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gremlin-girly · 3 months ago

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Flufftober Day 14

@flufftober

Prompt: Mundane AU

Alt Title: One Piece at A Time

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Tags/warnings: Dean being Dean tbh (big ol' warning there), FLUFF, meetcute (I really like these apparently ahaha), Dean is a Mechanic, Sammy Stayed in law school :), John is still dead (I still hate him), Reader knows nothing about cars, 2nd person (female Reader – use of "lady" once), tattooed! Dean, this is 10000% a grumpy x sunshine now that I think about it

Summary: You have car trouble and head to the nearest mechanic, Singer & Son, where your grumpy mechanic gives you an earful for not taking care of your car.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: I may or may not have scared my own mechanic with these things. Mechanics fear me. And if you know Johnny Cash, you'll recognise the title of this piece! Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

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Nothing in particular made you choose Singer & Son Garage as your new mechanic of choice. Reviews were good and it was near your house; you were sold. When you had left your car with the wizened Bobby singer, he had told you that your car should be ready in two days.

That was four days ago.

It was only supposed to be an annual check-up, ensuring everything was in working order. Which it was - when you'd left it at the garage. It drove nicely from point A to B, other than the strange rattling that had started a month ago (or the weird noise when you'd use the wipers). So, when you rang the garage on the afternoon on the 4th day, you certainly weren't expecting to get gruff, clearly annoyed answers from one of the mechanics.

"So... is the car okay?" You asked nervously, beginning to worry about the cost to fix or if there was a scam taking place.

“Yeah. You could say that. “ There’s a scoff and you can practically see the eyeroll on the faceless person on the other end of the line.

"Uh... Okay? When can I pick it up? " You frown into the phone, unsure what he meant but bit back an indignant huff.

There's a pause. “This evening, if you want I guess. Look lady - I don't know what you did to this car but there's a lot of work that needs to be done. " The voice's annoyance seems to grow but you can't fathom why. “You’ll need to come down so we can discuss what needs done and book it all in.”

Your frown deepens. You weren't well-versed in cars and you were so far out of your depth you weren't sure if you were being ripped off.

"Uh. sure. Just give me a time."

“16:45 work?"

You check your work calendar. "Yeah. "

There's a grunt of approval. "Alright. See you then. "

The phone clicks off and you're left staring at your phone in disbelief. You even blink a few times at the black screen of your phone. What crawled up his ass and died? The car was okay - that's all that mattered.

You sigh, mentally preparing for your bank account to break.

At 16:40 you wander into the garage, poking your head into the small office. Bobby Singer looks the exact same as he did four days ago, just in a different colour plaid. He's still tired-eyed with a phone pressed to his ear, hidden behind a mountain of paperwork. You give him a small wave and a smile when he glanced at the doorway.

He put his hand over the phone and waved you in. "Hey, again. Here for your car?"

You nod and wring your hands awkwardly. You feel like you're in the principal's office about to get an earful. Bobby gives you a short smile before speaking into an intercom.

"Dean, customer here to collect."

Silence.

“Dean,” He says a little louder. “Customer here to collect."

More silence.

You look around the office sheepishly when Bobby sighs.

"Sorry Sammy, your brother's not answering. Give me a sec,” He says gently into the phone before yelling into the intercom. "DEAN!"

His sudden yell made you jump half an inch into the air and he shot you an apologetic smile. Whoever Sammy is, he must be saying something to Bobby because he huffs into the phone. "He's playing his damn music to loud. Again.”

There's a clang of metal and the gruff voice from earlier calls out from behind you, causing you to turn. “Yeah?"

Stood leaning against the door is probably one of the most attractive men you've ever seen. He's wearing a white tank although you're not sure why; he's covered in grease and oil head to toe looking like a dishevelled dalmatian. His strong, tanned arms are littered with tattoos and your eyes trail to his ringed hands that are wiping a wrench clean with a dirty rag, that he then tucks into dirty blue overalls that have the arms tied at his waist.

Bobby nods in your direction and in a sarcastic tone says, "Customer."

Dean’s green eyes cast a glance at you quizzically like he'd forgotten you were coming. Then he looks like he's about to roll them as he realises who you are. “Follow me.”

Dean leads you out back, where ACDC is playing from an old, beat-up greasy radio. You try not to stare, occupying your mind instead with trying to spot your car. It's like a car graveyard; tens if not hundreds of cars in various states of repair are scattered around the lot.

Your nervousness grows the more you walk until you see your car. Or more accurately, what's left of it. It's on a jack and one of the wheels is on the floor. It looks okay, all things considered. You guess that Dean must have been messing with you.

"It's fine!" You say, relieved. Dean shoots you a glare.

"It's not fine." He grunts. "Your suspension is rusted on the front and back, two of your tyre treads are below legal limit, one of your reverse lights is out and the rubber on your windscreen wipers is missing."

You stare blankly at him. "Meaning..."

"Meaning," Dean continues. "Your car should not be on the road."

"Ah," You say, dumbfounded. It was working four days ago just fine, and you tell Dean as much. He just scoffs.

"I don't know how that car did not blow up on you." He crosses his arms across his chest. "There's a lot of work that needs done."

Now your nerves were waking up again and spinning into a frenzy. "H-How much are we talking?"

Dean scratches the back of his head and heaves a sigh, looking thoughtfully at the skeleton of your car. "Maybe a grand. Could be more, depending on parts."

You almost swoon at the price. It was cheaper than buying a new car but that was the kind of money you did not have at hand. "Could I just get.. five hundred dollars worth of repairs?"

You look hopefully at Dean who frowns and then sighs. "Some of the repairs are a quick fix. If you're willing - I could show you how to fix 'em. That'll knock down the price."

You're so happy you could cry. "Thank you so much. That - That's really kind." You give Dean a grateful smile but he turns his head away from you quickly, clearing his throat.

"We'll get it done one piece at a time." He reassures you, voice slightly less grumpy. Only slightly.

"So... can I take it home?" You ask curiously, bouncing your foot on a tyre.

"No, I can't let you leave in it because it will fall apart." Dean huffs. "Sorry, but you'll be without the car if we're doing it bit by bit."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." He huffs, scowling at you.

Walking everywhere would be good for you. It was better than being down a whole grand.

"Look, I can drop you home since you came all the way here. I needed you to see what you'd done to the poor thing." Dean starts to walk back towards Bobby's office, you following his lead.

"I can walk." You insist, eager to not piss Dean off anymore than he already seems to be with you. "It's not far I swear."

Dean still huffs. "No, I'll drive you. Bobby'd kill me if he knew I let you walk home in the dark anyway."

You open your mouth to argue, but he gives you a steely look that tells you he isn't up for debating you; it's happening whether you like it or not. You smile awkwardly and mumble your thanks, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as Dean grabs a set of keys.

"C'mon, we'll take Baby."

You're brows furrow slightly, unsure whom he's calling baby, but teeter behind him.

Baby, as it happened, was a car.

You pull a face but as you drift by the sleek black exterior and peer at the black leather seats, drawing a short breath of awe.

Baby looked sexy.

You can't ever recall thinking a car looked sexy, but Baby was. Especially with Dean in the driver's seat. You slide into the passenger side and close the door with care, terrified to be too rough. Baby smells like car oil and pine and unlike Dean she is pristine. You buckle up and place your hands awkwardly in your lap as Dean turns the key. Baby's engine doesn't roar to life like your hunk of junk - she purrs - setting a steady rumble as Dean's strong arm reaches behind you so he can reverse out of the parking space carefully.

"Do you mind if I...?" Dean points at the car radio once on a short stretch of road and you shrug.

"Go ahead."

Dean turns the dial and Led Zepplin fades in through the speakers. You tap your foot along to the beat, you don't know the song but you do recognise it. After a few moments, you can hear Dean humming along to the lyrics, checking his mirrors at a junction and you bite back a smile. When he wasn't being such a grump, he was actually kind of cute.

The car ride was mostly silent until you got to a busy stretch of road and some asshole just had to dangerously cut up Baby, narrowly missing the car by a few centimetres had Dean not swerved. However, as Dean swerved, you'd slid down the seat and knocked into his shoulder with a squeak of surprise.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yells at the driver, laying on the horn. He looks down at you worried. "You okay?"

You blink up at him, wide-eyed with slightly dishevelled hair. Your heart is racing fast from the near-miss but when your eyes lock with his, heat rushes to your cheeks and you can't seem to sit up fast enough.

"S-sorry. I'm alright." You clear your throat and give him a sheepish smile but he bursts into laughter. "What?"

Dean points at his cheek, snickering. "You have some oil on your face."

"I do?" You pull down the mirror and inspect your face and sure enough, there's a big black smudge on your cheek. The oil from Dean's clothes must have rubbed off when you knocked into him. "Oh, Goddammit." You rub at the smudge, only making it worse.

"Hey, stop that." Dean tuts, glancing back over at you from the road. "Dish soap and water'll make that come right off."

"Oh - thanks. Ah! This street right up ahead. That's me."

Dean grunts and nods, turning into your street gliding up to the curb outside your house. The engine cuts out and on autopilot you unbuckle yourself. Dean watches quietly but doesn't say anything.

"Thanks again," You say, hand on the door handle and flashing Dean a smile. "I don't know how I could repay you for my car."

His cheeks flush pink. Usually, this was where he'd flirt shamelessly, but something about you had his chest feeling tight and his stomach rolling. He finds himself thinking about how you were looking up at him when you'd knocked into him and how his heart fluttered. How he'd willingly offered his unpaid services to fix your car (even if you were supposed to help). How he'd nonchalantly decided to drive you home in Baby of all the cars on the lot. Dean swallows thickly.

"Maybe... dinner?"

"Dinner?" Your eyebrows fly up and you stop opening the passenger door. You falter for a moment before smiling at him, blush back in full force. "Uh, yeah, sure. I'd like dinner."

Dean's hands grip the steering wheel tightly, turning his knuckles white. He nods and struggles to find his voice for a moment.

"When's good?"

"Tonight's good. Or Friday." You say watching him with a small smile. He looks like he's not used to asking someone out on a real date. You decide to help him out a bit. "There's a really good burger joint on Winston Street. We could go there."

Dean’s eyes glitter when he looks over at you, breaking into a grin. "You mean Diego's?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Best burgers I've ever had." You tilt your head slightly at him. "You been before? We could go somewhere-"

"It's my favourite." Dean interrupts. "I'd love to take you there."

Your heart thunders and you nod, beaming at him. "Alright then, it's a date."

"It's a date." He says, a smirk twitching on his lips.

Once you and Dean have said your goodbyes and you're safely tucked against the wood of your front door you slump against it sighing dreamily. Friday couldn't come quick enough.

#Fluff #Flufftober 2024 #Dean Winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #gremlin-girly #gremlin-girly writes #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural #dean supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #dean winchester x female!reader #female reader #flufftober2024 #day 14 #mechanic!dean #mundane au

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lila-lou · 1 month ago

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✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 3✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Fluff

Word Count: 9843

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The morning sunlight filtered through the thin motel curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as Sam sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for Dean to finish up in the shower. Sam tapped his foot, hands folded in his lap, glancing every so often at the closed bathroom door. He’d noticed Dean’s pensive mood the night before, the way his brother had seemed lost in thought, staring out the window like he was a million miles away. Sam hadn’t pried, but he had a good guess about what was on Dean’s mind—and who.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and Dean stepped out, towel around his neck, looking fresher but still carrying that same thoughtful expression. He barely looked at Sam as he moved to grab his bag, running a hand through his damp hair.

“So”, Sam said casually, crossing his arms, “you’re just gonna keep quiet about it?”.

Dean glanced at him, a bit startled. “About what?”.

Sam gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. “About her”. He let the words hang in the air, watching as Dean’s face shifted from surprise to something softer, almost resigned.

Dean sighed, slinging his bag onto his shoulder and letting out a low chuckle. “You really don’t let up, do you?”.

“Nope", Sam replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. He watched his brother, his gaze steady, waiting for Dean to let him in.

Dean dropped his bag, shaking his head as he ran a hand over his face, still visibly trying to sort through everything that had been on his mind. “It’s… I don’t know, Sammy. It’s been years. I didn’t think I’d see her again, you know? But standing there, looking at her… felt like I was eighteen all over again”. He let out a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Like nothing had changed”.

Sam nodded, recognizing that rare vulnerability in Dean’s voice. “But things have changed, Dean. You’ve changed. Maybe this time it doesn’t have to end the same way”.

Dean sighed, not answering right away as he tossed his bag onto the bed and started pulling on his jeans, his gaze distant. He seemed to be wrestling with something, that familiar tug-of-war between his feelings and the reality of his life, the job, the constant moving. He didn’t say anything as he shrugged into his shirt and boots, just focused on getting ready, as if he could avoid the conversation by keeping himself busy.

But Sam was already a step ahead, his fingers slipping into his pocket to check that he still had the card you’d given Dean, the card that now had a purpose. Sam glanced down at the small, neatly printed name of your bookstore, the address on the other side, and couldn’t help but feel a small, satisfied smile pull at the corner of his lips. Dean might be stubborn, but Sam knew how to nudge him when he needed it.

Thirty minutes, a pot of coffee, and a stack of bacon and eggs later, Sam finally put his plan into action.

"Alright, take a left here”, Sam said casually, barely looking up as he guided Dean through the quiet streets.

Dean glanced over, a bit confused but following Sam’s instructions anyway. ��Didn’t think the library was on this side of town”, he muttered, frowning as he glanced out the window at the unfamiliar neighborhood. “Feels a little… cozy for a library”.

“Oh, it’s a smaller spot”, Sam replied smoothly, keeping his face neutral. “They don’t have a huge selection, but sometimes these places have rare finds, local stuff that doesn’t make it to the bigger branches”.

Dean shrugged, satisfied enough with that explanation as he continued driving. “Well, we’ve checked out stranger places for lore. Long as they’ve got some weird, dusty books, I’m in”.

“Almost there”, Sam replied, suppressing a small smile as he kept up the charade, sneaking glances at the streets to make sure they were heading in the right direction. He couldn’t wait to see Dean’s reaction when he realized what was really going on.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a small, charming storefront with a faded sign above the door displaying the name of your bookstore. Dean pulled to a stop out front, looking up at the sign with a furrowed brow, his hand still resting on the steering wheel as he took in the scene.

“This doesn’t look like a library”, he muttered, suspicion creeping into his voice as he shot Sam a sidelong glance.

Sam just shrugged, unbuckling his seatbelt and giving his brother a perfectly innocent look. “You know, it’s a bookstore. Pretty close. Besides, who’s to say they don’t have something helpful in here? Worth a look, right?”.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, but before he could question it further, Sam had already opened the door and was stepping out of the car, leaving Dean with no choice but to follow.

As they approached the door, Dean’s eyes lingered on the sign, his mind catching up to Sam’s little scheme. Recognition dawned on him, and he shot his brother an incredulous look. “Oh no… you didn’t”, he muttered, realization flashing in his eyes as he put two and two together. He shoved Sam, who only laughed, taking obvious pride in his handiwork.

“Yup, I did”, Sam replied, grinning smugly as he pushed back, his laughter filling the quiet street.

Within seconds, the two were wrestling on the sidewalk, Dean tugging Sam’s head under his arm in a firm hold, trying to keep his brother’s squirming under control. "You little shit!". Sam’s laughter only intensified, and despite his best efforts, Dean felt his own smirk creeping up. They looked like a couple of teenagers, roughhousing on the pavement outside your store.

Just then, the sound of the door opening caught both of their attention. They froze mid-wrestle, Dean’s arm still loosely around Sam’s neck, as they looked up to see you standing in the doorway, arms crossed, an amused smile spreading across your face.

“Dean Winchester”, you said, trying to keep a straight face as you took in the sight of the two brothers tangled up on the sidewalk, “I didn’t realize ‘library’ was code for causing a scene”.

Dean released Sam, clearing his throat as he straightened up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he shot Sam an annoyed look. “Well, I, uh…”. He faltered, at a loss for words, clearly caught off guard.

Sam, on the other hand, flashed you a wide, unapologetic grin as he straightened up beside his brother, brushing himself off.

Sam’s grin widened, catching the blush creeping up Dean’s neck. He couldn’t resist pushing the moment further. “You know”, he began, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Dean here missed you so much, he insisted we come by first thing in the morning. Couldn’t even wait for a regular library”.

Dean shot him a warning glare, but Sam only continued, his voice dripping with exaggerated sincerity. “I mean, he practically dragged me out of bed just to get here”, Sam added, crossing his arms with a smug grin. “Said it was a top priority”.

Without missing a beat, Dean lunged at Sam, tackling him in an instant as they wrestled yet again, shoving each other around like kids. You stifled a laugh, watching the two brothers tumble and grapple, a whirlwind of limbs, laughter, and grumbled threats.

“You’re dead, Sammy”, Dean muttered, twisting Sam into a quick headlock, though he was clearly holding back, unable to hide the amusement behind his feigned irritation.

“Sure, sure—just don’t choke on how much you missed her”, Sam replied, barely able to get the words out through his laughter as he tried to squirm free.

You finally stepped forward, your arms crossed as you raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Alright, you two—my store’s not a wrestling ring. Think you can keep it together long enough to step inside?”.

Dean finally released Sam again, grumbling under his breath as he straightened up and shot you an almost sheepish smile. “Yeah, well… he deserved it”, he muttered, still trying to shake off his embarrassment.

“I’ll be good”, Sam said, though the look in his eyes suggested he’d take any chance he could to push Dean’s buttons.

You held the door open, motioning for them to come inside, and as Dean stepped past you, you could see that the familiar bravado was tempered with something softer, a vulnerability he was clearly trying to keep hidden. For a split second, he caught your gaze, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, and you felt that spark, the one you’d both danced around years ago, still burning there between you.

Inside, Dean shot Sam a warning look, which Sam met with a silent, amused shrug. You caught a quick, quiet exchange between them that spoke volumes—the easy, unbreakable bond of two brothers who knew each other inside and out.

You looked at Dean, tilting your head with a playful smile, your heart beating a bit faster as you let the words roll out slowly. “So… you’re here because…?”. You trailed off, the hint of hope in your voice barely masked. Part of you wanted him to say it—say that he was here to see you, that he was finally ready to pick up where things had left off all those years ago.

But Dean’s face flushed slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Sam as if searching for an escape. “Uh, well… research, actually”, he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “We’ve got some… work to do. You know, the usual. Research”. He cleared his throat. “Got anything on ghosts? Creepy old stories?”.

Your heart sank for a second, the thrill of seeing him dimmed by the reminder that he hadn’t come just for you—at least, not entirely. But before disappointment could settle in, memories rose to the surface, memories that made his question hit a little differently.

Ghosts.

Dean had asked you about them before, on a quiet night in your room, long ago. It had been a strange conversation, one that had left you wondering about the life he led, a life he’d always kept half-hidden, wrapped in shadows and secrets.

You remembered that night vividly. You’d been sitting together on your bed, the faint glow of your bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. He’d looked thoughtful, almost hesitant, as if he were weighing whether or not to trust you with something fragile.

Flashback

The two of you had fallen into an easy silence, comfortable with each other’s presence as you shared your thoughts and laughed about everything and nothing. Then, out of the blue, Dean turned to you, his gaze holding an intensity you hadn’t seen before.

“Hey”, he murmured, his tone soft but serious. “Do you… do you believe in ghosts?”.

The question caught you off guard, and you looked at him, searching his face for any hint of a joke, but he was watching you with complete sincerity, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“I mean…”. You hesitated, not sure where he was going with this. “I’ve never seen one myself, but I guess I don’t see why they couldn’t be real”. You shrugged, offering him a curious smile. “Why do you ask?”.

Dean looked away, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Just wondering”, he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes… sometimes it feels like there’s more out there than we want to believe”.

His words lingered, filling the room with an almost tangible sense of mystery, and for the first time, you got a glimpse of the world he lived in, a world he couldn’t fully explain, even if he wanted to.

“Have you ever seen one?”, you asked, your voice gentle, as if you could feel the weight he carried just beneath the surface.

He looked back at you, his eyes reflecting something dark and haunted. “More than you’d believe,” he said, the honesty in his voice breaking through his usual guard. And in that moment, he didn’t need to say anything more; you understood that he’d seen things, things that most people couldn’t even imagine.

End of the Flashback

The memory faded, but the impact of that night remained, leaving you with a lingering sense of empathy for him and the secrets he’d always carried. You looked at him now, older but still carrying that same shadow, that weight you’d glimpsed all those years ago.

“Ghost stories, huh?”, you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “I might have a few. This place is full of old legends”. You motioned toward a shelf filled with dusty old tomes and folklore collections. “But if you’re here to find the spooky stuff… I get the feeling you know more about it than I do”.

Dean gave you a faint smile, his gaze softening, a hint of that same vulnerability from long ago flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe. But… it doesn’t hurt to have a second opinion. You know, for research”.

You couldn’t help but smile, the unspoken connection between you reigniting as you led him toward the shelf, your fingers grazing the spines of the old books. “Well, then, let’s see what kind of ghost stories I can dig up for you”, you murmured, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

And as the two of you stood there, flipping through pages of folklore and old legends, you felt that familiar pull, the same quiet thrill you’d felt back then.

Once you’d gathered a small stack of books, Sam quickly took a few, settling himself comfortably into an armchair in the corner, already flipping through one with intense focus. Meanwhile, you lingered beside Dean, the two of you standing in the quiet space by the bookshelves, a sense of old familiarity weaving around you.

You glanced at him, your expression both curious and a touch suspicious, and you mumbled, “Still into that creepy stuff, huh?”.

Dean’s lips quirked in a small, slightly guilty smile as he scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to brush it off. “Guess you could say it’s… part of the job”.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as you searched his face. “Still haven’t told me what that job actually is, though”, you said, your voice soft but pointed. “Unless ‘weird, dusty book hunting’ really is your full-time gig”.

Dean chuckled, but there was a flash of something in his eyes, a flicker of guardedness mixed with a hesitation he seemed to be trying to shake off. He met your gaze, and for a second, it looked like he was considering telling you something real, something he hadn’t shared with anyone outside of the world he lived in.

“Yeah, well… let’s just say it keeps me on my toes”, he replied, his tone deliberately vague but laced with that familiar charm. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly against the bookshelf as he looked at you, his gaze steady. “You know, keeping things spooky has its… perks”.

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Perks like what?”.

Dean’s smile grew, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Like bumping into old friends in cozy bookstores”. His voice softened slightly, the playfulness tempered with something genuine, and he glanced away, as if the words had slipped out without his full permission.

Your heart gave a small, unexpected flutter, and you fought the smile tugging at your lips. “Old friends, huh?”. You let the words hang in the air, the warmth in your tone a gentle acknowledgment of the connection that had always lingered between you both.

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at you, that guarded look giving way to a softer, more open expression. For a brief moment, the years between you seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you, standing there like no time had passed at all.

Dean’s gaze softened as he licked his lips, the playfulness in his eyes turning into something deeper, more intense. You could feel the air between you shift, the lightheartedness slipping away as a quiet, unspoken tension built in its place. His eyes traced a slow path from your face, lingering there for a moment, before moving down, taking in every detail, every change time had added.

You couldn’t help yourself—you mumbled, barely above a whisper, “Pretty close friends, if I remember right”.

Dean’s gaze snapped back to yours, his jaw tightening slightly, and you saw the hint of a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah”, he replied, his voice lower now, a rough edge slipping in. “Real close”.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling your cheeks flush as you added, “I don’t know about you, but for me, old friends usually aren’t the ones I know like that”. Your voice dropped, a little unsteady but carrying a hint of challenge. “I don’t know how my ‘old friends’ feel… or how they taste… or the sound they make when they…”.

You trailed off, the words hanging heavy between you, and Dean’s eyes darkened, his expression faltering for just a moment as the memory of that night—a memory you both clearly hadn’t let go of—washed over you both. His breathing grew a little heavier, and he took a step closer, his hand grazing the shelf behind you as if he needed something to ground himself.

“Careful”, he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet intensity that sent a thrill up your spine. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking about all the ways I could remind you”.

You swallowed, heart racing as you held his gaze, the words almost daring you to push further. But before either of you could say anything else, Sam’s voice cut through the moment from the corner of the room.

"Hey, uh—found something. Might want to check this out", he said, his tone overly casual, but when you looked over, you saw the smirk on his face, like he knew exactly what he'd interrupted.

Dean exhaled, glancing away as he tried to regain his composure, the faintest flush still warming his cheeks.

And as he joined Sam to study the book, you knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation—it was only the beginning.

Dean stood behind Sam, leaning over his brother’s shoulder as he tried to focus on whatever ghost story Sam was explaining, but the words were slipping past him. His mind was elsewhere, and no matter how hard he tried to push it away, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He looked up, instinctively searching for you, and there you were, standing by the bookshelf, watching him with that familiar smile. The moment your eyes met, a flicker of something undeniable passed between you. You bit your lip, and the memory came rushing back, the way it always did, pulling him in without permission.

Flashback

It was late, well past midnight, and the world outside was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Dean slipped quietly through your window, as he’d done every night he could manage since that first time the two of you had been together. He’d gotten good at sneaking out—waiting for his dad and Sammy to fall asleep, carefully avoiding the creaky boards on his way out, and making the short walk to your place under cover of night.

This night was no different. He hoisted himself up, landing softly on the floor, and there you were, sitting on your bed in your pajamas, a book in your lap, completely absorbed until you felt his presence. When you looked up and saw him, your face lit up, that familiar warmth in your eyes making his heart pound in a way he’d never admit.

“Miss me?”, he whispered, a cocky grin playing at his lips as he shut the window behind him, doing his best to keep the noise down.

You rolled your eyes, setting the book aside as you sat up a little straighter. “You’re late”, you teased, though there was no bite in your voice, just quiet affection and a hint of relief that he was there.

He shrugged, crossing the room in a few steps until he was right beside you, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a casual front that barely hid how much he looked forward to these stolen moments. “Had to make sure the coast was clear”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “Didn’t want anyone to catch me sneaking away”.

You smiled, tugging him down to sit beside you on the bed. “Well, I’m glad you made it”. Your voice was barely a whisper, laced with a warmth that made his heart skip a beat. There was something about the quiet intimacy of these nights—just the two of you, hidden away from the rest of the world—that made him feel like he could finally breathe, like he could let down all the walls he kept so carefully constructed.

He kicked off his boots, leaning back against the headboard beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

He glanced down at the book you’d been reading, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he reached over, snagging it from your hands before you could protest.

“So, what’s got you all wrapped up?”, he asked, flipping through the pages with a grin. “Let’s see… ‘Gothic romance, secrets of a haunted castle…’”. His eyebrows shot up, and he gave you a playful, knowing look. “Didn’t take you for the ‘brooding hero in a dark castle’ type”.

You laughed, leaning over to try and grab it back, but he held it just out of reach, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, come on, Dean. I like a good mystery”, you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to keep the smile off your face. “Besides, I’ve got my own brooding hero sneaking in through my window every night”.

He smirked, finally handing the book back, though he kept his gaze fixed on you, his expression softening. “Guess I can’t compete with haunted castles and dark, mysterious strangers, huh?”.

You tilted your head, catching his gaze, and the playful tone in your voice faded, replaced by something softer. “I don’t know, Winchester”, you murmured, holding his eyes. “I think you’ve got them beat”.

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the teasing atmosphere giving way to a quiet intensity. He looked at you like he was memorizing every detail, his usual bravado slipping away to reveal something raw, something he rarely let anyone see.

“Yeah?”, he whispered, his voice barely audible as he leaned in, his hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, warm against your cheek, and you felt your breath catch, the closeness between you charged with an unspoken promise.

You nodded, your voice just as soft. “Yeah”.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with a quiet urgency, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, all thoughts of haunted castles and mysterious heroes fading away. Right now, this moment, he was yours.

Dean’s hand slid down, fingers gentle yet firm as he guided you backward, his lips never leaving yours as he eased you down onto the bed. He hovered above you, his weight carefully balanced, creating a barrier that was somehow both respectful and filled with an unspoken intensity. You could feel his warmth, his presence surrounding you in a way that was dizzying, comforting, and exhilarating all at once.

For weeks now, the two of you had fallen into this rhythm—a careful dance of stolen kisses and whispered words, the quiet intimacy of your secret nights together. He was cautious, holding back in a way that made your heart ache, like he was afraid to let himself want too much, to let himself take this further. And even now, as he hovered over you, his hand cradling your face with such tenderness, you could feel that same restraint, the silent promise to not ask for more than you were ready to give.

But tonight, something was different. There was a hunger in his kiss that you hadn’t felt before, an urgency in the way his lips moved against yours, and you felt your heart pounding. Your hand moved up, fingers tracing along his jaw, slipping down to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your touch. He inhaled sharply, his hand tightening around yours as he pulled back slightly, his gaze intense as he searched your face.

“Dean…”, you murmured, your voice a quiet plea, filled with all the longing you’d been holding back.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as if he were wrestling with himself, with the weight of everything he’d never dared to hope for. When he opened his eyes, they were dark, filled with a raw, unguarded need that made your breath catch.

“I…”, he started, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want to mess this up”. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, his touch gentle but trembling, as if he were holding back a flood.

As Dean hovered over you, his hand still warm against your cheek, he remembered a conversation from just a few nights ago. You’d confessed quietly, almost shyly, that he’d been your first kiss. He’d teased you gently, surprised but flattered, but it had also made him realize something deeper—that you were trusting him with parts of yourself you’d never given to anyone else. And he’d quickly pieced it together, understood that, beyond that first kiss, you were letting him in on something new, something vulnerable.

Dean had his fair share of experiences with other girls, each encounter fading into the next, but this—this was different. This was you. And with you, every touch, every look, every whispered word felt like it held weight, like he was being trusted with something precious, something fragile. The last thing he wanted to do was rush or risk hurting you, especially with this kind of intimacy hanging unspoken between you.

He ran a hand gently down your arm, his fingers brushing over your skin with a reverence he hadn’t felt before. “I want this to be… right”, he murmured, his voice filled with quiet sincerity. He looked into your eyes, his gaze softened, that familiar cocky confidence replaced with something raw and open.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding but steady, feeling the depth of what he was offering you. “It is right, Dean”, you whispered, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw, grounding him as much as yourself. “I’ve never wanted anything more… Unless.. you don’t want it".

Dean’s eyes softened even more, and he let out a low, almost breathless chuckle as he shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart, trust me”, he murmured, his voice rough but filled with warmth, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… since the first moment I laid eyes on you”. He brushed a thumb tenderly over your cheek, a quiet smile playing at his lips. “I just… I want it to be right. For you”.

You felt a rush of warmth spread through you, his words wrapping around your heart, settling any remaining nerves you had. The way he looked at you, with that unguarded, honest gaze, made you feel like you were the only person in the world, like there was nothing he wanted more than this moment with you.

“Then it is right”, you whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you let your hand slip from his jaw to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

He held your gaze for a moment, as if searching for any last trace of doubt, and when he found none, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft yet filled with an intensity that left you breathless. His hand moved down, sliding along your side with a gentleness that seemed almost reverent, like he was taking his time, savoring every moment, every touch, as if this was all he’d ever wanted.

Slowly, he deepened the kiss, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you closer, as his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way.

As the kiss deepened, Dean’s lips moved slowly, tenderly, against yours, his hands resting on your waist with a gentle but steady pressure, anchoring you both in the moment. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the quiet intensity of his touch, his heartbeat echoing in the space between you.

He broke the kiss just barely, his lips hovering over yours as he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “Tell me if you need me to stop… if it’s too much”. His voice was soft, roughened by the depth of his emotions, and you could hear the restraint, the care, woven into each word.

You shook your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile, your hands slipping up to rest on his shoulders, grounding you in his presence. “Dean… I trust you”, you whispered, letting him see the quiet certainty in your eyes, the way you felt fully, deeply safe in his arms.

His gaze softened even more, and he leaned down, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips, his touch filled with a reverence that made your heart ache.

Dean’s hand slipped down to the hem of your sleep shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin beneath with a gentleness that sent a shiver up your spine. His touch was slow, almost reverent, as he traced small circles along your hip, his gaze never leaving yours, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. When he saw none, only the soft trust in your eyes, he let out a breath, as if he, too, had been holding onto nerves he hadn’t let you see.

When his fingers brushed along your sides, gently lifting the fabric, you lifted your arms, helping him ease it up and over your head. You bit your lip, feeling warmth flood your cheeks as you realized you were bare before him, nothing but the soft glow of the moonlight casting gentle shadows over your skin.

Dean’s gaze lingered on your exposed chest. He took a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself, overwhelmed by the sight and the trust you placed in him. The moonlight highlighted the gentle curves of your body, casting shadows that made the moment feel even more intimate and sacred.

“You’re so beautiful”, he whispered, his voice thick with awe and a touch of vulnerability. He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing gently against your skin, starting from your collarbone and making a delicate trail downward, reverent and slow. Each kiss was like a word in a silent vow, honoring the trust and affection you shared.

His hands, always so sure and strong, now trembled slightly as they traced the lines of your body, exploring the softness with a curious and gentle touch. He seemed to memorize every detail, every response his touch elicited from you.

As Dean’s lips brushed gently over your nipple, your breath hitched, a rush of warmth flooding through you. He paused, his eyes lifting to meet yours, seeking reassurance and permission to continue. The concern and care in his gaze were evident, reflecting the depth of his feelings and his desire to ensure that every moment felt right for you.

Seeing the questioning look in his eyes, you gave a small, encouraging nod, your own hands gently caressing the back of his head, guiding him back with a soft assurance.

Dean continued, his touch becoming more assured but no less gentle. He kissed you again, more deliberately this time, his lips enveloping your nipple with a tender warmth that sent a shiver of pleasure through your body. His tongue traced a slow, teasing path, exploring with a patience that had you arching slightly towards him, seeking more of his touch.

Dean’s hand slid to the small of your back, drawing you closer to him, his other hand tracing upwards along your ribcage to cradle the side of your breast, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. The combination of his lips and the gentle caress of his hand was intoxicating.

The room was filled with the soft, intimate noises of Dean’s careful, exploring mouth and your responsive breaths, which grew sharper with each caress. The faint sounds of your whimpers mingled with the quiet atmosphere, each one sending a thrill through Dean, urging him deeper into the moment. These sounds, these quiet declarations of your pleasure, seemed to fuel him, intensifying the already palpable desire that hung heavy between you both.

Dean’s movements became gradually more purposeful, driven by the reactions he elicited from you. His kisses wandered with a deliberate slowness, tracing fiery paths down your body, pausing at your belly before venturing lower, his breath hot against your skin. Each touch was calculated to draw out the fullest depth of your pleasure, his ears attuned to every shift in your breathing, every quiet sigh and moan that escaped your lips.

As Dean’s hands moved to the waistband of your pajama pants and panties, his touch remained gentle, his eyes never leaving yours. He watched you intently for any sign of hesitation, his movements slow, giving you time to adjust or stop him.

With a careful touch, he began to pull the fabric down, his fingers grazing your skin lightly, tracing the lines of your hips as he went. The soft material slid over your legs, leaving you exposed under his attentive gaze, the air cool against your heated skin. His eyes, usually so full of confidence and playfulness, now carried a weight of reverence and awe, seeing you so open, so vulnerable before him.

You lifted slightly, aiding him as he carefully removed your pajama pants and panties, setting them aside. Once you were bare, Dean paused, his eyes sweeping over you, taking in every detail. His breath hitched slightly, a testament to the depth of his desire.

As Dean noticed your blush deepen, and your thighs instinctively press together in a mixture of nervousness and modesty, his gaze softened. The intensity of his desire was tempered by his respect for your comfort, and he sat back, giving you a little space to adjust.

Recognizing your heightened vulnerability, Dean decided to lessen the disparity between you. He reached down to unbutton his flannel, sliding it off his shoulders with deliberate, slow movements that held your gaze. He then pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his own body to you. His chest was bathed in the same silver moonlight that illuminated you, casting shadows across the muscles and scars that marked his skin—a map of his own vulnerabilities and past.

The sight of him, so open and unguarded, seemed to bridge the gap of vulnerability between you. His willingness to share in the exposure helped ease the tension in your body, seeing him as not just a partner in this moment but also as someone equally open and at risk.

He leaned in again, this time slower, his movements mirroring the care he’d shown all night. His hand reached for yours, fingers intertwining as he gently squeezed.

His chest now nearly touching yours, Dean kept his gaze locked with yours, ensuring you were comfortable as he moved closer. “Only go as far as you want”, he whispered, his breath mingling with yours, each word laced with affection and an earnest desire to keep you at ease.

You felt a wave of affection and trust surge through you at his reassurance, your earlier apprehension melting away under his understanding gaze. With a small nod, you squeezed his hand back, signaling him to continue.

Dean leaned in to kiss you again, his lips meeting yours in a gentle, loving kiss.

When Dean paused, his lips just a breath away from yours, his hand lingering at his belt as he looked at you with a mix of desire and concern. He was already achingly hard, his body more than ready, but his mind was clearly racing, considering everything and wanting to be sure.

As Dean looked around the room, his zipper already open, a flash of concern crossed his features. He was lost in thought for a moment, weighing the importance of protection against the growing heat of desire surging between you.

Sensing his hesitation, you took a deep breath, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. “Dean”, you murmured softly, catching his attention. “I’m on birth control, and… well, since I’m a… well, I’m pretty sure I’m not carrying anything”. You offered a reassuring smile, hoping to alleviate any lingering worries he had.

His eyes locked onto yours, and the concern in his gaze shifted to relief. “You’re sure?”, he asked, his voice low and earnest, searching for any trace of doubt.

“Yes, I’m sure”.

Dean, reassured by your conviction, proceeded to shed the last of his inhibitions along with his jeans and boxers. As he sat before you on his knees, fully exposed, the sight of his erection made your breath catch in your throat. The reality of the moment, the intimacy of what was about to transpire, hit you deeply. You had never seen him—or anyone—in this state, and the intensity of his vulnerability mixed with his obvious desire sent a thrill of anticipation through you.

As you bit your lip, watching him, Dean’s eyes followed your gaze, landing on his own body before returning to meet yours. He looked at you questioningly for a moment, a hint of vulnerability flickering across his face as he gauged your reaction. But then, seeing you so affected, yet composed, seemed to bolster his confidence.

Slowly, he reached out, his fingers intertwining with yours, offering you a steadying anchor as you both leaned into the deep trust you shared.

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles before leaning in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was tender and deliberate. His hands moved to trace the contours of your body with a lightness that spoke of reverence, each touch careful and unhurried.

As he sat back again, his eyes never left yours. He gently placed his hands on your knees, his touch light but clear in its guidance. With a soft, encouraging nod, he coaxed you to open your legs, making room for him to come closer.

Dean moved between your legs, positioning himself with a tenderness that only deepened the trust you felt in this moment. His eyes held yours steadily, conveying both warmth and reassurance as he took in the quiet anticipation on your face. The flutter of nerves mixed with excitement quickened your heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of the profound intimacy that was unfolding between you.

Gently, Dean leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, grounding you in his presence. His hands, warm and steady, traced along your sides, sending a trail of goosebumps across your skin as he familiarized himself with each curve and contour.

As he drew closer, he paused again, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

“If at any point you need to stop, just tell me”, he murmured, his words full of care.

You just nodded.

Dean gently grasped the base of his erection, his touch both tentative and assured as he aligned himself between your legs. As he looked back at you, his voice was soft, tinged with a hint of concern. “This might hurt a little. Hold onto me”, he mumbled, his breath warm against your skin.

You felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement ripple through you, your hands instinctively finding their way to his shoulders. Biting your lip, you offered him a reassuring smile, your fingers gently squeezing his arms in response. “I’m okay, Dean”, you whispered, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “Just take it slow”.

Dean nodded, his movements deliberate as he began to ease himself in.

Dean’s movements were slow and considerate as he gently pushed forward, his gaze initially fixed on the union of your bodies to ensure everything was right. Sensing your intake of breath and the soft whimper that escaped your lips, his eyes immediately lifted to meet yours, full of concern and empathy.

Your reaction, the slight tightening of your fingers on his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin, didn’t go unnoticed. It was a silent communication of the mix of pain and the overwhelming rush of new sensations you were experiencing. Dean paused, holding still, allowing you time to adjust to him. His voice was soft, soothing. “Hey, look at me”, he murmured, encouraging you to focus on his eyes, seeking to provide a distraction and a point of comfort.

“I’m right here with you”, Dean continued, his tone tender. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”. His hands moved from your hips to gently cradle your face, thumb softly stroking your cheek, a gesture meant to reassure and calm you.

You nodded, your breaths coming in heavy bursts as you adjusted to the sensation. The discomfort was sharp but fleeting, and you found your voice, albeit shaky, whispering against his ear, “Just keep going”. You wanted to move past the initial pain, to find the connection that awaited beyond this threshold.

Dean responded with a gentle nod, his expression mingling concern with deep care. He kissed your forehead softly and with a slow, steady breath, he eased forward further, his voice a low murmur near your ear. “There we go”, he said soothingly, exactly as he felt the resistance give way, the moment marking your transition fully into this new intimacy.

The sensation was intense, and you couldn’t help but cling to him, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck as a quiet cry escaped you, muffled against his skin. Dean held you close, pausing again to give you a moment, his body a steady presence against the wave of emotions and physical sensations flooding through you.

As you both held this deeply intimate pause, Dean’s steady breaths against your ear helped to ground you, his presence a reassuring comfort. “You’re doing great”, he reassured, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke.

“Ready to keep going?”, he whispered softly, noticing the subtle affirmations in your body language that you were adjusting, becoming more comfortable with the new intimacy. He held you close, your body slightly elevated from the mattress in his arms, creating a space that felt both protective and intensely personal.

His control was palpable, every muscle tensed to maintain the slow, careful pace that he knew was necessary. He could feel the overwhelming sensation caused by your tightness around him, and it took every ounce of his focus to hold back, to move at a pace that ensured your comfort over his own rapidly building need.

You nodded in response to his question, the warmth of your breath tickling his neck. “Yes, keep going”, you murmured back, your voice a mix of nervous excitement and growing trust. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him slightly as a signal of your readiness to continue.

Dean carefully eased you back down onto the mattress. As he laid you down, his lips found yours in a tender, deep kiss, an unspoken acknowledgment of the intensity of the moment. The kiss served not only as a connection but also as a gentle silencer, intuitively understanding that your reactions might grow louder with the increasing depth of sensation.

As his lips pressed firmly against yours, he began to slowly pull back, withdrawing just a few inches, the movement smooth to keep the experience as gentle as possible. The mix of his slight withdrawal and immediate return drew a muffled sound from you against his lips, a sound that was part pleasure, part overwhelmed response to the new depths of intimacy you were exploring together.

You kept your hands on his biceps, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingertips as he moved against you, each gentle thrust creating a rhythm that resonated deep within. His hips met yours with a soft pressure, the connection eliciting a wave of warmth and pleasure that coursed through your body. The room filled with soft, wet noises—Dean’s quiet grunts of effort mixed with your little whimpers of pleasure, a symphony of intimacy that deepened the moment.

As Dean continued, his breathing grew heavier, a testament to the depth of his effort and arousal. After several more gentle thrusts, his head dropped to rest against your collarbone, his breaths hot and quick against your skin. The physical intensity of the moment was mirrored in the emotional connection that pulsed between you, binding you closer with each shared breath.

Beneath him, you still felt a tension within your body, a mix of nervous excitement and the lingering edges of discomfort as you adjusted to the new sensations. Despite the intimacy and your trust in Dean, your body’s response was still cautious, a natural reaction to your first experience.

Sensing your tension, Dean’s voice came softly, his lips moving against your skin as he spoke, “Tell me how it feels".

"It’s… intense", you breathed out, your voice barely more than a whisper, yet carrying the weight of the new sensations and emotions coursing through you. Your fingers instinctively tightened around his neck, nails grazing his skin as if grounding yourself in the moment. Dean felt the press of your touch, his body responding with a shiver that mirrored his own restraint, his focus still unwaveringly on you.

Hearing your response, Dean lifted his head slightly, brushing his lips softly along your neck, each kiss deliberate, gentle. “You’re doing so good”, he murmured against your skin, his voice a blend of pride and tenderness. His hands moved along your sides, his touch soothing and reverent, as if each motion was meant to calm and encourage you.

Your heart pounded with every word, every gentle caress of his lips against your neck. The initial tension in your body began to dissolve, bit by bit, replaced by a warmth that radiated outward, filling the space between you.

With a renewed sense of calm, you found yourself moving with him, adjusting to his rhythm, feeling the discomfort gradually fade and transform. The pleasure, at first subtle, grew slowly, each gentle thrust amplifying the connection that was building between you both.

“Just like that”, he murmured against your ear, his voice thick with both arousal and affection. “We’ll go as slow as you need”.

As Dean sensed your growing comfort and readiness, he carefully adjusted his position, his movements both mindful and precise. He shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts in a way that deepened the connection. His gaze remained locked with yours, watching for any reaction, any sign to guide him.

Then, with a gentle but firm movement, he found a new angle that touched you in a way that sent a sharp, intense wave of pleasure coursing through you. As he hit your G-spot, the sensation was overwhelming, like nothing you had ever felt before. It was a revelation, a rush of intense pleasure that took your breath away.

Instinctively, you pressed your mouth against his shoulder, your lips pressing tight to muffle the loud moans that erupted from you. Your body responded with an involuntary shudder, a climax that rolled over you unexpectedly from just that single, perfectly-angled thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulder, gripping him tightly as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and momentarily overwhelmed.

Dean held you close, his arms wrapping around you as he felt the tension surge through your body. He stilled his movements, allowing you to ride out the waves of your climax, his lips pressing tender kisses onto your hair. “That’s it, just let go”, he murmured, his voice a soothing balm as he supported you through the intensity of your reaction.

Dean held you tightly, feeling your body shivering beneath him as you clung to him in the aftermath of your climax. The intensity of your response left him equally overwhelmed, his body instinctively reacting to every subtle movement of yours. He tried to remain still, to give you a moment to recover, but the rhythmic clenching around him made it increasingly difficult to maintain control.

Feeling you continue to tighten around him, Dean’s resolve wavered. With a deep, ragged breath, he allowed himself to move once more, his hips pushing gently but firmly deeper into you.

As he moved, his face buried in the crook of your neck, where your pulse beat wildly against his lips. His body tensed in anticipation.

Then, with a deep groan that vibrated against your skin, Dean surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. He spilled into you, hot and warm, his climax washing over him in powerful waves that mirrored your own intensity. As he released, his body shuddered, his grip on you tightening.

After a few long moments, as the waves of his climax ebbed, Dean’s movements slowed, finally coming to a stop. He remained inside you, his body heavy with exhaustion but gentle in its weight. His breathing slowed, and he lifted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes soft and filled with a mix of wonder and deep affection.

Dean kissed you tenderly, a kiss that spoke of gratitude and deep connection. “Are you okay?”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His concern was evident, always attentive to your well-being, ensuring that the experience had been as profound for you as it had been for him.

You nodded, still catching your breath, a smile spreading across your face as you wrapped your arms around him. “I’m more than okay”, you assured him, your voice soft and filled with a warmth that echoed the deep bond you both had just deepened.

Dean’s cheeks colored with a faint blush as he realized the practicalities of your intimacy. “Do you have a towel or something?”, he asked, slightly awkward as he sat back, his movements gentle to maintain the intimacy and care of the moment.

You bit your lip, a little flustered, and reached blindly for the towel you had used earlier to dry your hair, which was now beside your bed. Handing it to him, you were still catching your breath, not entirely sure of his intentions but trusting him to handle the situation with the same care he had shown throughout your time together.

As Dean took the towel from you, he carefully began to withdraw, his movements slow and considerate. The moment he pulled away, you felt a warm spill between your thighs. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry”, you breathed out, a rush of embarrassment flooding you as you instinctively hid your face under your arm.

Dean immediately softened, his own embarrassment mingling with a gentle understanding. He leaned over, his hand lifting your arm away from your face. “Hey, no, don’t be sorry”, he reassured you softly, his voice tender. “It’s okay, it’s all part of it”. His smile was kind, meant to ease your discomfort as he gently wiped the towel across both of you, careful not to make the situation feel any more awkward.

“This is normal, okay?”. Dean continued, his tone soothing as he made sure to clean up carefully. “Nothing to be embarrassed about”.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound light and warm. “You just might want to change your sheets tomorrow”, he teased, giving you a playful grin. You felt a mix of curiosity and bashfulness, biting your lip as you sat up slightly, trying to see what he was talking about. But before you could fully assess the situation, Dean tugged you back down beside him, flopping onto the bed and pulling you right along with him.

He wrapped his arm around you, anchoring you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your shoulder as he settled beside you. It was a distraction in the best way, grounding you in the warmth of his presence rather than the small embarrassments of the moment. His hand found yours, fingers interlacing as he brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“There”, he murmured with a contented sigh, as if he’d achieved some small victory by pulling you back into his embrace. “Nothing else matters right now. Just you, me, and a very good night’s sleep”.

Your cheeks burned with a blush that didn’t seem to fade, the warmth of your face pressed against Dean’s bare chest as you tried to hide your flustered state. The feel of your breath, warm and quick against his skin, brought a smile to Dean’s lips, his heart swelling with affection for the endearing vulnerability you displayed.

He wrapped his other arm around you, pulling you even closer, if that were possible. The gesture was protective, affectionate, and filled with the silent promise of his care. “You don’t have to hide”, he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “I love seeing you like this—just being real and you”.

Dean’s fingers gently tilted your chin, encouraging you to look up at him. As your eyes met his, there was an undeniable tenderness in his gaze, a depth of feeling that seemed to pull you even deeper into his orbit. He adored these moments with you, the quiet intimacy that spoke louder than any grand gesture. The simplicity of the moment—the softness of your expression, the sincerity in your eyes—made him fall for you even more.

“You know”, he continued, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, “every time you blush like that, I fall a little harder”. His tone was teasing, but the emotion behind it was earnest, filled with the kind of affection that could only grow from truly knowing and cherishing someone.

Your breath hitched at his words, heart racing as the weight of his affection settled over you. Before you could respond, Dean leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. The touch was soft, unhurried, filled with a tenderness that said everything he hadn't put into words. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he poured his feelings into the kiss—gentle, reverent, and filled with a depth of emotion that made you feel cherished beyond measure.

The kiss deepened slightly, a quiet urgency within the soft, slow rhythm of his lips against yours. It wasn’t about passion or need, but rather a quiet, profound connection, a way to show you how much you meant to him in a language beyond words. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close as he pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting against yours, his breaths warm against your face.

When he finally drew back, his eyes met yours, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I think I’m in trouble with you”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, but his gaze held that same, unwavering sincerity.

End of the Flashback

Dean straightened slightly, clearing his throat as he took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself as the memory washed over him. The intensity of the recollection left him feeling vulnerable, a warmth spreading through him that he hadn’t anticipated. He could feel his body’s response, a testament to the lingering effect you had on him, even after all these years. Across the room, he caught sight of you, your face rare and completely flushed, eyes momentarily distant, lost in the same memory.

When your gazes met, it was as if time rewound, pulling both of you back to that quiet night filled with whispered promises and shared vulnerability.

Dean gave you a small, tentative smile, his usual bravado softened, replaced by something quieter, more real. The air between you was charged, almost as if the memory itself had bridged the gap of time. It was more than just nostalgia; it was a reminder of the connection you shared, one that neither of you had ever truly let go.

You cleared your throat, hoping to steady yourself as you handed Sam another book, though your mind was still caught in the haze of that shared memory. As you turned, you suddenly felt Dean’s presence closer than before, his frame leaning over you, his arm brushing lightly against yours. The scent of his familiar cologne filled the air, mixing with the worn leather and faint vanilla notes you’d always associated with him. The proximity, the warmth radiating from him, sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening despite your best efforts to keep calm.

“Guess some memories don’t fade, huh?”, he murmured, his voice low, just for you, the words carrying a weight that made your breath hitch. The intimacy of his tone, paired with the way he looked at you, his gaze both questioning and intense, made it clear he felt it too—the pull, the lingering spark that neither time nor distance had managed to extinguish.

You managed a soft smile, feeling your cheeks flush even more under his gaze. “Seems like they have a way of sticking around”, you replied, your voice barely a whisper, but the words held an edge of truth that you both understood.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 4

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @globetrotter28

#dean winchester fic #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #deanwinchester #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #spnfandom #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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moonlightspencie · 2 years ago

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‘cause look at your face!

Request linked here!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader (implied bisexual rights)

Warnings: implied cheating, drinking, smoking, very minor sexy references

Word Count: 1.6k

There he was.

The famed Dean Winchester.

Well, fame by hunter standards, anyways. Regardless, the guy had saved the world multiple times, and happened to be even more beautiful that anyone could capture with words.

Unfortunately for me, I had to pull my gaze away when he caught me staring. Though not before he shot me a smirk at my being caught out.

I looked towards the bartender, asking for another fifth of whiskey in my glass. She obliged with a smile and a wink. At least I could still keep my cool with her, cause I certainly was loosing it after seeing him.

It worsened significantly when he sat in the seat next to me.

I panicked, the fact that he smelled good on top of being a smoke-show was too much to handle. I decided to strike up conversation with the bartender again.

“How’d you end up in a place like this?” I asked, raising a brow.

She leaned in. “I could ask you the same. You’re a little too pretty to put up with all the folks in here considering you’re not getting paid.”

I chuckled. “Good point. Maybe you could help me get a job. If I’m gonna be here as much as I am, I may as well get some cash for it.”

“I’ll help with whatever you want, sugar,” she said with a wink.

Dean cleared his throat, raising a hand. She looked at him expectantly.

“Could I just grab whatever beer you’d recommend?” he asked, trying a wink at her.

She nodded, giving him an unamused hum. He leaned in a little closer to me after that.

“You’re doin’ better than me,” he said with a small smile.

I nodded, then saw a familiar face behind him. I attempted to strike up conversation with practically every other person in the bar except for him. Really, he should’ve taken it as a compliment. If he wasn’t so unbelievably hot, it would’ve been much easier to talk to him.

After a while, he seemed to have lost interest in talking to me anyways. Especially when I spent half an hour straight chatting it up with some grumpy old hunter who really had an affinity for non-haunted vintage items, and really loved to talk about it.

The second that conversation was over, I decided on a new course of action. I needed to forget about a certain cheating boyfriend for the night anyways. A smoke outside felt like it’d do just the trick.

I leaned against the building in the cool night air, pulling out my pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. I was a few puffs in when the door opened a few feet over, footsteps getting nearer.

“You know, smoking’s bad for you,” I heard a rumbling voice next to me say.

I glanced up and over, a light smile on my face.

“So is drinking. Didn’t stop you, huh?”

He smirked, nodding lightly. I held up the pack, resigned to the fact that I could no longer escape this male-modeling son of a bitch and his perfect face.

“Want one?”

He sighed. “I almost never do, but since you offered…”

He took one out, popping it in his mouth. I flicked my lighter, holding it up to the end of the cigarette until he puffed out a little cloud of smoke. I watched him for a moment, enthralled with how someone could look so pretty smoking. He glanced back at me after a few seconds.

“What?” he asked, voice suddenly lighter.

I shrugged, looking away. “Guess I’m a little surprised to meet you. I’ve heard stories, but never expected to bump into you or your brother.”

He chuckled humorlessly.

“Stories?”

“Mhm,” I nodded. “You can’t be surprised. Words gotten around in a lot of hunting communities about all y’all have done.”

He sighed, staying quiet. I chanced a look at him again to see him staring off into the parking lot.

“Did I strike a nerve?” I asked.

He shook his head, looking back at me with a partial smile.

“No, don’t worry about it. Just— Guess I don’t think much of it all.”

“Much of what? Saving the world?”

He puffed on the cigarette again, merely smirking at me as I found myself watching his lips as he did so.

“Seems you’re thinking something,” he said.

I looked away suddenly, bringing my own cigarette back my lips. I took a moment to collect myself.

“Not a damn thing,” I said at last, turning towards him. “Why don’t you get out of here. I’m sure your girlfriend’s looking for you.”

“Don’t have one.”

“Ah,” I nodded.

I almost wished he did. Out-of-bounds would be much easier to deal with than temptingly-single. Especially when I still (technically) had someone.

“What about you? Any boyfriend that’d be mad I’m out here with you?”

I shrugged. “He went out to some club tonight to do… I don’t even know what. I don’t think I want to know.”

I laughed at myself, a little bitterly. He simply stared with his brow set.

“Excuse me?”

I cleared my throat, dropping the butt of the now-gone cig into the ashtray atop the garbage can.

“He goes out a lot. Doesn’t usually come home until the next morning,” I said, letting out a soft breath. “Or until a few days later.”

“Why do you put up with that?” he asked, voice sharper now.

I raised my brows, not expecting the reaction.

“I don’t know. Security, I guess. We’ve been together a few years now…”

“You deserve better,” he said, eyes terrible and beautiful and sincere.

I groaned. “You suck.”

He furrowed his brow, taken aback.

“What?”

I didn’t know what to say with him looking at me like that. His gaze was intent. It felt like he was looking right into my soul. Everything about him was horribly picturesque, especially in the neon lights from the sign above us.

I shook my head, “I should probably go.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I mimicked, a small smile on my face. “What’s up with the twenty questions, anyway?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like avoidance.”

“Again: you suck.”

He put out his cigarette on the ash tray, then turned back to me, hands on his hips.

“Alright, pretty girl, let’s get you back inside. It’s cold out here,” he said, looking towards the door.

I fought a smile from showing up, and fought butterflies even harder.

‘Pretty girl’. He’s one to talk about being pretty.

“What if my boyfriend shows back up?”

He raised a brow. “You’re gonna dump him anyways.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of the sentence.

“Cause,” he shrugged. “Would you let me go home with you otherwise?”

I froze, my eyes widening. “I’m going home to my cats, actually.”

“Ah, I see,” he nodded, a borderline-shy smile on his face. “You can really just say no, you know?”

I hummed, giving an unsure shrug.

“I don’t really want to say ‘no’, is the problem.”

His smile morphed into a smirk again, hand brushing against my lower back to lead me back into the bar.

Rather than going back to the bar, he led me to a table in the dark. I followed along, letting him guide me with his hand still on my back.

“What are you up to?” I asked at last when we sat down.

He sat on the same side of the booth as me, an arm slung over the back of the seat. He smelled even better now that he was closer than ever.

“I’m gonna convince you to break up with him,” he stated simply.

“Why’s that? Why not just take me home?”

“Not into cheating.”

“Huh,” I nodded. “Who would’ve guessed? Dean Winchester has rules about revenge when it comes to fidelity?”

He rolled his eyes, somehow still looking sexy doing it.

“So, you just want to use me to get back at your boyfriend?”

I paused. “Actually, I don’t. That would just be an added bonus since he’d totally be pissed I moved on with someone like you.”

“Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He brushed his hand against my shoulder, leaning in a little closer. I realized there was no use in pretending I wasn’t giving into him now.

“Someone absolutely gorgeous.”

His smirk faded a little, eyes looking into mine more now.

“You’re really too sweet to let some crap-bag walk all over you, you know?”

I watched him a moment longer, then readjusted myself in the seat. I pulled out my phone, typing out a quick message.

- we’re done. you can get your crap out of my apartment later this week :)

I hit send.

“Here, look,” I said, handing him the phone.

He read the message, nodding lightly as he did. He then turned it off, set it on the table, and had his lips on mine so fast my head was practically spinning. Those lips were softer than they looked, and finally having his hands on me felt better than I thought it would.

He rested one palm on my thigh, letting the other stay around my shoulders. His tongue tasted like lime salt and smoke. I ran one of my hands up his arm, nibbling at his bottom lip as he started pulling away. The gravity of making out with him in a crowded bar probably would’ve embarrassed me if it weren’t for the fact that he leaned in closer to whisper to me:

“Think I can meet your cats when I’m out of your room tomorrow morning?”

I smiled. “Oh, they’ll love you.”

—————

dean winchester taglist:

@deanwithscissors @hyunjaebaby @simp4olderm3n @king-of-milf-lovers @allonsy-yesiwill @xoxovienna @grapejuicestand @lyarr24

#bisexual lighting in the gif is so good #foreshadowing for the reader tbh #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester spice #dean winchester one shot #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #gorgeous #luna’s dean fics

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bigfan-fanfic · 1 year ago

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Back Into Trouble (Winchester!Reader x Winchester Bros PLATONIC)

A sequel to Brother Mine

This fic takes place somewhere near the end of season 1, after episode 19 but before episode 20. In addition, there's a song called Brother Mine that is really sweet and cute especially if put into this context of being Sam and Dean's, but especially Dean's, older brother. "I know that I sit and I worry too much/Especially when you come home such a sight/But I guess what you've got to do, boy, you go ahead and do it/And I sure hope things will be all right"

You may not have enjoyed returning to hunting, but you're damn good at it.

Although it's made even more frustrating when your father actually calls in.

You're not so thrilled about continuing on this... gallivanting cross-country, especially when John is chasing down the demon that killed your mother.

But Sam seems to have come to terms with it, though you honestly feel like that might have more to do with his desire to avenge Jess.

The real problem you see with your little brothers is their inability to let go.

You had all been raised by John in the hunting lifestyle, the family business.

But it's been decades since your mother's death. A horrible thing, that you have had to come to terms with having no real answers for.

And you can understand the desire for vengeance, for a clear-cut answer that will "solve everything."

It won't.

Something you've tried to get your brothers to think about is the future. About what they want out of their lives.

Because you remember how it was, living completely in the moment, day to day, hunt to hunt. And it was Bobby who pointed out that you had potential, that you deserved a life, if not now, then at least the promise of one.

So you convince them to take a rest in Massachusetts after leaving a hunt. Just to take a couple of days for hanging out.

Dean wants to see the Cheers bar and Sam wants to visit the Old North Church, so you get an actual hotel suite in Boston.

You check in with your colleagues and employees, apologizing for being incommunicado for so long. Thankfully the hotel has a business center with a fax machine you can sign invoices and contracts with.

Dean looks at you curiously. "So... you really did just... start a business?"

"Technically I bought it out from the owner who wanted to retire. So more... maintaining."

"You really are just... out of the life."

"I was, til you two called me."

"...sorry." Dean mumbles, and you grab his shoulder.

"Don't be. I was never doing this for Dad. I'm here for you and for Sammy."

Dean nods thoughtfully.

"You saw him. With that girl at the art gallery. He liked her. She liked him."

"Yeah."

"And you... with Cassie."

"Your point being?"

"Life keeps building off-ramps for you but you keep on truckin down this road."

Dean scowls. "Look, I'm not stupid. I know this life is dangerous. I know my days are probably numbered. But I'm making a difference. I'm saving people."

"What about you?"

He blinks. "What about me?"

"I'm done trying to force you out of the life, Dean. It's your choice. When we finally deal with all this shit - when the bastard that killed Mom is dead and you and Sam are finally free... I'm not gonna stop you if you go back to hunting."

"You're not?"

You nod. "But I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose contact with you again. I'll be there when you need a place to crash or a voice to call. Maybe you'll even visit me.

"Just... I need you to promise me you're not gonna run yourself into the ground. None of this has been your fault. It's not your fault about Mom, and it wasn't your fault I left, and it's not your fault that Dad couldn't really be a dad to us."

Dean wants to protest but you shush him. "You're gonna do what you do. And I'm gonna stop hunting again. For good this time. But when you decide it's time to come home... I hope you come to me, little brother."

You stand up then, leaving Dean to his thoughts. He's quiet for the rest of the day, but you feel an almost companionable nature to the silence.

And just maybe, after this all... maybe your brothers will follow you away from the things that go bump in the night.

#supernatural x male reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural headcanons #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x male reader #dean winchester x male reader #male reader

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river13245 · 1 year ago

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Idjiots (sam x male reader)

Navigation / SPN masterlist

Warnings: Few cuss words? Sam and reader being idjiots, Alcohol.

The store was a busy place, it was full of human people. People who had blood running through their veins without a care in the world. Humans who had a family to get home to take care of. Human, that's all you could smell. It filled rooms wherever you went.

After years or practice you could control yourself in a room full of people. However that doesn't stop the smell from circling you. You had being working on self control for years now. With the help of your father...well with whom you considered your father.

Grabbing some fruits and some more vegetables after getting the basic things someone would get at the store you paid with the money you had brought with you and started heading home.

Once you exited the store the smell of the world was now around you. No longer were the strong temptations around you. Carrying the five bags you had in your arms you passed through people on the sidewalk and crossed the streets.

When you arrived home you hadn't been paying attention to if anyone had been there since its usually just you and your dad. You cant tell just anyone that Bobby Singer is your dad given his history and your own. Opening the door you start talking as you head straight to the kitchen. "so they didn't have everything that you needed on your list but i got other things that should work instead"

The three men who were sitting with Bobby all looked over at you before the oldest spoke up. "who the hell are you?" Turning around as you place down your bags onto the counter you look over at him. "I'm y/n and who the hell are you?"

" Im dean" after hearing his name you were finally able to put a face to the name. Bobby had told you stories about them and how they wouldn't take to kindly to you if they found out your a vampire. So he had said if you ever met them that you would have to get them to like you first before telling them.

Reaching for your items you begin putting them away as you speak. "well I pictured you to be very different. From all the stories I was told" Bobby knew what you were doing. He had told you about how Dean had a big Ego.

"Am i not living up to the idea you had of me?" he asked as you finished putting everything away and walked into the room with them. You looked at him and looked at Sam momentarily "I pictured you more attractive...and taller but I guess I was thinking of the wrong brother"

Sam looked up at you while Dean Smirked a little bit. "Well not all of us can have good taste" Which ended up with dean getting punched in the shoulder by Sam. "what did you say your name was again?"

"His name is y/n and he is my son..i guess you could say" Bobby answered "its a long story" Sam looked at him and shrugged "We've got time"

As you sat down Bobby began to tell them the story of how you two met and everything. Leaving out the part of you being a vampire. He always told you that if you ever wanted someone to know, you should tell them. Not him.

Once the story is finished you all talk for a while about their current hunt and some other things. And before you know it, its late and everyone is getting tired. "you guys can stay a few nights. So you don't have to worry about a hotel or anything while you hunt"

-----

Early in the morning you were sitting at your desk drawing. However the sounds of snoring were filling your ears since you could hear everything with your vampire abilities.

The sun had started to rise which caused you to finally look at the clock seeing its 7:00. You sigh and get up from your seat heading downstairs to see Sam passed out on the couch looking extremely uncomfortable. He got the choice of the couch since Dean and him played rock paper scissors and lost.

Feeling sorry for him you walked over and knelt down beside him and run your hand up and down his arm lightly. "Sam, wake up." Soon enough his eyes open and he looks at you "sorry you just looked very uncomfortable." taking your hand off him you stand up. "I'm going to make breakfast for everyone. Why don't you just go take my room in the meantime"

He slowly wakes up and sits up on the couch running his hand through his hair. "no no I need to get up. I'm usually up by now." Laughing a little as you walk to the kitchen "Must have had a long night then. You and Dean did drink a bit last night"

You were met with silence as you got out some eggs, bread, bacon and potatoes. Thinking that Sam went to your room to lay down you started to play some music, making sure to keep it at a low volume.

When you started to cook you hear footsteps behind you and its Sam beginning to scramble the eggs. He must have felt your eyes on him cause he smiled a little "I wanted to help. You made us dinner last night its the least I can do" You smiled softly as you continued to cook "thank you Sam"

---

As you guys cook you hum along to the music that plays. Sam remains quiet, just listening to the food cook and your humming. However when Paramore comes on you begin go sing a little louder. Still remaining at a quiet tone since everyone is still asleep.

"I should be over all the butterflies, but I'm into you. I'm into you" You sing as you plate food for you and Sam.

"And baby even on our worst nights I'm into you, Let them wonder how we got so far" Sam joins in causing you to look at him and continue.

Let them wonder how we got this far, cause I don't even need to wonder at all" you sing and then you both sing the next line simultaneously. "after all this time I'm still into you"

You both continue to sing as you finish the food. Only stopping when you hear deans voice "okay you two love birds. I smelled food, didnt know a concert was available too" Turning around you see Dean grabbing a plate while your dad looks at you shaking his head chuckling to himself.

-----

The week goes by pretty fast. Too fast for your liking. You and Sam had gotten extremely close over the week along with everyone else. Your dad seemed happier when they were home, it was obvious to you but not to everyone else.

You were always super observant over peoples attitudes and feelings. However what you weren't observant of was Sam's feelings for you.

Since day one you had found Sam attractive, the fact that he was tall also didn't help at all. You and Sam watched movies together in your room at night when everyone was asleep. Made breakfast for everyone since the day you guys got caught singing.

Sam also couldn't help but start to like you too. First impressions are everything to him and you gave him a hell of an impression. When you joked with Dean the first time you guys met. Then how you were so caring towards everyone you cared for and yes that included him and Dean.

You two were oblivious even though you both flirted with each other all the time. However who wasn't oblivious to all of this was Dean and Bobby. They planned on doing something about it because they were tired of seeing the back and forth shit.

----

On the last day they were going to be there it was a sunny day after raining for days. You felt yourself grow sad and slightly moody the longer the day went on. Sam and Dean were out catching the monster/s while you had stayed behind since they didn't need extra help.

Your dad is sitting on the couch drinking a beer when you sigh and grab a water bottle before walking into the living room. Bobby was reading his journal when you grab his beer and replace it with a water. "hey what the hell?" he says as you roll your eyes "Your liver has to be shit by now. With how often you drink."

He sit on the couch looking over at you now glaring at you. "listen just because you are upset over dean and your precious Sam are leaving today doesn't mean you get to take my beer!"

His tone wasn't actually upset he was just trying to get a reaction out of you and you knew that. So now you glare at him "just drink the damn water Bobby. Please" you say and he sighs before taking a drink of his water and continuing his reading.

A few hours go by and you had been keeping yourself busy not wanting to stop moving because you know if you did then you would think about how Sam is going to leave for who knows how long.

You were currently cleaning the kitchen making it spotless when the door opens the guys come back. When they come in they see Bobby drinking water causing dean to speak "I didn't know you knew what water was Bobby"

Bobby looks over and shrugs "y/n over there is in one of his moods. He hasn't stopped moving since you guys left" Dean knew why that was but Sam was to busy walking over to you and grabbed your arms lightly stopping you from cleaning the counters which were already clean "y/n slow down. There is nothing to clean"

Stopping your movements you look over at Sam and place down the rag onto the counter and let out a breath you hadn't known you were holding. "I'm sorry" you say as Sam pulls you close to him and he rests his head on top of yours. "its okay. No one is mad." he pulls away and gives you a small smile before Dean places his hand on Sam's shoulder "okay Sammy lets go grab our things and put them in the car"

Sam goes to the extra room and gets everything. While you go to the living room waiting to tell the both of them goodbye. Bobby ends up walking over to you "Tell the guy how you feel son." you shake your head "no there is no point. We never know how long they will be gone for. Or if they will even come back and we both know you wont let me go with them because of my...condition"

Bobby is silent especially when the both of them come down with their bags. He does go help Dean carry the stuff leaving Sam and you by the door.

Looking up at Sam you nod "well looks like its goodbye for now huh?" Sam nods and looks down at you "You know ill be back. Cant stay away from Bobby for long. ya know?" His words cause you to chuckle "oh yes sure. Bobby is always such a joy to be around"

Sam looks around and notices Dean give him a look encouraging him to do something. So he takes places his hand on your shoulder "look I will call you every day. Hell id invite you to come along but Bobby would probably have some words to say about that one. But i dont want to leave till I do something"

"do what" you ask as he brings his hands to the sides of your face pulling you into a kiss. He leans down quiet a bit as you wrap your arms around his waist.

When the both of you pull away you're both smiling like kids at a candy factory. You place your hand on his chest "I might just have to sneak away and come join you guys on your adventure"

Sam laughs and you both look over at Bobby when he whistles for everyone's attention. He holds out a bag and its the same one you had in your room. "well what are you waiting for Idjiots. Better leave before I change my mind"

Sam who was holding onto your hand walks with you to your dad and you hug him. He pats your head "be safe alright."

"yes ill be safe and blah blah blah. As long as you promise me one thing?" he looks at you with a questionable look "alright what do I have to promise to"

"drink more water, try to be a bit more healthy. Trust me i will know if you don't" he rolls his eyes "alright. Now you boys better get going"

The three of you nod and say quick goodbye and you say a quiet "i love you" to your dad before getting into the car in the backseat as the two boys sit in the front and start driving off.

#river13245 #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #bobby singer #sam winchester x male reader #sam winchester x reader #fluff #male reader #platonic #supernatural fanfic #sam winchester fanfic #male!reader #y/n #sam winchester one shot

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holylulusworld · 9 months ago

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Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, implied break-up, angry Sam, Mary bashing

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

“Sammy, I can’t just go to her hotel and ask her to forgive me or take me back,” Dean mutters under his breath. Sam talked him into confronting Mary and to talk to you before you got the chance to fly back home.

“Dean, this is your only chance. We will talk to mother and ask her if she has anything to do with the missing note. After we clarified that our mother is the worst,” Sam snorts at Dean’s pained expression. “What? We both know our parents are the perfect example of a failed marriage and selfishness.”

“Do you honestly believe Mother had something to do with the missing note?” Dean asks. He still doesn’t want to believe his mother would do such a thing.

“Yes, I believe she is behind all of this. Mother invited Lisa, and she distracted you. Hell, she even refused to acknowledge Y/N’s presence.” Sam throws his hands up. “Wake up. Our mother is a manipulative mastermind.”

“I’m going to ask you this only once, Mother,” Sam stalks toward his mother. He straightens his back and tries to look even more intimating as he dwarfs his mother. “Did you steal the note Y/N left that night eight years ago? Yes or no.”

“Samuel, where is this coming from out of a sudden? How dare you come here to attack your own flesh and blood like that,” Mary sniffles. “I can’t believe my son talks like that to me.”

“I guess this means yes, Dean.”

“Mother, what did the note say?” Dean pleadingly looks at his mother. “I know you wanted me to get back together with Lisa, but please, I need to know if you took the note Y/N left.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she snaps at her son. “If you’d excuse me now. I got better things to do than letting my sons walk all over me.”

“Stop!” Sam blocks his mother’s path when she tries to leave the room. “You will answer Dean’s question. I know you don’t care that you ruined his relationship with Y/N and that he lost the woman he loved that night. But I will not let you ruin the one chance he got with Y/N.”

“Samuel,” she sniffs and wipes a fake tear off her cheek. “I didn’t take a note. I saw the ring, that’s all.”

“So, you admit that you entered their room that night,” Sam takes a step toward his mother and another. “Answer my question. Did you enter their room and take the note.” He gets louder with every word. “YES OR NO MOTHER!”

“YES!” She sneers. “I never liked that woman. She was no good for your brother. I invited Lisa to make him see what he was missing out. I took the note and left the ring. It was for the best.”

“What did she write?” Dean asks again. “I need to know.”

“I don’t remember,” she shrugs. “I burned the note, and that’s the end of the story. You should thank me.”

“You are dead to me,” Dean shakes his head when Mary tries to touch his arm. “You ruined the best thing ever happening to me. I can’t believe I was too blind to see that you’re a manipulative bitch.”

Dean turns on his heels and storms out of the house. He gets into his car to drive toward your hotel, forgetting about his brother and his hurt pride. He’ll try to get you back. No matter what.”

“Now that Dean is gone,” Sam’s voice is dangerously low as he leans closer. “You will tell me what she wrote. If not, I’ll make sure John will hear about your dirty little secret.” He smirks darkly when his mother whimpers. “The pool boy…”

Dean didn’t make it in time. When he arrived at your hotel, you already checked out. He drove as fast as possible, pushing his beloved car to its limit, but it was no use.

The airplane was in the air, and you were gone. Once again, he came too late…

“Mommy!” Your son runs toward you, giggling and laughing when you pick him up and twirl him around. “How was your flight? Did you get me something cool?”

“I got you something cool,” you whisper and peck his hair. “Look inside my back, baby. You’ll love it. Uncle Bobby got it for you.”

“Cool,” your son opens your bag to find another classic car model. It’s a 1967er Impala. A split-image of Dean’s car. The one your son wanted since he found an old picture of Dean and his car. “I love it, mommy.”

“I know baby,” you run your hand over his hair. You sigh but shake the sadness off. Seeing Dean after so many years hurt you more than you thought possible. “Let’s have dinner before we look for the perfect spot for the car.”

Your son was fast asleep while sleeping soundly on the couch. After dinner, and a long conversation with your son about cars, and the airplane he drew, you fell asleep on the couch.

The last days drained all the energy out of you, and you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Dean had the guts to blame you for leaving. He even lied about the note you left.

Dean wrings his hands. He debates whether to use the number he got from Charlie or not. What if you don’t take his call? What if you don’t believe his mother stole the note you left?

He takes a deep breath and dials your number, waiting for you to pick up the phone.

Dean closes his eyes, holding his breath when you take the call.

"Hello, this is Ms. Y/L/N phone you are speaking to. I'm Michael Joseph Y/L/N, how can I help you?" Dean gasps at the other end of the line, whilst he tries to find his voice. He didn’t expect a child to answer his call.

"Hi, I'm Dean Winchester and I wanted to talk to your aunt Y/N Y/L/N..."

"That’s my mother, Sir. My aunt lives in France. I'm afraid my mother fell asleep on the couch. I'm asking you to call again in the morning."

"You're Y/N's son, huh?" Nosy Dean tries to get more information. "How old are you buddy? When is your birthday?"

"Why do you want to know?” your son asks. “Mom said not to tell strangers more about me. I don’t know you, so you are a stranger.”

“Uh-I’m an old friend of your mom. I’d like to give you something for your birthday,” Dean feels bad for lying to a child, but he can’t stop now.

“I'm seven, Sir. But I'll turn eight soon...well in a few months." Your son politely answers while Dean tries to remember how to do mathematics. His heart races and his jaw goes slack realizing he's got a child...with you. "Shall I tell my mom you called?"

"No, it's okay, buddy. I'll call her later..." Dean hastily says. The last thing he wants is for you to know that he knows about your sweet little secret.

Half an hour later Dean stands in front of Sam’s door, he harshly knocks and calls his brother’s name.

"SAM, Sammy, we got to fly to London, today,” he calls for his brother. “SAMMY! OPEN THE DOOR!

Sam opens the door. He yawns and rubs his tired eyes. “Dude, it's 2 am. Why are you at my apartment?" Sam grumbles. “Can’t this wait?”

"Sammy…I got a son,” Dean splutters and wildly gestures toward his car. “Y/N got my kid and I need to get to London...now..."

Tags in reblog.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #Designed by pain (4)

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highfunctioningflailgirl · 2 months ago

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Damage Control - 3x14 Long Distance Call

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

Dean’s admission echoes in Sam’s aching head as they sit beside each other, on their respective motel beds, drinking beer and nursing their bruises, while the TV flickers ominously in the darkening room. Dean’s found an old horror movie that he must’ve watched so often he knows it by heart, mouthing some of the lines in sync with the characters, his swollen face lighting up in childlike joy at the outdated, involuntarily comical jump scares.

Sam could never get behind his brother’s enthusiasm for horror flicks. In his opinion, they’re dealing with enough horror in real life as it is. Why Dean would find relaxation - even joy - in watching people getting terrorized and torn apart by monsters, aliens or (worst of all) other humans is beyond him. Why he would fill what little downtime they have with even more fear and blood and pain is something Sam will never understand.

He also can’t get behind the sudden insouciance that Dean is showing, sitting rapt in front of the TV, their earlier conversation about Dean dying in three weeks seemingly forgotten. Very possibly, it’s just a front - a mask he’s put on to disguise the very emotions he admitted to only twenty minutes ago. Up to anyone’s guess whether he’s protecting himself or Sam by sliding back into the brave act he’s put on for months now. Pressed, Sam would guess the latter. In the end, it’s his modus operandi, and as much as Sam rebels against needing protection - he’s twenty-five now, for god’s sake - he believes that, by correlation, it’s what keeps Dean together. Taking care of Sam means he can’t fall apart. Not even three weeks from going to Hell.

Sam shudders.

“Ohhhh– that was nasty, wa’n’t it?” Dean grins at him, pointing at a slashed-up body on the TV screen, the insane killer silently walking out of the frame, machete dripping blood.

Sam shakes his head, albeit carefully, his brain still sloshy from getting knocked out earlier. How can Dean find gory murder amusing when he’s about to get ripped apart himself? He suppresses the ‘A little too close to home, don’t you think’ he’s got on the tip of his tongue.

Dean slaps Sam’s leg. “Oh come on, Sammy! Admit it - it’s funny!”

Sam doesn’t laugh. “Haha.”

“Wuss.”

A knock on their door pulls Sam out of his thoughts and Dean away from the screen.

“Papa John’s Pizza!” someone announces cheerlessly outside and knocks again, impatient. “Your order’s here!”

Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Dean gets up and, after checking through the window, he opens the door to a weary-looking twenty-something in a red-and-white uniform holding a family-sized pizza box out to him. Dean pays and tips him generously. That, too, is his modus operandi: they may be near-broke most of the time, but Dean never lets a person with a shit, low-paying job go without a tip. He’d rather not order at all. Sam can’t remember if that’s something Dad taught him, but he doesn’t think so.

Door shut and locked, Dean returns to his bed with the steaming box and opens it, his eyes already swinging back to the TV where the crazed machete murderer is stalking his next victim.

“He’s in for a surprise with that one,” he comments cheerfully before he maneuvers a slice of pizza out of the box and bites off, sauce dripping down his chin and onto the bed. Sam wants to say something about the sheets and using napkins, but he doesn’t have it in him. As much as he complains all the time about Dean’s messy eating, he knows he’s going to miss it when–

No. He’s not gonna go there.. They’ll find a way to save Dean. It’s not gonna-

“Dude! You’re not even looking!” Dean admonishes, chewing. “This is the best part! The Final Girl!”

There’s screaming on the screen, blood splattering all over the place, and the killer growls and snarls like some rabid dog. It sounds way too much like a Hell Hound. Sam swallows.

“Dude, you okay? Lord of the Flies leave you with a concussion after all?”

Dean’s eyes are on him now, giving him the full Winchester-X-ray scrutiny, pizza and movie momentarily forgotten.

While it’s true that the Crocotta knocked him out, Sam doesn’t think he has a concussion. His head hurts, and he’s a little dizzy, but he can see straight and he doesn’t feel like throwing up the two beers he just drank. No, the lump in his throat is nothing but dread, pushing up through the bravado he, too, has been putting on for Dean.

“D’you want a poem?” he’d joked earlier, to kill the tension and knock Dean out of his panic. It had worked. Humor sometimes was the only thing that worked when his older brother was spiraling. Humor or pure, physical force. And Dean needs him. No matter the show he’s putting on, Sam sees it in the taut line of his shoulders and hears it in his exaggerated laughter. Behind the pretend mirth, despair still glimmers in the green of his eyes.

For once, Sam’s got to be the one to lean on. He can’t waver now.

“I’m fine,” he says, waving at the TV. “Just that Pizza Face over there is not exactly making my mouth water.” More blood sprays on the screen as the triumphant Final Girl takes an ice pick to the killer’s ugly face. Sam pointedly wrinkles his nose. “Yuck.”

Mollified, Dean chuckles. “Lightweight.” He takes another hearty pizza bite and licks a string of cheese from his split lip. “Wait till you see what happens with the teacher in part two! Guy knows how to handle a chainsaw, I’m not kiddin’!”

“There’s a part two?” Sam asks, horrified. Why anyone would want to watch a sequel to this ludicrous garbage eludes him.

Dean grins devilishly, although it must be hurting his badly bruised cheek. “Yeah, and it’s on right after. A marathon, in fact. Parts one through four back-to-back.”

Sam has to keep himself from sagging in dismay, and he stops the agonized groan that wants to slip out of him. A whole night of battling insomnia and the monsters waiting for Dean in Hell with badly made-up, fictional monsters prowling over a scratched TV screen - it’s not his idea of conquering fear. But, apparently, it’s Dean’s, and if this is what his brother needs, if this is what helps him face the nightmare waiting ahead, Sam will be by his side. In this dismal motel room and in the three weeks to come.

“Alright then. Pass me a slice,” he says, gesturing at the pizza, to a crescendo of screaming coming from the TV. “And another beer.”

Dean’s grin widens, and if he’s still scared underneath the twinkle in his eyes and the bright flash of his teeth, it’s hard even for Sam to detect. “That’s my boy!”

He balances a slice from Sam’s veggie half of the pizza onto a napkin and hands it to him, followed by a fresh beer that he pops open with his ring.“Get comfortable, dude,” Dean instructs joyfully, rearranging the pillows between his back and the headboard. Then he lifts his beer bottle to toast to Sam. “It’s gonna be a looong night.”

Sam toasts back, a twinge in his chest. Twenty-one nights left. It’s time they start making them count.

The Damage Control Series Masterlist

Read the whole series on AO3 here:

#supernatural #spn #fan fiction #fanfic #3x14 long distance call #coda #mild hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #angst #dean winchester #sam winchester #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #horror movies cw

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ro-sham-no · 8 months ago

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Sam fucked up.

Dean had always teased him for being a try-hard at school (with a secretly proud smile he thought Sam couldn’t see or wouldn’t notice, but oh, Sam noticed). He’d tease Sam, saying it would bite him in the ass one day, and now, at Stanford, it had finally happened.

Betrayal of all betrayals, the professor of the only prereq class he actually liked had given him extra work. It's not a big deal, not really, just reading out his stupid, gay-ass prose about his big brother in front of a crowd of people, all to get out of taking a final... Dean was across the country, so what could go wrong?

cw: wincest, referenced underage sex (barely), questionable prose lol

includes excerpts from "sweetness" - stephen dunn

“I’m telling you, man, they’re gonna expect more from you ‘cause you’re putting in all this extra effort.”

Dean was speaking in that slow, crooning voice that he always got when they were alone together in the quiet, like he was afraid to break the silence but still wanted to fill up Sam’s head with the sound of his voice so bad that he couldn’t stop himself. As if the way he was smoothing his hand up and down the breadth of Sam’s bare ribs and stomach - all palming and grabby, groping at Sam like he owned him - as if that didn’t already nail Sam’s focus and affection to the cross of their shared devotion. As if he needed to do anything at all, other than exist, to completely own Sam from the inside out.

Sam shook himself out of his trance to respond, huffing that scoff-laugh that only little brothers manage to pull off, reaching up to trap Dean’s hand against Sam’s stomach, splayed and possessive but finally stilled so Sam could actually think for a second. But before he could come up with a counter, Dean continued, sweet and slow in his ear, like syrupy molasses that’s just warm enough to drip and run down the spoon,

“I swear, if we stayed in one place for longer than it takes Dad to fuckin’ blink, they’d have you up to your ears in extra work by now.”

Sam hummed at that, all smug younger brother proving a point, “Well I guess it doesn’t matter then, huh, Dean? ‘s not like the old man’s that old, his blinks aren’t slowing down anytime soon,” said with a finality that shut Dean up, finally granting Sam some goddamn peace as they basked in the feel of each other’s bed-warmed skin.

And that was that. Still, they rehashed it a few times, here and there whenever it got brought up.

Sam flicked Dean’s hand off his shoulder because, “I need to finish my homework, Dean. There’s a quiz on it tomorrow,” providing the perfect opportunity for Dean to bring up that old argument once again. Calling him a try-hard and a teacher’s pet, distracting him enough to bully him into their bed, away from his homework, and suddenly enveloped in the warm arms of his older brother - devious bastard that he was, dammit.

Sam always got 100s on those quizzes, anyway. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the chase, the thrill of seeing Dean be jealous of a piece of fucking paper and a pen before Sam caved and they fell together oh-so-sweetly.

But that was then, when the metaphorical speed of Dad’s blinks still kept them flitting from place to place. Now, Sam had already been in this place for 9 months, consecutively, and he was in for at least another 3.25 years. Four years he would be here, and that’s where Sam fucked up, forgetting his “wise” older brother’s warning (because he’s not here to remind me), and it had finally happened.

Betrayal of all betrayals, the professor of the only prereq that he actually liked, Dr. Morris, had given him extra work. All because,

“This is really something special, Sam! I really think people deserve to hear it.” She saw Sam begin to protest but cut him off, continuing, “From the author’s mouth, don’t give me that. That’s you, in case you’ve conveniently forgotten. C’mon, the literary arts event is next week and they’ve been asking me to fill an inspired composition spot. I think this is the perfect work to fit right in, with the way you’ve expanded on Dunn’s poem, interpreting meaning from it and making it your own- just, Sam, I seriously want you to consider presenting it.”

“It” was an assignment to write a piece about or inspired by one of the poems Dr. Morris had covered in class recently. One of them had tugged at Sam’s recently-shredded heartstrings, and so he wrote something inspired by it - so sue him if he wrote a little prose, alright? But, Christ, it was soft and mushy and it was horrifically revealing. But he didn’t have time to redo it, so this was what he was stuck with.

Damn, she’s really trying to sell this, Sam thought with a sigh.

Once again, though, his professor cut him off, this time with a conspiratorial look on her face, “Besides, a little birdy told me that the final for this class might be optional if you participate in the event…”

Well, that’s just diabolical.

Sam pinched his nose with yet another sigh, arms clutched around his notebook, which conveniently contained the exact literary “work” Dr. Morris had been raving about for the last ten minutes. All Sam had wanted to do was to make sure that it fit what she was expecting for the homework prompt before he turned it in, and then she’d trapped him.

He really did hate taking tests for this class, too, and she knew that. UGH.

“Fine, Dr. Morris, you win! But that little birdy better be tellin’ the truth or another little birdy is so gonna write the meanest course review this school has ever seen, I swear to god,” he pointed his finger at her accusingly, eyebrows raised in faux intimidation.

She laughed along with him at his empty threat, holding up her hands in mock surrender with a gasp, “No, not an angry student review! What about my career?”

She sobered a little, “The birdy is telling the truth, Sam, I promise. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Sam nodded with a rueful smile, “I know. Thank you, Dr. Morris, I’m uh- well, I’m glad you liked it.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It was worse. So, so much worse. God, Sam fucked up, colossally.

Somehow, his friends had gotten wind of his little performance - something about a poster with his name on it? (Damn you, Dr. Morris!) - and now Sam was about to go on stage and make a fool of himself in front of both liberal arts and now STEM majors alike. Four STEM majors, specifically, his “friends,” and he was never going to hear the end of it after this.

I’m not even out to these people, what was I thinking? They’re gonna know, now. Sure hope they’re fuckin’ cool with it.

And, beyond that, he’d only read through the piece a total of two times without crying like a fucking baby. Reduced to hiccupping sobs over the stupid poem, and over his stupid feelings laid bare on the page, and over his stupid fucking brother that he’d basically broken up with when he came here like the incestuous freak that he was, and-

Goddammit.

Sam pinched viciously at his thigh through his pocket to stop his eyes from prickling.

This is gonna be a disaster.

But the final would be worse, Sam was sure, and he didn’t want to disappoint Dr. Morris - like the total sucker that he was - so he was gonna man up and do this thing.

The person on stage before him finished up their piece and, is the crowd seriously fucking snapping? Jesus Christ, these people are pretentious. Thankfully, pretentious or not, the event wasn’t that formal. They were just outside on a small stage, with standing and sitting room in front of it. Casual. Easy.

Yeah, right.

Still, Sam steeled himself and stepped out onto the stage as prompted, calmly raising the height of the mic stand while the event coordinator introduced him to the audience, “Thank you for that wonderful reading. Now stepping on stage is Sam Winchester, with a literary reading of his work, inspired by the poem “Sweetness” by Stephen Dunn.”

Sam cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, “Ah, thank you, for that introduction. So… this is just a piece I wrote based on that poem, which uses the term “sweetness” to describe more than just sensation - to me, it describes a feeling, an emotion, and even a person. That’s something that really struck me, and is the basis of what you’re about to hear.”

While he was speaking, he scanned the crowd and- yep, there were his friends, waving and cheesing so hard it made his own mouth twitch a little in response, amused at their amusement. Still, there was this odd feeling, almost like… nevermind.

He cleared his throat again, purposefully this time, and began, “Often, a sweetness comes and changes nothing in the world, except the way we stumble through it. Our sweetness, the one we make between us, changes the world - my world - because of the way you envelop me entirely. The sweetness between us changes the world, shrinks it down to the size of your mouth, to the size of your hands.”

Images flash in Sam’s mind: silver ring; cupid’s bow; black bracelets on twin right-wrists, like their own secret wedding bands.

“But the world is no smaller for it, even though it’s shrunk to fit the shape of your body.

It’s still ever-expansive, always with something new to explore. New gasps to wring out from the valley of your mouth. New ways to bruise and mar the landscape of your skin, changing its terrane to map out the topography of our love, our sweetness, and the way it blisters between us…

Staining, always staining.”

Golden skin that’s littered with scratches, hickies marring it in impossible places, and freckles that reach out to Sam like starlight.

“Some days you believe it stains us down to the soul level. Those are the days I spend sick with heartbreak because those are the days you won’t touch me. Those are the days you won’t touch me, when you can’t even bear to look at me, littered as I always am (and how I always want to be) with the stains of our shared, world-changing sweetness. You see the stains on those days and, instead of cherishing them the way I would bid you to, you are sickened by them.”

A memory, now,

That beloved cupid’s bow stretched out in a self-deprecating sneer, “This is wrong, Sam! God, look at what I’ve done to you, I should be fucking locked up. You don’t even want this, you can’t!”

“Even worse, you’re saddened by them, the stains that I cherish, convincing yourself that you’ve doomed me by them. On those days, you believe you’ve doomed me to an eternity of fire and brimstone, even though the only God either of us truly believes in takes on the form of the finger-shaped bruises you leave on my thighs and the teeth-sized scars I’ve left in your skin.”

The stains, god, the stains: tear tracks on freckled cheeks, red and puffy eyes so unused to crying, bloody knuckles from losing to brick walls.

Sam’s eyes prickled. One hand went from the podium to his pocket and gouged its nails into flesh, welts forming on top of already-present bruises.

He cleared his throat again, blinking harshly, “But even if that were true, that you have doomed me, my love, then please: let me be doomed. The truth is that I am doomed. I am condemned by the shade of your eyes, by the strong elegance of your wrists, and the way your head tilts when you focus that I’ve never told you about.

I am doomed by the sinuous-sinful curve of your lips and your waist, by the crinkles caused by your breathtaking smile, and by the shade of reddish-orange on your teeth when you consume me. I am stained by these things, and for that, I am doomed.”

Sam's fingernails were digging into his skin through his pocket, but he still had to pause to sniffle off to the side, hopefully out of the range of the microphone. But the movement of his head let his peripherals sweep over the crowd and, there- the feeling from before was back, or maybe it was just stronger, now, never having left.

The feeling that he was being watched, but not just by anyone. It was a feeling he’d memorized during late nights with the lights out, not seeing but nevertheless knowing that Dean was watching him, staring at him, in the dark. And that’s what it felt like, now, but that’s impossible… right?

He continued, “I am stained by our sweetness, and so are you. We are stained and left wanting, always wanting, because there is no sweetness that’s ever sufficient to leave us sated, never to be needed again. For that, there is no sweetness that’s ever sufficient, because it comes as if on a loan, ripped away at a moment’s notice. Re-possessed with an interest rate that leaves us desolate and bereft.”

His eyes were tearing up actively by then, and he knew it, but he couldn’t spare the thought to worry about it. Not while he was overwhelmed with DeanDeanDean, trying so desperately to avoid looking in that corner but- the figure ducked behind a group of people stuck close together, and wasn’t that just telling? Telling, but also heartbreaking, because,

He won’t answer a fucking phone call, but he’ll haul ass across the country in two days to come see me read some half-assed prose?

Sam regularly tracked Dean’s phone, see, so he knew where he was two days ago: middle-of-nowhere Indiana. How the hell he had heard about Sam’s current predicament? Sam couldn’t even begin to guess. But he’d learned of it, somehow, and had driven thirty-four out of the last forty-eight hours to get here and watch Sam fall apart on a sound stage, California-tanned cheeks lit up in the golden evening light and soon to be glistening with tears that he couldn’t seem to stop from forming.

There’s no way he doesn’t know this is about him. Fuck. It’s Dean, he’s here, and he’s hearing me turn whatever the fuck we had together into this flowery, perfume-tinted crap. Fuck.

He came to see me. He’s here. Fuck.

Sam searched for Dean in the crowd without a care for the rest of his audience, voice coming out strong and clear as he spoke directly to him, suddenly bold,

“But the loan lender is you, and I, the borrower, the loan holder. The interest rate is your guilt, entwined with your ever-infuriating sense of righteousness, and you rip away the loaned-out sweetness when it starts to make too much sense.

When the sweetness starts to come too easily for your self-flagellating tastes, that’s when my payments are no longer sufficient. You rip away our sweetness and make it return to its supposedly dark source, the one you conjure up for it in your mind.”

Sam blinked tears out of his eyes and they rolled down his cheeks, but just he didn’t care.

Dean stood frozen, mouth open and tears of his own making his eyes turn that same puffy shade of pink that it always did. His left hand was rubbing over his bracelet, on the same wrist as always, mirroring the one on Sam’s own wrist. Unsubtly, Sam reached over to shrug up his sleeve and reveal the black bracelet he also wore.

More glimpses of memories, Right hand reaching out to right hand, clasping awkwardly between them but it felt right, so right, to see the claim they’d put on each other stated so loudly, stark black lines so obvious across their wrists.

Dean’s golden amulet gleaming in the light, dragging across Sam’s chest as Dean stayed above him, so deep inside Sam that he swore he could taste it. He shivered at the cold touch of the metal, but all he could feel was warm.

They were holding each other’s gaze, now, and Sam’s face was twisting up as he tried desperately to choke out the next words, tried to reach out with his brain waves to shove them into Dean’s own skull, to make him understand,

“But-” he sniffled again, into the mic this time, “But as for me, in the end, I don’t care where our sweetness has been, within the depths of your mind. I don’t care what bitter road it’s had to travel, through the muck and the mire of your unfounded shame, your self-made sorrows and imaginary transgressions.”

Sam was one step away from weeping at that point, voice strangled and cracking intermittently as it rose in pitch, tears streaming all ugly down his reddened face, roughly scrubbed away by a stray hand. This was the most direct Sam had ever been with Dean, a lifetime of silent looks and unspoken words suddenly torn wide open; his ugly, accusatory feelings laid bare, but mixed in with forgiveness, and with yearning for a reunion that Sam knew was never going to happen.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

Dean looked gutted, and it twisted up Sam’s own insides even more in response. He was clutching his bracelet-ed wrist tightly to his stomach, twisting the strands of it between his fingers in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was shaped with that familiar, guilt-ridden sadness, the set of his shoulders belying his age, making his 22-years-young appear suddenly ancient.

All the responsibility and burdens of a brother, a boyfriend, and a parent- a mother, wrapped up onto one person’s shoulders. Sam could only imagine how heavy it was.

“Because oh, my sweetness - and that is what you are, what you have been this whole time - when the sweetness finally returns, when you have come back to me, I don’t care how long I’ve been in its absence, or rather in your absence.”

Sam could just barely make out the tempo of the tears streaming down Dean’s face as they fell, though he wasn’t sure if he could actually see them, or if he just knew the rhythm of Dean’s anguish better than his own heartbeat.

Dean was a boy full of a sadness that was forced to stagnate, forced to fester and rot inside him, never to be allowed out. The rot was pouring down his face from where he stood in the crowd. Sam thought he’d never looked more beautiful than how he looked right now, back in Sam’s life after the longest time they’d ever spent apart.

“I don’t care what bitter road you’ve traveled to come back so far, to taste so good. It’s okay, it’s alright! Please, my love: lower your hackles, you’re on that bitter road no longer. It’s okay, and I don’t care, I’ve never cared, because in the end you come back, and for all of your travels, you never fail to taste so, so good.”

Sam fell silent and stepped back from the mic, smiling that sheepishly awkward, too-dimpled smile of acknowledgement and faux-gratitude to the crowd to signify his conclusion, never quite taking his eyes off Dean even as the crowd hesitantly-to-enthusiastically applauded his work.

Then Sam blinked, and Dean was gone.

#3k+ words #OH btw #this was also inspired by the 10 things i hate about you poetry scene... y'all know the one #just fyi #(#spn #sam winchester #wincest #stanford era #sweetness by stephen dunn #ro writing tag #)

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sadcupcake · 4 months ago

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Winchester in Mystic Falls Part 5

So far tailing Elena and her friends has been entertaining to say the least. I've learned that she's still friends with Bonnie and Caroline. Bonnie was never cruel to me, she just ignored me like everyone else in town did. Caroline on the other hand was right there with Elena. They both tortured me my entire childhood. Most of it was emotional, the name calling, making everyone in my life ignore me and pretend that I didn't exist. Sometimes though they would go on some sort of power trip and hurt me. Looking back on that now I remember being so scared of them both, but now they look like weak little dolls in my eyes. What they put me through made me who I am today, it set me down a path to meet my brothers and for that I am grateful to them.

It doesn't surprise me that the three girls are still friends, just like it didn't surprise me when I learned Bonnie was a witch or that Caroline got turned into a vampire. What did surprise me was the fact that Elena is a doppelganger. Apparently it was one of Elena's doppelgangers that turned Caroline. Another interesting thing I learned was that the originals where in town. Sam and Dean learned about how vampires came to be when they captured one and had a little chat. That vamp was about 900 years old so they still knew the stories of the originals, it even claimed to be turned by one. I had yet to see one running around town but from what I've gathered they came here to sacrifice my sister to break a curse. If I had to take an educated guess it would be the curse placed on the hybrid.

If it really is the originals in town then I really need to hit the books to find something to kill them with. All of the lore I've read up to now had never mentioned a way to kill an original. As far as I know they are truly Immortal. Maybe I could just kill all the non original vampires in town and then hightail it out of here before they get wind of a hunter. Lets be honest I'm going to end up dead by the end of all of this.

I haven't talked to Elena since I got interrupted before I was able to have a little chat with her. I assume she's told her little boyfriends about what happened by now, so me getting within 10 feet of her again is out of the question. So making a scene in public is now my only option to find out what she knows. This whole thing is getting tiresome already. If it weren't for the innocent people dying I'd cut my loses by now. But I am a Winchester and Winchesters never back down from anything. Hell not even from the actual devil, and the Mikaelsons are no Lucifer.

getting back to my hotel room I get comfy on the bed with my laptop, if I'm going to find anyway to kill the originals I have to channel my inner Sam. Full on research mode. After hours of sitting and looking at the computer screen I've come up with one possible lead, one impossible lead. White oak. It's almost too good to be true but It's all I got. Some hunter in New Orleans had a story passed down generations in his family. Apparently the only thing that could stop an original was an original themselves, or a weapon one of them possessed. A dagger dipped in White oak ash. If the ash from this tree could put them to sleep imagine what the real thing could do. Unfortunately all records of the white oak tree say that it went extinct centuries ago. Another dead end.

Deciding that I've had enough of the headache that is research I get dressed and head back to the Grill. I'm starving, one of the things Dean and I have in common is our appetite. I think he was secretly happy to have someone around to out vote Sam on where we'd eat. Maybe if I'm lucky I can run into Elena again there, kill two birds with one stone.

When I walk into the Grill I spot them right away. Elena and her little gang looking directly at me. By the look on dumb and dumbers faces she defiently told them what I was going to do to her. I sit down at a table ignoreing them the best I can until I can at least have somthing to eat. While I'm waiting on my food I notice two guys sitting at the bar again. Talk about deja vu. The vibe coming from these two is defiently dangerous but there's something else I can't quite place, It's like a comfort almost. Just as I'm about to stand up to go to them I get snapped out of my daze by my food arriving.

While I'm enjoying my food I start to notice everyone slowly leave the Grill. EVeryone apart from Elena and her friends, and the two guys at the bar who have now turned around to face us obiously interested in what is happeneing. I look up from my food to see my sister and her friends walking over to my table. Bonnie and Caroline are behing my sister and her two boyfriends are infront of her. Anyone would think shes the president with the way they protect her.

"How can I help you Elena, would you like some of my fries?" I question her, I always have to have the first and last words. Something Sam and Dean both love and hate about me.

"No I don't want you're fries Y/N, I want to know why you're in town and how you know about vampires" Elena says, she looks so serious I burst out laughing.

"Sorry, you acctually think I'll just tell you because you asked. Wow you really have no idea who I am now do you Elena?" I stand up as I ask my question getting ready for a fight. By the way everyone clings to Elena's side I guess they are too.

#klaus mikaelson x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernaturalxtvd

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casxsunshine · 1 year ago

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They're lying in bed; it's half-dark in the bedroom. Dean thinks he could spend eternity like this: with Castiel's chest pressed against his back (yes, Dean's a little spoon, and he's not ashamed), with Cas' arms wrapped around him, like he's the most precious thing in the whole universe.

In the warmth. Safe.

Dean lounges in Castiel's arms for a bit longer, feeling the angel's breath on his neck. Then he turns to face Cas.

“Why do you love me?” Dean asks. He can't help but asks, because he's Dean Winchester, the I-can't-believe-that-you-love-me guy. He needs to know. He closes his eyes and runs his nose lightly over Cas'. This tenderness is small and intimate at the same time. “There are millions of people in the world and you chose me anyway.”

“Dean,” Castiel mutters, and Dean can feel the angel's warm breath settling on his lips.

“Tell me,” he asks without opening his eyes. “I want to know. Please.”

Castiel is silent for a while, making small circles on Dean's back.

“I remember saving your soul from Hell.” He says eventually. “There, in the darkness and terror of the underworld, I held your soul in my hands like a little kitten. You were covered in blood, and there was little humanity left in your eyes. But you know, your soul was still shining like a little sun, despite the nightmare around you. And you thought you deserved to be there. That selling your soul for your brother was the only right thing to do. You fought back in the beginning when I carried you up to the light. You growled and cussed and scratched, but then you... You went quiet, as if you realized something, and you... You cried. You cried and you curled up in my arms, so small and so... Brave. And I guess I somehow already knew then that we are bonded.”

Dean listens, holding his breath. He still hasn't opened his eyes.

“And when I reassembled you, when I placed each of your freckles in its place, I... I didn't understand feelings yet, didn't know anything about it, but I realize now that even then I hoped deep down inside that I would be able to touch your body again someday.”

Castiel puts his palm on Dean's chest, right where Dean's heart is beating loudly, and kisses his chin softly.

“I love everything about you, Dean. People sometimes say that to love is to ignore the worst aspects of a person and exalt their best. But I... I love you for everything. For all the light in you and all the dark in you - though there's much, much more light in you, even if you try so hard to deny it. You care about your family, you care about the world. You have so much love in you, my little human, and you spend it so generously on everyone but yourself that I can't help but love you for it.”

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #dean is bi #castiel is gay #i love destiel #i will never stop thinking or writing about how bright dean's soul is and how cas loves it #cas carrying dean's soul in his hands is my favorite thing #fanfic #drabble #destiel fic

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allthesmutl0vers · 4 months ago

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The Fate Of Us- Chapter Seven

MDNI, 18+

Pairing: Sam/Reader, Dean/Reader, Castiel/Reader, Dean/Castiel and Coming Soon: Dean/Sam, Castiel/Sam

Chapter Seven

Dean

“So yeah, that’s basically everything,” y/n finishes explaining to Cas and Jack. We’re sitting around the living room, full from the breakfast Bobby got.

Cas looks over at me, and I raise an eyebrow and shrug. I didn’t believe it at first, either, so I don’t blame him.

“Wow, so… I became God?” Jack asks, his voice tinged with disbelief and excitement.

“Yeah, you took his powers and became a great God.” She says sweetly, sitting between me and Sam and looking at Jack across the coffee table as he sits next to Cas.

“If Jack is such a good God, then why would we want to change that?” Cas asks her, his tone stiff and wary. He can be an ass when he first meets people, and I feel y/n stiffen beside me.

Sam answers before she can, placing a hand on her knee and leaning forward. “Nobody is saying that’s for sure what’s going to happen; all she’s saying is that God asked her to help him be better,” Sam defends her.

I watch as she looks up at my brother with a small smile on her face. Maybe I should’ve made my move sooner. Maybe then it’d be my hand on her knee and not his.

When I walked into her bedroom, I could feel the energy between them. Her eyes were slightly hooded as her lips grazed his. The sight made a wave of jealousy course through my veins. I want her too, be I guess fair is fair. I can get my fill anytime, and I do. But something inside of me feels like with her, I’d never want another woman again.

You know what? Two can play that game, Sammy.

“I’m just saying, how do we know she’s telling the truth?” Cas asks, leaning his elbows on his knees.

I put my arm over her shoulders on the back of the couch. “Why doesn’t she call him up,” I look down at y/n at my side. “You can do that, can’t you princess?” I wink, watching a blush rise to her cheeks and her expression fluster.

“Oh… Um, I don’t know. I, I haven’t tried,” she says sheepishly. Sam throws me a look over her shoulder, but it’s not jealousy like I was expecting. Instead, he smiles, his eyebrows raising.

I turn my attention back to the girl between us on the couch as she fiddles with her fingers in her lap. I decide to push it a little further, and I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you pray to him?”

Y/n

Pray to God? I guess I should try. What’s going on with Dean, though? He seemed so mad when he came into my bedroom, essentially walking in on me and Sam. And now, he is being so touchy. The air feels thick between us, and I can’t bear to face Sam, scared that he will be mad now.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, sending out a silent prayer.

Chuck?

I’m not sure if I’m doing this right, and I’m not sure if you’re watching what’s happening, but… Can you come? I mean, Castiel is on the fence about trusting me. I want to help you be a better God.

I need you to answer and come here to prove I’m telling the truth.

You wanted to show me you could be a better God. Here’s an opportunity.

I’m not really sure how to end this prayer, but I guess amen?

Yeah, that sounds good.

Amen.

“The ‘amen’ was a little unnecessary, but good job, y/n,” Chuck says, appearing suddenly at the end of the couch.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes next to me,

“You weren’t kidding. It really is Chuck,” Sam says, looking at me.

Castiel stands and faces Chuck. “Father,” he says flatly.

Chuck laughs and pats Castiel on the shoulder. “Chuck is fine, Castiel. I haven’t been a very good father,” he turns to Jack, and Castiel instantly stands in front of him. Chuck seems to understand his protectiveness and takes a step back. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You look very much like your mother.” Chuck smiles.

“You know my mom?” Jack asks, his voice laced with innocence.

Chuck smiles and nods. “I do, and I want you to know she is very happy in her heaven. She told me you were the best thing she ever did,” Chuck says softly.

I watch as Jack seems to choke back a tear. “Thank you,” he responds softly.

Chuck nods once and turns back to the rest of us, his gaze landing on me. “You prayed?” Chuck asks.

I nod. “Yes, Castiel is struggling to believe that you brought me here with good intentions,” I briefly explain, trying not to throw Castiel completely under the bus.

Chuck smiles and moves to speak to us all at once. “It’s true. I did bring y/n here. Although you don’t remember, I wasn’t a good God the last time around, which ultimately led me to my death. Fully deserved,” Chuck raises his hands. “But I want to be better. I want to follow the path that Jack chose as God instead.”

“And what was that path exactly?” Sam asks as his hand still rests on my knee.

“Free will,” Chuck says plainly. “I want you all to have the freedom to make your own choices, your own mistakes. No more meddling from me.”

“Right. And you’re just doing this out of what? Compassion? Because it doesn’t seem like you’ve had that a lot in the past. We’ve lost people, Chuck. Good people. People who didn’t deserve to die. And it seems like you just snuffed them out,” Dean says with a tinge of anger in his voice.

Chuck nods once. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Dean. I did end the lives of those you hold close. But I want to make it right,” Chuck says sincerely.

“Yeah? Then bring them back. Bring them all back,” Dean says, his hand clenching the couch behind me as I feel his anger rising.

I don’t know how else to help at that moment, so I do what I feel is right. I place my hand gently on Dean’s thigh just above his knee. I look at Sam, hoping he won’t be angry, and to my surprise, he isn’t. Instead, he nods his head once and gives me a soft smile, which I return before turning back to Dean.

“I wish I could, Dean, I really do. But I can’t bring back everyone. But what I can do, is I can bring back three. Three people,” Chuck holds up three fingers on his hand. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take your time and think about it. Pray, and I promise I will answer.”

“Thought you said you were done meddling,” Castiel says from the side.

Chuck sighs and turns to face Castiel who is back sitting down next to Jack. “I think after everything you all have been through, a few exceptions are allowed. Castiel, I understand that you feel abandoned, but I swear to you that I only have good intentions this time around,” Chuck motions to Jack. “You know as well as I do how Nephilim are perceived. But I will never do anything to harm Jack, and I won’t allow the other angels to either. As a matter of fact, I am going back to heaven. Things are a mess up there, and it’s about time I stepped back in and got everyone back on track.”

Seemingly pleased with Chuck’s explanation, Castiel nods. “My orders?”

Chuck smiles. “Take care of Jack, protect the ones you love, and be happy. You’re a good soldier, Castiel, my angel of Thursday. You do that, and your work is complete.”

Bobby clears his throat from behind his desk, finally speaking after sitting there in silence since we all came in here. “I have a question.” He says, rising from his seat.

“Of course Robert, what is it?” Chuck asks with a smile.

Bobby takes a deep breath. “Is y/n my daughter?” He asks, leaving the rest of us silent.

I bite the inside of my cheek as Sam grips my knee tighter, and Dean’s arm around my shoulder holds me tighter.

After what feels like hours, Chuck finally speaks. “Technically, she is your flesh and blood. But no, she is not your daughter.”

I feel my shoulders and chest deflate as I watch Bobby have the same reaction. His face falling breaks my heart.

“But,” Chuck speaks again. “A wise man once said that family doesn’t end in blood, and it doesn’t start there either,” Chuck moves to Bobby’s side and places a hand on his shoulder. “Whether she is or isn’t your daughter is something for the two of you to define.”

Bobby nods and looks at me. I give him a smile, which he returns softly.

Chuck moves back to the center of the room. “Any other questions for now?” Chuck asks us all. Everyone looks at each other for a moment before we face him again and shake our heads no. “Alright then, I’ll be heading out. If you need me, just send a prayer.” Chuck says with a smile before saluting with a smile and disappearing in a cloud of shimmery white vapor that vanishes behind him just a moment later.

Nobody really knows what to say at first. It’s as if reality hasn’t really quite set in yet. The minutes seem to tick by before Castiel is the first one to finally speak.

“I apologize, y/n,” he says, looking up at me from his seat across from me.

I faintly smile, trying to ease the tension. His crystal blue eyes feel as if they bore into mine, waiting for me to accept his apology. “It’s okay,” I respond softly. I understand why he didn’t trust me at first, even if it hurt. Dean was the same way when I first met him, and now… I don’t even know what his feelings are.

I look sideways at Dean, scrolling through his phone. His arm still draped behind me on the couch. Is this him flirting? Is he just being friendly? Or something else entirely?

Sam and I almost kissed. Maybe it would’ve even gone further if Dean hadn’t walked in. Did I want it to go further? Of course I did; I still do. But now I feel tugged toward Dean, too. It’s too much. I need some air.

Excusing myself, I walk out the front door. I glimpse at the wooden rocking chairs and small wooden table on the porch where Sam and I have made a routine of sitting at in the mornings.

Not wanting to delve into the memories, I keep walking. The garage on the right side of the property seems as good a place as any to seek some solitude. The metal hinges creak as I push open the door. The scent of dust and motor oil seeps into my nose. From what Bobby told me, this place hasn’t really been used since the salvage yard was bustling with business. Back before his wife died, when he started to hunt.

Was his wife my mom? Chuck said I was his flesh and blood, but he didn’t say anything about his wife. Should I even ask?

No, probably not. Bobby doesn’t talk about her, and if I’ve learned one thing in my twenty-three years of life, it’s if someone doesn’t tell, don’t ask.

In the back corner, I find a table with tools that have not been used in years. The thin layer of rust under the thicker layer of dust proves that.

Picking up a wrench, I examine it. I wipe the layer of dust off with my thumb, not thinking. Not wanting to think. Part of me wishes to just go back to my world where I’m safe and alone in my one-story cottage-style home. Alone with my things, my books, my novels that don’t sell very well. Alone with a father who essentially disowned me for wanting to be my own person.

I know that millions of fans would kill to be in my shoes right now. Just happy to be in the world they found solace in when ours got too overwhelming. But that’s exactly how I feel right now. Overwhelmed. Different.

I can’t say that I don’t feel welcome because I do. So why can’t I just be happy? Why can’t I just be grateful?

“Are you okay?”

I jump. I didn’t hear anyone else come inside. I turn around, still holding the wrench in my fingers. It’s Jack. The light peaking through the cracks of the wooden walls illuminates his features as he steps closer, carefully, as if I’m a wounded animal backed into a corner. Ready to strike.

Maybe I am a wounded animal. Maybe I’m broken.

“I’m fine, Jack,” I lie, hoping he will just leave me alone.

Jack takes another step closer. “You’re not broken, y/n,” he says calmly. “And you’re not a wounded animal.”

How did he know that’s what I’m thinking? I shake my head, looking down at the wrench in my fingers. “How do you know?” I ask, unable to stop the words as they come out.

Jack sighs softly. “Because what you’re feeling right now is exactly how I felt when I was born. Lost, like you don’t belong,” he says, his voice tinged with a bit of hurt. “We’ve all felt that way at one point or another. But you do belong here.”

My eyes singe with the threat of tears that want to fall. I blink them back, clearing my throat to get rid of the lump that formed there. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I say softly, still looking at the wrench, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“What do you mean?” Jack asks, moving to stand in front of me.

I take a breath, trying to collect myself. I finally meet his golden eyes. “I know I’m here to help Chuck be better, but I don’t know how to do that. He didn’t give me any instructions. I don’t know why I’m still here,” I look around the garage. “If he wanted me in this world, he could’ve dropped me anywhere. But he took me here.”

Jack seems to think over my words for a moment before he finally speaks. “Maybe he brought you here, to us, because he knows how much you could help. Here.” He says, taking the wrench from my grasp.

I can’t help the scoff that escapes my throat. “They don’t need my help.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, shakes his head, and laughs softly. “You think so?” He asks, looking into my eyes. When I don’t respond, he continues. “Because I haven’t seen, or heard, Dean be this happy, ever. I’ve never seen Sam connect with someone the way he does with you,” his voice falters for a moment. “I’ve never seen Cas look at someone the way he does with you.”

I’m lost for words. How does he notice these things? How did I miss them?

Without asking, Jack pulls me into his arms. He hugs me tenderly, rubbing his hand between my shoulder blades. “You belong here, y/n. Even if you can’t see it yet.”

His voice is gentle and calm, and his touch is loving and platonic. Jack doesn’t expect me to react. He just does what he feels is right. Like a friend you’ve known since childhood, you feel the kind of love that isn’t romantic in any way but just as strong.

And that is something worth fighting for.

Part Eight

#spn spicy fanfic #spnfandom #lemon #sam/dean #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #sam and dean #sam winchester #samdean #castiel #destiel #team free will

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zmediaoutlet · 1 year ago

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An hour. The ruler of hell and the most powerful witch in the world and an angel that’s been a god and the literal creator of the universe waiting in the wings and with all that, Sam’s brother says, “You can give me five minutes, huh? Take a number,” and grabs Sam by the elbow and walks them both out into the bunker halls and into a room and slams the door, and holds his hand against it like all that power could be kept out, and blows out a breath, and says, “God.”

An hour, ticking down. Sam stands still with Dean’s fist still wrapped in his sleeve and takes him in. His head bent, his eyes tight at the corners with the pain of whatever’s happening. His body seared by power. Not the first time. Not the—

“God,” Dean mutters, and then shakes his head. “Gotta stop saying that when he’s right down the hall.” He puts his fingertips to his chest. Grimaces. “Guess that won’t be a problem, huh?”

Sam should say something. Nothing’s adequate.

This is one of the spare rooms. An unmade bed and a bare desk. Dean made a crack when they’d moved in, after things were better between them, about how they ought to christen every room in the place, complete with waggling eyebrows and a significant glance below Sam’s belt. They didn’t make it very far, and never made it in here. It smells like dust, basements. Unliving things.

“Sammy,” Dean says. “Sam. I’ve got to.”

Sam closes his eyes, reflex, and then opens them again immediately because he isn’t—he can’t check out, he doesn’t want to, he needs every second of this that he can get. When they have time, for once. When they at least got some warning.

Dean’s watching him. Not nervous. Of course, he wouldn’t be. He just looks sort of—tired, and like it hurts, in that way Dean looks where he knows it’s going to hurt for a long time and he’s just got to deal with it until he can put it down. Like he’s waiting for Sam to catch up, but that’s not fair because Sam gets it. He doesn’t have to like it.

“You here?” Dean says, and Sam says, “Where else would I be.” Dean nods, this little jerky thing, and then pulls Sam in by his jacket and puts his face in Sam’s throat and his grip hurts on Sam’s ribs, his hip, the middle of his spine. Pulling in with nowhere to settle. Sam curls in—over Dean’s shoulder, and it feels strange, when Dean’s always trying to reach up and pull Sam down to him like Sam’s still actually the little brother. He holds the back of Dean’s neck. His skin hot with the trapped power but not so much that Sam can’t touch him.

“I’ve got to,” Dean says. Very quiet, warm against Sam’s collarbone. Sam knows but he can’t—he puts his lips to the top of Dean’s head, smells the long day there. Sweat and that hair wax crap he pretends he doesn’t use and the shampoo they’ve been buying forever and his skin. Salt, warm. This last year, they’ve shared beds about half the time, and Sam’s met the day in sheets that smelled just like this, and had Dean’s skin under his hands just like this, and he’d thought—if it were like this, for what days they had left, he could handle just about anything. He could manage.

Through the door, from somewhere down the hall: Time to go, hero.

“Why did we invite Crowley,” Dean mutters.

He pushes back from Sam’s chest. Still in pain and not complaining. Settled, that way he always is when there’s a job to do and he’s the one to do it and there’s no other choice, so it might as well get done. When Sam was a kid it made him furious. Now there’s just this—tight horror in his chest with nowhere to go. An hour, less now, and there’s nothing—he can’t say anything and he can’t do anything and he doesn’t know, after, what life will be worth living, in this place that smells like dust.

“Guess I’ll drive,” Dean says. His cheek sucks in on one side and then he gives Sam this one-sided smile. One of those things Sam’ll remember on his deathbed. Dean, trying to make it okay.

“Could let Cas try,” Sam says. It cracks a little but so what.

Dean scoffs. “Not even when I’m dead,” he says, and prods Sam in the chest. “Making that part of the will. Cas is not allowed behind the wheel, okay. You guard those keys with your life.”

“Understood,” Sam says. Dean smiles at him, barely wider. Then Dean reaches up on his toes and kisses him hard and fast and painful with their teeth pressing through their lips, for two searing seconds that end when Dean drops back to his heels and lets out a quick breath and opens the door and shouts down the hall, “All right, all right, let’s get this over with,” and Sam’s lips throb, and Dean disappears through the doorway into the bright hall, and the bottom drops out of Sam’s chest. He understands. How impossible the next fifty-five minutes will be. How he will have to live through them, anyway. And then, after that—

#my writing #happy wincest wednesday #ww lottery #a random ficlet for episode 241 #that day was fuckin PACKED with activity #they can take five minutes

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metalmonki · 7 months ago

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Supernatural Hunting Living and Love Part 7

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

2.5k word count

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings mentions of blood

Original / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

I slept for ages. If I went off the alarm clock next to my bed, I had slept for well over 24 hours. I probably would have slept longer but the sound of my sliding door opening followed by Deans voice woke me right up.

“What do you have there Sammy?” Dean asked.

“Y/N hasn’t eaten in 2 days, so I was just bringing her something” Sam said from directly outside the door. My stomach growled at the thought of food. It was true I hadn’t eaten anything since Theresa’s house.

“Oh, so your best buddies now?” Dean asked.

“What is your problem?” Sam sounded like he was getting angry with his older brother.

“Nothing it’s just interesting that the girl you had a huge problem with your suddenly being super nice to”.

“Yeah, well you love her Dean and I’m not going to change your mind on that, so I figured it’s better I just accept it then keep this stupid fight going” Sam sighed.

“Turns out it was just a phase” I could hear Deans smirk in his voice.

“Dean? Are you…”

“Sam seriously guess I was just thinkin’ to much with my downstairs brain” Dean laughed.

“Your sure?” Sam asked voice laced with uncertainty.

“Yes, I’m sure”

My heart broke with each word Dean spoke. If he truly felt that way, then why was he still hear looking after me? Why hadn’t they just left when they dropped me here? I heard Sam opening the door again, so I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I heard Sam approach and the mattress beside me sink as he sat on the edge of the bed. Sam placed a hand on my shoulder and began to softly shake me. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head, pretending to have been woken up.

“Sorry you’ve been asleep for ages, and you need to eat something” Sam chuckled holding out the food.

“Thanks Sam” I tried to sit up, failing miserably “Uh a little help” I giggled nervously.

Sam chuckled before placing the food on my bedside table. He slipped an arm around my waist and hoisted me into a sitting position. He tucked two pillows from my bed behind my back to keep me comfortable. I grabbed the food from the bedside table and began tucking in. It was anything special literally tomato soup from a can with a couple of toasted cheese sandwiches. But still I dug into it like it was the last meal I would ever eat. Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“Okay well I’m going to head out for a little while”.

“Going to see Theresa?” I gave a cheeky smile.

“Uh yeah” Sam smiled rubbing the back of his neck.

I waved my hand at the door dismissing him. Sam just chuckled and put his hands up walking out the door. I sat in silence eating my soup and watching the door half wanting Dean to come in and half wanting him to stay away. Once I had finished eating, I placed the tray with bowl and plate back on the bedside table. It was in that moment that I realised I desperately needed to go to the toilet. Not wanting to call Dean in I tried to sit myself on the side of the bed. It took a lot of strength to lift myself on one hand given that even the smallest amount of pressure on my arm pulled the stitches that lined it causing me to grit my teeth in pain. By the time I have myself seated on the edge of the bed fresh blood had begun to bleed through the once white bandage that circled it. I forced myself to stand wobbling on the thick cast around my foot and ankle. Luckly the cast stopped before my knee making it slightly easier to walk. With the assistance of the bedside table and the wardrobe that lined the wall between the bed and the bathroom door I was able to hobble my way to the bathroom. I didn’t even think when I finished on the toilet, I flushed and wobbled over to the sink to wash my non-cast covered hand. The whole time I could hear Dean banging on the door and jiggling the handle asking to be let in. I sighed, looked at myself in the mirror and flicked the lock on the door allowing him to come in.

“What do you think your doing?” Dean looked furious.

“I’m going to the toilet” I motioned to the toilet.

“You should have asked for help” Dean moved to grab my arm.

“I’m not helpless Dean, I can get from my bed to my bathroom” I emphasized my. Dean looked down rubbing his forehead. He went to speak but let out a small gasp instead.

“You’ve busted your stitches” Dean gently grabbed my arm.

“I’ll live” I pulled my arm away. I made my way back to my bed while Dean stormed back out into the kitchen cursing under his breath. I got back into my bed without any trouble. I was sat on the edge of the bed deciding what to do when Dean came back, first aid kit in hand.

“Let me see your arm” Dean grumbled.

“What are you going to do? Play doctor?” I smirked at him.

“I know a little something about stitching wounds” Dean smiled at me “So will you let me see your arm please?”

I held my arm out to him. He sat beside me and slowly began up wrapping it being care not to pull on the sensitive wound below. Once my arm was completely unwrapped Dean laid it across his lap. He opened the first aid kid which I recognised as the one from the boot of the Impala. He pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a needle and sutures. He poured a small amount of the rubbing alcohol over the wound. He pulled out the torn stitches and sewed in the new stitches. I could see the look on Deans face, it was a face I had seen multiple times.

“I know that look” I looked over to a photo on my tv unit.

“What look?” Dean looked up at me briefly.

“Look at the freak” I looked back to Dean “It’s okay I’m use to it, hell the girls at school use to cut me just to see how quickly the cuts would heal” I shrugged.

“I’m sorry” Dean never took his eyes off my arm.

“Knowing what you know, would you say I could be one of the things we hunt?”

“Knowing what I know? Not a chance. Could you be some sort of medical anomaly? Definitely” Dean smiled.

“Oh, anomaly big word for you Winchester” I laughed at him.

Dean finished restitching my arm. He took a new bandage from the first aid kit and wrapped my arm up again.

“There all better” Dean smiled at me. “Now can I help you with anything or are you going to stay in bed”.

“Can you help me over to the computer?” I motioned to the computer in the corner. Dean scooped me up in his arms causing me to squeal. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep myself from falling. Dean just chuckled and walked over to the computer desk. He placed me on the computer chair and swung me around to face the computer.

“So, what are you going to do?” Dean leaning on the desk next to me.

“I’m stuck here your not so I figured I’ll send you to a couple other cases in the area” I booted up the computer and logged in. I explained to Dean that I had started keeping an online journal that only I could access. Having it online made it easier to keep cases sorted and anything I learnt along the way a key stroke away. A lot easier then that paper journal they carried around. I pulled up a case from just over an hour away. Easy to drive there and back in a day, Vamp nest. I had it lined up as a quick clear out on my way to the big vamps nest up north. Dean seemed impressed, he smirked at me and said something about hitting the road. He left the room with a final warning for me to take it easy. I heard the jingle of keys and the sound of the external sliding door. I turned back to the computer and started looked for other cases to keep Dean busy and out of my house.

And so, the next 2 weeks went by like this, me presenting Dean with a new case the second he was in the door, Sam going back and forth between helping Dean and spending time with Theresa. I just wanted to get back on my feet and away from the Winchesters. Sam and Dean would often talk at night as they were getting ready for bed in the lounge room. More of the same, Dean was sure he had no feelings for me, Sam was sure he was lying. Sam spoke of the spark he had with Theresa and how he was thinking about asking her to return to the US with them. Dean had now taken Sams position and was insistent it was a bad idea. There were times where Dean was around, and I would see him looking at me. He had this look, it was as if he was hurt over what happened, as if he was blaming himself. He was at fault in one way, but he wasn’t completely in the wrong. I had chosen to go back to the pool, I knew I was getting myself into trouble, but I did it anyway it wasn’t all his fault. If the boys weren’t here, I probably still would have gone back to the pool.

When the day finally came around for me to go back to the hospital to see how things were healing, I was nervous. Part of me hoped everything was healed so they boys could just leave but at the same time I hoped I had a little longer left to heal so I could keep the boys around for a little longer. As the days dragged, I felt myself fighting between wanting them to go and wanting to plead with them to take me with them. Something felt right with them, felt right with Dean. Dean pulled us up in front of the hospital and went to get a wheelchair. Sam had come with us for whatever reason. He stood by my open door and told me all about the things he done with Theresa. He had been taking the opportunity to live a normal life, he had taken her to the movies, they’d played at the arcade, everything a normal couple would do. I was happy for him. Dean came back with a wheelchair and insisted on lifting me from the car to the wheelchair. He then pushed me into the hospital while his brother followed behind. I directed him to the outpatient care clinic. We checked in with the receptionist and took a seat in the waiting room. We didn’t have to wait long at all. A doctor came and had a nurse roll me away to x-ray. He made the boys waiting for me in the waiting room. Once the x-rays where taken, the nurse rolled me back into the waiting room and told me that the doctor would be back with me shortly.

It took the doctor 45 minutes to get back to me. Dean rolled me into the doctor’s office taking a seat beside me while Sam went and stood in the corner. The doctor glanced between the two brothers before looking at me.

“Well I don’t know what to tell you but if I had to quess I would say your injuries where not as bad as the ER doctor and surgeon first thought” The doctor turned on his chair to face me.

“What makes you say that?” Sam jumped in before anyone could say anything else.

“The x-rays show that the ankle and wrist fractures are well on their way to healing something I wouldn’t expect to see if they were in fact fractured as bad as the original x-rays show” The doctor looked to Sam. Sam shot a concerned look at Dean. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“So what does that mean for me?”

“I’d say in 4 weeks we could look at taking both casts off, of course I would want to do another x-ray first”.

“Wow that’s great news” I smiled.

“For now I would like to check your stitches then you can be on your way”

I nodded and held my arm out to the doctor. He slowly set about unwrapping my arm. When the bandage was completely off he pulled back the gauze. A surprised gasp left his lips and his eyes went wide.

“I, uh, I can take the stitches out if you want the cut looks almost completely healed so I don’t think you need to keep them in” The doctor tried to cover his surprise. I nodded and the doctor went around collecting what he needed to remove the stitches. Sam excused himself from the room. I looked over at Dean knowing exactly what Sam was thinking in that moment. Dean said he would go talk to him and left too leaving me with the doctor who had returned and started removing stitches from my arm.

…

I followed Sam out of the hospital back to the car where I found him rummaging through the boot. He stood up and looked at me holding Dads Journal.

“Sam it’s not what you think” I said walking over and taking the Journal.

“Then what Dean, we both know she shouldn’t have healed that quickly” Sam pointed a finger back at the hospital.

“If I tell you, you cannot tell her”.

“Tell me what? What do you know?” Sam crossed his arms across his chest.

“She’s part Angel Sammy”.

“Part Angel?” Sam chuckled and looked away from me.

“I’m serious”.

“Do you have any idea how crazy you sound…”.

…

“Do you have any idea how crazy you sound…” Sam spotted me and stopped talking. He nodded at me and moved to climb into the Impala.

“What’s his problem?” I asked hobbling up beside Dean on a crutch I was now able to use.

“Just freaked out by your fast healing is all” Dean smiled at me.

“You told him I’m not anything you hunt?” I asked.

“Yeah, not sure he believes me thought but he’ll get over it” Dean open the door and climbed into the Impala. I opened the backdoor of the Impala and slid in tossing the crutch on the floor. At least I didn’t have to wait to much longer to be rid of the Winchesters.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #castiel #castiel x reader #Sam Winchester x reader #Sam x reader

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