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pink-sparkly-witch · 6 months

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Everything

Summary: Dumped by her boyfriend, Y/N goes home with her tail between her legs, praying that her roommate, Dean Winchester, isn’t there to witness yet another failed relationship. But fate doesn’t work that way, and what seems like the universe conspiring against her might actually be what she’s needed all along.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, break-up, language, douchebag ex, Dean’s a bit of a dick at first, insecurities, heart to heart, frenemies to lovers

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: I’m so sorry. This summary is awful. I hope you enjoy whatever this is 😅 Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

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The rain pours down, and thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance. You laugh bitterly at how the weather reflects your mood. Rain soaks your hair and clothing, your feet sodden and squelching; the stilettos you’re wearing offer zero protection from the torrents of water falling from the sky and running down the sidewalks.

You’re grateful for it, truth be told. At least this way, no one knows the mascara that runs in black streams down your cheeks is from the tears you’ve been crying over that asshole. The asshole you’ve been dating for two months who just dumped you at your local bar while sitting next to his date for the night.

Fuck, how did this become your life? How did you become this gullible, desperate woman who keeps falling for these kinds of men? Men who date you and sweet talk you, saying all the right things until they get what they want from between your legs and then leave you for someone prettier. Someone younger.

Maybe the asshole’s right. Maybe you are the type of girl to have a fun time with, not the kind to take home to meet someone’s mother. But fuck, that hurts to admit and fuck, you lose more of yourself with every asshole that spews those kind of lines to you. If you’ve said it once, you’ve said it a million times. You’re done with men. And this time, you mean it.

You turn the corner onto your street and stop in your tracks. Dread settles in your stomach as you see your roommate’s car parked on the side of the road. He just had to choose tonight of all nights to stay home, didn’t he? That’s all you fucking need right now. You consider turning around and walking away. Hell, he wouldn’t miss you. You were meant to be staying at the asshole’s place anyway.

But, this is your home. Well, the place you live, at least, and you need to go there eventually. Might as well get it over with. Your lip trembles, knowing you need to face the one person you really don’t want to right now, especially in this state. He already thinks you’re pathetic enough as it is.

You walk up the stairs, dread settling heavily in the pit of your stomach the closer you get to the door. You cast up a silent prayer that the only reason Dean is home is because he’s got female company over. At least then, you can get in, grab some whiskey and get to your room quietly and unnoticed.

“Hey, what are you doing home so early? Thought you were staying at Chuck’s tonight?” Dean says from the couch, not even turning to look at you.

“Yeah, well, plans change. Why are you here? Thought you’d be chasing some skinny ass, barely legal bitch at the bar.” Your tone conveys pure disgust, and you curse yourself for it when he turns to look at you. And, of course, he laughs.

“What the hell happened to you?” he buckles, scanning your absolutely hilarious appearance. “You look like someone threw you in the river and left you to claw your way back out again!” Dean laughs, and you huff, desperately trying to stop the fresh batch of tears threatening to stream down your face.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dean, there’s a torrential downpour out there.”

“Yeah, that explains the puddle at your feet, but not the rest of you, bitch,” he laughs, and that does it. You know he’s not being serious; you constantly hurl insults at one another, and it doesn’t usually get to either of you, but this time, it hits differently.

“The only reason I kept you around so long is because you’re like a bitch in heat. Always needing to be fucked. But that’s all you’re good for, and it grows old pretty quickly.”

Your eyes water, and your lip trembles. A sob escapes unchecked, and you wish the floor would open you up and swallow you whole. “I’m going to bed,” you mutter and turn to walk away.

“Y/N, wait,” Dean says, his face softening into concern.

“What, Dean? What? You wanna laugh at me more? Call me a bitch again, huh? Look, I know you don’t like me, but you know what? A little compassion can go a long way. Some humanity might make me actually believe you have a heart.”

Your mind replays every conversation you’ve overheard Dean having about you with his brother, his friends, and his conquests, and your heart sinks to the floor at how true your words are.

“Who? Her? She’s just my roommate. Baby, you don’t have to worry about her. We’re not even friends, and she’s not my type. She’s basically my live-in maid. She cooks and cleans for me and pays me for the privilege.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what happened?” Dean asks, stepping towards you, frowning when you step back.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniffle.

“Come on, you’re upset. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

“Why? So you can make fun of me like you always do? We're not even friends, Dean. Stop pretending you give a damn about me.” The hurt furrowing his brow surprises you, and you scoff. “Don’t look so hurt, Dean. I’m only repeating your words back to you. I’m the live-in maid, remember?” you turn and walk quickly to your room, slamming the door.

Whiskey will have to wait until Dean’s gone to bed.

It’s been quiet in the main section of the apartment for over an hour now. It’s probably safe to assume Dean has gone to bed, and you can get the whiskey you’re so desperate to drown yourself in.

Leaving the sanctuary of your bedroom, you pad down the hall in your bare feet, trying to be as quiet as possible. Dean is a light sleeper, and he’d complained before about you waking him whenever you get up in the middle of the night suffering from a bout of insomnia.

“I was wondering when you’d come out,” Dean’s voice makes you jump as it rings from the small dining table by the kitchen window. He’s sitting in the dark, with just the moon’s light shining enough to see his silhouette. “I was getting worried,” he states, sipping from a tumbler.

“Oh, so you do have a heart?” you respond. It’s a bitchy comment, and you know it, but you’re in defence mode after Chuck. “Might want to show it once in a while.”

“Nah. Makes me look weak,” he chuckles. His joke caught you off guard, and you let out a little huff of laughter. “See? I knew I could make you smile!”

“Barely,” you quip back and sit across from him, grabbing the whiskey bottle and filling the empty glass Dean must’ve put on the table for you.

“What happened, sweetheart? You left here tonight looking stunning and happy, and when you came home—”

“I was crying, and you called me bitch,” you state, watching Dean’s head drop.

“Not my finest moment, I admit,” Dean says as he reaches for the bottle and refills both glasses. “I didn’t know how upset you were, and I was only teasing you. If I’d known that it wasn’t just the rain that made your mascara run, I’d never have said it, and I hope you know that.”

“I really wanna believe that, but you’re always saying hurtful things,” you say, draining your glass.

“The things you said earlier,” Dean nods. “I didn’t mean… look, Y/N, you’re a beautiful woman, and some of the girls I bring home get jealous, you know? I say those things to keep them sweet.”

You nod, thinking it’s a fair excuse. Dean does have a lot of women over, and you’ve pulled out the sting from more than a few of them.

“As for what I say to Sam and my friends, well, they tease me about living with a pretty girl and don’t believe me when I say we’re just roommates,” Dean continues. You have to admit that was also sound reasoning. It didn’t excuse it; he was still a dick, but you understood it a little better.

“It’d just be nice if you stopped for a second and thought of me as a person with feelings before you say those kinds of things in front of me,” you say, filling your glass again.

“Alright, sweetheart, I promise I’ll work on that,” Dean agrees, and you notice he’s watching you intently.

“What?” you ask, feeling uncomfortably exposed under his gaze.

“What happened with Chuck,” Dean asks again.

“I don’t want to tell you,” you sigh.

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” you whine and hit your head on the table.

“Come on,” Dean says, topping up their glasses again. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I promise whatever it is, it won’t be as bad as you think.”

“I got to the bar, and Chuck was there with another woman. He told me we were over and that Anna was his date for the night. Then, to rub salt in my wounds, as I was walking away, he told me that all I was good for was a great time in bed. Always up for anything, like a bitch in heat.”

“And then you came home, and I called you a bitch. Y/N, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dean takes your hand in his, and you can see that it’s a genuine apology, and he really does feel awful about it. “You know he’s wrong, right? You’re worth so much more than that?”

“I don’t think I am. He’s not the only guy to tell me that,” you shrug. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m done with men and dating.”

“You don’t mean that. You think I don’t know about all the romcoms you watch on Netflix? All those girly books you read.”

“Yeah, well, a fat lot of good they did me. I’m starting to see why people are boycotting Disney Princess movies because they’re filled with romantic disillusionment and give a false idea to women that their Prince Charming exists somewhere out there.”

“This is more serious than I thought if you’re losing faith in the Disney Princesses!” Dean chuckles, and it makes you smile slightly. “Seriously, though, I think this is more about the men you date than you, sweetheart. They are way out of your league.”

“I am not out of anyone’s league, Dean. If anything, it’s probably the other way around,” you huff a bitter laugh.

“I’m out of your league,” Dean says quietly.

“You have that backwards. I’m the one out of your league. You’re gorgeous and charming, and I have seen the girls you bring home, and they are the most stunning women I’ve ever seen. I can’t compete with that.” The words spill out of you before you can stop them, and you think Dean might be blushing, but it’s hard to tell when the only sliver of light comes from the moon shining through the kitchen window.

Dean laughs, and it takes you aback slightly. “I have called you beautiful or some other variation of it several times tonight, and not once have you picked up on it. Those women are hot, sure, but you… You are on a whole other level of hot. You are stunning and so much classier than they will ever be.”

You scoff at his words, not believing them but not wanting him to know they affect you. You know Dean’s type, and it is definitely not you. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better, Dean.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. There’s a reason Sam and Cas and Benny are on my case so much about you, and it’s because I really, really, like you—”

“So, all the insults and barely tolerating my presence was what,” you smirk over at him, “you pulling my pigtails and pushing me over in the playground?”

“When you put it like that…” Dean cringes. “I guess it was. Look, you’re hurt and sad, and we’ve had a lot to drink, so I’m not going to push you to tell me if this is one-sided, but I will talk to you tomorrow when we’re both sober.”

The warmth of the sun wakes you, and you stretch in its gentle heat. You’re not nearly as hungover as you should be, and for that, you’re grateful. Dean had some interesting things to say last night, and you’d rather your brain was running at full capacity.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen, mindful that Dean’s door is closed, so it’s likely he’s still sleeping, and start the coffee machine.

You busy yourself with clearing up from the night before. You rinse dishes, put them in the dishwasher and put the almost empty whiskey bottle back in the cupboard. You grab your and Dean’s favourite mugs and place them next to the coffee machine.

Taking the cleaning spray, you spritz all the surfaces and wipe them down while patiently waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

“How did I manage to find the only person in this city who likes cleaning?” Dean’s groggy voice sounds from the doorway, and you smile.

“Morning, Dean,” you say as you pick up the coffee pot and fill his mug. You place it on the breakfast bar and fill your own before hopping onto one of the stools and making yourself comfortable.

“Morning, sweetheart. Thanks,” Dean says as he picks up his mug and takes a sip. “So, about last night…”

“Wow,” you chuckle. “Straight to the point, huh?”

“I’ve wasted enough time, and now that my feelings are out there, I can’t sit on this any longer,” Dean pauses to take another mouthful of coffee. “I meant what I said. I like you, Y/N. I’m sorry if anything I did when I was in denial of my feelings hurt you. And I’m sorry for pushing you away and making you think I hated you so you wouldn’t find out how I really feel.”

“Dean, I don’t know what to say,” you say. “I used to like you in that way, but with how you were with me, I turned it off because, for the past year, I’ve been thinking you don’t like me, and I don’t know if anything is still there for you.”

Dean nods, looking a little deflated by your words, but it’s clear he accepts them. “Can I at least try and make you get it back?”

“I don’t know—“ you begin, but Dean cuts you off.

“Please, Y/N. One date is all I’m asking for,” Dean begs, and you feel your resolve waning. You know you still have feelings for him.

“I’ve seen the girls you bring home, Dean. And I’m nothing compared to them,” you try. It’s your last bit of fight, the last time you’ll be able to give him an out from this.

“You’re everything, Y/N. And I mean that. You are smart, funny, kind, beautiful… you’re everything they weren’t. Please,” Dean begs again. “Just one date. Let me prove it.”

“Okay,” you nod with a small smile.

“Yeah?” Dean says, breaking out into a boyish grin.

“Yeah. I’ll go on a date with you, Dean.”

“Awesome!” he grins, looking like he just answered the million-dollar question. “I promise you won’t regret it!”

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#everything #au dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x daughter!reader #au dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst

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holylulusworld · 7 days

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Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, past break-up, arguments

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Your son is out of breath when he runs into your living room. Look what I found!”

He lifts his arms to show you what he’s holding in his hands. Your eyes widen at the sight of the biggest toad you ever saw.

“Oh my God!” You scream, and backpaddle. Michael Joseph proudly grins at you. He tells you he’s going to name him Toadie Mc Toad. “You won’t keep that thing!”

“I like him,” he pouts. “He’s cute. Please let me keep him.” Your son sniffles now. “Please! Please! I’ll take good care of him and feed my new friend daily.”

You sigh. “Michael, we don’t have a place for Toadie to live. The little toad needs more than food. We want him to be happy.”

“But…mommy,” your argument gets interrupted when someone harshly knocks at your door. You hear a commotion and someone muttering incoherent words.

“This is not over,” you point at the toad in your son’s hands. “Don’t drop the poor thing. We don’t need Toadie to walk around the house to scare me.”

“He won’t do such a thing—” Your son pouts and whines. The knocking gets louder, distracting you long enough for your son to kiss the toad.

“Michael! Stop kissing the toad,” you grumble while walking out of the living room. “Coming!” You call for whoever is hammering against your door. “Just a minute.”

Your son follows you hot on your heels. He won’t stop pleading. Michael wants to keep the toad and he’ll do anything to keep the poor creature.

“Wait here, Michael. We will talk about the toad in a minute. Let me answer the door first.”

You look at your son, giving him a stern look as he sits down on the floor to talk to the toad he found in the small garden behind your house.

“Just a minute,” you run your hand over his head. “I’ll be right there, and we can talk about the toad.

Your son nods and turns his attention back toward the toad. You sigh and walk toward the front door. It’s not the best day for an unexpected visitor.

“Hello, what can I do—” your voice fails seeing Dean and his brother stand in front of your door. Sam gives you an apologetic smile and murmurs your name while his brother is less apologetic.

“Hi,” Sam says before Dean can start messing things up. “I know this is sudden, and you didn’t expect us, but Dean couldn’t wait any longer."

“What do you want here, Dean?” You hiss his name. “The deal is sealed. You have no reason to come here and invade my privacy and home!”

“I didn’t invade your home,” Dean bites back. “If you would've told me that I got a kid this reunion could’ve been much more harmonic.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Winchester.” You huff. “Now get off my lawn.”

“I won’t leave,” he takes one step closer to you. “I got a kid, and I want to get to know him! You’ve got no right to keep my child from me.”

“He’s my son,” you snap at Dean. “I was the one watching his first steps. I was the one raising him without any help. You’ve got no damn right to come here and demand to see my son.”

“Our son,” Dean raises his voice. “You can’t keep my son away from me?” He sniffs. “Not after I just found out that I’m a father.”

“You’re not a father,” you hiss. “A father would've never left the woman he asked to marry him for his ex or let his mother walk all over me. You made your decision that night, and I made mine on my way to London. Now get out of my sight.”

Sam tries to calm you both. “Y/N, how about you let us in, and we don’t discuss this out here, for everyone to hear.”

“I won’t let you brother inside my home where my son is,” you glare at Sam. He means well, you know that, but you cannot risk letting Dean inside your home. “You will stay out of my house, Winchester!”

“Winchester?” Your son shoves you out of his way to look at Sam and Dean. “You must be DEAN!” He squeals and grins. Your son holds up the toad, telling them to have a look at his new friend. “I found him in the garden!”

“Uh-that’s very cool bud,” Sam says. He crouches down to look at the toad. “I’m not Dean, but his brother Sam.”

Michael jerks his head toward Dean to look your ex-fiancé up and down.

“You look much cooler, Mr. Dean. I like your hair better and you’ve got that cool car.” Your son hums while staring at the car in Dean’s hands for a moment. “Cool.” He pushes the toad in Sam’s hands, ignoring that the tall man scrunches up his nose.

“What?” Sam looks at the toad in his hands. “What do I do with the toad?”

You whimper when your son grabs Dean’s hand. He grins and tells Dean to follow him inside. “I got a cool Impala too, Mr. Dean. I’m going to show it to you.”

“Dean, no,” you can only step aside because your son drags Dean toward the door. He brushes past you, not even sparing you a glance while talking about his favorite car.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam gets back up, still the toad in his hands. “I told him to call or give you the chance to explain things to him before barging into your home. Dean always was a little…”

“Annoying, impulsive, unreliable,” you huff, and cross your arms over your chest. You take several deep breaths and try to calm down to not yell in front of your son. “I can’t believe he just came here, demanding to see my son after he let me down.”

“Y/N, it’s a little more complicated. Maybe we can go inside too,” Sam offers a weak smile. “Dean was an idiot back then, but it wasn’t his fault alone.”

“He comes here, blaming me for not telling him about my son! I gave him a choice and left a message. I wrote that it’s not only the two of us any longer. Did I have to spell it out for him?” You are beyond angry and yell at the wrong brother. “Dean is many things, but not dull.”

"Y/N, he's a man on a mission. He wants to get to know his son."

“He can’t come here and call himself father! Dean is not my son’s father!” You twirl around to storm inside your house. If you must, you’ll drag Dean out of your home.

“That escalated quickly,” Sam runs one hand down his face. He sighs deeply as he walks inside your home, silently closing the door. Sam only hopes you won’t fight in front of your son. “I guess it’s on me to help these two find a way to talk things out without killing each other...”

Tags in reblog.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #au dean winchester #Designed by pain (6)

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minefield-of-a-ninja · 11 months

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Summary: One weekend, years ago, lives rent-free in both of their minds. Three-part mini-series.

Characters: AU Dean Winchester x female reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, pining, clothed sex, couch sex, hungover sex, fluff, roomies to lovers, idiots in love

Words: 5,500

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Dean Winchester Masterlist | SPN Masterlist | All Fic Masterlist

#au dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut

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impala1967dwinchester · 1 year

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Dean Winchester- A Promise

Pairing: Dean Winchester x PlatonicFem!Reader

Pov: Dean Winchester

Warnings: Fluff, Angst-ish, Yelling, Cursing, 18+

Summary: When Mary Winchester ruins her relationship with both Dean and Sam. Y/n only wants to help, so she sets something special up for Dean.

A/n- Firefly-graphics for dividers; this is a request from anon.

WC- 1.0k

Dean W. Master List // Main Master List // Requests Master List

Listening to my mother come up with some bullshit excuse was more than I needed in my life at this point. She claims she's not blind to the way the Brits work, but I think that's bullshit. We both think it's bullshit.

Sam had been taken and tortured by these guys, and all the other bullshit they had dragged us into. She was less than understanding of the fake people she was working with. Sam is more than disappointed; he never grew up with Mom. I did, but it's not like four years can make a real change. Mary wasn't the same person I knew so long ago.

"When did you start working for them?" Sam asks he looks so sad, but I can't throw my own anger to support him right now. We had been around a lot of liars, we are liars ourselves. "Since the lake house, it was their case." I stand there dumbfounded that we were somehow having this conversation standing in the bunker.

"You kept that from us." I relive the whole moment, Cass had almost died. Her words just started to mold together. her bullshit lies. A hunter had died, and all for what a better way of doing things. I could never believe that my mother was that type of person. The person who puts herself before others.

"Our whole lives you've been gone. You said that you needed time. No, you said you needed space, so we gave you your space. No, you needed space from us." She stares at me and my younger brother, and I can feel another set of eyes on me. Y/n, a girl we found over eight years ago. She was a young adult, but to me, she was my daughter a daughter that I don't think I'd ever want to walk away from especially not how my mother just did.

"I'm your mother, but I am not just a mom, and you are not a child" My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as I hear the words hit my ears. Not a child, I never got the chance. "I was never a child, so between us and them." Mary desperately tries to back the situation out of the corner it's been driving itself into. "It's not like that Dean." I swallow the words that want to come up, and look over at Sam, "Yeah it is Mary, and you made your choice so there's the door."

I at this point end up just walking away, my heart is broken and the tears burning at the edges of my eyes are hurting more than the anger I'm pushing further down in my chest. My daughter watches as I brush past her and into my room. Slamming the door, that's when the true and real emotion comes falling out of me. The tears fall and the way I just can't catch my breath.

I had just gotten her back, Sam had just started learning about his mother from his mother. All for Mary to go and fuck it all up because she wasn't honest because she lied to both of us. It's hours before I leave my room.

A knock on my door is what had me dragging my ass out of my room. the tears had stopped only a few hours ago, and the only thing that sat in my chest was the burning, boiling anger. I open the door, and there's my daughter Y/n standing with hopeful and sad eyes. "Dean, do you want to maybe come and watch a few movies with me?" She asks her voice cherry and trying.

As much as I would have loved to go out and watch a few western movies with her I just couldn't bare the thought of yelling or screaming at her all because of Mary. Or even worse bumping into her because she hasn't left yet. When I had haven't answered Y/n continued, "I even invited Sam, he's waiting for us." She tires, "Honey, I'm really not in the mood right now, so…" She nods like my anger is something she's used to having to work around.

It burns me, but she smiles, leans in, and kisses my cheek, "That's alright, Dad, you know where we are." With that Y/n is walking away and I shut the door. The way my heart burns in my chest. My daughter and younger brother were trying to get over the yelling and how Mary had burned everyone here in the bunker.

I stare at the shut door, and then at the picture of Mary and I when I was young. I pull out a book, a diary of sorts. I write down everything that happened. All the emotions I wanted to push deep down, all the things that went wrong, and all the things that could have gone right.

My wrist hurts when I smell popcorn being popped in the kitchen. The laughter that's filling the cold and silent bunker. I close the diary and poke my head out of my bedroom door. The laughter grows and it's a mixture of Sams and Y/ns. I can't help but be drawn in by it. I poke my head into my man cave. The lights are all off, the only light coming from the TV. An old western is playing on the screen, and all my favorite treats are on the table in front of the old couch. "Dean?" I hear Sam question, looking away from the TV, "Yeah, it's me." Y/n's eyes light up and she turns a massive smile on her face, she pats the open spot between her and Sam.

"Come sit here and we can restart the movie." She says with cheer in her voice. I can't help but smile in return, "alright" I move quickly, Sam and Y/n are smiling widely up at me. "What made you come out?" Sam whispered, I dig my hand into the bowl of popcorn, "The food Sammy boy." He rolls his eyes, while Y/n curls up into my side. "It will be okay Dad, I promise," Y/n mutters as the movie restarts. I lean down and kiss her forehead, "I hope so honey."

Completed on: 05/08/2023

Posted on: 05/08/2023

Deanie Beanie Girl- @kazsrm67 @deanswaywardgirl @ijustlearnedtolove-beep-bop-boop @mrspeacem1nusone @dilfloverr @akshi8278 @fofisstilinski @band--psycho @doctorlilo @wonderfulworldofwinchester @flamencodiva @samsgirl93 @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @fanfic-n-tabulous @silverose365 @winchestersbitch-dm @alexxavicry @gabrielasilva1510

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catscardigan · 30 days

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Threads are ready and bobbin’d up.

Fabric is ready and chopped.

Pattern is printed and ready for counting.

I think we’re ready to see me hibernate for another 12 months ✌🏻

Can’t wait for the osteo to shout at me for my terrible posture 😂

I’ll be posting WIPS along the way and shouting to the rooftops how incredible @winchester-reload is for both their continuing gorgeous Destiel/SPN art, and also for blessing me with permission to use this beauty as my muse 🖤

#supernatural #dean winchester #destiel #Jackiedee art #cross stitch #x stitch #fiber art #spn cross stitch #punk!dean #spn family #au dean winchester #spn fan art

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multifandomimagines1522 · 1 year

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Imagine

Random girl in a bar to Dean: So, is she your girlfriend girlfriend or y'all just seeing each other?

Y/n, twirling a knife: Bitch if I kill you, are you dead dead or just not breathing?

Dean: There's your answer.

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean x y/n #spn #supernatural #dean winchester fluff #au dean winchester #dean x ofc #dean winchester angst #impala

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jadewritings · 4 months

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Town Killer Prologue

SUMMARY: The town of Lebanon becomes plagued by a serial killer. No one knows who it is, they never leave behind any tracks and their victims are never the same. Detectives Sam and Dean Winchester are put on the case, two of the best detectives in the country. Can they solve this mystery? Or will they become new victims themselves?

PAIRING(S): TBD

WORD COUNT: 900

WARNINGS: Serial killer, descriptions of gore

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Whatdya think, a serial killer series! How bout that y’all! Lmao anyway, please enjoy, Ik I haven’t posted in forever (mb)

The ground slapped wetly against her feet as she ran as fast as she could, mud splattering her beaten and bruised legs. She panted and her lungs burned with her broken body, but she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t. She didn’t dare turn to look behind her, that would just slow her down.

The brunette didn’t have time to think, didn’t have time to slow down, she just kept running. She had to dodge tree branches, sharp edges of bushes with thorns catching on her skin, leaving small cuts across her body. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, but her life was at stake.

Her body forced her to stop, her lungs with no air left to give, she hid behind a thick tree, needing to catch her breath. They were short and shallow, her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She closed her eyes, sucking in as much air as she possibly could.

Her breathing came to a halt when she heard a crack in the distance. Like someone stepping on a twig.

Another snap.

Closer and closer.

She takes off again.

She was on the verge of tears, panic threatening to take over her. She sees road in the distance and a smile graces her lips. Hope flutters in her heart.

She blinks and next thing she knows, she bumping into someone. She screams, falling backwards away from the potential danger, but then realizes it’s another woman.

“Oh my god! Please! Help me!” She holds onto the stranger for dear life, “Someone’s chasing me, trying to kill me! You’ve gotta get me out of here!”

The stranger holds her and tries to calm her down, “Hold on, it’s okay, what’s your name?” she asks as she guides her to sit in the passenger seat of her car.

“M-My name....” she closes her eyes, swallows, and takes a deep breath, “My name is Gabbie.”

“Alright, Gabbie. My name is Marsha. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you to safety, okay?” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Gabbie’s heart swells in relief and she settles into the parked car on the road, while the curly haired woman climbs into the driver’s side.

Marsha looks over at the girl, sees what state she’s in, and questions her, her brows furrowing, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Gabbie let’s a few tears fall, everything suddenly overwhelming, her adrenaline running out, “I was walking home and I was pulled into an alley. I don’t remember what happened after until I woke up in what looked like a bunker. I didn’t have any shoes or anything, just this tank top and shorts.” She sniffs, picking at her shirt, not really wanting to be wearing them anymore, and turns to her rescuer, “I heard a voice on the intercoms and he told me to run!” She couldn’t help it. The tears welled in her eyes and the sobs come out uncontrollably.

Marsha reaches a hand out and rubs the girls back, “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Gabbie wipes the tears away, “No, No. I need too, you saved me.”

Again. That smile. The one that you wouldn’t notice isn’t authentic if you were too busy crying and coming down from a panic induced adrenaline high.

“I made it out and I just started running through the forest. It felt like forever, running out there.” She took a deep breath and looked forward, “He was about to catch me before I ran into you.”

The blonde smiled without a word and turned the car left, down a dirt road. She drives down it a few feet before slowing to a stop and turning off the car.

“What are we doing?” Gabbie scans the area and suddenly her heart is racing again.

“I’m glad that you got as far as you did, Gabs. I really am. No one ever really makes it that far. Lucky for you, i already planned ahead." Gabbie’s heart drops. She slowly turned to her savior. She sees a smile on her face, and this time she notices the crinkles reach her eyes. Her cold, crazed, eyes.

She rushes to open the door, pulling the handle and pushing the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The killer bursts out laughing.

“Sorry, but the game’s just getting started sweetheart.”

✤ ~ ✤ ~ ✤ ~ ✤ ~ ✤

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winchest09 · 1 year

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Yours to Protect - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Word Count: 4223

Summary: Y/N was a highly independent woman, focusing much more on her career than she did on men and relationships. She had no time to commit to something long term, opting instead to go in search of one night stands. It was fun, exhilarating, and freeing to be in control of her own life. No ties, no constraints, no commitments. Yet, while walking home after one mediocre night in the arms of another, she finds herself walking into something that would change her life…forever.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Swearing, talks of murder, talks of violence, fear, teeniest bit of fluff if you squint very very hard, sassy Dean, Sassy Y/N.

A/N: Anddddd we’re back to normal - it feels so good!! Thank you so much for reading this, I hope you enjoy the new add - let me know what you think if you have time - it means the world to me <3

I also want to say a massive thank you to my wonderful @deanwanddamons for being my wonderful beta, and for kicking my ass where needed. Love you <3 __________________________

Get six weeks ahead on Patreon! __________________________

Yours to Protect Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Let me know your thoughts!

Y/N was infuriated, her veins burning with the anger that fuelled them as she furiously threw Dean’s dressing gown across her bedroom. Not only had he purposely rudely awoke her, something she was convinced of despite his denial, but now he was demanding that she change her name, go to work in a garage and pretend to be his girlfriend!? She dreaded to think what was coming next, especially with how she was not able to predict her bodyguards next movements.

With hands on her hips, she paced back and forth as she lowly muttered to herself, wanting to calm down a little before she went back downstairs to the man who had managed to push every single one of her buttons. Yet before all that, she had to put on the clothes she was wearing yesterday.

With disgust, she eyed the pile of cloth that was sitting upon the old wicker chair by the window. She had thrown them there not long after her shower, not caring if they got creased or not because in her tired state of mind, she forgot that she didn’t have anything else with her. It was either that, or nothing. So, with disdain she marched over and pulled at the jeans, hiking them up her legs before she roughly grabbed for the t-shirt and hoodie, both of them citing ‘police academy’ in white lettering which caused her to immediately stop in her tracks.

She couldn’t go outside in these, not when she was meant to be keeping a low profile. This was just like basic advertising that she was under witness protection…right? If she put those on, then she may as well wear a massive neon sign that said “I’m the one in hiding”. But what else had she got? Y/N hated to admit it, but she was going to have to turn to her bodyguard for advice. Great.

With a heavy sign, and with said items held tightly in her hands, she marched over towards her door and pulled it open before she stuck her head out to yell for the man who had to help with this situation, “Dean!”

The journalist waited a few seconds, craning her head and angling her ear to aid her hearing to see if he had heard her but when she was met with nothing but silence, she let out a frustrated huff and raised her voice, adding an urgency to her tone. “DEAN!”

“What?!” He shouted back, heavy steps sounding on the stairs before he appeared at the end of the corridor, looking more than a little irritated at her disturbance. Still, within a few strides he was at her door, the wood only pulled back enough for her to pop her head through, not wanting to show him her bra covered breasts.

“I can’t get dressed,” she explained, watching how his frown quickly deepened with annoyance.

“Why the hell not?” He barked, crossing his arms across his broad chest as he stared her down. She knew he was doing this as a move to try and intimidate her, but it wasn’t working. If anything it only caused her to roll her eyes before she quickly threw the balled up hoodie and t-shirt in her fists at him, resulting in him stumbling to try and catch them.

“Do you not think this will ring alarm bells for people? You want to go to all lengths to protect me, so surely walking around town in police academy gear might raise some questions?”

“Well I can’t leave you here alone,” he argued, dropping the items he had in his hand to the floor carelessly, “That is completely out of the question.”

“So is me leaving the house with my breasts on show for everyone.”

Dean held her gaze for a good few seconds before he dropped his head with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with a finger and thumb. She knew he was going over options in his head, but she never anticipated him turning around and opening the door to the bedroom across from her. From her spot, she watched how he rummaged in a drawer that was just in view, before he pulled out an item and made his way back to her.

“Here,” he grunted, throwing a cotton t-shirt at her through the small gap her head was peeing through. She wasn’t as quick as him though at catching, so it fell to the floor, her eyes now trained on the light grey fabric that rested close to her feet.

“What the hell is this?”

“It’s one of my old shirts I left behind last time I visited, it’ll be fine for now,” he grunted as she bent down to pick it up, the cotton light between her fingers as she pulled it close to her chest. “Don’t get attached to it, we’ll get you some more stuff while we’re out.”

“Thanks,” she breathed, actually feeling grateful that he had thought of her in that respect. It didn’t negate his earlier actions though - those she was most definitely still pissed about.

Shutting the door not long after she had watched Dean walk away, she found the opening of the t-shirt and threaded her arms through the sleeves before pulling it over her head. When she looked in the mirror, she noticed that it had a faded Led Zeppelin logo on the front and it caused her to smile slightly. It was clear that this piece of clothing was old, and had been worn many times before now; it was also a tad on the large side, stopping at her mid thigh. Nevertheless, she made it work by tucking the front into her jeans just to attempt to make it a little more stylish. It would work for now, and ensuring that she looked the best that she could, she slipped her sore feet back into the heels she was wearing when she fled.

Feeling satisfied at her reflection and her appearance, she rubbed her palms against the thighs of her jeans before she exited her room and began the descent down the stairs towards her bodyguard. She might not be too keen on spending time with him, but she was more than ready to buy some clean clothes and more comfortable footwear. The sooner the better.

The journalist hadn’t anticipated him waiting for her though, and as soon as the kitchen came into view, their eyes connected. He was waiting against the long wooden table, his arms crossed across his chest as his eyebrows raised slightly at her appearance. Soon though, that cocky smirk she had seen so many times already adorned his lips.

“Hey look at that, first hour being my fake girlfriend and you’re already stealing my stuff,” Dean remarked, pushing off from his position as he checked his pockets for what she assumed were the keys to this place.

“Oh, shut up,” she whined exasperatedly. She was already so fed up with the situation, with him calling the shots and the idea of having to pretend he meant something to her. “So what’s the plan for today then, oh Master?”

Her sarcasm was paired with a mocking bow and a roll of her eyes, yet her actions didn’t seem to bother her bodyguard one bit. Instead, he just let out a low chuckle and flashed her a wink, “I prefer Sir.”

Y/N didn’t expect to choke on her own saliva but yet here she was, covering her mouth with her hand as she coughed and her eyes watered. She didn’t dare to look over at Dean, didn’t want to witness the smug expression that was probably painting his face right now as she tried to digest his words. Thankfully, though, he just continued the conversation without further comment on the matter.

“We’re stocking up on groceries, getting you some new clothes but first we’ll be stopping by the garage so Bobby can meet you before tomorrow.”

“Right,” she croaked, moving towards the sink so she could grab a glass of water.

“Oh, and then we need to sort out your hair like Sam suggested so keep that hat on will you?” Before she could even turn on the faucet, he threw the beanie she had been wearing at her before he turned to open the front door, not even giving her a second glance as he walked out and began to quickly check the area to ensure it was safe.

She had caught it easily, but stood a little dumbfounded as the words sank in. “You’re joking, right!?” Y/N called after him before she waited for a response, but none came. Instead, she marched towards the entrance of the house and saw him waiting for her on the sidewalk. “Dean, I’m not changing my hair color.”

It appeared like her words fell on deaf ears as he didn’t even give a simple response, instead he waited for her to shut the door behind her before gesturing to the hill in front of him with his head.

“Come on,” he encouraged, pointing ahead of him as he began to take a step forward in that direction. “The garage is only up here.”

She hurried to join him on his path, the warm sun unrelenting as it beat down upon them and she could only let out a low growl in annoyance. Not only is she in full jeans, heels and Dean’s t-shirt, but she was also being forced to wear a stuffy black hat which would only make her sweat even more so than usual. What a great first impression that’s going to make!

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” Y/N huffed, rushing to catch up to him so she could at least stay by his side instead of trailing behind like a shadow. Although it was impeccably hard to keep up with his strides when her feet were sore and aching, whilst being cocooned in uncomfortable footwear.

“I have no choice but to listen to you, Princess,” Dean sighed, surveying his surroundings before he looked down at her and forced a smile. “Now, time to put your game face on. In this town, people peek through their curtains when you walk past, and everyone knows everyone.”

With that statement, she noticed how he offered her his hand, his fingers slightly wiggling in invitation as he looked at her expectantly. He wanted her to hold his hand, to start off the pretense that they were lovers already and they had literally just left the house.

“Seriously?” She asked, her eyebrows meeting her hairline as she stopped walking, causing Dean to come to a halt too.

“One hundred percent,” he confirmed, his arm still outstretched as an invitation towards her. When she didn’t accept it straight away, he was quick to give her a reminder of their conversation only an hour before. “Remember what we talked about.”

For fuck’s sake, Y/N thought as she eyed his palm before her vision travelled to that of his smug grin. She couldn’t believe she had been put in this position, that this was her only way of surviving. How on earth was she meant to convincingly act as though she was in love with this man when he irritated her so deeply? When a single glance from him caused all the fires of fury deep inside of her to roar as though they’ve been doused with gasoline?

But what was she to do? There was no other choice.

“Ugh,” she groaned, curling her nose a little before she entwined her fingers into his.

Almost immediately, he tightened his hold, clamping down on her to ensure that she wasn’t going to go anywhere without his say so. If she didn’t know any better, she would have guessed that he was worried about her running to get out of this situation, but who was she kidding? She wouldn’t be able to get anywhere far in the heels that she was wearing.

“You could look more happy,” Dean stated, breaking her from her wandering thoughts as they continued their ascent of the hill. “Your incredible boyfriend of six months has whisked you away to the beach to get away from all your crazy for an undetermined amount of time.”

“My crazy?” She spluttered, not believing the words that were falling from his mouth so easily. Of course, it wasn’t entirely a lie - her life had gone a bit cuckoo in the last twenty-four hours but he didn’t have to make it out like it was a standard, everyday occurrence.

“Yeah,” he agreed easily, shrugging his shoulders before he waved sweetly at a passer-by, an elderly woman walking her toy poodle on the opposite side of the street, her focus solely on them. “It’s been a bit shit for you lately. Your mom is on your back constantly about everything and anything, plus you lost your job. So, with my encouragement, I told you to write that book you always wanted and whisked you out here for inspiration.”

“Wow. What a lovely fake boyfriend,” Y/N muttered under her breath, hoping he wouldn’t catch it but she was out of luck for that one.

“The best,” came Dean’s quick witted response, sending her a side wink as she chanced a glance at him.

If there was one thing her journalistic instincts were telling her when it came to her bodyguard, it was that he most definitely had an intriguing and interesting story. There was much more than what met the naked eye, and she was curious as to what may lie beneath his stony yet cocky exterior. Every now and then, she’s awarded a little peak at the core of him, like rays of sun trying to penetrate a dark cave through the rocks that block the entrance. But she wanted to know more, needed to know what he was about because right now, she was getting a whiplash from his multiple personalities. From standoffish and rude, to thoughtful and kind, to this flirty yet cocky side of him. There was one constant that remained through them all though, and that was his arrogant need to be right the majority of the time.

“You got your name?”

“Hm?” His voice broke her from her thoughts, and it took her a few seconds to register the words he had muttered while she was lost inside her own head. Yet when they did sink in, her face morphed into one of a grimace. “Do I really have to change it?”

“It’s just a precaution,” Dean breathed, slowing his pace slightly as he could tell that she was starting to struggle on her feet. “If they find out who you are, they’ll hunt down and check out every Y/N until they find the right one.”

“But what did you tell Bobby?” She questioned, her brows furrowed as she awaited his answer. “Surely he knows right?”

“Actually no,” her bodyguard clarified, looking ahead at their path as they continued to walk. “He told me he was in need of someone to man the phones, and I offered both our services. I told you, he trusts me. Hence why you are meeting him today.”

“But…what if I don’t remember it? Or I don’t answer to it? Don’t you think that would be a little weird?” Y/N had a point, and she knew it. It was one that made Dean look at her in question, his green eyes reading hers as he mulled over her query in his head.

“Alright, then what about a nickname? Something you’re used to someone calling you that is not general knowledge?”

“I guess,” she trailed off, and she didn’t even have to think about what that could be, knowing that she had one that she was called all the time back in her hometown, “That would be...CJ,”

“CJ?” Dean asked, his voice raising a little at the end to indicate that he was clearly thrown off by the name that left her. “What does that stand for?”

“Does it really matter?” Y/N argued, feeling heat warm her cheeks more than the sun was already doing as she thought about the truth.

“As your fake boyfriend, yes it matters,” Dean stated clearly, one hand on his chest as though he was trying to reinforce his point. It was then that he stepped in front of her to stop her from walking, his gaze trained on her face as he not so patiently awaited her answer. God, he was so annoying.

“Ugh, fine!” She relented, throwing her free hand in the air in exasperation while her next sentence left her in a whisper, “Calamity Jane.”

“As in the movie?” he attempted to clarify, his lips already upturning as he continued to vocalise his thoughts. “As in the western musical?”

“As in Doris Day, yes,” Y/N grumpily clarified, not enjoying the way his mouth was now adorning a widening beam of joy.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he chuckled, falling back to walk beside her as they continued their journey up what felt like the never ending hill.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“The way you got yourself into this situation, the way you walked into me while I was carrying a full glass of red wine for my date…”

Oh my god, would he let this go already? Y/N shouted in her head, already tired of having this same argument over and over again.

“Okay one, this situation hasn’t got anything to do with me being clumsy by nature and secondly, you weren’t looking where you were going,” she clarified, poking him hard in his arm as that was all that was deemed appropriate considering they were out in public and she had a part to play.

“No no,” he disagreed softly, enjoying this moment far too much. “It was you that wasn’t aware of her surroundings.”

“You have your theory, I have mine,” she argued under her breath, not allowing him to win this just because she had to pretend to be his doting girlfriend.

“It’s not a theory, it’s the truth,” Dean contested, nodding his head forwards in a gesture for her to look ahead.

When she did, she noticed how a garage was coming into view, the building small but welcoming. There were a few cars out front, as well as a large workshop with its doors wide open and an old Volkswagen lifted into the air.

“In your opinion,” she hushed back, knowing that the closer they got to the place she was going to be working at, the less she was going to be able to state her piece.

“You’re infuriating,” Dean huffed, his good mood from moments earlier having dissipated now they were walking across the parking lot of the business.

“Feelings mutual,” she murmured, hoping that he wouldn’t hear it as the last thing she wanted to do right now was to have a massive slinging match in the middle of a car park and in front of people she had never met.

Before she could let her mind go any further though, an old yet seemingly happy man came out to greet them as he wiped his greasy hands onto an used rag that had been tucked into the back of his overall pocket. He looked kind, like the years had been good to him and it shocked her that out of all the places she could have laid low, Dean had chosen to put her here. The last thing she wanted was to get any civilians hurt just because she was an individual that was being hunted like she was a piece of meat.

“Dean!” The elderly mechanic bellowed, his arms outstretched wide for a hug as he approached, and her bodyguard happily obliged. She immediately attempted to let go of his hand, wanting to give them some space but Dean was not letting her go.

“Hey Bobby,” he said gently, a warmth to his tone that told her this man was important to him.

“And you must be his new girl,” the older man surmised, gently slapping Dean on his shoulder before he looked over at Y/N, extending his palm for her to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

“...CJ,” she finished off his sentence, looking quickly back at her protector who gave her a small smile of approval. Looking back at Bobby, she mirrored his happy expression before sliding her free hand into his and shook it.

“Welcome to my little slice of heaven, CJ,” Bobby said with a happy tone, turning towards his garage before he gestured for the pair to follow him. “I’ll be honest, I’m glad Dean decided to whisk you both down here as I am in desperate need of extra pairs of hands.”

“Business booming?” Dean asked, taking in his surroundings as they walked into the open working space. There were tools strewn about on various workstations, a small old radio in the back pumping out classic rock and a little office that was situated in the corner, its thin windows lined with horizontal blinds that were in desperate need of dusting.

“Somethin’ like that,” the older mechanic clarified as he guided them through the workspace, stopping short of a dirty and oil splotched door. His fingers wrapped around the brass handle, before he opened it and gestured to the highly messy inside. “You’ll be in here CJ. Answering calls, booking appointments, helping make sure the ship runs a bit tighter.”

“That I can do,” she confirmed, although she tried to suppress her shocked expression at the mountain of papers and folders that seemed to be in random piles all over the place.

“And Dean, we have a complicated repair with your name on it,” Bobby chuckled, motioning with his hand for them to follow him further into the back of the garage. It was there that her eyes fell upon bright red paint, the vehicle capturing her attention almost immediately; it was beautiful. “Old mustang, stubborn bastard; it’s right up your alley.”

“Sounds fun,” Dean chuckled, knocking his knuckles against the hood as he surveyed it, taking it all in.

Maybe working here wasn’t going to be so bad. She was going to be in her own little room, where the blinds could remain shut so she wasn’t going to have to permanently look at her bodyguard's face or remain in his immediate vicinity. That would be her own slice of heaven, her own piece of solitude away from the man that was currently in charge of her every movement.

“Benny isn’t here right now, else I’d introduce you to him,” Bobby continued, scratching at the beard that adored his chin. “He’s off putting his moves on Andrea down at the beach.”

To that, Dean let out a loud laugh and Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he was genuinely happy. “He still trying?”

“He never stopped. She certainly gives him a run for his buck, that’s for sure,” the mechanic chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back onto the hood of the mustang, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, we gotta run a few errands Bobby, but do you want us here at 9am tomorrow?” Dean questioned,

“Sounds good, kid,” the mechanic confirmed, “Look forward to having you both.”

“Thanks for the opportunity,” Y/N politely said, giving him a warm smile to match her words. She might have been irritated at the start about having to work somewhere while in witness protection, but now she had seen the place, she was starting to come around to the idea that it could be a good way to keep her mind occupied. She was still worried about bringing danger to this good man’s door though.

“No need for formalities, CJ,” Bobby huffed a small laugh before looking over to the green eyed man that was still holding tightly to her hand. “Dean thinks highly of you, he wouldn’t just allow anyone to meet his nearest and dearest, let alone work with them everyday. That means I know you’re going to do just fine here.”

He thought highly of her? She thought, Well we all know that’s an act.

Still, it gave her confidence that maybe they could actually pull this whole fake couple thing off, that they wouldn’t raise any suspicions as long as they kept their story straight and their game faces on. Maybe, just maybe, she would be safe here after all. But before her thoughts could wander anymore, before she could get lost in the mystery of Dean she was building up in her mind, the man himself tugged gently on her hand and brought her attention back to him.

“Come on, I promised you some new clothes,” he said sweetly, giving her a loving smile before he let go of his hold on her and instead, slid his arm around her shoulders. It was all for show, and the look the mechanic in front of them gave the pair confirmed the exact same thing that she was thinking. What a smooth motherfucker.

“Well, enjoy and Dean, I wish you the best of luck,” Bobby laughed before he waved them off with his cloth, “Rather you than me.”

——————————————– Chapter Eight - Coming 2nd November ——————————————– A/N: Hehehehe - what do you think is gonna happen next? ;) Let me know! Thank you for reading. Tag list is open! If you want to be step into the darkness with me, then let me know HERE :)

Tags will be separate <3

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trektraveler · 1 year

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Practically Magic Chapter Seven: The Stars That Guide You

Summary: Growing up in the same tiny mountain town, Y/N Owens and Dean Winchester despised each other. The only thing they ever agreed on was their need to escape. Life took them in opposite directions and neither of them ever looked back. So, when their paths cross over a series of gruesome murders in their hometown it was no surprise that old friction heated up again.

Dean never dreamed he’d be teaming up with a psychic, the FBI frowned on that sort of thing, but he was desperate. When that psychic turned out to be Y/N Owens, Dean knew two things for sure. One, Y/N was the real deal and two, he was in real trouble.

Pairing: Agent!Dean x Psychic!Reader, Dean x Reader, AU Dean x You Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer

Warnings: Slow Burn, Serial Killer Elements, Witches, Haters to Lovers, Claustrophobic Elements, Murder Scenes

Author’s Notes: This is an AU taking elements from the film Practical Magic and applying them to a fictional world where Dean Winchester is an FBI Agent. You will find parallels from that movie here, some quotes and other elements that capture the essence of the world of the Owens Witches. Hopefully! Additional Author’s Notes: This is a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Chapter Six: The Stars That Guide You Word Count: 4614

“I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for.” – Sally Owens

April 19, 2008

Vivienne Owens was a straightforward woman. Tall and slim with an ageless face, she never lacked for companionship. A good laugh and a strong embrace were really all she sought when life got lonely. Never did she seek love. That kind of nonsense could ruin a witch! Especially if that witch was an Owens. She had no desire to spend her life mourning the loss of yet another victim of the family curse. Besides, her life wasn’t lacking in the love. She had you.

Funny, kind, and smart as a whip, you were the apple of your Gran’s eye. After the heartbreaking death of your mother, Viv found herself thrust into the role of guardian. Never would have guessed that out of that heartbreak would come such a gift! Raising you gave her a purpose she hadn’t expected. Life’s blessings were often found in unexpected places.

She was eternally grateful for the friendship you forged with Sam Winchester. That boy had a heart of gold and manners to match. For all the times she worried about the cruelty you might encounter out in the world, she never worried when you were with Sam. Unfailingly loyal and true. Exactly the sort of man Viv hoped would catch your eye when the time came. Alas, it wasn’t meant. She’d consulted every card and crystal on the matter, and they all had the same answer, not the one.

When the doorbell sounded, Viv answered it without hesitation. The gentleman caller waiting on the porch had her narrowing her eyes.

“Well, well. The bad penny.”

“Ms. Owens.” Dean replied with respect in his voice and his posture, hoping the Owens matriarch would give him a pass. For once.

“You’re supremely over-dressed to drive a pair of teenagers to the school dance. Or are you chaperoning?”

To his credit, he stood a bit taller, pride refusing to let him shrink away. “I’m Y/N’s date.”

Viv never liked Dean. A pretty faced bad boy who had neither the ambition nor the work ethic to be a decent match for any woman of quality. Certainly not for her cherished granddaughter.

She took a step towards him, steel in her dark eyes, “Not a chance.”

“Gran, stop teasing. We’re going to be late.”

There are events in life, specific moments that shift the world. Forever changing it and leaving us, the poor players struggling to right ourselves in the wake. By rights, one should be able to see something that epic a mile off. Maybe that was by design. How many of us would stay in the path of chaos when the outcome is so uncertain?

For better or worse, Dean was rooted to the floor as he watched you descend the staircase. If Sammy were there, he would have rattled off some random fact about the symbolic meaning of a staircase. A journey or a passageway uniting two states of being. But Dean didn’t need it spelled out for him, it was plain as day. You’d raced up those stairs a thousand times as a girl, but tonight a young woman came back.

“Uh… Sammy’s sick,” Dean blurted out, surprised that he was able to form a sentence.

“Yeah, he just called, poor guy.” You smiled, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth. Visible for the first time without braces, “You look really nice.”

Dean tried to blink himself out of his stupor. He’d watched you grow up, but this was seeing you. Really seeing you for the first time. Your dress was purple, of course it was. Strapless and fitted to the waist where it flared out into a proper princess gown with layers of tulle. There were thousands of tiny crystals sewn into the design that sparkled when you moved.

You had curves. Real curves. Your bust… wow. When did that happen?? Your normally mousy brown hair was a shade darker and pinned back with a silver comb so that it fell prettily over your shoulder. Your eyes looked darker too, lined and luminous. They held expectation, reminding him to speak.

“You’re beautiful.”

You could count on one hand the number of times Dean had spoken without a trace of sarcasm or swagger. This wasn’t the way he spoke to Lisa Braeden or any of the other girls that came around. There was no smirk. No flirt. No charming line. The sincerity in his voice was mirrored in the green eyes that held yours.

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name made butterflies stir in your stomach! No boy had ever said your name like that before, like a prayer and a promise mixed together. Like you were special and meant to be treated that way.

Confidence bloomed. You tilted your head with a teasing grin and spun in a circle, “Do you like my princess dress?”

“Oh, I’m a fan,” Dean chuckled, his cheeks turning pink in the process.

You picked up the skirt and revealed a pair of transparent heels that sparkled like they’d been dipped in fairy dust. “Look,” you laughed. “Cinderella!”

“Alright, you two, picture time.”

You pulled on a pair of long, white opera gloves and Dean tied the corsage of wisteria and starflowers to your wrist. The sight of big, tough Dean Winchester tying a delicate bow made your heart melt. You did your best to be grown up about it and straightened his bowtie in exchange.

Viv posed you by the ornately carved banister at the base of the stairs. Dean stood behind you, his arm wrapped naturally around your waist, and you glanced up at him with a smile. The camera was a family heirloom, several generations old. If the light was right, the lens would reveal the subject’s aura. She didn’t even have to adjust the focus, the haze around the pair was glowing bright pink, edging into crimson. Viv silently cursed.

When love is true, there is a rosy hue.

“Come on, Princess. I got your carriage waiting,” Dean said, holding the door for you.

Gran dropped a kiss to your forehead, “Have fun, darling girl.”

“Love you, Gran,” you smiled back as you fastened the wrap around your shoulders.

Vivienne’s fondness cooled as she regarded the eldest Winchester. The fates may have deemed you a perfect match, but she sure as hell didn’t have to like it.

“I’ll have her home by midnight, Viv… ah, Ms. Owens.”

“Treat her like a princess and we won’t have an issue, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean shook the hand the woman held out to him and tried to shrug off the ill-ease that came with it. He knew Viv didn’t hold him in high esteem, but this was the first time he felt a true, underlying threat. He didn’t want to fixate on what his fate would be if he failed to deliver you at the appointed hour.

“It’s a promise.”

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then your prom must have been held at the ninth gate.

You never meant for things to go so badly; your motives were entirely pure! Wear the dress, play the part, and behave yourself. A task so simple anyone could do it. Anyone except you, apparently.

You wrung your gloved hands together in your lap as the Impala squealed out of the high school parking lot. Too nervous to steal a glance at Dean, you turned your attention to the houses and street signs whizzing by. He wasn’t saying anything, and you could hardly blame him. In under twenty minutes you managed to turn a normal, if bland, school dance into utter chaos! So much for a night of playing princess.

When the silence in the car finally became more than you could take, you spoke. “Do you think everyone noticed?”

“Which part? When the strobe lights exploded or when that statue of Charlie Baker came to life and ordered a whiskey?”

“We shouldn’t have a statue of him in the first place, he murdered dozens of Ute Indians.”

“Yeah, well tonight he was aiming for the principal.” Dean gave a thoughtful pause, “Is that girl’s hair going to grow back?”

You groaned and let your head fall back against the seat, “Ugh! Gran’s gonna have my ass. I’m supposed to be working on control. I’ll be lucky if they don’t hang me in the town square!”

“Nah, it’s not that bad. Most people won’t even believe it, they’ll probably blame it on a prank gone wrong or bad beer.”

The car went quiet again as you ran through dozens of ways you could explain this to your grandmother. None of them good. Maybe you should go back and try a memory spell? You were still inexperienced with casting and something of this size was not for a novice. Given your track record, there was a good chance it would backfire. As if things could get any worse…

Then you heard Dean snicker.

Looking over, you saw his shoulders start to shake. An ill-concealed grin took over his face, although he clearly tried to fight it.

“Dean! It’s not funny!”

He laughed then, loudly. Cracking up so bad he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “Did you see the look on Mrs. Walcott’s face then Charlie called her a Painted Lady and asked how much?”

You shook your head and pressed your lips together, trying to keep a straight face. It didn’t work. Dean had the best laugh and when he really got going it was contagious.

“A dollar for the night, two if the lights stay on,” you chuckled, repeating Charlie’s offer.

“Holy hell, Y/N… best prom ever!”

It was early yet, so rather than take you home to face a lecture, Dean headed in the opposite direction. Ten miles outside of town and up the side of the mountain, he pulled off to a lookout point. Not well used, the gravel road was overgrown with weeds just starting to green for the spring. He parked Baby facing the valley below. The worn, flannel blanket in the trunk still spread perfectly over the hood for the two of you to lay on.

No stars shone through the overcast sky, making the lights of Silverton especially bright.

Dean pulled a flask from his inside coat pocket and offered it to you, “Sorry your prom blew up.”

You took a sip, surprising him by not choking on the warm whiskey. “It’s not a total loss,” you replied, handing it back to him. “The company’s still top notch.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve missed you.”

You still couldn’t believe that he was here, let alone your date! You hadn’t seen much of Dean after he graduated. He bounced around taking a few trade courses and working in garages off and on. He didn’t seem to have much of a direction except to get out of Silverton. You suspected that the only thing keeping him around at all was Sam.

After what happened with Bobby, Dean closed himself off to you. There were no more Saturday afternoons spent tuning up the Impala. No more hot cocoa after class or karaoke on country drives. You missed his friendship and his company, but fear and pride kept you from seeking him out.

Still, he was here now, and you took it as a good sign.

“I missed you too.”

Sudden shyness had you looking away and changing the subject. “Sam said that you were working in Denver.”

“Ah yeah, for a while, you know.” Dean took another swallow of whiskey and looked out to the city lights, “It’s a little big for a kid from the sticks. I spent most of my time in Greeley.”

An image popped into your mind of blowing blonde hair and sad eyes. “Greeley. That’s where your mom was from.”

A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips, “Your hocus pocus is getting better, Pip.”

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Nah, don’t be. It’s no secret.”

“So, you have family there? Mary’s family?”

“Sure do!” he barked out a laugh, “A whole clan of Campbells. Aunts and uncles, cousins. Both grandparents. They, ah… they have this big ol’ ranch up there. It’s really beautiful.”

“They must have been happy to see you, it’s been a long time.”

“I didn’t tell them who I was. Made up a story about passing through looking for work. Helped them get one of their tractors up and running again, but I moved on after a couple of days.”

You found his hand in the dark and laced your fingers through his. He squeezed back, latching onto it like a lifeline.

“They didn’t recognize me. Dad always said I looked like her, but they didn’t even look at me twice. I told ‘em my name was John Bonham! That should have at least raised an eyebrow.”

“What did Sam say about it?”

Dean sat up, his knees pulled up so he could rest his elbows on them, “He doesn’t know I went.”

The rejection and grief seeped out of the old wound in his heart. The pain so acute that you felt it as your own. You knew what it was to lose a mother, but you were never alone with it. You had Gran. Dean bore his burden on his own. By necessity and by choice.

“Tell him. He’s your brother, he wouldn’t want you to go through this alone.”

“Sweetheart, that’s exactly the point. Sammy’s always saying we’ve got family out there, always wanting to know more about them. Well, now I know about ‘em.”

“You went to Greeley for Sam.”

“I wasn’t gonna let him get hurt.” Dean hopped down from Baby’s hood and kicked a few stones from his path,

“My mom loved this spot. She used to drive us up here all the time, even before Sammy was born. This was where she told me I was going to be a big brother! Hell, she even told me before she told Dad. Taking care of that kid is my job, the only one I ever gave a damn about. The only one I was ever any good at.”

You got down from the car and pulled Dean into a tight hug. Your fingers curled around the nape of his neck as he buried his face in your shoulder. You stayed like that for a long time, absorbing the hurt along with the dampness of old tears.

“You’re doing a good job, Dean,” you whispered into his ear. “She’s very proud of you.”

He crushed you to him and closed his eyes until he could breathe again. After a time, the heavy cloud of grief lifted, and he felt better than he had in a long time. When he released you, he found calm and kindness in your gaze instead of judgement. You were far too young to have eyes so wise.

He shifted gears, deliberately trading melancholy for frivolity. He reached into the Impala through the driver’s side window. “You know Y/N, I’m not doing a very good job of keeping my word to your Gran.”

Your head tilted, not entirely sure what he was up to. “What do you mean?”

“I promised her to treat you like a princess.” His voice was muffled as the radio came to life. The first chords of Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door floated out into the night.

Your eyes grew wide as he held out a hand to you with a dashing smile, “Every princess deserves a dance.”

“Oh! No, Dean. I don’t know.”

“Why not? This is a great song!”

“Well, ah… I just never,” you cleared your throat and whispered, “I don’t know how to dance.”

He paused for a moment. He saw the uncertainty in your gaze, and he banished it with a wink, “Just follow my lead, Sweetheart. I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand tugged you out into the clearing. He quickly spun you in a dizzying circle, making you crash into him with a laugh. One of your hands was guided to his shoulder and he told you to hang on tight. You only stepped on his toes a couple of times before you found the rhythm.

“Look at that,” he beamed down at you, “You’re a natural.”

Warmth spread through you like sunlight as you settled into the dance. You focused on new and fascinating sensations, like the feeling of his hand on your waist. The subtle scent of his cologne. The smoothness of his clean-shaven cheek as it brushed against yours. The way your hands fit, like they were meant to go together.

“Y/N?”

His voice was rough, but softened when he said your name.

“Hmm?”

“Does it always feel like that?”

You didn’t dare look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Magic,” he said at last. “Back at the school, there was this zap.”

Your grip on his shoulder tightened. “You felt that?”

A laugh bubbled up from his throat as he swayed you back and forth, “Hell yeah, I did! It was like a lightning strike! Is it always like that when you twitch your nose?”

Your mind raced, there was no way he should have felt that! No mortal would have, not even someone close to you. Only a witch born to the craft would be able to detect an energy fluctuation like that. And even so, it would have been minimal.

“No, not always. It depends on what I’m feeling.”

“So, back there you were… pissed?”

“Yes. Anger carries heat, makes it snap and sizzle,” you carefully explained. “Magic always comes from within. From your heart. Emotions give it fuel.”

“Can you do it again?” His green eyes curious, “Another spell, a different one.”

When you didn’t answer right away, he thought he’d offended you. But you didn’t push him away. Another song came on the radio, and you pulled him in close. He wasn’t lying earlier; you were incredibly light on your feet. This time you led, spinning him around in pleasant circles to the music. The full skirt of your dress swishing around your feet.

Your lips barely brushed his ear as your whispered, “The star that guides you shines brightest in the dark.”

He didn’t know what the words meant, but goosebumps broke out as soon as you said them. Similar to what he felt back at the prom, but not as sharp. This was warm and seductive, like a good bourbon. Honeyed gold. Rays of the sun that filtered through the Aspens in autumn. Completely relaxed and a bit tipsy. It felt good, and so did he.

The light broke him out of his magic haze. And it took him a minute to realize that it was coming from you. You were glowing.

Actually glowing.

It started with your dress. The tiny sequins shimmered, then got brighter. Twinkling stars against the violet fabric like the night sky. Delicate threads of iridescent silver light wove through your hair and swirled over your skin. The light gathered and grew bright between your joined hands. Not even your satin gloves could keep the heat from radiating at the connection.

When you raised your dark eyes to meet Dean’s, everything stopped. Even the music stopped. He was aware of nothing except you. The way you looked at him, like he hung the moon in the sky. The shape of your lips as you said his name. It was plain as day and he’d been a fool not to see it.

You raised your hand and with a flick of your wrist, the clouds whisked away. Millions of stars danced in the sky and a comet blazed a path over the mountains in the distance. The moon came out and shone down silver beams so bright that you and Dean could see each other clearly. There was no hiding in the shadows. No dancing around the half-whispered rumors that plagued your family.

Dean’s wide eyes scanned the sky in wonder before landing on you. You held your breath, the confidence that flooded you a moment ago ebbed away. This was you naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. Rule one, never reveal your magic! Witches were burned for that sort of thing.

He gently brushed his knuckles over your cheek, proving to himself that you were real. “How? How did I not see?”

“I don’t normally perform spells in public.”

His other hand came to rest on your waist, certain that if he didn’t keep contact you would disappear like a dream. “I don’t mean the magic, I mean you. You grew up, Y/N.”

You bit your lip, “So did you.”

“You did a better job of it, Sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied, running your hands over the lapels of his suit. “You look pretty grown up to me.”

Eyes closed and lips met. Cautious and curious at first, then warm and open. As natural and essential as breathing. Moving in tandem and growing in intensity. It was impossible to tell who initiated it, but it didn’t matter. It was the sweet connection of souls that inspired playwrights and poets.

Dean wasn’t a believer in fate, but he couldn’t deny the feeling of rightness. Every step he’d taken, even when he walked away from you, was leading him here. He knew it, all the way down to his bones. He wasn’t always sure what he wanted his life to look like or what he wanted to do with it. But now he knew one thing for certain, he wanted it to include you.

You blinked up at him with a dazed expression as he gently pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear with a soft chuckle, “Everything okay?”

Ever so delicately, you brought your fingers up to trace the shape of his face. The ridge of his brow, the angle of his cheekbone. No one had ever touched him with such softness or reverence. Your touch ghosted over his lips, and you smiled.

“Everything’s perfect.”

Dean walked you to your door just as the clock struck twelve. He kissed your hand, certain that anything more than that would lead to the backseat of the Impala, and you deserved better than that. He wanted better than that, for both of you.

“Thanks for tonight, I had a really good time.”

“Me too. Sleep well, Princess.”

You shyly ducked your head before closing the door behind you with a quiet click.

He was halfway down the sidewalk, congratulating himself on his restraint when the door opened. He turned just in time to see a cloud of purple sparkles barreling towards him. He caught you with a happy grunt as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him with enough enthusiasm to take his breath away. Electricity zinged over his skin and made his heart jump.

Your grin was triumphant, and you gave his lips one last peck, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight… Y/N.”

You spun away laughing, and skipped back to the house, “Let’s get coffee tomorrow!”

“Okay,” Dean said, as much to himself as to you. The door closed again and this time the lock latched. Viv’s tall shadow passed by the window, evidently you were in for the night whether you wanted to be or not.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and whistled to himself as he walked back to the Impala. Tonight turned out to be the best rollercoaster ride of his life, and he never wanted to get off.

As his hand reached the garden gate, a low growl sounded from the darkness. He stopped dead in his tracks as a massive black dog came out of the shadows. It stood between him and the car. Its eyes glowed an eerie red and the hackles on it’s back made the long fur stand up in warning. The night air, light with new love turned stale and sulfuric. Even the silver moonlight shifted to sallow green.

Dean slowly moved his hands to his jacket, searching for a pocketknife or his keys. Anything to use as a weapon. Coming up empty, he knew speed was his only hope. The evil thing threw its head back in a terrifying howl and Dean ran! Back up the flagstone path to the house, but he only got a few feet before he was tackled to the ground. Sharp teeth gleamed and gnashed as he struggled with the monster. It was impossibly strong and smelled like death and decay.

It went for his throat and Dean was just able to deflect its attack. It missed his jugular but clamped down on his forearm. Blood poured, skin and muscle shredded away from the bone and Dean screamed. Another soul lost to the beast.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“Dean! Get up, damn it!”

Dean bolted upright in his bed. Soaked in sweat and sticking to the sheets, he frantically looked around the room for the wolf. Met with only frilly fabrics and case files, he rubbed a hand over his thudding heart.

“Come on, you jerk!” Bam. Bam. Bam. “Open up!”

Oblivious to the fact that he was in his boxers, Dean stumbled to the door and slid the dainty gold chain off the lock.

“What?!”

Sam rolled his eyes and shoved past his brother, “What the hell took you so long? Were you sneaking a chick out the bathroom window?”

Dean stepped out on to the tiny porch, his eyes squinting in the sun as he scanned the street. His Baby was still parked right where he left her, along with a few other cars. A woman jogged by pushing a stroller, white puffs of air rose as she exhaled. A typical, crisp morning in Silverton.

“Dean, you alright?” Sam asked from the doorway.

“Did you see a dog a few minutes ago?”

“What?”

“A big, black dog. Maybe a wolf?”

“A wolf?’ Sam’s brow furrowed, “No. What’s going on?”

“I must be losing my damn mind,” Dean muttered, going to the kitchenette and pouring himself a cup of day-old coffee. “What are you doing here, Sammy?”

“I’ve been calling you all morning, when you didn’t call back, I figured you forgot to charge your cell or something.” Sam’s clear gaze faltered, “There’s been another murder. Called it in an hour ago.”

“Damn it.” Dean grabbed his discarded suit and headed for the bathroom. “Give me a minute, I’m right behind you.”

He splashed cold water over his face, not bothering with a shave. The vivid dream turned nightmare was still fresh in his mind. But he couldn’t focus on any of that now. He had a killer to catch, God willing this latest strike would yield more clues than the others did.

Dean’s reflection stared back as he jammed the toothbrush into his mouth. He looked like hell. Weeks of late nights and early mornings left dark circles under his eyes and carved lines in his forehead. His hair was shaggy and the stubble on his chin was turning the corner from scruff to beard. He was starting to look just like his dad!

As he rinsed the brush, he noticed something on his arm. Two crescent shaped marks raised and red on the skin of his forearm. Tender to the touch. The size and shape of a dog bite.

A Hellhound, you’d said. A death omen.

Dean scooped up your Black Obsidian from the counter and fastened the silver chain around his neck before he buttoned up his shirt. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but if nightmares could become reality, then he’d need all the help he could get.

Taglist @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsuridty @starryeyeseubyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4ever @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #au dean winchester #dean winchester #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x you #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #agent!dean x reader #agent!dean x psychic!reader #dean x you #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction

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apocalypseornaw · 8 months

Text

Can't be Her

AU Dean angst filled drabble no one asked for (NOT MY GIF)

I've never written anything for AU Dean but I liked this idea when it popped into my head so it's told partially from his pov

Making it through the portal was shock then seeing doppelgangers of Sam and himself? That was a little unsettling.

Dean had just gotten settled in the library with the other Dean and Sam when he heard a voice that nearly made him drop the beer in his hand. "Dean?"

Sam cut his eyes at him wordlessly telling him he'd heard it too, that the recent trauma of their world collapsing and universe jumping hadn't made him lose his mind completely.

He felt like his air had been cut off when you came walking into the room. You were wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with a dark red flannel. Even in clothing so damn simple you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid his eyes on "Y/N?" He was on his feet without thinking but your eyes widened and you ducked closer to the other Dean who spoke up "Woah buddy. Slow down there"

He realized what he'd done and quickly felt his face flush with embarrassment "I am so sorry" he walked out the room, unsure where he was headed but he couldn't face you. He'd listened to his heart instead of his head. He knew you were gone or well his version of you. He'd held her as she died. It was of some consolation too see that this Dean hadn't made his mistakes, he'd kept you safe.

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Everyone was silent after AU Dean walked out. You looked up at Dean who still an arm protectively around you "What was that about?" AU Sam half raised his hand and when you looked at him he smiled in that so achingly familiar way. Guess your Winchesters and the AU Winchesters weren't so different after all.

"You look just like his Y/N" Dean looked from you to AU Sam "What happened to her?"

AU Sam took a deep breath "I don't know if the three of you ran across Eve in this universe?" You nodded so he continued "She caught Y/N..... we tried so damn hard to get to her in enough time... our Castiel was killed in battle so there was no one capable of saving her....she died in his arms"

Dean's arm tightened around you, no doubt remembering every close call you'd ever had "No wonder he acted like that seeing you. I would've too"

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After he was sure he could be around you Dean headed back to the library. You were sitting next to the other version of him with your head laid over on his shoulder. Both Sams had disappeared.

"Y/N, Dean I apologize for earlier" the other Dean spoke first "Your Sam explained man. It's ok" you smiled softly at him before standing up "Is it ok if I hug you?" He looked to your Dean who shrugged "She makes her own decisions man. I trust her"

At that answer he nodded "Of course" you slipped your arms around him and he pulled you into his chest. He closed your eyes at the feeling of you in his arms, you even used the same shampoo and perfume she had.

After a moment you pulled away and he let you. You looked over at your Dean then back at him "I know I'm not her but if she loved you like I love him, she didn't blame you and she'd be happy to know you were still alive and still fighting" "Thank you Y/N" He replied with a small smile. You nodded "Of course"

#spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #au dean winchester #au dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader

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pink-sparkly-witch · 5 months

Text

Just Like This

Summary: Working a second job in a bar to help pay for Sammy’s education, Dean finds a kindred spirit in bar manager Y/N. When a drunk Douchebag gets too handsy with her, Dean quickly jumps to her defence but faces harsh consequences.

Pairing: Bartender!Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Rating: Teen

Bingo Square: Getting Fired for @j3bingo

Warnings: tw: sexual assault (groping), fluff, angst, fighting, minor violence, Chuck is a complete and utter asshole in this, getting fired, quitting in solidarity, first kiss, friends to lovers

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Okay, it feels like an age since I’ve written anything that’s just pure floof. I hope you enjoy this fluffy, protective, besotted Dean fic. Please be kind. I’ve had my angst hat on for a long time, and though this was really refreshing, it’s also a little daunting!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

It wasn’t the best job in the world, but as part-time work went, Dean knew it could be a hell of a lot worse than this. He worked with his dad in the garage during the day and worked four nights a week and two shifts at the weekend in Shurley’s Sports Bar. His wages and tips went to his dad to help pay for Sammy’s education. Sure, the kid had a full ride to Stanford; however, he still needed to pay for accommodation after freshman year and the thousands of books he needed for his coursework. And at least this way, his dad didn’t put himself in an early grave by working all the hours God gave him. Lord knows he’d done enough of that when they were kids.

Shurley’s was a decent bar. It had a prime location between the University of Kansas campus and downtown, so it always has a steady stream of customers. It quietened during the summer when the students went home or on their travels, but the locals still made trade steady enough. The owner, Chuck, was a bit of a dick, but he barely showed his face around the place, and the other staff were decent, making it a great place to work.

“Hey, Dean,” Y/N said as she came out of the back office. Y/N was the bar manager and a great girl. They had a lot in common; both lost their mothers when they were young and looked after their younger siblings while their fathers worked three jobs to try and make ends meet. Y/N’d had to drop out of college when her father took unexpectedly sick, having to take care of him and her little sister. Now that her father had passed and her sister had a full ride to another prestigious college, Harvard, Y/N lived in the tiny apartment above the bakery where she worked four days a week and in the bar four nights a week and every Saturday night. The rest of the time, she studied part-time to finish her college education and sent every spare cent she had to her sister in Boston.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled at her. She was pretty, too, and Dean wasn’t afraid to admit that he had a massive crush on her. Not that anything would ever happen because she was her, and he was… well, he wasn’t good enough for a girl like that. “How are ya, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Dean. How are you? Oh! Did you manage to get Sam’s apartment sorted?” Y/N asked, and he smiled that she’d remember such a thing.

“Yeah, it’s all good now. We managed to get the rest of the deposit together,” Dean said. “Thanks for the extra shifts, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” Y/N smiled. “I still can’t believe landlords can actually do that,” Y/N shook her head as she headed behind the bar and started filling the refrigerators with bottles of beer and wine to prepare for the busy Friday night shift.

“Yeah, us either. But it’s done, and he has somewhere to live,” Dean said as he put the last menus and condiment buckets on the tables. “What needs to be done next, boss?” he asked, smirking when Y/N chuckled. She hated being called that, but he seemed to be the only one she didn’t scold for it.

“I could use a hand changing over the barrels if you’ve got time?” she said, breaking up the cardboard that the bottles had been housed in.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Dean headed into the storeroom and started shifting the beer barrels behind the bar as Y/N continued putting bottles in the fridges and replacing the almost empty spirit bottles with full ones to accommodate the busiest night of the year: Friday night football and Freshers Week.

The bar was packed with customers, the warm, sunny weather drawing even more of them in than usual, and of course, Chuck had decided tonight was a good night to show face and ‘help’, putting the staff on edge. Dean had gone with the head down and get on with it attitude, glad it was three deep at the bar so he had an excuse not to have to entertain Chuck for very long.

Y/N had been running around after Chuck all night, finding this paperwork and that invoice and the employee payroll for the past six weeks. Eventually, when he couldn’t possibly ask for anything more, she’d escaped the office, having brazenly told her boss that she was needed front of house to help serve customers.

“I swear,” she’d said as she tied her little black server’s apron around her waist, “It’s like he fucking knew tonight would be the busiest night but still came to check months old paperwork! God, that man is insufferable!”

It wasn’t often that Y/N showed her annoyance, and Dean couldn’t help but think it was cute. Though, admittedly, that could be his crush talking, her furrowed brow and tiny pout were adorable.

“What can I do to help?” he asked as she took her place behind the bar.

“I should be asking you that question!” she giggled. “What do you need me to do?”

“We could do with someone collecting and cleaning the empty glasses, if you wouldn’t mind?” he responded, smiling as she picked up a basket, cleaning spray, and a cloth before he’d finished his sentence.

“You got it,” she winked and headed onto the floor to clear and wipe the tables down. And that, Dean thought, is what makes a good boss. Someone who works with the team to achieve the same goal. Someone who isn’t afraid of stepping in to help by doing the most mundane tasks that are below their pay grade.

Y/N was a breath of fresh air for him in so many ways. She was bubbly and caring, and no matter what was thrown her way, she responded with an air of calmness and dignity that he admired.

“Hey, man. What can I get ya?” Dean asked the next patron, finally taking his eyes off the girl slowly taking over his every thought.

“Be careful,” Dean said as Y/N headed back onto the floor to clear more glasses and tables. “It’s getting rowdy out there. You know what those college boys can be like.”

“Thanks, Dean,” she smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He knew she would be. He’d seen her handling every kind of drunk customer. Still, he’d watch her closely because he was more worried than usual. The crowd tonight seemed even more enthused thanks to the local sports team playing. It still surprised him how often the female staff got touched inappropriately and had the most vulgar things said to them by too drunk and far too confident men. More than once Dean had had to step in and stop something from going too far, and he’d do it as many times as he needed to for Y/N or any of the other female staff.

Y/N managed to get around most of the bar unscathed, but there was a particularly boisterous table of men who only frequented the bar when the Chiefs played. Dean had been watching them all night because they seemed to have forgotten their age and tried to out-drink their much younger counterparts. They’d already run their mouths off to the bar staff, and now one of them in particular had their beady eye on Y/N as she moved from table to table, collecting empty glasses and bottles.

Swapping her tray out for an empty one, Y/N made her way over to their table, and the second she got close enough, the balding guy with the beady eye was quick to rear his hand back and smack her ass. Dean’s hackles rose, and he was on high alert as he watched her give the douchebag a piece of her mind. But he didn’t stop. Douchebag wrapped his arms around her waist and tried pulling her onto his lap. All the while, his douchebag little friends laughed and cheered him on like he’d won a fucking prize.

Dean saw red as he ran around the bar and strode purposely over to the group of middle-aged men amid a mid-life crisis and pulled Y/N from his hold, dragging her behind him to protect her.

“The lady told you to leave her alone. I suggest you do that,” Dean fumed, only getting angrier at Douchebag’s smirk.

“Oh, ladies and gentlemen, we have a jealous boyfriend trying to protect his girl! You know, if she were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t let her out the house wearing something so…” he paused as he leered up and down Y/N’s body, “revealing.”

“Listen, asshole, you don’t want to piss me off right now. Why don’t you and your buddies call it a night and go home? You’ve clearly had too much to drink, and we don’t take kindly to people assaulting our staff here,” Dean’s jaw was clenched, but he’d somehow managed to keep his voice steady.

“Sorry, man,” Douchebag smirked as he stood. “Just can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl showing off half her body like a Goddamn little tease. She’s asking for it, really.”

That was the last straw, and as Douchebag made one final (and unfortunately successful) attempt to get his hands on Y/N, Dean pulled his fist back and punched him square on the nose. The resounding crack as Dean broke the guy’s nose was satisfying, as were the synchronised grimacing ‘oohs’ that the audience this little corner of the bar had attracted.

“You broke my nose, asshole!” Douchebag spluttered. “I’m reporting you for assault!”

“You do that,” Y/N said, “and I’ll have you arrested, too. This whole bar and the CCTV saw you grope me twice and clearly saw me trying to get you off me! What he did,” she pointed at Dean, “was save me from being sexually assaulted!”

“Come on, man,” one of Douchebag’s friends said, patting him on the back. “Let’s get you to the hospital. It’s not worth it.”

“Damn straight it’s not!” Dean yelled. “Any way you spin this, he doesn’t win, so get the hell out and don’t come back!”

Tail between their legs, Douchebag and his friends left the bar. The second the door shut behind them, Dean was next to Y/N, checking her for injuries.

“I’m fine, Dean,” she insisted, but her eyes told a different story. The encounter had shaken her up, and Dean wanted to fix it, needed to fix it.

“No, sweetheart, you’re not. You’re–” Dean began but was interrupted by the shrill voice of Chuck.

“Winchester, my office, now! You too, Y/N.”

Seeing Y/N sitting beside him on the other side of the desk was strange. This was where she did all the paperwork, payroll, ordering, and invoicing, so to see Chuck on her chair was disconcerting. And not good.

“I don’t know what was going on out there–” Chuck began, and Dean scoffed in disbelief.

“You’re bar manager was sexually assaulted by a customer. That’s what happened!” Dean sat forward on his chair, raising his voice. He only calmed when Y/N placed her hand on his forearm.

Chuck pursed his lips at his outburst and continued speaking as if Dean hadn’t interrupted.

“I don’t know what happened, but whatever it was, sexual assault or not,” Chuck looked pointedly at Y/N before he continued. “It’s no excuse for my staff to behave violently.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Dean fumed. “That… scumbag… touched her ass and her breasts and tried to force her into his lap! You see those bruises, right?” he asked as he pointed to the dark purple fingerprint marks on her arms.

“Inappropriate comments, slurs, even touching, is to be expected when you work in a bar–” Chuck was interrupted again, this time by Y/N.

“There are no touching policies in every strip club in the country for a reason, Chuck! You cannot expect it to be any different in a fratboy sports bar! No one should go to work expecting that being sexually assaulted is okay!”

“For God’s sake, Y/N! So what a guy touched your ass and tits! You should be flattered!”

“It was sexual assault, Chuck! That guy,” Y/N pointed behind her in the general direction of the bar, “touched me without permission, and I could have him charged! You too with how you’re behaving!”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic! I feel sorry for your boyfriend if this is how prudish you are!”

“Hey, that is–” Dean interjected, but Chuck kept talking.

“Dean, you’re fired. I cannot, and will not, allow a violent brute to work in my bar.”

“You can’t do that!” Y/N protested.

“Watch it, or you’ll be gone, too!” Chuck threatened, but Dean knew it was an empty one with her. He needed her too much. The bar would burn to the ground without her in charge.

“No need. I quit. Effective immediately. I cannot, and will not,” Y/N glared at Chuck as she repeated his words to him, “work in a place where I’m expected to be sexually harassed and assaulted and ignore it. I cannot, and will not, work for a man who fires a good person for helping someone in need.”

Standing, Y/N took off her apron and name tag and threw them on the desk. She unhooked the keys from her belt and pulled the cash box towards her, opening it and pulling out two brown envelopes, handing one to Dean and putting the other in her pocket. Once she’d locked the cash box, she tossed her keys down on the cheap metal desk with a satisfying clang.

“Really? You’re going to quit over him?” Chuck scoffed.

“Yes. Dean is worth a thousand shitty bar jobs like this one, and I’d choose him over any of them in a heartbeat,” Y/N said with her head held high. “I hope you know you’ve just lost your two best workers on the busiest night of the year. Come on, Dean. Let’s get out of this shithole.”

Dean didn’t protest. He stood up, smirked at Chuck because he just couldn’t help himself, and followed Y/N out of the bar and onto the street.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t need to do that. I’m a big boy, and I can look after myself,” Dean said after walking in silence for a few minutes.

“I know you can, and yes, I did. That was unfair and undeserved. Especially because it was my fault,” Y/N responded.

“Hey, don’t ever… it wasn’t your fault. Things like that are never the woman’s fault, you know that, right?” Dean couldn’t believe she’d ever think something like that would be her own doing.

“I know, but if I’d listened to you and let Marcus clear tables instead of me, none of this would’ve happened.”

“No. I won’t hear it. You didn’t ask to be groped by a balding douchebag going through a mid-life crisis, sweetheart. Don’t ever apologise for someone else’s wrongdoing,” he reassured her.

“So, what do we do now? We both kinda needed that job,” Y/N chuckled, but it held no humour.

“Well, I might know a guy who owns a wine bar downtown. A classy establishment, so the tips are better. And we’d be treated right,” Dean said, thinking of the bar Cas had tried to get him to work in for months.

“You have a buddy with a bar, and you chose to stay working in that shithole?” Y/N asked in disbelief. “Why? What would possess you to stay there? Willingly?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Dean smirked. This wasn’t where he envisioned this conversation going–if it ever happened at all, that is–but the perfect opportunity had presented itself and he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t take it. “I got to see you almost every day.”

“Come on! You did not stay there for me!” Y/N scoffed, and Dean shrugged his shoulders, his lips tugging upwards in a shy smile.

“I did, actually. Can’t think of anyone better to spend so much time with.”

“Dean Winchester,” she grinned. “Are you flirting with me?” The teasing tone in her words was one he’d never heard before, and he liked it.

“Do you want me to be flirting with you?” he’d asked, needing to hear her say it before he did something stupid because he’d misread the signals.

“Yeah… I think I do,” Y/N giggled, stepping closer to him, bumping their arms together as they stepped in sync down the sidewalk.

“Yeah?” he asked, checking again because, quite frankly, she was her and he was him.

“Yeah.”

Dean stopped walking and gently grabbed her forearm to stop her from walking ahead. Feeling brave, Dean placed his hands on her cheeks and dipped his head, slowly lowering his lips to hers. Every inch closer he got, he switched his gaze between her lips and her eyes, making sure this was what she wanted.

When there was no hesitation and nowhere else to go, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers. They were as soft as they always looked, softer even, and tasted as sweet as he’d imagined they would.

Y/N pressed herself closer to him with a low hum and slid her arms up his chest, resting one hand on his pec and the other curling around his neck. Dean licked her bottom lip, encouraging her to open her mouth and let him deepen their kiss.

He failed to hold back a groan when his tongue met hers, the feeling so much better than anything his mind could’ve conjured up. Dean couldn’t remember how long he’d wanted this, and now that it was happening, he knew he’d do whatever he could to keep her in his arms, just like this.

#j3bingo #just like this #au dean winchester x reader #bartender!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester #dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #fluff

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holylulusworld · 2 months

Text

The one that got away (8)

Summary: Your best friend breaks your heart.

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: naughty Dean, implied innocent reader, idiots in love, a date, fluff

Catch up here: The one that got away (7)

The one that got away masterlist

“Dean, where are we going?” You giggle as Dean covers your eyes with one hand while guiding you toward his car. “I know that this is your car. Driving around in Baby is not a surprise.”

“Keep your eyes closed,” he grumbles behind you. “No cheating, sweetheart. Wait! Do not open your eyes!”

“Fine.” You huff. “If you get your dick out or something I’ll scream!”

“Y/N,” he whispers in your ear. “If you see my dick for the first time you will scream because it’s the biggest dick you ever saw.”

“Uh-“ you chuckle nervously. The truth is you never saw a dick up close. “How’d you wanna know it’s the biggest dick I ever saw.”

“Baby doll,” nuzzling your cheek Dean smirks. “I know it is. Call it a hunch, Y/N.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” he laughs and pecks your cheek. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. No more dick jokes.”

“I’ll keep you up on that promise, Mr. Winchester.”

You sigh but decide to give Dean the chance to prove that he can be more than a cocky frat-boy, and dick-enthusiast.

“Just a minute, Y/N,” he loosens his tie to use it as a makeshift blindfold. “It will be worth it, I swear.”

“I trust you in this. Please don’t disappoint me again, Dean. I want us to become friends again. This won’t work if you keep on thinking with your dick!”

“You talk a lot about my dick for someone who doesn’t want me to talk about it,” he snickers. “Alright. That’s enough dick-talk. I will open the door for you and help you get inside Baby.”

Against better knowledge you let Dean open the door and help you get into the passenger seat. He buckles you up, not missing the chance to peck your lips.

“I know you’ll love my surprise,” he pecks your lips again. “I swear it’s a pleasant surprise.”

You drove for almost two hours before Dean finally parked his car.

“Wait, I’ll help you get out,” he gets out of the car, and opens the door for you. Again, he helps you get out of the car. “Give me a second and we can start with mission love.”

“Mission love?” You chuckle. “Seriously?”

“I’m damn serious, sweetheart,” Dean wraps one arm around your waistline and guides you away from his car. “We’re almost there.”

“Where are we going?” You ask again, but Dean won’t give away what he’s up to. “Dean?”

“Please trust me for a moment,” he stops in his tracks. “Alright, I’ll take the blindfold off now, okay.”

Dean removes the tie, smirking as you look at him in disbelief. “Dean, what is wrong with you? You pick me up from home, drive around for two hours only to drive me back home?”

“No, no…sweetheart. I picked you up to drive you to my home,” he grins. “I rented the apartment next to you.”

“You did what?” You hiccup. “But…but…” Groaning you punch Dean’s upper arm. “You fucker! I sat in your car for two hours only because you wanted to show me your apartment?”

“Not only because I wanted to show you my new apartment, sweetheart,” he grumbles. “Let’s head inside and I show you around.”

You can’t believe Dean tricked you once again. Two hours wasted only because he wanted to show you his new apartment right next to yours.

“Let me show you around,” Dean says and unlocks the door. “Be prepared to gasp and swoon.”

He guides you inside, switching the light on as you take off your jacket. “Dean, what?” Music starts playing, and you smell the scent of lilac. “What is all of this?”

The apartment is empty. Only a table for two stands in the middle. Rose petals lead to the table. A huge bouquet of roses stands in the middle of the table, along with candles and a full-course meal.

“When did you prepare all this?” You glance at the plates on the table, filled with your favorite dish. Chicken parmesan. “Dean?”

“I told you, it’s a nice surprise,” he takes your hand and leads you toward the table. “Just a second.” Dean pulls the chair for you and kisses your cheek again. “I hope you like it. My cooking skills are not the best.”

“How did you do it? We drove around for two hours and the food is still hot,” you look at the food again. Your mouth waters, and your stomach rumbles loudly.

“I made a few calls,” Dean sits opposite you. “I hope you still like chicken parmesan. I ordered it from the best restaurant in town.”

“Who helped you? Are you hiding them in your closet?” You cock your head to watch Dean. “Dean?”

“I called Sammy, okay,” Dean shrugs. “I wanted to give you a special Valentine’s Day. Going to a random restaurant wasn’t enough. I prepared the table, the rose petals, and everything else. Sammy ordered the food for me.”

You sink the fork into the chicken, smiling as Dean watches your every move. He hums and licks his lips. “You did all this only to show me your new apartment?”

“I did all this for you,” he hastily says. “It’s Valentine’s Day and you deserve to dine with the most handsome man you ever laid eyes on.”

“Uh-huh,” you chew your food. “We are self-confident much tonight.”

“Well, I got the chance to dine with the prettiest woman I ever laid eyes on,” he smiles at you, and his eyes drop to your lips. “It’s only fair you can enjoy my presence.”

“Dean,” you snort. “You are so…” You look at him, and sigh. Dean hopefully looks at you, imitating his brother’s puppy dog eyes. “You…”

“Is that a bad thing?” Dean asks.

“No,” you shake your head. “You’re still the cocky and handsome guy from back then. There is nothing wrong with you. Only with the way you treated me back then.” You look at him. “This is very nice, and I enjoyed all the attention you gave me but… I’m scared you’ll hurt me again, Dean.”

“Y/N,” he gets up from his chair. “I’ll never hurt you again.” Dean steps toward your chair to cup your face. “You mean too much to me, sweetheart. I want it all this time.”

“You want it all,” you repeat his words as he lowers himself to press a soft kiss on your lips.

“With you,” he murmurs against your lips. “And I hope you want it all with me too…”

Part 9

Tags in reblog.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #The one that got away (8)#au dean winchester #business au #spn

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minefield-of-a-ninja · 1 year

Text

28 DAYS: CHAPTER NINE

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given a choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter warnings/tags: mentioning thoughts of self-destruction

Words in this chapter: 2,100

Author’s notes: you might recognize a few nuggets (per Stuie) from SPN here.

Many thanks to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for pre-reads and for being my friends.

text divider by @talesmaniac89

CHAPTER NINE

“My buddy, Cas, he’s... well, he used to be my buddy,” Dean pauses, squinting down at the smoldering butt between his thumb and fingers.

Meg remains silent next to him.

Dean assumes she knows as well as he does that he can’t predict whether his friends before rehab will still be his friends after. Not to mention friends like Castiel, the authority Dean defied when he took it upon himself to burn his life and career to the ground in that high school fire three weeks ago.

“Cas is a widower with a teenage daughter,” Dean continues, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“He’s a weird little guy.” He exhales smoke and chuckles, looking at Meg sideways. “You’d like him.”

Meg snorts, flicking her ash before taking a drag of her own.

“I, uhh... Cas was my boss. He’s the big chief.”

Meg quietly listens as smoke rolls from between her lips.

He and Meg are as close as he’s ever been with anyone. They share things, and he considers her to be a real friend. They’re all so fucked up, bleeding emotion right and left, that it’s taken no time to bond, even when they don’t know every central life point of each other. Until this moment, Dean didn’t realize that he had yet to tell Meg what landed his ass here in the first place.

He drags his gaze from her cherry lips and focuses on his shrinking cigarette.

“I fucked up.” Dean bobs his head, then takes the last drag from his smoke before tossing it toward the bucket of sand as he exhales. “I’m a firefighter — battalion chief, 15 years of service, saved lives and homes — but I fucked up that day.”

Dean thinks about the stories everyone has and that Jack is so enthusiastic about. He’s not been forced to tell his story, but he’s hungry for that last connection with his newfound family here. The desire to share swirls in his chest, threatening to pop out, sloppy and chaotic.

When he peeks at Meg, she’s listening closely without a hint of judgment.

Dean slowly and quietly tells her what happened that day. How he’d been at Gordon’s until the wee hours, drinking and fucking his way between a couple of women he barely knew. How he stumbled home less than two hours before getting called in on a conflagration.

“What’s a conflagration?” Meg asks, lighting two cigarettes at once before exhaling and handing one of the smokes to Dean.

“It’s a... thanks,” he pauses, accepting the cigarette from her and taking a drag. “A conflagration’s a big fire that’s on target to destroy a lot of property, land... take a lot of lives.”

Meg exhales and nods, squinting through the haze of smoke. “So you showed up drunk to a killer fire?”

Dean slowly blinks and nods. “BAC of .23 six hours after leaving my drug dealer’s house, yeah.”

Meg whistles.

“Waltzed into that job with a vial of coke in my pocket and more substances in my system than a raver on a Saturday night. And Cas, my boss and best friend... he told me to...” Dean pauses and draws a deep, clean breath. “He told me to stop — to stand down — and I ignored him.”

He takes a long pull from his smoke, recalling that morning, not wanting to leave anything out.

“Do you know why you ignored him?”

Dean looks at Meg. She looks like she knows the answer already, even though Dean didn’t even realize it until now.

“I was in self-destruct mode.”

Meg nods and huddles in closer, narrowing her gaze.

“Two years ago, I’d never be out ‘til three in the morning, never test those boundaries. But the farther I got from a real life, the less I cared about bein’ careful.”

His words hang in the air between them. He can almost see them mocking, shiny, and bubblegum pink like something out of an after-school special.

“Real life,” Meg hums. “What’s not real about your life right now?”

Dean shakes his head and takes the last drag from his cigarette. “I wanna settle down with someone. I want a house with a yard, not an apartment. I want Em... I want where I live to be her home.”

Meg nods, sitting back and finishing her own cigarette. “So now you know.”

Dean chuckles, tossing his butt toward the sand bucket.

The reason he brought Cas up, to begin with, was because he thought Cas and Meg would like each other. They have a similar sense of humor and have made Dean feel less awkward about different stages in his life with distinctive grace and compassion. He doesn't know if Cas will speak to him at this point, but he can’t keep himself from imagining two of his favorite people becoming favorites of each other.

Sam pulls out of the hug before Dean.

“Lydia said you looked good. She was right.” He nods, clapping a hand over his brother’s shoulder. “How’re your injuries healing?”

“Good.” Dean misses the embrace. He wishes he wasn’t so needy, but holding his baby brother has always been the best cure for his ills. “You sure I don’t look skinny? Lydia said I looked skinny.”

“No, man. You look great. It’s been a while.” Sam looks cagey as he glances around at the other patients and their guests.

Dean doubts Sam’s comment was meant as a kick to the gut, but it sure as fuck feels like one.

When Sam was a kid, he looked up to Dean. He used to tell Dean that he couldn’t wait to be big and strong like him. Now Sam looks at him with pity. Dean wonders if one day he might earn back even a fraction of Sam’s admiration.

“Want a cup of coffee or anything?” Dean tries to be hospitable, but rehab isn’t exactly the Ritz.

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

Dean also tries not to get pissy about Sam’s really fucking noticeable uneasiness.

“Let’s take a walk, Sammy.” He doesn’t wait for Sam to argue; he turns and heads toward the trailhead he walked with Meg and Pamela earlier that morning.

Thankfully, Sam follows without further ado. Once they’re on the trail and other voices are a distant hum, Sam relaxes, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

“So,” Sam starts. “You’ll be out of here in, what, a week?”

Dean chuckles, dropping his gaze to his booted feet on the packed trail. “Sammy, you and me both know that you know exactly when I’m gettin’ outta here. You’re the one who set this all up, remember?”

Sam bobs his head, matching his brother’s stride. “Just trying to start a conversation, Dean.”

His voice is quiet and contrite, and Dean feels like an ass for calling Sam on the bogus question.

“Sorry, man. I know this ain’t easy. But, yeah, eight days, actually.”

Sam nods, looking over at Dean. “How d’you... how are you feeling about it?”

Dean smiles up into the partly cloudy blue sky. “Scared.”

Sam slows to a stop, and Dean does the same.

“Do you need more time?” Sam asks, concern furrowing his brow.

Dean shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, dude. Gotta take the training wheels off sooner or later.”

Sam nods thoughtfully. “Have you found a sponsor yet?”

“Not yet. Next week.”

Sam gazes off into the woods, stress rolling off him like a stench.

“Hey.” Dean reaches out and tugs the wrist cuff of Sam’s flannel shirt to get his attention.

“I hate that you’re scared, Dean.” Sam holds Dean’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re being honest, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Dean nods, carefully choosing his next words.

“I’d rather be scared than what I was three weeks ago. Scared means careful. It means I got somethin’ to lose and to look forward to. It means I got my baby girl back, and this time I’m keepin’ her.”

Sam steps in and grabs Dean in another hug. This one lasts longer than the first, and Dean basks in it.

“My mom died in a house fire when I was four.”

These are the things that haunt him. He could be insolent and say they’re the reasons he drinks, but the truth is, they’re more than that.

“After the fire, Dad changed; he, uh... followed a downward spiral.” Dean shakes his head and chuckles. “He was angry, usually at me.”

Dean avoids using the words he and Billie discussed. He avoids saying that John was abusive because this is his story, not John’s. And he avoids looking anyone in particular directly in the eyes.

“Started workin’ at the family garage before I was in middle school. Child labor laws be damned, I guess.” He huffs another sardonic laugh.

In less than a month, Billie Pilgrim has given Dean the space and permission to believe he was hurt and abused and has suffered trauma. Stating the facts out loud in front of a live audience solidifies that belief.

“It felt good, though, ya know? Like I was doin’ somethin’ special. And I was a quick learner.”

Dean genuinely smiles, remembering how Bobby would brag to John about what Dean had learned that day.

“I was never great at school. Dropped out during the 8th grade, settled into the role of Mom and Dad to Sammy...”

He pauses for a deep breath.

“Sometimes I can’t believe how good he turned out.” Dean shakes his head and then continues. “When I was 17... I got caught with a couple high school girls doin’ what teenagers do when their parents aren’t home. Dad was... well, Dad about it. He shipped me off to Afghanistan.”

Dean briefly flicks his gaze up to Pamela, who nods, mouthing thank you.

“Later, Dad’d tell everyone it was my choice — to follow in the footsteps of my old man and become a Marine, but I was fuckin’ terrified, man.” He looks down at his hands in his lap. “I served two tours before Sammy graduated high school. He sent me a copy of an offer letter for a full ride to Stanford... I came right home — I knew Dad was gonna fuckin’ lose it.”

Dean clears his throat, shifting in his seat.

“We fought — Dad and me. I was just tryna run interference for Sam to get his shit and... it was bad. I said some things. John... my dad, he was so mad, like red-faced, veins bulgin’ out...”

Dean finally looks around the circle. Everyone is listening; even Crowley is engrossed.

“Turns out he was in the middle of a massive heart attack. Killed him on the spot. Not even CPR brought him back long enough for me to say I was sorry and g’bye.”

Dean stops talking. There’s more to his story, but that’s all he can do for the day.

“Thank you for sharing, Dean,” Cain speaks.

Dean nods, staring at his feet.

“Does anyone want to say anything to Dean?”

Jack immediately raises his hand.

“Yes, Jack,” Cain smiles.

“Dean, you should know that these are just things you’ve done and things that have happened to you, not who you are.”

Dean looks up at Jack and smiles.

“Yeah, I know. But the mark... it’s still there, ya know?”

Jack nods.

“What’s Billie always say? No one’s a monolith?” Meg asks.

Dean grins at her. That was one of the first deep lessons he learned from Billie.

He wasn’t exaggerating when he told Sam he was scared. Hell, he still hasn’t looked at his email, and he deleted his text logs with Gordon and others like him without even taking a peek.

But Dean’s armed with tools from Billie and Cain, and he has a community to rely on in a way he’s never felt he had before. There are things and people — feelings that he wants to experience differently, or maybe even for the first time.

Maybe he did have support before, and he was just too numb to feel it.

Regardless, this is a new day.

Dean’s 16 years old. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat of the Impala, and John’s sitting shotgun.

John’s teaching him to drive, to get his learner’s permit, and Dean is nervous and excited, hands gripping the wheel.

This isn’t a memory; it’s a dream. Dean knows this because, in reality, John taught Dean to drive when he was eight. He put a couch cushion on the front seat and tied blocks to Dean’s tennis shoes.

In the dream, Sam’s in the backseat, begging to take a turn.

Finally, they pull up to the house — the family house — and Dean parks in the driveway.

John looks over at his oldest child then and says, "Perfect landing, son."

Chapter 10

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ’s Masterlist

#au dean winchester #dean winchester is saved

39 notes · View notes

kickingitwithkirk · 1 year

Text

La Princesse Vierge

Pairing: Pirate!Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5296

Warnings: pirate ship attack, cursing, show level violence, p/v sex, fingering, cunnilingus, a pinch of dub/con

Squares filled: @spnkinkbb -Hair Pulling @j3bingo - “Can I kiss you?” @spnaubingo -Pirate AU @spnmixedbingo -Sam @winchesterandbeyondbingo -virgin @anyfandomgoesbingo -Bodyguard AU @howbadcanitbebingo -Magical Healing Cock @anyfandomdarkbingo -aquaphilia @witchsambingo -solitary witch

Winchester brothers art inspiration and here

A/N: Thank you to @justagirlinafandomworld and @b3autyfuldisast3r for helping pick bingo squares inspiring this story

A/N II: Once again, brevity is not in my vocabulary

*divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

The sound of men shouting and heavy thumping on the timbers started me from my slumber and by the time on the carriage clock, it was pre-dawn.

I barely had the sash of my robe tied when the cabin door unlocked flying open and my guardian rushed in, still attired in his night clothes, hair askew, shouting something when the first cannonball slammed into the ship's hull making me stagger.

Righting myself I pushed past him making for the main deck and finding it in chaos when I emerged from under the poop deck.

The British officers rushed around me barking orders, crew climbing the rigging to secure lines on the yardarm that had been damaged so the sails didn't fully collapse as the ship shudders from the pounding it’s taking and our cannons returning fire.

I made my way onto the forecastle and froze seeing a dark, ominous, and easily twice the size of our ship flying a Jolly Roger seconds before it fires again.

The blast hitting near the waterline knocks me off my feet.

I scurry to the closest railing wrapping my arms around one of the spindles can barely understand Captain Barrows shouting orders from the helm as he turns the wheel, maneuvering the ship so the sails can catch more wind and will allow us to outrun the significantly heavier ship.

The captain finished spinning the wheel only to realize he’d steered directly in line with another ship, equal to our attacker's size, bearing down fast upon us leaving him no choice but to call for the white flag of surrender to be raised.

The air is thick with cannon smoke and tension as grappling hooks fly over the port side sinking into the wood and dragging us towards the first ship as the second comes along starboard pinning us between them.

Planks are extended allowing the marauders to come aboard with guns and cutlasses drawn, rounding up the crew and disarming them. I was led to stand off to the side with my guardian and officers awaiting the pirate captain's arrival.

During the time we were waiting the raiders methodically unload everything of value from the ship's stores as their quartermaster takes inventory against the ship's manifest and paused speaking to a burly pirate, who’d been silently observing the going on when a handsome, sturdily built man made his way across the deck to them.

He’s taller up close, clad in a well-worn ensemble; cropped dark blonde hair under a wide-brimmed, woven straw hat, a jerkin over belted thigh length, open tunic showing smooth skin covered with a dusting of cinnamon freckles, made more prominent by the Caribbean sun, below the knee trousers, hose and and and tall leather boots.

Watching him converse with the burly one I felt envious of his full lips and long lashes when his verdant eyes drifted over to me causing several of the officers to attempt closing ranks to hide me only to find several guns pointed at them to stop.

I definitely glared directly when the man’s wicked chartreuse eyes framed with long, thick lashes traversed my scandalously underclad body, blatantly staring at my breasts and smiling in an unsettling manner.

“Looks like we’re gonna get some fun after all Benny.”

That’s when my guardian pushed forward and said the stupidest things, “how dare you..you pirate pig! When the king hears about this..”

“Stop flapping that tongue or I’ll do it for ya,” Benny threatens in a bastardized French accent reaching for the knife hilt protruding from his boot when the other slaps the back of his hand against his chest and calmly remarks in his deep, gravelly voice, “relax Benny, let's hear what the man has to say before you collect another trophy.”

My guardian's eyes boggle when Captain Barrow spoke up. “Take whatever items you wish then allow us to proceed to our destination.”

The quartermaster points out something in the manifest to Benny made him grin, take it and drapes his arm over the other's shoulders.

“Deano, the rougir mariée is King George’s niece, Countess Y/L/N, heading for her nuptials to the prestigious Governor of Antigua and lookie..ol’ George sent a dowry.”

“Dean Winchester?”

The Captain's eyes widened as there was a restless murmuring amongst the offices, many seem to lose their resolve realizing who had captured us.

“The one and only,” he smirked, canting his head to the right, “ya’ catch who we have the honor of being in the presence of Sammy?”

Captain Barrow follows his line of sight and standing a few feet away a man blocking the view with his tremendous height and breadth of shoulders is tapping long fingers on the hilt of a cutlass. He is clad in the same manner as this Dean except for a jacket and the open tunic reveals his golden-hued, moderately-haired, muscular torso.

The subtle sea breeze stirs the ends of his longish, chestnut streaked with coppery tints hair, tied back under a tricorn hat is without a doubt the most incredibly striking man I’ve ever seen.

“It’s Sam,” he emphasized in a deep, honey-whisked voice, ”and we mutually agreed not to get sidetracked again, we’re already late for our rendezvous.”

“Aww, don’t be like that little brother. Gordon will understand when he sees what the king's benevolence has sent our way.” Dean crooks a finger at me, “come here, wench.”

No man outside the King had ever dared speak to me in such an impertinent manner makes my spine stiffen and Dean’s eyes narrowed, not pleased with my defiance came over grabbed my wrist jerked me out of my indignant repose.

I soundly slapped him.

His eyes boggled for a brief moment then drew back his arm and I closed my eyes bracing for his physical assault.

It never came.

I cracked one eye open and gasped; hovering scant inches from my nose was his fist enclosed in the much larger one of his younger brother.

“Do you realize the amount of trouble your impetuousness has brought upon us, big brother?”

Dean twistes his hand lose and stepping within earshot lowered his voice, “you think the kings gonna get pissed over losing her? She’s obviously not of much value since he refused her her rightful title.”

I blinked in surprise.

Dean presents himself as a common pirate but even out here in the middle of nowhere has contacts within the court who supply information of the goings on of the Palace.

Dean gestures to Benny for the ship's manifest, “look at her dowry, this ship's stores have more monetary value.” Sam took the book, its pages made his lips turn downward.

“Old George’s marrying her off as a reward to some bureaucrat instead of brokering a new alliance by marriage with France or Spain, so his loss is our gain. We could make quite a bit of coin selling her to Zachariah.”

Benny interjected, “ya’ brothers right on ‘dis one cher. Zachariah be willing to pay handsomely for royal blood, even outta favor. Plus being a vierge makes her a more délicieux morsel to offer up.”

Sam hands the manifest back to Benny as his uniquely colored eyes traverse over me and I feel a sensation of pleasure?

I found myself sitting on a water barrel on the deck of this ship, The Charger after Dean lost some strange game called rock, paper, scissors.

Over the horizon, I can barely make out the longboat, with what was left of Captain Barrow's crew (and my former guardian) rowing away while his ship sunk into the fathoms wondering if it would’ve been a kinder fate to have gone down with it.

Sensing someone I turn to see an innocent looking young man wave at me. “Hi, I’m Jack, the Captain requests that you join him below deck please.”

The please surprised me, “and if I refuse?”

Jack's face turns serious, “you don’t want to know what happened to the last person who did that.”

~~~

Captain Winchester and his first mate, a short, older man named Crowley, are hunched over a map table barely gaze up at my arrival, continuing on with their discussion. I take the opportunity to look around at the spacious, well-organized, not cluttered with ill-gotten gains, cabin.

There's an oak dining table seating six, a rolltop writing desk with several rolled documents lying neatly on it, and strangely, a bookcase running along the wall nearest me followed the progression of its various volumes, so absorbed I stumbled face-first upon an overly large bed realizing these are the Captain's personal quarters.

“I’ve never had a woman fall into my bed enraptured by my literature.”

Embarrassed by my oft-clumsiness making itself known, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, “well, it is truly impressive,” peering up to find myself staring straight at his..”cock?”

“Now I have had many a woman say that.”

I dropped my face back into the bed feeling a blush coursing from my toes to the top of my head when he burst out laughing, gripped my arm, and hauls me upright. I knew he was big and, though I am not as delicate a specimen as a lady is expected to be, he is massive this close.

“Let’s start over by properly introducing ourselves,“ he steps back, bowing elegantly, “Dr. Sameul Winchester, previously personal physician to the Governor of Montauk, currently captain of The Charger.”

My mouth dropped, “how does one go from such a prestigious profession to..”

His lips, how does a man have such pretty pink lips, quirk, “a scourge and scallywag of his majesty's providences? It started when my father was accused of treason.”

A vague memory of an overheard conversation tickles the back of my mind, “your father was Sir John Winchester, the shipbuilder?”

“He was part of a consortium that found out several of the king's advisers were in cahoots with Spain during the War of Succession.”

I remember the turmoil that conflict caused for years as he poured an amber liquid into two goblets and hands me one.

“I lodged a complaint through the governor about his innocents. Subsequently, I was arrested and found guilty of insurrection against the crown.”

“That is outrageous! If the King was made aware of such a miscarriage..”

“It was all done on the Lord Chancellor's orders,” Sam bitterly bit out sitting at the table's head, “spent the next two years at the oars.” I sat down in the chair next to him sickened, having heard rumors about the Lord Chancellor, knowing of what deceptions some would resort to for power.

“I was then auctioned off to a plantation owner and worked at the grindstone when the niece of the island's governor did me a favor. I spent the rest of my time as his personal physician before several of us orchestrated our liberation.”

“We hid out for months on uninhabited islands Crowly knew from his time on a naval ship in these waters caught wind that Dean had escaped England, ironically on the first ship our father had constructed, The Impala.”

He stared into his cup, “it took another five months of dodging his majesty's navy before he found us and now,” he gestures with one large hand, ”I’m captain of the last ship our father built.”

He studied me with a clinical eye asking, “is what Dean said about your circumstances true?”

I read in his handsome feature’s anything but the truth wouldn’t be tolerated and took a sip from the goblet to help steady my resolve wheezed from the strength of the spirits made him chuckle.

Catching my breath I told him the abbreviated version.

~~~

King George I had an ongoing, private feud with one of his siblings, my father, for over two decades.

Upon my birth, the King refused me the title of a princess and instead granted countess as a slight to my father, rendering me almost valueless despite my prestigious lineage.

Out of shame, my father sent me to live at Hatfield House, saying it was for my health and despite my family’s wealth, I grew up rather poor. All household accounts were paid by my inheritance, adjusted for my lower rank, thus explaining my minuscule dowery.

Five months ago, an envoy from London arrived announcing my marriage to the governor of one of his Majesty’s Caribbean provinces and after weeks of preparations my appointed guardian and I boarded Captain Barrow's ship bound for the Caribbean.

~~~

Captain Winchester, Sam, he insists I call him, gave me an unreadable expression before laying out some rules while aboard his ship; I had access to the main deck as long as I was accompanied by Jack, Crowley, or himself, otherwise confined to his quarters we’d both be sharing.

I was scandalized, it wasn’t that I’d never shared a room before, I had with my governess, but to do so with a man I wasn’t wedded to, if anyone got wind of those arrangements, it’d malign me in society.

Vehemently objecting I went a step too far in telling him when one overly large hand grabbed my loosely plaited hair and yanked me sideways I felt a strange but not unpleasant sensation traverse through me, a mixture of fear and pleasure.

He tightened his grip and said, “hate to break it to you princess, what you want doesn’t matter. My ship, my rules.” Keeping our eyes locked leans so close I could feel his rum-spiced breath caress my lips when a loud banging on the cabin door interrupts.

He shouts what, listen to the message relayed, and, with a growl, releases me standing up unabashedly adjusting his engorged member before storming out, slamming the heavy oak door behind him.

When I’m able to feel my legs I shakily cross to the wash basin pouring some water into it and, in a very unladylike manner, dunk my face trying to compose myself but wasn’t helping, every fiber of my being hoped next time he manhandled me, he wouldn’t stop.

Captain Sam Winchester has proven to be a dichotomy and discombobulates me to no end!

Publicly he acts like a well-bred gentleman, even granting privacy when attending to my personal needs, then does a complete turnaround when his brother comes aboard, reverting to the crudeness associated with pirate ilk.

During the evening meals, the rum flows freely and so does both brothers' lips, especially Dean's. I have had to resist the urge to punch his smug face, plastering on the polite smile I would fake at court when his conversation became pugnacious towards me.

The last straw was when he indiscriminately pissed in a chamberpot and I fled, mortified, as both brothers laughed.

At least Sam has shown discretion when it comes to his privy moments but proved true to his words with the other arrangements. The first night I’d made a pallet on the other side of the table, it was the furthest point with some semblance of privacy, instantly fell into an exhausted slumber.

I was startled when he flung off my blanket and gripping my ankle dragged me across the floor screaming bloody murder when the cabins door burst open and his first mate charged in with pistol drawn.

Crowley assessed the situation and had the audacity to be amused at our tableau; Sam standing over me clad only in his breeches, my nightdress ripped, hanging off a shoulder with the hem bunched up around the top of my thighs barely covering my pudendum.

“Might I suggest gagging her if she's going to protest your romantic overtures Moose, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“Fuck off Crowley!”

“Oh, I intend to, dreaming about this,” and with a wicked grin, left and Sam returned his attention to me. “I told you we’d be sharing this room; that includes the bed. Get up and get into it now!”

With what decorum I could muster clutch my ripped bodice warily getting up, and edge around him ordered me to stop handed me the shirt he’d been wearing, “I don’t want you fussing with that torn rag all night.”

Turning so I had a semblance of privacy I gasped upon seeing his broad back littered with whipping scars move closer, lightly rubbing my fingers over them flinched and spun seizing my wrist. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have been subjected to..I have never condoned such treatment of anyone, no matter what.”

Not saying a word he shoved me towards the bed and I obediently climbed in mentally bracing myself for what was to come when he climbs in the other side and lays down with his back to me.

“Good night, princess.”

Sleep eluded me for a long time, my mind occupied by this man sleeping next to me, like none I have ever met, and cannot figure out what game he was playing.

Six days later

I found myself sitting on the beach of some obscure island half-listening to the brothers' conference as Gordon, whom I had taken an instant dislike to, scrutinized me.

Pressing my lips tight together, I vehemently try but cannot suppress my chortle over the item sitting on a crate in front of me any longer.

“What the hell so funny women?” Gordon snaps.

Lifting my chin from my hand peer over at the darker-complected man, my senses tingling, warning me something about him is all wrong.

“I was wondering,” getting up to dust the sand off Jack’s spare breeches Sam insisted I wear in case we needed to make a quick exit, “if they know what the translation of bолшебный исцелеющий петух is?”

The Winchesters exchanged looks, “seriously? Neither of you speaks Russian?”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed, “keep quiet or I’ll remove your tongue.”

Little did he know such threats would not scare me, they were nothing compared to the Kings during one of his fits of displeasure.

“The literal translation is Magical Healing Cock.”

They wore matching bewildered expressions, “it’s used in magical practices to help channel sexual energies of the participants while they are,” I made the crude gesture learned from Dean indicating a certain sexual act.

“What the..magical sex..how can you..you’re a virgin!” Dean stumbled out before turning on Gordon, “you lying sonuvabitch, thought you could cheat us!”

Gordon moved quickly, wrapping an arm around my neck placed his pistol against my temple, using me as a shield.

“Since we can’t come to terms, I’ll take the virgin as compensation, she’ll bring me quite a bit of coin at Le marché des esclave AHHHH!”

Gordon's scream echoed across the beach when I sliced his arm with the engraved silver blade I was given years ago. the whites of his eyes disappear revealing what he was before the beach erupted into pandemonium.

The Winchester's men engaged Gordon's crew in a bloody battle as I struggled to escape his hold saw the brothers simultaneously fire their pistols and felt one iron ball pass my cheek embedding into that bastard's face as the other enters his chest, his dead weight dragging us down.

But instead of dying, Gordon pinned me under him, wrapping both hands around my throat heard Dean begin reciting, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te..”

Gordon looked up and flicked a hand sending Dean hurtling towards the treeline and Sam continued, “cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare, Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis..Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine..”

His voice choked off from the invisible force constructing his throat I managed to wheeze out, “quem inferi tremunt..Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!”

Gordon's head snapped back, his mouth exuding thick, black, sulfuric smoke plumes outward before penetrating the sand, the heat solidifying it into a jagged ring of black glass. The demons infesting his crew also smoked out to save themselves.

Benny checks Dean's bleeding head and helps him up, slapping his shoulder. Sam inspected my person, finding me uninjured except for finger-shaped bruises on my neck.

“Is this where the rogue pirate asks the princess can I kiss you?”

The surprise flickering across his face at my flippancy made Dean laugh, “alright princess, where the hell did you get that blade and learn to exorcize a demon?”

“My governess was from these islands. She passed her knowledge of the supernatural, and the blade, on to me.”

“Looks like the vierge is worth a lot more than I assumed,” Benny grudgingly remarked.

We spent the rest of the day split into groups: I helped Sam attend to the injured, Dean led a group to search Gordon’s ship for anything worth salvaging while the rest gathered the bodies, rowing them out to deposit onboard setting it alight before sailing away.

In the pre-dawn light, the ships anchored in a deep water cove of another remote island to lay low for a few days, a chance to rest and recover plus replenish the water casks and some perishables. By late afternoon the necessities were squared away.

A tired-looking Sam had me gather bath sheets and a change of clothing while he grabbed some bread, cheese, and a small, tied bag, placing everything in a burlap sack then we boarded one of the longboats headed for shore.

He led us along a hidden path inland and noticed my fascination with the sight and sounds and began telling me the names of brightly colored birds, strange animals scurrying into the bush, and exotically scented flowers.

My babbling with delight at finding fresh fruit and mint amuses him, gathering the fruit that’s out of my reach, and starts describing the variety of drinks and dishes they are used in to ward off scurvy..once a doctor.

I picked some of the mint leaves, added a few to the canteen, and began chewing on a couple when I heard running water follow the sound enter a secluded area with a small waterfall feeding a clear pool.

“I found this years ago, the waters are safe and no nasty critters to contend with,” Sam informed me, sitting the sack down on one of the flattened, water-smoothed rocks surrounding the pool digging out the small bag handed me one of the soap cakes.

The one thing I hated the most after leaving England was the inability to cleanse properly, especially my hair, for weeks, only allowed a cursory wipe down daily from the one water cask I was allotted.

“We won’t be disturbed so take as long as you like. I’ll be on the other side,” he pointed to a grouping of bushes, “and able to hear you.”

Spending the night covered in sand, ash, and blood I wanted to tear my clothes off and dive in instead hesitantly asking, “are you still planning on selling me to this Alistair?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Keeping me would be advantageous for you.”

Sam leaned against a Bannon tree crossing his arms, “explain to me how keeping you would be advantageous?”

“One-thanks to the King, no one will miss me enough to cause trouble. Two-thanks to my governess, I’m knowledgeable about artifacts and other things that are not Christian, thus exposing Gordon's attempted deception. Three-thanks to my tutors, I speak six languages, well seven, if you include Latin, which saved your collective arses from those demons. Four-thanks to my intended marriage and what you liberated from Captain Barrow's ship surpasses any monetary value you would make selling me.”

I had learned when Sam partially opened his mouth and rolled his tongue he was considering whatever was presented and decided to up the ante.

“And five-you. You find me attractive, and would it not be far safer having me in your bed than those doxies of Tortuga to tup?”

Sam frowned, “what do you know about doxies and tupping?”

“Did your father never take you to court?”

“No.”

“The King's court is riddled with some of the best whores in the world. Many were sent to France to train as courtesans and are encouraged to implement their charms to curry favors or seal deals. Several of the queens ladies-in-waiting educated me about copulation while avoiding the maladie française and pregnancy.”

Sam’s throat rapidly bobbles at that tidbit.

Slowly moving towards him asked, “did you know that royalty isn’t permitted to bathe by themselves? It was always someone’s responsibility to ensure their personage is disease free.” I stop a handbreadth distance and fixate upon his chameleon eyes, “as the only person qualified, it falls upon you to continue monitoring my health.”

He moved so fast. Suddenly I was pinned between his well-muscled chest and the tree, his long fingers roughly tangled in my hair creating an exquisite pain jolting my core.

“Are you only offering to evade being sold off?”

“Maybe.”

“If I were to keep you, you would be completely under our command.”

“Please, what do you mean by our?”

“My brother and I equally share everything, this includes women.” I shuddered at the thought of being with his brother, “would you also share me with your crews?”

“No, Dean and I are possessive of our dames entretenues. Do you understand what that entails, princess?

“I would appreciate explicit clarification.”

“Explicitly,” Sam pulled my head to the side leans so close I can feel his lips against my skin as he spoke, “you will be warming one, or both, of our sheets every day,” he continues, “participating in whatever sexual gratification we desire.” I mewl when he bites down hard enough to leave a mark on the juncture of my shoulder, “unless it is time for your flow. Is that clarification enough?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Yes Sir,” he corrects.

“Yes Sir.”

Sam released me, “take off all of your togs.”

Unabashedly he removed his shirt, “you pointed out it is my responsibility to keep you in good health so I need to examine your physique before engaging in relations charnelles.”

I had little to fear sleeping next to him the last few days but now at the prospect of what is going to happen, I felt trepidation while sliding off my trousers when Sam’s bare feet and calves appeared in view and he lifts my arms, gripped the hem of the shirt and pulls it over my head casting it off.

Sam wasn’t the first man I saw in the altogether but still felt myself blushing fiercely at both of us taking inventory of everything on display, reminded of the old adage of proportions and a man's appendage undeniably true for him.

Taking my hands he walks backwards into the warm water till I’m waist-deep then undoes the tie holding back my hair says, “take a deep breath and submerge yourself.”

I resurface momentarily panicking at Sam’s overly large hands on my head, feeling his fingers lathered in soap cake, massaging my scalp, strangely soothing and exciting, like when he pulls my hair.

After rinsing he handed me the soap cake, wetting himself then moving back knelt down on his knees in shallower waters.

I had washed my dogs when they came in muddy from the fields but never another person rubbed the cake between my hands then tentatively ran them through his locks, silkier than I’d imagined a man’s hair would be.

When my short nails scratched his scalp, his muscles twitched and I trailed my fingers over their contours, tracing the scars decorating his skin and felt his breath brush my cheek moving towards my lips I dropped my hands, confusing him.

“I did not verbally agree to those terms,” maneuver back into the water call out, “I have some stipulations of my own,” and swam to the falls.

I heard him curse and look back, unable to find Sam when he emerged from underwater lifting me onto one of the flattened rocks stood between my spread legs annoyed.

“What makes you think you’re in any position to negotiate terms?” A gentleman would endure only so much, and I had pushed my luck and his patience.

“I only have one. I do not wish to be shared with your brother.” Sam’s mouth downturned, “something happened to him, it caused an unsettlement..it scares me,” suddenly I am very aware of how naked, not only physically, I had made myself.

I leaned back when Sam placed his hands on either side of me and brought him a bit too close, “what do you know about that?”

“My governess figured out that I knew things about people just by being in their proximity. It’s why she taught me about the otherworld, said I had been born cursed and if they learned of it, they would come for me someday.”

Sam’s shoulders dropped and his expression saddened, skipping the worst details of what happened to Dean when he was under the tower, the darkest place to be imprisoned, run by a true connoisseur of medieval torturers, Alastair.

I reached up cupping his cheek putting his focus back on me and tentatively brushing my lips against his he reciprocated, gently caressing mine when I felt his tongue and surprised open up, he inserts it, tangling with mine, showing what a real kiss can be.

His lips following his hands trailing over my bare skin makes me shiver and release a nervous giggle, I feel him smile against my neck, nipping the delicate, bruised skin and I tip my head back as he continues exploring.

At some point I find myself lying back on the rock, eyes closed, an absolute mess while he licks the water off my skin only to have his hair rewet the area and starts over again.

His long fingers brush a sensitive place inside, has me on the edge of needing something I cannot name, and every time I try descending into it, Sam stops and returns to teasing my nipples, suckling gently and twisting between his fingers.

Jesu, how can a man have both; hands so violent and tender, lips harsh and caressing, at the same time feel a deep aching rising again, can almost taste it then, once again, halts touching me smugly asks, “still want to renegotiate the terms?”

“Fuck you!” I yawp in frustration.

Sam’s expression changed to irate and bracing myself for the worst he leaned in..amused?

I could only blink owlishly as he scans my prone form, lewdly splayed before him, chameleon eyes settle upon my pudenda licking his lips trailing fingers downwards over my heated skin inserting three into me, rubbing over that place dipping his head his talented tongue sends me over the plateau, and, without warning, lifts me up off the rock.

I find myself filled with his substantial membrum virile, waters churned up around us, not from the falls but his vigorous thrusting, now appreciating my thorough préparation for Riding St. George felt his muscles tauten, buried his face in the crook of my neck groaning out his release.

My vaguely functioning mind is amazed after such a strenuous physical excursion he is still holding me in his arms, walks us to the shore, and sits with me clinging like one of the strange creatures explorers write about felt him silently chuckle.

“Seems I missed learning a lot about ladies by never attending court,” I peer at him puzzled.

“Dean will be pissed, he was looking forward to using this,” his fingertips trace the outline of my mouth, “for more than your verbal vitriol. Now I’ll have to sweeten the pot so he will forget about you with that very special pistol he’s been wanting.”

“Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

“I agree to your counteroffer, princess”

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @b3autyfuldisast3r @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @akshi8278 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl @siospins2

#sam winchester x reader #pirate!samwinchester #sam winchester #dean winchester #pirates #au sam winchester #au dean winchester #spn au #supernatural #spn

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teddyeyeseddie · 2 years

Text

Dead Men Tell No Tales: Chapter Four

Pairing: Pirate!Dean x Reader

WC: 1,200+

Warnings: Major Angst, Drinking, Mentions of Abuse

A/N: What is gonna happen next? ;) Thank you @lfaewrites for looking this over for me, you’re the best honey <3 Feedback makes me smile!!

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“Not you,” he breathes out.

She turns around and is face to face with the man, his green eyes filled with some emotion that is far from anger.

“I really don’t appreciate you going around to other crewmates talking about my past life. If you want to hear about it you can hear it from me,” his usual confidence is gone, he is picking at his captain’s coat, casting his gaze to the ground.

“Captain Winchester, I would never do anything to directly disrespect you. You know how I feel about you. I think so highly of you and- I’d never,”

“I know, I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier. Cas was right though, there are a lot of things people don’t know about me. Just- come with me,” He grabs her hand, Y/N’s heart swooning at the way he laces their fingers together as he walks the pair back to his quarters.

He keeps their hands linked together as he leads her to the bed. He sits on the edge and pulls her hand into his lap, gripping onto it tightly. She studies his face as he does his best to pull himself together. She clasps his hand in both of hers, looking up at him with a soft smile. He chuckles under his breath before averting his gaze.

“Cas told you about my mother I’m sure,”

She nods her head as she rubs soothing circles over the calloused skin of his hand, “Aye.”

He lets out a laugh at her response that causes Y/N’s stomach to bloom.

“Picking up on the way we talk, are you?” he questions, a smile still plastered on his face as he looks down at her. It quickly falls when he remembers exactly why the pair are sat in his quarters. He abruptly releases his hand from her grip and gets up. He makes his way to his desk, fishing out a bottle of rum. He pours two glasses, handing her one before taking his seat next to her.

He quickly downs the glass and sets the empty container on the floor by his feet.

“My mother, Mary, she was my whole world. She was the best mother I could have ever asked for. Always made my brother and I feel loved. My father, before everything happened..” he pauses as his hands go back to picking at his coat, “He was good. Strong and hardworking.”

He pauses again and she offers her still full glass to him, he happily takes it and sips it before offering it back.

“He was a good father before it all. Then when they took my mother, he became obsessed with finding the men who took her. Sammy and I knew Mom was gone for good, even as young as we were. Dad just couldn’t accept it. He found a few men who wanted to join him and before they knew it, the became just like the men who took my mother from us,”

Y/N gets up from her spot on the bed, making her way to where he abandoned his bottle of rum. She picks up the empty glass from the floor, handing it to him. She uncaps the bottle of alcohol and pours him another hefty glass. With shaky hands he raises the glass to his lips, Y/N extends her hand and cups his cheek while he drinks, her thumb rubbing softly over the hair adorning his jawline. He leans into her touch and lowers the glass from his mouth.

“The chest you got those clothes from, it holds the only things I have left from my mother” he looks up at her and she swears she sees tears beginning to form.

“It's not much but they the only things I could salvage,”

“Dean, I am so sorry I didn’t-”

“It's- you didn’t know. It's okay,”

She keeps her hand on his jaw, Dean indulging in the way it feels to be doted on. He looks up at her, his heart clenching at the worry written all over her face.

“The shirt though, that was mine. That old dingy ripped thing,” he tries to turn it into a joke but she knows there is something more layered between his words, she releases his face before bringing the bottle of rum to her lips. She pulls a large amount from the bottle, enjoying the way it burns her throat as she drinks it.

“Dad he uh,” he pauses before standing up and turning his back to her. He sheds his captain’s coat before grabbing at the hem of his poet shirt and slowly pulls it over his head. She gasps when she sees the scars that litter the expanse of the man’s back, her heart dropping when he turns to reveal even more littering his chest. She hadn’t noticed them before in the darkness of his quarters, but here, in the candlelight she can see everything.

“The day we pillaged the ship you were on, I got my first one,” She approaches him, bottle of rum still in hand. She stands before him, eyes raking over his frame as she offers the bottle to Dean.

“My dad told me I was too soft,” he grabs the bottle and takes several hefty pulls from it, sucking his breath through his teeth before continuing.

“He told me I needed to be more like him. So willing to do awful things to people at the cost of anything. I never could bring myself to do anything he asked and every time I got a new lash.”

“Dean..”

“This one,” he points to a rather large scar adorning his sternum, “was from the day I decided I was no longer a Wesson,” her hand reaches up to trace the scar, the feeling of it making her shudder. She waits for him to finish the story as she traces the length of the wound but he never does.

“He finally got caught up in a bad deal, left the ship to Sammy and I. I cut Sam loose soon after, I didn’t want him to stay in this life,”

“And you do?”

“I couldn’t leave these men without a captain Y/N. I have to pay for what I did at the hands of my father, I’m destined to man this ship until the day I die.”

“You don’t have to. Come away, with me.”

He scoffs at her words, grabbing his shirt and pulling it back over his head, “It is not that simple, Y/N. I can’t just leave with some woman I barely know.”

“You don’t have to barely know me, Dean. You shut everyone on this ship out, let me in. Let yourself have something for once, stop punishing yourself and live a little.”

“I don’t understand you, what is it with you and all of this “live a little” nonsense?” he questions as he sits back on the bed, the now almost empty bottle in hand.

“I-I just know there is more out there for you. You are a good man Captain Winchester,” she approaches the bed, stopping before him in order to cup his jaw.

In a moment somewhere between drunkenness and desperation, Dean’s hand reaches up to cup her face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the soft skin.

Then, he kisses her.

Dean Tags

@winchesterfanatic1967 @akshi8278 @missannwinchester @thoughts-and-funnies@stixnstripesworld@lyarr24@kazsrm67@laycblack @mrsjenniferwinchester @drakelover78 @leigh70 @deanwanddamons @siospins2 @lfaewrites

Series Tag

@that-one-gay-girl @muhahaha303 @imherefordeanandbones

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