#undercover bunker

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

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

[jasmines-library]

SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST

All the things on the road so far:

Total count: 38

Last updated: 14 October 2024

⛤ MASTERLIST ⛤

⛤ Hey Jude

Summary: When a demon hunt doesn't go to plan, the Winchesters have to rush to save their little sister. Though to make matters worse, once back home in the safety of the bunker her wound gets infected. With their angel friend MIA, Sam and Dean must battle time to find a way to help their sister.

⛤ Just One Big Headache

Summary: A routine salt 'n' burn takes a nasty turn when the spirit directs its anger towards you, leaving you with a nasty concussion, but not to worry, the Winchesters are there to look after you.

⛤ Spellbound Sickness

Summary: A long and cumbersome witch hunt turns much worse when you begin to develop a high fever; a side effect of the curse she managed to spit out at you. Will the Winchesters find the cure in time?

⛤ Up and Down

Summary: After returning from being tortured by the devil himself, your brain can’t help conjure up its own images which refuse to leave you alone.

⛤ Let It Linger

Summary: after a rough hunt resurfaces some unwanted memories, you slip into your own mind. But Sam is there to help you through it.

⛤ Blood Bag

Summary: you are captured by a group of vamps whilst on a hunt. They take their time trying to kill you, draining you of your blood in an old warehouse. For the Winchesters, it’s a race against time to reach you before something fatal happens.

⛤ Safehouse

Summary: after sustaining an injury on a hunt, you and Dean are forced back to the safehouse, however the wound festers and becomes infected, leaving you very ill. With Cas MIA and without the proper equipment to treat the wound, you are left clinging onto life. (Unknowingly like Hey Jude because I’m stupid and forgot id already done it. It’s slightly different though)

⛤ The Basement

Summary: You are captured alongside your brother Sam by the BMOL. They want something you won't tell them, so they try to force it out of you.

⛤ Hidden on the inside

Summary: During a hunt, you take a nasty hit which at first seems fine, but it's what's hidden deep under the surface that creates a problem. (I get it, i suck and writing summaries.)

⛤ Oh, Baby.

Summary: on the way back from a hunt, an out of control car veers into yours sending it hurtling off of the path and into a tree, leaving you trapped. Too far from the hospital, the Winchesters are left with the task of getting your body from the car as they wait for Cas to arrive.

⛤ Sweet Creature

Summary: When Dean is a Demon, he does something unexpected to you. Since then, you have become withdrawn, refusing to sleep in fear of the images that plague your mind. When you eventually give in and suffer a nightmare, Cas is there to help.

⛤ Sounds Of Someday

Summary: the request pretty much says it all. When you and your brothers split up during an unusual hunt, you get caught and become part of a witch’s ritual, which ends with your life slipping away and your brothers struggling to reach you as you are ripped away from them.

⛤ Devil in Disguise

Summary: After escaping from the cage, Lucifer decides to pay Sam a visit, only he's not there. So he settles on the next best thing: you.

⛤ Black Smoke Rising

Summary: Seeking revenge on the Winchesters, a demon decides to go undercover by using your body as a vessel to sneak into the bunker. Whilst trapped within your own mind, you can only hope that Sam and Dean notice that something is amiss before it is too late.

⛤ Just A Little Complication

Summary: Whilst Dean is in hell, the reader is the only one who can calm Sam down when he gets overwhelmed.

⛤ Knock it off

Summary: whilst at dinner with her family, the reader begins to choke.

⛤ Groundhog Day

Summary: takes place during the episode ‘Mystery Spot’ but instead of Dean dying over and over again, Sam and Dean are forced to watch their sister die repeatedly .

⛤ Sleep Is For The Weak

Summary: With too much to do and not a lot of time to do it, you overwork yourself, missing out on sleep. When your brothers try to get involved, you dismiss them only for you to end up collapsing during a hunt.

⛤ The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester

Summary: Takes place during S5E7 where the reader loses years off of her life to save Dean from a demon deal, however when Sam tried to win her years back, it may already be a little bit too late.

⛤ Dead In The Water

Summary: takes place during S1E3 where the reader ends up in the water with Lucas.

⛤ Dilemma

Summary: When you and your brothers get caught of guard during a werewolf hunt, they are quick to try and blame each other. But little do they know that their bickering might cost you your life.

⛤ Teeth

Summary: Reader gets turned into a vampire

⛤ So close, Yet Too far

Summary: you just really need a hug.

⛤ Hexed

Summary: a hex bag finds its way to you…

⛤ Breathe

Summary: You have an asthma attack.

⛤ Currents Convulsive

Summary: you get electrocuted.

⛤ The Things They Carried

Summary: based on the episode; you get infected by a parasite and have to find a way to get it out.

⛤ Caught Off Guard

Summary: you get attacked by a werewolf and have a panic attack

⛤ Weak immune system

⛤ Motion Sickness

Summary; you get car sick

Double Trouble

summary: you see double

Wendigo

⛤ ‘Tis the Season

Summary: A fluffy one shot where the Winchesters celebrate Christmas.

⛤ A Winchester Surprise

Summary: After years of your birthday being forgotten or consumed by a hunt, your brothers make sure that this one is extra special.

⛤ Time For A Wedding

Summary: Sam and Dean attend the readers wedding.

⛤ Unconditional

Summary: 15 year old Winchester!sister discovers she is a lesbian, and whilst on a date with a girl she sees in a diner she gets harassed by a homophobic boy. When she returns, Sam and Dean comfort her.

⛤ Somebody Told Me

Summary: Sam and Dean give their nervous younger sister dating advice.

⛤ Sick Bug

Summary: When you wake up feeling sick, your big brothers are there to help make you feel better. (Hurt/comfort ish)

⛤ Noodle Soup

Summary: The reader takes care of their sick brothers

⛤ Changes (spn x dc)

Summary: You are sick of Sam and Deans bickering, so you venture to Gotham to hunt some vampires where you meet some very interesting vigilantes.

⛤ Family First

Summary: Sam and Dean show their appreciation for their older sister

⛤ Today I Saw The Whole World

Summary: You are Sam Winchester’s twin sister, cursed with the same blood running through your veins. When Sam begins experiencing his visions, you too discover a new skill. You can see into the veil.

⛤ Bringers Of The Apocalypse (spn x DC Crossove)

Summary: The day Lucifer was freed from the cage was the day your life completely fell apart. You were ripped harshly from the peaceful life you had created for yourself in Gotham when your duty as the horseman of war calls and you are faced with a difficult decision: stay with your family in Gotham and let the apocalypse play out, or give up the ring (and ultimately your life) to go with the Winchester brothers who are searching for you to send Lucifer back to hell and save the world… or perhaps you can find a compromise somewhere inbeteeen.

[supernotnatural2005]

Ain’t no party like a Halloween party.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You convince Dean to attend a halloween party and bring a childhood fantasy to life.

Word count: 2814

Warnings: SMUT! Fluff, Dean is easily manipulated.

AN: Happy halloween guys!!👻 What better way than to celebrate it with our favourite hunter!? 😂 I hope you enjoy some spicy, fun halloween themed times with Dean. Feedback is always welcome! 💕

My Masterlist

“Come on Dean. Please? For me?” You begged your boyfriend one last time.

You had been invited to a halloween party by an old college friend you still kept in touch with. Even though you were a hunter, you felt having a social life was important to, at the least, normalise the insanity a little.

“Don’t you think our lives are scary enough?” Dean groused as he continued his work on Baby. “Why’s this such a big deal to you?” He questioned you over his shoulder as he reached under the hood. You’d been bugging him about it for the last 24 hours, since you got that damn email.

“This is a party full of skanky versions of cute animals and hockey-mask wearing plebs. I don’t think it holds much of a flame to our lives Dean.” You countered. “Besides, it’s good to have fun once in a while.” You shrugged, as if that were obvious.

Dean stood straight and looked at you then, assessing your pout and that doe-eyed-look. The one that usually got him to say yes to anything.

Contemplation. His first mistake. Now all you needed to do was seal the deal. And so you stepped closer to him and slid your hands up his chest and around his neck.

“I promise i’ll make it worth your while.” You whispered, a hairs breadth away from his lips. His eyes widened in curiosity, he was intrigued. Second mistake.

“Please.” You begged once more, sweetening the pot by running your fingers through his short strands. His eyes fluttering at the sensation.

Got him.

“Ugh, fine!”

The power of seduction was such a wondrous thing sometimes.

“Ah, thank you!” You exclaimed excitedly and smushed his cheeks with your hands as you pulled his lips to yours.

“I promise you won’t regret this.” You told him as he stood with his lips still puckered, watching you turn and scurry away out of the garage. What had he gotten himself into?

Halloween Night.

You’d been incredibly secretive about what costume you were going to wear, since he’d agreed to go with you. No matter how many times Dean asked or guessed, he couldn’t get a peep out of you. He’d eventually given up on the third day and decided to just trust it was going to be, “a nice surprise.” As you’d put it.

So he sat patiently at one of the tables in the bunker’s library, waiting for you to finish getting ready. You had commandeered your shared bedroom with him and forbid him from entering until you were done. That was almost 2 hours ago. And Dean was beginning to get impatient.

He pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his white shirt, hating the item of clothing, even when he had to wear it as an undercover agent. But you’d insisted he did, along with a pair of his lighter, blue jeans, convincing him thoroughly the night before with that talented mouth of yours.

It was nearing on 7’o’clock by the time you made your appearance, that fact made known when he heard your voice.

“So, what do you think?” Dean’s head snapped up from his endless scrolling on his phone and he almost choked on his own breath.

Holy fucking shit.

There you were, dressed in a form-fitting little purple dress, with green accents. Knee-high lilac stockings and the highest pair of heels he’d ever seen, to match. Your hair wasn’t its usual colour either, instead it was a fiery orange, falling in soft curls against your shoulders. To complete the look, tied neatly around your neck was that famous green ascot.

Dean couldn’t quite believe his eyes. You were like a childhood fantasy come true.

You made your way over to him. Heels clicking loudly against the wooden floors before you came to a stop before him.

“You’re gonna catch flies, Winchester.” You smirked as your finger tips pressed up under his slackened jaw. He blinked out his stupor and shook his fog-filled mind.

“Y/N, sweetheart. You look incredible.” He told you truthfully and you couldn’t help but feel a little bashful. Truth be told, you were a little nervous for him to see the outfit. Considering Daphne Blake was one of Dean’s top fantasy women.

“To make it even more perfect. I got you a little something.” You reached into your matching purple clutch and pulled out a bright orange ascot tie.

Dean looked at the fabric and then to you and then back at the fabric again.

“I’m not wearing that.” He scoffed humourlessly, shaking his head.

Oh you poor naive fool.

—

You arrived at the party as it was in full swing. Sam had dropped the two of you off, since you were both planning on having a drink and Dean didn’t feel safe leaving Baby alone over night.

“Have fun kids!” Sam called out the open passenger-side window, snickering to himself at Dean’s warning look. You giggled too and waved at Sam as he pulled away before tugging on Dean’s hand.

He grumpily pulled at the tie around his neck, looking up at the modest colonial-style house, pumping out generic pop music and filled with people dressed even more ridiculous than he was.

“Come on grumpy. Let’s get some drink in you.” You suggested and pulled him along with you.

Once inside, you found your friend quickly and gave her a big hug. It was nearing on a year since you’d last seen her. She was married now, to a big time doctor and children were the current topic of conversation.

You were happy for her, even though a part of you saddened at the fact her life was one you’d never have. You loved Dean with all of your heart, but you also knew you both didn’t get ‘normal’. Which is why you suppose you clung to something as simple as going to a halloween party.

As the night drew on, Dean gradually relaxed, even more so with the help of the doctor’s good whiskey. He’d even pulled you onto the makeshift dance floor when Iron Maiden - Hallowed be thy name, started playing.

When a slower song began to play, Dean pulled you in close by your waist, yours instinctually wrapping around his neck. You were both glistening with sweat and gone were your ascots as you rocked back and forth.

“You know i get it now.” Dean began, leaning in close so you could hear him over the song. “I know our lives will never be all sunshine and rainbows, like Doctor Rob and Shelia’s.” You smiled a little at his nickname for Shelia’s husband. He’d been calling it him all night.

“But,” he continued and you met his sparkling green eyes. “I wouldn’t do this life with anyone but you. Whether that’s hunting demons and ghosts forever, or the white picket fence. Every scenario, i’d choose you.” He confessed and you felt your eyes well up and heart soar.

Instead of words, because you had none. You pulled him down for a kiss worth a thousand of them. However, what started out as a tender declaration of love, soon turned heated as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You moaned at the feeling and suckled at the talented muscle, making his fingers flex on your hips.

He pulled you impossibly close as you all but made-out like a pair of horny teenagers on the dance floor. And gasped when you felt the hard length of him through his jeans.

“Fuck. You have no idea what this outfit does to me.” He tells you breathlessly, his hands gliding up your sides and around your back as he begins to kiss along the line of your neck.

“I think i do.” You pant at the feel of his sinful lips on your skin and expertly manovre a hand down between you both, to palm the impressive bulge in his jeans.

You hear him grunt into your neck as you subtly rub him through the fabric, tactically looking around for any watchers. Luckily the room was dark enough and everyone was preoccupied with their own partners.

“Follow me.” You whisper in his ear before slipping your hand in his and guiding him toward the stairs. He all but groans as you ascend, your dress having ridden up enough for him to see the bottom of your pert ass.

You navigate your way into a closed bedroom and flick on the light as Dean slips past you. It’s empty, thankfully and you lock it to be sure it stays that way.

Dean turns and lustfully drinks you in. Your lips are kiss-swollen and red, your hair beautifully tousled and chest heaving in anticipation. He still can’t get over how lucky he is.

“So do you regret this? Coming here?” You ask and Dean hungrily observes the sway of your hips, your legs, made longer by the ridiculous yet incredibly sexy heels and the way with each breath, how your perked nipples press against the material of your dress, as you saunter over to him.

When you’re within arms reach, he surprises you by pulling you to him, making you squeal in shock.

“I think you know the answer to that sweetheart.” Dean growls before cupping your cheeks and crashing his lips to yours. You moan at the intrusion of his tongue and thread your fingers into his short strands, pulling tight as he all but devours you.

He groans into your mouth at the feeling, pleasure boarding on pain. His hands grab and glide against your body before coming to a stop at the hem of your dress.

Dean suddenly pulls away, panting and pupils blown and you’re not much better.

“Now, there is something i’ve been curious about since the moment i saw you in this outfit.” Dean ponders and you tilt your head in faux curiosity.

“And what is that?” You play along, much to his amusement.

“Whether or not you’re wearing any panties.” You gasp as he roughly lifts your dress above your bare ass. His hands quickly smoothing over your pant-less behind.

“Oh you’re a naughty girl.” He chides playfully, and gives one of your cheeks a slight smack, making you inhale sharply and jolt into him. He soothes a large palm over the marked area before palming both cheeks and lifting you off the ground.

You quickly wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed, dropping you gently on the plush sheets. You stare up at him with a mixture of hunger and admiration, his eyes mirroring the exact same.

With his eyes locked on yours, he unbuttons his shirt enough to pull it over his head. The move is undeniably sexy and you clench your thighs together at the wetness rapidly gathering between.

He smirks at the movement and drops to his knees. His shoulders level with the bed and his head level with his own halloween treat.

You feel his hands on your hips before he pulls you along the bed and closer to its edge. You bite your lip and try not to blush as he parts your legs, pupils blown wide as he exposes you to him.

Your pussy is glistening and he can’t help but groan at the sight.

“Fuck. You’re beautiful.” He whispers, more to himself. Your mouth drops open and a sigh of pleasure escapes you at the feel his lips against the inside of your thigh. You drop your head back onto the bed, eyes fluttering closed as he repeats the process on the other leg.

“Baby, please.” You beg, each pass of his warm breath against your core, a torture you needed to end.

Thankfully he gives in and you’re crying out at the first swipe of his tongue against the seam of your pussy. From there on, he’s relentless. His actions hungry yet precise as he eats you out like man starved.

Your gasping and crying out in almost painful pleasure, your hand plunged deep in his hair, gripping and pulling as you grind against his talented mouth.

Dean’s moans and the lewd sounds of his mouth drinking in your wetness, have you coming apart at the seems in a mater of minutes. Your body convulses violently and your mouth opens in a silent scream as he continues to lap at the flood of your juices.

Eventually you have to push him away when you become too sensitive and fall to the bed, weightless and panting like a dog.

Dean crawls above you, rightfully smug and lips glistening. He kisses up your neck and jaw before reaching your lips and you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

At the feel of the rough denim of his jeans against your fluttering core, do you push him away and sit up, causing him to stand between your legs.

You look up at him through your lashes as you unbutton his jeans and he brings a hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb caressing your chin and bottom lip. You lean forward to capture it between your lips, swirling your tongue around the digit as you unzip his pants.

Dean’s eyes flutter at sight, his bottom lip captured tightly by his teeth.

“Fuck baby.” He curses as you roughly pull his jeans down his thighs, boxers in tow, exposing him.

He’s hard as a rock, red and leaking at his tip. Your mouth waters at the sight of him and you make room for him on the bed to lie down after he kicks off his bottoms.

Once situated, you crawl to a kneel between his legs, keeping your eyes on his. You slide your palms up his muscular thighs, making Dean’s breath hitch and cock twitch against his stomach. You waste no time in grasping his steely length in your small palm, your fingers just about wrapping around him.

A deep moan comes from him and his head falls back against the pillows as you slowly begin to pump him in your hand. His skin glides smoothly against the weeping head and you clench your thighs, desperate for a taste.

You lean down and wrap your lips around his silky head, moaning at the sharp taste of him on your tongue. Dean’s a breathless mess above you, his mouth hung open and eyes crossing as you guide your mouth up and down him just as your hand had.

“Baby, baby. You gotta stop.” Dean pants above you, making you release him with a pop and wide eyes.

He cups your cheek affectionately with a breathless chuckle at the concern on your face.

“I’m not gonna last.” He explains simply but honest and you both chuckle.

“C’mere.” He pulls you into his lap and gathers you in his arms, smiling in wonder up at you. You return his smile and cup his cheeks in your hands before descending on to his plump lips.

In no time you’re back to breathless messes and desperate for more. You’re about to remove your dress when Dean’s hands stop you.

He pulls away, his cheeks tinged pink and a bashful look on his face.

“Leave it on.” He requests and you smile wide, but nod in understanding. You push him onto his back and hover above him.

His hands instantly find purchase on your thighs, squeezing them lovingly as he takes you in.

Breathtaking.

Your hands wrap around his cock as you position yourself above him, lining him up with your entrance before sinking onto him slowly.

You both moan in sync as he stretches you. The position angling him to reach all your sensitive spots. You find purchase on his chest as you slowly roll your hips. Your mouth falling open in pure pleasure at the feeling of him fully seated inside of you.

As you pick up the pace, you fall forward onto him, meeting his lips in a desperate clash of tongue and teeth. At this angle Dean’s hands grasp your behind and he begins to thrust faster, harder up into you.

You cry out, breaking the kiss, allowing him to take over and reach that sweet spot inside. Each thrust hits its target with practiced precision and it isn’t long before you’re trembling in his arms as your orgasm washes over you.

White, hot electricity ripples in your veins and you cry out at the feeling.

“Oh, fuuuck.” Dean’s quick to follow, grunting loudly into your ear as his body spasms in time with the release of his seed deep inside you.

You fall limply onto his chest, as you both catch your breath. Thoroughly sated and spent.

Minutes pass by before you’re able to lift yourself and meet his sleepy gaze.

“So. How would you feel about making this an annual thing?” You ask him, a smirk already pulling at your lips. Already knowing his answer.

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 1: Angst with a happy ending

,,Me too." | @tami-ryver

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 1,748

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Hunt Gone Wrong, Werewolves, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Major Character Injury, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Angelic Grace (Supernatural), AngstAngst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood, Fictober 2023

Summary: The silence is unbearable. Not even insects can be heard in the darkness, not even moon shines down on their path. The only source of light they have are the flashlights they took from the Impala. Armed with silver knives and the demon knife, they walk deep in the darkness of the forest, in search of the place where the massacre took place.

I Want You to Know That I'm Awake (I Hope That You're Asleep) | @starstiels

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 2,192

Main Tags/Warnings: depressed!dean (heavily implied), post-canon, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, first kiss, selectively mute dean, mental health issues, panic attack

Summary: Dean Winchester wants to cry. He wants to scream and yell and sob until his lungs give out and his eyes sting like needles.

The Covert Identity (WIP) | @rowanspn

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,623 (22,561 updated)

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Sam Winchester, Florist Castiel (Supernatural), Crime Boss Lucifer (Supernatural), Kid Fic, Kid Jack Kline, Blood and Violence, Graphic depictions of violence

Summary: Dean Winchester loves his job; working as a secret agent has its perks. There is nothing quite like the thrill of saving people and hunting down criminals. And with his baby brother Sammy at his side, it’s a family business. However, when he and Sam are assigned to the case of Lucien Shurley, a suspected crime lord with a rap sheet a mile long, Dean’s semi-predictable life takes a turn for the unprecedented and over complicated. He and Sam must go undercover to investigate Lucien’s own family, his brothers Gabriel and Castiel, and his young son, Jack, to find out just how involved they truly are. As the stakes rise and the body count follows, it is up to Sam and Dean to solve the greatest mystery of their careers; who is Castiel Novak and what does he know?

he's gonna take my files | @autisticandroids

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,191

Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Saves Cas from the Empty, Afterlife, Triangulation of Desire, Memories, Trauma, Hurt Cas, Canon Divergent, Canon Remix, Warnings in Author's Note

Summary: Dean goes to the Empty, where Cas is floating through his memories.

when doves cry | @watchinghimrakeleaves

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 6,821

Main Tags/Warnings: Human Castiel, Season/Series 09, Not Canon Compliant, Winchester Coping Mechanisms, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: When Dean asks Cas to leave the bunker, all he can do is hope that the fallen angel is safe and doing okay. But when he reaches out to Cas to check in, he's surprised by the anger he's met with. Forced to consider whether or not he made the right call, Dean must reckon with how to fix things between him and the man he worries he may have lost forever.

Forest Fever | @amaranthhiding

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,586

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 12x10, Monster of the Week, Hallucinations, Injured Castiel, Protective Dean, (Emotional) Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Praying, Angel Grace, Humor (mostly in the epilogue)

Summary: After the crushing events of episode 12x10 "Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets", Castiel is low on grace and morale. In an attempt to restore at least one of these two, Sam and Dean take him on a hunt. Things start going wrong when Sam gets injured and Cas seemingly disappears. They get worse when Dean turns from hunter to prey for something feeling far more at home in this dark, rainy forest than he does.

Send Me a Postcard | @blessyourhondahurley

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 10,387

Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel is Saved from the Empty, First Kiss, References to Depression, Bisexual Dean Winchester

Summary: Shortly after his rescue from the Empty, Cas hits the road late one night without telling anyone he's leaving. Two weeks later, a postcard arrives for Dean.

whisper your name without making a noise | @deancaskiss

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 12,577

Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Muteness, Mute Dean Winchester, traumatic mutism, Mutism, Major Character Undeath, Dean Winchester to the Rescue, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel, Pining, POV Dean Winchester, Kissing, Boys Kissing, French Kissing, Rough Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Drinking to Cope, Drinking Alcohol, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Getting Together, Dean Winchester is Not Okay, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 15, Fix-It, Character Death Fix, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, The Empty (Supernatural), the handprint, Dean Winchester's Jacket

Summary: Losing Cas to the Empty felt like Dean was losing a piece of himself. I love you, Cas had said; and then he was gone before Dean got the chance to tell Cas how he felt. But Cas might have taken more than just Dean’s heart when the Empty ripped him away. Cas is gone, and so is Dean’s voice. Traumatic mutism: according to Sam and Eileen, Dean had been through a traumatic experience losing Cas and now he was mute. So, Eileen taught Dean sign language, and Sam bought notebooks for Dean to write out his thoughts. But Dean never stopped aching for Cas; praying to him every day and searching for a way to bring Cas home. When Dean finds a way into Empty, it’s a fight like he’s never fought before. Scream, Dean, scream, the Empty taunts. But Dean can’t stop until he’s rescued Cas, kissed his angel breathless, and told Cas the truth about how he feels—voice or no voice.

Taking one for the team | @artichokegarden

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16,846

Main Tags/Warnings: Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Stanford Era, Sex Worker Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Voyeurism, Kink Negotiation, Kink Discovery, Praise Kink, BDSM, Spanking, Whipping, Bath Sex, Hair Washing, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Abusive John Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, POV Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Porn with Feelings

Summary: Cas blinked slowly. “Your father sent you to his friend’s sex club as bait for a sex monster. And you want me to find your lost memories of this for you?”

“Don’t you start, Cas. We need to find out what happened, or those women are as good as dead. If I wanted to listen to a load of crap about dad’s parenting choices, I’d have told all this to Sam in the first place, instead of biting his head off for asking. Let’s just agree he wasn’t winning father of the year for this one and let it go, okay?”

When women start going missing from sex clubs, Cas investigates Dean's memories of a Stanford-Era case and finds some secrets there that could help their relationship in the present.

this bitter nightcall | @abi-cosmos

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 32,514

Main Tags/Warnings: Djinn curse, Jealous Dean Winchester, Hallucinations, Unreliable narrator, Heavy angst, Implied Castiel/Mick Davies, Inappropriate smut, Dean doesn't know what's real, Love confessions, Post-season 12, Very brief almost major character death, Hurt/Comfort, Case fic, True love's kiss

Summary: Dean gets touched by a djinn, but it's all cool. Or, is it?

Forced to confront his desires, Dean's grip on reality slips. Leaving Castiel, Sam, and Mick Davies trying to find a way to save him before it’s too late.

If only they knew that the cure is right in front of them.

Gracefully Yours, Always | @thefandomsinhalor

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 39,815

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent, Episode: S09E10, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Temporary Blindness, Angelic Grace, Hurt Dean

Summary: As Dean hopelessly waits for Gadreel and Crowley to be expelled from Sam’s body, he and Castiel are unexpectedly ambushed by Malachi and the remainder of his soldiers, seeking retribution for what Castiel has done to his faction. Because Castiel gets gravely injured in the fight, Dean resists the urge to isolate himself, and instead returns to the bunker with his friend and Sam, determined to put an end to the fallen angel madness, and also, perhaps, try to understand why, after everything he’s done, Castiel still stands by his side.

Still Waters Run Deep | @thisisapaige

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 41,168

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent After s15e09 The Trap, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Castiel, Mark of Cain, Aquaphobia, Claustrophobia, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester

Summary: In the darkest depths of the ocean, sealed into the ma'lak box with Chuck trapped behind the Mark, Castiel loses the battle against God's rage. When Sam and Dean find Castiel on a dark patch of highway— the Mark missing and his grace weak— he cannot speak.

It rains. It rains and it rains and it rains. It is a Great Flood.

In order to stop God, save the world, and resolve the issues simmering between them for years, Castiel and Dean need to communicate.

Perhaps they should build an ark instead.

When I Knew You | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 54,272

Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Time Travel, Bartender Dean Winchester, Editor Castiel, Mutual Pining, Minor Character Death, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Incorrect Science, Social Anxiety, Sharing a Bed

Summary: Shortly after moving into his new house, Dean Winchester finds a strange, flickering light in the middle of his living room. When he touches it, he’s transported two years into the past, to the days when a man named Castiel Novak lived in the house.

Dean’s own time pulls him back eventually, but the gateway to the past keeps appearing, and Dean keeps visiting Cas — sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. They soon fall in love, but there is no possible future for them, for one simple reason: in a few weeks, Cas is supposed to die.

As the date of Cas’ death draws closer, will Dean be able to save his life? And if he does… will the two of them find a way to be together in the same time?

On the flip side | Joysprings (AO3)

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 64,357

Main Tags/Warnings: Lgbtq, Polyamorous characters, Blood and Injury, Time Jumps, Neurodivergence, Autistic Castiel, Emotional Abuse, Pilot Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Grief and Mourning, Temporary Character Death, Domestic Destiel, Dean and Cas are dad's, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending I Promise,

Summary: A little over a year after airforce test pilot Dean Winchester's plane crashes and goes missing, its finally found. Castiel Winchester, Dean's widowed husband reflects on his grief and his memory re visits the most significant points of their relationship throughout their time together and how they shaped the present. The whole family is left to deal with the resurfaced trauma from the initial accident, and will finally learn about what truly happened, uncovering new and unexpected answers. This is their journey.

(Story will alternate chapters from the present to past time stamps)

the weight of your bones | Chi_Yagami (Ao3)

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 66,780

Main Tags/Warnings: afterlife, soulmates (sort of), canon divergent, hunter Dean Winchester, human Castiel, kid Jack Kline, angst with a happy ending, touch-starved, flashbacks/discussions of death, panic attacks

Summary: After rescuing his brother's fiancée from a house fire he doesn't survive, Dean Winchester finds himself in Heaven. He's immediately suspicious—after all, with everything he's done during his time on Earth... there's no way he deserves to be here. He lives in a beautiful neighborhood right down the street from his parents, in an amazing house that he shares with his new soulmate, Cas—a man Dean's never even met. Despite Dean's best efforts to keep his distance, Cas seems determined to make their new relationship work in the afterlife.

However, Cas doesn't understand... he isn't aware of Dean's past. Cas doesn't know that all Dean's good for is destroying relationships and ganking monsters. Cas doesn't know that Dean once got an innocent civilian killed on a case, doesn't know of the cave that haunts Dean's dreams. People are made of memories they bury or live by, and Dean chose to bury his a long time ago.

But as Cas chips away at Dean's resistance... the once-forgotten bones begin to surface.

When Tomorow Comes | @teeparadigm67

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 78,994

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Season 15 rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst, Lots of Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty (kind of), Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Dean Winchester is Saved, First Time, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, Castiel's Loss of Angelic Grace, Dean Winchester in the Empty, First Kiss, The World is Saved, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester's Taste in Music, Sharing a Bed, Frottage, Men of Letters Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Happy Ending, Alternate Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15

Summary: When hunting for the Leviathan blossom, Castiel gets taken. Tired, desperate and wanting to tell him all the things left unsaid before it’s too late, Dean prays to him. But he realises... standing there, in the grey hellish landscape, the portal home flickering just beside them with seconds left on the timer, they're already were too late.

Running himself ragged fuelled solely by caffeine, whisky, and that trademark Winchester determination, he will find a way to stop Chuck and to save Cas. However, this isn't the blaze of glory Dean had always envisioned going out in. But, deep down, he would go out swinging to save a loved one. Those bright shining penetrating tear-soaked eyes are the last thing he sees before his vision is marred, the desperate plea of his name dampened by the black ooze filling his eardrums as the essence of the Empty wraps around him and pulls him pulled from existence into the dark.

All because of that simple prayer, the ending Chuck had always planned was rewritten.

The Unbroken | @casblackfeathers

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 126,551

Main Tags/Warnings: zombie apocalypse, bed sharing, hurt and comfort, angel castiel, protective dean, soft dean, endverse, bamf castiel, bottom dean

Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.

But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.

Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.

There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

Fortunate Son (WIP) | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 128,610

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Vietnam War, Character Death (but no MCD), Blood and Injury, Counterculture, Recreational Drug Use, Mutual Pining, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Period-Typical Homophobia, Coming Out, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Getting Back Together, Suicidal Thoughts

Summary: The year is 1966, the place is Kansas, and Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are falling in love. But with Castiel under the thumb of his conservative parents and Dean set to ship out to Vietnam, there is no possible future for them.

As Castiel’s life turns upside down and the hell of Vietnam threatens to swallow Dean’s soul, it will take everything they have to find their way back to each other. But some things are worth waiting — and fighting — for.

[rascal-xo]

I heard your requests are open~

I'm always a sucker for angsty hostage reader fics. Maybe one of the 141 are clearing a warehouse, and come across hostage!reader. He takes them back to the base for their injuries and they start to get close

Hopefully this is enough to go off of, I really like your writing

Special Affairs | Task Force 141 x GN!Reader

Chapter Summary: You’ve found yourself in a sticky situation and end up crossing paths with none other than the infamous 141 soldiers.

Warnings: Violence, weapons, language, reads like an action fic ‼️

Word Count: a lot. (i’m too lazy to check lol)

A/N: I decided to let my creativity run wild and took some inspiration from the Cold War campaign (my fav). I hope you enjoy and ty for the request!!

|NOT CANONICALLY ACCURATE| |OVERLAPPING OF TIMELINES| PART 2 HERE

When you were recruited for the CIA, It was only a matter of time you’d find yourself in this situation. Your training had prepared you for the unexpected, but nothing could have quite prepared you for the events that unfolded during this covert mission.

As a highly skilled agent, you were sent deep undercover to gather intel on a notorious terrorist organization. You had infiltrated their ranks and gained their trust, positioning yourself to uncover their plans from within.

But during one of the critical moments, a sudden turn of events led to chaos.

As tensions escalated, shots rang out, triggering a full-blown firefight and you were caught in the crossfire, you fought valiantly, taking down several hostiles. You were outnumbered and one of the enemy operatives managed to sneak up behind you, immobilizing you with a well-placed blow to the head.

When you regained consciousness, you found yourself disoriented and restrained in a dimly lit underground bunker. Your head throbbed with pain as you struggled against the ropes binding your wrists.

Hours turned into days as you remained imprisoned, your captors using various failed forms of psychological torture to extract information.

Unbeknownst to Captain Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz, their mission had brought them closer to the underground facility where you were held captive.

Their objective aligned with yours - to dismantle the terrorist organization from within.

As the four of them navigated the corridors, they encountered heavy resistance. The sound of gunfire echoed through the compound, alerting your captors to the presence of intruders. “Was zum Teufel?!” (What the hell?!”)

The two armed soldiers in your room snapped up from their seats and readied their rifles to fire back if the door opened.

Just as the enemy closed in on your location, the sound of a door being kicked open reverberated through the bunker.

Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz burst into the room, their weapons blazing. Their entrance sent your captors into disarray, allowing you to break free from your restraints.

Without wasting another moment you grabbed a gun on the nearby table, just as The Captain’s weapon pointed away from the now dead guards and to you, “Don’t Shoot!” You exclaimed.

“Who are you?” Ghost barked, not lowering his gun yet.

“I’m CIA.” Price motioned for everyone to lower their weapons and you walked closer to the group.

You nodded to them, “Clandestine Special Officer, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“What’re you doing down here, Lass?” Soap chimed in, looking at you intently.

“Came here on the job you’ve been sent to finish.” You looked at your shoulder which was still freshly wounded, and then looked around the room for your jacket. You finally caught eye on it laying on the floor and quickly went to put it on.

“Wait, you cant go on like this, you’re broken.” Gaz points out, motioning to your shoulder. You could feel the black and blue forming around your eyes and the cut stinging on your lip as well. ‘So much for covert’ you thought to yourself.

“I’m fine, but I know East Berlin won’t be if we don’t get moving.” You answer.

Captain Price exchanged a glance with Soap before nodding in agreement. "They’re right. We need to finish this mission, and it seems like we've got ourselves an unexpected ally," he said, his voice steady and commanding. “Gonna get that arm checked out once we’re back, got it?”

You nod and collect the rest of your scattered gear, before heading out of the bunker and to the main facility. “So what’s the motherfucker got down here that needs to be guarded like this?” Gaz asks, as you take down maps and manifestos from the enemy conference room which is now empty.

“Missiles.” They all pause and turn to you in shock. “American missiles.”

“Steamin bloody Jesus.” Soap mutters.

“In the 50’s, Operation Greenlight put nuclear devices within every major European city as the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to a Soviet invasion of Europe. But an upgraded American Precision Strike system when online 2 weeks ago, sent up red flags all over but they were disguised at that time.”

“Perseus.” Price’s voice had anger lining it. “When does the system become active?”

“We have 24 hours at best. Launch was already delayed a few days from what I understand.”

The group exchanged concerned glances. "We need to move fast and take out the missile launch site before it's too late," Captain Price said, his voice urgent.

You nodded in agreement, knowing that time was of the essence. "I have intel on the location of the launch site, but it's heavily guarded," you said, pulling out a map and pointing to a spot. "We need a solid plan of attack."

You joined Captain Price and Soap as they made their way towards the launch site, keeping your eyes peeled for any enemy forces. Gaz and Ghost went around the south entrance.

Finally, you reached the launch site and saw the missile silos looming in the distance. The group split up, with Captain Price and Soap taking the left flank and you taking the right.

As you made your way towards the silos, you encountered heavy resistance. Enemy soldiers were everywhere, firing at you from all directions. You returned fire, taking out as many as you could.

When you reached the site, you quickly accessed the control panel, determined to disable the launch sequence. With deftness born from your CIA training, you navigated the complex system, neutralizing the imminent threat.

“Bravo Six to Actual- do you copy?” Price spoke.

“This is actual, what’s your report?” Laswell’s voice coming from the comms.

“We’ve got the threat. They were active missiles.”

The tension in the room dissipated as the launch sequence halted. A collective sigh of relief passed through the team.

“Gonna call in the evac, Y/N you with us?” Soap asked, coming to the group. Going back with the 141 didn’t seem like such a bad idea now that you had worked with them. The CIA could use the extra knowledge first hand.

“Hope you’ll save me a seat.” You smiled.

———

After the mission, you and the rest of the team returned to a secure base in London. You found yourself sitting at the counter at a pub.

You watched from across the bar as Soap scored a bullseye with the dart, earning a triumphant cheer from Gaz. Ghost simply nodded in approval, his focus seemingly undisturbed.

“Adler it’s Y/N. Everything’s been handled but I’m in London for the time being.” You sent the voicemail and set your phone down.

Captain Price walked over, a slight smile playing on his lips. He took a seat beside you, signaling the bartender for a drink.

"CIA, huh?" Price remarked, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. "So what’s next for you, darling?”

"There’s always something that needs to be dealt with. But It feels good to have a moment to breathe," you replied, taking a sip from your drink. The cool liquid provided a soothing sensation as it slid down your throat.

You looked up to meet his gaze. You had known of captain for quite some time now. There wasn’t a file at Langley you hadn’t been assigned to go through, his of course was more seasoned than others.

Price's piercing blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to fade away. His expression held a mix of admiration and camaraderie, a silent acknowledgment.

He leaned back in his seat, his expression now uncertain. “Laswell never mentioned you or anything about this mission being active.”

“Well neither did Shepard, and we all know you have a Shepard problem.” You moved your glass in a circular motion slightly, watching the golden liquid rise and fall.

“We’ll always have that problem, darling.” He scoffed, downing the rest of his scotch.

“Well since i’m here now, consider that problem handled.” You said, suddenly deciding that you and the 141 weren’t quiet done being a team yet…

————————————————————————————

A/N: I highkey enjoy writing action/double meaning story fics. LMK what y’all think :))

[godspeedviper]

Bunker Babe - Spencer x Goth!Reader (18+)

𖤐 Synopsis: You manage to finally convince Spencer to attend a bunker rave with you, but first he’s gotta look the part.

𖤐 Type: domestic fluff || smut || no gendered descriptions || goth reader || very firmly mid 00s

𖤐 Word Count: 1,543

𖤐 Rating: explicit || recreational drug use || semi public sex

𖤐 A/N: OxyContin has the highest bio-availability, orally. While not the same thing as dilaudid, its in the same ballpark and can be used in high quantities to approximate the dilaudid high despite their differing (optimal) routes of administration. ALSO I know this track isn't "technically" hard techno don't come at me over bpm or whatever the song is just here to set the mood.

“Babe, is this really necessary?” Spencer whines as he watches you tear through his closet in search of an outfit for tonight. 

“Yes!” You quip back. “What if someday your team needs you to go undercover at a bar or club for a case? You’re the youngest of the bunch so you know that statistically you’re most likely to be chosen for such a task.” 

He groans and rolls his eyes in defeat. “Okay okay! But only because you have statistics on your side.” 

“Oh don’t be too upset, pretty boy. I’ll make this worth your while.” You wink cheekily. “Promise!” 

At this, Spencer perked up. He watched as you lay out your choice of clothing onto his bed. You were already all dressed up for the night in skimpy black latex and mesh, with your favorite pair of platform Demonias to top off the look. Spencer’s hands were all over you as soon as he opened his apartment door for you, but tonight you had a mission and nothing, not even Spencer, was going to stop you. You sit down at the edge of the bed besides the clothing, and you wave Spencer over. 

“Come here, love.” You purred, and he instantly obliged. “Undress for me, darling.”

Spencer makes quick work of the buttons on his polo, while your hands reach to unbuckle his brown leather belt. He pulls his top off in a hurry, sliding off a pair of beige slacks, till he’s left standing before you in nothing but socks and briefs. You put your hands on his hips and he puts his hands on top of yours. You then tilt your head up, meeting his lust filled gaze. He takes in a sharp breath as you press your lips to the skin just below his navel. You take a gentle bite, and suck, leaving behind a bruise-like mark. 

“Good boy.” You whisper, pulling away from his torso. “Sit here.” 

  You stand up and switch positions with him, so that now Spencer is seated at the edge of the bed, and you’re standing in front of him. First, you grab a shirt off the bed. It was an old Nine Inch Nails tour shirt you got back in high school that was large enough to wear to bed whenever you were too incapacitated to bother changing into proper pajamas. You had left it at Spencer’s the last time you stayed over after scoring together, and it was now serving a greater purpose. You pulled it over his head, lovingly ruffling his head after it poked through the shirt. Your hands then reach back out to the bed and pick up a black pair of denim. Kneeling in front of him, you begin to kiss in between his thighs as your hands grab hold of his ankles, guiding him into each pant leg one at a time. 

“Finish putting these on for me. I’ll be right back.” You give his thighs a teasing smack and giddily make your way to the ensuite. 

“Oh no…” Spencer whines as he notices a hello kitty makeup bag in your hands and a devilish smirk on your lips. 

“Oh yes!” you reply. “Come on, Spencie! We gotta disguise you a little bit if you���re really that afraid of Garcia or her friends running into you. Besides, I have a gift for you in here.” 

You gingerly shake the bag like one would do with pet treats, and you quickly descend onto his lap, trapping poor Spencer beneath you. You unzip the bag and pull out a prescription pill bottle. Oxycodone 80mg, immediate release. 

“Ta da! Take these normally so the effects can kick in when we’re already at the party. This way we won’t risk being caught with it on us.” You wink playfully, shaking out a few green pills from the bottle onto your palm. “Alright now open up!” 

Spencer laughs and complies. You gently toss them into his mouth like m&m’s and watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows the pills, enticing you forth to steal a loving bite. 

“Let's stay.” Spencer gasped out. “Please?” 

Still sitting on his lap you can feel his frustration slowly growing harder. For a moment there you’re tempted, but you quickly remember just how much more awaits you two tonight. 

“Nope, not staying!” You pull away from his neck, breaking the lustful spell.

Spencer pouts. 

 After swallowing a handful of pills as well, you turn your attention back to the makeup bag, rummaging around in search of a short black eyeliner and the accompanying pencil sharpener.

“Look up for me darling.” You say, placing a quick peck on Spencer’s pout and cupping his jaw with your free hand. “I promise you’ll thank me tomorrow. You’re gonna love tonight.” 

The pads of your thumbs delicately rub the skin of Spencer’s under eyes, smudging the charcoal-like pigment around into a messy raccoon eye style. You repeat the process on his eyelids until you’re satisfied. Then you toss aside the pencil and put a finger under his chin. 

“Open your eyes, love.” 

Spencer has beautiful eyes, everyone knows that, you’ve spent thousands of hours staring into those honeyed irises. However, nothing prepared you for the way his eyes seemed to glow in contrast to the darkness surrounding them. It was like staring into a pot of molten gold. 

“Ohh, pretty boy…” Your voice is a breathless whisper. 

Spencer blushes crimson, and he bashfully hides his face against your shoulder. You can feel his smile. 

“Come on, let's get going! I can’t wait to show you off. You’re so beautiful, Spencer.” 

You take his hand and lead him to the door, stopping only so he could slip on a pair of black converse he left by the entrance. The two of you giddily run out into the crisp night air. Goosebumps prickle your skin, the cold bites your cheeks, and your heart is ablaze. It isn’t long before you assume you’ve arrived at the clandestine location, pointing out a few straggling folks dressed as eccentrically as you are and you watch as they soon disappear into an alleyway behind a building. You follow behind, turning into the alley when suddenly you’re face to face with a rather large hole in the ground. Peering in, you see a flight of concrete stairs descending into darkness below. A faint rhythmic thudding can be heard, confirming that this is indeed the place. Spencer grips your hand tightly as you pull him along into the belly of the beast. The thudding grows louder, transforming into powerful kicks as the lights at the end of the tunnel get closer. Standing at the threshold between the tunnel and the large bunker, Spencer looks as if he is staring directly into the mouth of madness, transfixed. You smile triumphantly. You had finally managed to bring him into your element. 

The rest of the night happened in snippets. 

One: You see sprawling concrete walls covered in graffiti, the humidity of the room makes them almost look slick, reflecting the pulsing lights, all throbbing to a sound reminiscent of industrial machinery. There is an inherent eroticism to it all. You look on in awe as Spencer throws caution to the wind and starts dancing to the beat. You’ve never seen him so carefree. His sweat slicked skin glistens like a glass prism beneath the light, flickering through all the colors of the rainbow in the dark. 

Two: His hands are around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Drenched, Spencer’s auburn curls cling to the skin of his forehead and temples and the tops of his cheeks. The eyeliner has now spread all around his eye sockets, making him look hungry, animalistic, possessed. 

Three: You’re pressed up against a concrete slab, it feels cool against your skin. Your bodies have melted into one another in the high heat, welded together with slick until you couldn’t tell where you ended and Spencer began. The thick beats of hard techno penetrate your bodies, and the two of you thrust in tandem trying to keep up with the relentless rhythm. You cling to Spencer in desperation, as if the mounting pleasure would be enough to make you crumble into nothing but atoms. Your bones rattle as a powerful orgasm reverberates through your body. Your shrieks drown in the music, and everything fades to black.

The next morning, these scenes play out in your mind's eye as you lay awake in bed next to Spencer. You wondered how much longer this would all last. Both of you knew this lifestyle would only end with tragedy, but you didn't know how to live any other way. You're both addicted to the highs and lows of life, to the stress of the job, and to blowing off steam in the worst of ways. Sometimes you feel guilty about supplying Spencer with drugs, and you wonder if he ever feels the same way about you as you turn on the bed to face him. At least here, in this moment, you were both at peace. You always love seeing him sleep, the way all worry dissipates from his visage and all that's left is the beautiful boy you fell in love with.

ao3 || guidelines || WIPs || Ko-Fi

[snitchcrimsonwrites]

Maybe pt. 6

Pairing: Norm MacLean X Female Reader or OC if you squint

Former friends to a relationship?

Life is pretty easy in Vault 33 until you're trying to rekindle a former friendship and Raiders attack. Now, our main characters are trying to navigate newfound feelings, all while undercovering the mysteries of Vault 33. Stay tuned. Follows the main storyline of season 1; some events may be reordered for plot.

I've rewritten this section so many times, and I'm still not thrilled with it, but I'm happy enough with how it's progressed. You and Norm are dealing with the aftermath of the raid on Vault 33 and how the MacLeans want to proceed following the kidnapping of their Dad.

Part 1 Here. Part 7 Here Part 12 Here

Part 2 Here Part 8 Here

Part 3 Here Part 9 Here

Part 4 Here Part 10 Here

Part 5 Here Part 11 Here

Norm stayed held up in the makeshift bunker, as quiet as possible, until Lucy returned to set him free. They embraced, holding each other close; he’d never been happier to see his sister’s face, but Norm could tell something was amiss when she clung tighter to him as he moved to break away. 

“Dad?” he asked cautiously, unsure if he entirely wanted her to disclose that information. He expected the worst. 

“They took him,” she croaked in reply, blinking back some tears. This was...unexpected. She took her time to explain how the raiders used her and some other dwellers as leverage to get the Overseer to hand himself over as their hostage and disappear to the Surface. Her story raised many questions, but honestly Norm was too exhausted to engage in those thoughts. 

“Everything will be alright,” she promised as she helped him to his feet. Norm wanted to believe his sister with every fiber of his being. Lucy usually could make good on this type of promise, but how on Earth was she going to navigate this one? 

His family mostly accounted for, Norm turned his attention to locating you. He hadn’t seen you since he fled the Vault 32 corridor. A wave of shame hit him as he recalled that memory, wishing he could have done something, anything, in an attempt to protect you. Instead, he turned tail and ran. But your absence the rest of the evening could be good, right? You didn’t get mixed up in the chaos in the main chamber of Vault 33. For once, Norm allowed himself some wishful thinking.

_________________________

The last hour or so was mostly a blur of events you were trying to piece together as you sat in the atrium receiving stitches from the only vault doctor standing. 

“And one more stitch ought to do it,” the doctor said as she wrapped up closing your wounds on your arms. Thank god, you didn’t know how long you could continue to avoid paying attention to the needle pricks across your arms. You were barely holding it together as is. 

 “You were pretty lucky you managed to quickly treat and bandage these wounds. I think it will help the healing in the long run,” she said as she disinfected and re-dressed the bandages over your stitches. “That gash on your left is pretty deep, though, so you might experience some numbness and lack of mobility if there’s nerve damage. When we see you back down in the med bay to change those bandages, we’ll talk about running a few more tests and rehabbing if needed,” placing her hand on your back as she moved to the next patient. 

After your encounter with your raider attacker, you managed to stumble down the remainder of the corridor into one of the outer supply rooms, connecting Vault 32 and Vault 33. Thankfully, it was equipped with some basic medical supplies, allowing you to hastily tend to your wounds before fading out of consciousness. When you awoke and finally arrived in Vault 33’s atrium, you weren’t sure how much time had passed, but much of the commotion had died down. 

You scanned the faces of the remaining Vault 33 dwellers as they moved around the atrium: Betty, Woody, Reg, Davy, Steph, and Chet, all accounted for. You did not dare identify those slain across the floor, afraid you might see a particular brown-haired dweller among them.  

______________________

Norm’s wish was granted when he spotted you in the crowd receiving medical attention from the Vault doctor. You were alive; however, his immediate relief turned sour when he saw your state. Blood spattered across your face and hair, and lines of stitches were woven up the sides of your arms being tended to. 

He could feel a plethora of different emotions bubbling up into his chest: guilt for abandoning you in a time of trouble, anger at himself and the individuals who caused you harm, and fear that you would never want to talk with him again. That last thought paralyzed him, stopping him in his tracks. What if you never wanted to see him again? He had just gotten his friend back, and was he destined to lose her? 

“Norman?” The sound of your voice clarified his brain, driving away all the negative thoughts and emotions. Instantly, he wanted nothing more than to be at your side. Moving one foot in front of the other, he hurried to close the distance. Once there, he wrapped his arms around you, and you fell emotionally into his arms. This time, he wasn’t letting go. 

_____________________________

The following morning came way too quick, and the dwellers of Vault 33 rallied just as fast, much to your dismay. An assembly meeting was called, and dwellers were assigned their post-raid clean-up duties. The goal? Get everything back to normal as fast as possible. How were we supposed to go “back to normal” after last night? A fresh coat of paint and routines of normalcy wouldn't cut it. But people were more interested in getting back to their day-to-day rather than lingering on the death and destruction of their community. Part of you didn’t blame them, but pushing past without a second thought also felt wrong. 

You arrived later than most of the crowd, but there was still an abundance of open seating. You took the open seat next to the MacLeans, interested to hear what the assembly had to say, even though you already had a good idea. Life in the vault is nothing but predictability.

“Settle, settle.” You heard as Reg took control, attempting to silence the crowd for the meeting. 

Lucy immediately stood, determined to have to the floor. You knew what she wanted to say before she opened her mouth to speak, seeking any chance of putting her broken family back together.

 “I have a proposal for the assembly. We send a search party to the surface to find my dad.” Unsurprisingly, her proposal was met with the shocked gasps of the dwellers present; nonetheless, she continued as resilient as ever to win them over. “Even with our dwindled numbers, we can spare four people from farm duty for up to two weeks.”

“Sorry, Lucy, but you’re talking about opening the vault door?” Reg interjected, asking for clarification on what was so “obviously” a ridiculous request. 

“For just under a minute. It’s just enough time… “ Lucy attempted, trying to rationalize with the crowd she was losing. You admired her courage but doubted the council or anyone in the Vault could be swayed to do something so whole-heartedly against their nature. 

“Okay, I know we’re just brainstorming here, and there are no bad ideas in a brainstorm… but.” 

Ah, there it is. The acknowledgment that this was never up for serious consideration. 

“But, that’s something that we ever do or have ever done, never, never ever.” 

“I know, I know that,” Lucy conceded, her voice increasingly desperate.

Betty, clearly having had enough of this conversation, interjects. “I know we’re all hurting right now, but our first priority has to be to maintain the security of this Vault. That means not opening any of our doors.” 

“Well said, Betty.”  “Yes, thank you, Betty. Okay, let’s move on.” That’s it; in a swift dismissal motion, the council decided. 

Lucy shakes her head in disbelief, shocked by the group's unwillingness. Not sharing his sister’s optimism, Norm speaks up about the situation's reality. “ They don’t want to find Dad. If they did, they wouldn’t get to be in charge,” he utters solemnly. His tone tells you that he wishes that wasn’t the case. Reassuringly, you place your hand lightly on his knee, being there for him as best you can. He moves his hand to yours, the gesture not going unnoticed as he maintains eye contact with his sister. He hated to be the one to break it to her that the MacLeans would be alone in this endeavor. 

Crestfallen, Lucy moves to leave the meeting; however, you had a feeling this wasn’t the last you’d hear from her about rescuing Overseer MacLean. 

_______________________

Norm fiddled with the Nuka Cola machine, trying not to make it abundantly evident he was up to something. He was so bad at this. He barely acted typically under normal circumstances, let alone stressful situations. He just had to keep a low enough profile to ensure he, Lucy, and Chet could reach the main vault entrance unseen. Easier said than done when the elevator access was smack in the middle of the most central location in Vault 33. 

He leaned against the machine as he heard someone approach, trying to act as casually as possible. Just act like everyone else, he told himself.“ Hey, Davey,” he called out to the older man as he wheeled another raider corpse down to the composting room, “How’s your day going?” 

“It's as bad as everyone else’s,” he replied, taken aback but somewhat used to how Norm engaged in social interactions. Shaking his head, Davey hurried down the hallway, brushing off the encounter, eager to finish this dreadful task. 

Norm breathed a sigh of relief as Davey walked away, now to get on with Lucy’s plan, but his relief was short-lived when he heard another pair of footsteps rounding the corner. He reassumed his original position.

“What are you up to, Norman MacLean?” he heard your voice ring out from around the corner moments before you appeared, arms crossed in front of him. Your tone and body language told him you were already suspicious of his behavior if you hadn't already figured out what he was up to. But he opted to double down, hoping you’d drop it quickly and let them be on their way. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, (Y/N). Everything is perfectly normal,” he says, leaning back against the Nuka Cola machine. 

“A huh,” you replied unconvinced. “And, I’m sure this has nothing to do with your friends waiting by the elevator?” you inquire as you peek your head around Norm to wave to Lucy and Chet waiting by the elevator. You smirk as Chet returns your wave. “I can help,” you lean in and whisper. 

Damnmit. “I know that, but I’d rather not get you into trouble if I can avoid it. Please,” he’s begging now. 

“Fine,” you allow with a dismissive eye roll. “Your secrets are safe with me.” 

“I never had any doubt… though if you didn’t mind discouraging anyone from calling the elevator, it would be a tremendous help,” Norm offered as he walked over to join his sister and cousin in the elevator. 

“Aye, Aye,” you saluted, taking up your new post as you watched the doors close behind them. 

[hunterscabin]

First Date

Summary: The reader reveals to Dean that she is nervous about a night out with a Lebanon local after being assaulted by the last man she dated. Dean offers to accompany her undercover, and the feelings they’ve been hiding from each other are revealed.

Pairings: Dean x Reader 

Warnings: Brief mention of previous sexual assault; mild pining; fluff.

Word Count: 1.4k

Dean reached your room just in time to watch a tweed skirt cross his eyeline in midair. He followed its path and found you buried in your closet. Dean leaned against the doorframe and smiled. You tossed another piece of clothing, and it fell to the floor among, what appeared to be, your entire wardrobe. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.

“She’s adorable when she’s flustered,” he thought.  

At the sound of Dean’s laughter, you leaned out of the closet.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie, but you’re clearly busy,” he joked.

You let out a sigh that landed somewhere between frustration and exhaustion.  

“I have a date.”

“A date?” Dean questioned, sounding more surprised than intended.

“Yes, Dean. A date. I’m not that undesirable.” you teased, stepping toward your mirror. You held a dress against your frame, cocking your head to the side.

“Of course you’re desirable, Y/N.” Dean awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Hunters just don’t usually date. One night stands? Sure. But an actual dress up, get dinner, talk about your life date? Not so much.”

“He’s not a hunter.” you corrected. “It’s Matthew.”

“Ah, yes. Matthew.” A huge grin spread across Dean’s face.

Matthew managed the local general store, and he’d been infatuated with you since the moment you arrived in Lebanon. Sam and Dean loved going on supply runs with you, if only to watch Matthew fawn and fumble in your presence. It was fodder for many of their jokes and a constant source of teasing.

“He finally wore you down, huh?”

Dean crossed the room and settled on the edge of your bed. He picked up a rejected blouse lying next to him, and it took all of his willpower not to lift the shirt to his face so that he could catch his favorite scent in the world: you. Much like Matthew, Dean only had eyes for the woman before him. You met the Winchesters during a witch hunt in Louisiana. Impressed with your skills and knowledge, the boys knew you’d be a valuable asset, and they invited you to call the bunker home. After some reluctance, you surrendered your independent nature and joined the brothers in Lebanon. Dean had been attracted to you from the start, but his fondness only grew, once you moved in. He loved your confidence and loyalty and the way you looked holding a gun. Dean knew he had feelings for you, but he hadn’t realized just how far he’d fallen until tonight. In no other circumstance would he be this jealous of an underdog like Matthew.

“Where’s he taking you?” Dean asked, trying to sound apathetic.

“The Italian place in town.”

“He’s really pulling out all the stops!”

“Don’t make fun.” you chastised, holding up another dress. “You know I only said yes to appease him.”

“You seem pretty nervous for someone going on a pity date.” Dean noted.

“Excuse me?” you eyed him.

“Your hands are shaking.”

You looked down and noticed that Dean was right. Pre-date jitters were the norm for you, but after a particularly grabby suitor, you were a little more than skittish around new men. It’s why you agreed to go out with Matthew in the first place; you knew he was harmless. Still, your body betrayed your confidence.

“Yeah, well, the last time I went on a date, the guy turned out to be…” you paused, carefully choosing the right phrasing, knowing how Dean might react.

“A monster?” Dean interrupted. “We’ve all been there. Just ask Jody.”

“If only you knew.” you thought.

“No he…”

Silence filled the room as you struggled to find words. Dean looked up to see you fidgeting with the collar of the dress in your hands and immediately became aware of what you were trying to say. You could practically hear his fists and jaw clenching.

“He tried to force himself on me.” you confirmed.

Unable to look at Dean, you busied yourself with putting the dress back on its hanger.

To your surprise, Dean’s body relaxed. He stood up, closing the space between you, and pulled you into a comforting hug. He placed one hand on your lower back and the other gently held your head to his chest. After a moment, he leaned down, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

You smiled as you slowly pulled away. You didn’t want to dwell on bad memories, so you put on a brave face.

“You know I kicked his ass.”

Dean smirked, holding you at arm’s length. “That’s my girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “My girl.” Ever since joining the boys, you were head over heels for Dean. He enchanted you with his strength and resourcefulness. You loved the way he selflessly looked after you and Sam, and you couldn’t help but swoon every time he licked those perfect  lips. So many times you wanted to exclaim your feelings, but you always decided against it, never knowing if he felt the same. You turned toward your closet, hiding your now rosy cheeks from Dean.

“I’m just being silly.” you shook your head. “Not all men are monsters.”

“You’re not being silly, Y/N/N. What you went through…” Dean trailed off, not wanting to upset you.

“You know what?” he asked, changing the subject. “I’ve got a taste for a plate of spaghetti and a full bodied Cabernet.”

Dean’s comment caused you to whip around.

“What?” you questioned.

“Why don’t I go in as back up?” he offered.

“Dean.” you reasoned. “We both know he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I’ll keep quiet at a corner table,” he promised. “And if anything happens, you just say the word, and I’ll destroy the guy.”

You looked to the older Winchester, who had clearly made up his mind, and conceded.

“It might be nice to have a familiar face nearby.”

Dean leaned down and kissed your cheek, clearly excited about his scheme. Maybe he did care for you after all.

“Give me three minutes to get dressed!”

He was almost to the hallway when you called his name.

“Dean?” He turned, placing a hand on the doorknob. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Dean winked before closing the door behind him.

The date went as well as one could expect. There were many questions about family and work, and you skillfully avoided them all. Every so often you’d lock eyes with Dean, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his voyeuristic adventure, of which your date was blissfully unaware. Matthew was cute, attentive, and chivalrous; if you were any other woman, he’d be a catch. But when all was said and done, there was absolutely no chemistry. Standing outside of the restaurant at the end of the date, you were thankful that the cold winter temperature didn’t allow for loitering. You said a quick goodbye to Matthew, thanking him for dinner with a kiss on the cheek, and sent him on his way. As you watched him drive off, Dean joined you on the sidewalk.

“How was it?” he asked.

“I don’t think we’re a match.” you said plainly.

“I’ll say.” Dean scoffed. “He drives a Prius.”

You laughed, playfully whacking him with your purse.

Dean unlocked and opened the passenger door for you before getting in himself. He turned on the car and cranked the heat. You were surprised when, instead of putting Baby in gear, he shifted toward you.

“You okay?” Dean questioned. “He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“No.” you confirmed, your heart fluttering at Dean’s protectiveness. “He was a perfect gentleman. We just didn’t have that spark.”

Dean nodded before reaching over to place his hand on top of yours.

“Thank you for telling me, Y/N/N.” Dean’s voice was quiet.  

“Thank you for listening. And for coming with me.”

There was a comfortable stillness in the car. You felt safe with Dean.

“Why did you come?” you questioned timidly.

“I don’t like when my girl is scared.”

There it was again. “My girl.”  

Dean leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple. His lips lingered longer than usual. When he pulled away, you saw in his eyes what you felt in your heart.

“You deserve so much, Y/N.” His face lingered close to yours.

Dean didn’t want to take advantage, so he held his stance, putting you in control. You leaned forward, pausing to make sure that this was what he wanted, before ghosting your lips over his. At your invitation, he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. The feeling of his body against yours was pure ecstasy. After a few minutes, you pulled a way to catch your breath. You smiled as Dean rested his forehead against yours.

“That was…” you breathed, at a loss for words.

“That was a great first date.”

Masterlist

[gh0stbeeee]

Separate Bight post ;P

Bill manages to get one up on Light and now he has partial possession of Light's body if he wants. He saw Misa use mascara once and the first thing Bight did was put it on. Of course, Light fought him most of the way. Bill doesn't like possessing Light when he isn't willing because Light is stubborn and will make the experience utterly miserable.

But when they can agree? A Diva.

Bight is the drama, some androgynous flair, and absolutely psychotic. Will kill you for a chip.

Everyone around Light is very concerned.

For more of the AU:

I imagine L gets himself involved when strange anomalies and what looks like gruesome occult rituals begin popping up in Japan.

Bill needs to begin getting his power back to escape the Theraprism after all. Once he gets enough strength to break out, he huddles down in Light’s mindscape.

The Axolotl let's the Pines know and— yeah Ford gets started on a new portal (Death Note is in a different dimension.) The four of them are ready to squish him out for good.

Bill has to teach Light the most insane math and science ever and each session leads to them trying to strangle eachother in the mindscape.

Light is still not a murderer yet, so his descent into madness happens slower as he's exposed to more and more Bill and power.

There's a whole scene where Light tries to justify himself as a good person and Bill just laughs at him and tells him he should see some adjacent timeliness because oh boy!

Light becomes like a warlock? Bill teaches him some basic magic and rituals and you can imagine Light is thrilled. Bill gets a little nervous at how earnestly Light soaks it up.

They balance eachother weirdly well as villains? Bill is chaotic evil and Light is more lawful/neutral evil. Bill helps Light be less suffocated under his and societies expectations and rules, is the evil voice on his shoulder like "aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you wanna go batshit?" And Light is able to poke holes in Bill's shitty mental health, which both helps and makes him worse. Because he doesn't want the world totally destroyed, after all. He'll play undercover therapist if he has to.

They enjoy talking. Light reminds Bill of Ford in the way he is insatiable for knowledge, and he missed talking with someone that can ask good questions. Light has never been able to be so confused and blindsided by a being, so he really enjoys the novelty and stimulation.

Getting a place to actually begin building a portal is insanely hard, but Bill knows some old bunkers in the mountains.

They are so bitchy, toxic, and argumentative, but they love the catharsis of not having to hide their true selves.

Bill may or may not get jealous when L starts poking his nose in for Light's attention. Similarly, Light feels challenged by Ford for the title of The Specialist Human lol

Uh that's it for now.

[rocksibblingsau]

I'm so interested on seeing what Thrash's backup will change for the Pop trolls!!! That has so much comedic potential too. Like-

Chef: A calm troll is a tasty troll. *leaves*

The one rock troll that got caught: ......... I'm gonna panic out of spite

I doubt thats actually gonna happen. I got the impression Thrash sent trolls to keep lookout, like around the perimeter. But it is funny imagining an undercover rock troll

I wonder if Poppy's going to notice em at all since she'd be getting stuff for the bunker?

Either way I'll enjoy it!

You said something that is SO CLOSE except that you've made one wrong assumption. I think you guys will love the Trollstice arc

[therightrighthand]

And Pt.2 of the Fallout-Delv-erse lore! Because honestly, I couldn't pick between soft lovable herbo, and murder hobo, so we're getting both.

D.31-A, rouge Courser jerk of the Commonwealth.

Follow on from Dee & Rolls

~

Lore:

[???] "Audio recording, date [REDACTED] between Doctor Langstrum, Senior Institute Bio Division, and myself [REDACTED] regarding project D.31-A"

[D] "Again, I am going on record to state that there was plenty of oversights on project D.31-A and-"

[???] "Please Doctor, let keep to the questions. How about we start with what D.31-A is, and it's history."

[D] "Hmmph ... Fine. -sigh-, well we may as well start at the beguining with the Synth Program. After the sucessful test run of our 3rd generation Synth in the Capital Wasteland passing undercover as human in 'Rivet City', full production of next gerneration syths were approved for masss production."

"And whilst the topic of Synths seemed focused on under-cover intigration, security was also a keen concern. Our second genration synths, though tough, were far from subtle, and a militerised third generation synth seemed nessasery. The goal was to create something with a bit more bite, a single agent, rather than dozens of gen-1's and 2's littering the commonwealth."

"D3.1-A was the answer to this, our first official prototype of the Courser's we know today."

[???] "Why was D.31's biodata used for the Courser program? And can you explain in detail why they were so well equipped for a prototype?"

[D] "Well, obviously, D.31's DNA proved to create a natural resistance to radiation, so it only made sense to base D.31-A on their genetic makeup and memories, as we had done with Gen-3 synths so far."

"As for their ... 'equipment', you must understand that in the early days of testing, D.31-A wasn't built like our truly synthetic Coursers. They were designed to combine the most physically powerful elements of our Gen-2s with the outer fleshy coating of a Gen-3. Machine, wrapped in flesh."

"At the time, we believed Courser's would be going toe-to-toe against Death Claws and super mutants, so we ... built them to durable, strong and-"

[???] "Exessivly costly?"

[D] "Effective. We built them to be effective. However, as time went by, we realised that less was more, and discreet agents worked more effectively than super-powered assassins."

[???] "Can you tell me what led to losing D.31-A in the field?"

[D] "... again, I want to stress the oversight wasn't just on myself or my team at the tim- ok ok, fine."

"After successfully activating D.31-A and testing them rigorously for months, we felt it was time for a field test in the Commonwealth. So we fitted her with an old raider outfit, had her infiltrate an encampment, and simply let her get to work."

"Needless to say, she was effective—almost ferocious, in fact, if you could call it that."

"But, unfortunately, during the fight, a nuclear device was launched, which knocked out our communication with the Synth handlers observing the experiment. After several hours, we deployed security teams and mercenaries to scout the location and report back. There was no sign of D.31-A ... or her handlers, whom we believed to have been killed by D.31-A"

[???] "What led you to believe it was D.31-A?"

[D] "The entire team had been torn apart and stapled to a concrete bunker with steal poles through their chests and their power systems removed. The working theory is that the blast may have ... damaged ... D.31-A's hardware and left them to go-"

[???] "On a five-year-long murderous rampage of Institute assets, including research centres, 23 mercenaries, 12 staff members on the field, and 18 Courses?"

[D] "... Look, it's been months since we've heard from her, and this speculation that she is helping the railroad is preposterous. It's more than likely that her power core has started to falter, and any information on the institute has been damaged in the process."

[???] "Which brings us to the point of this interview: to uncover the lack of oversight that led to a hostile agent that we cannot stop with information on our most sensitive security protocols. What makes you so sure that information has been destroyed?"

[D] "Because I built her [REDACTED] and if she still had access to our location, our relay, and our defences, we would have been dead a long time ago..."

[INTERVIEW END]

-- Find my Discord and other sites: linktr.ee/The_red_right_hand Do not use, repost or claim (rp) my art/character  Art © The-Red-Right-Hand

[jackles010378]

The Wrong Winchester

Dean Winchester X you

Dean gets jealous when you and Sam pretend to be a "couple" on a case.

No warnings needed 🥰

Y/N and Sam had always been close. They worked together as a seamless team on all their hunts. But when they were assigned a case that required them to go undercover as a couple, things became a little complicated.

The hunt seemed straightforward initially. A small town had been plagued by strange disappearances, every victim having been snatched away from their homes without a trace. The only lead they had was that the disappearances were happening exclusively to couples. To make matters even more complicated, the victims were all reported to have been last seen kissing their partners.

Y/N and Sam devised a plan to pretend to be a couple and lure out the creature responsible for the kidnappings. They hoped to catch it in the act and finally put an end to the town's nightmare. But what they didn't anticipate was the jealousy that would awaken within Dean. Sam had found the case, y/n sitting by him reading a book on sirens. She perked up when Sam was reading the article he had found about couples vanishing at the same spot. Curiosity peaked in them both, so they decided to investigate.

They didn't want to involve Dean in this hunt. They had just gotten him back after Micheal had taken possession of his body, so Sam thought it would be best he rested up. Unbeknownst to them both, Dean had been standing in the doorway and overheard everything. He marched over to them informing them he would be going on the hunt with them, stating that "someone needs to cover their asses" just in case they get taken too. In reality Dean was upset you didn't want to couple up with him.

As Y/N and Sam prepared for their undercover mission, Dean couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy deep in his chest. He had always had a soft spot for Y/N, his feelings going beyond friendship, but he had never found the right moment to express them. And now, seeing Y/N cozying up with Sam, pretending to be a couple, ignited a fire within Dean.

The mission was in full swing when Dean's jealousy started to consume him. He became overprotective, constantly watching their backs, trying to keep them safe. He couldn't stand the sight of Y/N and Sam getting closer. It was tearing him apart, but he couldn't let them see his inner turmoil.

One night, deep into the mission, Y/N and Sam went to a secluded park where the latest couple had gone missing. They knew it was risky, but they had to follow the trail. As they crept through the park, they heard rustling in the bushes. Without thinking, Sam grabbed Y/N and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a desperate attempt to maintain the facade.

Dean was just a few steps away, observing the scene with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. Consumed by emotion, he rushed in, ready to defend his friend and brother. But his hasty actions only confused the creature, allowing it to escape with Y/N and leaving Sam struggling to make sense of the chaos.

Desperation filled Dean as he chased after the creature, determined to save Y/N at any cost. Finally, he caught up with them in a dimly lit warehouse. With adrenaline pumping through him, Dean fought tooth and nail, eventually overpowering the creature and freeing Y/N from its clutches.

But as he cradled Y/N in his arms, her unconscious body limp against him, he couldn't keep his feelings hidden any longer. Tears welled up in his eyes as he whispered heartfelt confessions, not intending for Y/N to hear. He poured out his love for her, begging her to wake up and realize how deeply he cared.

To Dean's surprise, Y/N stirred in his embrace, her eyes fluttering open. A faint smile graced her lips as she looked up at him. She had heard every word. The moment was surreal, and the weight of all the unspoken emotions lifted from both their hearts.

Days later, back at the bunker, Y/N plotted a surprise for Dean. She knew how much he loved his "Dean cave," his personal sanctuary filled with all his favorite things. With a touch of high creativity, Y/N transformed the Dean cave into a romantic hideaway, complete with candles, their favorite snacks, and a cozy atmosphere.

When Dean walked into the room, he was taken aback. The sight before him was beyond anything he could have imagined. Y/N had gone above and beyond to create a perfect date night for them. Happiness swelled within him, knowing that the woman he loved had reciprocated his feelings.

As they settled down for their date night, Dean couldn't help but marvel at how life had changed. The pretend couple act between y/n and Sam had led to real emotions being uncovered, transforming Dean and y/n's friendship into something deeper and more significant. And as they enjoyed their evening together in the Dean cave, they knew their journey had only just begun.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @nescavaneck @angelbabyyy99

[jasmines-library]

Black Smoke Rising

WHUMPTOBER DAY 30: Prompt ‘possession’

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Seeking revenge on the Winchesters, a demon decides to go undercover by using your body as a vessel to sneak into the bunker. Whilst trapped within your own mind, you can only hope that Sam and Dean notice that something is amis before it is too late.

Warnings: Possession, alcohol consumption, minor injury.

Word count: 1.6k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You knocked back another drink, savouring the warm burn it left in the back of your throat. The bar was busy, full of a swarm of loud and more often than not obnoxious people, most of which were nursing a glass of something cool or slinging a pool cue across a table against the rattling balls. It was odd that you had chosen to come here to find some space. A place so busy that you could hardly stand without being jostled around like a rag doll. You figured that perhaps watching people getting on with their lives allowed you to take a breather. To revel in a normal life just for a moment and to get away from all of the mess for just a moment.  

It had been a very stressful week to say the least. You and the rest of team Free Will were so wrapped up in a case that it was beginning to go to everyone’s head when you kept hitting dead ends. It was that build up of anger and frustration that led to the argument with Dean. The two of you were similar in the way that you both tried to suppress your emotions, but it never ended well because it only fueled you more until you snapped, spitting words at each other that you knew you would come to regret later but you couldn’t stop from flying out of your mouth. They were hurtful words, each cutting deeper than the first, but Dean spat venom laced words back at you too until you finally broke down, fleeing the bunker to  find solace in the bottom of a bottle. You could practically see Dean doing the same thing back at the bunker, wallowing in guilt and self pity. 

You were about to leave, splashing the last of the amber liquid into the back of your throat when you suddenly got the feeling that someone was studying you closely, but when you glanced around the room, your hunter training kicking in, you saw no one. So, you let out a deep sigh and pushed your stool away from the bar to return to the bunker. It was getting late and you knew that you would have to face Dean sooner or later. Although you would have much rather picked the ‘later’ option, if you had had somewhere else to go and we’re going to be kicked out of the bar soon.  

The odd feeling still lingered as you stepped out of the bar and out onto the cold streets still illuminated by the last of the streetlights and the luminescence of the moon through intermittent clouds. You couldn't help but tug your jacket closer to your body as you walked through the town. A shiver trailed down your spine. Unsure if it was from the crisp autumn air or from the feeling that still followed you, you made a mental note to bring a warmer jacket next time. 

Then, you felt your feet leave the ground and your back collide with a wall as someone pressed you up harshly against the wall. The woman was tall with dark hair and in a split second she flashed you her inky black eyes. Demon, 

“Get off me.” You gave her a sharp shove. 

She hummed. “How ‘bout… no?”

She slid a blade from her jacket sleeve. An angel blade. You dread to think where she had gotten it from. You tried to back away. But she pressed the tip of the blade into your shoulder where your anti possession tattoo sat. She dragged it along your skin creating a split in your tattoo.

She grinned. “That’s better.”

You were helpless as the black smoke rose from her vessel's mouth, rising to the sky in a plume before funnelling into your mouth. You could feel the demon rummaging around in your head, forcing you to retreat into the back of your mind. It was like watching the world though a movie screen as she moved, forcing your body forward. You screamed at her to get out, but she only ignored you and made the trek to the bunker. 

It was unbelievably easy for the Demon to slip into the bunker unnoticed whilst inside your body. With access to your memories, she walked like you, talked like you. She didn’t think like you though. Amongst other things you could hear the nightmarish thoughts that ran through her mind. The things she planned to do to Sam and Dean were things that you wouldn’t wish upon anyone. She was desperate for revenge, and she was going to get it good. 

Dean stood up abrupt when he saw you shuffle into the bunker, hanging up your thin jacket on the hooks by the doors. 

“Y/N… listen I-”

The Demon cut him off with a wave of your finger. “It’s okay, Dean.”

“Dean!” You screamed at him, but no sound came out of your mouth. You prayed that he would notice it wasn’t you. That he would realise that there was something using your body as a puppet. The demon only barked at you to be quiet, a conniving smile appearing on her lips.

Dean and the demon exchanged a few words, before he turned and made for the kitchen, something tickling at the back of his mind. It was unusual for you to forgive him in a blink of an eye. Usually you would have taken some more time to think over it rationally before trying to talk your struggles out with him. But not this time. You had hardly batted an eye, 

Sam was tapping away at his keyboard as Dean chopped away at the counter, sliding in ingredients into a sizzling pan. He eyed you from the doorway, watching as you ran your fingers along the dusty shelves, inspecting the rows of sharp knives. 

“She actin’ strange to you?” Dean asked through a mouthful of food that hadn’t quite made it to the pan. 

Sam tilted his head out of the doorway, leaning over on his chair so that it was balanced precariously on two legs. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, she forgave me, Sam. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers together to emphasise the point. 

Sam frowned. “Hm.”

“Something’s up.” Dean had known it since the minute you had hung up your coat instead of throwing it absentmindedly on the floor or over a chair. 

“Demon?”

Dean furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure. But I'm going to find out.”

~

Dean had found you in your room, laid out across your stomach and scrolling through your phone. The demon pressed a smirk onto your lips as he leaned up against the doorway. 

“Hey, De. You okay?” She said, It was odd hearing your voice without saying the words. 

“Yeah… Y/N, I gotta show you something.” He gestured to you to follow him out of the room. 

You tried to call out to him as the Demon followed with your light footsteps, but there was nothing but silence. He led you to the dungeon, which was dimly lit and. 

“Why are we here, Dean?” She asked as she noted the Devils trap on the floor dancing cautiously around it as she followed the eldest Winchester who had begun to rummage around in a box on one of the shelves. 

“We are looking for a Demon.” He spun around, splashing the holy water against your skin. The demon howled and stumbled back. It was then that Sam leapt out of the shadows and gave a harsh shove, causing your body to clatter to the ground inside the devil’s trap. 

The Demon smiled. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to crack it. I knew it wouldn’t be long but for a hunter, you’re unusually smart.” She quipped. 

“Get out of her, you Bitch.” He ordered. 

She just laughed which earnt her another round of holy water against her skin. 

“Y/N. I know you’re still in there.” Dean said. “You have to fight her!”

You were. You wanted to scream at him. You were but she just wouldn’t budge. The Demon yelled at you to shut up, silencing you. 

“Y/N’s not home right now. But you can leave a message. She was calling out to you. Pleading for me not to hurt you but…”

“Was?”

She hummed. “Well…”

Sam began to mutter the latin incantation. The demon groaned as she felt herself being forced from her vessel, fighting against the sensation, she pulled out her knife again and angled it over your abdomen. 

“Ah ah. Not another word, Sammy.”

He froze. 

“Y/n.” Dean tried again. “I know you’re there. Come on, you're stronger than this.”

Weakened by the trap, you managed to get a grip on the demons hold over you, prying away her fingers one by one. It was hard laborious work, but watching Sam and Dean plead for you gave you the extra push you needed to force her away for just a second. 

When you gained blissful control over your body, you dropped the knife, kicking it out of the circle. 

“Y/N?!” Sam asked.

“Sam! Now.” You gritted out. “Hurry.”

Sam uttered the rest of the exorcism and your head flew back as the black smoke rose from your mouth and out through one of the vents.

You slumped to the floor.

“Kid?” The brothers were both at your sides, checking you over for scrapes. Sam’s gaze landed on the gash that ran down your tattoo. They would have to fix that sooner or later. 

“I’m okay.” You tugged them closer. “It’s me.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 29 ⛤ DAY 31 ->

taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

[litcityblues]

'Captain Vorpatril's Alliance' --A Review

After reading so much of the Vorkosigan Saga, I should have had a little more faith in Lois McMaster Bujold, but I have to be honest: this one took awhile to really click for me and I'm not entirely sure why. Initially, I thought it was due to the lack of Miles in it-- but then the character of Ivan Vorpatril, here moving to center stage for his very own book, has always been present in the other books. Sometimes it's just a mention in passing, sometimes Miles has to rescue him from the clutches of the bad guys, but one way or another he always seems to be around.

The novel opens on Komarr, where Ivan is recruited by Byerly Vorrutyer who is undercover for ImpSec to find out the identity of a young woman named Tej who is connected- somehow to his investigation and whom Bylerly thinks may be in danger. Not wanting to compromise his cover, he drags Ivan into doing what Ivan is normally pretty good at flirting with women. But, Ivan might have met his match, because initially, she rejects him outright.

He is persistent though-- and that might be what kept this book from clicking at first, because despite the fact that Ivan's doing his best on behalf of Byerly, you as the reader, kind of squirm a little at the fact that he's following a random woman back to her apartment. Tej, however, invites him in-- not because she's taken leave of her senses or has succumbed to his charms, but to allow her and her companion to ambush Ivan, take him captive, and tie him to a chair.

Ivan spends the night tied to a chair but alerts the women to two men breaking into their apartment, after they stun the intruders, Ivan offers his own flat as a safe house for them and reluctantly, they agree. Ivan soon finds out that Tej and her friend (who is blue and named) Rish are refugees from Jackson's Whole, believed to be the last survivors of House Cordonah who had recently fallen to a hostile takeover from a rival house. (Emphasis on hostile.)

Unfortunately, this means that their enemies have placed a lucrative amount of money out on the market to retrieve any survivors. The men that broke into their apartment work the legal system on Komarr to accuse Ivan of kidnapping the two women and accuse Tej and Rish of illegally entering the planet and using local authorities show up at Ivan's door and start to break in. As the police force their way into the house, Ivan does the one thing he can think of to resolve the situation: he marries Tej and hires Rish as her employee.

After disentangling them from their local legal troubles and realizing that Barrayar would be more secure for both women and provide a greater degree of protection from bounty hunters, being further away from the galactic core, they all head back to Barrayar. Back in Barrayar, Ivan and Tej decide that their marriage is one of convenience and soon as she and Rish figure out their next move (possibly to the planet Escobar where her brother might be), they'll get a divorce. Ivan introduces Tej to his family-- stopping by to meet Miles and Ekaterin, Duv Galeni and Delia, even the Emperor himself before the biggest test of all, Lady Alys and Simon Illyan.

Everyone is.. amused. Ivan has finally gotten married and even though he insists that it's only temporary, everyone seems to be in on some kind of inner joke, except Count Falco Vorpatril, who is not at all amused at Ivan for treating the idea of marriage and it's associated vows so lightly and refuses to grant them a divorce.

That wrinkle in their plans is further complicated by the arrival of Tej's entire family, who managed to escape. While Tej is happy to see her family, it turns out that they have other motives for their arrival. Tej's grandmother, a former haut lady from Cetaganda, knows of an underground bunker forgotten after the Cetagandans had been driven off Barrayar a century before-- the family hopes to find it and use the funds to launch an attempt to restore their house.

As the plotting begins, Tej begins to resent the overbearing presence of her family and starts wondering if life with Ivan might not be so bad after all, because at least, it would be hers. Ivan begins to develop feelings for her as well but manages to get drawn into the heist which goes awry, leaving them trapped in the bunker awaiting rescue. There, they confess their feelings for each other and after being rescued, Tej's family agrees to be Barrayar's covert friend in Jackson's Whole and heads home to start their reclamation process. Ivan is posted to the distant planet of Ylla and Tej goes with him and they both end the book reading letters from home on a glorious, tropical afternoon, planning their future together.

Once this novel got going-- I think probably around the point when Ivan decided to marry Tej on the fly, this one completely flipped for me. It was sort of rough going at first. We were seeing Tej's POV, then Ivan's and it just wasn't clicking the way other books in the series had (though to be fair, Komarr introduces shifting POVs between Miles and Ekaterin, so it's not a radical departure for the series.) In the end, though, much like Ivan with a variety of women over the course of the series, it charms you. It's charming because it works. The relationship between Tej and Ivan never feels forced. There's an undercurrent of 'boy wonder finally meets the right person and grows up' to all of this that really showcases Ivan not being dragged kicking and screaming into growing up and having a serious relationship for the first time, but choosing too.

Overall: I love this series. I love these books. I have yet to read one that I haven't liked. I love these characters. I feel like The Vorkosigan Saga seems to be fly under the radar a little bit, but it probably shouldn't. My Grade: **** out of ****

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Five-Finger Discount (Dean/Reader)

Title: Five-Finger Discount

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean x Female Reader

Summary: It's supposed to be a simple case. A little undercover. A little burglary. A little spell. Dash of salt and burn. No muss, no fuss. So, why the hell are you getting these uncontrollable thoughts about Dean's... hands?

Word Count: 10,300

Tags: Hand & Finger Kink, Dean Winchester is a Scoundrel, Dean gets a Manicure, Fluff and Humor, Shameless Smut of the Finger Variety, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty

Notes: Because Jensen just can’t keep his hands to himself. See notes on AO3 for the offender/crime in question.

A persistent tapping on your bedroom door awakens you. It could be late evening or early morning in the windowless bunker.

Before you can check your phone for the actual time, Dean’s voice calls your name from the other side of the door.

You groan. Whatever time it is, it’s not ‘wakey wakey eggs and bakey’ time. “What?”

“Got word from Sam. He’s figured out what’s been killing the inmates in NSP.”

You sit up and feel for the lamp switch. After a turn and snick , you mumble, “Let there be light.” Your voice raises in answer to Dean. “That’s great.”

“Well, not that great.” The conversation is still happening through the closed door. “Sam figures it’s a ghost of a prisoner that died behind bars in 1870.”

“Why not great? Did you want more of a challenge? Ghosts are a milk run.”

You can hear the dramatic sigh, picture the tilt back and forth of his head, and the way his mouth mimics either you or Sam when the sarcasm leans on the excessive. Which is kind of ironic coming from the King of Snark. “Can I come in? You decent?”

“Yes.”

It’s definitely the middle of the night when you get a look at him. Dean’s hair is mussed. There are cheek and chin creases from scuba pillow diving when he sleeps on his stomach. “You got something formal to wear?”

“Huh?”

“A gown, dress, something promish or wedding worthy?”

“Promish?” That question reply to his question earns you a broad stance with hands on hips like a superhero as Dean stares you down. You twirl both hands around to remind him of the non-existent storage space in the bunker. Which should not be a thing in such a huge fortress where men dressed in three piece suits on the daily. “Sure. I have a whole rack of them hanging in my walk-in closet.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, smart ass. Well, we’re gonna have to go do this thing in less than twenty-four hours that needs you in a dress and me in a tux.”

You suck in your lips and try not to laugh at how pissed Dean appears at the thought.

“It’s a charity fundraiser in Lincoln,” he continues. “We have to act like a couple of out-of-state spenders with deep pockets to get our hands on the Hand of Glory that belonged to this ghost.”

“What about Sam? I bet he’d look much better in a dress than I would.”

Dean shrugs. “He’s got the hair for it. But we can’t risk somebody making him.”

Of course. The one time Sam goes investigating on his own. He posed as an FBI agent and poked around too many people. 

You and Dean are going to have to go shopping. The all-out kind. Max out a stolen credit card at the mall kind.

Dean is gonna be miserable. You can’t wait. Grumpy Dean, for some reason, is very entertaining.

“How about you in the dress and me in the tux?” you offer.

“I don’t have the legs for it.” Dean shakes his head. “Get a few more hours of sleep. Gonna be a busy day.”

You’ve been around Sam and Dean for a long time. Long enough to have gotten a little numb and even blase regarding certain things.

The dangers of a hunt. The stench of death. The amount of blood a beheaded vamp body can ooze.

As you tick the tasks off for the heist with a trip to a dress shop earlier and currently helping Dean pick out a tux, another thing you’ve become indifferent to smacks you right in the goddamn face.

The hotness of the Winchester brothers.

You were talking with the owner of the suit store when Dean parted the curtains of the fitting booth he’d been in for five minutes.

And there it was, dressed to the nines, cutting a fine figure in a black tuxedo. 

The plain as day fact of how unfucking-believably gorgeous Dean Winchester is.

Stephen, well-dressed and highly animated, claps hands in front of his face. “Oh. Wow, that is, it’s like you stepped right off the cover of GQ magazine,” he gushes at Dean. “Turn around, turn around.”

Dean blushes, spins on his heels, and averts your and Stephen’s gaze. You’re glad because you can feel the warmth racing over your own cheeks.

“Sir, that is screaming perfection. I don’t even think it needs to be taken in. It’s like a second skin.” You’d think Stephen was buttering him up for a sale if he was overexaggerating. But, he wasn’t.

“Well, good, cause it’s not like we’ve got time for a tailor,” Dean huffs. Then, you hear, “You’re awfully quiet. What do you think?”

“I-yeah-it’ll do.”

After Dean swipes the key card, he steps aside and lets you pass the threshold first.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

The suite is swanky. No motels for you on this trip. You’ve got to keep up appearances, after all.

Windows that meet the ceiling give you a sweet view of downtown Lincoln. It’s not the New York skyline, but everything looks impressive from a higher vantage.

Dean pushes the squeaky luggage cart. The door clicks closed solidly behind him. “Alright. We got a few hours to get ourselves presentable. Then we head on over to the Sheldon Museum of Art.” He hangs the garment bags containing his tux and your dress in the closet. The duffle bags each get a chuck onto the king-size bed.

You nod at the reminder. Sam will be at the fundraiser as well. Between the ruse of you and Dean as the wealthy Mitchums from Kansas and Sam’s Agent Dion, you’re confident the case will be resolved before another not-so-innocent victim dies. “Too bad we can’t really enjoy a stay at a place like this.”

“Eh, overpriced. I can’t wait to get home to the bunker. It’s a lot nicer.” He rolls the cart back toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He’s gone before you can quibble with Dean over your and his idea of luxury. But yours does have windows, excessive amounts of pillows, and room service.

Dean returns to find you’ve commandeered the entire vanity counter with makeup. He chuckles. “Never seen you put any of this crap on before. Do you even know how?”

“Asshole.” You thwack his tummy, but clenched stomach muscles anticipated the retaliation. “I’ll wear makeup for this case out of necessity. I don’t believe in going into debt to keep up with the latest beauty trend. This stuff costs a fortune.”

Dean picks up a packet of press-on nails and looks at the price tag. “Well, hopefully, it’s all worth it.”

As Dean inspects your haul, you notice the dirt under his own nails. “Your hands,” you state.

“Huh?” Dean’s brow furrows. He puts down the box and stares at his fingers.

“Those aren’t the hands of a millionaire.”

He smiles. “I’ve got a great rags to riches story I can use. You see, one day I was shootin’ at some food, and up for the ground came a bubblin’...”

“Ooor, you can look the part.” You cut off his recounting of how the Beverly Hillbillies came to be and sweep a hand in his direction. “Hurry up and shower. I’ll do your nails.”

His eyes bug out. “Do my nails?”

“Relax. Just gonna tidy them up. No polish. Although there’s nothing wrong with a little color on a guy’s nails. But maybe not for this event. We don’t need you to stand out too much.” You think about how he looked in that tux and realize how much he will stand out already at least in your mind. He’s still blinking at you, processing what’s about to happen. “Well, hurry up, Jeb. That oil ain’t gonna find itself.”

You gulp at the sight of a freshly scrubbed, washed, towel-dried Dean. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. You’ve seen him just out of a shower with his white t-shirt and sweatpants when you’ve been hunting on the road.

Maybe it’s the change of scenery. No motel. No mildew smells. No obnoxiously loud wallpaper to mask the soot and stains. No revving engines or wheels peeling right outside the door. None of the things that usually overwhelm and distract your senses.

His entire face is scrunched up in confused awe. Tools are neatly lined atop a towel on the small island by the kitchenette. Not the usual gun-cleaning ones, though. You clear your throat and pat the breakfast stool beside your seated frame.

“Is this gonna hurt?” he asks.

“Just a little detailing is all.”

He sits and eyes you warily.

A gimme gesture requests his left hand. He provides it, resting his fingers over the bridge of support yours creates. You try not to flinch in surprise at the warmth and weight. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before. But, you’ve never had the opportunity for contact to linger.

You lean down and in, lifting his fingers in inspection and deciding your plan of attack. Damn. They’re, well, you wonder how you haven’t noticed how big they are. His entire hand dwarfs yours in comparison. Dean’s a big dude. He is not as tall as Sam, but considering they’re both over six feet, you shouldn’t be surprised that his digits are substantial. You picture Sam’s hands in your mind’s eye in the usual situations. Tapping away on a keyboard. Flipping through their dad’s journal pages or some gigantic volume of lore in the bunker. Those fingers are long, but their slender and taut, proportionate to Sam’s body type and size. Jolly Green Giant size.

Dean’s? Well, it’s not that they don’t match Dean. They’re beefy, thick, and solid. All the things Dean is. But they’re more like a jumbo sausage sandwich than a hot dog that’s a little too big for the bun. Even the width of his palm seems way above average.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s question calls out and you wonder how long you’ve been staring at his freaking hands.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

You get to work, using a nail brush that’s been soaking in a bowl of warm, sudsy water. A sturdy grip wraps around two of Dean’s fingers - it’s all you can comfortably manage - and the bristles scrub back and forth in quick passes.

Dean chortles. His fingers pull back slightly. The look on his face is one of surprise. You grin and ask, “Did that tickle?”

He snorts. “What? No. I’m not ticklish.”

“Mm-hmm.” You tug his fingers toward the brush. “Hold still then.” You continue the process. Dip the brush in the water bowl. Play Dean’s fingers like a washboard. And you delight in how his jaw clenches and body squirms. He does an adorable shimmy shake that starts at the shoulders and ends with an ass cha-cha. But you only let the torture go on for a minute or two. “Okay. Give them another wash. Then we’ll clip ‘em, file and buff, and these nails will scream private prep school and ivy league polo.”

He rises. “As long as there’s no more brushing.” He punctuates how serious he is about that with one of those fingers right at your mouth.

You swallow the urge to bite that finger.

For someone who was uncertain about the thought of a manicure earlier, Dean is back in a hurry to continue the process. You exaggeratedly shake the nail brush out of the soapy water bowl and softball it into the stainless steel sink a yard away. It clangs about like a noon bell. You raise both hands, “I’m unarmed.”

He snickers, “Not so sure.” He skirts his gaze over the remaining items. “Sharp and stabby things.”

“You have used clippers before. You’re not an actual Cro-Magnon that drags knuckles on the ground and runs nails along some flint.” You grab one stool and carry it to the other side of the island, settling into position for the next step. “Sit and stop acting like a baby.”

“Damn,” he murmurs, following orders and taking his seat from before.

“Hands,” you request.

He harrumphs and splays his fingers atop the terry towel, like a cat stretching and digging in with their claws. His hands are creamy colored and speckled pink from the washing and scrubbing. Ten digits tap along the cloth in wait. And you stare, longer than you should.

What in the holy hell is going on? They’re fingers for chrissakes. The same fingers you’ve seen on Dean all the time, day after day in the bunker or in the car or on a hunt. It’s not like he got a hand transplant or something.

“Come on, Madge.” Dean snaps two of those fingers together. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me I was soaking in it.”

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Softens hands while you do the dishes?” He adds to the dramatics and unhinges his jaw. “Come on, we’re the same age. You gotta remember that commercial? Palmolive?”

“Oh, right.” You feign recollection, inhale to steady yourself and grab his left hand. It’s down to business time. “I’ve only lost five of my last six clients. Nothing to worry about.”

“Quite the comedian,” he razzes back.

“I am. Apparently you could learn a thing or two from me. The first? A punchline isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”

“Yeah, well…” He begins.

“Maybe come at me with ‘your face is a punchline’?” you suggest.

His lids blink in confusion. “It’s not, though.”

For some reason that shuts you both up.

You spend the next minutes manipulating each of Dean’s fingers, one by one in your palm as you clip. Tick, tick, tick. You give the nails a nice straight edge and round out the sides. His nails are stumpy, boxy and twice the width of yours. His skin is calloused, toughened in the spots you expect. From the thousands of hours he’s gripped Baby’s steering wheel, handled a shotgun, cranked a wrench, slid into the trigger of his Colt. But they are soft in other spots. The patterns of lines criss crossing and connecting like a terrain map enthrall you.

He’s quiet. Watching you work. You’ve forgotten to be mouthy for this bit. It’s hard to focus on anything but this and his breathing. You’ve forgotten the basic steps of inhaling and exhaling.

It’s when you’ve moved on to filing that Dean remembers how to word. “You’re good at this.”

“I should be,” you croak out then clear your throat. “I did my older sister’s nails all the time growing up.”

“Hm, I guess Sammy didn’t get the little brother memo about doing my nails.”

I grin up at him. “Maybe you should have had him watch that Palmolive commercial.”

His laugh is soft. His eyes gleam with that hint of mischief he dons when there is no imminent threat. When life is as close to normal as possible. You wonder what it would be like to take those hands and place them around your waist. Guide him to hold you steady, secure.

He opens his mouth, stops to lick his top lip.

It’s taking everything in your power to not catapult over the island and slam your lips against his.

He finally speaks. “We should get ready.”

And your daydreaming dissipates just like that.   

Two hours later, you and Sam wait outside the St. Charbel Chapel in Calvary Catholic Cemetery. It’s the closest church and holy ground from the museum Sam had found in his research.

A fire truck zooms down a nearby street, siren wailing.

You wait for Dean. 

Things had not gone according to plan.

At the fundraiser, Sam got cornered near the crudités by a Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office deputy. From what you overheard, Sam’s cover had been blown. He was in imminent danger of being arrested by Deputy Dickens for impersonating a federal agent. Dean was off in one of the acquisition storage rooms searching for the Hand of Glory.

You all were SOL.

You did what any hunter interested in self-preservation would do. Walked over to the nearest fire alarm and inconspicuously pulled the lever. Alarms went off. In the chaos of disgruntled partygoers filing out of the building, Sam dropped the deputy to the ground with a combo shoulder check and leg sweep. You were down on the floor in a flash, asking the lawman if he was alright. Before he could reply, you held a handkerchief doused with your travel-size bottle of chloroform to his mouth and nose. A clutch could only hold so much—such an inconvenience.

Sam pushed the passed-out deputy under the appetizer station’s floor-length tablecloth. You both did a hurried power walk past the crowd gathered in front of the museum. Sam tried his best to slow down his stride enough for you to keep up wearing heels. At least you only had four blocks to cover to end up at the cemetery, the agreed-upon meetup location.

You pace in wait. “He’ll be here,” Sam states with conviction.

You never want to leave a man behind. Especially not Dean.

Sure enough, Dean’s shadowed figure jogs up the cemetery walk in the dark minutes later. You recognize his panting first.

Sam shines a light in Dean’s direction. He’s a bit disheveled from whatever he had to do to skip out of the museum undetected. The hair, styled in a neat part earlier, is now askew.

“Guessing I have you two to thank for having to hop out a bathroom window and into thorny rose bushes.”

You shrug. “Sam was about to get handcuffed.”

Dean ponders for a moment. “Context is important to determine whether that’s good or bad for Sam.”

“Dean, come on, did you get it?” Sam asks with an impatient wave of his hand.

Dean pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and flaps it open with a wrist snap. He pulls out a gnarled, desiccated object under his jacket's lapel. “I did get it, using my five-finger discount.”

The burning ritual had at least gone smoother than the rest of the evening. Sam dropped the two of you around the back of the hotel in his rental car. You both had left Baby in the connected garage and taken a cab to the museum. 

“See you all at the bunker.” He smiles, energized, and pumped from a successful hunt. He’s glowing and adorable. You realize you have gotta dial back the internal ogling of your hunting partners and quick or it’s gonna get all kinds of uncomfortable in your head.

“See ya, Sammy.” Dean grins and salutes.

“Don’t take too long to get out of town.” Sam advises, flicks his bangs out of his eye line with a shampoo commercial head whip, then peels off with a wave.

The key card lets you sneak in through the poolside.

The ride up the elevator starts quiet. You spend the time zoning out and staring at the tapered triangle of shoulder and back that makes up Dean’s tuxedo jacket.

So, dialing back the ogling is going great.

“You looked really good tonight,” Dean murmurs. You catch his gaze in the door’s reflective surface. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “you still look really good. I never got the chance to tell ya earlier.”

The attention straightens your posture. You adjust the spaghetti strap of your little black dress. “Thanks.” It’s all you can think of to respond. You tear your focus away from the eye crinkles, now the newest sexy thing you’ve failed to notice. It’s safer to inspect the corners of the floor for dust. The small enclosed space heats due to Dean Winchester occupying it.

The elevator dings and you hold in a sigh of relief. You exit first, then halt so he leads. You trail behind him in silence to the room. He opens the door. Your steps scoot past his body.

“Got time to change?” Hopeful, you’re already rifling through your duffel for your jeans and flannel.

“Sam’s right. We should probably bolt.”

You groan.

“Let’s put some miles between us and Lincoln.” It’s not really a suggestion.

“Fine.” You give in, knowing he’s right.

You aren’t tired on the drive back. The sense of accomplishment after a successful case turns most hunters into live wires, you included. 

You and Dean have been chatting about the hunt. The lackluster food at the fundraiser. Sam’s impressive Latin skills. An apparent millionaire whose breath stunk like a month old convenience store burrito. And you knew what one of those smelled like from unfortunate firsthand experience. The conversation switches to some repairs that need to be done around the bunker. A casserole recipe on Pinterest you want to try. Who’s going to get the treat of washing all the MOL classic cars in the garage. The topics pogo all over the place. You love these moments with the brothers. 

You’re an hour and some change out from Lincoln, halfway to Lebanon, when Dean has an idea.

His finger wags at a mile marker. “There’s a decent bar in Bruning. Wanna grab a drink to celebrate?”

You stare at his unbuttoned tux jacket, then your dress. “Like this?”

“Sure. Why not?” It’s not really a question as he takes the exit.

You drew the line at wearing heels in the bar. Dean grabbed your worn cowboy boots from Baby’s trunk. He leaned against the car beside your open passenger door. You tugged on boots, leaned forward, giving any passersby a free show down the front of your dress. Arms folded, Dean scowled and puffed out his chest to any male who dared to glance in your direction.

A minute later you both entered the bar and did the usual routine without speaking. Head to respective bathrooms. Clean up and make yourselves respectable looking. But as you blotted your foundation and appreciated the staying power of your makeup in the mirror - okay, maybe that setting spray was worth the price - you considered who you were making yourself respectable for?

It’s not like either one of you were expecting to get lucky tonight. The bunker was less than two hours away. No one was gonna pick up a local and take them back to their motel room.

You applied a fresh coat of red berry lipstick.

So, that left only you and Dean freshening up for… each other?

You scoffed at the ridiculous idea, ran fingers through your hair.

A drink. One drink. To celebrate a job well done.

“That’s all it is,” you mumble.

You’ve played darts for an hour. Dean’s on his third whiskey. You’ve downed four fruity rum concoctions, mainly because you loved hearing Dean order the drink. 

Entertainment was the least he could do after beating you for the sixth time.

The waitress stops at your high top and grabs the empty plates and glasses. “What else can I get you two?”

Dean clutches a dart, deep in focus, squinting at the target board. “You wanna nother Bahama Mama?”

You suppress a giggle and smile at the waitress. “Just more water. Thanks.”

“We should probably load up on the grease before we head home.” Dean peers at the waitress over a shoulder. “Maybe some fries, darlin’, to go along with one last shot of whiskey?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She smiles, then waits for Dean to turn around before eyeing his backside in approval. With a grin, she taps your bare forearm. “Lucky you,” she whispers.

You are lucky. But not for the reason the waitress thinks. Being around Sam and Dean means safety and security. The eye candy is merely a bonus. One you are debating if you should indulge in more often or continue to restrict your caloric intake.

After all, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a work of art.

Dean had flung his necktie in Baby’s backseat and unbuttoned his collar during the drive. The casual way he now wore the tux was even more attractive. “Probably a good idea if you lay off the alcohol. It’s definitely affecting your game tonight.” He grins.

You lean your heavy weighted head against a palm for support. “Yeah, must b’it,” you slur, more than you like. Your gaze zones in on his fingers gripping the dart. Those damn fingers have been a distraction all night. He has to be unaware he’s sabotaging any ability to focus. Dean is an outright flirt with his targets. You’ve seen him lay on the charm thick and sticky the same way he slaps peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Subtlety has never been his thing.

Speaking of targets. The dart launches out of his hand and lands dead center. “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” Dean performs the ka-ching motion for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Normally, it’s annoying, but you battle your lids open to stare at his clenched fist in awe. Again. He slides onto the bar stool and inspects you with a concerned smile. “You usually drink me under the table. Sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” You hum. 

The waitress whizzes by and deposits Dean’s shot and a basket of fries. Dean’s voice floats in the air expressing his thanks to, you think he says, Linda. Then a pointed order hits you right in the face. “Hey, eat something. I ain’t carrying you to the car like some swoony duchess on those shows you binge.”

“They’ve got carriages, not cars.” You blink over and over and straighten up. A handful of fries fill your mouth. Your brain hasn’t caught up in time to tell you to shut up and chew. “Yud make a ghood ake.”

“What?” Dean smiles at you like he’s happened across his favorite Scooby-Doo episode while channel surfing.

You gulp down the gluey mashed goodness. “You’d make a good rake.”

“What’s that? Some kind of man servant? I was a handmaiden once.” He indulges in some of the fries before you eat them all. Those fingers push them past his lips.

“No. A rake’s-” You huff at the gall when he attentively licks the grease off his thumb. His tongue is quite, um, “Nimble.”

He frowns, obviously confused. “A rake’s nimble?”

You shake out the cobwebs in your brain, tripping you up with a collision of thoughts. “A rake’s a ladies’ man,” you mutter.

His spine stiffens, shoulders pop back in pride. “I do try to please the ladies every chance I get.”

“We are all well aware.” More fries thankfully save you from saying anything that may humiliate.

“Guess those aren’t your favorite characters. You probably like the stuffy types that are all serious, with their noses up in the air or stuck in a book.”

You shrug. “Nah, I go for the rogues.”

One of Dean’s brows quirk up. “The dangerous type?” One side of his mouth lifts as well.

“Yeah, a scoundrel. You know, the one you can’t quite figure out. They’ve got this bad reputation or some sordid past. But, they go after what they want. Take what they want.” You hum again and close your eyes. You can still see Dean’s grin in your mind’s eye.

“Too bad I don’t fit the bill.”

You freeze. Eyes still closed. He didn’t just… did he?

“I mean. It’d be all kinds of wrong. Me going for something I wanted, damn the consequences.”

You inhale and grip the curve of the table top. You open your eyes to find him sipping at his whiskey. “Don’t fuck with me,” you whisper.

He gives you a toe curling smile now. The glass clinks onto the table. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not your type.”

“I-wh-” It’s too late. You’ve never been on the receiving end of what is most definitely Dean Winchester flirting. “What makes you think that?”

He leans in. His breath meets your inhale and you take in all the spice and warmth. “I wouldn’t do a thing to mess this up. Not unless, you know, I knew.”

You nod, dumbstruck. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, yeah.” A whoosh of fatigue makes your head spin.

Dean smiles. “We live together, hunt together. Packed like sardines together twenty-four seven sometimes. Wouldn’t want to mess any of that up. Unless I knew, you know?”

“Knew what?” Your chin drops to your chest despite your best efforts. The weight of your body gets ready to do a face plant on the table top. You squish your lids shut tight and groan in horror at the inevitable.

But, Dean is there to save you. Again. His fingers swoop in to cradle your jaw and lift up your head. The embarrassment and alcohol finally overtake you. As you fade, you hear, “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’ll remember the answer.”

You woke up in your bed, back at the bunker. Again, with no idea if it was morning or night. No idea how much time had passed since…

You spring upright to sit. And, yeah, that was a mistake. Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry and tacky. Your stomach feels like it got turned upside down. Not that much time has passed since…

You groan and lay back down, slow and gentle. You piece the last snippets of memory together.

You stare up at the ceiling, grateful for the darkness. You want it to suck you up whole.

Did you pass out in the middle of Dean hitting on you? Did Dean end up swooping you up and putting you in the Impala? Driving you home passed out in the back seat - or God forbid the front passenger seat with you lolling about, mouth probably open and drooling - then carrying you throughout the bunker to your bedroom? Did he…?

You pat your chest and feel the spaghetti straps and silky fabric of your little black dress. You sigh. He had taken pity on you and only stripped you of your cowboy boots.

There’s a soft tap on your bedroom door.

“Oh no.” You pull the blanket over your head, mortified. You don’t think you can face him.

But it’s not Dean that says your name. It’s Sam.

“You alright? I heard you… uh… moaning.”

“Yeah,” you squeak. “Hungover.”

You think you hear Sam snicker. “Dean said you outpaced him by a mile. In darts and drinks.”

That makes you pause to recall. No, you definitely don’t think any of that’s accurate.

“He made some breakfast before he went out, if you’re hungry.”

Great, he can’t bear to face you, either. “Thanks, Sam.”

“If you’re up for it later, I could use some assistance researching.”

You take a measured breath to quell the nausea. “I’ll let you know.”

You’d chewed some aspirin and drank glass after glass of water from the sink in your room and somehow passed out for a few more hours.

You drag yourself out of bed around noon and shower in an effort to resemble something close to human. The stomach growls lead you to the bunker kitchen. At first, you smile at the plate of pancakes Dean covered with a clean kitchen towel for you. A frown follows at the odd shape of them. They aren’t his usual silver dollar pancakes stacked six high.

You tilt your head, attempting to figure out what Buttermilk Banksy was trying to create. The two pancakes, side by side on a large plate, obviously started out as circles. But then, four long tendrils were added along the top of each and a little offshoot one on the side. A turkey? Why the hell would Dean make turkeys? It wasn’t anywhere near Thanksgiving time.

“‘Bout time, sleepy head.” Dean’s voice wafts in from the doorway. He strolls in without a care in the world. There’s no hesitancy to lock eyes with you. Which is good. That has to mean you didn’t make more of a fool of yourself than you remember. He tugs on the fridge door. “Do you want something else or those pancakes enough?” He’s asking the interior of the refrigerator more than you, his head circling the shelves. “Was gonna pile on the grease but thought you might need to take it easy after last night.”

“No, this is great. Thank you.” You keep your voice low, hoping he’ll get the hint and not make too much noise.

He seems to, clicking the door shut softly after grabbing a cold slice of pizza. “Oh, I thought we’d do a movie night in the Dean cave. I bought angus ground beef for burgers. I’ll make some potato wedges. Grabbed your favorite microwave popcorn, movie theater butter.”

The menu, miraculously, doesn’t make your stomach lurch into panicked somersaults. “None of that sounds Sam approved.”

“He’s got that author signing book store thing in Stockton tonight.”

Oh, right. You’d forgotten for a moment how excited Sam was to listen to some guy read a chapter from his book on the evils of the Federalist Society.

“Think you’ll be up for it?” Dean asks, brows raised hopeful.

You smile. “I think I will.”

“Good.” He captures a third of the pizza slice in one bite. After four chews and a swallow he finishes with, “I’ll go easy on you.” The grin he flashes catches you off guard. It’s that one that if Sam saw it, he’d suspect you and Dean had a secret.

Problem was, you didn’t know what the secret was.

“We got weapons to clean in an hour. No matter what Sam says about research.” Dean taps the door sill on the way out of the kitchen. “Meet you in the library. Don’t be late.” He disappears.

You stare down at your breakfast, which is now technically lunch, and a queasy feeling erupts. But not from the hangover or the thought of eating.

The pancakes Dean made. You think you know what the shapes are now.

A pair of hands.

Time in the library with Sam and Dean is pure torture. 

You’re sat equidistant between the two of them, in the middle of one of the long massive wooden tables. Sam is on one end, flipping through page after page of a volume on corporal punishment. He’s trying to work out an easy cheat sheet - a work flow chart - that you all can use in the future. If you can identify what crime someone was charged with committing way back when, you’d have a better idea of the dismembered mummified appendage to track.

Dean occupies the other head of the table. A worn cloth laid out in front of him, all manner of weapons lined in a neat row atop it, awaiting his hands.

His hands. God, you hope the pancakes were merely a cheeky, inside joke on Dean’s part. Maybe it was a reminder about your insistence on the manicure. Or the friggin’ Palmolive commercial that, thanks Dean, you can’t get out of your head either. Because now all you can think about is Dean’s massive fingers dipped in a teeny tiny glass bowl filled with sudsy dish detergent. 

Between Sam’s page turns and Dean’s clink of weapons your brain can’t settle or calm down. You’re also trying to appease both hunters. You’re reading through a book on your right and sharpening a machete on your left. 

“That jugglin’ act might leave you with more than a paper cut if you aren’t careful,” Dean chides.

You swallow down the urge to quip something back. It’s only when the whetstone clears the curve of the machete and halts at the tip that you tear your gaze from the task and stare at Dean. “I can handle it.”

He smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you can HANDle it.” He shrugs. “Just wouldn’t want you to lose a FINGER.”

“How about you quit distracting her? She’s doing you a favor.” Sam’s brows lift pointedly at Dean. “And besides, why do you insist on cleaning weapons here when you could literally be doing it anywhere else in the bunker?”

Dean curls up the fakest smile at Sam. “Cause I love your company.” 

The boys settle after a few more grunts and scoffs at each other. You plunge nose deep into lore and wish the pages were waves pulling you out to sea. 

There’s no way Dean’s emphasis on “hand” and “finger” were accidental. Dean’s pretty intuitive. But you are a pretty good actor in your own right when you need to be. However, there’s still a chance that you said or did something when you were too intoxicated to remember.

It’s not helping that Dean’s performing his weapon cleaning like a goddamn seduction. Mr. Hand Model takes apart the sawed off, cleans the inside of and around the barrel, reassembles, and clicks all the pieces back into place. His nails look perfect, shiny and slick with the gun oil. His beefy fingers curl around the wood and steel in a way that makes you want to trade places with the firearm.

You somehow endure for 45 minutes. Last night’s indulgences are blamed in an excuse to head back to your bedroom. As you preemptively wish Sam an enjoyable outing later, Dean reminds you to rest up for dinner and a movie.

Ugh. You know how Dean gets when he won’t let something go that he finds hilarious. This could go on for a while.

It’s a trap. It’s gotta be.

Dean’s lowering your defenses with good food and good company.

It all started in the kitchen where dinner was served. He wasn’t kidding about the burgers. He made quarter pound medium rare works of art with cheese and all the toppings. The bun was Texas Toasted out. The guy even used the air fryer to produce ridiculously addicting potato wedges with a spicy paprika and chili powder coating.

Then, it was Dean cave time. No beer in sight, you were given pop to drink, with an offhanded “no repeat performance of last night” remark. You slid down the couch, groaning, pulling the hoodie over your face for dramatic effect. He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you on the couch and added, “You know, so you don’t pass out midway through the movie.”

You inhale the buttery goodness beside you and relax, popping back up in your seat. A swig of sugar wakes up your lethargic post-meal brain and settles the nerves that Dean is up to something. “So, what masterpiece do you have for us tonight?” you query.

He presses a button on one remote and the lights dim. Another remote in hand, another button press, and the television screen blares with an all too familiar soundtrack.

“The Empire Strikes Back.” You nod. “Good choice.”

“It’s your favorite one,” Dean reminds you.

“Yeah. Yoda. Duh.”

Dean chuckles.

Things fall into that easy going movie commentary that you and Dean are so fond of doing. It drives Sam crazy when he's watching stuff with the two of you. You’re spouting behind the scenes facts you know you’ve told Dean a half a dozen times already (like how the puppeteer who’s voicing Yoda also voices your favorite muppet, Fozzie Bear). Dean adds his own sound effects when the AT-ATs are firing, points out every Wilhelm scream, and helps Harrison Ford out by quoting all of Solo’s lines.

Leia is fixing some equipment on the Falcon and you comment, “I like the braid updo more than the cinnamon rolls.”

“Eh, I don’t know. The combo of beauty and baked goods is pretty hard to beat.”

Solo walks in and tries to help. Leia pushes him away. You sigh. “Here they go.”

Dean turns to you and raises an eyebrow. In perfect sync with Solo’s dialogue he utters, “Hey Your Worship, I’m only trying to help.”

You eye roll. “Would you please stop calling me that?” If it's a quote battle Dean wants, it’s on. If Sam were here, he’d be so done with the both of you right now.

“Sure, Leia.”

A huff for good measure. “You make it so difficult sometimes.”

Dean leans in. “I do, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”

Wait. Wait. Oh no. You don’t have to be looking at the screen to know what happens next. Leia hurts her HAND trying to turn a lever. You clam up at all the fucking context this scene now holds for you and Dean. You can’t say the next lines. Because you know that Solo grabs Leia’s HAND as she says, “Occasionally, maybe… when you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

That’s when last night’s rum-infested confessions cut to the front of the memory queue. You adore scoundrels, rogues.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat, though. He even gazes down at one of your HANDS. He continues the performance. “Scoundrel?” Face half cast in shadow, his lids widen, irises still manage to catch the light and entrance you. “Scoundrel?” A huge grin emerges. “I like the sound of that.”

Solo is massaging Leia’s HAND the whole time.

Leia whispers, “Stop that.”

Dean replies, “Stop what?” Though he’s not questioning the screen. He’s locked eyes with you. Daring you to break away first.

Leia answers, even softer. “Stop that. My hands are dirty.”

Dean tilts his head, uncaring. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” Oh, Leia, Don’t egg him on.

“You’re trembling,” Dean’s voice is softer. He’s edging closer, but there’s only so much distance he can cover with the popcorn bowl in the way.

You decide now’s as good a time as any to try and act your way out of a paper bag. “I’m not trembling.” You coat your response with steel.

Dean is only encouraged by your participation. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

You ponder for a moment. “I happen to like nice men.”

“I’m nice men.” Dean offers with complete sincerity.

You scoff. “No, you’re not. You’re…”

The music swells. Solo and Leia kiss.

But, you and Dean just stare at each other, for what feels like an eternity. You know C3PO is gonna interrupt the lovebirds at any moment. It’s the only lifeline you have, so you wait for the robot with the worst timing in history to save you from embarrassment.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice calls from the hallway.

You snap, stick straight, your back pressed against the seat. Sam must have come in through the garage.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Sammy. Come on in. Back so soon?”

The door flings open. Warm ceiling lights from the hall halo Sam’s figure. “You know how they say, never meet your heroes? Totally valid advice tonight.” Sam stumbles into the room, all lanky limbs, and sinks into the cushy side chair. He runs fingers through his hair, his profile scrutinizing the screen. “Jedi?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, how are we related?”

The three of you watch the rest of the movie without much commentary.

And you and Dean do not quote any other lines.

You cleaned up the dinner mess, alone, in the kitchen. You insisted it was the least you could do and Dean didn’t put up much resistance.

You find Dean’s bedroom door open on your way to your own for the night. You stop in the doorway to thank him again.

He’s putting away some shirts in his dresser, back turned. He looks comfy, cozy, showered, and perfect. You compose yourself in a split second when he senses you and cocks his head to the door. “Hey, everything okay?”

It’s his usual question, always assuming something needs fixing or solving. But, you sense extra concern in the tone this time.

You nod, wanting to ease the tide of Dean Winchester’s worry. “Thank you. Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, even with Chewbacca?”

You chuckle. “Be nice.”

He waves you in as he wraps up his laundry. You oblige and sit by the tiny corner table. “Yeah, you’re right. Solo actually wouldn’t mind Chewy hanging out with him and Leia.”

You smile. Apparently, it’s Star Wars character dissection time. “So, if Sam’s not Chewbacca…”

The drawer squeaks closed. “Luke.”

“Han doesn’t mind Luke. Annoyed, sometimes. But, everyone annoys Han at one point or another.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, facing you. He stretches, hands entwined and arms raised overhead. A white t-shirt hugs his form here and there. You get a glimpse of perky nipples pressing against fabric. “Luke was competition. Before the brother-sister bombshell,” Dean states.

“Yeah, guess so.”

“But, the three of them, they made a good team,” Dean continues.

You nod, deliberate and slow.

“It only takes one person to start getting feelings for another one in the trio and then the whole galaxy is in jeopardy.” Dean taps the pads of his fingers together.

You sigh. You didn’t want to have to rat yourself out. But, Dean’s got a point. So, how do you go about telling him you’re finding him unbelievably attractive all of a sudden? And how do you ease his apparent worry? What, you’ll do your best to keep it in check? It won’t interfere with the work you do?

“We’re a good team, right? You, me, Sammy?” Dean cuts through the silence with the questions. He scrubs at the nape of his neck.

“I-I’d like to think so. But, you’re right, Dean. It can throw the whole balance off in a good working relationship if someone starts to catch feelings that aren’t reciprocated.”

His eyebrows form a distraught mountain peak. “So, it’s true?”

He looks so unhappy at the possibility, but you’ve gotta be an adult about it. “It just started happening during the last case.” You shrug. “But, I don’t have any intention of acting on them.” A hand raises. “Don’t worry.”

His lips purse tight. Nostrils flare. He’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “But, you won’t know if you don’t act on it.” He nods more to convince himself now. “You should talk to Sam about how you feel.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Hey, I gave it a ‘good ole high school dropout that earned his GED’ try. We have established that I am not your type.”

“Wha-?”

“I’ll be fine with the two of you being a thing. I want to see you and Sam happy. If that means you both, together, that’s great.”

Your hands circle in front of you. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a minute.” Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“What?” He’s got that vacant puppy dog expression, every muscle in his face relaxed, wide open eyes.

You steady your breathing. “What made you think you were my type?” You can’t help the question. You only hope it doesn’t sound belittling or sarcastic. Right now, it’s your last defense of self-protection and attempt at fact finding. You gotta know if you are misinterpreting the revelation that Dean may in fact be upset if you and Sam were an item. Because… he wants you two to be an item?!

“You were acting… weird… ever since Lincoln and the manicure.” He twiddles his fingers. “I was picking up signals that weren’t there, I guess.” He shakes his head and mumbles. “Or, I probably was looking too hard to find something that wasn’t there. Like those times you tell me I’m sniffing around the wrong dog’s butt.”

You squish your lids at how crass you can be. It’s giving you less reasons to think he could find you attractive in any capacity. “Okay, but why was that so important to know?”

His arms extend from side to side. He’s getting riled up and more than a little miffed. But, you know that might work in your favor. His mouth tends to run on autopilot and the truth comes flying out. “Our, I don’t know, petri dish of co-existing in this jack-in-the-box wouldn’t get fucked up. I wouldn’t go off half-cocked and do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while unless I knew, for sure, that you felt the same way I did.” His hands retract and fall in his lap. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at his socked feet. “But, you don’t.”

You’ve got actual fucking butterflies beating their wings like bongo drums in your stomach. “What have you wanted to do for a while?”

His eyes track up to you. He’s inspecting you, hard. That’s doing nothing to quell the excitement inside. “What’s the point in telling you that now?”

“Because, maybe… you’re wrong and… you are my type.”

Dean’s lids lift a quarter of an inch. It’s a minute, micro reaction. But you catch it.

“Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for a while, because, like you. I didn’t want to mess things up. I love Sam.” You swallow, ready to bare all. “But, I haven’t been thinking about what his hands could do to me,” you whisper.

Dean inhales, sharp and quick through his nose at that confession. He exhales, adding, “Don’t fuck with me.”

You can’t do anything but grin in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a goddamn idiot. “I should have said that to you numerous times today. The pancakes. The gun cleaning. Freakin’ Han massaging Leia’s HAND!”

His lids widen. “Hey, it was me testing my theory. Like when we gotta douse someone with holy water to make sure they aren’t possessed. All but the movie, though. Swear I did not remember that scene until a few seconds before it started happening.” He sits up, rubs palms on his sweatpant clad thighs. “Well, okay, I didn’t remember the hand thing, but I wanted to see how you reacted to like THE best scoundrel ever.” Now, he’s grinning. “Been thinkin’ about my hands, huh?”

You roll your eyes merely to play along. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”

He cocks his head like a devilish rogue. “No need for a big head when I’ve got big hands.”

The giggle escapes before you can lasso it.

Dean slides his gaze up your seated frame. It’s a filthy, seedy expression. And hot as fuck. He stops to stare at your mouth, then licks his own. When his eyes meet yours, he commands, “Come on over and show me what you’ve been thinking of.” He pats his thighs. “I’ve got a nice warm seat for ya.”

He’s kidding, right? He wants you to sit on his lap. As if you’d even consider it.

And, yeah, you aren’t considering it. There’s no time for consideration when your legs have already propelled you out of the seat. You give his bedroom door a swing in a passing thought about closing it for privacy.

You can see the look of surprise on Dean’s face as you march over to the bed. But it’s mixed with want and eagerness. He opens his arms in welcome.

Warmth prickles your cheeks at the forwardness you display in accepting the invitation. One knee props up on the bed beside him. You anchor hands onto his shoulders, feel those fingers fan and lock onto your waist, and you bring the rest of your body up to straddle his lap.

You sigh, staring down at that kid in a candy store grin of his, and marvel at how very right it all feels. You settle, your ass firmly atop his thighs. The heat of him is immediate.

“Been wanting you like this,” he whispers, his nose brushing the skin exposed around your collar. A hand molds to the side of your neck, holding you in place. You shiver at the lips skirting upwards along the channel of your throat. “Now who’s ticklish?” It’s meant to tease, but his voice has lost that hint of mirth. It’s deeper, daring you to deny his observation as anything other than fact. “Maybe you aren’t ready for my hands. All.” A kiss at the juncture where your lobe meets your jaw. “Over.” A peck at the tip of your chin. He threads his fingers into the base of your hairline. He eases your head with a smooth tilt down. You lock eyes with his green ones once again. “You.”

The only response you can give is to connect your lips to his. Feeling the pliant, soft give of his mouth against yours. Then his insistent lean up and forward, forcing you to stand your ground while seated on his lap. You have to demonstrate your want is equal to his.

And you want. You so want.

Whatever you’re doing, his approving moan eggs you to continue. With each swipe and dip and dive of your lips, your mouth opens a bit more. The access encourages Dean’s tongue to taste. He laps at you gently, swirls around just enough that your core begins to ache. He pulls away and you groan. You’re drunk with desire, heavy and heady. 

Your lids blink open slow and sleepy. Thankfully you find Dean’s looking as blissed out as you feel. He’s inspecting your reaction through a hazy gaze. His hand captures the side of your face. Five pressure points sink into your skin. His eyes flicker to your mouth to watch his thumb outline the curve of your lip. The pad tugs and drags at your skin.

It’s only a second of wordless communication between the two of you. He asks with a lifting of his lids. You agree with an affirmative blink.

His thumb delves into your mouth, up to the first knuckle. You wrap your lips around. Suck with the gentlest of pressure.

His mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Good girl,” he whispers.

And, fuck if that doesn’t open your floodgates. You’re slick and ready.

Dean’s other hand runs along the waistband of your yoga pants. “You been thinking about my hands all over you…” His thumb glides under the fabric of your panties. “Taking you apart, piece by piece.” He delves farther down, until he taps the top of your mound. His jaw clenches at your gasp of anticipation. His thumb hooks under your tongue against the floor of your mouth to express just how in command he is right now. “You gonna do what I say, Your Worship?”

You nod. You’ll don a pair of cinnamon buns if he tells you to right now.

He smirks, cocky and full of confidence. “The better I make you feel down here...” He works his thumb between your folds and presses against your clit. You squirm in his lap. “The better you suck with that beautiful mouth, yeah?”

You nod again. He releases the pressure in your mouth, circles your bundle of nerves. He slips and slides while his fingers splay over your stomach to anchor in place. You latch onto his thumb again and suck on it like a straw

“Pretty sure this isn’t as wet as you’re gonna get,” he comments like a fucking weatherman. After only a few seconds, he sighs and shakes his head. “Too many fucking clothes.”

You’ve only sparred with Dean a handful of times. Every time, he’s bested you with graceful movements and quick action. He disengages from you for what must have only been seconds, spinning you around in his grasp and pinning your back to the mattress. He’s whipping off your t-shirt, pants, and underwear. Leaving you in only your bra.

He leers over you, hands running up the underside of your thighs. He kneels onto the bed, all of his clothes still on, to wedge against your ass. All of you is on proper display for him. And he takes it all in.

“Right, Gorgeous. Where were we?” One hand rides its way up your chest back to your mouth. You accept his index finger between your lips this time. His other hand resumes playing with your clit. “Hm. Much better.” 

A gasp escapes from your mouth. Your tongue ejects his finger so you can point out, “Who’s the one with too many fucking clothes on now?”

“All good things come to those who wait, darlin’.” He settles further, criss crossing over top of your flesh. His legs sandwich your right thigh while he strums your pussy. The hope of what else is to come pokes into your side through his sweatpants. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, slipping his finger into your mouth again. The pull of his left hand guides you to lean your head toward the right. He settles his beefy forearm onto the mattress above your shoulder.

His chest pins you down in a kinky wrestling move. Teeth snag your ear lobe. He applies pressure to the swollen flesh over a ridge of bone, then uses a flicking motion that makes your thigh twitch in delight.

You're sloppy with your technique of licks and sucks as he feeds you another digit. But, really, how is any gal supposed to mind their manners with Dean Winchester fingering her? You groan, helpless, as he explores your folds, finds your entrance with two tips. “I know you got a thing for my hands,” his hot breath tunnels into your ear canal, “but, if you want, I can fill you up real good with something else.”

You can’t reply with any actual words, only moans of agreement. The erection pressing into your hip bone sure does feel substantial. If it’s anything like his fingers - two fingers are currently surfing around your tongue and rubbing against your palate - he’ll have no problem filling you up.

To ground yourself in the reality of the situation, you snatch at the hem of his shirt and tug. Your pelvis tilts up at the slow insertion of one of his other fingers down below. “Damn,” he pants into your ear. “How long’s it been since someone took care of you, all nice and proper? So- so tight and wet.” He hums. “And warm.” A languid slide out with one finger, only to be accompanied with another when he pushes back inside. “Feel so good. Gonna feel even better around my cock after I make you come… Princess.”

You will not ever admit to the fact that you squealed with Dean’s fingers in your mouth. That you convulsed after only seconds of him playing with your clit and stretching open your hole.

Fireworks continue to skyrocket in your head. Your body tipped into the oversensitive zone. You’re aware of every bit of him plastered against you. He’s made you slick with arousal and sweat. Layers of fabric cling to skin. You should be suffocating with him laying atop you, but he feels like a weighted blanket. Warm, secure. Dean’s fingers don’t retract from your mouth or pussy. They are frozen in place. Your teeth nibble one set. Your muscles spasm around the other. 

He hasn’t moved. Hot breath huffs hard into the crook of your neck with an occasional sharp inhale and hold. You close your eyes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could fall asleep like this.

“Was that… too much?” He deep-throat whispers in your ear now. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“N-mph-,” you chortle around his fingers.

“Shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, the other slowly out of your hot core. Matching sighs release from you both.

“No,” you heave, and his chest rises up and off. “It was… awesome.”

He’s in your face now, all green eyes and pink lips, a veil of freckles along the bridge of his nose and forehead. “Yeah?”

You squint, trying to focus on all the glorious aspects. He’s studying you. You get the feeling he’s really not sure. “Why is the ladies man doubting himself all of sudden?” you tease, rocking to shuffle him out of the daze.

A shrug. “It’s you. I don’t always read you right.”

You lean your head back into his memory foam in an attempt to make full eye contact. “I don’t know how many ways you can misread giving me a mindblowing orgasm.”

He blinks, cautious. “Is what I did going to… you know… change things between us?”

“Oh.” You stop, dart your gaze to the ceiling past his shoulder for dramatic effect. “Oh, absolutely. I mean,” you pause, “how could it not?” You shake your head and feel his entire body go rigid. “It’s gonna be so awkward and uncomfortable around here.” 

When you dare to look at him, there’s a hint of something you don’t see often on Dean’s face. You think it might be fear.

You can’t bear it any longer. “I mean, I can already imagine the disgusted look on Sam’s face when we start making out right in front of him.”

Within seconds, the expression turns to one of relief and amusement, accompanied by the charming cockiness that’s gonna turn you to goo at the most inopportune moments from here on out. “Well, we don’t have to tell him right away. It might be fun to, you know, sneak around right under his nose.” He relaxes, sinks into you again. “I could have you all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places, doing our best not to get caught.”

You smile. “Don’t want to tell your brother you’ve stolen my heart with that five-finger discount of yours?”

He chuckles, rolls his eyes, then cups the heat of your folds again. “I mean, I sucked at Biology, but pretty sure this ain’t your heart, darlin’.”

“You’re wrong, you know?”

He blinks, all sass and spectacle, “This IS your heart?” He squeezes.

You peck his lips, roll your eyes, and curl arms around his waist. “No. Solo’s got nothing on you. YOU are the best scoundrel.”

A breathtaking kiss makes you all lightheaded. When he finally pulls away and allows you to exhale, he lifts one side of his mouth into a confident grin. “I know.”

THE END

[shallowseeker]

Rowena's First Case

Somewhere around season 14, I need Rowena to "conduct an investigation." -> "It's not a CASE, Samuel, because *I* am not a hunter."

And when neither Sam or Dean want to come with her, she invites Cas.

(Just look at Bernard! This is the vibe!)

///

Later, she pops into the bunker in a gown, and then Cas walks out in the super-showy outfit Rowena picked out (and had tailored) for him.

And Dean is over there simmering, because Cas refuses to "change up the duds" on THEIR cases.

So anyway, Sam and Dean respectively "get worried," but their usual undercover tricks aren't working, so they have to go undercover as servers.

(Yes, Dean is eating the food off his own tray.)