twowaywardorphansjournal

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Oasis

Summary: Dean goes incommunicado for two days, causing you to panic.

Content: Dean x female reader, reader is not a hunter, missed calls/texts, sits cannonically right after 5x10, a little angst, a little fluff, no major warnings

Notes: Just a little fluff inspired by a couple different things. Please let me know what you think!

*****************************************************************

Dean had never been gone for this long.

When you had started seeing him, you had made him promise that he wouldn’t disappear. A “check-in” rule, if you will; he could only go so long before you wanted to physically be in his presence. It was more than just the security of knowing he was safe and out of harm’s way. From the little research you had done upon discovering the world of monsters and supernatural creatures, you had learned that hunters got consumed by the job, to the point that they could lose themselves. And frankly, since you had no desire to go learn how to shoot a rifle, making Dean come home to you was the next best thing.

Somehow, Dean had missed his deadline. He had called three weeks ago saying that things were still not going great in their hunt to stop the apocalypse. You didn’t want more detail than that, you just asked when he was coming. He said he was trying to move things along as fast as he could. After that, he checked in at least once a day by text, or he’d call if he could sneak away from Sam, and apologized for not being there like you wanted.  

Then two days ago the communication had completely stopped. No matter what you did, he didn’t pick up or text you back, and you were in a full-blown panic. You had even tried Sam a couple times, but he was just as unresponsive as Dean. It had been impossible to focus at work, causing you to blow a big presentation, and your co-workers hadn’t been much help when they all formed the conclusion that he was “probably just trying to let you off easy”.

Now you were sitting in your living room, studiously ignoring the movie you had put on to try to cheer yourself up. Your phone was next to you on the couch, and it was taking enormous willpower to not try to call Dean for the fourth time this evening.

He’s absorbed in something, and his phone died, you tried to tell yourself in comfort. Your heart was beginning to not believe you.

Suddenly, the lock on the front door clicked. Figuring it was your roommate, you tried to turn your attention back to the movie. After a minute with no greeting, you glanced down the hall. Dean was standing in the entryway watching you, his usual smirk wiped away and replaced with a vacant stare.

“Dean.” You whispered.

Before he could utter a response, you leapt off the couch and sprinted through the front of the apartment. You launched yourself at Dean, sending him stumbling back a couple of steps as his arms enclosed around you.

“Hey,” Dean replied breathily, his voice crackling with emotion.

You desperately wanted to ask a million questions about what had happened, and also chew into him for disappearing on you, but something told you he was trying to hold himself together at the moment and it stopped you. Pulling back, you scanned his face and upper body.

“Are you okay?” You asked impatiently. “Are you hurt?”

“A little sore, but I’ll be fine.” His thumb dragged over your cheek softly. He was freshly showered, his hair still damp, and the scent of his body wash and cologne filled your nose in the best way. You wrapped your arms around him again, settling your head into the crook of his shoulder. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to come home.” He muttered, his chest rumbling under your cheek.

“I’m just glad you’re here.” You responded. When it seemed you had no intention of moving, Dean chuckled dryly, running his hand over your lower back.

“Why don’t we go finish the movie you started?” He suggested. “I’m exhausted.”

Nodding, you took Dean’s hand and tugged him down the hall to the couch. Dean plopped down after toeing off his boots, sitting in the corner of the wraparound couch and extending his legs. Curling against him, you pulled a blanket over both of you and sighed contentedly.

About thirty minutes later you felt the shift. As the movie’s action climaxed, the characters were all trying to prevent a bomb from exploding, and you could feel the muscles in Dean’s body slowly tightening. When the bomb finally went off on screen, Dean flinched beneath you. Despite knowing better, you looked up at him automatically. At first Dean kept his eyes on the movie, avoiding your gaze, but finally he sighed and returned your look.

“What happened?” You asked softly.

“Nothing,” He answered automatically.

“Dean.” You said sternly. “You disappeared for two days. You’re flinching at a movie scene. I know I’m not a hunter, but you can talk to me.”

Dean clenched his jaw. He had never been an open book, saying emotions were for wusses, but you hoped he wouldn’t blow you off again. Slowly, Dean began to tell you about their hint about where to find Lucifer and their plan to use the Colt to kill him. How they had ended up in Carthage with no cell service and things had gone to shit when Jo got hurt. His voice got tighter as he told you about Ellen and Jo staying behind to blow up the hellhounds so he and Sam could escape. And it had all been fruitless because the gun hadn’t worked.

“So now you come up with a new plan?” You wondered.

“That’s Monday’s problem. Right now, I’m gonna hold my girl tight and spend as much time with her as I can.” Dean leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and then returned his attention back to the movie.  

You knew there was more that was going to pop up from this encounter, but you were glad to know the truth. Mentally you started thinking of what you could do to help Dean decompress. At least he would always have some place to come back to where he could escape for a bit. You hoped that you would always be an oasis for him.

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Fan Sunday

My brain was mush last week trying to get some stuff done at work, so I haven't had much energy for writing. I have a couple things in the works, my goal is to get at least one of them done and posted this week for your enjoyment.

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[twowaywardorphansjournal]

I'm sorry I think I have something in my eye......

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

Hoppy Fan Friday!

Guys, my plot bunnies are active, but at the worst times. Currently its when I'm driving TO work where I'm not gonna be able to be creative at all. So I just store it away and try to write in the evening, but I'm not as inspired then. I'm working on it. Please donate some carrots on their behalf, they would really appreciate it.

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[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Hoppy Fan Friday!

Guys, my plot bunnies are active, but at the worst times. Currently its when I'm driving TO work where I'm not gonna be able to be creative at all. So I just store it away and try to write in the evening, but I'm not as inspired then. I'm working on it. Please donate some carrots on their behalf, they would really appreciate it.

Thank you to all for the activity! I do not take for granted that I get to log in every day to people appreciating my writing. That's why I try to do this, to show how much I love seeing you guys consuming my work.

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[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Justified

Summary: You help tend to Sam after a rough night

Content: Sam x Reader, blood, injuries, inappropriate catcalling, men being pushy, fighting

Notes: Got this idea from a @luna-azzurra prompt "cleaning up their busted knuckles after a fight they started to protect you" here. I thought it would be fun to show this for Sam, since we all know that it's a Dean quality. Enjoy!

********************************************************

Sometimes you forget that Sam has the same capabilities as Dean.

Of course, their differences vastly outweigh their similarities. Sam fades into the same crowd that Dean is seeking validation from. If you were forced to pick one, Dean would be your typical “street smart” compared to Sam’s “book smart”. Dean shies away from the deep conversation, while Sam seems to find it scintillating. But both of them were raised to fight, to hunt, to never back down. Sam may try to hide that part of himself, but it’s not something that will easily go away. If anything, Sam has more grit than Dean because of everything that he’s had to endure.

It's the fight in Sam that has you standing in the small motel bathroom, pouring hydrogen peroxide over his bloody knuckles. He lets out a low hiss as a piece of skin flakes off, mixing with the pink liquid running down the drain.

“You’re an idiot,” you mutter mostly to yourself.

“Don’t start that.” Sam looks at you through the mirror. “You know that I had to…”

“You didn’t have to anything, Sam!” Your frustration bubbles over, echoing through the enclosed space. Setting down the bottle of antiseptic, you press your hands into the counter and sigh, the night coming back to you.

“Lordy, I think we got ourselves a dove up in these parts!”

Your brain registers the Texan twang, but you continue your conversation with Sam, figuring that it’s something only a local would understand. Just as you feel the crowding of people around you, Sam shifts his focus, and a guarded look passes over his face.

“We ain’t seen someone as pretty as you since Billy left his first wife.” The voice is quieter now, and you realize that you apparently are the ‘dove’.

“She’s with me,” Sam states firmly. “Move along, gentlemen.”

“Now, the respectful thing to do here, would be to offer to share your dove with your elders.” His voice is grating on your nerves. You turn, and see that they really aren’t much older than you and Sam. Four men stand around your high-top table, all dressed about the same. Their muscle tees refuse to hide beer bellies and flabby arms under their leather vests.

“I’m not interested.” You meet the eyes of the one who has been catcalling you and don’t blink. He chuckles. Instead of intimidating him, this seems to turn him on.

“We got us a feisty one, Kirk.” One of them laughs.

“What part of ‘no’ are you not getting here, buddy?” Sam’s voice is wound as tight as a string instrument, and you can tell it’s about to snap.

“We’re just talkin’.” Kirk drawls innocently. You have to hold back a shudder as his eyes roam over you.

“Didn’t you read the sign outside?” The shortest one chimes in. “This here is Peterson’s Bar. This is Kirk Peterson, his family owns this bar.”

“Which means anyone who steps foot inside needs to be approved by me.” Kirk finishes. “And you, darlin’, are mighty fine.”

Knowing the type of man that Kirk seems to be, you answer him by hopping off your stool and collecting your things. You nod at Sam silently, who picks up his coat and throws it over his arm.

“Aw, come on, dove.” Kirk whines as you push past him towards the exit. “You don’t need to do that.”

“She’s probably a lousy lay anyway.”

You hear the scuffle before your brain processes the snide comment. Looking back, you see Sam throw a punch at one of the hooligans. Before he can get a second shot in, one of them comes up behind him and entraps his arms. Kirk looks between the two of you, a sneer crossing his face.

“You wanna play? Let’s head outside.”

“Would you rather I have let him think he could say something like that?” Sam sets his now dry hand on your back.

“I would have rather not gotten into a fight with three bikers.” You tell him. Something about the simpleness of that statement is suddenly humorous enough that before you know it you start laughing.

“Is this like a stress response?” Sam questions as your shoulders continue to shake.

“Sam, our lives are full of horror and chaos, and we just got into a bar fight. No vampires, not even another group of hunters, just some plain old biker gang.” You bit back the laugh that is sitting in your chest. “We were almost normal for once.”

“Whatever that means.” Sam wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. You wince as your bruised ribs scream with pain. “Sorry.”

“For what it’s worth,” you lean your head on Sam’s chest, “thank you for defending me.”

Sam drops a kiss on your forehead. You both stand there for a bit, bloody and bruised, before crawling into bed.

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

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Fan Sunday

I'm not gonna lie, I kind of put this off, only because you guys were so amazing to me this week and I didn't know how I was gonna sit and tag every single person who got All Your Own to over 200 notes! Thank you! It's honestly a good problem to have =)

Welcome to all the newcomers! I do take requests if you're interested, or asks if you have questions or just want to chat. And if you don't see your name, it wouldn't let me tag you fully (I'm still not sure if this is a setting thing or just tumblr being weird).

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Fan Sunday

I'm not gonna lie, I kind of put this off, only because you guys were so amazing to me this week and I didn't know how I was gonna sit and tag every single person who got All Your Own to over 200 notes! Thank you! It's honestly a good problem to have =)

Welcome to all the newcomers! I do take requests if you're interested, or asks if you have questions or just want to chat. And if you don't see your name, it wouldn't let me tag you fully (I'm still not sure if this is a setting thing or just tumblr being weird).

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[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Fan Sunday

I'm not gonna lie, I kind of put this off, only because you guys were so amazing to me this week and I didn't know how I was gonna sit and tag every single person who got All Your Own to over 200 notes! Thank you! It's honestly a good problem to have =)

Welcome to all the newcomers! I do take requests if you're interested, or asks if you have questions or just want to chat. And if you don't see your name, it wouldn't let me tag you fully (I'm still not sure if this is a setting thing or just tumblr being weird).

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@spnfamily-j2 @formulafun @jw83 @zepskies @kickingitwithkirk @aquamarineb1tch @fishst1cks @loveoldmenlikelana @tyler796 @vkurtmien @mo0nypd @putbloghere @fairywinchester @nwenillyp @iris-winchester @wolfhearted1 @byeolsloveu @candy-coated-misery0731 @artemys-ackles @livelaughlovebiach @umgoawayplsandty @flyhighinthesky @idk6505 @tmaitcha @thegrandslam @moonlight-babeh @euphoriabyjk2 @dewinchester1979 @zepskiesreads @imnotwarofthegod @ottitt @deanwinchestersbabygirll @bananananana26 @bearasara @myangelbaby555 @betterthanyoubetty @spikycritter @xobabe-01 @desi2go @lefty-righty-handed @justjoyceme @angelicalm3ss @saemiau @deansmyhusband @hoodw1tch223 @anbernen @shadowyhologramlady @illegalsaville @aylacavebear @prettylittlefarts @conceepp

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[twowaywardorphansjournal]

You guys are blowing my mind! All Our Own hasn't even been up for 2 days and it already has over 100 likes and multiple reblogs. I cannot thank you enough. I don't know what I'm gonna do come Friday, because tagging everyone is going to be a beast!

And yes, when I logged in yesterday to 84 activity notifications, I literally thought "holy mother-forking shirt balls" because I swear like I'm in the Good Place.

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

All Our Own

Summary: You struggle to help Dean work through his stress

Content: Dean x Reader, swearing, yelling, injuries, a bit of arguing, and some slight fluff at the end.

Note: This was written for the 5K Celebration Challenge for @zepskies! I entered under my main blog beakaleak32 and asked for a .gif to base a story on, and she gave me the one below (cuz she knows I'm a sucker for shower scenes haha). Congrats on all your amazing followers Alex! I hope you and everyone else enjoy the story!

********************************************************************

You weren’t sure when you had lost track of how Dean was handling his stress. Maybe it was innocent, and you believed that he was managing things just fine. Dean also was a professional liar and had gotten good at hiding things. More likely was that things hadn’t been easy lately and you were focused on yourself. Whatever the reason, Dean was starting to scare you.

While you were on the hunt for a wickedly smart shapeshifter, you noticed Dean’s easily losing his temper over little things. At breakfast one morning he snapped at a waitress for serving crappy coffee. He was either bickering with Sam or pointedly ignoring him. You had even noticed he was slamming the doors of Baby a bit harder than he usually did. But it all came to a head when you were trying to get information from a witness.

“I said talk, dammit!” Dean roared, whipping a knife out of his pocket and holding it up against the young man’s neck.

Immediately, you realized where Dean’s head was at. Before you could open your mouth, Josh kicked out his foot in an attempt to sideswipe Dean. Caught off guard, Dean stumbled slightly but righted himself and quickly latched his hand onto Josh’s throat.

“Dean!” You yelled. It was pointless to try to pull Dean off, you knew he was stronger than you. Why had Sam decided to go back to the motel?

“You better knock that shit off or I’m running this blade through your throat.” Dean was inches away from the witness’s face, his voice low and gravelly.

“He’s not a shifter!” You cried in desperation. Dean threw a look over his shoulder at you.

“A what?” Josh gasped, meeting your gaze over the top of Dean’s head. Dean turned back to face Josh, his eyes narrowing for a moment, before releasing his grip. Josh inhaled deeply.

“You serious?” Dean muttered, walking a path around you while he gave Josh some room.

“I had to act fast, you were gonna hurt him!” You explained in a hushed whisper.

Dean didn’t reply, but you saw his jaw twitch before he stepped back in front of Josh. It seemed that mentioning the paranormal had helped loosen Josh’s tongue, because he was able to recall seeing his girlfriend in two different places within minutes of each other.

On the drive back to the motel, Dean was quiet. You had expected him to call you out or at the very least talk about the next steps. When you tried to ask him a question he responded by turning up the volume on the radio.

Great, that’s just great.

You’d seen this before, of course. Whenever you were half a step ahead of Dean or forced him to see his incorrect logic, he started to disengage. Call it a defense mechanism or a trait learned early in childhood, you still struggled with this aspect of his personality. Part of you wanted to shine a spotlight on it and make him see how unhealthy it was, and the other part knew that would just push him further away. But Dean had genuinely frightened you when he pulled the knife on Josh, and you couldn’t let that slide.

“Look, I’m sorry if you thought I was interfering, but that was not supposed to be an interrogation. He did not deserve to have a knife pulled on him.”

Dean barely hummed in response, his eyes on the road in front of him. And just like that, you were pissed. With a jab of your finger, the music stopped cold. Dean’s head pivoted.

“The hell?”

“Stop being a freaking child!” Your fists tightened around themselves, going white with the lack of blood.  

“Oh, I’m being a child?” Dean spat back.

“Yes! You’re giving me the freaking silent treatment!” You felt like you were screaming in the confines of the car. Lowering your voice slightly, you continued. “Dean, what I’m trying to say is that you’re worrying me. And I want to be here for you, but you have to talk to me. You can’t just shut me out.”

“You’ve got nothing to be worried about, I’m fine.” Reaching out, Dean thumbed the stereo back on, and he continued driving in silence.

There wasn’t a chance to discuss it further as Sam had new information when you got back to the motel. With a solid lead, you all headed out to an old warehouse where you suspected the shapeshifter was holing up in between activities. Just when you thought that the lead was a bust, Sam found a small hiding space. As you started to investigate, the shifter appeared, and a brawl ensued.

Later, you would wonder what you had been thinking when you tried to surprise the shifter from behind. At the last second he spotted you and tossed you into a wall, your knee taking a big chunk of the impact and letting out a resounding crack. Dean yelled your name. Sam was closer and able to come over while Dean poured his fury into finishing the shifter off. He joined you as Sam helped you to your feet, your right leg holding your weight, and gripped your left side tightly to support your bad leg.

The drive back home was filled with a different kind of silence. You sat in the back with a makeshift ice pack over your knee while Dean shot random glances at you through the rearview mirror. Sam was researching knee injuries and asking you sporadic questions based off of his findings. You noticed him beginning to grit his teeth in the light of his phone, but you didn’t have the energy to ask how bad he thought this was.

In the fleeting hours of dawn, you arrived back at the bunker. Even though Dean utilized the garage so that you didn’t have to take the towering stairs, there were still small steps and uneven levels within the halls of your home. Apparently, the Men of Letters didn’t think about maneuvering around with injuries. As the corridors began to wind, making it difficult for Dean to immediately support your side, he swung you up into his arms and carried you the rest of the way to your room. You desperately wanted to protest that you could have made it, but it also felt nice to give your good leg a break.

“You probably want to shower?” Dean questioned after depositing you onto your bed. He knew that was generally your routine after a hunting trip. You nodded impishly, but he was already moving around the room collecting things you would need. After he set a pile down on the bed, he moved towards the door without you. “I’ll be right back, gotta grab my stuff.”

“Your stuff?”

“I’m not letting you shower alone.” His words came out with a little grit, like he was holding something back. You sighed, knowing there was no talking him out of it, and sat and waited for him to return.

After what felt like an hour of equal parts creative thinking and frustration, you were balancing on your foot under the shower spray with Dean hovering protectively behind you. He waited patiently while you soaped up and rinsed off and then let you stabilize yourself on his hands while you swapped positions. Dean seemed to fall into a rhythm and forget you were there for a moment, tilting his head back under the shower and letting the water fall over his face like it was washing away more than just grime. He ran his hands through his hair, sighing heavily. You felt your heart ache.

Reaching out, you set your hands on Dean’s shoulders. He immediately tensed up. Slowly, you used the water as a lubricant and dug your thumbs into his muscles. You expected Dean to move away from you and finish up, but he surprised you by lowering his head and letting you work out the knots along his neckline. When you found a tight spot by his shoulder blade, he let out a soft groan.

Even though your leg began to quake from overuse, you simply tried to shift onto your bad leg, not wanting to stop. When it became almost unbearable, you wrapped your arms around Dean’s waist and leaned into him to take some of your weight. Trying to hide your discomfort, you planted kisses along his shoulder and neck. His hand came up to cover yours.

“Do you need to sit?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at you. Of course he saw through your ruse.

“I don’t want to be done,” you said, avoiding the point he was trying to make, “this is nice.”

“You’re shaking,” Dean responded simply. He turned slowly, avoiding toppling you, and adjusted himself so that he was more supportive. Gently he placed a kiss at the crown of your head, a quiet thank you, and then he stood there and gazed into your eyes.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m an idiot and to stop hurling myself into danger?” You quipped after a minute.

“Nah, I’m leaving that lecture for tomorrow.” Dean smirked. “Tonight, we talk about what you brought up in the car.”

You cocked your eyebrow. That was the last thing you had expected him to say.  

“I hear what you’re saying. Life has been a shit show, and I’m probably not handling it well.”

“Probably?”

“Okay, smart ass.” Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not. But when I was watching you in the back seat, I remembered that time you had me talk to you through your panic attack. How having something to focus on helped pull you out. And I thought maybe…” Dean swallowed. “I could try to let you be my focal point.”

“I ain’t going anywhere, Winchester.” You pressed yourself closer to him as you answered. “Not emotionally, and definitely not physically anytime soon.” You both smiled. “I’m here, and I got you.”

Dean ducked down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, before he leaned his forehead against yours. It might seem small, but you knew this was actually a big step for Dean. You were ready to help him find himself again, even if it was ugly. Because that’s what you did for people that you loved.

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Fan Friday :)

Happy weekend-eve to you all! I've been chipping away at a story I'd like to finish, and just had an idea for a special story this morning that I'm excited about. Welcome to all newcomers, glad to have you! I'm glad you've been looking through my masterlist and finding some of my older works as well as my new stuff. Thanks to everyone who upped the activity meter, I'm so thankful to log in and have my stuff getting looked at, even if it's just by a few people.

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[twowaywardorphansjournal]

If I Told You

Summary: Dean x reader. It's just another night in the bunker, but there's always a first time for everything.

Basically, the plot bunnies got hold of me while I was driving to pick up food. Haven't written in over 10 years, so please be gentle :)

______________________________________________________________

At first, you weren’t sure if you were hearing what you thought you were hearing.

The bunker itself wouldn’t have noticed anything was out of order. It was another night in between hunts as you and the two Winchesters wound down after dinner. Sam had disappeared without a word once everything was cleaned up. Dean had a small stockpile of weapons laid out on the map table in various states of usage so that he could inspect and clean them. You were tucked into the nook hidden behind one of the library bookcases trying to read.

It was only because this was such a part of your routine that you had even noticed the difference. You closed the book over your finger and looked over the back of the chair, which just happened to have the perfect view of Dean. He had taken off his flannel, leaving him in just a maroon t-shirt, and his hair was still slightly damp from an earlier shower. His movements were smooth and automatic, years of practice helping him move with ease. Something he probably didn’t know you knew about him was when he was in a particularly good mood, he hummed to himself while he disassembled his guns.

You had been around for a while now and had heard every cassette in the car, every vinyl album playing softly in Dean’s room. It was no secret the boy liked to listen to rock and roll, particularly from the 80s. Which was why the tune that was coming breathily from across the room was grabbing your interest.

“What are you humming?” You finally asked.

“Hmmm?” He looked up at you. His voice made no indication that he was caught off guard by your question. Only experience helped you see that his eyes were just slightly wider than normal.

“What,” you repeated slowly, “are you humming?”

“I don’t know, it’s stuck in my head. I can’t remember where I heard it.” He ducked his attention back to the pistol barrel that was in his hands.

Liar, you thought to yourself.

You twisted back in your chair, opening the book in your lap, pretending to drop the topic. Knowing that he wasn’t going to hum it again, you started to commit the tune to memory. Because despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t one of his regulars, you couldn’t place what song it was either. And until you were one hundred percent confident, there was no point in continuing to call out the ever-stubborn Winchester.

The tune bounced around in your head, distracting you from the words on the page. You closed your eyes, trying to focus clearly on the song that was right on the edge of recognition. It had been playing a few days ago on one of the rare occurrences when your music choices were tolerated. You’d been sitting at the metal table in the kitchen while Dean prepared dinner. Dean had been teasing you about how much you disliked mustard. Then that song had come on, and you’d watched him grow quiet. Your eyes flew open.

Country. Dean was humming a country song.

It was only because you’d heard the lecture enough times that you wanted to turn and milk this absolute scandal. You bit your lip, not ready to rile up the hunter just yet. What had made him remember enough to be able to hum it? Dean had made his opinion perfectly clear to you that country music was near to, if not at, the bottom of the list. And when said music was one of the main things you listened to, you could probably recite half of his rant at this point.

Curiously, you pulled out your phone and typed the song name into the search bar. It wasn’t one you knew by heart yet, but as you started singing along to the words in your head, you realized just why Dean might have related to it.  

What if I told you sometimes I lose my faith I wonder why someone like you would even talk to me What if I told you there is no fixing me Cause everybody has already tried

Would you stay? Would you leave? I could wait It'll all come out eventually

If I told you all the stupid things I've done I've blamed on being young But I was old enough to know I know If I told you the mess that I can be When there's no one there to see Could you look the other way? Could you love me anyway?

The desire to tease, to cause a ruckus, died away as you looked back up at Dean. Instead, you were hit with the reminder of all that he carried from his years before you. Some you knew, though it hadn’t always been easy to get the story, and some you could only guess. Pain flared up in your chest on his behalf. He was a damn good hunter, but he was also a splintered and broken man.

Before you were fully aware of it, you had climbed out of the chair and set down your book. It only took a few steps across the hardwood and down into the lowered room before you were behind him. He watched you as you descended the steps, a cloth in one hand and a knife in the other, his face guarded. You tried to avoid looking directly at him, knowing that it would open the floodgates. He tensed with surprise as your arms came over the tops of his shoulders and around his chest. After a second, his hand came up to cover yours, settling them both right over where you suspected his heart was. With your head up against his cheek, you felt Dean open his mouth, thinking of something to say, but then it closed again. You brought your other hand over the top of his and squeezed gently.

“I love you,” you finally whispered. It wasn’t the first time you had said it, but you hoped he could feel the weight behind it. Dean swallowed and took a breath, his chest moving your layered hands.

“C’mere.” Dean’s arm opened and he turned his head into yours, his scruff scratching along your jaw. You extracted your hands and moved around the chair into his hold, setting gently on his lap. One of his hands went to your waist and the other covered your legs dangling over the side of his.

Gazing into his green eyes, you saw the storm of his thoughts. The confusion at what had brought this on, the strength he got from having you nearby. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumb grazing his cheek, and tried to hold down the sob sitting at the edge of your chest.

“You do so much for me, for Sam, for the world. And I think sometimes I take that for granted.” Dean clenched his jaw beneath your hand. You felt his thumb slowly making circles along your waistline. “You probably don’t deserve half of what you’ve gone through. But you’re here, and I couldn’t…”

Dean’s lips crashed against yours, cutting you off. His tongue greedily searched for yours as his hunger dipped you closer to the table. You felt the edge of it hit your side before Dean’s hand came up to the back of your head and you both careened back the other way. The chair squeaked as the weight shifted onto its back legs. Your arms went around Dean’s neck, subconsciously preparing for the chair to give way to gravity and fall to the floor. Dean’s passion softened slightly, his kiss becoming gentler, and you swore you felt him smile. He pulled away slowly, his irises blown wide as he placed one final kiss on your temple.  

“…couldn’t imagine this life without you.” The sentence slowly came back to you with a smile.

“Couldn’t do this without you either, sweetheart.” His voice was low and rough. He kept his eyes on your lips for a moment, and you knew he wanted to return to something that wasn’t conversation, but then they leveled your gaze. “I don’t need the thanks. I just need to know you aren’t going anywhere.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Your hand crossed through his hair and then rested on his neck, pulling him back into you once more. You savored the taste of your lips against his. Heat warmed the inside of you, curling in your belly, and you moaned softly.

Both of you were coiled and tensed to shift positions when you heard Sam’s footsteps down the hallway. You froze, lips millimeters from Dean as your eyes flew open, and watched Sam saunter into view as he made his way to the kitchen. He crossed the archway without glancing into the room. You laughed quietly, burying your face in Dean’s shoulder.

“That would’ve been the third time he’s caught us making out in here,” you groaned.

“And to think” Dean muttered, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, “all of this because of a damn country song.”

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Song is "If I Told You" by Darius Rucker. No claim on the song.. And a disclaimer, I'm not saying that Dean is sitting and listening to this song on repeat. I just think the lyrics would have echoed enough with him to play it again once and he listens to enough music that he picks up tunes pretty well. I in no way am saying that Dean Winchester listens to country music.

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

A fun little get to know me! Thanks @myceliumsunshine!

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails (on special occasions only) / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i (know how to) play an instrument / i know more than one language (enough to hold a basic conversation) / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone* / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

@zepskies @mostlymarvelgirl @scarletwitchywitchbitch @vrak-co

And anyone else who wants to play!

tag game 🤭

rules: color the sentence that's true about you

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

this is a whole lot of yellow lmfao

no pressure tags: @marthawrites @schniiipsel @aemonddtargaryen @aemondsbabe @adragonprinceswhore @arcielee @black-dread @lovelykhaleesiii @aemondsbabygirl @valeskafics @connorsui

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Happy 4th of July!

A special Fan Friday for you all! I hope its a great day with family/friends and good food. Thank you for all your support. I'm getting so many notes that I've decided if the tag doesn't link to your account I'm going to just list the names separately and not use it for the tag count limit. I'm not even sure if those people are getting notified anyway. This makes it easier for me and hopefully allows for more tags to go through.

I'm hoping to finish up a couple WIPs and also participate in a writing challenge in the next couple weeks. Any reblogs and comments are appreciated so I know what you want to see and what you like about my work!

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[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Strong

Summary: You and Dean revisit your past history together after 4 years apart.

Content: Dean x Female Reader, drinking, reminiscing about the past, plot twists, angst

Notes: This was inspired by a Thomas Rhett song that I shall not name, because it will give things away. Let me know what you think!

*****************************************************************

“You look beautiful.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest hearing the last voice you had expected. Even though you had sent a picture of the invitation to Dean, you hadn’t expected him to show up after receiving no response. Turning around, you found Dean leaning against the frame of the door. He had pulled out his best suit, the one you had always told him made you want to rip it off. Your cheeks burned at the memory.

“What are you…”

“Doing here?” Dean finished. “Well, I was invited, wasn’t I?”

“Dean.”

Ignoring the warning tone behind your voice, Dean pushed away from the door and entered the room. You were curious how he had managed to find you. He stepped closer, his eyes taking in everything about you, and you knew him well enough to know he was appreciating all of your curves. Part of you wanted to press yourself against him and never let him go, and the other part knew he shouldn’t be looking at you like that.

“I came to ask you a question.” Dean stopped in front of you. You’d forgotten the sparkle that his eyes held, the depth of their greenness. Suddenly it was difficult to breathe. You could only nod in reply. “Once more, for old times’ sake?”

He pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket. The one that had his initials etched into the side, that had a unique smoothness from how much he held onto it, the one that always held his favorite whiskey. Childhood memories flashed in the back of your mind. Nursing your first hangover, Dean offering a little “hair of the dog” while you debated if you were going to puke again. Sitting on the hood of the Impala and talking about what the future looked like, if you were going to go off to college or stay and hunt with your mom. Sneaking the flask into the bathroom the night that you knew you wanted to go all the way with Dean but couldn’t calm the butterflies in your belly.

“You should have told me you were coming.” Your words came out barely above a whisper.

“But you might have revoked my invitation if I had.” Dean muttered back.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Even as you said it, you knew he had a point. There was a reason that you hadn’t talked in over four years.

“Liar.” Dean smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He took the first pull, his neck and jaw muscles flexing as he swallowed. Then he held it out to you, his eyes burrowing themselves into your soul. Your hand wrapped around the warm metal, grazing Dean’s fingers, and you held Dean’s gaze as you took your own swig. Wincing, you held up the flask and glared at it like it had offended you.

“God, what proof is this?” You gasped. “This isn’t what your normally put in here.”

“Needed to make sure it was strong enough to get me through today.”

He delivered the line so casually that it took a second for your brain to hear all of the pain behind it. And then your heart shattered. You looked at him again, the dark circles under his eyes, the sag to his shoulders. He was standing here like everything was fine but inside he was being ripped apart by regret.

“Dean,” you whimpered. A tear slipped out of the corner of your eye.

“Do you remember what you told me?” Dean asked, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. He reached out to the flask that was at your waist, like he was trying to take it back from you, but then he kept his hand there wrapped around yours. “You said we needed to find our own path. I didn’t know how to take that, you’ve been in my life longer than most people. And then you left. I thought we would at least have paths where we still saw each other.”

“I couldn’t keep one foot in the door, Dean.” You gulped, your words sticking in your throat. “It had to be a clean break.”   

That night came back to you in flashes. How you had known that while you loved Dean, it was never going to last. Telling him as much on the hood of the car, the flask sitting between you. Dean’s anger that you were giving up, even though things had been rocky for months. His voice turning desperate when you stood and told him goodbye.

“It took me a while to see that you were right. I thought the fact that you were a hunter would be the duct tape that held our relationship together. But it was so much more than that.” Dean’s voice was raw and gravelly, and you could see the redness rimming his eyes as he held back emotion.

“We were never going to work long-term.” You repeated. Dean’s free hand came to your cheek, wiping tears you didn’t realize were there with the pad of his thumb.

“It would have been a challenge I would have happily taken on.” Dean replied.

Before your brain could catch up, you leaned in and pressed your lips against Dean’s. He didn’t miss a beat in welcoming you, opening his mouth and entangling your tongues. You moaned softly. Dean shifted closer, caving in the tulle at the bottom of your dress while he ran his hand over your corset bodice. His other hand slipped around the back of your neck where your normally long hair was pinned up into a bun. Your arms naturally wound around his waist, causing the veil attached to the up-do to brush your shoulders.

“It’s time! Are you read…OH!” Your maid of honor threw her hands over her mouth to cover her gasp.

Your heart leapt out of your chest. Dean shoved you away from him, backpedaling a couple steps into the middle of the room. Both of you stood there breathing heavily as your friend quickly shut the doors on the scene.

“We…I…” You wildly grasped for words that would explain away what you had just done. Even though it was only a few seconds, it felt like an hour before anyone said anything.

“You still want to marry him.” It wasn’t a question. Dean’s jaw tightened, bracing himself for the answer he already knew.

“Of course I do!” You exclaimed. “Dean, I will always care for you. But we are in the past, there’s nothing more for us. If you came here because you thought there was a chance that I’d run away with you, then you need to get the hell out.”

Dean was nodding along like he was following your words on a script. You didn’t realize you were shaking until Dean stepped forward and put his hand on your bare shoulder. Leaning in, he gently kissed your forehead. He lingered for just a second before meeting your eyes and giving you a sad smile.

“Good luck.” He whispered. Then he turned on his heel and exited the room.

The next twenty minutes was a flurry of chaos. Fixing your makeup, avoiding your wedding coordinator’s narrow eyes and pursed lips, collecting your bouquet and the rest of your bridesmaids. When your maid of honor whispered about who that guy was, you answered, “someone from my past” and left it at that. Then she was being ushered in front of the doors that would open into the sanctuary while you stayed tucked around the corner.

As Pachelbel’s Cannon began to play and the doors swung open to your wedding ceremony, you looked immediately towards the man you were all but ready to marry. He grinned when you met his eyes, already choking back tears. All you wanted to do was run to him, but you could already hear your mother complaining about how that just wasn’t proper. Instead, you took your small, graceful step and put one foot in front of the other, just like you had practiced.

When the doors swung shut, your eye caught the form of someone standing at the back. Without thinking, you turned to look, and was shocked to find it was Dean. He held up the flask in a salute and took a drink. You had to turn quickly, as you were sure there were whispers in the crowd, and continued down the aisle.

Once you reached the front, all thoughts of Dean left your head. Taking your fiancée’s hand, you both stepped before the pastor. The ceremony passed in a mixture of slow and rapid, with just a few tears shed. Finally, you were announced as husband and wife, and the crowd cheered when you kissed. Later, when you ran outside hand in hand with your husband amidst the bubbles and applause, you saw the Impala go roaring down the road in front of the church. And that was the last you saw of Dean Winchester.

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Happy Fan Friday!

Thanks to everyone for the love and shares! I'm glad I was get a few things out for ya'll to enjoy. I cannot believe you guys got Dreaming to over 100 actions already! I'm so humbled! You guys are making this harder and harder, I might need to put a part two in the comment section for all of the tags. Which I'm so incredibly thankful for. Truly.

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[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Xerox

Summary: Sam's well intentioned idea leads to a minor disaster.

Content: Sam x Reader, a bit of swearing, Sam being a dork, Reader being a little sassy, really don't think there's too much to warn about

Notes: Got the idea from this post and decided it was a bit Sam-coded. Just a funny little drabble that I hope you enjoy.

****************************************************************

You know it wasn’t intended.

You know Sam meant well.

But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t an absolute disaster.

Leaving Dean to work through everything that came with the Mark of Cain, you and Sam had found yourselves in Alabama on a hunt. Although you were pretty sure it was your basic haunting, you never settled on an answer until it was practically smacking you in the face. You’d had too many close calls to get cocky and certain in this line of work, which was something Sam appreciated about you. After interviewing the 19-year-old employee at the xerox store, you stumbled upon something else you hadn’t expected: a conversation about hunting in the modern age.

“Do you know how revolutionary it would be to have a hunter journal in the cloud?” Sam asked, his voice loud and passionate in the confines of the car. He had practically swooned when the store clerk had started his spiel about software that converted everything to a digital file.

“In the words of your brother, you are geeking out about this, Sam.”

“No, I’m not.” Sam answered automatically. He must have felt the look you gave him, because he glanced at you from the driver’s seat. “Look, all I’m saying is there’s a new generation of hunters out there who aren’t gonna bother sitting around reading books. If we can share our knowledge, get it to them in a version they will read, think about how many more people we could save.”

Despite your teasing, you agreed that he had a point. You’d run across a handful of “Gen-Z” hunters who were more interested in their social media page than the back story of what they were hunting. If someone could impress upon them the importance of research that they would actually read, you could help strengthen the chances of them surviving their next hunt.

It turned out you were right about the haunting. The ghost of a troubled young man was haunting a record player that had been recently donated to the suite next door to the copy shop. Both of your sharp hunting skills was met with a rare gesture of gratitude; the teen employee convinced his manager to let you have access to the digital conversion software. You tried to offer some kind of payment, but Sam poked you hard in the side to shut you up. As you were getting ready to leave town, Sam considered letting you drive for about five seconds, the possibility of getting to mess around on his computer glittering in his eyes.

When you got home, Sam set to work digging through the collection of books for some basic hunting notes. Vampires, werewolves, and some of the other basic creatures that amateur hunters tended to gravitate towards. Dean even assisted with finding some of their dad’s first notes about ghosts. Everyone agreed that it was better to start off small and see if this idea even worked before delving into the entire library in the bunker.

Two nights in, while you were helping Sam put away some of the books, you happened to see a crumpled set of papers tucked in between the pages. Curious, you cracked open the spine to take a better look. After three seconds of reading, you blushed. Then you panicked.

“Sam?” You asked, your voice wavering.

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up from his computer.

“Please tell me that you didn’t scan these loose pages.”

“I, uh…” He blinked, processing what you were saying. “Loose pages? What?”

“In this book,” you repeated slowly, “the pages here. Did you scan them?”

“I dunno.” Sam replied, giving you a blank stare.

“Sam, these are letters I wrote to you.” You held them out to him. “Private, sensual letters.”

Sam met your eyes for a moment, then quickly grabbed the papers out of your hand and started to read. He cleared his throat as he got further down the page.  

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself.

Setting the paper down forcefully, he hunched over his computer. You stepped up behind him, chastising yourself for not listening to his full explanation of how everything worked. Then you noticed all the names on the page.  

“Wait, did you…” You trailed off, your stomach twisting in on itself at the horror of this getting worse.

“An hour ago.” Sam said curtly.

“Oh my god. Sam!” Gripping his arm, you leaned closer to the computer. “There are 10 people who have already viewed this! Did you scan the pages?”

“I don’t know!” Sam roared. He was scrolling furiously through the electronic pages, and you didn’t know how he was even differentiating them. He stilled suddenly. “Shit.”

“No,” You groaned, flopping your head down on his shoulder.

“It’s only ten people.” Sam clicked a few times and then let out a heavy breath. “It’s only ten people!”

You sat up, visually confirming that the pages had been deleted. “Just pray that one of them wasn’t…” You paused when you heard footsteps.

“Don’t you lose that girl, Samuel.” Dean called as he entered the room. “She’s a spicy one!”