feels even with the chill in the air. He breaks off sooner than you’d like. He’s smiling, guarding your back at your side.

You feel your brows scrunch together. “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?”

He tilts his head, not looking at you, only offering his achingly beautiful profile. “Nooo?”

You chuckle. “Way to sound convincing. Then why?”

He shrugs. “You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.” He lifts a brow and glances at you. “And that, my dear, only comes from experience.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction

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blacknedsoul-blog · 9 months

Text

An unnecessarily detailed analysis of Lenore's face when she realizes how gay she is

(Someone thought to tell me that I wrote "incessantly" instead of "unnecessarily" the last time I did this? Didn't they? You people are terrible).

These two vignettes make me crack up. Partly because it's always funny to see Miss "I can pick fights with the Deans, but thinking about my crush makes me nervous UwU" panic, but also because it's impressive how many things have just clicked in Lenore's head at this point.

Like, this girl must be feeling like when you finish a puzzle. A very gay one.

What she knows so far

At this point, as far as Lenore knows, she and Annabel have not seen each other again. There was a goodbye, and she is aware of how much that hurt her. For me, there are two possibilities:

In this flashback, Lenore has realized that she is in love with Annabel, but it is an unrequited affection.

She interprets these feelings as "oh, I'm attracted to her because she was my only friend and she was painfully ripped out of my life. Yes, friends. Very good friends.

Personally, I prefer to interpret it as the second option (you will see why).

On the other hand, it's impossible not to see how willing Annabel is to give and receive affection when it comes to Lenore: in this scene, she tries to say goodbye with a kiss,

And when they're in the closet, she literally throws herself at her.

And I want to point out one thing: Lenore doesn't remember a romantic relationship, but her body seems to: she instinctively strokes her hair when she cuddles her, even though Annabel didn't ask her to. They have done this before. There is a familiarity to this interaction.

Finally. Lenore learned chapters ago that she burned down her house, stole her dead brother's clothes, cut her hair to look more like a man for…something. She doesn't know what yet, but it had to be something important.

And she remembers it when Ada opens her mouth.

(parenthesis: that comment also makes me laugh a lot, like, Ada, dear, if you knew the CRAZY things this woman has done for love).

Please, appreciate this gay panic

If Lenore had any doubt about her feelings for Annabel (assuming option 2), it has been completely erased: she is in love with her. There is no acceptable way to rationalize this as anything else. She was in the past and she definitely is now. That's what draws her to her, that's why she desperately wants to confide in Annabel, that's why her affection seems familiar.

As if that were not enough, Annabel has that ring on her. Not only has Lenore just been hit by the reality of her own feelings, she has just realized that her love is reciprocated, this is not a one-sided crush, they are going to get married. Suddenly, these invasions of her personal space are understood for what they were: an attempt to have a physical relationship on the terms one would have with a romantic partner. Because Annabel was not her friend.

She was her fiancée.

Also, because Lenore is too pure a cinnamon roll for the world, she must be wondering how much she hurt Annabel with this: how she dodged her attempts to show affection, how she doubted her, and, the icing on the cake, that comment:

And all this mental cocoa is perfectly condensed into the expression she has in these two vignettes.

Honestly, the scene is perfect as it is, with no dialogue, but you can almost hear her thinking, "I…I did…I told my fiancée we're friends, blaze".

#nevermore webtoon #annabel lee nevermore #lenore nevermore #white raven #annabel lee whitlock #lenore vandernacht #annabel lee x lenore #lennabel #If this comic were a comedy I see Lenore arriving with a bouquet of peonies and a box of scones #“Sorry baby I forgot about our engagement. Will you marry me again?”#In my heart Annabel wanted to beat her head against the wall when Lenore told her they were “friends”

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kaleldobrev · 10 months

Text

Hauled Up

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam recruits you to try and convince Dean to stop hauling up in his room

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Mutual pining & Fluff

Authors Note: Takes place in season 14 | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

As you were watching some Netflix, there was a hefty knock on your bedroom door. You had hoped that it was Dean who was knocking as you hadn't seen him in pretty much a few weeks since he had gotten back, but you knew that was a long shot. "Come in!" You called out, pausing the program that you were watching.

About two seconds later, Sam appeared, and he looked insanely drained and tired; something that's been pretty much normal for him over the last few weeks. Between helping the hunters who had come from the Apocalypse World and trying to find any information on where Dean/Michael could have been. Thankfully with Dean back, the only thing really draining him now was making sure the "newbies" knew how to handle certain cases on their own or through team-ups.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" Sam asked, his voice sounding a little hesitant.

"Sure, what is it?" You asked. It could be a numerous amount of things as while Dean was gone, you had became Sam's right hand, assisting him with the other hunters. You were either helping to find cases, going on team-ups, cooking giant meals for everyone that could last days, or bandaging people up when they came back from a hunt.

"I need you to try and get Dean out from his room. He's been hauled up there for weeks. It's not good for him," Sam said, sighing a little.

"I think he just wants to be alone Sam. I mean, I don't really blame him. He was gone for weeks, and then when he came back, he came back to a place full of people that he doesn't know, not just us," you stated. You couldn't imagine what Dean went through while Michael was possessing him doing God Know's What. As much as you didn't mind having the other hunter's here, you knew that with these other hunters here, Dean couldn't really be himself even if he wanted to be. "Why can't you try and get him out?"

"I think you're the only person that might be able to," Sam stated.

"And why do you think I'd be able to convince him?" You questioned, raising a brow.

Sam looked at you, giving you one of those 'you know exactly why' look. It wasn't a secret that you and Dean had feelings for each other, and have had these feelings for each other for the past couple of years. It was one of those things that even though neither one of you had directly said to each other that you have these feelings; it was kind of a known fact how the two of you felt about each other.

You sighed. "I can try."

Walking into the kitchen, you had decided that one of the things that you were going to do in order to try and convince Dean to come out of his room was bring apple pie as a kind of offering to him.

As you gathered the ingredients, one of the hunters from the Apocalypse World walked into the kitchen with a big smile on their face. "You making apple pie Y/N?" He asked, rubbing his hands together.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm making a pie for Dean," you said, starting to chop up the apples.

The man sat down at the counter, and even though you didn't directly look up at him, you could have sworn that he rolled his eyes at your response. As much as you had wanted to comment, you decided to ignore it. "Anything that I can help you with?" You asked.

"Hoping you can make this pie for me instead of Dean," he stated. Instead of the eyeroll like he had done before it was a wink; and it took all you could not to roll your own eyes.

"I remember you saying how much you hated apple pie," you stated, putting the apples into a bowl of cinnamon sugar.

"But I've never had your apple pie Sweetheart," he said, winking again.

This time, you had decided to say something, as you did not like when someone other than Dean had called you Sweetheart. "It's Y/N, not Sweetheart."

"It's just a nickname Y/N," he said. "Lighten up."

Before you could comment any further, you heard someone clear their throat in the doorway; and when the two of you looked up, looking into that direction, it was Sam with a clipboard in his hand. "Jones, shouldn't you be getting ready for your wendigo hunt with Xander?"

Jones looked at Sam for a moment, before looking at you. "Can't wait to eat this when I get back," he winked, getting up from his spot at the counter and making his way out of the kitchen.

As soon as Jones was out of the earshot, Sam sat down on the same stool that Jones was sitting at a few seconds before. "I could have handled that myself you know," you stated, giving the piecrust a gentle coating of butter to make sure that it didn't completely burn in the oven.

"I know, I'm sorry," Sam said, slightly sighing. "Gonna try bribery?" He asked, pointing to the pie.

"I call it motivation," you shrugged.

With the pie finally done, you placed it onto a tray along with two forks and a pint of vanilla ice cream. You doubted you'd be able to convince Dean to come out of his room, but maybe you can convince him to at least share some of the apple pie that you had made for him with you so he could at least have some kind of social interaction.

Lifting up the tray, you took a deep breath and made your way out of the kitchen, heading to Dean's room.

Upon coming up to his door, it was shut like it has been the last several weeks, the sounds of his television blasting as he watched a horror movie (which sounded remotely like the All Saint's Day series to you, as you thought you could vaguely hear Hatchet Man's voice).

Knocking on the door, you heard Dean sigh loudly and pause the television. "Fuck off," he said, his voice annoyed.

"I don't really want to eat this apple pie by myself," you said, your voice a little low.

You heard Dean get up from his bed, slightly sighing. A few seconds later, his door opened and he looked down at you as you held the tray in your hands. "Sam put you up to this?" He asked.

"He asked me to try and convince you to come out of your room. But, I know I wouldn't be able to convince you, so, I decided to make some apple pie for us to share together instead," you smiled.

Dean eyed you and the pie for a moment before stepping to the side. "I'm watching All Saint's Day two," he said.

"Perfect," you said, stepping inside his room.

"Thanks for trying not to convince me," Dean said, between bites. "You're the only one I feel like gets it." He knew that you were the only person to get it, as you and him always seemed to be on similar wavelengths.

"I might not necessarily know what you went through but...I just know for me, if I came back to a Bunker full of strangers, I'd want to haul up in my room too," you said, wiping your mouth.

"You outdid yourself this time with the pie," he commented.

"It's how I always make it," you said.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know tastes...better than usual."

"Probably because you haven't had it in a while," you stated.

"Probably," he agreed.

"I hope you enjoyed your pie," you smiled, grabbing the tray; no more pie or ice cream in sight.

"I did, thanks," Dean said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you make your way to his bedroom door. "You didn't have to make it for me by the way. I know you've been busy with all the other hunters."

"Dean, I wanted to," you began, walking back to the bed where he was and placed the tray of empty dishes next to him. "Besides, I'll never be too busy for you," you stated, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You mean a lot to me Dean, you know that," you added.

The feeling of your hand in his was one that he longed for these past couple of weeks, but he didn't necessarily know how to ask for it. "You mean a lot to me too," he stated. More than you'll ever realize, he wanted to add. He took your other hand in his as he stood up from his spot on the bed gently looking down at you.

"Want to help me with the dishes and then we can come back in here and do something?" You asked him. "We can either watch something or just go to sleep; up to you," you softly smiled.

"I'd like for us to take a drive together. Feel like Baby's been neglected these past few months I've been away," he grinned; a brief chuckle leaving his lips.

"I'd like that," you smiled.

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#Dean Winchester x you #Dean Winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #dean x reader #dean x you #reader insert #female reader

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