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maddie0101 · 2 days ago

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the storm between us

summary: you can’t stand watching dean flirt with another woman—so you storm out of the bar, walk back to the motel in the pouring rain, and ignore his phone calls. when he finds you, angry and worried, the tension between you suddenly snaps.

tags/warnings: smut (mdni), best friends to lovers, heated argument, jealousy, angst, fluff, basically porn w little plot, worried!dean, angry!dean, angry sex, oral (fem receiving), p in v, dirty talk, overstimulation, squirting, nothing but pure filth in this fic, wrap it b4 you tap it plz, cussing, we love freaky dean! 🙂‍↔️

word count: 5k

note: I wrote this running on four hours of sleep—with a tiny cup of coffee, so I hope this is as decent as I think it is? literally about to put tape on my eyelids to hold them open 😭 but enjoy the pure filth I've written!

It started raining halfway through your walk back from the bar—cold, sharp, and unrelenting.

At first, you didn’t even notice. It wasn’t like the rain could make you feel any worse than you already did. Your skin was still hot, buzzing with anger, frustration, and something deeper that you couldn’t shake.

Dean flirting with a woman at the bar wasn’t anything new. You’d seen it a million times before, the way he always seemed to have that natural charm with everyone. But tonight, it hit different.

You hadn’t meant to just walk out without saying anything, but the moment felt like it swallowed you whole. All you’d needed was air, a little bit of space—anything to escape the sound of her laughter, the way Dean was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered. It was like a punch to the gut every time he smiled at her.

By the time you made it back to the motel, your clothes were soaked through, clinging to your skin in that uncomfortable, heavy way only rain can manage. Your feet felt like lead as you walked down to the room.

The door to the room creaked when you opened it, and the faint hum of the old heater kicked on, almost like a sigh of relief.

You tossed your jacket by the door without even thinking, the fabric slapping against the floor. The room was dark, almost too quiet, and it felt like everything in it was holding its breath—waiting.

You stood there for a second, letting the stillness settle over you, the weight of everything pressing down. But then you didn’t even get a chance to catch your breath before the door flew open with a bang.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean’s voice hit you like a slap. His eyes locked on yours, fire burning behind them. His clothes were soaked through too, water dripping down his face and into his eyes, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted a mile.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to shield yourself from more than just the cold. Your heart was still racing, but now it wasn’t from the rain—it was from the anger that bled through his voice.

“I walked back,” you muttered, doing your best to sound unaffected. “Not like you were gonna notice.”

Dean shoved his way inside, slamming the door so hard it rattled the frame. “Are you serious right now?”

You couldn’t hold it back. “What?” you snapped, voice sharp. “I didn’t want to interrupt your fucking night.”

His jaw tightened, fists clenching. “You walked off in the middle of nowhere. Alone. In the fucking rain. Without telling me, without answering your phone. What if something happened to you?”

You scoffed. “I can take care of myself, Dean.”

“That’s not the damn point!” His voice cracked, and it hit you harder than you expected. “You think I wouldn’t notice you were gone? You think I wasn’t tearing this goddamn town apart looking for you?”

You stood there, frozen for a second, the weight of his words crashing into you. The room felt too small, too close, and the reality of how exposed you were, how vulnerable, made your chest ache.

Dean’s eyes never left you, but now they flicked over you, lingering on the way your soaked shirt clung to your skin and the hurt in your eyes.

His body was rigid, fists still balled tight at his sides “You think walking off like that was smart?” His voice dropped lower, almost dangerous. But it wasn’t cold—it was trembling with something else. Restraint. Like he was holding back a storm.

You could see the frustration and fear in his eyes, something raw and real. The tension between you two was so thick you could almost touch it.

Dean took a step toward you, his breath coming fast, but he stopped himself. The anger in his voice wasn’t just about the situation—it was everything. And in that moment, it hit you just how much he cared. And maybe, just maybe, how much you mattered to him.

You stood in the middle of the motel room silently, drenched from the storm, chest heaving, arms wrapped tight across your body—but it wasn’t from the cold. It was from the fire crawling up your spine.

“You’re seriously not gonna tell me what the hell that was?” he snapped. “You walk off, don’t answer your phone, vanish into the goddamn night like I’m not gonna notice?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, eyes burning. “You seemed plenty occupied.”

“You think I wasn’t looking for you?” His voice was rising. “You think I didn’t panic the second I turned around and you were gone?”

“I didn’t ask you to come after me!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to! I always do!”

You flinched, just a little, but your anger flared right back. “You don’t get to act pissed off when I didn’t want to stand there and watch you drool over some other woman like I wasn’t even in the room!”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “That’s what this is about?”

You didn’t answer—just glared at him, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“You think I wanted her?” he growled, stepping toward you. “You think I gave a damn about her when you were sitting there looking at me like I ripped your heart out?”

“Then why the hell do you keep doing this to me?!”

“You don’t get it, do you? You never have!”

“Then spell it out, Dean, because I’m so goddamn tired of pretending this doesn’t mean anything!”

And suddenly, he grabbed you by the waist and slammed his mouth to yours, lips crashing together in a brutal, breathless kiss.

His hands were everywhere—digging into your sides, fisting the fabric of your soaked shirt, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking hard as you kissed him back with just as much fury. Teeth clashed and your bodies collided, raw, unfiltered, and burning with months—hell, years—of built-up tension.

Dean’s growl rumbled against your lips as he slammed you into the nearest wall. His hips pressed into yours, the heat between you undeniable, and still, your mouths never broke, never slowed. There was no time for air, no time for anything but the frantic push and pull of everything you both had been holding back.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he panted against your jaw, dragging his mouth down your throat. “Every fucking day.”

You gasped, clutching at his shoulders. “Then do something about it.”

Something dark flickered in Dean’s eyes—need, frustration, everything he’d been choking down for years. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, lifting you with a grunt and slamming you back against the wall, mouths crashing again in a brutal, breathless kiss.

He was everywhere. His hands, his mouth, the press of his body—there was no room to think, only feel. His hips rolled against yours, slow at first, but full of pressure and intent. You gasped again as the friction sent a sharp bolt of heat straight through your core.

“You want this?” he growled against your lips, his voice rough and wrecked. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely recognizing your own voice—so desperate and needy it scared you.

He cursed under his breath, one hand gripping your ass, grinding harder into you now. You felt the hard line of him through his jeans, rubbing against you in all the right, devastatingly wrong ways. Your soaked clothes added to the intensity—everything sliding and pressing, heat bleeding through the chill of the rain.

You whined softly, the sound coming out involuntary leaving your throat before you could stop it.

Dean kissed you again, slower this time but deeper, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted when you were falling apart. His hips kept moving, grinding into you with a rhythm that had your body straining toward him without thought.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “Just like that.”

Your head dropped back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, thighs tightening around him. You could feel your body spiraling, every drag of friction building pressure you couldn’t escape from, couldn’t stop chasing.

“Dean—” you whimpered, barely able to speak.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick. “I know. He wasn’t teasing or smirking. He looked wrecked—just as desperate as you were. His forehead dropped to yours, hips still rocking, and you were both panting like you just ran a marathon.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in, legs trembling. “Please—”

“I’ve got you,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “I’ve got you.” Dean kissed you again, slow and searing, like he couldn’t bear to let go of your mouth. “I need you in that bed,” he muttered, voice rough with want. “Need to feel you come for me right.”

You barely had time to respond before he was carrying you across the room, setting you down on the mattress like you were something precious—but the heat in his eyes said he wasn’t done ruining you just yet.

He hovered over you for a breath, gaze flicking over your face like he was memorizing every shiver, every sigh. Then he was on you again, pressing you into the sheets, kissing you like he meant to ruin you. His hips ground into yours just right, and you gasped against his mouth.

“Dean,” you breathed, already unraveling.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, eyes dark, lips swollen. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this? About getting you underneath me, stripped down, spread out, begging?” His voice was low and rough, full of heat. “Gonna take my time with you, sweetheart.”

His hands found the hem of your wet shirt, fingers sliding under the fabric as he slowly dragged it up your body. You raised your arms instinctively, heart pounding in your chest, and he peeled it off with a determined, almost desperate urgency. The shirt was discarded without a second thought, but his gaze never left you—eyes dark, burning with need.

With one hand, he reached behind you, unclipping your bra, the straps falling away as if they were nothing. The moment your breasts were exposed, he couldn’t help but pause, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at you, his eyes drinking in the sight, and you could see the raw, desperate hunger in them. He was barely holding it together, like the sight of you was enough to make him lose his mind.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely able to keep his hands steady. His fingers brushed over your skin, as if he needed to feel you, needing to touch every inch of you now that you were completely in front of him “You’re so fucking perfect.” Dean muttered, like he’d been punched.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss between your breasts before dragging his lips slowly up to one of them. His breath was hot against your skin as his mouth moved over the delicate curve, and then, without warning, his teeth grazed lightly against your nipple. A sharp jolt of sensation shot through you, and he couldn’t help but smile at the reaction.

Dean’s hands came up to cup your breasts, fingers flexing, rolling your sensitive flesh between his palms as his mouth followed suit, kissing and sucking, leaving dark, bruising hickeys that would sting the next day. He pulled away for a moment, just enough to watch you squirm, eyes flashing with that devilish glint.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, before his lips returned, more urgent now, sucking harder, biting gently, marking you like you were his. His other hand slid down your side, teasing the waistband of your jeans, his touch light but deliberate—slowly driving you crazy with anticipation.

His mouth moved to your other breast, his fingers working at your nipple as his lips left another hickey, more forceful this time. “You like that, huh?” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and thick with desire. “Tell me you like it.”

You moaned softly, your hands gripping his hair as you arched into him, the teasing sensation driving you mad. Dean just smiled, continuing to mark you, not letting up, until your body was trembling beneath his touch.

His kisses trailed lower, soft and teasing as his mouth ghosted over your stomach. His hands were quick, fingers working at your waistband, unfastening your pants with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Lift your hips,” he ordered, voice rough, and when you obeyed, he dragged your pants down, taking his sweet time, like he was savoring every second of it.

When he finally got them off, his eyes went straight to what you weren’t wearing underneath, and his breath hitched. “No panties?” he groaned, his voice low and dark, a mix of frustration and something else. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You smirked, feeling a rush of heat at the intensity in his eyes. “Maybe I am,” you shot back, voice teasing, but the truth was, you were just as desperate for him.

Before you could say anything else, Dean dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, dragging your legs apart like he couldn’t wait another second. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dark as they locked between your thighs. “Drippin’ for me already. You want this, baby? Want my mouth on you?”

“Dean—please.”

That was all he needed to hear. Dean dropped his head, moaning low as he dragged his tongue up your center in one slow, torturous strip. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you up and holding you wide open for him as his lips latched onto your clit. When he sucked—hard—you cried out, the sound escaping you before you could stop it. Your head fell back against the pillow, body trembling from the force of the pleasure.

“God, you taste so fuckin’ good,” he growled against you. “Could stay here all night, make you come over and over until you forget your own name.”

Your hands shot to his hair, fingers tangling in the mess of it as he devoured you, his mouth working against your skin like he hadn’t eaten in days, desperate and hungry. He licked, sucked, and kissed with an urgency that left you breathless, as if this was the one thing he needed to survive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless against your skin as your thighs began to tremble, his hot breath sending shivers across your body. “Ride my face, sweetheart. Let me feel how fucking close you are.”

And you obeyed—hips rolling, your breath catching in your throat as your body strained toward that overwhelming, inevitable edge. His tongue moved faster, rougher, relentless, sending waves of electric pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you higher with every flick.

“Come for me,” he rasped, voice thick with desire. “Make a mess all over my face. I wanna taste everything.”

And just like that, you shattered—loud, wrecked, and completely undone. Your thighs clamped around his head, your body convulsing as you came so hard, your vision blurred and everything else in the world seemed to fade away. But Dean didn’t stop. His mouth was still on you, licking and sucking through your release, groaning like he was starving, desperate for more—like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d never stop unless you begged him to.

Even as your body still twitched, the aftershocks rippling through you, Dean kept going. His tongue never let up, continuing to tease, to coax, until you thought you might just lose your mind.

“Thought you were done?” he murmured against your soaked skin, breath hot. “Oh, sweetheart… I’m not even close.”

He flicked his tongue over your clit again—light, teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk. A soft whimper caught in your throat, but before you could pull away, his hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

His tongue moved in slow, torturous circles, dragging across your sensitive skin, sending waves of pleasure so deep you couldn’t think. Your legs started to shake, muscles trembling from the effort of trying to hold still.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice dark, heavy with something wicked, like he already knew the answer.

You tried to nod, tried to say yes, but all that escaped you was a broken, desperate moan, your body betraying you as you desperately tried to ground yourself in the sensation.

Dean’s grin widened—a wicked thing, full of trouble, the kind that made your heart race in anticipation. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “You’re gonna beg for it. Again.”

“Then I guess you’d better hold on.” He didn’t give you a second to recover. His mouth was back on you, tongue lapping at your swollen clit with slow, deliberate strokes—just enough pressure to make your body twitch, to send you teetering on the edge again before you could even catch your breath.

Your hands flew to his hair, trying to pull him back, but he only groaned and pushed deeper—tongue fucking you, one hand spreading you open while the other slid up to your chest, rolling your nipple between calloused fingers.

“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive now,” he murmured, almost in awe. “Look at you—shakin’ for me.”

Your body bucked, a second orgasm building fast, sharp, overwhelming. “Dean—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled. “You’re gonna come again. Right on my fuckin’ tongue. Give it to me.”

With a loud sob and a helpless cry of his name, your entire body arched off the bed as another orgasm ripped through you, even stronger than the first. Your legs trembled, your lungs burned, and your vision went white at the edges.

Dean only pulled away when you collapsed against the mattress, limp and panting, utterly ruined. He kissed his way back up your body, mouth slick with you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “You okay, baby?” he asked, voice low—gravel and heat laced with just a hint of concern, like he knew he’d wrecked you and wasn’t quite finished.

You nodded, barely, still trembling beneath him. Dean leaned in, brushing his mouth against your temple. “You’re doin’ so good for me. Such a good girl”

Then he sat back on his heels, and that’s when you really took him in—his hair damp and messy, clothes clinging to him from the rain. Water dripped from his shoulders, his jaw, glistening over the veins in his forearms as he reached for the hem of his soaked flannel.

He peeled the shirt off slowly, deliberately, revealing the solid cut of his chest, the ridges of muscle gleaming with rain. You couldn’t look away, your eyes tracing every line of him.

Dean tossed the shirt aside, watching you, his grin turning smug. “You just gonna stare at me like that?”

You leaned in, voice dripping with desire as you looked him up and down. “Yeah, I am. Just thinking about how badly I want you to fuck me right now.”

Dean’s expression darkened, the cocky grin falling into something more predatory. “Oh, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t said that.”

His hands went to his belt next, unbuckling it with maddening ease. He kicked off his boots and jeans, all slow, deliberate movements like he was giving you a show—and he was. Every soaked piece of fabric hit the floor with a wet slap until he was left in nothing.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering as he looked down at you—completely bare, flushed, and still throbbing from the two orgasms he’d already pulled out of you.

Dean smirked. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Still shaking. You gonna let me in, baby? Even now? When you’re all sensitive and messy and perfect?”

He leaned over you again, slow and warm, body radiating heat. His lips found yours in a lazy kiss, tongue tasting you, teasing, while his hand skimmed down your side and slipped between your thighs again.

You gasped when his fingers brushed over your still-pulsing clit, hips jerking. He pulled back just enough to watch your face.

“Still sensitive, huh?” he whispered, voice rough with want. “Good. I wanna feel you fall apart on me again. Wanna feel you squeeze around me while you’re still all wrecked.”

He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling between them with a slow roll of his hips. You could feel him now, heavy and hard, dragging against your entrance but not pushing in yet. Not until you begged.

“Tell me you want it,” he said, voice a rasp, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me you want me to stretch you out, fill you up, make you come one more fuckin’ time.”

You whimpered, legs twitching around his waist, the slick heat of him teasing your entrance making it impossible to think straight. “I want it,” you breathed, barely a whisper.

Dean’s eyes darkened, a low groan vibrating in his chest. “Nah, sweetheart. Say it like you mean it.”

You blinked up at him, flushed and trembling, but when you spoke again, your voice came out clearer—needy. Honest. “I need you, Dean. I want you to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours as he slid forward—slow, thick, deliberate. The stretch burned in the best way, and you gasped, nails digging into his biceps as he filled you inch by inch.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re so tight. So fucking wet f'me.” He paused once he was buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, his head dropping to your shoulder as he fought to stay still.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “Feel how deep I am in you right now?”

You nodded, voice caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. “Dean—move, please.”

He lifted his head, that cocky smirk curling at the corner of his mouth again. “Anything for you, baby.”

He pulled out slow, just to the tip, then thrust back in—deep and smooth, grinding his hips against yours so you felt every inch of him. You cried out, overstimulated nerves flaring again, pleasure punching through your core like a live wire.

“That’s it,” he groaned, thrusting again, harder this time. “Fuckin’ take it. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl”

Every stroke was slow enough to drive you insane and deep enough to leave you aching. He knew exactly what he was doing—drawing you to the edge again, letting you feel it build. “You gonna come for me one more time?” he rasped, lips hot on your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “I wanna feel you come all over my cock this time.”

“Fuck—Dean—yes, please, I’m so close—” you gasped, hips jerking beneath him, too sensitive, too needy, but unable to stop. Every drag of him inside you felt like fire, like you were being split apart in the best possible way.

He grunted, grinding into you hard and deep, one hand gripping your thigh, the other slipping between your bodies. His fingers found your clit, and the pressure made your whole body jolt.

“That’s it,” he growled. “God, you’re so fuckin’ wet. Drippin’ down my cock, makin’ a mess all over me.”

You moaned, the words hitting you just as hard as the thrusts. “I—I can’t hold it—Dean, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna give it to me, baby. Come for me. I wanna feel you lose it.”

And then he hit just the right angle, hips snapping up with brutal precision, fingers rubbing you fast, filthy, relentless, and your whole body snapped. Your orgasm hit like a lightning strike, your back arched, a cry ripped from your throat, and then it happened.

You gushed around him, soaking both of you, legs trembling as your body convulsed with pleasure that went beyond anything you’d ever felt.

“Holy fuck,” Dean growled, slamming into you deeper, harder, as you squirted all over him. “That’s it—that’s my fuckin’ girl. Look at this mess you’re makin’. Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

You sobbed his name, barely aware of anything but the pulse of your release and the stretch of him inside you. But Dean didn’t stop or slow, he fucked you through it, messy and rough and so good, chasing his own high now.

“Could watch you do that all night,” he groaned, pace getting erratic. “So fuckin’ tight, fuck—I’m gonna come.”

You grabbed at him, dragging him down for a kiss just as he let go, hips jerking, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. His whole body shuddered, a low moan torn from his chest as he rode it out with one last hard thrust.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted against your mouth. “You just—fuck—you nearly killed me.”

You were shaking, soaked, wrecked in the best way. “Good,” you whispered, grinning breathlessly. “You deserved it.”

Dean chuckled, low and breathless, his forehead resting against yours. He didn’t pull away just yet, instead brushing his lips softly against yours in a kiss that was slower, more tender, but still carried all that heat.

He ran his hand up your thigh, brushing the wet mess between your legs with just a light touch. “Shit… you made such a mess, baby. God, I love it.”

You flushed, the heat spreading through you, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Yeah? You liked it when I squirted all over you?”

“Liked it?” Dean shook his head, eyes dark with affection and something else. “Baby, I fuckin’ loved it. You’re unbelievable.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and suddenly, the weight of everything between you two hit. It wasn’t just about the sex—it was everything that had been building, the connection, the pull that had been there from the moment you’d met. The way he couldn’t get enough of you—physically and emotionally. And now, with your bodies still tangled beneath the sheets, it felt like the storm inside you was finally passing, leaving something deeper in its wake.

Dean’s fingers brushed against your skin, tracing soft lines along your side, and you could feel the tension still humming in his movements. He wasn’t just holding you. He was clinging to you, as if he needed the reassurance that you weren’t slipping away.

He let out a breath, his voice thick with emotion, and it made your heart ache. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips just grazing your ear as he spoke. The words were so simple, but they carried so much weight, and you could feel the sincerity in every syllable. “I love you, and I’m sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have done that. I—fuck, I was just scared.”

You blinked up at him, your pulse quickening as you processed his words. The heat between you wasn’t just physical anymore—it was raw, emotional, a need that ran deeper than anything you had expected.

“Scared?” you repeated quietly, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze.

Dean nodded, his eyes dark and intense, but softened by the regret. “When you left the bar—when I couldn’t find you, I…” He trailed off for a second, trying to collect his thoughts. “I didn’t know what to do. And then I couldn’t get ahold of you? Fuck, I thought I lost you. If anything happened to you, I—I would’ve lost my mind. You mean more to me than I can even say.”

The weight of his words hit you hard, a lump forming in your throat as your chest tightened. You took a shaky breath, your heart racing in your chest, feeling every inch of the vulnerability between you. The fear in his voice, the rawness, it was more than you had expected.

“I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice trembling just slightly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I don’t want to lose you either.”

Dean’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the anger, the tension from before. Everything seemed to dissipate. All that was left was this undeniable connection, this pull between you that was stronger than anything else.

He exhaled slowly, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper, something almost painful. “God, you have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Without another word, he leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was slow, tender, barely a whisper of contact, but it held so much. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of everything unsaid, everything felt but never fully expressed.

Dean pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes searched yours, filled with so much love and something close to pain, as if just looking at you was almost too much.

“I’m so in love with you, it hurts,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The weight of his confession lingered in the air, and it made your heart flutter, a mix of joy and relief washing over you.

You smiled softly, feeling the same overwhelming love in your chest. “I’m in love with you too, Dean,” you said, your fingers gently tracing his jaw, memorizing the feel of him in this moment. “Always have been.”

Dean let out a breath, his body sinking into yours as he held you close, his arms tight around you, as if he never wanted to let go. “Then I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, his lips grazing your temple. “You’re mine, and I’m never fucking letting you go.”

You smiled against his skin, your heart at peace for the first time in what felt like forever. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean kissed you again, this time deeper, a kiss that was all reassurance and love. When he pulled away, he rested his head against yours, his fingers lazily trailing up and down your back. “I don’t deserve you,” he muttered, his voice filled with awe. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you just how much you mean to me.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up. “You don’t have to prove anything. I already know. I love you, and that’s enough for me.”

He squeezed you tighter, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he held you in silence. And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was perfect.

author’s note:

well, I hope y’all enjoyed this filthy fic I’ve created whilst running off of fumes! (I haven’t proofread it honestly, so I hope it’s up to par) 😅 my hormones are getting the best of me so I decided to write this smutty oneshot 🤣 lmfao. (this was supposed to be a drabble. I swear I’m trying to write more drabbles but I get carried away :)

If you’d like to send in a dean or soldier boy request, please don’t be afraid! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224

@cupidzbunny @imsiriuslyreal @jollyhunter @kimxwinchester @julsvdamxn @tinas111 @acesdiary @sapphic-destiel @callsign-ember @ladykitana90 @h8aaz (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the taglist)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

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take-it-on-the-run · 10 months ago

Text

Not A Lot, Just Forever

Dean Winchester x Pregnant!Reader

After throwing up morning after morning, the reader discovers her illness isn't what she initially thought.

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: Pregnancy, unexpected pregnancy, brief description of motel bathrooms, vomiting (repeated), self-blame, mention of reader's mother dying in childbirth, mention of childbirth related deaths, anxiety, brief loss of consciousness, Dean is a sweetheart and will make a great father.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Pregnant!Reader, Sam Winchester, Castiel

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! I'm not sure if I already sent you this request, or if I sent it to someone else (oops🤭) but could I request a Sam Winchester and/or Dean Winchester x reader (your choice which one of them, if not both sepperately) where he helps reader deal with morning sickness, though he only finds out she's pregnant on the third day in a row that he's with her while she throws up. Ty!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Adrianne Lenker title. I really really loved this request! I feel like writing the pregnancy trope is a sort of hard task to do, so I hope I brought it justice. I love love loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it! Thank you for the request @ghostlyaccurate, and I promise I'm trying my damnedest to work through my inbox <3. Every mistake here is completely and 100% my own and of my own doing. (P.S. can you guess how hard it was to find "aesthetic" pictures of a bathroom and pregnancy tests for the pictures for this fic?? I think the ones I found actually work pretty well! Another thing, what happened to the yellow text color? I use it to tag fluff fics, and it's gone :( ).

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Your head hung over the foul toilet bowl of whatever motel you, Dean, and Sam were holed up in, and a rancid smell invaded your nose. In earnest, you didn’t have the slightest idea where you were. The past couple of hours had been filled with a slight fever and the constant need to use Dean as a pillow. Halfway through the drive between towns, you convinced him to switch out driving with Sam so he could join you in the back seat.

The worn tile of the bathroom floor offered you minimal comfort, and the fact you’re supposed to be up for a case in two hours made your stomach churn over again. Ditching your normal avoidance of motel bathrooms, you gripped the edge of the toilet and emptied your stomach again.

“Y/N?” Dean’s groggy voice called out from behind the door, “Are you okay in there sweetheart?”

You squeezed your eyes together, cursing yourself for being loud enough to wake him up. Sneaking out from his arms was a feat enough already, trying to suppress the sound of you losing your guts at four in the morning wasn’t going to happen; even in a perfect world.

“No,” you groaned as he softly opened the door, “I feel like shit De, and you know how much I hate throwing up. And how much I hate motel bathrooms.” You whined. Your hair was falling to the front of your face and you were cursing whoever decided a bathroom didn’t need a working air vent.

Dean hummed softly, pulling the hair back from your face and holding it with one hand as he sat behind you on the floor. He pressed his lips to the back of your head softly, and gently traced shapes on your collarbone as you laid back on him.

“Just breathe, I’ve got you if you need to go at it again.” He said softly, cradling you in his lap as you tried to breathe. He ran his hand through your hair as your breathing started to hiccup less, and eventually, he sat you on the closed toilet lid to get you water.

You felt ashamed to be keeping him up at this hour. Your phone clock read 5:13 AM, almost an hour past when you’d originally gotten up. He already doesn’t get enough sleep as is, and here you are sitting, waiting for him to get back like you aren’t able to take care of yourself.

“Here you go, drink slowly. Did you use the mouthwash I gave you?” He asked as he handed you his water bottle. He stood across from you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. You nodded softly, gratefully gulping down the contents of the bottle.

The bags under his eyes were already enough to make you feel guilty. Hunters were used to running on minimal sleep, but with you around, he’d just gotten into the six-hour range. He rubbed his face, inhaling like he normally did when he was trying to make a decision. You didn’t want to go out for the case. You barely wanted to move your body to get back in bed and salvage what little sleep you could before life kicked you back into gear.

“Do you want to stay here while Sam and I talk to the family?” Dean asked as if he could read your mind.

I love you so damn much. You thought, bowing your head with a sigh of relief. You didn’t want to be the one to bring up staying in; neither of you ever wanted to admit you needed breaks, but if the other one was to bring it up, it made the process easier.

You nodded, pushing yourself to your feet as he opened the door for the two of you, “yeah, I think that’s best for all of us. Don’t need me puking in the victim’s bathroom as you guys ask your questions.” You tried to joke as you and Dean crawled back into bed, tucking yourself into his arms, and splaying your legs haphazardly on top of his.

The next morning wasn’t any better.

Sam and Dean had come home late from questioning the family, and you were barely aware of them unloading the Chinese food they brought for you. Dean sat with you against his chest, still half-dressed as an FBI agent, as you wolfed down the egg rolls he got. You found yourself starving when they offered you food, but now you regretted eating anything at all.

You found yourself hung over the toilet again, but thankfully only had to put up with one round of saying goodbye to your lunch. You were able to get yourself up and over to the sink, where you repeated Dean’s routine from the morning before.

You leaned against the counter in the small kitchen, Dean’s water bottle filled with tap water in your hand. You turned to dump the rest in the sink when the creak of a floorboard behind you had you spinning on your heel in record time.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. Why are you up?” You asked in a hushed tone, placing your hand over your racing chest.

“I could ask you the same thing,” He crossed the small room and came over to embrace you in his arms, “did you get sick again?” He asked innocently, but the combination of those words, and the pitiful shift of his eyes was enough to make you feel like a child. You were a grown woman, you knew damn well how to take care of yourself much before the Winchesters were in your life.

You huffed in annoyance, pulling back from Dean’s chest. You felt your face begin to heat up, and it felt like anything Dean could say had the chance to send you over the edge.

“Yes, I did. Right now, I feel like my body is too hot and too tight for my bones, and I also feel like anything you say is going to make me hit the roof. Even if it’s nice, I just don’t think my brain can take in any more words without wanting to jump ship.” You said you rubbed your temples. Things like this had happened occasionally in the past, and before Dean, you figured it was just because you were a rigid person. One night a particularly bad migraine had led to you yelling at him because he offered to get you some medicine. Instead of just leaving you to stew, like every other partner did, he simply asked you to explain what you were feeling. No judgment, no interruptions, and he’d do whatever you said would make you feel better in that moment.

Now, whenever you felt overwhelmed, he did the same. He’d swallow any sarcastic comment or solution to your problem and listen to you. No matter what was bothering you, at whatever hour of the day, he was at your side, doing what you asked of him without hesitation.

He just nodded, pressing his lips to your forehead before he led you back to the bed you two were sharing for the case. His body threw off heat like a bonfire, and your normally freezing hands were appreciative of that. In this moment, however, it felt like you were burning from the inside out.

You adjusted yourself between the sheet and the comforter, so the two of you could still touch without pressing your skin together. Dean waited for you to still before he made himself comfy, and he gently ran his fingers through the ends of your hair.

“Is this okay right now? Do you want me to leave you be?” He asked, in as soft of a voice as he could. You hummed, smiling at the tingling sensation running through you. Comfort, and a warmth that wasn’t burning to the touch, crawled up your back, and into your head. You tried to focus your eyes for a couple of seconds more, but without your control, they forcefully fluttered shut.

“Y/N.”

Sheet tangled between your limbs, and you could see the light through your closed eyes. Opening them, you find an unexpected sight. Instead of Dean, or Sam, standing at your bedside, the trench coat-clad angel you’d met five years ago stood awkwardly, waiting for you to fully wake up.

“Cas,” you rubbed your eyes as you sat up, “what are you doing here? Where’s Sam and Dean?” You asked.

Cas sighed and sat at the end of your bed. He shot you a quick look, before focusing his eyes on the blank wall in front of him. He tapped his fingers on his legs, a habit he picked up from Sam.

“Dean called me and told me you were sick. I came in, and told him I’d try and cure whatever… ailment is afflicting you.”

You smiled at the way he spoke, and the fact Dean went out of his way to try and help you out, but there was something off about Castiel’s demeanor. You sat up and touched his arm to get his attention.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Did something happen that I should know about?” You asked softly.

“I think you’re pregnant, Y/N.” He looked at you, and there was a rift of guilt lingering in his eyes.

A course of confusion and shock coursed through your body before you felt a rotting pit settle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Why would you… think that, Cas?” You felt a tightness taking over your throat, rubbing your hand across your neck to try and loosen it.

“I can sense life forms. Human ones, at least. It was hard to tell with Sam and Dean here, but once they left I was able to confirm my suspicions.”

Your hand traveled to your lower abdomen before your mouth spat out a request without thinking.

“Pregnancy tests. Can you get me some, please? I just,” you ran your hand across your forehead quickly, “I want to confirm, using non-magical means.”

Cas nodded, “of course. I’m going to assume you don’t want me to let Dean know?”

You nodded your head before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Deep down, you knew Cas was right. You were late by a few days, but you’d chalked it up to the illness that’s kept you on the bench for this case. You didn’t usually react as poorly as you’ve been to an illness, even when you’d gotten a terrible case of Pneumonia.

Getting up from the bed, you walked into the bathroom as Castiel vanished to get you a couple tests. Looking to the mirror, you’re met with a form of you that was a little scary; purple, slightly-puffy eyes, smeared makeup that hadn’t been washed off from days before, and your skin was breaking out in places it hadn’t before.

Dean hadn’t said a word about it, but even someone as blissfully ignorant as him had to have noticed the way your face wasn’t looking like your own.

Dean.

You’d have to tell Dean you were pregnant, with his child. That you’re going to be parents.

What if he didn’t want to be a father at thirty-six?

Children weren’t one hundred percent out of the question, but they were longer down the line in hunters’ lives. If you were lucky enough to get out of the life unscathed and find someone who would want to settle down with, you’d likely be creeping into your mid-forties, at best. Mary had gotten lucky with John, but now they’d both been taken away by the thing they’d spent half of their marriage avoiding.

What if you weren’t ready to be a mother at thirty-five?

For you, it wasn’t the question of wanting to have kids, but you never saw you or your boyfriend backing out from hunting anytime soon. To add on, you’d heard of many nasty births that ended in fatality for the infant or the mother, including your own. Every time you and the boys were on a case involving a child, you’d be extra reckless. Dean picked this up within the first couple of times you’d almost gotten yourself killed to save a kid, and you explained your fear to him. The fear of a mother not being able to welcome her child home in her arms, or the child not seeing his mother again, and their fate lying in your hands. You’d already ripped apart your family, and you tried your damnedest to keep as many together as possible.

A ruffle of feathers and a sharp knock on the bathroom door snapped you out of your thoughts.

“You can come in, Cas.”

Wordlessly, the angel stepped into the small motel bathroom holding a plastic bag. He pulled out three different pregnancy tests and set them on the counter.

“The woman working there said I should get a couple just in case one doesn’t work like it should.” He said as you picked up the first test. “I’m telling the truth, but I understand you wanting to confirm this to yourself.”

I know Cas, you thought, but you didn’t say a word. Instead, you stared at him, waiting for him to leave the bathroom, but he had a blank look on his face and didn’t move a muscle.

“Cas, I’m going to need you to leave the bathroom for me to do this.”

“Oh, sorry. Of course. I forgot how ‘hands-on’ human tests can be. I apologize.” He said blatantly before stepping out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Fuck me.

That’s what got you into this in the first place, dumb ass.

After twenty disgustingly long minutes in the decrepit motel bathroom, you walked out holding four positive tests. Cas was sitting on Sam’s bed, staring out the window, but immediately stood up and crossed the room to you. You handed him the tests, and he placed them on the table between the two beds.

“How do you feel?” He asked. Another thing he picked up from his years on earth was the ability to know when to ask what questions.

You felt blank. Void of answers and solutions to the situation at hand. Whether or not to turn left, or right.

“I… don’t know what to do, Cas.” Your voice broke along with the tears you were holding back, and a sinking feeling of hopelessness began to dig its way through your head.

Neither you nor Dean are ready to be parents. What if Dean’s angry? He would never kick you out of the bunker. The bunker is the only real home any of you have had in a long time, but is it safe? Is the world safe enough to bring a baby into? A Winchester baby, who would no doubt be a target from birth. What if the baby doesn’t make it to full term? What if this baby kills you like you killed your own mother?

“Y/N,” Cas placed his hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to ask you to take a breath.” He drew his hand up and waited for you to inhale. Taking in a shuddered breath, you followed the flow of his hand, stopping your heart from running up your throat.

“Thank you.” You said, sitting down on your bed and grabbing the pregnancy tests off the nightstand. Two pluses, two double lines. You and Dean were careful and used a condom whenever you found extra time together, but somehow God decided that rubber wasn’t going to work as intended.

“I think I’m going to just lay here,” you tuck yourself under the bed sheets once more, the tests shoved into your pajama pants, “and wait for Dean and Sam to get home. I’ll get him out of this stuffy ass room and tell him in private. Sam shouldn’t have to witness if we- if we argue. I know it makes him feel awful.”

“That’s a smart plan. You need to take this one step at a time and do it carefully. I know Dean cares for you deeply, but if you need someone to support you, all you have to do is call for me.” Cas squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“Thank you, Cas.” You yawned, pulling your body further under the covers of the bed. Castiel smiled slightly, before turning away and disappearing with a familiar rush of wings flapping.

Your body was covered head to toe in sweat, and the bed sheet you wrapped around yourself was thrown onto the floor. No light entered the room, and the time on the alarm clock read 1:43. Your stomach churned in a familiar way, and as you got to your feet you finally noticed neither of the boys were in the room.

You clambered to the bathroom, phone in hand, trying to call Dean. One hand braced on the toilet, and the other tried to thumb down to his contact. There wasn’t any time to think about the fact you were carrying a baby inside of you, the baby whose father is missing in the middle of the night with no calls or messages.

They always call. You thought before you set your ringing phone on the floor to throw up for the first time that morning. The phone rang, the sound slowly driving you insane each time you redialed Dean’s number between dry heaving into the bowl.

Your hair was sticking to your forehead, poorly swept away and held back by a rubber band you found on the sink. The heat, the pain, and the fear of losing contact with the Winchester brothers combined with the reality of you being pregnant was finally built up enough to break the swarm of emotions you barely choked down when Cas was in the room earlier.

Eyes burning, you slumped against the sink cabinet and brought your phone to your ear as you called Dean once again. You let out a sob, tears rushing down your face and neck, leaving behind a slightly burning trail. Your breathing became uneven, the sound of your own heart drumming through your ears drowning out the ring of your phone. Letting your phone slip to the floor, you brought your knees to your chest and folded your arms as a nest for your forehead.

Neither of the boys called within the twenty minutes you were in the bathroom, your phone was now close to being dead, and no muscle in your body wanted to obey your brain telling them to move and do something. You weren’t a weak woman, you took the cards you were dealt and tried your best to win, but sometimes all you could do was fold.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

A hand pulled your face from your knees, and you could barely see with the light of the bathroom now on and blinding you. A warm hand rested against your cheek while another briefly touched your forehead.

“Help me get her up, Sammy,” your eyes fluttered closed and you felt two arms hook under both your arms, laying them over shoulders as your feet lightly dragged across the floor.

“I’ve never seen her this bad, Dean.” The voice you now recognized as Sam said. Your legs were swept up from under you and you were laid on the bed you’d crawled out of.

You felt the tests still pressing in your pockets, and you thanked whatever greater being was willing to listen. There was no way you wanted to Dean to discover that information on accident.

Dean.

The other voice was Dean.

You moron, who else would it be?

The bed next to you dipped down, and you felt a gentle hand tuck a few stray hairs behind one of your ears. The sweat covering you was sucking every inch of clothing to your skin, and all you wanted to do was peel either of the pair off.

“I thought Cas was going to come here and help her out,” you heard his voice straining as he spoke, and you felt your heart snap in two.

You moved your hand, as heavy as it felt, and squeezed the first part of him you touched.

“Sweetheart,” you could feel Dean’s breath as he hovered over you, “you’re scaring me here.”

“Cas…” you gave out a heavy cough, “he came. He helped me figure out what’s been happening.”

A glass of water was brought to your mouth, and you took every drop of it. After swallowing the cup, your eyes finally were able to open. You were greeted by a worried Dean hovering very close to you, and a worried Sam crossing back from the kitchen holding Dean’s water bottle.

Sam set the bottle on the bedside table and sat on his bed, facing you and Dean. Dean’s attention was solely on you. His hands grabbed both sides of your face and brought his lips to your forehead, before resting against it.

“Hey,” you said, chuckling slightly, “I didn’t mean to scare you, De. You, or Sam.” You sat yourself up in bed.

“Did Cas tell you what’s wrong?” Sam asked, looking at you expectantly.

“He did, but… is it okay if I talk to Dean? Alone?” You asked softly.

Sam shot Dean a look, which Dean promptly returned with one that had Sam standing up, and walking into the hall.

Orange rays of light shone from the window of the room, and you could just barely see the sun climbing on the horizon. Dean moved to hold you in bed while you gained the composure to tell him you were both parents.

“Dean…” you breathed steadily, trying to even your heartbeat that was ramping up once more, “I have to tell you something-”

“I kinda gathered as much sweetheart,” he said lightly, lines forming around his forest-lorn eyes beautifully.

“- it’s important. I mean, it’s going to change our lives, for the rest of our lives.”

Dean’s face became more serious, pulling you to face him as he crossed his legs.

“You know you can tell me anything, Y/N.”

Do it, now. Just say-

“I’m pregnant.”

The air hung heavy around the pair of you as you handed him the tests in your pocket, and you could see the clocks turn in Dean’s mind as he stared down at them.

“But we used a rubber?” He said, and you could guess where his thoughts were wandering.

“We did, but you’re the only person I’ve been with for years, Dean, I need you to believe me when I say that.” You said reassuringly as you could without sounding like you were lying.

His face broke into a small smile, and he brought his thumb to trace over your lower cheek, “I know, sweetheart. I trust you with my heart, I just know not to use that brand anymore, seems like their effectiveness is questionable.”

You laughed, tears drying in your eyes as you pushed at him playfully, “Dean! You gave me a heart attack, you son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry okay!” He laughed, capturing you in a giant bear hug and rolling you on top of him. You looked down at him and brought your lips down to his.

“You’re going to be a father,” you said, beaming at him while smiling the hardest you’d ever in the longest time

“You’re going to be a mother,” he replied, smiling just as hard. Your face fell slightly, and the word mother finally kicked into your head. “Hey,” Dean said as he saw your face shift, somehow remembering the story you told him all those years ago, “Remember, we’ve got an angel on speed dial, and you know how hard it is to take out a Winchester.”

Your heart warmed at the statement, the baby inside of you was just as much L/N as it was Winchester. You loved Dean with your heart, as did he love you, and now the two of you were going to brace the dangerous world you’d spent years protecting with the amalgamation of that love.

You brought Dean’s hand to your stomach as he brought his other hand to your face. His calloused fingers were gentle on your skin, and small crinkles formed around his eyes as he smiled, holding his hand at your stomach as you gazed back at him.

A knock sounded at the door, making you turn your head around before you and Dean burst into laughter, and told Sam he could come back in the room to tell him the news.

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x pregnant!reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction

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wildwestdean · 10 months ago

Text

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park.

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you.

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait.

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach.

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together.

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like.

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.”

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets.

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be.

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo.

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun.

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.”

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.”

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building.

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock.

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?”

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.”

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold.

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you.

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?”

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.”

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.”

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance.

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs.

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker.

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall.

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way.

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles.

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you.

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere.

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun.

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!”

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision.

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you.

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!”

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her.

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.”

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent.

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on.

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.”

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up.

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood.

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him.

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.”

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down.

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand.

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?”

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.”

“What?” Dean asked gruffly.

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?”

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.”

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?”

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket.

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks.

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you.

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat.

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously.

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?”

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink.

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker.

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand.

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall.

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say.

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?”

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion.

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.”

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.”

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink.

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam.

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically.

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer.

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean.

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away.

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table.

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.”

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth.

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you.

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter.

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar.

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away.

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you.

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded.

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?”

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car.

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you.

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats.

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?”

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?”

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff.

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.”

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!”

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.”

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets.

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance.

“What, why?” you asked in confusion.

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.”

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off.

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned.

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.”

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy.

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders.

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done.

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom.

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand.

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran.

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t save you.

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart.

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him.

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind.

“Dean.”

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came.

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above.

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut.

“God dammit, Dean!”

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer.

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt.

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.”

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice.

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him.

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out.

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current.

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.”

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone.

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name.

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere.

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order.

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink.

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him.

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake.

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang.

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.”

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?”

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle.

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?”

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.”

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice.

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not.

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself.

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration.

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.”

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation.

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.”

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?”

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!”

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly.

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed.

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief.

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?”

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!”

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.”

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?”

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!”

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?”

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.”

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!”

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?”

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?”

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff.

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-”

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?”

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!”

“Right,” Sam said sceptically. “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised.

“What?”

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared.

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively.

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.”

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.”

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued.

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.”

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on.

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin.

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction.

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen.

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully.

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge.

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen.

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway.

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly.

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child.

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do.

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything.

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.”

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!”

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him.

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion.

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife.

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?”

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?”

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes.

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call.

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more.

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered. So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do.

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.”

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late.

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.”

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.”

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.”

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation.

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.”

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner.

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water.

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water.

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself.

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding.

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant.

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.”

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him.

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.”

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered.

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.”

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you.

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly.

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.”

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again.

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.”

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest.

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him.

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.”

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?”

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.”

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.”

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door.

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out.

“It’s not gonna kill me!”

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?”

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?”

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.”

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign.

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.”

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!”

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.”

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.”

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.”

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what,” you scolded.

“This is so fucking ridiculous.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly.

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.”

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him.

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.”

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head.

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.”

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed.

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully.

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.”

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.”

“I do,” you agreed quietly.

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.”

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?”

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.”

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly.

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].”

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly.

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle.

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently.

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.”

“Right,” you agreed.

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly.

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.”

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously.

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.”

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off.

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.”

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say.

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.”

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.”

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while.

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.”

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build.

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.”

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.”

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question.

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat.

“Okay,” he said with a huff.

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly.

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you.

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened.

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked.

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.”

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more.

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly.

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?”

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?”

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” you said honestly.

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed.

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly.

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more.

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things.

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest.

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares.

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest.

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

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queen-of-deans-booty · 1 day ago

Text

Queen of the Night

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k (including lyrics)

Warnings: injured!dean, minor angst

Summary: Dean turns to you in a time of need despite the judgmental whispers from your friends. Dean has always been the love of your life, and you’re done trying to hide it.

Square Filled: queen of the night- hey violet (2020) for @spnsongchallengebingo

Author’s Note: this is based on the song Queen of the Night by Hey Violet

I've bandaged your bruises, you've held back my hair Who'd've known when this started that we'd end up here, here? But you reach out and touch me, say my name like a prayer All my friends say you're dangerous, but I don't fucking care

The rain splatters on the window hard, threatening to come inside with every shake of the house. The girls came over early in the evening so they were all here before the storm started. Your friends have transformed your living room from a minimalistic vibe to that of a fairytale. Lights on strings hang from the ceiling, two tents made of up blankets cover nearly every piece of furniture, the place smells of popcorn, and pillows cover the entire floor.

It’s perfect for movie night.

“Okay, here is the last bowl of popcorn. I am making no more,” Jessica claims.

“You’ve already made six bowls,” Monica snickers and shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“What movie are we watching next?” you ask.

“You’ve Got Mail,” Stacy grins. “I made sure to bring over the director’s cut version, too.”

The girls groan but you know they don’t mind watching that version. Stacy always brings that movie, so it’s more about giving your thoughts than actually watching the movie. Someone rings on the doorbell, and you look at the app to track the food you ordered.

“That should be the pizza,” you say. “I’ll get it.”

You walk to the front door and pull down your shirt to cover your stomach. Your favorite shirt has been in the dryer so often that you believe it’s shrunk. You open the door expecting to see the pizza, but Dean stands there instead.

No, not standing. He’s leaning against the door frame, bloody from head to toe. He’s injured. He didn’t go to the hospital. He came to you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

He leans in closer but ends up falling into your arms. Jessica screams when she sees the bloody man, putting all your friends on alert. You struggle to keep him up but you manage to get him inside and out of the rain.

“Who is that?” Monica asks.

“Dean. I’ll be right back.” You practically drag Dean into the downstairs bathroom, and he sits on the closed toilet seat. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” he whispers.

“Wait here.” You leave the bathroom and walk into your kitchen where the first aid kit is. All your friends are staring at you like you have two heads. “What?”

“Nothing,” Stacy mutters.

With a shake of your head, you walk back into the bathroom. Dean has his shirt off but keeps his pants on, and you stop yourself from drooling all over him. Yes, he looks good. Too good, in fact.

“Y/N,” he mumbles.

“I’m here, Dean.”

You unpack the first aid kit and start to clean his wounds. He should have gone to the hospital with claw marks like these ones. Where’s Sam? Why isn’t he able to do this? Is he just as bad? Dean hisses when you press the alcohol pad on his wounds but gives no other reaction. You’re not equipped to give him stitches so you do your best with what you have. Before you know it, there are two piles of bloody tissues on the ground.

“Okay, Dean, you need to go to the hospital. Some of these wounds need stitches.”

“Later,” he sighs.

“Okay, well, let’s get you into bed.”

He uses you as support as you walk him to the downstairs guest bedroom. He falls onto his back and you heave both legs onto the bed. He is already snoring before you can undress him. That task is a lot harder for you to do considering he weighs a ton, but you manage to get him stripped down to his briefs. You walk to the laundry room and throw his clothes into the wash so they’ll be clean for when he wakes up.

“Are you going to tell us who that is and why he’s all bloody?” Jessica asks when you return to the girls.

“I don’t know what happened to him.” That’s a lie. You know some monster got to him but the last thing you’re gonna do is tell the girls that. “He’s sleeping right now.”

“Who is he?” Monica asks.

“Dean Winchester.”

“Dean Winchester? Is that the same Dean who got in trouble with the law?”

“Is that the same Dean who has a knife and gun collection?” Stacy asks after Jessica.

“Yes.”

“Girl, you gotta get out. That man is dangerous.”

You hear what they’re saying but you honestly don’t give a fuck about their opinions and their advice. They don’t know him like you do, and the thought of cutting him out of your life is heartbreaking.

When the night goes quiet and we're up in your room And you're kissing my fingers, and I kiss your tattoos I could play in bed with you and talk shit forever-ever If this is all a dream, wake me up never, never, never Swear to God, cross my heart, no one does it better, better Boy I luh ya, always gonna

Dean is in town for a few days after going to the hospital to get stitched up, and he decides to spend it all with you. Your friends were apprehensive when you told them he was staying with you but you don’t care what they think.

The doctor told Dean to take it easy so you two are in bed watching a movie, but neither of you is paying attention to it. You snuggle up to his side and run your hand down the bandages on his chest. He reaches up and grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers with him. Whenever he is in the same town as you, he makes sure to spend time with you even if it’s only for a few hours.

“So, where is Sam?”

“Sick.”

“You went on a hunt solo?” He nods. “Why not give it to some other hunter?”

“Didn’t need to. I handled it.”

“You got hurt.”

“I had you to fix me,” he smiles.

“You’ll always have me to fix you,” you whisper. “I hate that you’re leaving me in a few days.” Dean doesn’t say anything about that because what is there to say? “You could take me with you, you know.”

“Your life is here.”

“My life is anywhere where you are.”

“Y/N,” he whispers. “I’m dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

“My life is full of monsters.”

“Mine isn’t? You’ve met my dad and brother,” you say in a low voice.

Dean deals with supernatural monsters while you had two human monsters living under the same roof as you.

“You’ll probably get killed.”

“Better by your side than alone, right?” Dean sighs but you don’t want to upset him further. You lean up and kiss him, and he accepts your touch. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

'Cause there's something about it that brings me to life Yeah, I know all the consequences, I don't mind This holy redemption tears us in two But I can't turn my back to you Wearing your t-shirt, I'm queen of the night One hand on the wheel, and one hand on my thigh And I know it sounds crazy, but, babe, I am too I just can't turn my back to you

Being with Dean is dangerous and it definitely shortens your lifespan by at least a decade, but you’d rather be by his side where you feel more free than you ever did. Sure, monsters are always a threat but the reward is worth the risk. You’re too in love with him to care about anything other than him.

Life has given you plenty of times to abandon him but you never did. You always came whenever he called, you always fixed him whenever he was broken, and you always made time for him. You two never had the “what are we?” conversation, but you two were exclusive. No other man in your life mattered more than him, and he never slept with another woman since claiming you were his.

It didn’t take much convincing on your part to let him take you with him. He had to get back to the Bunker, and he took you with him. You let Jessica sublet from your place with all the furniture. All you had to do was pack two bags and you were all set. Your friends weren't happy to see you go but Jessica knew you hadn’t been happy in a long time. She doesn’t like Dean but she knew being in the same city as your dad and brother would have gotten you killed eventually.

You’re sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala with the windows down, allowing the wind to knot your hair. Dean gave you one of his shirts to wear which is ten times more comfier than the shirts you own. He has one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh. He doesn’t move it but it sends shivers down your spine knowing he can.

You look at Dean and rest your head on the back of the seat, grinning when he looks over at you with a dazzling smirk.

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst

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samsno1 · 7 months ago

Text

warnings: sub-ish!dean, breeding kink (whoops!)

sorry, i'm a sucker for sub dean, dont blame me

He was mesmerized, looking at where your bodies connected, as your slick made his dick shine under the poor lightning of the motel. He refused to tear his eyes away from it.

You were gripping him so tight and so good, the way you clenched around him making him practically whimper in your ear. You were eager to take more out of him, his noises bringing even more arousal to your hazy mind.

He held your hips strongly, his fingers squeezing everytime you grinded your hips back on his. His head was burried in your neck leaving wet kisses and dark hickeys where he could. Dean was desperate for you.

"You feel s'good" He panted and you groaned. He sounded high, drunk on your scent and the smell of sex that filled the room. "So warm and so, fuck- and so tight, God, please"

He sobbed, your hands roaming his back, one of them going up to his hair. You tug on it, making Dean let out a high pitched groan. Your mouth comes closer to his ear.

"Tell me what you want baby" Your voice deep with desire. A shiver runs down his spine and his hips falter slightly at your slight dominance. "You wanna fill me up, hm? Go around telling everyone that you were the one who fucked a baby in me?"

Dean moaned at that, one of his hands unconsciously went to rest over your belly, gently pressing over it. You had to supress a moan as the weight of his hand made his cock seem to be deeper.

"G- Please, please, I'll do anything" He lifted his head to leave a sloppy kiss over your lips, his forehead glued to yours "I'll fill you up so g-uh good, please baby"

You kissed the side of his mouth, not giving him the satisfaction of an actual kiss. "Do it Dean, just be a good boy and make me cum first" You ordered as your hand caressed his cheek and he viciously nodded, his thumb almost immediately going to circle your clit.

"Y-yes...I will, thank you, thank you" He thanked you and started fucking into you harder, stimulating your clit to make you orgasm so he could get his reward afterwards because, after all, he would always be your good boy.

So, yeah, another drabble. I have a couple requests pending and I apologize for that, life's been kicking my ass lately and I've got no motivation to write whatsoever, enjoy the drabbles while I come back to normal LMAO

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dollyfetti · 21 hours ago

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𐔌　the perks of being a wallflower - d.w ₊˚ ♡

CHAPTER TWO - a friend of ours

summary: you’ve always been better at observing than participating, the quiet one in the corner, taking mental notes no one asks for. and that was fine, it was enough. but for once in your life, you didn't shy away from something you wanted, and suddenly you’re swept into a series of late-night diner runs, basement mixtapes, and conversations from your best friend that make your chest ache. you started to feel things. things you never thought you would get to.

notes: dean winchester x reader, normal au (mary is still dead tho um!), dean and sam are closer in age, alcohol consumption, edible consumption, best friends to lovers, kinda slow burn (starts in beginning of high school - ends in college), reader has social anxiety, suicide attempts (not in detail), SA mentions (not in detail), mention of familial loss. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 3.6k (LMAO I DIDNT MEAN TO)

˚○ ୨୧ series masterlist main masterlist navi

that night buzzed with the kind of energy that sat between anxiety and something giddy. the diner booth was small, the table sticky with years of spilled milkshakes and teenage secrets, but it was perfect. sam and dean were loud, messy, and impossible to look away from, leaving you to spend over an hour with them.

you debated on telling your family about your new friends when you got home. would it even matter? would either of them want to talk to you again? maybe they were just bored. so you kept it to yourself, telling your mom you were late home because of how long the game went.

you didn’t expect to see them again so soon, and at homecoming at that! you didn’t even think they’d want to go, you assumed dean would think it was just a stupid, corny “mating ritual”.

you lean against a wall, red solo cup in hand, trying to blend into the brick, watching couples dance and enjoy their night as disco balls spin shadows across the gym. your eyes flicker all over, scanning for the brothers unconsciously. that’s when you see them.

dean lazily sways to a slow song with some cute girl clinging to his arm, his hands settled low on her waist. sam was nearby, moving with exaggerated flourishes as he danced by himself like no one was watching, which they probably weren’t— well, except for you, of course, grinning widely at his whimsy antics.

then the music shifts, the syrupy slow ballad fading into something faster, something with life.

you can see dean freeze on the floor, dropping his arms from his date’s waist and snapping to sam with surprise in his wide eyes. he slaps his brother’s shoulder, exclaiming, “ohmygod, they’re playing good music.”

sam whips around to face the dj booth, a grin blooming across his lips. “holy shit, they are! they’re playing good music.” he repeats in a lower murmur, able to recognize the voice of david bowie anywhere.

“living room routine, now.” dean orders, snapping his fingers and leaving his date very confused as the two start to push their way to the middle of the gym floor.

“wait, do we have to go right in the middle-” sam awkwardly starts to protest.

“dude, shut up.” dean cuts him off with a bark. “you made me come here, we’re doing this.”

you blink, sipping your punch a little too quickly. suddenly, you find yourself starting to slightly bop to the music (in your own reserved way), your eyes squinting as they follow the boys to the center of the gymnasium. your lips part in surprise as they start to swing their arms back and forth, circling around each other with mock-serious expressions on their faces. you smile toothily, definitely not having expected that.

dean catches your gaze mid-spin, throwing you a silly smirk and winking your way as he dances, ignorant to the looks he’s attracting.

you grin, waving to him meekly, but his eyes are already off you and enraptured in his own wild movements. the stiff crowd ogles the boys as they roll their shoulders back and spin around like idiots, but neither of them mind, and that just makes you grow even fonder of the pair.

you swallow at the thought. maybe it was kinda weird that your homecoming dance was centered around two older students you just met. maybe you should've gotten a date.

you take another awkward sip of your punch, trying to decide if you should go— oh nono, not this again.

you shake off your thoughts to put your solo cup down on the side somewhere, not even taking your eyes off the two boys as you try desperately not to make it seem like you’re dancing towards them, but you are, bobbing your head like a dork as you move.

dean cheers as you get closer, letting out a silly “whooo!” as he snatches your hand into his without warning, twirling you around and grinning while you let out a laugh. and all of a sudden, it’s like the world in your head you’ve been trapped in since you were six years old fades away as sam loosens his tie and loops it around your neck like a medal, inviting you to their special world of chaos.

and for the second time in a little over 24 hours, you ventured out and got what you wanted.

later outside, when the cold is piercing your skin and the night wraps itself tighter, you walk with them through the rich part of town, streetlights buzzing above as you three shuffle up a stone path to some mansion party dean was invited to.

“god, it’s freezing!” he grunts, lips pursed as he shivers, shirtless under his suit jacket that was long gone...

“no one told you to start stripping, casanova.” sam grins, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walk up the steps. he was warm. you remember when aunt helen used to wrap you up in her arms just the same.

“a-are you sure it’s okay that i come?” you ask meekly, looking up between them as you start to climb a staircase.

“yeah, course.” dean lazily nods, like it's obvious, as he struts up the stairs. “just remember, pete’s not paranoid— he’s sensitive.” he mocks with a small roll of his eyes, sticking out his tongue.

“DEAN!” a boy, who you assume to be peter, calls from the top of the steps, looking absolutely stoned as he greets us with a wobbly cup in his hand. “dude, that waitress from olive garden, she was such a tease.” he scoffs with a dazed smile plastered across his face as dean makes a playful boo-hoo face.

peter's eyes dart to your timid stance, and his beam widens. “will you marry me?”

“nono,” dean snorts, waving him off. “you hopeless stoner— who attends the culinary institute.” he adds, shaking his head in exaggeration and clicking his teeth as pete winces in response, his hand on his heart dramatically.

“nice try.” sam nods with a small smile, leading you inside. dean dashes in front of you both, walking down the steps to the basement like he owns the place.

he turns around to you with a wiggle of his brows, holding his arm out wide. “so, this.. is a party.”

you self-consciously step down into the basement and feel completely swallowed.

there’s music blasting as you enter the large room, stale beer and cigarette smoke in the air as you three start to walk through the array of people, the room packed with kids playing quarters, others pouring vodka into a watermelon.

“this is what fun looks like,” dean murmurs to you as he spots two of his friends sitting on a couch. “you ready to meet some desperate women? yeah you are, go have a seat.”

you tuck a strand of hair (that wasn't even loose) behind your ear as you approach two girls around dean’s age, making your way to sit on the very edge of the couch with hunched shoulders.

“hey ladies,” dean purrs, leaning over the sofa cushions. he introduces the girls to you with a curt nod, you smiling as one of them takes your hand into hers to shake.

“mary elizabeth.” she says with a blank expression. “that’s alice.” she hums, nudging her head to the blonde next to her.

“nice to meet you.” you smile lightly, hyper aware of the press of bodies, the sticky couch fabric, and the music pulsing through the floor. sam drops into the spot next to alice, sighing as he leans back into the cushions.

“this is her first party ever.” dean lets out a smug little hum, one brow teasingly quirking. the girls let out a little gasps as he swishes his beer around with playful nods. “so i expect lovely, heartfelt, soul-changing orgasms from both of you.” he grins, gaining a bashful look from you while he keeps swirling his beer like a wine snob.

“dean, you’re such an dick.” mary elizabeth snaps, rolling her eyes, though a tiny grin pulls at the edge of her lips.

dean takes a swig before grunting, “where the hell did you go?”

“the dance was a little boring, don’t you think?”

“you’re selfish, you coulda told someone.”

“awe, baby, cry me a river.”

“how is it that you’ve gotten meaner since becoming a buddhist?” dean snorts, his thumb pointing to her, casting you a look that says, you hear this shit? you smile at him with a small shrug, since no, you weren't really listening anyway.

“i dunno, deano. just lucky, i guess.”

“i think you're doing something wrong.”

“mmm, or something very right..”

dean and mary elizabeth continue their somewhat flirty banter until sam catches sight of someone across the room, a beaming glint dancing in his eyes as he looks that way.

dean catches this, spinning around in wonder before smirking knowingly. “ah, look who’s here.”

your head follows, blinking curiously. “is that brad hays?”

“yeah, he comes here sometimes.” alice smiles after sam got up to greet the quarterback.

you scoot a little closer to them on the beat up couch, silently noticing how dean went to go mingle right after sam left, so now it was just you three.

“but he’s a popular kid...!” you utter in surprise.

mary elizabeth’s eyebrows pinch, shooting you a sharp look. “then what are we?”

you start to think of something to reply with, but you can't. the girls turn away, ignoring you. you swallow, fingers unintentionally pulling at the strings of your shirt. then peter unexpectedly approaches the couch with a tray in his hands, like your very own fairy godmother (just... high as a kite).

“hey, you look like you could use a brownie.” he murmurs, definitely high, bending down over the cushions to hold out the tray as you exhale in relief.

“oh, thank you!” you smile warmly with a nod, taking one of the treats, your nerves bubbling up in your stomach. “i was so hungry at the dance. i was gonna go to kings, but i didn't really have any time—” you bashfully cut off your tense rambling, not catching the knowing smirk mary elizabeth throws to peter as you thank him.

you take a large bite, sighing at the tasty chocolate coating your tastebuds, and completely blissful about what you're actually doing.

wowwwieee..!

and well, soon enough, you’re completely baked out of your mind, sunk into a carpet. more of the party surrounds you now, practically pissing themselves with laughter as a random kid no one knows talks and talks and talks.

“have you guys felt this carpet? this carpet feels so damn good.” you murmur, stroking it leisurely.

mary elizabeth’s cackling, clearly very entertained by your antics. “hey, hey,” she interrupts, grinning wide as you look up from the carpet. “what do you think about high school?”

“high school?” you squint at her with a scoff, frowning immediately. “bullshit. the cafeteria's called the nutrition center, people wear their letter jackets even when it's 98 degrees out,” you start babbling again, contently disregarding the amused chuckles around you. “and why do they give out letters for marching band? that's not even a sport, and we all think it! right?”

you feel so many eyes on you, but they don't feel bad. people were laughing— happily! and with you, not at you. probably.

“this kid is crazy..!” mary elizabeth laughs, turning her head to face the other lingering people.

you stare intently at the girl's punk wave haircut, expression flat. “mary elizabeth, i think you might regret that haircut when you look back at pictures..” you say simply, her face contorting into playful offense as everyone else cackles.

“i'm really sorry.” you swallow at the reactions. “that sounded like a compliment in my head.” you murmur sheepishly, eyes flicking between each snickering person.

“well, it’s kinda true.” alice giggles, turning to mary elizabeth, who lets out a gasp in mock horror. “shut up!”

dean walks back into the room out of nowhere, scanning the chaotic scene in confusion, just as mary elizabeth coos, “ugh, i can’t even be mad— look at her!”

dean glances toward you, blinking at your unusually carefree demeanor before smiling at the realization. he shakes his head in disbelief. “pete, did you get her stoned?”

“she likes it, just look at her!” peter replies in his defense, pointing a finger toward you with a playful tee-hee.

“god,” dean scoffs lightheartedly, still shaking his head from side to side at you. “well, how d'ya feel, space cadet?” dean hums in amusement, raising his brows.

your nonchalant eyes reach his as you pause to think for a moment.

“...i just really want a milkshake.”

the entire room explodes with laughter, bringing a small smile to your lips. you love that people find you so funny, it’s a rare feeling.

“shit, me too.” dean grunts in agreement at the thought. he waves his hand, beckoning you to get up and follow him as he starts to turn away from the party.

you oblige, joining him as he heads into pete’s minimalistic kitchen. “alright, sit down, stoner.” he says, nudging his head toward a stool, throwing another teasing glance your way.

he grabs what he needs for your milkshakes while you just stare. you watch in satisfaction as he tosses a scoop of ice cream into a blender with a flourish, humming some metallica song under his breath.

“dean,” you start all of a sudden, voice a little whiny, which brings a smirk onto dean’s gorgeous lips. “you have such pretty green eyes.. the kind of pretty that deserves to make a big deal about itself.” you babble tiredly, smushing your cheek against your hand. "ya know what I mean?”

he chuckles, looking down at the opened milk carton as he pours it into the blender. “ya think so?” he hums with a small grin.

“mhm.” you hum before moving on. “what a great word. milkshake.” you murmur dreamily, still watching him with a quiet sense of joy. “it's like when you say your name over and over again in the mirror, and then after awhile, it sounds crazy..!”

dean grins wider, genuinely entertained, which actually makes you a little shy. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’ve never been high before?”

“me? nonono!” you chuckle, pulling your head off your palm. “see, my best friend michael, his dad was a big drinker, so he hated all that kinda stuff. parties too.” you explain blankly, tapping your hands against the island counter as you speak.

“and where’s michael tonight, huh? gettin lucky?” dean jokes per usual, turning with his back facing you to put the milk back in the fridge.

“oh, he shot himself last may.” you answer in a quiet tone. and nonchalantly at that, like it was nothing surprising to mention.

dean spins around from the fridge, with a silent gulp, his mouth in a tight line. and you’re just… stoned.

“i kind of wish he'd left a note.” you smile, but it doesn't really reach your eyes. you're about to continue, but at his awkward nod, you huff with a small sense of worry and snap your head behind you. “where’s the bathroom?”

“uh, it’s up the stairs.” he mumbles, now unsure of how to act around you knowing this information, which you just barely take into consideration in this state. if you were boring regular you again, you'd definitely apologize like nobody's business and probably run away in embarrassment.

but instead you thank him, hopping off the stool and wandering up the carpeted stairs, zoned out. you internally groan. your limbs feel like jello, letting out a tired exhale after climbing the steps. you unsteadily tread down the hallway, where you find a large ornate mirror hanging against a corner wall.

you pause in front of it, leaning in closer to stare at yourself. your reflection stares back, pupils blown wide as you whisper your name curiously. you repeat it again, glaring in your eyes before murmuring, “weird”, under your breath.

you’re definitely a little lost as you turn face to three doors. oh. did dean say where exactly the porcelain throne was or...? whatever! you push open the door closest to you without another thought.

your eyes widen in surprise as you're able to make out sam winchester and brad hays inside, sitting closely on a king sized bed. oh yeah, and they're kissing.

you swallow, eyebrows raising as they rip apart from one another quickly at the sound of the door creaking open. your lips purse, blinking twice before spinning around and walking right out.

sam and brad stare in surprise, one definitely more afraid than the other. “who was that kid?” brad whispers tensely, keeping his eye on you as you walk down the hall, his heart racing.

“don’t worry, she’s a friend of mine.” sam reassures him, grabbing his arm with a small brush of his thumb. “stay here.” he says before getting off the bed and following you out.

you hear the mattress squeak as sam gets up, turning around at the footsteps behind you. “i didn’t see anything.” you say immediately. “i’m really sor-”

“you did, and it’s okay.” sam cuts in gently with a nod. he glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one’s looking, then sighs.

“listen… brad doesn't want anyone to know-” he starts, but pauses as he notices your, um... not a lot of there there eyes staring back at him.

“wait, are you baked?”

“like a cake.” you reply with a giggle, your smile widening as sam huffs out a chuckle despite his anxiousness. “that's what pete said. and how you can't have three on a match because they would find us.” you continue talking with flailing hands as sam pinches his temples with a grin. “and everybody laughed, but truthfully, i don't know what's funny..!”

“okay, listen.” sam exhales, shaking off his smile and replacing it with a serious tone. “i need you to promise that you're not going to say anything to anyone about me and brad. okay? this has to be our little secret.”

you blink at the echo of those words that are now poking at something buried in you. our little secret. yeah, you’ve heard that before. you can do that.

“okay, sure.” you nod simply.

“thank you.” sam sighs in gratitude, patting your shoulder. “we’ll, uh, talk later, okay?” he says sweetly before turning to go back into the bedroom.

“looking forward to it!” you blurt out with a nod, immediately cringing at yourself.

you hear his laugh before he walks in and shuts the door. you hum, spinning to drift back down the stairs.

the party has thinned into whispers and scattered laughter. empty cups litter the furniture everywhere, and you feel bad for the parents of the house. you're now sitting on the couch, legs curled up beside alice and mary elizabeth as you nurse your milkshake like it's life support, the straw making a small crackle every time you sip.

across the room, dean’s watching you with a furrowed brow, beer neck loose in his rough hand. his head turns as sam thumps down the stairs, motioning his little brother over to where he leans against a ping pong table.

“hey.” sam hums with a small exhale.

“dude.” dean whispers, taking his eyes off you to look back at sam. dean tells him what you said in the kitchen, his expression firm and a little sympathetic. “i don't think she has any friends.. like at all.” he adds.

sam blinks at him in surprise, his lips parted. he’s about to say something in response when dean interrupts him like he always does, getting up and striding over to where you are.

“okay, sluts, gather round!” he declares loudly, solo cup held up high. “raise your drinks.” he orders once what's left of the party comes over to the couch.

you look up from your seat, where he towers over you, his jawline absolutely divine at this angle. you’re a little paranoid as you start to look around and see everyone staring in your direction, including sam and dean.

“what did i do?” you ask softly, your hand tightening around the milkshake.

“nothin.” dean shrugs plainly, inhaling a breath of air. “we just, uh. you’re a um…” he clicks his fingers together as he trails off, spinning around to face sam.

sam rolls his eyes with a small smile, stepping closer to us. “well, um... you see things and you understand.” he explains gently, his nodding reassuring and kind, just like what you'd expect from him. “you’re a wallflower.”

you swallow, drying your sweaty hands onto your skirt. you look around the room shyly at the nods and friendly faces, your heart crawling up into your throat. “i didn’t think anyone noticed me.” you mumble, voice a little shaky as you look down at the floor.

“well, then!” someone from the back of the room exclaims. he starts to sing, “raise a glass to fre— oh yeah— the four of ussss!”

laughter bursts like fireworks, sparkling and spreading all over the room. “tomorrow there’ll be more of usssss!”

you laugh too, smiling at the familiar reference as you look up again.

dean spins around with a knowing grin. “shut up, nerds!" before turning back to you. he crouches down a bit, like he’s about to tell you a secret. he rolls his eyes sarcastically, booping your nose as you dopily grin back. he sighs, green gaze in your face. “i guess.. welcome to the island of misfit toys.”

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

erm i didnt mean to make it so long.. esp considering the first chapter was only 2.6k but oh well!! i loved writing this chap c: rah rah tags below :3

@losers-clvb @that-stanford-girlie @lisah-over18 @bewr0210 @mostlymarvelgirl @bakugotypecrashout @bitchyfestivalbouquet @anniebannanie0315 @imsiriuslyreal @crushmeeren @xothegiant @misticsilver

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angelickks · 2 days ago

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────˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ fuckin' dad - the winchester family

warning(s): john winchester. yes he is a warning. swearing. dysfunctional found family. protective older brothers™️. angst but with a happy ending. mentions of injuries but nothing graphic. the boys being soft with baby sister! max. soft!max. canon typical violence. mention of alcohol. not proofread lol sorry. this ones a doozy and shes a little longer than the usuals.

unofficial pt. 2: stockyards story

max’s mlist!

summary: Flickers of John in Max’s memory and the eternal one of her boys.

────────────

Somewhere in Kansas, early 2000s. Max is maybe 11 or 12. It's late. The hunt's over. The night is quiet.

John Winchester didn’t really do softness.

He did orders. He did long silences. He did worn out motel Bibles with pages marked in blood and Latin. He did loss like most people did breathing.

But every now and then, there was a flicker. A crack in the armor.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The hunt had gone sideways. Some revenant masquerading as a kid’s imaginary friend. It went for Sam first. Max had stepped in before John could even shout. Just a blur of small limbs, silver blade, and fire in her eyes that didn’t belong in a child.

Afterward, Sam had a scratch. Dean had a black eye.

Max had blood on her hands that didn’t belong to her, again.

John found her outside the motel, sitting on the curb, staring out at nothing. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and her little bootlaces were untied. One of them was red with something that might’ve been ectoplasm—or just more blood.

She didn’t look up when he sat beside her.

Didn’t flinch when he offered the flask.

She took it. Sipped. Coughed like hell.

He smirked. “Still too young for that, kid.”

She handed it back, wiped her mouth. “Still old enough to get guts on my shoes.”

John looked at her then. Really looked. Small and furious. Curly hair a tangled mess. Shoulders knotted tight like she thought if she let them go, she might fall apart. She was always like that after a hunt. Like she couldn’t figure out how to switch back to being a kid.

He cleared his throat. “You did good tonight.”

Max shrugged. “Did what had to be done.”

“You protected your brothers.”

“I always do.”

Silence stretched. The kind that felt more like a bruise than a break.

Then, softer than she expected from him, John said: “I don’t know what they’d do without you.”

Max’s eyes snapped to him. Grey-blue and burning like stormlight. “They’d be fine. Dean’s a tank. Sam’s a genius.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t need their sister.”

Her mouth twisted like she wanted to argue. But she didn’t.

He reached into his jacket and pulled something out. Small. Worn.

A Zippo.

He flipped it open, lit it. The flame danced.

“This was your mom’s,” he said, voice rough. “She used it for candles. For matches when she ran out. Carried it even when she didn’t smoke.”

Max stared. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because you carry fire too,” he said. “And because someday, you’re gonna need to remember that someone saw it in you before the world tried to burn it out.”

She swallowed.

Hard.

Then took the lighter in both hands. Like it was holy.

“I’m not like her, I don’t belong to her” she whispered.

“No,” John said, standing. “You’re not. And you’re right Maxie, you don’t. But you’ve got her fire. My temper. Dean’s bite. Sam’s stubbornness.”

He looked down at her. “You’re a Winchester. That’s enough. Don’t let a damn soul tell you anything different”

Max stared at the lighter for a long time after he went back inside. Thumb running over the scratches. The initials on the bottom. M.W.

She didn’t cry.

But she tucked it in her boot.

Max wordlessly found her way back to the shared bed between the three Winchesters. She found her place right between the two brothers. As if Dean could sense Max’s presence, his left hand plopped down on the back of her head and began to scratch softly. The action soothing Max into a dreamless slumber.

And from that night on, she always kept it with her.

Even after John was gone.

Especially then.

────────────

Max is 15. It’s cold. Somewhere in Montana. A safe house they’d crashed in after a banshee hunt. Snow outside, tension inside.

The salt lines were drawn. The windows were boarded. Dean had already patched Sam’s shoulder and was nursing his own bruised ribs with a beer and some grumbling. John stood at the kitchen table, hunched over a stack of old lore pages, still in that post-hunt stillness. Half-wired, half-dead.

Max sat on the floor, in the corner by the fireplace. She hadn’t said much since they got back.

She was usually quiet after a hunt, but this… this was different.

She hadn’t even made a joke when Dean slipped on the ice and cursed out the entire state of Montana.

Earlier, the banshee had screamed right at her—and nothing happened.

Not death. Not pain. Not even a scratch.

The creature flinched like it had seen something wrong in her. Something missing.

Not human enough to kill.

And then, later, the townspeople—after the hunt was over—one of them, trying to be polite, had looked her over and said:

“You’re not really one of them, are you?”

Just like that.

Not angry. Not cruel.

Just casual dismissal. Like it was a fact.

She hadn’t responded.

But she’d heard it. And it had stayed.

And now, here she was, sitting on a cold floor, staring into a fire like it owed her answers.

Her arms were wrapped around her knees, jaw clenched tight, fingers twitching with all the words she wasn’t saying.

John noticed first. Maybe he always did, in his own rigid way.

He nodded toward her, subtle. Dean and Sam followed his gaze.

Check on your sister

“You okay?” Sam asked gently.

“Fine,” she muttered.

Dean snorted. “You only say ‘fine’ when you’re seconds from burning something down.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Bull,” Dean said.

Sam tilted his head. “Talk to us.”

And for some reason, maybe because it had been building too long—she cracked. Max stood up abruptly. "You ever wonder why it never hurts me? Why the things that kill people just bounce off me?"

John straightened. Dean frowned.

Sam sat forward. “What are you saying?”

Max’s voice dropped. Low. Bitter. Like something rusted shut was finally being pried open. “I’m not like you. I never was. Demons can’t touch me. Banshees scream at me and walk away. Angels probably look at me and flinch if the goddamn things existed. I’m not cursed. I’m not blessed. I’m just wrong. I’m not a real Winchester. I’m just something you picked up and trained.”

The room went still.

Dean stood slowly, stepping toward her. “Say that again.”

“I’m not—”

“No,” Dean cut her off. “I dare you. Say it again so I can punch you in the face for talking about my sister like that.”

Max blinked. “Dean—”

“You think blood makes us family?” he asked, voice rising. “We bled together. We’ve killed for each other. Hell, you saved my ass more times than I can count. What part of that screams ‘not real’ to you?”

Sam came over, softly whsipering, steady. “You’re a Winchester because you chose us. And because we chose you.”

Max looked to John.

He didn’t say anything right away. His expression softened. Max specifically knew that look. He didn’t give it to Dean or Sam.

It was him being his own gutted way of vulnerable, it was for Max and Max only. His expression alone said it all.

You listen to your brothers Max, that’s an order.

He walked over to her, placed a hand on her shoulder. His grip tightened, just for a second. “You’re not a stray, Max. You’re mine. You always were.”

Her breath hitched.

She didn’t cry. Max didn’t cry.

But her shoulders sagged like she’d been holding up the whole world, and someone had finally said, put it down kid.

Dean slung an arm around her neck and pulled her into a messy half-hug. “Next time you doubt it, we’re gonna brand ‘Winchester’ on your damn forehead.”

Sam laughed softly. “Real subtle.”

John just looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, his eyes didn’t look haunted. He stepped away from his three, gave them a curt nod, turning to to walk out and leave his boys to hold it down.

Like they always have.

He’d never say it out loud, he couldn’t help but feel that familiar choked up feeling. It was all consuming, it scared him as shitless as he was when he found Max.

The three couldn’t hear him mumbling underneath his breath as he walked out the door:

“Good boys. Good girl. Good kids.”

And Max, scared, strange, fire-forged Max—finally exhaled.

That night, before they all crashed, Dean took a Sharpie and scrawled Winchester til’ I die on the back of her old leather jacket.

Sam added an anti-possession symbol under it, just because.

Max didn’t take it off for three days.

Not because she had to.

But because, for the first time, she believed it.

────────────

Freshly 19 year old Max. A flickering roadside motel outside Hastings, Nebraska. The kind with cigarette burns on the carpet and a Bible that’s seen more blood than prayer. The hunt went sideways. Max came back alive—barely

There was blood on the doorknob when John slammed it behind him.

“You think this is a game?” he snapped, voice low and lethal. “You think you get to play the hero because you’ve got a damn chip on your shoulder?”

Max didn’t flinch. She was sitting on the bathroom counter, left leg wrapped in a blood-soaked towel, hair matted, machete leaning against the sink like a loaded gun.

“I thought I’d rather not watch Dean get gutted,” she said, voice sandpaper dry.

“You were told to fall back.”

“You weren’t in that cave.”

“I gave a goddamn order, Max.”

“Dad” she cut in, voice low. Calm. Dangerous. The name sat in the air like something that reeked like sulfur.

The motel light buzzed overhead. The kind of light that made everything look jaundiced and old. Dean stood by the table, knuckles still raw. Sam hadn’t sat down since they got back—too tense, like if he sat, he might never get up again.

Max looked John dead in the eye.

“Maybe if your orders didn’t suck, people wouldn’t have to break ‘em.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that stretches and hums, taut with rage.

John stepped in close, teeth bared.

“You don’t get to rewrite how this works. You’re not a damn martyr. You’re a liability. You go in alone, you bleed alone.”

Max stood, leg shaking under her, machete in hand now—not lifted, just held. Like a reflex. Like a warning.

“I don’t bleed alone,” she said. “Because they come back for me. Every time.”

John's jaw clenched. “You think that makes you strong? Running on instinct and spite?”

Dean finally stepped between them, voice like thunder after a long drought.

“Back off, Dad.”

John turned, eyes blazing.

“She disobeyed.”

“She saved my life,” Dean snapped. “And you’re standing here acting like she wrecked the car instead of stopping a goddamn wendigo from gutting your oldest.”

Sam came up behind Max, hands steady even though he looked ready to explode.

“You’re hard on us. Fine. We get it. But you don’t get to tear her down for surviving. Not when she learned that from you.”

John’s silence wasn’t peace. It was powder keg quiet. Then he looked at Max, eyes narrow.

“You think you’re tough because you don’t stay down. But tough gets people killed if it’s pointed the wrong way. Keep on holdin' that machete like you're gonna use it right now, that ain't gonna save you from the goddamn trouble you got licking at your boots."

Max didn’t look away.

“Then maybe stop aiming us at things you won’t face yourself. That's not gonna save you from the trouble you got knockin' at the door right now, Dad." She muttered, Sam's eyes widened at the warning, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up at how she sounded chillingly like their father.

Something broke in John’s expression. Maybe it was anger. Maybe shame. Maybe he just didn’t like being seen so clearly. Instinctually she grabbed the end of Dean's jacket, a habit that she hadn't lost since the day they found her. A gentle warning.

Stand down Dean, don't get hurt.

Like second-nature, Dean's hand wrapped around her wrist, his thumb putting a reassuring pressure on her pulse point. Always the same spot, always the same message.

I'll handle it, Max.

John grabbed his duffel and left without another word. The door slammed behind him like the crack of a shotgun.

Silence. And then the low hum of the busted AC unit.

Max exhaled. Leaned the machete against the nightstand. Her leg was still bleeding.

Dean's legs moved on their own accord, and soon Max was holding a half-warm beer from the sink.

“Not exactly a medal,” he muttered, “but better than a lecture.”

She cracked it open and winced as the alcohol stung her split lip.

“You really gonna let me drink this?”

Dean shrugged. “You earned it.”

Sam came over with the first-aid kit. “Let me see that leg.”

Max didn’t argue. She sat, took a shaky sip of beer, and let Sam unwrap the bloody towel.

“Next time,” Dean said, settling across from her, not before delivering a flick to her forehead resulting in Max putting pressure on a small gash on his hand earning a wince from Dean. He kicked the boot of her uninjured leg in a huff of finality. “try not to scare the shit out of me while playing hero, huh? If you so much as die on me I will resurrect you myself and kill you dead, brat”

Max gave a lopsided grin, half pain, half defiance.

“No promises.”

Because this wasn’t about glory. Or obedience. Or playing soldier.

This was about surviving the only way she knew how—with grit, blood, and the people who’d bleed beside her.

She was their sister.

────────────

Early twenties Max. Abandoned barn outside Duluth, Minnesota. A summoning circle smolders in the dirt. Max stands at its center, alone. Mostly.

“You’re not really one of them.”

The demon's voice rasped like a dull blade across her nerves. Female vessel. Early 30s. Broken teeth and too many smiles. She paced just outside the salt ring, boots crunching on old hay and sigils scorched into the floor.

Max didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even breathe in a way that suggested the words mattered.

The demon smirked, circling. "They call you Winchester, sure. But you're not blood. Not really. You’re the stray "daddy" picked up when the fire took what was left of you. A charity case. A project."

Max’s eyes flicked up. Grey-blue. Glinting.

“Project turned out pretty damn well,” she said dryly.

“Oh, honey,” the demon cooed. “That fire didn’t just burn your house down. It broke something in you. Something human. You think they don’t see it? That twitch behind Dean’s eyes when you go quiet too long? That little furrow Sam gets when you walk out of a room and all the clocks stop ticking?”

Max tilted her head. “Funny. You seem more concerned with my family dynamics than your own impending exorcism.”

But the demon wasn’t done. They never were.

“Sammy's the favorite. Deanie is the solider. You? You’re the loaded gun they keep under the bed and pray never goes off.”

Max smiled. It was a slow, awful thing.

“Then maybe you should be scared I’m already cocked.”

The demon paused. Just a fraction of a second. But Max saw it.

Hit a nerve.

“You’re not one of them,” the demon hissed, desperation now leaking through her confidence. “You’re something else. A void in skin. They tolerate you because they’re afraid of what it means if they don’t. You’re not a daughter. Sure as shit not a sister. You’re a weapon.”

Max finally stepped forward—just one boot over the salt. Enough to make the demon flinch.

“Funny thing,” she said, voice low, “about weapons…”

She raised her hand. The Enochian carved into her palm lit like a fuse.

“…They don’t care who they were made for. Just who they’re aimed at.”

The spell slammed into the demon like judgment. Holy oil caught flame. Sigils burned white-hot.

Max watched without a flicker of emotion as the demon screamed once, twice—and then vanished into smoke.

She exhaled slowly.

Then walked to the edge of the barn, where Dean and Sam stood waiting, blades out, eyes scanning.

“You good?” Dean asked.

“She try to get in your head?” Sam added, concern under the calm.

Max shrugged. “She tried.”

Dean eyed her.

“She say anything?”

“Yeah,” Max muttered, already brushing soot off her sleeves. “She called me a loaded gun.”

Dean snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

Sam clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Doesn’t make you any less ours.”

Max paused. A flicker of something passed over her face—brief, then gone.

She looked between them.

And smiled. Just barely.

“Damn fuckin’ right.”

────────────

Wyoming. A one-night crash at a safehouse tucked between two ghost towns. John’s been dead a month.

It was supposed to be just another salt-and-burn. Easy. In. Out. Whiskey after.

But the ghost was a kid. Maybe six. Hair like Sam’s. Eyes like Max’s. Died in a closet clutching a toy firetruck and still sobbing for a dad who never came. They burned the bones. The air cleared.

The silence didn’t.

Later, Sam and Dean argued quietly in the kitchen—about supplies, about John’s journal, about whether Dean was drinking too much (he was). Max slipped away during the lull. Said she was going to sharpen her knives. No one questioned it.

She always did that post-hunt. But the door to the back porch creaked. And when she didn’t come back after an hour, Sam noticed.

Then Dean.

And when they went looking, they found her. She didn’t hear the door open. Or if she did, she didn’t care.

She was crouched in the corner of the porch, knees up, arms locked tight around them. Her jaw clenched, shaking with effort, like she could physically force the emotions down if she just gritted hard enough.

Her face was wet. But she wasn’t sobbing. Not out loud. Silent, furious tears ran down her cheeks like someone was cutting glass into her skin.

Dean froze in the doorway. Sam’s chest tightened like someone had punched him square in the ribs. She looked up when they stepped forward.

Eyes red. Face pale. Like she’d been holding this in for weeks. “Don’t,” she warned. Her voice cracked once.

But she stared them both down like a feral dog. “Don’t say anything. Don’t you dare fucking look at me like that.” Dean swallowed. “Max…”

“I said don’t”

Sam didn’t speak.

He just walked over and sat beside her—slow, quiet, deliberate. Didn’t touch her. Just sat. Like they used to when they were kids and she had nightmares she never talked about.

She didn’t stop crying. But she didn’t move away.

Dean hesitated, then joined them on the other side, kneeling beside her like he was afraid if he touched her, she’d shatter.

No one said John’s name.

But they didn’t have to.

The ghost had looked too much like a version of them they never got to be. One with a dad who didn’t leave. Who wasn’t always just out of reach.

Max finally whispered, voice hoarse:

“He said I was like him.” She didn’t clarify who. She didn’t need to.

John.

“He said I had her fire.” Dean nodded slowly. “You do.”

She shook her head. “But I hate him for what he did to us.”

Now she was crying harder, but still silent. Biting it back like it was weakness. Like pain was shame.

“I hate him,” she repeated, whispering. “And I miss him. And I hate that, too.”

Sam reached out then, finally. One hand on her back.

Not a hug. Just an anchor.

Dean, always the more reckless one, just pulled her into his chest and held her there, against all protest. She fought it. Punches landing everywhere and nowhere all at once. Dean clenched his eyes shut, hand moving to the back of her head to scratch softly, her curls tangling up. Then it stilled.

Not soft.

Just… still.

“You’re allowed to feel both,” Sam said gently. “That’s the curse, Max. That’s grief.”

Dean nodded against her hair. “And you’re not alone in it.”

They sat like that until the sun started rising.

Max didn’t cry again.

But when they left the safehouse, she carried John’s lighter in her coat pocket and didn’t try to hide it.

────────────

Present-day

Dean was already two fingers deep into the bottle when Sam walked in, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice low, cautious.

Dean shrugged. “Wasn’t trying that hard.”

Ten minutes later, Max followed a few steps behind, hoodie thrown on inside out, hair sticking up like she’d lost a fight with a pillow. She made a beeline for the fridge, grabbed a root beer, and popped the cap off on the table corner like a heathen.

She stopped mid-sip. “You guys look haunted. Who died?”

Dean gave her a sideways look. “You know that’s a cursed question in this place, Maximillian."

Sam sat across from Dean, tapping his fingers on the wood. “Just talking. About Dad.”

That earned a pause.

Max leaned back against the counter, bottle in hand. “What, the good, the bad, or the batshit?”

Dean snorted. “Bit of all three.”

There was a beat, then Dean’s smirk tugged sideways.

“Remember that time in Sioux Falls? We were hunting that poltergeist in the abandoned high school, and Dad made us camp out in the janitor’s closet for three days?”

Sam groaned. “God, yes. I got ringworm from the floor.”

“He called it ‘stealth ops.’” Dean chuckled. “I called it child endangerment.”

Max raised her bottle in salute. “Ah, the Winchester sleepover: concrete floors, haunted gymnasium sounds, and nutritional yeast MREs.”

“I snuck in Pop-Tarts,” Sam muttered.

“You hoarded Pop-Tarts,” Dean corrected. “You had like six in your duffel. Acted like you were in ‘Nam.”

Max grinned. “Dean tackled a raccoon outside the building trying to get the cooler back.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “That raccoon had murder in its eyes.”

Sam started laughing, harder than expected. The kind of laugh that broke a little at the edges.

“Remember when Dad got drunk in that bar in Amarillo and tried to convince everyone he was ex-Delta Force?”

Dean slapped the table. “Oh my god, yeah! He got into a push-up contest with that guy twice his size, tore something in his shoulder.”

“And still refused to admit he lost,” Sam added.

Max whistled, pulling up the chair next to Dean, throwing her legs over his lap. “Classic Winchester male pride. Unbeatable. Even by gravity. Freud would say you Winchester men are compensating for something." She shook her head as she barked out another laugh.

“Remember the Stockyards? God, I think me and Dad drank half our goddamn weight that night.” The boys howled at the memory, “I will never forget you two sons of bitches and that disgrace you two called karaoke." Dean started as softly hit Max's calf, "Metallica in godforsaken Texas? Whiskey in The Jar of all the damn songs!”

Sam was pinching the bridge of his nose reminiscing on the memory. “What did you say again, Max? “Whack for my daddy-o and that dangerous moonshine you got in the jar.”

Max let her head fall in her hands at the memory, “God my head is pounding thinking of it, no wonder it made a killing during prohibition, knocked our asses out for two days.” The three were damn near tears as they recalled that dangerous night at the Stockyards. If Max recalled correctly, both her and John were banned. To this day, the Winchesters avoid the Stockyards like a plague passed right through it.

Dean delivered a flick to Max's forehead that earned Dean a warm chuckle from Sam and a smack to the back of the head from Max.

"Thought we stopped playing that fuckin' game when we hit puberty Deanie, you know you'll never win." Max mumbled taking a long sip of her root beer.

Both boys smiled at the nickname. Max called Dean the nickname for years but as they got older, time wore down on the childlike nickname and they both only heard it when Max was shitfaced or feeling real sentimental, a rarity in their line of work. Perhaps, in the line of Max itself. It was safe to say that it had them both missing their baby sister's inner child just a little more tonight.

The mood settled for a second. Warm. Sad. Familiar.

“Thing is,” Dean said, staring into the amber swirl, “he was a bastard. But he was our bastard. We were his mission.”

Sam nodded, mouth tight. “We weren’t raised. We were trained.”

Max tapped her fingers against the wood of the table mindlessly “And I wasn’t even supposed to be there.” Dean looked up. “Yeah, you were.”

Max didn’t say anything at first. Just studied the way her brothers’ shoulders shifted—how they got heavier when John’s name hung in the air.

“I hated how he looked at me sometimes,” she finally said. “Like I was something he couldn’t fix.”

Dean looked over at her. “He didn’t know what to do with you.”

“Nope,” she said. “But he still handed me a shotgun at ten and told me not to miss.”

“I remember,” Max went on. “He told you not to bring me.”

Dean’s jaw twitched. “He didn’t want another stray.” Disdain hung heavy in his words, his jaw ticking.

Sam smiled bitter. “And Dean told him to go to hell.”

Dean shrugged. “Kid with a shotgun and no parents? Sounded familiar.”

Max looked down at the chipped rim of her bottle, a line forming between her brows. “Didn’t matter though. The son of bitch always made sure I knew he was my father, whether we both liked it or not.”

Sam pushed a hand through his hair. “He never said it. But he was scared of you. Scared of how quiet you were. Scared of what you survived.”

Dean pointed at her with his glass. “But we weren’t. Regardless, you were practically a Winchester. Even he couldn’t deny it.”

Max finally smiled, a little sharp. “You two idiots started treating me like your sister before I even believed I was staying.”

“You were staying,” Dean said simply, his hand reaching out to scratch the back of her head. Dean's smile softened as Max's lulled back like blissful instinct, like how she always did when she couldn't sleep as kids and Dean had to scratch the back of her head to soothe her.

“You sat in the backseat of Baby with your knees pulled up and a knife in your boot, and it was game over.”

“He never said much,” Sam murmured, “but… I think he respected you. In that stubborn, gruff, emotionally-stunted way.”

Dean leaned back delivering a soft pat to the back of Max’s head before retracting his hand, eyes drifting upward like he could see through the ceiling, into the past.

“We were his kids, yeah. But you…” He looked at Max. “You were the one he couldn’t train out of it. You chose this life. He didn’t understand that.”

Max tilted her head. “He was scared of me.”

Sam nodded. “Good, he should've been. That makes all of us.”

They sat in the silence again, this time gentler.

Dean reached for the bottle, poured another finger, and slid it across the table to Max.

“For the old man,” he said. “Flawed. Feral. Fucking impossible.”

Max raised her bottle again, this time softer. “And gone. Never forgotten.”

The three shared a knowing look, "Fuckin’ Dad" They said in unison. A pool of laughter erupted from the three, the simple phrase so reminiscent of their teen years. The amount of times they've all uttered the phrase, it could go toe to toe with the amount of supernatural they've hunted.

Max’s crinkled eyes flickered between her boys, smile getting just a little wider.

────────────

Excerpt from John Winchester’s Journal – Ripped out page: Final Entry (Unsent Letter to Dean)

Scrawled in ink a shade too dark. Page smudged with ash and something older. The page wedged behind the false panel in the Impala’s trunk.

Dean,

If you're reading this, it means I didn’t get the chance to say it all out loud. Or maybe I just didn’t have the guts to say it the way I should’ve.

You always deserved more than what I gave you. All of you did. But you—

You were just a kid when I put the weight of the world on your shoulders. And you never once tried to put it down. Not even when it damn near broke you.

I spent too many years thinking I had to make soldiers. I thought that was how I kept this family alive. That if I kept you sharp, angry, ready, you'd survive. And you did. God, did you survive. But that wasn’t the job. Not really. No matter what happens. You keep them safe. That’s the job. But not like I did it. Not with silence. Not with orders. With heart.

When the road gets dark and it will—don’t carry them like I did. Carry them with your heart. With your loyalty. With your damn stupid jokes and that music you play too loud. Let Max be wild. Let Sam be hopeful. Let yourself be human.

Take care of them.

They’re not just hunters.

They’re Winchesters.

And so are you.

Always.

— Dad

P.S. If Max ever finds this, tell her I saw what she did in Asheville. The black dog. The bell. I was proud. Didn’t know how to say it then. Tell her anyway. And if Sam rolls his eyes, tell him he’s still the smartest kid I ever knew. He just sucks at poker.

P.P.S. Name one of your daughters after your mother.

The air smelled like ozone and old leather. The kind of stillness that only came after a hunt—bloody, successful, and too quiet.

Max was the one who found the page. It slid from the hidden pocket like it had been waiting for her. A stray page tucked in the back, folded once, worn along the creases. She held it like it was hot to the touch.

“Dean,” she said. Just his name. Nothing else.

He took it. Opened it. Froze. Sam came to his side, silent, eyes flicking over the scrawl he recognized better than his own—John’s ink. Sharp. Certain. Stubborn.

They read it together, shoulders brushing.

Max stood apart at first, arms crossed, pretending the lump in her throat was dust. But she came closer. She always did. Dean’s fingers curled tighter around the page as he read.

He choked out a breath, rough and raw. “Of course he waits 'til after he's gone to say any of this.”

Sam was quiet. His eyes shimmered, but he nodded, lips pressed in a line like it hurt to smile. “Sounds like Dad.”

Max took the journal from Dean’s hand, gentle. Read the P.S. aloud, her voice hoarse.

“If Max ever finds this, tell her I saw what she did in Asheville. The black dog. The bell. I was proud. Didn’t know how to say it then. Tell her anyway.”

Her jaw tightened. “Asshole.”

Dean let out a soft laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Max, eyes glinting under the motel lights: “Well, guess I’ve peaked. Dad said he was proud, so—retirement?”

Sam snorted. Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go ahead. We’ll call you when the next apocalypse starts.”

“Leave it there,” she said. “Let it stay part of the car.”

Sam nodded, hand on her shoulder for a second longer than usual. “It already is.”

Dean didn’t say anything else. He just sat behind the wheel a while later, staring through the windshield like he was seeing something no one else could.

And in the dark, when Max and Sam had dozed off in the backseat, he whispered into the empty night:

“I got ‘em, Dad.”

Then he started the car.

And drove.

────────────

author's note - whew ok so this was sooo much. i felt like i needed some depth to our girl, add in john and see that dynamic really come to life. lowk had too much fun delving into the angst of it all guys. pure 3am thots.

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aylacavebear · 3 days ago

Text

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 13

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 4171

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Dean being Dean, Reader struggles with the unknown, Talk of claiming.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 13

You smoothed your hands over the fabric of Dean’s old flannel, the worn softness comforting against your fingertips. You had chosen something simple—jeans, a comfortable shirt, and that flannel, the same one he’d left with you that first night, three months ago. Back then, everything had been uncertain. You hadn’t known how things would play out.

Now, you did.

Tonight, you were meeting him under the full moon—not just his wolf but all of him. The man and the wolf, together as one, able to shift back if he chose.

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself against the rush of anticipation curling in your stomach. You weren’t afraid. If anything, you felt a quiet certainty, something deep in your bones that told you this was right. You’d spent so many nights speaking to his wolf, but tonight, it would be different.

You grabbed the pair of his sweatpants he’d forgotten to pack last time and tucked them under your arm. If he did shift back, he’d need them. It was a simple thing, but grounding. A small act of care, just like his flannel pulled over your shoulders.

The path to your meeting place was familiar, one you had walked for years. But this time, the man you had waited for was already there.

—--------------------------

Shifting while fully there was a whole new experience. The memories had been one thing, but feeling it—God, feeling it—was something else entirely.

He stretched, muscles rolling beneath thickening fur. It was seamless, effortless, like breathing. But damn, the rush of it. The exhilaration of instinct flooding his veins, of the world sharpening into something more.

His pack was there, shifting beside him, the unspoken bond between them deeper like this. Words had never been enough for this connection. Every flick of an ear, every shift of a muscle meant something language could never quite capture.

Sam nudged against him, a comforting press of warmth. Then the others followed, their scents mingling, their bodies moving in unison. They lifted their heads, howling to the moon. A song of welcoming, of acceptance, of family.

Jess nudged against his side. Their song changed, shifting to weave her into it, an unspoken recognition. She was being welcomed, too.

Dean howled in return, then a short bark before he took off—toward their place. The place that has been as much a part of his life as shifting itself. Tonight, for the first time, he would get to see you through his wolf’s eyes. Experience it.

The night air carried the scents of home, woodsmoke and pine mixing with the subtle traces of the pack that had worked the land. He could still smell them in the disturbed earth, the faint musk of hands smoothing over freshly carved wood. The effort put into something that mattered.

The fence was gone.

The barrier that had once divided this place, the invisible line where he had stopped and you had stood just beyond, no longer existed. In its place stood an archway of intertwined wood, polished and sealed, its craftsmanship careful, deliberate. On either side, a bench sat with space between them—five feet, just enough to let a choice be made. Lanterns hung on either side, their glow casting flickering shadows over the clearing.

His wolf’s ears flicked forward, eyes scanning every inch of it, but his chest ached in a way that wasn’t purely instinct. This wasn’t just a place anymore. It was a piece of both your stories, shaped by hands that understood what it meant without ever being told.

A shift in the air made his breath hitch.

You were coming.

And for the first time, he saw you—all of you.

You moved through the trees, quiet but undeniable. But something deeper stirred in him as he watched, something that reached beyond the physical.

Your form blurred, not in reality, but for his eyes only. Something held for your true mate, him.

Your wolf walked with you. Superimposed like a ghost, its coat the deepest black, darker than the night sky stretched above him. Its eyes—your eyes—burned with a blue so deep it felt endless, like the ocean at its most unfathomable depths.

Dean exhaled, slow and reverent.

She was always mine. I was always hers.

He had felt this bond before—the day he met you. But seeing you like this, both the woman and the wolf, woven together in a way he hadn’t known was possible, made something inside him settle. This was how his wolf had always known you, how it had always seen you.

He felt everything his wolf had every night the two of you had met before. The bond his wolf felt from the first night he shifted. But seeing your wolf with his own eyes…

God, you were breathtaking.

And it only steeled his resolve of claiming you once this full moon descended for another month. Two more nights, that’s all I have to wait.

—----------------------------

Before you ever quite made it to that spot, the glow from lanterns caught your eye. The was… unexpected. You knew the pack elders had discussed removing the fence, but that was all you’d been privy to. As you stepped past the ancient stump, your breath hitched.

The fence was gone. In its place stood a beautifully crafted archway, built from wood taken from both lands—woven together, seamless, like something that had always been meant to exist. And beneath it, waiting, stood your mate.

A sharp inhale stung your lungs, emotions surged too fast to separate—relief, joy, longing, something deeper you didn’t have a name for. Your throat tightened, but you smiled through it, letting a few quiet tears slip free.

His wolf no longer just beneath the surface, no longer something separate from him, but fully, completely part of him. His stance was the same, familiar and steady, but his presence felt… different. Stronger. More complete. His eyes—God, his eyes—were no longer just his own. Something deeper lived there now, something you could only describe as home.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, exhaling softly before whispering the words you had always greeted him with.

“Hi, wolf.”

Dean couldn’t move. His paws rooted in place, those two simple words settling deep in his chest, wrapping around his soul. A familiar lopsided grin spread across his open mouth, his tongue hanging slightly as he held your gaze.

You knelt on the earth before him, setting the sweats on the bench, but his eyes were on you.

Then, without hesitation, he licked your cheek, a warm, grounding touch before he pressed into you—his head tucking into the curve of your neck, his chest flush with yours. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, sinking into the embrace.

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like hours, in the comfort of each other, even if it wasn’t more than a few minutes. Then, Dean shifted back to human form, still holding you close. It was something his wolf had wanted to do on so many nights.

When you tried to shift to reach for the sweats, he stopped you, his hand curling gently around your wrist. Your eyes met his, the weight of something unspoken passing between you.

“I wasn’t sure it was possible to love you more than I already did,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with emotion. He reached up, cupping your cheek, nuzzling his nose against the side of yours. “But seeing you tonight, under the full moon…”

Dean let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t the bond of being true mates. It wasn’t the bond from you claiming him. It was something more.

It was the way that you had fallen in love with him without any of those things. He just wasn’t sure how to put that into words.

Dean exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek before he finally pulled back just enough to take you in. His gaze flickered over to the folded sweats on the bench, something soft crossing his expression.

“You brought these for me?” he asked, reaching for them. His voice was quieter now, like the weight of everything was finally settling in.

You nodded, watching as he unfolded them, his thumb grazing the fabric. It was such a simple thing, but the care behind it hit him deep. No one had ever thought about moments like this for him before—not like you did.

He tugged them on, the warmth of the gesture lingering as he stood beside you. That’s when you took in the benches—new, sturdy, built for moments like this. Curiosity got the better of you, and as you lifted the seat, you found a couple of neatly folded blankets inside, with a few other miscellaneous things.

A surprised laugh left your lips. “Looks like they thought of everything.” Dean huffed a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Pretty sure that between our two packs, there’s nothing we can’t figure out.”

You pulled out a blanket and draped it over the two of you as you sat close together, the night settling around you. The silence stretched, not awkward, just… full.

Dean glanced over, something flickering behind his eyes. “Can you—” He hesitated for a beat before pushing through. “Can you talk to me?”

You turned to him, brows lifting in question.

“Like you used to,” he clarified, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “When I was—when it was just my wolf.”

The request sent a deep warmth curling through your chest.

So you did.

You spoke softly, just like before, about the things over the last month he hadn’t been there for. How you and Jess stayed up late, eating ice cream while she rambled about Sam, her words laced with a kind of teenage giddiness that made you tease her like sisters did. How you’d laughed together, but also how you’d struggled—how the weight of your mutation still pressed against you in ways you didn’t always know how to process.

Dean sat still, barely breathing, as if afraid that if he moved, the moment would slip away. His fingers curled over yours beneath the blanket, grounding himself in your presence, in your voice, in the feeling of finally hearing what his wolf had always known.

It wasn’t hard to share those things with him. This was different. The way he held you close, anchoring you as you did him, eased the tension from your body. It allowed you to lean into him more—let you breathe.

A shaky breath left your lips. “I’m scared,” you whispered, pausing as you tried to find the right words.

You weren’t scared of him. Not in the least.

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face, but he didn’t push. He simply stayed, patient, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over your knuckles.

“Of how things will change for me,” you admitted, your voice quiet, distant—like the thoughts were unraveling in real time. “I’ve never had any sort of connection to my wolf. I’ve never shifted.”

Dean tightened his hold just slightly, placing a kiss on the top of your head, warm and reassuring. “I’ll be right there,” he murmured, voice steady, certain. “You won’t be alone.”

The silence that settled between you wasn’t empty. It was full—of warmth, of unspoken understanding, of something neither of you had the words for but felt all the same. The night stretched on, the full moon casting its glow over the clearing, over the archway that stood where the fence once was, over the two of you wrapped together beneath the blanket.

Dean exhaled slowly, his grip on you steady but gentle. This—you—was what he had been missing all those years, and now that he had you like this, he wasn’t sure how he had ever convinced himself to not go figure out who you were years ago. The ache of all that lost time should have weighed on him, but it didn’t. Not really. Not now. Because for the first time, there was no distance. No waiting, no wondering if the wolf inside him would ever be whole. He was whole. And so was this.

His wolf had always known you. Had always loved you. And now, Dean understood.

He let out a quiet sigh, brushing his lips over your temple before settling his chin atop your head. “Feels like this is how it was always supposed to be,” he murmured.

You hummed softly in agreement, fingers still tangled with his beneath the blanket. Because it did. Despite everything that had changed—despite the shift in knowing, in understanding, in being—there was still something so familiar about it. Like finding your way back to a place you’d always belonged, even if you hadn’t realized you’d left.

You tipped your head slightly, just enough to glance up at him. “Still feels like you,” you whispered.

Dean smiled, something soft and easy, something that settled deep in his chest. “Still am me.”

But better. Stronger. Whole.

And with you beside him, he had everything he’d ever needed.

The night pressed on, but neither of you moved to leave, content to stay wrapped in this quiet, in each other, for as long as time would allow.

However, when the moon had dipped low, signaling the coming dawn, you let out a sigh. “It’s time.”

Dean groaned but couldn’t argue. He knew it would come eventually. Slipping the blanket off his shoulders, he stood, your gaze following. “You know,” he smirked, teasing the waistband of his sweats. “If you wanted to see me naked again, all you had to do was ask.”

Warmth flooded your cheeks as you ducked your head, instantly averting your eyes. He laughed, the sound deep and playful.

The rustling of fabric was the only warning you got before something soft and warm smacked into your face. You yelped, flailing as you yanked the sweats off your head, only to find Dean grinning at you like a damned Chesire cat.

“You ass,” you huffed, chucking them right back at him. He dodged easily, his laughter rolling through the clearing like the last echoes of the night.

“You love it,” he shot back, still all smug amusement as he took a slow step back.

Your breath hitched, the playful moment slipping into something quieter, heavier, as his smirk softened into something more familiar—something knowing.

And then, right before your eyes, Dean let go.

You had seen him as a wolf plenty of times, but never like this. Never the moment of change, the shift between man and wolf. You weren’t even sure what you had expected—pain? Hesitation?—but there was none. Only fluidity, like a breath of wind, like the natural order of things aligning just as they should.

Bones reshaped, fur rippled into existence, and in the span of a heartbeat, Dean was gone. In his place stood a wolf, like you had always seen him, golden-brown fur illuminated by the dim glow of the lanterns, green eyes staring back at you, steady and sure.

Your lips parted, a stunned breath leaving you as the weight of it hit you. Jess had explained shifting to you before, but seeing it for yourself was something else entirely.

Dean’s wolf huffed, tilting his head slightly, that familiar teasing glint still dancing in his eyes.

And just like that, the spell broke.

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms, his sweats dangling from one hand. “Show-off.”

The wolf chuffed, then took a step closer, bumping his nose against your arm in something that was equal parts affectionate and smug.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, unable to help the small smile tugging at your lips as your fingers found their way into his fur. “You should get back. They’ll want to hear about your night. Come by after.”

Your voice softened as you crouched in front of him. Then, just as you had every other night of the full moon, you placed a kiss on his muzzle. “Good night, wolf,” you murmured.

Dean huffed, a warmth lingering in his gaze before he did what he always did—licked your cheek with a quick swipe of his tongue, like a playful promise. Then, with one last lingering look, he turned and bounded off toward his pack’s cabins.

You watched him go, the smile still lingering on your lips. With a quiet exhale, you turned to tidy up the blanket, tucking it neatly under the bench before heading to your cabin in the opposite direction.

—----------------------------

Sunlight streamed through the cabin’s windows, casting golden streaks across the wooden floor. The air was cool, bringing the anticipation of fall. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen, rich and familiar, but your mind was elsewhere. You curled your hands around the warm mug, letting the heat sink into your palms as you sat at the small table near the window, gaze unfocused on the tree line beyond.

Two days.

In forty-eight hours, Dean would claim you.

You swallowed, the thought settling deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. Not out of fear—no, there was no fear in this, no doubt, not when it came to him—but out of the sheer weight of knowing. The inevitability of it. The finality. The way it would change everything, even though you had been moving toward this moment since that night when you were fourteen, when you sang to the moon, and he had answered.

A shaky breath left your lips. You took a slow sip of your coffee, trying to ground yourself, to find steadiness in the warmth and ritual.

Jess was still with Sam on Winchester land, which meant you had the morning to yourself—to think, to process, to feel everything. You weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Jess had a way of making things clearer, even if her bluntness sometimes made you want to chuck a pillow at her face.

Your fingers curled tighter around the mug as your mind drifted back to last night, to the way Dean had looked at you before he shifted. The raw openness of it. The trust. The way it had done something to you, something that made your lungs feel too small and your heart beat too fast.

It wasn’t even about the claiming process, of you giving yourself to him completely. That alone would have been enough to shake most people—being in their mid-twenties and never having been with someone, only to have the first time to also be the time they were claimed.

It was everything else.

The scents—new and undiscovered. The ones you had never been able to perceive, the world that had existed beyond your reach for so long. Everyone had their own unique scent, and soon, for the first time in your life, you would truly know them. Not through logic or deduction, but through something primal, something instinctual.

Then there was her.

Your wolf. The part of you that had been silenced before she ever had a chance to be. The part your mutation had buried, forcing you to live as something else, something incomplete. She would wake up the morning after that, and you had no idea what that would mean.

What would my wolf feel? What would she think? Did she have memories of my life? Could she see everything, like being behind a barrier in my mind, only able to watch?

You exhaled slowly, curling your fingers around the mug, searching for the grounding its warmth refused to provide.

Another slow sip. Another deep breath.

You weren’t afraid. You were apprehensive.

Far too many questions, and no answers. These were the things the files hadn’t contained. The things you needed to know. The things you would put in your book for others.

That thought was enough to pull you from your spiral.

You stood, mug in hand, and moved toward the living room where your desk sat near a window. Sliding into the seat, you set the mug down on a well-worn wooden coaster and opened your laptop. Then, you wrote.

You let it all spill onto the screen—every question that refused to leave your mind. Every worry. Every doubt.

Because knowing something wasn’t the same as experiencing it. And the worst part? The stories, the warnings, the things meant to prepare you… they only made it harder. Because now, they played on repeat in your head.

—---------------------

The next two days passed in a blur of keystrokes and quiet moments.

You spent hours at your desk, pouring your thoughts into the document—trying to process, trying to make sense of what was coming. Writing had always been a way to clear your head, to take something overwhelming and make it tangible. But no matter how many words you typed, nothing could prepare you for what you had never known.

Dean stopped by around the same time each morning, lingering in the doorway or settling onto the couch until you closed your laptop and joined him. He never pushed, never asked for more than you were willing to give, but his presence was grounding. Comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

He could smell it—the quiet strain threatening through your scent. The subtle undercurrent of unease that clung to your skin despite your best efforts to keep it at bay. And though he never called attention to it, you could tell he was watching you closely. Making sure you were okay.

You did your best to be.

With Jess away on Winchester land, spending the full moon with Sam for the first time since they had claimed each other, the house felt quieter than usual. You missed her. Missed the easy conversation, the way she could fill a room with warmth just by being in it. But at the same time, you were happy for her. This was something she had waited her whole life for. Something you had never quite understood—wouldn’t understand, not yet.

The nights stretched long, spent with Dean at the archway, at the place that had always belonged to the two of you. For some of the night, he stayed in wolf form, the two of you just cuddling while you talked to him like you used to. He noticed it was easier for you that way—easier to say things out loud.

The other half of the time, he was in human form, holding you close, making quiet mental notes of all the little things he could do to help ease the stress you couldn’t quite keep out of your scent. The stress of the unknown.

“I’ll be by to pick you up around ten,” he murmured, mere hours before sunrise on the last night of the full moon.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm your nerves, as even his presence wasn’t enough anymore. “I’ll be ready,” you whispered, not trusting your voice not to break if you spoke any louder.

Dean gave you one final hug, holding you close for a moment longer than necessary before pulling away. He smiled softly down at you, placing a tender kiss on your cheek. Then, he shifted before bounding back in the direction of his cabin.

Nervous goosebumps accompanied you on the walk back, the spiraling questions in your head refusing to settle. Even as you ascended the porch steps, pushed open the front door, and climbed the stairs to your room, they only got louder.

Standing at the foot of your bed, the room still dark, you began packing, your movements slow. Typically, you would take a nap, get at least a little rest. But your mind wasn’t going to let that happen.

So you moved on autopilot, gathering your things. A few toiletries, comfortable clothes, your journal—just in case—and all those miscellaneous things on your mental list.

This would be the first time you would be at Dean’s cabin. The first time you crossed that threshold, knowing you wouldn’t leave the same.

You swallowed hard, exhaling slowly as you ran your fingers over the strap of your bag, now fully packed and waiting.

I should eat something.

Pushing past the tangle of thoughts, you grabbed your bag and carried it downstairs, setting it on the couch before heading into the kitchen. Another shaky breath and you were going through the fridge for something simple, but nothing looked even remotely appetizing. So instead, you made a fresh pot of coffee and sat at your desk, typing.

The sun rose, but you didn’t notice.

The minutes stretched into hours, but you didn’t notice that either.

Not until the front door opened.

Dean cleared his throat, and the sound shattered the haze of your thoughts. Slowly, you looked up, meeting his eyes just as the emotions swelled, threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He was by your side in a heartbeat, gently pulling you up and against him. “I’m scared,” you whispered, fighting past the lump in your throat.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual. “You won’t be alone, I promise.”

----------------------------------------- Chapter 14 - coming soon

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writerstruggle · 10 months ago

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i don't know what canon is. just tumblr and ao3 ❤️

#fanfiction #ao3 funny #ao3 #reader memes #bucky barnes x reader #billy butcher x reader #kylo ren x rey #homelander x reader #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader

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alexsoenomel · 5 months ago

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POV: Texts from Dean

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thirdsaltyhunter · 6 months ago

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If I Catch You

Dean Winchester x female!Reader

Summary: Dean chasing you through the halls of the bunker in a ghostface mask, what more do you need

Warning: SMUT, if I catch you I f*ck you trope, mask k*nk, choking, praise, edging, manhandling

A/N: did I forget to post this yesterday cause I was to busy partying... yes but hopefully you'll enjoy this enough to forgive me

You had always loved Halloween even despite being a hunter. It brought back the happy memories from your childhood, when there were no worries, the monsters were only people in masks and the good guys always won at the end of every scary movie. Dean shared your appreciation for the holiday. Even before you and him started dating, you would often spend Halloween nights curled up on motel beds, watching horror marathons with all the snacks and sugar you could handle. Sam on the other hand didn't see the appeal. Sometimes he would join you in your movie watching, but it was mostly to appease you and avoid ridicule from Dean.

This year you and your boyfriend had the bunker all to yourself. Sam had chosen to spend the night with Eileen and leave the two of you to your festivities.

The empty bunker allowed the perfect opportunity for you and Dean to play out a fantasy that you had talked about a few nights before, when you were cuddled up bingeing the Scream franchise.

"Ghostface is hot," you blurted randomly in the middle of the movie. You mostly said this to see his reaction, but there was a hint of truth to your statement.

"Why?" he said in utter confusion. He paused the movie and looked down at you in his arms.

You shrugged. "I don't know masked men are just hot."

"Masked men?" he tried to hide the hint of amusement.

"Oh yeah, it's a real popular thing now. I can show you all the thirst trap videos."

"Yeah I don't need to see that."

You laughed at his look of disgust before he continued.

"So what your saying is that I need to get a Ghostface mask, hm?" he said with a smirk.

"I mean I wouldn't mind, have you chase me through the halls in it." You tilted your head back to face him, your lips almost touching.

"What happens when I catch you?", he asked with a devious smile, his hold on you tightening slightly.

"You'll have to find out," you responded, your voice sultry and teasing.

"I think that can be arranged."

One costume store purchase later and you found yourself in only a set of sexy underwear, standing in the empty hallway. The concrete floor was cool under your bare feet, but your racing pulse kept you from being cold.

Dean had given you a head start before he would try to come and find you. Your excitement was growing. He wasn't going to chase you, if it came down to a sprint race, Dean would win every time. No, he was going to hunt you. You knew this made the game more even, but you also knew that he was crafty and smart. Though in all honesty you wanted to be caught, you were just going to be a little tease before you let him find you.

You had just rounded the corner by the kitchen, when the power went out, causing the bunker's red emergency lights to come on.

Nice touch, you thought.

You heard his voice echo through the hall, signaling that he was coming to find you. Your adrenaline was pumping. Not out of fear, you knew Dean would never hurt you, but out of anticipation for what would happen when he found you.

You slipped into kitchen looking for a spot to hide. Unsatisfied with the spots, you head to the library. You hid in the far corner behind one of the shelves and waited. You listened for his footsteps but heard nothing, years of hunting had trained him to be light on his feet. When you finally heard his voice call your name he was much closer than you expected. He purposefully stepped heavy coming up the stairs from the War Room, his boots thudding against the stone.

You took the opportunity to dart out the door in the back of the library. The bookcase blocked you from his view, but he definitely heard the door shut. You bolted down the back hall, heart pounding as you rounded the corner just as the door opened behind you.

Quietly you slipped into one of the bedrooms and hid under the bed. You listened until his footsteps passed the door and went down the hall. Crawling out from your hiding spot, you checked to make sure the hall was empty before sprinting the opposite direction.

As you ran past the next hall you saw him rounding the other end. You picked up the pace, knowing he had seen you. You turned the next corner and stopped, pressing your back against the cool tile wall to catch your breath. When you decided the coast was clear you went to move to the next hall, when an arm wrapped around your middle, you back pinned to his chest.

You tried to wriggle from his grasp just making it free when you stumbled. You caught yourself, but his hand caught your ankle dragging you across the polished concrete floor and pulling you under him.

He rolled you over and you came face to face with the black eyes and long mouth of the mask, illuminated by the red glow of the lights. This was the first time you had actually seen him in the mask and it was even hotter than you imagined. When he pinned your hands above your head you knew you weren't getting away.

"Gotcha," he growled.

"What are you going to do with me now?" you said through panting breaths, partially from running, partially from how incredibly turned on you were right now.

"You'll have to find out," he responded before using one hand to pull his belt from his jean and loop it around your wrists.

Ok that was hot.

When your hands were secured, he stood up scooping you up off the floor and tossing you over his shoulder, delivering a quick smack to your ass before walking toward your shared bedroom. It wasn't often that he manhandled you like this and you were loving every second of it.

When you got to the bedroom, he tossed you onto the bed and straddled your legs. He hooked two fingers into the belt around your wrists.

"You want this to stay on?" he asked.

You nodded eagerly. Even being dominant and aggressive, he never wanted to push you limits, solely focused on giving you what you wanted.

"Stay," he ordered, getting up from the bed to strip down to his boxers, leaving the mask in place.

You watched him with lust blown eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you admired his body. He moved to the end of the bed, grabbing your ankle and pulling you to the end. Your underwear was pulled down your legs and tossed over his shoulder. He wrapped you legs around his hips and you could feel his clothed erection. You moaned grinding down on him until his arm crossed you hips, holding you still.

He ran two finger through your slick. '"So wet for me. Is this just from me chasing you?"

You nodded again.

He lowered to his knee, his masked face coming level with your dripping cunt. Two of his fingers dipped into you, immediately curling into the spot that made your back arch and your knees weak. Your head fell back letting the pleasure wash over you.

From the box under the bed, he pulled out your vibrator. He planned to torture you tonight.

"Don't cum until I'm inside you. Do you understand me?" he said turning the toy to the lowest setting and pressing it to your clit.

"Yes," you moaned, hands gripping the sheet above your head. You didn't know how long you were going to last. You were already on the edge of release and he had hardly touched you yet.

As you got close he removed the vibrator, running his hand up your thighs and squeezing your hips to sooth you. You whined and looked at him between you legs. You tried to give him your best puppy eyes, but you couldn't see his expression. You only were met with the blank stare of the mask and the vibrations returning to your sensitive cunt.

He continued teasing you, edging you another four or five times. You hated it and loved it at the same time. It amazed you how he knew exactly where to keep you on edge, or at least it would amaze you, if there was a single part of your brain that could think straight.

"Dean," you whined again, desperate for release.

"Beg for it," he responded sternly, fingers dipping inside you again.

"Please, fuck me." You squirmed, you didn't know if you wanted to get away from he sensation or fuck yourself on his fingers.

He sped up his motions and leaned over you body until he was face to face with you. You could just barely see his eyes, but you knew he was watching you fall into ecstasy.

"Please," you begged.

He removed his fingers and dropped his boxers. His cock was thick and dripping precum, edging you had teased him almost equally as much. He pulled your hips even closer to the edge of the bed and hooked your shaking legs over his shoulders. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he slid into you, filling you completely.

He watched your face as your head fell back in pleasure, a loud moan escaping your lips.

"That's my girl," he praised, running his hands up and down your sides, desperately trying to keep himself together.

He started thrusting into you, slow, but so deep you could hardly take it.

"Look at me," he said, his hand came up to circle around your throat to put your attention back on him.

Your eyes opened to watch as he fucked you. You could see a blush of exertion creeping down his neck from under the mask. He gently added pressure to the sides of your throat as the speed of his hips increased.

Your hands reached for him as you got closer to falling apart. Noticing how close you were, he started to circle your clit with his thumb. You came with cry of his name, your hand gripping his forearm, his hand loosening from your throat, causing you to feel almost high.

He planted his hand beside your head as his hips stuttered and he came with a deep moan. You both stilled for a few minutes, panting and trying to regain your bearings.

After a moment, he gently pulled out to go get a towel to clean up your combined mess. You squirmed from the sensitivity as he wiped you down. He whispered an apology before tossing the rag and undoing the belt from your wrists.

Finally removing the mask, he ran a hand down his face and smiled down at you. It was funny to see him have that boyish grin after playing the sexy, dangerous slasher for the past hour. He lifted you up to place you at the top of the bed against the pillows.

"That was awesome," he said, laying down beside you and wrapping you in his arms.

"Yeah it was, I fucking love you." You laughed and buried your head in his neck.

"I love you too sweetheart, and I love that I can do things like this with you."

You nodded in agreement before you started to feel how worn out you were.

Both of you were exhausted from your activities and quickly fell asleep, deciding to take a nap before settling down for a night of Halloween movies and junk food.

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maddie0101 · 3 days ago

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『 chapter six 』

꧁ summary: after finally confessing your feelings for each other, you and dean wake up, only to realize you’re still stuck in the roaring twenties. the two of you return to find the mysterious man harrington sent you to see—hoping for answers.

꧁ tag/warnings: FLUFF, dean thinks he's in a dream, time travel, cute and happy ending.

꧁ word count: 3.7k

series masterlist previous chapter

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth—his warmth.

Dean was wrapped around you, his bare chest pressed against your back, his arm draped lazily over your waist, holding you close like he had no intention of letting go. His steady breaths fanned against your neck, and the rhythm of his heartbeat against your skin was the most comforting thing in the world.

A slow, blissful smile spread across your face as last night came rushing back. The stolen glances, the confession, the way his lips had claimed yours with so much love, so much want, it had knocked the breath from your lungs. The way he whispered your name like it was sacred, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever had in his arms.

And now, here you were. Wrapped up in him. Loved by him. Your heart swelled in your chest, and you couldn’t help but shift slightly, just enough to turn and face him.

Dean stirred, a low hum rumbling in his chest as his hold on you tightened. His eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and when his gaze landed on you, a slow, lazy smile spread across his lips.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough and warm, like gravel and honey.

You bit your lip, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Morning.”

Dean let out a soft chuckle, shifting onto his back, but he didn’t let you go. Instead, he tugged you against his chest, cradling you close as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You melted into him instantly, resting your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his bare skin. Everything felt soft, slow, easy—like you had all the time in the world.

His hand ran up and down your back in soothing strokes, and you could feel him looking at you, but you kept your eyes closed, just soaking in the moment.

“Can’t believe this is real,” he finally said, voice quiet. “Feels like a dream.”

You smiled against his skin. “It’s real.” You lifted your head just enough to look at him. “We’re real.”

Dean’s gaze softened, something deep and tender swimming in his green eyes. He cupped your cheek, running his thumb across your skin as he studied you, like he was memorizing every detail. “Yeah,” he whispered, before leaning in and pressing the softest, slowest kiss to your lips.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate like last night—it was full of warmth. It was love. It was Dean pouring everything he felt into you without a single word.

You sighed against his mouth, deepening the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. Dean groaned softly, smiling into the kiss before pulling back just enough to press his forehead against yours. “You know you’re never gettin’ rid of me now, right?”

You grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He chuckled, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you, his arms bracketing you in. His expression turned playful, but there was still so much love in his eyes, it made your breath catch.

“Well, that’s good,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose. “Because I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget how much I love you.”

Your heart nearly burst right then and there “Promise?” you whispered.

Dean smirked. “Promise.” His lips hovered over yours for a moment longer, like he was reluctant to pull away, but then he sighed and pressed one last lingering kiss to your forehead before rolling onto his back.

“We should probably get up,” you murmured, even though you didn’t want to move.

Dean groaned dramatically. “Or… we could stay right here. All day. Forever, even.”

You laughed, pushing yourself up on your elbows to look at him. “As tempting as that sounds, we still need to get back home. Remember?”

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.” He glanced over at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. “But you’re makin’ it real damn hard to care about anything but you right now.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you shook your head with a smirk. “C’mon, Winchester. Up and at ‘em.”

You threw the blanket off and immediately regretted it as the cool air kissed your bare skin. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you shivered and quickly slid off the bed to grab the dress you wore at the gala.

Dean’s eyes shamelessly followed you as you moved, and you could practically feel the heat of his gaze tracing every inch of you.

“Eyes up here,” you teased, turning just in time to catch him staring.

Dean grinned unapologetically. “Not my fault you’re the best thing I’ve ever seen first thing in the morning.”

Your heart flipped in your chest, but you rolled your eyes playfully and turned away to get dressed. “You better get up before I leave your ass behind.”

Dean groaned dramatically again but finally dragged himself out of bed. As you slipped into the dress, you caught a glimpse of him stretching—muscles flexing, golden skin on display and you quickly turned away before you got too distracted.

The two of you got dressed and the moment felt strangely normal, like you were just a couple getting ready for another day in a life that wasn’t yours. Once Dean was fully dressed, he glanced at you and smirked. “Damn. You look good.”

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your dress, arching a brow. “Think I’ll turn heads?”

Dean’s jaw ticked. “Oh, you’ll turn heads. But if any bastard so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll break his damn nose.”

You snorted. “Possessive much?”

Dean shrugged, stepping closer and tugging you into his arms. His voice dropped into that low, rough timbre that always sent shivers down your spine. “Damn right.”

Before you could say anything, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and slow, like he wanted to make sure you felt every ounce of what he was giving you. And when he finally pulled back, you were breathless. “We really gotta go,” you murmured, voice slightly dazed.

Dean grinned. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You both made your way out of the hotel and into the streets of the city, the early morning already beginning to pick up. You navigated the crowded sidewalks, the energy of the roaring twenties pulsing all around you as you made your way to mystery guy's place. (The one who Harrington sent you and Dean to) By the time you reached his office, Dean knocked twice before stepping inside without waiting for an answer. The guy, who was hunched over his desk with a cigarette between his fingers, barely glanced up before exhaling a slow stream of smoke.

“You’re back,” he said, voice dry. “Figured I’d never see you two again.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, well, we’re not that easy to get rid of.”

The guy gave a dry chuckle, tapping his cigarette against the edge of an ashtray. “Clearly.” His gaze flickered between the two of you, sharp and assessing. “So? You got it or not?”

You stepped forward, crossing your arms. “We got it.”

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold watch and the moment it was exposed to the dim light of the office, something about it seemed to pulse, as if alive.

The guy leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he examined it. “Well, I’ll be damned. You actually pulled it off.”

Dean scoffed. “Was there ever any doubt?”

The stranger, who you still hadn't learned his name yet, huffed—reaching for the relic, but Dean pulled it back before he could grab it. “Ah, ah,” Dean warned. “We didn’t go through all that trouble just to have you snatch this thing and send us on our merry way without a damn clue. How do we use it?”

The guy leaned back, lips twitching with amusement. “Relax, Winchester. I wouldn’t screw you over. Not when you actually managed to get the damn thing.”

You shot him a look. “Then start talking.”

With a sigh, the guy stubbed out his cigarette and opened the worn leather-bound book on his desk. He flipped through a few pages before stopping and jabbing his finger at a passage. “This,” he said, tilting the book toward you both. “This is what you need.”

You and Dean leaned in, scanning the aged text. The words were written in a mix of Latin and something even older, but the meaning was clear enough.

Dean let out a low whistle. “So, we need to activate the watch at the exact place we landed when we got here?”

Harrington nodded. “That’s right. Time isn’t just about the when—it’s about the where. You need to be at the same spot, and when the hands on that watch hit midnight, you press the dial.”

You frowned. “That’s it? That seems… easy.”

The guy chuckled, shaking his head. “Easy? Doll, getting the watch was the easy part. Now, you gotta make sure nothing screws up the transition.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

The man hesitated just a beat too long. “Look, there are always risks with this kind of thing. Time doesn’t like to be messed with, and you two? You’re not supposed to be here. When you activate that watch, it’ll tear a hole to send you back. But if something interferes—if the timing is off, if you’re not in the right place, or if someone else tries to use it—you might not end up where you’re supposed to.”

Your stomach twisted. “Meaning?”

The guy exhaled slowly. “Meaning, you could land in the wrong year. The wrong decade. Hell, you could end up stuck in the time stream with no way out.”

Dean tensed beside you. “Well, that’s fucking fantastic.”

You swallowed hard, gripping your arms. “So we have one shot.”

The man only nodded. “That’s right. You gotta be at the exact location at exactly midnight. No delays. No screw-ups.”

Dean clenched his jaw, staring at the relic in his hand. “Midnight, our original landing spot. Got it.”

You exhaled, heart pounding. This was it. The way home. The way back to your real lives. The guy leaned back in his chair, watching you both. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Dean’s hand brushed against yours, just for a second. A small, almost unnoticeable touch. You met his gaze, and in that moment, you both knew—there was no turning back.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. We’re ready.”

The clock tower in the distance struck midnight. You and Dean stood exactly where you had first landed in this time—an abandoned alleyway just on the outskirts of the city’s nightlife. The streets were quieter now, save for the occasional sound of distant jazz music floating through the air.

Dean gripped the pocket watch tightly, his jaw set with determination. “Alright,” he murmured, exhaling a slow breath. “This is it.”

You swallowed, nodding. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on you. Going home. Back to the present. Back to the life you’d left behind. Back to the life where you and Dean weren’t tangled up in stolen kisses and whispered confessions in the dead of night.

He must’ve felt the shift in your mood because his green eyes flicked to yours. “You okay?”

You forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just… can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

Dean hesitated, then reached out, taking your hand. His palm was warm, steady. “Me neither.” The gravity of the moment settled between you. There were no do-overs. No second chances. One wrong move, and you could end up lost in time forever.

Dean turned his focus back to the relic. The watch’s hands ticked closer to twelve.

10 seconds. His grip on your hand tightened.

8 seconds. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

5 seconds. Dean met your eyes one last time.

3… 2…

Midnight.

He pressed the dial and the air around you shifted violently. A sudden force pulled at your bodies, like being yanked by an invisible current. Wind roared in your ears. The alley blurred, warping into streaks of gold and white light. Your breath caught in your throat as everything twisted, the world tilting beneath your feet.

Dean’s grip on your hand never wavered. “Hold on to me!” he shouted over the chaos.

You clung to him as the light engulfed you both, pulling you into the unknown.

A bright flash of light filled the bunker, illuminating the walls of the library in an unnatural glow. The sudden shift from nothingness to solid ground nearly sent you stumbling, but Dean’s grip on your hand kept you steady.

Breathless, you blinked against the brightness, your heart racing. The familiar scent of old books and gun oil hit you like a wave of nostalgia.

You were back.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed beside you. His green eyes scanned the room, and his lips slowly stretched into a relieved grin. “We did it. We’re home.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Sam strolled into view, holding a steaming cup of coffee, his expression relaxed—until he caught sight of the blinding light and the two of you standing there in your 1920s clothes, still clutching hands like you were afraid to let go.

He froze mid-step and brows furrowed with his mouth opened slightly as he stared. You and Dean were still breathless, wide-eyed, looking like you had just stepped out of a damn time machine—which, technically, you had.

Sam blinked. “Uh… what the hell?”

Dean let out a breathless chuckle. “Heya, Sammy.”

Sam’s gaze dragged over the both of you, from the vintage clothing to your tangled hair, to the way you’d just casually appeared out of thin air.

“What…” Sam started, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “Where the hell did you just come from? And what are you wearing?”

Dean smirked, glancing down at himself. His suspenders had slipped off his shoulders at some point, and his dress shirt was rumpled. You were still in your elegant gown, the hem slightly dirty from running through the city streets the night before.

“Long story,” you murmured, running a hand through your hair.

Dean turned back to Sam, all humor dropping from his face. “How long have we been gone?”

Sam squinted at him. “Gone? Dude, you were in your room last night. I figured you were just sleeping in.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait—last night?”

Sam nodded, taking a sip of his coffee like this was just a normal Thursday morning. “Yeah. It’s been, what? One night?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “One night?” His voice went up slightly, and he gestured between the two of you. “Sammy, we were stuck in the fucking 1920s for days.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Days?”

“Yes, days, man!” Dean ran a hand down his face, exasperated. “We barely made it out. There were speakeasies, gangsters, magic watches—shit, I had to wear a goddamn bow tie.”

Sam fought the urge to smirk but failed. “Yeah, I see that.” He motioned toward Dean’s disheveled yet oddly dapper look before glancing at you. “And you look like you just walked out of The Great Gatsby.”

You huffed. “Thanks, Sam.”

Dean crossed his arms. “You didn’t even try looking for us?”

Sam gave him a deadpan look. “I was gonna check on you in the morning.”

Dean’s nostrils flared. “In the morning?” His voice was laced with disbelief. “We were missing for weeks!”

“Yeah, well, here, you were just in your room,” Sam said, shrugging. “I wasn’t exactly worried yet.”

Dean opened his mouth, then shut it, his nostrils flaring again. You could practically see his brain short-circuiting. Before he could launch into another rant, Sam pointed at your joined hands. “So… what’s with this?”

You and Dean immediately let go like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. And Sam’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And why do you two look like you’ve got some serious explaining to do?”

Dean cleared his throat and straightened his shirt. “Like we said—long story.”

Sam smirked. “Uh-huh. And judging by the way you both look, I’m guessing that long story includes—”

Dean cut him off with a glare. “Don’t.”

Sam took another sip of coffee, completely unbothered. “Riiight.” He gestured at the both of you. “Well, why don’t you two get cleaned up, and then maybe you can tell me exactly how you ended up in a speakeasy romance novel.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“Welcome back,” Sam said, grinning as he walked off, leaving you and Dean standing there, still feeling the weight of everything you’d been through.

Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “I need a damn drink.”

You let out a small laugh, nudging his arm as you passed him on your way to the bathroom. “Shower first.”

He turned slightly, eyes following you with that familiar glint. “You offering to join me, sweetheart?” he drawled, voice low and teasing.

You paused, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “Not if you’re gonna call me sweetheart like that.”

Dean smirked. “Like what? Like I mean it?”

Your heart did that stupid thing again—skipping a beat like you were sixteen with a crush instead of covered in blood and dirt from a hunt gone sideways. You rolled your eyes and tried to play it cool, even though you were suddenly very aware of the fact that all you wanted to do was say yes.

So instead, you turned back toward him, one brow raised. “You know what?” you said, voice low, almost casual—like your pulse wasn’t hammering in your throat. “Fine.”

Dean blinked. “Fine?”

You stepped up to him, close enough to smell the sweat and smoke still clinging to his shirt. You reached out, grabbed a fistful of the front of it, and tugged him with you toward the bathroom.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” you muttered without looking back.

Dean followed like a man possessed, stumbling just slightly as a grin broke across his face—one of those rare, boyish ones that lit up every inch of him.

You didn’t stop walking, just kept pulling him down the bunker hallway by the front of his shirt, too wired to sit still, too overwhelmed by the fact that you were actually here. Home. In your time. In one piece. The silence of the bunker felt deafening after the chaos of the 1920s—after the storm, the tension, the close calls, the almosts, the confession, and mind blowing sex—

You reached the bathroom door, shoved it open, and stepped inside, tugging Dean in after you. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he stopped moving.

You turned, about to say something—some dumb joke about the grime on his face or how you never wanted to see another fedora again—but the look in his eyes froze you in place. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was just staring at you, like you weren’t real. Like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

“Dean?”

His hands were on your face before you could get another word out, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that wasn’t careful or clever but—desperate. Raw. Like he’d been holding it in for weeks, months, maybe longer. You gasped against him, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt.

He pulled back just an inch, just enough to look at you, breath ragged. “I thought I was gonna lose you back there,” he whispered, voice rough. “So many goddamn times, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop it.”

You touched his face, gentle now. “But you didn’t. We made it.”

Dean shook his head, a dry laugh slipping out like he didn’t quite believe it. “You dragged me into this bathroom and I’m still waiting for the rug to get pulled out from under me.”

You smiled. “It’s not. We’re here. We’re okay.”

He exhaled hard and leaned his forehead against yours. “If this is a dream, I swear to God—”

“It’s not,” you said softly. “And if it is, I’m not waking you up.”

Dean kissed you again, slower this time but just as intense, hands sliding down your sides like he was memorizing every part of you. Like he needed to.

“You’re not getting rid of me,” you murmured against his lips.

“Good,” he said, breathing you in like air. “Because I’m never letting go again.”

You bumped your nose against his. “You still stink, by the way.”

That got a soft laugh out of him. “Guess I should probably shower, huh?”

You smirked. “Guess you should.”

He arched a brow. “You joining me, or do I have to beg?”

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Only if you say please.”

Dean grinned—full, shamelessly, and stupidly in love. “Please.”

You laughed quietly, something warm blooming in your chest as you reached for the hem of his shirt. “You’re such a sap.”

He stepped closer, letting you tug his shirt up, his hands finding your waist like they were made for it. “Yeah, well… only for you.”

Your movements slowed as the shirt slipped over his head and hit the floor. Suddenly, it wasn’t about the shower or the sex. It was just him. Just you. And the quiet realization that, somehow, after everything, you were here. Together.

His eyes searched yours, softer now. Quieter. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

Dean swallowed, thumb brushing your cheek. “I love you.”

You felt the words before you even said them—like your whole body exhaled. “I love you, too.”

He smiled, but this time it was smaller. The kind of smile that held every unspoken thing he didn’t know how to say. “I know we’re a mess,” he said quietly. “And everything’s always insane, but… I meant it. Back there. I meant all of it.”

You nodded, heart thudding slow and steady beneath his touch. “So did I.”

And then he kissed you, gently, unrushed, like time had finally stopped spinning long enough to let you both breathe.

No pressure.

No fear—

Just the two of you, standing in the bathroom, with warm light and steady hands and the kind of love that felt like home.

author’s note:

well guys, this is the end of the series 🥲 I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing this one!

I am currently working on a soldier boy series rn so it’s taking majority of my time but if you would like to send in a request for dean or soldier boy, don’t be afraid! I won’t be releasing anything ab the sb fic till I have most of the chapters written. :)

— if you’d like to send one in, please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @pressedwater @ladysparkles78 @waynes-multiverse @exansation @darkrose064 @fallingforfictionalmen @jollyhunter @pilotdeanwinchester @kaz-2y5-spn @darling-eos

@illicithallways @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @h8aaz @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @taleofmanyships @megara0224 @remzywashere @cupidzbunny @imsiriuslyreal @jollyhunter @lovelywebber @kimxwinchester @julsvdamxn @tinas111 @blueschevy @acesdiary @bangmechanpls @sapphic-destiel @callsign-ember @ladykitana90

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em-ontv · 7 months ago

Text

Soothe and pamper.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x lover!fem!reader

Summary: it had been a long week of hunting, and Dean said he was fine… until you came in, of course.

Content: fluff, Dean being needy and overdramatic (and clingy), no use of y/n, Sam being the third wheel (kind of)

English is not my first language, sorry if there are any mistakes!

Word count: 653

Dean Winchester was a master at the "I'm fine" act. After years of being on the hunt, he could brush off a rough week like it was second nature. So, when Sam asked if he was okay after their latest exhausting hunt, he just scoffed, as usual.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." Dean said, waving a dismissive hand like he was brushing off a pesky fly, as if he hadn't spent the last seven days chasing after demons across two states.

"Quit worrying, Sammy."

Sam raised an eyebrow but didn't press any further. This was like Dean's default setting—deny, deflect, and pretend like everything was cool, even if he looked like he'd been chewed up and spat out.

But then, you walked into the room.

As soon as Dean caught sight of you, his entire demeanor shifted. The tough-as-nails hunter, who moments ago had been shrugging off his brother's concern, let out an over-the-top groan so loud it echoed through the bunker.

You barely had a chance to say a word before Dean threw himself into your arms like a wounded soldier returning from battle.

"This week—oh, you wouldn't believe it!" He buried his face into your shoulder with a pitiful groan, his voice muffled against your shirt. "It's been so bad, baby. So bad."

You could feel the weight of his body sag against yours, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. He nestled his head into the crook of your neck.

It would've been pathetic if it wasn't so funny.

"I don't know how I made it out alive," Dean continued, pulling back just enough to look at you with wide, puppy-dog eyes, his bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. "The food was nasty, the motel beds were terrible, and don't even get me started on the demons!"

You ran your fingers through his hair as he rambled on, completely lost in the comfort of being with you.

"Do you see this?" He gestured toward his body. "I'm a broken man."

Sam, watching this unfold, rolled his eyes so hard they almost got stuck. "You've gotta be kidding me."

And Dean ignored him completely.

"You're the only one who understands, sweetheart." He whined, clinging onto you like his life depended on it. "Sam's no help, he doesn't get it."

"Dean," you said, struggling to keep a straight face. "You were fine like five seconds ago."

"What are you talking about?" He squeezed you tighter, feigning innocence. "I was just holding it all in. I didn't want to scare Sammy. But now... now I can finally let it all out."

"Uh-huh," you said dryly. "And how much of this is just you wanting to get pampered?"

Dean gasped in mock offense, pulling back to look at you again. "Me? Using my genuine suffering to get pampered? I would never—"

You raised an eyebrow at him.

He hesitated for a second, then smirked. "Okay, maybe a little."

Sam snorted in the background, shaking his head as he headed for the door. "You two are ridiculous," he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.

You sighed, shrugging your shoulders. "Well, what can I do to make it better, Dean?"

He was still leaning heavily into your embrace. "You. Me. Bed. Cuddles... for my emotional well-being, of course."

You smiled slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. "And all your troubles will disappear?"

"Exactly," Dean grumbled, sounding so serious you had to hold back a laugh. "Exactly." He sighed, content now, taking advantage of the situation for all it was worth.

"And if you throw in a back rub, I'll be a whole new man by morning." He added, his lips twitched into a smile.

"Alright, drama queen. But only because I know how hard it is to be you." you laughed softly.

"You're the only one who understands." Dean murmured, his voice filled with gratitude.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester oneshot #spn #supernatural #dean winchester spn #spnfandom #spn fanfic #spnfamily #supernatural family #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 1 year ago

Text

Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family.

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash.

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints.

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping.

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation.

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face.

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed.

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!?

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since.

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example.

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied.

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile.

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you.

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake.

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message.

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound.

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you.

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face.

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him.

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…”

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips.

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement.

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly.

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered.

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again.

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed.

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #dean x reader #by mind empty just fictional people #by jean

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