#dean trash bag

[shallowseeker]

Could you please do one of your play-by-plays with Dean and Cas fight in 11.03 The Bad Seed?

I have a partial that's embedded into the giant freeform Samwena post! (scroll a thousand years, and it's at the very bottom under "Last Bit")

I think... if you don't mind, I'll talk about the symbols in the set here, since the play-by-play is a bit embedded in the Samwena meta already? If that's not what you wanted, hit me again!

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High Ground, low ground, and meeting in the middle

This scene is steeped in symbolism, illustrating the connection and contrast between Cas and Dean. The motifs surrounding them visually embody their respective struggles and personalities while framing their journey toward mutual understanding and, as Dean maybe views it, forgiveness and equilibrium.

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Cas:

Creepy blue-eyed mask, brown-and-tan-bear, imposing larger-than-life soldier, tall red scaffolding.

Tall "Heavenly" scaffolding

Symbolism: The scaffolding represents Heaven and the heavy burden of Cas’s celestial duties. It symbolizes the high expectations placed upon him. The responsibilities always seem to loom over him. (We often see him pictured with skyscraper paintings for the same motif.)

Fragility: Scaffolding is both strong and precarious, reflecting Cas’s internal struggle—holding others up even as his own foundations are unstable.

Juxtaposition: Its towering nature contrasts with Dean’s low "valley" of stacked pallets, visually framing their dynamic as one of opposites that complement each other.

Creepy blue-eyed "Jimmy Novak" mask

Uncanny familiarity: The mask evokes Jimmy Novak, Cas’s vessel, but it's wearing a wicked expression. It’s a haunting reminder of Cas’s sacrifices and the cost of his mission, as well as the evil he's committed in the name of Heaven.

Puppet symbolism: Paired with the attack dog spell, it reflects the manipulation Cas has faced, being lured into false choices by others. Metatron’s schemes, Sam's pressure to save Dean his way, and now Rowena’s attack dog spell aimed to mold Cas into a tool for their ambitions.

Contrast: Where the mask is lifeless and haunting, Cas’s actions—falling towards Dean—are full of life and vulnerability, reclaiming his agency in their shared connection.

The brown-and-tan teddy

Overcoat resemblance: The coat evokes Cas’s steadfast loyalty, symbolizing his commitment to the "lower" human family over the lofty ideals of higher corporations or celestial orders. It represents his role as a protector and provider—a fatherly duty he has embraced with quiet resolve. Beneath its stoic, utilitarian exterior lies a softer, more vulnerable core, reminding us that his dedication to humanity is not just a role but a choice rooted in compassion and love.

Truck connection: The brown color also ties to Cas’s truck, a practical and grounded symbol of his efforts to navigate the human world. It suggests Cas's willingness to carry burdens alongside Dean.

Heart: The teddy bear symbolizes Cas’s emotions—a visual representation of his big heart. "Too much heart was always Castiel's problem." Interestingly, the bear also ties him to Mary, Dean, and Jack, who each have their own connections to this symbol. Together, they form a thread of resilience and affection, woven through their shared stories and struggles.

Toy soldier behind the fence

Imposing presence: The tall toy soldier is standing at attention, evoking discipline, duty, and resolve, embodying Cas’s role as Heaven’s soldier and champion.

Fence as separation: The soldier stands behind a barrier, symbolizing the divide between Cas’s celestial obligations and his desire for personal connection. It reflects his struggle to reconcile these two worlds, the tension between divine orders and his own choices. The fence is not only a literal barrier but also a metaphor for the isolation Cas feels as he struggles with the roles imposed on him by Heaven, feeling often like an attack dog behind a dog fence, especially in the face of manipulation like Rowena's attack dog spell.

Contradiction: The rigid soldier contrasts with Cas’s current vulnerability, highlighting how far he has come from being Heaven’s unquestioning weapon to someone who prioritizes free will and love.

///////////////////

Dean:

Panda bear, trash bag, supporting shipping pallet, "low" valley

Shipping pallets ("low valley")

Grounded symbolism: The stacked pallets behind Dean represent a low and grounded point, reflecting his pragmatic, earthy nature. While Cas’s scaffolding reaches upwards, Dean's structure is rooted to earth and his newly restored humanity. Both the scaffolding and the palettes exist to support others—a foundation and a framework, designed not for their own glory but to uplift and enable those around them. Whether holding the weight or providing the colors, they are essential yet humble, serving quietly so others can stand tall or shine brightly.

Contrast: The pallets create a "valley" beneath the towering scaffolding, visually framing their dynamic: Dean grounded on earth, always supporting his family at the expense of his own happiness, Cas's connection to Heaven, carrying out Heaven's missions at the expense of his own emotions.

False choices: Just as pallets are tools for transporting heavy loads, they symbolize Dean's emotional labor. The false choices imposed on him—becoming Cain’s heir to the Mark or succumbing to Crowley’s manipulation to get ahead in Hell—tried to burden him, framing his suffering as necessary to support others' ambitions. (And often taking away his agency through dishonesty, disinhibition, violation, and manipulation...)

Black-and-white panda

Symbol of duality: The panda’s stark black-and-white design mirrors Dean’s struggle with his inner contradictions—his tough exterior versus his deeply caring heart.

Dean's heart: Like Cas’s teddy bear, the panda hints at forcefully suppressed emotions. It represents Dean’s suppressed desires for simplicity and peace, often overshadowed by his heavy responsibilities to others.

Caretaker role: Pandas are famously “lazy” but also intensely nurturing. This parallels Dean’s role in the group: someone who masks his nurturing instincts behind a gruff exterior, often doing the “heavy emotional lifting” further embodied by the garbage bag nearby.

Garbage bag

Emotional labor: The garbage bag signifies the emotional burdens Dean has carried, often for the sake of others. He cleans up messes, both figuratively and literally, reflecting his tendency to internalize pain to protect others.

Self-worth: Dean’s bag highlights the emotional weight he shoulders for those around him, often suppressing his own feelings as he prioritizes the well-being of others. Dean’s bag represents internalized responsibility, highlighting his struggle with self-worth and his tendency to see himself as expendable. :(

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Coercive roles: Overcome by Rowena’s attack dog spell, Cas’s violent actions against Dean reflect how external forces have repeatedly manipulated him—first by Metatron, then pressure by Sam, and now by Rowena. His motifs emphasize the imposed expectations of Heaven, his vulnerability, and his struggle to reclaim agency. Dean’s recent history with the Mark of Cain echoes Cas’s experience. Both were enticed by false choices that appeared necessary or inevitable—first with Crowley manipulating Dean to get him to take out Abaddon, then Dean being force-fit to Cain’s parallels—all engineered while damaging his free will. Each was a tool, trapped in narratives designed by others to fit their ambitions, often at the cost of autonomy. Dean in particular is framed as a support character. Dean is the one who defeats Abbadon, but Crowley takes the credit and at first relegates to Dean as a side accessory in his own Kingly narrative.

Agency (temporarily) restored: In trying to free Dean and restore both his free will and decision-making faculties, Cas lost his own, becoming overwhelmed by the attack dog spell while trying to follow Sam’s coercive plan. (Despite voicing his misgivings and pushing Sam to come clean, Cas found himself bound to the plan he couldn’t fully support... and he suffered the consequences for it.)

In this moment in 11x03, Dean rushes to save Cas, and Dean and Cas are temporarily broken free from their imposed molds, reclaiming their right to define themselves. The act of reaching for each other becomes a shared rejection of the constraints that others tried to impose on them.

Unfortunately for them, this victory is only temporary—an uneasy re-establishment of equilibrium. The cycle will inevitably repeat, but next time, it will be Lucifer who claims Cas's free will, as Cas sacrifices it once again in a desperate attempt to save Dean, whose free will is now beholden to/enslaved to Amara.

[rootbeerfloats]

guess who dropped their phone into a bucket of sanitizer while trying to clean tables at work and it subsequently became unresponsive and stopped working . ☝ this guy

[today-in-the-bunker]

Today, the bunkers unspoken "who can stack the trash higher" contest comes to a bit of a messy conclusion when Dean tries to balance a banana peel on the top, causing the carefully balanced tower to collaps over the brim of the can. He then picks up the trash and accepts his loss as the one who actually has to take the trash out. Cas takes pity on him and replaces the bag for him.

[mysterymachine67]

crowley brainrot 💔

just imagine, reader is a hunter and crowley has taken an obscure liking to reader. so much so that they started having sex. the more time passed, the more they got intimate. cut to crowley appearing in reader's motel room, pissed at him for ignoring the king of hell for weeks (busy, difficult hunt). reader gently coaxes poor lil touch starved, needy crowley and makes it up to him for the missed time with a lot of teasing and rough sex (just the way crowley likes it.)

PAIRING -> Crowley Macleod x M!reader

SUMMARY -> You and Crowley have grown close, way too close. Over the course of time it led it more intimate activities. But lately you’ve been speaking to him less. And with Crowley being Crowley, of course he’s going to make a big deal out of it.

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

This was sm fun to write!

You had way too much of a close relationship with Crowley. With you being a hunter, and him being a demon—the King of Hell for fucks sake. Everybody knows how close you are to him. Sam and Dean absolutely hate it. But neither you nor Crowley seemed to care. Especially, Crowley.

Lately, you haven’t been speaking to him, nor have had any contact with him. It wasn’t your fault. You were to caught up in this god awful hunt that was taking you way too long. You’ve been too busy, and he hated the idea of you ‘ignoring’ him. So, he decided to come by and pay you a little visit. Which is what he should’ve done in the first place because what the fuck?

At the moment, you were stressed out, sitting at the beat up table with books, papers, you name it. Head in hand while looking over some of the text. Take-out was on the table too. A bag with balled up trash and a half full cup right next to you. You didn’t really care given the current situation you were in. Just as you went to turn the page, there was a shift in the air and a quick noise. Which caused you to react immediately and reach for your gun. Getting ready to get whatever was in your motel room. But it was just Crowley. The man who you’ve been ‘ignoring’ for days on end. You sighed, shoulders dropping while setting the gun back down. “Yes?” You spoke, tiredly. With this difficult of a hunt, it was really taking a toll on you.

Crowley was a bit taken aback. You’ve been no contact with him for weeks and that’s all you have to say? The hell?

“What have you been up to?” He asked, starting to walk around the room a bit.

“A hunt. A difficult one at that,” you retreated back to your seat. Sitting down and deciding to give yourself a break to watch him.

“So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me? Some stupid little hunt is all that it takes for you to ghost me?”

“Crowley, y’know it’s not like that.” You pause. “If I had the chance to talk to you I would, but I’ve been busy.”

He takes a moment—collecting himself. “All you had to do was simply ask me for help!”

You really couldn’t deal with this right now. With Crowley and the hunt? You had stuff that you needed to do. But maybe you could make an exception. “I promise you, If I would’ve had the time on my hands to speak to you, I would’ve.” He shifted on his feet, trying to keep this pissed off, mean demeanor going. But it was a bit obvious it was failing. “How ‘bout I make it up to you?” You say as you started to get up and walk toward him. Stopping once you were just a few inches away.

“Deal.”

⟢

Clothes were being shed, tossed around the room while you guys made it to the bed. A problem for later. His lips were against yours, whenever you’d pull away to breathe you’d take his bottom lip with you. Letting it snap back to place when it reached its limit. Teeth were clanking together, hands were grabbing ‘n pulling at whatever they could, and you guys were practically breathing into each others mouths. Crowley leaned into your touches, wanting more and more. Was he going to voice that? Probably not. But did you notice? Of course.

“Thought you were angry at me? Or does that not matter right now?” You teased, lips hovering over his. Crowley grunted, avoiding your questions because he could. Deciding to kiss you in an attempt to silent you. You scoffed, tried too. Yet leaned in toward him.

A few minutes later you had him right where you wanted him. Tip pushed against his hole, hands at his waist, and his dick twitching. Minus him grumbling to himself. You didn’t use a lot of lube, or how much you were supposed to use. But Crowley didn’t care, if anything he loved it more. You pushed your hips forward, cock slowly sinking in. He clenched and let out a quiet grunt. But you told him to quit it and relax, which he ended up doing sooner or later. The burn and stretch hurt painfully good. He huffed and then let out a moan. Eyes shutting.

“Damnit..”

You barely heard it, considering he whispered it surprisingly quietly. “What? Can’t take some dick?”

“Shut up will you? Ruining the moment,” He grumbled, but you knew he didn’t mean it. You knew he loved it. Once you bottomed out you stayed still for just a moment before proceeding to pull out and fuck into him. Your pace was slow at first but then you sped up in a matter of minutes. Crowley grounded himself by holding onto the sheets. Almost never letting go. “Relax,” one of your hands started to rub at his thigh, in an attempt for him to let up and quit being stubborn. “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

He grunted, hips involuntarily moving. Speaking of hips yours continued to push forward. Your cock getting hugged by his walls perfectly. You decided to be nice, have mercy on him. So your free hand wrapped around his leaking cock, and began pumping. The reaction you got out of Crowley was beautiful. Breath hitching, a moan soon drawing out, a curse under his breath, and him closing his eyes. Oh, were you going to fuck him so good. And he knew it. Knew it the moment he showed up to your motel room and made eye contact with his stressed out lover. Would lover even be the correct term? Who knew.

In a matter of minutes, you had him slowly unfolding. Dick twitching inside of him at the thought of, well, many things. Your angle changed when you gripped his thighs and held them up. A bonus being the sight of your cock disappearing inside of him. With the action, it caused Crowley to let out a quiet whimper. Yes, a whimper.

The King of Hell, a demon who’s tortured, been tortured, and put fear in others, at the palm of your hand. Already a somewhat, noisy mess because of you.

You could tell he was close. By the way he reacted and how he let out more breathy sounds. So you sped up your hand and deepened your thrusts. Getting him closer and closer. But when he was right there, you pulled away and slowed your thrusts. “Oh, you—“ he began. But you cut him off with a snap of your hips—cock going straight to his prostate. A very loud moan pulling from Crowley’s throat. Which you smiled to yourself. Your hand soon returned back to his cock, and your thrusts went back to what they were before. Fast, rough, ‘n deep. This was wrong. Probably not on Crowley’s part, but on yours. You were a hunter. Someone who gets rid of demons, vampires, things that go bump in the night. Not fuck them. You were way too close to a demon—The King of Hell for better measure. Not that it made it any better. But with the way he moaned, clenched around your cock, and reacted to you, all those thoughts drifted away.

Your thumb swiped across his tip. Your goal being to provide more stimulation for your poor, needy partner. Letting out a groan your hips stuttered and you spilled inside of him without warning. Of course he let out some smart remark. Yet, you continued. Fucking your cock into him as if your life depended on it. And Crowley? Oh he was gone. Jaw hung open, back arched, and eyes shut. In a matter of seconds he came to—spurting white strips of cum onto his stomach and up. His face was scrunched up in a look of pleasure. Dick twitching and throbbing furiously. Your hand continued pumping his cock, it being a lot easier than before due to his cum. Crowley panted and huffed ‘n soon it became a bit too much for him. Hips attempting to draw back but got stopped due to the mattress. “Shit!”

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “What’s wrong, Crowley? Too much?” With your cock continuing to hammer into him, and your hand not letting up on his cock? Yes! But he refused to have you reel in his vulnerability.

“What? No! M’just fine.”

“Alright then..”

But after minutes into it, you noticed how squirmy he got. And how he often bit his lip to silence himself from making whatever noise that dared to be let out. Were you the type of person to let that go? No. So you did what you could to make him louder. To where he couldn’t rely on biting his lip to holding in his moans. Your hands gripped and grabbed at him all over. Pulling his hand away from his face, whispering praises into his ear then slowly replacing them with something degrading. Which made his overstimulated cock jump.

His hips would thrust up but then not even a few seconds later pull back against the mattress. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted more or less. Yet when he felt that familiar feeling he felt too long ago, he’s sure he knew what he wanted. “C’mon, c’mon.” He’d grumbled, while pushing his hips down to try and get more of your cock.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” You teased, laughing to yourself. You pulled out, tip catching at his rim before shoving yourself back in. Hearing a punched out moan in response. Deciding to help him a little you wrapped your hand around his cock yet again. Stroking and doing what you could to make him cum again. And when he did, he made it known. Whining, whimpering, you name it. All fell from his lips and into your ears. All for you to hear. His hips stuttered—not knowing what to do in the heat of the moment.

When the both of you calmed down, you finally spoke up. “Did you miss me?”

“Not at all. If anything I felt better than I ever did not speaking to you.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

Sure.

[studiogrimm810]

Spring Cleaning

pairings/characters: (established) dean winchester x plus size!afab!you, sam is barely there

summary: a tiring day of helping dean clean up the impala has left you exhausted, sensitive, and self-critical. especially after finding something from dean’s bachelor days

warnings: sexual suggestions, mentions of porn, self-image issues, paranoia from past relationships, past enemies-to-lovers vibes

word count: 3,293

A/N: this was (kinda) a request!! based on the comments of a sam fic i posted a but ago from @aryaharmon and @bejeweledinterludes , i hope you enjoy this one <3

———————

Spring cleaning. Something that Dean never took into account until you mentioned it and damn did Baby need it. Dean is a man who prides himself on his car, he makes sure to keep her in mint condition on the outside and the inside. Well, by the inside he means the engine. The back seat, however, stays a cluttered mess of a tipped over trash can- Sam’s attempt at getting Dean to keep things tidy- some old newspapers, plastic bags from gas station stops, and too many receipts.

At least Dean is picky about food in the car, his issue is mainly simple discarded dry goods.

Now, ever since you’ve made a habit of hunting with the boys and leaving your car behind, you’ve been on him about cleaning it up so it isn't so crowded. Well today’s the day.

It’s a wonderfully sunny, but not too hot, day. Birds are chirping, wind is rustling through trees, and milky clouds puff through the sky for occasional shade. The perfect day for outdoor labor.

Dean pulled the car out of the garage of the bunker, wanting to also give Baby a good wash and wax.

“It’s a damn fine day,” Dean squints out at the sky, shading his eyes from the sun. He leans back into the car and gets a pair of sunglasses, slipping them on and looking around the area.

“Perfect,” you say, throwing your hair up into a ponytail. “Get motivated, cause Baby here’s gonna get a spa day.”

Dean smirks at you, watching as you pull back your hair and adjust your sports bra. He was very fond of the outfits you would favorite on a warm, stay-at-home day because lately it's been a tight-fitting sports bra and loose shorts that ride high on your waist and frame your ass into a perfect heart.

If you’re being honest, you just feel lucky enough to not worry about any derogatory comments from a man you’re dating like you’ve been used to in the past. You’re a quite confident woman and you like to be comfortable even at the expense of your own modesty, but sometimes so much exposed skin can bother you. Especially when you start to sweat.

“Let’s get some music goin’!” Dean pumps, grabbing a radio from inside the garage and positioning it so that the speakers flow towards the car.

“You actually gonna let me play something other than the hair rock or death metal or whatever it is you love?” You ask with a thoughtless head tilt and your hands on your hips. You like winding him up about his music.

“I’m not even gonna explain how wrong you are,” Dean rolls his eyes, pressing some buttons on the stereo and it soon blasts some familiar tracks.

“Oh, right. I forgot, you prefer the term ‘divorced dad rock’,” you nod with an understanding smile and he looks back up at you with a serious face that makes you cackle. He starts to walk towards you and you hold out your hands. “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry,” you defend in a surprised shriek between giggles, “just don’t come any closer.”

His lips twitch in a betraying smile as he continues forward, lifting you up and starting to lecture you on the proper and preferred terminology that you’ll never remember. He places you on the hood of the Impala, keeping your legs locked around his waist so you have nowhere to go.

“And then, in the 80s-.”

“Dean!” You interrupt, slapping his chest, “put me down.” Your laughter ripples away softly, stomach sore and cheeks stiff from smiling. He throws his head back with a groan, like a child, and mutters a pouty ‘fine’ before kissing your nose and letting you have your ability to walk back.

You straighten up your clothes, shorts having bundled up from the positions you were lifted in, and Dean gives you a knowing wink.

Music plays and conversation flows. At one point, Sam comes out with a couple of beers and offers his help but Dean waves him off and just requests that Sam handles something for lunch.

After Sam retreated back inside, you slid on the floor of the back seat to pull any lost items from under the front bench. It was a majority of discarded empty gum wrappers, straw wrappers, and a few pens Sam must’ve lost. But there was one larger piece of… something reflective. You strain to reach it from under the driver's side and upon contact, you can tell it’s a magazine. You pull it out, ready to toss the item in the trash but once you catch a glimpse of the cover, your face pales in embarrassment.

Embarrassment? Really?

That reaction didn’t make sense to you at all but it was absolutely what you were feeling as you looked at the crinkled cover of ‘Busty Asian Beauties’.

You know Dean, you have for a while, and you know that this is his go-to skin mag- hell, you’ve heard him and Charlie boast once or twice about some of the women in this thing- but you couldn’t grasp why it was embarrassing to see. You cleared your throat and climbed out of the Impala.

“Lose somethin’?” You ask, squinting from the sun and tossing Dean the magazine. He catches it and looks it over with a raised brow, moving up his sunglasses to his head. You anxiously wait for his reaction, trying to anticipate if your misunderstood embarrassment will evolve to anger or insecurity. Then he tosses it in the trash with a disinterested shrug, sauntering over to you and wetting his lip.

“Not even a little bit, baby, I got all I need right here,” he looks at your lip and pulls you in by your hips to kiss you gingerly, his thumb caressing your bare abdomen.

Okay, totally not what you had expected. Dean had been flirtatious with you since you two met and you honestly used to somewhat despise him for it. You saw him as a womanizer who would drool over anyone kind enough to show him some skin. You knew the kind of guy he could be and that was honestly the main reason you brushed off his advances for so long, you seriously thought he just flirted with everyone. But you took a chance on him and have been cautious ever since, keeping an eye out for a moment like what could have just been.

But instead he skimmed over the cover like it was a shoe with gum stuck to it and threw it away.

You smile into the kiss, a small but loaded smile that is more relief than anything. The embarrassment starts to fizzle away as he pulls away.

“Now let's get the hose,” he says with a devious glint.

Dean has an abundant array of products in the garage to freshen up Baby with- and he has the nerve to diss Sam for his conditioner- that you don’t really know what to grab. So you just go based on color. A red here, purple spray there, oh, and a cool-looking neon green that’s really syrupy.

By the look on Dean’s face once you return, you’d reckon you just slashed all of Baby’s tires and carved a slur in her hood.

“What?” You ask, already ruffled by his dramatic attitude at the products in your hands.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head and walks with purpose to snatch the items back and go to collect the right assortment.

You stifle a laugh as he grumbles something about ‘not teaching you good enough’ and how he has to change that.

He returns with a completely different set of products but you see that he’s kept the green so you lose the attitude a tad.

“These are for the summer. The heat, rain, humidity. The shit you brought over was basically redundant chemicals that will speed up the rusting process,” he looks up at you with raised brows to make sure you’re taking him seriously. You pinch your lips together to not laugh and even frown a bit to help prevent the humor tickling your muscles into a smirk.

“We start with this,” he places some hot pink bottle that looks good enough to drink in front of you that reads ‘Classic Suds’. He then hands you a bucket and a rag. “Let’s get to it.”

Dean instructs how much soap to fill and how to suds it up with the hose. He even hands you a ‘special tool’ that's just a fancier sponge for the tires and only the tires. You have to repeat it to him three times before he can trust you won't use it on the paint.

More music is played and then lunch is eaten and soon enough it’s time to wash away the suds that Dean wanted to sit while the trio ate.

Sam retreated back inside to take care of some other chores and Dean hosed Baby down. You made the unfortunate decision to stand in Dean’s line of sight because before you can even register his pause, you’re doused in warm water that sprays over you effortlessly like a handheld sink faucet.

“Hey!” You scream, trying to stop the water with your hands but you’re already beyond soaked.

Dean laughs, but tries to play it off, “ya just looked like you needed a refresh,” he shrugs with wide eyes like ‘what else could I have possibly done?’.

“You dick,” you laugh in pure shock and a little anger. You dart at him and he dashes away, spraying you to try and get you to stop. You don’t let up, and you’re half tempted to dump the bucket of soap and grime on him but you know he’ll then just try to hug you with it.

The chase halts as both of you are on complete opposite sides of the Impala. You’re both panting and staring right at each other.

“Dean, I swear to god,” you huff, wiping some soaked strands of hair away from your forehead. You feel like a wet cat, all raggedy and gross, and you’re now aware of how little your clothes do for you as the fabric of your shorts cling to your hips and your sports bra has been turned sheer from the water.

“What?”

You don’t know.

You’re just flustered now and cold and want to dunk him in an ice bath as a repercussion. You sigh in frustration, looking down and seeing the ‘special’ sponge from earlier. You scoff, picking it up and showing him. His face falls and he points at you.

“Put that down! She has no part in this,” Dean warns.

“Your turn,” you shrug, “take it off,” you tick your head to his flannel and jeans. He glares at you. “I’m half naked and soaked, it’s your turn.”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” he says with a playful wink, turning your comment dirtier than you intended. You scoff with a smile you can’t stop from forming, you try to move your tongue along the inside of your cheek to prevent it, but it's no use. You bring the sponge closer to Baby. “Okay! Jesus, fine,” he rolls his eyes, unbuttoning his flannel and ripping off his jeans next. While he stripped, you walked over slowly and snatched the hose just in time for him to be to late to grab it back.

“Redemption, Winchester,” you say before blasting him with water like he did you. He initially flinches at the brust right at his face but inevitably just stands and takes it, opening his eyes once the stream stops. He deadpans at you, spitting out some water off to the side and then back at you.

“Happy?” He asks. Despite his resting bitchface of annoyance, he does really hope you are.

“Very,” you nod with a happy smile.

———

Baby sits pretty and shiny in her designated spot in the garage while Dean puts everything away and you let the sun dry up the last bit of your clothes.

It’s warm as the sun's rays kiss your skin while you bask in a reclined patio chair. Dean comes back but you don’t open your eyes yet.

“You’re gonna get a weird tanline if you don’t take those off,” he refers to the sunglasses of his you stole.

“Just a few more minutes,” you sigh, enjoying every ounce of Vitamin D your skin can soak up.

“Right, well, I’m gonna take a shower. Don’t get burnt to a crisp,” he leans over to kiss your forehead before walking back through the garage. You sneak a peek at the way his damp boxers hug his ass mighty fine.

Long enough time passes and you know you’ll either have to flip over for an even tan or head inside soon and get cleaned up. You settle for the latter, knowing you’ll most likely fall asleep out here if you relax too much more.

Inside of the bunker is a dark contrast due to the transition from being outside most of the day, but your vision fades back soon enough. You hear Sam and Dean talking in the library, but you head straight to yours and Dean’s shared room. You haven’t ‘officially’ moved in exactly but, due to the hunting lifestyle, you were technically homeless, so you let Dean’s offer to share a room speak for itself.

You grab your bag with simple necessities from a chair in the room and go to the bathroom, setting the bag on the counter and looking at your reflection.

Good lord.

Your hair is a frizzy mess, ponytail retightened so many times causing little bubbles along your scalp. You cringe. Your skin is flushed from the sun and work out of the task of the day and your bra has shifted on your torso. You look a mess.

Embarrassment. It’s coming back and you hate it. You don’t understand it, but the thought of Dean seeing you like this makes you wanna hide and cry and you can’t believe you’ve just gone all day like this.

It makes no sense. Any man you've been with before who’s even had something to say about your appearance, you've just told them to hit the road and turned on your heel, but the fear you feel of Dean finding something physically wrong with you makes you sick.

Scared. It makes you scared. Like you’re scared to lose him.

Embarrassed that you don’t look like the women he’s lusted after all his life and scared that he’ll realize that and you’ll lose him just like you've lost every other man you’ve dated.

You sigh, almost groan, at the churn of emotions in your chest but you try to shove it away and focus on a shower. Maybe if you look nicer you’ll feel better- you’ll get your confidence back.

But the universe hates you today so instead Dean enters the room and sees you in the bathroom.

“Hey, you’re alive,” he teases, walking over to hold you but you pretend not to see him reach for you and side-step to look through your bag. His face falls a bit out of confusion but he doesn't comment. “I think I’m in need of another shower, might have to join ya,” he winks but you don’t look up as you pull out some needed items.

“That’s okay, I’ll just be quick,” you brush off, taking down your hair and brushing it out, still avoiding his gaze.

He’s quiet and shuffles around a bit.

“Hey,” his hand reaches out to stop you brushing. “What’s wrong?” He asks, completely confused but concerned with your tone switch. He had one of the most fun days of his life but you’re not reflective of that earlier joy at all.

“Just tired. The sun drained me,” you finally meet his eyes and attempt a smile but he gives you a look that tells you he knows you’re just bullshitting him.

You’re stubborn and stay quiet.

“Is it the magazine?” He asks with a slight wince. “Cause I promise that’s old, I mean that was early edition old,” he defends but then realizes knowing the specifics of the magazine from just a glance isn’t helping his case. “I swear, sweetheart, you’re more than all I need,” he says with a slight head shake like he’s completely lovesick and trying to portray such.

You still stay quiet, looking off to the side and catching a glimpse of your unflattering and slouched posture in the mirror. You sigh and screw your eyes shut, turning away and leaning against the counter.

“Baby,” he beckons, coming to stand in front of you and push some messy hair back, “talk to me.”

Tears sting your eyes and your heart is racing, this fucking sucks.

“I’m just a mess,” you almost whisper from emotional exhaustion. Today really has drained you, that wasn’t a lie. Dean can tell you’re speaking as the words come so he doesn’t interrupt, he just wipes away a tear as it falls and tries to ignore the voice in his head telling him that this is his fault.

“My hair is everywhere, my clothes are all bundled up and I’m sweaty and just feel gross,” you sigh, dropping your head into your hands. “It’s just hard being reminded how not your type I am.”

He stiffens a bit and his hold even slacks. You feel absolutely ridiculous. If it wasn’t your looks that was gonna make him run, then it would surely be your whining about them.

“Who said you aren’t my type?” He asks, peeved that someone actually had told you that. His hands rest on your shoulders as he waits.

“No one,” you mumbled. Embarrassed.

That makes him feel even worse- that you had just assumed what you said was true. What had he done to lead you to that conclusion?

“Look at me,” he requests, keeping his hands where they are. When you fall mute, he gently grabs your wrists and waits for you to lift up and look at him. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” He asks but you just look off to the side.

He sighs softly and spins you around to face the mirror.

“I see…” he runs his hands over your waist until they rest right on your tummy. “Messy hair and flushed cheeks that remind me of how good you let me please you, and beautiful hips that can’t even be properly contained by some simple shorts,” he reaches back and grabs your ass gently with a smirk, pressing you into the counter just a bit.

He kisses your neck and looks back ahead, “I see comfortable worn clothes that make you look at home- happy and safe,” he enunciates with a serious and vulnerable look.

“I see a woman who is confident in her own skin and knows how good she really looks even if she doesn’t always feel it.” He hugs you from behind fully, kissing your temple, “I see a woman who just spent a perfectly good day with me to help me clean out my car and is beat because the sun has drained her. And most importantly, I see a woman who needs to be taken care of,” he whispers the last sentence in your ear, kissing quietly and reaching to lift your bra off over your shoulders. Then he turns you back around, kneeling in front of you as he slips down your shorts.

His hands go to grab the meat of your thighs and he looks up at you- vulnerable and yearning, like he’s just begging you to give him the ‘okay’ to touch you how he needs to.

“I see goddamn perfection.”

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere @bejeweledinterludes @funkenniffler

[wendichester]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ highway to heaven,

summary. if god created weed, it was to be experimented with. and who better to smoke your first joint with, than with an unexperienced angel?

pairing. castiel x reader genre. crack

wordcount. 653

notes / warnings. drug use (weed), strong language, and dumbassery of the highest order. no actual angels were harmed in the writing of this piece

You honestly don’t know how it starts. One minute, you’re talking about stress, the next, you’re in the bunker’s garage sitting cross-legged on the floor with Castiel, a tiny metal grinder in your lap and a suspiciously dusty joint tutorial video playing on your phone.

“This is... illegal in several states,” Cas says, frowning at the plastic bag you bought from a sketchy gas station two towns over.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “so is most of what we do. Plus, I googled. It’s legal here. Ish.”

Cas watches as you fumble with the grinder like it’s a cursed object. His brow furrows like the fate of humanity is now tied to this little herbal project. “Why are there so many steps?”

“Because the universe hates convenience,” you mutter, finally dumping the crushed flower into a paper and rolling it with the delicate precision of someone who has absolutely no idea what they’re doing.

It looks... passable. Lumpy, slightly bent, but a joint nonetheless.

“Are you sure this will relax us?” Cas asks, tilting his head like a confused labrador. “It smells like skunk. Evil skunk.”

“That’s part of the charm.” You hand him the lighter. “Here. You can have the honor.”

He squints at it like you just gave him a tiny bomb. “What is this?”

“Oh my God. It’s a lighter, Cas. You flick it.”

He flicks. Nothing happens.

You flick. A spark. “Okay, now suck in while I light it—no, not that fast, you’re gonna—yep. You coughed.”

Cas is hacking like a dying lawnmower, eyes wide, hand flailing at the smoke. “It’s burning me. Why would people enjoy this?!”

You’re already giggling. “Just give it a second.”

A minute later, the two of you are leaned back against a dusty tire rack, joint passed back and forth like some kind of sacrament. The high hits fast, like a slap wrapped in glitter. The world gets a little floaty. Your limbs stop belonging to you. You feel your own smile stretch across your face and it won’t go away.

“I feel... untethered,” Cas whispers, looking at his hands like they’re the secret to the universe. “Am I still in my vessel? Or did I shed it like a snake?”

You wheeze. “You’re not a snake, Cas.”

He touches his face. “Then why do I feel scaly?”

You double over with laughter. “You’re just high, dude.”

“This is high?” He looks around dramatically. “Then where are the clouds? Shouldn’t there be clouds? Or birds? I want to talk to a bird.”

“You can talk to birds,” you say, sobering for half a second. “You’re an angel.”

“Exactly. So where are they?”

You try to stand but forget how knees work and end up just sort of... hovering over Cas like a melting starfish. “Oh my God. We forgot the snacks. What are we doing without snacks? This is a crime.”

“Is this part of Hell?” Cas asks, blinking at the ceiling.

“No, Hell has vending machines that steal your quarters. This is worse.”

The door creaks open behind you. You both freeze like raccoons caught in a trash can.

Dean pokes his head in. Stares.

You’re 85% sure your pupils are the size of Jupiter.

He sighs. “I told Sam they’d hotbox the garage.”

Cas perks up. “Dean! Did you know clouds are not sentient but should be?”

Dean doesn’t blink. “Okay, I’m gonna go pretend this isn’t happening.”

He shuts the door.

Silence.

Then: “I think we blew his mind,” you whisper.

Cas nods solemnly. “I like being a cloud.”

You both burst into another fit of unstoppable laughter. You never get around to snacks. You fall asleep with your head on Cas’s shoulder and a goofy smile plastered across your face.

Next morning? The garage still smells like a Phish concert.

You blame the skunk.

Cas blames the snake inside him.

Dean never looks either of you in the eye again.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[mostlymarvelgirl]

Dean Winchester's Type

Let's talk about it. Cause why not?

Dean Dean Dean. He's probably that one guy in every group who's always the funniest, and probably the most chill. Well, atleast on the outside.

He has always been the same. Personality wise. But yeah, he's more of someone whose personality has hardened over the years. Hell, for all he knows, he knows deep down inside he's still figuring who he truly is.

(And NO, I'm not referring to him being in the closet)

So when you meet him for the first time, he's probably gonna lie about who he is. (Cause he's a hunter and probably investigating a case duh) Definitely is type of guy who notices a lot shit but you won't be able to tell at all considering his way of talking. He talks very casual. Makes you feel free. Makes you feel like it's just a simple conversation. But he's just determining whether you're a threat or not.

He's good at what he does. Because he was taught that way? Yeah, let's bring in that.

He spent most his childhood being an adult who's responsible for keeping his brother safe while irresponsible father (trash) was busy hunting the thing that killed their mom. He spent most his time taking care and spending time watching his dad. Which would explain his taste in music, sport, interests and hobbies. He didn't get time or make friends of his own age. It makes sense as he didn't get any time for himself to let his own thoughts decide his opinions on his likes and dislikes. Narcissistic parent effect? Yeah, definitely.

Don't be fooled by his casual demeanor and openness.

He's openly affectionate because he never got it. But you decide to hurt it, yeah... you're dead. So strap in and get ready to feel all those feelings you've never felt because he loves and falls too fast, he knows it's his weakness. But he can't help it, so he may not express it vocally, but you can see it visibly though his actions. He forgives, but doesn't forget. He's very willing to bring his trust back in you if you betray him unknowingly or accidentally or by some mistake. But just because he does it multiple times as you betray him (yes I'm talking about Cas and his dumbass) doesn't mean he'll be fine. He's gonna be okay. But if you cross a particular line, yeah... you're truly fucked. Pack your bags and leave the multiverse.

Now, let's get all juicy into the details and bring in his horoscope.

His sun is an aquarius. Obviously you can tell he truly deep down loves a rebellion. Not out of being defiant. But for the right principles. His own principles. (Like how many time has this man sold his soul) As you see later in the seasons, when he explores his own interests, you'll see that deep down, he hates control. He wants to be free. He hates rules. And, he's always ahead. Even when you don't see it. He's well prepared. Always five steps ahead.

Now coming to his Leo Moon. This man loves and absolutely craves for recognition and praise. Growing up, no one ever appreciated this sweetheart. Deep down, all he wanted was someone to see him. To be appreciated. And if he does, he glows. Like you can see that smile and a cute silly acts randomly. That sweet outburst which make no sense. (To you, not him) His inner child feels satisfied. It shines and glows. He'll never admit he wants this. But trust me, he does. He's a total sucker. And if he's not appreciated? Uff, let's not go to a depressed Dean. He's gets all broody and starts drinking dumps his feelings down. Probably even punch a wall or look at baby Sammy pictures or pictures of his mom.

His Ascendant? Saggitarius. That Dean Swagger. Blue Steel (Dean's Version)? Yep, this is it. The reason he likes the road no matter how cramped it is, it makes him feel free. Unchained. Not tied to a place. If you'd seen his life with Lisa, deep down, Dean wishes to travel. Explore. Sure, he wants family and stuff, but he's more of an adventurer and prefers someone who doesn't take that away from him. Now, his carefree and sarcasm layer... yeah you might get distracted by that and miss out how much emotional depth he's got deep down. He loves honesty. He forgives easy. He's blunt. He doesn't how much it hurts. He wants the real picture. He will understand you and he forgives. He's deep down a total softie. Don't lie to him. Please, he's very considerate. He loves. Hard and fast. So be nice. And honest.

Overall, he's very free spirited guy. He prefers someone who lets him explore the world. He doesn't like being tied down. As much as he craves affection, don't be overly clingy. He would absolutely will get annoyed. The last thing you wanna do is push him away. Sorry, but that's just the truth. So if you're someone who sees past his walls, someone who doesn't prefer overly clingy connection, honest, prefers deep connection (there's a difference between deep and clingy) and prefers free spiritedness... you're it. Go grab your Dean.

Now that we're done this... let's get to the spicy shit all you horny shits have been waiting for. Sex. How does he like it? When would it happen? Who would initiate it first? Who's freakier? At what stage of the relationship would it happen?

Now see, here's a difference. If it's a one night stand to blow off steam, he's gonna be freaky as fuck and be rough. Maybe soft. He'll be in full control. You can't do shit. He'll be respectful and hear you out obviously. But remember, he'll be incharge. This is the closest to what he gets a form if affectionate touch. He thinks this is only thing he doesn't mess up and is good at. Yes, he's insecure and seeks attention.

But when he gets into a serious relationship, it will be a few months or maybe days. Depends. Based on your preference, he'll ask you how or when you want it. Since, he's a good at reassuring, you might fold easy. He's good with comfort words. He knows and notices what you are insecure about. He will make sure one hundred percent that you fully open up to him before he makes love to you.

Now as for freakiness, he's a guy who's willing to try and give it a shot. He's open to suggestions. He's very open about what he likes and what he doesn't. He asks you. Keeps a note. He'd probably initiate the conversation after the first time you both do it. He loves to talk after sex. Makes him feel reassured. He wants feel that you both are at the same level of pace in thinking. And understanding. He would never do anything at all. To make you uncomfortable. Never. If it's a common kink and you don't want it, he just won't push it at all.

Sex for him is way to connect. It's for his reassurance. He will put your needs first. He will comfort you and give assurance. You will always feel like a queen and fulfilled.

So, in the end, he's a guy who wants love, freedom and explore. He gives and gives love and wants just appreciation and someone to understand him. Just the inner child wanting his freedom. Be a sweetheart and be kind and honest. And that'll be the best decision you'll make. So go grab your Dean today.

And that, is Dean Winchester's type.

Requested by the most wonderful Desi mutual @mahi-wayy

Read Sam Winchester's Type Here

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 7

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k words

Chapter Warnings: SMUT including knotting, claiming, and marking; language, references to past sexual abuse, fluff, Dean being an overprotective alpha, soulmate bonding

A/N: *Holdsbreathandhitspost*

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over, arms leaning on his thighs, Dean twisted the small pill bottle in his hands, listening as each tablet fell to the bottom. There weren’t many, six at most, and they rattled around in there, waiting for him to open the lid and take one out. 

Or man up and throw them in the trash like he’d planned.

The problem was, he knew how his body would react to not taking the daily suppressant. He’d experienced it before. And if his inner alpha was overprotective of you now, it was about to turn into a possessive dick the second the drug’s effects wore off in T minus twenty-four hours, if he…

No. 

Not if. 

He was doing this. He was gonna claim you and make you his.

Which is why even though the trashcan was only three feet in front of him, he still sat there unmoving from the memory-foam cushioning his ass…

Fuck. Why was this so hard? 

He put the pills down on his bedside table and leant back into the mattress, fishing his phone out from his jean pocket. The denim hugging his hips was too tight, and he had to lift himself up a few inches to yank the device free, unlocking it with a couple of taps and a swipe up.

His fingers continued to work the touch screen, locating contacts, flicking down to the letter J, and hitting the green call button. At least there was one thing he wasn’t hesitating over.

He heard the click and a familiar voice fondly speak his name before he’d even brought it up to his ear. 

“Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, Jody. How’s it going?” Dean stood up off the bed and moved to the closet. 

“Good. Although I’m a little surprised to hear you ask me that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The door creaked in protest, as did his back, though it cracked more than creaked when he arched over to reach his green duffle he’d thrown on the floor after the hunt in Iowa. The couple of weapons he hadn’t bothered to put away hit against each other as the bag swayed and gravity played with their weight.

“Just that you don’t call me unless you need something or someone’s dead. Oh god. Is Sam okay? What have you boys gotten into now?”

“Alright, first off, that’s insulting.” He emptied the contents onto the bed, pulling out a shirt that had wound its way around his shotgun. “And second.” He brought the fabric up to his nose for a sniff test. It needed washing, or burning with added salt. The remnants of nameless monster guts clung to the collar, and he didn’t hesitate to throw it out. Those pills though... “Everything’s fine. Sammy’s alive last time I checked.

“I wanted to know how you were. What’s wrong with that?” He caught the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to open the chamber of his prized weapon. The racking was rather loud when he closed it back again, and he grimaced. Jody was going to notice that.

“Nothing,” she said. “But that’s not why you’re calling.”

Why did he attract people who could see right through him? “Well, ah, to be honest, I need a favour.” He took a long breath in, preparing himself to deliver his news. “I met my soulmate and—”

“What?” Her high-pitched squeal had him dropping his shoulder and her. “Are you sure?”

Seriously! It’s like she was trying to cut him deep. “What do you mean, am I sure? I know my own damn initials,” he shouted down at his phone. Luckily, it had only landed on the bed. He did not have the patience or time to get a new one.

He ditched the shotgun and picked up Jody, bringing her back to his ear. 

“So you’re no longer running solo, huh? Finally claimed someone! What are they? An omega, a beta? Or another alpha like you?” She chuckled. “I’d love to see that.”

‘Bitch.’

‘Dude. This is Jody.’

‘She’s insulting our mate.’

‘No, she’s insulting you, you dick.’

“Ah, an omega, and I haven’t claimed her yet,” Dean said, cringing when his inner alpha interrupted him again. His eyes searched for the pill bottle and gave it a once over. No, no. This was gonna be hell, but he’d grin and bear it. “That’s why I was calling—”

It was mid-afternoon when he pulled up in the expansive car park the next day. Dean had chosen a space at the back of the lot, leaving at least two free ones in between the Impala, and nowhere near the return bays. The last thing he needed was some asshole being careless with their cart and scratching Baby’s sleek paint job.

He shifted the stick into P, shut her engine off, and released a loud, drawn-out sigh, before turning to you and your smiling face. It was the only thing making the inevitable onslaught of other people and his first ever venture into Walmart worthwhile. 

If he had his way, you’d be sitting out front of a secluded Gas n Sip. There was nothing wrong with gas station snacks and take out. At least that’s the argument he’d used against you. Needless to say, he’d failed. You had the doe-eyed look down pat and gave even Sammy a run for his money.

The leather squeaked beneath him as he reached over you and opened the glove box. He dug through the fake IDs and old maps that had no hope of leaving the small compartment anytime soon and retrieved his 1911, tucking it into the waistband of his pants like usual. When he sat back up, he found you staring at him in disbelief. “What?” he asked.

“You’re taking that?”

His jaw tightened. “I always carry it with me. You know that.”

“Yeah, but…we’re getting groceries. What are you expecting to happen in a grocery store?”

“Nothing.” Try everything. “But you can never be too careful.” Wolves like Garth had to buy their raw steaks from somewhere. Not that the ordinary bullets he’d pre-loaded into the gun would kill anything other than a human. They’d slow the rest down, though. That was enough for him, and he’d keep telling himself that.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, searching for the door handle.

Before he could squeeze his fingers against the cool metal, however, you had reached for his right and tugged at his arm. “You can wait here if you don’t want to go inside. I’m happy to—”

“Nope.” He gave one very forceful shake of his head. “Absolutely not.” There was no way he was letting you out of his sight with your impending heat. Screw his rut. 

Your pheromones had been changing by the hour, making you smell the sweetest and most enticing you’d ever been. His inner alpha was driving him crazy, and had done the entire drive, chanting, ‘Mine,’ ‘My omega,’ and now it told him to ‘Bring the machete.’ 

If only he could. 

‘I can’t hide a blade that big under my clothes,’ he reasoned. Although the demon knife wouldn’t hurt. It was a shame opening the trunk, with the devil’s trap on display in a place like this was bound to raise a few eyebrows. He did not want to draw any more attention to you.

Fuck. This was gonna be worse than hell. The rearview mirror was full of bodies and cars coming and going, and that was just the outside of the gigantic building. 

Who knew how many more people were still inside? Plenty by the stench of it.

It was too late to change his mind, though. He looked at you, holding your purse all ready to go on your lap. Frowning when it finally dawned on him that of all the things you had to wear today, you’d chosen a dress that accentuated your curves. 

He’d appreciated the view at lunch, but that was at a small town diner, somewhere off of route eighty-one. Now it was a different story, but you were clearly excited and while he didn’t for the life of him know why, he couldn’t just demand you waited here instead. That was as bad as you going in alone.

“C’mon,” he said, and climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him with the usual creak and groan.

Dean would rather chow down on burgers than run for ‘fun’ like Sam. He wasn’t afraid to admit it. But on that day, in the middle of the Sioux Falls Walmart’s parking lot, he jogged even though he wasn’t being chased for the first time in his adult life, scooting across the gravel to intercept you before you crossed the safety of the meaningless lines.

Your eyes traced over him, studying him with a wry smile, your scent spiking along with it, as did his interest.

He could hear your heartbeat if he listened carefully. It thrummed in his ears as quick as his was, but unlike him, you seemed to contain it well. 

“Just think of it this way.” You patted his chest. “The more we buy, the longer we won’t have to leave Jody’s cabin.”

Now that was something he could get on board with, and though he thought it impossible in a place like this, his own mouth grew wide, drawing his blood back up and away from the conspicuous semi he was sporting.

The change didn’t last long.

“Woah.” He gripped your hand tighter and yanked it, making you stop. That fucking douche in the station wagon had come way too close to the curb for his liking. “Watch where you’re going, jackass!” he spat. His head following the rear bumper, oblivious to the other “dangers” the car park held.

‘She was almost hit.’

‘She’s fine.’ 

Your thumb moved to stroke the tops of his knuckles. “It was nowhere near us, Alpha.”

He turned to you with a furrowed brow at first, only picking up on your discomfort from his death grip when your other fingers started squirming under his. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

Your arm retreated with a shake of your wrist and he went for your lower back instead, guiding you with a gentle nudge and an extra look left for any more assholes who didn’t know how to drive.

The automatic doors opened as you both stepped onto the oversized mats and Dean beelined for the shopping carts grouped together on the side. Naturally, he needed to push yours. He’d be a purse-bitch if he had to, too. Anything to stop himself from acting rash and ripping your arm off again.

He let go of you, and yanked one out, swinging the steel trolley around with ease as if he were figure skating with it and reached for your waist when he had the thing facing in the direction of a second set of automated doors. The place was like airport security. 

“Are they gonna let us leave when we’re done?” he whispered to you.

“Not if you break something with that.” Your hand came up to his shoulder and tugged on his flannel, veering to the right while pointing to a large sign that said fresh produce. “Come on. I wanna go here first”

Great. Vegetables. Not to mention the abundance of people wandering around there and the just as many aisles and fruit he’d never seen before.

How many apples did you need?

Because you passed by red and green ones, mountains of them, and even then, they were apparently all different. Grandmas. Mount Fuji’s. What the hell did golden delicious mean and would it go into a pie?

You stepped away from him to look at a display that was labelled Pink.

They weren’t like any ladies he’d ever seen. The colour didn’t come close to anyone’s, including yours.

In each subsequent aisle after, Dean was both awestruck and dumbstruck at the amount of variety the place had. 

You led him past an entire rack of peanut butter, through a row of refrigerators that had him breathing out cold air from his nose, and he was still in doubt over what was in those cans that claimed to have a whole chicken in them. He was thankful you hadn’t stopped there to find out.  

Soon enough though, your cart filled up to the point he found himself playing Tetris with its contents after discovering Walmart also sold booze. 

Even if he didn’t drink it all on account of his rut, the case of his favourite beer he’d selected was coming with you and he was determined to make it work, with only a single banana being harmed in the process as he rearranged it all for a third time. He ditched the fruit on a shelf displaying margarita mixes and the two of you headed for the cashiers, his arm still wrapped around your waist.

He’d become a pro at steering the metal cage, though honestly, he could drive anything, and he was proud to say, you could leave the store as he’d had no accidents and no alpha had been harmed for looking at you.

Yet.

“Are you sure we need all this stuff?” he asked as you passed another couple with only half the things you had.

“This coming from the guy who had two slices of pie on top of his burger at lunch?” 

Point taken, he supposed, but you’d eaten just as much. You’d had more than him, come to think of it. Lunch, breakfast, the night before. So when you patted his stomach, and he looked down at you grinning at him, he couldn’t help but return a knowing smile.

“You’ll thank me later,” you said.

He knew he would. In more ways than one. 

Still on your way to the front, you passed the nesting department located opposite the cash registers. Of course, it was just another convenient ploy to gain some extra impulse buys from naïve omegas who hadn’t realised they needed that new blanket or another stuffy until they saw the giant pile of fluff.

To Dean’s distaste, you were also won over by the gimmick and he was pulled along for the ride. 

Yes, he was annoyed. He wanted to get you home, maybe taste your pink lady before things really started, and definitely not add more crap to your cart. But he couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your hands glide over every piece of fabric that piqued your fancy. 

Your fingers preened the threads. They stroked the tassels and the weird little fuzzy balls that stuck out like skin tags on an old person. Everything was falling into place, and he pushed all his grumbles aside.

Soon. Tomorrow at the latest, you would be his officially.

But while your inner omega delved into the world of fuzz and all things fluffy and he stood back contented with watching you, an elderly alpha whose back would snap if the wind blew at him too hard was also eyeing you as you picked up a certain colourful blanket that looked very familiar to Dean. 

The fucking perv was hanging around, preying on omegas such as you. He had to be. And he had the nerve to walk up to you and ask your opinions on the thing, as if he was interested in buying one. 

You humoured him, but Dean? He saw right through him.

So did the dick in his head. It was sending messages to his pants and his fingers flexed over the plastic handle of your cart, pulling his knuckles in and out of focus under his taut skin.

“I’ve had this before, but I used it in the living room when I wasn’t nesting too,” you said. “I find it holds scents better—”

As the old guy’s arm reached over to touch the blanket you were holding, Dean stepped in. That was too close for his liking and his inner alpha snarled, “She’s mine,” leading to the more sane version of himself, regretting not bringing the cart closer so he could push him with it. The floor was waxed enough for the wheels to slip and be blamed for any accident.

“This is your alpha?” the Master Roshi wannabe asked, looking Dean up and down. “But you haven’t—”

“Your nose works just fine, asshole,” Dean said through his teeth. “We’re here to get supplies for it, so fuck off.”

Dean turned his back on him and focused on you. His blood was boiling and had he been anywhere else, and that dick been any younger, he would’ve clipped him one. 

As it was, he could feel the old guy still hanging behind him and he dared not turn around for fear of really doing something.

He took the blanket you were holding from your hands and inspected it before placing it on the edge of the pile. It wouldn’t do now that he’d put his mitts on it.

Your mouth opened, about to protest, but Dean flashed you a grin, picked up another that he pulled from the very centre. “It holds people’s scents, yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then this is the one. Only touched you and me,” he said.

He was about to place the bundle on your piled shopping cart when he saw you pout. His hesitation, giving you the chance to pluck it out of his hands and into your arms where it stayed as he paid and drove, taking you to your final destination. A little cabin about thirty minutes north of the small city.

The first thing Dean noticed when he opened the door to Jody’s cabin was the pungent smell. “Is that…lavender?” he asked. His arm balancing the precious case of beer he’d found at Walmart.

“I’m surprised you know what it is.” You chuckled.

So did he, but it wasn’t like he selected the shampoo Sam bought. He just used whatever was on the shower shelf at the time and now recognised the word along with the purple packaging that meant the same flavour old folks and museums liked to spray in their bathrooms was contained inside. 

This didn’t suit Jody, though. She was a badass, and sure she enjoyed chick flicks and bubble baths (he assumed, because who didn’t), but… “She’s too young for this crap,” he muttered as he ran his free hand over the wall, searching for the light switch. 

At first, nothing besides the place smelling like grandma seemed out of the ordinary, but as he readjusted his load and stretched his bow legs over the threshold, it wasn’t the moaning of the floorboards underneath him from the weight of the glass bottles and their contents that caught his attention. It was the spots of something on the floor further inside.

Blood is what his mind went to. What else would a hunter with his skills think? 

Jody had become rather renowned for her side profession and could’ve pissed off a few dicks. Plus, this far into the woods would be an ideal location for wolves or even a nest to squat, and this town had seen its fair share. 

Of course, that wouldn’t explain the stench, or the fact she’d left the key for him under the mat and would’ve noticed something was amiss already, so unless whatever potential threat who was presumably squatting liked pot-pourri and hoodoo, it was a far stretch. 

Then again, witches? Maybe. But also, fuck, not again. Especially when he was this close to going into rut.

Dean looked over his shoulder and, “Wait here,” he said, moving only when your head acknowledged the instruction. 

Those same bow legs carried him down the wide hallway, his free arm kept right next to his side, ready and waiting to draw his gun. If it came down to it, he’d risk the booze, but he soon realised he didn’t have to. Whatever was scattered on the floor cast shadows over the wood grain and smelt just as nasty as the lavender.

The light from the entry wasn’t enough to see clearly even with his keen eyesight, so he lunged the case onto the small dining table with a thump and a tinkling from the glass and searched for another light switch.

Click.

The exposed bulb overhead flickered on, and Dean’s eyes went straight to the ground to be met with… petals? Red ones? 

Huh.

“S’okay, sweetheart. You can come in now. It’s just a bunch of flowers.”

Your steps across the floorboards barely made a noise over the crinkle of plastic from the shopping bags you carried. 

Dean strode over to you, pried the handles from your fingers, and lifted them up beside the casing of beer.

“Flowers and wine,” you said, and Dean flicked his head in the direction you were now headed.

On a small coffee table in the centre of a brilliant brick fireplace and a couple of old couches, two bottles of the stuff and what looked like a card had been placed. 

You picked the piece of folded paper up and read it aloud. “Congratulations, and enjoy your time alone together, J.” You handed the note to him as he approached with a sly smile. “We should buy her a gift before we leave town as a thankyou.” 

“More shopping? We got all that stuff so we wouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

While he was snarking, he scoped out your home for the next week, maybe two, noting the floofy pillows that would suit your needs for a few scenarios. 

“Later. Not now,” you said, and his arm pulled you close, wrapping tightly around your waist.

“It’s a nice idea.” The other scooped between you and shucked up your dress. “Enough about Jody. How’re ya feeling?” he asked against your mating gland, inhaling your scent. Sweet apple, spicy cinnamon, and a touch of whisky nipped at the edge of his throat. “Any changes?” 

Dick’s marks had completely gone. As had any traces of what he’d done to you and Dean was met with options. The right side, or the left for his claim. Maybe even both.

You leaned back with a quirked brow as his fingers ran over your underwear. “Not yet.”

“But you’re wet.” He brought you closer. You weren’t the only one excited. He found the elastic of your panties and slipped inside, skimming through your folds and your warm channel.

“Shouldn’t we get the groceries,” you said, but there was a hitch in your voice at the end when he dipped his middle finger further again.

“Can wait.” He breathed into your ear, pulling you closer to the fireplace and his lap on the couch.

Soon one touch led to another, and despite the many things that still needed to be done around the place before you settled in for the night, they were long forgotten, along with the rest of your groceries in the Impala. It was cold enough out in the woods that an hour wouldn’t hurt, and he would deal with the sigils and logs for a fire later. 

Dean wasted no more time sinking into you, meeting each rock of your hips for a thrust on the worn sofa by the fireplace, clothes still on. 

Best. Decision. Ever.

Even though the wooden frame creaked under your weight and he felt the need to plant his boots firmly into the shaggy rug beneath them to keep the thing upright.

His hands snuck up your dress and cast aside the cups of your bra to knead your slick covered tits. Your panties, pulled to the side, created an extra layer of friction as the elastic caught on his growing knot. 

An ever better decision than he thought, and he sat back, enjoying the show and the little gasps of pleasure you gave him when your clit hit his pubic bone at the perfect angle and ground against it.

“Dean, fuck.” Your hips buckled with one forceful slam.

“Feel good, baby?” He knew you were close. Your muscles fluttering around him and the fresh wave of your juices coating his twitching balls kinda gave it away. “You gonna come on my cock? Let me knot you?”

You were too lost in the moment to answer him. He didn’t care. He revelled in your grinding, how you were growing desperate, and by the way your eyes sparkled when he spoke of his knot.

“Alpha. Need your—” But you didn’t finish your sentence because your body finished on him. 

The climax ripped through you, drawing tremors from your legs, tickling his thighs and lower stomach. 

His hands took yours and pulled them to his neck, soothing your taut arms from your wrists to shoulders, grounding himself in the process. 

His balls were heavy, his sack on fire. Your cunt had sucked his knot inside and the pulses and trickles of your release had his instincts screaming to plough into you. But he wouldn’t. Not yet.

When his fingers moved to your hips and raised them up so that only the tip penetrated your core, your forehead dropped to his. Sweat mixing with sweat. Panted breaths warming his cheeks and lips. 

“Think you can give me one more?” he rasped.

Your laugh was airy. It came out as a shudder. Your skull rocked against his as you shook your head with it, and your hair tangled into his short brown tufts.

“Yeah, you can.” His eyes stared into yours, bouncing emerald green off of the pearly white that surrounded your own vibrant irises. 

His hand moved to stroke your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, and Dean’s chest swelled with pride. 

“Yeah?” he asked with an air of confidence and pressed harder over the sensitive nub.

Your walls clamped around him again, just as he’d hoped. “Alpha, please,” you cried.

As much as he loved the idea of you begging him for it, the pressure down below was reaching boiling point, and he knew a couple of thrusts would do it for him. 

He lifted his ass off the cushion, and sunk halfway into you, tipping the sofa by the weight of his shoulders alone. His fingers on your hip gripped tighter, bruising the flesh below, as he steadied himself and in one fluid motion slammed you and him back down into the seat.

The furniture groaned in protest. 

Your moan was more of a high-pitched cry, and when he raised you up and down again and again in a vicious pace, and his thumb continued to press into your overstimulated clit, it turned into the best version of his name he’d ever heard.

“Omega,” he grunted. 

Your pussy was an inferno. That heat, the friction from your panties and your folds rubbing against him, and the vice-like crush from your inner walls on his shaft soon had him seeing white behind the eyes, leaving his other senses to pick up the slack. He felt each drop of blood pump through his body, from his ears to his knot. 

When it popped and thick, creamy waves of his release flooded your insides, dousing the flames, he swooped in for a searing kiss. 

Your lips were tart and sweet. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’d been sipping that wine already or chowing down on strawberries, but he’d sat across from you at every meal that day and watched you like a hawk at Walmart so he knew exactly what you’d done and eaten. “Tell me that’s your heat coming on,” he said when he slumped backwards to look at you. 

“Likewise.” Your fingers twisted through his hair. “You feel warm, Alpha.” 

Dean’s boyish chuckle was breathy. “Sweetheart. It’s a house fire down there and that ain’t on me. I already tried putting it out.” 

You didn’t let him down. Your snort was adorable, and he gave you his best cheesy grin in return. 

His inner alpha was not so light-hearted, however, and even after it had gotten its fix and his knot was still very much stuck inside of you, it continued to grumble in the far reaches of his mind, wanting more.

The chant that he should claim you was growing old. He fucking knew that, but while your heat was close, it just hadn’t set in yet, and chomping down on your mating gland now was gonna hurt you unnecessarily. No. Dean would wait, focusing on what you needed in the moment, like any good mate would.

His hands moved to your thighs, grazing his fingers over your sweat lined skin. It was heated, and you shivered at the new sensation, but he wasn’t surrounded by copious amounts of slick and you seemed to have no discomfort. That was part of it, right?

“How’re you feeling?” he said again, and your whole body tensed. Even your inner walls, that had relaxed some, squeezed him tight once more.

“You really wanna know all the nitty-gritty details?” Your eyes narrowed on him. Your frown only deepened the intense gaze you were pulling, and Dean swallowed.

“You’re my mate.” He flashed a grin. “Claim and paperwork pending.” And when you shook your head and sunk into his chest, his lips brushed over your hair, moving his arms to wrap around you and pull you in tighter. “Tell me.”

“Fevers coming,” you mumbled. “Probably smell different?”

He sniffed the air. The usual cinnamon, a touch of vanilla, plus the apple and whisky, sex, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on infiltrated his nostrils. Your scent was still as intoxicating to him as it had been the very first day you met. “You smell good,” he said, realising how terrible that sounded only after it had spewed from his mouth.

“I should hope so.” You swatted at him, and he hummed in amusement.

“What else?”

“Back aches. My whole lower half, actually.”

On that, Dean moved his hands and began kneading your heated flesh where he could only guess the worst discomfort was. He may not not have claimed someone, but he’d helped the odd omega through their heat, and he knew a thing or two.

“Here?” he asked, but your purr and a contented sigh answered him, and he smiled with reverie.

You fell asleep on him after that, allowing the impending fever to take over your body. He’d have preferred you to have eaten something or even made a trip to the bathroom, but he reminded his inner alpha that you both knew what you were doing.

Not that it was listening.

As he dead locked the back door and drew the last of the salt lines at the base of the wooden frame, it whined, and had Dean looking down.

“You scratched the circle.”

Yes, he was standing on the devil’s trap he’d drawn earlier, but there was not a scratch in sight.

“It’s fine,” he said, not bothering with internal thoughts, though his ears did prick for any hint he’d disturbed you in your sleep. He turned himself around to peer at your form on the other side of the room, but you were still on the couch where he’d left you.

Even from here in the kitchen, he could see the sheen of sweat on your forehead and your cheeks, now a different hue. Your oncoming heat had indeed brought on a fever and he knew when you awoke it would be game time.

The groceries had been brought in, beers sat in the fridge, and he’d even moved the mattress from the master bedroom and set it down before the roaring fire he’d started in the fireplace.

His body and mind were prepped, too. He just wished things would hurry along because you and the flames weren’t the only things heating up the room.

The tip of his cock was a painful red. It was swollen and oozing pre-cum, and though he’d emptied himself into you a couple of hours earlier, as he opened the fridge door and leant down to retrieve a beer, a few drops left his slit and dribbled down his shaft to pool at the dip above his knot.

Fuck. He was overflowing now.

He’d almost come twice in his pants from your scent alone, and after the second occurrence, he ditched them, choosing to wear just his boxers and undershirt.

He reached down and wiped his hand over the soiled underwear, hissing from pleasure and pain as his palm swiped over the sensitive head. But when more leaked from his slit, he gave up and removed them instead, leaving them on the floor to clean up later with the spill.

He grabbed his drink and shut the door, turning back around to find you sitting up, staring at him, and time stopped.

You were awake…

And he was…

“Omega.”

The switch somewhere deep inside of him flicked, and he found himself falling into a familiar place in the backseat of his mind.

Dean was no longer in control of his body, but he still saw, heard and felt everything. His heartbeat, his feet padding across the floor, and the irises in your eyes as he drew closer, sparkling from the flicker of light in the fireplace.

And when your voice said, “Alpha”, just as his had been replaced by the low rumble he knew as well as the back of his hand, yours had changed to a softer, more melodic version of the one he recognised as yours.

You were on him the second he stepped up to you. Your fingers wrapped around his agitated cock, and Dean’s growl reverberated low in his chest as the sweet flavour of apple flooded his senses. “Omega. Mine,” his alpha rasped.

He could practically taste you on his tongue. He could certainly feel your heated skin on him as you worked his length, but the massaging did little to douse the flames in his pulsing sack, and his slit continued to weep.

“Alpha,” you purred, as his seed created a trail down onto your hands. 

‘Fuck.’

Dean licked his lips and grabbed at your dress, yanking at the fabric to get you free. He wanted to see you. To feast his eyes on your breasts and, more importantly, bury himself in your dripping cunt again and again. 

His hands pawed at your neckline, growing flustered when it didn’t budge, and red marks from the edging cutting into your skin from his tugs appeared.

“Let me.” You touched his cheek, nodding your head with assurance when his alpha glowered with his pride. 

The thought of needing assistance and less friction on his hardened flesh had his temper rising. “Fine,” he spat. “But hurry up.”

Your breasts pushed towards him as you reached behind yourself to undo the zip. Each click of the metal prongs being pulled apart met his ears, but it was far too slow for his alpha’s liking and soon Dean was pawing at the garment again. 

Once it was loose enough, he plucked it from your body and threw it along with your bra and panties over his head, corralling you where he saw fit.

He planted your chin, chest and calves into the mattress. He forced your rear into the air, presenting your glistening folds, much to his delight. The copious amounts of fluid Dean had imagined earlier engulfed your entrance and laced the inner creases of your thighs.

His nose honed into your centre, breathing in the tangy slick as he ran his lips through yours. The pad of his thumb found your clit, and it flicked against the small bud, eliciting moans, whimpers, and gasps, all stroking his ego. All urging him to continue.

When you shuddered, his mouth curved at the sides. His alpha taking everything it wanted from you, pulling more and more of your release from deep within your body. His dick throbbed at the sight.

If you were making a mess, he’d created an oil spill. Pre-cum continued to leak from his tip, and soon even he was begging the beast in control to do something about it. 

‘Claim her. Make her ours.’

He’d agonised over claiming you since you’d met and now that the opportunity presented itself, he didn’t wanna draw it out any longer. He needed you in more ways than one, and the alpha obliged. 

With a feral smirk, his fingers ran back over your folds, earning another whimper from your lungs and another wave of slick to surge from your body. The same hand came up and took hold of himself, pumping once, twice, three times, before lining up and ramming into you. 

Your hips buckled at the intrusion. Yet when he pulled out again so that only his head sat warm and snug inside, you inched back onto him, demanding his attention.

“There’s my beautiful omega.” He chuckled, as you continued to drag your pussy over him. “So perfect, and still hungry for more.” His fingers dug into your hips and he pushed into you again, giving you what you both wanted. “You need your alpha to knot you, baby girl?”

Your response was to moan, and the sound urged him on. “Yeah, you do,” he grunted. His thrusts, hard and fast. “You need your alpha to put out the fire.” 

Every piece of him enjoyed the view of you taking him in, from the tip to his swelling knot. Your walls kept squeezing and pulling him in deeper. “So fucking good ‘mega. Gonna fill you up and make you mine.”

He relaxed his grip on you and crawled up your spine, pushing your body down further into the mattress, and himself further into you. “Say it. Tell me you wanna be mine.” 

“I wanna be yours,” you said between pants, and Dean groaned against the edge of your hairline. He was so close to your mating gland, he could taste the sweet blood below the surface. 

He pulled your hair to the side and traced his tongue over the delicate skin of your neck, licking and sucking a path to his goal. He inhaled your scent when he found the pulse point and rubbed whiskey and leather and a hint of buttery pastry onto you before his teeth moved to scrape over the sensitive flesh. His body froze above you.

The canines broke the thin barrier first, and when his incisors sunk into you next, the metallic warmth of your lifeblood rushed into his mouth and trickled down his throat. 

As he swallowed, and continued to press his bite into you, a wave of electricity spread over him. Every nerve, every hair, every drop of sweat tingled and while his arms and legs grew heavy, his head lightened and memories long forgotten climbed to the surface and flashed before his eyes.

Amongst them, Bobby’s death, and his time in hell before it. The agony of losing Sammy to the cage when Dean knew what awaited him. The mark taking over his life and losing people because of it. Their screams. Their cries. The hatred as his own weapon carved into them. The Steins, Abbadon, Randy.

But then the voice of a female overtook them. One so familiar, yet one he couldn’t quite place. Her pleas cut him deep, churning his insides as if each organ were drowning in a sea of acid.

“No, no. Please don’t.”

“I swear, I’ve never seen him before.”

“He just helped me, that’s all.”

“Baby, please.”

The more he heard her words, the more his face cut into Dean’s memories, and “Ritchie, stop! Please!” stood out amongst all else.

That’s when he realised who the cries belonged to. The tears, the pain, the dread. They weren’t his, they were…

…yours.

Brilliant green eyes stared back at you as your alpha licked at the wound on your mating gland. He’d started thrusting again, and while the pressure deep in your gut begged for his knot and his essence, your mind was more focused on those eyes.

Their sparkle that you’d come to know was lost, faded, and full of pain. He was being tortured. Fire and chains reflected in them and on his freckled skin, marred by blood and scars so fresh, you couldn’t place them from what was before you now.

Dean was hurt. He was—

“Sammy!” he yelled.

“The mark isn’t gonna kill me,” he spat.

But when you tried to call out to him and soothe the ache you felt, he couldn’t hear you because your inner omega was in the driver’s seat. And while she cared for you as much as you did for her, for Dean, she was more concerned with the alpha’s thrusts. With mewling. With encouraging him. With drawing his knot in.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

And there we are ✌️

I've been agonisingly waiting for this one, and I do hope you were surprised. I’m rather proud of the POV switch up. We will still get in Dean’s head, but we’ll also be in hers which is perfect for what’s about to come.

Remember how I keep mentioning not to get too comfortable, well, here we are. Do you think they'll pull through all this new information?

The next chapter will potentially be triggering for some readers. Mentions of pregnancy loss is included amongst what we've already seen and explored, but things are going to come out in more details including how extensive Dick’s abuse was.

Chapter 8: Disconcerting 11/04

You.

You weren’t supposed to be a part of that chapter in his life. He’d planned to keep you at a distance from all of it. He…

He.

He looked up so that he wouldn’t see your face through the kaleidoscope of colours that his wet eyes brought with them. “I—” All he could do was squeeze you tighter.

“Dean. It’s okay.”

He still didn’t have the words to continue his apology. Nothing could ever make up for what you’d seen, and his voice caught in the lump that had manifested in his throat. By the time it did reach the surface, it sounded more like that of a small child, then that of a grown man.

“No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

“S’not. This is what I was trying to keep ya from.” 

He was dangerous. He was a grunt. He was mud on the sole of his boot, and you? He’d brought you into this shitty life of his. “It’s bad enough you had to go through what Dick did to you. But he did it ‘cause of me. I’m poison, and if you hadn’t met me, you—”

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[musubi05]

╰┈➤ Keep The Lights On

~ Sam Winchester x sister!reader

~ Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: You and your brothers watch a horror movie and it freaks you out more than expected.

Warnings: None

A/N: I just watched the Smile horror movie and now I'm freaked out. So while I still have adrenaline running through my body from the jumpscares, I decided to write about it. Also happy easter!

There hasn't been any signs of a case in awhile so you and your brothers took this time to do... normal people activities. Sure, you guys are people but you can't relax and watch TV or have movie nights like some families without worrying about the next hunt. You, Dean and Sam are finally changing that.

"Alright! Sam, you got the snacks?" Dean asked after he paused the movie so the first scene didn't play.

"Right here." Sam walked into the room with a bowl filled with popcorn and multiple candy bags on top.

"Blankets?"

You threw two big blankets on top of Dean's head from behind him. "Check," you smiled seeing the weight of the blankets making Dean lean forward a little bit.

He mumbles something under his breath and pushes the blankets off of him. Sam sets the snacks on the coffee table before he sits on his side of the couch as you take your spot on the couch - which is in the middle between your brothers.

"What movie did you pick?" Sam asked while he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.

"It's a horror movie that has good ratings," Dean threw a smirk over at Sam who just rolled his eyes.

"Dean, you know how I feel about these type of movies. There's no point in watching them since-"

"They are basically our lives," you and Dean mocked Sam's voice in sync.

"We know, Sam. But I'm picking the movie tonight so it's my choice," Dean said as he reached for the bucket of popcorn. You nestled into your blanket when Dean started the movie.

The opening scene was already giving you goosebumps. Dark woods. Flickering flashlight. A scream in the distance. Classic horror setup, but something about the sound design was too real. You tried to act chill, casually eating a piece of candy while staying very much under the blanket like it was armor.

Halfway through the movie, things got worse. Way worse. The monster in the film was just human. He crept up behind people, whispered things only they would know, and then dragged them away into the dark. It reminded you of a few people you've unfortunately came into contact with over the years of your job.

You hugged your blanket tighter, glancing over at your brothers. Sam was clearly analyzing the psycho like it was a real case. Dean, despite acting tough, had that look in his eyes - the one he gets when something's hitting too close to home.

When the movie finally ended with a jump scare and the classic 'killer’s not really dead' twist, you jumped so hard your popcorn went flying. Dean cackled.

"Alright," Dean said, stretching like he didn’t just jump two feet a second ago. "Who’s ready for bed?"

You didn’t say anything.

Sam gave you a look. "You okay?"

You nodded a little too quickly. "Yeah. Fine. Totally cool. Just… movie was kinda creepy, huh?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Kinda? You looked like you were about to grab something to hit the tv with."

"Shut up, Dean."

But honestly? Yeah, you weren’t about to sleep in your room alone tonight. You hesitated for a few seconds while Sam grabbed the empty bowl and trash then started heading down the hall. Dean lingered behind, noticing your silence.

"You good?" he asked again, this time softer.

"…Not really. Can I, uh…" You scratched the back of your neck, suddenly feeling like you were eight years old again. "Can I crash in your room tonight?"

Dean stared at you for a second before giving a simple nod. "Yeah. Course. Come on."

You followed him, and by the time you got to his room, Sam was already sitting on Dean’s bed too, with his laptop open.

"You too?" you asked.

"I live with ghosts and demons. Doesn’t mean I enjoy watching pyscho killers like documentaries," Sam said with a small shrug.

You smirked and climbed in, grabbing one of Dean’s extra pillows and wrapping yourself in your blanket again.

Dean shut the door, then turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of Sam’s laptop illuminating the room.

"Wait, wait!" Your voice made Dean stop walking towards the bed and Sam to look over at you. "Can we keep the lights on?" You asked quietly.

"Yeah... yeah. Of course, sweetie." Dean flipped the switch back on and went to go lay next to you.

No one said anything for a while. It was just the sound of keys tapping, light breathing, and the occasional creak from the bunker walls.

Then Dean muttered, "Next time we’re watching Shrek or something."

You laughed softly. "Deal."

[honeyryewhiskey]

circa 2006

all you did was help the charming, too-cute-for-his-own-good frat president get home after your school’s infamous 24 hour st. patrick's day celebrations. you tucked him in, cured his hangover with a greasy breakfast and some advil, and even tidied up the house a bit—leaving enough food for the rest of the brothers. becoming the frat sweetheart? That wasn’t part of the plan. but dean thinks you’re cute, and he’s not exactly subtle about letting you know—no matter how many times you brush him off. the brothers, a chaotic band of hilarious idiots, quickly turn your semester into a whirlwind of antics. you bring the girls to the parties; they make sure everyone has a good time. it’s all harmless fun, right?

dean leans against the kitchen counter, sipping from an old faded mug labeled ‘world’s okayest president’. his eyes track you as you finish up wiping down the island. “y’know,” he starts, a smirk playing at his lips, “for someone who claims she’s not into greek life, you sure do spend a suspicious amount of time here.”

you shoot him a pointed side-eye, not missing a beat as you work, “that’s because your frat house would collapse into a biohazard zone without me.” pausing, you jab a finger in his direction, “you’re lucky i haven’t called the cdc.” 

dean’s smile is annoying, but something about those dimples and pretty green eyes makes your heart skip, “admit it—you like it here. you like me.” 

you snort back at him, waving him off. “i like not stepping on stale pizza crust when i walk through the living room. that’s about it.” 

dean sets his mug down—too carelessly, of course—and internally cringe at the drops of coffee that splatter onto the freshly cleaned counter. “nah,” he closes the distance between you, stopping just shy of invading your space. his voice dropping into that low, infuriatingly confident tone. “you like me. and you’re cute when you’re pretending you don’t.” 

“dean,” you sigh, crossing your arms and shifting your weight onto one hip, “the only thing cute about this place is the raccoon i saw digging through your trash last week. pretty sure he’s running for treasurer.” 

he lets out that boyish laugh that makes your stomach do all sorts of annoying fluttering, “you’re deflecting,” he coos. “but it’s okay,” his hands go up in mock defense, “i’m patient. i’ll win you over eventually.”

fighting a smirk you step away to collect your bag from the corner of the kitchen and sling it over your shoulder. “sure you will, mr. okayest-president. in the meantime, i left breakfast for you and your raccoon.” with that you give a nod and head towards the front door.

“thanks, sweetheart,” he calls after you, “don’t forget—you’re stuck with me.”

“we’ll see about that.”

idk irl frat boys r the worst but frat boy deannnn agh….. i might do more with this idk

[multiversefanfics]

Second Chance at Life.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Warning: Nothing but fluff Summary: You and Dean gave up the hunting lifestyle to raise a family, and Dean got his second chance at life. Word Count: 1,527

Dean never thought he'd get a second chance at life, that was until you told him you were pregnant. He's been wanting to quit hunting for a while, but never had a good enough reason to, until now.

You, Sam, and Dean were ending a hunt, some demon messing with people as if they had nothing better to do than to mess with innocent people. The three of you successfully killed the demon and went on your way. You were supposed to go out and celebrate like you normally do, but you were too busy in the bathroom throwing up.

"Sweetheart, you okay?" You heard Dean yell from the other side of the bathroom door.

You mumbled something, but it was quickly followed by the sound of you throwing up. Dean walked into the bathroom and saw you sitting on the floor, leaning over the toilet.

"Oh, baby, what's going on?" He grabbed a washcloth, wetting it. He placed it on the back of your neck.

"I feel like shit, every smell is getting to me." You groaned and laid down on the floor

"Sam!" Dean rubbed your back, waiting for Sam to show up.

"Woah, what's going on?" Sam looked down at you, then at Dean

"I don't know, you're the smart one. She said smells are getting to her and making her sick." Dean used another washcloth to dab your forehead.

"Forgive me, Y/N, but when was your last period?" You looked up at Sam

"No, no, I can't be." You looked over at Dean. "We were careful."

Dean avoided eye contact with you, trying his best not to look obvious about the fact that he hadn't worn a condom the past couple of times.

"Dean." You said sternly, he looked up at you and frowned.

"I'm sorry, I was in the moment, and a condom was the furthest thing from my mind." He rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm sorry."

"Go get me a damn pregnancy test, some ginger ale, and crackers." You glared up at Dean

He didn't say anything, he ran out of the bathroom, out of the motel room, and into the impala, without a second glance. You looked over at Sam and lifted your arms.

"Sam, can you please help me to the bed?" He nodded and scooped you up in his arms.

Sam walked over to the bed, gently laying you down. He pulled the blanket over your body, placed the trash can beside the bed, and sat down on the other one.

"How are you feeling?" Sam watched as you placed the washcloth on your forehead again.

"Honestly, a little better. Just hot." You adjusted yourself to get more comfortable.

A few minutes later, Dean walks through the door, placing the bag on the bed, he riffles through them looking for the pregnancy tests

"I didn't know which one to get or how many, so I got all of them." He took a couple of pregnancy tests out of the bag and handed them to you.

You giggled and took them all into the bathroom with you. Sam and Dean stayed in the main room. Dean sat down, rubbing his hands over his face, sighing loudly.

"Sam, for once in my life. I'm terrified." Dean looked up at Sam, who was already looking at Dean

"Don't worry, whatever the outcome, we've got this." Sam leaned over and patted Dean's arm

You came out of the bathroom holding that little plastic stick, hands trembling. You didn't speak, you didn't look up, you stood in the doorway staring at the two pink lines, Dean jumped up and crossed the room quickly to get to you.

"Well?" He inspected your face, looking for any sign of emotion.

"I'm pregnant." You mumbled, trying to convince yourself this wasn't a dream.

Dean's hands shakily rest on your cheeks, lifting your head to look at him. "It's going to be okay, we got this."

You stared up at him, a single tear falling down your cheek. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, but you also wanted to be happy. You and Dean were going to have a baby, then it hit you, how would you continue hunting with a baby? Tears started to well in your eyes, you stared at Dean a bit longer.

"I have to give up hunting." Your eyes shifted to Sam, then back to Dean.

"We have to give up hunting." Dean rubbed his thumb up and down your cheek

"Dean, this is your life. You can't just—"

"You're my life, and so is this baby. I may never get to have this again. I want this. I want you." You nodded against his hand.

***

A couple of months later, you were sitting on the floor in the baby's nursery, looking up at the walls that desperately needed to be painted. You looked down at the paint swatches in your hand, trying to find a color that screamed out to you. Dean wanted purple, Sam wanted yellow, but you. You couldn't think of a single color that worked.

"You're going to stress yourself out." Dean chimed in from behind.

You looked back to see him leaning against the doorframe, one foot crossed over the other. That man was a sight to behold, the way his hair rested on his forehead, the sparkle in his eye that he got when he looked at you, the way his lips curled into a smile every time you attempted to get something off a high shelf.

Dean always wanted to be needed; yeah, he had Sam, who needed him, but honestly, he knew Sam would be fine on his own. You needed Dean for much more, he kept you grounded while you did the same for him.

"I know, but I can't find a color that I like." You picked up the swatches, looking at them once more.

Dean pushed off the door and sat down behind you, wrapping his arms around your body. You smiled and melted into his body, letting out a relaxed sigh as you leaned your head on his shoulder. He placed soft kisses on your cheek and down to your neck.

"It's okay, we have a lot of time to figure this out." He reached his hand down and softly rubbed your belly.

This is all Dean ever wanted, a family of his own. You were so happy to be the one to give him that family. Dean felt your little girl move around under his hand, a wide smile spread across his face, and he tried to follow the movements of the baby. Suddenly, the baby delivered a swift kick to his hand.

"Hey, don't kick your dad." He gave your belly a gentle smack, to which the baby kicked again causing you to giggle.

"She's a feisty one." You rubbed your belly where she previously kicked

"Yeah, she gets it from her mama." Dean placed a kiss on your cheek and helped you up off the floor. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

You nodded and followed him to the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, wincing in pain. You never realized how heavy your belly was until this moment. Dean looked over at you and walks over to you.

"Turn around baby." You turn around.

Dean snakes his arms around your waist his hands resting under your belly, he gently lifts up, you instantly felt relief. You leaned your head on Dean's shoulder letting out of a sigh of relief.

"I read this in a book." He continues to hold you, after a few he starts to let go

"No, no no no, it feels so good baby please." He slowly lets your stomach go

"I'm sorry baby, but the bacon is burning." He walks over to the pan with bacon in it, taking it out, placing it on the plate.

You watched Dean continue to cook, he swayed his hips as he flipped the pancakes. You leaned against the counter admiring him, you rubbed your belly smiling to yourself. You couldn't help but feel at peace with the sight ahead of you. Dean looked over at you and smiles.

"Like what you see, sweetheart?" He leans over and places a kiss on your cheek

"Absolutely, I'm surprised I didn't get pregnant sooner. I mean have you seen you?" You smiled and brushed some hair away from his forehead

He chuckled and continued cooking, he called for Sam as you grabbed the plates, putting food on them. You placed the plates on the table and sat down beside Dean. The three of you sat there eating and talking about the nursery and what color it should be. You sat back, looking at both Sam and Dean.

This was the life you were meant to live, yeah you loved hunting, but you wanted nothing more than to settle down with Dean and have a family. Dean wanted the same thing maybe even more than you did, Dean went through a lot to get to where he is now, and he couldn't be happier.

You both finally got a second chance at life.

A/N: I hope you guys like this if you want to be tagged in future fics comment here or send me a message. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 🥰

Main Masterlist - Dean Winchester Masterlist

Taglist: @iwudbutnah @littlesoulshine @miss-marmalade @bettystonewell @cherryresidence @ambiguous-avery

[ribbonsncherries]

The Contract

Warnings: Lots of smut, P in V, Oral (both m and f receiving), BDSM!, Sexual Assault, Stalking, Angst, Alcohol mentions, Dominant and submissive plot, Drug Mentions, Virgin user, mentions of drugs.

Chapter 5

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x inexperienced! User

Summary: When her roommate and work partner gets sick, she is in charge of interviewing famous billionaire businessman Dean Winchester for his new bar's grand opening which leads to a passionate and tumultuous affair where she discovers his dark sexual desires, marked by control and dominance. The one catch? He doesn't do romance.

Based on the trilogy Fifty Shades of Grey.

(3818 Words)

Divider credits: @dollywons, @anitalenia, @selysie

(y/n) woke up alone once again. She stepped into her kitchen in some random clothes from the laundry that had never been folded because of last night. Although she enjoyed it, well, a little too much, there were some thoughts. The way he just tied her up like that aroused her in such a good way. But when she read the contract once more, there were lots of things she wanted to adjust, such as certain kinks she was not comfortable with. “Alright, two large pepperoni pizzas for the new official editors for Runway!” Jessica shouted while carrying pizzas. Castiel had promoted only a few people for a promotion, so they were moving up another floor, which meant having a high status in the company. Well, according to the workers, that is. There have been fewer and fewer people going up the ranks, so when Jessica and (y/n) found out, they decided to throw their small party. Soon, there will be a work party where a special speaker is going to be talking to ‘encourage’ the newly promoted workers. “Also known as the hottest new editors,” Jessica added while pouring in some wine. (y/n) laughed while she took the wine cup. 

“God, I still can’t believe it. I started at Runway as an intern, and now I'm a big-time magazine editor” (y/n), smirked, “I’ll take a sip to that sister,” They clanked their glasses together and drank the wine. “I’ll be right back. Go ahead and eat without me; I need to use the bathroom,” Jessica said. (y/n) nodded, and while Jessica went to the bathroom (y/n), took out her laptop and messaged Dean. 

“I’m having issues with the paperwork and need to discuss it with you.” 

Dean and Sam were working once again; they had just bought new land for them to produce wine. A new approach compared to their liquor products. They had decided to build a vineyard, barn, and all. “Okay, so for the house, we already contacted our usual contractors and workers. They sent us some blueprints for the barn and the house.” Sam was rambling along about the vineyard while Dean was yawning over it. Sam permitted Dean to help design the house and barn for the land. While planning the different rooms for the barn and house, Dean heard the ping from his computer. He saw the message coming from his laptop. He smirked as he responded. 

On (y/n)’s side, she was biting her fingernails in nervousness as she saw the notification in the corner of her laptop. He immediately responded.

I’d be disappointed if you didn’t; let’s discuss this over dinner tonight. 

She thought hard about it before responding. 

It is a contract, I prefer this to be an important meeting rather than dinner. 

Dean responded, agreeing.

Before the dinner took place, Dean had asked what she was wearing to the meeting, wondering if it was professional business attire. All she responded was that she was wearing a trash bag. Which gave him note that this was an actual business meeting and not a game she was playing.

(y/n) came up the elevator with the bright colored envelope holding her contract and the pen she was given when she first met him that still had the bright gold Winchester Elixirs logo on it. As she came up the elevator and the door opened, there he was waiting for her in a classy black on black suit. “Ms. (l/n).” He said. “Mr. Winchester, let’s get this going.” She said. He whispered in her ear when they were walking down the hall. “Ain't that one hell of a garbage bag you’re wearing,” he said. She smiled and scoffed, “Business meeting, seriousness please.” she said. They walked into an empty meeting room where he had just been with his brother earlier discussing blueprints. Now, here he was discussing a sex contract. “Super impressive. You outdid yourself,” she said, hearing the echoes of her heels. 

“This ain’t my first rodeo sweetheart.” She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him up and down with a serious face, thinking he meant he discussed this with other girls. He quickly took note and pushed her hair back. “I meant business meetings.” He said before taking a seat. (y/n) took a seat and opened her contract, taking out the Winchester Elixers pen. She’s done meetings before as well, so she treated it as one. Not taking in his charms or jokes. “If you could open your contract to page three, sections 15-20, “The submissive shall submit to any sexual activity demanded by the dominant and shall do so without hesitation or argument.’ I’m not going to be doing everything you say. I have my voice to weather I conset to whatever you want me to do.” 

“Affirmative.” He responded by crossing out certain words and writing down his terms. 

 “If you turn to page five, section named ‘soft limits’” she ordered. Dean turned to the page “With you.” he said reading over the small section seeing if he made any mistakes of somekind she might be calling out. 

“First of all i’m not doing any fisting, anal, vaginal, none. Cross it out.” She said, looking up at him. She looked into his eyes as he tilted his head. He nodded as his pen crossed it out. 

“In the same page “is the use of sex toys accebtable to the submissive. Dildos are a yes, vibrators are a yes, and spanking, whipping, and gags are ok. Cross out any clamps.” Dean nodded and crossed it out. She paused as she saw two women come in with some food, (y/n) covered the contract with the folder that it came in. They placed the plate of food and some wine upon her and Dean. “Thank you,” they both said. 

“It’s alright, only a few staff know what’s going on, they know,” he said. “Please continue.”

She took a sip of wine and continued, “Page five, there are some terms I need you to define.” Dean gestured for her to proceed. “Suspension?” she asked. Dean smirked, even thinking about it. “Hanging on ropes.” She made a face.“What reason do you have for that?” she asked. 

“For your pleasure.” She scoffed. “Really?” she said. “And also mine, something to consider,” he said. 

“Yeah, hard pass. Roleplay?” she asked. 

“We each take different roles and act them in the bedroom, such as a monster hunter and damsel in distress.” He explained. (y/n) nodded. “I’m ok with that,” she said. Dean smirked as she wrote down the definition on the contract for herself to keep. She turned to a different page, 

“Page 4, Section 2, 'Is bondage acceptable to the submissive?’ Rope is fine, leather cuffs, handcuffs, I’m not using tape, and please give an example what’s other?” She asked. Dean leaned back. “Cable ties,” he said. (y/n) smirked as she wrote down the example. “And can I just say how impressed I am that you take this business meeting very seriously? I’ll throw in a sweetener for you, sweetheart. Once a week, on a night of your choosing, we go on a date, like any other couple, to dinner, a movie, or whatever you want.” (y/n) smiled to herself. “I accept, thank you. That’s all I needed to discuss with you today. Thank you again for meeting with me.” She said, putting the contract in the folder, “I’ll make sure to look through the changes and make my decision by the end of tomorrow.” 

“You’re leaving?” he asked, getting up and walking towards her as she was still sitting down. “Yes,” she said. “Your body is saying otherwise, princess.” he came closer to her. “Your legs, the way you’re pressing your thighs together under the table.” His hand came to her arm, softly running over her skin. “Whenever I touch you. I can feel the hairs on your arm stand, along with goosebumps. You’re change in breathing, and you’re flushing…not because of the wine; it’s the adrenaline.” She was surprised she could tell all that. “Surprised you can tell all that,” she said, still looking ahead, not wanting to face him. Dean moved her hair to one side, revealing the skin on her neck. He leaned in “Do you know how hard it was for me to see you in this dress, and not wanting to fuck you over this table right now. Making it all foggy and wet from me fucking you.” He whispered in her ear. “Sweetheart, I already know you like the back of my hand.” She breathed in. “What did you want to do to me exactly?” She said. 

Dean removed his tie, making it loose. “I would help you out of that little dress of yours, only to see those white cotton panties with a wet patch from me. The I would bend you over on this table, and fuck the living hell out of you.” He said to her. She turned to him, finally meeting her eyes with his. “Thank you for you’re time, Mr. Winchester.” She said, getting up and walking out the door. Dean got up as well and met up with her outside, thanking one of his employees for bringing her coat and helping her put it on. Dean smirked at the staff while he led her outside to her car. “This is you?” he asked. (y/n) laughed, “Yeah, had her since college.” She said, looking at her beat-up car. Dean laughed straight in her face. “What’s so funny?” she asked. Dean finished laughing and looked at her, “For a new editor for a fashion magazine and classic rock chick, I figured you would drive somethin’ nice, not whatever this is,” He said, gesturing to her car. She scoffed, “Yeah, well, I’ll buy myself a car when the mortgage for my side of the rent is fully paid for, my bills are paid, and my insurance is paid for.” She said. Before she got in the car, Dean stopped her. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to keep you from leaving?” He asked. (y/n) smiled, “Good night, Dean.” She said softly. 

“When will you know?” he asked her. “I’ll know soon, by the end of tomorrow maybe.” She shrugged. She leaned in and kissed his cheek before getting in her car. “Why do I think you’re telling me goodbye Sound of Music style?” She laughed at his reference, “Cause I’m getting in my car and leaving?” She said. She waved her hand and said farewell like how the Von Trapp kids gestured it. She got in her car and drove home back to her apartment where Jessica was waiting. 

When she got home, she heard a bang in Jessica’s room that sounded like it was against the wall. Her heart dropped to her stomach; she grabbed a baseball bat they had in a corner and (y/n) was ready to strike. She opened the door to see Jessica and Sam in Jessica’s bed. “Oh my god!” Jessica laughed. (y/n) covered her eyes. “I am so sorry! Holy Shit!” She could hear the sounds of scrambling and footsteps. “You’re good now (y/n).” She opened her eyes and saw both of them panting, and their hair unraveled. “I didn’t think you would come home early. I assumed you were gonna stayed overtime at work.” (y/n) was still a little shocked; she nervously touched her hair. “I-I got let out early. I finished reviewing stuff.” She said. “I’m going to bed. Carry on. I’ll have my headphones on.” She said before leaving the room. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to get going,” Sam said to (y/n). Her put on his jacket while Jessica let him out. They both walked out of the apartment building and said their goodbyes. 

Jessica came back inside, shivering, wearing Sam’s jacket. “God, it’s freezing outside.” She giggled. “Hey…you ok?” She asked. (y/n) was out of it, from the contract to what he would do to her. She was shocked. “Yeah, I’m fine, just kinda tired, Jess.” (y/n) smiled. “Well, we need to see what we’re wearing tomorrow for the work party. So get some rest 'cause we are going shopping.” Jessica smiled. (y/n) collapsed on the couch and scoffed. “With what money?” she asked. “With Sam’s money, he gave me his credit card for me to spend as much as I want. God, I love him.” (y/n) smiled, “Do you love him…like really?” She asked genuinely. “Yeah..I think so…(y/n) I like him. A lot. And I know he’s rich and he’s that single gullible guy, but I don’t care about all that. He’s the most amazing guy I’ve dated; he’s like a gentle giant. A gentle moose if anything.” She giggled. “And trust me, I like it when he spoils me and stuff, but I’m able to communicate with him that sometimes it’s too much. But he told me that he was going to the party and that his brother was gonna speak at the work party and-” 

(y/n) was starstruck, one that Jessica had finally might’ve found the love of her life but Dean was the speaker at their work party. “Wait…I’m sorry, Dean is going?” she asked Jessica, who smirked. “I knew you would stop me at that part. Now you can see why I need you to shop with me so I can show off what Sam had, and you can show Dean what he’s missing out on.” She smiled. “I can’t do that. But I’m happy for you, Jess.” She smiled. “Well, I don’t care. We are going shopping because the dresses you have are all mine.” She said. 

“Ok, this one?” Jessica said, holding up a red one. “It can remind him of a pretty rose.” She added. (y/n) looked at it from afar. “Hmm, I feel like we need something that can bring out your hair and eyes,” she said. (y/n) grabbed a nice satin black dress with thin straps. “This one can bring attention to your body and a nice updo to show off your boobs to Sam.” Jessica smiled. “And that’s why we are editors to a fashion magazine.” She smiled. 

After Jessica tried on a few more dresses and finally chose the black one, it was (y/n)’s turn. She opened the curtain so many times, each dress was either too frumpy, too poofy, too old, too skimpy for a work party, but for a club, yes. “Ok, try this one.” Jessica went inside the dressing room. “God, Jess, I’m naked,” (y/n) said, covering herself up. “Relax, it’s not like I haven't seen you before. Turn around.” (y/n) did what she was told, and Jessica zipped her up. They came out of the dressing room (y/n)and saw the beautiful slick dark blue dress with little detailing. It made her chest pop and her legs look longer. “Dean will be drooling, trust me.” After they purchased their dress and ate some lunch, they began getting ready for the party. 

“Don’t put too much blush.” (y/n) warned her after last time. Jessica did a simple makeup look with some elegance to it. Simple eyeliner and lipstick make her face pop. (y/n)’s hair was left down with a small clip in her hair. “There, you’re ready.” Jessica had her blonde hair in an updo with some jewelry to match her eyes. As they arrived at the party, their work friends found them and immediately formed their little group. Sam and Jessica had finally introduced themselves as a couple, and their work friends were excited, especially Castiel. Everyone had gotten served a glass of wine, and before anyone drank it, Castiel came upon the podium. 

“Hello, my money makers.” Everyone laughed at his small joke. “First of all, I’m extremely honored and eternally grateful that I am your editor in chief. I’m just as excited as you to welcome our new workers who have been promoted. I’m extremely proud of every one one of you. As a magazine dedicated to the art of fashion, we take pride in shining a spotlight not only on the designers and the high-fashion moments but also on the workers who make it all happen. Your hard work, resilience, and creativity are the threads that hold the entire industry together. Thank you for your dedication. Thank you for your passion. And thank you for making the world of fashion as vibrant, dynamic, and meaningful as it is today. Now, it is my honor to introduce my brother from another mother, my friend, the man who made our October issue skyrocket, Mr. Dean Winchester.” 

Everyone began clapping, especially the girls who were fans of him and were clearly interested in him. (y/n) saw how they eyed him down as he came up on the podium. “Thank you, you weird dorky dude with angel wings.” Dean had found (y/n); she was wearing a dress that made his hands grip the podium, which made his knuckles white. “First of all, I want to congratulate all the employees who have been promoted. you have shown great skill and great sensability, and were obviously were able to keep up with everything has to be perfect guy over here.” Dean said, gesturing to Castiel. As he continued talking, one of the girls in front of (y/n) was whispering, “God, I wonder why he’s single. Look at those arms,” one whispered. “Yeah, he could choke me with hands all he wants,” the other said. (y/n) leaned in. “I heard he’s gay,” she whispered. The girl’s eyes widened as they continued to look at Dean, who was still talking. 

 “Second of all, I’m very proud and honored to be one of the reasons why Runway is skyrocketing, and I believe you owe this party to the two employees that made it happen.” Dean looked at the table (y/n) he was at with Jessica. He saw (y/n) clench her thighs while she bit her nails. “Ms. Moore and Ms. (l/n), you have done a wonderful job with the article and managed to keep Cas sane.” Jessica and (y/n) smiled as the people clapped for them. Dean could only stare at Dean and not pay attention to the people around them. Castiel was persuaded to come up to give them a small part adoration. So when Jessica shook Dean’s hand, it was (y/n)’s turn. As she shook his hand with a grip, she nodded. “I’ll do it,” she whispered. Dean gripped her hand a little tighter as he smirked and let the girls on their way. As the party erupted in a small dance, outside were cameras and paparazzi wanting a photo of Castiel or the Winchester brothers. “Mr. Winchester, can we get a photo?” Dean had dragged (y/n), who was in the corner and had his hand on her waist, and they took the photo. He positioned her to a right angle, and the picture was taken.

Jessica was taken to Sam’s nearby penthouse in the city while (y/n) and Dean went back to her apartment to have a little celebration of their own. 

(y/n) immediately moved away from the champagne bottle popping. The sounds of Led Zepplin and Metallica rang throughout the small apartment. Dean and (y/n) giggled at her reaction. He poured in the glass of champagne. “To celebrate your promotion and other things,” he smirked. (y/n) rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, other things,” she joked. Dean looked at her “roll your eyes at me again and I’ll smack that ass of yours.” (y/n) was taken aback “Oh.” she smirked. They clinked their glasses and drank the champagne. There was a buzz at the door. (y/n) wondered who it could be at this hour?” Dean took the glass from her hands and placed it on the table. 

“Come, I have something to show you.” He said, taking her hands. He led her outside, and a man had handed him the keys to a beautiful car. It was a nice, sleek black car and one of the newest models he could find. “Wow, it’s nice. Doesn’t seem like your style, you know?” She smiled, looking at it a little closer. Dean giggled. “It’s not sweetheart,” he said. He took her hands and placed the car keys in her palm. “Congratulations on your promotion (y/n).” 

She looked away from him and at the car in shock. “Dean…Dean, that’s a car.” She pointed out. Dean looked at the car, then back at her. “Congratulations, you just passed. That is a car.” He joked. “Dean..I-I can’t.” 

“Do you like it?” he asked. 

“What are you talking about if I like it? Dean, it’s beautiful. But I have a car.”

“Benny is lookin’ to get a price on it.” Allison rolled her eyes in frustration. Her car was taken away, and now she gets a whole new one. It was a lot to process at once. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, sweetheart?”

He took her in the house and locked the door. He sat on the couch and dragged her body across his lap. “You know why I’m doin’ this?” he asked her. (y/n) who was aroused, giggled, “Because I rolled my eyes.” 

“And is that polote to do to me?” he asked, gripping her hips. “No.” she chuckled. “Excuse me?” 

“No, sir,” she responded. Dean immediately pushed her dress to her waist and brought her underwear down, which made her whimper from the sudden cold air. He smacked her ass once. And again. She whimpered and moaned, very much enjoying this. He brought her underwear back and helped her up. She got on his lap and kissed him, which he immediately responded to by putting his hands on her waist and kissing her back. But he stopped and looked up at her. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Nothin’ remembered that I need some stuff to do in the office.” He said. He slowly took her off his lap and put on his coat. 

(y/n) sat on the couch as he put on his coat. “You ok?” he asked, touching her face. “Yeah… I just thought…” she went quiet. Dean made her look up at him. “I enjoyed tonight, I really did. I’ll see you at my place tomorrow, alright, sweetheart?” he said. (y/n) looked up at him and nodded. He kissed her forehead and let himself out. As he left, she looked down at the window as he drove away. She took a deep breath in and out before going to bed, wanting to forget how he had left her and to also remember the kiss they shared. 

Taglist: @applelovesposts @ladykitana90 @cevansbaby-dove @cleacc

A/N: Hey guys! So, first of all, thx for the support for the last chapter. I really appreciate y'all so much! Thank you for your understanding with my busy life. So right now, this chapter is kinda sucky cause I tried to make it for y'all in time. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. And I'll see you guys next time!

[killthewhisperingart]

Meet Me After Class

Pairing: Gym Teacher!Dean Winchester x History Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 790

Summary: Of course he's decided to bother you while you're grading papers.

Warning(s): Smut. Smut. Sex.

A/N: One of my friends challenged me to do this, so I finished this in one night. :3

I am an 18+ Blog.

You groan softly as you shake your head, marking another answer wrong on a students paper. You didn't understand, you had pushed the test back by a week to better help your students prepare, yet they didn't utilize any of the extra time correctly. You know for a fact that this student probably didn't know what class this was.

You knew once you passed these exams back, and your students saw their grades, you'd be their worst enemy.

You rub your hand down your face, popping your wrists before stretching backwards. Your back pops in a few places before you melt, dropping your arms and preparing yourself to get back to grading. A glance to the clock on the wall tells you that you've been in your classroom for an hour and a half since the final bell rang.

A knock at your classroom door startles you, a stray mark now on the essay question in bright red ink. You scoff, capping the pen before pushing out your chair, walking towards the door, your lanyard jingling with every movement.

Dean smiles, holding a bag of takeout. You look at it, before slowly dragging your gaze to his face, your hand on the door still.

"What's this?" You ask, your brows furrowed.

"Food." He says simply, stepping into the classroom. He's no longer in his usual Gym attire, having changed into his usual jeans and T-shirt, though the whistle still lingers around his neck. You think he probably went home, got food, and came back to work. "You know Food, right? You eat it." He teases.

You can't hold back your groan, rolling your eyes before going to your desk. He pushes the door closed behind him as he enters the room, jiggling the handle to confirm it's locked. You crash into your chair, and it rolls backwards. You take your lanyard off, tossing it onto the desk as you pick your legs up to set your feet on your desk, careful to not step on the papers.

"Thought we weren't supposed to put our feet on the furniture?" He taps your foot as he sits on your desk.

"We're not supposed to put our asses on tables either, but I'm not getting onto you about it right now." You snap halfheartedly, hand out as he puts a burger wrapped in tin foil onto your palm. Still warm.

He wastes no time in devouring his own burger, grease running down his fingers, no regard for the sauce on the corner of his mouth. You scoff out a chuckle, opening your own meal.

You both eat in silence, well, at least you do. He can't seem to stop himself from making obscene noises for his burger.

"You're always working," He finally comments, tossing the wrapper in the trash, wiping his face.

"Well, I actually have to *work* at my job, so." You grin sarcastically, tossing your trash at his face. He takes it in stride, catching it and tossing it into the trash.

"I work!" He defends himself.

"No you don't!" You guffaw. "You get paid to make students stay in shape, but you don't do the same."

"I work out regularly!" He points out. "My stamina is amazing."

"As if."

-

The desk is hard against your chest, your hands gripping the sides hard. The wood furniture scrapes against the floor harshly with every rough thrust from behind you. His jeans rub the skin on the back of your thighs as he fucks into you.

"What was that?" He asks, a cocky grin on his face as he positions his head next to yours. "What'd you say about my stamina?"

"Shut up-" You choke out, whining as you scrape your nails against the wood.

"I can't hear you." He teases, biting your ear lobe, tugging roughly. You almost squeal, but you clamp a hand over your mouth, knowing you couldn't possibly be the only two people left in the school.

He's so damn talkative, never knowing how to shut the fuck up and just fuck you.

You push yourself up, turning your torso to grab the whistle around his neck. His eyes widen as you jerk it forward to connect your lips to his. He eagerly returns your kiss, kissing you just as sloppily as he eats his food.

His thrusts turn sloppy, his chest stuttering with every shaky breath. His saliva drools into your open mouth, and eagerly you swallow.

His grip tightens on your hips, body shuddering one last time with three final deep thrusts. He stays seated within you, collecting himself, the whistle jingling as you let go.

"Fuck-" You mutter, kissing him one last time. "Maybe your stamina is fine."

"Just fine?"

"We'll have to test this again."

[supernatural-bias]

𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ notes: happy birthday to me! when this posts i'll officially be older, and celebrating by being cringe (writing this). i also love that picture of misha. it's him at my birthday party for real. he told me himself (lying)

↳ warnings: none!

↳ song: rock your body—justin timberlake

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• Special occasions like this are few and far between

• The Winchester family hadn't had a proper birthday in decades. While Dean clung to memories of gas station twinkies in replacement of a birthday cake, Sam remembered most of his birthdays with a sort of sad animosity. Up until walking out on his dad for Stanford and spending his birthday that year with Jessica, he hadn't had a single enjoyable birthday party. Maybe that was part of the reason he refused to let you feel the same way about your own birthday—even if none of you were kids anymore

• Worst case scenario, the world is ending again and you all have little time for delicacies. If that's the case, you'd get a quick pat on the shoulder from Dean, one excited bear hug from Sam, and very confused Cas wishing you the best of births before being told to continue packing the shotguns with salt rounds

• "With age comes responsibility, so keep loading those guns. Spider-Man said that."

• "For someone that watches so much trash tv, you know so little about media, Dean." You snorted at your friend, fingers nimmbly crushing salt into a line of rigid red shells before moving onto the next group

• "Shut up before I decide to give you your birthday noogies." He pointed a finger at you from across the room with a single raised eyebrow. Off to the side you saw Cas ask Dean what birthday noogies were not-so-quietly, and you struggled to hold back a laugh

• Even in the worst situations, they could always manage to make you smile

• Best case scenario, however, it's a free day. Nothing to do, no devils to fight, no ghouls to stop—nothing. Just you, the guys, and time on your hands that you all normally never have. So what better way to utilize it than with a little surprise party?

• Sam would be the most into the whole birthday party shtick. He'd insist that it was the least they could do for you after all the years on the hunt together, and even got Dean to budge after a few minutes of petty debating

• "It's stupid and cheesy, Sammy. We're grown adults. We've fought the devil beforr for christ's sake." Dean gave his brother the stink eye from his spot in the drivers seat. Groceries stores and Mom & Pop stores passed them by as they ventured into the nearest town, but neither of them paid attention to their blurred surroundings

• "Come on Dean." Sam twisted his torso and turned to face him fully. "Don't tell me you don't remember the look on their face last month when we brought them back a souvenir from our hunting trip in Alabama. You would have thought we brought them a new car. Besides, this is the one chance we've had in a while to actually celebrate something." Sam's eyebrows tilted up as he recalled the memory, shooting a knowing look at Dean's side-profile

• "So what? I say we just tell them happy birthday like a regular person and call it a day." Dean grumbled

• "Is that why you're driving in the nearest direction of the bakery here?"

• Dean didn't respond

• "That's what I thought."

• "Shut your pie-hole or I'm kicking you to the curb."

• Once the boys get back to whatever new place you all are holed up for that week, a couple of crinkled bags in hand, they call on Cas to help out with setting up whatever decorations Sam had forced Dean to throw in the cart

• Cas didn't take nearly as much convincing to partake in the setting up of festivities, but he certainly did need a lot of it explained

• "I thought angels were familiar with the concept of birthdays?" Dean asked at one point while watching Sam pull part of a cake out of the oven. His hand was slapped away when he went to grab at it, and he glared at his younger brother momentarily

• "We are." Castiel's gruff answer came shortly. "But we stopped keeping count after the first couple thousand years. And it was never done like—" He flicked the party hat atop his head curiously, "—this."

• "What did you guys do to celebrate?" Sam asked while popping the lid to a can of store bough frosting open

• "Pray."

• "Naturally." Dean rolled his eyes sarcastically. A blanket of silence fell over the room after that as Sam set out to frost the first part of the cake. Then—

• "Hey. How come none of you are wearing paper hats?"

• "Oh, trust me Cas. It'll mean a lot more to them if you were the one wearing it." Dean's grin was borderline evil as he looked at the angel

• It's safe to say that you laughed the hardest you had in a while once seeing Cas looking so hesitant in a mini cone hat

• Overall, it's the best birthday— the best day —that you've had in a long time

• You didn't need much, and as a hunter you'd come to expect almost nothing. But knowing that your friends— the short tempered, college dropout, otherworldly friends that they were —took it upon themselves to set all this up for you was the emotional equivalent to a punch in the gut. A lovely emotional punch in the gut

• "If you start crying, I'll leave." Dean snapped at you when you eventuallyvoiced how much this meant to you. But the threat was empty, and you all knew it

• Sometime during the party, you had managed to wrestle a paper hat of his own onto his head, and how it sat on the side of his head like a crooked unicorn horn. Occasionally he'd reach for it as if to take it off, then lower his hand with a small smile

• "Shut the fuck up and give me a group hug, Dean." You grinned with teeth, gesturing at him to stand up

• "Wait, no, I take it back that's worse."

• "I will kill you, Winchester. I swear I'll do it."

• You ended up getting your group hug that day, even if it took Castiel trapping Dean between you and him to get him to stand still

• "I hate it here." He griped with a groan. Sam could only laugh as be watched his brother struggle in Cas's iron grip, and said angel was smiling a bit to himself. You felt your heart swell; even if the look on Dean's face was downright murderous

• "Smile or I'm egging Baby on my birthday night." You said before setting the camera's timer and holding it up above you all

• "You wouldn't—"

• "Watch me."

• All four of you have your own copy of the photo from that night, kept in your seperate pockets and bedside table drawers. To this day you find yourself smiling when you look at it, and even if you'd never know it, so do they

[illumose]

Please, don’t go — d.w

⋆⭒˚.⋆ PAIRINGS : female reader ( 2nd person ) x dean winchester

⋆⭒˚.⋆ CONTENT : angst if you squint, fluff, happy ending

⋆⭒˚.⋆ SUMMARY : You weren’t supposed to stay that long with the Winchesters.

masterlist

author’s note : like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this little piece of writing

These past months, you grew accustomed to living with the Winchesters in the shitty motel of Colorado’s smallest town. It became the base of your small operation. You loved sharing meals with Dean — probably because it meant ordering pizza and drinking beer. You even shared a bed in a tiny room down the hall. It was not as comfortable as you had hoped, however, it meant cuddling with him, every single night.

The hunt wasn’t supposed to last this long. It appeared to be a simple case of werewolf. Yet, as time passed, Sam suspected that another monster was going on killing sprees. A monster that disguised itself as a werewolf. For months, you tracked him across the state, often encountering other malicious beings. A ghost, a wendigo, a lone vampire. Today, it all came to an end. Sam found a pattern in the shapeshifter’s selection of victims. Somehow, it had a thing for blondes, whether man or woman. He posted as bait while Dean and you waited with a silver blade.

Now, you were back at the motel, packing all your belongings inside a duffel bag. Dean watched you like a hawk, his lips tight. In another world, in another dimension, it would have ended differently. Nonetheless, you knew that the Winchesters worked solo. They had been functioning this way for years. Dean, especially, did not become attached to anyone. Never. He hooked up with random girls in bars that he’d never set foot in again. He’d flirt with waitresses whose names he’d forget in seconds. You were just another girl he crossed paths with. The next day, he’d have forgotten you.

"Stay," he declared, his eyes fixed on your back.

"What?"

"C’mon, you know what I’m talking about." He looked nervous, almost as if he never expected those words to leave his mouth. A mouth you dreamed to kiss everyday.

"Well, I don’t."

He walked up to you and sat on the unmade bed. He looked you right in the eyes. "I didn’t think I’d grow to love you, but I did. I don’t want to go back to the bunker and wake up alone. I don’t want to watch trash TV without your little comments. Fuck… I can’t see myself getting in the Impala and driving away from you. Your place is with us. With me."

He seemed so sincere. He litterally wore his heart on his sleeve. You were dumbfounded. How did you not see this coming, you wondered? You spent so much time afraid of being rejected that you never considered the other option. Dean liked you.

"Please, don’t go. I love you. And I feel like a teenage boy going through his emo phase."

You sat next to him, your hand immediately finding its way on his knee. "Good thing I love you too. It would’ve been awkward."

He grabbed your face and pressed a chaste kiss on your lips. "Sam’s at the window, with his goofy smile," he whispered in her ear. You let out a laugh. You knew that you owed all of this to his younger brother, a firm believer in the power of love.

"Let’s give him a show," you suggested, grabbing Dean by the collar and kissing him with fervor.

Sam withdrew almost instantly from the window with the irresistible urge to throw up and his eyes full of happiness for his brother.

[hawkeyetrained]

All Over Him

Dean Winchester x reader (established relationship)

Other Characters: Sam Winchester

Warnings: language (like 1 i think), mention of blood and cuts, stitches

Summary: The boys come back from a hunt injured. Dean gets a little jealous when Sam gets the attention first.

Word Count: 853

Sam, Dean, and I were working a small salt and burn case in a town about three hours from the bunker. “Something easy.” Dean had said when we packed up to go. I was in charge of research this time, needing more time off from hunting due to a messed-up shoulder I got on the last case. Long story short, the witch was stronger than we thought, and I was thrown through a wall, my shoulder taking the entire hit. Dean instantly benched me until I could work without wincing from pain, leading to my curled-up position on the motel bed with the TV on and some random movie playing, even though I was reading my own book, relaxing in my pajamas with one of Dean’s flannels wrapped around me and rolled up to my elbows.

So, when the front door slammed open and two mountains of men came barreling in, both bleeding but one far worse than the other, I was on my feet. “The hell happened?” I half yelled, shutting the door, and throwing my hair into a bun in order to help my boys.

“Damn ghost got the jump on Sam. Took a shard of glass to the shoulder, got hit a few times.” Dean dropped his baby brother onto his bed as I grabbed the first aid kit from my bag.

“Go take a shower so I can see your cuts, De.” I told him, already starting to work on helping Sam. I sat myself beside Sam, pulling his shirt down in order to see the cut on his shoulder from the glass. “Damn Sammy. You’re gonna need stitches.” I quickly grabbed the needle and thread before handing Sam the whisky bottle from the bedside table. “Gonna need it.” Sam took a large swig from the bottle then handed it back, allowing me to pour a little on the wound to clean it.

Sam hissed in pain and his fingers twisted into the back of Dean’s shirt I was wearing. I started the stitching and made sure to be as careful and gentle as possible, keeping the stitches straight and even like my mother had taught me years ago. Dean had come out of the bathroom around the time I had moved to cleaning the cuts on Sam’s face. The older Winchester got dressed in a pair of sleep pants and a simple grey shirt. He had a glare in his eyes that was directed to his little brother and that he didn’t have when they came in.

“Ok.” I finished cleaning the last cut and picked up my trash, being careful to keep all the little pieces of glass in the tissues. “You’re good to go. Be careful with those stitches so you don’t rip one.”

“Thanks.” Sam released his hold on my shirt before he stood and took off for the bathroom to shower. I tossed my trash away then moved over to the other bed with the oldest Winchester laying across from it, favoring one side of his body.

“Dean? Can I look you over?” I asked as I sat down with my supplies.

“Why? You and Sammy looked pretty comfy over there. Sure, you don’t wanna go check on him again?” Dean had a venomous tone to his voice.

“The hell his wrong with you?” I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest. “You never let me check you first. It’s always Sam so I’m used to going to him first. He had glass in his wounds.”

“You didn’t have to be so close to him.” My eyes widened at his words. He was jealous of his little brother. “He didn’t need to be holding you.”

I took this time to gently toss a leg over his hips and sit in his lap. “Dean, baby? Sammy is like the big brother I never had. He was hurting and needed something to ground him.” My hands slid up his chest as I spoke, drawing a sigh from his lips. “Can I check your wounds now?” Dean nodded ever so slightly.

I repeated the process with Dean, getting him to sit and take a drink of whiskey to mask some of the pain that will come from cleaning his wounds. He didn’t let me move more than a few inches in order to get supplies, keeping me in his lap as I cleaned his cuts along his face and then checked the ribs he had been holding. “So, what’s the diagnosis doc? Will I live?” Dean asked as I finally packed away my things.

A smile crossed my lips. “Eh, there’s a possibility, but that all depends.”

“On what?” Dean played along.

“On if you take me out to breakfast tomorrow morning, just you and me.” Dean pulled me down to lay with my head on his chest and his arms around my hips, the blanket resting just above our legs.

“Of course.” He placed a long kiss to my head as Sam re-entered and flicked the lights off for bed. “Love you.”

“Love you too, De.” I snuggled into his side further as sleep engulfed me.

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1