what-an-idio-t

[what-an-idio-t]

The Arrangement Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader AU

Summary: Dean Winchester and Y/N Singer have been best friends since childhood—until one dream changes everything. After a drunken mishap and the resurface of feelings buried, the line of friendship is crossed. The solution? The Arrangement. However, as their story unfolds, lines blur, jealousy flares, and before long, they’re forced to face the truth—maybe “the one” has been beside them all along.

Set in the year 2005 (for reference)

AN: I'm too excited, I have to share the news!!! This story has been a WIP for a while now. It's something I have really enjoyed writing and would love to share with you all. So join me on a thrilling ride of all of our favourite tropes in fan-fiction of love, angst, smut, heartbreak and everything else 😘

Main Masterlist

Chapters containing adult themes/smut (18+ ONLY) will contain **

Series complete ✅

Chapter One

Chapter Two **

Chapter Three **

Chapter Four

Chapter Five **

Chapter Six **

Chapter Seven **

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten (End) **

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like and their respective series 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77

[what-an-idio-t]

touch starved.

OR dean winchester needs a damn hug! specifically from me, so of course i wrote about it! pretty much based off of my own headcanon that i wrote because this dean is canon— TO ME!

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : touch starved ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 6.1 k (would y’all believe me when i say this started out as a drabble… faith be normal over dean winchester challenge level: IMPOSSIBLE!)

「 content / warnings 」 : late seasons soft!dean, vulnerability to da max, emotions, emotions, EMOTIONS. no smut (for once!), starts off kinda sad BUT HAS A HAPPY(ISH) ENDING I SWEAR! PLEASE PLEASE DON’T KILL ME

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

AFTER CENTURIES IT’S FINALLY DONE! just saying once again thank you all so very much for 400 (+87 ?!?!?) followers! this fic is my gift to you! can’t believe over 400 of you want to see my bullshit (and unabashed horniness) on the daily but i love and appreciate every single one of ya! shoutout to my lovely mooties as well!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

dean winchester knew he had something called a touch problem.

and he didn’t know exactly when it started, but after years and years of the only touch he received being hits, punches, the cold feel of steel from a knife or the heat from the barrel of a gun—he craved something gentle.

he needed it.

and goddamn, he was getting desperate.

at first, he usually just sought it out with one-night stands. whether it be holding their hand during it, or sticking around for longer just to lay in bed with whoever the fuck he’d met that night— that kept him at bay. that’s how he got the touch he needed.

but then he got greedy.

it had been a particularly rough hunt. you, dean, and sam were lucky to get out alive. you’d pulled into a town that had a vamp nest terrorizing its inhabitants, and when you saw the familiar hot faces of the winchester brothers at the only decent bar in a 30-mile radius, you’d decided to work together— as you’d all done a million times before.

but still, it was rough. you three each took a floor of the abandoned farmhouse— you on the highest, dean in the middle, and sam on the ground floor. you clambered down the stairs after you had finished clearing your floor, only to be met with two snarling vampires— which you quickly ganked with a schwing of your machete.

after verifying that no threats were coming your way, you started looking for dean— and the panic that flooded through your chest when you saw him crumpled over on the floor in one of the rooms almost made you freeze.

almost.

years of experience and split-second decisions snapped you out of it, immediately falling to your knees by dean’s side, turning him over on his back.

your hands were gentle but swift as you quickly flipped out the sides of his jacket, making sure there were no large gashes or wounds— and the sigh with the feeling of pure relief you let out when you realized he was just knocked out was a little more intense than you had expected it to be.

and you told yourself that was definitely normal.

right?

right.

“dean,” your hand had gone to the side of dean’s face, the other remaining on his shoulder as you shook it gently, trying not to startle him completely as you masked your worry. “come on ya lug, rise ‘n shine.”

despite your efforts, dean still woke with a start— but you caught his arm with the hand not on his face before he could do anything.

“hey— hey,” your voice was quieter, softer. because despite being one bad mother when you were hunting, your soft side came out frequently when it was needed, without fear of judgment and with absolutely no shame. it was one of the things dean wished he could do as seamlessly as you. “it’s jus’ me, alright? come on—”

you then proceeded to stand all six feet and some change of dean up with you, keeping a hand on his back and shoulders and giving him another once over when he stood over you again.

“you all good?” you murmur quietly, your hands resting on the sides of dean’s arms as you stood back, your eyes continuing to rake over him for a moment before looking up at his face— and the expression you were met with wasn’t anger, or even frustration from being knocked out.

no.

dean looked almost… sad.

you’d never been exactly ‘close’ with dean. of course you considered him a friend— for years now, but in all honesty, even that was a stretch sometimes, too. because he was a very closed off and mistrusting person.

but hell, you respected that. especially in this line of work. he did talk to you once in a while, though— on those lulls during a hunt or a case, or when he dropped some crazy lore about himself or his childhood, then going right back to his usual behaviors afterwards.

that being said, you knew dean better than he thought you did— because he didn’t have to say much for you to know what he was going through. despite what he thought, his emotions were always kinda just… written on his face.

but now, back to the farmhouse. back to the look dean had on his face right now. it was a look you saw only after he had consumed enough alcohol to kill a baby elephant, which is why it threw you off and made your usual easygoing attitude with him falter.

“dean,” you voice had gotten quieter, even softer, “w—” but before you could say or even do anything else, sam called from the floor below that it was all clear, snapping dean out of it, his expression hardening again.

in the days coming after, you didn’t ask dean to explain himself, or push about what had happened that night. you knew if he wanted to, he’d come to you about it— maybe not right away, but when he was ready.

little did you know how soon that would be.

you’d been living in the bunker for probably only a couple months at this point after the apocalypse world had opened up, and a bunch of hunters were living in the bunker too— but less than a week later after the vamp nest, both sam and dean embarked on solo hunts, sam in maine, dean in nevada. both brothers had warned you not to ‘burn the joint down’.

come on. like you would ever do that— on accident. besides, you had the bunker all to yourself.

which was fun—

for all of five minutes.

now, almost six days after sam and dean had left, you’re sitting in the library, surrounded by a scattered array of books, papers, and weapons alike on the tables in front of you— another late night of research and catching up on lore.

because there was always lore to catch up on.

you’d been lost in the words in front of you when you heard the unmistakable noise of the bunker’s door creaking open. you stiffened slightly, instincts on alert, lifting your gaze from where you were standing— but relaxed and went back to scanning the page when you realized it was just dean.

because here’s the thing: over the years, you’ve realized that it’s not a good idea to talk to dean after he’s fresh off a hunt— and especially knowing that he’s probably just drove almost or even over 24 hours straight to come home?

yeah. no way were you about to be running up to dean as he trudged down the stairs, doting on him. to your knowledge, he hated touching people, especially other people touching him.

besides, usually after a hunt, dean would just go to his room, the infirmary, or immediately hit the showers— and not look once in your direction while he did it, much less talk to you.

it hurt, but you understood that the reason he does it wasn’t exactly anything you were doing wrong— it was just what dean did.

but tonight was different.

dean was on his way to his bedroom (or actually, maybe the infirmary might be better so he could patch himself up)—

but then he saw you.

you were still stood at one of the tables, eyes scanning through books of lore you dug up from the bookshelves, illuminated by the golden lamps lining the wooden tables. god, you were pretty. even though you weren’t looking at him, he didn’t blame you. he wasn’t exactly the most cheerful after a hunt.

especially this one.

and because of that, dean’s feet were moving before he could even think twice about what he was doing.

you’d glanced up from the book you’d been completely engulfed in— and was a little surprised to find dean looking right back at you as he walked up the few steps to the library.

you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could even register what was happening, dean had already made it to you— and without warning, wrapped you in a tight embrace, slamming against you and holding you like you were the only thing that would keep him upright.

your eyes widen slightly at the feeling of dean’s arms around you before you could register the fact that he’d even crossed the threshold of the bunker— a little ‘oof’ sound escapes you completely involuntarily.

“hey,” dean let out a shaky breath against some strands of your hair and shoulder, his voice slightly raspy with…was that relief?

despite how caught off-guard you were, you don’t reject dean’s unexpected hug, though. you let your body adjust to him and your arms wrap around him too, returning the gesture right back. the faint smell of baby’s exhaust, something earthy along with the familiar scent of dean fills your lungs as your fingers ever so slightly grasp onto the back of his jacket, keeping him against you.

the muscles in dean’s shoulders relax the second your arms gently wrap around him. and oh god, he just really missed you—

“hi,” your voice is just as quiet when you greet dean in return, chin resting on his own shoulder. “how did it—”

you’re trying to ask how his hunt went, but before you finish, dean’s pulling you closer to him and squeezing the words from you. his hands slip more around your waist to hold you against him tighter, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. he just wants to feel you. you’re so warm, so soft— and goddamn, you smelled good, too. you always did. it was a little infuriating, actually.

dean knows he should probably let go, or at least respond, but he can’t find it in himself to let go yet— so instead he just holds onto you tighter. he still doesn’t respond to your unsaid question, simply standing there, holding onto you like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline.

you assumed something had happened on his hunt for dean to be acting this way— but you don’t press or force him to tell you what. you just wanted to be there for him right now.

“oh,” is what you end up softly replying with a little nod of your head against dean when he simply doesn’t answer your unfinished question. but you don’t let him go. hell no. you just pat your hand on the back of one of his shoulders, tightening your own grip on him in return. “sorry, de.”

and dean lets out a slow breath of… was that relief at your voice, at the nickname you’d had for him since the second (or was it third) hunt you’d ever worked on together? who the hell knows. he’s just so thankful you’re here, you’re hugging him, not pushing him away, you’re holding him— that you’re so close.

“no, it’s okay,” dean’s unusually soft voice, barely above a whisper, cuts through the silence.

“it— it was rough, that’s all," he mutters after a even longer while, his words tinged with a mixture of fatigue and… something else that you can't quite place.

you and dean were so close and pressed together with your combined tight grips— so much so that you swore you could almost feel his heartbeat. but it wasn’t uncomfortable. and it didn’t feel awkward. it never seemed to be with him. besides, by his (few) words, you could tell he needed this a lot more than he was letting on.

in all honesty, you were just glad dean was finally letting himself seek comfort for once in his goddamn life—

in you.

“yeah, i get it,” is what you reply with, just nodding against dean’s shoulder while tightening your own grip on him. without really thinking about it, you start to gently run one of your hands up and down his back while still wrapped up in him, palm and fingers trailing on the material of his jacket. “just glad you’re back.”

you can feel dean’s breath hitch at your touch— and for a moment, you hesitate your motions of your hand tracing along his jacket, but his grip on you unconsciously tightened, like he was clinging to you. so you continue doing it after that.

“yeah,” he murmurs, a faint huff of something like a laugh escaping him. “me too.”

and for a long while, dean just stands there wrapped up in you, his face still buried in your hair and part of your shoulder as he lets himself lean into that touch, absorbing its comfort. he grips onto the back of your shirt— and he could feel the tension start to melt away, the warmth mixed with the scent of you filling his senses and working magic on him.

dean stays quiet for several more moments, his face still buried deep in your shoulder, as if he was trying to hide himself from the outside world. his grip on you doesn’t loosen as he stands there, his body against yours. every breath he takes is deep, steady— like he’s grounding himself in this moment with you.

his words break the silence as a whisper against you after a while, the vulnerability clear in his low voice, his words almost like a confession.

“i… missed you.”

a small exhale you didn’t know you were holding releases when dean says that— and your hand falters. dean winchester, king of bottling up feelings and keeping them to himself just said he missed you. this was completely different than how he usually acted around you, but you didn’t mind.

“i missed you, too,” your own voice also quiet when you respond. it was only a few words, but you had understood what dean meant— in more ways than most would. which is why you don’t even attempt to tease him about it, replying with something between a sigh and a laugh at the realization. “like, a lot.”

dean’s grip tightens even further at your response, as if your words had a more profound impact on him than you could've ever imagined. he pulls you closer against him, the hardness of his body against yours should’ve been more uncomfortable, but it wasn’t.

there’s a moment of silence as dean just holds you, face still hidden, his chest rising and falling right against yours. each breath he takes is deeper, almost shaky, and for a moment, you can feel the slightest tremble in his grip.

his voice are soft, vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen from him. like he almost didn’t believe you.

“really?”

and you don’t falter your own grip for one second, despite the fact that this was completely out of character for him. you return the action, tightening your arms around dean before resuming running your hand up and down his back.

“yeah, really,” you nod against dean to confirm, letting out a soft exhale into his jacket. “i dunno, it was just… quiet here without you guys. always is.”

your words seem to soothe him— almost as much as your touch, your hug does. despite being strong both physically and mentally, dean seems to need this— and he doesn’t even really know why. he relaxes even more at your words, his body slumping against yours. it’s almost like he’s seeking every bit of comfort and warmth he can get from this— from you.

dean lets out a small, soft scoff, tinged with weary amusement. “yeah, i bet it was,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your . “must’a been like a vacation for you, huh?” there's a note of sarcasm there, like he’s trying to mask the intensity of the moment with something familiar— like he always did.

and you could have played along with dean’s attempt at lightheartedness— but honestly, you were too tired to make that effort right now. so you just shake your head a little against dean, voice much quieter than before.

“first day was nice,” you admit to dean, hands grasping the back of his jacket to keep him close to you before you close your eyes. “the rest were just…”

there’s a beat of silence as you trail off, and dean’s grip on you— if possible, tightens even further at your unfinished sentence, as if he was hanging on your every word, waiting for what you were going to say.

he lets out a small, soft breath, warm against your hair. “just... what?” he asks, his voice just as low as yours. there’s a hint of subtle unease at what you were going to say.

your arms don’t loosen when you feel dean’s grip grow just that much tighter— but you weren’t about to complain. you don’t answer right away, because the rest of your sentence was almost too embarrassing to admit.

but then again, you remind yourself: this was dean who you were talking to. he didn’t judge you for a lot of things you had once assumed he would judge you for. so you just huff out a quiet laugh into his shoulder that wasn’t really one at all— containing no humor and mostly self-deprecation.

“lonely.”

your admission hangs there between you both. it’s a simple word, but it hits dean harder than any blow he’s ever taken in a fight. because you get it. there’s a hitch in his breathing— the kind that gives away more than mere words ever could. he goes still for a moment, just letting your confession sink in, the quiet of the bunker feeling even more pronounced in that moment.

“yeah,” dean finally breaks the silence with a soft exhale against you, pulling you even tighter against him. “me, too.”

you relax a little after dean says that. it meant more than he knew. you weren’t sure how to explain it, but it felt like you and him… kind of supported each other, in a way. like the burdens you both carried separately, your own issues that you had, they seemed to be less overwhelming whenever you were even near each other. even if you and him didn’t actually know each other’s burdens.

there’s always been an understanding between you, a silent knowledge that sometimes words didn’t need to be said for the other to know what that person is thinking.

the atmosphere in the room feels different now, the silence less heavy than it was before, but the intensity and weight of the moment still weighs heavily in the air between you. it must be an interesting sight from the outside looking in— a six-foot hunter clinging onto you like you were the last thing on earth. but you didn’t mind. hell, it was comfortable.

dean’s grip on you remains just as tight— almost like he’s afraid to let go, afraid that you’ll slip away like some dream he only has once in a great while. he takes a deep breath, chest rising against you as he inhales, then exhales slowly. before he’d realized it, his fingers absentmindedly fiddle with a strand of your hair.

this level of closeness between you two was unfamiliar. of course, you’d hugged each other before and spent numerous times in close proximity—whether it be in the backseat of the impala when sam had to drive that one time or when you had to hide in a not-so-big broom closet from a wraith.

but this... this was different.

and you knew the uncomfortableness of seeking comfort better than most— but somehow, you never had an issue when you were the one who was comforting others. but still, this was new territory. you certainly hadn’t expected dean to hug you for this long tonight. truth was, you didn’t really didn’t want to let go. but you couldn’t say that to him. that would be too weird.

the library is silent, only the soft tick-tock of the old clock on the wall filling the air. there’s a vulnerability, an understanding greater than words in this moment that neither of you are used to— but strangely enough, it's also the most comfortable you’ve both felt in a long time.

and then, dean breaks the silence again— his voice so low, so quiet, that you almost miss it.

“don’t wanna let go.”

your gaze softens when dean says that— but you don’t loosen your grip on him. you weren’t sure exactly why he was so adamant on not letting go, or why he’d been hugging you like you’d almost died. but you don’t ask questions.

besides, dean’s been more vulnerable with you tonight than i’d ever seen or heard in all the years you’d known him. and when he admitted that? you knew you had to be there for him, in whatever way he wanted. so when you reply back, your words are just as quiet as his.

“well, you don’t have to.”

the words feel like a weight being lifted off dean’s shoulders. he clings to you even tighter, burying his face even deeper into your shoulder, like he was ashamed. he doesn’t say anything for a moment— instead, just taking deep breaths. because he’s struggling to keep his emotions intact.

finally, he mumbles into you again, his words muffled by your shirt.

“you promise?”

“yeah,” you echo back quietly, nodding your head against dean’s buried into you. “promise. we can stay like this as long as you want to.”

there’s no malice hidden in your words, or any hint of teasing— because it was nothing but the truth. you’d stay with dean for as long as he wanted you to. and you bury your face a little more into him when he does the same to your shoulder.

there’s another long moment of silence as dean holds onto you, his face still buried in your shoulder. normally, he’d be making some smartass comment by now, acting like his usual self— but he can't seem to find the words. or the energy.

dean huffs softly against your shoulder after a moment— the closest thing to one of his usual snarky remarks. but there’s a hint of hesitation in his voice when he speaks.

“what if i wanted to… all night?”

you’d half been expecting dean to brush off your words with a joke or at least something, but the tone of hesitation told you that he was being anything but that. you hesitate, but ultimately lift your head off of his shoulder— you don’t pull away fully, though.

and dean’s body visibly tenses when you pause and pull away slightly to look at him, and he’s almost immediately on the defensive— but relaxes a little when you don’t go far.

your gaze silently searches dean’s as you scrunch your eyebrows slightly. you knew that what he’d just asked you for was… different. and you didn’t have to ask him for clarification. you knew what he meant, why he was so hesitant. because this wasn’t going to be just hugging him anymore.

this would be all night.

and there’s a vulnerable look in his eyes when he lets his guard down just enough as you let your gaze linger on him. dean almost looks like a wounded dog right now, the exhaustion, the weariness making him drop his typical persona in favor of honesty— maybe even desperation, just this once.

from that look on dean’s face, he was not kidding about what he asked. the expression he had was one you hadn’t seen this intensely in a long time. you knew he wasn’t one to just ask something like this, either. not unless he needed it.

the thought of being so close to dean all night makes you a little nervous, but not as much to outright say no. so keeping his gaze, your voice is just as quiet as his was when you nod, breaking the silence of the library once again.

“then i’d say ‘get your pj’s on’.”

the way dean’s body relaxes in relief at your words is almost overwhelming. he’s still staring right into your eyes, the vulnerability almost raw. he manages to nod, searching your gaze. he’d been expecting a boatload of teasing with a side of humiliation— but he’d been proved wrong.

“yeah?” he almost whispers as he holds your gaze, eyes searching yours like he’s trying to read your mind. like he’s unable to determine if this is real. if you’re real.

“yeah,” you nod in return, a pang of warmth hitting you again as you look at dean right back. you’re both still standing so close together— and the air felt different, thicker when you take another breath. “s���long as you don’t kick me.”

dean appreciated the break in seriousness, more than you would ever know. something resembling a smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“no promises,” he murmurs back, something softer in his gaze as his eyes continue to rake over your face. “but i’ll try.”

“good,” you nod a little again, your own smile tugging on your face as your hands almost absentmindedly trail on dean’s arms— and his eyes literally almost flutter shut at the contact. “and you’re comin’ to my room. and you’re showering.”

dean raises an eyebrow and tries to ignore the warmth that stirred in his chest when you said that all authoritative-like— he swallows before he talks again.

“yes, ma’am.”

. • . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . 𖤐

dean knocked on your door before he entered your room not twenty minutes later— don’t ask him, but he showered faster than he ever did in his entire life. he wasn’t too keen on the why.

your head perked up from your pillows when you heard the knock, already under your blankets and— well, let’s be honest here: waiting for him you’d even already moved to the left side of your bed, so dean would have a spot.

a stupid, small part of you had doubts that dean would actually ultimately show up, but it was a little embarrassing how much relief you felt when you call out a soft “yeah”, signaling him to come in.

dean stepped into your room, the only light being from your barley-lit desk lamp. it doubled as a night light, so you didn’t trip over yourself after a midnight snack break.

dean might as well have been in heaven. or something pretty damn close.

of course, he’s been in your room before— but this felt much different than all the other times. because he was going to be sleeping here tonight.

everything felt heightened, more intense— but as dean shut your door, he also had an almost overwhelming sense of comfort. of home. like this is where he was supposed to be this entire time. he pushed those recurring thoughts and feelings he always felt when he was around you, but without first reminding himself that you had agreed to do this. the thought alone was almost enough to make dean’s heart do that thing it always did whenever he was around you.

he’d been lost in his own thoughts, barely even registering the fact that he’d made it to the edge of your bed. your bed. not his, not some old, dingy motel’s. it almost made him chicken out. until—

“as much as i’d like to see you stand there all night, i think you should probably lay down.”

there it was. your incomparable capability to snap dean out of his head, back to reality. he didn’t know how you did it— and to be honest, you didn’t really know, either. but you always could, even giving sam a run for his money.

dean doesn’t hesitate again. you’d already peeled back your covers for him, so he just lifted them up and got under them. like he belonged. as if he’d done so a million times before. 

your bed, your sheets, your pillows— it was warm. and it smelled like you, tenfold. an equal blend of your fabric softener that only you used because dean said the teddy bear on the bottle looked at him weird and your shampoo that was way too expensive and you had to go to a separate store for. 

dean knew you smelled good, that was no debate— but this was like he was wrapped in it. like he’d been earlier when he hugged you. and so close to how he’d always wanted to be wrapped up in you. yet he knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight.

besides, when was the last time dean winchester got what he wanted?

the answer?

right now.

your eyes hadn’t left dean’s figure when he finally lays down next to you, both now facing each other— it was strange actually seeing him in your bed after years of restless nights wishing he was.

and you could smell him, too— the faint scent of the soap you’d gotten him for his birthday, along with the tea tree shampoo sam kept hidden in the back medicine cabinet (but not well enough, apparently). you decided right then and there that the pillow dean’s head was currently resting on was the one you were going to sleep on after tonight, just so you could smell him after he was gone.

“how you wanna do this?”

dean’s uncharacteristically soft voice broke your thoughts, and you met his eyes when he spoke. his expression looked softer, too— almost hesitant. like he was uncertain. it was a look you rarely ever saw on his face. to see it now, in this way, was bittersweet. then it clicked. 

he was nervous.

“however you want to,” is what you reply with, voice just as quiet as his. you reminded yourself that dean had asked for this. in your mind, it was only fair that he get a say. “whatever you need.”

whatever you need. well, dean needed to kiss you silly if it was the last thing he did, but not tonight. not here. he wouldn’t be able to take it if you rejected him in that way. 

but he had to take some sort of risk right now. he couldn’t deny himself of it— of you any longer.

so before dean can talk himself out of it, he wraps an arm around you, closing the remaining distance— and to your surprise, he buries his head right into your chest, nuzzling against your shirt.

your breath hitches, and you hope to god that he didn’t hear that. but you don’t reject him. you just wrap your own arms around him, accepting him and his touch just as you had done earlier in the library. 

dean would’ve made some joke about basically burrowing his face into your boobs. he didn’t really mean to— but his eyes had fluttered shut already, because you letting him, and you were warm, and you smelled good, and you were so soft.

he’d always loved that about you. from a distance, of course. it didn’t matter how many hardships you’d gone through; you were soft in every sense of the word, both physically and emotionally. and once when he’d taken a shower in your bathroom since sam was hogging the main one in the bunker, the whole damn place smelled like you. he found himself wanting to drown in it.

and hell. he wouldn’t even complain.

your free hand went into his hair at some point, and it took everything in him not to let out a noise. dean sighed a little into your shirt, his breath warm on your chest— he finally let himself relax. go slack.

and he was so grateful that you didn’t tease him, or point out the fact that all six feet and one inch of him was in your grasp and snuggling into you like some damn koala. like a little kid who had a bad dream. but then again, his life felt like a never-ending bad dream most of the time.

you were his one exception to that.

not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

you weren’t sure how long you both stayed like that, wrapped up in each other before dean breaks the warm blanket of silence— it could’ve been hours or seconds. but his voice is so low, so soft, you almost didn’t hear it.

“thanks.”

the word was spoken against you, dean still remaining unmoving. he didn’t necessarily think himself as weak at the moment, even though he thought he should— and he dared not to say it out loud, knowing that you’d immediately shoot his insecurities down. 

but dean was finally letting himself get comfort. warmth.

something he’d had for a fleeting moment, then lost. something he had deemed too precious for a man as ragged and as sinful as him a long time ago. he didn’t deserve this. you.

he’d never be one to just take something like this, to ask this of you, without any regard for how you felt. but you showed— all you ever showed to him was the love he thought he’d never receive. the love he’d given so much away, but it never got returned back to him.

because you made him feel like he actually meant something. like he was the hero people he’d saved described him as. like he wasn’t some piece on a chessboard, a punchline in someone’s story, a puppet on a string, or a cog in some eternal machine. 

truth was? the big secret?

you made him feel normal. human. 

it was almost overwhelming, how safe, comfortable he felt right now. the last time he felt this safe, he’d been a child. the last time he felt this comfortable in himself— damn. it was before hell.

when it was just monsters of the week, the only big goal being finding his dad. staying at bobby’s. you had visited that summer. he can still remember your laugh echoing off of the wallpaper and the piles of books. it was before demons.

and the only angel he saw daily was you.

it was in the way the light shone in through the stained glass of one of bobby’s kitchen windows and hit your face, you making him coffee without being asked. when you smiled at him just because.

you treated him like a real friend. like family. like an equal.

sometimes, when everything in his head was too loud, dean missed it. when the only thought of lucifer he had was when he saw the cartoon on the bottle of the devil’s hot sauce at that barbeque place in texas. when everyone he loved and cared about was still alive. when the world wasn’t ending. when you kissed his cheek after not seeing him for a while.

you still did that last one, though.

“anytime, de.”

dean had flinched a little, but didn’t open his eyes after you replied—he had been too lost in the comfort. in you. he could die right now instead of sleeping, and honestly? it’d be a good way to go out. he’d prefer it over going down swinging any day, he decided. 

dean got most of what he wanted tonight. maybe someday he’d get it all. but for now, he’d just dream of it, like he always did.

the only difference?

he was actually in your arms this time.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you have one ( 1 ) more new message from the author ! ↓

i know i said it already, but i need to hold this man so so so BADDDDD 💔💔💔 he deserves everything and more like that’s my shayla ☹️ my baby my world my everything (he’s a murderer and monsters fear him)

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bittersweetfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[what-an-idio-t]

8.20 | Pac-Man Fever

[what-an-idio-t]

I have fallen for Peaky Blinders and I cant dig myself out.

[what-an-idio-t]

The Hiatus Beard

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean grows a beard during your much needed R&R, and it does things to you.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: SMUT!(18+ONLY), swearing, Dean's beard 😍

AN: I thought I'd release a little something before the first part of my series: The Arrangement, this Friday. Scruffy Dean/Jensen is just 🤌🏻 and does things to me. So enjoy this little one shot that got away from me 🫣

Masterlist

For as long as you’d known Dean, he’d always been a minimalist.

Whether that was with his cut-and-dry humour, his “kill first, ask questions later” attitude on a case, or his appearance. The way he dressed—a simple jeans and t-shirt combo with a flannel thrown over. And then there was his hair, short, neat, a quick run-through with some gel, and he was done.

And it had always been the same with his face. Clean-shaven, jaw sharp, lips unobscured. He had a routine. No scruff, no fuzz, just Dean as he always had been. Until now.

The moment the world stopped burning for a minute, when the fight against Michael had finally ended, Dean had agreed to take a break.

A real break.

You and him up at Rufus’s cabin, away from the bunker, away from the weight of saving everyone. Sam had all but shoved you both out the door, telling Dean to let himself breathe for once.

And maybe that was what made it happen. Because, for the first time in forever, Dean let go. He let himself sleep in. He let himself do nothing. He even let himself grow a beard.

It had started as stubble, nothing unusual, just a sign of taking a day off from shaving. But then a day turned into a week, and the neat, smooth skin you’d grown used to gave way to something rougher, wilder. A thick layer of golden-brown scruff covered his jaw, making him look different.

It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. It was just facial hair. And yet…

You couldn’t stop staring at him.

Dean with a beard did something to you, something primal, something that made heat coil low in your stomach every time you looked at him.

Maybe it was the contrast, the way it softened him but somehow made him look rougher all at once. Maybe it was how it made him look even more like the hunter he was, like the kind of man who could haul you over his shoulder and take what he wanted. Maybe it was because it was just so damn new.

And then there was the way he felt when he kissed you. The scratch of his beard against your lips, the roughness dragging along your skin in a way that made your breath stutter. Every kiss was different now, leaving a burn that lingered, that reminded you hours later that he’d been there. That he’d touched you. And it only made your mind wander further—how would it feel against your throat? Down your stomach? Between your legs?

The thought had haunted you for days, simmering under your skin, making it harder and harder to focus on anything else.

Whatever it was, it had you in a chokehold.

It didn’t help that Dean seemed utterly oblivious to it. He wasn’t doing it to be sexy. If anything, it was the opposite. The man had taken to walking around the cabin in old sweats and a stretched-out Led Zeppelin t-shirt, scratching at his beard like he was still getting used to it, completely unaware of what it was doing to you.

Until he noticed.

It was one night after dinner, sitting by the fire, both of you with beers in hand. Dean leaned back, stretching, and his eyes caught yours. You must have been staring—again—because his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Alright, what gives?” His voice was low, rougher with the rasp of relaxation. “You’ve been looking at me weird for days.”

You blinked, feeling heat crawl up your neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean chuckled, setting his beer down. “Oh, sweetheart, you definitely do.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the sound of fingers over scruff making your stomach tighten. “It’s the beard, isn’t it?”

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

Dean’s smirk deepened. He shifted forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he levelled you with a gaze that made your breath hitch. “You like it?”

You could have played coy. Could have brushed it off, made a joke. But screw it. You were tired of pretending.

“Yeah,” you admitted, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I do.”

Dean’s eyes darkened just a bit, his smirk flickering into something else. Something hotter. “That so?”

You nodded, fingers tightening around your beer bottle. “Yeah.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a second, just let the weight of the moment settle. Then, slowly, he leaned in, eyes locked onto yours.

“What have you been thinking about?”

Dean’s voice was a low murmur, rough and coaxing, but there was something dangerous curled beneath it—something that sent a shiver racing down your spine. His gaze was locked onto you, sharp and unrelenting, like he was already inside your head, already picking apart every filthy thought you’d had about him.

Your breath hitched. You could lie. You could change the subject. But what was the point? He’d see through it. He always did.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, pulse hammering like a war drum in your chest. “I’ve been wondering how it would feel.”

Dean’s brows lifted slightly, intrigue flickering through the storm in his eyes. “Where?”

Your stomach clenched, heat pooling low, so heavy it made your thighs press together involuntarily. “Between my legs.”

Everything in the room shifted—thickened. The air became stifling, charged, the space between you crackling with something untamed.

For a beat, he didn’t move. He just stared, breathing slow and deep, jaw clenched tight like he was barely restraining himself. And then—

He snapped.

In an instant, Dean was on you.

His mouth crashed against yours, rough and claiming, his beard scraping deliciously against your soft skin. His kiss was brutal, messy, all tongue and teeth, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to taste you, to consume you.

His hands gripped at you, dragging you against him, pressing your body into the hard lines of his own. You could feel him—all of him—thick and aching beneath his jeans, grinding against the heat of your core.

A whimper spilled from your lips, and that sound—it did something to him. A guttural groan tore from his chest as he wrenched his mouth from yours, only to drag it along your jaw, your neck, his teeth scraping, his scruff burning against your skin in a way that made you tremble.

“You wanna feel it, sweetheart?” His voice was a rasp, breath hot against your throat as he nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “Then let me give you exactly what you’ve been thinking about.”

Before you could respond, he was hauling you up into his arms like you weighed nothing, moving with purpose, raw determination burning in his gaze as he carried you to the bedroom.

Dean didn’t waste time. He laid you out on the bed, broad shoulders squared, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths as his eyes dragged over you—hungry, dark, wild.

And then, with agonising patience, he began undressing you. Deliberately.

He peeled away your top first, taking his time, letting his fingers linger on newly exposed skin before his mouth followed. Every inch of you was tasted, kissed, sucked—his beard scraping, the contrast of soft lips and rough scruff making your body writhe beneath him. He worked his way down, his mouth hot and open over your ribs, your stomach, the curve of your hips.

By the time he reached your jeans, you were a trembling mess, already lightheaded from the way he touched you, the way he took his time like he was savouring you.

But when he finally stripped you bare, something in him snapped again.

His hands slid up your legs, fingers pressing into your skin with a bruising grip, parting you for him. His breath hitched as he took you in, eyes darkening to something animalistic, something primal.

“Jesus.” His voice was low, almost reverent, but there was nothing holy in the way he looked at you.

Then he was moving, surging forward, his mouth hot and wet as he kissed up your legs—starting at your ankle, his beard scraping along your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs digging in as he worked his way higher, pressing kisses, nipping at soft flesh, until—

He reached where you needed him most.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate—a tease—but the effect was devastating. Your back arched, a breathless moan escaping you, and that sound shattered what little control he had left.

Dean growled, deep and low, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. Then he dived in.

There was nothing gentle about it. He devoured you.

His tongue was relentless, flicking, curling, pressing deep as his scruff burned against the delicate skin of your thighs. The rough drag of his beard was intoxicating, every pass sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He gripped your hips hard, holding you in place, refusing to let you squirm away from the onslaught of sensation.

When your thighs clenched around his head, he groaned, the sound filthy, desperate. “Fuck, baby—give me that.” His voice was a growl, muffled against your slick heat, and then he buried himself deeper, sucking your clit into his mouth, his beard scraping in the best, most deliciously punishing way.

You shattered.

Your orgasm crashed through you, white-hot and endless, and he didn’t stop—not when you cried out, not when your fingers yanked at his hair, not when your body shook from overstimulation. He just held you tighter, kept licking, sucking, fucking you with his tongue, dragging it out until you were wrecked beneath him.

Only when you were trembling, spent, did he finally pull back, his lips glistening, his breath ragged as he gazed down at you—his work of art.

And you knew, with just that look, he was nowhere near to being done with you.

AN: I hope you guys enjoyed this one.❤️ And I can't be the only one, who's thought about this, am I right? 👀😂

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List: @bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom

[what-an-idio-t]

05

parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader (+ sam)

synopsis: cooking

the kitchen was already a disaster. flour dusted the countertops like a crime scene outline, and a bottle of olive oil had tipped over, creating a slick, shimmering puddle on the wooden surface. the smell of garlic and onions filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of burnt something—probably whatever dean had been in charge of.

"i told you, babe, this is why takeout exists," dean grumbled, flicking a piece of raw chicken at you. it hit your arm with a cold, wet slap.

"jesus, dean!" you yelped, shoving him in the chest. he barely budged, just grinning like an idiot, dimples and all.

"you two are impossible," sam muttered, rolling his eyes as he expertly diced an onion. his knife skills were alarmingly precise, which only made dean more suspicious.

"yeah, okay, gordon ramsey, we get it, you know how to cut shit. but can you do this?" dean attempted to twirl a knife between his fingers, only for it to slip and clatter onto the floor. you sighed. sam sighed louder.

"real smooth," you muttered, picking up the knife before dean could impale himself. "if we actually wanna eat tonight, maybe we should focus."

"focus is for nerds," dean declared, leaning over to steal a sip from your beer. you smacked his hand away.

"you have your own, dumbass."

"yeah, but yours always tastes better. kinda like how you always steal my fries."

sam ignored the both of you, setting the chopped onions into a sizzling pan. the butter hissed, and for a moment, it actually smelled promising. that moment passed quickly.

dean, having been left in charge of seasoning the chicken, had apparently gone feral with the spice rack. the second the pieces hit the heat, an acrid, eye-watering cloud of burnt paprika and chili powder filled the room.

"oh, hell no," you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face. "dean, what did you put in there?"

"i dunno, some of that red shit," he answered, barely concerned, peering into the pan as if offended that his creation wasn’t behaving properly. "it looked right."

"you just threw in spices like you were summoning a demon, didn’t you?" sam accused.

"hey, if i was summoning anything, it’d be a pizza delivery guy, ‘cause this ain’t workin’." dean grabbed the pan handle, but immediately hissed and dropped it back onto the stove. "son of a—who the hell made this pan lava-proof?"

"it's called heat, dumbass," you snorted, but the joke was cut short when the smoke alarm started blaring.

"aw, come on!" dean groaned, grabbing a towel to fan the smoke away. "we got this under control!"

"do we?" sam asked dryly, as you rushed to open a window. the sound was piercing, and it was only a matter of time before someone (probably a very annoyed neighbor) complained.

"alright, screw this," you said, tossing the ruined pan into the sink with a dramatic clatter. "i'm calling it—pizza and beer."

"now we're talkin’," dean grinned, already reaching for his phone. "see, this is why i married you. you get me."

"yeah, yeah, just order before i change my mind and make you eat the chicken."

sam just shook his head, stepping around the mess as if it personally offended him. "i swear, cooking with you two is like watching a disaster movie in slow motion."

"yeah, but we make it look good, right?" dean winked at you, still smug despite the failure.

"you know what else looks good?" dean leaned in, voice dropping into a husky murmur. "you, bent over this counter, covered in flour, with me showing you how to properly handle raw meat."

"oh my god," sam groaned, throwing down the spatula. "can we go ten minutes without you turning everything into a porno?"

"hey, i'm just saying, cooking’s a very sensual activity. lotta kneading, lotta poundin—"

"i will stab you," you deadpanned, brandishing a fork. "not in the fun way."

sam rubbed his temples like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him here. "i don't get paid enough for this."

"you don't get paid at all," dean shot back. "you just hang around, all tall and judgy, pretending you don’t enjoy our company."

"it's not pretending if it's true," sam muttered.

"see, babe?" dean turned back to you, grinning. "this is why you gotta appreciate me more. i'm the fun brother."

"you're something, alright," you muttered, shaking your head.

finally, after much more unnecessary bickering, the pizza arrived. beers were popped open, and the three of you collapsed onto the couch, the kitchen a war zone of spices, flour, and regret.

"y'know," dean said around a mouthful of pizza, "we should do this again sometime."

"we absolutely should not," sam and you answered in perfect unison.

and that, of course, just made dean laugh harder.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume

[what-an-idio-t]

𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

both

three on flim

solo mission

three's a company

dean winchester

marriage blurbs/imagines for dean: 02 03 04 05

randoms blurbs 1 2 3 4 5

tramp stamp

first class

naked pillow fight with dean

kids?

dean's little obsession

hands of glory

home video

taking dean to church'

juno

vampire dean has a monthly obsession

road head

impala sex

solo mission

lips

three's a company

ghostfacers

dean prays

mark of cain dean

LARPing

me or baby

dog spell on dean

asking dean to try on your pink panties/rhonda hurley appreciation

post purgatory dean

late night whispers

new room

nasty

leather jacket

happy birthday dean!

getting tired while riding dean

sam winchester

random blurbs 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

superbowl

car fun

01

sam starts the apocalypse

aftermath of demonblood!sam

kissin and cryin

juno

soulless

fluffy moment

sam researching how to pleasure you

quickie wedding pt.2

requests

link to post: Hi, I've been addicted to reading your Supernatural writings! Until Season 4 I was always a Sam girl but reading your content, and experiencing Dean in later seasons has been something else for sure. I had a dream with him after reading the "sex in the impala" fic! Could I request a Dean x reader, where they are between hunts/on the road the boys and reader make a pitstop at a bar in a small town? Reader and Dean have had several "almost" moments but Dean has been too stubborn to admit anything, and reader is waiting on him to make the move. At this bar a man approaches reader and Dean gets hot under the collar about it when he realises the guy is interested in her. I haven't read anything of Dean being protective but I think we all know he would be! Thank you 💜

link to post: Hi it's me again lovely~ 💜 I hope you are keeping well! It's 34 Celsius here and upon (re)discovering Supernatural was mostly filmed across Vancouver in Canada, we never really get to see the boys have any summer moments! So in my thirst and need for distraction, could I please request that after finishing up a case the boys and reader are just trying to cool down after an unexpected heatwave? Dean managed to put some sodas on ice in the cooler box since alcohol of any kind would just result in a headache. Reader on the other hand, has surprised them with ice lollies, and while it's a thoughtful idea with the motel's aircon being packed up, Dean is still getting pretty damn hot watching reader suck an ice lolly (innocently, of course... 😈) so he decides to go on an evening walk. Thank you again for your previous piece, I look forward to reading this one too! ✨

link to post: Heyy, I'd like to send in a request. Bf!Sam winchester x reader where they agree to try smth new in bed, but reader safewords and Sam, as the gentleman he is, just immediately pulls out + cleans both of them up no questions asked, and then comforts reader when she feels a little bad abt stopping him?

link to post: Hey, what if Dean gets hurt on a hunt and we help him? with sexual results

link to post: May I request a Crowley x f!reader (est relationship) where she gets hurt on a hunt with the winchesters and he finds out when he pops into the bunker to see her being passed out while Sam carries her to bed, and maybe he waits for her to wake up at her bed and takes care of her? Makes sure she's okay and all that jazz with a splash of protectiveness added in <3

link to post: Hiya darling!! First off, i LOVE your blog <3 Second, id like to request a Sam x reader where maybe it's their first time together since they had a baby, and it's all gentle and loving and rediscovering eachother, mainly Sam rediscovering his baby mama after all the loving, hard work she put in for their baby to be healthy

link to post: hiiiii! i hope you’re doing great 🩷 i was wondering if u could write about dean and/or winchester (it could be romantic or platonically), and reader, despite being a highly skilled hunter as them, she/he/them have a extensive skincare routine 🧖🏿‍♀️ and tons of products and also has candles 🕯️ to aromatize whatever hotel room they’re staying in? maybe i’m a little biased bc it’s something i would def do lol 💅🏿 of course it’s up to u to write it or not xx

[what-an-idio-t]

parings: dean winchester x reader

song: espresso by sabrina carpenter

warnings: 18+, smut

now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh

there's no goddamn way he’s sleeping. you know it because the phone’s already buzzing on the nightstand, screen lighting up with his name—dean. you sigh, knowing exactly what he wants, and when you pick up, his voice is low, rough, dripping with need. he never lasts more than a few days without this, without you. distance frays him at the edges, makes him restless.

is it that sweet? i guess so

"baby," he breathes, already wrecked. "you sleepin’?"

you chuckle, voice thick with exhaustion. "was about to."

"nah, you weren’t. you knew i was gonna call." his voice is a slow drag of heat, the same way his hands feel on your skin when he’s finally home, the same way his mouth lingers when he’s memorizing you all over again.

say you can't sleep, baby, i know

his voice is like warm whiskey over ice, like gravel under the tires of his impala, steady and rough. "can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you," he mutters, a groan slipping out like he’s already palming himself through his jeans. "wish i was home right now. wish i was fuckin’ buried in you."

that's that me espresso

heat blooms in your stomach at the way his voice tightens, the way he barely holds it together. "yeah?" you tease, already shifting under the sheets, already picturing his broad hands on your thighs, his mouth dragging over your skin. "tell me what you'd do."

move it up, down, left, right, oh

he lets out a shaky exhale, breath already ragged. "you know what i’d do. mouth on your neck, hands all over you—fuck, i’d take my time. make you feel so goddamn good." his voice drops lower, strained, as you hear the slick sound of him stroking himself, slow and teasing, like he’s savoring the ache. "wish I had my hands on you right now. wanna feel your tits, wanna taste every inch of you. bet you’re warm, soft—fuck, bet you’d feel so perfect wrapped around me."

he groans, deep and needy, and you swear you can hear his head tilting back against the pillow, his jaw tightening. "goddamn it, sweetheart. tell me you need it just as bad."

switch it up like nintendo

he’s always like this when he’s away too long—needy, relentless, like the distance between you is something he physically can’t stand. you’d laugh if it wasn’t so hot, if you didn’t know how wrecked he’d be when he finally got home.

say you can't sleep, baby, i know

his breath stutters through the line, and you can picture it perfectly—his head tilted back against some shitty motel pillow, body tense, fist wrapped tight around himself. "baby—shit—I’m close."

that's that me espresso

"good," you whisper, biting your lip. "wanna hear you fall apart for me."

too bad your ex don't do it for ya

when he finally gets home, it’s chaos. bags hit the floor, keys are forgotten, and his hands are on you before the door even shuts. he smells like road dust and leather, like gunpowder and whiskey, and it’s intoxicating.

walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya

you don’t even make it to the bedroom. dean’s got you pressed against the wall, mouth hot and demanding against yours, hands greedy and impatient. "been too fuckin’ long," he growls, voice thick with need. "gonna make up for every damn second."

soft skin and i perfumed it for ya

his fingers dig into your hips as he grinds against you, all heat and desperation. the solid wall against your back does nothing to cool the fire spreading through your veins as his mouth moves hot and open over your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. his hands roam greedily, gripping, kneading, as if memorizing every inch of your body by touch alone.

"missed you so goddamn much," he mutters, voice barely holding steady. one hand slides between your thighs, pressing against your core through thin fabric, feeling the heat and wetness waiting for him. "need you. need all of you." his hips roll forward, grinding the hard length of him against you, and it's dizzying, the way he devours you, like he’s been starving for this, for you.

(yes) i know i mountain dew it for ya

you laugh, breathless, clinging to his shoulders. "then take me, winchester."

(yes) that morning coffee, brewed it for ya

the next few weeks, he hardly lets you out of his sight. anytime you move, he’s there—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck, pressing you into the mattress, the couch, the damn kitchen counter. he’s insatiable, but so are you, and every time he touches you, it’s like setting gasoline on fire.

(yes) one touch and i brand-newed it for ya

you tease him about it once, about how insatiable he is. he just grins, presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. "ain’t my fault," he murmurs, lazy and content. "you’re my goddamn addiction." and the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing keeping him together, you know it’s true.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume @starzify

[what-an-idio-t]

quit pouting, winchester’ d.w. ꩜ .ᐟ

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; dean gets all jealous over something super dumb (he’d never admit it though), and ends up pouting until you kiss him to make him stop being so ridiculous.

warnings; a hint of possessiveness, jealousy with unreasonable doubts, (duh) make out sesh, but other than that — just pure fluff, because this man is soft for you no matter how much he tries to act tough. don’t kiss and drive kids!!

notes; this is my first fic ever!! send some love. thanks so much for reading through my yap sesh. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

words; 1008

Dean Winchester is pouting.

And, yeah, he’d probably rather die than admit it, but it’s so obvious it’s almost embarrassing. Arms crossed, jaw tight, barely sparing you a glance as he sulks in the driver’s seat of the Impala. You’d think you just crashed Baby into a brick wall with how pissed he looks.

“De.. what is wrong with you?” you finally ask, leaning against the window to look at him.

“Nothin’,” he mutters, gripping the steering wheel like it personally offended him. Nothing, my ass.

You narrow your eyes. “Dean.”

“Nothin’, i already told you.” he repeats, this time with even less conviction.

You huff, shifting in your seat so you’re fully facing him now. “Oh my God, you are such a bad liar.”

He scoffs. “I’m a great liar, trust me.”

“Not to me.”

And, that shuts him up for a second. His fingers tighten on the wheel, his mouth pressing into that stubborn, self-righteous little frown he gets whenever he knows he’s losing but refuses to admit it.

You smirk, slowly realizing what could be the cause of his state. “Oh my God, you’re jealous.”

Dean’s head snaps toward you so fast you think he might give himself whiplash. “What?”

You lean in, grinning now. “You totally are.” you say with a soft chuckle, as if the thought of him being jealous is the most hilarious thing in the whole world.

He rolls his eyes, trying so hard to play it cool, but his ears are so red. “Pfft. Yeah, right.”

“You so are.”

Dean exhales sharply, turning his attention back to the road like the empty highway is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to dig himself out of this one.

“You’re acting all weird,” you point out, watching him squirm. “You’ve been quiet for the last hour. You barely even yelled at that dude who cut you off.”

Dean clenches his jaw. He knows you’ve got him.

“So,” you press, “what’s got your panties in a twist, huh?” As if you already don’t know.

He grumbles something under his breath. Oh, he’s embarrassed. You could tell.

You blink. “What?”

More grumbling.

“Dean.” you repeated, hoping for him to finally speak up.

He exhales roughly, hands flexing on the steering wheel. Then, finally, he mutters, “Nothin’. Just— dude was flirting with you, ‘s all.”

You blink. Then blink again. “Are you talking about the gas station cashier?” Dean says nothing. Which is an answer in itself. Oh, this is too good.

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Dean, he barely said two words to me.”

“Yeah? And he was lookin’ at you like a damn puppy,” Dean grumbles. “Like he had a shot.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “That is so stupid.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, jaw still tight. “‘S stupid to you.”

And okay, yeah, now you kind of feel bad, because he’s being ridiculous, but also kind of… sad about it? Not that he’d ever admit it, but the way he’s gripping the wheel, the way his lips are pressed tight like he’s trying to keep everything in—he actually cares about this. About you.

Which means he deserves to suffer just a little longer.

You scoot closer, pressing your chin to his shoulder. “You know you’re the only one I want, right?”

Dean stays silent, but you feel the way his grip on the wheel loosens. His jaw twitches when you press a slow, lingering kiss to his cheek. You smirk. Oh, he’s melting.

So, you push further, brushing your lips along the sharp edge of his jaw, taking your sweet time. You can feel the tension in him shift— not gone, but different. Like he’s holding his breath, waiting for what you’ll do next.

He clears his throat, but his voice comes out rough. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

You hum, letting your lips trail just a little lower. “Then quit pouting.”

“I ain’t—”

You shut him up with a proper kiss.

And at first, he barely moves—like he wasn’t expecting it, like it takes him a second to catch up. But the second he does, oh, you’ve got him.

Dean exhales through his nose, tilting his head to meet you fully, and then he’s kissing you like he’s making up for lost time. His hand finally lets go of the steering wheel, landing firm and warm against your thigh, fingers flexing like he’s grounding himself.

You don’t hesitate to deepen it, shifting in your seat to turn toward him, your hand moving up to cup his jaw. He’s warm, rough with stubble, and you take your time exploring it, feeling the way his breath stutters when you scrape your nails lightly along the edge.

Dean groans— low, quiet, but wrecked— and then he’s pulling you closer, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck. The Impala swerves slightly.

You pull back just enough to whisper, breathless, “Dean, focus.”

“Tryin’,” he mutters, voice low and strained. “You’re makin’ it real hard, sweetheart.”

You grin, fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Ain’t that the point?..”

Dean exhales sharply, like he’s trying so hard to keep his cool, but he’s losing. And you? You’re having the time of your life watching him come undone.

You lean in again, kissing him slow and deep, dragging it out just to make him suffer. He sighs into it, fingers pressing just a little tighter into your skin, like he doesn’t want to let go.

Eventually— reluctantly— you pull back, just enough to look at him. His pupils are almost brown in this lightning, lips pink and kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling a little faster than before.

You smirk. “Told you you were pouting.”

Dean exhales, shaking his head with a grumble—but the way he looks at you? The way his thumb traces absently against your knee, like he’s memorizing the shape of you?

Yeah. You definitely won this one.

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

[what-an-idio-t]

Jensen Ackles | Man About Town Photoshoot, BTS [x]  

[what-an-idio-t]

I miss my best friend!

[what-an-idio-t]

HOODIE JENSEN SAVE ME❗️❗️❗️

[what-an-idio-t]

✮⋆˙ miniskirt,

summary. you're rocking a miniskirt and dean goes crazy!

pairing. teen!dean winchester x best friend!reader

wordcount. 377

Dean Winchester doesn’t get flustered. Not over a game, not over a fight, and definitely not over a girl—especially when that girl is you.

You, his best friend. You, the one who’s been by his side since you were kids, running around in ripped jeans and scuffed sneakers.

So, really, there’s no reason for his brain to short-circuit when you step out of the school’s side doors, a grin on your face and a goddamn mini-skirt on your hips.

His mouth goes dry. He has no clue what to do with himself.

“Hey, Dean.” You give him that little smile, the one you always do, like you have no idea you just sent his entire nervous system into a meltdown.

The skirt is short. Too short. Bare thighs, legs smooth and soft, and—no. He can’t do this.

Dean swallows hard and grunts, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “New outfit?”

You twirl, showing off the frayed hem, the way the denim hugs your hips. “Thrifted it yesterday. Cute, right?”

Cute? Oh, it’s more than cute. It’s lethal.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting around. There are too many guys around, too many eyes lingering on you, and something hot and possessive curls in his stomach.

Before he can stop himself, he shrugs off his letterman jacket and practically throws it at you.

You blink in surprise, catching it just before it smacks you in the face. “Uh—what?”

“Wear it,” Dean mutters, avoiding your gaze. “It’s cold.”

You snort. “Dean, it’s like seventy degrees.”

“Just—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Just put it on, okay?”

You eye him suspiciously but slip the jacket on anyway. It’s huge on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem nearly covering your damn skirt completely. You look ridiculously adorable.

Dean’s stomach twists.

You tug the collar up, sniffing dramatically. “Mmm. Smells like cheap cologne and masculinity.”

Dean rolls his eyes, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

You laugh, linking your arm through his. “You’re always so grumpy, D.”

He grumbles under his breath but doesn’t shake you off.

And when you lean against his shoulder, warm and smiling, wearing his jacket like you belong to him—he knows he's absolutely screwed. He's got it for you. And he's got it bad.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @KayleighWinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore

[what-an-idio-t]

STILL₂

dean doesn’t visit your grave during the day.

he waits until the world quiets, until the streetlights hum and the moon watches from above. he waits until it’s just him and the stars and the weight in his chest that hasn’t eased since the night he lost you.

the cemetery is empty when he pulls up, the impala’s engine cutting off too soon, leaving him in silence. he grips the steering wheel for a long moment, his knuckles white, his breath uneven.

he tells himself he won’t stay long. that he’ll just sit for a second, leave a bottle of whiskey like you used to joke about, and go.

but he never just goes.

instead, he walks up the familiar path, past the rows of stone markers that mean nothing to him—until he reaches yours.

etched into the stone was your first and last name—so very permanent.

below it reads: beloved. never forgotten.

dean scoffs. “that’s putting it lightly.”

he lowers himself to the ground, resting his elbows on his knees. “still don’t know what to say to you,” he admits, running a hand over his jaw. “i thought maybe after all this time, it’d get easier.”

it hasn’t.

his chest still tightens when he reaches for the passenger seat and remembers you’re not there. he still hears your laugh in quiet moments, still feels your warmth in the empty space beside him at night.

"you always hated the cold," he murmurs, glancing up at the dark sky. "i should’ve—i don’t know. done something different."

you would’ve rolled your eyes at that. told him not to be an idiot. that there was nothing he could’ve done. that you weren’t some damsel who needed saving.

but he was supposed to save you anyway.

dean presses his palms together, resting them against his lips. “i still see you.” his voice is rough, strained. “every damn day.”

in the rearview mirror. in the flash of headlights on the road. in the spaces between breaths, in the moments he lets himself forget you’re gone.

“i don’t know how to do this without you,” he whispers. “i don’t think i ever will.”

the wind picks up, rustling the leaves, and for a second—just a second—he swears he hears your voice. a whisper in the night. a ghost of a touch against his skin.

dean exhales sharply, closing his eyes. he should go. he always says that. but he stays anyway, staring at your name carved into stone, listening to the way the wind still carries the memory of your laugh.

he wonders if you’re still out there somewhere. if you’d tell him to stop being so damn stubborn. if you’d tell him to let go.

he wonders if he ever really will.

i was very sad last night if you could not tell

[what-an-idio-t]

66 of the most memorable tracks from Supernatural

+ LISTEN  [part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3]

[what-an-idio-t]

STACKEDNATURAL ⇉ 182/327 (part 1)

7.13 The Slice Girls Written by Eugenie Ross-Leming & Brad Buckner Directed by Jerry Wanek Original Air Date: February 3, 2012

[what-an-idio-t]

Through a Broken Window

The rain came down in sheets, soaking through Dean’s jacket, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not with you lying there, cold and still, beneath the weight of the earth.

He had watched you slip away, a slow unraveling of the fire that once burned so bright in your eyes. He had seen the way life chipped away at you, how the world took its toll, how the battles—both real and personal—left scars too deep to heal. And now, there was nothing left but the hollow ache in his chest and the single rose he held between calloused fingers.

A pretty flower. That’s what he brought to you.

His throat tightened as he knelt, pressing the rose into the damp soil. “I thought you should know,” he murmured, voice rough with grief.

He used to see you differently—through a broken window, through the lens of his own pain and regrets. Maybe if he had seen more clearly, if he had fought harder, you wouldn’t be here now.

The Impala sat idle behind him, headlights dim in the storm, the only thing tethering him to the world outside this graveyard. But right now, there was nothing but you, the rain, and the regret that settled deep in his bones.

Dean Winchester wasn’t a praying man. But as he sat there, soaked and silent, he wished—for more time, for a different ending, for one last chance to tell you that you were never alone.

He wished you could hear him.

And maybe, just maybe, you did.