#honeyryewhiskey

[honeyryewhiskey]

j’s library

inbox is always open for requests <3 crossed out = in the drafts / coming soon! [ HONEYRYEWHISKEY ORIGINALS ® do not claim my work as your own ]

ᡣ𐭩 cheers! 🥃 justyce

— oneshots + drabbles!!

rainy nights + dingy motel beds dean comes home  circa 2006 "happy new year!"

— !reader types

angel ! cupid ! popstar !

— AUs

everything in between early20s!dean memory box meet 1999, dean meet 1999, reader

the sweetest con  outlaw!dean mini-series masterlist

drive me crazy  mechanic!dean x stanford!reader 01. route 66 02. detour ahead 03. signal and turn 04. shotgun’s rules 05. meet me in kansas

— hunter!dean 

dating d.w. headcannons + drabbles!!

ten past three 01. we’ve been loving in silence 02. talking with our bodies 03. i feel like running again

timeloop  01. breaking down in daybreak diner

[floralscented]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤDIVA ! READER.

welcome to the elusive behind-the-scenes content regarding chanel's breakout tv show, baywatch: rising tides! alongside household names such as jensen ackles and tom welling, chanel breaks free from her family's name and sets on a path to make one for herself as the show's main female lead.

. . . breaking news. after a runtime of only three seasons, baywatch: rising tides has ceased filming in the middle of season four's production. all footage wiped from existence. no one will ever know the true ending of the lifeguards we've grown attached to; but can it be pieced together and implied through the tumultuous stories of the actors portraying them?

ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEXCLUSIVE CONTENT!!

JENSEN ACKLES as WILL DAMERON. dameron was the first character cast in b:rt, as it was important to the casting directors to get an idea of the man in charge of the lifeguards at daytona beach. ackles was the first thought, and then the final thought, one says in recollection of the day he was cast, no one else we thought of fit as well as he did. it was a bonus that he ended up clicking with [chanel] so easily. ackles was a recurring figure throughout the show's three seasons, but allegedly one of the reasons that the fourth never aired.

TOM WELLING as RYAN SHAW. a character introduced in the starts of season two, shaw was one of those last minute additions to the script that was as hard to forget as he was to hate. he's the eye of the hurricane, for lack of better terminology, a casting director stated when asked about why welling joined the crew, someone needed to step in and spice things up. he wasn't ever cast to replace [chanel]'s love interest. that was one of the things that just... happened. though welling was not an original cast member, it is said that he "slotted perfectly into the picture."

─ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWATCH BAYWATCH: RISING TIDES ON DVD! ㅤㅤㅤEPISODES & SPECIAL FEATURES TO BE RELEASED . . .

notes. u know sometimes i can't help myself & just wanna make something new. i have many things to finish before this ever gets started buT i think it is about time u guys met bunny by @titsout4jackles's twin sista! the one and only diva! literally go give the oxytocin series all ur love NOW thank u <3

tags, @figthoughts @deansbite @whyyouegg @bluemerakis @bitchykittenconnoisseur @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @moonstruksandco @deansbeer @bluestrd @mccartneyqp @chevroletdean @angelblqde @starzify @florchids @aileenunfiltered @beausling @frosttbitessam @abox-of-rocks @deanssun @deanangel @soldiersgirl @stereotypicalbarbie @gibson-g1rl @theosaurous @rubyvhs ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ↪ if u want added or removed pls lmk <3

[bluemerakis]

𝜗𝜚 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⌇FIRST BOT RELEASE ˚.⋆ ~

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𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙾𝚈 X 𝙽𝙾𝙽-𝚂𝙼𝙾𝙺𝙴𝚁 .ᐟ 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

⌖ based on the fic ── ❝ memory foam ❞

──── synopsis ۶ৎ soldier boy’s taken it upon himself to try and teach you how to roll a blunt, but he’s never been renowned for having patience—and when you’re testing him in all the wrong ways, he’s prepared to teach you a lesson you simply can’t ignore.

to immerse yourself in this slutty universe, click here. don’t be shy—please also drop me a follow on c.ai if you haven’t already .ᐟ

reblogs are deeply appreciated .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 (my fragile ego said so)

edit: *clears throat awkwardly* so it’s come to my attention that bitch ass c.ai is not showing the bot……….. and so im gonna wait and see if it resolves or try and make another one (which i RLLY don’t wanna do). sorry yall this was a major moodkiller 😔.

edit 2: I UPDATED THE LINK AND IT SHOULD WORK NOW!!!

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an — if any links aren’t working, please LMK!!! i know what an ass c.ai can be. n e ways. this is my first ever bot—making it was scary. shitting my pants scary. i never wanna do this again scary (but i will bc i’m masochistic like that). IF IT SUCKS ASS IM SORRY. GO EASY ON ME,,, I WILL GET BETTER AS I LEARN. but this took so fucking long that i just need to pass it to the next person like a game of hot potato. so i hope you all enjoy this little freak of my making and i am really sorry for what may go down in the dms. my brows waggled as i typed that. ok bye. i love u all sm. actually GAS ME UPPP for following through bc bot making was something i thought i’d NEVER get to AND I DID ITTTT. ok back to ghost mode.

tags — @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @angelicjackles @deansbbyx @titsout4jackles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @honeyryewhiskey @floralscented @deansbeer @deansbbyx @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @whisperingdaze @st4rmarley @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @chi-raz @youdontknowe @misatxox @lixiesbrowniess @ilovedeanwinchester4 @soldiersgirl

[deansbeer]

NEW MILESTONE UNLOCKED 🔓 : 2k followers 𓍢ִ໋ 🌷͙֒ ✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆ ｡˚ ♡

first and foremost, i just want to say; a big thank you ! for having stuck beside me, supporting me, interacting with me, and loving my works. there aren't enough words that could describe the gratitude i'm feeling as of right now.

second, i'd love to take a second to thank the moots i've met along the way of this writing journey of mine, as for the new ones i made at the end of last year ! i hold you so near and dear to my heart <3 thank you, thank you, thank you for having befriended me <3 i cherish all of you and the memories we've created / shared always.

lastly, this is my first time doing one of these ! so if you wish to participate, you are more than welcome, just as long as you're following me and are respectful of my boundaries. <3

★ CHARACTERS / ACTORS / CELEBRITIES.

dean winchester, clark kent, alec mcdowell, soldier boy, sam winchester, beau arlen, brian o'conner, rafe cameron, vinnie hacker, jensen ackles, chris sturniolo, drew starkey, matt sturniolo, tom welling.

★ MY READERS.

beachbum!reader & telepath!reader.

prompts list to choose from ; 01 02 03 (nsfw, angst, & fluff <- links are in this exact order) + (only use one prompt per request)

★ HOW TO SEND IN A REQUEST.

🫐 (blurbs, drabbles) choose only ONE character/actor/celebrity, with a prompt of your choosing (above) or feel free to send in an idea of your own — but please be as specific with your request !

🥥 (moodboards) choose a character/actor/celebrity of your choice, including a color scheme, and an aesthetic of your liking !

🧸 (!readers) choose a reader (above) + a character/actor/celebrity you want me to pair up together, including a prompt, and a favorite trope of yours !

🧺 (songs — 4 my mutuals) tell me something about yourself, and i'll choose a song that reminds me of you !

make sure to include the emoji when requesting <3

please be mindful and respectful when sending anything in through my asks + DEANSBEER 2K CELLY will keep its doors open until the seventeenth of february ! so, with that said, thank you again for continuing to support me and loving my works !!! i love you all so dearly. take care <3

🐰 special moot tags. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @beausling @aileenunfiltered @deansbite @bluemerakis @vampsteeth @secretlocket @@heartsforvin @mattscoquette @spcncershasting @ultravi0lence14 @lacydollette @lustagel @dixonsfawn @honeyryewhiskey @jasvtsc @t3l3vangelism @deanswidow @rafespreciosa @figthoughts @frosttbitessam @rafesheaven — ☆

[ultravi0lence14]

PEARL REPRISE

DEAN WINCHESTER X MERMAID!READER

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, spn level violence

SUMMARY: turns out, the girl with sea scented skin and sun kissed cheeks does find her way into dean winchester’s deep sea cave of a heart.

WORD COUNT: TBD

salt and the sea

high tide

coral reef

heart of the sea

rolling waves

talking starfish

TAGS: @starzify @whisperingdaze @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @bluemerakis @gibson-g1rl @haunteres @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @figthoughts @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess @flow33didontsmoke @whump-loverz

NAT BABBLES: shoutout to @deanangel & @deanssun for giving the inspiration to write for mermaid!reader💗 i love u both and ur work inspires me everyday🫶

[misatxox-recs]

— navigation

hello, call me misato. eighteen. she/they. australian. this blog features content suitable for those aged 18+ as well as holds dark content, proceed with caution. MDNI.

current reblogs: 255.

fics to read: 1,150 in drafts.

writing help

misato's recs: resources. prompts.

supernatural

sam winchester. dean winchester. castiel.

marvel

bucky barnes. tony stark. loki laufeyson. clint barton. stephen strange. logan howlett. steve rogers. thor odinson.

house of the dragon

aegon targaryen. jacaerys velaryon. aemond targaryen. daemon targaryen. harwin strong. criston cole.

resident evil

leon kennedy. carlos oliveira. billy coen. ada wong. jill valentine.

the boys

soldier boy. homelander. billy butcher. frenchie.

scream

billy loomis. stu macher. randy meeks. mickey altieri. roman bridger.

dead by daylight

danny johnson.

outer banks

rafe cameron.

cheaper by the dozen

charlie baker.

smallville

clark kent.

real people

jensen ackles. tom welling. sebastian stan. jack hughes.

favourite writers

@inthedayswhenlandswerefew. @mrsbuckybarnes1917. @starzify. @zepskies. @hollybell51. @honeyryewhiskey. @deansbite. @ultravi0lence14. @sammyluvr. @deansbeer. @titsout4jackles. @floralscented. @bluemerakis. @brunchable. @figthoughts. @sinner-as-saint. @themeraldee. @fearcvlt. @dollfacefantasy. @clitorphosis. @gor3-hound. @navybrat817.

[mookedu]

the aura i’d bring to spn s1. (sam, that weird girl who is well versed in witchcraft & 90s music will provide for you)

nabbed the idea from @honeyryewhiskey 💫

[honeyryewhiskey]

j's note ♡ ︎ show accurate cupids are kinda bland, so i took it upon myself to add to the lore. this meet page will give insight to who cupid!reader is + her abilities!! while a cupid character is not an original concept, any added cupid lore is my own, pls don't copy divider credit: @kodaswrld

cupid vision, cupid's posses the unique ability to witness heaven's strings of fate: so long as it is founded in a romantic connection. said strings can be white, silver, gold, or red. cupid's should remember that only white bonds are to be interfered with. anything else has a set course, meddling would be a direct offence.

bow + arrow + blade, your bow and arrow are your tools to ignite love. if a fate-bound couple has been assigned to you, be sure to strike them immediately, once the white string appears, leave them alone. your blade is a weapon forged in paradise, use it when necessary, and do not misplace it.

angel wings, your wings can teleport you anywhere in an instant. which is necessary for fulfilling heavenly orders on time.

love letters, cupid lips are magic. whispering love spells into the ear of a mortal can amplify feelings of love, lust, or admiration. however, the mortal must have a sense of these emotions. it cannot be fabricated from nothing. any attempt at fabrication will have opposite results. use sparingly and only when you cannot use the bow and arrow.

blessings, [ redacted ] heaven no longer permits the use of this skill. cupids will no longer receive training for blessings. accessing this power is strictly prohibited.

[ heavenly warning: cupid's are the lowest tier of angels. you are prone to feeling drained and becoming faulty. tempt the bounds of what you are, and you will be eliminated. ]

➷ a growing attachment to mortals ➷ refusal to use your angel blade, blood makes you queasy ➷ misuse of your powers has made them faulty ➷ fear of flying keeps saying cars are more fun ➷ ignoring heaven's calls 

on the run from a couple of mean, god-fearing angels set on taking out the faulty cherub. though cas regards cupids as being a bit too flightly, he sees your admiration for humanity and his heart pangs. so he takes you to the safest place on planet earth: the winchester's bunker.

clumsy ➷ prone to crying ➷ mischievous by nature

loves, chocolate. stealing dean's leather jacket. being included. helping the boy's with work. learning about human stuff. pestering dean when he's in a mood. making a grumpy dean laugh. romantic movies. maple syrup. when dean calls you lovebird, love, little angel. riding around in baby. holidays. dean's pretty green eyes.

hates, heaven and all it's stupid rules

[dulcescorderitas]

thank you so much @cherrygirlfriend and @soangelbaby !!! ily guys so much 🤍

nptags 🤍: @gibson-g1rl @bluemerakis @blackynsupremacy @dollyfiles @deanssun @deanangel @figthoughts @whisperingdaze @faiszt @artyandink @valjy @honeyryewhiskey + anyone else wants to join!!

self moodboard

search up on pinterest : lyrics, color, character, place, outfit, and aesthetic.

no pressure tags — @gojosoups @kasukuna @angi-of-avalon @baepsays @itadoriest @lostfracturess @norikuna @toadtoru @yenayaps @neovillains + anyone who wants to join in!

[bluemerakis]

Hi!!!! I love your fics, and I just had a few questions!!! Out of all your Dean x readers, which one is your favorite, and what are some of your fav Dean Fics from other people!!!

hi anon! thank you so much, that means the world to me 🥹🫶

so i obviously havent written a lot of fics for dean, but my favourite would have to be “this one’s on me”, just because it was my very first piece for him and therefore it holds a very special place in my heart. as for my other favourite dean fics—honestly, i love almost all of them that i come across!! i am unfortunately a mass-consumer lmao, i absolutely love reading as many works as i possibly can and i truly don’t find myself having specific favourites often bc i tend to appreciate the individuality of all the lovely ideas—and that makes them all my favourites in their own playing fields.

i also have so many talented mutuals, as well as people that i follow & admire, that write for spn (and other fandoms), and naturally their works are to be appreciated!! if you’d like to check out their works, i’ll list some of them down below:

@floralscented

@figsthoughts

@titsout4jackles

@honeyryewhiskey

@ultravi0lence14

@gibson-g1rl

@bohemianblasphemy

@starzify

@dulcescorderitas

@wendichester

@foolinthera1n

[honeyryewhiskey]

cupid!reader

— ౨ৎ strawberries, cherries, and an angel's kiss in spring⠀

hrw's cupid lore

parts! but, i'm a cupid! it's just a stupid holiday december

drabbles! snowangels crybaby

j's note ౨ৎ erm to be frank i started writing these with zero plot in mind, so the parts like kinda connect / show a growing bond & are 1k+ words, but the drabbles don't have to be read in any sort of sequence! just random moments i'll write when ideas strike

[floralscented]

thank u @jackleslvr & @starzify for the tags <3 !!!!

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair // fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds // phone call or text // laundry or dishes // pool or beach // flats or heels // stay home or go out // coke or pepsi // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram // over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo // parties or picnics // white lights or multicolored lights

npt: @honeyryewhiskey @titsout4jackles @samslovely @voidsuites

Thank you for the tag, @s0lavellan 🤍

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair //fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds// phone call or text// laundry or dishes // pool or beach //flats or heels //stay home or go out // coke or pepsi // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // chocolate or vanilla // facebook or instagram// over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo //parties or picnics // white lights or multicolored lights

No pressure tags: @polskasroka @beardedladyqueen @harpyhunting @elfroot-and-gooseberries @solasisms and anyone else who'd like to do this (:

[dulcescorderitas]

thank you for tagging me bby!!! @losers-clvb

sam nods, glancing at dean before turning the camera back to you. “yeah, we’re about to wreck her.”

npts: @cherrygirlfriend @soangelbaby @soldiersgirl @gibson-g1rl @bluemerakis @blackynsupremacy @dollyfiles @deanssun @deanangel @figthoughts @whisperingdaze @faiszt @artyandink @valjy @honeyryewhiskey @emeraldcrs @preyingfaes @foolinthera1n @legalmente-loca @kissesonkent @haunteres (tried to tag all my moots)

WRITING GAME post the last line that you wrote

Thank you to @bettystonewell for tagging me! This is the last line I wrote. Currently, I am still writing my 'Woman of Letters' series, (28k words and counting).

“Where’s Dean?” You asked, your voice soft and full of hope.

Again, I don't have many mutuals, so I will just tag my favorite accounts: @deansbeer @dulcescorderitas @sammyluvr @buckysbabygorl @lovelybarnes

No pressure to anyone I tagged!

[honeyryewhiskey]

ⴰ ࣭͘ ⭑ุ ✦ — justyce !

twentyfour. currently in a writing slump — it's winter and cold and i am just a girl. dean winchester is my best friend

18+ mdni!

✦ j’s library ✦ c.ai ✦ get 2 know me ✦ new!! angel!reader

[ HONEYRYEWHISKEY ORIGINALS ® do not claim my work as your own ]

[honeyryewhiskey]

username change!! ostaramoon → honeyryewhiskey 🥃

[thefreaksrecs]

this literally got me like:

BETWEEN HEAVEN AND DESIRE

angel!reader or dean's prayers save you from heaven's merciless punishment. the weakened state of your grace leaves you feeling a plethora of entirely human needs—and you're not sure you have any faith left in the home that crafted you to fight against those desires. warnings!! smut with build up 18+, depictions of violence, blood/injuries that heal, heaven being bad, body worshipping dean?, angel's first time. dean talks u thru it!! bc he would!! 4.8k words

It is not uncommon for angels to go rogue after too much time spent amongst mortals. So much so, Heaven has protocols for repairing a weapon who’s gone soft. Some speculate it’s one of god’s little amusements—create a fleet of soulless celestials, but leave just enough parts for something a lot like a soul to fester when touched by the right human.

It’s this paradox that plagues your mind as a dozen silver blades slice through your flesh and grace—again.

The Council surrounds you in a cold circle of judgment, their faces impassive, their voices ringing with divine authority. Each word of their chant strikes like a hammer to your heart: Traitor. Defiled. Corrupted.

“Do you repent for the sin of your attachment to the mortal, Dean Winchester?” one of them demands through the chaos of sound.

You want to scream, but your voice is lost in the agony. The angel blade—designed to kill—wields a newfound torture as each lashing cuts into your grace. Thick streams of blood pool from glowing wounds, as your knees hit the ground as strength gives way to pain. Withholding the tears that threaten to fall with shaky breaths, you cling to a lingering stubbornness, refusing to answer their demands. 

This torment, their means of correction—it’s not enough to strip your wings or grace. No, they want you broken in ways you didn’t think angels could break.

Your response to their demands takes too long. As a result, a blinding light presses into your mind, and with it, flashes of Dean—laughing, swearing, holding you close after the darkest nights. The way his touch melted your resolve, the warmth in his eyes when he whispered your name. These memories are dragged out of you, twisted until they no longer resemble what they were.

They replay your time together, but in each retelling, they inject doubt. The gentle words he spoke now sound hollow, calculated. The moments of connection feel like manipulation. He never loved you, the light whispers, digging deep into your heart. He only used you.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “No,” you choke out, but it’s barely audible over the chanting and slashing.

The blades come down again, harder, carving away the truth of who you are, leaving only what the Council wills you to be.

“You were created to serve Heaven’s purpose,” one of the voices booms. “Not your own, and certainly not his.”

And then, through the torment, you hear it—soft, rough-edged, and impossibly real.

Your name in the form of a mantra, the beginning of a mortal’s prayer.

“Angel? I don’t even know if this will work, if you can really hear me... but I’m trying here.” Dean stumbles around his words, his doubt laced within each syllable.

Your breath catches. It’s a faint echo at the edge of your mind, pushing against the light’s mental invasion that’s trying to rework the fabric of your memories.

“I’m praying,” he continues awkwardly. “Guess that’s what this is. I don’t know where you are, but—hell, I just... I need to know you’re okay.” His voice falters, a pulsing pain taking up the space of his silence before his cuts in again. Quietly, like a bashful sinner in confession, “I miss you.”

The Council continues, oblivious to the sound of him, to the way his words infiltrate their illusions.

“Whatever heaven says—Angel, please, don’t trust them.” his tone shifts, fierce and treading on desperation. “They’re assholes, they’ll do whatever they can to make you be like them. Please, don’t let them change you.” 

The tears finally break, streaming down your face as your hands curl into fists. His voice drowns out the Council, drowns out the pain, grounding you in the truth they’re trying so desperately to erase. It’s nauseating, trying to draw strength from your tattered grace. But the strain in Dean’s voice strikes your instincts, and everything inside of you fights against the light reworking your mind. 

“I need you, Angel.” His voice cracks, “come back to me. Please.”

When an angel’s grace is weakened, it allows for heaven to remold the weapon like clay. A being reduced to material to work with. However, grace is the luminous silver line separating celestial from human. The more it pools out of you, shimmering amidst the red, the closer you reach mortality.

And the freedom of emotions that come with that kind of existence.

A tidal wave of remorse, anguish, fury, and desire radiate within. You can hardly breathe with the demanding sensations of emotion and survival. It’s consuming, and somehow—powerful. 

The Council doesn’t notice the shift in you until it’s too late. The invading light that binds you flickers, then shatters as you push against it with every ounce of your will.

“Enough,” you whisper, your voice trembling through panting breaths.

They realize their mistake as you unfurl what little remnant of grace you can muster, searing their illusions away with a growling scream of defiance. The silver blades raise in their grasps, preparing for battle, as you rise to your feet. 

But no part of you aims to attack, the only thoughts you have are of Dean. 

“Stand down, Angel. You are not strong enough to take all of us.” one of them warns, but their voice is dim beneath the thunder in your chest.

You glare into their blinding forms, disgust written on their holy faces, chest heaving as your wings unfurl. “I am done fighting.” 

And with that, you vanish in a burst of light, tearing through the veil with a single destination in mind.

In a blink, you’re standing in Dean’s motel room on shaky knees. The power you exerted to flee heaven has left nothing but a faint glimmer of grace within. 

Dean is a mirage of movement, your eyes growing delirious from the draining of your essence. He catches your weakened form just as you begin to drop to the floor. 

“Angel,” he says softly, his eyes raking over your wounds. Dozens of bleeding cuts, your clothes stained and tattered. The pain consumes you again, an aching cold taking over every nerve ending. His hand brushes bloodied hair from your face, his other arm wrapped so tightly around you, you’re sure nothing could rip you from his grasp. Not this time. 

“What did they do to you?” he demands as your body trembles, clinging to the bits of grace that remain within your being.

“I’ll be alright,” you whisper, “just need… rest.” His warmth surrounds you as his hands steady you. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the torment has ceased, and though your mind is a hazy mess of shattered memories there is one thing you know for certain: Dean’s prayers have saved you.

He hooks an arm under your legs and carries you over to the bed. With the gentleness of a man cradling a wounded bird, he sets you down carefully, his movements deliberate and full of quiet reverence. Kneeling on the floor beside you, adrenaline ripples off of him and invades your senses. The rapid beat of his heart, blood pooling his muscles on instinct. 

You raise a shaky hand to his chest, but his focus remains on your wounds, fussing with the fabric of your tattered shirt to investigate their severity. 

“Dean,” you whisper, but he doesn’t stop, your finger lift to curl around his jaw, “it’s okay—“

“Look at you!” he cuts you off, “why aren’t you healing?” 

“I will, I just need time.” you murmur, dropping your hand and letting your eyes close again, “I can smell your anxiety, Dean. It’s—distracting.”

He scoffs, but the concern doesn’t unwind from his brows. “Right. You’re bleeding to death but it’s my anxiety that’s bothering you?”

“Yes.” you manage dryly, despite the moan of pain you expel as you shift uncomfortably, the injuries to your back are making lying down impossible. Through shaky breaths you sit up, Dean’s strong hands hovering your frame as you do so. His eyes are still on your wounds, the beat of his heart finding an impossible speed as you gingerly wrap your fingers around the hem of your tattered sweater, lifting the material to reveal the damage done to your body.

“What are you doing?” Dean’s voice is gruff, his eyes narrowing as he watches you shift uncomfortably.

A flicker of annoyance sears through, the intensity of it adding to your nausea. “Lifting my shirt.” your voice matches the feeling inside, your fingers fumbling with the hem of the tattered fabric as you give him a full view of your injuries.

“Why?” His tone is sharp, matching yours. 

Your features contort with confusion, “because you clearly want to make sure I’m healing.”  

His eyes quickly advert as he clears his throat, a hand running over his chin—something you’ve noticed he does when he’s ‘at his wits end’ as he likes to phrase it.

“Why are you looking away now?” 

“Because you’re—,” he stops himself with a groan, a flat expression on his face as his eyes find yours, “why aren’t you wearing a bra?” 

“Oh,” you look down at your completely exposed chest, “it seemed… restrictive.” An unfamiliar emotion prickles heat against your skin: embarrassment. 

He nods, sighing as his head tilts, brows raised in quiet agreement. Your wounds remain a blazing red, skin working slowly to stitch itself back together beneath the bloody smear marks. 

“See?” you remark, dropping the material to cover yourself again. “Healing.” 

There is an anxious swirling in your stomach, one not bred from physical pain like you’re used to. The effects of weakened grace, the invitation of intense emotions feels like an uncomfortable itch beneath your skin. 

“Uh, huh.” he hums, but his scowl mismatches the slowing pace of his heart, the anxiety he refuses to acknowledge, subsiding at the sight of your healing skin.

He rises to his feet with a huff, you watch as he disappears into the bathroom. A moment passes until the sound of running water breaks the quiet as he comes back in. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, and you can tell me which sons of bitches I’ll be ganking for this.” 

Dean scoops you up again without hesitation, his arms steady despite your weight against him. You don’t have the strength to protest—not that you want to—and simply let yourself sink into his embrace. His chest is warm, the rhythmic beat of his heart oddly comforting as he carries you to the bathroom.

The space is small and sterile, but Dean makes it feel safe. He uses his foot to push the door open wider and carefully sets you down on the closed toilet lid, one hand lingering on your shoulder to steady you.

Steam begins to rise from the filling tub, the water crystal clear and inviting in the dim light. Dean crouches in front of you, his fingers brushing against your knee to get your attention.

"Think you can handle this, or do you need help?" His voice is soft, but the tension in his jaw betrays the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

You nod faintly, though your body protests every movement. "I can manage."

He stands, his arms crossed, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he turns his back slightly, giving you the barest hint of privacy while staying close enough to intervene if needed. You peel off your torn and bloodied clothes with shaky hands, the effort nearly exhausting.

As you step into the warm water, a hiss escapes your lips. The heat stings at first, the water seeping into the raw edges of your wounds, but soon the ache begins to dull, replaced by a soothing warmth. You sink down slowly, letting the bath support your weight.

Dean shifts, his eyes flicking over you briefly before settling on a safe spot on the wall. He sits down heavily on the closed toilet lid, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his green eyes sharp and unyielding.

"Start talking," he says, his tone low but insistent. "What the hell did they do to you?"

You hesitate, staring down at the rippling surface of the water. Your voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "They said I was corrupted... that I’d betrayed Heaven."

Dean’s jaw clenches, his knuckles whitening as his hands ball into fists. "Those pious bastards," he mutters. "For what? Doing the right thing? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? How you’ve been helping me and Sam?" His words dance around the truth. How close you’ve grown while working alongside the Winchesters. Something, an almost malleable energy hangs in the air between you two each time you’re together. 

A line never crossed, words never spoken—but it has always been there.

You nod, your breath hitching as the memories flood back—the blades, the light, the voices that tore into you like barbed wire. "They wanted to... recondition me. Make me forget."

"Forget what?"

"Everything," you whisper. "You. Sam. What it felt like to care. They tried to rewrite me, make me believe your—friendship—was all a lie."

Dean’s face twists with anger, his fists pounding lightly against his thighs as he exhales sharply through his nose. "What gives them the right, huh? Because god wills it or some crap?" he says firmly, the words spoken in question, but you know in Dean’s book it’s more of a statement of fact. He doesn’t trust heaven or it’s angels. Well, all of it except you. 

"I don’t know anymore," you murmur, your voice breaking. A lump forms in your throat as you consider all that has been done to you by the ones you followed, dutifully, for centuries. Your chest constricts in an unfamiliar pain, hurt and confusion finding an entirely new stupor within your heart. You reach for the soap, focusing on the movement of hands as you scrub the blood from your skin to think of anything but the pain festering within. "Your voice,” you being, voice at a whisper, “your prayer. It brought me back. You reminded me who I was."

He falls silent for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. "I should’ve prayed sooner."

"You did it when it mattered," you say softly. "That’s what saved me."

Dean looks up, his eyes locking with yours, a flicker of guilt and relief dancing in the green depths. "You shouldn’t have needed saving in the first place," he says quietly. "They’ll pay for this. I don’t care if I have to storm Heaven itself."

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. "I don’t doubt you’d try."

He leans back, his hands running over his face before resting on his thighs. "I just… I can’t lose you. Not to them. Not to anyone."

The weight of his words settles in the air between you, and for a moment, the pain and exhaustion fade, replaced by the quiet certainty that, no matter what happens next, Dean will always fight for you.

You place the soap back on the bathtub nook, the faint echo of the movement breaking the silence. Turning your attention back to him, you murmur, “Thank you.”

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For caring,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the moment. “And you can’t say you don’t—I can hear your heartbeat quicken when you lie, remember?”

Dean huffs out a breath, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth as he pushes himself to his feet. “Damn angel ears,” he mutters, though there’s no real heat behind it. “Come on, let’s get you outta here before you start pruning up.”

You let him help you out of the tub, water dripping in soft splashes onto the tiles as he wraps a towel snugly around you. His hands are firm yet gentle, careful not to brush against the worst of your injuries as he leads you back into the room.

Settling onto the bed, you adjust the towel around your shoulders, shivering slightly as the cool air brushes against your damp skin. Dean follows a moment later, grabbing another towel before sitting behind you on the mattress.

“Sit still,” he says gruffly, though the way his fingers work through your wet hair is anything but rough. He dries it with slow, deliberate movements, the repetitive motion almost lulling you into a trance.

The quiet is comfortable, filled only by the faint rustle of the towel and the occasional sigh from Dean. His presence, solid and steady behind you, feels like an unspoken promise—a reassurance that, no matter how broken the world might seem, there’s still a place where you’re safe.

“Looks like you’re healing pretty good. You feeling any better?” Dean’s voice is low, his fingers brushing gently over your shoulder as he speaks. 

“Physically, yes,” you admit, “but I keep feeling things. Far more intense than I’m used to, because my grace is so weak.”

He frowns, tilting his head. “Feeling things? Like what?”

“Hurt, mostly,” you start, your voice quiet but steady. “And when we’re close like this,” you turn slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, “...desire.” 

He clears his throat, the faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck as his eyes dart away. “I’m sure it’ll go away once your grace—or whatever—gets stronger.”

“No, Dean.” You shift to face him fully, the towel tucked around you loosening as your hands reach up to cup his face. It pools at your lap as cool air ripples goosebumps across exposed skin. His eyes snap back to yours, wide but unresisting, his hands folding over yours, warm and steady. There is a storm of hesitation in his stare, but he doesn’t push you away.

The faint scent of adrenaline lingers in the air between you, your heightened senses picking up the slight quickening of his pulse, the tension in his jaw, the way his breathing hitches ever so slightly. You search his face, reading every unspoken emotion that flits across it.

“Talk to me, Angel.” His voice is rough, his green eyes darkened with something you can’t quite name. His expression is soft but insistent, pressing you for more than just what your senses can tell you. “Don’t just sense me out. Talk to me.”

Your thumbs brush over the scruff of his jaw as you take a shaky breath. “The desire I feel has always been there. I’ve ignored it, buried it, pretended it wasn’t real. Because that’s what I’m supposed to do. But now…” Your voice wavers, but your resolve doesn’t. “Now I can’t just ignore it anymore. I need to give in.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and electric, and you watch as Dean’s expression shifts. His lips part as if to speak, but he hesitates, the tension crackling like a live wire between you. His hands tighten slightly over yours, grounding you, even as his restraint begins to waver.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” his voice is low and cautious, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

“Yes, I do, Dean.” Your eyes lock with his, unwavering. “I may not be human, but I am not naive. And I know what I want.”

His fingertips curl into your hands, as if a tightened grip could still the rapid pacing of his pulse. Your stare is intense, boring into his jade irises. Searching for salvation in a new religion, one that might promise more pleasure than pain. 

He huffs, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. “Don’t you think fleeing Heaven was enough trouble for one day, little bird?”

You grin, tilting your head playfully. “Trouble’s never in short supply with you around, Dean.”

An exchange of breaths passes the divide, but it’s Dean who moves first. His lips capture yours in a kiss that electrifies every inch of your skin. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into sore muscles—making you gasp at the intoxicating sensation of hurt and relief. 

Your lips match his pace, slow and controlled. You pull him closer with your hands on his neck, his body following yours to lie against the old motel sheets. He pulls away, his shirt coming off in one swift movement before he’s back to your lips. 

You’ve never been more grateful to feel. Every press of his bare chest on yours thickens the heat claiming the reign of your core. And the deep, primal, desire to cling to him has your nails digging into his flesh. He groans as they do, the sound making you kiss him harder. 

His lips trail down from yours to neck, giving ample attention to every spot he tugs into his mouth. One of his hands drag down your naval, fingers exploring new territory until they find your slick folds—plunging into flesh as something between a gasp and moan escapes you.

You’ve never been intimate before, and you’ve always wondered if it felt like possession. An invasive, vulnerable thing. But this—the way his fingers pump in and out—is like being unwound. Every stress and pain you’ve ever felt, untangling in the haze of Dean’s touch. 

His eyes find yours, emerald peering through lashes, “you are the only damn thing heaven could ever get me to worship.” He whispers and it sends a shiver through you, the pressure of his thumb against your clit making you shudder beneath him. 

“That,” you mumble through shaky breaths, “would be blasphemy.” 

His stubble grazes you as you feel every note of his chuckle vibrate against your skin. His lips trail kisses down your body with a deliberate slowness. His fingers don’t cease, working you with ease as he sinks lower. 

You grasp for anything—the sheets in one hand, tuffs of his hair in another. He positions himself between your legs, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin of your inner thing. Your body takes over, whimpering and rocking into him as he pulls the skin between his teeth. Retracting, a red love bite in his wake as hovers over your heat. 

You glance down, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern. It’s like fighting, the way your entire body is alive with an instinctual awareness of each part of you. But there is no anticipation of pain, no need to swing first. It’s a tantalizing resolve, a desperate desire to succumb to whatever feeling Dean might insight next.

He exchanges his hand for his mouth, your legs clinging to either side of his head on instinct. It’s a rippling wave of passion that flows through. His hands dig into your thighs, grounding him as his mouth moves at an intoxicating pace. 

You’ve never heard yourself make the sounds that leave your mouth now, damn near animalistic as you let go of control. Breath hitching each time he sucked sensitive skin between his lips, releasing and reattaching at a dizzying pace. 

“Dean,” you stutter through a shudder, trying to wrap hazy thinking around the sensation building within your core that’s making your back arch, instinct telling you to push into Dean. A tight notch of unused muscles is binding beneath his mouth, like all the tension he relieved is back—balling into your core. You’re squirming for a release as he quickens his lapping and sucking. 

All at once—your vision blurs, body tightening as his fingers plunge inside of you again, the medley of pleasure surging into you with force. The notch unravels, waves of tension releasing in hot ripples throughout your entire body. 

You’re humming through quieted whimpers as your body goes limp, Dean pulls away slowly—leaving little kisses all over sensitive skin. He runs his hands over your body, soothing the little shudders that remain of you. 

He brushes a few strands of hair from your face, his touch featherlight as he presses tender kisses to your temples and cheeks. “We can stop here,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, his gaze searching yours as he hovers over you. “You’re in control here, angel.”

The sincerity in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, a warmth settling in your chest. But his words tug at something deeper, something raw. Control—a concept you’ve only ever understood as an illusion. An angel, a weapon, a tool of Heaven—control was never yours to wield, not even over yourself. 

Your fingers glide over his lips, tracing the shape of the words he’s yet to say. “If I’m in control,” you whisper, your voice soft but resolute. “I want you to let me feel everything, Dean.”

He lets go of the breath he was holding, lips crashing into yours—a kiss to seal his promise. Your hands card into his hair as he fumbles with the rest of his clothes. The air that invades the space he leaves is cold and empty, but he returns to your skin swiftly, his hips claiming the space between yours. 

He adjusts himself, and you inhale sharply at the pressing of his tip against your entrance. 

“Hey,” he whispers, the steadiness of his voice melting any bits of nerves that peak through as he catches your gaze. “‘s all be okay, I promise. Just keep your eyes on mine.” 

His gaze is soft and gentle as he eases himself inside your walls. Heat prickles on your skin, making you gasp at the feel of your body stretching around him. He dips his head, catching your lips in his as he sinks deeper. You’re gasping against his mouth, the sound meshing with his quiet groans as his hips rock against yours. 

There’s a soreness in the sensation, tension giving out with each thrust. Your hips squirm beneath him, instinctively bucking into his movements, “You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he sighs, voice raspy, sending a shiver through you. 

“More, I can take more,” you whisper, the words leaving your mouth without a second thought. All you can feel is a need for all of him—deeper.

He follows your command, his pace quickening enough to make your legs lock around him. His arm slides beneath you, a protective hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he holds your frame closer to his.

Your senses are overwhelmed by his scent—the endorphins pooling off of him and making you feel drunk on the smell. 

In one swift motion, he pulls you up with him, arms wrapped around you in a heated embrace as you roll your hips against his—chasing the pleasure of his length knocking into the sensitive spot inside you. 

His lips chase yours, a deep slow kiss that makes your hips move more desperately. Little whimpers leave your lips between each kiss, making his wandering hands dig into your skin with a desire to touch every part of you. 

“Just like that—fuck,” he groans against your skin, his hands guiding your hips against his. Your arms cling to him as he lowers you back onto the pillows, his claim on your skin intensifying as his thrust becomes more greedy, needy as he takes control again. 

His hands run along your frame, inching towards your breasts until your nipples are beneath his circling fingers. It makes your breath hitch, and that notch of tension forms within your core again. Your bucking his and nails digging into Dean’s skin are like an unspoken demand, and follows the cues you’re unaware of by sliding a hand down to your joined bodies. 

His fingers work dizzying circles between your folds, your breathing falling uneven against his. Your muscles go tense again, tightening with each thrust of his tip against sore, sensitive flesh. 

Tears prickle at your lashes as you cry out his name, losing yourself in the tidal wave of relief that flows through—leaving your body shuddering beneath his. 

Your name leaves his lips, a quiet mantra, just as it did when he lifted his head in your prayer. His warm release threads inside you, coating your walls. 

His hips stutter, falling into a lazy rhythm until he’s still. Breathing heavy against you, holding you in his arms for a moment as you both come down from the moment. 

Sowly, he pulls away, shifting to lay beside you. Your mind is a complete sleepy haze, another new feeling for an angel who has never known exhaustion to the point of needing sleep. It’s a sweet, comforting thing—to want to close your eyes and give in. 

Dean shifts, adjusting your body until you’re snug against his chest beneath the covers. His arms wrap around you, firm and protective, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in his world. Being surrounded by his warmth, his quiet strength, feels like a peace you never believed could exist—a haven you’re not sure you could ever let go of.

As your eyes grow heavy, his lips brush your ear, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet. “Sleep, angel. I’ve got you.”

speak for yourself - imogen heap album was on repeat while writing this btw. also i got lazy after dean's munch moment and did nawt re-read or edit the rest so i apologize <3 but i hope this was fun idk i kinda hate it now to be frank i d k ugh bye ily