#and rolls his sleeves up to kick the shit out of Dean

[woundlingus]

Supernatural 13x20 Unfinished Business

Loki moments that make me 🥰🥰🥰🥰

#when his hair goes floof #and rolls his sleeves up to kick the shit out of Dean #❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ #spn #supernatural #Loki spn #supernatural s13 #supernatural 13x20

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 9: Vintage

Dean sheepishly drags his feet into the costume room.

“What did you do this time?” Cas demands, rushing out from behind a rack of flapper dresses, his voice a growl of pure exasperation.

Dean plucks at his shirt with its arm half-torn off and lifts his other arm holding his bloody jacket. “Hello to you too, Cas. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Castiel ignores him and snatches the emerald jacket back, frowning as he fingers the bullethole in the arm and the trail of dried blood all the way down to the cuff. “This was hand sewn,” Cas moans, running his fingers down the embroidery along the lapel, splattered with smears of red.

“Sorry?” Dean smiles crookedly. “I really tried my best not to get shot, I swear.”

“Not hard enough,” Cas grumbles as he gestures at the dressing room. As Dean undoes the buttons of his breeches, Cas calls from beyond the curtain, “Sam and Jo escaped unscathed, then?”

“The brass needed the debrief as soon as possible.” Dean shoves the pants down and kicks them off. “Sam and Jo sent me in in the meantime so you could see the worst of it.”

“At least some people have respect for my work.”

“Jo complains more than I do!”

“She’s a woman,” Cas says dryly.

Dean grimaces at his reflection in the mirror. “Don’t tell Jo I said this, but that’s not cool, man. Don’t be sexist.”

“I meant, women, on average, have more unwieldy clothing than men,” Cas says, sounding more amused than offended at Dean’s callout. “Not to mention the constant emphasis on a woman’s silhouette – the corsets, the stays, the girdles.”

Dean shudders. He’s gotten an earful (or five) from Jo about boning – and not the fun kind.

“Have you ever worn a girdle, Dean?”

Dean coughs. “Can’t say I have,” he half-lies. The lingerie in question in the back of his closet was only modeled after a girdle. From what he’s learned from Jo, the real deal wasn’t nearly that flimsy or lacy.

“Exactly,” Cas says in a satisfied tone of voice.

Dean chuckles as he unbuttons his shirt. “Y’know, one of the dudes at the Continental Congress actually – shit.”

“Everything alright?”

His bicep throbbing, Dean mutters, “Yeah.” He winces as he tries to take off an 18th century shirt one-handed. The bullet, at least, was from the 21st century – Dean really didn’t need to find out how being shot with a fucking musket felt like – and it only grazed him, besides. “Arm’s a little out of commission, but I’m makin’ do.”

Cas yanks the curtain aside.

“Hey,” Dean protests.

Cas just rolls his eyes as he reaches for the shirt. “You’ll pop a seam at this rate.”

“I was being careful!”

“Your definition of ‘careful’ has been driving Colonel Singer to drink since you started at the Time Bureau,” Cas says in a clipped voice. But despite his words, his hands are gentle as they ease the fabric off Dean’s shoulder and down his arm.

“Bobby’s always been like that,” Dean dismisses.

Cas folds the shirt up to reuse the fabric and picks Dean’s breeches off the floor. “Socks too, please,” he says as he flips the curtain shut again.

With a sigh, Dean sits on the little bench in the changing room and wrestles off his socks. Through the gap in the curtain, he trades them for the bundle of clothing he left with Cas before his trip to the past. 

Dean sets his clothes on the bench with a frown. “Where’s my shirt?” 

“I burned it.”

“Cas!”

“Get dressed, Dean.”

Dean angrily pulls on his jeans and socks, tucking in the laces of inside his boots since he’s not about to attempt tying a bow one-handed. He wrenches the curtain aside to reveal Cas with a gray woolen robe draped over one arm. 

“Here,” he says, holding it open for Dean to step into. “This won’t aggravate your injury.”

Dean doesn’t move. “Is that…” he drifts off.

Cas smiles shyly. “Yes, this is the same one you stole from Tyrone Power in 1955. I finished making a replica a few days ago and thought this would be a good time to return it to you.”

Dean steps forward to slide his arms into the billowy sleeves. “Isn’t this technically Time Bureau property?”

Cas leans forward and gives the worst attempt at a wink that Dean has seen in years. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Dean has to laugh.

Pleased, Cas steps back. “You should go to medical, and let them decide if you need stitches.”

Dean gingerly touches the cut with his good hand. “Yeah, probably. See ya, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

* * *

“What do you mean, you went to 1943?” Cas thunders.

“I mean,” Dean retorts heatedly, “we went to nineteen forty fucking three and got pegged as fucking Nazi spies within eight hours. All because of our goddamn clothes!”

“Well, of course you did,” Cas says, a cutting know-it-all edge to his voice. “Because you told me the mission was to 1941.”

“So what?” Dean hisses. “I was off by two damn years. Big whoop.”

“That’s two wartime years,” Cas corrects, his eyes narrowing. “That’s two years of rationing, of wartime production restrictions. Fashion, just like everything else, changes with history, sometimes very quickly.” He gestures to the racks and racks of historically accurate costumes around them. “Or else I wouldn’t have a job.”

Dean, unwilling to admit defeat, storms off into the changing room.

* * *

Cas comes through three days before Sam, Dean, and Jo’s mission to 1987.

“This is awesome.” Dean hugs the leather jacket to his chest. He looks up at Cas, who has a strange expression on his face. “You’re a goddamn miracle worker, you know that?”

Cas flushes. “I already had a similar one on hand. It was a simple matter of finding a matching lining, replacing the buttons, and adjusting a few of the seams.”

“Still,” Dean says, stroking the leather reverently, “this looks exactly like my dad’s.”

The corners of Cas’s mouth lift in a small smile. “As long as it’s period-appropriate, I am always happy to tailor for the Winchesters.”

Dean snorts. “You and I both know that’s a lie.” He tries it on, and the sleeves hit at the right length, below his wrist but stopping before the first knuckle of his thumb. The collar, relaxed with age, brushes up against the right spot on his neck.

“I’m glad you like it, Dean,” Cas says quietly.

“I love it.”

* * *

“You’ve got to be joking,” Dean says, horrified.

Cas’s stony expression doesn’t twitch. “I’m afraid not.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

Cas shakes the bellbottoms. “I need to see if they fit you.”

“They don’t,” Dean says, backing up. “I can tell you that right now.”

Cas cracks a smile. “If you thought the ’43 interrogation was bad, just imagine what it would be like with disco music in the background.”

Dean shudders. "I hate you so much," he says as he snatches the outfit out of Cas's hands and stalks over to the changing rooms.

“Once you’re done, I have a pair of roller skates for you to try on too, as I was told the exchange will take place at a roller rink.”

Dean pokes his head through the curtain. "No fucking way."

"Sam tried his on yesterday," Cas says with a knowing smile. "I took a video of his first practice skate."

Dean sighs loudly. "Give 'em here. And if you're lying about that video, so help me god, they'll be no stayin' alive in your future, buddy."

* * * 

Dean should've known the mission to save the Pony Express was too good to be true.

Whenever he pictured himself in a shootout, he always saw himself coolly walking away from the fight, his gun still smoking, maybe a dramatic sunrise in the background.

Not laying on the ground in the dirt, baking under the Wyoming sun, a blinding pain in his side from getting fucking shot – again.

What’s worse, as Dean chased the fake pony rider determined to kill a teenage Buffalo Bill on his route, he lost his goddamn hat. Cas is going to kill him.

At least he got the bad guy. Too bad they shot each other at the same time.

One shot was fatal.

The other’s still to be determined. Hurts like a bitch, though.

His horse took off when Dean fell, spooked by the shots and shouting. Even if Dean could stagger to his feet, there’s no way in the world he can walk back to 1861’s excuse for civilization in the Wild, Wild West.

Dean rolls over onto his back in a stupid effort to keep the blood inside his body by sheer gravity alone. He’s going to die out here in the middle of nowhere, a century before he’s even born.

“Dean?”

Dean groans. He’d been expecting his life to flash before his eyes. Not hallucinations. But as far as hallucinations go, Cas’s voice isn’t a bad last one to hear.

“Dean!”

Someone scrambles in the dirt next to him, and Dean turns his head to actually see Cas, wearing a dusty kerchief wrapped around his neck, an equally dusty tan shirt, and beat up wool pants. He swings his mailbag to his front and pulls out a first aid kit, straight from the 21st century.

“Cas?” Dean says weakly, “You’re in the field?”

Cas smiles humorlessly as he presses a pad of pristine white gauze down on Dean’s side. Over Dean’s groan of pain, he says, “Someone had to make sure you’re taking care of your clothes.”

“Son of a –!” Dean inhales a sharp breath.

“It’s good I came,” Cas says as his brow furrows with worry. With his free hand, he lifts the medical tape to his mouth and rips off a piece with his teeth. 

It’s a good thing all Dean's blood is gushing out of his side, or else it would’ve gone straight to dick at that sight. 

“You’re a little late to save the shirt,” Dean pants.

“But not to save you,” Cas says grimly. “We’re going to move in 15 seconds; prepare yourself.”

“Wait –”

“Move.” Cas yanks him up, and Dean nearly blacks out from the pain. “Ten minutes,” he promises in Dean’s ear. “We’re ten minutes from the Sandy Crossing relay station. Sam already confirmed Bill made it to Fort Laramie.”

“Good,” Dean grunts as Cas half carries, half drags him on his horse, a roan mare. He lets Dean catch his breath after mounting up and urges his horse into a canter.

Dean cries out at the jostling, and Cas wraps a hand around his middle to keep him still. It’s impossible on top of a horse going at full speed, but Dean can appreciate the gesture. Despite his appearance, Cas doesn’t smell like he spent a week camping out in a field of buffalo, taking dust baths in his free time. He smells crisp with the faintest scent of vanilla.

“Talk to me. Distract me,” Dean orders, his voice tight with pain.

Cas glances down at him and nods. “With what?”

“How’d you learn to ride?”

“In prep school,” Cas says, his gaze once again focused on the horizon. “I found I much preferred horses to my peers.” 

Dean would laugh, but his chest hurts too much.

“But I haven’t ridden a horse in close to a decade,” Cas says.

“Just like riding a bike,” Dean huffs in between trying to breathe through the pain.

“Better than, since I don’t know how to ride a bike,” Cas says wryly.

Dean musters a grin. “Good thing I didn’t get shot at the Tour de France.”

“A very good thing,” Cas echoes.

“Is that why they sent you?” Dean asks, wincing as his wound flares. “Your killer horseback riding skills?”

Cas shakes his head, blushing under the thin coating of dirt on his cheeks. “They don’t know I’m here.”

“What?”

“I have a deal with one of the engineers. I outfit him for joy rides when the emergency ship isn’t in use, and he brings me back an outfit or two so I can learn more about fashion history first hand.” Cas’s arm tenses around his middle. “I forced him to pilot me here once I heard you didn’t get back with Sam and Jo.”

“Dude.”

Cas stares straight ahead. “They wouldn’t have been able to find you,” he says, his expression hard. “They kept going on and on about possible points along the Express you could’ve gotten waylaid, but I knew you were hellbent on exploring this shortcut, so.” His mouth tightens. “They wouldn’t listen to me since I’m just the tailor.”

“You were,” Dean licks his dry lips, “listening to me? When I was going on and on about cowboys and shit? Seriously?”

“Of course,” Cas says like it’s obvious, “I always listen when you talk, Dean.”

Dean sags against Cas. “When we get back,” he swears, “I’m gonna take you to the World’s Fair in 1893. Everyone who was anyone went to that thing; you’ll see outfits from all over.”

Cas shakes his head. “You don’t need to repay me for this. You deserve to be saved, no matter what your rivals at the Bureau think.”

“I get it, no repayment,” Dean twists around so he can see Cas properly and ignores how his side throbs in protest, “but how about a date?”

#suptober22 #destiel fanfic #time travel #tailor castiel #time traveler dean #destiel #fanfic #government worker dean #friends to lovers #office au #kind of #rae writes fic

[winchester-girl67]

Don’t Say A Word (Part 8)

Summary: The truce between you and Dean was nice while it lasted.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,087

Warnings: language, angst, arguing, minor injury, shark week, some pining, cuddling, slow burn, some fluff

A/N: This is a slow burn series... so one step forward and two steps back. What else did you expect ;)

_____

You shifted on the couch when your legs started to fall asleep. Dean's arms rested around your waist with your back against his chest as you watched some soap opera you'd never heard of. It was the only channel you were able to get in focus after playing with the bunny ears for close to an hour, but you didn't mind the background noise. Dean got really into it though and gasped when the main character got shot and collapsed. You thought it was kind of funny, maybe a little cute even and you turned your head to grin back at him.

"Shut up," he smirked back at you. "You know what? Maybe it was a twin, these things always have twins."

How often did he watch these types of shows, you wondered.

You laughed and felt Dean's hand shift on your lower stomach, holding the heating pad in place as he pulled you into a more comfortable position. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and you popped a fistful of chocolate chips into your mouth from the bag next to you.

"Could be plastic surgery too, but my money's on a doppelgänger," you bet, chuckling at the irony.

You scooped another handful of chocolate chips and Dean playfully tried to steal them away by grabbing your wrist. But you winced and cried out at the contact, causing him to release you in a breath. He took your hand and gently tugged up the cuff of your sweater to examine your raw skin, doing the same with the opposite wrist and letting out a concerned sigh. You had taken off the gauze after your shower, thinking it was best to let the wounds from the zip ties dry out, but now the skin just cracked and bled at the touch.

"Ouch, that looks sore," Dean said, brushing the skin under your sores with his thumb.

"No shit, Sherlock." You quipped, pulling your sweater sleeves back down and hiding the red skin from view.

Dean pushed you forward and climbed off the couch. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned a minute later with a tube of antibiotic cream and some new gauze. He sat back down next to you and began tending to your wrists. You struggled a little, until he applied the cream and you sighed at the relief, easily feeling ten times less irritated despite the lawn mower in your uterus.

"Why didn't you say something?" Dean asked when he finished wrapping your wrists.

"I dunno. I don't usually use stuff like this so I didn't think to check the bathroom." You admitted, examining the tube of antibiotic cream. "Does it really help it heal faster?"

"Typically shaves a couple of days off, for me at least." He nodded, leaving the first aid supplies on the table and resuming his relaxed position beside you. Pulling you back into him and tossing the fleece blanket from the back of the couch over the both of you. "You never told me what happened. Kinda looks like they used zip ties."

"There's not much to tell, Dean. I just pulled too hard-"

"Pulling won't work, you have to force them apart by using your knee or back." You hated the way Dean mansplained as if he'd ever been zip tied before, which you doubted, and you rolled your eyes.

"I know that, genius. But once my wrists were cut, it hurt too much to break them that way." You argued, shifting away from him and the blanket on the couch, suddenly needing your own space.

You felt awkward now. You wished you'd never cuddled up to Dean Winchester, Executive Protection Agent, in the first place. You couldn't take it back and now he'd seen the softer side of you, while he got to come off as confident and all-knowing.

It pissed you off. You were self-sufficient, you didn't need him to tell you how to escape when you'd figured it out for yourself in the moment. And where was he the whole time, with his little tracking device, hiding out in the woods waiting for you to do the hard work.

Screw him.

The unphasable, stone-faced bodyguard that never needed anyone, never felt fear or pain or love. Because, let's face it, someone who can't let anyone in doesn't ever feel love in return. You can't love someone you don't know anything about. No wonder he never had a serious girlfriend, if he made them feel this way. It was a wonder he got anyone to sleep with him for more than one night. That is if anyone ever did come back for seconds, and you weren't totally convinced anyone had.

"I'm just trying to explain an easier way if you were to get tied up again." He continued in a gentle tone, but you still ground your teeth together at the sound of his voice. "So much for the truce, huh?... Y/N. What just happened? Why are you so pissed at me all of a sudden?"

"Because."

"Mind adding a few more words to your explanation? I'm not a mind reader, Y/N." He clenched his jaw, staring at you with those judgmental green eyes again.

"I'm just sick and tired of you patronizing me, and the manhandling, and- And this," you gestured at the cabin around you. "I want to go home, Dean."

"I know," he nodded, "and before you blame me for all of this again. I am not the bad guy here, princess."

"Stop calling me that," you whined, hitting him with a dusty throw pillow. He grabbed it away from you and tossed it to the ground.

"Hey, if the glass slipper fits." He quipped, raising his brow.

"That's Cinderella, dumbass."

"Still a princess in the end, sweetheart." He said, stoning his face.

"Now you're purposefully trying to get on my nerves." You huffed, shoving the heating pad away when your skin felt hot enough.

"Like you aren't doing the exact same thing to me." He argued, palming the scruff on his jaw and standing up. "I'm going to bed. Try to be in a better mood when I wake up."

"Fuck you, Winchester."

He just winked at you with a smug grin and plopped down on the bottom bunk, your bed. He really knew how to get your blood boiling. You bit your lip and turned your attention back to the TV. The main character was alive again, but you'd missed the explanation of how they'd brought him back. Great.

_________________________

A/N: Read part 9 here

_________________________ 
 Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​ @laycblack​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @crustycheeks​ @kazsrm67​ @sexyvixen7​ @lyarr24​ @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99​ @yvonneeeee​ 

Forever SPN: @hobby27​

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou​ @mlovesstories​ @spn730015​ @hunni-bunny​ @ria132love​ @fmstafford  @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @houseforwhores​ @siospins2​ @globetrotter28​ @nt-multi-fandom​ @maggiegirl17​ @iprobablyshipit91​ @tigergirllolipop​

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x #spn fanfic #SPN #supernatural #dean winchester #Supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean x #au!dean x reader #bodyguard!dean #bodyguard!AU #boydguard!dean x reader #dean series #supernatural series #supernatural fanfiction #don't say a word

[dirigibleplumbing]

If Dean is given carte blanche to use Cas as his own personal Barbie and dress him however he wants does he:

Put him “cool” cloths like leather jackets and muscle/band tees, ass kick boots. Maybe he tries to get Cas on a motorcycle at least once

Cozy shit. Is it fuzzy and warm and nice to hug- I mean wear? Put that in the angel he needs to be comfort

Nerd chic. Think Dr. Indiana Jones or Librarian Evie O’Connell.

Cowboy. Either modern street wear or classic

Just several variations of his suit+tie+coat. Different cuts and colors but yeah

Dean’s cloths. They can share and yeah some of his stuff don’t fit Cas’ arms and shoulders but ummmm 👀

(It can be for just a day, a photoshoot, Dean gets to pick out Cas’ first human wardrobe, etc)

beloved anon, I apologize for not responding sooner! I have been very busy in brickspace, some with no-good stressful things, but today with something wonderful.

I say: ALL OF THE ABOVE! Except this is mostly for cases and at home. "Cool" clothes for cases, cozy shit for home, nerd chic for cases, cowboy for cases, suit+tie+coat for cases, Dean's clothes for home. Outside of home and living their normal lives, Dean's comfort zone is Cas's "usual" outfit or small variations on it. if they do a formal wedding--which I'm not sure they would, it would depend on the circumstances--Dean would want Cas in a tailored suit that actually fits him and shows off that hot bod, with a tan, high-quality wool overcoat for later in the night when it gets cold. 

Cas may want to branch out more, though, especially if he's human-ish or is otherwise losing/has lost a lot of his angelic powers and senses, but I think he'd have to wean Dean off his regular look. first he switches to comfier shoes, which Dean takes a while to notice. then Cas starts taking off his trench coat when he comes inside, which disconcerts Dean. the biggest step is when Cas takes off his suit jacket, because then Dean becomes DISTRACTED by how "exposed" Cas is. when Cas comes out in slacks, a white dress shirt with a button undone and the sleeves rolled up and no tie, Dean inwardly swoons and outwardly makes a huge fuss. it takes years, and Dean still struggles seeing him in anything less formal and skin-covering than slacks and a button-down when they're not at home or doing a case.

#supernatural #destiel #spn #yay an ask!

[petrichoravellichor]

Destiel + "I found your USB drive still in the computer"

~1.2k (read on Ao3)

It’s the last Friday of fall quarter, and if Dean’s morning had gone the way it was supposed to go, he would have skipped the dining hall breakfast rush altogether and convinced Henriksen and some of their other friends to drive over to The Roadhouse for a celebratory breakfast so big, they’d all need a fucking nap before afternoon classes.

As it is, however, Dean’s morning is not going the way it was supposed to go, which is why he’s instead sitting glumly at his and Henriksen’s usual dining hall table, pushing aside an untouched bowl of cereal so he can slump forward to cradle his head in his goddamn hands. “I am so screwed.”

Across from him, Henriksen snorts, peeling a tangerine. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Dude.” Dean snaps his head up and narrows his eyes at his so-called friend. “Not helping.”

Henriksen shrugs. “Hey, man, you want the truth, talk to a priest. Me, though,” Henriksen smirks, popping a piece of tangerine into his mouth, “I call it like I see it, and the way I see it, you are definitely screwed. That paper’s worth thirty percent of the final grade—”

“I know.”

“— and it’s due tonight, and your dumb ass,” Henriksen gestures at Dean with the remainder of his tangerine, “forgot the USB it was on in the library because you were probably too busy making eyes at a certain librarian to remember to put it in your damn bag before you left. Go ahead,” he finishes smugly, evidently unimpressed by Dean’s glare, “tell me I’m wrong.”

And as much as Dean wants to make his friend-slash-roommate eat his words or at least kick his ass, the fact of the matter is that Henriksen’s got him dead to rights, and Dean’s pretty sure Henriksen knows that, too. “Fuck you,” he grumbles in defeat, sinking back into his chair as Henriksen laughs.

So what if Dean had gotten a little distracted while checking out the super hot student librarian? It wasn’t Dean’s fault the guy somehow managed to rock the nerdy sweater vest-and-glasses combo while being buff as hell and having eyes so blue it had to be a crime. Add in the messy dark hair and a voice like an engine’s hum, and Dean was a goner the first time he’d laid eyes on him. It had taken exactly three weeks into the quarter to figure out that Blue Eyes always worked the second-floor library desk on Thursday evenings, and since said desk just so happened to be right next to the computer area, well. Suffice to say Dean did a lot of typing on Thursdays, most recently for his ten-page term paper on The Divine Comedy.

Which he stored on his USB. Which he’d forgotten to remove from the computer last night. And which the morning librarian, a bored-looking brunette who’d barely looked up from her phone when Dean came rushing in at five past eight, had already informed him hadn’t been turned in to the lost and found.

So. Fucking. Screwed…

“Pardon me,” comes a sudden familiar, gravelly voice from Dean’s side, “but are you D. Winchester?”

Dean looks up, and holy fucking shit, it’s him, it’s the hot librarian…

He’s even hotter up close. Today’s sweater vest is a dark cerulean that makes his eyes pop even through his glasses, and he’s got the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, exposing toned, muscular forearms that make Dean’s brain fizzle and whatever charming rejoinder he might have otherwise replied with catch in his throat. “Uhhh…”

Blue Eyes frowns slightly, and he tilts his head. “Are you…all right?”

Say something, you fucking idiot! “Uhh, hey,” Dean manages at last. He can hear Henriksen snickering and kicks his shin under the table. “I mean, yeah, I’m D. Winchester—Dean Winchester.” Jesus, man, get it together! You got this. Act. Cool.

Dean chuckles, shaking his head as he puts on a sheepish smile. “Sorry, man, you know how it is during finals week: too much caffeine, but I’m good now. Can I help you with something?”

“Actually,” says Blue Eyes, unzipping a pocket of his messenger bag, “I was hoping I might be able to help you.” He pulls out a black USB striped with a piece of silver duct tape and D. Winchester written on it in Sharpie. “Is this yours?”

“Dude!” Dean snatches up the USB, his USB, like it’s the goddamn Holy Grail. “You just saved my fucking life, you have no idea.”

Blue Eyes smiles. “I’m glad. I found it yesterday evening at the computer you’d been working at, and since you have a tendency to sit at this same table every morning, I—not that I’ve been—I just—” his face goes a pretty fucking adorable shade of pink, and he coughs, looking away. “What I mean is that I was hoping to run into you here so I could return it before classes start. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” interjects Dean, because Blue Eyes looks like he’s about point-five seconds away from leaving in a huff. “Dude, chill. I meant it when I said you saved my fucking life.” He holds up his USB. “This thing right here? I got a final paper on it that would’ve tanked my grade if I didn’t turn it in tonight, so seriously, from the bottom of my heart, thank you; you’re a goddamn angel in my book. I’d ask you if it hurt when you fell from Heaven, but,” he gives Blue Eyes an appreciative once-over, pointedly ignoring Henriksen’s very exaggerated eye roll, “you probably get that all the time.”

Blue Eyes laughs, looking relieved and maybe just a little flustered. “Well, in that case…thank you, Dean, and you’re very welcome. I’m glad to have helped.”

Dean grins; he likes the way his name sounds in Blue Eyes’ mouth. “What’s your name?”

“Castiel.” He smiles, cheeks dimpling slightly. “I usually go by Cas, though.”

“Cas,” Dean repeats, and yeah, he likes the way Cas’s name sounds in his mouth, too. He holds out a hand, which Cas shakes. “Good to meet you, man; I’ve, uh, actually been meaning to introduce myself for a while now. Say,” he says, because what the hell, he might as well go for broke, “you got anywhere to be right about now?”

The question seems to catch Cas off guard. “I…don’t, no,” he says after a moment. “My first class isn’t until noon. Why?”

“Well, then how about you let me take you out for a real breakfast, as a thank you for saving my ass? I know a place nearby, best breakfast in town.” Dean nods toward the exit, eyes fixed hopefully on Cas. “Come on, my treat.”

For a moment, Cas just stares. Then he smiles. “I’d…yes. I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Dean says, so happy he could fucking dance. “I’m ready if you are.” He stands, grabbing his backpack with a quick, “Later, dude,” to Henriksen and flipping him off over his shoulder when Henriksen calls out, “Make smart choices!” at their retreating backs.

All things considered, Dean reflects later as he and Cas sit in a booth at The Roadhouse talking Vonnegut and sharing a piece of apple pie, maybe his morning went exactly as it was supposed to after all.

#deancas #destiel #spn #supernatural #deancas fic #destiel fic #fanfiction #usb and you and me #my writing #oh ho ho i bet you thought i'd forgotten about this prompt huh #well SURPRISE!!! #it's been a while since i wrote these two losers (affectionate) so here ya go #something something good things do happen dean when petra doesn't feel like working on an existing wip

[be-gay-do-heists]

hardison/parker || masc day for parker, potentially while on date with hardison

i think it ended up a little more the dysphoria route with this one but i hope this at least touches on what u were looking for!! had a spark of an idea and had to write it :V

---

If it was just the dress, maybe Parker could stand it.

Hardison had won choosing date night this time around, and he had suggested a new restaurant that recently opened up on the other side of town. A nicer restaurant. Which meant fancier clothes and Hardison had said the dress code recommended dresses so. The dress. It had been fine, leaving the brewpub in it to go meet Hardison at the restaurant. It was comfy enough, the fabric had a nice texture, and it was the same kind of green that you could see if you looked sideways at a professionally cut emerald, which was one of their favorite colors.

It was only upon arriving at the restaurant that they realized they really, really, really did not want to be wearing it.

And if it was just the dress, maybe it would be fine. But they were out in public, and Parker had come to understand over the years that if people in public thought they had your gender clocked, you had to act, walk, and talk a certain way if you didn’t want weird stares, unwelcome attention. A performance that they didn’t particularly have the energy for if there wasn’t a con and the promise of a payout at the end of it. The first “miss” they got from the hostess made them twitch, but they made sure to keep their mask up as they saw Hardison, already at the table, who smiled sunnily as they approached and stood to help with their chair. He was wearing his purple suit, the deep plum colored one that reminded them of a bottle full of red wine.

“Wow. You look amazing, I can’t believe you’ve been hiding that dress for so long,” he said as they both sat down. “It’s not one of Sophie’s?” There was a trace of playfulness in his voice.

“No, it’s mine, I didn’t steal it,” Parker replied, latching onto his good mood for stability. They fidgeted, hyperaware of their bare shoulders and the cut of the dress around their torso. “Well, not from her anyways.”

Hardison snorted in that fond way of his. “Hey, it’s not stealing if it looks that good on you. That’s just proper re-appropriation. Anyways, you’re gonna love this place, the whole idea is normal fancy food, boring boring et cetera, but! They change the colors around so it messes with your senses and makes you experience it differently, you get me? I’m talking like green steaks, purple mashed potatoes. Cool, right?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Parker agreed absently, discreetly hunching a little and hoping Hardison wouldn’t notice. They fiddled with the utensils on the table, which had little chameleons etched on them. That was fun. This was supposed to be fun, they reminded themselves.

“Hey, you ok?” Hardison asked, brows furrowed.

A waiter came up before he could say more. “Welcome, folks, pleasure to have you with us this evening. Can I start you with drinks?” After Hardison, concern still showing in his face ordered a fruity-sounding cocktail, the waiter turned to Parker. “And for the lady?”

They couldn’t help their flinch, knowing that Hardison saw it, and pulled out their most flawless grifting voice to respond. They deflated a little again once the waiter left.

“Shit. I shouldn’t have said dress. I should have specified that you could have worn anything you wanted, who even cares about restaurant dress codes,” the hacker said, rubbing his hands over his face. Parker had to give it to him, sometimes his brain worked faster than his computers, and he was always twice as perceptive. “Is it a they night? A he night?”

Parker shrugged a little apologetically. “I’m not sure. It’s just really, really not a she night.”

“I’m really sorry Parker, I should have checked in before we came,” Hardison sighed, and having him in the loop did actually make Parker feel a little better. “Do you wanna get out of here? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable for any longer than you have to.”

Parker immediately felt bad again. “No, you won date night, you were so excited about this place.”

“Man, don’t even sweat it,” Hardison reassured them, waving a hand. “We can come back some other time when we’re actually feeling it. Or if it’s never the date vibes, I can ask Sophie if she wants to try it sometime. You know she gets a kick out of dressing up and I’m sure she would call this place ‘an exercise in creative expression and reaction’ or something.” He smiled at Parker’s bark of laughter following his terrible impression of Sophie, which made a couple other patrons startle in their seats.

“I don’t really want to be in this dress anymore,” Parker admitted. “Maybe we could go back to the brewpub and do something there?”

“Hey, if I ever refuse a quiet night in, know that I’ve been replaced with a clone or maybe a mind-eating fungus,” Hardison beamed at them, and flagged down the waiter to pay for their drinks with a tip that made the man’s jaw drop, letting Parker lead the way out.

On the ride home, Hardison gave Parker his suit jacket, pretending he was too hot even though it was damp and cold out. It was far too big for the thief and they thought it was kind of ridiculous how it came down to almost their knees, but the broad shoulders on it made them feel good. And the wine color purple was fantastic, even though they thought it looked far better on Hardison. They said as much, and took a silent satisfaction in the way Hardison ducked his chin to hide his face.

Entering back into the safety of the brewpub and the upstairs apartment took a weight off Parker, and they sighed, kicking off their shoes and slipping off Hardison’s jacket to cast onto the back of the couch. Hardison picked up to carefully keep it from creasing with a “heaven help me” kind of look. “You got everything you wanna wear here? Need anything of mine?”

“Mostly, but…” Parker thought aloud. “Could I borrow one of your shirts? The soft ones?”

Hardison nodded fondly. “Sure thing, lemme grab one.” While he was in the bedroom, Parker stripped off their dress like it was burning them, shaking the feeling of it away once it was off. They spotted their good jeans on the chair by the hallway that Hardison liked to call “Parker’s wardrobe,” where all the clothes they had left while over lived, and rushed to put them on. They were comfy and boxy and had a button-up fly. More buttons felt good.

“Incoming,” Hardison’s voice called, and he entered with his eyes covered, tossing a shirt in their direction. Parker jumped to catch it, and quietly approved of his selection, a wooly flannel type. They wiggled it on, tucking it in slightly, and exhaled in relief on how delightfully big it was, draping off the prominent muscles in their shoulders, leaving enough room on their torso so that the fabric wouldn’t cling to them. They rolled up the sleeves to expose their strong forearms, looked down at their broad hands. Yeah, this was much better, they thought, tying up their hair high.

“I’ve still got those canvases from last time, and the same paints, if you wanna do that. Ooh, I just got some good charcoal too if you’d rather sketch,” Hardison was saying, sifting through his art supplies. Parker bounded over and pressed up against his side. He jumped slightly but turned to look at them. “Feeling better?”

“Lots,” Parker hummed.

The hacker took in their outfit change. “And looking damn handsome too. Real suave, James Dean kinda look.” When Parker wryly grinned and crossed their arms, squaring their shoulders and standing tall, he mimed a swoon (Parker could see the slight, genuine flush that rose to his face). “So what do you wanna do tonight?”

“Dunno, it’s still your date night,” Parker replied, putting a little more husk in their voice and enjoying the way they could see Hardison’s thoughts stutter slightly.

He recovered quickly. “Well, all I want is a nice night in with my fella, whatever we do is gonna be more than alright with me.”

Parker felt another glow of joy at the endearment, and moved to wrap their arms tightly around him, one hand coming up to grip the back of the hacker’s neck. “Thanks Hardison. I really mean it.”

Hardison softened a little against their firm embrace. “Of course, I never want you to be uncomfortable. I love you.”

“I know,” Parker responded, and smiled mischievously into Hardison’s shoulder as he sputtered.

“Oh no you did not—“

#i will die before i stop loving characters talking w and affirming each other #thank u so much for all ur prompts!!! i def hope to get to a couple more of them when i next get some writing energy #i really hope this is somewhat what u were looking for #leverage #miko speaks #my fic #parker x hardison #gender dysphoria #ask #havent had the bad gender feelings in a while so hope this works

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

If the inspiration takes you, would you be able to write a lil something about a misunderstanding and miscommunication? Light angst ficlet with a happy ending? I love your fics, thank you for sharing your talent with us and choosing this fandom!

okay I had to think about this one for a second, because as y'all know I don't normally write angst, but here we are! also thank you for your kind words ;-; although I'm not really sure I chose spn I think I just got sucked into the vortex and here we are.

I hope you enjoy this ficlet! (also imagine this is a fake season 9. where dean doesn't kick cas from the bunker and they go on hunts <3) (also this got way out of hand I'm so sorry)

*********

It was supposed to be a milk run.

Of course, half the time that they get a case that's "supposed to be a milk run," it ends with one of them almost dying, just for the hell of it, and today's no exception.

Sam's off on a different hunt in Colorado, so it's just Dean and Cas, which is no problem. Dean trusts Cas to watch his six, to watch everything.

Or, at least, it isn't a problem until their "milk run" turns into a really pissed-off poltergeist (to be fair, Dean'd be pretty pissed if someone was shooting at him), and then Dean gets hurled halfway back to Kansas, it feels like, and by the time he comes to with a pounding in his head and a searing pain in his shoulder, said poltergeist is gone and Cas is standing over him with a big, bleeding gash across his face.

Every time Cas gets hurt these days, it's like a fucking train wreck. He tries to heal himself, and then he can't, and he gets all moody and sullen, which, like, Dean can understand, but it doesn't make it any easier, and to make matters worse today Cas tried to heal Dean, and now they're sitting in the Impala in complete silence while Dean drives, trying to ignore his aching right shoulder.

"Where're we going?" Cas finally asks, picking at his sweater's sleeves. Dean's already mentally going over what might be best to get the blood out of it--lemon juice? Vinegar? He read in a magazine that hairspray is good for stains, oddly enough, but of course he doesn't own any--

"The hospital," Dean answers.

"So you can dump me there?"

"So I can--what?!" Dean takes his eyes off the road for a second to look at Cas, staring out the windshield. He's got one hand messing with his sweater and the other holding Dean's flannel over his still-bleeding face. "We're going 'cause if I try to stitch up that cut, I'm gonna end up stabbing you in the eye."

"You have very steady hands."

"Not when I'm worried. Let's go back to the dumping thing." Dean glances at Cas again. "Why would I leave you in a hospital?"

Cas shrugs. "I'm not useful anymore. Without my grace."

"That's a crock of shit, and you know it."

"Do I?"

Dean lets out a sigh and pulls the car over, trucks honking behind him. He doesn't think Cas is going to bleed out, and if this flannel gets soaked, there's another in the trunk.

"Look." Dean turns his body to completely face Cas, which crunches his legs, but this is important. "I know I'm shit with words, but you gotta hear me. First of all, I've been hunting since I was a kid, without an angel, and I'm still alive."

"Actually, you died and I--"

"Shut up. Second of all, I know in your head you're an angel first, but in my head, you're Cas first. You don't stop being Cas just because Metatron took your grace."

Cas doesn't respond, and it's actually kinda hard to tell what he's thinking when half of his face is covered in a bloody flannel, so Dean reaches out a hand to tug on Cas's wrist and pull the fabric off.

Okay, that's a lot of blood.

"You get me?" Dean asks, and Cas nods. Dean slides back to his seat and starts the car.

"What'd you mean about being worried?" Cas finally asks.

"What?" Dean turns to see if there are any cars coming and then pulls back onto the highway.

"You said you didn't have steady hands when you're worried."

"Put the flannel back on," Dean says. "I'm worried about you, dumbass."

"Because I'm--"

"Yes, because you're bleeding out of your face!" Dean curses and pulls over again. "For the love of god, Cas. What am I gonna have to do to convince you that I care about you?"

Before Dean even asks the question, though, he knows the answer. He's known the answer for a while, since last year in purgatory. Since he prayed to Cas for year, killed monsters to find him. Since Cas didn't make it out and Dean saw his face everywhere. Since Cas appeared behind him in a random motel, covered in dirt and grime.

Since he found Cas lying dead in an armchair, shirt ripped and stomach sliced open, since he lied to April to bring Cas back.

When humans want something really bad, we lie.

Well, Dean's gonna be truthful for a second. He's tried to say it before, in different words, words like that's the hardest I've laughed in a long time or I'd rather have you, cursed or not or nobody gets left behind or I need you.

He might as well say it straight.

"We're never going to get to the hospital if you keep doing this," Cas points out helpfully, and Dean just about rolls his eyes.

"Well then shut up and listen. I like myself, and the world, a whole lot better when you're around. And I like you."

"You like me."

"I love you."

Okay, he didn't mean to say that.

Yet.

Cas's reaction happens slowly and then all at once. One second, he's staring at Dean, almost blankly (although it's hard to read his expression because, once again, flannel on his face), and then the next second he's dropped the fabric and is kissing Dean.

It's actually kinda gross, because of all the blood, but Dean's mind has also stopped working so he doesn't notice that much. There's been dozens of times over the years that he's wanted to do this, more than he can count, and the shock doesn't recede until Cas is pulling away.

"My head hurts," Cas finally says.

"Okay, we're going." Dean pulls back onto the highway for real this time, although he takes one hand off the wheel and finds Cas's free hand on the seat.

(Their second kiss, after Cas has gotten stitches and one of the other nurses at the emergency room helpfully relocates Dean's shoulder, is a lot less bloody.

The rest all run together.)

#anon ask <3 #nice people!!! #offbeatwrites #this got out of hand so fast and went in like ten different directions #whoops #long post #:D #I hope this is what you wanted anon? probably is not I am so sorry

[booksofkingdomsandcourts]

Nessian Week: AU Day

I work well with deadlines so even though this is just a run-of-the-mill Modern!AU, I thought I’d post this drabble that’s been knocking around in my head for a few weeks today! It has a little part two that I’m hoping to post later tonight :)

           Cassian could tell something was on Nesta’s mind all through dinner. He could tell as soon as he got home from work, really. It wasn’t about him, he didn’t think, since she’d kissed him welcome home and let him squeeze her ass. No, there was just…something. Something that made her eyes a little vacant and her words a little quiet. But during dinner she just let him talk about work, nodding and answering, and if there was one thing Cassian had learned about Nesta, it was to give her space. He would give it a little longer, and then he would ask.

           After dinner they watched an episode of the Netflix show they were working their way through and then got ready for bed. Even though it was only eight thirty, their rigid commitment to mornings at the gym meant they were always early to bed, early to rise.

           As they crawled under the covers, Cassian finally poked Nesta’s side and said, “Hey. Something you want to talk about?”

           He had long since learned that “what’s wrong” and “talk to me” didn’t work on Nesta. He had learned to just ask if she wanted to talk, and that sometimes, the answer was no. That was okay. He had also often assured her that one of the reasons he kept his chest so big was for ample cuddle room, if that was all she wanted instead.

           But tonight, Nesta sighed and looked at the ceiling, gathering her thoughts. Cassian propped himself up on one elbow, waiting.

           “I’ve been thinking about trying for law school again,” Nesta said at last.

           “Oh,” Cassian said, surprised but not unpleasantly so. When everything had gone to shit and their father had died, Nesta had withdrawn what Cassian was told was a very promising and competitive law school application. That had been over two years ago now, and Cassian had found himself wondering more than once if she missed no longer being on that path, or if it was something she had ever wanted for herself at all.

           “Yeah,” she agreed, then continued, “I just don’t think the sugar baby lifestyle suits me as well as it suits Feyre, you know?” Cassian laughed. “Seriously! She just lives in a big house and paints all day and is going to give Rhys as many babies as he wants, and I’m really happy for her.”

           “He really loves her,” Cassian said, feeling a need to defend his brother. It was maybe undeniable that Rhysand technically qualified as Feyre’s sugar daddy given their age gap, but the implication that he just wanted her for baby making, even though Cassian knew Nesta didn’t mean it like that, riled him just a little.

           “I know,” Nesta said, unfazed. “I said I was happy for her. I just don’t know that that’s for me, you know? I want to do something. I want to have a career and something that I am outside of just us.” If Cassian was not used to Nesta’s bluntness, he might have been offended. But she turned to look at him with her crystal-blue eyes unusually wide and vulnerable, and he knew this was really something that had been weighing on her for a while.

           “Okay, hell yeah,” Cassian said. “My Nesta, girlbossing it up. I’m all for it, whatever you want to do. Law school, business mogul, dean—you’ll kick ass no matter what.”

           Nesta rolled her eyes, but Cassian could see her cheeks had turned slightly pink. “Don’t ever call me girlboss again.”

           “No promises.”

           Nesta rolled her eyes again, and Cassian grinned wider. For a moment, Nesta picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, and then she said, “Or if none of them work out, I guess I could lean into the sugar baby lifestyle and start an OnlyFans.”

           Cassian suppressed a groan, imagining Nesta’s OnlyFans. The amount of money he would have paid for that if she wasn’t his…. “And I’d be your top supporter,” he promised.

           She gave him an exasperated look. “Anything I’d post on OnlyFans you get for free.”

           “But I’m going to support your endeavors, no matter what they are,” Cassian said. “You could try a new career every year for the rest of our lives and I’d be right there by your side. You’ll be the best at whatever you do, baby, you and I both know that.”

           “That’s actually a good point,” she said, pointing at him. “If I get in you’re not allowed to pay my tuition. And neither is Rhysand.”

           “What?” Cassian exclaimed. “Of course I am!”

           “You are not,” Nesta said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “This is my career, my path. I’ll get myself through and pay off the loans on my own.”

           It was a shame there was no talking Nesta into taking charity. If she had decided it would wound her pride to have Cassian pay her tuition, there would be no changing her mind. But he understood—if she wanted this to be something that was hers, it didn’t make sense to have him tied to it so intrinsically. He could accept that. Sort of.

           “Fine,” he said. “But I’m still paying rent and buying groceries and bringing you really big, sugary coffees when you have a hard day of studying. No argument.”

           That earned him another eye roll, but this time with a small smile. “Fine.” She scooted closer so she could snuggle against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her to pull her close.

           Something in him relaxed just having her so close, but there was still tension in her arms, in her fingers on his back, so he just stroked her hair and waited. Finally, she whispered, “Did you mean it?”

           “About the sugary coffees? Of course. I know we try to eat right, but—”

           “No,” Nesta interrupted. “About…every year, for the rest of our lives. You being by my side.” She tightened her arms and fingers like she was clinging to him.

           For the first time tonight, Cassian was totally taken aback. That was what had thrown her? Wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t it…what she wanted? “Yeah,” he said, ignoring a cold wash of fear in his stomach. “You don’t think I’m going anywhere, do you? Like I could ever even look at another woman now that I’ve loved you? This is it for me, Ness. Honestly you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

           He half expected her to shoot back about stalking or restraining orders or the like, but instead she squeezed him so tight even he almost had the wind knocked out of him. She moved her face from his chest to bury it against his neck, and though he didn’t feel the wet heat of tears, her ragged breaths sounded like she was trying not to cry. “Nesta,” he whispered softly. “Don’t tell me you want a career because you think I might leave you. I’m not going anywhere.”

           “I don’t just want it because of that,” she managed, voice choked. “But you can’t know. You can’t know you won’t get sick of me.”

           “How could I possibly get sick of you? You have ruined me for all other women, Ness, I mean that. And I don’t just mean about sex, though the sex I have with you is absolutely the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, no contest.” She let out a choked laugh against his chest. He could feel her tears now. “I am genuinely excited to see you chase your dreams, Nesta. I’m excited to bring you sugary coffees, and take you out for nice dinners after your big exams, and watch you kick the ass of every other attorney who is unfortunate enough to go up against you. You’re my everything. I don’t want you to spend any more time doubting that.”

           “I know,” Nesta whispered. “I know. You’re my everything too. I’ve never cared about anything as much as I care about you. That’s what’s so scary.”

           Cassian had known almost from the moment he met her that she was the woman he was going to marry. In his mind, however, it was such an inevitability that he hadn’t felt the need to rush. He thought of them as the type to just be together until one day they’d look at each other and say “hey, we should probably get married, huh?” But sometimes he forgot that there was a lot of insecurity under Nesta’s kickass physique and haughty stares. Maybe she needed that promise set in stone (a very expensive, very shiny stone) more than he had realized. He didn’t think she was hounding for a rock, but if she was worried that his lack of commitment was because he was leaving himself a doorway out, he needed to show her that she couldn’t be more wrong.

           As she rolled onto her back and invited him to have some of that life-changing sex, he thought to himself that maybe it was time he went and got a ring.

@nessianweek

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #modern au #nessian fanfic #nessianweek2021 #my writing #jumping on the modern nesta is a lawyer train because I like that for her

[wormstacheangel]

have some latinenatural for day 1 of @spnprideweek dean trying to come out to himself

Dean didn’t like going down this neighborhood. It never made him any money, plus the block is a dead end, so he always ends up circling back around with his heavy cart. His Tio always yelled at him for it, wasting precious time in a block where nobody paid him any attention because these Americanos aren’t used to people walking around selling comida.

Pero Dean always had one customer that always came running out whenever Dean came around, and he was worth the extra minutes he had to petal in the hot sun.

“Dean!”

Dean hears his name, expecting it but still feeling relief from hearing it. He looks ahead, his fingers stopped ringing the bells that have become background noise to him by now, and sees his favorite customer running out of the big white house Dean can only ever dream of renting. He wouldn’t ever dream of owning; he can’t have dreams so impossible.

Dean petals a little bit faster until he breaks in front of the pretty face he sees at least three times a week.

“Cas.” Dean practically beams at him even though he was trying to stay cool. Smooth. “Mi Angelito.” Dean winks, and he doesn’t miss Cas’s eyes widened and ears blushing at the nickname. “How you been?”

[continue reading under the cut or read on ao3]

Cas was dressed in his usual white button-up and slacks but they looked a lot more ruffled up than usual. His hair looked unkempt as it curled at the ends—Dean wasn’t complaining he loved it—and his typical neat shirt was wrinkled with sleeves pulled up to his elbows. He looked the guy up and down before his eyebrows creased together.

“You okay, Cas?”

“Yeah.” Cas sighed, shoulders slumping as he reached to run his hand through his hair—that probably explains the bed head—before smiling back at Dean with a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” Dean jumps off the bike and walks over to his cart. “The usual?”

“Please.”

Dean nods once before getting to work on a raspado de vainilla for Cas. He works in silence for a minute, just the sound of the ice scraping between them before Dean looks back at Cas.

“You know, si quieres, you can talk to me.” Dean looks up to see Cas was already watching him. “I know I’m a nobody, but I hear nobodies are great to vent to.”

“You aren’t a nobody, Dean.” Cas’s expression softens at the words. His eyes brighten as he looks at Dean, almost as if he can see into his soul. Then, just as Dean was about to drown in those baby blues, Cas looked away. His fingers started to twitch as he looked sheepishly at the ground. “Plus, my problems are small. I can deal with them by myself.”

Dean looks away, packing the ice into the cup before reaching to pour the vainilla as he talks. “Yeah, I know you can, pero; I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to.”

Cas is nothing but a customer that Dean has been crushing on—it was a small, slow, and scary realization. The only reason they’re on a first-name basis now is because Cas once left his name tag on, and Dean asked what it meant.

Dean handed Cas his raspado across the cart, Dean needed to keep his distance, but he knew when Cas reached for it, their fingers would touch; he looked forward to the simple touch each time.

They did, and Dean’s breath catches in his throat before he works on chicharrones, lots of limon, and a little bit of chile.

“But I get it, you know, if you don’t want to talk to me.” Dean looks up to see Cas still staring at him but with eyes filling with tears. “Holy shit.” Dean put the bag down and walked around to stand by Cas’s side. He grabbed a napkin from his cart and handed it to Cas to wipe his eyes. “Dude. Dude, please no llores. Don’t cry. People are gonna think I did something to you, and I’ll lose customers.” Dean tries to joke, but Cas doesn’t crack a smile. Instead, he rolls his eyes.

“Dean, nobody but me ever comes out here.”

Dean shrugs. “Potential customers then.” Dean grabs another napkin and reaches to wipe the tears that were already falling. “Estas bien, Angelito. Talk to me.”

“I-I shouldn’t.” Cas accepts Dean’s kindness for a second longer before gently moving Dean’s hand away. “You’re working. Let me just pay you so you can stop wasting your time here.”

Dean nods, stepping away from Cas so as not to seem pushy. As much as he loved being so close to Cas’s face, he didn’t want to seem creepy about it. This neighborhood has eyes everywhere, and Dean couldn’t really risk having his cart, his livelihood, be taken away just cause he has a small crush on the white boy.

So Cas gives him the exact change to the quarter and smiles sadly before he waves goodbye. Dean waves back as he gets on his bike to pedal out of this neighborhood and into a more comfortable one. He didn't ring the bell until he was out of there.

Cas doesn’t come out to see him the next day or the day after that, and now he has to wait until next week to see him. If Cas still wanted to see him.

“I don’t know why you still go over there,” Sam says as he helps Dean unpack the car.

Dean’s side gigs included selling his homemade food Friday through Sunday—he can almost call himself a caterer—while on Thursday, he preps during the day and works as a janitor in a big law office at night. Today was Thursday, so Dean had to wake up early to go to the big marketplace downtown. They sold the chicharrones de harina in bulk for cheap, and they had all the ingredients he’ll need to make the syrups for the raspados himself.

Sam rarely comes with Dean to get all these things since he was always busy with school, but today he came along on the day that Dean ran out of maiz azul. It just meant more trabajo para los dos.

“Or why you still sell raspados when you make more money on the weekend with your food.” Sam continued as they struggled to carry the bag of maiz to the kitchen. They both let out a heavy breath when they finally dropped the bag in the kitchen. Dean’s going to spend the next hour cleaning and soaking the damn corn after this. That doesn’t even include cooking it and finally making the damn masa.

“El trabajo es duro but I like it.” Dean pats Sam’s shoulder before they go back to the car to get the rest of the things. “I like going down neighborhoods and saying hi to people.”

“I get that pero why do you have to go to their side of town?”

Dean doesn’t know how to answer that.

He hasn’t told anyone about Cas. About how one day he was bored and wandered over to that neighborhood only to find Cas laying on his front lawn with a book covering his face. Dean, for some reason, couldn’t help but to ring the bells louder, startling Cas. Dean laughed for half a second before a book went flying to his face, knocking him off his bike. Cas learned too many cuss words in Spanish that day, but the big bruise was worth it.

Still, Dean didn’t want to tell anyone about Cas. Afraid to even speak of him because that would mean that his crush was real. That he had actual feelings, romantic ones, for another guy.

He knows que su Tío no lo va sacar de la casa pero todavía Dean tenía miedo. He was scared to admit this part of himself was real when it felt like a sin in his culture. ¡Ser gay es una cosa pero bisexual! ¡Ni madres! That doesn’t exist. Not where he is from.

So he’ll keep it to himself. Keep Cas as his secret fantasy and nothing more.

“The houses are nice to look at. One day, Sammy!” Sam was already groaning at Dean’s words that sounded more like an old man’s recurring ‘when I was your age’ stories. “One day, I’ll get us a house like that! One where we can each have our own room. And bathroom.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. Let’s just finish this so I can go back to my homework.”

“¡Estas pendejo! After this, you’re gonna help me clean the bathroom and throw away the trash before Tio comes home.”

“But Dean,”

“¡Pero nada! ¡Piensas que soy pendejo como tu, pinche mamón! Don’t think I don’t know you spend that time babeando por tu novia.”

“Dean!” Sam quickly passes him in a huff of embarrassment while Dean laughed, following Sam back to the car to get more groceries.

When Monday rolls around, Dean forces himself to come down Cas’s street again. The bells rang softly at first, only getting louder as he came closer to the house. He didn’t see a car in sight, so he thinks maybe Cas isn’t home.

He was already pedaling away when he heard someone call out to him. He hits the breaks half haphazardly, and the gallons shake on his cart, threatening to fall out. He was about to turn around, but then he realizes he hears footsteps running closer, and then he hears heavy breathing by his ear.

“Fuck.” Cas hands rest on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. “Are you-are you trying to run away from me?” Cas looks up with a teasing smile, it was beautiful, and Dean didn’t realize how much he missed him until now. “I am your only customer around here, so that’s a pretty bad business decision if you ask me.”

“I-I didn’t think you wanted to see me.” Dean could have joked around with him, but instead, his mouth decided to kick the conversation off with some honesty. Dean looked down at the bike handles as he talked. “Since you didn’t come out last week, I just figured-”

“Oh.” Cas stood up straight as he ran a hand through his overgrown hair; his clothes looked neat again, though. “I didn’t mean to make you think-”

Dean holds his hand out to stop Cas from talking, feeling embarrassed with every word. “Para. You don’t have to explain. No me debes-you don’t owe me anything.”

“I know that, but I want to. Talk, I mean. If that’s okay with you.” Cas looks at Dean with soft, warm eyes, a drastic difference from the red-rimmed eyes from the last time they saw each other. “After you’re done with work, of course.”

“I um-I usually head home around six. I can um,” Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, not meeting Cas’s eyes as he carefully says. “I can come by after if you want.”

“I would like that.”

Dean's head shoots up to stare back at Cas, who looked shy, pero siempre más guapo que la última vez que Dean lo miró.

At that moment, Dean wanted to lean in and kiss him more than he has wanted to kiss anyone in his 26 years of life, but he won’t. He still wasn’t sure if this was Cas asking him out as a friend or as something more. He was scared, but he knew his heart raced in excitement more than anything.

Dean finally broke away from the staring contest as he cleared his throat to get off his bike. “Todavia quieres-Do you still want your raspado?”

“Oh. Sure!”

It was silent while Dean made raspado, but he couldn’t wait for their fingers to graze again when he handed the cup over to Cas.

“Just the raspado today.” Dean still loved when Cas said it, trying not to laugh even though he loved Cas’s embarrassed blushing. Cas reaches into his pocket, but Dean reaches to touch his shoulder to stop him.

“On the house.” Dean holds it out and just like before their fingers touch, burning him.

“No, Dean, I couldn’t.”

Dean shakes his head to stop him from arguing any further. He jumped back on his bike and looked back at Cas as he said, “You can get me something later. Is seven okay?”

“Seven is…perfecto.” Cas flinched at his Spanish, but Dean couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Pues, te miro mas tarde, Angelito.” Dean reached to pat Cas’s cheek before he started pedaling away.

“Dean! I don’t know what that means!” Cas calls out to him.

Dean doesn’t turn around to respond, mostly to hide the stupid shit-eating grin he had on his face. “I said I’ll see you later!” But he does wave goodbye, ringing the bell as he goes.

Dean really liked him, and it brought fear into his heart pero al mismo tiempo; he hasn’t been this excited to just be around someone in such a long time. So maybe this is his time to accept that maybe, for sure, he is crushing hard on a guy.

Dean sighs as he stops on the sidewalk to hang his head and quietly whispers, “For fucks sakes, soy un pinche gay.”

Well, at least he can admit to himself—sort of.

#spnprideweek #destiel #latinenatural #dean and sam are mexican #cas is the little white boy who comes and ruins lives #deancas #fic #destiel fic #my writing #wormstachewrites #porfa de ser nice over my spanish #this is dean coming out to himself btw #yeah he is bisexual but i think he'll use gay as an umbrella term for right now #sobrenatural #calinatural #tambien cause they live in California in my head

[sams-sass]

Right Here Waiting

Friends!!! I am so sorry that I haven't posted in like weeks. I was taking time to relax and refresh. This is for all my Dean girls! I hope you all have a beautiful weekend. Thank you so much for reading! Much love *kisses*

Summary: You get hurt on a hunt and Dean faces the fact that he might lose you before he gets to tell you how he feels.

Pairings: Dean x Reader.

Warnings: Talk of death. Angst. Fluff. Angsty fluff. Few swear words.

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

Deans back practically rammed through the door, almost knocking it off its hinges. He dragged you into the motel room with Sam running in behind him, his arms full of weapons and bags. Your head lolled from side to side against Dean's chest as he walked backward toward one of the beds. His limp was bad, and every step was agonizing, but he was determined to take care of you first. He threw you down on the bed and grabbed your face between his hands.

“Y/N!” He screamed, his voice nervous and shaky. You didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. He shook your shoulders, his bloody hands grasping your shirt.

“Dean!” Sam yelled at his brother. It was almost as if Dean didn’t hear him, just continued to stare into your face. “Dean!” Sam tried again, grabbing Dean’s jacket this time.

"Not now, Sam!" Dean shrugged Sam's hands-off and grabbed your shirt again, shaking you even harder this time.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, grabbing his brother by the jacket with both hands and picking him up off your body. Dean pushed against Sam's hands, his breath coming in fast and hard as he tried to get back to you. "Dean," Sam said softly this time. "She has a head injury; you can't shake her like that." He let go of Dean's jacket and patted his shoulder compassionately, telling him he completely understood his brother's outburst. Dean nodded quickly and dragged his hand over his mouth, feeling the blood on his skin. He looked down at his hand, and his lips parted at the shock of seeing it covered in blood. At that moment, he realized how much pain he was in; he collapsed into Sam’s chest when his leg gave out suddenly. Sam caught him and moved to the bed, helping Dean sit down next to you and looking at his leg. Dean kicked his jeans off and saw the wicked-looking gash across his thigh and dragging over his knee. He winced at the sight of blood and his torn flesh.

"How did you get so lucky? That wendigo tore me and Y/N apart." Dean asked Sam, who seemed unharmed.

“I have a bullet wound on my arm from when Y/N shot at it and missed it," Sam said, his voice was eerily calm.

“You have a bullet…Sam!” Dean screamed. He started looking at Sam's arms, and sure enough, there was a hole in his left jacket sleeve with a stream of blood trailing down.

"I'll worry about it later. You could bleed out." Sam said, getting out the stitches and gauze. He moved his left arm as little as possible, stitching his brother to the best of his abilities. Dean distracted himself by looking over at you, your face peaceful on the puke green bedspread. He couldn't imagine what would happen if you didn't wake up. He didn't want to look in the rearview mirror again if you weren't curled up in the back seat, your eyes catching his every once in a while. He didn't want to fall asleep at night without listening to your quiet breaths, even and steady. How could he manage another hunt without being able to celebrate with you after? He didn’t want to think about it, couldn’t let himself fall into that pit of despair.

His thoughts were interrupted when Sam accidentally stabbed him; he mumbled a “sorry” and kept working. He finally finished, wiping away at all the blood and standing up. He handed Dean the gauze and flopped down next to him on the bed, slowly taking off his jacket and shirt. His hands clenched from the pain. Sam turned so Dean could clean and inspect the wound for bullet fragments. Finding none, he wrapped Sam’s arm in gauze. The brothers then passed a bottle of whiskey back and forth between them, looking back at you with every sip. Sam placed a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder, sending him a small smile.

“She’s gonna be okay." He said. Dean didn't answer; he just kept staring at you lying on the bed.

“Sam I…” He let his voice trail off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

“I know, Dean. I know.” Sam nodded his head and looked at the ground. You had been unconscious for about two hours now, and the boys were both growing with anxiety. Sam considered you his best friend. His companion on this long and broken road. He loved you and often showed you, exposing his thoughts and feelings to you when he couldn't count on anyone else. You were like a sister to him, a familial and strong bond that couldn't break. Dean was a different story. You and Dean were more than close. He considered you an extension of himself. He found himself waking before you so you would have a hot coffee when you woke up. He found ways to touch you, to let his skin move over yours for just a moment. No matter how fleeting the time maybe. He wanted to be flooded by you, surrounded by you in the dark of night. To feel your hair tickle his skin. Your scent cascades its way through him and fill him completely. He dreamt of a time when he could look into your eyes, deeply and passionately. Dream of a time when he could run his hands through your hair, feeling the strands slip between his fingers. He thought of you every day. Whispered your name into the night.

Now it looked like you may be slipping away. He could barely stand to look at you, knowing how badly you were hurt. Your skin was starting to bruise. A grotesque handprint was on your bicep where the wendigo had grabbed you and thrown you into the cave wall harshly. He scowled at the memory and swallowed thickly. He moved and limped his way into the bathroom, wetting a washcloth with warm water. He limped back to the bed and signaled to Sam to help him move you into a more comfortable position. He laid your head on the pillow while Sam straightened your legs before moving to his bed.

“Want me to stay up?” Sam asked.

"Nah, Sammy, I'll watch her," Dean responded, sitting back down next to you on the bed.

"Okay, wake me when she wakes up," Sam said around a yawn. Dean gave him a small smile and lifted your hand in his, beginning to wipe the dirt from your skin. He gently wiped all your exposed skin, pushing the hair away from your forehead. Your chest was moving slowly but surely, up and down, giving Dean a sense of peace. He moved toward the head of the bed and leaned his back against the headboard, stretching his aching muscles. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey again and watched the amber liquid slosh in the glass. His eyes kept wandering back to you, worry evident on his face.

Your face twitched first, eyebrows furrowing and lips curling. You moaned and rolled your head slowly, eyelashes fluttering open.

“Hey. Hey. Don’t move too much.” Dean said. He pulled himself over to you and grabbed your hand within his, looking into your fluttering eyes with concern. Waking up to Dean was something you could get used to. Jade eyes and freckles were greeting you softly. You groaned and suddenly felt the heaviness in your head. The pounding and splitting ache felt as if someone filled your head with rocks and shook it violently.

“Dean? What happened?” You whispered. Your voice was raspy and weak.

"The wendigo. It threw you against the cave wall. You hit your head pretty badly." He whispered back; his fingers brushed against your cheek as he tried to assess the extent of your head wound.

“Jesus, it's bright in here." You grumbled, lifting your head slightly. Dean tried to wrap his hands around your shoulders to support you. "I'm fine." You mumbled and tried to sit up, immediately regretting your decision. The room spun, and nausea hit your stomach hard. You fell back against the bed and placed your palm against your forehead, your eyes slamming shut.

“Shit, Y/N, just lay down.” Dean’s voice sounded annoyed and concerned at the same time.

“What’s that sound?” You asked through gritted teeth.

“What sound?” Dean asked, looking around the room with wide frantic eyes.

“That ringing! Oh my god, it’s so loud.” You said, moving your hands to your ears.

“Y/N? Y/N! Hey!" You heard him talking over you, but the sound was so loud, and you were so tired. Your skin felt heavy on your bones. Your neck was unable to lift your head. You couldn't take the ringing anymore; it was so loud in your head. Bouncing off your skull like bullets. The room began to shrink around you, the corners of your vision becoming dark and blurry. Your eyes closed again, and you slowly sank into the blackness that was calling your name with its warm voice. You felt your body move but didn't wake. Felt smooth leather of the backseat of the impala against the skin of your hands, but didn’t move. You thought you heard Dean's panicked voice saying your name but knew it was just a dream. The soft feeling of sleep surrounding you in its peaceful and calming hold.

Dean grabbed your face in between his hands, his mouth repeating your name over and over again as he watched you fall into the blackness. Sam raced to his brother's side, falling to his knees on the side of the bed, looking at your closed eyes.

“Y/N!” Dean screamed. “No, no, no, no, baby. Wake up for me.” He pleaded, this thumbs rubbing circles into your cheeks.

"Dean, we have to get her to the hospital!" Sam yelled, standing up and putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. He practically pushed Dean off of you and bent at the waist, placing his shoulder into your stomach, wrapping his arm around you, and lifting you as if you were a sack. Your body fell over his shoulder. Your hands swayed, and your fingers brushed against the back of his thighs. Dean pulled pants onto his legs quickly and limped to the car. There was a growing worry between them for your wellbeing. The silent communication that they often shared was thick with concern. Sam drove to the closest hospital while Dean held you in his arms in the backseat. His hands moved over your arms and shoulders. His mouth whispering your name and soft ‘please’s and ‘not yet’s into your hair as his lips brushed your ear.

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

The hospital was bright and loud when the boys pushed through the door. Dean limping, his stitches pulling with every step while Sam had you thrown over his shoulder. Nurses ran over to the three of you and helped Sam place you on a stretcher. They wheeled you away, and the boys looked helplessly down the white and sterile hallway. The stretcher rammed through the double doors, and you were gone. The doors closed, and Dean felt his heart sink lower into his chest, hope fading inside him quickly.

Dean was sitting next to Sam in the waiting room for family. The blue plastic chair was uncomfortable and hard against his aching body. He didn't know how to feel or act. His body felt old and used. His mind felt fuzzy and disoriented. He couldn't decide if he was heartbroken or angry. His soul was in a battle between an explosion of anger and pain or silent suffering within his skin. He rested his elbows on his thighs, ignoring the pain against his freshly stitched skin, and bowed his head. Tears sprung to his eyes, but he swallowed them down, not allowing the flood to happen yet. You had to be okay; you had to pull through. You were strong. So fucking strong. You had to wake up, open those beautiful Y/E/C eyes of yours and give Dean that small smirk that made his heart stop.

“Mr. Jacobson?” The doctor asked, looking around the room and interrupting Dean’s thoughts.

“Yes?” Dean said, standing up and limping towards the doctor, Sam right next to him.

“You’re here for Serena Jacobson?” He asked, checking his clipboard. You had this all planned since you started working with the boys. You all had false papers with fake names for insurance purposes. On some, you and Dean were married; on others, you and Sam were married. Dean just happened to be the one who threw the papers down this time.

"Yes," Sam answered this time, swallowing hard and looking at Dean for a moment.

"She suffered a severe concussion and had some brain swelling. At the moment, it is still touch and go; we have her on sedatives that we will slowly decrease, so she wakes on her own." He said. Dean blinked his eyes and furrowed his brow. He couldn't understand what was being said. His world was collapsing around him as his heart rate skyrocketed. His breath became loud in his ears. His body stiff and cold. Sam placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, and his world snapped back to him suddenly.

“But she’s gonna be okay, right? Doc, she’s gotta be okay.” Dean asked, his voice small.

"Right now, that's up to her." He said, his fingers tapped his clipboard as he nodded at them and walked away. The boys found your room, and Dean thought he was going to vomit. The sight of you in that white, clean, and sterile bed made bile rise into his throat, gagging him slightly. A bed that others had laid in, been sick in, and died in filled his body with dread. His feet brought him over to your bedside. Sam stood on the other side of you; he brushed his fingers along your arm. Dean couldn't bring himself to touch you just yet. Your glowing skin looked washed out and dull in the harsh fluorescent lighting. The bruise on your arm stood out against the white sheets. You seemed so small in the bed, so weak and broken, a complete contrast to how you usually were. Dean felt the tears hitting the blanket before he realized he was crying. He couldn't lose you, not yet. Not ever.

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

You opened your eyes to a sea of color. Green, blue, yellow, red, pink, and purple surrounded you. You felt warm under the sun, its soothing heat touching your exposed skin. The grass was scratchy under your thighs and elbows. The smell of summer was heavy in the air. It's thick and sticky air pulling into your lungs. Purple and pink flowers poked out of the green grass, their faces turned up towards the sun's light. A small creek tripped and stumbled over stones behind you; the sound of it filled you with peace. The sky was so blue with puffy white clouds hanging in it as if someone threw handfuls of cotton into the air. You blinked and looked around, slightly confused about where you were.

"Y/N! Come here!" A male voice said. You immediately sat up to find the source. Your heart dropped in your chest when you saw him, lips parting and breath catching in your throat at the sight. He looked shorter than you remembered. His shoulders that you used to ride on broad and expansive in his simple white t-shirt. He smiled at you, and tears prickled the edges of your eyes instantly.

“Dad?” You asked, standing up and moving towards him.

“Hey, Y/N/N, I’ve missed you so much.” He said with another smile that stung your heart.

“What is happening? What’s going on?” You asked him, sitting down in front of him.

“You’re hurt, sweetie. We are in a space between earth and heaven.” He answered, his body leaning closer to you.

"The wendigo." You said, remembering your head wound. You looked away at the expansive landscape in front of you, understanding, settling in your bones. "I'm dying." You whispered.

“That’s up to you, Y/N.” Your dad replied, his voice just as warm as you remembered.

“What do I do, dad?” You asked him with a trembling voice.

“Whatever you think is best.” He said back, his hand coming to cover yours, and you couldn’t stop the flood that completely engulfed you with emotion. You closed your eyes and relished in the feeling of his skin. He was right here in front of you, and you couldn't stop the swarm that filled you, breaking down all your walls and sweeping you away. You wrapped your arms around your father and took in his scent, clutching his shirt between your fingers.

“I can’t lose you again, daddy.” You mumbled against his shoulder.

"We can stay for a bit; tell me about your life." He said, his hands running over your back comfortingly. You nodded and sat back again, wiping your eyes and sniffling.

"Well, I'm a hunter just like you raised me to be. I hunt with these two men, Sam and Dean; you would like them a lot. Sam is like my big brother; he looks after me and I him on hunts and just in general. He is brilliant and kind; I enjoy his company so much because there is something about him that reminds me of you," You looked up at him with a small grin; he smiled back and nodded, silently telling you to go on. "then there’s Dean, he’s a bit of a different story. He’s strong, really strong. He’s selfless and compassionate…most of the time.” You laughed lightly. “He buys me coffee in the morning and gives me his jacket when I’m cold. He is a good man, they both are, but Dean…he makes me feel special.” You admitted, allowing yourself to say the words aloud for the first time and loving the warm feeling that spread throughout your veins. Your father smiled at you and nodded his head.

"Sounds like you are doing good, sweetie." He said, with a little laugh that made you smile. You nodded your head for a moment. Your lip started to tremble, and you made eye contact with him and slowly shook your head. There was so much you wanted to say, but only one thing came to your mind.

“I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with you.” You licked your bottom lip and let it catch between your teeth.

"That's an option." He said, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows. "But is it the best option?" He asked, and you already knew the answer.

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

Dean swallowed thickly and finally took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your wrist. Your skin felt cold, and it made him wince. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again when he couldn't speak the words. He needed to tell you how he felt. He didn't know if you could hear him, but he had to try. Had to unleash his feelings for you to know. He turned towards Sam and cleared his throat, licking his lips and controlling his emotions for a moment.

“Sammy, can I have a minute?” He said, hearing the crack in his voice.

“Of course. I’ll get us some coffee.” Sam said, nodding and walking out the room, leaving you and Dean alone. Dean turned back to you and wrapped his other hand around yours, warming your skin in between his hands. He looked down at your combined hands and opened his mouth, feeling his lower lip tremble with emotion.

"Y/N, I-I don't know what to say. I need you here with me. I need to wake up every day knowing that you are going to tell me, 'it's too early for good, morning is fine.'" He chuckled softly at the memory of your husky voice and disheveled appearance. “Ya know, when we first met, I thought there was no way this super cool chick was going to stick around. I thought you would work the case with us and then leave us in the dust. You didn't; though, you joined the family. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here, and I'll be right here waiting for you, Y/N, always.” Dean looked up into your face and moved even closer to you, cupping your cheek in his hand. “Baby, please fight for this. I need you to fight and come back to me. I need you-I just need you, only you. I love you, Y/N. I love you so goddamn much, and you have to wake up, okay? You have to pull through and wake up, because if you don't…I don't know what I'll-." His muscles clenched at the thought of what he would do to save you, eyes closing and tears falling freely down his cheeks. "Come back to me, baby.” He whispered before he leaned forward and kissed your forehead. His lips trembled against your flesh, your hair moving from his heavy sobs. He sat up and clenched his jaw. He was beginning to feel numb. A cold and ominous breath was spreading through his body. He felt dead inside. His skin felt just as cold as yours did. His eyes just as unseeing as yours were. His heart is just as slow and unsure as yours was. He felt open and exposed to the violence that stood menacingly in the back of his mind. He let out a shaky breath and licked his lips, tasting the salty tears. He ran a hand over his face and closed his eyes.

“Y/N.” He breathed your name into the air. One could mistake it for a prayer.

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

You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, closing your eyes and bowing your head. You had an impossible choice in front of you, one that only you could make. It would be so easy to let go and stay here with your father, to live in this happy space with him forever. To get the time back, that was so harshly taken away from you two. It would be so easy to fold and let the sun warm you with its golden light. It would be so easy to watch the clouds roll by until the end of time, laughing in the grass as the creek bubbled in the background. To let someone else handle the hunting for once. Let them clean the blood off their hands. Let them dig graves in the pitch black of night. Let them be the ones stitching up wounds that leave scars along their skin. Let them be the ones who have wounds that no one could stitch up or fix. Scars that cut far deeper than the skin and into the very soul. It would be easy.

"Y/N." A voice called from a distance. A voice you knew all too well, a voice that sent chills down your spine. Dean was calling to you, his voice a breathy whisper. He sounded broken, and it made your heart skip a beat. You closed your eyes and let out a breath. You knew what you had to do.

“I have to go back.” You said, your body curling even tighter into itself.

“It’s not your time yet, Y/N/N.” Your dad said, his strong hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “But when it is, I’ll be here waiting.” He smiled at you, sad eyes letting you know this was the right choice.

“I love you.” Your voice broke around your words.

“I love you too.” He said. You closed your eyes and made your final decision.

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

Your eyes opened to harsh light. Everything around you was white; all color gone from your vision. The grass no longer tickled your skin. The air felt cold, and it made your bones ache. The creek wasn't falling over stones anymore, instead replaced by silence. Suddenly, there was a beeping next to you that made you jump slightly. You blinked and turned your head to the side to see Dean sitting next to you, his hands wrapped tightly around yours. You couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face, your eyes softening at the sight of him. You wiggled your fingers that were trapped between his, giggling when his head instantly shot up, eyes wide and lips parted. He looked up at you, and a bright, warm, and happy smile touched his face, crinkling the skin around his eyes slightly.

“Y/N?” He said quietly.

“Dean.” You said, your voice soft and horse. He stood from his chair and stepped closer to you, his hands taking your face between them.

“I thought I lost you.” He whispered as he leaned down to press his forehead against yours.

“Not yet.” You said, laughing lightly.

------

Sam stepped into the room and saw his brother leaning over you, your eyes were closed, but you were smiling. Dean leaned down and touched his forehead to yours, and Sam backed out of the room quietly, letting you have your space.

------

Dean went to take his forehead off yours; you quickly grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his lips down to yours, finally letting yourself taste him. He let out a surprised grunt before quickly kissing you back, his fingers twisting into your hair as his mouth opened. He broke the kiss first, leaning back and looking into your eyes, searching for an answer.

"Y/N…I really hope that was more than an 'I'm happy I'm alive' kiss. Because I have been thinking about this for a while." He said, his thumb running over your cheek.

"No, Dean, that was an 'I've wanted to do that for a really long time, and being on the verge of death made me see that I should take chances and tell people how I really feel' kiss." You smiled at him.

“Good, because I have also wanted to do that for a really long time.” He laughed, lowering his eyes shyly.

“I heard you.” You said, taking his hand off your cheek and holding it in yours.

“What?” He asked.

“I heard you say my name when I was asleep. That’s what brought me back.” You said with a small smirk. He looked at you with a combination of embarrassment, awe, and love.

“I was right here.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Waiting for me.” You finished, smiling at the small chuckle that left his mouth.

“Always.” He whispered before connecting his lips to yours once more.

**I didn't know who to tag because I write so little Dean. If you would like to be tagged and you were not, please let me know!

Tags: @spnfanficpond​ @watermelonlipstick​ @calaofnoldor​

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfic pond #spnfanficpond #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #SPN #SPN FANDOM #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #SPN Family #spn insert #spn imagine #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural family #supernatural fandom

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Night Crawling

Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Some explicit smutty goodness in a dive bar bathroom, some recreational drug use, some Sam feels. 

A/N: I really thought I was going to write PWP for once. As usual, some feels snuck in. Set at some vague point in Season 5. 

I’ve had the new Miley Cyrus album on repeat all day; inspiration, title, and bathroom graffiti quote all came from “Night Crawling.” Listen to that and “Gimme What I Want” if you want maximum ~atmosphere~ or whatever while reading. 

“Another?” Sam asks, leaning in to make himself heard over the music. He gives me a twisted, wicked version of his usual dimpled smile. There’s a drop of tequila clinging to his lip, and I want to lick it off. He’s so close. 

My head is still spinning from the last shot and from his attention. I shake it off. 

“Bathroom, I’ll be back,” I tell him. 

Sam’s in a fucking mood tonight. Not that I blame him. Time is ticking away, faster by the day it feels like; if Lucifer was after me, I’d take whatever escape I could get. 

Dean’s at the motel, hopefully putting some ice on his twisted ankle or maybe sleeping, and normally Sam would be fussing over him like an overgrown fucking mother hen. Instead, he suggested that we go “blow off some steam,” looking at me with this glint in his eyes, like he was daring me. 

So… here we are, getting fucked up in a grimy rock club, watching some Nine Inch Nails wannabes wail like a porn soundtrack over a dirty industrial bassline. 

Sam fucking Winchester. Always full of surprises. 

It’s one of those single-occupancy dive bathrooms where I don’t want to touch anything or, like, inhale too hard. It’s impossible to tell what color the walls originally were under the layers of concert flyers and graffiti. There’s probably enough cocaine residue on the chipped porcelain sink counter to get an elephant high. That kind of place. 

He wants me almost as much as I want him, I’m pretty sure, but I never thought either of us would act on it. Too many complications, too many ways to fuck it all up… now, though? The entire world is fucked. Might as well get laid before it all goes to shit.

Two lines of red Sharpie scrawl next to the mirror grab my attention: night crawling, sky falling, gotta listen when the Devil’s calling. 

Yeah. Well. 

I don’t think either of us will make it out of this alive, but he doesn’t want to. That’s what this is all about, really. He started this apocalypse. He’ll never forgive himself if he lives through it. I’ll never forgive him if he doesn’t. 

I wash my hands and splash some water on my cheeks, bracing myself. I can feel the chemicals kicking up my spine, now.

If Sam fucking Winchester needs to indulge his self-destructive streak and get out of his head for a night, I’ll keep him company. Fuck knows I’ll never say no to him. I’ll stay with him til the end, if he lets me. 

It hits me again: this is the end. The world is about to end, and that sweet, sexy, puppy-eyed motherfucker out there is at the center of all of it. Heaven, hell, good, evil… and Sam. If tonight is what we’ve got — if this is all we’ll ever get — I’ll take it. I’ve always wanted more, but… this’ll do. It’ll have to do. 

He’s slouching against the wall, right outside the bathroom hallway. He gives me this dark, hungry grin when he sees me, and maybe whatever was in that pastel blue pill is making itself known, or maybe it’s just Sam that’s sending a wave of prickly heat over my skin… either way, it feels good. 

“C’mon,” he says, passing me a cup of ice water, and then he’s gripping me by the wrist, pulling me into the crowd. 

Sam doesn’t dance, and he sure as hell doesn’t dance with me, but he’s not fucking around: hands on my waist, hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at me, cheeks flushed, moving with the beat. I rest my free hand on his upper arm, right where the swell of his bicep flexes against the soft cotton sleeve of his t-shirt, and I can’t help but squeeze slightly, feeling hot skin and muscle under my palm. I swallow hard. 

Sam leans in closer. I can smell him, the natural scent of his sweat under the spice of his deodorant, and it’s so overwhelming that I shiver. 

He gets his lips right up against my ear, the deep rumble of his voice a physical thing that I can feel as well as hear: “Ever just get sick of being yourself?” 

Jesus. 

“Yeah,” I mumble, mouth dry. I don’t know if he hears me but it doesn’t really matter. 

“I think too much. I don’t want to think tonight. Is that okay?” 

I suck in a breath. “Don’t need to explain, Sam. I get it.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, heavy-lidded, golden skin shining with sweat in the flecks of light coming off the disco ball. “Dance with me.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, Sam, anything you want.”

I toss back the cup of water, gulping it down, too eager; some of it trickles down my chin. I don’t care. I drop the cup and run my hand up Sam’s chest. His eyes flutter closed and he licks his lips, sinful, gorgeous. For a moment I think he might say something but instead he spins me around and hauls me closer, my back to his chest. 

The song is filthy, all thudding funk hooks and wild drums. There’s this frantic heat behind it that has me sinking under the surface, swimming through the riff, and the pulse of it wriggles down my spine and works itself out through my hips as I toss my head. It’s the kind of rhythm that’s made for sweating all over a stranger. 

Sam might as fucking well be a stranger right now. I never knew he could move like this. 

His hips swivel and twist, and his hands slide down to my thighs, pinning me against the solid muscled heat of his body. I feel reckless. I feel high and overstimulated and utterly fearless, and I can feel his touch echoing through me, inside me, throbbing down my belly to where I’m empty and suddenly aching. 

As soon as I think about it, the emptiness hits me hard. My cunt is clenching around nothing in time with the gritty slap of percussion. I arch my back and rub myself against Sam shamelessly. 

He’s hard against my ass, hard and getting harder with every shrieking lick of guitar, and the awareness of it sends a thrill down through the core of me, like a bolt of lightning striking between my legs. My breath catches and hisses out of my lungs like I’m a punctured balloon. I feel dizzy. 

It’s all so intense right now. Every inch of my skin is fizzing, and the simple curl of his fingers around my wrist has me shuddering like he’s stroking something much more intimate. 

On any other night I would try to step back, to get myself under control… I’d start thinking, and I wouldn’t be able to stop, and I’d get stuck in my head instead of giving in to the mind-blowingly intimate thrill of his fingertips pressing into my pulse. 

We’re not thinking tonight. I couldn’t think straight even if I wanted to. 

The beat changes, segueing into something low and slinking and goddamn obscene. I’m dripping with sweat — mine or Sam’s? I can’t tell — and my skin is on fire, and I want Sam in this awful, all-consuming way that I’ve never wanted anything or anyone.

So I don’t think about it; I just turn, twisting in his arms until we’re face to face, or rather, face to chest. He’s biting his lip, expression almost pained as he grips my waist and slots a thigh between mine. I snake my arms around his neck and roll my hips, feeling the seam of my jeans dragging up the sensitive spot between my legs, and I’m absurdly grateful for the way the music drowns out any embarrassing noise I might make. 

There’s a drop of sweat sliding down the corded muscle of his neck. It trickles to a glittering halt right at eye level, in the hollow of his throat, and I can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. I could fall down and worship whatever god invented the v-neck. 

I don’t fall to my knees, but I do lean forward and taste his skin. Salt floods my tongue. 

Sam’s hand runs up my back, cups the nape of my neck, and he doesn’t so much guide me as yank, tilting my head to meet the rough urgent sting of his teeth and the soft slide of his tongue. I groan into his mouth, and his hands flatten at the small of my back, pulling me impossibly closer. I want to shove myself against him until I can burrow under his skin. 

His mouth. He nips and sucks and explores, lips on mine with crushing force one second, whisper-sweet the next. 

I’m melting. I must be melting. 

I hold on for dear life, delirious, drunk on the way he’s kissing me. I’ve imagined this before, but I never imagined it like this. 

We’re still dancing, or something like it anyway; his hips swivel, and I rut against him, my entire body throbbing with animalistic need. Sam shifts his weight, grinding against me, and I can feel the fat stiff length of him right up against my center. I whimper, desperate and wanton. 

One hand slides up my back, around my ribs, up, until he can trace the curve of my breast with his thumb and then pinch my nipple through my bra. When I buck against him, he does it again. My knees don’t want to support me any more. 

I’m a half-second away from coming just like this. I’m shaking. 

“The fuck are we doing?” Sam says roughly. He nips my earlobe.

“Not thinking, remember?” I snap, and then I’m stumbling back, almost falling, tugging him by the wrist as I start to weave through the crushing press of bodies. My heart is pounding. Everything blurs together. My skin feels too cold without him all over it. 

There’s one open bathroom, no line, no reason to hesitate. The heavy door closes behind us and the deadbolt slides home with a metallic echoing thud. 

He’s already crowding me back, hands on my cheeks, tip of his nose brushing mine. I grab at the front of his shirt, fingers twisting in the sweat-damp fabric. My ass hits the counter and I surge up clumsily to kiss him. The angle’s off; our teeth clack together. 

We laugh and fit ourselves back together, bodies like puzzle pieces in that fucking song Sam would never admit he loves, and I could cry with relief at the way he feels under my hands. I can feel him breathing, the harsh rise and fall of his chest, and I can feel the heat of him, blood and sweat and bone, solid and real and here and mine, at least for tonight. 

He fumbles with the button of my jeans and kisses me like he’s drowning. Then he curls two long fingers up and into me, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit. I lean back, heels skidding on the dirty tile as I try to brace myself and rock my hips up all at once. 

“Need you to fuck me,” I bite out, remarkably steady considering the way I’m trembling. 

“You gonna regret this tomorrow?” Sam asks. He twists his fingers, knuckles stretching me open, so good my eyes roll back in my head. 

Tomorrow… we’re not going to think about tomorrow. 

“Might regret waiting this long,” I groan. Understatement of the century. 

“You ‘n me both. You sure?” He’s staring down at me and he looks wrecked: pupils blown, lips swollen, hair clinging to his temples where his skin is streaked with sweat. 

“Do you feel how close I am?” I grab his wrist with one hand, holding him there, fucking myself on his fingers as I try to pull my jeans down with the other hand. 

Sam’s mouth drops open and his eyes go unfocused for a second. Whatever self-control he had left is gone. He pulls his hand away, and I whine at the loss, but together we get my pants down, and I kick them off as he gets his belt open. He’s just as big as I always imagined, proportional to those sinfully long elegant fingers, and my mouth fucking waters as I watch him stroke himself. 

He bites his lip, chest heaving, and tugs me up onto the very edge of the grimy sink counter. Before I can find my balance he’s right there, hooking an arm under my knee so that he can spread my legs wider, and he’s guiding the hot velvety head of his cock down my center and in, and the slick blunt pressure of it makes me claw at his back, trying to get him closer even though I can barely handle how good that first thick inch feels. 

“Fuuu - unnhhhhh - fuck, Sam, I need…” I choke out, and then all I can do is pant breathlessly, incoherent, as he rocks his hips and starts to stretch me open. I’m helpless like this, no leverage to do anything but sit there and take it, and he moves so maddeningly slow that I’m going out of my skull. 

“God, look at you,” he breathes. “So fucking good. Always wondered what you’d look like taking my cock. Always imagined you begging. Are you gonna beg for me?” 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up and give it to me, Sam, I swear —” 

“Yeah?” he growls. He grips my hips hard enough to bruise.

I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles together, leaning back on my hands, and then I can arch my back and pull him deeper, working myself onto his cock. 

“Sam —” I start, but before I can say anything else he slams home, grinding in hard and fast, and my voice cracks on a stuttering, incoherent whine. It’s blindingly good. He’s steely-hard and so goddamn thick I feel like I’m about to split open, like one wrong move is going to pull me apart. His first rolling thrust sparks this wrenching wave of pressure that fills me up and shakes me down to the tips of my toes, my entire body rippling with feverish heat. 

“That’s my girl,” he pants. He pulls me against him and twists up, rough and filthy, and I shudder against him, writhing, mindless and overwhelmed. 

“Sam,” I choke out. My voice is high-pitched and squeaky-thin, and the next sharp thrust makes me forget whatever I was going to say beyond, “Nnnnhhhhhyesohgod.” 

“There?” 

“Fuck. Yes.” 

He moans, low and broken, and finds that perfect spot again, grinding into it with eye-popping force.

I can feel it, pleasure cramping through me with every movement, coiling up, building around the deep throbbing ache where he’s fucking into me. I feel like a wild animal, primal and lost.

“Good girl. Fuck, feels so good.”

I clutch at his shoulders, muscles quaking, burying my face in his neck as all that white-hot pressure peaks inside me. I let out an ugly, anguished sob, can’t hold it back, and then all I can feel is the all-consuming spasm of my orgasm, tension rocketing through every inch of me, sending me out into space for a long paralyzed moment. The first pulse of it is so scary-intense that I can’t breathe, can’t control myself, can’t keep track of my own body… 

Then it all comes back at once, and I’m exquisitely aware of Sam against me as he fucks me through it, hips surging forward as I squeeze around him and urge him deeper. 

“Thought about this so many times,” he’s confessing, ragged and raw. 

“Me too,” I gasp.  

He sucks in a shaky breath, moving slower as I start to come down, and I can feel him holding back now. “Think about you so fucking much, I can’t —”

“Me fucking too, Sam.”

He kisses me, gentle in a way that could very easily destroy me. 

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” he whispers, forehead sweaty where it rests against mine.  

“Fuck, Sam, don’t — this is —” 

I feel so strange and strung-out, caught between the shivery aftershocks in my belly and the startling tenderness in his voice as he mumbles, “Wanted to take my time.”

“Sam.” 

“Wanted to take my time with you,” he repeats. He moves against me with this slow, snakelike undulation. “Wanted to lay you out and kiss you everywhere and fucking worship you.” 

“We can. We can — I want that.” 

“Never gonna be enough,” he chokes out. “I knew — I knew, if I did this, I’d never want to stop.”

My skin is lit up with the feel of him, liquid heat gathering in my gut as my body responds to every perfect touch, but I’m afraid my ribcage is about to split open with the way my heart is hammering. 

We’re in a goddamn dive bar bathroom, for fuck’s sake, and I’m fucked up, and maybe this will feel cheap and tawdry and silly in the morning, but… somehow I don’t think it will. Somehow this feels like the most important thing that’s ever happened to me. 

“Why’d we wait this long?” I ask. There’s an embarrassing wobble in my voice. 

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he grits out. “Because I was scared.” Before I can respond, he kisses me, all teeth and desperation, twisting his hips and swallowing my moan. He slides his hands under my shirt, sliding them up my back, and drags his fingernails down in trails of stinging heat. It’s pleasure and pain and fucking obliteration, and the sensory overload has me spiraling out again. 

“Fuck that,” I half-laugh. My back arches and my voice breaks, and I bite his lip hard enough that I taste copper. 

He groans, full-throated and shameless, and ducks his head, sinking his teeth into the sweat-slick curve of my neck. He sucks, nibbles, and it sets off fireworks behind my eyelids. 

“Close, Sam. So close,” I babble, breathing harsh and heavy. I tangle my fingers in his hair and pull, and I can feel him moan. “Never thought it’d feel like this. It’s — this is so much better —” 

He shudders against me, lets out this long, guttural sound, and then he shifts and pounds into me harder, and all I can do is cling to him, pulling him closer like I’m never going to let go. “C’mon, then. Fuck. Tell me what you want.” 

“Please, Sam. Just — please. Please.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he growls. “You know that, right?” 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

“Don’t leave me,” I blurt out, as the unbearable tension starts to crest. “Don’t leave me, Sam. Please.” 

I know he hears it. He gasps like I punched him. I can feel him jerk, twitch, fingers clawing at my back, cock twitching and swelling inside me as he starts to come. I bite down on the meat of his shoulder as I let go. My orgasm feels like it’s ripping something loose, an earthquake in my core, and I don’t trust myself not to say exactly what’s on my mind. There’s a surge of pleasure, one glowing wave of it then another, and I’m dimly aware of shuddering against Sam as he rocks into me one more time, clutching him close… as if I could get close enough to keep him here with me. 

It’s impossible to be sad right now. I’m chemically incapable of sadness, still soaring high, but this is so much bigger than sadness anyway. I just feel like I’m about to break. 

“That,” he says, with an ugly sound, half-laugh, half-sob. “That’s what I was afraid of. That I wouldn’t ever want to leave.” 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Let’s just — let’s not think about it. Okay? Can we go back to the motel and — can we do that again? Take our time?” 

“Just for tonight?” he asks raggedly. 

“Just for tonight. We’re not going to think about what comes next.” 

He nods. We both know it’s a lie. 

,

,

,

#sam winchester smut #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader smut #supernatural #spn fic

[littlegnoblin]

Happy Valentine’s Day to my best friend and other half @donestiel

read on ao3

Dean comes home from work to find Cas and Jack sitting at the table, red heart-shaped lollipops strewn in front of them. 

He gives Cas a quick kiss. “You trying to give the kid a sugar rush or what?” 

“Daddy! It’s for Valemtime’s Day!” Jack yells excitedly, hopping off his chair to hug Dean’s legs.  

“It’s pronounced valentine, Jack.”

“I don’t know, valemtime kinda has a nice ring to it,” Dean says. Jack beams up at him and he can’t help but ruffle his hair. 

“Yes, well, the holiday has become so bastardized that I suppose renaming it wouldn’t hurt.” Cas squints at the box the candy came in. “Does no one find it odd that their children are passing around cards demanding others belong to them?”

Dean sits down and pulls Jack into his lap, flipping through the little pink cards. “I don’t know that you’re supposed to think about it that hard, dude.” He comes across a card that reads ‘kiss me’ and holds it up. “This, on the other hand-- they’re five, what the hell do they need to be kissin’ for?”

“I want kisses!” Jack protests. 

“You’re a little kiss monster.” Cas leans in and presses a big, exaggerated smooch to Jack’s cheek. “How was that? Did it satisfy the beast?”

Jack giggles and nods enthusiastically. 

“Hey, I’m gonna need to sample one of those kisses myself. Make sure they’re regulation-- standard procedure.”

“Is that right?”

“‘Fraid so,” Dean says with a shit eating grin. 

He’s expecting a goofy kiss like the one he gave Jack but Cas uses his thumb to tilt Dean’s chin just so and kisses him deeply. 

They break apart when two tiny hands push at their faces and Jack tells them to knock it off. 

“This is what Valentine’s Day is all about, champ. Besides, I thought you liked kisses.”

“You guys do it gross.” 

Dean smiles and bounces his eyebrows at Cas, who rolls his eyes but can’t hide the small curl of his mouth. 

“Perhaps your father will help you write your classmates’ names on the cards while I get dinner ready.”

“I can cook,” Dean says quickly. The thought of Cas’ last attempt at cooking has his stomach churning and he’s pretty sure feeding that toxic waste to Jack would be considered child abuse. 

Cas holds up a cardboard box. “It’s frozen pizza.”

“Alright, I’ll do babysitting duty. Just make sure you take the plastic off this time.”

“It’s not babysitting when it’s your own child and that was one time.”

“One time too many,” Dean mutters.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing, dear.”

Cas glares at him. “I expect you to eat a healthy portion of salad along with your pizza tonight.”

“You making it yourself or is it bagged?”

The glare intensifies. 

Jack tugs on his sleeve. “Daddy, did you like doing valentine’s stuff in school?”

“Nah, it, uh-- it wasn’t really a thing when I was your age.” 

That’s a blatant lie but Dean’s not going to tell him the truth and bum him out. What five year old wants to hear that their dad didn’t do Valentine’s Day exchanges because there was barely enough money for food, let alone candy, and he never really stuck around any school long enough to get included in the holiday stuff. Shit’s depressing. 

“So you never got no cards or nothin’?”

“Nope.” Dean never got cards but he did get invited under the bleachers a few times in high school to unwrap a different kind of present. He’s not telling him that either, though. 

“That sucks. Can I have a lollipop?”

“Nice try, kid.” Dean taps on the card in front of them. “Get to writing.” 

He oversees the careful labelling of the cards, reminding Jack to double check the list of names anytime he spells something wrong and corrects a few backwards letters. They debate who gets what card and Jack complains that he has to give one to Tom who keeps cutting him in line. 

Cas rejoins them in the middle of Jack’s impassioned rant, hiding his smile behind his hand. 

“While I agree that Tom is a-- what was it you called him?”

“A butthead.”

“Yes, right, a butthead. While I agree he is a butthead, unfortunately I think you need to be the bigger person. Maybe this will even convince him to stop cutting in line and you two can be friends.”

“No way. I don’t wanna be friends with Tom.”

“You never know,” Dean says. “I didn’t like your dad when we first met, but I think he’s a pretty okay guy now.”

Jack looks at him wide eyed. “You didn’t like Daddy?”

“No way, he was a butthead.”

“It was more of a misunderstanding,” Cas explains. 

“Oh is that what we’re calling it?”

Cas lifts an eyebrow and stares him down. “What would you call it, Dean?” 

Shit, that should not be so hot. 

“Not the point; the point is that I didn’t think I would ever like your dad and now we’re married. Things change.”

Jack furrows his brows, considering. “I don’t want to marry Tom.”

Dean snorts. “You don’t have to. In fact, please don’t. His mom is a nightmare.” Cas kicks him under the table. “What! She is!”

“You don’t have to marry him and you don’t have to be friends with him,” Cas says, ignoring Dean completely, “but you do have to give him a card and some candy.” 

Jack grumbles but does as he’s told. Dean’s legs are starting to fall asleep but he’s become increasingly aware of how fast Jack is growing up and soon-- way too fucking soon, if you ask him-- he won’t be sitting in his lap at all so he silently resigns to not feeling his legs for the next ten minutes. 

“All done!” Jack yells and throws his hands in the air. 

“Sweet, now let's stick some candy in these bad boys and call it a night.”

“Wait, there’s a extra, what should I do with it?”

“Is there anyone who’s not in your class that you’d like to give a valentine to?”

Jack gasps and slaps a hand over Dean’s eyes, nearly poking one out in the process. “Close your eyes, Daddy!”

Dean dutifully closes his eyes until Jack tells him he’s finished. He slowly opens one eye and sees the pink card held about an inch from his face.

“For me?” he gasps dramatically.

“Yes!”

The front of the card reads ‘You’re the best!’ and when he opens it, he finds ‘Daddy’ written in some of the neatest handwriting from Jack he’s ever seen. Beneath it he’s signed his name, the K backwards like it always is on his first try. 

“I gave it to you because you never had one before and also you’re the best daddy ever, who makes me yummy chocolate chip pancakes and cheeseburgers and does funny voices for bedtime stories,” Jack explains. 

Dean wraps his arms around his son and rests his cheek on top of his head, his heart feeling fit to burst. “Thank you, Jack. I’m gonna keep this forever.” And he means it. 

“Welcome. Can I have a lollipop now?”

Cas points at Dean. “He gets that from you.”

 After the valentines are carefully put away and they’ve had dinner (plastic free and edible, which Cas seems proud of), Jack gets a bath and is tucked in bed. Dean and Cas spend the rest of the night sprawled out on the couch watching reruns of Doctor Sexy and drinking beer. Party city. 

When the Doctor Sexy reruns switch to Jeopardy, Dean knows it’s officially midnight. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess.” 

They tip their bottles together. 

“I hope I didn’t disappoint you by not planning anything,” Cas says, picking at the label on his beer. 

“What? No, of course not. We never do anything. I thought we were on the same page about avoiding that shit after our first Valentine’s together.”

They both shudder thinking about the sweaty cupid ‘handshake’. 

“We are, but we never actually discussed it and I…” Cas pauses and tilts his head. “I think having Jack around and seeing the world through his eyes, experiencing things in a new way, it makes me wonder if we’re not missing out on some of the little things.”

“Hey, we appreciate lots of the little things-- like you not cooking frozen pizza with the plastic still on.”

“Dean.”

“Okay, okay. So you sayin’ you wanna celebrate now?”

“Sam and Eileen do.”

“Sam and Eileen are saps. And they don’t have a five year old running around.” 

Cas makes a sound of agreement and softly strokes the back of Dean’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. “You make a fair point. In all honesty, I don’t want to do anything extravagant but I would like to take the opportunity to remind you how much I love you. Am I allowed to be sappy for a moment?”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess you deserve one day to get it all out.” He puts their bottles down and faces his husband. “Lay it on me, big guy.”

Instead of looking annoyed, Cas just looks fond. “You know, it’s ironic that a man as full of love as you are is so quick to dismiss any sentimentality. You are a fascinating creature.” A thumb sweeps under his eye where he’s got permanent dark circles and settles at the corner where his lines get deeper every day. It makes Dean want to squirm but he holds still under the reverent touch. “Perhaps that’s why I never stood a chance.”

“C’mon, man,” Dean says, dropping his eyes to the couch. 

“Hush, I’m allowed, I’ll have you know. My husband gave me explicit permission.”

“Well, your husband is thinking about rescinding the offer.”

“I love you.” 

Cas says it with such conviction that Dean can’t help but look back at him, at his bright eyes and soft smile; at the evidence of his love written all over his face. 

“I love you, endlessly, Dean Winchester. For everything that you are; the good and the bad. From the moment I saw your soul in hell, so bright it was almost blinding, I knew I would never be the same. You breathed life into me, gave me meaning and purpose, taught me the value of love, and you did it all, selflessly, simply by being the man that you are.” Cas draws him close, presses their foreheads together. “I can never give back all that you’ve given me but I promise you will have my love until we are nothing but a forgotten memory, and longer still.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and they breath together in the small space between them. 

“You can’t-- you can’t just say shit like that,” he whispers. 

“And why not?”

“Because it’s not true, first of all.” Cas opens his mouth to argue but Dean covers it with his hand and hurries on. “You’ve already given all of that back and more. God, Cas, if it weren’t for you I’d have been dead years ago. I needed to stick around-- to take care of Sammy, to stop whatever or whoever was trying to end the world next-- but you… you made me want to live. Really live, not just survive, you know? I fuckin’ love you, man.”

Cas pushes Dean’s hand away and presses his lips against Dean’s fervently. 

When they finally break apart for desperately needed air, they both pretend they aren’t sniffling like little girls. 

“You happy now? Can we go back to not doing this?”

Cas laughs. “I hadn’t planned on making it quite so emotional, I apologize. You always bring out the most in me.”

“Ugh, enough,” Dean groans, shoving Cas’ smiling face away. “You aren’t allowed to say anything even approaching romantic for the next twenty four hours, capiche?”

“I can agree to that, as long as I’m allowed to give you a gift later.”

“I thought you said you didn’t plan anything?”

“It’s nothing big.” Cas’ fingers sneak under Dean’s shirt and trail along his stomach, dipping to his waistband. “I just happened to walk by Victoria’s Secret and see a pair of pink satin panties in the window.”

Dean’s heart beats a little faster. “Oh yeah?” he says breathlessly. “Not gonna lie, that seems more like a present for you.”

Cas hums and leans over Dean, forcing him to lie back on the couch. “Well then I suppose I’ll just have to do whatever you want while you wear them.”

When he kisses him he tastes like cherry candy and Dean thinks could learn to like this holiday. 

#spn #destiel #deancas #bend-me-shape-me #sweatercas #rambleoncas #acklesy #alivedean #userpris #usersila #goodthingsclara #shelikestv #hope you guys dont mind me tagging you!!! #sarah writes

[pretendingboyfriends]

Warnings: smut babayyyy

Word count: 2.7k+

Summary: A quiet evening in Italy with Harry.

On an Evening in Roma - Dean Martin

The coral hue of the setting sun seeps through the open doorway leading to the terrace, casting a similarly colored shadow onto the tile floor as the two of you move around the kitchen. A warm breeze drifts through the room causing the curtains framing the door to flutter daintily and the scent of the homemade bread to waft throughout the house, setting a soft and romantic mood for the evening. 

You leisurely pour a second glass of wine for Harry and yourself before you begin crafting your meal, the warm buzz of impending intoxication lulling the both of you peacefully along with the soft jazz you have playing quietly in the background. You both have aprons tied around your waists to prevent your clothes from being splattered with flour or wine, aware of your tendencies for clumsiness.

“Can you crack the eggs into a bowl for me, darling?” You request, nudging the small carton of eggs towards Harry as you scoop the right amount of flour from the bag and onto the clean counter. 

“Mhm,” He hums happily, “How many?” 

“Two is fine.” You smile, shaping the flour into a decently large pile before pressing your fingers into the middle to make a well for the eggs and sprinkling a little bit of salt into it. 

Harry quickly cracks the two eggs into a small bowl and sets the bowl on the counter besides you. “Okay, now what?” 

“Now, we pour the eggs into the middle of the well I’ve created in the flour, like this,” You start, reaching for the bowl of eggs as Harry watches intently, pouring them carefully into the well. “And then we knead it with our hands, like this.” You finish, burying your fingers into the flour, kneading slowly and carefully as Harry rolls up the sleeves of his button up. 

“Can I just-” He mutters, walking behind you slowly and wrapping his arms around you, placing his hands over yours as he rests his chin on your shoulder to watch what he’s doing. “That’s better.” 

You snicker girlishly at him, shaking your head as you continue to knead with his hands over yours. “You’re an absolute idiot.” 

“Mmm, yeah, but you love me.” He hums through a chuckle, nudging his hips against you playfully. 

The two of you knead the flour and egg mixture into a malleable dough, making sure to add flour when needed. Harry’s playful attempts to flick flour into your face has a smile glued to both of your faces as you giggle and scold him for getting into your hair, though truthfully, you don’t mind.

Once the dough is thoroughly mixed, you form it into a ball and wrap it tightly with cling wrap to let it rest.

“Now, after we let the dough rest for 15 minutes, we flatten the dough out with a rolling pin,” You announce, slipping from your place between Harry and the countertop to find a rolling pin. “And then, after that, we cut it into the noodles.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows excitedly, taking his half empty wine glass from the counter and downing the rest of the liquid as he watches you. “What kind of sauce are we having?” 

You pull a wooden rolling pin from a drawer, mumbling a small “aha!” before setting it on the counter. “I was thinking alfredo, if that’s alright with you. It’s simple and doesn’t take long at all.”

“Sounds amazing,” He hums, stepping towards you to curl an arm around your waist and press your body against his. He leans down for a moment to capture your lips between his and your hands come to rest on his chest. Your lips meld together languidly for a few passing moments as he presses you into the counter and trails his lips down your jaw to your neck. You can’t help but whimper from the plush warmth of his lips, sponging along your skin. 

“Salad!” You exclaim suddenly.

Harry frowns, pulling his face from your neck, “That’s what you’re thinkin’ about right now? M’doing some of my best work over here and all you can think about is salad?” 

“Well, we need something to go with the pasta and bread and we have that vinaigrette that we still haven’t tried.” You reply, patting his cheek with your hand before you wiggle from his grasp. Harry watches you with a pout on his lips, making you roll your eyes at him as you take a container of lettuce from the fridge.  

Minutes later, the two of you are back working on the pasta, a pot filled with water is put aside as you slice the rolled dough into fettuccine pasta. Harry watches as you cut into the dough, creating almost perfectly measured strips, all dusted lightly with flour to prevent them from sticking to the counter. 

“Can you turn the stove on to let the water boil? I’m almost done with the noodles.” You hum, glancing up at him. He quickly complies, smacking a kiss to your cheek before sliding over to the stove and turning the dial to high. “Oh and salt the water, too. Helps it boil faster.” You add, sliding the salt shaker towards him. 

Once the noodles are boiling and the bread is cooling on the counter, you and Harry pour yourselves some more wine and begin swaying to the sound of Dean Martin crooning in Italian. His arms are loosely wound around your waist, one hand grasping his wine glass. You have one arm draped over his shoulders, the other grasps your own wine glass, allowing you to sip it at your leisure.

“Quite like this,” Harry purrs, eyes focused on yours. “Havin’ you all to myself for awhile. S’nice.” 

You smile, bringing your hand up to tangle your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. “It is nice.”

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours gently, continuing to sway the two of you side to side. His lips taste strongly of red wine as he licks into your mouth, a low grunt vibrating from the back of his throat. Your fingers tug at the curled tendrils of his hair as you adjust your grip on the wine glass, careful not to spill or drop it. 

Suddenly, the hissing of water overflowing onto the hot stove causes your face to separate from Harry’s with a quiet smack as you whip your head to the side to see the water from the noodles spilling over the side of the pot. 

“Shit,” You mutter under your breath, unwrapping yourself from him quickly to turn the heat down and fan at the bubbles with an oven mit. The water and bubbles calm to a simmer and you sigh in relief, stirring the noodles slowly. 

“Everything good?” Harry asks, leaning over your shoulder to watch you stir. 

“Yeah,” You breathe through a sigh, “I think they’re done anyways.” 

Eventually, you’re serving the noodles onto two plates as Harry tosses the salad and slices the bread. You slice a few small pieces of butter onto the steaming noodles before grating parmesan cheese over them generously and stepping back to admire your work. 

“Looks delicious,” Harry smiles, slicing a few pieces of bread from the loaf. 

Once everything is finished, you bring the food to the terrace, placing all of it on the small, round table to set up for the evening. Both of you discard your flour dusted aprons to reveal your cream, silk slip dress that reached to mid thigh and Harry’s white button up with a lavender sweater vest layered on top of it, paired with his brown, flared trousers. As always, he looks like a dream.

You sit across from each other and enjoy one another’s company as you eat, the sun slowly setting as you lounge. Harry endlessly moans over how delectable everything is and you giggle at him, nearly kicking them under the table every time he makes a sound. 

After both of you clean your plates completely, you finish off the bottle of wine, splitting the remainder of the liquid between the two of you before migrating to the metal railing of the terrace. Harry’s arm is wrapped around your waist tightly, pressing you into his side as you gaze out into the quiet street.  

“Lovely view,” He says from beside you and you nod, glancing at him to find him staring directly at you. 

You roll your eyes, taking a sip from your wine glass and muttering “Wanker” under your breath before turning your attention back to the actual view in front of you. He chuckles to himself quietly, easily dragging you around to his front so that he can wrap both arms around you from behind. His lips drop to your shoulder, softly trailing along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You can still hear the music playing in the house, Etta James’ “A Sunday Kind Of Love” drifting from the small speaker on the kitchen counter to the small terrace where the two of you sway.  

You stay like that for awhile, drinking in the perfect weather and enjoying one another’s company until the sun goes down and the only sources of light are the street lights below and the soft light coming from the kitchen. By this time the tune of Yes’ “Yesterday and Today” is playing, the soft piano nearly lulling you to sleep in Harry’s arms.

“S’gotten dark,” He hums into your neck.

“So it has.” You reply, opening your eyes for the first time in what seems like hours.

“Think we should head in?”

You grunt quietly in response, allowing Harry to unwrap himself from you and lead you to the doorway. The sudden prospect of what’s about to come causes both of you to become giddy with excitement. The alcohol coursing through your veins heightening your emotions immensely. 

The two of you stumble back into the house from the terrace, tripping over one another’s feet as you giggle drunkenly. Neither of you bother to shut the door behind you, leaving it wide open for anyone to hear or see into your house.

 Harry falls back onto the couch, gazing longingly at you as you stand above him. His hands dropping to the backs over your bare thighs and tugging you forward to straddle him. You snort loudly and press your nose into his cheek as you wrap your arms wrap around his neck. 

“Dinner was nice,” He mumbles, pressing hot kisses to your neck. You hum in agreement, clutching the curls at the base of his neck as his lips move. “Think I’m ready for dessert now.”

You chuckle softly, rolling your hips into his, “What kind of dessert were you thinking?”

He pulls his face from the crevice of your neck, his hands sliding to grip your waist and push you against his growing bulge as he gazes up at you with lust blown pupils. “The kind where you ride me right here on the couch.”

The delicious feeling of Harry’s bulge pressed directly against your clit mixed with the sexy rasp of his words causes a quiet whimper to pass through your lips. You lean forward, capturing his lips between yours fervently as you grind your hips against his slowly over and over. 

“How’s that sound, baby?” He asks, pulling away for a moment to gaze up at you. 

“Sounds good, s’good, just- please,” You slur, desperately pulling him back in for kisses. He chuckles drunkenly against your lips and slides his hands up your thighs beneath your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist so that he can easily grasp your ass and press you into him. You whimper a little louder this time, fingers tangled into your lover’s mop of curls as he works you up. 

Harry’s fingers find the waistband of your thong and he helps you tug them down your legs  before dropping them onto the couch cushion beside him. Your hands start to fumble with the button of his slacks, fingers working loosely due to your intoxicated brain. 

Finally, his trousers are off and kicked to the side along with his briefs and you’re stroking him slowly as his lips brush against your clavicle. He’s discernibly hard already, rutting his hips up against your hand despairingly. You push yourself up onto your knees above him, holding him right against your entrance before slowly sliding down onto him. Once you’re fully seated in his lap, you gasp out a moan, pressing your forehead to his as he breathes out his own guttural moan. 

“So fuckin’ tight,” He mutters under his breath, hips jutting up into you subconsciously. 

The thin strap of your dress slides off your shoulder as you begin to move on top of him, the movement causing your braless breasts to nearly spill out of the fabric. Harry leans forward, pressing hot, wet kisses to the swell of your breasts as you move, both of you whining breathlessly. 

“Mm, Harry,” You gasp after he thrusts up into you harshly, his tip brushing directly against your g spot and causing your legs to quiver violently. 

“That’s the spot, hm?” He growls, wrapping his arms tighter around you to aid him in thrusting against the same spot over and over as you bounce against him. You nod weakly at his venereal question, hiding your face in his neck and pressing your chest flush against his. 

Your tepid, clammy bodies slide against each other with every girate of your hips, fingers tangled between locks of hair, tugging and combing at the tendrils. Neither of you are fully undressed, Harry's vest and button up crumpled up over his belly button, both straps of your silk dress barely holding on to your shoulders, but you’re both so entrapped with each other that neither of you care. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, biting into his shoulder. “You’re so big, H. Always feel so good.” 

He grunts, pushing up into you harder and silently requesting a kiss from you by moving his head to nudge against yours. You move your head to kiss him, haphazardly taking his bottom lip between yours. His tongue slowly works its way into your mouth as you kiss, hands pressing into your ass cheeks to push you onto him deeper. You move back against him harder, chasing your imminent release no matter how much your thighs burn and ache with your constant movements. 

“I’m gonna cum,” You breathe into his mouth, his arms immediately tightening around your waist to pull you into him and thrust upwards harshly. 

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb quickly gliding over your slippery clit. “Shit- c’mon, cum for me, baby.” 

You toss your head back onto your shoulders, Harry’s lips immediately stamping into the column of your throat as you gasp and your thighs tighten around his waist. You cry out as the knot snaps and warmth spreads across your body from within, Harry continuing to fuck into you from beneath you. 

“That’s it, good girl.” He mutters into your throat, perspiration building at his hairline as he chases his own orgasm and brings your body down into his. 

Moments later he grunts into your skin, cum spilling into you thickly. Your hips roll into him slowly, coaxing everything out of him as his head falls against the back of the couch. Your fingers slip into his sweaty curls, gently and soothingly stroking his scalp whilst the two of you catch your breath. Leaning forward, you press gentle kisses to his face and he mumbles under his breath, “So fuckin’ good to me,” 

The playlist you put on is finally repeating itself after sifting through nearly 2 hours of songs. The door to the terrace is still wide open, curtains quivering slightly from the steady breeze. Harry finally regains his strength and rolls the two of you over so that you’re lying back against the couch cushions, hips still pressed together as he hovers above you. He presses a few kisses to your neck and face before he pushes up onto his knees and pulls out of you. 

He steps away for a moment to grab a damp washcloth for you to clean up with and returns with a clean pair of boxers on and a t-shirt for you to wear (along with the washcloth, of course). He helps wipe the stickiness from the inside of your thighs before waiting for you to change into his t-shirt.

Once you’re both (for the most part) cleaned up, you pitter into the kitchen to grab a small container of gelato from the freezer.  “Up for some real dessert?”

-

if you enjoyed this piece and would like to support me, pls donate to my ko-fi!

OK HEY!! i kinda just wrote this bc i saw a tik tok of a couple making pasta and wanted to write something similar so here ya go <3 don’t forget to reblog and send me asks!!!<33333

#yes i know i suck at ending things #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #italy harry #italy harry styles #italy!harry #harry x you #harry x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles angst #one direction smut #one direction fluff #fanfic #one direction fanfic #fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #smut

[kaywinchester]

Souless Sam

anon asked: girlieeeee i got sumn gooood shit for u aight, can you do a sisfic during when sam lost his soul BUT like for some reason he still cared about you some how and still protective over you like he was before he lost soul? if this makes sense!!

Word Count: 1,998

summary: sister!winchester gets captured on a hunt and Sam shows that he still worries about his little sis, even without a soul.

Y/N’s POV

So, Sam lost his soul. At first it was really strange, and it still is. Sam has always been my empathetic, awkward, goofy older brother. His personality without a soul was so much different than the real Sam, and I didn’t like it. Souless Sam was cocky and careless, and for a while, I thought he could care less about me and Dean. Until one hunt gave me a little bit of hope. 

Dean was excited for this hunt because he was getting a little annoyed with Sam lately. He acted like he wanted nothing to do with hunts and just went off doing who knows what. Dean could also see that souless Sam was starting to affect me. I missed my big brother so much, Dean hadn't found new leads or thought of any plans that could get it back anytime soon. So for now, I knew we were stuck with how he was.

“Are we going or what?” Sam sassed.

“Can you at least try to act the least bit invested.” Dean snarked.

I walked in with the last couple of things that Dean asked for. “Thanks sweetheart.”

We packed the car and drove to the location where the last crime was reported. Searching the property, none of us found anything. It was quiet, which meant that something or someone was hiding, watching us. I followed closely behind Sam and Dean, when I heard a noise.

“Did you guys hear that?” I whispered, looking behind me. 

“Nope.” Dean brushed if off, thinking I was just hearing things.

I stopped when I heard the noise again. It sounded like a creak of a door towards the back of the house. Looking back, I saw that Sam and Dean hadn’t noticed I fell behind and kept walking. As I started walking to catch up with them, something grabbed me from behind and put a hand over my mouth. I tried to scream to alert my brothers but whoever grabbed me, dragged me in the other direction. I tried fighting back the entire time I was being dragged, until the person shoved me into a chair and bonded my wrists and ankles with rope.

“DEAN!” I shouted as loud as I could before I was gagged. 

“What did I just do.... All because I was distracted, I got caught. Dean is gonna be pissed that I wasn’t paying attention and got myself into this mess.” Was all I could think in that moment, besides the fact that I was face to face with the bad guy. 

The guy that took me stood in front of the chair I sat in. Looking at me, he took his phone out of his pocket and dialed someone.

“Hey. Tell him we got one of them.” 

...................

Dean’s POV

Sam and I were walking around some more until I turned around and didn’t see any sign of Y/N.

“Where’s Y/N?” I said as I turned to Sam.

“Who knows....” He shrugged. I had just about enough of Sam’s attitude, soul or not. I sighed and walked back in the other direction to look for her. For all I knew, she could’ve been taken by something nearby. Sam followed me and acted like he was looking for Y/N. 

We walked into the house, which ended up being dark and empty. “They have to have some hideout somewhere...” I said, looking around to see if there was any doorhandles or whatever.

“I think I heard someone talking.” Sam said as he pointed in another direction. 

“How do you have that good of hearing?” I was skeptical, thinking Sam was just saying stuff.

“No, I’m serious. That’s the way that we last saw Y/N anyway.....” Sam said. 

“Well, I guess we can take a chance and go look.” I said as I gathered myself.

...................

Y/N’s POV

After the one guy made the phone call, three other men showed up. I could tell one of them was getting too excited, since I saw teeth..... confirming that they were vamps. One of the other guys wheeled over a table with a bunch of tools on it.

“This one looks nice.” One of them said in a really creepy way.

“I can tell she’s gonna taste real good.” Another one added. Normally I wasn’t too intimidated by monsters, since I’ve seen my fair share. But some of them were just hands down creepy. The first guy that dragged me came over and kneeled down.

“Anything you wanna say?” He laughed, taking the gag out of my mouth.

“Nice dentures, dipshit.” I said. His face turned red and he raised his fist and collided it with my cheek.

“Alright, let’s just get this over with.” He said as he went over to the table next to me. He hung a blood bag on a pole above my head and rolled up my sleeve. Now I knew what their plan was, I was gonna have my blood drained.... great.

He put a rubber band around my arm and tied it tight. I cringed as he stuck a needle in my arm and watched my blood go out through a tube. “Now we’re talking.” The guy smiled.

The four of them joked and laughed about a few things and talked about what they were going to do with you, then left the room. I tried to get my one arm out of ropes so I could stop my blood from leaving my body. After trying countless amounts of times, I just sat there and hoped Dean had noticed I was gone.

After the first blood bag filled up, the one guy came back in and switched it out for a fresh one. I was starting to feel light headed which was not a good sign. My instinct to fight was still there, but the dizziness started to take over and I ended up passing out. That’s the last thing I remember.

...................

Dean’s POV

We had found a cellar that was a tucked away in the house towards the back. That’s when I started to hear more noise, and some voices. This had to be where they took Y/N. 

Sam was behind me, I broke the heavy lock that was on the door and opened it as quiet as I could. We snuck down the creaky stairs that led to a hallway. There was a group of voices that were circling one area which led to a room. 

“I’m gonna peek in here and see how many of them there are. Go find Y/N. If there are too many, I’ll call you.” I told Sam as I kicked the door in. There were four guys that stood there in shock. Sam saw that there wasn’t that many and went off to get Y/N. 

...................

Y/N’s POV

I was in and out of consciousness at this point, from losing all of that blood. I heard some commotion coming from the other room. There was a lot of pounding and banging on the walls. I heard creaking of a door and opened my eyes slightly to see a tall figure. I thought it was one of the vamps until they came close enough to my face for me to recognize them. It was Sam.....

He kneeled down in front of me and cut the ropes off my wrists. He took the needle of my arm and tossed it aside. “Y/N?” He tried to get my attention. I hadn’t heard Sam sound this worried in a while, he almost sounded like himself, like he cared.

“Sammy...” I said weakly.

“How much blood did they take from you?” He asked.

“I dunno, like th-three pints.” I said, not really remembering how much they took.

One of the guys Dean was fighting managed to get away. He made the mistake of running into the other room where you and Sam were. Dean ran up behind him. “Sam! Heads up!.” Dean alerted. Sam turned around and clocked the guy in the head. He grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him off the ground.

“If you, or your other pathetic slugs ever try and touch my sister again. That’s the last thing you’ll ever do.” Sam spat. 

He threw him back on the floor, Dean went and dragged him out of the room to take care of him, just so I didn’t have to see it. Sam looked back at me and lifted me up. “We’re gonna get you home, kid.” Sam said gently. 

He carried you out of the cellar and to the car. Dean followed behind after he made sure the place was clear. “Hey, she okay?” Dean asked, rushing over.

“Yeah, she’s a little out of it. Tried to drain her blood, they almost did.” Sam explained.

“Let’s get her home, I think she’ll be okay, she needs rest.” Dean said as Sam placed you in the car.

As soon as I felt the leather seats in the back of the impala, I laid my head down and immediately fell asleep.

...................

When I woke up, I was in my bed. I felt so much pressure in my head, like it was about to explode. As I tried to sit up, it felt worse. I almost fell over as I tried to reach into my nightstand drawer for some ibuprofen. I stood up and held onto the wall as I walked to my bathroom for some water. That’s when Dean walked in and saw me standing.

“What are you doing?” He asked surprised.

“Getting some water.” My voice croaked. Dean helped me walk back into bed.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked.

“Almost two days. You started breathing weird at some point, it was freaking me out.” Dean said.

“Sorry, next time I’ll try to just lay there and not move.” I joked.

“You really worried me.” Dean spoke.

“I’m really sorry. I just got sidetracked because I thought I heard something and I just wanted to see if I saw anything, but obviously that didn’t end well.” I trailed off, not sure what kind of mood Dean was in.

“Look, I should've listen to you, we could've gone and checked it out together. Just don’t worry about it, can’t change what happened. Glad you're okay, kid.”

I was really surprised with how Dean was acting towards the situation. Even if I ever was injured, he would always have something to say about how I needed to be more careful. I took the opportunity to tell him what I thought about Sam.

“How’s Sam?” I asked.

“Fine, he’s in the library. Why?” Dean asked, wondering why you had a sudden interest in what Sam was doing.

“Have you found anything else out about his soul? He seemed different, on the hunt... He seemed like he actually cared about me. I haven’t seen him like that in a while, and I know he still doesn’t have a soul and that I should be careful. But when he found me and talked to me, it seemed like the real Sam.” I explained.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I mean he is still Sam in there somewhere, but we can’t know for sure.” Dean said. 

Sam walked up and stood outside the door when he heard me. He listened for a while until we moved on to a different subject, then he knocked.

“Hey, good to see you’re awake.” Sam said a little awkwardly as he just popped in to see you. I nodded and smiled.

“Sam, thanks.” I told him before he left the room. He nodded as he left.

I didn’t know what happened back there with Sam acting like himself. I didn’t even know if there was a possibility of getting his soul back. But he was still my brother and I wanted to have hope that I could get him back. So I hung on to that little moment, that little piece that would make us want to get Sam back.

Requests Are Closed

Taglist:

@jackjackljaqui ​@hunting-the-grievers @susan-is-in-the-house@flirtyonsie @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @justsomedreaming

#sister!winchester #winsister #sister winchester #supernatural #spn #Supernatural Fan Fiction #supernatural blog #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #spnfandom #spn blog #sam x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #sam winchester imagine #souless sam #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #supernatural one shot #spn one shot #spn one shots #supernatural one shots

[itsthestutterforme]

Nephilim 1/2 (Supernatural)

Characters: Michael!Dean x reader

Summary: Michael has a run in with Y/N and was drawn to her. He held her captive and she slowly started to succumb to his charms. //SMUT WARNING. 18+ ONLY.

--

Since I backed out of my contract, I've been looking over my shoulder. They wanted me to kill an entire family, children included. I faked their deaths but my employers will find out eventually, and they will come after me. I was glancing over my shoulder when I run into a firm chest.

I don't bother looking him in the face but when I try to go around him, he gets in my way. "What, no apology?" "I don't have time for politeness." He gets in my way again and I send him a death glare. A glare that works for me a lot of the time, but instead of a normal surrending behavior, his eyes glow a light blue.

My heart bangs against my chest but I won't give him the satisfaction of my fear. "Move," "And what if I don't?" He asks, his voice deep and rough. "Then I'll make you move," I threaten. He chuckles wryly before stepping closer to me, his cologne was intoxicating. "The gall of you." A smile tugs at his smooth, plump lips and he snaps his fingers.

The next thing I knew, we weren't on the busy sidewalk of Chicago anymore. We were a luxoriois hotel room. "What the hell?" "My name is Michael, and you are my new toy." "Excuse me? I'm no one's fucking toy," I snap. "What's your name?" "None of your damn business," I say as I advance towards the door.

In the blink of an eye, he is in front of me. He grabs my arm and shoves me into the door. A soft grunt leaves my lips as my back comes into contact with the door. "You have fire. That'll pass in a few days." He states. "Bite me," "Alright." He pulls off my jacket and rips open my shirt. He bit down on my shoulder hard enough to break skin.

I yell out in pain and he presses a kiss on the wound. I punch him across the face, but his face barely moves. I felt a pop in my wrist and cradle it in pain. "You're fucking insane," "Oh honey, you have no idea,"

**

It's been five days since this sicko held me captive. I've been under worse conditions. At least he feeds me, lets me shower and buys me random things like dresses, silk robes, jewelry, perfumes. He has a sugar daddy feel, but I refuse to give him any sugar. Although I have been tempted, he is a very attractive man.

I don't even know if he's a man at all. Men don't have eyes that glow angelic blue or randomly appear places. And they definitely aren't as strong as Michael.

"Good evening, baby," he says, pulling me out of thoughts. He walks into the hotel room with his hands full of Victoria Secret bags. "Those aren't what I think they are," "Lingerie, yes. We are going have very intimate sex tonight."

"Uh, no we're not," "Yes we are," "I will find a way to hurt you, and I'm going to make you beg for me to stop." "Oh, baby." He sets the Victoria Secret bag on the ground and slowly walked me into the night stand.

He places a hand on either side of me and boxed me in so close that I could taste his cologne. "The only one that's going to begging tonight, is you."

A breath hitches in my throat as his warm, calloused hands touch my skin. "Take your shower and put this on." He turns his body to grab a bag and his neck looked so tempting to me. He hands me a bag and I take it from his hands. "What if I don't?" He lifts my chin up with the knuckle of his forefinger.

He turns his wrist and grabs my neck to pull me closer him. A series of shaky breaths leave my lips as his lips were inches near mine. "You will," he says before pulling away and I look at him. He takes off his black top coat and rolls up his sleeves. He nudges his head to the bathroom and I hesitantly comply.

I close the door behind me and take out the lingerie from the bag. It was white lace two piece with silk stitches along the ends of the cloth. There was Gucci Guilty set of perfume, lotion and body wash. I'm at a disadvantage here because I'm starting to like Michael. I like how hard he works to get what he wants, in this case, it's me.

I like how he can trap the snark words in my throat with just a look. And especially those damn hands. He could choke the life out of me and I would say thank you. But this would be the perfect time to make a run for it. Just when he thinks that I'm starting to break, I sneak out and disappear.

I turn on the shower and strip off my clothes. I step under the flaming hot water and sigh deeply at the hard water pressure massaging my bag. I imagine myself shaking under his touch and his hands running every crevice of my body.

"Fuck," I say when I feel myself getting slick. I wash entire body three times and by the end, my hair was dampening from the steam of the shower. I step out of the shower and dry myself before rubbing lotion on my body. I put on the lingerie and stare at myself in the mirror. I look different than before. I have a different glow that I can't seem to put my fingers on.

I spray the perfume on my neck, thighs, knees and wrists and release a small huff before opening the door. There Michael was, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting still in his suit minus the top coat. He leans back on his hands and cocks his head to the side as his eyes rake my body.

"Come closer," he commands. I walk over to him and straddle his waist. He grunts when I settle myself on top of his crotch. He hums into my neck and inhales my scent. "Why me? Why did you choose me instead of someone else?" I ask. He shushes me as his lips ghost over the crook of my neck.

Growing impatient, I push on his shoulders and he lands on his back. "Careful, kitten," he warns. I press my lips to his and tug on his bottom lip but he holds my face in his hands. His tongue invades my mouth and I graciously accept. He traps my tongue between his tongue and his teeth. He bit down and I moan into his mouth.

His hands trail down my chest and squeezes my breasts in his hands for a moment. He unclips my bra and tosses it on the ground in one swift motion. He flips us so he was straddling my hips and his eyes are fixated on my breasts. He takes on in each hand and swirls the sensitive numbs with the pads of his thumbs.

My back arches against the bed. "Ah, look how responsive you are, baby," he mumbled into my chest before taking a nipple into his mouth as he fondled with the other. My legs tense and a soft moan left my lips. I lift his head from my breasts and kiss him warmly. His hands slid down my stomach and tucked his finger under the band of my underwear.

"Yes, please," I whisper and he stops his movements. He chuckles before saying, "I knew you would beg." He rubbed my clit between his forefinger and his thumb, making my body jolt.

He continue to suck on my breast and press harder into my clit with his thumb. A knot was tightening in my stomach and when our eyes locked for the first time that night, it sent me over the edge.

My body went ridged as I ride out my high. He shoved two fingers into me and curled them hard. The words fuck and shit became my next chant when his fingers pumped in and out of me. He continued his pace and kissed down my neck. He sucked on the base of my neck and I curl my head backwards as I move my hips against his fingers.

"Uh uh, you're not finishing that easy." He gives me a quick peck for before delicately taking my underwear off. I give him a weird look, confused at where the sense of delicacy came from. "Patience is a virtue, baby." His words vibrate my chest and he licks his lips as he pries my legs open.

"Damn, baby, you're soaked." He places soft pecks down my thighs and to my feet. "M-Michael please," "Where do you want me, kitten?" "Fuck me with your tongue."

Seconds later, he laps my folds with his tongue and uses the tip of his tongue to fondle with my clit. Airy moans leave my mouth and I have a white knuckle grip the sheets.

He goes deeper but drags his tongue every time his tongue comes back out. My legs were searing in pain from how tight I was clenching them. He lifts the hood up by pushing some of the skin back and sucked harshly on it.

I whimper loudly and walls convulses around his tongue but he continues. "Wait, Michael, I--". He curls his two fingers and darts his tongue in and out of me at a fast pace.

My body randomly spasms under his touch and it wasn't much longer under my third orgasm. My vision went black for a moment and I say, "Michael, I can't do thi- I can't-".

I attempt to close my legs to give myself a break but he pries them back open. The sensitive bud hurts to move, let alone touch. Tears start to build up in my eyes and my fourth orgasm came hit me like a tractior trailer.

"Attagirl." He comes up from between my legs with my juices dropping from the peach fuzzed chin. His hazel green eyes twinkle with amusement as he meets my sleepy gaze.

He reaches over to the night stand and grabs a hankerchief to wipe my juices off of his face. My eyes were like canvils, making it impossible to stay awake.

He stands from the bed and takes off his dress shirt. I hum when my eyes land on his goregously sculpted chest. He unbuckles his pants and drops them to the floor, revealing his black, Calvin Klein boxers. His bulge was on the verge of ripping through its clothed prison.

"It's okay, baby, just sit in my lap like a good girl." He sits down with his back leaning against the headboard. "I can barely move." He holds the side of my face and I feel a burning sensation on my cheek. "Ouch, what the hell?" I snap at him and notice that I felt a lot better than before.

"Now turn around and put your ass in the air," he commands. I go on my hands and knees and face my ass towards him. He rubs the curves of my ass and slowly moves me backwards. I gasp with I feel the tip of his dick slide into my pussy. I kick off with my heels and sit completely on him.

He moans in my ear when I clench around him. I rest my head against his shoulder and he fondles with my breast while I slowly rock back and forth against him.

I switch from rocking to bouncing and just when I feel his dick twitch, I stop my movements. Bouncing on something so big is tiring. I let out a loud huff and his hand reaches up to grab my throat roughly.

He wraps his free arm around my torso to hold me in place. He rams into me so hard I could barely form words. I reach down and rub my clit until I reached my climax. He tightens his grip on my throat as his thrusts became sloppy. I clench my walls around him and he releases himself inside of me.

We stay in our positions for a moment before I fall over to my side. "You did amazing, baby," he says before giving me a warm kiss. "I think we'll enjoy the rest of our time together as parents," he adds. "Wait, what?"

#michael!dean #dean winchester x reader #supernatural

[tanoraqui]

okay I have to do this today because even I wouldn’t do it after the godforsaken finale airs, and it’s basically my specialty and I did spend like an hour thinking about it last night while washing dishes. Definitely partly inspired by @words-writ-in-starlight​‘s insightful post on everything Supernatural did wrong, and apologies in advance to all the characters for dragging them into anything related to Christian mythology:

Wei Wuxian’s parents die in a house fire when he’s 6(? I refuse to look anything up) months old

Jiangs are a hunter family I guess? That whole disaster of a family dynamic, except WWX dips out at some point to be idk an environmental activist bc at the time, that seems like the larger threat to the whole world. “Mom and Dad went on a hunting trip and they haven’t come back”, “bitch” “jerk”, 2 brothers in a beat-up old car, you know the drill

Jins are also an old hunting family, but more Men of Letters energy - they have a fancy bunker and do research and avoid getting their actual hands dirty. Jiang Yanli ducked out of the active hunting life a few years ago to be happily married to her peacock and settled down with a baby and she’s fine. We’re not going to bother Yanli. She’s safe and happy and doesn’t need to involved in any of this

so, WWX is the demon blood child developing exciting new abilities like telekinesis, mind control, exorcising demons by sheer force of will...etc, and Jiang Cheng is the Righteous Man. Lucifer, Michael, etc.

s1-3 probably proceeds more or less as spn canon...which I more or less remember...by the time they find their parents at the end of s1, Jiang Fengmian is...ugh, we probably shouldn’t kill him offscreen, I mean, we should probably meet him before he dies. I guess. Madam Yu lasts longer because I’m way more interested in her. But we do know that both Jiang parents are totally inclined to fling the boys into a metaphorical or literal escape boat and go hold the line for as long as possible, so...that’s spn energy...

Xue Yang is the one who’s like “fuck yeah, demon powers” and opens the gates of Hell, because I want him to have nice* things

*nice for Xue Yang

from characterization rather than memory, I’m 90% sure that Dean tried to hide his crossroads deal from Sam, but Jiang Cheng does it...better. I think it does come out, though. Right before the hellhounds do.

here’s where it starts to go farther off from spn canon. Jiang Cheng crawls his way out of the grave, gets stalked by a menacing presence that explodes windows for an episode, incidentally can’t find WWX...*Lan Wangji voice* “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition” (a baller line then and a baller line now)...and then the next episode starts with them all awkwardly standing around, and JC is like, “ok well let’s go find my brother then”, and you think there’s going to be an mdzs-riffing JC+LWJ Roadtrip To Find WWX...and they’re immediately attacked by like a dozen demons

in fact, the first time we see WWX in s4 is here, wherein he goes toe to toe with an angel and...holds his own. that’s new and terrifying! also is leading a squad of demons??

because here’s the thing: for the last 3(?) months, there’s been war in hell

because unlike Some People Mooses, upon finding out that his brother’s soul was legally nearly-owned by a crossroads demon, heir-apparent-to-Satan!WWX went, “actually fuck that” and kicked open the door of Hell (metaphorically, not loosing any demons this time) and was like, “who do I have to beat the shit out of to get a specific crossroads contract around here”

this did not work, obv. He didn’t know until it was too late, Lilith had already snapped up the contract, etc. etc.

obviously he also tried to offer himself instead, and got rejected for some reason

Since Jiang Cheng died, however, there’s been a war for control of Hell. Leading one side, Lilith, the Original Babe, who wants to break all 666(?) seals keeping Lucifer bound and in the meantime, break the Righteous Man so Heaven won’t even have Michael’s destined host ready for the Final Battle. Leading the other side, Wei Wuxian, infamous upstart, who wants to rescue the Righteous Man and restore him to life, tear Lilith’s guts out through her nose, and also stop her from doing the Lucifer thing because Wen Qing explained that yes, that’s a Thing, and it’s Bad.

Wen Qing! I’ve decided to combine Bela and Ruby’s roles and let WQ be both the cool badass example of how demon deals can go Bad and the demon deliberately leading our heroes astray for most of s3-4. Wen Qing is a very new demon; she used to be some sort of herbalist/witch but then she sold her soul in a crossroads deal to cure her brother of some lingering illness. 10 years of happiness and then boom, hellhounds. WQ is so obviously competent, though, that they (Lilith, I guess?) immediately offers her a job, with the promise threat that gee, that’s a nice brother you’ve got there, even with his Designated Chronic Health Condition getting all relapse-y. It’d be such a shame if something were to...happen to him...

we find this out at some point in last s3 I guess? some Monster of the Week case involves WN as a witness or something, or possible next victim, and WQ shows up to be A Normal Amount Of Invested In This, while desperately trying to avoid actually interacting with her brother (who thinks she’s dead). YES, the truth comes out; YES there’s a tearful reunion

now in s4, Wen Ning is fine actually, health-wise, bc he maybe made a crossroads deal with Wei Wuxian personally, and Wen Qing may or may not have admitted that she’s supposed to be working for Lilith to get WWX ready to host Lucifer? Or potentially that comes out later, idk. Either way, she’s 100% his top lieutenant in this exciting Hell War they’re waging

[insert whatever the hell (ha) happened plot-wise in s4 of supernatural]

we obviously mix up the relationships, too, bc it’s like, *LWJ internal monologue* I’m too young to remember my brother Lucifer as he was before he Fell, but surely Wei Wuxian is his Heir and Destined Vessel in truth, for he is Charismatic and Charming and Makes Me Feel Things, with his Clearly Feigned Righteous Drive and Compassion for All God’s Creatures and - why does heat keep pooling in the lower abdomen of my vessel when I look at his lips, which I am definitely doing a Normal and Not-Weird Amount - I’m just keeping an eye out for the famed Silver Tongue, and not in any way wondering how it would feel in my own mouth -

it’s actually DEFINITELY plausible for Lucifer to still be released even if our designated Heir Apparent is using his demon powers to his full potential and no one’s lying to each other about their motives. You just need to let Lilith be more scary too, and especially bc by “no one” I mostly mean Wen Qing; the angels are still totally hiding the fact that they, too, want to jumpstart the shit out of this apocalypse.  LWJ decides at the last minute that that’s a bad idea actually, gets himself discorporated to send JC to intercept WWX because he accidentally releases Lucifer, etc. etc. Oh yeah, the boys were def fighting before this, bc JC has actually fairly reasonable concerns about the sort of things WWX is getting up to in his quest to become King of Hell...

SO

...I neither know nor care what happens in s5

it does end with both Lucifer and Michael locked in the cage probably, bc I rather liked that solution. Fuck both of ‘em, basically.

I was toying with the idea that WWX also found Madam Yu in whatever hellish torment she was suffering after making a deal so her idiot son(s) would survive, and she was leading forces for him in the war against Lilith as well. If she came back to life somehow, body and all, it’d probably be compelling if she offered her own body to Michael - bc it’s her lineage! - and we’re all led to believe that she’s, uh, being a bitch and actually wants to risk destroying the world in order to destroy all demons...but then she seizes back control and flings herself/Michael and Lucifer into the Pit, because she’s just That Hardcore?

which means we’d actually have had her around and having characterization for most of s4-5, too, which would be fun

More importantly, it ends with newly crowned King of Hell Wei Wuxian appointing Wen Qing as Queen-Regent and ditching to go on an indefinite honeymoon with his new angel boyfriend (they’re going to fuck for like three weeks straight, then roll up their sleeves and go conquer Heaven in the name of free will), and Jiang Cheng gets to live out his hitherto-unknown-to-himself life’s ambition to be the sugar baby of the Queen of Hell. It’s very Hades/Persephone, except he goes back down to the underworld at least once a month. He gets his own demon squad whom he trains up in all the hunting techniques and it’s gr9. Wen Qing is reforming the crossroads deal process to make it more fair to the humans.

the end

Addenda:

it should go without saying but Jiang Yanli is definitely a recurring character, like, at least once a season there’s a filler episode where they go to Jiang Yanli’s for dinner and have to get along as a family, and also do the much easier job of defeating some sort of terrible demon that gets loose in the bunker and turns the evening into a horror movie. She’s their main research/emotional check-in person, a la Bobby, more often appearing in later seasons when there’s, uhhh, more to emotionally check in about.

Jin Zixuan is actually a perfectly competent hunter; he’s just a priss and we don’t Like him

we like Mianmian, though. Oh, I guess the official Hunter’s Guild or w/e tries to declare WWX a public enemy on account of the whole “King of Hell” thing and she’s like “actually what if you’re morons and assholes?” and joins hte team in s4 or 5? Yeah.

idk how the 3zun disaster happens in this ‘verse but I do encourage it to be happening in slow motion as a recurring subplot for several seasons. NMJ is a hunter, LXC is obv an angel, and JGY is...I wanna say one of the more human monsters, like a vampire? Or, you know, something that could be born from JGS sleeping with someone/something he shouldn’t have

#mdzs #the untamed #supernatural #ficlet #my fic #spn #ugh it'll probably fuck up hte bullet points again