#like he's not there but of course he is. because sam and dean are | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 53 minutes ago

Text

Oooooh, speaking of shower shenanigans. 😏

Most of this was so utterly delicious...and then I went from 🫠 to 😰 to 😂😂😂😂

Some of my favorite moments for this one:

The bastard didn’t even ask. He just peeled the plastic barrier back and stepped inside, cocky as ever, because he knew damn well you’d never tell him no. Damn him for that. His large, calloused hands found your hips instantly, the heat of his palms seeping into your slick skin before sliding around your waist. He pulled you flush against him, his arms locking around you in a way that left no room for escape—not that you wanted one.

Damn him for real, honestly. 🫠🫠

And if you were bad, he was worse. His hands were everywhere—greedy, demanding, like he was staking a claim he’d already won. He knew every spot that made you whimper, every trick that left you melting in his grasp, and the bastard used all of them. Ruthlessly. Shamelessly. And with that cocky-ass smirk that was half smug satisfaction, half pure, lust-drunk hunger.

Dean’s concern went full throttle. “Shit, baby, lemme see,” he fussed, reaching for your injured wrist despite the blood trickling down his own face. “Does it hurt bad? Can you move it? How’s your fingers—”

God, I love it when he immediately goes into protective/caring mode. 😭💗💗

And of course Dean continued to be insufferable and cheeky while Sam was rightly exasperated with these two. 😂😂

This is a perfect way to explain Dean's "shower sex, now that's complicated" line lmfao 👌🏽

Heat Of The Moment

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: A little backstory to Dean’s statement 😉

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: Smut (18+Only), established relationship, swearing, mentions of blood, (attempted) shower sex, fluff, poor Sammy (again lol).

AN: Just a fun little idea that came to me seeing this gif. I thought it’d be fun to explore the story behind it. 😂 I hope you guys like this one ❤️

Main Masterlist

You stood under the sputtering spray of the motel shower, the water lukewarm at best. It was exactly what you’d expected from a place that hadn’t been updated since Psycho—seriously, all it was missing was Norman Bates in drag, wielding a kitchen knife, and bam! Instant horror movie stardom.

Instead, you had something far more dangerous lurking behind the flimsy curtain.

Dean.

The bastard didn’t even ask. He just peeled the plastic barrier back and stepped inside, cocky as ever, because he knew damn well you’d never tell him no.

Damn him for that.

His large, calloused hands found your hips instantly, the heat of his palms seeping into your slick skin before sliding around your waist. He pulled you flush against him, his arms locking around you in a way that left no room for escape—not that you wanted one.

You arched a brow when you felt something stiff and very familiar pressing into your lower back.

“Seriously?” you huffed, equal parts amused and incredulous. After last night, you were convinced he’d be out of commission for at least a week. “I thought guys needed a recovery period.”

Dean hummed against your neck, his smirk evident even before he spoke. “What can I say, sweetheart? You bring out the animal in me.”

You barely had time to cringe at his line before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your shoulder. Then another. And another.

Despite yourself, you melted, tilting your head to give him better access. He was insufferable, overprotective to a fault, and cocky as hell. But the second he touched you like this?

You were done for. Every. Damn. Time.

“We broke a lot of records last night,” he murmured into your skin, his lips brushing over your pulse.

“And?” You challenged, leaning your head back against his shoulder to eye him in your periphery.

Dean grinned, his hold tightening. “How about a part two?”

His voice was a low, husky whisper against your ear, the deep timbre sending a shiver down your spine—one he felt. That smug, insufferable smirk of his only widened as his hands began to explore.

You were the prize fish in his pond, and he was just waiting for you to take the bait.

And like a mindless, naive little guppy, you bit.

“Really?” Your voice came out breathier than you intended, but could you blame yourself? His hands were already spanning your waist, trailing lower, teasing at the place that was aching for him.

Apparently, your pussy was onboard before your brain had even caught up.

Dean chuckled, his lips grazing your jaw. “Mmhmm.”

You gasped when one of his large hands cupped your breast, his thumb rolling over your nipple in a way that sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through you.

“I’d like to break a few more,” he murmured against your throat.

And that was it.

Your last thread of self-control snapped.

You spun in his arms, crashing your lips against his without a second thought, your desperation all but forgotten in the heat of the moment.

You’d learned something pretty damn fast about yourself being with Dean Winchester, and that was his uncanny ability to reset you to your factory settings. One touch, one well-placed kiss, and suddenly, you were a feral little thing, all instinct and no shame. A literal bitch in heat.

And if you were bad, he was worse.

His hands were everywhere—greedy, demanding, like he was staking a claim he’d already won. He knew every spot that made you whimper, every trick that left you melting in his grasp, and the bastard used all of them. Ruthlessly. Shamelessly. And with that cocky-ass smirk that was half smug satisfaction, half pure, lust-drunk hunger.

Your nails bit into his shoulders, leaving half-moon indentations in his skin as his hand slipped between your thighs, thick fingers parting you with ease. His touch was confident, practiced—like a man who knew exactly how to play you, and play you well.

A sharp gasp left your lips the moment he found your clit, pressing down with slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Your body jerked, reacting on instinct, your breath coming out in shaky stutters as he picked up his pace.

“F-fuck…” You barely managed, voice caught between a whimper and a plea.

Dean was watching you, his sharp green eyes locked onto every twitch, every gasp, every shiver he pulled from you. He lived for this—the way you tensed against him, the way your lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, nails digging in deeper as if grounding yourself against the inevitable. And the sting of your grip? It only spurred him on.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice thick with appreciation. “Let go.”

His movements became ruthless, precise, each flick and stroke of his fingers drawing you closer to the edge until it finally broke—your orgasm crashed through you like a rogue wave, dragging you under, pulling a breathless cry from your lips as your body convulsed in his hold.

Dean’s arm tightened around you, keeping you upright as your legs trembled beneath you, your erratic breaths warming his skin.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his touch still gentle as he worked you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last jolt of pleasure—until your hand found his wrist, wrapping around it with a silent plea for mercy.

Dean stilled immediately, his grip relaxing, but his gaze never wavered as he tilted your chin up to meet his. His pupils were blown wide, the green of his irises barely a thin ring as he drank you in—flushed, breathless, completely unraveled beneath his touch.

And then he kissed you—deep and slow, savouring you, as if this moment was just as intoxicating as the night before.

When he finally pulled back, a smirk ghosted his lips, his voice low and teasing as he murmured against your mouth, “That’s one.”

A lazy, satisfied chuckle bubbled up in your throat, knowing exactly what he meant. He’d started keeping track last night, somewhere between the second and third round, taking pride in every single time he pulled you over the edge.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, over the soft ridges of muscle that weren’t quite a six-pack—more like a solid foundation with a little softness to keep things interesting. And you liked that about him. You loved that about him. Dean was strong, but he also liked a hearty burger and a good dessert. And honestly? Chiseled abs were overrated anyway.

You bit your lip as your hand trailed lower, fingertips teasing through the coarse hair of his happy trail, watching his stomach twitch beneath your touch. A smirk curled your lips as you wrapped your fingers around his impressive length, feeling the heavy weight of him in your grasp.

A sharp breath ghosted against your cheek as you pumped him slowly, deliberately.

"And which hole do you want your first in?" you whispered against his ear, your voice dripping with mischief.

The guttural groan that tore from his throat was downright sinful, his hands flying to your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips jerking when you gave his leaking tip a teasing squeeze. "Wanna fill up your sweet pussy first."

Heat pulsed low in your belly, your walls clenching around nothing at the hunger in his voice.

"Here or the bed?" you murmured, cupping his jaw, your thumb brushing over his plush bottom lip.

"Here," he rasped, eyes blown wide with need. "I need to fuck you. Now."

His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss filthy and desperate, all tongue and teeth as he backed you up against the cool tile.

Pulling back briefly, his sharp eyes darted around, quickly assessing his surroundings before locking onto the metal bar meant for handicapped residents.

Dean grinned. “Perfect.”

“Perfect?” You raised a brow, but he hoisted you up into his arms.

“Yeah, c’mon, rest your foot on here, baby,” he breathed, guiding your foot onto the bar to support you more comfortably against the wall.

Neither of you even considered checking if the bar was sturdy. You were too horny to think beyond must fuck now. Instead, you did as instructed, letting him hook your foot up onto the bar, effectively spreading yourself open for him.

Dean took a second to admire the view, sucking in a breath through his teeth like a man about to make a very bad—yet totally worth it—decision.

“You good?” he asked, gripping your other thigh, already lining himself up.

“Just fuck me, Winchester,” you whined.

“I love it when you get all bossy,” he chuckled, but as he moved forward, his wet foot slipped on the slick enamel of the tub.

“Shit—”

He caught himself at the last second, slamming a palm against the wall to keep from taking you both down. Your laughter was instant, bubbling past your lips as he groaned.

“You okay there, clutz?” you teased, giggling against his jaw.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut up. You distracted me with your damn siren pussy.”

He adjusted his stance once again, gripping your thigh a little tighter this time as he lined himself up, and finally sank into you in one smooth thrust.

You gasped, the pleasure instantly overriding your laughter, your body stretching to accommodate him. The slight tenderness from last night only made the fullness more intense. Your back pressed harshly against the cool tile, and Dean took a second to let you adjust before rolling his hips slow and deep.

The steady rhythm didn’t last long. You were too far gone, too desperate. “More,” you whimpered. “Faster.”

And that was all he needed. Dean picked up the pace, thrusting into you hard, the slap of skin against wet skin filling the small bathroom alongside your breathless cries and his low groans.

And then—

A loud, metallic CRACK echoed through the room.

Before you could react, the grab bar snapped clean off the wall, the sudden shift causing Dean to slip against the slick enamel, sending you both tumbling down in a chaotic mess of limbs, curses, and water.

Dean, to his credit, tried to break your fall—because he was a gentleman after all—but instead, his head smacked against the towel rack with a loud thunk, while you crashed down hard on your wrist.

The impact sent the shower head spinning loose, turning it into a rogue fire hose that blasted water in every direction, soaking the already disastrous scene.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then—

“Fuuuuck,” Dean groaned, clutching his forehead. When he pulled his fingers away, they were smeared with crimson. “Oh, come on.”

You, on the other hand, were cradling your wrist, biting back a whimper. But Dean caught it anyway, and instantly, his own pain was forgotten.

His eyes locked on your arm, where swelling was already creeping up, your wrist bent at an angle that made his stomach churn. Fuck.

“I think… I think I broke something,” you choked out, tears stinging your eyes from the pain.

You barely heard him. Because the moment you really looked at him, you gasped. “Dean, your head—”

You grabbed his chin with your good hand, tilting his face toward the light, your stomach twisting at the gash splitting his brow open, still bleeding freely.

Both of you stared at each other, completely ignoring your own injuries while freaking out over the other’s.

“Okay. Okay. We gotta get you to a hospital.” Dean urged, your wrist was already turning a dark purple-ish colour.

You blinked at him. “Dean, neither of us can drive in these conditions.” you pointed out and he opened his mouth—paused—then nodded.

“Yeah. No. You're right.” You both looked at each other, and then at the same time, you uttered— "Sam.”

Dean sat in the waiting area beside Sam, freshly stitched up and looking far too pleased with himself for someone who had just concussed himself mid-sexcapade, whilst you were across the hall, getting X-rays.

Sam sat with his arms crossed, shaking his head like a parent debating whether his kid was even worth bailing out this time. “I just—I don’t even know what to say to you.”

Dean huffed. “Aw, come on, Sammy—”

“What the hell were you guys thinking, man?” Sam scolded, exasperated. He got it—he did—but still. Even he knew shower sex was risky, mostly an unrealistic exaggeration shown in porn or the movies. Reality was a hell of a lot different.

Dean waggled his eyebrows, only to wince when the motion tugged at his stitches. “Jealous?”

Sam gave him the most exhausted bitch face of all time. “Of the head wound or the property damage?”

Dean grinned. “Wouldn’t be the first time I broke something in the—”

“Nope. Nope. Not finishing that sentence.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t understand how two people can have this level of bad decision-making.”

Before Dean could fire back, you reappeared from the exam room, cradling your freshly casted arm.

Dean sat up straighter. “What’s the verdict, sweetheart?”

You sighed dramatically. “Fractured wrist. Congratulations, Winchester. You’re now officially the reason I can’t do anything for the next six weeks.”

Dean’s smirk only grew. “I dunno. I can think of a few things you can still do one-handed.”

“Guys!” Sam cut in, already regretting his life choices. “Can we please just get out of here?” He stood, rubbing his face, still heavy with sleep from being woken up by his half-naked brother knocking on his door at one in the morning.

You nodded in silent agreement and followed him out as he headed towards the exit, Dean strolling beside you, still with that cocky grin.

As the two of you strode toward the impala, Dean’s arm casually slung over your shoulders in his usual display of affection, you eyed your cast with a small sigh.

“I think it’s safe to say shower sex is officially off the table,” you muttered, and Dean huffed a small laugh and squeezed your shoulder gently but nodded.

“Yeah, shower sex is complicated…Bathtub, though?” He looked at you with a failed attempt to waggle his brows and you bit back a smile but still tilted your head with interest.

However, before you could answer—

“No. Nope!” Sam interrupted with a shake of his head.

“Oh c’mon Sammy. Stop being such a prude.” Dean rolled his eyes, whilst Sam levelled him with his infamous glare.

You all silently climbed into your respective seats. Sam behind the wheel (since Dean’s vision was still a little blurred), Dean riding shotgun and you in the back.

Sam had just slid the key into the ignition when Dean turned in his seat to face you.

“How about a pool?”

“I hate you,” Sam groaned.

AN: I hope you guys liked this one, it was fun to write 😜, poor Sam is always at the brunt end of his brother's endeavours 😂. As always feedback is much appreciated ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean winchester x reader smut #dean smut #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester #spn #spn fanfic #jensen ackles #jackles #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #lovely mutuals #zepskies reads

220 notes · View notes

musubi05 · 3 days ago

Text

╰┈➤ I'm Sorry Part 2

Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: A hunt went wrong because you made a mistake and someone accidentally got hurt. You're 14-15.

Warnings: Yelling, mentions of blood, angsty

Authors note: Hopefully it's as good as the first one 😭 I was spacing out so much trying to write it so my brain was not braining.

The minutes stretched endlessly after Dean left, each second pressing down on your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake. The motel room was too quiet, yet your mind was screaming. You could still hear the gunshot, still see Sam’s body jerking from the impact, still feel the warmth of his blood against your hands.

Dean was right. You had almost lost Sam. And it was your fault.

Your hands were still trembling slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the cracked wallpaper. The cheap floral print blurred as your eyes stung with unshed tears. Your fingers were stiff with dried blood—Sam’s blood—sticking in the creases of your knuckles, clinging to your skin like it was never going to come off.

You felt numb, but somehow still sick to your stomach. You forced yourself up to get into the shower, hoping it would help make you feel clean but it didn't. You had tried scrubbing the blood off, but no matter how raw you made your hands, the stain wouldn’t fade. Even though you saw a tint of red water go down the drain.

The faint sound of the clock ticking on the wall was maddening when you laid back down on the bed. Each second that passed felt heavier, heavier, and heavier. You wished Dean would just come back, even if it was to yell at you more. At least then you wouldn’t be stuck with your own thoughts.

The thoughts that were reminding you it was your fault. The thoughts that were telling you Sam was dead.

"The doctors couldn't save Sam," Dean would say. "It should be you not him." Which would lead you to listen to him and go sell your soul for Sam to be brought back.

Your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails biting into your palms, desperate for something—anything—to ground you. But nothing could distract you from the image of Sam collapsing. The dull look in his eyes. The blood pooling around him.

Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, a broken sob slipped out. You clapped a hand over your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut, shoulders shaking as you struggled to contain it. You didn’t deserve to cry. Not when Sam was the one who got hurt. Not when Dean could barely look at you.

The door creaked open softly. You stiffened, expecting to see Dean storming in again, still angry, still ready to rip you apart with his words. You turned over to your other side to face him.

But it was Sam.

He was pale and unsteady on his feet, leaning against the doorframe for support. His face was still gaunt from the blood loss, and his bandaged torso was hidden beneath a loose flannel that was slightly too big for him. You realized with a twist in your chest that he must’ve signed himself out of the hospital early. Typical Winchester.

“Sam?” You shot up from the bed, rushing toward him, but he held up a weak hand to stop you.

“Hey,” he rasped softly, offering a tired smile. “I’m okay.”

You stared at him, stunned by stupid statement. He was shot. He was barely standing. He was not okay.

Without another word, you rushed to his side and slipped under his arm, helping him to the bed despite his half-hearted protests. You sat beside him, bracing his weight until he was lying back against the headboard with a heavy sigh.

“Did you seriously check yourself out?” you muttered, shaking your head.

Sam chuckled lightly, wincing as he shifted. “You know me.”

You swallowed, guilt twisting sharply in your gut again. He was trying to make light of it, to put you at ease. Of course he was. That was Sam. Always more worried about everyone else than himself.

For a long moment, you just stared at your hands, fingers still smeared faintly with his blood. The room was quiet, except for the sound of Sam’s slightly labored breathing.

“You should hate me,” you finally whispered.

Sam blinked, frowning slightly. “What?”

You glanced at him, barely able to meet his eyes. “You should hate me for what I did. For being so reckless. For getting you hurt,” your voice wavered, and you looked away quickly. “Dean does.”

Sam’s expression softened immediately. “Hey.” He reached over, grasping your hand weakly, his palm warm despite his shaky grip. “Dean doesn’t hate you. He’s just—”

“Mad. I know,” you cut in. “And he should be. You almost died because of me, Sam.” Your voice cracked, and you pulled your hand from his, not able to bear the gentleness in his touch.

Sam exhaled softly, watching you carefully. “I’m not dead,” he said quietly. “And I’m not gonna hate you, Y/N.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You should.”

“Stop,” Sam insisted, his voice firmer this time. He reached for your hand again, his grip a little stronger now. “I’ve made mistakes, too. We all have. Hell, Dean’s made plenty of reckless calls that could’ve gotten me killed. And you know what I did?” He arched a tired eyebrow. “I forgave him. Just like I forgive you. That’s how this family works.”

You swallowed hard, unable to speak. Your eyes burned, and you quickly wiped at them with the sleeve of your hoodie. You didn’t deserve his forgiveness. Not this easily. Not after nearly losing him.

Sam squeezed your hand once before leaning back against the headboard, his eyes starting to droop with exhaustion. “You’re not a screw-up,” he muttered softly, voice thick with fatigue. “You saved our asses back there. Even if it wasn’t pretty.”

You stared at him, speechless, as he let out a slow, heavy breath and drifted into a light sleep. His chest rose and fell steadily, but the soft winces that flashed across his face with every breath made your stomach clench.

And then, as if on cue, the door creaked open again.

Dean walked in, still tense, his eyes immediately flickering toward Sam. His gaze softened slightly when he saw his brother sleeping peacefully, but when he turned his attention to you, the hardness in his eyes returned.

You met his gaze for only a second before quickly looking down at your hands again. You waited for him to say something—anything—but he just stood there, lingering near the door. The silence was suffocating.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Dean let out a long breath and slowly made his way over. His boots were heavy against the creaky floorboards. You felt him sit down beside you on the edge of the bed, but you still couldn’t look at him.

For a long moment, he said nothing. The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy.

Then, finally, his voice came—low and hoarse. “You scared the hell outta me.”

Your throat tightened. “I know,” you whispered.

Dean let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “I told you to stay in the car for a reason, Y/N.”

“I was trying to help—”

“I don’t care!” His voice cracked slightly, louder than he intended, and Sam stirred slightly.

"I don't care what you wanted!" Your dads voice echoed through your mind.

Dean immediately fell silent, waiting until Sam settled before speaking again. His voice was lower this time but still strained. “You could’ve died.”

You clenched your fists in your lap, your fingernails going back into your palms. “So could you.”

Dean’s eyes snapped to you. You turned to face him, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

“I’m not gonna just sit back and watch you and Sam die,” you said quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “I can’t.”

Dean’s eyes softened slightly, but his expression was still pained. He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, and for the first time that night, you saw the fear behind his anger—the sheer terror that had been boiling beneath the surface.

“If something had happened to you…” He shook his head, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Your throat closed up, and without thinking, you reached out and grabbed his hand. His fingers curled around yours, warm and rough and calloused, but familiar. Safe.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just sat there in the heavy silence, hands clasped together.

Finally, Dean’s voice came out quieter. Hoarse. “Just… don’t do that again, okay?”

You nodded slowly, gripping his hand a little tighter.

“I mean it,” he added, giving you a pointed look.

“I know.”

He let out a slow, shaky breath, then finally—finally—he squeezed your hand back. It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was a start.

⛧

The room was dark and quiet, save for the sound of Sam’s slow, steady breathing. His chest rose and fell softly, the strain of pain still subtly etched in his face even in sleep.

After the talk with Dean, you both agreed to head to get some rest. Only problem is that you couldn't go to bed that easily. Dean was passed out on his bed while you were staring at the ceiling on the motel couch. Just... thinking.

You looked over at Sam and should’ve felt some relief that he was okay. That the bullet hadn’t hit anything vital. That he was still here, breathing, healing. But the weight in your chest hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had only grown heavier.

You looked back up at the ceiling but before you knew it, your eyes drifted out of focus, the edges of the room blurring into the shadows of the past.

~6 Years Ago~

The dingy motel room smelled like old cigarette smoke and mildew. The wallpaper was peeling at the corners, and the single flickering lamp barely cast enough light to chase away the shadows stretching across the walls.

You sat curled up on the bed, clutching your knees to your chest, your tiny fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans. Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened to the argument unfolding between John and Dean.

“I told you to watch her, Dean!” John’s voice was sharp, edged with frustration and exhaustion.

“I was watching her!” Dean stood his ground, jaw tight, shoulders squared even though his voice wavered slightly. “She was fine! I just went to grab the salt from the car, and—”

“She could’ve gotten killed,” John cut him off, voice like gravel. His eyes flicked toward you, pinning you to the bed like a spotlight. “And you—what were you thinking, running after that damn spirit?”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I-I thought I could help,” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

John let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Help? You thought running in there, getting in the way, was helping?” He shook his head, pacing in front of you like he couldn’t even look at you. “You wanna be useful? Then learn your damn place.”

Your stomach twisted.

“You don’t fight, you don’t hunt, you don’t go running into danger,” John continued, his voice firm, unwavering. “You do what you’re told. You keep your head down. You help us—but you never get in the way.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the blanket beneath you with trembling fingers. “I just wanted to—”

“I don’t care what you wanted,” John snapped. “You listen. You wait. You help the way you’re supposed to.” He crouched down slightly, lowering his voice, but somehow that made it worse. “You wanna be part of this family? Then act like it.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you nodded quickly, desperate to make him stop looking at you like that.

John exhaled sharply and stood up, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t say anything else—just grabbed his duffel, muttered something to Dean about locking the doors, and walked out.

For a moment, the room was silent. The weight of his words still hung heavy in the air, pressing down on your chest.

Then, Dean sat down beside you on the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly, nudging your shoulder. His voice was tired, but not angry. Not like John’s. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, blinking back the tears.

Dean was quiet for a long moment before he sighed, running a hand through his short hair. “Look… Dad’s just—he’s just stressed, alright? He doesn’t mean half the crap he says.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true.

Still, Dean shot you a small, lopsided smile. “You wanna help? You can help. Just… next time, maybe don’t go charging after a ghost with a damn broomstick, alright?”

Despite yourself, you let out a tiny, shaky laugh.

“Tell you what,” Dean continued, nudging you again. “Next hunt? You can be on water duty. Sam’s always forgetting to drink, anyway.”

You nodded, a small bit of warmth replacing the cold pit in your stomach. It wasn’t much—but it was something. A purpose. A way to help without getting in the way.

And that’s what you did. Every hunt. Every time. You made sure you were useful. You made sure you helped.

Because if you weren’t helping, what were you even doing here?

“Sweetheart?”

Dean’s voice pulled you out of the memory, bringing you crashing back to the dim motel room. Sam was still sleeping soundly. Dean was staring at you, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face like he could see the ghosts haunting you. When did he get up?

You blinked quickly, clearing your throat. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

Dean studied you for a second longer before exhaling. With no warning he scooped your body into his arms, lifting you up from your previous spot.

"Dean, what are you doing?" You asked immediately gripping his shirt do he didn't drop you—not like he ever would.

"Helping you sleep," he said, his voice was coated with exhaustion. Maybe helping you sleep will help him sleep better.

You didn't want to argue with him and say you're fine so you let him bring you over to his bed. He put you on the bed first before laying next to you.

Dean sighed, he put his arm around you to keep you close to his side. Your head was resting on his chest with your arm draped around his torso. “I'm sorry I keep yelling at you—” He stopped, jaw tightening, like he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to say. “I don’t want you to think that helping means running headfirst into danger, alright? You don’t have to prove anything to me. Or to Sam.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “I know.”

“Do you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Do you really?

You hesitated, but after a long moment, you finally nodded. “I’m working on it.”

Dean didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t push. He just sighed again and nudged your arm lightly. “Good.”

For a long while, you both just laid there, the weight of the night still thick in the air—but for the first time, it didn’t feel like it was crushing you.

Dean wasn’t angry anymore. Sam was safe. And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to prove your worth by risking your life.

Maybe just being here was enough.

Tag list:

@marvelfanfn2187a113 @samlou

#spn #supernatural #winchester sister #dean x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam x sister!reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural x sister #winchesters x sibling #winchester x sibling

104 notes · View notes

spiritkissin · 17 hours ago

Text

loathing, unadulterated loathing.

dean winchester x reader

wc: 1,019

cw: enemies to lovers, mutual pining (hatred),, bratty ass attitude, no use of y/n, loosely based on the song ‘what is this feeling?’ from the wicked soundtrack

You and Dean hated each other. Sure, ‘hate’ might’ve been a strong word. But it was certainly the right one. Infact… it might’ve been too light for the relationship you and Dean shared. (If it would even be considered a relationship.)

You two just didn’t mesh. Not like how you meshed with Sam, nor like how Dean got along with Sam. You noticed that Sam was usually the common ground between you two, no matter what you argued about, Dean and you always tried to decide what was best for Sam. Even if he knew what he wanted.

Dean was a stubborn ass. And so were you. Maybe that was why you two didn’t like each other. You were so alike, the stubbornness and determination, the loyalty and care for those closest. But also the anger, all that underlying rage and resentment, You felt it in Dean, like how he felt it in you.

Dean hated you. Every little trick, however small. God, it got his blood boiling. He couldn’t stand it. He would usually only get this angry when on hunts, or when Sam would get into arguments with John. There was just something about you that made his flesh crawl with hatred and disgust.

You had met Sam and Dean on a hunt a while back, fortunately enough, you both were hunting the same damn vampire nest. Managing to take it down, Sam insisted that he got your number, in case you ever wanted to hunt with them again.

And so you did, you packed your bag up and started riding around with the two brothers in the impala, much to Deans disinterest. At first, you had only spoken to Dean a few times. You’d introduce yourself, apologize for getting in his way while you two both awkwardly stood in the bathroom doorway, and when he asked you to stay in the car while him and Sam scoped out this abandoned building.

Stubbornly, of course, you didn’t want to. You were a hunter too, damn it. You should be included! which meant actually having to be apart of the hunts to Y’know… be apart of it.

“No.” You’d protest.

“Yes. Stay there.” Dean glared, pointing his index finger at you. God, you were holding back, trying not to bite that stupid finger of his off.

“No. I’m coming.” You shook your head, already out of the car and walking past.

“Hey, I don’t-“ Sam tried to cut in, to relive the tension he could already feel starting to build.

“Why don’t you ever listen, huh? Swear, it’s like you just do the opposite of what I say. You deaf or somethin?” Dean scoffed, grabbing your upper arm to pull you back.

“I listen. I just think I should be included. I’m just as strong as you or Sam. And I’m smart too. Smarter than you, I’d bet.” You retorted.

Yeah… that hunt ended in a screaming match between you and Dean back at the motel. Sam had left to some dive bar without you or Dean noticing. But now here you were, weeks later, having the exact same argument.

“What the hell is your problem, huh? You could’ve seriously gotten hurt! Or killed!” Dean yelled, practically ripping his leather jacket off, tossing it onto the motel bed.“I knew what I was doing, Dean! And look, I got it taken care of, didn’t I?”

You would shout back, sitting on the edge of the other bed, holding onto your bleeding arm.

You gotten into a mishap with a werewolf… or two. Using yourself as bait to lure them closer, without Sam or Deans knowledge. And yeah, you weren’t seriously hurt. But the claws of a monster 2x your size? Still stung. And you were still bleeding.

“I don’t care if you got it ‘taken care of’! You don’t do shit like that! You hear? Or- or at least let me or Sammy know! Don’t just do whatever the hell you want because you think you know that you’re doing!” Dean was seething, pacing back and forth, a half scowl, half frown on his face.

He ran a hand through his short, brown hair. Glaring at you with emerald eyes that seemed to burn right through your skull.

“Why do you care anyway, huh? I thought you couldn’t care if I died tomorrow? What does it matter to you if I get hurt?” You stood from the bed, walking right in front of Dean to stop his pacing. Glaring right back up at him, a look of determination in your eyes.

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you care about me, Dean?”

“No. I said shut up.”

“… make me.”

“I’m not making you do shit. I don’t like you. I hate you.”

“I hate you too.”

You didn’t know when exactly during this interaction that you two got this close, noses inches away from bumping each others. Both of your chests rising and falling quickly. Feeling so pent up. So full of energy and emotion. You couldn’t take it. Dean could take it either. In a heated moment, your lips met.

Kissing each other roughly, with no room for gentle touches or smiles against each others lips. It was raw, energetic, passionate and angry. This was what it was all leading up to. The months of hatred and passive aggression, this was the tipping point.

Even in such a heated kiss, his lips felt so soft against yours, the lips that were once spewing hatred towards you, were now pressed up against yours. And it felt like heaven and hell rolled into one.

Deans rough and callused hand landed on your back, before slowly gliding down and brought grabbing your hip, tugging you closer. Your own hand would grab onto the back of Deans neck, pulling and tugging on his short hairs.

Eventually, the two of you would pull away, only when you really needed air. Panting against the others lips, making direct eye contact with his green eyes that seemed like your own kryptomite.

“I hate you.” You exhaled.

“I hate you more.” Dean huffed.

#gabi speaks !#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #enemies to lovers #wicked #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x female!reader #spn fanfic

45 notes · View notes

sweetchildofthine · 1 day ago

Text

Doorway to Canon

Summary: After checking into a motel with the brothers, Y/N finally gets a moment to breathe—until a casual step toward the bathroom sends her spiraling into a whole new world. One second she's reaching for a shower… the next, she’s face-to-face with a very confused Elena Gilbert.

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2665

A/N: I am once again asking for your feedback!🫡

Chapter 4: The Motel (And a Sudden Change of Plans)

You tried to control your breathing as the Winchesters checked into the motel. You watched Dean confidently slide a fake credit card across the counter, feeling surreal as the clerk handed back the keys. Your eyes briefly flicked to the fake name on the card, and you bit your lip to hide the amused smile that formed when you read it.

"James Hetfield?" you muttered under your breath, shaking your head with a soft laugh.

Dean glanced back at you sharply, clearly surprised you caught it. "Gotta give ‘em something to work with." he said, a smirk playing at his lips.

The motel room was just like you’d imagined: worn wallpaper, tacky decor, and a suspiciously stained carpet.

You sat on the edge of the bed, awkwardly smoothing your sari down, and glanced up as Dean tossed his duffel bag onto the table.

He gave you another skeptical look, then gestured vaguely at your clothes. "So, hunter, planning on sticking with the Bollywood theme for the rest of the trip, or do you have something else to wear?"

You grimaced, glancing at yourself. "I didn't exactly get a chance to pack."

"Didn't think so." Dean smirked slightly. "You know, I don’t think I’ve ever come across a brown hunter before. First time for everything, huh?"

You snorted softly. “Yeah, me neither. Damn racist writers.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

Your entire body locked up.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What writers?”

You backpedaled instantly. “Nothing! I—I said racist fighters! Like, y’know—monsters. They, uh, don’t discriminate, except when they totally do. It's a whole thing.”

Dean stared at you blankly, clearly unconvinced. “Right.”

Sam stepped in diplomatically. “Look, Y/N, your outfit isn’t exactly practical for, you know, hunting. We’ll pick you up some clothes when we head out for food.”

You nodded gratefully. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

When Sam and Dean finally left, promising they'd return soon, you collapsed back onto the bed, trying to process everything, releasing a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Alone at last, your mind spiraled freely.

What the actual hell was happening? You glanced around the motel room, eyes settling on your jacket thrown haphazardly on the bed. You reached into its deep pockets, feeling something solid brush your fingertips.

Your phone.

You pulled it out, heart racing. Your charger, cigarettes, wallet—everything was still there. Somehow, this tangible connection to your old life made the situation painfully real.

Almost afraid to check, you turned your phone on. Battery at 17%. You quickly scanned for a signal—nothing. Desperate, you checked for Wi-Fi.

The motel Wi-Fi showed up on the screen, but when you tried to connect, it failed. Your phone was far too advanced, far too futuristic for the outdated connection. Frustration welled up inside you, and you dropped the phone on the table with a sigh.

"Of course," you mumbled bitterly. "Because it would be too easy to just call for help."

You took a shaky breath, grabbing your cigarettes and lighting one up. You inhaled deeply, the familiar burn grounding you slightly. Slowly, tension began to leave your shoulders.

"Alright," you whispered to yourself. "One crisis at a time."

After a few calming puffs, you set your phone to charge on the bedside table, arranging your few possessions beside it. With another steadying breath, you rose to your feet.

"Shower," you decided aloud. "That's what I need. Hot water and clarity."

You moved toward the bathroom door, thoughts still racing.

But really, why Supernatural of all shows? Sure, you’d watched it religiously, but why couldn't it have been something else? Something easier, something less—traumatic?

Like The Vampire Diaries, for instance. Damon Salvatore was certainly less exhausting than Dean Winchester, at least initially.

"Yeah," you muttered sarcastically, stepping into the bathroom doorway. "Damon would've been great."

You froze, heart plunging to your stomach.

Because you weren't in the motel bathroom anymore.

You blinked rapidly, heart hammering as you tried—and utterly failed—to process the abrupt change in your surroundings. Gone was the grimy motel bathroom, replaced by polished wooden floors beneath your bare feet, high ceilings, and an elegant hallway illuminated by dimly lit antique lamps. Your sari felt painfully out of place now, a bright splash of color in the muted sophistication around you.

You pressed a palm to your forehead, panic swelling rapidly beneath your ribs.

“Nope, nope, nope,” you whispered frantically. “This isn’t real. It can't be—”

Before you could finish your thought, the soft sound of footsteps caught your attention. You turned, your stomach sinking when you saw who was walking toward you.

Elena Gilbert froze mid-step, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of the stranger in front of her.

“Oh my God,” Elena gasped, stumbling slightly backward. “Who—who are you? How did you get in here?”

“Wait, Elena—” you started, throwing your hands up defensively, but Elena was already calling out.

“Stefan!” she shouted, panic thickening her voice.

And before you could blink, Stefan Salvatore was suddenly at Elena’s side, positioning himself protectively between you. His expression shifted quickly from confusion to wary suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?” Stefan demanded sharply. “And how did you get into my house?”

Your head spun. This was happening way too quickly. You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. “I just—I need a second to process this, Stefan. Can I just freak out in peace for like one minute?”

Stefan’s brows knitted together incredulously. “Freak out in peace? You’re literally standing in my house.”

You sighed dramatically, opening your eyes again to glare at him in annoyance. “Okay, fine, whatever. I’m, uh...” Your voice trailed off, panic setting in deeper, scrambling for any lie you could cling to. “I’m a friend of Damon’s.”

Stefan arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Really? Damon’s friend? Funny, he’s never mentioned you.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. “Really? Because he should’ve—trust me, we've got history.”

Stefan narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “History? What kind of history?”

“The kind we definitely can’t talk about in public,” you replied hurriedly, instantly regretting your choice of words.

Elena’s eyes widened, exchanging a bewildered glance with Stefan, who looked equal parts annoyed and perplexed.

Before Stefan could interrogate you further, a smooth, amused voice floated down from the staircase.

“Did someone say my name?”

You turned slowly, breath catching sharply in your throat as Damon Salvatore descended the stairs, all confidence and swagger. His icy-blue eyes sparkled with mischief as his gaze settled on you, his lips curling into his trademark smirk.

Your pulse skyrocketed instantly. You'd seen that smirk countless times before—on TV. But seeing it directed at you was something else entirely, enough to render you completely speechless.

“Well, hello,” Damon purred, clearly enjoying the attention. “And who do we have here?”

You were frozen in place, a ridiculous, involuntary smile spreading across your face. “Oh my God, there it is.”

Damon tilted his head, bemused. “There what is?”

“That smirk!” you blurted, gesturing wildly at his face. “God, I never thought I'd actually see it up close. Wow—this is really happening. This is some genuinely cool shit.”

Damon’s eyes gleamed brighter, intrigue lighting up his features.

Stefan cleared his throat pointedly. “‘Never thought you’d see it up close?’ I thought you two had”—he raised his hands in mocking air quotes—“history?”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, I mean—we definitely have...uh, history. Like, complicated, dramatic, you-wouldn’t-get-it kind of history. Right, Damon?”

You shot Damon a pleading look. His smirk deepened, clearly amused. “Well, obviously.”

To your surprise—and absolute delight—he casually stepped forward, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you gently against his side. Your heart flipped violently in your chest as you tried not to openly swoon.

Damon glanced casually back at Stefan, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I have no idea what’s going on here, but I’ve learned never to say no to a beautiful stranger claiming we have history.”

You practically melted, momentarily lost in the charm of that infamous smirk. Up close, Damon Salvatore was unfairly magnetic, all dark eyes and sharp features that made it difficult to remember why you'd been panicking just moments ago. Sure, he was infuriating as hell on-screen, but standing in front of you now, he was dangerously captivating.

But the pleasant haze shattered as a sudden realization hit you full-force. You'd left all your things behind in the motel room. Your phone, your charger, your wallet��everything that might anchor you back to some semblance of normalcy. Panic surged again, overriding any lingering appreciation of Damon’s supernatural charm.

Besides, you thought grimly, these people were vampires—literal, blood-drinking vampires—and you were essentially a walking buffet wrapped neatly in a sari. As much as you adored Damon Salvatore from the safe distance of your TV screen, you had no desire to become tonight’s dinner special.

Abruptly, you pushed yourself away from Damon’s distracting embrace, taking several rapid steps toward the front door. “Actually, sorry, gotta go. Urgent stuff happening elsewhere. Humans waiting for me. Very alive, non-vampire humans.”

Damon frowned slightly, clearly entertained by your abrupt shift. “Leaving so soon? We were just getting acquainted.”

“Yeah, another time!” you shouted over your shoulder, voice edged with thinly-veiled panic. You caught Stefan’s intense, suspicious gaze on you, felt Elena whisper something urgent to him—but you didn't slow down to listen.

Your thoughts scrambled frantically to Sam and Dean, to the mundane, comforting presence of the motel room you'd so carelessly left behind. You grabbed the ornate handle of the boarding house’s front door, bracing yourself for whatever madness awaited you this time.

You stumbled forward, eyes squeezed shut tight, expecting cool evening air and the soft grass beneath your feet.

Instead, your bare feet collided roughly with scratchy motel carpeting.

Your eyes snapped open. The chipped porcelain sink, outdated wallpaper, and faint scent of cheap motel soap surrounded you like familiar old friends. Dizzy with relief and disbelief, you inhaled sharply, gripping the sink’s edge as though it might vanish beneath your fingers if you let go.

“What just happened?” you whispered shakily, staring into your own wide-eyed reflection in the foggy mirror. A realization settled cold and heavy in your gut, crystallizing into certainty.

“It’s the doors,” you breathed, heart still hammering in your chest. “Holy shit—it’s gotta be the doors.”

—

You stood frozen in front of the motel bathroom sink, gripping the porcelain edge as if it was the only thing tethering you to reality. Your heart was still hammering wildly, and adrenaline thrummed hot beneath your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground yourself back into this strange, inexplicable version of your reality.

"Okay, okay," you muttered shakily. "Doors. It’s definitely the doors. No more randomly walking into rooms."

You drew in a deep, steadying breath, releasing it slowly. You had to act normal. The Winchesters couldn't know what had just happened—you were having enough trouble processing it yourself. But just as your racing heart finally began to slow, muffled voices from beyond the bathroom door snapped your attention back.

It was Sam and Dean. In your room. And by the sound of it, definitely not out getting you clothes like they'd promised.

"Oh, come on," you muttered irritably under your breath, turning sharply toward the door. Steeling yourself, you pulled it open—carefully this time—and stepped out into the room.

The sight that greeted you made you stop cold.

Dean was leaning awkwardly over your bedside table, your phone held loosely in his hand, while Sam hovered over his shoulder, a faint crease of concern and curiosity marking his features. Both froze the instant they spotted you, guilty expressions flitting swiftly across their faces.

You folded your arms, eyebrows lifting incredulously. "Are you seriously going through my phone right now?"

Dean straightened quickly, hastily tossing the phone back onto the bed. "What? No," he said immediately, voice a little too defensive.

Sam gave him an exasperated look before sighing in defeat. "Yes, actually."

Dean shot him a glare. "Dude."

Sam shrugged slightly. "She already saw us."

You narrowed your eyes at both of them, irritation and embarrassment warring within you. "What happened to going out and getting me some clothes? Isn't that what you said you'd be doing?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, recovering quickly. "Weren't you supposed to be in there showering?"

You stiffened. Right. To them, you'd been locked in the bathroom for an unsettlingly long time without any sound of running water—just silence. Realizing how suspicious it must seem, you forced a weak laugh, hoping it sounded convincing.

"I got distracted," you said vaguely, hoping they'd drop it.

Sam's eyes narrowed skeptically. "Distracted doing what exactly?"

"Bathroom stuff?" you suggested, grimacing internally at your own weak excuse.

Dean crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Yeah, see, we thought you might've passed out or something."

"And your first instinct was to invade my privacy?" you snapped, defensiveness rising sharply.

Dean scoffed. "You're a mysterious hitchhiker we found on the side of the road. Can you really blame us for taking a few precautions?"

You pursed your lips, conceding grudgingly. "Fine. Did you at least get what you were looking for?"

Sam shook his head, picking up the discarded phone. "It's password-protected."

"Good," you said dryly. "Glad to see basic security measures still apply."

Dean watched you carefully, eyes narrowing slightly. "You wanna tell us what you were really doing in there for half an hour without showering?"

You shifted uneasily under his scrutiny, frantically searching for an explanation that wouldn't sound insane. "Oh. Um. There was..." Your gaze darted quickly back toward the bathroom door, then returned to them. "There was a lizard."

Sam blinked slowly, disbelief clear on his face. "...A lizard?"

You nodded vigorously. "A huge one."

Dean tilted his head, clearly not buying it. "Right. A huge lizard."

You folded your arms defensively. "Hey, I’m serious. It was practically a dragon. Like, supernatural-sized."

Dean’s lips quirked into a smirk, eyes gleaming with barely-concealed amusement. "So, you're telling me you're supposedly a hunter, but a lizard is where you draw the line?"

You squared your shoulders, feigning confidence despite the growing embarrassment heating your face. "Have you ever seen the way they move? It's unnatural."

Dean shook his head, pushing himself off the edge of the bed and heading for the bathroom. He threw the door wide open, stepping back dramatically and gesturing inside. "There. Dragon-free. Happy now, princess?"

You peered cautiously into the bathroom, heart rate climbing slightly, half expecting to see Damon Salvatore casually leaning against the shower wall. But no—there was nothing but faded tiles, peeling wallpaper, and the quiet hum of fluorescent lighting. No Mystic Falls. No Damon. And thankfully, no giant lizard either.

"Well," Dean said, arching an eyebrow, "See any fire-breathing reptiles?"

You straighten your posture, forcing a casual shrug. "Guess it must've crawled out."

Dean rolled his eyes while Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly reaching his limit of patience. "Okay," Sam sighed, turning toward the door. "Since you're obviously fine, we're going to actually go and get those clothes now—and probably some food."

Dean smirked as he followed his brother toward the exit, shooting you one last teasing glance over his shoulder. "Try not to get eaten by your invisible dragon."

You huffed, feigning irritation as you waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, very funny."

The moment the door closed behind them, you rushed forward and locked it. For good measure, you double—and then triple—checked the latch, pressing your forehead briefly against the worn wooden surface in relief.

You let out a slow breath, trying to settle your racing heart. "Okay," you whispered to yourself. "No more unexpected field trips. Just a normal shower. You can do this."

You turned back toward the bathroom, hesitating momentarily in front of the doorway. Carefully, you placed one foot over the threshold, testing it cautiously. Thankfully, nothing happened. Just solid tile beneath your feet. You released a long-held breath, stepping fully inside.

This time, the door stayed open—just in case.

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #breaking the fourth wall #the vampire diaries #damon salvatore #dimension travel

20 notes · View notes

diminuel · 2 days ago

Note

Hi Steffi, I know you're on hiatus from the Supernatural fandom, but I wanted to ask if you liked season 14 when you watched it? I'm almost at the end of my first watch and I don't think I'm feeling it much. Appart from not liking Nick (might be my least favorite character) nor his storyline, I can't point out to what is missing exactly. It feels aimless somewhat. You can answer me in private (if you want to answer) : )

Hello hello!

I actually got stuck at the end of Season 14 in my SPN rewatch because I struggled so much with it. To be honest, when I first read your ask I couldn't even properly remember what the overarching point of the season was, I'm that mentally divorced from it.

But it's the whole AU world, AU Michael and his plans, the odious Nick plot stealing precious screen time that could have been used otherwise, Dean and his box, Jack dying and losing his powers and ultimately losing control and the irritatingly inconsistent way it was handled...

I think individual episode of this season were good, but as with most of Supernatural I feel the issue is that they occasional build good ideas in the first half and then just let them drop in the second half for half-cooked things instead.

Nick for example wouldn't have been necessary at all in my opinion and his presence as well as characterization actually rather muddles points that the show could have made a lot better without him - or at least without turning him into just a psychotic, irredeemable guy that has us wonder why Mary was throwing such a fit over Jack killing him (after he's killed people, hurt people close to them AND was being weirdly successful at trying to bring LUCIFER back to life.) If he had just been a desperate guy, poisoned in some way by angelic presence in him, or being actually just a revived body without a soul, acting on vessel instinct, that might have raised more interesting moral implications to Jack's actions (but then again, this is the callously murdering innocent people show and the Winchesters only care about it when it's plot relevant.)

As to Michael... I'm not sure I like Michael!Dean too much and his mid season villain plan to turn monsters, who just destroy to eat, into an army (dude, go to purgatory, you'd enjoy Leviathan) enhanced by Grace just went nowhere. It had no consequences at all! Sure, Michael trapped in Dean's brain gave delicious Dean angst but that doesn't change that it's also a little bit underwhelming.

It only gets juicy again when shit hits the fan and we have Destiel divorce. But it's also not a great time for Sam because of his passivity. Sure, he was depressed over losing his army, he's reverted right back to following Dean's lead on everything (might be wrong here, not a Sam expert). And then that guides us over into what I think the main emotional conflict of the first half of S15 is.

I'm sorry if this is very rambling and not very nuanced because I haven't seen Supernatural in a while and I have a lot of rage in me about certain elements that I haven't worked through in fanfic yet X'DD (But a fangirl can write 100k of fic trying to come to terms with the season 6 divorce, think she's fine and then still nearly die every time she watches it all fall apart. So... no hope for me. Also, still always on Cas' side in the divorce even if he did everything wrong. Which he didn't of course. :P)

#casandmishasmiles #Diminuel replies #Supernatural

20 notes · View notes

vivitalks · 10 months ago

Text

i'm thinking john winchester thoughts tonight is it obvious

#ive been thinking john winchester thoughts since i started my s1-3 rewatch if im honest #what a fucking character #it's so interesting to me how #john winchester is one of those characters who is not actually physically present for most of the show #and yet somehow his Presence is so large and all encompassing #he's there. even when he isnt. he is.#of course he is. he's in everything dean does and everything sam refuses to do #he's in every harsh word and every sacrifice done to protect anyone #he's THERE. he's saving people he's hunting things #like he's not there but of course he is. because sam and dean are #and for better and for worse sam and dean are just john winchester put through a flour sifter #alternating whose turn it is to be the john this time #sometimes they're both john. even when they do completely opposite things they're both john #dean wants to use the kid as bait. sam can't fathom risking a kid's life like that. they're both john winchester #I JUST #spn #supernatural #stuff

5 notes · View notes

plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 2 days ago

Text

where to start????? zoe... this one hurt. like, truly hurt. unbelievably well-written and so much emotion in there. so freaking immersive, i was holding back tears the moment he didn't hold her hand. oh wow.

“What?” Dean tried to say, but with the biscuit shoved in his mouth, it came out as more of a “whuff?”.

we can always rely on dean to make me laugh, can't we? god, you write him so perfect.

and jody!!!! oh jody has my entire heart and soul <3 i could hear her voice when i was reading her dialogue. you're so crazy talented.

“You’re acting like a child,”

now, excuse me, sam. what in the (and i cannot stress this enough) fuck.

see, it's hard, because i can SEE where he's coming from. we all know sammy has a problem with guilt, and of course he would feel it in this situation, no matter how much he loves her... but dude, come on? she's SO good for you.

this is honestly so heartbreaking but i love(!!!!!!!) it so much. i love when stories hurt, i love when they feel like they crawl inside your ribs and make themselves at home. i think it's one of the signs of truly great writing, because it sticks with you and hurts after the fact. zoe, once again. impeccable and unparalleled.

“What the fuck did he do?” Travis asked, but he was already moving toward his car.

see, i kinda love travis. i think he's such a good friend, especially for a guy! i so hope he stays that way. rosie needs someone who cares for her like that in a platonic way.

Sam leaned against the building, keeping watch over you.

still watching out for her. silly man, just apologise!!! we all know how much you love her. you have to stop with this guilt about her age! you deserve good things, sammy, and she's good!!!

oh, my actual heart. zoe, you are such a talented fucking writer. i absolutely LOVE everything that comes out of your mind. honestly, i would buy every single book you published (hint: publish some goddamn books, you star) and write essays to myself, dissecting each line and the poeticism and beauty in all of it. god, i am once again, jaw-on-the-floor level impressed and i don't know how you keep doing this to me.

you're fantastic.

"you said if we had been closer in age, maybe it would have been fine" sam winchester x party girl!reader

content: age gap, fluff, angst, language, sam is a little mean, reader is a little crazy, travis appearance lol

word count: 4k

song: all too well ten minute version by taylor swift

note: everyone say "thank you jen" for encouraging me to get this out!! love you, girl @xoswiftieprincess !

m.list meet party girl!

The winding roads had been relatively empty compared to what you had been used to in the city.

Sam drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other grasping yours in your lap. You'd been drifting in and out of sleep the entire drive, listening to the soft voices on the podcast Sam had picked out.

There had been a deal: half the drive would be Sam's choice, the other your own. You assumed he'd play the music he grew up on, the kind his brother still blasted through Impala speakers the few times he'd come with Sam to visit.

Instead, you were learning about the ancient Aztecs's religious traditions.

What a fucking snoozefest.

Still, you didn’t complain, and had even carried on a conversation about the topic. It was a lot of uh huhs and wait, what does that means, but you wanted him to feel heard. You loved his brain, you loved his enthusiasm, you loved him. So what if you had to pretend sometimes?

“Baby,” Sam muttered, putting more pressure into the strokes of his thumb on your hand. You opened an eye, turning your head to look at him.

“Hmm?” You hummed.

“We gotta stop at the store. I told Jody I’d pick a few things up.”

“Okay, honey.” You dismissed before cuddling into his arm, resting your cheek on his forearm.

When Sam had asked you to go with him to a dinner, one thrown together with his mismatched family. Dean would be there, but you already knew him. The real anxiety maker?

Some lady you didn’t know who obviously meant something to Sam.

Jody had heard about you in passing. She thought great, let Sam finally have a fling. But when your name kept coming up months after, getting close to a year of your relationship taking bloom, she knew she had to let him know she supported him. He didn’t have much of that, and Jody was always happy to play step-in-mother.

There was a small fact that had escaped her in all the times she’d heard Sam and Dean talking about you: your age. They had bickered about Dean picking fun at your youth, but she figured he was being dramatic, like he usually was. She was expecting someone maybe a year or two younger. What a surprise she was about to get.

That would be a future problem. Right now, Sam was more focused on your cheek pressed against him, breath ghosting over his skin. He was so focused on you, in fact, that he had taken his eyes off the road to admire your slightly parted lips.

The first thing he saw when he looked back to the road was the glowing red cast over the darkening street. He knew there was no hope for slamming on the brakes. He made the conscious decision to coast on through it, thanking whatever force he still believed in for allowing the cross-traffic to be nonexistent. He’d relaxed into his seat when you spoke.

“Did you just run a red light?” You had a slight slur in your voice, the sleep slowly seeping off of you. He flicked his gaze to the corner of his eye, wanting to catch your expression. Aside from the usual killing-and-maiming-of-monsters thing, Sam was pretty straight laced. He followed traffic laws, he always returned his shopping cart to the corral, and he never drank too much. This wasn’t like him.

“No.” Sam answered, mumbling the word out in hopes that you hadn’t actually seen the light, or perhaps that you had suddenly gone colorblind and couldn’t actually tell green from red.

“Mmm,” you purred, sitting up, “looked pretty red to me.”

Sam couldn’t help the smile that tugged on his lips. You stretched your arms, a small noise escaping you at the relief it brought.

“It may have been slightly red.” Sam’s hand had fallen from your hand when you stretched, but he immediately placed it on your thigh, needing to just touch a part of you to keep him grounded.

“There is no slightly red, Sammy.”

“You’re criticizing my driving?” He steered the conversation away from himself, a teasing tone in his voice. “Do I have to remind you of last month?”

“I didn’t hit that curb! It got in my way.” You defended.

There had been one time during Sam’s last visit that he had dared to let you drive. He had been exhausted and, hey, you had your license, so you couldn’t have been that bad of a driver, right?

Wrong.

Whoever proctored your test must have been unconscious because there was no way you had passed on your own. You took turns too sharply, had to slam on your brakes more than once, and had even scraped a bit of the body of the car on a curb. Sam cringed at the memory of the nails-on-chalkboard noise it had made.

“Mhm,” Sam hummed and, if you were less focused on looking for the perfect spot for him to park in at the store, you would have teased him for the sassy tone of it.

You gathered your purse up, more of a formality than anything since Sam never let you pay for anything, but stopped when you noticed him just staring at you. You quirked an eyebrow up, a small pout popping your lips out.

“What?” You asked when he still didn’t move.

“I love you.” Sam answered simply, cupping your cheek in his hand. His thumb brushed across your chin.

“I know,” you giggled before kissing him, almost sighing at the taste of coffee and spearmint. “I love you too.”

And so it was, you gathered Sam’s hand in yours while you cruised the aisles of the grocery store. Sam held a basket in his other hand, ignoring the growing weight with every item you placed in it.

He had eyed the packet of gummy worms you had swiped up, but said nothing. There was no winning the argument of whether or not you needed them when you were going to a dinner. He would have to live with the fact that you were surviving on an 80% sweet treat diet.

“Chocolate or blueberry?” You asked, holding up two muffin options. Sam pretended to contemplate the decision. You scrunched your nose up and shook the packages, trying to get him to give you an answer quicker.

“Blueberry,” he finally replied, holding the basket out for you to drop them in. Just before you could skip ahead of him to the next aisle, he pulled you in for another kiss. It was quick and sweet, nothing like the heated makeout you two had when he picked you up.

Still, Sam noticed the furrowed brows of the middle-aged man who swiftly passed by. His glance at your college id card hanging out of your purse that quickly shot to observe your swollen lips gave the man all the information he needed to send a nasty glare Sam’s way. He knew what it meant. It was the “stop kissing young girls, you creep” look that he picked up on far too often for his liking.

He shouldn’t care about it. He knew that. You had gone on many tangents about how you didn’t “give a shit” if some “bitchy assholes” found a problem with the “true love” you and Sam shared.

It didn’t stop the small distance he kept between you two for the rest of the shopping trip.

Back in the privacy of the car, he let himself hold you again. The rest of the drive to Jody’s was full of laughter and you feeding him those damned gummy worms.

You were nervous. Very nervous.

What if she didn’t like you? Again, you didn’t care much what other people thought, but if Sam’s family didn’t like you, there was no way your relationship would last.

The pit in your stomach grew while each thump of Sam’s fist on the door. You stood next to him, one of his flannels draped over your shoulders and the muffins in your hands.

“Sam-,” you began to ask if Jody was nice, for around the fiftieth time that day, when the door swung open to reveal--

“Hey-ey!” Dean exclaimed, holding his arms out as if to say “look at this!”. “My two favorite dorks!”

“You weren’t calling me a dork when I outdrank your ass.” You snapped back. Technically, you had only won the little drinking game because some blonde behind you had caught Dean’s eye, but you took that as a win.

“You didn’t outdrink me, you-,” Dean started to argue, but Sam cut him off.

“Can we maybe not do this all over again?” Sam sighed. A smile was weaving itself onto his face despite his attempts at exasperation. He couldn’t help the joy that swelled in his chest at the sight of his two favorite people getting along so well.

“Of course, whatever my honey wants.” You shoved the muffins into Dean’s hands before wrapping your fingers around Sam’s arm, hanging on him to calm the anxiety that had sprung back up the moment you remembered why you were standing on a random doorstep. He kissed the top of your head and pulled you in close.

“C’mon, honey,” Dean sneered the pet name with that brotherly love he bottled up specially for Sam, “dinner’s almost done.” He turned on his heel and sauntered to the kitchen.

“I love you.” Sam mumbled to you one last time. He knew you were nervous. Hell, he was nervous too. He hoped his words would help ease you. If you were happy, he would be happy, at least, that was the theory.

You clung to Sam as he directed you in the direction Dean had gone in. The clatter of scraping and sizzling was growing louder with each step.

“Dean, get your fingers out-,” a feminine, but strong, voice scolded, “no touching!”

Your eyes caught onto the woman flitting about, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. She swatted at Dean’s hand, making you laugh. It wasn’t very loud, but she must’ve had the hearing of a dog, because she spun around. Her attention caught on Sam first, his large figure being a beacon in any room.

“Sam! You’re here. And this is-,” her voice cut off when she flicked her gaze to you. You offered a smile and she returned it, though it wavered a bit. “You must be his girlfriend! I’ve heard so many things, all good.”

“Sam goes on and on about you and Dean.” You revealed, melting into your boyfriend’s side. The tension you felt before had lifted, and you were utterly relieved for that fact.

“Well, I’ve saved his ass enough times, he better talk about me.” Jody joked. Her eye caught movement just behind her. “Dean!”

“What?” Dean tried to say, but with the biscuit shoved in his mouth, it came out as more of a “whuff?”. You snickered at the scene. Whatever initial thoughts Jody had about you faded away and you all moved about as a perfect unit, only bumping into each other once or twice.

Dinner spun by without problem. Or, well, without a clear problem. No one argued, other than the small bicker between Sam and Dean about who got to use the butter first. There were no ill-willed glares. Everything seemed to be in perfect harmony.

Until you tried to hold Sam’s hand. To his credit, he did let you rest your palm on his for a few moments. Slowly, he had inched it away, opting to hide his hands in his lap. You were left staring off into the space where he should have been, but an empty tabletop lay instead.

Laughter surrounded you.

Was Sam embarrassed to love you in front of others? You hadn’t thought that before. No, he always held your hand. He always gave you quick pecks just for the hell of it. He had never done this, never treated you like some little girl that was constantly begging for attention.

You couldn’t shake the shame you felt. It lingered on your skin through the rest of the meal. Even Jody’s apple pie couldn’t get it to go away.

Now, the night air chilled you on your short walk to Sam’s car. You didn’t dare reach for Sam, not after how he made you feel.

Sam knew something was wrong. You weren’t as happy as you usually were. You didn’t immediately weave your fingers into his when he climbed into the car. You made no move to play your music, leading the first half hour of the car ride back to your college town to be silent.

Your eyes stayed glued to the window. The darkened night sky held stars, but you didn’t feel like looking at them. You were mad. You were sad. You were embarrassed.

You heard Sam sigh, then mumble your name. His fingers brushed onto your clothed arm.

“Did you have fun?” He asked, voice soothing. It quelled a bit of the tension you held in your body, but the mental image of his hand sliding away from yours made you swallow down the thick emotion that was building in you.

“Yeah.” You answered short. It wasn’t a complete lie. Dean and Jody were fun. Sam was the one who made it not so enjoyable, but you didn’t want to confront him about it. Would it make you sound like a child throwing a fit?

“You’re kinda quiet,” Sam laughed, glancing at you for a moment. Your eyes dropped to the floor and you bit your lip to keep from responding. He frowned, concern washing onto him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s obviously something, baby. Please talk to me.” Sam tapped a finger on your thigh, out of habit. You hesitated, but he wasn’t gonna let this go, you knew that.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” You asked, voice small. You had never felt so… immature before. You hated it.

Sam nearly choked on his breath.

“What? Why would I be embarrassed? I love you.” He couldn’t believe this. How could you think he would be anything but proud of you?

“I know you love me, this isn’t about that.” You didn’t like how he was seemingly avoiding this. Did he really not see it all?

The answer was, no, he didn’t see it. It wasn’t something he set out to do. It all just happened, like all the guilt he felt about loving a younger woman just took control.

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about you not wanting to hold my hand at dinner. You made me feel like a little girl, Sam.” You unloaded it all on him.

Sam. Not honey, not Sammy. Sam. Like he didn’t mean anything to you.

Sam ignored the pang of heartache at the formality of the name.

“This is about me not holding your hand?” Sam scoffed. The condescension in his voice wasn’t intentional, but it still rang through you, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“No, Sam, this is about you not holding my hand in front of your family. You treated me like I was your friend, some acquaintance, not your girlfriend.” You didn’t even think of the next words that came out, but it was what escalated this argument. “Like loving me is wrong.”

Sam cringed at your words. He cringed because he’d thought them before. He’d thought loving you was wrong, morally, anyway. He took a deep breath, the regret he felt for what he was about to say doing nothing to stop him.

“Well, isn’t it? In some way, my love for you shouldn’t exist, right?”

You felt a shiver run up your spine. No. This couldn’t be happening. He regretted loving you.

“Why, because of my age? Because I don’t kill things for a living?” You spat out.

“Yeah. Because of your age.” Sam answered, nodding. Light flew over your faces while he drove, the signs of businesses paving the way to the end of the best thing that had ever happened to you.

“You’re not that much older than me. I mean, Jesus, I’ve had friends date men older than you.” You murmured, ignoring the pricking of tears at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t cry, not now. It would show Sam that he was right, you were too young, you couldn’t even handle a simple fight.

“I’m thirty-,” Sam was cut off by you.

“You just turned thirty, like last month. My birthday’s in-,” this time Sam cut you off.

“You’re gonna be twenty-two. That’s eight years,” he finished the sentence with your name. He sounded far too much like a scolding parent.

“I can do math, I’m not stupid.” You scoffed, crossing your arms. Sam rolled his eyes. You were taking this all the wrong way. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. But, here he was, trying to talk you down from making him the bad guy.

“I didn’t call you stupid.” Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel to keep him focused. “You’re acting like a child,” he mumbled, hoping you wouldn’t hear it, because, really, he didn’t mean it.

“What?” You asked, pushing your head forward, ear turned to him. Now you were really pissed off. “What was that?”

“I said, you’re acting like a child.” He repeated, shaking his head.

You nodded your head sarcastically.

“If I’m such a child, maybe we shouldn’t be together. Wouldn’t want you to be a creepy old man.” You seethed, quoting his words from a few weeks into your relationship. He’d confided in you about his feelings, about how he felt wrong in how right your skin felt against him. At the time, you’d given him a kiss on the nose and said all the right things to make him feel better. Now, it was fuel for you to get through to him. You were hoping he would see where he was wrong, that he would take it all back and everything would go back to the way it had been.

Apparently you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be.” He agreed, eyes glued to the road so he wouldn’t see the effect his words had.

You froze, staring at the side of his face. He didn’t glance at you, he didn’t look like he regretted his words. The tears you had been holding back fell, streaking your mascara.

“What?” You asked, voice wavering. Please, you silently begged, please just say you’re sorry.

“We shouldn’t be together. This isn’t working, not like it should.” Sam knew he was being overdramatic to some extent. Really, your relationship did work, but he didn’t want to ruin you. He didn’t want to be the thing holding you back from something better, something easier. So, instead he hurt you. “Maybe if we were closer in age, it would. But, we can’t change that.”

“We can’t change that, so we should just ignore it. It shouldn’t matter.” You blabbered out, fingers trembling where you rested them on the middle console of the vehicle.

“It does. You know it does.”

“I don’t care about our ages!” You argued, trying to swipe away some tears.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want you to cry. It wasn’t fair, but this was how it had to be. Sometimes life wasn’t fair.

“Yeah, well, I do.” Sam sighed, flexing his jaw.

Your heart completely shattered. You couldn’t sit here and let him talk to you like this. You gripped onto the strap of your purse.

“Let me out.” Your voice was as flat as you could manage. Sam furrowed his brows. What the hell were you talking about? “Let me out. Now.” You repeated, a bit more stern.

“What? No.” Sam wasn’t gonna let you walk the streets of some random town. He would bring you back to your dorm, crying or not.

“Sam, let me out now or I’ll fucking jump out!” You threatened. Yeah, it was a little crazy, but you weren’t thinking straight. And Sam knew you, even if he pretended not to. He knew you would jump out, given enough motivation.

He pulled into the parking lot of a closed Burger King. The car hadn’t even stopped all the way before you lept out, sneakers hitting pavement. Sam huffed and put the car into park, climbing out to follow you. You were his girl -- wait, no, not anymore, but he still felt responsible for you.

You were a mess. There wasn’t a specific direction you were headed in. You just wanted away from this, away from the shame that still oozed all over you. You heard Sam call your name, causing you to quicken your pace.

“Get back in the car.” It wasn’t a demand, it was a plea. You shook your head, sucking in a steadying breath. It didn’t help.

“No.” You shuffled through your purse, looking for your phone. You needed someone, anyone. Anyone other than Sam.

“Please, just-,” Sam reached for your arm, but you flinched away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled. He didn’t get to touch you after breaking your heart like that. Your fingers slipped on the buttons on your phone as you typed, causing you to take longer to find your friend’s contact that it should have. You all but sprinted away from Sam, holding the phone to your ear.

He followed you, sighing.

“Stop acting like this.” There it was again, that fucking parental scolding. You cut a glare at him.

“Fuck,” you mumbled when the call went to voicemail. She was probably sleeping, like you should have been. That had been the plan. Sam would bring you back to the motel he always booked when he was in town to visit, and you two would spend the night together before he had to get back to helping Dean. Instead, you were here, wishing you had never met the tall man following you around the sidewalks.

“Baby-,” it just slipped out, Sam didn’t mean to say it, but you spun on your heel, cutting him off.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking call me that.” You had a murderous look in your eyes. He’d really pissed you off this time. It wasn’t your first fight, but it was looking to be your last.

You dialed another number, praying to God that he was awake. Of course, he was. I mean, when did Travis spend a Friday night not partying?

“Rosie?” Travis answered the phone with. He knew you were with Sam, you hadn’t shut up about this night for days. He just didn’t know why you were calling him.

“Trav,” you almost sobbed, the familiarity of your nickname hurting more than it should. “Can you pick me up?”

“What the fuck did he do?” Travis asked, but he was already moving toward his car. He took care of you like a sister, and he’d be damned if he would let you spend one more second hurting. Thankfully, he hadn’t drank as much as usual.

“Just…,” your lip quivered when you saw Sam standing there, staring at you like that. Like he cared. “Please hurry.”

And he did. Travis turned the three-hour drive into two hours. His hardened gaze immediately softened at the sight of you sitting on the curb near the Burger King, Sam leaned against the building, keeping watch over you.

You shot up at the sight of your savior, stumbling to him before collapsing into his arms. Travis glared at Sam. He didn’t know what had happened, but whatever it was, it had left you like this, and that was all he needed to hate the older man.

“I’m-,” Sam started to say “I’m sorry”, but Travis snapped at him before he could continue.

“Shut the fuck up.”

party girl taglist : @xoswiftieprincess @whothefvckami @giowritess

sam winchester taglist : @hobiespick

#sam winchester #pfiahc reads #i love everything zoe does #its actual ART

189 notes · View notes