#in which dean over here cut deep

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Pathology Murders

Summary: When the reader and the boys stumble across a gruesome scene, they get the feeling that the monster they're hunting is of the human variety...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 5,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, lots of mentions of gore/death, trauma, accident, fluff

A/N: This fic was inspired by this imagine (which makes an appearance in this one shot) and also by the horror movie Pathology!

________

“What the hell…” Dean and Sam looked around the abandoned house, pausing like you had when they got to the kitchen. Your boys weren’t wimps by any means. They’d seen some serious crap. Done some serious crap. But that kitchen? 

It took Sam all of three seconds to step out of the room and upheave his greek salad from lunch.

Meanwhile Dean took it all in before his eyes landed on where you were trying to work the scene, fighting back another dry heave. 

“You alright?” he asked. You knew he was concerned. You weren’t one to puke up your guts either. But the poor soul on the kitchen table, or rather what was left of him…twisted wasn’t even the right word for it.

“Not particularly,” you said, pointing at a glass jar that housed a pair of kidneys on the stove. “Not all the organs made it into jars. Pretty sure the liver is in the sink.”

Dean cautiously took a step inside, swallowing thickly. Unlike you or Sam, who had your own experiences with hell, Dean’s had been far more…interactive. Sam’s soul was battered around by Lucifer but it’d been more psychological than physical. You’d spent an unpleasant night with a hellhound in the same cage and while it hadn’t been fun, you’d been able to stay in a corner and out of harms way. Dean though…Dean had been sliced and diced and hacked and every other possible horror, imaginable or not. And then he’d performed the acts himself. You never blamed him for giving in, for breaking. You’d told him time and time again he was, and always would be, a good man.

Some days, more often lately it seemed the older he got, he seemed to believe you.

“Whoever did this performed an autopsy on this guy. While he was alive,” said Dean, leaning over the body to get a closer look. “Huh. Anybody see a heart around here?”

You surveyed the bloody room, finding more than a few peculiar shaped body parts but nothing resembling a heart. Sam finally made his way in, taking a deep inhale as he got used to the gore before him. “I got nothing over here.”

“Could be a werewolf,” said Dean, cocking his head as he straightened, brow furrowing. “Or a witch.”

You knew he wasn’t buying that though, neither of you were. You tore your eyes away from the search to watch Sam’s expression flare up with a strange look of familiarity. “Sammy?”

“I think a person did this,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes.

“No shit Sherlock. Someone used a knife or-”

“No, jackass,” said Sam, shooting Dean a harsh look for a brief second. “I mean I think this was a human, like an actual human. They were just talking about a cold case like this on a podcast I listened to during my run last week.”

“You and your fucking serial killer obsession,” muttered Dean. Sam’s eye twitched, the tension rising in the room. “It’s fucking weird, Sammy.”

“We hunt monsters, dumbass. How is that any different?”

“That’s our job. You don’t see me watching murder documentaries like a certain someone in my free time.” Sam got closer to Dean, Dean taking one to match, both boy’s jaws clenching. 

“Hey,” you said with a snap of your fingers, the pair reluctantly turning towards you. “Dean, plenty of people are interested in cold cases and as long as Sam isn’t a serial killer himself, his hobby is fine. Sam, Dean just gets concerned that you don’t take enough of a break from hunting but he can’t come out and say that. So hug and make up. You’re on the same side.”

They both grumbled and gave each other a half-assed embraced but it made you smile regardless. 

“So what’d your murder podcast say?” asked Dean, walking around to the other side of the cut open body. Sam’s face soured. “That good, huh?”

“They called them the Pathology Murders. A string of five victims about ten years ago that went unsolved. The killer performed live autopsies like you said about this guy earlier. The only lead they ever had was that the killer must have medical training, like a doctor, based on what they did to the victims. Oh, and all the murders took place in the Seattle area.”

“Which downtown is only twenty minutes from here,” you said, crossing your arms. “Was the heart missing at the other scenes?”

“I’m not sure. They could have skimmed over that,” said Sam. Your gaze followed Dean’s, his green eyes laced with uncertainty. “I can do some research back at the motel. You guys could check in with Seattle PD, see if the case files have anything useful.”

“We should double check that it’s not our kind of monster and if it really is a person-”

“We’re not working this case,” said Dean. Your eyebrows shot up, Sam’s face already frowning. “We do not investigate serial killers. Save it for the police.”

“Uh, what the hell is going on? You would never let a killer, monster or human, stay on the loose,” said Sam.

Dean’s gaze shot to you and quickly away, his eyes turning sharp as they zeroed in on Sam. You scoffed, Sam cocking his head in question.

“It’s because my mom was murdered. By a serial killer. Isn’t it, Dean?” Dean’s lips pressed into a thin hard line and you shook your head. “They caught her killer which you know. What does that have anything to do with-”

“You caught the killer, you did that,” said Dean, Sam completely lost. He knew your mom had been killed but not the gory details like Dean.

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing then?” he asked. “Y/N has experience with this sort of thing then.”

“Why don’t you explain to Sammy just exactly what you did to ‘catch’ her killer then, sweetheart. Go on. I’m sure he’d love to hear it.” You glared at Dean, feeling an unpleasant prickling in your eyes. Dean didn’t back down as you teared up though, instead focusing on Sam. “She let herself be bait. She let herself get caught by the son of a bitch. She almost died because she doesn’t see when she’s going too far with serial killers. The same thing happened on that Tulsa case five years ago.”

You could sense Sam had shifted very quickly to being on Dean’s side of this argument. You’d been young and reckless with your mom’s killer, barely a day over eighteen. That was years and years ago. You’d learned since then to use more sense. Tulsa…well your plan as being bait would have worked if your former hunting partner hadn’t been more focused on getting some ass that night than watching your back.

“Yeah, that’s how we met, Sam. Not working a case. No, Y/N was fucked and if I hadn’t been driving back from Jody’s that night and saw the fucking asshole grab her, she’d be dead. Wouldn’t you?” Dean snarled. You narrowed your misty eyes at him, Dean lifting his chin. “We will make sure this isn’t our kind of deal and if it is in fact a run of the mill serial killer, we are getting the fuck out of here, understand me?”

“I fucked up once. Once,” you breathed out. You swallowed thickly, wiping off your face with your jacket sleeve. “Just how many times have you been kidnapped Dean in the five years that I’ve known you? I’ve been taken once. You? How many times have I cut you loose? Taken out the monster with a knife to your throat? A gun to your head? How many times have you gotten lost in a case? Gone on a rampage? I never realized we were keeping score.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the floor, his hand running over his jaw, searching for the right words.

“Sam, go back to the motel and research. Dean and I’ll do the fed schitk and get the files we can. Whoever’s behind this, I’m going after them. You two can do whatever the hell you want,” you said, storming out of the room and out of the house.

“You look pretty,” said Dean softly a few hours later as you exited the motel bathroom in your fed suit, a light blue button down blouse with your charcoal gray suit jacket and pants. You ignored him as you dug through your duffel for your pointed black booties. Professional but also you knew for a fact you could run and fight in them. You growled in frustration when you couldn’t find them though, hearing Dean clear his throat behind your back. You glanced over your shoulder, following Dean’s gaze to where he’d set them down by the end of the bed.

“Thanks,” you grumbled, slipping them on and pulling up the side zipper. Dean was sporting his navy suit today, the one he looked extra hot in. You ignored that fact as you tucked your gun into the back of your pants, fixing your suit jacket over it.

“Y/N.” You sighed, giving him a look that you really didn’t want to do this right now. He took a long breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Sam quietly slinked out of the room into his adjoining one. Most of the time the three of you shared but when you could swing it, Sam got his own next door to give you and Dean some privacy.

Privacy you didn’t necessarily want at this moment.

“You do good cop, I’ll be the hardass if it comes to it,” you said, shoving your phone in your pocket. You tried to walk past him for the door but he caught your hand, stopping you after a few feet. “Dean.”

“I do not, and have never, thought you were weak. But serial killers are a blindspot for you. Sam and I both have them. This is yours.” He lowered his head, like he was fighting the words that were coming out. 

To your surprise, he dropped your hand and stood. 

“Be careful on this one, sweetheart.” He walked past you to the motel door, cracking it open and pausing. “We should get going.”

“You sure I’m not going to lose it? Get too carried away and get myself captured?” you said, unable to stop from poking back after his earlier insinuations. Dean’s shoulders rose and fell, one hand going to the doorframe to grip it as you watched the back of his head lower.

“Y/N, don’t you know by now I’m an idiot that’d rather lose you because I’m a dick than find you in the hands of some monster like whoever did that to that poor guy? Don’t you know I know you’re stronger than me? Don’t you think I realize how hard it is to be with someone like me?”

“You don’t stop Sam from doing dangerous things,” you said. “You don’t bring up the past to him.”

“Yes I have,” he said quietly. “And convincing Sam to stay in a motel room where it’s safe to research has never been hard thankfully.”

“You don’t treat me with the same respect though,” you said softly. “It hurts to know you never will think of me as being as capable as he is all because I’m your girlfriend.”

Dean shook his head, straightening his back. “You are more than capable, sweetheart. But sometimes…I just want to be a man that protects his girl. I don’t want to be scared of failing you for once…because if that monster got anywhere near you…”

You took quiet steps over to him, staring at his broad shoulders as they sagged.

“Eventually everyone I love dies or has something awful happen to them. Maybe I don’t say it the right way but fucking hell, all I want is for those things to not happen to you.” He spun around, green eyes full of worry. You nodded, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. He squeezed them gently, the warmth of it pleasant.

“Our job is dangerous, Dean. We hunt the monsters, supernatural or not. I love you but you don’t get to keep me locked away.” You ran your thumb over his scuffed up skin, still healing form last week’s hunt. “That said…I promise not to get so angry if you promise to just say you’re scared for me. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, a flicker of a smile on his face. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.”

“Then we’ll be smart, okay?” You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And don’t call yourself an idiot. I don’t like it.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s go figure out what the hell is going on.”

Two Hours Later

“This guy’s a fucking psycho,” you said into your phone while Dean came outside with a bag of burgers and fries. “Apparently he sends the hearts to the victims families in a little box with a bow.”

“Sounds about right for a guy who cuts people open for fun,” said Sam on the other end. “I’m gonna pour through the records you just sent over.”

“Alright. Dean and I should be back in fifteen-”

“Why don’t you guys have a date night? I got this for a few hours.” You bit your bottom lip, Sam’s silence going on. “Come on, Y/N. You guys should talk about Dean’s protectiveness and your stubbornness.”

You wanted to argue that fact but sighed, closing your eyes.

“Any suggestions on how we find that line when our job is to hunt killers?” you asked.

“Maybe remember that he’s your boyfriend first, hunting partner second. Most boyfriends wouldn’t want their girlfriend near a serial killer either, no matter what their job.”

“Don’t have good points, Samuel,” you said as Dean took a seat next to you on Baby’s hood. “We’ll be back in two hours.”

You hung up and dove your hand into the bag of fries, smirking when Dean presented you with a chocolate milkshake. He grinned as you dipped the fry in it and tossed it back, giving him a big thumbs up.

“I love you,” you said, Dean smiling as he dug out his burger. “I always love you, even when we fight.”

He glanced at you, landing a gentle kiss on your lips in the next moment. He barely moved his lips, letting them linger instead. He moved back only an inch and nodded. “I was a dickhead earlier. All because I’m afraid of finding you with a serial killer standing over you with a giant ass knife again. I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say that shit in the moment.”

“Because you’re human,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “And you’re so much better at talking to me than five years ago. The old you wouldn’t have even been able to say that to me.”

“I try,” he said, letting you kiss him, your own a tad more forceful than his had been.

“That’s all I ask for,” you said, Dean’s phone going off at that exact moment. He sighed as he took it out, Sam’s name appearing. He tapped it onto speaker and took a bite of his burger. “What’s up Sammy?”

“Guys, I think I figured something out. All the victims were patients at Mercy West hospital back in the day and this latest guy? He was a patient there last week.” You and Dean shared a frown. “Yeah, I know. The cops investigated all of the hospital staff there back then but they never came up with anything. They thought maybe a doctor was behind it but he died in a car accident between the second and third vics.”

“It could have been him and he had a partner. Definitely is someone with access to records so they have to work there,” said Dean as you held up a finger. “What?”

“I could have sworn I’ve heard about this hospital in the news before. Something to do with a boat accident?” you asked. You heard Sam typing loudly before he hummed.

“Yup. They made national news about six months ago when seven of their medical students died in a boating accident. Explosion apparently when they got boozed up and had a bonfire on the boat. The bodies were so bad they couldn’t identify the remains,” said Sam. Dean took another bite of his burger and swallowed. “Already checking through the police files. Shit.”

“Shit what, Sam?” you asked, dunking a fry in your milkshake.

“Shit as in the boat accident wasn’t an accident at all. There was definitely an explosion but they found damage on the bodies indicating some injuries occurred before death. Like being carved up alive. They don’t want the public knowing the killer is still active in the area.”

“It’s gotta be someone linked to that hospital. Only question is why can’t the police figure out who?” asked Dean.

“Good question,” said Sam. “I’m going to keep digging, see if there’s a connection between the two we missed.”

“Thanks Sammy. We’ll be back in twenty to help,” said Dean, hanging up. He glanced at you, biting the inside of his cheek.

“This isn’t a monster,” you said quietly. “At least, it’s a human one.”

Dean polished off the rest of his meal quietly, the air still for a few beats. 

“When you get too worried about me on hunts, you put yourself in danger,” you said, slowly sipping from the shake. His heated gaze was on you as you handed him the drink. “You have to trust that I’m strong enough to do this. Careful and capable. We both need to work on that.”

“Alright. But do me a favor? Stick close to me or Sammy on this one. You’re just…” You waited, let him find his words. He took the drink and finished it off, shoving the trash in the bag. “You just got over that shoulder injury. Your punches don’t hit as hard as normal right now. I don’t mean that in a bad way, just-”

“Okay,” you said, finding his hand, slipping yours inside. “Now let’s figure out who this bastard is.”

He hummed, letting go of you for a brief moment so he could toss the garbage away. You slid inside the passenger seat, Dean back and behind the wheel after the blink of an eye. Approximately ten seconds later you were pulling out of the parking lot and on the road, headed down main street and for the motel.

“So I was thinking this guy does autopsies on victims right?” said Dean, turning the radio down low on a soft rock station. You glanced out the window on the dark night, a rumble of thunder overhead. “But the cops can’t find him. Well, isn’t there someone that sometimes works at hospitals and for the police that would be able to fuck with a body after the fact and hide traces of their involvement?”

“A pathologist. I was thinking that too but wouldn’t that have been their first look? I mean they literally call them the Pathology Murders,” you said, waiting for the the light to turn green. “It could be someone that knows someone at the department covering for them. Stranger things have happened.”

“Maybe. I get the gist this guy works alone though. I only clocked one set of boots at the scene this morning,” he said, the bright green light illuminating the dark interior.

“Same. It’s absolutely someone associated with that damn hospital-” you said, Dean’s arm shooting in front of you in your peripheral. A millisecond later, something slammed into the right side of Baby, your side. Your lap belt tugged on you hard as your body lolled to the side, weightless for a moment before gravity reared it’s ugly head and slammed you down. Your head smacked something hard and it all went dark.

You could hear Dean asking a paramedic a million questions, not a single one concerned about himself. You opened your eyes to find yourself in the back of an ambulance, Dean lying on a stretcher beside you. He could tell you were awake and struggled to reach over to you but couldn’t. Instead he thrashed his head back against his pillow in defeat, straining against the straps that held him down.

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” said the paramedic as you blinked slowly at Dean. You knew something was wrong with you, with both of you, but you weren’t quite sure what that was yet. You struggled when you saw Dean upset. You wanted him to feel better. “You need to relax, she’s seeing you panic and that’s making her do the same.”

Dean stopped as he took in how your heart rate had skyrocketed, how scared you looked. He sighed and forced himself to stay calm. You saw him relax and heard him say it was okay. Neither of you enjoyed the feeling of being tied down, especially when the both of you were in plain view of one another and couldn’t reach each other. You tried to speak but couldn’t as you felt how raw your throat was. 

“We’ll be at Mercy West in just a few minutes,” said the paramedic to Dean as you half-listened. 

“No, take us somewhere else!” yelled Dean suddenly, fighting again. The paramedic sighed as you both started struggling once more. You didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on but if Dean didn’t want to go there, it wasn’t safe. 

“I’m going to give each of you a sedative and by the time you wake up, you’ll be in your hospital beds feeling a lot better,” he said gently. 

“No, don’t you touch her,” said Dean as you started to get very sleepy. The last thing you saw was Dean shutting his eyes as you finally remembered what had happened.

If Sam didn’t get to you soon, you were screwed.

Your eyes wearily opened under bright lights that made your head hurt. You winced and turned away from it, limbs heavy and still. Dean’s voice echoed somewhere, to your left maybe? You forced your eyes open again, Dean strapped down to a metal table with metal drawers behind him, the look on his face like he was screaming at you. You blinked, the ringing in your eyes loud and obnoxious, droning him out.

“Get up, fucking get up!” Dean shouted so loud you shook your head, a splitting headache cracking over you. “Y/N get out of here!” 

It took only a moment to discover that unlike Dean, you weren’t restrained in what was most likely the hospital morgue. Something was wrong though. A sedative? No. You were becoming more alert if anything but your arms were growing more tired, head becoming too heavy to lift.

“Something’s off,” you tried to say, the words caught in your throat, unable to be voiced. Your eyes flared wide, Dean’s drifting past you.

“Someone took a long time to wake up,” said a voice to your right. Suddenly a hand was under your head.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dean snarled, your head set on a…stand? Something to keep it elevated and from rolling to the side. You tried to move but the message wasn’t getting to your body, your eyes glued on the handsome face with a just slightly off smile leaning over you.

“You were in a nasty accident, Agent Carlson. Unfortunately for you, your head trauma was too severe and you coded in the ER. Meanwhile Agent Manns in his grief unfortunately succumbed to his injuries. At least that’s what the autopsy report will say,” he said, inspecting what felt like a cut on your temple. “Such a shame. It won’t be my best work but you’re not the first law enforcement to cross me. Sadly no one will be able to discover your remains once you’re accidentally incinerated as John and Jane Doe but it’s good practice.”

“Let her go you fucking psycho,” growled Dean when the doctor moved out of view and returned with a pair of shears. 

“Psycho? I’m Dr. Thomas, ER Trauma physician and part-time pathologist. I’ve saved far more lives than I’ve taken, Agent Manns,” he said, snipping through your blouse. 

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Dr. Thomas bagged your shirt in a plastic bag nearby, doing the same with your pants and boots once they’d been removed.

“Paralyzing agent. Hard to come by but it has it’s advantages. No messy straps or ropes in the way,” he said, lifting your arm as you watched helplessly, cold metal against your skin as he cut through your bra straps.

“I swear to god I’m going to rip your spine out of your fucking face. If you touch her-”

“Not my style,” said Dr. Thomas, pulling away the fabric, sending a chill down your back. He gave you his focus again, a smirk on his face as he put two fingers to your neck. “Your heart is hammering away, isn’t it? Biology is fascinating that way. It’s so strange how an emotion such as fear can cause physical reactions in our bodies.”

“Get the fuck away from her!” shouted Dean. Dr. Thomas’ smile towards you dropped when he looked at Dean. He sighed and set the shears down, walking out of view.

“You’re really starting to irritate me,” he said, the distinct sound of tape being ripped from a roll filling the room and then Dean’s cries became muffled, only quiet thumping as he struggled coming from him now. Dr. Thomas appeared again wearing another smile. “Sorry about that. It’s always the men that get all squirmy. The women always live longer. Now, one could argue that’s because women have on average more blood in their bodies than men but I’ve gotten a fairly large sample size over the past decade to believe they’re psychologically stronger and therefore last longer.”

You tried hard to move your hand when he held up a scalpel near your face but nothing worked. 

Fuck if you could move anything you’d be shaking harder than a tree in a damn hurricane. Dean struggling right beside you with a front row seat was not helping.

“Now I like to explain all of my procedures to my patients beforehand. While you are paralyzed to a degree, you will still feel things. That’s perfectly normal.” You were wide eyed, Dr. Thomas chuckling. “The procedure typically takes me around thirty minutes. However, you’ll die from the blood loss or shock after roughly seven so don’t worry about that aspect. Considering you were in an accident less than an hour ago, I suspect it’s more like four or five for you which is unfortunate for me but it is what it is. Perhaps Agent Manns will give me more time.”

He lowered the scalpel to your shoulder and dug in hard to the skin, dragging it inward towards your chest. Your scream was caught in your throat as he did it on the other side to match.

Dean was shouting and thrashing on the table beside you but you couldn’t even turn your head to look. Dr. Thomas started talking about incisions and procedures and then you felt something completely unnatural against your arm, another shout trapped in your lungs. Forget the brave face. You would have been full on wailing if you were capable of it.

Crack. Snap. Shudder. Rip. It was around the time that Dr. Thomas held up something dark red and sticky looking that your body decided passing out was the best course of action. Unfortunately, it wasn’t doing that for some reason and you were stuck on the edge of consciousness, terrified and wishing something would come along and smash your head in to end this.

A loud bang shot out and something heavy smacked your leg, something else skirting against your side. 

“Dear god,” whispered Sam. Your eyes were locked open as you heard Sam rush over, staring down at you for only a split second before he moved to Dean. 

That was not good. You were far more injured that Dean, somewhere on the verge of death if you figured. Sam would have stopped to help you first.

Unless you were beyond saving.

“Sweetheart,” said Dean, grabbing one of your blood covered hands in both of his. Fuck he was crying. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were so totally fucked. He looked over to Sam, Sam staring back with an open mouth. They couldn’t fix this. Shit, shit. You were going to die cut open like a Thanksgiving turkey. “W-What about Cas?”

“Dean,” said Sam, an air of resignation in his voice. “He’s in Kansas.”

“Jack then.”

“He’s with Cas. He doesn’t know how to-”

“A spell, a cure, something! Take her upstairs to a fucking doctor!” shouted Dean. 

“De. Half of her organs are…” said Sam as you got light headed, Dean’s hand running over your head. Dean found your face, his chin wobbling. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Then we sit with our girl,” said Dean softly, tucking a hair behind your ear. “And you fall asleep, sweetheart and when you wake up again, you’ll feel all better. I’ll come find you someday. Okay? Just close your eyes and try to sleep for me.”

Dean lowered his head, kissing your forehead as he fought back the tears that wanted to spill over. Sam took your other hand, squeezing it gently as you tried to do what he asked.

“Bloody hell, of course a Winchester took out a nutter like that. I’d have thunk he deserved more than a bullet,” said a familiar voice. 

“Rowena?” both boys echoed. She didn’t respond though, Sam’s hand dropping yours as a flash of red hair moved in front of you. You stared up at her, her hands cradling your cheeks.

“Dean, let go.” He did and about two seconds later you were shot straight upright, body in one piece, full of feeling and horror as you wrapped your arms over your chest, looking all around. 

“What the hell was that?” asked Sam while Dean shrugged out of his fed jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, buttoning you up before he picked you up and was cradling you in his arms.

Rowena faced him with a hand on her hip, your own gaze falling down to where a dead Dr. Thomas lay on the floor, blood oozing from the back of his open head.

“Do you boys still not see me as a friend?” she asked, an undercurrent of hurt in her voice. You were shaking in Dean’s arms, clutching to his shirt with your too long sleeves. 

“You’re the queen of hell. Why would you stop a death?” asked Sam. She rolled her eyes and approached you, resting a hand on your arm.

“Because I’m the queen of hell and I do as I please, Samuel.” You wanted to say thank you but all you could manage was a few jumbled words as you buried yourself in Dean’s neck. “She’s in shock, quite bad. Best to take her home and let her rest.”

“Thank you Rowena,” said Dean, walking past her, stopping near the entrance to the room. “Next time you need something, just let us know and we’ll help.”

“Of course. I’ll take care of this mess. Oh and Y/N, dear?” You managed to lift your head, grateful to find Sam was right on Dean’s heels. “This lad is going to be spending a lot of time on the receiving end of what he gave out up here down in hell. I promise you that.”

You nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Dean kissed the top of your head, his hold on you tight.

“You’re going to be alright, sweetheart. Just give it some time.”

“How’s that feel?” asked Dean for what felt like the twentieth time back at the motel. You’d showered, took another another shower, took a bath, took another shower and currently were wrapped up in a mess of Dean’s pajamas on the bed with a big towel in your hair. 

“Better,” you said, your voice back with you once you’d gotten out of the hospital morgue. Sam was off relaying what he’d found to the local police. Apparently Dr. Thomas had worked on a few cases for the county but his sister it turned out was a hot shot detective who’d been covering for him for years. It was how he’d found out about you and Dean investigating.

Honestly that woman would be better off going out like her brother. She’d covered up a lot of murders for her brother. It’d be a miracle if someone didn’t take her out before then. Not that you particularly would mind that. 

You patted the bed beside you, Dean taking a seat and pulling you into his lap. He removed the damp towel and nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, strong arms wrapped all around your body.

“So we really nailed that whole careful thing, huh?” you said. Dean chuckled deeply, inhaling the scent of your damp hair, a pretty lilac and vanilla blend you knew he liked. 

“How do you do that? Make me laugh when I don’t feel like ever laughing again,” he said, tightening his hold.

“Because I’m hilarious,” you said, closing your eyes, wrapping your hands around his forearms. “You might not understand this but what you said when I thought…you made me feel safe even when I was scared that was it. You were a guy protecting his girl tonight, even if it’s not the way you meant it.”

“Meant every word,” he whispered, breathing slowly. 

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize for not stopping it. There’s no way we saw that coming.”

“Okay,” he said, draping his legs over yours, leaning back against the headboard with you. “How’s that feel? Comfy?”

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him, tucking in closer. “I got you, Winchester. I’ll be alright. A chocolate milkshake and order of fries wouldn’t hurt though.”

“You’re hungry? After all that?” he chuckled. 

“Yup. Ask Sam to pick some up on his way back,” you said, tilting your head back, kissing under his jaw. “Our date got cut short after all.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You couldn’t talk earlier,” he said, taking your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I’ll have nightmares, I’m sure, and all the other crap we get. But right now in this moment, with you, I’m okay.” He smiled, holding your body against his.

“I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if you do get kidnapped by serial killers.” You whacked his leg, Dean’s laugh rumbling against your back.

“Love you too, ya dork.”

_________

[xoxoavenger]

Come Back, Be Here

pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N dies, but true to their lives, death is never the end. Spanning eight years, Dean and Y/N's relationship somehow continues, even through death.

word count: 5196

warnings: major character death, canon typical injuries, pregnancy

12 Days of Christmas Masterlist main masterlist

Dean dreamt about the day she died every time he fell asleep. Which wasn't often before she died, but now it was even less. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it.

"Dean," She reached for him, but Dean had been frozen. There was so much blood, too much blood, and he knew what that meant. He had gone through it before.

"Baby, no." Dean whispered, finally getting his ass in gear and moving to her. He held her in his arms, knowing there was nothing he could do as soon as he looked at the blood spilling from the open wound on her chest. He trusted Sam was out there tearing the werewolf to parts, but just in case he was ready to scorch the earth in order to get this revenge. 

"It's okay, I promise." She says softly, nodding quickly. Tears formed in her eyes, and Dean could already feel his throat closing up. He'd never felt this kind of emotion, this resignation that settled deep in his chest. He hated it, wanted to fight it with everything in him.

"No, no, I can fix this." Dean said, one arm wrapped around her and the other hand moving over hers. She shakes her head, a smile still on her pretty face.

"There's nothing to fix." She tells him, blood starting to sputter at her mouth. He knew what that meant. "Don't make any deals, okay? Don't run like," She pauses to cough, blood coating her pretty lips and starting to dribble down her chin. Dean has to comfort her. "Like a chicken with your head cut off."

"Y/N," He says it like a prayer, so quiet she barely hears it.

"I love you," She tells him, and he knows it's over. Her voice is weak, her chest barely moving.

"I love you too." He cries softly, looking into her eyes one last time. "I'll see you soon, okay?" He whispers, moving his hand to her head to cradle it close. He leans in, her body carefully held against his, and kisses her forehead as tears run down his face. He feels her take her final breath, her body going lax.

The only thing keeping him from screaming is her laying in his arms.

"All I'm saying is you're not seeing this from Bobby's point of view." Sam says. They're parked in the Impala outside of Bobby's house, not sure how to feel about his dead wife making pies in the house.

"Sam, that thing in there isn't Karen. And if Bobby is too deluded to see it, then," Dean trails off, shaking his head. He feels like he needs to do something, he needs to help Bobby because Bobby can't help himself.

"What if it was Y/N?" Sam asks, which fires up Dean. It's only been a year and a half since she died, and it's still too fresh. It's the first time Sam's mentioned her since he tried to get him to talk about it at first.

"What if it was Jessica?" Dean shoots back, not sure how to make it even.

"I'd feel the same way Bobby does." Sam says honestly, and Dean shakes his head. He starts to get out of the car.

"Which is why I need to go in there and take her out before," His words get lost in his throat as he looks over at the woman leaning against one of the cars in the yard. It's not Karen, but she is dead.

"Y/N?" Dean had forgotten about how they had buried her ashes in South Dakoda, the closest they could get to home. He blinked as he stared at her - she was a little pale, eyes sunken a little, but her body was unharmed. There was no blood. She was even wearing a sundress and a dark jean jacket that Dean thinks may have been his at one time slung over her shoulders. It's the outfit Dean had put on her when they burned her, even though Sam and Bobby both looked at him weirdly when he brought her out in different clothes. Now, he thinks this is the best idea he'd ever had, because she's never looked more beautiful.

"Hi, Dean." She says, voice sweet but not sickly.

"How are you feeling about Karen now?" Sam says as he gets out of the car, and if Dean weren't so enraptured by his dead lover he would have slapped his brother so hard the crack of his hand would have sounded like a gunshot.

"Baby," Dean walks forward, hunting instincts be damned. His mind is flashing with the memories of her dying in his arms, of him holding her close but not close enough.

"I know you won't believe this," She tells him, pushing off the car but keeping her distance. "But it's really me, Dean. It's," He just keeps walking toward her until he puts his hands on her cheeks, looking at her face. Everything is quiet for a moment, Y/N looking up at Dean and him trying to decide if he's about to kiss a zombie.

He does.

He rubs his thumb against her cheek as she kisses him back, and then he pauses. The scar underneath her eye from when a demon got too close to stabbing her eye out. It's there, even though when Dean came back from Hell he was scarless. He moves back, slipping a hand under her dress and all the way up her torso (on the side away from Sam, he's not an idiot). The claw marks from the werewolf that had clawed her before Dean had been able to kill it were gone. All that was left was smooth skin.

"What's going on?" Dean whispers, tears in his eyes. He doesn't know if he wants to understand, doesn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. It's like she's back to the day before she died, perfect and whole and his.

"Dean," She puts a hand on his face, because she knows what he's thinking. She was there when he went to Hell, and she was there when he got back. She knew all about how his wounds and scars had been healed, and she knew this would make him confused. She knew she had to tell him the truth.

"It's Death," She wishes they had just a moment to themselves, something more than just the kiss. But this was their life. This had always been Dean's life. "He brought everyone back. Back to before we died, because I'm assuming I was cremated." She hates that she leaves part of it out, hates that she has to say the rest.

"I don't understand." Dean says simply, eyes closed as he rests his forehead on hers. His hand is still under her dress, burning her skin.

"He did this on purpose." She whispers, leaning back to look in his eyes. "He brought me back to distract you."

"It doesn't matter. You're back, that's all I care about." He kisses her again, and she lets him for a few moments.

"That's what he wants. You know this isn't right." She says when he finally pulls away.

"I've come back. Sam has come back. You can come back too. It's your turn, I don't want to live without you anymore." He presses himself into her, as if that would stop her from leaving.

"Not like this, and you know it." She brushes her hand against his face, up through his hair and to his neck. He knows that she's right. He knows that this can't last, that something is going on. Even Death himself can't make Dean Winchester happy, apparently.

"Well," He leans back, wiping his face as if he's not about to fall apart at the seems. "If you're back, might as well help us out." He turns to Sam, who is smiling sadly at them. Dean can practically read his thoughts.

This is going to kill Dean.

~

"Sheriff Mills," Y/N smiles as Jody opens the door. She's surprised Dean let her leave on her own, even after she had to swear up and down she'd only be gone an hour. She's pretty sure she knows why the sheriff is fine with the dead rising, and it's the same reason Bobby is fine with it. "I'm Y/N. I just wanted to talk to you about the stuff going on the town." She hopes Jody knows what she means, and by the darkening of her face, Y/N thinks she does.

"I don't know who you are, but you need to leave." Jody says with a tight smile, going to close the door. Y/N puts a hand on it, stepping a little closer.

"I'm Dean Winchester's girlfriend." Y/N explains, taking a deep breath. "I died, but now I'm here. And I know that the same thing has happened for you, too. But I also know that it's gonna turn." She tries, but Jody just looks angry as she turns behind her and then walks out to meet Y/N, closing the door behind her.

"Listen, you don't know anything. And I am not giving this up just because you think that your luck can't get any better than rock bottom." Jody says lowly. Y/N shakes her head, turning to look through the window. She sees a little boy, but he seems a little lost. Y/N looks back at her.

"It's your son." She says, hoping this doesn't drive Jody away. "I'm sorry, I can't imagine,"

"You're right, you can't, because you're dead." Jody accuses, and Y/N knows she's lost her. "I'm glad you came back, I am. I just met Dean, but I can tell he's a little rough around the edges. I'm sure your death had something to do with it. But you're not going to take away my happiness." Jody walks back into the house without another word, and Y/N just sighs. She gets back into the car she borrowed from Bobby, making the short drive back.

That's when she starts to feel sick.

She knows it's over then, knows what has to happen. She sits in the car for a moment, thinking about how this is going to break Dean. She doesn't know if it's better to kill herself out here or let Dean kill her or ask Sam to do it. In the end, she knows either of them finding her body would be worse than asking one of them to kill her.

"Y/N!" Dean's by her door, and she startles. Dean opens up the door, and she realizes how hot she was in there. He must realize it too, and he puts a hand to her forehead. "You're burning up." He whispers as he helps her up, and she just nods, leaning against him and soaking up what she knows will be the last couple minutes.

"Sheriff Mills, she has a son. That's why she won't do anything." She tells him as they walk into the house. Dean helps her up the stairs, into the room they'd always stay in when they were with Bobby.

"It's okay, it's fine." Dean tells her as he lays her on the bed. He wipes the hair away from her face, but she can see the tears in his eyes.

"You have to help her." She tells him, sweat pouring from her skin. She tries to smile, but there are tears threatening to fall from her eyes now too. "Something's wrong."

"No, no, it's okay." Dean says, slipping into the bed next to her. He holds her, and she feels wrong. She's sick, and it's not okay. She shouldn't be sick. 

"Don't lie to me in my last moments." She says, their foreheads pressed together. He grabs her hand with the one that's under her body, and that's when she looks over and realizes he has his gun in the other hand. "I'm turning, aren't I?" She asks, and then they hear the gunshot downstairs.

"I can't do this." Dean says, tears falling down his face. "It was bad the first time, I can't be the cause of it." He says, and she reaches a shaky hand down to his.

"I'm sorry," She says, even though they both know it isn't her fault. "I promise when we meet again, it'll be better." She tells him, kissing him one last time before leading his hand up to her head, pressing the barrel of the gun against her skull.

"I still love you," Dean whispers, sniffling. "Even more than I did back then." He's not even lying, is the worst part, and it breaks her heart. She wishes he would move on, that he could be happy. But she knows if she were in his situation, she would never be able to.

"I love you too. When we see each other again, it'll be better." She repeats with more confidence, squeezing his hand around the gun and kissing him again quickly. She nods once, and then watches him close his eyes. She closes hers too, so he doesn't have to look into her lifeless eyes.

He never sleeps in that room again. 

~

"I'm going to give you what you want most."

When Amara had said it, Dean wasn't sure what he had wanted most. There were a lot of things he wanted in this world; free pie, cheeseburgers served at every restaurant, his brother's happiness, for Lucifer to just stay the fuck away for good. There were some really unreasonable things that he didn't want to admit, like how he wishes his dad died instead of his mom, or that his mom had never married his dad. But he wouldn't say that he wanted that the most.

He was disoriented in the park, looking around and trying to process what just happened. He wasn't sure he wasn't dead, honestly. So when he turned around and saw Y/N for the first time in 6 years, he froze.

She wasn't wearing the sundress and jean jacket that they had buried her in like she had been last time he saw her. She was wearing the jeans and jacket that she had been when she was mauled, and she looked like she was confused.

"Y/N?" Dean asks, and she blinked at him.

"What the hell is going on?" She's breathing heavily, looking around like something was chasing her.

"Y/N, you're okay." He's trying to convince himself as he walks towards her, but she continues to look around.

"Dean? Dean, where did they go?" She asks when he finally gets close enough, grabbing onto his biceps.

"What?" He mutters, still in awe that she's there, that Amara has somehow saved her.

"The werewolves?" She asks as if it's obvious, looking around them. She finally looks at him, and then starts to realize. "Why are you wearing different clothes? Why do you look different?" She steps back, taking him in.

"It's okay." Is all Dean says as he takes her into his arms, mind whirling when she struggles away.

"What's going on?" Y/N asks, looking at him. He grabs her hands, and she hesitantly lets him.

"Do you remember Souix Falls?" He isn't sure yet if he wants her to remember or not, because while the reunion sex was great, he didn't want her to have the memory of him having to blow her brain out.

"What?" She asks, clearly confused. He realizes that he's gonna have to be more specific.

"You died." He finally says, and she stares. "The werewolves, they killed you. You've been dead for eight years." By the look on her face, it looks like she doesn't remember anything. Amara must have plucked her right before she died.

"The werewolves killed me?" She asks, then looks him up and down. "Eight years ago?" She starts to breathe heavily, and he knows that she's starting to freak out.

"Baby," He starts, and this time she lets him fold her into his body. He can't help how right this feels, how much he's missed this. Six years ago, he was glad to have her back, but this time is different. This is real, he knows it.

"Eight years?" She mutters into his chest. She's shaking, and he's holding her together. He knows that she's always had what was an irrational fear of losing time, but now that fear has not only become rational but also true.

"I know, I know." He holds the back of her head, wishing he could somehow make it better. "But you're back, shit, you have no idea how it feels to have you back." She lets him squeeze her, knowing he needs this.

"What the hell happened?" She asks, and honestly, Dean isn't really sure where to start.

~

She's a little overwhelmed by everyone at the bunker, by Castiel asking how she got back when he saw her in heaven and Sam squeezing her so hard she's pretty sure she breaks her rib. There's only a couple of them, just the boys living in the bunker, but she can't handle it. She's just learned that she's lost eight years of her life - eight years that Dean lived but apparently he didn't move on? She'll have to ask Sam about that, because it's not like she doesn't believe Dean but more that she doesn't want to believe that any of this happened.

Once she gets into Dean's room, she feels like she can finally breathe. The room could do with some air circulation, but the only trash is the empty beer bottles, so she thinks he's doing pretty good. She stands in front of the closed door, watching Dean simply throw his bag to the ground and jump onto his bed. She looks around, seeing his guns on the walls, some pictures loosely on one of the bed side tables. It looks like only one of them is occupied, even though he has enough stuff between his desk and the table to fill them both. But the left side, the side she always slept on when they were together, there's nothing. It's empty, as if it's been lying in wait for her return.

She wants to cry.

Instead, she goes over to the photos, grabbing the messy stack and gathering them so she can flip through them. Dean grabs her thighs from his spot laying down as she looks at the top photo - Dean and Mary. She smiles, looking down at him as he looks at her like she created the stars and painted the castellations all for him. She blushes and flips to the next one.

Her breath gets caught.

It's her and Dean, the day she died. And it feels like yesterday to her, but the photo is warn with age and the right side, where she's standing, is rubbed raw, the coloring turned to white. She wants to cry - she's already crying. Dean sits up and takes her into his arms, and she carefully puts the photos down onto the table before falling into his arms and crying. Dean holds her tightly, and she can tell just how much he needs it too.

They sleep clinging together, sore when they wake up from holding on so hard. It isn't until a couple weeks later, when Y/N's throwing up in the bathroom for the seventh day in a row, that they start to think that maybe, possibly, Amara brought back more than just Y/N.

"When was the last time we had sex?" Y/N asked, rubbing her eyes as she drank coffee (it was decaf, Dean had switched it out without telling her just incase).

"Y/N," Dean wipes a hand over his face, trying to keep his cool. He's looking through the fridge, trying to find something that she actually wants to eat. "That was literally eight years ago for me." He bites his tongue to keep the rest in, because he wishes Y/N would just take a pregnancy test.

"Okay, well I remember it being only a couple days before. But you had been gone for, like, a month before that, so I'm not sure of this-"

"What have I walked in on?" Sam asks, but he has a smile on his face. Y/N yawns, putting her head in her hands.

"When was the last time you went grocery shopping?" Dean asks, closing the fridge.

"Uh, I'm not sure. But we should have eggs." Sam explains, and Y/N gags between her hands without even looking up.

"Y/N doesn't want eggs." Dean explains simply, and Sam is silent for a second.

"Okay, well, I'm so glad you're back, but we're limited on options." Sam says, and Y/N leans her head toward the ceiling with closed eyes.

"Great, I'm not hungry anyway." She gets up and walks out, leaving Sam to blink at her. Cas is standing in the doorway when she passes, and he just watches her.

"What's wrong with her?" Sam asks, going to the coffee pot. He sees the grounds next to it and notices the green can. "Why is this decaf?" He picks it up, knowing that his brother would never willingly drink coffee that doesn't have caffeine.

"Is Y/N pregnant?" Cas asks, which surprises both brothers for different reasons. Dean did not think that the angel would be one to put it all together, but there he is. The three of them stand silently in the kitchen, everyone looking at Dean.

"Man, you don't waste time." Sam smirks at his brother, and Dean lunges to punch him. Cas moves quickly, grabbing Dean's wrist to stop him from starting a physical fight.

"I only meant to ask a question." Cas said lowly, moving back so they're all standing in the kitchen, some sort of uneven triangle.

"You don't just ask people if they're pregnant, Cas." Dean sighs, because he's pretty sure that if an angel thinks his girlfriend is pregnant, she's definitely pregnant.

"I know." Cas says with a straight face that makes Dean want to hit him. "That's why I asked you."

"I don't know what's going on, alright?" Dean says, stress evident in his voice. "Obviously, I don't remember the last time we had sex eight years ago. But she says it doesn't add up, so," He doesn't know what to else to say.

"Why exactly did Amara bring Y/N back?" Sam asks, and Dean just shrugs as he thinks.

"Something about how she was giving me what I wanted most." He answers. Sam looks to Cas, who for the first time ever seems to have caught onto something before Dean did. "What? What are you thinking?"

"She's given you a family, Dean." Cas explains. Dean looks with wide eyes at his brother and his best friend, then passes out.

~

"You called Jody?" Dean yells to Sam when he opens the door to see Jody with two bags in her hands.

"Who the hell did you get pregnant?" She asks, anger on her face as she storms past Dean and down the stairs.

"It's a long story," Dean starts, rushing after Jody as she walks into the library.

"Yeah, Sam said that on the phone." She sees Y/N sitting at a table, and smiles at her politely as she puts everything down and turns back to Dean. "Seriously, Dean, what-" She pauses, eyes wide as she turns back to Y/N.

"Hi." Y/N waves a hand, small smile on her face.

"Y/N?" Jody looks from her to Dean, then back to her. She blinks, mouth open, then turns back to Dean. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Dean defends, and Y/N narrows her eyes.

"You know who I am?" She asks, catching Jody's attention once more. The older woman blinks a couple times.

"We talked in Sioux Falls." She doesn't explain, and Y/N turns to Dean.

"What happened in Sioux Falls?" She remembers Dean asking her about it, but he never told her about it.

"You never told her?" Jody let out a loud sigh and put a hand on her head, because not only was Dean's dead girlfriend back from the dead, but she was also apparently pregnant.

"She knows she died." He defends, and Y/N wants to rip her hair out.

"What happened?" She yells, and everyone goes quiet. Jody turns to Dean, lips pulled in. He sighs, then turns to her.

"About six years ago in Sioux Falls, when we were fighting the Four Horsemen, Death was trying to get to us." Thinking about this, even with Y/N actually alive and in front of him, makes him sick. "He brought back everyone who was buried in the Sioux Falls cemetery; Jody's son, Bobby's wife," He doesn't want to say it, but he knows he has to. "You."

"What?" Y/N asks, unable to think of anything else to ask. This was the last thing she thought he would tell her.

"The people who came back, they turned into zombies. You went to talk to Jody, but it was too late, we knew what was going on by then." Dean explains, not able to look at anyone as he tries to keep his emotions in check.

"I was a zombie?" Y/N says after a couple seconds, and Dean shakes his head.

"No, no. I didn't let that happen." He told her, and she just nods. So Dean had to kill her.

"Why don't I remember anything?" She asks, looking to Jody. She doesn't recall talking to her at all, and she had already told Dean that the last thing she remembers is the werewolf running at her.

"I don't know." Dean says. "But I know you weren't pregnant then." This further cements their theory that Amara brought Y/N back pregnant.

"Not to be rude, but how are you here?" Jody asks, looking over to Dean and assuming that he had everything to do with it.

"Uh, Dean said that this entity, the Darkness, brought me back as a gift to Dean. We think that she brought me back pregnant to give Dean a family." Y/N explains. Jody's mouth opens in surprise.

"Amara brought you back pregnant." Jody says slowly, and Y/N nods with a sardonic smile on her face.

"Yeah," Y/N nods. "And until Sam can make me a fake ID with a different birth year, I can't exactly go to the doctor about this." She explains. Her original plan had been to see how far along she was, but Castiel had pointed out that whatever IDs Dean had saved of hers' would be off by eight yeras and she wasn't sure if that was believable.

"Well, I brought you some pregnancy tests that will give you an estimate, but they're not exact." Jody says as she starts to grab the boxes out of the the bag.

"I don't think I'm gonna need all this." Y/N says, her face betraying the shock as Jody just continues to bring out more things.

"If you are pregnant, which is sounds like you definitely are, you're going to needs some of these things." She pulls out a the rest and then makes a show of pointing at them as she explains. "Pregnancy-safe anti-nausea pills, prenatal pills, and some other important stuff that I know the boys don't have here. Hairbands, an actual brush." Y/N smiles at this, because while the boys tried, they really didn't have anything for her. She had gone out with Dean to get clothes the other day, but everything looked so different than when she was alive, and she had been overwhelmed by everyone around her. She guessed it wouldn't matter if she was pregnant, because she would have to get new clothes.

She knew Dean wanted this obviously, but it was all so fast. He had lived eight years without her, and now suddenly she was back and they were going to have a kid before they had any time to enjoy themselves.

"Why don't you take this test first?" Jody asks, handing Y/N one of the boxes that will tell her how far along she is. "If you only just started feeling sick, you shouldn't be too far along." Jody then looks at Dean, who just stares back. She tilts her head toward where Y/N has started to walk towards the bathroom, and Dean just blinks.

"What?" He whispers, completely lost.

"Go with her!" Jody says through her teeth, and Dean's eyes narrow.

"To watch her pee?"

"Dean!" Sometimes, Jody can't believe the man's stupidity. "She just got back from being dead for eight years and now she may be pregnant, and this is all your fault. Go be there for her." Finally Dean's eyes widen as he realizes it, and he rushes off to her.

"Y/N!" He says just as she's shutting the door. She startles and turns to him, and he tries to smile. "I just wanted to be here for you." He explains.

"To watch me pee?" She asks with a small smile, and he nervously chuckles.

"I knew it was a bad idea." He mutters. "I'll just be out here, for support." He tells her, and she nods and kisses him quickly before shutting the door.

Waiting for the test to finish felt like it took forever. They didn't want to go back into the living room, wanted to have this moment to themselves with their backs against the wall. It beeped, and Y/N tightened her hand around it.

"I don't want to look." She whispers, turning to Dean with tears in her eyes. "I'm scared."

"It's okay," He says, putting one hand over her hand and leaning their foreheads together. "And I know what you're thinking, but if you don't want this," He says it with tears in his eyes, but she knows he's being honest.

"I want it," She says, because despite all her reservations, she still wants a baby with Dean. "I'm just afraid." She admits, and cups her cheek.

"It's okay." He says, kissing her softly. They stay frozen in the moment for as long as they can, and then she pulls away.

"On three?" She asks, and he nods. "One, two, three." She turns the test over, and sees partly what she had been expecting. It confirms she's pregnant, but underneath it says 3+ weeks in small letters.

"Maybe it's from eight years ago?" She says, leaning back against the wall.

"None of this makes sense." Dean says, hands coming to his face to wipe at his eyes.

"Do you want a baby?" She asks, just to make sure that if this isn't a 'gift' that he'd still be okay.

"Would you kill me if I said yes?" He can't look at her, but she just grabs her hand.

"Well, it's a little too late for killing, considering I'm already pregnant." She puts a hand to her stomach for the first time, and a weird feeling passes through her. She does want this, and she knows that Dean wants this too.

He has the whole bunker. They just defeated the Darkness. Dean knows that he can do this. Maybe he wouldn't give up hunting completely, but he'd calm it down a little bit. He would definitely be more careful.

"Are we having a baby?" Dean asks, his voice high with hope. She smiles up at him, and he can't help the emotion that floods his chest.

"We're having a baby." 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @king-of-milf-lovers

[alien-magnolia]

I Need Someone Older

Fic description: Dean finds you on a hunt and takes you along to get you safely out of danger, fun ensues :) as the two of you feel an inevitable pull of attraction towards each other.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tw: AGE GAP! Hyper-feminine reader in early 20’s, Dean in late 40’s, daddy issues <3, dom-coded dean, sub-coded reader, bj, breeding kink!, extremely subby-coded reader, helplessness, praise!!!

Word count: 3.1k

Don’t like, don’t read!!

May 5, 2007

7:40 pm

Your white knee high socks were getting a little dusty from the dirt on the woodsy soil. You came out here to write your poetry, desiring a place for peaceful solitude, and perhaps some creative inspiration. You dusted off your skirt as you sat down on the moist bed of grass. The waning moon was a bit yellow tonight, yet you thought nothing off it. You began to write a few words in your floral notebook, with some neat handwriting and a gel pen.

All of a sudden, you hear a wail in the distance. The wind is cold. A few leaves rustle out a few feet away from you, causing you to stare into the dark pathway on your left, in which many trees loitered. You felt as if you were being watched. You continue with your writing, until again you hear a rustle, this time, a bit closer than before. A chill goes down your spine, and you slowly turn to see a pair of yellow eyes, a figure with long, sharp, claws, and a tall, curved, spiny, skinny, body, with a tail. It snarls, coming closer to you. You drop your notebook, and crawl backwards, the dirt making indents on your palms. You hear a few male voices, and see boots running to attack the creature.

You see a flame, the creature is light ablaze, and you pass out from fear. The last thing you remember is strong arms lifting you up, the smell of beer and cherry pie clouds your nostrils.

You wake up in the wood again, this time, the brighr and warm morning light shines down on your skin, littered with cuts and bruises. You seemed to have lost your favorite lipgloss in the process.

“Where am I? My head…,” you whine, seeing a handsome man next to you, bandaging your cuts and cleaning them. That cheered you up a bit. You wince as his calloused hands rub alcohol on your wound, and you meet his eyes. He had green eyes, dark hair, wore a flannel and jeans and had the most amazing body <3 he looked just, so big, compared to you!

You ask him his name and what happened. “The name’s Dean, sweetheart. My brother and I were in these woods looking for a wendigo. We sure as hell did find one.” You nod, still reeling from the attack last night. “Did that… person, thing, do that to me?,” you ask, eyes wide, a bit nervous. “It’s no person, honey,” he chuckles darkly. “Hate to break it to you, but monsters are real. The whole gang. Vampires, werewolves, spirits, demons, all other things that go bump in the night. All are real.” You sit in shock as he continues to fix your wounds. You notice how good his calloused (gunpowder covered) fingers feel on your calves. You wince as he brushes over a wound, jerking your leg back.

“Too rough?,” he asks, a large hand resting on your thigh. You nod. “S’alright. I’ll be more gentle, yeah?,” he asks, and you nod, feeling satisfied as the older man returns your smile.

“Hey. Might’ve caught trail of another wendigo up ahead. We should get going,” another man dressed in similar fashion walks up ahead, talking to Dean, taking a glance at you. “What's the hold up, Dean?,” he asks.

“Shut it, Sammy. Can’t you see I’m doing something here? Found her at the site where the thing was. Had to fix her up.” Sam nods, as Dean tells him your name. The two then agree to further go hunt for the second wendigo. “What about her? We’re deep in the woods now, sure as hell she ain’t going to go back on her own, Sammy.” “Fine. Take her with you, as long as she doesn’t cause a problem.”

So it was. You were now going to hunt for the wendigo with the Winchester brothers. The dirt and thick jagged branches sometimes were too much for your legs to handle, so you held onto Dean for some of the walk. He didnt seem to mind, and only smirked as you accidentally leaned too much into him, your soft chest grazing his wide and big arms.

“Stay here, stay put. Don’t go anywhere,” Dean commands you, and you do as said, wait as the boys go into the dark cave. An hour later — there was fire, shrieking, and the boys come out unscathed. The last wendigo has been killed, and the three of you make your way back to “baby,” which you later learned was Dean’s nickname for his ‘67 Impala.

Dean drove with Sam in the front, you in the back seat. You dozed in and out of consciousness as the engine lulled you toward the heavy tug of sleep, you overheard the two men speaking about you.

“Well, Dean she has no ID on her so it’s better off that we take her to the local sheriff’s station. We know Jody, she might be able to help,” Sam inquired. “Yeah, well Sammy, you know what, Jody’s probably just going to tell her to go back to the woods or some shit. Maybe she’s far from home. Maybe she was hiding. Who the hell knows? Bet she’d tell us first before talking to law enforcement,” Dean countered.

“Why is it always you and women, Dean? She’s so young too. Maybe a little too young for you?”

“Shut it, Sammy. Respect her. She probably has her reasons. She’s real pretty and I’ll get what I want, eventually,” Dean retorted. Sam sighed.

You drifted back into sleep but squeezed your thighs together at the thought of the older man using you and getting what “he wants.”

You were more than happy to give it to him.

You were in a dingy 1970’s era hotel room, with dark brown shag carpet, rickety beds with neon orange polyester sheets, and a single lamp in the corner, flickering on occasion. No tv, but a rotary phone and radio. Sam was on a chunky laptop that whined and whistled due to all the power his research into Wendigos was taking up. You believed he was on a library forum of some sort. You sat on the bed, dwindling with the phone cord. The low buzz of the fan was heard from the corner.

Dean comes up to you. “Heya, kid. I’m gonna go get some grub. Wanna come with?,” he asks, offering you a hand to help you up from the bed. You nod, smiling, and taking his hand. Dean opted to go to a local bar to get some takeout. He ordered a large burger, large pilsner beer, and a cherry pie. You got some chicken and French fries, sharing some pie with him. You tell him that you were in the woods to write poetry, you got lost and then time seemed to go. Your cell was dead too. He told you about his ‘job’ with his brother Sam, choosing to follow his dad John Winchester’s legacy of hunting down things that go bump in the night. He made you laugh, asking you about your writing, your college education, a life that someone like him never had.

“We’re so different, you and I, know that? Seriously. I mean, college? In my dreams. Wondering what that’s like,” he said to you, while taking a sip of his beer.

“What can I say. I want a decent life for myself, sometimes. I have a pull towards the arts. Literature, actually. Sometimes though, I just want to be on my own. Without the pressures of society, on the road, like you two. Bet you don’t have any deadlines to meet,” you jokingly admit to Dean.

He chuckles, but then nods, a more serious expression growing on his face now, taking another sip of his beer. “Life sucks, kid. Sucks for me and Sammy, we’re out on the road, might die the next day. Never know what the fuck’s chasing after us,” he has a bit of a solemn expression, taking another sip of his beer.

You nodded, understanding him, seeing through the “tough guy” facade that he’s put up. He was scared. He needed someone to comfort him, to support him. His brother was his partner, yet that wasn’t the partner he was looking for.

You reach over to put your dainty hand on his large one. “Thanks for dinner, really. We should save some for Sam, though, I think,” you giggle, watching a grown man blush over your gentle touch. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart. Anytime…,” he trails off, his blush seemed to get stronger and he was avoiding eye contact a bit.

“You okay?,” you ask, meeting his eyes, feeling something start to heat up between the two of you, the air suddenly was heavy. “You’re just, well, pretty, kid. Seriously. Real fuckin’ nice, sweets,” he chuckles, his large fingers coming to intertwine with yours. You almost faint under the pressure of his hand on yours, your eyes drift to his muscular and wide frame, his tattered Jean jacket, his necklace on a black piece of string, his chiseled jawline. As funny as he was, you knew that you had an undeniable attraction towards him.

He saved you from the wendigo, but you let him. You let him take you back to the motel with Sam. You let him have you stay with them. Now. You’d let him have your body. All of it.

“Maybe we can go into those woods again? I can show you some poems?,” you reel, watching the older man’s eyes light up with a burning flame. “Sure, thing, kid. I’ll take you up there in ‘baby.’

With a few stares and leers from the other inhabitants of the shady bar, Dean leads you by the waist out the door, and into his impala, opening the door for you, of course.

“Ladies first,” he bows down a bit as he holds the shabby car door open for you. You take his helping hand and slide into the shotgun (front) seat. He quickly runs over to the driver’s side, a toothpick in his mouth as he climbs in, adjusting the jagged rearview mirror. You struggled to buckle up in the old model of a car, so Dean helped out, buckling it for you. You liked the many things he seemed to do for you. His care. His help.

He pulls out of the diner driveway, one of his ringed hands on the wheel, another tracing gentle patterns all over your thigh. You adjust your socks as his patterns make you heat up — inside and out. “I know a place. You down? If not I’m fine with it, sweet thing. No pressure, s’all,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if speaking to a child. You blush. “It’s alright, Dean. I’ll show you my poems. I’ll show you something else too, I think you’ll like it,” you cover your smile as you let out a few small giggles. He smirks back at you.

“Oh I’ll like it, alright. God damn,” he stifles, his strong, calloused fingers gripping a bit harder on your soft thigh. The rest of the drive was tense, just how you liked it. Soft rock — ‘Blue Oyster Cult’s’ “Don’t Fear The Reaper” played in the background, and it would usually lull you to sleep. Not tonight. Your heart raced, stealing glances at the man next to you. The man about to take your virginity, what concept you or society made of it. You hoped he didn’t mind.

The impala pulled into a motel parking lot: the same one where you left from. “Dean. Your brother..won’t he..?, you ask, and he quickly interrupts. “Well just be in a different room, is all. Sammy wouldn’t care anyway, as much as I’d like him to. He takes your hand again, leading you to Room 22, on the second floor. Your fingers trace the grimy balcony railing as you head up there.

The door shuts. You smile at him, then look down at your feet. “Can I, um. Kiss you, Dean?,” you ask, shy and sweet, a delicious pie on the shelf, a cherry blossom that smells and tastes so sweet, intoxicating the older man closer and closer to you. “F’course. You’ve never done this before, have you?” You nod. “Let me take the lead, yeah, sweet thing. I’ll be gentle. Scout’s honor,” he smiles, holding up two fingers. You nod, wrapping your small arms around his broad chest. Your soft chest pressed against his, you feel the cool metal of his pentagram necklace press against your warm, beating heart.

His large arms trail down to squeeze your waist a bit, and then rub circles down below, your waist and hips. He gave them a tight squeeze, you gasped at his strength. His fingers continued ministrations on your waist, hips, thighs, and the two of your lips danced in a slow and sensual rhythm. You could taste the beer and cherry pie on him, and you ran your fingers through his coarse hair.

His thumb rubs your cheek a bit, and he picks you up in his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the bed, gently laying you down under him. His face above you, his brown eyes in awe taking in your sweet skin, putting him in a trance. His calloused hands run down your arms, your belly, gentle, soft, and slow. He grabs your chin, pulling your face towards his, and meets you for a chaste kiss, slow, you felt the stubble on his cheek and smiled into his lips.

His hand runs through your hair, over your cheek, this thumb caressing your face a bit. You keep the kiss going, you feel him getting rougher, hungrier for you. Your hands touch his broad chest, trailing on the hem of his shirt, which you take off. His chest was bare, just with a tiny bit of hair, and a very prominent happy trail <3 of which you run your fingers through.

His hands lead your hips up against the wall, tracing patterns on your back. Your lips are hungry for each others, you push your chest into his. “Fuck, sweet thing. Gonna drive me up the wall here, Jesus,” his voice now an octave deeper, raspier, breathless. His cherry pink swollen lips meet yours again, you feel his aftershave on your face. Your thighs rub against his growing bulge, positioning your legs so his thickening tent on his jeans was pressed up snug, right into your growing wetness in between your legs.

“Dean…want it,” you moan out, your delicate, manicured fingers tracing the toughness of his stubble. “Want what, huh? Gotta ask nicely, don’t keep me guessing, honey,” he smirks, a condescending expression appearing on his handsome face.

“I-uh, your, uh, oh, fuck,” you breathlessly whimper out, as his rough, calloused fingers gently slide down between your legs, rubbing your soft, warm folds, through your pretty and pink lace.

“Let me see what you got down there, hmm?,” he smirks, knowing that he has you completely wrapped around his finger. You nod, his hand cups your cheek for another kiss. He slides off your skirt, your knee highs, your Lacey top. You work on his jeans, until he stops you, with a look — meaning that he can take care of it.

All clothes gone — your legs intertwine, he presses his leaking bulge into your folds, you could practically feel how you clenched around nothing!!

“Dean…,” you beg again. “What’s wrong, huh? What’re you beggin’ for, seeet thing. Gotta give me words,” he says, all the while his thick fingers continue to work you open — get you ready for him.

A soft smile is on his face as his fingers become ever so gentle, continuing a circular pattern, pausing to tightly cup and squeeze your pulsing mound.

“Want. Want your, ha — your cock, Dean. Please. Please!,” you squeal out, just as he cups and massages your mound once more. “Why didn’t you say so, at first, sweet thing? Here I was thinkin’ you only wanted my fingers,” he chuckles, smile full of adoration — seeing you in a close to ruined state. His fingers pull out with a squelch.

You whine at the loss, your cunt throbbing, pulsing, desperate to be filled!! He smiles, hands on your hips. “Bend over f’me, baby.” You do as said, his smile and yours widen as his two hands cup your ass, giving it a hard smack.

His hands trace up and down your back, your waist, until you feel his soft tip press at your entrance. You turn around to view what you’ve been waiting for. He’s big. Short, yet thick. Oh so thick. You weren’t sure if he’d fit. A large vein ran down his left side. Fuck — how you wanted that in your mouth.

His hand gently guides your face back down into the table which you were bent over. “Down, baby. You’ll get a chance later, yeah?,” he soothes you. You nod. You feel his throbbing tip at your mound, as he slides in — you feel the stretch, just for a bit, and then he starts to push in, you felt so full !!

“Fuck— ah, Dean, too much, too much,” you squeal out, as he slides in, and starts to move, thrust, slow, gentle at first, and then deep, fast, his thick balls slapping against your mound. You saw stars, felt pressure as he kept going, faster, rutting into you, his hairy chest pressing into your back. The man had put you in a mating press. You wouldn’t mind. With how it’s going with him — you’d take his seed. Anything for the man that saved you from the Wendigo.

Your eyes roll back into your head, his grip on your hips was like a vice. The two of you finish with screams. He groans. “Fuck, sweet thing. You take it like a champ, yeah?” You nod giddily, anything for his praise and approval. “How’s about we stay in this room tonight? I’ll getchu’ a beer.” You nod. “That’s my good girl. Stay put.” With that, your mound is even more wet, you’re left clenching, covered in his cum as he leaves to get you snacks.

He comes back, presses a nice kiss to your forehead, and makes the two of you some dinner. You wondered what this will lead to.

Author’s note: pls support your creators <3 if you love this fic pls comment or reblog! Greatly appreciated <3 xoxo - Liz

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Wedding Jitters

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: it’s your wedding day, but you need your brothers to help you out

A/N: this turned into more of a one shot, but honestly it’s so adorable

“Alright, one big brother and one maid of honor as requested.” Dean’s voice had you looking to the doorway, where your two brothers were now standing.

“For the last time Dean, man of honor is a real thing,” Sam argued, glaring at his brother.

“Just be glad she didn’t make you the flower girl,” Dean teased with a laugh.

“Hey, idiots, you’ve got a bride freaking out over here,” you interrupted their quarrel.

“Hey hey, no freaking out allowed,” Dean insisted. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, in which case I’m still perfectly ready to assassinate the groom at any given moment.”

“No I did not change my mind!” You huffed. “I just—my hair looks dumb and the dress isn’t working and he’s gonna think I look ugly and-and then I’m gonna trip and—“

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Sam cut in, stepping further into the room and grabbing onto your hands to stabilize you. “None of that is going to happen.”

“Yeah,” Dean insisted. “You picked out that dress because you love it. Your hair looks perfect. If that man thinks you are anything other than the most beautiful woman on earth, I’ll shoot him myse—“

“Dean!” Sam interrupted, but Dean grinned when he saw your lips twitching.

“Yeah, uh huh, it was funny I know.”

“Stop it!” You covered your face with your hands so Dean wouldn’t see you grinning. “You guys are so stupid.”

“And hey,” Dean continued as if you hadn’t interrupted. “You know I won’t ever let you fall, right?”

“Right.” You took a deep breath. “Ok.”

“Ok.” Dean pulled you into his arms, and you felt Sam hug you from the other side. You relaxed in their embrace for a few seconds.

“Hey guys?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna wrinkle my dress.”

“Ok, ok,” Dean huffed, pulling away. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“Hey I think it’s almost time,” Sam said. He led the way to the back of the short line waiting to head down the aisle. You trailed just behind him, holding Dean’s arm in a vice grip.

“Hey sweetheart?” Dean whispered.

“Yeah?”

“You’re hurting my arm.”

You rolled your eyes and loosened your grip.

“I’m not gonna let you trip,” Dean promised again.

“I know.” You nodded. You faced forward, and Sam started making faces at you from his spot just in front of you. You giggled, and Sam grinned widely. As soon as the doors opened to start the ceremony, Dean poked your side and you struggled to get your face under control.

As soon as Sam stepped through the doors, heading down the aisle as your man of honor, the doors shut behind him so that you could have a “big entrance” after Sam got to the end. With the doors closed, it was just you and Dean.

“I’m so proud of you.” Dean’s right hand grabbed onto your hand that was resting on his left arm. “You deserve this. And I want you to know, while you’re out there starting your own family—me and Sammy are always gonna be here for you.”

“I know.” Your hand squeezed Dean’s. “Thanks for walking me down the aisle, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Well someone’s gotta be up there with a gun in case you change your mind.”

You were just reaching over to smack your brother when the music changed and the doors opened wide. You quickly returned your hands where they were supposed to be, but you couldn’t hold back the tiniest giggle when you saw Dean smirking at you knowingly.

You quickly stifled the laugh, but you couldn’t keep the grin off your face when you saw the awestruck look of your fiancé.

Dean led you down the aisle, and once you reached the end you turned to look at him.

The tears in his eyes didn’t really surprise you—in fact, you already had a response prepared.

“Your eyes are sweating,” you whispered so only he could hear. That got a smile out of him as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering as long as he could. Then he let you go and went to stand by Sam. You were right behind him, reaching over to hand Sam your bouquet.

He wasn’t supposed to, but Sam pulled you into a hug.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into your ear.

“Right back at you.”

You stepped back, taking one last glance at your big brothers before turning to grab onto your fiancé’s outstretched hands…

Knowing that you never would’ve made it this far without them.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 4

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 5.3k

c/w - language, small amount of angst, some hurt/comfort. also kinda problematic paige but i get her

a/n - guess who’s endo cramps are killing her!! that’s right, me! fml. as usual this is unedited but i’ll come back to edit later! also, i changed paige’s step-dad’s name from tim to dean because i remembered that azzi’s dad is named tim and i felt like that would be confusing lol. also, thank you so much for all the fic recs i got! i’m so excited to start working on them :3

They’re ten minutes into the thirty-minute car ride and nobody has said a word. Country music is playing quietly over the radio, and Dean and Amy keep glancing at each other. But the awkward silence is deadly.

Nobody spoke earlier, either. After Paige dropped the bomb. It was silent for a good minute before Dean had coughed loudly and turned back to the car, getting wordlessly into the driver’s seat. Amy stared at them for another minute or so, giving them no clue as to what was going on in her head other than her ears, which rapidly turned bright red. Finally, she’d shook her head and said, “We will talk about this when we get home,” before following her husband into the car.

As soon as they were both out of hearing range, Paige had sagged, and Azzi’d looked over at her, concerned. Usually, she’d lay a hand on her arm but she wasn’t sure if Paige wanted to be touched, especially by her, so instead she’d said, “Remember, we can leave anytime.”

Paige had nodded stiffly. And then, without looking at Azzi, she’d gotten into the car as well, leaving the door open for Azzi to follow suit.

And now they’re on the road, Paige and Azzi sitting in the back seat like two little kids in trouble. Azzi wants to go on her phone to avoid the awkwardness but her parents raised her to be polite, no matter the circumstances, so here she sits, stiff and awkward while she rides in this car that smells new and fancy and she hates it.

Chancing a glance over, Azzi sees that Paige is still staring out the window, the same thing she’s been doing the whole car ride, and Azzi hates that, too, because Paige only ever gets quiet when she’s bone-tired or truly upset. And Paige got a pretty good nap on the plane.

Based off the way she acted to Azzi’s words before they got on the road, Azzi’s pretty sure she’s doing that thing where she shuts people out because she’s mad or on the verge of tears or thinking too hard. And when she does this she can get mean, because she’s trying to protect herself, and it comes out all wrong.

She’s always done this, been reluctant to open up about the hard stuff, shut out the people who care about her. She and Azzi have talked about it a lot. She once admitted that Azzi was the first person to get her to actually talk about her feelings. But despite Azzi’s way with Paige, and despite the fact that they just get each other in a way no one else ever has, they still have their flaws. Azzi still doesn’t always know the right thing to say. And Paige still gets mean.

This fact keeps Azzi glued to her seat, thinking sidling closer and trying to comfort her best friend would only end badly. Azzi acts like she has a tough skin but often, the things Paige says when she gets like this cut deep, and it ends with both of them hurt. She’s scared to add a fight between the two of them onto whatever will surely go on with Paige and her parents later. So she stays put, even though every bone in her body is telling her to make Paige better.

Azzi has only managed this for maybe five minutes when she glances over again and notices that this time, Paige’s hand is splayed over the middle seat, fingers tapping anxiously, almost like she’s subconsciously reaching over. And that sight alone is enough to get Azzi sliding over, moving Paige’s hand so she doesn’t sit on it. Dean looks at her through the rearview, but Azzi pretends not to notice.

Paige doesn’t look over when Azzi settles in beside her. But she does reach blindly for her hand before taking it and placing it in her own lap, playing with the fingers nervously. Azzi breathes in relief. Paige hasn’t rejected her outright—she can’t be too upset. At least not yet.

They sit like that for the remainder of the ride.

When they pull into the driveway, Paige gives Azzi’s hand a squeeze before subtly shaking herself out and exiting the car. Azzi follows, afraid to be alone with Paige’s parents for even a second.

Before Paige can close the door, Amy calls, “Bring your bags into your room, Paige. And when you’re done come down and talk to us in the kitchen.” There’s a weighted pause. “Alone.”

Paige doesn’t answer, just slams the door shut. Azzi winces.

Azzi doesn’t say anything while Paige opens the trunk, or when she starts aggressively pulling their things out, or even when she slams the trunk shut. No, Azzi keeps her mouth shut, wanting to allow her best friend to seethe in peace, but when Paige slams into her shoulder when she passes her, Azzi doesn’t want to let it slide. “Ow! Paige, what the fuck?”

“Get your bags,” Paige responds gruffly.

Okay, so it’s gonna be one of those times. Perfect.

Despite not wanting to, Azzi does as she’s told, gathering her bags and following Paige to the front porch. She tries not to think about how usually Paige would’ve carried her things for her.

Paige opens the door without a word and they walk inside. The house is nice, open, smells of cedarwood. Paige doesn’t give Azzi a chance to look around, though, instead walking briskly to the staircase, lugging her shit upstairs with impressive strength, and Azzi thanks God she’s in such good shape because she’s practically jogging by the time they arrive at a room at the end of the hall.

“Paige—“ Azzi starts to stay, but Paige cuts her off by throwing her own backpack off her shoulder and dropping her suitcases, as if she’s trying her hardest to make as much a ruckus as possible.

Azzi places her things much more nicely on her usual side of the bed, eyeing Paige cautiously the entire time. It’s the only reason she’s able to catch her before she leaves, anticipating her movements just like she does on the court and darting between her best friend and the door, blocking her.

For the first time in nearly an hour, Paige looks her in the eye, and there’s fire there. “Move, Azzi.”

“No.”

“God,” Paige sighs, “seriously, don’t piss me off. Get outta my way.”

“No, Paige,” Azzi repeats, keeping her feet planted.

Paige stares at her and then shakes her head. “Why are you being so fuckin’ annoying?”

“Don’t,” Azzi says, trying to stop her before she gets too fired up, but it’s already started.

“No, Azzi, you don’t,” Paige snaps. “I knew you were gonna get like this, do your fuckin’ peace and love shit that you think will solve everyone’s fucking problems.”

Azzi swallows hard. It’s been years since Paige went on a rampage like this, and she opens her mouth to stop her, but is quickly interrupted.

“It doesn’t solve anything, dawg. It actually makes shit worse, because it’s so motherfucking annoying having you acting like everything’s fine when you don’t even know.” Paige shakes her head, taking a step towards her. “And that’s the thing, is you really don’t know but you wanna pretend like you do. You don’t know what it’s like to have your mom fuckin’ leave you for some fuckass guy, for her to have new kids outta state and raise them to be hateful just like her. Just like him.”

At this point, Azzi has tears in her eyes, and she attempts desperately to swallow them down. “Did you forget that my dad fucking left me when I was a baby? I’ve never even fucking talked to him, Paige. He doesn’t want shit to do with me.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.” Paige sends her a withering glare, so different from the way she usually looks at Azzi. “You have Tim. You have your mom and your brothers and they all love you so fucking much.”

“You have your dad!” Azzi responds, throwing her hands in the air. “You have Drew, you have Alora!” A tear escapes, against her will, and she wipes it furiously away. “You have me, Paige,” she says, more quietly now. “I love you so fucking much. So you don’t get to take this shit out on me and say mean things to hurt my feelings. That’s not—it’s not fair.”

As soon as she sees the tears welling in Azzi’s eyes, Paige softens, her shoulders slumping, eyes turning on her with guilt rather than venom. “Az, don’t cry.”

For some reason, this makes Azzi more mad, and she turns away to face the door, always having hated crying in front of others. “Well if you say mean shit to me, I’m gonna cry, Paige,” she mumbles, though there’s not much fire to her weak, shaky tone.

“Hey, no, you’re right,” Paige reaches for Azzi’s shoulder, trying to turn her around, but the tears have started now and they’re not going to stop anytime soon so Azzi stays turned firmly away. “Azzi, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ Paige cuts herself off on a sigh. Her hand falls off Azzi’s shoulder, and for a second Azzi thinks she’s going to walk away, but then a pair of arms wrap tenderly around her waist and Paige’s chin is wresting on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I was wrong for that, I shouldnt’ve said any of that shit.” When Azzi doesn’t respond, instead burying her face in her hands to try and hide what she’s sure is an ugly cry, Paige squeezes her tighter. “Azzi, please don’t cry, I’m really sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry, for real. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just so scared about my parents and I took it out on you, I fucked up.”

Azzi nods into her hands, taking a deep breath to try and stop the embarrassing flow of emotion. “I know, Paige,” she tries, but it comes out sort of as a whimper and this only makes Paige circle around to stand in front of her, full-on hugging her now, burying her face in her neck and rubbing her back soothingly.

They’re silent for another moment before Paige says, “I’m serious, Az. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Azzi knows this, fundamentally, but there’s still a part of her that sort of cracked at hearing her best friend tell her that she was annoying, that her efforts to help always fall flat. “You shouldn’t have said it, then,” she stutters, letting Paige hold her close even as her face doesn’t come out of its hiding spot.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have. You’re the only person who can ever make me feel better and I—fuck. Azzi, I’m sorry, I can’t believe—I never wanna hurt you.” Paige lifts her head out of her neck to nuzzle into Azzi’s hair, pressing a kiss to the spot just behind her ear. “Never wanna make you cry.” She plants another kiss there, and Azzi’s breath hitches. From the crying or from something else, she doesn’t know.

Sighing shakily, Azzi finally pulls her head out of her hands to look up at Paige, placing her hands at her chest almost as if she’s about to push her away. She’s sure her mascara is ruined by now but she can’t bring herself to care too much. “It really hurt when you shoved me outside, too.”

A pained expression flits over Paige’s face, and she nods, looking almost sick. “Fuck. I’m—I’m sorry, Azzi. I’m so sorry. Is your arm okay? Does it still hurt?”

Azzi can’t take the guilty look on Paige’s face and shakes her head no. It doesn’t seem to relieve much of anything.

Breathing deeply, Paige closes her eyes and then leans her forehead against Azzi’s, bringing her hands up from her waist to stroke over her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers, and Azzi’s knows that the nickname wasn’t a slip-up this time, wasn’t just a habit from their pretending. “I’m really fuckin’ sorry.”

And with that, Azzi isn’t mad anymore. Her feelings are still hurt and the things Paige said are still going to replay in her head for quite some time, but at least for now, Azzi just can’t be mad. Because Paige is going through something she could never imagine going through.

“I’m sorry, too,” Azzi breathes, and Paige rears back, but before she can protest, Azzi says, “about your parents. About this whole…situation.” She looks down at her hands on Paige’s chest, and, deciding she won’t be needing to push her away anymore, she slides them up to her shoulders. “It’s shitty and you’re right, I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position.” She shrugs, swallowing back the last couple tears that threaten to fall, trying to regain at least some of her composure. “I’m going to be here for you, okay? I always am.”

Paige nods. “I know you will.”

“And that means,” Azzi goes on, “you can’t do this again. You can’t take it out on me. You can’t push me away. Because that makes it really fucking hard for me to help you, and I want to help you.”

Paige nods again, more solemnly this time, moving her hands back to circle her waist. “Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’m so sorry for—“

Azzi holds a hand up to Paige’s lips, effectively shutting her up. “Okay, stop. I accept your apology, I promise. Just, show me you’re sorry and don’t do it again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige says. “‘Course.”

“Good.” Breathing mostly even now, Azzi pulls Paige in for another hug.

With a heavy sigh, Paige hugs her back. “We’re in it together, hm? From now on, together.”

Azzi rests her cheek on Paige’s shoulder, the weight of her arms around her, the feeling of her skin and bones, so familiar. “Yeah. Together.”

Paige pulls back just enough to look at her, and when Azzi reciprocates, she’s uneasy to find that Paige is giving her that same new look. The perplexed, maybe enthralled?, almost worried look that has taken over her face more often than can be explained ever since the first time after their kiss. Azzi really wants to work out what it means.

But, as always, Paige corrects herself and it’s gone as fast as it arrived. “We’re good?”

Azzi nods, smiling softly despite herself. “Yeah, P. We’re good.”

—————————————

Paige has been downstairs with her parents for nearly an hour.

From what Azzi can hear from her spot at the top of the stairs, it doesn’t sound to be going too well. The three of them keep going from yelling to whisper-yelling to yelling again, and Azzi swears Amy has cried like five times at this point.

When Azzi hears Dean say, “We just don’t allow sinners in this house, Paige,” and Paige snap back, “Do not use God against me right now!” Azzi figures it might be time to intervene.

Trying to come up with something quickly, she pulls out her phone and dials Paige’s number. She hears Paige’s phone ring downstairs, and the three of them go quiet before Paige says, “Just—one second,” and then there’s a click on the other line and she’s answering. “Um, hi?”

“Pretend I’m your dad,” Azzi says, hoping she’s not on speaker.

“What?”

“Just pretend I’m your dad, Paige. Seriously.”

“Uh, okay.” The line gets a little muffled and Paige says, “It’s dad.” Azzi can hear both Amy and Dean let out audible groans downstairs.

“Okay, now tell them that I—your dad—am offering to fly you home.”

“I…wha—“ Azzi can tell Paige wants to argue but can’t with her parents right in front of her, so instead she sighs and the line goes muffled again. “He’s, um, he’s offering to fly me home.”

Azzi only has a second to hope and pray that Amy shares Paige’s competitive nature before Amy is saying, “What? You told him about this?”

“No,” Paige answers, “he just knows how you’re like now. And he wants Azzi and I to have a good summer, not a shitty one with shitty people.”

“If you want to go back to your dad’s, go,” Dean says, and Azzi’s heart sinks. Maybe this won’t work.

But then, bless her evil, horrible soul, Amy is stepping in. “No. Absolutely not. I will never hear the end of it if we send you to your father after inviting you over. We just…” Amy sighs, and Azzi thinks she can hear her start crying again. “We want what’s best for you, Paige.”

It’s silent for a moment. And then, “Let me be happy, Mom. Let me see my siblings. Let me and my girlfriend have a good trip with y’all.”

Dean interjects. “We really don’t believe in this kind of stuff.”

“I don’t care,” Paige replies viciously. “I love Azzi. It doesn’t matter that she’s a fuckin’ girl. I…” Paige pauses, quite abruptly, and Azzi wonders if something happened. But then she hears a heavy inhalation and a quiet, “I love her, Mom.”

Azzi knows it’s for the act, but she can’t help the way her stomach somersaults, hearing the words she’s always wished Paige would say.

“And it doesn’t matter what you think of it,” Paige continues. “I’m happy. My faith is strong. And what goes on between me and God isn’t your fucking business.”

“Language,” Amy says immediately. But then it’s silent for another weighted moment and Azzi can imagine Amy and Dean sharing that knowing, judgmental look of theirs. Her heart races while she waits for a consensus, and she’s sure it’s 100 times worse for Paige. But after a few moments, Amy says, “Tell your father that you’re staying here with us. Your siblings will be home tomorrow morning. The four of us adults have a reservation at a restaurant tonight, and we’re all going to go.”

“Mom—“

“We will try,” Amy sighs. “Azzi’s a nice girl. We will—we’ll try.” There’s something tired in her voice when she says, “Right, Dean?”

No answer. But Azzi can imagine him nodding gruffly, and a moment later, with no more words from any of them, Paige appears at the bottom of the stairs. She startles a little when she sees Azzi sitting there at the top.

“Hi,” Azzi says sheepishly, finally disconnecting their call. “I was eavesdropping.”

Paige stares at her, and then starts climbing the stairs, a small smile overtaking their face. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I told you I would,” Azzi replies, waiting for Paige at the top. “So. Dinner with your parents tonight.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Paige gets to the second-top step and stays there, so she’s just a little shorter than Azzi.

“Dinner as a fake lesbian couple with your homophobic parents,” Azzi clarifies, and Paige laughs nervously.

“Uh-huh,” she responds. “I think we needa nap before that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Azzi agrees, pulling Paige up to stand with her. “That is an amazing idea.”

——————————————

Azzi is rudely awoken to none other than an old Tyler, The Creator song blasting through the tinny speakers of Paige’s phone. Azzi groans, and she blindly reaches out for Paige to turn the damn thing off, but her hands only find cold bedsheets. Annoyed, Azzi cracks her eyes open and tries desperately to find Paige’s phone, realizing in the process that Paige’s side of the bed is cold. Strange, considering they still have two hours until dinner.

Finally, after probably thirty seconds of this stupid song playing over and over again, Azzi finds the phone tangled up in the bedsheets and slams the off button. It’s sort of pointless, though, because now she’s very much awake and will not be going back to bed.

She sits up in Paige’s bed, rubbing her eyes and looking around the room. The sun is shining through the curtains, reflecting off the mirror above the vanity and showcasing the off-white walls, the pink door to the adjoining bathroom—which Azzi now realizes is in use, the sound of the shower muffled through the door. She hadn’t noticed before because Paige isn’t awfully singing to some Mariah Carey song. Other than the water, it’s dead quiet in there. She must be nervous.

Fiddling with the pink sheets, Azzi feels nervous, too. Usually, merely being in Paige’s space comforts her, but this room—it doesn’t feel like Paige. It doesn’t smell like her, and it’s too pink. There’s no purple at all, actually. And the vanity—Paige has never known how to do much else other than mascara. In high school, she needed Azzi to tell her what concealer was for, and to teach her how to curl her lashes. She certainly wouldn’t have use for an entire vanity dedicated to makeup. The walls are also decorated with cringy, sort of Bible-thumping quotes and paintings of flowers. There’s not a single basketball poster.

No, this room isn’t Paige at all and Azzi feels an ache in her heart, thinking about how out-of-place she must have felt whenever she came to visit as a kid. How out-of-place she must feel now.

Without Paige to talk to, and without her room to comfort her, Azzi settles for laying on Paige’s side of the bed, burying her face in the blankets, and there she is—vanilla, like her hair products, and lavender, like the lotion she wears and the linen spray she uses, because it calms her down.

Azzi thinks she just might fall back asleep, enveloped in Paige’s scent, but then the door to the bathroom opens and steam billows out just before Paige does, wrapped in a towel, hair wet down her shoulders. Azzi only has a second to ogle the water drops adorning Paige’s collarbones before she’s spotted, and Paige gives her a curious look. “You still sleep? I left my phone here so the alarm would wake you up.”

“Yeah, no, it did,” Azzi says, sitting up quickly, before she looks like a weirdo snuggling up in Paige’s spot. “Just tryin’ to hype myself up for dinner.”

Paige gives her a commiserating look. “Me too. I’m shitting my pants, for real.”

“That why you couldn’t sleep?” Azzi asks, stretching out her back and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Paige hums, bending down to rifle around in her suitcase. “I’on even know what to wear. Apparently it’s some fancy restaurant but I’m not wearing a fucking dress.”

Azzi laughs at that, lifting her hands when Paige shoots a glare over her shoulder. “I’m serious, dawg! And it’s not like I brought a suit or nothing.”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” Azzi says, standing up. “Just wear jeans and tuck a t-shirt or something. You’ll look cute no matter what.”

Paige straights up and gives her a cocky grin. “You think all that?”

“Chill, P,” Azzi rolls her eyes, shoving Paige’s shoulder a little.

“What were you doing on my side of the bed, anyway?” Paige asks, and Azzi can’t help the way she freezes. She’d thought Paige hadn’t noticed.

Trying to cover her reaction, she shrugs casually. “I didn’t know you owned the right side of the bed.”

“Nah, we’ve always had our sides,” Paige shakes her head, taking a step closer. “Why was you all cuddled up in mine?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Azzi says, trying for sarcastic but she can’t even really make eye contact, “maybe I rolled over or something.”

“Please. You don’t move in your sleep.”

“Maybe I do. You don’t know.”

“I think I’ve slept with you more often than I’ve slept alone,” Paige scoffs, taking a step even closer so that they’re practically chest-to-chest. “I know damn well.”

“Okay, seriously,” Azzi says, taking a small step back and stumbling when her thighs hit the bed, “go get dressed, you weirdo.”

“Mm,” Paige says, pretending to think about it. But before Azzi can move away, she grabs her waist and they both fall onto the bed while Paige starts to tickle her like crazy.

“Paige!” Azzi screams, laughing so hard she almost can’t breathe. “Get—off, oh my God!”

Paige is laughing right along with her, and it’s a miracle her towel hasn’t dropped yet. “Tell me the truth!”

“What the…” Azzi giggles and squeals when Paige goes for her armpit, “fuck!”

“I won’t stop ‘till you admit it!”

“Okay, fuck, okay!” Azzi pushes Paige off her, and Paige lets up just enough for her to gasp and say, “It smelled like you, okay? The sheets, they…” Paige has stopped completely now, staring at her with a shit-eating grin on her stupid face, “they smell like you.”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies, “and you missed me so much while I was in the shower that you needed to smell my sheets?” She jabs her one more time in the ribs, making Azzi shriek, before rolling off her. “You lil creep.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Azzi insists, even though that’s exactly what it was like. “Now, seriously, go get dressed. You got me all wet.”

What Azzi means by that, of course, is that Paige’s damp towel and sopping hair had transferred to Azzi’s own clothes and hair. But Paige can’t be normal about anything, so she looks over and grins slyly.

“Don’t,” Azzi sighs.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Paige says, sitting up in bed and pulling Azzi up with her. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed. I know I make a lotta girls wet.”

“Stop being weird,” Azzi says, as Paige bends down once again to pull an outfit from her suitcase.

She begins walking back to the bathroom. “I’m not the one who gets turned on by tickling,” Paige calls over her shoulder. Just before she closes the bathroom door behind her, she says, “Don’t worry, we can take care of you after dinner, mama,” and winks at her.

Azzi’s shoe hits the door just as it clicks shut.

—————————————

They drive to the restaurant in silence.

It’s similar to their car ride from the airport, though it is a little less tense than before. Paige isn’t fidgeting too much beside her and her parents aren’t giving each other looks the entire time. That’s gotta be a good sign.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Amy and Dean start chatting idly, Paige and Azzi trailing behind when they walk inside the fancy building and give the hostess their reservation.

It’s only when they’re finally seated that they are addressed.

“So, girls,” Amy says, her voice all forced cheerfulness, “what looks good?”

“I dunno,” Paige mumbles, and Azzi kicks her under the table before saying, “Have you guys ever been here before?”

Amy looks a little startled at Azzi’s voice, but she recovers quickly, looking over at Dean with a forced smile. “Oh, yeah, we come here sometimes.”

Azzi smiles politely. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Um,” Amy says, and then she sort of jerks and Dean winces, and Azzi’s sure Amy has also just kicked him under the table.

Apparently well-trained, he speaks immediately. “We love the spinach ricotta.”

Azzi hums, then nudges Paige. “That sounds good, right?”

“Uh…” Paige looks like she wants to be difficult, but then she sees the warning stare Azzi is giving her and straightens up a little, “yeah, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Wanna share?”

Paige sighs, but luckily it’s barely audible. “Yeah, sure. Let’s share.”

Azzi leaves herself out of the conversation after that, letting Paige answer her parents’ conversation starters. When the waitress comes to take their orders, Paige gets a glass of wine for the both of them. Neither of them really like wine, but it seems classy enough and it might take the edge off just enough that they can actually get through the night unscathed.

It’s not until their dinner arrives that Azzi is addressed again.

“So, Azzi,” Dean says, out of nowhere, “How’s the knee?”

Azzi’s hand goes subconsciously to her surgery scars. “Doing better. PT’s been going good.”

“Good, good.” He leans back in his seat, and Azzi senses trouble. Something about the way Paige protectively rests her arm across the back of Azzi’s seat makes her think she senses it, too.

“You get injured a lot, huh?” He asks.

Azzi sort of hates the way her face gets hot, hoping it doesn’t show up on her brown skin. “I’ve torn my ACL twice, yeah.”

“And your meniscus, right?” he prods.

Without really noticing it, Azzi looks over to Paige, and that’s apparently all Paige needs to jump in. “Hey, let’s not talk about it.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, scoffing. Amy is looking between the three of them nervously. “It’s hard not to talk about. Azzi, you don’t even play basketball at this point.”

“Um,” Azzi replies, her instincts telling her to get hot-headed but with the way Paige is buzzing beside her, she’s gonna need to keep her cool.

“What the hell?” Paige says, her hand going from the chair to Azzi’s shoulder. She looks at Amy. “Mom, you said this wouldn’t happen.”

“Your father is just asking a few questions—“

“He’s not my fucking dad!” Paige exclaims, and Azzi jerks as she’s pulled into Paige’s side. “I already have a dad! He raised me, he loves me, Mom, and he’d never say this shit about Azzi.” Angrily, Paige stands up, tossing a few bills onto the counter and helping Azzi to stand beside her.

“Sweetheart,” Amy says, reaching limply for her daughter while Dean sits beside her looking far too smug. “Paige, where are you going? We’re your ride.”

“We’ll Uber,” Paige responds, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s waist. “I’m not gonna make her sit through your bullshit because you don’t know how to act like a decent fucking human being.”

“He was just asking—,” Any starts, sounding exasperated, but Paige cuts her off.

“You know what he was doing.” She glares at Dean, who shakes his head, smirking. “We’ll go back to the house,” she sneers. “But if this doesn’t change by tomorrow we’re leaving.”

And with that, she takes Azzi hands and leads them both out into the night.

—————————————

Paige keeps it together until they get to the house.

As soon as they’re stepping through the door, she turns away from Azzi and leans down to untie her shoes. Azzi does the same, but she doesn’t miss the sniffling sounds coming from her best friend.

Paige refuses to look at her when they start heading upstairs, and she tries to make a beeline for the bathroom once they close her bedroom door shut behind them. But Azzi stops her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “P?”

Another sniffle. And then a quick wipe at her face before she’s turning around, trying to look nonchalant but her eyes are red and her lip is trembling. “Yeah?”

“Paige,” Azzi says softly, and Paige crumbles, hands coming up to her face as she starts crying.

Azzi steps forward to hug her, pulling her down to hide in her chest. “I’m sorry, P. I’m so sorry, this—this sucks.”

“I’m sorry,” Paige replies, voice all small and muffled in a way that makes Azzi’s heart hurt. “I thought they were gonna try…I wouldn’t have taken you out with them if I knew…”

“Hey, it’s all good,” Azzi responds, running a hand through Paige’s hair. “I didn’t mind, really. I’ve heard worse.”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because Paige just cries harder. “Fuck, Az, you shouldn’t have to do this.” She lifts her head up to look at her, and Azzi absently wipes her face. “This sucks. It’s the first week of summer and I—I was shitty to you and now my parents, and I—“

“Paige,” Azzi says sternly. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I couldn’t handle it. I can handle it. It’s you that I’m worried about.”

Paige nods, sniffling again. “You don’t gotta worry. I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine, P,” Azzi says, and Paige winces, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I’m okay,” Paige insists. “Really. As long as we do this together, I’m okay.”

She straightens up like she’s steeling herself, and Azzi thinks maybe she should do the same.

This is only the first day of their two-week stay.

It’s going to be a long trip.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— LIFE AIN’T EASY WHEN YOU'RE A MYTHICAL CREATURE

SUMMARY : you don’t suspect that dean has been in the shadows of your life for months, but he’s managed to make you his friend. he feels hopeless about making you fall for him, and it’s worse when you agree to go on a date with someone unexpected.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, kidnapping, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, reader isn’t perfect, vague chronic illness, panty kink, masturbation (m.), dumbification, a bunch of kinks actually, kinky!dean, sub!dean, jealousy, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 5.2k

A/N : this series will soon fill the square for stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. back to the baking bc it’s so fun and cute to write dean like that. also, their relationship is going somewhere, or is it!? muahahah. xx

Deep in thought, Dean carefully sliced through the soft, warm dough with a sharp knife. The rolled up cinnamon rolls slowly took shape as they were severed from each other along the lengthy roll. Each was cut one-inch thick, all almost perfect and similar from years of experience. The delicious spicy aroma of sweetened cinnamon filled the space around him, keeping him in his affectionate state as he thought of you. 

He usually had a handful of customers this early in the morning but never so many that he couldn’t work slowly and do the work all alone. If he hired anyone, it would only make it difficult for him to be relaxed and all by himself. It’s safer. With the speed he worked at, he didn’t need the help anyway, and with the time… he didn’t want to talk about the time. 

Today, he didn’t have a problem with the idea of not seeing you—if it meant you were resting. It could have been either because he had been at your home or because he understood now how you spent most of your precious time. Perhaps it was all of those things, along with his sudden concern for your health.

Which was why he didn’t expect you to walk through the door.

It was Saturday. A too-early, cold Saturday morning. 

He wanted you to sleep in, but he was thrilled that you were there anyway, letting in the chilly air as you clenched your fists tightly at your sides and shivered cutely. You brushed your hair off your shoulder with reddened fingers and Dean briefly abandoned the dough to admire you.

You looked more beautiful than he remembered. Could it be real, that you were so stunning? So, so breathtaking in that crisp morning sunlight as it poured over your body like glittery gold; with your delicate features, your skin bitten by the cold morning air, and your lips lightly chapped. 

He wished someone could paint you. He wished he had picked up the hobby a lot longer and had the skill to do so himself. To paint the gentle wisp of your hair, the ethereal angles of your face, the plump shape of your lips, your glimmering eyes, and the elegance of your body. All on his own, because only he could capture every exquisite detail of you.

He was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard the way your lips brushed against each other as you murmured, “so fucking cold.” 

He grinned adoringly, silently wishing to kiss your lips until they were bruised and warm. Your teeth clicked against each other quietly and you subtly shuffled on the mat in front of the door before walking normally towards him. 

Your gaze slowly lifted to meet his own and your body visibly relaxed as the warmth within the bakery finally encompassed you. Dean relaxed his grip on the knife and let his shoulders drop, copying your movements subconsciously. 

“Hey,” you grinned, standing in front of him and rocking on your feet with your hands behind your back shyly as you looked up at the menu. 

He blinked. Was this real? Were you really here? Was the universe trying to embarrass him for what he’d done most of the night? He swallowed, his eyes glazed over at the memory of you naked. 

“Hey,” he whispered, smiling softly. 

“What have you been up to?” You wondered, letting your eyes move over him once again. Dean looked down at the abandoned cinnamon rolls he’d been making, he thought about your question, and felt a little bit guilty. 

What was he up to, you asked? Stalking you, going into your house illegally, stealing your things, and thinking of you. Oh, and also jerking off to the image of seeing you naked, using your underwear that he’d stolen from your drawers. 

Dean had eagerly peeled off his clothes as soon as he got home. 

His clothes were strewn across the floor but the things he’d stolen from you, he’d thrown on his bed. Except for your underwear, he held onto that. He knew if he were human, he’d be burning red in the face with pinkish splotches spreading down his freckled neck and chest. 

All he could think of was you. 

And he’d been resisting the urge to touch himself every time his cock would harden at the thought of you for so long that he felt like he was going to combust if he refused any longer. 

He settled into his bed and slowly dragged his calloused palm along his dick. Everything was done languidly despite his impatience, despite the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable in between his legs. Slowly, behind his closed eyes, your silhouette became more solid and more vivid—like a dream made true. 

He swiped away precum and dragged it down along his cock, imagining that it was your spit instead. He moaned. The thought of you naked, breasts bared to him, just in the lace panties he’d stolen, leaning above him on your knees with a small smirk on your soft lips, made his stomach clench. 

“Fuck,” he whined, trying to keep the fantasy alive. He imagined it was your hand wrapped around him, soft and small, slowly moving up his painfully hard cock. 

“Dean,” you’d say his name the way you said it the first day he met you. You’d rub your thighs together and keep torturing him with gentle strokes. He’d take it because he finally had you and he didn’t care about anything else. “You wanna come so bad, don’t you?” You’d taunt, because he knew you were secretly wicked. 

He wouldn’t even be embarrassed when he nodded dumbly, squirming as you waited for every dribble of precum to fully slicken his cock. He’d take every degrading comment as you slid your fist his base to tip, and he’d watch stupidly like a devout man as you touched yourself with your free hand.

Your fingers would pinch and brush against your nipples until they were tight, you’d teasingly squeeze your breasts, and then you'd sneak your hand inside your underwear to rub at yourself. He would only beg pathetically for you to let him touch you, but you’d never allow him to. 

You’d just keep moving your hand up and down until he was glistening wet, hot and red at the tip, and throbbing in your soft palm. “God, look at you,” you’d tease. He’d drop his eyes from your naked body to watch his cock and the way it looked in your grasp. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck, yes,” he’d grunt steadfastly. 

“Yeah, you’re so good for me,” you’d praise, because finally you had something you could control. Something that would change and adapt to your every need because you were his purpose. You were what he was meant for—who he was meant for. 

And he’d moan loudly, bucking his hips upwards involuntarily, and shoving his cock fast into your hand because you finally recognized it. He’s good for you. Only you. 

Maybe once he was stupid and desperate, you’d bring yourself closer. You’d drag your soft, warm lips across his cold skin. You’d drag your tongue across his neck and suck gently behind his ear and he’d still moan at the sensation. 

Your hot mouth and hotter breath would drive him crazy. Your warmth, once you leaned over him completely, would make him feel alive again. And your warm hands would move over his body, desperate to feel every inch of him because you needed him as bad as he needed you. 

“I want to fuck you so bad, Dean,” you’d murmur against his ear and then you’d drop your warm cunt down over his cock without warning. He’d moan softly as you gently rubbed the lace covering you over his painfully-hard cock. He’d be able to feel how hot you were between your legs and how wet you were as the soaked lace stuck to your folds. 

He rubbed the cotton of the crotch of your lace underwear against his cock with a moan. He stained it with his precum and continued to tease himself as he imagined that you were on his lap, rubbing your clothed pussy against his cock. 

You’d definitely torture him this way. 

You’d pant against his mouth and balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders, rocking your hips against his. The lace would make him more tender and more desperate to finish, but he’d wait for you. As you undulated your hips and lifted yourself up just to drop your pussy back down, he’d finally be able to touch you. 

His name would slip from your lips breathlessly and he’d bury his face in your breasts, licking, biting, and kissing at them until you were puffy and tender. You’d praise him for all the pleasure you felt and your words would be stemmed in affection and warmth.

He’d claim you with bruises on your soft body and he’d mark you with light bruises from his mouth on your breasts, shoulders, and neck. His bites would only be surface level and visible by redness and never by a wound. But you would be his entirely. And he would be yours completely. 

“I’m so close,” you’d warn him and he’d plead for you to let go. And when you finally came, you’d moan his name a dozen times, and he’d feel your body tremble above his and he’d hold you up. He’d continued to grind against your pussy until you found yourself again. “Come for me, Dean. I want to see you.”

And he’d finally come. His entire body would feel the release and he’d shout your name because you’re all he’s ever wanted. “That’s right, Dean. Look at me.” He’d force his eyes open just to watch you and your amazement as his cum covered your thighs and his stomach. “You’re so hot, baby.”

Dean wished he could stay in his fantasy, but instead, he opened his eyes to reality. To his darkened room and the moon as it hung above him instead of you. He swallowed hungrily, his throat was dry and he forced himself to look down at your ruined underwear now covered in his release. 

He bit his lip as he clutched onto your dampened lace underwear. And closed his eyes, smiling softly as if all of that had really happened. 

“I’ve, uh- nothing.” Way too guilty Dean, relax, this is the woman you love. “Just trying out some new recipes. What about you?” For the first time, Dean realised you had dimples as you chewed on the inside of your cheeks. You looked cuter, if that were somehow possible.

“Workin’,” you answered with a small smile, “I’m gonna do some unpacking so I can just get it over with. I’d come here more often, but work is so chaotic.” You would? Did that mean you thought of him? Or did you mostly think of the food? He wished you would add why. Maybe you wouldn’t tell him, but offering to help you unpack was a great opportunity for him to insert himself into your life. Unfortunately, you started talking before he could ask, but he kept it close. “You said you were trying new recipes. Anything I can try?”

“I made a few giant pop tarts earlier,” he admitted and hesitantly resumed slicing through the roll. He wanted to keep watching you, to notice every change and every detail in your face as you spoke and looked around curiously. 

“Oh really?” Your voice changed, more curious and excited than before. He looked up and smiled, setting the knife down now that he was finished. 

“Yeah, wanna try it?” 

“Yeah, soon as you’re not busy.” Your eyes flickered down to the unbaked cinnamon rolls he’d forgotten all about. You grinned playfully when he looked back up at you after slowly following your gaze. He chuckled. He appreciated your consideration, but leaving you was the last thing he wanted to do. 

“Alright, I’ll finish up and get to you in a bit.” 

He picked up the cinnamon rolls and put them into a tray as you walked away to sit at a nearby table. He stole a quick glance at you as soon as he got to the back with the tray carrying the cinnamon rolls to make sure he could safely put them in a baking pan and put them in the oven faster than humanly possible, but not so fast that you’d be a little too bewildered. 

He waited patiently after he’d finished and listened to you as you tapped on the screen of your phone. You laughed quietly occasionally and he assumed you were texting someone or watching a video with the sound off. He couldn’t stand the thought of you talking to someone else and he also couldn’t stand not being there to see you smile. 

So he stepped out of the back to get your attention and you instantly looked up at him, still trying to stop your soft laughter. He smiled at you and your flushed cheeks and your watering eyes. You shut your phone off and got up to meet him at the counter again. 

Still, even surrounded by sweet sugary pastries, all he could smell was your flowery perfume. The heat of your body, from your blood, made him hyper-aware of you. You were a giant blossoming tree in the middle of a meadow, calling to him in a bed of pretty flowers. You were the most beautiful, always, among everything. 

Your eyes flitted over his face, always so curious and confused in your eyes, but content in your smile. He wished to read your mind, to compel you to spill your truth and make your thoughts known to him. What did you see? 

He forced himself to look away from your eyes to retrieve a medium tray containing what looked like a literally large pop-tart. The top-centre was coated in pink frosting and had white sprinkles, the sugary scent filled the small area between you and him. 

“Strawberry filling,” he informed you, because he wanted your feedback. He wanted to know what you were thinking, always; but he didn’t want to ask that of you.

“Ooh,” you grinned, “my favourite. I'll buy it.” He blinked at you. Most people asked for samples before buying something they’ve never tried before. 

“Want a drink with it?” He asked, starting to package it for you. You hummed softly.

“Anything with vanilla. Surprise me?” You surprised him with your request and he nodded dumbly. Were you always going to choose something different? Would he never be able to memorise your single favourite order and have it ready for you whenever you found yourself in his bakery? 

He turned around and looked at the coffee machine, the coffee beans, the syrups, spices, and everything else, wondering what would go perfectly with vanilla. What was something that was so beautiful in flavour? Something that tasted the way he thought you would? Your skin, of course, not in a cannibalistic or vampiric way. What would your skin taste like when he pressed his lips to it, when his tongue smoothed across your flesh, when he sucked at your body?

You entertained yourself again on your phone, but this time you were quiet. For about ten minutes he looked over at you as he worked on your drink, adding the perfect mixture so that the final product alluded to you—at least to him. 

You knew you were being watched. He figured by the way you bit your lip and hugged yourself with one arm as you played some game on your phone. He tried not to, but he couldn’t help himself. You were the most magnificent being in the whole universe. More wonderful, more unique, and more intriguing than the Hercules-Corona Borealis Great Wall. 

It's how he ended up making a vanilla-lavender latte.

He handed it to you once he’d finished, the sun was shining a little brighter now behind you, against tinted windows. It was the perfect choice for a drink, as the sun created a celestial aura around your body, you didn’t know it. You never did. 

“Is it okay if you try them now and tell me what you think?” He wondered if he was asking too much. He’d take it like a champ if you rejected his offer. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable, but he also couldn’t be so afraid that he’d never get to make a move and see the outcome of his choice. 

You blushed and your brow twitched inquisitively, but after a few seconds you agreed. “Sure.” 

You opened the paper bag and plucked the corner of the pop-tart, large enough to capture the filling and the frosting at the top. 

He watched your mouth as it opened, your tongue as it held the treat, and then your lips shut around it. And he snapped his eyes up to yours watching you. Your cheeks burned timidly, and your eyes stared directly at his name on his chest, at the black word lined over his pink shirt above a white long sleeve. 

However, you quickly relaxed and your eyes brightened as you chewed. You moaned softly and moved your eyes up to Dean, using your face to say everything. You thought it was good and Dean was a little too preoccupied with the way you moaned. The softness of it, slightly drawn out as the jam and bread sank into your tastebuds.

“That’s really good,” you told him cheerfully once you’d finished, then you moved on to the latte. You held it in your hands for a few seconds to test the heat of it in your palms and lifted it up to your lips. You took a few careful sips and your eyes became more vibrant. “It’s so good,” you moaned, then you licked your lips, and Dean had to keep himself in check. “How are you so good at this?”

He chuckled and opened his mouth, but a gust of wind followed by three young women swept through the door and stole your attention from him. They giggled, one of them stared directly at him and the other two whispered to each other, something about Dean being hot. He didn’t care. 

“How much is it?” You asked, immediately turning back to him. His face fell and his mouth opened and closed. He didn’t want you to leave yet, but you suddenly became guarded all over again. He sighed and made his way over to the cash register to, once again, lower the price and wait as you collected your things before paying. 

“Bye, Dean,” you murmured with a rueful smile.

“Um, bye,” he said stupidly, watching as the small group of women took your place. “Wait!” He called after you and made his way to you when you stopped to regard him with a lifted brow. Your eyes dropped down to his legs and quickly back up to his face. Did you just check him out?! Focus, Dean. “I wanna help you… unpack,” he added the last word after your confused face said everything. 

“What? No, you’re busy here,” you blushed, and looked down at his feet. Just accept his help!

“I, uh…” Shit, what excuse could he make. “I can get off an hour early and I’ll meet you at your place,” he suggested. You still looked unsure and chewed on your lip as you thought it over. “If you're worried about my tiredness, don’t be. God knows I have too much energy at the end of the day, and can't ever sleep.” He knew you’d take his words as an over-exaggeration and you conceded with a sigh. He grinned and you smiled with a roll of your eyes at his triumphant expression. “I should get back to work…” he wanted to touch you now that you were so close to him, looking so soft and sweet. Now that he could feel your warmth a little more, like he’d been pulled even closer to your orbit, he almost wanted to just reach out and kiss you. 

He just clenched his fists and bid you farewell again. He’d barely turned around to watch the three women stare judgmentally at you and him. He grimaced. 

“Dean,” you stopped him. He turned to look at you without faltering, dazzled by the amusement in your voice. “You need my address, don’t you? And my phone number?” 

“Oh, right,” he was embarrassed. Wait, your phone number? He grabbed his phone from his back pocket a little too excitedly and handed it to you, unlocked. Only after you’d searched his phone for his contacts did he hope he didn’t leave anything inappropriate about you open. 

You handed him his phone and smiled softly. You appeared indecisive and he waited for you patiently, he’d always wait for you. And he was glad he did. You stepped closer and he held his breath, your warmth felt like sunfire now. You raised your hand, brushed your fingers against the softness of his cheek down to the stubble near his jaw. He knew you felt the unusual coldness of his skin when your touch lingered, but he hoped that it was because you felt as fluttery and breathless as he did. Then you dropped your hand. 

“Sorry, you had a bit of flour on your face, but I guess it’s part of the job.” He could feel your blush even more now, it didn’t matter seeing it, just the feeling of your body reacting to being so close to him was making him feel like a feral animal.  “It’s kinda cute so don’t even worry about it,” you shrugged and then blinked after realising what you said. You flushed and stuttered, “uh, bye, Dean. I’ll see you later.” 

He blinked as you made your way out before he could process what you said and the way you’d touched him. His mouth was agape and he really thought he might just start singing. You thought he was cute after all? And you felt so warm. 

He smiled boyishly and turned around dreamily, almost ignoring the three women he’d forgotten completely about as he found his place back at the counter to take their order. 

After a few hours, once he was sure you were home safe he texted you—after thirty minutes of deliberation: hey, it’s Dean. 

He knew his heart would be hammering against his chest only because he couldn’t stop clenching and unclenching his fist as he waited. Only a minute had passed when he saw you read his message, and he started to pace and tried to ingore his phone as he attended to his costumers. 

And you’d responded after a few long minutes: hey, dean, do you like burgers?

4 months later — January, 2024

Dean had to admit, you played the mystery card fairly well. 

You were relatively quiet and preferred to listen, which was hard because there was a lot Dean couldn’t say to you. 

Even though you’d both hit it off the day he helped you unpack the heavier items in your home, there was still something in the way. 

He knew that was the reason why you and him had a minimal distance that neither of you could crossover. He wished you were braver, but mostly, he wished he were braver. If he didn’t feel like he had too much on the line, because he did. Any information of his past could put you in danger and if he told you about himself and you didn’t accept him, that could put him in danger. 

He was completely fixated on you and trying to close the gap between you and him that he had missed so much about the real world. But he couldn’t help it, you inspired him. Since he met you, he’s made dozens of new recipes and mixtures that reminded him of what you’d taste like or what you smelled like. 

And when he wasn’t using work as a distraction for when you were busy at work yourself, he spent his time scrolling through your social media. Now that you had included him in your life, it was easier to keep track of you and the things that you perhaps wouldn’t share with him or anyone else unless it was behind the safety of a screen. 

He knew about your colleagues, new friends, and even managed to find your professional account. It was how he got to know you a little better, seeing you from your years in highschool and throughout university. He read people’s comments on your posts, their niceties and their relationships with you. He looked over all your followers and the people you followed back. 

He was just going to have to be content with what he had so far with you. He’d probably have carved his own heart out if you ended up falling for someone who wasn’t him. The only thing keeping his heart intact was the fact that you never spoke to him about anyone and when you did tell him about someone, it was because they’d upset you somehow.

It took everything in Dean’s body to not do something extreme about those people in your life. From your horrible colleague who never shared important information about work with you, to your irritating friend Nico who would “wait” for you to end up falling for him. It would be petty and dangerous. 

And that infuriating part of his brain would sneer at him that he was no different than Nico. But he was! Dean was not pretending to be your friend so that you would miraculously realise he was the one for you. He wasn’t good to you because he wanted an advantage, he was good to you because he knew it made your life easier. He did things for you without you knowing because he loved you. He didn’t want anything in return, not even your love. That’s not why he did what he did for you. 

He’d always keep you safe. He’d do anything for you, for the rest of your life. Even if the moment never came, that you’d never loved him as much as he loved you. 

Now, here he was, watching you from his spot behind the counter as he kneaded the dough to make a new batch of doughnuts. He couldn’t help himself; you were always worth looking at.

He loved watching you. 

You made cute faces when you were focused and you’d eventually find comfort as you sat in the corner alone working on your projects. He’d smile at you and you’d smile at him and it was perfect. It felt so intimate that you were just there with him. That there were no words that needed to be spoken. The space between you, filled with people and food was never enough to stop the way blood rushed up to your cheeks whenever he caught you looking at him.

There was no one who caught his attention anymore, but he still knew how to play it off—for frequent visits that he’d benefit from finally. Some things never changed. Unfortunately, he felt that this was the only way to keep his bakery open when he was so enthralled in your life. He may not lure women to their deaths for a nest, but he sure did lure them into his bakery so they invested in his business. 

He’d considered that maybe his customers weren’t shallow, that it wasn’t true that he was attractive and that was his only worth. He hated thinking that it didn’t matter how good or bad he was at baking because to the people who frequented his bakery, he was pretty and that’s all that mattered. He hated having to settle for it, if it was what brought business to his bakery. 

At least you were more interesting than that, he knew you were honest, and he knew when he’d really screwed up a recipe. It took him a while to get Mexican sweet bread right but you were the perfect person for that. 

His phone buzzed in his back pocket and he pulled it out, brows furrowed, mouth still in a pout. He smiled effortlessly at your name as the text notification lit up his screen.

You: You okay?

He looked over at you and smiled reassuringly. Were you watching him the whole time? Oh, God, you were. He now realised your laptop was shut and you were sitting facing the front of the bakery instead of facing your laptop. 

You looked down at your phone and started typing. He stared at you as you chewed on your lip and knocked your knees together, restarting your fidgeting habit. He only looked away to read your messages. 

You: I think I want a concha

You: And maybe some coffee

You grinned at him when he lifted a brow at you, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. You were already restless, it wouldn’t help you to have more caffeine.

Dean: You sure about that coffee? It’s almost 6. 

You: Make it small

Dean: Decaf

You: Fine :(

He laughed. You were so adorable. He felt it warm and bubbly as it rumbled through his chest and he heard the way you blushed. It made his body feel wild and tender every time he felt you became flustered. You laughed demurely and your fidgeting stopped momentarily.

He shook his head and put his phone in his pocket. Your wish was his command. He couldn’t bear to look at you for a second longer, you were made to be adored and loved by him. 

When he walked over to you, coffee and sweet bread in hand, he sat down in front of you. You smiled cheerfully and leaned forward curiously, pulling the coffee into your cool hands. “What?”

“Nothing, just bored,” he shrugged with a smile. You hummed softly and brought the cup to your lips. You moaned at the flavour, he felt the warmth of it pouring down your throat and spreading through your torso. “Got any plans this weekend?” 

You paused to look away and stared at the lid of your coffee as you brushed your fingers against the cardboard sleeve. Then, you relented. “I’m going on a date, actually. On Saturday.” 

Dean felt his heart sink. His face emptied every emotion and he was glad you didn’t look up. 

“Oh,” he muttered tightly, “do you.. like… the guy?” 

Now, you looked up at him. He rearranged his face to smile softly. You shrugged, noncommittal. God, woman. He was not interested in hearing a yes, but he also hated the way you kept everything close to the chest unless it was eating you up inside. How could he hate something about you when he loved you? No, he was just jealous. Your mystery was part of your charm and knowing things about you that others didn’t, demonstrated your trust in him. No one else had gotten that close to you and he knew it because you dedicated a vast majority of your free time to him. 

“He’s alright,” you faltered again. “It’s Clayton.”

The fucking mechanic? You're joking. 

-> heartbeats and flatlines

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[jasmines-library]

Hey Jasmine, sry idk if ur taking requests of not but I was wondering if I could do a supernatural fic where the boys take their sister out to hunt some werewolves but their sister gets scratched and has a bad cut and has a panic attack, it’s up to the boys to calm her down and get her stitched up…

Caught Off guard.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•

hey hey hi! thanks for the request anon! I actually have something fairly (?) similar here! but i wanted to write this for you too. sorry its a little short.

Word Count: 733

Warnings: Blood. stitches. panic attack.

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The wound was deep. And it hurt like a bitch. That was for certain. Three, ragged gashes splashed across your torso from just below your ribs to your belly button. Your blood seeped from it like paint, staining the fabric of your shirt and beading across the smooth expanse of your skin. 

The werewolf had caught you off guard. You and your two brothers Sam and Dean had been hunting the pack for just short of a week now and you had managed to take them down without much of a problem once you found them. However, werewolves were clever. And this one had decided to play smart.  It had caught you just as you were about to leave, it had jumped out from its hiding spot at the last second, slashing at you in the process. You screamed, the sound ripping from your lips as your flesh tore open. Your brothers were on the creature quickly. But not quick enough to stop the damage from happening. 

Your wound burnt. Skin searing with an immeasurable pain as you looked down at it, fingers moving to touch it only to come away tainted with blood. And then Sam was in front of you. His slender fingers resting on your cheek, tilting it to look up at him. 

“Hey. hey. Look at me.” Sam said. His voice broke through the haze you hadn’t even realised you were in as he tried to coax you into following his instructions. Despite the panic he was feeling internally, his face betrayed nothing. His eyes were soft and calming as he tried to soothe you. “Breathe,” he told you. 

You hadn’t even noticed until now, too hyper fixated on the wound, that you were hyperventilating. Your chest was heaving, a rasp sounding in the back of your throat as you struggled to suck in air with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The all too familiar feelings of a panic attack hit you full force.

“Calm down.” Sam told you gently. “You’re okay. You’re alright. Breathe.”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady your breathing. 

“That's it, Sweetheart. Good.” Dean’s hand was on your shoulder. The other one reached to pull your hand away from your wound, placing it on his chest to urge you to follow his breathing. The feeling of his heart beat beneath his shirt was grounding. Slow as steady. 

Another breath. Another second trying to slow your breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest which caused a disturbance in your wound, only adding to your pain. 

“Good girl.” Sam said softly as your breathing slowed. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze, trying to hide the grimace as he looked at your wounds. Red raw and still oozing blood. “....she’s going to need stitches.”

Your breath hitched, but Sam squeezed your hand. “It’ll be over quickly, princess. Okay?”

You bit your lip, swallowing thickly before nodding hesitantly. Dean moved quickly, grabbing the first aid kit from Baby before sanitising the needle and threading it before handing it to Sam, who has a steadier hand. Dean’s hand replaced Sam’s gripping yours tightly as Sam reddied the needle, positioning it over your skin.

“I’ll be gentle as I can, ok kiddo?”

You nodded, trying to look anywhere but Sam and the needle in his hand.

“It’ll be a quick pinch, okay sweetheart?” Dean reassured me. “You can squeeze my hand as much as you need. Okay?”

“.....okay.”

After taking a breath, Sam pushed the needle into your skin to make the first stitch. His fingers moved with swift precision, determined to get this over as quick as possible and keep it as painless for you as he could. You couldn't help the small whimper that slipped out of your lips as you gripped Dean’s hand tightly.

He squeezed your hand back reassuringly. “That’s it kid. Just a little more.”

Sam worked nimbly, closing the wounds with a  few stitches before covering them with a gauze pad and bandages just in case. When he was done, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, allowing you to take a breath.

“All done sweetheart. It’s all done. It’s over.”

You shuddered a sigh, relaxing back into Dean a little bit who gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. 

“You did good kid. So good.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

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[scoobydoodean]

Sam and Dean are having a covert fight the entirety of 7.13 "Slice Girls", from the very beginning to the end over the very different ways they're coping with Bobby's death.

Sam is pushing them to hunt more (which is typical—also see: 2.02, 3.11, 4.09), while Dean is exhibiting the same depression symptoms we've seen all season, expressing deep cynicism about the job (ex: 7.05, 7.09) fantasizing about escape, and seeking drinks and conversation with strangers in bars as a distraction.

We open 7.13 with Sam driving and Dean asleep in the passenger seat, and it's immediately apparent that Dean didn't want to go on this hunt, and Sam really really did. It's also apparent that Sam is bothered by how Dean is coping, and Dean is bothered by how Sam is coping... Probably because Sam's way of coping (hunting) is the exact opposite of what Dean would like to do.

SAM: Is that Bobby’s? [DEAN takes a drink from Bobby's flask.] SAM: I didn’t know you kept that. DEAN: Yeah, mine sprung a leak. SAM: You know, most people would just carry a – a photo or something for a memento. DEAN: Shut up, man. I’m – I’m – I’m honoring the guy, all right? This is, uh, grief therapy, kind of like you and your wild-goose chase. SAM: Wild-goose chase? DEAN: Yeah.

Sam's clearly worried about Dean's drinking, and has been for a while, but he's too antsy to address the subject outright, so he teases instead. Dean reads the underlying judgement and argues that what he's doing is no less destructive than Sam pushing them to drive through the night for a case that might not be anything. The thing is, this is absolutely a weird situation that's right up their alley as a potential case. Dean just didn't do the reading, because he didn't want to go on a hunt to begin with.

SAM: Four guys murdered in two weeks, hands and feet cut off. DEAN: Yeah, well, some guy with a foot fetish run amuck. SAM: Grown men thrown so hard they went through walls. Did you – did you even read the article? DEAN: No, I was napping.

Sam then reminds Dean that they agreed the previous episode that it was best to stay busy to cope with Bobby's death... or rather—Sam said he wanted to work to cope with Bobby's death, and Dean agreed that that was best for him too but didn't mean it, then practiced fake smiles in the driver's seat.

SAM: Well, anyway, what else you got going on? Dick Roman’s a dead end for now, you might as well – DEAN: Stay busy. SAM: Exactly. DEAN: Yeah.

At the forensics lab, Dean has an odd interaction with the forensics expert, bragging about their health care benefits package as "FBI agents". This annoys Sam, who's all business. Dean's small talk full of lies feels odd—but might reflect his desire to escape to a job that provides them with actual pay and health insurance (hell—as Bobby's emergency contact, he might be dodging calls over Bobby's insurance over his stay in the trauma center).

Dean begrudgingly admits there's a case here, and Sam wants to begin research, but Dean nopes right out of that.

SAM: Let’s get a bite to eat, go back to the motel, haul out the laptop. DEAN: That’s a great idea. Actually, that’s a brilliant idea. Here’s my counter. You do that, I’ll go undercover, go mingle amongst the locals and see, uh, what kind of clues bubble to the surface. SAM: You’re going to a bar.

Sam tries to call Dean out for bailing, but Dean doesn't actually give a damn that Sam wants him to work, so he basically just goes, "yep" and takes off.

At the bar, Dean again imagines himself as a normal person, talking with Lydia about having a decent year in terms of income. Sam and Dean have spent a lot of the season squatting in abandoned homes because their money situation is so bad (Dean complains about this in 7.09 and 7.12), and Dean burned 15 grand he managed to scrape together (probably from Bobby's estate) on payments to Frank. Lydia talks about not being ready to settle down. Dean at least pretends to agree (this is 8 episodes after his last attempt at a one night stand required a pep talk to convince himself, "One night stands are what you do").

Next, the brothers fight at least two separate times about Sam finding an expert (Preofessor Morisson) to do some of the lore search they used to rely on Bobby for, with Dean grumbling (essentially) about how no one can replace Bobby, and Sam being annoyed that Dean's grumbling when they have no other choice if they want to solve the case.

After that, things start to take a turn from what happened at the beginning of the episode with Dean denying the obvious. Sam starts making some really weird accusations and denials that just don't make sense.

First, Dean contacts Lydia because he realizes he left his flask at her house. Sam insists on the narrative that Dean's catching feelings, when it's blatantly obvious that Dean just wants to retrieve a flask with sentimental value because it belonged to Bobby. Then Sam's teasing Dean over Lydia not answering his calls, inferring that Dean is wounded by rejection, instead of very clearly just wants the flask. Right after another complaint from Dean about Morrison:

SAM: Dean, you know what? I want to call him, too, okay? Believe me. But Bobby's not here. So we're settling [for Professor Morrison]. DEAN: Yeah. We sure are. [DEAN looks at his phone.] DEAN: Damn it, why hasn't she called? SAM: Who? Lydia? Wait, so some girl's actually dumping you the morning after? DEAN: I think you're enjoying this a little more than you need to. Screw it. I'm going over there and getting the flask.

I think we can make an argument here that Sam's denying the significance Dean assigns to the flask because it represents 1) Dean's worsening relationship with alcohol 2) How that relationship to alcohol in season 7 is attached to Dean's grief over losing people he loves (Cas and Bobby).

Second, Sam weirdly pretends that Dean's description of Lydia's toddler talking like an adult and growing to the size of a 6 year old with hours is not weird and that Dean is just being crazy somehow... and it's even weirder that Sam pretends it's not weird and that Dean is being crazy, given Dean shares this information about Lydia with Sam after Sam finds out that the bar where Dean met Lydia is directly connected to the disappearances of several men who met one night stands there.

One the phone, Sam complains that Dean hasn't met up with him:

SAM: You never showed. DEAN: I'm outside Lydia's. SAM: Oh, come on, man. What, are you obsessed or something? DEAN: No, I'm telling you. I have been eating at the buffet of strange all afternoon. SAM: Meaning what? DEAN: I'll tell you the second I know. But something ain't right. SAM: Or you're obsessed. DEAN: Shut up. I'm serious.

Then later in person, Sam repeatedly denies that Dean could possibly know what he's talking about:

SAM: So what? I mean, so maybe she has another kid she didn't tell you about. DEAN: Nope, just the one. Emma. But that night, when I was with her, she didn't have any. And I was at her place, man. There was no playpens, no blankets, no rubber ducks. SAM: Right. Like you would have been focused on that kind of thing.

and,

DEAN: Then, all of a sudden, boom – baby. SAM: Yeah, the one you thought talked. DEAN: Oh, it talked. And not baby talk, either. SAM: Now you know so much about child development?

Dean eventually gets genuinely irritated:

DEAN: Lydia's handing this kid who's calling her mommy over to these two women, right? But this is not a baby. No, no, this kid's got to be five. And same name – Emma. SAM: You know, George Foreman named all his sons George. DEAN: Are you deliberately messing with me?

Sam just shrugs. I think Sam's denying the stakes here because he doesn't want to believe yet another person he cares about might be in danger. He'd prefer to believe Dean is just playing Dean Winchester, Playboy Who's Caught Feelings. It's only after they get a lore update from Professor Morrison matching Dean's story that Sam relents.

Third, Sam blows up at Dean when he suggests Bobby is haunting them through the flask... except... Sam also clearly thinks there's something to it? Dean sees a paper move and immediately reports it to Sam as a sign of ghost activity, and Sam doesn't hesitate to take out the EMF meter... but then he notices there's a nearby powerline and gets condescending about how it's obviously interfering with the readings. Dean suggests maybe the flask is haunted, and Sam gets mad.

SAM: We burned him, Dean. DEAN: So what?

They know that objects can be haunted. They know that.

SAM: So, what are you suggesting? DEAN: I don't know. What are you?

Dean knows Sam thinks he's crazy.

SAM: Concentrate on something else. DEAN: Why? SAM: Because it's [raising his voice and stepping close to DEAN] not Bobby! DEAN: Could be. SAM: No, it couldn't be. DEAN: Why not? SAM: [loudly, very close to DEAN] Because we want it to be.

The thing is, Sam immediately does something that contradicts his vehement rejection of Dean's theory that Bobby moved the papers!!!

SAM snatches the piece of parchment from the bed. DEAN: Maybe it's useful. SAM: It's in a pile of "maybe it's useful." Besides, it's in Greek. Nobody reads Greek. DEAN: Yeah, except Greeks. Oh, and Bobby. SAM: And Professor Morrison. DEAN: Really? SAM: I'm going, Dean. You stay here, keep the door locked. Don't go anywhere. I mean it.

Wow wow wow.

Anyway though. Is it any wonder Sam lectures Dean at the end of the episode for hesitating to kill his own daughter, insists that she wasn't really his, and then when Dean says that is objectively false, Sam calls him crazy?

SAM: You know what? Bobby was right. Your head's not in it, man. When Cas died, you were wobbly, but now...

Finally, Dean snaps back.

DEAN: Now what? Oh, what, you're dealing with it so perfect? Yeah, news flash, pal – you're just as screwed up as I am! You're just... bigger.

Sam doesn't get to pretend he's fine just because his coping strategies involve hunting to escape instead of drinking. Like Dean, he is avoiding certain realities to cope with his grief and fears. Hell—one could argue he does that much more than Dean during this episode.

Excerpts from 7.13 transcript on the good SPN wiki

[waitingandwishing]

(Cross posted on Wattpad)

Prev - Next Chapter

“Let’s go over it again,” Grayson said firmly, her sharp eyes scanning the cluttered room. She adjusted her posture, her authoritative demeanor unwavering despite the disarray.

“You have to believe me. I didn’t do this,” Jayce pleaded, his voice cracking slightly as he gestured helplessly at the mess around him.

Grayson folded her arms, her brows knitting together in a frown. “Relax, kid. We know it was a break-in, but that doesn’t explain this.” Her gaze swept over the piles of unregistered items and mechanisms that didn’t belong in an ordinary lab. “There’s a lot of restricted items here, and I don’t see any permits. You wanna tell me how you got them?”

“Hey, hey! Be careful with that, please,” Jayce shouted suddenly, his panic redirected toward an enforcer who carelessly lifted a wooden beam off one of the blue crystals.

“I believe someone should have said that earlier,” Viktor commented, his soft yet deliberate accent cutting through the tension as he turned away from the chalkboard. “What happened here?”

Jayce let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache. “Science, I guess,” he muttered, his tone both defensive and resigned.

“Last time I checked, science didn’t require illegal equipment,” Grayson shot back, her tone laced with skepticism. She pointed toward a particularly ominous-looking device nestled among the rubble.

“Nor was this approved by the Academy,” Viktor added, stepping closer. His limp was noticeable, but it didn’t diminish the air of authority he carried. “Who authorized your research?”

“It was an independent study… Who are you anyway?” Jayce asked, his tone shifting to irritation as he stared at the thin, pale man before him.

“I’m assistant to the Dean of the Academy,” Viktor replied coolly, his golden-brown eyes narrowing slightly, “Who it may serve you to remember is also head of the Council.” He leaned on his cane as he delivered the reminder. “He sent me here to ensure that anything dangerous is removed safely… Which, according to my list, includes you.”

“What?!” Jayce’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How am I dangerous?”

“Uh, that’s for the Council to decide,” Viktor said with a slight shrug, gesturing to an enforcer to move in. 

As the officer approached, Viktor’s attention shifted, his analytical gaze locking onto the chaos surrounding them. Something had caught his eye, a glint of metal among the debris.

Limping toward it, Viktor bent down as best he could, his thin fingers brushing against the cold surface of a small object. His breath hitched as he lifted it. ‘It can’t be…’

In his hands was a pocket watch, its metallic casing adorned with intricate filigree details. The center of the watch face displayed a celestial design, the deep blue background shimmering under the dim light. A radiant sun and crescent moon were etched delicately, their delicate rays intertwined in perfect harmony.

‘You’re like the moon, and I’m like the sun! Whenever I shine, everyone loves me! And whenever you shine, everyone thinks you’re beautiful!’ Viktor’s hand trembled slightly as he stared at the watch, memories flooding back. 

‘Y/N… It’s been years since I last saw you…’ His lips pressed into a thin line as he fought to suppress the emotions threatening to surface. ‘I wonder how you’ve been doing, mojí drahoušek…’

Sure, Y/N had been known for stealing things. In fact, the whole reason she and Viktor met was because she had stolen something from a few people! But… Would she really dare to steal from Piltover?

Was it fate that they’d meet again? Viktor wasn’t sure if he should be happy or guilty for the fact that they might meet again.

Straightening as much as his body allowed, Viktor pocketed the watch carefully. His expression was unreadable, but his mind was racing, consumed by the past and the implications of finding such a thing here.

_____________________________________________________

The enforcer threw Y/N against the wall with a force that knocked the air out of her lungs. Her back slammed hard into the rough, crumbling bricks, and before she could react, his hand clamped around her throat.

She clawed at his arm instinctively, gasping for air as her vision blurred slightly at the edges. His face loomed close, contorted with anger, and the veins in his neck stood out as he barked at her.

“Tell me who they were!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty alleyway. The metallic clink of his squad’s boots on the pavement was a chilling backdrop to his fury.

“I-I don’t know!” Y/N stammered, her voice raw with desperation as she tried to force the words out. “They were a couple of older people! H-Had green and yellow hair!” She winced as her back scraped against the wall when he pressed her even harder against it.

“Liar!” the enforcer snarled, his face inches from hers. The venom in his voice was noticeable, his hatred seething just beneath the surface. He shoved her further into the wall, grinding her shoulders painfully into the coarse surface. “You people are all the same. Liars, thieves, you’ll do anything to scrape by. Pathetic.”

Y/N’s pulse pounded in her ears, her chest heaving as she struggled to get even a sliver of air into her lungs. The pressure on her throat was unbearable, but she pushed past the terror and managed to rasp, “A-and who set that system u-up?!”

Her words, though faint, hit a nerve. The enforcer’s grip faltered for just a second before he released her completely, letting her drop unceremoniously to the ground. 

She crumpled to her knees, coughing violently as she clutched at her throat, trying to soothe the raw, bruised skin. 

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before a sharp pain erupted in her side, his heavy boot connected with her ribs, sending her sprawling onto the filthy, rain-soaked ground.

“You dirty scumbags are worth nothing,” He spat coldly. The heavy tread of his and his squad's boots receded into the distance, leaving Y/N alone in the silence of the alley.

“Psst! Up here!” a voice hissed from above. Y/N tilted her head weakly, squinting through the blood and dirt smearing her face. She spotted Ekko crouched on the rooftop, his wide eyes glowing with concern as he waved her over. 

Her chest still heaving, she forced herself to her feet. Her entire body protested with every movement, pain shooting through her ribs, but she gritted her teeth and reached for the ladder.

“Are you okay?” Ekko whispered as she finally pulled herself over the edge of the roof. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, his gaze scanning the bruises on her face and the blood trailing from her nose.

“Yeah,” She croaked, her voice raspy and tired. “Just accidentally got pinned down by some of the enforcers.” She offered a small, strained smile that didn’t do much to hide her discomfort. “Ekko, the enforcers are looking for the rest of them. We need to get back.”

Ekko’s eyes widened, and he nodded solemnly. Without another word, the two darted across the rooftops, the wind biting at their skin as they moved. Y/N’s body screamed in protest with each jump and landing, but she didn’t slow down. They had to make it in time, there was no other option.

The Last Drop loomed ahead, its faint lights barely visible through the grime and smog of the undercity. They slipped inside through the roof, sliding into the dim, cluttered basement undetected. The faint hum of muffled voices reached them as they climbed onto the beams above.

Y/N scanned the dimly lit room, her sharp gaze immediately meeting Vi’s. Vi’s expression shifted to alarm as she noticed the blood on Y/N’s face and the bruises beginning to form on her skin. Y/N tilted her head, giving her a small, reassuring smile. She was okay, at least, that’s what she wanted Vi to think.

Her attention snapped to the sound of a creak. Powder was losing her balance, her foot slipping against the uneven beam. Y/N’s stomach flipped, her heart racing as she lunged forward, barely managing to grab hold of Powder’s shirt. 

Her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric, her other hand locking onto a beam to steady herself.

The faint light flickered ominously, then blinked out, plunging the room into darkness. A second later, the basement door slammed shut with an ominous thud. 

Powder gasped, losing her footing entirely and falling to the ground with a sharp yelp. 

Y/N dropped down after her, ignoring the protest of her battered body. Her boots hit the floor with a solid thud, and she crouched to help Powder up. 

Wiping the crusted blood from her face with the back of her hand, she straightened, her eyes meeting Vi’s concerned gaze.

“What happened to you, Y/N?” Vi asked, stepping closer. Her tone was sharp with worry, her brows furrowed.

“Enforcers happened,” Y/N replied flatly, her voice tinged with bitterness. She crossed her arms over her chest, wincing slightly at the ache in her ribs.

“Yeah! But she was a total badass!” Ekko chimed in, his face lighting up with excitement as he gestured wildly. “He was like, ‘Tell me who they were! You people are just liars and thieves!’ And she was all like, ‘And who set that system up?!’” He mimicked the enforcer’s gruff tone before switching to an exaggerated version of Y/N’s voice, grinning proudly.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light but short-lived. It felt good, even if just for a moment.

The basement door creaked open, and Vander’s imposing figure filled the doorway. He scanned the room, his expression tense. “Are you all okay?” he asked, his voice calm but heavy with concern.

Vi stepped forward, her jaw tight. “No, we’re not okay,” she snapped. “They almost saw Powder. What if they’d taken her?” Her voice rose, her anger barely contained as she glared at Vander.

“No one is taking any of you,” Vander said firmly, his voice unwavering. “I won’t let that happen.”

“It’s already happening!” Vi shot back, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. “Y/N almost got her ass handed to her and sent to jail! You heard him, Vander. They won’t stop. They never stop. We need to fight back!” She slammed her fist into the wall with a loud thud. “And if you won’t, I will.”

Vander’s shoulders sagged, and he sighed deeply. “I’ve heard this kind of talk before,” he murmured, his voice low.

_____________________________________________________

Mojí drahoušek. Viktor scoffed at his own words, the ink smudging slightly as he scratched them out with a frustrated sigh. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the half-finished letter as if it could somehow write itself.

It had been years. Years since he’d seen her, heard her voice, or even allowed himself to think of her without that familiar ache creeping into his chest. Yet here he was, pen in hand, the words refusing to come out as smoothly as they once might have.

“It’s been a long time, Y/N,” He muttered, his voice low and tinged with exasperation. His fingers drummed against the table for a moment before his hand shot to his face, rubbing at the weariness that seemed to cling to him. “Of course it’s been a long time. You left her.”

What was he thinking? Ever since he stumbled across that pocket watch, it had been impossible to keep his thoughts from straying to her. 

Her eyes, that piercing gaze that could read him like an open book. Her smile, rare but unforgettable. Everything about her haunted him, a ghost lingering just at the edge of his mind.

Viktor dipped his pen into the ink pot once more, his grip tightening as he resolved to try again.

Dear Y/N,It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?

There are many questions I have to ask you. I would assume you’d think the same, though I suppose I have no right to assume what you’re thinking. I must apologize, leaving you was a mistake I’ve come to regret deeply. And yet despite the time and distance, I still find traces of you everywhere I go.

A lab partner of mine reminds me of you in more ways than one. The way he speaks, his stubborn determination to be right… It all brings you to mind. And then there are the smaller things.

The color olive green always makes me think of your cloak. I wonder, do you still have it? Or has it been discarded, like so many other pieces of our past?

You once told me we were like the sun and the moon, shining bright at different times. I told you we were more like two halves of the same coin yet didn’t realize that meant we were also destined to remain apart. The distance between us now feels so long, and I know it’s my fault. I let it grow. I let you slip away.

I found your mother’s pocket watch in the wreckage of my lab partners robbed lab. What a small world.

Magic and science… It's fascinating, isn’t it? The potential to intertwine them could revolutionize Piltover, though I can’t say the same for the Undercity.

I don’t expect to send you this letter. And if I do, I don’t expect a response. Nor do I expect you to act on anything I’ve said here. But I want you to know I’d like to return the pocket watch to you. 

I know how important it is, as a piece of your mother. Meet me in the Undercity, our old home. Perhaps in the alleyway where we first met. Where everything began.

This isn’t about closure for me; I’ve forfeited any right to peace of mind. Nor is it an attempt to make you remember me, I’m sure you already do. This is simply a transaction between old friends, nothing more. 

Afterward, we can go back to our separate lives. Though I doubt I’ll ever truly forget you, you have the choice to decide.

Love From, Viktor.

taglist: @night-fall-moon @cyberwears @g0ul666 (If you'd like to be added tell me in the comments!!!)

[deans-queen]

Change of Heart 💚

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

Pairing: Dean x Y/N (Female Reader)

Summary: Dean and Y/N are hunters who do not get along. Fed up with their constant bickering, Sam forces them to stay in the same motel room for the night, to learn getting along with each other.

Warnings: language, smut, enemies to lovers, angst. (Let me know if I miss any)

Pre-AN: This fills the "Whats your problem with me?" square for @jacklesversebingo (This is also an enemies to lovers fic.)

Reader's POV

Sam, Dean, and I have been hunting together for a couple of months now. I only joined because I’ve been friends with Sam since college. Sam and I get along great; however, it’s his older brother, Dean, I can’t stand. He’s hot-headed, arrogant, stubborn, a know-it-all, and thinks he’s God’s gift to women… which, I can’t say I disagree with. Despite hating him so damn much, I’m also completely in love with him. But come on… how could I not be? He’s tall, handsome as hell, and he’s so bad but he does it so well. He has the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen. God, how can one person be so infuriating and infatuating at the same damn time?? I can’t show my true feelings for him because, for whatever reason, he hates me. He’s been treating me like crap since the first day we met, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what I said or did to make him hate me so much, and it’s so goddamn frustrating.

After another  grueling and exhausting hunt, we decided to stay at a motel for the night. Dean and I had been arguing, as usual, about something completely trivial. Sam rubbed his head as we got out of the Impala, clearly fed up with our constant bickering.

“Dean, you are so damn hard headed!” I shouted, slamming the car door behind me.

“I’m hard headed?” he exclaimed, his voice laced with disbelief. “You’re the one who has to be so damn annoying.” He got out of the car, slamming the door.

“Oh please, I’m annoying?” I rolled my eyes at him. “I could go on and on about how you’re just such a walk in the park,” I added with heavy sarcasm. He’s such a big baby, always complaining about every little thing.

Before Dean could make another smart-ass comment, Sam cut in, shouting, “That is enough!”

We both look at Sam and stay silent. 

“Honestly, I’m done with you two,” Sam said, his voice tight with frustration. “All this constant bickering and fighting—it’s out of control. Every damn day.”

He glanced between Dean and me, rubbing a hand over his forehead as if trying to rub away a headache we’d caused. It was pretty clear that he’d reached his limit with us, and honestly, I couldn’t blame him.

“But he—” I started to protest.

“Ah-ah, Y/N. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Dean just stood there, smirking like he found the whole situation hilarious, which only seemed to make Sam angrier.

“Dude, cut it out,” Sam snapped, shooting Dean a glare. “You’re not helping.”

Dean glared right back. “Sam, don’t you—”

“I’m serious, Dean. Knock. It. The. Hell. Off.” He said, sternly. 

That shut him up real quick.

Sam sighed, his expression softening just a bit. “Now, listen,” he continued, scolding us like a pair of unruly kids. “We’re a team—a family. If we want this to work, we need to figure out how to get along.”

Dean and I exchanged a glance, both of us finally quiet. Deep down, we knew Sam was right. All this constant fighting wasn’t doing anyone any favors, especially with the pressure of this case hanging over us.

Sam sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go get us our rooms. Think you two can manage to stay here and not tear each other apart while I’m gone?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but a hint of a smirk played on his lips. “We’ll try to behave…no promises, though.”

I gave Sam a reassuring nod. “We’ll be fine. Promise.”

He shot us a warning look, as if daring us to test his patience one more time, then headed toward the front desk.

We stayed silent, the tension still lingering but softened in the quiet. I leaned back against the hood of the Impala, my arms crossed as I stared up at the fading evening sky. Dean stood by the driver’s side door, hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.

Neither of us said a word, but there was an unspoken truce between us, a silent agreement to keep things calm—at least for now. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves in the breeze and the occasional crunch of gravel under Sam’s boots as he made his way back to us.

Sam approached us, two room keys dangling from his fingers, his expression a mix of caution and annoyance.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” he began. “You’re not gonna like this, but the place is fully booked. I could only get two rooms.” His gaze shifted between Dean and me, almost apologetic. “Which means… you two are gonna have to share.”

I glanced at Dean, who raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk threatening to break through. “Great,” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Just what I always wanted.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Yeah, well, let’s just get through this without another argument.”

Sam sighed, handing us the key. “Please, just try not to kill each other before morning.” He walked off toward his own room, leaving Dean and me to figure out how we were going to survive the night under the same roof.

Dean snatched the key from Sam’s hand, shooting him a hard look. Without another word, he turned and started walking toward the rooms. As soon as he was out of earshot, I grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him aside.

“Sam, this is never gonna work!” I whispered urgently, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Dean wasn’t listening. “He hates me…”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He doesn’t hate you, Y/N. He’s just… Dean. You know how he is. He acts tough, but he doesn’t mean half of what he says.”

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up. “No, Sam. He really hates me. Every time I say or do anything, he has some smart-ass comment or looks at me like I’m the most annoying person on the planet.”

Sam placed a hand on my shoulder, his tone softening. “Look, I know it feels that way, but trust me, he doesn’t hate you. If anything…” He trailed off, a knowing look in his eyes.

“What?” I pressed.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Just… try to make it through the night without killing each other. Who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”

I frowned, unconvinced, but nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But if he starts something, it’s on him.”

Sam chuckled and patted my shoulder before heading to his room. “Good luck.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves and gather my thoughts. With Sam’s words still rattling in my mind, I turned and headed toward Dean, who was unlocking the door to our room.

As I approached, I stepped forward, intending to walk in first, but Dean, being Dean, cut me off and stepped inside ahead of me without a word. Typical.

He crossed the room and immediately claimed the bed closest to the door, dropping his bag onto the floor beside it with a sense of finality. I made my way to the other bed, setting my bag down a little more gently, though my movements were tense. The air between us felt heavy, loaded with unspoken irritation.

I sat on the edge of my bed, glancing briefly at him as he rifled through his duffel. For a moment, I considered saying something—anything—to break the silence. But then again, maybe silence wasn’t the worst thing right now.

Silently, I placed my duffle bag on the second bed, feeling Dean’s gaze boring into me without even needing to look. That intense, unmistakable glare. I ignored it, knowing exactly why he was pissed—Sam’s brilliant idea of forcing us to share a room, hoping it might miraculously make us get along. As if that was going to happen.

With a sigh, I sat on the edge of the bed before flopping back, covering my face with my hands. The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, and I didn’t know how much more of it I could handle.

Was all of this stress—this endless back and forth with Dean—really worth it? The way he drove me crazy with his sharp comments and that cocky smirk? Was it worth the fact that, deep down, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling something for him? A crush that, no matter how much I tried, wouldn’t go away.

I let out another sigh, trying to shove the thought from my mind. It didn’t matter how I felt about him. Dean Winchester wasn’t the kind of guy to care about things like that—or someone like me.

Dean’s sharp eyes followed me as I sat down, his glare practically burning into me. When I leaned back and covered my face with my hands, he let out an annoyed scoff, the sound cutting through the thick silence in the room. Without a word, he tossed his bag down and flopped onto his own bed, the frame creaking slightly under his weight.

The tension hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive. He shifted onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as he kept his gaze locked on me.

After a moment, he broke the silence, his voice low but edged with impatience. “So… you planning to sit there hiding under your hands all night, or are you gonna say something?”

I sat up slowly, letting my hands drop into my lap, my heart pounding as I finally locked eyes with him. His gaze was sharp, challenging, but I didn’t back down. My voice wavered at first, but the frustration bubbling inside me gave it an edge.

“What do you want from me, Dean?” I asked, my tone trembling but steady enough to hold its ground. “Because it feels like no matter what I do, no matter what I say, it’s never good enough for you. I’m tired of walking on eggshells. So, just tell me—what the hell do you want? Seriously, what’s your problem with me??”

The silence between us was deafening, the words hanging heavy in the air like thunderclouds on the verge of breaking. My chest tightened, the weight of all the unsaid things between us pressing down hard, making it hard to breathe.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he might snap back, throw one of his usual sarcastic jabs my way. But instead, he just stared at me, his expression shifting slightly, as though he was wrestling with something he didn’t want to say out loud. The storm wasn’t just between us anymore—it was inside him too.

Dean shifted, propping himself up on his elbow, his sharp eyes locking onto mine. The intensity in his gaze made my heart skip, though I refused to look away. For a moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable, before letting out a scoff that was equal parts exasperation and something else.

“You wanna know what I want?” he asked, his voice rough, almost biting. “I want you to stop being such a damn pain in the ass. You never listen, you’ve always gotta have the last word, and you’re stubborn as hell. And—” he paused, his jaw tightening, “—you’re… goddamn annoying.”

His words stung, but it wasn’t just the frustration in his voice that caught me off guard. There was something else underneath it, buried just deep enough that it wasn’t easy to place. Something raw, something unspoken that made my breath hitch despite myself.

I glared at him, my chest tightening as his words hit me like a slap. My heart pounded in my ears, but I wasn’t about to let him have the last word—not this time.

“Oh, and like you’re such a walk in the park, Dean?” I snapped, my voice sharp as I sat up straighter, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’re bossy, short-tempered, and half the time, you don’t even bother to explain what the hell is going on! So maybe—just maybe—I wouldn’t be such a ‘pain in the ass’ if you weren’t so damn impossible to deal with!”

The words spilled out before I could stop them, but I didn’t care. My chest heaved with anger, and the silence that followed was deafening, charged with something I couldn’t quite define.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he leaned forward slightly. “You think I’m impossible to deal with?” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Newsflash, sweetheart—I’m not the one who flies off the handle every five seconds.”

His words were laced with frustration, but his tone had shifted. The air between us felt electric, like a storm about to break. Beneath the anger, there was something else—a spark, a tension that neither of us could ignore. My heart raced, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the argument or the way Dean’s gaze seemed to burn straight through me.

“Because you never listen to anything I have to say, Dean!” I shot back, stepping toward him, my anger flaring to match his. “It’s like you don’t care—like nothing I say ever matters to you!”

My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my voice shaking as frustration bubbled over. “And you know what? I’m only here because Sam is my friend, and he asked me to help with this case. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here, putting up with your crap. I don’t deserve to be treated like this, Dean!”

I glared up at him, my chest heaving as the words poured out, sharp and cutting. We stood toe-to-toe, the space between us charged with an almost unbearable tension. His eyes flashed, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t move back, didn’t even flinch.

Dean clenched his jaw so tightly I could see the muscle in his cheek twitch, his fists balled at his sides. His glare was sharp enough to cut, and it bore down on me with the full force of his frustration.

“Oh, trust me,” he said, his voice low and venomous, “I don’t want you here. I’ve had to deal with your attitude for weeks, and I’m done. I never wanted you on this case—you’re a liability. But Sam, as usual, had to have his way, and I didn’t have a choice.”

He took a step closer, his boots heavy on the floor, until he was right in front of me, his chest nearly brushing mine. His eyes blazed with fury, but underneath it, there was something else. Something darker, something dangerous.

The air between us crackled, and I felt my breath hitch as his presence loomed over me. My heart raced, a mix of anger, defiance, and something I wasn’t ready to name. I clenched my fists at my sides, refusing to back down even as his intensity pressed against me like a storm about to break.

“Wow, Dean. You might as well just stick a knife in my heart—it’d hurt less,” I said, my voice trembling under the weight of sadness.

I could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, my throat tightening as I fought to keep them at bay. The anger that had been fueling me moments ago was gone, replaced by a hollow ache that I couldn’t hide.

Dean froze, your words landing like a punch to his gut. He’d said it to get a rise out of you, to make his point—but hearing the raw pain in your voice and seeing the tears welling in your eyes? That was something he hadn’t expected, something he didn’t know how to deal with.

His expression softened, the usual hard edge in his eyes fading as he took a small step back. He stood there for a moment, staring down at you, his lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“Wait… Y/N, I didn’t mean it,” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d heard in a long time. He looked away, avoiding your gaze, as if meeting your eyes would make the guilt he was feeling all the more real.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your own shaky breaths, the storm between you shifting into something calmer but no less charged.

“You know what… just forget it, okay?” I said, forcing a nervous laugh that did little to mask the crack in my voice. I kept my eyes fixed on my duffle bag, my hands shaking as I grabbed it. I couldn’t look at him—not now.

“You’re right. I don’t belong here,” I added, my voice quieter this time, as if admitting it out loud made it sting even more.

I slung the bag over my shoulder, swallowing hard, willing myself not to cry. “Maybe I should just go back home to California… where I do belong,” I continued, the slight waver in my voice betraying me despite my best efforts to sound strong.

Dean didn’t say anything, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching as I turned toward the door. My legs felt heavy, my heart even heavier, but I was determined to leave before I completely broke down. I refused to let him see just how much this hurt. And with that, I walked out the door, refusing to look back.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧...

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 🤍

I’m backkkkkkk!!! I’m so so sorry for being MIA it’s been a lot for me the past month but I am back and I am more ready then ever to put out more stories for you!

I hope you enjoyed this one!! It’s going to be 2 parts — so there is more to come! I love you all so much and thank you for being so patient with me 🫶🏻🫶🏻 Feel free to let me know what you think! I always love reading feedback!

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[samwinchesterpregnant]

quintessential sambortion fic under the cut

“Do you have a ride home, honey? I can’t release you without a ride home.” 

Sam’s head is still swimming, lolling unpleasantly against the crinkling butcher paper covering the gurney. It made everything so loud, even the sound of her hair was amplified against her ears. She could hardly think. 

“Honey,” The woman knelt down to Sam’s eye level and Sam caught a whiff of coffee and altoids. The look in her eyes was kind, but mildly concerned, “Do you have a ride home from your appointment? If you don’t have one, I’ll have to get you an escort and that could take a few hours. You weren’t supposed to make an appointment without a ride home, it’s in the paperwork.” 

Sam cleared her throat, blearily wiping her eyes. The woman’s mascara was coming into focus, clumped onto each individual eyelash. Her scrubs were plain and sterile looking, but the lanyard holding her ID had Minnie Mouse stamped all over it. Her name was Carol. Coffee-breath-Carol, Sam christened her. Well that wasn’t fair, really. Carol was nice. Carol was fine. 

“I have a ride.” Sam said finally, voice slightly thick from the valium. 

“Do you need the phone?” Carol supplied, “It’s okay if he didn’t show, don’t be shy. It happens.” 

Sam furrowed her eyebrows, glowering from under her heavy bangs, “I have a ride.”

“Okay, okay.”

Sam’s good at taking it until she isn’t. That’s how it’s supposed to work, isn’t it? She keeps her head down at school, raises her hand when she has the right answer (she always does). She doesn’t make small talk with any of the girls in her class that ask her where she’s from. She eats lunch by herself in the stairwell and runs the mile in phys Ed, doesn’t even drag her feet. Dad’s ran them harder than that, it’s nothing. Her time is good, six minutes. She nods away her teacher’s encouragement. When she gets home and Dean says that dad wants them on a job she doesn’t fucking complain, not even when that means shes’s got no time to work on her book report due on Friday. She’ll stay late and do it in the library the next day. She doesn't complain when she spends the next four hours tromping around in the mud and cow shit at some abandoned farmhouse, looking for god knows what and coming up empty handed. She doesn’t fucking complain when they don’t get back until dark, and dad asks her to make dinner. She doesn’t complain when Dean uses all the hot water and her shower is tepid. She doesn’t complain when she crawls into bed and Dean sidles up behind her and grabs her tit with no preamble or sweet talk or what have you, just grabs her and breathes deep into her clean hair and shoves his fingers into her mouth. She doesn’t complain because she’s getting the fuck out of here.

It was the natural conclusion to ill-timed rutting in the backseat while dad was stuck in a creaky old farmhouse with an elderly woman who swore her dead husband was making the walls bleed. 

He’d been in there a good twenty minutes, barely visible from the window before they came to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t coming out anytime soon. They’d seen the old lady, still in her night dress, hobble into the kitchen and return with a pitcher of sweet tea. Dad was pretending to work for some insurance company, surveying the house, and had told them to wait in the car and not come out till he got back. 

Dean was the one who cracked first, sliding his hand down the back of Sammy’s shorts which gaped at the back of her waist. They were Dean’s pants that she’d cut to her thighs to escape the Florida heat. Even now, parked in the shade with the back windows down to catch just the slightest breeze, it was sweltering, and her face was pink and damp under her heavy bangs, the rest of her thick hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail. 

“‘S too hot,” she murmured, weakly swatting away Dean’s hand, but he kept on lazily, pinching her side where she was still soft, puppy fat that nobly persisted despite her recent growth spurt that thinned out her arms and legs. 

“C’mon Sammy,” He tugged at her belt loop, drawing her closer. She didn’t pull away, allowing herself to be maneuvered, falling against her brother gracelessly, “Dad’s going to be forever.”

She peered out the car window. She could only see the top of his head from here, and his eyes, that seemed to be squinted slightly in concentration. He was listening to what seemed like a long, long story. Dean was probably right, for once. 

They congregated on the floor as best as they could, Sam’s long legs tucked up awkwardly so they could both fit, her sweaty back sticking to the back of the seat, her hair mussing up against the interior and sticking to her forehead. They kept most of their clothes on for brevity's sake, except for her shirt which Dean rucked up over her breasts, palming them hurriedly. Dean got her off with his thumb, rubbing her through her panties, which she’d shoved to the side, her overly large shorts dangling from her left ankle. She bit him hard on the shoulder when she came, and he let out a sharp gasp, burying his head in her neck so he wouldn’t cry out. 

Clean up was quick: shorts back on, Sammy’s hair righted, Dean’s shirt tugged over the teeth marks. 

“You didn’t pull out?” She hissed, knocking him hard with her elbow. He shoved her in response, “What else did you want me to do? Mess up the seats? Dad would kill me.” 

“He’d kill you anyway.” 

He laughed hoarsely, until John turned them both white as a sheet by throwing open the front door. 

“It’s a bust. She’s just senile. We’ll have to head up to Athens instead– sorry, kiddos.” His shoulders sagged until he turned and saw them, both flushed down to their necks and breathless. 

“Jesus, what is it out there, a-hundred-and-ten? I’ll leave her running next time.” He cranked on the AC, putting the car in reverse and starting down the driveway, making it all the way to the turn before stopping, eyes falling to his only son. Dean stared, meeting his gaze unblinking. 

“Shirts on inside-out, kid.” He laughed dryly, and then kicked it into drive. 

So, when Sam’s knocked up for sure six weeks later with a test to prove it in a Casey’s bathroom, it’s less of a surprise and more of a grim reminder of the way life takes its course no matter who you fucked raw in Chipley, Florida. It is just another punishment in a series of punishments that had been occurring to Sam Winchester since the moment she was born, the only girl-child to a band of hungry, hungry wolves: motherless and unfortunate. 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

No Such Thing As Monsters

Summary: Dean is injured on a hunt and at first glance, appears to be fine. Quickly though, the reader and Sam learn something far more serious is going on...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: language, injury

“Dean,” you said, shaking on his shoulder, his eyes flashing open, fist tightening around his angel blade. “You’re okay. Sam took care of the ghoul. How’re you doing?”

“I feel like I just went through a wall,” he said, shakily getting to his feet, cocking his head at the damaged sheetrock in front of him. “Looks like I did.”

“You sure you okay?” you asked, his head nodding. “Sam’s driving us home, just in case.”

“No arguments from me,” he said, giving Sam a nod when he showed up, following his brother the few blocks over to where you’d parked Baby. Dean grabbed the passenger door, slamming his hand on the roof.

“Dean...” said Sam. Dean scrunched up his face, placing a hand on his head. “Dean.”

“Take me to a hospital,” gritted out Dean, your eyes wide. “Now.”

“What’s wrong?” you said, shoving him in the backseat instead, climbing in beside him as Sam started gunning it for the closest one.

“My head. Something’s wrong. I don’t...just hurry.”

Eight Hours Later

Your excuse of Dean taking a hard fall worked with the doctors but you and Sam were staring at one another after finally getting to see Dean again.

“Let’s talk outside,” said the neurologist, Dean giving you a smile as you followed her out.

“What is wrong with my brother, Sally?” asked Sam the second the door to Dean’s room was shut. 

“Retrograde amnesia as far as I can tell. He remembers certain things like his name, date of birth, address when he was a child. You’re lucky I was on call tonight to take his case. Neuro patients are hard enough, especially one’s that are hunters and have to lie about everything,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Sally, amnesia...isn’t that supposed to fade after a few hours at most?” asked Sam.

“Normally,” she said, taking a deep breath. “My best guess is a combination of lasting amnesia which will be hard to recover from but we can help him...and then he’s repressing all the hunting without realizing. You guys have seen some serious crap I’m sure he’d rather forget.”

“What do you mean repressing?” you asked. 

“I mean, Dean thinks monsters are made up, creatures from stories. He doesn’t know they’re real,” she said. You raised an eyebrow, Sam shaking his head. “He doesn’t remember the ghoul, he doesn’t remember the Vamp you guys took care of for me years ago. Monsters aren’t real to him,” said Sally.

“He’s known monsters were real his whole life,” said Sam.

“Technically, since he was four, almost five,” said Sally. “There was a time when he didn’t think any of this was real so it is possible.”

“You’re telling me Dean thinks he’s five?” you said. “He’s in his thirties.”

“He doesn’t think he’s five. He just doesn’t remember certain things. Like he understands basic long term memories, who his parents are, who Sam is...more recent things he’s blocked out,” she said. “Either by choice or because he really can’t remember.”

“Does he remember me? I only started running with the guys about five years ago,” you said.

“He knows your name and that he loves you but that’s about it. The details are all fuzzy for him. Now Dean’s not exactly what I’d call a normal patient. He’ll get thrown in an institute if he starts remembering here in a hospital and God knows what’ll happen to him in there,” she said.

“What do we do then?” asked Sam, Sally sighing and grabbing a chart from the nurses station.

“He has no bleeding in his head, just a few minor cuts and bruises from his tussle. Take him home, try to get him to remember. Any problems and you guys call me. I’ll get you some materials that help sometimes,” she said.

“What if he doesn’t remember?” said Sam.

“Then he doesn’t. Either way, you need to be there for him. You guys gotta get going. The other neurologist starts his shift in an hour and he’s going to want to look at Dean if he’s still here.”

Dean was quiet on the way home, sitting in the backseat, leaning against the backdoor as he stared out the window. Sam simply went through the motions, making him dinner, sending him to bed after checking his bandages, Dean wearing a confused but happy smile the whole time. 

“Y/N,” said Sam, catching you sipping on a drink the library, stealing the bottle to pour himself some.

“What are we going to do Sam?” you asked. “He’s...”

“Do you remember when I saved you from that fire? You promised you’d do anything I wanted. Anything. I told you maybe someday I’d take you up on it. We both know I was never going to but this...I’m cashing that favor in, Y/N,” he said, taking a long swig.

“Using a spell to get his memories back might be dangerous, Sam,” you said, earning a head shake.

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that my big brother thinks the world is normal. The weight of it isn’t on his shoulders anymore. He’s so light and happy. You’re gonna pack up his stuff, pack up your stuff, and you’re going to take him to a little cabin that used to be Bobby’s. It’s not that far out in the boonies so you’ll have electricity and internet and then...you’re gonna help him get a job, get a job yourself and you two are going to get the hell out of this life,” he said.

“Sam that is not-”

“You’re doing this. If something comes after you, you can protect him. Try it for me. If he starts to remember on his own, come back but please, give it a try.”

Two Days Later

“I thought we lived at the bunker place?” asked Dean, sitting down at your new kitchen table, watching you whip up an easy dinner. 

“We live here now,” you said, stirring the pot, taking a deep breath. 

“What do we do now?” he asked with a smile. “Do I go to work?”

“We’ll find you a new job,” you said, Dean pursing his lips. “What is it Dean?”

“You’re not happy,” he said. “I want to fix it but I don’t remember how to do that.”

“We both have to get used to this new life,” you said, giving him a nod. “We will. I don’t want you to worry about me, Dean.”

“I love you though. Of course I worry about you,” he said with a smirk.

“You don’t even remember my birthday,” you said with a smile.

“I guess I get to learn everything I love about you all over again then,” he said. “I do know I love you. I definitely remember that.”

“I love you too Dean. Every version of you. We’ll get through this too.”

[nightxcreature]

A Little Less Talk

Part three of Hot-Blooded! I’m sorry it took so long to get it out! I hope it lives up to your expectations.

Minors DNI/18+ ONLY

Don’t copy my work.

Summary: reader and Dean finally have their moment.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: angst, smut, PinV babyyyyyy, choking, public sex, oral (female receiving), cursing, I think that’s all but let me know if I forgot any. No use of Y/N.

—————————————————————————————————————

It had been three days since the phone call that rocked my world, and Dean and I had barely spoken a word to one another. When I’d finally come down from the god-tiered high that I’d been on, I had every intention of finally admitting to the feelings that had been bubbling inside of me from the moment I’d locked eyes with the green-eyed hunter years ago; I’d left my room intent on throwing him into bed and confessing my love a million times over….and then I chickened out. He’d side-stepped me in the kitchen when I’d come in for breakfast, I’d avoided his gaze while he was explaining the next case we’d be on, we’d gotten completely different motel rooms instead of the three of us sharing like normal. Embarrassment flooded my nervous system whenever I even stepped into a room with him. Which puts me here, sat next to Sam in a run down dive bar somewhere in Missouri watching Dean flirt shamelessly with the busy blonde bartender.

The paint on my nails chips as I peel the tape on my beer bottle, scowling down at the label. A chuckle comes from beside me and I turn slowly toward Sam, a glare of mass proportions on my face, “What?” I bite through clenched teeth.

My rage does nothing to deter him as he laughs again and shrugs, “Nothing, just…” he glances over toward Dean and then back to me, “you seem…grumpy.” He mumbles, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“The seats sticky.” I grumble out the excuse quickly and turn back to the label, “And the music’s too loud.”

He nods and I can tell from the look on his face that he’s holding back a laugh, “The seats are sticky. But, I would think you’d both would be in a better mood.”

I peek over at him, my eyebrows raising in question, “What does that mean?”

He grins and nods toward Dean, “You sort of admitted to that little crush you’d been harboring for years.”

I shake my head, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, “Didn’t admit shit, Samuel. I got drugged. And look at him,” I point over at him, leaning casually against the bar, that Winchester Swagger just rolling off of him, “He isn’t interested. Whatever did or did not happen between us was a one time thing.”

Sam glances over to Dean, a knowing look in his eyes when he finally turns back to me and whispers, “Huh, I thought you had more balls than this.” He shrugs again, chuckling at my wide eyes, “Oh well…” he trails off, leaving the dare hanging between us.

“More balls than-.” A loud giggle cuts me off and I turn to see Dean leaning across the bar, that sly smirk on his face as the poor blonde just eats him up. Rage fills my body and I slam a hand down on the table, “You know what, Sam!” I stand up quickly and grab my empty bottle, “I’ll show you balls.”

The grin on his face widens and he nods, throwing me a thumbs up, “Go get em, Tiger.” His teasing tone spurs me on and I turn toward the bar, making my way as quickly as I can to Dean’s side.

“So, where are you staying tonight?” I hear the bartender mumble as she reaches across the bar to place her hand on his.

“With me.” I snap and set the empty bottle down harshly on the counter. Her hand slinks back, shock crossing her features, but I don’t have time to argue. I grab Dean by the jacket and spin toward the door, stomping out before this sudden adrenaline plummets.

“Hey!” He shouts as we burst through the door and into the cool night air, “What are you doing?!” He shoves my hand off of his jacket and takes a step backward, shooting me a confused look.

I take a deep breath as the adrenaline coursing through me begins to fade. Facing him, I can feel the rush of embarrassment creeping up my body. His green eyes are bright and confusion covers his features. I can almost see the millions of questions running through his mind.

“I just don’t want to ignore each other anymore.” I mumble out, a blush covering my cheeks.

His brows furrow and he leans down, “Huh?” He’s close enough now that I can smell the whiskey on his breath and it’s taking everything in me not to grab his collar and taste his lips.

“I said,” I huff, speaking loudly as i peek up at him, “I don’t want to keep ignoring each other.”

He places a hand gently on my shoulder, a sigh leaving him, “I’m not ignor—“

“Yes. You are.” I cut him off and cross my arms, “And I’ve been ignoring you because I’m too scared to actually say anything, but between Sam practically goading me to do something and you about to bring that woman back home…” I lean against the wall, placing my head in my hands, mumbling, “You’re killing me, Dean.”

He says nothing for a minute, giving me space to breathe before he places a hand on my arm and pulls me up to look at him, “I didn’t think you’d want to talk after the other night.”

I scoff, glancing down at his hand in mine, “I wanted to do a lot more than talk…”

His eye brows raise again, a devilish smirk crossing his face at the same time, “Oh yeah?”

I pull my lip between my teeth and nod, “I thought I made that pretty clear.”

He shakes his head, the smirk still on his lips as he answers, “Thought that could’ve just been the potion talking.” He mumbles out, stepping closer to block me against the wall, “Wasn’t sure you actually meant any of it.”

“I meant every word.” I whisper, placing a hand on his chest. Tension was rising between us at a rapid pace and I could feel my heart beating quickly in my chest as I waited for his response.

He licks his lips quickly, glancing down at my own, before whispering, “Prove it.”

And that was all it took to snap whatever willpower I had left. I grabbed the collar of his jacket, yanking him into me and crashing my lips onto his. He gasps at the sudden movement and I take the opportunity to slip my tongue in his mouth. We fight for dominance before I graze my teeth across his bottom lip. He groans into my mouth, slipping a hand up my frame to grip my throat as he breaks the kiss and places his forehead against mine.

“Dirty girl.” He mumbles, staring down at me , “Still want me to make you forget your name?”

I nod breathlessly as I stare up into his eyes, “Please.”

He glances around quickly before pulling me to the side of the bar. Shoving me chest first against the wall, he presses against my back and I feel the outline of him straining against his jeans, “You’ll have to be quiet, think you can do that?”

I nod again, glancing back toward the parking lot, “What about Baby? We could-.”

“Can’t wait that long.” He gruffly bites out. He drops his hands to my waist, pushing my shorts down as he slowly kisses his way up my throat to my ear, “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” I groan, tipping my head back to capture his lips. He nips my bottom lip and drops to his knees as he slides my shorts down to my ankles. He pushes my shoulders further into the wall as he pulls my hips back toward him, arching my back for me.

“Beautiful.” He mumbles out as he slips a single finger through my folds, “So wet already.”

I jerk at the friction, pushing my hips farther back as I feel his lips against my core. He licks a long stripe up my middle, moaning at the taste, “Tastes so good, Baby. All for me?”

I nod vigorously and glance down at him. He’s latched his lips to my core, his movements slow and precise causing me to bite my lip hard to keep from groaning too loudly. He glances up at me, a glint in his eyes as he slips a finger inside me, curling it just right. He slips his tongue over my clit as his fingers work me up, the band in my belly tightening and tightening as he builds up what feels like the orgasm of a lifetime.

“Come on, Darlin’, cum for me.” He mutters lowly. His green eyes feel like they’re staring into my soul when the band finally snaps and stutter out his name. My eyes roll back at I watch him and I groan loudly, sagging against the wall. He pops up beside me, a grin on his face as he slips his fingers out of me. His lips are glistening in the moonlight and I can’t help it as I lean up to kiss him deeply; the taste of me coating my own tongue.

“That was….wow…” I whisper against his smile, “You really do know what you’re doing.”

He lets out a low chuckle, “You don’t know the half of it.” He kisses me again and the metal click of his belt buckle falling to his side reaches my ears as he slips himself out of his pants. He slides his hands up my shoulders and spins me around to hoist me into his arms, my shorts dropping to the ground as he does. I feel the cool brick from the wall through my shirt as I wrap my arms around his neck, “You ready?” He asks with a quick glance to the parking lot.

“Yeah.”

I feel the head of him slide between my folds, notching at my entrance when he smiles mischievously, “Beg me.” He arrogantly says, his brows raising when I don’t immediately comply. His tone changes and his voice drops what feels like an octave when he repeats himself, “I liked that shit the other night. Beg me.”

“Please?” I whisper, glancing down at the sight below me. His hard member between us, so close to exactly where I want him to be…I peer back up at him as he shakes his head, “Dean, please. Please fuck me. I’ll do anything, please.” My hands wrap around the back of his neck as I plead and I can feel my nails sinking superficially into the skin there.

His smile widens, “I thought you’d never ask.” He sinks me down onto him, sheathing himself tightly inside me. He slaps a hand over my mouth as I moan loudly and shakes his head, “Quieter or I’ll stop.” He places his hands back on my hips, bracing us against the wall as he begins to piston in and out of me quickly, “God, you’re so tight, Darlin’.”

“Just for you.” I manage to whisper, raking my hands through his hair, “All for you.”

He places sweet kisses across my collar bones as he continues his pace, one hand sliding between us to work my clit while the other keeps me pinned against the wall, “Yeah, it is.” He begins to rock into me slower, releasing my clit to wrap his hand around my wrist. He tugs my arm down my belly and kisses my cheek, “Touch yourself for me. I didn’t get to watch before.”

I bite my lip and look between us, watching as he rocks into me slowly. I slip my hand between us, fingers grazing over the bundle of nerves he’d been busy with before, moaning lowly as the pressure begins to build. I flick my wrist faster and watch him as he watches me; his eyes blown with lust and his own lip between his teeth. His hand wraps around my throat again when he pulls me in for a heated kiss, his tongue quickly slipping into my mouth as he moans out, “So fuckin’ hot.”

His hips stutter a bit and my eyes clench closed as we both reach our peaks at the same time. His hand tightens around my throat as he groans out a quick, “Son of a bitch…” when he spills inside me. And I chuckle a little as I slump against him, breathing heavy.

We both stay that way for a moment, his arms wrapped around me as we pant against the wall. Our skin, sticky with sweet, is adamant against parting as he leans up to stare into my eyes. His cheeky smile makes one form on my own face as he places sweet kisses across my cheeks.

“Should’ve done that a long time ago.” He whispers, placing his lips against my temple.

I nod and lean into his kiss, “I agree.”

He bends down and grabs my shorts, helping me keep balance as I slip them on before sending me another mischievous smile, “Wanna go back to the motel and do it again?”

_______________________________________________

A/N: I hope that lived up to your expectations! I think that’s the last part for this one, but I’m open for requests if you’d like for me to write something for you. 🫶🏼 if you’d like to be added or removed from my Taglist please let me know!

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@suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @justwhisperingfantasies @mgchaser @xinsonyax

[sweetcocopowder]

Hello would it be ok to have a destiel fanfic with prompts "Just like we promised" and "I've missed your touch" i love ur work <3

Prompt 1 | Destiel

Synopsis: Dean has been out on a hunt for over a month and hasn't called Cas at all. He's still getting use to this whole fucking an angel thing.

Word Count: 2.9K

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Warnings: Angst. Sappy. Smutty.

Notes: It's more than okay to want this. This was a pleasure to write and I hope you enjoy what i created! Enjoy!

The pacing became a constant thing on the fourth week. On the fifth, the nail biting had started. A bad habit he’s picked up from Sam out of all people, a nasty human habit. But the satisfaction behind it to relieve stress almost calms Cas’s nerves. He had paced from the main foyer to the kitchen to Dean’s room. Dean’s room is one of the main places that Castiel had resided.

When the sixth week came around, Cas’s nails were all chewed off and he had began picking at the skin around them. Dean was meant to call an entire week ago. No SMS either. No even a single prayer. Complete radio silence.

Sam had given Castiel Charlie’s number in case he got bored. Dean had made a comment about Charlie’s Angels. Something Cas didn’t understand until he had looked it up on his own phone later that day. But Sam had insisted yet Castiel declined saying he would be perfectly fine, for angel’s cannot feel human depths of boredom, just passing time.

One thousand and eight hours and six minutes to be exact. So, the angel isn’t bored per say, just very, deathly worried about Dean. And Sam.

The fourth day of the sixth week, the chunk and click of the bunker door snaps Castiel out of his trance in the main foyer. He stands up from where he sits at the table as laughter and voices burst into the bunker. By God is it good to hear their voices but at the same time it brings out so many bad emotions that vibrate his being and make him grind his teeth.

Sam is first to walk down the stairs, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a grin upon his face. When he spots the angel, his smile faulters. He tries his best to play it off but Cas sees the uncertainty.

“Oh, Castiel!” Sam says more surprised than anything, “I didn’t expect you to still be here!” He speaks as if the conversation they had over a month ago never happened. Which only -what’s that word Dean uses- pisses him off even more.

“I’ve been here this entire time,” Cas grumbles.

Which is below an angel of the lord like himself but the frustration flickering around inside of him is something that he hasn’t felt in a good while. Probably since apocalypse days.

“Cas!”

All eyes go to the older brother making his way down the stairs. Unlike Sam, Dean isn’t unscathed. His lip is busted, and his entire right eye is blackened. His eyebrow is split, and three gauze strips hold it together.

As soon as Dean comes down the last set of stairs, Cas is already across the room pushing past Sam to press two fingers to his forehead. The hunter straightens up at the sudden wellness that comes over him. His bruising disappears and fades into yellow and the cuts and scrapes heal without a scar. He goes to thank the angel but all he sees is a very frustrated one in front of him.

“You were suppose to contact me,” Castiel speaks firmly. Like angel of the lord firm. “But I received none of the sort.”

Sam goes deathly quiet behind them. He places his duffle bag of guns and knives on the table which make a louder noise than he originally intended. As if the sound is cutting through the thick tension in the room.  

Dean sucks in air through teeth as he tries to avoid eye contact with the angel. But it doesn’t matter where he looks because Cas is only a few inches from him. So those deep blue eyes is all he sees.

“The hunt got very busy, Cas you know how it gets,” Dean argues poorly as he shrugs his shoulders. “We didn’t have time.”

“We had plenty of time,” Sam comments from the table.

Castiel slowly turns his attention towards Sam with a frown. All while Dean looks to his brother with a look of betrayal mixed with disgust. Sam swallows thickly and picks up his duffle bag.

“I’ll go put these away in the stash,” Sam grins sheepishly as he scoots himself across the room.

Blue returns back to green who looks more like a hurt child than anything. And all that anger and frustration is slow to wash away as Cas brings a hand to Dean’s cheek. The hunter flinches away slightly at first but stays in the warm touch of the angel.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

The angel lets out a deep sigh that has his shoulders drooping. Oh Dean.

“I’m…” The hunter clears his throat, readjusting his tone to something more manlier. “I’m still very new to this. To us.”

Cas holds Dean’s face in both his hands, almost engulfing his face but the hunter stays so still. Why still keep up this façade that doesn’t work on the angel? He’s seen him break and cry and become soft so many times. Why still keep up daddy’s good lil soldier in front of him?

A soft kiss is planted on Dean’s forehead over his once black eye. Then, like all the other times Cas has kissed Dean, he kisses the hunter gently and warmly. The heat that the angel radiates is like a furnace yet so inviting.

Dean grabs onto Castiel’s trench coat as he leans forward, deepening the kiss a little. In this moment, Cas can put his own irritation aside for this. He holds Dean, taste the hint of jerky on his mouth from the trip here. It isn’t the most pleasant of tastes, but Dean has kissed him with worst. Much worse.

Calloused hands make their way under Cas’s coat to his waist. This, this is something the angel has missed. Even if it has been a month and two weeks. Too long for his own good.

Unlike Cas, Dean pulls away to inhale a breath of air. The hunter smiles something wicked and Cas’s eyes slightly widen. Dean’s fingers loop into Cas’s belt and flips the buckle open a little too swiftly and a little too eagerly. A soft grip latches onto his wrist, stopping him in his movements. Dean raises a brow at the angel.

“I don’t think Sam will be too impressed if he catches us out here,” Castiel points out sternly, “Like last time.”

Dean barks out a fit of laughter, the memory coming to mind of Sam’s horrified face at the sight of the two. Dean splayed out on the table with the angel over him, his blue eyes as wide as saucepans. Both stark ass naked with the angel’s white butt out on full display.

“Why not?” Dean chuckles out.

Cas can’t help but roll his eyes. With his grip still on Dean’s wrist he begins backing up slowly across the foyer, dragging Dean along.

“You worry too much,” Dean grins.

“I don’t think I worry enough,” Cas bites back playfully.

Dean stops the angel and draws him into for another deep kiss. One that has him gripping the back of Cas’s hair and looping his fingers back into his belt. Dean pulls away but only mere millimetres, not wanting to stay away for too long.

Those green eyes lock onto the angel and Cas won’t lie, he’s missed those emeralds. He runs a thumb over Dean’s freckled cheek and smiles softly when he sees that everything is the same. No more bruises or cuts. Dean follows the notion with a side eye, almost wanting to pull away but staying still and stiffens under the touch.

It takes both of them a good while to get back to Dean’s room. Having to push the hunter there rather than drag him along since he kept stopping Cas. He isn’t vocal about it but he can tell that the hunter can’t keep his hands off of Cas.

Clothes come off a little too easily and Cas can’t help but frown when he spots more cuts and bruises on Dean’s frame. With soft touches, Cas heals them without a second thought. Dean shivers under the touch, his eyes tracking every movement. With a warm glow, Cas heals a deep purple bruise on Dean’s chest that has the hunter breathing a little easier. But with that he pushes Dean back onto the bed. The springs creak under his weight and he disrupts the perfectly made blankets. Cas’s work.

Dean tries to sit up on the bed but is pushed down again when Cas straddles his lap. He runs his hands over Dean’s body once more, making sure that he hasn’t missed any nicks and cuts. He could heal Dean in one go, but where’s the fun in that?

“I’ve…” Dean hesitates, adverting his gaze downwards to the angel’s hands. “I’ve missed your touch.”

“Hmm,” Cas hums at that with a smile.

“I wish I had called,” Dean continues. “Or sent a text. But I’m scared alright. As stupid as that sounds.”

The angel’s smile falls at that. To respond to that, he clasps the hunter’s face in his hands and kisses him softly unlike before. He moves his hips down on Dean as well, making the hunter squirm under his weight. Maybe he can forgive Dean after all.

In between the kisses, the angel mumbles out, “It’s not stupid at all.”

The result of watching Dean’s face go beet red is a reward in it’s own. Cas kisses him again, humming into his mouth with satisfaction. Such a human thing to do. How much he’s changed since being around Dean. He’s changed him so much. Does Dean realize just how much he’s done for the angel? Or is he blind to that fact? Maybe he might have to ask him one day. But not now.

Not when he feels Dean’s grip tighten on his hips, wanting him to grind down harder into him. The friction is something that the hunter craves at this moment. He grows hard and his dick rubs in between the angel’s cheeks. Precum leaks from Dean’s dick, making the glide easier.

Cas sits up slowly and as if out of nowhere, he holds Dean’s bottle of lube in hand. Dean’s stares at it bug eyed for a moment but doesn’t question it because he knows he left that in the bottom draw of his dresser. Where it normally stays. Either Cas miraculously brought the bottle to his hand or it was always on the bed and he just didn’t see it. Either either, both make sense for the angel.

“Let me,” Dean says as he takes the bottle from him.

Lathering his fingers up generously, Dean a little too eagerly brings his hand around Cas’s ass and inserts two fingers. The angel grunts at the sudden penetration, his eyes fluttering shut. With Dean’s other hand as he sets a quick pace to open up Cas, he kneads his thumb into the angel’s hips. Holding on as if he’s going to fly away with those wings of his.

Cas towers over Dean, scrunching up the blankets into his fists next to the hunter’s head. More lube is added and then a third finger is fitted right to the next others. Cas’s breathing becomes heavy, every nerve in his body buzzing and every inch of his grace humming. He can feel everything a little too well for his own good. The stretch of the three fingers, the way his hard cock rubs up against Dean’s, the way that he’s been wanting to feel Dean’s touch once more. Too much.

Deeming the angel ready, Dean brings his lubed fingers to slick his own dick up. He exhales shakily, holding himself together by a thread. The entire hunt, the Angel of Thursday was on his mind yet he was too coward to send a simple prayer. Next time. Next time we won’t be so stupid.

Cas exhales shakily, opening his eyes to meet a lustful green graze. The angel looks into those eyes fondly with a smile coming upon his reddened lips. He kisses Dean again, this time deepening it and grinding down on the hunter again. Dean grunts under him and digs that thumb into his hip a little more.

Dean guides the head of his dick to Cas’s ass, rubbing himself between his cheeks a few times. He pushes the tip of his dick in, humming in the kiss at the warmth he feels. He pushes in a little deeper and breaks the kiss, his face scrunching up into something needy. Cas continues lining Dean’s exposed neck though with small kisses, sucking and biting lightly. Dean groans as he grabs onto the angel’s hips with both hands to help guide him down.

Cas winces but moans something whiny into the hunter’s skin. He still smells like the hunt. Gun powder, cheap pharmacy cologne and musk. Dean grunts with every push. He fucks into Cas eagerly, but the angel isn’t going to stop him. He’s enjoying this too much. He’s missed Dean too much to let this pass. His body buzzes and constricts with pleasure that he can’t help the noises that comes his mouth. He can feel himself shaking in the hunter’s hold, his grace vibrating within.

Dean pushes Cas down onto him until he’s flush against his hips. The angel groans and breathes heavily as Dean only gives him a few seconds of adjustment before he begins a quick pace again. Each time he thrusts into Cas, he brings the angel down just as hard that gets a satisfying grunt from him.

The hunter sits up suddenly, still holding onto Cas so that they’re flush against each other. With each movement, Cas’s dick rubs up against their stomachs. The angel holds onto him as he lets the hunter fucks out everything from the hunt. Dean groans deep within his throat as he keeps moving at a constant pace, thrusting into Cas on his lap. It’s more of an awkward bob at this point, both being too desperate to do much more. But both are satisfied right now.

But Dean wants more.  Suddenly, he flips and throws Cas onto the bed with little effort. He grabs onto the back of the angel’s knees and pushes his legs up so that he’s almost folded in half. He lines himself up again, this time slipping in easier than the last.  

The new angle has Cas shivering and grunting with each thrust into him. He digs his fingernails into Dean’s shoulder, unable to gain control of the delicious noises coming from his throat.

Through shaky pants, Dean is able to grumble out a deep, “I’ve missed you.”

Another shiver runs down Cas’s back, earning a whimper like sound from him. The hunter’s cock passes by that sweet bundle of nerves inside of Cas that has him grunting with each movement. Cas wraps his legs around Dean, holding him close as the hunter’s thrust become short and shallow. Dean comes down for a sloppy kiss, mostly broken by breaths of shaky inhales.

“I’ve-“ Dean pecks Cas on the mouth, cutting him off. “missed you-“ another kiss, “…too.”

Dean brings a hand down to wrap about the angel’s leaking cock, flicking a thumb over his tip with every stroke. Cas arches his back the best he can in the position he’s in and startles out a cry. By God, he can feel himself getting close. His body buzzes and feels like tv static with just a simple touch. He doesn’t want this to be over already, but with Dean abusing that sweet part inside of him he can’t hold on at all.

Cas chokes out a strangled cry as his whole body and grace feels like it’s going to explode. He releases hot strips into Dean’s hand as he digs his bitten nails deeper into the hunter’s shoulders. He heals the bruising before it even comes about, even in his stare of high. Dean keeps fucking through his orgasm, making it ten times more intense.

“Dean,” Cas grits out.

With a few couple of more hard thrusts, Dean drives his cock deeper into Cas as he reaches his own orgasm. Dean stiffens up, unmoving as he cums hot and deep within the angel. Who would have thought. Fucking an angel of the lord.

Cas shivers at the new sensation of the warmth inside of him. He grits his teeth, holding Dean in place. He doesn’t think he can handle the hunter moving at this given moment. Both stay still for a good few minutes, a panting and sweaty mess. Cas can’t help but shake faintly, his breathing ragged and uneven. He can feel his grace is all over the place and he tries his best to collect himself.

But it’s very hard when Dean lands on top of the angel with an audible, “Oof,” slipping out of the angel in the process. Cas places a hand on his back and gives him a light pat on the shoulder. But Dean doesn’t move and inch, his face flat against the nape of his neck.

“I’m coming with you next time,” Cas grumbles out.

Whatever Dean says next, it’s lost into a mumble and jumble of words in the angel’s neck. This earns a short chuff from the angel, knowing full well that the hunter can’t stop him in doing so. What he says goes. But right now, he’s fully content in laying in for a few minutes. He’s fine in letting time pass by when it’s with Dean Winchester.

-

Have an amazing day/night ;)

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Love Language

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: you’re struggling with your mother’s death, but you know just where to go for comfort.

Dean stirred in his bed when he felt it dip, stiffening in surprise when he felt a weight settle in next to him. He peeked his eyes open to see you curling into his side.

“What—“ he mumbled groggily, but you just silently burrowed into his side. He was about to let you stay silent so he could go back to sleep, but then he heard you sniffling, and suddenly he was wide awake.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He asked.

Still, you didn’t speak.

“Hey.” Dean raised himself on his elbows and looked down at you. “C’mon now—“ Dean cut himself off when the corner of his eye caught sight of the date blinking on his digital clock. “Oh…” He didn’t try to make you talk again, because he knew why you were crying.

It was your mom’s birthday.

Dean settled back down in his bed before wrapping both arms around you, pulling your head up onto his chest and cradling it there with one hand.

Neither of you spoke, but Dean listened as your cries subsided into deep breathing, and he knew you had fallen asleep.

Once he could no longer hear your sounds of distress, his big brother instincts retreated and his exhaustion returned.

Dean fell asleep, knowing you were safe and comfortable in his arms.

…

Sam had spent nearly the whole night researching in the library, so come morning he found his way to the couch so that he could continue to read while also soothing the pain in his back.

He had been settled for all of three minutes when he glanced up to see you shuffling into the room, rubbing your eyes. The moment you saw Sam, you beelined towards him, and he knew why almost instantly. You were covered in a dark blue hoodie that was a few sizes too big, the fabric swallowing the upper half of your body and the sleeves brushing your fingertips. It was your mom’s old hoodie, and since it fit you so poorly, you rarely wore it. Sam only ever saw you wearing it when you were thinking about your mom, which meant you needed him now.

Sam let you curl up next to him on the couch, his hand coming up to rub your back.

“Hey honey,” he soothed. “How are you?”

You didn’t speak, opting to huddle under Sam’s arm and close your eyes.

“It’s gonna be ok,” he said after a moment, comforting you the only way he knew how. “I’m right here.”

You still didn’t speak, but Sam felt when your muscles relaxed and you fell completely into him, feeling utterly safe.

…

Dean wandered out of his room, concerned when he woke up and you weren’t there. He relaxed when he found you curled up with Sam on the couch, your eyes wandering lazily over the lore book that Sam was studying intently. His younger siblings looked up as he entered the room, and Dean offered them a smile before making his way to the kitchen. He may not be able to do much for you today, but he was going to make sure you ate.

…

You didn’t meet Dean’s eye as he returned with a plate of bacon and pancakes, and he knew at once that you would turn them down. You were almost never hungry when you got like this, but Dean had a plan this time.

He settled next to you and Sam and started in on the food in front of him. He could see you out of the corner of his eye, your brow drawn in confusion, having expected Dean to try to make you eat. Without the pressure you had expected, you found yourself relaxing against Dean’s side, and eventually the smell of the food got to you. When Dean placed the plate on his knee, purposefully putting it as close to you as possible, he couldn’t help but smile when you reached over and grabbed a piece of bacon.

You ate a few pieces before leaning back and against Dean, your legs twisting onto Sam’s lap. Sam placed a hand on your knee and Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

It wouldn’t be a good day for you by any means, but sitting there between your two brothers, there was nowhere you could be to feel more loved.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 10

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,180

A/N: Know it's been a while and appreciate everyone's patience!

It takes a little over an hour for Dean to finish up the two cars. Having been taught your lesson, you handed Dean the correct tools he requested, though he did remember to say “please” each time he asked. 

From time to time he would explain what he was working on, not that it meant much to you, but you were starting to pick up on a few things, which you were hoping to take home with you so you wouldn’t feel so helpless the next time you went to get an oil change.

“So how did you even meet Rick?” You lean against a pillar as Dean rolls out from the Stingray, shutting off his head lamp as he stands. He lets out a chuckle at your question. 

“I’ve actually known him most of my life.” Dean gently rests against the hood, crossing his arms. 

You just raise your eyebrows, hoping he’ll elaborate. 

“My dad used to come here all the time growing up, and so did Rick.” He continues. “They were around the same age and they kept in touch as they got older. My dad used to bring us up here when we were kids. I loved it, but Sam and my mom would spend our visits up here swimming at the lake, but my dad and I would be sitting in those bleachers.” He points out the windowed garage door to the grand stands.

“It would be July and it could be 120 degrees between the heat and the cars, but there was nowhere else we’d rather be.” He reminisces with a smile but he keeps his eyes on his oil-stained boots. 

“Rick is cut from the same cloth. He stopped coming around as I got older, got busy with his fancy life in the city, but when he ended up buying this place, he reached out to my dad and I, would get us in the ‘VIP’ suite, which were just his seats. He was excited when he found out I started working in Bobby’s shop, and then a couple years later he called me up to take a look at a vintage car he was going to buy. Said he had hired a guy but didn’t trust his report, so needed someone he could count on. I was just twenty-one, but he trusted every word I said, and I’ve been working for him ever since.”

You smile across at Dean, not that he sees it. Whether intentionally or not, Dean was opening up to you, more of him becoming unraveled. And there’s one question you’ve been wanting to ask him for weeks now, and you finally felt comfortable enough with him to post it.

“And what’s the deal with you and Nick?” You ask quietly, nervous that you may be overstepping, but hell, he brought you to a weekend away at his mom’s house. You were well past acquaintance status. 

You think back to that night at Max’s, your first week here, when you had gotten cozy with the blonde-haired beau before Dean had stepped in. Before Dean gave a shit about you, he did that night. And you always wondered why.

Dean takes in a deep breath, keeping his eyes downcast. 

“It started back in high school. It was just teenage stuff; he was the football star, I played basketball. We were both really competitive and it was just a lot of stupid ego stuff. But when Sammy started high school my senior year, Nick took an interest in him, and decided to make Sam’s life hell because of me. He bullied the poor kid almost every day. So I took it upon myself to make sure he never bothered Sam again.” A smirk slowly begins to rise. “Got suspended for a week because of it and almost wasn’t allowed to walk graduation, but it was worth it.”

“And what exactly did you do?” His eyes flash up to you, a devilish gleam in them. 

“I may or may not have rigged his airbags to go off when he turned the radio on one day after school.”

You blanch.

“You can do that?” Dean nods.

“But how did they know that was you? Even if he suspected you, there would have been no way to prove it.”

“Because I was waiting for him in the parking lot and after they went off, I pulled him out of the car and told him if he ever bothered Sammy again I would cut his brakes and make it look like an accident.” Dean doesn’t flinch at the threat, and neither do you. You had two younger siblings, both brothers. You understood. Being the older sibling also meant being the protector, and you had stepped in from time to time when your brothers needed it. 

Dean looks back to you.

“That was the end of it though. Never bothered me or Sam again.” He wipes his hands against each other before shoving them in the pockets of his coveralls. 

“Well I guess I really do owe you for saving me from ‘the town’s biggest asshole’ then.” You smile at him, using his own words from that night. Words you had thrown back at him in rash rage. 

“I would say so.” He agrees, pushing off the car and closing the gap between you. Your eyes stalk the movement, not missing a step until he stops an arm’s length from you. His eyes have that devilish sparkle that twists your stomach in the best way.

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” You challenge, standing up straighter even though your knees feel weak. 

“How about dinner?” His voice is low, shared only between the two of you even though there’s no one else around. 

Your eyes widen.

“You’re asking me out?” You gawk, practically breathless. His lips slowly curve up and he doesn’t break your gaze.

“I’m saying you can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner.” Your face and stomach drop, irritation rising like bile up your throat.

“Are you serious?” You cross your arm and drop your hip. 

“Sure am, sweetheart.” He purrs. You respond with a heavy breath out of your nose.

“I literally just bought you lunch the other day.” You snap. “Explain to me why it’s my responsibility to keep feeding you?” You bite, ignoring the fact that you had bought him lunch the other day as a thank you for taking you hiking. But he didn’t need to be reminded of that. 

Instead of waiting for an answer, you side step from him and walk towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Dean calls from behind you. You turn on your heel and stare him down.

“Aren’t you done?” You huff, crossing your arms again. “I was headed back to the car.” You throw your thumb over your shoulder.

Dean just annoyingly smiles back at you.

“We’re not taking the truck.” You raise your eyebrows.

“What are we going to walk back?” You retort. 

Dean turns on his heel in response and walks further into the garage.

You wait a second, then two, to see if he’s going to turn around, but he doesn’t. You tap your foot, but Dean still doesn’t turn back.

You drop your arms with a heavy breath and start after him, following him a few stalls down until you see him leaning into the open door of a shining black car, the body sleek and clearly not from this century.

“Is this another one of Rick’s?” You step up to the hood, tempted to reach out and run your fingers down the polished onyx. 

“Nope,” Dean’s voice is muffled through the windshield as he rummages around inside.

“Can you answer a question that doesn’t require me to continue asking you questions?” You scowl, starting to have enough of this little game of his. 

His laugh just echoes as he pushes out of the car and rests on the open door.

“Remember I told you about my baby?” You squint your eyes, the conversation ringing a vague bell. 

You suck in a breath. 

“Your car.” You snap your finger then point it at him and it comes back to you, remembering how absurd you thought it was when Dean shared he called his prized car “baby.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows with a smile, opening his arms wide.

“Y/N, meet Baby. Baby, meet Y/N.” You frown at his exaggerated antics.

“Please don’t make me say “hi” to the car.” You groan, wondering exactly how much Dean loves this car. 

Dean pats the hood and leans in.

“Don’t worry, Baby. She can be nice when she wants to be.” He coos. Your eyes bulge and mouth gapes. 

“Should I be concerned about you? Is this what happens when you spend your life around car fumes?” You cross your arms, half kidding. 

Dean just looks back at you with a grin. 

“Get in the car will ya?” He orders before he dips down and plops into the driver’s seat and closes his car.

You stare at him for a moment through the windshield as he fiddles with something. 

Aunt Rose, help me. You say up a silent prayer before you walk around the car and take a seat onto the white leather bench. 

The inside is immaculate; conditioned, tan upholstery, a shining steering wheel, and a dashboard expertly restored to its former glory.

You run a hand along the felt ceiling, the fibers tickling your fingertips. 

“You really built this car?” You ask in awe as you continue to take in the refurbished wonder. 

Dean presses a button on a clicker attached to his visor, and the garage door in front of you begins to rise, sun chasing in through the windshield. 

“Sure did,” Dean turns the key in the engine, the car roaring to life before Dean flicks down the gear shift into drive. “Got her in a scrap yard for a couple hundred bucks, then would use my paychecks from the shop to buy her new parts. Took me over three years. Which is why I keep her here.” Dean slowly pulls out of the garage, waiting for the car to clear before he hits the clicker again, shutting the door behind us.  

You smile out the window as you slowly make your way down the empty race track towards the exit.

“If you love her that much why not just drive her all the time?” You play with the leather armrest that connects to the door. “Seems like a waste to just leave it in a garage all the time.” You muse.

You don't have many mantras in life, but one you strongly believed in not waiting to enjoy something. Your parents had saved an expensive bottle of champagne for you as a graduation present. They had won it in an auction years before and never had a good reason to open it and figured celebrating your matriculation would be the right time to finally pop it open. By the time they did, it had gone bad and your dad shook his head as he poured it down the drain. 

“Cause I ain’t risking a dent or scratch in her after all the time I put into fixing her up.” Dean waves at the gate agent as you pass through the exit, and you give him a smile as well.

“I’m just saying. What’s the point of having a beautiful car like this if you’re just going to keep her hidden away? You’re like an overprotective father.” You chuckle as you look back out the window at the passing scenery of bare trees and dead grass. March truly was an ugly month. 

You look over to Dean, catching his gaze for a moment before it returns to the road, a smirk his only answer. 

Without a word, Dean leans his foot heavily onto the gas pedal, the needle on the speedometer quickly climbing as the outdoor world begins to blur by.  

His heart jumps into his throat and his smile grows as the car continues to pick up speed. He wants to glance at Y/N, see her reaction, but he’s not reckless, not enough to take his eyes off the straightaway as the Impala ticks past 80 MPH.

He hears you take in a breath, but it’s not a gasp, doesn't sound scared or shocked, and he’s hoping you’re feeling the same excitement that he is as he shoots down the street, the engine rumbling through the front seat as he darts down his own personal racetrack that he’s driven down more times than he can count. 

Which is why he takes his foot off the gas, letting the needle fall before they come up to the bend that takes them back into town. 

It was only a few seconds, mere heartbeats, but it always makes Dean feel alive. 

Once the car is at a manageable speed, he peeks over to you – your hand is braced against the door, but your smile is wide in a silent laugh. He swallows at the sight, a lump growing in his throat before he looks back to the road, taking the turn at an easy speed.

“I know it doesn’t quite compare after Rick took you through the racetrack today, but every time I take Baby out of the garage, I’ve gotta run her.” He beams, triumph heavy in his chest as he shows off his pride and joy, feeling a pure sense of excitement that he truly hasn’t felt in years. 

Dean looks back over to you, your hair swishing as you shake your head. 

“No,” you breathe out with a smile. “That was great.” 

Dean releases a deep breath through his nose he didn’t realize he was holding. Almost like he was worried about your answer.

“Still think you should take her out more.” 

Dean just smirks, revving the engine again and letting the car fly. 

After Dean brings them to a roadside burger stand for lunch, they’re back at Mary’s house. Y/N had excused herself for a shower, and Mary and Dean lounge in the living room, the sun setting behind the windows, while Dean scrolls through social media on his phone. 

“Nice day out?” Mary asks from the couch across from him, a book in her lap.

Dean takes a breath and puts his phone down, hearing her tone. The same tone she had in the kitchen this morning when she was inquiring more about the woman he brought home.

Not taking the bait, he simply replies, “Good. Managed to get all of Rick’s cars done in just about two hours. He’s all ready for tomorrow.” Mary just rolls her chartreuse eyes. 

“And Y/N?” She asks bluntly. “How was your day with her?” 

He knows what his mother is fishing for. Outside of the odd high school fling, Lisa was the only woman he had ever brought home. And here he was, with Y/N, some random girl he met only a few weeks ago, brought here by his ex, showering just upstairs.

The thought lights something in his eyes as his gaze leaves the living room, thinking of the blue and white bathroom he was so familiar with, the lengthy standup shower, enough room for two, where Y/N was probably lathering soap all over —-

“Dean.” Mary chirps, almost like she can see her son’s thoughts on his face. 

“What?” He snaps, heat flushing his neck and cheeks, feeling like a caught child. 

Mary just sighs and moves her book aside, leaning forward and resting her arms on her jean-clad knees. 

“Don’t even start, mom.” He can see the conversation she wants to have. 

“You’re the one who brought her here.” She counters. He rubs a hand down his face and leans back against the cushion.

“Look, I’m just trying to be friendly. She and I started off on a really bad foot, and I’m stuck with her for the month. Also, when I invited her, I never thought she’d actually say yes. I was more being polite.” Which was true, but doesn’t change the fact that when he got her text that she was going to join him for the weekend, his stomach flipped. 

“She just quit her job and lost her aunt.” He continues on thoughtlessly. “She’s spending a month in a place where she knows no one. I’m just trying to be nice.” He sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. 

A soft, but sad smile graces Mary’s lips, and she leans back.

“Well then, I’m very proud of you.” Dean starts to smile, but it doesn’t fully form. He looks across at his mother. “What?” She offers him back a similar smile.

“Just sounds like the two of you may have come together at the right time is all.” Dean frowns as he hears the telltale creak of pipes as the water upstairs shuts off.  

“What does that mean?” He huffs. 

“Well it sounds like she’s going through some big life changes, and so are you.” She offers gently. 

“Oh here we go.” Dean rolls his eyes, his fists tightening.

“Huff and pout all you want, Dean.” Mary chastises her oldest son, who was always the most stubborn of her two boys. “But I think it’s nice that you two found each other when you're both going through a difficult time.” Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes again, knowing if he does, it will draw another chide from his mother. 

“Fine,” he concedes. “It’s nice.” He placates his mother, hoping to end the conversation.

He’s not a charity case. He’s going through a divorce, just like 50% of married people. He’s not the first and he’s certainly not the last. He doesn’t need her pity. Or yours. Not that you’ve offered it. 

Soft footsteps echo overhead, Y/N likely padding down the hallway back to her room. Probably in nothing but a towel. 

“It’s just nice to see you happy again, Dean. Been a while since I’ve seen it.” Dean unfurls at her words, his body slumping with a sigh. 

He’s being a dick. To his mother. 

What an asshole.

He runs his hand down his face again. 

Mary stands and steps around the coffee table, stopping in front of her sullen son. She rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t fight something nice just because you don’t think you deserve it.” She gives him a squeeze. After a moment, she steps away with a pat to his shoulder before she goes.

“I’m going to run to the store and pick up dinner. Any requests?” Dean opens his mouth. “Besides pie.” Mary beats him to it. 

“All good.” Mary nods her head.

“I’ll be back in a little bit.” This time, Dean nods, quietly listening as Mary grabs her keys from the kitchen before stepping out the front door. 

He hears Y/N move about upstairs again as Mary’s car comes to life in the driveway.

But Dean just relaxes on the couch, rests his head back, and closes his eyes.

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