savvywrites

[savvywrites]

A/N: Hey everyone, it’s savvy!dean here bringing you just a little something to get you through the week.

--

It was the same thing every evening. You’d lock up the store, grab your jacket, and tell Dean goodbye. He’d send you a wave from underneath whatever car he was working on and you’d head home, wishing you had the courage to say more. To do more.

But tonight your boss had you work late to restock air fresheners. Ridiculous. You could have waited until tomorrow but he was in a bad mood and wanted it done tonight.

When the last one was finally in place, you stood, stretched, and walked to the garage. A classic rock song played softly on the radio. You spotted Dean’s boots sticking out from under the car.

“Hey,” you said, taking a step closer.

His body jerked. You heard a loud thud and then a muffled curse.

Stifling laughter, you watched as he rolled out from under the car. But when he sat up, a smudge of grease on his cheek, your throat dried.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” Dean said, rubbing his head. “Gary made you stay late?”

“Of course. Those air fresheners aren’t going to stock themselves.”

He rolled his eyes and stood. At his full height, he towered over you. That was one of the first things you’d noticed about Dean three months ago when he’d shown up in the shop out of nowhere and asked for a job. You didn’t know where he came from, only that there was an instant moment of attraction the second you saw him--and he’d been avoiding you ever since.

“So…” You shifted awkwardly from one foot to the next, trying not to stare at the veins in his forearms when he wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket. “I’m going to head out.”

“You can’t,” he said immediately.

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, it’s dark out. You shouldn’t go alone.” He walked to the desk next to you to grab another rag. “I can walk you to your car.”

Warmth filled your stomach. You opened your mouth automatically to decline even though you wanted to be near him as long as possible. But then he looked up and his eyes locked on yours. His strong hands stilled on the rag.

“I want you to be safe,” he said.

“I...I usually walk home. It’s only a few blocks.”

He shook his head. “It’s dangerous.”

“I do it almost everyday.”

“In the light. But at night…” He glanced away but I didn’t miss the haunted look in his eyes. “It’s dangerous.”

“Dean,” you whispered. “What happened to you?”

His jaw clenched. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He looked back at you, determination on his face. “Like I said, it’s dangerous. If you got hurt…”

Your heart clutched. What was he saying? Did this mean he actually cared?

“Dean,” you start, breathless.

His eyes captured your again and he moved another step closer, making your heart race. “Listen, I know I’ve been keeping my distance, Y/N. That doesn’t mean I don’t see you.”

“I see you, too.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. Like he was fighting a losing battle. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, like I said. And you…”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. At least not right now. But don’t...don’t shut me out forever.”

He swallowed and took another step so that the toes of his boots were touching the tips of your sneakers.

“Y/N,” Dean whispered.

Your heart beat wildly against your chest, dying for him to make the first move.

“Dammit,” he said, tossing the rag on the desk. And then he yanked you into his arms.

His mouth captured yours in one swoop while your mind blurred with shock and desire. You wrapped your arms around his neck, making a low moan of pleasure in your throat. Dean pressed you back against the wall, holding you captive while he slid his tongue along your bottom lip.

“You keep getting under my skin,” he said, breath warm on your lips.

Your knees almost buckled at the feel of it. “You’ve been under my skin since the first day you walked in here.”

His eyes clouded with memories. “I don’t want to think about that. Any of it.”

You reached up to brush your fingers on his cheek, and his eyes shut briefly in response. “You don’t have to. Not right now.”

“I want to get out of here. Get a drink. Eat. Spend time with you.”

Your heart leaped with happiness. Yes. Yes. That was exactly what you wanted. What you’d been waiting for.

“Then let’s get out of here,” you said, well aware he wasn’t moving an inch. His body still pinned yours to the wall.

He leaned in, forehead resting against yours just briefly. “Thanks for understanding.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then he pulled back, took your hand and guided you to the front door. He grabbed your jacket to help you put it on and then took your hand again to lead you outside.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his shoulder brushing yours.

You nodded. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[savvywrites]

Campout

Title: Campout

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 1,519

Warnings: none

Requested by: @sdfandomghost : I was wondering if you could write a fic for Sam / reader where they go camping out in the woods!

A/N: Hello! It’s savvy!sam with you today, fulfilling the first request we’ve gotten on this blog! I hope you enjoy!

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"See? I told you it was pretty.”

You climb out of the car, too distracted by the incredible view to shut the door. Sam had talked highly of this camping spot in Colorado--Granite Camp--and how he had gone here more than once with his brother and his dad when he was younger. Seeing it with your own eyes, you realize that he wasn’t lying when he said it was one of the most beautiful places he’s been.

“You’re right. It’s gorgeous,” you say in response to Sam’s comment. He comes to stand next to you, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, and he smiles at your awed expression.

“You like it?”

“It’s amazing, Sam.” You turn to him, a broad grin forming on your mouth. “You should take me on vacations more often.” He chuckles at that and pulls you into a hug.

You and Sam had decided to go on this camping trip last week after a particularly tolling Rugaru hunt. Both you and the younger Winchester had almost gotten taken out, but by fate or some other powerful force, you survived. One you got back to the bunker, dirty and shaken up but intact, it was clear a break was needed. Hence, Granite Camp.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Sam says. “Dean’s probably basking in the glory of finally being alone.”

“I’m glad I’m here too. And yeah, Dean’s definitely having too much fun by himself.”

“Should we call to check on him?”

“Nah. He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

Sam peers down at you, a love-struck gleam in his eyes. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.” He leans down and kisses you, soft and slow, and you imagine what it would be like to stay this way forever, wrapped up in his arms with the pleasant sound of chirping birds and the rushing river the only thing around you. It almost seems within reach, this fantasy, but then you remember that the world is overwhelmed with monsters and ghosts and all of the things you’ve spent your life getting rid of, and the vision disappears.

“We should probably unpack,” you say, pulling away from Sam’s warm embrace, and he nods in agreement. You start with the trunk, pulling out the tent and sleeping bags and both of your duffles. You set them off to the side, and when you turn back, you halt for a second, glancing at Sam and the things he just took out of the car.

“You brought fishing gear.”

Sam looks at you, clutching fishing poles in each hand. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

Your boyfriend smiles at you and holds out one of the poles. You take it gently, still confused on why it was here in the first place.

“I thought it would be relaxing. Y’know, sitting in camping chairs on the shore, a beer in your hand-”

“The fishy smell of the lake wafting in your face, reeling in what you think is a catch when it’s really just a clump of seaweed,” you finish, a sarcastic edge to your tone. “Seems real relaxing.”

“You’re grumpy.”

“I suck at fishing! Believe me, you don’t want to see me try and put the bait on the hook. The worms are way too wiggly, and honestly? It kind of grosses me out.”

Sam smirks at you and kisses you on the cheek. “Babe, you hunt monsters for a living. One little worm shouldn’t gross you out.”

“At least I know how to handle monsters. Worms are in a whole other realm.”

Sam shakes his head, laughing, and opens the trunk to rummage through his bag. “It’ll be fun, I promise. I’ll put the bait on your hook for you, if you want.” He finally finds what he is looking for, and pulls it out with a victorious yell. “I found it!”

“Found what?”

“My fishing hat,” he responds, placing the hat on his head with a flourish. The ends of his hair stick out every which way, and the brim nearly covers his eyes. You stifle a giggle.

“You look absolutely ridiculous.”

“I thought it looked good.”

“Oh, honey,” you laugh, pulling your phone out of your back pocket and readying your camera. “Quick, pose with your fishing pole.”

Sam takes the hat off immediately and lunges for your phone. You move out of his reach at the last second and laugh.

“No! Put it back on! Dean needs to see this.”

“No way,” he answers and swipes the phone out of your hands. “No pictures, no texts. I won’t wear the hat anymore.”

You frown but concede, and he puts his hat and your phone in the car.

***

Sam smirks at you as he reels in yet another fish, and you huff, glaring out at the lake. “This is ridiculous.”

“What, Y/N? You jealous of my prodigious fishing skills?”

“I told you I sucked at fishing.”

“I thought your only problem was putting bait on the hook. I didn’t know you were bad at everything else, too,” Sam teases, and you stick your tongue out at him. “If you want to do something else, we can. Think of something you’re good at, and maybe you’ll finally beat me at something.”

“Beat you? I didn’t know this was a competition.” You reel in your line (nothing hangs off of the end like you suspected) and set your pole to the side, grinning at Sam playfully. “I know something we can do. I’ll totally kick your ass at it.”

“And what would that be?”

You bend down to the ground and pluck a flat rock from the edge of the lake. You toss it in the air a couple of times, gauging your boyfriend’s reaction. “Rock-skipping.”

Sam laughs heartily, setting his pole to the side as well and searching for a rock similar to yours. “I’m awesome at rock-skipping. This won’t even be hard.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a pro in the art of skipping rocks. I won first place in a rock-skipping contest in the 5th grade. I was a legend at school for the rest of my days there.”

Sam glances at you, eyebrows raised. “Wait. Really?”

“No! Rock-skipping contests aren’t like spelling bees,” you laugh. “I am terribly good at it, though. You’ve been warned.”

“I think I’ll be fine, Miss Legend,” he says mockingly. “Go ahead. Amaze me.”

You get into position and chuck the rock across the water, watching as it skips nine times over the glassy lake. “Hell yeah! Top that, Samuel. I bet you can’t.”

“Your trash-talking hurts me, Y/N,” he says, feigning hurt feelings, and gets in position just as you did. He cocks his arm back, hurling the rock forward--

--and it lands with a ungraceful splash about five feet into the lake. You cough out a laugh, and Sam furrows his eyebrows.

“That… didn’t go as planned.”

“‘This won’t even be hard’, huh?” you question, laughing harder. “That wasn’t even close to being right!”

“I’m a bit out of practice!” he defends, scrambling to find another rock. “Here, I’ll just do it again and--”

Again, the rock plops into the water after he lets go of it, which sets you off once more. You can’t speak through your gales of laughter.

“Now I think I know how you felt when I was catching all of those fish.”

“You think, huh?” You walk closer to him and retrieve a rock that will skim the water nicely. “Here. The rocks you want to use should look like this. Flat and smooth.” You hand it to him, and he observes it carefully.

“I was using flat rocks.”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say.” You move to stand behind him so you can guide him into the right position. “You’re gonna want to bend your knees a little bit. Like that, yeah. Lean forward some too.”

He starts to do as you say, and then, changing his mind, he turns and wraps his arms around your waist. “I have a better idea,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “Let’s set up the tent.”

You kiss him once on the lips, nodding, and he drops the rock back onto the ground. You gather your dinner and your fishing poles from your spot, and then trek back to the car, throwing the poles in the trunk and bringing the fish to the firepit.

After dinner, you set the tent up quickly and lay your sleeping bags inside, just as the sun slips behind the mountains and turns the world dark. The stars twinkle valiantly in the black sky, accompanying a silvery half-moon. The both of you make in inside your tent, ready to wind it down for the night.

“I think this has been a pretty productive trip so far,” Sam says after lying down and adjusting a bit. He smiles at you lovingly.

“I think there’s something else that can make this trip even more memorable,” you say quietly, sliding your sleeping bag closer to his.

He grins. “I think you’re right,” he says, and then lowers his mouth to yours.

[savvywrites]

Character Q&A #1

Hi! savvy!sam and savvy!dean here. We’re adding a new segment to our blog called Character Q&A! This is where we ask the characters one question and they can answer however they want. If you have a question for any of the characters, feel free to submit it to us through an ask!

Sam and Dean. We’re going to start with an easy one this week. Cake or pie?

Dean lifts his eyebrows, shooting Sam an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

Sam shrugs.

“I mean, who eats cake?” Dean asks.

“People at birthday parties,” Sam says.

“Right. How many birthday parties you been to this week, Sammy?”

Sam grins at you. “Six.”

Dean chuckles. “Sure.” He returns his attention to you. “Pie. The correct answer is pie.”

Sam scratches his cheek. “Nah. I’m going with cake.”

Dean smirks at him. “I bet you are. Always trying to please the masses.”

The younger Winchester rolls his eyes. “Next question?”

[savvywrites]

A/N: Hi, it’s savvy!sam here, bringing you something a little spookier for Friday the 13th. Hope you enjoy!

---

The man lunges forward, bringing the iron poker down in a diagonal slash across the apparition, and it disappears with a ghastly scream in front of your eyes. For a moment, the room is eerily silent, and then the other man is pulling you into a standing position and tugging you into another room. You follow without question.

You aren’t exactly sure what is happening. Yes, two men who originally introduced themselves as Special Agents Gibbons and Beards are in your house, spilling salt to form a circle on the floor and waving iron weapons around, and yes, there is a revenge-seeking spirit wreaking havoc on your once normal life. You know that much for sure. 

But how? How is there a revenge-seeking spirit even there to wreak havoc? You’ve never believed in ghosts or monsters or anything supernatural. You’ve never even had a reason to think any of those things existed. But now there are strange men in your home, talking low about “burning the bones didn’t seem to work” and “what else can be tethering her here?” It scares you more than anything has scared you before.

“What the hell is going on?” you question the men, trying to keep your voice steady. Your voice wavers on the third syllable and frightened tears spring to your eyes.

No one answers you, but the shorter man grasps your elbow gently and pulls you into the salt circle.

“Whatever you do, stay here,” he says firmly. “You’ll be perfectly fine if you stay inside this circle.”

“What are you going to do?”

As he opens his mouth to answer, a strong, invisible force knocks him off of his feet and across the room. He slams into the opposite wall, shattering the china cabinet, and you gasp as the ghost takes form again, ratty hair a crazy halo around her head.  

She points a gnarled finger your way, baring her teeth, but she doesn’t come any closer. You look down at the ground and immediately know why.

The salt. She’s not coming any closer because of the salt.

“Y/N!” The frantic yell snaps you out of your reverie, and you peer up to see the hands of the ghost suddenly wrapped around the tall man’s neck. He’s struggling, and he doesn’t have any sort of weapon.

You quickly search around for an iron poker--that’s the only thing that you know will get rid of it momentarily--and find it just outside your protective circle. 

You hesitate, thinking over the situation. You don’t know these men, you hardly know what’s going on, you don’t particularly want to die tonight... but you can’t let them die either. And if you don’t act soon, that just might happen.

With a frenzied cry, you lunge for the poker, sweeping some of the salt away in the process. You grab hold of it and swing it upwards towards the ghost, and she disappears with a scream once more. 

“Are you alright?” you ask the man, who is gasping for air, and he nods slightly, gingerly grabbing your arm. 

“She’s tethered here,” he whispers, with a tone that sounds like he hopes you understand what he’s about to say. “There’s something that she cares about keeping her here. If we can find it and burn it, we can end this.”

You shake your head in confusion. “I-I don’t know-”

“Is there anything here-an object of some sort-that seems connected to the spirit somehow?” 

Your eyebrows knit together, and you think for a moment before it hits you. “The painting,” you say. You remember the day you moved in; it had been hanging on the wall, a piece you had assumed belonged to the previous owners, and you had taken it down. The next day, however, it was exactly where it had been when you had got there. That was the first of many strange things that had happened to you in this house, and you’re sure that if anything were to be keeping the ghost here, it would be the painting. 

“The painting,” the man repeats, and you point to its location. It’s on the floor now, knocked to the ground in the midst of everything, lying right beside the shorter man. Though still a bit dazed from the impact he just experienced, he seems to understand what is going on. He digs around in his jacket pocket, brings out a lighter, flicks the top and drops it on the painting just as the ghost appears next to you. 

She screams in agony as she burns up along with her painting. You sit back, heart pounding and eyes large, as she fades away one last time, never to hurt you or anyone else ever again. When it’s all over, a heaving breath escapes your mouth, and you gaze unbelievingly at the two men gathered around you. 

“Who... who are you?” you ask. They exchange a glance, one that tells you that they have to answer this question a lot, and the shorter one chuckles a bit.

“We’re Dean and Sam Winchester. And, well... we hunt monsters.”

[savvywrites]

Hey! Love your account! I was wondering if you could write a fic for Sam / reader where they go camping out in the woods! Tysm ily

We’re so glad you’re enjoying our blog! And thank you so much for sending in a request, it seems like it’s going to be really fun to write! Be on the lookout for it during the next couple of weeks.

Thanks again!

[savvywrites]

A/N: Hi, it’s savvy!dean here! This is for @revwinchester ‘s Rewriting Rev Challenge, and just a little something spooky for the month of October!

—

“It’s not going to happen,” Sam says to you. He shoves a hand through his hair and paces across the room. “Who in the world would want to sit in a dark room for two hours watching creepy ass clowns terrify people?”

“Just one creepy ass clown,” you say. “And I want that. It’s fun.”

Dean tosses his arm over your shoulder. “I’ll hold your hand if you get scared.”

“Who’s going to hold Sam’s hand?” you grin and glance at Cas.

“Sounds like a strange ritual to me,” Cas responds, looking at the picture above the movie times on the computer. “Sit in a random building, watch people trying to scare other people. And pay money for it.”

Sam nods. “Thank you, Cas. See? Cas gets it.”

“That’s the American way,” Dean says. “Right?”

You nod. “And you have to pay WAY too much money for popcorn and drinks or else you’re not doing it right.”

“Now you’ve convinced me,” Sam says with a roll of his eyes. “I get to pay money to be terrified. Right on.”

You link arms with him. “I’ll protect you.”

“I’m not scared…It’s just clowns…”

Dean grins. “He’s scared. Which is part of the appeal.”

“I agree,” Cas says. “It does hold a certain appeal. Fear produces endorphins. It’s an adrenaline rush, that sudden release of dopamine.” Cas gives Sam an uncharacteristically playful smile. “And it’s fun.”

Sam frowns. “Oh, good, he does have a personality. Thanks, Cas. I thought you were on my side.”

“There are no sides,” Dean says, “just–dopamine I guess. So let’s go!”

You laugh and tug on Sam’s arm. “Come on, it’ll be fun. And afterward, if you’re a good boy, I’ll get you a balloon.”

Dean laughs. “Yep, a nice big red one that floats.”

Sam groans but follows us out of the door.

[savvywrites]

A/N: Hey, it’s savvy!sam here! I know it’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything, but I wanted my next imagine to be more light-hearted since the last thing I wrote was more angsty, so, here you go!

---

"So remind me again why we're here?"

You turn away from the adorable hamsters in their cages to glance at Sam, whose hands are stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. He has a questioning glint in his eyes, and it makes you laugh

"We're looking! See how cute these little guys are?" You 'aww' softly as one of the hamsters crawls through the tubes and nearly gets stuck. "Could you imagine having one of these?"

Sam wrinkles his nose. "If we were to get a pet, I wouldn't want it to be a hamster."

You shrug, and walk further down the aisle, stopping abruptly when you see another sort of animal in the aquarium.

“How do you think Dean would react to us bringing home a Bearded Dragon?”

Sam chuckles in response, peering closely at the lizard. “Honestly? He’d probably say it’s super badass. Would definitely prefer a lizard to... pretty much everything else we could manage to get.”

You scoff as you cross your arms. “Not after he finds out how much they bite.”

The two of you move onto the next aquarium, and you flinch as soon as you see what’s inside.

“No. Absolutely no spiders.” A grimace takes over your face as the large, hairy arachnid crawls closer to your side of the glass, and you take a step back. 

"No? You sure? Because I know how much you love them-" You cut Sam off with a swift smack to his shoulder. "Ouch! Okay, okay, no spiders," he finishes with a laugh. "What do you want to look at, then?”

The edges of your lips quirk up, and you take his hand in yours. You begin leading him near the front of the store, and he seems to know where you’re going before you even make it there. 

The puppies all bark excitedly as you and Sam approach them, jumping and yipping inside their large pen. They topple over each other, trying to get your attention, and you look at Sam with a smile on your face.

“I should’ve known,” he says, but he’s smiling too, a childish, joyous smile. The two of you peer into the pen and notice one of the puppies sitting to the side, not wishing to engage in the battle for your affections that was taking place just a few inches away. You wrap your hands around his fluffy body and cradle him close to your chest.

“Look how adorable he is, Sam,” you say as Sam begins to scratch the spot behind his ears. “Can you imagine him running all around the bunker, jumping around, playing-”

“Yeah, I can. I can also imagine Dean flipping his shit when he finds out we brought a dog home.” Although his words present a predicament, Sam is still gazing lovingly at the puppy. 

“We could call him...” You think over this for a moment, analyzing the color of the puppy’s fur. It is a golden brown. “Toast.”

Sam laughs jovially, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Toast. That’s...”

“Perfect, right?”

Your boyfriend looks at you, holding the contented puppy in your arms, and sighs a sort of defeated sigh. He pulls out his phone, searching for Dean’s number.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Letting Dean know that there is about to be another addition to the bunker.”

[savvywrites]

---

“Okay, buddy,” Sam says, steering Dean to the exit. He shares a glance with you. “Let’s get you home.”

The witch who cursed Dean has vanished, but you’re not sure what to expect. She said he was going to be different, the opposite of how he normally was, but that was the extent of it.

Dean tosses his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Let’s go somewhere.”

Sam sends you another look. “Go where?”

“Mexican food,” Dean decides. “And margaritas for everyone!”

Okay, so yeah, he’s a little different. Margaritas and Mexican food? What about burgers and beer? You really need to find that witch and get her to reverse the spell.

Sam says, “We should probably just get home.”

You agree. Until you hear back from Garth or Jody with the whereabouts of the witch, or what to do about the curse, you just need to make sure Dean doesn’t get into trouble. Which means, get him home.

Dean steps onto the sidewalk and glances around like he’s searching for his car. “Come on, Samuel, live a little. TGIF!”

Sam scratches his chin and gives a reluctant chuckle. “We are living. Get in the car.”

Dean looks at the Impala. “What? In that?”

“It’s your car,” you remind him.

“No, no, no,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No way that’s mine. It’s...old. And probably really loud.” He looks around again, and then spots a minivan across the street. “Now, that is what we need. Let’s go in that.”

Sam opens the door for him. “We’re not taking someone else’s car. Get in.”

Dean balks. “I wasn’t suggesting we steal it. Just leave them a note. We’ll bring it back. Obviously.”

“If you get in, we’ll get margaritas,” you say, bribing him like he’s a little kid.

“And a movie?” Dean asks. “A romantic comedy?”

You choke, and try to hide laughter. Sam isn’t amused. “Get in the car,” he says.

Dean hops in and looks in the vanity mirror. “This hair…” he murmurs, ruffling his short strands. He glances at Sam when his brother gets in the driver’s seat. “Maybe I should grow it out like you.”

Sam’s jaw clenches. “Maybe you should just...not talk.” He flips on the radio.

Classic rock fills the car. Dean grimaces and turns it down. “What is this?” He changes the station a few times until Katy Perry’s strong voice comes through the speakers.

“Now, that’s better,” Dean says as Sam drives us away from the building. “She is all that.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper. Sam is holding in laughter, his shoulders shaking. “How about Taylor Swift, Dean? What do you think about her?”

“Girl needs a real boyfriend.”

“And Ed Sheeran?”

Dean swivels in his seat to look at you. “Kind of dreamy, right? I mean, his voice…”

Sam laughs out loud. “I was not expecting that.”

“What?” Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing. Are we really going for Mexican food?”

The three of you cruise down the main street of the town. Dean squeals like a little girl. “Yes! There. Look, they have a giant blow-up pineapple. Perfect.”

Sam looks doubtful, but he pulls in front of the restaurant. You all step out, and Dean tosses his arm around your shoulders.

“Let’s go shopping after this,” he suggests, plucking at your leather jacket. “Get you something brighter. Something that’ll bring out your eyes.”

Your mouth drops open, but before you can answer, he’s distracted by the pineapple lights in the entryway.

“Fun,” he says, and then gets distracted again with a sombrero, which he promptly puts on Sam’s head. “Muy, muy macho.”

The hostess leads you to your table. Dean sits down and grabs a menu. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not really that hungry…”

“Not hungry?” Sams asks. “Since when?”

Dean ignores him. “I wish that had something a little healthier. I mean, these carbs…”

He continues to scan the menu. Sam checks his phone, but shakes his head. You don’t really mind. It’s funny to watch Dean like this, and if he remembers anything when he gets his real personality back, you’ll have something to tease him about forever.

“Let’s play a game,” you suggest after you’ve ordered.

Dean already has his margarita, and he’s sipping it with enthusiasm. Might as well entertain yourselves while you’re waiting to hear from someone.

Dean smiles at you, clearly pleased with the idea. “What kind of game?”

“A question and answer game. I ask a question and you answer what comes to your mind first,” you say.

Dean nods and drinks more of his margarita. “Good. Go.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Pink.”

Sam snorts. “Favorite song?”

Dean angles his head. “OMG. Anything by Shawn Mendes.”

“Jeans or shorts?” you ask.

Dean glances at his outfit. “Shorts. And flip flops. This outfit is…Yuck.”

“Favorite food,” Sam says.

“Easy. Salad.” Dean leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “But chocolate in secret.”

“Not pie?” you ask.

“Vomit. No. Who eats pie?”

“Clearly not you,” Sam says.

Dean stands, and then laughs when he wobbles a little. “The margarita’s already working. I’m such a light-weight. I need to go to the bathroom.”

He vanishes down a hallway.

Sam points. “If he’s not out in two minutes, I’m going after him. Who knows what he’s doing in there?”

“Probably trying to find flip flops,” you say with a grin. “You have to admit, it’s kind of funny.”

“You won’t think it’s funny later when he tries to get you to buy a dress to match your eyes.”

His phone rings and he answers. He talks for a minute, then his shoulders sag in relief. He ends the call and says, “We have a location for the witch.”

“Good. Can we wait until after dinner, though? I really want to see what his favorite movie is.”

Dean appears behind you. “Titanic!”

[savvywrites]

A/N: Hey there! It’s savvy!dean with you today. I wanted to write a story about a hunt but then, well, Dean interrupted with his dreamy voice and I had to write an almost-first-kiss. Can you really blame me?

---

You're hiding.

Dean parked the Impala in the shadows a block down from the place you’re watching. Waiting. When you see your mark, you’ll follow him and hopefully find the rest of the vampires you’re looking for.

But in the meantime, you can’t sit still.

The car smells like Dean. The jacket he let you borrow smells like Dean. Dean smells like Dean.

He doesn’t know you’ve had a crush on him for the last several weeks you’ve been working together, or that the Dean-smell is driving you crazy.

Or that you’ve been watching him a lot more than the alleyway your vampire is supposed to show up in.

Dean’s strong hands are wrapped around the steering wheel as he hums along to the classic rock station he loves listening to.

“Power ballad,” he says, glancing at you. “At least we have good music while we wait.”

“And good food,” you add, though you haven’t been able to eat any of it. There’s a bag of greasy burgers and fries sitting between you. Blocking him from you.

You give a quiet laugh. Dean has no idea how you feel. For all you know, he’d rather be alone right now. Alone with cheeseburgers and fries.

Dean gives you a strange look. “What was that about? The laugh?”

“Uh...cheeseburgers,” you murmur.

“Cheeseburgers?”

You nod like a bobble-head doll, totally making a fool of yourself. Next thing you know, he’ll catch you sniffing his jacket and really get confused.

“You know, Y/N, you’re kind of strange,” Dean says.

Wow. Talk about feeling like a loser.

He grins. “I like it.”

Your heart leaps. He’s not staring down the alleyway now. He’s staring at you. He drops his hands to his lap and shifts so he can face you.

“So,” he says, voice low and rough, “we’ve been working together for a while now.”

“I know. It’s been good, right? I know you didn’t want me to come on this stake-out, but-”

“It’s not that I didn’t want you here, it’s that I want you safe.”

You blink in surprise. “But...I’m part of the team.”

“You’re more than that,” Dean says.

His rough voice sends goosebumps along your arms. You snuggle further into his jacket, almost completely forgetting there are vampires and demons and other kinds of monsters out there.

Dean reaches out and closes the collar of his jacket to help keep you warm. His hands linger. One moment they’re on the jacket, then they’re on your cheeks.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“Dean,” you answer. “I’m glad I’m here.”

He slides closer, close enough his breath touches your lips. “Me too.”

“Vampire,” you whisper.

“What did you call me?”

You laugh. “Nothing. Just saying-we’re supposed to be on a stake-out. Looking for a vampire.”

“Screw the stake-out. I want…” His eyes drop to your lips.

“What do you want?”

Before he can answer, you see someone out of the corner of your eye. Someone walking down the alleyway.

“He’s here!”

Dean jerks back, and then follows your gaze. “Damn it. Bad timing.” He pulls out his cell phone. “I’m calling Sammy.”

You tuck your hands into the sleeves of his jacket, trying to forget how close he was for a moment. You fail.

Dean talks to Sam briefly and then glances at you again. He gives a wry grin. “We’re going to follow this guy, and then I’m off duty for the night. Work for you?”

You return his grin. “Sounds good.”

[savvywrites]

After the Battle

Title: After the Battle

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 857

Warnings: angst, brief mention of injuries

Summary: After an old friend of Sam’s gets injured on a hunt, the reader goes to the hospital to comfort her boyfriend. 

A/N: Hi, savvy!sam here! This is my first one shot for this blog, and I’m really excited to share this with all of you! Please, leave some feedback and request a fic through our ask box!

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

Your shoes squeak on the blinding white tile as you hurry down the hospital hallway. You can feel questioning eyes follow your heaving form, but you hardly pay attention to them. You round a corner and slow when you see Dean.

He glances over his shoulder and nods when he sees you.

“Hey,” he says as you come to stop outside the hospital room. “Thanks for coming.” His voice sounds about the same as he looks: worn, weary. Blood has dried on his left cheekbone and his temples. There’s a smattering of scratches along his jaw. His lip is split. You can’t imagine Sam looks much better.

You peer inside the room and see him sitting at the edge of a bed, his head in his hands. “How’s he doing? Sam?”

“Feels guilty,” Dean says quietly. “Nothing he could have done, but still-you know Sam.”

Yes, you do know Sam. He’ll go out of his way to help anyone. And this time it had been an old friend from college. The pack of werewolves-that’s what had given them the fight of a lifetime-was just something that Sam had to get through to live up to that expectation. Unfortunately, according to Dean’s call, it hadn’t been as easy as once hoped. 

“Is his friend going to make it?” you ask, worry tinging your voice.

Dean shrugs. “I’m not sure, but I know Sammy would want you here.”

Sam glances up and meets your eyes. You give him a gentle smile. He leaves his chair and walks out to you, a slight limp to his step. You reach for him, gingerly wrapping your arms around his middle. He leans into you, his ‘I can do it all’ demeanor slipping away right before your eyes, and you accept his cry for help.

“Let’s take a break,” you suggest, staring into his red-rimmed eyes. “Get some air or some coffee.”

Sam nods, and responds in a broken voice, “Coffee would be good.”

After a glance in Dean’s direction, the two of you walk silently down the hall to the coffee dispenser you saw when you were rushing to the hospital room. It’s deserted, surprisingly, and you’re thankful for the quiet.

“Thanks for coming, Y/N,” Sam says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did Dean call you?”

“Yeah. Not to long ago. I’m just glad I was in the area.”

He reaches for the cups with shaky hands and misses, sending a container of powdered creamer tumbling to the floor. He bends down to pick it up, but you stop him, taking his hands in yours.

“Talk to me, Sam.” He doesn’t meet your gaze. You try again. “Tell me what happened.”

“It was a werewolf case. I thought-” He pauses, swallowing hard. His eyes are glossy, and a tear threatens to spill over. “I thought Dean and I could handle it. There were just… so many. I thought we had them, but-”

A dry sob escapes his mouth, and he reaches up to run a hand over his face. Your heart aches, looking at him like this. You’ve seen him this way before-after the many deaths of his brother, after a particularly rough hunt where someone couldn’t be saved-but it’s never easy to stomach someone you love hurting so badly and not be able to do anything about it.

That’s why you rushed to the hospital the way you did after Dean called. Even if the only thing you can do for Sam is be there to comfort him, then you’ll do it, no questions asked.

“He might die and it’s all my fault,” Sam whispers through a throat choked with emotion. You say nothing as you hug him, closing your eyes when he pulls you close. He buries his face into your hair, crying quietly.

“This isn’t your fault, Sam,” you say softly, rubbing his back. “No matter what happens, this isn’t your fault. No one could have predicted what happened tonight.”

“We should have been better prepared. If we were, Joseph wouldn’t be in that hospital bed right now.”

“Hey, look at me.” You pull back, framing his face with your hands. His eyes shift to you, scared and helpless, and you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. “You tried your hardest, didn’t you? You didn’t plan on there being so many, but you still fought till you couldn’t anymore, right? That’s all that matters. You tried.”

“What if my trying doesn’t save him?”

You sigh, resting your forehead against his. “You can’t save everyone, Sam. You can scratch and claw and fight your way through battles, trying to rescue everyone from evil, but sometimes the evil will just fight right back and win. You know that better than anyone.”

Sam nods, squeezing his eyes shut, and another tear trickles down his cheek. You wipe it away gently.

“Just know that I’m here for you. Anything you need, I’m here, all right? What do you need me to do?”

“Just stay for awhile, Y/N. Just stay.”

So you wrap your arms around him and just stay, comforting him like he’s done for you, all those times before.

[savvywrites]

Your head feels like it’s going to explode. It’s nearly noon in the bunker and you’ve been stuck in bed all morning, fighting off some sort of virus that doesn’t want to go away.

Which means you missed last night’s hunt, and you’ll probably miss whatever Dean and Sam have going on later this week.

Sam knocks on the partially opened door to your room. “I think I figured out this Wendigo thing…” His voice trails off when he sees your face. “Never mind.”

“No.” You start to get up. “I can help. I was doing some research, too.”

Sam eyes the stack of books on your nightstand. “I think you should probably get some rest.”

Dean walks in without knocking. “Thought we could grab some burgers and—Hell, you don’t look good.”

“Tact,” Sam mutters under his breath.

“I feel fine,” you lie as a wave of dizziness hits you.

“Whoa.” Sam walks to the side of your bed and adjusts your pillows. “You need to rest. And you could probably use some medicine. Maybe a few other things.”

“I’ll go,” Dean says.

Sam nods. “Me too. Relax until we get back.” He turns for the door, then swivels back. “No work.”

You sigh. It kills you not to be helping but you can barely focus. You must have dozed while they were gone because the next thing you know, they’re walking through the door again with nearly a dozen bags.

When you sit up, Sam gives you a smile. “We brought provisions.” He starts pulling items out of the bag at the same time Dean does.

First you see tissues and medicine, then glance at Dean’s “provisions” and see a cheeseburger, fries, and a container labeled “Apple Pie.”

“Seriously?” Sam asks. “Pie?”

Dean snags the box. “That’s for me.”

“She’s sick,” Sam tells him, shoving items back in the bags, “not starving.”

“What else did you get?” Dean asks with a snort. “Magazines. Flowers?” 

“They’re to make her feel better-”

“Cheeseburgers always make me feel better.”

You lean back against the pillows as they argue. Then you see Cas at the doorway and wave him in.

“What’s going on here?” he asks.

“They’re having a difference of opinion. What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were sick.” He reaches out with two fingers. “Mind if I help?”

“Please.”

He touches his fingers to your forehead. The warmth is instant, like a wave of heat all throughout your body. The pressure in your head eases immediately. Your body feels whole and healthy again. Almost like you just woke up from the best sleep you’ve ever had.

“Thank you, Cas,” you say. “I feel so much better.”

He glances to the Winchester brothers, who are still arguing with each other. “It seems like they might be here for awhile.”

You nod. “I agree. You want to go get something to eat?”

“Yes.”

You hop out of bed with more energy than you’ve had in weeks. Both Sam and Dean stare at you in surprise. You pat Dean’s shoulder as you walk past with Cas. “Enjoy your pie.”

[savvywrites]

“So, where are you taking me tonight?”

Sam smiles at you, dimples prominent in his slightly flushed cheeks. “It’s a surprise.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna be all cliche with this.” You shrug. “I guess I can dig it.”

The two of you reach the car parked outside of the bunker, and you go to grab the door handle. Sam stops you.

“Here, I got it,” he says, and fumbles with it for a few seconds before finally getting it open. 

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Butterfingers?” you ask, holding in a laugh as he rubs the back of his neck nervously. The action makes his keys fall to the ground, and as he goes to pick them up his forehead collides with the side mirror. 

“Oh my God, are you okay?” You watch his face contort in pain, and he clutches his hand to his face. Without saying anything else you take hold of his elbow and maneuver his tall body into the passenger seat. You crouch down in front of him, the hem of your dress sweeping the dirt, and Sam begins to chuckle. 

“I think I might’ve just given myself a concussion,” he admits, equal amounts of amusement and misery in his voice. 

“You are going to have to ease up on the charm there, tiger, otherwise you’ll kill yourself before the night is over.” 

“I’m trying to be suave. It’s not working.”

“I figured as much.” You rest your hand on his knee gently. He removes his from his head, and it falls to his side. You have the urge to reach out and hold it for awhile. “What’s with you tonight?”

Sam sighs, leaning his head back on the headrest. “I’m nervous. I wanted this night to go perfect. I had everything planned out.”

“Not the head injury, though, I’m assuming. That was spontaneous?”

“I was hoping I could make this night worth something. We’ve both been so busy with hunts lately. You deserve a fun night off. And now...” Sam shakes his head. “Now you’re charming me instead of the other way around.”

You smirk at him, and lean in to touch your lips to his without hesitation. He tenses at the contact, then eases, threading his fingers into your hair. 

“You’ve charmed me completely, Sam Winchester,” you say after you pull away. You finally link hands; his skin is warm and comforting against yours. “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” 

[savvywrites]

One More Night

Title: One More Night

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,478

Warnings: angst, brief mention of death

Summary: The reader is stuck in the human world as a ghost after a hunt with the Winchesters went wrong. The reader realizes she has to move on, and she gets one last night with Dean. 

A/N: This is my first angst piece. I love writing fluff, so this was a challenge for me, but it was fun to do something a little deeper. This one-shot was inspired by Sleeping At Last’s version of All Through the Night. Listen to it here!

**PS. I’m having a co-writer join the blog! She’s a Sam!Girl, so now you can read stories involving both Winchester brothers!

Your name: submit What is this? <![CDATA[ document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; } ]]>

“Y/N.”

You sigh at the same voice that’s been talking to you all week. Your reaper.

“Come on. It’s time to go.”

You look up at the man. That’s all he looks like. A man. With a trimmed goatee and eyes that are almost gentle, even though he’s trying to get you to go into the afterlife.

But something…it tugs at your heart. Things aren’t finished. Something’s holding you here.

Maybe that’s why you’ve been at the cabin since you died, since the vampire tore through your veins and the world went dark.

The reaper disappears. He’ll be back later. Again and again until he finally gets what he wants. But it’s not just unfinished business here, it’s something else. Something holding you tight and not letting you go.

The memory of Dean.

Keep reading

[savvywrites]

One More Night

Title: One More Night

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,478

Warnings: angst, brief mention of death

Summary: The reader is stuck in the human world as a ghost after a hunt with the Winchesters went wrong. The reader realizes she has to move on, and she gets one last night with Dean. 

A/N: This is my first angst piece. I love writing fluff, so this was a challenge for me, but it was fun to do something a little deeper. This one-shot was inspired by Sleeping At Last’s version of All Through the Night. Listen to it here!

**PS. I’m having a co-writer join the blog! She’s a Sam!Girl, so now you can read stories involving both Winchester brothers!

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

“Y/N.”

You sigh at the same voice that’s been talking to you all week. Your reaper.

“Come on. It’s time to go.”

You look up at the man. That’s all he looks like. A man. With a trimmed goatee and eyes that are almost gentle, even though he’s trying to get you to go into the afterlife.

But something...it tugs at your heart. Things aren’t finished. Something’s holding you here.

Maybe that’s why you’ve been at the cabin since you died, since the vampire tore through your veins and the world went dark.

The reaper disappears. He’ll be back later. Again and again until he finally gets what he wants. But it’s not just unfinished business here, it’s something else. Something holding you tight and not letting you go.

The memory of Dean.

“It’s not just a memory,” someone says.

You whip around, gasping when you see someone else. Not your reaper. But it’s not just anyone. It’s Bobby. Standing in his cabin, his ball cap tight on his head and a worn flannel covering his arms.

“Y/N,” he says. “What are you still doing here?”

You know how it works. You’ve spent enough time with the Winchester brothers to learn about ghosts and moving on and being tethered humans somehow. You even learned that you can make yourself visible to them sometimes-but you haven’t been able to figure out how.

And even so, the whole thing has been...disorienting. Waking up from what feels like a really deep sleep, only to find out the rest of the world is mourning your loss, is one of the most heart-wrenching things you’ve been through.

You can only watch when Dean sits in his room, your picture clutched in his hand, his shoulders hunched over. Trying to hold in emotion but losing sleep. He won’t even talk to Sam about it, and there’s nothing you can do.

“Same thing you are,” you tell Bobby.

Bobby tugs on the brim of his cap. “I’m here for a reason. You…”

“I can’t go yet. I need…” Your throat clogs with emotion. What do you need? One more night with Dean. “I need to say goodbye.”

Bobby walks to the window and stares out at the garage, where Dean and Sam are leaning against the trunk of the Impala and drinking a beer. They’re on a new case-a local one-which means they’re still close by. It brings you comfort, even though you think maybe something far, far away would help get Dean’s mind off of you.

“You don’t have a lot of time,” Bobby says.

You stand, anger running the length of your body. “I don’t care!”

You’re not ready. It’s too soon to say goodbye. How do you forget someone you love? How do you make it right for them, knowing you’re never going to see each other again?

“Can’t say goodbye if he can’t see you.”

“Then show me how,” you say. “Help me.”

Bobby frowns. “Damn it. This ghost thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

You give a half-laugh. “Tell me about it. I just need to see him. One more time.”

***

Sam and Dean come back from their hunt a few days later, looking worn out and beat up. It kills you that you can’t be there for them, even if it’s to do something simple like bring them dinner. Grab them a beer-anything to help take the burden off.

Sam wanders off the use the shower and Dean enters the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator. Where you stand.

This is it.

You follow Bobby’s instructions, willing Dean to see you. When he doesn’t seem to, you grab the handle to the refrigerator and pull. It opens, sending a thrill of accomplishment through you.

Dean stops, holds his hands up. “Okay. Who’s there? Bobby?”

You release a breath and try again, pulling a beer from the refrigerator. This time Dean’s eyes widen, and then he curses. “Y/N.”

“You can see me?” You step forward, the beer still in your hand. “Dean?”

His eyes travel over your features, as if drinking you in. “How are you-I thought-” He snags the beer, though he doesn’t open it. He’s still staring at you in wonder. “How long have you been here?”

“Since...that night.” You swallow, glancing away. Even thinking about that night rips your heart out. If you’d just stayed away like Dean asked, nothing bad would have happened.

Or Dean would have died. That thought is even worse-more heartbreaking than you could imagine.

Dean sets aside the beer and scrubs his hands over his face. “Y/N. You died. You...damn it!” He shakes his head, eyes tortured. “Why did you have to go there? Why couldn’t you just listen? I needed you to stay here and stay safe. I need…”

You step forward. “What do you need? Anything I can do, I’ll do it. I’ll leave if if that’s what you want. If it’s easier for you, I’ll go right now.”

“No,” he growls, reaching out. To your surprise and his, his hands connect. His fingers closer around your upper arms. “Don’t leave. Just...stay.”

You swallow hard, and then wrap your arms around his neck. He feels so good. So solid and warm. You can even smell him, the same woodsy scent you used to love. You’d wrap yourself in his jacket and the rest of the world didn’t seem like such a scary place.

He presses his face into your hair, breathing in deep. “I can’t believe you’re here. You should be gone or-” His voice breaks off. Then he curses. “The picture.”

You lean back. “What?”

“Your picture.” He grabs your hand. “Come on.”

Dean pulls you down the hallway, past the bathroom where you still hear the shower running, and to his room. It’s cool and dark inside. The covers on his bed are askew, but Dean never makes his bed.

Once you’re inside, he shuts the door and pulls out his wallet. He removes something from one of the folds and passes it over.

It’s a picture of you. One he took a few weeks after you met. It’s creased and faded, like he’s taken it out hundreds of times to stare at.

“That’s why you’re still here,” he says. “An anchor.”

“That’s not the only reason,” you tell him.

He meets your eyes, so much pain in them you can hardly stand it. “What else?”

“I needed to say goodbye.”

Dean kneels in front of you, his chest moving up and down in deep breaths. He rests his cheek on your legs. “Okay. Do it.”

“I can’t,” you sob. You grab at his shirt. “Don’t-please. Come up here with me.”

He sits on the bed next to you, and the next thing you know, you’re in his arms. His lips are on your cheek, your jaw, and then capturing yours. Like you never left. Like you have forever.

But you don’t.

He lays back on the bed and you curl up next to him, resting your hand on his chest. He puts his arm around you. “Can you stay? Just for tonight?”

You nod, closing your eyes. All you want is to feel his breathing, to know he’s okay. Then you’ll say goodbye. Then you’ll move on.

He doesn’t sleep. Instead, you listen to him talk until the sun comes up. Learn about things he’s never told you. Stories about when his dad was alive. Memories he has of his mom, Sam. You.

When the sun spears through the blinds, it illuminates the corners of the room. And your reaper.

He stands with his back to the wall. “It’s time,” he says.

Dean jerks out of bed, reaching for a weapon. “Like hell. Get out of here or I’ll make you.”

“Wait.” You stand, holding out your hand to avoid violence. “Just wait.” You appeal to your reaper. “Five more minutes and then I’ll go.”

The reaper nods his head and then vanishes. You turn to Dean, heartbreak in your voice. “I’m sorry.”

He drops to the bed again, breathing hard. But he pulls out a lighter and the picture of you. You step up to him and cup his cheek before giving him a long kiss.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Really. Please let me go. I want the best for you, and I want you to move on. Find someone else.”

His eyes are swimming with unshed tears when they meet yours. His hand shakes when he holds up the lighter. “I’m sorry, too,” he murmurs. “Goodbye, Y/N. I love you.”

He flicks the lighter and a flame bursts. He holds it up to the picture and catches the edge on fire.

You both watch as it burns, and before you fade away, you give him one last kiss and whisper, “I love you, too.”

[savvywrites]

A/N:  In honor of Harry Potter’s birthday, here’s a short imagine about you and the brothers’ trip into the Wizarding World.

---

“Why do you two like these movies again?” Dean asks you and Sam around a mouthful of popcorn, fiddling with the TV remote out of boredom. You exchange a glance with the youngest Winchester, and he opens his mouth to speak.

“They’re fun. Y’know-the whole element of good versus evil, the relatable characters.”

“A good plot,” you say. “You can get lost in a whole new world.”

Dean frowns. “A whole new world? Sounds pretty familiar to me.”

“Familiar?” Sam asks with a laugh.

“Ghosts,” Dean says.

“Sure,” you say, “but there’s also-”

“Werewolves.” Dean laughs. “Yeah, haven’t seen that one before.”

Sam scratches his cheek. “But there’s also-”

“Witches, vampires, shapeshifters-”

“Technically, they’re called animagus,” you tell him.

“Right. So basically it’s a story about every single day of our lives.” Dean turns his attention back to the television for a moment. “And what’s with this whole whacked out exorcism thing? This doesn’t sound anything like ours.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, he’s not performing an exorcism. He’s casting a spell.”

“Right.” Dean stands. “I need a beer.”

He walks from the couch and you share a look with Sam, and then shrug. “At least we didn’t try to get him to watch Twilight.”

[savvywrites]

Funhouse

Title: Funhouse

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 834

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader and Dean take a night off for a date at the local funhouse.

The Impala roars to a stop at the edge of the parking lot, idling as Dean sings the last few lyrics to an old rock ballad.

Through the windshield, the Boardwalk is alive with people talking, laughing, and getting their thrills at the amusement park.

“Sammy says it’s the second oldest one in the country,” Dean tells you.

You lean forward in the seat, staring at the monstrous Ferris Wheel that spins round and round in the night. “It’s bigger than I thought.”

The corner of Dean’s lips quirks. “That’s what she said,” he answers before hopping out of the car.

Keep reading

[savvywrites]

Funhouse

Title: Funhouse

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 834

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader and Dean take a night off for a date at the local funhouse.

The Impala roars to a stop at the edge of the parking lot, idling as Dean sings the last few lyrics to an old rock ballad.

Through the windshield, the Boardwalk is alive with people talking, laughing, and getting their thrills at the amusement park.

“Sammy says it’s the second oldest one in the country,” Dean tells you.

You lean forward in the seat, staring at the monstrous Ferris Wheel that spins round and round in the night. “It’s bigger than I thought.”

The corner of Dean’s lips quirks. “That’s what she said,” he answers before hopping out of the car.

He walks around to your side and opens the door, taking your hand and pulling you out. Into his arms.

“I’m glad we decided to do this. You need a break,” you say.

“I need time with you.” He brushes his thumb on your cheek, sending chills down your spine. “No angels, no demons. No monsters.”

His husky voice warms you, making you forget all about the hunt earlier in the week. The one he almost didn’t come back from.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you whisper, emotion clogging your throat.

“You didn’t.”

“I thought I did, though. It almost killed me.”

“Hey. It didn’t happen. Sammy did his exorcism thing and we walked out of there in one piece.”

You run your finger along the scratch just below his eye. “And a few cuts and bruises.”

“Manly bruises.”

“I’ll give you that.” You smile and skim your lips across his in the way he likes. “No more serious stuff tonight.”

“No more serious stuff.”

He takes your hand and guides you to the ticket booth. A few kids walk by with cotton candy and ice cream.

“No pie?” Dean asks, pulling out his wallet. “What kind of amusement park is this?”

“A haunted one, supposedly.”

“Sammy tell you that?”

“Read it. In an old newspaper article. Someone died in the funhouse.”

He pays for the tickets and tugs your hand to the entrance. “Better make that our first stop, then.”

Amusement park noises surround you and booths and rides are full of lights, but all you can feel is Dean’s hand warm and secure around yours. The slight callous on his thumb when it brushes your knuckles. All you can smell is the slight hint of his cologne-woodsy and mysterious. Like secrets waiting to be told. All you can taste is the memory of his mouth on yours, the skim of his tongue across your bottom lip.

Loving a hunter isn’t the easiest job in the world, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“There.” Dean points. “The funhouse.”

An evil clown head above the entrance cackles at people as they walk inside.

Dean takes out his phone and snaps a picture. He grins at you. “A memory for Sammy.”

You laugh and watch as he sends the picture to his brother. “If he has nightmares because of this, don’t blame me.”

Dean snags you around the waist. “Nightmares are a part of a hunter’s life.”

“That’s sad.”

“The more we expose ourselves to, the better we are with coping. With dealing with those nightmares.”

You stare at him a long moment. Dean doesn’t open up easily-or at all, sometimes. Since you’ve been together, he smiles more. He talks more. He even spends more time with his brother.

“I hope your nightmares aren’t too bad,” you whisper.

“Not since you came along.”

He ignores the rest of the world as his hand slides down your back. With his breath hot on your lips, he lets his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt. Just enough for you to feel the warmth off them on your lower back. To remind you of the first time you kissed.

“Dean,” you murmur, mouth brushing his with the words. Your lips curve. “Are you stalling? Are you scared?”

“Of the funhouse? You’re dreaming.”

He takes your hand again and you enter. Someone in front of you screams, making you jump.

Dean’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Fake monsters. A lot less scary when you’ve seen the real ones.”

You follow him through a short maze of mirrors and down a corridor that seems to tile and sway as you walk.

The entire way, Dean keeps you close, fingers squeezing on yours. Every once in awhile, he touches your back. His hand is warm through your shirt, sending tingles running up your spine.

You reach the end of the funhouse and all you can think about is Dean.

“Not so scary?” he asks.

You pull him to the side to let people pass by. Under the glow of the moon, stars twinkling overhead, you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Not so scary,” you agree. “But I’m glad we came. We should do things like this more often.”

“Agreed.”

He ducks his head to kiss you, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in him as the funhouse rages in the background.