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waynes-multiverse · 9 months ago

Note

Ok hear me out. I got this idea after the episode of Dean getting his "virginity" back and hooking up with the porn star when he's digging through her dresser and finds the DVD of her ANYWAY

Best friend Dean who's been pining after you for sooo long but doesn't want to fuck it up and lose you. You're hanging out when you ask him to go grab something from your room and he's digging through your drawers looking and accidentally comes across some lingerie and now it's days later and he's so hot and bothered cuz he can't think of anything else (the boy has a serious panty kink lets be honest) and you catch him in your room going through your drawers again and OH

A/N: As I warned y'all, this is a longer DD because, well, the prompt was long, so it's not really my fault. All that backstory took on a life of its own, but I think no one will be mad about it 😅 Again, I had tons of fun with this one! You'll see 🤣

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSWF, a ridiculous heat wave, friends to lovers (Wayne's Version), crack, a panty kink, some sneaky fluff, and some hot lovin' aka smut (oral f & face sitting)

Word Count: 4.5k (whoops)

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles

Cruel Summer

“You open the beaches on the 4th of July, it’s like ringing the dinner bell for Christ’s sake…”

As Jaws flickered across the screen in the Dean Cave, the green-eyed hunter adjusted himself in his seat. Usually, he had perfect control over himself and his feelings for you.

But on some days – like today – when you sat right next to him on the couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and some short sweatpants, fanning yourself with an old magazine of Busty Asian Beauties as beads of salty sweat collected on your forehead and trickled down your neck, you made it hard for him.

“God, I’m so hot,” you sighed exhaustively and sunk further into the couch cushions, lifting your shirt from your sticky skin to let some cool air to your boobs as a heat wave ravaged through Kansas.

Painfully hard.

“Dean?” You pouted with your best puppy dog look at your best friend.

“Huh?” Dean was in trance, watching you more than the movie, always on the edge of getting caught one of these days.

“We’re out of Sour Patch Kids. I have more in my nightstand. Can you get them for me please?” you asked sweetly. “I don’t wanna move. I might actually die from heat exhaustion.”

Dean sighed and wordlessly rose from his seat. He knew you always kept an array of salty and sweet midnight snacks in your room in case you got hungry and didn’t want to wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Moreover, he was grateful for the break. God knows he couldn’t stand to be around you any longer, or he would’ve been too tempted to rip your clothes off and really make you sweat.

I’ll show her a damn heat exhaustion, he thought with a scoff.

Hastily grabbing the desired snack, his green eyes then caught something red and lacy sticking out from the first drawer of your dresser. The hunter knew the decent and honest thing would’ve been to just keep moving and leave your godforsaken room.

Turn around, as Bonnie Tyler sang. But for some reason, his bright eyes couldn’t resist, his curiosity overtaking him.

Dean opened the drawer with the intention to push the naughty little clothing item back into its place and out of sight. Get rid of the temptation, so to speak. It sounded like the perfect loophole. He got to touch it and look at it, but for a very heroic and noble reason – not because he was a creepy perv, violating his best friend’s privacy.

On some level, Dean knew he’d never stand a chance with you. He wasn’t good enough. He had so much baggage all his suitcases wouldn’t even fit into the bunker.

A damn touch of a pair of panties you weren’t even wearing was all he would ever get from you.

But then his fingers touched the soft and see-through material, his pads tracing every delicate scarlet thread with precision and care. It was game over for him then and there, cursing himself internally for not resisting harder as his cock twitched joyfully in his jeans.

Dean had laid his eyes on you the second you strolled with swinging hips into that diner in Wichita for your very first case together, a werewolf hunt six years ago. And he had managed to get by without an incident for years since then, even when you moved into the bunker, being rather proud of that achievement. He never wanted to lose you as a friend and didn’t dare to cross a line. Ever.

Recently, though, it became more difficult to keep his distance and not let his thoughts wander. His feelings were magma that slowly had filled a volcano over the years. Each time you did something sexy or sweet or goofy or smart, another drop was added. And now, that damn fire mountain was overdue for an eruption – no thanks to that stupid heat wave.

“Thanks,” you said absentmindedly as the hunter handed you the candy but didn’t settle back down. Instead, he stood behind the sofa and leaned his hands on the backrest.

What you didn’t know, though, was that Dean was sporting quite the boner and wouldn’t dare to come into your line of view. He was surprised he could even walk up straight and not like a caveman early in the evolution.

A hunter gathering panties.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” he told you with a somber clear of his throat. As the fan carried a breeze of your perfume to his nose, his grip tightened on the couch.

You turned in your seat and looked over your shoulder at him, raising a surprised brow. “Already? But the movie’s not over.”

“Yeah, I’m beat,” he excused and tried his best not to look strained. He forced a tight smile to his lips while his little dude celebrated Spring Break in his jeans. “‘Sides, we’ve seen Jaws like a million times now, Y/N.”

It was a cherished summer tradition between the two of you, watching it every 4th of July.

“I guess so.” You shrugged disappointedly, watching your best friend retreat to his room. Truth was, you loved spending time with Dean and held those little traditions close to your heart.

The Winchesters were your family, the only one you ever had. And while some families wore matching pajamas on Christmas morning, you watched the first two Die Hard movies. You would watch Dean’s favorite horror movies on Halloween. Sixteen Candles and High Fidelity on your birthday, Tombstone and The Great Escape on Dean’s, and some lame-ass foreign language documentaries that you both snored through on Sam’s.

Valentine’s Day was a dreaded non-holiday for all three of you, but for the past four years, someone would leave a box of chocolate in front of your door. The salted caramel ones would always be missing, and it always came with the same Forrest Gump quote:

I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is.

You knew the anonymous someone was Dean, and you knew he meant it as a joke. Still, you clung to those little traditions. They might seem silly and stupid to some, but to you, they were your lifeline in a world full of darkness.

So, you felt rather saddened Dean didn’t seem to honor them anymore. It wasn’t just Jaws, either. He’d been withdrawing from you for a while, and you didn’t understand why.

Unbeknownst to you, the green-eyed hunter had kept a lacy souvenir from your room.

Now, Dean had managed to avoid you for four days. Every night since his stealthy excursion, he would lie in his bed with your stolen panties in one hand and his throbbing length in the other, feeling goddamn pathetic for sinking so low.

It was probably so low that even his memory foam mattress would remember it.

With closed eyes, he then imagined how the perky globes of your ass would look like covered in crimson lace. How you would stretch out on his bed on all fours, with your ass high in the air and wiggling in front of him. How his fingers would push the wicked material aside to push into you, taking you deep and hard while you moaned his name.

As he ruined tissue after tissue, the guilt would wash over him as soon as he was done. Call it a post-nut epiphany.

Dean knew it was wrong to think those things. He knew he only made it harder for himself to ever look you into the eyes again. Hell, he barely could do it now, even though a part of him audaciously wondered what other treasures were hiding in that drawer of yours. And more pressingly, what ultimate wealth he would find beneath your clothes. If your lingerie was gold, he’d be a creepy-ass dragon sitting on it.

So, Dean tried to avoid you as best as possible. Mostly because, well…

“God, fuck me,” you groaned exhaustively and opened the refrigerator door, leaning against it as the refreshing cold hit you from behind. On top of that, you held a big bag of frozen peas to your sweaty chest. You already wore the bare minimum – some short denims and a white tank top, your hair up in a messy bun.

“I swear underboob sweat is the worst. Just be glad you don’t have tits,” you complained. “Guys, seriously, can we invest in an AC? This heat wave is killing me! This bunker is like one giant oven…”

You watched as Dean squirmed in his seat as he ate his cereal, looking as uncomfortable as you. Surely, the boys were suffering just as badly during those sweltering temperatures, already forgoing the usual flannels and opting for plain t-shirts instead. How they were still wearing jeans was beyond you. When you first moved in, you protested against Dean’s suggestion of Naked Tuesdays, but these days, you were actually giving it a second thought.

“Well, I’m gonna drive to Kansas City today and see if I can get us an AC. Apparently, they’re all sold out, but I figured maybe with a bit of flirting and some cleavage, I can still get us one,” you explained your plan with a bright smirk and wiggled your eyebrows. “What d’you guys think, huh?”

Dean then abruptly banged his fist on the table, spilling some milk from his bowl on the surface. “For God’s sake, Y/N!”

You frowned in confusion at his unexpected outburst. “What’s up with you? Are you having a heat stroke?”

“Flirting, really?!” the hunter barked, his brow shaped into a deeply furious v.

“What’s wrong with that? Double standard much? You do it all the time to get shit,” you countered and watched his jaw clench in anger.

“I do-... not,” he remarked snappily with a fierce finger drilling into the table, clearly lacking a good argument. Sam cleared his throat in agreement with you, but that only earned him a glare. “And Jesus fucking Christ, would it hurt you to put on some goddamn clothes? You’re not even wearing a bra!”

“Did you not hear my tits rant just now? Of course I’m not! ‘Sides, those boobs are gonna get you an AC, so be a little more grateful to them,” you retorted, annoyed with his attitude. You’d think of all the people in this world, Dean Winchester would understand. (And maybe even appreciate it.) “And how can you even tell, huh?”

“‘Cause science, Y/N! You’re literally cooling your tits! What did you think was gonna happen, huh? Nipples!” he vented outrageously. “This ain’t a strip club!”

“It’s 102 degrees, Dean!” you argued, throwing your arms up. “Look, if I could, I’d even go naked, alright? It’s fucking hot!”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Dean shook his head and stormed out of the kitchen without any further comment.

Confused, you blinked at the younger Winchester. “What’s up with him?”

But Sam only shrugged, shaking his head. “Uhm, I don’t know,” he replied, although he could take an educated guess, suspecting his brother’s feelings for you as the culprit.

“Well, alright, I’m going to Kansas City,” you decided without wasting another thought on the older Winchester’s strange behavior. “Text me if you guys need something. I can pick it up on my way home.”

Dean knew he was in deep trouble as his bow legs bolted down the bunker’s hallways. He tried so hard to keep it together, but when he saw you, half-naked and panting in front of the fridge, he quite literally lost his coolness in this goddamn heat wave.

The green-eyed hunter understood a thing or two about torture, but this was the worst of all. He’d rather have a demon repeatedly peel off his skin in hellfire than endure a day more of this fucking madness.

If the temperatures didn’t drop soon, it would be a cruel summer ahead of him.

As Dean heard the door to the garage close, he knew you’d left for your trip and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. At least he’d get a few hours of peace.

With the best intentions, he strolled to his bedroom, but as he passed your room on his way, he found the door ajar. Whatever good motives he had up until this point, went quickly out the window right then.

His hand twitched at the thought of more riches, worse than any trigger finger and competing with a California earthquake, and well, so did the dick in his jeans. It was an addiction at this point, an obsession he couldn’t resist nor get rid off. The fact that it was forbidden and wrong only made it even more appealing. The apple in the garden of Eden.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t an anonymous support group for this kind of sickness.

As unbearable shame and guilt collected in his stomach like rainwater in the gutter, his eager hands rummaged through your dresser drawer. There was purple lace and black satin, navy G-strings and white Brazilians. It was never ending, and the hunter couldn’t stop as he picked up each item and let his fantasies roam wild.

God, the things he wanted to do to you were as colorful as your rainbow full of underwear.

“Dean?!”

The green-eyed hunter froze in his place, a white lace panty still bunched up in his large palm. The hair in the back of his neck stood up in shock, a part of him refusing to turn around at the sound of your voice. He was caught red-handed, and he knew it.

“What are you doing in my room?” you prompted, suspiciously cocking an eyebrow. It looked fairly obvious what your best friend was up to, but you didn’t want to accuse him right away, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Frankly, it was quite unbelievable.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dean replied and swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held up his hands like a criminal during an arrest, the evidence still in his grasp.

“Well, it looks like you’re snooping through my lingerie,” you pointed out bluntly.

Dean nodded, guilt-ridden and reluctant. “I can explain.”

“Good,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m waiting…”

“Right, uhm…”

“Oh, before you scramble for an answer, you should know, though, that I’m aware a pair of red lace panties is missing, and I know the washer didn’t eat them,” you said and raised an expectant brow.

You had a feeling your pervy best friend was behind the mystery of the missing item. Now you knew for sure.

“Man, I always knew you were a kinky son of a bitch, but this is a new level, Dean,” you scolded.

Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor in shame, scratching the nape of his neck. “Look, uhm, there’s no good excuse. I know I fucked up here. I’ll sleep in a motel tonight until I find my own place. You can stay here with Sam, alright? I’ll move out and won’t bother you anymore.”

As he tried to brush past you, you blocked his exit and grabbed his arm. “So, you’re gonna leave? Just like that?”

“What other choice do I have? I don’t wanna make you more uncomfortable,” he stated without glancing at you once. He couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes and see the disappointment and disgust there. “I know what I did was wrong.”

“Oh, so wrong,” you agreed. “I just figured you wouldn’t run away like a coward and take your punishment like a man, you know? Aren’t you at all curious what I’m wearing right now?”

That was when Dean’s juniper eyes slowly wandered to you and caught your gaze for the first time. You smirked as his breathing became heavy and his look darkened and filled with lust. It seemed like he wanted to rip your clothes off with his goddamn bare teeth like a wild animal.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or if I’m dreaming,” he admitted, his deep voice part harsh swallow and part nervous chuckle.

“Neither,” you said, biting your bottom lip.

Carefully, you leaned closer, your hands reaching up to cup his scruffy cheeks. Noses nuzzled as your lips ghosted against his with a daring grin. You wouldn’t go further; it was up to Dean to make that final decision.

And then, as no more than a mere second ticked by on the clock, the hunter crashed his lips against yours in a kiss so scorching it made the current heat wave look like an ice age. If you thought you were hot before, now it felt like you were burning in a wildfire.

Dean roughly pushed you against the door, his kiss all teeth and tongue in an uncontrollable frenzy. His dick was hard and thick, straining against his jeans and rubbing along your thigh. Pantingly, you gasped for air and grabbed his hand, guiding it down your body and into your shorts.

“Feel that?” you asked mischievously as his fingers dug through your soaked folds and collected the arousal he caused. A wanton growl left his plush lips. “All for you, baby. You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”

“Shit, yeah, so bad…” Dean rasped huskily against your throat as he worshipped his path down your body, forcing your shirt up till his wet tongue rolled over your pert and still cold nipple.

“Gonna make it up to me, huh? Show me how sorry you are?” you prompted, your fingers raking through his sandy blond and soft hair, eliciting a groan from him every time you tugged a little harder.

Teeth pinched your skin, tongue cherished your taste, and lips left your throat bruised. It was equal parts hot, sweaty, messy, naughty, dirty, and sticky as your bodies rutted against one another, looking for dire release.

With swollen and plumper than before lips, he came back up for air and found your eyes. He kissed you with heated passion once more as if he couldn’t resist to touch you over and over again. He had to restrain himself to be able to speak.

“So, uhm, you sure about this?” Dean asked between labored breaths with an insecure gleam in his green eyes. “‘Cause if we go further, I don’t think I can stop. And I don’t mean just this time but ever… If you want this to be a one time thing, you gotta tell me, sweetheart, so I can mentally prepare myself. I mean, I’ll take what I can get, you know? Not that I care either way… Well, that’s not true. I do care. A lot… But, you know, you’re you, and I’m me, so I’m not delusional. I know there’s no way you would–”

You interrupted his babbling with a kiss, causing the hunter to lose his words. You looked deeply into his eyes and offered him a small smile of comfort.

“Dean, listen to me, okay? ‘Cause this is very important,” you urged, your hands gripping his shirt tightly.

He nodded, gulping anxiously. “O-Okay.”

“You’re incredible,” you said and watched him inhale sharply at your words, blinking at you in disbelief. “Absolutely fucking bonkers incredible. You’re right – you’re you. And thank God you are, because you’re the best, funniest, smartest, kindest, and goddamn hottest man I’ve ever met. I’m tired of you not seeing that. As my boyfriend, I really need to you to see that, alright?”

As Dean pensively took in your words, his brow began to furrow. “Boyfriend?”

The corners of your mouth rose to a beam. “Yeah, boyfriend,” you confirmed. “That’s what you want, right? ‘Cause I’d really like that, too.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah… That’s what I want.” Dean nodded eagerly before another swallow followed. “I mean, among other things…”

You bit your lip, smirking. “What other things?”

“Well, uhm…”

Dean didn’t finish his sentence, his lips impatiently claiming yours instead. He pressed you hungrily back against the door, massive hands sliding down your sides till they hooked into the hem of your denim shorts and ripped them down to your ankles, leaving you only covered in teal lace. He growled shamelessly at the sight, his thick digits eagerly diving inside.

“Wanna be inside you,” he groaned into your ear, thumbing furiously at your clit. “Every hour of every day…”

“We can do that,” you agreed with a giggle, your arms locking around his neck, fingers carding through his hair in the back.

“Wanna feel your mouth around my–” The last word was muffled as he ravaged your neck, but you understood where he was going with this.

“You can do that,” you said with a smile.

“And fuck, I want you to ride my face,” he declared. That demand left you speechless, making even Dean stop for a minute and look at you. “Too far?”

You shook your head and smirked. “I can do that.”

Before Dean’s mind could fathom your words, you shoved him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress. When you stood before him, slotted between his muscular legs, his gaze trailed up and down your body, memorizing every beautiful curve. As your fingers curled into the waistband of your panties, however, the hunter stopped you.

“Leave ‘em on, sweetheart. Don’t you dare take those off,” he told you, his hands rapaciously reaching out to you.

You played with the hem of your top and smirked, your tongue licking over your lips. “What about this? On or off?”

“Off,” he shot back faster than a bullet leaving a barrel.

“You first,” you demanded and grinned. “Remember, this is still your punishment.”

“God, I love getting punished,” Dean mumbled and slipped out of his shirt. He then swiftly shimmied out of his jeans, discarding each item carelessly around the room.

He then took a deep breath as he tugged the waistband of his boxers, his erection already fighting its way out. “Well, here goes nothing,” the hunter said and pulled his underwear down.

You tilted your head to see his hard cock from a better angle as it sprang against his stomach. Your lips parted in anticipation, wondering what he’d taste like on your tongue and how deep you’d be able to take him. You guessed there’d be a struggle ahead, considering how huge and wide he was.

“Oh, I would not call that monster nothing,” you commented with a scoff, your pussy throbbing with need. “Explains all that BDE.”

Dean blushed. It was cute to watch. “Thank you.”

Giggling, you removed your shirt and tossed it at his face, blinding him for a second. You used that momentum to slide onto the bed and straddle his torso. As his eyes finally found you again, he almost choked on his spit when he gazed up at your perfect tits above him. A primal grunt escaped his throat.

With a mesmerized sparkle in his eyes, his hands trailed up your body and cupped your breasts, massaging them roughly as your panties grew damper by the minute. He then pulled you down to his lips and kissed you breathless before he left them with a boyish smirk on his freckled face.

“Hop on, sweetheart.”

And as if his words hadn’t been enough motivation, his hands wandered to palm your ass and hauled you closer to his mouth. He was an impatient one – or maybe he’d waited years for this and was finally tired of it.

Your knees sunk into the mattress on either side of his stubborn head. His fingers dented your flesh as they grabbed onto your thighs. Yours held onto the headboard for support. You tried not to look down, because then you’d see his big lopsided and full of excitement grin.

The same one he had when you found a diner in Kentucky that advertised the biggest burger in America (it wasn’t). The same one he had when he thought he had run into a member of Metallica at a gas station outside of Phoenix (he didn’t). The same one he had when you and Sam gifted him his own beer brewing station for his last birthday (which tasted horrible, but neither you nor Sam had the heart to tell him).

And now, he had that same grin when he was about to be with you.

As your pussy dripped above him, Dean couldn’t hold back his lewd groans any longer. You didn’t even have to lower yourself; he just dragged you down onto his face all to eagerly. His fingers swiped your panties to the side, and before you could even adjust your grip on the bedpost, his tongue darted into your soaked channel as deeply as he could and sucked you goddamn dry.

With several whimpers, you clenched around his wet muscle. If you were water in the desert, he was parched and drinking to survive.

His nose was buried in your folds, rubbing deliciously against your clit as he lapped your pussy in a vicious attack that left you squirming and moaning to a pornographic degree above him. Because Dean was just that – pure porn.

Instinctively and irresistibly, you ground your cunt against him, the vibrations of his keen groans against your sensitive flesh rocking you to the edge of your climax. He ate you out and devoured you like that damn gigantic burger in Kentucky. And as you dared to blink down and watch him in action, he had the audacity to devilishly smirk up at you with the crinkles around his green eyes alone, gauging your every reaction to his touches as if you were a goddamn movie on a silver screen.

You trembled and quivered and screamed as your orgasm electrified every molecule in your body. You white-knuckled the wood in your grip, your body only held up by Dean’s strong arms because God knows your weak legs were useless now.

As wave after wave washed over you, Dean drank every drop of yours, his tongue never getting enough of your taste. The sounds that filled the room were carnal and obscene.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed blissfully and lifted off his face and captured his swollen and red lips in a grateful kiss, your palms finding purchase on his broad shoulders. Your drenched and sensitive cunt settled on his thighs as an egregiously large erection poked your belly and tempted you further.

Dean smirked up at you, all satisfied and confident with his achievement. “I think we have a slight problem, though.”

Your brow knitted, your heart tightening with anxiety. Had you been as disappointing as the burger, beer, and that fake Metallica band member?

But Dean only grinned teasingly at your confused face. “There’s no way I learned my lesson here.”

You snorted and sought out his lips, the kiss giving you a taste of yourself. “We’ll work on that. I might have to nickname you Jaws after this,” you joked.

“Can’t wait for you to explain that one to Sammy.” Dean snorted, chuckling. “Now, how about you hop on again, but this time a little further south, huh?” he proposed with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a suggestive twitch of his cock for emphasis.

You giggled with a few nods. “I can do that.”

Was it worth the words? 😝

For all you newcomers and as a general reminder, Dirty Drabbles are always open. I still have quite a few left, but you're welcome to send more in, and we'll add it to the collection at some point 😎🔥

PUT YOUR DIRTY THOUGHTS HERE

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#dirty drabbles #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester reader inser #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic

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thebiggerbear · 3 months ago

Text

when were you going to tell me

Summary: After finding out you concealed something from him on a hunt, Dean is not happy with you and he definitely does not appreciate your attempts at humor on the subject.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Hunter!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting. Just dipping back into the writing pool from time to time, one toe each round. This is what popped into my head when I read the prompt. All unbeta'd.

Prompt Line: "When were you going to tell me that you have a hole in your body?"

Warnings: language; mentioned gun violence/injury; implied sex; implications; Reader (really me) being a perv

Word Count: 1787

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown; @ladysparkles78

Dean Winchester Taglist: @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @mariahoedt

@solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444; @globetrotter28

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24; @rebel-paladin; @deans-spinster-witch

@bts24; @roseblue373; @nancymcl; @c1gs-coffee; @peachhiz

@kickingitwithkirk; @fanfic-n-tabulous; @illicithallways; @mentallyillandgae; @ladykitana90

@roseblue373; @radioactivatedspider

Supernaural Taglist: @just-levyy

You can also read on AO3

Dean was super pissed at you. No, not pissed — pissed.

“When were you going to tell me that you have a hole in your body?” He snapped.

You attempted to give him a smile from your seat on the edge of the bed. “Uh, the third date?”

His jaw tightened and his glare immediately transferred from you to his younger brother who had snorted in amusement and was currently attempting to smother a grin. “Don’t encourage her.” Sam threw his hands up in placation but you snickered.

“At least Samsquatch thinks I’m funny.” You winced and sucked in air through your teeth as you tried to peel the right arm of your jacket off. Dean was suddenly there, taking over and gently moving the material away from your wound. “Serves you right,” he muttered. As he studied the bullet you’d taken on the hunt you all just returned from, you studied him — marveling at him in fact. Fury emanated off of him in waves and yet his touch was as gentle as could be. His expression was severe and yet his eyes had a softened edge to them as he tended to you.

“Sammy, get the med kit out of my bag and bring it over here,” he ordered before briefly turning a fresh glare on you.

You let out a small sigh. “Dean, I get that you’re mad but how was I to know one of them was armed? I mean, what kind of a werewolf carries a gun anyway? Bitch move, if you ask me.”

“The kind that wants to get away at any cost. You’re lucky they only popped you in the shoulder. Now maybe next time you’ll actually listen to me and stay close.” He angrily snatched the proffered gauze from Sam’s hand, refusing to look up at you as he opened the package. “You should have told me.”

Concern laced his harsh tone and had you wishing you could put both arms around him to pull him close. Instead, you pressed your lips together; you knew he was right. You should have let him and Sam know you had been shot the moment you regrouped where the Impala was parked but considering the alpha had gotten away in the melee, you all were desperate to get out of there and hunt him down. One dead alpha later thanks to Dean’s silver bullets, you still hadn’t told either Winchester and you gritted your teeth at the pain. You were being stupid, you knew you were being stupid, but you just couldn’t push yourself to admit that Dean had been right and you had been wrong. You had butted heads before; you could take care of yourself and Dean wanted you to use the safety of numbers. Needless to say when you were finally forced to admit what happened once you all got back to the motel thanks to Sam accidentally knocking into you forcing you to let out a loud curse, Dean had been harsh and unforgiving, always being a few words away from ‘I told you so’. And while you hated it, you knew you deserved the ass-chewing you were getting. But you would take everything he had to throw at you and more if it meant you wouldn’t have to see the look on his face that you were seeing right now. You’d scared him, terrified him even, and he hadn’t known in the moment that he’d been a heartbeat away from losing you. A fact that was then reiterated by him gruffing out, “If his aim had been a few centimeters to the right…”

You could feel a lump forming in your throat at the pain now clouding his gaze as he pressed the gauze to your wound. You snuck a look over at Sam who gave you an understanding nod, grabbed the ice bucket, and left the room without a word.

You gently covered Dean’s hands with your left one, urging him to look at you. It took him a moment but he reluctantly lifted his eyes to meet yours. Even more pain swirled in those green depths and it broke your heart. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” you whispered. “I should have told you. And I will never go off on my own again or scare you like that. I promise.”

He watched you for a moment and when he determined you meant what you were telling him, he capitulated with a nod and went back to focusing on your wound. You moved your hand to one of his wrists and briefly squeezed before letting him go.

After a minute, you decided to lighten things up a little while you still could. He was going to have to dig the bullet out since it didn’t go through. As much pain as you’d been in for the past two hours, you were bound to be in a hell of a lot more in the next few minutes so you only had a short window. You got a good look at the wound when he pulled the bloody gauze away and gave it an approving nod. “So, whaddya say after you fix this hole, I can show you what other holes I have that might need tending to, hmm?” His gaze snapped to you and you gave him your best seductive smirk, arching an eyebrow in meaning.

As expected, Dean rolled his eyes and he thrust a half-finished bottle of whiskey at you. “I never thought I’d say this to a girl but you are banned from referring to your…other holes like that. For forever. Especially in front of Sam.”

“Oh come on, you know you love it when I do,” you teased, taking a swig of the amber liquid.

“I know I love you,” he suddenly replied, his tone serious yet ever so quiet, and his focus now on the kit in front of him.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head. In all of the time you’d been doing the no pants dance on a semi-regular basis, not once had Dean uttered the L-word. Sure, you knew how much he loved your ass and how his hands seemed to be super-glued to the area whenever Sam wasn’t looking, how much he loved it when when you did that thing with your tongue and throat at the same time that made him bite into the side of his fist to keep quiet, and how much he loved when you fucked him. But never had he ever in all of this time told you that he loved you.

He hesitantly met your gaze and when he saw your smile, he seemed to relax slightly and clear his throat. “You should drink a little more of that before I start digging the bullet out.”

When he took the bottle from you, you used your free hand to gently tug on his flannel. “Me too, you know.” When he glanced over at you, you whispered, “I love you, too.”

His features softened a little in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He fought to keep a smile off of his handsome face and seemed determined to remember he was still mad at you, but the light in his eyes remained. “Okay.” A simple okay — as if okay, that’s decided and that’s it. Very simple and matter of fact. When your grin grew, he shyly looked away before snapping back into focus, intent on switching into a medic role. “This is going to hurt.” His expression was then completely apologetic.

“I know. It’s okay,” you reassured him. “Not my first gunshot wound.” At the furrowing of his brows and his eyes roaming all over you, you dug your fingers into his jeans to distract him and gave him a nod. You could tell him all about that later; besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the scar on your leg at some point.

The distraction having succeeded, Dean let it go for now and poured the whiskey on the open wound. You nearly screamed from the pain, tightening your grip on him.

His lips were immediately lingering against the skin of your forehead. “I’m sorry, baby,” you thought you heard him murmur to you but you were in so much agony you couldn’t be sure. When the sting began to fade into the steady throb you had grown used to, you heard him tease, “So, third date, huh?”

You gave a tiny shrug of your one good shoulder, wincing. “Date, hunt, whatever.” Sam and the world didn’t need to know exactly when you and Dean had made the beast with two backs. Third, first — it was all the same to you.

You’d known Sam and Dean back in the day and when you found yourselves accidentally on the same hunt years later, Dean may have given you a second look which you more than eagerly returned (you’d had a crush on him for years when you were younger) and when you used his last-night-on-Earth line on him at a local dive bar later on… You bit your bottom lip to keep at bay the memories of the creaking of the Impala, your moans from his lips trailing everywhere, and his deep groans of “Fuck” in your ear as he tightly held onto you from that night. Damn, if you weren’t shot right now, you might ask him to recreate that particularly explosive night, especially since you both were sharing a room with Sam on this trip. Perhaps once Dean was through and you were all bandaged up, you could convince him to go for a drive so you could show him just what your good arm could still do. Sure, you were a natural righty, but you could get creative. Not to mention you were shot in the shoulder, not your lower half, and it certainly wouldn’t keep your jaw from working.

Dean chuckled, pulling you from your dirty thoughts about said man who tenderly kissed your hairline before searching for the forceps in his kit. “Right.” He poured some alcohol over the tool and gave you one more kiss before focusing on your shoulder. “You ready?”

“One sec.” You grunted as you lifted up slightly to plant a kiss to his stubbled jaw. He turned to look at you and you shot him a smirk. “Hurry the fuck up, Winchester, and get to work getting this bullet out of me so we can go for a drive and I can show you how ambidextrous I can be.”

You watched his throat bob up and down as he swallowed and then a smirk crawled onto his face to mirror yours, his eyes darkening to an all-too familiar shade. “Yes, ma’am.”

And he got straight to work.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x y/n #when were you going to tell me #dean winchester fanfiction #thebiggerbear writes

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mxltifxnd0m · 5 months ago

Text

spring showers 𖥔 d.winchester

summary: dean interrupts your shower

pairings: dean winchester x reader, dean winchester x fem! reader

word count: 1.6K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', fluff, smidge of angst, nudity, mentions of smut, implied smut, cursing

a/n: this was inspired by an old fic i wrote for druig back in 2022 and decided to rework it for dean! this is not full on smut but has NSFW themes so MINORS DNI!! you have been warned!

anyways reblog and comment i love seeing your thoughts and i hope you guys enjoy it!

𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Steam filled the shower room of the bunker as water glided down your face and body.

You had a love for showers. Not that you don’t enjoy a bath once in a while, but those were more of a luxury than a necessity. You loved a hot shower after a brutal hunt, the warm water relaxing the sore muscles of your shoulders and back. The stinging of your wounds while the water ran down your body served as a reminder that you were still alive and not another casualty in a long line of them caused by the monsters.

It was satisfying to see the crimson-red stained water roll down the drain until it turned clear. There were times you stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out and cold water started to spurt out of the showerhead. However, you didn’t get this often because of the rundown motels you stayed at while on hunts. Hot showers were used sparingly if you were bunking with the Winchesters.

Ah, yes, the Winchester brothers. You had the pleasure of meeting them when you were crashing at Bobby’s. They stumbled through the front door and found you sitting at the kitchen table in nothing but an old oversized t-shirt and shorts that were hidden underneath the shirt and eating cereal.

They were understandably confused when they saw a woman eating at Bobby’s kitchen table, and you noticed the shorter one of the two (even though he still towered over you); his gaze had never left your figure. You practically felt naked under his piercing stare, his forest green eyes flickering between your bare legs, your exposed shoulder, and face.

Before you could introduce yourself, Bobby came stumbling into the kitchen to see the three of you staring at each other. Bobby grunted and introduced you to Sam and Dean Winchester. Dean, the one who had been staring at you, sent you a charming grin before extending his hand out for you to shake. You took it, feeling the roughness of his palm against yours and how it enveloped your smaller hand. You pulled away before shaking Sam’s.

From then on, you would run in the Winchesters occasionally, either Bobby sending them your way or vice versa when you guys needed help on hunts. Communication between you and the brothers was scarce since you didn’t want to get attached to them, knowing how this life could turn out for those who did. You weren’t there when Bobby died, having lost contact with them before he did.

You reconnected with the brothers after having been asked by Jody, who you were acquainted with and who had told you Bobby had passed, for some help on a hunt and asked the Winchesters for help. She didn’t know that the three of you knew each other, but it was a pleasant surprise for you when you heard the roar of the Impala pulling into the motel parking lot where you were staying.

Seeing them was a little awkward at first, but you guys got back into the comfortable rhythm that you once had prior to losing contact with each other. With three heads instead of one, you, Dean, and Sam quickly finished the hunt and went out to the local bar to celebrate. They had filled you in on what had happened with Bobby and everything that happened after that. You were surprised to find out that they had a home base they went back to after they were finished with their hunts.

You found it a little strange that they called it “The Bunker,” and the whole Men of Letters situation was peculiar, but hey, you knew that Sam and Dean got into a lot of weird shit than the usual hunter. Sam had clocked in early that night, wanting to get some rest, and you and Dean stayed at the bar chatting until they were doing the last calls.

You and Dean had an interesting relationship with one another. Dean made it known from the beginning that he was attracted to you and wanted to sleep with you. He flirted with you constantly and would blush if you would flirt back. But over time, you guys built a tentative friendship with one another before losing contact.

You couldn’t deny the fact that you were attracted to Dean, but you had sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t sleep with Dean Winchester. Even before you had been introduced to him, you had heard that he was a love em and leave them type. You witnessed it multiple times when you would hunt together. It stung each time you saw the satisfied smirk on Dean’s face the morning after when you guys met at the diner before you parted ways.

But this time around, you were slightly surprised that Dean hadn’t ditched you for the waitress who kept making eyes at him the entire night, and he drove you back to the motel where the two of you were staying. You didn’t want to stop talking to Dean, so you invited him for a nightcap, which ended up with you waking up the next day with a pounding headache, naked and tucked into Dean’s side as he slept soundly.

You started to panic and curse yourself out in your head. You did the thing that you said you wouldn’t do. As you thought about your next move, staring at him, Dean stirred and woke up to find you staring hard at him. His chuckle broke you out of your reverie, and you sent him a small smile, hiding your internal debate of getting up and deciding to try and to act normal was the best course of action.

It seemed that Dean was able to see through your strained smile since his eyebrows were furrowed with concern before he raised his hand to your cheek and asked if everything was alright. You were going to lie and say everything was fine, but what actually came out of your mouth was the truth and how you weren’t sure where you stood with him after the night you guys had shared.

Dean’s expression relaxed, his smile soft as his thumb brushed against the apple of your cheek. He opened his mouth to respond, but warm hands rested on your bare hips, making you tense, and your eyes flew open and broke you out of your trip down memory lane. You quickly turned around to meet green eyes filled with mirth, and sparks of desire scattered through his eyes along with the gold flecks.

You relaxed as Dean smirked, as his gaze traveled down your naked body before meeting your eyes again. “Expecting someone else, sweetheart?” Dean asked with a cocked head.

“Yeah, I was expecting Sam.” You quipped as you sent him a sarcastic smile. “How did you know that I told him to meet him here with me?”

“Not funny.” Dean mocked your sarcastic grin before he scowled. He moved his hands to your waist and pulled you closer to him, your arms winding around his shoulders.

You laughed at the grumpy expression on his face, the sound echoing off of the tiled walls. Dean couldn’t help the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your laugh. He loved the sound of your laugh, and it never failed to make him smile or feel better when he was feeling off.

“Anyway,” You said as you calmed down, “Not that I don’t love seeing you here like this,” You moved your eyebrows up and down as you took in Dean’s naked form, “but why are you in here?”

“I needed to take a shower and you happened to be in here.” Dean said with innocent eyes as he stared at you, his hands squeezing your waist.

You squinted at him suspiciously. “Right. Doesn’t explain why you’re in the shower I’m using right now.”

“Can a guy not take a shower with his girl?”

You scoffed at him. “You and I both know that showers with you never end up being just showers.”

Dean went to respond, but you cut him off. “Nope, not hearing it. I came in here to shower and not have sex with you.”

Dean pouted at your words before leaning forward, his nose brushing against yours.

“What if I said please?”

“Still a no.”

Dean groaned loudly, throwing his head back, unintentionally thrusting his hips into your stomach, feeling his erection brush against the skin of your stomach. One of your hands fell from his shoulder and down his chest, making Dean’s head snap back to stare at you. You had a sly smile on your face as your hand slowly trailed down his freckled chest, past his stomach, and lingered on the ‘V’ of his hips, getting dangerously close to his cock. You saw Dean swallow thickly as his breath became labored, waiting for your next move.

“How about this? You let me finish my shower, and I’ll help out with your not-so-little problem.” You brushed the back of your hand against his erection before grasping it and leaning in and kissing Dean’s neck.

“Okay?” You asked him after pulling away from his neck. You saw his green eyes blown out with lust as he nodded.

“Words, honey.” You emphasized your words with a squeeze of your hand around his cock.

Dean let a small groan leave his mouth before he cleared his throat. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You smiled at him before kissing him softly against his plush lips. “Good boy.” You murmured against his lips before pulling away from him altogether. You turned back to face the hot water that was spraying against your back to finish your shower, and you smirked to yourself as you heard Dean’s bare feet hurry against the tile and out of the shower room.

“Ew, Dean! Why don’t you have a towel?!” You heard Sam exclaim in disgust from the hallway, making you giggle loudly at Sam’s misfortune of seeing his brother naked.

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anundyingfidelity · 6 months ago

Text

DEVOTION — Dean, Sam

Summary: You get into the path of the Winchester brothers, and since then, nothing is the same once a bond strictly agreed for pleasure is created between you and them. When they want, they follow you, and you know they always follow.

Pairing: Dean x goddess of rain reader x Sam

Word count: 2,1k.

Warnings: smut, threesome, vaginal sex, anal sex (no dp, sorry i failed as a slut in here), voyeurism, light choking, light spanking, marking, praising, light degradation, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral - male receiving (female receiving mentioned), facefucking, fingering, hints to aftercare, p*rn without much plot honestly.

Also my main language is not english just in case lmao, enjoy! and thanks everyone for the encouragement on this. <3

GEN MASTERLIST!

“Oh, Dean…” you gasp as pleasure takes you.

The softness of your skin on top of him, his rough hands gripping tightly on your sides and rubbing your ass cheeks create a familiar sensation you yearn for too much. Every time it is like electricity is running all down your spine.

He takes your thrusts as you ride him with soft, deep groans falling off his beautiful plump lips. His hips are pushing up just a little, so he can let you know how desperate he is for you. Of feeling you, of filling up your pussy with his seed and marking you with his nails and the rough touch of his fingers.

Sam watches from afar, sitting comfortably in the softness of a sofa. He has all the perfect view from there as Dean spreads your ass cheeks and rubs your slit with two fingers, feeling the place where you two connect sinfully.

This is not new for any of you.

When they found you during a case involving powerful deities, you had agreed to help them as payment for freeing you from a curse that was keeping you chained and with no strength for decades. Professional hunting questions turned into favors, and favors turned into a somewhat weird relationship where they called you once something got difficult. They just prayed to you and then you would show up in a few minutes. Fair to say, you never let them down, not never.

It was one night then after a couple of tough weeks on a hunt, in which you couldn’t control yourself, that Dean had the impulse of calming you with a kiss in front of his brother.

Much to your surprise, it worked. The storm and thunder dissipated slowly, and soon, all of your clothes disappeared, inviting Sam to join in the process. At first, it was more like an unspoken deal, just talking about the essentials: what you like, what you are not up to, your turn ons, your turn offs… They were so into you, and you desired them just the same.

In the beginning, you underestimated the Winchesters being mere mortals, sometimes getting themselves into problems they most likely won’t solve or make it out alive. But that was what you loved about them. Even being simple humans, they proved how much they could worship a goddess, breaking you and putting you back together, again and again.

Your sweet moans and breath hitching echoes in the room. Sam immediately knows you’re on the verge of getting to heaven, until it happens in front of his eyes. Your legs tremble, your nails dig into his brother’s bare shoulders, his rough grip on your hips forcing you up and down while you ride your high. Sam is not even looking at your face, but his cock twitches and he licks his lips unconsciously as he pictures your plump mouth open and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Of all the women he had fucked, you were simply ethereal. His brother had agreed about that before.

You lean to kiss Dean in your afterglow, sloppy and wet, rolling your hips just slowly to keep torturing him. A devilishly smirk appears on your lips when he grunts against your mouth. Before he cums, you pull away and get off him. His cock is hard as a rock, and you just give him a greater mischievous smile and a hard stroke, coating his shaft with your juices. He gasps, giving a shallow thrust into your hand.

“Stop teasing,” Dean warns.

“I’m not, just preparing you,” you say, faking your innocence, something you know you don’t have at all. Not while they are here.

You give a look at Sam, who’s been waiting on your sofa almost the whole time, and he looks more than ready to have his way with you. Legs spread, clothes gone, he looks at you as if you were the treasure he never knew existed.

“I need to take care of him too, don’t be a selfish jerk,” you wink at Dean and call his younger brother to your bed. “Come here, Sammy,” you voice out, crawling to the edge of the mattress and staying on your hands and knees for him.

He does obey immediately, taking long strides and he stops in front of you, in all his bare glory and you bite your lip, picturing all the ways he would ruin you right now.

You might be the deity they found on earth, but you always awed at how they could be real.

Sam’s hand tangles into your hair before he bends down to taste your lips.

“Which hole are you choosing for tonight?” you ask once he pulls away.

He caresses your bottom lip with his thumb before pushing in between your lips. You suck on it with a moan.

“Right now I just wanna fuck your mouth,” Sam growls. “Get my reward for eating your pussy so fucking good…”

You tremble with excitement, reminiscing about the first orgasm you had for the night thanks to his wonderful lips and wet tongue.

He pulls his thumb away all of the sudden and instead of his finger, you’re now with his tip brushing your lips before he finally pushes in.

You wrap your lips around the head of his dick, earning a moan from his throat that causes you to clench your thighs together.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses once his dick hits the back of your throat, and you gag just a little with eyes shut. “You always feel so good no matter what hole I pick.”

Sam’s big hands grab the sides of your face to keep you in place and his hips then thrust into the wetness of your mouth. His pounding starts with a fast pace, and you continuously gag and breathe through your nose.

Dean, who’s sitting down on the mattress at the head of the bed, doesn’t have the complete picture of you, but he has the perfect view of your ass and your pussy, glistening with your own wetness, swollen and used by his cock, his fingers and also Sam’s fingers and mouth. He’s fighting the urge to cum right away. Your moans, or at least the sounds you’re trying to make with your throat stuffed, are too sweet for him to hold back. He can cum by only hearing you squirm. But he tries not to, just giving himself light strokes as he observes the show you’re putting up for him.

You're drooling and spitting when Sam pulls out abruptly from your mouth and you eagerly raise a hand to wrap it around his cock, giving light kisses and licks on his shaft.

“What a cockslut you are,” Sam grunts.

You rub your thighs again at his dirty words, and you start sucking him off at your own pace now, hollowing your cheeks and tasting his precum in the process.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Dean mumbles and decides it is enough.

He crawls behind you, grabs your hips and rubs his cock between your folds and your clit before slamming inside, earning something between a gasp and a moan that sounds too good falling from your lips.

“Your pussy is taking me so fucking well,” Dean starts off his praises, and you clench around his cock hitting your right spots over and over. He moves a finger between your legs to rub your clit and force another orgasm from your body. “Yeah, just like that…”

You cry out and withdraw from Sam’s cock for a moment, whining as Dean fucks you hard. You’re so certain that his hands will leave marks on your skin, but that is just a reminder of what he can do to you anytime. Is not too long until he cums balls deep in your cunt, fucking his seed into you until you feel too sensitive that you stop sucking on Sam’s cock.

“Fuck, she’s so tight,” Dean whispers. He pulls out and watches some drops of his own cum sliding between your legs before going back to Sam with a satisfied smile on his lips. “Wanna use this one?”

One of Sam’s hands moves under your chin, forcing you to look up at him with big eyes.

“Better fill you up properly, right, baby?” Sam says sweetly and you nod.

“Use your words, tell us what you want,” he insists and you gasp and jump a little when Dean gives a spank on your ass cheek.

“Please fuck my ass,” you whimper. “Please fill me up…”

Another light spank from Dean forces a breathy moan out of you.

As you feel Dean shifting behind you on the bed, you still could not comprehend how gentle Sam’s voice can sound sometimes, yet his actions and the guilty pleasure he gives you are totally the opposite. And unlike Sam, Dean is a very straightforward man. He gives orders and you comply, if you are in the mood that’s it. He can be rough and raw if you ask him to, but he can also be caring and tender. It doesn’t matter how they give it to you, in the end you love their own ways of fucking you up completely.

A cold substance is poured on your ass, and you feel Dean’s fingers on your tight hole. Sam leans down to kiss you lovingly when Dean pushes in thick digit to stretch you out. He starts with a slow pace and you relax with Sam kissing you softly, his fingers rubbing your nipples and tits to help you ease the light discomfort that takes over you. Little by little, you’re able to take two fingers, and then you crave for more.

They handle your body softly, until you’re meeting with Dean face to face again and Sam takes a hold of your hips before lining up with your ass. He slowly slides in, inch by inch, kissing your back and rubbing your clit with his fingers to calm you down. You stay still for a moment to get used to the intrusion.

Dean observes you as his brother takes your wrists until your back is against his chest, one of his hands wrapped around your neck without making any pressure. You feel Sam’s breath on your skin and how some locks of his hair brush softly, while Dean’s eyes roam all over your body.

“I’m not gonna last longer,” Sam whispers in a husky voice against your ear.

“Don’t care.”

Your words are enough to drive him crazy. His thrusts become quick too sudden and he stretches so amazingly good that you’re left blank and speechless for a moment. All you feel is his cock, swollen and throbbing, hitting your deepest places and his fingers on your cunt before he fucks you roughly with them too.

Now you feel full.

“Absolutely beautiful like this,” Dean mumbles praises with a dark tone and your walls clench. Fuck, how you love him worshipping all of you.

You feel his hands grabbing your breasts as they bounce with each thrust, playing gently with your nipples.

“Oh shit, I’m so close again,” you gasp, feeling another climax building up.

Sam’s hands leave your wrists and your cunt, and move down to your hips, grunting sweetly as he continues fucking you senseless, and it almost feels like heaven right away. Dean takes it as a chance to plug two of his fingers inside your cunt, and you close your eyes when you cum anew.

“Fuck, you cum so damn fast,” Dean kisses you harshly, swallowing your cries of pleasure against his mouth, all while still rubbing your walls and curling his fingers.

Your own orgasm triggers Sam, and he finally releases inside you. He slows down to a sloppy, calm rhythm, fucking his own climax into you. With a low groan, Sam withdraws out of your tight hole and Dean pulls his fingers out of your pulsing cunt.

The three of you remain still, hearing each other’s heart rate until a soft rain starts outside.

Dean grins against your mouth. “You okay?”

You nod weakly. “Yeah, I’m perfect.”

“Rain gives up pretty much what you’re feeling,” Sam says, shifting behind you. “I take this one as feeling great.”

“Much more than that,” you mumble, collapsing on top of your mattress with a satisfied smile on your lips.

They shift and move around your bedroom, looking for a cloth to clean you up. You share lazy kisses and soft touches on skin before you set up a proper bath.

Tomorrow another hunt awaits, but you’re happy to be in your sacred temple with these two mortals who happened to rescue you just in time to fuck your brains out and get worshipped exactly like you deserved.

tags for this filthy thing thanks lmaooo:

@thesilmarillionblog @cheynovak @ninii-winchester @slut-for-evans-stan @laputafavdeenzovogrincic

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester smut #dean x reader x sam #dean x reader x sam smut #spn smut

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supernotnatural2005 · 2 months ago

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The Great Sam Winchester C*ck Block!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean and you have been desperate for some much needed alone time. However, a certain Winchester keeps getting in the way.

Word Count: 4106

Warnings: Smut! 18+ ONLY!!! Fluff, Sam is a massive c*ck block (yes that’s a warning!)

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since i posted anything. Life has been wild. But i miss writing so much and have a few WIP. This just happens to be the one i’ve finished! 😅 Just something fun and spicy. I hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcome!

My Masterlist

You sighed, head thrown back against the leather seat, back arched and legs spread wide as Dean scissored two of his thick fingers inside of you.

Soft lips caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and suckled at the spot behind your ear, which only added to the desperate throb of the walls of your pussy.

Your skin flushed and breathing laboured as he expertly rubbed at that spongey spot inside you, making you gasp and tense at the thrum of pleasure, tingling from the tops of your ears down to the tips of your toes.

The soft praises of; “you’re so wet”, “so beautiful” and “come for me baby”, followed by the lewd sounds of your dripping core against the harsh thrust of his digits, echoed in the small confinements of Baby’s backseat. Resulting in an ecstasy like state of desperation to reach your peak for him.

Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders, the material covering his skin all but assaulted by your vice-like grip, as he brought you closer and closer to your impending crash.

You opened your eyes, gaze heated and glazed as you met fiery green orbs, drinking in your wrecked state with satisfaction and pride.

With his thumb now rubbing against your clit, you could feel your body begin to tense. The coil in your lower belly wound tight, ready to just about snap, when something over his shoulder caught your attention.

“Sam!” You gasped in an attempt to warn him. Though in your current state, it came out as more of a gasp of unmeant pleasure. But it had Dean’s fingers stilling instantly, drowning the flame he’d brought to life inside of you.

“What?” The shock was evident in his voice and the same eyes that had been filled with lust just moments ago, now laced with hurt at your outburst of his brother’s name. Made ten times worse at the fact it was whilst he was fingering you into oblivion.

Dread filled you at his harshly retracted fingers and you scrambled to explain before another fire brewed in his eyes, but this time with intent to burn rather than pleasure.

“Oh God, no baby! Sam is coming.” You guided his head in the direction of the other end on the motel’s parking lot, to where Sam was indeed approaching.

Relief flooded him like a cold drink of water quenching one’s thirst in a hot desert. His rapidly beating heart simmered somewhat at the realisation and he welcomed the soothing hand you ran through his short strands as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder.

You felt the rumble of his chuckle before you heard it, finding yourself joining in at the absurdity and worst timing ever of your boyfriend’s baby-bro.

“I guess we’re gonna have to pick this up another time.” He sighed disappointedly, but his eyes held a promise you clung to.

Sam Winchester was many things. A great hunter, empathetic and kind, your best friend. But mostly, he was the most oblivious cock block known to man.

For weeks you and Dean had been trying to have a little alone time. If it wasn’t the motel’s having only one twin room left, or a case taking its tole on you both to the point of pure exhaution, it was Sam’s impeccable timing.

You righted yourself by pulling on your discarded underwear and sleep-shorts, grimacing as the fabric met the mess between your legs.

Dean casually sucked his fingers clean of your juices, making your jaw drop and clit pulse in want.

Noticing your longing stare, he winked and slid a hand beneath his sweat pants to adjust the obvious tent, just in time for Sam to tap on the window.

“What are you guys doing out here? I tried calling you both for the past half hour.” Dean had opened the back seat and stepped out, allowing you to shuffle to the edge of the seat.

“I had a nightmare.” You lied easily as you stepped out of the car as well.

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake you, so Dean offered to sit with me, calm me down.”

If oscars were awarded for best lie told, you’re sure you’d be up there in the nominees. It wasn’t necessary to lie to Sam but it beat, “your brother was just fingering me in the back of his car because we never have any time alone away from you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sam was sincere and his look sympathetic. It allowed for a shred of guilt to be had.

“Why were you looking for us anyway?” Dean interrupted, voice slightly rough and irritated, although Sam didn’t seem to notice.

“I found a case a couple of miles out. Three victims have turned up dead in the last week, all with their hearts missing. Sherif is calling it a vicious animal attack but, i figures we got ourselves a werewolf.”

Silence.

“And that couldn’t wait until morning.” Dean speaks up first. His agitation clear this time.

“Well, technically it is morning. It’s like five A M.” Sam shrugs like it’s nothing and you internally sigh.

“You’re right, we just lost track of time.” You force a smile and ignore Dean’s pointed look as a sudden plan forms in your mind.

“Let us freshen up and maybe you could grab us some coffee and breakfast? You know, since you’re the only one dressed and all.” You ask sweetly, hoping he takes the bait.

“Yeah sure. I was going to grab us all some breakfast anyway.” Sam offers.

Bingo.

“That’d be great, i’m starving.” You exaggerate with a hand on your stomach. In the corner of your eye, Dean gives you a funny look and it takes everything in you not to smirk.

“Okay, well i’ll see you in ten.” Sam says before making his way across the street toward the 24 hour diner.

Wasting no time, you grab Dean’s hand and roughly pull him with you toward the room.

“Woah, what in the-“ You shut him up with your lips roughly pressing to his once you enter the room. His back hitting the closed door with a dull thud.

“If you think i’m going to wait for God knows how long before i feel you inside me again. You’ve got another thing coming.” You explain in a rush as you tug his plain-black t-shirt over his head.

A smirk forms on his lips at your eagerness and Dean has to admit, it turns him on just how desperate you are.

“Oh, i like the way you think sweetheart.”

You sat in the backseat of baby, irritable, uncomfortable and beyond sexually frustrated.

Your attempt to finish what you and Dean had started back in the room was short lived, when Sam returned only 2 minutes later, having forgotten his wallet.

To say you were in a mood was an understatement. And the permanent scowl on Dean’s face and his white knuckling grip on the steering wheel, told you he was right there with you.

In the end, the three of you figured out who the culprit was, or should you say culprits were, relatively quickly. It was a young man, Johnny Turner who was recently turned, which explained the sloppy kills. And you later discovered the pack who’d turned him, hiding out in a cabin just outside of town.

Overall, it was a successful hunt with minimum injuries and you had prevented a young girl from being the fourth victim. But three people had still died and a young man had to spend his last moments of life as a monster he never wanted to be.

You still remember the fear and confusion in his eyes at what he’d done. But then he’d went to attack you and ended up with three silver bullets from Dean’s gun lodged in his chest.

So, when you climbed into bed that night, Dean following shortly after you as Sam lightly snored away on the bed opposite. There were no wandering hands under the covers, working each other up until you were desperate enough to find yourself back in the back seat of baby. Just silence.

All in all, Sam’s case had inadvertently been another giant cock-block in itself.

3 Days Later.

It wasn’t your most classiest moment, but you found yourself knelt on a grubby restroom floor; Dean above you with his jeans and boxers pushed down mid thigh as you took his heavy, achingly hard length into your mouth.

You could be ashamed at how horny you were. That you’d stoop so low as to pushing him into a disgusting bathroom stall; dropping to your knees and blowing him right then and there.

But after a whole day of watching him work on Baby, greased up, sweaty and watching his biceps flex as he adjusted loose bolts and nuts under the hood. It was like dangling a piece of meat in-front of a starving dog. You just had to take a bite.

After being unfairly teased all day, you had all ventured to the local dive in town. Of course, Sam came along, actually wanting to join in for once.

Despite your own sexual frustrations, you’d had a good time. Drunk Sam was a lot of fun and it was nice seeing everyone relaxed and with a smile on their face for once.

However, once Sam’s attention was preoccupied by a pretty brunette; and with a strong bout of liquid courage in your system, you’d taken advantage of the situation and summoned Dean to join you in the restroom.

You knew he was just as worked up as you were. You’d felt as much whilst playing a game pool earlier on in the night, when he’d pressed up against you, not so subtly and let you feel just how much the skirt you’d opted to wear turned him on.

So now here you were, sucking off your boyfriend in the restroom stall of a dive bar, like some horny teenager. But if his moans and grunts as he lightly thrusted his hips intime with the bobbing of your head, told you anything. It was that he was more than on board.

Your panties were beyond soaked and uncomfortable but, Dean’s laboured breath’s and flushed cheeks as you looked up at him; his balls drawing up tight in your palm as you let him fuck into your mouth, a tell tail sign he was close, had you doubling your efforts to get him there.

“Holy shit baby. Right there.” He panted as you breathed deeply through your nose and took him as deep as your gag reflex would allow. The hand holding your hair back tightened, bringing with it a sharp sting of pleasure, making you moan around him.

He was seconds away from his release, when a loud bang interrupted you. It was as if an ice-cold bucket of water had been poured over your heads.

Startled, Dean’s slick cock slipped from your lips as you jumped back in shock. The loud bang was shortly followed by a girly giggle and a mans chuckle.

You looked up at Dean, wide eyed and silently asking if he wanted you to continue, when you heard it.

The stall next you rattled as the couple stumbled inside, the sounds of lips lewdly smacking together and then a voice you’d recognise anywhere, instantly cleared your sex hazed fog and had you as dry as a desert.

It was Sam.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Dean’s look told you.

One week later found the three of you pulling into Bobby’s for some much needed R&R.

After a week of non stop hunts, your bruised and beaten body needed at least a long weekend to recover. And the boys were more than inclined to agree.

As soon as your feet hit the gravel outside of Bobby’s house, you sighed in relief. The drive was long and your back, legs and butt ached from the lengthy position held.

“S’good to see you idgits.” Came the gruff greeting from Bobby as he stepped out the front door. You smiled at the term that had always been more out of endearment rather than as an insult.

You were the first to make your way over and fall into his embrace. Bobby always did give the best hugs. You’d missed him, a lot you realised as he gave you a big squeeze.

Although, your wince had him pulling back immediately to assess you with concern.

“Im all good, it’s just been a long week.” You explained truthfully and though he let it go, you could see he wasn’t fully satisfied with your answer.

“Mind if i grab a shower? I need to get the stink of hours being hot-boxed with the most gassiest man alive off of me.” You jab your finger blindly in Sam’s direction and miss his offended look.

Dean however, barks out a laugh to which Sam throws him his signature bitch-face.

“Hey, she’s not wrong man. S’probably all that rabbit food you eat.” Dean shrugs innocently, but is unable to contain his amusement.

“I’m not going to apologise for eating healthy Dean. Wouldn’t kill you to eat a salad once in a while mister, two double cheese burgers with extra bacon for breakfast.” Sam sasses back, mocking Dean’s gravelly voice. And in doing so, starts the endless bickering between the two brothers.

You decide then to make your escape, passing Bobby with a thankful hand on his shoulder and an apologetic look in your eyes as you make your way inside and upstairs toward the bathroom.

You drop your duffle to the floor and rummage through for some clean clothes. Luckily, you find a faded band t-shirt that you’re pretty sure once belonged to Dean and some leggings. It’ll have to do until you can take advantage of Bobby’s washer and dryer.

You’ll have to cook dinner as a thank you, you decide before peeling off your two day old clothes; grimacing slightly at the pain in your overused muscles and possibly bruised ribs.

You turn on the shower, making sure it’s on the verge of scolding, allowing for a billow of steam to encompass the medium sized bathroom, before stepping into the tub.

At first you flinch at warm spray in contrast to your much cooler skin, but quickly melt under the pressure and warmth seeping deep into your bones.

As you stand motionless, the weight of the last few weeks, possibly months, of being tense, unsatisfied and in pain, gradually releases it’s vice-like grip on you and washes away with the muck and grime accumulated on your skin.

Bliss. Thats what this was. Pure unadulterated bliss.

You’re so enraptured with the feeling, you don’t even notice him enter the room. Nor do you hear the shuffling of clothes being removed, or the curtain pulling back for him to step inside behind you.

It’s not until the coolness of his palms makes contact with your hips, do you startle and turn to meet the vibrant green eyes of your intruder.

“You don’t mind if i join you, do you?” Dean asks. As if you had a choice on the matter, as if you’d ever refuse.

You shake your head in both amusement and in answer to his question, and turn back around as he begins to lather his palms up with the body wash you’d brought with you.

A welcoming fruity smell of strawberries invades your sinuses and you soon hum in pleasure as his large, soapy hands glide across your skin. The act is incredibly intimate without the need to initiate into anything more than Dean simply taking care of you.

However, as his slick hands wander to your front, gliding across your stomach and up to lather your breasts. A fire that had been put out one too many times, reignites within you.

You bite your lip and lay your head back against his shoulder as his hands travel back south. Your breathing grows heavier as his seemingly innocent actions spark you to life.

The feel of his smile against the side of your head, tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing though. So as a form of punishment, you subtly press back against him, smiling devilishly at the feel of his hardening length against your lower back.

His breathing shallows as you slowly gyrate your hips back against him and your pussy throbs in need of something, anything.

The famous saying, ‘great minds think alike’ had never proven more true as Dean’s right hand continues its journey, until two of his thick digits part your wet folds.

You gasp as his middle finger begins to slowly circle your clit, causing an electric jolt of pleasure to course through your entire body.

“You’re so wet already baby.” Dean husks in your ear, just as he briefly dips a finger into your dripping hole before returning the coated digit to your clit.

Adding his forefinger, Dean begins to quicken the pace of his fingers and adds pressure onto the pulsing bundle of nerves, making you cry out and twitch and convulse in his embrace.

He holds you tightly to him by wrapping his other arm around your waist, as you shake and your stance falters, gripping onto the arm wrapped around you like a life line.

“Come for me baby.” You hear him all but growl, before you feel his soft lips begin to nip and suck at the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder. His fingers are vigorous now and the coil wound tight within in you finally snaps.

Everything goes white; your veins like molten lava, fiery hot and melting your bones as the tremors of your well- overdue orgasm course through you.

“Fuuuck.” You can’t help but moan as your tense body slowly becomes like jelly against the strength of your boyfriend. Dean holds you upright as you slowly come to and only loosens his hold when he knows you’re able to stand on your own.

For a moment you feel like you had died and gone to heaven. Utterly relaxed and boneless, you smile dopily until the numbness fades and the overwhelming need to feel him inside you takes over.

You twist in his embrace and pull his face down to crash your lips to his. It’s messy, all tongue and clashing teeth, both blinded by pure desire and pent up frustrations.

You slide a hand between your bodies and glide your hand up and down his length. He’s hard as a rock and seeping at the tip, which you gather in your palm as you continue to jerk him off.

“Shit.” He pulls away with a hiss, eyes closed tight as he presses his forehead to yours. You bite your lip as you take him in, forever impressed of the beauty that is Dean Winchester.

His hand moves to stop you suddenly and he meets your questioning look with pupils blown wide.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep it up. Need to be inside you now.” He all but growls before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You wrap your legs securely around his waist as he pushes you against the tile. The coolness brings out a gasp that’s soon swallowed by Dean’s all consuming, toe curling kiss.

“Please.” You beg as you pull away for a needed breath. Too worked up to vocalise anything else. Dean understands you though and shifts you higher up the wall, using it as leverage as he frees an arm to guide himself into you.

Your eyes cross as he slowly descends you onto his cock. The stretch is both overwhelming and not enough at the same time as he bottoms out. It’s a feeling you’ve missed gravely and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Holy fuck.” Dean groans deep in his throat at the feel of your tight, warm walls finally wrapped around him. A feeling he’s been starved of for too damn long.

“You feel so good baby.” You praise and cup his cheek to guide his lips back to yours. He slowly slides his way out of you until just his tip remains, before thrusting back in with a sharp snap of his hips.

The action makes you cry out breathlessly, eyes wide in the most painful pleasure. You keep your eyes locked when he does it again, mouth agape in a silent scream with each drag of his length against your sensitive walls.

He builds up a confident rhythm, hitting you in the sweet spot every time, making your toes curl and breathing labour.

“Fuck i’ve missed the feel of you.” You moan particularly loudly when he hits the right spot.

“You’re so tight and wet. Fuck.” Dean groans as he picks up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, almost overshadowing the patter of the showers spray.

You’re close, you can feel it. Feel it in the way your lower belly clenches and limbs tense as your nerve endings spark with each thrust.

Dean’s close too. His panting breaths making way for the odd growl to slip out as he strains with effort to keep you both up. His own limbs starting to flutter in strength at his impending release.

Just as you’re about to loose it, there’s knock on the door, causing Dean to still and you to bite your lip in attempt to stop a frustrated groan.

“Hey Y/N? Have you seen Dean? I need the keys to the impala.” Sam’s muffled voice carried through the door.

Dean looks livid, but you look at him questioning eyes. ‘What do i say?’

It takes a moment, but Deans irritation fades and a sly smirk replaces it.

“I’m in here Sammy!” Dean calls out and your eyes widen in shock. However, you’re unable to say a thing when he shifts his hips, slowly dragging his cock almost all the way out, before pushing just as slowly back in.

Your mouth drops open and eyes flutter as he repeats the action.

“Wait why are you…” Sam trails off and you almost don’t hear his “oh.” Of realisation.

“Might not wanna traumatise yourself Sammy.” Dean calls out, just before he snaps his hips harshly into you again, and you can’t help but cry out. Your cheeks blush at the fact Sam could hear you.

“Dean!” You scold in a hushed whisper, but he doesn’t stop, making you bite your lip to stop from crying out more. Thankfully you hear Sam’s footsteps quickly retreat.

“I’m done with interruptions.” Dean all but growls before crashing his lips to yours. His hips begin to piston into you at an almost bruising, quickly bringing you both back to the brink. Your cries of pleasure muffle against his lips and your hands tangle in his hair harshly, making him moan.

“Fuck i’m going to cum.” You gasp, head thrown back and back arching as much as was possible in the position you were in.

“Let go baby. I’m right there with you.” Dean pants and you meet his eyes in a silent cry as you tense up. Your orgasm rippling through you like a bolt of electricity.

“Fuuuuck.” Dean quickly follows you with a couple more thrusts. His body tensing as he grunts into your neck, each twitch of his cock as he empties his seed deep inside you, sending little aftershocks through your body.

You’re both breathing hard, even when he pulls back to look at you. Dopy smiles rise on your lips simultaneously, and laughter soon follows. Dean slowly puts you down on shaky legs, but keeps you close as he leans down to claim your lips once more.

It’s slow and passionate and striking you back to life as we speak. The smirk on Dean’s lips is all knowing and you want to smack away his smugness, but you can’t find it in you to make on that promise when his wandering hand cups your aching sex.

“Someone’s a needy girl, ain’t they.” He mumbles between kissing his way down your neck as his thick digits stroke you to life.

You gasp at the sensation, torn between too sensitive and desperate to feel more.

You glide your hand up his broad shoulder and through his damp hair before gripping tight enough to make him hiss. His eyes darken lustfully and you smirk a little at the feel of him twitching against you.

“You have no fucking idea.” You whisper, before pulling his lips to yours.

It’s safe to say Bobby’s water bill paid a price that day.

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happy74827 · 6 months ago

Text

Forced to Listen

[Dean Winchester x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Dean hated it when you hunted him down for advice, and he also hated that you knew exactly how to bait him into listening.

WC: 1082

Category: Fluff, Ranter!Reader, Mentions of Cheating, Sam being absolutely useless (iconic).

Can you believe that it’s been TWO WHOLE YEARS since I last wrote of him?? I’m so angry at myself 😭😭

『••✎••』

Dean could sense what was coming when he watched you stomp towards him with nothing but a small bottle of beer. The look on your face was one he had come to recognize over the years.

It was the one that said that you were about to coerce him into listening to your woes, and he had no other choice but to do it. The heat outside was unbearable, the kind that made Dean strip off his flannel and ditch the leather jacket, leaving him in his sweat-covered shirt.

But as he stood under the hood of the Impala, trying to get her to start, that bottle of beer was calling his name. The promise of the cool, carbonated drink sliding down his throat, relieving him from the dryness that had settled in his mouth, was something he desperately craved. And you knew that. That's why you were headed straight for him.

"Hey, Dean," you said innocently, the small bottle of beer dangling from your hand.

Dean sighed, his gloved hands pausing as he glanced up at you. He really wasn’t in the mood to listen to you whine about what was going on in your life, but that bottle of beer was too tempting to pass up. It was his favorite brand, too.

Goddamn it, you really were a temptress.

"Two minutes,” he grunted out, holding his hand out for the beer. "I'll give you two minutes."

You grinned, placing the bottle of beer in his open hand. In a matter of seconds, half the liquid was gone, and you were waiting impatiently for him to give you the sign to begin.

After another second, a sigh of content slipped from his mouth, and he nodded, signaling you to start.

You didn’t waste any time. "Do you think I'm a bitch?"

"I think you're a pain in my ass," Dean retorted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. It didn’t make much difference since his hand was already covered in dirt and grease, but it made him feel a little better. "Don’t tell me you came over here just to ask me that?"

"No, I'm serious, Dean," you insisted. "Do you actually think I'm a bitch?"

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

So, he just raised his eyebrows, silently telling you to go on while he took another sip of his beer.

"Dating's hard, Dean," you started, and he already felt a groan coming on. He did not want to have this conversation. "I just don't get it. Why am I not good enough for them? Why do I keep getting cheated on?"

You were pacing around the car as you spoke, and Dean kept his eyes on the beer. As you went on about everything that was bothering you, the more he regretted his decision to drink that damn thing.

"Am I not attractive? Am I not smart enough? What is it, Dean?" You looked at him, hoping for an answer. But when you realized he wasn't paying that much attention to what you were saying, you let out a scoff. "Great, so I'm not even good enough for you to listen to me? God, Dean, you are such a douche."

Dean rolled his eyes and finally looked up at you, the annoyance clearly visible. "Can I get back to fixing up my baby, now?"

"Would you date me?" You asked, suddenly, a hint of desperation in your voice. "Am I worth dating?"

God, you were killing him. He’d rather get heatstroke than continue this conversation, and he was sure Sammy would agree on his behalf.

He could actually see his baby brother from where he stood. He was a few yards away, sitting in the shade. A book in his hand, but his eyes were on the two of you.

Was he…? Oh hell no.

He was laughing.

Sammy was having a good time watching him squirm under your gaze, doing absolutely nothing despite avoiding the work Bobby needed help with.

Oh, was Dean pissed off. He’d get his payback soon, hopefully. It would be whenever he actually gets away from you and fixes up his car. Baby always comes first.

"I mean, c'mon, Dean," you pressed on. "Just give me some advice. You were with so many women, and they were all beautiful and perfect, so what's wrong with me?"

You were pouting, and Dean felt like throwing his beer bottle on the ground and stomping on it. This was the worst two minutes of his life.

"There’s nothing wrong with you,” he finally said, looking you in the eye. "You could be a pain in the ass, but unfortunately, I’m apparently the only one who has to deal with it, so... yeah. You're fine."

"Fine? I'm fine?"

"Yup," Dean replied. He turned back to the Impala, taking the last swig of his beer and tossing the empty bottle into your hands. "Thanks for the beer. Is that all?”

"I just feel… I don't know. I feel like I'm not good enough, ya know?" You said a sad look on your face. "Like there's something wrong with me. Something that's making everyone leave me."

"Listen," Dean started. He looked at you again, but all of his annoyance was gone. The two minutes were definitely up; he could quite literally kick you out of sight, but with the look you had on your face, he just couldn’t do it.

So, despite Sam’s utter lack of help, he was going to do his best to try to make you feel better.

"It's not you, alright?" He assured. "There's nothing wrong with you. If a guy can't see that, then he doesn't deserve you, okay? Trust me, you will have no problem finding someone else."

The corners of your lips twitched, turning into a small smile. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded, giving you a smirk. "If you want, I could always give out the ole hunter's special with your past one. Bobby could use a new rug for his living room."

A loud snort slipped past your mouth, and Dean was satisfied.

"Okay, Winchester," you said. "This is my sign to get the hell out of here."

And so you did, but before you could get even slightly close to the house, he called out to you.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, a small smile forming on his face. If you thought it was going to be wholesome, then you were sorely mistaken.

"Next time you come to me to talk about your feelings, at least have a damn pie."

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tofics · 4 months ago

Text

15 minutes

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!fem!Reader

Song Inspo: 15 Minutes by Madison Beer

18+ only! 🚨 Mature content ahead! 🚨

Summary: For as long as you've worked with Dean Winchester, he's been the boss of you. What Dean says, goes. Even if that means that you have to sit in the car while he finishes the monster off. One day, you decide you've had enough. No more taking orders. The confrontation just goes a little different than you expected.

Word count: 6047 words

Warnings: Cursing, verbal fighting, smut

Header made by the lovely and talented @artyandink

[09:13pm]

It had taken you just ten minutes to get here. Only ten minutes, despite the rain coming down in sheets and reducing the visibility to barely two feet in front of you.

Ten hazy minutes of street lights flying past you as the rain drummed on the roof of your car and splashed across the windshield.

A reckless drive, to say the least.

Not that you remember much of it. Your thoughts had been elsewhere…

The light in front of you shifts slightly. A silhouette, barely visible through the cascades of water running down the windshield, moves across the window of the motel room you’re parked in front of.

Your fingers wrap around the leather of the steering wheel so tightly that your knuckles turn white.

“Go. Go! Leave! Now!”

Dean’s order from this afternoon reverberates through your head like an echo you can’t escape and fuels your anger anew.

Fuck this.

[09:15pm]

A quick glance at the clock - two minutes have passed since you parked the car. Two minutes of pondering what the fuck you’re doing here exactly.

Have you come to yell at him?

To strike him across the face, like you wanted to, after his text messages?

Or - worse - kiss him, like you’ve wanted to for weeks?

[08:17pm] At the motel. Where are you?

[08:41pm] Call me.

[08:58pm] Answer your phone.

[09:03pm] CALL ME.

You're strongly leaning towards yelling.

You brought this case to him. You put the file together. Both of you did the research together. And then he gets to send you home for the final part? He gets to risk his life while you’re sent home like a child is sent to bed once the adult programs come on?

Who does he think he is?

Another minute passes as you sit and feel every emotion pulse through you.

[09:16pm]

Fuck. This.

Within seconds, you’re out of the car and at the door to the motel room, but whatever motion carried you over here so swiftly abruptly fades the moment you’re about to slide the key into the lock.

The sudden stop feels irritating. Your anger is pushing you forward, demanding to barge into the room and give Dean a lecture that’ll leave his ears ringing the same way his order is still ringing in yours. It’s mixing with your demand of approval and recognition, but it’s not them that’s stopping you in your tracks. Your anger is still the driving force here, overshadowing the needy aspects of your emotions.

No, there is something else at work here - something more nagging, scratching around in the back of your brain and settling heavy in your stomach. What Dean says goes. It's an unspoken rule that you have always followed down to a t, no matter how irritating or belittling his orders appear to you. He'd probably say that makes you a good partner, whereas you... you'd argue it makes you weak; a puppet, a follower and not the leader you know yourself to be. It feels shameful to be so obedient, to be such a blind follower, to be so stupidly and painfully in love with Dean Winchester that his word is your command.

But it's not just shame that's got your hand frozen on the doorknob. It's worry.

What if you don't get a chance to say your piece? To make him see you for what you really are? What's to stop him from shutting you up with a snap of his fingers, to shush you with just a word?

A new wave of anger surges through you at just the idea of it.

You will have your say tonight.

[09:18pm]

The key slides into the lock without hesitation. You stride into the motel room with the confidence of a woman on a mission, deadly and ready to kill.

The momentum leaves you the second you've scanned your surroundings. A beer bottle next to a half-eaten microwave meal, discarded and left alone on the main table. Dean's jacket strewn across one of the beds, but no boots beneath it on the ground. The TV is on, blaring non-sense into the otherwise empty room.

Where the hell is he?

Then he appears, striding out of the adjoining bathroom with the same confidence you had to talk yourself into but that just comes naturally to him. Save for the furrowed brows, it features on his face too, a mask only worn by those who know they command any room they enter.

The expression flickers only briefly when he registers you standing in the middle of the room, drenched from head to toe, visibly seething with anger.

Your appearance earns you a raised eye-brow. "Thought I told you to go home."

Oh, his tone. So matter-of-factly, so pretentious, so arrogant.

"Well, I didn't."

"I can see that."

The TV blares on in the background and you're thankful for it, hoping it conceals the sound of your heart thumping in your chest. His eyes bore into yours and you hold the gaze, unwilling to look away in submission.

"Also told you to call me."

"You tell me a lot of things."

His face remains the same, but you can see his jaw ticking. "You got something to say to me?"

You exhale loudly through your nose. "Boy, do I got something to say to you."

"By all means, go ahead." It's clear you have ticked him off, so the sarcasm shouldn't be a surprise. And it isn't really, but it's the drop that causes your barrel to overflow.

"Oh, this is exactly what I mean!" You storm forward with an accusing finger pointed at Dean's chest. "I don't need your allowance to do anything. I don't need you barking orders at me left and right like I'm your silly little sidekick!" Your finger is jabbing into his flesh, driving home each point you make with a stab into his chest.

"Are you done?"

The reaction is so emotionless, so anything-but-impressed by your words that you're dumbfounded for just a moment.

"Are you kidding me?" It took a second, but the fuse his words lit reaches your brain with a soft ping and sets you off.

"What - is - wrong - with - you!" You've upgraded from little jabs to full on shoves against his chest, each stronger than the last. His torso staggers with each shove but he makes no move to interrupt you, which somehow only infuriates you more. "Fucking fight me back! Take me seriously for once!"

One second Dean's letting you shove against him like a boxing sack, the next, his hands are around your wrists, stopping your moves mid-air.

"Is that what this is about? You think I don't take you seriously?"

You pull on your arms to free yourself of his grip, but his hold is too strong. Your anger boils in your stomach.

"Let me go," you hiss, but he makes no such move. Instead, his grip just tightens.

"Answer me," he demands and all you can do in response to let out an angry cry. You've come to give him a piece of your mind about constantly having to take his orders, and he has the nerve, the gall to give you another order during your outburst. It's the ultimate insult.

"Fuck you, Dean. Fuck. You." You fight against his grip with strength, enforcing a momentary struggle between the two of you. You're strong, but Dean's taller. He manages to spin you around so your back is pressed against is chest, caught between his arms that are pressing your own to your chest.

He's become your life-size straitjacket. The embodiment of his demeanor - not only enforcing his will through words, but with his body too.

You hate him in this moment.

You hate that he has overpowered you, outpowered you like his words already do so much of the time.

But most of all, you hate how good it feels to be pressed so tightly against him.

His chest is pushing against you with each heavy breath he takes. The longer you're locked in his arms, the more his scent engulfs you, a mix of Baby's leather, his cologne and a faint hint of his very own smell, full of his deadly pheromones.

I need to get out of here.

"You gonna tell me what's going on now?" Dean's voice is raspy in your ear, a little strained from the effort to keep you locked in his forced embrace, but still carrying the same unchanged undertone: do as I say.

You whine and push against his arms, yearning to break free so you can get away from him as far as possible, anywhere, just not this close where his voice is right in your ear and his scent is seeping you into your nose, luring you in with every breath you take.

"Hey. Hey!" Dean spins you around and pins you in place with his large hands wrapped around your upper arms. "You think I don't take you seriously?" He's staring you down and you're torn. His face is so close that you can see every detail up-close, every freckle and every single shade of green in his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes. You want to look away, need to look away so you don't lose yourself in them, but you can't if you want to stand your ground.

"I don't think so, I know so," you push out between gritted teeth.

"The hell gave you that idea?" The concept genuinely seems to baffle him, so much so that he releases his grip on your shoulders. You stagger momentarly from the loss of force on your body, then immediately mourn the loss of his touch.

"What do you mean, 'what gave me the idea'? Are you serious? Like you don't boss me around left and right with no concern for my input or my abilities. I'm not your equal, not in your eyes!" Your voice is rising to a shout as you finally give room to the words you've harbored for so long. "I'm not even your sidekick, I'm an assistant at best! Need a new case? That's fine, take mine, but god forbid I'm there for the finale! Nooo, Dean Winchester gets to reap the rewards, not me, who did all the work with you, Dean, for you! I am nothing to you, nothing!"

Generic laughter sounds from the TV, filling the thick silence between you while you catch your breath. Dean cocks his head to the side, his jaw ever-ticking.

"Is that what you think?" His voice is suddenly so low that you can barely hear him over the TV. "You think I don't care?"

You want to reply, but then he laughs and your words get stuck in your throat.

"Sweetheart, I wish I didn't care." He runs a hand over his mouth. "I wish I didn't care so I wouldn't be worried out of my mind every time we went on a hunt. I wish I didn't care so I wouldn't have to worry about you getting hurt, or worse, killed, every single time we face a new monster."

You try to follow him, but your mind gets stuck on the pet name. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart.

"You got a problem with me giving you orders? You're mad you didn't get to kill the big bad wolf by yourself? Well guess what, sweetheart." Dean closes the space that you've temporarily put between him and you. "I don't care about any of that."

You're ripped out of your hypnosis by the immediate sting of his words. Involuntary tears spring to your eyes and you try to fight them back down, unwilling to let him see how much it pains you to be right. "Fucking knew it-," you start, your voice thick and laced with pain, but he stops you.

"Oh, I'm not finished. I don't care if giving you orders pisses you off. I don't care if following my orders means that you get to live. That's what I care about. Hate me all you want, but don't you ever think for a second that I don't care about you. You mean 'nothing' to me? You mean everything to me."

You mean everything to me.

Everything to me.

Everything.

The words echo in your head, one by one, until only one remains. Everything.

You blink at Dean.

Everything.

Even if you're dubious of the words, there is something in his eyes that you've never ever seen on Dean before. His brows are furrowed in that very familiar expression of anger, the type that regularly settles on his face when you refuse to listen, but there is something else underneath it all, softer and hesitant and shy-

It takes a moment, but you finally register it for what it is.

Vulnerability.

Fuck.

What you read as a sense of arrogance had been something else entirely all along? All his orders, every single command he's given you - they came from a place of love, not of condescension?

The weight of this revelation hangs heavy in the room as you blink feverishly, trying to make sense of it.

You mean everything to me.

Everything to me.

Everything.

The echo is like a starting shot that fires through your brain. Your legs move before you're even aware of it, carried forward by instinct rather than thought. One moment you're opposite Dean in a mouthy stand-off, the next you're on your tiptoes and your lips press against his in a hungry, starving fashion.

Whatever surprise you feel about your own boldness is quickly replaced by the astonishing speed at which Dean adjusts to the invasion of his personal space. You attribute some of it to his years of training, but a part of you wonders if his quick response has anything to do with how you mean everything to him.

Has he dreamt of this as long as you have?

Dean doesn't grant you a lot of time to ponder the question. His hands make sure that your brain is preoccupied with tracking their placement on your body, a task that's easier said than done as they move over your back and slide over your hips, skillfully testing your curves and luscious hills before getting tangled in your damp hair and cupping your face.

You know the feeling. You've felt it in his presence before numerous times, though the circumstances could not have been more different. Dean's hands on your body are new, but the adrenaline pumping through you isn't, nor is the sensation of being on high-alert and tracking every single sensation that you can register. All of your senses are working at high speed, clocking every touch, every sound that your touch on his body elicits.

Instead of relying on every piece of information to stay alive, you are devouring every sensation with a hunger you didn't know you were capable of. Every moment, every placement of his hands on your body, every movement of his lips against yours has to be clocked and noted down. You're eating it all up in a desperate attempt to commit all of it to memory at once, no matter how many braincells you fry in the process.

For reasons you cannot think of in this moment, your vigor is not only matched but challenged by Dean. The kiss is a pornographic rendition of your interactions on a hunt: Dean's insistence to lead and your feeble attempts to take point. Even though you were the one to kiss him, there's a neediness on both ends as the two of you seem to struggle for more of the other, more lips, more skin, more more more.

Your wet clothing is leaving stains on his, but he doesn't seem to mind or even notice. "You're everything to me," he repeats in a murmur in the rare instance that his mouth break from yours. You can feel his lips move against your cheek as he speaks. A kiss is planted in the same spot, then another on your cheekbone, on your jawline, your earlobe, and then that special place just below where the ear meets the neck that gives you goosebumps.

"How could I ever let something happen to you?" Dean expertly works his way from your neck down to the low cut of your shirt and you're unable to respond, rendered mute by the sensation of his lips and tongue travelling over your collarbone and marking their passage as they go. His kisses are sloppy and yet precise, saliva mixing with the beads of water dripping from your hair onto your chest. He licks them up where he encounters them, hot wet strips up your skin that burn with fiery want even long after his tongue has moved on another place.

Dean's touches feel like heaven. They cloud your mind and haze your thoughts until there's barely anything sensible left in your head for you to hold on. What you feel most is a desperate want, a heavy need for him, for Dean to be touching you, to be on you, to be inside of you.

And yet, persistent as an infestation of cockroaches, a shred of defiance remains in the back of your mind, demanding to be heard.

I want to have my say, it pouts and stomps with its foot like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum.

And have your say you will.

"Stop," you breathe out and pull away what little you can while encased in Dean's arms.

It shouldn't delight you how quickly he freezes up before you, how fast he follows your plea command. You know Dean can be overbearing and bossy, a pompous and pretentious asshole for a leader who barks orders without offering explanations, but he's never once been anything but a gentleman when it comes to boundaries regarding your personal space.

Dean is a lot of things, but he's not a grabby asshole. Just a bossy one.

"What did I do? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?" The immediate concern is evident both on his face and in his voice and you feel like you might scream. No, you didn't, my god, you didn't, keep on doing what you did, your heart seems to be saying, cheered on by the pool of warmth between your legs, but the remaining shred of defiance isn't having any of it.

"I- no, no you didn't, it's just-," you start and break off again. Words are racing through your head at lightning speed, forming half-sentences that barely make sense before being replaced immediately.

I want you to listen to me-

Want you to hear me-

To validate me as a hunter-

I want you to fuck me, right here, right now.

You're at war with yourself and your mouth can't keep up with the speed at which your thoughts firing.

See me, hear me, validate me.

Do to my body whatever you want.

"Hey, talk to me." Dean's voice is gentle, just like the hand he places on your cheek, but your jaw clenches regardless. Another order. You tense up under his touch and see his brows furrow in concern, the lines on his forehead deepening. His eyes seek out yours and finally, you see something in them you haven't seen before. They speak before his mouth does: Please.

"Please," he repeats and you melt right there and then.

Finally, the single word that turns his command into a plea.

Somehow, that's all it takes.

"Fucking finally," you breathe out before you throw yourself at him with renewed vigor. You wrap your hands around his neck and pull him a little closer in an effort to reinforce what you're trying to wordlessly say with way of your lips: touch me, kiss me, take me, make me yours.

God or not, Dean answers your prayers. Your shirt is the first to go, peeled off of your damp skin hastily and chucked aside. His flannel and t-shirt soon follow by your hands and a growl escapes your throat when his bare chest is exposed to you. You've seen Dean topless before (though not often enough in your opinion) but you've never been this close to it, your face just mere inches from where his anti-possession tattoo blooms on his chest. His scent wafts over to you as he moves against you and you can't help but sink your teeth into his skin, a puny attempt at devouring him whole so that he may stay with you forever.

You latch onto his skin and the ground underneath your feet disappears. You yelp into his chest when Dean picks you up with surprising ease and walks the two of you over to his bed, never once stopping the shower of kisses on any spot of you that he can reach. He lays you down so gently that he seems afraid he might break you if he handled you too roughly, but then his body presses you into the mattress as he lays on top of you and kisses you with a feverish intensity that is anything but gentle.

Where to place your hands first? His back, his neck, his biceps, his stomach? Or bury them in his hair instead? The choices are overwhelming and equally tempting, so you don't decide but go for all of them. You simply can't get enough of him, of touching Dean the way you've dreamt of for so long, silently and secretly at night where you couldn't be caught; but now he's here, his warm skin flush against yours, and it's exhilarating.

"My god, look at you," Dean groans, his head level with your chest. "You're gorgeous." His hands cup around your luscious breasts with a gentle squeeze while he looks on in admiration and you feel some color rushing to your cheeks. Dean's not exactly shy to hand out a compliment, but it's never been anything as explicit as this before.

"Could never let anything happen to you," he mumbles into your skin between nibbles down your belly. His hands accompany his mouth, softly kneading the pads of flesh in wake of his kisses. Were the circumstances different, were it anyone else besides Dean - the attention of detail to your belly would have sent you into a frenzy already, self-consciousness kicking in and overriding any bit of joy you could derive from the activity. But it's not a random bar hook up that's leaving love-bites on your soft hills and curves, it's not a stranger that's kneading your flesh with a hungry and appreciative appetite in his eyes. It's Dean, peppering you with kisses all over, not missing a single inch of your torso and squeezing you so affectionately in any place that he can get a hold of that you don't even consider once whether or not he enjoys what is being served to him.

There is no question that Dean is enjoying his meal to the fullest, and from the hunger in his eyes, it looks like he hasn't even gotten to the main course yet.

You buck your hips up towards him when his mouth nears the waistband of your jeans, keen with anticipation, but then his mouth trails back up towards your bust again. "Not done yet," you hear him mumble and feel his lips stretch into a grin across your skin when you whine in frustration. "Patience, sweetheart, patience."

Patience my ass, you think, but slightly arch your back so he can unclasp your bra regardless. Something of a choking sound falls from Dean's lips when your tits fall free. "My god," he breathes out and there's the same shine in his eyes that he gets when pie is placed in front of him. "Do you even know how beautiful you are?"

He doesn't wait for you to respond and you're not sure you could anyway. Dean just had another appetizer served and he is hungry. His lips dip down and encase the sensitive bud with the precision and determination. A moan escapes you when his tongue starts to swirl around until your nipple stands rock hard. You blindly feel for him, aiming for his hair to pull him up to you for another kiss, but he catches your hands before they can latch on and gently traps your wrists in a bracelet of his own hands, pressing soft kisses to your palms before returning his attention to your remaining nipple.

You squirm underneath Dean, moaning and whining while trapped in his literal hand-cuffs as he feathers strokes of his tongue over your other nub.

"Dean, please," you whine, unsure of what exactly it is you're asking for. All you know is that you want more, that you need more. "Please."

Dean hums against your skin in acknowledgement. "I hear you, baby, I do."

He makes quick work of your pants, a true feat considering the way jeans cling to wet skin. Perhaps the jeans temporarily forgot that it was wet under Dean's touch. You couldn't blame it, the way he expertly peels the thick wet garment off you like it's nothing. He unearths your damp and shivering legs in the same way one might peel skin off a delicious fruit. The wet piece drops to the floor in a soft thud, forgotten the moment the last bit of fabric leaves your skin.

How can a man who fights and kills with such brute strength touch you with the softness of a feather?

The pads of Dean's fingers stroke up your legs, over your shins and up to your knees where they suddenly dig into your skin, and appreciative grip on your thighs. You're by no means small, but Dean's large hands still somehow fill the width of your thighs. It's an intoxicating scene, his hands spread out on your thighs, so close to your heated core; something akin to a painting you wish you could frame and hang on your wall.

"Hey." You involuntarily peel your eyes from his hands at the beckoning of his voice. "Are you sure?"

You tug on his waistband in lieu of an answer, motioning for him to scoot upwards. You can sense his hesitation in the cautious way he crawls towards you, his eyes still searching your eyes for what your mouth won't say. You don't leave him guessing long, though. One hand travels down his torso towards the bulge in his pants. Dean's breath stutters and his eyes flutter shut as you rub your hand over his erection. He shudders against your touch while he hovers over you, visibly straining to stay atop. "You don't gotta-" His voice breaks off into a groan when you start moving your hand mid-sentence. Dean's head falls towards your chest with closed eyes and his body shudders again, resulting in a smug grin on your face.

This is your doing.

And though Dean is clearly enjoying your touch on his groin, it's not enough. You need more, more of him.

Your hands make quick work of his belt buckle, working with the same experience and quick fingers that can quickly dismantle a gun and put it back together. When your hand slips into his boxers, you both gasp.

He's big.

Your fingers form a ring around his cock and you begin to Dean jerk off, slowly and attentively, watching his face for a reaction of what he likes and adjusting your grip and speed accordingly. It's mesmerizing, the way it only takes your hand to draw sounds from Dean's lips you've never heard from him before, but have dreamt of countless times. One of his hand snakes into your hair while his face sinks into the crook of your neck. You feel his labored breath against your skin and the sharp pull on your scalp where his fingers have clenched into a fist in your hair. "Fuck, sweetheart," he whispers and you feel yourself leaking into your panties with excitement.

So many days you brooded over Dean's bossy demeanor. So many times you sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, fuming and stewing in your own anger while you waited for him to finish off another monster, shunned to the car and ordered to wait until he'd done the deed. You swallowed so many orders and commands, but now, you're the one in charge.

You have your hand wrapped around Dean's cock and you can't help but feel like you've won.

"Hold on, please," he croaks into your neck, his voice deliciously raspy and needy.

'Please', he said.

Something in your tummy pulls. Dean is asking you, not ordering you.

"Please," he repeats again and your hand stills in his boxers. You turn your head to find his eyes. "You gotta stop, or it's over before it's even begun," he says and the smug smile only spreads further on your face.

You have your hand wrapped around Dean's cock, and you're making him feel so good that he might come if you don't stop.

'Pride' does not begin to cover the emotion you feel in this moment.

His lips seek out yours and he pulls you into a kiss that has a different flavor than those that came before. The passion hasn't changed, but the core has, going from needy to more sensual. His hands run a new course over your body as his tongue dances with yours, and before long, you can guess their destination.

Dean is seeking out the heat between your legs. He first runs a single, gentle finger over the damp cloth between your thighs. There's no question that though the rain properly soaked you, the dampness between your legs has nothing to do with the downpour outside and everything to do with the large man on top of you.

He groans slightly when he feels how soaked you already are. "So wet already, sweetheart? Just for me?" The words are mumbled against the sensitive spot on your neck. The skin tingles where his lips make contact and a shiver of goosebumps runs down your body, causing you to shudder slightly against his touch. His finger slides over your clothed folds again, dipping between them ever so slightly but enough for you to feel the friction directly against your clit. A breath hitches in your throat and the grip on his cock tightens involuntarily.

He's barely touched you (down there) and you already feel like you're about to lose your marbles.

In true fashion to the competitive nature of your relationship, the next few minutes are a competition of who can make the other one break first. Dean slides a finger under the fabric that separates him from your core and begins to softly move it up and down your folds; meanwhile you resume your work in his boxers. Moans fill the room as both of you pleasure the other one with nothing more than your hands.

You fight to focus through the hazy pleasure that fills your head more and more as Dean draws tiny circles over your most sensitive spot. The longer his soft pad presses against your sensitive flesh in a circular motion, the more you find your hips arching upwards toward him, silently begging for more friction. It's both a blessing and a curse how good it feels to have his hand between your legs and you find yourself trapped by your own need for dominance - give or receive?

But then Dean's hips buck against your grip in his pants and you are spurned on even more, determined to make him come before you do.

Your resolve lasts for all but sixty seconds when Dean decides that enough is enough and he needs more of you, and he needs it now. The finger that toyed with your clit slides down towards your entry, easy and swiftly through your slick that by now has bled through the fabric of your panties and dampened the mattress. Dean reaches his destination and probes your fluttery hole with just the tip of his finger, sliding in with the same ease as pushing into cotton candy, and both you and him moan simultaneously. "So wet, so soft," he whispers and you whine, your grip on his cock feeling like the only thing that's anchoring to this world.

It's just the tip, but now that it's there, you need more, now, this very second. Your hips move on their own accord in an attempt to push down on his finger and Dean accepts your request without hesitation. His long digit slowly drives into you and you arch your back in response, your mind clouding over as he claims you for the first time.

"Fuck, Dean," you whine, the last words you're able to form before he pulls out and gently repeats the intrusion into your wet and heated core. The second he takes on a steady pace you're lost to the sensation.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as Dean slides in and out of you, the steady motion creating a delicious friction in your aching center that both helps and adds to the tension that's building in your core. "My god, you're beautiful, you're so beautiful," you hear him whisper into your ear and you're unable to respond, caught in a trance brought on by his finger inside of you.

You don't even notice your grip loosening in his pants. Your arm is still moving absent-mindedly, pulling your ring of fingers up and down his shaft, but your movements stutter, impacted by Dean's digit that's working in and out of you.

His winning strike comes in the form of a second finger, gently pushing into you alongside the one that's already made himself at home inside of you. You feel the stretch of a second digit widening you and then gasp in ecstasy when not one, but two fingers curl deep inside of you and brush over the spot that makes you see stars.

It's over from thereon out. After seeing your reaction, Dean repeats the curling maneuver inside of you with an intensity and determination you only see from him when you're chasing a monster, except he's chasing your release now, and he seems dead-set on it. He mumbles praises into your ear while he works into you, the pads of his fingers relentlessly brushing over that same spot deep inside of you that you begin to thrash underneath him, unable to stay still while the coil in your belly tightens.

You were foolish to think that you could win against him, you now realize. You are putty in Dean's hands, ready to be molded into whatever he wants you to be. His orders are your command, what he says, goes.

"Come for me, sweetheart, come for me." It's as much as a request as it is an order.

How could the clay ever disobey its masters hands?

Dean's fingers work against the soft spot inside of you relentlessly and all you can do is hang on to him by digging a fist into his hair. Your back is arched, pushing your mound into his hand, deepening the friction he's providing as you push against him rhythmically. It doesn't take long for you to follow your orders.

One more curl of his fingers, one more pads of fingers brushing over your spot, and you're sent over the edge, legs quivering and shaking as the orgasm overtakes you and washes over you. You moan into Dean's ear, helpless as you're falling apart, but feeling perfectly safe at the same time.

Dean works you through your orgasm with the same intentional help he offers to you whenever else you are in need. His movements slow in unison with your body coming down from its high, but the kisses on your neck and collarbone never cease.

"You did so good, sweetheart. So good."

The praise goes down like warm honey. You drink it up like you're a woman dying of thirst and you realize that you can both win and lose at the same time.

Dean may be your boss, but he sees you regardless. He takes point, but he hears you.

And - this, you've never been more sure of in your life - he validates you.

He just couldn't show it before.

A/N: My first time writing smut! 🙂‍↕️ Did trying to write this almost break my brain? Absolutely. Am I satisfied with the outcome? …I think so. I didn’t proof-read it, but I’ve rewritten this piece so many times that I know some passages by heart now. I absolutely would’ve gotten nowhere if it hadn’t been for @artyandink’s tips and support throughout this. For that, I thank you my friend. I also have to give credit where credit is due and mention @zepskies because she’s the first writer I noticed specifically including plus-sized!readers in her fics. As a rather heavy set girl myself, I appreciated that so much! I tried to include appreciation for us heavier girls in this fic and I hope I did alright. That goes for the entire thing - writing smut was unbelievably daunting so if you have any feedback at all, please please please let me know. Criticism is appreciated too! - Alright, enough babbling. I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at smut! 🫶🏼

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

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imyourbratzdoll · 2 years ago

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Hey there, I was wondering if you could write a little Dean one-shot where he gets the reader to squirt?

hey, I hope you like what I wrote.

summary - dean gets you to squirt with just his fingers.

warning - smut, fingering, squirting.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let me hear you. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.” Dean curls his fingers as he says this, smirking as he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head, back arching as your moans escape you and fill the room. “That’s a good girl. You’re so wet. So tight around my fingers.”

“D–Dean! Too much!” You squeal, and your hand moves down and grips his wrist, holding on as you can’t decide if you should push it away or pull it closer, so his fingers reach deeper inside you. Your mouth drops open, and soft whimpers escape you, feeling your core tighten. Your eyes snap open as you feel something weird. “S–stop, I feel weird… What’s happening?”

Dean’s thumb rubs your puffy clit, curling and thrusting his fingers faster. “Don’t worry, sweetcheeks. It's a good thing. Just let go.” His mouth waters as he stares down at your dripping cunt, watching your cream coat his fingers. A smirk appears as you spasm, a pornographic scream falling from your lips as your juices squirt out of you, covering everything. Dean chuckles, pulling his hand out of your used cunt and toward his mouth, staring you deep in the eyes as he sucks your juices off his fingers. “Damn, sweets. You taste so damn good, maybe even better than pie.”

Your cheeks turn a rosy pink as you hear his words and watch him suck on the fingers that were just inside of you.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

#imyourbratzdollasks #imyourbratzdollwork #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester au

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iprobablyshipit91 · 2 years ago

Text

iprobablyshipit91 Fic Recs

So this started as me keeping links of all my favourite Dean Winchester fics that I finally decided to share so others could hopefully find some great stories and the authors would know how much I love their work. It’s kind of grown to a very, very huge list, but I love everyone of these works, they’re amazing and deserve so much love. I hope you find something you love on here 💕

There’s a mix of fluff, angst, smut, au etc. Please make sure you read the warnings for each story on it’s own page.

Beautiful Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Dean Winchester x Reader

Should I Stay or Should I Go by @daisythekitty

Sweet Dreams by @deanssweetheart23

Slip Up by @deanwritings

Bad Moon Rising by @hintsofhoney

Not the Planned Delivery by @lazydoodlesandfanfic

Unnamed by @lostdreamr-blog1

I’ve Got You by @spnexploration

Broken Ribs Against Fingertips by @the--blackdahlia

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Bullets and Bands by @deanwinchesterswitch

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Safe Now by @deanwritings

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#fic recs #Iprobablyshipit91 fic recs #Dean Winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean x you #dean winchester #please read these fics #you wont be disappointed #protective!dean winchester #alpha!dean winchester x omega!reader #dean winchester saves you #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn

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zepskies · 2 days ago

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Merry Christmas!! ❤️💚

If You Want It To Be || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean W. x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you.

AN: Here’s one of my entries for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event! ❄️🩵

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Bickering, fluff, jealousy, angst, friends to lovers, smut.

Part 1: December 23

Part 2: Christmas Eve

Part 3: Christmas Day

Series Complete!

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loverslantern · 23 days ago

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The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: A dangerous spirit is bound to an old family portrait that brings misfortune and death to anyone who buys it.

Warnings: Cannon violence and gore. flirting if you can call it that

Word Count: 10,688

Provenance

(Master list, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

Music thrums through the dimly lit bar, mingling with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses, drawing a crowd that fills nearly every corner.

I managed to escape from Sam and his research onto the safety of the dance floor two songs ago. And while I wasn’t always privy to dancing, it’s hard to ignore a live band.

So, I let the bassline sink into my bones, guiding my steps as I start to move. My hips sway in time with the sultry beat, each sway slow and deliberate. My arms lift, hands tracing soft arcs above me as I lose myself in the music. Then, fingertips brush my waist, and if they didn’t feel so familiar, I’d pull away. But, I know these hands, I know each callous as I feel them through my dress. “‘You come to dance?” I ask, turning in his hold to face him. He wears that charming smile, eyes dropped to my hips that still move with the music. “No, uh…” his eyes move back to my face. A smile stretches itself onto my lips as I tilt my head to indicate I’m listening even if I’m dancing. “Uh,” he turns his head away, “Sam was tryin’ to wave us down, but you were, um….” his eyes meet mine, “distracted.”

“Little disappointed that wasn’t a ‘yes,’” I tease, although I know he isn’t the type to dance. I slide my hand over his where it rests on my waist, gently pulling it away and taking it in mine. “Too bad Sam needs us, huh?” I say, starting to walk backward and leading him with me. “Yeah,” he sighs, “Too bad.” Something mellows in his eyes then, something I can’t quite grasp before I turn around and guide him back to our table.

The moment we reach Sam I collapse onto the little stool with a bright smile and a satisfied huff, taking my abandoned half-drunken soda into my hands. “Alright, I think we got something,” Sam announces, looking between us.

“Hit it!” I point at him.

“Oh yeah, me too,” Dean answers, glancing back at the bar to a girl I forgot he was talking to.

“Or not…” I mumble as he continues. “I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit. What do you think, huh?” he asks, looking back at us, “I’m so in the door with this one.”

“So, what are we today, Dean?” Sam mocks. “I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?”

I avert my eyes to the newspapers strewn about the table, pretending like I do not hear their conversation. “Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills,” Dean answers, and I can hear the grin on his face, “I mean, hey, it’s not that far off right?”

“You are being particularly icky with this one,” I comment, looking at him now as I bite on the thin black straw in my drink.

“She’s right,” Sam adds.

“Yeah, well it’s working,” Dean counters, “By the way, she’s got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam answers.

“Yeah, you can but you don’t,” he argues. I hit his arm, throwing him a look. He shouldn’t be pushing his brother like this. He can’t possibly expect Sam to be ready to move on when his girlfriend died only a couple of months ago, let alone not feel guilty for moving on. “What is that supposed to mean?” Sam bites back. But, I give Dean a ‘don’t’ look, they don’t need another thing to fight over. “Nothing,” he answers, taking my warning, “What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all…” Sam trails off, his findings coming to an abrupt end. “Dean!” he yells, gaining back the attention of his brother, “….No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside.”

“Could just be a garden variety murder you know, not our department,” Dean rationalizes, taking a sip of his beer.

“Says the guy who wasn’t paying attention,” I mumble.

“Hey!” he grumbles.

“What? It’s true!”

“Anyway,” Sam interjects, “Dad says differently.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, suddenly more interested.

“Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one.”

I have to give John credit, he seemed to have a hunch for these sorts of things and was persistent enough to keep up on it. It’s admirable at the very least. “Alright, I’m with ya,” Dean replies, “It’s worth checking out. We can’t pick this up til first thing though, right?”

I roll my eyes, though, of course, I'm not surprised. Not only does he not trust the legitimacy of a case until it has the John Winchester seal of approval rather than just trusting his brother, but of course, he’s immediately trying to go back to his potential hook-up. “Yeah,” Sam sighs.

“Good,” Dean grins, immediately going back to the bar. I don’t know whether to be disgusted or jealous. “Anywho,” I start, “I’m gonna go back to the dance floor, wanna join me?”

“No, you go,” Sam insists.

“Okay, well if you change your mind you know where to find me. Or, if you just need anything,” I offer.

Sam and I check out the Telesca's house while Dean reaps the consequences of a hangover. Either way, the house was a bust. There’s no sign of anything supernatural, in fact, there’s no sign of anything.

We approach the Impala and in it, a sleeping Dean occupies the passenger seat. He sleeps slouched with sunglasses on, I suppose to combat the sun for when he does decide to wake up and join us. Sam walks around the car sporting a mischievous smile as he leans into the open window and honks the horn. Dean jumps awake, his sunglasses slipping down his face. I scuff, laughing a little as I get into the backseat. To be fair, it is a little funny. And Sam, who finds it infinitely more funny than I do, laughs loudly as he takes the driver's seat. “Man, that is so not cool,” Dean grumbles, adjusting his sunglasses clumsily.

“We swept the Telescas with the EMF. It’s clean,” Sam informs, “And last night, while you were…well…out.”

“Good times,” Dean smirks, a satisfied look on his face. I cringe even though something sharp stabs my heart.

“I checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas,” Sam elaborates.

“Alright, so if it’s not the people and it’s not the house, then maybe it’s the contents. Cursed object or something,” Dean deduces.

“Yeah, funny story,” I start, “There’s literally nothing in that house.

“Yeah, you said that,” he counters.

“No, like literally empty,” I clarify, “Like empty empty, like more than just crime scene cleaners.”

“No furniture, nothing,” Sam explains.

“Which could mean it’s either in storage somewhere, given to family…”

“…Or at an auction,” Sam adds, finishing my sentence.

****

Beautiful classical music plays in the auction house, where nearly every surface is covered in trinkets or furniture. Nicely dressed people flutter around in their expensive suits and dresses, holding champagne flutes as they chat.

To say we stick out is an understatement. We aren’t dressed nearly as nice as we should be for a place like this. I mean, they have violin players here. I feel incredibly awkward as we walk around, it’s like everyone’s staring…. They might actually be staring. Maybe we should’ve gotten more entail for a place like this before coming in because it is a horrible day to be wearing shorts.

The class difference feels apparent not only just clothing but in manners. Their prideful eyes flip onto us, seeping in as if they can read us. They can sniff out our class the same way we can see theirs. And it’s no help that Dean keeps stopping for the finger food, shoving it into his mouth without care. “Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean comments.

“They’re usually nicer than this,” I respond, looking around, “I mean in terms of people and environment ...not that this environment isn’t nice but it’s…”

“Disturbing?” Dean answers, popping another piece of food in his mouth.

“I was going to say pretentious but that works too,” I nod. Thrift stores and estate sales were usually nice experiences but a place like this is more about boasting through showing your wealth than enjoying your search for items to complete your home or yourself. In other words, it’s a great way to remind you of your class and just how much you don’t fit in.

“Can I help you?” a voice suddenly asks. An older man with grey hair and blue eyes stares at us. Dean looks him up and down before shoving more food in his mouth, “I’d like some champagne, please,” he says putting on his best posh voice.

“No, baby, he’s not a waiter,” I cut in, putting a hand on Dean’s upper arm.

Sam holds out his hand, “I’m Sam Conners,” he greets. But, his introduction is not met with the same friendliness. The man just looks at him, not moving. Sam gives a sharp nod, retracting his hand, “That’s my brother Dean and my sister-in-law Y/N. “We’re art dealers, with Connors Limited.”

“You are….” the man searches for the word as he looks at us with skepticism. “Art dealers.”

“That’s right,” Sam confirms.

“I’m Daniel Blake,” he finally introduces himself, “This is my auction house. Now gentlemen and madam this is a private showing, and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We’re there chuckles, you just need to take another look,” Dean answers, unamused, as he grabs a drink off a passing waiter. “Finally,” he mumbles, bringing it up to his lips.

“What I think my husband means to say,” I intervene quickly, the word sounding strange on my tongue. It’s a title seeped in irony—one I long for even though he spent last night with someone else. And yet, here I am, calling him my husband, craving a title that’s only pretend. “Names are such funny things. They just….slip on by. If you should like, I have no problem looking at the guest list with you so we can get this all cleared up.”

He raises his chin high, seeming to consider my offer. “Very well,” he answers, “Come along.” He turns around, stiff in his movements. I move away from Dean, my hand slipping off his arm as I throw back a wide-eyed glance. I follow after the man, moving further and further away from the boys. He goes to a security guy and asks him to go fetch the book because apparently, he can’t do it himself. “I don’t mean to come off as intruding but I didn’t see a ring on your finger,” he says.

He didn’t believe Sam’s lie. He’s testing me to determine our legitimacy. I put on my best smile, “You must have glossed over it,” I reason. I hold up my left hand, displaying a matching wedding band and an engagement ring. Both are aged silver bands, the engagement ring having a simple diamond at its center. It’s all I could come up with on short notice—quite literally in the seconds it took me to answer and raise my hand. “Charming,” he comments, lacking conviction. I put my hand back down, keeping the rings there even as my smile falters.

Finally, the rather thick book reaches the hands of Mr. Blake who simply wastes no time in cracking it open. He flips through the pages until he finds the names under ‘C,’ his finger skimming down the page. His face drops. He clears his throat. “Yes, there you are,” he declares, placing the book in a way I can see. His pointer finger is just below our names, newly placed by yours truly. “I apologize for the disruption,” he says, closing the book with a thump.

“Oh, that’s okay. With all those names it’s easy to miss,” I reply. I almost feel bad for deceiving him, he must feel crazy. But, we do need to figure out what killed the Telesca's and everyone before them so it is necessary. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go back to my boys,” I say with a nod, wanting nothing more to get away from this man….no offense to him.

I feel his eyes burning into the back of my skull as I walk back to the Winchesters like he still suspects us and is just waiting for a slip. So, without a second thought, I move closer to Dean, slipping my hand beneath his blue jacket and resting it on his back. He doesn’t question it; his eyes flicker to mine, but he just pulls me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. The warmth of him sends butterflies crashing into my stomach, and my pulse quickens until I can barely focus on anything but the solid warmth of his touch. My heart pounds so wildly that I have to force my gaze forward.

That’s when I notice the dark-haired woman standing in front of them. Her hair is pulled back with two curled strands framing either side of her face, highlighting her sharp, thin eyebrows and kind grey eyes that are fixed intently on Sam. She wears a black dress with a bit of a plunging neckline, accented by a sparkling brooch at its center. “But, Dad’s right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds,” she says, adding to whatever conversation was at hand, “Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asks.

“I’m afraid there isn’t any chance of that,” Mr. Blake says, his voice suddenly appearing from behind us. What could he have possibly found? “Why not?” Sam asks.

“I fear we have guests complaining about your….” he looks us up and down. “Appearance. We do have a very strict dress code.” A sigh escapes my lips, no way this constitutes us being kicked out. So much for creating a whole illusion.

“Well, we don’t have to be told twice,” Dean responds putting on his horrible posh voice again. He’s probably done with this scene.

“Apparently you do,” Mr.Blake retorts cooly.

“Okay. It’s alright,” Sam intervenes. “We don’t want any trouble. We’ll go.”

The day’s light filters in through the entryway as we step out. It’s hard to tell if guests were complaining about us or if he truly just wanted us to go. Either way, he got us to leave. We pause just a few steps away from the doorway, Sam already moving far ahead of us.

The sun catches Dean’s eyes as he turns to look at me, a smirk playing on his lips, “I guess I’m your husband now,” he says, his voice low. My heart stutters behind my ribcage and it takes all my willpower to keep my eyes on his and not let them dip to his mouth. “That you are,” I answer, an easy smile on my face.

“Maybe I should get you a ring,” he teases.

“Apparently, you have,” I hold up my left hand for him, the rings still there. He reaches for my hand, thumb brushing over the bands, his eyes lingering on the diamond. The gentle pressure sends a rush of warmth through me, and my stomach does about ten flips consecutively. He looks at me through his lashes, that smirk only deepening, “You bad girl.”

I gasp, taking my hand from his to hit his chest. “I didn’t steal them!” I insist, but he just catches my hand again, bringing his thumb back to the rings.

“Have to admit,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling as he meets mine, “I have good taste. Could’ve added a few more diamonds, though.” He says it so casually, with such cockiness, and it just fuels a quiet, barren dream that I now want more than anything. “Well,” I reply, feigning nonchalance. “You can keep that in mind for the next time we get married.”

I slip from his hold with a teasing smile, and he lets me go. I let the rings disappear from my finger, leaving the same way they came. At least I have control over them leaving. It hurts to give myself hope, and I don’t know why I do it. I fix my faltering smile before I spin around, walking backward as I speak to him. He hasn't moved from where we stood, something written on his face. “I really didn’t steal them. They aren’t real.”

****

“Were you really flirting with that girl?” I ask Sam, a proud smile on my face. He rolls his eyes, no doubt knowing where I got my information from. “I wasn’t flirting. We were just talking art,” he defends.

I laugh, “I think that might count as flirting. At least in your book.” I don’t mean to tease him too harshly over this, after all, I’m proud of him. Maybe that sounds weird but just like Dean I want him to be happy, and it’s good if he’s trying to move on after Jessica. “Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean mocks, “Where’d that come from?” he asks as we approach their room, bags in hand. I’ll go to my room later, as for now, it’s easier to stick with them.

“Art history course,” he answers simply, “It’s good for meeting girls.”

I laugh again, nudging his arm with my own, “Look at you go.”

He scuffs despite the smile on his face. Dean puts the key in the lock, turning it as he says, “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

He pushes the door open to reveal a complete disco-themed room. The walk-in is lined with black and white diamond wallpaper, and a metal divider made of circles separates the walk-in from the sitting area. Very ‘70s. Meanwhile, the sitting area has granite-like floors and completely black walls that contrast with the two white seats that face a long dresser-like table where speakers and lamps rest, and right above it an abstract painting sits. More of the same dividers separate the sitting area from the back where the two queen beds reside, the diamond wallpaper makes its reappearance there as well as the red carpet.

“Huh,” the boys hum at the same time.

“‘Huh’ might be an understatement,” I mumble, following after them into the themed room. I feel like we should be in Vegas with a room like this, that feels more appropriate. But, at least it’s fun…? They move deeper into their room, dumping their bags on their respective beds while I leave mine by the door. “What was…providence?” Dean asks.

“Prov-e-nance,” Sam corrects, “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past.”

“See, your art history class isn’t just helpful with getting girls,” I say, taking a seat on one of the white seats. Apparently, they found a painting that belonged to the Telesca's. The painting was a family portrait with two young boys in suits on the left and a young girl in a frilly dress holding a doll with matching clothes on the right. And, at the center a woman, likely the mother, sits wearing a dress with similar frills and ribbons as her daughter, a balding man with a serious face standing behind her.

“Speaking of girls…” Dean snaps his fingers at his brother, smirking.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam responds, smirking right back.

“Not me,” Dean laughs.

Sam’s face drops, “No no no, pick-ups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn’t my ass she was checking out,” Dean remarks, giving him a look.

“Sam, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you,” I add, “And I wasn’t even there for half the conversation.”

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” he responds.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team,” Dean reasons. “Call her.” I’m tempted to correct him and put it in kinder words. But, I stop myself as I realize that if we frame it as a proper date, he might back down. He might not feel ready to move on or feel too guilty about it and, frankly, no one could blame him.

****

A Re-run of Scooby-Doo plays on the large TV in front of us, the take-out we ate a while ago sitting in the trash can now as we lounge on his bed. Our backs lean on the cushioned headboards, the crisp motel blanket covering both of us as we sit side by side, close enough for our thighs to touch. He chuckles at some silly joke Scooby made, the sweet sound warming my heart.

I’m glad we decided to hang around if only to see him this content. I like the familiarity of this—of him. I wish we could have endless moments like this. If only we could live in a gap between time where all is well. I’d like that. I think he’d like that too. Time seems to melt together here where responsibility is put on hold to just…breathe. I hope Sam is having a good time on his date, that’d just make this whole day as perfect as it can get.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts as a plastic spoon comes crashing into my personal space, landing right in my (flavor) ice cream. “Hey!” I exclaim, laughter immediately bubbling from my lips, “You have your own ice cream.” He gathers a big spoonful and I don’t stop him or pull the container away. “So?” he shrugs, putting it into his mouth as he puts his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer to his side. With a hand on his chest, I pull away enough to look up at him, “You’re ridiculous,” I say though my voice lacks conviction. His eyes meet mine, his head tilted down slightly, “Yeahhh,” he smirks, “But you love me.” He says it confidently as if he knows it's true even though he means it in a teasing way.

Then his eyes dip down and I can’t quite find the right words because the right words are “I do” and I can’t afford the truth. Not now….maybe not ever. This hunting trip has been a blessing and a curse. I get to spend more time with him than we probably ever had, and yet to be this close hurts. It’s as if he’s the sun and to even get in his gravity field would burn me right up. Though, maybe being like Icarus would be worth it. “You’re lucky I do,” I tease.

The click of the door tears my eyes away from him. “Sam!” I say excitedly as he comes into the motel room. “How was your date?” I ask.

“It was…” he searches for the words as he removes his blazer, “Good. I got the provenances.”

“Great!” I leap from the bed, leaving the rest of my ice cream on the nightstand, “I want to hear every single detail,” I take a couple of the manilla folders from him.

“There’s really not any details to share,” he answers with a tight-lipped smile.

I give him a pointed look, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“That’s not gonna work on me,” I say, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the living room area.

“Fine,” he gives in, throwing his blazer over the back of the other chair before taking a seat, “The restaurant was fancy.” I practically hang onto each word, waiting for more to come. “And?” I ask, beaming.

“And the food was good.”

I groan, laying my head against the chair, “Dude, these are hardly details!” I twist in the seat to look back at his brother, “Dean, help me out here.” He looks up from the ice cream container in his hand, “This is all you, sweetheart,” he answers, shoving more ice cream in his mouth. Wait. My ice cream in his mouth. I roll my eyes, turning back around, “You guys are being such guys right now.”

A sheepish smile rests on Sam’s face, his eyes already on an open file. “Fine!” I give up, throwing my hands up, “Keep your date a secret!” I shake my head as I pick up a file of my own.

I get to reading as the room falls into silence that’s only broken up by the sound of turning pages. “So, she just handed the providences over to you,” Dean starts.

“Provenances,” his brother corrects.

“Provenances,” Dean repeats with a bitter tone.

“Yes. We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers…”

“And?” Dean asks, using the very word I had used. I look up from my papers, expecting to hear more information than he was willing to give me. “And nothing. That’s it. I left,” Sam answers.

“You didn’t have to con her or do any…special favors—”

“Eww,” I laugh, “Why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?”

“Hey, her head is in the gutter too,” he says and I can practically feel him pointing at me. I turn in my seat again, “I didn’t say anything!” I defend.

“You sure were thinking it though,” he remarks, a slight smirk threatening the corner of his mouth.

“And you know that how?” I counter giving him a pointed look. But, Sam cuts him off before he can get a word in, “Could you both stop, please?”

“Yeah, sorry,” I mumble, returning to my reading.

“You know when this whole things done, we could stick around for a little bit,” Dean offers, not exactly backing down like his brother wanted.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“So you could take her out again,” he answers. “It’s obvious you’re into her, even I could see that.” It’s quite a conflicting situation. On the one hand, maybe we shouldn’t push or encourage him to go on dates when he’s clearly still grieving his girlfriend. In truth, it feels wrong and inconsiderate but on the other hand, maybe encouraging him could help with the moving on and accepting process. Or, perhaps this isn’t our place at all and we should shut up. “Hey, Sam, you said the first murder was in 1912, right?” I ask, deciding to move on from the conversation of dating. “Yeah, why?” he responds.

“I have a family portrait here from 1910 with the first sale in 1912 to Peter Simms,” I explain, lifting the paper for him to see. Then, there's a familiar presence behind me, a hand resting on the back of my chair. “Peter Simms murdered in 1912,” Dean reads, holding his Dad's journal in his free hand.

“There’s another sale in ‘45 and then in ‘70. Does that match?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah,” he nods, confirming this was what we were looking for.

“Then it was stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam fills in the rest of the information. “So, what do you think, it’s haunted? Or cursed?”

Dean shifts behind me, the journal coming to a soft close, “Either way, it’s toast.”

Pitch darkness cloaks us as we break in, from climbing the ridiculously tall metal gate to the careful way Sam disarms the security alarm before Dean works at the lock with careful, gloved hands. Our flashlights guide our way into the quiet auction house. It’s so different now without all the people, more enjoyable even.

The painting is located quickly and cut from its frame with a switchblade. And as quickly as we came we left, doing almost everything in reverse. “Four minutes,” I announce, “‘Think that’s a new record.”

****

The cut-out painting lies in the dirt of a random side road. Something that took a lot of work and talent to do left to burn in the middle of nowhere. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me we’re doing the art world a favor,” Dean remarks, dropping the lit match onto the art piece.

This had to be some sort of crime.

I swing my legs off the bed, shoving my laptop onto the duvet as I get up to answer the knocking at my door. Before opening it, I tug my shirt to sit properly off my shoulder.

“Hey, we have a—” he stops short, those green eyes dropping to my bare legs. The oversized shirt I’m wearing only reaches mid-thigh. A smirk tugs at his perfect lips, and whatever he is going to say goes out the window. His gaze drags up my frame slowly, my insides going all warm and my stomach flipping in a way I wish it wouldn’t. “What were you up to?” he asks, the smirk still easy and lazy on his face. A huffed laugh escapes me, and I hope he doesn’t notice the blush creeping onto my cheeks. “What happened with ‘we have a…’?” I answer instead.

“What?” His eyes snap back to mine from wherever they were looking.

I laugh again. “Dean,” I say firmly, trying to keep the conversation on track. “What were you going to tell me?”

He shrugs, something he doesn’t do often, his smirk turning into a goofier smile. “I have no idea.”

I give him a pointed look, he’s messing with me now. “Come on, Winchester, focus.”

His eyes dip down again, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek as his gaze crawls back up. “Oh, I’m plenty focused.”

“You were saying something about ‘we have a…’” I try again, hoping to jog his memory.

“Problem,” he finishes, shuffling a little bit as he adjusts how he’s standing. “Right. A problem.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stares at me. “What's the problem?” I ask, leading this conversation.

“‘Can’t find my wallet,” he answers, nodding awkwardly. I try not to let the surprise show on my face. All this because he couldn’t find his wallet? “Do you need help finding it…?” I offer.

“Yeah,” he nods, then pauses. “Wait. No. I think I dropped it at the warehouse.”

“What!?” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you say that sooner!?” Immediately I spin right back into my room. “Let me get dressed real quick,” I add over my shoulder.

He steps into the room, letting the door shut behind him as I rummage through my duffle. “Wait.” I pause, turning to face him. His eyes dart up to meet mine, eyebrows raised as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have. I brush his antics off as I ask, “Do you want me to just,” I raise my hands, wiggling my fingers, “magick it here.”

A small look of surprise hits his face as if he hadn’t thought of it. “Right. So–”

****

“You could have encouraged him instead of fake losing your wallet, you know right?” I ask, looking up at him as his brother and Sarah converse across the room.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he remarks.

“I don’t think making us think you could get caught for last night because you dropped your wallet is very fun,” I point out, crossing my arms across my chest. His wallet was in his pocket the whole time, which of course he knew about. What he really wanted was an excuse to get Sam and Sarah together again after their date. I don’t necessarily disagree with what he intended to do but it also isn’t exactly fun to be in the warehouse again. It’s like no matter what we still can't fit in.

But, he doesn’t need to say it. We both know Sam wouldn’t have come here otherwise.

****

“I don’t understand, we burned the damn thing,” Sam says, frustrated.

“Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious,” Dean grumbles.

“And we can for sure rule out it’s not a duplicate….somehow…right?” I ask even though I’m not convinced of what I’m saying either. But a girl can dream. Sam turns in the passenger seat, delivering me the nastiest pointed look to ever be received. “Okay. Okay. I get it,” I say, raising my hands in defense. “I was trying to be…hopeful.”

Dean nudges his brother's arm, getting him to lay off of me. “Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?”

“Okay, alright. We, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it’s always the painting’s subject that haunts ‘em,” Sam informs.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting,” Dean adds.

“Who do you think would know about them?” I ask.

****

The smell of old books fills my senses as we step into the second-hand bookstore, the little bell above the door chiming softly. It’s quiet and warm in the store with books stacked in piles littering the floor, making walking almost hard. Others are neatly arranged on tightly packed shelves in an attempt to fit more. If we weren’t here on business, I’d spend so much money here. I have to force my eyes away from the alluring spines of the novels, a gentle hand on my lower back encourages me to focus. I don’t need to turn my head to know the hand belongs to Dean.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?” the old man behind the counter asks.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam answers. The man lays out a huge book, dust sprinkling from it as he opens it to reveal the many news clippings inside. He’s well organized, I have to give him that. But, my focus is broken by the flicking of pages beside me. I look at Dean, his free hand holding open some old magazine about guns. Naturally, the guy encouraging me to focus is unfocused himself. But, he looks so happy as he flicks through the pages it’s hard to be upset. “Want me to buy that for you?” I ask softly, the words slipping from my lips before I have time to think. I kind of want to hit myself for that one.

But then he turns that smile on me and suddenly I do not want to hit myself. “I’m a big boy,” he says, his gaze dipping lower. “I can buy my own stuff.” His eyes slowly trail back up to meet mine, but his hand doesn’t stay still. It dips slightly, taking my stomach with it. His middle finger hooks lightly through a belt loop on my jean skirt, the rest of his fingers splayed on my very lower back. “You rarely buy things for yourself,” I point out. He only buys himself the necessities.

“I dug up every scrap of local history I could find,” the owner announces, pulling my attention forward. “So are you crime buffs?”

“Mhm,” I hum. “Yeah.”

“Why do you ask?” Dean asks, and I can feel the heat of his gaze pulling away from me.

“Well…” He holds up a newspaper article. The lead story, taking up most of the front page, is about the Titanic. But, a little further down to where he points is a side article titled: ‘Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.’

“Murder-suicide,” I mumble to myself. It’s certainly not the first.

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean says, stumbling on his words.

“The whole family was killed?” Sam asks.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids’ throats, then his wife, then himself. Now he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” he explains, his voice gravelly with age.

“Does it say why he might’ve done it?” I ask.

“Let’s look,” he answers, turning the newspaper around so that he can read it. “‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist.’”

It’s certainly not surprising news considering it was the early 1900’s. “Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…” he continues. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbles as he skims the page. “‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um….” he clears his throat. “So, instead, old man Isaiah…well he gave them all a shave.” He draws his hand across his throat, mimicking the motion of slitting one's throat as he laughs.

“That’s, uh, certainly one way to put it,” I respond, my words harsh. It was hardly a laughing matter. An entire family was killed because some guy let his anger and ego get in the way when all his wife wanted was to get the kids and escape his wrath. His laugh dies down pretty quickly once he realizes no one is joining in. “Does it say what happened to the bodies?” Dean asks.

“Just that they were all cremated,” he answers.

“Anything else?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family.” He shuffles through the papers in the book, “It’s right here….somewhere. Right—here it is.” He holds up the paper for us to see. It’s the family portrait from the painting.

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asks.

****

“I’m telling you, man, I’m sure of it. In the painting at the auction house, Dad is looking down. Painting here, Dad’s looking out. The painting has changed,” Sam argues for the fifth time since we’ve been sitting at the table.

“Alright,” Dean finally gives in. “So, you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?”

“Well yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted then how are we gonna stop him?”

“Maybe not everything was burned,” I suggest.

“Kind of hard to miss something when you’re cremated,” Sam counters.

“Well yeah but that doesn’t mean a keepsake doesn’t still exist,” I point out. “Or, not even a keepsake but maybe anything that’s on his person in the painting that’s still around now. If it’s personal enough.”

“Maybe,” Sam nods, seeing my point. “And if we figure out what and burn it then no more killing.”

“Yeah,” I nod with him, “We just have to figure out what…somehow.”

“And where,” he adds.

“Well, if Isaiah’s position changed then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well,” Dean suggests. “You know it could give us some clues.”

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asks.

Dean's face goes blank, “I don’t….know..uh…I’m still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He rises from his seat and moves across the room to his bed, he throws himself onto his back and crosses his arms across his chest. I have to stop myself from ogling him with the way the grey shirt looks on him, especially with those forearms on display…

“Which is a good thing cause you get some more time to crush on your girlfriend,” he teases.

“Dude. Enough already,” Sam says firmly.

“What?” He answers in defense.

‘“What? Ever since we got here, you’ve been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, alright?”

“Well, you like her don’t you?” He reasons. Sam groans and rolls his eyes. “Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consulting adults,” Dean adds.

“What’s the point, Dean?” Sam responds, his voice rising as his frustration rises too. “We’ll just leave. We always leave.” It’s quite a reminder. The life of a hunter isn’t a kind one for many reasons, one of them being how lonely it can get. It’s knowing a normal life can’t ever truly exist because once this is embedded into you it stays. And he had tried to get away from the hunting life and it had worked for as long as it did with his girlfriend whom he was happy with until, once more, the hunting life caught up to him and he had to lose it all unfairly.

“Well, I’m not talking about marriage, Sam,” he defends.

“You know, I don’t get it. What do you care if I hook up?” he asks, getting more agitated.

“Cause then maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time,” he answers calmly. Sam stares at him, then huffs out a breath and looks away. Dean sits up from the bed as he continues, “You know, seriously Sam, this isn’t about just hooking up, okay? I mean, I–I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you.” But, once more he doesn’t get an answer other than a sigh.

“And…” he continues softly. “I don’t mean any disrespect but I’m sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody like that…but…I would think that she would want you to be happy.”

Tears fill the younger Winchester’s eyes. But, Dean continues anyway. “God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn’t she?” “Yeah, I know she would,” he answers softly, a half smile managing on his lips. “Yeah, you’re right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” Dean asks. This time Sam doesn’t answer. And, luckily, I don’t have to give Dean a look to tell him not to push it because he lies back down. “Yeah, alright,” he says crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah so…”

A little surprisingly Sam picks up his phone, clearing his throat as he does so. “Sarah, hey, it’s Sam,” he says awkwardly. “Hey, hi….Good, Good, yeah, umm. What about you?”

I have to try not to cringe at how awkward this is. It’s uncomfortable.

“Yeah good, good, really good,” he repeats himself.

“Smooth,” Dean mumbles.

“So, uh, so listen. Me and my br—we were, uh, thinking that maybe we’d like to come back in and look at the painting again. I–I think maybe we are interested in buying it.” There's a pause before his eyes widen and he exclaims, “What?!” He stands up and paces, “Who’d you sell it to?”

Oh frick.

“Sarah, I need an address right now.”

****

The Impala roars up the drive, Sam and I not waiting for it to come to a full stop before jumping out. Sarah runs down from the driveway, her eyes wide in panic, “Sam what’s happening?” I hear her ask as I move past them and up the porch.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have come,” Sam says from behind me. I knock as loudly as I can against the door, “Hello?” I call loudly. Dean appears at my side, banging on the door and shouting, “Anyone home?” From what I can see the lights look off.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger, what sort of danger?” Sarah asks. But, unfortunately, she has to be ignored for now as we try and get in. Sam goes to the windows and starts banging on them as best as he can with the metal gates in the way. “I can’t knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it,” Dean announces.

“No time,” I intervene, shaking my head. If Sarah wasn’t there I’d blast it open but she doesn’t deserve to be brought into this life any more than she’s being exposed to it. So, instead, I cover my hand with my sleeve and put it on the doorknob. I apply a little magick, a stream of purple mist going into the locks. I turn the knob and push the door open, revealing the darkness that cloaks the house. “What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah remarks. I don’t wait for their conversation to pan out as I nod towards inside, quietly asking Dean if he’s going to follow. Unsurprisingly, he follows after me as I step into the house before he quickly takes the lead.

“Evelyn,” I call as we venture in deeper. I can hear the insistent steps that follow behind us, one set familiar the other not.

A soft glow of light stretches into the hallway just enough to lead our way. We turn into what looks to be a lounge. A blonde lady sits half-turned on the sofa. I take in the room swiftly from the burning candles to the painting that sits above the mantle. The father in the painting isn’t looking straight or down, instead, he looks at the daughter. “Evelyn?” Sarah says softly, appearing beside us. But, based on the lack of reaction or even recognition it’s likely that we’re too late. “It’s Sarah Blake…” She carefully walks into the room and closer to the woman. “Are you alright?” She slowly reaches a hand out to Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Wait! That’s not a—

“Sarah don’t. Sarah!”

Our warnings don't stop her. Evelyn’s head tips back, exposing the long cut on her throat. Sarah screams, the noise seeming to reverberate. Her head is barely attached to her neck, blood spewing from the cut rapidly. “Oh my God. Oh My God!”

Sam quickly intervenes, putting an arm around her as he leads her out of the room.

We’re forced to watch Sam pace back and forth even though we’re supposed to be researching. He’s been doing it all morning. He’s very distracting.

He finally stops with a knock on the door. The person behind it is the reason he was pacing in the first place. He opens the door and in storms Sarah. ”Hey. ‘You alright?” Sam asks.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn’s, alone, and found her like that,” she spews. Her hands are balled in fists at her side, a fire of determination burning in her eyes. And even though she’s angry, Sam’s face relaxes. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

“Don’t thank me, I’m about to call them right back if you don’t tell me what the hell’s going on,” she demands. “Who’s killing these people?”

Sam looks at us for help, and the question is clear in his eyes. I shrug, I don’t feel comfortable enough to give a solid ‘yes’ but she won’t take no for an answer. She deserves an answer. He looks back at Sarah, “What,” he corrects.

“What?”

“It’s not ‘who.’ It’s ‘what’ is killing those people,” he elaborates. Expectantly, she looks at him like he’s crazy. He sighs, “Sarah, you saw that painting move.”

“No,” she says firmly. “No…I was…I was seeing things. It’s impossible.”

“Yeah well, welcome to our world,” Dean and I say in unison. I look at him a little shocked, “Jinx.”

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy,” Sam continues. “But we think that painting is haunted.”

She bursts into laughter, tears filling her eyes. “You’re joking.” But, of course, we aren’t. She looks between Sam and Dean and I. “You’re not joking.”

“God, the guys I go out with,” she mumbles. And for Sam’s sake, I hold back my laughter.

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that,” Sam explains. “Wherever this thing goes people die. And we’re just trying to stop it. And that’s the truth.”

She takes a deep breath, “Then I guess you’d better show me. I’m coming with you.”

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and…and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Look, you guys are probably crazy,” she says bluntly. “But, if you’re right about this? Well, my Dad and I sold that painting that might’ve gotten these people killed. Look I’m not saying I’m not scared because I am scared as hell but…I’m not going to run and hide either.” She strides over to the door before pausing and turning back, “So are we going or what?” Then, she walks out.

She’s cool. “Sam?” Dean says. Once he has his attention he points to the door after Sarah, “Marry that girl.”

****

“Uhh…isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah asks as I open the door again. We didn’t have to rush inside this time but it’s easier than waiting for a lock to be picked. I probably should’ve done it when we broke into the warehouse….

“It is,” I answer as we walk in. “If it makes you feel better your prints are already inside…and on the victim and because you found her they’ve already been cataloged or considered. So a couple more won’t make a difference seeing as they likely don’t suspect you. I mean, they let you go after getting your statement so that’s good.”

She looks at me a little strangely, a tight-lipped smile on her lips. I’m probably not helping the crazy allegations. “I used to do the whole crime investigation thing….sort of,” I try to explain. The writing job I had was a weird one because I wasn’t really doing any crime investigation, I’m not certified like that. But I did need and use skills that investigators might have. It was kind of an excuse to be a nerd and write. Also, it paid well. She nods. I don’t think I’ve been convincing…maybe I should stop speaking. “You’ve already lied to the cops. What’s another infraction?” Dean remarks as Sam lifts the painting down from the wall.

“Aren’t you worried that it’s…gonna kill us?” Sarah asks.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night,” Sam answers. “I think we’re alright in the daylight.”

Dean takes the photocopy of the original painting out of his pocket and holds it up in comparison. “Check it out. The razor, it’s closed in this one but it’s open in that one,” he points out.

“What are you guys looking for?” she butts in.

“Well, if the spirit’s changing aspects of the painting then it’s doing so for a reason,” Dean explains.

“What’s that thing in the painting,” I ask, squinting and pointing behind the family. “I mean the painting that’s in the painting.”

“Looks like a mausoleum,” Sam answers with a tilted head. Dean looks around before grabbing a glass ashtray from an end table. He holds it up to the mausoleum. “Merchant,” he confirms.

****

Carefully I step around the gravestones, no need to upset any more dead people. “This is the third boneyard we’ve checked,” Dean complains. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

“At least we’re looking for a whole building rather than a lonely gravestone,” I point out. This way we can beeline to the building area instead of searching each line of graves. “So this is what you guys do for a living?” Sarah asks.

“Not exactly. We don’t get paid,” Sam answers.

“Well, Mazel tov,” she remarks.

After venturing deeper into the graveyard we found the mausoleum, the ‘Merchant’ name carved right into it. Dean breaks the lock, revealing the mass of cobwebs and dust. Various nameplates fill one wall while the other side holds the urns all lined up with glass-fronted boxes built into the walls. But the number of urns is weird.

“Okay, that right there,” she points at a doll in one of the boxes. “Is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.”

“I think it’s cute,” I shrug. The doll isn’t creepy, it’s quite normal with its brown hair and white dress. There isn’t an eye missing or a smudge on it. “Well, it was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam explains. “Whenever a child died sometimes they’d preserve the kid’s favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

“Notice anything strange here,” Dean asks.

“Yeah, there’s only four urns,” I answer. “And unless I suck at counting there should be five.”

“Daddy dearest isn’t here,” he confirms.

“So where is he?” Sam asks.

****

An office building, a lot of lying, paydirt, and possibly interrupting an almost kiss between Sam and Sarah later leads us to another graveyard, a grave, and some shovels. According to what Dean and I had found, the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were ashamed of Isaiah enough to not want him to be kept with the rest of the family. So, he was given over to the county who gave him a simple burial. Not a cremation. Therefore, a body to burn. Which again, leads to the shovel in my hand. Bad day to wear a white shirt because now I have to keep my zip-up on and digging up a grave is already a workout. Yay, sweat.

Sam lifts himself out of the grave to stand with Sarah and her flashlight. Even with 2-3 people digging it’s a lot of work. I don’t even want to know how long we’ve been at this for. “You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she comments.

“Well, uh, this isn’t exactly the first grave we’ve dug,” Sam responds. “Still think I’m a catch?”

She laughs and God they need to kiss already.

Finally, Dean’s shovel hits something hard. “Think I’ve got something,” he announces.

“Oh thank God,” I sigh, leaning on the handle of my shovel as I wipe some sweat from my forehead. “This so sucked.”

“Now you can stop worrying about your pretty little shirt gettin’ all dirty,” Dean remarks. I roll my eyes, of course, he picked up on that. “I’m gonna hit you with my shovel,” I threaten, my smile ruining the seriousness of my words.

“Are they always like this?”

“Yup.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he counters as he looks me up and down.

“And I’ll hit both of you,” Sam threatens, peering into the grave.

“Okay Obi-Wan Kenobi,” I mumble as I help Dean clear up more of the dirt to open it.

“Nerd,” Dean remarks.

“Dude! You saw the movie too!” I defend.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. “Move back so I can open this.”

****

Lighter fluid and salt in place, Dean strikes his match. “You’ve been a real pain in the ass Isaiah. Good riddance.” He tosses the match in, everything going up in flames.

****

The Impala pulls in front of Evelyn’s house, hopefully, for the last time. “Keep the motor running,” Sam directs, opening the car door.

“I thought the painting was harmless now,” Sarah says beside me.

“Better safe than sorry. We’re gonna bury the sucker,” Sam explains.

Sarah gets out of the car, declaring, “I’m going with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she answers, something shining in her eyes. Okay, now they really need to kiss. Sam tries to get out of the car again before Dean stops him, “We’ll stay here, you go make your move.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes as he gets out of the car. “Sam. I’m serious!” But, he’s ignored as they round the car and move up the stairs. Dean turns on the radio, a silly love song playing. I have to shake my head with how obvious it is, the upbeat tune paired with lyrics like “I’m in love with a girl that I’m talking about…I’m in love with a girl I can’t live without…” Sam practically whips around to give his brother a dirty look. But, Dean being Dean shrugs, seeing no problem with his intervention. Sam motions for him to cut it off, his eyes wide. Surprisingly, Dean shuts it off but not without sighing. “I’m fairly sure they’ll kiss even without your ridiculous music,” I say as I watch them enter the house.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he counters.

“I love a good love song but that was painfully obvious, Dean. Plus, can you really kiss to that one?”

“One way to find out.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna try that on your next hookup?” I ask. He shakes his head but I can’t see his face from where I sit in the backseat and with his head downturned I can’t use the rearview mirror either. But, I don’t have time to dwell on it and he has no time to vocalize an answer when our attention is taken away by the front door slamming.

He’s out of the Impala and up half the stairs before I can open my door. “Sammy, you alright?” he calls out, shoving himself against the door. His phone rings a half second later and I don’t think I’ve seen him pick up his phone quicker. “Tell me you slammed the front door,” he says. And I try to connect the pieces of the conversation with only half of it. Something with a girl. “Wasn’t the Dad looking at her?” Dean asks. “Maybe he was trying to warn us.” Well, that answers what girl.

“Hey, sweetheart?” He suddenly directs at me. “Could you—” I nod before he can finish. I know what he wants. “Move back,” he tells them. I know this time simply unlocking it won’t work with a spirit being the one to keep it closed. I guess Sarah gets to see a door exploding anyway. “Wait! What do you mean no time?!” But my hand is already raised, a blast of energy going right through the door. Shards of wood explode inward.

“Where’d they go?” I ask, the entryway clear of people and spirits. When he told them to move I thought they’d remain close by, not disappear. “Damn things on ‘em,” Dean answers, moving past me to go in headfirst. “Sammy!” he yells. But there’s no response. “What could be left behind?” I ask, following after him, “We saw her urn!”

“I don’t know,” he throws back. Something crashes and slides fast behind me. I spin around, a large wooden cupboard now blocking the remains of the front door. Closing us in. “Really?” I get it doesn’t want us to leave but I just broke the door. “Sammy!” Dean yells. Something else slams and this time Dean’s gone too. “Dean! Sam!” I call, moving further down the hall. How big is this house? My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fumble for it, flipping it open before I can catch more than the first letter of the name. “Where did you go? I looked away for two seconds and you were gone. Are you with Sam?”

“I’m a little stuck right now,” he answers, his voice sounding a little gruffer.

“Where are you?” I repeat, spinning around slowly for any sign of where he went.

“That doesn’t matter I–”

“It kind of does,” I cut him off.

“Listen,” he says firmly. “I need you to do something for me, sweetheart,” he groans.

“Dea—”

“Think you can do somethin’ for me?”

“Yeah, Dean jus—”

“You gotta get back to the mausoleum and burn the doll, it might have her real hair,” he directs. ”The keys are in Baby, g—”

“I can get there quicker than that,” I cut him off. “Just…be safe and find Sam.” I hang up before he can say anything more. I roll my shoulders back, I can do this. I’ve teleported before. Hell, I managed to teleport to a place I’d never seen before back with the asylum hunt. This may be further but I’ve been there once so that’s going to have to be close enough. Also, I have no time for this. I exhale, summoning my powers forward. I don’t have time to focus on what I want as I did at the asylum. So, I put all my hope into it working as simply as I can. I flick my wrist and envision the inside of the mausoleum. Then…I’m there.

Man, I’m getting good at this.

I waste no time in sending a small blast of energy at the glass covering. It shatters in the box, covering the doll in glass. Carefully, I lift the doll out of the box and hold it in one hand as I hold my pointer finger up. A little flame ignites from the tip of my finger, not hurting me in the slightest. “Sorry doll,” I mumble, holding her hair over the flame. Quickly, it ignites. Her brown hair goes up in flames and with it, I hope, the spirit of the ghost girl. I shake off my finger flame, not needing it anymore with how flammable the hair is. I put the doll down on the stone floor, letting it go up in flames as I take out my phone. I click on Sam’s contact, bouncing on the balls of my feet, nervously, as it rings. Please be okay. “Sam! Oh my god, are you guys okay? Did it work?”

“We’re not bad.”

At the auction house, workers buzz around packing various things up in crates. The spirit is dead for good this time and no one else got hurt. “This was archived in the county records,” Dean announces, walking over with some papers. “The Merchant’s adopted daughter Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? ‘Cause her real family was murdered in their beds.”

“She killed them?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah,” Dean answers. “Who’d suspect her? ‘Sweet little girl. So when she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit’s been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Guess she figured she couldn’t get away with it twice,” I say, thinking out loud. Yet, through death, she was able to get away with it continuously.

“So where’s this one go?” One of the workers asks, holding up the Merchant family portrait.

“Take it out back and burn it,” Sarah directs. Both workers seem to pause at once, looking at her strangely as if she might be joking despite her serious tone. “I’m serious guys. Thanks,” she insists. She looks back at us, the workers walking off with the painting. “So why’d the girl do it?”

“Killing others? Killing herself? Some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark,” Sam answers.

“Maybe,” Dean adds and I agree with that far more than the idea that people are born evil when it’s more complicated than that. “I don’t really care,” he continues, “It’s over, we move on.”

“Ahh,” Sarah sighs. “I guess this means you’re leaving.”

I nudge Dean as he looks between the two. This is our cue to leave. “We’ll go wait in the car,” Dean says. “See you, Sarah.”

“It was nice meeting you,” I add, giving a little wave before we head out. “Now I can give you your thing,” I tell Dean.

“What ‘thing’?” he asks, looking confused.

“You’ll find out in just a second,” I laugh, skipping in front of him. I get to the car first and open the back door. I bend down as I open my duffle, taking what I left on top in my hands. I zip up my bag and turn to him holding it behind my bag before the big reveal. “Okay, it’s stupid,” I warn. “But here.” I hold out the magazine he had been reading at the old bookstore the other day. His eyebrows rise, and his mouth parts as if he wants to say something, except nothing comes out of his mouth he just smiles and takes it from my hands. “Sweetheart…” he trails off, looking down at the magazine. I smile brightly as he looks at it, practically beaming where I stand.

Then, a knock swifts both of our attentions. I look up at the auction house door, Dean turning to do the same. And right there in the doorway, Sam kisses Sarah, his head bent down to her level and his hands on her waist. “That’s my boy,” Dean smiles.

(Next Chapter)

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #the hunter and the witch #sam winchester #dean winchester x witch reader #slow burn #john winchester #supernatural season one #dean winchester x f!reader series #dean winchester x f!reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x fem!reader #witch reader

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waynes-multiverse · 27 days ago

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Hi, I first wanted to say that I’m a big fan of your work, I’m constantly rereading your fics and they have really helped me escape from my busy Uni schedule. I was hoping you could write some smutty head canons about dean, no pressure ofc. I hope you enjoy your day and thank you for taking the time to create and post fics for people like me who need a way to escape their hectic lives.💕

Aww, thank you so much, lovely! I gladly support the escapism 🥰

Sorry this took me so long! I was on a bit of a break there, but I was so excited to get into this. God knows I have so many headcanons 😆

Hope you’re doing well and hope you enjoy this 🤍

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18 for some smutty content (duh)

Main Masterlist || Tag List

Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean

Dean is very hands-on, which means he’ll touch you whenever he can, even if it’s just a hand on the small of your back while you’re pumping gas or walking into a bar.

This also means he takes PDA to a whole new level. He teases you under the table when you’re doing research in the library or eating in the kitchen. He weaves his arms around you when you’re doing dishes. He trails kisses down your neck while you’re cooking.

Especially while you’re cooking. Something about food just turns him on. So much so that every once in a while he stands in front of your door with some whipped cream, chocolate sauce, a cute wiggle of his eyebrows, and a giant grin, begging you to be his dessert.

Sam is mostly annoyed by his brother’s indiscretions, though. Too many times (almost every damn day) Dean has walked into the kitchen in nothing but his gray robe and announced his morning wood to you, not seeing Sam sitting in the corner. That’s when Sam usually folds his paper, takes his coffee, and hurries to the library before Dean’s hands find their way to your body once more.

Sam suffers the most, however, if there’s only one motel room available and the three of you have to share. Dean has zero self-control (and also doesn’t care what Sam sees or doesn’t see). While he cuddles you, he holds you so close to his body that it’s hard to breathe. And again, hands and lips – they wander. Constantly. The man doesn’t possess an off-switch.

It got so bad that Sam has established a rule that the two of you are not allowed to share a bed anymore and Dean has to take the couch for the night. But as soon as his little brother has dozed off, he crawls right back into the warm comfort of your bed.

Speaking of rules, Dean loves breaking them. If there’s a sign that says “Do not enter,” you can be sure as hell he’ll shove you in there and will enter you. For Dean, there’s no such thing as bad timing or an inappropriate place. He even breaks rules that don’t exist and are just common sense like, “Do not have sex in a museum while you’re breaking into said museum.”

And while he loves breaking rules, he also loves following them. Especially when it’s “sexy rules.” He loves when you playfully push him around, when you shove him backwards onto the mattress and tell him what to do. He will smirk at you giddily all the way through and be the best damn boy you’ve ever seen.

Overall, he’s curious about your fantasies and constantly asks you want you want to do. He enjoys it when you take the lead in the bedroom and loves to see what you come up with. He loves being underneath you and watch you ride him with his bottom lip tugged behind his teeth. It barely hides his huge grin. He loves to see your tits bounce from this angle. According to him, it’s the best goddamn view in the world – forget the Grand Canyon.

However, when he’s had a bad day or a rough hunt, he actually likes to be in charge. It all depends on his mood. But taking control of you helps him cope with the things he can’t control in this world. So whenever he comes home with tense shoulders and a tightly creased brow, you know you’re in for a treat.

When he orders you around with his deep voice and sharp tone, you melt into a puddle and only all too happily oblige to his every command. Your legs grow weak when he dominates you with just a look. God, he loves the way you whimper and squirm underneath him, loves how you moan his name when you’re on all fours in front of him, and loves how your lips feel around his cock when you suck him off.

You love to give him comfort in whatever form he pleases. And Dean loves that you trust him with all your heart – and he knows to never betray it. He will always respect your limits, even though he gently pokes them sometimes, testing how far he actually can go.

Sometimes he bends rules like he bends you.

And truth is, he can go pretty fucking far. There’s not much you won’t let this man do. His dirty mouth can convince you to do all kinds of things – things you would for sure refuse if anyone else was asking. But it’s Dean, and one look of his sparkling green eyes will have you on your knees for him.

But honestly, Dean is the same kind of whipped for you, too. He will do anything for you, short of moving actual mountains. Massages, hot baths, ice cream at midnight? He’s got you covered and doesn’t expect anything in return, except for your unconditional love. He’s got it either way, but you do have to reassure him sometimes.

Dean’s a giver, not a taker, so you do have to force him sometimes to ask for the things he wants. But boy, when he gives, he goddamn gives with both of his massive hands. After he’s done with you, there’s not a single inch of skin left on your body that hasn’t been worshipped. You always come first – literally.

Dean takes pride in making you cum, and it doesn’t matter with which body part of his he does it. They are all equally skilled – his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and his dick. He eats you out and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, because you both know in a life full of monsters, there actually might not be one. He makes every night and every day count.

Then, there’s his mouth. It should be no surprise, but it’s goddamn filthy. He could make you come with words alone, and not rarely, he sure likes to try. A lot of times it’s stuff you haven’t even heard, dreamed, or thought about until Dean’s said it and put it in your goddamn head.

And yes, Dean’s very sexual and a great lover through and through. He enjoys sex, but most of all, he enjoys going to sleep and waking up next to you. He loves cuddling with you on the couch during a movie, he loves holding you close at night, and he loves that special moment when you’re both coming down from your highs and are still connected, bathing in the afterglow.

Dean has been so touch-starved all his life that he enjoys the little things. He loves when your fingernails caress his back and massage his scalp. He loves using you as his freaking pillow. At this point, you’ve learned not to drink too much water before bed, because you know you won’t be able to escape his prison of strong arms – not that you’d ever want to (unless you really do have to pee).

I honestly could've went on and on and on with this one... 😂

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#wayne answers #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff

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thebiggerbear · 1 year ago

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"Sleep. I'll keep you safe." - Dean Winchester Prompt Response

Summary: When Sam calls to tell you that Dean is gone, you can't accept it. Not until you visit the offline Bunker and see for yourself. ...But is he really gone?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader; Dean Winchester x Huntress!Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. I had this idea for a scene in my head that took place during 15x20 with the reader and Sam & then from there it just kind of wrote itself, including the semi-twist. Hope it's okay.

There is a song mentioned in here ("Is This Love" by Whitesnake) which is a sort of homage/dedication/thank you. I read this Dean x Reader fic a long time ago (I can't remember the name of the fic or the author right now, I'm sorry!) but they used the song for some Dean/Reader time in the Impala and I had never heard the song before so I checked it out. I have become obsessed with it. It's so perfect, not only for Dean but in general as an 80s love rock ballad. So thank you to that author whoever you are!

This is meant to take place between mid-15x20 and Dean's foray in The Winchesters (pre-series).

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: angst; mentions of character death; mentions of implied sex

Word Count: 12k+

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Dean Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You can also read on AO3

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Soldier Boy version ✨ Beau version ✨ Jenny version ✨ Tom version ✨ Jason version ✨ Anael version ✨ SDV Alex version

You sat on the corner of the bed in your motel room, numb, your phone next to you, having been forgotten long ago.

It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. You refused to believe it. How was Dean just gone? On a simple hunt? How?

Sam had called you to give you the news. You could hear the breaks in his voice as he relayed what happened, sounding as if he had been crying just a few minutes before. Vampires. Who were mute. A gang of them run by a vampire named Jenny they had faced off with years ago. On a hunt with John. She had gotten away and they thought she was gone for good. Apparently not.

You were frozen, in shock, unable to process what he was telling you.

“Y/N?”

“I… I need to see him,” you whispered.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he forced out, “I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

You shut your eyes in pain. “What?” You could feel your throat tightening as well as your chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I had to. I couldn’t…” You heard him take a breath. “I couldn’t make the long drive with… I just couldn’t.” You could hear those breaks again and you should have been hurting for him, that not only did he have to watch his brother die but he’d had to burn him alone. But right then you got angry and you couldn’t help snapping at him.

“Why would you burn his body, Sam? You know we need his body to bring him back!”

“Y/N, he didn’t want to be brought back.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yeah, I do. He told me right before he died. As long as I was going to be okay,” Another break. “He was done.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and regret immediately consumed you. You knew Sam was telling you the truth. Dean making sure Sam would be okay as he was dying clinched it for you. Sam had always been his main concern. You started mentally berating yourself then. If only you hadn’t let fear stop you, you could have given him something to live for, to fight for. He would have let Sam call for help, call Jack, something. He would have made sure he somehow made it home, just like he always did. But you didn’t and now, he was gone. Truly and irrevocably gone.

Another tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I have to go, Sam.”

“Y/N, I—”

You ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. You weren’t trying to be heartless. Sam was obviously struggling and you should be there for him. That’s what Dean would want, you knew that. The two of you being there for each other, helping one another, you looking after his little brother while he looked out for you. But you just…couldn’t.

Why hadn’t you called Dean? After everything that went down with Chuck and Jack? Why hadn’t you reached out? You owed him that at the very least. So why hadn’t you?

You knew the answer to that. You were scared and like a coward, you’d told yourself it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But a part of you knew it would and that scared you just as much.

You thought back to the last time you’d seen him, right after he and Sam went to try to get Amara on board against Chuck. He was still reeling with the news that Cas had told him before he’d left, that Jack was going to sacrifice himself to kill Chuck. He cared about Jack, more than he let on, even though the kid had accidentally killed Mary. Jack was family to him and he was having a serious moment of doubt. If Jack’s plan would work; if he should let it happen; if he should tell Sam; if Chuck hadn’t been right, he would win in the end. He was so beyond tired of that: Chuck winning. He didn’t want to sacrifice Jack but if they could be free of Chuck and have a chance…

He was torn up about it and he’d called you, asked you where you were, then begged you to come to the Bunker when he found out you were only an hour or so away. You hadn’t wanted to, you could hear the desperation in his voice and you knew all too well what would happen if you went. You were still hurting and you didn’t know if you could survive that.

You didn’t bother telling him that the reason you were an hour outside of town was because you’d temporarily settled there, not sure where to go or what to do. Sure, you took on hunts here and there, but ultimately you were lost. Ever since Dean broke things off with you because he couldn’t tell what was real anymore versus what had been Chuck all along. The breakup had hurt, of course, but that caused pain in you that you weren’t really sure you would ever come back from. Him thinking everything between you might not be real? After you’d given him everything you could because you deeply loved him? In your heart, you knew it was real, but when you had said this to him, he’d simply responded with “I don’t” in his typical detached way he adopted whenever he had made up his mind that he had to do something for the greater good, no matter how hard it might be. You thought he had already broken your heart, but it shattered right then in your chest.

Since it was Dean, though, and he never begged, you went. And sure enough, what you worried would happen, happened. One minute, you’d been wiping the rare tears he let fall around you, and the next minute, he was kissing you and gently pushing you back onto his bed. You could feel the desperation in his movements, his touches, the way his lips trailed over your skin. Shockingly, he took his time with you, and it only hit you halfway through that this was his real goodbye. It wasn’t guaranteed that Billie’s plan would work but he hoped it would. And if it did, then that meant he and Sam would finally be free and they could hang it up if they wanted to, do something else with their lives and move on. And that possible future didn’t include you.

You’d silently cried then, holding onto Dean as he moved and moaned into your ear. When he pulled back to kiss you, your cheeks were free of any tear tracks and you kissed him back. You wondered how on earth he couldn’t feel that this was very real between you as you moved your hips to meet his in a tender rhythm as he held you in his lap, his green eyes staring into yours as he held you close. Sex was sex but this right here, this right in between you right then that he refused to put a name to, it was beyond real. You knew he could feel it just as much as you could…so why was he still hellbent on throwing it (and you) away?

A little while later, you had laid there, with his head on your chest, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes, his body still entangled with yours, staring up at the ceiling as you both were still trying to catch your breath. Your heart spoke for you before you could stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, meaning it with every fiber of your being.

It shocked the hell out of you and made something warm and fluttery happen inside your chest when he sleepily murmured to your skin, “Love y’too. Don’go.” You ended up chalking it up to him being in a post-sex sleep daze though, not knowing what he was really saying or even really having heard you correctly. That or he only meant for the night because the very next morning, things went back to how they were.

Dean seemed surprised when he woke up to find you next to him, scrolling through the news feed on your phone for any new cases. You’d given him a warm smile. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you teased.

Instead of smiling back, though, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey.” You could see that familiar detached expression settle on his features and you knew he was regretting the night before. He had been drinking by the time you got there, sure, but he hadn’t been inebriated. He was incredibly lucid by the time he made a move on you so try as he might, this couldn’t be chalked up to a drunken mistake.

You could literally feel that wall going back up and you gave one last ditch effort to keep him from shutting you back out, even laying a hand over his. “Dean, don’t—”

He pulled away from you and got out of bed, quickly slipping on his Scooby Doo boxers and jeans that he grabbed from the floor. You might have smiled seeing the familiar underwear that you hated but secretly loved if you weren’t hurting so much. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked, slipping a black t-shirt over his head. “I’ll go see if Sam’s cooking anything up. I need a serious cup of coffee. You just…” He glanced back at you, seeing you holding the sheet tightly to your chest as you watched him, compulsively swallowing when he saw your eyes glistening. “You, uh, just come out when you’re ready.” He then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and never looking back.

You sat back against the headboard, dissolving into a fit of tears and quiet sobs. You knew you should have never come. Once you were able to breathe without fresh tears welling up, you got yourself cleaned up and redressed. You splashed some water on your face and you took a deep breath before leaving the room. You were near the bunker stairs when Sam called out to you.

“Hey! Y/N!”

He was coming over to you, a big smile on his face. He was pleased to see you.

“Hey,” you greeted back just as warmly, forcing a smile.

He gave you a quick hug and you could see Jack a little ways behind him, giving you a smile and wave. “I didn’t know you were here. We were just about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, I…”

You were saved from having to make an excuse when Dean appeared next to Jack, his expression severe and cold all at the same time. “She’s got a hunt she’s heading out for. Possible vamp nest in Duluth. Right, Y/N?”

Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you even more, there he went proving you wrong. “Right,” you agreed quietly. You turned a wan smile onto Sam. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“Duluth?” Sam glanced from his brother to you. “Maybe we can give you a hand on this one.”

“We can’t,” Dean stated firmly. He gave his brother a look and Sam’s brows furrowed before realization played upon his features and his jaw tightened. He turned apologetic hazel eyes onto you. “Donna’s up that way. If she needs a hand, she can call her,” Dean added.

You felt sick to your stomach. Obviously, you weren’t heading to Duluth or anywhere near Minnesota but the way he dismissed you so casually…the pain was overwhelming. The smile you kept on Sam turned into more of a grimace. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but I’m good. Like your brother said, I can call Donna if I need anything. Don’t worry. Thanks, though.” You squeezed his arm and then turned to make your way up the stairs.

“Best of luck,” Dean gruffed out. You turned to see pure ice staring back at you.

You pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart right there, from demanding why Dean had obviously only called you for sex and a pick-me-up when there plenty of women in Lebanon that could do that for him, from begging him to wake up and see you were right in front of him and that what you had was very much real before it was too late. Instead, you continued climbing the stairs.

“Keep us updated and give us a call if you need anything,” Sam called after you.

“Will do,” you forced out.

“Good luck,” Jack offered.

When you reached the top, you glanced once more at Dean. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. The green gaze staring back at you was cold, hard. You let out a huff and shook your head, turning to open the door and close it behind you. That had been the very last time you saw him.

After that, you went back to the motel you had been renting a room in, packed up, and headed across state lines. You ignored Dean’s calls but took Sam’s.

Apparently, at some point, you had vanished when Chuck disappeared everyone. You had no idea until Donna filled you in. That explained the several missed calls from both Sam and Dean and the voicemails they left. Both had sounded desperate, especially Dean.

“Please, Y/N. I know you’re pissed at me and I get it but please call me back. Or call Sam. I don’t care. Just as long as we know you’re still with us and that you’re okay.” His tone sounded rough around the edges but considering the context Sam gave you when you did call him (there was no way you were calling Dean, especially not now), you realized they were just desperate to get in touch with anyone, having lost Cas and being the only three forms of life left on the planet.

Dean was right, you were angry. Angry that he’d used you that night, angry that he’d broken your heart in the first place. He had pursued you before you got together, not the other way around. By the time you let your guard down enough to let him in and things kicked off between you, he was deep in. Or so he’d said. By the time he ended things, you were deep in yourself. Now…now you were in even deeper thanks to him, so deep you were pretty sure Dean would haunt you the rest of your life no matter how you tried to shut him out of your heart.

Another tear rolled down your cheek. Though, you’d never meant the word haunt literally.

You wiped your face with your sleeve and let out an aggravated breath before getting to your feet. You grabbed your coat, your emergency bag, your hunting bag, and the car keys from the table near the door. You locked up and got into the car you only used for hunts and grocery trips now, starting it and backing out of the driveway.

It’s not that you doubted what Sam had told you or Sam himself, but you needed to see things for yourself. You turned the car in the direction that would lead you to Kansas.

You opened the door to the Bunker, seeing nothing but darkness greeting you, the clanking of the door being the only sound to echo in the large chamber. That was strange. They never shut it down when they left for hunts. You hit the lights and hearing a loud thrumming sound, you watched as they came back on, one by one. You had your own key since you were also a Legacy. You’d never been more thankful for that fact when you arrived to find the Bunker locked down, no Sam in sight.

You shut the door behind you and dropped your bags near the table. You bit your lip to keep your eyes from welling up when you noticed an unfinished chess game on the table, most likely one that Dean and Cas had been engaged in, but now neither of them would be back to complete it. Instead, you focused on the matter at hand. You pulled your gun out and an angel blade, slipping the latter into your coat pocket in case you needed it. In the other pocket, you slipped a flask of holy water and a small piece of iron bar you could wield if need be. In your gun sat silver bullets; you couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially if the word was out to the world of the supernatural that Dean Winchester was gone and only Sam was left now, alone.

You slowly made your way down the stairs, listening intently for any other noises you might hear. All that you could make out besides your footsteps was the low hum of electricity that was commonplace for the old bunker. You cleared the library, the hallways, the kitchen, the shower room, the infirmary, the Dean Cave where you’d been forced to watch The Lost Boys and slasher films more times than you cared to count (you had dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying when you saw the DVD cover of Tombstone left near the TV), every single room in the place until you came to the one that made a lump form in your throat. You swallowed it back down and forced yourself to focus, raising your gun that much higher. You opened the door and hit the lights, scanning every which way. The room was clear.

You lowered your gun and made your way inside, the lump in your throat back again. Your eyes roamed over the hastily made bed; the empty dog bowls on the floor (which made your brows furrow in confusion slightly); the messy desk; the empty beer bottles on the table; the headphones on the nightstand; the shotguns on the wall; the books scattered about; the load of laundry sitting off to the right in a corner. Memories washed over you and your eyes began to sting as tears welled up.

You’d walked into the room to find Dean jamming out on his bed, listening to music through the headphones he’d insisted on buying on your last trip. You huffed out a laugh and dropped the laundry basket of folded clothes onto the bed, garnering his attention.

He opened his eyes and glanced up to find you smiling at him.

“What are you listening to?”

He held one of the phones away from his ear and you could hear some serious strumming of heavy metal guitar coming out of it. “Huh?”

“I said, what are you listening to?” You asked a little louder.

“What?” He nearly yelled.

You picked up the top item from your pile, his Scooby Doo underthings, and playfully tossed it at him. It landed squarely on his chest and he immediately jumped up as if it had burned him, his cheeks turning redder by the second as he threw the headphones onto the bed.

“You did my laundry?” He asked in horror.

Amazing. You two had explored every single inch of each other time and time again, been sort of rooming together for the past month, but he was embarrassed that you washed his dirty underwear?

You shrugged and began to place his folded clothes on the bed. “I had room in the washer so I figured I’d grab yours, too. You’re welcome.”

“You washed our clothes together?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

You gasped and gave him a mock look of horror. “Oh no, not together.” You tossed a pair of jeans over at him and he caught it in time. “I used detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, and everything,” you teased. “But putting it away is where I draw the line, pal. That’s on you.” You pointed to the neat pile sitting on the bed before moving over to the door to head to the room you kept your things in down the hall.

Arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping your trek, and Dean murmured into your ear, “You washed my clothes for me?”

“And folded, too,” you pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”

“Mmm, what else can I get you to do for me?” He grabbed the basket from you and placed it down before gripping your hips and moving in to kiss your neck.

“Hey, I’m not your maid. I had room in the washer, that was it. Don’t get used to this,” you laughed before digging your teeth into your lip when you felt his tongue on a particular part of your skin.

“What if I want to get used to this?” He moved up to your jaw line.

“I’d say you’re SOL. Unless…”

“Unless?” He hummed near your lips.

“Unless you finally let me tidy up this room a little.”

His head shot up, frowning down at you. “What? Why, what’s wrong with how it is now?”

“Well,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Some of these papers on the desk need organizing, the books can be put in a stack on the table over there, these empty beer bottles can be thrown out, the shotguns you have near the bed can be put away…”

“There’s nothing wrong with anything you just mentioned,” he grumbled.

“Oh, really? So the other night when you were doing that thing—”

“That thing you really like,” he interrupted, smirking cockily at you.

You had to keep from rolling your eyes and smirking yourself. “When I moved, I knocked into the shotgun and it fell. It almost went off. You remember that?”

“Nothing happened or went off, well, except you.” His smirk got even bigger. “You remember that?”

This time you gently swatted at his shoulder. “Dean.”

He heard the warning in your no-nonsense tone and laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “Alright,” he whispered to your lips. “I’ll put the shotguns up out of the way. But everything else stays.”

You huffed out an exasperated breath. One of these days when he wasn’t looking, you swore you’d do as exactly as you’d suggested. Clear out the empty bottles and stack the books at the very least.

“Hey, it’s all about compromise, right? Speaking of that,” He turned you around in his arms and you were once again facing the laundry basket he’d left on the floor. “Find a space and keep some of ‘em in here.”

A pleasant shock ran through you. “Are you sure?” You whispered.

He slowly turned you back around and gently cupped your chin. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure. You’re practically sleeping in here every night, anyway. I’d rather you not have to put back on the same clothes from the night before or walk naked down to your room. Then again, naked…”

You glared up at him, making him chuckle and brush his lips against yours. “I just didn’t want to crowd you,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s your space. If I’m in here too much, I can—”

“I want you here.” You gazed into his green eyes, unsure, but all you saw staring back at you was softness with a glint of earnestness. He was telling you the truth; he really wanted you to stay.

“Okay,” you agreed with a shy smile.

He beamed at you and then picked you up, making you gasp loudly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Not that you’re gonna be needing them right now.”

You shook your head and kissed him as he walked you both towards the bed. When he had you on it, you could hear the music coming from the forgotten headphones. “Is that…Whitesnake?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Uh huh. One sec.” He reached over, quickly clicked something on his phone, and the music suddenly changed. You smiled when a familiar song started up.

“Really?”

“What? It’s our song.”

You framed his face with your hands, looking up at him affectionately. “Dean Winchester, secretly sentimental and sensitive guy extraordinaire,” you teased him.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I’m not any of that crap. It’s the first song we made good use of Baby’s backseat to, that’s all. Now that you’re staying in here, we gotta celebrate.”

Romantic. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Like I said, sentimental.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him sweetly. Needless to say, he had been right; you hadn’t needed your clothes for a little while.

You took in a ragged breath, your fingers gently touching over the papers on his desk. While you hated the empty beer bottles and you didn’t want to end up possibly shot with a salt round during a passionate moment of sex, you really hadn’t minded how he had things. You knew this was the first home he and Sam ever really had. He could keep things messy or disorganized if he wanted to; he had more than earned the right. It might sound silly to someone else but he deserved to experience living in a home, mess and all, like everyone did at some point in their lives. Not only did he not have a place to do that since he’d been four years old, he’d never felt comfortably settled in anywhere ever to be able to do it. You remembered him and Sam telling you how long it had taken Dean to settle into this room, to think of the Bunker as not just theirs but home. You’d kick the crap out of anyone who tried to take that away from him, and you would be the last person to try to do it yourself. You still thanked him when he hung the shotguns up on the wall; you were beyond grateful. That time, he was the one who went off and quite happily.

A sob nearly tore its way out of your chest when you saw his handwriting on one of the papers. Your fingertips traced each letter. How could he really be gone?

You ran your fingers over an open file, wondering what he had been looking at, when you heard the clicking of nails on the floor behind you. You spun, lifting your gun, to find Sam standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes as a dog appeared beside him. That must have been what you’d heard. You lowered the gun and let out a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”

You winced internally at your question. He had every right to be here, this was his home. You were the intruder.

“The monitoring system we set up… I was alerted that someone was in the Bunker. I locked it down and I know only he and I had the keys, so I didn’t know if…” You watched as he compulsively swallowed.

You turned back to the desk. “I get that. Where were you, by the way? Why did you lock it down?” He didn’t answer for a moment when you glanced over your shoulder at him, seeing his gaze glued to the ground. “Sam?”

His eyes flicked up to yours and he swallowed again. “I was on my way to Austin. For a case. But then…” He gestured towards you. “I turned around and headed back to see.” You noticed he didn’t mention why he had locked the Bunker down but then again, he didn’t really need to. Who else would be coming here now that Dean, Cas, and Jack were gone? Mary was gone as well as most of the other hunters you’d worked with over the past couple of years. Apocalypse World Bobby was still up in Minnesota somewhere. Apocalypse World Charlie and Stevie had moved East, choosing to retire after what happened with Chuck temporarily disappearing everyone. Garth and Bess still lived in their home with their family. Jody and the girls had their own operation up in Sioux Falls with Donna lending a hand every now and then. And you…well, you never told Sam where you were.

You gave him a slow nod and dropped your eyes back down to the desk, running your fingers over the pages of an open lore book Dean had been reading. It was probably ridiculous but you thought maybe you could somehow still feel him here (though you did not want him to be a ghost), that perhaps by touch or sight or smell even that you could somehow connect to what his last days had been like. You wondered if he somehow knew deep down or if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even though he had always told you that he didn’t see a good ending for himself down the road, that he was forever bound to this life, you knew he also secretly fantasized about his life going in a different direction, one he’d included you in once upon a time. You then wondered if there was a girl somewhere who was either waiting for a phone call she would never get or was crying her eyes out because Sam had given her the news like he had you. It hurt to think that maybe he had found someone that he envisioned another future with instead of you, with someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chuck hadn’t inserted into his life as a manipulation or a story device. Someone that he didn’t question what he had with them, if it was real. Though at the same time, you hoped he found a little piece of happiness. You still loved him enough to want that for him.

You briefly closed your eyes in pain when you remembered that last night you spent with him, telling him you loved him. You truly meant it and even though he hurt you again and again, you still did. You forced the thought away and instead chose to focus on the open book in front of you. “What was he working on?” You choked out, quietly clearing your throat once you heard how rough your voice sounded.

You turned the page, seeing mentions of witches and vampires, when you realized Sam never answered you. You glanced back at him, arching your brows in question.

Sam’s eyes were wide and laser focused on your body, his mouth hanging open. Shit.

You should’ve known that despite the dark clothing you were wearing, the long black coat you were sporting, turning away from him, that you wouldn’t be able to hide your secret much longer. Truthfully, it wasn’t even something you’d thought about when you set out for the bunker. Had Sam been here when you arrived, he probably would have seen it then.

You turned towards the younger Winchester and Sam’s eyes flickered up to you. “Are you…?”

“Yes, Sam.”

Sam closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing back and forth between you and your protruding belly. You read the clear question in his eyes that he was burning to ask.

“You’re going to be an uncle.”

Except the few times he’d been close to death, you’d never seen Sam look so pale.

You and Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Miracle (as you’d come to find out was the dog’s name) laid at your feet, his head on his paws.

“How?” Sam finally asked you.

You snorted in amusement. “You know how.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t you tell Dean? Did you tell Dean? Because he didn’t tell me and I don’t think that’s something he wouldn’t have told me.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of guilt and sadness wrap around you once more. “No. I didn’t tell him,” you whispered. It was now the biggest regret of your life, right before the second biggest one of you walking out of the bunker the morning you’d last seen him and not fighting harder to get him to let you back in.

“Were you ever going to?”

Your eyes snapped to Sam at the judgment clear as day in his tone and they narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with me or anything related to me. So, no, Sam, I wasn’t,” you snapped.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his lap.

You turned your gaze forward again, taking a breath to tamp down the familiar anger and resentment that you’d worked so hard to try to let go of. After a moment, you rubbed at your forehead. “Yes,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I think so…”

Sam stayed quiet and let you sort through your thoughts which you were grateful for. You’d been caught completely off guard by the pregnancy yourself. When you found out, you thought back to how you unwisely didn’t take your usual precautions and since you and Dean had broken up long before that, you hadn’t been too concerned with maintaining your birth control.

You’d thought over your options. Bringing a kid into the hunting lifestyle was the worst thing you could do to it. Dean and Sam were living proof. Their mom herself had known it which was why she tried to get out when she married their dad. Not to mention, it would make you vulnerable in your line of work and the kid would always be in danger, always have a target on its back. Plus, you were pretty sure that even if you told Dean, he’d be less than thrilled. He always told you he didn’t want kids, for the very reasons you were now facing. And did you really want to bring a kid into the world that Chuck was about to end, only to have a father who was dismissive of it, or even hated it? You didn’t think Dean would be capable, he’d been great with Jack and Ben after all, but this was different. This kid would have his blood, his genes, would look like him somewhat. Sure, he had that in Emma once and that had torn him up, but this would also be different. This was for the long haul. And that’s only if he even wanted to be in this kid’s life. Which he might opt not to. How could you do that to your child? So you considered choosing to end the pregnancy, which would have been a true mercy given everything stacked against it before it would be born, but eventually you decided otherwise.

You’d heard the baby’s heartbeat on a checkup while you were still mulling it over, and that was it. Dean wanted to know if what you had was real or not? Here it was, its little heart thumping away deep within your body. After that visit, you’d decided the hell with it. You were someone who believed everything happened for a reason, well before things with Chuck went bad though you still operated on this age-old belief most of the time. You were having a kid, one who would be half of you and half of Dean, the love of your life for all intents and purposes. Though it had hurt when he dismissed you that morning, perhaps this had been the reason why he called you out of the blue, wanting you to come to him, and why you went despite knowing what would most likely happen and how much pain it would cause you.

So you made a decision to start pulling out of hunting. Donna rented her family cabin in Hibbing to you. Bobby hadn’t been back since Mary died so it was sitting empty and unused. You hid the pregnancy as best you could but ultimately, once the first trimester was over and you had popped, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Donna found out though she never knew who the father was. She didn’t pry which you appreciated. When she called you to warn you that Billie was making people disappear left and right, a familiar fear clawed at your chest. Not only fear for your child but also the fear of what if Dean found out about it. That was the only thing that kept you from offering to come down to Kansas to help.

“We’re going into some place warded to protect us. You should do the same. I can send you pictures of the sigils they’re using.”

“Okay, thanks. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry. We’ll figure this out. You just stay safe in the cabin. You and…well, you know.”

You appreciated her staying discreet when you heard Sam’s voice in the background. “I will. Thanks, D.”

“You betcha. Talk soon.”

You hung up and Donna did indeed send you the pictures. You did your best with what you had but it didn’t matter in the end. The last thing you remembered was painting a sigil on the window and then everything went black. The next thing you knew, you were back at the window, your finger extended towards the glass, the half-finished sigil staring back at you. You noticed the sun was in a different position in the sky than it had been and you immediately grabbed your cell phone. Two days had passed. How?

It hit you then what happened and you dropped the phone with a cry, immediately grabbing at your stomach. You ran for the machine Jody had shipped to you after Donna told her. At the time you’d been annoyed, but right now, you couldn’t be happier at the sheriff knowing about your pregnancy once your baby’s heartbeat echoed throughout the bedroom. You let out a huge sigh of relief, rubbing your belly affectionately. “We had quite a scare there, didn’t we, kiddo?”

It dawned on you then that while you had vanished, you were back, baby and all. Did that mean everyone else was back, too? You went back downstairs for your cell phone and immediately called Donna. Yep, everyone was back, they had all disappeared, and it wasn’t Billie but Chuck who had done it. You asked after Dean and Sam and that was when she told you about Cas and then Jack. You knew both brothers would be devastated, especially Dean, and you considered breaking your radio silence to call him. However, you chickened out at the last second and called Sam instead to check in.

It’s not that a part of you didn’t want to tell Dean he was going to be a father, it was that you were scared of what would happen when you did. Originally, you had feared that he would turn his back on you completely, more importantly on his kid, but now you were worried that maybe it would be the exact opposite. While you would be happy for him to be actively involved in your child’s life as its dad, you also knew Dean. He would try to resume things between you, make it work for the kid’s sake. Just look at how long he tried to make it work with Lisa for Ben’s sake. Not that he didn’t love her and he ended up leaving to protect them, but even Lisa knew his heart wasn’t in it. While that had been for different reasons involving hunting and Sam’s reappearance in his life, he still tried to make it work. But as he’d told you, the family thing didn’t work for him, and besides he already had a family with Sam, Cas, and Jack. You hadn’t missed how he didn’t include you in that group; you supposed you should’ve known then.

You didn’t want him to fake wanting to be with you just to give your kid some semblance of a family life that Dean himself hadn’t really had. You didn’t know if you could take him forcing himself to kiss you goodnight before turning his back on you every single night. Or forcing a smile when he’d come home after a long day and you were the first thing he saw when he stepped inside. It was a ridiculous fear to have, you knew that, and you should be stronger than this — you were stronger than this. Not to mention, you knew you were being selfish and not at all fair to your baby or Dean. But the images kept replaying over and over in your mind, making you flinch, and you told yourself you’d tell him the next day. The next day turned into next week, then the next month. Before you knew it, you were in your third trimester and you were getting a call from his younger brother to inform you of his untimely death.

Maybe that’s really why you raced down here from Hibbing. Maybe that’s why you wanted to see for yourself that he was gone. Not only to confirm that the man who had your heart was gone for good, but also so you could tell him, hoping he might hear it wherever he now was. Or maybe by some act of mercy Jack could relay it to him, wherever Jack was. It was cowardly, you were a coward, and you hated yourself for it. You knew you should have told Dean months ago, after you found out that he and Sam had beaten Chuck, Jack was in charge of the universe now, and the world was not coming to an end anytime soon. Regardless, you couldn’t turn back the clock.

A tear escaped that you quickly wiped away, not caring if Sam saw or not. “You know, when you first told me about Dean, I considered a demon deal.”

Sam’s head snapped up. “No! That’s not what he would want! No!”

You held out a placating hand. “I know. I’m not going to do that.” He seemed to deflate slightly in relief. “I can’t, anyway.” You motioned to your bulging stomach. “I couldn’t do that to my kid. Only be around for 10 years and then poof, I’m gone? Even if it had Dean, if Dean wanted it that is, it’s still terrible to do that to a kid.” You winced slightly when you realized you were saying this to Sam Winchester of all people.

“Dean would’ve wanted it,” he assured you quietly.

You grimaced and dropped your gaze down to the dog who was staring up at you. “Maybe.” You reached down to pet his head.

Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would’ve.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, when you murmured, “Is there any way to get him back?”

Sam let you go and his hazel eyes began to shimmer. “No,” he choked out. “I, uh, checked with Jack and he said it was his time. So…no.”

“What?” You snapped, getting to your feet. “After everything you’ve done for that kid? He just—”

Sam got to his feet, tenderly cradling your shoulders. “I know. I didn’t want to hear it either but…Jack’s right.” Your jaw dropped, ready to let some f-bombs fly (which you usually tried to avoid since the baby could now hear you), when Sam’s hands moved up to your face, trying to get you to listen. “He was ready to go. Jack confirmed it. Dean’s in Heaven and he’s at peace.”

Tears were on the edge of falling when you heard that. “He’s in Heaven?”

Sam nodded, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Yeah. He is.”

If Dean was in Heaven…well, then that was some consolation at least. Just when he thought he’d never make it there thanks to his being a demon for a short stint, being killed by a Hell Hound, and everything that had occurred over the years — even some of the things he’d done. But that also meant he was gone, for good this time. It was confirmed; he wasn’t coming back. It hit you like a freight train and it punched a huge hole in your chest. You felt as if you were falling, falling, and would never stop. Dean was…gone. “Then he’s…”

“He’s gone,” Sam confirmed. “He’s not coming back.”

Your knees buckled and you nearly fell, Sam thankfully having caught you. You heard a wailing sound but you had no idea where it was coming from until you felt it ripping its way out of your body. Sam gingerly picked you up in his arms and moved you onto the bed. You were violently sobbing and you barely noticed Sam holding you, gently rocking you back and forth, his own tears falling into your hair. Miracle had jumped up and laid next to you, whining quietly and trying to shove his head under your hands, rubbing his body carefully against your belly.

There was no way. No way that this was real. This had to be a nightmare. But when you heard Sam sniffle above you, choking out, “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” you knew that it wasn’t. Memories of Dean’s face, his laugh, his smiles, his touch, his scent, the way he looked at you when you’d both been happy together, his kisses, the way he felt like home in a way that no other person or place ever could, the way he made you feel safe — all of it smashed over you like a tidal wave and it didn’t let up. Dean Winchester, the man you’d loved with all of your heart, the man whose child you now carried inside of you, was gone. And there was nothing you could do to bring him back.

Dean had just pulled the Impala over at a beautiful spot, where you could see nature’s beauty for miles. He rested back against Baby and marveled at it all. There was even a double rainbow that showed up and Dean chuckled, knowing that had to be Jack’s doing considering there hadn’t been any rain. Then he wondered if it did rain at all. How did things like that work up here anyhow?

He was still enjoying the view when Jack popped in next to him.

“There he is.” Dean grinned and went to give him a hug before he thought better of it. “Am I still allowed to…you know?”

Jack smiled. “Of course. I like hugs.”

Dean laughed and embraced him tightly. “Thanks, kid. For everything you did up here, I mean. Bobby told me.” He pulled back, clapping his shoulder in thanks. “So, where’s Cas?”

“He’ll be along shortly but first, I need to show you something.”

Dean’s brows furrowed but he shrugged. “Okay.”

Jack placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and next thing Dean knew, he was back in his old room at the Bunker. “Whoa,” he whispered, thinking Jack and Cas had built the Bunker just for him. He would be able to wait for Sam here, in his home. He hoped the TV in the Dean Cave worked and that he still had access to his music. Baby’s radio had worked so he had high hopes. He was about to thank Jack when his eyes suddenly caught sight of someone in his bed. Well, two someones.

He glanced towards Jack who gave him a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to get closer. Dean shot him a confused look but did move closer. When he caught sight of you, his heart dropped into his stomach. Even being dead, he felt the same exact thing he felt the last time he had seen you. You were the one who got away, or more appropriately, the one he pushed away.

Sure, he’d been confused when he found out everything in his life was a lie when Chuck revealed himself to be a giant dick, but he did love you. He had such trouble reconciling the two: what he knew to be true and what his mind was telling him. No other romantic relationship had worked out for him, all two of them prior to you, and now he knew why. Chuck liked him better on his own, being the guy with no strings attached and rolling through town to save the girl, kill the monsters, get thanked, and move on his way. The only other person Chuck liked having in the Impala regularly was Sam. You, well, you he hadn’t seen coming and after the Big Bad Chuck reveal, he had to wonder why.

He had never meant to hurt you, though he couldn’t seem to stop from doing it. If things weren’t real between you all of this time, he didn’t want to keep pretending like they were. That wasn’t fair to either of you and he certainly didn’t want to continue stringing you along when his heart was no longer in it like it used to be. So he let you go, as painful as it was and as wrong as it felt, he did the right thing by you. Then that night he’d called you out of the blue, he’d been torn up about Cas’ revelations about Jack’s actual role in Billie’s plan, how badly he wanted Chuck gone, and how while he didn’t want to sacrifice the kid, he wanted his and Sam’s freedom more. Without thinking, he’d picked up the phone and dialed you. He shocked himself when he asked you to come over after hearing you weren’t that far away, and you shocked him even more when you agreed.

Dean hadn’t planned for you two to be intimate, but once you were there, right in front of him, it hit him hard how much he missed you, missed what you had together. So he made a move and you let him. He’d put everything he had, everything he felt but couldn’t tell you, into this stolen moment in time between you. And then the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream until he turned his head and saw you laying there, hair adorably disheveled, sheet covering you, doing something on your phone. It briefly reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken to find you in this exact same position, already up after a wild night, searching for cases. He wanted to bask in the comfort and familiarity for a moment longer, but when you turned and smiled at him, greeting him like you always had, he started kicking himself internally. He didn’t want you to think that this meant things would change when he knew they wouldn’t. He was being unfair to you and it wasn’t right. He’d been a selfish bastard and now he had to go into dick mode which would hurt you again. And sure enough, he knew he did when he saw your face fall as he easily dismissed you, not once but twice. He winced at the memory; he certainly didn’t blame you for not taking his calls or returning his voicemails after that.

The truth was that while he had initially been confused about his feelings for you and their validity, he knew he cared deeply about you and the most important thing was keeping you safe. He didn’t want you involved in the Chuck showdown, which is why he rudely dismissed you that morning, making up an excuse of a case in Duluth, something he knew you’d go along with. After watching you leave, as the door closed behind you, his heart fell into his stomach and he felt about three inches tall. He hated hurting you, hated pushing you away, but he knew it was for the best. You needed to be safe; not a target for Chuck.

After Chuck had been defeated and Jack took over, Dean realized in those months that he’d been a grade A idiot when it came to you. Sure, he’d been a cold dick, but he also had been a complete dumbass. He still loved you and he missed the hell out of you. What you had together had been something special that he stupidly threw away. There were quite a few nights after quite a few drinks, he’d picked up his phone and hovered over your number but he never actually called it. How could he even think of asking you to forgive him and give him another chance? After everything he’d said and done? He truly was a selfish bastard.

When he didn’t call, he then switched over to all of the photos and videos he had taken of you and both of you together. As he heard your laughter, saw both of your smiles, watched how you looked at him and the affection you’d shown him, he continued drowning his sorrows. He wanted so much to talk to you, to apologize and explain, and ask if he could come see you, but he never let himself ask. He didn’t deserve it; he knew that.

Now, here you were, asleep on his bed, Miracle curled up next to you. Staring down at you, he wondered how the hell he had ever let you go. And now, he’d never get to hold you again, feel your touch, or even share a conversation with you ever again. Even though Dean was at peace with his fate, regret languished within his chest the more he studied your face. He reached out to brush some hair back over your face but sadness overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t even do that small simple touch. Not anymore.

Dean’s eyes narrowed when he noticed an arm curled around you, almost protectively, pinning you to another body. His gaze traveled up that arm to find his younger brother, asleep right behind you. That surprised him but he quickly put two and two together. You must have gone to the Bunker when Sam called you to tell you the news and here you were, in Dean’s room, asleep on his bed with his dog. And while he didn’t begrudge you or his little brother some comfort you both might need, he didn’t like the look of that embrace or that Sam’s face was buried into the back of your neck.

Dean glanced back down at the arm, seeing Miracle staring right up at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the canine who had been his companion for months before he died. “Hey, boy,” he whispered, not sure if he would be heard or not but not wanting to startle you if he was. “How are you?”

Miracle didn’t seem to react at first, not until he got up and moved closer, wagging his tail. Dean went to try to pet the dog, hoping he could at least touch the animal, but he never got that far. His eyes zeroed in on just what Miracle’s body had been blocking.

His wide eyes flicked up to you, to Sam, back to you, and back to your fairly large and round stomach. The hell with being heard and possibly scaring you two. He glanced back to find Jack watching him. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”

“They’re sleeping.”

“I’m aware of that,” he growled. “But what—”

Just then, Cas popped in next to Jack. When the angel saw Dean, he offered a soft smile. Dean felt himself relax slightly and a part of him wanted to go hug the angel but another part of him was nervous to. Plus, he really wanted to know what the hell was going on. He shifted his eyes towards Jack, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you showing me?”

Cas glanced towards the bed, realization lighting his features, before he turned to Jack as well.

“The present,” Jack simply answered.

Dean cursed under his breath, not caring that both Cas and Jack could hear him. “The present of what? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like some time has passed.” He gestured towards your stomach. He tried not to be angry with you or Sammy, he really did, but dammit, his brother knew how he felt about you! Him dying didn’t change that! Besides, Sam had something going with Eileen last he knew, whatever happened to that?

“What you’re seeing is a few days after your death.”

Surprise ran through Dean at that revelation. So, this wasn’t some screwed up future scene he was witnessing? His eyes roamed over you, coming to rest once again on your stomach. You were very pregnant, looking as if you might be ready to pop any day now, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear; there was no way the baby was Sam’s. Sam wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him that long and he just didn’t see you or Sam going behind his back like that while he was alive. You were pissed at him, maybe even hated him, but you would never do that to him. Nor would Sam. The only answer was that you had found someone else and you were starting a family with them. Now he understood your radio silence even more. You might currently be sad at the news of his death, awash in memories in his room to where you’d fallen asleep on his bed and Sam had to comfort you, but you had truly moved on. That burned him even more. While he was happy if you were happy, knowing you’d found someone who wouldn’t break your heart and would treat you better than he ever could, a part of him was saddened by this knowledge. He knew you were too good for him, that you deserved better, but to see it confirmed in such a way, well, it was heartbreaking.

“So if she’s… Then she’s…” He couldn’t even put it into words; it hurt too much.

Jack clasped Dean’s shoulder. “The child is yours, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t alive anymore but if he had been, his heart would have stopped. He turned to Jack, shocked. “What?”

“You’re going to be a father,” Jack supplied, letting him go.

“But…how?” Dean’s gaze fell on you once more.

Cas suddenly appeared on his other side. “You don’t remember how you conceived the child?”

“What? No, I just…”

“Dean,” Jack called.

When he turned to look at the new God, the latter held up a glowing finger to him that almost reminded him of that movie E.T. “What are you gonna do with that? Check my temperature?” Speaking of E.T., hadn’t that been one of the last movies picked for movie night before the Chuck showdown?

Jack smiled and touched the finger to his forehead. Within seconds, Dean was reliving every single moment between you two:

…When you’d met.

…When he decided he’d liked you while you decided you didn’t like him too much.

…His constant flirting and trying to win you over.

…Your begrudging friendship that then grew into something more.

…Your relationship.

…Your breakup.

…All of the times you’d been in pain because of him.

…That last night.

…The next morning.

Then the memories shifted to yours from after that morning:

…You finding out about the pregnancy a couple of months later.

…Your hemming and hawing over calling him to tell him.

…Your fears.

…When you’d vanished with everyone else.

…Your panic upon your reappearance.

…The time you spent getting ready to retire from hunting and set up a normal life in Hibbing while preparing for the baby.

…The call from Sam with the news of his death.

…Your regret at not telling him about his child and your drive down here.

…Your conversation with Sam.

…Your collapsing in grief at finally realizing that he was gone and not coming back.

All of it that led to the scene he was witnessing now. He felt everything you felt, heard every thought, saw every tear, every smile.

By the time Jack pulled away, Dean’s eyes were wet. He wasn’t sure how he was able to produce tears as a dead man but he did. Not only did he feel how deeply he’d hurt you, but he also felt just how deeply you loved him. He already knew he’d been an idiot when it came to you, but he really had no clue before this just how incredibly stupid he’d been. It had always been real between you. That hadn’t been Chuck. Not by a long shot.

Dean discreetly wiped his eyes. “Send me back.” His tone was firm and he wasn’t really asking.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but your time on Earth is up.”

Dean turned a menacing glare onto Jack. New God or not, he didn’t care. “She’s having my kid and she needs me. They both need me. Sam, too. After everything I’ve done for this world, you owe me.” Jack stared him down, unbothered by the taller man’s attempt to make demands. “Now I appreciate the Fixer Upper: Heaven Edition, I really do, but I should be with them. I deserve a shot at this and you know it.”

Jack mused on that for a moment before staring up at Dean sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

Dean scoffed. “Then why bother showing me any of this? Why bother telling me that it’s my kid she’s about to have? What’s the point, dammit?”

“You were afraid that you had left nothing behind of value, except Sam and your beloved car. Afraid that your life hadn’t amounted to anything in the end. No matter how many people you saved, no matter how many connections you made, no matter what good you did. ” Jack gestured towards you. “It did amount to something. You are leaving behind something, something important. A legacy,” Jack gestured to your stomach. “A family,” he waved his hand over you and Sam.

Dean’s jaw clenched and he ignored the stinging in the corner of his eyes. “So this was just to show me what I can never have. The girl, the kid, the life…that’s just aces,” he muttered.

“No, Dean,” Cas spoke up. “What Jack is trying to explain is—”

“--your life amounted to more than you thought it had,” Jack finished.

Dean watched as Miracle went back and curled up against your belly once more, his head on his paws as he watched the scene in front of him. The corner of Dean’s lips tipped up into a smile. It was almost as if the dog knew it was his kid in there. And he was determined to protect it in Dean’s absence. His smile faded though when he thought of how he wouldn’t be able to see his kid, at all. He’d had enough of this. “That’s great. Appreciate the pep talk, fellas. Now, if you could send me back so I can actually raise my legacy and take care of my family, that’d be much appreciated.”

Jack and Cas exchanged a glance. Dean knew he wasn’t winning this one but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “It’s not your time yet,” Jack answered cryptically.

Dean’s head snapped in his direction. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that now your time is in Heaven, not Earth. And it’s best if you return to it.” Before Jack could snap his fingers, Dean held up a hand.

“Whoa, wait! That’s it? You’re not even gonna let me stick around to see what I’m gonna have?”

Jack smiled once more. “You’re going to have a son. A strong, healthy son.”

Dean reeled from that information. “A son?” He choked out.

Jack gave him a happy nod and held his fingers up again.

“Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jack. Why can’t I stick around?”

“You know what happens to ghosts, Dean. Besides, you’ve already been admitted to Heaven.”

“But you can do something about that, right? Like bring me back?” When Jack didn’t respond, Dean became desperate. “At least let me check in on them every now and then or something! You’re telling me you can’t even do that? You’re freaking God!”

Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not an angel, Dean.”

“No,” Cas interrupted. “But I am.” Cas stretched out his wings that were a lot brighter than Dean remembered. If he wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure he would at they very least be blinded from the brightness right about now. “I can take him back when he’s ready and I can escort him on any future visits.”

Dean was shocked but also beyond grateful at Cas’ offer. While they hadn’t spoken yet about how things were left between them before The Empty took away the angel, he couldn’t imagine it would be easy for Cas to watch as he pined over someone else, as he watched his kid grow, but Dean was grateful all the same.

Jack appeared to think this over before meeting Cas’ intent gaze. “You will make sure to bring him back each time.” At Cas’ nod, Jack gave him a knowing yet affectionate smile. “I expect you to keep to the rules during these visits.”

“Of course,” Cas agreed.

Jack then glanced over at Dean. “If you’re worried about her and your child, you don’t need to be. Sam is going to watch over them.” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in your direction, his eyes shifting to Sam’s arm around you.

“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.

“It means that your family is going to be safe. They’re going to stick together. Sam is going to help Y/N raise your son. He won’t allow any harm to come to them.”

His jaw tightened, thinking it should be his arm over you, him behind you, him helping you raise your kid, you two together. He should be the one to take his son fishing, teach him about girls when he got older, show him how to keep Baby going, be the father his old man had the potential to be but minus a few things. He’d do whatever it took to keep the kid out of hunting, to give him a shot at a full happy life. He’d give up hunting himself in order to make it happen. And you…if you’d take him back, he’d never leave your side. Hell, he’d marry you if you let him. After Jack had caught him up to speed on everything you went through, everything you had felt and were feeling, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to you, letting you know every single day just how much he loved you, if only you’d let him. If only Jack would allow him to come back. It felt beyond wrong that he wasn’t there and Sam was stepping into his place. Sam shouldn’t have to; he should be able to go and build his own family with Eileen or whoever, get married, have a couple of kids, buy a house, get out of hunting and go back to school — do whatever he wanted with his life. Not this.

“Dean.”

His eyes slowly lifted to Jack’s, who was a lot closer now than he had been before. He laid a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s as it should be. After you died, Sam was lost. She’s going to need help when the child is born.” He stared at Dean meaningfully. “They all need this.”

Dean’s gaze briefly roamed over the three of you on the bed before landing on Jack again. He thought back to his cryptic words from before. “Will I ever meet my kid? Get to see her again? Outside of Heaven?”

Jack’s expression didn’t change nor did he say anything but he squeezed his shoulder. That was the only response Dean was going to get apparently.

Dean huffed a snort and shook his head.

“I told you, Dean. There would be no more meddling with the world from on high. I will not repeat Chuck’s mistakes. Everything is as it should be.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. No, everything wasn’t as it should be. He made up his mind then to talk to Bobby when he got back. There had to be something he could do to get back to Earth, to get back to you and Sam and the baby…to get back to you all. If he couldn’t convince Jack to send him back, he’d find some other way.

Jack released him as Cas came to stand next to Dean. “I’ll see you back in Heaven.” He then looked at Cas. “Not too long.”

Cas gave him a nod and like that, Jack disappeared, leaving the angel and the hunter alone. Dean wasn’t thinking about how that might have set them up to talk about Cas’ last words to him before dying; right now, his focus was on you.

“Cas, please…can I touch her?”

“Dean…”

“Please,” he begged. “Just one last time. I’m not gonna get to be with her or raise my kid. I just want to touch her one last time. Please, Cas.”

Cas thought it over and then moved closer to the bed, leaning down to place two fingers against your forehead. Dean’s brows furrowed when he noticed a golden glow appear from the touch. “Whoa, whoa, Cas. What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you asked for. Y/N’s a light sleeper, like all of you hunters. If she wakes up, she could think she’s being attacked by a ghost or some other entity. I doubt you want that.” He pulled away and gave Dean a look.

“No,” Dean quietly agreed. Cas moved away to make room to let him in. Dean gingerly sat on the bed, about to touch you when he glanced up at the angel, unsure. Cas gave him a nod and Dean turned to gently run the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He felt your warm and soft skin this time when he came into contact with you and he let out a small breath of relief, sadness filling his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Had I known, I would’ve…” He supposed it didn’t really matter what he would’ve done. “I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I should be there with you now, ready to help you take care of the kid. I…” He tenderly moved your hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but I had to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to become a target for Chuck. And I never should’ve…” He could feel a familiar stinging at the corners of his eyes and he wasn’t surprised that his voice was a bit gruffer when he next spoke. “I knew what we had was real. I know I questioned it for a second there but I always knew. That’s why it was so important to me that you were safe. But it doesn’t make what I did and said okay. And I’m sorry for that.” He ran his fingers lightly over your lips, wishing he could kiss you one last time, feeling you kissing him back. “I love you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek that he hastily wiped away. He stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly with his thumb. “And I always will.”

Not really wanting to pull away from you but knowing he was on a time clock, he reluctantly moved his fingers away from your face and laid his hand on your belly. He couldn’t feel anything except the taut skin underneath his fingertips, but it was enough to make him smile. “Being that you’re my kid, you’re probably going to give your mom a run for her money. Try not to make her too crazy, huh?” He let out a watery sounding laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t be there but your Uncle Sammy is going to make sure you and your mom are taken care of. Okay? He’s going to show you how to toss a ball around, help you with your homework, all that stuff. Just do me a favor, though. Don’t let him feed you kale the whole time and don’t let him get you into his true crime podcasts. The guy is a classic nerd, don’t let him turn you into one, too.” His smile slowly faded. “Saying all that, he’s one of the best guys I've ever known and I know he’ll be good to you, be good to your mom. So cut him some slack when you get older, alright?” He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles. “Take care of your mom for me. I’ll be watching over both of you. I hope I get to meet you someday.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before sitting up and coming face to face with Miracle. The dog quietly whined and Dean gave him one last good head scratch. “You look out for them, okay buddy?” The dog whined again and Dean patted him.

“Dean,” Cas gently called.

Dean nodded and slowly got to his feet. His eyes shifted to Sam who was sound asleep, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks for taking care of them, Sammy,” he whispered. He didn’t vocalize that it was only temporary, that he was hell bent and determined to find a way to get back. His eyes then landed on you and he reached out to you one last time, trailing a fingertip along the dried tear tracks on your cheek. “Cas, can we just stay until they wake up?”

“Dean, Jack said—”

“I know what Jack said,” Dean snapped, glancing back at the angel whose parted lips pressed into a thin line. Dean immediately felt sorry for snapping at him; it wasn’t Cas’ fault and he wasn’t angry with him. He softened his tone. “I just want to be here when she wakes up. That’s all.” Cas seemed to be wrestling with his request. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “I just want to see her like this, awake.” He was slightly embarrassed at admitting that to his best friend but he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to visit again (and what he might be able to figure out to get himself back or how long it would take), and he had the strongest urge to see you up and about, walking around, pregnant with his kid. Not to mention he wanted to hear your voice one last time. “Please,” he whispered in a broken plea.

Cas stared at him for a moment before giving him a nod. “But after she wakes, we go back.”

“Thank you, Cas.” He meant it. While he highly doubted Cas would get into any real trouble on his behalf, he knew how difficult it must be for the angel to unwillingly push against Jack’s rules. Dean turned back to you, carefully sitting down next to you, caressing your face. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. He also made you a silent promise: he would do whatever it took to get back to you. His eyes briefly roamed to your stomach. To get back to both of you. Fate and the universe and all that crap be damned.

A/N: Please don't hate me.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

#dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #sleep i'll keep you safe #thebiggerbear writes

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scarletqueenx · 1 month ago

Text

chapter ten - mystery spot

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: Dean and you had dated for a few months before his father disappeared and his journey with Sam began. Now, having made a deal to save his brother's life and with only a year to live, Dean considers reconnecting with the only girl he's ever had feelings for. You.

Author’s Note: English is not my first language. This is my first time writing in the readers perspective, as i'm used to write oc´s.

series masterlist

You and Dean had not yet talked about what had happened between the two of you. It seemed stupid to define your relationship when Dean barely had a few months left to live. Still, it was quite evident that something had changed between you. And that night had just been another example of it.

In the middle of the night, after another nightmare, you had half-asleep walked over to Dean's bed and laid down beside him seeking comfort and safety. He wrapped his hand around your waist to hug you against his body as you placed a leg between his. A gesture Dean used to hate when you dated, but now it had become one of his favorite things about sharing a bed with you.

Heat of the moment

The song playing on the radio woke Sam and you that morning. His eyes widening as you shifted and grunted against the pillow, stretching your hand across the bed, reaching for Dean's body.

Telling me what your heart meant

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed sitting on the edge of the bed you were sleeping to tie his shoes. "You too, sweetheart." He turned his gaze to you, placing a hand on your bare leg.

"Dude." Sam grunted, looking at the radio. "Asia?"

"Come on. You love this song and you know it." Dean looked back at him.

"Yeah, and if I ever hear it again I'm gonna kill myself."

Not listening to him, Dean turned up the volume.

"What? Sorry, couldn't hear you."

Sam chuckled as you grunted against the pillow, trying to cover your ears with it.

It was the heat of the moment

Dean started bopping along, as he lay on top of you, leaving kisses on your shoulders while seeking to pull the pillow away from your face. Sam shook his head in amusement.

"Stop it." You groaned, turning around between Dean's arms. Your half-asleep eyes meeting his as a smile peeked over his lips.

Heat of the moment Heat of the moment Showed in your eyes

He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you right then and there. As you lay on what was his bed, looking up at him with your face half asleep and your messy hair spread across the pillow. But Sam's throat clearing brought him out of his thoughts, forcing him to break away to let you prepare to leave the room.

"Whenever you're ready, Dean." Sam said a couple of minutes later when Dean was finishing cleaning his teeth.

Coming out of the bathroom Dean walked over to his bag and pulled out a black bra.

"This yours?" He turned to you with a smirk. You looked at him unamused, finishing tying your shoes and grabbing your jacket from the back of a chair. Letting out a laugh, Dean put what was in fact one of your bras back in his bag before pulling out his gun. "Bingo."

"Can we go?" You asked. "I'm starving."

Dean nodded, walking pass Sam and you and out of the motel room. After deciding on a small diner, the three of you entered the place.

"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett." The cashier said to a old man after handing him his change.

"Yeah, yeah." He grunted in response, walking pass you and out of the diner.

"Can't stay unless you order something, Cal. You know the rules." Said the waitress behind the bar, which make you look at her, seeing a man sitting there.

"Some coffee." Cal answered, passing her some change.

"Hey. Tuesday. Pig in a poke." Dean noticed a poster on the wall that displayed the specials for the day. You frowned as you sat next him in the booth he had chosen.

"You even know what that is?" You asked. Dean turned to you, shrugging.

The waitress from behind the bar walked towards you, allowing you to read the name on her name tag. Doris.

"You folks ready?" She asked, pulling a pad out of her apron.

"Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon and a coffee." Dean said with a smile.

"Make it two coffees and a short stack." Sam added.

"Yeah, I'll have the same as him." You smiled at the waitress.

"You got it." She nodded, writing it down before leaving the table.

"You both are boring." Dean said, turning back to look at Sam and you.

"Why? Because we don't eat as much as you do?" You asked with confusion. "Sorry, I have the stomach of a regular person."

"Whatever." He sighed, fixing his gaze on his brother. "I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela."

"Okay, sure, let's get right on that. Where is she again?"

"I still can't believe you let her steal the Colt." You commented.

"Shut up." Dean grumbled. "And we didn't let her."

"At least we still have my knife." You pointed out. "Thanks, mom."

"Yeah, thank you mom for being a witch." He muttered.

"Hey, that witch saved mine and my brother's life. And she never hurt anyone." You gave him an annoyed look.

"You don't know that."

"She was my mother, Dean." She reminded him. "It's not my fault that every witch you've ever encountered turned out to be an evil bitch. You hate them, great. Burn, witches, burn. But leave my mother out of it."

Letting out a sigh, Dean looked back at you with regret. But before he could say anything, Sam interrupted him.

"Look. Believe me, I want to find Bella as bad as you do. In the meantime, we have this." Sam said, pulling out some papers from his jacket.

"All right, so this professor." Dean sighed, looking at the papers and reading the headline on them: MISSING - DEXTER HASSELBACK LAST SEEN IN BROWARD, FLORIDA.

"Dexter Hasselback was passing through town last week when he vanished." Sam explained.

"Last known location?" You asked, looking at the papers over Dean's shoulder.

"His daughter says he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot." Sam answered, sliding a flyer over the table. Taking it in your hands, you took a look at it.

"Where the laws of physics have no meaning." You read aloud, showing the flyer to Dean. Sam shrugged, not knowing exactly what that meant.

Just at that moment Doris came back to the table with a tray of food and three coffees. She set the food and drinks down on the table before reaching for the bottle of hot sauce. "Three coffees, and some hot sauce for the-" She said but was quickly interrupted when the bottle of hot sauce fell off the tray and smashed on the floor. "Crap! Sorry." She apologized, turning to look back. "Cleanup!"

After finishing their food the three of you left the diner, walking past a dog that barked in your direction, but quickly quieted when you petted his head and gave him a smile. Dean snatched the Mystery Spot flyer from his brother's hands and looked at it once again with a scowl on his face.

"Sam, joints like this are only tourist traps, right? I mean, you know, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling, they're only dangerous to your wallet." He said.

"Okay, look, I'm just saying, there are spots in the world where holes open up and swallow people. The Bermuda Triangle, uh, the Oregon Vortex-"

"Broward County Mystery Spot?" Dean cut him off.

"Well sometimes these places are legit."

"All right, so if it is legit, and that's a big-ass if, what's the lore?" Dean asked, letting out a sigh.

You ran to catch up with them. And just as you started to walk beside Dean a blonde girl carrying a stack of paper bumped into your shoulder, quickly apologizing without barely looking at you.

"Excuse me."

The woman's touch sent a shiver down your spine, bringing with it a sense of unease and a faint sense of impending danger. It was as if someone was trying to whisper a warning into your ear. It was only a whisper, but it was enough to send a jolt of anxiety through your body.

"The lore's pretty frigging nuts, actually." Sam words brought you back to reality. "They say these places the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend spacetime, sending victims no one knows where."

"Sounds a little X-Files to me." Dean said as you passed two movers with desk that was clearly never going to fit in the door they were trying to get it through.

"Told you it wouldn't fit." Said one of the movers.

"What do you want, a Pulitzer?" The other one asked with annoyance.

"All right, look, I'm not saying this is really happening, but if it is, we gotta check it out, see if we can do something." Sam said as you continued walking, not paying much attention to the movers.

"I think Sam is right." You spoke. "It's worth a look."

"All right, all right, we'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look." Dean finally accepted.

The best time to go to a place like that was at night, where there were no tourists visiting around. Night also meant the need for flashlights, which was why you found yourself aiming your flashlight at the front lock so Dean could pick it. When the door opened, you handed another flashlight to him before stepping inside.

The hallway was illuminated by a neon green light with a black double spiral painted on the walls and door. The last one to enter, Sam, closed the door behind before following Dean and you up the hallway with the EMF reader in his hand.

"Wow. Uncanny." Dean said in a sarcastic tone as he shined the flashlight around and up onto a table, lamp, and ashtray attached upside-down to the ceiling.

Still with that uneasy feeling in your body, you looked to Sam in search of answers.

"Find anything?" You asked.

"No." He answered. You sighed.

"You have any idea what you're looking for?"

"Uh... yeah." Sam looked up at you as you raised your eyebrows skeptically. "No."

Shaking your head, you shared a quick look with Dean as you both shine the flashlights around other parts of the room.

"What the hell are you doing here?" A forth and unknown voice asked you. Turning around, you encounter an older man, probably the owner of the place, holding a gun aimed at the three of you.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa. We can explain." Dean said as he watched the man pointing his gun towards you.

"You robbing me?"

"Look, nobody's robbing you, calm down." You tried to stay calm as you took a step forward but the owner wasn't happy with that as he cocked the gun causing you to freeze in place.

"Don't move!"

"Alright. Alright. I won't move."

"Just putting the gun down." Dean said. What happened next was very quick. The owner moved his gun, aiming it at him and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck Dean in the chest, knocking him to the ground from the impact as blood came out of his mouth.

"Oh, God. Dean." You fell to your knees beside him, one hand covering your mouth as you let out a gasp. Sam soon came to your side, crouching down on the other side of his brother as Dean struggled to breathe. Holding tears in your eyes, you lifted your eyes up to the owner. Your gaze becoming much colder as you gripped the handle of the gun attached to your belt. "What the hell have you done?"

"I didn't mean-"

"Hey." Sam exclaimed. "Call 911!"

"I-I didn't mean to-"

"Now!"

Taking one last look at you, the owner nodded before leaving the room.

You returned to your knees next to Dean, tears beginning to slide down your cheeks at the state he was in. "Hey, Dean. Dean, stay with me, okay? Don't close your eyes. You have to-"

Suddenly Dean stopped breathing, his chest freezing from the lack of air in his lungs.

"No. It wasn't suppose to be like this." Sam whispered as he look at his brother.

"Dean." Your voice cracked.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Heat of the moment

Yours and Sam's eyes snapped open by the sound of the radio. You shifted and grunted against the pillow, stretching your hand across the bed, reaching for Dean's body as you remembered what had happened the previous day. Dean was dead.

Telling me what your heart meant

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" The sound of his voice made you frown in confusion as you turned your body. "You too, sweetheart." Dean placed a hand on your bare leg, sending a shiver down your body.

Confused, you lifted your body up on your elbows to look to the bed where Sam lay. Seeming just as confused as you were, Sam shared a quick look with you before directing his eyes towards the clock radio.

The heat of the moment Showed in your eyes

"Dude. Asia." Dean smile, lacing up his boots.

"Dean..." Sam tried to speak.

"Oh, come on, you love this song and you know it." Dean said, turning up the volume and bopping his head to the beat of the song. It was exactly like the first time it happened.

As he began to sing, Dean walked to the bathroom, leaving Sam and you completely speechless.

"What...?" Unable to articulate the question that was on the tip of your tongue, you turned your stunned gaze to Sam. "He was dead."

"I know." He nodded.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Maybe it was a dream or..."

"Or?" You raised your eyebrows.

"I don't know. I know the same things you do." Sam assured you with frustration.

"We couldn't have had the same dream. Couldn't we?" You asked.

"Don't you have witch's blood?"

"But I destroyed the book, the powers are gone."

"Are they?" Sam got up from his bed, walking over to the one Dean and you had shared last night to sit next to you.

"Are you guys hungry?" Dean came out of the bathroom, looking at the scene before him with confusion. His eyes fixed especially on the anguished faces of both of you. "You two all right?"

"Yeah. Perfectly. Right, Sammy?" You tapped his shoulder lightly as you stood up. "Very hungry." You smiled at Dean as you walked past him into the bathroom.

Confusion grew in Sam and you as you watched things happen just as they had the day before. Not only Dean, but also the people in the diner.

"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett." The cashier said to a old man after handing him his change.

"Yeah, yeah." He grunted in response, walking pass you and out of the diner. After seeing him disappear behind the door, you turned to Sam not knowing what was happening.

Dean was completely oblivious as he walked past you and found a booth to sit in. The same booth as the day before. You sighed, sitting down next to him. Sam stared around, bewildered as he sat in front of you.

"Can't stay unless you order something, Cal. You know the rules." You looked at the bar watching how Cal passed some change at Doris.

"Coffee." Cal answered.

It couldn't have been a dream. It was all happening the same exact way. Maybe Sam was right to blame your family history and it had all been caused by powers you didn't know how to control.

"Hey. Tuesday. Pig in a poke." Dean noticed a poster on the wall that displayed the specials for the day.

"It's Tuesday?" You asked with confusion before looking at Sam who seemed as shocked.

"Yeah." Dean nodded as Doris walked towards your table.

"You folks ready?" She asked, pulling a pad out of her apron.

"Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon and a coffee." Dean said with a smile.

"Uh, nothing for me, thanks." Sam said when he noticed Doris eyes on him.

You cleared your throat before speaking. "Just coffee."

"Ok." She nodded looking back at Sam. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela." Sam and you paid little attention to Dean's words as your eyes followed Doris in confusion. Yet again, that shiver of unease shot through your body, a silent warning that something was wrong. Its presence been too strong this time for you ignore. "Hey." Dean snapped his fingers in front of your faces. "You two with me?"

"What?" Sam and you asked at the same time.

"You sure you feel okay?"

"You don't-you don't remember? Any of this?" Sam asked with a sigh.

"Remember what?" Dean frowned.

"This, Dean." You stated. "Today. Like it's-like it's... happened before?"

"You mean like déjà vu?"

"No, we mean like, like it's really happened before." Sam said.

"Yeah. Like déjà vu." Dean nodded.

"No, Dean, forget about déjà vu." You spoke in frustration. "I'm asking you if it feels like, like we're living yesterday all over again."

"Okay, how is that not dé-"

"Don't, don't say it!" Sam cut him off angrily. "Just don't even..."

Doris arrived with a tray food, two coffees and hot sauce. She set the food and drinks down on the table before reaching for the bottle of hot sauce. "Two coffees, and some hot sauce for the-oops! Crap!" Noticing how the bottle of hot sauce was going to fall off the tray, Sam reached out to catch it before it hit the floor. Doris gasped as Sam looked at the bottle in his hand in confusion before handing it back to her. "Thanks." She said before walking off.

"Nice reflexes." Dean said.

Oh, Sam and you were definitely doing crazy.

Not only were all those things happening the same way as the day before too much of a coincidence, Dean didn't seem to remember anything either. And if that wasn't enough, you were still feeling that unease feeling in your body. Something had been warning your about that place.

The dog barked as you walked out of the diner and pass him. You ooked at him but this time you didn't petted his head, you kept walking besides Dean.

"Dean, I really need you to listen to us, okay?" You insisted. "This day has happened before. Sam and I-"

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, but I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Okay, look." Sam sighed. "Yesterday was Tuesday, right? But today is Tuesday too."

You nodded.

"Yeah. No. Good. You're totally balanced." Dean said sarcastically.

"So you don't believe us?!" Sam asked with frustration as the blonde girl carrying a stack of paper bumped into your shoulder.

"Excuse me." She said, walking away.

"Look, I'm just saying that it's crazy, you know, I mean, even for us crazy." Dean said. "Dingo ate my baby crazy. Hey, maybe it was another of your psychic premonitions."

"I'm sorry, what now?" You stopped on your tracks.

"It's... It's a long story."

"Oh, believe me, I have all the time in the world. Because if we're not crazy like you say, Sam and I will relive this day all over again." You stated before looking at Sam. "You're a psychic?"

"No, I- We should focus on this. We'll explain it to you." He assured ñ.

"Why do I have the feeling that I will regret this?" You watched them closely. "Okay, look, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then-"

Seeing you stop talking, Dean looked at you with confusion.

"And then what?" He asked.

Taking a deep breath, you looked over to Sam. You didn't want to say it out loud.

"Then we woke up." Sam answered as you past the two movers.

"Told you it wouldn't fit." Said one of the movers.

"What do you want, a Pulitzer?" The other one asked with annoyance.

"Wait a minute! The Mystery Spot. You think maybe it-" Sam stopped, looking at his brother and you.

"Maybe what?" Dean frowned.

"We gotta check that place out. Look, just-go with us on this, okay?"

"All right, all right, we'll go tonight, after close, get ourselves a nice long look."

Shaking you head, you froze in place, placing a hand in front of Dean to stop him from walking any further.

"No. We are not going there."

"Why not?" Dean looked at you with confusion.

"Uhh... You know what? Let's just go now. Right now. Business hours, nice and crowded." You nervously suggested.

"My God, you're a freak." Dean muttered.

"Dean..."

"Okay! Whatever. We'll go now." He assured walking ahead of them and into the street.

Just like the shot the day before, the next thing that happened went by very quickly. A car appeared practically out of nowhere on Dean's left side, hitting him as he was crossing the street.

"Dean!" Sam and you rushed to him, kneeling by his side.

"Dean, no, no, no." Sam cried, his voice filled with anguish. "Come on! Dean."

"What the hell have you done?!" You rose back up, confronting the driver as Dean took his last breath.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Heat of the moment Telling me what your heart meant

You were starting to get sick of that song. Even with the theory that you would relive that day once again, you didn't expect to see Dean die another time. Frustrated and exhausted, Sam and you grunted against their pillows.

"You guys sure are grumpy this morning." Dean commented, sitting down on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots. "Come on. Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sitting up in his bed, Sam looked around the room.

"You too, sweetheart." Dean turned his gaze to you, placing a hand on your bare leg.

The heat of the moment Showed in your eyes

Turning over slowly, you shared a glance with Sam before rising to your feet and walking toward the bathroom. Your steps steady and full of frustration. Noticing that, Dean frowned, glancing over at his brother.

"What's wrong with her?" He asked. Sam shrugged, letting out a sigh.

The morning started the same way as the two previous days. You followed your same steps and met the same people until you reached the diner. Although, this time, Sam and you tried to be quicker in explaining to Dean what was going on.

"Hey. Tuesday. Pig in a poke."

"Okay, would you listen to us, Dean?" You asked with exasperation. "'Cause we are flipping out."

"Are you folks ready?" Doris asked as she came to your booth.

"He'll take the special, side of bacon, coffee, black. Nothing for me, thanks." Sam quickly replied without bothering to look at her.

Taken aback by his quick response, Doris wrote down the order in her pad before looking at you, once again seated next to Dean.

"Nothing." You answered.

"Okay. You got it." She nodded, leaving your side.

"Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that." Dean said with a teasing smile.

"Quit screwing around, Dean." Sam grunted, rolling his eyes.

"Okay. Okay. I'm listening." Dean sighed. "So, so–you think that you're in some kind of a what again?"

"Time loop." You answered.

"Like Groundhog Day."

"Yes, exactly. Like Groundhog Day." Sam exclaimed.

"Uh-huh." He nodded, even though it was clear for you that he didn't believe a single one of your words.

"You seriously don't believe us?" You looked at him in disbelief. "Demons are real, vampires, ghosts, werewolves and witches. Without going any further, I have witch blood and your brother is a psychic, but you still don't believe us."

"Wait. How do you know about Sammy?"

"Because you told me yesterday. Which was also Tuesday."

"Okay, I'm just saying that it's a little crazy, I mean even for us crazy, you know, like, uh..."

"Dingo ate my baby crazy?" Sam asked.

"How'd you know I was going to say that?" He frowned.

"Because you said it before, Dean, that's our whole point."

Letting out a sigh, you looked up, finding Doris approaching your table again with the tray full of food and a coffee.

"Coffee, black, and some hot sauce for the—whoops! Crap." Doris said as the bottles of hot sauce fall of the tray. Without even looking at it, Sam reached his hand and caught it before it hit the floor, handing it back to Doris. "Thanks." She looked at him impressed, leaving the bottle on the table before leaving.

"Nice reflexes." Dean said, just as impressed as Doris.

"No. I knew it was going to happen."

"Okay, look. I'm sure that there's some sort of an explanation..."

"You're just going to have to go with us on this, Dean, you just have to, you owe me that much!" You snapped.

"Wait, what-what are you talking about?" Dean turned, looking at you with a mixture of shock and complete confusion.

"You left me in a motel room, remember?"

"I thought we were past that."

"Yeah, but you still owe me this." You assured. Your voice firm and determined.

"Calm down..."

"Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down. I can't. Because—" You stopped talking, not being able to finish the phrase. Sam noticed that, feeling himself almost as unable as you were to put it into words.

"Because what?" Dean asked.

"Because you die, today, Dean." Sam and you answered at the same time.

Taken aback, Dean watched the two of you in silence for a couple of seconds. "I'm not gonna die. Not today."

"Dean, we've watched you die twice now." Sam said. "And I can't—I won't do it again, okay? You're just going to have to believe us. Please."

Seeing the overwhelmed look on his brother's face Dean nodded. "All right. I still think you're nuts, but okay, whatever this is, we'll figure it out."

As Dean returned his focus to his plate of food, you brought your hand to her necklace, clinging to it as if it could do something to help you. Unconsciously you hoped your mother would do so from the afterlife. Sam turned to you, looking at you with sympathy. Dean was his brother, it was obvious that seeing him die would affect him, but he could also see how it was affecting you. The sparkle in your eyes that had appeared after getting back on the road with them was now gone. And your gaze once again had that lifelessness and hopelessness look with which they had found you the night Ophelia had attacked your home.

The dog barked at you once again as you exited the diner, and the blonde girl carrying a stack of paper bumped into your shoulder.

"Excuse me." She said, walking away without even looking.

Seconds after, you passed the two movers.

"Told you it wouldn't fit." Said one of the movers.

"What do you want, a Pulitzer?" The other one asked with annoyance.

You looked back at them, fixing your gaze in the desk they were trying to fit in the door. Good luck, you thought, as it was clear to you that the desk wasn't going to get through that door.

"And you think this cheesy-ass tourist trap has something to do with it?" Dean's question brought you out of your thoughts.

"Maybe it's the real deal, you know?" Sam said. "The, the magnetic fields bending spacetime or whatever."

"I don't know, it all seems a little too 'X-Files' for me."

"Well, I don't know how else to explain it, Dean!"

"All right! All right. We'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look."

"No, no, no, we can't." You were quick to answered.

"Why not?" Dean frowned as he looked back at you.

"Because you..."

"I what?" You stayed silence, which was enough answer to him. "I die there?"

"Blown away, actually." Sam explained.

"Huh. Okay, let's go now." Dean stated, walking ahead. You rushed after him, grabbing him before he ran into the street.

"Stay out of the way!" Mr. Pickett exclaimed, driving past them with his car.

Staring after the car, Dean started laughing until his eyes caught yours and Sam's faces.

"Wait, did he...?"

"Yesterday. Yeah." Sam nodded.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Did it look cool, like in the movies?" He asked, which made you roll your eyes.

"You peed yourself." Sam answered, irritated with him.

Dean shifted, uncomfortable and embarrassed. "Of course I peed myself. Man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control over his bladder? Come on!" He exclaimed, carefully looking to both ways before crossing the street.

Sam and you couldn't help but share an exasperated look. Maybe if the one dying was one of your two the situation would be easier. But Dean was hard to handle and too stubborn to listen.

Although, maybe, you weren't ones to talk, as you also weren't approaching the situation in the most cold and analytical way possible. An example of that was how Sam had snapped at the owner of Mystery Spot by asking him a few questions about the place while posing as a journalist. The man had been the one who had killed Dean in the first place, which had triggered all the recent events. Not to mention that what had led you to that town was the place he owned, where a man had disappeared without explanation.

"Well, I hate to say it, but that place is exactly what I thought—it's full of crap." Dean said, exiting the place.

"Then what is it, Dean, what the hell is happening to us?" Sam asked, desperate for an answer.

"I don't know. All right, let me just–So, every day I die?" Dean asked. Sam and you nodded. "And that's when you wake up again, right?"

"Yea, that's exactly what happens." You sighed.

"So let's just make sure I don't die. If I make it to tomorrow, then maybe the loop stops and we can figure all this out."

"You think?" Sam looked at him with hope in his eyes.

"It's worth a shot." Dean shrugged. "I say we grab some takeout and head back to the motel, lay low until midnight."

Sam and you nodded, both anxious, shaky, but mostly hopeful. Hopeful that maybe all of this madness will come to an end.

"All right, good. Who wants Chinese?" Dean smiled at you before he started walking again.

Just two steps. Two steps was what he had walked before a desk fell over him, smashing him to yet another death. A gasp escaped your mouth as you looked up the building. The two movers you had passed by that morning after breakfast stared at the scene form the window as they held the other end of the snapped rope.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Heat of the moment Telling me what your heart meant

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed as he sat on his bed, tying his shoes. "You too, sweetheart." He added, placing a hand on your bare leg.

The heat of the moment Shown in your eyes It was the heat of the moment

This time Sam and you had decided to explain everything to Dean on the way to the diner, with the hopes that maybe you'll win some time to finally fix whatever was happening.

"I still think you're nuts, but... whatever this is, we'll figure it out." Dean said as you sat in the diner.

"Thanks." Sam sighed.

"So, uh... If you two are stuck in 'Groundhog Day', why? What's behind it?" He asked.

"Well, first we thought it was the Mystery Spot. Now we're not so sure." You explained.

"What do we do?"

"Well, we keep you breathing. Try to make it to tomorrow. I mean, that's the only thing we can think of."

"Shouldn't be too hard." Dean shrugged.

"Yeah, right." Sam scoffed. "Dean, we've watched you die a few times now and we can't ever seem to stop it."

"Well, nothing's set in stone. You say I order the same thing every day, right?" He asked, looking back at you, as you were once again sitting by his side.

"Yeah. Pig in a poke, side of bacon." You answered.

With a small nod, Dean turned to Doris, who was standing by the window to the kitchen, talking with the cook.

"'Scuse me, sweetheart?" He asked and she turned around to look at Dean. "Can I get sausage instead of bacon?"

"Sure thing, hon." She said before turning back around to tell the cook.

Dean smiled, looking back at his brother. "See? Different day already. You see, if you and I decide that I am not gonna die – I'm not gonna die."

"Really hope you're right." You whispered, but he seem to hear you as his gaze traveled back to you with a confused look in his eyes. The look of distress on your face was breaking his heart a little. If he had to watch you die day after day he would go completely insane.

Doris walked over to their table and set down Dean's food before walking away.

"Thank you." Dean said to her and stabbed a sausage link with his fork. He bit into it and smile as he chewed. Sam smiled at that, and you were about to do the same, but as soon as you started to hear Dean fighting for air, that smile faded. You turned to him as he started to choke and hit his back but that didn't seem to work.

"Dean!" You exclaimed desperately, while still trying to help him breathe by hitting his back.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Heat of the moment Telling me what your heart meant

You opened your eyes once again, groaning against your pillow. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed as he sat on his bed, tying his shoes. "You too, sweetheart." He added, placing a hand on your bare leg.

The heat of the moment Shown in your eyes It was the heat of the moment

You had lost count of how many times you had heard that song when you woke up. Every day was exactly the same, with little changes caused by Sam and your desperation to end the loop. Each day ended the same way too, with Dean dead. Slipping in the shower, eating a bad taco, the deaths were getting more and more absurd, but he always came back the next morning, breaking your heart even more.

"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett." The cashier at the diner said to the man as he gave him some change.

You ignored him as he passed by, but Sam bumped into him deliberately so he could take his car keys before the man could get into his vehicle and run over Dean once again when the three of you left the diner.

Sitting back down in the same booth, you sighed, looking at the man sitting at the counter with a pancakes plate and maple syrup. You had noticed him before, but with each passing day you felt a little more drawn to him. There was something off about him, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it yet.

"Hey. Tuesday. Pig in a poke."

Sam sighed, laying a set of keys on the table. Dean frowned, looking at the them and then at him.

"What are those?" Dean asked.

"The old man's. Trust me, you don't want him behind the wheel." Sam answered without any more explanations.

"You folks ready?" Doris asked as she approached your table.

"Uh, yes, we are. I'll have the special, side of bacon and a coffee." Dean answered her as he gave her a smile.

"Hey, Doris?" You asked, making her look at you. "What I'd like is for you to log in some more hours at the archery range. You're a terrible shot."

"How'd you know that?" She asked in surprise. You shrugged.

"Lucky guess."

The woman didn't quite know how to respond to that, and the small, emotionless smile on your lips sent a shiver down her spine.

"I think you scared her off." Dean commented as he watched the waitress walk away from the table. "Okay, so you think you're caught in some kind of what, again?"

"Time loop." Sam answered.

"Like Groundhog Day."

"Doesn't matter. There's no way to stop it." You replied.

"Jeez, aren't you two grumpy."

"Yeah, we are. You wanna know why? Because this is the hundredth Tuesday in a row we've been through, and it never stops. Ever. So yeah, we're a little grumpy." Sam said rather quickly.

"Hot sauce." You murmured then, you gaze completely blank and emotionless. Dean turned back to you confused.

"What?"

Doris arrived with the food and coffee, setting everything on the table before reaching for the bottle of hot sauce. "Coffee, black, and some hot sauce for the—whoops! Crap!" She gasped as the bottle slipped through her fingers, but Sam quickly grabbed, setting it down on the table without even looking at it. "Thanks." Doris said before leaving.

"Nice reflexes."

"I knew it was going to happen, Dean. I know everything that's gonna happen."

"You don't know everything." Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, he does. We both do." You said,

"Yeah, right." Dean and Sam said in unison. "Nice guess."

"It wasn't a guess."

"Right, you're a mind reader." They both said simultaneously, making you roll your eyes. "Cut it out, Sam. Sam." They lean towards each other as they continued. "You think you're being funny but you're being really, really childish! Sam Winchester wears makeup. Sam Winchester cries his way through sex. Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed and every morning when he wakes up he—". Dean got tired and threw up his hands in defeat.

"Okay, enough!"

"That's not all. Randy, the cashier? He's skimming from the register. Judge Myers? At night he puts on a furry bunny outfit." You explained. And as he overheard her words, Judge Myers, knocked over his glass. "Over there, that's Cal. He's gonna rob Tony the mechanic on the way home."

"What's your point?"

"My point is we've lived through every possible Tuesday. We"ve watched you die every possible way. We have ripped apart the Mystery Spot, burnt it down, tried everything we know to save your life, and we can't. No matter what we do, you die. And then we wake up. And then it's Tuesday again." You blurted out quickly in frustration. Dean watched you closely, noting the shaking in your voice and hands.

"Wow, wow. Okay." He took one of your hands. "We'll figure this out."

"Yeah, you say that every time. Well, guess what, Dean, we haven't figured it out."

You pulled your hand from his grip with uneasiness. Not from the touch of his skin, but from the aching pain in your chest. You were letting your feelings for him get out of control and if you weren't careful, when his real death would come. A permanent one in which he would not return the next day. You knew you weren't going to be able to take it and move on.

"Dog." Sam mumbled as you exited the diner.

Dean frowned, looking down once a dog started barking as you passed him.

"There's gotta be some way out of this." He said.

"'Where's my dang keys?'" Sam ignored him completely as he continued to predict everything happening around him.

"Where's my dang keys?" Mr. Pickett asked, searching his pockets for his car keys that Sam had stole from him minutes before.

"'Excuse me.'"

You collided once again with the blonde girl carrying a stack of paper.

"Excuse me."

Seeing how he was predicting each thing, Dean stopped in his tracks, putting his arms in front of Sam and you.

"What?" You looked at him in confusion.

"Hey. All the times we've walked down this street, I ever do this?" Dean asked walking after the blonde girl.

Sam and you shared a quick glance.

"No." You mumbled before going after him.

"A hundred Tuesdays and you never bothered to check what she was holding in her hands?" Dean looked up at you in disbelief. Sam and you shrugged. "That's the guy who went missing?" Dean pointed out as he held up the flyer.

"Yeah?"

"That's his daughter back there." Dean pointed to blonde girl. Sam grabbed the flyer and ran after the girl, leaving Dean and you alone.

Silence settled between you as you watched your surroundings looking for any threat to Dean's life. A part of you knew that his death would come sooner or later like the hundreds of Tuesdays before, but what little hope you still had left assured you that if you were able to save him just once you'd finally end the loop.

Dean's thoughts were somewhere else. To him it had only been a few days since you had rejoined him and Sam on the ride. Which also meant that it had only been a few days since what had happened between the two of you. Now, feelings weren't his forte, much less talking about them. But that didn't stop him from thinking about kissing you every time you were next to him.

The dog next to him growled and barked. You didn't seem to hear him, but Dean walked over to him.

"Hey buddy!" He leaned over to pet it. "Somebody need a friend? Good boy—aaah!"

Sam and you didn't know what had happened. Just that in that moment everything went black and soon you started hearing that song once again as you woke up in the motel room on a new Tuesday.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

The next day something strange happened, something changed. In all the Tuesdays that Sam and you had experienced nothing but you changed, but that morning you couldn't help but notice how the man eating pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast had changed his syrup to strawberry one. And even weirder than all that, after discovering this, Sam and you woke up once again, this time without Dean having died.

"So you think you're caught in some kind of what, again?" Dean asked as you sat in the diner booth.

Sam and you ignored him as you watched the pancakes man closely.

"Eat your breakfast." You aswered him without even looking. Dean frowned at that, but he still didn't had the opportunity to ask you what was happening, 'cause the moment the man left the diner, Sam and you both went after him.

The mysterious man walked down the street. Sam followed him close behind until he reached him. Then he grabbed and slammed him into the fence, putting the tip of a wooden stake at his throat.

"Hey!" The man exclaimed.

"I know who you are. Or should I say, what."

"Oh my god, please don't kill me." He begged.

"Uh, Sam?" Dean walked after the two of you, trying to get your attention.

"It took me a hell of a long time but I got it."

You frowned at Sam's words. It was as if he knew the man, even seemed to know how to kill him, yet he hadn't mentioned anything to you.

"What?" The man looked at Sam with confusion.

"It's your MO that gave you away. Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts—your kind loves that, don't they?" Sam continued.

"Yeah, sure, okay." The man nodded, looking down nervously at the stake. "Just put the stake down!"

"Sam, maybe you should—" You tried to get closer to him.

"No! There's only one creature powerful enough to do what you're doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops—in fact you'd pretty much have to be a god. You'd have to be a Trickster."

"Mister, my name is Ed Coleman, my wife's name is Amelia, I got two kids, for crying out loud I sell ad space—"

"Don't lie to me! I know what you are! We've killed one of your kind before!"

Suddenly the man started to transform into what Sam and Dean recognized as the real Trickster.

"Actually, bucko, you didn't." He said with a grin.

"I'm sorry, could someone explain to me what is going on?" You asked, gaining his attention. "Who are you? And why are you doing this to us?"

"He's a Trickster." Dean answered next to you.

"I'm doing it to him, sweetheart, not you." The Trickster explained, pointing to Sam. "You're just collateral damage." You looked at him with disbelief as he turned his gaze back to the young Winchester. "You chuckleheads tried to kill me last time."

"And Hasselback, what about him?" Dean asked about the missing guy.

"That putz? He said he didn't believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one." He laughed. "Then you guys showed up. I made you the second you hit town."

"So this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over again?" You took a step toward him.

"One, yes. It is fun. And two? This is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on Sam." He answered. "Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?"

"You son of a bitch." Sam growled.

"How long will it take you to realize? You can't save your brother. No matter what. You too, sweetheart." The Trickster looked back at you. "Sam is stubborn, but you... You actually believe you can save him. You'd even give your soul for him, wouldn't you? And the wheel would keep on turning. Deal after deal."

"She won't make any deals." Dean said.

"But not because she hadn't thought of it." The Trickster assured him. His glare fixed on you made you shudder. It was as if he could read all your thoughts, even the darkest ones. "We may not have met before, sweetheart, but I know you."

"Oh yeah?" You raised your eyebrows, grabbing the stake in Sam's hand and pushing him aside. Standing in front of the Trickster, you pulled the stake closer to his neck. "How about I kill you and this all ends now?"

"Oh-oh, hey, whoa! Okay. Look. I was just playing around. You can't take a joke, fine. You're out of it. Tomorrow, you'll wake up and it'll be Wednesday. I swear."

"You're lying." Sam said.

"If I am, you know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner." He looked back at him.

"Nah, I think I'd rather kill you." You declared.

"Sorry, kiddo. Can't have that." He smiled before snapping his fingers.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Promise me I'll be back in time Gotta get back in time

God, you loved that song. Back to the Future was one of your favorite movies. In a way you also hated it because it was Carter's favorite movie and that brought back painful memories, but that morning it became your favorite song. That Asia wasn't playing on the radio meant that something had changed and maybe the Trickster hadn't lied to you when he said he would get you out of the loop.

"What, you gonna sleep all day?" Dean asked as he stood by the bathroom sink brushing his teeth.

Sam sat on his bed, his eyes wide open as he watched his brother. He had lived six months without Dean and you. You had both died in front of his eyes and the day hadn't restarted like the others. He had spent six months looking for the Trickster so he could bring him back to this very moment.

"I know, no Asia. This station sucks."

Sam shook his head and looked at the clock radio on the bedside table.

"It's Wednesday."

"Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday." You smiled emerging from the bathroom and standing next to Dean.

Without wasting a second, Sam threw off the covers and walked towards you. Dean and you shared a confused look when Sam pulled you two into a hug.

"Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?" Dean smiled.

"Enough." He admitted, pulling back to look at you.

"She had the same reaction as you." Dean admitted, pointing to you. "She threw herself at me like..."

"I don't think he needs to know that." You cut him off.

"I don't need to know that." Sam confirmed with a nervous smile. "What, uh, what do you remember?"

"I remember you two were pretty whacked out of it yesterday. I remember getting up with the Trickster. That's about it." He shrugged.

"Great. Okay. Let's go." Dean frowned as he watched Sam gather up his things.

"No breakfast?"

"No breakfast." Sam confirmed.

"All right, I'll pack the car."

"I'll go with you." You smiled at Dean, ready to follow him.

"Wait!" Sam exclaimed. "You're two not going anywhere alone."

"It's the parking lot, Sam." You looked at him with confusion.

"Just—just trust me."

Seeing the desperate look in his eyes, you nodded. Surely you hadn't had the same experiences. For one you didn't remember Dean dying in the motel parking lot but Sam's reaction was that he had.

"Okay, but you have to get dressed."

"Yeah. Wait here." He asked them, walking into the bathroom with his clothes.

"He really is a lot weirder than you." Dean commented once the door closed behind his brother.

You murmured in agreement as you looked up at him. You still hadn't taken the time to take in that finally that nightmare was over and that Dean was no longer going to die today. You heart and body still ached from losing him so many times.

Now you felt the urge to touch him and never be separated from him again. Maybe the Trickster was right to think you would do anything to save him, even a deal.

"Hey, you don't look so good." Dean said as Sam left the bathroom. "Something else happen?"

"I just had a really weird dream." Sam answered without giving more explanations.

"Clowns or midgets?" Dean asked with a grin.

Keep Reading: Chapter Eleven

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