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deansbite · 1 day

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　　　𝒥𝒞　　｡　　fuzzy dreams

pairings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　afab!reader x dean winchester

warnings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　18+ mdni !!　fingering　masturbation　semi-public　sexy hot dean (im sorry i had to)　praise　caught masturbating.. (kinda)　reader has an extremely vivid imagination

summary　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　despite the familiarity of the situation, the thought of sleeping in the same bed as dean riles you up a little more than you wanted it to. it wasn't your fault, he looked too good. with it being your only option, you had to take matters into your own hands—and imagination.

READERS POV

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

You and Dean were in a motel room bed together, sound asleep. Well, you were asleep. Notice how it was in the past form? Yeah, well reason for that was because you stirred awake due to some bullshit dream — which was explicit. Perfect fucking timing because you and your childhood-fucking-bestfriend-Dean-Winchester booked a motel room with a single queen bed. It was the only room left.

See, you had no problem sleeping in the same bed as him. That was no problem because you'd done it since you both were tiny. Because both your dads were connected to the hip — literally whenever they see eachother on a hunt they'd let you two stand there, gun in hand and stare at eachother till they finished. But that was irrelevant when you were currently in bed.. your body heating up more and more by the minute.

Dean was fast asleep, shuffling and moving so that the mattress dipped under his weight — including his legs being tangled up in the covers so he tugged it over to his side — because you two were full grown adults. Boundaries were set and he was on his side, you were on yours.

On any other occasion, you'd freak out and snatch the covers back. But you were relieved — some cool air ran over your incredibly hot skin. You felt like you were set on fire.. inside and out. You let out a sigh of relief — fluttering your eyes shut. You felt in need of some.. blissful relief. Because your core was dripping wet. Which made you pissed because you never had explicit dreams on any other hunt where you didn't share a bed.. but the moment you actually share a bed with Dean, it magically happens?

You fluttered your eyes open. The motel room you were in — was surprisingly quiet. Well, that is if you don't factor in the continous dripping water from the kitchen faucet.. since the kitchen wasn't all too far away. And you also started to hear every tiny obnoxious noise. Which.. being truthful, was better to think about than your current situation. God damnit you just thought of it again.

Could this get any worse? You exhaled, your eyes having long adjusted to the darkness of the room, which helped you be able to get around. And that was exactly what you were going to do. Dean unexpectedly shuffled around in bed. Which made you tense up — realizing you had to be as quiet as you could possibly be if you wanted to go to the bathroom.

In a swift movement, you sat up. The mattress dipping even further now that you were sat on your ass and all the weight wasn't spread out, but more so pressed down in one single place. And that made you panic — snapping your head to look behind you at Dean. Who was very much still asleep, facing you. In his black tee, black boxers and messy hair.. with covers spread out on and.. around him? Because some of the covers were shoved between his legs — some of it on the ground and some just.. covering parts of him.

You furrowed a brow — about to forget what you were even planning on doing and just giggling at him. But.. you noticed his plump lips pressed together, he was laying on his chest, which shouldn't have upset you as much as it did. But it did. Because his shirt was rolled up just a little — which would've been able to give you a glimpse of his abdomen — and abs. God what the fuck?! He's your bestfriend. You didn't hit puberty or someshit like a twelve year old boy.

Pull it together, and just finger fuck yourself so your absurd thoughts won't be able to drive a wedge between your friendship just because you were horny for one day. Okay, breathe in. You rose to your feet, the floorboards groaning under your weight. That noise — whilst for Dean nonexistent.. for you that was like a rocket taking off. Fear shot up your spine and you froze every muscle in your body. Unable to move any further. Your eyes focused on Dean, watching him closely.

You weren't even sure why you tried so incredibly hard to be quiet.. if you woke him up, you'd just be going to the bathroom. No biggie.. except you were going to literally finger yourself. And you probably don't look the best.. and like you just had to pee. Your skin felt like it was on fire, your hair was probably messy and your pajamas were probably disheveled. After finally feeling like you were good to go, you head for the bathroom.

You needed to get this done and over with, even if Dean woke up. You'll find some excuse to tell him if he hears you shuffle in the bathroom. But you still hoped he slept through everything. Fucking finally you reached the bathroom door. Everything else in the motel room wasn't important, except the bed and bathroom. You looked over your shoulder to see Dean fast asleep.

You were put at ease with that fact, your head turned forward and you focused back on what you were planning on doing. Your hand reached out and your fingers wrapped around the cool.. rusty and metal doorknob, which was a contrast to your warm hands. You twisted it and pushed the door open. The door creaked for a moment, but you were quick to grab it to halt the noise just in time.

Eventually, after literally dealing with this whole situation as if it were a parkour and dodging the most unnecessary things, such as Dean waking up or finding another solution, such as sleeping it off.. but you were stubborn. And, you finally got to shut the bathroom door, gently to make sure it wouldn't slam, just a simple click. Before you got to suck in a deep breath.

Your fingers travelled up to the lightswitch, your index finger flipped up and the lights flickered to life, lighting up the entire room. You glared at yourself in the mirror.. jesus, you seriously looked like you just got into a fight with a Chimera. Your lips were parted and you looked flustered as fuck. You just bent over slightly, turning on the tap, cupping your hands under the cold running water before your hands were filled to the brim with cold water.

You splashed the water on your face, before running your wet hand through your hair and shut your eyes, your left hand gripping on the edge of the sink to balance yourself, the water was still running as background noise, which wasn't on purpose, you simply forgot. Now your heavy breathing and pants won't be the only thing bouncing off the walls.

Your hand travelled down your body, some remaining water droplets dribbling down your skin. To help you get off without feeling like you were a total freak, you started imagining Dean. Imagining his raspy and crackly — his sleepy voice as he praised you. "Doin' so good f'me, sweetheart, just a bit longer. Gotta get you ready for me." Dean's emerald green eyes focused on yours. He was ontop of you, his hand along with his body travelling down your body. His right hand ran all the way down your abdomen, stopping right at the waistband of your pants.

His fingers teased you by fiddling with it. Your eyes were locked on his. He had that dumb cocky grin on his face. "Should I eat this pussy or fuck it w'my fingers?" He whispered, as if he was asking himself. But he was loud enough for you to hear. His words meshed in with one another due to him having just woken up. Your hands went down and grasped onto his messy, dirty blonde locks.. you let out a pathetic whine.

"I hear ya, baby. Just be patient." He reassured, lips pressed together and his right hand, which was initally teasing you, now hovering a little above your pants, before it slipped beneath the fabric. His emerald green eyes travelling down your body, which paused at your bundle of nerves. Despite two pieces of material covering it, he observed the outline of his fingers, a smirk displayed on his lips.

"Oh?" He exclaimed, an eyebrow raising and his smirk a tad bit more visible now. His fingers were now directly pressing against your entrance — with your underwear between his fingers and your core. You clenched around nothing. He felt how dripping wet you were, which caused him to chuckle. "So needy." He commented, eyes darting from your mound to your face. "Look so pretty." He praised, humming and getting back to work, his fingers going to the side of your panties, before tugging them to the side to have better access to your aching core.

"Gonna show you what you've been missin' out on." He whispered. His ring finger was finding your clit, before he pressed on it in the lightest way, moving his ring finger in tiny circles, causing you to moan his name. He chuckled, "Has nobody given you a good handjob, baby? Already so greedy f'more 'n I haven't even started." He prompted. You shook your head in response. He clicked his tongue. "Well, m'glad t'be able t'change that."

Without much of a warning, Dean plunged his index finger into your pussy. A gasp escaped your lips. Dean didn't react, just slowly pushing his index deeper and deeper, you let out a whimper. "Shh, calm down, sweetheart." He mumbled, his left hand, which was just resting on your lower thigh eventually came to use. His thumb caressed your skin. You lightly tugged on his messy locks, causing him to groan. "Come on, baby, ease up."

You were tense, your walls squeezing around his fingers, he sighed and his ring finger sped up the pace for a bit, adding into the mix of pleasure. Now he slowly retreated his index, just so his index was still in your pussy and then he immediately slammed it back in, grunting. "Gotta stretch you out if I wanna fuck this pretty little cunt." He explained, but you were a writhing mess.

He kept fucking you harsh and fast with his index, the squelching and whining coming from you was so explicit your cheeks heated up. "So wet, easier t'fuck ya." He mumbled, his left cheek eventually resting on the inner thigh of your right leg. Eyes still so damn focused on your mound. His plump lips parted. You wondered how they'd feel around your clit and how he'd be eating you out. You let out a much louder moan when Dean started up the scissoring motion, which you already had the pleasuring of your clit with his ring finger and the fingering.

You were close, Dean could tell by the way your breathing became irregular, you began fumbling with your words when you tried to tell Dean that you were about to fall over the edge. But he knew. Your walls were clenching and unclenching around his fingers and he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster. And stimulating your clit more. "What was that?" He asked, raising a brow.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you clenched around his fingers and saw literal stars. Your juices covering his hand —

"Hey, sweetheart." A hoarse and concerned voice called out from behind the door. "You okay in there?" It was Dean.. your fucking childhood bestfriend. The guy who you imagined finger-fucking you. Oh fucking christ. This wasn't normal if you saw him as nothing more than a friend. Friends don't exactly fuck themselves with their fingers whilst imagining their friend doing it.

"You kept moaning my name." He added, "Did y'slip 'n fall?" A moment passed with no answer. Jesus christ you were completely fucked.

Your face was so completely obvious that you didn't fall. You removed your hand from underneath your pants and quickly washed it off under the tap. He cleared his throat. "I swear m'comin' in.. if y'don't answer in the next few seconds." His voice was filled with worry. "No, no! I'm fine! I'm just.." What the fuck do you say now?

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

cliffhanger cause this is testing the waters 😞 + this was a bit proofread by @pearlzier so... mistakes / grammar errors may be found plus english isnt my first language gang..

tags: @luvr4miya @upsidedean @angelblqde @fallbhind @beausling @pearlzier @fourkilljoys

amab vers: coming soon (im tired and wanna watch gilmore girls ill do it soon)

#dividers by cafekitsune #writing #dean winchester #jensen ackles #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #afab reader #smut #spn #silly writing!!#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity

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dianawinchester03 · 1 day

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Haircut

Series Masterlist

Summary: Dean has been getting backlash from John to cut his hair because it’s not “professional/manly” to have long hair. Y/N voiced her opinions on liking his long hair and how Dean shouldn’t listen to John’s ass. Let’s see how she reacts to Dean following his fathers orders.

Y/N and Sam 19 years old, Dean is 23 years old (Sam is away at college)

BASED ON:

The Old Testament Series.

Genesis Primis: A Supernatural Rewrite (Dean Winchester x Reader) by @dianawinchester03

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Havenwood, Georgia

•December 2002

As night falls over the small town of Havenwood, Georgia, Y/N was lounging on her bed in her room of the safehouse, flipping through her playboy magazine, a small smile on her face as she hears soft footsteps approach her room door.

A gentle knock sounds at her door. “Hey Princess, you awake?” the deep, familiar voice of Dean calls quietly from the other side of her room. “It’s open!” Y/N called out, still flipping through her magazine as she laid on her stomach.

The door slowly opened, revealing Dean as he walked inside and closed the door behind him. He smiled, his eyes lighting up as he saw her on the bed, her legs resting in the air, lazily flipping through her magazine. He walked over to the bed and plopped down onto it beside her, gently taking the magazine out of her hands and tossing it to the floor.

“What the-“ Y/N exclaimed when Dean took her magazine away from her. The clear look of despair on his face as he ran a hand through his dark blonde locks. “What’s wrong, charming?” She asked concerned, tilting her head. Dean sighed, laying beside her on the bed, his arms splayed out. "Nothin'," he grumbled, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Bullshit, you don’t just come into my room unless you want me to cover for you so you can hook up with some chick or unless you got something on your mind. Now spill, asshat” She pointed out the obvious, pressing on his clear frustration as she pushed herself up to lean against the bed frame.

Dean snorted, turning his head to look at her. "Can't a guy just want to spend time with his favorite girl?" he asked, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Y/N gave him a tired and unimpressed look at his statement, not buying it one second. “Talk.” She said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Dean grumbled under his breath, knowing there was no way he was getting out of this one. He caved in, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he muttered. "It's just...dad wants me to cut my hair. Says the long hair isn’t ‘manly’ enough” Dean groaned, sprawling his arms out on the bed.

Y/N almost shot up from the bed at his statement, she wasn’t gonna admit it, but she fucking loved the long hair on Dean, and the thought of John making him cut it pissed her off. “He said WHAT?!” She exclaimed, absolutely bewildered.

"Yeah, I know," Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes. "It's stupid, right? I mean, I like my hair the way it is, but dad..." he trailed off, frustrated. “Fuck, John” Y/N’s firm tone cut him off, “You’re a grown man, Dean. You don’t need to listen to his ass 24/7” She stated, pointing her finger at him firmly before crossing her arms over her chest, leaning back into the bedframe

Dean chuckled, shaking his head, amused by her little outburst. "I know, I know," he agreed, propping himself up on his elbows on his side to face her. "But you know how he and your dad are. They expect us to do what they say, no questions asked." Y/N rolled her eyes again, “Yeah, I know. Which is why you shouldn’t do it” She stated as if it’s obvious.

"Easier said than done, princess," Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You know how stubborn dad is. Once he's set on something, it's almost impossible to change his mind."

“It’s YOUR hair, charming. If you wanna keep it, then keep it dude. I’m kinda digging the boyband look” She teased, nudging him slightly. Dean chuckled, a hint of a blush staining his cheeks at her comment. "Boyband, huh?" he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "You think I look like a member of NSYNC or something?"

“Nahhh. I’m getting a more Nick Carter vibe” She retorted, playfully ruffling his locks. Dean swatted her hand away, a mock glare on his face. "You did not just say I look like Nick Carter," he huffed, but an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll have you know, I look way better than that hack" he said, running a hand through his hair again, trying to maintain his feigned annoyance with her as he tried to fix the mess she made of his locks. Y/N gasped dramatically, “You take that back!” She smacked his arm.

“That man is a national treasure, you’re lucky to even be breathing the same air as him” She pointed a firm finger at Dean. Dean chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I take it back," he said, grinning at her feigned outrage. "Nick Carter is a national treasure, and I am not fit to be in his presence."

Y/N grinned, patting his head playfully, “Good boy” She taunted, leaning back against the bed-frame to get more comfortable. “Are you really gonna do it though?” Her tone fell more serious. Dean sighed, his playful mood from a moment ago evaporating. "I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair again. “I mean, I don’t really want to cut it, but Dad’s been on my ass about it for weeks now.”

"He keeps saying it’s unprofessional and that it’s not how a hunter should look," he continued, his frustration returning. "But I just don’t see the big deal, you know? A long-ass mullet hasn’t stopped me from ganking monsters and kicking some major ass."

Y/N pumped her fist in the air. “Amen, brother. You’re preaching to the choir” Dean chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Yeah, I figured you'd be on my side," he said, giving her a grin. "You've never been one to follow the rules anyway."

“That’s exactly why I’m on house arrest and dad left your ass to babysit me” Y/N snorted, shaking her head. She and her father got into yet another argument recently about his asshole tendencies, so he ‘grounded’ her and left her in Georgia with Dean to babysit. As if a 19-year old girl needed a babysitter. The thought made her roll her eyes.

"Hey, I'll have you know I am a great babysitter," Dean said with a smirk, playfully knocking on the top of her head. "I make sure you're well fed, protected, and entertained, all while dealing with your dumbass."

This earned Dean a smack to the back of his head by Y/N, along with a harsh glare. "Hey, hey! I was joking!" Dean protested, rubbing the back of his head where she smacked him. He smirked at her glare, knowing she wasn't nearly as upset with him as she wanted him to believe.

“Whatever” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Now get out” She shoved him off the bed using her hip. “I wanna watch Fast and Furious” Dean let out a groan of protest as he rolled off the bed and onto the floor with a thud. "The Fast and Furious?” he said, sounding incredulous. "Again? Isn't this like the third time you've rewatched that movie this week?"

“Shut up, Paul Walker is worth it. And you know you love it” Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up the remote to her DVR set on her nightstand. "Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, picking himself up off the floor and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I swear, if I have to hear you fangirl over Paul Walker again I might puke."

She raised her foot again to kick him off the bed, “Out!” She demanded, tossing a pillow at him. Dean stumbled back slightly, barely dodging the pillow being tossed at him. "Alright, alright, I'm going," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. He stood up, making his way towards the door but not before shooting her a smirk over his shoulder. "But for the record, I think Vin Diesel is way cooler."

That statement earned Dean another pillow being hauled at his head, along with Y/N pointing firmly at the door. Dean quickly ducked to avoid the pillow, a laugh escaping his lips. "Alright, I'm going, I'm going." He chuckled, walking out of the room, but not before sticking his tongue out at her playfully.

When Dean closed the door, Y/N found herself sinking into her bed, blushing profusely. As Dean closed the door behind him, he leaned against it for a moment, a small smile still on his face. He shook his head rapidly when he realized he was blushing a bit, blinking frantically before catching himself. Striding over to his room.

____________________________________________

It was now a few days later, John and F/N are still yet to return from their hunt. The house was running low on supplies, so using their emergency fraud cards, Dean went to the grocery to get some stuff for Y/N to make dinner.

As Dean pulled up to the house, he saw Y/N sitting on the front porch, smoking a cigarette. He parked the Impala and climbed out, bags of groceries in his hand, making his way up to the house. He braced himself for the inevitable reaction she was going to have to his new haircut.

She seemed to be lost in her own mind as she took a drag from her cigarette, the headphones to her Walkman tucked into her ears, the sound of Nickelback blasting through the headphone, her eyes closed as she banged her head along to the beat.

Dean chuckled at the sight of her as he approached the house, setting the bags of groceries down on the porch beside her. He then reached down, gently pulling the headphones from her ears, a smirk plastered on his face.

Y/N's eyes snapped open at the sudden absence of her music, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw Dean standing in front of her with bags of groceries. Her jaw dropped and her cigarette fell from her fingers as she took in the sight of his new haircut. He was now sporting a shorter, more neat look, a drastic change from the longer, boy band look he had previously.

Dean snickered at her reaction, his smirk widening as he took in the look on her face. "Surprise," he said, gesturing to his new haircut. He leaned against the banister, waiting for her to say something, anything.

Y/N shot up from her seat, quickly stepping on the cigarette bud with the heel of her slippers before smacking Dean. “You dumbass!” She exclaimed, grabbing the elder Winchester by his face, pulling it down to her level to examine his head.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed, stumbling back as Y/N suddenly shot up from her seat and began smacking him. He winced as she grabbed his face, her grip surprisingly firm as she pulled his face down to hers.

"Hey, watch the hair!" He protested, but his protests fell on deaf ears as Y/N began to examine his new haircut closely. “You barely have any more me to watch!” Y/N shot back, still holding a squirming Dean’s head between her hands. “You trusted some rando with your mane?! I should throttle you” She scoffed, finally letting go of his head.

Dean could’ve sworn he saw tears welling up in her eyes. "Hey, it's just hair," Dean said with a shrug, running a hand through his freshly-cut locks. "It'll grow back." He chuckled, trying to mask the disappointment he felt at her reaction to his new haircut. Although, he kind of knew how much she loved his long hair.

“You look amazing either way, Dean” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “But- the boy band look” She whined lightly with a bit of a pout. Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he saw the pout on her face. "Ah, come on, don't give me that look,” he said, gently poking her in the forehead. “I promise, it’ll grow back” He said with a small smile.

Y/N swatted his hand away playfully, shooting him a glare with no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky I don’t hate it” She scoffed, picking a few of the groceries from the porch. “Oh, so you’re saying you don’t hate it?” Dean teased, grabbing the rest of the groceries before following her into the house, a smirk on his face.

“That means you kinda like it?” Placing a hand on his forehead and pretending to swoon. Y/N snorted, rolling her eyes as they placed the groceries down on the counter. “Not hating and liking something is a very broad line” She retorted.

"But it still falls under the category of you not completely hating my new haircut," Dean pointed out with a smirk as he started to put away the groceries. "So technically, this still means you like it." Y/N mocked his words in a high pitched tone before asking, “What do you want for dinner?”

Dean chuckled at her mockery of his words, chucking a roll of paper towels at her, before answering her question. which she easily dodged. "I don't know. I picked up some stuff to make tacos."

She smiled, knowing that he loved the way she made tacos. She made them perfectly every time, just how he liked them. “And let me guess? Pie?” She mused with a knowing grin.

Dean smirked back at her, grabbing a pot from the cupboard. “Of course. Pie’s my true love.” He joked, but there was a hint of truth to his words. He did love his pie almost as much as he loved the woman standing in front of him.

Y/N chuckled and rolled her eyes at his response. "I knew that would be your answer. You're so predictable." She teased, opening up the fridge and grabbing the ingredients for their dinner. "Hey, hey, I'm not predictable," Dean protested, feigning indignation.

"I'll have you know I'm a man of mystery" He said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. Y/N snorted as she took out a pack of ground beef from the fridge. “Dean, the only thing mysterious about you is how the hell do your socks smell so nasty?” She cackled, tossing her head back.

“Don’t knock the funk, babe.” Dean protested, holding a hand over his heart as if she had offended him. “And it’s called manly pheromones. Women dig it.” Y/N grimaced at him, pressing a hand to her chest “As a woman, from Planet Actual Woman. We don’t” She whispered the last part, flashing him a sly wink.

Dean let out a mock gasp of shock. "You don't?" He asked incredulously, putting on a wounded expression. “Then how do you explain all the times you’ve stolen my shirts?” Y/N’s eyes widened, she quickly reached for the pack of new paper towels, tossing it at him.

“Nice aim, sweetheart," Dean chuckled, easily dodging the paper towels again. Y/N just shot him a middle finger aimed in his direction, mumbling something about ‘lacing his tacos with laxatives’.

When she turned away from him, her cheeks were burning red at the fact that he caught her red handed. But she quickly schooled the act, so he didn’t notice.

Author's Note: This one has been in my drafts for a few days now and I’m finally letting it see light lol.

Hope everyone likes it!!

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe-blog @modiddys-blog

Xoxo

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean and sam #sam and dean #supernatural fandom #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #Genesis Primis #The Old Testament Series #the beginning of their downfall

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sammyluvr · 1 day

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SUPERNATURAL M.LIST all works are gender neutral, reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated !! MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI WITH MY NSFW CONTENT. YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED !!! all nsfw fics are clearly labeled MDNI, this applies to ageless blogs. r for romantic, p for platonic ! ofc all nsfw is romantic !!!

SAM WINCHESTER DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ something about being close | 9.5K, angst, fluff, r ⟢ makes you wonder | 5.2K, fluff, r ↳ ⟢ part two : now you know | 6.8K, fluff, hurt/comfort ⟢ better than a sight for sore eyes | 1K, suggestive, MDNI ⟢ take my breath away | 13.7K, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, r ⟢ give and take | 0.7K, fluff, r ⟢ warm brown jacket | 1.3K, fluff, r ⟢ you’d dance with me? | 1.4K, fluff, r ⟢ three seconds | 1.2K, fluff, r ⟢ literary parallels | 3.6K, light angst, fluff, r ↳ ⟢ part two | coming soon … ⟢ this is real, it’s right | 3K, hurt/comfort, r ⟢ my boy only breaks his favorite toys | 10.6K, angst, r ⟢ forget-me-nots | 5.6K, fluff, r ⟢ but daddy i love him | 11.3K, light angst, fluff, r ⟢ some other time | 1.1K, fluff, r ⟢ just an observation | 1.3K, fluff, r ⟢ hold me, it’s enough | 1.6K, hurt/comfort, r ⟢ breathe, baby | 4.1K, smut, fluff, MDNI ⟢ only got eyes for you | 2.7K, fluff, r ⟢ dead eyes | 2.4K, hurt/comfort, r ⟢ abstract (psychopomp) | 1.9K, hurt/comfort, angst, r ⟢ love you again | 2K, fluff, hurt/comfort, r ⟢ motel room, 10:00 p.m. | 545, fluff, hurt comfort, r ⟢ book shop, 12:00 p.m. | 515, fluff, r ⟢ motel shower, 12:00 a.m. |629, hurt/comfort, r ⟢ cabin, 3:17 a.m. | 658, hurt/comfort, r ⟢ campus library, 7:00 a.m. | 658, fluff, r ⟢ the impala, 4:00 p.m. | 608, fluff, comfort, p ⟢ in the woods somewhere | coming soon …

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DEAN WINCHESTER DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ the language of love isn’t dead | 2.4K, fluff, light angst, r ⟢ flower shop, 11:00 a.m. | 644, fluff, r ⟢ gas station, 3:04 a.m. | 615, hurt/comfort, p

HEADCANONS ⟢ best friend!dean | 1K , fluff, p

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BOTH DRABBLES / ONESHOTS (all platonic) ⟢sorry won’t cut it | 4K , angst , hurt/comfort ↳ ⟢ sorry won’t cut it (rewrite) | 4.1K, angst, hurt/comfort

HEADCANONS (all separate) … nothing yet !

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RUBY DRABBLES / ONESHOTS ⟢ abandoned church, 5:30 a.m. | 540, fluff, r

HEADCANONS … nothing yet !

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CHARLIE BRADBURY DRABBLES / ONESHOTS … nothing yet !

HEADCANONS … nothing yet !

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JO HARVELLE DRABBLES / ONESHOTS … nothing yet !

HEADCANONS … nothing yet !

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zepskies · 3 days

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Podcast Interview With Idling in the Impala: "Y/N and Let Y/N…"

Here we go! Sandra and Kasey, the lovely hosts of @idlingintheimpalapodcast — the podcast for all things SPN and fanfiction — invited me on the pod for an interview…

We chatted about Dean Winchester and Jensen Ackles’ early roles, the best and worst seasons of SPN, the joys and pains of writing Soldier Boy, and much, much more.

That’s right, there be some hot takes coming in this convo, and I had an absolute blast with these two! (And like I said in Sunday's announcement, I’m also putting my name and my voice out there for the first time! 😆)

So if any of that sounds interesting, feel free to dive in!

(**Important Note: Just to preface, we recorded this back in June, so it was before I posted certain stories or even started developing Lost on You. It was also when Tumblr activity/engagement was going through a spring/summer slowdown lol.

Links to all the fics and podfics we mentioned are at the end of this post.)

Have a listen: ⤵️

youtube

Interview Timestamps –

(Plus fic recs, SPN writer shoutouts, and more!)

1:44 – Who’s your guy: Sam or Dean?

3:35 – Getting into Supernatural for the first time (and seeing “Deanisms” in Jensen’s early roles).

10:15 – We debate the best and worst seasons of SPN: talking Mary Winchester, the British MOL, MOC Dean vs. Demon Dean, Chuck/God villainy, “jump the shark” moments, and that ending.

30:29 – Favorite SPN characters besides Sam and Dean.

32:34 – Writing fanfiction, joining Tumblr, and writing reader inserts vs. OCs.

38:05 – To “Y/N” or not “Y/N,” and the power of 2nd person. (**Disclaimer: Despite my hot take on this, I’ve loved a lot of stories by authors who use Y/N in reader insert stories.

Also, if I’m remembering the book You and its characters incorrectly forgive me, it’s been like 5 years since I read it lol.)

51:00 – Favorite fanfic tropes in romance, the joys and challenges of writing Soldier Boy (AKA: the Original Asshole), and attempting to humanize Ben in Break Me Down.

Shoutout to @deans-spinster-witch always for giving me the inspiration to write BMD. 💚

Why We Love The Boys – A review of Supes Ain’t Always Heroes

1:07:57 – Engaging with readers, tips on increasing engagement, optimizing your Tumblr blog, writing schedules and processes, and incorporating reader feedback into stories.

1:26:38 – Sandra graciously narrated Midnight Espresso (Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader). We chat about what sparked the idea for the ME-verse, self-representation in fanfic, feeding Dean, loving Dean, and writing about culture and ethnicity in the fandom space.

1:38:26 – Chatting about the inspirations behind Smoke Eater, a firefighter!Dean AU; law enforcement procedurals, House MD, and researching for stories.

1:44:30 – Which Jackles character is the easiest or most fun to write?

1:47:39 – The challenges of writing Sam vs. Dean.

1:53:15 – Shoutouts! To some of my favorite SPN authors. I could only remember a few people off the top of my head (stupid me), but I love all of you!!

@waynes-multiverse @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @luci-in-trenchcoats @rizlowwritessortof @waywardxwords

@deanwinchesterswitch @deanbrainrotwritings @deanwritings @spnbabe67 @thatonewriter15

@justagirlinafandomworld @kaleldobrev @artyandink @princessmisery666 @wayward-dreamer (– and many more.)

2:00:40 – How I came up with my username.

2:05:04 – Kasey’s Secret Question…

2:07:38 – Advice to fanfic writers and creatives for inspiration and/or wisdom.

2:16:35 – Sandra and Kasey’s lovely outro: self-representation in fandom, escapism, diverse voices, and more. (“Reach out a hand. Touch somebody. …Not like that.”)

📖 Fics Mentioned:

Sandra: @talltalesandbedtimestories -

Some Sunny Day Series – Dean Winchester x OFC - (I'm in the process of reading this entire series and it's been a joy to read! 💜)

Past Due – Dean Winchester x Reader

The Iceman Cometh – Dean Winchester x Reader

Cowboy Canter (Original Fiction) – Inspired by cowboyish Dean/Jensen.

Kasey: @sam-is-my-safe-word -

English Cottage-verse – Sam Winchester x Reader (I've read it and it's fantastic! 💜)

(K)not for sale – Soldier Boy x Dean Winchester

Alex (Zep/Me) -

Break Me Down – Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Midnight Espresso (& the Series Masterlist) – Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Dream With Me – Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Smoke Eater – Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Every Second Counts – Russell Shaw x F. Reader

🎙️ Stories/Podfics Sandra has narrated for me:

Podfic Playlist

And please remember to check out all the other awesome interviews, narrated podfics, and fun topics covered by Sandra and Kasey on the Idling in the Impala Podcast!

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deans-queen · 3 days

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You Belong With Me (Dean’s Version)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x You

Summary: POV - Dean sees you walking down the street with your new boyfriend and doesn’t like what he sees 🥺 ( this was a request that I was tagged in by @jackles010378 )

Warnings: language, spicy moments, jealousy , angst, possessiveness, emotional vulnerability, mentions of toxic relationship.

Pre Authors Note: BTW I needed to use this gif because it just does something to me like 🥵😩😭 I’m so down bad for this man it’s ridiculous — anyways happy reading!! 🫶🏻

Dean’s POV

I leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, sunglasses low on my nose as I watched you walk down the street, hand in hand with him. Some preppy guy, clean-shaven, all smiles, like he didn’t have a care in the world. My gut twisted the second I saw you laughing at something he said.

Damn, that laugh. That smile. It used to be mine.

You looked happy, but I knew better. There was something off, something I couldn’t put my finger on, and it gnawed at me. He wasn’t right for you, not by a long shot. Maybe it was the way he touched you—too casual, too cocky—or the fact that he didn’t even notice when your smile faltered.

I took a long drag from my beer, eyes still locked on you. When you passed by, our gazes met. Yours lingered on me for just a second too long before you quickly looked away. Yeah, you felt it too. That pull. That spark that had never really gone away, no matter how much you tried to hide it.

A week later, I saw you again, sitting on a park bench, alone this time. The sky was overcast, like it was about to rain, but you didn’t seem to care. I noticed the way your shoulders shook, the soft sobs you tried to stifle. My chest tightened, and I couldn’t stand it.

I slid onto the bench next to you, silent for a moment before speaking. “Hey.”

You looked up, your tear-streaked face breaking me. “Dean…”

“Where’s he?” I asked, not even bothering to hide the bitterness in my voice.

You shook your head, wiping your cheeks. “We broke up.”

My heart surged with something I didn’t want to name, but my fists clenched as you kept talking.

“He was an asshole. Treated me like… like I didn’t even matter half the time.” Your voice cracked, and I could see how much it hurt to admit that. “I should’ve known.”

“I knew,” I muttered before I could stop myself.

Your head snapped up, eyes widening. “What?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I could tell. The way he looked at you, the way he acted… He didn’t deserve you.”

You blinked, processing my words, and then something shifted. There was this tension hanging between us, thick and electric, the kind you couldn’t ignore. I reached out, cupping your cheek gently, my thumb brushing away a tear.

“I would never treat you like that,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “You know that, right?”

Your breath hitched, eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, the whole world fell away. It was just us—just you and me—and the way your lips parted, your gaze flicking down to my mouth, told me everything I needed to know.

I leaned in slowly, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you met me halfway, your lips soft, warm, and perfect against mine. The second we kissed, everything else vanished. All the frustration, the jealousy, the anger—I poured it all into that kiss, into the way I pulled you closer, needing to feel you against me.

You whimpered into my mouth, fingers threading through my hair, and God, that sound—made me lose it. My hand slid to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, and when you pressed your body into mine, I could barely keep it together.

I pulled back slightly, resting my forehead against yours, breath heavy. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your lips curved into a shaky smile, but there was still that uncertainty in your eyes. “Dean… I don’t want to just be a rebound.”

I shook my head. “You think this is a rebound? Babe, I’ve been wanting you for years. This… this is way past that.”

You bit your lip, that little hint of doubt fading as I kissed you again, harder this time. You moaned softly, and I couldn’t help myself.

“You deserve better,” I growled against your lips, my hands roaming your sides. “You deserve someone who’ll treat you like the goddamn queen you are.”

Your breath was ragged, fingers clutching at my jacket as I nipped at your lower lip. “And you think that’s you?”

“I know it’s me.” My voice was dark, low, the kind that made your whole body shudder. “You belong with me, sweetheart. No one else is gonna give you what you need.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes heavy-lidded as you stared at me. “Show me.”

And hell, did I ever.

A few days had passed since that kiss, but it was all I could think about. You had to know you were driving me crazy—every time we crossed paths, there was that look in your eyes, like you wanted more but weren’t sure if you should ask for it.

I was about to give you more than you ever expected.

We met again that night, under the same damn streetlight where I first saw you with him. Only this time, it was just us, no distractions.

“You look like you’ve got something to say,” you teased, leaning back against the hood of the Impala, your eyes gleaming under the dim light.

I took a step closer, then another, until I was right in front of you, crowding your space. “I do.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move, didn’t back down. “Yeah? What’s that?”

I ran a finger down your arm, watching the way your skin prickled beneath my touch. “That I’m done pretending. I want you, Y/N. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time.”

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, I grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against me. The kiss that followed wasn’t soft like the first one—it was hard, desperate, and filled with everything I’d been holding back for too damn long.

You gasped into my mouth as my hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips, your waist, everything I could reach. You melted against me, your fingers curling into my shirt as I deepened the kiss, my teeth grazing your lower lip before I tugged it, just hard enough to make you whimper.

“Dean,” you whispered, breathless, and that was all it took for me to lose control. I lifted you onto the hood of the Impala, pushing between your thighs as you wrapped your legs around me, pulling me closer.

“Damn, sweetheart,” I growled against your neck, trailing rough kisses along your skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You tilted your head back, giving me more access as I pressed open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “Then show me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And I did. Every single inch of you. Every kiss, every touch, every moan—it all belonged to me now.

Author’s Note

Hope you enjoyed this story! Thank you @jackles010378 for this suggestion, I def loved writing it! Feel free to let me know what you think! I always love reading feedback!

Like & follow for more !! Xoxo

Want to read more? Check out my other stories!

Master list 📝

Tag list

@kr804573 / @deanscherrypie420 / @reignsboy19 / @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx / @riah1606 / @deanwinchestersgirl8734 / @thoughtfullyfurryangel / @10ava01 / @jackles010378 / @winchesterwild78 / @ladysparkles78 / @whimsyfinny

If you would like to be added on my Taglist for stories please send me a message or comment on this post

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figthoughts · 1 day

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you and dean. complete opposites. like day and night.

your bad boy hunter boyfriend in his leather jacket and big black boots. you in your lace-hemmed tanks and little skirts. fuck, he loved it. coming home from a hunt to his sweet little angel, always dressed in soft pastels and lace.

he loved when you’d complain and yell at him for getting vamp blood on your skirt or dirt on your new sweater. he did it on purpose cause he knew, without fail, you’d instantly take the item of clothing off and rush to begin cleaning it.

you were a girly girl and there was nothing wrong with that. you liked to look nice and keep your things clean.

so when dean would dirty you up, he’d follow you into the motel bathroom or wherever, his big puppy dog eyes on full display. “come on, babe. i didn’t mean to. i’m just excited to see you,” he’d pout with a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

you’d always huff and cross your arms at him, “dean, i’ve told you before!”

“look, sweetheart. i’ll make it up to you...” dean would grin and wiggle his eyebrows. you knew exactly what he wanted. you knew all about this little game he’d play.

“oh, yeah?” you’d tilt your head in amusement, your annoyance fading at the thought of him really making it up to you.

“yeah,” his hands would instantly be on you again, tracing over every curve and sensitive spot he knew you had. you’d laugh and he knew you weren’t really mad at him.

dean’d guide you over to the bed and begin removing the rest of your clothing for you, muttering something like “don’t wanna get these dirty too, huh?”

and before you knew it, you’d be wrapped up in his arms feeling just how sorry he truly is for making you all dirty.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester drabble #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x reader

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lila-lou · 1 day

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✨Taking her in - Pt. 2✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 6472

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

But as soon as Dean stepped into the hallway, he collided with you.

You were walking toward the bathroom, eyes glued to your phone, completely unaware of your surroundings. The sudden impact made you stumble back, and you looked up in surprise, your gaze locking with Dean’s.

The world seemed to freeze in that moment.

Dean felt his breath catch in his throat as he stood there, half-naked and dripping wet, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The shock in your eyes quickly gave way to something else—a flicker of something unreadable that made his heart stutter in his chest. He could see the way your gaze flicked over him, taking in the sight of him standing there, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t intended.

And fuck, the way you looked at him—it sent a jolt of heat through him that he didn’t know how to handle.

“Dean—”, you started, but whatever you were going to say was lost as you took in the situation fully, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

Dean’s mind scrambled for something to say, something to do that wouldn’t make this moment even more awkward than it already was. But he was caught off guard, still reeling from everything he’d been trying to push down in the shower, and now here you were, standing right in front of him, too close and too far all at once.

“Sorry”, you mumbled, stepping back, your eyes darting away from his as you tried to give him space. “I wasn’t paying attention. I—um—I didn’t mean to…”.

Dean shook his head, finding his voice, though it came out rougher than he intended. “It’s fine. My fault. Should’ve looked where I was going”.

You opened your mouth to say something, maybe just a quick remark to break the tension, but the words never came. Dean’s eyes flicked down briefly, just for a split second, but it was enough for him to realize with a jolt of panic that the unwelcome reaction he’d been fighting off in the shower was back with a vengeance. His body betrayed him again, and this time there was no cold water to douse the flames.

Without another word, he abruptly turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, your unspoken words hanging in the air. The speed of his retreat, the way he couldn’t even look at you as he left, made your stomach twist with a confusing mix of emotions. You watched him go, feeling a wave of something that wasn’t quite anger, but close—a hurt that sat heavy in your chest.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still mad at you, that the argument from earlier was somehow still hanging over both of you, unresolved and festering. But this felt different too, more personal, like there was something else going on that you couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t just the remnants of your disagreement; it was something deeper, something unspoken that lingered in the space between you.

As Dean disappeared down the hallway, you were left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. The awkwardness of the encounter had left you flustered, but it was the way he had walked away that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Dean had seemed off balance, as if he was barely holding himself together. And the way he had avoided your gaze, the quickness with which he’d retreated, it all added up to something that made you uneasy.

With a sigh, you shook your head and continued into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You needed to clear your head, to figure out how to handle whatever was happening between you and Dean before it spiraled even further out of control.

But as you stood there, staring at yourself in the mirror, the image of Dean—half-naked, dripping wet, and looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him—kept playing in your mind.

The weight of your feelings pressed down on you like a heavy blanket. You’d been in love with Dean for years now—ever since the moment he’d first saved you, stepping into your life like a guardian angel with rough edges and a heart that you’d seen was softer than he let on. You could still remember how your heart had fluttered in that first moment, how the fear you’d felt had been replaced by something warmer, something you hadn’t understood then but had come to know all too well.

But to Dean, you were just the helpless kid he’d saved. The one he had taken under his wing, brought into the fold of his makeshift family, and protected with a fierceness that both comforted and frustrated you. He saw you as a little sister, someone to look after, to shield from the horrors of the world. And that was the problem. No matter how much you’d grown, no matter how strong you’d become, he still looked at you and saw that frightened kid who needed saving.

That was why it hurt so much every time he treated you like a child, why it triggered something deep inside you. Because you weren’t that kid anymore. You were a woman now, with feelings and desires and a heart that ached every time you looked at him, knowing he’d never see you the way you wanted him to. Knowing that, in his eyes, you’d always be someone to protect, not someone to love.

And that was the real pain of it—the knowledge that no matter how much you cared for him, no matter how deeply you felt, he would never see you as anything more than his responsibility. Someone to keep safe, not someone to hold close.

The image of him standing there in that hallway, half-naked, had shaken you more than you cared to admit. Because for a split second, you thought you saw something different in his eyes—a flicker of something that mirrored the way you felt. But then he had turned away, retreating so quickly that it left you reeling, unsure if you’d imagined the whole thing.

You let out a frustrated sigh, running your hands through your hair as you tried to shake off the lingering tension from the encounter. You knew you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself, couldn’t keep hoping for something that would never happen. Dean had made it clear, time and time again, that he was there to protect you, to keep you safe. And that was all it would ever be.

But even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help the way your heart clenched at the thought. The love you felt for him was something that had grown over the years, something that had taken root so deeply inside you that you didn’t know how to untangle it from who you were. And no matter how much you tried to push it down, to bury it under layers of practicality and logic, it always found a way to rise to the surface.

Taking a deep breath, you splashed some water on your face, trying to clear your head. You needed to stop dwelling on this, stop letting it consume you. Dean wasn’t yours, and he never would be. You had to accept that, had to find a way to move on, even if it meant dealing with the pain of unrequited love.

Back in Dean’s room, he shut the door behind him with a little too much force, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet space. His heart was still pounding, his mind a chaotic mess of conflicting thoughts. But as much as he wanted to push everything down and ignore it, his body had other plans.

He glanced down at the towel wrapped around his waist, cursing under his breath as he saw the telltale sign of his arousal, the strain of his erection against the fabric. His fists clenched at his sides, frustration and shame warring within him. This was wrong—so wrong—and he knew it. He kept repeating it to himself like a mantra, hoping that if he said it enough times, it would sink in, that it would somehow make the feelings go away.

But no matter how hard he tried to will it down, his body wouldn’t listen. The memory of you standing so close, the way your eyes had looked up at him with something that felt dangerously like longing, was burned into his mind. And it wasn’t just that—your scent, the warmth of your presence, the way your voice had softened when you’d said his name—it was all too much, too overwhelming. It was a storm inside him that he couldn’t control.

Dean’s jaw tightened as he turned away from the door, pacing the length of his room in an attempt to clear his head. He tried to focus on anything else—the hunt, the research that needed to be done, anything that would distract him from the unbearable ache in his chest and the unwelcome desire pooling in his gut. But every time he tried to shift his thoughts, they circled back to you, pulling him into the same torturous loop.

“This is wrong”, he muttered to himself, the words a growl of frustration. “She’s too young. She’s like a sister. You can’t… you can’t do this”.

But even as he said it, the logic of it felt hollow, powerless against the tide of emotions he was barely holding back. He was supposed to be stronger than this, supposed to be able to keep these feelings in check, but here he was, barely able to keep himself together after one accidental encounter.

Dean sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands as he fought to regain control. This wasn’t just about desire—if it were, he might have been able to push it aside. No, this was something deeper, something that had been growing for years, something that terrified him because of how strong it had become.

He cared about you—more than he’d ever let on, even to himself. And that was the crux of it, the thing he couldn’t ignore. This wasn’t just a passing attraction; it was rooted in something real, something that had been building from the moment he’d saved you all those years ago. But he couldn’t let himself feel it, couldn’t let himself want you like that. Because if he did, it would ruin everything.

Dean took a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to stand and move toward the dresser. He needed to get dressed, needed to do something normal, something to ground himself before he lost whatever grip he had left. But as he reached for his clothes, his hands were trembling, and his thoughts were still a jumbled mess.

Eventually, Dean managed to pull himself together enough to get dressed. His hands were still shaking slightly as he yanked on a pair of boxers, grimacing as he adjusted himself to hide his persistent erection by tucking it under the waistband. The discomfort was a reminder of the situation he was trying so desperately to avoid, but he pushed through it, forcing himself to focus on the mundane task of pulling on his jeans and a flannel shirt.

Once he was dressed, he stood in the middle of his room for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. He needed something to distract himself, something to take the edge off before he had to face you or Sam again. His gaze flicked toward the door, and he knew where he needed to go—the kitchen. A cold beer wouldn’t solve his problems, but it might help him get a handle on them, at least for a little while.

Dean took one last deep breath, running a hand through his still-damp hair before he made his way out of his room and down the hall. The bunker was quiet, and he was grateful for the silence; it gave him a chance to pull himself together, to try to push down the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him.

As he reached the kitchen, he pulled open the fridge with more force than necessary, grabbing a cold bottle of beer from the shelf. He popped the cap off with practiced ease and took a long swig, the cool liquid sliding down his throat and easing some of the tension in his chest.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the counter with the bottle in hand, staring blankly at the far wall.

It took Dean four beers before he finally felt even remotely ready to face Sam in the library. Each bottle had gone down quicker than the last, the cold liquid doing its best to numb the edges of his thoughts, to push the swirling storm of emotions back to a manageable level.

He set the empty bottle down on the counter with a soft clink, letting out a long, slow breath as he ran a hand through his hair again, trying to shake off the lingering haze of frustration and confusion. It wasn’t much, but the alcohol had taken the edge off, had given him a little more control over the chaos inside him.

Dean knew he couldn’t put off talking to Sam any longer. His brother had a way of sensing when something was off, and the last thing Dean needed was for Sam to start asking questions he wasn’t ready to answer. He needed to act normal, needed to push everything else aside and focus on what mattered—keeping things from spiraling any further out of control.

With a final, resolute nod to himself, Dean pushed away from the counter and made his way out of the kitchen, heading toward the library. The familiar hum of the bunker filled the silence as he walked, the steady sound a small comfort in the midst of the turmoil he was trying to keep at bay.

As he approached the library, he could see Sam already sitting at one of the long wooden tables, a stack of books in front of him, the glow of his laptop casting a soft light on his face. Sam looked up as Dean entered, his expression shifting from concentration to something more guarded—like he was trying to gauge Dean’s mood before saying anything.

“Hey”, Sam greeted, his tone cautious as he closed the book he’d been reading. “Everything okay?”.

Dean forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, just needed to cool off a bit. You know how it is”.

Sam nodded slowly, clearly not entirely convinced but willing to let it slide for now. “Yeah, I get it. You want to go over what we found earlier? Might help take your mind off things”.

Dean knew what Sam was doing—offering him a distraction, a way to focus on something other than whatever had been eating at him since the argument with you. It was the kind of thing Sam was good at, knowing when to push and when to give space. And right now, Dean appreciated the latter.

“Sure”, Dean said, crossing the room to sit down across from Sam. “Let’s get to it”.

Sam gave him a small, understanding nod before opening one of the books, flipping to a marked page. “So, I was looking into that case in Ohio, and I found something that might tie into it. There’s a pattern here with the disappearances, something that lines up with an old legend about…”.

As Sam started to explain his findings, Dean tried to focus on the words, on the research and the hunt ahead of them. It was familiar territory, something he could sink his teeth into, something that didn’t involve the confusing mess of emotions he was desperately trying to bury.

But even as he listened, even as he nodded along and offered his own thoughts on the case, a part of his mind was still back in that hallway with you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t completely push it away, couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that something between you had changed—and that there was no going back.

For now, though, he would focus on the hunt. On the work that needed to be done. And maybe, just maybe, he could keep everything else locked away where it couldn’t hurt anyone. At least until he figured out how to deal with it without destroying the fragile balance that had been holding everything together for so long.

It wasn’t until late that evening, when Sam came back with a bag full of Chinese takeout, that Dean had to face you again. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon and evening at the map table, nursing his tenth beer, trying to lose himself in the work and the alcohol. But neither had done much to ease the tension coiled in his chest or the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

The bunker had been quiet, with only the soft rustling of pages and the occasional click of Sam’s keyboard to break the silence. It had been a welcome reprieve, a chance for Dean to keep his distance from you, to avoid any more awkward encounters or the dangerous feelings that came with them.

But now, as the smell of fried rice and sesame chicken wafted through the air, Dean knew he couldn’t avoid you any longer.

“(Y/N), I brought some Chinese!”, Sam’s voice echoed through the bunker, the sound casual and warm.

Dean didn’t move right away, staying seated at the map table, his fingers drumming lightly on the wood as he stared at the bottle in front of him. The thought of seeing you again, of facing whatever tension still hung between you, made his chest tighten. But he had to pull it together, had to act like everything was fine, like nothing had changed.

A few moments later, you appeared in the doorway, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he looked up to see you. To his displeasure—and to the immediate dismay of his already frayed self-control—you were wearing a pair of shorts that were far too short for his peace of mind, paired with a tight top that left a good portion of your stomach exposed. The sight of you like that sent a jolt of heat through him, and he had to force himself to look away, to focus on anything other than the way your body moved as you shyly approached.

You hesitated in the doorway, clearly unsure of how he’d react, your eyes flicking to the beer in front of him and the tension in his posture. “Hey”, you said softly, your voice tentative.

Dean grunted in response, not trusting himself to say more. He took a long swig of his beer instead, trying to ignore the way his pulse had quickened, the way his mind was betraying him with images he had no business thinking about. He knew he needed to keep it together, but the sight of you like this, so close and so… exposed, was making it nearly impossible.

Sam, ever the oblivious or maybe just tactfully ignoring the tension in the room, smiled at you. “Come on, grab some food before it gets cold”.

Sam spread the food over the map table, setting out containers of fried rice, sesame chicken, egg rolls, and a few other dishes. He was all smiles, clearly trying to keep things light, urging you to take a seat. “Come on, dig in”, he said, gesturing to the open containers as he grabbed a pair of chopsticks for himself. “I got all your favorites”.

You offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. There was still a lingering uncertainty in your movements as you took a seat across from Dean, your eyes flickering to him for a brief moment before quickly darting away. The tension between you was palpable, thick enough that it seemed to weigh down the air around you.

Dean watched you out of the corner of his eye, doing his best to keep his expression neutral as he reached for another beer. His fingers brushed against the cold glass of the bottle, but he hesitated before taking another drink. The alcohol had dulled the edges of his thoughts earlier, but now, with you sitting so close, he wasn’t sure it was doing him any favors.

Sam tore open a packet of soy sauce and drizzled it over his rice, taking a big bite before looking at you with a grin. “You okay, (Y/N)?”, he asked casually, though there was an undercurrent of concern in his voice. “You’ve been kind of quiet”.

You nodded, reaching for a container of fried rice and a pair of chopsticks, though your movements were slower than usual. “Yeah, I’m fine”, you replied, though the words felt forced. You stole another quick glance at Dean, who was still staring at the beer in his hand, as if it held all the answers he needed.

Dean could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything in him not to look up, not to let his gaze travel down to the way your shorts hugged your thighs or the sliver of skin exposed by your top. He knew he should say something, should try to bridge the gap that had grown between you, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he focused on the beer in front of him, taking another long swig in the hopes that it might help settle the restless energy coiled in his chest.

But it didn’t. If anything, the alcohol only heightened his awareness of you, made him more acutely aware of the scent of your shampoo, the soft sound of your breathing, the way your legs crossed under the table.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dean reached for some food, trying to focus on anything other than the knot of tension tightening in his chest. He grabbed a container of fried rice and scooped some onto his plate, doing his best to keep his movements casual, as if he wasn’t hyper-aware of your every glance.

But he could feel it—the way you kept looking at him, your eyes flicking up to meet his before quickly darting away. It was like a constant pressure, a silent question that hung in the air between you. Every time he caught you looking at him, it only made his heart beat faster, his thoughts more jumbled.

For nearly twenty minutes, the silence stretched on, punctuated only by the occasional clatter of chopsticks against plastic and Sam’s attempts at casual conversation. But even Sam seemed to sense the strain, his usual chatter subdued as he alternated between talking about the hunt and filling the awkward gaps in conversation.

Dean kept his head down, focusing on his food, but the weight of your gaze was impossible to ignore. The more you watched him, the more he felt the walls he’d built up start to crumble.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Sam stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna grab a beer”, he said, his voice breaking the silence that had settled over the table. He glanced at you, then at Dean, before heading toward the kitchen. “You guys want anything?”.

Dean shook his head, his voice tight. “I’m good”.

You shook your head as well, offering Sam a small smile as he left the room. The moment he was gone, the silence between you and Dean seemed to grow even heavier, the air thick with all the things neither of you were saying.

Dean could feel your eyes on him again, and this time, it was too much. He set down his chopsticks, his fingers twitching with the need to do something—anything—to break the tension. He clenched his jaw, trying to push down the frustration and confusion that had been building inside him all day.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He looked up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that surprised even him. “What?”, he asked, his voice rougher than he intended. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”.

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden sharpness in his tone. But you didn’t look away, your expression shifting from uncertainty to something more determined. “Because… because something’s wrong, Dean”, you said, your voice quiet but steady. “And you won’t talk to me about it".

Dean felt a surge of emotions he couldn’t quite name—anger, frustration, something else that he didn’t want to acknowledge. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to keep his voice steady. “Nothing’s wrong, (Y/N). I’m just tired”.

But you weren’t buying it. He could see it in your eyes, the way you were studying him like you were trying to see past the mask he was wearing. “Don’t lie to me, Dean. I know you better than that”.

That hit harder than it should have, and Dean felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. You did know him, maybe better than most people. And that was the problem. You knew when he was hiding something, when he was trying to push you away, and now it was clear you weren’t going to let it go.

He looked away, unable to hold your gaze any longer. “I’m not lying”, he muttered, though he knew it wasn’t convincing. Not to you, not to himself.

“Yes, you are”, you mumbled, your voice trembling slightly. “Look, I’m sorry if I pushed you earlier, but I just… I feel useless, Dean. I’m not working, I’m not hunting. I’m just… I’m just getting groceries with your damn money, cleaning, doing the laundry”. You paused, taking a shaky breath before continuing, your voice even quieter. “But I want to be more than just a burden on you and Sam’s wallet. I want to help hunting”.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at him. He’d always seen you as part of the family, not a burden, but he realized now that his actions might have made you feel otherwise. He hated that you felt like this, hated that you saw yourself as anything less than the strong, capable person he knew you were.

“You’re not a burden”, Dean said, his voice gruff but earnest. He finally looked up at you, his green eyes meeting yours, and he saw the sincerity in your expression—the desperate need for him to understand. “You’ve never been a burden, (Y/N). You’re part of this family. And yeah, maybe I’ve been a little overprotective, but that’s only because…”.

He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without revealing too much, without crossing that line he’d been so carefully toeing for years. The truth was, he cared about you—more than he should, more than he was willing to admit even to himself. And that was why he’d kept you on the sidelines, why he’d tried to shield you from the dangers of hunting. Because the thought of losing you, of something happening to you out there, was more than he could bear.

You waited for him to finish, your eyes never leaving his, and he could see the determination in them—the same determination that had drawn him to you in the first place. You weren’t going to back down, and he knew it.

“Because what, Dean?”, you prompted gently, your voice soft but firm.

Dean clenched his jaw, the weight of everything he wanted to say pressing down on him like a vice. He knew that you deserved the truth, deserved to know why he was holding back, but he couldn’t bring himself to cross that line. Not when he was so afraid of what it might mean—both for you and for him.

“Just drop it, (Y/N), please”, he finally said, his voice rough with barely restrained emotion. He looked away, unable to meet your gaze any longer, his fists clenching at his sides in frustration. “I can’t… I just can’t talk about this right now”.

The hurt in your eyes was like a punch to the gut, and he hated himself for putting that look on your face. But he couldn’t let himself give in to the emotions that were threatening to spill over. He couldn’t let himself feel the things he was so desperately trying to bury.

You didn’t respond right away, and the silence that stretched between you was almost unbearable. Dean could feel the tension, the weight of all the things left unsaid hanging in the air. He wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—that might make this easier, but the words wouldn’t come.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay, Dean. I’ll drop it. But this isn’t over. You know that, right?”.

He nodded stiffly, still not looking at you. “Yeah, I know”.

Just as the weight of your conversation hung heavy between you, the tension was interrupted by the sound of Sam’s footsteps echoing through the hallway as he returned from the kitchen. He entered the room, holding a fresh beer, his easy-going demeanor a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside Dean.

Sam moved back to his seat and began eating again, filling the silence with casual conversation about the hunt, the case details, and the plan for the next few days. You responded when necessary, but your mind was clearly elsewhere.

As the meal was finished, the clatter of chopsticks and rustling of takeout containers filled the room as you and Sam cleared away your dishes. When you stood up to take the empty containers to the trash, Dean’s gaze was drawn to you despite himself.

As you moved around the table, reaching for Dean’s empty container, his eyes couldn’t help but trace the lines of your figure. Those little shorts you wore hugged your hips, thighs, and ass in a way that made it impossible for him to look away. The way they glided over your curves, emphasizing every inch of your form, made his breath hitch in his throat. He cursed himself silently, trying to fight the heat rising in his chest, but it was no use.

For a moment, time seemed to slow as he watched you, every detail of your appearance seared into his mind. He knew he shouldn’t be looking, knew that it was wrong to let his thoughts go where they were inevitably headed, but the pull was too strong, too overwhelming.

When you bent down slightly to pick up the containers, giving him an even better view, Dean had to physically force himself to look away, his fists clenching tightly under the table. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of guilt, frustration, and something darker twisting inside him. He had never wanted anything more than he wanted to protect you, but this was different. This was something he couldn’t control, something that threatened to consume him if he wasn’t careful.

You straightened up and caught Dean’s gaze as you turned back toward the kitchen. The brief eye contact was electric, like a jolt of energy passing between you. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes, the lingering hurt from your earlier conversation, but there was something else too—a flicker of something that mirrored the turmoil in his own heart.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, as if searching for something in his eyes, before turning and heading to the kitchen to dispose of the trash. As soon as you were out of sight, Dean let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his body slumping slightly as the tension and guilt gnawed at him.

A week had passed since that tense evening, but for Dean, the feelings that had been stirred up during that conversation hadn’t faded. If anything, they had only intensified. Every time you were near him, it was like a live wire of tension ran between you, sparking whenever you accidentally brushed against him or stood just a little too close. It was as if his body was reacting on its own, a rush of heat flooding through him that he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried.

The situation had become unbearable. Every glance, every casual touch, made it harder for Dean to keep his composure. He found himself avoiding you whenever possible, staying out late to work on the Impala, or finding excuses to leave the bunker for supplies or to do some research at a local library. He couldn’t let you see how much you were affecting him, how close he was to losing control.

But today, it all came to a head.

Sam, ever the one to suggest a way to unwind, had floated the idea of hitting a local bar to blow off some steam. Dean jumped at the chance, desperate for anything that might distract him from the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He needed to drink, needed to drown out the thoughts that kept circling back to you.

As Sam and Dean discussed the idea in the library, you overheard their conversation and joined them, your eyes lighting up at the prospect of getting out of the bunker for a bit. “Can I come too?”, you asked, a hopeful smile on your face. “I have a fake ID, so no worries there”.

Sam shrugged, clearly seeing no problem with it. “Sure, why not? It could be fun, and we could all use a break”.

But Dean wasn’t as quick to agree. The idea of you coming along, of being in a bar where the atmosphere was already charged with alcohol and proximity, made his stomach twist with anxiety. He knew how he reacted around you in the safe confines of the bunker—how much worse would it be with a few drinks in him and you looking the way you did? It was a risk he wasn’t sure he could take.

He hesitated, his eyes flicking between you and Sam, searching for an excuse to say no. “I don’t know…”, he started, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe it’s not the best idea”.

You frowned, clearly disappointed by his reluctance. “Why not? I’m not a kid, Dean. I can handle a night out”.

Sam glanced at Dean, noticing the tension in his brother’s posture, but he didn’t seem to grasp the full extent of what was going on. “Come on, Dean. It’s just one night. Let her come with us. It’ll be fun”.

Dean wanted to argue, to come up with some reason why you should stay behind, but the look on your face stopped him. Dean knew that if he pushed too hard, it would only make things worse, make you more determined to prove you could handle it.

With a resigned sigh, Dean finally nodded, though his expression remained tight. “Fine. But you´ll behave”.

You nodded eagerly, a smile spreading across your face as you grabbed your jacket. “Deal”.

Dean forced a tight smile, but inside, his mind was already racing, trying to figure out how he was going to keep himself in check. He couldn’t afford to let things get out of hand tonight, couldn’t afford to slip up in front of you or Sam.

As the three of you headed out of the bunker and made your way to the bar, Dean couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that tonight might push him closer to the edge than he was ready to go. The thoughts he’d been wrestling with, the emotions he’d been trying to suppress, were all bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to spill over if he wasn’t careful.

When you arrived at the bar, the place was already buzzing with energy. The low hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter, creating a lively atmosphere. Dean found himself instinctively scanning the room.

Sam led the way to a table near the back, where the three of you settled in. Almost immediately, Sam flagged down a waitress and ordered a round of drinks. Dean tried to focus on the conversation, tried to relax and enjoy the night, but every time you shifted in your seat, every time your arm brushed against his, it sent a jolt of awareness through him that he couldn’t ignore.

When the drinks arrived, you raised your glass with a grin, clearly excited to be part of the evening. “Here’s to a night off”, you said, your eyes sparkling as you clinked your glass against theirs.

Dean managed a smile, but the alcohol in his glass felt like both a blessing and a curse. He knew it would help take the edge off, but he also knew it might lower the barriers he’d worked so hard to keep up.

As the night wore on, the drinks kept coming, and the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Sam was in his element, laughing and talking with ease, but Dean found it harder and harder to keep his focus. Every time you laughed, every time you leaned in closer to say something to him, it felt like a test of his self-control. The warmth of your body, the scent of your hair—it was all too much.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trying to hold himself together, Dean knew he needed a break. He couldn’t sit there any longer, couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo

#jensen ackles #dean winchester fic #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #taking her in

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holylulusworld · 2 days

Text

Emergency

Summary: All you wanted to do was sexting.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: sexting, wrong number trope, implied smut, horny reader

Hello, hot piece of ass. Whatcha doing? Wanna meet up?

You giggle while chatting with one of the guys you found on the newest dating app you downloaded.

He lives near your location and is a hot dude. You can hardly wait to finally meet up with him. If the pictures he sent to you aren’t fake, he’s got a big dick too.

I want to suck your dick so bad. Hey, are you online? I see the green dot. Don’t tell me you’re jerking off instead of licking my pussy.

You harrumph because your favorite sexting partner doesn’t answer tonight. He’s online, and you can see, he read all of your messages.

Dude, answer me. Last time you weren’t so shy. You better not have a girlfriend.

You can see he’s writing, but then he’s suddenly offline. No message. No reply. No sexy pictures for lonely nights. Maybe he’s a fake account too.

“Come on, asshat. Show me some skin,” you grumble under your breath. Glancing at the app, you sigh. You wait for a moment, asking yourself if you should chat someone else up.

You decide against it and roll off your bed to get your favorite toy out of your duffle bag. If he doesn’t want to meet up or help you out, you’ll take care of yourself tonight.

Placing the toy on the bed, you sigh. Being horny and single sucks. Not only because no one wants to eat your pussy.

Ready to solve the problems in your panties with one of your toys, you glance at your phone.

Hottie is back online. Strike. You bet he’ll answer this time. Maybe he had to get in the mood. On the other hand, aren’t guys always in the mood? At least the ones looking for fun on the app.

Do you want to play? Come on, don’t you want to see more of me? I promise to give you a better angle this time.

He’s still not answering. You sigh and decide to use the bigger guns.

This is an emergency!!!

He’s writing again; this time, you receive a message.

What’s the emergency? He asks.

You hear a commotion in the motel room next to yours. It seems Dean got lucky tonight, and you envy him.

HORNY!!!!

You can hear the door of Dean’s room slam shut. Only seconds later, Dean hammers against your door.

You roll your eyes. Of all the times he wants to scrounge snacks, he chose tonight.

“Sweetheart?” He knocks again. “Open the door!”

“For fuck’s sake, Winchester,” you get out of the bed to unlock the door. “What?” You glare at him and huff. “This is not the best moment to ask for snacks!”

“I only want one snack,” he smirks that irresistible smirk. His tongue darts out to wet his plush lips as his eyes drop to your crotch. “You said it’s an emergency. So, here I am.”

“What?” You splutter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You texted me, Y/N,” he argues. “You wrote that you’ve got an emergency and that you’re horny.”

Your eyes widen. This is a serious case of sexting with the wrong person.

Well, what’s done is done.

“If you’re already here,” you fist his flannel to drag him inside your room. “You can take care of my emergency.”

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural drabble #supernatural

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angelicjackles · 2 days

Text

— reckless heroine.

cw: fem!reader, best friend!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a smidge of fluff, injuries and blood descriptions — 2.2k a/n: this is the first time I've posted anything publicly in years so consider this a testing the waters fic, trying to find my groove and decide if i want to make this a regular thing.

summary: after a rough, but successful hunt, you and dean arrive back at the motel, only you were reckless and got injured, some duct tape patching up ensues from an angry dean.

The storm had arrived just as Dean and her pulled into the grimy parking lot of the Twin Pines Motel, how very Montana. The heavy raindrops pummeled against the windows like a stark warning. The sky rumbled with low growls, and flashes of jagged light illuminated the dim, rundown building. Inside their basic motel room, the air was thick with tension and the unmistakable smell of almost damp carpet—a cheerful welcome after a semi-successful hunt with a werewolf.

Dean slammed the creaky motel door shut behind them, the force alone almost enough to splinter the plaster around the hinges, his expression a maelstrom of anger and concern blended into one explosive temper as he flicked the lightswitch, the gross orange-ish glow of the overhead bulb highlighted the unsavoury nature of their accommodation. They’d come a long way from Kansas for this hunt.

Sam and Cas took off East together for a potential case, something something bizarre circumstances, frankly, there’d been little resistance offered when the duo took off to the east coast, leaving her and Dean to take Montana—although if they were real, they’d probably have taken anywhere over the east coast.

The door was barely closed for a moment before his gruff voice crackled through the air like a whip. “Did that brewing concussion knock all damn common sense out of your head?” Dean snapped angrily, his demandingly sharp voice rising above the impending storm. “You got a fucking death wish or something?”

She grimaced, carefully moving to sit on one of the twin beds, feeling the throbbing pain radiating from the gash on the back of her shoulder, the wound still steadily leaking blood, instinctively rubbing the spot on the back of your head that had collided with the concrete earlier in the night when he mentioned a concussion.

“Very funny,” she retorted in deadpan, infusing her tone with a touch of biting sarcasm that was quickly becoming a defence mechanism, and all but guaranteed to rile him up further. “The victim needed help, she was bleeding out and scared, and unlike you I actually gave a shit about more than ganking the mutt.” The implication that he didn’t care if the victim survived so long as they handled the werewolf wasn’t helping Dean’s mood, but the remorse she showed was negligible. “Besides, I handled it, didn’t I? And it worked—aren’t you always telling me ‘trust your instincts, your instincts are good’.” she added on before he had a chance to respond, putting an emphasis on the drawl of his voice. The mock only made that muscle in his jaw clench so hard it wouldn’t be a surprise if his teeth shattered. Heed the warning.

A growl bubbled in the back of his throat, but somehow he managed to keep it partially contained and tossed both his and her bags down onto the bed she hadn’t plopped down on. He may be pissed at her right now but that didn’t mean he was going to let his injured best friend carry her own bag. “Trust your instincts?” He gestured wildly with his hand, like that would somehow show just how worked up he was right now. She was getting to him, bad, and it was taking every ounce of willpower he was summoning from Chuck only knows where to stop from lashing out at her. “You were reckless and got yourself attacked in the process of playing heroine!” He rasped, his low voice reverberating off the thin motel walls with how loud his words escaped.

Just for good measure he had to force his eyes elsewhere, just so he’d stop being faced with those claw marks on your shoulder, every glance at them made something in him coil and burn. Stomping towards the foot of the unoccupied bed, he aggressively unzipped his duffle bag and rummaged through it. Meanwhile she was busy shedding herself of the unnecessary clothing and gear, kicking her shoes off and abandoning them on the mysteriously patchy carpet next to the bed, unbuckling her belt and unlatching the clasp on the blade sheath on her hip, tossing both onto the lone chair off to the side of the beds.

Finally after a few long moments his fingers found the squished edges of the first-aid kit he’d grown used to keeping in there—the first-aid kit that only remained stocked up because she meticulously replenished what she, him and Sam went through after every hunt—Snagging it up, deft fingers were quick to unzip and flick through it haphazardly, plucking out several different medical supplies.

When he realised she hadn’t responded to his last few retorts, which was uncharacteristic for her, his eyes flickered back towards her, forest green eyes darkening at the blood leaking against her pale skin. “You put yourself in danger, again, and walked away with a souvenir I’m not too keen on.” He continued despite his better judgement, gesturing angrily at the deep werewolf claw marks on the back of your shoulder blade, having torn through her flannel and undershirt, soaking both in bright crimson and leaving her down to a base layer tank top.

The retort had her glancing over her shoulder, but able to see little more than the dark streaks of blood sticking to wet skin. The amount of blood she’d lost so far wasn’t enough to be life-threatening, but it was definitely a worrying situation that needed attention. God forbid the pair didn’t do their back-and-forth arguing before that though, not like she was bleeding out over here or anything. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” He grumbled, not so hotly as before, the edges of concern leaking into his voice. “These are gonna scar ugly...” The last part was more of an afterthought.

“More to add to the collection,” she mused out far too casually for the situation. “What did you ju—” He interjected, a warning hiss in his voice, but she was quick to wave a dismissive hand over her shoulder at him. “Forget it.” She brushed off, cutting off his warning remark.

‘It’s like she’s trying to piss me off,’ Dean thought to himself, and hell maybe she was. “For once, couldn’t you have followed the game plan, sweetheart? Fuckin’ hell…” His tone was a mixture of worried fondness and scolding terseness. Either way, she was quick to turn her entire body around on the bed to glare at him, ignoring the searing pain from her wound with the quick movement.

“Oh? Am I supposed to bow down to Dean Winchester’s expert advice? Follow orders blindly?” She shot back at him, a chilling kind of coolness to her voice. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s your speciality,” she added, venomously, the tension in her voice masking the discomfort that coiled within her body.

And she could have sworn she saw him flinch as soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, making a low simmering pit of guilt fester inside her, knowing she was out of line. Low blow. His gaze pained for a fleeting moment, pretty green eyes widening and mouth falling open the smallest amount like those words had quite literally taken the breath from his lungs; but it quickly hardened again as he stewed on those words, cracking open a bottle of antiseptic with more force than necessary. “Just— shut up, for once.” It was almost a plea, more of a pained demand, but she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Sit still and let me patch you up, okay? I may not be a doctor, but I can keep your ass from bleeding out.”

She rolled your eyes, watching as he pulled out a smorgasbord of supplies from the first-aid kit. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own medical emergencies. This isn’t my first skirmish with fangs and claws, Dean. I don’t need your help,” her voice came out more snapped than intended.

Despite the fact they both knew the precocious positioning of this wound left her unable to attend to it herself, she’d have to be a pretty fine contortionist to deal with it without help. Dean opened his mouth to inform his best friend of just that but thought better of it in the final second, slowly his mouth slipped closed.

A frustrated grunt slipped past his lips and one hand racked impatiently through his short, messy locks. “Well, congratulations on surviving past encounters, but this looks like a crime scene,” he replied tersely before sighing in frustration, the adrenaline of the situation beginning to die. “—plus, you’re bleeding on my marginally clean bed,” he added on, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, which pulled a scoffed laugh from her mouth before it could be helped.

His tense shoulders dropped slightly in relief when she responded by gingerly peeling the fabric of her black tank top away from the wound, letting it slip down off her slender shoulder so he’d have access.

The next fifteen minutes were deafeningly quiet, the only sounds were the soft pained noises that left her mouth, and the heavy breaths of concentration from Dean as he worked at disinfecting and patching up the wound on her shoulder as best as possible - Would this be easier to do in the bathroom instead of on the bed? Absolutely, but here they were.

Thankfully the wound didn’t need stitches, the claw marks the werewolf had left her with were nasty but not deep enough to be genuinely worrisome—not that it would stop Dean from worrying like a motherfucker. They’d leave some impressively disgusting scars, and hurt like a bitch for the next couple weeks as they healed, and as much as he was tempted to suggest going to the nearest a&e to get her properly seen to, just to be safe, he knew what her answer would be, so that wasn’t a battle he’d win. His basic hunter duct-taping would have to suffice.

The mood wasn’t great, both seething with worry and anger and pain that blended together into a chokingly intense thickness that lingered like smoke in the air, so it was in everyone’s best interests that they shut up.

“Done.”

Those words out of his mouth seemed to break the atmosphere and she slowly glanced back at him over her shoulder right in time for his thumbs to smooth out the medical tape that adhered the thick, white dressings to her pale skin, his touch extremely gentle despite everything, ensuring the tape wouldn’t come loose.

Turning on the bed so she was facing him as he remained stood up, her shoulders rolled back slowly, testing out the movement with the fresh patch up, it seemed to be healing. “How’s it looking, doc?” She quipped, her voice slightly lilted, making a weak attempt to lighten the mood up, too damn tired to argue further with him. His mouth quirked up in what could be described as a lazy grin. “Think you might just survive the night, thanks to the tireless effort of your handsome doctor.” He teased, only because he wanted to see her roll her eyes in that fondly affectionate way, and he got his wish.

The way she made a point to shake her head at him was all he needed to see to know that the sparky atmosphere had diminished; even though it was likely due to the adrenaline dying out and the pain kicking in.

His eyes followed her when she pushed herself to stand up, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Mm, I don’t know, can’t say the bloody hands add to the sex appeal.” She hummed, eyes flicking down to his hands that were stained with her blood, hands that were now staining her arm in deep crimson too, her brows furrowing in distaste, but he didn’t seem in a rush to pull his hand back so she didn’t move to knock him off either. His gaze dropped to the offending hands in question, nose scrunching up at the sight of the blood as his thumb stroked against her elbow. “So… you’re saying I have sex appeal?”

The tone of his voice in that moment was the most playful thing she’d heard from him in a long time. She couldn’t help but laugh, a real hearty ‘you’re such an idiot’ kind of laugh, the kind that had him grinning crookedly at her in return.

“Your ego needs no further stroking, I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.” She held her hands up in mock surrender, which only rumbled an amused laugh from deep in his chest.

“That’s my girl.” Dean beamed, running his tongue over his teeth with a soft sigh. The adrenaline had long since faded and now he was left with that anxious worry and tired stress lingering in his body. “Fuck… C’mere, you,” he beckoned suddenly, barely giving her time to register his words before he was pulling her in against his chest, strong arms wrapping around her in such a delicate way, careful of her injuries while somehow managing to squish her into him. The height difference leaving the top of her head tucked perfectly underneath his chin as his fingers carted through her messy hair.

“Look... Call a truce, sweetheart?” The gruff hunter muttered into her hair, his arms cradling her close to his larger body. “Truce.” She conceded, placing a complacent kiss against his clothed shoulder, which earned a soft little rumbly hum from him.

The storm raged outside, but within the cramped motel room, a warmth had blossomed between the pair of them—a reminder that despite all the chaos of the job, it was them against the world and in this tempest, as the thunder rolled across the darkening horizon and the lightning split the sky, they both knew they’d face them together, side by side.

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester oneshot

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lostalioth · 2 days

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𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddle with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, whether you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

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nabooberrie · 1 day

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doctorbitchcrxft · 1 day

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Bad Day at Black Rock | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: panic attack/PTSD, recovering from a sexual assault (HEED THESE WARNINGS ESPECIALLY FOR THIS CHAPTER), canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 6673

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“What?!” you exclaimed. “She’s a demon, and you didn’t gank her?!”

Sam had just finished telling you and Dean about this Ruby girl he’d met.

“No, (Y/N), I mean, she seemed pretty helpful on the Seven Deadlies case.”

“Wait, she’s the blonde chick?!” you realized. “Why the fuck would a demon help me?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “That’s what I’m trying to understand, too. And if she helped us then, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have at least listened to what she had to say.”

“Because ‘demon,’ that's why,” Dean snapped angrily. “I mean, the second you find out this Ruby chick is a demon, you go for the holy water! You don't chat!”

“No one was chatting, Dean,” Sam huffed.

“Oh yeah? Then why didn't you send her ass back to Hell?”

“Because she said she might be able to help us out!”

“With what, though, Sam,” you chimed in. “You’ve never said how she’s supposed to be able to help us. Or with what.”

“She told me she could help Dean,” Sam said quietly.

Dean seemed to not understand.

“With the crossroads deal, I’m assuming,” you told him.

Sam nodded.

The older brother looked at Sam incredulously. “What is wrong with you, huh? She's lying, you gotta know that, don't you? She knows what your weakness is; it's me.” Dean paused for a second. “What else did she say?”

Sam was quiet again.

You and Dean leaned in expectantly. “Dude?” the older brother questioned.

“Nothing. Nothing, Okay?!” Sam snapped. “Look, I'm not an idiot, guys. I'm not talking about trusting her, I'm talking about using her. I mean, we're at war, right? And we don't know jack about the enemy. We don't know where they are; we don't know what they're doing. I mean, hell, we don't know what they want. Now, this Ruby girl knows more than we will ever find out on our own. Now, yes, it's a risk, I know that, but we need to take it.”

“You're okay right, I mean you're feeling okay?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed. “Yes I'm fine. Why are you always asking me that?”

You looked between the two brothers when a phone began ringing. You checked your pockets; no buzzing. Sam and Dean’s phones weren’t ringing either.

“Check the glove box, it's Dad's,” Dean suddenly realized.

“Dad’s?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, I keep it charged up in case any of his old contacts call.”

‘Smart boy,’ you thought.

Sam opened the glove box and found the ringing phone. “Hello? Yes... this is Edgar Casey… No! No, no, no, don't – don't call the police, I'll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just uh, can you just lock it back up for me? Great. Uhm, I- I uh, I don't have my - my book in front of me—” Sam gestured to you for a pen, which you quickly handed to him— “do you- do you have the address so I can... Sure, okay. Go ahead. Right, thanks a lot.” He then hung up and turned to Dean. “Dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Outside of Buffalo?”

The older brother shook his head. “No way.”

“Yeah. And someone just broke into it.”

***

“No demons allowed,” Sam noted upon entering his father’s storage container. A large Devil’s Trap was etched into the ground, and two sets of bloody footprints traveled right through it.

“Check this out,” Dean said, stooping to hold up a tripwire. It was attached to a shotgun hidden in a large animal skull.

“Whoever broke in here got tagged,” Sam said.

“I got two sets of boot treads here,” you announced, “looks like it was a two-man job. And Buckshot Boy looks like he kept walking.” You nodded toward the bloody footprint trail leading into the container.

“So, what's the deal?” Sam wondered aloud. “Dad would do work here or something?”

“Living the high life, as usual,” Dean quipped.

The three of you crept around John’s storage locker, and the two brothers chatted about how much of a mystery their father still was to them. You took in the varying types of clutter. To your surprise, the room was filled with old memorabilia; photo albums, a graduation cap and gown you assumed was Sam’s, and a few boxes whose contents were written on the outside of them in a woman’s handwriting you assumed belonged to Mary.

You smiled at a trophy on a shelf nearby. “Check it out,” you said, picking it up and dusting it off. “Sam Winchester, 1995,” you read aloud, “Soccer Division Championship.”

Sam grinned and came over to you. “No way! I can't believe he kept this.”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled lopsidedly, “it was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy.” He wandered over to another table with a shotgun laid on it. “Oh, wow! It's my first sawed-off. I made it myself. Sixth grade.” The older brother laughed and pumped the dusty shotgun.

“You made that?” you questioned.

“Not bad, eh?” he grinned excitedly.

“No, not at all,” you giggled. “Damn, dude.” You took the gun from him and inspected it, impressed with Dean’s craftsmanship. He smiled proudly at you.

“Guys, over here,” Sam said. You followed his voice over to a door to a back room. The chain on the door had been cut, and you cautiously made your way inside.

You waved your flashlight around the room to find varying weapons and lockboxes that no doubt held nasty supernatural objects.

“Holy crap. Look at this,” Dean called, “he had land mines. Which they didn't take. Or the guns. I guess they knew what they were after, huh?”

You took in the lockboxes on the shelf on the far wall. “This is binding magic,” you pointed out. “Curse boxes.”

“Curse boxes?” Dean questioned. “They're supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right? Kinda like the Pandora deal?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they're built to contain the power of the cursed object.”

“Well, Dad's journal did mention a whole bunch of stuff, y'know? Dangerous hexed items, fetishes. He never did say where they ended up,” Dean added.

“Must be his sulfur-sludge dump,” you joked. You noticed a rectangular-shaped hole in the dust that had settled over the shelf. “Well, they found what they were looking for.”

“Great,” Sam groaned.

“Well, maybe they didn't open it,” Dean suggested optimistically.

“Cute thought, but I’m sure they did,” you replied flippantly. You looked around the exterior of the storage unit for anything that could be of use to you; footprints, tire tracks, and… aha! A security camera.

“That’s helpful,” you noted, pointing up at it.

The boys helped you fish the SD card out of the security camera, and you hooked it up to your computer.

“There, license plate,” you noted. “And now…” you pulled up an alternate tab and copied the license plate number into it. Immediately, pages began scrolling of places the license plate had been seen at. Most recently, an apartment not too far from you.

“Ta-da,” you announced childishly, and the brothers looked at you in shock.

“Jesus, (Y/N), how’d you get access to all this?” Sam asked.

“Oh, y’know,” you smirked, trailing off.

Sam looked at you expectantly.

“Same way any hackers do,” you shrugged. “Had this guy on the hook for a bit when I was, maybe, twenty. Found out he was an FBI agent in the cyber unit— not the brightest of the bunch— and I phished his computer. Of course, as soon as I did, the computer broke and shut down. Told him I was good with computers and could fix it for him, and then, I cut and run. Fixed the laptop up and had access to everything he had access to. Exported it to my laptop, ditched his somewhere in Arizona, and here we are.”

“That is…” Dean trailed off, “incredibly hot.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile.

“Get a room,” Sam mumbled, moving over to the Impala.

***

You and the Winchesters crept into the apartment belonging to the drivers of the stolen Connecticut vehicle, guns drawn. You could hear two men chattering about their poker game, and then you finally burst into the room on Dean’s nod.

“Freeze, freeze! Nobody move!” he commanded.

“He said don’t fucking move!” you ordered, pinning the bandaged, redheaded man to his seat with your gun.

“What is this?” the other man questioned.

“Stop!” Sam demanded.

“Alright, give us the box. And please tell me that you didn't–”

Sam cut Dean off. “Oh, they did.”

“You opened it?!” Dean grunted. He shoved the dark-haired man against the wall.

“Are you guys cops?!” the man pinned wondered.

“What was in the box?” Dean questioned angrily.

You noticed a rabbit’s foot on the edge of the table. ‘Oh, fuck,’ you thought.

“Oh, was that it, huh?” Dean laughed coldly. “It was, wasn't it? What is that thing?”

The man used Dean’s distraction to knock the gun out of his hand. When it fell to the floor, it fired, and you had to drop to the floor to avoid being hit in the face by the bullet.

The bullet ricocheted off the radiator and hit Sam’s gun, and he dropped it. The same bullet somehow ricocheted and hit a lamp, breaking it. You dove across the floor, trying to grab Sam’s gun, and the redheaded man pushed Sam down on top of you.

“The fuck, Sam?!”

“Sorry!”

You scrambled toward the redhead, and he backhanded you, somehow knocking you off balance and sending you to the floor. You normally wouldn’t have been so thrown off by such a simple move, but that rabbit’s foot was definitely working its magic.

“Dean, I got it!” Sam announced. You turned around to see him holding the rabbit’s foot.

“Fuck, Sam, no!” you cried upon seeing him holding the cursed object.

The dark-haired man moved forward holding Dean’s favored gun and cocked it in his face. The man pulled the trigger in Sam’s face, but the gun jammed.

‘Thank god.’

A quick scuffle ensued in which the two men opposing you had a bookshelf fall on them and a carpet got wrapped around their ankles and tripped them. Both men knocked themselves out, and Dean laughed triumphantly.

“That was a lucky break!”

“No, not lucky!” you shrieked. “Sam, that’s a rabbit’s foot!”

“Uh, yeah?” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” you panicked.

“No, what are you—”

“I’m calling Bobby,” you said, storming out of the apartment and back to the Impala.

“Whoa, whoa, why? I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, (Y/N),” Dean countered, catching up to you.

“Because that’s a rabbit’s foot, Dean! A cursed object! Its literal function is to bring bad luck,” you explained.

“How?” Sam asked.

“Once you touch it, you’re marked. Luck’s gonna be on your side.”

“Better buy some lottery tickets then,” Dean chuckled excitedly.

You glared at him. “But if you lose it, you’re fucked. It’ll keep bringing you bad luck till it eventually kills you.”

“Well, I just won’t lose it, then,” Sam tried.

“Everybody loses it, Sam! That’s the whole point!”

The two boys looked slightly shaken; Sam more so than Dean. Dean was laughing all the way to the bank on this one, and he dragged you and Sam to a gas station to get lottery scratch-off tickets. Then, he drove you to a restaurant chain location called Biggerson’s for some dinner.

You sat on the phone with Bobby, the two of you angrily muttering about the insanity of the situation to each other.

“Gotta say, kid,” Bobby started, “was hoping the next time I heard from ya, it’d be on happier terms than this.”

“Trust me, me too,” you sighed. “Do you know of anything that can stop this?”

“I’ll dig around—”

Bobby’s voice in your ear was cut off by Dean triumphantly exclaiming, “twelve-hundred dollars! You just won twelve-hundred dollars!”

You grimaced and put the phone back to your ear.

“I’m guessing Sam’s luck’s still good,” Bobby drawled.

“For now, but I don’t know for how much longer.” You got out of the car, suddenly feeling suffocated in the Impala. You paced around, as did Sam, and you watched as he walked over to something glistening under a newspaper on the ground.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out. Lemme look through my library and make some calls,” Bobby said. “Call me if anything else goes to shit.”

You laughed, and Sam stood up holding a golden watch. He turned to Dean who stood next to you and mouthed something like, “Awesome,” to his brother.

“Will do,” you told the older man on the phone. “Hurry, Bobby.” You hung up as Dean calculated the winnings from the scratch-off tickets he made Sam fill out.

“Oh, man!” Dean grinned. “We’re up fifteen grand!”

You and Sam half-smiled, both feeling unsettled still.

Dean continued to laugh as he walked into the restaurant with you hot on his heels.

“In case you forgot, Dean, we’re still technically fugitives,” you hissed. “If Sam’s luck goes to hell, we could be royally fucked.”

“Don't worry,” Dean said easily. “Bobby 'll find a way to break it. Until then I say we hit Vegas, pull a little Rain Man. Sam can be Rain Man.”

“Look, we just lay low until Bobby calls back, okay?” Sam whispered. He turned to the man behind the host stand. “Hi, uh, table for three, please.”

The man’s face broke out into a grin, and he hollered, “Congratulations!” An alarm began to sound through the restaurant.

“It's exciting, I know,” Dean quipped.

“You are the one millionth guest of the Biggerson's Restaurant family!” the man announced.

The staff surrounding you began singing and taking photographs while they shoved a giant check into your hands. Balloons fell from the ceiling, and you and Sam would’ve rathered been anywhere else. Dean was ecstatic, though, which you were happy to see. You’d suffer tremendous embarrassment fifty times over just to see him smile. That thought scared you a little bit; how you'd do anything for him. You had a tendency to be an extremist.

You were escorted to your table, and a gorgeous waitress in what was clearly a black bob wig approached your table.

Her coy smile was alluring, but something about her wasn’t sitting right with you. Still, nothing seemed off through the rest of the meal. Sam clacked away on his laptop rattling off bits of lore he was reading on rabbit’s foot Hoodoo magic while you and Dean shared a bowl of ice cream.

“I think from now on, we only go to places with Biggerson's,” Dean commented.

The waitress came back over to your table with a pot of coffee and grinned at Sam. “Can I freshen you up?”

Sam nodded. “Thanks.”

The waitress poured, still smiling, and spilled some in her flirtatious stupor. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Let me mop up here. Sorry about that.” She hurriedly cleaned her mess and left the table, appearing to flirt with Sam over her shoulder even as she left.

“Dude. If you were ever gonna get lucky…” Dean trailed off.

Sam smirked. “Shut up.”

You smacked Dean’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Sam went to pick up his coffee, but he knocked the cup over and spilled it all over himself. Before you could process what was going on, he jumped out of his seat and into a waiter with a full tray. Things went flying through the air as Sam rushed profuse apologies.

“Sam, check your pockets,” you said evenly.

He did, and his hands came up empty.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled.

You and the brothers threw a wad of cash on the table and raced into the parking lot after the waitress. You noticed the black bob wig ditched on the ground a few feet from the door. “I knew it was a wig!”

“What?” Sam asked, turning around to you. He immediately tripped and fell flat on his face.

“Wow! You suck!” Dean laughed, turning back to a groaning Sam.

“Ow,” the younger brother whined while you helped him up. His knees were bloody and raw through his ripped jeans.

“So what, now your luck turns bad?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah, Dean, I believe I’ve said that,” you remarked, and he glared at you.

“Well, how bad does it get, genius?”

“Really bad. C’mon,” you urged.

“Where we goin’?” Sam asked.

“Back to the two jackwads that got us into this mess,” you said, hopping in the driver’s seat.

“Whoa, who said you could drive?” Dean questioned.

“Me. Don’t be a child,” you said.

***

You broke into the apartment once again to find the brunet man sadly downing a bottle of tequila.

“Oh, man. What do you want?” the man asked.

“Heard about your friend. That's bad luck,” Dean tsked, referring to the death of the redheaded thief.

“Piss off,” the man spat.

“We know someone hired you to steal the rabbit's foot. A woman,” Dean continued.

“Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because she just stole it back from us.”

The man laughed.

Sam stepped forward. “Listen man, this is seri—” and then he fell to the floor mid-sentence, pulling a CD player and a shelf down on top of him.

You turned back to help the younger brother up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, smiling awkwardly in thanks for your help.

“I want you to tell us her name,” the older Winchester continued to the man.

“Fuck you,” was the only response he got.

“It wasn't a freak accident that killed your partner,” you tried, coming out from behind the couch.

“What?”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t been thinkin’ it. I thought you’d be smarter than that,” you challenged. That seemed to get under the man’s skin, so you continued. “That series of unfortunate events that had to happen to kill your partner— like, had you not seen it with your own eyes, you wouldn’t have believed it— that was the rabbit’s foot. If you don’t help us stop this thing, those deaths are on you, my friend.”

The man in front of you looked worried.

“And I gotta tell you, it doesn’t seem you’re cut out for the whole killin’ thing. You don’t wanna be a killer, do you?” you continued to press.

The man shook his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “No.”

***

You left the apartment repeating the woman’s last name over and over in your head. The man told you “Lugosi” was the only name he and his partner were given when they were hired.

You took out your phone and called Bobby.

“Hey, (Y/N), glad you called,” you heard the man say.

“Hey, we got a situation here—”

“I found a heavyweight cleansing ritual that should do the trick,” Bobby continued.

“That’s awesome, thank you, but uh…” you trailed off, trying to decide how to phrase your next words. You decided not to sugarcoat it in the end. “Sam lost the foot.”

“He what?!”

“I know, I know,” you sighed. You turned back around to see Sam and Dean trying to use a broken storm grate to get gum off the bottom of Sam’s shoe. You shook your head at their faces when they noticed you; seeming like two little kids caught with their hands in the candy bowl. You returned your focus to your phone call. “Listen, you know anybody by the name ‘Lugosi’? Maybe mid 20’s, super hot, my height—”

“Aw, crap. It’s probably Bela,” Bobby said.

“ Bela Lugosi? That’s cute, but never heard of her,” you replied.

“Bela Talbot’s her real name,” the older man continued. “Crossed paths with her once or twice.”

“How the hell would she know John had the rabbit’s foot? She a hunter?” you questioned.

“Pretty fuckin’ far from a Hunter, but she knows her way around the territory. She's been out of the country,” Bobby explained. “Last I heard, she was in the Middle East someplace.”

“Well, she’s back!” you mock-cheered, exasperated.

“Which means seriously bad luck for you,” the older man added.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” you quipped.

“Well, kid, if it is Bela, at least I might know some folks who know where to find her,” he finished.

“Thanks, Bobby. For everything.”

“Just… look out for those two idjits.” And with that, he hung up the phone.

You sighed and turned back around to see Dean reaching through the storm drain and Sam looking dejected.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I lost my shoe,” the brunet replied sadly.

Your eyebrows furrowed sympathetically, and Sam’s head hung low. Dean seemed annoyed and huffed, standing up from the floor.

“C’mon,” the older brother asserted.

***

Bobby did actually have a pretty good lead on Bela; she apparently lived in Queens about two hours away.

“So what are we doing here?” Sam questioned, referencing the motel you’d just gotten a room at.

“You, my brother, are staying here 'cause I don't want your bad luck getting us killed,” Dean stated. “And (Y/N), you’re staying with him.”

“What?! Why?” you protested.

“Because Sam actually listens to you when you tell him not to do something. And you’re way more responsible than me,” Dean shrugged simply.

“Fair point,” you sighed. “Knowing you, you’ll touch the stupid rabbit’s foot, though.”

“Pfft, c’mon, it’s me we’re talking about—”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you dryly stated.

Dean glared at you playfully as he walked Sam into a motel room. You followed close behind and peeked out the door to make sure you weren’t followed.

“What am I even supposed to do, Dean?” Sam whined.

“Nothing! Nothing. Come here. I don't want you doing anything. I want you to sit right here—” the older brother pulled a chair into the middle of the room— “and don't move, okay? Don't turn on the light, don't turn off the light. Don't even scratch your nose.” Dean turned to you. “If I’m not back by midnight, take off.”

“What, you gonna turn into a pumpkin or something?” you snickered.

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“Since when?”

“(Y/N)—”

“Okay, okay, fine, I heard you.”

Dean smirked down at you and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back,” he said.

You watched him leave, a bit of your heart tugging at being anywhere without him. Your feelings for him were certainly growing stronger, and it frightened you how constantly you needed to be near him.

You turned back to see Sam wrinkle his nose a few times before finally risking a scratch at it.

“Hey! None of that,” you said.

Sam’s sad eyes turned to yours. “This fuckin’ sucks, man,” he sighed.

“I know it does. Kinda the whole point of the rabbit’s foot curse,” you commented.

He ignored your smart remark.

“Found anything on how to break Dean’s deal?” you asked.

Sam shook his head. “No. Did find out something interesting, though.”

“What?’ you asked.

“All my mom’s old contacts? All her old friends, the nurse who delivered me— they’re all dead,” he explained.

“What?!” you shrieked. “And you didn’t think to mention this before now?!”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Sam said. “Didn’t wanna say anything in front of Dean; he’d go berserk.”

“You know I have to tell him, right?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, no! Please don’t,” he begged. “Please. You know he’d flip. And, uh, probably more because of the way I got that information than the information itself.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Ruby told me.”

“Oh, god.” You rolled your eyes and dropped your head back.

“C’mon, (Y/N), I mean, I called, and it all checks out. It’s got something to do with me and the demon; I know you recognize that pattern,” Sam tried.

“I do, but I don’t like being constantly stuck in the middle of you and Dean,” you said. “I’m supposed to be Switzerland, remember?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean Switzerland didn’t have information on the two sides, she just didn’t pick one,” he shrugged.

“Sam,” you warned, “You know how I feel about keeping things from Dean.”

“I know, I know, but you wouldn’t necessarily be keeping it from him, you’d be…” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to phrase his next words, “fulfilling a promise to me.”

“But I didn’t promise anything,” you argued.

“Please promise me you won’t tell Dean. Not till I’m ready,” Sam begged.

“Sam!”

“(Y/N/N), c’mon. Please, man. Please.”

You stared at Sam for a prolonged moment; you stared intensely and Sam looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes from his chair. You sighed and dropped your head forward. “Fine. But you are gonna promise me that you’ll tell Dean eventually. That’s my one condition.”

Sam nodded. “Deal.”

You shook your head and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sam’s chair. “You Winchesters and your secrets.”

“Oh, like you don’t have any,” Sam deadpanned.

You looked up at the television and saw the reflection of your guard uniform and scratched-up face staring back at you. You took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Touché.” You paused for a moment. “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What are you gonna do when—” you cut yourself off, tears beginning to well in your throat. You took a deep breath to push them down. “When Dean’s gone?”

Sam shook his head. “(Y/N), no. He’s not gonna—”

“Sam,” you said. “We are trying everything we can. We’re two months into this thing and no closer to saving him than we were on day one. I stopped looking. Not ‘cause I don’t care anymore, but because I’m not gonna send you to Hell just so Dean can live. I mean, Bobby’s been lookin’, too! And he hasn’t found a damn thing. So I just think we have to be real with ourselves.”

Sam shook his head, tears in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna lose him,” you said, putting your hand on Sam’s knee to make him look at you and beginning to cry, too. “I don’t. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But… I’m scared, man. When I lost my family…” you closed your eyes at the memory of some of the awful things you’d done and would never forgive yourself for, “I don’t wanna do that again. And… And I just think that if we kept huntin’ together, we could keep tabs on each other. Make sure the other doesn’t go rogue, y’know?”

“I can’t believe you’re just gonna give up on him like that,” Sam spat, disappointed.

“I’m not!” you argued. “But I’m not gonna help you kill yourself, dammit! Dean would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself!”

“Look, we’ve got ten months left. We’ll find something,” Sam continued.

“I hope you’re right, man. I really do,” you said.

Neither of you said anything for the next few hours.

During that time, you took out your journal and wrote. You didn’t usually keep journals when you were done with them as your duffel bag would be filled to the brim with them by now, but you were definitely going to keep this one; especially after Dean was gone.

It was somewhat poetic that the first day you met the boys was the first time you’d written in this particular journal. Its pages were filled with your, at first, disdainful musings about the older Winchester brother and slowly but surely became your attempts at discerning your feelings for him.

You liked to buy quite thick and large journals to have enough room for your drawings and to be able to continue writing in them for months and occasionally years. This was the longest you’d been able to stretch one, though, and you were a little over three-fourths through writing in it.

“I can’t help but wonder what comes next after all this,” you wrote, the pen gliding easily against the page in time with your racing thoughts. “I’ve always been awful about ‘futurecasting’ as Dad called it, but it’s even worse now. Every second I’m with Dean, I can’t help but think about how this is all gonna be over in less than a year. And it’s awful. I wanna be present with him. I just can’t. I don’t want there to be an end to us. I don’t even know if we are anything! He can’t even tell me he loves me.

“And I get it to some extent. ‘I love you’s are hard for him. Fine. I just wish he’d figure out some way to communicate with me that isn’t sex. I mean, the sex is great, but. I don’t know. And just after everything that happened, I’m not feeling great about having sex anyway. And I know it’s upsetting him, even if he won’t say anything; he’d never pressure me, and I know that. And I’m getting better about sex and related things. But it just sucks.

“And I don’t wanna bring any of this up with him and start fights because, as I’m painfully aware, that deadline is getting closer and closer every day. I just want him to be happy with me while he still can be.”

You dropped your pen when the air conditioning unit next to you began to smoke.

“Oh come on, I- I didn't- I wasn't—” Sam whined.

“Just stay put,” you said. You jerked back in surprise when the unit suddenly caught fire. You grabbed the comforter from the bed next to you and began to put the fire out with it. Thankfully, the fire stopped.

“I’m gonna see if I can get someone to fix that for us before your luck kills us both with carbon monoxide poisoning,” you said, starting toward the door.

Suddenly, the door to the motel room burst open. However, it wasn’t Dean who opened it. It was two men. You drew your gun and cocked it, trained on the two men. “Get the fuck out,” you ordered.

“I don’t think so,” said the older-looking man. He almost reminded you of Willem Dafoe, and you mentally pegged that as his name. The other man with a bizarre-looking mustache charged you, and you fired. Somehow, the bullet missed its target despite him being in such close range.

“What the hell, Sam?!” you exclaimed. “Your luck’s rubbin’ off on me!”

“Sorry!” he winced.

The man charging you tried to restrain you in a headlock, but you kicked him squarely between the legs. You jutted your elbow back into his nose simultaneously, and the man dropped you.

Unfortunately for you, though, Sam had been trying to help you by taking on Willem Dafoe. You turned around to see Sam unable to land a punch on the other man’s face. You tried to help him, but Sam ended up punching you across the face, and you were knocked out cold.

***

When you woke up, your arms were bound behind your back, and your legs were taped together as well. The men had laid you on your stomach, and you immediately began to struggle and panic, feeling your current position was too similar to the one you’d been in with the guard.

“Dean! Help me!” you wailed without thinking. Your body was in autopilot as you struggled, and you couldn’t even focus on the men in the room.

“Quit whinin’,” the man with the mustache told you.

You could barely hear him over the roaring in your ears. “Dean!”

“I said shut up!” the man in front of you roared, slapping you across the face.

You couldn’t, though, continuing to flail like a fish out of water.

“Creedy,” the other man said, turning away from Sam and to his accomplice, “shut her up, please.”

“With pleasure.” The man took a rag out of his shirt and shoved it in your mouth, your muffled cries coming out around it.

You vaguely heard Willem Dafoe beating the crap out of Sam while he talked about his mission from “god” to kill Sam. Then, the man drew his gun. His partner was unsettled, too, as you strained harder to get out of your binds.

Suddenly, your saving grace appeared in the doorway. “Dean!” you cried through the gag in your mouth.

Willem Dafoe turned around and aimed the gun point-blank at Sam’s forehead.

“Nope. No destiny,” Dean said coolly referring to the man’s earlier comment about god and destiny leading them to Sam. “Just a rabbit's foot.”

“Put the gun down, son, or you're gonna be scraping brain off the wall,” the man replied, his tone ice cold.

Dean waved his Taurus around. “Oh, this thing?”

“Yeah, that thing,” look-alike-Dafoe responded.

“Okay.” Dean put his gun down on the nightstand beside him, looking smug. “But you see, there's something about me that you don't know.” Dean smoothly picked up a pen off the nightstand beside the gun.

“Yeah? What would that be?”

“It’s my lucky day,” Dean grinned. He tossed the pen toward Willem Dafoe, and it lodged in the barrel of the gun. ““Oh my God, did you see that shot?!”

Forgetting all about your current situation, you started yelling through the gag, “You fucking touched it? You fucking idiot!” But all that came out was a muffled garbling of words.

The man named Creedy lunged at Dean, but missed his punch completely. The man ended up running straight into the wall, and Dafoe was busying himself trying to dislodge the pen from the barrel of his gun.

“I'm amazing,” Dean said smugly. He picked up the television remote and threw it hard at Dafoe. It hit the man square between the eyes, knocking him out cold.

“I’m Batman,” you heard Dean suavely state, but you were too busy returning your focus to getting your binds undone. Now that the immediate danger was over, your body went back into panic mode. You yelped when you suddenly felt a hand on your back and fought even harder.

“Hey, hey!” Dean coaxed. “It’s just me.” He saw you weren’t listening, and he immediately set to work cutting the duct tape binding your legs and wrists. Your hands shakily yanked out the rag in your mouth. Only then did you realize Dean was the one in front of you, and you leapt into his arms.

He caught you easily, one hand around the underside of your back and the other around the topside your legs. You curled up into him and buried your face in his neck.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Dean tried, but your shaking wouldn’t stop. You could feel your sobs slowly subside, but it took quite a while of Dean holding you for you to regain your composure. He pressed kisses into the side of your hair while he held you and tried to soothe you by telling you you were safe.

You finally uncurled your legs from around Dean and let him put you down.

Sam came up behind you to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded as you sniffled.

“What happened?” Sam asked in that very unique-to-him soft voice.

“I dunno,” you lied.

Dean gave you a look that let you know he’d be asking more questions later.

“C’mon, we gotta get the hell outta here,” you said, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You could feel the boys giving you questioning looks as you gathered up yours and the boys’ things and stalked out to the car.

*** “Alright,” Sam began, sprinkling cayenne pepper into the embers of a small fire you and the Winchesters had started in the middle of a cemetery. “Bone ash, cayenne pepper, that should do it.”

“One second…” Dean said absentmindedly, scratching off the last of his lottery tickets.

“Dean—” Sam complained.

“Hey, back off, Jinx. I’m bringing home the bacon,” Dean quipped. He stashed the cards in his jacket that he’d slung over a gravestone. “Alright, say goodbye, wascally wabbit.” He dangled the rabbit’s foot over the top of the fire.

“Hey!” you shouted, whipping out your gun at the sound of a twig cracking. You aimed it at the sound, and Bela emerged from the darkness with hers drawn as well.

“I think you'll find that belongs to me,” she said firmly. “Or, you know, whatever. Put the foot down, honey.”

“Oh, hell no,” you said, cocking your gun.

Bela cut her eyes at you, shooting Sam in the shoulder.

You exclaimed, “What the—!” and Dean cursed, “Son of a—” as Sam collapsed to the ground.

“Back off, tiger,” Bela told you. “Back off! You make one more move, and I’ll pull the trigger. You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit. But your brother? Him, I can’t miss.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” the older brother roared. “You don't just go around shooting people like that!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Relax. It's a shoulder hit; I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? Put the rabbit's foot on the ground now.”

“Alright!” Dean mollified. “Alright. Take it easy.” He moved to drop the rabbit’s foot, but instead, he threw it at Bela. “Think fast,” he smirked.

Bela caught the foot and immediately realized what she’d done. “Damn!”

“Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?” Dean smiled in satisfaction.

Bela sighed, aggravated. She dropped her arm and uncocked her gun, but you kept yours aimed at her as she moved over to the fire.

“Would you stop pointing that at me?” her smooth voice came without looking at you.

“Sorry, love. Don’t trust you,” you smiled in fake-politeness.

She rolled her eyes and moved back to the fire. She dropped the foot into the fire. “Thanks very much,” Bela continued. “I'm out one and a half million, and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer.”

“Wow. I really don't feel bad about that. Sam?” Dean turned to his brother.

“Nope. Not even a little.”

Bela’s gaze hardened. “Hmm. Maybe next time, I'll hang you out to dry.” She turned around and moved toward the gravestone where Dean’s jacket laid. You knew exactly what she was doing.

“Have a nice night, girls,” Bela smirked.

You glared at her. “Uh, uh! Turn around!” you ordered.

“What?” she sighed, clearly annoyed.

“Gimme the tickets,” you commanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied.

“Yeah, you do. You can’t con me, angel.”

She grumbled angrily but took the stolen tickets out of her pocket and threw them to the ground.

“Thanks a million,” you called after her.

“You’re fuckin’ awesome, woman,” Dean admired, you assumed in reference to the tickets you noticed Bela stole. He came over to you and kissed you boldly. You giggled against his lips, and he held your waist firmly.

Sam cleared his throat. “Hey! Bleeding out, here!”

You broke away from Dean. “Oh, sorry!” you grimaced, moving to head back to the Impala. “C’mon, I’ll get you patched up.”

When you ensured the rabbit’s foot was burnt to a crisp, you and the Winchesters moved to the car.

“You good?” Dean asked his brother.

“I’ll live,” he responded.

“I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. And we're up forty-six thousand.” Dean threw his arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple, waving the tickets around in the air.

“Maybe we should hit Vegas, see how good our luck still is,” you suggested, smiling lopsidedly.

“I like the way you think,” Dean nodded. “Whaddaya say, Sammy?”

“I think you guys are gonna end up blowing all our money on slot machines,” the younger brother dryly commented.

“Ye of little faith,” you said. “If not Vegas, we can at least get ourselves a nicer motel room. Maybe we can graduate to hotels!”

“Ooh, yeah. One of those hotels with a jacuzzi tub.”

“Hell yeah—”

“Guys,” Sam groaned. “Still bleeding out, here.”

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