koxhii

[koxhii]

When destiel is trending, you know some major shit just happened

[koxhii]

[koxhii]

I would like season one dean and season eight sam hand delivered to me right now please and thank you

[koxhii]

[koxhii]

I never knew a season of a tv show could be so “we’re not gay!” while actively being gay before I watched spn season five

[koxhii]

Reader: I know I just did something really stupid, but why do you automatically get to be in charge of the music?

Dean: ‘Cause I have the best taste.

Sam laughing with reader: All you like is mullet rock.

Dean: It’s classic rock… or what I like to refer to it as, “M”. Because it’s the only music.

Reader: Yeah, listen, Dean, it’s trash.

Dean: Need I remind you that you that you started a petition to get Enya to play the Super Bowl halftime show?

Reader: You’re misrepresenting my petition. Okay? I was petitioning for her to play on the field during the fourth quarter not sing.

[koxhii]

should’ve known I’d fall in love with Jared Padalecki after my first crush was Donovan from New Girl

IM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO SEES IT RIGHT?? THEIR BEARDS ARE IDENTICAL AND THE LONG ASS HAIR AGH 😫

[koxhii]

I was thinking about this post while I might or might not have been listening to Hey Jude by The Beatles so now you have this:

DEAN WINCHESTER, who only felt truly useful when he was protecting his little sister. Sure, he was useful when hunting monsters, but there were other hunters who could do the same. Protecting Sam? Yeah, that was engraved in his bones, but Sam had always known how to take care of himself when it came down to it. You were different. When he looked at you, he could only see the once carefree little girl, all giggles with doe eyes and a big grin. That was the kind of innocence he’d never really had. When he looked at you, he remembered checking under your bed for monsters or holding you when you got scared of John, and he remembered how in those moments, you needed him. That was when he felt like he mattered, when he could see your fear melt into relief as he told you he’d destroy the world before he let any monsters hurt his baby sister.

But outside of those moments? DEAN WINCHESTER didn’t feel like your favorite. No matter how often you said you loved him and Sam equally (except for when you were mad at one of them), Dean always felt like he came second. It stung, though he’d never admit it. He didn’t really feel like he was anyone’s favorite. Not yours. Not Sam’s. Not even Dad’s, whom he’d spent his whole life trying to please, following orders like they were gospel.

DEAN WINCHESTER, who got used to the heavy weight in his chest. It was there when he tried to teach you something, like your alphabet, or play with you, only for you to run off after Sam like a little puppy. And it was there as you grew up, stronger than ever as he watched your eyes light up when Sam came back from college or how you’d find yourself wearing Sam’s jacket (which was definitely too big for you) and chatting off Sam’s ear with sparkles in your eyes. Dean would watch from a distance, pretending it didn’t bother him. Pretending he didn’t wish you’d look at him with the same awe as you looked at Sam.

But then there were nights like this. Nights where he held you in his arms, your body tucked against him, making you seem so small, as you fought off sleep. He’d hum softly or murmur a story, his voice low and steady, doing everything he could to keep the world at bay for just a little longer. He could briefly process that you asked if you could tell him a secret before he was humming in conformation. And then you whispered it.

“You’re my favorite brother.”

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. For a second, he thought he’d imagined it. But then your words hung in the quiet room, warm and heavy, wrapping around him like a blanket as you finally drifted off to sleep. And for the first time in a long time, DEAN WINCHESTER didn’t feel like he was fighting for a place in someone’s heart. For the first time, he didn’t feel second. And for the rest of the night, even as he fell into a deep sleep with you in his arms, he couldn’t wipe the small smile from his lips.

[koxhii]

this scene aged like fine wine *chefs kiss*

[koxhii]

A slip of the tongue

Dean Winchester x sister!reader and slightly Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Summmery: After a tough hunt, leaving the three hunters bruised and hurt and Dean angry at his little sister. But when she slips up and calls him "Dad," everything shifts.

Warnings: none really

(It's been requested weeks ago but I just now I managed to get it done)

Being raised by two older brother who don't really know what they're doing, may not be to ideal but for Y/N that's all she could have asked for.

Their dad was rarely ever home, usually away on hunt and blinded by the need to revenge his wife. So Dean and Sam had no other choice than to step in and raise her to be a strong smart woman. And she wouldn't trade that for anything in this world.

Like that one time when Dean tried to get her ready for the day.

“Sam, do you know how to braid hair?” Dean asked, frowning at the tangled mess called a ponytail. She was 5, sitting cross-legged on the motel bed, flipping through an old, dog-eared picture book.

“No, but I’m not the one who promised she’d look like a princess today,” Sam shot back, rolling his eyes. He was fifteen, gangly and awkward but always ready to help.

Then Dean also rolled his eyes and glared at his little brother. "You know you don't have to be so sassy all the time Sammy." He sayed in an obnoxiously annoying tone, to which Sam didn't say anything further.

Dean huffed, trying to mimic the motions he’d seen in some movie Y/N had made them watch. “Hold still, kid. You’re gonna look amazing.”

Or that time when both brothers decided to take her to the fair after she had been begging to go there for days.

The fairground lights twinkled and Y/N was full of energy, practically dragged her brothers toward the entrance.

“Dean! Funnel cake first! No, wait—the merry-go-round!” she shouted, her voice rising above the carnival buzz.

“Slow down!” Dean laughed and quickly tried catching up to her. Sam slightly less enthusiastic, rolled his eyes but followed close behind.

They played games. Dean won her a stuffed lion and they shared a funnel cake, When they reached the ferris wheel, Y/N squeezed into the seat between her brothers, resting her head on Dean’s arm.

“This is the best night ever,” she whispered already sleepy and exhausted after this fun night out.

Dean smiled, pulling her close. “Yeah, kiddo. It is.”

But their lives weren't always fun and peaceful. More often than not it was the complete opposite. John's anger, the constand yelling and fighting between Sam and John, the hunting. Oh especially the hunting.

The two brothers were never a big fan of taking her with them on hunts but John insisted she had to learn, so they hadn't much of a choice than to agree. But after seeing how good she actually is at this they decided to let her tag along even after John was long gone.

The Impala���s rumble was a soothing constant, a reminder of safety despite the chaos that had just unfolded. Sam’s face was taut with worry as he pressed a blood-soaked rag against her arm, the gash beneath stinging like fire. Dean’s jaw was clenched as he drove like a mad man, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

Y/N sat in the backseat, trying not to wince every time the car hit a bump. Blood was soaking through her white shirt, but she knew better than to complain about a piece of clothing at the moment. Even if she really loved that shirt.

The hunt had gone sideways—what a surprise.

Dean and Sam had both sworn to protect their sister at all costs. But lately, she’d been trying to prove she could handle herself, trying to show them she wasn't just the kid tagging along anymore.

It was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn. Ghosts were her bread and butter. Something relatively easy to handle. But this one had been different. Angry. Vengeful. And ridiculously fast. Before anyone could react, it had slashed at her, sending the girl flying into a set of windows.

“Pull over,” Sam said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was calm but firm. “I need to stitch this up before she loses too much blood. We've waisted to much time so far."

Dean didn’t argue, which was how she immediately could tell he was mad. He pulled into the parking lot of a dingy gas station, threw the car into park, and slammed the door shut behind him as he got out.

Sam turned to his sister, pulling out the first-aid kit. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” she said through gritted teeth.

Sam sighed but didn’t push it. His hands were steady as he threaded the needle and got to work, his murmured apologies lost in the sharp sting of every pull. Y/N tried to focus on the familiar sounds of Dean pacing outside the car, his boots crunching on gravel.

When Sam finished, he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and got out to check on Dean. The girl was alone for maybe thirty seconds before the driver’s side door opened and Dean slid in loudly. He turned to face her, his green eyes scanning her pale and tear struck face and then her bandaged arm.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m fine,” She muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“Fine?” His voice was sharp, edged with frustration and anger. “You know you could’ve died back there.”

She flinched at his firm tone. “I wasn’t trying to get hurt, Dean.”

“You think that matters?” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be careful. You’re supposed to stay back and let us handle it. We know what we are doing!”

“I know what I am doing too and most importantly I’m not a little kid anymore!!”

“Well, you sure as hell act like one sometimes!”

The words hit her harder than she wanted to admit. Y/N looked down at her lap, blinking back tears. She knew he didn’t mean it—not really. Dean was scared. He always got like this when something happened to her or Sam. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered after an intense silence.

Dean sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. His voice softened. “I just—damn it, I can’t lose you. You get that, right? You and Sam… you’re all I’ve got.”

The tears she’d been holding back spilled over, and before she could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“I know, Dad.”

The silence that followed was definitely awkward.

Her heart sank as soon as she realized what she’d said. “I—I mean, Dean. I didn’t mean. I—”

But he didn’t look angry. His eyes widened for a moment, then softened into something she couldn’t quite place. He reached out, his calloused hand gentle as it gripped her left hand.

“Hey,” he said softly, cutting off her rambling. “It’s okay.”

She looked at him worried and confused, her bottom lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, you did,” he said, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And it’s okay. You’re my kid as much as you’re my sister. Hell you’ve always have been.”

The weight of his words settled over her, warm and reassuring. For the first time since she’d climbed into the Impala, the tightness in her chest loosened even for just a moment.

“Thanks, Dean,” She whispered.

“Don’t thank me,” he said gruffly, though his hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled away. “Just… stop scaring the crap outta me, alright?”

She nodded, a small smile breaking through. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” He started the car, the familiar rumble filling the space and waited for Sam to come back in too. “Now, let’s get you patched up for real. And next time, you’re wearing body armor, I don’t care how stupid it looks.”

Sam climbed back in, raising an eyebrow at the sudden shift in mood but wisely deciding not to comment. As the Impala roared back onto the highway, Y/N leaned her head against the window, a strange sense of peace settling over her.

Dean might not have been her dad in the traditional sense, but in every way that mattered, he was. And now, she didn’t have to pretend otherwise.

[koxhii]

#Mood

Gilmore Girls (2000 - 2007) I 2.08

[koxhii]

I have so many shows on my watchlist but I’m a chronic mid-show abandoner and procrastinator so I’m stuck wanting to watch them but never actually doing it

[koxhii]

✮ BORN TO DIE

─ dw x fem!reader

cw! angst, blood, break ups, fighting, mentions of death, slight religious aspects

dean didn't think. he didn't breathe, didn't blink, didn't even take his eyes off the road as he sped the impala down the highway, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. he hadn't taken his foot off the gas since he got in the car, not since he heard your voicemail, and he only stepped on it harder when bobby called.

the shakiness of your voice haunted him, the spluttering laugh that turned into a gut wrenching coughing fit echoed like a broken record in his head, only making him push the speed limit harder. bobby's voice had been calm, but dean could hear the undertone of panic in the old man's voice that reflected his own.

so dean drove as fast as he could without burning baby's tires, his heart in his throat as your last confession rang in his ears.

i'm just sorry i wont get to tell you i love you one last time.

it was dean's birthday, of all days─not that he ever really celebrated it. in fact sam had been out grabbing pie and a case of beers for the two of them, when dean had finally checked his phone after being caught up in a shifter case all day, his heart dropping as he saw you had left him a voicemail.

he knew you wouldn't call unless something was seriously wrong, you had told him as much the last time you called, which was mostly telling him to stop drunk calling you. so his hands had shaken as he lifted the phone to his ear, his whole body freezing as your weak voice and self proclaimed last words were spoken through the phone.

it was by some miracle that bobby's call came just as your voicemail had finished, because only god knows what he would have done if he had been left to his own devices after possibly listening to you die in a voicemail. a fucking voicemail.

the only thing that stopped dean from going insane was bobby telling him that he had you, that he thinks you're stable, but he can't be sure, and he thinks dean is gonna want to see you.

so he didn't hesitate, not for a second, to throw his jacket on and grab his keys, only leaving sam a curt note about where he was going. thankfully, they weren't too far from bobby's place in sioux falls, having just come from a pit stop there themselves, so the only thing dean had to focus on was remembering the exit to take in a few miles.

as he drove though, he thought about you. he didn't want to think about your weak, shortening breaths that could be heard through the speaker of the phone, or the spluttering of blood from your mouth that he heard when you had coughed, so he focused on the last time he saw you.

you were beautiful. even when you were angry, especially when you were angry, like you were then, you were beautiful. and although his own anger simmered under his skin, he found himself lost in the way your lips moved as you spoke, and how the dim lighting of the motel room you were staying in cast a glow over you that formed a halo around your head, making you look angelic.

dean hated angels, he really did. and ever since finding out what brainless dicks they really were a few years ago, he doesn't like to compare things to them, but you. oh, you. dean thought that if he went back to the first days of existence and asked anyone what they thought an angel was, they would draw a picture of you.

you, with your eyes narrowed and lips pursed, shoulders tensed as you yelled at him, calling him overbearing and accusing him of not trusting you. god, he had wanted to kiss you so bad. he knew he could, you'd said before with a giggle that you loved when he shut you up by kissing you, but he'd figured in that moment that he wasn't allowed to do that.

it was only when you suggested that maybe things weren't going to work out anymore that he snapped out of it.

"what?" he had asked, heart dropping to his stomach as his eyes went wide. "what the hell are you talking about? we just need to talk it out."

"that's the problem, dean," you had argued, and dean had never hated himself more than when he saw the tears welling in your breath taking eyes. "we always say we're gonna talk it out, but we never do. it ends with us in the sheets, and just builds until we fight again, because you're too afraid to face your goddamn feelings!"

that had snapped something in dean, the accusation hitting right on the money as the natural instinct to push you away bubbled to the surface, rearing it's ugly head. "oh, i'm too scared?" he had spat, taking a step closer to you. "well, sweetheart, you're the one who is so incompetent that i have to save your ass every goddamn time!"

every second of every day since that moment, he wished he could take that back. he had said a lot of things during your relationship, but the one thing that he never insulted was your ability as a hunter. that was something that you just never did. and he knew he fucked up as soon as he had seen your face fall, tears welling so thickly in your hurt eyes that he hadn't been sure you could still see.

"is that how you feel?" you had asked, your voice small and breaking slightly.

dean had swallowed, trying to force down the self sabotaging words that were crawling up his throat, but they spilled out before he could stop them. "yeah. it is."

you had just looked at him with a searing hurt in your eyes that had burned a hole in his weeping heart, a tear finally slipping down your flushed cheek. "well, if that's really how you feel, then maybe i should just leave."

his bleeding heart had begged, cried, and screamed for him to take it back, to grab you in his arms and hold you until you stopped crying, for him to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness until his bones ached and you smiled at him again.

but he didn't.

he just looked away from you, fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he fought off tears of his own and muttered through gritted teeth, "maybe you should."

dean hadn't looked at you, but he had felt the weight of your stare as it burned through his bones. he still hadn't looked at you when you had muttered a broken, "fine", and walked over to the bed, and threw your stuff into your beat up duffle bag without a word.

you had stormed past him, your shoulder brushing his, but dean didn't stop you as you reached for the door. he only turned to face you when he heard you stop, forcing himself to keep a stoic expression, even as his aching mind, soul, and body begged him to grab you and not let you leave.

you had turned to face him then, your hand lingering on the doorknob, and he thinks a piece of his soul was chipped away when he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks.

dean had never used the term devastatingly beautiful, but that's what you had been then. because although the pain he had caused you was written on the features he cherished so much, tears dragging your makeup down your face, you still looked beautiful. devastatingly beautiful.

and even though the next words you had spoken had torn him into pieces, the beauty of you, inside and out, never left his rotten mind.

"i wish it wasn't so easy to love you."

dean snaps out of it as a mile sign whizzes by, and his vacant eyes flick to the speedometer to see that he's doing about twenty over the speed limit. he doesn't care though, all he cares about is that your heart is still beating. whether it's for him or not.

dean bursts into bobby's house, not bothering to knock as he rushes in, slamming the door behind him.

"bobby?" he calls out, trying to keep his voice level as no answer comes. "damnit, bobby, where are you?"

he's about to completely tear the place down when there's a rustling followed by heavy footsteps and a familiar voice. "don't blow the house down, boy, i'm right here."

bobby comes around the corner, into the hallway, and though usually there's a comfort in seeing the man dean considers a father figure, this time there's still an aching panic in his chest.

"where is she? is she okay? what happ-" dean cuts himself off as his eyes drift down to bobby's hands, which are covered in blood. your blood. "oh god.."

the old man seems to notice the look of pure terror on dean's face, and follows his gaze down to his hands, sighing at the sight of the blood.

"she's okay, dean," bobby tells him, taking a step towards him, and dean thinks he might be shaking. "there was a moment where-" he cuts himself off, looking away for a moment, as if debating what to say before he meets dean's gaze again. "there was a moment where i thought she wasn't, but she pulled through. she's okay now."

the moment the sincerity and truth of bobby's words rang through dean's head, he felt like he could finally breathe again. he let's out a deep exhale, wobbling slightly on his feet as he runs a hand over his face, cursing to himself softly.

after he takes a second to collect himself and calm his racing heart, he looks up at bobby, brow furrowed as he swallows down the suffocating panic. "can...can i see her?"

the old man hesitates, a protective edge in his eyes that makes dean realize that you probably told him everything. he watches as bobby thinks it over, before the old man sighs, his shoulders dropping slightly as he nods.

"yeah..you can see her," bobby agrees, but as dean takes a step forward, he holds up his hand, stopping dean in his tracks with a pointed look. "but i'm not so sure she's gonna want you there when she wakes up, kid. so if she opens her eyes and freaks out when she sees you, then y're gonna have to leave."

that chips another piece of dean's heart away, the fragment falling further into the pit of self despair that has been building in dean's chest since he hurt you and let you walk away from him.

"please, bobby," he rasps, his voice breaking slightly as emotions blur in his head. "i just need to see her. i...i just need to see she's okay."

the old man looks slightly shocked at the desperation in dean's voice, and something softens in his gaze. "she's been through a lot, boy," he sighs, giving dean a pointed look, though this time it's less menacing. "and i love you like my own, but right now she's my priority and if you being here is gonna stop her from healin', then i'm sorry dean, but y'cant stay."

dean nods, forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. "i don't wanna hurt her," he responds, his voice dropping to a pained whisper. "not more then i already have. i just- she called me, and hearin' her on the phone like that? thinkin' that might be the last time i ever hear her voice, on a fucking voicemail?"

he cuts himself off, averting his eyes from bobby as he forces the tears that burn behind his eyes to stay hidden. "i need to see her, bobby. please."

there's a moment of silence, and when dean lifts his eyes, bobby is staring right back at him, his expression slightly shocked at the rare display of emotions from him. but after a moment, the old man nods, stepping back and gesturing for dean to follow him.

at first he just stands there, but then he's rushing after bobby, each step determined but shaky as he follows the man into the main room.

dean's eyes scan the room, frantically searching for you, and when he finally does, he freezes.

you're laying on the couch, eyes closed and so pale. your skin is void of almost all of its usual color, your cheeks sunken and your lips chapped and sullen. the only thing keeping dean from passing out or falling to his knees in front of you and praying until you wake up is the shaky rise and fall of your chest that he can see under the blanket that bobby's placed over you.

said man places a comforting hand on dean's shoulder, but dean doesn't turn around, even as he hears bobby's footsteps echo down the hallway. he can't move his eyes from you, scared that if he does, you'll somehow slip from his grasp again.

he takes a couple hesitant steps closer and something curls in his gut, gripping his heart and wrenching it until it bleeds as he lets his eyes roam over your face. your familiar features are pale and sullen, but still, dean can't think of anything he's ever seen that's more beautiful than you.

devastatingly beautiful. that term pops into his head again, and this time, the words stab at something deep inside him, something he's always been too afraid to name.

because you are. and it's not just your features─though dean swears you could power a whole city just from smiling, the way it lights up your face─it's your mind, your soul, the way you laugh, the softness of your voice. it's everything. it's you.

you are devastatingly beautiful because you devastate him, crashing your way into his heart over and over again, making him high off you, making him never want to come down.

dean has to remind himself to breathe as he tentatively walks over to where you're laying, exhaling shakily before falling to his knees on the floor in front of you as if he was sitting in front of an altar, about to worship.

his now teary eyes scan over you, and before he can stop himself, he reaches a shaky hand out and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

lightning strikes through him as his skin touches yours, and he fights the urge to pull back, letting his fingertips lightly trace your cheek before his hand drifts down, finding your own and intertwining your fingers.

when he doesn't feel the familiar squeeze back of your hand, something in him breaks.

his head drops to your shoulder, his body shaking as quiet sobs tear from his chest, his teats staining the flannel you wore, his face buried into the fabric.

"i'm sorry,” he rasps through sobs, turning his head into your shoulder, burrowing into the skin of your neck, nausea creeping up his throat when he doesn’t feel your familiar warmth. he presses his lips against your skin, unable to stop the million apologies that spill from his lips. “i’m sorry, sweetheart, i'm so sorry. i love you, i’m sorry. ’m sorry, im so sorry.”

dean stays there, head pressed against you, sobbing quietly into your skin as he clings to you, praying to anyone that would listen that you would wake up. that you would come back to him and he could hold you in his arms and sob a million more apologies into your skin until you forgave him, even if he didn't deserve it.

he needed you to come back to him. he needed your touch, your kiss, your laughter, your stupid jokes that always made him laugh, your whispered words, and your loving stare.

he needed you.

and in that moment dean decided that when you woke up─not if, because he didn't know what he would do if he let himself think about that─he would try his damn hardest to get you back, because even though he doesn't think he deserves happiness, he knew he had it with you.

when you left, and took that piece of him with you, he broke. and all he wanted was to let you fix him again.

but you couldn't. because even as dean cried against you, you didn't stir, didn't flinch, the only reason he knew you were still hanging on was the shallow rise and fall of your chest under where his hand, intertwined with yours was rested firmly, and dean didn't know if he'd ever get that happiness back.

and as he sat there with you, at the foot of the altar he would give his all just to be worthy enough to worship, all he could think about was how he was begging for whatever God or being was listening that if they took you from him, they better fucking take him too.

because even if you hated him, even if you cursed him out, screamed at him to never talk to you again, dean didn't want to live in this world if you weren't in it.

bri's thoughts!: okay so this took me kinda long to finish, and was lowkey supposed to be out for my baby's birthday, but oh well. i don't rlly know if i like this, but i already started a part two, so lmk if anybody wants that! also my first time writing from dean's perspective and like angst so i apologize if this is bad, but i hope u enjoyed! (ps this is not proofread, and as always, was written at 1am, so this might be bad..)

TAGS!: (i don't rlly have a taglist so i just tagged some of my mutuals, but lmk if u wanna be added or removed) @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @titsout4jackles @floralscented @soldiersgirl

[koxhii]

I was thinking about this post while I might or might not have been listening to Hey Jude by The Beatles so now you have this:

DEAN WINCHESTER, who only felt truly useful when he was protecting his little sister. Sure, he was useful when hunting monsters, but there were other hunters who could do the same. Protecting Sam? Yeah, that was engraved in his bones, but Sam had always known how to take care of himself when it came down to it. You were different. When he looked at you, he could only see the once carefree little girl, all giggles with doe eyes and a big grin. That was the kind of innocence he’d never really had. When he looked at you, he remembered checking under your bed for monsters or holding you when you got scared of John, and he remembered how in those moments, you needed him. That was when he felt like he mattered, when he could see your fear melt into relief as he told you he’d destroy the world before he let any monsters hurt his baby sister.

But outside of those moments? DEAN WINCHESTER didn’t feel like your favorite. No matter how often you said you loved him and Sam equally (except for when you were mad at one of them), Dean always felt like he came second. It stung, though he’d never admit it. He didn’t really feel like he was anyone’s favorite. Not yours. Not Sam’s. Not even Dad’s, whom he’d spent his whole life trying to please, following orders like they were gospel.

DEAN WINCHESTER, who got used to the heavy weight in his chest. It was there when he tried to teach you something, like your alphabet, or play with you, only for you to run off after Sam like a little puppy. And it was there as you grew up, stronger than ever as he watched your eyes light up when Sam came back from college or how you’d find yourself wearing Sam’s jacket (which was definitely too big for you) and chatting off Sam’s ear with sparkles in your eyes. Dean would watch from a distance, pretending it didn’t bother him. Pretending he didn’t wish you’d look at him with the same awe as you looked at Sam.

But then there were nights like this. Nights where he held you in his arms, your small frame tucked against him as you fought off sleep. He’d hum softly or murmur a story, his voice low and steady, doing everything he could to keep the world at bay for just a little longer. And then you whispered it.

“You’re my favorite brother.”

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. For a second, he thought he’d imagined it. But then your words hung in the quiet room, warm and heavy, wrapping around him like a blanket as you finally drifted off to sleep. And for the first time in a long time, DEAN WINCHESTER didn’t feel like he was fighting for a place in someone’s heart. For the first time, he didn’t feel second. And for the rest of the night, even as he fell into a deep sleep with you in his arms, he couldn’t wipe the small smile from his lips.

[koxhii]

crybaby

dean x cupid!reader cw!! just fluff! bc i miss these two 685 words

He didn’t expect the waterworks to start streaming from your big, sad eyes. He should really know better by now, having known you for some time—just how quickly a little cupid can be reduced to tears. 

The slam of the Impala’s door makes Dean wince, irritation prickling at his nerves as he rushes to follow you. His hands find your shoulders, maybe gripping a little harder than he should as he spins you around to face him.

“Hey,” he barks, freezing when he sees your tear-streaked face. For a second, his grip slackens, and his hands drop to his sides. His jaw tightens, fists clenching instinctively as he looks at you with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

He’s still not used to this—not good at dealing with tears, especially yours. Not when your whimpers and that wobbling lip make his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand over his chin. He steps back, throwing a helpless glance at the garage ceiling as if salvation might come from above. “Just great. Why the hell are you crying?” His tone is sharp, annoyed, but it’s obvious he’s not actually mad at you. He just hates seeing you like this—hates the way it makes him feel completely out of his depth.

Your arms cross over your chest, and your bottom lip juts out in a feeble attempt at defiance. “You’ve been mean and grumpy all day. And then you called me ‘feather brains’ for forgetting to lock the trunk.”

Dean’s brows shoot up, incredulous. “Because it flew open! All the crap we just bought is sitting in the middle of the highway right now. Thanks to you!”

The sharpness of his voice makes you take a step back, eyes wide and glassy. “Stop yelling!” you shout, your voice cracking.

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand over his face. His patience, never his strongest suit, is hanging on by a thread. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Think of that stupid article he googled the other night: “How to Deal with an Overly Emotional Person.”

“Fine. Fine,” he grits out, trying to sound calm. “Just stop crying, okay?”

But the tears are still flowing, your cheeks blotchy and your whole spirit looking crushed. It’s not just the crying—it’s how completely deflated you look. Like all that annoying, infectious vibrance of yours has been snuffed out, and it’s his fault.

He exhales sharply through his nose, an idea suddenly hitting him. “Ice cream? Movies? Hugs? What do you want? Name anything, and I’ll get it for you.”

You sniffle, blinking up at him as something faint flickers in your expression, making your head tilt. “Anything?”

Dean hesitates, second-guessing himself. “Yes,” he agrees, though his voice is laced with caution. “Within reason—”

“Up.” You cut him off, arms stretched toward him.

Dean’s glare hardens, his eyes flicking between your wiggling fingers and your pitiful pout. Everything in him wants to argue, to resist. He’s not good at this softness. But you’re looking at him with those sad, hopeful eyes, and as always when it comes to you and your demands—something in him gives.

With a heavy sigh, he closes the space between you, his boots thudding against the concrete floor. His hands slide to your hips, lifting you with ease as you practically fling yourself into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, your face burying in the crook of his neck as he steadies his hold on you. His arms wrap snugly around your back. His nose is buried in your hair, the sweet scent of something he can’t name, just recognizes as pretty and girly easing the scowl off of his brows. 

“Can I still have the ice cream, too?” you mumble into his shoulder.

Dean huffs out a low laugh. “We’ll see,” he mutters, but his grip on you tightens just a little, and he knows damn well in a moment he’ll be back in the driver’s seat to take you out to get that ice cream.

been writing for angel!reader, who's much more serious than little cupid. so i took a break from the angst to write this cuteness <3 i also want to make some sort of collection post for these bc i have quite a few cupid fics now and there is no organization ugh

[koxhii]

post-crash jackie taylor who's depressed and starving, but fights for her survival because her only thoughts are of seeing you, her girlfriend she left behind.

jackie who lays awake at night, shivering despite three layers of blankets, with her glossy eyes fixed to the ceiling.  memories of you play behind her eyes, specifically watching you sleep on a lazy sunday morning.

if she thinks really hard, she can see you in her bed, lying face-to-face with her.  she can see your peaceful features and the slow breaths leaving and entering you nose.  she can nearly feel you reach out in your sleep, your arm encircling her waist or your head burying itself in the crook of her neck.  her heart melts just thinking about it.

she didn't realize how well she slept beside you until her many sleepless nights after the crash.  she would give anything to hear you softly snoring beside her again.

jackie who collects little pieces of nature that remind her of you.  a perfectly shaped leaf floats down from a tree and lands on her head.  she finds an unusually smooth rock by the lake.  she smiles at whatever it is, a sign from nature that you're still out there waiting for her, and keeps it in her personal collection.

jackie who purposefully doesn't wear the shirt she stole from your closet the day before she left so that it still smells like you.  every night, without fail, she brings the shirt to her nose and inhales like her life depends on it.  when she notices the scent starting to fade, silent tears stream down her cheeks.  she's losing you.

jackie who does, however, wear your cheer bow in her ponytail.  you had given it to her for nationals as a good luck charm, and now she feels like she has a part of you with her wherever she goes.  when one of the girls teases her for wearing it, she shoots them a glare so deadly they instantly seal their lips.

jackie who speaks aloud to you when no one's around, looking up to the sky for you.

"god, i wish you could've seen the look on misty's face!  it was hilarious.  you would've laughed so hard, you probably would've peed a little," she laughs, sitting with her back against a tree trunk, her fingers twiddling with your bow.

"do you still think about me?" she pauses for your response.  "d-do you think i'm dead?" pause.  "well, i'm not.  at least i don't think so." longer pause. "are you...moving on?  you better not." pause.  "she better not be prettier than me."

"i miss you.  so much."

jackie who can't even talk to anyone about how she's feeling because your relationship was never public.  it was always sneaky glances from across the hall and shared moments behind closed doors.  now, thousands of miles away from you, she regrets not loving you like she should have.  she promises to love you harder than anyone ever has if when you're reunited.

jackie who could spend hours staring at the polaroid she took of you.  it's a random one of you doing homework on her bed, your brows knit in adorable concentration.  it's the only one she has with her.  she keeps it in the back pocket of her jeans wherever she goes.

one time she loses it and runs outside, frantically digging around in the dirt on hands and knees to find where she dropped it.  in reality, she misplaced it on the kitchen counter where shauna finds it and recognizes the polaroid as coming from jackie's camera.  she asks jackie about it, who's still knee-deep in dirt, and jackie suddenly bursts into tears, confessing everything like word vomit.

although she nearly went into shock from losing your picture, it does feel nice to share her feelings for you with someone.  she feels a little less alone.

jackie who loves sleep, although it seems to elude her many nights, because it means seeing your face in her dreams.  it doesn't matter if it's a good dream or a nightmare, as long as she can see you again.  when she wakes up she keeps her eyes glued shut, greedily hoping she can fall back asleep and see you once more.

she ends up being the last up and first to bed.  the other girls think she's not pulling her weight, but how could anyone blame little lovesick jackie taylor ☹️

jackie who hated some of your favorite songs back home, but now finds herself humming them while doing daily chores.  she smiles remembering lying on your bed, watching you dance and sing along to them around your room.  she always told you to "turn that shit off and play some real music," but now she loves those songs because they represent you.

jackie who realizes how utterly devoted to you she is.  it wasn't as clear back home with so many distractions, but now that she's alone with her thoughts almost all the time, the only thing she can think about is you.  nothing else really matters to her or motivates her besides you.  it only took a plane crash for her to realize that.

jackie who looks up to the sky and promises both you and herself that she won't die before she sees you again.

jackie who is rescued (because she doesn't die, idk what you guys are talking about) and keeps that promise.

jackie who can't believe her eyes when she sees you for the first time.  for a second, she thinks she's dreaming.  she's had a recurring dream of this exact moment after all.  but, the when you start running toward her, she snaps back to reality and it hits her: it's really you.

she instantly bursts into tears as your arms wrap around her, the warmth of your embrace striking her like a train and grounding her at the same time.  she squeezes you so tight you might break a rib, her head burrowing into your shoulder.  she deeply inhales your scent and lets her tears trickle onto your skin.

jackie who doesn't let you pull away or say anything before she pulls you into a bruising kiss.  she doesn't care if the two of you are alone or in a crowded room, nothing matters to her except showing you just how much she missed you.

she pecks your lips repeatedly, whispering an "i love you" in between each kiss like it's her mantra.  it's heaven on earth.

jackie who sleeps beside you that night for the first time in nearly two years.  she holds you to her chest like a teddy bear as you whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears until you fall asleep.  it's the best sleep she's ever had.

she wakes up the next morning and the first thing she sees is your peaceful face.  she watches the slow breaths leave and enter you nose and finds silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

jackie who knows the sleepless nights, insatiable hunger, and depressive episodes were worth it just to come back to you.

i love you lovesick!jackie please come save meeeeeee also jackie x cheerleader!reader 🤭

[koxhii]

This is actually so cute and I’m going insane reading this over and over again 😭😭

Imagine baby Winchester crying their crib and calling out for Dada. When that doesn't work, they whimper, "Cas!"

In a second, the angel appears. Baby Winchester sniffles and raises their hands, the universal sign for "Uppie!".

Just as he was about too, the baby monitor cracks up. "Don't... you... dare, Castiel..."

Cas blinks. Baby Winchester still demands cuddles.

"We're sleep training!"

Cas blinks again. "What's that?"

"Just!" Heavy sigh. "Let them sleep by themselves. "

Cas looks at Baby Winchester, who's still crying. He doesn't understand. When babies are upset, you comfort them. Why shouldn't he comfort the baby he was trusted to protect?

He picks the baby, ignoring the curses coming out of the baby monitor as Baby Winchester giggles.