voodoochildthings

[voodoochildthings]

That was hella cute!! 😍

“I got you two.” You’ll just pretend you hadn’t planned on eating all three. Not when he looks the way he looks.

I just love the dynamic of those two, and I gotta say, I was a little disappointed when you cut to black after locking ice cream of Dean's face. Part 2 maybe? Pretty please?

True Blue Steele (Dean’s Hot Like A Sunrise)

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Aussie!Reader

In Australia we have a guy called Bubble O’Bill. He’s an icon. A delicious blend of chocolate, caramel and strawberry ice cream with a chocolate back and bubblegum nose. This is Dean’s reaction to him. 1000 words (don’t count them 😜)

A/N: I planned to give Dean a Bubble O’Bill ice cream, I conquered - and squeezed in as much Aussie slang as I could. Glossary below the fic for any non-Aussies who dare to read. This was written for @ambiguous-avery’s Summer Snapshot Challenge

There’s nothing like an Aussie summer. It’s no different from anywhere else you’ve been in the world, if you’re honest, but that isn’t what you tell people. No Australian does.

You’ve already warned Dean about the drop bears and their love of Vegemite sandwiches. Told him to avoid standing under any tree. And, hey. You once had him believing Crocodile Dundee was your uncle. Lived down the street from you growing up. That part was half true.

Jokes aside, there’s something magical about the sunburnt country. The sea air on the coast, the fragrance of wattle and eucalyptus swept through it. The sand, the dirt, the bitumen on the road that sticks to your thongs and breaks the fuckers, leaving most of the population barefoot and shirtless.

That was you once. A feral kid running around town.

But there’s a monster to hunt now, for some rando reason, and you and Sam and Dean are here hunting it down.

Only sometimes you need to refuel.

Sometimes Dean does too.

While he’s living it up with his newfound addiction to meat pies and sausage rolls, and Sam’s god knows where, you’ve wandered across the street to the servo, gunning for lollies, chips and, best of all, the ice cream you’ve been craving since you hit the ground.

You step out onto the main drag. The edging of the famous bright blue and pink wrapper in your hands.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had one, and you might just have two more in your bag.

You’re quick to draw, much like your beloved is with a real gun, tearing the plastic open, careful not to lose his nose. You pinch the stick between finger and thumb as you get rid of your rubbish. Take your first delicious bite and cross the street.

The sun draws a sheen to your head, but the creaminess of Bill’s chocolate hat and crispy chocolate backing counteracts the heat. Soothes the tip of your tongue.

“You didn’t tell me they do bacon ones, too,” Dean says as you step up to the picnic table he’s all set up at. White paper bags and empty tomato sauce sachets littered in front of him. Hints of bottle-green paint chipped below it, all blending into the grass before you. Even the ocean looks green today.

“It’s just diced ham. Nothing special.” You shrug. Take another bite of your ice cream, only to splinter the base in two.

Your palm reaches out to catch a large flake, lip swiping low to reach a sliver of the strawberry layer that caught your chin as you moved.

“What’s that?” Dean’s pastry lined shadow points to the cowboy in your hands.

“A Bubble O’Bill.”

Dean repeats it like the name is holy. Eyes lit up as he comes closer to inspect the face, nose to nose, with yours and with Bill’s. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s an ice cream,” you say.

“Yeah. But-but it’s a cowboy one. You guys don’t have cowboys here.”

“No one has cowboys anymore.” You snort. “But, yeah, he’s a cowboy. You want one?”

Dean’s eyes light up like it’s the last smile he’s ever going to give. His freckle-dusted cheeks, as pink as the bubblegum nose on your Bill.

“You got me one?”

“I got you two.” You’ll just pretend you hadn’t planned on eating all three. Not when he looks the way he looks. A child on Christmas. One who’s been given a million bucks, and out too long in the unforgiving Australian sun.

You’ll forgive him this once for not listening to you about slip, slop, slapping. He’s the Rhonda to your Ketut, hot like a sunrise, raccoon eyes and all. Looking mighty adorable as he takes his first bite. His brilliant greens, candy-like against the equally green gumball nose.

“So what’s with the cowboy?” he says.

“Dunno, why?”

“Figured you guys’d have that blue dog or that guy with the bucket for a hat as an ice cream over a gunslinger.”

You stare into the distance for a moment at his comment, dumbfounded. Not sure whether to be surprised he knows who Bluey is or that he’s heard of Ned Kelly.

“How the hell do you know who either of them are?” you say as you pluck out your gumball with precision so you can finish the strawberry centre.

Dean just looks at you like you insulted John Wayne. But while his eyes narrow at you, his tongue still works his Bill. “Hey, Ledger’s no Leto,” he says between licks, twisting his arm to scoop up a drip forming at the side. “But he sure beat Nicholson. And that dog is cute like Dory.”

Cute comment aside, “Don’t you mean Nemo?”

“He’s not blue.” He swipes his head through the air, matter-of-fact, and you’re just as dumbfounded as before,

“She’s not Aussie.”

“She wouldn’t go for a guy like me, either.” His non-eating hand grabs yours, intertwining his fingers, squeezing gently. “Not like you.”

“Well, I’m not a fish.”

You turn towards the surf, sticking the whole stick in your mouth to get the last morsels of ice cream, dragging it back with your teeth. You pucker and pop your lips when you release it, knowing he’s watching.

“No, you’re not.” He chuckles. “You’re making mighty fine work of that stick, though.”

You grin. Wiggle your brows and hips a little. Play into the sultry look he’s giving you and rub your thumb over the back of his hand. “If you don’t hurry up and eat that other ice cream, I’m making work of it, too.”

There’s no way you’re letting that thing go to waste. You’d gladly eat it and get two more. Who cares about the belly ache after?

But Dean’s grabbing it and peeling back the wrapper, before you can so much as blink.

“Get your own,” he says.

“It was mine,” you spit back, and he feigns hurt to insult, to a playful smirk.

He puts the bullet-hole end of Bill’s hat up to your mouth, but you don’t bite, knowing he’ll just pull it away. You know him too damn well, so you do what any sweet girl would do in a pinch, and push it into his nose instead.

Of course, you don’t leave him this way.

You kiss the strawberry off his chin, lick the caramel from his top lip and let him taste them both on his tongue. “But you’re mine, too.”

Obligatory Jensen chewing gum because why not.

True Blue Aussie Glossary

True Blue: genuine, quintessentially Aussie. Someone or something can be true blue.

Drop Bears: feed on the tourists. Give them a Vegemite sandwich and they might leave you alone.

Vegemite: that black, salty spread no one outside of Australia likes. I’m telling you guys, it’s delicious on toast when done right. Even Mark Sheppard says so.

Sunburnt country: it’s a nod to a poem we (at least, my generation) learnt in school.

Wattle: is a native Australian tree. Bright yellow and tiny flowers.

Thongs: lol - just in case anyone’s scratching their head who hasn’t seen me or anyone else use this one before. Flip-flops are sticking to the road there, not the underwear kind (we call them g-strings or g-bangers - I don’t know why).

Rando: random. We shorten everything.

Servo: short for service station. AKA a gas station.

Lollies: candy. Except it’s anything but chocolate. Think gummy bears, bubblegum, lollipops as a collective.

Slip, Slop, Slap(ping): a campaign we had here to wear sunscreen. Slip on a shirt, slop on some sunscreen, and slap on a hat.

Rhonda and Ketut: the greatest love story of all time (it’s a bunch of TV commercials selling car insurance). Rhonda has a beautiful brake foot, and she’s hot like a sunrise. Ketut is her Balinese toy boy. In one of the commercials her sunburn forms raccoon eyes where her sunglasses had been.

Bluey: that adorable blue heeler. If you don’t know her, you’ve been living under a rock.

Ned Kelly: a famous name in Australian history. He was a bush ranger. Heath Ledger played him in a movie based on his life. I figured Dean’s love of movies might make him aware of the role.

Ten points to Gryffindoor if you spotted any extra slang or references!

I wanted to squeeze in another pun about Rhonda and Ketut at the end, or a “I just want milk that tastes like real milk,” but they just didn’t fit. Hope you enjoyed ❤️

Dean Taglist #1

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse @kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573 @lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly @my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13 @redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles @kimxwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @impala67rollingthroughtown

[voodoochildthings]

Oh I love this! Thanks for the tag, @bettystonewell!

I'll tell you in a minute if highlighting everything in two colors was an absolute fucking pain on the app

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

That actually wasn't as bad as I expected! Woo-hoo!

No pressure tags to my lovely @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @losers-clvb @supernotnatural2005 @my-stories-vault @maddie0101 @mellowyellowdaydream

tag game 🤭

rules: color the sentence that's true about you

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

this is a whole lot of yellow lmfao

no pressure tags: @marthawrites @schniiipsel @aemonddtargaryen @aemondsbabe @adragonprinceswhore @arcielee @black-dread @lovelykhaleesiii @aemondsbabygirl @valeskafics @connorsui

[voodoochildthings]

Why not both?

sometimes i really do struggle when trying to pick between sam and dean 😭 like do i want a funny and hot bf who has a cool ass car or do i want the nerdy and sexy one who looks like a baby deer

[voodoochildthings]

There it finally is, the seagull fic 😂

I could see Cas' stern face so perfectly before my inner eye, and I love the little reference to the Chinese General ehehe

I really think you need o make a seagull series, I think there are things you need to unpack there 😂

Of Seagulls and Angels

No Pairings | WC: 536

Summary: With his Grace back, Cas can’t enjoy sandwiches the same way he did when he was human. They just don’t taste the same. But that doesn’t mean he can’t find solace in perfecting the ideal PB&J. And it seems like others admire his ability as well.

Tags/Warnings: Crackfic, Cas doesn’t care for seagulls (quite honestly I don't either), no beta we die like men

A/N: I have so many fun ideas of Cas at the beach. It’s a real shame we never got to see it in canon. That’s why this challenge exists! They left it out of the show so us writers could fill in the blank! Hope y’all aren’t getting too sick of these snapshots because I’m having a blast! Summer Snapshot Challenge 2025 Masterlist

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Cas sat cross-legged on the beach towel, shoulders still and paper napkin spread carefully across his lap like he had seen Dean do a hundred times before. In his hands: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was his third attempt at putting together the ideal proportions of the fillings, and this one was by far his most symmetrical.

He was proud of it.

Or he was up until a sharp squawk overhead signalled the arrival of a feathered menace.

The seagull landed two feet in front of him, cocking its head with its laser-like focus honing in on the sandwich in the angel’s hands. Cas narrowed his eyes.

“This isn’t yours.” The bird hopped forward. “I said,” Cas began more firmly, holding the sandwich higher. “It isn't yours.”

The seagull lunged. Cas jerked backwards, startled at the audacity of the creature. Sand sprayed behind him at his sudden movement, and he awkwardly rose to his feet, one hand shielding his creation and the other lifting threateningly like he was ready to smite something much larger than a bird. “You dare?” he growled.

Dean glanced over from his own beach towel just in time to see Cas locked in a standoff with the seagull, sandwich clutched to the angel’s chest like a sacred relic.

“Cas?” he called out. “Everything okay over there?”

“This... rat with wings is attempting to steal my sandwich.” Cas’s eyes never left the gull as he spoke. Dean bit back a laugh.

“You know, you could always just give it a piece.”

“I made this,” he said with quiet conviction. “I used the correct bread-to-filling ratio. It is balanced.” Cas spoke like a man who was talking about something far more profound than a simple sandwich. The seagull screeched again and flapped its wings, bringing it airborne. Both Cas and Dean watched as it hovered close, and Dean pulled a chip from the bag in his hands before flicking it into the air like a coin.

The gull swooped down and caught it mid-flight with horrifying precision. Cas turned to look at him, eyes wide like he had been betrayed. “You’re feeding it?”

“I’m luring it. There’s a difference,” Dean said with a shrug. He threw another chip, this time further down the beach, and the gull fluttered after it instantly. Dean wiped his fingers on his swim trunks like he had just defused a bomb. “See? Tactical distraction. That’s how you win a fight.” Cas stared at the bag of chips then at Dean.

“You’re bribing the enemy.”

“Sun Tzu would be proud.” Dean popped a chip into his mouth.

“I do not know who that is,” Cas said flatly. “But he sounds morally flexible.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.” Dean patted Cas on the shoulder, briefly shaking his head when his hand came in contact with the angel’s trench coat. Two more seagulls landed ten feet away, their beady eyes trained on the bag of chips Dean had in his hands. Dean froze. Cas narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve started a war.”

“Time to retreat.” Dean slowly crumpled the bag and grabbed Cas’s arm, jogging inland with him, seagull wings and feathers flapping in pursuit.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Tagging my Supernatural peeps here: @jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @tinysnacklefan @chevroletdean @pisces-celeste @springflwer07 @voodoochildthings @theamuz @myceliumsunshine @bananapocalyps3

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

[voodoochildthings]

Yeah sorry no I'm gonna need two weeks

SUPERNATURAL 6x07, Family Matters

[voodoochildthings]

YES, I started watching tlou, and yes, this has been on my mind... do I need to dive into the Pedro Pascal fandom? I'm still torn. He looks like a pretty, homeless ballerina but I think I like it

please, please, please

[voodoochildthings]

Poor little Dean, having to rush into the cold sea to save his girl!

This took a different turn than I thought at least three times, and I loved it so much! The cold sea (this reader is a badass bitch because the cold ocean hurts like a mother), the sudden panic when we wouldn't come up for air, and her softness and foresight as to how Dean's gonna behave... what a roller-coaster <3

Keep Me Warm

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean’s always saying he wants to go to the beach, but when you finally do, it’s far too cold for little Dean, and nothing’s getting him in that water. Except saving you. 996 words

Tags: established relationship, skinny dipping (reader), reader gets dunked by a wave, fluff, whump, hurt/comfort, smut implied - This one’s not for those who are squeamish of the ocean.

A/N: For @ambiguous-avery’s Summer Snapshot Challenge.

“You coming?” you say, peeling off the last layers of your clothing and taking a step closer to the shore. 

You hold out your hand and beckon for Dean’s larger one. Still, he just stands there, clad from top to toe in his usual flannel and denim. His boots housing half the beach; still adamant he doesn’t want to swim.

“It’s cold,” he says, though he contradicts that with a playful wag of his brows. “Why don’t you stay here and you can warm me up?”

“Or I could do it in there?” You offer him a teasing smile, chuckling at his newfound hesitation and the second once-over your lack of clothes.

There’s a longing to his look. A visual whimper, with puppy-dog eyes and all.  “He’s cold, too.” He pouts, swaying on his bow-legs and bending over. A nod to little Dean that rolls yours. 

“Yeah—I’m swimming.” You dip your head to the surf to convince yourself. “When I’m back, you can warm me up,” you say. Could swear his pupils blew wider.

You step forward, letting the waves nip your toes. Take a few more steps and look back, waving at Dean, who waves, too, albeit unenthusiastically. 

He really is canine-like. Dare you say an old dog who shakes and shudders, pacing in his spot on the sand. 

You’d tell him the water’s fine, but you can’t prove that when you’re folding in over yourself at the icy flecks of spray, digging into your knees and thighs.

Still, you’re doing this.

You let the bite of the winter sea consume you. Wade out further and further, relenting to the pull where the water rises with you on top. 

It’s oh so gentle. You can just lie back. Take it all in. Starfishing - until a wave reaches down your throat, spreading the brine right through you, and you have to splutter to hack it back up and out.

But it sticks to your lips. Bubbles in your nose, and you drop your legs quick-smart after the fact. Turn around to see Dean laughing at you, though you can’t hear it over the waves. 

You’d give him the finger, but you’d rather pay him back with his own dunking, so you move with the tide. Let the horses carry you to him. Pull your body through their roaring white tips, only to get trampled. Soon, tumbling through somersaults, you didn’t begin.

This way, that way. Fuck. You’re screwed.

The water rushes by your ears. The salt and sand thrown at your eyes. Your breath only holds so long underwater, however, and that’s the scariest part. You know you’ll come back up for air, at least, you usually do. But there’s that part of you that worries, panics even, and you flail as the ocean rips you through her swell. Thrown in another direction, then another, and another. 

Your arms reach out to grab at something, anything, though besides the fish, what could possibly be in the water when you’re the only idiot out here and Dean’s on the sand?

There’s something, though, because your fingers slip against it. A solid mass, rough but fluid. A sudden burst of air that hits your face and fills your lungs as two hands grip your waist and pull you up. Their slippery fingers tear at your skin.

You wipe the sea from your eyes, and cough. Your blood rushing through you like the crashing waves, until you’re face to face with a very startled Dean.

He’s fully clothed and sopping wet. Hair slicked back, forest greens, wide. The solid crease in his brow mirrors the way his lips turn down at yours. 

“You okay?” He swallows. 

“Yeah.” Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing yourself against the roughness of his clothing. You’re safe, he’s here. “Got you in the water,” you say. Can’t help the soft snort that comes with it, though it’s okay, because Dean snorts too.

“S’not funny.” And, no, it’s really not. But, “My sack’s shriveled up,” isn’t helping either. 

He laughs as playful as always, but his eyes are scanning you. A once-over your neck and nose before resting his forehead on yours. “You sure you’re okay?” His concern comes back tenfold. 

“I just got dunked,” you say. “Happens all the time.”

And it does - but Dean doesn’t believe you. He rolls his skull against you. Tightens his jaw like he’s just swallowed a dram and needs to wash away the burn. His voice, hoarse like he’s had another two when he says, “You almost drowned.”

“It’s three feet?” 

Reality is it’s more likely four, but, “Yeah, well, all it takes is an inch,” he huffs.

You want to point out he’s the one still wearing clothes. That you’re not a child. But you bite it back. You can’t change his mind once he’s decided you were in danger. The chances he’ll bring you to a beach ever again are already thin.

No. It’s better to play the damsel in these instances than it is to let him go on one of his suppressive tangents. You won’t hear the end of it. Next, he’ll want you to quit hunting, and worse still, he’ll get his dumbass hurt because he’ll be too busy worrying ‘bout you.

So, you tilt your head and reach for his mouth, tasting his breath and soothing those luscious lips of his with a chaste kiss. “I’m okay.” You reassure him between nips. Hand smoothing over the bulbous bubble in his t-shirt. “Just a little wet,” you add, and Dean’s quick to it. 

He chuckles with that cadence that’s both charming and sultry. “Oh yeah?” he says.

“Mm-hmm.” Your hand drops lower. “But maybe we should warm us all up in, Baby?” You bat your lashes and cup him through his jeans. “You coming?” You grin and wag your brows.

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” he says, and seals the deal with one last kiss before leading you back to shore.

Ahhh. This is my second entry for Avery’s challenge, and I’d like to do one more with an Aussie!reader and a Bubble o’Bill ice cream if I can swing it. I’ve been sitting on this for over a week and it’s been frustrating trying to get the thing right.

For those who follow To You I Belong, apologies, I’m still working on chapter 17. Hopefully I’ll have it out soon ❤️

Dean Taglist #1

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

@redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles @kimxwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @impala67rollingthroughtown

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[voodoochildthings]

a) I love it when you guys put in song references for the fics, especially when it's a filthy old school R'n'B one

b) I will never stop thinking about licking vanilla ice-cream of Sam's tan body

c) I stopped reading in the middle and broke my brain trying to picture how Sam got cum all over his own chest

My Neck, My Back (Lick It) - Sam Winchester

You come home to find your boyfriend in a compromising situation. It's okay. You can help. A/N - this is for the summer snapshot challenge by @ambiguous-avery . does anyone else remember this song? listening to it on repeat like i do for all my fics was making me crack up so much that I couldn't write the fic. anyways, enjoy this slightly promiscuous fic lol. Snapshot Word Count - 331

You weren’t really sure what you’d walked into.

You’d left early this morning, calling out to your boyfriend that you’d be back in a few hours after your walk along the beach and up the headlands. He’d grumbled something unintelligible back - admittedly it had been about 3AM, you’d wanted to catch the sunrise - and you’d left him in bed.

It was now 9AM, and you’d stumbled back into the beach shack, muscles aching from the hike up the headlands - which apparently had been as tall as a bloody mountain and even steeper - and there your boyfriend stood.

Chest covered in something white and creamy, looking guilty as hell. Like you’d caught him in some sort of act.

“Please tell me that’s sunscreen.” You whispered, your voice loud in the silence. Sam looked down at his chest, then back up at you.

“I thought you’d be gone longer.” Sam responded just as quietly. You nodded slowly, reassessing the situation.

“Okay. So what… is it?”

“It’s ice cream…” Sam whispered guiltily. You paused, then moved closer, inspecting the white cream dripping down his chest.

“Why…?” You asked as you poked a finger into it, feeling the stickiness on your finger. You licked it clean, and Sam groaned.

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “A surprise for me? How does that work?”

“I… I kind of had this idea yesterday… when we got those ice creams. I…” He put his head in his hands. “I wanted you to lick it off of me.”

Your eyes widened, looking at the sticky mess all over his chest. You leaned forward, licking a long stripe through the ice cream. Vanilla. Your favourite flavour. Explained the colour as well.

Sam let out a loud groan.

“This really turns you on?” You asked, a shit eating grin on your face. Sam nodded frantically, and you smiled, leaning forwards and licking another stripe through the mess on his chest.

Yeah, you could work with this.

TAGSLISTS ALL WORKS @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing SUPERNATURAL @bettystonewell

[voodoochildthings]

HEY CW ARE YOU LISTENING MAKE IT HAPPEN YOU ALREADY GOT THE BEST WRITER IN THE BIZ AND SHE'S GONNA DO IT FOR FREE if you ask nicely and throw in a couple of Sam sex scenes

Jensen Ackles as Mark Meachum | Countdown, S1 E3 - Happy Birthday Final

[voodoochildthings]

I'm not gonna start a new show I'm not gonna start a new show I'm not gonna start a new show I'm not gonna start a new show I'm not gonna start a new show I'm not gonna start a new show

Jensen Ackles as Mark Meachum | Countdown, S1 E3 - Happy Birthday Final

[voodoochildthings]

How dare you turn the thing we want most against us!

I wanna say I would have kicked and screamed until they're awake because I CANNOT stand body heat when it's hot outside, but... maybe dying in a Winchester sauna has been my fate all along?

Too Hot to Handle

Dean Winchester x gn!Reader/You x Sam Winchester | WC: 724

Summary: Sometimes, there are perks to sharing a bed with two life-sized heaters. Other times... it’s a curse that you’ve brought upon yourself.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, established polyship, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Inspired by a lovely conversation with @jollyhunter about the heat wave she’s dealing with. Hope I captured your plight with heat well enough!

It was too damn hot.

You were going to gut whichever brother had made the decision to take a case in Louisiana in the middle of the summer heat wave. It was a hundred degrees in the motel room. At least. Maybe more. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the walls started dripping like wax. The motel AC had given up hours ago, spluttering its last breath sometime just after midnight. Now, the heat clung to the sheets like a second skin, and you were stuck between two human furnaces – Sam on your left, Dean on your right – both fast asleep and unbothered by the oppressive weight of the summer air.

Your forehead was damp. Sweat was pooling behind your knees. And your tank top clung to your skin like it had been painted on. Dean’s arm was a deadweight across your stomach, his face buried against your shoulder, lips barely parted in sleep. Sam’s breath ghosted along the nape of your neck, slow and even, one of his long legs draped possessively over yours. They had both stripped down to their boxers, all bare skin and body heat. 

In any other scenario, this would’ve been absolute Heaven.

But now?

You were in Hell.

Pinned between the two Winchesters, – two oversized, sweat-slick furnaces – you were certain that this was how you were going to die. Not in a blaze of glory. Not on a hunt. No, you were going to expire right here, slowly stewing like a pot roast. Sandwiched between Sam and Dean. Both of them were snoring softly. How they could sleep through the heatwave while you were melting like a popsicle between them was beyond you. You glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. 

3:17 a.m.

Something had to give.

With all the grace of a professional in a heist movie, you began to wiggle free. You shifted carefully, inching your thigh from under Sam’s. No reaction. His grip on your hip was loose. Dean muttered something against your shoulder but didn’t stir as you shimmied out from beneath his arm, peeling it away from you like a sweaty bandage. He grunted and shifted but didn’t wake. Success.

You were almost free. Just one more careful maneuver and you could escape to the bathroom where you could splash some cold water on your face or maybe even take an ice-cold shower. Freedom was close enough that you could taste it.

A hand clamped around your ankle.

You let out a muffled yelp and whipped your head around.

Dean. Eyes still closed. Face slack with sleep. Arm curled around your leg like he was hugging a teddy bear. He mumbled something unintelligible. Probably something about pie. You tried to gently shake him off, inwardly begging for the first time in your life for him to just let you go. But like Dean had assured you many, many times before, he had you. Always.

Then, as though he had been summoned by the movement, Sam let out a sleepy sigh and looped his arm around your middle, dragging you back with gentle insistence. Like a sleepy, affectionate boa constrictor. You barely had a moment to brace yourself before you were tugged unceremoniously back between them.

“No, no, no, no...” you whispered. Neither of them opened their eyes. Dean shifted closer, forehead pressing against your temple, breath warm against your cheek. His fingers had released your ankle and had slid his hand up to rest on your thigh. Sam’s chest was pressed against your back again, his fingers now curled around your wrist like a tether. “I hate everything,” you groaned into the void. Dean’s leg flopped over yours. Sam buried his nose in your hair. A bead of sweat – you weren’t sure whose – slid down your neck.

Neither Winchester stirred.

You seriously considered trying again. Escape artist that you were, you were confident that you could extricate yourself from the tangle of limbs much more covertly a second time. But you had a sneaking suspicion that their unconscious Winchester radar would go off again, and the two of them would track you down like bloodhounds with a scent.

So, with a long, suffering sigh, you went limp in the heat. Resigning yourself to a slow, sweaty death. You might’ve been dying, but damn it, at least you were dying loved.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @tinysnacklefan @chevroletdean @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

Sam taglist: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @theamuz @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @myceliumsunshine @bananapocalyps3 @tinysnacklefan @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

[voodoochildthings]

This was so beautiful 😭

All we want is to see them happy 😭

Palm Tree Magnet

pairing: no pairing

summery: There's a polaroid on the Winchester's fridge. No one's ask about it.

word count: 406

characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

A/N: Unfortunately for y'all, I can't resist the mention of polaroid. Again, I am sorry to inflict this onto the internet.

challenge: Summer Snapshot Challenge 2025 by @ambiguous-avery

There’s a palm tree magnet on the fridge in the bunker. It has one job, and one job only: holding a single polaroid. It’s not decorative, not sentimental. Not officially. But touch it, and watch the mood shift. Ask about it, and you’ll get nothing but vague grunts and quick deflections.

If you’re quiet enough, though, if you happen to be in the kitchen at just the right time, you might catch it ... Dean’s smile, quiet and crooked when he opens the fridge. Sam’s silent chuckle, half an exhale, when his eyes land on it by accident.

The photo isn’t special. Just one overexposed square with white borders. No date, no writing. You know... just a polaroid. Like any other.

Dean is mid-motion — caught between catching or missing a hot pink frisbee. His floral swim trunks are blinding, his grin wide, wild. He looks ridiculous. He looks happy. Sam’s already lost it, flat on his back in the sand, laughing like he means it. Their legs are dusted with dry sand. The sky is a blue so sharp it hums. The sun burns loud in the top corner.

It’s nothing when you look at it. It’s everything when they look at it.

If you stand there long enough, you might swear you hear Sam’s laugh. Might feel sand under your nails. Get a sunburn. The swim trunks are nowhere in the bunker. The frisbee’s long gone.

And if you stand there just a little longer, the questions start creeping in. Who took the photo? When was it? Did they take a day off, a week? Were they between cases, or chasing something with salt and iron? Was that one of those strange, rare days where they were just… people?

It doesn’t matter. Not really. What matters is that the photo exists. That they kept it. That it made it back.

You wouldn’t guess the story behind it. Nothing dramatic. Nothing special. A woman took that photo, she snapped it without them noticing, caught in their own laughter. She saw something in the frame. Not just the colors, but the feeling. She offered them the photo later. Said it looked like it belonged to them, not her. Dean didn’t flirt. Didn’t crack a joke. Just… took it. Touched by the existence of it.

And now it’s here, held up by a ridiculous palm tree magnet. Sam bought it. A small, defiant proof that joy happened.

[voodoochildthings]

NO I'm not crying YOU'RE CRYING

I swear I'm suing you for alimony if I decide to have another kid because of this

Seashells

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary Dean, you and the kids spend a day at the beach in late summer. CWs Dad!Dean, end of summer, fluff with a touch of melancholia? 1k words AN Another entry for @ambiguous-avery's Summer Snapshot Challenge! I was trying to kind of go for this slightly melancholic vibe you sometimes get when summer's almost over - it's already a little cooler, the sun's not quite as hot. The kids are small still, but they're growing up, and it's just a marker of time, inevitably, passing. I don't think I was super successful (challenge is to stay under 1k words, and I'm a blabber, as you know 😄), but I'm sure I'll write something trying to hit that vibe again, cause I love it (even though it's sometimes sad).

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

“You have to understand what's at risk here,” Dean says on one of the last days of summer, looking from one face to the other. “Not all of us are gonna be ready for when we… see it.”

Emma nods, eyes wide.

“Okay,” she says.

“I'm serious,” Dean continues, and you think you see a slight glimmer in his green eyes, even through the darkness of his sunglasses. “We've never gone up against anything like this. Are you ready?” Emma nods again, hanging on his every word. Dean extends his hand, and she does too. He shakes her much smaller one.

“Good luck, soldier,” he says.

“Good luck,” she says, all seriousness.

“Go!” Dean calls, and both his tiny Batman figurine as well as Emma's Summer Fun Barbie start scaling the sides of the sand castle. Emma makes it up first, because Barbie is as tall as the castle itself. But that's when it happens.

“Raaaahhh!” JJ yells, doing a great job at letting the plastic kraken slowly scale the other side. “I'm gonna eat you!” 

Emma squeals, but luckily Batman comes to the rescue. While you peek over the edge of your crime novel, you watch as the two manage to drive the kraken back into the sea. JJ, always one to think on his toes, drops the toy in the sand, and jumps at his dad, wrapping his arms around his neck, and Dean lets himself fall back, pretending he's been bested, while in a shocking turn of events, Emma turns turncoat, and decides to join her little brother’s side.

“Don't kill your dad, okay?” you speak up, just as Dean manages to start tickling JJ’s ribs. “He still needs to grill burgers for us tonight. And you both should eat some more fruit, okay?”

Emma jumps up, rushes over to where you’re sitting only a few feet away on your towel. She drops to her knees and reaches for the container of fruit, picks out a piece of pear and pops it in her mouth. You run your hand over the side of her head, then look up.

Dean’s got JJ over his shoulder and is carrying him over while your son howls with laughter. Dean plops him down and then drops himself into the sand next to you.

“Dad, we gotta do that thing,” Emma says, and then she throws Dean the most meaningful look her adorable, nine-year-old face can come up with.

“Right,” Dean says, nodding, “the thing. Well, how about you and JJ get started and I’ll join you in a minute?” Emma nods and gets up. 

She reaches for her brother’s hand, and drags him up with her. He’s at the age where he’s still fine with being led and manhandled by his big sister. You wonder if this will change in the next few years. You know it would be natural if it does, but you can’t help yourself wishing that certain parts of them always remain the way they are now.

The two run off, and once they reach the edge of the water, Emma stops them. She leans down, picks something up without letting go of her brother. She holds it in her hand, studies it the way she does, with utter concentration. JJ bends down too, but he’s just copying her. You can tell he’s only picking up some sand. He doesn’t keep the act up for long, though, and soon lets it drop through his fingers and joins Emma in admiring her find.

“They wanna make you a shell necklace,” Dean says, and you turn to him, a soft smile on your face. He’s been looking at the kids too, but now he turns to you, needing to angle his head up to look at you. “Act surprised, okay? And like it doesn’t look like crap.” You chuckle, raise your hand and run it through his hair.

“I’m sure it’s gonna be beautiful,” you say and Dean huffs. 

“Nothing can beat that Q-tip horse they made last year, when we were stuck inside during that storm,” Dean says, looking back towards where Emma and JJ have moved a few steps down the beach before having stopped to admire something new. “I swear, I almost shot that thing. It was a mess. But it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

“Funny,” you say, letting your hand come to a stop high on Dean’s neck. “That’s what I thought the first time I saw you.” Dean turns back to you, now with his entire body, his hand landing on your ankle.

“You’re hilarious,” he says, running his hand up, “And very creamy.” You wiggle your eyebrows. 

“Protection’s important,” you say and Dean grins, leans towards you. Lands a kiss high on your knee.

“Yeah,” he says, turning back to watch your beautiful children. “But sometimes it’s good if you forget it.”

You think about that moment again when you’re driving back to the house. Emma and JJ are asleep in the back, leaned against each other, their small mouths opened, exhaustion from the beach day having overtaken them. They still do that - that full-bodied passing out. Sleep like a sudden blanket thrown over them. Dean threw on a bright blue shirt, only did up a few buttons. There’s sea salt all over your skin, sand still between your toes.

You turn to him. Low music on the radio, the windows down. It smells like it’s gonna rain. Dean looks at you with a question on his face.

“What?” he says. You shake your head, then reach for his hand on the steering wheel. You drag it towards yourself, kiss the back of it.

“Just happy,” you say. Dean smiles, squinting a little in the late summer sunlight. 

“Good,” he says, then winks at you. “That was the plan.” You chuckle, and then you turn and look at your children again. Their pockets full of sea shells.

[voodoochildthings]

Ohh Avery I love that, that's so sweet of you! And what a way to start my morning 🤤💕

JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN Destination X | S01E04 - Let The Deceit Begin

[voodoochildthings]

Holy crap I was like "I'm just gonna read this real quick while finishing up work," and what can I say, I'm still glued to the spot. Cheeks a little flushed.

Whimpering, needy Dean, tasting like the ocean? I need MORE!

Rocking Wet

⋆ ˚｡⋆ PAIRING Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY "Paddleboards' for chicks," Dean argued. "There's more playroom for below-deck action," you countered with a wink. Next moment you're somewhere off shore, the sound of the waves surrounding you while you're making out on a paddleboard like a pair of horny teenagers.

WARNINGS / TAGS NSFW, 18+ MDNI, Smut, Established relationship, Basically pwp, Thigh riding, Kind of a slick-play kink??, Playful bantering / teasing, Pushing the bikini aside (it’s a thing lol), Fingering, Handjob, Dean’s needy and whiny !! 😫👌, Horniness cannot be stopped, Kinda public smut, No use of Y/N.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 1k + 1 SPLASH (These 1k wc limits are killing me)

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES Here's my smut piece as an entry for @ambiguous-avery's Summer Snapshot Challenge !

Your tongue swipes along the curve of his salt-sprinkled lips, tasting the sea. Dean lifts his head off the paddleboard, his teeth going at your lower lip as he tugs at them. You both moan in unison - break apart to catch each other's intense look.

The summer sun paints his freckled cheeks with a hue of red while perls of water still collect below the soaked hair of his, dark and stuck to his skin.

Your fingers tug at his waistband before you let it snap back against the wet skin of his stomach, earning yourself a wide-eyed, surprised "O" of his plump lips.

Then you sit back, reach down to your spandex to nudge it partially aside.

Dean's eyes widen even more when his leg hair's slicked back by your own wetness as you drag your core across his thigh. Slow. Heavy.

His reaction's instant - the string of muscle twitches between your legs while blunt fingernails clamp down on your ass.

"Fuck," he groans, head tipped back, "You marking me, babe?"

"Mhm. Saw those Baywatch girls oggling you," you hum. Wiggle your ass down, just enough to watch his eyes flutter as you part your folds around his thigh, searching for that perfect angle. "Making sure you know who you belong to, Haselhoff."

Dean bites back another groan.

He pats your ass with one hand and strokes his free thigh with his other - lips parted into that teasing, smug grin of his.

"'Tis one for you and one for cute little Casey Parker*."

You snort-chuckle.

"You think I'd be sharing?"

You raise your hips to give Dean a nice view of your fingers as they slide down your glistening body, then part your folds to collect some of your arousal. Dean's eyebrows pop, breath hitches, as he watches you with parted lips how you spread your slick across the top of his other thigh.

"Goddamn, honey," he rasps out.

"Both mine." You shoot a smug smile down at him with another roll of your hips. Dean chuckles. "Damn right - show me." And you go in with a little more force, the angle perfect for that sweet friction of his hard muscle against your clit.

The board trembles - you freeze - Dean's grip on you tightens and your eyes lock.

"Need more?"

You bite your lips. Wait for another beat until the plane below you calms again.

"Yeah."

Dean hums in response.

His hand wiggles down between your bodies where his fingertips tap against the inside of your thigh. You nudge your knees a bit further to the edge of the board - careful not to shake it.

The tip of his forefinger follows your curves, teases you right next to the crease between your leg and groin where the hem of your bikini bottom's cutting into your wet skin.

Dean pushes the thin piece of spandex fully aside. You shudder, forehead dropped to his. Next moment he runs his fingertips through your folds, then pushes two fingers inside.

You groan. He moans – begins to pump them until your thighs are shaking and you suddenly pull back. Leave his fingers slip out as you begin to reposition yourself to take care of him – but Dean hooked his finger under your bikini's string.

"Wait," his voice equals the whine of a pleading dog, "Wanna feel you cum."

His hazy focus snaps around the limited space you have to work with.

This' gonna be like twister erotica.

"Lean on me, I've got ya."

He inches further down, keeping the balance of the board in check, while you crawl on top of him – every movement followed by waves splashing over the board.

Dean‘s arm comes up to stabilize you with his hand on the small of your back as his other returns between your legs.

You lower your chest, angle your shoulders to rest your weight on top of him, forearm braced against the board next to his head, one knee pushed up to his groin where your other free hand trails down.

The angle's a bit awkward. But you manage to slip your hand into his trunks and wrap your fingers around the base of his hard cock – he hisses – his grip tightens, before his jaw goes slack with a long-drawn-out, whining 'ahhh' as a visible shiver shakes his body.

You pause – let his shaky exhale jiggle the amulet on his chest while his eyes screw up.

This view never gets old.

You begin to palm him, skim his sensitive head with your nails and watch through your own blissfully lidded eyes how his bottom lip's trembling, mouth dropped further open with a shuddering whimper.

"Paddleboard's just for chicks, huh?"

"Fuck- please –" he rasps out your name, and you begin to pump him faster with a satisfied smile.

His long fingers push in deeper. Adds his ring finger to the party before he goes to rub the spot that has you buckle and the board sway.

Dean‘s eyes snap open and lock with yours. Noses touching, your soaked hair sticking to his damp forehead. Panting heavily.

"God –" you both freeze for a moment, chuckling "– We're so hellbent on this."

"Not one to half-ass," he grins. Then playfully bumps your forehead with his, "C‘mon, sit down on my fingers. Ladies first."

You let go of him, reluctantly. Lean back and slowly sink down on his fingers, his hand - palm‘s up - flat on the thigh you‘re straddling.

"Use me, baby," he urges you.

You begin to rock your hips. Carefully.

Dean curls his digits and grinds the heel of his palm against your clit for that extra friction and sounds.

Your head drops back, eyes fluttering as you feel your pleasure building. You rock harder – when the world suddenly begins to tilt.

Like. For real.

You squeal, "Move left– Dean– left!"

"Bossy today, are we?" he grins, oblivious as he is, and scissors his fingers.

"NO DEAN – MOVE YOUR ASS TO THE LE––"

SPLASH.

*Dean’s pop-culture guide: C.J. Parker is Pamela Anderson’s character in Baywatch!

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES I realized that I haven't written smut in quite a while. And uh, packing this into 1k turned out to be more difficult than I thought... I hope it was still enjoyable 😂

Dean Tag List:

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @v1v1-3 @maddie0101 @livya99 @supernotnatural2005 @youdontknowe @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @123passwort @lamentationsofalonelypotato @my-stories-vault @lillied31

@champagnepoets @salemslostwitch @chevroletdean @multiversefanfics @toxicfataldestiny @sunnys-struggles @kimxwinchester @carliebear23 @alexxavicry @ladykitana90 @woaheasytig3r

❀ꗥ Want to join my TAG LIST? Fill out this form!

[voodoochildthings]

This man is more than twice my age, somebody help me, please

Look at the fucking dimples

JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN Destination X | S01E04 - Let The Deceit Begin

[voodoochildthings]

You guys really don't know what you're doing to me, out here saying I make you John-curious 😭 (That's how it started out with me and Sam btw)

I'm so happy you also liked baby Sam and Dean, they hold a special place in my heart, and I'm gonna use this for some shameless self-promotion, I've got this piece here that had more of the same vibe I went for in this snapshot, so if you want to explore that new John-side of yours... this is a safe space for everyone ;)

Hot and cold

John x reader

Just a day at the beach, you, your boyfriend, and his two young sons. Or: Fixing John Winchester?

Word count: ~1K

Tags: dating a train wreck, Sam and Dean as kids, fluffy fix-it (no smut in this one!)

A/N: another entry for the lovely @ambiguous-avery's Summer Snapshot Challenge! Couldn't just leave it at one, and, had to sneak my man John in here somewhere 😏

“Dean! Drop it!”

You can see the terror in his little eyes as Dean spots you jogging towards him. Only for a second though, before a devilish grin spreads over his face. He drops the shovel he was using to fill his brother's trunks with sand and bolts.

He's long gone when you reach little Sammy who blinks up at you from under his hat, squinting at the sun. You help him up, empty the sand out of his swimwear as he hungrily starts devouring the orange popsicle you brought him back from the kiosk.

He's already happily splashing in the water again when you make your way back to the deck chairs, the shade of the parasol immediately providing cool comfort from the sizzling air around you.

You take a minute to look at him, lying there, peacefully snoring in the summer's heat. Sweat glistening through the dark curls, his chest slowly rising and falling. Then you drop the remaining, dripping wet frozen treats onto him.

John jolts, smacking the ice pops into the sand, one fist already clenched, ready to rain down fury on whatever has disturbed his peace. When he sees it's you grinning down at him, he sits up, adjusts his sunglasses and grumbles something unintelligible. Bends down to pick up the popsicles. Furrows his brows at you. Someone else might have found the entire scene intimidating. You think he looks adorable.

“Don't be mad,” you laugh as you plop down on the chair next to him. “I got you your favorite.”

He looks over the rim of his glasses as he wipes the sand off the plastic packaging.

“I don't have a favorite popsicle. They all taste like corn syrup.”

You lean over, press a long kiss onto his grumpy frown. He tastes like the ocean.

“Yeah you do. It's okay, I won't tell anyone,” you say as you take your Magnum ice cream and Dean's Micro-Pops, leaving the horribly purple grape one to John.

He looks at it for a second, looks at you, and back at the colorful packaging. And then, without a word, he unwraps it, sticks it in his mouth. You sit there quietly, eating your ice cream. You see him glancing at you sideways from time to time, brows still furrowed, but a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You're not done yet when he pulls you into his lap. You squeal as you lose your balance, but he's got you. He squeezes you tight, against his chest, skin on skin hot and slick. You try to push him away, not wanting the sugary syrup that's still in his beard all over your face, but you give up resistance pretty quickly. Let the dripping mess that's left of your ice cream drop to your side.

You melt into his touch, allow him to handle you, let him wrap you up in his embrace. The urgency in the way he holds on to you could almost be overwhelming. It's a good thing you're in a public place. You could lose yourself in the moment if it weren't for the small, wet hand slapping you on the small of your back.

“Did you bring me a milo-pop?”

You turn around to see Dean standing behind you, sand all over, including his face and hair. You slide off John's lap to grab a bottle of water, clean him up under protest before you let him happily skip away, ice pop in hand.

“No running with food in your mouth,” you yell after him, but Dean's already too far away to care, skinny limbs flailing.

You sigh, turn back to John. You're confused when you see him staring at you. The frown is gone, in its stead he's wearing an expression you can't exactly describe. There's the pain he always carries, along with the weariness. Alertness. But there's something else.

“What,” you shoot at him. Ready to defend yourself. You're not sure why. It's been a while since he last lashed out at you, but you still can't help being on your guard whenever he behaves in a way you don't see coming.

Then he chuckles, shakes his head. Puts his giant paw on the back of your thigh, gently caresses your skin.

“Nothing,” he says. “You're just good at this.”

You realize that weird emotion you couldn't place might just have been happiness. Or contentment, at least. It feels… strange. To see him like that. In a setting like this. But you know it's a win, so you take it.

You know that, with how red your cheeks already are from the sun, he probably won't see you blushing, but you turn away anyway. Just to be sure. You stare out into the ocean, watch Dean running in circles around Sammy, who's still working on his sand castle.

“You know Dean was shoveling sand into Sammy's trunks again?”

You hear John huff.

“Maybe I need to have a word with him. Think I might be growing too soft on them.”

You give him a nasty sideways glance that makes him laugh. Genuinely laugh. He runs a hand over his beard, gets up and stands close behind you. Wraps his arms around your waist and puts his chin on your shoulder as you continue watching Sam and Dean.

You just stand there, the unbearable heat tripled by John's big body pressing up against you. But you don't mind.

“You know I'm not gonna let you drill my boys anymore, right?”

You feel his embrace tightening around you as he presses a scratchy kiss onto the shell of your ear.

“I know,” he says.

And, a couple of seconds later, quietly, “thank you.”