#after he sees dean hear it. he wishes he said it sooner.

[segernatural]

what is castiel's greatest regret?

link to panel is here, timestamp: 20:54, images below cut

when he was god he could've fixed the world but failed to

'he harboured his feelings for 10 years without actually sharing them, and waited until he was about to die to share his affections'

he never really patched things up with his angel brethren in heaven

he never actually felt like he belonged on earth

(likely connected to above but) he had very few friends

he had a very, very limited wardrobe

as cas looks back on his life, it's probably nothing but one giant sweep of regret

misha did book-end it with:

"Well, I think, in the big picture, Cas... the thing that I like about that character is that he always tried to do the right thing, always tried to do what he thought was good and righteous. And sometimes he made mistakes, but that was always his North Star, and I quite like that about him."

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝟓? || 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

― pairing: dean winchester x plus size!reader

― summary: while grieving dean's death, you leave him a series of voicemails, not anticipating that he'd be brought back from hell and listen to all of them.

― warnings: talks about dean's death in s4, drunk dialing, mentions of drinking.

― wc: 1066

⋆ a/n: i'm not even going to lie, this is a oldie, but potentially a goodie? i don't know, i think it was an interesting concept. maybe it's just the idea that it's old lol. yes, this is my payment while i get requests and kinktober posted!

masterlist | part two | AO3

You have 5 unanswered voicemails from "_____" Would you like to play them?

Voicemail 1:

Hey, uh— It's me, _____, actually you already know that. I don't even know if you're going to get this, seeing as though you have like— five burner phones, but let's just hope this is the one you use. What am I kidding, it doesn't even matter if you get this, you're dead.

Would you like to listen to voicemail 2?

"Yes.”

Voicemail 2:

I just wanted to let you know that I miss you, like, a lot. Hunting hasn't been the same without you. You know the other day I actually tried to call you about some information on this hunt I was working on, but then I realized that it was kinda useless; it's okay though, I figured out that it was actually just a shifter. All I could think of was 'What would Dean do?' and just that question alone helped me figure out that random goo on a kitchen counter wasn't just from cooking.

I've been keeping an eye on Sam the best I can, but we've been talking about going on our own. I'm trying my best to do what I know you would want, but your brother is growing restless and I don't want to keep him on a leash. This chick has been coming by a lot recently, but I think she could be good for him? I have no clue, honestly I haven't had a clue on what to do since you died. I know I'll be okay and I'll figure it out, but I just wish I knew what to do when it came to you.

Play voicemail 3?

"Damn it, yes."

Voicemail 3:

You know what you are Dean? A selfish person. You didn't think about anyone but yourself when you made that deal. I get that Sam was dead, but did you ever stop to think that maybe I needed you too? That I needed your impulsive ass alive? What about me Dean? Just what the hell was going through your head when you summoned that bastard? You know what, no, I know what was going on in your head, nothing, absolutely fucking nothing. I hate you, I hated ever being in love with you.

Play voicemail 4?

Dean let out a shaky sigh. "Yes."

Voicemail 4:

I didn't mean anything I said, I was drunk and sad, I just— I just miss you a lot. I did mean it when I said that I was in love with you, but you're gone now, I just wish I would've told you sooner. After Sam had buried you, I— I didn't leave your grave for a week; all I did was talk, God, I talked for hours, I confessed every single thing that I thought about you, every feeling that you ever made me feel, I bet there's still some of my tears fertilizing the dirt. I love you Dean, and I miss you. I wish that I could comfort myself and say that you're in a better place, but we both know that I'd be lying.

I know you're in pain, and you probably will be for the rest of eternity, but I wish that I could help stop it. I would take away everything, even if it was only for a couple of seconds, I'd bear it all. I never thought you'd learn about my feelings for you this way, but I guess it's only accurate, you know? Us hunters can't have anything nice, especially if that person is alive. Sorry, I'm just tryin' to joke around, it was getting too intense. I love you, Dean Winchester. I just wish you were alive to hear me say that.

Dean felt his eyes burn, his heart twisting around painfully inside of his body. He felt like he couldn't breathe, almost not hearing the automated voice.

Play voicemail 5?

"Just play the damn thing."

Voicemail 5:

Hey, I know it's been a while, maybe about a month since I've called you? I've been trying to avoid leaving voicemails since they make me sad, and sad isn't good for business. You know I don't like working while having a foggy mind, it's not that therapeutic to me. I just wanted to tell you that I quit hunting. I tried to carry on, but I just couldn't risk losing anybody else to this life, hell, even myself. You know what, no, I have lost myself, and I didn't want to continue on without my life having some sort of meaning.

Hunting with Sam and you had changed my life, for better and for worse, but I will never regret all of my experiences with you both. You made me feel wanted, welcomed, and at peace with life and with myself, I just wish I could give you guys everything that you gave me, but now it's too late. The best I could do was just try and leave, to live for Sam, and for you. I've been trying to make the most out of the rest of my life, because ever since I've left, I began to see so many things that I was too tense to. It's like seeing a whole new world Dean, no matter how naive I've chosen to be. I'm choosing to ignore all of the bad things, that the fact that there's always going to be monsters out there; I'm going to be like everyone else, I am finally choosing to be normal.

I love you Winchester, and I will never stop loving you, and maybe my body count will get me to where you are, and if I'm going to be honest, I cannot wait for that day to come. I guess this is a goodbye Dean, but me and you both know that it's only temporary.

You have no more new voicemails.

Dean didn't know how to feel, there were too many emotions, too many things that you had told him with only five voicemails. He didn't know whether to go after you or leave you be — actually — that was a lie, he did know what he wanted to do, and that was to find you, even if you didn't want to be found. He knew it was selfish of him, but he just had too much he needed to say now that he was back.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02

[castieldelamancha]

His ninety years of age are heavy on his bones, heavy on his mind, heavy on his tired shoulders.

But they aren't as heavy as the deep sadness he feels every time he looks at the empty side of the bed next to the one he has occupied for years. The deep sadness he feels when, every morning and every night, those beloved green eyes aren't there anymore to greet him or wish him good dreams.

Any dream he has now is good if it means he can lost himself in their depths once more.

Castiel sighs tiredly, trying to find a comfortable position on the bed, pointedly avoiding sparing a look at where Dean used to sleep.

One last separation, this time around it wasn't Castiel who left Dean behind, like he used to all those years ago.

He comforts himself with the knowledge that, after Dean rescued him from the empty, now a human once more; he gave Dean his heart, his everything, that he tried his best to make him happy and that he had the privilege to grow old and gray by his side.

He comforts himself with the knowledge that sooner rather than later they will meet again and never part again.

He closes his eyes, letting sleep wash over him, he can feel deep in his bones, it will be soon.

"Good night, beloved."

That's his last thought, as every night. Come morning he will greet it as if he was talking with Dean too.

.

Castiel opens his eyes, blinking and squinting at the sudden burst of light that surronds him. He groans, annoyed, at being woken up so abruptly. He closed the curtains, didn't he? And the blinders too.

Or maybe he forgot, he does forget things sometimes.

He closes his eyes, putting his forearm over them for a moment. As his brain slowly wakes up and catches up with his body he realises he feels lighter than ever before, the weight and hurt in his heart now gone, his usually heavy and aching limbs light again, as they used to be many years ago.

He must be dreaming, for a few moments he will get to have all he is missing and then he will wake up for sure, and all will be gone again.

He shakes his head, he refuses to let those thoughts ruin this moment.

The sound of muted footsteps somewhere near him makes him move his arm away, he opens his eyes once more, a hand has appeared in front of him, it's familiar, he knows every line on it, just like he knows his own. He knows its touch, its weight, that one scar that goes from the thumb all the way to the wrist.

"Dean." He sighs, a little out of breath, a smile on his lips.

"I've been waiting for you." Dean smiles back, he looks younger than he did when he died a year ago, back on his late thirties, a youthful glint in his green eyes, one that he never really lost despite the passing decades.

He holds the offered hand in a strong grip, letting Dean help him up. It isn't until that moment, when he is face to face with Dean, that his words sink in.

There is a hint of sadness in the green eyes looking at him, barely there, but still Castiel can see it, clear as day. He might not have been that well-versed on human customs, cues and relations. But he was when it came to Dean. He patiently learned how to read him, how to listen to what he said and to what was left unsaid too.

"I am not dreaming, aren't I?" Dean shakes his head, Castiel's smile doesn't falter, "I am not sad, and you shouldn't be either." He puts his hand on Dean's left shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"I know that, mixed emotions and all that," Dean shrugs before gingerly lifting a hand to cradle the side of Castiel's face, "I'm glad you are here, I've missed you so fucking much," he finally leans closer and lets his lips touch Castiel's briefly, "but I still feel bad you had to go through this alone, that I left you on your own."

Castiel shakes his head, "you are with me now, I don't have to be alone anymore."

"I love you."

And Castiel could laugh and cry with joy. The joy of hearing Dean say those three words again. The joy of being together once more.

His smile widens, a tear escaping his eye, "I love you."

He goes willingly when Dean pulls him closer so they can share a warm embrace and a longer, more passionate, kiss.

"Welcome to Heaven."

"Home," Castiel corrects softly, not because he was once an angel, "doesn't matter where we are, you are right here, it's home to me."

[le-amewzing]

lines to draw

An old drabble, done for a forum exchange.

Fic: "lines to draw" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester (with a nod to Destiel bc I could, so tag with Destiel, too~)

Rating: K

Words: ~430

Additional info: family, angst, fluff, (mild romance/slash), 3rd person POV

Summary: Sam muses, and he feels for his brother, having to be without Cass…

      Sam wakes up one night, in the middle of the night. He's in the hotel room, and it's fairly quiet. There's nothing outside except the sounds of the town.

      So he lies there, wondering why the hell he woke up in the first place.

      He closes his eyes, thinking about the job that brought them out here. Everything goes back to the leviathans these days… Even Bobby's getting sick of them… Either way, Sam would be surprised if his phone didn't buzz with another text about more leviathan-related news. That's all they ever hear about these days.

      The younger Winchester remains on his back and looks to his left, at the other bed, where Dean's been tossing and turning all night. Oh. That makes sense. His rustling probably woke Sam up. After all, Sam's rather a light sleeper these days, even after Cass took Lucifer out of his mind…

      "Cass."

      Sam blinks…and frowns. So that's what it was.

      Dean turns over, away from Sam, and grumbles something else in his sleep. But he says "Cass" again, and it sounds so pitiful.

      It's hard, hearing that. Losing Cass and then regaining him only to lose him right after…

      Sam wonders how many more times he'll hear Dean call for the angel in his sleep. He's not surprised that it's happening at all. Sam has come to see Cass like a brother. Dean…well, it's complicated.

      And, when his older brother murmurs the name once more, Sam muses on the first time Dean had ever said it.

      …huh. That's right. They barely knew Cass then, Sam even less so than Dean. And they still hadn't made up their minds about the angel—makes sense as there was so much going on at the time. And Dean had learned Sam's little [Ruby] secret, and yelled at him for it, and told him that it was God's plan for Sam to stop and that "Cass" had even arrived because of this—

      Sam grins halfheartedly to himself. Figures. Dean yells at Sam and gives the angel a nickname in the same breath. Sam knew he should've seen it sooner, Dean and Cass.

      Instead, he saw it a while after that, and now things have come to this. Him and Dean in a hotel like old times, working a case. In truth, Dean's been muttering the angel's name in his sleep for years, so that's like old times, too.

      Sam hopes for one thing that night as he drifts back asleep: He wishes that all the "old times" would return…his brother's happiness, angel and all.

And this is what you get from binge-watching SPN and watching s4e3 "Metamorphosis." I died when I noticed when Dean first said "Cass"—while yelling at Sam about Ruby. XD Gods, you could already see the ship coming from half a world away. ;P So some inspiration from s3&4, Jess, but worked into s7. Hope that works, *lol*.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2022 note: *asdfghjkl* Little to edit in this 2014 drabble, which still makes me squeal. :D Having others witness ship things and/or describing it is one of my fav storytelling techniques, and it seems I've been endeavoring to do it at least once in each of my fandoms over the yrs. X'D I forgot this was a ship-thru-others'-eyes fic, bc of the bro bonding! I also miss the GGE; fun and stressful times, *lol*.

[miserable-sarah]

‘Sam?’

18+

Pt2

Pairings: Sam(Demon) X Reader

Warnings: Sex, language, being tied up, oral(male), fingering, overstimulation

***

Its been about 2 months since you last seen Sam. Even though Sam wasn’t himself right now you wish he’d come back just so you can see his face. Most of the days you’ve been laying in bed, trying to think of anyway to get him back. Dean beens leaving almost everyday searching for him.

Dean, Dean was heartbroken when you told him his brother is a demon. He didn’t believe you at first he didn’t understand how you knew, you just told him he came at you while you were in the bathroom and left when he came back. You could see in Deans face he was taken back and didn’t know what to do. He could tell you had no idea what to do either.

Dean probably thinks you’ve given up, because most of your days are spent in bed. But you haven’t. Sam said he’d be back, you trusted it so you stayed ‘home’ all the time just waiting. And also it’s really hard to be around Dean, he’s extra grumpy and sarcastic. You know it’s through fear but he takes it out on anyone who’s next to him.

You sigh as you get up to get a drink, the bunker is quiet. No one is talking, no one is doing anything. If you didn’t know any better you’d think no one lives here. You stumble your way into the kitchen, everything just seems darker, more depressing, more empty. You get a glass of a water and turn around to see Dean standing behind you.

“Hi” you say taking a step back

“What happened when Sam came here” he says sternly. You feel your mouth dry up your palms sweating.

“Uh, he came in the bathroom and” you stop thinking about what he did, you can’t tell Dean any of that. “He uh just told me he’s not Sam” you say looking into his eyes, his are angry, yours are scared.

He grabs you by the shoulders “don’t lie to me!” He yells. You whimper and look the other way. Dean quickly lets go “I-I’m sorry” he says realizing what he did. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair “I didn’t mean to do that” he says not looking at you “I’m just so stressed” he says flopping on a chair. In any other circumstance you’d flip out on him, but you get it.

“Dean” you say quietly taking a seat across from him “when he came here, he picked me up out of the bath yelled at me. Told me he’s in Sam’s head. That’s it” you lie “he heard your footsteps go into your room and he left”

“It’s just weird that’s all he came for” he says furrowing his eyebrows trying to think why he came. You swallow hard knowing why he came that day. For you.

Deans phone rings, he answers of course. About a minute in he says “we’re on our way” you look at him confused but hopeful. Maybe it’s Sam or maybe someone found Sam.

“Get ready we’re leaving in 5” he says getting up

“Wait why?” You ask you can hear the hopeful tone in your voice

“I know where Sam is” he says to you before going down the hall. Your heart flutters. You quickly get your stuff ready and wait in the car. Dean finally gets in and takes off.

***

After a few hours you arrive at some abandoned building.

“How do you know he’s here?” You ask looking at the building not believing Sam would be in there

“He told me” he says looking at you. Your head snaps at his

“He told you?!” You ask mad he didn’t say that sooner “why didn’t you tell me”

“Y/n nows not the time. Let’s go get Sam” he says getting out the car you did same. You both slowly creep your way in the building

“Is it really Sam?” You whisper to him he just shrugs not sure. You nod in response. You hear Dean grunt loudly then a flop sound you look and see Dean laying on the floor. Next thing you know everything is black.

***

You slowly start to open your eyes. Your vision slowly becoming clear, you groan as you go to touch your head but notice you’re tied up. You’re heart starts pacing, you check around the room to see if there’s anyone else here. This is your bedroom. You try to wiggle out of the rope but can’t. Of course. You look down and notice you’re only in a t-shirt and underwear. You’re confusion only growing stronger.

“Hey” a Familiar voice shoots from the dark “I had to get you alone” he says walking closer to you “I thought when I called only Dean would go not both you” he says running his finger down your Torso stopping at your panty line. Your heart is still racing, your breathing hitches. He smirks at you “I told you I’d be back”

“I wanted Sam back. Not you” you say trying to be stern but I’m Reality you’re melting. Sam chuckles lightly looking you up and down

“You know that’s a lie” he says coming even closer “I’m giving you everything you want” he says inches from your lips. You stare into his eyes, with fear but also excitement. All you want is for him to take you now.

“W-what did you with Dean?” You stutter, he dips his head down to your neck

“He’s fine” he says against you. You hold in a moan.

“Where is he?” Sam bites your neck

“He’s at that building, he’s fine.” He says “but that only gives us a couple hours together” he says sucking on your sweet spot. You throw your head back a little, you hold in another moan.

“You can moan sweetheart, I know you want to” he says confidently and he was right. You let a little moan escape your lips

“Fuck” you say through your teeth mad at yourself. You hate that you like this, you hate you know it’s not Sam but you enjoy it.

Sam lifts his head up smirking down at you.

“You’re such a good girl” he says his hands traveling down to your thong. You bite your lip in response. “Let’s see how wet you are for me” his hands slip underneath your thong, his finger going right to your entrance. You let a another moan go

“Oh, so wet.” He says biting his lip. “I like that” his fingers move inside you, you throw your head back with your mouth open. He pumps his fingers inside you while his thumb rubs your clit.

“Fuck” you moan out loudly, you’re squirming around but can’t really move. Being tied up prevents you from gripping the sheets and closing your legs. Sam adds a third finger, you grip onto the rope letting out another loud moan.

“I love the way you sound” he says in a low groan. You feel yourself getting closer. He’s knuckle deep in you hitting your G-spot every time he renters his fingers.

“Fuck Sam” you moan out clenching around his fingers

“You’re going to cum for me.”He says letting you know it’s not Sam. Your legs start to shake, you throw your head back, close your eyes, and moan loudly letting your high hit. “That’s right, cum for me” he says pumping his fingers in your harder, his thumb still aggressively rubbing your clit. He helps you ride out your high. He removes his fingers from you and looks at you

“That was a very good girl” he says to you praising you. You look back at him breathing heavy. His eyes fall to your chest. He lifts your shirt up and plays with your hard nipples. “So beautiful” he says admiring your body. He slowly walks down to your legs. “I’m going to untie you” he says you nod and bite your lip. He removes the rope from both your ankles he leaves your arms tied up.

He crawls on top of you, your legs resting on his shoulders. He pulls his pants and boxers down exposing his hard cock. You feel butterflies in your stomach, you know what’s about to happen and you can’t wait to feel him inside of you. Without any warning Sam slams into.

“Fuck!” You yell out a tear forming in your eye, you’re in pleasure but also pain. It’s been a while since you had sex with Sam and Sam was big. Sam groans out loudly feeling you. Loving how you feel around him. Sam slams in and out of you hard, his thrusts are deep. His eyes completely focused on what he’s doing. You throw your head back gripping onto your ropes again.

“You’re so big” you say in between moans.

“I know, I know you like it baby” he grunts out with a small smile on his face. He loves the way you look right now. Pure pleasure on your face, hands trying to grip onto the rope, the way moans are flying out of your mouth, your lips slightly open, the way you’re looking at him. He loves that he is making you feel this way.

“You’re such a good girl, taking this huge cock in your tight little pussy baby” he says looking into your eyes his one hand makes it’s way down to your sore sensitive clit. You start to squirm around “stay still for me” he says groaning. You don’t move, trying your hardest not to. You moan loudly gripping onto the ropes so hard your wrists hurt.

“Oh my god!” You moan out you feel another high coming on. Sam slamming into you at the same pace, his fingers rubbing your clit you can’t help but cum. “I’m cumming!” You yell out closing your eyes, even with them closed all you see is stars. Loud moans escaping your mouth, legs shaking on top of his shoulders. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. Sam keeps on rubbing your clit and you can’t hold still. You squirm around with whimpers and whines. Sam holds you down by laying his forearm over your stomach.

“Stay still” he says through his teeth in your ear. You can’t even hear him. You’re in too much pleasure, maybe too much. Sam pulls out and stops rubbing your clit. You lay on the bed breathing heavy, still whimpering. Sam unties your hands.

“Knees” is all he says, you listen to him and get on your knees. He grabs your writs and bring them around your back, he reties them together. He stands in front of you. You look at his aching hard dick, you lick your lips waiting. “Open” he says, you comply and open your mouth looking up at him.

Sam smirks at you “such a dirty little slut” he says to you. He taps his dick on your tongue “suck it”

You do as he says, you suck on his tip bobbing your head up and down. You try to take him all since you can’t use your hands. You can taste yourself on him, which for some reason makes it even hotter. You hear groans and moans coming from Sam. You feel Sam thrusting into your mouth slowly. Sam grips your hair and pulls you back. You look up at him, spit all over your chin and chest.

“Open” he says again, you open. He spits in your mouth, you close your mouth and swallow. Just proving to him you’d do whatever he wanted. He smirks knowing his in full control. He slams his dick back in your mouth causing you to gag. He lets you catch your breath quick before slamming back in to the back of your throat. You let out chocking and gagging sounds. You can feel more spit rolling down your chin and chest.

“Fuck Y/n” he moans out. He hold your head in place while he face fucks you. Thrusting in and out of your mouth. You suck and lick him every time he enters your mouth. He lets out other little grunts and you feel his dick twitch. He pulls out of your mouth. He stands you up holding onto your tied hands. He bends you over the bed roughly, you let out a little squeal in surprise. He spreads your legs and lines himself up with your entrance. You feel yourself getting even more wet just waiting for him. He slams into you again.

You moan out loudly, you’re so sensitive. He knows it and he loves it. You clench around his dick, closing your eyes tightly. His one hand hold on to your tied hands while his other pulls your hair back lifting your head off the bed. You can hear yourself screaming but you can’t even comprehend what is going on. You hear Sam moaning and groaning loudly, he’s saying some words but you can’t hear him clearly. You have sweat all over your body, spit on you, and your slick dripping down your legs.

Sam lets go of your hair and your head hits the bed. Your body is limp, you have no more energy. Sam is still slamming into you. Little whimpers are coming from you. Sam’s hand finds your clit again. Your body jolts and he starts rubbing it. You can feel a fourth orgasm coming on. You try moving your hips to move away but Sam has a hold on you.

“Please!” You yell out, not sure if you can cum again. You’re so sensitive

“You’re fine. Cum for me” he says you scream out followed more whimpers. It feels so good but not good at the same time. “Cum for me you slut, be a good girl and cum for me” he says in your ear, you can feel his dick twitching inside of you. You know he’s close. He slams into you and feel yourself gushing. You scream out loudly, and lay there. You are done you can’t cum anymore. Your body limp again you lay there while Sam still thrusts in you a few moans coming from you. You feel Sam’s grip tightening.

“You’re a good girl” he says his thrusts sloppy “such a good slut for me” he says lowly. “I’m going to cum inside of my good slut” he says before blowing his load inside you, causing you to let another moan. He grunts as he thrusts into you a few more times. He pulls out and unties your wrists. They’re sore. He lifts you and lays you on the bed. He sits on the edge catching his breath, you lay catching yours.

Sam gets up and cleans himself off in the bathroom. He comes back and lifts you up carrying you to the tub he filled up for you. You don’t know what to say to him. You know he’s not your Sam.

“Uh thank you” you say as you feel the warm water around your body. He nods in response. He’s dressed and you know he’s leaving. You kind of don’t want him to go.

“I won’t be gone long” he gives you a wink before walking out leaving you speechless.

****

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!

Requests open!!

[wearywinchester]

Back To You

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When putting yourself in danger for the sake of saving Dean leaves you lost in the woods, Dean is less than thrilled until he finally finds you again.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, mentions of blood, swearing, comfort, fluff

Dean was livid in that moment, and rightfully so. Any and every hunt has the potential to be dangerous no matter what it is, no matter how many times you’ve hunted that very same kind of monster. Each and every hunt is different and someone is always bound to get hurt, whether it be the hunter or the person you’re there to save.

That idea was something he could handle, something he could prepare himself for. But he was never ready when that person was you.

You’d gone and done it this time. You went and spiked his worry, his fear, sent it sky high all for the sake of saving him. To him, nothing was worth losing you, especially not himself. The fact that he was worth enough to someone to risk their own life just to keep him safe was laughable to him, especially when it was you who held him in such a high regard.

Of course you did. He didn’t give himself enough credit, he didn’t give himself any credit at all. There was no one who hated Dean Winchester more than he did himself, and that very feeling was something that boiled over that hunt.

Two werewolves. Three hunters against two werewolves seemed like something you could handle. Take that and add it to the fact that you’re in the woods in late fall and it becomes more difficult. Somehow, some way they got the upper hand on the three of you, targeting Dean. Maybe they knew he was a sweet spot to the two of you, maybe it was just dumb luck, but their efforts seemed to work out for them.

There was no way you’d let them do anything to Dean, not if you were there to do something about it and that’s exactly what you did. Against Dean’s wishes you shoved him out of the way before they could, the swipe of her claws grazing across your cheek instead of his. It wasn’t as deep as it probably would have been, but it stung nevertheless. But that was only the very start of Dean’s nightmare, because you’d gone and lured her away before he could stop you.

He knew you. He knew you were strong and he knew you could hold your own, but this isn’t some run of the mill vampire or a phony spirit. It was a werewolf with more than enough of an appetite and twice the strength.

Now here you were, stranded in the woods all by yourself with a dull and bloodied silver blade and a limp in your stride, your ankle strained from tripping in the midst of your fight with fangs and claws. You held your own, you took care of her yourself with more than enough of a struggle on her end. But you had no idea where you were and which direction was the right one, no clue at all just how far you were from Sam and Dean. You didn’t know if that other werewolf got away and came to finish you off.

All you had was yourself and a dead phone, and your own two fists.

It was getting darker out, the cold fall day turning colder now that nightfall was just around the corner. The drizzling rain didn’t help your cause, muddying the path you tried to follow as you navigated through tall trees and fallen leaves. They crunched every time you took a step, the sound near deafening in contrast to the quiet of the woods.

You were too afraid to call out for Dean, didn’t want to draw attention to yourself should it still be lurking. You were an easy target at this point—you were tired and you were weak.

Of all the hunts you’d been on, you can’t remember feeling quite so bad as this one. The scratches on your face burned and ached, the dirt that was surely smeared across it doing nothing to help as you tried your hardest not to touch your cheek. Your ankle throbbed with every step, the pressure placed upon it nearly pushing you to tears as you walked along as quickly as you could, hoping more than anything that you weren’t leading yourself further away from them, further away from Dean.

You knew he’d be mad, you knew he’d be absolutely livid when he finds you. If he finds you. That very thought weighed heavy on your mind and made your stomach twist in knots and swirl with nausea. There was a very real possibility that they wouldn’t, your battery was dead and it was getting all the more dark outside and you knew what your chances were but you tried not to think about it. You tried but it stayed in the back of your mind and tried desperately to push to the front of it.

He’d be pissed, he would and you knew it because putting your own life on the line for the sake of saving his was never something he’d want you of all people to do. You wouldn’t be surprised if he asked you to stop hunting with them, and the thought alone made a pang run through your heart.

You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought, brows furrowed as you took a deep breath. You’d hunted a myriad of different monsters, more than you can count and certainly a terrifying array of them. They were deadly and they were scary, they were dangerous and they were cruel but you couldn’t help the fear that settled within you now the sky was nearly completely dark. The lack of moonlight had worked against you, nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of you amongst dozens and dozens of trees. Every gust of wind, every noise, everything.

You were scared.

You didn’t dare use your flashlight, too scared to cast attention upon yourself and you found it impossible for anything out there to not be able to spot you. You felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb with the way you heard your heartbeat in your ears louder than ever. Or the way your breaths were shaky and labored and unable to be controlled.

The rain that drizzled a little heavier over you was beginning to seep through your clothes, chilling any exposed skin and wetting your hair almost completely by this point. You were sure it’d be worse if there weren’t any trees, but then again you didn’t get so lucky.

You couldn’t help but remind yourself how utterly on your own you were, body stiff as you walked along in the mud. The mere sound of a stick snapping in the near distance had you on edge, tears welling in your eyes as you weighed over the options of your fate in your mind in a taunting loop of negativity and fear.

Your lip quivered and your hands shook, clutching tight to your bag as you looked all around you. Tears mixed with rain to the point where you couldn’t even tell if you’d been crying real tears if it weren’t for the pressure behind your eyes and the ache you felt from trying to suppress them. You weren’t going to bother trying to act tough in that moment, there was no need when it was just you.

It wasn’t until then that you heard that voice, the gruffness of that ever familiar voice in an echo of your name. Your heart flipped in your chest and at first you thought you might have just imagined it, might have just thought you heard it amongst the rain, but it sounds again.

“Dean?” You said softly, disbelief in your voice before you raised it. “Dean!”

You picked up your pace in his direction, glancing over your shoulder cautiously. The tears rolled faster and your heart rate spiked, that fear in your mind lessening a fraction at the sound of his voice even if it was still not as close as you’d like.

You overlooked the pain in your ankle no matter how much it hurt, too distracted with finding your way back to Sam and Dean. The sooner you found them the sooner you could get out of those woods, and the sooner you could get cleaned up in a place much kinder on the eyes than tree after tree in a rain-dampened and dark area.

It felt like something straight out of a movie and you were waiting for the antagonist to pop out in front of you, waiting to be preyed upon by some big scary monster and you knew that wasn’t so far out of the question for you. Not with the life you had.

The distinct sound of sticks snapping and leaves crunching behind you was unmissable, unmistakable as you tensed. You swallowed thickly at the slosh of the footfalls behind you, heart hammering nearly too loud to hear anything else. It wasn’t until you felt a hand grab your elbow that you screamed once more, expecting to hear Dean call out from farther away at the sound of it. You screamed and you turned around, eyes wide with fear.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Dean,” he rushed, voice calmer than you expected.

It took you a moment for you to realize, for your eyes to bounce over his face and for the fear to settle and your frown was inevitable as you fought your tears.

In a matter of seconds you wrapped your arms around him, face hidden against his chest and you didn’t care how much it hurt the scratches adorning your cheek. That tension you held loosened considerably in his embrace, and it’s something he didn’t fail to notice. You missed the way his brows furrowed as his chin rested atop your head or the purse in his lips, the way he squeezed his eyes shut or the look of relief he gave Sam with traces of worry and anger within it.

He found you now, and you were safe.

You were quiet as you stood at the small bathroom counter, leaned over the edge a little as you cleaned around the scratches on your cheek. You were proving to do an awful job and you could see it by the look on Dean’s face when he walked in the bathroom. He could see the way you winced even from where he stood by the bed of the motel room, he saw it and he knew you hated doing it.

“C’mon,” he said, patting the counter a couple times.

“I got it, Dean,” you say softly, the sharp gasp you take in immediately after doing nothing to help you.

You sigh as you drop the dampened cotton ball in his palm, hopping up on the counter. You saw the dimples by the corners of his mouth and you saw the crease between his brows, telling of just how discontent he truly was and it had you biting the inside of your other cheek.

He was quick to clean it up with a light hand, careful not to hurt you as his other hand settled on your cheek to hold you still. You could feel the tension in the small room, could cut it with a knife, and it wasn’t going to go away any time soon so long as none of you said anything.

You tried to think about the way his breath fanned over your face instead, soft and warm in the pattern of his breathing as he cleaned you up with all the gentleness in the world. Gentle and tender despite the frustration simmering in the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill.

Actually, it did.

“We gonna talk about what happened today?” He asked, voice quiet and tone angry as his brow raised a fraction.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you mumble, averting your gaze as you turned your head, only for him to redirect it back as he finished what he was doing.

“‘Course not,” he said, breathing out a huff through his nose.

You roll your eyes and hop down from the counter, hearing his sigh as he tossed the dirtied cotton ball in the trash along with the others you’d gone through, his lips pressing together momentarily as he followed behind you into the room.

You still weren’t over it, you were still shaken despite this being your own fault. It was your fault and you knew that, you were the one playing hero and while you didn’t regret it for a second, you were still on the verge of tears. You were still cold and upset and still reaping the consequences of your decision by the pain on your face and in your ankle.

“Yeah, ‘course not,” you say, tightening his flannel around your shoulders before digging around in your duffel bag.

It didn’t last very long as he grabbed your hand and spun you around to face him, his displeasure more than evident.

“Please don’t try and save me, sweetheart, I’m not—”

“What, you’re not worth it?” You say, watching his lips purse deeper. “You might think that about yourself but I never will, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

“You nearly died, Y/n. Do you understand that?” He says, voice a little louder now. “You almost died out there all by yourself. How the hell am I supposed to live with that? How easy do you think it’d be for me to go on every damn day knowing you died just to save my ass?”

You were quiet for a moment as you looked up at him, brows knitted together. “Well, I’m not dead, Dean. So I guess you don’t have to.”

He scoffed as he threw his hands up, letting one fall back to his side as the other pinches the bridge of his freckled nose for a moment or two. He hates how you’re brushing this off, hates how you don’t know just how much of a wreck he was. Sam had never seen his brother so distraught, had never seen him so turned upside down the moment you were lost. It tore him to shreds, tore him apart from the inside out until he found you and that feeling still won’t stop. It won’t stop because he knows this won’t be the last time you do it.

“I’m not worth it, alright? I’m not worth layin’ six feet under, sweetheart. And not by the hands of some freakin’ werewolf either,” he says, frustrated as ever.

Your brows furrow deeper, frown tugs down deeper as you look at him.

“You think you’re the only one that gets to protect people? You think you’re the only one that gets to save someone? Is that what you think, Dean?”

“Y/n—”

“You might not give a damn about yourself, in fact, I know you don’t give a crap,” you say, your finger poking into his chest. “But I do. I care.”

You hated the way your voice faltered and the way your lip wobbled under the pressure of your tears, hated the way those very tears glossed over your eyes, ready to fall with a mere blink. He saw it, he saw it all and he pulled you close before you could crumble completely.

His hand ran over your head, hair still rain dampened and he could feel just how cold you still were. He could feel the way you shook, no matter how faint it was. You could act tough all you want, but he knew you were hurting and he knew when to shut up. You were stronger than he’d ever be, that’s how he always saw you and always will. But you fall apart sometimes and he’ll pick up the pieces without hesitation every single time. Every time.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m still here,” he murmured, words soft against your skin as he kissed your forehead.

You nod against him then, sniffling softly. You take a little while for your tears to die down, a little while of the soft sways of his embrace and it’s one that’s near bone crushing, of the way his thumb brushed back and forth against your shoulder blade, or the way his stubble felt brushing against your forehead.

It took a little while until you pulled back a bit, looking up at him with that look that turns his heart to mush every single time you give it. He sees those scratches on your face and he’s biting his tongue, fighting the anger that’s beginning to bubble up once more. Not at you, but at that werewolf that was two seconds from tearing his sweetheart to shreds. The thought made him furious but he pushed it down for your sake.

You lean on your toes and kiss him softly, one that lingered as his hand settled on your cheek. He kissed you once, twice, three times more as his nose bumps against your own, foreheads pressed against one another as your hand presses lightly around the back of his neck, your thumb brushing along his jaw. It set him at ease, you know it did.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere either,” you murmur, feeling his nod against you, felt his hum against your lips before he kisses you again. You knew he wouldn’t let it go that easily, knew it for a fact, but he’d bring it up some other day.

He’d always find you, you could count on it—he’d always find his way back to you.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho

[expectingtofly]

Painted Nails and Pride

1.7k

internalized homophobia, john being an a**hole, bisexual dean, found family, happy ending

written for day 7 of @spnprideweek

Music boomed from the park down the street and Dean tried to focus on the newspapers spread out before him, front pages covered with news about a bear attack at a campsite a few miles west. Not actually a bear attack, of course. From the tracks they’d seen when they hiked out there yesterday, Dad's money was on wendigo.

Cheering drew his eyes from the table where he, Sam, and Dad sat outside a restaurant to the people heading down the sidewalk towards the music. Banners on streetlights along the road proclaimed that today marked Roseville's 3rd Annual Pride Parade. His eyes snagged on a group of kids his own age standing on the street corner, hugging and talking excitedly. One boy had painted nails and wore a cropped shirt that exposed his midriff. As he talked with his friends, he looked around, and his eyes met Dean’s. He smiled at him, and Dean ducked his head, face burning.

An announcer’s voice echoed down the street. “Welcome to Pride,” the voice boomed. Dean folded and unfolded the corner of the newspaper, listening to the cheering, rotating the ring on his thumb around and around.

Dad snorted, and Dean glanced up at him. Arms crossed, leaning back in his chair, he watched the proceedings with a scowl on his face. Dean studied the newspapers more intently, underlining words just to look like he was doing something productive. Part of him wanted to go down to the parade, just to see what it was all about, but that was ridiculous. Only affirmed by a derogatory comment Dad made low under his breath about the people in the street.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed verbally, jostling his leg under the table. He glanced sideways at Sam, who was giving Dad a glare. Dean gave him a look that meant, don’t start, but Sam ignored him.

“Don’t say that,” he said, and Dean froze, eyes snapping to their father. Dad pulled his eyes from the street to Sam, giving him a long, steady look.

“What?” he asked after a long moment. “You one of them?”

Sam only held his gaze for a second before it seemed his courage failed. He ducked his head. “No,” he mumbled, kicking at the table leg.

Dad stared at him for another long moment, expressionless, before turning his journal around and dropping it in front of Sam. “Shut up and make yourself useful. Sooner we figure out what’s killing these folks, sooner we can get out of this goddamn town.”

He waved down the waitress for another drink, and Dean glared at Sam, who was absently thumbed through the journal pages. Returning to his own work, he snapped one newspaper closed and opened another, skimmed an article about the victim’s family. The words didn’t really make sense in his head, though, and too soon he found himself watching the people in the street again. The boy who’d smiled at him had disappeared, though, probably watching the parade.

Finding a one-off line in an article about rumors of a strange being haunting the woods, he circled it and handed the newspaper across the table.

“Nice work,” Dad said, taking the paper, but instead of the usual warmth from his praise, Dean only felt sick.

He felt about the same now, standing in Jody’s kitchen—off to the side so he wouldn’t be in the way during the frenzied preparations to attend the Sioux Falls Pride Parade. Music played from Patience’s phone, some song he recognized from Cas constantly turning the radio dial to the pop music station. Sam helped Kaia finish a sign decorated with the lesbian flag, and Eileen signed with Alex who was learning sign language in high school. Claire sat at the table painting Jack’s nails, who wriggled in his seat excitedly.

Catching Dean’s eyes, he held up the hand Claire had finished. “Dean, look!”

Dean forced a smile. “Looks good.”

“Stay still,” Claire ordered, frowning down at Jack’s hand as she painted his pinky.

This was a bad idea, Dean thought. Jody had invited them for the week, mentioning off-hand that Sioux Fall’s pride events were going on, and Dean had pushed aside the mild panic at that comment, told her they’d come visit. He didn’t know he’d be roped into joining everyone at Pride, but here he was, feeling out of place in the corner of the kitchen. Who knew how he’d feel standing at the parade.

“Want me to do yours?” Claire asked, and Dean snapped his attention back to her. She was holding a bottle of nail polish, others lined up next to her on the table, and he froze, realizing what she was suggesting.

His first instinct was to spit out, “I’m not one of those,” but guilt rushed through him for how harsh the words sounded in his head. Defensive words, unnecessary ones because there was no threat here. He didn't mean them anyway.

Swallowing them down, he glanced around the kitchen for rescue. Cas was helping Donna pack water bottles because “It’s gonna be hot out there,” but he must’ve felt Dean’s gaze because he looked over and gave him a reassuring smile. No judgement in his eyes, or Claire's either, for that matter. He had a feeling he wouldn't find any judgement in this kitchen, which should've been a relief, but he had a hard time trusting it.

“Come on, Dean,” Jack said. “We can match!”

You can do this, Dean told himself. It's just Pride, not an Apocalypse.

He tried to smile. “Sure,” he said, going to the table and sitting down, chest tight.

He chose the color blue because it felt less ostentatious than the pinks and lilacs Claire presented to him. Even so, the color looked strikingly bright in the sunlight as he stood along the street marked off for the parade, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Hey,” Cas said, touching his shoulder. Dean tensed, then felt awful for his reaction, but Cas didn’t move away, only rubbed between his shoulder blades until Dean relaxed marginally. “You okay?”

Dean nodded. “Fine,” he managed. Cas gave him a small smile and leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder.

A float passed with people waving and dancing on top, a banner strung across the front declaring, “Protect Trans Kids.” Jack waved a rainbow flag around, cheering along with the crowd. Claire’s arm was wrapped around Kaia’s shoulders, a smile tugging at her mouth despite her attempts to look unbothered by the proceedings. Dean wished he could feel that nonchalant. Instead, he kept looking over his shoulder. He didn’t know exactly what threat he was looking for, but the press of the growing crowds and the heat and noise, the bright colors and waving flags everywhere he looked was making him nauseous.

Turning back to the parade, he met Sam’s eyes. “Never thought we’d both end up here, right?” Sam asked over the noise, attempting levity, and Dean wondered if he remembered sitting outside near a Pride parade, feeling so unsure. There were plenty of other instances to remember, plenty of times John made disparaging comments that Dean either pretended to not hear or agreed with out of a panic that if he wasn’t careful, they might be directed at him next.

“This is fun,” Sam commented, watching the parade, and Dean wished he could agree.

Easy for you to say, he thought. You have a girlfriend, people’ll assume you’re straight. But he felt bad for thinking it. He didn’t want Cas to move away from him—if anything, wanted him closer, wanted his arm around him. But he felt too tense to move.

A crowd of middle-aged people walked in the parade, t-shirts reading variations of MOM HUGS, DAD HUGS, GRANDPA HUGS. Dean watched as people stepped off the sidewalk and hugged the moms and dads, some crying as soon as arms wrapped around them.

Without his permission, he felt his own eyes growing teary and he ducked his head, scraped his heel on the sidewalk.

“Dammit,” Jody said. “Where can I get one of those t-shirts?”

“We gotta do that next year,” Donna decided, and Jack gave her a hug.

“You can hand out hugs without the t-shirt,” he told her, and she grinned.

“You’re right.” Lifting her arms, she announced, “Free hugs over here!” People around them laughed, and someone took her up on the offer, telling her, “You’ve got a lovely family.”

Donna beamed. “Why yes I do.” She pulled Claire into a half-hug that Claire resisted, protesting the whole time. “Come here, Sam,” she said, yanking Sam into a hug that he had to nearly fold himself in half for. Everyone else got their turn, then she turned to Dean, holding out her arms.

Dean stepped into it, wrapping his arms around her. A gentler hug, Donna rubbing his back. Dean sunk into the embrace, the chaos around him subsiding for a moment.

“We’re family now, right?” she asked, pulling away to meet his eyes, and Dean nodded. Smiling at him and patting his arm, she turned back to Jody, wrapping an arm around her.

It felt a little easier to breathe now, his chest not so tight. The crowds around them didn’t seem so threatening, just smiling people with their families like he was with his. Eileen cheered as a float passed with an Irish LGBTQ+ coalition, and Dean smiled, easier now, not forced.

Jody pulled Donna in for a kiss that turned into making out. Claire rolled her eyes. “Ew, guys, Gross.” Kaia elbowed her and Claire’s put-on air of displeasure broke into a grin as she elbowed her back. Cas nudged Dean with a small smile when a float of pink, purple, and blue streamers drove past. For a moment, Dean's chest seized, John's voice ringing in his head, but in all the noise around them, it quickly drowned out.

Pulling his hands from his pockets, he took Cas’ hand. Cas interlaced their fingers immediately, squeezing tightly, then lifted their hands and studied Dean’s nails. Dean had let Jack paint a smiley face on his pinky to match the one on Jack’s thumbs. Staring at them, he thought of a boy at Pride with painted nails, his own fears and wants tightening his chest, but then Cas looked up at him with a smile, and the memory faded into a warm glow.

“I like them,” Cas told him.

“Yeah," Dean said. "Me too.”

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 2

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello's masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 2075

Additional note: In Norway, you are of age at 18.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

"... don't start eating until your brother joins us."

As he pushes himself down the large hallway leading to the kitchen, Ivar can hear Lagertha's assertive voice. He knows exactly who she's talking to and his suspicions are confirmed as soon as he enters the room, as a very displeased and apparently famished Hvitserk looks at him with irritation before letting out a muffled, "it's 'bout time."

"Sorry, I must have dozed off." Shrugging, Ivar wheels up to the kitchen table, the smell of pizza tickling his nostrils. He must be hungrier than he thought.

"You look like Hel." Sigurd sneers in greeting.

Ivar, without bothering to look up, just tilts his head and hisses through clenched teeth, "coming from you, dear brother, I take that as a compliment."

He can feel Lagertha's gaze upon him and when he turns his head toward her, she is staring at him, the worry obvious in her eyes.

"I wouldn’t have put it exactly like that but Sigurd isn't wrong." She crosses the room and leans over, her brow furrowed. "You look exhausted, sweetie, what's going on?"

Ivar almost wants to laugh. He looks exhausted? No kidding? Yeah, guess what? That's what two sleepless nights in a row usually do to you. At least that's what they did to him. What you did to him, haunting his nights and even haunting his dreams, waking him up with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, the few times he managed to fall asleep. At least, he'd made up his mind early this morning. Hopefully, now that the decision has been made, he'll sleep better. Saturday night, he'll see you again. His heart is racing at the thought and he inhales deeply, trying to calm down.

Unsurprisingly persistent, Lagertha asks again as she places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly, "Ivar, are you all right?"

He wishes he could just ignore his stepmom but knows she won't let it rest. Unwilling to admit that he owes his restless nights to a girl - to you - he decides to keep his answer vague. "So-so," he mumbles, slightly rocking his right hand.

"You're in pain? Do you need more meds? I could run to the drugstore really quick."

For once, he doesn't resent Ubbe for his well-meant yet patronizing kindness, nor for the pitying look he gives him. Actually, he silently thanks him for the good diversion. As long as his brothers and Lagertha believe that it's his legs that bother him, keeping him awake, his secret - you - will be safe.

Faking a small, sheepish smile, Ivar shakes his head. "Thanks bro, but that's okay, I have everything I need. Guess I should just double-up the tramadol tonight." He winces for good measure, knowing fully well he won't even need a single dose. The pain in his legs today is barely at four, nothing he can't handle.

Once the meal is almost over – which in plain English means that everyone but Hvitserk has finished eating, but thanks to Lagertha principle 'no one leaves the table until everyone has finished, boys', they're all stuck here – Ivar decides it's time to break the news.

"I'm gonna go to the party."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the kitchen falls quiet. Even Hvitserk stops chewing, putting his last slice of pizza back on his plate.

Not knowing what to do with the silence, and feeling a little awkward, Ivar explains further, a hand on his neck, "the midsummer party, I mean. Harald's party."

"We heard you just fine, sweetie." Lagertha is the first to pull herself together, even though the disbelief is clear in her voice. As Ivar looks up, his brothers are staring at him, slack-jawed, bewildered, probably wondering what's got into their baby brother.

"Let me get this straight." With widened eyes, Ubbe starts running both hands through his hair, "you are considering attending Harald's party, right? That's... That's what you said?"

"Yep." Ivar shrugs as if it was no big deal. Who is he kidding? Of course, it is! Attending the party is a fucking huge deal for him. There's no way in Hel he'll admit it, though. Not in front of his brothers. No fucking way!

"I'm not sure I understand..." Ubbe sounds cautious and it infuriates Ivar to no end.

"What part of 'I'm gonna go to the party' don't you get, brother? Huh? Too many big words for you?" He wants to keep going but when Lagertha clears her throat and gives him a stern look, he faintly raises an apologetic hand while muttering under his breath, "okay, okay, I'll stop."

Heaving a sigh, he shrugs once more. "Seriously, you don't all have to look so surprised. I just want to go to Harald's party. It's really not that big of a deal."

"But you never wanted to, sweetie. Why now?" Lagertha's eyes are wide open and there's a frown on her forehead as she crosses her arms.

"Why not?" Ivar can't help but raise his voice. "I'm sixteen, Lagertha! Thought I was entitled to a change of heart. Was I wrong?" Pointing a finger successively at each of his brothers, his free hand grabs his push rim, his knuckles white. "The three of you attend every year, why shouldn't I?" Looking directly at Lagetha once again, he asks in a clipped voice, "You're not going to tell me I can't go, are you?"

"Of course not, sweet–" She begins but Ubbe cuts her off.

"Listen Ivar, no one is saying you shouldn't go, not yet at least. As a matter of fact, no one would be more pleased than I if you were willing to go out more. Playing pool, going to the movies, or just having drinks, you know you're always welcome to come along with us. But..." Ubbe groans, rubbing his hands over his face and Ivar stiffens, grinding his teeth, "Harald's party, really? It's not going to work. You know it takes place on the beach, it's not exactly wheelchair-friendly."

Reluctantly taking his eyes off his slice of pizza, Hvitserk jumps in. "Ivar is our brother, if he wants to go, we find a way. That's it - I'll carry him."

Positively surprised, a small smile playing on his lips, Ivar thanks his brother with a nod, glad – and relieved too, because two are always better than one, right? – that Hvitserk, as so often, backs him up. Of all his brothers, he's the only one who sees him first as a sixteen-year-old and not as a cripple.

Ubbe is having none of it though. "Hvitserk, just stay out of this, okay?" He's practically shouting, chin up and chest out. "You don't have a say! I'm the oldest, not you! I don't think it's a good idea for Ivar to attend Harald's party, period."

Hvitserk furrows his brow and for a short moment, Ivar thinks his brother is going to fight back but eventually he lowers his gaze, defeated, before shoving the whole slice of pizza into his mouth. Ivar knows all too well that his brother, who's not the most tenacious of them, hates confrontation, especially with Ubbe.

Unlike him, Ivar is always ready to pick up a fight, even when it's not worth it, even when he is wrong. Today, though, it's definitely worth it.

His nostrils flaring, he smashes his fist down on the table, his face crumpled with anger. "Who do you think you are, Ubbe? You may be the oldest, but you're not my father, okay? So please, just do me a favor, brother, and read my lips." His voice dripping with sarcasm, his bottom lips quivering, Ivar is absolutely livid, "You. Don't. Have. A. Say. Period."

Ubbe is about to retort, his hands clenched into fists but Lagertha raises a hand, shutting him up. "Boys, boys, boys!" Glancing at Ubbe and then at Ivar, she shakes her head, not exactly thrilled with their outburst. "Now, calm down, both of you. Ubbe, Ivar is right. You may be his big brother, you may be an adult, but you're not his father. I know you mean well but as Ivar's guardian, I have the final say." Turning her head toward Ivar, she cracks him a reassuring smile. "We'll talk about this later, okay? Just the two of us."

***

Slamming the door shut, Ivar wheels up right next to his bed and, angling his chair just right, transfers over onto his bed before punching the wall, a roar escaping his lips. Big tears of frustration and anger run down his cheeks as Sigurd's words linger in his mind.

He had been surprised when his less-favorite brother had stayed out of the conversation.

He should have known better.

No sooner had Lagertha, Ubbe and Hvitserk left – she to make a phone call, they to join Margrethe – leaving them to tidy up the kitchen, than Sigurd had lashed out at him with harsh words and eyes full of spite.

"You messed up in the head, huh? It's a fucking beach, Ivar, you do realize your front wheels will get stuck in sand, right? Now tell me, little brother, do you really think we are going to carry your crippled ass around all night? Let me tell you, it's not going to happen! There will be so many better ways for us to spend the night. Girls, you know? Lots of them. Am I going to let you embarrass me and ruin my night? No! Not in a million years. And anyway, why do you even want to go? Get real, Ivar, you don't belong there, you just don't. You're a fucking cripple, a freak, an abnormality. No one wants you there. No one wants to see you. The sooner you accept it the better."

He knows Sigurd was intentionally trying to hurt him. And fuck, he did succeed. Ivar had felt so humiliated that it had brought bile to his throat.

At some point, while Sigurd was spitting his venom, Ivar had grabbed the large knife lying on the table and it took all his self-control not to stab his brother. No doubt his shrink would be proud of him.

Now though in his room, and even if he is boiling with anger, the nagging thought that Sigurd had a point, that he wasn't completely wrong, doesn't leave him. And he can see now that, in his own weird way, Ubbe was trying to protect him. By preventing him from going, his big brother wanted to spare him humiliation, pity, and mockery. Hvitserk, of course, had been willing to help, but let's face it, Sigurd once again was right. Piggy-back riding is not really an option anymore, he is too heavy. Plus, if he's being honest, even if it were still possible, it's the last thing he'd want. The mere thought of you seeing him on Ubbe's or Hvitserk's back makes him nauseous. Which puts him back to square one.

The beach is a problem and a huge one. Wheeling in sand is a no-go. It's just fucking impossible. If he doesn't come up with an idea soon, he's not going to be physically able to attend the party. And that's something he doesn't want to consider.

"I need a fucking genius idea!" He speaks out loud, cracking his knuckles, his eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck.

He just wants to see you. Y/N... Just you. And he won't be able to.

Fuck. Fucking sand! Fucking beach! Fucking legs! Fuck– Stop.

Wait.

What... What did he say?

He needs an idea... A genius idea. Genius. That's it.

A slow smile spreads across his face.

Good thing he knows an authentic genius, right?

Grabbing his phone, he frantically slides his pointer finger on the screen, sighing with relief as he finds the contact he is looking for.

"Hello, Ivar," the man answers after two rings, and his voice brings an even bigger smile to Ivar's lips, "it's very sweet of you to call me."

"Hello to you too, you spindly legged, knock-kneed old fool. There might be something that you can do for me. I want to attend Harald's party. It'll take place on the beach. My brothers won't carry me and I can't really crawl about, can I? I wonder if you could help me, Floki?"

Ivar's godfather lets out a high-pitched chuckle before answering, "I'll figure something out, dear Ivar, I'll figure something out."

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927

[jockpoetry]

Dean’s Canon Divergent 42nd Birthday. 

(on ao3)

The bunker was still, Sam and Eileen were...somewhere, and currently they didn’t have any visitors. No guests, no wayward hunters, or any friends stopping by to catch their breath. Not even family. It was, for once, just Dean, his broken leg, and a case of beer that was mostly empties now. 

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me,” the words weren’t slurred, even though he felt the weight and warmth of alcohol resting heavy on his tongue. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d acknowledged his own birthday, but in the solitude of the bunker it felt right to at least say the words aloud.

The hovered above him as he contemplated beer four - five, maybe - and wondered if it was time to hit the harder stuff. An uncomfortable lump had begun to form somewhere above his heart. He pushed out of the chair, half-drunk off the now warm beers Dean heaved himself upward and swayed on his feet for a beat. The main room of the bunk swum before his eyes before he shut them, steadying himself.

He felt stale, sore, and exhausted. Which meant that it was definitely time to switch to something harder. The path to his room was familiar and before he knew it tired hands pulled drawers open until the glass of an unfinished bottle of bourbon he’d opened the other night was welcome against his palm. 

Not bothering to find a glass he took the bottle to his bed, the cap flicked off to the side with a quiet clatter. The cool of the liquor was crystalline after a haze of lukewarm beers. One hand holding the bottle steady he adjusted his pillow behind him and settled down, eyes staring unseeingly straight ahead.

This was kind of pathetic, even for him, wasn’t it? Getting drunk, alone, on your birthday. Another small pull of the bourbon quieted those thoughts, even if it didn’t fully dull the ache of too many questions he never let himself ponder. The bunker was too quiet, though, and Dean wasn’t sure even if he put music on and cranked it as loud as it could go it would drum out the thunder in his head.

How old was he? 

Did he count the years in hell, or not? Does he count the one in purgatory? How about the hundred days he lived and died - were those a part of this life? He ran his free, rough hewn, hand - was this even his original hand - over his face. His breath in soft tatters. Birthdays in the past had been busy, world’s were ending, people were dying, but now here he was. Still. Everything was...okay. It was, there was no crisis at hand. Just busywork, clean up jobs, every day tasks that called people away.

Hell he wasn’t even sure if Sam and Eileen were even on a hunt, maybe they’d just taken a weekend away to breathe. It had to be nice, having someone to breathe with. Having a life with someone.

All Dean had was a life unworthy of any fanfare. Unworthy of a text from Jack or Sam or....

The lump was back this time decidedly higher, threatened to cut off his air and made the backs of his eyes burn.

More bourbon, definitely...definitely more bourbon.

But even the bright burn of warming liquor didn’t stop the way the room was beginning to melt. Or the warm trails that had begun to fall down his face. Was it even his face? He’d only been born to be a fucking meatsuit for an angel. Fucking angels, fucking destiny and fate and - 

The sob that ripped out of him breaks the silence, and for a long time there is only unsteady, heaving, gasping breaths. They fill up the room, and go on for long enough that the bourbon is on his bedside table and both hands are holding his face. It is his, no matter who’s inhabited it, how many times it has died, this is his. He is his. 

He only belongs to himself.

He’s always belonged to himself, an island of one. Everyone always leaves, Sam included. Hell Sam’s got a life of his own, and is happy. He’s got the hunter network running as nicely as Baby’s engine. And Dean? 

Dean’s got a splotchy face long after his tears slow to a stop. He’s in the midst of taking a shuddering, wet breath, when off in the distance there’s the sound of a door shutting. 

Every muscle in his body tenses, his hand half reached under his pillow for the gun stashed there, before he can rationalize to his foggy brain it’s just some hunter, probably. He listens, ears straining, as distantly familiar footsteps draw nearer. The tears have dried on his face, the skin stiff and uncomfortable, but he barely dares to breathe let alone move.

A shadow pauses before his door, as it stealing itself, before the sound of a doorknob and 

“Oh,” Cas’ face slowly comes into focus. 

Cas’ face...Dean stands too quickly and mostly falls off of his bed. He catches himself with one arm, staring wide-eyed as Cas comes closer. As Cas’ warm, familiar, hands rest on his shoulder. As Cas’ impossibly blue eyes look over his face with concern. “Dean,” and that’s definitely Cas’ voice. Deep and rough like tires over gravel and Dean can feel the threat of tears returning as he shakes his head.

Because it can’t be Cas. 

“You’re dead,” the words take far too much effort to form. The not-Cas-Cas’ face crumples, softens, looks at him in that makes the tears come out harder. “Christ I need to stop drinking,” he pulls shaking hands to press into his eyes, willing whatever drunken vision away. But the warm weight of a second hand comes to cup his face, and the sound of fabric crinkling and knees resting on concrete are enough to tell him the not-Cas-Cas isn’t going away anywhere soon.

The soft motion of a thumb across his cheek is enough to ease some of the tension away, and maybe he can just pretend. No one else is around, he can be allowed this? A drunken dream, too good to be true, and lets his head rest heavier on the palm there. His hands falling from his eyes to rest between his legs. 

“You could’ve had me,” the words are so quiet, “I wish you would’ve.” How many times has he admitted these words in his dreams? In prayers that went unanswered? “Too fucking chicken shit to ever do anything, too afraid I’d fuck it up,” the words spill out of him faster and faster. “One good thing, the one good thing this life gave to me was you, but I know me, I fuck everything up. I don’t know how to keep people, only how to push ‘em away and I couldn’t....”

Couldn’t lose Cas like that, in a permanent way, but he did anyways. In the end silence wasn’t salvation, it was just as damning as any words could’ve been. 

“Dean,” and that’s enough to draw his eyes back open. And there’s Cas, as he should be, weary, wary, with that softest trace of hope. “I-I knew,” but the words halt and he can see the way the muscles in this vision of Cas clench. The way blue eyes shift around for a moment, searching for the right words to say. In his dream Cas would surge forward and cover him in kisses. Sloppy and sappy and feeling like everything he’d wanted.

This Cas seems uncertain, “I could feel the way you felt, but you’re so-so complex. I didn’t wish to assume, didn’t want to...hope.” Each words feels like it’s been pulled, painfully, from some deep place. “Dean, please,” and the hand on his cheek tilting his face upwards. “Look at me,” blue eyes pleading as much as the words.

Taking in a steadying breath Dean does, and all he sees is Cas. The open longing and desperation on his face. “Jack,” the words drift over Dean like warm waves, “brought me back from the empty. I wasn’t right, but your prayers...they helped. Jack, Mary, Charlie even they helped me. I would have come back sooner, but -”

Whatever further words Cas might’ve said were muffled as Dean surged forward, arms wrapping around the familiar expanse of the angels back. Hands soothed down his back, a face pressing into his hair, and surely there are words being spoken but Dean can’t hear them. All he can hear is the thud of two pulses, their bodies melded together as close as they can be. A warmth, completely unrelated to the alcohol, surges through his body. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Cas’ voice finally breaks through, “I used my grace to sober you. I wanted you to see this wasn’t,” but again words are interrupted. This time by a suddenly, blisteringly, sober Dean leaning and pressing his lips against Cas’ stupid, eternally, chapped ones.

The sag of relief brings Cas somehow closer to him, and they sit there, Cas knelt between Dean’s knees, kissing until they’re out of breath. Until Cas leans back to press his forehead against Dean’s, both of their breathing uneven and eyes shut. Dean lets his hands slowly drag down from shoulder blade to hips and shifts to rest his head upon one of Cas’ shoulders.

The hand that begins to comb through his hair, soothing away any doubt, any fear. “They kept telling me I could go back when I was ready,” the words break the silence, but Dean doesn’t move and neither does Cas. The only motion is the hand through his hair, “and I never knew.... I didn’t know how to tell when I was ready, but then I remembered.” The hand in his hair pulls slightly, just enough to shift Dean back so Cas can look him full in his face again. 

“January 24th, 1979,” the smile on Cas’ face is sun-bright and warms Dean right to his core. “I was given a gift I didn’t fully understand that day, and I figured it would only be fair if...if I returned the gesture.” Cas’ lips are warm against his forehead, lingering for a beat too long before pulling away again. “Happy birthday, Dean, I hope this is the first of many you’ll let me celebrate with you.”

Dean answers the only way he can, by pressing another kiss against Cas’ lips, and pulling him closer.

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

the Original Vampire | Elijah Mikaelson x Winchester!reader

Requested by @nalledimessi​ / Summary: You finally tell the truth to your supernatural killing brothers; you’re dating the Original vampire Elijah Mikaelson. 

A/N: I’m so sorry for the wait, had some things come up at home. I hope you enjoy!! xx 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

*oh my this gif; he’s a freaking hottie UGH

“What is your story?” Elijah asked as his fingers ran up and down your arm. You were laying on his chest between the sheets of his bed. 

You hummed as you stared up to him with a soft smile, your index finger caressing his cheek, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” You whispered against his lips. 

He chuckles, pulling you closer against his chest, “That’s such a cliche.” 

You sat up next him, holding the sheet against your chest, “If I did tell you, you’d never forgive me.. You wouldn’t look at me the same.” 

He furrows his eyebrows as he stares at you, “It can’t be that bad.” He sits up and leans back against the headboard and reaches for your hand, but you pull away, tears already forming. 

“I should go.” 

Elijah is confused with the change of emotion in you. The two of you had been dating for close to three months now. He’d met you in a bar located in the French Quarter and the two of you had been inseparable since. 

You hated lying to him like this. You knew his secret; He was a vampire, an original vampire. The same one you and your brothers were hunting at the moment. You, Dean and Sam had drove down to New Orleans after hearing word vampires were taking over the French Quarter. So far during the two months, you’d killed 2 vampires and were no closer to killing the original vampires. Thanks to you. You’d kept your brothers away this long, sending them in the opposite direction. 

You were really going to kill Elijah that night you met him. That was your plan but he’d shown you a side of him, the good side that you couldn’t believe he was this evil vampire everyone spoke about. 

“You don’t have to go so soon.” He reaches for your arm, stopping you, “What is bothering you?” 

You shook your head, slipping your arm from his grasp, “It’d be better to be kept a secret.” You gave him a begging look, “Please just let this go.” 

He gives you a nod and waves his hand toward the door, “Then go.” 

You silently thanked him and hurried to get dressed.

“Will you still come to the party this evening? You are my date.” He asks, getting dressed himself. 

Shit. You’d completely forgot about the party tonight. You wondered if you could get passed your brothers tonight to attend. “Yes, I’ll be there.” 

Elijah came to your side after you’d completely dressed and put his hand on your cheek, “You can tell me anything.” 

“Not this.” 

~ 

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean stood from his seat at the table, anger written all over his face. 

You shrugged him off, tossing your jacket on the bed, “I was following a lead.” 

“We were worried sick.” Sam closes his laptop in front of him, “We tried calling and you didn’t answer.” 

“Sorry.” You mumble, sitting on the bed to slip your shoes off, “Phone died.” 

“Well, we got a good lead.” Dean tosses the paper next to you, “Hope you brought a fancy dress with you.” 

You picked up the piece of paper and read it over. 

“Cause we’re going to a party tonight.” Dean smirks. 

It was a poster for the same party you’d be attending tonight with Elijah. The same party that the Mikaelson’s were throwing at their home. Oh this wasn’t good at all. 

“Go get ready. We leave in an hour.” Sam orders. 

“We can’t go to this party.” You stand and look between the both of them, “We’d be walking straight to our death.” There would be multiple vampires there, you just knew it. 

Dean waves you off, “I think we’ll be fine.” 

“No, I don’t think you guys understand.” 

They have a look of confusion on their face, “Please. Elaborate.” 

“Yes please, elaborate, little sister.” Dean huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Never mind.” You shook your head, “forget I said anything.” You head for the bathroom but Sam stops you, “Is there something you know that we dont?”

You shook your head, “No.” 

“You wouldn’t lie to us, would you?” Dean asks, skeptical. 

“Fuck you, Dean.” Looking between the two, “I’m going to get ready.” 

~ 

Sam and Dean made sure you were packing heat underneath your dress. Mostly wooden bullet filled guns and a couple wooden stakes in case you were to run into a vampire. How were you supposed to walk in there and not be spotted by Elijah? it was his family’s party and he’d be expecting you, looking for you in the crowd. 

You knew as soon as Sam and Dean laid eyes on one of the Mikaelson’s, they’d be dead. Oh god, what did you get yourself into? 

You followed behind the two brothers, sick to your stomach. You just had a feeling this night wouldn’t end well. “Should we get a drink first?” You suggested. 

Dean nods, “I could use a drink.” He lead the two of you toward the bar and was preoccupied by ordering, giving you time to look over the place. You spotted him instantly at the balcony above the courtyard. He hadn’t noticed you just yet. 

“Going to find a bathroom.” you said to Sam, who gave a nod, “Be careful.” His attention was then back toward the bar.

You quickly slipped through the crowd, looking back up where you’d spotted Elijah. He was already looking down at you with a smile. You returned the smile and headed up the stairs toward him. 

“You look stunning.” He compliments, leaning in for a kiss, but you’ve grabbed his arm and lead him toward his bedroom, “This morning wasn’t enough for you?” 

“We need to talk.” You quickly turned around to shut the french doors behind you. “I don’t have time but you and your family are in trouble.” 

“In trouble? What the hell is going on?” 

You glanced back at the door, Sam and Dean would be looking for you soon, “Elijah..” 

“Tell me why my family is in trouble.” He growled, becoming protective of his family and taking a step toward you. 

“I’m not who you think I am.” 

“Then tell me who you are.” He didn’t know if he could harm you if it came down to it. His heart was yours and the thought of harming you in anyway, made him sick. “I told you earlier, you can tell me anything, my love.” He gently caresses your cheek with his knuckles, “Who are you?” 

Your eyes became glossy as you stared up at him, “We.. me and my brothers are hunters. We hunt the supernatural and we got word of vampires taking over the French Quarter. The night we met, I was going to kill you but you showed such.. such a different side of what I thought vampires were. You showed me compassion and kindness.” You let out a soft sob, “I fell for you, Elijah and I couldn’t do it. I’ve tried to push them in the opposite direction from you and your family, but they saw the poster and they’re here.” 

He couldn’t help but grow angry at what you’d just told him. You lied to him, betrayed him. “you lied to me.” He took a step away from you. 

“Elijah please.. I wanted to tell you.” You begged, “I wanted to tell you so many times but I just didn’t know how.” 

“You betrayed me. Me and my family. We opened our home to you! We trusted you.” 

“Elijah, please. You have to know keeping you and your family safe was my main priority. I’ve kept them in the opposite direction so they wouldn’t find you. I’ve been feeding them the wrong information for weeks.” 

“Why not tell me the truth? Why lie to me?” 

“Because if you knew the truth you would have killed them.. or killed me. I couldn’t risk my family getting hurt either. But I wanted to protect both your family and mine.”

“So they are here now to kill my family? You brought them here?” 

You shook your head, “I would never. They saw the posters Rebekah put up this morning about the party.” 

“I wish you would have told me the truth sooner.” Pulling out the phone he starts to dial Klaus’ number to warn him. 

“Elijah I’m so sorry.” You let out a soft sob and hung your head. 

“Shh shh..” He gathers you in his free arm. He could see the hurt on your face and deep down he knew if you’d wanted to kill him, you’d done it already. “It’s alright.” He kisses the top of your head. 

“Niklaus-” He started but was interrupted as Sam and Dean bursted into the room, guns drawn, “get away from her!” 

Elijah went into protective mode, pushing your body behind is. 

“No-” You tried to interject, but it was too late. Sam pulled the trigger and the wooden bullet went straight through Elijah’s heart. You watched as he landed on his back with a thump, his body going grey with death.  

“No!” You cried out, “No! What did you do?!” You dropped to your knees next to Elijah, “No No no..” You gripped his hand in yours, laying your head on his chest and sobbed. This is what you’d tried to protect him from but you’d failed. You failed him. 

“Get away from him, y/n!” Dean ordered. 

“What the hell are you doing!” Sam went to grab you by the arms but you shook him off, falling back at Elijah’s side, “You killed him!” 

“Yeah I did!” Sam yells back, “That was the damn plan!” 

“What the hell is your problem?” Dean asks, reaching for you. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Your hands gripped Elijah’s shirt, your head going to his chest, “I’m so sorry.. I’m so sorry Elijah.” 

Dean and Sam had no idea what was going on and were confused with your outburst. Why were you crying over this mans, not man but vampire’s body? You’d think they’d killed the love of your life. 

“Oh my god.” Sam is the first to realize it, but Dean lags behind, “What?” 

Elijah gasps as he comes back to life, your name the first thing on his lips, “y/n” 

Your hands went to his face as the grey disappeared, “oh Elijah.. what is.. you’re alive?” Your hand went to his heart. The wound was still opened. 

He growls in pain as he pulls the bullet from his chest, examining it, “It’s not white oak.” Tossing it away from him, the wound healing, “You can’t kill an original vampire without white oak.” 

Sam and Dean are flabbergasted, that was not in any of their books. “You’re alive.” You sobbed, wrapping your arms around him, “I thought I lost you.” 

“Shh.. it’s alright my love.” He wipes a tear from your cheek, “I’m alright.” 

“What in the hell is going on?” Dean is still not caught up. 

“You’ve been screwing with our investigation this whole time, haven’t you?” Sam asked as he put the gun back in his holster, “Leading us in the wrong direction?” 

Elijah slowly pulled himself off the ground and helped you to your feet, “I love him, Sam.” 

“you gotta be fucking kidding me.” Dean growls, “you in love with a vampire?!” 

You flinched at his outburst. Elijah’s arm protectively wraps around you, “He’s been nothing but compassionate and kind.. He’s not like the stories dad would tell you. He’s a good man and yeah I love him.” 

Dean starts toward you but Sam grabs him by the shoulder, “Don’t Dean.” 

“You’re not on her side.” Dean looks at Sam in disbelief, “You can’t be okay with our little sister being in love with a vampire!” 

“She loves him, Dean, what the hell are we supposed to do?! We kill him, she’d never forgive us.” Sam looks at Elijah, “You love her?” 

Elijah looks down at you with such admiration and wipes a stray tear from your cheek, “With everything I have.” 

Sam takes a step toward Elijah, giving him a warning point of his finger, “If.. If one hair on her head is ever injured because of you, mark my words, the next bullet that goes through you will not be wood. It will be white oak.” 

Dean can’t believe his eyes. His little sister in love with an original vampire and his brother just going along with it. Saying it’s okay. Deep down he knew Sam was right; if they were to kill him, you’d never forgive them and they would lose another family member. You and Sam were all Dean had left and he couldn’t lose either of you. He steps up beside Sam, “That warning comes from me too.” That was his way of giving you his approval. 

Stepping away you gather Dean in a hug. His body stiffens at the affection but he returns the hug, “Thank you.” 

“I’ll kill him y/n. I’ll kill him if he hurts you.” He whispers to you. 

You nodded, “I know.” You give him a soft smile and then turn to Sam, giving him a hug. 

“We’re going to head back to Kansas. I assume you’re staying here?” Sam asks. 

You nod and return to Elijah’s side, “I’m staying here.” 

Elijah holds his hand out toward Sam, “If you two ever need help on a hunt, I’m willing to lend a hand.” 

“We won’t need it.” Dean grumbles as Sam shakes his hand and thanks him for the offer. 

Dean doesn’t shake his hand right away and Sam nudges him, “Fine, whatever.” He huffs with a shake of Elijah’s hand. 

Sam and Dean returned to Kansas to find another case while you stayed with Elijah in New Orleans. It felt like a cloud had been lifted from your shoulders. No more lying to Elijah or your brothers; Everything was out in the open and you’d had their approval which made it even better. 

Supernatural tag list: @fanficscuziranout​ , @taylordrunkonwhiskey , @hollymac79​ , @akshi8278​ , @thedarkqueenofavalon​ , @idkhaylijah​ , @dpaccione​ , @corishirogane3​

All my works tag list:  @blossomreed​ , @mggstyles  , @simonsbluee​ , @thewolf-and-thesheep​ , @obxrafejjwhore​ , @abbiesthings​ , @itstaskeen​ , @reniescarlett​

The Vampire Diaries / The Originals tag list: @thefandomplace​ , @taylordrunkonwhiskey , @somewhatasoftbaddie , @toomuchtv95​ , @losers-club6​ , @daddydobrockk ,  @idkhaylijah​ , @harpersmariano​ , @dpaccione​ , @hellotvshowtrash​ , @akshi8278​

[holylulusworld]

Hit it off king of hell style

Title: Hit it off king of hell style.

Summary: You are done running after Dean, so you take Crowley’s offer and hit it of king of hell style.

Square filled for @spnquotebingo​​​​​: “Son of a bitch!” - SPN

Word Count: 1,3k+

Pairing: Demon!Dean x fem!Reader, former Dean x fem!Reader, Crowley x fem!Reader (platonic)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, pissed reader, Y/N is just done, drunk reader, flirty Crowley, mentions of smut, cheating, jealousy, overuse of the word ‘fuck’ and sonofabitch, mentions of deaths, fingering, implied smut, kidnapping (kinda)

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​

SPN Quote Bingo masterlist

“Crowley,” you mutter under your breath, eying the demon warily while he steps closer. 

“Grasshopper,” Crowley smirks, sitting next to you to order his favorite poison. “How have you been? Did your partner in crime leave you hanging again?”

“You know exactly that Dean ran off again,” you down your next drink, hissing when the amber liquid runs down your throat, burning deliciously. “I’m just done running after that sonofabitch!”

“I see,” nodding thoughtfully Crowley orders another drink for you. “I’ll have a single malt,” he dips his head to look at you. “Do you want something better than this-“ the king of hell shoves the drink the bartender poured him away, nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Do you have better stuff?” you quip, not interested to leave your bar stool or the dingy bar in the middle of nowhere anytime soon. “Guess you only want to use me to control his demonic ass.” snickering you down your next drink. “Burns so good.”

“I know he told you to not come back,” the demon sighs, patting your shoulder. “Must be hard. Squirrel is not Squirrel any longer, Grasshopper. He’s all rage and bloodlust. Not that I would mind a little massacre here and there, but Dean is bad for business.”

You snicker at Crowley’s pained expression. “What did he do? Did he piss in your cornflakes or something?”

“Something like that,” the demon grumbles. “I tell Dean to kill an unfaithful wife, and he kills the guy signing the contract. What will happen if people hear I can’t control Dean? No one is going to sign shit any longer.”

Cradling his face in his hands Crowley huffs. “You should’ve known better, Crowley. Dean is a timebomb with black eyes. Before he was unpredictable but now – he’s just-,” you shrug, not finding the right words. “An asshole.”

“I second that,” Crowley laughs when you order another drink and a Piña Colada for him. “How about we fuck him over and have some fun, Grasshopper?”

“I don’t think so,” licking your lips you look at Crowley who tries to look taller. He stretches his neck, groaning as something cracks. “We can have a few drinks, though.”

“Deal,” holding out his hand Crowley looks at your hand. “Grasshopper, you must shake my hand. That’s how you agree to a deal.”

“I won’t sign any deals with you, king of hell,” growling the words you hop off the barstool. “Did you come here to get my soul or shit? Do you honestly think I would sell it for Dean, the guy who just railed a waitress and let me watch?”

“You watched?” you roll your eyes at Crowley’s words. “Seriously?”

“No, I did not watch. Why should I watch my ex fuck a random chick? I got better things to do, like drinking and giving a shit on his demonic ass. Just wish I gave him the boot sooner.”

“Broken heart?” Crowley carefully tries. “Come on, Grasshopper. Let’s hit it off king of hell style. We can have a few drinks and I promise to not let you sign any deals.”

“Fine, whatever. Got nothing else to do,” you grasp for your jacket and purse. “You will pay for my drinks.”

“Of course, my lady…”

“And then he went off to play house with Lisa, that yoga chick he barely knew,” you slur, giggling as Crowley tries to down the girly drink you ordered for him. “Can you believe he left my cute ass to play house?”

“I would’ve never left you, Grasshopper,” Crowley nods to himself, imagine getting you in his clutches, a collar placed around your neck, his name hanging from it. “How about you come with me, and I’ll show you a whole new world?”

“Nah, I got a nice drink, some peanuts, and a good view at the bartender’s ass when he bends to pick up shit,” you smirk. “Dean can go and fuck himself, or anyone else around.”

“He hurt you – huh?”

“Demon or not, we were still married, and he just told me,” you mutter, leaning closer to Crowley. “We ain’t married anymore, sweetheart! It says, ‘till death do us part’.”

“He did?” brows furrowed Crowley watches you throw a few peanuts into his face. “What?”

“That’s all your fault,” poking your finger into Crowley’s chest you growl at him. “It was you telling him about that fucking first blade and Cain. He got the mark because of you, Crowley. Don’t act all innocently now.”

“I didn’t know he would die,” Crowley shrugs. “At least not through Metatron’s hands and so soon.”

“But you knew about the consequences and said nothing. All of it only to howl at the moon with a feral demon called Dean Winchester. That’s pathetic for a king of hell. You should retire or get a hobby,” you grunt, ordering another drink. “Give me my poison.”

“I think she had enough,” the demon watches you slip off the chair to dance to the music in your head. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing, Crowley!” you smack the back of his head, grinning as he doesn’t fight back. “That’s for ruining my marriage, sonofabitch! If I wasn’t drunk, you’ll be dead by now. But I’ll leave this to Sam…Sammy.”

“Moose? Did you call him?”

“Nah, he would ask how it went and I am not in the mood to explain his big brother is busy fucking his way through the state of-“ blinking a few times you look at Crowley. “Where the fuck are we?”

“A bar?” Crowley smirks when you slap his cheek. He would never admit it, but he has a thing for dominant women. “Ouch, that tickled Grasshopper.”

“Stop calling me that, Crowley. You promised we would hit it off, but this is just hanging out at a bar with better drinks,” you sigh. “Maybe I should find a dick to ride for the night.”

“Oh-“ the bartender clears his throat, almost dropping the bottle of Whiskey in his hands. “Is she single?” the man whispers in Crowley’s direction. “I don’t want an angry husband to chase after me with a baseball bat, or gun again.”

“Not a chance,” Crowley growls. “If anyone gets her in his clutches, it’s me.”

“DREAM ON!” a deep voice bellows. “Did I not tell you to bring her back to my brother?” Dean grunts, watching you sway to the music in your head. “This-“ jerking his head toward you Dean narrows his eyes, “doesn’t look like bringing her home. It looks like getting her drunk to take advantage of my wife.”

“Ex-wife,” you mutter, pointing your index finger at Dean. “You said it yourself, we aren’t married anymore. You dicked down that chick and I can fuck Crowley if I want to.”

“You won’t!” Dean closes the distance between you with three longs steps before he grasps for you to throw you over his shoulder. 

“Lemme down, you sonofabitch,” you lift your head to ask Crowley for help. “You’re a fine bar buddy, Crowley. You can’t just let him take me.”

“Sorry, Grasshopper?” Crowley shrugs, laughing when you throw insults at him. “I can’t control a timebomb. You should know that.”

“What do you want?” wiggling on the bed in the messy motel room Dean brought you to, you try to break out of the ropes. “Let me go, asshole!”

“You will not speak until I’m done with you,” the demon tuts. “If you open your mouth again, I’ll gag you with my boxers.”

“What the fuck!”

“Final warning, sweetheart,” sliding his index finger over your lips Dean smirks when your breath hitches in your throat. “I think that I’ll put your mouth to better use later.”

“Hmpf…” his finger slides past your lips into your mouth, swiping over your tongue. 

“Always loved your mouth around my dick,” he muses, shoving two fingers into your mouth, slowing starting to move them in and out. He smirks, loving you look up at him, pupils lust blown.

“Do you want to say something, Y/N?” you hate he smirks down at you when he removes his fingers. “I bet,” he leans closer to lick over your cheek, “when I’m done with you sweetheart, you know how it feels to hit it off Dean Winchester style…” and just like that, he shoves his fingers into your slicked cunt, curling them. “Yeah, I think you’ll know…”

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[reblogging4thewin]

POV!

After disappearing yesterday, the ask reappeared in my drafts 🎉 🤷‍♀️

-

Hi Sana 😊💕 I have an (uncontrollable) time travel fic draft that I haven't touched in a while (it's the one I was going to use for Pinefest but didn't draft in time).

Here's scene where Dean first comes back from the endverse and realizes something is off, and then disappears again - but from Cas' POV:

---

Ever since Dean had come back from the post-apocalyptic hellscape that the angels had sent him to, something was...off.

Much in the way that future Cas had noticed Dean wasn't of his time, present Cas could tell that although this was his Dean - the Dean of his time that is, he also seemed to not be? As though he simultaneously was and wasn't in their timeline.

Schrodinger's Dean. Although he hadn't mentioned this strange feeling to Dean, because he wouldn't want to worry him more while they were barely managing to resist the host as it is, Cas could hear Dean say it in his head.

What Dean had actually said, to Sam, is that he felt "out of sync."

Cas eyed Dean with concern, not with his vessel's eyes, but from the angelic plane. Dean was fuzzy around the edges of the fourth dimension.

When Dean suddenly vanished diagonally through their reality a couple of days later, his fourth dimensional edges vibrating sonically enough that Cas sensed it even though he wasn't present, Cas wished he had said something sooner.

-

"What do you mean fuzzy?" Sam asked, leaning against the counter in Bobby's kitchen for support, his hand massaging his temple in an effort to keep his barely concealed albeit misdirected anger under control.

Cas breathed helplessly. "His fourth dimensional edges were not as defined and solid as they should have been. They were... blurry."

Sam scrunched his face in thought. "The fourth dimension...as in time?"

Cas nodded, watching as Sam released his temple and his restraint along with it.

"He just came back from an apocalypse timeline, and you saw that something was wrong - but you didn't SAY anything?"

Cas looked down at his feet. "I - didn't want to worry you two."

Sam scoffed. "Well -"

"I was wrong." Sam went silent at Cas' apology. "I thought I could figure it out before anything came of it, or hoped it was just an after effect of the time travel. I see now that that was the wrong way to protect Dean. It seems as though it wasn't an after effect, but a warning instead. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.". Cas looked up at Sam and searched his face in hopes of finding softening edges, tuning his ears for notes of forgiveness.

Sam sighed and sunk down into his chair. "So how do we get him back?"

"I wish I knew." Cas could hear how small his voice sounded, but he didn't have the energy to do anything about it. "If I knew when he was, I could try to go after him, with some help. But it feels like - ". He had trouble making the words come out for some reason. "It feels as though Dean is no longer on this plane of existence."

The widening of Sam's eyes and mouth didn't help Cas' mental state. He caught a glimpse at the motel mirror and felt betrayed by his own vessel's expressiveness, which was a first for him. He clenched his fists and huffed a breath.

I have to be strong, for Dean. I have to find him.

"I - no, we can still fix this." Cas was surprised by the determination in his own voice. One thing he'd learned from watching Dean was that it helps to sound confident even if you aren't.

Sam looked up hopefully.

"I may not be able to sense when Dean is, the fourth dimension isn't as open to a seraph as to an archangel - and we can't ask them for help, but I can always sense where he is.". Cas closed his eyes for a moment. "Right now he still isn't anywhere. Not now anywhere."

Sam's eyes did some calculating acrobatics. "Ok, so how do we find him?"

"I will keep searching vigilantly." Cas raised his chin slightly in defiance of their predicament. "If the past is any indication, Dean should return soon, and I'll sense him as soon as he does and I'll fly to him. I still have some faith."

Sam squinted. "Ok. And meanwhile I'll search though the lore and see if there's anything about finding people's location in time."

They didn't have to wait long. It was only three hours later that Dean reappeared, the displacement sending Sam's notes into a flurry. Dean looked distraught, shaking and mumbling about a pterodactyl.

Much to Cas' chagrin, Dean's fourth dimensional edges didn't look solid again. If anything, they looked worse. They didn't look like the outlines of a being anchored in time.

[herstarburststories]

Calamitous Love

Paring: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Dean shows up at your house, but this is a calamitous love. Sooner or later, it's going to destroy.

A/N: I was based and inspired by so many things to get this ready, I can't even start pointing them here. This started as something and escalated to something else, and I'm immensely in love with how it is now. I'm posting a version of this through Dean's POV soon. The prompt is bolded and its for @tvdspngirl314's bday challenge! Hope you like it, honey! And happy bday.

Warnings: language, mentions of sex, fluff, angst, dean is a perv in a cute way, s1 dean Ily

Dean Winchester could easily remember how mad you were that night, after he purposely came to your party uninvited and stood on the porch talking to all your stupid friends. How the one you called the best out of them had wide eyes when she caught him there, and all the reaction she could get was him winking at her.

The man - who was more like a boy, really - with green eyes that matched your garden knew she would run and rush and breathlessly tell you that he was there.

Of course she did. Inez was never one for keeping secrets. He used to wonder if it was a matter of time for the blonde to spread yours.

Her loose lips were useful that night, though. He couldn't even finish his chatter about Chevrolet versus Toyota cars with that James guy before you bursted out of the door ferociously. Dean turned around and waited for many things; well-deserved slapping, indignated tears, a sharp scream strident enough to suppress the loud song which vibrated through everyone's skin like veins.

You surprised him once again.

You closed your eyelashes and took a deep breath, as if to control the burning fire behind your thoughts. The Winchester had seen her in arguments before, the whole ‘my mouth is a loaded gun without a trigger’ thing held an entirely new meaning. He knew you wanted to come at him, and Dean wouldn’t put any guilty on you for that. As you walked towards him, his brittle heart raced like one of those chick flick moments he always mocked about - yet, he couldn't help but stare. Your legs looked so good in that light, pretty ass that Dean loved to grab wrapped in a tight red skirt. You had a white tank with cleavage on and your hair was, as usual, free on its widest way. The hunter adored how your brown sea could never seem not to be a mess, and how you made chaos marvelous like a natural. He surely needed that in his life.

Isn’t it all you had been since the very beginning, honestly? Isn’t it what love utterly is when the lights are dim and the weather changes? Cutting right to the bone like a surgeon, you were that one thing, that one hand that would touch Dean’s weary head and make it rest, those unique lips who could whisper tales of hope in the backseat of his car and he could actually believe it. The one, you know, that one person who didn’t make the eldest Winchester feel like he cared more than he was cared for. He often experienced that math problem, dad never seemed to be satisfied enough to be proud of him, and Sam was always talking about how he wanted to leave someday.

‘’Dean.’’ You said and your tone was harsh, a single eyebrow arched with a quiet defying question. The green eyed man wouldn't be shocked if you had called him out before when he was too busy paying attention to you to notice. ‘’Let's go to the garden.’’

And then you grabbed his wrist, sneaking in through the rusting garden gates in the back of your house. Such mere touch put his skin on flames. So many others, mostly monsters or people who were really monsters at heart, already chained his hands and he always broke the cuffs. This time, in your hands, Dean almost wished he could stay put, grounded to something else other than bloody walls and oily guns. He missed you so much. The way your fingers felt on his cheeks, how you'd allow him to kiss every inch of your body, and how you seemed to understand.

Anyway, it wasn't time for him to turn sentimental just yet. Leave it to Sam. 

Dean’s boots were cruel against the grass, walking side by side with your high heels ones. Above all the partying noise, they both were quiet for once, as if they were going into a clandestine meeting.

He hated it.

‘’What the fuck are you doing here?’’ you turned around in a swift move before crossing your arms. It took a lot of self control not to glare at your breast, which is why Dean didn’t. He pictured it wasn’t that bed since he was only glancing for a few seconds and the malicious smirk on his face faded into him licking his bottom lip through the memories of fucking, grabbing and playing with them. You rolled your eyes, impressed by my immature behavior. ‘’Winchester, I asked what you are doing here.’’

Always so dominant in every situation but in bed. He sighed to himself, man, I can’t lose her.

‘’Listen, Y/N/N, I’m sorry.’’

‘’You are sorry? You can take your apologies and put them in your sorry ass till’ they come out of your mouth, Dean.’’ And, of course, stubborn. Dean Winchester wouldn't be so attracted to you in any other way. Frisky women always had the best him.

He groaned, ‘’Y/N, come on, it wasn't like that--’’

You interrupted his reasoning with a laugh empty of joy: ‘’You left me. You just walked away. No calls, no texts, just left. You promised you wouldn't. You said I could trust you.’’

‘’And you can!’’

He wasn’t able to blame you for that. Still, it broke him to hear every casual syllable in raw honesty. Dean would kill for you, and you didn’t even trust him because he ran away without any note, or previous warning, or anything. If only he could do the trick of just opening his mouth and allowing his emotions to come arrive, like Sam did all the time. All he tried to be, his little brother was simply born that way. He could never be like Sammy and you deserved a guy like him. Yet, the bruised man - more like a scared boy, really - remained in front of you. Because, for once, Dean wanted to act selfish and get it what he craved for. Just this once.

‘’To leave? Sure.’’ Nonetheless, you never learned how to read his mind, so you just aim a wry smile at him. ‘’Sorry, pal. I already have my mom to do that.’’

In that moment, every word you said was a stone designed to shatter him, and it was working fatefully. Sometimes, the green eyed hunter wished he was the one being left instead of leaving people behind. But how could you know that? It's the job side effect.

Taking a deep breath, your name is leaving his lips calmly. The most calm he had ever been since my three childhood years. ‘’Y/N…’’

‘’No, Dean.’’ You spoke. Because his forest eyes matched a lot with the grass in your garden under that dim light, almost like he was made to be there and you didn’t think you could do it again; lose him. It was too much.

‘’Dang, woman. I'm trying to explain!’’

‘’No, you are trying to come up with a stupid lie to cover up whatever you were doing for two weeks! I'm not stupid and I know you.’’ You accused, exasperatedly slapping your own tights. You were right, he had showed up to your party with a dumb excuse on his tongue, ready to tell you anything but the truth. Fuck, how the short haired hunter wanted you to have the imaginary money to buy one of his cheap lies. ‘’Tell me the truth. Don't come up with my dad needed help with a car and all that. What happened to you, Dean?’’

‘’I can't tell you.’’ He shrugged in frustration. 

I want to tell you everything, even the details in the corner, the monster in the forest.

You smile sarcastically, ‘’I don't see a fold on your lips.’’

But I can’t.

Dean huffed, pursing his lips. ‘’You would hate me.’’

You would think I’m a crazy liar.

‘’I already do.’’

You can be so violent when hurt. You both have bullets in different body parts, and there you are trying to shoot him. Modern Romeo and Juliet, a hunter romance; they try to kill each other instead of the evil thing.

‘’Y/N, you are gonna think I'm crazy.’’ He wiped his face, exasperated for you to change the subject.

Your lips were shut, the light reflected on you. Dean was glaring at you in a quiet desire for you to stay, to make him stay. But you stand still, looking away with delicate woe contorting your features.

It was clear after a hunt when the hunter should leave the town. And it was clear now that he killed any hope for them that Dean shall do what he usually does after a case. Nodding with a sigh, started to walk away.

But you stopped him.

‘’What are you doing?’’ You, in fact, sounded confused. Dean’s eyebrows knitted together, unsure if you two were having the conversation he thought you were not even one minute ago.

The answer resonated more like a question than anything: ‘’Leaving?’’

Your next words were the equivalent to the three ones he had never dared to say. ‘’I don't want you to leave.’’

Yes, the Winchester’s heart was pouring as fast as it was when he went on his first hunt. Yes, he could hear an old rock song playing when you have that look on your face. Yes, he knew he was acting like Sammy and all his cheesy discourses right now.

Who cares?

Apart from all that, Dean offered you a cocky smile. ‘’What do you want, sweetheart?’’

‘’Kiss me.’’

And he did. You trusted him in the garden and he got you back. Dean kissed you in the porch in front of all your stupid friends, too. And then he kissed you again in my car under the streetlight and in so many other uncountable places.

He was the person who got left a few years after that. As if his sorrow had become the prey for some cosmic joke. Sammy left for Stanford and it made his dad, well, more dad than usual. The weird thing was, inside of the grief of being left, Dean understood what he did to you. He had a lot of blood in his hands, enough to turn an ocean red if he ever tried to clean them, but I knew that leaving you was the worst thing that I had ever done.

Well, at least that was what two bottles of Whiskey helped him to get to.

Dean guessed he got what you felt on your porch that night as well. When he walked in, you knew you'd forgive him but you needed to sting back. As Sam left, his older brother already knew he'd forgive him, too. Dean fought about it, and I felt betrayed- wounded animals still attack. But he had forgave him the moment he missed him.

You forgave Dean too, and nowadays he resented for that with an insufferable regret. Because then he told you the truth about the world and showed you his scars. He kissed you, and your lips found every ugly in him. Still, they kept asking him for more. Your lips were the bed for my monster to sleep under.

Real monsters found them.

A few years later, the trio was in a town. You had a vacation from college - you dated a hunter with 5 bucks to his name, and you were studying journalism in a conceited university. It made no sense to Dean sometimes. All you asked for was to spend your free time with him and a call each night to make sure he was alive, which he gave you happily. Besides finding a way to go near your city at least once a month, more for himself than anything else. How did he get so lucky?

You liked certain aspects of the hunter life, surprisingly. The driving away, the creatures, even the restaurants. ‘’Come on, you guys hunt monsters. How cool is that? Also just driving, eating in a new place everyday. Did I mention monsters are real? You guys are like heroes!’’

He shook his head at your optimism, stroking your naked form gently that night.‘’We aren't here, Y/N. This life, it ends early and bloody. There is no place for white fancies and normal.’’

‘’Who said that I want that?’’ You mocked right before pressing your lips to the hickey on his neck, gaining a content groan from Dean. ‘’You monsters. As far as I'm concerned, you are a hero. My hero.’’ You add a subtle joke. ‘’Like a fairytale.’’

He scoffed and pulled you closer. ‘’More like a horror movie.’’ 

‘’Haven’t you read fairytales?’’ 

‘’No, but I did see the porn version.’’ Done with talking, he got on top of you, wearing that lopsided grin that started it all over again.

Years back, he asked you what you wanted. And you said, kiss me.

You kept saying that for a decade. Growing that calamitous love, feeding it with stolen glances and touches. If you knew what’s next, would you do it again?

Now you are laying on the ground as he got on my knees and pulled you closer. You are almost dead, a half lifeless body, but you hold on so tight to life, gasping for it. His stubborn girl who he loved so.

Your voice, usually so determined, is barely a whimper. ‘’Everyone wants a fairytale love.’’

‘’What? Don’t get sentimental on me, Y/N. You aren’t gonna die.’’ Dean says exasperated. It isn’t blind faith, unrealistic optimism or anything like this. It’s denial, one of the stages of grief he’s familiar with. It lives with him, as loyal as a dog, as present as a long lost mother’s love; he ignores the acceptance and hope, jumping right into anger, guilt, denial, and bargains with the devil. As if death is a champagne problem he can just drink and be done with because hey, if you can’t lose something, then you won’t right? Right? And if you do lose it, then you’ll just die too. Someone loses oxygen, they die. Someone loses too much blood, they die.

He will die if he loses you, he will. Dean is devastatingly sure of that. He can feel it in his bones. If you die, he dies. His body, his cicatrized soul was made out of in woe. That man - scared little boy like he was when Mary died, really -, He knows sadness like an old lover who always visits, and death is an old friend who always shakes his hands and appears without an invite. Dean Winchester knows pain, alright? Ask any person, he’s the Rome for men, built in ruins despise the beauty of good.

But this? No. He can’t survive. It isn’t possible that someone can hold so much suffering and agony. Skin and bone can only take so many hematomas. 

‘’Dean, shut up.’’ You place your hand on his cheek and Dean can’t help but lean in. His green eyes are glistening, the memory of the garden reminiscing in the back of your mind. ‘’I’ve wanted a fairytale love since I was a kid and my dad used to read the books my mom left on the shelf for me. So, in my defense, I never actually read them.’’

‘’Is this what a fairytale looks to you?’’ The eldest Winchester asks, not missing how your touch is colder against him. Where’s Sam with the car? Where’s a miracle? Where’s the justice and fair things and anything good? Dying in his arms, sinking her fingernails into his skin.

‘’The original ones, yes. They are just like that.’’ You chortle, but what’s meant to sound like happiness develops into a cough. All the energy and strength you have are used to push the words. You need Dean to know. ‘’I don't regret anything. You loved me, and I loved you. This is good. I don’t want your silly little mind to think any other way. You aren’t the villain in my story, Dean. You are the…’’ You’re interrupted by your own body giving up on you at an alarming rate, more bloodstained coughing.

‘’Don’t speak, honey. You’ll be alright, okay? No goodbye, we don’t do goodbye. You’ll be alright. Just keep yourself awake, ok?’’ Dean doesn’t know what to do other than hold you. What does one do with all the throbbing aches? He can’t say he will see you in heaven if you die. Staying with you for ten years was heaven already and this is the price he pays. That’s like when the ocean drains in a flash right in front of your eyes and someone tells you to swim in the sky instead. He can’t jump high enough to get it, he isn’t tall enough to get it. But God, Dean can’t just give up, he can’t just let you go. You are bleeding out and he’s dying with you. ‘’Please.’’ The Winchester pleas. ‘’Don’t leave me. Please.’’

If this is how you die and you can only pick up some words to say, you need to spell love. You need Dean Winchester to know he was loved with your last breath, there’s no better use to life other than love. Therefore, it’s easy to know what to voice when you look into his eyes one last time. ‘’I love you.’’

Through the agony, Dean gives you the sort of smile... You know, the sort of smile that can only be described by I put my home on fire, so I could eat all the flames and all the bright blaze is in my teeth now. Because something is burning and you are becoming ashes, but you love this. You love that boy and he loves you. You’d do it all again. He rests his forehead against yours and you can feel his tears on your face, his hands holding you for dear life.

‘’I love you too.’’

It’s a good thing to hear as you close your eyes.

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[firefly-in-darkness]

Always

Pairing → Dean Winchester x Reader

Characters → Supernatural

Summary → Y/N is feeling insecure and Dean doesn’t help, especially when he forgets a special date.

Word Count → 1.9k

Prompt → “It’s always gonna be you.” (bolded) for the writing event hosted by @tvdspngirl314​ - happy early birthday! 

Warnings → Insecurities, angst to fluff.

Betas → @writethelifeyouwant​ // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → I needed some hurt/comfort Dean and here he is. Hope you enjoy it! Oh and Happy Valentine’s Day!

A cough caught in your throat at the words falling from Dean’s mouth. He was flirting with the witness, and even though you tried to reason that it was simply to get more information, the thoughts in your head were screaming that he wanted her. That you meant nothing to him, that you were just someone to pass the time until he found someone else.

You tried to focus on the important parts of the conversation, making notes on the little pad of the details needed to work out what monster was wreaking havoc in a small town a few hours away from the bunker.

But you couldn’t. Any other day, you could take Dean flirting with someone to get information but lately, you’d been feeling a little insecure and you’re not sure when it started. Now, watching him flirt with the beautiful creature sat opposite you was enough to darken your thoughts.

And not only was it hard to listen to your boyfriend, but he was also doing it on your anniversary and the international day to celebrate love, Valentine’s Day. You suspected he’d forgotten when you awoke this morning to empty bed and clothes being chucked in your face, some garbled speech about a case down the road. But now, it made your heart ache.

“Thank you, sweetheart, for all of your help,” Dean placed his hand on the woman’s arm, stroking her bicep and giving her his best smile.

“No, thank you, Agent Bonham,” she responded, placing her hand over his.

Dean produced a card from his FBI suit jacket, “It’s Dean. If you need anything, and I mean anything, call me.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach while saying goodbyes to the completely infatuated woman. How could your boyfriend blatantly flirt and give his number to a witness in front of you? The ache in your heart travelled through your veins, your body turning numb as you kept the tears at bay.

A dark cloud fogged your thoughts as the town disappeared behind them and Dean drove them back to the bunker. The leather of the Impala was cold, even though the sun beamed down on them in all its glory. 

Dean reached over and laced his fingers between yours. You hadn’t expected it, especially after the advances he had made earlier and you recoiled, unravelling them and pulling your hand into your lap. You chose to stare out of the window at the scenery disappearing as the Impala whipped down the highway, wishing you were back at the Bunker already, wanting to get out of the FBI costume and crawl into bed to hide under the covers.

“Wanna go to the bar for a drink when we get back?” asked Dean, eyes trained on the road.

“I’ve got a headache,” Y/N quietly responded, “you can still go if you want to.”

Dean acknowledged you by cupping the back of your head, stroking it softly as you settled back into the seat. You closed your eyes and let his delicate touch help you drift to sleep.

You pulled the hoodie over your head and padded down the corridor to the library, knowing Dean had already left and deciding to seek distraction in the form of research. Burying your head in books was not your usual choice but it was the only thing you could do to keep your mind from spiralling.

Sam was sat at one of the chairs, of course, and he offered you a soft smile, “Thought you’d be going out with Dean?”

“Not feeling it tonight.” You had sunk into a chair opposite, “Plus, we need to find out what’s going on over there. I don’t think it’s a witch.”

“Dean told me about the witness, and he thinks she’s innocent.” Sam’s eyes flicked between the laptop and you when you didn’t respond. “Y/N.”

“I don’t think she’s as innocent as she makes out. But it’s not related to the case.” You sighed, hurt ricocheted through your chest.

Sam hummed in agreement, his focus back on the laptop and the book open to his side. You pulled one of the unopened books across and pulled your knees up to your chest, an attempt to cocoon yourself into the words written across the pages.

After the fifth attempt to read the same sentence, you pushed the book away and stretched your arms up before hauling yourself out of the chair. Sam caught your eye, a raised eyebrow as he shut the laptop and folded his arms.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bugging you?” Sam asked.

“What are you talking about?” You pretended to continue stretching your body before settling back into the chair.

“You never do research, especially when Dean suggests going to the bar. You have been staring at the same page for half an hour and you won’t stop fidgeting” Sam looked irritated but then he shook his head and gave you a soft smile, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You groaned, Sam wasn’t one to let things go and you knew you’d end up confessing to how you felt, “it’s nothing Sam, I’m just wrapped up in my head.”

Sam gestured for you to carry on and you did just that, explaining what happened at the witness’ house. As you finished, you folded your arms onto the table, resting your chin on them and looking up at him with a small pout.

“I know it’s silly. I just don’t feel good enough for him.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to your face, chewing on the sleeve.

“Of course, you are. I’ve never seen the pair of you happier than when you’re together. Dean adores you.” Sam replied.

“He forgot today. It’s our anniversary.” You mumbled through the material.

A flicker of realisation appeared on his features then disappeared with a soft smile.

“What if he doesn’t want to be with me anymore?” You asked, eyes glistening with tears.

Sam looked shocked as if you had grown a second head, “Y/N, that’s ridiculous. It’s always gonna be you for Dean.”

“I don’t know about that Sam,” you replied.

“Well, you should,” Dean spoke from the other side of the room.

You spun in the chair, heart hammering in your chest as he approached with the look of hurt and pain flickering across his features. Words were stuck in your throat and you could feel the tears glistening in your eyes at the sight of your boyfriend. 

Dean turned your chair to the side and sat on the one beside you, the legs scraping along the floor as he shifted towards you. The guilt stopped you from looking at him. You realised too late that you shouldn’t have said anything to Sam, and now, you weren’t sure how much of the conversation had been overheard by Dean.

Another chair shuffle across the room caught your attention; Sam leaving the room. Your body sank deeper into the chair, your knees up at your chest once more, chin resting atop to keep yourself safe. From what, you weren’t sure. That’s when you finally looked at Dean.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hello.” You replied, voice breaking.

Dean leant forward and cupped your cheek, “Going to tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

His soft voice and the warmth of his calloused hand was enough to make you break. In the blur of your tears, Dean knelt in front of you and pulled your legs down in between his thighs, massaging your calves while hiccups punctured the quiet sobs.

It was embarrassing but you couldn’t handle seeing the pity that would be in Dean’s eyes, but you knew that, sooner or later, he’d want an answer. Calming the heaving in your chest, you looked up at him. But what you saw was far from pity.

Your heart clenched at the red rim of Dean’s eyes and the tear-streaked cheeks. His green gaze was glued to yours and his lower lip trembled slightly as he gave a small smile.

“Dean, why are you crying?” You sniffed.

“You can’t answer a question with another question.” He sniffed too, pulling your hands into his large ones, thumbs softly brushing the back yours.

“I thought you might not be interested in me anymore after earlier.” You shrugged, trying to be nonchalant in preparation for Dean’s rejection.

Dean frowned and frustration seeped into his tone with a crack, “what? How could you think that? I lo-”

He stopped before finishing the sentence you so wanted to hear, your mind whirled with the possibility that he was only going to say it to keep you around and that stopped him.

“Earlier, you were flirting with that woman. You gave her your number and told her that she could call for anything.” You felt meek and vulnerable in telling Dean that this woman made you feel insecure, “she was beautiful, I wouldn’t blame you for that.”

Dean stood up and pulled you up too, “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“Dean.” You whined, but his index finger pressed to your lips.

“You are Y/N. That woman has nothing, nothing, on you. I didn’t mean anything by it, I hoped she’d remember more than she did, and she’d call.” Dean held your face in his palms, searching your eyes for understanding, “For as long as I live, it’s always gonna be you.”

Dean pulled you into a tight hold, chest to chest, his arms clasped behind your back. The warmth soothed the tension in your muscles and your heart. You propped your chin on his chest, looking up to him as he swayed slightly. His lips pressed to the tip of your nose, you wrinkled it in reaction and failed at holding back the giggle. 

“I promise to remind you every single day,” Dean whispered, a chaste kiss pressed to your lips before he pulled away again, you followed him and whined at his retreat, 

You reached up onto your tiptoes and kissed him then reality came crashing down. He had still forgotten your anniversary and that it was Valentine’s Day. You pulled back and glared at him, untangling yourself from his hold but failed.

“What’s wrong?” Dean frowned at your struggle.

“You forgot.” You hissed, jaw ticking in frustration.

“Forgot what? That it’s our anniversary? And Valentine’s Day?” He smirked.

The tension and your resolve softened as he spoke, but that still didn’t explain why he hadn’t said or done anything. And why the hell was he smirking at you like that?

“I was trying to get you to come to the bar, I was going to make a detour to that diner just out of town. You know, the one with your favourite milkshake.” Dean laughed and laced his fingers between yours, this time you squeezed his hand in anticipation while he led the way to your bedroom. “And because you said you weren’t feeling well, I went and picked it up instead.”

Dean pushed open the door and upon the desk were various food containers, a stack of DVDs and a small box with a red bow on top. You looked through the items, overwhelmed with love and adoration for the man behind you.

His arms wrapped around you from behind, his chest pressed tightly to your back, “I love you, Y/N.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at Dean’s words. You turned in his hold, certain that he could feel your erratic heart as it slammed against your ribcage, “I love you too Dean.”

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[negans-lucille-tblr]

Too Close (Absent Sequel) - Chapter Thirteen

Summary: Dean and Y/N are finally happy and settled in Paris, but there’s something threatening to disturb their peace - and with them comes secrets and betrayal.

Rating: 18+ (Smut/Angst/Fluff - Dark scenes)

Chapter Tags: major angst, drug use, threatening, mentions of murder

Chapter WC: ± 2.6K

A/Ns: Please send me an ask to be tagged in this series!

This fic is now complete on Discord.

Too Close Masterlist // Daughter!Reader Masterlist

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Chapter Thirteen

Dean’s POV

Dean’s tired as he steps into the elevator that takes him directly to the penthouse suite. Usually, he’d force himself to take the stairs for some exercise, but today he isn’t in the mood. Today, all he’s been thinking about is everything that happened this morning. The wheels have been turning around in his mind as he thinks back to how Y/N disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing like a changed woman, and how he found powder on the countertop. He’d thought she was in the clear when he’d looked for signs that one time back in Paris, and talked to her honestly about how she was feeling at the restaurant, but then he thinks back to how she was acting in the bathroom less than ten minutes later, and all the signs have always been there, and he’s a fucking idiot for not seeing it sooner. Y/N is still using. Maybe she never stopped. But he tells himself he’s a good enough father and boyfriend that he would’ve picked up on it before now if she’d never stopped. Things started to change after Christmas. That’s when she got both better and worse at the same time. Maybe she’d come across some product at home, maybe that’s what she’s been using all this time. Maybe Sam knows and that’s why she’s been so distant with him, afraid he’ll try to make her quit again.

There are so many maybes spinning around in Dean’s mind. Has she been high every time they’ve fucked since Christmas? How has it taken him this long to realise? Pure denial and keeping his head in the sand? Because he wanted to believe that Y/N is getting better, that she’s finally getting back to normal, but the drugs only prove that she’s anything but. He’s only angry at himself. He can’t blame Y/N for hurting, he can’t blame her for turning to drugs to numb the pain after seeing him do the same thing time and time again. This is entirely his fault, and he just wants to hold her and tell her he’s sorry and get her the help she needs. He just wishes he could take all that pain away. But he can’t, and he’s never felt like he’s failed more as her father before now.

Dean steps off of the elevator, and heads towards the living room, which is empty, but he notices Y/N standing by the front door, where he would’ve walked through had he not been lazy today. It doesn’t take his tired brain long to realise that someone else is with Y/N. Someone he recognises but can’t place. Staff maybe? Has he seen her around the hotel?

“Daddy,” Y/N gasps, her voice quiet, and she runs to him and wraps her arms around his middle and holds on tightly. Dean hugs her back hesitantly.

“What’s up, baby?” he asks her gently. Y/N looks up at him with tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Tell her to leave,” she splutters out. Dean looks back at the woman, something so familiar about her, and there’s something churning in his stomach that he can’t put his finger on.

The woman looks at him with tears in her own eyes, wide and fearful.

“She said she’s my Mom,” Y/N sobs. The second he hears those words it clicks. Jamie. It really is her. She’s changed her hair, and clearly she’s aged. She’s gained a little weight too. Jamie is the last person Dean had been expecting her to be, so of course he wasn’t going to make that connection.

“Jamie,” Dean chokes out, hardly able to believe his own eyes. She’s dead. Killed by Eastside. Dean murdered that entire family for revenge. He buried the coffin and mourned her death. She’s been gone for seventeen years, and he’d raised Y/N without her all that time.

“Dean,” Jamie replies, choking on her own tears. “I–”

Dean pulls away from Y/N, suddenly very aware that he’s holding her a little too familiarly for a father. Jamie can’t ever know what he’s been doing with their daughter. Fuck, this is bad. What if Y/N has already told her?

“How do you know this woman, Y/N?” Dean asks her desperately.

“The coffee shop… Daddy, what’s going on? She’s not my Mom right? My Mom is dead,” Y/N tells him desperately.

“Yeah, she’s dead,” Dean confirms. “Buried her myself.”

“Dean, please, did you even see the body? It wasn’t me–”

“What do you want? Who are you?” Dean demands, taking out his gun from the back of his slacks.

“It’s me, it’s Jamie, I swear. I can explain everything, I promise,” she replies shakily, holding her hands out in front of her. “I just wanted to meet my daughter.”

Dean holds the gun higher, and Y/N is clinging to his side, trembling.

“Get out,” he spits, nodding to the door.

“Dean, please, remember Palm Springs, and what you told me about–”

“I said, get out,” he repeats, cutting her short. ‘Jamie’ takes one last look at Y/N and then heads for the door, before leaving. Dean takes a moment before lowering his gun and clicking the safety back on. He takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his face. It’s her, he can feel it in his gut, and he’s sick and tired of being in denial about everything. And how else would she know to bring up Palm Springs?

That night he’d told her something he’d never told anyone. About the kid from Dean’s partying days who OD'd on Dean’s product, and Dean buried him where no one would find him because he panicked. No one else knows that, not even Sam. But she’s meant to be dead. Fuck, this is bad. This is so so bad. “What have you told her, Y/N?” Dean demands. Y/N is crying, trembling in her place as she shakes her head. “WHAT did you TELL HER?” he shouts louder. “Did you tell her about us? Does she know that I’m fucking my own daughter?!” Dean doesn’t mean to take it out on her, but the guilt is consuming him and he can’t think straight.

“I– I told her you were my boyfriend, told her I don’t have family, like we talked about before,” Y/N stammers out.

“FUCK!” Dean screams, throwing the gun down onto the couch and holding his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Daddy, I didn’t… I didn’t know. Does this mean that…” she trails off and swallows hard. “Was that my Mom?” Dean can’t think straight. He doesn’t want to give Y/N the truth, but he knows he has to.

“Yeah, yeah it is...” he replies quietly, barely nodding his head. “You have to… we have to tell her that you lied, okay? Tell her that I’m not your boyfriend, it’s just an alibi to keep you safe, something – anything – that isn’t the truth. She can’t know about us, you understand me?” Y/N just nods softly. Despite the confirmation they might have a way out of this, Dean’s brain is still too loud, and he can’t shut it up. He needs to shut it up.

“Where’s your stash?” he demands. Y/N looks at him with wide eyes, and her mouth opens and she stammers on unformed words. “Don’t fucking give me that. I know, okay? I know you’re fucking using again, where is it?”

“Daddy, I’m sorry I–”

“Go and get it,” he orders. But Y/N doesn’t move. “I’m not angry, I just fucking need it, so go and get it.” Y/N slinks away, and whilst she’s gone, Dean realises he’s trembling himself. But it’ll all go away and he can forget about it soon. Just the one hit. Just the one to see him through this discovery, and then he can refocus, he swears it to himself. When Y/N returns, she holds up a small bag that’s almost empty. There’s one decent hit inside, maybe two at a push.

“That’s it?” he checks. She nods softly, guilt written all over her face.

“I’ve only been using a little bit, now and then,” she defends.

Dean doesn’t mind so much that there’s not an awful lot inside, it means they’ll be forced to get clean again once it’s gone. He snatches the bag from her and slumps down on the sofa, grabbing his wallet out of his pocket and pulling out one of his cards. He tips the reminder of the bags’ contents onto the glass table in front of him and sets about cutting it into lines. Two lines. That’s all there is, but it’ll have to do. He grabs a note next, rolling it as expertly as he always had done – some things never leave you, apparently – and then leans forward to take his hit. He sniffs hard and rubs the underside of his nose as he offers the bill to Y/N, but she just shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, so Dean takes the second line too. “Daddy, I need to see her, I need to know the truth about what happened. I need to know how she’s alive and why she never came back for me sooner.”

Dean slumps back in his place and rubs the underside of his nose again. “Do what you want. I can’t fucking think right now,” he grunts. The buzz is starting already, it’s been so long his body isn’t used to it anymore, and he didn’t realise how much he’s missed this feeling. His eyes close and he hears Y/N sniffle. “I just need to forget about her, about all of it.” It remains quiet, until Dean speaks up again. “Just wanna get high and bury myself between some legs – that always fucking worked before.” He’s mainly talking to himself, now. He peers one eye open and glances over at Y/N. But she doesn’t look like she’s about to fuck him. He glances down to the now empty bag of coke and sighs, closing his eyes again.

“Did you have to get high just to fuck me?” he asks her, keeping his eyes closed. “Did it disgust you that much that you were fucking your father that you couldn’t do it sober?” Dean’s taking it all out on Y/N, he knows he is, but he can’t stop the words shooting at her like bullets.

“No, Daddy, I swear, I love you, it wasn’t like that.” Dean scoffs at her words.

“You should be disgusted, I’m disgusted in myself.” He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling the buzz take over and replace all the shit. “Well, damage is done,” he adds with a sigh.

Dean feels his brain shutting off, maybe he’s taken too much too soon after so long without any, but he can’t focus on anything. He springs off of the couch with a sudden burst of energy, and it makes Y/N jump. Dean starts to pace. He needs to work out how Jamie’s alive, how she found them. He needs to think. Now he just wants his thoughts back. Needs them back so he can figure it all out. He grabs the bottle of whiskey from the side and forgoes a glass, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig.

“She’s right, I didn’t see the body, didn’t see anything, Sam told me she was found and then there was a funeral,” Dean tells Y/N, “Sam told me she was found, and Sam was told that she was found, he didn’t see her either. Didn’t see her. Sam was told and I was told. But then Jamie just vanished, so why wouldn’t it be her, huh? I just assumed, fuck I’m so stupid.” Dean hits his forehead with the heel of his palm, and notices that Y/N is getting more and more uncomfortable, but now the gears are turning and he can’t stop.

“But why didn’t she come back sooner? Why did she stay away all this time? And how is she here?” He has so many questions. He takes another swig of whiskey, and the bottle is noticeably lighter in his grasp, hell he must’ve had several swigs and not even realised it. He’s getting unsteady on his feet now, the alcohol must be kicking in, and Dean knows it’s a dangerous mix but he can’t help himself from lifting the bottle to his mouth yet again. He takes another swig and finds himself crashing down on the couch.

“We gotta tell her, baby, gotta make sure she doesn’t know ‘bout us,” Dean stresses. “Fuck, this is so fucked up.” Dean reaches forward for the rolled up note, but sees that the lines are gone. “Fuck.” The alcohol is taking over, and his eyes are getting heavy, and Dean can’t concentrate on any one thought anymore.

When he opens his eyes Y/N is gone, and he desperately searches for more coke, but he remembers it’s all gone and curses under his breath. He can get more though, all it takes is a couple of calls. He reaches inside his pocket for his cell and squints at the screen.

By the time Dean opens his eyes again he sits up with a groan and sees a new bag on the table. He doesn’t remember it getting here, but that doesn’t matter, what matters is it is here. He reaches for it and makes a mess trying to get it on the table, cutting it roughly and then taking a hit. He cuts some more lines as he sniffles hard, and the door opens and closes, and Y/N steps into the room with her make-up a mess on her cheeks.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks, focusing on the lines.

“To clear my head, but I can’t think,” she sniffles. “You got more?” Dean sighs, then offers her the rolled up note yet again, and this time she accepts as she drops to her knees and takes it from him, leaning forward to take a hit. Dean rubs her back lovingly as she inhales, and then she slides herself onto the couch next to him. “We’re gonna be okay, right Daddy?” she checks. “You’re never going to leave me?”

Dean pulls her closer and kisses her forehead.

“You think now your Mom’s back I’ll want her over you?” he frowns, “because baby girl, no, never.”

“Just promise me,” she chokes out.

“I promise, baby, I promise I’ll never leave you.” Y/N nods against his chest and then moves to straddle his lap, leaning down to kiss him passionately. Dean’s whole body buzzes with the touch, he’s missed fucking someone when he’s high, and there’s no better feeling than his little girl wrapped around his cock. The coke is only going to make it so much better.

Next Chapter >

Always and Forevers: @foxyjwls007 / @waywardbaby / @tatted-trina6 / @lunarmoon8 / @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone / @warrior-angel / @impalaspixie

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Too Close Tags: @deans-baby-momma / @lifeofrileyp / @moonlightandscarlet / @prettysourabbie / @jensenswinchester / @secertstotell

[thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters]

Bathe in Sin

Summary: A stubborn Sam leaves the bunker and Lacey goes with him. After days of trying to get through to him, she decides on a different approach to help him blow off steam. 

Created for: @cockslut-padalecki​‘s Decade Under the Influence Challenge

Prompt: “Dressed to kill, you look so right. I am drunk with lust tonight. Your wounds are opening wide, and they might be just my size” - Side Walk When She Walks by Alexisonfire

Pairing: Sam x OC

Warnings: 18+ PLUS ONLY!! Angst, unprotected sex, rough, my unstoppable obsession with how large Sam is shining through here and there

Word count: 2.9K

A/N: This is my first time posting an explicit smut fic. I tried to do the lyrics and the vibes of the song justice. Let me know what you think! Feedback is the best fuel for every writer <3

Beta: @princessmisery666​

|| JJ’s Masterlist ||

(gif)

It was the first night in their third motel since leaving the bunker. Lacey wasn’t sure if Sam was looking for a hunt, or maybe he didn’t want Dean to find them. She doubted Dean would be looking for them. Neither brother was going to concede anytime soon. 

Knuckleheads.

Lacey could smack herself for not having realized sooner how serious their falling out was. She wondered, if she had only stepped in a little bit earlier, things wouldn’t be the way they were now. They would have been home, where they belonged. She would be sitting around the table with the two brothers, rolling her eyes at one of Dean’s stupid jokes while Sam looked at her with that peaceful smile he only got when it was just them. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand why Sam was upset. Dean had lied to him. Again. He said he did it to protect his little brother. Again. Sam got angry with Dean. Also, not new. But this time he had packed a bag and bolted out the door. Lacey had barely had any time to grab her own duffle and follow him.

It hadn’t been her choice to leave home, but if it meant she at least got to be with Sam while he figured this out, she would bite her tongue and get through it with him. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t support Sam. She would die for him without a second thought. The problem with this situation was that it was a waste of time. Lacey knew the brothers would come to their senses and make up eventually anyway. She just wished she knew when so she didn’t have to wonder when she’d sleep in her own comfortable bed again, or get to use a shower of which the water stayed warm for longer than three minutes.

Sam was stubborn. Lacey had figured that out soon enough when she got to know him. Despite that, she fell in love with the man. Maybe even a little bit because of it. She knew he could handle all this. He just needed some time.

She had brief text-exchanges with Dean to let him know they were all right, but the brothers hadn’t spoken since their argument. That was over two weeks ago.

Sam had been on edge from the moment he hightailed out of the bunker. Lacey tried to talk some sense into him multiple times. During the long car rides, Sam would turn the radio volume up to end the conversation. At night in bed, he would say he was tired and turn off the light. The few times she did manage to get him to say something, Sam would tell her Dean was the one she should be trying to talk to. In the texts from the older Winchester, she got the same response about Sam.

Lacey wanted to grab both brothers’ pride and stick it where the sun couldn’t reach. She was usually a pretty patient person, but when she saw the people she cared about hurting because of something so stupid, something they could fix so easily, she got frustrated.

One night, Lacey had pushed Sam a little too far and he snapped at her, telling her to get lost. She hadn’t even been able to turn around to leave before he was in front of her, grabbing her hand and looking at her with regret deep in his eyes. She’d stayed. And Sam apologized a dozen different times that night, in a dozen different ways.

Following that night, Sam seemed to have realized he had to be more careful who he directed his frustration toward. He wasn’t angry with Lacey, he was angry with Dean. And, Lacey knew, with himself, but that was a conversation he definitely wasn’t ready to have yet.

Day after day, Lacey was hyper-aware of how tense Sam was. She had exhausted most methods to get him to talk about it and face the problem. She had to come up with a new plan. Maybe what Sam needed was a distraction, a way to forget for a moment. Lacey knew just the thing to help him blow off steam.

Sam needed to get lost in something other than his frustration. She wanted him to get lost in her.

Lacey was still in the bathroom when Sam came back from his supply run that night. When she came out, he was putting away the last of the food in the small motel room fridge. Lacey walked into the room barefoot, wearing nothing but one of Sam’s large shirts over her underwear.

Upon hearing her approaching, Sam glanced over his shoulder. He frowned and looked at the clock on the wall, before looking back at Lacey. “You’re going to bed already?” he asked. “It’s only nine. I thought we could go into town, catch a movie.” 

Ever since he’d snapped at her, Sam had been trying to find ways to make being away from home more enjoyable for her. Lacey knew he felt guilty, and she appreciated the effort, but tonight she had other plans.

“I thought we’d stay in tonight,” she said. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

Sam took in a sharp breath before slowly closing the fridge and standing up straight. Though there was a few feet left between them, he was still towering over her. A disapproving look shone in his eyes.

“Lace, I told you, I don’t want to talk a-”

“It’s not about that,” she quickly cut him off. Lacey’s lips pulled into a conniving little smile. Her finger caught a lock of her hair and started twirling it. “I was just wondering…”

As her voice trailed off, Sam’s eyebrows raised. She could tell he was slowly catching on to her mood, and so she continued.

Her hands disappeared underneath the shirt she was wearing. “I was just wondering…” she said again as she swiftly pulled down the pair of panties that had been hidden by the shirt’s fabric. She bent forward to guide the piece of lingerie down her bare legs. “What you think of these.” When she righted again, it was dangling from her outstretched index finger. “I bought them new the other day.”

Sam took in the laced fabric. It had always been her favorite style of lingerie to wear, and his favorite to see on her. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.

Lacey noticed Sam’s eyes had darkened to that familiar shade of lust. She rubbed the insides of her thighs together. Sam still hadn’t said anything, so she continued.

“It’s a matching set,” she innocently informed him as she let the panties drop on the floor. Sam’s eyes didn’t follow them down, they stayed right on her. They watched her pull the straps of her bra down her arms, and through the sleeves of his shirt. They took in the way she reached behind her back and unclasped the second piece of the set.

This time she didn’t hold it up for him to look at. She just gave the bra a quick tuck and let it fall from beneath the shirt, onto the floor at her feet.

A new form of tension hung in the air between them. Lacey let Sam evaluate the situation in silence for a moment. Let him look at her, standing in front of him, knowing she was fully naked underneath his shirt.

She averted her gaze, looked down at her bare feet and started drawing circles into the carpet. After listening to a few deep heavy breaths from Sam, Lacey glanced up at him through her lashes and asked, “Well? Do you like it?”

Sam tilted his head to one side, then the other, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles in his neck. His eyes moved down from her face to her chest. Lacey knew what he was looking at. Her nipples had gotten hard and were now prominently standing out through the fabric of the shirt. Sam’s fervid eyes took in the sight.

Then he finally moved closer to her. He crossed the distance between them in barely two strides. His hands found her hips and pulled her in. Lacey wrapped her arms around his neck and Sam dipped his head down.

“I think,” he hummed in his low voice, his lips brushing her ear, sending shivers down her back, “you look good in anything.” Bending his knees slightly, he easily lifted her up, guiding her legs around his waist. The shirt rode up her thighs, revealing her bare ass. When Sam hoisted her up a little higher, her cunt rubbed against the rough fabric of the waistband of his jeans. The friction caused a soft whimper to escape her lips.

The build-up had heightened all of Lacey’s senses. She could feel how wet she’d gotten solely from the way Sam had been eyeing her.

“However,” he continued as he started walking forward, “I think you look best trapped between me and the closest wall I can press your pert little ass up against.” As Sam finished his filthy thought out loud, Lacey was pressed tight between Sam’s hard chest and the motel room wall. He put his hands against it on either side of her head and leveled his forehead with hers to look into her eyes rather sternly. “You wanna play, huh?” he said, sounding askew.

Lacey nodded, looking deep into his eyes.

“Use your words,” he chastised her, his voice hard.

“Yes.” She licked her lips feverishly. “I want to play, Sam. Please?” Her hips bucked against his, desperately looking for more friction.

Sam smirked at her politeness. “How could I ever say no to that?” he mused. “Look at you, so eager for me.”

“Sam,” Lacey whined. She continued grinding against him. There was now an obvious bulge in his pants and she could feel it against her needy heath every time she moved.

She reached for his belt, but Sam was faster. He grabbed her wrists with one hand and effortlessly pinned them over her head against the wall. His other hand grabbed her chin firmly and tilted her head back to expose her neck.

His mouth was on her instantly, ravaging her skin, breath hot and teeth scraping. “I heard you last night when you were in the shower,” he grunted between bruising kisses. “You didn’t really think you could keep quiet for me, did you? I could make out those sweet noises of yours anywhere.” He pulled his hand from Lacey’s chin and it disappeared beneath the shirt of his she was still wearing. “Or maybe that’s exactly what you wanted.” His rough fingers found one of her hardened nipples and gave it a nasty pinch.

Lacey let out a sharp moan of surprise. It never failed to amaze her how well Sam knew her. It was true she hadn’t tried to hide her little play time in the shower the night before. She had wanted to give him something to think about. Something to stay on his mind throughout the entirety of the next day, to build up to this very moment. It pleased her to find out it had worked out exactly as planned.

“We better get you what you want,” Sam continued, his hand now brazenly groping her tits underneath his shirt. “You look like you’re about to break open,” she didn’t need to see him to know he was smirking, “and I haven’t even filled you up yet.”

Lacey didn’t doubt his words. She sure felt like it. Her heart was thumping in her chest and she had lost all control of her hips. They just kept bucking against Sam’s body, grinding to find some form of release for the desperate want inside of her.

When Sam let go of her wrists, she climbed a little higher up his impossibly large body to allow him to pull his pants and boxers down just far enough. His cock sprung free and Lacey could feel it probing her ass.

Sam’s hands were gentle yet resolute as he pushed Lacey away from his body. It gave him enough room to pull the shirt off her and reveal in all her beautiful, naked glory what she had been teasing to him during her little show from before.

Before the shirt had even landed on the floor, his hand was pulling his hard length up between their bodies. The tip left some of its precum on Lacey’s lower stomach. Sam didn’t miss a beat and wiped it off with his large thumb before moving his hand up to her face.

Lacey parted her lips without a second thought. In response, Sam’s smirk grew and his eyes darkened further. “Good girl,” he spoke huskily as she sucked his finger clean eagerly.

The salty taste subsided after seconds but Sam didn’t pull out his thumb and Lacey kept her plump lips around him. She never broke eye contact, looking at him with the same lust in her eyes that she saw mirrored in his.

He didn’t need any more verbal communication to know what she wanted, and she didn’t need to ask to know he was about to give it to her.

Their bodies moved in sync. Lacey moved her hips back and Sam positioned himself at her entrance. Her body jerked up when he slammed into her, easily filling her up all at once because of how wet she was. He let out a low breathy sound of approval when he watched her breasts bounce from the movement.

“This is what you want, isn’t it, baby?” he cooed in her ear when he leaned closer.

Lacey’s head was leaning back against the wall and all she could get out was a frustrated, “Yuh.” Her hands reached for Sam, blindly finding his long hair and tugging at it.

Sam’s low growl sent a shiver down to her core. Another tug and his teeth were scraping her neck again. One more and he was finally moving inside her.

She could feel him sliding in and out with ease, giving a few lazy thrusts before he started picking up the pace. She had to move her hands from his hair onto his shoulders to grab on tight when he really started pounding into her.

His movements were ruthless, stretching her open wide for him and no doubt leaving her bruised; just the way she liked it. The sounds falling from her lips spurred him on and he somehow began moving even faster.

Lacey wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck tightly, pulling her entire body against him. Her hands slid underneath the collar of his shirt, allowing her nails to dig into his shoulder blades. Sam let out a hiss at the stinging scratches she left behind. She could feel his wicked grin against the tender skin of her throat. He was still sucking, leaving it raw and sensitive.

She let him release all his frustrations, liberate his grievances. And she let him do it all with her. Every movement felt so right. They were both drunk on desire, grunting and panting while their bodies felt like they were on fire.

One of Sam’s hands sneaked its way between them and down Lacey’s front. His large fingers found her clit. He wasted no time starting to circle the bundle of nerves, sending a jolt of deliciously excruciating pleasure straight up to her core.

“Sam,” Lacey moaned into his shoulder, “Baby, I…”

“It’s okay,” he breathed. “Let go.” His hips snapped sharply.

Somewhere far in the back of her mind, Lacey was aware that that was exactly what she was supposed to be saying to him. Then Sam hoisted her up just a little higher and she lost all sense of thought when he hit her from a different angle. Even if she’d still been to her full senses, Lacey wouldn’t have been able to stop herself snapping from the pressure.

“Let go,” she heard Sam say again. Her hips bucked and her body shook as she came. With her walls squeezing around him, Sam’s body tightened against her. She could feel him emptying his load inside of her.

Her name and his praises fell off his lips in the same sloppy rhythm he kept thrusting into her, riding them both through their climax. Lacey’s lips found Sam’s and their deep kiss smothered their moans.

When they pulled apart, Sam caught his breath. He stepped back from the wall and carried Lacey through the room. He didn’t pull out of her until she was hovering over the bed. Then he gently placed her on the mattress. Lacey pulled the blanket over herself as she watched Sam pull his pants the rest of the way down. He took off the rest of his clothes before joining her.

“Feel better?” he asked, a lopsided grin on his beautiful face. The darkness in his eyes had gone but Lacey could still spot a hint of lust remaining.

She nodded, letting out a soft sigh. Then her eyebrows pulled into a slight frown when she thought of how that had hardly been the point of all this. “Yes, but-”

“Me too,” he interrupted her, as if he knew exactly what she was going to say. She realized he probably did.

His hand was on her knee, snaking up her thigh until it reached her core, feeling up the wreckage he’d left behind. “But I bet I can make you feel even better.” And with that same grin still on his lips, Sam fully disappeared under the covers.

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