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mlovesstories · 2 years ago

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The Loudest Silence

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You become mute after seeing Sam die in season 2, and it’s something he and Dean have to figure out together when he comes back.

Dean should’ve left you behind. He should’ve gotten there sooner. He should’ve saved Sam. He shouldn’t have let you see your big brother die.

You were sitting by Sam’s bedside, and Dean didn’t have the heart to tear you away. It didn’t feel right, letting you sit there beside your dead brother, but it felt even more wrong to tell you you couldn’t.

You hadn’t spoken, not since it happened, and Dean didn’t have the energy to try to get you to speak. He didn’t feel much like talking now, either, although it seemed different than you. He was grieving; you looked haunted.

“Hey kid.” Dean turned his head to look at you as Bobby walked up to speak with you. Bobby had decided to leave, and Dean refused to go with him, but Dean wanted you to go. You didn’t belong here, you shouldn’t have had to see Sam die, and you shouldn’t be sitting by his body now. You would be better off with Bobby, but Dean needed time to himself.

“Kid, Dean’s gonna stay here for a little while, but I want you to come home with me, alright?”

Bobby got no response. You didn’t even take your eyes off of Sam to look at him.

“Hey.” You flinched as Bobby placed a hand on your shoulder, and finally your eyes met his. “You’re gonna come home with me, ok?” It wasn’t exactly a question; neither Bobby nor Dean was about to let you stay here, but Bobby didn’t exactly want to drag you either, so he was willing to take it slow.

You didn’t speak, but you nodded and stood, one hand coming up to latch onto Bobby’s jacket. He noticed, but didn’t comment.

Dean watched as your eyes lingered on Sam’s body as you followed Bobby outside. Just before the door closed behind you, your gaze shifted to Dean.

He would never be able to forget that haunted look in your eyes.

…

It had been two weeks. Sam had come back not long after his death, but it had been two weeks since you’d spoken.

Once Sam had figured out that he had actually died, he understood your response a bit better, but it was no less troublesome. If Sam was worried about your condition, Dean was beside himself.

As if your sudden silence wasn’t scary enough, you had also glued yourself to Sam. Everywhere he went, you were there, the corner of his jacket fisted in your hand as you shadowed him. Sam didn’t seem to mind at first, but as the days wore on, it became obvious that this may not be a temporary thing. Sam had begun trying to get Dean to help him force you into some healthy distance, but Dean had refused.

Sam didn’t understand, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to force you out of what made you feel safe. It was his fault that you felt this way, after all. He’d let Sam die, and it was his fault that you’d been there to see it. So no, he couldn’t hurt you even more.

“Hey kid,” Bobby said, and you looked up. “How’s about you come with me to the kitchen and we can fix some lunch?”

Bobby had been trying to coax you away from Sam for days, with no luck. Today didn’t seem to be any different as you shook your head, your body unconsciously leaning even closer to Sam as your fingers tightened around his hand.

“N/N,” Sam spoke very gently as he pried his hand carefully out of yours. “How about you go with Bobby, ok? I’ll be right here, won’t move a muscle, I promise.” As soon as his hand was out of yours, you’d moved your hand to his jacket, unwilling to let him put distance between you.

Dean watched the exchange silently, unwilling to participate but hoping that you would listen to the men.

You were quite a long moment, your gaze fixed on Sam as his eyes bore into yours, silently pleading for you to listen. Finally, your fingers went slack on Sam’s jacket, and you turned your attention to Bobby. You gave him a slight nod and held your hand out to him.

Bobby was most certainly not one for hand holding, but after this victory he’d make an exception for you. He closed his fingers around yours and led you into the next room.

“She’s getting better,” Dean said finally.

“It might go faster if you helped,” Sam grunted.

“I don’t want her to feel ganged up on.” Dean’s excuse was a lie, and they both knew it.

But neither man said a word.

…

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, breathing a sigh of relief when you finally fell asleep. He knew it could be a while before he got some time away from you, so he planned on using it wisely.

As soon as Dean stepped into the motel room, Sam practically cornered him.

“We have to talk,” Sam said.

“Alright…” Dean glanced at your sleeping form, then back at Sam. “Why can’t she hear it?”

“She doesn’t have to be a part of this. Dean, how could you do it?” Sam swallowed “how could you…how could sell your soul?”

“You know why.” Dean shook his head. “I wasn’t going to let you stay dead.”

“You can’t mess with death like that!”

“I already did, and we’re not going to change it by talking about it.”

“It’s not just me, you know,” Sam said. “She’s gonna have to watch you die.”

“You think I did this thinking it would hurt her?” Dean shook his head. “I did this for her! You’ve seen what she’s going through now, and that’s with you back! What do you think would’ve happened to her if you stayed dead!”

Both boys were so caught up in their argument that they didn’t see you slip out of bed.

“She could’ve gotten over it,” Sam continued. “But now we all have to go through this all over again, we-“

“I don’t care!” Dean ran a hand over his face, still not noticing as you stepped up behind Sam.

“Exactly!” Sam threw up his hands. “That’s the problem, Dean! You didn’t do this for her, you did it for you!”

“I-“

“No!” Sam interrupted. “No, just shut up!” Sam flinched when he felt your hand touch his arm, and turned to look down at you.

You were staring up at him, eyes wide.

“Not…not you,” Sam’s voice had gone surprisingly quiet, and his features softened into a melancholy expression. “Sweetheart, what I want from you is for you to talk again.”

Your mouth opened, like you were trying to speak, before slowly closing again. You launched yourself forwards, and Sam held you tightly in his arms as you began to cry against him.

“I know,” he whispered. “I know you’re hurting, kid. But I want you to come back to us. You haven’t been the same, and we miss you.”

His argument with Dean was far from over, but this was far more important.

Dean watched his siblings, and he struggled to reign in his emotions when he saw you, still struggling to try to speak. He knew you were trying, and he would never forgive himself for being the cause of it.

“Dean.”

Both brothers were alerted by the sound of your voice, though it was scratchy and near-silent. It was then that Dean noticed your hand, stretching out towards him.

“Hey baby,” he put on a smile for you. “I’m here.”

“Sam.”

Sam smiled when you reached up to play with his hair, the way you had when you were little.

“Hey, you ok?”

“Don’t fight.”

“Yeah, o-ok.” Both brothers knew that Sam’s words were just to appease you, but they were done fighting for the moment. “You feeling better?”

You gave a gesture that was half nod, half shrug, but it was enough.

“Yeah?” Sam smiled. “It-it’s good to hear your voice.”

You looked up at Sam, and his worry eased at seeing the smile on your face.

“I love you.”

Neither brother had to fake their smile at your words.

“Yeah, we love you too.”

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mlovesstories · 2 years ago

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She’s a world famous pop superstar.

He’s the best quarterback in the NFL, known for his lengthy string of girlfriends.

And he’s had his eyes on her since he was in college.

She thinks he’s just a flirt trying to get in her pants.

But Dean Winchester knows it’s more than that.

The princess of pop is going to be his girl if it’s the last thing he ever does.

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mlovesstories · 2 years ago

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Snuggles & Cuddles

Summary: It's the first day of Fall.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader

Warnings: cuddling & snuggling, fluff, a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics

“Sweetheart, there you are,” Dean strolls inside the kitchen, a big grin on his face. He stands behind you to sniff at your neck as you try to pour yourself a cup of tea. “You look cold, Y/N. Do you want me to warm you up?”

You giggle. “Dean, no sex. I want a cup of tea, a warm blanket and maybe read a book. We don’t have a hunt ahead and I want to enjoy our free time.”

“I wasn’t talking about sex,” he splutters. You cock a brow. “I swear, sweetheart. Come with me.” Dean pecks your neck. “I’ll get your tea. Just follow me.”

“If you get your dick out, I won’t talk to you for the rest of the day.”

Now he laughs. “You’d love to see little Dean,” Dean holds out his hand, smirking. “Come on. Trust me.”

“I trust you, just not with your dick, Sir,” you quip. “He’s a menace, and you know it, Dean.”

Dean wraps his arm around your shoulders and guides you out of the kitchen. “I promise little Dean will behave. Do you know what day it is today?”

You wrinkle your forehead. Crap. Did you forget an important date? You ponder. No. You’d remember if you forgot an anniversary. “No.” You carefully try.

Dean opens the door to your shared room, chuckling. “It’s finally Fall, sweetheart.”

“It is?” you gape at Dean. He knows how much you love Fall, the colorful leaves, and snuggling with your alpha. “So what did you want to show me?”

“I knew you’ll be in the mood for cuddles so-,” he opens the door to your shared room. “Have a look around, Y/N.”

“Dean,” you gasp audibly when you step inside the room. “That’s so beautiful.”

The scent of pumpkin and caramel fills your nostrils. Dean placed candles on the small desk and the nightstands. Fluffy pillows and blankets lie on your shared bed.

“I thought we could have a relaxed snuggle day. Sammy wants to watch a few movies, and Cas is out cold. Angel business, you know.”

“Dean,” you wrap Dean in a tight hug. “You always know what I need.”

“Of course, I know, sweetheart. You’re my omega, and I know you well,” he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “What do you think of the scented candle? The woman at the store said it’s their bestseller.”

“I like it very much,” you sniffle. “Everything is perfect, Dean.” You rub your cheek against his shoulder. “Can we try the new blankets?”

“Get comfortable on the bed, Y/N.” He kisses your hair again. “I’ll get your tea and some biscuits.”

You reluctantly let go of Dean and crawl onto the bed. While you get comfortable on the bed, a warm blanket wrapped around your body, Dean enters the room, your tea, and a plate with biscuits in his hands.

“You good?”

“Only one thing is missing,” you lift your head to look at Dean.

“What’s that?”

“You,” patting the empty side of the bed you look at Dean. “Only you, Dean.”

Dean balances the cup and plate on his hands to place them on your nightstand. He pecks your cheek before crawling onto the bed to lie next to you.

Your alpha barely got the time to sit down before you pounced on him. He’s wrapped in your embrace and a warm blanket seconds later.

“Now it’s perfect,” you snuggle into Dean’s chest.

“Yeah, it’s perfect…”

Tags in reblog.

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mlovesstories · 2 years ago

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Sick Day

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous (I tweaked it just a little)

Synopsis: you get sick, but you hide it from your brothers, which leads to some consequences.

You awoke to a sharp pain pulsating behind your eyes and a knot in your stomach. You pushed your blanket off, cringing when you brushed your hair back and felt your sweat-soaked face. You sat up slowly, which made your head spin and your stomach lurch before you managed a few deep breaths and some stability returned.

Your brothers were gone, probably out getting some food to bring back before the three of you left for another hunt. You got to unsteady feet, determined to take a cold shower to bring your temperature down before the boys came back.

You tried, you really did. But when the freezing water bit into your skin, you couldn’t resist grabbing at the temperature valve and turning it up.

You knew it wouldn’t help your fever, but you were shivering so bad that you couldn’t help it.

When your brothers returned you had gotten ready for the day, hoping that you didn’t look as sick as you felt as you put on your comfiest clothes.

“You ready to go?” Dean snatched up his duffel, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

“You bet,” you jumped up, instantly regretting it when your knees almost gave out, your head pounding as your stomach twisted.

“You good?” Sam seemed to sense something was off, but his casual tone kept you from being too nervous.

“Yeah, why?”

“No reason,” he shrugged. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

…

You tried to nap in the back seat, hoping some sleep would bring your fever down, but it was pointless. You couldn’t get comfortable, everything felt achy, you were either too hot or shivering, and Dean’s freaking music was too loud.

“Kid, you ok back there?”

You sat up finally, giving up on your failed sleep as you answered Sam.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Ok, well we’re pulling over to get some food.”

You hid your cringe as you settled down in your seat.

“I’m not hungry, I think I’m gonna just stay in here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Dean piped up. “You haven’t eaten all day, and you should stretch your legs. Come on.”

Knowing any further resistance would raise their suspicions, you wearily followed your brothers into the fast food place.

You managed to choke down half of the least greasy thing you could find—a chicken sandwich—and you found that the fries almost sit alright with your stomach, so you ate most of those.

“Not hungry?” Dean questioned, and you shook your head. You cringed when he reached over and finished the rest of your sandwich in two enormous bites. “Alright, let’s hit the road,” your stomach lurched as Dean spoke through bites of food, and it only got worse as you made a wobbly attempt to stand.

“I’ll be right out,” you breathed, and with great effort you headed for the bathroom.

Five minutes later, what little you’d had for lunch was gone, you only felt worse, and you were once again on the road with your brothers.

After two hours, Sam insisted that you all stop at a library to “do a little more research” before you arrived at the motel, and Dean refused to let you sit in the car because it was “too hot out”, so you were forced to follow the boys inside, your body practically sagging with exhaustion. The fever had taken almost all of your energy, and you could feel yourself burning up as you continued to force yourself to do what your body was begging you not to do—move.

You found a corner of the library to hide in while your brothers researched, and after an annoyingly long afternoon, it was finally time to hit the road again.

Going out to the car turned out to be even harder than leaving it, and it was all you could do to put one foot in front of the other and trying to hold on to what little was left in your stomach.

You considered for the umpteenth time telling your brothers how you felt, but again you dismissed the thought. It wasn’t as though they could do anything, and the last thing they needed was to be worried about you while they had a monster to worry about.

“Coke on, slowpoke,” Dean groaned as he opened your door. “Get in already.”

You’d hoped that a couple of hours of rest in the Impala might help before you arrived at the motel, but you only got worse. You weren’t entirely sure you would be able to stand up and go inside on your own when you got there, but you would try. All you wanted was to crash on one of the beds, and hope that it got better by morning.

When you finally pulled into the motel, you surprised yourself with the ability to stand, and after a great effort, to walk.

Your head was both pounding and spinning, and you were certain that if you’d had anything left in your stomach, it would’ve been left in the middle of the parking lot, but you kept going. You fell into a false sense of security once you entered the motel room, and that was when it happened.

Your knees buckled under you, and the edges of your vision went from blurry and spinning to black. Blinding pain shot behind your eyes as you felt your head hit the hardwood floor.

Then suddenly, you felt nothing at all.

…

Cold.

That was the only thought able to seep through the darkness around you.

So cold.

Suddenly your consciousness returned, and you struggled to escape the cold that surrounded you.

“Hey, hey!” Strong hands gripped your shoulders, keeping you from your escape. “Just sit tight kid, just for a minute.”

Your eyes slowly regained their focus, and you were able to make out Dean’s face hovering above you.

“Cold,” you whimpered, only now discovering why. You were in the motel bathtub, the white porcelain covered almost entirely by cubes of ice.

“I know, I know I’m sorry,” Sam’s voice broke in, and you turned to see him standing beside Dean.

“You were unconscious on the motel floor when we came inside, you had a fever of 105,” Dean grunted and held onto your shoulder as you tried once again to climb out of the ice. “Baby please, you’re still too hot. Just one minute, please.”

You settled back against the ice hesitantly, grabbing onto your soaked sleeves as though they could offer some warmth.

“We had to get your fever down,” Dean continued. “What the heck was that? Have you been feeling sick all day?”

“I-I didn’t think it was that bad,” you offered meekly, to which he huffed but didn’t respond.

Dean helped you out after a couple of minutes, wrapping a towel around your shoulders as you shivered.

“You feel any better?”

You shook your head as you clung onto the towel.

“Jus-just colder.”

“Put on some dry clothes,” Dean tossed you a change of clothes before following Sam out the door.

Once you were dry you felt a bit better, but you still couldn’t stop shivering.

“You should get some sleep,” Dean gestured to one of the beds.

“Where’s the comforter?” You didn’t miss the grimace on Dean’s face.

“Kid, we can’t let your fever get that high again.”

“Dean, I’m freezing,” you groaned.

“Yeah, and your temperature is almost normal,” Dean argued. “It was 105, and I was about eight seconds from taking you to the ER. Now sleep.”

You collapsed onto the bed, but without a blanket it was nearly impossible to get comfortable.

“Dean c’mon, can I at least have the sheet? This is stupid.”

“What’s stupid is you going around sick all day and not telling us,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean,” Sam shot Dean a look, and he relented, tugging off his jacket and laying it over you.

“You should have told me,” he said quietly.

“I thought it would go away,” you curled into a more comfortable position.

“You should’ve told me anyway,” Dean sighed. “You really freaked me out today, baby. That’s not ok.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Hey, shouldn’t you guys be out on a hunt?”

“It can wait until morning,” Sam pushed his backpack off of his bed and sat down on it, smiling at you.

“Guys, you can’t-“

“Uh-uh,” Dean interrupted. “We can do whatever we want. We’re not going tonight, I need to make sure your fever doesn’t spike in the middle of the night. If you’re feeling better in the morning, then you’re gonna rest here and me and Sammy will do some hunting, but not before morning, understand?”

You couldn’t help the smile that flitted across your face.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” Dean repeated. “Now how about you get some sleep while Sam gets you some food for when you wake up.”

In response, you relaxed against your pillow and closed your eyes, and soon enough you were fast asleep.

Once Sam was gone to get food, Dean dropped his playful, relaxed mask.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, baby,” he sighed, brushing your hair away from your damp forehead.

“Dean?” You stirred, your hand coming up and grabbing onto his.

“Shh,” he soothed. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Love you,” you mumbled as you settled back down.

Dean shook his head, his smile returning.

“Love you too, you troublemaker.”

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mlovesstories · 2 years ago

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Go Easy On Me

Inspired by Adele’s “Go Easy on Me”.

Warnings: Depressed Dean

Words: None

“Babe,” YN walked into her boyfriend’s house. “You home?” She tossed her keys onto the side table.

“He’s been in bed all day.”

She saw a tall man chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

“Oh, hi, Sam. Didn’t he have work today?”

“I covered for him at the shop. He is acting weird. I think he is having a depressed day. Won’t admit it though. Maybe you can try to see what’s wrong?”

“No problem. Got any pie?”

“It’s in the fridge. Why didn’t I think of that?” Sam laughed. “Go fix our boy, yeah?”

“Yep. On it.” YN retrieved a piece of pie and a can of whipped cream. She walked down the hall to his room. “Dean?”

No answer.

Keep reading

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mlovesstories · 2 years ago

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It's just a hobby. (Drabble)

Summary: You took up a new hobby, and Dean likes to poke and tease you for it, but you feel the need to seek a little revenge for the constant joking.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3300+

A/N: I started this during the summer when I started five different crocheting projects (ADHD carried my summer hobbies) and decided to finish it before school started back up. I am currently still writing Found Memories, but I have to put a pause on it as the first month of school tends to take a lot of my time away from hobbies like writing… I’m moving to teach 8th-grade English this year and could use all the energy you’re all willing to send my way! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short story, and I’m happy to have the inspiration to write for Dean again :)

(Also, this is the closest to smut I think I've ever written...)

_______

“Seriously?” Dean grumbled as he looked in the rearview mirror seeing me pulling yarn to untangle a knot I had created.

Knowing where he was going with his normal banter, I just laughed and continued to focus on the craft in front of me.

“I pulled this out like 20 minutes ago. How are you just now noticing?”

“I’m watching the road,” he argued, and I rolled my eyes. As always, he had been sneaking glances to the back of the cab at me every other minute. “The hunt wasn’t even 40 minutes away from the bunker. Why did you bring that?”

“Why do you listen to the same three Led Zeppelin songs when you're upset about a hunt?” I countered, and he opened his mouth to disagree, but I answered for him to skip the sarcastic conversation brewing. “Comfort Dean. It’s all about comfort.”

“Why are you so weirded out by a normal hobby?” Sam jumped in, smirking, and sporting one of the many beanies I had made him with said hobby, which he had come to love. He looked down at a newspaper in his lap, no doubt already scoping out a new hunt.

“It’s not-” Dean stumbled on his answer. “I’m not weirded out by it. It’s just not a hobby I imagine someone like Y/N taking up.”

“You just described why you’re weirded out by it,” Sam looked at him with a blank stare.

He ignored him and rolled his eyes.

“What kind of people do you imagine the crocheting community to be full of?” I smiled, still looking down at my hands and knowing his answer already.

“Grandmas,” he replied almost immediately.

“Hmm,” I hummed as if surprised by his confession, even if it was wrong. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll stop wasting my talents on things for you.”

I could see his eyes shoot up in the mirror and a look of regret ghost over his green orbs.

Dean liked to make a big deal about this particular hobby I had started up a little over six months ago. I think a part of him just liked to tease me about it, but deep down, I knew he was proud of my growth. He was just bad at voicing it.

The first things I ever crocheted were just simple squares in different stitch work to learn a variety of them better. Those squares became washcloths and, surprisingly, were still used daily in the kitchen.

I learned to make bags, socks, hats, sweaters, stuffed animals, and even a few blankets.

“Just 30 minutes ago, you took down five security guards, wrestled three teenage vampires, and booby-trapped half of his nest. Now you’re crocheting a sweater for Charlie that says, ‘What’s up bitches?’ in the backseat. Mind you, with blood still smeared on your face,” he raised an eyebrow at me in the mirror.

I looked up and leaned toward the front to get a better look at myself.

“Oh, shit, I thought I got it all,” I groaned, seeing a smear on the side of my face I must have missed.

“It doesn’t add up,” he shook his head, but I could see a joking smile on his lips.

“Much to your surprise Dean, girls can have more than one personality trait. I know you boys are all, ‘Ugh, monsters! Kill, kill, kill! I need a scotch in my hand and The God Father playing on loop in the background to show how manly I-’

“Hey,” Sam cut me off and looked at me with his sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m on your side.”

“You’re right… You also like to read and share fun facts,” I winked, touseling his hair and getting a scoff of a laugh as he swatted my hand away. “See how hurtful it can be when you forget our brains have the capacity to do more than one thing?” I turned back to Dean with my arms crossed on the bench seat in front of me.

“I don’t think you're incapable of having more than one interest in life; I just think it’s interesting that you chose a 90-year-old women's side gig as your hobby,” Dean countered, pulling into the garage.

“Well, if you can’t appreciate it, then you can’t have the gifts my hard work creates,” I huffed, gathering my things and sliding back to the door as Dean parked the car.

Once the car was in park, I was the first out. I wasn’t actually mad at him, I was a hundred percent messing with him, but he deserved it for teasing me this long about it when I knew he loved everything I had made him this far.

He had a favorite blanket that he preferred to sleep with now. He had a nice sweater he wore around the bunker when he was cold. He had a few pairs of socks he preferred over store-bought ones. He even had a miniature plush Batman figurine that sat on his desk that I had learned to crochet just for him.

“Y/N, you don’t mean that!” he called after me, standing in the door on the driver's side of the Impala and shouting over the roof of it where I was walking inside.

“We'll find out soon,” I yelled back, never turning around.

The next three days, I teased him like he had me about this whole ordeal, but in my own way.

When we were cooking in the kitchen or doing dishes, if he grabbed one of the squares that now acted as our kitchen hand towels, I would steal it from his hands and say, “Sorry, merchandise can only be used by those who value it.”

With which he would respond, “Wait! I need that!” with his hands drenched in water after washing his hands.

Just for extra measure, I took all the towels and moved them to a new place only Sam and I knew. He was happy to join in on my little prank, and every time he had one, he made sure Dean saw him with it.

“Where did you get that?” Dean would jump up from wherever he was and march over to him to try and steal it.

“Only the VIP customers have access to these,” Sam would wave it above his head out of reach of Dean.

Another time, after a hunt, it was freezing in our motel room, where the heater barely worked, and the hotel didn't have enough blankets. Luckily I had one packed in the trunk of Baby, and I used it for extra coverage.

Even though Dean and I shared a bed, I wrapped it around me as I slept and said, “Sucks that you hate this so much, or else I’d share with you…”

He stared at me with complete annoyance when I gave him an exaggerated “Oh well” face before stealing it all for myself.

I did, however, wake up to sharing it, but only because he had stolen it, and I was too tired to fight him about it.

I think one of my favorite times I rebuked him of his privileges was when he was wearing a pair of socks I had made him for Christmas around the house. I may have gotten a little more intense than I needed to, but the look on his face made it worth it.

He had come into the movie room to binge a few episodes of a new series I got him hooked on, and after he called me in to watch with him, I noticed the specific socks he had on.

I grinned once my brain had formulated a plan to make him regret ever giving me hell for a hobby he obviously loved himself.

“Claire said there was a show called Love Island we should watch. I have no clue what it’s about, but she said it was popular and what the kids are watching now,” Dean conversed as he grabbed the remote from the table and stood with a blanket (not one of mine, as I had relocated all of them so he couldn’t find them) around his shoulders.

He was in the perfect position for my plan.

I walked over and, instead of facing the TV, stood right in front of him and looked up at him.

“You know what we could do?” I whispered in a low and sultry voice, bringing my hand up to his chest and inching my fingers up to the collar of his t-shirt before pulling at it gently. His eyes instantly darkened, and he was frozen in his place.

“Wh-What, uh, what can we do?” he stammered out. Even after three years of dating, he still got nervous. I loved it.

“I think you know what,” I said, tiptoeing upward to quietly say in his ear, bringing my hand from his chest to the back of his neck, softly pulling him closer to me.

“I think I have an idea,” he replied more confidently, immediately bringing his free hand to my waist and squeezing it.

I could have faltered there, but I held strong. I was going to make him pay for all his little ‘grandma’ jokes he had sent my way the last few months.

I pulled back, sending him a smirk that I knew revved him up. He returned it with his own and started leaning down, forgetting his grip on the blanket and remote. Now both of his hands sat on my hips with a stronghold.

Before he could lean down any further, I pushed him backward harshly on the couch, and at first, he was shocked, then he was excited.

Slouched into the cushion, looking up at me, his tongue came out to lick his lips and ended with a bite to his lower lip as he eyed me up and down as I stood over him.

“Dear God, Y/N,” he hummed under his breath.

I guess it helped that I was wearing some of my shorter PJ shorts, ones he had told me were his favorites, and a shirt that was cropped and slightly falling off my shoulder.

He had a thing for me being in a disheveled manner like this. Reminded him of how I looked after we fucked around, and he held pride knowing he played a part in the kind of glow I gave off.

I wasn’t sure how long I could do this without failing myself on the original mission. I came here to fuck with him, and now he was the fucker. Or at least he was going to be if I didn’t follow through with my plan in the next minute.

“You know, you should be happy you were by the couch,” I smiled, stepping to him and strategically bringing my legs to straddle his hips teasingly.

His breath hitched at that, and I knew I had regained the upper hand.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he hummed as he admired my hands pressing into his chest as I leaned in, bringing myself closer to him.

“I was about to take you wherever I found you,” I whispered, looking him dead in the eyes with a soft smile. I looked him up and down and bit the inside of my cheek. That seemed to trigger his hands back to my hips instantly. This time a much more possessive lock on them.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I can’t complain,” he said lowly, and I knew he was hooked. Now it was time for revenge.

“Can I ask you a question?” I hummed, running my finger lightly over his hair down to his jaw, using the tip of it to push his chin up so I could see his eyes better.

“Please,” he buzzed, drunk with lust.

“Hmm,” I hummed, smiling more, dropping my gaze to his lips, then back at his eyes where he was drowning in dopamine by our current position. “Those socks you have on?” He didn’t catch on immediately and just furrowed his eyes as he processed what I asked. “They look familiar.”

I leaned back from my seat, still straddling his hips, but not with nearly as much pressure as before.

“What-” Dean started, but it dawned on him mid-thought. His eyes went from ready to tear my clothes off to annoyed realization. “Seriously.”

“What?” I feigned ignorance and stood up, repositioning myself between his legs, both hands on his knees as I looked at him and leaned over.

He couldn’t tell which way this was going for him, and that was the point. I was still winning this little game.

I eased myself lower, squatting with my knees going into the couch and in between his thighs. My hands went flat on his knees and slowly started working up his thighs.

“I can’t tell what you’re doing here, Y/N,” he said in a breathy voice. I watched as he tried to control himself, looking up away from me but not being able to help react to my hands on him.

“I’m not doing anything,” I said in a voice that made him lower his nervous wandering eyes back to me. The amount of green in his eyes disappeared slowly.

“You’re teasing me,” he said shortly as if he was worried his voice would tremble if he didn’t get it out quickly.

“Maybe, maybe not,” I shrugged with a pursed lip before bringing my hands slowly back down his legs.

“You’re mad at me,” he stuttered the last word when my hands worked their way back up, but further up than before.

“Now, why would you think that?” I tutted, shaking my head with an exaggerated look of hurt.

All he could do was take a slow, deep breath in as I tilted my head and smiled devilishly at him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t play innocent.”

I grinned.

“You and I both know I’m far from that…” My tone was darker than before but in a seductive and tempting manner.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He shot up from his slouched position and leaned forward, grabbing my forearms in his hands and pulling me up in his lap with his nose mere inches from my own.

“If your goal was to make me suffer, you won,” he whispered so quietly; if I wasn't this close, I wouldn't have heard it. He tilted his head up just enough for our noses to brush before pulling back.

“Keep it together, girl… Keep it fucking together,” I repeated in my head.

“Did I? Or am I just getting started?” I snarked, and that caused the new grip on my thigh to tighten, and I almost groaned at the pressure.

“Don’t start a war you can’t win,” he smirked, feeling as though he possessed the power.

Two can play that game.

I smiled, bringing my free hand up and tracing it behind his ear before wrapping it slowly around the back of his neck. I brought his face closer to mine but stopped right when I could feel the brush of his lips.

Our chests were pressed into each other, and I could feel his heart rate pick up. Perfect.

I nudged our noses again and smiled as his eyes closed, and he naturally and lazily chased my lips.

I rocked my hips in a measured manner, placed perfectly in the middle of his lap, and he sucked in a breath at the friction.

“Women don’t start wars. They finish them,” I whispered before promptly standing up and, in a swift motion, yanking the socks he had on off and walking to the exit.

“Y/N!” I could hear his shout from the couch from where I knew he was with a full hard-on, unable to move just yet.

“This granny is going to bed!” I shouted, speed-walking to my room in case he decided to run after me.

“You little-!” the shout still seemed far behind me, and I quickly shut my bedroom door and locked it.

Thankfully, I think I left him incapacitated for a second, and he didn’t follow me immediately.

I actually didn’t hear from him for the rest of the night. I hoped I didn’t upset him, but also, the whole reason I had done what I had was because he had become a little ass about my favorite hobby. I don’t mind the jokes, but after a while, you want a pat on the back for learning something new. Especially from someone you care about.

I went ahead and did my normal nighttime routine and got into bed before I started to read a book. I must have dozed off while reading because I woke up to the lights out, my book on the end table, and Dean crawling into the other side of the bed.

Before I could say anything, his arms came around my waist, and he pulled me to his core. He was in his boxers and one of his soft t-shirts I made him wear to bed.

For the record, I was perfectly fine with him in no shirt (or pants, for that matter), but when he did wear a shirt, I made him put on a certain kind cause his band and certain graphic tee ones were itchy on me when we cuddled.

He took a deep sigh and nuzzled his face into the crevice between my neck and shoulder, one of his favorite places.

“Why’d you lock your door?” he asked, already knowing I had woken up.

He had definitely picked the lock.

“I thought you were going to hunt me down, and I forgot to unlock it,” I replied sleepily.

There was silence for a minute, and eventually, he spoke up, whispering in my ear his apology.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I sighed with a winning grin he couldn't see, knowing why but playing coy anyway.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you how much I appreciate your brain,” he answered.

That was not what I expected, but I was intrigued.

“Hmmm,” I smiled, moving my hands to his that were wrapped around my ribs and nuzzling my backside closer to him. “Don’t stop now; you’re on a roll.”

He laughed and invited my attempt to fit into him like a puzzle piece.

“You’re ambitious with everything you want to learn to do, and I don’t tell you enough how much of a turn-on that is,” he hummed, rubbing his head into mine and peppering a kiss on my neck here and there. “And I know you know how much I love the skills you gain, but sometimes I’m bad about just saying how impressive you are to me.”

“You like my crocheting skills, Winchester,” I chuckled, turning my body to face him now and throwing one of my legs over his hips, pulling back in some. “Just say it.”

“I love your crocheting skills,” he replied with a wide grin and brought a hand up to move the stray hairs that fell on my face. “I love your baking and cooking. I love your impressive TV show-binging skills. I love the random facts you have stored in that beautiful brain of yours. I love your surprisingly nerdy side of Marvel and superheroes. I love your attempt at being a gardener.”

“Hey, I have three plants that are thriving right now!” I argued, poking a finger in his chest, which he grabbed and kissed the tip of.

“I love everything you’re passionate about,” he finished off. “I don’t tell you enough, and sometimes I like to see that face you give me when I tease you.” I gave him a look. “Maybe more than sometimes… But! I do love all those things and more about you, Y/N.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I replied, scooting in closer. “But it is nice to hear it from those captivating lips of yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We started smiling at each other, and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about earlier.

“I’m sorry I teased you,” I sighed, moving to where I was embedded in his chest, and he wrapped himself back around me.

“Don’t be. I deserved it,” he replied, chin on my head before he bent down and kissed the top of it. “I will say, though, I’ve never been mad about seeing that side of you.”

“What side?” I looked up at him.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing,” he chuckled, pulling my head back to him.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed after a minute. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You’re my favorite person. You know that, right?”

“Feelings are very much mutual,” he answered, caressing a hand up and down my back.

“Good. I’d have to kill you with one of my knitting needles if you said otherwise. Who said needleworking wasn’t dangerous, right?”

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @drakelover78 @caruhleener

Supernatural Tags:

@flamencodiva @hobby27 @sucker-for-dean @deans-baby-momma @squirrelgirl67 @death-unbecomes-you @snffbeebee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @musiclovinchic93 @vicmc624 @carryon-doctor-lock @perpetualabsurdity @herscrunchiehairtie @spnwoman @shamelesslydean @monkeymcpoopoo @winchestergirl82 @luciathewinchestergirl @deansyahtzee @thatgirl1456 @sucker-for-dean @atomicloverdonkeyperson @screechingartisancashbailiff @akshi8278 @supernatural3002

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mlovesstories · 2 years ago

Text

Soft Touch

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Comforting Dean might seem like a hefty task, but all he needs is you.

Requested by Anonymous: “request!! can you write something where the reader comforts dean after a bad day, it doesn’t have to be major trauma or anything just dean needing physical touch and not knowing how to ask for it and the reader making sure he’s comfortable and okay and just a bunch of fluff and comfort”

Warnings: angst, language, injury, alcohol, fluff

The bunker was fairly quiet, near completely. Sam was tucked away in his room, and if you had to guess, he was probably doing research. It’s what he’d been doing in the library for a little while, sitting there quietly with a few lore books and his laptop before he gathered his stuff with a polite goodnight and went to his room.

Sam Winchester is the only person you know that decompresses after a hunt by researching for the next.

You heard the sound of his tv when you walked by, muffled and soft. The sound of your footfalls accompanied it, a soft set of taps on the cold floor as you wandered about in search of your beau.

He hadn’t been in bed at all, his side still made. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not really, but he’d had a rough day.

It was a seven hour drive back to the bunker, and he was damn near running on fumes because he hadn’t slept well the night before. The motel bed was not doing any favors, stiff and thin enough to feel the springs dig into your muscles. The dip in the center made an uncomfortable pit, and he was just about ready to snag you and sleep in the Impala. He couldn’t sleep nearly as well without you.

He was sore from the hunt, muscles aching and begging for a bath, but he wasn’t the biggest fan of them. He’d obtained a myriad of injuries, none serious or major, but the combination was a melting pot of misery when you put them together. Not to mention the constant state of war he’s in with his own mind.

The halls still smelled like dinner, pizza and a mix of burgers, something quick and easy. None of you had the energy to do more than takeout.

You heard the quiet hum of the lights lining the hall, and your sigh upon seeing an empty library, and an empty map room. The bathroom was empty too, and the Dean cave he’d set up. There was no note on the desk by the bed, so that was an indication he was still there.

But your search wasn’t very lengthy much to your relief, a simple glance into the kitchen revealing just the one you were looking for.

His back was to you as he stood at the sink. He’d discarded his shirt after dinner, a habit he’d gotten into as of late. He got hot very easily, and it was a simple and more comfortable solution. Besides, you wouldn’t complain about that.

The muscles in his back tensed and moved as he washed the dishes in the sink, those damn hotdog pajama pants sitting on his hips.

His hair was a bit tangled and mussed, brushing against the nape of his neck and curling outward. He’d been growing it out, same for his beard, a mixture of not having as much time to handle it and wanting to try something new.

You saw a half drank glass of whiskey on the table as you passed it, the uncapped bottle sitting next to it.

He knew you were there, heard the soft pattern of your footfalls, not to mention he could sense your presence regardless of hearing you or not. But it was confirmed when you reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear.

He pulled his gaze from the plate in his hand, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Thought you’d run off for good,” you teased, your eyes meeting his.

His chuckle was soft and sweet, accompanied by a shake of his head. “Ain’t runnin’ off without taking you with me, sweetheart.”

“Well, ain’t that a relief?”

You notice the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, tired but surely present.

He rinses off that last plate, sticking it in the drying rack on the counter before wiping his hands dry on the tea towel draped over the sink. He turns to you, hands settling on your hips before they glide forwards, snaking themselves around your waist and tugging you closer. They were warm and calloused, the perfect combination.

You rested your hands on his chest, his skin warm and radiating to you. Your gaze shifts to the scrape on his shoulder, fading into a cut. He hadn’t tended to it, not really, nor did his mess with the one on his bicep and just above his beard on his cheekbone.

“How about we get you cleaned up, then head to bed?” You say, tipping your head back to look at him.

He took one of his hands from where it rested around you to settle by your cheek and tangle with the hair at the nape of your neck.

“You sayin’ I didn’t do a good job?” He asks, and you just barely saw the raise of his brow under the hair that fell over his forehead.

“Pretty much,” you answer with a shrug, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of his frown and crease between his brows.

He tugged you in closer abruptly and you made a delighted noise of surprise, moving your hands from his chest to wrap up around his shoulders. His nose bumped against yours, the brush of his lips gentle before he they pressed a kiss on your own. It was lingering and sweet, borderline steamy before he parted, only to press one, two, three more to your lips.

“Trying to distract me?” You ask, furrowing your brows with a soft smile as you look at him.

He chuckles as he shakes his head, brushing your hair out of your face. “Oh sweetheart, I wouldn’t have to try to do that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smile, instead rolling your eyes as you wriggle from his arms.

“Sit down, Winchester,” you say, walking towards the cupboard.

You hear his sigh as you grab the first aid kit, freshly replenished a few days ago. You hear that sigh but when you turn around, sure enough he’s taken his seat at the kitchen table, swirling his unfinished glass of whiskey in his hand before gulping it down and pouring another.

Now it’s your turn to sigh, head shaking softly and he most definitely heard it.

You open the lid to the kit, pondering over what you wanted before it came to mind. You snagged a package of an alcohol wipe, and the small bottle of antiseptic, grabbing a small stack of gauze.

None of his injuries were severe, but it’s no good for any wound, superficial or not, to have dirt trapped in it while it tries to heal.

Anyone knew that. Anyone except Dean Winchester.

Well, it’s not that he didn’t know, he very much did. He just lacked a certain caring when it came to himself. And by lacking, he didn’t care at all. He was always that way. He cared enough to eat and bathe, to brush his teeth and at least have you brush his hair, though that was purely because he secretly not so secretly enjoys how it feels. But in actuality, he didn’t care much for himself, didn’t see a reason to.

In fact, the only reason he cared even a little bit was so he could be around to protect you and Sam, didn’t have anything to do with himself.

“No more liquor, De,” you sigh, capping the bottle and pushing it away from his reach.

You didn’t fail to notice the way he looked at you for it, brows furrowed and gaze narrowed. And you didn’t fail to notice the way those dimples formed by the corners of his mouth, barely visible through his beard but you knew with one hundred percent certainty that they were there.

That was his form of self care. A bottle of whiskey or a six pack of beer. But that was no form of caring at all, no form of soothing.

You simply lift your hand and run it over his head, caressing over his hair, your thumb brushing over his cheek softly. Your hand drops to rest under his chin, tipping his head back to drop a soft kiss to his lips, something that made your words sound not so bad to him now. So much so that he made a noise of discontent when you pulled away to tend to those wounds of his.

He didn’t care about a damn scrape or two, he wanted you.

You sigh as you tear open a couple packets of alcohol wipes, plucking one from its package and unfolding it.

You started with his arm, holding his bicep in your hand, cumbersome at best because he’d become quite muscular as of late. You noticed the slight twitch he’d made in reaction to the cold alcohol stinging the open scrape, but it’d barely shown on his face, hard for anyone but you to tell.

You cleaned away the excess dirt and blood with gentle swipes. You set down the dirtied wipe on the table, reaching for the gauze and bottle of antiseptic. You squeezed a generous amount on, returning your grip on his arm as you dabbed it directly on the scrape this time.

He may think you were being dramatic, you knew it did. It was only a few scrapes, the most superficial of injuries you can get. The equivalent of a paper cut in the world of hunting. But you were all about caring for your big, strong tough guy even if he couldn’t give a damn about any of it when it came to himself.

“You should really take better care of yourself after hunts, De,” you say, beginning to repeat the process on his shoulder.

“I ain’t gonna die from a couple of scrapes and scratches, sweetheart,” he says, as careless as ever, his tone lighthearted.

You exhale a huff, tossing the second wipe down in a more obvious show of your frustration.

“Would you want me to say that about myself?” You ask, brow raised in challenge.

“Y/n,” he said sternly.

You could tell he was angry, or the beginnings of it. His jaw was tense, along with his shoulders. You could feel it under your palm, a noticeable difference. Not to mention the look on his face alone was enough of a giveaway.

That crease between his brows never left, only deepened by your words. Those dimples were still adorning the corners of his mouth unable to be masked by the beard that framed his jaw. Nor could it hide the subtle flush in his cheeks, tinged with anger and frustration.

To him, the comparison was incomparable. So ridiculously, unbelievably able to be compared because he was not in the same bracket as you. He’ll, he’d die for you, and has. He’s sold his damn soul to a low life demon just so you would be okay, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’d rather get torn to shreds by a werewolf, become some wendigo’s dinner, be made into some monsters toy than have so much as a hand laid on you.

The comparison between you and him was one he could not make. Because you were the world, a radiant being and far better than the angels he’s seen in his lifetime and he knows it for a fact. You were his world and he was simply a fleck in it. He’s always felt that way, and the whole idea has been putting a strain on him for as long as he can remember.

He always hated that you were a hunter, because dammit it scared him more than anything. He’s seen what monsters do to people, innocent lives. He’s seen what the life does to those who enter it, how it changes them, he’s one of them. He’s seen the sheer trauma it’s put you through, the agony and pain. He sees it with every case, every hunt that’s added to the endless chart.

If he thinks about it for too long, it’ll drive him insane, push him over the edge of emotion and into a fit of rage. And that, that reaction alone only adds to the self hatred he feels. To be an angry person when you’re so delicate and everything he wishes he could be. It spirals into every avenue.

He couldn’t bring himself to put caring about a scrape on himself at the same level as an injury on you. He couldn’t do it. Even so much as a paper cut on you would have him furrowing his brows. It’d need something as simple as a bandaid and he’d be sure to put it on, giving you hell if you tried to brush it off.

No matter the severity, if you were hurt in any way, shape, or form, it mattered to him.

He didn’t give a damn about himself, he gave a damn about you.

He didn’t say anything else, and you sighed, softening your glare and settling your hand on his other cheek.

You noticed the way he leaned into your touch, however, his hair falling in the direction it so pleased as he tilted his head and tipped it back, his eyes falling closed.

Dean Winchester was rough, tough and rugged. There was no denying that. He was stereotypical, and put up every front he felt he needed to. But when everything is stripped away, when it came down to it, Dean was a man of comfort. That’s really all he’s ever wanted, no matter how much he refused to say it.

But it’s a trait that’s guarded with extra security, one he tries to keep on lock down from you even, but he can’t keep that from his source of comfort. He’d be foolish to think he’d be able to keep that from you.

The subtle flush in his cheeks had accentuated his freckles, soft flecks kissing along his skin, almost comically delicate in contrast to the tough persona he puts on. Especially the way his lashes curled over top of them when his eyes were closed.

You were gentler this time if that were possible, gentler in comparison to the other two you just tended to. His skin was angry and red around the uneven scrape, some of it smudged lightly with blood and some not.

His beard felt prickly and soft all the same against your palm, the longest he’s ever let it grow. His hair fell over his eyes, glimmers of green breaking through as he opened them to look at you.

He didn’t say anything, just looked. His gaze is softer than it was moments before, looking at every detail he can soak in as if he’d never see them again. Quiet as he admired. His expression was unreadable, yet so openly blatant all the same.

You knew he’d calmed down from a couple minutes ago. You knew it with the way his hands grasped your hips and pulled you closer. You sat down on his lap, a soft sigh exhaling past your lips.

“Well, I was all done anyway,” you say, tone lighthearted and teasing as you toss what was in your hand to the side.

“Oh good,” he says, pulling you all the more closer.

He tucks you into himself as tightly as possible, and you feel how deeply he inhaled as his face settled against the crook of your neck briefly, felt his exhale against your skin.

This. This was all he ever needed. All the comfort he’d known and cared for.

His warmth was unbeatable, his skin smooth and heated as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“I could get used to this no shirt thing, you know,” you said, soft but mischievous, that smile of yours plenty proof of it.

You hear his chuckle, see that half grin of his as he looks at you with half open eyes, a chunk of hair dipped between his brows in a damn prince charming sort of way.

“Yeah?” He inquires, though he knows your answer already.

You simply respond with a nod and a soft laugh that sends a feeling of warmth through his chest like it’s the first time he’s heard it. Nearly sent over the edge when that laugh presses to his lips and dissolves into a kiss.

Damn was he ever lucky, any tension he’s carried having long since dissipated just from your mere presence.

He’d felt absolutely miserable, purely stuck below the surface of his thoughts that never fail to drown him. But in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter so much. They could be thoughts to worry about some other time.

Because right now he’s got you.

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20 @wandering-winchesters @senjoritanana @iprobablyshipit91

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mlovesstories · 2 years ago

Text

My Turn

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you’ve been spending too much time with Sam, so Dean brings out an old tradition to get some more time with you

“Move your head, moose, I can’t see!”

“Moose? You’ve been spending too much time around Crowley.”

“It’s not my fault he’s locked in our dungeon.”

“Would you just focus?”

“I don’t need focus to beat you, Sammy.”

Dean wandered into the living room of the bunker where his siblings were squabbling.

“Mario Kart?” He questioned. “Since when do we have Mario Kart?”

“Since we went out and bought it yesterday,” Sam answered. “And our delusional baby sister here actually thinks she’s better than me.”

“This is the third time in a row that I’ve gotten first place, Sammy. I don’t think; I know.”

“Yeah well, you’re gonna eat your words right after you eat this.”

“No no no don’t you dare-“

It was too late. Sam sent the blue shell hurdling towards you, and just before you passed the finish line it spun you out, and Sam managed to squeeze by you.

“Aw come on!” You whined, but when the awards page shone on the screen, a smirk broke out on your face. “Ha! Even your treachery couldn’t beat out my victory!”

“Hey, you may have won the gold, but I won Rainbow Road.”

“If that makes you feel better, I’ll let you have that,” you taunted.

“Hey we got another controller?” Dean asked. “I think it’s time I show you both who the real champ is.”

“Here, take mine,” Sam stood. “I’ve gotta do some research in the library.”

“I wanna come!” Sam grunted in surprise when you leaped off the couch and onto his back.

Dean watched Sam carry you out of the room, an unpleasantly familiar feeling bubbling up in his stomach.

The three of you had always been inseparable, but lately you and Sam had been stuck together like Velcro.

He wanted to spend more time with you, but he wasn’t sure how to get you away from Sam.

Then suddenly, an old solution came to him.

…

Sam looked up in surprise when Dean took baby Y/N out of his hands.

“Hey,” he grumbled, but Dean just smirked.

“Mine,” he insisted, carrying you over to his bed and sitting down with you. “You’ve been hogging her attention all afternoon.”

“She’s not a doll, Dean,” Sam protested.

“Complain all you want, but it’s my turn.”

…

“What are you-“

Sam shushed his brother as he gently lifted three-year old you out of Dean’s hands.

“Mine,” he smirked, cradling your sleeping form in his arms.

“Dude, c’mon, you can’t just-“

“Shh, you’re gonna wake her up. Suck it up, jerk, it’s my turn.”

…

Sam rubbed his face, willing his eyes to stay open.

“You feeling any better?” He asked quietly, to which you shook your head.

“I’m back, and I got food,” Dean announced as he stepped into the motel. One look at Sam, and he frowned. “Did you get any sleep?”

Sam stood and moved away from you to speak to Dean.

“Her fever spiked, I’ve been trying to bring it down.”

“I’ve got her now, you go get some sleep alright?” Dean walked over to where you were positioned on the couch and lifted you into his arms, carrying you to his bed.

“You sure?” Sam yawned.

“Yeah,” Dean insisted. “It’s my turn.”

…

Dean shook his head to clear it of the memories as he marched into the library.

“Hey Dee,” you greeted.

“Hey,” he reciprocated with a smile as he stepped up to your chair, leaning down and lifting you into his arms.

“What the-“ you protested, and Sam butted in with a-

“What are you doing?”

“Mine,” Dean insisted as he started towards the living room.

“Dude what the heck?” You asked, but Sam started to laugh.

“Dean she’s not three anymore.”

Dean just grinned.

“Complain all you want, but it’s my turn.”

…

“What was that?”

You demanded as Dean dumped you unceremoniously into Baby’s passenger seat.

“That was me taking you out for a drive.”

“I’m pretty sure that was actually kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?” Dean scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you love going for drives with me.”

“Dean, you picked me up and dragged me out here, I think that’s called kidnapping,” you frowned. “And what did Sam mean when he said I wasn’t three anymore?”

Dean chuckled, “You don’t remember? When you were little, and one of us was holding you for too long, or spending too much time with you, the other would just kinda…” Dean searched for a word. “Steal you, I guess you could say. You loved it, I think the attention kinda went to your head.”

“So you came in there and carried me away like your favorite doll or something because Sammy was hogging me?” You giggled.

“Hey, don’t let it go to your head again,” Dean grumbled.

“You know you could’ve just asked.”

“I asked to play Mario Kart and you guys dipped. Figured I’d try a more traditional approach,” Dean smirked.

“Sorry,” your voice suddenly got more somber.

“Nah nah, none of that,” Dean demanded. “I didn’t come out here looking for sympathy, I came out here looking for a good time.”

“Ok then,” you grinned suddenly and reached to turn on the radio. “Let’s have a good time.”

…

“Mine.”

You gasped in surprise when you felt yourself lifted off the ground the moment you stepped into the bunker.

“Dude, seriously?” Came Dean’s voice from behind you.

“Hey you started this game,” Sam retorted. “I’m just continuing it.”

“Hey guys,” you huffed. “Why don’t we just all hang out?”

“What do you have in mind?”

…

“Ha! Take that, now I’m winning!”

“Wanna bet?”

“Oh you did not,” Dean groaned when you nailed him with a red shell, passing him quickly before beating him to the finish line.

“I do believe that’s the end of round 17,” you smirked. “And as you can see from the tally marks, it ends in my favor, so suck it!”

Sam grumbled, “I think someone’s ego needs to be knocked down a peg.”

“You’d have to beat me to do that,” you laughed.

“Or,” Dean interjected. “We could finally give up on this and watch a movie.”

“You’re just saying that because you know you’ll never win.”

“Oh no no no,” Dean argued. “That taunt might’ve worked with me eight rounds ago, but I mean it, I’m done.”

“Fine,” you grinned. “But winner gets to pick the movie.”

The boys grumbled, but relented.

Two hours later, the credits rolled and Dean looked over to see you fast asleep on the couch. He stood and moved to pick you up, but Sam beat him to it.

“Hey-“ Dean began, but Sam cut him off.

“Uh-uh, go on I’ve got her. It’s my turn.”

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