#he needs to care about dean no matter what the cost is. he needs to love him again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

floralscented · 2 months ago

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dean winchester x angel!reader — it's okay, it's okay.

or, dean breaks everything he touches, including himself. or, the first time dove has to use her grace.

cw, angst, injured!dean, he walks you through it kind of, dean whimpers but at what cost

word count: 2k

notes, this doesn't count toward my vote. if dean x angel wins u WILL get another i am loyal to my word!! i just got this idea n needed to get it out before i forget < 3 sorry ahead of time if it is 1) sad or 2) sucks it's late ok </3

★ ˚⋆

everyone always says the same thing when the worst comes true, but it reigns true every time - this was never meant to happen.

sure, dean could have been more careful. sure, he could have spent more time worrying about his mortal, breakable body, and not the ageless angel who'd attached to his hip. he'd gotten... used to it, more than anything, because accepting it wasn't the right word.

no, he did not want you at his side at every turn. that gave him another body to fuss over, to make sure didn't get hurt, no matter the cost. even if it was irrational. but dammit, it was you.

you were resilient. he was certain you could take care of yourself, but he panicked when he saw the claw emerging from the pitch black, heading right for your direction. dean knew, logically, that you sensed it coming, that you could have protected yourself-

he took the swipe of gashes to the shoulder anyways. a long swipe. shoulder to sternum - couldn't feel it through the daze of adrenaline, but he could feel the blood. so much blood, and so close to his heart-

"dean!"

your voice pulses in his ears like its own heartbeat. is he losing consciousness? fuck.

your footsteps pound on the dusty dirt trail in the forest, running up to where he was slumped against the nearest tree. dean coughed, blood staining his bottom lip, metal and copper clashing violently on his tongue.

"hi, dove," he whispers, trying to breath life back into his voice, falling just short. "little worse for wear, aren't i?"

"now is not the time for jokes." you kneel next to him, your eyes flitting quickly over his body until they land on the wet crimson slashes across his chest. "you bleed."

his lips quirk, even as the adrenaline is wearing and he's starting to feel the stark pain of the extent of his injuries, because he can't help it. "i do bleed," he says, wincing as the huff of laughter falls out of his mouth rips at his already ripped skin. "s'what happens when you get hurt."

"why did you get hurt?" you demand, fierce and defiant even when he's facing death. good god, he adored you. "i will live. i heal. you..."

dean knew. he knew this. how did he explain this to you, when you didn't even understand what his feelings meant?

"i've heard i look pretty good covered in blood," he says instead. "that true?"

your nimble fingers clamp hard on dean's jaw, forcing him to turn and look at you. so much feist in one ageless body. "now. is not. the time."

"you're so pretty," he breathes, his eyes melting in and out of focus. "so damn pretty when you're mad at me."

your face contorts in a mix of confusion and outrage. this, he thought, is why he doesn't tell you the other things he's been dying for in his mind. as much as dean loves your furious pout, as much as he loves the way you take that damn lip between your teeth again as you think how to stop his dying, it's better to keep you at a distance.

"the bag," dean nods to the duffel he'd dropped in his haste, a couple of feet from you, "get the bag for me, sweet girl."

he can sense the why? on your lips, and smiles, just slightly, when it doesn't come. too detrimental of circumstances for you to question is every ask and call, it seems. how bittersweet it is to be a priority only when he's dying.

you clamber back over with the bag, all but dropping it on his knee in your hurry. dean didn't even tell you what to look for before you'd unzipped it and started digging. "there's bandage wrap in there, somewhere," he rasps out, nodding his head toward you, even though you're not looking at him, "need it. to stop the bleeding."

your hands are shaking. he has nothing else to look at but you - wouldn't look anywhere else regardless - but it's the first thing his eyes lock on. "hey," he says, a little more firmly, even as it makes him wince, "s'okay. it's okay."

"you are dying, and i am useless." you snatch up a small square of shiny wrapping, and he has an explanation for why, exactly, he carries condoms everywhere, but you don't even question it. he forgot that you were too focused on him to be your usual, curious self. "this? will it protect you?"

dean pauses. now is not the time, your words echo in his head, and still, he can't help it. "protects a part of me."

you scoff, and he's upset, for a second, that the joke goes over your head. another thing he should have taught you about. upset again when you the condom also goes over your head and into the dirt with your dismissive toss.

should have. how dramatic was that? already thinking in past tense, because the pain has ebbed again, and that's never good. he was relatively calm before when he could feel it, knowing that, at the very least, it meant he could feel, but-

your hands pluck out the little roll of bandage, shaking fingers tugging at the loose end and starting to unravel it. "yeah, you've got it. not useless, dove," he mumbles, shaking his head like he vehemently denies that bogus claim. "never useless."

"what do i do with it?"

dean lifts his shirt up and over again, wincing again with a deep rumbling whimper as he feels the tear again of his skin, his muscles. a wave of nausea renders him dizzy and speechless. his arms stay raised, his vision swimming.

your irritation is so evident on your face that he's certain, right then, he's never seen you so frustrated. dean wanted to ask why, especially after all of the times you've asked him that. he didn't understand your irritation with yourself. all he needed from you was to cover up the wounds so that you could heal him without risk of him bleeding out.

"you want picked up?" you ask, tilting your head in front of dean's to force his eyes to focus on you again. "now is not the time, again."

"no-" he says, lips twitching in the corners. at the very least, you were keeping him present and conscious, what with all of your adorable attitude. he licks his dry, cracked lips and tries to ignore the copper taste on his tongue. "take that end and wrap it around. like..."

dean doesn't know if you know what a vest is, or a sash, because you don't seem to know half as much as castiel does. maybe what cas meant when he brought you into the winchesters' lives was that your naivety ran so deep because you were a new angel, a fawn trying to catch its footing and stumbling along the way.

he watches as it clicks in your mind, what he means. you are so much smarter than he gives you credit for. he leans forward, mouth falling open in a shuddery, whimpering gasp. luckily, you don't stop what you're doing and ask if he's okay. your care, it seems, either doesn't extend that far, or extends farther due to the gravity of the situation.

you straddle him as you wrap the gauze around and around, and it's damn distracting, having you this close to him again. "do it until you don't see any more of the claw marks, yeah?"

your head moves in a nod but your eyes never once leave him, focused on the task at hand. winding and winding, the gauze tightening and tightening, until his chest feels stiff with it.

"s'good," he says, raising his hand to rest his fingers on your wrist. "great job, sweet girl. here-"

his fingers walk their way down your hand until he takes the roll of gauze between them, moving the strip to his teeth and tearing until it ripped free from the roll. "there we go."

again, you stare at him expectantly, only this time, he's staring right back at you with the same anticipation in his eyes. "go on, dove. do your divine thing."

a blink. a second blink. "i don't know how."

his heart, he thinks, falls down to his ass. bypasses the gaping wound in his sternum and drops.

"that would have been great to know before i took the fucking-" he can't even be mad at you. he's dizzy, starting to shiver, and yet the idea of hurting you made him feel worse than all of those things combined.

"i did not ask you to!" no, you didn't, but what was a man who was used to jumping in front of the bullets to do? "i did not ask, and you were not supposed to be stupid."

dean forces a strained smile. "sweetheart, s'kind of my thing."

you bend down, still straddling, close enough that your nose brushes his. fuck. he was going to die without knowing what it was like to close that gap. "not the time-"

"for jokes, yeah, i- i get that," he grumbles, throat thick, spluttering on a cough. blood splatters in a hapless pattern on his shirt, on yours. "think i'm- allowed t'joke when i'm dyin'."

"you are not." your eyes stay locked onto his. there's so much passion in them that they glimmer and glitter even now, in the dead of night. "not, to either of those things. i will..."

dean hates your expression. the defeated, helpless panic in it a stark contrast to your resilient eyes. he wants to comfort you. wants to smooth the pinched skin between your brows with his thumb, but everything's starting to feel a little heavy. "cas-" his head thumps back against the wall. "uses his hands. touch."

your expression softens. there it is again, that determined gleam overtaking every other emotion on your face. there's my girl, he thinks, even though it's a thought he's never allowed himself to think before, about you. his inhibitions are lessened now, though, and who is he to hide a thing from you?

slowly, your hands lift to his cheeks, cupping his face between your palms. your skin is so warm, and his is so cold, and he can't look away from your eyes. dean's never believed in someone as much as he does you, right now.

your eyes close, and he's still looking. his head leans forward and knocks against yours, like he can't get close enough. he'd do anything to know what your lips tasted like. if they were as sweet as you were, or as furious as you tended to get.

"it's not-" you growl, and he opens his mouth to say something to counteract the rush of heat your gravelly voice shoots through his icy veins, when- "fuck it."

two beats of shock wrack through him, and he has no time, not a split second at all, to prepare for the way your mouth crashes into his. his eyes blink wide in shock before a wave of warmth starts in his chest and spreads like roots through his blood and deep in his veins. he sees the blue-white flash of your grace as it spreads around the both of you.

you pull back so suddenly that your lips pop, staring at him expectantly. no, not dean, his red soaked bandages on the outside of his torn shirt. you give him no time to process it before you're clawing at it, tearing it down the center. "jesus, dove-" his eyes drop down to follow your gaze.

the only remnants of his injury were the dried streaks of blood running down his chest, pale red and shiny in the areas still drying in the cold night air.

you laugh, soft and hesitant, and it's the prettiest noise dean has ever heard. "if i'd known i just had t'almost die t'get you to kiss me," he says slowly, "i'd have done it a lot sooner."

even if it was hardly a kiss - more of a collision. he'd just have to teach you how he liked it, later.

tags,

@figthoughts, @jasvtsc, @titsout4nicholas, @deanswidow, @whyyouegg,

@bombarda-babe, @whisperingwillowxox, @underground-secret,

@bitchykittenconnoisseur, @jensenacklesantidote,

@keira-kaz2y5, @ostaramoon, @depressionbarbie2023, @ultravi0lence14, @loverslantern,

@bleuatlas, @minettacreekk, @sthefferrete

#──★ dahlia's jrnl #──★ dean x saga #dean winchester x angel!reader #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #dean winchester #angel!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester one shot #spn #supernatural #supernatural one shot #spn one shot

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fxstpace · 6 days ago

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the budget

summary: mingyu, president of the photography club, and you, leader of the art club, are forced to collaborate when your organisations are granted a shared—and pitifully small—budget for the semester. every meeting turns into a battle: over ideas, over funding, over who cares more about their craft. until you start noticing the way mingyu’s eyes light up when he captures the perfect picture, and his presence in your life leaves you feeling more inspired than irritated.

⇢ pairing: photography student!kim mingyu x art student!fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, mild angst, enemies/rivals to lovers au, college au, debatable attempts at comedy, profanity, inaccurate depictions of both art & photography since i am good at neither, raccoons ⇢ word count: 4.8k ⇢ playlist: stardust by zayn; blue by yung kai ⇢ note: for the person who requested this; i hope you enjoy!

There’s a miserable amount of zeroes next to the number printed on the budget distribution sheet that Mingyu hands you. You stare at it, incredulous, then back at him, the paper crumpling slightly under your grip.

“This can’t be right,” you say, voice tight with disbelief and mounting anger. “This is… This is a joke. It has to be.”

Mingyu shifts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Yeah, well, it’s not. This is all we’ve got for the semester.”

“You’re saying that like it’s okay!” Your eyes snap up to his face. “Like this is something we can work with.”

“I’m not saying it’s okay! But I don’t see what yelling at me is going to solve.”

You scoff, holding up the paper between you both like it’s the evidence of a crime. “This amount isn’t even enough for one club to function, let alone two. And yet you expect us to split it? How is that fair?”

Mingyu clenches his jaw and crosses his arms. He looks bigger, now—more intimidating, sort of. You cross your arms as well, eyebrows knit into a frown. “It’s not fair,” he says. “None of this is. But unless you’re ready to, I don’t know, rob a bank or something, this is what we’ve got to work with.”

“And what?” you snap. “Your solution is just to divide it down the middle and call it a day? You can’t honestly believe that’s fair. Your expenses aren’t nearly as high as ours—”

“Excuse me?” Mingyu cuts in, his voice rising, sharp enough to make you pause. “Do you even know what we need? Do you have any idea how much equipment costs? Or printing? Or—”

“You don’t have an entire exhibition to put together,” you interrupt, your frustration boiling over. “We’ve got installations, workshops, materials—”

“And you think we’re just screwing around, taking selfies? You think what we’re doing doesn’t matter?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!”

“It sure as Hell sounds like it is,” he bites out, glaring at you.

The hallway is silent except for the sound of your breathing. You’re standing close to him, you realise belatedly—too close. Mingyu’s face is flushed, dark brown eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, you notice just how tired he looks. There are faint shadows beneath his eyes, and the line of his shoulders is stiff with what you suddenly recognise as exhaustion, not just irritation. It’s easy enough to spot these signs because you mirror them, too.

It’s always been like this between the art club and the photography club. The rivalry was created during the clubs’ inception, long before you joined your university. You remember the former head—and your senior—telling you about how the former photography club head charmed Dean Park, the head of the art department, into giving them a higher budget, resulting in the art club being unable to hold their annual art exhibition. The year before that, the art club managed to win him over by listing out all the pros and cons of “art in the cultivation of a cultural mindset in students” using a PowerPoint presentation complete with sparkly animations.

It’s always, always about money.

This semester, however, the budget is infinitely worse—chiefly because you have to share it with the photography club. As the current presidents, you and Mingyu must shoulder the burden together, and that’s a lot easier said than done, really. Maybe it’s because you’ve spent all your college years feuding on opposing sides of the art scene, but you and Kim Mingyu haven’t been able to get along.

The fact that the amount Dean Park allotted for you both is abysmally small doesn’t make this entire situation any easier.

You look away, gaze dropping to the crumpled paper in your hands. “I’m not saying your work doesn’t matter,” you say quietly, the fight dissipating from your tone. “I’m just… This whole thing sucks, okay? I’m frustrated, too.”

Mingyu lets out a slow breath, scratching his cheek tiredly. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”

It catches you off-guard, the way his voice lowers—not softening, exactly, but losing some of its earlier bite. When you glance back at him, his shoulders are still tense, his forehead pinched, though not with resignation. It’s more like simmering irritation, held at bay simply because he can’t get angry in the middle of the administrative building’s hallway.

“Look,” he continues when you don’t say anything, “this is what we’ve got. Yelling at each other about it isn’t going to magically double the budget, no matter how much we want it to.”

“I’m not yelling—I’m trying to get you to see reason. If you’d just acknowledge that the art club actually needs—”

“Maybe if you’d stop acting like your club is the only one that matters—”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off before he can get going again. “We’re going in circles,” you say, sighing. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Right,” Mingyu mutters, stepping back to lean against the wall. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest again, and for a moment, the two of you stand in tense silence, glaring at each other like it’ll somehow fix the problem.

The corridor feels oppressively small, the fluorescent lights casting shadows over his face. You take a slow breath, trying to tamp down the irritation clawing at your chest and push it down to your stomach instead where you can, at least, work around it. “Fine,” you grit out. “We’ll figure something out, but don’t think for a second that I’m going to let the art club get shortchanged because of your supposed equipment costs.”

Mingyu’s lips twitch into something that’s almost a smile but too bitter to qualify. “Of course. Don’t expect me to give up the gallery showcase just so you can buy more paint.”

You press your lips together and bite back your retort. You’re too tired to keep this up, and it’s clear that he’s just as stubborn as you are.

Instead, you turn on your heel, the budget sheet still clutched tightly in your hand. “Next meeting,” you call over your shoulder, “come with actual numbers. Maybe then we’ll actually get somewhere.”

“Sure,” Mingyu says flatly, though when you glance back, he’s still watching you, expression unreadable.

“Just combine both your events,” Jiyeon—Dean Park’s student representative—says curtly, like she’s trying to wrap up a tedious chore. She taps her manicured nails on the desk impatiently. “That was the reason why we announced the budget earlier this semester compared to last time.”

You blink at her. Combine? As in merge the art club’s carefully curated exhibition with Mingyu’s glossy photography showcase?

“That’s not happening,” you say, sharper than you intended. “These are completely different events. We’d lose the point of both if we mashed them together.”

Mingyu, seated across from you, leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “For once, we agree on something.”

Jiyeon exhales, clearly unimpressed with your united front. “Neither of you have the budget to do these separately. You’re either combining or presenting Dean Park with a shared cancellation notice. Your choice.”

Her words sink into your brain, leaving no room for argument. The table between you and Mingyu feels like a battlefield, and you’re not sure if you want to continue glaring daggers at him or redirect your frustration towards Jiyeon.

“This is ridiculous,” Mingyu says, dragging a hand through his hair. “You can’t just lump two completely different creative visions together. A photography showcase is about cohesion. You don’t just slap a bunch of things together and call it cohesive.”

You bristle. “And what, you think an art exhibition is just some chaotic mess of colour and whimsy? There’s intention behind every piece. We’re not staging this in a dorm hallway; it’s a professional-level gallery. My members have been working on this for months.”

“And so have mine,” he snaps back. “This showcase isn’t just about displaying photos. It’s about showing people what photography is capable of. Combining that with whatever you’re doing? It’s going to dilute both.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have spent your entire summer hyping up an event you clearly couldn’t afford,” you say, unable to help yourself.

His eyes narrow. “It’s not like I knew—”

“Enough,” Jiyeon cuts in, her voice slicing clean through your argument. She stands, gathering her papers and closing her laptop briskly. It’s clear she’s done with the conversation. “You two have until next week to draft a combined proposal. If I don’t have something workable on my desk by then, I’ll assume you’re forfeiting your budget entirely. Good luck.”

With that, she walks out, the door shutting behind her with a firm click that echoes in the suddenly quiet room.

“This is such bullshit,” Mingyu mutters after a pause.

You glance at him, agreement on the tip of your tongue, but the irritation on his face sparks something petty in you instead. “You seem confident for someone whose entire event hinges on this bullshit.”

He glares at you and for a moment, you think he’s going to bite back. But he sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Since we’re stuck with this,” he says grudgingly, “we might as well figure something out.”

“You mean like a theme? Something broad enough to tie everything together?”

“Sure,” Mingyu says. “What do you suggest? Rainbows and friendship?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” you snap.

“I’m serious. If you’ve got a brilliant idea, then let’s hear it.”

You take a deep breath, your mind running through various possible ideas. Something broad, something versatile. But every idea either feels too generic, or too forced, and Mingyu’s expectant stare doesn’t help.

“What about… perspectives?” you finally say, hesitant.

He frowns. “Perspectives?”

“Yeah,” you say, gaining a little confidence. “Different ways of seeing the same thing. Photography is about capturing moments from unique angles, and art is about interpreting the world in your own way. It’s broad, but it connects.”

Mingyu leans back in his chair, brows furrowed in thought. He admits, slowly, “It’s… not bad.”

The faint approval in his voice surprises you, but you don’t let it show. “I know,” you say instead, crossing your ankles. “It’s a good starting point.”

“But it’s still vague,” he muses. “If we’re going to pitch this, we need to make it concrete. How are we actually going to combine everything? Are we splitting the space? Alternating pieces? Blending them somehow?”

Your stomach twists at the thought of compromising the layout, but you push the discomfort down. “We could structure it around the theme. Pair photos and artworks that complement each other—contrast them, even. It could be a dialogue between the two mediums.”

Mingyu’s eyes narrow slightly, like he’s contemplating. He nods, once, reluctantly. “It could work.”

“Okay,” you say. “Then we’ll need to draft a detailed proposal—layout, schedule, costs. Dean Park isn’t going to approve of something half-baked.”

“Obviously.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “We’ll have to inform our members as soon as possible.”

“Done. I’ll text you, ‘kay?”

You hum in response, watching him gather his things. It’s not exactly a truce, and it’s definitely not teamwork—not yet, at least. But for the first time, you feel like both of you are pushing against the same problem, rather than each other.

“See you around, I guess,” you say tentatively, reaching for your bag.

Mingyu slings his camera bag over his shoulder and lets his lips curve upwards by the slightest. “See you.”

When Kim Mingyu said he would text you, you expected him to send you a message some time during the day, like a normal person would. Of course, the mistake you made was assuming that anything Kim Mingyu does is normal, so, really, why are you even surprised?

You don’t know for sure, but you’re certain it has everything to do with the fact that you were startled out of sleep minutes ago because of the incessant ringing of your phone, a week after your proposal was approved by Dean Park. The caller ID says Kim Mingyu (Photography President) and the time on your phone screen reads 1:01 A.M.

Someday, you will find a way to strangle him and get away with it.

You squint at your phone, half-tempted to let it ring out, but you know he’s stubborn enough to keep calling until your phone dies. You swipe to answer with more force than necessary.

“What?” you snap, voice rough with sleep.

“Get dressed,” he says, sounding way more chipper than anyone in their right mind would at one in the morning. “I’m outside.”

You sit up in bed, your blankets falling into a heap around you. “Outside where?”

“Your building.”

There’s a pause while you blink, trying to process his words. “My what?”

“Look, there’s no time to argue,” he says, as if he’s not the one calling you at an ungodly hour. “I need to show you something. It’s about the exhibition. Plus, I have hot chocolate.”

“Couldn’t this have waited until daylight?” you ask—but curiosity, and the mention of free hot chocolate, gets the better of you. You rub the sleep out of your eyes and slide out of bed.

“Nope, it’s time-sensitive,” says Mingyu, while you’re busy shoving your head through the nearest hoodie you could find.

When you step outside, the cool night air pricks at your skin, and you spot him almost instantly. Mingyu is leaning against the lamppost by the entrance to your building, a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand and his camera slung around his neck. His tall frame and disheveled hair, illuminated by the soft glow of the light, would almost make him look charming—were you not keen on murdering him for disrupting your sleep.

“What took you so long?” he says, holding out one of the cups as you approach.

“You’re insane,” you reply, snatching the cup from him. The warmth seeps into your fingers, and despite your irritation, you take a grateful sip. It’s sweet, just the way you like it. “This better be worth it.”

“It will be,” he promises, already turning towards the path the winds through your campus.

The night air is cool and crisp, laced with the faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. You clutch the cup of hot chocolate like it’s a lifeline, savouring its warmth, though it does little to thaw your irritation. Mingyu walks ahead of you, long strides confident; you trail behind him, muttering under your breath about insufferable photography club presidents and their questionable priorities.

The campus feels different at night—quieter, softer—as if the world has taken a deep breath and is holding it. Shadows stretch long and wide under the sporadic lampposts, and the buildings loom taller, their windows dark. The only sounds are the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. You don’t want to admit it, but there’s something peaceful about this moment, despite your company.

“Here,” Mingyu says suddenly, veering off the path toward a patch of bushes near the edge of the quad.

You hesitate, watching as he crouches low. His movements are surprisingly careful for someone normally so clumsy. He motions for you to follow, his fingers pressed to his lips in a gesture for silence.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” he whispers, pointing ahead.

At first, you don’t see anything. But as you squint, you catch a movement—a small shape darting across the grass. And then another.

A family of raccoons.

There are four of them, their sleek bodies silver in the moonlight. The largest one—presumably the mother—nudges a smaller one forward, while the other two rummage through a pile of leaves nearby.

You crouch next to Mingyu, your knees pressing into the damp grass, and watch the raccoon family scurry about under the pale silver glow of the moon. The mother raccoon joins her two kits and noses through the leaves, while the smallest one tumbles clumsily after her, clearly still learning the ways of the world.

“They’re cute,” you whisper.

“Hm,” Mingyu hums, lifting his camera to his eye. The soft click of the shutter sounds through the quiet. “I’ve been tracking them for weeks. This seems to be their favourite hideout for the night.”

You glance at him sideways, watching the way his brows furrow in concentration, the way he adjusts the angle ever-so slightly before clicking another picture. He’s good at this, you think—finding something ordinary and turning it into something else.

“You dragged me out of bed for raccoons?” you ask, without any real malice in your voice.

“They’re more interesting than you give them credit for,” he says, not looking up from his viewfinder. “Most people don’t even notice them. And if they do, it’s just to call them pests.”

The soft, almost wistful tone of his voice surprises you. You shift your gaze back to the raccoons, watching as one of the smaller ones climbs onto a low branch, wobbling slightly before regaining its balance.

“They’re just trying to survive,” Mingyu continues, lowering his camera. “Finding food, looking after their family. They’re not pests. They’re— Resourceful. Resilient.”

You blink, caught off guard by the thoughtfulness in his words. “And this connects to the exhibition how?”

He smiles slightly, finally turning to look at you. “Think about it. How many things go unnoticed every day? How many stories don’t get told ‘cause people are too busy looking at what’s shiny and obvious?”

You frown, considering his words. The raccoon mother pulls out a discarded chocolate wrapper from the leaves, sniffing it before passing it to one of her kits. It’s nothing extraordinary, but there is something undeniably tender about the way she moves, the quiet care in her actions.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about our exhibition theme,” says Mingyu, “and—”

“It’s a matter of perspective,” you finish softly, the words slipping out before you can contain them.

Mingyu nods. “Exactly. Everyone’s always so focused on the big picture that they forget the small details. The stuff that seems insignificant but isn’t.” He gestures towards the raccoons. “This is the kind of thing I want to highlight—the unnoticed, the overlooked. The beauty in things people usually ignore.”

He has a point. The raccoons, with their clever little hands and determined movements, have a strange sort of grace to them. You wonder how many times you’ve walked past this very spot without noticing them, without realising there was a whole world quietly unfolding in the shadows.

“You think we can tie this to the exhibition?” you ask, your skepticism only half-hearted now.

“Why not?” he replies, enthusiasm bleeding into his tone. “Your art pieces are all about interpretation, right? How people see the world in their own way. And photography is about showing people something they didn't notice before. It fits.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, annoyed by how much sense he’s making. Grudgingly, you mutter, “You’re not as stupid as you look.”

Mingyu laughs softly, the sound low and warm in the night air. “Thanks, I think.”

You both fall silent again, watching as the raccoons scurry off to another tree nearby. Mingyu raises his camera one last time, snapping a shot of their retreating forms before lowering his camera with a small, satisfied sigh.

“They’ll be gone by morning,” he says, almost to himself, “and no one will know they were here.”

There’s something oddly poetic about the thought, and you’re struck by the realisation that, for all his infuriating habits, Kim Mingyu has an eye for seeing things differently. Maybe that’s why he��s so good at what he does—and, maybe, that’s why you think he’s not so different from you, after all.

The walk back to your building is quiet. Mingyu keeps his camera slung over his shoulder. You sip the last of your hot chocolate. Lukewarm as it is, it’s sweet and nice and provides a shred of warmth against the cool air nipping at your cheeks.

“Don’t get used to this,” you say, as the two of you near your building.

Mingyu blinks innocently. “Used to what?”

“Me being nice to you.”

He grins, a boyish, lopsided thing that makes your heart rabbit about, just a little. “Noted. I’ll savour it while it lasts.”

You pull out your sketchbook and your charcoal pencils the next day, after classes, and settle down on a bench that offers a clear view of the quad. The winter sun is a gentle wash of gold, spilling over the campus like honey, pooling in the dips of the cobblestones, and casting long, soft-edged shadows. It’s a contrast to the silvery quiet of last night, but somehow, the same tranquility lingers, a memory etched into the air.

The spot where the raccoons had been feels empty now, but not barren. Students drift through the quad in loose clusters. A girl sprawls on the grass with a textbook splayed open beside her. Two boys toss a frisbee near the far end, their laughter bright and contagious. Someone sits cross-legged under a tree, earbuds in, bobbing their head to music only they can hear.

Your pencil touches the paper, instinctive. Lines emerge, at first hesitant and light, but quickly growing in confidence. You sketch the arch of the bushes, the curve of their leaves. The grass flows beneath your hand, strokes that whisper of its softness, of its endless spread.

The students begin to take form next, their figures caught mid-motion—an outstretched hand here, a tilted head there. You don’t draw their faces; they’re not meant to be individuals, but simply a part of the quad in daylight.

You don’t think about composition or technique; your hand moves as though it has a will of its own, tracing shapes and shadows. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no pressure, no self-imposed critique weighing you down. The sunlight dapples the page, shifting as the leaves above you sway in the breeze. Your strokes grow bolder, the charcoal smudging against your fingertips as you shade in the deeper shadows, the play of the light on the cobblestones.

You pause, leaning back slightly, your eyes flicking between the quad and your sketch. It’s not perfect—nothing ever is—but it feels right.

Then, out of nowhere, you think of Mingyu.

It’s a small thought at first, barely noticeable—a stray memory of him crouched low in the grass last night, his camera poised. But it grows, and before you realise what’s happening, you’re imagining what he’d think of the sketch. Would he point out the uneven shading, the hasty lines where you’d been too impatient to linger? Or would he see what you see?

You close the sketchbook. The thought of showing it to him surprises you, an idea you’re not sure you understand. You’re not friends—not really—and the very idea of seeking his approval feels strange.

But you’ll trust your instincts, you suppose. They haven’t led you astray so far. You tuck your sketchbook under your arm and set out to find Kim Mingyu.

You find Kim Mingyu in the photography clubroom, hunched over a cluttered table, sorting through a stack of pictures. The room smells faintly of ink and chemicals, the soft hum of a printer filling the silence. The light streaming through the windows bathes everything in warm, golden hues, catching on the strands of his hair every time he shifts.

For some inexplicable reason, you feel shy.

You linger by the doorway for a moment, fingers tightening around the edges of your sketchbook. It’s ridiculous, really—he’s the same infuriating person who called you at one in the morning and dragged you across campus to look at raccoons. But now, with the sketchbook in your hands and a strange weight in your chest, the thought of stepping into the room feels monumental.

You clear your throat, and he glances up. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it in frustration, and the sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up to his elbows. For a split second, he looks surprised to see you. Then his expression shifts into something closer to curiosity.

“Hi,” he says, holding out a photograph like it’s a peace offering. “Are you lost? Or are you here to chew me out over something about the exhibition?”

You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room. “Neither. I wanted to—” You hesitate, the words tangling on your tongue. His gaze flickers to the sketchbook under your arm. Thankfully, he doesn’t push.

“Come in,” he says instead. “Since you’re here anyway—” he gestures toward the stack of pictures— “help me decide. I’m narrowing down shots for the exhibition.”

You step closer, drawn despite yourself. The photographs are stunning—a leaf caught mid-fall, a cluster of streetlights glowing through the fog, the silhouette of a child through a bus window.

“They’re good,” you say, and you mean it.

“Just good?” he teases, leaning against the table. But there’s something gentler in his expression now, a quiet kind of pride that softens the edges of his grin. “Coming from you, that’s basically a standing ovation.”

You glance away, suddenly self-conscious. Your fingers tighten around the sketchbook again, and before you can overthink it, you thrust it at him. “Here.”

Mingyu blinks. “What’s this?”

“Just—look at it,” you mumble, heat rising to your cheeks.

He takes the sketchbook carefully and flips it open to the page you’d drawn earlier. His eyes trace the lines etched into the paper with charcoal, widening slightly.

“It’s the quad,” he murmurs, quieter than you expected.

“Obviously.”

“No, I mean—” Mingyu looks up at you, and there’s something thoughtful in his gaze. “It’s the quad, but it—it feels… alive, you know?”

You suck in a breath sharply, eyes darting to him. “Alive?”

“Yeah.” He gestures at the sketch, fingers hovering just above the page. “Like here,” he says, pointing to a student mid-step, laughing at something the person next to them says. “And this.” He moves his finger and circles the pair of boys tossing a frisbee about. “I can actually imagine it happening. In real time. Does that make sense?”

The way Mingyu looks at your hastily-drawn sketch—as though it’s something extraordinary—makes your chest feel tight, like you’re holding your breath without even realising.

“I don’t know how you did this,” he continues, almost to himself, eyes roving over the page like he’s trying to decode a secret. “It’s not just the quad—it’s everything about it. It’s like you froze something no one else would notice.” The corners of his mouth lift in a small, disarming smile. “It’s kind of amazing.”

Your mind scrambles for something to say. “It’s… not that big of a deal,” you say lamely. “Just a sketch.”

“Not to me.”

Your eyes settle on the stack of photographs on the table, anything to distract yourself from the heat crawling up your neck. “So, um, what does this mean for the exhibition?”

“Everything,” he says simply—knowingly, almost. Mingyu flips the sketchbook shut and hands it back to you.

You hug the sketchbook to your chest. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” says Mingyu. “You’re really talented, you know that? Not just technically. You see things—details most people miss. That’s really rare.”

You see them, too, you want to say. Because he does. You’ve witnessed it firsthand, and your sketch feels like a paltry attempt at recreating the same thing. Mingyu’s compliment sends a strange ripple through you—half pride, half unease. It’s not that you haven’t been praised for your work before, but coming from him, it feels… different.

“I just drew what I saw.”

“Yeah, but you saw it,” Mingyu presses. “Not everyone would.”

The sincerity in his tone makes your heart stutter. You glance at him, unsure of what to say, and find him watching you with an expression that’s entirely too open. You’re not sure when the shift happened, but you feel it—a softening, an ease you hadn’t expected to find with him.

The confusion in your chest settles into something quieter, something that almost makes sense.

Maybe you don’t dislike Kim Mingyu. Maybe you never disliked him at all.

There is something to be said about having a crush on the person you thought you would never get along with.

It creeps in during moments you don’t realise are important until later. You find yourself seeking him out more often, not because the exhibition needs it—it’s practically done—but because you enjoy being in his presence. The barbs you once threw at each other have become something like banter; his toothy grin makes your heart flutter in your chest. You don’t know when it started, but it’s there now, a quiet and persistent little thing that is difficult to ignore.

The day of the exhibition dawns quicker than you expect, and ends just as quickly.

Kim Mingyu kisses you at the end of it, when the lights are dim and the skies are tinged with twilight. His lips are featherlight at first, and his hands cradle your face. He is soft, warm, and your fingers find their way to the collar of his shirt, gripping tightly.

There is much to be said about having a crush on the person you thought you would never get along with. The most important is this: it’s simply a matter of perspective.

⇢ a/n: thank you thank you thank you to @etherealyoungk for helping me out with all the design/art aspects of this fic & essentially brainstorming this entire thing with me; skye lifesaver fr (the theme behind combining the art and photography club events was all her idea). thanks for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!

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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

Prev | Next | Masterlist

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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samsflannel · 1 year ago

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if supernatural was like.....a normal show, they could have demonstrated character growth for Dean by having him move past the whole "I have to protect Sam because it's my job" into a healthier relationship where he's less overprotective, gives Sam more autonomy, etc. The schema of John that Dean had - the caring father, the loyal husband, the righteous man - that entire illusion shattered very early on in the show, and it had everything to do with John's resignation about Sam's fate. Theoretically, if Dean outgrew John's ideology, that should have also shattered the illusion that he needed to protect Sam no matter the cost.

But it just, like...made him worse? Instead of realizing, "hey, the role that my father assigned to me was never necessary, and it's also a very unhealthy way to live," he doubled down on his concern for Sam. Instead of trying to get better, he internalized it. He saw how much it upset Sam, but instead of backing off, he just pretended to loosen the leash. Nobody was coercing or convincing him to do that.

On the surface, it looks like Dean had some character growth re: their codependence. But, I mean. The look on his face when he was dying in the barn says it all. He was so happy to die, because he was relieved that Sam would live. His dying speech had nothing to do with himself and everything to do with Sam. He spent his last few moments trying to protect him from grief, of all things. Grief was the kindest thing that he ever had to protect Sam from, and that was what made Dean's death merciful.

#anyways yeah

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jackles010378 · 11 months ago

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The Wrong Winchester

Dean Winchester X you

Dean gets jealous when you and Sam pretend to be a "couple" on a case.

No warnings needed 🥰

Y/N and Sam had always been close. They worked together as a seamless team on all their hunts. But when they were assigned a case that required them to go undercover as a couple, things became a little complicated.

The hunt seemed straightforward initially. A small town had been plagued by strange disappearances, every victim having been snatched away from their homes without a trace. The only lead they had was that the disappearances were happening exclusively to couples. To make matters even more complicated, the victims were all reported to have been last seen kissing their partners.

Y/N and Sam devised a plan to pretend to be a couple and lure out the creature responsible for the kidnappings. They hoped to catch it in the act and finally put an end to the town's nightmare. But what they didn't anticipate was the jealousy that would awaken within Dean. Sam had found the case, y/n sitting by him reading a book on sirens. She perked up when Sam was reading the article he had found about couples vanishing at the same spot. Curiosity peaked in them both, so they decided to investigate.

They didn't want to involve Dean in this hunt. They had just gotten him back after Micheal had taken possession of his body, so Sam thought it would be best he rested up. Unbeknownst to them both, Dean had been standing in the doorway and overheard everything. He marched over to them informing them he would be going on the hunt with them, stating that "someone needs to cover their asses" just in case they get taken too. In reality Dean was upset you didn't want to couple up with him.

As Y/N and Sam prepared for their undercover mission, Dean couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy deep in his chest. He had always had a soft spot for Y/N, his feelings going beyond friendship, but he had never found the right moment to express them. And now, seeing Y/N cozying up with Sam, pretending to be a couple, ignited a fire within Dean.

The mission was in full swing when Dean's jealousy started to consume him. He became overprotective, constantly watching their backs, trying to keep them safe. He couldn't stand the sight of Y/N and Sam getting closer. It was tearing him apart, but he couldn't let them see his inner turmoil.

One night, deep into the mission, Y/N and Sam went to a secluded park where the latest couple had gone missing. They knew it was risky, but they had to follow the trail. As they crept through the park, they heard rustling in the bushes. Without thinking, Sam grabbed Y/N and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a desperate attempt to maintain the facade.

Dean was just a few steps away, observing the scene with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. Consumed by emotion, he rushed in, ready to defend his friend and brother. But his hasty actions only confused the creature, allowing it to escape with Y/N and leaving Sam struggling to make sense of the chaos.

Desperation filled Dean as he chased after the creature, determined to save Y/N at any cost. Finally, he caught up with them in a dimly lit warehouse. With adrenaline pumping through him, Dean fought tooth and nail, eventually overpowering the creature and freeing Y/N from its clutches.

But as he cradled Y/N in his arms, her unconscious body limp against him, he couldn't keep his feelings hidden any longer. Tears welled up in his eyes as he whispered heartfelt confessions, not intending for Y/N to hear. He poured out his love for her, begging her to wake up and realize how deeply he cared.

To Dean's surprise, Y/N stirred in his embrace, her eyes fluttering open. A faint smile graced her lips as she looked up at him. She had heard every word. The moment was surreal, and the weight of all the unspoken emotions lifted from both their hearts.

Days later, back at the bunker, Y/N plotted a surprise for Dean. She knew how much he loved his "Dean cave," his personal sanctuary filled with all his favorite things. With a touch of high creativity, Y/N transformed the Dean cave into a romantic hideaway, complete with candles, their favorite snacks, and a cozy atmosphere.

When Dean walked into the room, he was taken aback. The sight before him was beyond anything he could have imagined. Y/N had gone above and beyond to create a perfect date night for them. Happiness swelled within him, knowing that the woman he loved had reciprocated his feelings.

As they settled down for their date night, Dean couldn't help but marvel at how life had changed. The pretend couple act between y/n and Sam had led to real emotions being uncovered, transforming Dean and y/n's friendship into something deeper and more significant. And as they enjoyed their evening together in the Dean cave, they knew their journey had only just begun.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @nescavaneck @angelbabyyy99

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #supernatural #jackles #jensen ross ackles #spn cast #deanwinchtser #jensen ackles gifs #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction

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queen-of-deans-booty · 2 years ago

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I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Summary: Sam is suffering the effects of the Trials, and it’s up to you and Dean to save him no matter the cost.

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

You make sure no nurse or doctor comes in while Ezekiel is examining Sam. He places his hand on Sam's chest and he looks inside to see how much damage he has sustained since stopping the trials.

"Are you still able to cure things after the fall?" Dean asks.

"Yes, I should be, but he's so weak."

Dean's phone rings, and he answers it when he doesn't recognize the number.

"Who is this?" His face changes into something you don't recognize, and he motions for you to come outside with him. You bring your kids with you because you don't trust this angel around them. "Cas, what the hell is going on?"

"Castiel? Where are you?" you ask once Dean puts him on speakerphone.

"Metatron tricked me. It wasn't angel trials. It was a spell. I wanted you to know that," he sighs.

You can tell in his voice that he feels so bad about all of this.

"Okay. That's great, but we've got ourselves a problem."

"What's wrong?"

"It's Sam. He's--"

Dean cuts himself off because he can't bring himself to say the words.

"He's dying, Castiel. At first, he was okay, and now he's not. We've been praying to you all night. Where are you?"

"Metatron took my grace. I'm no longer an angel." He gives you a moment to process this before continuing. "Don't worry about me. What are you doing for Sam?"

"Uh, everything I can. There's actually another angel in there working on him right now," Dean says.

"What other angel?"

"His name is Ezekiel. Is he a good one?" you ask.

"Ezekiel. Yes. He's a good soldier. He should be able to help until I get there."

"No, that's not an option. Do not come here," Dean shuts him down. "There are angels out there. They came here looking for you, and they're pissed."

"Not all of them, Dean. Some are just looking for direction. Some are just lost."

"What are you talking about?" you ask.

"I met one. I think I can help her."

"No, Cas, I know you want to help, okay? I do, but helping angels is what got you in trouble in the first place. Now, I'm begging you, for once, look out for yourself. Until we figure out what the hell is going on, trust nobody."

"And do what? Just abandon them all?" Castiel sighs.

"Castiel, listen to what we're saying. There are thousands of angels out there looking for you, and you're human now. That means you bleed, eat, sleep, and all of the things you never had to worry about before."

"I'm fine, Y/N."

You're about to argue some more when the hospital starts shaking as if there is an earthquake.

"What the hell is going on?"

"What's happening?" Castiel asks.

"We have more company. Please, just go to the Bunker and we will figure it out together, okay?"

Dean hangs up the phone, and both of you rush into Sam's room.

"Is that one of yours?" you ask about the hospital shaking.

"Yes, they're trying to secure a vessel. We need to move."

"No, if we move him, he dies."

"If we stay, we could all die."

"Not if we ward the room," you suggest.

Dean grabs the first marker he sees and starts writing Enochian symbols on the walls to keep out the angels trying to come for him. Soon, he has this entire place locked down with symbols so that they can't get inside even if they wanted to.

"So, as long as these are up, no angels are coming in, right? No one's coming out. Are you gonna be okay with these?" Dean asks the angel.

"I'll manage." Ezekiel winces and flinches from a noise you and Dean can't hear. "They're here."

"Okay, you two stay in here and take care of Sam. I'm going to evacuate this hospital. Do not open this door for anyone but me," you say in determination.

"Let me go with you."

"No, Dean, stay here and protect our kids." You turn to Ezekiel with narrowed eyes. "Save Sam."

You kiss Dean quickly before slipping out of the room. The windows on either side of you shatter into tiny pieces, causing the glass to fly toward you. You run down the hallway and protect your face, but every window you pass explodes and sends glass your way. You reach the fire alarm and pull it so that everyone can evacuate the entire hospital.

"Everybody out! Now! Get out!" you yell at everyone.

You rush to the nurses' station and see a woman on the ground. You hold your hand out for her to take, and you help her to her feet.

"Are you okay? You need to get out of here."

You turn to see a man in a farmer's outfit stalking toward you with an angel blade in his hand. You step between him and the woman to protect her, but before you can do anything, the woman punches your head from behind and grabs your throat. She lifts you off the ground and glares at you.

"I'd rather not."

You smirk at her just as your eyes glow bright blue, and you send a blast of magic out from all sides of your body. Both angels are knocked off their feet, and you take off running toward Sam's room which is still warded. The female angel uses her powers on you, and you're slammed into the wall to your right. You groan in pain when your face connects with the shards of glass protruding from the frame of the window.

"Let me make this easy for you," she says as both angels walk toward you. "Tell me where Castiel is, or Sam's gonna wish he were dead."

"Good luck getting past the warding."

"Don't worry, we will." The male angel breaks the glass around a fire axe, and you know he's going to use it by breaking down the door. The female angel hauls you to your feet with fire in her eyes. "When we do, I'm going to strip off all his skin along with that husband of yours and your kids, and you're going to watch."

"Bite me, bitch," you growl.

The female angel punches you to the ground, and you laugh at her attempt to intimidate you. You turn and smile at her with bloody teeth, but you're not fazed by the injuries. You spit out the blood and go to stand up, but the female angel moves to kick you in the stomach.

You grab her leg and slam your elbow down on her kneecap, effectively breaking it. She falls to the ground in a cry of pain, and you crawl over to her and place your hand on her forehead. Your magic kills the angel inside, and her eyes and mouth shine bright with white light. Once she is dead, you look over at the male angel who is trying to break the door down with the axe.

The angel sees his dead friend on the floor, and he figures if he kills you, then he can get inside the room without anyone stopping him. He yanks the axe out of the broken door and stalks over to you.

"Wait, wait, wait," you pant, and he pauses. "I'll tell you where Castiel is. I just have one question for you."

"Ask," he glares.

"If Heaven is locked, then where do you go when I do this?"

With your magic, you create the angel-banishing symbol before slamming your hand onto the symbol. The angel's eyes widen as he is banished from the hospital hallway. When the white light fades, you're alone in the hallway. Joanna's cries can be heard from Sam's room, so you scramble to your feet and enter his room.

"Baby, I'm okay." Sam's monitors are beeping very loudly, and you know that he is dying quickly. "What the hell is happening?"

"This just started. With the warding, I'm afraid I'm weaker than I thought," Ezekiel sighs. Dean grabs the same marker and starts crossing off the symbols to give the angel his strength back. "I'm so sorry, Dean and Y/N."

"No, we had a deal! I fight, you save! Save him, please," you beg.

"I would if I could. I'm afraid it's too late."

"Are you kidding me? Are you saying there's no way to save my brother's life?"

"No good ways."

"What are the bad ones?" You and Dean make eye contact, and he sighs. "We're out of options here, Y/N. Good or bad, let me hear them."

"I cannot promise, but there is a chance I can fix your brother from the inside."

"From the inside? Do you mean possession? You want to possess Sam?" you gasp.

"I told you, no good options."

"The only way he can is if Sam says yes. How can he say yes if he won't wake up?" you wonder.

"Sam would never let an angel possess him. He'd rather die," Dean sighs.

Ezekiel, despite the pain he is in, gets to his feet. He waves his hands over the monitors which silences them.

"I'll give you two some time alone with him."

He starts to walk toward the door, but before he can leave, Dean stops him.

"Wait... If I consider this, and I mean consider it, I need you to tell me how bad he is."

Ezekiel walks over to Sam and places a hand on his forehead before touching Dean's. You place your hand on Dean's shoulder so that whatever Ezekiel is doing to Dean, he'll do to you. Much like the last time you went into Sam's head, you're transported from the hospital room into a cabin of sorts.

You're inside Sam's head, and he's not alone. You and Dean walk down the hallway and peek inside the living room to see Sam talking to Death himself.

"I must admit, when I heard it was you I had to come myself."

"I bet you get off on this," Sam scoffs.

"Perhaps, but not in the way you assume. I consider it to be quite the honor to be collecting the likes of Sam Winchester. I try so hard not to pass judgment at times like this, but well done."

"I need to know one thing." Sam takes Death's silence as a sign to continue. "If I go with you, can you promise that this time it will be final? That if I'm dead, I stay dead? Nobody can reverse it, nobody can deal it away, and nobody else can get hurt because of me."

"I can promise that."

Ezekiel removes you and Dean from his head since he doesn't have enough juice to keep you in there. Sam is ready to die. He is going to die, and his nieces won't get the chance to get to know him.

"What the hell are you doing, Sam?" Dean sighs.

"Dean, if you don't want him to die, then Ezekiel has to do this. It's your call. He's your brother," you say softly.

"How will it work?"

"Mutual benefit, I suppose. I heal Sam while healing myself."

"What happens when he is healed?" you ask.

"I leave. It's the best of a bad situation."

"Even if I said yes, it doesn't mean shit. Sam will never say yes, not to you."

"He would say yes to you," Ezekiel says. "All I need is a yes from you, and let me do the rest."

"Yes."

Ezekiel closes his eyes as he concentrates on talking to Sam. You're not sure what he's doing to him, but before you know it, the angel is expelled from his former host and into Sam.

"Come on, girls. We're leaving," you say knowing Sam will wake up.

The man who used to have Ezekiel in him collapses to the ground, and at the same time, Sam wakes up. In order to escape and not have to deal with the authorities you know are coming, you need to leave right now.

As soon as Sam is safe to walk on his own, you three escape with the kids before the authorities can come. The doctors rush back into the hospital to tend to their patients, but they don't pay you any mind.

"So? How's it look in there?" Dean asks.

"Not good. There is much work to be done."

"He's going to wake up, right?" you ask.

"He will."

"So, when he does, is he going to feel you in there?"

"He will not feel me, no. There is no reason for Sam to know I'm in here at all."

You and Dean look at each other in confusion as you reach the car.

"You have to be joking. He needs to know you're there."

"What will he do if you tell him he is possessed by an angel? Without his acceptance, Sam can eject me at any time, especially with me so weak. If Sam does eject me, he will die."

"Fine," Dean sighs, "we will keep this a secret for right now. Only until Sam is strong enough to be on his own. As for him being in a hospital, I'll have to figure something out."

"I can erase it all if you like. He will not remember any of this."

You hate lying to Sam especially when he doesn't trust you and Dean completely anyway. You know he will be pissed about this, but you don't have any other choice. You need Sam. Your kids need him. Dean needs his brother.

After everyone gets into the car, Dean makes his way back to the bunker. It's well into the night when you get to the halfway point, and that's when Sam wakes up. He is not Ezekiel, but Sam.

"Where are we?" Sam gasps, jerking awake.

"Whoa, Sam, take it easy," you say from the back seat. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Like I slept for a week."

"Well, try a day. You've been out since the sky was spitting angels."

"What the hell happened?" he groans.

"What do you remember?"

"The church, feeling like shit, the angels falling, and that's it."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Have you been driving around with me passed out for a day?"

"Oh, I mean, I stopped and let a few Japanese tourists take some pictures. Nobody got too handsy," Dean jokes. "I knew you'd pull through. I meant what I said at the church. You're capable of anything, Sam, and hell if you didn't prove me right."

"Good," Sam nods. "We got work to do."

You sigh and lean your head on the back of the seat. Something's telling you having this angel inside Sam isn't the best idea.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural angst #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fiction #dean winchester angst #series rewrite #supernatural series rewrite #season 9

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crowley-the-1-true-king-of-hell · 2 years ago

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Sam's self-righteous speech to Crowley when he was trying to kill Crowley using Rowena's hex bag was just not it

I thought it was fair for Sam to rant about how upset he is that Crowley killed those he cared about. But that whole spiel about Crowley's good not mattering? That talk about Crowley being a monster? It would be a fine speech if Sam applied that to himself. It would be okay if Sam also considered himself to be a monster. It would be okay if Sam also thought his good did NOT matter. If Sam wasn't such a hypocrite that speech would be fine

Hell remember when Demon!Dean said this to Sam?

Don’t be so full of yourself, Sammy. ‘Cause, see, from where I’m sitting … There ain’t much difference from what I turned into to what you already are.

And

I know what you did when you went looking for me. I know how far you went. Crowley told me all about it. So let me ask you … which one of us is really a monster? Hmm? Starting to come back to you now?

And

Who cares what you meant?! That line that we thought was so clear between us and the things that we hunted, ain’t so clear is it? Wow. You might actually be worse than me! I mean, you took a guy at his lowest, used him, and it cost him his life and his soul. Nice work.

Then lets not forget Soulless Sam's crimes. If being souless is a justifiable excuse then so is being a demon. Both soulless and being a demon have very very very similar effects on the person's ability to feel empathy. If Sam's good he did matters even after his crimes soulless. If Sam isn't a monster even after his crimes soulless then Crowley is the same because being a demon is very very very similar to being soulless in terms of empathy

I think what Crowley did as a human was really terrible and he doesn't get the "was a demon" excuse BUT we all know that Sam was NOT talking about human Crowley during his rant while he tried to kill Crowley so that's not really a factor in this post

I love Crowley and I do think he needed to be told off BUT I don't think Sam hypocrite Winchester was the right person to do that. You know the person who had a right to call Crowley out? His son Gavin. If anyone had the right to rant and rave about how terrible Crowley was it was Gavin. Sam hypocrite Winchester can eff right off

#anti sam winchester #crowley spn #crowley #gavin macleod #supernatural #spn s10 e22 #spn 10x22

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orsonke · 2 years ago

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if you’re hearing ARE YOU SATISFIED by MARINA playing, you have to know ORSON KE (HE/HIM; TRANSMASCULINE) is near by! the TWENTY TWO year old NHL PLAYER has been in denver for, like, NINE MONTHS. they’re known to be quite INTENSE, but being AMBITIOUS seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble CHELLA MAN. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those RESTLESS FINGERS, FEELING THE BASS IN YOUR CHEST, WELL WORN JERSEY/HOODIE COMBO vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the RIVER NORTH ARTS DISTRICT long enough!

BASICS

full name: orson ryan ke

age: twenty two (born august nineteenth)

gender: transmasculine

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: gay

ethnicity: chinese, ashkenazi jewish

nationality: american

occupation: left wing for the colorado avalanches (nhl)

BACKGROUND

grew up in minneapolis to divorced parents, who were the most incompatible people ever, though it was only really started to show when they had orson. they disagreed heavily on how to raise a child, and ended up splitting when he was only three years old. his whole life was spent in two deeply different worlds.

his mother, a criminal lawyer, believes that "you don't need to be your child's friend," and so never attempted to connect with him really. she pushed him hard in school, sports, music, but never showed much care into who he was, or if he was okay, believing that you should never settle, always striving for more no matter the cost, and so ended up being very critical in everything, even the things he did well.

his father, on the other hand, had never been the driven sort, a trust fund baby who was perfectly content living on other people's coattails. he was more focused on his own life than really being involved in orson's. more casual friends than father and child, only showing a polite interest in what he was doing. when the going got tough, his father was more likely to leave him to figure it out for himself, if he even realized there was a problem at all.

it seemed that no matter what he did, he couldn't satisfy either of his parents, who both saw a reflection of the parent in him. seeking approval elsewhere, he started playing hockey when he was ten. it was a godsend, and not just because he was talented on the ice. a community of people who needed him. his parents didn't get, his father was never a sports guy, and his mom thought he didn't have the focus to commit to a sport.

orson has spent his entire career trying to win their approval, not that he's realized it. ever hungry for success, part of why he's become so good is that feeling that things he do are never good enough. he's always training, often at expense of any sort of social life.

this became clear during college. scouted by university of michigan, he spent his four years in college either training or studying (since his mom would never accept anything less than dean's list). when most people were discovering themselves, he was dedicating himself to his craft.

last summer he graduated, promptly joining the colorado avalanches. in a completely new place, with a completely different team, orson is painfully aware of how lost he feels outside of hockey. filling his time outside of it with elaborate parties, meaningless flings, he puts on a front that is very different than who he really is, but there are times where he feels like he doesn't know who that person really is.

PLATONIC

orson is very social, though not always the most friendly. he can be a little full of himself, but if you can stomach it, he's a pretty good friend. an extrovert, he prefers to be with other people than by himself, so he's always spending time with one friend or another (when he's not spending time with the team). however, he's not very good at letting him get close to him, and very rarely talks about what's bothering him. this leads to some (most) friendships feeling superficial, though he wants something deeper.

ROMANTIC

in short, orson is terrible at relationships. past the casual stage, he is far too focused on his career, and can be inadvertently critical of his partners. in the casual stage, he can be a fun partner, though again not very serious about the relationship, or even the other person's feelings.

ANTAGONISTIC

orson can very an abrasive personality, seemingly arrogant and unconcerned with other people. those not charmed by his smiles or talents or wealth find him annoying, two dimensional, and a vapid athlete. always defensive, orson doesn't try to win over those who don't like him, preferring always to poke the bear and win.

MISCELANOUS

orson is deaf, with 40% hearing loss. he wears hearing aids, and can speak, but also uses asl

very, very competitive in literally everything. the kind of guy to race you to the end of the street for literally no reason.

very into fashion, but mostly streetwear. more money than sense, he sometimes wears the ugliest outfits you've ever seen but swears they are fire

#chq;intro #very new oc

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samanddeanloveeachothersomuch · 2 years ago

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Dean. The person who I walked towards first and was my first word. Who taught me how to read and write. Who always comforted me after nightmares. Who always made sure I was given food, clothes, and everything I needed before he worried about himself. Who always made my well-being, whether it be emotional or physical, his top priority. Who tried his hardest all throughout our childhood to juggle being a good son and raising me and always picked me in one way or another. Who often listened to our dad for me, because he didn't want to be sent away or knew that going against dad's orders had gotten me hurt before and he never wanted it to happen again. Who never treated me like a burden or responsibility when I took his childhood but instead protected me because he chose to, not because he was told to by dad. Who protected me from any threat from bullies to supernatural creatures. Who chose to hang out with me over girls or going to parties. Who tried his hardest to give me a real childhood by letting me believe in the Easter Bunny until I was twelve, protecting me from hunting for as long as he could, and letting me participate in theater and coming to my shows when no one else would. Who let me be different and tried to support me even though the thought of me leaving for college was painful. Who never abandoned me and always came back. Who tried to safeguard my innocence and helped me have a more optimistic view of life. Who never gave up on me and always forgave me no matter what I did or how badly I messed up. Who never tried to change my more caring and gentle nature. Who let me cry and fall apart and let me have chick-flick moments when I needed them. Who I've always looked up to and counted on and always call on when I'm hurt or in trouble. Who has always tried to fix everything for me. Who has always seen me more pure and good than I've ever seen myself. Who has always done whatever was necessary to bring me back no matter the cost. Who has never lost faith in me. Who has chosen me over everyone and everything including the world. Who feels guilty every time I get hurt. Who was always there for me no matter what. Who would let the world burn for me and would burn the world for me. Who has always calmed me down. Who feels my pain so much it becomes his pain. Who has gotten me through every loss because as long as he is alive everything will be okay. Who has always brought me back to myself. Who has seen me and excepted me in every state. Who is the only person I've ever fully trusted. Who saves me. Who is my everything and reason for living. Who is my Heaven. Who has gotten me through everything in life no matter what it was. Who has never let me down. Who puts me above his own life and well-being. Who has always been proud of me. Who is my best friend, brother, and soulmate but also my parent. Who raised me. Who loves me and forgives me unconditionally. My big brother. Dean.

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shallowseeker · 1 year ago

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So, @dawg-motif I've been thinking about stitching your Nature and Nurture and Greed threads together...

Emotions are the ammunition to Jack-as-WMD

Yes, Jack is the Chicken and the Snake, and that dual nature contributes to his Greed and ability to act on that Greed in a way that feels almost like rigging a casino. (We see other cosmic beings associated to gambling houses: Chuck is associated to casinos, Amara likes keno, and Cas likes riverboat gambling.)

So, Jack's Nature is the Snake, and the snake eats and acts in accordance with its Nature, but it's his Nurture gives him things to care about so very, very deeply.

The circumstances of his birth are isolating and tragic, and that makes him both hungry for love and ruthless when it comes to protecting those he cares about.

I think the tragedy of this is that his Nurture is giving his Nature things to come unhinged about, and that's how you get things like Jack choking out a minimum-wage gas station worker.

///

I think too about Dean lamenting in vintage SPN, that "the things he'd do to protect Dad and Sam scare him sometimes."

Cut to Good Intentions, where Cas casts off his coat of humanity, to tell Donatello, "I can't let you hurt the ones I love. Not again."

Emotions give you a lot to lose. They bring out the best in you; they bring out the worst in you.

///

Loneliness is the Worst Torture Imaginable

If Jack is greedy like the Snake, then he wants the Chicken's Earthly delights in an Immortal way. He doesn't want to be alone, ever. It's the immortal's dilemma: What's the use of being a cosmic being if he's going to end up alone?

The mortal changes irrevocably when he finds something to live for, in rebellion of his impending doom. But maybe the immortal changes irrevocably when he finds something to die for, in rebellion of his horrific endlessness.

Despite having experienced humanity, Jack is definitely embodying the dilemma of the immortal here.

///

You're all I have

I think Jack's outsider status exacerbates this, because he just doesn't have a lot outside of hunting.

He laments in 13x06 Tombstone:

JACK: No, you don't… Every time I try and do something good, people get hurt. I thought I was getting better. I'm not… I don't know what I am, but I know I can't make the world a better place, not like this. I can't even do one good thing. And I know that if I stay, I'm gonna hurt you. All of you. And… I can't. You're all I have.

And in 14x14 Ouroboros:

JACK: What is the good of having these powers if I can't help the people that I love, if I can't help them when they need it? CAS: Jack -- JACK: It's selfish of me not to. ...

ROWENA/MICHAEL: You think you can match me, boy? This power you have now -- it's nothing, just a crutch. How dare you! Burning off your soul? You'll run out soon enough. JACK: It's worth the cost.

And it's not for lack of trying. He tries to make friends and winds up stabbing one of them in the gut. He goes to a hotel in Dodge City, and Hell sweeps in behind him and kills the attendants that had served him, just weeks later.

Hell and Heaven have both been on ass from the moment he was born.

///

But ultimately, he is become like Claire Novak, re: Jody's fears for her in 11x12 Don't You Forget About Me:

JODY: You know I've got nothing against hunting. But if she's hiding in it, because she doesn't have anything else? I'm just - worried about her being so alone. [DEAN nods, looking wistful.]

///

When backed into a corner, Jack bites

Due to the circumstances of his birth, Jack's world is small, and to make matters worse, its members are cursed. Its inhabitants are incredibly vulnerable due to their bondage in service of entertaining cruel, divine entities.

And so, he consumes himself, giving up his ability to love in a desperate attempt to keep everyone safe, greedily herding everyone into his chosen safe harbor.

But as a result, he's damaged irrevocably. In an echo of MoC!Dean, MoL-brainwashed!Mary, demon-blood-infested!Sam, and Godstiel, he risks destroying the very things he'd sacrificed himself to protect. The Ouroboros is the divine consuming the soul.

He becomes the Ouroboros.

hi shal !!! so I was thinking about ouroboros (daily occurrence) and realized that the snake/chicken symbolism for jack destroying his soul could also double as symbolism for his choice to kill Michael. for starters, Cas says the story is meant to be a cautionary tale about greed, before leading into their conversation about dealing with loss; Jack pointedly says he hates to think about losing Sam and Dean, and that having to cope with their eventual loss sounds awful to him. and then it segues into him making the extremely impulsive and dangerous decision to destroy his soul and save them, despite being constantly told of the consequences and risks posed by his soul depleting.

within the episode, the chicken/snake symbolism is framed as — “Is Jack the chicken hard boiling her own egg to save the other ones, or is he the snake eating an egg out of his own nature and hunger and choking on it?” — but I think it can also be interpreted as “Is Jack killing Michael because he wants to save his family, or is he killing Michael because it’s a natural compulsion to kill,” (especially considering that Jack hates Michael with a soul-burning passion).

feel free to let this marinate, I know it’s a lot to drop on you suddenly and I know you’ve got things going on that are far more important! (saw in another ask you’re headed for another surgery, so good luck and good recovery! ཐི❤︎ཋྀ)

Conversations about Loss

I love that conversation between Cas and Jack. When Jack spirals, the 🎶musical track even goes off-key,🎶and it's very unsettling indeed. Jack is tortured by the thought of losing his family. ->"What's the point of being a cosmic being if everyone I care about is just gonna leave?"

Aside// Another interesting facet of that conversation is that, although Cas is gently preparing Jack for the inevitability of loss, he won't even allow himself to go there about Dean, not really. -> "So when Dean wakes up -- and he will wake up -- we just have to remember to appreciate the time that we all have together now."

///

Nature vs Nurture

To your larger point, I think what you're asking is if I think the chicken/egg/snake analogy can be applied to a cosmic thread of Nature Vs Nurture, right?

I think yes.

This is a thread that was introduced with Jack in his very first episodes, with Donatello (13x02):

DONATELLO: Ah. The nature versus nurture conundrum. DONATELLO pats DEAN and SAM’s shoulders.] Oh. Speaking not as a prophet but as a scientist, I don’t think teaching him is in the cards. It’s like asking a lion not to be a lion.

Again, in Meredith's scripted version of the human-angelic divide in Good Intentions (13x14 script only):

AU ZACHARIAH: Jack is the key to the other side. It's just-- humans, have such a primitive response to fear. Maybe he takes after his lesser side--

Again, in Meredith's scripted version of the Cas dialogue in Good Intentions (13x14 script only):

CAS: The only way I was able to outmaneuver him and escape was by trusting my instincts, relying on my angel nature, instead of pretending to be something I'm not…

And then there's Bobby talking about how angels, forces of Nature and emanations of War, are destined to turn on humans (13x14):

BOBBY: Look, Mary, when this all started, when Lucifer and his demon army rose out of Hell, we thought the angels were on our side. But one by one, they turned on us. He will, too. It’s just a matter of time.

///

The hard thing, the ugly thing

I'll add to this later, but I'm specifically thinking about how Cas moves to "do the ugly brutal things, so Sam and Dean don't have to." He consistently positions himself as the one who is more willing to do the necessary evils that even they cannot stomach.

Jack is a step above that, but he too moves to shield. He leans into doing the hard thing, but at the expense of his own self and family life. It's a metaphor for war, and how that sunders you from a life of love and comfort.

We get this echoed at lower levels, too, how Sam and Dean do the "hard thing, the ugly thing," so human civilians don't have to. (I believe it's a quote from Atomic Monsters in season 15, but I don't have that on hand).

They're each on their own level of war within the cosmic hierarchy. (Ordinary life -> Hunting life -> Men of Letters life -> angelic war -> archangels & gods)

///

The nature of the Ouroboros

I think all of these conversations can be applied to the nurture versus nature dilemma, as well as the chicken/egg/snake one.

Jack is characterized by a dualistic nature: he's both predator and prey, angel and human, heavenly and primitive, lion-coded and nurturing. I think he absolutely struggles with simultaneous bloodlust and the need to protect.

The war within leads to this tendency to self-annihilate, I think. He's not just the chicken or just the snake; he's like the ouroboros itself, eating its own tail in perpetuity as a doomed immortal, dying and coming back to life, like a zombie.

I'm reminded, too, that Jack's quintessential fetal episode (12x19) is filled with circle motifs, like Cas using his hand to complete Dean's circle. But Jack is intrinsically a complete circle without any aid from others; he's Heaven and Earth.

I'll ponder on it over the next few days and get back to you, but above are the motifs that come to mind when trying to stitch these two concepts together!

///

addendum:

Greed

PLACEHOLDER from comments @dawg-motif:

oh I also forgot to add, if this was meant to be a story of greed and jack IS meant to embody the greedy snake alongside the chicken, could him destroying his soul to save or “keep” his family be the greed in question?

REFERENCE: The story of the chicken and the snake:

Noah: Have you ever heard the story of the black snake? Once there was a crafty black snake who kept eating this poor chicken's eggs. She couldn't watch them all the time, you see? The black snake would wait until she was gone and then slide one of the eggs into his mouth and crush it in his throat. Now, this went on until there was only one egg left. But when the chicken left that egg, just for a moment, the snake swallowed it up. But for some reason, he couldn't crush it in his throat. The chicken had hard-boiled her final egg just to choke the snake. And the snake died. Castiel: Why are you telling this story? Noah: [ Chuckles ] Because I can't quite tell if he's the chicken or the snake.

///

Jack: What does it mean? Castiel: It's a story about greed mostly. But I guess it's also -- it's also about being willing to give up the thing you love in order to kill the thing you hate. Jack: He said that he didn't know if I was the chicken or the snake. Castiel: Does that -- Dean. (Just then Jack and Cas hear noises and find Dean in Sickbay tearing it apart)

Is the story of the chicken and the snake really about greed, or is it more to do with the specific type of hunger? That is, it could be about the hunger needed to stay alive and keep your loved ones alive, and so it leads to a kind of warped altruism.

Greed is defined as the immoderate love or desire for riches and earthly possessions. A person can also be greedy for fame, attention, power, or anything else that feeds one's selfishness. As a deadly sin, greed is believed to spur other sins and further immoral behavior.

We recall the words Cas has about famine from 5x14:

SAM: I thought famine meant starvation, like as in, you know, food. CASTIEL: Yes. Absolutely. But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something--Sex, attention, drugs, love... DEAN: Well, that explains the puppy-lovers that Cupid shot up. CASTIEL: Right. The cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came, and made them rabid for it.

TBD // discussion

#dawg-motif tag

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softie-rain · 3 years ago

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Prom?

pairings: jason dean x gen!reader

warnings: mention of murder, allusion to domestic violence and jokes about suicide

summary: it's always been a dream of yours to go to prom with your boyfriend, and when you finally get one you think your dream will come true. Too bad your boyfriend is Jason Dean.

a/n: is this going to get not even one note because it's jd and i never wrote about him? yes. do i care? no. i loved writing this and i will write more even if you don't want bye

please forgive me if it's a bit out of character

Any spam likers will be blocked. If you like what you read, REBLOG.

Dating someone like Jason Dean wasn't easy. At all.

There were days where you two would simply hang out together in your room, just laying side by side on your bed talking about nothing.

Other when you'd hang out in his room, planning murder. It may have sounded weird, but it was fine by you as long as you knew and agreed who he was killing.

Then there were some days, the worst, where JD would come to school with small bruises on his arms and/or face. "He did it again?" You would try to ask him, fully aware of what his father did to him.

"Did what?" He always acted like you didn't know anything. He wanted to keep you safe, at any cost. And so you simply smiled tenderly at him and kissed him just wanting him to feel loved, knowing how much he needed that.

But no matter what day it was, a good or a bad one, of one thing you were sure: he hated prom. You made this discovery when you brought up the subject a couple of weeks ago, since that event was coming around a few days, thinking it would have been a cute idea to go together.

He bursted out laughing.

"You're so funny y/n, love." He suddenly stopped running his hand through your hair and looked seriously at you. "You were kidding right?" You shook your head and tried to hide your disappointment as you answered him. "Obviously I was joking. Us? Prom? Please."

You had already asked your mom to buy the dress. You wanted to bury yourself alive.

"Just to know… Why don't you wanna go?" You asked, and he scrunched his nose. "It's stupid. Prom is like a celebration of Hell that someone decided to call school, where a bunch of horny teenagers just decide to dress up all cool to forget their problems by grinding on other horny teenagers like it's dirty dancing or some shit." You nodded. You didn't agree with him, going to the prom with your date has always been a dream of yours.

And you knew it may have sounded childish, but you didn't care. I mean, everyone loves to go to Prom right?

Not JD.

Now, you had no idea if he noticed your slight sadness at his answer or if he didn't, but you never spoke about it again. Until today at least.

You were walking out of school, when Veronica surprised you from behind. "Guess who?" She said, in a high pitched voice. You chuckled. "You turned into Heather, Veronica?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. So… What are you wearing next Saturday?" She winked at you. Saturday. Prom.

You gave her a look that spoke more than all the words you could have used. "JD doesn't want to uh?"

"He literally cried from how hard he was laughing. Jason Dean. Laughing."

"C'mon, he did laugh at other times."

"I know. That's not the point Ronnie."

She gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm sure you'll do something just as exciting." You raised an eyebrow. "Highly doubt that. For Mr. Dean, it's just another normal day."

"Ah, I thought my ears were ringing."

Your boyfriend appeared, hugging you from behind. "Hey JD." You said softly. "Well I'm leaving you two alone. I'll call you later y/n." Veronica left and so there you were, standing in front of your school with Jason. "Come on, I'll give you a ride home." He took your hand and, without waiting for an answer, he led you to his bike.

The ride was silent and comforting. It always was with him. He had the gift of being able to put you at ease whatever you did together. Then suddenly, he stopped. You were at the 7/11. Typical. "Wait here. Cherry?"

"As usual."

You weren't mad that he didn't want to go to the prom. Really, you weren't. Dating meant that both the partners needed to be happy, and if going made JD sad or uncomfortable, in some way, then you had to come to terms with it. Besides, who said that you couldn't dance alone, on your own?

Maybe you could go on a date. Planning something special, like a pic-nic or- "y/n?" You turned around when you heard Jason calling you. When you saw him, he was helding a white paper, written in big font: PROM?

Your eyes widened, not believing what you were reading. You kept staring at him and the paper for at least ten minutes, until he spoke. "I think you need to give me an answer, love." You were speechless. "I don't understand, I thought you said… I thought you… hated it." You stuttered, unsure of what to say.

He rolled his eyes in a playful way. "Oh trust me, I still do. I think it's a stupid thing to do, and if it was for me I would never go. But I know you do want to." You put on a look to tell him that you didn't, and he was imagining it. But he knew better. "Y/n please, I know you. Going to that ball would make you the happiest you've been in a while. And if in order to make you happy that means I have to sacrifice one night and go dancing in the gym, then so be it." He put down the paper and offered you the slushy he was helding with one hand.

"So here I am, asking you to come with me in front of the most romantic place I know." You chuckled, and he grinned in response. "Yeah, I'd really like to go to prom with you." He smiled and leaned in to kiss you.

You happily reciprocated it, more than happy to have someone like JD in your life.

Finally he brought you back home, and when you offered him to come with you he declined. "You probably have a lot of shopping to do anyway." He winked at you, and he was about to leave when you stopped him. "What made you change your mind?" You asked him. He looked at you for a moment, then lifted his hand to caress your cheek.

"I'd literally do anything to make you happy. You always take care of me when I don't even ask for help, when I don't want it. But you don't care, you keep helping me and cover my bruises in the most caring and affectionate ways. Going to Prom is the least I could do for you." You were fluttered at his explanation, and terribly happy that he appreciated it when you helped him after the bad days with his father, when you spent the whole time thinking it annoyed him.

He smiled and leaned in to kiss your cheek. "Besides, it's really no sacrifice if I do it with you. I'd enjoy even dying, if it was with you." You raised an eyebrow. "I mean, once I would enjoyed that alone too." He chuckled. "But I'm not so sure about that anymore. You finally gave me a reason to stay alive."

You didn't know what to say and so you just hugged him, hoping he wouldn't reject you knowing he wasn't exactly the hug person.

"I love you Jason Dean. More than I can express with words."

You could feel him smile as he hid his face in your neck.

"Love you with all I have, y/n."

#jason dean x reader #jason dean x you #jason dean x y/n #jason dean imagine #jason dean #heathers #jd x reader

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holylulusworld · 3 years ago

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Devil in the sheets

Square filled for @samwinchesterbingo: Angst

Title: Devil in the sheets

Summary: You and Sam share a past…

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader, former Soulless!Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of sex, mentions of character’s death, sexual harassment, almost violence, possessive Sam, a hint of fluff, implied smut

Sam Winchester Bingo masterlist

“Sammy, why don’t you talk to her? Y/N looks like she’s about to cry all the time. Christ, it’s been almost a year since you are back to normal. You’ve got your soul back, act like it,” Dean complains about his brother’s behavior toward you once again.

“Dean, I just can’t,” Sam sighs deeply. “Y/N and I, this is a closed book. I found her while being soulless. All we did was fuck and now, it feels like I must take care of her. This is no foundation for a relationship.”

“I didn’t tell you to marry that girl,” Dean gets louder, he angrily points at the room he offered to you when they found the bunker. “I want you to talk to her. Sammy, since when, are you a coward? If you want to be only friends with her, fine by me.”

“She’s a liability, is all,” the younger Winchester pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to find the right words. “If not for our past, I’d gladly let her go.”

“Sonofabitch, Sammy!” the elder hunter grunts. “She was your girlfriend for over a year. I don’t fucking care if your relationship was strictly physical. You should feel responsible.” Dean throws his hands up, grunting as his brother doesn’t give in. “I need a drink…”

Dean storms off, muttering under his breath as you sink to your knees, sniffling silently.

You were about to leave the room to look into the latest case Sam found. It was a stupid coincidence that you heard their conversation and now, you doubt you’ve got a place in Sam’s heart and home.

A liability, that’s all you are to Sam Winchester.

Not a year ago he promised you to never let you go and to protect you at all costs.

He found you in times of need. Your father and you got kidnapped by a nest of vamps. Yeah, vampires. Who would’ve thought there are still bloodsuckers out there? Not you and your father. That’s a matter of fact.

Sam found you hours after you had to watch the vamps suck your father dry. His screams still haunt your dreams, and you’ll never forget his last words.

“I love you, butterfly,” your father whispered, eyes trained on you while the monsters ripped him apart. Somehow your father had faith and knew you’ll going to survive this night.

He wasn’t wrong, though. Sam Winchester and his grandfather stormed into the abandoned house, killed the vamps, and got you out before they could even touch you.

That night you cried yourself to sleep until Sam stormed into your room, barking at you. It sounds odd, but his rough treatment helped you feel better.

The hunter decided you will stay by his side. He never asked you to stay, though. Sam said he wants you to stick around, so you stayed by his side until his brother came back into the picture.

Dean was the one telling you that the Sam you got to know, and love isn’t himself. Your Sam was only a shadow of the man he used to be before he jumped into the pit.

“Dean, wait,” you sit on the floor and lean your back against the door as Sam calls for his brother. “You’re right. I should talk to Y/N and tell her how I feel about our past.”

Sam hurriedly follows his brother to talk to Dean again while you try to not make too much noise. You start to cry, feeling lost for the first time since you lost your father.

“Y/N?” Dean strolls into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing his face. He wanted to grab a midnight snack and now, he runs into you sneaking around the kitchen to stuff snacks into one of your duffle bags. “Hungry too, huh?”

“I—” you bite your tongue. Dean is a nice guy and you don’t want him to feel bad. His life is tough enough. He doesn’t need a whiny girl telling him about her feelings. “I will take my life back into my hands.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” the hunter cocks his head. He glances at your packed bags, knowing exactly what this means. “You want to leave.” He says, eyes saddening as you nod.

“I lived here for far too long, Dean. I’m thankful you took me in and let me stay until I was ready to leave,” you nervously chew on your lower lip. “It’s time to say goodbye now. Don’t worry, I won’t hunt on my own. I’m not a hunter like my father.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to move out,” Dean takes a step toward you. He approaches you like a wounded animal, hands raised and voice soft. “If you want to go only as Sammy changed…” he trails off.

“I heard what he said this morning,” you admit, shrugging as a gasp leaves Dean’s lips. “He’s right. The Sam saving me is long gone. Our relationship was far from perfect, but it was real to me. I had hoped your brother and I will find a way to—” sighing deeply you shake your head. “This all doesn’t matter anymore. I’m ready to move on.”

“Y/N,” Dean tries to stop you from leaving, “maybe you should talk to Sammy. He’s not going to let you go. My brother is stubborn, but a good man.”

“He’s a very good man; one of the best I ever met,” you give Dean a sad smile, “but he’s not the man I fell in love with. Believe it or not, the other Sam made me feel loved and wanted…”

Dean carries your bags toward the garage. It’s all he can do. You made up your mind and there is no stopping you from leaving. “If you need help, give me a call. Don’t be shy.”

“I got an aunt in New Orleans,” you say. “I think I’ll move there and try to live a normal life. I was my dad’s research expert all my life. Now it’s time to find something new…”

You didn’t make it far. The car you borrowed from Dean broke down in the middle of the road and you were stranded in Lebanon once again.

Luckily Donnie, the bartender of the local bar, was driving home late at night. He offered a ride and the spare room above the bar to you. In return, you work as a bartender and waitress at the bar to help him out.

“Another one,” one of the regulars flashes you a toothy grin. He’s a harmless guy but boy, that man can drink. “Did I tell you lately that Donnie is not half as pretty as you are?”

“Yeah, like five times,” you chuckle at his flirty mood. “And did I tell you lately that you are a damn attractive man for your age?”

“Sweetie, I’m seventy-four,” wiping the counter you listen to Morty’s rant, “but my wife treats me like a child. I come here every Saturday night to drink her away.”

“Aw, that’s not nice to say, Morty,” he nods, still, he downs another drink. He groans as the burning liquid runs down his throat.

“We’ve been married for fifty years, sweetie. When I lost her four years ago I believed that my life ended too,” you frown deeply at his words. If his wife died four years ago this can only mean… “I know you believe I’m crazy. Everyone does.” He shrugs.

“Do you still see your wife, Morty?” Morty lifts his gaze from the empty glass in his hands to look at you.

“Yeah. She tells me to eat healthily and call our son. Sometimes I feel her stroke my cheek. Last week she was lying next to me in bed, wearing her favorite dress. It felt so nice…”

“Looks like she still cares about you, Morty,” you pat his hand. “How about you go home and tell her you love her, and that you miss her. Eat healthy and call your son. It will help her move on.”

“Move on…” Morty nods. He’s unsure if he wants his wife to move on. It feels like she’s still around and he doesn’t want to lose her for a second time. “Maybe you’re right, sweetie.” He groans when getting off the bar stool. “Have a good night, pretty girl.”

“You too—” you give him a soft smile. “Be careful out there…”

A few hours later the bar is almost empty. You are busy cleaning the counter when the door opens again only for Sam Winchester to step inside the bar.

“Damn, no—” you move to the other side of the counter to pour another drink. “Stay away from this side of the bar and leave, Sam.”

“What did you say?” the guy slurs. “How about you give me another whiskey and stop talking.” Sheesh, some guys should learn some manners and stop drinking. “Hurry.”

“Sure, Sir,” you grit your teeth but turn around to get the bottle of whiskey. You stretch your body to reach the shelf only to feel a hand slap your ass harshly. You shriek, startled you drop the bottle, making a mess on the floor. “What the fuck!”

Donnie stumbles toward your side of the bar counter at the same time as you turn around to backhand the guy slapping your ass. “What? If I see a nice ass, I want to feel it up!”

“Hands off,” the guy ends up pressed against the nearby wall. A wall of flannel holds him there, grunting as the man struggles against his strength. “Who gave you the right to touch my girl? She’s mine!”

“Sam?” you’re a little confused at Sam’s reaction. No, to be honest, you are completely taken aback. The Sam you knew would’ve been even rougher with someone putting their hands on you. He was a man possessed. But this Sam, he doesn’t even like you…

“You will never touch a woman against her will again, got it?” Sam barks at the man, making the poor guy flinch. “Get out of here and do not forget to pay for the bottle she dropped because of you!”

“Yes—Sir,” the man throws his wallet at Donnie. “Take what I owe you, Donnie…and a huge tip for the lady.” Damn, Sam Winchester surely can make a grown man sweat.

“Y/N,” Sam drops his hands to his sides as you run out of the bar to hide in your room. “Fuck…”

“You should talk to her, Sam,” Donnie offers a stern look. “If you mess with my best employee, you are not welcome here anymore, just like your brother.”

“What do you want here, Sam?” you watch Sam sneak into your room with the spare key Donnie gave to him. “I’m out of your hair, just like you wanted…”

You refuse to look at Sam when he sits on the small table in your room. “I-“ he shakes his head. “I messed up big time, Y/N.”

“You are telling me, Sam,” huffing you glance at his long legs, biting your lower lip, chewing on it. “Maybe I’ll lose my new home and job because of you now.”

“That’s not what I meant, but you got a point there,” he gets up to walk over to where you are standing. His large hands wrap around your arms, making you whimper as you remember the way Sam held you down to fuck you senseless.

You drop your eyes to look at his hand around your left arm. “What do you mean?”

“I pushed you away because I remember everything I did to you,” he clears his throat, wanting your attention. You immediately whip your head towards Sam’s, looking at him. “I was scared and confused.”

“You feared what, Sam? I…I don’t understand. You didn’t do anything wrong back then,” you shake your head. “All you did to me was consensual. I,” you giggle, eyes dropping to his large hand still holding your arm in a tight grip, “I like it rough.”

“Damn, can you just not?” he drops his hands to move his fingers through his shaggy hair. “I was…I mean. All my life I believed that I’m all vanilla and now I got this urge to bend you over the table and take you like a slut, Y/N.”

"So, you are surprised you are a devil in the sheets?" smirking you watch Sam swallow thickly. “That’s the reason to push me away and hurt me? Well, I can tell the other you wasn’t a kind or sensitive man, but he never hurt me only to hide who he really is...”

"I want to fuck you like he did," he purrs, eyes dropping to your heaving chest. “But I don’t want to hurt you or go too far...”

“Please do—Sam,” his nostrils flare and he can feel his cock swell in his pants when you look up at him, lips parted and eyes wide. “Please…”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to hold back if you let me have my way with you. Shit, kitten…I want to fuck you into obedience and wrap my hand around your throat,” Sam pants heavily when you slowly go down on your knees to move your hands over his long legs up to his fly. “Y/N…”

“I’m still mad at you for ignoring me but—” licking your lips you look up at Sam, “if you fuck me like promised I’ll consider forgiving you…”

Tags in reblog.

#Devil in the sheets #samwinchesterbingo #Sam Winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #sam x reader #sam x you #sam winchester fanfic #sam x y/n #former soulless!sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n

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hoboal87 · 3 years ago

Text

Mine, Part 1

Characters: Sam, Dean, Jess

Pairing: past Sam x Jessica, past Dean x Jessica

Warnings: 1x01 adjacent, 10x03 adjacent, flashback, dub-con to non-con, smut, murder, pregnancy, obsessive/possessive Dean, creampie, rape by deception, mentions of arousal by murder/blood

Word Count: 3.1k+

A/n: this fic uses dialogue from 10x3. Demon!Dean refers to human Dean in the third person. Special Thanks to @writethelifeyouwant and @synmorite for brainstorming with me!

beta'd by @negans-lucille-tblr

"There’s no point of bringing your brother back now,” Dean grunts as Sam steps away, jerking against the chair. He’d play Sam’s game for now; how could he resist?

“Oh, I will bring him back,” Sam argues.

Sam just couldn’t let things go, but he was always the hopeful one, always saw the good in people, and now that Dean wasn’t human, he didn’t need to pretend that he was the good person that Sam believed him to be. Being a demon was freeing– letting loose, fucking whoever he wanted, killing whoever he wanted – despite Crowley’s insistance that he stick to those with contracts.

The dick who sold his soul just to have his cheating wife killed? Who was really the bad guy in that situation? Sure, Crowley was pissed, but both he and Dean knew who was really the stronger of the two, and Dean could easily overthrow him in Hell if he cared enough to do so. Once he was done here with Sam, he’d need to deal with Crowley. Dean isn’t dumb enough to think that he’s not the one who sold him out to his brother.

“See, where I’m sitting, there’s not much difference between what I turned into and what you already are,” Dean goads Sam, a look of guilt overwhelming his face as he realizes what Dean knows.

“I never meant–”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant. That line that you thought was so clear between us and the bad guys, ain’t so clear, is it Sammy?”

Tears well in Sam’s eyes, demon or not, Dean knows exactly how to play his brother. “You took a guy at his lowest, used him and it cost him his life and his soul. You know what, you might actually be worse than me.”

Sam fills another syringe, and walks carefully towards Dean. It was only the second injection, and it wasn’t making him feel more human, it was only pissing him off even more. He’d give Sam this; he was persistent, and Dean could think of something that might get him what he wants. Dean’s darkest secret, something the human him would never allow to say out loud, not wanting to shatter the perfect image that Sammy has of his older brother.

“This isn’t you talking, Dean.”

“Sure, it is, Sammy,” Dean grunts. “A new model: lean, mean, Dean. No one to hold me back, I can do what I want, whenever I want. And you know what I want, little brother?” Sam flinches slightly at Dean’s words, the familiarity seeming to physically hurt him. “First, I’m gonna tell you what really happened the night your little girlfriend bit the bullet, then I’m gonna do what your brother has wanted for so long, you know how obsessed he is with you? How much he loves you? And not that brotherly love, oh no, this sick motherfucker is in love with you. How fucked up is that? If he couldn’t have you, no one could. Think about it, Sammy, the second you try to settle down, and suddenly John’s gone missing? Quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”

November 2, 2005

Dean’s sure if he times everything right he can be back in Jericho before Sam even knows he’s gone. It’s barely 100 miles, and he knows he can easily make that trip in less than two hours with the way he drives. Plus, it’s already past midnight, and even if he needs more time with Jessica, he should still be back by the early morning. Sam belongs with him, not some chick – not some apple-pie life with her. Sam’s a hunter; a natural born killer, just like Dean, and nothing was going to keep them apart anymore.

It’s a little after two am when Dean pulls in front of Sam and Jessica’s apartment, he sneaks in the same way he did less than two days prior – this Jessica girl clearly didn’t learn a lesson about keeping windows locked. The apartment is small enough that anyone could easily find their way through, even in the dark, to the bedroom. Dean passes through the hallway, the outside light slightly illuminating some photos hanging on the walls.

Jessica is sleeping peacefully when he enters, her blonde curls cascading across her shoulders and notices a small box on the bedside table. Dean isn’t particularly picky when it comes to women, or men for that matter, but he can’t understand why Sam chose her. She is pretty – gorgeous, even – but enough to make Sam stay out of the life? What does she have that Dean doesn’t, what’s so special about her?

Jessica lets out a small sigh as she rolls over onto her side, and Dean wonders about the other noises she makes. He wants to touch her, see what has Sam hooked. He toes off his shoes quietly, sneaking around to the side of the bed not currently occupied. Dean undresses, setting the knife next to bed, and he feels his cock come to life as Jessica lets out another moan. The bed groans under Dean’s added weight as he slips in under the covers. He brings his body closer to Jessica’s, wrapping his hand around her waist and placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder.

“Mm, Sam,” she whimpers as Dean’s hand travels down and slips into her panties. “Thought you weren’t–”

“Shhh,” Dean shushes her, running his hand through her folds. Jessica’s body responds quickly to his touch, and after only a minute or so she’s a dripping, moaning mess. He easily slips a finger inside her, and she clenches hard around him. This must be what has Sammy so hooked, Dean thinks as he sucks a mark onto her neck.

“Sam, shit, baby,” Jessica moans as Dean slips in a second and third finger, stretching her out for him. Living in motel rooms for their entire life meant that very little was left to imagination, and he knew he was thicker than Sam, he hopes that she’s out of it enough not to notice.

“You gonna cum on my fingers, baby girl?” Dean does his best to mimic Sam’s voice, hoping that her half-asleep brain won’t notice that he sounds very little like his brother. Jessica lets out a groan as he feels her walls tighten around his fingers. “Cum for daddy.”

Jessica squirms, whining and moaning as he pumps his fingers in out, and when he rubs her clit, she comes undone around him. Jessica tries turning around, but Dean stops her, removing her cropped shirt to reveal her perfect tits. As she comes down from her high he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking off her sweet juices.

“Turn around f’me,” Dean orders, and she lazily tries to roll onto her back. “Nuh-uh, baby girl, ass in the air.” Jessica obliges and Dean pulls down her panties to reveal her glistening cunt. He leans forward and licks a stripe through her fold, and strokes his now painfully hard cock.

She tastes even sweeter this way, and Dean brings two fingers back to her, scissoring her open and getting the perfect view of the pussy Sam’s been burying himself in for the past two years. He lets go of his cock, needing to get a hand on her tits, and palms at her.

“Sam, baby, please,” Jessica moans against the pillow, “need you.”

Dean can hardly take it anymore, she does beg so sweetly. He sits up, and runs his cocks through Jessica’s folds, letting the tip of his cock nudge against her clit, causing her to whine out. Jessica moves back, encouraging Dean to enter her, but he doesn’t, he wants her to be a dripping mess before he fucks her, and she’s not quite there yet.

“When didja get so needy, baby girl?” Dean asks, letting her sit back so her ass is in his lap.

“Always needy for you, Sam,” she moans, rubbing herself over Dean’s cock. “I hate being away from you, baby.” Jessica attempts to turn her face, but Dean moves out of her sight.

“Keep your eyes closed, baby,” he instructs, “want you to focus on how it feels when I fuck you.”

“Then do it already,” Jessica sasses, making Dean’s cock twitch.

“You gonna be a little brat today?” Dean tsks, “maybe I won’t give you what you want.”

“Please, Sam,” she moans, and Dean slips his cock inside, unable to wait any longer. Dean can’t help but smirk as he watches hercunt stretch around, sucking him in as begins thrusting into her. “Fuck, baby, you feel so big.”

He reaches for her long locks, grabbing a handful to give himself leverage to fuck into her harder. Her ass bounces against him, a clapping filling the otherwise quiet of the apartment. Jessica mewls, begging him to go faster, harder, and when he does her pussy clenches, and he feels like she’s trying to milk him dry.

“Sam!” Jessica shakes as she cums around him again, and almost sends Dean over the edge himself. Jessica falls forward, letting her head hit the pillow as Dean continues to thrust lazily inside her. For a moment he thinks that if Sam was willing to share, he wouldn’t need to do what he came here for, but Sam doesn’t like other people touching his things, so it doesn’t leave Dean with much choice.

“C’mon, Sam, want you, want you to fill me up.”

“Okay, baby girl,” Dean smirks. If he’s gonna cum inside his little brother’s girl, he’s gonna make sure she watches him do it. “Turn around.”

Dean pulls out, letting Jessica flip over onto her back. Her eyes are still half-closed, her body relaxed from her two previous orgasms. He lifts her legs, her ankles next to his ears as he enters her again, this time at an even better angle. Dean grabs a pillow and props up her ass, thrusting even harder into her.

He gets a perfect view of her tits, bouncing as he moves, and he needs to get his mouth on them. He lets her legs go, and lowers himself, taking a nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around, he’s not sure how much time he’s spent there before Jessica is moaning, playfully pushing him away.

He turns his attention to her other breast, giving it the same treatment as the other, sucking marks and nipping at her. Jessica is moaning, and Dean is loving every moment of it. Knowing that she thinks it’s Sam making her feel this way only urns Dean on even more.

“Dean?!” Dean hears a click and light illuminates the room. He looks up to see blue eyes focused and full of horror looking down at him. “Get off’a me!”

Dean doesn’t move, only continuing to thrust into Jessica.

“Dean, please, stop.”

“I thought you wanted me to fill you up, sweetheart?” Dean smirks, holding her hands down as she tries to push him away. “I can see why Sammy wants to stay here with you, best cunt I’ve ever had. Are you such a slut that you can’t tell one dick from the other, baby girl? I’ve seen Sammy’s dick, and I know I’m bigger. Or are you such a whore that you’ll take any cock that you can get, hmm?”

“I’ll– I’ll tell Sam,” Jessica cries out as Dean continues. “I’ll tell him that you tricked me. That– that I thought it was him.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean reaches over and grabs the knife. “I really didn’t want it to come to this,” he feigns concern, and places the blade against her neck. “But first, I’mma cum in this perfect little pussy a’yours. And I want you to look at me when I do it.”

Jessica closes her eyes tight as Dean continues pumping into her harder, now chasing his own release. Dean presses the knife harder against her throat, a small trickle of blood appears on the underside of the blade and streams down onto the sheets.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you got another one in you, I just know it.”

Tears fall from Jessica's eyes, spurring Dean on even more, and feels her pussy flutter around him. She’s trying to resist, but Dean uses his free hand to reach between their bodies and rub her clit. Jessica whimpers, and with a half dozen more thrusts, Dean’s spilling himself inside her.

It takes Dean a few minutes to gather himself, remembering why he came here in the first place. Sammy. He needs Sammy to stay with him, needs him to leave this bitch who has somehow made him think he can have a normal life.

He grabs the clothes he had thrown to the floor earlier, and tosses a white night gown to her while he redresses. Jessica makes the stupid decision to try and run, but Dean’s faster, catching as she reaches the front door before dragging her into a large, overstuffed chair.

“That,” Dean tsks waving the knife in her direction, “was a stupid plan, sweetheart. All I wanted to do was talk.”

“Fuck you,” Jessica spits. Maybe this is what Sam saw in her. “You’re a fucking monster, and Sam’ll never forgive you for what you did.”

“Sweetheart, Sammy’s never gonna find out about any of this. Because when I drop him off tomorrow, you’re going to end it with him. You can tell him whatever the fuck you want; you hate him, you can’t deal with the family drama, it’s dealer’s choice, sweetheart. But, Sammy? He belongs with me.”

“No,” Jessica snaps, and Dean’s got to admire her courage. “I won’t, and you can’t make me.”

“You really don’t know anything, do you, sweetheart?” Dean laughs slightly, “Sammy really never told you about who we are.”

“I know everything I need to. I love Sam and he loves me. I don’t care about your family drama,” Jessica shifts in her seat. “If Sam wanted you or your dad as permanent parts of our lives he wouldn’t have avoided you for the last three years.”

“Don’t talk about our family and things you know nothing about, sweetheart,” Dean leans over her, his face only a breath away from hers.

“You’re not Sam’s family,” Jessica seethes, “I am. Me and– and our baby.”

Dean scoffs, surely she’s joking, or trying to manipulate him into thinking that she would now and forever be connected to Sam. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

“In the bedroom,” Jessica offers, “on the bedside table, there’s proof.”

Dean grabs Jessica by the arm, there’s no way he’s going to give her the opportunity to escape. She drags her feet, but doesn’t fight him, and when they make it to the bedroom he pushes her towards the bed. She lands with a soft thud, eyes watering when she hands Dean the wrapped box that he’d seen earlier.

“I was going to tell him when he came home,” Jessica offers as Dean rips open the box. Sure enough, nestled inside is a positive pregnancy test and a card with the words ‘Coming This July,’ with a sonogram photo centered in the middle. “I may not know much about your family, Dean, but I know Sam would never abandon his baby.”

“What makes you think he’ll ever know about it, sweetheart?” Dean’s eyes darken, and he plunges his knife into Jessica’s stomach. Jessica lets out a silent scream as Dean twists the knife in further, before retracting and driving it into her again. Blood plumes around her abdomen, staining the white gown, and he watches intently as her breathing becomes more ragged, before sending the knife through a final time for good measure.

“Believe it or not, sweetheart, this isn’t how I planned on the night going,” Dean wipes a fallen tear from Jessica’s eyes. “But I should’ve known that a slut like you would try to trap my Sammy into some apple-pie life. It’s better this way, you’ll see."

Jessica begins coughing up blood, and Dean knows it won’t be too much longer, he pockets the test and ultrasound photo, noting to get rid of them– Sam can’t know that she was pregnant. If he did– he’d never forgive Dean for dragging him on a case and blame him for her death. He’d lose Sammy for good, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, realizing the mistake he’s made – not ridding himself and Sam of Jessica, that needed to happen – this is now the scene of a murder. He’d let his love, his need for Sammy to be back with him cloud his judgement, and he he didn’t stop to think of where he’d go from here. He and John had seen and worked enough cases for him to know that there would be evidence of him all over the apartment. He could explain any bits of his DNA in the living room, Sam would confirm that he’d been in the living room not three days prior, but the more pressing issue would be what he left inside Jessica, there was no way to explain that away. It wouldn’t take Sam long to put two and two together, and then Dean would lose his brother, for good this time, and he couldn’t have that.

“Well, this is unexpected,” an unfamiliar voice enters the room. “You know, that was supposed to be my job. A little ahead of schedule, but, I guess as long as it got done, boss won’t care,” the guy hovers over Jessica’s dead body. “Never thought a Winchester would beat me to it, though.”

“Who are you?” Dean grunts. If this guy knows who he is – who Sam is – it can’t be anything good.

“Doesn’t matter,” the older man shrugs. “Go back to your brother, I’ll take care of this.”

“Why?” Dean asks, not understanding how or why this stranger would offer to help him.

“We have plans for Sammy,” the man’s eyes flash yellow, “and as long as you and that piece of shit you call a father play your parts. Sammy’s gonna need a shoulder to cry on, and let's face it, you can’t live without him either. Go on, Deanie boy, I’ll take care of this, you’ll have your brother back and I’ll have my– you know what? I’ll keep that one a surprise. See you around, Dean.”

“You killed Jess?” Sam asks, unbelieving of what he’s heard. “Why?”

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean tsks, breaking free of the bonds tying him to the chair. “Weren’t you listening? Your brother couldn’t even imagine life without you. And when that little bitch told him she was knocked up, he knew you’d never leave.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, his face growing redder by the minute. This is where Dean needs Sam; pissed off – so that he can make his escape and finally get away from Sam.

Part 2

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