#Color Splash Tiger | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lamentationsofalonelypotato · 1 year ago

Text

In Another Life

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Dean POV

Summary: When Dean wakes up in another life with you, he begins to question your friendship and realizes that he has loved you all along. But how can he change that? (I’m so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Pregnancy Fluff, Mutual Pining

Word Count: 5.5K (I have an addiction don't judge me)

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any. I’ll say mention of gore, but for one second. Maybe one allusion to sex, but not really. Some swearing (once or twice). Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Dean’s perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. This is my first time writing for Supernatural, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics

Main Masterlist

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

Dean couldn’t remember what happened last night only that the bed beneath him felt like an old friend welcoming him home. The night before ghosted across his mind, hovering just out of reach, memories of a dream barely forming from a fog of uncertainty. He fades in and out of sleep in a mist that soothes his aching body.

“Dean?” A soft voice whispers.

Dean groans and squeezes his pillow tighter against his chest to avoid waking up. He didn’t care what time it was, all he knew was that he didn’t want to get out of bed.

“Leave me alone Sammy.” He grumbles into the pillow.

“Dean.” The voice says again, this time with a happy laugh that sounds nothing like Sam.

His eyes open, blinded by the sunlight that streams through the large windows on the other side of the bedroom.

Wait. Where am I?

“Dean we have to get up or we’ll be late for the party.”

Dean looks towards the voice and realizes that he’s not squeezing a pillow, it’s you. You’re facing him, hair fanning out over the pillow beneath your head, eyes wide and crinkled around the edges, smiling at him.

“Y/n?” Dean says it hesitantly, arms tightening around your waist.

“No no no. Don’t look at me like that. I will not be roped into staying in bed. We can’t be late for your mom’s birthday party and you promised you would come with me to pick up the cake.”

“But-“ Dean couldn’t remember how he got here, only that something feels wrong.

“No buts.” You giggle, before leaning forward and kissing him.

Dean freezes, confused, but the soft movement of your mouth against his erases any uncertainty. He eases his face forward nudging his nose into yours to deepen the kiss. Dean doesn’t know how he got here, but all he knows is how natural it feels to be here with you. Before he can stop himself he rolls you over your back, bringing a moan from you that vibrates though his skull. His fingertips blaze a trail along your hips.

“Easy there tiger.” You smile up at him. “You don’t want to crush Zeppelin.”

Dean’s confusion makes you laugh, before he finally looks down between you. “You’re pregnant.” He whispers, noting the protrusion of your abdomen.

“I mean I think so.” You laugh in a way that makes his heart jump and buckle.

Dean lays his hand down on the smooth skin where your shirt pushes up. Why can’t I remember this? He thinks to himself confused, searching for memories he can’t recall.

“I believe we’ve talked about it several times. And it was you who decided to stay up until 4 am painting the nursery.” Your hands gently brush his hair back out of his face. “You did such a good job baby.”

Dean reaches for the memory, but he can’t seem to

grasp it. “I did?”

“Mhmm. Look at you, you’re still covered in paint.” You smile wider picking up the hand that rests on your belly to show him the splashes of cream colored paint flecked along the back of his hand. And as you do he notices the ring on your left hand.

“Are we married?” Dean tries again to grasp for his memory but comes up empty handed. He strokes his thumb along the back of yours examining the ring.

I should remember that. How could I forget that we’re married?

“Feigning amnesia will not make me stay in bed with you. No matter how cute you are.” You gently lay your hand against his chest pushing him back so you can sit up in bed.

Dean can’t help but notice how beautiful and carefree you look. Hair catching fire in the light from the window, t-shirt brushing against the top of your thighs, and how you smile at him with so much love it makes something catch in his chest.

“Dean?” You suddenly look worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I’m just tired I guess.”

His cell phone rings where it sits on the nightstand, drawing his gaze to the alarm clock and car magazine that sit on top of the dark wood.

“You better answer that. It’s probably Sam asking us where we are.” You kiss him on the cheek, before standing up and walking into the closet on the edge of the bedroom.

Dean watches you go, his eyes tracing your familiar figure as you leave the room, before reaching for his phone.

“Hey where are you guys? Jessica’s freaking out because you haven’t brought the cake.” Sam’s voice triggers another memory for Dean, but this one remains allusive.

“Sam?”

“Dean.”

“Um.”

“Dean are you hungover or something?”

“No. Sorry, just running a little late-“ Dean apologizes looking around the bedroom. It’s small, filled with light from the open window that shows a quaint backyard. The dresser on the wall opposite the bed has photos of him and you, photos of Sam and Jessica, and a photo of Mary and John Winchester. Dean’s eyes stop on the photo as a memory triggers at the back of his mind, but Sam interrupts the thought.

“Well come on. Dad’s not going to like it if you guys miss mom’s birthday-“

“Dad?” Deans memory spikes again and he sees his father sitting in the drivers seat humming along to a song on the radio. Another memory flashes, Dean and his father standing behind the impala with Sam looking into the trunk.

“Yes dad. Your boss. Our father. Dean are you okay? Y/n said that you were painting the nursery last night all by yourself. You could have told me. I would have come over to help-“

“I’m alright Sammy.”

But he doesn’t feel alright, something is definitely wrong.

“Okay well hurry up. I’ll see you when you get here.”

Dean hangs up the phone and sits on the end of the bed with it in his hand.

You walk back into the room wearing a green sundress. Your hair is soft again, falling over your shoulders in a way that makes Dean’s breath catch, effortlessly beautiful.

A memory of you wearing jeans and a leather jacket washes across his mind of you standing with him at the back of the Impala reaching in for a shotgun while he knocks your hand away.

“Dean?” You walk towards him, this time standing between his legs. You place your hands on his shoulders and he can’t help but turn to look at the wedding ring. “Are you sure you’re okay? Because if you’re not feeling well we don’t have to go today. I can call your dad. But I just thought your really wanted to go. You hate missing your mother’s birthday. It’s usually you that drags me out of bed.” You trail your hand against the side of his face with a worried expression, to turn his gaze back on you.

Someone deep in the back of his mind the expression triggers something and he sees a memory of you. Except you’re holding a machete in your right hand that drips blood on the floor but, the look of worry in your eyes the same.

Where could that be from?

“I don’t know.”

“Hey.” You whisper, sitting down in his lap and his arms can’t help but secure you there, burying his head in your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m scared too.”

“What?” Dean raises his head from your shoulder

“We’ve talked about this. You’re going to be a great dad. And honestly we probably won’t know what we’re doing, but that’s how everyone starts.” Your fingertips drag through his hair in a soothing motion.

Dean tries again to grasp at earlier memories of this life, early memories of you, but all he sees are motel rooms. Motel rooms where you sleep on a pullout couch in a corner and where Sam sits at a small table shuffling through endless books and papers.

Why?

Dean can’t understand, because that life seems so different than this one. This one where you look softer and happier, where you share a bed and are married. He thinks about the other memories, where your smile is not as bright, where there’s a hardness to your face, but still just as beautiful. Another memory of him and you sitting in a bar drinking beer, another of you laughing at something he said and hitting him, and finally one of you reading in bed while Dean sits at a motel table and watches you softly turn the pages.

Deep down Dean knows in his bones that in those memories you and him are just friends, but he allows himself to indulge in your touch, enjoying the comfort that comes with being with you.

“It’s not about the baby.” Dean sighs. “I just can’t remember how we got here.”

“Here?”

“Married.” His arms tighten around your waist not wanting to let go. You’re the only thing he recognizes in all of this.

“Um well, my car broke down and I brought it to a mechanic shop where I met a devilishly handsome man with green eyes.” You smile at him. “Who refused to let me leave until he bought me dinner.”

Dean stares at you.

“Practically kidnapped me. But you were so charming I couldn’t resist.” You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Not to mention sexy covered in grease and wearing a meatloaf t-shirt.” You kiss him before he can respond, and he loses himself in you. The way you hold him close, the way your fingers work up into his hair to secure him right where he wants to be, and the way you feel in his arms wipes away any uncertainty. “As much as I’d like to go back to bed with you, we’re going to be late.” You whisper against his lips.

And Dean allows himself to be dragged away.

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

“Did you remember to order the parts for that ‘76 Camaro right?” John Winchester asks Dean, but Dean’s not focused, he can’t focus on anything.

The drive over to his parents house was different. Instead of sitting on the opposite side of the front seat of the impala, you had sat in the middle, holding his hand and leaning against his shoulder, humming softly.

It made driving for Dean especially difficult. The memories of you in his car that came across his mind while he drove distracted him.

You in the backseat shouting something at Dean while he completely ignored you rolling his eyes, you sitting in the front seat with a map trying to direct him while Sam slept in the back, you singing to “The Eye of the Tiger” with him while Sam tried to close his ears, and finally you asleep in the front seat with Dean’s jacket draped over you. That last one stayed in his mind. He liked how you looked wrapped up in his jacket, breath fogging the glass window, while Dean tried his best to drive smooth and slow so you wouldn't wake.

But you in the front seat holding his hand and leaning against his shoulder while humming along to the music blew all of those memories out of the water. All Dean wanted to do was exist there and then.

When you both arrived at his parents home Dean tried not to be disappointed. Now he was too distracted watching you talk and laugh with Jessica and his mother across the room to listen to anything his father said.

“Dean are you listening?” His dad tries again.

“Huh?” The cold beer in Dean’s hand drips condensation against his skin. He turns to look back at his father.

Another memory of him momentarily distracts Dean, this one of John leaving Dean and Sam in a motel room so he can go hunting.

Did we ever go hunting? Dean tries to think of a time where they went out into the woods to shoot some deer, but comes up empty handed. A few memories of him and Sam toting guns rise to the surface, but he can't remember why they had them.

"You'll have to excuse Dean, he's still mentally painting the nursery." Sam snorts into his beer.

"Shut up."

"Don't tease him Sam. I'm sure that Jessica will have you turn your office into a nursery before you know it." You appear on Dean's left, raising his arm around you so you can lean into his side. Dean automatically tightens his arm around your shoulders.

"Don't joke about that y/n."

"Uh-huh. You can't hide in that big fancy law firm forever. She'll find you." You smile up at Dean in a way that makes his heart feel like its stopped beating.

Why can't I remember any of this life?

"She's right." Jessica comes over to kiss Sam on the cheek.

"I do not hide at the firm-" Sam rolls his eyes.

"You do."

Mary Winchester comes over. "Are you fighting at my birthday party?"

Dean's father puts his arm around his mother, pulling her into his chest with a smile he hides by taking a swig of beer.

"No mom, we're not-"

"Sounded like a fight to me." You whisper to Dean, and he can't help but smile at you.

"It's not a fight y/n!"

"Don't yell at my wife Sammy." Dean says before he can stop himself. He thinks about how natural it sounded coming out of his mouth.

His wife. You're his wife. He thinks and presses a kiss to the top of your head that makes you sigh into his chest.

"I'm not yelling at y/n."

"Sam we're just teasing you." Jessica laughs, placing her hand against his chest. Dean notices the ring on her own finger, and a memory of Jessica rises in the back of his head. Jessica standing in the darkness of an apartment, while Dean holds on to the front of Sam's shirt, her eyes wide and confused.

But it vanishes when you wince in his arms. Dean's eyes are drawn back down to you, worry spiking in his chest.

"I'm okay." You whisper. "Just think Zeppelin is hitting his limit."

"You guys go on home. I think that John has grilled Dean about the garage enough." Mary smiles, before taking a step forward to hug you. Dean is disappointed when you leave his arms, but smiles despite, watching you with his mother.

"Let the little linebacker get some rest." John hugs you.

"Of course. Thank you so much for letting us come. I'm sorry we were late." Dean watches the subtle blush of your cheeks as you apologize.

"I'm sure it's my son's fault." Mary moves to hug Dean.

As soon as she does Dean is overwhelmed by a surge of sadness as another memory of his mother rises in the back of his mind that he can't quite bring into focus.

"Mom?" Dean whispers.

"Hmm?" She looks up at him confused. "We'll see you on Tuesday for dinner. Okay?"

"Okay."

"We love you."

"I love you too mom." But something sticks in his chest when he says it.

“Don’t forget to order the parts.” John says shaking Dean’s hand.

“Sure.”

“Bye Jessica. Let me know if you need us to bring anything for Tuesday.” Dean watches you hug her and just for a moment Dean sees Sam holding a bouquet of flowers at a gravesite.

What is happening?

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

When Dean pulls the Impala into the driveway of your home something still feels wrong. After saying goodbye to everyone he still can’t shake the feeling that he forgot something. The radio plays "Black Dog" filling the silence as the car idles in front of the house.

“Dean!”

“What?” He turns to look at where you sit beside him in the front seat.

“Feel.” You grab one of his hands from the wheel and place it against your abdomen an excited smile gracing your cheeks. “Little future drummer."

The kicking against the palm of his hand makes Dean smile, leaning forward into where you sit beside him. Happiness breaks in his chest like the crest of a wave. He can't remember a moment in his life where he felt this happy, this much love for someone.

"Y/n?"

"Mhmm."

"I love you." Dean refuses to believe that he has said it to anyone else ever in his life, can't remember wanting to say it to anyone else, can't believe that he will ever want to say it to anyone else.

"I love you too."

He leans down to kiss you, hand still against your stomach, drawing you further into him to breathe you in. Everything else vanishes, just the feel of your soft lips against his, the tickle of your hair against his cheeks, and the pulse of his son's kicks against the palm of his hand.

But then it's all gone.

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

"Dean!" Sam's voice jars him into reality, his eyes opening to see his brother standing over him, one hand on his shoulder. "Dean are you okay?"

"What happened?" Dean sits up with a groan, ignoring the headache that throbs behind his eyes.

His eyes adjust to the dim light. He's in a long room where wooden tables sit every few feet covered in dust and machinery blanketed with old sheets. The musty smell fills his nose, replacing the smell of your shampoo that lingers under his nose from when you were in the front seat with him.

"Djinn ambushed you. Y/n and I got here as soon as we could."

"Y/n?" The memories of the dream strike him in the chest all over again, merging with memories of reality. "Where is Y/n?"

You enter the room out of breath, blood flecked across your cheeks and holding a baseball bat that drips a dark liquid onto the concrete floor. “It’s dead.”

"You sure?" Sam asks raising an eyebrow.

"There's enough brain matter on the floor in there for a zombie buffet." You shoulder the baseball bat. "So yeah, it's dead."

Dean’s eyes trace your body taking in the leather jacket and dark t-shirt his memory flashing to the green sundress and beautiful smile. You’re half-smiling, but Dean can see the hardness in your face again and understands where it comes from.

She wasn’t a hunter. He thinks of the dream version of you, where your hair fell in soft curls, but now it’s tied back in a ponytail. His eyes drop to your abdomen expecting more, but disappointment flicks in his heart. It wasn’t real.

“Dean are you okay?” You step closer to him. The smile has dropped now, replaced with a worried expression.

He flashes back to when you asked him that in the dream, when you sat on his lap and tangled your hands in his hair, sighing into his mouth as he kissed you.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

He traces your face again but every time he does he only sees the other version of you, the version that’s in love with him, married to him. And he knows that here you are just his friend.

“Yeah.” He says again standing up. “Let’s get out of here.”

The ride back to the motel is silent. Dean doesn’t put on any music, too afraid that it’ll remind him of the memory of you and him in the front seat while his son kicked against his hand. Instead, all he can think of was how happy he was in the other life, how in love with you he was-

Dean knew that it wasn’t just a fantasy, that he really is in love with you, but now after seeing how everything could be, it weighed on his chest. Each time you looked at him he wanted to pull you close to him, hug you, kiss you, but he knew you would pull away. Because this version of you was not his.

“I’m going to go to that diner on the corner. You guys want something?” Sam looks around the room expectantly, but Dean doesn’t look up from the carpet.

“Sure.” Dean hears you respond. “Maybe just a burger and a piece of pie. Preferably apple but I'll take cherry if they have it."

“Okay. Dean?” Sam asks again.

Dean shakes his head. He can’t eat. Not now.

Sam hesitates at the door worried. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want anything.” Dean snaps.

“Yeesh don’t bite my head off.” Sam throws you a shrug before leaving.

Dean is aware that it’s just the two of you now, the memory of the two of you in bed surfaces making him tighten his grip on the edge of the blanket beneath him.

“Dean?” You whisper.

“What?” His voice comes out harsher than he means it to.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

“Nothing is wrong.” But he can’t look at you, not when he knows he'll look up and you won't be pregnant and not when the other version of you still has a hold of his heart.

“Dean you’re my best friend I know when something’s wrong. Plus you haven’t been able to look at me since you woke up and you never say no to food.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dean-“

“Just leave me alone damnit!” He snaps at you, able to raise his gaze from the floor for one second. Dean immediately feels bad, watching the pain in your eyes as he pushes you away. But he lowers his eyes to the carpet once more to avoid your gaze.

You sigh, but don’t get angry with him. “If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine. I'll just leave you alone then.”

And as soon as you leave to take a shower he feels the loss of you beside him.

He listens to the sound of the shower, feels the passing of time, but he does not move. The memories of the dream rise and fall, replacing the darkness of the hotel room with brilliant light. The memory of the sun catching your hair on fire as you laid next to him in bed tracing your fingertips along his jaw, the memory of you in the front seat of the Impala leaning against him and humming while you hold his hand, the memory of the party where he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you tightly into his chest, and finally the memory of the last kiss you shared in the front seat of the Impala each dance across his mind. He acutely feels the loss of your body against his, the loss of your lips, and finally the sound of your voice telling him you love him while his son kicked against his hand.

“Dean?”

He looks up at you. You look softer than you did. The blood is gone from your cheeks, your hair falls over your shoulders still wet from the shower, effortlessly beautiful, he decides. You’re wearing one of his old t-shirts that he gave you and a pair of sweatpants. It does something to him, watching you stand there in his shirt. It hangs past your waist like a dress, making you look smaller than you are. The smell of your shampoo wafts out of the bathroom, something familiar that makes his throat tight.

“You know when that Djinn got me a few months ago it threw me for a loop too.” You say softly leaning against the doorway of the bathroom. “Everything felt so real. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t.”

Dean remembers when that happened. When you vanished out of the blue while checking out a case alone and he and Sam tore apart the small town looking for you. Dean remembers how worried he was, how desperate he was to find you.

I loved her then too. Dean realizes looking at you. How did I not know?

Dean remembers the aftermath, when you woke up and wouldn’t look at him. How your gaze was almost haunted and how he had to carry you out of there because you couldn’t move. He remembers you laying in bed and turning away from him and Sam when they had asked you what was wrong and the following day when you acted like nothing happened.

“What did it make you see?” Dean whispers, noting the way you shift back and forth on your feet. He hadn't seen you nervous before, seen you face down demons and vampires without batting an eye, but now you looked vulnerable.

You look down at your feet. “If I say it you can’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“Dean, I’m serious.”

“I promise I won’t laugh.” He watches the tension in your shoulders.

Why would she be afraid to tell me? We talk about everything.

“It was us.”

“What?” Shock tugs at his heart and for a second he thinks that he heard you wrong.

“It was us. We were married. We had 2 kids. My brother was still alive and my parents were talking to me again. I was happy there. It was hard to come back. Not that I’m not happy, but just that it’s hard to think you’ve lived a life that doesn’t exist. Especially one so different than all of this.” Dean watches you take in a deep breath, tapping your finger against your bicep, avoiding his eyes. “That was when I realized I was in love with you.”

Dean’s heart stops beating. “What did you just say-“

You look up and smile tightly. “It’s when I realized I was in love with you. That’s why I was so messed up. I didn't know how to-“

Sam chooses that exact moment to walk in loaded with bags of food. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much.” Dean watches you easily shift your expression to hide what just happened, smiling at Sam as if you hadn’t said the one thing that Dean had been trying to say to you since he woke up. “Just trying to convince Dean to let me work on Baby. I think I’m wearing him down.”

Dean had never realized how much of a good liar you were until this moment, sure he had seen you pretend to be a government agent, but this was different.

“Like that’ll happen.” Sam hands you a bag of food before turning to look at Dean. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean watches you pull out the burger, stunned by your confession.

You place the burger next to him on the bed. “Eat this. It’ll help.”

“But-“ He looks up at you, wanting to finish the conversation.

“I promise I’m not that hungry Dean. I’d rather have the pie. Unless you’re going to fight me for it?” You smile raising an eyebrow.

Dean doesn’t understand why you’re acting like you didn’t just say you were in love with him. He gazes at you, searching your face. For a second he sees the mask slip, but before he can comment it’s gone.

“No I won’t.” He whispers.

“Good.” You turn to the made-up pull out couch and fold your legs underneath you with the slice of pie balanced on your knee, before reaching into your bag for a worn paper back.

Dean sits there watching you turn the pages. She loves me. The memory of you in his dream in the front seat of the Impala whispering it to him doesn’t hold the same weight because now all he can hear is you saying it here, now.

Dean can’t move. He wished Sam would leave again. He wished Sam would leave so he could bring you into his chest and kiss you, so he could tell you the one thing he wished he said ages ago.

But he doesn't. All he does is sit there and watch you read.

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

A few hours after Sam and you have fallen asleep Dean lays in his bed and stares up at the ceiling. He can hear your soft breaths against the pillow, the crinkle of the sheets as you move in your sleep. Usually he allowed himself to fall asleep listening to you, but tonight all it did was keep him awake. Each time he shut his eyes he saw the memory of you in bed with him burning against his eyelids and each time he shut his eyes he heard the real you telling him that you loved him.

Finally, he can't take it anymore.

Dean gets up and makes his way over to the pull-out couch, pausing once to move the paperback book out from under your head. It wasn't the first time that you'd fallen asleep reading, and Dean thought it was cute.

He slides into the bed behind you, gently touching your shoulder to wake you as quietly as possible.

"Hmm." You inhale softly.

"Y/n." Dean whispers.

He watches you turn towards him, eyes blinking in the darkness to rouse yourself from sleep. You hair is flared out over the pillows, eyes hazy. “Dean what are you-“

Dean moves his arm to your waist before pulling you flush into his chest, lips finding yours. The memories of the kiss in his dream are everywhere, but none of them compare to this. You sigh into his mouth, bringing your hands into his hair. Dean breathes you in. You still taste like apple pie, body soft against his, lips smooth and welcoming.

“I love you too.” He whispers against your mouth, eyes finding yours in the darkness of the hotel room.

Your smile breaks him. “It made you see us didn’t it?”

“How did you know?”

“The way you looked when you came out. The way you looked at me. I think it’s the same way I looked at you when I woke up." You brush back his hair and Dean can't help but lean forward into your touch. "What did it make you see?"

“We were married. You were pregnant and I was working at a garage. My parents were alive. Jessica was alive-“

“Oh Dean.” You cup his cheeks with a sorrowful expression, before brushing your lips against his. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Dean brings you into his chest, laying on his back so you can rest your head on his heart. His hand slowly traces up and down your spine. You both lie there for a few moments. The subtle beat of your heart soothing the sadness that rises with the memory of his mother and father. Your hand gently rests against his shirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric.

“I missed you.” He hears you whisper into his chest.

“What?” Dean doesn't understand. "Where did I go?"

“Not like that. I know that it sounds stupid, but we were so happy in the dream. It made me miss you, miss this.” He feels you rub your face into the front of his shirt.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Dean you’re my best friend. I didn’t want to lose any of this.” You prop yourself up look him in the eye. “I’m happy here with you and Sam. Y’all are my family and I didn’t want to jeopardize that just because I’m in love with you.”

“Did you think I would have made you leave if you told me that?” Dean can’t help but feel hurt. Sure it would have been awkward for a little bit, but I’d never do that to y/n.

“Not made me leave, more phase me out. It would have made all of this awkward and-“ He watches the weight settle on your shoulders as you press your forehead into the space between his collar bone and neck. “I’ve lost so many things. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Dean squeezes you to him. “You’re not going to lose me sweetheart.” He traces a fingertip under your chin to raise your face to his. “I love you. And even if I didn’t, you’re my family too. I wouldn’t make you leave just because it was a little awkward. We’ve all been through too much together for that.” Dean’s thumb rubs soft circles against your cheek.

“I love you too.” You whisper, the soft smile gracing your lips mirrors the memory from the dream, but this time it fills him with warmth and comfort, because this time he knows it’s real. It's not some Djinn messing with his head, it's you. You lean upwards to kiss him gently, while Dean weaves his hand through you hair to secure you to him.

But then you pull away, your smile slipping into a smirk. “So when you say family, are you saying you see me as a sister or a cousin? Because, I don’t know how things are in Kansas, but where I'm from, that's kind of a red flag.“

Dean sighs loudly. Before he rolls you over and pins you to the bed, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

“Oh. So as a sister-“ You joke.

“You are one of the most annoying people on the planet.”

“I know. It’s why you love me.” You trace his lips with your index finger, gazing up at him the same way the dream version of you did.

Dean feels warmth trail behind your touch. “One of the reasons at least.”

But just as he leans to kiss you again-

“If you guys don’t shut up I’m not going to get any sleep.” Sam grumbles from his bed. “I could have told you two idiots, that you loved one another and it would have taken five seconds.”

“You don’t have to eavesdrop-“ You say glaring over in the direction of Sam’s bed.

“Kinda hard not to when you guys are making out. LOUDLY. I might add.”

“Gonna have to get used to it Sammy.” Dean snorts, before pushing your hair back behind your ear and drawing your gaze back to his face.

“Next time you guys are getting your own room.” Sam continues. “That way I can get some sleep.”

“Doesn’t seem very economical.” You say, but you’re gazing up at Dean again with the smile that makes him feel like he’d swallowed the sun. “I love you.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

“I love you too.” Dean leans down once more to capture your lips against his, erasing all semblance of everything else, except the feel of your body beneath him and the warmth that surges with each breath as the dream of you becomes a reality.

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

Thank you so much for reading!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #sam winchester

2K notes · View notes

archivegyu · 2 months ago

Text

masterlist

sparkles in our hair

Mingyu sat at the table with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. His fingers worked carefully with the bottle of glue and the stack of colored paper. He was making a special flower for his mom's birthday.

Across the classroom, Seungkwan was dramatically narrating his own art project to anyone who would listen.

"And THIS" he announced, holding up his paper creation, "is going to be the BEST TANGERINE Mrs. Park has EVER seen in her ENTIRE teaching career!"

Jeonghan, sitting nearby, simply smiled and continued meticulously organizing his crayons by color while occasionally "borrowing" glitter from Seokmin's supply without him noticing.

"Careful with the glue," She whispered to Mingyu from across the table.

Mingyu nodded but squeezed the bottle harder. A big blob of white glue splashed onto his paper flower. His eyes went wide.

"Oops!" he said, tipping the bottle up. But it was too late. The glue was already running over the edge of his paper and… plopped right into his dark hair!

"Oh no!" Mingyu's hand flew to his head, but that only made it worse. Now his fingers were sticky too, and more of his hair was getting caught in the gooey mess.

Wonwoo looked up from his book at the next table, peering over his tiny glasses. "That's why I always keep my distance from art supplies" he mumbled, returning to his reading.

"Mingyu-ya! What did you do?" Hansol called out, his own project forgotten as he stared in fascination at the glue disaster.

Joshua, ever helpful, started walking over with wet wipes, but tripped over Soonyoung who was sprawled on the floor, making "tiger paws" with paint on construction paper.

"YAAA!" Soonyoung exclaimed as Joshua stumbled past him.

The little girl looked over at Mrs. Park, who was helping Jia with her project on the other side of the classroom. Mrs. Park had told them to raise their hands if they needed help, but Mingyu looked so worried.

"It's okay," She whispered, sliding over to his chair. "I'll help you."

She grabbed a paper towel from the art supply shelf and tried to wipe the glue from Mingyu's hair. But the paper towel stuck to the glue, and now little pieces of white tissue were tangled in his hair too!

"Is it coming out?" Mingyu asked, his voice shaky.

"Um... almost," She fibbed, not wanting him to worry.

From the corner, Seungcheol noticed their predicament and put on his serious face. "Everyone stay calm," he said, marching over importantly with his hands on his tiny hips. "As class president, I need to assess the situation."

Jun sidled up next to him, striking a pose. "Maybe it's a new hairstyle? Very avant-garde!" he said, attempting a sophisticated accent that made Chan giggle uncontrollably from the reading corner.

"I can fix it!" Jihoon declared, approaching with scissors he'd somehow procured.

"NO!" Seokmin yelled too loudly, making Mrs. Park look our way briefly before Minghao distracted her by showing off his surprisingly perfect origami crane.

She reached for more paper towels, accidentally knocking over the container of glitter Mrs. Park had set out for their special projects. A cloud of sparkly dust puffed into the air.

*achoo!*

Her sneeze sent the glitter flying everywhere—onto their table, onto their clothes, and right into the sticky glue in Mingyu's hair!

"Now your hair is full of stars!" She giggled, watching Mingyu's hair transform into a galaxy of silver and blue sparkles.

"Really?" Mingyu touched his head again, getting more glitter stuck to his fingers. He looked at his sparkly hands and started to laugh.

That's when she felt something wet on her own head. Mingyu's eyes grew even wider.

"You've got glue in your hair too!" he pointed.

She reached up and felt the sticky patch on top of her head. When she pulled her hand away, her fingers were coated with glue and glitter.

"We match!" She laughed.

Mingyu nodded, his shoulders shaking with giggles. She couldn't help it! She started laughing too. They laughed so hard that they had to hold their tummies, which only spread the glitter to their clothes.

Mrs. Park finally noticed the commotion and came hurrying over. Her mouth opened in surprise at the sight of the,, covered in glue and glitter from head to toe.

"What happened here?" she asked, hands on her hips.

Before we could answer, Seungkwan stepped forward dramatically. "Mrs. Park, I saw EVERYTHING. It was a TRAGEDY of EPIC proportions!" he explained, hands gesturing wildly.

"First the glue attacked Mingyu's hair, then—" he continued, before Jeonghan gently pulled him back.

"I think they just had a small accident" Jeonghan said with an angelic smile that made Mrs. Park immediately soften.

The rest of the boys gathered around them in a protective circle. Wonwoo adjusted his glasses. "Statistically speaking, glue-related incidents are the third most common art mishap," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I think they look AWESOME!" Soonyoung shouted, making tiger claws with his hands. "LOOK! Sparkly tigers!"

The two best friends looked at each other, then burst into fresh giggles.

"We were just—" She started.

"—making our hair pretty!" Mingyu finished.

Mrs. Park tried to look serious, but the corners of her mouth twitched up.

"Well" she said, reaching for the class camera, "I think this calls for a special award."

At the end of class, Mrs. Park presented them each with a certificate. In big letters it said "Messiest Artist Award" decorated with drawn-on glitter specks.

Mingyu's mom had to come help wash his hair in the classroom sink, and the little girl’s dad brought her a clean shirt when he picked her up. But they kept their certificates proudly displayed on their cubbies for the rest of the year.

The next day, all thirteen boys arrived with tiny dots of glitter on their hair.

"We're the Sparkle Team now!" declared Seungcheol, while Jeonghan pretended he had no idea how the glitter had mysteriously appeared on everyone's heads.

Seokmin and Seungkwan composed a "Sparkle Song" that they performed during show-and-tell, with Soonyoung creating tiger-inspired choreography. Joshua nodded along, occasionally throwing in English words like "Awesome!" and "Sparkles, bro!"

Jun strutted around like he was on a runway, while Wonwoo quietly read a book about stars and occasionally pointed out that glitter was just like "earthbound constellations." Minghao attempted to incorporate glitter into his watercolor painting with surprising artistic success.

Jihoon somehow managed to create a rhythm using glue bottles and glitter containers that had even Mrs. Park tapping her foot.

And throughout it all, Chan followed the older boys, trying to copy their glitter styles and declaring, "When I'm bigger, I'm gonna have EVEN MORE sparkles!"

And sometimes, when the sun shines through the classroom window just right, the little girl can still see tiny bits of glitter sparkling in Mingyu's hair, like a secret they share.

Sometimes the best art doesn't end up on paper at all.

Sometimes it's thirteen boys with sparkles in their hair and friendship in their hearts.

193 notes · View notes

trinketstreasuretrove · 4 months ago

Text

I keep bouncing back and forth between interests like pong

Extra thoughts/details & sketches below cut

You have no fucking idea how much thought I put into this

Kremy: Changeling that disguises as a unicorn

Gideon: Kirin

Frost: Unicorn

Gricko: Earth Pony

Torbek: Abada

Twig: Breezie

There is going to be so much rambling so fucking STRAP IN

Okay so. Changeling Kremy. I realized like 80% of the way through I coulda made him a dragon but I wanted to draw horses soooooo... :| I imagine he is CONSTANTLY changing around his cutie mark. He could theoretically give himself a normal mustache but I think the idea of him being unable to do so is stupidly funny so he still draws it on. I tried to give him twists bc I thought it'd look pretty & I don't know how I'd translate the hair people usually give him in human designs onto a horse. I'm PRAYING that it's clear enough they're supposed to be twists (ref image below)

I'll be honest I think Gideon is the one I put the least thought into. Although that's mostly because his idea was the first one I just LATCHED onto and stuck with. He's a Kirin so he still has the connection to fire and whatnot. Instead of being imprisoned by hobgoblins it'd probably be diamond dogs in this au. He does still have a beard unlike usual Kirins but it just sort of melds into his mane.

Frost was a FUCKING NIGHTMARE (heh mare) to design I'm ngl. I kept having to redo his colors and had to heavily simplify his robes (and even then I had to redraw them when I got to the coloring stage because I hated them that much). But I think he'd turned out quite pretty in the end. I didn't want to just slap stripes on a horse and just call it a day though so desgining him to look recognizable but not just look like a zebra or a weird shaped tiger was difficult. He does have the saddle bags they have in MLP to stand in for his backpack & I tried to give it a similar pattern to his waist sash he has in his splash art. Also his mane is supposed to look like this under the hood.

It's supposed to have some strands coming out the sides to resemble the stripes on his face & I really hope that comes through in the design O.O

Gricko I also admittedly didn't think too much on because his design translated surprisingly well into a pony :] It was a little difficult to figure out his mane but I think it's quite cute. Figuring out his cutie mark was stressful. I wasn't sure if I should've gone with something music or animal related so I started sketching a harmonica with like. a music sheet? coming out of it? But after messing with the shape of the "wind" coming out of the top I realised I could make it into a paw to sort of combine music and animals and I think its verrry cute :]

Torbek! Torbek! Torbek! :D I'm crazy happy w/ how Torbek came out. He translates shockingly well into pony form especially when I found out ab Abadas in MLP. The incredibly lanky proportions fit verrry well. The leg designs are supposed to reference how his (witchlight-effected) arm in his splash art turns darker towards the ends and the stripes on his chest reference the straps from the straight jacket(?) under his coat. ALSO Abadas do have a cutie mark/cutie mark equivalent design on their flank (they represent their special talent and I think Torbek's OG mark would be about climbing) but I covered up where it would be with some witchlight machinery cause I thought it was clever :] it's specifically based on this plate(?) on his back

Anddd finally Twig :] I went into her design immediately knowing she was gonna be a Breezie. I originally just kinda slapped some colors onto a basic Breezie body and added a hat but it was really boring so I added some spots and gave her colored hooves to spruce it up just a little bit. The spots also gave me the ability to give her some AJ style freckles which I think are verrry adorable. :]

PS. as a treat for reading all that heres the OG concept I sketched up in MS paint (the designs stayed mostly the same [besides color palette] but I thought Frost look too tiger-y so I changed it up a bit in the end) You get a gold star if you can make out all of my handwriting btw

119 notes · View notes

onemodco · 1 month ago

Text

ROTD: Bahamas Kitchen Part 1

Transform your culinary space with the vibrant Sims Kitchen featuring cheerful yellow cabinets and appliances that bring a sunny vibe to meal prep. Elevate your home with a splash of color and a dash of style—your dream kitchen awaits!

get the mod at👇👇

https://www.modcollective.gg/sims4/details/collection/958

Modco Studios: @kardofe & Tilly Tiger

38 notes · View notes

elendsessor · 5 months ago

Text

OKAY SO BECAUSE OF @nibwhipdragon (and their excellent taste because 4u is peak) I’M TALKING ABOUT THE COLOR DIVERSITY THING BC HOLY HELL IS IT BAD AND I THINK WHAT THEY DID TO NERSCYLLA REFLECTS THIS SO WELL.

they also did gore and shagaru dirty by dulling the gold hues so yeah not forgiving that either

my biggest hot take in all of monster hunter is that some of world and wild’s designs? they’re boring. not in a framing structure way, but color-wise, they’re boring. rise was better at it but they did dull some colors and i stg this is all because of the western realism angle.

let me show you both 4th gen nerscylla and 6th gen nerscylla

they removed aspects of the color palette, and because of the shade of purple they’re going with for the gypceros hide, the actual poison spikes don’t pop nearly as well.

this isn’t to say you can’t make a restricted palette work because in some ways you can. why? because the designers took liberties to compensate, be it through a more cartoonish/wild design or having enraged states that add a splash of color, plus they make the solid colors as bold as possible. some great examples of this are the fatalis trio, yian kut-ku, akura vashimu, gogmazios, the aforementioned magalas, seregios, even basarios. of course there’s exceptions to this (first two gens had pretty meh looking rock monsters save for basarios and diablos), but the vast majority of them do something unique.

this isn’t to say world didn’t have any stand outs—ignoring iceborne’s subspecies, standard pukei pukei and odogaron, kulu ya ku, dodogama, bazelgeuse, along with xeno’jiva are genuinely great. issue is that a lot of these colors do get washed out, save for dodo and xeno. this isn’t to mention how world’s lack of variety hurts it, as a majority of monsters take influence from some form of reptile. this makes the introduction of older monsters even more jarring. there’s an argument to be made about that being the point, but this isn’t in a good way. they look like they belong in two separate franchises, not monster hunter.

you can also say what you will about frontier’s monsters because yes some lean too heavily into spikes, but they’re at least memorable.

it’s hard to describe what makes world’s monsters not hit as hard. the fights themselves are memorable, but designs are consistently generic, and that makes me so upset.

but the color dulling is very obvious when pinning renders of returning monsters next to one another. look at old rathalos. now look at new rathalos. look at old color palettes. now look at new color palettes. i genuinely think the washing makes designs like magnamalo and primordial malzeno lack the extra oomph needed to be truly fantastic.

these don’t make or break the games but i have to stress there is a heavy “realism” push which means god forbid we have color.

it’s especially weird because surprisingly enough, plenty of real world animals do have a wide array of colors, body shapes, or boldness! bright colors are just as important as camouflage, as they can signal “stay away” or attract mates. if you want to argue it goes against camouflage completely, your average red/orange pelted tiger does well in a jungle. so do pandas.

what i’m trying to say is this is genuinely frustrating. i remember seeing a criticism towards rise being “too cartoony” as if the series has never had goofy or standout designs. good stylization will forever and always be more memorable and impactful than total realism. games have shown that a good way to make it work is through color.

new gen mh has really neglected its visual design and i really think that needs to be recognized.

as i’ve said in many posts, this won’t make or break the games, i’m sure wilds will be great, capcom can do whatever with the series, blah blah blah. this doesn’t mean the personality isn’t being sapped, or that there’s no problems whatsoever with frankly increasingly bad color design. the last thing i want is for a series as good as monster hunter to be overlooked because it looks like just another triple a title, but with the rate it’s going on a visual and style front, that might end up being the case if there isn’t any push for change.

(this also isn’t to say you can’t do bad stylization either, but i’d argue the realism without style angle has become a bigger issue.)

#sorry for going off just augh #i love this series i love it so much but dammit #the modern gaming market loves to fucking murder what makes a series great just for an extra dollar #shantien rambles #monster hunter #monster hunter wilds

54 notes · View notes

hurriane23456 · 7 months ago

Text

From Ranch to Runway

Jack adjusted his cowboy hat as he stepped into the small bungalow, feeling the heat of the day still clinging to his clothes. His suitcase thudded onto the bed, the dust from his boots already leaving faint tracks on the tiled floor. This was supposed to be a change of pace—a week away from the ranch, the jeans, the plaid shirts, and the routine. He was ready for sandy beaches and lazy afternoons, but as he unzipped his suitcase, his plans came to a screeching halt.

The contents weren’t his.

Instead of denim and flannel, the bag was filled with bold, oversized pieces, vibrant graphics, and textures he’d never encountered before. Hoodies with surreal artwork splashed across them, baggy cargo pants, sneakers so pristine they looked like they belonged in a museum, and accessories—chains, caps, and even a pair of chunky sunglasses.

“What in the…” Jack muttered, pulling out a neon-green sweatshirt that felt plush and heavy in his hands. A tag on the inside confirmed it—Not His. His heartbeat quickened. The wrong bag.

At first, frustration bubbled up. He’d have to call the airline, track down his own stuff, and deal with the hassle. But as he held up a pair of black joggers with reflective stripes running down the sides, a flicker of curiosity replaced his irritation. He couldn’t help but wonder—what would it feel like to wear something so different from his usual look?

He glanced around the empty bungalow, his lips quirking into a mischievous grin. Nobody was here to see him.

---

The first piece he tried was a pair of joggers. The material was lightweight and silky, nothing like the stiff denim he was used to. They hung loose around his legs but tapered at the ankles, giving him a strange mix of comfort and style. He paired them with the neon sweatshirt, which draped over him in an oversized fit. The bright color was almost absurd against his sun-weathered skin, but as he caught his reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Not bad,” he murmured, tugging at the cuffs of the sweatshirt. It was softer than anything he’d worn before, like being wrapped in a cloud.

Next, he slid his feet into a pair of sneakers—sleek, white, and futuristic-looking, with thick soles and intricate stitching. He’d never owned anything so clean in his life, but they fit like a glove. As he walked across the room, he felt an unfamiliar bounce in his step.

---

Jack dove deeper into the bag. He pulled out a black hoodie with a bold graphic of a tiger snarling across the chest. The fabric was thick and warm, with a lined hood that he pulled up over his head. He found matching black cargo pants, their pockets lined with zippers and straps. As he slid them on, he noticed how the fabric felt rugged but surprisingly lightweight, with just enough stretch to move easily.

Then there were the accessories. A silver chain necklace gleamed in the dim light. Jack hesitated but eventually draped it around his neck, feeling its weight settle against his chest. There was a cap, too, with a flat brim and an embroidered logo he didn’t recognize. He adjusted it on his head, tilting it slightly to the side.

The transformation was surreal. The cowboy who’d rolled into town a few hours ago was gone. In his place was someone new—someone edgier, bolder, and just a little bit rebellious.

---

As the night wore on, Jack tried on every combination the suitcase had to offer. There was a pair of wide-leg jeans with distressed patches that felt like a second skin, paired with a cropped puffer jacket in a striking shade of orange. There was a graphic tee with abstract designs and a matching pair of patterned shorts that fell just above his knees.

Each piece was a revelation. The fabrics—soft, stretchy, and breathable—were unlike anything he’d worn before. The cuts and fits challenged everything he thought he knew about comfort and style. And the colors, from deep purples to electric blues, seemed to radiate energy.

But it wasn’t just about the clothes. With every outfit, Jack felt a shift in himself. He walked differently, stood taller, and even caught himself smirking at his reflection. The streetwear didn’t just change how he looked—it changed how he felt.

Jack couldn’t help but eye the sleek toiletry bag nestled in the corner of the suitcase. It was unlike anything he’d ever owned—black leather, minimalist, and unmistakably expensive. Curiosity won out, and he unzipped it to reveal its contents: a neatly arranged assortment of grooming products, each packaged with a designer’s touch. The first thing he grabbed was the cologne, a small glass bottle with a silver cap. He sprayed a bit onto his wrist, and the scent hit him immediately—warm and spicy, with hints of cedarwood and citrus. It was intoxicating, nothing like the simple, woodsy aftershave he usually wore. Jack dabbed some on his neck and let the aroma envelop him, feeling an unfamiliar sense of refinement.

As he rummaged further, Jack came across a small case of colored contact lenses. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror, his own eyes a familiar brown, but the lenses intrigued him. The box listed the color as "Steel Gray." He hesitated for a moment, but his curiosity got the better of him. Carefully, he popped out a lens and held it up to the light before slipping it into his eye. It felt strange at first—a bit of a sting—but once it settled, he blinked a few times and stepped closer to the mirror. The transformation was startling. His once-warm gaze now carried an icy intensity, sharp and arresting. He slid in the second lens and marveled at the effect. Combined with the cologne, it was like he was staring at a different version of himself—cool, confident, and slightly mysterious.

Next, he picked up a stick of deodorant. The packaging was sleek and matte black, and the scent—fresh but with a hint of musk—wafted up as he twisted the top. He applied it, noting how smoothly it glided over his skin, and immediately felt refreshed. There was something oddly sensual about the process. The scent blended seamlessly with the cologne, creating a layered effect that felt sophisticated and intentional. He lifted his arms experimentally, catching the fragrance in the air, and smirked. For the first time, Jack felt like he truly smelled expensive, like someone who turned heads when they entered a room.

Finally, he explored the rest of the bag—a premium face moisturizer, a small tube of under-eye cream, and a beard oil. He worked through each one, carefully reading the labels and applying the products as directed. The moisturizer was rich and creamy, leaving his skin feeling smooth and hydrated. The eye cream tingled slightly, a sensation that made him feel oddly pampered. As he massaged the beard oil into his scruff, its subtle scent of sandalwood and vanilla mingled with the other fragrances, completing the sensory experience. Jack stepped back and took a long look at himself in the mirror. Between the gray lenses, the polished grooming, and the luxurious scents clinging to his skin, he hardly recognized himself—but he liked what he saw.

---

By the time he was done, Jack was lounging on the bungalow’s balcony, wearing a pair of olive-green utility pants, a boxy white T-shirt with bold black lettering, and the sneakers. A chain bracelet clinked softly against his wrist as he swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand. The waves crashed in the distance, and the warm night breeze ruffled his hair.

For the first time in years, he felt free—free to experiment, to play, and to imagine himself as someone entirely new. Maybe it was fate that had swapped his suitcase. Maybe this week wasn’t just about escaping his routine but redefining it entirely.

Jack grinned, his eyes drifting to the glowing horizon. Tomorrow, he’d take his new look out into the world. The ranch could wait. For now, he was Jack, the streetwear king.

#male body suit #male costume switch #male bodysuit #malebodyswap #body switch #male transformation

85 notes · View notes