curlycarley - Tumblr blog

curlycarley · 18 days ago

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ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `all that glitters, dean winchester ༘♡

summary: there's a case at a reneissance fair that leads to you and dean getting fake married. he doesn't want to take the ring off. word count: 899 pairing: dean winchester x reader prompt: “have a little faith. it’s our honeymoon, after all.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

You’ve worn a lot of disguises on hunts before. A grimy lab coat to sneak into a morgue, fake FBI badges that squeak when you open them wrong, even a terribly itchy nun costume once that Dean still won’t shut up about.

But this? A velvet gown, gold threads stitched at the sleeves, and a flower crown so heavy it feels like a medieval migraine? This is new.

Dean’s armor clinks as he sidles up beside you. “M’lady,” he drawls, obnoxiously dragging out the syllables. He’s got a plastic goblet of mead in one hand, sword in the other. He looks like a drunk Lancelot cosplay. You try not to notice how ridiculously handsome he is under the chainmail, and it only encourages him.

“Sir Dean,” you deadpan. “Please remind me again why we couldn’t just stake this vampire at the motel like normal people?”

He tips his goblet toward your crown. “Because our fanged friend likes to hunt at the faire. And besides—” Dean grins, eyes flicking down the length of you like he’s trying to get hexed, “—I’m not complaining about the view.”

Your cheeks warm. Traitorous. “Eyes up, Winchester.”

He smirks, but obeys. For now.

You tug your skirts up and follow the muddied path deeper into the fairgrounds. Kids run by wielding foam swords, squealing about dragons and quests. Somewhere nearby, a lute plays an off-key tune about doomed lovers. You can practically feel the irony radiating from it—because the only thing more doomed than this hunt is your sanity when you have to keep pretending Dean Winchester isn’t slowly, irrevocably, disastrously undoing you.

You find your vampire mark at the jousting arena. Dean leans in close, voice warm against your ear. “Okay, Princess. He feeds off the drunks after closing. I’ll flush him out, you stake him. Clean and easy.”

“‘Clean and easy.’ Famous last words.”

“Hey—” Dean bumps your shoulder with his, metal plates clanking. “Have a little faith. It’s our honeymoon, after all.”

You choke on air. “Honeymoon?”

Dean lifts his plastic goblet in mock salute. “We had to blend in. Didn’t you read the sign?” He points to the entry arch, where some amateur calligraphy proclaims: ‘Lord & Lady Winchester — Honeymoon Tourney Champions!’

You squint at him. “You made them announce us?”

He tries to look innocent, which on Dean just looks like trouble wrapped in leather and chainmail. “Wasn’t me. Just… thought it’d help the cover story.”

“Uh huh.” You poke his chest plate. “You’re enjoying this.”

He catches your hand — warm fingers wrapping around yours, metal glove long forgotten on his hip. For one heartbeat, the fair disappears: the kids with their toy swords, the dusty booths, the vampire you’re hunting. It’s just him, calloused thumb brushing your wrist like he’s checking for a pulse he already owns.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. His voice is softer now, like confession and campfire smoke. “Maybe I don’t mind pretending.”

Your breath catches — pretending. Right. That’s all this is. You snap out of it when the jousting announcer calls your fake title again, demanding the “honeymoon couple” step into the ring for a blessing before the final show.

Dean rolls his eyes but tugs you forward. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get knighted or blessed or whatever.”

You stand under a garland of wilting flowers while a teenager in a burlap tunic declares you “joined in holy knighthood” — you, the “fair Lady,” Dean the “brave Sir.” Dean squeezes your hand through the whole thing, his palm sweaty in yours, grinning too damn wide.

It’s over before you can process it. The crowd claps, tossing rose petals that stick to Dean’s armor. He looks at you like you hung the stars in this half-baked medieval sky.

Then, the vampire makes his move. You spot him near the ale tent, mouth red and eyes gleaming at a half-drunk tourist. Instinct takes over. You push Dean aside, stake hidden under your skirts, your fake crown slipping sideways as you sprint across the grass.

Dean’s right behind you, chainmail jingling a ridiculous chorus. The vampire hisses, tries to vanish behind a tent flap. You grab his arm, spin him, and Dean finishes him off — silver blade through the heart, one neat jab, a grunt of effort that sounds suspiciously like relief.

When the dust—or goo, in this case, settles, you’re pressed against Dean’s chest, breathing hard. His hands come up to frame your face, brushing petals from your hair.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rougher than the chainmail that scratches your cheek.

“Yeah.” You laugh. “Nice honeymoon.”

He grins, forehead pressing to yours. “Best one yet.”

Your crown tips sideways again and Dean steadies it with one hand, then dips his head lower, lips ghosting over yours. It’s gentle, hesitant—a question you’ve both been circling for years. You answer by kissing him back, hands fisting in cheap velvet and warm metal.

When you finally pull away, you’re both smiling. Someone whistles from the ale tent. The lute guy starts strumming a victory ballad you know Dean will claim was all him.

You rest your head against his chest plate, laughter buzzing in your ribs. “Think they’ll knight us again next year?”

Dean’s arms tighten around you. “Sweetheart, next year we’re renewing our vows.”

And you don’t have the heart to tell him you’d say yes — even if he asked for real.

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curlycarley · 1 month ago

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straight up masterpiece! *chefs kiss*

dead but beautiful – in lace and lichen ❁❀ꨄ~

I wrote this poem/drabble for @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery I was heavily inspired by her beautiful headers/dividers- aesthetically pleasing tumblr blog- all creds to her. I wrote her in an entirely different AU:

Summary: A ghostly woman in a tattered floral dress haunts a cemetery, trailing dead flowers as she walks. Dean Winchester sees her often—silent, beautiful, and blooming with decay—and wonders if she might be his.

Dean Winchester saw her only at night.

Always as he passed the cemetery, where the fog curled like fingers around the gate and the moon hung low, heavy and watching.

She was there—

a vision stitched from soft rot and pressed flowers,

a woman in a ghost-washed dress, once white, now water-stained and earth-bitten.

Tattered lace trailed behind her like spider silk, delicate, ruined, perfect.

Her hair spilled wild down her back, woven with sprigs of baby’s breath, thorned vines, and petals the color of old bruises.

She moved like she belonged to the garden of graves—slow, barefoot, reverent.

With every step, the ground stirred.

Wilted daisies lifted their heads.

Dead tulips unfurled like secrets.

Roses, half-rotted, turned toward her like they remembered being loved.

She never looked at him.

But Dean always stopped breathing when she passed.

She would kneel at forgotten headstones, leaving bundles of crumbling flowers wrapped in torn ribbon, as if she were mourning them all at once.

Or perhaps they mourned her.

Maybe she had died here.

Maybe she chose not to leave.

The cemetery obeyed her.

The vines climbed slower when she moved.

The statues wept more softly.

She was not alive.

And yet, she bloomed.

A corpse bride with moss beneath her fingernails.

A queen crowned in crumbling marigolds.

Dean didn’t dare follow.

But he thought about it.

Thought about stepping through the gate,

offering her his name like a prayer folded in lavender,

and asking if ghosts could fall in love.

And if so—

could they keep it?

Because she wasn’t just haunting the graveyard.

She was the graveyard.

Dead, yes.

But God—

so beautiful.

ೋ❀❀ೋ══ ~❀~ ══ೋ❀❀ೋ

Dean never believed in love stories. Not the fairytale kind. Especially not the ones that start in graveyards.

But this one… started with a whisper.

And a woman in white.

He first saw her after a salt-and-burn job, when the air was thick with fog and the moon was bleeding pale light. A small cemetery off a back road in Ohio—forgotten by time, swallowed by ivy and rust. The Impala's headlights caught something drifting near the crooked gate.

She stood between headstones like a memory frozen mid-prayer. Her dress was old—Victorian lace, yellowed and torn, the hem dark with years of trailing through dirt and rain. But the flowers… that’s what got him. Dried, pressed blossoms twisted in her hair. Wild violets tangled at her feet. A crown of wilted baby’s breath nestled above her brow like a veil.

Dean didn’t get out of the car.

He just watched.

And she turned.

Her eyes—foggy, soft, and not of this world—found his. She didn’t smile. But there was something in her expression like recognition.

He blinked.

She was gone.

He came back the next night.

Told Sam he needed a few days. “Working a lead,” he lied.

But there was no case.

Only her.

The second night, she was standing near a sunken tomb, placing brittle roses on a cracked headstone. Dean walked the path up to her, slow and careful. He didn’t know what he expected—a banshee scream, a sudden chill, maybe blood leaking from her eyes.

What he didn’t expect was her voice.

“You returned.”

Soft. Low. Like the wind through hollow bones.

Dean stopped. “You’re real.”

“I was,” she said. “Once.”

She turned to face him. Her lips were a bruised plum color, cracked like dried petals. Her skin, pale as moonlight, glowed in the dark like bone beneath thin silk. But she was beautiful. So beautiful, it hurt.

“Who are you?”

She tilted her head. “A bride. Once promised. Buried too soon.”

Dean swallowed. “You a ghost?”

A pause. Then: “A memory that still breathes.”

He started seeing her in dreams.

She'd hum forgotten hymns, drape lace across his shoulders, kiss him beneath willow branches that wept tears of tar. The cemetery bloomed in black and silver when she smiled. She touched his face like he was a relic. A reliquary. Something sacred.

He woke up once with flower petals on his chest.

Another time, dirt on his hands.

One night, rain started to fall. Slow, mournful drops that slicked the mossy stones and soaked the air in grief. Dean found her dancing between graves. Barefoot. Spinning slow, arms wide, hair spiraling like ivy in the wind.

He stepped into the rain.

“You gonna tell me your name?” he called.

She stopped, a few feet from him, blinking through the downpour.

“I don’t remember,” she said, quietly. “They buried it with my heart.”

He stepped closer. Water rolled down her cheeks like tears. But she wasn’t crying.

Dean reached out, brushing a strand of soaked hair from her face. “You’re cold.”

“I’m dead.”

“But you feel real.”

“I remember what it was like… to love. That’s enough to touch.”

He leaned in. Her breath—if it was breath—ghosted across his skin.

“Why me?” he asked. “Why do I keep coming back?”

Her lips quirked upward. “Because you carry death in your blood, too.”

That night, she kissed him.

In the rain. Among the graves. With the moon cracked open above them and the earth pulsing below. Her lips were chilled and strange—like kissing stone softened by time. But her kiss held sorrow. Hunger. A kind of aching that Dean had only ever felt in the quiet spaces between hunts, when the world stopped long enough for him to feel the hole in his chest.

His hands cupped her face. Her fingers dug into his jacket. And when they broke apart, flowers bloomed between the cracks in the graves. Purple and black. Fragrant and wrong.

“You’re not cursed,” he whispered.

“No,” she murmured. “But I am waiting.”

“For what?”

“For someone to stay.”

The next night, he came with salt and iron.

Just in case.

She laughed when she saw him, soft and sad.

“I won’t hurt you, Dean Winchester.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve known it since I first dreamed of you.”

Dean frowned. “Spirits don’t dream.”

“Neither do the dead.” She stepped close, reaching for the iron in his hand. “But I’m something in between.”

He let the bar fall to the dirt.

“Why do I feel like I know you?” he asked.

“Because we were promised once,” she said. “In another life. In a vow whispered to the soil before we were born.”

Dean’s chest tightened.

And then she touched him—really touched him—her hands sliding up under his coat, resting against his ribs. “Your heart is tired,” she whispered. “Let it rest.”

Their lips met again, deeper this time. Hungrier. The cemetery bloomed around them in death-colored petals. Vines climbed the stones. Statues wept moss.

And Dean let it happen.

He kissed her like she was air. Like she was forgiveness. Like she was an ending that tasted sweeter than survival.

The night he didn’t come back, she wilted.

The graves grew quiet.

The wind stopped.

But the next full moon, Dean returned. Dirt on his boots. Flowers in his hand.

He walked through the rusted gate and found her waiting in white.

“I tried,” he said. “Tried to forget. Tried to bury it.”

She stepped forward. “But you can’t bury what’s already dead.”

He held out the flowers—blood-red lilies and a single black rose.

“For you,” he said.

She smiled.

And this time, when he kissed her, she wasn’t cold.

She was warm.

Real.

Alive, if only for the night.

They say the graveyard near Hollow Creek blooms every spring with flowers no one planted. Dark, strange things that never wilt. Sometimes, on quiet nights, you can hear laughter between the stones.

And once, a hunter carved a name into a stone with no grave.

A name only he remembered.

And laid a ring there, rusted and still warm.

[End]

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curlycarley · 7 months ago

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Reunited at Last

Summary: Dean visits the reader after being back from his time in Hell.

Inspired by the song Would you fall in love with me again from the Epic Musical.

It was just a regular Wednesday night. I just finished making dinner and put a little bit away for work tomorrow. As I let my dog Winnie outside to go pee for the last time for the night. I heard a soft knock at my front door. I leave Winnie outside and walk over to the door. I open the door and I am shocked from what I see.

“Y/n” said by Dean.

My eyes start to water. My Dean. He is back. “Dean, how are you here?” I asked him. “Is it really you? I swear if this is some sick joke.” “It is me,my love.” Dean says as he lightly cups my cheek. Winnie starts to bark from the back door. I look towards the door and I let Dean come in my house. We both walk to my kitchen. Dean watches me while I let Winnie back inside. “Please, sit down D.” I tell him as we both sit at my table. “ you look different, your eyes look tired.” I tell Dean.

He looks at me tiredly, “ I am not the man you fell in love with. I am not the man you who once adored.” “Dean,” I grab his hand and let him keep talking. “ I am not your kind and gentle Dean. I am not the Dean you knew before. But please let me ask you something.” “Of course, whatever you want.” I tell him as I try to soak in this new and broken Dean in front of me.

Dean looks me in the eyes and asks me “ would you fall in love with me again if you knew all I have done in hell? The things I cannot change. Would you still love me and see me the same?”I look at him and squeeze his hand, “what kind of things did you do?” “Y/n, I left a trail of blood everywhere I went. I harmed more lives than I could count on my hands, but I did it all so I could come back to you, my love.” I stood up from the table and made my way over to my garage.

Dean follows me and opens the door for me. I always loved it when he did that. “ if everything you told me is true,could you do something for me? See that bronco over there? Could you please get rid of it? Sell it or leave it on the side of the road.” I told Dean. Dean looked shocked from my question. “ how could you ask me that? I restored that bronco with my blood and sweat. A symbol of my love for you.”

I look at him with tears in my eyes because only my dean would know that. “It is really you” “y/n.” Dean pulls me into this arms. I look at him and tell him “ I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don’t care when where or how long it has been. You are mine. Don’t tell me you’re not the same person. You are always my Dean, the love of my life. And I will always be waiting for you.” Dean pulls me into a kiss and the kiss felt like no time has passed at all. We pull alway from the kiss, “how long has it been?” “40 years or 4 months for you.” “I love you Dean” “and I love you more”

The two lovers are reunited at last.

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #jensen ackles x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester fanfic #dean x you #dean winchester x reader

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curlycarley · 9 months ago

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The rain drops fell harder and harder against my front windshield. "This is the last time I'm agreeing to deliver a cake" I said, while turning my windshield wipers on a higher speed. The road was getting harder and harder to see as the rain falls. The only thing I can hear is the rain and the song playing through my car radio:

flashing lights & we took a wrong turn and we

fell down a rabbit hole...

Then everything went black.

I open my eyes and see my car is on the side of the road. The rain is gone, "what happened?" I say under my breathe. I unbuckle my seatbelt and open my door. As I check around my car for any damages I finally notice, I don't recongine this road.

"Okay, where am I?" I walk to my open car door and my grab my phone from the cup holder. I turn on the Screen," no signal. Great. Just great..." I place my phone back into the cup holder and sit back in my car.

"Okay so I’m lost, ugh.” I say while I start to overthink and worry. Maybe, I should drive down this this road keep driving until I see a gas station or something. I put my car into drive and drive down the road. 5 mins, no 10 mins go by and don't see anything. "Of course, this would happen to me." I say As I almost drive past what seems to be a bunker of some sorts. I park my car on the side of the road. As I walk to the front door of the bunker, I make the stupid decision to knock on the door. "what's the worst thing that could happen?" I knock on the door and wait a few seconds before I hear footsteps approaching the door. The lock unlocks on the other side, "Sammy! Did you order a pizza or something?" Said by the guy who is opening the door. Holy crap, he is gorgeous. Tall, green eyes, and dark hair. He's the total package. Wait he kinda looks like Jensen Ackles. "Hey sweetheart, are you okay?" Is the last thing I hear as I black out once again.

We found Wonderland

You and I got lost in it

So what did we think? Um this is my first time writing anything like this. And of course I don't know if I will continue the story but if I do it will be a swiftie inspired story (hint: wonderland ;) ) with dean Winchester.

Wonderland: 01/?

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #jensen ackles x reader #taylor swift #swifties #alice in wonderland

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