callmesweetheartifyoumeanit

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

How has it been 8 years?? Feels like hardly any time has passed since I first read it

I’m saying! It feels like just yesterday I was trying to plot out the story and now…almost a decade has passed. Like, wtf?!? I sure do miss writing though, that’s for sure. Haven’t done a thing since my mom passed. Really wanna get back into it.

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

‘Tis the season.

Celebrate Me Home Masterlist

A Dean Winchester Holiday//Daddy//Bookstore!AU (synopsis)

Part 1 - The One Where the Reader Gets Lost (Posted November 1st)

Part 2 -  The One Where Sam Opens a Can of Worms (*November 9th)

Part 3 - The One Where Dean Has an Accident (*November 20th)

Part 4 - The One Where Meg is an Ass (*November 29th)

Part 5 - The One Where Cas States the Obvious (*December 4th)

Part 6 - The One Where Maggie Mae Assaults her Teacher (*December 10th)

Part 7 - The One With Dean and his Girls (*December 26th)

Part 8 - The One With the Note (*January 15th)

Part 9 - The One With All the Catharsis (*January 28th)

Epilogue - The One Where The Ball Drops (TBD)

Celebrate Me Home Timestamps

Getting to know Sam Winchester

The Morning after the big night

Maggie Mae ease Dean’s worries

Maggie Mae’s first day of school

Keep reading

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

Awww…Riz out here making me miss this big dumb galoot.

Take a Shot

Written for @artyandink 's Jensen-a-thon event!

Let's face it, his henley looks good on both of you...

Pairing: Dean x F. Reader

Word Count: 935

Warnings: Nothing but a little good old-fashioned sexual tension, no smut, but Dean being Dean is a warning in itself 🔥🔥🔥 (Dividers by the absolutely lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics )

The tile floor is cool on your bare feet as you walk down the hall, your mind focused on the banana pudding left in the fridge from earlier tonight. If you can’t fall asleep, you might as well eat, right?

It’s kind of nice in the bunker when everyone else is in bed, only the dim light from the night lights that are always on in all the common rooms, the quiet hum of some mysterious machinery in the background, whatever it is that keeps the power on in this place. You shiver a little, the air cool on your legs. Why bother with pants when nobody else is around, anyway?

You’re halfway through the library on your way to the kitchen when Dean’s voice makes you nearly jump out of your skin, your heart pounding hard as you whirl around to face him. He’s standing across the room, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand, his eyes shadowed in the half-dark. “Is that my shirt?”

“Damn it, Dean, you scared the living shit out of me!” you scold, your hand on your chest, trying to keep your heart from pounding its way free. “Why are you up? I thought you went to bed a couple of hours ago!”

An amused smile curves his lips. “Backatcha, sweetheart.”

“Well – I – I couldn’t go to sleep. So I wanted a snack.”

“Yeah, well, same here, and I wanted a drink. Mystery solved.” It’s slowly dawning on you that you’re half-dressed, and you feel the blush move up your neck, your cheeks warming as he stares you down. “You never answered me. Is that my shirt?”

You’re wearing a cream-colored henley that you may or may not have stolen – borrowed – when you were doing laundry last weekend. It’s so soft, and so big (because it’s his) and comfy, and yes, if you were being honest, you like wearing it because it belongs to him. It’s been against his skin. And you would deny that even under threat of torture.

“Yes, okay, I borrowed your shirt. And just for your information, I wouldn’t have come out here like this if I knew you were lurking around.”

“I’m not lurking. And just for your information, I don’t mind you coming out here like that.” In fact, he’s thoroughly enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. It’s soft, and it’s clinging just right to show every detail of the curves beneath – not to mention your perky nipples. No, he doesn’t really mind at all.

You can see his eyes sparkle even in the poor lighting, and you hope he can’t see your blush from where he’s standing. “Well, stop staring.” You turn your back and flounce from the room, heading to the kitchen and hoping with everything in you that the henley is covering your ass. You brush your hand back there, relieved that it is – barely – and walk resolutely to the fridge. Seriously, what the hell is he doing up, anyway?

You take the container and toss the lid into the sink, grabbing a spoon from the nearby drawer, and lean against the counter, taking a spoonful of the creamy treat and closing your eyes as it hits your tongue. So good. Totally worth a little embarrassment.

“So, you gonna share, or what?” You jump, startled again glaring up at him as he approaches.

“For fuck’s sake, Dean, could you wear a bell or something?” A thoroughly devilish grin flashes for a second, but he manages to rein it in quickly. You scoop another spoonful of the pudding, but he takes your hand in his and steers it up towards his mouth. You watch as he takes it in, those sinful lips closing around it and his eyes blinking slowly as he savors it with a soft hum. You feel your legs wobble a little, and things are clenching that should not be clenching just from watching someone eat banana pudding.

“That’s good.” He lets go of your hand, and after a couple of seconds you actually remember to take it back. You force your eyes down, but now the view is his shoulders and chest underneath another henley from his collection, this one a midnight blue, and he’s wearing sweats and his feet are bare. And you are hopelessly screwed. “Thought you were hungry,” he teases as you stand there with the empty spoon in the air, trying to remember how to breathe.

“I am – I was,” you stammer.

“Then why aren’t you eating?” He laughs softly at your defiant frown.

“Because you’re distracting me.”

“You started it.” You stare up at him, your eyes wide.

“Since when do you get distracted by me? You barely even notice me.”

“Shows how much you know.” You still stare at him skeptically, and he gnaws a bit at that plush lower lip before he continues. “Every night I walk by your door and I picture in my head what you might be wearing to bed. Some nights… well, let’s just say I really wanna open that door.”

You set the container of pudding and the spoon on the counter beside you, never taking your eyes off him. “Then why haven’t you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid you’ll tell me to get lost.”

You’re starting to smile now. “You know what they say, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

Dean steps up close, his hand moving to stroke over your shoulder and down, curling his fingers around your arm as he leans in, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Oh, sweetheart – I don’t miss.”

Tags for my lovelies: 

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 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs  

 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

"My child is fine", your child is rewatching Supernatural in 2021

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

My writing process:

type type type

*squints*

*types a word into the search bar*

ok yeah that means what i think it means

type type type

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

So hold me like a grudge 😇😈

(Watercolor, magazine clippings)

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

I hate Colorado. This is just unholy.

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

He's just out here. Looking like this.

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

How aesthetically pleasing this is.

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

What do you think the dog’s name is?

📸 Pamela Littky

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

and i’ve just about SNAPPED!! dont look BACK!! every lovers got a little dagger in their hand!!!!!!!

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

It was an uphill battle but they didn’t know, but they didn’t know, we were gonna use the roads as a ramp to take off

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

Pete Wentz Sets Moody AIM Away Messages

from Nylon Magazine

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

future's so bright, we gotta wear shades

📸 Pamela Littky

[callmesweetheartifyoumeanit]

Shit like this never gets old to me. The fact that anyone ever bothered to even read one thing I wrote, let alone makes a tradition out of re-reading it. It tickles me endlessly. It thrills me. It takes every ounce of sadness and loneliness from my body and fills it with the type of content I rarely—if ever—feel in these recent years.

Thank you @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba. You made my week.

To any fic writers who worry they are wasting their time... I read a fic for a relatively small and inactive fandom about three years ago. And there was one specific scene where a character watched another dancing like an idiot to a beyonce song and it was so sweet and loving that even now years later I have that song on one of my spotify playlist so every once in a while it will play and remind me of that fic, and every time it does I smile and feel a little happier.

The stats on a fic will never really tell you if your writing touched someone. There's no numerical way to show you what impact you made. Maybe you are wasting time, or maybe you are writing something that someone will remember for a long time, something that will never fail to make them smile.