#he then hunted spirits and died :/ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

isaaccadrian · 2 months ago

Text

Patron God! Shen Yuan

Shen Yuan transmigrates and becomes the patron god of Cang Qiong mountain. Other sects whisper about how Cang Qiong is the only sect that is graced with the presence of a patron god who watches over every disciple and every peak lord and protects them during night hunts.

There is a temple built for Shen Yuan on Qiong Ding peak and offerings are made by each disciple when they are inducted in the name of their god. New disciples are always skeptical of a patron god at first. Why is Cang Qiong sect the only one who has such a deity?

After all, no one has ever SEEN their patron god though murals and statues have been created to depict his likeness. But they are quick to become believers when their shixiongs and shijies all swear that they feel a protective presence during their night hunts.

And indeed, when they are on their very first night hunts, they feel it. A soft presence patting their heads, ushering them forwards with the promise that no matter what danger they encounter, they are safe and sound.

And it is true that no disciple has ever died on a night hunt. But there are doubts. There is always doubt for no one has ever seen their god.

Each peak lord is told by the previous peak lord that at one point in their lives they will meet the god when they need him the most.

Yue Qingyuan meets the patron god when he is bleeding and broken on the ground in the spirit caves, half mad from grief and his own weakness. He needs to get out so he can find his Shen Jiu but no matter how much he tries, he cannot move. He cries at his own uselessness.

"You poor thing," A voice above him cries with him, "I see your pain."

Yue Qingyuan only has enough energy to turn his head and his eyes widen for he is looking into the face of his Shen Jiu enshrouded in bright holy light.

"A-Jiu?"

The god smiles.

He touches Yue Qingyuan's forehead and instantly Yue Qingyuan can feel his muddled thoughts clear. His broken body stitches itself back together. He can feel his discordant qi soothe under this being's touch.

"I am no A-Jiu but I can see how important he is to you."

"I can see how he will become important to me," the god murmurs softly. "I will heal you and give you my blessing so that you may bring him to me."

The deity bows before Yue Qingyuan and kisses his forehead and Yue Qingyuan feels like he's been embedded with the sun. He has been given divine revelation, he has been given purpose. His path has been blessed and he will do the patron god's bidding.

His shizun checks in on him in the spirit caves and finds them empty. Before his shizun can sound the alarm, the sight of two people coming up the steps leading to Cang Qiong greets him as he passes by. Yue Qingyuan and the boy in his arms are enveloped in warm light.

His shizun draws in a sharp breath as they reach the top. Yue Qingyuan sets the boy down tenderly as the glow around them softly fades.

"This is Shen Jiu."

Even as a disciple, Shen Qingqiu has never believed in the existence of a patron god. He makes his offering as a new disciple with barely a thought and listens to the other disciples whispering excitedly about the patron god with a scoff and roll of his eyes.

A patron god who watches over them and ensures their safety during night hunts? A child's tale meant to soothe them at night. Even Qi ge has been swayed by this peak and their fanaticism about this patron god. Yue Qingyuan insists that he has seen the face of the patron god.

He insists that the patron god is real and that it was with his blessing that Yue Qingyuan was able to bring Shen Jiu to Cang Qiong.

Shen Qingqiu again rolls his eyes at that because it was clearly sheer dumb luck that Yue Qingyuan was able to find him.

It isn't until Shen Qingqiu, prone to qi deviations, undergoes one as a disciple. He can tell that this one is Bad, that his life is slowly slipping away and that he will most likely die from this. He cries tears of frustration as his body is wracked with pain.

There is no one to help him, as his disciple brothers and sisters scorn him and he trains alone in the bamboo forest because of it. His body is collapsed on the grass and he can barely move his throat to call for help. He is going to die alone, miserable and forgotten.

He closes his eyes and lets the tears fall slowly to soak the grass as he submits himself to his death. He just hopes that it isn't Qi ge who finds his dead body.

"Hello there," a voice says from somewhere above him. At first, he thinks he's hallucinating.

He's imagining the gentle, loving voice that is going to usher him to death. The imagined being becomes more real though when Shen Qingqiu feels himself being moved around and his head is placed on said being's lap.

He feels warm hands being placed on his head, soothing and soft.

The pain that has wracked his body fades to a throb and then to nothing and he feels the qi deviation subside. Finally he is able to open up his eyes and look into the face of the patron god.

"Hello," the deity smiles at him with his own face. Shen Qingqiu's eyes widen.

"W-Who are you?" Shen Qingqiu asks with a tremor in his voice.

The deity tilts his head in a thoughtful pose. "I am known as the patron god of Cang Qiong but you can call me Shen Yuan."

The god smiles in pleased satisfaction at the statement.

"In fact, I insist you call me Shen Yuan."

"Shen Yuan," Shen Jiu tries out and finds that the name is pleasing to him as well. He's almost afraid to ask. They have such similar names and their faces are so similar as well. "A-Are you my kin?"

The god's lips purse at that question, perfect brow furrowing. It looks unbearably cute on such a divine face.

"No," the deity finally replies but then Shen Yuan's lips stretch into a smile. "Would you like me to be?" The god peers up at the sky in contemplation.

"No one has ever asked me to be their family," Shen Yuan muses. He smiles down at Shen Jiu. "Very well, for this day forth, I am your family. Your enemies are my enemies. Everything that I have to offer is yours to utilize as you wish."

As Shen Yuan speaks, Shen Jiu can feel power humming in his veins. He can feel the words the god is weaving around them, creating a bond so intrinsic that nothing will ever render them apart.

Unbidden, a smile draws across Shen Jiu's lips as warmth suffuses his body.

This is what he has been searching for all this life. This bond of family, of safety, of comfort, something that no one can ever take away from him.

Shen Jiu doesn't know it at the time, but those words become more than a bond. Shen Jiu finds out that he is never subjected to qi deviations ever again. His core develops in leaps and bounds. He becomes powerful enough to claim the peak lord title despite his late start in his cultivation.

His disciple siblings whisper about him behind his back. How he is the god's favored one. They call him the god's avatar when their shizun begins to notice Shen Jiu's improvements in his cultivation and how he is slowly evolving into something more.

Shen Jiu doesn't notice but during his spars with his disciple siblings, his eyes glow with golden light.

He is gifted with their patron god's grace, his sect siblings whisper with jealousy. Normally, that would send Shen Jiu on high alert, wary of their envy, but for the first time in his life, he doesn't care. The patron god's love for him is absolute. There is no need for fear.

He is loved and cared for and Shen Yuan is unshakable.

Liu Qingge has been taught that there is a god who lives on their mountain and that he favors Shen Jiu, the disciple of Qing Jing peak. He can't help but feel a little envy for who wouldn't want the favor of a god?

As a result, he picks fights with Shen Jiu, calling him weak to need a god in order to further his cultivation. Looking back on his behavior when he is older, he realizes how much of a jealous brat he was being especially when he finally sees the patron god in person.

He secludes himself in the Lingxi Caves to further his own cultivation but a couple of weeks in, he starts to notice that something has gone Wrong. A violent red haze fills his vision and his limbs swing out of control. He attacks everything in his path without a thought.

He cannot stop himself no matter how hard he tries and he can feel his sanity slipping away from him.

"Stop attacking me and come to your senses, you brute!" A voice pierces the red haze settling over his brain. He has enough presence of mind to see that he is fighting against Shen Qingqiu and he tries his damnedest to stop his limbs from moving but it's like they have a mind of their own. He can tell that Shen Qingqiu is trying to restrain him to the best of ability without hurting him.

But Liu Qingge has always been the better fighter and he knows in his heart that he will unintentionally kill Shen Qingqiu. He screams both in frustration and in madness.

Shen Qingqiu startles at the primal sound and drops his guard for the slightest moment. But that is all Liu Qingge needs to land the killing blow.

Before his sword can slice Shen Qingqiu's head from his neck though, a hand skillfully bats it off to the side, redirecting his thrust towards the stone walls. Liu Qingge stumbles and turns to his new opponent.

For a crazy moment, he thinks he is still staring at Shen Qingqiu but that cannot be true because Shen Qingqiu is collapsed on the floor next to his twin.

"Go and find your Mu shidi," the being orders with a gentle voice.

"I am not leaving you here alone, didi," SQQ says.

"You must and you will," the being says firmly and then smiles sweetly at Shen Qingqiu, "I will be fine, gege. Trust in your Shen Yuan."

Shen Qingqiu only hesitates a second more before bolting out of the caves. Shen Yuan turns to him and then his smile stretches wider.

"This one greets War God Liu Qingge," Shen Yuan says but anything else is lost in the wind as Liu Qingge attacks.

His sword flies in a flurry against Shen Yuan who is unarmed but parries his blows with an ease that belies the god's great skill. As Liu Qingge attacks with more fervor, Shen Yuan dances around him, arms harmlessly glancing off his blade as he bats it away from him. It is as if Liu Qingge is fighting against the wind.

The god's sleeves flutter in the air like leaves, momentarily distracting Liu Qingge. He stops for a brief second to stare at those beguiling sleeves before he is pinned to the ground.

"This will only take a moment," Shen Yuan whispers behind him. A rush of qi floods his veins and it feels like a cool spring breeze through his body. He can feel clarity return. His jerky limbs and his snarling dies down and he relaxes under the god's hold.

"Feeling much better, yes?" Shen Yuan asks from above him. Liu Qingge cannot answer just yet, his head still in a fog from what would have been a fatal qi deviation.

As soon as he more lucid, the god lets him up. Liu Qingge struggles to draw himself up to a sitting position but the god is right there to gently prop him up against himself.

Like this, Liu Qingge can get a good look at his savior for the first time. He truly looks exactly like Shen Qingqiu at first glance (and isn't it funny, that a patron god looks like their surly shixiong?) but Liu Qingge has never seen such kind eyes and such a beatific smile before.

On this being, the refined aristocratic features are softened into something warm and radiant that Liu Qingge cannot help but draw closer.

"Oh, are you still unsteady?" Shen Yuan asks when Liu Qingge attempts to pancake himself onto the god. "Perhaps I should transfer more qi."

At this Liu Qingge reddens as he realizes that he is taking a god's qi.

He quickly straightens up. "I'm fine now!"

He would have jumped up and away if he had any strength left in his legs. But he doesn't and any attempt only lands him closer to the god.

"You should move so suddenly so soon after your qi deviation!" Shen Yuan scolds, wrestling Liu Qingge into his lap with barely enough effort.

"I'm perfectly fine now!" Liu Qingge insists, struggling even more. All his attempts only end up with him snuggling up to Shen Yuan.

And that's how Shen Qingqiu and Mu Qingfang find them, entangled tightly on the floor of the Lingxi Caves.

"Huh," Mu Qingfang stares at the god with widening eyes, "He really does look like our Shen shixiong. How interesting."

Shen Qingqiu next to him looks one step away from apoplectic rage.

"You Bai Zhan brute!" Shen Qingqiu screeches and reaches to pull Liu Qingge off of his beloved didi. "Unhand didi at once!"

"Careful, gege," Shen Yuan chides, "He's still healing."

Liu Qingge lets himself get dragged off of Shen Yuan but finds himself missing the warmth of his arms as soon as he leaves them.

Mu Qingfang quickly half carries and half drags him away from Shen Qingqiu who is barely restrained by Shen Yuan.

Liu Qingge looks back wistfully at the god who saved him. Truly something to be envious of. Liu Qingge finds that he has never desired anything more than Shen Yuan's gaze on him.

And that is how he meets and owes a life debt to the patron god of Cang Qiong.

Luo Binghe has been told of the patron god of Cang Qiong but he is skeptical of such a god. After all, would such a god allow a disciple to be bullied by his shixiongs and made to sleep in the wood shed?

He is still smarting after a beating from his shixiongs for some imagined transgression. He's finished his chores only to find out the dining hall has stopped serving dinner so he submits himself to going to bed hungry again.

As he trudges up the path to his wood shed, tired and clutching his belly to stop the hunger pains, he notices a light coming from the bamboo forest off the path.

Luo Binghe is curious as all his disciple siblings should have gone to bed by this time of night and there should be no buildings where the light is coming from.

He walks off the path and towards the light and finds a small temple built into a clearing in the bamboo forest. There is a light emitting from the doorway and Luo Binghe walks inside to discover an alter covered with offerings and lit up with candlelight.

The candles are still tall and look freshly lit. Whoever was here to tend to this temple was just here recently.

"H-Hello?" Luo Binghe calls out with a tremor in his voice, afraid that he is not allowed to be here but still curious of why there is a temple here. Binghe looks around but sees nothing that would show who this shrine is dedicated to. No iconography, no statues, no name on a plaque.

The only temple for the patron god is situated in Qiong Ding peak and offerings are made on special occasions and holidays.

"Hello?" Luo Binghe calls again. "Is anyone there?"

"Hello, little disciple," a voice behind him answers. Luo Binghe yelps in shock and turns around to find the most beautiful man he has ever seen in his life.

His eyes widen at the sight of the man but the man's eyes are just as wide. A bright smile stretches across the man's face.

"Oh, it's you!" The man crows with delight. "I have been waiting for you!"

"M-me?" Binghe asks incredulously as the man ushers him inside the temple.

"You must be so cold and starved waiting out here," the man tuts. Luo Binghe is made to sit down on a luohan bed that CLEARLY wasn't there before. The god goes straight for the offerings on the alter and plucks a tray of peaches off of it. He holds the tray towards Luo Binghe with a smile.

Binghe blushes to the tips of his hair.

"T-This lowly disciple couldn't possibly take a god's offerings!" Binghe quickly stammers.

"Why not?" The man asks cheerily, "These are offerings made to me so I think I can decide how I want to use them. And you, my little bun, look like you could use some food."

The beautiful man with his beautiful smile keeps insisting that Binghe take some peaches until he finally gives in and takes one with trembling hands.

The man continues to watch him until Binghe takes a bite and then two bites and soon he's devouring the entire tray.

"I'm Shen Yuan by the way," the god introduces as if he isn't a god and Binghe isn't just a lowly disciple who is choking on his food at the idea of sitting next to the patron god of Cang Qiong.

Shen Yuan dutifully pats Binghe's back to clear his airways.

Luo Binghe wants to bow down in front of the god, feels like that's what he should be doing but he can't stop himself from gaping mawkishly like an idiot.

Of course the pretty man with the most lovely features Binghe has ever seen would be a god.

"Binghe should eat some more," Shen Yuan hops down from his seat next to Binghe on the luohan bed and brings another plate of food, this time a tray of still steaming meat and vegetable buns. "These are still fresh. The chefs at Qing Jing are quite skilled."

"I don't eat much, I don't really need to, but I do try the food sometimes, if only because the workers here spend so much effort making me all this," Shen Yuan says.

"If you are ever hungry, you can come here and eat! In fact, if you want to take your meals here, I would enjoy the company."

Binghe can't even think of a response to that. A god is offering to take meals with him. A god is offering his food to Binghe!

"T-This lowly one-"

A finger is pressed against his lips.

"None of that now," Shen Yuan chides. "It can get awfully lonely here sometimes. Everyone is busy carrying out their own duties. You wouldn't deny an old man some company, would you?"

Binghe splutters.

Shen Yuan looks at him expectantly, sunshine pouring off of him in radiant waves. Binghe can only duck his head in shyness.

"T-This Binghe would be delighted to keep the patron god company," Binghe mumbles, voice barely above a whisper.

Everyday after Binghe finishes all his chores, he makes his way over to Shen Yuan's temple, and eats his meals with Shen Yuan. The god seems very interested in how Luo Binghe spends his days, asking after this and that, looking over his cultivation manual before pulling a face.

The manual incinerates to ashes in his hands and a new one appears in its place.

"Use this one," Shen Yuan suggests, "Much more suited for your cultivation style."

Binghe takes the manual gratefully for it is a boon from a god and promises to dedicate himself to studying it.

And indeed, Binghe's cultivation improves in leaps and bounds with the new manual and with the instructions the god provides when he notices Binghe poring over the manual and trying to puzzle it out.

In return, Binghe begins to make food for the god.

He notices how little Shen Yuan eats of the offerings the chefs prepare for him. Most of it goes into his belly instead.

Since food is the only thing Binghe can offer, he decides to make a snack for the god.

The evident pleasure that pinks the god's cheeks at the taste cements Binghe's decision to continue to make the god food, but it is a difficult task as he needs to sneak into the kitchens after everyone has gone to bed and he risks being caught.

Shen Yuan, having heard of Binghe's plight and looking forward to the fruits of Binghe's labor, shows him a small area in the back of temple that contains a rudimentary kitchen, ostensibly to add finishing touches to offerings for the god.

"Binghe can use this," Shen Yuan says. "There are some ingredients in the pantry but if there is anything Binghe wants in particular, I shall procure it for you," Shen Yuan explains.

Binghe feels more than overwhelmed by the kitchen and the fact that he is allowed to cook for a god.

The first meal he makes in the kitchen is a snow white congee topped with spring onions and slivers of ginger pilfered from the Qing Jing kitchens. It's not much and Binghe is embarrassed by such a humble offering but the kitchen does not have much in it. But by the way Shen Yuan hums in delight at the taste and praises Binghe (a god! Is praising! His cooking!), he doesn't seem to mind the simple fare at all.

As Binghe gets into the habit of making more and more meals for them, Binghe notes with smugness that the offerings go untouched. Shen Yuan makes it evident that he vastly prefers Binghe cooking his food and indulges in it even though he requires no sustenance.

With Shen Yuan by his side, Binghe spends the next years at Qing Jing in bliss. He grows and learns by the god's side, becoming his disciple instead of Qing Jing's disciple.

Many times, Binghe contemplates the idea of calling Shen Yuan his shizun but Shen Yuan is much more.

When Binghe thinks about what Shen Yuan has done for him, how much the god means to him, he cannot help but fall to his knees in devotion.

How can Shen Yuan's existence in his life be condensed to that of a shizun? He is protector, guardian, friend, and...

Binghe feels his cheeks pink at the thought of Shen Yuan these days. He finds that his eyes stray towards the gentle curve of the god's lips when he smiles. Or to the brightness of his eyes when Binghe does something particularly impressive or cooks him something delicious.

Secretly, Binghe sometimes wishes that Shen Yuan would only be his god, and not a god that Binghe has to share with the rest of the sect.

Occasionally, Shen Yuan goes off to meet with others in the sect. Shen Qingqiu who for reasons Binghe can't fathom calls Shen Yuan kin.

Liu Qingge who keeps offering the god precious hairpieces and fans from his family's treasury, to Binghe's ire. And Yue Qingyuan ostensibly to discuss sect business.

It is very rare but it happens and Binghe could feel some emotion roil in his gut. If only Shen Yuan could be just his, he thinks, chewing the inside of his cheek to the quick.

And then Binghe punishes himself for thinking such salacious thoughts about their patron god. Binghe has never realized that he could have such dark possessive thoughts about the god.

But as he grows older, goes out on night hunts and begins to experience more of the world, he realizes that no other can compare to Shen Yuan. He wants no one else but Shen Yuan.

Oh, Binghe thinks with clarity. I am in love with the patron god.

Once he acknowledges the fact that he loves Shen Yuan, he grows determined to grow stronger. He must make a name for himself if he is ever to present his suit to court the god. He must cultivate to immortality and ascend to stay forever at Shen Yuan's side.

His first chance of gaining recognition in the cultivation world is the Immortal Alliance conference. He is determined to make a good showing of himself, to be declared the victor so that he may present himself to Shen Yuan as a suitor.

Binghe eagerly trains hard for the conference, requesting Shen Yuan to spar with him often so that he can practice more.

Shen Yuan readily agrees but as the conference draws nearer and nearer, his mood seems to grow more and more despondent.

"Binghe will do so well at the conference," Shen Yuan smiles soft and small. "I'm sure many disciple sisters will be clamoring for Binghe's attention."

Binghe frowns at that. For some reason that Binghe can't fathom Shen Yuan is under the impression that Binghe likes women? It's baffling.

For all the god is powerful and seemingly omniscient when protecting the disciples from harm during night hunts, he doesn't seem to realize Binghe's adoration for him.

"This Binghe will endeavor to live up to Shen Yuan's expectations," Binghe says.

Shen Yuan cannot go with Cang Qiong to the conference but prior to the day they set out, a ceremony is held and each disciple makes an offering for protection and wisdom during the conference.

A fire is lit in the courtyard in front of the main temple.

Each disciple makes a prayer and gives an offering of food or flowers that the god favors.

Binghe waits for his turn, clutching his offering to his chest. When he steps in front of the fire, he presses a soft kiss to the tips of the flowers he is offering.

In that kiss, he puts all the love and adoration for Shen Yuan, and he puts in his determination to win the Immortal Alliance conference.

When he drops his offering in the fire, it seems to burn brighter than anyone else's offering.

Binghe smiles.

As the contingent for the conference rides away the next day, Binghe turns back and sees a small figure standing at the base of the steps leading to Cang Qiong.

The figure watches them depart silently and continues to watch them until it is nothing but a speck on the horizon.

As Shen Yuan predicted, as soon as he enters the gorge where the conference is taking place, he is immediately swarmed by disciples from other sects, hoping to latch onto him after identifying him as a strong cultivator.

Binghe tries to be kind like Shen Yuan would expect him to be but he can't help growing annoyed that they are dragging him down and ruining his chances of getting first place in the rankings.

The first moment he gets, he ditches them completely and without mercy. He makes good progress now that he is by himself and manages to gather a sizeable amount of kills. He continues his streak until he feels the earth rumble beneath him.

"What was that?" He can hear disciples near him gasp. And then it seems like all hell breaks loose. Around him, he can hear screams as abyssal monsters too high level for such an event appear and begin to terrorize the participants. Binghe dodges monsters left and right, trying his best to make it to the edge of the forest where the entrance should be.

"Binghe!" A voice calls him and his heart speeds up in his chest in elation.

"Shen Yuan!" Binghe shouts, eyes turning to the deity flying down from the sky to join him in his battle.

"Binghe must run away immediately!" Shen Yuan orders firmly.

"Begging Shen Yuan's pardon!" Binghe replies back and does not move away from Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan rolls his eyes at Binghe's stubbornness but does not attempt to convince him anymore.

They fight their way through the horde to the entrance. Occasionally they meet up with a disciple and save them from whatever abyssal monster is trying to kill them.

It is slow going and a secondary rumble disturbs their progress. Shen Yuan pulls Binghe to him and shields him from a rift opening up in front of them.

A demon with a blue huadian on his brow emerges from the rift.

Without a word, he begins to charge at Binghe and Shen Yuan. A familiar sword stops the demon from making contact.

"Gege!" Shen Yuan exclaims joyfully.

"Didi, beast," Shen Qingqiu acknowledges.

Binghe shrinks deeper into Shen Yuan's arms. There is no love lost between the peak lord and the disciple. Especially after knowing the relationship between his didi and his disciple.

The peak lord faces off against the demon but he dodges the xiu ya sword and heads for Binghe. Faster than any of them can react, he has Binghe's neck in his grasp.

"Binghe!" Shen Yuan snarls, anger twisting his face into something fierce that Binghe has never seen before. The patrong god speeds to disarm the demon but before he can, Binghe is thrown into the abyss.

Binghe feels his heart stop in his chest as he is thrown into hell. He feels his heart restart again and speed in double time when he feels hands grasp onto his clothing and pull him close as they plummet down.

"I've got you, Binghe," Shen Yuan yells in his ear, his words muffled by the wind. "I will always protect you."

Binghe wants to scream, he wants to push Shen Yuan away so he won't be dragged down as well but instead he pulls the god tighter to him as they both descend to hell.

#scumbag villain self saving system #scumbag system #school verse #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #shen jiu #luo binghe #liu qingge #yue qingyuan #fanfiction #svsss

558 notes · View notes

wolvietxt · 19 days ago

Text

ᰔ what really matters !

pairing : dean winchester x fem!reader warnings : shy!reader, crazy overthinking, friends to lovers, insecurities, implied anxiety, crying, hurt / comfort, jealousy, kiss, dean flirts w other people to show off, happy ending, size diff wc : 6.5k a/n : currently working on a part 2!

it was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn. sam had found a lead on a restless spirit haunting a small-town diner, and dean, ever eager for some pie and action, had jumped at the opportunity. you’d tagged along, like always, quietly sitting in the back seat of the impala, offering occasional input between the brothers’ banter.

the plan was clear: investigate during the day, torch the bones at night. simple enough. yet somehow, being in close proximity to dean for an extended period always felt anything but simple.

“you’ve been awfully quiet back there,” dean said, turning slightly in the driver’s seat to glance at you. his green eyes lingered a moment too long, forcing him to correct the car’s steering. “everything good?”

you nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “yeah, just… thinking.”

“uh-oh,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips. “are you thinking weird again? i told you, sweetheart, you don’t need to do that with us. leave the worrying to sammy.”

sam huffed from the passenger seat. “thanks for that, dean.”

you offered a small smile, unsure how to respond. dean’s words felt warm, like a blanket, but your mind couldn’t stop picking them apart. was he teasing, or did he mean it? did he think you worried too much? was it annoying?

you shook the thoughts away as the car rolled to a stop in front of the diner.

inside, the place was charming in that worn-down, small-town way. red vinyl booths, a jukebox in the corner, and a waitress who seemed to know everyone’s name. dean leaned against the counter, his usual swagger on full display.

“so, martha,” he said, flashing the waitress a smile that could’ve melted butter, “anything weird going on around here lately? cold spots, flickering lights, mysterious whispers…?”

you hovered awkwardly near sam, feeling out of place. martha’s eyes sparkled as she leaned closer to dean, completely ignoring you and sam.

“oh, weird stuff always happens around here,” she said with a giggle. “but nothing too scary. why, you boys hunting ghosts or something?”

dean chuckled. “or something.”

you shifted on your feet, pretending to study the menu even though you weren’t planning on ordering anything. dean’s charm was undeniable, and you’d seen him use it a million times to get information, but it always left you with a strange, hollow feeling.

not that it mattered. it wasn’t like he meant anything by it.

“you alright?” sam asked softly, pulling you from your thoughts.

“yeah,” you lied. “just tired.”

sam didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.

the rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of questions and notes. martha had mentioned a former cook who’d died on the job and hinted at some unusual occurrences in the kitchen, which gave you all a solid lead.

“we’ll dig up his records, find the grave, and salt-and-burn tonight,” sam said as you walked back to the car.

“easy peasy,” dean added, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he held the door open for you. “see, this is why you keep us around. all the hard work, none of the worrying.”

your heart jumped at the casual contact, but you forced yourself to focus. it didn’t mean anything. he was just being dean.

the graveyard was damp and cold by the time you arrived. armed with shovels, salt, and gasoline, you worked as quickly as possible, trying not to draw attention.

“you’re sure this is the right spot?” you asked, glancing at the headstone.

“positive,” sam said. “records match up.”

“don’t worry,” dean said with a wink, “we’ve got this.”

you weren’t sure how he managed to be so confident all the time. it was like he didn’t feel fear, or at least he never showed it. you, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about what might go wrong. as the brothers dug, you stayed on lookout, flashlight in hand. the woods were eerily quiet, every rustle of leaves setting your nerves on edge.

“hey,” dean called, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “you good over there, sweetheart?”

you nodded, gripping the flashlight tighter. “yeah, just keeping watch.”

“you’re cute when you’re focused, you know that?” he said, grinning as he tossed another shovelful of dirt aside.

your face burned, and you quickly turned away, pretending to scan the trees. cute? he probably didn’t mean it. he said stuff like that all the time.

still, the word echoed in your mind, making it hard to think straight.

the ghost showed up right on cue, just as dean and sam hit the coffin. it was a tall, shadowy figure with glowing eyes, and boy did it move fast. too fast.

“stay back!” dean shouted, stepping in front of you as the spirit lunged.

sam was already throwing salt and iron, keeping it at bay while dean lit the match and dropped it into the open grave. flames roared to life, and the ghost let out an ear-splitting scream before vanishing.

you stood frozen, heart pounding as the grave smoldered.

“you okay?” dean asked, turning to you. his hands landed on your shoulders, steady and warm.

you nodded, your voice stuck in your throat.

“you sure?” he pressed, his green eyes scanning your face.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you managed to whisper, hoping the fear in your eyes wasn’t too obvious.

he didn’t look convinced but let it go, giving you a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

the ride back to the motel was quiet, exhaustion settling over the group.

“not bad for a day’s work,” dean said, trying to lighten the mood.

you offered a small smile, but your mind was still racing. every little thing he said, every glance, every touch — it all felt so significant, and yet it probably meant nothing to him.

“you’re thinking too much again,” dean teased, catching your eye in the rearview mirror. “what’d i tell you about that?”

“it’s nothing,” you said quickly, hoping he’d drop it.

but dean being dean, he didn’t.

“come on,” he said, turning in his seat to face you. “spill it. what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

you froze, unsure how to respond. sam shot you a sympathetic look but didn’t intervene.

“seriously,” dean pressed, his voice softer now. “are you good?”

you nodded, forcing a smile. “yeah, ‘m just tired.”

he studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning back to the road.

back at the motel, you retreated to your room as quickly as possible, needing space to breathe.

dean had always been a little too much — too loud, too charming, too... everything. and yet, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, even if you knew it was hopeless. you sighed, flopping onto the bed and staring at the ceiling.

somewhere in the room next door, dean was probably cracking jokes with sam, completely unaware of the chaos he caused in your mind.

it was fine. it had to be fine.

because as much as you wanted to believe he saw you as more than a friend, you couldn’t risk getting your hopes up.

the day started like any other, with sam at the laptop, you poring over your notes, and dean bustling around with an air of restless energy.

“coffee?” dean asked, holding up a cup for you.

you nodded, offering a small smile. “thanks.”

he plopped down beside you at the motel table, his knee bumping yours. “so, what’s the game plan today, professor?”

“um…” you hesitated, flipping through the notebook in front of you. “so, i think we should — ”

“let me guess,” dean interrupted with a grin. “the safest, most boring route possible, right?”

you blinked, taking a second to process what he’d just said, hurt surely beginning to form in your features.

“it’s not boring,” you mumbled.

“sure thing… but hey, relax!” he said, patting your shoulder. “you’re good at what you do, even if you’re a little… well, a lot predictable.”

your stomach twisted. predictable? was that how he saw you?

“thanks, dean,” you muttered, staring down at your notes to hide the burn in your cheeks. sam noticed though. sam always noticed.

sam shot dean a look from across the room. “hey, maybe ease up a little, man.”

“what?” dean said, shrugging him off, a deep chuckle reverberating from his chest. “i’m just messing with her.”

the lighthearted tone didn’t soften the sting. you knew dean teased everyone, but his words stuck like a burr under your skin, refusing to let go.

soon after, the three of you piled into the impala, the rumble of the engine filling the silence as dean cranked up the radio. you stared out the window, letting the music blur into background noise while your mind replayed the conversation from earlier.

predictable. you thought, the word echoing in your head.

you weren’t mad at dean — how could you be? he didn’t mean anything by it. but the overthinking wouldn’t let up, weaving a web of doubt and insecurity that clung to you like static.

“you okay?” sam asked from the front seat, glancing back at you.

you forced a smile. “yeah. just tired.”

sam didn’t press, but his concerned expression lingered.

the diner was bustling with mid-morning activity when you arrived, the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. you slid into the booth, hoping the noise would drown out your thoughts.

“what can i get ya?” the waitress asked, her voice cheerful as she slid the menus across the table.

“just a coffee, please,” you said quickly, barely looking up as your fingers fumbled over the paper.

“and a stack of pancakes,” dean added, leaning forward and giving her a grin that was just a little too easy. “extra syrup. gotta start the day off right, y’know?”

the waitress’s eyes lit up, and she laughed, her attention lingering on dean as she jotted down the order. there was something almost playful in the way she looked at him, an expression that made your chest tighten.

“you sure know how to charm, don’t ya?” she teased, her voice warm and full of flirtation.

“what can i say?” dean replied, that easy smirk tugging at his lips. “comes pretty easily when i’m speaking to women like you.”

you forced your eyes back to the menu, though you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the way the waitress’s fingers lingered on the pen, her attention still fixed on dean. the two of them seemed to be in a world of their own, and you were just... here. watching. waiting.

“what about you, sweetheart?” the waitress turned to you, her smile softening just slightly, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“uh, just coffee, please,” you mumbled again, feeling heat crawl up your neck. your voice felt small in the noise of the diner, a whisper lost among the clatter of plates and low hum of conversation.

“gotcha,” she said, giving you a brief, almost dismissive nod before turning and making her way to the kitchen. you could still feel her attention on you, like an echo, but this time, it was empty, no warmth behind it.

dean shifted beside you, leaning back and letting out a low chuckle. “she’s got quite the smile, huh?” his eyes were teasing, his grin crooked as he looked over at you and sam. the joke was light, but there was an edge to it that made you feel off balance.

you forced a laugh, but it came out hollow, cracking under the weight of the moment. “yeah, sure,” you said, keeping your eyes fixed on the coffee cup in front of you, the porcelain cool and solid beneath your fingertips.

“you okay?” sam’s voice broke through the silence once again. dean’s teasing slipping away as his eyes studied you too. there was a flicker of concern in them, but before you could let yourself get lost in it, he added, “didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, sweetheart. it’s just... that kind of smile, you know?”

the question hung in the air, and you couldn’t tell if he was talking about the waitress or you. but the sharp sting of jealousy you felt at the thought made your throat tighten. you forced a smile, though it felt like a lie. “i’m fine. just... not hungry, that’s all.”

“you sure?” he pressed, his expression softening as he reached for his coffee. the playful energy had faded, and now there was something else, a vulnerability that felt rare for him.

“yeah,” you said, voice quiet. “just... never mind.”

he leaned back, eyes still on you, but this time, there was a shadow in them, a shift that made your heart twist. he looked away, watching the waitress as she came back with a smile that was just for him. his eyes softened, and he laughed as she spoke to him, teasing and warm.

it was almost too much, the way he could be so effortlessly charming. your chest ached with the realization that the way he looked at her was the same way he looked at you sometimes, though it felt different when it was just the two of you, alone in the dim light of the bunker.

by the time the food arrived, your appetite had disappeared. dean was still chatting with the waitress every time she came by, his voice low and easy in a way that made your chest ache.

you stared at your coffee cup, your fingers tightening around it as your thoughts spiraled. was this what dean wanted? someone confident, flirty, and self-assured? someone like her?

the sting of earlier comments layered on top, building a weight that felt impossible to carry.

“you sure you’re okay?” sam asked again softly, his voice cutting through the haze.

“fine,” you said quickly, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over.

sam’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t push.

dean, oblivious, kept talking. “man, this coffee’s strong enough to put hair on your chest. might wanna ease up, professor,” he teased, nudging you lightly.

that was it. the dam broke.

you barely registered standing up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“excuse me,” you muttered, your voice shaking.

you hurried out of the diner, your chest tight and your vision blurred.

sam found you a few minutes later, sitting on a bench just outside. he didn’t say anything at first, just sat down beside you and offered a quiet, grounding presence.

“you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, his tone careful.

you shook your head, unable to form the words.

“okay,” he said gently. “you don’t have to talk. just breathe.”

his arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close. the dam fully burst then, tears streaming down your face as you buried your head in your hands.

sam held you, his voice low and steady. “you’re alright. just let it out.”

his hand alternating between rubbing soothing circles on your back and tapping you lightly to the beat of your heart, the steady motions helping to calm the blur.

“‘m sorry, sam,” you choked out between sobs.

“don’t apologize,” sam said firmly. “you don’t even owe anyone an explanation. especially not dean.”

you flinched at the mention of his name, fresh waves of doubt and embarrassment washing over you.

sam seemed to sense it, his tone softening even more. “he doesn’t mean half the crap he says, you know. he’s just… dean.”

you managed a shaky nod, though the knot in your chest didn’t fully ease.

“hey,” sam said, tipping your chin up to look at him. “you’re okay.”

he pressed a light kiss to your forehead, the gesture warm and comforting in a way that made you tear up all over again. sam had always had a way of calming you down, knowing what was wrong and when. you were very similar in lots of ways.

inside, dean sat in the booth, fidgeting with his coffee cup.

“where’d they go?” the waitress asked, dropping off the check.

“outside,” dean muttered, his gaze fixed on the window.

he watched as sam wrapped you in a hug, his jaw tightening.

“everything okay with your girl?” the waitress asked, her tone light.

“she’s not my girl,” dean said quickly, his voice a little sharper than he intended.

the waitress raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further, the hint of a smile ghosting over her features.

dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. he hadn’t meant to upset you — he never did — but the sight of you crying, with sam comforting you, made something twist in his chest. he threw some cash on the table and stood, his mind racing with a mix of guilt and something else he couldn’t quite name. jealousy, maybe?

he pushed the thought aside, heading toward the door.

“dean?” sam’s voice cut through the noise of the diner.

dean turned, finding his brother standing outside the far doorway, his arm still draped protectively around you.

“give her a minute,” sam said, his expression firm.

dean nodded, swallowing hard as he watched you lean into sam’s side.

he retreated back and stood in the doorway of the diner, his boots scuffing against the floor as he watched you outside with sam. his jaw ticked, the familiar burn of guilt twisting in his chest.

you’d looked so hurt when you bolted. he hadn’t meant to upset you — hell, he rarely thought before he spoke, but he hated that his careless words had made you cry.

and then there was sam, playing the role of the comforter, his arm draped around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

dean hated how that made him feel. jealousy wasn’t a look he liked wearing, but damn if it wasn’t fitting him like a glove right now. he shoved his hands into his pockets, staring down at the worn linoleum. when sam finally walked you back in, dean forced himself to meet your eyes.

you glanced at him briefly, your cheeks blotchy and red, before dropping your gaze to the floor. the pang in his chest deepened.

sam gave him a pointed look, one that said, don’t screw this up, before gently nudging you toward the booth.

you slid in first, keeping as much distance between you and dean as possible.

“hey,” dean started, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you murmured, not looking up.

the waitress returned, her cheerfulness only adding to the tension at the table.

“ready for the check?” she asked, glancing between the three of you.

“yeah, we’re done,” dean said gruffly, tossing some cash onto the table without counting it. “keep the change.”

the waitress hesitated, her gaze lingering on dean for a second too long before she turned and walked away.

sam cleared his throat. “we should probably hit the road.”

“yeah,” dean muttered, sliding out of the booth.

the ride back to the motel was quieter than it had ever been. the only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of paper as sam reviewed the hunt notes. dean kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror, but you didn’t notice. you were too busy staring out the window, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap.

“so,” sam said awkwardly, breaking the silence, “any ideas on how we’re gonna track this thing down?”

dean grunted. “same as always. follow the trail, kill the thing.”

sam shot him a look but didn’t press further.

you stayed quiet, your thoughts miles away.

back at the motel, you retreated to your room almost immediately, mumbling something about needing to check your notes. dean and sam both watched you go, the motel door clicking shut behind you.

dean’s jaw tightened as the guilt settled deeper in his chest. he wasn’t used to feeling like this — so unsure, so aware of every single way he’d messed up. he rubbed a hand over his face, frustration building as he stared at the floor. he could feel sam's eyes on him, the tension thick in the air. he didn’t know how to fix it, and that made everything worse.

“dean, what the fuck? that shit you pulled at the diner… it doesn’t impress her you know. flirting with other people. christ.” sam said, his voice getting louder with every word, visibly stressing out. evidently, he’d been holding that in for a while now, waiting to get dean alone.

“i know i fucked up. okay, sam, i know.” dean snapped back.

“you’re gonna talk to her, right? you better.” sam asked, leaning against the kitchenette counter.

“yeah,” dean muttered, running a hand through his hair. “just… give me a minute.”

you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the thin motel walls didn’t leave much to the imagination.

hearing dean pacing and muttering under his breath made your stomach twist. you couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was talking about you. the familiar voice of self-doubt crept in, louder than ever.

he’s probably frustrated with me. i overreacted. i always overreact.

you sank onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands.

dean knocked on your door a little later, his knuckles rapping softly against the wood.

“hey,” he called, his voice hesitant. “you busy?”

you hesitated, then opened the door a crack. “no.”

he stood there, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

“can we talk?” he asked.

you nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

he glanced around the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. “listen,” he started, “about earlier…”

you shifted nervously, not meeting his eyes.

“i’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “i didn’t mean to upset you. i was just… being a bit of an idiot, like usual.”

you looked up at him then, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you said quietly.

“yeah, i did,” he admitted, his green eyes locking onto yours. “i was an ass, and you didn’t deserve that.”

the honesty in his voice made your chest ache.

“it’s okay,” you said, though you weren’t entirely sure you believed it.

“it’s not,” dean insisted. “you’re… you’re important to me. and the last thing i want is to make you feel like crap.”

your breath hitched at his words, the weight of them settling over you like a warm blanket.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he took a step closer, his gaze searching yours. “are we okay?”

you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“good,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing.

he seemed to hesitate a little before taking another step closer, looking down at you as he seemed to study your expression. he smiled once again, a big cheesy dean smile and then after he seemed to contemplate what to do he turned on his heel after planting a soft kiss on your head. as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d just imagined the way his eyes lingered on you, soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

inside his own room, dean collapsed onto the bed with a groan. he stared at the ceiling, replaying everything over in his head.

he’d apologized, sure, but it didn’t feel like enough. not when you’d looked so… defeated. for one of the first times in his life he felt awkward, he hoped you hadn’t thought too much of the kiss, however short lived. his chest tightened at the memory of your tear-streaked face in the diner. it was like a punch to the gut every time he thought about it.

“damn it,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.

he hated this. hated feeling like he was losing his grip on something that mattered so much to him. because you did matter — to him, more than you probably knew. and that was the problem. he wasn’t sure how to show you without screwing it up further.

the tension you thought was resolved seemed to linger between you and dean the next day, hanging over the group like a storm cloud. sam did his best to fill the silence, but it was clear neither of you were really in the mood to talk.

“i’ll check out the library,” sam said finally, grabbing his bag. “you two stay here, see if you can dig up anything online.”

dean nodded, not meeting your eyes as sam left. the door clicked shut, leaving the two of you alone.

“you want the laptop?” dean asked, his voice gruff.

you nodded, taking it from him without a word.

he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “look, i don’t know how many more times i can say i’m sorry, but — ”

“you don’t have to keep apologizing,” you interrupted, your voice softer than you intended. a stark contrast to his.

he blinked, caught off guard. “i just… i hate that i made you feel like that.”

you glanced at him, your heart aching at the genuine regret in his eyes.

“it’s okay, dean. you’ve already said sorry, i thought that was it,” you said, even though part of you wasn’t sure it really was.

he nodded, his jaw tightening as he looked away.

that night, dean stood outside your door again, debating whether or not to knock. he hated this distance between you two, hated feeling like he was walking on eggshells. but most of all, he hated that he didn’t know how to fix it.

finally, he knocked, his heart pounding in his chest.

“come in,” you called softly.

he opened the door, hesitating in the doorway.

“hey,” he said, his voice quiet. “you doing okay?”

you nodded, though the tightness in your chest said otherwise.

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“look,” he started, running a hand through his hair, “i know i’m not great at this kind of thing, but… i care about you. more than i probably should.”

your breath caught, his words hitting you like a freight train.

“dean, i…”

he held up a hand, cutting you off. “just… let me say this, okay? i care about you, and i hate seeing you upset. especially if it’s because of me.”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you fought back tears.

“you’re not just a friend to me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in. what could he mean by that? what you’d always wished he felt for you?

“dean,” you said softly, your voice trembling, “you mean a lot to me too.”

he looked at you, his green eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“so… are we good?” he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

you nodded, a small smile breaking through the tension.

“yeah,” you said, your voice steadier this time.

he smiled back, the tension in his shoulders finally easing fully. and for the first time in days, things between you felt like they might actually be okay.

you weren’t sure how it happened, but somehow you and dean ended up crammed together in the tiny motel room armchair, your knees brushing his and his warmth radiating off him like a furnace.

sam had taken off to follow a lead, leaving you and dean to man the research front. but the computer battery had died, the coffee had gone cold, and now you were both lazily flipping through books neither of you were really reading.

dean tilted his head, watching you as you squinted at the small print. “you always make that face when you read?”

“what face?” you asked, looking up at him.

“that cute little scrunched-up thing,” he said, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

your stomach flipped, and you ducked your head, suddenly very interested in the book in your lap. “i don’t scrunch my face.”

“yeah, you do,” he said, leaning closer. “like this.”

he exaggerated a dramatic squint, furrowing his brow and twisting his mouth into something ridiculous.

you couldn’t help it — you giggled, the sound soft and bubbling out of you before you could stop it.

dean grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. “there it is,” he said, his voice warm.

for a moment, everything felt easy, natural, like the awkwardness and tension of the past few days had melted away. but then your eyes caught the faint smear of grease on his hand, and your mind drifted.

you thought back to the first time you’d realized you had a crush on dean winchester.

it had been a quiet night in the bunker, just the two of you tinkering with the impala. he’d handed you a wrench, his hand brushing yours, and you’d felt it — a spark, like a live wire connecting the two of you.

he’d smiled at you then, soft and genuine, and it had made your heart race.

you’d brushed it off at first, chalking it up to admiration or something equally benign. but the more time you spent with him, the more you realized it was something else entirely.

you’d fallen for him — hard.

and it wasn’t just his looks, though you’d be lying if you said those green eyes and that cocky grin didn’t make your knees weak. it was everything about him: the way he protected the people he cared about, the way he laughed, the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and still managed to crack a joke.

but he’d never see you that way. how could he? you were just… you.

and then there was the size difference. it wasn’t something you normally thought about, but around dean, it was impossible to ignore. he was tall, broad-shouldered, and solid in a way that made you feel both safe and utterly self-conscious.

you, on the other hand, felt small in comparison — too small, too quiet, too unsure of yourself to ever catch his attention.

“hey,” dean said, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “you good?”

“yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a smile.

“you sure? you spaced out there for a second.”

“just tired,” you lied.

he didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out in front of him.

dean wasn’t immune to overthinking either, though he’d never admit it out loud. he’d had a thing for you for what felt like forever, but he’d always convinced himself it was a bad idea.

you were shy, sweet, and way too good for someone like him. besides, he didn’t want to scare you off — not when having you around was one of the few things that made the job bearable.

so he kept his feelings to himself, content to just be your friend, even if it killed him a little every time you smiled at him like he hung the moon.

but there were moments — moments like now, with you sitting so close, your leg brushing his and your eyes darting to his every so often — that made it damn near impossible to keep his cool.

“you know,” he said, his voice low, “you don’t have to keep everything to yourself.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… you can talk to me,” he said, his gaze steady. “about anything.”

your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice.

“i know,” you said softly.

he smiled at that, a small, lopsided grin that made your chest feel warm.

“good,” he said, leaning forward slightly.

the proximity made your breath hitch, your eyes locking onto his for a moment that felt like it stretched on forever. but then the moment passed, and he leaned back again, running a hand through his hair.

later that night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, your thoughts wandered again.

you thought about all the little things dean did — how he always walked on the side closest to traffic, how he made sure you ate on hunts, how he was quick to tease but just as quick to defend you if anyone else tried.

he cared about you. you knew that much.

but as a friend, or something more?

the uncertainty gnawed at you, and you rolled onto your side, pulling the blanket tighter around you.

dean wasn’t faring much better. he sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, his mind racing.

he thought about all the times he’d come close to saying something, only to chicken out at the last second.

he thought about the way you’d looked at him earlier, like you were trying to figure him out. he thought about how often he fucked up infront of you, trying to distract himself from his silly crush only to regret it afterwards. and he thought about the way you made him feel — like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as broken as he thought he was.

��screw it,” he muttered under his breath, standing up and heading for your door.

a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, startling you. you sat up in bed, heart thudding.

“it’s me,” dean’s voice came softly from the other side, muffled but familiar.

“come in,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

the door creaked open, and dean stepped inside, his movements careful. he closed the door behind him quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the stillness of the night.

“i couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar way, his gaze briefly flicking to yours before darting away.

“yeah, me neither,” you murmured, fingers twisting the edge of the blanket draped over your lap.

he hesitated for a moment, standing awkwardly near the door before crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of your bed. the mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

finally, dean broke the silence. “so i’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice quiet but deliberate. “about us.”

your stomach flipped, your pulse quickening as his words hung in the air. “us?” you echoed, barely audible.

he nodded, his jaw working like he was trying to find the right words. “you mean a lot to me,” he said finally, his voice rough around the edges. “more than i’ve ever really let on. i regret that.”

your breath caught, your chest tightening at the quiet vulnerability in his tone.

“dean…” you began, but he held up a hand, his eyes meeting yours fully now.

“let me say this,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “i’ve spent so much time trying to keep things simple, to keep things from getting messy. but with you…” he trailed off, his expression softening as he searched your face. “it’s never been simple. and i wouldn’t want it to be.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut — raw, honest, and so undeniably him.

“i don’t know if i’m any good at this,” he admitted, his hand brushing yours where it rested on the blanket. the touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver up your spine. “but i want to try. if you’ll let me.”

your heart raced, a thousand emotions swirling inside you. “dean, you don’t have to…”

“i want to,” he interrupted, his voice steady. “i care about you. more than i probably should. and i don’t want to keep pretending like that’s not true.”

your hand was fully engulfed in his now. you swallowed hard, his words settling over you like a warm blanket. he looked at you, his green eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

dean’s gaze flickered, his lips parting slightly before he closed them again, his hesitation palpable. his other hand hovered near yours, fingers brushing faintly, the touch so light it was almost imagined. the space between you seemed to shrink on its own, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. his eyes lingered, tracing the lines of your face as if memorizing every detail.

his fingers shifted closer, finally grazing yours with deliberate care. the air grew warmer, each heartbeat louder than the last, as if the world itself held its breath, waiting.

“can i…?” he started, his voice trailing off as he leaned slightly closer, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes.

you nodded, unable to find your voice, your chest tight with anticipation.

his hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leaned in. his lips met yours softly, testing, like he was afraid to push too far. but when you didn’t pull away, he pressed a little closer, his warmth grounding you.

the moment his lips met yours, the world seemed to tilt. his kiss was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. your fingers clutched at his shirt, the fabric bunching beneath your grip as a quiet whimper escaped you.

dean groaned in response, the sound low and rough, reverberating against your lips. it sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing hotter. his other hand found your waist, firm but gentle, anchoring you to him. his thumb traced the curve of your jaw as he deepened the kiss, his touch igniting something that left you breathless.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded and his breathing slightly uneven.

“i’ve wanted to do that for so damn long,” he confessed, his voice low and filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“me too,” you whispered, your cheeks flushed and your heart pounding.

he chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. “guess we’re both a little stubborn, huh?”

you smiled, a weight lifting off your chest as his words settled into your heart. “maybe just a little.”

dean’s fingers traced the edge of your jaw, his touch lingering as if he wasn’t ready to let go. “you’re fuckin’ awesome, you know that?” he said softly, his voice almost reverent.

you giggled quietly, the sound light and easy. “if i’m fuckin’ awesome, what are you?” you said, mimicking his much deeper voice,

he smirked, his expression softening as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “just lucky,” he said, his voice filled with a quiet sincerity that made your chest ache in the best way.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

#jay writes!#dean winchester🎀#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #spn masterlist #supernatural fanfiction #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles smut

619 notes · View notes

sanguinesmi1e · 2 months ago

Text

A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 (you're here) Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Art of LBM

Danny was still lying under the Specter Speeder, mind reeling as the words “they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms” ran in a loop through his head. Could that really be true? Is his death attached to the portal, forever lodged in the doorway, preventing it from closing?

The guy clearly knew what he was talking about. The bit about why his ghost friends and frenemies caused so much chaos as they unleashed their obsessions on Amity Park made so much sense. It would certainly explain a lot of his interactions with ghosts after he died.

Danny silently cursed himself for not destroying everything in the lab before they got here. He and Jazz hadn't worried about the portal schematics, because they honestly didn't have any way to open a portal, only cycle energy in a recursive loop that shouldn’t have done anything. No one, not he and Jazz, not their parents, not Tucker or Technus, had been able to figure out why it had worked when Danny was inside. But if the machine was able to sustain a portal that was already opened. . . He wondered idly if he could light a fire that looked accidental and would both destroy the lab and leave the two men enough time to escape. It’d probably be too risky. And who knew what destroying the portal would do to him. Fully kill him? Destroy him completely and shatter his core? It might be worth it to prevent anyone from gaining this knowledge.

No wonder Lex Luthor was interested in this business. A child was murdered in this basement, and for all Tim knew, the child’s soul could still be trapped here fueling a Lazarus Pit that connected the world of the living to the afterlife. What Luthor could do with an interdimensional portal or even a single sample of Lazarus water. . . Tim shuddered to think.

On the one hand, he was grateful that Wayne Enterprises secured the business before Luthor had the chance. On the other hand, he felt rather ill to think his family had directly enriched mad scientists who performed child sacrifices. At least he had full faith that between him and Oracle, they’d hunt the Fentons down and make sure justice was served.

“What is to be done for the child?” Tim asked Constantine. “Is his soul tied to that machine?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just his death.”

“You’re gonna have to explain the difference to me, ‘cause I’m not sure I see the distinction.” Tim said wryly.

“I guess. . . Hm. You could think of it as the moment of transition drawn out endlessly like a plucked string whose note never stops vibrating. Like life is the anchor point of one end of the string, and the afterlife is at the other end, and the child’s death is the note created when his soul crosses from one side to the other. The soul is the bow causing reverberations, but the reverberations are the actual death itself. The effect of the soul’s passage. And in this case, the portal is amplifying the death so it doesn’t end like a normal death ‘note’ would.” Constantine leaned in to examine some of the runes that were part of the array. “Not a perfect metaphor, obviously, since you bow perpendicular rather than parallel to the string, and death and souls are nothing like music, but you get the idea, right?”

Tim was still caught on John Constantine saying the words “death note” together unironically in a sentence. He was going to have to share that with Steph later. Maybe with the whole family group chat, even. “Yeah, the metaphor makes sense, as much as any of this occult stuff does to me.”

“Whatever. As for whether there’s anything we can do for the child, I think we’ll have to try and summon him if we can.” The Brit started pulling items out of his trenchcoat’s inner pockets. “We need to ask what the spirit wants done, before we go messing with things we don’t understand.”

“Alright, need anything from me?”

“Yeah, move this stuff out of the way so I can draw a circle.” Constantine directed Tim to shove aside a few stacks of boxes, something called a Fenton Ghost Weasel, and together they shifted a coffin-shaped iron maiden that for some reason was labeled Fenton Stockades. Then he set to work chalking a circle and runes on the ground.

Finally he sat back and dusted chalk off his hands. “That should do it.”

“Will this be bright too?” Tim asked warily.

“Eh, might be? Shouldn’t be too bad.”

Tim grabbed an auto-darkening welding helmet with a green “Fenton” sticker on it off the workbench and slipped it on.

“Alright, here goes.” Constantine began the summoning ritual.

While Danny debated arson, the other two had finished clearing a space and chalked some kind of circle onto the floor. He tuned back into the conversation when he heard the trenchcoat guy begin a traditional incantation for a summoning. Were they trying to summon him? Danny really hoped it wouldn’t work.

When people tried to summon the Ghost King he could almost always ignore the pull. This pull, however, was very strong and immediate. It seemed proximity made a difference, or this guy was just better at summonings than the average cultist. Before Danny could accept the inevitable, he was pulled bodily — literally! — out from under the vehicle and across the floor, still flat on his back on the Fenton Under Car Creeper, with the Specter Speeder’s ecto-engine hugged tightly to his chest. The wheels of the Fenton Creeper (not to be mistaken with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick) sped him straight to the summoning circle. Still very much in human form.

This was his first real look at the guy called Constantine, and he couldn’t help a horrified yelp. “Eugh!! What the fuck is wrong with you, dude!?!!”

His lapse in attention made him lose the battle with the summoning spell, and it gripped him, pulling him through the convolutions of the spellwork even though he was already lying half across the circle, and forcing him to change into Phantom in the process. It was such a disgusting sensation, like he was one of those squishy water filled tube snake toys that look like a fleshlight, and someone squeezed really hard and abruptly so he turned inside out and went flying to go splat against a wall (or in this case, against the ground inside the circle of chalk). He tried and failed not to retch.

The younger man in the crisp suit whom he’d already identified as Mr. CEO-Timothy-Drake-Wayne looked at him in startled bafflement, while the older blond, still smoking his cigarette, (gross, and was that thing never ending?) was probably looking at him. Maybe. It was really difficult to tell, because he was a frankly vile sight. Danny winced and swallowed down nausea. “What have you done to your soul?”

“I — what?”

“Trypophobia central, man! Ugh that’s gotta be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. Can’t you cover it up?”

“Who are you?” Timothy Drake-Wayne interjected.

“I’m the dead guy? You literally just summoned me.”

“Constantine said you were a child”

“I mean, I was?” Danny looked down at his obviously twenty-something year-old self and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I was fourteen though. These things happen.”

“Not typically, no. The dead tend to be pretty unaging.” Constantine said.

“Dude I’m not having a conversation with you while your soul looks like Escher’s swiss cheese nightmare. Anyways, some of us do. Heck, I know a guy who constantly shifts from infant to old man and every stage in between. It’s pretty distracting when you’re trying to get him to let you fix the timeline again.” Danny continued to look anywhere but at the blond man. “But if it’s so important to you, I can —” He got an abstracted look, and slowly de-aged himself until the two men stood over a fourteen year old boy with snow white hair and glowing green eyes.

“That does not help. No.” The guy whose soul looked somewhat like a bleeding tooth fungus said. He turned away and started doing something magical. Danny hoped it would mask his soul in some way, but so far all it did was make Danny feel like he needed to pop his ears.

He also felt particularly uncharitable, so he didn’t revert to his natural age, and instead tried to see how young and cute he could make himself appear.

“So are you just haunting this basement? Seems hazardous, given the former proprietors.” Timothy tried to redirect the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as distressed to see the ghost of a child, but his eyes darted surreptitiously to the Lichtenberg figure Danny used to always hide under gloves.

“Nah, haven’t been back here in years. I mostly live in my Infinite Realms haunt these days.”

“You . . . live? Is that just a figure of speech?”

“It’s rude to ask about a ghost’s nonliving status, you know. Highly taboo to ask how a ghost died or poke into the circumstances of our deaths without permission.” Danny admonished. Making himself younger than fourteen took more effort than he expected.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Timothy raised his hands placatingly to the boy who now looked younger than Damian. “What brings you back to Amity Park?”

“Uh, you summoned me? Are we still not clear on that?”

Tim looked pointedly at the Fenton Creeper and the engine Danny still held. He’d shrunk down to the size of a four year old, and the engine really should be crushing him given it was bigger than his torso now. He quickly set it aside, and turned his biggest puppy dog eyes on Tim.

“You were in here already, and you looked pretty alive for a moment there.”

“I can look lots of ways!” Danny focused really hard on looking as cute, small, and nonthreatening as possible. He thought it was working when all of a sudden there was a pop! and he was smaller than he’d ever managed before.

Timothy Drake-Wayne looked like a giant. The other guy, who had thankfully managed to put away his soul somehow, wore scuffed oxfords bigger than Danny. Hell, he could probably fit his entire self into one of Constantine’s shoes if that wasn’t a bizarre thing to do, and they weren’t already full of stinky feet. Holy shit what happened to him!?

Tim blinked down at the cat? Snake? Ghost. . . thing at his feet. What the fuck. A moment ago he was talking to an adult man whom he’s pretty sure was dead and he’s very sure was trolling them. Now his interlocutor had turned into an adorable creature with soft white paws, a long twisting tail, big pointed ears that swiveled like a cats, and a humanoid face that should’ve been creepy but was actually eliciting cute-aggression in him. Tim blinked again. The little baby ghost creature blinked enormous green eyes back at him. Then it yawned, revealing three rows of needle sharp teeth that looked like a cross between what you’d find in the mouth of a shark and a cat. Yikes.

“Does that mean the interview is over?” Tim asked him.

The creature just blinked up at him again, then zeroed in on his shoelaces, pupils expanding until only a narrow band of green ringed them.

Yup. The interview was over. Those paws hid some wicked claws which could apparently slice through leather with ease. Oh, Tim really hoped ghost scratch fever wasn’t a thing. At least the ghost looked sufficiently contrite after he yelped, and it waited while he removed a shoelace to sacrifice as a toy.

If Damian ever met him, there would be a new member of the family. Maybe he should name the creature preemptively so they didn’t have a cat-snake named Bat-Ghost in Wayne manor.

“Do you have a name, little baby cat-snake ghost? Little baby ghost man?” He cooed as the miniature monster dashed back and forth, intent on shredding his shoelace.

The ghost paused long enough to chirp, “Li’l baby man!” before launching himself at the string. Even shocked, Tim’s reflexes had him whisking the toy out of the way, and the ghost went careening under a cabinet.

He wedged himself in the gap, landing face first in a dust bunny, and quickly wriggled backwards with an indignant squall. His wordless protestations cut off as he fell into a violent sneezing fit that thankfully dislodged him from beneath the cabinet.

Tim suppressed his laugh, and asked, “Little Baby Man? Is that what you want to be called?”

The ghost pawed most of the dust away from his nose, but spider webs covered his face and a big dust bunny perched atop his head like a fascinator with a cobweb lace veil. He looked Tim right in the eyes and nodded, dislodging the dust in his hair and setting off more sneezes.

“Li’l Baby Man” he confirmed. He placed a paw on Tim’s shoe and chirped, “Tim!” Then he pointed his tail at Constantine and said, “Gross!” with narrowed eyes.

756 notes · View notes

serpentface · 2 months ago

Text

Miniature dog and khait effigies for a Wardi funeral. These are clay figurines that have been painted and decorated with great care by a skilled artist. Both include real hairs from the individual animals they have been modeled after. The dog is collared, showing that it is a loyal pet rather than a lowly feral scrounger. The khait is fully bridled and ready to carry the deceased in their journey.

---

It is believed that the souls of the deceased, once freed of their bodies, undergo a month-long journey to reach rebirth in the lunar lands. This journey is full of perils. It begins in the realm of the earth where the soul is naked and vulnerable and traveling through complete darkness. Evil spirits dwell within this realm and may try to capture the soul or lead them astray, and the way is twisting and obscured in shadows. Even after escaping this darkness, the soul still must travel an arduous and winding path through the realm of the sky in order to reach their destination.

A khait and a dog are traditionally offered as funerary goods (in addition to food, water, wine, clothing, weapons, and other needs) to assist the soul in their travels- the khait will ease their passage in their long journey and carry them swiftly, and the dog will navigate through earthly darkness and dense cloud by scent, and protect the soul from harm.

Ideally, one of the deceased's own living khait and hunting/guard dogs will be killed at the funeral (typically the most beloved of their animals, as who would be better company than that?) so that they can have familiar and loyal helpers in their lonely journey. However, there are tremendous class barriers to ownership and disposability of a khait, and well-bred working dogs (while significantly more accessible) aren't ubiquitously available, and many people do not consider captured feral dogs to be a worthy replacement. As such, funerals with full animal offerings tend to be limited to higher status individuals.

Everyday people still need protection on their journeys, and animal effigies can be appropriate replacements for the real thing. These effigies are usually designed with great specificity to represent known individual animals that have already died (often including the animal's actual hair, as seen here). The soul of the represented animal will recognize the effigy as its body, and can be called into the icon so that it may accompany the deceased. These effigies (along with any other necessary grave goods) will be placed onto the pyre and burned along with the body so that the traveling soul will be sent off with everything they need.

Some folk traditions have semi-legendary local animal spirits who will be represented instead of a personally familiar animal. This often develops around a small community 'sharing' one historically extant animal for their funeral effigies as a matter of practicality, developing a sense of attachment to this animal as an aspect of shared identity, and adding layers of legend to the animal's story with the passage of time.

For example, a very popular legendary guide in the northeastern rural parts of Ephennos is Chisnops-Inreña (which very closely translates to 'Orange Son Of A Bitch'), a legendary livestock guardian dog. The animal was said to have been the biggest, meanest, ugliest motherfucker around, but was an unshakably loyal and fierce guardian, as noble as a dog (not the noblest of animals by any means) can possibly be. He is said to have fought off everything from jackals to lions to cattle thieves in his day, and died protecting his herdsman master from an infamous man-eating king hyena, only succumbing to his own wounds when the great beast lay dead. His spirit was later used as a guide in his master's funeral, and local legend states that the same spirit has been seen following herdsmen and their cattle ever since, as not even death could keep him from his duties. Such a dog would make an excellent guide and protector in the journey to the afterlife, and effigies of him are favored in the funerals of northeastern Ephenni pastoralists.

A lovingly crafted Orange Son Of A Bitch

#Partly a rehash of prev post BUT WITH PICS!!!!!!!#chisnops more literally means 'bitch-born'. The word 'bitch' doesn't have the same breadth of connotations as in english #and pretty directly means 'female dog' but calling someone 'chisnops' is functionally Very close to 'son of a bitch'#Inrenna is a color word for orange. Most of the western Wardi dialects pronounce double N syllables like ñ (in- /rey/ - nya)#while others will enunciate like 'in- /reyn/- nah'. Spelled it inreña here to indicate Ephenni dialect

437 notes · View notes

fatecantstopme · 10 months ago

Text

Not Good Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: You overhear Dean say some hurtful things about you to Sam and decide you need to change, much to Dean's dismay.

Warnings: cursing, mutual pining, mentions of violence, body issues/esteem issues, past trauma, illusions to eating disorders and sexual assault. SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dom/sub vibes, dirty talk.

You didn't like to think about your life before the Winchesters. Most of the time, it was easier to pretend you didn't have a past--no dark and morbid history to share, no pain and trauma still lingering deep within you.

Sam and Dean were the only ones you'd felt comfortable opening up to, and even that took years. Life had not been kind to you, and the scars on your body and in your mind were the proof.

Eight years ago, your hellish life took a turn for the better, but only after you almost lost it. You'd been walking home after a late night filled with bad decisions, when you were attacked. The man was fast, vicious, and cruel--taking what he wanted from you and leaving you for dead.

As fate would have it, the Winchester brothers were in town hunting a nest of vampires, and had been prowling around downtown waiting for one to make an appearance.

It was Dean who heard your screams, your cries for help, your sobs. It was Dean who came running into the dark alleyway without a thought for his own well-being. It was Dean who dropped to his knees beside your beaten and broken body...who took his jacket off and draped it over you to cover your mostly exposed form. It was Dean who gently scooped you into his arms and carried you to his car...and it was Dean that stood beside your hospital bed until you opened your eyes again.

Sam had eventually tracked down the man who had attacked you. It turned out, he had attacked several other women in the downtown area over the previous few months. Dean had been surprised to discover the man was just that--a man. Not a shapeshifter, a ghoul, a demon...not a vampire or a werewolf...just a man. His status as a human did not, however, make him any more safe from your avenging savior.

You'd never asked Dean exactly what had happened to your attacker, and he'd never talked about it. All you knew was he would never hurt anyone ever again.

It was unlike Dean to trust a stranger, and certainly out of character for him to confide in one, but there was something about you that seemed to draw him in. He felt as if he'd found a kindred spirit in you, someone who could understand him in a way even his brother couldn't.

Once you were on the mend, Dean made you an offer--one you were thankful you didn't refuse. You joined the brothers on their adventures--saving people, hunting things, the whole nine yards.

Overtime, you had become an integral part of their small family unit. Either brother would have died for you and you for them. There had been more than one close call for each of you over the past eight years, and more than one monster brutally slain to protect you.

You were closer in age to Sam, only a year younger than him, but Dean had always been the one you were closer to. Just as Dean had seen a kindred spirit in you, you had seen one in him. He understood you, he respected you, and he cared about you more deeply than anyone in your life ever had.

In the long years you'd spent in their constant company, you'd begun to change. The darkness that lived inside you seemed to fade, as if being near the Winchesters brought a light into your life you didn't know you needed. The mental scars you'd carried began to heal, even if the ones on your skin would always be visible.

There were still days where the darkness would rise within you, dark thoughts rolling through your mind, bringing you to your knees with a pain you could never describe. There were days when you would look in the mirror and hate the reflection gazing back at you--seeing the girl you had once been instead of the woman you now were.

There were moments when you'd forget all the progress you'd made, mind focusing instead on all of your flaws, all of your failures. The worst part was many of them lived only in your mind--you knew no one but you could see them, but that didn't make them any less real to you.

Lately, you had been struggling with self-esteem issues you'd long since buried. You'd thought you'd come to terms with who you were and what you looked like--accepted the body you had. Weight had been a struggle for you your entire life, and for a long time, you turned to terrible habits in order to lose weight and attempt to keep it off.

Those habits had ended eight years ago, but the issues they'd covered did not. Today was one of the bad days. One of the days you stared in the mirror and hated the image you saw--the softness, the curves, the fat. That was the word that kept repeating in your mind, fat, fat, fat.

You tried desperately to block it out, to remember why you loved your body just as it was, but those thoughts wouldn't leave you alone. The darkness inside you was too much to battle, the pain of hating yourself too much to cope with.

You'd been thankful for the bunker the day the three of you had discovered it, but you were even more grateful on days like today. Days you wanted to spend holed up in your room, refusing to face the outside world.

As much as you wanted to lay in bed for the entire day, your grumbling stomach soon became too much to ignore. You knew you needed to eat--there could be no more starving yourself, no more binging and purging--you needed to eat.

You dragged yourself out of bed and tugged on a pair of sweatpants before cautiously opening your bedroom door. You listened for the sounds of either brother moving around. Upon hearing none, you made your way slowly towards the kitchen, intent on making yourself a sandwich and retreating to the safety of your room.

Just before you rounded the corner to head into the kitchen, you heard Dean's low voice rumbling from inside. You froze in place, pressing yourself against the wall, not wanting to be seen or heard. You fully intended to creep back to your room--you really did--but the sound of your name leaving Dean's lips held you in place.

"(Y/N)'s not strong enough," Dean hissed. You could tell by the tone of his voice he was angry, very angry.

"Oh come on," Sam snapped. "She's been doing this for eight years. She's more than capable."

"Are you insane? I mean, really and truly crazy? She'll get herself killed!" Dean's voice had risen in volume and you heard Sam shush him quietly.

"Don't wake her up," Sam chided.

You heard Dean's annoyed sigh and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. You knew what they were fighting about. You and Sam had a conversation a couple days ago about you hunting on your own. You'd asked for his thoughts and Sam had been honest and supportive. He said you were more than capable of hunting on your own, should he or Dean not be available to go with you. Your hunting skills were certainly not on their level, but if the case was simple enough, you would be fine.

Clearly Dean did not agree with his brother's assessment of your abilities. "She's not strong enough, or fast enough, or physically prepared to hunt on her own. She's just not, okay? She's different from us...she's not built like we are."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Sam asked incredulously.

You bit your lip to keep from whimpering aloud, Dean's words having cut straight through you like a hot knife. You blinked back your tears as you moved as quickly as possible back to your room without making noise.

Dean's words repeated on a loop inside your head, echoing your own darkest thoughts about yourself. Even Dean thought you were too fat, too weak, too useless to do anything on your own. You realized he likely only allowed you to hunt with him because he felt sorry for you--a pitying friendship you didn't ask for.

Despite the irrationality of your thoughts, you could not escape them. You couldn't fight them off, either because you didn't have the strength or because you were afraid they were right. Your mind once again played tricks on you, dragging you down into the darkness--but this time you succumbed, allowing your own tears to drag you into a nightmare fueled sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam and Dean's conversation had continued in the kitchen. Neither of them had noticed your presence, both too upset with the other to focus on anything else.

"Look, (Y/N) is my best friend. Other than you, she's my favorite person...hell, I like her more than you sometimes," Dean confessed. "I just--I don't want to lose her. If we let her go out there without backup and something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself. I'd rather her never hunt at all, but I think she'd kill me if I told her to sit out on a fight just because I'm terrified of her dying."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he regarded his brother. Dean was not known for his vulnerability, nor for sharing any of his deeper emotions, but Sam could see something simmering just beneath the surface--some emotion beyond rage and fear lurked in his brother's green eyes.

"What are you really saying, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked at the floor for a long moment before answering. "When we met (Y/N), I was instantly drawn to her--like a moth to flame. I don't know what it was, but I felt connected to her in a way I'd never felt before. That feeling has only grown in the past eight years and now I can't imagine living life without her. I don't want to imagine it. A world without (Y/N) in it isn't a world I want to exist in."

Sam exhaled slowly, realization crossing his features. It was rare for Dean to care for someone so deeply, but when he did, he became irrationally protective. Sam was painfully familiar with that particular side of his brother's nature. He also knew what it meant, what Dean was really saying--even if he wasn't ready to admit it.

"You should talk to (Y/N)," Sam urged. "Both about how you feel, and about why you don't want her to hunt alone."

"What do you mean, 'how I feel'?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You know exactly what I mean." He didn't give his brother a chance to respond. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and walked out the door, claiming a need to workout.

Dean watched Sam walk away, and a feeling of mild terror settled into his bones. He'd come very close to admitting how he really felt about you and it scared him. Hell, his feelings scared him. The fact that he was foolish enough to fall in love was bad enough, but the fact that you were the one who'd stolen his heart made it so much worse.

He'd told himself he would never fall in love, never get married, never settle down--this life wasn't conducive to any sort of domestic bliss. Part of him didn't think he deserved that kind of happiness, but the main issue was the danger of loving you so deeply. He knew the risks, knew how it would turn out--bloody, like it always did.

In his mind, the only way he could keep you safe was to pretend all he felt for you was platonic friendship. He could protect you on hunts and his guard would never be down around you, so he could protect you in every way. He'd seen how far you'd come, how strong you now were, and there was no way he would be the reason the world lost your beautiful soul.

No one could ever know the truth, not even Sam. The only way this didn't end bloody was if you never even suspected Dean loved you. No monster would be able to use his love for you against you, no monster would ever hurt you just to get to him. For you, for your safety, he was willing to break his own heart.

**********

It had been three days since you'd overheard the conversation between Sam and Dean. The first two days, you'd remained secluded in your room, claiming a migraine any time either of the boys came to check on you.

This morning, however, you'd woken up with a goal. You showered, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. As you were fixing yourself some breakfast, you heard someone enter the room.

"You're up early," Sam said warmly.

You turned to glance at him with a soft smile. "I wanted to get a head start on the day."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You're feeling better, I take it."

You nodded. "Yeah, that headache was brutal." You felt bad for lying, but it was easier to fein a migraine than it was to admit what you'd overheard and the dark thoughts you'd been plagued with.

"Well, I'm gonna go for a run," Sam said cheerfully. "Any chance I could entice you to come with me?"

You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Not unless someone's chasing me."

He chuckled and ducked out of the kitchen, taking a bottle of water with him. Sam always asked if you wanted to join him on his morning runs, but he knew you were unlikely to ever agree. You hated running almost as much as Dean did.

You ate your breakfast quietly, contemplating your plans for the day. You had decided to start a new routine today, a routine you intended to continue until you felt better about yourself or until you could get Dean's words out of your head, whichever came first.

After breakfast, you went into the library to do some reading, intending to allow your stomach time to digest your food. You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed, but Sam had returned from his run, showered, and was now eating his breakfast at the table while scrolling through the latest news stories on his computer.

Dean, unsurprisingly, was still not awake, despite the fact that it was 10am.

You closed your book and stood up. "I'll be down in the gym if you need me," you said to Sam as you crossed the room towards the door.

"You'll--what?"

You gestured towards the hall behind you. "I'll be in the gym."

He looked perplexed, but didn't comment on your sudden desire to workout. He could tell something was a little off with you, but he had the feeling you wouldn't want to talk about it, so he decided to let it go. After all, it's not like going to the gym was something he needed to worry about--it wouldn't kill you (unlike some of your previous bad choices).

When you reached the gym, you looked around and sighed. You'd always hated working out. It was a reminder how out of shape you were and how imperfect your body was. Sure, hunting kept you relatively healthy--you had surprising stamina and endurance, but the weight just never seemed to fall off. You'd begun to feel like your fat was holding some kind of grudge against you, intent on making your life miserable for some perceived slight.

You sighed again and walked over to the treadmill in the corner. You stared at it for a few minutes, deciding whether you really wanted to use it. You'd always hated the treadmill, but you needed to start somewhere, so you hopped on and started to walk at a brisk pace.

Thirty minutes later, you switched to the stationary bike, wanting a change from the monotony of walking. Twenty minutes after that, you were bored out of your mind. You decided to try something else. Maybe lifting weights would do the trick.

About two reps in, your headphones died and you groaned in annoyance. You tugged them out of your ears and tossed them to the floor, opting instead to blast your music loudly through the bluetooth speaker Sam kept down there.

Alanis Morissette's voice now carried down the hall, but you couldn't be bothered to care. She was your go-to when you were feeling angry or upset, her music always making you feel better, especially when you scream-sang along.

After a few more reps, you decided to work on your boxing skills. Sam had taught you years ago, mostly as a way to teach you some fighting skills. You wrapped your hands to protect your knuckles, settled into your stance, and began hitting the punching bag. The release of frustration you felt was almost immediate and you realized you should have just done this from the start.

Upstairs, Dean was just returning from running an errand. He'd woken up and been distressed to find they were out of bacon and beer--his two main food groups. He'd gone to the grocery store to restock and was now happily cooking an excessive amount of bacon for his breakfast.

"You know you should eat something besides bacon, right?" Sam teased him.

"Nothing is better than bacon, Sammy. Nothing." Dean scooped the rest of the bacon onto his plate with a look of glee.

"Heart attack on a plate," Sam muttered.

"Oh shut it," Dean grumbled as he bit into his first piece. He moaned obnoxiously, causing his brother to roll his eyes dramatically. "Where's (Y/N)?" He asked, words garbled by the bacon he was still chewing.

"What?"

Dean swallowed. "Where's (Y/N)? I stopped by her room before I went out and she was gone."

"She's in the gym."

"I'm sorry, she's what?"

Sam shrugged. "She's in the gym. She went down after breakfast."

"Why?"

"I assume to work out," Sam said lightly.

Dean groaned. "Obviously, smartass, but why was she gonna work out?"

"I don't know, dude. Why don't you ask her?"

Dean looked down at his plate. "I will once I finish my bacon."

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't comment further.

Once Dean had finished his breakfast, he made his way down to the gym, a feeling of dread settling into his stomach. He couldn't really put a finger on why, only that he didn't like the feeling.

As he neared the gym, he heard 'You Oughta Know' blasting down the hallway. He didn't hear your voice over the lyrics until he actually entered the room. He would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't so worried about you.

Your back was to him as you continued to pummel the absolute shit out of the punching bag. Dean had to admire both your form and the power you exuded. But as he watched you, that feeling of dread began to creep higher into his chest, wrapping itself around his heart.

He called out your name, but you couldn't hear him over the music. He spotted the speaker and walked over to turn it off, plunging the room into a shocking silence.

You spun around, surprised to see Dean standing beside the speaker. "I, uhh, I called your name," he muttered sheepishly.

"Oh, sorry. I was kinda in the zone."

He nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. So, uh, whatcha doin'?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Working out...as one does in a gym."

He winced, feeling like an idiot. "I know that, but what I don't know is why."

"Why what?"

"Why are you suddenly working out in the gym for two straight hours? You hate the gym."

You stared at him with an unreadable expression. Your eyes were dark and your jaw was set as you regarded him. "You can't think of any reason?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. "No...hence why I'm asking."

You gestured to your body. "Because I'm not strong enough or fast enough or physically fit enough to hunt...sound familiar?"

Dean winced, eyes widening with realization. "(Y/N), I--"

You held up your hand. "No need to apologize, Dean. I realized you were right. I am weaker than you and Sam, I am slower and heavier and fatter--I am completely less physically capable than either of you. So obviously, I need to do something about that. Hence the gym."

Dean stared at her, anger darkening his features. "None of that is true."

"Of course it is, Dean. You said it yourself. I'm just agreeing with you."

"Of course you're not the same as us, (Y/N), but that has nothing to do with your body or your weight or your ability. We're men, and large ones at that. We're physically built different than you, but that doesn't mean you need to change anything about yourself to be more like us."

"Well clearly I do, or you wouldn't have found my body so unacceptable--you wouldn't have told Sam I'm not capable of hunting on my own."

Whatever thread was keeping Dean from yelling finally snapped. "Your body isn't unacceptable! You aren't weak! There is nothing wrong with you--nothing!"

You were stunned into silence by the intensity of his words. You didn't know how to react or what to say.

Dean sighed deeply, feeling the anger drain out of him at last. "You didn't hear the rest of our conversation, did you?" His voice was barely a whisper, but you could hear the raw emotion in it.

You shook your head.

"You should have stayed...you may have learned something."

"What would I have learned?" you asked quietly.

"You would have realized that your interpretation of my words wasn't at all how I meant them. You would have heard me tell Sam how terrified I am of losing you, how that fear makes me want to keep you out of this life--away from hunting entirely. You would have seen that I love you just the way you are--that I don't want you to change a single thing about yourself. You would know that I am the problem, not you...it was never you."

"Dean..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. "You...you don't need to try and make me feel better."

He stared at you, green eyes full of fire. "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to be honest about my feelings--to make you see you the way I see you."

"Why now?"

He was taken aback by your question, and it took him several moments to respond. "You know how I feel about romantic attachments...I worry about losing the person I love most, simply because they were unlucky enough to be loved by me. The fear of losing another person I love or have them be used against me is a pain I'm not sure I can bear. But you--you deserve better than my fears. You are the light to my darkness, my reason for living. I can't stand the thought of you believing I think less of you, not when I would burn the world down to keep you safe."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" you whispered, a glimmer of hope sparkling in your voice.

Dean took a step towards you. "If you think I'm telling you that I've been in love with you for years, that I love every single part of you inside and out, that I don't want you to change a single thing, that I think you're perfect...then yes."

You exhaled sharply, breathing ragged as you stared into his soulful green eyes.

He crossed the short distance between you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his body, not caring about the sweat staining your body.

He practically crushed you against him, holding on more tightly than you'd ever imagined he would. After several moments, he loosened his grip on you so he could gaze down into your eyes. A small, lopsided smile graced his lips and his eyes fluttered shut. As his lips grazed against yours, you sighed softly, causing him to immediately deepen the kiss.

His hands dug into your soft flesh, seemingly reveling in the feeling of your body in his arms. His kiss was everything you'd imagined it would be and so much more--you felt safe, loved, and cherished. You didn't know you could have those feelings from a single kiss, but here you were, drowning in emotion, his love the life raft saving you from darkness.

When you finally parted, Dean rested his forehead against yours. "Do you believe me, (Y/N)? Can you see how much I love you? How badly I need you?"

"Yes," you breathed. "I believe you."

He sighed happily, breath mingling with yours. "Will you let me show you?"

You pulled away from him slightly so you could see his face better.

His eyes were dark with hunger, his gaze almost predatory. If you didn't know him, you would be frightened.

"Let me show you, sweetheart," he begged softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Let me show you how much I love your body--how badly I've wanted to touch it, mark it, make it mine. Let me touch every curve, kiss every scar--bite and lick and suck every pleasure point until you're a moaning mess in my arms. Let me make love to you the way you deserve."

No man had ever spoken to you like that, and you felt your toes curl at his words. If he could spark your body alive with nothing but words, you wondered what he was capable of doing with his body.

Your breathing was labored and your voice husky as you murmured, "How could I ever say no?"

Dean smirked and he tugged you to him again, lips crashing against yours. You felt his hands all over your body, clutching any part of you he could reach. His mouth left yours, lips trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking gently against the sensitive skin. He licked the column of your throat and groaned softly, muttering "salty" in a devilishly sexy voice.

You pulled away, suddenly remembering what you'd been doing when Dean interrupted you. "Wait--I-I need to shower first."

Dean groaned in annoyance. "No you don't."

You started to peel him off you with a light chuckle. "Yes, I do. I feel gross."

He pouted adorably. "For the record, I would make love to you on the sparing mat, right here, right now."

You laughed. "As hot as that might be, I really want to shower...I'll even let you join me." You shot him a wink and ran toward the door.

He realized what you'd said and turned to run after you, chasing you all the way to the showers. You giggled when he caught you, tugging you to him to kiss at your exposed neck and shoulders.

"Shower!" you squealed.

He groaned. "Fine, fine."

He practically dragged you into the bathroom, turning away from you to turn on the water before tugging you into the shower with him.

"Dean, our clothes--"

"They'll dry," he grumbled, fingers tugging on your shirt to lift it over your head.

You allowed him to remove it, neither of you paying attention to where it landed as he tossed it out of the shower. He did the same with his own shirt and jeans, followed by your leggings.

He spun you around, so your back was pressed against the cold tile, water spraying across your chest. He unzipped your sports bra and you allowed it to fall to the ground, revealing your heavy breasts to his wanton eyes.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, lips attaching to your pert nipple.

You ran your hands through his hair as he continued his gentle assault on your breasts. His lips didn't leave your chest, even as his hands trailed down to slowly peel off your underwear.

He slipped two fingers between your folds, collecting your slick and pressing firmly against your clit. You moaned softly at the sensation, head falling back against the tile.

He removed his fingers, slipping them between his lips and sucking them dry. "I need more," he murmured hungrily.

He dropped to his knees and grabbed your right leg, slinging it over his shoulder before you could utter a word. You started to complain that you needed to wash the sweat off first, but he ignored you, tongue sweeping between your folds without a care.

Any protests you may have had were lost as he worked his magic on your pussy. Your fingers twisted into his short hair, head back, mouth open, drowning in the pleasure he was giving you. You were thankful for the tile you leaned against and his strong arms holding you in place as he feasted on you.

Your legs began to shake and you cried out his name seconds before your orgasm hit you, sending you spiraling into bliss. Dean didn't want to stop, but your hands weakly tugged on his hair and your legs began to buckle, so he pulled himself up to keep you from falling.

"Delicious," he whispered against your mouth as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him closer to you and he shifted to press his body tightly against yours. You gasped as his still clothed member brushed against your thigh and your hands instantly slid down his body to rid him of the annoying fabric.

"Wanna touch you," you begged softly.

He groaned, but pulled away from your reach.

"Dean," you whined.

"Shh, let me wash you first," he insisted.

"But--"

He cut you off with a kiss. "Let me worship you before you touch me--I wanna make this about you."

Your expression softened and you leaned into him. "I love you, Dean."

Your voice was a low whisper, but he heard it all the same. You hadn't said the words earlier, a fact he had been trying to ignore. Hearing you say them now nearly had him throwing all his plans for the next week out the window--wanting to do nothing more than worship you from dusk to dawn for the foreseeable future.

"Dean?" you whispered warily, concern filling your eyes.

He used all his self-control to push his own needs and wants aside. "I heard you, baby," he assured you. "I heard you."

His kiss was gentler this time, sweeter even, and it warmed your body from the inside out. He broke away, panting, a whispered "I love you" pressed into your skin as he made his way down your body and back up again.

After what felt like an eternity, he grabbed the shower gel and loofa and slowly began to lather you up, washing your body in a surprisingly sensual way. When he finally decided you were clean, he helped you under the spray and made sure all the suds were rinsed off.

"Can I touch you now?" you begged.

He smiled warmly. "I suppose I can allow it." He forced his voice to be steady and calm, despite the desire screaming inside of him--begging him to take you well and properly.

You sunk to your knees, gaze lifting to meet his. You gave him a shy smile before taking his cock in your soft hands. He was larger than average, but you weren't afraid of the pain. Instead, you focused on giving him the same intense pleasure he had given you.

When you wrapped your lips around his cock, his head fell back and a groan escaped his parted lips. His fingers danced across your scalp, gathering your hair to one side so he could see you properly.

"Shit, sweetheart," he mumbled. "You're taking me so well."

You moaned around him, pleased with the praise he offered you. You continued to work him, using your tongue to caress and tease him in ways he'd never experienced before.

He wasn't at all surprised by your skill, but he was surprised by how damn good it felt. Sure, it had been a while for him, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a blow job that made his knees weak--if ever.

"Shit, baby," he whispered. "I'm so close--gonna cum for you."

His fingers raked through your wet hair and he used his other hand to lean against the tiles behind you. His hips jutted forward slightly as you relaxed your throat, taking him as far back as you could.

You flattened your tongue against his cock and flexed it, repeating the motion a few times before Dean's grip on your hair became painful and he exploded into your throat with a cry of your name.

You swallowed everything he had to give you, not releasing him from your lips until he pulled away, forcing the two of you to separate.

Dean leaned back against the shower wall and pulled you towards him, trying to support his weak legs while also helping you up. Once you were on your feet, he tugged you into him and placed a feverish kiss to your lips.

He panted heavily when he finally released you from his tight grip, allowing you to suck in some much needed air.

"Where did you learn how to do that thing with your tongue?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

You smirked. "It's a natural talent."

He grinned. "Well I fucking love it."

You laughed and leaned back into him, capturing his lips in a sweeter kiss. "So what are your thoughts on continuing this elsewhere?"

"Well my plan was to make you moan my name for the next several hours...I don't care where we go, as long as you're willing to let me ruin you."

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily and you moaned softly, biting into your bottom lip to keep the sound from being too loud. "My room?"

"My room is closer," he murmured into your shoulder.

You smiled and backed away from him, causing him to pout. You turned the water off and continued to back out of the shower. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself, which only served to upset Dean.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

Your eyes widened. "Putting on a towel so we can go to your room..."

"Did I say you could hide your body from me?" His tone was shockingly dominant and a spark of need went straight to your core.

"No," you whispered.

"I didn't think so." He stepped forward, dominance oozing from every pore in his body. "Drop the towel. Now."

You gasped softly, but heeded his command. The towel fell to the floor and he took yet another predatory step in your direction.

"Don't you ever hide yourself from me again. I wanna see every inch of your body." His hands grabbed at your hips roughly, tugging you towards him forcefully. "You're mine, do you understand me? Mine."

While the idea of someone owning you would normally piss you off, in this context it was a shocking turn-on. You swallowed thickly as you stared up into his heated gaze, suddenly unable to move, or even breathe.

He leaned down to kiss along your jaw towards your ear. He breathed slowly against your skin, causing you to shiver and clutch his arms for support. "Is this okay?" he whispered, voice still gruff, but much more loving.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to form actual words.

"Baby, I need you to tell me with your words. I need you to say whether this is okay or not. I don't wanna do something you're not into."

You turned your head a little so you could see his bright green eyes. The look in his eyes was reflected in your own and there was no doubt or fear in your voice when you answered him. "I'm very into it."

Your reassurance was all he needed to fall back into the dominant role. "Then you'd better get your ass into my bed before we have a problem."

You turned to open the door, yelping slightly when his hand smacked your ass. You shot him a surprised look and he looked slightly sheepish.

"Sorry, baby...I couldn't resist. You've got a great ass."

You smirked at the compliment and gave him a little wiggle before rushing into the hallway and making a beeline for his bedroom door.

He was surprised by your teasing action, but it only made him smile. He chased after you, mumbling, "Oh you're in for it now, princess."

You giggled as you landed on his bed, crawling up towards the headboard as he came through the doorway. He shut the door behind him and stalked to the edge of the bed, fiery gaze locked on you.

"It's unfair how sexy you look right now," he growled. "Makes me wanna fuck you senseless--make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

You gulped, trying to hide behind false bravado. "Are you going to do that from the other side of the room?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be a brat."

"Why don't you come here and do something about it."

Dean practically jumped onto the bed, climbing on top of you and caging you beneath him in seconds. His cock was hard again, pressing against your thigh--a reminder of how badly he wanted you.

"Not so mouthy now are you?"

"Dean, I--"

"Hush," he murmured as he leaned down to kiss you. He shifted just enough so his cock brushed against your core, and you gasped into his mouth.

"How badly do you want me right now, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice rough with need.

"I've never wanted you more," you answered honestly.

He groaned lowly. "How do you want it? You want me to fuck you into this mattress or take it nice and slow?"

"Fuck me into the mattress," you begged softly. "Please."

"Jesus--I love when you beg for me," he growled.

"Fuck me, Dean," you pleaded. You weren't above begging, especially when it came to him.

Dean gripped his cock in his right hand and lined himself up with your entrance. He started to push in, trying to move slowly to avoid hurting you as much. "You're so fucking tight, baby," he whispered against your lips.

You gripped his biceps harshly, nails digging into his skin. The stretch was unbelievable, both painful and pleasurable all at once.

"You okay?" he whispered softly.

You nodded.

"Babe," he said in a warning tone.

"I'm okay--keep going."

He continued to push into you and your back arched as his cock brushed against your cervix. You whimpered at the feeling of fullness, and Dean struggled to remain motionless until you told him it was okay to move.

"I need you to move, Dean--please."

He pulled himself up slightly and started a very gentle pace, still allowing you time to adjust. The last thing he wanted was to make this painful or uncomfortable for you. He didn't give a damn about his enjoyment--all he wanted was to watch you fall apart over and over again.

"Your pussy feels incredible, baby," he groaned. "I could stay here forever."

He began to move more quickly and your breathing became more erratic as you reveled in the pleasure of the moment. Your moans were like music to his ears, spurring him on as he slid into you again.

"I love the sounds you're making, sweetheart. I wanna hear you."

He picked up his pace and shifted you into a new position so he could get even deeper inside you. You cried out as he hit your g-spot, pussy clamping down on his cock in response.

"Shit--" he groaned. "You're squeezing me so tight--taking my cock so fucking well, gorgeous."

Your back arched again and your head was tossed back, pressing into the pillows at the head of the bed. Your hands twisted in the sheets, unable to reach his arms or his back as he slammed into you repeatedly.

He knew you were close, but he wasn't ready to feel you cum yet. "Look at me, baby."

He waited until your hazy eyes met his.

"Don't cum until I tell you to, understand?"

Your eyes widened. "But, Dean--"

"Not until I give you permission," he said firmly.

You nodded rapidly, not wanting to risk your orgasm altogether.

"Good girl."

You moaned loudly and your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, causing him to echo the sound.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned. "You like it when I praise you, huh? You wanna hear about how much I love this pussy? How I've been thinking about fucking you for years? How I've craved your body?"

You were practically breathless beneath him, unable to formulate a response or even acknowledge his words.

"Your pussy is fucking perfect," he continued. "Made for me. And this body? Gorgeous and soft and fucking delicious. Can't believe I get to touch you like this--make you feel so good."

"Dean, please," you begged breathlessly.

"Not yet, sweetheart."

You whimpered, but continued to focus on staving off your impending orgasm.

"Who owns this pussy, baby?"

You didn't answer--too focused on not cumming until he gave you permission.

His grip on your legs tightened, bringing your attention back to him. "That's it, pretty girl, look at me. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You," you gasped out.

"That's right. This pussy is mine. I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this--make you moan and whimper and scream. No one else."

"Only you," you cried.

"Fuck--" His breathing had become ragged and he had begun to struggle to keep himself from orgasming.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum!" you begged.

Dean decided to take pity on you. "Cum for me, baby."

"Dean!" you screamed as your orgasm ripped through you. The pleasure so white hot and blinding you nearly blacked out.

Dean helped you ride out the waves of pleasure before lowering himself back down to hover over you. He placed soft kisses to your heated skin and whispered, "You're so damn beautiful when you cum."

You were gulping down mouthfuls of air, but you heard his whispered words. "I love you," you murmured.

He groaned softly. "Love you more."

He picked his pace back up, intent on giving you another orgasm before allowing himself to cum.

It didn't take long for him to work you back up, letting you hang on the precipice of blissful pleasure once more.

"You feel so good beneath me, baby. I love watching your pretty face as you fall apart. I just can't get enough of you," he admitted.

Your nails dug into his back, indicating you also couldn't get enough of him. "Dean, I need more," you pleaded.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. I want you to cum before I fill you up."

You lowered your hand down and slipped it between your bodies. You found your clit with ease and began to gently toy with it, sending pulses of toe curling pleasure up your spine.

"Fuck, yes. That's it baby. God, this pussy is addicting...don't ever wanna stop."

"So close," you whimpered.

"Yeah, sweetheart? You wanna cum?"

"Please, Dean."

"How badly?"

"Dean," you whined.

"Be a good girl and tell me how badly you wanna cum for me and maybe I'll let you."

"Please-please-please," you begged. "I wanna cum so bad. I need to cum, Dean, please!"

As much as he loved prolonging your orgasm, he couldn't bear saying no to you. "Cum for me, sweetness," he whispered into your ear.

Your body began to shake as the dam broke once again. You cried out as the pleasure invaded all of your senses, overwhelming you completely.

Dean began to chase his own high, desperately needing to fill you up with his seed. "You're the only woman who makes me lose control," he whispered into your skin.

You were surprised by his words, but they warmed your heart. Dean wasn't the kind of man to lose control often, so the fact that you made him do so was a massive ego boost.

"I wanna feel you fill me up, Dean," you murmured. "Need your cum inside me."

"Fuck," he growled, teeth grazing your pulse point.

His hips began to stutter as he reached his peak. Your nails scraped along his back, giving him the last push he needed to fall over the edge. He came with a guttural growl of your name, ropes of hot cum filling your pussy.

His arms started to feel weak as his orgasm came to an end, and he collapsed on top of you, crushing you beneath his larger frame. You couldn't have been bothered to care if he'd literally smothered you--you were too fucked out to form coherent thoughts.

After a while, Dean managed to pull himself off of you, only to collapse on the bed beside you. He reached for you, strong arms wrapping around your waist to tug you into his chest.

"You're so damn incredible, (Y/N/N)," he whispered into your shoulder, lips pressing soft kisses there. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard--and you managed to do it twice."

"I can't feel my legs and my head is fuzzy," you mumbled. "So I second all of that."

Dean chuckled softly and held you even tighter. "I love you," he murmured. "More than you'll ever know."

"I think I have some idea," you whispered back. "And I love you just as much."

Dean smiled, feeling truly happy for the first time in as long as he could remember. He knew he should get up, help you clean up and all that, but he couldn't get himself to move and you weren't complaining. In fact, your breathing had evened out and he had a feeling you'd be asleep soon.

He kissed your shoulder one more time before resting his head comfortably on the pillow, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. Just as sleep threatened to claim him, he heard his brother's voice from the other side of the closed door.

"While I'm super happy for you both, I have one request. Next time the two of you decide to fuck each other's brains out, could you at least have the decency to wait until I'm gone? I can't un-hear any of that!"

You laughed lightly and you could feel Dean's laughter rumbling in his chest from behind you.

"We'll do our best," Dean called back. "But no promises! She's simply too hot to resist--you never know when I'll get the urge to ravish her."

You laughed even harder, but you reached behind you to lovingly smack his hip.

"Ohh gross, dude!" Sam grumbled before walking away, leaving the two of you alone again.

"You're so bad, Dean Winchester."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I was making your legs shake ten minutes ago."

You tossed him a grin over your shoulder. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

He matched your grin. "Touché, my love. Touché."

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #supernatural #supernatural smut #dean winchester x plus size!reader smut #dean winchester x plus size reader

2K notes · View notes

glow-in-the-dark-death · 11 months ago

Text

JJ (The Rage of a Protective King)

So we all know that it's not just beings who used to be alive that can become ghosts but also concepts, just look at ClockWork he's the ghost of Time.

How many of you remember Joker Jr. ?

Because I do.

In this case let's imagine that JJ became a fully conscious being that came from the trauma Tim went through with the Joker and Harley.

But Tim doesn't have JJ in his head not for a very long time, he never put much thought to it other than he was healing from his trauma.

But JJ still exists not in Tim anymore no, he lived and he died, and now he's a ghost who is healing from the trauma as well.

Years have passed

JJ is now almost an adult at least by human mortal years

And he just happens to bump into Danny, and they click

After all Danny understands the trauma of being mentally controlled by a clown look a like.

JJ's appearance now looks less like the Joker and more like Tims.

He's getting better, Danny and him are helping each other heal.

Danny doesn't even flinch when JJ lets out his natural laughter which sounds almost worse than the Jokers.

Danny cares about JJ,

Danny is a protection spirit, he's protective especially to those he considers his so imagine his rage when the Bats find out about JJ's existence and immediately try to hunt him down, have him locked away.

Danny is this close to saying 'Fuck it' and declaring war on the heroes and anyone who sides with them.

All of those who have a connection to death or magic are freaking out

The Infinite High King is here and he's angry

Just an Idea

Btw, because I see some of ya''ll be confused, especially about the bats being not themselves and seeming bad.

This is from Danny & JJ pov, they're idiots who are panicking and jumping to the worst conclusion,

The Bats are normal and trying to figure out the situation,

JJ saw them skulking around him and panicked TM

Danny doesn't know the situation completely he just saw his friend scared and went straight into the find out stage of fuck around.

In other words they share a single brain cell and it's on vacation.

Hope this clears up the confusion! ヽ༼⁰o⁰；༽ノ

1K notes · View notes

prentissluvr · 7 months ago

Text

something about being close — sam winchester

pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket.

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years.

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.”

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours.

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have.

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up.

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch.

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed.

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel.

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat.

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand.

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love.

but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips.

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap.

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth.

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible.

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

996 notes · View notes

ericshoney · 5 months ago

Text

Driskill Hotel ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: You join your brothers in their trip with Sam and Colby

Warnings: swearing, ghost hunting, nicknames, protective!triplets, targeting, spirits, crying, slight angst, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were tagging along with Nick, Matt and Chris with their trip to Texas to collab with Sam and Colby at the Driskill hotel. You've watched Sam and Colby for years now so your brothers just had to bring you along.

When you arrived and got the introductions out of the way, the guys started to film. You looked around taking in the place.

"What's up guys, today we have some special guests, you've been requesting they join for a video for months!" Colby began.

"It's the Sturniolo triplets and their sister, Y/n!" Sam cheered.

The guys cheered and clapped as you giggled. Sam and Colby started asking different questions and how much you all believed.

"I'd say nine." You answered.

"I'm an eight." Matt said.

"Ten, even though nothing has happened to me for it to be a ten." Nick said.

"I'd say seven." Chris said.

The guys nodded as you all started to explore with the guides for a while, taking in the whole hotel and listening to their stories and experiences. It took a few hours and you laughed at the many jokes the guys made. Nick, Matt and Chris kept an eye on you at all times, making sure you were okay.

"Now it's investigation time!" Colby cheered once you went through the tour and the guides left you.

"First off, let's go talk to Samantha." Sam said.

You followed the guys to the old painting of the young girl. You looked at it seeing it was turning green and remembered the guide said it was the only one turning green out of the many paintings in the whole hotel.

"Now we're all going to offer a piece of candy to Samantha, but one of us is going to say Ruth." Colby instructed.

It was chosen that Matt would call on Ruth whilst the rest of you called on Samantha. You all placed the candy in front of the painting and then went to the stairs where Samantha died.

"You feeling okay, bub?" Chris asked you quietly.

"Yeah, just taking it all in." You answered.

He nodded, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as Sam set up the flashlights on the stairs. You then saw something out of the corner of your eye, making you look back, which caught your brothers' attention.

"What?" They all called at the same time, shocking Sam and Colby.

"I...I swear I saw something go by." You answered.

"Can we just talk about how you all said that at the exact same time!" Colby exclaimed, making you all laugh.

"What did you see?" Matt asked.

"It was a shadow....but it didn't look tall." You replied.

"Samantha." Sam said.

Just then, one of the flashlights went off, making you all gasp. Chris who was still next to you, pulled you closer to his side. You watched as the guys asked various questions, getting a few answers. You then placed your hands in the pockets of your sweats and gasped.

"Oh my fucking God." You called out.

"What!" Nick shouted.

"I have a piece of candy in my pocket." You responded, holding some of the candy that Sam had in his backpack.

"You only took one piece and offered it to Samantha." Chris mentioned, making you nod.

"Yeah you saw me and it's on camera. How did this get here?" You asked.

"Let's go check and see how many pieces are left at the painting." Sam suggested.

You all nodded and headed back to the painting. You saw there was five pieces, where there should have been six.

"The piece I left is gone." You said.

"That's fucking crazy." Nick said.

You all took a short break, trying to gather some thoughts, before heading to the Maximillian room. The one Empress Carlota was supposed to be in. As soon as you walked in, you started getting a headache and felt dizzy. Nick, who was behind you, noticed you grab your head.

"Hey kid, you okay?" He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I just started feeling really dizzy and got a headache." You answered.

"First Samantha and now here, you think it's Carlota?" Matt asked.

"You seem to be drawing them in." Sam mentioned.

You took a deep breath and watched them set some equipment up. You then had a crazy idea after seeing them set the EMF rope up.

"What if I do the estes method in here?" You suggested.

"No!" Nick, Matt and Chris all shouted at the same time.

"You said you felt dizzy, we're not having our sixteen year old sister get attached to a spirit!" Nick added.

"We don't want to cause any family drama, but it could be a good idea. You guys can try it later in room 525, but Y/n might get something more since she's a girl." Colby replied.

After a bit of convincing, you sat on the floor in the middle of the EMF rope, blindfolded and with the headphones on. You sat for a few minutes with nothing.

"I don't know why I feel so nervous." Chris said, laughing to try and cover his fear.

"She's your sister, it seems more scary when it's someone you love." Sam responded.

Suddenly, you started saying some stuff. It was a few random words at first, the guys tried to piece together, but then you said something that scared them.

"Her."

"Her? As in Y/n?" Colby asked.

"Yes."

"What about her?" Nick asked.

"Want."

"You can't have our sister." Chris said.

"Are we talking with Carlota?" Sam questioned.

"Threat."

"Is Y/n a threat?" Matt asked.

You didn't say anything for a minute, giving the guys a chance to think and ask some more questions. But they then noticed you weren't responding and your breathing started picking up.

"Get her out!" Matt shouted.

Colby rushed over and tapped your shoulder gently, helping you remove the headphones. You threw the blindfold off and looked at the guys, your breathing still faster than normal and tears in your eyes.

"Hey, hey your okay. We're here." Nick said, hugging you tightly.

Sam placed the camera down, knowing you needed to stop for a bit. Matt rubbed your back as you clung to Nick, Chris standing besides him, all their faces showed worry. None of them said anything as you calmed down.

When you had calmed down, your breathing back to normal, you all went and sat in the lobby, feeling safer in that area.

"Can you remember anything you said?" Matt asked you.

"A few words like her and want, but it was like someone was squeezing my head tightly. It was static and my body started feeling light till Colby touched my shoulder." You answered.

"Did....Did you get it on camera?" You then asked.

"A bit, but we can cut it out." Sam answered.

"If that's okay." You replied, making him nod.

"Of course, whatever makes you feel more comfortable." Colby replied.

You gave them a small smile and knew that Nick, Matt and Chris would be watching you like a hawk for the rest of the investigation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist

@mattsfavbigtitties @lgbtq-girl @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @riowritesitall

510 notes · View notes

nochedie · 22 days ago

Text

with you | dean winchester 💡

pairing: dean winchester x reader, pre series

genre: a bit of angst then some fluff

wordcount: 2.4k

summary: you’ve been hunting with john and dean for a long time now, and you finally snap after john berates dean one too many times

a/n: fuck john winchester! 🫶🏼

you walked through the dimly lit concrete pathway outside the motel you, dean, and john were holed up in tonight, rounding the corner and seeing the light on in the room you were all sharing. you could see the outline of the father and son arguing and you couldn’t hold back your eyeroll.

every night was the same, ever since you started hunting with them. you could see from dean’s face everytime his dad was giving him an earful, he really believed it. he believed everything. sometimes it would get so heated, that john would tell dean it was his fault sam left. that he was supposed to protect him, and anything that he was exposed to that made him feel any different was because of dean. of course that wasn’t true. but it didn’t stop dean from believing it anyway.

ever since he was small, the responsibility of raising his brother was all up to him. he was only four years old when his mother died, when their entire life changed. nothing would ever be normal again. he lost his mother, sure, but he lost his dad too. he had to make sure sam was safe, when he needed someone to make sure he was safe. he was only a child.

throughout your travels, you had grown to resent john as fervently as you loved dean. you longed never to see john’s face again, but that would mean that you wouldn’t get to see dean’s.

you knew john disliked you just as much as you disliked him, and there was a simple reason for it: he saw how dean looked at you. he saw you as a distraction, putting dean at risk. only reason he was acting like this was to protect his son but he had a funny way of showing it. you could hear him berating dean through the door, talking about how he was irresponsible and stupid for being distracted on the hunt today. reality is he wasn’t distracted. he just happened to help you up from the floor before “checking himself for wounds” as john shouted at the two of you earlier in the day. maybe if any of his arguments actually made sense you might have a sliver of respect left for him.

you opened the door quickly, causing the two men to stop talking immediately. dean was sat on the bed, and john was towering over him. he had the ability to make dean feel small and you hated that. every little thing dean did was to impress his father and none of it was good enough.

you waved the bag of treats you had gotten from the store up in the air, bypassing john entirely and taking a seat on the bed next to dean.

“i got us some beers and some snacks.” you looked up just in time to see john walking out the motel room door. you weren’t sure where he was going and frankly you didn’t care.

“that’s my girl.” dean tried his best to mask any kind of expression on his face that showed just how he was feeling about the interaction with his dad, but you could see right through it. he was hurt, angry, mainly just sad. you knew that letting him know you knew how he felt would actually make him feel worse, so you chose, as you always do, just to be there for him. try and take his mind off things.

you crossed your legs on the bed, facing him and cracking open the beers with the bottle opener dean had gifted to you. you clinked glasses, and took a couple of swigs.

“so, what’s next? any new cases lined up?”

“yeah, my dad found something weird in the paper this mornin’… looks just like spirit behaviour, so it should be an easy one.”

“hm, okay. can we reprise our characters when we’re doing research?” you smiled when you caught dean’s cheeks flush. for this last case, you two had been pretending to be a husband and wife reporter duo, writing a story for the local gazette.

“sure thing, mrs brooks.”

“i think we should create a jingle for mr and mrs brooks: amateur reporters.”

“definitely not.”

“what are you gonna do, stop me?”

“yes. mr brooks is quite comfortable locked away up here.” he points to his head, taking another swig of his beer.

“dean.” you nudge his arm right when he was taking a drink, causing it to spill.

“y/n, come on!” he couldn’t help but smile as you mouthed an apology, before getting up to go to the bathroom to clean himself up, closing the door behind him.

as soon as the bathroom door closed, the motel door opened and in came john. your smile dropped as soon as you saw him, eyes casting down to the bed.

“can we talk, john? outside.”

“and why would we do that?”

“just come outside.” john let out a heavy sigh and followed you outside, slamming the motel door behind him.

“so, what is it?” john crossed his arms across his chest, looking inconvenienced to even be there.

“i heard what you said to dean earlier. you know, you can talk to him without yelling. you can protect him without telling him everything he does is wrong.”

“and what does it have to do with you?”

“clearly something since you were mentioning my name an awful lot!”

“i don’t think you’re good for him is all. actually i think after this hunt, you should just leave us alone, okay?”

“you can let your emotions get in the way all you want but i’m a valuable asset and you know it. how many times have i had to save your ass?”

“dean cannot concentrate with you around.”

“oh, all of a sudden you care about dean? how about telling him that once in a while?” your blood was boiling, your voice raising. the entire motel could probably hear. dean had heard the commotion outside and was listening from inside the room.

“i care about dean.”

“enough to tell him everything is his fault? enough to rob him of his childhood?”

“what right do you have to tell me how to parent my goddamn children?”

“apart from the fact that they never got to be children, what the hell have you done for them as a parent? sam doesn’t want anything to do with you and dean spends every waking moment trying to please you! you are not a parent. i get that you were trying to protect them, but this wasn’t the way. you didn’t have to do what you did. you chose to do that. dean was just a kid!”

silence. he didn’t have anything else to say.

“tell dean i went to the bar or something.” you turned on your heel and walked away, up the street away from the motel and towards the nearest town.

john took a few minutes outside, half for some fresh air, half because he knew dean would ask where you were the second he got inside, and he wanted you out of sight before then. he stepped through the door, and dean was sitting on the bed, looking up expectantly for you to walk in after john. “where’s y/n?”

“nearest bar.” dean was up and out of there before the last syllable left john’s mouth.

he had tried your phone more times than he could count, and each ring caused the pit in his stomach to grow deeper.

he hated not having you in his sight for even a second. after a while his walking turned into running, calling your name into the darkness. in his hurry to leave he hadn’t even grabbed the keys to the impala and it was too late for him to turn around now.

despite not being good with directions, somehow you had found the nearest bar, but what you hadn’t realised was what time it was. it was early hours of the morning and the bar was just about closed, unfortunately leaving some.. unsavoury types lingering outside. sometimes you forgot, even if you got rid of a paranormal threat, sometimes the human beings were worse.

you pulled out your phone to call dean, but it was dead. “shit…”

you wandered through the empty streets of town, constantly looking over your shoulder. you could see a payphone up ahead, and you knew dean’s number by heart.

you quickened your pace to the payphone, punching in dean’s number as quickly as you could once you reached it. the line was busy. you hoped he wasn’t trying to call you too. you waited a while and put another quarter in, punching in dean’s number again. this time it rung.

“y/n?”

“how’d you know?”

“where the hell are you? are you safe? i’ve been losing my mind over here trying to look for you, i-“ he paused, not wanting to make you feel like he was mad at you. “just tell me where you are.”

“i’m in town… i don’t even remember how i got here but i don’t know my way back to the motel from here.”

“is there anything around you?”

“yeah, there’s a hardware store. it’s called dave’s hardware.”

“alright, just.. hang on, okay? stay there. i’ll find you.”

the phone beeped to alert the call was about to drop.

“alright. dean i-“ the call dropped. “-m sorry.” you put the phone back and stepped out of the phone box, sitting down on the curb. you thought back to the argument with john, and there’s no way dean didn’t hear you. you were just so angry, you had seen dean upset one too many times. all your frustration came out in one. you thought dean might be mad. he had a complicated relationship with his dad, but maybe he would still be mad that you yelled at him. sitting with your thoughts, you didn’t even notice the sound of dean’s footsteps.

“hey…” he touched your shoulder, causing you to jump before you realised it was him. you stood up, and he immediately wrapped you up in a tight embrace. truthfully, physical contact like this, so intimate, it was a first for the two of you. sure you made eyes at each other and there was the subconscious flirting and deep conversations but you hadn’t made it past this barrier yet. not until now. he squeezed you like he hadn’t seen you in months, and you did the same for him. “please don’t do that again. you scared the hell out of me. i thought somethin’ happened to you…”

“i’m sorry i yelled at your dad. i was just so angry, you know?” a hint of sadness was clear on his face as he realised just how many of the arguments between him and his dad you had heard. he always suspected you knew, your eyes couldn’t hide your sadness when you looked at him for hours after.

“don’t apologise for that.” you pulled away from him slightly, his arms were still around you but you wanted to see his face. he tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, keeping his hand on your face as he moved down to cup your chin. your eyes were glued to one anothers, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. it was sweet, and full of an emotion you couldn’t yet place.

when you finally separated, dean kept his eyes closed another few moments. like he was having a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

“y/n… lord knows i’m not good at all this… but i really do care about you. i wasn’t sure at first, but.. today really sealed the deal for me, y’know? got a taste of how it might feel if i lost you, and… i never want to feel that again… i don’t even know what this feeling is.”

he hadn’t been in love before, and neither had you. but what else could this be?

“my hero. rescuing me from dave’s hardware.”

“shut up.” dean poked light-heartedly, letting out a short laugh.

“i feel the same, dean.” his eyes lit up.

“you don’t have to say that just so i look less like a loser professing my love outside da-“ he stopped talking the second he realised he said it. the l word. “let’s go.” he grabbed your hand, pulling you along and hoping you would forget.

“i love you, too. and i’m not just saying that.” he squeezed your hand, pulling you in close again.

“you do?”

“yes, obviously. you couldn’t tell?” sometimes he thought he could. then he would talk himself out of it. he didn’t think he could get, let alone deserve, anybody who came even close to you. you started walking while talking, and you held his hand tight. “wait a sec, did you walk here?”

“more like ran, but yeah.”

“why wouldn’t you take the impala?”

“i forgot the keys, and then.. i don’t know, i thought if i turned back after i realised, you would be long gone, i wouldn’t see where you went, and i would never find you.”

“dramatic.”

“yeah, well i couldn’t take the risk. not with you. never with you.” you walked back to the motel in a comfortable silence, your hand not leaving his for even a second. john was still up when you got back to the motel. you acknowledged each other when you walked through the door, and dean let go of your hand only to go and take a shower.

you sat on the edge of the bed, taking off your shoes. you shifted awkwardly when john sat down in front of you on the chair in front of the motel desk.

“y/n, about today. you were right. and don’t think i don’t think about that every waking moment.” you kept your eyes glued down, not wanting or caring to make eye contact. “i know you care about dean. you can keep on hunting with us, you’re valuable, but the second i see him acting out of line for you.. i can’t ignore that.” he stood up from the chair, making his way towards the door and leaving again.

once dean was out of the shower and you had had one yourself, you crawled into dean’s bed with him. it was the middle of the night and the only thing playing was re-runs of dallas, but. you didn’t care. dean slipped his arm around you, and your head lay to rest on his chest. he gestured to the tv when jr was on the screen, wearing a white cowboy hat. “think i would look good in one of those?” dean questioned, positioning himself to look down at you.

“most definitely.”

comments, feedback etc always appreciated! thank you for reading!

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #supernatural fic #jensen ackles #supernatural x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #supernatural x you #spn x you #spn fic

267 notes · View notes