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godmadeaterribleerror · 27 days ago

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Chapter 6 - Everything I Do

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, light angst, love confession, smut (handjob, fingering, p in v sex), Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: The Mark reaches a breaking point. Usual Warnings, little angst, lotta smut.

Author's Note: I am of the firm belief Rowena would’ve said cunt religiously if the CW wasn’t full of a bunch of pussies.

Chapter title from Video Games by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.7k

Read on A03!

Chapter 5

Dean can breathe. Not easily, but he can. He can feel the weight of something airy and thin wrapped around him, stuck to his skin and far too heavy. There’s a hand on his brow, and it’s not the right one. Dean’s not sure what the right one would even be, but he knows it’s not this one. This one feels a little wrinkled, and the nails are too long, and it doesn’t satiate the betterlust. It’s just there, pressed to his skin like it’s looking for something and not all too pleased with what it finds.

The longer it’s there, the more the betterlust pounds and stabs and scrapes at him. Rots his guts and carves open his skull and rips through his chest. It’s searching for something that’s not there, and Dean’s head is too clouded with pain and ache and sickness to figure out where he should even be looking. Not in the hand. Not in the thing around him like a shroud–hot and clinging to him like a plague—but maybe somewhere close. Because wherever Dean is—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have enough of a brain to guess right now—it’s unfamiliar, but feels right. He’s lying on something soft, and it smells good, and when his fingers flex, they’re tracing over an impression left on the area next to him. An indent left on the space by something that could curve and press into Dean exactly like he wants. Craves. Needs.

The betterlust starts to flare and bellow, almost drowning out the low voices around him, and Dean knows he might die if he doesn’t find what fits into that impression and take it.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I’m not sure, a few hours?”

“Well can you try to be sure, Samuel?”

“I got here the same time you did, how am I supposed to be sure-“

“Ask our resident Dean Expert, the poor girl has been stuck with him all week-“

“No, I’m not going to make her do more. And, uh,” there’s a long sigh, and Dean still isn’t really sure what’s going on, or who these people are, or why they’re talking about him. “I don’t think it’s safe for her right now. To be around him. He said he didn’t want her-“

“He obviously lied, you idiotic boy-“

“He didn’t want her to know, Rowena. And it’s not my place to tell her-“

“She’s a big girl, she’ll survive a little bit of emotions.”

“He’d, he’d fucking kill me-“

“And he will kill himself if he does not accept what he needs! It’s quite honestly a miracle he was a stubborn enough arse to resist the Mark’s demands this long.”

Dean’s really fucking confused. There are two voices, one that sounds a little like his and one that very much doesn’t, and they’re both talking about him like he’s important. He doesn’t feel important. He mostly just feels tired, and bad, and sick. Sweaty and hungry and desperate for something he can’t name, but they say he needs to name or he’ll die, and he doesn’t even really know what names are right now-

“If I tell her, this becomes her responsibility-“

“Well, Dearie, I wasn’t aware you were stupid and blind-“

“Hey-“

“You cannot look me in the eyes and say that she would not welcome the responsibility, boy. She is so pathetically obsessed with him it makes me feel ill.”

Dean felt his mouth try to frown—he can’t figure out how to move, so it more of a twisted grimace—as he racked his mush of a brain to figure out who they could possibly be referring to. He couldn’t remember names, but he could remember presences. Remember that the voice like his was good, and he was supposed to protect it. The voice that wasn’t like his was bad, and kind of a bitch, but helpful when they ran out of options. There wasn’t a third voice, but there was a smell that he really liked. Loved. Craved. Needed-

That was the imprint. And it wasn’t here right now, but the betterlust and already spiraling around it and constricting his lungs as he tried to find it. He needed it, and it didn’t need him, and he was going to die-

“I know,” the familiar voice sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I can’t ask that of her-“

“She’ll shred your sorry arse apart if you don’t-“

“And Dean will put a bullet through my brain if I do!”

“He will die before he gets the chance. Have I not made it clear that, unless Dean receives the help our lovely, pretty, lovesick-“

Then the voice that wasn’t like Dean’s said a name, and the betterlust exploded inside him. He knew that name. He’d die and kill and cut himself to pieces for that name. He wanted it. He couldn’t have it. He needed it, more than he needs air or water or food or music. The betterlust demanded it, and was shredding apart his insides because he refused to take it, but was also lending him the strength to find it. To find Her. Dean needed to fucking find Her, or nothing would ever be good again-

His eyes fly open, and for a long movement everything is only a blinding blur of color. There’s noise around him—both voices shouting words that sound like they’re for him but he can’t understand—and Dean’s brain kicks into a vigilant, borderline feral function as he hauls himself up, something pushes him back down, and the betterlust grew feral.

“Rowena, grab the other arm-“

“I am not meant for brute labor, Samuel-“

“Are you fucking kidding me-“

Dean roars Her name clawing and grabbing at the air to try and go, try to get to Her, because he was going to fucking die, and the betterlust told him She could fix this, make this better, make Dean better-

“Oh for- Fine.”

The voice not like Dean’s says something he can’t understand, his whole body tightens. Like a weight has been dropped on his chest, and ropes have been wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to collapse back onto the bed with a noise that might have been a whine.

“Dean.” Rowena appears in his vision, her face drawn in annoyance. “Blink twice if you understand me.”

Dean scowls, but blinked twice.

“Good. Are you going to try and kill us again?”

Dean glowers at Rowena, keeping his eyes wide open in a gesture of no, and she sighs.

“Good boy. I’ll let you up, but if you ever try and grab my hair again, I’ll make you regret having hands, aye?”

The tension vanishes from Dean’s body, and he sits up slowly, pinch the bridge of his nose to try and curb the pounding ache behind his eyes, taking deep, mechanical breathes to get some fucking control over his body. Over the betterlust. Over himself.

“Dean, are you feeling okay?“

Sam looks worried. He’s frowning and scanning over Dean with concern, like there will be wound on his skin they can patch up to fix this.

But only one thing can fix this. And Dean still isn’t strong enough to not know where She is, not when all he can remember is dragging himself to Her room, and hearing her voice, and seeing her pretty face before it all went dark.

Dean mutters Her name, his voice low and gruff, and Sam and Rowena freeze. “Where is she.”

“She’s eating.” Sam mutters, bracing his hands on his hips. “I told her to get some rest. You freaked her out, dude, she-“ Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a look he doesn’t understand, and doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. “She was really shaken, when we got back. She needs-“

“She needs you.” Rowena interrupts Sam, and he shoots her a venomous glare. “You’re too much of a meat-headed dolt to see it, but that darling girl looked as if she’d been devastated over you.”

“Rowena.” Sam hisses. “We agreed-“

“You agreed. I made no promises-“

Dean raises his hands—they both need to shut up, or his skin will fly off his body—and their argument stutters off.

“How bad is it.” He looks to Rowena, the moment alone an act of labor. “And don’t try to lie or sugarcoat it. How long I got.”

Rowena sighs. “If you insist on keeping your head up your own arse, a day. Maybe two.”

“But we’re going to try to reverse it.” Sam jumps in, his voice desperate. “And Rowena gave you something to keep you going-“

“But, as I told your brother,” Rowena’s words are harsh, and Dean appreciates it. This really isn’t the fucking time for dancing around anything. “It is a very temporary solution, and the reversal will take time you no longer have. There is an obvious fix to your little problem-“

Dean lets out a dry chuckled. “My problem? Last I checked, Rowena, you were the one who fucked this up-“

“I did not fuck anything up, you petulant man child-“

“Rowena-“

“No!” Rowena cuts off Sam with sharp words, holding Dean’s glare. “I did my job, Dean Winchester, but you are too much of an arrogant, brooding little cunt to do yours.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Watch it, bitch-“

“I did not have to help you,” Rowena hisses. “But that poor, desperate, lovesick woman begged me to. You know exactly what you need, and you are too cruel and stupid to do it.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists on the sheets. “I said fucking watch it-“

“She’s right.” Sam mutters, and Dean’s gaze whips to him, his mouth falling open at Sam’s pitying, exhausted expression.

“I’m sorry, I must be going insane, because there’s no fucking way you just sided with Rowena-“

“I didn’t side with her.” Sam snaps, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get you to think for five seconds. I’m trying not to lose my brother because he can’t see what’s right in front of him-“

Dean scoffs. “There’s nothing in front of me, Sam. Rowena botched the spell, and now I can’t do anything but-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, a stab of pain twisting over his ribs, and Sam throws his hands in the air.

“For crying out loud, Dean, you’re dying because of this self-righteous, sacrificial bullshit you always pull! Rowena didn’t botch the spell, you’re just refusing to give the Mark what it wants, and until you do-“

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” Dean roars, slamming a hand down on the mattress. “Fuck, Sam, I’m not going to force myself onto her just because-“

“Because you think she’ll say no?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you can’t be stupid enough to really believe that-“

Dean scowls. They don’t fucking get it. Sam and Rowena don’t know Her like Dean does. They don’t understand that She would say yes, but she wouldn’t really want it, and Dean would stain and mark Her in a way that they’d never come back from. She’d never smile at him the same, and he’d have to die alone in the dirt when she finally got the memo that he wasn’t worth helping. When She left him, her soul more tainted than when she’d found him. When his poison sunk into Her skin, and she would still be so pretty and amazing, but ruined and marred from Dean’s touch. From how weak and pathetic and toxic he was.

He couldn’t do that. He’d rather fucking die.

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean mutters, his gaze falling to that imprint of Her on the bed. Her bed. Dean was finally in Her bed, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it. “It’s not happening. And you’re not going to convince me, so either fix this, or let me die without goddamn yelling at me.”

There’s a moment of wired silence, Rowena silent in the corner of the room as Sam and Dean glare at each other, and Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe Dean’s nerve. Like Dean isn’t saving the only good thing they both have. Protecting the only person that’s stayed with them, that they both love, even if Dean’s love is made of undying, animalistic, grime and dirt covered devotion, and Sam’s is purer, softer affection that could never cut and scar Her like Dean’s.

“She was crying.” Sam finally says, his tone colder than Dean’s heard it in a long time. “When we got back, she was sobbing, Dean. Have you ever seen her cry? Ever?”

He hasn’t. Dean has seen Her grit her teeth and bite back sounds of agony from injuries, seen Her scream and flail when they’ve lost people, and seen Her so angry it scared him a little, but he’s never seen Her cry. She didn’t cry. Her eyes got glossy, and her voice grew tight and choked, but she didn’t cry. Sam has to be lying, and he doesn’t look or sound like he is, but he has to be. She doesn’t cry, so why the hell would that be the truth? But why would Sam lie, and why has She stayed this long, and fuck, everything hurts and Dean’s too damn tired to figure out what the hell Sam is trying to tell him but the betterlust is scratching at his heart to know-

“Sam,” Dean swallows, watching his brother carefully. “I-“

There’s a knock at the door, and everything in Dean flies to the sound. It’s Her. Before Sam’s hand is even on the doorknob, Dean somehow knows it’s Her. Here. Maybe for him, maybe not, but the betterlust doesn’t seem to care because it’s Her-

She looks horrible. Still so fucking pretty, but horrible. There’s a slump to Her posture as she stands in the door—hair tangled and shirt wrinkled—and Her gorgeous face is slightly puffed. Her lips pouting. Her eyes lined with red.

Like She’s been crying.

Sam says Her name in question, and when She speaks her voice is hoarse.

“Look, I know you to told me to rest, but-“ Her mouth falls open as her eyes land on Dean, and Her sharp inhale feels like it shoots adrenaline right into his blood.

He tries to offer Her a winning, I’d be happy to see me too smile, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. It feels too vulnerable, where it’s always been like a shield. It feels like it’s a lie, or trick, or act of cruelty when Dean’s rarely met a woman who doesn’t flush and giggle under that attention. It’s supposed to make him feel good from their happy, hopeful eyes. It’s supposed to make them feel good from Dean’s well-crafted, carefully wielded charm.

But right now he still just feels like shit. Bottom of the gutter, horrible, flea-ridden and matted shit. A fucking piece of shit that might have made Her cry, and isn’t even smart enough to know why.

He tries again, making the smile wider, adding his most casual drawl. “Hey, Sweetheart-“

She makes a strangled sound—loud and pained, making the betterlust start to snap at Dean’s brittle spine—and all but runs to the bed, almost falling to Dean’s side as Her hands begin to grab at his face and run over his skin. Angling him for Her to examine with frantic eyes and words, igniting little paths of insatiable fire wherever She touches.

“Are you okay?!” She turns his head to the side, her fingers tracing his jaw and cheek like boils or scars might have just appeared. “Your fever is gone,” the back of Her hand presses to his brow, flipping to touch it with Her palm. “But shit, you’re covered in sweat-“ Her glare whips around to Sam, Her grip still tight on Dean’s face. He doesn’t really mind. The betterlust is still trying to climb out of his throat, but he can fight it—for Her—and this can be enough. It’s all he’ll get before he’s gone anyway. Her touch, and loud almost furious shout at Sam. “Why didn’t you change the sheets like I told you to-“

“He was dead weight,” Sam says Her name, his voice a hell of a lot kinder than when he’d been talking to Dean. “And you also told us to make sure he got some rest. Rowena said the fever broke, and he’s lucid again-“

“But this is gross Sam, and you could’ve moved him if you tried-“

“Moved him where? He started freaking whimpering when we took away your comforter-“

Dean scowls. “Can you guys stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right fucking here-“

Her gaze turns back to Dean, the odd, aggressively mind-numbing panic and care returning to her eyes as she begins to examine him once more.

“You seem better, but you’re redder than you should be, and, shit, was that scar always there-“

Her finger’s trial over Dean’s chin, dangerously close to his mouth, and he has to bite down a groan as he says Her name. “That’s been there at least a decade-“

“What about this one-“

“Three years, you were there when I got it-“

“Fuck, you’re right.” She shakes her head, Her eyes suddenly boaring into Dean’s and settling warmth in his gut. “Well, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt, or feel sick, or feel numb-“

“Sweetheart.” He catches Her hand, and she falls silent with wide eyes. “I’m-“

“And,” She moves his gaze onto Her’s, and fuck She’s always so pretty. Even when She’s pissed at him. Especially when She’s pissed at him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Winchester, I’ll stab you-“

He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, but maybe the realest sound he’s made since he woke up. “I don’t doubt that, Sweetheart.” He drawls, and she lets his guide Her hands away from his face. “But I promise, I’m feelin’ better.”

She nods slowly, and Dean pretends he can’t see Sam’s eye roll in the background.

“Oh. Okay.” She turns at Sam and Rowena, her voice slightly unsteady and weak. “Have you, um, have you both been in here? The whole time I was eating?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” She swallows, and Dean notices Her body go slightly rigid. Sam must notice too, because he tilts his head and frowns at her.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” She trails off, staring at her nails as her voice drop to a mumble. “There’s a lot of people in here. Makes me nervous.”

“Shit, sorry.” Sam says Her name, his voice apologetic. “Didn’t know that. We can go, if you want.”

There’s a long moment where She’s just staring at Sam, Her mouth slightly open, and her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. Sam repeats Her name, his voice cautious, and when She snaps out of it, her voice is still soft and anxious.

“That would be good.” She whispers. “Thank you.”

Sam nods. “No problem. Me and Rowena,” he shoots the witch a glare, and she rolls her eyes. “Are gonna go try to fix this. Text me if you need anything, either of you.”

She hums an acknowledgment, Her attention never leaving Dean as Sam and Rowena close the door, and Dean’s whole existence begins to curve into only the feeling of Her as her fingers trace over the back of his hand.

After a long moment of silence—only the sound of Dean’s heart in his ears and the shifting of blankets under their bodies—she swallows, her voice barely a breath. “They can’t fix it, can they.”

He blinks at Her. “They’re gonna get it-“

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” She gives him a soft smile that makes her look like she’s already grieving, and something in him lights up and withers away in the same second. “Please.”

He swallows. He is really tired of lying to Her. And he can say something closer to the truth and still hold his ground. He’s not quite that weak. Not yet.

“It’ll be close.” He grunts. “But I’ve survived worse. I just gotta pull through-“

“You don’t, though.” She whispers. “Rowena said you just have to-“

“Rowena can eat me.” Dean mutters, glaring at the door. “I’m not doin’ whatever the hell the Mark tells me to, that was the fucking point of this.”

“The point was to help you, Dean.” She sounds so freaking sad, and it’s pulling Dean apart. His will and mind all being reduced to Her. Too good and pretty to be sad. And it’s just Dean. She shouldn’t be this sad over only Dean.

“Sweetheart-“

“I don’t,” She swallows, speaking over Dean with quiet, soft words. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass, Dean. Why can’t you just do what the betterlust wants? Isn’t it what you want-“

“It is.” Dean has to push the words through his teeth, because She so close and it’s not close enough and everything fucking hurts. “But I can’t have it, so we’re dead in the water. But Sammy and Rowena-“

“Dean.”

He can’t look Her in the eyes. Her voice is so gentle and nervous, and he’s not strong enough to look Her in the eyes and see all that worry and pity in them. He can barely even grunt an acknowledgment for her to continue.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not gonna-“

“Is it me?” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes shoot to Her’s. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Her and try not to die as he realizes this is it. This is how he loses Her. Forever. This is the last time he gets to look at Her and bask in her beauty and kindness, the last time he gets to drown in the smell of cherries and feel a little more alive under Her touch.

But She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted. She just looks urgent. Desperate. As confused and hopelessly hopeful as Dean feels.

And he can’t speak, or think, or do anything but stare at Her as she speaks again.

“Dean, do you,” She takes a shaking breath, and Dean needs to touch Her. “Do you love me?”

——————

He’s not saying anything. Dean’s looking at you like you’ve shot him right through his heart, ripped it out, and taken a bite. Gaping like he’s trying to ask you for it back but can’t find the breath to, blinking like he’s trying to test if you’re really there. He reaches a hand up to run over his own face, reaches out to touch you—trace broad, calloused fingers over your cheekbones and jaw, over your chin like he’s wiping something you can’t see away—and jerks back suddenly, like you’d hurt him. Burned him. Branded him.

He’s branded you. You’re never going to forget his voice in your head, sounding like he’s overdosed on something awful, and doesn’t think he’ll come back down. Like he’s trying to cleanse himself of something by whispering words that will either haunt you past the grave or feed you for the rest of your life. Your heart will never forget the way it stopped for only a second before kicking into a pace that was all too fast when Dean’s eyes closed, and your hands will always remember the cold fever of his skin.

“Dean.” You have to make your voice strong. Steady, like you’re demanding something from him and not praying to him. “Please-“

“Why-“ His voice is hoarse, almost strangled, and it makes your every muscle feel a little weaker. “Why would you ask that.”

“I’m, I can’t tell you, just please answer me-“

“Did Sam tell you-“

“Sam?” You frown, shaking your head slightly. “No, I just, this has nothing to do with Sam-“

“Then why the hell are you-“

“What would Sam have told me?”

Dean falls silent, opening and closing his mouth as he goes red, his eyes looking almost feral. He looks like a cornered animal, something starved and needy, unsure if it should bite the hand reaching for it or grab it and never let go.

You want to hold him and never let go. You want him to grab your hand, and hold it, and never think to drop it again. You want to hear him say those words again, and have his voice be certain. You want to touch him, no matter if he’s like this or breaking or furious or—in those rare, priceless moments—happy. And you need to know. Dean’s never owed you anything, and he never will, but if there’s only one thing that he can offer you in universe, it would be really nice if it was this. If Dean ever gives you anything, please, dear God, let it be this.

“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to his knee and holding his almost fearful, rabid gaze. “Please answer me. Tell me what Sam-“

“He,” Dean swallows, voice gruff. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He fucking swore he’d never-“

“He didn’t.” You repeat, unsure if he’s even understanding the words out of your mouth. “All I’ve talked to Sam about is the spell. But why-“

“Rowena.” He mutters, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Rowena must’ve open her bitch mouth-“

“I haven’t really talked to Rowena at all-“

“Must’ve been some fucking spell-“

“Dean!” You scream, your nails digging into his leg like you can hold him with you forever. “It was you! You told me you loved me! You had a fever and you told me you loved me, you said my name, and I just,” Your voice cracks, desperation starting to break through your blood, out of your mouth in spit. “I need to know, please, you need to tell me if you meant it-“

“Sweetheart-“

“Please.” You refuse to look him in the eyes. The moment you look in Dean’s deep, pretty eyes you’ll know what he’s thinking, and you’ll lose him forever. Everything in you is screaming to know, but you’re still not able to just look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please tell me.”

“Why.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. The question startles you enough to make you look up, and the moment you see him something snaps inside of you. He looks wounded. Nervous. Almost as afraid of you—of your words, and what they might be capable of doing to him if you use them wrong—as you are of him.

“Why would you need to know.” He rasps, staring at his own hands. Flexing in his lap, seemingly against his will. “You’re not- It’s not somethin’ you’re-“ He looks up to you, his eyes almost pleading. “Why would you give a shit about-“

“About you?”

Dean’s throat bobs, his nod short, and you summon more bravery than you’ve ever been capable of before. Enough to reach out, over the space between your bodies that so small—but still feels like miles—and place your hand on his cheek. Keeping his gaze on yours.

“I always care about you. I-” You take a shaking breath, the last words falling off your tongue. “I love you.”

Dean’s hand shoots up to cover yours. To hold you against him, with a grip that tells you he might be trying to sear his skin into yours.

“You-“ His voice is so soft. His hand over yours is like iron, but everything else about him seems to be dreamlike. Hazy and uncertain, both of you watching each other like you’re sure the other will vanish if you look away. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” you try to smile at him, and it’s not charismatic. It’s pleading and tragic and so fucking delicate. “I do. I mean, I have. For a while.”

“How-“

“Four years.“

He blinks at you. “No, I, I meant-“ He swallows, shaking his head. “I meant how. How did that happen.”

It’s your turn to frown at him. “How did that happen?”

“You shouldn’t love me.” He mutters, his hand over yours flexing. Like he’s trying to pull it away but doesn’t know how. “It’ll get you hurt.”

You raise your brows slightly, running your thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I-“

“Are you?”

“Of course not, I’d never-“

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why-“

“It does.” You whisper, folding your legs under you to rise on your knees, dropping your brow to his. Holding his gaze the whole time. “It matters to me, Dean.“

He makes a choked sound, but doesn’t move away. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” You whisper. “And it would be really cool if you loved me.”

Dean’s only staring at you, his eyes flicking between your own, slightly blurred gaze that can still see him so well, and your lips.

“And it happened,” you push on, your voice growing a little weak when he still doesn’t respond. “Because it’s really easy to love you, Dean Winchester. You’re a good man.” You offer him a smile, and his own mouth falls open just a little. “And even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t have you any other-“

Something in Dean’s eyes flickers, and he moves before you’re sure what’s happening. Yanking you into his lap with his hand—fingers now tangled in yours—catching you with an arm around your waist, and kissing you.

Kissing you. Dean’s kissing you.

Your body sparks into action—even as your brain becomes fogged with a hazy, Dean-shaped lust��and you fist a hand into his shirt, pulling him as close as the world will allow. He’s holding you so carefully, leaning down in a slight dip, and there could be a storm raging around you instead of the soft, romantic rain this feels like it belongs to, but you wouldn’t know. Because this is a kiss people wage wars over.

It’s louder than music in your ears and electric in your blood, but sparks isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like lightning. Shooting through your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body to Dean. Soft lips molding perfectly into yours, warm and calloused hands skillfully mapping over your skin, a groan down your throat that you can feel settle in your lower gut and start a wildfire. You’ve been hungry and you’ve never dared to eat, but Dean is here now and you’ll either be starved for the rest of your life or never want for anything again.

When Dean tries to pull away, you just follow him. Chase after his lips with yours, trying to get just a little more before this all comes tumbling down. Before the thought can even dare to cross Dean’s mind—that he’s not good for you, and he should go—because this is all you’ve ever wanted and you’ll be damned if you don’t cling to it for as long as he’ll allow. You’ll fall all the way down, until your body is only supported by Dean below you, and you’ll forsake oxygen until your body demands it. Maybe a little while after, too.

And Dean doesn’t seem to care to let you go. Every time he tries to pull back it’s a jerked movement, and every time you collide again he grows more and more feral. His groans turn into deep, animalistic growls, and his touch on your skin becomes rough. Not painful, never painful, but urgent. Uncontrolled. Pulling at your skin like he’s trying to meld it into his, kissing you with bruising force, bucking up into you with his hard cock brushing your inner thighs.

You grind down onto him once—when he hits closer to where you’re beginning to ache for him, and your own need grows stronger than you’re desire to let Dean control this—and he bites you. Dean catches your lip between his teeth, sucks in into his mouth, and grins like he’s won a prize when you whine a plea of his name.

“Holy shit,” he mutters your name, pressing his brow to yours as you both catch your breath, grabbing your waist to stop the next roll of your hips. “I’m not- I can’t do this to you-“

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you whisper. “I love you. I want this.”

Dean catches your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and staring at the movement, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “Say you’re lying.”

You blink at him, and shake your head. “No.”

His eyes flash, shooting back to yours as he grunts your name. “You need to say you’re lyin’ right now, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” You lower your face back down, until you’re sharing Dean’s every breath. “Fuck me? Actually say you want me?”

His throat bobs, voice rough with lust. “You, I can’t fucking control it, sweetheart, if you’re fuckin’ with me you need to take it back now-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hand, forcing his darkened gaze back to yours. “Answer my fucking question.”

He shakes his head weakly. “You don’t-“

“I love you.” You hiss. You need to make sure he feels it, in the slightly spit on his face, that still tastes a little like him because it’s pushed through lips that are swollen from Dean, and Dean alone. You glide a hand down his chest, the kiss apparently fueling something bold inside you that hadn’t been there before. Your fingers trace down, over his abdomen—hardened from work but still soft in all the best places—and Dean takes in a sharp breath, his hands on your hips tightening enough to leave a mark, and you lean back. Just enough to open space between your bodies, just enough for you to palm him through his sweatpants.

He’s huge, and twitching under your careful, light fingers, and God, you need him inside of you in any fucking way—between your hands or filling your mouth or buried deep into your cunt—but Dean’s still just staring at you. His chest heaving, eyes so dark and wanting you might cum just from his attention, and nostrils flaring as you move your hand up, resting right over the hem of his pants.

“I love you, Dean,” you whisper, the rush of confidence barreling down as you wait for him to do anything. “And you need to tell me now that you don’t love me, or-“ you take a long breath, dragging up the last bit of your nerve. “You need to say you love me, and do something about it.”

Something shatters in Dean’s gaze for the last time, and whatever war he’s been waging with himself reaches a brutal end as he surges back up, kissing you with all spit and bloody need. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever dared to have on his tongue, and he might be trying to chew off a bit of you to keep.

He won’t need to. He has you. He’s had you for a while, and when he leans back to watch you with glazed, hungry eyes, his words seal some deep, fragile part of you to him forever.

“I love you,” Dean grunts your name, scanning over your face like he’s afraid the words will yank you from his hands. They won’t. “I need you. I gotta have you, but I’m- I’m not in control of it right now-“

“I can take it.” You push your hand into Dean’s sweats, taking his cock in your hand. He groans, eyelids fluttering, and when you run your thumb over the head of him—pressing into the weeping slit and squeezing just so lightly—he hisses your name like a prayer. “Please, Dean. I want it. Please.”

You pull down his pants with your free hand, taking his boxers with them, and start to slowly pump your hand up and down his impressive length. There will be bruising marks of Dean’s hands of your hips for a while, but you’ll survive. It’s worth it, to watch him unravel below you, to see Dean’s pretty eyes grow glazed with lust for you, feel his dick throb and hips jerk under your touch, hear his low growls and grunts as his jaw clenches and he doesn’t pull you away.

“God,” he moans your name, and you start to squirm above him, desperate for a bit of your own relief. “I wanna- Wanna taste you. Fuck you. Ruin you-“

“So do it,” you slip your other hand down—trusting Dean’s hold to keep you upright—and squeeze his balls. “You say you love me, Dean, but you haven’t proved it-“

The words do exactly what you’d wanted them to. Dean yanks your hand from around him, crashes his lips into yours with a fervor that might have been dangerous if it didn’t taste and sound and feel like Dean, and lets go.

His every movement is rough and uncontrolled, because his tether over every bit of will that had seemed to keep him restrained is gone, and in its wake is only the Mark. All its lust and fury and hunger, primal and focused on you. On taking what it wants.

And you’d give it to him, even if it left a few marks on your skin and bruising on your heart, but you realize that the Mark doesn’t seem to just want to use you. If it did, Dean wouldn’t be sucking on your neck and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while tracing big, warms hands around your body to palm your breasts. He wouldn’t allow you to grind onto him, or whimper his name, or scratch at his skin as he pulls you apart with barely anything at all. When he flips your over without any effort—only a low grunt and flex of his muscles—you feel like the most priceless bag of flour in the word. Perfect to be tossed around like that forever, but worth more to him—more the Mark—than just another body.

And you can’t see him anymore, but you don’t need to. You hear the sounds of him shuffling behind you, the muffled noise of his shirt being tossed onto the floor, and then his voice. Low and feral and saying your name in a way that makes your knees weak.

“Up.” He grunts, and you whine when he angles your hips up and pulls down your shorts, you already wet cunt being hit by the cold air. “So fuckin’ pretty, gonna ruin you, baby. You’re never gonna even think about a cock that’s not mine again-“

You nod a little stupidly, wiggling your ass back into him and moaning when his still-clothed erection presses right into you. “Fuck, Dean, please-“

He spanks your pussy—just once the stinging pleasure shooing up your spine—and you bury your face in the sheets to stifles your desperate moan.

“Need ya’ to listen.” He mutters. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, baby, lemme know what feels good, what you’re likin’, what you need more of-“

“You,” you gasp, and Dean chuckles, running a taunting finger between your folds. “God, I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

“You need me?” He pushes the finger into your cunt, his body moving to covers yours as he whispers in your ear. “Need me to fuck this tight little pussy until you scream? Goddamn prove you how much I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve always wanted you-“

“Yes.” You nod frantically, grinding your ass up into him. “Show me, please show me-“

Dean moves your head to the side, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, and hums in satisfaction when he crooks that finger right up against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you, and your hands start to claw at the sheets.

Then he’s gone. Without warning Dean draws back, yanks his finger out without warning, spanks your pussy again—chuckling at the high, needy sound that escapes your lips—and presses one hand to your lower back to still your writhing as he shuffles behind you

“Tell me whatcha want, baby.” He mutters, moving his hand to rub up and down your thigh. “And I’ll get it for ‘ya. But you have,“ He slaps your pussy one last time for emphasis, and you can only moan. “To say what you-“

“Your cock.” You whisper, spreading your legs wider for his to see. To look at your wet pussy—need dripping down to your knee—and take whatever the Mark is asking of him. “Want your cock Dean. Want you to fuck me, no holding back, please-“

He slams into you without warning. Burying himself at the hilt in one brutal movement, groaning above you as you go limp under him, trying only to twist and touch him, only to push back and somehow get him deeper. You feel so full, so fucking high on the stretch of Dean inside you, but it’s not enough-

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” Dean starts to massage your ass, with one hand, the other holding you up in the air for him to use. “Better than I dreamed, feel like heaven, gonna fuck you so good like you deserve-“

“Dean, fuck-” you clench around him, the praise feeding right into your cockdrunk daze of Dean, and he groans.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts your name, and it sounds like an order. “I ain’t gonna last if you-“ He moans as you squeeze around his massive cock again, and pulls all the way out before slamming back into you with a growl.

Your mouth falls open, a sound like a mewl escaping your mouth, and Dean starts to fuck you. Really, properly fuck you into the mattress, with low groans and an unforgiving pace, bumping your cervix and snaking a hand around your stomach to pull you up to his chest, rubbing your clit until you’re wrecked and seeing stars, thrusting up into you like a jackhammer and keeping you so blissfully pleasured and warm.

“So fuckin’ good,” he growls your name in your ear, and you squeak. “Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well, all warm and tight, made for me. You were fuckin’ made for me-“

Dean’s thumb and fore finger roll your clit in a tight circle, and you cum with a scream. Light and color lining your vision, the far-off sound of Dean’s filthy praise making your orgasm ride out and out and out until you’re sure you’ve reached something like heaven. Your vision is still blurred when the satisfaction has washed fully through you, and you realize Dean’s stopped moving.

His hand tangles in your hair, angling your face back for him to see, and fuck he’s so handsome. Breathing heavy in your ear, lips puffed from sucking and kiss your skin, eyes glazed but still focused on you.

You must look like an idiot. Your expression is slack and needy, your eyes glazed a lips parted, but Dean looks at you like you’re a diamond and his cock twitches inside you as your eyes meet.

“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You gotta say somethin’-“

“That-“ You let out another moan, your pussy still fluttering around him. “Good.”

He chuckles, kiss the very corner of your mouth with a smirk. “You got full words, Sweetheart?”

You swallow, the full feeling of Dean—throbbing inside you, still rock hard, pushing against that heavenly spot but with just too little pressure to send you over once more—crashing into you, and you say the only thing you can think of.

“Keep going?”

He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I- I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself-“

“Want you to use me.” You’re practically whining, and you’d be more embarrassed if the words didn’t make Dean jerk up into you. “Please-“

He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m not- you’re-“

“I said don’t hold back.” You whisper, rolling your hips against him and feeling pride glow in your chest at his moan. “Fuck me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And there it is again. You say the exact right thing, the thing you knew would work, and Dean gives in. He shoves you down, flips you onto your back—pulling out for only a second as he adjusts you under him—and starts to fuck you like an animal. Rutting into you at a near inhuman speed, hitting your cervix with every thrust, every word a low growl that coils release tighter and tighter in your lower gut.

“So fuckin’ greedy,” he grunts, slamming a little rougher. “Wantin’ more, begging me to fuck you, so fucking pretty comin’ apart on my cock, tell me how good it feels, baby-“

“Good,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as the bed creaks around you, your whole body overwhelmed with pleasure. “Feel so full, Dean, feels so good, you’re so fucking big-“

He groans, and you start to babble. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, because every word feels like it’s spilling from your mouth. But every inch of your brain trapped in Dean’s skin slapping against yours, his muscles flexing around you, the low and primal sounds rumbling out of his chest as his movements grow sloppy and his cock starts to throb inside of you, and you couldn’t think about anything else if you tried.

“You feel so good, Dean, please don’t stop, want you to cum, I-“ You gasp as he starts to kill up your neck, your hands shooting into his hair. “Fuck, Dean, please, so good, God, I love you-“

His mouth slams into yours, and your orgasm rushes through you like a tidal wave. Longer and powerful, leaving you so fucked out you can only whine under Dean’s body, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy flutters around him.

Dean pulls out, keeping one hand gently on your knee as he pumps himself with an almost blurring fist, and cums over your abdomen and thighs. It’s hot and sticky, and part of you wishes you’d had enough of a brain to ask him to let you taste it, but you’re so completely spent that when Dean collapses over you—a heavy, comfortable weight you’re more than happy to be trapped beneath—your brain wipes every other thought but Dean away, and you decide to just stay here. Where Dean’s face in buried in your neck, and your sore from all of it but there will never be a better pain to experience.

“I-“ Dean breaks the silence, words muffled in your skin. “I feel better.”

“Oh.” You huff a soft laugh. “Good.”

“What, uh, what should we tell Sammy?”

You tug on his hair, just enough to move his gaze back to yours. “That we had sex?”

“No,” Dean groans your name, a smile pulling at his lips. “About the Mark. But we should tell him that-“

You make a mock, dramatic gasp. “Dean Winchester, are you going to brag about sex to your brother-“

“It’s sex with you, Sweetheart.” He winks, rolling you both over and caging you comfortably against his chest. “And Sammy’ll be thrilled to hear it, he’s been on my ass for years-“

“Years?” You squeak. “How many years?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, all of them?”

“All of them?! What do you mean all of them-“

“I mean since I met you.” Dean starts to rub soothing circles on your back, his mouth curling in smug amusement. “Deep breathes, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You flush, still not really use to the baby thing. Or Dean’s hands on your skin, every touch lingering like an imprint that will never even try to fade. “Shut up-“

He shakes his head. “Nah. You love it.” A boyish, wide smile splits over his face. “You love me.”

You might die. You might explode into a million, tiny pieces of confetti and shimmering glass, because Dean looks so happy. There are no ghosts in his beautiful eyes, no loathing or dread stained over his perfect face. He’s happy, here, with you, and you’re not cruel enough to stop yourself from crawling up his chest and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

“I do love you,” you mumble against him, straddling his torso as you push yourself up flat palms. “But I’m still gonna tell you to shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound rolling and humming right into your blood. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean reaches up to tuck a little hair behind your ears, and freezes, his eyes trained on his forearm. On the Mark.

“We, uh,” he clears his throat, watching you carefully. “We do need to figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “We do. But I, I think-“

You cut yourself off, taking his hand in yours and running light fingers over the Mark in thought. Dean stares up at you with a slight awe in his gaze that makes you feel almost important, and your words fall to a soft breath.

“If you want.” You whisper. “We can turn it back-“

“No.” He shakes his head, sounding almost panicked. “I’m not goin’ back to that shit, not now-“

“Dean.” Your fingers still on his arm. “Was it me? That the Mark wanted?”

He swallows, but nods, and you sigh.

“We’re going to have separate sometimes. And we can figure out the bloodlust-“

“We should have to figure it out though, you don’t gotta put up with that-“

“I know.” You smile at him, and it’s not hard. Smiling at Dean is never hard. “But I will.”

“Do you-“ He stares at you, tangling his fingers in yours. “Do you not want me to keep the betterlust? You can tell me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, for me-“

“God, no.” You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I’m just, I’m worried about what might happen when the betterlust decides I’m not enough. Or when this, um, when you-“

Dean says your name, slow and firm, and you swallow. “This is it for me. It’s you, and the Mark knows that. You’re gonna be more than enough, hell, you’re more than I deserve-“

“That’s not true.” You mumble. “You deserve the world.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “It’s adorable that you really believe that, baby, but-“

You scowl at him. “It’s the truth, Dean. You’re a good man, I meant what I said-“

“I know you did.” His charming, cowboy grins falters slightly. Not falling, but twisting into one you’ve never seen before. Still roguish, still well designed and stealing your breath, but with a slight crack that allows you to see deeper. To see the lonely part of him, that really thinks you don’t belong here with him. That’s trying to drag you into him, because he’s certain you’ll start running if he doesn’t. “But this,” he nods to the Mark. “Is still gonna be a problem. I’m still gonna be a problem-“

“You’re not a problem-“

He says your name, the word careful and tender and holy from his lips. It’s the best way you’ve ever heard it. The only way you want to hear it again. “Do you want me to keep the betterlust.”

You purse your lips, and nod.

“Words, baby-“

“Yes.” You whisper. “But I need you to promise me that if it stops working-“

“It won’t.” He shrugs, his voice flat, as if he’s speaking in fact. “And we’re gonna keep looking for a way to get this son of a bitch off. But we’re doin’ it together.” He pauses, scanning over your open features. “If that’s what you-“

You lean down, silencing him with a long, easy kiss. It’s not desperate anymore, but careful. Like you’re making art, or starting to spin a web that could unravel with a single tug, but neither of you will let it. You’ll never let this—whatever this becomes—fall apart. You’ll put your whole life into keeping Dean, fighting for him and helping him and reminding him that he’s not really a burden. Letting him remind you that he really does want you, and he’s never going to allow you to doubt that again.

“Together.” You speak against his lips, letting your content breath fall into his mouth. “I’d like to stay together.”

He nods, mouth curving into a grin. “Alright then. Together.”

End Note: Thank you so so much for reading!!! I've had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm so happy y'all have as well! I hope to see some of you soon for the next one, and if not, thank you. no matter what!!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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nightxcreature · 2 months ago

Text

Hot-Blooded

Summary: Reader gets into a potion unknowingly that causes her deepest desires to rise to the surface.

A/N: @jacklesversebingo entry for the prompt "Love Potion", I took this in the direction of Love😏Potion so I hope you enjoy! This is the longest fic I've written since being back, over 1700 words!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Spicy language, Drinking, Ingesting a love potion without prior knowledge, smutty insinuation, cursing

Part Two

18+ ONLY

Music blasts from the small speaker on the counter as I whiz around the kitchen, spoon in one hand and drink the other, on a mission to finish dinner before the boys make it home. They had left on a hunt with Rowena earlier in the day, what should’ve been an easy salt and burn turned into something bigger and, while they would’ve rather enlisted the help of literally anyone else, the only person with a solution was the red-haired mother of the king of hell. I jump at the sound of the bunkers door slamming open and stick my head around the corner, the sound of heavy boots thudding against the stairs telling me that they’re right on time.

“Good timing!” I yell as I hear them nearing the entrance to the kitchen, “I’m almost done!”

“Good, I’m pretty sure my stomach ate itself 60 miles ago.” Dean grumbles as he turns the corner into the room, his deep voice pulls my attention from the pot in front of me. My breath hitches as we make eye contact. I almost drop the spoon from my hand at the want that fills my body. He always looks good, but today…he looks really good. His green eyes are somehow greener, the freckles scattered across his face more prominent, and his hair is tousled just enough to bring the filthiest of thoughts to my mind. He raises a brow at my staring and smirks a little, “You alright, Sweetheart?”

I quickly clear my throat and nod, turning back to the stove to take a couple deep breaths, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I shake my head and turn down the stove eye as Sam and Rowena make their way into the room.

“Smells great. Thanks for this.” Sam says as he reaches for the bowls in the cabinet above me, “We’re all starving.”

I smile and nod, “No problem. I knew you’d all be hungry, it’s the least I could do.” I slide out of his way and head toward the table. My eyes immediately find Dean again as I make my way across the room. He’s removing the flannel covering his T-shirt and I can’t help the way my gaze rakes over his body. The way his broad shoulders look in that shirt should be illegal, the fabric stretching across his chest as if its very fibers were made specifically for him. He throws the flannel across the back of his chair and turns to grab a bowl from Sam, allowing my gaze to fall to his hips. Thoughts of my head between his legs and his hand in my hair cross my mind in graphic detail and I have to force myself to look at anything else. I’m practically drooling when Rowena catches my eye and raises her eyebrows in question as a blush rushes my cheeks. I fix my eyes on the table and grab a seat near the door in case I need to make a quick escape.

Rowena takes the seat beside me and smiles sweetly, “You look a little flushed, Dear.”

“I’ve been drinking.” I mumble back and pray she’ll drop it; embarrassment rises in my chest at being caught ogling one of my best friends. Of course, I’ve noticed that Dean’s attractive before, what woman wouldn’t? But I’ve never thirsted after him like a pre-teen seeing boobs for the first time, and I would rather not be called out on it in front of him.

Rowena nods, pursing her lips and smiling in thanks as Sam places a bowl in front her, “I see.” She whispers, “And what, pray tell, have you been drinking?”

I look at her quizzically, a frown forming on my face, “Uh, my usual stuff. Tito’s and Sprite, why?”

She hums, taking a slow sip of the soup on her spoon before smiling sweetly again, “I may decide I need a drink soon, too.”

“Uh, okay.” I reply, grabbing my own spoon and digging in.

The chatter around the table is minimal as we eat, and, in my boredom, I catch myself staring at Dean again. His thick fingers are wrapped around the spoon loosely, his lips slurping the soup off the utensil lazily. My mind rushes to picturing his hands wrapped around my hips as his lips lazily move across my skin, his name a whisper on my own. I can practically see it happening in my mind’s eye, the wetness pooling below me becoming more apparent to me the longer I stare. My gaze slowly travels from his lips to his eyes, which are already schooled on me curiously and I can’t decide if the blush heating my cheeks is from being caught again or from the filthy thoughts running rampant through me.

“Darlin’, seriously, are you okay?” He asks again, dropping the spoon into his empty bowl, “You’ve been staring at me since I walked in.”

“Uh, yeah. I-I’m fine, I think.” I stutter out, shifting my gaze from his face to the food before me, “Just, uh, just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Rowena lets out a chuckle at that causing the three of us to glance at her again, “Tell me, Dear, did you happen to pay attention when I was telling you about leaving some…supplies in your freezer?”

I nod, “Yeah, you said you left them on the top shelf by my bottle and not to touch them.”

She smiles again, “And did you happen to see what my supplies were stored in?”

I shake my head, furrowing my brows and nodding toward my drink, “I wasn’t worried about what witchy-woo you brought in here. I was worried about getting buzzed while I cooked dinner.”

She laughs again, louder this time, and stands to slink over to the freezer. My mouth drops when she pulls out two identical bottles of Tito’s, a mischievous smile on her face, “Can you tell me which is yours?”

“Are you kidding me?” I blurt out, "Why would you put your supplies in a bottle of Tito's? What the hell did I drink?”

"It's inconspicuous," The smile remains on her face as she speaks, “Are you feeling a little overwhelmed, Dear?”

A huff leaves me before Dean butts in, “Stop toying with her, Rowena. What’s in that bottle?”

She turns her mischievous smile to him and winks, “It’s not me that’s toying with her, Mr. Winchester.”

“Yeah, if you weren’t so damn pretty, I wouldn’t be in this mess! You should stop toying with me.” I grumbled, immediately snapping my mouth shut and staring wide-eyed at him.

He jars back and glances between Rowena and I. Raising a hand, he points in my direction and then back to himself before smiling at the embarrassed look on my face. I fix my stare at the floor, feeling as if the blush on my cheeks is a permanent fixture there.

Sam lets out a little laugh, “A love potion, right? Why were you keeping that in our freezer?”

Rowena scowls and raises her bottle a bit, “Well, yes and no. It’s a love potion." She makes a pointed look toward me, "It brings primal urges to the surface for the one you truly care for. And, not that it’s any business of yours, Samuel, this was supposed to be shared with the Archangel…if he chose to make an appearance while I’m here.”

I grimace and glance up at her, “That shit was for Gabriel?”

She smiles softly and gazes at the bottle longingly, “Just to spice things up.”

“Okay…” Sam mumbles, “And how long until this stuff wears off?” He asks quickly, giving me a worried look.

I’m trying my hardest to keep my gaze from Dean but losing the battle. His furrowed brows and hard jaw leave my wandering thoughts to conjure up plenty of other reasons he could be making that face, reasons that I could provide if he’d give me the chance. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and sigh, the thought of his body on mine overtaking whatever willpower I thought I had left. The heat between my legs is almost unbearable as I rub my thighs together under the table. What the hell did she put in that bottle?

Dean pulls his eyes from Rowena’s at the sound of my sigh, and glances between Sam and me, chuckling awkwardly, “Not that I don’t enjoy the ‘fuck me’ eye’s you’re giving me, Darlin’, I’ll have to agree with Sammy. We need to know how to fix you.”

“I can think of a few ways to fix me…” I mumble, looking up at him through my lashes and quirking an eyebrow, “It’s actually all I’ve been thinking about since you walked in.”

He chokes up a little on the beer he’s sipping and glances at Rowena, “What the hell is in that bottle?”

“Enough to keep Gabriel and I going for days, so if she wants to get over this she’ll need to sleep it off,” She states before giving Dean a small smile, “Unless you’d like to help with her little predicament…I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

A blush rises in his cheeks as she speaks and he turns to face me, “Listen, uh, don’t get me wrong here, I’ve thought about this before. A lot actually…” He gruffly whispers across the table, sending Sam an apologetic glance, “But, uh, I’d really rather do this when you’re of…uh, sound mind?”

“You’ve thought about this before?” I mutter, raising my eyebrows and smirking, “How often? Wait, don’t answer that…that’s the potion talking…I think.”

“Stop talking.” Sam groans, running a hand down his face, “Please stop talking.”

Dean glances nervously around, a blush across his cheeks again, “We can talk about it later.”

Rowena chuckles again and pats his shoulder, “Someone should tuck her in before she say’s something she’ll regret.”

I nod quickly, and turn to Sam, “I’m very sorry, but could you walk me to my room before I fuck your brothers brains out on this table.”

He grimaces and stands, turning to Rowena and pointing toward the bottle, “Keep that in your own freezer next time.”

“Or leave it here…” Dean mumbles, smirking at me as Sam pushes me out the door, “Sleep tight, Darlin’. I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.” He winks and I outwardly groan, my bottom lip jutting out as Sam continues to drag me down the hallway.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: I have an idea for a smutty part two, if you'd be interested? Please comment and let me know!

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @enigmalynne @envysarchive @k-slla

If you'd like to be added to my taglist please let me know!

#jacklesversebingo24 #supernatural #spn fanfic #spnfandom #sam winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam and dean #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles fanfic #rowena macleod #rowena supernatural #rowena spn #dean

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theodorenmyth · 1 month ago

Note

Hello, if requests are still open, can I ask a male!reader who comes from one of the founders' (i think it's how they are call in english) lines/family/house ?

Ignore it if you don't want to write it !

Have a good day !

Legacy of the Raven

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!Reader

Summary ; As Rowena Ravenclaw's heir, you’re used to expectations and assumptions—except from Mattheo Riddle, who sees the real you. Through sharp banter and shared vulnerabilities, his feelings come to light, leading to a heartfelt confession and a kiss that makes you realize destiny is about connection, not just legacy.

A/n ; enjoy hun!!

Warnings ; none!

Wordcount ; 1k+

The dungeons of Hogwarts always felt like home, with their dim lighting and the faint chill in the air. As a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw, your connection to the castle was palpable. The very walls seemed to hum with recognition whenever you walked through them.

But with that legacy came expectations, ones you bore like an invisible weight. Everyone assumed you were destined for greatness, for power. It was exhausting. The only person who didn’t seem fazed by your lineage was Mattheo Riddle.

“Did you know,” Mattheo began, leaning against the stone pillar in the common room, “that half the school thinks you’re secretly building a huge library 2.0?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting on one of the emerald-green couches. “Let me guess—they also think I keep a pet raven under my bed?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly attractive way. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“You’d be the first to know if I did,” you shot back.

Mattheo chuckled, dropping into the seat beside you. His proximity sent a jolt through you, though you masked it well. Being around Mattheo was always a strange mix of comfort and chaos. He had a way of disarming you with his humor, yet there was an undeniable intensity in his gaze that often left you speechless.

“Seriously, though,” he continued, “how do you deal with it? The whole ‘descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw’ thing?”

You shrugged, tracing the outline of the raven embroidered on a nearby pillow. “It’s not like I had a choice. People hear the name, and they decide who I am before I even say a word. Either they’re terrified or… weirdly fascinated.”

“And which one am I?” Mattheo asked, his voice softer now.

You glanced at him, meeting his dark eyes. “You? You’re just annoying.”

He grinned, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his expression. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling fire casting shadows across the room.

“I think it’s kind of cool, though,” Mattheo said suddenly.

“What is?”

“Your legacy. You’re literally connected to the foundation of this place. You’ve got a piece of history running through your veins.”

You snorted. “And what about you? You’re the son of Voldemort. Talk about historical significance.”

Mattheo’s smile faltered, and you instantly regretted your words. “Sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, though his voice was tight. “It’s not exactly a legacy I’m proud of.”

You hesitated before reaching out, placing a hand on his arm. “For what it’s worth, you’re nothing like him. And anyone who knows you can see that.”

His gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he looked vulnerable in a way that was rare for him. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

The moment passed, and he was back to his usual self, leaning back with a smirk. “So, what does being a Ravenclaw descendant even get you? Secret passageways? Hidden artifacts? ”

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned. “Mostly just a lot of awkward conversations and people asking if I can solve somethinh.”

“Can you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to find out?”

Mattheo’s grin widened. “Depends. Are you going to use it to order a snake to bite me?”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe.”

He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in as well, the space between you shrinking to mere inches. His voice was low when he spoke again. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Your heart raced, but before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the moment.

“Oi, Riddle!” Blaise Zabini called as he entered the common room. “You coming to dinner or what?”

Mattheo pulled back, his mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” he replied, his tone casual.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you, but didn’t comment. “Don’t take too long. Pansy’s already complaining about the pudding running out.”

As Blaise disappeared, Mattheo turned back to you. “You coming?”

You hesitated, still thrown off by the near-intimacy of the moment. “I think I’ll stay here for a bit.”

Mattheo nodded, standing up. “Suit yourself. But don’t hide down here all night, yeah? Even Ravenclaw descendants need to eat.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he walked away, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Mattheo Riddle was a puzzle you weren’t sure you’d ever solve, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted to try.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Later that evening, as you wandered the castle’s corridors, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. Turning, you saw Mattheo jogging to catch up with you.

“Thought you were hiding in the dungeons,” he said, falling into step beside you.

“Changed my mind,” you replied.

“Good. I’d hate for you to miss out on all the fun.”

“What fun?”

“This.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a nearby alcove. Your back pressed against the cold stone wall as he stood in front of you, his expression unreadable.

“Mattheo, what—”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he said, cutting you off.

Your eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” he said, his voice low and intense. “You walk around with this whole ‘Ravenclaw heir’ thing, acting like you don’t care, but I see through you. You’re more than that. You’re smart, and stubborn, and you make me want to be better just so I can keep up with you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“And the worst part?” he continued, stepping closer. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The air between you was electric, and before you could overthink it, Mattheo leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

For a moment, all thoughts of legacies and expectations melted away. There was only him, and the way he fit so perfectly against you.

When he finally pulled back, his dark eyes searched yours. “Say something,” he murmured.

You smiled, your voice barely above a whisper. “You talk too much.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, before pulling you in for another kiss.

For once, being a descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw didn’t feel like a burden. In that moment, it felt like destiny.

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watchthedeadboys · 3 months ago

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The history book on the shelf

Is (not) always repeating itself

Supernatural vs Dead Boy Detectives

#sometimes love confessions actually get you OUT of hell #supernatural #spn #destiel #castiel #dean winchester #dead boy detectives #dbda #dean x castiel #rowena supernatural #despair

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 1 year ago

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Auntie Row

Rowena & Winchester little sister!reader, team free will & Winchester!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Rowena has a soft spot for the Winchester’s little sister, and they get into lots of trouble together (I suck at synopsis, just read the fic it’s better)

Warnings: honestly nothing, time frame makes no sense with reader’s age but 🤷‍♀️

“Rowena, what do you think you’re doing?”

The witch looked up in surprise when the Winchester brothers entered.

“Sammy!” You, the brothers’ six-year-old sister, ran straight to your big brother and giggled when he lifted you into his arms.

“Oh, you’re back,” Rowena said, cringing. “That was quick.”

“Auntie Row is teaching me how to do magic, like Hermione!” You babbled excitedly.

“Rowena…” Dean growled in warning.

“Now now, she’s a growing girl!” Rowena defended herself. “Learning magic is a perfectly natural part of growing up.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Sam scoffed.

“But Sammy!” You whined.

“Nu-uh,” Sam shook his head. “C’mon, it’s about time you had a nap.” He carried you out without another word to Rowena, who huffed dramatically and started to gather her belongings.

“When we said you could watch Y/N—“ Dean began, but Rowena cut him off.

“I know you didn’t mean this, but honestly Dean Winchester, how d’you expect the girl to defend herself if she can’t use magic?”

“She doesn’t have to,” Dean insisted. “We’ll protect her.”

“Oh honestly, you can’t be around her all the time! If she had magic, she could—“

“For the last time Rowena; no.” Dean’s tone left no room for argument.

“Uh, guys.” Sam returned to the room with a slight frown on his face. “Y/N said she wants Rowena to continue her story from last night. She’s refusing to sleep without it.”

“Well,” Rowena smirked. “Duty calls.”

“Hey.” Dean caught Rowena by the arm, and she glared at him. “Magic always comes with a price. I don’t want her to have to pay it.”

Rowena softened.

“I understand, Dean Winchester.”

His grip slackened, and Rowena left to go to you.

…

“I have a little something for you,” Rowena said as she stepped into your room.

“Can we finish the story?” You asked.

“Of course, sweet girl, of course. But first, I want to show you something. You remember that cursed necklace from the story? The one that protected the witch from the angry mob?”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded excitedly.

“Well, I think it’s time it protected someone else.” Rowena grinned, unclasping the necklace that was hidden behind her shirt and carefully putting it on you.

“Really?” Your eyes went wide as you stared up at the witch.

“Yes. That will protect you from anyone who wants to harm you. That way you don’t have to use any magic, just like your brothers said.”

“Thank you, Auntie Row,” you breathed sincerely, reverence painting your tone as you admired the glowing red jewel.

Rowena leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

“You’re very welcome, sweet thing. Now, let’s finish that story, shall we?”

…

“Kiddo, please, it’s just for a few days,” Sam tried to soothe you, but you still wouldn’t let go of his leg and continued to cry. “Mary’s gonna take good care of you, I promise.”

“I could really help you guys on this one,” Mary argued.

“She needs someone to watch her,” Dean reasoned.

“And why am I the automatic choice?” Mary countered.

“You two are not helping,” Sam said through gritted teeth as he picked you up, letting you lay your head on his shoulder. He hated Mary’s distance from you; you were John’s, but not hers. He understood her reason for not getting close to you, but you were just a little kid, and you didn’t deserve that. Sam just rubbed your back, still trying to soothe you as you continued to sniffle.

“If you boys needed help, you could’ve just asked.”

The three adults turned in surprise at the sound of Rowena’s voice.

“I mean honestly, it’s not like I haven’t babysat before.”

Dean was hesitant. “I don’t know if—“

“Sounds like a plan,” Mary said, going to grab her duffel. She tossed over her shoulder, “now I can help on the hunt!”

“Am I gonna stay with Auntie Row?” You asked Sam, your eyes wide and pleading.

“I…yeah honey, you are,” Sam sighed.

“Yay!” You grinned, wiping your tears away and squirming in Sam’s grip.

“Ok, ok,” Sam chuckled, lowering you to the ground so you could run to Rowena for a hug. “It’s probably best that you guys don’t stay in the bunker.” Sam directed his next words at the witch holding his little sister. “The bunker’s system still goes a little wonky with a witch inside, so one of your safe houses is probably a better idea.”

“That works for me.” Rowena grinned. “How would you like to go to Paris, sweet thing?” She asked you.

“This is a horrible idea,” Dean sighed. But he still grabbed his bag and headed out to Baby anyway.

…

“We’re back!” Sam called as he stepped into the bunker.

“Sammy! De!” You squealed, running to your big brothers and reaching them just as they came down the stairs. Dean scooped you into his arms and held you tight, comforted to see such a happy sight after such a grueling hunt.

“Hey, what’s this?” Sam asked, noticing your outfit.

“Auntie Row took me to shops in Paris, and we got a lot of clothes!” You babbled excitedly as Dean let Sam pull you into his arms.

“You’re spoiling her, Rowena,” Dean chuckled, no longer quite so hesitant about the witch now that he saw how happy you were.

“And she deserves every bit of it,” Rowena said.

…

“Ow!”

“I’m sorry darling, but you must sit still!”

“What’s going on in here?” Sam asked curiously as he stepped into your room to see you and Rowena sitting in front of your vanity.

“I’m trying to do her hair, but she won’t stop squirming,” Rowena explained, running a little pink brush through your hair.

“It’s all knotty!” You whined.

“Well it won’t be in a minute,” Rowena said.

Sam just smiled as he watched you, finally getting experiences that you’d never had before; motherly experiences.

The more he watched, though, the more he noticed how much you were squirming, and how much you seemed to be whining.

“Hey, you seem kinda grumpy, kid. Did you get a nap today?” He asked, coming to stand beside you and Rowena.

“Yeah,” you sniffled.

“You’re kinda pale,” he muttered under his breath, getting on one knee and reaching the back of his hand out to touch your forehead. “Jeez kid, you’re burning up.”

“She’s ill?” Rowena put the brush down and turned your chair around so you were facing her, repeating Sam’s gesture and checking your temperature. “She is quite hot.”

“Hey, let’s get you into some pjs, ok?” Sam suggested, lifting you into his arms. “You should get some sleep.”

“I already had a nap!” You insisted, squirming in Sam’s arms.

“Hey Sammy, I think I found us a case,” Dean said, stepping into your room. “Something wrong?”

“She’s got a fever,” Sam sighed. “You should go without me.”

“Oh nonsense,” Rowena spoke up. “Just leave her with me.”

“I don’t want to leave her when she’s sick,” Sam argued.

“Oh she’ll be fine,” Rowena insisted. “I’ll give her some herbs and she’ll be out like a light, she’ll sleep until you get back.”

“I don’t know…” Sam sighed.

“How about this,” Rowena said. “You put her to bed, and leave once she’s asleep. I’ll watch over her, and I’ll call you if she worsens.”

“Alright.” Sam looked at you. “Is that ok kiddo?”

You nodded sleepily, suddenly not so eager to fight another nap.

“Sammy, my tummy hurts,” you whimpered.

Sam nearly melted at this, more reluctant than ever to leave you.

“I know sweetheart, c’mon let’s get you into some pjs and then you can go to sleep, ok?”

Sam helped you get dressed while Dean packed for the hunt. It didn’t take long to have you tucked into bed, and you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Sam lingered in your doorway, unsure about leaving you like this.

“She’ll be fine,” Rowena soothed the Winchester brother. “She’s asleep, and I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Alright,” Sam sighed, grabbing the bag that Dean had packed him. “Just…take care of her, ok?”

“Always,” Rowena responded.

And she did. When the Winchester brothers returned, your fever had broken and you were resting on the couch with Rowena, some cartoon playing on the tv.

“Hello boys,” she greeted when she saw them.

“Hey kid.” Sam went straight to you, brushing your hair away from your face. “Are you feeling any better?”

Rowena went to speak to Dean while you answered Sam with a distracted “yeah,” continuing to watch your cartoon.

“Her fever broke,” she explained to him. “I think it’s best if she rests a bit more, though.”

“Thank you, Rowena,” Dean said sincerely. “She really seems to like you.”

Rowena smiled. “She does, doesn’t she?”

…

“Did you have fun?” Sam asked you.

You nodded, finally pulling your gaze from the cartoon.

“Yeah, I like Auntie Row!”

Sam smiled softly.

“I’m glad.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

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inlovewhithafairytale · 10 months ago

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01 x 01 Pilot part 1

"You're waiting in the car" is the first thing Dean says when he parks the '67 Chevy Impala in front of the apartments where their brother lived.

Yn scrunched up her nose and furrowed her eyebrows "dude. Why?"

"Cause I say so"

"Why do you get to see him before me? Its not fair" Yn says not backing up as her oldest brother got out of the car.

"Just stay in the car" Dean says slamming the car door shut behind him and making his way to the apartments.

The 15 year old leaned back against the car seat crossing her arms over her chest with a pout "not fair" she mumbled to herself.

****

Yn had nodded off to sleep resting her head against the car window as she waited for her brothers hoping that Sam would go with them.

"Why did you even leave her in the car?" Sam asked Dean as he walked next to him to the parking lot.

"She was sleeping" Dean lied. Truth be told, he didn't want Yn to get her hopes up to Sam coming, he knew that she missed their brother horribly and had cried herself to sleep when he first went away to Stanford.

Yn woke up to her brothers voices and the sound of the cars trunk being open. She grinned widely when she heard Sam's voice and quickly opened the car door and rushed to Sam jumping into his arms and hugging him tightly as she let out a series of happy squeals.

"Sammy I missed you so fucking much" she said as Sam laughed hugging her tightly back and giving her a spin before setting her back on the ground.

"I missed you so much too Yn. Wow, you've grown so much!" Sam looked her up and down a smile on his face as he looked at his little sister.

"Yeah. She turned 15 two months ago" Dean cut in a with an edge to his words.

"Dean. I know" Sam answered glaring slightly at his brother.

"But that doesn't matter. We're here" Yn cut in giving Dean a reproach in her look, turning back to Sam "so...are you coming with us to search for dad?" She asked him eyes begging him to come.

"Yes, but i have to be back by Monday" came Sam's reply as he ruffled her hair up a bit.

Yn pouted a bit at his words "oh well I guess"

"Yn, get back in the car" Dean told her.

"Why?" She asked turning to him eyebrows furrowed.

"I want to talk with Sam and you're on the way. Car. Now" Dean said closing the back of the car.

Yn have a dramatic sight "fine...." she muttered and got back in the car arms crossed over her chest and a frown on her face. When she walked behind Dean she stuck her tongue out at him making Sam stifle a laugh.

***

Dean knocked on the car window of the backseat startling Yn awake who sat up from the seat rubbing her eyes "what? Where are we?" She said groaning as she opened the car door.

"On our way to Jericho right now on a gas stop. Go to the bathroom" Dean said handing her a bottle of pear juice and a bag of cheese puffs "breakfast" he said simply and turning to Sam who was sitting shotgun he gestured to the other bag of chips he was holding"breakfast?"

Sam scoffed "no. How do you even give that to Yn?"

"Eh. I'm used to it." Yn said shrugging as Dean glared at his brother. Yn out her bag of chips and bottle of juice down on the leather seat and got out of the car stretching "I'm going to the bathroom" she said groaning a bit and walking past Dean into the small gas stop.

"How do you even buy stuff? Still on the credit card schemes?" Sam asked knowingly.

"Well, hunting isn't exactly a paying job" Dean shrugged as he walked to the other side of the car and got into the drivers seat.

"What names did you use this time?"

"Bert Afrahiam and his loving kids Hector and Evangeline Afrahiam" came the smug reply.

Sam gave a snort and a shake of his head turning his attention back to the cassette collection box Dean had "dude. You need to update your cassette collection. Black Sabath? Metallica? Ac/Dc? Who even listen to those anymore?"

"House rules Sammy, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cakehole" Dean said taking one of the cassettes and putting it on the radio.

"Sammy it's a chubby 8 hear old. Its Sam."

"Sorry. Can't hear you. Music's too loud" Dean said as he turned the music up, back in black playing loudly through the speakers.

The backseat door opened and Yn slipped in wincing slightly at the loud music. "Dude. Lower it down a little"

"House rules booger driver picks the music and-" Dean start again as he drove away from the gas station.

"Yeah but backseat gets to lower the music. Tune it down a bit, I've got a headache" Yn said rolling her eyes a bit at him

Dean complies and puts the volume down just a little.

Sam turns to her a bit of concern flashing through his face "you've got a headache?"

"No. But I'll get one if Dean keeps putting the music so loud"yn answered

Dean rolled her eyes at her through the rear view mirror "just eat your vegetables"

"Yeah dad..." yn said mockingly as she opened her bag of cheese puffs and started eating.

***

Part two ... Flashbacks.a.k.a. younger years before season 1

if any of you have any ideas I am all ears <333

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unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men · 7 months ago

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Y/N talking to Charlie and Rowena: "I hate working sometimes I swear my co workers have the IQ of a carrot"

Dean walks into the room with Castiel: "Hey I take offense to that statement"

Castiel looking at Dean: "You tried to make a baby smoke a candy cigarette and talk like the baby from something called Who Framed Roger Rabbit"

Dean looking shocked: "I thought all babies sounded like the one sue me Cas, and besides the parents didn't chase us too far!"

Y/N looking at Charlie and Rowena: "I rest my case"

Rowena: "Oh you poor dear, clearly the carrot would be smarter than those two"

Y/N: "Maybe so but he's slightly hotter than a carrot so I guess he can stay"

#incorrect supernatural quotes #supernatural incorrect quotes #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #y/n #castiel #castiel novak #charlie supernatural #charlie bradbury #rowena macleod #rowena supernatural #rowena spn #spn

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swampstew · 6 months ago

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Kid teaching Rowena how to manipulate and shape metal♡ Taking her under his protection, he finally lives up to the mentoring deal he made with Rayleigh :}

Commission art by the fucking FANTASTIC @/sho_guru on TWT

#raven announces #whats the magic word?#eustass kid #rowena the witch #eustass kid x oc #kid pirates #onepiece fanfic #ao3 fanfic #commisioned art #eustasscaptainkid #firstmatesimp #@sho_guru on twt #if you saw that strip reblog game of eustass kid - you know who im talking about

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thepunkmuppet · 3 months ago

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I know basically nothing about rowena, but I now finally get what people mean about shipping things aesthetically. because what do you MEAN love of my life sam winchester, 6”4, deeply damaged but lovely straight white dude-man, has a cute, interesting and disgustingly tragic relationship with A TINY GINGER SCOTTISH WITCH WHO’S THE MOTHER OF A RECURRING VILLAIN AND PLAYED BY AN ACTRESS WHO’S OLDER THAN HIM????? WHAT??? I NEED THAT IN MY LIFE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW

like what is this. I love it. I’m obsessed. enemies to friends to lovers, height difference, age difference, and just generally UNCONVENTIONAL AS FUCK for a straight ship??? spectacular gimme fourteen of em right now

#I have a real thing about older women / mothers being put in situations reserved traditionally for young conventionally attractive women.#don’t get me wrong ruth connell is GORGEOUS but like do you know what I mean?? I just love it so much #give me middle aged woman yuri or a mum as the main character or in this case a mum shipped with the conventional white boy lead #and I will EAT. IT. UP.#BRO IS NOT NORMAL ABOUT THAT MARGINALLY OLDER WOMAN!!#anyway point is I’m excited to get to her in the show :3 I fear I will love them extremely dearly #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #rowena macleod #samwena #sam x rowena #also sam is my favourite character and I don’t personally see him as any flavour of queer but I want someone interesting to ship him with #as hard as I ship dean with cas and with benny #like I need the same level of insanity about it and the canon (and non canon tbh) sam ships currently just don’t do that for me at all #so yeah I’m very excited for samwena :3

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fallenangelblade · 3 months ago

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i just think that once rowena became queen of hell sam should have made a deal with her. and by “deal” i mean marriage. they should have ruled hell together!!!

#they were so insane about each other #you CANNOT convince me sam just went and found a blurry wife after everything they went through together #samwena #sam x rowena #samwitch #sam winchester #rowena macleod #spn

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marcelllyn · 3 months ago

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Iconic Sirius black

Wow, it's been a long time since I wrote here. Anyway, I'm planning a Sirius Black fanfic, complete with: Arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, deaths, love, jokes, Sirius Black. I hope you like it when I post it, but in the meantime, we'll have a lot of Dean Winchester, Spider-Man, Marauders and, if everything goes well, original stories.

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 month ago

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Chapter 4 - Hands Drawn Out

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, light angst, light smut, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: Dean struggles to fight the betterlust, and you try and talk to him. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: My prayers were not answered. 6 chapters.

Chapter Title from Love of Mine by Imagine Dragons (don't judge it's a great song)

Word Count: 6.4k

Read on A03!

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Dean broke his promise to Sam. He’d really tried not to—to use the laptop for TV, and TV only—but then he’d let his thoughts wander for half a second. Just one, long second, as he’d been replacing Baby’s tires for the third time that day. One moment where his motions were mechanical and mindless and dictated mostly by muscle memory—he’d never tried to, but Dean was pretty sure he could replace a tire in his sleep—and there was a lull in the Dr. Sexy episode, and the betterlust start to crawl into his hands and mouth, demanding more. More more more, this isn’t enough and he needed more.

The betterlust had asked for more, and Dean’s perverted, lovesick, traitorous brain had provided. Drowning Dean in thoughts of Her. Pretty and kind and caring, hands that would glide down his chest and over his scars without disgust, lips that would be pliable and soft under his, eyes that would be filled with the bright joy she seemed to only ever offer Dean, moans and whimpers in that musical voice, saying his name and staying with him through pain and maybe not running when he told Her he-

Dean eyes snapped open as he dragged himself out of the daydream, bile filling his throat. He didn’t know if it was from his own disgust, or from how the betterlust was suddenly howling and setting his skin on fire, but he knew he couldn’t keep this up. He can’t permit himself to think about Her, not for a second, not if he wanted to get this under control.

It’s why he bit his tongue and ignored the strain in his pants. He’s a grown ass man, he can control a boner. He can force all his thoughts to be tools and oil and maintenance, and not think about how adorably clueless She could be when he tries to explain this stuff to her. How Her eyes would grow wide, and she’d make a little pouting frown, but listen all the same. Asks questions Dean knows she never understands the answers to, but still asks because she’s awesome and likes Dean’s car and maybe if he asked Her to go for a drive with him she’d say yes, and Dean could put his hand on her thigh, pull over in a quiet spot, and kiss Her. Kiss her until she was squirming and she’d climb on top of him and bounce on his cock-

Fuck.

Not the car. He could focus on food. Food is great, and the betterlust usually seemed to cool it when Dean ate. He had a burger and beer and pie—all of which usually soothed the betterlust in his throat and spread warmth over his stomach—so Dean could just eat. He could take long bites and savor it—because the betterlust wanted to inhale the food and Dean’s stronger than that—and only think about how this is damn good pie. Cherry pie. Smells like Her, not that Dean’s smelled her, but sometimes she just walks past him and it’s not his fault he’s breathing. It’s a little his fault that he always imagines tangling a hand in Her hair, and tugging it back to expose her neck, and kissing and devouring Her skin and lips and pussy, burying himself somewhere she won’t smell like cherries, but might taste better than pie when she cums on his tongue and he-

Fuck.

TV. All Dean had left is TV. Not Dr. Sexy, that’s inviting thoughts he can’t be having right now, but a movie. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, because Dean has that memorized so it would be easy to get through. He could watch it and think about how he’d make a great cowboy, no matter what Sam says. She’d said he’d be a good cowboy. She’d said he had the smile, and Dean hadn’t known what the hell that meant, but she’d said it with an open expression and tone like what she meant should be obvious, so Dean had accepted it. He had a cowboy smile, and She thought he’d make a good cowboy, so Dean could maybe use that cowboy smile on Her to tell her Hey, Sweetheart, if you ever need a hero I’d be happy to be yours. I got a lasso and a gun and I’ll defend you then tie you up and ride you-

That was awful. Dean wasn’t a hero—he’d tried to defend Her from himself and failed a million times in a million ways—and She’d never fall for something that cheesy. And she didn’t even want Dean like that. Want Dean to touch Her or have her in such a vulnerable position, tied up carefully under him with a lust-blown expression, whining his name and trusting him to take care of her and grinding onto his cock as he fucked Her-

That was it. He was rock hard, and losing his damn mind, and he had to take care of it once or he might actually fucking die. The betterlust was crowding his brain, and breathing suddenly felt impossible, and the answer was so easy. Just jerk off, once, and everything would be better.

So now he needs to break the promise to Sam, because Dean can’t keep thinking of Her or his whole body would say fuck it against his will and he’d run into the bunker and find Her. It was late, She’d be getting out of the shower, and Dean could wait outside Her room until she returned, and fall to his knees, and beg like a fucking animal for Her pity. For Her to put him down like some sort of dog, to offer him a cure that he had not right to ask for, to let Dean rip the towel off Her sexy body and let him nip and suck at Her breasts, and shove his fingers deep into Her wet pussy, then stuff her mouth with his cock and let her fix this-

This isn’t Her problem to fix. It’s entirely Dean’s. He’s done this to himself, after all, and—after months of putting Her and Sam through hell, months of blood and violence and anger—he deserves this cruel punishment. He won’t think of Her, either. He’ll have to chase relief an image on the screen, and not allow himself to think of Her.

He lasts a minute. The chick in the video is hot, but she doesn’t have a scar on the back of her neck, and Dean notices immediately. He’s imagined touching that scar, Her scar, so many times, wrapping his hand around it and running his thumb over the line, offering Her pure bliss with his mouth latched to Her’s and his tongue down her throat, and turning that scar into something She loved. Make it more than a reminder of a case gone wrong, make it about how She’d saved Dean’s life, and now he belonged to Her. He’d fuck up into Her until her eyes rolled back in Her head, and she’d be so warm and tight and wet around him, and her fingers would trail over his abdomen before he hit a deep spot inside her and it became all nails sunken into his skin. He’d use his hold on Her neck to keep her eyes on his as she came, and she’d smile at him when they were done-

Something snapped in Dean’s gut, his hips bucking up, and his release spreading over his hand. He’d failed again. His brain had wandered as he’d fucked his hand to the thought of Her, and he’d squeezed his own cock like a vice as he’d pretend it was Her pussy, and he was a fucking asshole.

He needs more pie. And beer. Maybe whiskey, actually. Whiskey will help him forget.

Dean waits until it’s almost midnight, when She’ll be asleep and they’ll both be safe. He sneaks out of the garage, into the kitchen, and flips on the lights without an issue. Now all that’s left to do is get the pie and whiskey. The whiskey’s already out on the counter, which is weird but not that weird—they’re all hunters, after all—and Sam must have just gotten more pie because everything smells like cherries. Cherries and shea butter. Everything smells like Her. Why does everything smell like Her-

“Dean?”

He whips around, freezing as She blinks at him in the doorway, her hair wet from her shower and her body still lined with white cream that hadn’t already in sunken into her skin. She’s so pretty, and looks so worried, and Dean wants to paint Her skin white like that, mark Her and kiss that small, pouting frown off Her face, give her a reason to take a second shower

“Are you okay? You,” Her voice is a whisper, and she takes a small step forward that makes blood pound in his ears. “You don’t look good-“

He doesn’t feel good. He can feel sweat on his brow, the grind of his teeth, the strain of his hands, in fists at his side. But She can’t worry about him, so he just has to lie, get Her to smile, and sprint back to the garage before he does something really stupid.

“‘m fine, Sweetheart.”

She looks him over, Her voice slightly unsteady with doubt. “But you’re really red-“

“So?” Dean’s voice is harsher than he wants it to be, but maybe then she’ll leave and he won’t have to suffer through walking away. “People get red.”

“I know, but I’m, I just, it’s okay if you’re not good-“

He won’t survive this if She doesn’t stop being so nice to him, looking so openly and softly concerned. “Well, I am.” He grunts, forcing a small, jerked shrug. “Just been a long day. Overexerted a little bit.”

“Overexerted-“

“Changing Baby’s tires.” Dean mutters, and something flashes in Her eyes. Something that makes her gaze dart down to his hands, makes Her swallow, and vanishes as she shakes her head.

“She isn’t due for a tire change.” She says, looking back to Dean with a tense expression. “You did that two weeks ago.”

Son of a Bitch, the betterlust loves that. That She knows when he’d last done a tire change, that she’s watching him with such attention, that she’s taken another step towards him and Dean could reach out and touch her if he tried-

He can’t try. He can’t even stay here. He needs to go, just go, just run and tell Sam to tell Her that he’d just really needed to piss or something. Like they were damn teenagers who’d broken up before prom-

“You can tell me.” She says, and Dean’s rooted in place once more from simply the sound of Her voice. “If something’s going on. If you need help.”

She could help. But Dean cannot, under any circumstances, let her.

“Like I said.” He mutters, forcing down the ache of the betterlust in his body for Her, ignoring the almost feral drive to close the space between them and kiss Her everywhere. “Long day. ‘m fine.”

“Dean, I-“

“Said I’m fine-“

“Dean, please-“

Dean snaps Her name, his voice rising to almost a shout. “I’m fucking fine, so drop it.”

His heart turns to lead at Her face. She didn’t flinch or wince, she’s not angry, or afraid, or nervous. She’s just sad. She looks so sad and dejected, like Dean had just told Her she was horrible and rotten, like a cloud had passed over Her body and absorbed all the light from her body.

She isn’t horrible or rotten, She’s amazing. Dean’s horrible and rotten, he’s the cloud, he’s the reason she’s staring at the corner of the counter and there barely seems to be life on her features.

The betterlust feels like poison. It’s white-hot and toxic in his blood, churning in his stomach and stabbing at his eyes. He can’t stand this. He can’t stand this pain and sickness, he can’t stand the silence as she just stands there, he can’t stand how she won’t even look at him but she also won’t leave. Why won’t She just leave, leave Dean to rot and wither away as the betterlust goes foul and kills him right here, in the kitchen, the moment she walks away-

“I,” Dean runs a hand over his face, closing his eyes until he can at least speak words that he’d chosen. “I’m fine, Sweetheart, just-“

“Been a long day.” She mumbles, still staring at the counter. “Okay.”

She doesn’t believe him. And she still looks so fucking sad, and the betterlust is starting to spread something feverish and heavy over Dean’s muscles and organs, and goddamnit he can’t do this. He can’t move or breathe or think until She’s not sad anymore, the whole point of agreeing to this was so She wouldn’t be sad, because Dean could never stand to see Her sad and worried and now that’s all she was, because of him. She was sad because of Dean, and he was going to die if she didn’t look at him-

“I,” She swallows, taking a small step back that makes the betterlust choke in Dean’s lungs. “I’m just gonna go to bed, then. I’ll see you…” She trails off, and now she looks devastated.

“Night,” he mutters, because he’s going to die, and She shouldn’t have to see that. “Sleep well.”

She makes a small sound of acknowledgment, turns to go, and Dean’s skin is going to fly off his body. She can’t walk away, She can’t keep being sad, and he can’t be selfish but She can’t walk away-

Her name falls out of Dean’s mouth in a shout, and when She turns to look at him, she’s looking at him. Really looking at him, with parted lips and nervous eyes, and all of Dean’s willpower becomes about staying tense and rigid and a healthy distance away from Her body.

Which means he can’t control his words.

“Sit with me.”

She stares at him for a second, something passing over Her face Dean can’t understand. “What?”

“In the garage.” He grunts. “I’m going back, just got hungry. You can sit with me.”

“It’s late-“ “You tired?”

She looks over him, Her voice still way too small. “No.”

Dean shrugs, and manages to very causally grab his beer like, if She says no, he’s not going to collapse. “Then come on, Sweetheart.” He winks, and doesn’t groan when Her eyes do that adorable widening thing. “I got Sam’s laptop, we can watch whatever you want long as I get veto power.”

It’s the longest moment of Dean’s life, when She doesn’t answer immediately. When she just keeps staring at him, slightly gaping, hugging her own body and not moving but not looking away and what if he’d fucked up too bad for Her to say yes, what if they’re not even friends anymore, what if Dean had just lost one of the only good things in his life because he didn’t have any self-control and she’d finally realized how he was poison and angry and evil-

"Okay.” She nods, smiles at Dean, and the betterlust morphs in only a second.

Where his lungs had been filled will lead there suddenly clear, the air fresher down his throat and every breath long and easy. Where his blood had felt like ice and sewage, it was warm and smooth through this body. His head feels light, and the world is blurred like he’s drunk, and everything smells like cherries and tastes like sweet pie crust. His heart is fluttering, but it feels damn good, and it’s almost as if it had expanded. Like Dean’s very life was bigger, no longer caving in and no long hollow.

It’s not going to be enough. Her arm brushes his as they walk down the hall, Dean’s every nerve lights up, and minutes later the feeling still hasn’t faded. Now there’s something buzzing under his skin, and it’s not going to stop being wired and electric until She touches him again.

But Dean’s not strong enough to leave Her now.

So he might just be fucked.

——————

You’ve been here all day. Your knees resting on Baby’s wheel as you lean slightly out the open door, keeping Dean company as he worked. He’d put you there—almost guiding you into the seat before flinching back like you’d burned him—handed you his toolbox, and explained what each individual tool did. You’d watched and listened with your best attention—it seemed to make him stand a little taller every time he’d ask a leading question and you’d gotten the answer right—but the boyish smile on his face and ease all over his body was distracting and you hadn’t really processed a word he’d said. But you make do. You’d placed the box in the passenger’s seat, and when Dean asked for something you’d hazard a guess that was usually correct, still getting a chuckle and grin from Dean when you messed up.

And that was the whole reason you were here. To make Dean happy. To be as close to him as he’d allow you to without crossing any sort of invisible line, to talk to him and laugh with him and pretend you couldn’t feel an axe over your head or weight on your shoulders that always told you he’s comfortable here, with you, because you’re his friend and nothing more.

Dean is at ease here because he doesn’t have to flash a special, well-chosen smile that tells you wouldn’t we be fun. He doesn’t have to scan you up and down with a teasing gaze that says you look good, but you’d look better under me, because he’s seen you all over and isn’t interested in your body when he’s seen the blood and guts and bone fall out of it, or stitched up the gashes to leave long scars. Dean doesn’t need to think about what he’s saying because you already know how he thinks, and chose a persona because you’ve seen all of them and you only really like him. He doesn’t need to pull a stunt for you to look at him, because he already has your undivided attention. He always does.

He’s comfortable and laughing because you’re like Sam. Not quite Sam—Dean doesn’t love you—but still someone he talks to easily. Someone he trusts to have his back, or hang over him as he slides under Baby, leaving him vulnerable, but not vulnerable to you. Someone who’s his partner, in every way but the one you dream of.

A way he doesn’t dream of. A way that he wouldn’t dream of, not with you, because he’s seen all of you and you’ve seen all of him and he’d never thought of more. He knows you too well, and it’s cursed you for him to never have any of that sexy, intriguing mystery that makes him smirk and use his deepest drawl and most heated promises. You’re just a cool chick who can annoy him and try to make him watch Pirates of the Caribbean, and he can wave you off and trade sparring easy jokes. Not more, because Dean likes you and your company, but doesn’t love you. And it’s the most painful ache to know that, and you keep staying anyway because almost all of him—save for that last piece, locked away and forbidden from only you—is better than none of him.

“I think you’d like it,” you say, trying not to stare at the slight bulge in Dean’s pants, perfectly in your line of sight. “I’ll bet on it.”

Dean slides out from under Baby, stretching out his hand for you to pass another tool. “There’s no way I’m taking that bet. Spanner.”

You nod, frowning at the box as you try to remember what a spanner is. “You don’t even know what we’re betting-“

“Doesn’t matter, the bet’s a trick.” When you glance back, Dean’s winking at you, and his drawl ignites something molten in your gut. “I’ve got your number, Sweetheart, and I’m not falling for it.”

“I don’t, um,” you gape at him, covered in grease and wearing a shirt that you can see his muscles through, stilling grinning at you like nothing’s ever been wrong in the world. “It’s not a trick-“

“I agree to it, I gotta watch the movie.” He makes a face of mock disgust. “And now I’ve lost no matter what.”

“But you’d like it! It’s got sword-fights, and um, boats. And tentacles! You love tentacles-“

Dean laughs, and it’s deep from his chest and joyful and consuming your every thought. “If tentacles is your leadin’ pitch, you really don’t got shit-“

“Please?” You pout, leaning a little out of the car to hold his gaze, and something flashes in Dean’s eyes that you hope means he’s considering it. “I really do think you’d have fun. It’s not a good movie, but it’s fun. We deserve fun.”

He’s scanning over your face like there’s something inside it he needs to grab. You can see his fingers curling under the car, and a slight tick of his jaw, and you don’t know why. You usually understand why Dean does things, but you don’t understand this, understand why he’s looking at you like a predator, but also like you’re hunting him.

“Spanners got the curve.”

You blink at him. “What-“

“Spanner wrench. Got a curve like,” Dean moves his hands into view, tracing a line through the air. “That.”

“I, yeah. Sorry.” You shake your head in a small, thought-clearing motion, and turn back to the toolbox.

“’S okay.” His words are quiet, and you have to pause to hear him. “Last one. Then we’ll watch the stupid movie.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in, and once they do, you can’t stop smiling. You hadn’t crossed an invisible line, he wasn’t mad, and you weren’t about to get kicked out of the garage for him to actually focus. If he was still trying to avoid you—you never figured out why he was in the first place, but it didn’t really seem to matter anymore—he would’ve taken the opportunity and kicked you out. But he hadn’t. And now you get to stay with Dean a little longer, and he’s chosen to keep you there, and watch a movie.

You suggest the Dean Cave, as he pushes himself up to his feet and wipes his hands, and he agrees at first. Then you try to stand up and leave the garage, and his eyes widen.

“Where are you, uh,” Dean clears his throat, his words still falling out a little panicked. “Where are you going?”

“To get food? While you shower?”

“I don’t gotta shower. We can watch in here,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, to the still-open Impala doors. “Already got Sam’s computer and some beer.”

That look is back on his face as he looks between you and the Impala, and you can’t figure out if you should be worried by it. It’s mostly just worrying because you don’t know what it means, and you know almost all of Dean’s expressions. But you don’t really know anything about what’s going on. Dean’s covered in grease, but he doesn’t want to shower. He wants to sit in the car, on the fresh upholstery that he bitches about you and Sam drinking colored soda on. His whole body is strained, his legs planted wide like somethings going to try and move him, and he’s holding the wrench like it’s a weapon. It’s an expression you’ve seen on countless hunts, during countless fights that end in blood, but it doesn’t feel dangerous. No instinct—hunter or just natural self-preservation—is telling you run, and he doesn’t that glint in his eyes that accompanied the bloodlust.

There is something, but you don’t know what. It’s a little blown out and deep inside his pupils, almost hungry. But that doesn’t make sense, because you’d offered to get him food and he said no. Which is incredibly odd, adding to an infinite pile of what’s going on with Dean, really.

If you weren’t selfish, maybe you’d push him. Demand a really, straightforward answer to why he’d been avoiding you in the first place, why Sam was so adamant you stay away from him, why they’ve both been so suspicious when Dean really seems to be fine. He’s a little off, take long breathes at odd times and flexing his hands like they’re not fully under his control. He’s either not really meeting your eyes are staring at you like he thinks you’re going to vanish, won’t touch you for longer than a half-second, and he seems to be so easily content until he’s suddenly tense and wired. Until the room fills with heavy electricity as he does those long breaths, and he wins whatever war he’s waging with himself.

He’s not fighting down the bloodlust. You’ve watched Dean fight down the bloodlust for months, and it’s similar to this—something shining in his eyes that’s made of self-disgust, a solider-like defense stance, carrying himself as if he’s about to cave in—but it’s not the same. Dean didn’t really talk to anyone during the bloodlust, and when he did he’ used short words and a low voice, his tone furious and filled with loathing for even being able to speak. Whenever you and Sam would walk away, leaving him to wallow and brood, you’d glance back and see his body relax because he didn’t have to fight the Mark when there was nobody around. He never did anything boring or simple, because he was always staring at his hands like they might be suddenly stained in blood.

But he’s agreeing to watch the movie, and when you step back towards the car door, his whole body relaxes. You set the movie up—propping Sam’s laptop on the dashboard and settling into the passenger’s seat—and you can the rigid line of his shoulders and clench of his jaw as he grabs the beers, a tension that seems to evaporate as he slides behind the wheel.

And he won’t shut the fuck up. It starts with little comments and jokes about the movie—he keeps scooting closer to your side without ever actually touching you, and that alone makes it impossible to focus—but then it starts to stray.

“Think I’d be a good pirate?” He asks you, frowning at the laptop screen, and you tilt your head.

“I dunno, what qualities make someone a good pirate?”

He pauses, fidgeting with his empty bottle as he thinks. “Swashbuckling?”

You snort, and Dean’s lips twitch.

“Can you swashbuckler, Dean?”

“No,” he looks back to the movie with a shrug. “But I think I’d pick it up. Doesn’t seem that hard, just swinging around a big metal stick.”

Dean would pick it up. You don’t have any doubt that someone would hand Dean a sword, say swashbuckle, and he’d get it before the day was done. Because he’s amazing, and good at everything, and such an annoying asshole who can’t stop being a confusing combination of adorably endearing and impossibly hot. It’s a clear image in your head, Dean with a sword. There’s a boyish grin on his face, and he’s swinging it around like it’s a toy, and then someone challenges him to a duel. There’s a light of excitement in his eyes when he accepts it��he’d grin at you and say I just got challenged to a real duel, how fucking sweet is that—and then he focus and destroy his opponent in seconds. With careful, shockingly graceful moves, his muscles flexing and his eyes gleaming, and it would be so hot. He’d get all sweaty and focused and smug and God-

He says your name, and you gape at him slightly. “Huh?”

“Lost you for a second, Sweetheart,” he says, scanning over you with a frown, reaching out to touch you then coiling back like you’re covered in mud and grime. “Wanna tell me where you went?”

Dean is not allowed to know where you went. But you don’t want him to stop talking to you, or start sulking, or do anything that isn’t this—his attention all on you, his body close enough you can feel the heat of it, even if he’s not touching you, the movie suddenly nothing but background noise��so you hum, smile, and shuffle in your seat to fully face him.

“Do you think I’d make a good pirate?”

“Nah, your heart wouldn’t be in it.”

You pout at him. “Yes, it would-“

“You don’t like sleeping in the motels.” He says with pointed words, smirking at you. “Gets you on edge, having to share space. You’d hate bein’ in on a ship. No privacy.”

You flush, forcing your heart to slow down and your brain not to get stuck on how Dean’s noticed things about you, because you’re his best friend. Of course he knows things about you. Sam probably knows that too. “I wouldn’t need to share space if I was the captain.“

Dean huffs a laugh. “You could be captain, but that’s just cause you’re bossy.”

“Shut up, I am not bossy-“

“You’re real bossy, Sweetheart. It’s how you keep me and Sam in line. Now,” he wiggles his brows at you. “Imagine a whole ship of me’s and Sam’s.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’d jump overboard.”

He laughs, full and loud and pushing a grin onto your face, and it goes on like this for hours. The movie turns off, the beers run out, and you’re still talking to Dean. It’s not deep conversation, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s meaningful because Dean is talking to you. He’s himself, and he’s talking to you, and that’s more important than anything. It’s all you’d really wanted, and you have it, so it’s perfect.

“Fuck, marry, kill.” You leaning your head back on the seat, your legs crossed under you. “Crowley, Lucifer, Dick.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna answer that.”

“Why not-“

“Because I’m not a teenage girl-“

“I’ll tell you mine.” You turn your face, grinning at him. “Please?”

You don’t expect him to cave that fast, but he scowls, and mutters, “Does it have to be those three-“

“Yes.”

“Fucking why-“

“Because. Answer the question, Dean, unless you’re too much of a weak little bitch-“

“Shut up.” Dean rolls his eyes, giving you an amused glare as he answers. “Kill Dick, cause I know how and I’m not lookin’ to get eaten, fuck,” he makes a sour face, but his body doesn’t tense as he continues. “Lucifer. Marry Crowley.”

You grin, and nod in mock understanding. “I get it, because you’ve already married Crowley.“

He scoffs, but you can see the smile tug at his lips. “I told you and Sam to stop making those stupid jokes-“

“Did you? Or are you just touchy about your divorce?”

“Shut up,” Dean says your name, waving you off with a hand. “You still owe me your answer-“

“Marry Lucifer, because I think he could use the win, fuck Dick, kill Crowley.“

Dean’s face twists like he’s smelled something rotten. “Fuck Dick-“

“His name is Dick.” You hum, your smile growing teasing and wide. “I mean. C’mon.”

“Still, it’s Dick, he’s not even a person.”

You give him a flat look. “None of them are people, Dean, that’s the point.”

“You know what I mean, least Crowley’s been a human, why don’t you fuck Crowley-“

“Do you want me to fuck Crowley?”

“Of course not,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “I just ain’t able to picture you and Dick together-“

“But you can picture me and Crowley?”

Dean glares at you, and there a slight tension in his eyes that sets off churning guilt in your stomach. You don’t know why he’s so adamant about this, but he seems to really, really care that you don’t fuck Dick. Maybe it’s because you could probably survive a Crowley encounter—you have before—but the leviathans famously don’t really play games or toy with their food. Literally.

“I’m not over the hellhound incident.” You move your hand to the back of your neck, your tone slightly apologetic. “So Dick’s the default fuck.”

“Ah. Fine.” Dean grunts, and everything in him seems to relax as his grin growing cocky. “But I think you’re just jealous of Crowley gettin to marry me-“

You flush, shoving his chest. “I am not-“

You cut yourself off, because Dean’s suddenly frozen. Rigid and wide-eyed, staring at you with darkened eyes.

“Dean,” you frown, and his nostrils flare. “Are you-“

“Hey, dude, I was looking at the spell again and-“ Sam pushes the door of the garage open, freezing as he takes in the sight of you and Dean in the car, Dean looking at you like a wild animal, and you looking at Sam narrowed eyes and a frown.

“Why were you looking at the spell?”

“No reason,” Sam says, his voice too passive as he glances between you and Dean. “Can I, uh, can I talk to Dean?”

You both look at Dean, who seems to pull himself out of the odd daze to glare at Sam and snap, “We’re talkin’ right now, Sammy, what’s up-“ “Alone!” Sam blurts, glancing at you again. “We should talk alone. It’s…” He trails off, giving you a half-hearted grimace. “Brother stuff.”

“Brother stuff,” your voice is dry as you repeat Sam’s lame excuse, and the tall dickhead just nods nervously.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

It wouldn’t be hard to fight Sam. Insist on staying here, on them looping you into whatever the hell is going on, and get him to cave. But it doesn’t feel worth it right now. Dean’s not mad at you, he doesn’t hate you, and you are a little hungry, so maybe you can let Sam do whatever brother stuff is an excuse for, then just outright ask Dean later. You think he’ll tell you now—you’re talking again, and he’s smiling again, and he’d been at ease for most of the afternoon so it’s not that he doesn’t trust you—you’ll just need to coax it out of him.

You sigh, still glaring at Sam, but start to roll out of your seat to leave them alone.

Your feet don’t even make it to the ground before Dean grabs your arms, tugging you backwards. You turn to frown at him, but he’s glaring at Sam with an almost violence.

“Whatever you gotta say, say it.” He snaps, using the rough, firm tone he uses during hunts or interrogations. A voice he almost never uses on Sam. “Or go.”

Sam pales, shooting you a desperate look, and all you can do is pull your lips into a line and look back to Dean. His grip on you is tight but not bruising, and he doesn’t seem to be interested in letting go any time soon.

“Dean,” Sam says, words slow and measured. “I can be quick, but you need to hear this-“

“I don’t need anything.” Dean doesn’t look at you, but his thumb starts to move in small circles, and you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it. “We’re good, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head. “You’re the one who told me-“

“I know what I fucking told you.” Dean snaps. “And I’m tellin’ you now, we’re good. Go.”

Sam opens and closes his mouth, giving a strange look where his brow his furrowed but his eyes are soft, and raises his hands in surrender. “Dean just,” he sighs. “I have the, um, thing. If you want it.”

You frown. “Want what-“

“Nothin’,” Dean release his hold on you, and glances down at his hand like it’s covered in something he can’t see. “I’m good, Sweetheart.” He looks back up at Sam. “I’ve got it, Sammy, don’t worry about me.”

Sam’s jaw twitches, but he nods, and leaves.

And Dean doesn’t move. His knee is suddenly pressed to yours, and he’s not looking at you but he won’t stop taking those long, heavy breathes.

“So.” He turns back to face you, the deep gleam in his eyes returned. “You killing Crowley?”

You nod slowly, scanning over Dean’s face as you force yourself to speak words that aren’t Dean, what the fuck is going on. But you’re caught in his attention and his body so close to yours, and how he’s still here. You’re still here.

The conversation continues, and stretches through the day with ease. But you don’t forget the look on Sam’s face, and you can’t escape the gleam in Dean’s eyes. You don’t really want to escape it, because it’s almost everything you’ve ever wanted from him. It’s not everything, but closer. It Dean not letting you go, and not looking anywhere but you, and smiling at you until you’re a little dizzy. You’re dizzy, and Dean’s just smiling at you.

But you’re still worried. You’re always worried about him, and this is so weird. Sam’s words are weird, Dean’s actions are weird, and you’re starting to think you’re going insane because the weird thing is that it’s not that weird. Dean’s been this close to you before, he’s talked to you this long, he’s made all these jokes and comments—or at least similar ones—and it hadn’t been weird. What’s off is how they feel charged. How he’s touching you the casual way he usually does, helping your through doors with a hand on your back or bumping your shoulder when you laugh, but his hand lingers longer than usual—it always does linger, now that you think about it, but not like this—and he always jerks back like you’ve burned him.

It’s weird that he’s just being Dean, fully Dean, but he doesn’t seem to want to be. He’s trying to swallow something, and he won’t say what, and you’re still worried.

And you’re selfish, so you’re not pushing. You’re basking in this, and feeling worry gnaw at your lungs and gut, and drowning it out with Dean.

You’ll fix it later. If you get Sam alone—which seems unlikely right now, given how you say that you’re hungry and Dean’s suddenly starving, trialing after you to the kitchen—you’ll threaten him until he tells you what the hell is going on, and what he had, and what Dean got, and why nobody’s willing to tell you.

But you’ll do it later.

Right now you’ll just stay with Dean.

End Note: I thought way too hard about the fuck, marry, kill answers. That was like, eight minutes of my life.

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deanscherrypie420 · 7 months ago

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Demons Blood - Part 2

A/N : Hi guys! I literally forced myself to write this because I WANTED TO WRITE but I woke up like.. twenty minutes ago.. ermmm.. ANYWHO, I hope you enjoy! I recommend reading PT1 before PT2

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Y/N, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Bobby

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader

Warnings: Angst, arguing, physical fights, supernatural hunting, over-consumption of alcohol, drinking, crying, suggestive dialogue, demons, blood, scarring, insecure about weight, SH reference. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Summary: You were born a demon. You never found out why, but you have demon blood in your veins. Your father left when you were young and you've lived with Bobby ever since. Now, the Winchesters are living with you and Bobby and you hate it. You being and demon is the only thing Dean knows about you, and you and him can't stop fighting. Thankfully, Sam and Castiel are your safe place..

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It had been weeks since Dean slapped her. Now, they pretty much ignored each other, not wanting to start anything in front of Bobby. She would still bring it up sometimes, finally getting payback for the torment Dean has put her through.

"C'mon, Sammy, it's not like I'm hurting him. He deserves it and you know it." She whined. She didn't understand why Sam was so hell bent on her and Dean getting along. "He's my brother, and you're like my sister! You two should really just.. I don't know, maybe stop being stubborn and apologize to each other?" Sam suggested cautiously.

She groaned and kicked him off her bed. Truthfully, just rolled with the kick and she knew that. "Stop defending him, Sam! He's an asshole and I hate him, and I'm starting to hate you right now. Get out." She huffed as she gestured to her door. He got up off the floor and walked to the door. "I'm just saying, maybe you two could be friends." He prodded with his signature puppy-dog look. "Get out." She demanded back, and he obeyed with a sigh.

A little bit later she left her room and went to the kitchen. She grabbed her water bottle and filled it with ice, the cold crystals clinking as they fell into the metal stomach. Dean came around the corner and watched her for a second, a small smile playing on his lips. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she turned towards him, an immediate frown appearing on her face.

"What do you want?" She questioned. He rubbed the back of his neck and walked over to her. She stepped back and gave him a look that clearly translated back the fuck up or I will kill you. He did so and leaned against the kitchen table. "I just wanted to see how you're doing, I guess." She rolled her eyes at his statement. So annoying, she thought.

"I'm doing great actually. Life's been good knowing I'm not the only monster under this roof." She remarked casually as she filled up her water. He jaw ticked and he glared down at her. "Can you drop it already? I don't get what the fuck your issue is with me."

Her brows raised and she scoffed, her eyes wide as if what he just said was fucking hilarious. "You don't get my issue? God! You are so pathetic, Winchester!" She shook her head, utter rage bubbling up in her stomach.

Fortunately for Dean, Bobby and Sam came in just in time to prevent the conversation from going further. "You guys wanna go out and get some food? There's a diner nearby." Sam said, knowing exactly what he walked in on.

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At the diner Y/N was chatting with a guy, making small talk by the bar. Dean couldn't stop staring. He didn't know why, he hates her. But damn, watching her sit there with that glowing smile.. He wished it was him.

Suddenly, Sam nudged his brother under the table with his foot, making Dean's knee bounce up in surprise. He slammed his leg against the underside of the old table, causing the contents on it to rattle. "Seriously, Sam? The hell is your problem?" Dean hissed. Sam just chuckled and shook his head. "Dude, you've been eyeing her for like twenty minutes." When Dean shot Sam daggers with his eyes, Sam put his hands up in surrender. "C'mon, why are you staring at her so hard?" The younger Winchester teased. "Sammy, drop it." Dean demanded as he saw you approaching the table.

Y/N nudged Sam over with her elbow and he scooted down the booth. She sighed happily and leaned her head back, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm the shit." Sam cocked a brow and tilted his head, "How so?" Dean interrupted the brief conversation when he cleared his throat.

"That guy seemed like an ass." He muttered before a sip of beer. Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes back, not bothering to respond to him. Dean just chuckled, "That was hot." He said casually, and her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?-" She started, but Sam cut her off. "Dean, seriously?" Sam said with an eye roll of his own. He gestured to the side with one of hands, "Porn," he began, now moving his hands to the other side, "Real life. There's a difference."

Bobby had come back from the bathroom now and laughed as he heard their conversation. Y/N just sat there, feeling a pleasant sense of comfort at all of them being together, even if she didn't like Dean.

Maybe she liked him a little more than she let on.

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"Jesus Christ, it smells awful in here." She murmured, covering her nose with her wrist as she stepped over a mysterious liquid. Sam laughed and Dean shook his head, an amused smile growing on his face. "Get used to it, Sweetheart." She didn't have to turn around to know he was grinning. Whatever, moron, she thought to herself.

They were in an old ranch. The group assumed that it was being used as a werewolf hideout. They ended up splitting up somewhere along the lines, she wasn't exactly sure when she had started going her own way, but she had a feeling she would find something. She heard something behind her and she turned around swiftly, her eyes quickly turning into black pools at the possibility of a threat. Her foot landed on a metal pool, making her slip and fall back. She tried to reach for something behind her to catch herself, but failed.

An arm quickly wrapped around her and hoisted her up right. She pushed whoever the hell grabbed her back, and then pulled out her gun. Castiel put his hands up in defense, something he saw Sam do often. Y/N let out an airy laugh, her eyes returning to normal, and pressed her gun to his chest. Not in a threatening way, but just a teasing way to push him back. "Jeez, dude. Way to scare me." Her cheeks were flushed and she was panting, adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Cas shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, something he picked up from Dean, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." He said quietly. She put her gun away and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, you're fine."

She then turned and gasped, another imaginary threat appearing in front of her. "Dammit!" She said as she realized it was just the brothers. She rolled her eyes and stepped out of the imaginary box the boys had made with their bodies. "You guys planned that." She shook her head and scoffed, still a bit startled by the double-scare.

Sam wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze, "Relax, Y/N. You're too tense." She wiggled out of his grasp and rolled her eyes, "Shut it, moose." They both let out a laugh before Cas felt like he was missing something.

He cleared his throat and slung an arm around Y/N, copying what Sam had done, "Yeah, shut it moose." He echoed, and Sam and her burst out in laughter. Dean shook his head with a laugh, enjoying the stupidity of their humor.

After a moment of silly remarks and nonstop laughing, Sam finally announced that they should get back to the car. With a groan of compliance, Y/N and Dean agreed and began walking to the car, not realizing that Sam had pulled Cas to walk behind them.

"Hey, are we alright?" Dean asked, glancing over at her. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Dean, don't ruin my mood right now." He bit his lip and nodded. "Sorry." Dean stated quietly.

She felt air get caught in her throat as she realized what he said. That was the first time he ever apologized to her. She cleared her throat and bumped him with her arm, "Thanks. I'm gonna go walk with Sam and Cas." Dean nodded and gave a small smile.

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When they got back to Bobby's after the case, Dean and her were at each other's throats. Sam had to deal with it on his own during the car ride because Castiel chickened out and left.

"You are such a fucking idiot, I did the right thing! You could've gotten hurt if I didn't!" Y/N screamed at Dean once they got inside. Dean slammed his hand down on the table, which made her flinch. "That son of a bitch could've killed you because you did that!"

She groaned and tossed her head back as Bobby walked in. "What's goin' on?" Bobby probed. Y/N gave him a look that could've killed, and Dean scoffed. "She put her life on the line! She used herself as bait when she knows damn well we don't let her do that any more!"

She rolled her eyes and slammed her freshly opened beer bottle down, immediately snapping back, "It was not bait! I lured the goddamn thing out so you could kill it!" Dean started walking towards her, towering down in front of her. He glanced down at her beer and took it from her hands.

"You aren't even old enough to drink yet, I don't know why we keep you around. Too immature." He growled at her. Bobby cleared his throat and leaned over the table, grabbing the bottle from Dean's hands. "Her birthday was a couple days ago, don't disrespect her like that." Bobby declared, and she laughed at Dean.

"I've been twenty-one for two days and I've been hunting since I was sixteen, don't you dare call me immature." Bobby gave her a look and her shoulders slumped, "What?" She muttered. "You were acting irrational on the hunt, you should know better than that. You keep yourself safe first, always." Bobby lectured to her and she rolled her eyes.

It was Dean's turn to laugh now, a small chuckle bellowing from his throat. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, heading straight to Sam's.

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She was laying upside down on Sam's bed, venting about how frustrated she was to Sam and Castiel. Castiel was sitting in a black spinning chair at a desk that occupied the corner of Sam's room. He spun back and forth while listening, oddly fascinated with the way the chair moved. Sam was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, rubbing her leg in an attempt to soothe her. His head rested against the headboard and his eyes were closed as he listened to her rant.

"I don't understand how Bobby agrees with him! I was in the right! I did the right thing, I didn't even get hurt!" Sam cleared his throat at this, tilting his head down to look at her. "You got a pretty good scratch on your back. I understand that's not your point but you can't leave out details.." She hit his leg, biting her lip as she thought of what to say.

Castiel chimed in before she could think of anything. "I healed her though, and she knew I was there. I think you are correct," He said as he nodded his head towards her, "She did the best thing she could in the moment." Sam processed what he said and reluctantly agreed. "Yeah, okay. I just don't think we should hate Dean for being worried."

She laughed and moved to look over at Sam, using her elbows to hold her up. "Are you serious? I hate him for many more reasons than that." Sam shook his head and Cas shrugged.

A knock on the door took them out of their conversation. She flipped over onto her stomach, now resting in-between Sam's legs. "Come in," she ordered, and the door opened slightly.

Dean came in and immediately focused on the two. He cleared his throat and his brows furrowed. "Cute," he said, motioning towards Sam. Before Sam could respond, Dean continued. "I was just comin' to apologize." He murmured, now looking at her. She nodded and propped her head up on her hands, elbows digging into the mattress. "Go on," she urged and he did. "I'm sorry for yelling at you.. And uh, being rude, ya know, how I called you immature."

She nodded and gave a small smile, "Thanks, Dean." He nodded as well and rubbed the back of his neck. The room fell silent as they just stared at each other for a moment. He swore her eyes were a brighter shade of Y/E/C. They were beautiful.

Sam cleared his throat and Dean snapped back to reality. "Uh, I'm gonna go.. Probably gonna go watch a movie or something, if any of you wanna join." Y/N nodded and smiled and so did Cas.

Once Dean left, Sam nudged her with his leg. "You got something you wanna tell us?" He said, his tone was teasing but she was confused. "What do you mean? He apologized, that's a good thing." Sam nodded with a chuckle and Castiel stopped spinning, intrigued by the conversation at hand.

"What I mean is that look. You guys were staring into each other's souls." Sam said with another laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about." She muttered, moving to sit up.

Sam shook his head and crossed his legs on the bed, a rather awkward position for such a tall person. "I think you two would be cute together." Sam remarked, making her tilt her head. He put his hands up and began rambling to defend himself, but she was already lost in thought.

Maybe we would be...

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A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! I was really unmotivated today but I wanted to post another part. I wanted to write but I couldn't grasp the motivation so I hope this is good lol

Feel free to reblog, like and comment! I really hope you guys like it! Message me if you have any requests!

xoxo

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