#dean’s 45th birthday celebration

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  LIVING LOVING MAID (SHE’S JUST A WOMAN)

SUMMARY : being Dean’s wife, doing very kinky stuff with each other, it’s the best thing ever.

PAIRING : dean winchester x wife!reader 

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, breeding/impregnation kink, p in v, dirty slutty behaviour/cute loving behaviour, sex tape, gentle choking, finger sucking, spanking, cum eating, spitting, cum kissing

WORD COUNT : 3.2k

A/N : led zeppelin song title. nothing to say but there's a Japanese song playing in my head Xxx

“So,” Dean wondered, fixing his laptop at the foot of the bed, “how are we doing this, baby?” He asked, looking at himself as the camera on the laptop recorded him and his wife beside him.

She flushed and pulled Dean’s brown flannel closer to her bare body, “I don’t know,” she laughed, watching his smile widen. “I’ve never done this before.” She looked away from the image of the two of them on the screen, and gazed at her Dean right in front of her. That heated look in his fierce green eyes made her feel more confident and unbearably aroused. 

“You wanted to do this,” he laughed, shuffling on his knees to get behind her. She looked down at the screen, her eyes fixed on her husband who’s smirk only made her stomach do flips. 

“Yeah, but…” she trailed off, following the movement of his hands up her body, slowly opening his shirt. Heat pooled between her legs, followed by a sensation of wetness dripping down her thighs that distracted her further. 

“But what?” He teased, cupping her breasts to knead them roughly in his warm, calloused hands. The wedding band on his finger brushed against her nipple and made her inhale sharply and her focus was brought back to him.

“Don’t you have any ideas?” She chuckled, squirming in his strong arms. Dean rolled his eyes and let her turn her upper body to face him. She brought her hand up to cup his stubbled jaw and pulled him in for a quick kiss. 

Dean smiled down at her and pecked her lips once more, shivering in response to her nails brushing at the short hair behind his neck. Dean tilted his head, his nose brushed against hers, and he kissed her softly again—a chaste kiss that trapped her top lip between both of his. Pillowy and chapped against her mouth, she smiled at his tenderness. 

“I have a few ideas,” he murmured, keeping his hand on waist, bringing the other into her hair. She hummed curiously, but Dean kissed her again, instead of elaborating. This time, his tongue pressed against her somewhat parted lips, but he pulled away before she could respond to the affection. 

“Like what?” She whispered, closing her eyes when he dipped back in for a kiss. Finally, Dean remained close as his tongue prodded at her lips. Effortlessly, his wet tongue slipped between her pink lips, and she leaned back into him, her entire body succumbing to his lips. His love. His adoring tenderness. 

Dean pulled away, his tongue lapped at hers before parting from her mouth breathlessly. He cupped her cheek in his safe hands, brushed his thumb against her cheekbone, and tilted her face down to press his lips to her forehead. She smiled softly and moved with him to look in each other’s eyes once more, both greeted by fondness and warmth. 

“You’re not…” he trailed off bashfully, letting his hand fall from her waist to her hip, and then across to her stomach. His thumb brushed against the smooth flesh by her belly button and something ignited inside her, her pupils dilating in instant understanding of what he was asking. “… Using contraceptives anymore, right?” 

She glanced quickly at the camera, then sat on her legs, looking up at him reverently, shyly. “No,” she whispered, looking away when her neck began to ache. 

“And… that’s okay?” He asked, sliding out of bed to strip out of his boxer briefs. “What I’m, uh, suggesting?” He wondered, concerned with her reaction, met with silence. She turned to face him with a loving expression; tall, handsome, and so tender with her. How could she ever have doubts with him?

“Yes,” she replied, shrugging his shirt off her shoulders while turning her whole body to face him. Dean’s arm stretched out to take the flannel from her and her eyes automatically dropped down between his legs where his cock was already stiff and ready for her. 

Dean smirked at her the whole time that he blindly discarded his shirt onto his desk, covering it carelessly in the thick cloth. She glanced back up at him through her lashes with a look of seductive grace and beauty that made him breathless. 

Dean slid back into bed with her, his mellow eyes trained on her lips. “Baby, I love you,” he told her warmly, diving carefully in between her parted legs. He put his arms around her waist to draw her into him, and kissed her with all the tenderness and love he could pour into her—like the most expensive, tasty, silky wine slipping past her lips from his very heart until she was drunk. 

He barely removed himself from her lips when she felt his fingers teasing up and down the seam of her pussy, from her soaked opening to her clit with quick, gentle flicks. Her eyes fluttered open, gazing into heavy greens and pinkish cheeks below thick lashes. Dean exhaled shakily against her lips, getting a clear view of the drunkenness from his kiss in her dazed eyes.

“You’re so wet,” he told her, his voice just above a whisper. 

“How do you want it?” She nuzzled his nose, her lips ghosting over his, so his eyes fluttered shut. Dean chuckled, capturing her lower lip between his teeth as he shuddered. 

“I should be asking you that,” he whispered, his fingers sneaking away from her core to tease her inner thighs, “but if you’re leaving it up to me…” Dean cupped her jaw, his fingers against her flushed skin so gentle, unlike the hand squeezing her thigh until she leaned into him completely, cracked lips against her pink ones. 

He kissed her roughly, hungrily, revelling in her moan, in her warm hands roaming up his strong thighs. His thigh’s muscles clenched and his cock bobbed. She was just so tasty, sweet against his tongue, soft, warm, and wet—like everywhere else inside her. 

Dean pulled away with a sharp inhale, her soft hands gripped his cock at the base, and her fingertips grazed upwards gently, taunting him. He pressed firm, desperate kisses along her throat, grazing his teeth against tendons and bones, sucking on tender flesh to form lavender marks, and licking across the sweetness of her skin until his lips found their way around her nipples. 

She whispered his name and arched her back, begging Dean to ruin her completely. His torture was slow and endless, firm and precise. Perceptive as ever, Dean pushed every button, teasing her to the point of breaking down into tears, begging him to take her whichever way he pleased. 

Her breasts were left sensitive when he stepped behind her once more, and her cunt ached, pulsing to be filled by him, readier than ever before with slick that’ll make it easier for him to sink into her. She panted for breath, aroused by his skilful mouth and adept fingers in her, going anywhere and everywhere, except for the one please that clenched on nothing. Waiting.

She placed her hands over his own when he kissed her neck again, his hands returned to her chest, before coming back down spreading her thighs. She almost forgot they were recording, when she opened her eyes, and saw herself on the screen, flushed, short of breath, messy, with her folds glistening. 

“Look at you,” he rasped, parting her labia with two fingers, exposing her entirely for herself to see on the laptop’s screen, “I’m gonna wreck this sweet little pussy of yours.” She whispered his name softly and Dean slipped those same two fingers between the seam of her pussy, gathering her slick, playing with her clit.

“God, Dean,” she begged, rocking her hips against his hand. She tipped her head back on his shoulder and took his wrist in her hand, urging him wordlessly to give her something, anything at all to make her feel full. 

Dean chuckled darkly, and spanked her pussy, the impact landing right on her clit. Y/n gasped in surprise, then laughed. She squirmed and turned her face to look up at him when he pushed two of his fingers into her. 

Her mouth fell open, but she willed herself to keep looking into Dean’s smug, green eyes. He pushed in slowly, then pulled out to coat his fingers in more slick, teasing her with each insertion of his fingers. 

When his palm rested flat against her pussy, Dean pressed himself closer to her, to angle his fingers to fit inside her all the way. “Beg for it,” Dean murmured against her shoulder, grazing the bone with his teeth. She moaned loudly in response and spread her legs wider for him. Dean gladly palmed her clit, but it was so slow and singular, so she only felt a single shock of pleasure. 

Dean slowly lifted his free hand up to her neck, wrapping it around her throat perfectly. He squeezed gently and her eyes fluttered shut. Dean could feel the rapid pounding of her heart beneath his fingers, excitement streamed faster through his bloodstream, and he tightened his grip around her neck.

“Please,” she whispered at last, opening her eyes wide and perfectly making his heart speed up, “fuck me, Dean.” Dean slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her. Her pussy fluttered around his fingers and she desperately reached to grip the back of his neck to bring his mouth to hers.

“Louder,” Dean demanded against her lips, his grip tightening slightly so she felt a little lightheaded. He released her throat slightly after a few seconds, the wetness of her pussy drenching his fingers audibly with every push of them in and out of her. She clenched around him and nuzzled his neck. 

“Please, fuck me,” she begged a little louder, her voice trembling. She bit his neck when he hummed softly instead of giving her what she wanted. He didn’t stop fingering her and chose to moan softly, entertained by her incessant squirming. “Dean,” she moaned, squeezing her thighs shut, “I need you so bad.” 

Dean pulled his fingers out of her heat and she whined against the skin of his neck, pulling away to glare at him, her hand slipping away from his soft hair. “How bad, baby? Tell me how bad you need me,” he murmured, taking her hand from his chest, the one with the sparkling gem on her ring finger. 

It shined like a star. A reminder of his love. His commitment. His loyalty. His faithfulness. A reminder of his happiness. 

He kissed her knuckles and kissed down to her painted fingernails, then her fingertips, down to her palm. He planted a firm, loving kiss to her wrist where he could feel the pump of her heart beating against the thin vein with his fingertips. 

She had to resist bringing her hand between her legs when his eyes closed, those gorgeous lashes of his resting against freckled cheekbones. “So bad, Dean…” she whined, taking his soiled fingers to clean them of her arousal with her mouth. 

Dean's eyes flew open and his throat constricted around nothing but his breath. Her warm tongue swirled around his fingertips at first and she moaned at the taste of herself. She slowly wrapped her lips around his fingers, her cheeks hallowed as she lowered her wet mouth over them. Dean moaned as she lapped the stickiness off his thick fingers, coating them in her spit the more her mouth watered at the taste of her arousal.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” Dean grinned, pressing his fingers mischievously against her throat when she took his fingers into her up to his knuckles. She gagged reflexively and took his fingers out of her mouth in shock. A string of her saliva remained attached from her lower lip to his two fingers. 

“Asshole,” she seethed, practically striking like a snake when she jumped him for a searing kiss. Heat flooded through her body when she straddled his hips and his cock brushed against her wet core. She moaned against his mouth and swallowed his groan, refusing to let him torment her. “I need your cock inside me, Dean,” she whispered against his parted mouth. She rolled her hips against his, and each time, his cock brushed through the seam of her pussy, mixing her excitement with his precum. 

“How do you want it?” Dean asked between lewd kisses, squeezing her ass before delivering a hard smack to each side simultaneously. She moaned softly, smiled wickedly, and sucked his tongue until he whimpered needily. 

“Hard,” she told him, teasing his jawline with her teeth. “Fast,” she mumbled, holding his face in her hands to bring his face closer. “Show how much you wanna fill me with everything you’ve got.” But she never kissed him. Dean was dying for her to do it, if how quickly he leaned in to connect their lips meant anything as she pushed his face away with a chuckle. She slid out of his lap to lay on her back, her knees bent, tempting him to turn and settle between her legs. 

“You’re so mean sometimes,” he grinned, playfully spreading her thighs open when he settled between her legs. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the pillow nearest to her to place it beneath her hips.

“I’m just being as mean as you love me to be,” she smiled triumphantly when he rolled his eyes. The loving smile on his face when he stared down at her made a flurry of butterflies erupt in her chest. 

“Heh,” Dean bit his tongue thoughtfully as he smiled boyishly down at her. She lifted a brow at him and pursed her lips. “I guess I do like you mean and bossy.” She rolled her eyes at him and wrapped her fingers around his cock, stroking it up and down slowly. “Yep, just like that, baby,” he encouraged her, his voice gravelly, hot, and a little playful. 

It made Y/n’s insides quiver and made a new wave of arousal to drip down her thighs. “You’re so fucking hot,” she whispered breathlessly, guiding his cock to her fluttering hole. 

“You look even hotter,” his lips parted as he watched himself slip into her, “taking every inch of me.” Dean rolled his hips forward and back slowly, closing his eyes at the sensation of her walls clinging tightly—hot and wet—around his cock. 

“Please, don’t hold back,” she pleaded with every slow roll of his hips pushing his length in and out of her. Dean’s lip quirked up on one side at her request.

“If that’s what you want, ” he murmured, sliding his hands up the back of her warm thighs until the curve of his thumb to his forefinger locked behind her knees to keep her legs open and pressed almost against her chest. 

Dean’s hips snapped forward, eliciting a surprised gasp from her. But he didn’t stop, continuing to pound into her as she’d asked of him while she clung tightly to the sheets. The soft cloth twisted in her grasp as Dean knocked the breath from her lungs and the sense from brain, and he adored every breathless moan, every expression filled with ecstasy, the impatient wiggling of her body. 

“Fuck,” Dean moaned, “you feel so amazing.” 

He brought his thumb into his mouth, coating it generously in his spit before bringing it down to her clit. She whimpered at the combination of pleasure he induced. With her hips angled over the pillow, the soft head of his cock brushed against her g-spot. And when he leaned over her, he touched her so deep she almost fell into the deep white pleasure of her mind. 

She cried Dean’s name as heat poured over her skin. Dean’s warm breath fanned over her parted lips before he dropped his head into her neck, fucking into her with desperation. 

Now that he was close, she brought her hands to his strong back, sliding her hands over smooth shoulders and firm planes before her nails left hot red marks on freckled skin. Her head pushed deep into the memory foam of Dean’s mattress when she arched her back, her pussy clamping down impossibly tight around him before her climax.

And finally, the powerful force of her orgasm rippled through her body like a volcanic eruption. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and her thighs pressed inside his sides. Body tense and free all at once as pleasure burst through her nerves. Her pussy pulsed around him and her body shook as he pounded erratically into her, his own climax coming soon after.

His hot cum gushed inside her, making her shudder at the heat of it spreading within her. Dean groaned into her shoulder, his hips stuttering before slowing down. She breathed his name into the room, more reverently than a prayer. And Dean mumbled her name, his lips siding across her flushed, shimmering throat. 

He laughed softly, muscles moving beneath his skin as he relaxed above her. She embraced him, loosely circling her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with his soft hair at the top. She turned to kiss the side of his face while Dean’s hands moving around her waist.

The relaxation didn’t last as Dean pressed his lips lower and lower, eventually causing her to let him go. His soft cock slipped out of her, but his fingers replaced it to keep his cum inside her. Her pussy closed around his fingers, and she complained quietly.

Dean’s tongue moved around his fingers when his face finally rested between her legs. Carefully, he lapped at her drenched labia and swollen clit. Her fingers seized his hair at the overstimulation, so Dean moved back down to lick her clean around his fingers—keeping his cum inside her. 

“Dean,” she whispered, her fingers tracing his cheekbone and jawline. Dean curled his fingers inside her gingerly, as if scooping up their release from inside her, then obscenely began to eat everything that dripped out of her. “Oh, my god,” she whimpered, her legs shutting around his head, shaking from the inability to fully close together. 

Dean made his way back up to her lips when he was satisfied, leaving a trail of sticky kisses against her flushed, smooth skin. Before kissing her, he dipped his soiled fingers into her parted lips. She sucked softly, cleaning his fingers momentarily, but Dean urged her mouthed open once more to spit into her whatever he still held. 

“Swallow,” he licked his lips, “swallow all of it.”

Dean pulled his fingers from her mouth to let her do it. He watched as she did what he told her and captured her lips with his—devouring, desperate, love inflamed with stardust. His warm tongue dipped between her parted lips, wet and messy, they shared a kiss that made them feel aroused once more. 

“What?” She mumbled against his lips, her eyes glistening with playfulness. “Do you want to fill me up some more?” Dean moaned softly, his wet fingers sliding down her sides, then upwards along her arms, teasing, skipping, tickling. 

She smirked at him and intertwined her fingers with his own. Dean’s gaze flickered away from her flushed face to the twinkling light that bounced on the rock on her ring. “Usually takes more than one attempt to make a baby,” he mumbled, his voice rumbling and raspy. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the ring before lavishing her body in more affection. 

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[drulalovescas]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAN WINCHESTER!!!!🎂🍻

HE'S 45!!😭

[wraithlafitte]

bitchin'

pairing: dean winchester x reader

CONTENT: violence (hunting), SMUT, only one bed~ enemies to lovers (kinda), unprotected p in v (encase before you embrace), hate sex, Dean calls reader "princess" mockingly, manhandling, slapping, spanking, big dick!Dean has all the audacity, dirty talk, degradation, choking, cum eating, brat taming, edging, overstimulation, squirting

word count: 4.7k

To say you were unhappy to be working with Dean Winchester would be putting it lightly. A massive understatement, in fact. But, as luck would have it, you needed backup on a vamp case; and when you called Bobby Singer for help, it turned out that Dean was the only hunter nearby.

Your jaw set uncomfortably as you dialed his number and held the phone to your ear. Asking for help from anyone was hard, but from this man? Practically your mortal enemy? A feeling of shame, or maybe embarrassment, crept into your stomach as you listened to the phone ring.

He's probably just watching it ring, you thought cynically. Who's to say he would pick up at all? Maybe he won't, you hoped.

There was a laundry list of reasons why Dean was the last person you'd want to work with on a case. He was reckless, had no respect for plans, and tended to go in guns blazing without regard for his own life, which meant that you would constantly be saving his ass. And boy, was he a pain in yours.

The cherry on top of the Dean Winchester disaster cake was that he hated your guts. You never really figured out why, but you assumed it was his misogynistic tendency to be completely contrary to any woman he met who didn't fall all over him. God forbid a woman doesn't care about his rugged good looks or roguish bravery!

When he finally picked up, you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, dripping with self-righteousness. "Well, well. What do you want?"

You decided it would be best to cut to the chase and just get it over with. "I'm working a case in Nevada," you said calmly. He would not get you riled up. "Vegas. There's a vamp nest, been snatching homeless people. Tunnel dwellers," you added. "Not that it matters. People are people, vamps are vamps."

"What are you tellin' me for?" Dean asked gruffly. He was gonna make you say it. Of fucking course he was, because he just had to hold it over your head.

"Need backup," you said curtly. "There's at least five of them."

"So what you're sayin' is...." The smugness in his voice was unmistakeable.

"I need your help, you dick."

"Oh do you now."

You huffed, already fed up with him. "Bobby says you're the only hunter he knows nearby. Said you're in Flagstaff."

"Maybe I am," he said vaguely. "Bobby should know not to tell you anything about where I am or recommend me as reinforcements for you."

"He didn't want to, but I made him. Are you coming or not?" you said sharply.

I'll be there by nightfall. Don't wait up," he said teasingly and hung up, leaving you to listen to the tone, steaming.

Why does he have to make everything so difficult?

Rough pounding on the door of your motel room startled you up from your chair at midnight. Dean wasn't even in the room yet, and he was already tormenting you. You went to the door and jerked it open, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could feel the headache coming on.

"Honey, I'm home," Dean said wickedly. He pushed past you into the room, dropping his duffel bags in the middle of the floor. He dropped into the chair you had just vacated and looked up at you with a shit-eating grin.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," you warned him, eyes narrowing.

"Hey, I'm just excited to kill some vamps," he said, jabbing a finger towards you.

"Give it up. We both know you would rather be anywhere else."

"True," he conceded. "But let me just bask in the moment real quick."

You roll your eyes and return to your task, packing up your stuff. "Don't get too comfortable. We can't stay here. I was followed earlier."

"Perfect," Dean said sarcastically. "Of course you were."

You turn on him. "It can happen to anyone."

"Sure," he mocked. "So what's the plan, genius?"

Your face hardened. "We take the fight to them."

"Say no more."

The vampire's nest was in an abandoned warehouse (real original) that was a few streets away from one of the tunnels that the homeless had set up camp in. Chain link fence, corrugated metal, broken windows, the whole deal. And of course Dean wouldn't wait to make a game plan, sliding open a side door like nothing bad was waiting to jump him. In a vampire nest. At night.

All you could do was follow him, machete at the ready, and hope that the scuffing of his boots on the concrete floor wouldn't alert any vampires to your presence.

Dean ducked down, holding a fist in the air. You hurried behind him and crouched behind a shelf just in time to miss a patrolling vampire rounding the corner. Without missing a beat, Dean jumped out behind it and chopped it at the neck soundlessly. The body fell to the floor. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good.

You crept in the direction the fang had come from, Dean hot on your heels. He was so close you could hear his leather jacket creaking, smell his cologne, feel him practically breathing down your neck. You shot him a glare over your shoulder, then suddenly you hear voices. You stopped abruptly in your tracks, causing Dean to bump into you. You elbowed him and gave him a look.

Peeking around the doorframe, you saw what appeared to be the vamps' main hangout room. And there were a lot more than five of them, lounging around the walls, circling victims that were hung by their wrists from a beam.

"We can take them," Dean whispered in your ear.

You looked at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" you hissed back. You tried to count the dark shapes in the next room. "There's at least ten in there. There's only two of us."

"We can do it." Without waiting for a reply, Dean busted down the door and started swinging. You had no choice but to follow as the vampires started coming out of their startled stupor and attacking.

Dean cut down two of them easily, their heads rolling on the floor before they knew what hit them. The rest, however, had time to react.

One of the vampires rushed you, just managing to avoid your blade as you swung it. She snarled and leapt towards you. You slashed her across the chest and she howled, clutching her shirt. You took the opportunity and decapitated her.

Someone grabbed you from behind, claw-like nails scratching your neck as it was forced to the side, baring your skin. You stabbed behind you, blade finding purchase, and used the distraction to cut off the fang's head.

Another vamp rushed you from the front. You swung your blade out in defense, but he just grabbed it and ripped it from your hand. Then, as if they could smell your defenselessness, you were suddenly swarmed, vampires clawing at your skin, your clothes, pulling your hair. Several hard punches landed to your gut and your face and the wind was knocked out of you as you fell to the floor, smacking the side of your head into the concrete. You yelped in pain and shock.

A boot pressed into the side of your neck and your vision was suddenly obscured by a heavy-set vampire bearing down on you, grinning. "Not so tough now without your little sword," he sneered, fangs descending. His mouth was smeared with blood and you could smell the tang of iron on his breath. You struggled to breathe as the pressure on your neck increased, your vision getting spotty.

Great, this is how I die....

As if in the distance, you heard Dean shout. The looming face of the vamp was promptly detached from its body, hitting the floor by your head. His body fell on top of yours, his gross bloody neck stump right in your view. The boot left your neck and charged in the direction of Dean's voice.

You struggled to free yourself from beneath the former vamp, ears ringing from your near-suffocation. You could hear the ensuing scuffle, all grunts and wet slices and heavy footfalls, but you had no idea who was winning.

Then, it was silent.

You held your breath instinctively, listening to a lone pair of footsteps approaching you. You found yourself realizing for the first time that you hoped Dean was coming. Better than the alternative.

Sure enough, Dean's hunt-beaten face appeared above you, screwed up with effort as he pushed the large vamp's body off of you. You sat up quickly, surveying the carnage, slapping away the extended helping hand. The shock of your near death experience wore off quickly, but the adrenaline from the fight did not, so your energy turned towards Dean.

"What the fuck, Dean?" you yelled, rising to your feet, wincing from the pain in your sides.

"What do you mean what the fuck?" he returned angrily. "I just saved your goddamn life!"

"After you endangered it!" you shoved him, scowling furiously. "Ten to two are not good odds! We could have fucking died! I almost did!"

"Hazards of the job, sweetheart!"

"There's hazards, and then there's suicide," you replied, fuming.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't have to thank me."

"I won't." You shoved him out of your way and made for the door. "Don't you ever fucking do that again."

"Not so fast, princess," Dean called after you. "Hunt's not over."

You froze in your tracks. "What."

"I didn't get all of 'em." You whirled around to face Dean, who was looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

Your voice was dangerously quiet. "What do you mean you didn't get all of them?"

He made an attempt at a self-confident grin. "They saw me ganking their buddies like nobody's business, turned tail and ran. I was more concerned about saving your life than to chase."

You smirked tauntingly. "Oh, you cared about my life?"

Dean just shrugged. "Couldn't just leave you there."

"Whatever." You started walking to the entrance again. "Since you let some get away, I say we get a night's sleep. They'll probably be expecting us to come after them, so they won't hunt again tonight. We can pick up the trail in the morning."

"What do you mean you only have one room left?" Dean asked angrily, slamming his hands down on the motel counter.

The clerk looked at him blankly. "Just what I said."

You were at the cheapest motel you could find in the city that was built on tourism. You and Dean were both short on cash, so it seemed like the best option. It was this or take shelter with the junkies in the tunnels.

"I'm not spending the night in the same room as her!"

You hit his shoulder. "Hey!"

"Like you don't feel the same," Dean said exasperatedly, digging out his wallet. "Next cheapest is still too expensive. I'm basically broke," he whined, rifling through his meager collection of bills.

"What happened to all your credit cards, Mr. Fraud?" you sneered.

Dean glared at you. You glared back. After a few moments, the clerk cleared his throat.

"So, do you want the room or not?"

You dropped your bags just inside the door of the room. "You're fucking kidding me."

Dean pushed past you. "What- oh. Oh my goddd." He ran his hand down his face tiredly.

Staring you in the face was the decidedly lumpy surface of a double bed. One. That fucking clerk could've warned you.

You and Dean slowly looked at each other, then you made a mad dash to claim the bed, shoving each other out of the way, kicking, tackling, until you both lay tangled on the floor, still not in the bed. You had his arm pinned behind his back, but he was pinning you to the floor with his weight.

You jerked on his arm, panting, and he grunted painfully, digging his knee into your side.

"Say.. uncle," you gritted out.

"You first!" Dean rasped.

"No!"

You laid there for a few more seconds, then, almost as if it was painful, Dean asked, "Should we- call it a draw?"

You rolled your eyes and released him. He rolled off of you, getting to his feet. He didn't help you up, of course.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor," he said spitefully.

"Well, neither am I." Your eyes narrowed.

You laid on the bed stiffly, positioned all the way at the edge of the mattress, as far away from Dean as possible. He was doing the same, and the blanket was pulled taut between you as you wordlessly battled over it.

You were steaming. You should have known that everything would go to shit if you called on him. He completely ruined what should have been a one-hour job, endangering your life and letting a few vamps go. He did, technically, save your life though. You were grateful, but you wouldn't tell him that in a million years.

Adrenaline from the hunt and your constant fighting with Dean coursed through your veins, keeping every sense on high alert. Every tug of the sheets from Dean lit a fire under your skin. His weight behind you on the bed filled you with a painful awareness of how touch-starved you truly were. As much as you tried to suppress it, tension began building in your core.

You shifted uncomfortably, squeezing your thighs together. "Ugh," you let out before you could stop yourself.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled through the darkness.

The sound of his voice, rough with tiredness, intensified how extremely horny you felt. You felt your underwear getting damp in spite of your hate for the man.

"God dammit," you said frustratedly, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

"What?" Dean said, throwing the covers back and sitting up too. "Why can't you just let me fucking sleep?"

"Nothing," you snapped, taking a swig from your water bottle. Hydrating would calm you down, surely.

"Yeah, right," he snapped back. "What the fuck is wrong?"

"I'm really fucking horny, Christ!" you blurt, whirling on him.

"If I fuck you, will you stop bitchin'?" Dean demanded, fire and a deadly seriousness in his eyes.

You opened and closed your mouth, stunned.

He just smirked at you. "Is that what it takes to shut you up?"

You stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"You want me so bad, huh." He moved across the bed and settled right behind you, his face in your neck, inches away from your own.

"Shut up," you say, flustered, still trying to keep some semblance of control. But you couldn't deny the arousal pooling in your gut.

"Say the word," Dean said smoothly, breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

"Fuck," you whispered, cursing what you're about to do. You turned your head and smashed your lips to his.

Dean responded immediately, pulling you backwards and into his lap. He bit at your lips, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You made an indignant sound, battling him for dominance, teeth clashing in a messy display of pure desire.

Your lips only parted to rip off each other's shirts. You dug your fingernails into Dean's bare shoulders as hard as you could, trying to elicit some kind of reaction from him, which came in the form of a deep groan into your mouth. He broke away, panting, and flung you onto your back on the mattress.

Leering down at you, he placed himself between your legs. "That's how you wanna play, huh princess?"

He yanked your leg up by the knee and slapped the back of your thigh. An involuntary moan escaped your mouth, and Dean chuckled darkly. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."

"Just shut up and fuck me," you whined, hitting his side with your foot.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Bad girls don't get what they want."

You sat up and came nose to nose with him. "If you think for one second that I am going to sit here and play submissive for you-"

Dean laced his fingers through the back of your hair and sharply tugged your head back. You moaned in response. A smile slowly grew over his face and he let go abruptly and shoved you back down. Your back barely hit the mattress before he was yanking off your sleep shorts and underwear in one go, tossing them to the far reaches of the room. You gasped as the cool air from the room hit your core, driving home the fact that you were now completely exposed to him.

"Aw, already so wet for me," Dean jeered, running a finger up your slit roughly. You flinched away from the sudden contact, heat spreading to your face.

"Don't flatter yourself," you gasped as he shoved a finger inside you, curling it vigorously, relishing the wet sounds your pussy produced.

Dean palmed himself through his pajama pants, groaning. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, he added a second finger inside you, scissoring you open. At least he has the decency to prepare me, you thought.

He yanked his fingers out of you, giving your pussy a quick slap, and you whined at the sudden empty feeling.

"Don't whine," Dean said roughly, getting off the bed and kicking off his pants and boxers. You looked down, unable to help yourself.

You saw where he got all his confidence from. He was big. You practically quivered with anticipation. You loved a good stretch, and you liked it rough, and this was about to be both.

"Like what you see?" Dean mocked, shaking his cock.

"Looks like maybe your confidence isn't completely unwarranted," you admitted dryly. You could feel your combative spirit giving way to lust, but you weren't giving up that easily.

He winked, grabbed your ankles and jerked you to the edge of the bed, your thighs around his waist, your hair fanned out on the blanket behind your head. Dean took hold of your calves and pressed your knees up by your face, leaning over you and pinning you down with his weight again. Only this time, it was way hotter.

"Gonna be good for me?" he asked, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"In your fucking dreams," you spat.

In one fluid motion, he backed off of you, grabbed you by the waist, and spun you onto your stomach. You squeaked as a heavy hand landed on your ass, much harder than he hit before.

You used your feet, barely touching the floor, to push yourself back towards him, hoping he would get the point and just fuck you already without you having to ask him again.

"So fucking needy," he murmured in your ear. "Use your words, princess."

"Fuck you," you moaned, feeling his cock jerk against your leg.

"Mmm, that's not right," Dean warned, fingers digging into your hips.

You grit your teeth. "Fuck me."

Dean splayed his fingers over your ass cheeks, spreading you open for him, and thrust into you roughly, filling you in one go.

You gasped, feeling his cock throb inside you as your pussy complained against the intrusion and desperately tried to adjust to his size. He groaned as you clenched around him, pulling out slowly and slamming back in.

"Dean," you gasped out. "Don't be such a fucking tease."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want, princess," Dean growled, his thrusts becoming faster. "You asked for this."

"Technically- you offered," you corrected, eyes screwing shut at the pleasure building inside you with each thrust.

"God, shut- up," Dean griped, punctuating his words with a deep thrust that hit just right, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from you.

He just grunted, hips colliding against you, now just chasing his own high. You pressed your face into the bed, clutching the blanket with both fists, fortifying yourself against Dean's relentless pace. His fingers pressed deeply into your hips, carving out a place for him, letting you know you wouldn't be coming away from this encounter unbruised.

"God, you're so fucking tight," Dean rasped, slapping your ass. You moaned in response, unable to think of a witty retort. "Bet it's been a long time since you were fucked, huh?"

When you didn't reply, he slapped your ass again, on the other side, sending fireworks through your core.

"Bet that's why you're so desperate for me," he groaned. "Haven't gotten laid in a while. Bet that's why you're such a bitch, too," he added snarkily.

"Oh, fuck off," you mumbled into the mattress.

Dean pulled out, much to your chagrin, turning you onto your back again. "If you want," he said, eyes glimmering with mischief.

You pouted and whined, hooking your feet around his waist and trying to pull him back. You were rewarded with a sharp slap to your pussy. You cried out from the stimulation.

"Don't whine," he growled, pushing into you again on the last word.

"Sorry," you whispered in spite of yourself, gripping onto his arms as he cages you in with his body.

"What was that?" Dean said, grinning wickedly and thrusting into you sharply.

"Fuck-" you moaned instead, refusing to cooperate.

He wraps his hand around your throat loosely, putting slight pressure just under your jaw. Your eyes widened as he slowly increased the pressure, jeering down at you, still slamming into you at an incredible pace. Your body started to become overwhelmed with all the sensory input and your core tightened.

You knew Dean felt it, because he grimaced. "Gonna come, you little slut?" he taunted, reaching down with his free hand to rub harshly at your clit. A low whine released from the back of your throat.

His grip tightened around your neck to see your reaction. You gasped, straining to get a full breath in, your pussy clenching hard around his cock.

"Such a fucking slut that you're gonna come from being choked out," Dean said through gritted teeth, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

"Fuck- Dean," you choked out, both hands wrapped around his wrist. He eased up on the pressure some (he didn't want to kill you) and your hands moved desperately up his arm, gripping him tightly.

Dean was getting close, you could tell, but the question remained: would he come before you? And if he did, would he still take care of you? Somehow you doubted it. The self-absorbed jackass was probably going to cum inside you and fall asleep, like almost every other man you'd slept with.

Suddenly Dean lurched forward, shoving his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, breathing heavily in your ear. You clenched in surprise (and also because a man getting desperate was one of the hottest things on the planet).

Dean groaned deeply in response and bit down on your shoulder, hard. You cried out, half from pain and half from the surprising pleasure it sent roaring through you, causing your cunt to squeeze down on him tightly. He practically whimpered, detaching from your skin and pulling out, pumping himself a few times before spilling onto your stomach with a moan.

He looked down at the mess he'd made of you, dragging his fingers through his cum. Then he brought those fingers up to your mouth and pressed them against your lips. "Open."

You scowled at him, once again determined to be contrary.

Dean glared back. "Open, or you don't get to come," he said harshly, forcing his fingers between your lips and teeth.

So he was planning to take care of you. Your neediness returned in full force, and you opened your mouth to allow him to shove his fingers deep into your mouth. You gagged as his fingertips hit the back of your throat, the taste of his cum filling your mouth. He pressed down on your tongue and you dutifully sucked on his fingers as he smirked down at the sight.

"Good little slut," Dean said nastily, obviously feeling proud of himself. He started to pull his fingers out and you closed your teeth, scraping his skin as he did. He slapped your cheek lazily once his hand was free. "Swallow it."

You glared, but did as you were told, sticking out your tongue to prove it.

Dean grinned. "Ready for your reward, princess?"

You moaned needily, throwing your head back and bucking your hips up towards him.

"Such a fucking whore," he chastised, bringing his hand to your clit and stroking around it lazily. A pang of arousal shot through you as you quickly approached the edge again. All thoughts of defiance went out the window as you grinded against his hand.

"Please," you whimpered, squirming under his touch.

"Since you asked so nicely," Dean mocked. He stuffed your pussy with three fingers at once, thrusting and curling them inside you. "Fuckin' dripping, princess."

He brought his other hand to your clit, thumbing it in figure eights in time with his fingers. You gasped as your core tightened. His fingers were bringing you so close to the brink and just keeping you there, never increasing the pressure just enough to push you over.

"Fuuuck," you moaned, panting. "Please, Dean! I need- I need-"

"You need what?" he teased. He twisted his fingers up to your g-spot, simultaneously ceasing his movements on your clit to press down on it hard.

"Oh, God!" you cried out, almost hyperventilating. The feeling of your orgasm building up was almost too much to bear. A dry sob wracked your body.

Dean nipped at your chest, gazing up at your contorted face with eyes so innocent looking you could've sworn, for a moment, that this was not a man you hated with your entire being, who was not currently doing the most sinful things to you with his hands.

You whimpered pathetically. "Please," you said in a small voice. "I need to come so bad." Your face flushed with shame as you finally admit what he's done to you, both with your words and body.

"All you had to do was ask," Dean said, sickly sweet. His hands sparked into motion again, redoubling their efforts. You let out a strangled scream as you were brought right back to the precipice, only this time, surely, he's going to let you?

It was like a pot boiling over, overwhelming heat spreading from your core out through your stomach, making your legs shake and your abs tighten. You made another strangled, desperate noise as you grinded down on his hand.

"That's it, princess, fuck yourself on my fingers," Dean goaded.

You struggled to catch your breath, eyes wide. Your face was hot and wet, and you realized numbly that tears were streaming down your face, running into your hair. He started to take his hands away, but your hands chased them, seizing them and bringing them back to your core.

Dean seemed surprised, but more than willing to fuck you past the point of no return. "Fuck, you just can't get enough, huh," he said, sounding mildly impressed. Your body shook as he all but stilled his fingers inside you, just rubbing your clit slowly until it became too much to bear and you pushed him off.

You laid there panting quietly, your body shivering from the aftershocks of one of the most intense orgasms you'd had in a while. For once, it seemed like Dean didn't know what to say.

You closed your eyes for a moment, then suddenly felt his hand on your clit again, rubbing vigorously. Your eyes flew open and you looked down to see Dean's face set in determination. You clutched at his wrist, trying weakly to get him away, knees trying to close around him, but it didn't take long for you to cum again with a shriek, heels digging into the mattress to push yourself away. Your cunt pulsed around nothing, and you felt a gush of arousal leave you. Dean looked delighted.

"I fucking knew it," he said triumphantly, holding up his hand to survey the mess.

"What?" you asked feebly as another shiver ran through your body.

"Knew you'd be so touch-starved I could get you to squirt," Dean explained smugly. He licked some of your arousal off his hand.

You threw your head back onto the bed exasperatedly. "God, I hate you."

"Could've fooled me," he returned, displaying his hand to you and smirking.

dividers once again by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics

[chocolatecakecas]

ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!?!

As we all know Dean is alive, happily married to the love of his life, and turning 45 on January 24th. Over the last 2 years we've thrown him one hell of a memorable party with thousands of your creations….so let’s do it all again!!!! And what better way to celebrate than by filling the dash with your wonderful creations, again!!!

On JANUARY 24TH celebrate by posting fics, gifs, amvs, art, graphics, poetry, edits, or anything you can think of to create, as long as it’s Dean-centric! Make sure to tag your content with #deansbirthdaybash so everyone can find and reblog your incredible creations and join in on the fun!!! And feel free to directly tag/mention me (#chocolatecakecas) as well!!! I’ll be checking the tags/my mentions all day to boost everyone’s creations!!! No experience necessary to create, and absolutely no pressure to participate! But remember reblogs are always appreciated! It’s just meant to be a fun little way to share our love for Dean and our content creators!

Rules

absolutely no w*ncest or *ncest content of any kind

minors please do not create any NSFW content

i ask that creations please be tagged with any applicable cws. (I will of course reblog everything with any applicable cws!!!)

So let’s all celebrate our favorite boy's 45th birthday, AND our beloved content creators!!!!! Can’t wait to see what you make!!!💜🎉

@cowboyroad @lampgate @onlyonekenobi @cowboycostume @freakoutgirl @pinknatural @segernatural @chitaquadean @lentloser @wormstacheangel @gaywerewolftransgender @aturnoftheearth @monstermoviedean @spockcoded @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @clairenatural @citruscas @archervale @dustbringermoash @milfcodeddean @mrcowboydeanwinchester @thelist @sodomitecastiel @4x01 @michaelsworddean @sundryvillains @andreycoded @bestiarum @deanwinchestergf @froggitry @destielgaysex @dollhousemary @chrispineofficial @shyshitter @monstermoviedean @angelsdean @sosaysdean @jackallendean @chapeldean @gaytedlasso @lizstiel @lordgolden @crobby @icefire149

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Birthday Pie

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

SPOILERS! set between seasons 7 and 8 of supernatural, there are spoilers for both these seasons

summary: you celebrate his birthday even when he’s gone

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 0.9k

warnings: sad, not at all a happy birthday for our beloved lil guy, language

author’s note: i’m sorry, okay? i’ve had this idea in my head for months and decided that today is a good day to release it? anyway, happy 45th birthday dean winchester! love you and very glad you’re alive and well and the series finale never happened! :)

January 24th, 2013 — Dean’s 34th Birthday.

You were barely able to drag yourself out of bed and into the living room where you were now seated and watching TV. It didn’t matter what was on, you weren’t paying attention anyway. Your mind was completely focused on Dean. Your beloved Dean; who shouldn’t be wherever the fuck he was but instead safe in your arms.

He shouldn’t be spending his birthday terrified, missing you and his brother. He should be spending it with you, Sam, and Cas.

Sure, he wasn’t really the birthday party type of guy but each year since you met him you’d gotten him a pie and put candles in it for him to blow out. It’d started as a half-assed attempt to put a smile on his face when you learned it was his birthday and you couldn’t find a cake at the store.

He’d loved it.

“How’d you know I’d rather have pie?” he had asked, his face lighting up even more when you put two candles—a two and a four—in the center.

“I…had a feeling.” You had shrugged it off as not a big deal but deep down you both knew how much it meant to him.

And each year since then—come rain, shine, monsters, or the apocalypse—you made it your job to get Dean Winchester a pie on his birthday.

A few tears rolled down your cheeks, joining the half-dried ones there already. You hadn’t been sad on Dean’s birthday since his year before hell. But it was different then, you had him next to you and you were savoring every second. You might have been terrified of what would soon happen, but you were still with him.

**

“If you’re not already aware, Dean,” Castiel started, “you turn thirty-four today.”

“What?” Dean asked, confused. “Cas we—”

“Granted time seems to be passing differently here, but on earth it is currently your birthday.”

“Happy birthday, brother,” Benny joked.

“Yeah real fuckin’ happy,” Dean scoffed. “We’re stuck killing our way through this fuckin’ nightmare while the love of my life is spending my birthday alone.”

“I’m sure she’s okay, Dean,” Cas assured him. “She has Sam, he’ll look after her until we get back.”

“No, you don’t get it. Birthdays were…they were our thing, if that makes any goddamn sense.”

**

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you smiled, placing the pie in front of him.

“Twenty-six! God, that sounds old,” Dean laughed a little.

“You’re kidding right?” you asked after singing for him as he blew out the candles.

“What?”

“Twenty six may sound old to you, but trust me you are still fuckin’ adorable.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He grinned.

“You wanna do the honors, cutie?” you asked, handing him the kitchen knife.

“Gladly, sweetheart,” he said, taking it from you. You watched him cut a slice for you then an even bigger slice for himself.

“Dean,” you started as you watched him begin eating the pie. “I love you.”

He stopped eating and looked at you; “What?”

“I know there’s a lot about your life you haven’t told me, you’re lore you could call it, but I need you to know that I really do love you, Dean Winchester.”

“But how? I mean, I’m not exactly an open book and there’s no way…” he trailed off.

“No way, what?”

“There’s no way in hell you’d feel this way if you learned everything about me.”

Your heart broke at his words, and your expression definitely showed it.

“The amount of pure love I have for you is beyond measurable, Dean. And I might be crazy for saying this, and feeling this, but there is truly nothing you could say or do that would make me stop.”

“Really?” he asked quietly, as if he was scared to press his luck.

You nodded with a soft smile; “Really.”

“Well, look I’m not really one for…that…but I do…I do feel that way about you too. I guess what I’m saying is, uh, right back at cha?”

“See to any normal person that would sound like the ramblings of a crazy man,” you said, his smile only growing. “But to me? Absolute poetry.” You leaned over and kissed him. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

He simply kissed you back, smiling against your lips.

**

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you whispered, blowing out the candles on the small pie you’d bought. It was a one-person pie because you knew if you bought a regular one that at least three-quarters would not have been eaten.

You took out the candles and picked up your fork. Staring down at the desert, you let more tears fall.

“It shouldn’t be this hard to eat a fuckin’ pie,” you laughed humorously. Your phone rang next to you and you answered it; “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey,” he sighed. “I just wanted to call and check up on you. It being Dean’s birthday and all, I figured you might…you know…”

“Be huddled up in bed sobbing my eyes out?” you said.

“Yeah…”

“I’m holding it together Sammy, don’t worry about me,” you assured him.

“I always worry about you, you know that.”

There was a short pause in the conversation as you took a deep breath and let a few more tears fall; “I miss him, Sammy,” you admitted. “I just really miss him.”

[holylulusworld]

All the pie in the world

Summary: It’s Dean's 45th birthday and you will celebrate it.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of near-death experience, implied naughtiness, fuck canon, Dean is alive for my story

A/N: A short drabble for his 45th birthday. Take this canon. You cannot stop me!

A single moment. One false step and you almost lost him.

You always feared this is how you are going to lose Dean. In a battle, killed by one of the many things that bump in the night.

It was a close call.

Since that day, you have tried to make the best out of every day you can spend with Dean. Especially when the day is his special day.

January the 24th – his birthday.

You are going to celebrate the day as if there is no tomorrow. When you live the life of a hunter, you never know what will happen next.

“What is all of this?” Sam watches you carry another pie inside the library. You decorated the whole room with balloons, a huge banner saying Happy 45th Birthday, and garlands. “Y/N?”

“A pie for Dean’s birthday,” you quip and go back to decorating the library for the surprise party you planned for Dean’s birthday.

Not many of your friends are still alive, and the rest won’t make it in time for the party. But this didn’t keep you from cooking and baking all night to give Dean the best 45th birthday he could imagine.

“There are like ten pies on the table,” Sam furrows his brows. “Why did you bake so many pies? We are three people and an angel.”

“You only live once,” you shrug before going back to decorating the table. “Dean will get as many pies as he can eat. He’ll get all the pie in the world. I made one of every sort he loves. So, stop moping and help me decorate the room. Dean will be back any minute. He wanted to go for a ride and enjoy the snow is gone.”

“I hope he won’t have a heart attack after eating all the pie,” Sam jokes. “You know he won’t be able to stop eating a slice of every pie you baked for his birthday. His stomach will combust.”

You grin. “That’s the plan, Sam. I will feed my man with so much pie he’ll never complain about getting old again. Dean will be busy complaining about his stomach. I’ll give him belly rubs and—”

“STOP!” Sam raises his hands. “I don’t want to know what comes after the belly rubs.” He shudders. “Please don’t tell me more. No one deserves to hear about the things you and Dean do in the dark.”

“Aw, we don’t do it in the dark, sweet Sammy,” you pat Sam’s chest. “We do it in the morning, during lunch. Sometimes even while having lunch.” You smirk and continue. “Dinner is always special. Dean loves having a snack before the main course. Oh, and we leave the light on. I wanna see the stallion I call my boyfriend when I—”

“I didn’t hear a thing.” Sam puts his index fingers in his ears. “I hate you. Both of you!”

“Sammy! Sweetheart!” Dean calls for you and his brother. “I’m back. Damn, the ride was awesome, and Baby purred like a cat for me. I bet she knows it’s my birth—” He stops in his tracks to drink the decoration in. He hums and wrinkles his nose looking at the big forty-five laughing in his face.

“Happy birthday baby,” you jump in Dean’s arms, giggling as he easily lifts you and helps you wrap your legs around his waistline. “You look good today.” You peck his lips. “We have pie, homemade lasagna, beer, booze, and later…” You dip your head to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to put whipped cream on every important part of you and lick it off.”

“Uh-“ he swallows thickly. “Can we go to the whipped cream part first?” Dean grins when you shake your head. “What else do you have to offer.”

“Ten pies,” Sam says. He points at the table. “Your girlfriend lost her mind, but we still love her.” He says. “I’d hug you and wish you a happy birthday too, but you are occupied with cuddling.”

“We are not cuddling,” Dean grunts, and smirks at his brother. “Not yet, bitch!”

“Jerk,” Sam retorts as always. “Happy birthday man, you don’t look bad for your age.” He grins. “How about you open my present before you unpack something else.”

You let go of Dean and wrap him in a bear hug, whispering Happy birthday again. Sam takes your place when you step away. He hugs his brother and holds him for a moment.

They part after a few moments and nod at each other. Sam steps away and watches his brother sit on a chair.

“I want pie first.” You laugh at Dean’s words. “A slice of every sort!” He exclaims while hungrily staring at the pies on the table. “Damnit, I’ll need bigger pants after this birthday…”

Tags in reblog.

[scoobydoodean]

A Fic About Dean's 45th Birthday

~3k words | slight angst with a happy ending

Dean never says anything about his birthday.

Sam has weird hang ups about holidays like Halloween and Christmas, and January 24th isn't just Dean's birthday—it was Jess's birthday too. So Dean's never made a fuss. He's asked for Christmas, but he's never asked to have his birthday celebrated. There are many years he can think of where he wouldn't have even wanted to celebrate his birthday anyway—where the idea of it would have felt hollow.

He's said before in front of Sam and Bobby, "I don't like being singled out at birthday parties, much less by God" and he figures maybe Sam has always remembered that, and probably told Cas too (if Cas ever asked).

Right. It all makes sense.

So he has no reason to expect Sam to realize that Dean actually wants to celebrate his birthday now—that he has wanted to for... the last three years, ever since Mrs. Butters insisted they throw a birthday party for Sam.

He can't stop thinking about Mrs. Butters saying they shouldn't celebrate Dean's birthday—or... rather, that she thought he wouldn't want to celebrate his birthday because he's old... and just... fuck that.

The truth is, the older Dean gets, the more his birthday feels... important. For one, he's officially spent more time not in Hell now than he spent in it. For another, 45 just feels... important somehow. It isn't 50—but it's another half a decade? He thought he'd be dead by now (well—he supposes he has been—but it hasn't stuck yet) and he doesn't know—it just feels like... like something to celebrate. He's 45 years old, and he isn't dead. He's alive, and he's happy, and things have been good lately.

He keeps thinking about it every year that passes better than the last. He keeps wondering every year. He keeps hoping every year—even though he knows it isn't rational when he hasn't said anything. He hasn't asked. He hasn't told anyone that anything's changed. He can't expect a birthday party if he doesn't communicate that he wants one. At the same time, asking for one feels weird. It feels... whiney. Nobody else is asking.

Dean's done birthday meals for Sam the past couple of years without Sam asking (stooped to making a caesar salad with grilled chicken for Sam's birthday last year with minimal grumbling) but it doesn't seem to make much of an impression. Sam is just... not much of a birthday guy. He's quiet, and to be honest, Dean's pretty sure he prefers celebrating with Eileen if he's going to do anything. She usually swings into town around Sam's birthday to take him out drinking. Well. He'll be celebrated whether he likes it or not—at least a little—at least with a meal.

Dean doesn't know when to celebrate Cas. He's asked before and Cas said something about being created before humans or their methods of marking the passage of time existed and... yeah, okay. Dean's favorite local diner sells good pie, and has a nice selection of milkshakes, including a PB&J flavored one. For the last few years, once a year, on September 18th, Dean tries to either take Cas out for one of those milkshakes, or pick one up for him. The date just feels right.

Dean puts the most effort in for Jack, with a full on cake ever since Mrs. Butters. Sometimes, he adds a bag full of Three Musketeers candy bars. Cas and Sam certainly don't raise a fuss. They all silently agree that the kid should get the birthday experience even if the rest of them are too old and jaded to care.

42, 43, 44... every time January 24th rolls around, it's always just like any other day. He thinks maybe when he turned 43, Sam might have wandered into The Dean Cave at night when Dean was watching a movie with Cas and sat for a while, then belatedly said, "Oh. Uh, happy birthday, man," while staring down at his cell phone. That was it.

Dean had brushed him off with a grunt—probably only reinforced for Sam and Cas both that Dean doesn't care just like they don't seem to care. So it isn't rational. It isn't fair. It isn't reasonable for Dean to get upset. But maybe it starts to sting a little, okay? And yeah that makes Dean feel a little embarrassed—sue him. He hasn't said anything... and he shouldn't. It's stupid. It doesn't matter. Mrs. Butters said he's too old for birthdays.

Still, despite his best efforts, Dean goes to bed on January 23rd 2024 wondering if someone will remember—if maybe, this time, they'll do something... because... he's 45. Something simple is all he imagines. They go out to eat, or... someone else makes breakfast (or tries). Sam give him a stupid gag gift. Cas picks up a pie.

As Dean falls asleep, he stupidly imagines the library decorated with a tiny "Happy Birthday" banner. He imagines a stack of pancakes for breakfast with a stupid candle in them. He imagines party hats and Rice Krispie treats. He imagines someone just... wishing him a happy birthday. Just... acknowledge it—that he's 45. That it's important.

Dean wanders into the library in the morning and it's empty and dark. He goes into the kitchen, and Sam is illuminated by his laptop screen. Dean flicks on the light and Sam barely flinches. "Hey," He says, keeping his gaze on his work... and that's it. That's how January 24th 2024 is going to be.

Dean shakes himself out of it—doesn't reply—just wanders over to the coffee pot to pour in grounds and get a drip brew going. Who knows if Sam has even slept—he's been deeply fixated on a cataloguing project for two weeks straight now. It's entirely possible he pulled an all-nighter. He might not even know what day it is anyway.

Dean opens the fridge and drags out the bacon. He considers toast too, but then decides that... well—he can celebrate his own birthday at least by making it special himself. He goes to the pantry and pulls out a boxed pancake mix he picked up who knows how long ago.

Just add milk and eggs.

Dean eyes the half-burnt-out pack of birthday candles in the junk drawer, stored there last May 18th. He closes the drawer, rolling his eyes at himself, and flips his pancakes as they start to bubble.

When breakfast is finished cooking (enough for Sam and Cas and Jack too, of course) Dean makes himself a plate and plops down across from Sam at the kitchen table.

"Big stack of pancakes," Sam murmurs—and Dean could swear there's a vaguely judgmental lilt to it.

Dean's eyes burn, which is stupid. He cuts through all five pancakes and shoves a huge bite in his mouth, staring at Sam across the table stonily as he chews.

Sam glances up and makes a bitch face, but doesn't say anything, returning his focus to his laptop

"What are you doing that's so damn interesting anyway?" Dean grumbles.

"Still cataloguing. Actually, Eileen is coming over to help me. We're gonna drag that last shelf of books into the library from the archive room and scan it all—finally have everything digitized."

Dean's heart sinks. It's gotta be at least 1,000 books.

Sam gets up from his chair. "I was gonna wheel everything in from down there and stack it on the tables before she gets here. You wanna help me?"

"Uhh..."

"Right," Sam scoffs lightly, making his way over to the coffee pot. "No problem."

"Look—I'm glad you enjoy that shit," Dean poorly pronounces through a mouthful of chewed food, stabbing another bite before he's finished this one. "Because someone has to—but moving and cataloguing books is the last thing I wanna do on my birthday."

It slips out without Dean really meaning for it to. He feels like the pancakes he's eaten are crowding his throat. He grabs his glass of water and swallows quickly, watching Sam over the rim of his glass.

"Oh," is all Sam says though—glancing at Dean, then his watch, before pouring his coffee into a mug. "Uh... happy birthday."

Dean looks down at his plate. "Thanks."

Sam clears his throat unusually loudly. "You know—I'm gonna be busy, but maybe... you ought to make a day of it," He suggests suddenly, leaning against the counter with his mug in a way that does not look comfortable or natural.

Dean immediately smells deceit, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. "What do you mean?"

Sam opens his mouth then closes it—shrugs. "You know—go out on the town... see if Cas or Jack wants to do something together. I mean—I can't go—can't back out on Eileen, but..." He interrupts himself with a sip of coffee.

Dean narrows his eyes. "Are you... trying to get me out of the bunker right now?"

"What? No!" Sam has always been terrible at lying to Dean—always seems too indignant. "I just—maybe you should celebrate. You're like, 46 or something, right?"

"45!" Dean's voice goes up a whole octave, suspicion momentarily forgotten.

"Whatever," Sam waves him off. "Go get a nice drink somewhere or go see a movie."

Dean glowers.

Sam stares back at him, before opening his mouth and looking up at the ceiling. "Okay, fine. Me and Eileen uh... need the library."

Dean cocks his head to the side a little, processing, before the realization hits. A big grin spreads over his face. "Sammy, you sly dog..." Dean chuckles. "I know what this is."

"Uh...?"

"Yeah you and Eileen are gonna catalogue some books, huh? Heheh..."

Sam scowls and rolls his eyes. "Gross, Dean."

Dean raises his hands in surrender. "Message received. I will uh... clear outta here..." Dean gets up, collecting his empty plate. "And... make myself scarce until say....?" He looks at Sam expectantly.

Sam looks at the floor, the wall, the ceiling—anywhere but Dean, before saying, "...6:30?"

"I'll make it 7:00!" Dean declares, setting his dishes in the sink then striding out.

Jack turns out eager to go do something in town, which bolsters Dean's spirits. When they go looking for Cas though, and find him brushing his teeth in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, he says gruffly, "I have judo practice."

Cas has run through a stream of contact sports over the last three years, and so far, he's stuck with judo the longest. He's very good at it, and he takes it very seriously. It's kind of funny but also kinda... well—adorable at the same time.

"Why the fuck did you take a shower right before judo practice?"

Cas spits into the sink. "There is a man attending now whose gi is off white. Off white, Dean. Not because that is the color of the fabric, but because he never seems to bathe or wash his clothing."

Dean stares at him.

Cas shakes his head, seething at his own reflection in the mirror. "I know what he's doing... It's a strategy. He and I are enemies... and I will defeat him without stooping to his level."

"You are bathing before practice as a 'fuck you' to a smelly guy?" Dean clarifies. Suddenly Dean feels offended. "Wait a minute—how come this is the first time I'm hearing about this?"

"He's new," Cas grumbles. "He just moved here, and he smells, and he tries to tell the instructors they're doing things wrong. He's annoying and I hate him. Defeating him at this practice is very important, Dean. I'm sorry. Perhaps I could join you later."

"But it's Dean's birthday," Jack pipes up.

Dean looks at Jack, surprised, but also... touched.

Jack gives Cas a pleading look. Cas looks... put upon. He's giving Jack an almost... warning look, which is weird, but... bad day for Cas, maybe.

"No no—it's fine," Dean waves Cas off, and puts on an excited smile on for Jack. "You know what, Jack? All this means is that the two of us can go fishing."

"I hate fishing..." Cas grumbles.

"Exactly," Dean says. "So you won't miss out. Join us after your practice or whatever if you want. Sam wants the bunker to himself 'cause Eileen's coming over."

Cas tilts his head at him in confusion. "What? What does that have to do with anything?"

Dean gives him a look.

Cas stares back, then realization comes over his face. "...Oh," He says, glancing between Dean and Jack. "Uh... yes... so. Perhaps I'll join you after... fishing."

Jack seems eager to do a lot of activities. It makes Dean feel kind of good that Jack seems to appreciate birthdays, because Dean is the one who made sure they kept celebrating Jack's.

They pack sandwiches and eat them by the river while they fish, and then Jack says he wants to see a movie so they go to the theater, and even though it doesn't matter because it's all the same cash at the end of the day, Jack insists on buying the popcorn when Dean reaches for his wallet.

They still haven't heard from Cas by the time they get out of the movie. His practice should have ended hours ago.

"....What if we go see the world's largest ball of twine?" Jack asks. So okay. They do. Then after that, they go play mini-golf. Dean keeps checking his phone, hoping maybe Cas will call or text for their whereabouts and join them, but a message never comes.

Dean feels not only a little stung, but also kind of worried. He ends up texting Cas.

Dean: Just checking in.

Cas replies about 20 minutes later.

Cas: I apologize, Dean. Sam has roped me into actual research.

However much he doesn't want it to, it puts a damper on things—makes it hard for Dean to keep smiling. Sam just... didn't want he and Jack underfoot? Is that it? He thought they'd... get in the way? It kind of offends Dean. He and Jack are both perfectly competent at researching and Sam knows that. Dean just doesn't like this kind of project. At worst, he would have stayed out of the way—holed up in The Dean Cave or in his room to watch movies. If Sam's goal was getting them out of the bunker so they wouldn't bother him, it doesn't feel fair. It seems... mean.

Dean's throat feels tight. He puts his phone on silent before they get to the burger joint in the evening—tells himself he's jumping to conclusions—he isn't being fair.

At least... at least Jack is having a good time—smiling ear to ear. It's good to see him happy—especially after that upsetting stint as God. The responsibility of it... the weight... thinking about it had twisted Dean's stomach in knots some nights so bad he could hardly breathe, even if he never spoke to anyone about it.

Dean pulls into the garage right about 7PM, determined not to let any disappointment or hurt toward Sam or Cas show—reminding himself again that it's his own fault that they didn't know this day was important to him.

He decided on the drive home he'll say something about celebrating birthdays from now on... around late April, right before Sam's birthday so no one catches on that he's hurt. That'll... it'll make it easier to get it out anyway, Dean thinks—that this is something he wants—if it's first in the context of Sam's birthday instead of his own. He'll say he'd like to start making celebrating everyone's birthday a habit—say it's important to him. He'll ask, and plan a party for Sam, then they'll do one for Jack, then Cas... then, when Dean turns 46... maybe they can celebrate Dean's birthday all together then. Everyone being celebrated... it just feels right. It's something Dean just... wants.

He's also cooled off on Sam—convinced himself that Sam probably just didn't want Dean to feel obligated to help on his birthday while Sam was determined to be a bore—thought he'd have more fun getting out of the house. He just wishes Sam had the sense not to rope Cas in too.

Jack pushes open the stairs that lead down into the map room, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin as he hears a very loud chorus of voices exclaiming, "SURPRISE!"

Jack grins widely then, and says, "Come on, Dean!" He races to the bottom of the stairs, motioning for Dean behind him.

Dean can hardly believe it when the library comes into view.

His family is there. Not just Sam and Cas, but Eileen, and Rowena, Donna, Jody, Garth and Bess and their boys, Claire and Patience and Alex. Some of them are wearing party hats, others just smiling. Donna scoops him into a hug first, then Jody.

Dean is overwhelmed by the attention as he trades hugs with so many of their friends. His eyes are drawn to actual decorations. There are streamers hang from the ceiling, attached to brown balloons. There's a banner attached to a wall that says "It Is Your Birthday!"

"Alright—so I left Cas in charge of the decorating while I went to get the cake," Sam admits as he walks up and places a cup of punch in Dean's hand.

"I already told you—the balloons are the color of Scooby Doo!" Cas scowls.

"Oh yeah? And why are they so under-filled?" Sam says back, but he's laughing.

"They're perfect, Cas," Dean chokes, looking at all the effort Cas put in—overwhelmed.

A cake in the shape of Scooby Doo's face is laid out on one of the tables, surrounded by paper party plates and napkins with The Scooby Gang on them. There are... there are actual wrapped presents sitting on the the table further back. Like... a lot of presents.

"You... you did all of this for me?" Dean asks, looking at Cas and Sam.

"We lied so we could stay here and prepare," Cas admits. "Jack was supposed to keep you out of the house while we worked."

Dean glances at Jack then, who beams.

"I'll be honest though. I really thought you had me figured out this morning in the kitchen, Dean," Sam shakes his head, grinning.

Dean's eyes well up with tears. "You're still a bad liar," He croaks.

He doesn't even know if it's him or someone else who starts it, but suddenly they're all in a group hug.

"Happy 45th birthday, Dean."

"You deserve it."

[happilyfeatherafter]

Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Dean Winchester's 45th birthday week, and happy Friday! I was absolutely blown away by everyone's incredible posts for Dean this week, you guys. It made me all emotional.

Back with my fourth week of fics I've read and loved recently. If you missed last week’s you can find my previous rec lists here for more!

26 January 2024

american oracle by @handsliketruth and whiskeyjuniper (@satinsolace) I spent all last Sunday reading this one and it was such an immersive experience! An earthquake shakes something loose in the bunker, seemingly trapping Dean, Cas and Sam inside with it as they attempt to fix what's gone wrong, only the bunker isn't going to make it easy for them! Super creepy, twisty, reality bending and really beautifully, unsettlingly written. Whatever's happened is messing with their minds, and the creeping horror of real or not real persists, but even through that the Dean and Cas of it are really fascinating in how they navigate their intense feelings for each other. I was also incredibly impressed with how the effects of canon wrapping up were woven into the plot in such a powerfully potent way, exploring fate, free will, and the future. Really a stand out (and I know a lot of you have been reading it because I found this fic open in no less than three separate tabs in my bookmarks when I came to read it myself. So adding one more rec to the pile!)

Slouching Towards Bethlehem by @norahastuff (art by @logsdrawsthings) is a brilliant and seamlessly written missing conversations DCBB fic set in seasons 4 and 5. The dialogue is so on point for that era Dean and Cas, at times I had to remind myself what came from the show and what was brand new. As they navigate their way towards the apocalypse, and Cas watches over Dean in reality and in dreams, it seems hard to find solace. But in getting to know one another better, they both question their parts in the grand plan, and also find peace, connection, and company in their deepening bond.

A Fic About Dean’s 45th Birthday by @scoobydoodean both does exactly what it says on the tin AND made me cry lol. After Mrs Butters plants the seed in his head that he's too old to celebrate his birthday, Dean gets a little upset, but he doesn't let on to anyone. The poor man just wants to be appreciated and celebrated on his birthday! But he feels guilty about causing a fuss, and anyway, he can still show his love through making sure everyone else's days are marked for the occasion. But on his 45th, his family is acting a little suspicious, and they seem to want him to stay away. Angsty, sweet, give that man his krispy treats!!!! Check out Dean with Scoobies.

found it here in your love by nevernevergirl (@yorkesteins) is another Dean's birthday ficlet, but taking a 180 spin on it. Cas has plans. LOTS of plans. Dean deserves to be celebrated. But some pesky snow has derailed Cas' thoughtfulness, and despite his best intentions he's awfully upset about letting Dean down. "In which learning to live your life after nearly two decades of saving the actual world is a process. They're doing it together, though." Sweet, domestic, heartwarming love (even when there's a tantrum involved.)

Plus shout out to @angelsdean's I spy Dean's birthday game, @dean-isms's birthday party watchlist, and ALL of the incredible fic, art, AMVs and edits you made. TALENT.

[frafru1]

Today is a really special day!! HAPPY 45TH HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY TO MY COMFORT PERSON DEAN FREAKING WINCHESTER!!

For celebrating his bday I drew with a black pen this drawing inspired by the iconic scene from Folsom Prison Blues!

[ladysstardust]

Happy 45th Birthday Dean 💚💚💚 I made this notebook as a tribute him, the darker vinyl is called gun metal which i think is perfect. You can see a bit in the picture the colourful holo, looks even better in person!

Thank you to @chocolatecakecas for spearheading another celebration of our special boy's special day 💖💖💖

[loyaltyfallen]

Cas googling how to celebrate birthdays because he never really had the time or opportunity to celebrate the Winchesters or Jack and he really wants to give Dean (who probably hasn't celebrated since he was 4) a proper 45th birthday.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  SWORDS, DRAGONS, AND DIET COKE

SUMMARY : Halloween dressed as the Scooby gang… her dressed as Daphne… things can only go right from there.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : castiel, charlie bradbury, joan carlisle (ofc)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), oral sex, unprotected sex (barf), fingering, p in v, pussy spanking, violence, anger issues, implied trauma 👍🏻, ghost possession

WORD COUNT : 4.7k

A/N : the devil wears prada song title. also, how come women look hot when they cosplay male characters, but men don’t look hot when they cosplay female characters??? EXPLAIN! SOMEONE, PLEASE!!! Or change my mind ;) XXXXXX

“So we all agree that we look ridiculous?” Y/n asked with a smile as they stepped into the loud and crowded frat house. 

“Cas and I, do,” Dean leaned down to say close to her ear. “You, Charlie, and Joan, don’t.” He circled his arm around her waist, fingers trailing across her jawline to turn her face towards his. He gave her a sweet kiss and moved her dyed hair over her shoulder. 

She returned the kiss with a smile, turning her body to face him fully as he slid his hand down from the back of her shoulder to her ass. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to slip her tongue into his mouth. He squeezed the supple flesh of her ass and she moaned, threading her fingers through his soft hair. 

“Alright, Fred and Daphne, we get it: you’re in love,” Joan giggled, taking Y/n’s waist to pull her away from Dean. 

“That’s fine,” Dean shrugged playfully, letting his girlfriend go while he tugged at the ascot around his neck, “we’ve got a mystery to solve.” Charlie snorted and gave Dean a hard smack across his back that only made him pout.

“Well, technically, yes,” Joan laughed. “Listen, I don’t know if the ghost will come out tonight or not. But I’m glad you guys are here,” she smiled at the group and squeezed Y/n’s waist before letting her go. “Obviously, there’s been sightings in the basement, boring, but sometimes it’s appeared on the second floor, or the attic,” Joan explained, fixing her glasses on her nose. 

“Woah, Miss Carlisle,” two guys passed by wolf-whistled and looked at Joan disrespectfully, eyes trailing over long orange socks against dark skin, a tiny pleated skirt, and a tight ribbed turtleneck—also in a shade of orange. They only glanced at her face to smirk smugly as if her deadpan expression meant they won. 

“Douchebags,” Dean grunted, glaring at the arrogant boys. 

“So, how should we split up?” Charlie grinned, trying to remove their focus from the immature men. They all looked back at her, became relaxed, then looked towards Dean and Y/n. 

“Well, I could check out the second floor and Dean can check the attic,” she suggested, to which Dean chewed his lip and nodded in agreement. 

“Naturally, Shaggy and Scoob stick together, so, uh, Charlie and Cas, you two take the basement,” Dean smiled boyishly at the two, and Cas rolled his eyes, sighing. Charlie laughed and punched Cas’ shoulder gently, causing Cas to smile slightly.

“Right, I’ll stay here, then,” Joan smiled, then gave her old friend, Y/n a slap on the ass. Y/n giggled, and rubbed the spot, hardly feeling a sting. 

“We’ll meet here again after?” Cas asked, they all nodded in agreement, then both Charlie and Cas started making their way through the house to get downstairs. Cas tugged at the neck of the costume with a deep frown.

Dean reached out for Y/n’s elbow and slid his fingers down her arm to hold her hand. Joan stopped her, giving her a half-hug before Dean could drag her away to do their job. “Hey, let’s catch up later, you look so happy now, and also, your boyfriend’s hot,” Joan laughed softly, giving her friend a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Sure, Jay, maybe once the case is done we can all hang out,” she smiled, hugging her friend back. “It’s sort of our thing to go to the local bars. That sound good?” Joan nodded, squealing excitedly, and stepped away. 

Dean smiled at Joan then tugged Y/n towards him—her quiet laughter making him warm. She smiled up at him and let him place his arm over her shoulders to kiss the top of her head. Y/n circled his waist with her arm and clenched the side of his white long-sleeved shirt as they walked upstairs. 

Students drank along the stairs, talking, and laughing with their friends. Properly having fun. There were two friends dressed as Arthur and Merlin, which was cute, and Dean started with interest at the sword sheathed into the leather belt around his hips. 

“I’m kinda hungry, is that weird?” Dean pouted, releasing her so she could walk up the stairs without complications. Their fingertips still touched, their forefingers hooked together, and back he went to holding her once they got to the top of the stairs. 

“Not really, it’s cute,” she smiled, then shivered, either a ghost or the wintry breeze that chilled houses. “Maybe we can find food or snacks here,” she suggested, pulling him close to absorb his heat before he left her to check out the attic.

“You should’ve brought a jacket,” he scolded gently, then playfully squeezed her breast. “I’ll try to keep you warm while you walk me to the attic,” he told her playfully. She smiled and rolled her eyes, then pushed him into the nearest wall. Dean smirked at her, and dropped his hand from her chest, but she grabbed both his wrists to place his hands over both breasts. 

“A jacket will ruin my costume, I look great,” she argued jokingly, pressing herself against him. Dean lowered his hands a little, enough to cup the bottom over her breasts while he brushed his thumbs over her pebbled nipples. No bra beneath the soft, violet dress she wore. 

“Yeah, you… look super hot as Daphne,” Dean breathed out, licking his bottom lip before biting it. “Fuck…” he muttered, his head thumping against the wall when he tipped it back, dropping his hands from her breast to hold her hips. 

“Let’s get this case over with,” she smiled, pushing against his chest to step away. He whined, digging his fingers hard into her hips to bring her back in, and dropped a kiss to her glossed, pink lips—staining his own. 

“Okay, I’ll, uh, leave now,” Dean smiled, and licked his mouth to taste her gloss. She laughed softly and shook her head, fixing the ascot around his neck by placing it back beneath the sky blue polo shirt. “Yummy lip stuff, by the way,” he teased, reaching down to tug her dress down as it crinkled slightly at her hips. 

“Lip stuff,” she repeated with a cute cackle, appreciative of the way he distractedly fixed her dress. “I love you—a lot,” she sighed happily, patting his now-flushed cheeks. 

“Me, uh,” Dean stuttered, “I love you, too. A lot,” he added, watching her smirk and slowly walk away from him. She waved at him and turned around to start knocking on doors.

“If you’re an FBI agent, how come you’re dressed like Daphne?” She pushed past the irritating guy dressed as Tarzan, ignoring him as she looked around the room that he shared with a friend. “And how come you’re not arresting us? We’re doing drugs and drinking, not all of us are twenty-one,” he told her. 

She could feel him behind her, and she rolled her eyes, squatting down carefully to not reveal anything as she searched for anything suspicious, pulling out the EMF detector from her small purse. 

“You’ve never heard of undercover then?” She asked sarcastically, getting up to search the rest of his room. According to him, it suddenly gets colder than usual, he hears weird sounds, he’s heard voices—the typical signs of a haunting. “And the focus on the case isn’t underage drinking or drug usage, it’s… there’s a killer,” she hesitated to share information, but he’s attached himself to her—well, much like this irritating ghost has attached itself to this frat house. 

“Wow, that’s dope,” he burped drunkenly, which irritated her more. 

“I don’t know if I'd call my friends dying dope, but, whatever,” she muttered, hiding the EMF detector as she turned towards the closet. 

“You’re hot, smart, and badass, like actual Daphne. T-that’s why you’re dressed like her, right?” He asked, hiccuping before taking another—large—gulp of alcohol, straight from the bottle. 

“You shouldn’t drink too much, it’s going to be awful in the morning,” she warned, avoiding his question as she went into the bathroom. She heard him follow, and sighed, putting the EMF detector away into her purse once more. 

“Aw, so you do care about me,” he smiled lopsidedly, cheeks flushed with drunkenness. She smiled sarcastically, then glared at him. “I kinda like older women, ya know?” She blinked at him in bewilderment, watching him stumble towards her, but she backed up rather than helped out. “That’s why I let you in an-and said yes to… everything you asked me,” he grinned, setting the alcohol down on the counter, but it slipped and shattered on the floor. “Whoops.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and scoffed, her jaw clenching angrily. She stomped out while he became distracted by the loss of his spirits. 

“Woah, hey,” he jogged towards her, taking her arm. She pulled away from him, anger burning bright in her chest. “We haven’t even-” 

“Get lost, kid, I’m not interested,” she interrupted him. 

“I’m not a kid, I’m turning twenty one this semester,” he told her smugly, reaching out to brush her hair much like Dean had earlier, except this time she didn’t like it. Immaturely, she pushed it forward again, and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Tarzan needs Jane,” he tried flirtatiously, but she turned around, and swung the door open, ready to leave. 

“Well, good thing I’m Daphne and I’ve already got Fred,” she spat, leaving him in the room alone, “I’m gonna get to work now, kid.” 

“All the pretty girls lie about having boyfriends,” he slurred, leaning against the doorway. She grimaced at his words, she didn’t think he could make her cringe more than she already was. Maybe someone could make her vomit without being physically nauseating? That would be impressive. 

“Maybe take a hint and leave women alone,” she told him, but fished for her phone in her purse to call Dean. Still, Tarzan rolled his eyes at her, and boredly watched her put her phone to her ear. It rang halfway when Dean answered with a gruff, ‘sweetheart’ that made her insides warm and delighted. “Hi, babe, I’m upstairs and Tarzan here doesn’t know what ‘no’ means. Please, come save him, I love you.” 

She didn’t hang up when she heard wood break, and Dean swore, “son of a bitch.” She was about to ask if he was okay, when Tarzan grabbed her waist and pulled her towards him, her palms landing on his sweaty, flushed, somewhat hairy chest. 

“Gross, let me-”

“Uh, what?” Dean asked, then she heard his boots, and more thumping as she struggled to get out of Tarzan’s rough hold. “Babe, okay, I’ll be there, love you,” he said quickly, but he also didn’t hang up. She knew he probably had his phone pressed to his ear by his shoulder.

“Save me?” Tarzan laughed, spinning her so she’d enter his room once more. She got angrier the more he manhandled her. 

“Yeah, you gonna back off? My boyfriend’s on his way, and you’re drunk, don’t do something stupid,” she tried to deescalate without violence. 

“You were looking at me and you smiled,” he reasoned, lamley. She looked up at him in disbelief, his irritating icy ice and dirty blonde hair, pimples placed here and there. 

“I.. What? That means you have a free pass into my pants now, regardless of what I say? Wow, I forgot guys like you were real. At least I won’t regret this,” she snarled, slamming his nose with her forehead. 

Finally, he loosened his grip on her, and she stumbled back, rubbing her forehead. It definitely hurt him more than it hurt her. He shouted a loud ‘fuck’ and held his nose as it bled, warm, thick red dripping between his fingers. 

When he started toward her, her eyes widened, and she grimaced at the thought of his blood getting anywhere near her. “No,” she warned him, as if he were a child. 

She quickly moved around him and kicked him, white ankle boots striking his lower back, causing him to trip forward through the door. She heard gasps, but she stepped closer to him, her heart beating fast, but her mind, bread, and movements remained serene. He turned over into his back, looked around at all the people dressed up and watching, too drunk to even think properly. 

Finally, there was that cold chill. She became distracted by the visible puff of white air passing from between her lips, but when he tried to kick her, she jumped back before he could succeed, chuckling darkly. When he gave up, she got down anyway, and straddled his lap punching him once, or twice, or more than that. 

She stopped only when she felt warm fingers around her wrist after who knows how long. A mouthwatering, unsavoury saltiness in her mouth made her splutter. She unclenched her fist, whining at the pain she felt when she stretched her fingers out. 

She looked up and saw Dean’s worried face. He simpered when he saw her, wiped her mouth carefully of salt as she blinked up at him. He helped her up, when she tried to do it alone, and she finally looked around, confused. Joan was helping Tarzan up, Cas and Charlie were telling people to get out of the second floor. 

“Hey, how ya feelin’, baby?” Dean asked, pulling her attention away from the people dressed up in silly clothes. He held her face gently, wiping remnants of salt from her mouth that she now began to taste strongly. She pulled away from him and ran to the bathroom to spit out the tiny, unpleasant grains, her face pulled up in distaste. 

She rinsed it out of her mouth with water from the sink and saw the blood flowing from her hand. Dean appeared once more, took her hand out from the running water, and guided her back into the room, to sit her down on the nearest desk. 

“Tell me you’re okay,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently over her forehead. 

“I’m fine, just… confused,” she reassured him with a weak smile, taking his hand away to kiss his knuckles with wet lips. “Also that much salt is gross, we should stop shoving salt up people’s mouths,” she added with a laugh. He chuckled, too, and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. 

“I’m gonna find some stuff to clean your hand, uh, I’ll be quick,” he told her, waiting until she nodded. Still, he was worried, so he hesitated to remove himself from her presence. “Want me to stay? I can call Cas up-” 

“It’s fine, I like it when you take care of me,” she smiled at him, and mimicked the tip-of-the-nose kiss he gave to her. Dean hummed in amusement and nodded, whispering a little ‘ok’ before heading into the bathroom to search for the first-aid kit. 

She held her head with her slightly-more-okay hand, realising just how painful that headbutt actually was now that the adrenaline died down. And her hands, they hurt so bad. They were covered in what was now dried blood and she frowned, Cas was gonna have to heal that later. When she was finally relaxed and able to breathe. 

She talked herself down in her mind. Whatever she did was not her fault. She was obviously possessed and while she was furious because of his behaviour, she would have left as soon as he was on the floor. Sure, the intention was there, but who knows what state she left Tarzan in. As horrible and irritating as he was, she wasn’t like him. How stupid of her to feel bad. 

“Babe,” Dean called softly and she averted her abstracted gaze back to him. “Hey, take this,” he offered, a pill and a water bottle in his hand. She didn’t even notice him. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, but he pushed the pill into her mouth goodnaturedly, which made her chuckle. She took the bottle when he handed it to her, and watched him lovingly take her other hand to inspect it, before focusing on her face once more. 

She downed half the bottle and panted, pleased with the cool liquid travelling down her insides. He lifted his other hand up to her face and gently pressed a finger against her forehead. 

“Headbutt?” Dean asked with a smile, she nodded, and watched him take an alcohol wipe out from its square package. He gently cleaned her slightly-bruised forehead, and despite knowing it was making it unsanitary again, he blew air against her forehead to get it dry faster. Her eyes shut instantly, and she laughed, then felt his lips push against the same spot. 

“Mm, feels a lot better now,” she hummed, leaning against his lingering mouth.

“Yeah, I bet,” he mumbled against her forehead with a grin. Dean pulled away and gave her a soft kiss on the lips before tending to her hands quietly. 

He gave her time to process, he didn’t push for answers with a dozen questions, he didn’t bring up the case. Instead, he made her laugh, and he kissed her sweetly, and he caressed her tenderly. Even after he was finished, he threw everything out, made sure she knew he was there, that she was safe. 

He sat with her and held her. 

“Well, I think I know what brings the ghost out,” she started, playing with his sleeves. 

“Yeah? Well, there was nothing in the attic,” he added. Dean watched her closely, she could feel his gaze, the worried shapes he drew on her thigh. It made her shiver. His proximity, the sudden downturn of emotions, his loving nature, all of it was overwhelming. In a good way. “I love you,” he said suddenly, it made her smile. 

“I love you, too,” she responded, looking up at him lovingly. 

What started out as an innocent, emotional kiss, turned into a possessive, heated make out session that left her seamless panties drenched with arousal. 

Dean was everywhere. 

So hot. So loving. 

His large hands kneaded and squeezed, pulled and scratched, pink lips kissing hard and wet at her skin, sharp teeth nipping and marking, tongue licking and rubbing against suction marks. 

“I never knew that I could want someone so badly,” he whispered, lowering her from the desk to shove her violet dress up her waist. She moaned softly, throwing her head back as he sucked and bit at her throat, his fingers slipping inside her panties, moving forward behind the silky barrier to gather her slick. “So wet, good girl,” he murmured, pressing his fingertips into her clenching, wet entrance. He moved his fingers up to her clit and drew circles around it at just the perfect pace, successfully clouding her mind. 

Dean pulled away from the column of her throat, eying the reddish mark on her pulse, and watched her writhe as he massaged her clit relentlessly. She felt his teeth at her chin and she groaned, spreading her legs wider, desperate to feel him all over her body. She felt the quick buildup of her orgasm. Dean wasn’t teasing, he was determined, occasionally switching the figures on her clit, each time it made her tremble, until she tensed up. 

It was then that he pulled away, the material of her underwear slapping electrifyingly against her skin. “Please,” she begged, opening her eyes lazily. Dean smirked and bit his lip, taking her underwear from beneath, he stretched it upwards, moved it up and down, so the silky material rubbed against her clit.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He asked with a chuckle, watching her mouth fall open and her body turn to mush once more. It must have been enough for him—as an answer—because he released her underwear, started to push them down her legs, and settled on his knees in front of her. He lifted her legs, one after the other, to take her underwear off completely. Dean lifted the periwinkle panties up to his mouth and licked her arousal from the crotch with a smug, “yummy.” 

“Stop, we’re wasting time,” she laughed breathlessly, brushing her fingers through his hair. Instead of getting up, Dean took her thigh and lifted it, moving his face forward to tease her clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh, fuck,” she gasped, her nails scratching the top of the smooth, wooden desk. She slowly sat up on it and watched Dean shuffle closer on his knees to taste her again. 

“You taste so good,” he whispered, sliding his hands up her thighs. She leaned back slightly, watching his mouth inch closer, his warm breath making her shiver, and become aware of how embarrassingly drenched she was. He held her hips and slid the tip of his tongue from her entrance, through her labia, and began circling around her clit a few times. 

She squirmed and moaned, watching him start to suck her clit—hot, muffled sounds of appreciation vibrating through her vulva from his mouth. Slowly, one of his hands travelled from her hip to her abdomen, sliding down with the intent to make her impatient, and then, he pulled away, replacing her clit in his mouth with two of his fingers. He sucked slowly, and pulled them out, coated in his warm saliva to push them into her waiting vagina. 

Dean returned his mouth to her clit, focusing on her pleasure, doing everything the way he’d memorised she loved most. He angled his fingers upwards inside her, pushing deeper and deeper, brushing against the front of her walls. She clenched around him, squirmed needily, and impatiently rolled her hips against his mouth as he massaged deep inside her. 

She moaned his name and tugged at his hair, her body slowly turning stiff and ready for her climax. He pulled away again. His lips made a wet, salacious sound when they parted from her cunt, and he slowly pulled his fingers out of her pussy. She breathed hard, watching him suck his soppy fingers clean of her slick with a moan. He used his other hand to busy himself with his belt as he stood before her once more. 

She took his wrist to pull his fingers from his mouth with a loud slurp and placed them into hers. She sucked softly on them and stared at the slack-jawed expression while moving her hand beneath his shirts and into his unzipped pants. Dean removed his fingers from inside her warm mouth and held her cheek, moaning against her lips when she teasingly rubbed her soft hand over his cock. 

“I need you inside me,” she whispered, wrapping her fingers around his thick cock, warm and hard in her hand. Dean moaned softly and nodded mindlessly, capturing her lips for a quick kiss. 

“Where inside you?” He purred, teasingly brushing his nose against hers, his warm breath tickling her lips. She laughed softly instead of answering him, pushed his jeans and boxers down, slowly sinking down to her knees in front of him. “I guess that answers my question,” he exhaled, slipping his fingers through her hair. 

She looked up into his eyes and let him bring her mouth towards his cock. The tip brushed against her lips, smearing the precum that dribbled out from the slit against her pink lips. She opened her mouth more, letting him guide her on and off his dick. She hummed at the taste of him invading her taste buds, the way it always did, making her mouth water. 

He liked how messy it got when she went down on him. She knew the way she drooled over his thick length set a fire of passion and desire that would make the Sun envious. When tears fell from her eyes across her flushed cheeks, her lashes sticking together, her eyes bright and glossy as she choked on him—he gripped her ginger hair harder and properly began fucking her face. 

Fast and loud, his cock went down her throat and in and out of her salivating mouth, edging himself the way he’d done to her. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Dean praised, starting to slow down throating fucking her until he eventually pulled out of her mouth. A string of saliva and precum connected her mouth and his cock, breaking away when she stood back up. 

He brought her in for a kiss with a smug smirk, lewdly licking her lips for remnants of him before pushing his warm tongue past her swollen lips. They moaned softly and she buried both hands into his hair, her hands flexing before gripping strands of his hair to tug at. “We’re wasting time,” she reminded him, pecking his lips before sitting back up on the desk, using her calves to bring his hips forward. 

“I hope we waste a lot of time,” he licked his lips with a grin. Dean teasingly took his cock and gently tapped her clit with the head of it. 

She laughed breathlessly, squirming when he dragged his cock through her soaked folds, “that’s not funny.” 

“Well, it made you laugh,” he bit his lip, pressing his cock into her clenching, dripping pussy. 

“Your… face is funny, that’s why,” she lied playfully, his lips hovering over hers. He chortled and pulled back slightly, brows furrowed in playful offence, then he slapped his hand over her clit without warning. She yelped, and attempted to shut her legs, but Dean’s hips prevented her from doing so. 

“Come ‘ere, baby,” he whispered, guiding his cock back to her entrance. He cut off her playful protest with a kiss, and gently pushed himself into, digging his blunt nails into her hips. She placed her arm around his shoulder to prevent him from pulling away from her lips, only momentarily catching their breaths as he started to fuck her with abandon. 

Items on the desk rattled as he fucked her hard, the wooden table hitting the wall with every thrust of his hips. Her stomach flipped excitedly, his soft moans against her mouth, small whines from her against his. Dean occasionally bit her lip and kissed her with passion as they clung to each other, pulling each other close, desperate to get closer. 

Their warm breaths mingled together and she rolled her hips against his, her face burning with a blush, her pussy clenching tight around him. He grunted against her lip and buried his face into her neck, pushing his cock as deep as he could into her. His hot cum spilled inside her and she moaned in unison with him, her orgasm triggered by his. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, fucking her through her orgasm before coming to a slow halt. Her neck was damp with his warm breath, her hot skin flushing a deeper rosy colour when she whimpered his name. 

“Thanks, Dean,” she murmured, kissing his temple before he pulled away. He smiled at her, his green eyes lovingly trailing over her face. He cupped her cheeks, pressing a lovingly kiss to her lips, the tip of her nose, and her forehead. “It’s kinda suspicious how long we took, isn’t it?” She laughed, biting her lip to muffle her moan when he slowly pulled out of her. 

“Yeah, uh, pretty much,” he chuckled, pulling his pants up. She watched him with her legs squeezed shut, the flushed afterglow on his face was more than obvious. 

“Oh well,” she shrugged, taking her underwear from the desk. Dean snatched them from her with narrowed eyes and got down to put them back on her. “Let’s go before it gets weirder,” she giggled, moving off the desk to fix her underwear properly. Dean nodded and lowered her dress once more, staring at her with a smirk when she began squirming as she walked. 

“You don’t wanna clean up?” He laughed, slapping his hand over her ass when he joined her. He squeezed the flesh and wrapped his arms around her from behind. 

“We can shower back at the motel,” she shrugged, squeaking when he turned her around and threw her over his shoulder faster than she could process. She laughed with him, clinging to his shirt as he held her with one arm around her, the other hand squeezing her thigh reassuringly. 

“Let’s get outta here fast, then,” Dean smiled, slapping her ass. “Wait, I need to say… I finally got to fuck Daphne.”

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dean’s 45th birthday celebration masterlist

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[trialssam]

It's so funny seeing ppl celebrating dean's bday "happy 45th birthday" like... Dean died when he was 41 years old

[baconandpie1]

The Gift

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Supernatural (TV 2005)

Supernatural (TV 2005) RPF

Relationships:

Castiel/Dean Winchester

Jensen Ackles & Misha Collins

Characters:

Jensen Ackles

Misha Collins

Alexander Calvert

Dean Winchester

Castiel (Supernatural)

Jack Kline

Sam Winchester

Other actors are mentioned

Summary: It is Jensen's 45th birthday and Danneel is throwing him a party with all of his friends from Supernatural. He shouldn't be surprised when things get a bit strange... It is a good birthday. One of the best. Just ask him after the party.

Notes:

Up until a few days ago I didn't intend to write anything for Jensen's birthday, and then I was watching the con tweets, his pictures, and reading about the SPNFamilyGiving and ... my brain went into overdrive and demanded to write this. So I did.

Hope you like it.

PS - It is March 1st here already - so don't grumble that it's not Jensen's birthday yet. :) 💚 💙

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45406525

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Jensen is dead tired. He hasn’t felt so tired in a long time. He’s been doing conventions almost every weekend, writing and recording new music with Steve, and then there’s his new secret project that very few people know about. And JJ has been sick and wanted her dad by her side more than ever. He never could say no to her, and when she’s sick, she sticks to him like instant glue. Sometimes, when he lies beside her, telling her stories, he wonders when she’ll stop needing him this way and he forgets he is tired and has a myriad of other things he should be doing. These are the moments he will cherish forever.

He tries to put on a smile for his friends who gathered at his house to celebrate his 45th birthday, but it is difficult when all he wants is a good night’s sleep.

Danneel knows how much he misses working on Supernatural, how much he misses his friends, and that is why this birthday party is so special—all his friends from Supernatural are here: Jared and Misha, Jim and Mark, Richard and Rob, Ruth, Kim and Briana, Alex, and even Eric made it though he had to leave early. Rachel has joined them for a while through Zoom, though she would have loved to be there in person.                            

He needs some fresh air to wake up, clear his head. He wants to be at his best for his friends and not half asleep on his feet. With a bottle of beer in his hand, he slips outside in the garden and sits on the padded bench swing they got for their children.

They were sure the kids would love the swing and they do like it, but Jensen loves it more than they do, especially when he sits on it in the evenings with Danneel curled up into his side, falling asleep with his arm holding her tight, swinging slowly.

The air around him changes bit by bit, it warms up and smells different. He frowns and shakes himself, because he knows that smell, but it cannot be… it smells… it smells almost like when they were filming scenes in the bunker.

He blinks a few times, his vision blurry, and he wonders if he is drunk already. But it cannot be; the beer in his hand was only the second one of the evening, and he hardly touched it.

He becomes even more baffled when he realizes he cannot see well because of the hot tears running down his face.

His knees hurt and he realizes he is kneeling by a bed, praying.

It is his voice, but somehow, it isn’t.

Through the tears, he sees Dean’s bed in the bunker, and he blinks some more because this is impossible. The bunker was dismantled. It doesn’t exist anymore. But the pain in his knees is still there and so are the tears on his face.

His lips move and Jensen can hear the words, though it is not him saying them. Well, it is, and it isn't.

He is Dean. But he is also Jensen.

And Dean is praying to Jack.

"Jack, I know you said you will be hands off, I know. But Jack... I need him back, please... please help us get Cas back. He is your father too, your dad. you cannot leave him in that cold, devastating emptiness... I beg you, Jack... Please..."

The tears are running down his cheeks as he prays. He's been doing it every night since they defeated Chuck and Jack is yet to respond.

Somehow Jensen knows that it’s been more than half a year since Jack took over and Dean never wavered. Together with Sam, they tried everything they could think of to get Castiel back. They moved heaven and earth, they reached out to all their friends and even to the Men of Letters in England in order to find a way to save the angel.

And Dean prayed to Jack like clockwork. Every evening.

Dean who never prayed before he knew God existed beyond a shadow of a doubt, Dean who prayed rarely even after that, he prayed every day to their new God, to his son, to Jack.

Dread starts to settle in his heart as he finishes his prayer, convinced that Jack will ignore him again.

His head snaps up as a whisper insinuates itself into his mind "On one condition, Dad."

Pure joy and happiness suffuse his every cell, every molecule, the whole of his being, his heart and his soul.

"Anything, Jack, I'll do anything!" Dean-Jensen cries out.

"You must tell him how you feel." The whisper is soft and ... uncertain somehow, as if Jack doesn't expect him to agree.

"What?" Dean swallows hard, playing for time. "What do you mean?"

"Dad... I am God now. I know. I know everything."

Dean-Jensen gasps. Somehow, he's forgotten what it means that Jack is God now. A true God.

"You only need to tell him how you feel, Dad. That's it. Have to go now. There's trouble in a parallel universe. Love you!" His son’s love rushes through him, warm and soft and endless.

"Wait! Jack! Wait! How do I tell him anything? He's not here!" 

The silence is deafening, and Dean-Jensen is crying again when the door to his room crashes open.

Jared, no, Sam barges through with his gun in his hand and his hair flying as he searches the room for danger.

"Dean! Are you ok? I heard you screaming!"

His right knee creaks as he rises.

"I am fine, Sam. I hit my knee..." 

Sam looks at him dubiously, but he knows his brother too well and that expression on his face says that's all he gets from him tonight. Dean will talk to him when he is good and ready. If he gets there. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't.

His eyes soften as he takes in his brother’s wet cheeks, but he doesn't mention them, nor does he ask why Dean was shouting for Jack. 

"Be more careful, Dean. Your knees aren't getting any younger, you know.” Sam smirks at him, trying to lighten the mood. 

Dean-Jensen rolls his eyes at him. "And neither are you, Sammy."

"It's still Sam.... jerk."

"Bitch" Dean smiles radiantly at his brother, the exchange as heart-warming as it is familiar.

The days go by at a crawl, Dean still praying every evening, and Jensen wants to slap him silly. He already got his answer. What is Dean waiting for?

After a particularly bad night, when every time Dean fell asleep, he dreamt of black goo grabbing his crying but happy angel and taking him away, and then woke up screaming Castiel’s name, he trudges into the kitchen and makes himself an extra-strong cup of coffee.

He is sipping it mournfully when Sam joins him, yawning.

“Morning, Dean.”

His brother mumbles something unintelligible and Sam sits across from him with his own coffee.

“What’s up with you? Bad night?”

Dean nods and sips black and bitter. “Nightmares.”

Sam grimaces when he tastes the coffee. “What the hell is this? It tastes like poison…”

“I made it stronger… needed it.”

Sam adds more sugar to his mug and some cream, making the taste a bit more palatable.

“I didn’t know you still had nightmares,” he breathes.

“I don’t,” Dean grumps. “It was just last night…“ He sighs, sneaking a look at his brother. “It was Cas…“

“Oh…” That’s all Sam says. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t push, he drinks his coffee and munches on a cookie.

Jensen gives Dean a push; he cannot make him speak, not really, but he knows by now that he can influence him, if he does it gently, carefully.

“Jack spoke to me.”

“What? When? How? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam cannot stop the deluge spilling out of his mouth.

Dean-Jensen frowns at Sam, but Jensen keeps on pushing, not letting Dean clamp up again. “It was that night when you ran in…”

“Is he alright? When is he coming to visit?”

Dean-Jensen shakes his head “He didn’t say. He said he was going to handle some stuff in a parallel universe.”

His brother looks at him suspiciously but doesn’t insist. He lets Dean be.

Dean jumps up and gets more coffee, and Sam sighs, convinced his brother is shutting down again. Unsurprisingly.

Dean-Jensen sits back down, opens his mouth, but speaking is difficult. It always is for Dean, and Jensen nudges him again.

The sentences spill out of Dean’s mouth, Jensen helping him word his thoughts, and Sam just sits there listening to how he prayed and prayed and then finally Jack answered.

When Dean stops, Sam’s eyebrows rise in consternation.

“So where is Cas, Dean? Why isn’t he here yet?”

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear what I told you? I don’t know how to make him come…”

Sam laughs at him with tears, and the more Dean frowns, the harder he laughs.

"You need to tell Cas how you feel, Dean!" He wheezes out.

"Really, Sam?" Dean is getting angry, not understanding what is going on. "He is not here!"

Jensen is still there, not sure if it's him speaking or Dean. No, it must be Dean... because Jensen is not that clueless. He can feel what Dean feels, as if they were his own feelings, like he never felt them before, not even when he acted as Dean for long 15 amazing years. Dean loves Cas with all his heart. He loves him to the moon and back, he'd die for him if that's what would bring him back to life.  

But Dean is scared. Scared of his own feelings, scared of being called a faggot, a homo, or whatever else people say these days to denigrate gay men. He doesn't care that Cas is a man, he never did. Jensen knows he loves Cas, and that his gender never even entered the equation for him. 

But what happens if he says the words? What will Sam think? Their friends? 

If he says the words and he gets Cas back, what will Cas expect from him? Will he be satisfied with just being friends or will he expect more?

Jensen can feel how much Dean wants everything with Cas, EVERYTHING. But he also feels how terrified he is of getting what he wants with Cas. 

Because, whatever Cas said the night he died, Dean is still Dean, he still messes up most of the time, fucks up, says things he shouldn't and doesn't say things he should.

So what if he gets everything and then he fucks it up? He won't survive that, he knows he won't. 

It is better if they are just friends, isn't it? Less chance of messing up. 

He pulls at his hair with both hands, tears dripping on the kitchen table, unsure if they are the result of the sharp pain in his scalp or in his heart.

"Dean... " Sam has stopped laughing, his brother's distress too real to make fun of him anymore.

"Dean, pray to Cas. Tell him. Tell him everything."

The older brother looks at the younger one, his eyes red-rimmed. "I am scared, Sammy."

For once, his brother doesn't correct him.

"Nothing to be afraid of, Dean. Tell him you love him, and you want him back. Give the two of you a chance."

Round, surprised eyes watch Sam, Dean's voice hoarse with repressed emotions, "You know?"

"Of course I know, you idiot! I've known for years! I was waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and do something about it, and then... then it was too late."

Sam grabs Dean's shoulders and stares him in the eye.

"Dean, you must bring him back. If you don't, you will never forgive yourself. And neither will I."

That evening, when Dean-Jensen kneels by his bed, he doesn’t pray to Jack.

He prays to Castiel.

“Hey Cas.” His eyes are tearing up already and his throat is tightening with every breath he takes. Jensen tries to soothe him and calm him down, though he would be a mess too in Dean’s place. He’s done it enough times to know how difficult it is for Dean to open up, to let himself be vulnerable when his whole life was about being strong and never showing weakness. Loving someone is a weakness, they both know that. And yet.

His heart is hammering away in his chest, and he remembers that case when the guy’s heart pulsed out of his chest like in a cartoon when he declared his love. How fitting. He smiles and starts over.

“Hey Cas. I miss you.”

He looks around, and, when nothing happens, he closes his eyes again.

“I miss you so much, man,” he huffs. “Sorry, angel… I miss you more than I ever thought I could. We saved the world, you know. Sam and Jack and I, we did it. All thanks to you. I… I don’t think I could have done it all without you. And Jack is God now and he… he said I should talk to you… tell you…”

Dean-Jensen sighs, laying his forehead on the bed. “I wanted to ask you… did you really mean what you said before you died? Don’t get me wrong… a part of me knows that you did beyond the shadow of a doubt, but then… this other part of me, the part that you ignore, the part that you said doesn’t exist, that part wants to hear those words again, wants to make sure, because Cas… how could someone like you, an angel no less, love someone like me? I need to know Cas. I have to know. You said for you it was enough to just be, just feel the love… but Cas… loving you is not enough for me, I need you to love me back, Cas, do you understand? I am not like you… it was hard enough loving you for all those years when I had no idea you could feel like we humans do, but knowing that you can love? Cas… do you love me? Do you really love me? I want to believe it so much, I want to believe I am worthy of that love… though I know I am not, but maybe… just maybe… maybe I can become worthy of you if you’ll be here by my side. With you here, Cas, I could do anything, be anything and anyone for you. Please Cas… Please come back to me… Please love me… “ His throat closes up, and he sobs into the mattress as there is no whoosh of wings nor any other noise that would announce the angel’s arrival.

Dean-Jensen crawls into bed and cries himself to sleep. He didn’t even have the strength to get a bottle of whiskey to ease his pain this time.

The night is blessedly empty of dreams, but Dean wakes in a foul mood, ready to murder the world. He is mad at Jack for leading him along, he is mad at Sam for encouraging him to pray to Cas, he is mad at the angel for dying, for abandoning him, for not coming back. But most of all, he is mad at himself for being weak, for letting himself feel too much, for letting his walls down. It was a mistake. A mistake he will not repeat ever again.

Jensen is just as devastated as Dean is. He doesn’t even have the energy to try to help Dean feel better. He is along for the ride and nothing else at this point.

Like every other morning, Dean sips his coffee, but he doesn’t even bother to answer his brother when he joins him at the kitchen table.

Sam doesn’t need to ask. He can see it on Dean’s face, in the way his shoulders slump, in the way he doesn’t even look at his brother while he sips at his coffee.

“Sorry, Dean.”

His brother’s knuckles whiten where they grip the coffee mug, and Sam hopes it won’t break with how hard Dean is clutching at it.

Dean-Jensen is drowning in his sorrow, not paying attention to his surroundings, not caring if an army of vampires descended on the bunker, screaming like banshees, ready to drink his blood. Maybe he wishes they did.

He doesn’t hear the soft steps and doesn’t see Sam freezing with his mug on its way to his lips.

“Good morning,” the raspy voice is behind Dean and before he can react, it continues. “Did you make coffee for me too, Dean?”

He lurches to his feet, toppling the chair to the ground, and spins towards the entrance to the kitchen.

The most gorgeous sight he’s ever seen lands on his retina—his angel, dressed in pajama pants and one of Dean’s old Led Zep t-shirts, barefoot, a hand raised to his head scratching his scalp making an even bigger mess of the dark hair that is clearly mussed up by a night’s sleep.

Cas smiles sheepishly at Dean. “Any chance you’ll make us some pancakes? I am quite hungry this morning.”

Dean just stand there, his mouth opening, closing, like a fish on dry land, frozen in place. His brother huffs and rushes to Castiel, crushing him in a big hug. “It is good to see you again, Cas. We weren’t sure… Well… I am glad you’re back and I hope you’ll be staying.”

When Sam releases him, Dean is still like a statue, in the same place as before.

Castiel looks at his feet, suddenly uncertain. “If Dean wants me to…“ He raises his eyes and their gazes lock together for a long moment. Very long. So long that Sam gets bored and leaves the kitchen mumbling “Idiots.”

A soft whisper escapes Dean-Jensen’s lips at Jensen’s urging. “I want you to. I always wanted you to, Cas… even when I didn’t say anything, especially when I didn’t say anything. I never wanted you to leave, I always wanted you by my side,” his voice is getting stronger and he moves slowly closer to the angel, “first as my ally, then as my friend, later as my family… and then…,” his voice gets lower, a husky rasp that sends shivers through Castiel, “then as someone… closer… someone who could share my life, someone who would build a new life with me, as someone I love.” 

He cups the angel’s face in his hands, “As someone I want to spend my life with, and love for the rest of our days together.” He presses a soft kiss on Castiel’s lips and rests his brow on his, brushing his lower lip with his thumb.

“If you’ll have me, Cas.”

There isn’t much that can still surprise Dean after all he’s been through, but seeing Castiel’s trembling fingers reach for his face, and his beautiful blue eyes swimming in tears, the angel still uncertain that he can have Dean, it does surprise him.

He covers Castiel’s hands with his own on his cheeks “I love you, Cas.” He smiles and says the words again, easier, faster, and Jensen doesn’t have to push anymore. “I love you, Cas. I will love you forever if you’ll let me.”

He closes the small distance between their bodies with a hand on the angel’s hip, and kisses him again, this time letting himself taste and nip, running his tongue between Castiel’s plush lips, and he sighs when the angel opens up in invitation and the kiss deepens, their hands clutching at each other, losing themselves in this perfect moment, bodies touching, moving slowly, grinding against each other, their swelling cocks easily felt through the thin cotton of their pajamas.

Dean is breathless when they pull apart and he chuckles, “Coffee or bedroom, Cas?”

Though Dean-Jensen is all in and he wants to be with Cas in every possible way, he is anxious. He’s never been with a man before.

Half an hour later, he has already forgotten why he was worried to begin with, as his angel rocks inside him, lighting his body on fire. Dean knows that orgasming at the same time is mostly a myth, but then how many people have done this with an angel? How many people can say that they have felt the other person as if they are one? Because that’s how it feels to Dean—there is no Castiel, there is no Dean, there is only one being here, one pulsing life, two heartbeats, thrumming at the same frequency, two breaths drinking in the same air, soul and grace intertwined, he doesn’t know where he ends and where the angel begins.

He's never felt such ecstasy before, and he doesn’t know if it is because Castiel is an angel—he must be, isn’t he?—or because of the outpouring of love that envelops him and rushes through him like a physical presence.

The slap of skin on skin is getting louder, and so do their moans and whimpers, the bitten off curses, the “Cas!”s, the “Dean!”s, the man lost in the bright blue of the angel as he comes screaming his name. Those eyes become almost white as Castiel climaxes and spills inside Dean’s warm body, and spectacular, large black wings appear at the angel’s back just as the lights explode when he roars his pleasure “DEAN!”

Though Dean is floating in the post-orgasmic glow, he expects what happens next.

Sam rushes in and freezes as the light from the hallway falls on Dean’s bed. He cannot see much besides the enormous wings that hide most of the bed and their bodies, barely a glimmer of skin here and there.

“You guys ok?”

Dean snorts, “Sure Sammy. Cas just blew out the lights when he…” The door slams shut before he gets the chance to finish the sentence and he bursts out laughing.

“Dean…” Cas chides him softly…

“What? He was asking for it, bursting in here without knocking. He’ll know better next time…” And just like that, Dean’s voice wobbles as he asks. “There will be a next time, right Cas?”

The angel hums into his neck, peppering his skin with kisses. “And a next, and a next… until you tire of me.”

Dean’s arms tighten around Castiel, through his soft feathers. “That will never happen, Cas. Ever. You hear me?”

It is as if just now he realizes he is engulfed by the angel’s wings. “Cas! Your wings! You have wings and they are here! I can feel them! Are you a full angel again? With all your mojo?”

Castiel pulls his wings back and with a whoosh they disappear; he slides to Dean’s side, smearing his semen on both their stomachs, not that either of them cares.

“I am not sure… I do have my grace and my wings, but I also slept, and I am hungry… Dean… I have wings again!”

Dean is suddenly cold, and he shivers, fear creeping in when he realizes the angel is gone. Fear of being abandoned again. Fear of being alone and lonely. Fear his angel will never come back. Fear Castiel doesn’t need him anymore. Jensen, who is still reeling from the lovemaking, is convinced that Castiel will be back and will never leave the hunter again, but then, Jensen doesn’t carry the baggage Dean does.

Jensen is right.

There is another whoosh and Castiel crashes in the bed beside him, laughing like a little boy.

“Dean! I flew to Kilimanjaro and then to the Emerald Lakes in New Zealand, and…  I will take you with me next time—you’ll love New Zealand!”

“I… I thought you weren’t coming back, now that you can fly again…”

It is too dark in the room with the lightbulbs gone, and Dean has forgotten that angels can see in the dark as well. He probably would have tried to hide his teary and scared eyes if he had remembered.

“Dean…,” the angel grasps his hands between his, willing him to understand and believe him. “I will never leave you again, Dean. I love you.” He kisses away the tears on Dean’s face, the kisses slowly becoming more heated as Dean’s need to reassure himself that Castiel is truly his, rises faster than a striking snake. His hands are feverish over the angel’s body, his cock already hard and leaking despite his earlier orgasm.

He stretches the angel’s hole in a hurry, Castiel moaning softly, encouraging him, “I am ready, Dean, I am ready…” And he is. More than ready.

Dean mounts him fast and deep, his need too strong to worry about inflicting pain, though somewhere inside he remembers Castiel is an angel, and he cannot truly hurt him now. They shout their release into each other’s mouth as they haven’t stopped kissing throughout Dean’s thrusting into the angel’s body, a loud whoosh heard in the dark room as Castiel spills between their stomachs. At least there are no lights that explode this time.

Dean crashes on top of his angel, and chuckles softly, as soft wings caress his back, hugging him. “I guess you’ll be doing that every time, won’t you?” And before Castiel can give voice to his doubts, Dean murmurs, easing the angel’s fears “I love your wings, they feel amazing on my skin.”

The next days are all a blur for Jensen, but he knows Dean is happy, happier than he’s ever been since he was four years old.

And so is his angel.

They are sitting on a swing that Dean built with his own hands, up on the hill, hanging from a sturdy oak branch, thick enough to hold them and more.

The sun is setting, and a chill runs down Dean-Jensen’s back. Castiel pulls him closer, and Dean-Jensen leans his head on his shoulder, sighing. They sit in comfortable silence, watching the shadows grow longer, Dean’s fingers stroking the angel’s thigh. He can do this now, any time he wants. It is freeing. Exhilarating. They haven’t decided yet what they want to do next, but neither is in a hurry. They have time now. Jack made sure of it.

Dean-Jensen’s eyes close as he thinks about a future together, who knows, maybe even their own home with a white picket fence.

He shivers, suddenly chilly, and Castiel rubs his back, warming him up. He turns his head and presses a kiss on Castiel’s neck, murmuring “I love you, Cas.”

After a slight pause, there is an amused, yet warm “I love you too, Dean.” in reply.

Something is off.

He opens his eyes, and pulls back from where he was sitting, curled up against Castiel, wait no, this… this is not Castiel. His eyes widen and he croaks, “Mish?”

“Yeah, that would be me.” Misha’s eyes crinkle as they do when he smiles his big, sunny smile at him. “You ok, Jen?”

Jensen searches Misha’s eyes, unsure how to answer. “I… yes, I think I am… how long? How long have I been out here?” He rubs his hand over his cheeks.

“Fifteen-twenty minutes? I came after you. Alex said you looked tired, and that you needed me.”

“Alex?”

Misha frowns. “Yes, why?”

Jensen looks away, a small smile gracing his lips. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Nobody would. Though Jensen himself finds it difficult to believe what happened to him, he knows at a visceral level that this was no ordinary dream. Dreams are flighty things, they disappear quickly from one’s mind, only a little is left even when you remember them. But this… this is vivid in his mind, like his own memories, even more so. He remembers everything, from the pain in his knees while praying, the smell and taste of his morning coffee, to sitting with Cas on the swing, watching the sunset.

He is Jensen now, he knows. And yet, he still feels more like Dean. Maybe that is what gives him the courage to ask.

They never truly discussed it before. Not as fans, as friends. It was such a loaded question, with so many ramifications, and neither has allowed himself to talk about it before, not Jensen, not Misha.

With a quiet voice, not looking at Misha, he asks “Have you wondered what Dean’s genuine feelings were for Cas? What he would have done if Cas had come back to him from the Empty?”

His courage seems to be contagious, because, for the first time, Misha dares to say what has been on his mind for a very long time.

“Many times,” his friend answers softly. “I wish we had been brave enough to do it right…”

Jensen turns to him, and his teary eyes glisten as he cups Misha’s stubbly cheek.

“I know what Dean would have said, given a chance.” He leans slowly in and kisses Misha’s lips chastely, but long enough for it to be meaningful. “I love you too, Cas.”

Jensen jumps up and hurries inside the house, brushing his tears away, while Misha sits on the swing, his own tears sliding down his cheeks as he whispers, “I love you, Dean.”

Later that night, after all the guests have gone, Jensen makes one last round around the place, collecting garbage. They could have people come over and clean up, but he doesn’t like strangers poking around his home. He remembers the beer he forgot on the swing, hoping he didn’t make a mess with it. 

He finds the bottle stashed by the leg of the swing, still half full. He is about to turn when a flash of white catches his eyes.

“Alex? I thought you left already…”

Jensen frowns slightly as Alex comes closer, dressed in a white jacket, over a light blue t-shirt and blue jeans. Wait… isn’t Alex blond these days? And he was not wearing a white jacket… Jensen might be forty-five years old, but he is not that senile yet.

Alex smiles at him, a radiant smile lighting up his whole being. “Did you like my birthday present, Jensen?”

Jensen squirms, ashamed to admit that he doesn’t remember what Alex got for his birthday. Maybe he is senile after all.

“Sorry… was it you who got me that whiskey bottle?”

Alex shakes his head, still smiling. “Maybe you’ll remember if I call you Dean…”

Shocked eyes stare at Jack as Jensen allows himself to accept what is happening.

“You are not Alex.”

When Jack shakes his head again, Jensen croaks, “Are you Jack?”

“In some universes, I am.”

“And in others?” Jensen cannot stop himself from asking—is he dreaming? Is he having a stroke?

Jack shrugs, “I have many names. They wouldn’t mean anything to you. Some are in languages you wouldn’t be able to recognize as such.”

He needs to know, he wants to know. Because, though he made his peace with the ending of Supernatural, it felt… off, and sometimes, at night, under the cover of darkness, he let himself imagine ‘what if’ scenarios. Scenarios that, sadly, he is aware will never see the light of day.

“Was it…” he fights to speak the words, “was it real?”

“As real as this world is to you,” Jack looks around them. “It is just one of many possible worlds, and I thought you’d like to know what could have been.”

Jensen closes his eyes and whispers, “Are they happy?”

“Yes, yes they are.” Jack grins, “Dean messes up sometimes, but Cas is there for him. Always. Dean makes him burgers and pancakes, and Cas flies them to the beach when they are in the mood. Sam and Eileen join them often.”

New tears make their way from Jensen’s beautiful green eyes, down his cheeks, and drip down onto the grass.

He lurches forward, stops, but then goes for it and crushes Jack’s smaller frame in a hug.

“Thank you.”

Warmth and love flood him, and he is left standing alone in the garden.

“Thank you, Jack,” he says again up towards the starry night sky.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Puffed Rice Does Not Belong In Your Hair

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/4vbLSsR by aishitara Team Free Will 2.0 celebrates Dean's 45th birthday! Words: 609, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Jack Kline Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Team Free Will 2.0, Drabble, Drabbles, birthday shenanigans, Birthday Fluff, Fluff, Schmoop, completely tooth-rotting, Castiel in the kitchen, Castiel Bakes, jack knit a scarf, dean winchester turns 45, and his family celebrates him, because he deserves good things, this is short and silly, but i love dean, and i wanted something nice for him today, some amorphous time post-canon, canonverse, because did i mention dean winchester deserves good things?, Finale? I Don't Know Her, Rated T for language read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/4vbLSsR

[ao3feeddestiel]

Puffed Rice Does Not Belong In Your Hair

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/6VqP2Qh by aishitara Team Free Will 2.0 celebrates Dean's 45th birthday! Words: 609, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Jack Kline Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Team Free Will 2.0, Drabble, Drabbles, birthday shenanigans, Birthday Fluff, Fluff, Schmoop, completely tooth-rotting, Castiel in the kitchen, Castiel Bakes, jack knit a scarf, dean winchester turns 45, and his family celebrates him, because he deserves good things, this is short and silly, but i love dean, and i wanted something nice for him today, some amorphous time post-canon, canonverse, because did i mention dean winchester deserves good things?, Finale? I Don't Know Her, Rated T for language read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/6VqP2Qh