#Deanxreader

[wandering-winchesters]

A Moment That Changed Everything

Summary: After a brutal hunt, a moment with you leaves Dean feeling vulnerable.

It had been a rough hunt. The kind that left you bone-tired, covered in dirt and blood, and grateful just to be alive. Dean had seen his fair share of hunts like that, more than he could count, but this one had been particularly brutal. A rogue werewolf pack, more vicious than usual, had been tearing through a small town, and it had taken everything they had to put them down.

By the time the last werewolf was dead, Dean was running on fumes. Sam had taken a nasty hit but was still standing, while you—you’d fought like hell, never backing down, even when things looked bad. Dean had seen you take a few hard knocks, and it had worried him, but he knew better than to try and tell you to sit out. You were too stubborn for that, and he respected you for it, even if it made him want to wrap you in bubble wrap sometimes.

After the fight, they’d made their way back to the motel, dragging their tired bodies inside and collapsing onto the worn-out furniture. Sam had headed straight for the shower, leaving Dean alone with you in the small, dimly lit room. The adrenaline was still wearing off, leaving him shaky and wired, his mind replaying the close calls over and over.

Dean glanced over at you, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. You looked as tired as he felt, your shoulders slumped, your face smeared with dirt and blood. But there was something else there, too—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was the way you were holding yourself, like you were carrying a weight too heavy for your small frame. Or maybe it was the way your eyes had that faraway look, like you were somewhere else entirely.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words got stuck in his throat. What could he say that would make a difference? That they’d survived? That they’d made it through another day? It felt hollow, like an empty victory. But as he stood there, searching for the right words, you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his.

And then you were moving, crossing the small space between you in just a few steps. Before Dean could process what was happening, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

For a split second, Dean froze, his brain trying to catch up with his body. He wasn’t used to this—physical affection, comfort, whatever you wanted to call it. Sure, he’d hugged people before, but it was always brief, a quick, reassuring squeeze before moving on. This was different. This was you, holding onto him like he was something solid, something real.

And that was when it hit him. The full weight of everything they’d been through, everything he’d been holding inside. The fear, the anger, the guilt—it all came rushing to the surface, nearly knocking the breath out of him. But instead of pushing it down, instead of brushing it off like he usually did, Dean let himself feel it. Just for a moment, he let himself lean into you, his arms coming up to wrap around you in return.

You were warm, solid, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. He could feel the steady beat of your heart against his chest, the rise and fall of your breath. It was comforting, more comforting than he’d ever admit out loud. Dean closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the embrace, letting himself forget, if only for a moment, about everything outside that small, dimly lit room.

The hug lasted longer than it probably should have, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to pull away. And honestly, Dean didn’t want to. There was something about being in your arms that made him feel… safe. It was a strange feeling, one he wasn’t used to, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It was like for the first time in a long time, he could just be Dean—not the hunter, not the protector, just Dean.

When you finally did pull away, it was slow, reluctant, like neither of you really wanted to break the connection. But eventually, you did, taking a small step back, your eyes searching his for… something. Dean wasn’t sure what, but he could see the question there, the unspoken need for reassurance.

He offered you a small, crooked smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was real all the same. “We’re okay,” he said softly, the words feeling inadequate but true nonetheless.

You nodded, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other. There was something different between you now, something that hadn’t been there before. The air felt charged, heavy with everything that had been left unsaid. Dean could feel it in his chest, a strange, fluttering sensation that he wasn’t sure how to deal with.

But instead of overthinking it, instead of trying to analyze what it all meant, Dean did what he always did. He pushed it down, locked it away in that little box in his mind where he kept all the things he didn’t know how to handle. But even as he did, he knew this was different. This wasn’t something he could just ignore and hope it went away. This was you, and that changed everything.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing away as if breaking eye contact would somehow break the spell. “You should get cleaned up,” he said, his voice gruffer than he intended. “Get some rest.”

You nodded again, but before you turned away, you reached out, squeezing his arm. It was a brief touch, but it was enough to send that strange, fluttering sensation racing through him again. And then you were gone, heading toward the bathroom, leaving Dean standing there, alone with his thoughts.

As the sound of the shower filled the small motel room, Dean sank down onto the bed, running a hand through his hair. He let out a long breath, the events of the night finally catching up to him. But even as the exhaustion pulled at him, all he could think about was you—how it had felt to hold you, to be held by you.

It left him with a feeling he couldn’t quite shake, something warm and unsettling all at once. Dean wasn’t sure what it meant, wasn’t sure he was ready to figure it out. But he knew one thing for certain: that hug had changed something inside him. It had cracked open a part of him he’d kept locked away for so long, a part he hadn’t even realized was there anymore.

And now, as he sat there in the quiet room, he couldn’t help but wonder what came next. Because if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he couldn’t go back to the way things were before. Not after that. Not after you.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @mishreem

[supernaturaldoll]

pov:your camera roll if you were hunting with the winchesters!! :>

[stargazedwinchester]

Womanhood | Dean

Summary: Dean helps to comfort you during your time of the month, without much experience about periods, he tries his best.

This is a little different to the actual request, I hope that’s okay! I’ve tried my best to replicate it though :) Let me know if you want Sam’s/Cas’s version too!

Based off of this request here, thanks!!

Word count: 1,134

Warnings: some swearing, not loads!

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

This morning, you woke up with the most unbearable pain, cramps that felt like your appendix had ruptured. You groan in pain, hoping it would subside soon. You clutch your belly and slowly get out of bed. Your alarm clock flashes 7:39am, and you let your head fall. “I love when I have no sleep,” you mumble to yourself, letting out a huff. Looking behind you, Dean isn’t passed out, snoring so loud it would’ve probably woke you up anyway. You hold your belly and walk out toward the kitchen.

“Morning,” you grumble, and Dean turns around from the stove. His face lit up seeing you at the doorframe, your hair a mess and in one of his spare Star Wars t-shirts and your own pyjama shorts. “Someone’s looking rough.” He jokes, noticing you’re not smiling back. “Aw honey, what’s wrong?” He asks, his smile quickly fading. The smell of breakfast hovers over you, like it’s mocking your morning sickness. “I think I’m coming on my period today…” you say, and Dean turns round to face you, letting the eggs and bacon sizzle quietly on the stove. Toast pings out of the toaster at the same time. “Are you sure you’ll be okay for today’s hunt? If you’re in pain, I’m sure Sammy and I will handle it fine.” He genuinely looks concerned, as if you haven’t had plenty of periods before. It hurt like hell, sure, but you could manage just fine. Along with the fact that periods can make you super emotional and/or angry, you were certain it could come in handy when killing a couple of monsters.

“I’ll be fine Dean, honestly. I want to come with you both.” You smile, leaning over the counter top. Dean nods in agreement. “It’s always fun having you around. If you change your mind just let us know, okay?” He shoots you a quick grin before turning back to the stove, plating up your breakfast. “Where’s Sam?” You question, usually he’s already by the table reading his favourite book or getting ready to go out for his morning jog. “I think he went for a shower, I’m not sure.” Dean spins round and passes you a plate with 2 slices of toast, egg, bacon and hash browns. “Wow, this looks really good, Dean. Thank you.” You smile warmly at him, and he returns the gesture.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

Your rapid breathing causes you to hunch over and rest your hands on your thighs, you take a deep breath. “God damn…” you say, looking up at Sam, who’s right in front of you. “What a kill!” You chuckle to yourself, wiping your hair out of your face. You stand up, giving Sam a high-five. “Good job, Y/N. It’s like you don’t need our help.”

“I know, right? I’m just that go-“ “Y/N! Watch out!” Sam cocks his gun and tries to shove you out of the way, a sudden loud bang shocks you as you feel something sharp pierce your skin abruptly. You fall over, Dean rushing to your side. “I’ll cover you, Dean, make sure she’s okay!” Sam quickly checks back at you, noticing blood is pouring out of our calf.

“Fuck. Y/N, are you okay? Does it hurt?” He panics, shuffling over to apply pressure on your leg. He rummages in his pocket for a handkerchief and immediately applies it to your wound, he rushes to whip his belt off and tie it tight enough around your leg to hopefully stop the bleeding. You can practically see the fear in his eyes, and you laugh quietly.

“What’s so funny, huh? Almost dying?” His hands shake, trying to keep the pressure on your leg at all times.

“I’m not gonna die, Dean. It’s just a gunshot. Stop worrying,”

You place your hand on his, and he gazes at you with so much worry. His gorgeous hunter green eyes comfort you, even though he’s feeling the complete opposite. You pull your hand up to his face and caress his cheek, he finally shows some sign of calming down. It’s like his whole body relaxes by just your touch. “I’ve honestly felt worse.” You joke, slowly moving your body to sit up. You wince, feeling cramp in both of your abdomen and your leg. “Help me get up,” you say, and Dean pulls you up, anchoring you from underneath, your arm draped behind his back. “Let’s get you home.” He says, catching his eye on Sam, making his way back inside.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

It had been a few hours since you arrived back at the bunker, you lay across the sofa, clasping your belly as the cramps still hadn't subsided. Your leg, however, had been patched up neatly by Sam, and were given some painkillers for it. It didn't seem to work that well.

"How're you feeling?" Dean pats your foot, walking past the sofa to perch himself on the very little space left on the armrest. "I feel like I've been shot in two different areas," You try to joke, but it only makes Dean glare at you, waiting for a real answer.

"Could you get me some period pads, or tampons, please? Either work," You state, trying to sit up. "Uh, yeah, I can do that. What... size?" Dean looks puzzled, which only makes you smile. "Regular, Dean. Get the ones with wings."

Dean stands up and gathers his thoughts. "Pads with wings. Tampons with wings. Got it. I think." He places his hands on his hips and looks to the ground, then to you. He smiles lovingly. "I'll be right back." He says, before grabbing his flannel and exiting the door.

♱⁺. ⋆˙✧⋆✧˙⋆⊹.♱

An hour or so had gone by, and you hadn't moved from the sofa. your cramps have worsened to the point of also giving you a headache. You hear the door open, then close. Dean's back from the store, and he's got a white carrier bag full of items. "I'm back," He chuckles, "Got you a few things." He walks up to the sofa, laying the bag on the coffee table next to you. "Oh, Dean, you didn't have to..." You trail, as he takes out chocolate, a small teddy bear with a t-shirt that reads 'Get Well Soon' with a small red heart underneath it. He had also bought you the pads that you had asked for, aspirin, fresh bandages for your leg and a small bunch of red roses.

Your smile gleamed as your eyes met his. "You really didn't have to." Your voice almost a whisper, and he moves closer to you. "I know, but I wanted to." He smiles, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

"Thank you." You say, reaching your hand up to the nape of his neck, pulling him in for one more.

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Stitches of Trust

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Summary: After an incident in the woods, Dean is the only one who can save me.

Warnings: Attacked reader, knife, blood and lots of it, stitches, swearing, comfort ❤️

Check out my Masterlist here!

The path beside the bunker was my favorite place to be, the way the sun dipped below the horizon casting long shadows through the trees always calmed me down. It's been a tough week, and this walk was my brief escape from everything I had to deal with.

My feet stopped abruptly when I heard a loud rustle in the bushes. Before I could react, a man stepped out in front of me, eyes cold and menacing. I tried to grab my gun, but it was too late. He rushed forward and pulled me to his chest, knife pressing roughly against my throat.

"Give me everything you got." he hissed.

Panic surged through my veins. My mind raced, but my body was frozen still. When I hesitated, the knife moved down and slashed my side. Pain flared, hot and intense. I gasped and tried to fend him off, to get a head start and run home but his grip on my arm was too strong.

He ripped my bag from my back and shoved me on the ground, another slash landing across my arm. The world blurred as he disappered into the shadows, leaving me there to bleed out.

My hand clutched my side, blood seeping through my fingers, my phone slipping from my pocket. With trembling hands, I tried to call Dean but I couldn't muster up the strength and the phone fell beside me. I reached forward, managing to type out a quick message before the world started to go dark, my eyes shutting heavily. "Help..."

Back at the bunker, Dean heard the faint ping of his phone. He glanced at the screen, his blood turning cold instantly at my message, "Help..."

He stood from his spot as his chest tightened, different scenerios playing through his mind, but he knew he needed to focus, he needed to find me. He grabbed his keys and bolted out the door, muttering to himself, "I'm coming sweetheart, hang on."

He drove frantically, scanning the pathway as he called my name but heard no response. Finally after what felt like forever, his headlights caught a figure lying on the path, bright blood all around it causing his heart to nearly stop.

Slamming on the breaks, he quickly kicked the door open and rushed towards me, dropping on his knees beside my lifeless body. "Y/N! He shouted, panic filling his chest at the sight of my blood covered body. "I'm here, it's okay, i've got you."

My eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice, slight relief washing over me but the pain was still overwhelming. "D-Dean... I.."

"Shh, don't talk sweetheart." he spoke urgently, "Your safe now, I gotcha."

His eyes widened at the sight of the wound on my side, blood seeping out into the dirt below me. Without hesitiation, he tore his jacket off and pressed it to my side to stop the bleeding, earning a hiss of pain to fall from my lips. "I'm sorry, just keep breathing, okay? Stay with me."

My breath came in quick, shallow gasps as the attack replayed in my mind, the fear and pain twisting my thoughts like torture. "I-I couldn't stop him, I wasn't quick enough" I whispered, my voice trembling.

Dean's eyes softened with a mix of concern "Hey, look at me" He spoke firm, but with a hint of comfort behind it. "You did everything you could. None of this is your fault."

He took my hand tightly, his touch warm and steady, "We're going to get you through this, just keep your eyes on me alright? Focus on my voice."

Very gently, he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the Impala, every step was incruciating, but I trusted him with my life. He drove faster than I've ever seen him drive, face twisted with concern, hand pressing on my wound as much as he could.

When we arrived, he rushed towards the couch and laid me down, apologizing underneath his breath when I groaned in pain. The first aid kit was placed beside me, Dean's shaky hands pulling out the gauze and antiseptic.

I watched with half closed lids as he cleaned and stitched my wounds with practiced skill, he's done it many times for me before but this time his touch was so gentle, his focus unwavering despite the worry etched on his face.

"It's going to be okay." He murmered, more to himself than to me. "You're okay now, your safe."

I couldn't stop the tears that rushed down, a mix of pain and gratitude overwhelming me. He glanced up, eyes wide with panic as he quickly stopped what he was doing. "Shit, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

I shook my head rapidly and grabbed his hand, pulling it to chest for comfort. "Thank you. For saving me, for being here."

He smiled softly, hand tightening on mine, "Don't thank me. I'll always be here for you, you know that right?"

I nodded and relaxed my head on the pillow, wiping the tears that stained my cheeks. As he finished stitching my wound, he cleaned up and bandaged me carefully, pressing a gentle kiss against my head as he stood up to pull a chair beside the couch where I lay.

He stayed by my side, hand gripping mine tightly while I stared at the ceiling, eyes filling with tears.

"I thought I was going to die out there." I looked towards him, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dean's expression softened, his hand moving to my forhead to brush the hair from my face. "I won't ever let that happen." He stated, voice thick with emotion. "I'll always come for you, Y/N, always."

I nodded, tears flowing down my cheeks as I bit my lip. "I was so scared."

He leaned forward, thumb brushing away the tears from my cheeks, "I know. But you're safe now. You're here with me."

"Dean.. can you lay with me?" I whispered.

He smiled warmly and nodded, climbing beside me on the couch before opening his arms and hugging me tightly to his chest. His heart was steady and relaxing, a reminder that I was alive and safe.

As I drifted off to sleep, Dean remained by my side, watching over me with fierce determination. In the quiet of the bunker among the shadows and stitches, our friendship turned to love, forced by trust, care and the unspoken promise that we would always find safety and comfort in each other's arms.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

Check out my Masterlist here!

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Saving People -2-

Thank You For The Request @deanwinchestersgirl8734

Idk if you can but can you do a dean and 911 crossover fic like dean comes to get the reader like he did Sam but finds the reader is a firefighter and friends with buck

Supernatural/911 crossover count me in!! I had so much fun writing this one. I hope this is what you were looking for 🤍

P.s - I did tag my Dean girls. I understand it's a crossover, so if you don't want to be tagged in this mini series just reach out 🤍

Summary: Saving People, Hunting Fires. That's your life now. An open armed welcoming from the 118 helped you put hunting and Dean in your past. 2 years later John Winchester goes missing, of course he tracks you down for help. Warnings: Language, Spoilers, Angst, Jealousy, Talk of sexually assaulting a car, Gunshot Wound. Talk of heartbreak and being unfaithful. I think that's it. If i missed any let me know. Word Count: 3,791 (i know, i blame Dean!) Master List Tag List

Part 1

“So, you’re really just gonna leave?”

“Buck, they are like family. I can’t say no. If Maddie walked through that door right now and said Evan, I need you.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” Buck protested. You raised your brows at him. “He’s just going to do it again you know.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Deny it all you want. You’re going to fall for him again.”

“I’m not going to fall for him again,” you mocked his words, rolling your eyes.

He stared at you.

“Evan I’m not going to.”

He sighed, “At least tell me you’re going to be back by Monday.”

“Shit.”

“y/n you really forgot?!”

“I didn’t forget, there’s just got a lot going on right now.”

“Well, if you miss it.”

“Buck, calm down I won’t miss it,” you cut him off.

“Just be careful,” His voice was softer as he pulled you into his embrace. “I really don’t want a repeat of 2 years ago.”

You hugged him back. “It’s not going to happen.”

"Oh, baby girl." you said turning onto the highway. "It has been way too long."

Dean's eyebrows raised as you rubbed the steering wheel "Uh, if you are planning on sexually assaulting my car, I get to watch."

You laughed. “Don’t worry baby, I won’t let him.” You whispered, making him smile.

Dean popped in a cassette tape and started playing the drums on the dash as Enter Sandman starts to play.

Miles later, you pass a sign that reads Jericho 5 miles.

“Have you called the hospital and morgue?” You asked Dean, turning the radio down.

He looks at you, an unamused scowl on his face. “Of course I did.” He pulled out his cell. “I guess that was a week ago. I could check again.”

“Yes sir, thank you.” Dean hung up. “No and no.”

Dean points off into the distance, “Check it out.” Your eyes follow his finger, finding a bridge with several cop cars parked every which way, lights flashing.

“Pull over darlin’.” He tells you once you get close. He opens his glove box, pulling out his wooden keepsake box. “What I.Ds did you bring?”

“I got FBI, DEA, and Marshals.” You grabbed them out of the side pocket of your duffle.

“Marshals it is, Lets go,”

You and Dean walk into the crime scene like you own the place, you walk up to the victim’s blood covered car, where 2 sheriffs are talking while they do their inspections.

“So, this kid Troy. He's dating your daughter, isn't he?” you hear one of the deputies say as you approach.

“Yeah.”

“How's Amy doing?”

“She's putting up missing posters downtown.”

“You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?” Dean asked interrupting their conversation.

“And who are you?” Deputy Jaffe asks as he looks over at you.

You and Dean hold up your badges.

“Federal marshals.” Dean announces.

“You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?” Jaffe comments, looking over the badges.

“That’s sure kind of you sir.” You flash him a flirty smile” But you did have another one just like this, correct?”

You see Dean roll his eyes as the deputy smiles back at you. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road.”

“So, this victim, you knew him?” you asked.

Jaffee nods. “Town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

“Any connection between the victims,” Dean asks, circling around the car, inspecting it. “Besides that they're all men?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“Did you guys come up with a theory yet?” you ask

Dean completes his search and steps up beside you.

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” the deputy explains.

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I’d.” You elbow Dean in the stomach, cutting him off.

The deputy furrows his brows.

“Sorry about him. “You flash another coy smile and the sheriff mimics you, “Thank you for your time gentlemen.” You say as you start to walk away.

Once you get to the end of the bridge Dean pokes your side.

You glare at him.

“So, you can elbow me, but I can’t poke you?”

“They were already suspicious Dean, you could have blown it running your mouth.”

“Please, the way you were smiling at him, he wasn’t worried about anything else.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever Winchester.”

“Trust me sweetheart, with a smile like that, you could get anything you wanted.” He said opening the driver door of the impala.

‘Yeah, not anything.’  You thought sliding into the passenger seat.

You spot a teenage girl walking along the street hanging up missing posters. “Dean. I bet that’s her.”

“Yep.” He agrees, parallel parking in a spot nearby.

“So, you gonna give her some of that Dean Winchester charm?” you asked as you walked in Amy’s direction.

“Nah”

“Hi. You must be Amy.” Dean says as you approach her. “Troy told us about you. We’re his aunt and uncle. I’m Dean this is my wife y/n.”

‘Damnit’ you thought as your heart fluttered at his words.

“He never mentioned you to me.” Amy stated, as she continued hanging posters.

“Well, that's Troy, I guess.” You said as you follow her, “We're not around much, we're up in Modesto.

“So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Another young girl cut Dean off, giving Amy a hug.

“Yeah. Thanks Rachel.” Amy sniffles as her friend holds her. They both look at you and Dean. “You mind if we ask you a couple questions?” You ask

“You guys want anything to drink?” you asked the girls as you sat down in the booth.

The waitress walked up “Soda is fine.” Amy said to her.

“Same.” Rachel agreed.

“2 coffees black.” Dean said as the waitress looked over at you.

“Thank you.” You said as the waitress nodded.

“I was on the phone with Troy.” Amy blurted out “right before it happened. He was driving home. He said he would call me back, but he never did.” Rachel rubbed her shoulder as her eyes started tearing up again.

“I’m sorry Amy. I know its hard.” You tried to comfort her.  She gave you a weak smile. “He didn’t say anything strange or out of the ordinary?”

The waitress brought you drinks and sat them down “You guys want anything to eat.” She asked.

Everyone shook their heads. “I think we are good. Thank you.” Dean told her, handing her a credit card.

“Not that I remember.” Amy told you after she had a drink.

You and Dean looked at each other as you sipped your coffee.

Dean sat his mug back on the table. “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So, if you've heard anything...”

The girls looked at each other.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Well, it's just...” Rachel stammered.  “I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

“What do they talk about?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered on Centennial, like decades ago.” Rachel explained “Well, supposedly she's still out there.”

“She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.” Amy told you.

“Thank you.” You said as the girls got up and left.

“So wifey. You think we should check it out.” Dean smiled as he put his arm around you.

“Well local legends are kinda of our thing, pookie.” You played along resting your head on his shoulder.

You heard him inhale loudly.

“Did you just sniff my hair?”

“Mmhm.”

Standing behind him, you watch as Dean types "Female Murder Hitchhiking" into the search engine.

0 results found pops up.

He replaces "Hitchhiking" with "Centennial Highway"

0 results found pops up again.

“What if it wasn’t a murder.” You lean on his back, your arms reaching out to the keyboard in front of him. You replaced ‘Murder’ with ‘Suicide’

1 result found popped on the screen.

Dean tilts his head, looking up at you, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a genius?”

You smiled at him “Not today.”  

Dean cleared his throat and looked back at the screen. You jumped back and pulled up a chair beside him.

“It was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” Dean told you.

“Does it say why she did it?” you asked.

“Yeah.” His eyes scanned the screen. “About an hour before they found her, she called 911. She left her 2 little kids in the bathtub alone for a second and when she came back, they weren’t breathing.”

“Damn…” you whispered.

"'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch." Dean read out loud.

You looked at the picture. “That’s the same bridge.”

“Yep.”

“So, this is where Constance took the swan dive.” Dean remarked as you both looked down at the water.

“Really?”

“What?”

You chuckled. “Nothing. So, you think John was here?”

“Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him.” He said as you start walking along the railing.

“Alright, so what does the great Dean Winchester have in store next?”

“Now we keep digging until we find him. It might take a while.”

“About that.” You stopped. “I have to be back by Monday.”

“I thought your Captain said.”

“I have a Lieutenant’s test. If I don’t take it on Monday I will have to wait a whole year.”

Dean whistled. “Lieutenant’s test huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re like serious about this whole firefighter gig.”

“Ya think?”

“What’s the plan? Become a Lieutenant, marry a nice guy, have some rugrats running around in a white picket fence?” He sneered.

“Maybe?”

“And you ever gonna tell that nice guy the truth? Will he ever know the real you?”

“No…” you could feel the tears start to well.

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sweetheart. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are”

“And who is that, Dean?  on the road 24/7, eating shit food, living in shitty motel rooms…”

“You’re a hunter y/n you should be out there saving people.”

“I am saving people!” You shouted. “And at least this way I’m not miserable doing it.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you were miserable all those years we spent together.”

You turned as the tears started rolling. You look up to Constance standing at the edge of the bridge.

“Dean…”

He stepped in front of you.

 Constance looks at you and then steps off the edge. You and Dean ran over to where she was, looking down into the water.

“Where'd she go?” he asked

“I don't know.”

You look over at Dean as you hear the Impala hum to life.

“What the fuck?” He says looking up at you.

“Please tell me you left the keys in it?”

Dean pulls the keys out of his pocket and jingles them. The car jerks into motion, heading straight for you. You start to run.

“Run baby, run!” Dean shouts running behind you.

You dive over the edge, Dean follows you. You managed to grab onto the railing and hold on with all your strength. Baby hits the railing as Constance dissipates into thin air.

You pull yourself back up and over the railing.

You look down to find Dean covered in mud, lying on the side of the river.

“You alright Deanie?” you shouted.

“Just fucking peachy sweetheart.” He calls back, you let out a chuckle of relief.

 "Is she ok?" you ask Dean, as he looks under the hood of the Impala.

"Yea, whatever she did to her, seems all right now." Dean explains. "Stupid bitch!" Dean yells in anger.

"Are we ok?"

"Yea sweetheart, we'll be alright."

“So, get this,” Dean says walking back from the office of the Motel. “Apparently dad was staying here.”

“Do you know what room?”

“Got it “ you said as the door clicked. You pushed it open.

“You might be losing your touch,” Dean teased as he followed you through the doorway. “ I could of picked that in half the time.”

“Whatever you say stinky.” Your eyes scanned the room, newspaper articles, and faded pictures covered the walls, “Yep this was definitely John’s room.” You said stepping over a salt line.

Dean walked over to a table, turning the lamp on he noticed a half eaten burger. He gagged as he sniffed it “I would say he hasn’t been here for at least a couple days.”

“Probably still smells better than you.” You smirked at him.

“Keep running that mouth and you’re gonna get a big old bear hug.” He teased, winking at you.

“Centennial Highway victims.” He said pointing at the pictures on the wall. “I don’t get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There’s always a connection, right?” You nodded as he looks over at you.

You walk across the room, looking at the other wall, filled with pictures of witches, lore print outs of sirens, and the possessed.

 “What do these guys have in common?”

One of the pages catches you eye, you read John’s hand writing as you tear it off the wall. “Dean, your dad figured it out. She’s a woman in white.”

He rushed to you, taking the paper out of your hand as you held it out.

“Oh, you sly dogs.” He said looking back at the victims.

You raised your eyebrows.

He cleared his throat. “Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.” He thought out loud “So, why is she still here?”

“Maybe he didn’t get that far…”

“Does it say anything about where she’s buried?” he asked pointing to the article about Constance.

“No, but the husband would probably know. If he’s still alive.”

“Alright, I’m gonna get cleaned up, you wanna find an address for us?”

“Sure thing.” You hesitated “Dean. Just so you know I wasn’t miserable the whole time.”

He gave you a half smile. “Good to know, jerk.”

“Bitch.” You blurted out.

His smile grew.

“So, have you fallen back in love with him yet?” Buck asked you as he answered his phone.

“Really? I call to check in with my best friend and he’s gonna be an ass?” you huffed laying back on the bed in your motel room.

“Sorry. So how’s it going?”

“Pretty good. We checked in with the local law enforcement, checked the hospital and morgue.” You kept the lies honest. “He hasn’t turned up yet.”

“Well you better.”

“Be back by Monday.” You mocked his tone.  You knew he was just trying to be a good friend, but his attitude was really getting on your nerves. “So, how’s the station?”

“Everything is great.”

“How’s my replacement?”

“Like anyone could replace you y/n.”

You smiled.

“Hey, I’m starving. You wanna grab something to eat on the way?” Dean asked walking out of the bathroom.

“Yea gimme one sec.” you told him. “Hey Buck.” Dean rolled his eyes and walked out the door. “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later, k?”

“Sure, just be careful.”

“Yep.”  You closed your phone.

It started ringing.

“Dean what’s.”

“We got cops. Take off.”

“What about you.”

“They’ve already seen me. Go find my dad he can help you get me out.” You closed your phone again, grabbed your jacket, and headed for the bathroom window.

You walked up to the door of the address you found, knocking on the grimy glass window.

“Hello, darlin’ what can I do for you?” an old man asked as he opened the door.

“Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?”

“Yeah.”

You showed him a picture of John. “Have you seen this guy?”

“Yeah, he was older, but he was here.”

“Do you remember when?”

“He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter.”

“That’s right. We’re working on a story together.”

“Well, I don’t know what the hell kinda story you’re working on. The questions he asked me?” Joseph shook his head.

“About your wife Constance?”

“Yea.” He scoffed. He asked me where she was buried.”

“And where is that again?”

“You’re really gonna make me go through this twice?”

“I know. I’m sorry “

you flashed your ‘get anything smile’

“It’s fact-checking. If you don’t mind.”

“I understand. She’s in a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.”

“You moved?”

“I couldn’t live in the house where my children died.”

“Mr. Welch, would you say you had a happy marriage?”

He hesitated. “Definitely.”

“Have you ever heard of a woman in white?”

“A what?”

“A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman? It’s a ghost story.”

Joseph’s jaw clenched as his nostrils flared. “I don’t care much for nonsense, darlin’.”

“See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them and these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.”

Your hand caught the door before he could close it

“Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads and waterways. If they find an unfaithful man, they kill him.”

“You think…you think that has something to do with…Constance? You bitch.”

“I don’t know Mr. Welch. You tell me?”

“You get the hell out of here! And you don’t come back!”

He pushed the door again. This time you let it close.

Dean

“I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you.” Dean sighed, “It’s my high school locker combo.”

“Come on kid. Are we really gonna do this shit all night?” The sheriff leaned in closer to him. “Don’t you wanna get back to that sweet little thing that was with you earlier?”

Dean’s nostrils flared, but he kept his cool. “I don’t know.”

“We just got a 911,” a deputy exclaims bursting in the door.  “shots fired over at Whiteford Road”

The sheriff looked back at Dean “You have to go to the bathroom?”

“No?”

“Good.” He smarts as he slaps a cuff around Dean’s wrist and locks the other cuff in the loop sticking out of the table. Then walks out the door.

“Not bad sweetheart.” Dean says as he grabs the paperclip sticking out of his dad’s journal.

Dean snuck out of the station, once all the deputies cleared out, finding an old pay phone 3 blocks over.

“Well, it’s about time.” she said when the call connected.

“y/n, what’s your firefighter buddies gonna think about you making a fake 911 call?” Dean teased.

 You chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

“Listen. We gotta talk.”

“I know. So, I checked in with Joseph. She’s buried behind their old house. And that would have been John’s next stop. So I can ”

“Sweetheart. My dad left Jericho.” Dean interrupted her rambles.

“What? How do you know that?”

“Those cops found his old journal. He left coordinates.”

“Why would he leave without finishing the case”

“Not sure but I’m gonna find out.”

“Ok well I’m on my way back now. I’ll come… Shit!!!” she yelled, Dean swore he heard tires screeching through the phone.

“Y/n?! You, ok?!”

Reader.

The impala skidded to a halt. You looked up, the figure that was just in the middle of the road was gone.

“Take me home.” You heard from the backseat.

“Look lady, I don’t really think I’m your type.”

“Take me home.”

“How about you get out.” The thud of the doors locking cut off your words. The gearshift pulled down on its own and the Impala started moving forward.

She pulls the car into the driveway leading to her old house.

“So, I get to be your first female?” you smarted off raising your eyebrows.

“I can never go home.” She cried.

“You’re scared to go in there huh?”

She dissipated again. Reappearing in the passenger’s seat, she licked her lips and was gone again.

You felt her hands pushing on your shoulders, reclining the seat as she reappeared straddling you.

Shivers rushed down your spine as her icy lips captured yours.

“You can’t kill me. I’ve never been unfaithful.”

She leaned into your ear. “I don’t care.”

She disappeared again. You laid your head back in relief, a loud grunt escapes your throat as you start to feel fingers prodding at your chest, digging through your skin.

The fingers sink deeper, tearing through the cartilage around your heart, making your cries grow louder.

You hear gunshots and Constance disappears as the pain stops.

You start the Impala as an idea pops into your mind. “I’m sorry baby.” You pull down the gearshift and stomp on the gas.

Dean

“Y/n!!!” he yelled as the tires squealed, he followed as the Impala crashed through the side of the house. “y/n!!! You ok?”

“I think so.” She muttered as he approached the passenger side of the car.

“Can you move?”

“Yeah…”

He held out his hand. “ Here. Let me help.” She inhaled sharply as he pulled her out of the car. He could tell she hurt something from the way she was holding her side.  She stood beside him. “You good?”

She smiled. “I’m good.”

He heard her breath hitch, and he looked up, finding Constance standing there holding a picture.

Loud groans filled the abandon house as he felt the weight of the dresser crushing his legs against the Impala.

The sound of running water starts to float down the stairs as the pressure on his legs eases. Constance is distracted enough for him to be able to push the dresser back.

“Still good?” he whispers

She nodded her head.

Suddenly 2 children appear behind Constance. She lets out an ear-piercing scream as they embrace her tightly, y/n turned her head into his chest when a blinding light surged from the entities. His arms automatically wrapped around her, nuzzling his face into her hair.

With another piercing wail the spirits melted into the floor, leaving a puddle of water in their wake.

Dean walks over, looking at the puddle on the floor. “So that’s why she couldn’t go home.” He turns back to y/n, she was still standing by the Impala, still holding her side. “Too afraid to face her kids.”

She managed a smile, then winced again.

“Alright let me see it.”

“Its fine Dean.” She protested.

“Y/n. Let. Me. See. It.” Dean ordered.

She hesitated, but gave in.

She pulled back her jacket. His entire body became numb as she revealed the bullet hole in the side of her abdomen.

@idk6505 @jackles010378 @mqdhvtter @nightxcreature @kamisobsessed

@perpetualabsurdity @barnes70stark @wonderland2022 @quietgirll75 @nancymcl

@hobby27 @hunter-or-the-hunted @deanwinchestersgirl87

@deansimpalababy @roseblue373 @1313diana @lmg14 @aand13b

@phoenixqueen @spnaquakindgdom @americanvenom13

[wwereaderinserts]

hi i love your work so so much! i was hoping to request a fic for dean x reader, where after a much-needed breakup, the two reunite perhaps a year later after spotting eachother across the venue of a ppv. they have a heart to heart and admit how much they miss one another and they get back together?? big emphasis on the eye contact where dean can’t look away from reader and she get shy and he follows her out the arena etc etc. thank u!!!!!

Thank you so much, hope you enjoy!!

Title: Miss You Much Pairing: Dean Ambrose x Reader Word Count: 1,093

At first, you’re sure your eyes are deceiving you from where you stand backstage, but after a double, maybe even a triple take, it’s evident that who and what you’re seeing is very real. Dean, your ex, stands just opposite you in the backstage corridor where you’re also waiting for your friend to return from the bathroom, and you already feel the butterflies beginning to flutter their wings in your stomach while a flush begins to creep its way up your neck.

It’s been a whole year since Dean ended things with you, and while time has truly been the best healer for you, it’s as though a wave of feelings you thought you’d repressed and buried come flooding right back to you when his eyes eventually meet yours from across the way backstage.

You can pinpoint the exact moment that the shock and awe sets in for Dean just as much as it had for you in the first place. He stands frozen in place at first while he allows reality the chance to sink in, and even though he’s inwardly screaming at himself to tear his eyes away from you, he can’t.

Hesitantly, Dean gives you a small wave before he begins to stride his way across to you like you’re magnetic to him, and he’s still clad in his gear from his match earlier tonight. Panic hits you like a freight train, and you know you have nowhere to go, so instead you brace yourself for an interaction you couldn’t have predicted would be happening right now.

“Hey,” he leads, sounding somewhat awkward and out of his comfort zone, “I, uh…I thought it was you, but I figured I’d come take a closer look just in case my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

The cheeky, subtle grin on his face earns a brief huff of a chuckle from you, and your eyes lock with his once more for a few seconds until you avert them again.

“Funny, I really did think mine were doing just that when I saw you,” your voice trembles slightly, but you recover quickly by clearing your throat and swallowing your nerves down, “Though I don’t really know why I’m so surprised. You were on the card for tonight, so…”

You trail off with a shrug, still unable to bring yourself to truly look at him again. You keep your arms crossed, hugging yourself for comfort while you fight to stop yourself from being overwhelmed by an onslaught of emotions in the moment.

“I…I should find my friend, anyway. Nice seeing you.”

You feed him a weak excuse of a get out of jail card, succumb to the feeling, not even giving Dean a second to reply before you turn in the opposite direction, desperate to leave. You hastily pace the corridor in search of the exit, and as soon as you find it, you practically burst through the doors and deeply inhale the fresh air before you sit down on a nearby curb.

You continue to take deep breaths in a feeble attempt to calm yourself down, remaining under the illusion that you’re completely alone now. Unbeknownst to you, Dean lingers near the door but keeps his distance, not wanting to startle you at first, instead waiting until you look up and catch sight of him.

“Look, I…I get it, I’m probably the last person you wanna see or speak to. But can you hear me out?”

Dean asks, and he doesn’t take a step closer until you agree to hear him out, albeit tentatively. You rest your elbows against your thighs where you sit, rubbing your hands over your face while Dean joins you in sitting on the curb.

“You should’ve just let me go. I didn’t know you were gonna follow me out here.”

“Yeah, well even I didn’t know I was gonna follow you, (Y/N). My feet kinda just carried me before I even knew what I was doing.”

He replies, and he falls silent for a moment while he mulls over his words.

“...I wanted to text you. Call you and tell you all this instead. I just never could bring myself to do it. And now that you’re here, I need you to listen to me.” he sighs before he continues, “I know I hurt you, (Y/N). And I’ve been kicking myself for it for the longest time. I hate that I did that to you, but I thought calling things off was the right thing to do at the time. But the more I thought about it, I…”

Dean pauses, if only to lock eyes with you, no sign of even wanting to look away from you. His expression turns soft, solemn, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks and hear the integrity in his every word. You feel yourself melt under his gaze, his words stoking a fire in you as you long for him to say exactly what you’ve been wanting him to say.

“I’m not over you. I miss you. Ending things with you was one of the worst decisions I could’ve made. And I know I probably don’t deserve it, but if you’d have me, I’d really want to give things another shot with you. I don’t want to be without you.”

Your jaw hangs slack while his words sink in, and the butterflies that were initially in your stomach upon seeing him are now running rampant upon hearing the exact words you’ve been holding out on for the past year.

“You hurt me, Dean. Really hurt me.” you begin bluntly, any initial shyness now subsiding, “But…what we had was special. And you can probably already guess, but I’m not over you, either. And I miss you, too. And part of me has always been hoping this would happen at some point down the line.”

A flicker of a smile plays on your lips, and once Dean catches a glimpse of it, he begins to mirror you.

“Then what are we doing? I’m not saying we jump in head first or anything like that and pick up exactly where we left off, but why don’t we take it slow, give this another shot?”

Dean asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes while he waits on your make or break answer.

“You have some serious making up to do for everything, but…yeah, Dean.” you agree with him, a soft smile on your lips, “We’ll take it slow, try again. I don’t want to be without you, either.”

[burntsecrets]

A Hunter’s Guide to Holiday Care

Pairing: Dean Winchester and Reader

Word Count: 1589

Prompt: @fluff-cember Day 2: winter flu

Summary: Dean takes care of you during flu season.

Warnings: Flu symptoms, depiction of illness and physical discomfort, mild language, references to coughing fits and physical weakness, mention of medical care (cold medicine), light humor about illness, emotional vulnerability, caretaking dynamic, intimacy through hand-holding and close proximity

You wake up in a haze, disoriented and sticky with sweat, your head pounding like a drum. Every inch of your body feels weighted like you’ve been cemented to the mattress. The air in the bunker feels too cold, even with the hum of the heating vents overhead, and you burrow deeper under the flannel blanket someone must have thrown over you while you were out. Flu. The nasty, relentless kind.

Your throat is raw, your nose is an embarrassing mix of stuffed and running, and every time you cough, it feels like your ribs are trying to punch their way out of your chest. Perfect. You groan, shifting slightly, only to hear the door creak open.

Dean strides in, carrying a steaming mug in one hand and a bottle of cold medicine in the other. His green eyes scan you critically, but there’s no mocking smirk, no sarcastic comment. He’s wearing his usual uniform of jeans and a faded black T-shirt, but his hair is a little mussed, and there’s a subtle droop in his posture, like he’s been pacing or running errands you don’t remember asking for.

“Well, you’re alive,” he says, his voice a blend of dry humor and something softer. “Barely. Look like crap, though.”

“Feel worse,” you croak, voice barely above a whisper. It’s hard to say more; even talking feels like a monumental effort.

Dean chuckles low, shaking his head as he places the mug on the nightstand and sets the cold medicine beside it. “Yeah, figured. Got your meds, some soup—don’t ask what’s in it; just eat it—and, uh, entertainment.” He gestures vaguely toward the TV on the dresser. You glance over to see a cheesy Christmas movie already queued up. Twinkling lights, fake snow, and actors way too cheerful for your current state fill the screen.

“Is that Holiday in Handcuffs?” you ask, voice barely audible.

Dean shrugs nonchalantly, but you can see the faint flush creeping up his neck. “I remember you said once it was your favorite holiday movie. Figured it couldn’t hurt. Not like you’re watching Die Hard in this condition.”

You let out a weak laugh that quickly dissolves into a coughing fit. Dean’s immediately at your side, placing a steadying hand on your back as you double over. His palm is broad and warm, the pressure grounding you until the coughing subsides.

“Jesus, take it easy,” he mutters, his tone gruff but not unkind. He pulls a box of tissues closer and thrusts them into your hand. “You hack up a lung, and I’m not cleaning it up.”

You wipe your nose and sink back into the pillows, utterly spent. Dean unscrews the cap on the cold medicine, his expression twisting in irritation as it resists. “Stupid thing,” he grumbles, shaking it like the lid might magically pop off. Finally, with a satisfying click, he hands it over, careful not to spill.

“Bottoms up,” he says, watching you like a hawk. You grimace as the thick, syrupy liquid slides down your throat, and Dean snorts. “What, too fancy for cherry flavor?”

“It’s awful,” you manage, wincing.

“You’ll live,” he retorts, grabbing the mug of soup and placing it in your hands. The steam rises in delicate swirls, but when you take a sip, the taste is... underwhelming. It’s warm, sure, but there’s no seasoning, no flavor beyond the faint hint of chicken broth.

Dean notices your hesitation and narrows his eyes. “Don’t even start. I followed the recipe. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” you rasp.

“Okay, so I skipped the part with the spices. Sue me,” he says, crossing his arms defensively. “Not like I keep a spice rack in Baby’s trunk.”

Despite everything, you smile. The soup isn’t great, but it’s warm, and it’s Dean. He could’ve left you to fend for yourself, but instead, he’s here, fumbling his way through what has to be his least favorite role—caretaker.

As the afternoon drags on, Dean refuses to leave your side for long. He keeps himself busy, fussing with blankets, refilling your mug with tea, and grumbling every time you so much as sniffle. When you return from the bathroom, you find Dean, perched on the edge of the bed, stabs at his phone with one finger, muttering something about "Christmas movies" and "Sam's stupid suggestions."

“What are you doing?” you croak, your voice rougher than gravel.

He barely glances up. “Finding something less... sparkly. Seriously, how does anyone enjoy this crap?” he mutters, flipping through the options. “Where’s the explosions? The car chases? It’s all snowflakes and—oh, look, another goddamn mistletoe scene.”

He makes a dramatic gagging noise as another cheesy romantic gesture plays out on the screen. “This is a no-chick-flick zone, remember? Rule number one.”

You muster a weak smile, though it quickly turns into a cough. Dean tosses the phone aside and hands you a tissue like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes yours for a moment, warm and steady, and you catch a flicker of something in his eyes. Maybe concern, maybe embarrassment—hard to tell with Dean.

“Is that why you’re still here?” you rasp, dabbing at your nose. “Cause this feels suspiciously chick-flicky to me.”

Dean snorts, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s defending himself from the accusation. “Look, you’re sick. Can’t have you wandering around half-dead infecting everybody else—especially me. This is survival, not sentiment.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, raising an eyebrow. “So it’s not because you secretly enjoy the sappy holiday romance?”

His jaw tightens, and he glares at the screen as if it personally insulted him. “Okay, first of all, no. Second, I’m not staying here ‘cause of the movie. I’m staying ‘cause someone’s gotta make sure you don’t die from lack of fluids.”

You laugh weakly, though it fades into another cough. Dean sighs, running a hand down his face. “Fine,” he mutters, leaning back against the headboard. “Maybe I’m breaking my own rule. But don’t get used to it, okay? This is a one-time deal. You’re sick. That’s the only reason I’m letting this slide.”

Your smile softens as you glance at him, his arms crossed, boots propped on the bed frame, a grumble on his lips but undeniable warmth in his eyes. “Thanks, Dean,” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Just don’t tell Sam. He’ll never let me live it down.” 

Hours later, as the sky outside darkens, Dean’s still there. He’s stretched out in the chair beside your bed, his legs sprawled out and boots resting against the edge of the mattress. The TV flickers in the dim light, a cheesy Christmas movie filling the room with soft chatter, though it’s clear his focus isn’t on the screen. His gaze keeps drifting toward you every time you shift or let out a quiet cough, his features softening just slightly in that way he’d never admit to.

“You’re not half bad at this,” you murmur, your voice raspier than usual, the words barely audible over the sound of the TV.

Dean’s head snaps toward you, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. He snorts, leaning forward and planting his elbows on his knees. “Don’t get used to it,” he says, the usual edge in his tone softened by something warmer. “I’m not about to start knitting you sweaters or reading bedtime stories.”

“Shame,” you manage, offering him a faint smile. “You rock the whole ‘caretaker’ vibe.”

He rolls his eyes, shifting in the chair like he’s trying to get comfortable but failing miserably. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Chuckles,” he mutters, though the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying the grin he’s trying to suppress. “Next time you get sick, I’m calling Cas. Let him deal with the mucus and misery.”

Your weak laugh quickly morphs into a cough, and Dean is on his feet before you’ve even finished, hovering with an uneasy blend of concern and awkwardness. He rubs the back of his neck, muttering something about getting you more water, but instead, he pulls the chair closer to the bed, then changes his mind again and sinks onto the edge of the mattress.

“You’re gonna break that damn chair if you keep flopping around in it,” you tease weakly, watching as he settles beside you. His presence feels grounding, steady, even if he pretends not to notice the way you relax as he leans back against the headboard.

“Flopping? You’re delirious,” he shoots back, though he doesn’t move to leave. Instead, he stretches his legs out, crossing his ankles and resting one arm along the back of the bed frame like he belongs there. “This doesn’t mean I’m staying,” he adds after a beat. “I’m just... making sure you don’t roll over and die in your sleep or something.”

You don’t call him out on the obvious lie. Instead, you let your hand rest on the edge of the blanket, and after a long moment of silence, you feel the weight of his hand brush against yours. It’s tentative, uncharacteristically soft, and when he doesn’t pull away, neither do you.

The bunker grows quieter as the night stretches on, the low hum of the TV blending with the sound of your slowed breathing. You drift off, comforted not just by the warmth of his hand but by the steady, undeniable presence of Dean Winchester at your side. And as sleep claims you, you know that badass reputation or not, Dean is more than capable of caring for the people he loves. Right now, that person is you.

@spnfanficpond @fluff-cember

[shiklah]

Valentine's Day

Supernatural

Dean Winchester x reader

She sat on the dirty bed in the dingy motel, listening to the hum of some show—probably House M.D.—playing quietly, merely shyly reminding her of the existence of the television.

She was reading a book she had found in the nightstand, though it didn’t really captivate her. Not enough for her to forget what day it was.

Her red-painted nails tapped absentmindedly on the already battered cover of the book as she waited for the door to burst open and for him to stand there—with a bouquet of flowers, movie tickets, and a bottle of cheap red wine.

And then, a moment later, it happened. The door slammed open, and Dean stood there. But he wasn’t holding flowers, tickets, or alcohol. In fact, he was barely standing on his feet, leaning his shoulder and forehead against the doorframe. The smile on his face seemed to almost spill over.

Right behind him, Sam stood in the doorway as well. With the same lazy smile and the same problem keeping him on his feet. And that’s when she realized that the men hadn’t been injured on the hunt as she had initially thought. They were simply drunk to the point of near incapacity.

Without saying a word, she shot both men a furious look, then stood up from the bed, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the decaying wooden door behind her. She twisted the rusted key in the lock, then sat on the edge of the bathtub. She placed her hands on her knees, thinking about the conversation she had been living with for the past year.

“I feel really lonely,” she gasped, as his hand pulled her closer to his warm body. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Don’t tell me you were expecting something,” he murmured sleepily, burying his face in her hair. She pulled away from him, sitting up so abruptly that he lifted his heavy head from the pillow. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at her, irritated.

“What do you actually want?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Dean. I know we didn’t make any promises, but I need to feel special, just once a year.”

“I didn’t promise you anything. I don’t understand why you were setting yourself up for anything,” he shrugged, then laid his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes, hoping that by doing so, he would end the tiresome conversation.

They had met two years earlier on a loud ghost hunt in Lancaster. At first, Dean had been a nuisance to her. Loud, too confident, annoying, stubborn, and flirtatious. They kept getting in each other's way, and Sam, like the best diplomat, had to play mediator. However, after spending a long week together, full of arguments, they finally came to some understanding. And then they celebrated the fact that they hadn’t lost any limbs and that the body count was low—a successful hunt, in other words. They celebrated so well that in the end, they ended up in bed. Since then, the Winchesters and she had been inseparable.

She had fallen in love with him long ago. His loudness no longer bothered her; now it seemed expressive and funny. He wasn’t overly confident anymore; he just knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stubborn; he was focused on the goal. Even his flirtatiousness didn’t bother her anymore.

However, in moments like this Valentine’s evening, it didn’t change the fact that he was still irritating. In fact, in her opinion, he was cruel.

She was like a little puppy. She was there for him only when he needed her. She stayed silent when he wanted and spoke when he asked her to. She was loyal, even though he wasn’t. When he told her to stay, she stayed; when he told her to leave, she left. She wasn’t demanding, and Dean loved that.

He had what he needed, without ever considering what she needed. When he wanted, he had a friend, and when he asked, he had a lover. He didn’t think much about her. She was something constant, something that would always be there, no matter what he did. Like a puppy. And she did it in the hope that she might win even a crumb of his love. That, for just a moment, he would treat her with the same care he gave to Sam. Or that he would consider her opinion as he did Bobby’s. Or that he would respect her the way he respected Ellen. Or that, just once, he would look at her with eyes full of understanding and affection, without anger, irritation, or cold desire. She wanted him to be only for her, just as she was only for him. She wanted to be his whole world, his shining hope for a better tomorrow, his ray of sunshine on the darkest days, the person he thought of when he laid his head on his pillow at night and when the blinding morning light woke him. She wanted to be all the things he was for her.

But Dean didn’t know that yet.

“Sorry I wanted to go out on V-Day with the man I’ve been sleeping with for a year,” she said sarcastically. Dean opened his eyes again, and a scowl was painted on his face. However, he took two deep breaths and calmed down a little. That conversation was definitely not worth his sleepless night.

“Okay, next year I’ll make it up to you with flowers, chocolates, candles, rose petals, or whatever you come up with.”

“Dean,” she said calmly, but firmly, and the blonde merely mumbled in response to show he was listening. “You need to show me there’s something worth waiting for.”

She looked down at the old bathroom floor. Her bare feet clapped against the beige tiles, and not a single stupid tear rolled down her cheek. And that’s when she realized that maybe she didn’t love him after all.

***

The pain in his head woke him. Throbbing, unrelenting, and penetrating. He slowly sat up, gently resting his head against the bedframe. He reached for a glass to wash away the dryness in his throat, but the glass was empty. He glanced around the room. First, he saw the closed blinds, the table with stacks of pizza boxes, the turned-off TV, the open bathroom door, two beds—one a mess, the other neatly made—until his gaze finally landed on Sam. Sam was sitting deeply in an armchair, resting his chin on his folded hands, holding a phone. He stared into space, as if not really present at all.

“Did someone die?” Dean joked, flashing a mischievous smile. Sam, as if awakened from a trance, quickly turned to face him, shooting him an angry, almost venomous look.

“Hopefully not,” Sam hissed, then stood up from the chair and began pacing around the room. Dean leaned toward the nightstand in search of medicine. He opened the drawer but found nothing except an old, worn copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s Poems. He sighed loudly, and the headache only intensified. “This is all your fault, idiot.”

“What’s your problem now?”

“Don’t you think something’s changed?”

Dean looked around the room again. There were no meds in the drawer and no water in the glass, both of which were always there when he had a hangover. There was no fresh breakfast smell, no music, no show playing on the TV. There was no laughter, no sound of the shower, no sweet perfume. There was no warm, female body in his bed, no touch of soft skin, and no silky hair. And that could only mean one thing.

“Where is she?”

“Great question, I’ve been asking myself the same thing for an hour,” Sam said. He paced the room again. “She’s gone. Left me a pathetic note on the nightstand and sent a text with a photo.”

“What did she write?”

“She said she wants to hunt alone, that she’s leaving, that she’ll miss us, and we shouldn’t worry,” Sam started listing, collapsing back into the chair. “She said we shouldn’t look for her.”

“What does that even mean? Someone must have kidnapped her, something must have happened to her,” Dean said, jumping out of bed as if burned, forgetting about his headache for a moment. He quickly put on his pants and reached for his jacket to go out and start looking for her, but Sam’s voice stopped him.

“She’s fine,” Sam said, standing up quickly and showing Dean the photo she had sent earlier that day. She was sitting behind the wheel of her car, wearing the gray hoodie Sam had given her for her birthday some time ago. Her face was framed by a pair of sunglasses, and the wind from the slightly open window blew through her hair as she smiled widely.

“One stupid picture doesn’t mean anything,” Dean shrugged and reached for his leather jacket again.

“She told me…” Sam started but hesitated for a moment. He took a deep breath and continued. “She told me some time ago that she wanted to leave.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean grumbled. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Hell, can you blame her?” Sam stormed around the room again and sat down at the dirty table. Dean sat across from him, waiting for an explanation, any shred of information about the woman or where he could find her. "Every time you went out to the bar or on a date, without a word, she’d put a bottle of whiskey on the table, then pour us glass after glass. She told me a lot about her life, about her grandmother and little sister, about the cottage in the countryside where she always spent her vacations. She asked me about our parents and the house in Kansas. You spent so much time together, and she didn’t even know you were born in Kansas!’

Dean turned his face away and shifted in his chair, slightly irritated. But he didn’t know what that irritation was caused by. Was it that she had disappeared without a word? That she left Sam a letter and sent him a text message, and he seemed invisible to her? That Sam knew more about her than he did? That they spent so much time together while he was absent?

He wasn’t irritated. He was just jealous.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Have you gone completely stupid? She loved you, Dean."

He knew. Of course, he knew. Only a complete idiot wouldn’t have figured it out. But oh, how easy it was to pretend and convince himself that he didn’t know. How easy it was not to think about her feelings, about how he hurt her, about how he treated her. He never cared whether she’d be upset, whether she’d leave him, or what she’d think of him. He knew two things—she loved him, and he never promised her anything.

He had become a master at deceiving himself. Every day he told himself that her smile didn’t make him happier, that her little gestures—like making breakfast or taking care of him when he was sick—didn’t make his heart race, that going to bed with another woman whose name he couldn’t remember didn’t make him think only of her and how he was breaking her heart.

"You probably think it’s stupid, but she kept talking to me about last year’s Valentine’s Day. About how you promised her something special—and at least, she was expecting something special. And you came back... WE came back drunk, not even noticing that she locked herself in that disgusting bathroom for a solid two hours."

He knew what he had promised her. And he also knew what, between the lines, she had promised him. He was once again deceiving himself that it wasn’t true, but he knew she’d leave him if he disappointed her again. And maybe that’s exactly why he got so drunk. So he wouldn’t have to endure the pain of being abandoned, a pain he fully deserved.

***

A month passed. The brothers continued living as they had before meeting her. They went from case to case, got a little bruised, drank a little, fought a little. Sam missed her, as he had in his nature. Dean didn’t care, as he had in his nature. Or at least, he seemed not to care.

For the past month, Dean’s life had been governed by obsession. Although he told himself it was driven by concern. He thought he was just worried about the woman, that surely something bad had happened, because what other reason could there be for her disappearance? Or for not hearing from her in weeks, even though she was supposed to be there forever? Or for her not even saying goodbye, not telling him, at least for that one last time, that she cared about him? Something must have happened.

So Dean had an obsession. Honestly, he had it long before the woman disappeared. The problem was that now it had spilled out, with all the hidden jealousy, a mass of unspoken feelings, resentment toward her and toward himself.

He wrote. He wrote to her every chance he got.

Sometimes he wrote light-hearted messages. He told her jokes, talked about hunting situations, or encounters with old friends. Sometimes he mentioned his childhood or family, trying to make up for lost time.

Sometimes he wrote sadly. He told her who had been hurt during a hunt and what exactly had happened. He kept her updated on who was dead and who had nearly died. Once or twice, he mentioned his parents’ deaths, but shortly after that, he regretted even bringing it up.

Sometimes he wrote with anger – the way he used to address her. He reminded her of everything that had come to his mind. How she yelled at him when he needed her support, when he had sold his soul. How upset she got when he came home drunk. How she ran away from him. But each time, he regretted those angry messages more than anything else in the world. Still, he kept writing them.

And she never replied.

Sam had dimmed a little. He didn’t know what he expected, he didn’t really know what he felt. He truly and deeply loved her, and he knew she loved him, even though they’d only said it once. That time, when Dean almost died for the the umpteenth time. They clung to each other, crying silently, unsure of what else to do. No words were exchanged; they simply wept, holding on tightly. And they fell asleep like that, curled up together, with traces of tears on their cheeks, full of regret and longing for someone they both couldn’t, and were afraid to, lose. So, it could be said with certainty that their friendship was built on the love for Dean Winchester.

Sam knew that Dean was in love. He knew, he saw it, but he didn’t say a word. Who was he to interfere? He supported her when she suffered from an unrequited love and tried to understand Dean when he saw how he was hurting her. But when the woman decided to break out of that vicious circle, Sam was filled with a strange calm. He knew that she had chosen not to love either of the Winchesters, whether romantically or platonically, but to love herself.

***

Six months passed. Sam received a picture. She was leaning against her car, wearing shorts and a sweater, the same glasses still perched on her nose, her hair, now a little longer, was blowing in the wind. In the background, there was a wild beach by a lake, and she was smiling, calm, and happy…

Under the photo was a short message: I took a little vacation xx

Sam debated for a long time whether he should even show his brother what he had received. He didn’t want to bring him down any further or give him false hope.

Six months had passed, but Dean’s obsession only intensified. He was sending fewer messages and decided to take action.

He tried to track her phone, but all his attempts were futile. He went to Bobby for help, but Bobby sent him away with the words: Leave that poor girl alone. He didn’t even want to discuss it with Sam, he knew his opinion.

Dean thought a lot. The past two years spent together replayed in his mind like a movie, and he always reached the same conclusion – that girl was very stupid.

He couldn’t explain the fact that he had rejected her time and time again, each time more harshly and painfully, and yet she always returned, like a boomerang, with even more patience and love. He manipulated her, treated her worse than an intruder, just to exchange hot kisses with her in the privacy of his beloved car in the evening. He would pull her in, then push her away, as if testing the limits of her endurance.

He wasn’t surprised she was in love with him. This thought didn’t come from vanity but from the fact that he had wanted to make her fall in love with him.

He knew she liked poetry. So he learned a few poems, which he would recite to her in his quiet, deep voice, cuddling up to her back on cold nights. He knew she liked horror movies, so once a week, almost casually, he would turn one on the old motel TV, just so she would cuddle into his arm with a smile on her face and stay that way for the next two hours. He never cared about the movie. He reveled in her scent, the feeling of her hand tightening on his forearm, the soft closeness that made his heart race. He knew she loved lakes, so as they drove from case to case, they would pass one, and she would sigh with admiration, which always made a small, satisfied smile appear on his face.

“Dean,” Sam finally spoke, slowly getting up from the bed. Dean raised his gaze from the file of some ancient demon they were dealing with at the time.

The brunette handed him the phone, and the man saw her face. Something pricked his heart when he saw her smiling and free from worries. Free from him.

He decided to let go.

***

She was crawling backward on her wounded hands, and the deathly pale silhouette of the woman was approaching her relentlessly. She knew this was the end. Bruised, tired, and terrified, she just closed her eyes, resigned to her fate. However, death didn’t come.

Instead, there was a loud shot, and the ghost dissolved into the air like an unpleasant memory. The woman quickly turned, and over her shoulder, she saw none other than the Winchester brothers, who, once they recognized their old friend, stood frozen.

A few long, silent seconds passed before Sam rushed to her and hugged her tightly to his chest. She gave a soft moan, to which the brunette loosened his grip slightly. He pulled her away, holding her by the shoulders, as if to confirm that it was really her, his closest friend, whom he hadn’t seen in a year, sitting on the floor of a dilapidated basement in one of the abandoned buildings in New York.

“Hey, Sammy.” She gave him a faint smile, despite her bruised cheek. Sam, seeing her pain-stricken face, quickly picked her up and headed toward the Impala parked outside.

Dean was boiling inside, but he just stood there, watching. He should be kneeling beside her, stroking her bruised back, pressing her cold cheek to his, whispering words of comfort, giving her a moment of relief for her tired body and soul. Yet, he just stood there.

“You need medical attention,” Sam murmured as he passed by the other man, holding her in his arms. She gave Dean a blank look before tiredly closing her eyes and nestling into the younger of the brothers.

The past year had been the freest she had ever been. If she wanted to go somewhere, see something – she just went and watched. If she wanted to meet someone – she just met them. If she needed a break from hunting, she took it. She was free, not having to consider anyone else’s opinion, rules, or approval, or the lack of it. No one’s feelings mattered except hers. The last year had taught her to be selfish.

The drive to the motel was quiet. The woman rested her head on Sam’s shoulder, who sat next to her in the back seat. Dean, on the other hand, drove uncertainly, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror to get a closer look at the woman he hadn’t seen in months. She hadn’t changed much. There were a few new tattoos, her hair was dyed, a bit longer, maybe she looked a little paler than before. Aside from that, and all the bruises, scratches, and blood, she looked pretty ordinary, just like before.

They entered the motel, and the woman immediately claimed the bed closest to the door. She awkwardly collapsed onto the pillows, and the familiar scent of the perfume she had once known hit her nose. The perfume she had long forgotten. It no longer evoked the warmth, safety, or desire it once had. Now, it was just a pleasant scent, but not unforgettable.

Dean, still not saying a word, took a beer from the fridge and opened it effortlessly. He took a long sip, then set it on the table. He sat down in a chair, staring at the woman who was resting on his bed.

His heart was breaking. Watching her so hurt, bruised, and suffering. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but swallowed the sadness that had gathered in his throat and drank away the despair with cold liquor.

Sam, on the other hand, came out of the bathroom with a large first aid kit. The girl turned onto her back and pulled her shirt up to her chin, revealing her badly wounded and bleeding chest.

The younger brother measured her body with a worried look, then sat on the bed. He first carefully scanned her hips, stomach, and breasts, and Dean felt a surge of anger. No one, however, paid attention to his frustration, and Sam began cleaning up the remnants of her once porcelain skin.

“Maybe I’ll do it,” Dean finally offered shyly. Both Sam and her focused their gaze on him, and silence filled the room.

“No,” she decided firmly, glancing back at Sam. He almost imperceptibly nodded and silently returned to his task. Dean turned away and took another swig of alcohol.

“You really got banged up,” Sam remarked when, after wiping away the dried blood, a long, though not too deep, wound appeared before him, running from her sternum down to her left hip. The woman snorted briefly, feeling a sharp pain in her lungs.

“Not the first time, and not the last.”

“Are you really not going to talk about it?” Dean finally snapped. He jumped out of the chair and slammed the bottle onto the table. “You just ran off, disappeared without a word, melted away like fucking camphor! I’ve probably sent you a million messages, and the only thing you could do was send a stupid picture, and not to me, but to Sam? Did you two sleep together as well or is there something else I don’t know about?”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell in the room. Sam looked at both the woman and his brother, waiting for the next development. Maybe he should leave?

The silence was broken by her laugh. It wasn’t the pearly, warm, and sweet laugh it used to be. It was mocking, sarcastic, unpleasant. Dean lost his composure, furrowed his brows, and stepped back a little.

“I wasted two years of my life on you, and you want me to give you more.” She looked at him scornfully. “I forgot that Dean Winchester is the center of the world and…”

“I love you.”

Sam stood up without a word and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

“But I don’t love you anymore, Dean.”

It rooted him to the spot. He could almost physically feel his heart drop into his stomach, and his throat tightened uncomfortably. His hands instantly grew sweaty, and his eyes glazed over with sorrow. He wiped his hands on the legs of his pants and cleared his throat nervously. He looked down, seeing the dirty, worn-out carpet. He gave a slight nod, trying to sort out what exactly he wanted to say. He took a breath, releasing all the disappointment, self-loathing, and anger from his lungs. He sat on the bed next to the woman, and she closely observed every one of his movements.

“I know. You don’t have to. I don’t want that.” He took another deep breath and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Do you remember that night when we went to play pool in Louisiana? You wore that plaid dress, the one I knew you only wore for me. Your hair fell over your shoulders, you used those sweet, fruity perfumes, painted your nails black, and everyone paid attention to you.”

The woman only watched him in silence. She remembered that night. Dean surprised her like never before, inviting her on a real date (though he never called it that). She had tried for him, hoping that something would change in their relationship. But that night ended like every other one.

“When you were asleep, I lay there for a long time, inhaling that perfume... And I really felt at home.”

More silence, but this time, it was less suffocating. The woman slightly lifted herself on her arms, leaning against the headboard.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I knew you loved me, and I knew I loved you. I guess I didn’t want to admit that to myself because... because thinking about you made me dream of something I’ll never have. I started thinking about a peaceful, settled life that I’d really love to give you. I wish I didn’t have to worry about whether we’ll survive another horrible day, or if by the end of the day, I could hold you again and tell you how much you mean to me, or if every morning I could wake up with you in my arms. I knew I was hurting you, and I knew you’d leave one day, but I preferred to convince myself that I didn’t know. Because it was easier. And I’m sorry I chose the easier option, that I gave up the fight for what we could have had. And I don’t want you to take me back. Treat me like air. Like I’m not even here, but I want to stay with you and make sure you survive another day.”

“There’s this poem,” the woman sighed, staring into the space in front of her. She placed her hands on her battered thighs. “With a farewell kiss, When the time for parting has come, Today, I no longer hesitate to admit: You were right - now I know - My life was a dream... Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean.”

[novafics]

l Patching Up l

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Talk of death.

Summary: Patching up

Word Count: 445

Masterlist

---

Waiting for the boys to get back was always nerve wracking, you would always tag along to the hunts with Sam and Dean, you being more there for the info you know rather than to help physically with the hunt but that is the way you prefer it, you feel like an important part of the team while also being kept safe back at the motel, something that Dean really liked about this whole arrangement. When you first got together 2 years ago his biggest fear was that you were going to get hurt or even worse that he could lose you altogether, but you being in the motel gave him peace of mind.

Whenever the boys left to catch whatever they were hunting always left you on edge, you frequently had nightmares about Sam coming back alone and having to break the news to you that Dean was gone, always leaving you waking up heaving for breath and reaching for Dean who was always there to quell the fear racing through you.

You were currently curled up in your and Deans shared bed waiting for the two to return. To help with your nerves you were dressed head to toe in Deans clothes, the lingering smell of his cologne helping you immensely. 

You weren't lying there for long before both boys returned, Dean looking a little worse for wear but not as bad as you had seen him in the past. Noting that both boys were fine and that the hunt was in fact over you released a breath you didn't even know you were holding knowing now that you or Dean were not in danger and everyone was safe and ok. 

“Come on you, let's get you cleaned up” you announced to Dean practically dragging him into the bathroom with you so that you could clean him up. “Yes ma’am” he replied with a grin on his face, you cleaning him up quickly became his favourite part of every hunt, you taking care of him was always something that brought joy to Dean knowing he always had this much love to come back to.

After sitting him down and cleaning up every cut and scrape he had accumulated you noticed how dirty his clothes actually were. “Take these off and i'll get you some clean ones baby” you told him “if you wanted me naked darling all you had to do was ask '' he replied to you with the biggest grin on his face pulling his shirt from his body. That had you smiling without even thinking. You loved this man, Dirty mind and all, and you wouldn't change anything for the world.

[samazing0831]

This Time, Stay - Dean Winchester x Reader SMUT - MDNI

MDNI

1.7k words

You were done waiting. Years of emotional whiplash and unspoken tension with Dean had finally reached a breaking point. But just when you're ready to walk out for good, Dean stops you - with words you never thought you'd hear and a promise he's never been brave enough to make. What begins with anger and heartbreak ends in confession, forgiveness... and one hell of a night.

Angst, Smut, Emotional Confession

MDNI!!!

Dean stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching as you shoved clothes into your duffel bag with quick, sharp movements. Each zip of fabric against fabric sounded louder than the last, like a countdown. His stomach twisted, a sinking weight settling deep in his chest. He’d seen people leave before. He was used to it. But not you. Never you.

“C’mon, don’t do this,” he said, voice rough, hesitant - like he already knew it wouldn’t be enough.

You didn’t pause. You just kept packing, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the wall behind him. “You don’t get to ask me that,” you snapped, zipping the bag up with finality. “Not after everything. Not after all the times you pushed me away like I didn’t matter - like what we have doesn’t matter.”

Dean exhaled sharply, raking a hand down his face. The urge to argue rose in his throat, but he couldn’t find the words. He wanted to tell you that you did matter - more than he could explain - but he knew better than anyone that actions spoke louder than words. And his had been screaming the wrong things for far too long.

“Where the hell are you even gonna go?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Anywhere but here,” you said as you slung the bag over your shoulder. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out what you want. I deserve better than that.”

The words hit harder than any punch he’d ever taken in his life. He took a step forward, heart pounding.

“You really think I don’t know that?” he asked, desperation creeping into his tone. “I know you should’ve walked away a long time ago. But I also know that I-” He stopped, jaw locking tight as he shook his head, overwhelmed by the weight of everything he never said.

You stared at him, waiting, hoping. But silence settled in the space between you like a verdict.

“That’s what I thought,” you whispered.

You started to move past him, but Dean reached out, his hand catching your wrist - not tight, not forceful, just enough to make you stop. Just enough to make you turn around.

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out like they’d been trying to claw their way out for years. “I love you, okay? And yeah, maybe I’m a damn coward for not saying it sooner, but I can’t -” He broke off, shaking his head like he couldn’t breathe. “I can’t watch you walk away. I won’t.”

His eyes, usually so guarded, were raw now. Open in a way you’d never seen. It hit you then - Dean Winchester wasn’t afraid of monsters. He was afraid of this. Of you. Of losing something that actually meant something.

“I don’t know, Dean,” you said quietly. “You don’t know the torture I’ve been through - seeing you bring girl after girl into motel rooms, or back to the bunker, acting like none of it mattered. Or that year you were with Lisa and Ben while Sam was in literal Hell.” You dropped your bag with a heavy thud, hands curling into fists at your sides. “You can’t tell me you love me now, after knowing how I felt all this time. Why now? Why not years ago? I just… I want to be wanted, Dean.”

Dean flinched, your words landing like a physical blow. He looked away, guilt carved deep into every line of his face.

“I know I don’t get to just say a few words and make all of that go away,” he said. “And I sure as hell don’t deserve a second chance. But don’t you get it? That’s why I never said anything. Because you do matter to me. So much it scared the hell out of me.”

He laughed bitterly. “Everything I love gets taken away. Everything I care about, the universe turns into a weapon. Wanting you - loving you - felt like begging for another target on my back. But that’s no excuse. Not anymore.”

He stepped forward, voice softer now. “If you need me to prove it, I will. I’ll fight for this. I’ll fight for you. I just… I need to know there’s still a chance.”

You searched his face for lies, for any trace of manipulation. “You’re not just saying this to keep me here, are you?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“No,” Dean said without hesitation. He held your gaze, steady and sure. “This isn’t a trick. I mean it. I want you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that - if you let me.”

You felt the walls around your heart soften, just a little. “Just because I’m not leaving doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Dean nodded, that tiny flicker of hope brightening his eyes. “Yeah. I get it. I just need the chance to make it right.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours like he was asking permission to be close again. “So… what now?”

You smiled faintly. “Well… if I were you, I’d probably kiss me right now.”

Dean huffed a laugh and didn’t waste another second. His hands slid to your waist, and then his lips were on yours - not rough, not desperate - just right. Steady. Real. Like he finally knew what he wanted.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Damn. Should’ve done that a long time ago.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

“Alright, smartass,” he muttered with a smirk. “Guess I deserved that one.”

He looked at your, something serious blooming behind his grin. “So, uh… where do we go from here?”

You raised an eyebrow, your smile taking on a more wicked curve. “The bedroom?”

Dean blinked, then chuckled low in his throat. “Damn, sweetheart, you don’t waste any time, do you?”

His hands tightened at your hips as he tugged you closer, lips brushing your ear. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You shivered, his voice and touch igniting something hot and electric beneath your skin.

You shivered, his voice and touch igniting something hot and electric beneath your skin.

“Then show me,” you murmured.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

You barely made it down the hall before his mouth was on yours again—hungrier, rougher this time. Dean kissed you like a man starved, all the years of tension unraveling in the space between heartbeats. His hands were everywhere - gripping your waist, threading through your hair, tugging you flush against him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance.

You gasped into his mouth as he walked you backward, guiding you down the hall like muscle memory, like he’d dreamed about this exact moment so many times that he didn’t even have to think. And maybe he had.

By the time your knees hit the edge of the bed, your shirt was on the floor, and his mouth had made a slow, maddening trail down your neck. He lowered you onto the mattress with a careful kind of reverence, like he was still afraid you’d disappear.

“Still sure about this?” he asked, voice low and gravelly, hovering above you, his eyes searching yours one last time.

You reached up and curled your fingers into his shirt. “Dean. I’m already naked from the waist up.”

He smirked, dipping his head to your chest. “Yeah, just checking.”

He made quick work of the rest of your clothes, tossing them aside carelessly as his own followed. You took a second to drink him in - broad shoulders, firm muscles, a few scattered scars that you suddenly ached to know the stories behind - not that you didn’t know them already.

Then his mouth was on your skin again, warm and purposeful - kissing, licking, biting just enough to make you gasp. He took his time like he had something to prove. Maybe he did.

His hands were strong but patient, sliding between your thighs, teasing with slow, torturous precision. You bucked up against his touch, shameless now, needy in a way you hadn’t let yourself be around him before.

“Dean - please,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Say what you want, sweethearts,” he murmured against the inside of your thigh, his voice dark and amused. “I’m listening.”

“You. I want you.”

That was all it took. In the next breath, he was kissing you again, rough and hungry, lining himself up with a low, satisfied growl. And when he finally pushed into you - slow, deep, stretching you just right - you both let out the kind of sound that belonged behind locked doors.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck, holding still for a second like he was overwhelmed by just being inside you. “You feel like a goddamn dream.”

You moaned his name as he began to move, every thrust hitting deep, sending sparks racing up your spine. He was relentless - rolling his hips like he knew exactly how to ruin you and was determined to do it slowly.

One of his hands tangled in yours above your head. The other dragged down your body, gripping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist, changing the angle just enough to make your vision blur.

“Look at me,” he rasped. “Wanna see you fall apart for me.”

You did. Over and over, until your moans echoed off the bunker walls, until his name was the only thing you could remember how to say. Until your whole world narrowed down to the slide of his body against yours and the filthy promises he whispered into your ear between kisses.

And when he came - hard, deep, with a guttural sound that shook something inside you - he held you like he never wanted to let go. Like maybe now that he’d finally said the words, finally touched you like this, he couldn’t let go.

The room was quiet afterward, just the sound of your breathing, tangled sheets, slick skin, and the soft creak of the bed beneath you.

Dean brushed damp hair from your forehead and kissed your temple, his voice quieter now, but still thick with emotion.

“I told you,” he murmured, curling around you. “I’m not letting you go.”

You closed your eyes, finally warm, finally safe.

“Good,” you whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Kiss

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean Winchester kisses you Word count: 861 A/N: I am debating on making this a series, covering different "Firsts" with Dean.. Any interest in that? Let me know!

The first time Dean Winchester kisses you, it happens in the least romantic place imaginable—an old gas station parking lot on the outskirts of nowhere. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow over the cracked asphalt and the Impala parked nearby, her paint gleaming like polished obsidian. The faint smell of gasoline mingles with the crisp scent of impending rain, a storm brewing in the distance.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about Dean ever feels planned, really. He’s a mess of contradictions—cocky and self-assured one minute, guarded and vulnerable the next. You’ve been riding shotgun with him for weeks now, chasing down leads, salt-and-burning restless spirits, and fighting things most people wouldn’t dare to believe existed. Somewhere along the way, you became more than just hunting partners. You don’t know what to call it yet, but there’s a connection between you, an unspoken pull that you’ve both been too stubborn—or scared—to acknowledge.

Until now.

It starts with an argument. Of course it does. Dean has this way of pushing your buttons, and tonight he’s doing it with the precision of a master.

“You can’t just run in there without a plan!” you snap, your arms crossed over your chest.

“And what was your plan, huh?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “To stand around and wait until the ghost decides to play nice? That’s not how this works.”

“It’s called strategy, Dean. Maybe you should try it sometime instead of going full kamikaze every damn hunt!”

He scoffs, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You think too much. Sometimes you just gotta act.”

“And you think too little!” you retort, your eyes narrowing. “One of these days, your impulsiveness is going to get you killed.”

The words hang in the air, sharper than you intended, and for a moment, Dean just stares at you. His jaw tightens, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“Fine,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you’ve got it all figured out, why the hell do you even need me?”

It’s not the first time you’ve fought, but there’s something different about this one. The air between you feels charged, like the storm rolling in above. You don’t answer right away, and Dean takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the gravel.

“Why, huh?” he presses, his tone softer but no less intense. “Why do you keep sticking around if I’m such a screw-up?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the storm clouds overhead. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Because it’s not that simple. Because you don’t stick around in spite of his flaws—you stick around because of them. Because Dean Winchester, for all his faults, is the kind of person who will throw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to save someone else. Because he’s loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, and has a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the world, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

“Dean…” you start, but his name barely makes it past your lips before he moves.

It’s not hesitant or tentative—it’s sudden, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally snapped. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused but somehow gentle, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed. It’s not perfect—Dean’s lips are a little chapped, and the angle is slightly awkward at first—but it’s real. There’s an urgency to it, a raw, unfiltered emotion that leaves you breathless. His hands are warm against your skin, grounding you even as the world seems to tilt on its axis.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your hands are fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer as if the space between you is unbearable. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss with a low, almost involuntary sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like the dam you’ve both been holding back has finally burst, and there’s no going back now.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. The storm is closer now, the first drops of rain starting to fall, but neither of you seems to notice.

“Wow,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean chuckles, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, uh… sorry about that. I probably should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your fingers still gripping his jacket. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, there’s no wall, no mask, no bravado. Just Dean.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Took you long enough.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and the tension between you finally seems to ease. The rain starts to pick up, but neither of you moves. For once, the hunt can wait. For once, the only thing that matters is this moment—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect all at once.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[supernaturaldoll]

Me asf during this cold front

side note:looking for more SPN+The boys mutuals 😚 especially if you also write fics!! ~xoxo

[icecream-and-gadreel]

Still Got it

Summary: Dean wants to prove that he's still got it, even after a particularly damaging hunt. 

Pairing: middle-aged!DeanxMiddle-aged!reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings: language, blood mention, lightly attempted sexy times, mention of violence

Word count: 900+

A/N: I was laying here thinking "Man, when's the last time I wrote some Deanxreader?" As an original Dean girl turned Gaddy girl, I had to write my wrongs. Here's the song I used in the fic. Enjoy!

Eternity squad: @mrswhozeewhatsis @sheinthatfandom

There's something so special about the sweet, sweet embrace of a bed after a long day. Warm blankets, soft pillowy surface, and –

“Fuck!” you wheeze as your stomach collides with the bed. You turn on your back, biting back a scream before turning onto your side. No relief. No goddamn relief no matter which way you turn. The one good and true constant, that being the comfort of your bed, is ruined because you just HAD to get thrown against a brick wall tonight. You remain stone in your place as the door to your motel opens, listening to the new thump-drag rhythm of Dean's walk. Honestly, it's a wonder his ankle didn't break during his reckless pursuit of the fiend that took a chunk out of your stomach. "So," you begin, grazing your fingers over the floss keeping your stomach wound shut, “That sucked,” you grumble against the pillow. Dean grunts in return, and you look up, watching as he fiddles with the TV.

“I hurt in places that I forgot existed,” he says as he flips through the channels.

“Lay down with me,” you coo, wincing as he turns to you. It's hard to say who got the worst of it. Yes, you're fucked up in your own right, but seeing just how messed up your boyfriend's face is makes your blood boil.

“What?” he asks, gesturing to himself. “Can't stand my ugly face?"

"Not ugly just...bloody," you say, clenching your teeth. 

“So I'm still hot?” he asks. You cock an eyebrow, slowly turning onto your back.

“They'd have to hack your face off with a cleaver to ruin that handsome mug,” you say, closing your eyes.

“Your horrifying compliments always get me goin',” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. He flips through a few more channels before finally landing on a channel playing old music. “You know what? Prove it.”

“Huh?” You cock an eyebrow, watching as he slowly begins rocking back and forth. He unbuttons his pants, swaying his hips as he pulls them down his thighs. When he bends a bit too far, he lets out a pained wheeze, quickly kicking out of his pants.

“Show me just how hot I am,” he says through clenched teeth. You stifle your laughter as he slowly raises back to his full height with your eyes trained on his muscle-clad legs. Even after getting flung around like a rag doll, the man is gorgeous.

C'mon and hold me

Just like you told me 

You watch as Dean shimmies his shoulders, rolling your eyes as he passes you. He limps every step of the way, a hint of a wince crossing his face every time he puts weight on his foot. 

Then show me

What I want to know

Sucking in a deep breath, you lean up on wobbling arms, trying to hide your pained groan with a giggle. Your back throbs rhythmically, a gentle reminder of your bout with that damn vamp only hours ago. As Dean pulls his top off, you come back to the moment. You whistle, clapping your hands as he twirls the shirt over his head. “Wooo shake it!” you howl, gaining a wide grin from your boyfriend. He begins crawling up the bed, wincing as he rests an arm by the side of your head. Long scrapes coat his arms, different shades of purple and blue lining them “Come here baby,” you say, voice a near whisper.

Why don't we steal away

Why don't we steal away

Into the night

He begins slowly lowering down, the fatigue in his arms taking away any chance of him holding his own weight. In a split second, he's collapsing on you. The screams and groans coming from you both are sure to get neighbors complaining. Quickly, you push him off of you, and he rolls to the side, curling into himself with a stifled groan.

“I'm startin' to think I lost my mojo,” he says, chuckling breathlessly.

“Or we're getting too old to keep having our asses kicked,” you retort, gaining a look of faux shock in return.

“I'm aging just as good as Baby,” he grumbles, turning to you and pressing a kiss against your lips. He jerks his head away from you with a hiss, holding a hand over his split lip. “Almost as good," he adds in a whisper. 

“We just gotta buff out the dents,” you say, hand grazing over his cheek.

“You can't get enough of insulting the love of your life, can you?” he grumbles. Though you try, you can't stop the laughter from coming. He smiles in return, scooting closer to you with a huff. "Maybe I'll let Sammy go solo next time --" He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder -- "He's still young and spry," he adds groggily. 

"Hate to break it to you, but those luscious locks are starting to grey out," you say, rubbing a hand over Dean's shoulder. "So, maybe we all slow down a bit. Let the youngins do the leg work," you say. After a few moments of silence, you look down, a content smile spreading across your face. Dean's breathing slows, his body slumping against yours as sleep overtakes him. Though the weight of him on your shoulder makes your muscles scream for relief, you decide not to move him. 

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Through The Shadows: Chapter 1 - Unexpected Backup

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Series Summary: A hunter's Journey through despair and recovery is guided by Dean Winchester's unwavering love, leading her to reclaim her strength, voice and hope for their shared future.

Chapter Summary: Dean and Y/N never got along, but after a close call he starts to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

Dean Winchester slammed the trunk of the Impala shut, muttering under his breath. The hunt was turning out to be more complicated than he and Sam anticipated. The ghost was aggressive, elusive and there had been more injuries than clues. They needed backup. Unfortunately, the backup Sam had in mind wasn't exactly Dean's favourite.

"Dean we need her." Sam stated, his voice firm as he leaned against the car. "She's experienced with these kind of cases. Her research skills are unmatched and you know this."

Dean grimiced, looking off into the distance. "Sam you know she and I don't exactly see eye to eye, I don't get why you're so insistent on this."

"Maybe because she's the best at what she does?" Sam rasied an eyebrow, "And she's my friend. She can help us. And you might try not to be so.... Dean."

Dean stared back at Sam offended before his eyes rolled and he grumbled underneath his breath. "Fine. Call her. But don't expect me to play nice."

"I never do." Sam sighed as he pulled out his phone.

Y/N arrived at the old warehouse, parking her car beside the Impala. Her heart pounded with anxiety, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel. She had known Sam for years; they were close, sharing countless laughs and late-night research sessions over the phone.

But Dean... Dean was different. His sharp eyes and gruff demeanor always made her feel on edge. She often caught him glaring, and his short responses only heightened her anxiety. She couldn't help but constantly feel like a disappointment in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out and walked towards the brothers. Sam greeted her with a wide grin and a hug. "Thanks for coming Y/N. We really appreciate it."

"Of course." She said softly, her eyes darting to Dean. He gave her a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

"We've got a restless spirit." Dean explained, his tone short and blunt. "Likes to stab first, ask questions never. Thought you might have some insights on handling this."

Y/N nodded, trying to focus on the case rather than Dean's intimidating presence. "Let's start with the records. There might be something in the history of this place that we missed."

The three of them spent the next few hours combing through old documents and piecing together the ghost's backstory. Y/N found herself slipping into her comfort zone, sharing her findings with Sam, who encouraged her with his usual supportive demeanour. Dean however, remained distant, his eyes flickering to her occasionally, as if trying to read her.

As night fell, the team prepared for the confrontation. The ghost had appeared several times at the warehouse, and they planned to force it into the open. Tension hung in the air as they spread out, each armed with weapons and salt.

Suddenly, the ghost appeared, a menacing figure with a twisted blade. Dean charged forward, aiming to banish it, but the ghost was faster. It lunged towards him, knife shining in the moonlight.

"Dean, look out!" Y/N screamed, running towards him as fast as she could. She pushed him down to the ground just in time, but the ghost's blade sliced across her arm leaving a nasty gash.

Sam fired a round of salt at the ghost, repelling it temporarily. Dean quickly scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with shock and concern. "Y/N, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." she panted as she clutched her bleeding arm. "Just get rid of that thing!"

With a new found determination, the brothers managed to corner the ghost and kill it for good. The air was filled with the smell of burning ectoplasm, and silence settled over the warehouse.

Dean turned to Y/N, his gaze softening as he was the blood seeping through her sleeve. "You saved me." He said quietly, his usual gruffness replaced by a rare vulnerability.

Y/N shrugged, wincing slightly. "Just doing my job, Dean. Somebody has to keep you guys out of trouble."

Sam grinned as he clapped Dean on the shoulder, "She's got a point!"

As they cleaned up and prepared to leave, Dean approached Y/N, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Listen, you should stay with us at the bunker. At least until your healed."

Y/N hesitated, glancing between Dean and Sam. "I... I don't want to be a burden."

"You aren't." Sam assured her. "We'd we want you there, right Dean?"

Dean nodded, his gaze fixed on her. "Yeah, we'd like you to stay."

She took a deep breath, finally nodding in agreement. "Okay, but I have one rule, Dean."

"What's that?" He asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Don't fall in love with me." She said half joking, half serious.

Dean rolled his eyes and scoffed, "You wish."

Sam laughed and even Y/N managed a small smile despite the pain. As they headed back to the cars, she couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 2 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[creativityiskey]

I need help friends. I remember reading this fic where basically the reader is pregnant with Steve’s baby but he decides to go back in time to be with Peggy instead. He returned a few years later to discover the ready and Bucky are really close and he has a kid. It’s a second person pov. Please help!

[wwereaderinserts]

can i request just about anything involving the reader being extremely jealous over dean and any woman, maybe Renee, who he has had to spend a lot of time with lately? doesn’t matter if smut or not, but a lot of angst pls!!!!!!!!

Title: Some Reassurance Pairing: Dean Ambrose x Reader Word Count: 1,140

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing there between you two. Spare me the bullshit once more, please.”

You interrupt Dean mid-sentence once more, your gaze unwavering and your arms crossed firmly over your chest. Your patience is beginning to wear thin, and you’re sure you’ll combust on the spot if you have to listen to another one of Dean’s bullshit excuses, or him simply waving things off while he spoon feeds you the same rinsed and repeated lines of there’s no need to be jealous and you have nothing to worry about, it’s just work any time you’ve brought up the one specific, glaringly obvious problem to him.

Renee.

Dean swears up and down that she’s just a friend, that they’re just coworkers, that it doesn’t go beyond that. But if that’s the case, why does it feel like they see each other more than you both see each other? Why is there so much fan speculation online about their relationship when it’s more than common knowledge that you and Dean have been together long term? Why is it bothering you this much?

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Dean mutters under his breath, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration before he talks over you, “Babe, there isn’t anything there! Renee’s a friend, we work together! How many times do I need to tell you this before you accept it?!” Dean raises his voice slightly, his irritation now becoming more and more evident the longer the confrontation draws out, but you don’t back down. You continue to stand your ground, gaze still equally as steely as it was mere seconds ago, arms still crossed with your fingertips now gripping your biceps, partly in anger, but mainly in a feeble attempt to stop your hands from trembling with each passing second.

You take a step towards him, one hand flying outwards to jab a wavering finger at him while the other drops down to your side, fist clenched and shaking whilst you will away the angry tears that threaten to spill over your lower lash line.

“Then why the fuck does it feel like you don’t even want to spend time with me, or even have time for me anymore?! You’re always with Renee!”

You scream at him, and when Dean is preparing to interject, you stop him dead in his tracks before he can so much as get a word in.

“No, no. I’m not fucking finished yet. You leave me hanging at the end of the phone for hours on end, just waiting on a text or call back whenever I’m not physically here visiting you! You have no fucking idea how much shit hurts when pictures of you two getting a little too cosy when you’re together end up seeing the light of day. And I see the way you both look in those pictures, Dean. I’m not blind, I can fucking see it.”

Your words hold ample amounts of venom in them, and despite your best efforts, the tears you were fighting back have finally spilled over to open up the floodgate which you know won’t be closing for the foreseeable. Sheer rage has now morphed into heartbreak, and you bare all to your partner.

“It feels like I’m losing you! It’s what I’ve been trying to get through to you, but you don’t want to listen to it! I don’t want to have to feel like I’m constantly competing, like I’m the other person! For fuck’s sake, I just want some reassurance, it shouldn’t be so much to ask for!”

You sob in front of Dean, overwhelmed above all else now that you’ve thrown everything you wanted to get off your chest to him out into the open. You don’t see it, but Dean’s gaze softens entirely at the sight before him, like every single word is resonating with him all at once.

He’s finally seeing just how much this has hurt you, and he resents himself for it.

Dean closes what little distance remains between you both, and to test the waters, he gingerly places a hand on your forearm to gain your attention. Sniffling, you glance up at him while you rub at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt, clearing your vision enough to be met with concerned, bright blue eyes staring right back at you.

“It’s my turn to talk, alright?” he tells you, calmly, before he continues, “There’s nothing going on with me and Renee, okay? Never has been, never will be. It ain’t like that between us. She’s a friend of mine. I’m with you, and she has a partner of her own. And yeah, people are gonna think what they wanna think when they see us out in public together, but I love you. Ain’t about to change anytime soon.”

Dean takes a brief pause before he continues, and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head while he’s mulling his words over before he throws them at you.

“I see how much it hurt you now, and I fuckin’ hate myself for not listening to you in the first place. I know I should have, and I’m sorry for brushing you off like I have been. But you also see things from my side, right? It feels like you don’t trust me with how you’re acting. I would never fuck you over like that. Never.”

“I know, I…I-I just-” you stammer slightly before you huff out a shaky breath, “I do trust you. I just…miss you more than anything. Miss getting to see you, miss spending time with you, so seeing someone else get to do all that with you, feeling like I’m being ousted out? It hurts.”

Dean nods in understanding, and both of his hands find their way to clasp yours, giving them a firm squeeze. You purse your lips into a fine line as you look at him, awaiting his next response.

“I’d never oust you out, babe. You’re stuck with me, as long as you’ll have me.”

Dean replies, trying to make things lighter in an attempt to shift your mood slightly. Despite his lack of optimism, he still earns a flicker of a smile from you, and his expression mirrors yours.

“And…if you haven’t already noticed, you don’t need to miss me. I’m right here. So…” Dean trails off, gradually leaning in to come face to face with you, “I’m all yours for the rest of the evening. I’m turning my phone off, you have my undivided attention. We’re doing whatever you want to do. Sound good?”

He barely whispers, and he glances down at your lips, asking permission before his eyes meet yours once more. Slowly, you tilt your head sideways before your lips brush together, the promise of a tender kiss imminent.

“I want nothing more than that, Dean.”