#spns

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Whiskey & Want

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Summary: A bunker party ignites long-hidden feelings as Dean and the reader navigate stolen glances, heated touches, and a kiss that changes everything.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, swearing.

Check out my Masterlist here!

The music pounded in the hunter's ears as soon as their boots touched the concrete. The bass thumped through their bodies, a deep pulse that made the ground seem alive beneath them.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, confusion flickering between them. The driveway of the bunker was a chaotic mess of parked cars and trucks-some familiar, some unexpected. What the hell was going on?

The last thing Dean had heard from you was that you were planning a quiet night alone. But this? This was anything but quiet. And you were anything but alone.

Dean took the lead, pushing open the heavy door. The instant it swung open, the music rushed out like a tidal wave, slamming into them. His sharp gaze scanned the room below, taking in the scene. The place was packed with familiar faces-almost all of them women.

Jody and Ellen were at the far end, locked in a fierce dart game. Meg leaned against a table, exchanging a sharp-witted banter with Rowena. And there you were, laughing with Jo as the two of you took shots, a radiant smile lighting up your face.

Dean's breath caught.

It wasn't just the way your laughter filled the room, effortlessly drawing people towards you. It wasn't just the way your eyes sparkled under the dim, golden glow of the bunker's overhead lights.

No, it was something far more dangerous.

It was what you were wearing.

Because it wasn't yours.

It was his.

His green Henley draped over your frame, the sleeves pushed up, the fabric hanging loose over your curves in the most delicious way. And beneath it? Boxer shorts that were definitely not yours.

Dean swallowed hard. His chest tightened, his pulse quickened and his jeans grew tighter as an undeniable heat surged through him.

God help him, but you were killing him. And the worst part? This wasn’t new.

Dean had been harboring a secret crush on you for longer than he cared to admit. It had started as something small—a passing thought about how your laugh made his chest feel lighter, how your presence made the bunker feel less like a tomb and more like a home.

But over time, it grew. It became a weight in his chest, a constant ache every time you walked into the room, every time your hand brushed his, every time you gave him one of those smiles that made him feel like he was the only person in the world.

And now, standing here, watching you in his shirt, looking so effortlessly gorgeous, he felt like he was on the verge of losing his goddamn mind.

From the middle of the room. you felt it.

That pull, that familiar presence. Your body reacted before your mind even registered it. Your eyes searched the space instinciveyl, heart skipping a beat like it always did, when your eyes landed on him.

Dean.

His gaze was locked onto you, a mixture of awe, adortion and something deeper-something raw and unspoken. A slow, shy smile tugged at his lips, one that made your breath catch.

You grinned and before you could overthink it, rushed towards the stairs, your body humming with excitment. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the courage bubbling to the surface, but suddenly, keeping your eyes off of him felt impossible.

"Your home! Come join the party!" You called out, your voice carrying over the music.

Sam chuckled, descending the stairs first, greeting everyone with easy familiarity. But Dean? He hesitated.

His eyes never left yours as he made his way down, slow and nervous.

The air between you crackled with unspoken words, with something you couldn't quite name but desperately wanted to.

You stepped forward, opening your arms for a hug.

Normally, Dean wasn’t one for hugs unless it was Sam or someone like Jody. But tonight felt different. Something in his eyes told you this was okay.

His breath hitched, but he stepped into your embrace, His hand rested at the small of your back, fingers pressing lightly, like he was anchoring himself. Even when you pulled away, he didn’t.

When he finally pulled back, he ducked his head, rubbing his neck. A faint blush spread across his cheeks.

He was flustered. But all he could think about was how good you felt in his arms. How natural it was. And how much he wanted more.

He told himself you were just tipsy, caught in the moment, that tomorrow you wouldn't remember the way you looked at him like he was something worth wanting.

Little did he know, you had spent countless nights tangled in the same heartache, the same longing. Pining after a man who you thought would never see you the way you saw him.

That was why you called your friends, why you threw this party.

And for a while, it worked.

Until he walked through the door, looking like sin on legs, and you were right back where you started.

But this time, it was different. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. And God, you hoped he felt it too.

You smirked, grabbed his arm, and tugged him toward the kitchen. "Let's drink!"

The night blurred into a haze of music, laughter, and stolen glances.

The music got louder, drinks flowed faster, and you and Dean drifted closer.

It started as playful teasing—an innocent invitation to dance. But the moment he touched you, something shifted.

At first, it was lighthearted. Then the space between you disappeared. His hands ghosted over your body, his breath mixed with yours, his gaze locked onto you.

The music faded into the background, and it was just you and him.

Jo announced some kind of game, but you barely heard her. You couldn’t focus—not when Dean looked at you like that.

Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist and led him away, out of the crowded room and into the dimly lit hallway.

Dean leaned against the wall, smiling at you, waiting.

You opened your mouth, searching for words, but what could you possibly say? How could you put this feeling into something as fragile as language? Your thoughts tangled, but one thing was clear—you wanted this.

So, you didn’t speak.

Instead, you stepped forward, placed a hand against his chest, felt his heartbeat stutter beneath your palm. You tilted your chin up, letting your lips brush against his with a quiet, hesitant urgency. A question. A plea.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back with a hunger that left you breathless. It was deep, aching, like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had.

And then—

He pulled away.

Your heart plummeted.

You barely noticed the way he was breathing heavily, the way his eyes were blown wide with shock and something deeper. All you saw was the rejection.

"S-Sorry," you stammered, stepping back. "I shouldn’t have—I know you don't feel that way-"

"Wait, what?" His voice was rough, laced with disbelief. "What do you mean I don’t feel that way?"

You turned away, but he caught your wrist. "Sweetheart, talk to me, please."

You swallowed hard. "Dean, I’ve liked you for so long. Maybe even more than that. And tonight… I thought maybe—"

Dean let out a breathless chuckle, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks were tinged pink. "Sweetheart, I do feel the same way. Completely."

You blinked up at him. "Then why-?"

His expression softened. "Because you’ve been drinking, and I’d never want you to think I took advantage of that."

Your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you at his words. God, this man.

A slow smile stretched across your lips. "You… are amazing."

Before he could respond, you pulled him back in, fingers tangling in his hair, lips molding against his in a kiss that left no room for misinterpretation. This was real. This was everything.

Dean groaned softly against your mouth, his grip tightening as he deepened the kiss, pouring everything he felt into it. When you finally broke apart, breathless and grinning, he pressed his forehead against yours.

"If you promise I’m not taking advantage… maybe we can keep doing this," he murmured.

You giggled. "Dean, you’re not. But I wish you had sooner. We could have figured this out ages ago."

His smirk was wicked as he laced his fingers through yours, tugging you toward his room. "Guess we've got some lost time to make up for."

Tonight, there were no more distractions.

Tonight, there was just you and him.

Finally.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[the-gray-ghosty]

Dean won't admit when he's feeling sad or depressed, he'll just sit in sam's lap like a cat and try to make himself as physically close to sam as possible

[pansexual-lilychen]

[rabid-transcendentalist]

[strawlessandbraless]

What an unsurprising & completely expected turn of events that literally everyone saw coming 😮

Source 🔗

Free 🔗

[lady-raziel]

I just wanna know if love wins before America loses

[jackalspine]

@schnuffel-danny hehehe

regarding this post: from schnuffle

[deansbisexualflannel]

[lolstargirl]

[destiel-news-channel]

[Image ID: The Destiel confession meme edited so that Dean answers 'There's a petition to ban conversion therapy in the EU' to Cas' 'I love you'. /End ID]

If you are a citizen in the EU please sign this petition:

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Just Because

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Summary: You spoil Dean with a simple gesture, and it means more than he can say.

Check out my Masterlist here!

The bunker was quiet when you got home, a striking difference from the chaos of the mall you had just battled through.

Between the crowds, the pushy salespeople, and that one cashier who acted like scanning your items was super inconvenient, you were exhausted.

All you wanted now was a long hot shower and to curl up in bed with your boyfriend when he got back.

You set the shopping bags on the bed before heading to the bathroom, sighing in relief as the warm water washed away the tension of the day.

You were halfway through your shower when the sound of heavy boots echoed off the tile, followed by a soft knock. A second later, the curtain pulled back just enough for Dean’s smirking face to peek through.

“Mmm, hey, sweetheart.” He grinned, his eyes shamelessly roaming your body.

You rolled your eyes, fighting the blush creeping up your cheeks. “Hey, baby. How was the hunt?���

He sat on the edge of the tub, running a hand through his hair. “Longer than expected but we got the job done. What about you? How was your day, did you go out?”

You hummed, rinsing the shampoo from your hair. “Mmhmm. I did a little shopping. Got you something—it’s in the bag on the bed.”

His eyebrows lifted in interest and surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Go check it out while I finish up.”

After finishing up, you pulled on your robe and made your way to the bedroom, expecting to find Dean grinning like a kid on Christmas.

Instead, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, staring at the plaid shirts laid out in front of him. The whiskey bottle sat unopened beside them. His hands rested on his knees, fingers curled like he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

Your smile faded. He didn’t look happy—he looked stunned. Maybe even… sad?

You frowned, quickly making your way to him and sitting beside him. Your hand covered his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?”

He nodded quickly, but his voice wavered. “Y-Yeah. I just…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “This is for me?”

You narrowed your eyes, watching as his forced grin slowly faded. “Dean, what’s wrong? You don’t like them? That’s totally fine, I can return them—”

“What? No!” His head snapped up, eyes wide. “I love them. It’s not that.”

You tilted your head. “Then what is it? Because you look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

Dean sighed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling like he was carrying a weight he didn’t know how to put down. He turned to face you, his hands hesitantly reaching for yours, but his head stayed low, like he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

"I just... why did you buy me all this?" His voice was quieter than usual, rough around the edges, as he gestured toward the plaid and whiskey behind him.

You blinked, glancing at the items before looking back at him. "Well, your plaid got ruined, and I figured you could use some more… And I noticed you were running low on whiskey, so I thought a new bottle might be nice."

He let out a slow, shaky breath, his head dropping even lower. "No, I mean... why would you do this for me?"

Your heart clenched at the way he said it—so soft, so unsure, like he genuinely couldn’t comprehend the answer.

You reached out, fingertips brushing under his chin, gently tilting his face up to yours. "Because I love you."

Dean’s lips parted slightly, his green eyes searching yours like he was looking for some kind of explanation, something that made sense in his world. "But… I don’t get it. It’s not my birthday. It’s not our anniversary. You didn’t owe me this."

“Dean,” you said gently, lifting his chin so he had to look at you. “You don’t have to earn love. You don’t have to wait for a reason. I did this because I love you.”

He stayed quiet, jaw tensing, eyes fixed on the flannels like they were something rare and fragile.

"Dean," you murmured, squeezing his hands. "Talk to me. What’s going on?"

"I…" He swallowed hard, struggling to find the words. "No one’s ever done this for me. Not unless it was for a reason, or because I asked. No one’s ever just… wanted to."

Your heart clenched. There it was—the reason he was struggling, the reason he looked so lost. Dean Winchester, who gave and gave until there was nothing left of him, had never had someone do the same without expecting something in return. And now that someone had, he didn’t know how to accept it. He didn’t think he deserved it.

"But I do. I wanted to."

He smiles a little sadly, still processing the information.

“You take care of me, right?” you continued. “You buy me coffee, make sure I eat, kill the spiders I pretend I don’t see.” That got a small huff of laughter from him. “So let me take care of you too. No reason needed.”

His breath hitched slightly, and for a second, he just stared at you, like he was trying to memorize your face. Then, without a word, he pulled you into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the wind out of you.

"This means more to me than I can ever explain, Sweetheart," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

You hugged him just as tight, running your hand up and down his back. “Of course, babe. You deserve it.”

After a few moments, you pulled back with a playful smile and grabbed one of the shirts. “So, do you like them?”

His smile widened as he took them from your hands. "Are you kidding? I love them. Especially this black and white one—that looks badass."

"Then c’mon, fashion show time!"

Dean chuckled, rolling his eyes, but there was no hesitation as he shrugged off his jacket and pulled on the new plaid. When he turned back to you, leaning against the dresser, you couldn't help but stare.

"Whoa," you breathed, eyes trailing over him. “I knew it would look good, but that’s just unfair.”

Dean smirked, waggling his brows. “Oh, I know.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, now how about we get drunk and watch a movie?”

Dean pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. "Sounds perfect. But first—" He grabbed the other shirts and smirked. "I gotta show Sammy these. He’s gonna be so jealous."

Before you could say a word, he was already heading down the hall.

"Sammy!" he called, his voice echoing through the bunker. "Where are you? I gotta show you why you need to get a girlfriend!"

Laughter bubbled up in your chest as you flopped back onto the bed, shaking your head. That man.

Dean Winchester deserved love—the kind that didn't have to be earned, the kind that just was. And you were going to keep proving it to him, every single day.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[eldritchsquared]

a customer today looked at me, said “y’know? i think you’ll appreciate this,” and pulled his shirt down to show me his supernatural tattoo. calling me a slur would’ve been easier

[angel-fruitcake]

@mishacollins

[demonicseries]

imagine it. The night is November 5th, 2024. The election results are in. Misha Collins post a video. The camera is facing him, as he says “I love you.” Then it pans to the other person in the room, Jensen Ackles. He responds with “Kamala Harris is the next present for the United States”

[appleofhisai]