#deans green gap jacket

[deansgapjacket]

[9x 12 sharp teeth]

Although Dean was rather grumpy this entire episode as you can tell by his expression in these screenshots lol, got great green gap jacket content!! Also might start doing daily green-gap-jacket post this was fun 👀

[heartthrobin]

and i serve the fairy queen, to dew her orbs upon the green (3)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 6.7k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, hella pining, tooth-rotting fluff, destiel is canon, some jealous sammy, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), town (still!) being mean to reader, some shaky goblin lore, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, canon-typical warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: part 3 of my little fairy series! i'm sorry it took so long, uni is fighting me with both hands at the moment. but i promise the last part won't take as long :3 enjoyyyyy. remember to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: you thought about Sam Winchester in a way that couldn't possibly be normal. but who did he think he was, walking around buying you crocodiles and sending you his jacket and looking so damn handsome all the time?

part one part two part four

Four thirty-five. Long hand brushing over the seven, short hand stretching just past the four.

You wondered if the clock was actually ticking. You could still hear it somewhere around the time the little hand was knocking up against the one, but now it was quiet.

Had your mind drowned it out or was the clock even working? It was actually only half visible against the wall of the corridor past the bars of your cell, so maybe--

There was a booming crack from somewhere down the corridor, like someone had thrown a hefty stack of papers down on a desk.

You sunk deeper into the suit jacket. It was warm, smelt of cologne, and at some point around two o' clock the smell had coaxed you off to sleep against the concrete wall.

There was a long stretch of time where you wondered if those kids out there felt the same. If their little heads were pressed against a cold hard wall, convincing themselves to sleep even if just for a while.

You wondered if they were together. You hoped they were together.

There was a tiny window in the cell. When it was still daylight you could see a tree shivering in the wind, now you could only hear it rustling.

It was an easy escape, you knew that. You could have yourself out of the cold, grey room before the long hand found the eight but ... alas. Maybe it was just better to wait it out.

Chlorokinesis. A neat little trick, but one that would have you behind bars again at another time, or tied to a wooden stake and burnt.

The latter sounded mildly more interesting than staring at the quiet clock against the wall.

But you couldn't. If not for the exposure of yourself and the risk on your livelihood, for the look on Sam's face when you proved him and his brother's doubts true. When you tore through the bar cells, whipped officers aside like chess pieces on a shaky board and proved yourself the monster at the end of town. The witch.

You sighed loudly into the cell, your hands found your face. The sleeves on the jacket were far too long for your arms and the smell of Sam surrounded you again.

God, you couldn't catch a break.

Beyond the town's cold shoulder and the unplanned arrest: Sam Winchester's face had been plaguing you since the moment you found him and his brother on your doorstep.

It was like you could feel when he grew near.

Your palms would warm, as if pressed around a warm mug, heart-rate quickening like a hare through the brush and your wings would shiver in and out of sight: quick enough to avoid the accusatory gazes of humans. They never noticed anything further than the tip of their noses anyway.

He didn't make things any better, mind you.

With his tall figure, leaving you frantically lost in his shadow, and buying you crocodiles and sending you his jacket.

The officer hadn't mentioned it was him, but you knew. If not by it's size, by it's warmth and it's smell and the way your wings pressed happily against the silky inner-stitching.

It had occurred to you that they probably still had the intention of killing you before leaving town, as the Winchester name suggested. They killed monsters, it was part of the gig.

The thought hadn't made the dips and slopes of Sam's face any easier to digest. Hadn't made the raging urge to tug him in by his collar against your lips any less.

It was so pathetic, the whole thing!

Your mother had promised you a handsome elf, or maybe a brawny satyr. That your arms would gleam with the shine of sword-swung wounds and the bites of arrows.

But you were bruised and torn with bullet holes and kitchen blades and sharp teeth.

Patience, patience, patience.

That's what they preached, humans and fairy-folk alike.

Everyone just had to wait. To be patient. They'll come along when you least expect them.

It was easy to jump, to imagine that every kind glance across the room or brush of an arm in a crowded coffee shop was the one. It was suffocating, the entire affair!

So you pulled your sleeves from your face, turning to lean your head back against the crumbly stone wall as far away as your nose could turn from the scent. Sam's scent.

You stupidly pushed Sam from your brain, like you'd done time and time before when the winter crept colder and colder each year and the yearning for a warmth crept stronger and stronger.

Instead, you pondered on your animals, in a cold room just behind your own. You could hear their yipping and whining sometimes through the wall. Your chest tightened at the sound and you'd patted away the warm tears down your face when you did.

There was another sound down the corridor. A screech. A chair scraping over the stone floors, then footsteps.

They neared until another faceless officer appeared into view. His paces jingled with a ring keys hanging at his side. You perked up at the sound.

He avoided your eyes, instead he worked to slot the key into the cell door. "Twelve hours is up. You can go."

You rose on unsteady legs, calves and thighs frozen stiff against the steel bench. "I can go?"

"'s what I said."

You nodded, tightening the jacket around your frame. You stepped past him into the fuzzy yellow light of the corridor and he handed you a manila envelope, the shape of your house keys lumped under it's wet glue seal.

"My animals?"

The man still wasn't meeting your face. "You can collect them after eight o' clock when the station opens."

Your fingers twisted between your palms.

"Okay." It came out small, tired. "Thank you."

He didn't respond, instead pointing you down the corridor.

In the foyer, the desks had been abandoned. Lights were off closer to the back of the room. You figured the guard at your cell was the only one on nightshift.

By the door was a long wooden bench, there was a man hunched over: head leaning into dinner plate sized hands.

His gaze lifted at the sound of your footsteps.

That rolling feeling of warmth rushed down your throat and between your organs again.

"Sam?"

He rose to his feet, a hand pressing his long chestnut hair out his face.

"Hey." He sighed and you neared him. Closer up, you could make out the exhaustion buzzing around his eyes. His shoulders slumped with it too.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" You laughed softly, laughter laced in confusion.

He shrugged, mouth forming around words and reshaping them a couple times before settling on: "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

The situation dawned on you, smile slipping quickly off your face and the relief you'd felt at his presence rinsed out with guilt.

"You didn't ... have you been here all night?"

Sam swiped at his mouth with one of his wide paws, he shrugged again. "Yeah, uhm, I was."

Your throat tightened at the revelation. "You ... you shouldn't have. I was just fine--"

"Yeah, in this freezing station where all these people think you kidnap children."

Lips parted in still unformed words, you watched his fidgeting hands, but he stopped you before you could say anything else.

"It's fine. I wanted to be here." His eyes were soft, sincere. "Anyways, you hungry? Want a coffee or something?"

"Uhm--"

"Actually, you probably just wanna go home ... I can call a lift--?"

"No," it came out louder than either of you had expected. Sam blinked at you. You swallowed hard. "I-- yeah, I would actually. I'm starving. I'm sure you are, too. There's a diner a few blocks down from here i-if you wanna walk?"

Sam nodded slowly.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

Beyond the wind brushing at leaves down the sidewalk, it was quiet outside the station. There was not one other person down the foggy streetlamp-lit road.

Sam's strides were long, reaching further with each step wherein took you two of the same. His crisp white shirt shone starkly even in the low light and his tie grappled tiredly around the bend of his neck.

"So," his voice ripped your eyes from were they'd been nudging at the bottom-most button on his shirt, lingering dangerously close to the line of his belt. "What happened?"

A velvety red pressed against your cheeks. You hoped the darkness hid your quiet embarrassment.

"Uh, I was out to go check on some trees that were showing signs of sickness a few days ago." You shrugged, hands fiddling with the manila envelope. "Also, Goose needed a walk. I think he bit one of the officers."

Sam laughed at that. The sound made your throat tighten.

His head was thrown back against his shoulders, hair tickling the space between it's blades. With the angled light of the lamps, his neck became a mosaic of shadows. It's slopes and dips proving it an alter to which you'd decided you could pray at forever.

Your own laugh came out breathless, it tinkled lightly beside his.

"Don't laugh! I feel bad about it."

He shook his head. "You shouldn't."

You shrugged. Flickers of splintered memories blinked at you behind your tired lids.

The thud of officers crushing through the underbrush towards you. Goose's wild, scared yips. The burnt cloud of a cigarette suffocated beneath a boot, tossed somewhere between the fresh green blades of your front lawn.

"They were just doing their job."

Sam's eyes found you, you could feel his gaze warming the side of your face, but he didn't answer. Instead he ran a hand up his forearm, then down again.

Your eyes widened, "Oh--oh, I'm so rude ..."

Beneath the stronghold of it's thick weight against your shoulders, you'd abandoned the memory of Sam's jacket over your frame. You went to shrug it off.

"You must be freezing, I didn't even say thank you--"

You'd stalled to a pause, sleeves halfway down your arms, when two warm palms closed over your shoulders. They sent a sharp, blistering shudder through every molecule in your body.

There was a loud tinkle and your shimmering pair of opalescent wings popped into view. They glowed faintly in the dark space.

Sam's eyes flew open widely, his hands pulled back suddenly as if you'd burnt him.

"I'm ... sorry," he shook his head. "I w-was just ... gonna say that y-you should keep it on. You're gonna freeze in that tiny little dress."

You watched where his eyes struggled to part from the shining protrusions behind your head. You turned over his sharp features in your mind carefully.

"Thank you."

He nodded, gaze flickering between your wings and your face.

The warmth of your palm sunk into your fingers where you wrung them out.

"You can touch them, if you want?"

Sam's eyebrows flew into his hairline, his mouth opened ... there was an almost no, that's okay forming on his lips, you were sure you saw it, but instead he nodded.

"Yeah ... I do."

You nodded too, slipping the jacket to bunch just over your wrists so the wings could stretch comfortably out past your frame.

Sam stepped impossibly close, bringing you nose to nose with his endless expanse of chest. It was warm there.

A long arm stretched over your frame. It was unthinkable to resist the view from under Sam's jaw. Your eyes meandered up his shoulder, over his neck to watch his shallow breaths, his furrowed brow and the tentativeness in his shifting.

You felt when his fingertips met the wings, if not informed by Sam's sharp intake of breath.

"Someone told me once that it feels like dipping your hand into warm water."

His eyes glanced down to where you were tucked beneath his arm, considering the suggestion. You could feel his palm run from the pointed edge down towards your shoulder blade.

"That's ... that's pretty accurate."

He retracted his hand, but he lingered. His lashes grazed his cheek where he looked down at you.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. A secret.

His eyes flickered around your face, nervous in their pursuit of somewhere to rest.

If you just leaned on the tips of your toes, if you just tugged lightly down on the end of that already tempting tie ...

You shook your head, gathering the willpower to break your gaze: bringing it to the space between your feet.

"Let's go. It's just down the next block." Quiet in return. Another secret, but a promise. A promise of maybe we can come to this again.

The diner was just a little further. The Frothy Mug.

It had been one of your first stops when you'd moved to town, almost three years ago. Most mornings since then, too.

But it had been weeks since you'd come in. Almost seven, the same week Georgia Abbott was snatched out from her back yard. The day you became the monster under their beds.

The walkway up the steps were damp, slippery with early forming ice. Sam's hand was at your back. You smiled into your chest.

There was a jingle where Sam pushed the door open, gesturing you ahead of him. The starchy light was comfortable in it's familiarity, painful in that way too.

The Frothy Mug was barren beyond a single man perched at the bar-top with a mug between his hands, eyes tired beneath a trucker hat. He waved vaguely at your passing figures.

Behind the counter, a ruggedly feminine voice called out through the kitchen window, "be with y'all in a sec!"

Shifting awkwardly, still draped in the quilt of Sam's jacket, into the booth: he chuckled softly at you.

"Hey, not my fault you're the size of a juvenile sasquatch." You shrugged.

"I didn't say anything."

"Actually," You went to correct yourself. "Maybe more pre-teen. You're not that big."

Sam frowned for a second. His head tilted.

"Bigfoot ..." Brow knotted again, "He's not ... not real, is he?"

You patted down the front of your dress over your legs, "They. It's a species, and of course they are."

There was a long moment of silence. Sam's gaze drifted off into the distance, it took a long moment before he shrugged. "Okay."

"It's a wonder how surprised you guys are with these things: fairies and bigfoots and forestfolk, considering how much you've probably already seen."

"Sorry y'all," Two thin menus slid abruptly onto the shining grey surface, a thin, dirty blonde woman hovered over the table. "Can I get some coffees, so long--?"

The woman's eyes found you. Her posture stiffened and her face whitened as if visited by a spectre.

There it was again. That same icy liquid dripping down the back of your throat when they looked at you like that. When the sheriff had slapped a pair of handcuffs on you and thrown you in the backseat of a cop car.

"Mornin'," Sam spoke first. "Yeah, I'll have a black coffee. And ..."

His hand motioned over you, eyes imploring.

"Uhm," you could make out the scowl deepening in her features, you purposefully met Sam's face. "I'll have a tea. With milk and sugar, please?"

"No tea." It was sharp and you flinched like she'd stung you.

"Oh," you nudged the menu closer to you. "A hot chocolate?"

The woman, Teresa, sighed: eyes raking over your figure. You recognised her from when you'd still come through.

"No hot chocolate."

You sighed, teasing the worn corner of the menu with your cold fingertips. "I'll-- just some water then. Please."

But Teresa hadn't moved. Eyes burning into the side of your face where you were working hard to hold a neutral expression, focusing on your lap. She snatched the menus unceremoniously off the metal table.

Sam hadn't noticed anything in the first few seconds, but he was quickly starting to do the math.

The little space between his eyebrows was crumpling like it did when he was growing annoyed. His eyes were warming too, irritation watering in the corners.

"Is there a problem here?"

But Teresa's eyes hadn't left you. "You have some nerve walking in here. You should have skipped town a long time ago, and taken that zoo with you."

Your shoulders deflated, not distinctly surprised, but rather wearied.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." It was all you said, not meeting her eye.

"Right." Sam was already shuffling out the booth. He all but shoved the woman out the way to your side of the booth, he stuck his hand out for you to take. "We're leaving."

Without another thought, as if on instinct, you reached your hand to mould into his own. He nudged you gently out the booth past the woman who scathed at your retreating figures.

"And don't come back!"

The door met the frame with a crack where Sam had slammed it.

He huffed out into the cold, and your brain was buzzing with his hand is so warm, his hand is so warm, his hand is so--

Cold nipped again at the edges of your dress. You sighed. "I'm sorry."

His hair flicked wildly over his shoulder where his head snapped to find yours. Incredulity pressed deep into his frown lines.

"You're sorry?" He huffed, blowing a strand of hair from his forehead.

Your hand tightened against his, you didn't mean to, but you did feel bad.

"Yeah, now we can't get breakfast. It's the only place in town open this early."

"Fuck breakfast!"

"Sam?" A small, confused laugh punctuated his outburst.

"That woman was horrible. Do you get this everywhere? I mean, it's the third time I've seen it and I've barely been in town a week. Do you?"

Your chuckle dissolved when you found his face looming, again too close for the wires in your brain to transport messages efficiently. Anger dripped off his features.

The question lingered.

"Yeah." You nodded. "I do."

"And you just take it?"

That picked at a nerve between your brows. "I don't just take it. I choose to be kind, rather than stoop to their level."

Sam's head shook again, confusion dripped off him still. "Why?"

You sighed, he was puffing like an angry dog.

"Kindness will take you farther."

The words settled into the air. The tension in Sam's face ebbed slowly. He was facing you completely again.

"I read it somewhere a long time ago. Stuck with it since."

A warmth settled in your stomach when his thumb started brushing over the side of your palm where your conjoined hands still hung between his hip and yours. He nodded, then sighed.

"Okay. What you wanna do now?"

You shrugged, huffing loudly and allowing yourself to slump against his side in a move your mind made before cowardice could stop you.

"God, this is a lot of decision-making for one night."

Sam laughed. He looked so pretty in the light still reflecting through the grainy diner walls.

"Right." He said. "How about I'll walk you home and you can get some proper rest under a toadstool or wherever it is you fairies sleep."

A velvety blush warmed at your cheeks.

"Sasquatch." You mumbled. Sam smiled again.

Your hands were still connected you noticed. Sam must have followed your eyes.

"I can let go if you want?"

"Nope."

So you walked like that with him.

Your house was more than a couple blocks, too far to walk on a normal day but it was nearly five in the morning: you were falling in love with a monster hunter and you'd just spent the night in a jail cell. A less than regular night if you'd ever had one, and the hour called for such spontaneity.

"So how does a fai-- a dryad end up in a town like this?" He asked, arm still swaying slightly with your own against his side.

A lone car tossed a long shadow down the empty road. It passed noisily.

"I don't know. A bit of roaming combined with youthful curiosity, I guess. I jumped state to state after college--"

"You went to college?"

You laughed loudly, face screwed up in light offence. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sam raised his free hand in surrender, he was laughing too, "I didn't mean you, I just never thought--"

"What, you don't think fairies go to college?" Your shoulder shifted warmly against his side. "Our heads are just filled with pixie dust or something?"

He shook his head. "Hey, you're the first fairy I've ever met. Can you cut me some slack? A week ago I didn't even know you existed."

"Humans." You huffed. "You're all so ignorant. What's your first impression of me then? Do I live up to what you thought a fairy might be like?"

His eyes brushed over your face, considering you. He nodded. "Yeah. A lot actually."

"That so?" Your arms crossed over your chest, bumping him as you walked. "How?"

"Plenty of ways."

"Like?"

"The tree stuff, and the animals, and the wings of course--"

"Can't forget the wings."

"--And the sparkly clothes and the crystals and stuff."

You nodded. "That it?"

"And you're really pretty. Like how they are in the books and the movies." He shrugged, eyes out on the road ahead like he hadn't turned your stomach to molten lava with how he was tossing his words out so absent-mindedly. "Like, beautiful."

"Oh. Well that's good, I suppose,"

Your brain had gone muddy: a gooey, sticky, melted mess that could come dripping out your ears at any moment soon.

"And what about me? I'm sure I'm not the first hunter you've met, but still ... thoughts?"

You smiled, gathering what braincells still had the motivation to carry on.

"You're nice."

"Nice?" He laughed.

You nodded, "Yeah. The last time I had an encounter with a hunter I left with an arrow through my shoulder."

His eyebrows jumped. "Wow."

"And you're sweeter. Taller too." You shrugged, feeling his gaze flicker over you. "Fantastic hair."

His head ducked, like he was blushing. You hoped he was.

"Not any steep competition, from what I'm gathering."

You shrugged. "You win some you lose some."

"Anyways, you were telling me about college before I rudely projected my fairy prejudices on you." His free hand slipped into his pant pocket.

"I had fun. The drinking, the partying, the taste of freedom."

"What'd you study?"

A loud giggle erupted from you. "I'll give you three guesses."

Another cold rush of wind charged between you, he shivered.

"Don't tell me, not the plants?"

"The plants exactly!"

His footing stumbled between his laughter. "Right, right. How could I imagine anything else."

"Botany, actually. Some work in zoology, animals, but plants mostly."

You tugged at his hand, nudging him down a shorter road in the direction of your house.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Loved it." You nodded. "What about you, do monster hunters go to college? Or do you guys have a special school for stabbing werewolves and setting fire to corpses?"

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny." His thumb had taken to rubbing circles against the back of your hand. "I did actually. Go to college, I mean. Law school. Never finished though."

Something shadowy passed over his features. You frowned.

"Oh, that's too bad. Why didn't you finish?"

His shoulders slumped, he sighed loudly.

"My girlfriend ... she was, uh, killed by a demon. Kind of got caught up with getting revenge, and then I was sucked back into hunting. Haven't stopped since."

Your breath caught in your throat. It lodged there like a stone.

"I-I'm so sorry to hear that." Maybe it was involuntary, but your hand squeezed against his. It squeezed back.

"It's okay. Happened a long time ago."

A question shuffled nervously to the edge of your tongue.

"Was ... was she your--" you shoulders twitched up against the lining of Sam's jacket that suddenly felt misplaced over your body. "--your other?"

His head shot in your direction as if he’d been electrocuted. “Oh, no, no … just my girlfriend at the time.”

You suddenly felt bad for asking.

“Oh.”

In the distance, a streetlamp revealed the little sliver of sidewalk in front of your house. It drew nearer and the conversation stalled to silence.

Sam was still holding your hand, you remembered blithely.

The sky had also turned a deep purple, threatening to spill into dawn.

You sighed up at it.

“The sky looks so beautiful at this time.”

Sam’s eyes darted between your face and the heavens. “Yeah, it does. I‘ve never really been up to see it.”

Your little patch of the world came passing under your feet. The dewy grass crunched beneath your shoes.

He walked you all the way to the door. His little yawn against his collar didn’t go amiss on you.

“You didn’t have to stay all night, you know?”

Two sets of feet padded up your porch steps. Sam shook his head.

“Of course I did.”

“To make sure I was okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You twisted to meet his face, the one perched on the head that loomed so far above you.

“I’m stronger than I look, Winchester.”

His eyes sparkled in the low light. “Oh I have no doubts about that.”

You smiled, pressing a gentle thumb against the side of his hand.

“You’re a good person, Sam Winchester.”

With a weary hand, he rubbed a spot behind his neck. “The way you say it almost makes it sound true.”

Your head cocked, almost resting on one shoulder. “Trust me. I have a feel for these things.”

“You make me want to be a good person.”

It hung in the air for a moment. A long moment.

You pulled your hand from his softly, raising it to brush a finger over his cheek just once before dropping it back to your side.

“Goodnight Sam.”

The door clicked open under the key’s persuasion.

“Goodnight.”

It clicked again gently shut.

-

When morning came, after sleep had long evaded you in the absence of the warmth Goose normally provided from a spot at the base of your bed, you came to find eight metal crates packed neatly on your doormat.

Your animals keened happily at you from within their confines.

Attached to the side of one of the cages was the police release form. At the bottom of the drawling document was a haphazard signature, a sprawling handwriting that you could just make out to read Samuel Winchester.

-

"So now what?"

Sam slugged back the last of his already cold coffee out the cardboard cup.

Dean was watching him from the side of his eye.

"I guess we go in, see what we can find." Sam shrugged. "The lore's been pretty less than helpful."

Out the front window of the Impala loomed an open stretch of forest, an entryway a little further out of town where they could avoid the prying eyes of nosy residents.

Sam rubbed the back of his fists against his eyes, he yawned.

"You sure you ready to head out there, cowboy? You barely got any sleep."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam nodded. "I'm fine."

Maybe it was a fib. He was exhausted.

He'd only gotten back to the motel around five and barely slept two hours before slipping back out to the police station to make opening time at eight o' clock. Sam figured you deserved the sleep more than he did, electing to unburden you of the humiliation of walking back in there to fetch your animals.

To face more of the unsettling stares and scathing remarks. The whole thing made his skin prickle with anger.

"Whatever you say, Sammy."

Dean tugged his jacket tighter over his chest as they climbed out the side of the car and Sam felt the outline of his blade against his thigh.

The lore on killing goblins had been foggy, but Sam figured it was hard to go wrong with a silver blade.

Loud crunching echoed their every step past the outer line of trees. An eery air settled over where the brothers walked.

"What exactly are we looking for?"

Sam shook his head, overtly wary of his surroundings: half convinced something was moments from leaping out at them.

"Anything that looks out of the ordinary."

They walked for what only could have been hours. Through the thicket of the trees above, it was hard to keep track of the sun. Rather the forest air was draped in a cool shade that made the autumn air even colder.

There were times where they split up, not far apart, but enough to cover more ground. Dean jumped every once in a while over an ambitious tree frog or a wandering deer, but more than that, the search was proving fruitless.

Sam paused for a moment, Dean huffed beside him and by then the sun was leering far enough over the hill that the forest was dipping into early evening darkness.

"Hey man," Dean sighed, leaning his leg up on a log. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong direction. Maybe dad was wrong, thought it was something to do with--"

A beam of light was peaking through the canopy. Specks of moonlight where it was slowly replacing the sun in the sky.

"Dean."

The misty light was shining against the wood of a tall oak that loomed just a way out of their reach. Deep scars etched into it's side, scars that were glowing under the moon's gaze.

Dean found it too.

They moved in unison towards it. The creatures of the forest chirped loudly where they neared.

The shining wounds formed a triangulated symbol, sharp like edges of teeth, surrounded by a skewed circle.

"You ever seen anything like that?" Dean's voice broke through the music of the forest.

Sam shook his head, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and captured a photo. "Nope."

They watched it for a moment.

"Well," Dean yielded. "Guess now we got something to work with. It's getting dark, let's get the hell out of here."

-

Hours around the desk proved fruitless. Sam had even bargained a trip to the local library, scrounged around in the local lore to come up empty handed.

Noon sun blazed through the open window, nudging against the curtain. Dean tipped back the sweating beer bottle before knocking it down against the desk.

"Nothing I've ever laid my eyes on, sorry to tell you."

Sam groaned against the phone. He nodded as if Garth could see.

"Right. Thanks again, Garth."

"Adios muchacho."

Dean's eyes followed where he killed the line and set the phone against the desk. "Nada?"

"Nada." Sam confirmed.

Shoving his chair back noisily, Dean stretched his legs out with a whine. "Well, you know ... there is someone who might know a little something about this."

Sam leaned his arms over his head, they cracked from the tension of working against the laptop. He could already smell his brother's next words.

"Let me guess."

"Tinkerbell, that's right."

Sam's lips pursed. He pretended to consider his brother's suggestion, as if he wasn't keening for your presence. Like he wasn't constantly engulfed by the gnawing urge to be at your side every single second like how he craved to breath air.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"I knew you'd think so too."

-

The Bloom Box.

It was a cramped little shop, squeezed into a tight spot between the laundromat and a pharmacy on main street. Pale faded pink painted brick shimmered in the afternoon glare.

"Well. Can't stay she doesn't stay on brand."

Dean's comment was the last thought that lingered before being swept abruptly from the front of Sam's mind when the little bell over the door jingled jovially.

White orchards twinkled at him from over a marble counter. Pink roses, orange tulips and purple lilies gleamed too. The inside was impossibly more pink than the face of the shop: it made Sam's head hurt.

A heavy waft of the botanicals rushed over his face and up his nostrils.

There was a hum of a heater in the far corner. Your laugh cut through the sound.

In between the glitter and mosaic of the petals, your frame melded between the colours.

You stood behind the counter, head tossed back between your shoulders with your hair up out of your face. He couldn't help notice then, with hair no longer obstructing the view, that your ears held a pointed edge. Not too noticeable, but enough that Sam squinted in surprise.

More than your ears, Sam had noticed the figure beside you. Lanky, young - closer to your own age than himself - with dreads tied back in a bun over his head.

Clearly he'd just said something hilarious, because he was laughing beside you.

"I told you he'd do that!" Your melodic voice bounced around the room.

"I couldn't resist." The man responded, elbow leaned over the counter and far too close to your shining face for Sam's liking.

An uncomfortable itch was forming in the base of his stomach. A green-eyed monster shaped itch.

Dean marched on ahead, interrupting your conversation.

"Hey Tink." He started.

Your eyes found the brothers, straightening up as you noticed. "Hey guys!"

Sam's feet were moving towards you before they'd even been instructed.

"What brings you in?" You pressed down over your apron, some soil stains leaked over it. Underneath you were wearing another frilly skirt, longer this time: all the way to your calves beyond the counter, and another crochet top. Earthy brown. "Can I interest you in some tulips, they arrived this morning?"

The man was watching Sam, he was watching back.

You noticed the exchange.

"Oh, this is Tony." You motioned up to his figure. "We work together ... obviously."

Sam nodded briefly, Dean did the same.

"Not here for the tulips, princess. Can we have a word?"

You fiddled with the ring around your middle finger. "Sure ... uh, Tony would you give us a sec?"

But Tony seemed unconvinced, purveying Sam and Dean with hooded eyes. "You sure, love?"

Love.

"Yeah, she's sure." The words fell off Sam's tongue before he had time to catch them.

Tony all but glared at him.

Your hand found his arm, Sam watched it unfold with the eyes of a trained dog. "Yeah, yeah. They're friends."

The boy nodded slowly, sending a wavering glance over Sam and Dean. "Sure. I'll be in the office if ya need."

He disappeared beyond a door into the back of the shop.

"We found some symbols in the forest," Dean started as soon as Tony was out of earshot. "Haven't been able to find much on it, thought you might know something."

You nodded, "Sure."

Sam slipped his phone out his khaki jacket, his outfit unusually casual when it came to his meetings with you.

He set the phone down gently in front of you.

You pulled it closer, raking over the pixelated image that only barely captured the shape of the wounds in the tree in the darkness of the night.

The breath you sucked in was loud.

"Look familiar?" Dean pressed.

With another shuddering breath you nodded again. "Goblins."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. A quiet I told you so.

"There should be four ..." you continued, zooming in on the photo.

"Four?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, four trees like this ... at least there should be. I haven't seen anything like this in real life, it's just stuff I learnt from knowledge passed down." The heater whined into the space between your words. "They each face a certain direction. If you find the point in the exact centre of the four trees, you've found the entrance. It should be like an underground cave from what I know."

Dean clapped his hands together in small victory, turning to Sam. "Great, we can head there now. Be done before sun down."

But you cut him off before Sam could, "Uhm, not exactly. These markings are only visible under moonlight, as is the entrance to their caves. You're gonna have to go looking after dark if you want to find anything."

Dean deflated. "Awesome."

"You think that goblins took those kids?" You asked finally, concern tightening at your brow.

"Well, if it's not you, that's our next best guess."

You rapped your nails against the counter in thought. Sam made out a tiny scratch against the side of your finger, one you'd made probably handling thorny roses. The same mark he'd noticed against his own finger while brushing his teeth that morning.

"If you decide otherwise, be sure to give me a heads up." Your face morphed into a grin, playing along with Dean's narrative.

Sam took his phone back where you held it out to him. "Well, uh, thanks."

"Please," you shook your head. "It's the least I could do after your little drop off yesterday morning. I never got to thank you for that."

Smiling slightly now, Sam shook you off.

"I didn't want you to have to go back there with those assholes."

"Well," you leaned closer over the counter, blinking up at him with eyes that could burn through steel, "Thank you. I appreciated it. Lydia too, poor thing's been hiding under the couch since."

The memory of the three-foot snake seemed to reappear to Dean. He shivered.

"I'll, uh, meet you out by the car." He muttered under his breath, "Thanks again, Tink."

You waved at him as he passed. "Of course."

The door jingled behind him.

"So," Sam's hands sunk into his pant pockets. He flicked his head up to where your co-worker had disappeared behind the door. "Tony, huh?"

Laughing you shook your head. "Uh, no. He's really sweet though. Maybe one of these days I'll give it a shot, but not now."

Sam's fists tightened, your reply bugged him.

"No time like the present." He didn't know why he was still talking, why he was mentioning it at all.

He had every right to open his mouth and tell you the truth, get your mind off Tony and any man or woman who ever came near you again.

"No, no." You chuckled softly, but it trailed off. "Kind of got this crush that I need to sort out first."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. His feet twitched, shifting his weight.

"A crush?"

You nodded. "Yeah it's super pathetic, but he's leaving town soon. So I'll get over it. Hopefully."

A warm spongy feeling was replacing the scathing jealousy in Sam's chest.

"He's an idiot, I'm sure, if you think it's pathetic." He played along, hoping to any God listening that he wasn't reading you wrong.

"Not at all." You shook your head, eyes never leaving his. "He's actually very sweet. S'been swooping in to save me more times than I can count over the last week. Ridiculously handsome too which doesn't help the fact."

Sam was sure you could see the birds flying over his head and where he was sure his pupils had turned to hearts.

Sizzling embers warmed his insides at the sight of you, the prettiest thing between the flowers. Of how you blended so perfectly into the beauty of the world, so soft and beyond lovely and some divine power decided that he deserved it.

That you were crafted for him, as he was for you.

He felt a lick of shame in that, how you drew the short string with the mess of the man across from you.

It pushed him to respond. He forwent indulging more of your teasing.

"Can I come say goodbye tonight?" His voice was soft. "Once I'm done? I do still owe you breakfast."

A teasing grin plucked at your face again. "What makes you think I'll let you stick around 'till breakfast?"

He sighed, blushing at the insinuation. "Well, unless you'd rather have your crush come by? So I can see who's causing you all this trouble."

You shook your head. "I'll see you later then, hunter."

"You can count on it, fairy."

-

comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

taglist:

@firstsnowdrop @writerofthewinds @aria1245 @nyx22-blogs @lucysaloser @britishscum @pookiesnatcher @music-keep-me-sane @cryptid-with-a-cane @sammys-concubine @i-live-for-fantasy @grimbunnie @crystalreedwifey @haileycannotcometothephonern @i-cant-write-for-shit @did-someone-change-my-name @1313ek @chlorine11 @ch33ze00 @random-fandom-gurl @melancholicandmessy @harley-quinns-girlfriend @cardigan-ns @charliethealpaccaso @crystalandphoebewifey @nonbinarycryptic @multitargaryen @darylsleathervest @aquatic-bread @ferrersbiggestfan @miles-stargirl @secretsuitcasegooplawyer @bxtchboy69 @devilslittlebabyxx @bucky-barnes-beloved @susyelectra @spilled-coffee-cup @ashdoctor @deamus-liv @rintheemolion @damonsalavatore-best @ilovetaquitosmmmm

[suckerforlovesblog]

A perfect match?

A perfect match? - Masterlist

Everything was different when you opened your eyes. Everything was different once again. Without knowing where you were, you sat up, rubbed your tired eyes and took a look around you. A pair of bright green eyes starred back at you through the dark. Hearing a deep rumbling voice saying that everything is fine now , you felt a shiver run down your spine and everything turned. The darkness welcomed you back once again…

Series warning: ABO Dynamics, Smut, Unprotected PIV , Scenting, Knotting, Language, age gap, Claiming, Breeding Kink, Age Gap

Chapter 4: Where are we going?

Summary: Dean takes his Omega to a motel where they get to know each other a little bit.

Chapter warning: ABO Dynamics, Angst

Word count: 1.2k

~taglist: @niiight-dreamerrrr ~

Sorry, this is a little bit on the short side.

You were sleeping soundly, wrapped up in his big black leather jacket whilst breathing in your Alpha’s scent. He held you close to his chest. Your neck and head were pressed against his broad chest and he watched you breathe because it seemed to calm him down. Your scent was the most heavenly thing Dean had ever smelled but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was precisely. He thought of sunshine on a wam summer day and flowers, maybe peonies. But he could also smell his cologne and whiskey. The mixed scents nearly drove him crazy because it went straight to his pants. All he wanted to do was bite into your neck once again and fuck you ruthlessly until you were panting, screaming his name. But right now he had to concentrate because he was walking out of the door of the Omega facility, where he had just meet and claimed his mate and took on another responsibility, another life he had to watch out for. You.

Sam was walking right next to him, jiggling the keys to his car in his right hand. Leaving the facility behind and entering the parking lot, Dean didn’t even realize that he held his breath.

“Sammy!”, he snapped at him, nearly growling. Sam just looked at him puzzled but stopped playing with the car keys to calm the raging Alpha down.

Everything was new to Dean because he could not only feel what you did but he also shared some of your thoughts and feelings. That’s why he knew that you were more than happy to sleep cuddled into his chest. You felt safe and warm. Dean smiled down at you and made his way to his car: a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. He looked at Sam, allowing him to drive and then opened the back door. Dean sat down gently, keeping you close to his chest. After sitting down, he laid you on the backseat, your head in his lap. Sam sat down in the drivers seat and turned the key, pulling out of the parking space and then the parking lot driving towards the Motel they were staying in for the last couple of days.

Dean looked down at your, brushing a loose hair behind your ear, smiled and then he fell asleep, holding your hand. Sam drove the couple of hours and parked the car. He knew his brother would be mad but still decided to snap a picture of Dean sleeping so soundly, afterwards he woke him gently with a grin. You felt your Alpha get uneasy and restless, so you were too. You brought your hands to your eyes and rubbed them. Afterwards opening your eyes, you were confused because you had no idea where you were. Looking around and gathering all your strength you sat up and then felt your tummy growl. Dean chuckled and the other man laughed: “Get out of the car and I will get some food. We need to go to a store tomorrow anyways because she needs something to wear, doesn’t she?” You looked around, scarred and searching for your Alpha and immediately calmed down when you felt his presence next to you. “You’re right”, his deep voice said, “should I carry you little one?” “Uhm”, you tested your voice, confused about the choice he gave you. Dean then gets out of the car and leaves the door open for you. Feeling confident by the trust Dean is putting in you, you crawl to the door of the car and plant one of your feet down, then the other and get out of the car. While holding his jacket snugly around you, you look around trying to take everything in. For the first time in years you feel like you’re finally able to breath again, feeling the fresh air streaming into your lungs, you looked at Dean feeling an indescribable gratefulness. “Thank you”, you whisper under your breath, knowing that he would have understood you. Dean just smiled, trying to encourage you to take another step towards him so that’s what you did. He closed the small distance between the two of you by taking an step towards her. Dean opened his arms wide and embraced you in a hug.

The three of them must have looked weird to anyone. The very tall Sam just standing next to the drivers seat, leaning over the car watching as the scene unfolded: Dean with his broad shoulders and wide open arms and Y/N with naked legs, just wrapped in a big leather jacket closing the distance and wrapping her arms around her Alpha. He embraced the hug, picked her up and carried her towards his Motel room.

“We will do this bridal style now”, he whispered in her ear, making her blush and smile. Dean carried his Omega through the door and into the room. Y/N knew that he was still reserved and didn’t know how to behave around her and all she wanted to do was please him. “You should go and take a shower. I will give you one of my shirts to wear. Sammy will be here with some food shortly and we will go to the store to get you some of your own stuff tomorrow.”, he said, rummaging through his pack back and giving her a flannel. Y/N eyes filled with tears and she started sobbing immediately. “Hey, what’s wrong?”, Dean whispered, getting down on his knees next to where she sat on the floor. “I… I just, ehrm”, she sniffled, “my job is to take care of you. And I have been a big disappointment so far!” “Hush”, he said, pulling her into his lap after he changed positions, “I don’t know what they told you in there but it’s a two way road. We take care of each other. That’s how an Alpha-Omega bound works.” He patted her hair, not really knowing what to do. Dean felt helpless and he could also feel her aching and his heart breaking for the pain his Omega felt. “But… but”, she said, still crying, “I thought I am to serve you.” “Y/N. Look at me”, he pulled her chin up so they looked into each others eyes. The Omega in Y/N instantly submitted and his forest green eyes took her in. She immediately felt a wave of calm come over her. “Some people might live like this. But Sammy and I don’t.” He swallowed: “Listen, I was really opposed to the idea of an Omega because we live a very dangerous life and I didn’t want to pull another person into this ….” Y/N heard Dean talking but she didn’t listen anymore. All she could think about is that he didn’t want her in his life and that made her really sad.

She got out of Deans embrace and then walked towards what seemed to be the bathroom, determined to show him that she is worth his time.

All Y/N wanted was her Alpha to want her and not be a project he took on out of pity. Dean was still sitting on the floor, confused because he couldn’t decipher his Omega’s emotions.

[naughtystiel]

a little something I wrote for @macy2me 's birthday! <3

The watch on Dean’s wrist told him that his date was already fifteen minutes late. God, it had taken him so long to actually grow a pair and finally ask the guy out. But now, as he leaned on the hood of his Chevy, he wondered if maybe he got stood up. It couldn’t be, could it? He was good looking and his self esteem was pretty high, but in that moment he started to doubt himself big time. Perhaps, because for once he actually cared, he really really wanted to go on a date with the man who apparently didn’t give a fuck about being late.

Of course, he could walk up to the door and knock like a normal person would do, but no. His stubborn ass stayed on the freshly polished surface of the car. When he looked up, dark clouds started rolling over the horizon like fog on the water. Soon he would have to get back in the car so he wouldn't get soaked, but he just wanted to greet his date first without having to awkwardly climb out of his Baby.

Just as he was seriously contemplating walking up the stairs and pounding his fist on the door, begging not to be ditched, somebody appeared in front of him. His breath hitched when the man trapped him between the V of his legs, basically pinning his ass against the car.

“Hello, Dean.” that whisky soaked voice called, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. Fuck, he looked good. The leather jacket was probably quite warm for the summer’s evening, but it did wonders to his shoulders. Combined with thick stubble and curls that kept being tousled by the breeze, the combo made Dean’s knees weak.

“You’re late, Cas.” He managed to breathe out, not sure what to do with his hands that just itched to launch themselves on the guy’s body.

“Sorry about that.” A small smile appeared on his face and he reached inside his jacket to pull something out, “I was getting those for you.”

When Dean glanced at what Cas was holding, it was a tiny bouquet made out of wildflowers, mainly poppies and cornflowers that were the same shade of blue like his eyes. Well, he definitely didn’t expect that. In fact, he had never gotten any flowers from anybody. Any kind of annoyance or self doubt he had felt a minute ago vanished like morning frost.

Carefully, Cas put the flowers in Dean’s front pocket and for a second it felt as if they were about to go to prom together. Then, Cas’ hands rested on his chest and smoothed down the moss green plaid he was wearing. His fingers might have brushed his nipples a bit and Dean tried his best not to squirm. How was he supposed to survive the date if technically it hadn’t even properly started yet?

But no, Cas wasn’t finished. He pulled out a flower that was stuck behind his own ear and started tracing Dean’s cheek with it. The petals vere delicate and almost tickled his skin, but combined with Cas’ heavy gaze? Christ, he swallowed hard and his lips parted, ready to say something, anything, but for once his usually cocky self was suddenly lost for words.

Apparently satisfied with his doing, Cas put the flower behind Dean’s ear before his hand slid down to his neck. “Gorgeous.” He stated like it was a well known fact and Dean could feel his cheeks heat up from the compliment. There was something so mesmerising about how confidently Cas moved and Dean wanted to be molded with those skilled fingers until he was just a daft, sedated puddle.

Something wet and heavy made an impact with the car’s hood and they both looked down to see the first drop. Then, another. There were a few seconds gaps in between them until they picked up and suddenly it started to pour down. Dean’s first instinct was to jump into the car, but when he tried to move, Cas’ strong thighs kept him in place. When he gave Cas a puzzled look, the man only grinned that almost childlike smile before pulling Dean in for a kiss.

For a split second his whole body tensed up, but then he relaxed, deciding that he should just go with it. Soaked clothes be damned, he didn’t care. The contrast between the cold wet drops that were running down their noses and Cas’ soft warm lips as they kissed was more thrilling than he could have anticipated. As it got more heated, he could feel Cas’ growing erection rubbing against his own. Fuck, how was he supposed to last longer than a few minutes when Cas was kissing him like a starving man?

Finally, he remembered that his hands were still uselessly resting on the car, so instead he gripped Cas’ hips and pulled him even closer, the friction bringing them both a wave of pleasure judging by the guy’s low moan. Cas’ hands were suddenly underneath Dean’s plaid that was clinging to his body like an octopus, but Cas fought hard, wrestling with the cloth until his cold fingers made contact with Dean’s nipples that were as hard as his cock.

It was almost embarrassing when he whimpered after Cas trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. Regretfully, he had to pull away to catch his breath. They were panting heavily, their foreheads rested against each other.

Suddenly, there was a huge blinding flash that made Cas’ eyes look like electricity got trapped in them. A low rumble followed shortly after, almost making their bodies tremble.

“Fuck, a thunderstorm?” Dean said loudly, but it still sounded like a bare whisper compared to the force of rain hitting everything around them.

Cas looked up, exposing his neck, drops were running down the tanned skin like a waterfall. It took all Dean’s willpower not to launch himself and stick to it like a leech. As if the man could read his mind, he licked his lips and gave him such a lustful look that made Dean’s cock ache with want.

“I had fun, but I think it’s time we take this inside.” He said, pulling Dean towards the door. When they got inside, they shook their bodies like dogs that tried to dry themselves off. God, it was so ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh. Cas joined him and together they tried to wrestle out of their soaked clothes. Before Cas dragged him into a bath filled with hot water and bubbles, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The single cornflower was still somehow stuck behind his ear and maybe it was all the giddiness and endorphins, but yeah. In that moment, he felt gorgeous.

[comshipbracket]

Antis DNI

Remember, you are voting for the ship you prefer, not the ship you find more problematic

Propaganda for both ships under the cut.

Spoilers for both medias under the cut

Niffany Propaganda (Abusive Dynamic, Arguably Yandere, Unhealthy Obsessions)

"Tiffany and Nica are just the cutest couple in the Chucky tv series. Tiffany is so in love with Nica that she was willing to kidnap and CHOP THE LEGS AND ARMS off of her just so they could be together forever. Every morning TIffany feeds Nica in bed, dresses her in adorable dresses, and then gags her with a cute pink ball gag so she doesn't scream while guests are over. Later in the series, Nica escapes with the help of Tiffany's two kids, and she becomes obsessed with getting revenge on Tiffany, wanting to torture her for what she did to Nica. I just think they're such an interesting pair and a super fun ship!!"

Seymorin Propaganda (Abusive Dynamic)

Seymorin as very much unwanted and suppressed mutual sexual attraction is an extremely fun dynamic that compliments and highlights the characters' personalities and motivations well. For anyone who hasn't seen Little Shop of Horrors, Seymour is in love with his coworker/friend Audrey, who is in a relationship with Orin, an abusive and sadistic dentist. Seymour lets Orin die to save Audrey from his abuse, and they start dating shortly after that. Audrey uses a fantasy of being a traditional 50s housewife as a coping mechanism for her horrible quality of life, and I swear that this fact will be relevant to the propaganda."

"Some of the other concepts I will bring up in this propaganda might not immediately appear to be relevant to the ship between Seymour and Orin either, but it'll all tie together in the end. Another important consideration is that the lines between subtext that objectively exists in the story and was intended by the writers and stuff that I completely made up aren't even clear to me, and there are substantial gray areas between those two extremes, but it's still a very fun dynamic."

"There is a decent amount of evidence in the text of the play and movie that Seymour believes that Audrey likes abusive guys like Orin, the two strongest pieces of evidence being that (in the play) he tries to impress her by wearing Orin's leather jacket (a week after his death, great going Seymour) and that (in the play and the movie) he states through a metaphor that he wants to be Orin or at least be a guy like him so that Audrey will want him. The line in question is `Gee I'd like a Harley machine, toolin' around like I was James Dean, makin' all the guys on the corner turn green!` and he sings this a few minutes after he saw Orin for the first time. Orin was driving a motorcycle, presumably a Harley but I don't know the difference between different kinds of motorcycles, and he drove off on it with Audrey. Seymour wants to be 'properly masculine' for Audrey like he thinks she deserves and wants and sees Orin as having this masculinity (as symbolized by his motorcycle, a symbol of masculinity, and the reference to James Dean, also a symbol of masculinity) despite his hatred towards him and his abuse of her."

"This is because he is presumably familiar enough with her to know that she fantasizes about being a 50s housewife and living a traditional 50s middle class suburban life, and thus he wants to be a proper '50s husband and provider figure' type guy for her to fit into that life. As this system of 50s gender norms was a breeding ground for abuse ranging from violent domestic abuse to inherent power gaps in romantic relationships, Seymour's sort of adoptive father and model for masculinity was neglectful and arguably abusive, and Audrey has probably been in some kind of abusive relationship for most of the time that he's known her, he believes that abuse is an integral part of this 50s lifestyle fantasy both objectively and from Audrey's perspective. The husband being a provider and protector is also an integral part of this fantasy in his view, and thus he conceptualizes of Audrey's hatred towards Orin and his abuse of her as resulting from Orin's failure to protect and provide for her, thus placing his abuse towards her in an 'improper' context. Despite this, he in a sense desperately 'wants to want' to be properly masculine like Orin and to be capable of providing for ALL of Audrey's desires like she deserves despite being viscerally uncomfortable with everything involved in Orin's hypermasculinity and having an 'inherent nature'/personality that is completely counter to it. He wants this so much that it starts to bleed into 'wanting' Orin himself in a sense despite him in theory only wanting women and in practice being extremely fixated on wanting Audrey to the exclusion of everyone and everything else."

"From Orin's side of things, I like to imagine that he heard Seymour's radio interview and figured out that 1. his girlfriend has a job outside of The Gutter (the way I phrased that is representative of his thought process and not mine, I love Audrey) and 2. Her coworker at that job (Seymour) obviously has a crush on her. This inspired him to go pick her up for a date at her other workplace so that he could show off his control over her to this guy who dares to have a crush on his girlfriend, assert dominance over him, and further prove his masculinity by doing so. And then said guy had the audacity to be cute. Which is incredibly annoying to Orin, because gay attraction (in his view) is feminine and not proper for a REAL man like him. And thus he, with the power of staggering amounts of cognitive dissonance, invites this guy in for a dental appointment so that he can torture and then kill him. Because if he kills him, he won't have to deal with the fact that he derives sexual gratification from him any more (but also he totally doesn't in the first place don't worry about it he's definitely completely straight), AND he can derive sexual gratification from the process of torturing and killing him. And of course someone who is good enough at cognitive dissonance to be completely joyful and at ease while torturing people every day is going to be able to hold these two conflicting motivations in mind without recognizing that something's off there or that his attraction towards his girlfriend's coworker miiiiiight have implications for his sexuality."

[choppedupnotkilled]

(not hate) but how is audrey and sexmour a proship? I mean, they dont seem to fit into the category of ships that are usually riled against (then again im not in the lsoh fandom so i dont know and i am very curious)

Hey! So ships with controversial elements aren't called proships, they're called comships (for complicated ships.) Proshipping is the belief that people have the right to write what they want to write about and publish that writing without being harassed, and I put some proship related tags on my original posts because I am a proshipper and my account is a proshipper-safe space. Plus Seymour x Audrey with only the dynamics of one of the canon versions of Little Shop isn't really a comship (although I have seen some discourse over how Seymour was apparently manipulating Audrey into being with him which I do not agree with), but I kind of think of it as one because of the conclusions I've come to about what would naturally follow the theatrical cut ending after doing tons of character exploration for them. Admittedly a lot of the content I've released online so far is more in line with my almost AU of 'what if Seymour wasn't too messed up to recover from his issues,' and I do that because I want to make my rewrite that actually explores my 'real' thoughts on the ship post theatrical-cut ending into a publishable product at some point, whether it remains Little Shop or not.

The Tl;dr if you're interested is that there is strong canonical evidence that he believes she likes abusive guys (he tries to impress her by wearing her abusive ex's leather jacket in the play, states through a metaphor of 'wanting that abusive ex's motorcycle' that he wants to be him/be like him so that she'll like him and want to be with him in the line "Gee I'd like a Harley machine, toolin' around like I was James Dean, makin' all the guys on the corner turn green!," this particular point potentially merits more explanation but I'm trying to keep this as a Tl;dr, and he has a nightmare where she chooses the plant that has been manipulating/abusing him over him in the cut extended version of The Meek Shall Inherit for the movie), presumably as a part of her 50s housewife fantasy inherently involving abuse through inherent power gaps in relationships and being a breeding ground for 'more intense' physical abuse/his semi-father figure and model for masculinity Mr. Mushnik being abusive/her dating abusive guys for as long as he's known her (not to victim-blame her, just explaining the potential motivators of this belief.) With how difficult and potentially nearly impossible it is for him to overcome intrusive thoughts/false beliefs like this (he literally does not realize that she loves him after she accepts his marriage proposal and is probably gonna go back to being insecure about that five minutes after that cute little running into the sunset thing they did after the shop collapse) and how intense he is about being a 'proper' protector and provider of her needs and desires (he tries to kill her abusive ex/lets him die and only tries to stop the whole harboring a killer alien plant thing when they have enough money to escape to suburbia together), I don't think that this combination of traits is gonna work out too well for them post-theatrical cut ending, let's just put it that way. I'd be happy to explain anything else about this or proshipping or comships as well.

[marinette305]

 "Edgy Elegance:  Leather Jackets to Unleash Your Inner Fashionista"

 

The world of fashion is an ever-spinning carousel of trends, styles, and timeless classics. Among these, the Women leather jacket stands tall, an emblem of rebellion, individuality, and sheer sartorial splendor. Its enduring appeal has made it a wardrobe staple for countless fashion enthusiasts, effortlessly bridging the gap between edgy and elegant. So, let's delve into the captivating world of leather jackets and discover how this iconic piece can unleash your inner fashionista.

A Timeless Classic:

From Marlon Brando's rebellious biker in "The Wild One" to James Dean's iconic look in "Rebel Without a Cause," the leather jacket has long been synonymous with defiance and non-conformity. However, its appeal extends far beyond its rebellious roots. A well-crafted leather jacket exudes a sense of timeless elegance, making it a versatile piece that can be styled in myriad ways to suit any occasion.

Versatility at Its Best:

One of the most remarkable features of the leather jacket is its unparalleled versatility. Whether you're aiming for a laid-back casual look or a sophisticated evening ensemble, there's a women leather jacket to match every style and occasion. The classic biker design remains a perennial favorite, characterized by its asymmetrical zipper, notch lapels, and belted waist. However, contemporary iterations have introduced a plethora of styles and silhouettes, from sleek moto-inspired designs to tailored blazers and avant-garde creations.

The Power of Confidence:

There's an undeniable allure to the leather jacket that goes beyond its aesthetic appeal. Slipping into a well-fitted leather jacket can be a transformative experience, imbuing you with a newfound sense of confidence and empowerment. It's a garment that demands attention, effortlessly elevating your demeanor and adding a dash of edgy sophistication to your overall look.

Styling Tips and Tricks:

Styling a leather jacket is an art form in itself, offering endless opportunities for creativity and self-expression. For a casual daytime look, pair a classic black leather jacket with distressed denim jeans and a white t-shirt for an effortlessly cool ensemble. Complete the look with a pair of ankle boots, oversized sunglasses, and minimalistic jewelry to channel your inner off-duty model.

For a more polished and refined aesthetic, opt for a tailored leather jacket in a sophisticated hue like burgundy, navy, or olive green. Layer it over a crisp white button-down shirt and tailored trousers for a chic office-appropriate outfit that transitions seamlessly from day to night. Finish off the look with a pair of statement heels, a structured handbag, and elegant accessories to add a touch of modern sophistication to your ensemble.

Investing in Quality:

When it comes to investing in a leather jacket, quality should always be a top priority. Opt for jackets crafted from premium quality leather that not only looks and feels luxurious but also stands the test of time. Pay close attention to the stitching, hardware, and overall construction of the jacket to ensure you're making a wise and enduring investment.

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[castielhoney]

ok so here's a bunch of poetry/prose cut up and stitched back together for a class project, themed on stanford-era dean. (none of these are mine, but i don't have credits for all of them. let me know if it's yours and i'll credit you!) @lovelikesomethingholy @angelsdean @magdaclaire @davyperez

So. So I’m a kid and the furthest I’ve gone is to a store in the city an hour away, small hands tucked tight into Momma’s sundress. I’m a kid and the world is as big as a two-story house and a four-door car and that’s good because that’s all I need.

I’m 4 and my mother is telling me that angels are watching over me. It isn’t long after the words leave her lips, that she dies in a house fire.

And then maybe I’m not a kid anymore and the furthest I’ve had to run is now barefoot across my front lawn carrying my brother in my too-small arms. My house-not-a-home-anymore is blazing behind me. I am not a kid and the world is as small as my hands, as small as a baby only six months old.

I know the smell of motel mold more intimately than I know the smell of my father’s cologne. He’s never been much for affection. The pitfalls of his fingertips litter the hand, bruises painted black, purple, yellow, green.

My father is a man who bastardizes himself enough that what remains is neither a man nor a father, a dog starved for scraps.

So it goes.

I’m 10, and I’m making mac and cheese again, keeping it interesting for my baby brother. He keeps looking up at me like I’m something important.

First thing I remember most days, it seems like, is flames.

Tongues of fire, licking me up, swallowing big and greedy,

Like my momma always taught me not to be.

Guess it don’t matter anyhow.

Momma’s the same memory now, blond hair trailing into that blazing gold.

Sometimes I wonder if the fire started inside her, somehow,

If she was always burning up.

Even when she held me;

Even when she tucked me into that bed.

Sometimes I wonder if she passed that fire to me,

Pressed it quick into my arms, for me to hold,

Same way Dad did with Sammy.

Take it and burn;

Take him and run.

I did.

Gathered everything into my greedy arms and held tight.

Guess I’ve always been holding too tight,

Burning grasp waiting for it all to go up in smoke.

Seizing the flickering lights like if I

Could just keep it from slipping away this time–

But what else can you do when home feels like a family on fire?

So it goes.

The thing about me is that I will bite the hand that feeds. What has it ever done for me that I can’t do for myself? Fed food into my hungry mouth, run its fingers along my wolf’s teeth, and for what? Soft hands cut the flesh from my baby-soft skin years ago, fed it back to me slowly, reminded me of my youth the entire time they were making a weapon of me.

So it goes. I am a soldier, a machine, an instrument as sharp as the blade in my hand and I haven’t been a kid since four years old.

A gun in the hands of a child is still a gun.

A child made into a weapon is still a child.

The size of the world has grown six feet, but hey, my hands have grown too and I can carry it.

So it goes.

Daddy’s jacket, old,

Cracked at the joints in its gasoline-n-soot smell,

safety in the leaving,

safety in the stealing and keeping,

blanketing your lonely covetous soul in

the spirit of a man you can emulate,

choke up on

and hyperventilate.

I have nothing to say to you

Because if I did,

I could tell a thousand tales

Broken dreams

And broken promises

I could tell tales of too-big shoes,

Too-big leather jackets.

Of lonely nights,

A gapping space

That I had no business filling.

But I have nothing to say to you

because I don’t want to tell those tales.

I don’t want to believe

That those shoes were too big,

That those jackets were too large,

That those rationed goods,

Were your fault.

Because that too–big jacket is armor

Even if it digs into my side

Even if it’s a weight that makes me almost cry

That filling those too-big shoes

With skipped meals

And carefully-played tricks

That those cuts

Were from a different kind of monster.

I’d rather have nothing to say.

So it goes.

I worked 3 jobs through 4 years of high school to save for Sammy to go to school, and though it’s paying off, I am 22 and I’m saying goodbye to the only easy love I’ve ever known.

I’m 26 and I’ve seen what hate does to good people; I am only 26, and I don’t think I deserve to be saved.

I’m a man on the run, and isn’t that fitting? I’ve been running for my whole life, I’m gonna run for the rest of my life. Running from the fire, running towards someone else’s revenge story, running wheels, running ragged.

The size of the world is a U.S. interstate highway map and a four-door car and even if it’s not all I need, it’s all I get. So I take the motels that won’t burn down behind me, and the shelters that have no lawns to run across, and it doesn’t matter how much further I go.

I will never go far enough to find my way back home, but I will try, and I will try, and I will try.

And so it goes.

The road opens up and swallows me down into the dark pit of a hot night. No one around, I feel unreal, unraveling. My body sits like a sack behind the wheel, and I’m under no one’s eyes, no one’s hands. Nothing to pin me down and hold me in place.

I stop when I need a fill-me-up, when running on empty’s not enough, when I need to crawl into someone else to remember my body – blunt and bone and blood, bruising like a peach in the sun.

I shout, writhing. And anonymous fingers pry me open, mouth full, hair pull. And I am fed and filled and my Baby rumbles, gas paid in exchange.

And the road rolls out, a long tongue licking, eager to tease me down and forget my body. And I slide back into the nothing space where there is no body and blood, only ghost, and it ain’t holy.

There’s a certain sort of sound;

Comes along with the scrabbling of small, bare hands

On gas station restaurant formica.

Sounds kinda yellow and warm around the edges.

Something liquidy in my chest,

Puffed proud ‘cause I’ve just made Sammy smile

Like he hasn’t in ages,

And seven-year-olds have that kinda face.

Faces meant to be smiling as often as

Their older brother can manage to make them.

Grin cracking and peeling open like the orange on the tabletop.

He asks—

All wild in that childish delight,

That fits so keenly on his round apple-cheeks—

How I even managed to get the tickets,

I decide then, not to tell him what those tickets

Will cost me in about two-weeks time,

When dad’s still not back.

‘Cause seven-year-olds get real hungry sometimes

And real guilty too

And it’s better not to worry him about it when he’s smiling like this.

I guess the thing they don’t really tell you–

Between all the Fridays and blood and a-hundred-miles-to-empty–

Is that there’s nothin’ lonelier than the Road.

No one ever told me.

No one ever told me what happens when your daddy leaves,

And your baby brother leaves,

And you’re leavin’ too.

It’s easy to want things, most of the time. Easy to get hungry and stay hungry, belly rumbling like that chest-deep, lung-aching laughter, the kind you let out when you’re feeling the most lonely you’ve ever been.

Like a pillow propped up under your neck, and you know you’re gonna get a crick, and it’ll piss you off for a few days after.

But just like that pillow, you’ll fluff up all over again, it’s just comfy enough that you think to yourself,

Maybe it’s worth it this time.

Maybe when I’m hungry and I eat the food I know is gonna turn my stomach, but won’t make me full, maybe it won’t bother me as much this time.

Maybe when I get hungry and don’t let myself eat for a full two days

(gotta get to California, gotta buy the gas), maybe the hunger will mellow out until my body remembers it don’t need it.

I try to sleep without a pillow now.

I try to taste the feast in a two a.m. gas-station coffee.

My neck ain’t sore when I check left and flip the turn signal on. My stomach ain’t sore either; just like me, it knows when to shut the hell up about wanting things.

A man is a backbone

An island alone

Forged in fire and brimstone

His patience thin as ozone

Rage a garden, overgrown

All men are sons of Cain

Hardened flesh stitched together with echoes of pain

Carry themselves numb as novocaine

To be a man,

You must wear down the boy, become estranged with childlike joy

No time for toys and cowboys

A man is a warrior of Troy.

Kept thinking,

On our way out of that

Two-lane town,

Head pressed all tired against

The cold glass of the window where I,

reflected back half-formed,

Like maybe I was just as real

As that ghost my daddy was chasin’ after.

Kept thinking

About that oak standing,

Uncertain guardian,

In the courtyard of some

No-name school,

That won’t remember me come next semester,

Though I fit right in, with no name.

There had been a storm,

Like there often is, in these sorta towns;

Ripped up chunks of the very asphalt

We traveled in on, and tossed them bodily

All over the place.

But that tree,

That big, aching thing

That watched me during recesses

And stood, solemn, when I beat my knuckles bloody

Against a boy older ‘n me

For daring to call my dead momma ugly.

That tree, that did not judge me,

For all my bones and blood and history,

Was no paved road, and did not break

Under the onslaught of the storm.

And I,

Forehead cool with the damp condensation

Of that ghost-mirror window,

Father beside me and

Brother behind me and

Baby all around and everywhere about me,

Kept thinking, as we drove outta those town’s far limits.

Spinning wheels don’t grow roots

And neither does the spinning barrel of a loaded pistol,

And neither does a house burned down

And neither does

A nameless boy who sits shotgun,

Father beside him chasing a ghost.

I kept thinking,

Leaving that town and

Leaving that courtyard oak.

I’ve never seen roots like that before.

[tittamath]

The rock wake up time

#THE ROCK WAKE UP TIME HOW TO#

Sharon Osbourne runs errands in Beverly Hills days after husband Ozzy Osbourne declared they're moving back to U.K. 'It's a real pinch me moment': Ekin-Su Cülcülolu flaunts her figure in sizzling ensembles as she confirms she's signed Oh Polly deal Katy Perry slips into an olive green swimsuit and a matching sarong as she and shirtless fiancé Orlando Bloom enjoy a relaxing yacht day on the Amalfi Coast 'I've been going through hell': Chloe Ferry reveals botched 'fox eye' lift has 'ruined her life' and left her with 'permanent' scarsĬharlbi Dean's fiancé Luke Volker shares a tearful response to well-wishers after her shocking death at 32 after a 'sudden illness' Pure feel-good escapism! From George Clooney and Julia Roberts to hilarious dialogue and a stunning setting, here's why we're all going to LOVE hit new comedy Ticket to Paradise Seal, 59, swings by US Open where he cuddles up to daughter Leni, 18, whom he shares with ex-wife Heidi KlumĮddie Murphy slips into Axel Foley's signature Detroit Lions varsity jacket to shoot car scene with co-star Taylour Paige for Beverly Hills Cop: Axel Foley after he accused Gap of ripping off his designs Kanye West announces he will open Yeezy stores worldwide and says he 'saved' both Adidas and Gap. Popcorn at the ready! Cinema Day is coming THIS weekend, and here's where YOU can enjoy films from just £3īella and Gigi Hadid are a study in style contrasts as the model sisters head to the US Open in New York in fashionable outfits Kimberly Stewart, 42, shares rare photo with daughter Delilah, 10, whose father is Benicio Del Toro. Is America falling out of love with the 'Petulant Princess'? Even 'woke' magazine that interviewed Meghan Markle 'disapproved' of her 'marshmallowy' lifestyle

#THE ROCK WAKE UP TIME HOW TO#

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[pinknatural]

The Emma resurrection at 8 years old is truly consuming my brain you opened a new can of worms and dumped them into my head I cannot stop thinking about it.

Like does she remember purgatory? Does she appear half-feral eyes flashing and a growl in her throat ready to lash out? Does Jack hurtle over in the unsteady sprint of toddlers and throw himself at her and call her sister and she’s so shocked that it isn’t an attack that she doesn’t react.

Does Dean’s breath catch as he recognizes her, from her eyes or her brand or her scared expression. Does he whisper her name. Does Sam flee the room partly to not scare her but mostly out of overwhelming guilt?

How do they talk her down do they have to put food down and move away while she eats it distrustfully and Jack just babbles away about Dean’s cooking and his favorite foods and how he wants to show her his room

Does she try to stay awake for days bc she doesn’t trust them and then pass out from exhaustion and wake up with her face washed in a soft bed and realize maybe it’s okay

Does Cas reach out to her because he has the least history and an understanding of being not a human and of forgiveness

Jack was angry, is the thing. Angry in the way little kids are angry, but he has powers and it's never a good idea to set him off. And what is the solution? He's upset that he doesn't have a playmate his age, upset that he can't tell the kids at daycare about who he is, can't show them his powers. When reminded about Claire, he stomped his foot and screamed, lightbulbs shattering, and oh, Dean remembered when Sammy would get like this, when the only person who could calm him down was Dean himself, eight years old and Sam's favorite person.

Dean and Cas exchange helpless glances, and Jack's not an only child but with the age gap between him and Claire he basically is, and Dean aches, suddenly. Maybe he and Cas need to have a talk about another kid.

"I'll just MAKE a sibling!" Jack cries, and Dean glances at Cas worriedly before he reaches for Jack.

"Come on, kiddo," he says, because you can't just make a sibling, he doesn't think, but Jack stomps his foot again and gold light bursts out from the kid and Dean has to cover his eyes.

When he can open them again, there's a girl in the room. She has blonde hair and round green eyes, dressed in an oversized jacket and bright pink shirt, jeans that are falling down her legs. Her clothes are covered in blood and dirt and her hair is tangled with leaves and mud and who knows what else, and she looks around with wide eyes, mouth slightly open in shock.

"Oops," Jack says, staring at her.

"Jack," Cas says, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Did you kidnap a child?"

But the thing is that...well....Dean recognizes the white jacket and the bright pink shirt, dark stain of blood right in the middle of her chest, if the shirt actually fit her. Dean recognizes the curve of her face and the twist of her eyebrows, and the shade of her eyes, which are rapidly welling up with tears.

She's staring right at Dean and sobbing, heart-wrenching noises pulled from the deepest parts of her, and Dean holds out his hands, showing that they're empty.

"I won't hurt you," he says. "None of us will hurt you."

Jack creeps across the room and clings to Cas' leg, looks up at Dean with wide eyes.

"I didn't mean to," he says. "It was an accident."

"It's okay, buddy," Dean says. He steps closer to the girl, who takes a stumbling step back, nearly tripping on her pants.

"Dean," Cas says. "Do you know her?"

She's choking on her sobs, not looking away from Dean, and his heart twists as he backs up, reaches a hand for Cas. Cas takes it, squeezes.

"Emma?" Dean whispers. Cas's breath catches. "Are you...Emma?"

She nods, wipes snot away with her oversized, dirty sleeve.

"Okay, sweetheart," Dean says, exhaling shakily. "This is Cas, okay? And Jack. We aren't gonna hurt you. Can Cas touch you?"

She shakes her head rapidly.

"He can heal you," Dean cajoles, and she shakes her head again. Her sobs have slowed, but tears are still streaming down her face. "Okay. Do you want to follow me or Cas to the bathroom, get you cleaned up? We won't hurt you." He hopes if he repeats it enough, she'll believe it. She looks at him, then at Cas, then at Jack. Jack lets go of Cas and walks toward her. Emma stares but lets him approach. He holds out a little hand and touches her cheek. Gold light glows, and she doesn't break eye contact as he heals her.

"It's okay," Jack says. She nods and starts crying again.

"Daddy," she whispers, and Dean runs to her side, drops to his knees, wants to touch her but doesn't. "I don't wanna be in the monster forest anymore."

"You aren't," Dean says. "You're safe, here, with us. Cas is my husband and Jack is my son--your brother--and you can have the guest room, and you'll never have to see another monster again."

Emma pushes back the sleeve on her wrist, but the brand isn't there anymore. Jack must've healed it.

"What about..." Emma whispers. She swallows. "What about your brother?"

Cas walks up behind Dean, puts a hand on his shoulder. Dean's gonna have to call Eileen, ask her to bring some clothes for a kid. It's not like Emma can go to a store--not yet, anyway. She already looks overwhelmed, and there's only three people here.

"You don't have to see him," Cas says. "Not until you're ready." Dean swallows, looks at his daughter. She's covered with the blood of Purgatory. She must be eight, he thinks. Too young for what she’s seen.

"He won't hurt you again," Dean promises. "And you can see him when you're ready. I'll keep you safe. I couldn't do it the first time, but I swear, Emma, not a day has gone by that I haven't thought of you, that I haven't wished I could do it over."

Emma fiddles with her necklace. Dean remembers seeing Lydia put it on her from across the parking lot as he staked out the house. Dean strips off his flannel, and hands it to her. She wipes her face off with it, and then looks at him.

"Okay," she says. "You can touch me."

Dean wraps his arms around her, scoops her up, holds her close, and promises he's never letting her go again.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Payback | Dean Winchester

✦ pairing — Dean Winchester x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.2k

✦ request — I was wondering if you could do a dean winchester imagine that is like the reader is like young and has been with the boys since she was 18 and now she’s like around 21 or 22. She lives at the bunker with them and helps with research. So, basically she’s fallen in love with dean and has been in love with him for years. She never says anything because she watches him go after all these skinny girls and thinks she will never be good enough since she’s big and doesn’t think he’d ever like her. Then one day she basically just reaches a breaking point and it comes out to dean, and after some angst they get together. Then maybe some fluff or smut?

✦ warnings — angst, age gap (reader is in her twenties while Dean is in his forties), reader is kinda insecure at times, language, mentions of past sexual partners, mentions of a past ilegal relationship, a twinge of jealousy, suggestive stuff, some fluff.

════════════════════════

You heard laughs on the other side of the bar, right under the Bud Light neon sign. Unable to stop yourself, you looked that way.

A small friend group had erupted in laughter. There was a tall guy in the middle of two redheads — you couldn’t see very well, but you could tell he had caught you staring.

So you deviated your eyes to the right, where the bartender served one of your companions another beer. A couple of beers in fact. Dean was talking to a woman, undoubtedly charming her as he rested his elbow on the bar and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

You couldn’t look any longer, you would be sick if you did. He should’ve been doing that to you.

Realistically, you were probably twice her size or more, but you still could dream.

That was the problem, truly — you only could dream. Dean would quit hunting before even considering seeing you as a potential conquest. By this point, you should have been used to it.

Your eyes went back to the friend group from earlier. The tall guy held your gaze for a moment — you couldn’t figure out his eye color, or what his eyes showed under the uneven light, but you damn well could see he was handsome.

Not wanting to give him the wrong impression, you turned to your side and picked up your jacket.

Maybe you should also start to pay attention to the men who were actually interested.

But they weren’t Dean Winchester.

Comparing every man you met to him was a reflex, just like comparing yourself to the women he picked up at bars.

The Bunker was eerie every hour of the day, but there was something especially uncanny about an empty Bunker in the middle of the night. Devastatingly so.

Turning on the lights as you made your way towards the library, you made a beeline towards the kitchen. You weren’t in the mood for drinking anymore or for food, but you knew you needed to drink water.

Taking refugee in the library, you looked around a few news sites to see if you found something. It wasn’t difficult to find something shady or weird going on, but filtering out conspiracy theories was a pain in the ass.

Eventually, you found just what you were hoping you would. Dean and Sam rarely took you with them for hunts, but perhaps you could convince them this time to at least let you watch from the car.

Sam came home a little later, tipsy enough to be in a good mood. You told him about the case you had found, he said he would check it out in the morning and wished you a goodnight.

Dean didn’t come home. Why would he when he could have literally anybody he wanted?

You didn’t get any sleep. You had hoped that listening to an audiobook would lull you, but like most things, it wasn’t enough to even entertain you.

You were sick of this, of being into somebody who would never be into you. And who the fuck loses sleep for somebody who doesn’t see them as anything more than a sibling? You, apparently.

You needed coffee and a hug, but coffee by itself would have to do.

To your luck, Dean was already in the kitchen when you entered. His hair was wet which meant he was, thankfully, fresh out of the shower.

Instead of greeting you, he asked, “Where’s Sammy?”

You shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“He took the car.”

You didn’t even know Sam had brought the car home the night before. “He must have found the case interesting.”

“There’s a case?”

“Kind of. It’s not too far away from here,” you explained, “but I wasn’t sure it was something up our alley. I guess Sam thought it was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you weren’t here.” You could tell your answer offended him. Good.

“You should have called.”

“Babying you isn’t my job, Dean.”

“Funny you say that when babysitting you isn’t mine and yet...”

“Can you stop treating me like a fucking child for two seconds?”

“Stop acting like one and I might.”

“God, you’re fucking insufferable. I can’t believe I’m in love with you!”

You didn’t know whose eyes were wider, if his or yours.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

He tried to be nonchalant, but Dean couldn’t even move. “Sweetheart, come on. It’s okay.”

You effusively shook your head. “It’s isn’t.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me what to do or how to fucking react.” You were yelling now. Why were you yelling over this?

“I— well, I don’t know what to say.” He stuttered. “I mean, you are a kid. I could be your dad who had a kid at a young age, okay? This is fucking crazy.”

“You weren’t supposed to know. It’s humiliating.”

“I’m not going to give you shit about it.”

“No, you are. And then you’re gonna go and fuck somebody who’s actually hot and interesting and you’re gonna make me feel worse.”

“Hey, you’re interesting.”

“I’m not. And even then, you don’t go for them because they’re interesting, do you?”

“What do you want me to say?”

You wanted him to say that you were attractive too, that he would go for you in a heartbeat.

“Nothing.”

Both of you remained silent then. He had many chances to make it right, to have enough pity for you to at least apologize for not realizing you were in love with him sooner.

“ I’m gonna go,” you announced, having decided that this wasn’t worth it. The humiliation hurt, but his reaction stung.

He reached over and stopped you. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“What now?” Your voice broke and your lip trembled. Not now, you thought. But now it was.

“Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it.”

He hugged you to his chest. “I hate seeing you cry.”

His arms were tightly wrapped around you, a hand on the back of your head and the other on your upper back.

“You’re making me feel even more stupid,” you admitted through tears.

Dean sighed heavily. His hand twitched against your clothed skin as he tried to keep himself from rubbing his face. “You know, maybe you need a break.”

“Are you really trying to get rid of me already?”

He didn’t deny it. So you pushed him off you and stormed out. You couldn’t even get a fucking consolation hug.

════════════════════════

You liked to think you were doing a good job avoiding him. It wasn’t like he spent that much time at home either way.

Expecting him to care had been too much, it seemed. You hadn’t wanted him to beg, or even fantasized about him chasing after you — you just wanted him to care, to at least told you he would forget about it or pretend you hadn’t said anything.

Sam entered the library, feigning interest in the stack of books you had piled on the table two nights ago.

He stalled, opening the one on top as though he hadn’t seen it before.

You shuffled in your seat. Waiting for whatever he would say.

He cleared his throat so you’d look up. You did.

“Dean and I are going out for a drink or two. Want to come?”

“No, I’m gonna watch something on my laptop and go to bed early.”

Sam gave you a worried look. “Well, if you need anything...”

“Have fun.”

Maybe Dean had been right, maybe you needed a break, and maybe —just maybe— this wasn’t the place you were meant to be at.

But you wanted to be there, and you wanted him. It fucking sucked that you would never get what you wanted just because you weren’t thin.

Story of your life.

You stayed in the library longer than you planned and eventually your tv marathon was held there. You had everything you needed and the chairs were comfortable enough.

Your laptop rested on the other side of the table as you leaned onto said table with your forearms and laid your head on your arm.

A knock on the thick door startled you. Looking up, you found green eyes.

“Did I scare you?”

You pressed the space bar to pause your show. “I wasn’t expecting you guys to come back early.”

“Sammy left with somebody so he’s not coming home tonight.”

You hummed, unsure as to what you were supposed to say. Should you say that you were happy for Sam? Should you ask why he hadn’t left with somebody too?

Dean spoke before you could come up with something. “Can we, uh, talk?”

Seeing you nod, Dean approached the table. He didn’t sit down, forcing you to crane your neck.

“I’ll find somewhere else to live,” you assured him.

He frowned, looking down as he searched for your now shifty eyes. “You’re leaving?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No.” He rubbed his palm against his forehead. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

You twisted your mouth. “It’s a little late for that.”

He hurriedly said, “I don’t want you to leave. You’re part of the family.”

“I think I deserve space to move on.”

A groan slipped past his throat and lips, rumbling in his chest. He was growing desperate. “Look... I’m trying to be the responsible adult here because God knows you won’t be.”

“So now I’m an adult?”

“It was never my intention to treat you like a child. I just wanted to put some distance between us.”

“You could have said so.” You didn’t think you would need to state the obvious to somebody as smart as Dean.

“I didn’t want things to be weird or to give the impression that I could take advantage of you if you were too close. I would never do that.”

Not proud enough to pretend you knew what he was talking about, you admitted, “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“You’re pretty,” he blurted. “Really fucking pretty and interesting and so attractive that’s kinda unfair. And you’re also too young.”

“Dean.”

“Mmmh?”

“Kiss me.”

“Weren’t you listening to me?”

“Just kiss me,” you insisted. “We’ll forget about it if it doesn’t feel right.”

Dean took the chair beside yours out and pulled it to the side. His eyes didn’t meet yours as he leaned in, but they did when his nose brushed yours.

He softly placed his lips on top of yours. You saw his eyes screw shut before you closed yours. It was short and sweet, and when he parted from you, you feared you would have to go back to hide the way you felt about him.

Grabbing you by the waist, Dean made you stand up. He wrapped an arm around you while you rested your hands on his sides as a reflex.

He kissed you again, hard. So hard he unintentionally pushed you against the table. His tongue tasted of whiskey and those bacon-flavored chips you had never had the heart to tell him weren’t that good.

You brought a hand up to the back of his neck, kissing him deeply.

Dean took advantage of the fact that he had you trapped between the table and his body to caress yours. He started with your back and dragged his hands down to your ass.

His hands traveled to your torso, where he could surely feel your belly up, fingers toying with the hem of your black t-shirt.

You stopped his fingers from lifting your top and pulled away from the kiss. “Wait.”

“Having second thoughts?” he breathlessly asked.

“I’m not what you’re used to,” you explained through ragged breathing. “At all.”

”Really?”

You nodded, ashamed. One thing was him knowing how big you were and other was him seeing it for himself.

“Don’t take this the wrong way...”

“That’s a great way to let me know you’re about to insult me.” Fuck. You were getting defensive again — what a way to kill the mood.

“I’m not!” he defended himself. “I was going to point out that you’ve been around for a relatively short amount of time to know what I’m used to.”

“I’ve never seen you with a fat person before.”

“And I’ve never seen you with somebody older than you before.”

Was he playing dumb? “Of course you have.”

“Huh? When?”

“That guy in Texas was well in his thirties. And I dated somebody in their twenties when I was 16, I’m not too proud of that one, but—“

He interrupted you. “Nevermind. Shut up.” Dean kissed you again, bringing you flush against him.

You smiled against his mouth. “Is somebody jealous?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Serves you right.”

“You’re evil.” He bit down your bottom lip and pulled on it.

“It’s just payback, I promise.”

Dean snorted. “Can’t say I don’t deserve it.”

You remained silent, allowing him to dissipate the tension. You would let him do whatever he wanted, regardless of the outcome, but you were too scared to say it.

You didn’t have to.

“Hey.” He cupped your face. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he assured you. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “We can take our time.”

[deansgapjacket]

Daily Dean’s green Gap jacket post!

[5x10 Abandon all hope]

Due to this being the 1-5 ~cinematic~ supernatural era I did lighten & warm up these pics but fun fact this was one of the first episodes I had recognized this jacket as THE gap jacket after I had just gotten my very own olive green military gap jacket ;)

[deanstead]

Scared The Hell Out Of Me

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Request by @deandaydreaming​: Can I pleaaase request an angsty dean x reader one shot where they get separated during a hunt and when they finally find each other she gets stabbed in the back (just like what happened to Sam) and she's bleeding so much and he nearly loses her...can you pleaaase include all the details, that makes it easier to imagine the story! Thank you so much! Love you 💚

Warnings: mentions of injury/blood, angst, fluff

A/N: Hope you like how this turned out and what I did with it! Always love writing about protective dean so thank you for the request!! As always would appreciate to hear what you guys think so hit up my ask/replies or even tags when you reblog! Thanks for all the love!

---

The door creaked as you pushed it open with one foot.

Being alone in a potentially haunted abandoned building was not what you had in mind when you had agreed with Sam that three of you should take on this case.

You’d entered the building with Sam and Dean but had lost them in the labyrinth of a building about half an hour ago. Your cell wasn’t working either, probably because the spirit or spirits were interfering with the signal.

You raised your gun as you walked out of the room, hesitating a little before letting your voice travel a little tentatively down the corridor. “Dean?”

You were met with silence.

You gritted your teeth but treaded carefully, swiveling your head this way and that, straining your ears to hear the sound of footsteps.

That’s when you felt it, a slight gust of wind before the hairs on the back of your neck rose.

You spun around, finding yourself facing the spirit. You gave a yelp of surprise, but before you could even pull the trigger, you felt it throw you backwards.

You groaned as you felt yourself slam against the wall, the force of it knocking the breath out of you and you sank to the ground. You didn’t have time to hesitate. Staring at the spirit that was now holding a knife, you pulled your gun upwards and let out a shot, the salt pellet shooting out of your gun.

---

Dean’s head snapped up as he heard a gunshot ring out.

“Y/N.” He muttered as he ran towards the sound.

“Dean, wait!” Sam called and Dean spun around. “I’ll go down to the basement. If I’m right, I might be able to find the bones there.”

Dean hesitated.

“I’ll be fine.” Sam said, turning away. “Find her.” Sam stressed, running in the opposite direction.

Dean started running. He’d been looking for you since you had been separated. He didn’t like not knowing where you were, especially in the middle of a hunt – a hunt for a violent spirit that was taking place in a huge abandoned building.

Dean glanced at his phone, the no signal sign still flashing. Gritting his teeth, he picked up his pace, moving towards where he thought the gunshot had come from, hoping he was running in the right direction.

---

You groaned, your shoulder throbbing from the impact with the wall.

“Damn spirits.” You muttered, clambering to your feet and looking around again. You really hated hunting spirits, they were nasty and unless you knew where their remains were, it was almost impossible to fight them.

You hated spirits. But even more than that, you hated spirits that could freaking hold weapons.

The sound of footsteps made you turn your head again. Your gun still held protectively out in front of you as it got nearer and nearer.

“Dean.” You exhaled as you saw your favourite person in the world round the corner.

Dean’s expression echoed your feeling of relief – glad that he was safe and also feeling much better just being able to see his face again.

“Y/N.” Dean’s relief could be heard in his voice as he moved towards you, smiling, letting his hand which was gripping his gun fall to his side.

It happened in an instant. The hairs on the back of your neck rose and you saw Dean’s expression change. Then, you felt it – a sharp pain in your lower back as you felt the knife pierce your skin. You let out a strangled cry as you felt the knife twist.

“No! Y/N!” Dean yelled, pulling out his gun to shoot, aiming straight for the spirit that was behind you. Before he could even pull the trigger, the spirit gave a cry as it went out in flames. Sam had done it, he’d found the remains, salted and burned it. Just a few seconds too late

“Y/N!” Dean sprinted to you as you fell to your knees. It felt like your whole life force was being sucked out of you, you could almost feel the energy seeping out of you bit by bit.

Dean closed the gap between you, sliding the last few inches on his knees, taking you by your shoulders the moment you were within reach.

“D…”

“No, no, no…” Dean muttered, pulling you towards him. Your face fit snugly into his shoulder like it always did but this time, Dean didn’t like how motionless you were. He reached his hand around to your back, finding the penetration wound from the spirit’s attack, pressing his hand against it.

When Dean pulled away, his hand was stained with blood. Your blood. Enough blood that Dean was really worried. It didn’t look like something a little patching up would fix. Dean pressed down on your wound again.

Dean pulled you upwards. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He spoke, putting his free hand to your face.

Your eyes were fluttering shut. “No, no, sweetheart please.” Dean whispered. “Baby, don’t give up on me.”

“Dean, I can’t…” You muttered.

“No, no. Don’t give up on me, honey. You’re okay, you’re going to be okay.” Dean pleaded.

“Y/N?” Dean felt your body go limp in his arms.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled, his voice echoing against the walls.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice broke through Dean’s panic. He hadn’t even heard his brother’s footsteps. “Oh god.” Sam whispered.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, pulling Dean out of his paralyzing fear. “We have to get her out of here. I’ll get the car, come on.”

Dean pulled himself up, scooping your motionless body into his arms, one of his hands still pressed onto your back.

The empty building felt even larger than it had felt just now. Dean picked up his pace as quick as he could with you in his arms, running after Sam.

Dean held you close to him, laying you into the Impala and climbing into the backseat with you as Sam jumped into the car and started the engine.

Laying your head gently on his lap, Dean quickly shed his jacket, rolling it up into a ball and pushing it under you, pressing it against the wound.

“Sam, faster.” Dean said through gritted teeth as he looked down at you.

“You hang in there, you hear me?” Dean whispered, as Sam pressed harder on the accelerator, speeding towards the hospital.

---

Sam pulled up the hospital as Dean scrambled out, scooping you back into his arms and onto a stretcher the nurses had brought out.

Dean followed close behind as the nurses pushed you in, a doctor catching up to them and already starting to examine you.

“We have to take her into surgery.” The words echoed in Dean’s head while he stood frozen, staring past the doctor, his eyes focused on you lying motionless in the treatment room of the emergency department.

“Thank you.” Sam’s voice sounded from next to Dean, causing Dean to pull his eyes away from you for just a moment, nodding to the doctor.

It was only after you were wheeled into surgery that Dean noticed his hands were still shaking.

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder but he shrugged it off, choosing to pace up and down in the waiting room, looking down at his hands that were still stained with your blood. When Sam tried to coax him into washing off the blood, Dean gave his brother a furious look. “I’m not going anywhere.” Dean snapped.

It felt like hours before the surgeon finally stepped out.

“The injury was severe and she lost a lot of blood. The penetration nicked some of her internal organs and we found a massive internal bleed as well.” The doctor said.

Dean didn’t say anything, staring straight at the doctor.

“It wasn’t easy, but we managed to control the bleeding and repaired it. If you had come in any later, we might have lost her.” The doctor finally said, looking from Dean to Sam.

Dean let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as Sam let out a sigh of relief as well.

“Can we see her?” Dean asked, keeping his voice steady.

The doctor nodded, “We’ll transfer her to recovery in a while. A nurse will be by to get you.”

“Thanks Doctor.” Sam responded.

---

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes a few hours later was Dean’s face hovering above yours.

“Sight for sore… everything.” You muttered.

Dean sighed.

“You scared the hell out of me.” Dean said. You could see the thin stress lines in his forehead, the way his green eyes watched you carefully, as if afraid you would slip past him again.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Dean’s eyebrows twitched a little before he shook his head. “I could hear you, Dean.” You whispered. “I could hear you calling me, talking to me… I just couldn’t answer you. I couldn’t…” You paused. “That was scary as hell.”

Dean sighed, scooting a little closer to you. “You’re telling me. I thought I was going to lose you.”

You reached for his hand. “I’m sorry.” You whispered again.

Instead of answering you, Dean bent towards you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before putting an arm around you, tucking you tightly into him as you closed your eyes, once again enveloped by the feeling of safety of Dean’s mere presence.

---

DEAN WINCHESTER TAGLIST

@akshi8278​ | @mrspeacem1nusone​ | @starlight-halstead​

​If you would like to be added to a taglist, you may request here or send me an ask! ​

[moondancediner]

Gravity

Warnings: None

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 490

A/N: I hope you enjoy this I wrote it at 6am. updated 1/21/2024

Inspired by this prompt :)

“I wonder how many people are dead in that graveyard…”

I wanted to reply to that. 

But… how?

“Hopefully all of them?” Was the best I could come up with. 

Next to me, Dean chucked. 

This had sort of become a tradition of yours. Post (and pre) -apocalyptic situations are stressful, and it’s very important to unwind afterwards, so driving around whatever town you found yourselves in, grabbing whatever sounded good to eat, parking baby at a park and watching the stars on her hood was the best way to do just that. 

Only this town didn’t have any parks. But they did have a graveyard and that was close enough. Right? 

My answer seemed to satisfy for now, so I reached over the small gap that lay between us and took a handful of local, greased up French fries. 

“Hey, hey, shoes.” He scolded.

I rolled my eyes, but kicked off my boots. Making sure to be as dramatic as possible as I lifted each foot and ripped them off, before unceremoniously chucking them off to the side where they landed in a soft thump on the patchy grass. 

“Better?” 

“Much.” 

“How come you get to keep your shoes on?” I knew the answer already but asked anyway. 

“Because it’s my car and my rules… and I know I won’t scuff the paint.” 

“Well, I hope you’re happy because now my feet are cold.” 

It was that time of year when the leaves started changing from green to brown and that first sign of a chill emerged when the sun went down. It wasn’t enough to start wearing a jacket, mostly because it was still so hot during the day it made you forget about the impending frost that lay just beneath the sun. 

“Scoot over here then.” Dean started clearing our leftover garbage that was blocking my path to warmth, but I still had a little fight left in me. 

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to scuff the paint.” I raised my arms in mock surrender, my voice a taunting teasing tone that I knew would crawl right under his skin. 

“Would you just-“ Dean didn’t give me any more room to protest as he looped a finger into my jeans and slid me the short distance over, our bodies now pressed together in an all too familiar way. 

Dean and I were like the sun and the moon, always dancing around each other and never quite meeting, but stuck in each other’s orbit. There was no unnecessary push and pull, we found each other when we needed to, and gave space when that was needed to. 

Though neither of us stray far, or for very long. Our boundaries are set and understood like laws; constantly on opposite sides, yet every once and a while we meet and align perfectly. 

“There, now shut your yap and enjoy the stars.” 

And I did. And it was perfect. 

Until something moved in the graveyard.

[haus-seeblick]

Operation Stop the Flirting

A fic for Suptober Day 15: “Blue Skies and Apple Pies”

Cowritten with tsujiharu! 

Rating: General Audiences; Ship: Castiel/Dean Winchester; WC: 5,100

Full tags under the cut! :)

Summary: Every morning since Cas and Jack moved in next door, Claire has been forced to watch her dad engage in the cringiest flirting she's ever seen. It's becoming clear that neither Dean nor Cas will ever make it to the next step without some well-planned intervention; so, nearing the end of her rope, Claire enlists Jack's help to finally get these dumb old men together. The harvest festival sounds like the perfect setting.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Supernatural, Claire POV, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Just all the fluff, Kid Fic, Single Dad!Dean, Single dad!Cas, Neighbors, Matchmakers Claire and Jack, They Parent Trap the Shit Out of Them, Disaster flirting, Claire is Sick of Their Shit, Teenager Claire, Kindergartener Jack, Birthday, Dean is Claire's Parent, Castiel is Jack's Parent

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Morning, sunshine!” Dean’s voice fills the kitchen, way too chipper for the hour. Claire forces down the last bite of her waffles and rolls her eyes. Her dad’s got the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear as he puts dishes into the sink, conducting way more of a conversation than is necessary to ask if Cas and Jack are ready to go. Claire grabs her backpack and is in the hall lacing up her Doc Martens by the time Dean says “‘Kay, see you in a sec,” and hangs up with a big smile. He glances around the kitchen, obviously about to open his mouth to call for her, but she beats him to it.

“Already at the door, old man!” She waves jauntily when he spots her. “I know you’re busy chatting up Mr. Blue-Sky Eyes, but try to keep up.”

Dean fixes her with a glare that’s supposed to be stern, but the blush on his cheeks kills the effect. “Watch it, kid.”

Claire just snorts and steps out onto the porch. The crisp fall air seeps into her collar and she shivers. Winter’s getting closer - she’ll have to switch out her Moto jacket for an actual coat pretty soon. She pops her collar and pulls it closed in front of her throat. Behind her, Dean shuts the door and drops a knitted scarf onto her head.

“Who’s keeping up now, huh?” He pushes past her down the stairs and Claire huffs, pulling the scarf off her head and patting down her hair. Her dad’s never bundled her up like this before; the scarf was a gift from Cas. It’s ugly as sin, all lumpy blues and greens, but Claire dutifully wraps it around her neck. Just for the morning. It’ll go straight into her backpack before school.

“Claire!” An excited shriek rings out from next door, and Claire glances over to see Jack sprinting down the sidewalk, arms outstretched. Cas is still up on the porch, locking the door of the townhouse right next to theirs.

“Hey, kid,” Claire calls. She meets him at the bottom of the stairs, patting him on the back once or twice as he throws his arms around her waist. She can’t help the small smile that sneaks through her trained cool-girl demeanor (probably already wrecked, courtesy of the scarf). So sue her, Jack’s adorable. “Cool hat.”

Jack pulls on the tassels of his monkey hat, huge grin on his face, the gaps in his teeth on full display. “Thanks!” he lisps. “Daddy got it for me.”

Speaking of dads — Claire looks past Jack to find her father unabashedly ogling their neighbor (a daily tradition of the Winchester-Novak morning carpool). It’s like he’s not even aware he’s in public.

“You gonna open the garage?” she calls. Knowing it’ll be a while before Dean can tear himself away, she adds “Gimme the keys, I’ll get Jack in his seat and warm up Baby.”

Cas, who has joined them on the sidewalk after struggling with the door under Dean’s gaze, smiles gratefully at her. “Thank you, Claire.”

Snapping out of his trance, Dean mumbles “Yeah, thanks kid,” and tosses her the garage and car keys.

Claire makes quick work of the booster seat, familiar with the routine of straps and buckles. She checks to make sure Jack is comfortable, then slides into the driver’s seat and turns the ignition to warm up the Impala. Tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, she glances into the rearview mirror, only to see the two grown men standing way too close to one another to be socially acceptable, staring into each other’s eyes as if they don’t see each other every friggin’ day. It would be cute if Claire didn’t have to deal with this every morning.

“Jack, cover your ears,” she says with a wink into the mirror, and waits for Jack to gleefully clap his hands over his ears (he knows this trick by now) before slamming her palm onto the horn. Dean and Cas jump apart and Claire rolls the window down, leaning out and sweetly calling “Sorry, my arm slipped!”

Dean points his best you’re in trouble finger at her and she clambers over the backrest to join Jack on the backseat. She’s buckled in, a picture of innocence, by the time Dean and Cas get into the car.

“You gotta stop doing that.” Dean adjusts the mirror as if Claire had messed it up. “You’re gonna wake up the whole neighborhood.”

“You’re gonna make Cas late with all your flirt—”

“—Okay!” Dean hastily revs the engine, starting the radio at the same time. The volume’s still super high from one of their open-window freeway joyrides this weekend, and Cas twitches violently. Jack’s laughter peals over the wailing guitar as Dean backs out of the garage one handed, the other hand frantically toggling the volume knob.

“So much for me waking up the whole neighborhood,” Claire says smugly when they’re finally on the road.

Cas pats Dean’s shoulder reassuringly, hand lingering far too long, as usual. “Don’t worry, Dean. We’re right on time. Thank you for taking me to work.”

“‘Course, buddy,” Dean says, pulling them onto the main street. It’s bustling with commuter traffic. “Can’t have you sitting on the bus all morning.”

Every day. Claire gazes skyward and pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket. They do this every day. Cas’ll agonize about inconveniencing them, Dean will tell him it’s no big deal, and they’ll spend the rest of the ride engaged in the absolute worst flirting Claire has ever heard. Also, it is a big deal — Claire’s had to get up half an hour earlier every morning of her junior year just so they can “take Cas to work real quick” before school.

Cas works on the opposite end of town. When Claire tried pointing this out, Dean just waved his hand and said it’s just what you do for friends. Not once has Claire ever had to get up early or rearrange her day for any of his other friends. Not even for Uncle Sam.

She finds it hard to actually be mad about it, though. In the six months since Cas and Jack moved in next door, her dad’s been more fun than he’s been in ages. He laughs more, wants to go out more, and has even started up some hobbies. (Woodworking in their cramped garage didn’t turn out to be the smartest idea.) He’s always been content with everything they have and would never complain to Claire, but she knows he’s been lonely.

Then Cas moved in next door, and within a week, everything changed. Claire knew Cas was special the second that her dad described the new guy next door as having “blue eyes, you know, like the sky.” She’s never gonna let him live that one down.

So, sure, having Cas and Jack around is great. But that doesn’t mean she wants to witness this train wreck every morning. Scrolling Twitter on her phone, she tries hard to block out the snippets of conversation floating from the front seat, but unfortunately can’t ignore it all. She accidentally tunes back in just as Dean’s finishing up a story about this year’s Staff Halloween Costume Competition. He’s going as an ‘80s P.E. Teacher and is weirdly, overly proud about the tiny red shorts that Claire was scandalized to see laid out on the couch this weekend. No one, no one her dad’s age should be wearing shorts like that. She shudders at the memory.

“I’m sure they will look very flattering on you,” Cas says sincerely, and Claire nearly barfs. She doesn’t miss her dad’s pink cheeks in the side mirror. Thank god, they’re pulling up in front of Cas’ work and this torture is coming to an end.

“Have a great day, you two,” Cas says, twisting over the backrest to give Jack a high five and exchange a smile with Claire.

“We will,” Claire says, making a show of looking out the window. “Gorgeous day. Look at that blue sky. Remind you of anything, Dad?”

Dean chokes on his swig of coffee. Eyes watering, he waves off Cas’ concerned attempts to slap him on the back.

“Okay. Bye Cas,” he manages, voice strained.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas replies gravely. “See you tonight.” He gets out of the car and shuts the door, and Claire doesn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes follow him all the way into the building. She clears her throat.

“We gonna go, or what?”

Dean straightens up, putting his thermos back between his legs. “You’re in trouble, kid.”

“It’s just payback,” Claire says innocently, inspecting her nails. Dean grumbles, but they pass the rest of the ride to the school in relative peace, Jack roping them both into a spirited game of I Spy.

They drop Jack off first, since the elementary school is two blocks away from the high school where Claire goes to class and Dean’s the gym teacher. Jack turns back three times to wave at them as he bounces up the path to his Kindergarten classroom. His normal-sized backpack looks huge on him. Claire thinks he’s the cutest kid in the whole damn world, not that she’d tell anyone.

“So, kiddo,” Dean asks, maneuvering Baby through the throngs of parents dropping off their students. “You thought any more about your birthday? It’s coming up pretty quick.” He parks in a less-populated area of the high school lot, to keep the teeming masses away from his car.

Claire unwinds Cas’ scarf and stashes it in her backpack before hopping out and slamming the door behind her. “Nah, not much. Gimme a bit more time.”

“Don’t take too long.” Dean slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and locks the car. “All right. Have an awesome day. I’ll see you after school.” He pulls Claire into a one-armed hug and she squeezes against his side for just a moment before huffing and pulling away.

“See ya,” she calls, starting toward the main building while her dad heads over to the gym. “Tell Cas hi from me when you text him at lunch.”

She doesn’t miss the Friends flip-off that Dean sends her, his two fists raised high above his head as he bangs them together. She just laughs and heads to class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Claire is rummaging through Cas and Jack’s fridge when the kid sneaks up on her.

“Claire, Claire, I want Froot Loops!” He tugs on the hem of her sweater, peeking around from behind her back.

“I don’t think your dad would be too happy if I got you all hopped up on sugar.” She finds the grapes she saw in there yesterday, and pulls them out from the crisper drawer. “We get fruit. Our dads should be back soon to start on dinner.”

Jack nods without complaint, the good kid that he is, and wanders back to the table to find his seat. He watches her expectantly as she washes the fruit.

This is a regular occurrence—Claire watches Jack while Dean and Cas go on their weekly grocery runs (or literally any errand Cas needs to run) that absolutely aren’t dates, according to Dean. At first, when Cas tried to decline, convinced that it would be too big an inconvenience, Dean insisted. “We live next door, you don’t have a car, it only makes sense,” he said. Now that was a conversation to witness. The man was desperate to spend any time he could with his favorite neighbor. Claire snickers at the memory.

She places the small bowl of seedless grapes in front of Jack, who immediately picks one up with careful fingers. Claire gets a kick out of watching the kid eat. He savors every bite like he’s never tasted a grape before, when Claire knows for a fact it was his afterschool snack only three days ago — she gave it to him. She ruffles his hair and goes to put the rest of the fruit back in the fridge.

“You doing anything exciting this weekend?” she asks over her shoulder. There’s a box of suspicious-looking leftover takeout that’s made a home on the back of a shelf. Most likely something Cas forgot about. He gets busy with his work, and aside from the dinners that the two families share, Cas doesn’t cook a lot. Claire pulls it out and tosses it into the garbage, scrunching up her nose at the foul smell that escapes from the paper container.

“Uhm,” Jack mumbles around a grape. He takes his time to chew and swallow his food before speaking (because he’s civilized, unlike Claire’s father). “Daddy and I are gonna bake an apple pie for your birthday!”

Claire suppresses a grin as she pulls out the chair next to Jack. It’s the first she’s heard of it, and she wonders if she’s supposed to know about this birthday pie. “A pie, huh?”

“Yeah! Because it’s Dean’s favorite,” Jack replies brightly without a speck of irony (because the kid is five), and Claire can’t stifle the bark of laughter this time.

Realistically, she knows that Cas must also have feelings for Dean. Otherwise she can’t imagine a grown man being fine with her dad doting over him the way he does. But to bake Dean’s favorite pie for Claire’s birthday? The guy has it bad.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a huge gasp and Claire’s eyes dart up. She’s on high alert, worried that Jack’s choking on a grape or something. Instead, she finds Jack looking back at her, wide-eyed and stricken. He clasps his hands over his mouth

“Oh no! I wasn’t supposed to tell!” Jack looks up at her with what can only be described as the saddest puppy-dog eyes that immediately tug at Claire’s well-guarded heartstrings. “Please don’t tell Daddy?”

She bites back a laugh—Jack is clearly distressed—and shoots him a wink. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Jack flashes a relieved smile and turns back to his grapes. Claire leans her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the table, as she watches him peel one of the grapes with extreme focus. An idea begins to brew.

“So...” she starts carefully. “Does Cas talk about my dad a lot?”

“Yeah! He thinks Dean is very special.” Jack nods, wiping his sticky fingers all over the front of his shirt.

Claire’s elbow slips from the table in surprise. It’s her turn to stare back at the kid, wide-eyed. “He said that?”

Jack tilts his head, an action that reminds Claire so much of his dad, and thinks about it. “Well, I asked him if Dean was his boyfriend, because Jesse’s mom just got a new boyfriend and they’re always together, just like Dean and Daddy. And Daddy said Dean is very special.”

A wave of excitement rushes over Claire as her plan starts to take shape. Oh, this is good. It’s the confirmation she needs to move forward.

“How would you feel if Dean was your dad’s boyfriend?”

Jack looks up from his bowl, his brow furrowed curiously. “What happens if they’re boyfriends? Can we still hang out?”

No one can ever know how much Claire loves this kid.

“Yeah buddy, we might even hang out more.” She nudges Jack gently with her shoulder. “But I also think it would make your dad really happy.” She has a fleeting thought that it might be a little unfair, appealing to a kid’s love for his father. But it’s true.

The change in Jack’s demeanor is immediate.

“I want him to be happy,” he exclaims, all sparkly eyed and eager. He’s all but forgotten the last grape in his bowl. “How can they be boyfriends?”

“I have an idea—” Claire grins at him, picking up his last grape and popping it into her mouth. Jack doesn’t even protest. He watches her with the same intense focus he showed that grape peel and nods along earnestly. “—but it needs to be a secret between us. Try and keep it this time, alright?”

She stands from the chair, ruffling Jack’s hair once again. She picks up the bowl to drop it in the sink, and turns back to Jack.

“Go wash your hands. We’ve got work to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Claire puts her plan in action the next evening, as she and Dean wind down at the end of the day with an episode of The Great British Baking Show. Claire is slouched low on the sofa, her phone in hand while she absently scrolls Twitter. When she looks over, Dean is mumbling about how David deserves to be Star Baker this week (“He’s consistent, they always overlook the dark horse!”).

“Hey Dad?” she says, straightening up in her seat with an elbow resting on the back of the sofa. “I know what I want to do for my birthday.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean’s distracted, and bolts up when the Star Baker is announced, gesturing wildly at the TV. “Dude, Steph again ? She’s good, but come on!”

Claire glances back at the TV where the wholesome British people are congratulating each other like actual friends. American reality TV would never. She smiles—she likes Steph.

“Dad.” She tries again, tapping at her father’s shoulder.

Dean relaxes back into his seat and turns to face her. “Right, right, sorry. You were telling me what you wanted for your birthday.”

“We haven’t done anything fallish yet this year. I think we should invite Jack and Cas and check out the harvest festival,” she says, hoping it comes across casual as opposed to conniving.

Dean blinks a few times, like he’s trying to process Claire’s words. He narrows his eyes skeptically. “That’s what you want for your birthday? I was preparing myself for you to ask me to buy you a fifth. Or a car.”

The comment prompts one of Claire’s signature eye rolls. “Haha. Very funny. No, I just thought it’d be nice.” She perks up a bit in her seat, the old sofa creaking beneath her. “We can pack a lunch, Jack can pick a pumpkin. You can hang out with Cas and stare into his eyes some more.”

“Claire,” Dean groans, but Claire barrels on.

“I’m just kidding. Calm down. It’s just that without a car, Cas and Jack can’t do all this fall stuff, and Jack’s classmates are bragging to him about all this cool stuff they’re doing.” She dials up the puppy eyes she learned from Jack. It also isn’t a lie; when Claire suggested the festival, Jack’s eyes lit up with excitement. It seems his classmates have all already checked out the races and the rides.

Dean frowns. “Well, that’s bullshit. Yeah, if that’s what you really want, of course we can do that. Maybe we can carve some pumpkins after. Give Jack something to brag about.”

“Cool.” Claire plays it off like it’s no big deal. She slouches back down, sinking into the squeaky leather. “It’s just… he’s like a little brother, you know?” She peers up at him through mascara heavy lashes, and is pleased to see her words seem to have the desired effect.

“Well, if that’s what you want.” There’s a soft fondness in Dean’s eyes as he pulls her into a one-armed hug.

Things are going exactly as planned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Claire’s birthday falls on a Saturday, perfect for their outing. She checked out the harvest festival’s website last night, making mental notes of the activities that’ll force her dad and Cas into the closest possible quarters. She figures that if they’re gonna do this, they might as well do it right.

Dean asks her over breakfast if she’s sure that she doesn’t want any other friends to come along, and she just shakes her head. “I kinda just want a family day today,” she says, and revels in the flustered little smile that Dean gives his coffee cup.

This is gonna be great.

When Cas and Jack meet them out on the sidewalk after breakfast, it’s clear that Jack upheld one of his ends of the bargain. Cas is dressed like a farmer, plaid shirt over patched jeans and (pretty cool) boots, with a dark jacket draped over his arm, his usual trenchcoat nowhere in sight. The shirt’s a bit small for him, though. Claire side-eyes it until she sees Dean’s jaw literally drop, like in a cartoon. It’d be embarrassing if it weren’t the exact reaction she’d been hoping for.

While Dean stutters out a greeting, she subtly fist-bumps Jack behind Cas’ back. Jack stifles a giggle. He’s wearing some overalls with yellow rain boots and a striped bumblebee jacket, the tassels of his monkey hat swinging onto his shoulders. Claire barely suppresses the urge to squeeze him.

Her dad somehow manages to open the garage and get himself into the car without once looking away from Cas, and Claire hopes he pulls himself together before he actually starts driving. In Dean’s defense, though, Cas isn’t doing much better. Claire recommended oh-so-innocently to Dean that it’d be nice if they dressed up a little bit for her birthday, even if they’re just going to the harvest festival. Dean’s made a pretty good effort with his best green Henley and some dark-wash jeans that Claire picked out for him at one of those perfume-ridden mall stores over the summer. He looks nice, he really does, even with the addition of a lumpy Cas-scarf wrapped around his neck.

Cas obviously thinks so, too, because he keeps touching Dean’s arm when he talks, more so than usual.

Claire grits her teeth and figures she’s gotta get through all the gross stuff to get these two doofuses to where she wants them. For once, she’s on board with the flirting.

Dean buys tickets for all of them (waving off Cas’ offer by saying it’s his kid’s birthday, after all), and Jack immediately drags them over to the games area. The air is heavy with the smell of popcorn, caramel apples, and hay, and Claire takes a deep breath. It’s not exactly how she pictured her seventeenth birthday, but right now she finds she doesn’t want anything else.

They make it to the site of the festival without Dean crashing the car, a small miracle in itself. On the way over, Claire whispered some of her plan to Jack in the backseat while their dads chatted obliviously, and Jack now jumps right into action, throwing himself out of his booster seat the second Claire unbuckles him and dashing toward the entrance.

“I wanna do the three-legged race!” he hollers as the others hurry to catch up. Dean casts one despairing glance at Baby, parked in the muddy lot, before fixing his eyes on Cas again. Claire mentally pumps her fist. If dirt on his car can’t distract him, then things are going swimmingly.

Between her and Jack, they lead their parents through an exhaustive series of “High-Contact Games,” bypassing any stand that doesn’t encourage some sort of touching. Dean and Cas stumble their way through the three-legged race, arms wrapped tight around each other, collapsing in a heap on the field after losing handily to Claire and Jack. They dunk their heads underwater in the partner apple bobbing contest, coming up for air with their noses a centimeter apart, both biting into a big red apple. (This activity has the added benefit of Dean drying Cas’ hair with a fluffy towel, and Cas wrapping Dean’s scarf back around his neck after they’re dry.) They tiptoe their way through the “haunted mansion” and Claire holds Jack’s hand tight so Dean and Cas are left to stumble along through the dark together, jumping whenever a cardboard skeleton pops out of the wall.

By the time they make it through the hayride (Cas and Dean squished together on one bale, Claire and Jack on another), the dads are both glowing, cheeks flushed and hair tousled. They walk close together as they make their way through the festival, heads tipped toward one another as they talk quietly. Claire and Jack exchange a triumphant grin and trail along behind them.

“We’re doing so good,” Claire whispers down to him. “Are you ready for the big finale?”

Jack nods vigorously, nearly smacking himself in the face with his caramel apple. “I practiced in my room last night. I’m ready.”

Claire flashes him a thumbs up and shouts ahead, “Hey you guys! We’re starving. Can we do the picnic now?”

It takes a little while to get back to the Impala, with how busy the festival’s gotten and how slow Dean and Cas are when they refuse to walk without their arms touching, but eventually they make it back to the potholed parking lot and Dean hefts the cooler out of Baby’s trunk. There’s an awkward shuffle as Cas offers to carry it and Dean waves him off, only for Cas to insist, and they end up lugging it between them for the ten-minute walk to the big field next to the festival grounds.

They lay a tarp on the damp grass before putting down the huge pile of blankets that Claire dug out of the hall closet. She and Jack quickly sprawl out across half of the blanket island, leaving a little bit of room for Dean and Cas to settle down with the picnic basket. Cas’ butt ends up on the grass, and instead of moving, Claire suggests “Just put your legs over my dad’s, like I’m doing with Jack” and watches both the men’s eyes flare dramatically before—lo and behold—Cas actually does it, scooting closer to Dean and gingerly laying a leg over his. Dean’s hands shake as he opens the clasp on the picnic basket.

It’s a struggle, but Claire manages to keep her cool despite dying with laughter inside.

“Okay!” Dean says, rubbing his hands together and peering into the basket. “First order of business.” He lifts out a pie, and Claire pretends to look surprised. Her dad hands it to Cas, who holds it out to Claire like an offering.

“I know it’s not a birthday cake, but Jack and I made you an apple pie to celebrate,” he says, voice a bit unsure, as if he expects her to turn her nose up at it. She smiles and takes it.

“Thanks, you guys! It looks amazing.” It really does. Cas may not be the best knitter, but he got the lattice of the pie crust just right. There are a few little indents and divots where Jack obviously took a prod at it. Claire swallows a bit. She can’t get mushy now. There’s a plan.

“You know,” she says, “apple pie’s my dad’s favorite. It’s so sweet of you to think of him.” Dean shoots her a warning look and she answers with a shit-eating grin. Cas smiles sheepishly and digs back into the picnic basket, and Claire prods Jack in the ribs. He’s up.

Jack jumps to his feet, eagerness radiating from every limb as he climbs over Claire’s legs and stands right in front of Dean. He whips out the puppy eyes and Claire silently congratulates the kid.

“Hey Dean?” Jack says in his most angelic voice. He tugs on his hat tassels. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

There’s utter silence on the picnic blanket as Dean stares at Jack, computing. Cas is frozen with one hand in the picnic basket, eyes down but obviously hanging on to every sound that Dean makes (which, right now, is nothing more than some slightly strangled breathing).

“Dean?” Jack asks again, and Dean snaps out of it, shaking his head.

“Um. I— uh. No,” he stammers, lamely, eyes darting over to Cas. “No, no boyfriend. Uh. Why?”

Jack takes a huge breath, and Claire holds hers. “Do you want to be my daddy’s boyfriend?” He says the phrase with all the air of someone who definitely did practice in their bedroom.

“Jack!” Cas’ head snaps up and he stares at his son, mortified. “That’s— that’s not an appropriate thing to say to Dean.”

Jack glances back at Claire, brow furrowed, obviously unsure about this turn of events. Claire quickly scrambles to her knees and pats Jack’s shoulder. She looks her dad right in the eyes.

“Listen. Dad. And Cas. Jack and I love you very much. But we are—okay, fine, I am—tired of watching your truly horrific cringe-inducing old people flirting every. damn. day. The best birthday gift you can give me is to get your heads out of your asses and just get together already.”

And with that, she stands up, pie in one hand, slinging her other arm around Jack’s shoulders. “I’m gonna take my pie and Jack and go pick some pumpkins. Give you guys some time. Text me later!”

She doesn't stick around long enough for either of them to reply (not that either of them seem capable of forming many words, judging by the shell-shocked expressions on their faces). She tugs Jack off the blanket and they start making their way across the grass.

As they walk, Jack looks up at her with curious eyes. “Did it work? Are they boyfriends now?”

Claire glances back over her shoulder and sees the two men just staring at each other. They’ve been close all day (Claire mutters a mental you’re welcome), but she recognizes the new nerves in their posture. Legs still gently touching even with the additional space, their heads tilted ever-so-slightly in toward each other. Right on the precipice of something new.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it worked.” She grins down at Jack, triumphant. “You know, I’ve always wanted a little brother.”

There’s a short pause while Jack tries to process this new information. It may be early, but Claire has a good feeling about this. She knows Jack’s connected the dots when he lets out an enthusiastic squeal and hugs her tightly around her hips. She laughs and pats him on the back.

Jack pulls away and also looks back at Dean and Cas, who are now both sporting embarrassingly gushy smiles, practically holding hands on the picnic blanket. God, they’re nauseating. Claire turns her attention back to the kid beside her when she feels Jack take her hand. He has a knowing glint in his eyes, suddenly looking so much older than his five years. He peers up at her, beaming, his wide grin showing off his still-missing teeth.

“You’re right, Claire. They do look happy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many birthdays (and now, to Claire's dismay, corny anniversaries) later, she and Jack still share the same knowing smiles.

[magickastiel]

DAY TWO OF @TOOTIREDMOTEL’S 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION! 🥳

✨ prompt two: sunset | secret | "I need it" ✨

-

Sunset was Dean’s time.

Sammy had eaten and was happily doing his homework. Dad was out, god knows where and gone until the early hours.

Sunset meant Dean had time to himself.

The walk to Honorfield Academy took nearly an hour but he didn’t mind. He lit a cigarette on the way, the smoke drifting away to nothing in the yellow dusk. He tucked himself into his dad’s leather jacket as the air cooled. Soon, the sidewalk fell away and he was wandering along a dirt path, long green grass springing up either side of him. Birds darted overhead, silhouetted by the fading light, heading back to their nests.

Dean was happy to be leaving his.

He came to a stop on the hill, grass almost bronze in the orange light. From there, he could see the top floor of Castiel’s dorms.

He didn’t have to wait long.

There was the snapping of a twig and gentle footsteps and Castiel emerged from the trees, messy haired and smiling.

Dean’s stomach swooped.

“Hello, Dean.”

The boy came to a stop in front of him, a touch closer than he should. He opened his mouth and then wrinkled his nose.

“You’ve been smoking.”

“Oh.” The dumb smile on Dean’s face slipped. “Yeah.”

Cas shrugged. “Ok.”

He moved past Dean and slipped off his blazer, tossing it onto the grass and gracefully sitting down, folding his legs neatly. Dean plopped down next to him, feeling untidy in his worn jeans and thrifted t-shirt. He watched Cas watch the sun dipping behind the roofs of the Academy.

“You shouldn’t, you know.” Cas said suddenly, quiet and serious, still staring at the sky.

Dean almost jumped. “What?”

“Smoke.” Those all-seeing blue eyes locked on him and Dean squirmed.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Ain’t really got the funds for it - ”

“It’s bad for you.” Cas cut across him. “It can make you really ill.”

Dean looked away, eyes racing to find something to settle on. “Yeah, I know. I got people relying on me, can’t get ill.”

He did jump when Castiel’s warm hand touched his shoulder. “Not just for them. For you too.”

He laughed. “Right. Yeah.”

“Dean.” Cas spoke so firmly, he couldn’t stop himself turning to look. “I mean it.” His gaze caressed his cheeks, his lips, his shoulders. “You’re just important as they are.” Dean had to fight the urge to argue. “More important to me.”

“T-that’s just ‘cause you ain’t met Sam.”

Cas smiled and let his hand drop from his shoulder. “I suspect you would still be more important to me.”

Dean couldn’t fathom it. Why would someone prefer him to brilliant, bright Sammy? The kid was all knowledge and wit and sass. He was the best person Dean knew. If Cas met him, he was sure he would love him too. A part of him, selfish and bitter, hoped that Cas never met Sam.

He swallowed, dropping his gaze to the ground. He was leaning hard on his right hand, palm pressed into the dirt. Cas mirrored him, palm cushioned by the silk lining of his school blazer. Dean’s fingers twitched. He brushed the dark fabric with his fingertips and glanced up at Cas. The other boy was watching him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He said nothing.

Dean took a breath and brushed the silky lining inside, so close he could feel the warmth of Cas’ skin.

He waited for another wave of bravery to overtake him or for his mind to drag him away.

But instead, Cas closed the gap for him.

It wasn’t holding hands, Dean reassured himself. Their fingers just tangled together a little, weaving in and out of each other like the lattice top of a homemade apple pie. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

No responsibilities, no cares. With Cas, he wasn’t Dean the eldest son, or Dean the mother, or Dean the weird dumb kid.

At sunset, he got to be Dean.

________

all of these are from the same story but hopefully they make sense alone too 💖

read the other parts: one