milkb0nny

[milkb0nny]

Venomous Kiss

… Dean‘s desire to feel your demonic lust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Succubus!Reader

Summary: Dean was on a mission to hunt you down, but it didn’t go as planned. Your seduction was far more powerful than his will to stand strong, and so you two ended up entangled, smothered in kisses and steam.

Note: This is inspired by one of my Pinterest boards! Have fun reading. <3

Word Count: 2k

Content: MDNI 18+, no use of y/n, slight smut, succubus!reader, implied smut, making out, enemies to lovers kinda, not proofread

The neon lights pulsed in sync with the heavy bass, glowing over the moving crowd in shades of crimson and violet. The air smelled of sweat, alcohol, and desperation - exactly the kind of place where monsters thrived. Where you too, thrived.

Dean Winchester leaned against the bar, eyes scanning the dance floor. Sam was somewhere in the back, playing detective, but Dean had a different job, act as a bait. He was a handsome man, and the thing they were searching for was a succubus, probably female. But little did Dean know that there were more than one, and that the seducing power of a succubus could overthrow him easily.

College guys had been dropping dead after wild nights at this club, their bodies found drained and empty, like their very souls had been sucked out. Every sign pointed to a supernatural cause, but the exact culprit remained a mystery. Dean took another sip of his whiskey, letting the liquid burn down his throat as he played the waiting game.

His eyes caught on multiple individuals who portrayed human perfection, who looked too beautiful to exist, and who threw themselves in the arms of strangers. Dean realized, there wasn’t just one demon present.

And then, he saw you.

You were stunning, the kind of beauty that made heads turn and hearts race. Long healthy hair flew down your shoulders, framing eyes that shimmered with mischief. A slender body, with its clothes only accentuating you. You moved through the crowd like you owned it - well, you did. The way men gravitated toward you was almost supernatural.

Dean smirked. Bingo.

When your curious gaze locked onto his, something deep inside him stirred. Not just attraction; something that turned his stomach. A strong pull. Dangerous. But he wasn’t about to back down. If you were their killer, he’d make sure you never claimed another victim.

You approached, your scent a mix of honey and vanilla. Fairly soft and light for your presence, something that made you appear slightly less seducing, but sweet. As if you were the perfect mixture of sexiness and innocence.

The moment your eyes found him, you knew.

A hunter.

The way he carried himself, the barely restrained edge of violence in his posture, the sharpness in his gaze as he scanned the room as if he was looking for something. Someone. Ready to kill, ready to tear apart.

And you, you loved the risk of playing with hunters, of twisting their minds and softly nibbling on their soul. That was far more engaging than the act of killing.

You leaned in, your voice smooth as silk. “You don’t belong here.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, turning to face you fully. Gosh, you were so close to him and he could feel the hotness of your skin. “That so?”

You smiled, fingers trailing along the rim of your glass. “Mhm. You’re different from the rest of them.” You let your gaze sweep over him, slow and deliberate. “Not a college boy, not a regular. You’re here for a reason.”

You knew that he knew.

And you loved that.

His jaw tensed, but he played it cool. “And what reason would that be?”

You chuckled. “Oh, come on.” Stepping closer, you let your fingers barely brush against his wrist which was ready to pull out the colt. His pulse jumped. “Men have been dying, haven’t they?”

Dean didn’t flinch, but you saw the way his muscles coiled. Now you had his attention.

“Funny thing to bring up at a party,” he said, voice rough.

You tilted your head, eyes gleaming. “Funny thing for you to be here at all.”

His green eyes searched yours, looking for something… like weakness, deception, a tell. But you gave him nothing. Just a playful smile and a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite place.

Dean huffed out a dry laugh. “You always this forward with strangers?”

“Only with the interesting ones.”

He smirked at that, but there was wariness beneath it. You could feel it. He wasn’t like the others because he wasn’t easy to break. But that only made him more fun.

You wanted the infamous Dean Winchester, right beneath you, begging you for more.

He leaned in slightly, with a low voice. Your lips were only a few centimeters apart. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re the reason guys keep dropping dead.”

You let out a soft, amused hum. “Mhm… such boldness,“ you whispered “but if I wanted men dead, Dean Winchester… you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

Your eyes glimmered as you leaned in to pull Dean into a merciless kiss. Short, but passionate, and charms worked wonders on him.

Your devilish sweet voice thrilled through his mind, “I‘m just here to play. The others aren’t. But that ain’t my responsibility… right?“

Fuck.

He underestimated your kind.

His smirk faltered for just a second. Not because he was afraid, but because you had said his name.

He hadn’t told you that.

His grip tightened around the colt, tension crackling in the air between you. But before he could demand answers, you stepped back.

“I’m not your killer,” you whispered. “But that doesn’t mean you should trust me. Hm… but maybe, if I would kill someone here… would you then dare to play fetch with me?”

And just like that, you disappeared into the crowd.

Dean feared your demonic existence would pursue that warning, and he followed you. The second you slipped into the crowd, he was on your heels, pushing past bodies, ignoring drunken laughter and flashing lights.

You were too fast for a normal person. But Dean wasn’t a normal guy, and he’d hunted enough creatures to know when one was trying to shake him off their tail.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. There. You slid through a back hallway, disappearing past a heavy curtain that led to the club’s more… private areas.

Dean followed without thinking.

Had he forgotten you were a succubus?!

You were waiting for him. Your cunning tricks worked. Leaning against the doorframe at the end of the hall, you smirked as he stalked toward you.

“Took you long enough,” you teased. “Should’ve snatched me away in the club already...“

Dean didn’t slow down. He crowded into your space, a hand bracing against the wall beside your head. “You know my name.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Everyone knows your name. I just didn’t think you’d have such a pretty face...”

His jaw clenched. His instincts fought with the undeniable pull between you. He should be reaching for his weapon. He should be demanding answers. But instead, he found himself looking at your lips, at the way your chest rose and fell in slow.

You lifted a hand, fingers grazing his jaw. “You’re staring.”

Dean caught your wrist, holding it still. “You’re messing with me.”

A slow smile spread across your cherry lips. “You don’t seem to mind.”

His breath stopped when you leaned in, your lips barely brushing his as you spoke. “I can feel it, you know. The way your heart’s racing. The way your body reacts to me.” Your free hand drifted lower, tracing the seam of his jacket before slipping beneath the leather, fingers curling against his shirt.

Dean exhaled sharply. “You really think I’m just gonna let you - ”

You cut him off, lips pressing against his in a kiss that was slow, teasing… testing him. And for a moment, just a moment, he let you have him again.

Then he moaned quietly, his grip on your wrist tightening as he turned the tables, backing you against the wall with a force that made your breath fasten.

“You’re dangerous,” he muttered against your lips.

You smirked, tilting your head. “My... jumping to conclusions…”

Dean didn’t argue. He kissed you again, harder this time, heat flooding between you as your bodies pressed together. This burn in your body flared up, making your cheeks flush, your heart race and your lust unbearable.

His hands found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver.

Your lips granted his tongue passage with a soft sound of satisfaction, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss as his free hand explored, teasing along your sides, your hips. His touch was firm, controlled… but barely. You could feel how much he wanted to lose control.

Your own hands traced the muscle beneath his shirt. “Mmm… You taste like whiskey.”

Dean smirked against your mouth. “You taste like trouble.”

His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs wrapped around his waist. The press of his body against yours sent heat pooling in your stomach.

You could feel him, you could sense his lust and he couldn’t hide it anymore.

“You gonna kill me, sweetheart?” he mumbled, voice thick with something wary of you.

You chuckled, nipping at his bottom lip. “Mhm… no.”

A soft moan left your lips when his sensation hit the sensitive spot just between your legs.

“Dean…” His name left your lips in a whisper, almost a plea.

His hands tightened on your thighs, pressing you harder against the wall as his hips ground against yours. He moved his erection along your core, demanding more of that sinful lust.

Your fingers traced the edge of his belt, teasing. “How far are you willing to take this?”

Dean’s voice was rough. “Depends.” His lips hovered over yours… alone the look you gave him … screaming for him to take you right here.

“Are you gonna suck the life outta me when I’m too deep into it to stop you?”

You laughed, your hands opening his belt with ease as your long eyelashes fluttered at him. “Now, now… I only take a little. I told you, I don’t kill.”

Dean searched your face, unsure whether to trust you or not. And then, with a smirk, he murmured, “Guess I’ll take my chances.”

And with that, he kissed you again.

Hot, hungry, and completely unafraid.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” you sang, lips brushing against his as you spoke.

Dean smirked, but his breath was unsteady. “You started this, sweetheart.”

You let your fingers caress the skin down his pants, feeling the way his heart jumped. “And you’re gonna finish it?”

His eyes narrowed. “Damn right I am.”

Without warning, he spun you both around, kicking open the nearest staff door and stumbling into a dimly lit private lounge. The room where you usually ate your prey.

The second the door shut behind him, he had you pressed against it again, his mouth hot against your neck, hands gripping your thighs as if he was afraid to let go. Each kiss left your skin burning, each touch sending a thrill through your veins.

And then… he stopped.

What a tease… you were thirsty.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard. His hands were still on you, his body still pressed against yours.

“Tell me one thing,” he murmured.

“Mm? What’s that?”

His thumb brushed along your thigh, slow, deliberate. “How much of this is you… and how much is your sex magic?”

You let out a laugh, your body embracing that laughter. One that caressed Dean‘s length in such an erotic way. “Oh, Dean… If I wanted to control you, you wouldn’t be asking that question. What you’re doing is all on you. I just look good.”

You caught a breath to stop laughing, but that question was just too adorable.

“So it’s all real?” he muttered, his grip tightening.

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Every. Single. Second.”

Lust. Craving. Desire filled Dean.

You were too alluring.

That was all it took.

And with that, you pulled him down into the kind of night neither of you would ever forget.

[milkb0nny]

A Siren‘s Call

… Dean starts to fall for monsters

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Siren!Reader

Summary: The Winchester brothers save you from the brink of death. Though you‘re not just a human, nor an ordinary siren. You were the embodiment of mythological creatures. But that didn’t stop Dean from not trusting you… but also didn’t from falling for you.

Word count: ~2,4k

Note: Sorry for my inactivity. Uni exams were draining me so badly. Now that all that is over I‘ll write some more. I‘ve been stuck with this siren idea, but the mythological kinda siren, so here it is. Have fun reading!

Content: no use of y/n, angst, fluff, comfort, siren!reader, shy reader, slow burn, reader not being a canon siren

You were a unique creature; one that owned numerous pages in the mythological universe, one that had been punished and hunted time and time again.

A siren.

But unlike the others of your kind, you had never evolved beyond your ancestors. While they remained hidden in the depths of the sea, thriving in dark caves, fearful of deep human contact, modern sirens had taken to the land, walking among humans, deceiving them, blending in. They changed, and except the charm and the poison, had nothing similar compared to your kind.

You belonged to the waves. You reigned over the tides, joking only with fishermen and small boats, never daring to go further. They called you a mermaid, but you were far more cunning, far more intelligent, and far more dangerous than any mermaid.

Or so you thought.

...

One night, your world was torn apart.

Your family - your blood - was captured and burned alive in the nearby village. You hadn’t been there when it happened, but you felt it. The sea had mourned with you, the waves whispering of their agony. And yet, the true culprit was not a human, but another siren… one that wasn’t of your lineage. One that walked the land with ease, far closer to humanity than you could ever be.

And you…

You barely escaped.

After being hunted through the waters, arrows piercing the sea like falling stars, spears slicing through the water, you swam faster than you ever had before. But in the end, it wasn’t enough. Your strength gave out, and darkness swallowed you whole.

Oh, how you wished death would grant you passage to your family again, how you desired to only hear your kind one more time.

When you awoke, the sun was warm against your skin, the sand soft beneath your body. A gentle breeze played with your damp hair, and the ocean… your home… stretched endlessly before you. But something was wrong.

There was no one to welcome you back to the waters.

No one you could toy with fishermen anymore.

Nothing.

Your body was heavy, ached in pain. The weightlessness of the water was gone, replaced by the cruel pull of gravity. The skin between your fingers retracted, your scales shifting, adjusting to a human form you barely recognized.

And then; voices.

“Oh god… Dean, there’s someone here!” a deep voice called out, frantic.

Footsteps. Closer.

You struggled to move, every muscle in your body screaming in protest. Instinct urged you toward the water, but before you could take more than a few weak steps, your legs gave out beneath you.

Your bare body fell, the skin feeling so vulnerable without your scales.

Though, strong arms caught you before you hit the ground.

“Whoa, easy there,” a voice rumbled, steady, commanding. The scent of leather and male fragrance filled your senses - a smell you only encountered when charming young men -, and when you blinked up at the men holding you, all you saw was long brown hair, and curious eyes.

“Hey, hey… do‘t pass out. Come on, look at me,” the taller one softly spoke.

The blonde man knelt beside you and quickly shrugged off his leather jacket, wrapping it around your bare shoulders. After all, you stood there naked.

“Dean, she’s hurt,” Sam said urgently. “We need the first aid kit.”

Dean - so that was his name - huffed but didn’t hesitate, moving swiftly to grab bandages and disinfectant from baby.

You stared at them, heart pounding. Why weren’t they killing you?

Why were they acting friendly?

The other man… Sam…studied you, concern flickering across his face. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard and nodded slightly, keeping your lips pressed together.

You hesitated. If they knew what you were, they would drag you back to the town. They would finish what the others had started. Burn you.

Dean’s sharp eyes remained locked onto you, skeptical. “You’re not from around here.”

Your throat tightened. No, you were not… not in the way they thought.

Sam glanced between you and his brother, then at the vast, empty beach. He exhaled slowly. “Let’s take her with us.”

Dean shot him a glare. “Sam, no. We’ll bring her back to town, drop her off where people can take care of her. It’s dangerous out here.”

The town.

Your stomach twisted, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “No!”

Both men froze.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, no?”

You clenched your fists around the leather jacket, its unfamiliar scent grounding you. Your voice wavered, but you forced the words out.

“That town is not my home.” Your breath hitched, and when you looked up at them, your ocean-blue eyes burned with something raw. “The people there… they’re demons in human skin. No loving, sentient being would do what they did.”

The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, grief and anger clawing their way to the surface. The weight of your loss pressed against your chest, and as the first tears slipped down your cheeks, something changed.

A shimmer.

A faint glow of iridescent scales flickered over your skin, barely visible in the sunlight.

Sam’s eyes widened.

Dean stiffened. His hand twitched toward his knife. The brothers had prepared it before coming to this town, dipped in blood of a victim - the only way to finish off a siren.

“What the hell…” he muttered.

Your breath hitched.

They knew.

But they didn’t understand.

Dean took a slow step forward, gaze dark and unreadable. “You’re not human.” His voice was laced with something dangerous. Then, in one swift motion, he pulled out the blade.

Panic flared in your chest, but you didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. You had no strength left to fight. Only your eyes warned Dean, turning into the strange blueish hue of a siren.

But Sam moved.

“Dean, no.” He grabbed his brother’s arm, stopping him before he could get any closer. “Think. If she was the one killing people, why would she tell us this? Why wouldn’t she run?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, muscles taut with restraint. “She’s still not human, Sam.”

“She’s also bleeding,” Sam shot back. “And she’s alone. And… for whatever reason she is not siren siren! She’s… it‘s like she jumped out of a book!”

Correct. You were an ancient type of siren, similar to the different kinds of humans, different kinds of siren existed. You just weren’t modern. One could assume you were a living fossil.

Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face, frustration rolling off him in waves. His knuckles were still white around the handle of his knife. You stared at him, searching his face, trying to understand why his hostility stung more than it should.

Why did he look at you like that?

You weren’t sure what made you say it, but the words came anyway.

“I didn’t kill them.”

Dean’s gaze flicked back to yours, unreadable.

“There’s another siren in town,” you whispered. “One that’s not me. Not my family. Not my blood. We are… or- we were hidden from you. We only toyed with.. some men, and we didn’t harm any. Just… just pranked them.” Tears continued to roll down your face, and you shivered out of anxiety and emotion.

The salty water of your tears made your gills on your neck flare up, and for a short moment your body was turning back into the true you.

For a long moment, Dean didn’t move.

Then, slowly, his grip on the knife loosened.

Sam let out a breath.

You swallowed, your throat dry and sore. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have let you patch me up,” you said. „But… if my honesty speaks… I could kill that whole town.“

Anger met silence.

Dean’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a warning of something worse.

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, we can’t just leave her here, Dean.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. He turned away, exhaling like he was physically restraining himself from arguing. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

“She rides in the back.”

Whatever that meant.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

...

The car smelled like men - like human. The engine’s low hum vibrated against your sore body, and every bump in the road made your wound throb. Before sitting in there Sam lend you a set of boxer shorts, and slowly dry warmth embraced you. A warmth you weren't familiar with, but right now you could use some company. Some distraction. You have never felt something like this before, and never been in a car.

Dean didn’t speak to you.

Sam did, well, at least, he tried. He asked simple things, questions that didn’t pry too deep.

“What’s your name?”

You hesitated before answering. You hadn’t needed a name in a long time. The sea didn’t care for things like that. Your name was a melody, which was sung by your folks.

But these men didn't sing your songs.

“…this is a human concept.” You said.

Dean chimed in, his eyes glancing at you through the mirror. „You’ll need one if you want to survive out in the human world.“

Sam nodded, his eyes kind despite his wariness.

„I‘ll think… of one,“ you mumbled.

For hours, the only sounds were the purr of the engine and the occasional murmured conversation between the brothers. You listened, absorbing their dynamic. Sam, the voice of reason. Dean, the blade that cut first and asked questions later.

Human men, so vulnerable to your passionate charm if you were to use it, in front of you. There would be no issue manipulating them into hating each other, or loving you. But there was no use in toying with them - you were exhausted. You wanted... Not to think about them.

Even though it seemed they rather wanted you to be not here. Especially Dean.

And yet, beneath his sharp words and stubborn anger, there was something else.

A wariness not of just you, but of what you represented.

...

The motel was a rundown thing, flickering neon signs and cigarette-scented hallways. Sam helped you inside while Dean walked ahead, unlocking the door with a grumble.

“I’m not letting her near my weapons,” he muttered.

Sam shot him a look. “She can barely stand, Dean.”

Dean didn’t respond. He just tossed his duffel onto the bed and turned away, as if looking at you too long would confirm his worst suspicions.

Or would make him weak for your beauty and glamour.

You understood that you were treated as not human, but you felt more sentient and emphatic than them. At least, more sympathetic than Dean.

You sat down on the edge of the mattress when Sam left for a quick shower. You hissed, wincing as pain flared through your side. Your hands instinctively pressed over your wound. The wound on your stomach ached.

Dean noticed.

He mumbled a curse under his breath, grabbing the first aid kit again. “You’re useless like this.”

You bristled. “Thank you..?”

“Not a compliment,” he shot back. “Hold still.”

You did. Not because you wanted to, but because the exhaustion was too heavy. Dean’s hands were rough but careful as he cleaned the wound again. You felt his hesitation, the way his fingers twitched every time he brushed your skin.

As if he was touching a poisonous being.

“Why... do you hate my kind?” you asked suddenly.

Dean stilled.

His eyes flicked up to yours, and for the first time since he found you on that beach, his gaze wasn’t just suspicion and anger. It was something else.

Your eyes were dangerously alluring, as if they were dragging him deeper and deeper until he would drown.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t hate your kind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh… You know I may be not familiar with you but I can smell a lie.”

Dean pressed the cotton pad against your side harder than necessary, making you flinch. “I just don’t trust things that come from the deep.”

You frowned. “Because of the sirens you’ve met before?”

Dean Winchester. A hunter. A man who had spent his life fighting monsters. A man who should have killed you the moment he realized what you were. But he hadn’t. And now, here he was, tending to your wounds despite his better judgment.

When he washed out the cloth and put it against your roughed up skin, it turned into scales. Reminders that you weren’t human.

You shifted nervously, your doe eyes looking up to Dean‘s.

He exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t look at your face. "Can’t have you bleeding out all over the damn bed. Sam would never let me hear the end of it."

You could see the memories flash behind his eyes, the ghosts of past encounters with creatures like you… sirens that had whispered lies, played with hearts, twisted minds until they broke.

You could read minds, but you often resisted. Looking into his mind however felt more intimate and intricate as ever. You didn't want to look further than this.

But you weren’t like those sirens.

And somehow, he knew that.

Still, he looked away, focusing back on your wound. His fingers brushed against your bare skin, and you felt him hesitate. A flicker of something passed over his face, too fast to catch, and he quickly busied himself with wrapping a bandage around you.

You weren’t trying to pull him in. If anything, you were doing the opposite, keeping your distance, letting the fear between you stay intact.

But Dean…

He was falling anyway. Not in the way a man falls to a siren’s song, mindlessly bewitched. No, this was different. This was a slow unraveling, a quiet war inside him.

"You don’t talk like a monster," he whispered. He didn't want to say that out loud..

You tilted your head, studying him. " Such nice words. I'm flabbergasted."

Dean exhaled a soft laugh; barely there, more of a breath than a sound. He shook his head, taping the last part of the bandage into place.

"You’re trouble," he said, finally meeting your gaze again.

Your captivating presence, the sharp curve of your lips, the round and big eyes, and your weirdly perfect looking appearance. Dean knew he was weak to women... But... To you?

A small smile hushed over your lips. "And you’re so...,“ you wondered, “contradicting.“

His eyes lingered on yours for a fraction too long.

Any second more, and your natural pull would become even more difficult to escape from.

He tore his gaze away before he lost himself and stood up.

"You should get some rest," he said ashamed, clearing his throat. "We’ve got a lot to figure out in the morning."

You watched him retreat, leaning against the far wall as if putting distance between you would steady him. As a distraction he threw some of his clothes into your lap, so that you wouldn’t need to sleep in his leather jacket.

Dean Winchester had already begun to fall.

And this time, there was no siren’s call to blame.

Just you and your miserable fate.

And that was far more dangerous.

[milkb0nny]

Dancing For You

... Sam loves watching you move

Pairing: Sam x fem!reader

Summary: You are an artistic pole dancer but because of your shy nature only a few people know. Sam and you were college friends but lost contact during the months he had left. After a year you two meet again, where you give a performance on a party for the rich. Little did Sam realize how ethereal you truly looked.

Note: I wanted to give Sammy some love too. Enjoy <3

Content: no use of y/n, fluff, comfort, reader being a pole dancer, shy reader

Word count: 900

The grand hall of the mansion sparkled with elegance, and chandeliers were casting golden light over the polished marble floors. Waitstaff in tidy uniforms moved through the sea of finely dressed noblemen. It was an event designed to dazzle, a charity gala for the rich and powerful.

Sam Winchester adjusted the lapels of his borrowed tuxedo, feeling slightly out of place amidst the ambiance. But he wasn’t here to mingle; he was here to investigate. Whispers of strange disappearances among the city's elite had caught the Winchester‘s attention, and this gala was aN opportunity to dig deeper.

As Sam walked the room, he heard the soft hum of music shifting. A piano playing soft and delicate muses, little melodies of comfort. The crowd began to gravitate toward the center of the room, where a stage bathed in soft, ethereal light awaited. Golden feathers on the ground, and the center of the stage held a golden pole.

The host stepped on the stairs, gazing down the people.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome tonight’s enchanting performer, known for her artistry and grace.”

Sam watched with mild curiosity as the room quieted, the lights dimming to create an intimate atmosphere. Then you appeared, stepping onto the stage in a gown that shimmered like moonlight.

White crystals covered the needed skin of your body, laced with a thin, shimmery fabric. The rest of your skin was bare, so you could actually use the pole properly. The delicate fabric caught the light as you moved.

Pole dancing wasn’t something Sam expected to see at a gala, but this was different. As the music began, your movements told a story… fluid, expressive, and beautiful. You spun and climbed with effortless grace, the strength in your movements shown by their elegance. The dress flowed with you, transforming each move into something almost otherworldly.

Pole dancing was something you have always loved doing. Since you were a little kid you climbed on everything and did tricks on the playground. Your father pursued your passion, so you grew up with a lot of support and love.

Though, people would sexualize your hobby to the fullest, making you feel uncomfortable and sad. What you did was not, in any case, an sexual act. Whenever you mentioned your passion on a date, the men would ask you to strip for them and after an agonizing dating life, you gave up.

It turned to a beautiful hobby, and the upper class loved you. Your elegant dresses, your featherlight movements, your delicate emotions were the perfect match for a rich, elegant ambiance.

Performing at restaurants, at weddings, at business meetings and at private parties were now your main source of income - and it paid well. But your usual college life didn’t know. It was a sharp contrast to the societal elite, but you didn’t mind.

Money was money, and what is more beautiful than earning it through your money?

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away.

You silenced the room with divine grace, leaving only the soft music and the sound of your movements. But to Sam, there was something familiar about you…your face, the way you carried yourself. Then it hit him.

He knew you form college - a shy, introverted student which sometimes followed along his study groups.

“Wait a second,” he thought to himself. “Is that...?”

The performance ended with a delicate pose, the music fading into silence. The applause was vibrant, but Sam could only stand bedazzled in place, his mind racing.

After the performance, you disappeared behind the curtains, and Sam decided to follow. He finally found you standing by a vanity, draped in a silk robe, sipping water to recover from your performance.

“Uhm… hey,” Sam’s voice was soft.

You turned, startled, but your expression softened when you saw him.

“Sam?” you replied, equally surprised. “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I could ask you the same thing!” he said with a chuckle, stepping closer. “Since when do you - wait, that was you out there, wasn’t it?”

You smiled sheepishly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Uhm.. I… It’s… a long story.”

Sam shook his head, still processing. “You were incredible. I mean, really. That wasn’t just a performance… it was art.”

The honesty in his voice made your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Sam. It’s not always seen that way, but it means a lot coming from you.”

As you chitchatted, Sam realized how much he’d missed during college, how little he’d known about this side of you. He listened intently as you spoke about your passion. There was a light in your eyes that made the chaos of the world seem distant.

A quiet moment stretched between you, the buzz of the gala fading into a distant hum. Sam broke the silence with a smile. “So… think there’s any chance I could convince you to teach me a move or two?”

You laughed. “Sam Winchester, pole dancing? That’s a sight I’d pay to see.”

He chuckled, shrugging. “Hey, a guy can dream.”

But as you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if some dreams were worth chasing after all.

[milkb0nny]

The Rubber Smell Of Your Hair

...his agony made you forget your hate for him

Pairing: Dean x street racing fem!reader

Summary: You and Dean had shared some sort of relationship in the past, but the ending of your bond was painful and messy. Since then, you haven’t seen him for years, until you witness a horrible accident right before your eyes. And to your demise, the victim were the Winchester brothers.

Note: This is inspired by the last episode of season 1, where a demon crashes its truck into Dean‘s Impala. I love writing comforting angst so so much.

Content: breakup history, platonic Sam x reader, swearing, blood, spn violence, reader being a street racer, injuries, heavy angst, comfort

Word Count: 1,5k

The loud and deep sound of engines roared through the industrial area, the crowd cheered as you slid around the curve to drive onto the empty road leading through a forest. Your wheels flinging your car sideways, you were dancing on the edge of control. You were neck and neck with your best friend, both of you laughing into the night as the race consumed every ounce of your focus.

Your two souls sped through the empty road, your rearview mirror was filled with the aggresive headlights of the car behind you.

Then you saw it.

A flash of shattered headlights. The metallic gleam of twisted steel. Smoke curling into the night sky, thick and acrid. Two other cars which were broken into pieces, lying in the ditch a few hundred meters away.

You immediately turned the hazard warning lights on and hit the break, making sure your best friend would get the message.

“Yo, what are you doing?” your friend’s voice crackled through the comms as he slammed on the brakes, sending his car into a messy halt.

You didn’t answer. You barely registered the words as you skidded to a stop. The wreck was off to the side of the road, half-hidden by shadows, but there was no mistaking the crumpled remains of a black '67 Impala.

Your blood turned to ice.

That was baby.

You were running before you knew what you were doing, gravel crunching beneath your boots as you sprinted toward the wreckage. You didn’t notice the cold, and you didn’t notice the screams of your friend behind you.

Was this a fever dream?

The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber burned your nostrils, mingling with something far more sinister… sulfur. You knew what that meant, and it explained why there was no victim in the other car.

“Dean? Sam?” you called, your voice cracking.

No answer.

You rounded the corner of the wreckage, your stomach twisting at the sight before you. Sam was sprawled near the edge of the road, blood pooling beneath his head. His face was pale, a deep red running down his temple and across his cheek. He was barely breathing.

Dean was slumped against the Impala’s crushed door, his face smeared with blood, his chest heaving with ragged, shallow breaths. His right arm hung limply at his side, his leather jacket torn to shreds.

Your heart clenched. “Oh my God,” you whispered, dropping to your knees beside him.

„Fuck,“ your friend muttered, watching the scene unfold. „I‘ll call 911 and some others over here. We need to get them out of there!“ He yelled in concern, not knowing that you knew them.

„Shit, this can’t be happening,“ your voice trembled as you kneeled down.

Dean’s eyelids fluttered, his lashes sticky with blood. When his gaze focused on you, confusion flickered across his face, quickly replaced by something softer… relief, hope.

“What… are you doing…?” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

Tears blurred your vision. You hadn’t seen him in years, not since the night he broke your heart. But none of that mattered now. No matter what he had done to your fragile heart, he was fighting with life and his brother was in a serious condition.

“Don’t talk… shut up…,” you said, your voice shivering badly as you pressed your hands to the wound on his side. Blood seeped between your fingers, warm and terrifyingly steady.

So much blood.

“What the hell happened?”

“Demons…” Dean groaned, his head rolling to the side. “Ambush. Came outta nowhere.”

You glanced at Sam, panic clawing at your chest. He was unconscious, his breaths shallow and uneven.

Sammy, a man you once had known as one of your best friends.

And he looked like a corpse.

“Dean, I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

Dean smirked weakly, blood staining his teeth. “Bossy as ever…”

“Fucking shut up,” you choked, your tears falling freely now.

You turned your attention to Sam, your hands shaking as you checked his pulse. It was faint but there. Relief flooded through you, though it was short-lived. They were both in bad shape, and you had no idea how much time you had before the demons came back to finish the job.

The ambulance needed to arrive now.

Your friend helped Dean with his wounds, as you covered Sam‘s cold body with all you had; your sweater, your jacket, your emergency blanket. He needed to stay warm.

But, no one came.

„Shit,“ you muttered, exchanging panicked glances with your friend.

He was also uncertain, and total chaos reigned in him, „Why the fuck is no one coming?“

„Demons,“ you whispered, „Quickly! We‘ll get them to the ER by ourselves.“

There was no time to explain.

Somehow, you managed to haul Sam into his car, his weight almost too much for you to bear. You laid him across the passenger seat, as gently as you could before turning back to Dean. Your friend‘s car only seated two, meaning he would join your vehicle.

“Sammy…” Dean murmured as you crouched beside him, your hands hovering uncertainly over his battered body.

“I lied,” he whispered, his green eyes locking onto yours. “About cheating… I never-”

“Dean,” you cut him off, your voice breaking. “Not now.”

You slid an arm around his waist, as well as your friend, and pushed him to his feet, ignoring his pained groans. Every step toward the car felt like an eternity, but you didn’t stop until he was seated in the passenger seat, slumped against the window.

Dean‘s aura, such a strangely familiar one, pained your heart.

The drive to safety was a blur, your mind racing as fast as the car. Dean drifted in and out of consciousness beside you, his head swinging with every bump in the road.

By the time you reached the ER, parking in the driveway, your hands were trembling so badly you could barely cut the engine.

No, not Sammy, not Dean.

Your friend and you dragged Sam out first, nurses rushing outside to transport him. Illuminating lights, unclear shouts and bustling people surrounded you. You felt so dizzy, so overwhelmed. And when you gazed down on Sam, all you could feel was pain. Sam‘s chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, but he was alive.

Then you turned to Dean.

His face was pale, the blood loss taking its toll. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, out of reality, as you crouched beside him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“…Dean?,” you asked, your voice softer now, the anger and fear melting away.

He smirked faintly, his lips stained with blood. “You’re still the best damn driver I’ve ever seen.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, a wet, broken sound that was more a sob than anything else. “You’re an idiot. A fucking idiot, Dean.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes fluttering closed.

You leaned closer, ordering some more nurses to drag his weak body inside, to help him, and to patch the brothers up.

His breath hitched as they lifted him, his lips mumbling some agonizing words.

“Stay… please.”

And then, his eyes fell shut, and his body collapsed.

You could only watch how the Winchester brothers were carried inside, your eyes filled with tears, and your chest clenched together. You broke down, crying and sobbing - the worry was consuming you.

Your friend rushed to you, taking you into his arms, pulling you close into his embrace. He noticed you knew those men, and he was aware their condition pained you horribly.

„Come, we‘ll get you something to drink and wait for the doctors to call you,“ he softly said.

…

The minutes stretched, the hours passed, the time slowed down and every more second you lost hope. All you saw were nervous doctors, jumping from room to room, and tense nurses rushing to get more bandages, more painkillers…

Your head was filled with the pictures of the accident, how they were drenched in blood - and as you sat there in the waiting room, sobbing silently, you begged to god to spare their lives.

„Miss,“ a male voice brought you back into reality, “They have woken up.“

Your eyes widened, your heart lifted and your tears broke out, as you let out a long, depriving cry, burying your face into your friends shoulder. Your knees nearly buckled as relief washed over you.

Your steps to their room were shaky, and your face puffy and splotched in paleness and red. You didn’t care how broken you’ve looked, you only wanted to see them alive. Two sets of weak eyes glanced at you, and whereas Sam was surprised to see you, Dean smiled softly.

„Dear god,“ you whispered, rushing over to Sam‘s bed first.

His confusion was evident, but he didn’t say a word. He was more than glad to see you, though there was no strength to welcome you.

You placed your ice cold hand on Sam‘s cheek, smiling at him while tears rolled down your face.

„Look at you, Sammy,“ you sobbed, „…you guys are alive.“ You cried out.

Feeling warmth in his skin comforted you so much, and then, your eyes wandered up to Dean.

The man who broke up with you a few years ago. He told you he cheated, that he slept with someone else, but now you understood. Dean did not cheat, he wanted you far away from demons and ghosts, wanting you to be safe and living.

You turned to Dean. He was propped up on the bed, his green eyes locking onto yours. Despite his injuries, he smirked faintly. You stepped over to his injured body.

On his forehead a deep wound, and his whole body stiff, as if the pain burned him from the inside.

„Dean,“ you exclaimed gently. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you crossed the room, sitting on the edge of his bed.

„Hey there, beautiful,“ he groaned in pain, whincing when you placed your hand softly on his.

He was cocky, even now.

Dean was unbelievable.

„Why didn’t you just… tell me? Why did you lie to me?!“ You asked, your lower lip trembling and your hands shaking terribly. „You hurt me so much.“

His smirk faltered, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I thought I was protecting you. I didn’t want this life to touch you.. I wanted to keep you safe. And I knew you wouldn’t just let me go-„

„So you had to hurt me?“

Dean’s fingers squeezed yours weakly. “I regret it. I’m sorry. For all of it.”

For the first time in years, you let yourself believe him. Let yourself forgive him.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said quietly, his voice rough but sincere. He let out a strained breath. “I thought lying was the only way to keep you safe.”

Your chest tightened. “But you lied to me, Dean. You told me you cheated-” You cut yourself off, your voice breaking.

“I never did,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours, full of regret. “I didn’t cheat. I just said that… to get you to walk away.“

His voice grew softer, a raw honesty you hadn’t heard in years. “I never stopped loving you. But I was too scared to let you see how dangerous this life really is. I couldn’t let you become part of it. If today… you had been with us- you would…”

Dean didn’t dare to finish this sentence.

The thought alone was painful.

Dean’s hand tightened around yours, the weight of his regret heavy in his touch. His voice cracked slightly. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry for everything. For hurting you the way I did.”

You took a shaky breath, the years of anger and hurt flooding back, but something else too… something warmer.

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead.

“I hated you for making me feel like I wasn’t enough. But hearing you say that… it means something. I’m so glad you’re breathing…”

Dean’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away another tear. “You were always enough. You still are. I just… I see how much I messed up.”

You stayed there, by his side, for a long moment, the weight of everything between you finally sinking in.

“I don’t know if I can just forget everything, Dean,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “But I can try. We can try. If you’re really ready for that.”

Dean’s eyes softened, and despite the pain, he managed a weak, genuine smile.

And in that moment, with the years of pain between you, you knew that maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Dean smiled, a small but hopeful expression on his blood-streaked face. “'Cause I don’t plan on losing you again.”

You smiled through your tears, feeling something deep inside you begin to heal. It wouldn’t be easy, but it felt like maybe there was a chance for you both after all.

[milkb0nny]

Broken Into Pieces - 11:56 pm

... Is Dean powerful enough to save you?

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader ; Chapter 1

Summary: Sam and Dean worked on a pretty huge case - a few werewolves which had taken at least seven lives and the numbers could only increase. On their research in a night club they come across a group of men who were willing to give out recent stories. But Dean couldn’t help but notice how a woman was dragged into the staff room, and later he found horrifying footage. He questioned whether humans were worth saving, and so the case became a mission to save you.

Note: Do NOT read if any of the content tags trigger you! Because I‘m a passionate angst writer, I had to take the risk and create this story. I plan on making this a multiple chapter story. Comment to be tagged <3

Content: MDNI +18!, no use of y/n, alcohol, drugging, s/a, violence, rap3, no consent, sexual content, angst, degrading, bullying, no real comfort

Word count: ~1.6k

Wanna be tagged? ~ leave a comment

The beats thrilled through the club, loud music pulsating through the speakers and setting a lighthearted vibe. Among the many dancing bodies were Sam and Dean - the Winchester brothers. They were entangled in a conversation with four college students, drinking beer and chatting about life.

Because Sam could relate to this life, he was easily leading the conversation and slowly gathering valuable information for their current case. The men were drunk, spilling whatever they knew, openly discussing things with Sam. Meanwhile, Dean looked around, not finding his place in college life at all; he wasn’t that extroverted, and the fancy nightlife didn’t charm him. He preferred cozy bars, pretty bartenders, and old-school music.

And he didn’t bother to chit-chat about things that didn’t matter - he wanted to catch the werewolves and be done with it.

“There,” one of the men mumbled to his friend, peeking behind Dean and Sam.

The other one wiped his hand over his face, biting his bottom lip as he contemplated his next move. Dean furrowed his brows, looking back in confusion.

There stood a young woman, shakily scattering flyers, placing them on each standing table, while everyone else just looked at her with disgust. She gave off such an eerie vibe, which made Dean wonder what was wrong with her.

That nervous student was you, your body aching terribly as you handed out the missing-person flyers. Originally, you hadn’t wanted to come here, knowing your chances were low, but the missing people clawed at your heart, and you simply wanted to help.

Because no one else helped.

Ever.

Dean turned back, taking a sip of his beer, listening to their conversation.

The oldest student knocked twice on the counter, sluggishly leaving the table as his companion followed him. They headed towards you, a cheesy grin on their faces.

Now Sam had only two people to interrogate.

“Where are they going?” Dean asked, trying not to sound too serious.

The two students laughed cheekily. “Greeting a little friend of ours. She’s a small celebrity in town,” they said with cocky voices.

Sam brushed off the topic, giving Dean a confused look.

Why was he being so suspicious?

But to Dean, it was evident that those people weren’t friendly, and that they had evil intentions - and this woman, you, was about to deal with it. The music changed, becoming louder and rougher, making it difficult for Sam to converse with the other students.

But faintly, almost like a whisper, there were silent cries, barely reaching Dean’s ears. Sounds like those had always been warning signs to him, and he decided to investigate. Dean excused himself, leaving his half-empty glass next to Sam’s.

Dean followed the strange noises until he reached a hallway, which was also packed with people. He squeezed through them, the voice growing clearer as he stepped closer.

Finally, he caught a glimpse of you - your wrist wrapped tightly in a man’s hand, your expression tired and fearful. You resisted, not wanting to follow the two men, not wanting to go into that room, not wanting to feel that pain again.

But it was too late. When Dean reached the staff-only door, you had already been dragged inside, and the door was locked; keeping anyone else out. Dean cursed, violently shaking the door, but soon security appeared, questioning what he was doing.

“There’s a woman trapped in there!” he shouted, but the security guards only shrugged.

His eyes widened… this couldn’t be.

Why on earth weren’t they doing anything?!

“That’s a staff-only area. Whoever’s in there or not doesn’t concern you. None of your business,” the guards said, pulling Dean away from the door.

Shit. Dean was helpless, and breaking in would ruin their investigation with the whole city knowing a lunatic had broken into a staff-only area without a reason. Frustrated, Dean returned to the table where Sam was exchanging contact information with the other students.

“Sammy, we’re going home,” Dean muttered in frustration.

Sam shook his head. “No, what’s gotten into you? We just got here!”

The younger Winchester missed this life, and he wanted to stay a little longer.

And it annoyed Dean.

This… whatever Dean found out… was urgent.

“Then enjoy your apple pie life. I’m driving home,” Dean snapped, his bad mood evident.

He left, giving Sam no chance to reply or stop him. Why was Dean acting so strange?

He hadn’t mentioned anything weird and gave Sam no reason for his upset. Sam could only assume it was a mood swing, maybe his fear of losing Sam again to college life.

But little did Sam know, Dean was about to uncover the most disgusting truth he had ever seen.

…

Dean sat at the motel desk after taking a hot shower to wash away his worries, then opened his laptop. There had to be some clues.

There had to be an entry of you on the college website or… somewhere.

He skipped through countless websites, through sketchy links, through weird blog entries. The end wasn’t close, he began to feel frustration build up.

And then… he found a MySpace link - “Uni Trashbin.”

He clicked on it.

The MySpace account seemed normal. It was feminine, soft, and vibrantly decorated, with blog entries of everyday situations, music recommendations - something so typical. To Dean, this was too clean to be true, and the username itself already had a dark undertone.

He skipped through the entries.

And then, he found a single link leading to a crappy programmed website which contained broken video data. Dean had an idea, but he did not know it would be that bad. When he restored them, which was quite easy, he clicked on the oldest clip.

…

The video clip began playing…

Dean’s eyes burned red, and the floodgates broke. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he sat frozen, staring at the screen. His face was set in a stern, unreadable expression, but his trembling hands showed his anger.

The room was eerily quiet, the faint sounds from the video filling the void - cries of pain, skin slapping against skin, desperate pleas of "No," and "Please“ and “help me." It was relentless, a nightmare in motion.

Dean didn’t hear the door creak open. He didn’t notice Sam walk in until his younger brother froze, his eyes glued to the screen.

“Dean… what the hell are you watching?” Sam’s voice cracked, the shock evident as he took a step closer.

Dean didn’t answer. His gaze remained locked on the screen, his tears now falling freely. Sam hesitated, torn between anger and worry. When he stepped closer and saw the tears on Dean’s face, his own frustration melted into horror. Dean was not watching this out of enjoyment.

Then Sam saw it more closely - the video. His stomach churned as the realization hit him like a heavy arrow.

“She’s the ‘small celebrity,’” Dean whispered, his voice hollow and lifeless. “And I saw them drag her into that room.”

Sam’s breath hitched. “Dean…” he tried, his voice gentle, as if afraid that even speaking too loudly would shatter what little control his brother had left. But what could he possibly say to make this better?

Dean clenched his jaw and closed the video with a trembling hand. His fingers hovered over the mouse as he scrolled up, exposing a list of other videos. There were at least eight of them. His blood ran cold as he saw the most recent upload.

The timestamp read today - 11:56 pm.

The pit in his stomach deepened. “It’s from tonight,” Dean muttered, his voice cracking. “Tonight, Sam. When we were there. When I could’ve…” His words faltered, strangled by guilt.

Sam sank into the chair next to him, horrified and speechless. He didn’t want to look, but morbid curiosity rooted him to the spot. He realized what that timestamp meant - and what it implied.

The video had only been uploaded minutes ago.

Dean’s face crumpled. He gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. “She’s… it’s over now, Sam,” he choked out. “They’re done with her. And I didn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

Sam couldn’t find the words. The screen’s glow illuminated Dean’s broken expression as the weight of his inaction pressed down on him. For all their strength, for all their heroism, they had failed.

In the most recent video… the one from today… there were no pleas, no desperate movements. Just a hollow, chilling emptiness in you. You didn’t struggle, didn’t cry, didn’t flinch, even when they struck you to provoke a reaction. You simply laid there, lifeless.

And that broke the brothers.

The way you had surrendered, accepted the cruel fate of being a mere object - it tore at their hearts.

“We have to do something,” Dean’s voice cracked as he pleaded, his fists clenched. “That’s not life. That’s hell. Pure, damn hell!”

“How are we even going to find her?” Sam asked, snapping the laptop shut to avoid the haunting image of your misery. “The college is massive. We’ve got nothing to go on.”

Dean stood abruptly, grabbing the car keys with a determined fire in his eyes. “She was handing out flyers earlier. There’s gotta be something… some kind of contact info, a clue on one of them.” He threw his leather jacket over his shoulders in a rush.

Sam hesitated. “Dean, we can’t just go after people. They’re humans! You know that’s not what we do.”

Dean shot him a sharp, furious look. “Humans? What part of what they’re doing is human?! You think they deserve to walk free? No, Sammy. I sure as hell can, and I will.”

There was no stopping him now. Sam let out a frustrated breath but followed his brother to the Impala, silently bracing himself for what was to come.

…

And you… You walked home on trembling legs, your body battered, your mind lost.

The cold night air wrapped around you like a comfort. The coldness made you feel a tiny bit cleaner. But even the chill could only do so much to erase the filth you felt, both inside and out.

Taglist: @yulianie 🤍

[milkb0nny]

BED CHEM

— Biker!Dean Winchester x Singer!reader

DEAN DIDN'T MIND THAT YOU TWO WERE A SECRET, as long as he got you all to himself, hell you could even be a vampire or witch, he was just glad he managed to score a girl like you.

Currently you were in your room, flipping through pages of some romance book that one of your friends recommended when all of a sudden something was thrown against your window, you looked there once, but you decided to ignore it, then there was the same sound again and again, continueing until you stood up and opened your window. As you looked up you locked eyes with Dean, who were grinning up at you.

"Are you gonna come down or do I have to take you down myself?" He shouted, raising his eyebrow which earned an eye roll from you "come on, angel, I wanna take you for a ride" he motioned to his bike

"my dad will kill me if he learns I sneaked out!" You answered shaking your head

"come on,just an hour, Sammy will cover for us, it will be fine" Dean said "please, I wanna spend time with my girl" and to be honest, who could say no to that?

You got ready in minutes and climbed out of your window, which now was a daily task for you since your dad would murder him and then you for disobeying his rule that he can not date you.

As soon as your feet touched the grass Dean had his arms around your waist and pulling you into a gentle kiss, his hands was gripping your waist, while yours were wrapped around his neck pulling him closer to yourself untill your chest's touched.

"God, i've missed you so much angel" he mumbled the words against your lips

"we met yesterday" you said giggling

"I know that, (y/n), i'm not stupid" he shaked his head chuckling "but still, the minute you were away from me I felt like a part of me was ripped out"

"cheesy" you giggled

"just wait untill you'll see what a perfect date I planned for us" he pulled you to his cycle, handing you your helmet

"you're lucky my dad is probably will be sleeping for a few more hours" you put it on and as if on cue, you two heard the back door slam shut and your dad, Bobby yelling that you better not get on that bike.

Dean shot you a green and helped you up on it "hold on tight, we won't stop untill the next state" he got the motorcycle started.

Yeah, you two will probably get a good yelling when you came back, but it's worth it because you two are together, and that's the only thing that matters.

[milkb0nny]

Do you write for other characters and series too?❤️

For now, I don't but you can leave series recommendations in my ask box and I'll watch them! 🫶🥰 Or you can simply request a character. Maybe I know them already. <3

[milkb0nny]

Addicted To Crimson Kisses

... Dean loves your twisted grotesque quirks

Pairing: Dean x insane angel!reader

Summary: You are twisted, your hobbies and admirations being extraordinary. But Dean fell in love with your gruesome nature, sometimes wondering if you share human traits or not. Nevertheless, Dean was head over heels for your ethereal being.

Note: This is another niche scenario, and its not as comforting and romantic as the other fics I’ve written. I hope this isn’t the type of edge that makes one cringe...but I longed for some disturbing content. I got inspired by that one season of American Horror Story where Lady Gaga acted in.

Content: MDNI +18, blood, spn violence, kissing, reader being obsessed with injured dean

The sharp pain of a claw embedded in Dean's shoulder yanked him back to reality, his knees buckling as he stumbled against the cold, damp wall of the vampire nest. Blood seeped through his jacket, the metallic tang sharp in the dank air. The nest was chaos; a mess of snarling fangs, swinging machetes, and the occasional grunt from Sam as he fought his way through the bloodsuckers.

You, however, were a different force entirely.

The sound of a wet crunch filled the room as your blade sliced through one vampire’s neck, your expression calm, eerily detached. Whenever you killed one of these beasts, you seemed to be one yourself. The flicker of dim light caught the crimson streaks across your face, but you didn’t flinch. In fact, your lips curled ever so slightly, almost as if you found beauty in the carnage.

Dean noticed it even now, through the haze of pain… the way your eyes gleamed, like a predator reveling in the hunt. Like a snake watching its prey die from suffocation.

He sometimes wondered if you were entirely insane. And why he was so oddly drawn to you?

Outside the hunts you were an ordinary sweet person, caring and loving. Only your small hints of admiration for grotesque things made him notice from the start; you weren’t quite alright in your mind.

Another vampire lunged toward you, but you sidestepped it with an almost feline grace, delivering a deadly blow without hesitation. Your movements were calculated, smooth, and ruthless. There was no trace of fear or doubt, only precision. It was that very nature of yours… twisted, extraordinary, and unapologetically dark… unusual strength which had drawn Dean to you in the first place.

"Sweetheart!" Dean’s voice was rough, strained as he swung his machete with his good arm. The other one slowly became numb, blood rushing out, dropping onto the ground. "A little help here?"

You turned toward him just as a vampire closed in, its claws outstretched for another swipe at Dean. Without missing a beat, you flung a dagger with pinpoint accuracy, embedding it deep in the vampire's chest.

„My, my…,“ you said, your eyes watching his wound scream for help.

Dean sank to the floor, clutching his shoulder as he let out a shaky breath. "You sure know how to make a guy feel useless," he muttered, but there was no malice in his tone - just a rough-edged admiration.

You crouched in front of him, your eyes scanning his wound with a cool detachment. There were marks all over him, his gorgeous face, his strong arms, his broad back. The vampires really wanted you to see Dean like this; beauitful, vulnerable and defenseless. Your eyes glistened with love, as you picked up your calm voice.

"You’re not useless, Dean," you replied, your voice calm but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place. "You’re just... mortal."

There it was again - that hint of otherness that made his chest tighten, even as his blood soaked into his shirt.

Sam found you to be creepy, not sure if his brother will be safe in your hands or not, but he couldn’t deny you were a handy help when hunting. You didn’t let emotions faze you, and handled the situation with a numb mind. Times like these simply demonstrated that you were an angel.

But a distorted one; making you more demonic than angelic.

Sam dispatched the last vampire with a decisive swing, his panting breaths breaking the heavy silence that followed. "Dean, you good?"

"Peachy," Dean grunted, though the expression of his face told a different story.

As the chaos settled and the last vampire’s body hit the floor, you turned back to Dean, still slumped against the wall, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Blood dripped from the wound on his shoulder, pooling darkly against his torn shirt.

Your hands were steady as you pressed against his wound to stem the bleeding. His jaw clenched, a hiss escaping his lips as pain flared through him.

"Stay with me, Winchester," you said softly, your voice firm but laced with a touch of worry.

Dean chuckled weakly, the sound more like a rasp. "A little hard to do when you’re pressing on my bullet hole."

"It’s a claw wound, not a bullet hole," you corrected, your gaze flicking to his green eyes, which still burned with that familiar fire, even through the haze of pain.

For a moment, you hesitated, your hand brushing against his bloodied cheek as you adjusted your grip. Something in the way he looked at you… raw, vulnerable, and yet so unyielding… stirred something deep inside you.

"You look like hell," you murmured, though your voice softened, a trace of affection slipping through.

Dean smirked faintly, his lips curving even as blood stained the corner of his mouth. "Good thing you’re here to clean me up, huh?"

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your breath mingling with his. "You’re impossible," you whispered, shaking your head.

"Yeah," Dean replied, his voice lower now.

And then, you kissed him.

It wasn’t a delicate kiss; it was fierce, desperate, and tinged with the metallic taste of his blood. The coppery flavor flooded your senses as your lips pressed against his, and you could feel the heat of him, the way his body leaned into yours despite the pain. He was full of life, yet he sat here, bleeding terribly. His good hand came up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

When you pulled back, your lips were smeared with his blood, your heart hammering in your chest. Dean stared at you, his eyes wide for a brief second before a crooked grin broke across his face.

"Didn’t think I’d ever say this," he said, his voice rough, "but I think you just made bleeding out a little more bearable."

You rolled your eyes, the corner of your mouth quirking into a smirk. "You’re lucky I like you, Winchester. Now, let’s get you patched up before you try to charm me to death."

Even as you worked to bandage his wound, the lingering taste of blood on your lips and the look in his eyes stayed with you. Dean might have been battered and bruised, but he was still every bit the man who made your pulse race.

And you knew he’d fight tooth and nail to make it out alive, if only to steal another moment like that with you. Dean caught the flicker of something in your eyes. Concern? Guilt? Or was it something darker, something he didn’t dare name? - Adoration for his pain.

"You’re enjoying this too much," he rasped, a half-smile tugging at his lips despite the pain.

Your lips quirked in return. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like keeping you alive."

Your blood drenched hands cupped Dean‘s face again, and you took a moment to take in that beautiful view god had offered you. Your heart jumped, began racing uncontrollably and you were about to lose your coolness.

„You’re so good looking when roughed up,“ you whispered, leaning in closer. You gifted Dean a small kiss, before pulling away and continuing to stop his bleeding.

He knew you’d keep the blood soaked fabric afterwards, as you always did.

They were your sacred treasures. A strange collectible.

You were his disturbed, deranged, sweet angel.

Sam rolled his eyes, already moving to check the perimeter. "You two can flirt later. Let’s get out of this hellhole."

You helped Dean to his feet, your arm firm around his waist as you guided him toward the exit. The weight of his body against yours was heavy, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, there was something almost protective in the way you held him, as though the blood and chaos of the nest had awakened something primal in you.

As you stepped into the cool night air, Dean turned his head slightly, his deep eyes searching yours.

"Babe," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the sound of Sam’s footsteps ahead. "You scare the hell outta me sometimes, you know that?"

Your smile this time was faint but genuine, the sharp edges of your demeanor softening ever so slightly. "Good," you replied, your voice low and steady. "Fear keeps you alive."

„Though,“ you acted innocent and pure while speaking, “I would never dare to hurt you. It’s on you if you’ll trust me on that or not.“ There was it, your sweet, usual side.

Dean chuckled, though it turned into a wince as the pain in his shoulder flared. A sound which strangely sent a blush down your cheeks.

"You’re one hell of an angel, you know that?"

Your gaze wandered to his face.

"Yeah," you murmured, your tone laced with a quiet intensity. "And you’re one hell of a man, Dean Winchester. Dating an angel, that by all means, defies the human definition of one."

[milkb0nny]

Broken Into Pieces

... is dean powerful enough to save you?

PROLOGUE - Broken Into Pieces

“... She didn’t stand a chance... what kind of hell leaves someone like that?...“

... His heart broke.

... And He wished to unsee what was playing on his screen.

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader

Note: Do NOT read if any of the content tags trigger you! Because I‘m a passionate angst writer, I had to take the risk and create this story. I plan on making this a multiple chapter story. Comment to be added to a taglist. <3

Content: MDNI +18!, alcohol, drugging, s/a, violence, r@p3, no consent, sexual content, angst, degrading, bullying, no real comfort

Sam and Dean were knee-deep in one of their biggest cases yet - werewolves on a killing spree, with seven lives already lost and more to come. They had to stop whatever was happening in this city but little did they know that soon they would be trapped in a far more sinister case.

The trails led to a college night club, where the brothers found themselves entangled in a group of students. They gathered clues, gathered information… and gathered pure horror.

When Dean’s focus shifted to the end of the hall, he saw a woman being dragged into a staff-only room. His gut told him something was off, and what he discovered later was hell itself. Horrifying footage that blurred the lines between human and monster. He wondered, were humans in this city even worth saving?

Now, this wasn’t just about stopping werewolves. This was personal. And Dean wasn’t walking away.

Someone needed strength to escape their life - and soon your hellhole would slowly turn around.

[milkb0nny]

AHHH!!!! I'M SO OBSESSED WITH THIS 🥰😭✨

Hii sweetheart ✨🥺 I wanna request Dean with a fem!reader who can communicate and sense ghosts and other spiritual beings. And she was in an abusive relationship so she prefers spiritual beings over humans, because of that relationship.

°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ghost whisperer,

summary. not all humans are bad, but ghosts are still your comfort.

pairing. dean winchester x whisperer!reader

wordcount. 675

notes. thank you so much for requesting, hun. hope you like it ehe 🩷

The old Victorian house is dark and silent, the air thick with a chill that has nothing to do with the weather outside. Dean moves ahead, flashlight in one hand, shotgun in the other, while you linger near the entryway.

“Anything?” Dean asks, his voice low but steady.

You close your eyes, letting the cold prickle against your skin as you open yourself up. It doesn’t take long. A faint whisper brushes past your ear, followed by the soft sound of a child’s laughter echoing through the hallway.

“They’re here,” you murmur, your voice soft. “Two of them. A little boy and his mother. They’re not malicious, just... lost.”

Dean glances back at you, his sharp green eyes softening for a moment. “You sure about that?”

You nod, stepping closer to him. “They’re scared. Confused. Probably didn’t even realize they were gone.”

Dean watches as you move toward the staircase, your movements confident and purposeful. He knows this is your element. You’ve always been more comfortable with the spirits than with the living.

He follows you up the creaking stairs, his grip tightening on the shotgun. “You know, most people would be freaked out by the idea of talking to ghosts.”

You shrug, glancing back at him with a faint smile. “Most people haven’t been hurt by humans the way I have.”

Dean stops in his tracks, his jaw tightening. You didn’t say it to provoke a reaction—it’s just the truth. But he hates hearing it, hates knowing that someone out there hurt you so badly that you now find solace in the company of the dead.

“I get it,” he says quietly, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

You pause at the top of the stairs, turning to look at him. “Do you?”

He nods, his expression unreadable. “I’ve seen a lot of bad in people. Hell, I’ve been some of that bad. So, yeah. I get it.”

Something in his tone makes your chest tighten. You want to respond, but a faint tug at your senses pulls your focus.

“They’re upstairs,” you say, turning toward the end of the hallway.

Dean follows without another word, his presence steady and grounding behind you.

When you reach the room, the air grows colder. The boy is sitting by the window, his translucent form barely visible in the moonlight. His mother stands protectively behind him, her gaze wary but not unkind.

“Hey,” you whisper, crouching down to their level. “It’s okay. We’re here to help.”

The boy looks at you with wide eyes, and for a moment, it feels like the three of you are the only ones in the world. Dean stands silently behind you, watching as you coax the spirits into letting go, your voice calm and soothing.

When they finally disappear in a shimmer of light, you exhale, leaning back against the wall.

“You’re amazing at that,” Dean says after a moment, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

You glance up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It's not a big deal.”

Dean steps closer, crouching in front of you so you’re at eye level. “Maybe. But you’re still here. Still trying, even after everything. That’s what makes you amazing.”

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. “Dean…”

He shakes his head, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “I mean it. You don’t have to trust people. You don’t even have to trust me. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m sticking around, no matter what.”

His words settle in your chest, warm and unfamiliar. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks.”

He smiles, standing and holding out a hand to help you up. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I think we’ve done enough ghost whispering for one night.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. And as you walk out of the house together, you can’t help but think that if you're ever trusting another person again, Dean would be the right one.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine

[milkb0nny]

pairing: dean winchester x fallen angel reader .ᐟ

synopsis: heaven wouldn't let you leave, causing you to take matters into your own hands and rebel. after being brutally cast down from where you used to call home, you start your search for the winchester whose prayers stay ringing in your head.

warnings: religious themes , mentions of blood , angels and demons , mentions of weapons , silly fluff !!

word count: 1k

much like other angels you were rather stuck up and obedient; therefore, you never disobeyed. until you heard his prayers, a man who told himself he would never pray was doing just that. you couldn't help him though, flying down and placing a healing hand on his shoulder wouldn't be possible, for 'god's orders’ held you back. your being longed to feel his, to take away every burden and lift the weight off his shoulders. 

only then did you start rebelling. stirring up chaos amidst the already damaging war.

you'd watched humans for many years, you knew many pranks and tricks to play on angels. much that to your knowledge ended in death. though now it wasn't funny anymore. here you were being held down and grace taken from you. screaming and writhing in pain, blood cascading down your body and onto the hands on the attackers-your siblings. 

the wind swarmed around you as you fell from heaven-literally. wings burning up into nothingness you landed on a patch of grass,  flowers surrounding you. despite the hurt, finding dean was much more important. you persevered through the pain you felt in both your heart and body. his voice lingered in your mind as a constant reminder of why you're on earth now, the place you swore to protect, yet never set foot on.

trudging on through the never ending forest, your feet began to hurt and your dress was already dirtied and ripped due to the branches around you. barefooted you climbed up onto a log, carefully walking along it as a smile grazed your lips. finding joy in even the littlest of things was what humans did, and now you were beginning to understand.

watching over the oldest winchester was your old way to pass the time, now searching for him seemed to replace that.

endless hours of being in the woods tired you, but that did nothing to stop you. in fact it only made you want to escape faster, determination coursed through your veins as your feet patter against the grass. you didn't quite understand humans as a whole, just the little things here and there. emerging from inside the trees you see that your behind a diner of some sorts. with a curious tilt of your head, you made your way to the front deciding to head inside and feed the hunger brewing inside you. it was an odd experience, many different smells and colors filled your senses. it was overwhelming. that did not stop you from finding a seat and looking over the menu that was placed on your table.

skimming over the paper your eyes lock on something called a milkshake. many humans seemed to enjoy them by what you observed while in heaven, so you ordered one. when the drink hit your taste buds there was no going back, you drank as much as you could handle. which surprisingly was almost 4 whole shakes. fueling you with enough sugar to run a marathon. quickly running out of them diner-without paying-your search for dean winchester continued.

the sun had set and the moon came up casting light upon you in a way that was almost angelic-ironic right. a chill had gone down your body at the sudden change in temperature. you had reached a bunker of some sorts, walking towards it with caution. your feet were muddy and dirty, same as your dress. it was a miracle the people at the diner didn't kick you out. you began knocking, the loud noise that came from it startling you. after waiting a few minutes a man opened the door an inch, you could see the gleam of a knife from behind his back. “i'm looking for a dean, dean winchester to be exact. do you by chance know him?” you questioned the man carefully, your mind wasn't clear at the moment so you couldn't remember exactly what dean looked like, despite all the time spent watching him. 

“you're lookin’ at him, sweetheart.” dean's gaze softened once he realized you might not be a huge threat, but he couldn't trust you just yet. the nickname made your heart flutter and a blush creep onto your cheeks. he opened the door more to let you inside the bunker. watching as your smaller form passed his. you were rather dirty, tracking little foot imprints into the flooring.

you looked around in awe, eyes drinking in the sight of books and lights. you turned around to face him with a smile, which he thought looked rather dorky. “i heard your prayers when i was up there,” you motioned upwards with a finger, indicating you'd come from heaven. “and now i'm here to help, not so angely more humanly!”

he didn't respond, his expression unreadable as he watched you pose, for he was lost in thought. dean snapped out expecting you to still be standing there, yet you wandered off. now he had an angel human in the bunker who claimed she was going to help him, and no way to send her back. 

you trailed off, leaving dean in his thoughts as you explored the bunker. muddy footprints formed behind you giving others a clear path to where you were. your hands ran down the spines of books, a twinkle in your eyes full of childlike curiosity. that was until you found a camera. you picked up the object gingerly, not sure if it was a weapon or not. fixing the position you found yourself looking through a lens. it was fascinating. snapping many photos accidentally, you began to laugh.

this was fun and something you could definitely get used to while being human.

dean searched for you this time, instead of you searching for him, being painfully oblivious to the clues you left behind. by the time he caught up with you, you'd taken a photo of him. giggling your head off at the same time.

the noise that flowed so effortlessly from your lips made dean feel warm inside, like he was finally at peace. maybe he didn't need to get rid of you after all..

authors note: i hope you guys enjoy this!! please lmk how you feel, this one is pretty different from sams but overall the reader is alike (at least i hope so) i love uu alllll

[milkb0nny]

I love this so so so much!!! So comforting and soft. 🤍

⋆˙ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ grieving comfort,

summary. when everything feels lost, dean is who you turn to.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 666

The night after Bobby’s funeral, you find yourself lingering in the hallway outside Dean’s door, hesitant. The house feels colder, emptier, without Bobby’s presence. The weight of his absence presses down on your chest, threatening to suffocate you. You don’t even realize your feet have carried you here until you’re staring at the worn wood door, your hand poised to knock.

Your knuckles brush against the surface, tentative. The sound is soft, but it’s enough. The door swings open moments later. Dean's standing there in a faded t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly mussed from what you assume was an attempt at sleep. His green eyes, usually so sharp and full of life, are tired, dulled by the same grief you feel.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. He studies you for a moment before stepping aside, leaving the door open. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, your throat too tight to speak.

He doesn’t ask for an explanation. He doesn’t press. Dean just steps back, gesturing toward the bed. “C’mon,” he murmurs, already moving to pull back the covers.

You hesitate for only a moment before slipping inside, the familiar scent of him offering an odd kind of comfort. He climbs in beside you, keeping a respectful distance at first, but when you let out a shaky breath and edge closer, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you.

That night, Dean doesn’t try to fix anything. He doesn’t offer you empty words or try to distract you. He just holds you, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back until the grief weighing on your chest loosens enough for you to fall asleep.

It becomes a habit, though neither of you ever says the words out loud. Each night, you find yourself standing outside his door, and each time, he lets you in without question. The silence between you is comfortable, the weight of your shared grief bonding you in ways you can’t fully articulate.

Weeks pass. The sharp sting of loss softens into a dull ache, but the habit remains. One night, as you slip into his room like always, Dean watches you with a faint smirk.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “this was supposed to be a one-time thing.”

Your cheeks warm, and you freeze in the act of climbing into bed. “Dean, I—if this is too much, I can—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, catching your hand before you can leave. His fingers are warm, grounding. “Relax. I’m not complaining.”

You blink at him, uncertain. “You’re not?”

“Nah,” he says, his smirk softening into a gentler smile. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little surprised. Never pegged you for the clingy type.”

You let out a breathy laugh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “I’m not clingy. I just… I sleep better here.”

His smirk widens. “Yeah? Must be my charm. Or maybe my snoring.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Dean shifts closer, his arm sliding around your waist. His expression turns serious, his green eyes searching yours. “You know you’re always welcome, right? Anytime.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your throat tighten. You nod, swallowing hard. “Thanks, Dean.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for just a moment. “Don’t mention it.”

When he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, your eyes flutter shut, the simple gesture making your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with grief―not anymore, at least.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady.

As you settle into his arms, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the lingering chill of the day, you realize something. This—Dean, his strength, his unwavering presence—has become your anchor, the one thing keeping you grounded in the storm of your loss. And for the first time in weeks, you think maybe you’ll be okay.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr

[milkb0nny]

Patient Touch and Care

... Dean loves you, even with vaginismus

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader

Summary: Your previous relationships have been horrible and your body grew afraid of touch. You developed a condition names vaginismus, which made the deed quite painful. Dean finds out and you expect him to leave you…

Note: Among all those beautiful smut fics I want to add a deeper touch and write for the vaginismus girlies. I’m also not best at writing smut so… uhm, yea. My apologies.

Content: MDNI +18, smut, fingering, comfort, vaginismus, a little angst, mention of past trauma, crying during the deed

The motel room was quiet, the faint hum of the television filling the background as you straddled Dean’s lap, locked in a heated kiss. The shared kisses were passionate, intense, and overwhelming, leaving you barely able to catch your breath. And before you were able to deepen the kiss, you felt something rather sturdy below your legs.

But other than feeling more heat, you felt a wave of uncertainty rise within you and gently pulled back. You were scared.

You exchanged slow breaths, your foreheads nearly touching, as you looked into Dean’s piercing green eyes. His gaze was filled with admiration and desire, an intensity that only made your heart ache more.

You knew Dean loved sex… it was a part of him, as natural as the way he carried himself with confidence. And you knew he was as experienced as a man could be. But you weren’t. Not even close. You feared it.

As your relationship with Dean grew more serious the past weeks, so did the guilt gnawing at you.

Guilty that you were holding him back from something he needed, something you thought he longed for. Guilty that you weren’t living up to what he deserved.

Dean could see it - he always could. He had this way of looking right through you, past your defenses. That was the hardest part. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and more afraid than you’d ever admit. How could you talk about something so deeply personal? How could you tell him, the man you loved, that you couldn’t be what those other women had been for him?

Dean, who’d been with women who seemed so effortlessly confident, so free. Women who weren’t held back by fear or pain.

Oh, how you envied them.

You just wanted to be normal.

He noticed the tension in your body, the way your shoulders stiffened and your eyes avoided his. Without a word, he shifted you off his lap and gently settled you onto the bed beside him. His movements were careful, protective, as if you were something precious.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft and low, that trademark gruffness still there but wrapped in warmth. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on? You’ve been holding back from the start. You think I don’t notice?”

His green eyes searched yours, full of concern. It made your chest ache even more.

You hesitated, your teeth catching your bottom lip. The words felt heavy, like they didn’t want to come out. Finally, after a moment, you managed to whisper, “Dean… there’s something I need to tell you. But it’s… difficult.”

His eyes softened as he turned fully toward you, resting his forearm on his knee. His fingers played with your strands of hair and his eyes wandered up and down your body.

Dean was worried. “Take your time,” he gently replied. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here.”

You exhaled shakily, staring at your hands. “It’s... about this. Or, well, about me…” You paused, squeezing your hands tightly together.

“Men in the past haven’t treated me well, and… Therefore, they didn’t respect a no, or didn’t care about my needs. I… I developed a condition named vaginismus. It’s... it’s why I’ve been avoiding certain things. I didn’t know how to bring it up, and I didn’t want you to think it’s because of you, because it’s not. It’s me, and it’s embarrassing. I… I‘m a broken woman.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, your cheeks burning with shame.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, certain he’d be uncomfortable or, worse, disappointed.

Disappointed that you weren’t able to fulfill his needs, no matter how much you wanted to.

Dean was silent for a moment, but instead of the judgment or awkwardness you feared, he reached out and gently took your hand in his. His touch was steady, grounding.

“Baby,” his voice laced with concern but no trace of judgment. “I thought there was something you were hiding… You deserved better than that.”

You dared to glance up at him. His expression was serious but kind, his gaze fixed on you like nothing else in the world mattered. You were his world.

“You’re not broken, m‘kay? This doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Hell, not even a little.” He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“We’ll figure it out together, at your pace. Allow me to show you how much I care about your little desires.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of relief and raw emotion. “I just... I was scared you’d think I wasn’t enough. Or that you’d get frustrated with me. I know sex is so important to you…I-”

Dean interrupted you by placing his lips against yours, making you shut up about these unimportant matters.

„So are you important,“ he huffed, „you’re more than enough. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still standing. That’s strength right there. If this is something you’re dealing with, then we deal with it together. No pressure, no expectations. Jus‘ us.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm, protective hug. His scent… leather, whiskey, and a hint of his body odor, surrounded you, grounding you in the moment.

Again his voice picked up the situation, “We’ve faced demons, ghosts, and everything in between,” he murmured into your hair. “This? We’ve got this. You don’t have to go through it alone.“

Dean pressed his lips once more against yours, his hands wandering around your waist.

He loved you so dearly.

And, faster than you imagined, the saddened conversation was overshadowed by his intense kisses, and you couldn’t help but fall into his charm, allowing his embrace to pull you into that lust.

The lust that didn’t push through your mind before, but now the lust was just flowing.

He placed you beneath him, his broad frame towering over you and looking down; your cheeks fluttered in red and your hazed eyes so beautifully glowing. You were a goddess, and to Dean, the most beautiful woman on planet earth.

His muffled moans filled your ears as he grinded his hips against yours. He made it obvious that he was head over toes for you - that he was into you - that he desired you.

The sheer touches you shared sent you into a world where you wanted more. The thought of Dean being inside you didn’t scare you anymore, but it was making your insides tingle, your heart race.

You wanted him.

He skillfully intertwined his fingers with the sides of your underwear, stopping before continuing to undress you, „M‘lady, dare I?“ He asked for you consent.

You nodded, „Mh-hm, I trust you,“ you mumbled, pulling his face closer to yours. You exchanged another long kiss, before Dean asked once more.

„Sure?“

„Please,“ you whined, your doe eyes staring at his lips.

The small beg for him only fed his hunger for you. Dean chuckled, he could get used to your sweet voice begging for his help, and he was relieved you were serious about the consent.

He freed you from the fabric which covered your intimate area while he nibbled on your neck, softly caressing your soft skin with his lips. His attention laid on your wellbeing so he made sure you felt comfortable.

Dean pulled away, watching your eyes open slightly, waiting for him to finally touch you more. To explore areas he didn’t know yet.

„We‘ll keep your sweater on, m‘kay?“ He whispered.

He could imagine being too vulnerable would leave you extremely overwhelmed, and he wanted to focus on your satisfaction rather than his. He longed to see you fully bare, but his desire to show you his love was stronger. You were grateful, knowing that he cared so much.

Your very own hands glided from his neck over his back to his belt, grabbing it tightly and softly pushing his body down on you: you were able to feel his weight, as well as his horniness on you. Doing that, Dean freed a grunting moan.

The way you were actively trying to be closer, to participate in this act even though you were scared, made him thirsty.

„I‘ll make you get used to me,“ he rasped, eager to know what you feel like. He carefully traced your outer parts, making you get used to a foreign touch on your body. At first, your body naturally tensed up and you doubted your ability to let his finger pass. However, he took his time, waiting for your body to relax.

When your worries vanished, he moved an inch closer to your core, gently and firmly.

You were getting impatient, crying softly out for him, „Dean, please…“

Fuck, why was your innocent voice asking for him to go further? It intoxicated him, his heart sending all blood to his head. His face flushed slightly, a blush lingering on his beauitful sharp features.

Seeing him flustered, yet so erratic, turned you on. His tough appearance bickered when you were beneath him, hitting his soft spots.

Dean leaned over to the nightstand, gripping some lube he had kept there for when he pleasured himself. He warmed it in his hand by your head, as the other hand circled around your clit. You whimpered, you shivered, you moaned quietly for him. Like a melody you would only sing for Dean.

He was drowning you in pleasure - in safe hands where you were the middle of attention. You closed your eyes, biting down at your bottom lip, letting the physical sensation flow through your body.

And then, you felt one of his thick fingers near your entrance, covered in enough lube. He wanted to make sure that you were wet enough, that he didn’t hurt you. The palm of his hand rested on your clit, rubbing it tenderly as he slowly pushed his finger inside you.

„Ah… uhm…,“ you mumbled, feeling a sharp pain. Your muscles tensed up heavily, making it hard for Dean to stay in. Dean‘s spare hand caressed your cheek as he glanced into your sacred eyes.

„M‘mh don‘t move, baby,“ he ordered with care, „try to focus on your breathing. Try to tensen when breathing in, and try to loosen when out…“

Dean was educated on the matter, knowing what simple things might help your condition a little better. He kissed your forehead. „C‘mon… do it with me.“

He guided you, showing you when to catch another break and when to let the air out. Slowly the pain loosened as you regained the control of your muscles. They weren’t rentlessly tensing up and causing pain anymore.

For the first time with another man, you owned control over your body.

A feeling which lifted your heavy burdens.

Dean continued to push inside a little further in, releasing a small moan as he felt your wet warmth on his hands. Again, he helped you regain control.

When his finger was fully embedded in you, he rested his head on your collarbone, „I‘ll move, slowly…“ He mumbled. You placed one hand on the back of his head, going through his short hair.

But before he was able to do that, he felt your muscles clenching together again, and felt silent sobs. His head immediately lifted, looking at some tears which rolled down your rosy face.

„Babe…,“ his voice was filled with worry as he saw your sad little face.

„Sorry…“ you cried, feeling a big wave of emotions crashing down your heart, „I-… I‘m just so… overwhelmed…“

Dean nodded, „Should I pull out?“

„Mh..mh.“

He slowly did so, before pulling you closer to his chest, petting your head with utter care. Your legs were glued together, still feeling his imprints on your inner walls.

You didn’t hate the feeling, no… you loved the feeling. But you were overwhelmed with the situation.

After all, you didn’t feel so cared for by a man for some time.

„Don’t worry,“ Dean released you from the tight hug, „we‘ll slowly work our way up. You did great. So well.“

He praised you, placing small kisses on your forehead. Dean was proud of you - that you told him what was bothering you, that you let him come closer, and that you signaled when it was enough for the day.

He grabbed your soft pyjama pants from the end of the bed and wrapped you up.

„Are you hungry, sweetheart?“ He asked, a smile on his slightly swollen lips.

You two had kissed each other to oblivion that evening. And your lips were the swollen evidence for the passion that lingered between you.

You wiped a tear away, slightly chukling, „Kinda…yeah.“

[milkb0nny]

Could I request something with Ivar where reader goes to the seer and he tells her the future and she caught him listening? But a funny one ❤️

Your Curiosity Charms Me

Pairing: Ivar x gn!reader

Summary: You weren’t sure of your future; wheter fortune means good or bad. So you consulted the only one that could help you; the seer. Little did your naive mind know that a certain someone was listening to your conversation.

Note: Thank you so much for requesting. I love these requests because you have so much room to work with to make it fun. I hope you like it, anon <3 May we perhaps meet in the askbox again.

Content: fluff, wholesomeness, reader being worried

Word Count: 800

The air in the Seer’s hut was thick with incense, the kind that clouded the mind and sharpened the heart. It always felt dizzy in there. You sat cross-legged on the woven mat, your fingers nervously twisting together. You fumbled on your corset, trying to cope with your difficult emotions. The Seer’s gaze, or lack thereof, seemed to pierce right through you as he leaned closer.

“What brings you here, child of Kattegat?” he rasped.

You swallowed hard. It felt as your words were stuck in your throat, but you managed to set them free. For some time, this thought itched in your head, especially with the war coming up and Ivar becoming a close companion of yours. “Will I find happiness here? Is my future… safe?”

The Seer tilted his head, his eerie grin spreading wide. “Happiness? Safety? Hmm.”

He reached into the air, seemingly plucking invisible strings. “The threads of fate are tangled… but one thing is clear. A shadow clings to you. Stubborn and sharp-tongued, it listens where it should not.”

You blinked, confused. “A shadow? What does that mean? Is it danger?”

You hated the two sided answers by the seer as they didn’t speak facts and left you wondering constantly. It was, more or less, his duty to do so, but sometimes it irked your nerves.

The Seer gestured cryptically toward the door. At first, you saw nothing. Then, as your ears adjusted to the silence, a faint shuffle broke through. Suspicion dawned on you, and your cheeks heated.

With caution, you walked to the door, gently pushed it open. There, leaning casually against the doorframe, was none other than Ivar. His smirk widened as if he had expected you to find him. His cocky face stared right at your eyes.

“Ivar!” you exclaimed, hands on your hips. “You were listening?”

Ivar straightened, trying to act innocent. “Listening? Me? Why would I care about your little fortune?” His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, betraying his amusement.

His eyes were so mesmerizing.

Little did you know you stared at them. After all, he was so close. And Ivar noticed. How could he not? You were an open book which thought it would be sneaky, but your feelings were written all over you. He could read you - even blindfolded.

“Then why are you… here?” you demanded answers.

“Oh, just passing by,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “Thought I heard the Seer say something about a shadow. Sounds ominous, doesn’t it?”

Before you could answer, the Seer’s raspy voice interrupted from within the hut. He shuffled forward, his grin wider than ever. His voice scratched your mind, making you slightly uncomfortable.

“Indeed, the shadow grows stronger. I see… a great argument. One involving a fish, a stolen cloak, and someone falling into the harbor.”

You and Ivar exchanged bewildered glances. Again, those weird riddles.

“A fish?” you inquired, eyebrows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“A cloak? And the harbor?” Ivar added. He knew exactly what the seer was referring to, and it was much more amusing seeing your confusion and utter lack of understanding. You were about to fall in the harbor.

The Seer’s laughter was as odd as his words. “The future is not for you to understand now, but it will be quite… slippery.” He let the word hang in the air, his tone almost gleeful.

With that, the seer closed the door in front of the two of you, leaving you the spare time you perhaps needed. What a day, you thought, as you were even more uncertain about your future than before coming here. Perhaps this was another sign not to trust oracles, and to simply not worry about such matters.

Silence reigned and your eyes wandered from the wooden door to once again, his piercing eyes. You turned around completely, facing Ivar, narrowing your eyes. “So you were listening. Is this the future you’re trying to ruin for me?”

“Correct,” Ivar said, snickering. “Clearly, I’m here to sabotage your destiny with a fish. Terrifying, isn’t it?”

Unable to suppress your own smile, you gave him a playful shove. He made the darkest of your thoughts to a laugh, and sometimes you couldn‘t act mad. Sometimes, you had to give in.

“If I do end up in the harbor, I’m blaming you, Ivar the Boneless.”

Ivar grinned, finding you quite endearing. “Fair enough.”

You stepped away from the hut, finding no real answer to your questions. Only a man mocking you and a seer seeing ghosts. And fish... For you, the casual confusion whenever you consulted the Seer.

As you walked, Ivar kept pace beside you, his presence both grounding and amusing. He followed you, like a shadow. Was he the shadow? And if yes, why is he growing? Or what is he growing? You didn't want to ask Ivar upfront, as that would've been embarrassing. You already embarrassed yourself enough, with him stalking you, and hearing you ask those questions.

“You know,” you began, crossing your arms, “if you had any decency, you’d admit you were spying on me.”

“Spying?” he drawled, feigning innocence. “I’m just making sure you’re well.”

You laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re so endearing when you’re annoyed,” he shot back, stepping closer.

“Oh, young hearts,” he whispered. “You’ll both see soon enough.”

The seer knew, Ivar knew but you were the only one clueless.

[milkb0nny]

Ethereal Vulnerability

... Dean and Sam on their way to save you

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader

Summary: You grew up poor and alone, forcing you into the horrible red light district. However, your services were darker than the usual stuff, and lately your colleagues went missing. It only took a booking for two men to save you from being next.

Note: I was heavily inspired by the movie „Sleeping Beauty“. It has such an interesting plot and I loved the eerie vibe. This might not be everyone’s cup of tea. Still, I hope the few of you will enjoy this! If this gets a good reception, I’ll write a 2nd chapter.

Content: reader being sex worker, sleeping pills, getting drugged, spn violence, angst, disturbing content

Word count: 1,2k

Another day, another forced shift.

Another day where men exploited women’s bodies, wielding their money as a weapon of control. You despised the system, but there was no room to complain as you depended on that same system for survival. For money, which you needed so desperately.

This here was a cruel structure that demanded obedience from young souls, only to discard them when they were used up or gone entirely. And worst: no one cared about them.

No one cared about you.

You stepped into the motel, offering a polite nod to the secretary while avoiding the missing persons flyers plastered on the reception desk. Six women. Six lives snuffed out, their bodies never found. As if they had simply vanished into thin air. The media ignored it, and the authorities seemed indifferent.

Who cared, after all? They were only prostitutes in the eyes of the world.

And you were stuck in this helpless situation with no one to guide you into safety or a usual life.

Despite the fear that you could be next, you continued working. Rent was due. Food was scarce. Death seemed inevitable either way, so you clung to the fragile hope that you’d survive just one more day. Maybe a rich man would adopt you - or maybe you’d get a big tip for your extraordinary “work“.

“Here you go,” the secretary said, sliding something under the glass partition. “Two men booked you for the whole night.”

You nodded, pocketing the room keys and picking up the small cup containing two familiar pills. The bitterness of the sleeping tablets didn’t faze you anymore. You were used to the dreamless nights, to the numb void that came with them.

Still, it never stopped being unsettling.

You’d sleep through it all.

But maybe it was a blessing: not seeing their faces, not feeling their hands on your sorry body and not hearing the things they would say about you. This was the only business letting women sleep through, advertising to a certain masculine fetish.

“Thank you,” you replied with a small smile, taking the items.

The secretary hesitated, her expression tinged with guilt. “Be careful, love.”

“I will.” You forced another smile before heading to the changing room.

The other women were already there, each one stunning in their own way. No flaws, no imperfections. The only requirement to work here was to embody an impossible ideal: flawless beauty, free of scars, blemishes, or even a stray hair. You were all gems, polished to perfection in the dirtiest setting imaginable.

You changed into the white lingerie, adjusting it to hug your curves just right. After fixing your makeup and offering yourself a final look in the mirror, you sighed deeply. Fear clawed at the edges of your mind, but you steeled yourself with a faint hope… you just had to make it through the night.

The room was surprisingly luxurious, a contrast to the grim reality outside. Warm lights bathed the space in a soft glow, and the bed was adorned with blankets that felt like clouds. This level of comfort was a cruel irony, considering the cost that came with it.

You sat on the edge of the bed, swallowed the pills in one go, and slipped under the covers. It wasn’t long before the drugs pulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The door opened quietly sometime later, two figures slipping inside. They moved with practiced precision, shutting the door softly behind them.

“Man, this is one hell of a weird gig,” Dean muttered, glancing around the room with a mixture of unease and frustration.

„You’re not wrong,” Sam agreed, his gaze settling on your sleeping form. “She’s completely out of it. Has no idea what’s going on.”

A heavy silence hung between them, tinged with disgust - not at you, but at the circumstances.

“We’ll take this bastard down without her even knowing,” Dean said, circling the bed to get a better look at you. “After this, the girls around here should be safe… well, from monsters, anyway.”

He stared down at you, his jaw tightening. How could someone so beautiful, so full of life, end up in a situation like this? He hated the world that had left you with no other choice. It felt as if he was glancing at a doll, not a human.

An hour passed as they waited, watching the shadows lengthen across the room. They pitied your job and chatted a little about it, while Dean didn’t even to bother touching you in any way. Your soul had been tarnished enough.

After another five minutes, Dean sat tensely by the bed, while Sam stepped out to execute their plan. He told the secretary he was grabbing something from the car, leaving Dean to hold down the fort.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft rhythm of your breathing. Dean’s mind churned, his eyes flicking to the door every few seconds. They didn’t even know what they were hunting yet, only that it was dangerous and starving.

The door creaked open, breaking the silence. Dean’s hand went to his weapon instinctively, but what stepped inside wasn’t Sam. It was a woman or at least, it appeared to be.

But the way she moved was wrong, her presence too eerie to be human. The lights stayed off as she glided toward the bed, her gaze fixed on you.

Either it was a vampire, or one of the rather rarer creatures - Pishtaco. Creatures that were as gruesome and cruel as vampires but they feasted on fat, not blood.

Just as she reached for you, the door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. Sam stood behind her, his expression grim.

“No way you’re getting out of here,” Sam said, his voice low.

Dean rose from his seat, his silver knife in his hand. “You picked the wrong motel, sweetheart.”

The creature hissed, its facade slipping to reveal its true form; its grotesque hunger evident in its hollow eyes.

Meanwhile the haze of unconsciousness began to lift, pulling you back to reality. The pills were too weak, it seems your body got used to them. Your eyelids felt heavy. Slowly, you stirred, your body sluggish and weighed down, as if you were moving through quicksand.

"Hey, she's waking up," Dean’s voice reached you, rough and laced with concern. Shit, that’s couldn’t be happening. You woke up during the wrong time.

Your eyes opened, the dim moonlight shining through the room. Dean was leaning over you, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the room.

Sam stood nearby, his posture tense but his expression kind. "How is she feeling?"

Your voice came out as a rasp. "Tired… sore." You tried to push yourself up, but Dean’s firm hand on your shoulder kept you grounded.

What was going on? And why where they holding weapons?

"Easy," he murmured. "Just rest."

You nodded weakly, your head still pounding, but a creeping unease was beginning to gnaw at the back of your mind. Something felt... off.

Dean stiffened instantly, moving between you and the woman. "Stay there," he ordered.

The pishtaco stepped closer, her movements slow, and unnervingly graceful. Her gaze locked onto you, and a chill ran down your spine.

"You shouldn’t have interfered," the beast said, her voice smooth as silk but dripping with malice. Her eyes flicked to Dean and Sam. "You have no idea what you're up against."

Dean scoffed, his stance widening. "Lady, we’ve taken down worse than you. You’re not walking out of here."

The Pishtaco laughed softly, the sound unnervingly melodic. "You don’t understand. I was only taking what I needed. She’s just another meal. But you… you’re getting in the way of nature."

"Nature?" Sam said, stepping to the side to cut off her retreat. "You’re murdering innocent women to feed your appetite. That’s not nature… that’s a monster."

Her expression darkened, “No one cares about those prostitutes. So why not taking them?“

Before anyone could react, she lunged toward the bed. Her speed was unnatural, a blur of movement that sent your heart racing.

Dean grabbed her mid-lunge, shoving her back with a grunt of effort. "Get out of here now!" he screamed at you, but your body was frozen in fear, unable to move.

You weren’t just bodily restricted but also high from the pills, making it hard to grasp what’s happening.

The Pishtaco hissed, her face twisting into something grotesque. She clawed at Dean, her nails slashing dangerously close to his face.

Sam dove in, wielding a silver blade, slashing at her side. The Pishtaco roared, spinning around to swat him away like he weighed nothing. He crashed into the dresser, yelling but alive.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He tackled the monster, slamming her against the wall.

"You’re not touching her," he insisted, his green eyes blazing with fury.

But the Pishtaco was stronger than she looked. With a growl, she twisted out of Dean’s grip and darted toward you. Her claws dug into your arm as she yanked you towards her, dragging you toward the door.

You felt so vulnerable and weak. Like a play toy.

"You want her? Come and get her!" she spat, her voice venomous.

You cried out in pain as her grip tightened, her nails digging into your skin. Crimson blood run down your revealed body, soaking your lingerie into a rich red.

"Fuck," you mumbled, your head spinning terribly.

Dean‘s head snapped toward you, his expression a mixture of rage and terror. "Let her go!"

The Pishtaco laughed, the sound cruel and mocking. "Oh, I don’t think so. She’s mine now. And I will feast on her beautiful fat. You’ll just have to find another way to play hero."

But Dean was already moving. In one swift motion, he grabbed the silver blade Sam had dropped and hurled it with deadly precision.

The blade struck the Pishtaco in the shoulder, and she howled in pain, her grip on you faltering. Dean surged forward, grabbing you and pulling you out of her grasp just as Sam regained his footing.

Again, Pishtaco lunged at you, but Sam interrupted her, driving a second silver blade into her chest. She screamed, her body convulsing from her wounds.

Dean held you tightly against his chest, shielding you from the sight as the Pishtaco let out one final cry before collapsing into ash.

The room fell silent, the only sound your guys ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart.

"You okay?" Dean asked, his voice low and steady, his arms still wrapped protectively around you.

You nodded shakily, unable to find your voice. Your entire body was trembling, but Dean’s presence was grounding. His warmth, his strength… it was enough to keep you from falling apart. As if your life hadn’t been difficult enough.

But what the hell was that?!

"She’s gone," Sam said, his voice weary but certain. "It’s over."

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face as his eyes scanned for any injuries. "She didn’t hurt you, did she?"

You shook your head. "No, just my arms… what the hell. This shit was mental. Thank you for…saving me?"

Dean’s lips quirked into a faint, reassuring smile. "Right, we did."

His thumb brushed against your cheek. The intensity of his gaze made your breath hitch, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. A man rarely gazed your way without lust, but admiration.

"You’re safe now," he murmured, his voice softer.

"Well… whatever you define as safe," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dean’s smile vanished, his eyes remained serious. "Don’t mention it."

Sam cleared his throat, stepping back from the scene. "We should… probably get out of here before anyone notices what happened."

Dean nodded but didn’t let go of you right away. His hands lingered on your arms for a moment longer before he finally stepped back, his gaze never leaving yours.

„Alright, we‘ll patch you up…“

The three of you made your way out of the room. Dean gave you his leather jacket to cover your bare body, and you couldn’t help but glance at Dean. Perhaps there were men who didn’t abuse your vulnerable position.

The way both had protected you, the way Dean had looked at you… it stirred something deep inside you. He didn’t view you as a mere prostitute but as a woman worth saving.

For a moment, you didn’t feel dirty and used.

And judging by the way his hand brushed yours as you walked, it seemed like he wanted you out of that business.

[milkb0nny]

Do you write for the last kingdom too?

Unfortunately I haven't seen it completely yet. :( so no, perhaps in the future?

I'm so sorry 😭

[milkb0nny]

Drift to Impress

Pairing: Dean x car obsessed fem!reader

Summary: You knew your ways around cars and handled your own one quite skillfully. Dean didn’t know until you pulled a move on him on the highway in the night.

Note: I rewatched Fast and Furious Tokyo Drift and got inspired by this clip. And oh my, what power move that would be on Dean . <3

Content: drifting, cars, heavy flirting, fluff

Word Count: 1k

You hadn’t known the Winchester brothers for long. All you knew about them was that they hunted the supernatural and that your city was heavily affected.

They had originally come into your garage after Baby got banged up and the engine started struggling. You were a mechanic - and a quite skilled one.

Cars were your passion and your lust; you adored the smell of rubber and oil, you admired the speed and power, and you loved the sound of a humming engine. All that made your heart jump. Receiving new car parts spiked your joy.

While you fixed their car, you found yourself in the company of these two gentlemen. One more stern than the other, and one more flirtatious than the other. But when you heard them talking about the missing people in your city, you grew alert. A friend of yours had vanished a few days ago, and maybe they could help you find them.

That was the start of your journey together, which had only been going on for a week. You were intrigued by their work as you dived deeper, and you found joy in helping them. You believed their theories, even if they sounded unimaginable. Though those were the only clues available; the only way of finding lost people.

And one Winchester man, in particular, charmed you in a way no one else did. He flirted with you endlessly, but you weren’t about to let him be the only cocky one on Earth.

This morning, Sam and Dean left the motel room quite early. You, on the other hand, stayed in town, researching new cases in the newsletters. As the hours passed, you lost yourself in the scattered papers and the mass of newsletters. So much text but no viable information for the case. Before you knew it, the sky turned dark, and the weather cooled.

Your eyes scanned the ink on the white paper when suddenly, you found a clue. A clue that might save lives… including your friend’s. You were quick to dial Sam on your cellphone.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Sam’s rough voice rang through your phone. He sounded distressed, probably because they hadn’t gotten closer to the damn case.

“I found something. Where are you guys at?” You said while searching your car keys in your pockets. Hell, where were they?

Dean replied, “Wait, can’t you just tell us?”

“Nah, that’d be too easy,” your cocky voice slipped out. “I don’t know if this is really something. Maybe you guys should overlook it before I give you false hope. I’m not that deep into the game.”

Sam told you their direction and read out the nearest road sign.

“We’ll drive a little slower. There’s no one out here anyway,” Sam explained before you ended the call.

In a matter of seconds, you were on the road, your engine roaring deeply, and the numbers on your dashboard climbing fast. You loved to drive this sleek, bright car with the underbody lighting, the chrome rims, and the big wing on the back. The Winchesters hadn’t seen you drive this beast yet because you usually arrived everywhere on foot and the motel wasn’t far from your apartment.

The distant hum of the engine and the occasional screech of tires set the backdrop for a night filled with adrenaline. After all, you needed to arrive quickly.

You sat behind the wheel of your midnight-black Nissan 240sx, feeling the rhythmic pulse of its engine, ready to make an impression.

You were more than ready to surprise Dean, to rob him of that cocky smile and leave him speechless.

Then you spotted them. Two men in an Impala - Baby - driving slowly yet cautiously. That’s when you decided to make your move, a grin tugging at your lips as the idea took hold. You’d done this a hundred times, pulling this move on your brothers or even your boss, but never on a man you found madly attractive.

“What’s that flashy car?” Dean’s eyebrow furrowed when he spotted the flashy lights in the rearview mirror.

Your hand gripped the steering wheel as your eyes locked onto your target. You eased the car forward, smooth and under control, catching their attention without saying a word. The boys’ eyes turned toward you, curious, just as you hit the throttle and flicked the wheel.

The Nissan spun sideways, its tires letting out a sharp screech as the back end swung around. The front bumper skimmed within inches of their car, the precision perfect, the control undeniable. The car’s tires sprayed a fine mist of water, as you effortlessly completed a flawless drift around their vehicle.

“Is that…?!” Sam asked, surprised, clearly in shock that you’d do something so reckless.

Dean was speechless, just as you’d anticipated. He’d never encountered a woman taking such a risk just to impress him. Yet, there you were, a wide grin on your lips.

Your car slid to a halt beside them, its engine purring confidently, as if it knew it had just stolen the show. Hell yeah, you did.

The window rolled down, and you leaned out slightly, your gaze sharp and playful. “Hope I didn’t startle you,” you said, your voice dripping with charm.

Dean smirked, leaning slightly forward, his flirtatious voice matching yours. “That was bold,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But can you do it twice?”

Your grin widened as you revved the engine, the sound echoing through the night. “Stick around,” you said. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

You handed the clues and sheets of paper through the car window, for Dean to give to Sam.

Sam was grateful for having something to distract him from the tension that hung between you two. Though, attention swiftly shifted.

“You got it,” Sam said enthusiastically. “Let us check that out.”

“Say no more.”

With that, you shifted gears, the car launching forward with a burst of speed, leaving the faint scent of burnt rubber. The look on Dean’s face was worth all the rubber your expensive tires lost, and Dean’s heart raced just as fast as your car did.

“Damn…”