#dean got that apron from sammy

[k-slla]

New Traditions

A/n: There is no plot, just reader having some special birthday party with the Winchester boys

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, oral (m receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (you know to be smarter than them, right?), strip poker (I just had to include the gif above🤤), alcohol consumption, language

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader x Sam (NO WINCHEST)

Word count: ~1.8k

My Masterlist

All mistakes are mine! Hope you'll enjoy!

You opened your bedroom door and were faced with bright light coming in from the hallway. Your room was dark and since bunker had no windows, you had no idea for how long were you out from the werewolf hunt.

You put on a large sweater, that once belonged to Dean. Something sweet smelling pulled you towards the kitchen. Dean got no sleep again, you thought, when you heard Led Zeppelin blaring in there. You entered the kitchen and was stunned by the view. Dean, in his gray Henley and jeans, which was a sight for sore eyes already, was rocking a black apron with some floury handprints on it. "So, what you're baking, babe?" You spoke up, when you realized he hadn't seen you enter. It might have been your imagination but you could swear you saw the big bad hunter flinch.

"Hey, look who's up!" He swiped his hands clean into his apron and came to give you a hug. "Happy birthday, sweetie!" You got bit confused. There was no way in hell you slept almost two days straight. "What time is it? How long was I out for? My birthday was still two days away, when we got back." You let go of him and another thought crossed your mind. "And how did you know when my birthday is? I haven't told you that!" He just shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, of course I know when's your birthday. Come on."

He took off the apron and literally dragged you out of the kitchen into the library, where Sam had put up some colorful banners. "Oh my god, you dorks. You didn't have to do that." You laughed. "Happy birthday, Y/N!" Sam came over to give you hug. "Thank you, Sammy!" You looked at the table and saw three shot glasses, bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards. Boys have something planned for the night and you suspected that Dean was behind this. You looked at him expectantly. "Dean, what is this?"

They looked at each other and Sam started talking, carefully choosing his words. "Oh, uhm, Dean kind of talked to me. About what you've been trying together and I- well, if you're okay with that of course- I'm, how to say, -intrigued." He smiled at you mischievously. Oh, you did not expect that. You and Dean have been having occasionally someone join in your bedroom but you didn't think he'd be interested to do this with his own brother. Well, they'd not be doing it together together, Dean definitely didn't swing that way, but still it surprised you. But you can't deny, you have been wondering about how the other Winchester would be in bed. Once you drunkenly mentioned it to Dean and you see now that he hadn't forgotten that. "Well, that's why the bottle is here you know. I kind of figured we'd all need some liquid courage. And cards for strip poker. But, Y/N, you know that whatever you say, goes. No questions asked." Dean guaranteed your say-so. "Let me just say that this wouldn't be the first time for us to share." He added sheepishly. Your eyes went wide."What? You haven't told me that." Sam stepped in. "It was years ago. It doesn't matter."

Your shaking hands moved to the bottle to pour yourself a shot of whiskey. "I- Are you-uhm .." You started rambling and downed the shot. You couldn't believe you were actually considering it.

"Can I just say, you two are not quiet when you fuck, you know? Of course I've been thinking of you, Y/N. Wanting to hear you scream my name." Sam said tantalizingly. You looked at Dean again, wide-eyed. "I told you that you can't keep quiet." He smiled. "Well, Sammy, if you're wondering right now, what she's thinking about, then I can assure you, she's interested."

"Thanks, Dean!" You elbowed him into the ribs. "What? You told me that yourself!" He defended himself. "Yeah! In confidence!" You huffed out.

Looking between the boys, something suddenly shifted between you three. With some newfound courage, you sat down and poured another shot, now for all three of you. "Both of you are into it?" You eyed them seductively, motioning them to sit down at the other side of the table in front of you. They nodded in sync. You couldn't even believe yourself. "Alright, then. Let's play some poker. Winner of the round chooses loser's piece of clothing to remove."

Four rounds in, all of you had lost your shirts and you also your pants. Boys definitely had an advantage. You had seen them both shirtless before, so you felt a little shy first time in front of Sam only in your underwear to be honest.

"Shots!" Both called out at the same time and bursted out laughing. You did two shots in a row. These last two definitely had more effect on you. "Hey, guys! Guys!" You called over their drunk bantering. Dean stopped shuffling the cards. "I think we can all tell who lost already, am I right?" You stood up, with a slight wobble in your legs you didn't know if it was from the alcohol or from the anticipation of what was coming next.

You walked over to their side. Both turned around in their chairs, looking up at you. "Dean, baby, do you maybe want to show your brother what he's joining into?" In one swift move, he was up from the chair, lifting you up to the table. You locked your legs around his hips, pulling him closer to your heat. He crashed his lips onto yours and his fingers slipped into your underwear, massaging your clit painfully slow. You could taste the whiskey on his lips and it was totally intoxicating you. You knew your first orgasm would arrive quickly. "You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are. No idea." He panted between kisses. "Sammy, tell her. Isn't she beautiful?" He pushed two fingers into your waiting pussy and your mouth opened in silent scream when he started to move them, thumb still rubbing your clit. "Oh, she's definitely gorgeous." Sam said next to you, hand caressing your calf. You felt like you couldn't hold back any longer. "Fuck, Dean!" You squealed out as you were getting higher and higher. Suddenly he pulled his hand out of your panties and you felt empty. "No, no, no, no, no." He said laughing and pulled your hair to turn you more towards to Sam. "Tonight you won't get off this easily. I want you to show Sammy how perfect little slut you really are and go suck him off." He whispered into your ear and you felt you pussy clench at his words. "Yes, sir."

You jumped off the table and kneeled in front of Sam. "Didn't I tell you she's a good little slut for me, huh?" He got down next to you and his hand returned between your legs. Your trembling fingers tried to open Sam's belt. He wanted to help you but Dean interrupted. "No, Sam, she's a big girl, she can do it herself. Or if she can't, she knows the consequences." He pinched your clit and you yelped. His moves quickened and you had to shut your eyes. You finally managed to get Sam's pants opened and pulled down his boxers. His cock jumped free like from a cage. He was glorious. He had a bit longer, leaner dick than Dean. You hoped for sure that at the end of the he'd be pounding balls deep into you. For now you wanted to get him aquainted with your mouth. You slowly licked him from the base up to the tip, where a bead of precum caught your lips and you moaned at the salty taste, lowering yourself down on him completely. You looked up at Sam to see his eyes closing. His lean fingers instinctively snaked into your hair to move your head in his rhythm. Dean stood up to admire you from the side. "Oh, baby, you are really hungry for some Winchester's cock, arent you?" When you didn't first answer him, his hand came down to you ass with a moderate slap.

"Answer me, Y/N. Do you need some more cock in you?" He slowly started to pull down your panties. You tried your best to answer, but almost choking on his brother's dick really made it hard. You mumbled and tried to nod your head. He came behind you and removed your underwear completely, freeing your tits from the bra too. You could feel your slick almost dripping down your legs. "Fuck, you really are ready for me." He said quietly as he rubbed his cock between your folds before pushing it completely in. He filled you up completely, perfectly. He started to thrust hard and deep into you so your eyes rolled back and you couldn't hold back moans, which only made Sam pull your hair tighter. This feeling of pleasure, that now totally overcame you, wasn't comparable with the other times you had two cocks filling you up. This felt special. You didn't want to lose this. You started to suck Sam's cock harder to get him over the edge. Which came quite quickly after that. His cum spurted onto your tongue and his grip in your hair got loose again. You swallowed it all and were now panting hard, when Dean roughly pounded into you. One of his hands took it's place in your hair and he pulled you up, back against his chest while the other snaked around your hips to your clit again. "Oh, sweetie, I don't think I can hold on longer. You want to cum together with me, all over my cock while I fill you up? Hmm?" He asked, out of breath. No complete words escaped you but you tried to mumble in agreement. "Dean, please, uh, fuck..." you couldn't finish your sentence as his fingers started to rub you faster. You felt yourself becoming undone in front of him. With few last fast pumps he sank deep into, filling you up, as you incoherently screamed whatever you could think of in that moment. He held you still close when you calmed down.

When he let you go, you slowly slid down onto the floor like a puddle. "Give her a minute and she'll be ready for round two. You'll see, Sammy. She's insatiable." You heard Dean laughing. You slowly got up from the floor. "Guys, this is like the best birthday gift ever! This should become our birthday tradition, so all of us would have something to wait for." Sam and Dean looked at each other, grinning ear to ear in silent agreement. "Alright, I need food, before I could continue." You said determinedly, walking towards the kitchen, not bothering covering yourself up.

Tags💕 : @jackles010378 @cevansbaby-dove @deanwinchestersgirl87 @alternativeprincess94

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean smut #sam smut

[theangiediary]

happy wincest wednesday! what's your favorite headcanon for how femme John wanted Dean to be? Not at all, kind of blurry boundaries, panties & apron, etc --?

I'm not sure if I'm reading this correctly: fem!Dean (Deanna) or feminized masc!Dean? (I've only met guys irl that describe themselves as femme if they also identify as gay, which Dean canonically.. isn't). But I have two answers!

For Deanna, I think he would have wanted someone like Ellen Ripley (or Ellen Harvelle lol). Strong, brave, unfussy, but also beautiful, patient, maternal. A Man's Woman, not girly. Femme? Sure, but she probably wouldn't know that word.

And Dean.. well. I think he's very pretty, very malleable, and absolutely adorable when treated with tenderness. I love the idea of them getting into Moods where Dean acts as John's little wife, all sweet and servicing in his little pink panties 🩷. Role playing Sam as their kid (pillow talk about how Sammy's doing in school, what John needs to tune up in his truck, where their finances are, etc). But outside these moments they keep Dean's role as Big Brother, which isn't quite Mother. Simultaneous with the Protect drive is this.. sameness? Between brothers? There's an 24/7 ownership to Mother ("I'd die for MY baby") that looks more like duty in siblings ("sometimes he's my best friend, sometimes I hate him, but when it comes down to it I'll give my life for him bc I HAVE to").

I have no idea if that makes sense. Basically, no, for like 80% of the time, when they're not fucking, John and/or Sam don't want Dean to be femme. They can get what they need from him in masc form.

But Dean's got issues and insecurities up the wazoo, including about his appearance, sexualization, and soft hearted/family centeredness that comes from society/others, so pressing on those during sex is delicious. John stroking Dean's teary face, bc he's just so so full and it hurts, and calling him babygirl? Yes. John coming up behind Dean at the stove and putting one hand on his hip, the other on his tit, and nipping at neck and ears while telling him he "treats us so good"? Yeah. Sam can also do those things, but it'd probably be more "you're so beautiful" and "treats ME so good".

I also have a soft spot for them slow dancing, where John doesn't even think to let Dean lead, and Dean never asks 🥺.

(I play less often with Dean initiating any more than subtle flirting/begging, but I'm open to it. Silent communication after John gets back from a hunt, climbing into his bed at night, acting goofy with too much to drink and shaking his ass in John and/or Sam's face. Which is getting away from your ask, but during these things I imagine Dean's inner dialogue might skew towards femme-ish patterns, like "why am I acting like this I'm not Mary" "he probably thinks I'm so needy" "I want to wear his ring".)

#a short answer? from me? never going to happen 😬 #gender is a game and dean's losing 😔 #KIDDING #........... #i also so hope this was referring deanjohn and not.. john in a samdean world but idk #theres some samdean in there for folks as well 😌 #happy wincest wednesday

[demonmary]

two discount lives: a marytoni fic

chapter one.

Mary is alone. For the first time since she went to sleep with two young sons and a loving husband and a beautiful home, for the first time since she woke up to blood and fire and death and then nothing, nothing for so long, and now this…

For the first time since that, Mary is alone. Or feels alone.

She is sitting in a car that doesn’t belong to her (not even by marriage anymore - no - her husband is dead, and everyone is acting like this is old news, even though Mary just found out, god her John is dead and she just found out) on some road she’s never driven, on some hunt she’s got no choice but to be on. She’s quickly falling back into her old ways of living someone else’s life. 

Because this? This is not Mary’s life. It can’t be.

[read on a03 or continue below]

Sitting in the driver’s seat of Mary’s dead husband’s car is a 37-year-old man who’s calling her mom, like this is normal, like she wasn’t holding four-year-old-him on her hip what feels like yesterday, like Mary wasn’t 29 today and somehow 28 thirty-four years ago.  

Last night she burned. This morning she’s alive.

She has no time to process any of this, of course, because she’s on the way to get her six-month-old son who is actually 33 now; oh my god, Mary is going to be sick. 

“Stop the car,” Mary feels herself say the words but does not recognize the voice, not through the pounding of blood in her ears and the taste of smoke in her mouth. 

She doesn’t need to look up to see the worry painted across the man’s face. She can hear it in his panicked reassurances and the way he keeps calling her mom, always mom, like she is supposed to recognize him as her own and not see him as the stranger that stands before her. 

As the car that once belonged to her heaven-husband and is now being driven by her stranger-son skids to a stop on the side of a country road, Mary flings the door open to take a breath of fresh air, and her lungs find only dust. She chokes on her inhale and spits out onto the road, trying to clear the grit from the inside of her cheeks and from down inside her throat. 

She will be fine. She always is. Not even turning their family home into her funeral pyre can keep Mary down. 

******************

They’re driving again, hopefully pointed towards Sam, little perfect-baby Sammy, and imperfect-Mary hates how she can’t think about him too much. She hates how thinking of her baby brings knots to her stomach and nails to her palms before she realizes her hands are fists. She supposes some of that guilt doesn’t belong to her, not now that Sammy is his own adult.

She also supposes that thought makes her kind of evil, or at least selfish, and aren’t those two things one and the same for women?

Mary realizes she must have been quiet for too long because the man beside her - Dean - breaks the silence, all bundled nerves and worry, and it reminds Mary of her Dean, always fussing and fixing.  

“You, um,” Dean starts, stumbling a little on his introduction. “You can talk to me, you know, if you want to. I know that…” A long pause, then a rush of words follows, and hearing them fills Mary with a confusing rush of guilt. “From experience, the whole dying thing can be sorta shocking.”

Mary tears her gaze away from her hands and forces herself to look at her son.  

Her son.  

Dean was supposed to get away from this. He was four years old, and he wanted to take dance classes, and he had just learned how to braid Mary’s hair - loose and uneven, but braids nonetheless - and his hands were so small. Tiny, gentle things that pulled at her apron and played clumsily with the bow tied at the back. The man she sits next to now grips the wheel with bruised knuckles and gunmetal-calloused fingers, talking about death like she’s an old friend. 

He was supposed to get away. 

“I don’t remember anything after the fire. Death was like blinking.” Mary says it to reassure him. It’s unsettling to her, but nothing is better than something, at least if she bases that on the relief that slides off of Dean when she says it.  

She decides not to ask about her son’s death. They’re both here now, so it cannot matter.  

***************

They get to the farmhouse where her son is likely being held, and the guilt spreads like fire, burning hot in Mary’s stomach, swelling and kicking at her insides. She instinctively grips at the pain, wincing with the memories.  

It’s all her fault, all of it, the blood, the burning, all the death that came after and since. She doesn’t even know all that has happened while she’s been dead, but she knows it’s her fault. Her sons are older than her and have lived worse lives, and all of that is her fault too, her fault for not being there and her fault for setting those dominos in motion.  

Selfish. Selfish Mary, unwilling to lose her heaven-prescribed love, reluctant to see the fire through the forest and the forest for the trees. Dooming her family before it even began.  

Last month, Dean started preschool.  

Today, Mary’s son presses a gun into her hands and she tries not to cry. She doesn’t have time for tears now.

***************

When they open the door to the basement and Sam is there, she barely notices the years she missed through her son’s blood. The decades don’t matter when her baby is broken, shivering on the floor of a dirty basement. His age is covered by the burns, by the cuts, by the rage that Mary feels towards whoever or whatever did this to him.  

Dean rushes to his side, and Mary whips around, her fury blotted out by confusion when she sees a woman standing there, prim and proper, so viscerally out of place in her surroundings. The shock that Mary felt seemed to be mirrored back at her, the woman’s composure flickering for a moment before her expression washed clean.  

The woman waves her hand, and gold rings at the base of slim fingers flash across Mary’s vision before it starts to go dark in the corners. She’s staring, transfixed, at the center of the woman’s palm, suddenly noticing the blood flowing there, dark deep red, spilling down the woman’s wrist, and it’s a while before she realizes she cannot breathe. It’s the darkness that teases at the edges of her sight that finally clues her in - the fuzziness in her brain and the fading of her consciousness. 

Mary’s been choked before, felt a large hand squeeze against the sides of her breath, violent in the way it ripped the air from her lungs. It’s never been this soft before, this peaceful. She manages to look past the woman’s outstretched hand as the darkness starts to overcome her, and the two lock eyes.  

Mary and her killer. It’s simple. There’s no air here to distract from the clarity of it. 

She feels death curling around her feet, and it feels like the flames did, but cold this time. Ice cold and gripping.  

The grasp falters for a moment, and Mary strains to pull in a breath, a heavy one that rasps and drags down her throat and claws into her hungry lungs. The small intake of air brings clarity, and Mary senses something akin to surprise behind the mask of careful concentration that the other woman wears.  

Her killer’s lips are moving, but Mary cannot hear. Her focus is solely on the lack of breath in her lungs; the gasp she cannot take; the easy beauty of her killer; the comfort of the end.  

Death is familiar, Mary finds herself thinking. A ghost of a smile passes across her lips, and the darkness lapping at the sides of her vision begins to overtake her.  

The illusion is shattered with a sudden, violent start. Mary didn’t see it coming, and neither did her killer, but Dean had clambered to his feet and knocked her attacker to the ground, ending the peaceful grasp Mary was cradled within.  

The next breath of air that Mary takes in burns worse than death. 

a03 link! kudos and comments make my world go round and round. also reblogs r appreciated if u liked it!

#posting for today's prompt for #sapphebruary #homoerotic fight scene <3 choking but make it gay <3 #sapphicnatural #mary winchester #spn rarepair #lots of fire imagery lots of guilt lots of unexamined emotions! just the mary way ! #enemies to friends to lovers #zo.txt #dirtybackroad #contentnatural

[ladylilithprime]

Every Time A Bell Rings

Summary: Wherein there is an angel in the kitchen, but the bell is about dogs.

Pairing: (Platonic) Destiel

Notes: Quasi-sequel to "Wer Zu Liebzeit gut auf Erden". Happy (belated) birthday, @jupiterjames !

(Read on AO3)

IT WAS THE smell that caught Dean's attention first. One hand still on the door knob and his foot barely over the threshold, the smell of warm caramelized sugar and vanilla hit him square in the face, and like Pavlov's fucking dog Dean's mouth immediately began to water. He stepped into the cabin the rest of the way and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply to savor the scent and caught notes of bourbon and cinnamon and clove under the vanilla and caramel. He knew that smell, knew it like he knew few others, deeply and with a fierce love that spanned years and times long gone by and memories he could never fully forget no matter how faded they became, and if this was somehow a dream he might actually cry.

"Sam--" he croaked, then stopped and cleared his throat, raising his voice. "Sammy? Cas?"

"Dean," Castiel answered him from the direction of the kitchen. Dean opened his eyes and looked to see the angel standing in the doorway with an apron over the top of his borrowed jeans and t-shirt. To Dean's complete lack of surprise, the apron was still near pristine, while Castiel himself appeared to have gotten flour in his hair and a smudge of something brown on his cheek. "Welcome home. You were successful?"

"Easy peasy," Dean answered with a shrug. "Honestly, this could'a been done faster with a trip to the post office, but you know Bobby."

"It is not paranoia if they are in fact out to get you," Castiel intoned solemnly, though a moment later his lips quirked up in a small smile. "Bobby is lucky to have such a trusted and efficient son for his choice of courier."

"Not like I didn't appreciate the chance to get out on the road a bit myself," Dean mumbled, discomfited by the praise but not feeling comfortable denying the truth of it outright. Certainly Bobby had often felt more like a father to him than his actual Dad, though the ornery older hunter would never have actually tried to take John's place. To cover his own tenuous grip on his emotions, he asked, "So, uh... what smells so good? Someone decide to open a bakery in here while I was gone?"

"Nothing so ambitious," Castiel shrugged, but stepped back and beckoned Dean into the kitchen. "I wished to learn how to make the dishes in the recipe book Mrs MacAvery gifted to me on our trip to Scotland, particularly the pastries I noticed you enjoyed. Sam and I spent the time you were gone practicing so that I would not burn anything."

"Where is Sam, anyway?" Dean asked as he followed Castiel into the kitchen, shrugging out of his jacket as he went and trying to stop drooling so obviously as the smell of pie got even stronger.

"Sam is in his meditation shed," Castiel answered him. Before Dean's concern could ratchet up, he hurried to add, "Nothing happened, this is simply a deeper check of his internal defenses while he has the uninterrupted time to do so."

"Fair enough," Dean conceded. He knew Sam tried to meditate for ten minutes every morning before he got up and ten minutes every night before he went to sleep, but that was more about grounding and centering himself, the spiritual equivalent of filling up the gas tank and checking the fluid levels rather than doing a full tune-up. It was why they had built the warded meditation circle in the little shed behind the cabin in the first place. They'd originally set one up in the open woods in the clearing where they'd found they liked to go out and have mini cookouts to keep the camping skills from getting rusty and, notably, where they had introduced Castiel to S'mores for the first time. As the weather got colder, though, it had become less than ideal for Sam to sit his ass in a circle on the ground in the open air and go all zen for an hour or two, but there wasn't really space inside the cabin to dedicate to a properly warded and attuned "spiritually neutral" area, hence the small shed to protect Sam from the cold (which he tried to pretend not to know Dean knew bothered him) and the more direct wind or rain or snow or random disruptive squirrel or deer or crow.

Not that Sam had seen anything weird about coming out of meditation to find himself surrounded by a small herd of deer with a crow on one shoulder and a squirrel on the other like a damn Disney princess, but it had freaked Dean out to see them all just sitting there and staring at him even when he took a photograph of them. He should probably finish out the roll of film soon so he could develop that shot and see what Sam's aura-soul-halo-thing looked like when he was going so zen the animals adopted him. Sam couldn't really describe it from the outside, and Dean had no luck trying to do it himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by the scraping of the legs of one of the kitchen chairs against the floor as Castiel pulled it out from the table. Seeing that he now had Dean's attention, he held out a fork. "Sit."

"Dude, I'm not a dog," Dean protested. The look that Castiel shot him, like he very much wanted to say several different things in response and was only hesitating because he couldn't decide which to go with, made him take the prepared seat anyway.

"Good boy," Castiel deadpanned as he stepped away from the table towards the oven, leaving Dean scowling at his back and trying not to squirm in his seat.

"Starting to think you really are spending a little too much time with us," he grumbled, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he tried to deal with his unexpected... problem.

"You would not be the first to say so," Castiel hummed, sounding wholly unbothered by that, which just sort of went to prove Dean's point. "Gabriel has had no complaints, however, and so here I am, learning how to knit socks and bake pies."

And like the dog he just claimed not to be to that damned ringing bell, there went Dean's mouth a-watering. "You baked pie?"

"Did you expect me to bake anything else with which to welcome you home?" Castiel asked, turning around to reveal the pie pan in his bare--

Right, angel, Dean reminded himself, and forced himself to focus on the beautifully glossy golden crust as it came nearer and nearer until Castiel set it down in front of him. "I didn't expect you to bake anything at all," he mumbled, a little inanely, as he visually traced the carefully scalloped edges and the bits of pie pastry cut and cooked crisp to look like a mix of autumn leaves. "Looks amazing, man."

"Welcome home, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean could hear the smile hovering under the words. "And by all means, ah, 'dig in'."

Dean didn't need to be told twice.

-End-

#supernatural fic #dean winchester #castiel #pie #no literal bells

[stusbunker]

Turning Sundaes into Someday

    The malt shop was nestled along the park at the end of Main St. It was long past its heyday, but you still liked to swing by whenever you were in town. The pleasant trill of the welcome bell was the only sound in the place as you crossed the cracked linoleum floor and waited to be served.

    You read the yellowed menu above the counter and decided on your order, the thrum of refrigerators and fryers made a comforting background noise.

    “Oh, hi, what can we get started for you?” A deep, yet gentle voice asked from somewhere to your right.

    You smiled before turning to spot Dean wheeling out a mop bucket. His eyes crinkled deeply as he returned your smile, brushing off his hands on his apron before stepping forward to grab you in a tight hug.

    “I didn’t know you were in town,” he exclaimed, rocking you back and forth before letting you go to hold you at arm’s length. “You look good. How’ve you been?”

    “Eh,” you answered honestly.

    He nodded and rounded the counter, stopping to wash his hands as you explained what brought you back to Kansas this time. He listened to your sanitized summary of the past month of hunts. You didn’t even notice as he started making the biggest banana split you’d ever seen.

    “Whoa,” you exclaimed, eyeing the dessert.

    “What?! It’s got fruit in it. It’s practically a salad. Even Sammy would have trouble arguing with me over this balanced of a lunch.”

    You giggled and rolled your eyes. “How’s he doing anyway?”

    “Sam? Fine, moving the kids back from the dorms this weekend,” Dean offered before shoving a spoon in his mouth and pointing you to the back booth.

    Once you had settled across from each other, he handed you the extra spoon and you dug in. It was even better than you’d hoped. You ate in comfortable silence, watching your old friend enjoy the fruits of his labor. It was a miracle he was still in such good shape in his retirement.

    He always did have a sweet tooth.

    “So when you gonna run off and join our little circus?” Dean teased with a wink. “Sam’s barely here now that he’s doing the pro bono thing. Cas, well, the farmer’s market is a much more lucrative day job than this place. So he’s always out in the yard. You gonna stop roaming and keep us company?”

    “I don’t know, I like staying warm in the winters, Dean,” you countered with little gusto.

    “You could just take a breather? There’s always another hunter out there, promise.”

    It warmed your heart to be invited with such sincerity, but hearing Dean Winchester, of all people, saying those words hit a nerve and you couldn’t help the trickle of joy that wet your eyes.

    You inhaled deeply and nodded. “Okay— maybe just a little vacay.”

    Dean clicked his tongue. “I don’t know, it might be so good you’ll stay.”

Thank you to @wingedcatninja​ for the prompt!

4 Me 2 U drabble masterlist

#dean and reader #spn fanfic #platonic!reader #friendship #mentor #supernatural #dean is happy and retired #fluff

[samandrielsgirl]

Chapter 1 (Sam’s Best Friend)

Rosie awoke on the morning of October 31, 2005 to a loud banging on the door of the motel room. Now being that Rosie was the only light sleeper in the room she was the first to wake up. Her red hair was a mess as she rose from the bed she was sharing with her five-year-old godson and nephew, David Emmett “Ace” Collins-Murphy. She grumbled under her breath as she pulled on the matching peach-colored satin bathrobe that went with the peach-colored satin pajamas she was wearing. She walked to the door, barefoot, and opened to find Dean Winchester there. “It’s 6:00 am, Winchester. What do you want”? Rosie asked. “It's nice to see you too, Marie”. Rosie eyed the eldest Winchester brother out of suspicion. Dean NEVER, EVER, called her Marie unless he wanted something, and he wanted it bad. “It’s nice to see you too, Dean”. Rosie said softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “So, what do you need”? Rosie asked, arms crossed over her chest. “Get dressed, Princess, I’ll buy you breakfast and we can talk it over”. Dean stated. Rosie nodded and walked back inside, closing the door behind her. She quickly threw on an oversize lavender, and pink plaid shirt, and some pale blue mom jeans. Running the brush through her hair like her life depended on it and pulling her long ginger locks into a low ponytail. She flossed and brushed her teeth quickly before writing a quick note on a pad of yellow legal paper telling her sister, brother-in-law, and nephew where she was going and who she’d be with.

Rosie dashed out the door, but tripped over her own feet and fell into the firm chest of Dean Winchester. “Whoa”! Dean said, chuckling as he steadied her. “You okay there, Ro”? He asked, Rosie felt her cheeks grow hot and she nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay”. She said meekly and Dean simply smirked, grabbing her by the arm and leading her to where his ‘baby’ was parked. Rosie felt nostalgia rush through her as she got into the passenger seat of the 1967 Chevy Impala. She had only ever sat in the back seat with Sam. But it still felt the same, the memories came rushing back, memories of giggling with Sam over a stupid joke, or fighting with Dean about how ABBA was totally better than Metallica. Those memories brought tears to her eyes, which she quickly wiped away as Dean got into the driver’s seat.

Dean drove them to a diner a few blocks away from the motel she had been staying at for the past week. Not a word was exchanged between the two as he drove, and they remained silent as they walked into the diner, and sat down at an empty booth. “Hello you too, I’m Ella, and I’ll be your waitress today, what can I getcha two”? The waitress asked. She was obviously a sacramento native, from the way she looked, to her hairstyle and makeup. “Two number 3′s”. Dean said. Rosie was shocked he remembered what she liked, blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon was always her go too, and the fact that he remembered that was touching. “Anything to drink”? Ella asked. “Coffee for me and orange juice for her”. Dean stated. The waitress nodded, jotting down the order on her notepad before slipping it back into her apron pocket. She flashed a flirtatious smile towards Rosie, who blushed once again, and watched as the waitress walked away. “She’s into you”! Dean whisper-shouted in frustration. Rosie blushed harder and looked down at her lap.

“So what is going on, Dean”? Rosie asked as their was placed in front of them. Dean waited for Ella to leave before he started to speak. “Dad went on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days”. Dean stated. “So, maybe he just got caught up in another case, you know how John is”. Rosie said cutting into her pancakes. “You don’t understand, Rosie, he’s never been gone this long”. Dean said, frustration in his words. “Sorry, Dean”. Rosie said looking down at her food. Dean felt guilty. “It's okay, Rosie”. Dean said softly. “Does Sammy know”? Rosie asked after a few seconds. “Actually, that’s why I’m here”. Dean stated. “What do you mean”? Rosie asked in confusion, cocking her head to the side. “I need Sammy to come with me, willingly. But he won’t do that without you”. Dean explained. “I don’t know, Dean. I have responsibilities too, ya know”? Rosie said, though it came out sounding like a question. “Like what”? Dean asked. “Ace, it’s my job to take of him”. Rosie said looking down in guilt. Dean put a hand over hers. “Your not his mother, Princess, you can leave, ya know”. Dean said and Rosie looked up meeting his eyes. “Your right. But how can you be sure, that Sam will come with you if I’m there”? Rosie asked. “Your his best friend, Rosie, hell your like a sister to him, he won’t do anything without you”. Dean stated. This boosted Rosie’s confidence and she smiled. “Fine, I’ll go with you. On one condition”. Rosie stated. “And that is”? Dean asked. “You can’t kick me to the curb once we get Sam. I want to help find John”. Rosie said. “You got a deal, Princess”. Dean said and they shook hands.

[thepixelagora]

Happy birthday, Cas!

Made for the birthday celebration of the one, the only, the ever-lovely @you-cant-spell-subtext-without. Happy birthday to you as well!

Dean’s 42nd birthday. Sam’s 38th birthday. Jack's 4th birthday.

Kofi | Commissions

#spn #dean got that apron from sammy #he pretends he hates it but really he loves it #supernatural #subtext4thewin #creativecaviar #destiel #deancas #they're married #married destiel #married deancas #spn fanart #spn art #spn comic #supernatural fanart #supernaatural art #supernatural comic #comics #castiel #dean winchester #long post #bridgewater #destiel kiss #deancas kiss #happy birthday cas #cas birthday

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

dedicated to, and inspired by @nerdy-duckling. post- 15x20-ish.

There's traits you have that your kids inherit, and traits you have that they don't.

Cooking, of course, falls under the second category — and further under a rarer subcategory that, if it were upto Sam, would be called 'Traits you have that your younger brother who's lived with you all his life couldn't pick up, but the daughter of your semi-angel sort-of lover's vessel, somehow, incomprehensibly, did'.

It's not envy, Sam sighs, leaning against the porch of Claire and Kaia's home as his eyes follow the now-thirty year old Claire hustling around the lawn.

She's checking on grills, inventorying sauces and flipping accidentally overlooked burgers, all with the same, familiar ease Sam's associated with Dean all his life.

Something that Amelia and Sarah — Claire and Kaia's daughters — now associate with Claire.

Moments like this, Sam misses his brother like there's a hole in his chest.

The entire family's here — and that's what they've become, a family — with Garth and his kids, Claire and Kaia and theirs, Jody, Donna, Alex and her fiancé, Patience visiting home for a weekend, Charlie and Stevie, Bobby, Eileen, and Sam.

It's burgers night, Claire's in-charge, and everyone's on the lawn.

Ten years have passed.

They don't think about the ones they've lost everyday anymore, and that's a good thing.

Except for when it hits again, triggered by the strangest and smallest of things, and nothing helps than to wait painstakingly for time to pass, again, and slowly erode the rerisen mountains of grief, capped in guilt, loss, and utter misery — until the next time.

It's not envy, Sam smiles, eyes falling off of blonde hair and sprightly steps. Falling to the ground, clouded.

It's love, pride, and reminiscence — and longing, nostalgia and loss.

"Sam," It's Eileen.

She puts her hand on his shoulder, gentle so he doesn't flinch, but firm enough to return him to the present.

God, it hurts.

"I," Sam swallows. "I'm okay."

"You are," she promises, a different kind of familiar, and Sam tries to smile at her — but then she's closer, frowning, worried, and Sam hadn't even realized he'd been crying until she's holding his face in her hands, thumbs brushing away tears.

He wants to, then, but he can't stop.

"Eileen, I —" Sam starts, exhaling shakily. His heart hammers in his chest — not fast enough to be a panic attack, or the final few minutes of a hunt, but enough that he screws his eyes shut, almost in pain, and Eileen moves closer.

"Tell me, Sam?" She pleads.

Sam doesn't even know what he was trying to say.

It's not like he can just say, hey, remember back when they were all here, and we made burgers too, and Dean was on the grill, and he bitched at us if we even tried to touch it, like we don't touch things far more dangerous than a grill every single day of our lives, and Cas — remember Cas sitting right next to him and we, Cas and you and I, we plated them, and Jack, he went around and kept saying it smelled great, and they — they were all here, and maybe the world was still ending but the burgers were excellent, everyone was alive, and it was a really good day, because Sam isn't even sure if that ever happened.

Or if he somehow made that up, maybe to have more happy memories of his family, before — before they were gone.

It's not even like he can say any of the other things either — the things he knows did happen, but are too far away now to hope for again.

He hates to bring it up now, especially since there's nothing to be done about it. Especially since everyone's — mostly — okay now, and everyone's happy.

Sam's happy too, of course. He's living with the love of his life, living around people he loves, and for the first time in his life, living in peace. But there's a difference, and there's always going to be one. There's going to be bad days and good days, and days he wants to think about Dean and Cas and Jack until it hurts, and days he wakes up staring at Eileen or the ring on her finger and can think of nothing else but how lucky he is, for the rest of it.

And he's just going to have to deal with it, doesn't he — because there'll always be one of the latter kind around the corner.

(So much for normal problems and normal lives.)

"Sam," Eileen repeats, worried.

So Sam clenches his jaw, and instead of well, all of that, just lets out a, "It's nothing."

She waits.

"I just miss them, you know."

"I miss them too," she says quietly, and then hugs him, arms around his neck, and pulling his weight towards herself instead of the other way around.

(Somehow, it's even a Dean hug.)

But this way, she can't make out what he's saying anymore, her chin tucked on his shoulder and his face out of her sight, although it's probably just as well because Sam's got nothing more to say anyways.

Well except, as he finds himself muttering into her hair, in a wrecked voice that even reminds him of a much, much younger himself, crying to a hardly teenaged Dean about Dad being away too long, "And I miss Dean."

Because now he might be lucky enough to have a family, and eight years ago, he might've been too, but all his life the only family that's always remained, has been Dean.

Dean, with his borderline science-experimental cooking skills, and his awful bestowed names to made-up foods, and his incredibly smug face when Sam inevitably liked it. Dean, with his annoying nicknames that Sam missed more than he could ever have accounted for, and his larger-than-life fixation on bacon once they had a kitchen, and a family that never stopped growing —

"I miss him so much too," says another strained voice, and Sam looks up to confirm it's Claire, standing a foot away, posture rigid like she's nineteen and a rebel looking for a fight again, in an enormous, purple apron rather than a biker jacket.

But she deflates the moment Sam meets her eyes with a small, sympathetic smile, and before he knows it, he's being hugged by two people at once — Eileen shifting so they can both put both their arms around each other and Sam.

(Oh and Dean, with his kinda-sorta daughter who somehow ended up mastering both his burgermaking art and taste in aprons.)

Sam hugs them both back, tight, grateful that they're here — just as he's grateful for every single one who is.

Grateful .

*

(Later, once the burgers are served, Sam finds Claire again — and sits down next to her and Sarah, who's currently trying to prove to her mom she can eat by herself, and failing in an objective sort of a way.

"You know," Claire begins, out of the blue, her eyes still on the six-year-old. "At least those old grumps have each other up there."

Sam grins in spite of himself. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," She smirks, looking sideways at Sam. "Yeah, they definitely do." And a touch of sincerity has been added when she says, "They're happy, y'know."

"I do."

It's good to hear, even though he knows — Jack had popped by to tell them, several years ago, on Sam's forty fourth birthday — and it's good to hear it from her. It's strange, in a nice way, that Claire's so much older too. Thirty, and married. A mother, now. Cas and Dean would be so proud of her.

Sam is so proud of her. His eyes soften and he smiles, "I love you."

Claire looks up at him in surprise, for the slightest moment teary-eyed again, and then suddenly furrows her eyebrows and puts on her best Dean voice.

"No chickflick moments, Sammy."

It's — well, it's a hell of an impression.)

#includes Some elements of the finale ._. #spn finale coda #sam centric #saileen #eileen leahy #claire novak #this just reminded me of how much i love writing claire. and how much i miss dean :( #hopeful ending. i think. #bluefirecas #userpris #usersila #holmesemrys #casthyelle #seffersonjtarship #tearsofgrace #rambleoncas #smiledean #creativecaviar #kashmircastiel #userstarry #flowersforcastag #donestiel #chocolatecakecas #userdee #oh writing my writing #tw dean's death

[muffinbeliever]

When the Stars Align [07]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 4717

Warnings: language, sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), ANGST, but also cute date fluff, Lisa Braeden (yes this is a warning), crying, body insecurity

Summary: Soulmate!AU– Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their wrists. You and your cat are living a normal life in Fort Collins, Colorado when three men come bursting through your door, completely changing your life. Reader-insert story. Starts around S06E08, but Sam has his soul, and it doesn’t really follow the series from there

A/N: HELLO !!!! i apologize for the delay my classes have been swamping me with work and i already had writers block but i finished this chapter like five minutes ago and i'm desperate to post it and see what you guys think ! please be sure to leave comments and likes as always <3

Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist

Sunlight illuminated Dean’s face that you admired as you drove along the open road. The windows were down, a light breeze flowing through the car. Occasionally, Dean would catch you staring at him, but you didn’t mind and neither did he.

You giggled when you noticed a familiar neon sign and the red leather booths that peaked through the window, having been here only a couple of hours before.

“What?” Dean looked over at you, nervous as he didn’t know why you laughed. You shook your head, before replying.

“I just really like this place,” you said, refraining from telling him about your earlier excursion with Thomas, not wanting it to ruin the moment. He gave you a soft smile.

“I remember,” he said, his eyes shining with fondness, “You mentioned that you come here a lot when you were showing me around.” Your heart soared at the fact that he remembered the small detail.

He parked the car, before quickly getting out of the car, jogging over to your side to open the door before you could even register what had happened. He extended his arm and you giggled at his silliness before getting out of the car. He closed the door behind you, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back, gently leading you towards the diner.

There weren’t many people and you were grateful, hoping to have a quiet dinner with your soulmate and get to know him a bit better. He grabbed a booth snuggled against a corner of the room, gesturing you to sit down. You took one side of the table and he took the other side.

Two menus were placed on the table, and the dark-haired waitress flashed Dean a smile. She looked a couple of years older than you and her black jeans and tight shirt hugged her curves, her tied apron accentuating her slim waist. Her hair fell in gentle waves, framing her face in a way that yours never did.

“My name is Carmen, I’ll be serving you tonight,” she said directly to Dean. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, and you caught Dean glance at you.

“Can I start you off with anything to drink?” She asked, and Dean nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll have a Coke, please. Sweetheart, what about you?” He asked you kindly.

“A water, please,” you said to Carmen. Her eyes roamed your face and clothes, and she gave you a smirk.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks,” she said, winking at Dean before walking away, her hips swaying with each step. There was a familiar sinking feeling in your chest that reeked of self-doubt.

Who did you think you are? Bagging a guy like Dean Winchester? Obviously, you weren’t terrible to look at, but you sure as hell weren’t a head-turner. Guys didn’t double take when you passed by nor did they try to pursue you. The only exception was Thomas, and you were sure that it was more of a friendly attraction than romantic.

You picked up a menu, not even sparing Dean a glance, trying to focus on what you were going to eat. Despite having eaten here many times, you were surprised at the selection they offered. Most times, you got a salad, sometimes switching it up with a burger, but the prospect of a pastrami sandwich sounded especially inviting tonight. You were debating ordering the pastrami, but decided that it probably wouldn’t look very attractive to eat. Besides, you were already self-conscious about your body, might as well try to eat healthily. Out of the corner or your eye, you saw Carmen approach your table, placing down the two drinks and straws.

“Have you decided what to get, sugar?” Carmen said, flashing a smile at Dean, not that he noticed. He was still looking at the menu, preoccupied with the dozens of choices to choose from.

“Yeah, uh… I’ll get the double bacon cheeseburger with fries on the side,” he said, before looking up and handing her his menu.

“And you?” She asked in a bored tone.

“I’ll get the chicken salad please, dressing on the side,” you said and she wrote it down before leaving. Dean gave you a look.

“Salad? I thought you liked burgers,” he observed, and you felt your heart sink. You didn’t want to be a salad girl, but here you were. You chastised yourself, this is Dean. He doesn’t care if you eat a pastrami sandwich.

“You’re right, I’ll be right back,” you said with newfound courage before getting up from the booth and walking over to the counter. You were able to call out to Carmen.

“Actually, can I have the pastrami sandwich with a side of fries instead of the salad?” She scoffed.

“Figures,” she muttered, “You don’t look like the salad type.”

Her bitchy tone cut through your heart like a knife. You were taken aback, unable to think for a second. You tried formulating a response, but she was already gone. You looked over at Dean who was typing away on his phone, probably texting Sam. You were defeated once again by a beautiful woman.

You made your way to the table, sitting down, lost in your thoughts. Dean’s phone was put away and you were staring at the table. Thinking for a second, you got up, and a look of confusion flashed in Dean’s eyes, but it was gone when you slid into the booth right next to him.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Get a little lonely over there?” He joked and you rolled your eyes before snuggling closer to him, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.

“Just missed you was all,” you mumbled into his shoulder and he kissed the top of your head.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he said, “but I can tell something is wrong.” He gave you a knowing look.

“Carmen is pretty,” you admitted, hating that you were being petty.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” he said, and you scoffed, pulling away to look at him.

“I’m not jealous,” you said, hoping you sounded more confident than you felt.

“I was just… I was making sure that… I…” you stammered before sighing, your shoulders falling in defeat.

“Yeah, okay maybe I was a little jealous. But clearly, we’re here together and she just kept staring at you, and don’t even get me started on how she talked to me.” You could feel yourself sinking deeper into your thoughts, hating that your stupid insecurities were about to ruin the date.

“What did she say to you?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing. You shook your head, debating on not telling him, but his deep green eyes were full of concern and worry.

“Just that I don’t look like the salad type,” you said, lowering your head in embarrassment. A hand came up to cup your cheek and your eyes met his once again.

“That’s bullshit. You’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’m only yours, sweetheart,” he said, sincerely, before pulling you into a gentle kiss. It was scary how easily that calmed you down. You had struggled with insecurities for the majority of your life, and it usually took a couple of days, if not weeks, to pull yourself out of the dark hole in your mind, but one kiss from Dean, and all of the sudden, your heart stops racing and your thoughts slow.

Your kiss was disrupted by a clatter of plates on the table. Carmen didn’t speak a word to either of you and she was about to leave when Dean called out to her.

“You’re going to apologize to my girlfriend and then we’re getting a new server. You have no right to speak to her like that,” Dean defended you, an angry look on his face.

“Dean,” you whispered, a bit embarrassed by how this was going. She wasn’t exactly wrong, you weren’t supermodel-thin nor did you have amazing curves that drove men wild.

“Sorry,” Carmen said, not sounding sorry at all, before spinning on her heels and walking away from the table.

“Bitch,” Dean muttered, his eyebrows furrowing as he noticed you were lost in your thoughts, a small frown on your face. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head before you turned to look up at him.

“Let’s just enjoy our date,” you said with a hopeful smile, and he nodded. Forty minutes, a pastrami sandwich, and a double bacon cheeseburger later, you were giggling like a schoolgirl, enamored by the man sitting next to you.

“Sammy was sitting on the handlebars while I rode us to the hospital!” Dean exclaimed and you laughed at the story. He snatched a fry off your plate and dipped it in ketchup before shoving it in his mouth. You were acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his thigh that was pressed against yours. Caught up in his green eyes, you didn’t notice a man approach the table.

“How was the food?” You jumped, shocked at his sudden appearance. It was the manager, John or Jacob or something with a ‘J’. He came over after you complained about Carmen, apologizing for her behavior and telling you that he would be serving you for the rest of the night.

You beamed at him, completely satisfied with the pastrami sandwich that was now happily sitting in your stomach.

“Great!” Dean responded, flashing him a smile. The manager returned the smile before continuing.

“Because of your unpleasant start to the evening, dessert is on us. We have root beer floats, ice cream sundaes, and a variety of pies,” he listed, and you immediately looked at Dean whose eyes lit up.

“We’ll take a slice of apple pie, please,” Dean responded right away, his hand squeezing yours in excitement. You giggled at the smile on his face. The manager nodded and left the table, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence. You looked up at him, admiring the freckles dotting his face. He gave you a soft smile that you returned and you leaned in for a kiss. It was a chaste kiss, not one of need or lust, but adoration and love.

Throughout the months, you have accepted that you had fallen for the oldest Winchester brother. There was the obvious fact that he was your soulmate, the one person in the world made exactly for you, but you knew that even if that weren’t the case, you would have still been in love with Dean. You loved his wit and charm, often catching yourself imagining his flirtatious winks. Not only was he gorgeous to look at, but he didn’t flaunt it like other men did. Sure, he knew he was attractive, but you at times, you sensed deep-rooted insecurities from him, which you thought was ridiculous since he was basically built like a Greek god. He was selfless to a fault; always putting everyone before himself. His loyalty to Sam was admirable, and you had no doubt that he would do anything for those he loved.

The manager placed a giant steaming slice of pie between the two of you, two forks on the side of the plate as well as whipped cream. You expected Dean to dig right in, but he looked at you expectantly. The scent of the spiced apple filled wafted from the plate and made your mouth salivate. Dean picked up a fork and detached a large piece from the tip of the slice. Before you could even register his actions, he brought the fork up to your mouth and pressed it against your closed lips. You accepted it without question, humming as the warm treat hit your tongue.

“That bad, huh?” Dean joked with a twinkle in his eye. You smiled at him before returning the favor. Your fork didn’t grab nearly as big of a piece as his did, but you focused on the way his lips wrapped around the fork. His tongue swiped at his upper lip, not wanting to waste a single crumb of pie.

Heat pooled in your belly and you clenched your thighs together, remembering just how much of an expert he was with his tongue. He groaned, his eyes closed as he savored the pie, and the sound shot straight to the apex of your thighs. You let out a small whimper, and his eyes flashed open. His green eyes swept your figure, taking in your squished thighs and flushed neck before smirking at you.

“Later, sweetheart,” he promised, his fingers dancing on the top of your thighs. You could feel his warmth through your jeans, sparks of electricity shooting through you with every touch. You shuffled closer to him, wanting your bodies as close as possible.

“You want some more?” He offered to you and you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Dean got another piece of pie and shoved it in his mouth. You looked at him, confused, and he smirked at you once again before pulling you into a searing kiss. You let out a soft moan as his tongue played with yours, the taste of apple pie fresh in your mouths. His hand tightened around your thigh at the sound. He was the first to pull away, breathless.

“Let’s get this to go, ya?” He suggested with a wink and you giggled, nodding. You were lost in his smile, noting the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and his full lips turned up. He waved the manager down and asked for a box and the check. You placed the pie delicately in the take-out box as Dean set down enough cash to cover for the meal and tip.

You slid out of the booth first, pulling your leather jacket on and Dean’s hand rested on the small of your back, leading the both of you out of the diner. As you expected, the air was crisp and chilled. He opened the door of the Impala for you, making sure you were safely inside before shutting it. You watched as he jogged over to the driver's side, sliding in next to you. Grateful for the long bench, you shifted closer to Dean and his hand came to rest comfortably on your thigh.

The soft sounds of Bon Jovi whispered through the speakers, barely noticeable unless you strained your ears. The windows were closed this time due to the slightly colder weather, but you were warm with Dean beside you.

There wasn’t much talking on the way home. You sat in a comfortable silence, occasionally feeling his eyes on your face, but every time you looked at him, he was looking away, a smile on his face. After the third time, you huffed and grabbed his hand from your thigh, interlacing your fingers with his. He looked at you, surprise written on his face, and you gave him a triumphant smile. He brought your interlocked hands up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your hand.

Before you knew it, the familiar light of your street came into view and he pulled his car up in front of your house. You didn’t want to let go of his hand, so you slid out his door after he did, holding the box of pie in your other hand. The crickets were chirping as you walked up to the front door.

‘Later, sweetheart,’ came the echo of his voice throughout your mind, and you pulled him into the house, roughly kissing him once the door was closed. His arms came to your shoulders, gently pushing off the sleeves of your leather jacket. You struggled a little bit, not wanting to drop the pie in your hand, before Dean took it from you, setting it on the small table next to your door that usually held nothing but a small succulent.

He pulled off your shirt in a swift motion and his lips began traveling down your neck, occasionally sucking and licking sensitive spots. You gasped as he nibbled your earlobe.

“So responsive,” he murmured and an involuntary shiver ran through your body. His leg gently pushed your legs apart and his thigh pressed against your covered core. His hands gripped your waist, and you ground against his thigh, the friction of your jeans rubbing against your sensitive bud in a deliciously perfect way.

“Good girl,” he praised, continuing his trail of kisses from your neck down to the tops of your breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispered to himself, staring at your flushed chest. You were wearing a simple bra, nothing fancy or particularly sexy, but Dean made you feel like you were in expensive lingerie, draped in the finest lace and silk in the world. You moaned wantonly, begging for more. You picked up the rhythm, moving faster against his thigh. He watched you with lust-filled eyes, devouring you. The pressure between your legs kept building until it finally peaked, and you came with a loud moan. Dean placed gentle kisses on your sweaty forehead, relaxing you as you came down from your high. His leg came down, setting your feet gently on the floor. Your legs felt like jello, occasional spasms wracking through them.

“Maybe we should move this to the bedroom,” you suggested, not wanting the night to be over. He picked you up in his arms and carried you bridal style into your room. He gently tossed you onto the bed. He peeled his clothes off and you wriggled out of your tight jeans and soaked underwear. Your hands went behind your back to unclasp your bra and you flung it off the bed, hearing it land on the floor with a soft thud. You laid back down on the bed, fully naked and ready for Dean.

His eyes swept over your naked body and you spied his cock straining through the fabric of his boxers. He quickly discarded his underwear and laid on top of you, his firm chest pressing against your naked breasts. You could feel him hard against your stomach and you snaked a hand between the two of you, wrapping your hand around his shaft.

Your thumb wiped across the slit, catching the beads of precum that were leaking from his tip. His breath caught and you slowly pumped him in your hands. One of his large hands came to rest on your right breast, his thumb brushing against your pebbled nipple. The other hand dipped into your wet folds, collecting your juices on his digits. You watched him suck them off his fingers before they were venturing into you once again. You whined, not wanting to wait another second for his cock to be inside you.

“Please,” you said, squirming beneath him. He had one hand lazily circling your clit and the other pinching and tugging at your breasts.

“Please what, sweetheart?” he asked, power dripping from his words. You searched for more friction, but couldn’t find any.

“Please fuck me,” you begged. “I want to feel you inside me please. Fill me up with your big cock.”

“Fuck, baby,” he swore under his breath, before lining himself at your entrance. With a single thrust, he was completely unleashed in you, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. He groaned into your neck, still not used to your tightness and warmth surrounding him. When you were adjusted to his large size, he began moving inside you.

His cock dragged along your walls with every thrust, emptying you and filling you repeatedly. Your legs hooked around his back, driving him deeper into you, hitting places you didn’t even know existed. Your moans bounced off the walls, as did his low grunts.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he demanded, his fingers working your clit once again. Your eyes clenched shut as you came around him with a scream. He pulled you into a bruising kiss and his thrusts became sloppy as he raced to catch his release, pulling out of you and spilling himself on your chest and stomach. Spent, he rolled next to you, the two of you heaving to catch your breath.

“Wow,” you whispered once your racing heart began to slow. He turned his face towards you, grinning.

“Yeah,” he agreed, before climbing out of bed to get you a damp towel. The two of you cleaned up in silence. He pulled on boxers and you pulled on underwear and his t-shirt, switching the light off before falling back into bed. His arms rested around you, your chests pressed against each other.

“Thank you for taking me on a date,” you said, catching his eyes with yours, “I’ve never been on one before, but I’m glad I waited for you.” You felt his body tense and his lips pressed tightly together.

“Sweetheart,” he started, and you saw regret fill his eyes.

“I should’ve waited for you. I wish I did,” he admitted, his voice tense. You shook your head and tried to press closer to him, but he pulled away.

“Dean,” you asked, confused, but it was his turn to shake his head.

“I never thought I’d meet you. I always thought this—,” he gestured towards your body, “you— I thought it was impossible. The life I live is not made for soulmates. I never imagined myself living a normal life with my soulmate. I couldn’t even bear the thought of it. So I didn’t.”

He ran a hand down his face, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. You tugged at his hand, wanting to see him.

“I know that you have more experience than I do, Dean. That doesn’t bother me,” you tried to explain, but he pulled his hand away from yours.

“You don’t even know half of it,” he snapped back, and you pulled back at his sharp tone.

“Then explain it to me,” you demanded, knowing that this conversation had been boiling for a while and that it was only a matter of time before it reared its ugly head again. Dean must’ve known it too, because his eyes softened and he rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

“At first, it was just a bunch of one-night stands,” he started, and you laid stiffly, afraid that he would stop talking if you moved.

“I spent a lot of nights picking up girls in bars. I would flirt with them and take ‘em home. I’d show them a good time and leave before they’d wake up in the morning. It went on like that for years. I didn’t think I’d ever meet you. Hell, I didn’t even know if I’d be alive to meet you.

“But then I met Lisa, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to spend another night with a girl. I ended up spending a whole week at her place. I knew she wasn’t my soulmate. I knew that her soulmate died in a car accident years before. I knew that the universe didn’t perfectly make us for each other, but at the time, I didn’t care. Sam and Dad were on a case and I was alone.

“I thought about her a lot during my time on the road. I wanted to cling onto something— I needed to cling onto something. Years passed, and I still didn’t meet you. Me and Sammy ended up working a case in her city. I met her son.”

Your breath hitched. Her son? Dean turned his head towards you at the sound and saw the panic flash across your eyes.

“Oh no, Ben wasn’t my kid. I swear,” he tried to reassure you, but you didn’t feel comforted at the thought, you merely nodded, gesturing for him to resume his story.

“The apocalypse was approaching, and I was scared. I was weak and scared. I didn’t think I’d make it, and I had accepted the fact that I wouldn’t meet you before the world ended. I thought Lisa and Ben were all I had. I dreamed about her, quite a bit, really. I dreamed about having a life with her, mowing the lawn on Saturdays and picking Ben up from baseball practice. I visited her again before the whole Lucifer-Michael showdown happened. I told her that I’d made arrangements to keep her and Ben safe, and she asked me to stay with her, but I knew that I couldn’t. I had to be there for Sammy. For Bobby.

“But then, Sam was in the cage. I was lost and broken. So I did the only thing that I could think of. I left the hunting life and moved in with Lisa.” His words pierced you like a knife, your heart shattering into pieces. Tears pooled in your eyes.

You weren’t exactly sure why you were upset. It wasn’t his fault that the two of you hadn’t met at the time. It wasn’t his fault that he met Lisa before he met you. It wasn’t his fault that he sought comfort in her when you weren’t there for him. You knew it was no one’s fault, just circumstance, but that didn’t keep you from feeling a sting of betrayal.

“How long?” You whispered, knowing that if you spoke any louder it would crack and you would burst into tears. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to know the answer. He was silent for a moment, and you thought he wouldn’t respond.

“A year,” he said, his voice hoarse, seemingly filled with regret, concern, and pain. Your stomach dropped. A year? He spent a whole year with her. A whole year with her and her son. Their son. It didn’t matter that Dean wasn’t Ben’s biological father, you already knew that Dean loved him like his own. You let out a shaky breath, preparing yourself to ask the question that had been floating around your mind ever since he started.

“Did you love her?”

You couldn’t even meet his eyes. You looked anywhere but him, your eyes roaming over your ceiling instead of the green eyes that were staring at you. He was quiet, and you closed your eyes, feeling tears spill down the side of your face.

“I thought I did, but I don’t know anymore,” came his whispered reply. “In some ways, it probably was love. But not the kind of love that would survive. I couldn’t live a life without hunting. She couldn’t live a life with hunting.”

You winced at his words. The implication that if they were able to compromise, he wouldn’t be laying next to you right now, but next to her. You wished he had just said yes. Maybe it would’ve hurt less.

“Okay,” you said because there was nothing else to say. You contemplated kicking him out of the bed, but you still loved him, and you knew that it would just pain you more. You turned over on your side, your back facing him. You pulled the covers up, wanting them to swallow you whole. There was movement on the bed and you heard the shuffling of sheets, feeling Dean’s warm body come close to yours to hold you, but you tensed up.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, and he stilled before respecting your wishes, retreating back to his side of the bed. You gripped a pillow against your side, hugging it for comfort. You tried to keep your sobs silent, but there was no use hiding them.

You cried for your pain and hurt, wanting to hate Dean, but you couldn’t. You cried for the love lost between the two of you. You cried because you didn’t know if he even wanted you. But most of all, you cried for Dean. You cried for the burdens he’s endured and that you couldn’t be there for him during times of hardship. You cried because you knew that it wasn’t Dean’s fault, yet here you were punishing him because you were really punishing yourself.

As your tears slowed and your breath became steady again, you were exhausted. You were already drifting off to sleep when you felt Dean’s fingers in your hair and a gentle kiss to your forehead. Too tired to argue, you snuggled into his body and let sleep take you away.

Taglist: @akshi8278 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @lanea-1 @slamminmine

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x soulmate!reader #dean winchester x y/n #reader x dean #reader x dean winchester #y/n x dean winchester #y/n x dean #dean winchester angst #dean angst #dean winchester fluff #dean fluff #supernatural #supernatural series #muffinbeliever

[deanwanddamons]

Give me a drabble of this cutie

Title - Money From Pie

Word Count - 861

Warnings - None. This is just a simple little drabble.

A/N: The idea for this came to me just as I got into bed last night. Subsequently, my brain wouldn’t let me sleep until I had gotten up to write it, resulting in me doing so at 4.00am this morning (July 16th). Completely unbetad so all mistakes are my own. Hope you enjoy!

Feedback is golden ❤️

My Masterlist

“We need some funds Sammy,” Dean huffed as he slid out of the driver's seat of his precious Impala.

He closed the door of the classic Chevy and turned to face his brother, who’s elbows were resting on the sleek black roof of the car, his chin on his forearms.

“We are running out of aliases to use for getting credit cards, and the cards we do have are almost up to the max. You're the genius. Do you have any bright ideas?”

Sam pushed himself away from the vehicle, and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“Well, for a start, I don’t think using the last of our rapidly depleting pile of cash for breakfast will help matters.”

Dean stared at his brother, his green eyes narrowing. His brows came together into a frown.

“You know how hangry I get if I don’t eat,” he scowled, beginning to walk towards the diner they were parked in front of, his boots crunching the gravel beneath his feet as he moved. “Besides,” he continued, “I need coffee to get the old grey matter working if I’m going to come up with a hustle.” He stopped, tapping two fingers on his forehead as he glanced over his shoulder at the younger Winchester, who was yet to follow.

Sam shook his head, his chestnut hair swishing side to side with the motion. An exasperated breath left his lips as he walked behind Dean into the restaurant, knowing that without caffeine, his brother would be like a bear with a sore head for the remainder of the day. It was just easier to let him have it.

The establishment was a typical diner, with tables in the middle of the floor, booths around the edges, many against the large windows, a 1950’s style jukebox in the corner, and advertisements adorning the walls, showing the daily specials.

They slide into one of the booths, sitting opposite each other. Dean’s eyes roamed around the room.

“Oh look, it's Tuesday. Pig in a poke,” he grinned, gesturing to a poster above the serving area.

“Do you have any idea what that actually is?” Sam asked as he scanned the menu in front of him, deciding on egg white omelette and a glass of water. Not only were his choices healthy, they were the cheapest options.

“No, but it sounds good!” Dean told him, a smirk forming on his lips.

“It’s also $30.” Sam, the ever sensible one, told him.

As Dean went to respond, the waitress came over to their booth to take their order. She smiled at Sam.

“What’ll it be, sweetheart?” she asked, her notebook poised, pen at the ready. He gave his order, thanking her and placing the plastic menu back down on the table in front of him.

“And for you, handsome?” Her tone changed slightly when she addressed Dean, her gaze roaming lustfully over his features.

“I'll get the pig in…”

“He’ll get pancakes with a side of bacon and a coffee,” Sam interrupted. Dean frowned at his brother, slamming his menu shut, before forcefully dropping it down onto the wooden surface.

“Fine.” he snapped. The waitress quickly took his glare as a sign for her to leave.

He blew an annoyed breath through his nostrils as he scanned the room once again, frustrated with his sibling for not letting him have what he wanted. His eyes landed on another poster, this one hanging next to the door. As he read what was written on it, he sat up straight.

“Miss?” he yelled across the room, trying to get the attention of the server who had taken their order. Hearing his shout, she made her way back over to the boys booth.

“How do I enter that?” Dean enquired, pointing to the advert. She fumbled in her apron pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper. “You just need to complete this form,” she explained, handing the sheet of A4 to Dean, who took it from her with a rye grin.

Sam turned to see what his brother had been pointing at. In bold black letters he could make out the words;

“Pie eating contest! Here at Joe’s. Wednesday June 20th.”

He smiled, rolling his eyes at Dean, who then asked the woman if he could borrow her pen.

“Sure thing, darling. I'll be back to collect the completed form once your food is ready,” she told them before moving onto the next table, producing a pencil from the hair band that held her neat ponytail in place, in order to replace the writing implement she had loaned to the hunter.

Dean placed the pen into his mouth, smirking around the object as he leaned forward, studying the entry form.

“There is a prize of $1000 if I win,” he mumbled, twirling his tongue around the end of the plastic.

“Seriously?” Sam queried, “You think you can win? I have no doubt that there will be some professional competitive eaters entering.”

Dean looked up, a wicked glint in his green eyes.

“Dude. You know how much I love my pie.”

Tagging some who may be interested: @winchest09 @cockslut-padalecki @chocolateheart @soaringeag1e @flashxspn @flamencodiva @watermelonlipstick @mvdeanw @wonder-cole @downanddirtydean @deangirl93 @jensengirl83 @princessmisery666 @gh0stgurl @janicho88 @deanwinchesterswitch @lovealways-j @smol-and-grumpy @katehuntington @sandlee44 @siospins @pisces-cutie @kickingitwithkirk @facadeformyrealblog @spnwoman @impalaspixie @ejlovespie @superfanficnatural @thinkinghardhardlythinking @calaofnoldor @peridottea91 @percywinchester27 @jarpad24 @mckenziebyrd67 @fandom-princess-forevermore @pixie88 @libre1rose8 @rslizj @waywardbaby @jc-winchester @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @carryonmywaywardcaptain (If you would like to be removed from tags on future gif drabbles, please let me know. Alternatively, if you are not tagged and would like to be, I’ll be happy to add you) ❤️

#supernatural #Dean Winchester #Sam winchester #supernatural drabble #gif drabble #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester drabble #sam winchester drabble

[watermelonlipstick]

Dean’s Jeans 2

What better day to post a sweet little family oneshot than Mother’s Day? This is the same setup as Dean’s Jeans, just a different late summer afternoon on your cul-de-sac with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and their cousin DJ. I already have bare-bones drafts of a few other installments for these cuties, especially considering this one got a little deeper than I had intended. Stay tuned!

Title: Dean’s Jeans 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5561

Summary: Spending the afternoon working on the driveway with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and nephew.

Warnings: fluff, some family angst, minor injury, little dollop of smut at the end

           It was a big day for driveways and garages.

           You had been sitting in the apron of Sam’s drawing loopy pastel paths with DJ and your eldest daughter for your youngest to roll her cousin’s old matchbox cars down, watching adoringly as everyone’s palms and knees got covered in chalk dust. When the concrete was relatively full and the older two started getting a little antsy, you decided to try to stave off any bored bickering ahead of time.

           “Babe, is our garage unlocked?” you called over to Dean where he was trying to snake an extension cord out of Sam’s front door and down the porch.

           “Should be. Why, what’s up?”

           “I thought maybe DJ could take Picasso here over to the park to break in her new bike.” You turned to your nephew, sitting with his arms resting on his knees. He was just barely starting to fill out around the delicate Winchester features that had made him such an angelic looking child, the angle of his jaw seeming to sharpen every day, growing rapidly though you might still be able to throw him over your shoulder in a pinch. Hopefully it was a sign that he wasn’t destined for the late puberty you knew had frustrated Sam so much when he was younger; at least he could have one gift from his other parent, lost otherwise to the wind without as much as a periodic birthday card. Not the time for that thought, you reminded yourself, refocusing on the child’s glossy hair, carbon copy of his father’s with sun-lightened tips this late into summer. Dean would’ve taken him to get a haircut about a month ago, but as you and Sam both reminded him: not his hair, not his kid. It made you smile and likely made Sam proud that at his age, where so many kids were rebelling against their parents, DJ didn’t mind looking exactly like his dad. Somehow you had a hard time believing Sam would want to rush that process of teenage rebellion along. “What do you think, Deej?”

           Your elder daughter squealed and threw her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him onto the driveway. “Please please? Maybe Sarah and Davey can come too.” Her inclusion of the Fiore siblings into the mix was smart. They lived between your cul de sac and the park and were pretty similar in age to DJ and your older daughter. You suspected she thought on some level that DJ was on the cusp of being too cool to hang out with his baby cousin, but hanging out with the Fiores as a group gave them a little more social grace. Hopefully she’d realize, as you had, that DJ absolutely adored her and would likely rather catch some flack from his peers than drift apart.

           “Yeah but I’m not carrying your bike up the hill if your legs get tired,” he grinned at his cousin, who immediately took off across the street to get her bike from the garage.

           Sam and Dean had to move their whole setup from in front of Sam’s garage door so DJ could get his own bike out, the step ladder, extension cord, and electric drill going into the lawn next to the rest of their project, the basketball hoop. He almost got to the end of the driveway, swinging his leg over the seat, before Sam stopped him. “Nice try. Helmet, please,” he called out after his son, who reluctantly dropped the mountain bike onto the pavement and trudged back into the garage to pull a sticker-covered helmet out of a box and throw it on his head. By the time he made it into the street his cousin had done the same, yelling out over her shoulder for you to Mommypleaseclosethegaragethankyou as she tried to pump petite legs to keep up.

           You were thankful that your youngest seemed to be fully engrossed in the chalk patterns on the driveway and hadn’t seemed to notice the other kids’ leaving, not interested in having an argument about whether she was too little or not to go with them alone. Trusting the older kids or not, she was small and curious in a way that led to her sometimes running off to explore, and you didn’t want to add that into the mix. After a while, she picked up the green again, moving up the driveway to draw a picture of a dragon and immediately swipe hair out of her face, covering it with fluorescent dust. She got to her feet, and the amount of colorful powder on her made you beyond thankful that it was Dean’s turn to give her a bath that night. Crossing the driveway in a few skittering steps, she wrapped herself around Dean’s legs, practically leaving a silhouette imprint of herself on his jeans as he ruffled her hair. The way they had worn out and lost much of their dye over the years highlighted the contrast.

           “Daddy, come look! It’s a dragon!”

           Dean and Sam exchanged a smirk and Dean winked at you. “A dragon? Sounds scary.”

           “No, he’s a nice dragon,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the driveway, leaving Sam to drill holes into the wood above his garage door.

           “A nice dragon, huh? What’s his name?” Dean asked, grinning as he let her lead him.

           “Maurice,” she said, so matter of fact it made you laugh out loud. Sam did too, pulling the drill out of the wall to keep from wiggling the holes. “Can you do the fire?”

           “’Course I can, princess. How big are we talking?” He eased down to sit cross-legged next to Maurice The Dragon, accepting when you offered him yellow and orange sticks of chalk. You leaned back in the afternoon sun with a lap full of matchbox cars listening to the radio Sam had brought out to the porch, the chalk scratching on the concrete, and the rhythmic drilling of holes into siding for a few minutes.

           “Dean?” Sam asked, backing down the step ladder.

           “Got it,” he answered, putting a little flair on a lick of fire that went around Maurice’s nose and handing your daughter the chalk. “I need to help Uncle Sammy for a minute but I can come right back, sound fair? Your mom is better at scales anyway.” The girl seemed to consider it for a second then pouted her lips out in agreement, tilting her head to the side just like her dad did all the time. Dean got up creakily and brushed off his hands on his back pockets, the orange joining the other stains like an abstract painting.

           “You guys need any help?” you called over to Sam, who was trying to stabilize the hoop with long arms and struggling a little bit to keep it balanced in the light wind, powerful muscles rippling in his forearms and impressing upon you how heavy it must truly be if even he was having trouble with it.

           “Actually, yeah, that would be great,” he chuckled, jerking his chin to Dean to suggest his brother help him hold it up. He did, grabbing one side and having to reach up to his tip toes to match Sam’s stretch.  They were both standing on a kind of bastardized stool Dean had thrown together for this purpose, a few planks of wood balanced on some huge cinderblocks that had been in the garden holding up one of Sam’s compost setups. “It’s just those 12 screws, holes should already be lined up.”

           You climbed up on the ladder with the drill, having to crane to reach over even with the added height. When the last was in, the Winchesters carefully removed their hands. Seeing that it didn’t immediately fall, Dean grabbed the bottom corner and tried his best to rattle it to no avail. “Good job, babe,” he said, lightly smacking your ass as you backed down the ladder.

           “Watch out,” Sam said over your shoulder, and you saw him walking backwards a handful of steps down the driveway, being cautious to avoid his niece and her drawings.

           “Dude, there’s no way you can—” Dean started, cut off by Sam taking a running jump and leaping into the air, catching the rim of the hoop like nothing and doing a baby pull-up on the metal.

           “Can what?” Sam cackled, punching Dean’s arm playfully as he dropped to the pavement. “Don’t be jealous, old man.”

           “Jealous of Sasquatch? You can practically reach it standing, Lurch.”

           “Yeah, okay. Let me know when you can get up there without a stool and a trampoline.”

           You were giggling as Sam and Dean started putting all their tools way when DJ’s bike came flying around the corner. Neither he nor his cousin were wearing helmets, and she was wrapped around his chest like a novelty monkey backpack, her legs circling his waist and her arms clinging to his neck. He had to arch around her to see, but you could tell from the half-block length away that he was saying something to her. By the time they got close enough to get reprimanded for the lack of helmets, or for one of their dads to ask where the other bike was, you could hear the crying.

           Sam crossed over to his son in long, purposeful strides, holding his handlebars so he could dismount without letting go of your daughter. “What happened?” he asked, taking the girl from DJ’s arms and smoothing her hair back with a soothing palm. As he turned, you could see the blood trickling down her raw knees and elbows.

           DJ was visibly rattled, trying hard to calm his breathing down and tensing his bottom lip when it began to quiver. “Davey and I went down that big hill and, she—she was going too fast, and, um, she fell—I, I told her we could practice later but these guys were saying only babies couldn’t do it, I swear I didn’t know she would—” and then his voice broke, fat tears finally breaking through and crashing down his face. Sam nodded to you and Dean, murmuring some comforting things to your eldest as he carried her up the porch steps into his house. At the exact same time as if practiced—that same rapid, implicit communication they’d had on hunts now used to coordinate hugging their children in tandem, you thought to yourself—Dean wrapped his nephew up in a big bear hug, cradling the boy’s head and sweeping his hand up and down his back.

           “Hey, come on, you’re okay. She’s okay, she’s just shaken up, kid. Shhh shhh shhh, hey, come on, deep breaths. You’re okay,” he hummed into DJ’s hair. He gave you a tight nod over the kid’s shoulder to keep drawing with your daughter. Only a few steps away, you could still hear him as he continued. “I’m so proud of you, Deej. Got her all the way home on your bike, that’s pretty badass.” He waited for a few moments of silence until his nephew caught his breath a little. “Probably scared you, right?” he asked, his voice low and calm as DJ nodded through tears into the growing wet spot on his uncle’s chest. “That’s okay, chief, I would’ve been freaked too.”

           You noticed he was rocking a little, almost like he did when he was trying to get the girls to sleep as babies, and it really emphasized the way that no matter how wise DJ seemed or whatever signs of puberty he might be showing, he was still a child, still the same baby you’d fallen in love with when Sam had gotten that call however many years ago. It took a few more minutes for the crying to subside to hiccupping breaths and seeming to sense that the moment had passed in some way, your baby girl grabbed your hand gently. “Mommy, is DJ okay?”

           “Yeah, sweetie. He was just scared for a minute.”

           “That’s why he needs a hug?”

           “Exactly. Everybody needs hugs sometimes.” Just as she had before when considering your ability to draw cartoon scales on a dragon named Maurice, she tilted her head and pouted in agreement. When you realized what she was about to do next you almost had to wipe a quick tear away yourself, watching her get up to hug DJ and sandwich him between herself and Dean.

           “It’s okay, DJ,” she whispered, the high tender pitch of her voice like one of those unsettlingly extreme medieval harmonies with her dad’s but so much sweeter, the bright welcome sting of lemon juice in a dense poundcake.

           A moment later, Sam came out onto the porch with his eldest niece. One of her knees was wrapped in gauze but the other and both elbows had what looked from the driveway like a collage of Spiderman band aids. Sam appeared to have a matching one on his forehead, and both of them were giggling, though her eyes still looked a little puffy and red.

           Dean looked up and turned DJ to see both of them, cradling the back of DJ’s head in one palm. “See? She’s okay, just needed a couple band aids.”

           Sam winked at his brother as he walked over and patted his son on the back, taking the band aid off his forehead as he went. “Buddy, we’re going to go grab the bike and your helmets. Is there anything else you think you left at the park?”

           His son shook his head up at his dad and leaned back from Dean’s embrace to rub his eyes. “Are you mad at me?” he croaked.

           “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” Sam asked, crouching down to a squat to look up at DJ. You had noticed he tended to do this in sensitive moments with all the children, trying his best to seem less looming. The first time you’d identified it, it made you a little sick to your stomach, realizing it likely wasn’t part of how inherently good he was with kids but because he knew what it was like to have an angry man towering over you. Thinking of it now had the same effect, especially compounded by the emphasis Dean had put on telling DJ he was proud of him even if his daughter had gotten hurt, that he too knew a protective kid was still just a kid.

           DJ sniffled hard once more, finally able to take a truly deep breath. “I didn’t wear my helmet home because I couldn’t see arou—”

           “Aw, DJ. No way am I mad at you.” Sam hugged his son and stood up, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m proud of you for getting both of you guys home safe. That was really smart, to get her on the bike with you like that.” You caught DJ’s tiny smile of pride at his father’s praise, watched it deepen a touch as Sam kissed his hair again. “So just the helmets and the bike?”

           He nodded and rubbed his eyes before peeking around Sam a little bit to see your daughter. “You’re really okay?” he asked, as though he didn’t trust the adults to be telling him the truth and would have to ascertain her safety for himself. You wondered if Sam and Dean would find that nice or insulting, that ultra-fierce, trust-but-verify loyalty.

           She nodded sort of sheepishly. “Sorry I didn’t listen about the hill, DJ.”

           “It’s okay.”

           The moment seemed a bit heavy for a half-second before Sam wrapped a big hand around your daughter’s shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Let’s go find that bike.”

           After helping Dean get his wheels back inside, DJ went up to his room. You had to resist the urge to follow him, cuddle up with him like you used to when he was small enough to tuck into your lap. If he wanted to be alone, he was old enough to decide that for himself. Dean put the rest of the tools and things from putting up the basketball hoop away and walked over to you where you were laying on the ground so your youngest daughter could trace your body with chalk.

           “I think we need a pick-me-up around here. How do you feel about i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m for dinner?”

           You smiled, knowing you only had a bit longer of these spelling secrets left as your baby got closer and closer to proficient reading age. “Works for me. I think we have 2 or 3 kinds in the garage freezer.”

           He smirked down at you. “Can you bring him over in about 15 minutes? They should be back by then.”

           You tossed him a thumbs up and watched him walk across the street, the way the denim draped around his bowed legs as he went.

           It was only five or six minutes later when Sam came up to the driveway, jogging alongside your daughter with DJ’s helmet in his hand. Of course Sam would know that she needed to get back on that bike right away, and of course he’d come up with something to make her laugh all the way home, even if that meant he had to run the entire distance on a late summer afternoon. He was slightly out of breath when he helped her dismount in the driveway.

           “My kid okay?” he asked, taking the other helmet so your daughter could go back to what was becoming a pretty spectacular chalk surrealist piece spanning the driveway.

           “He’s in his room, I think he will be. Your brother’s got a very Dean style plan for dinner in a few minutes if you’re hungry.”

           Sam looked down at his watch. “Yikes, I didn’t realize we were even close to dinnertime. Let me go wash my hands and grab DJ then we can go over together?”

           “Sounds perfect to me. And hey—Sam? Make sure he knows everyone thinks he did the right thing.”

           He nodded, and you watched his Adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallowed hard. Sam reached down and squeezed your hand, saying thank you without reopening the situation in front of the girls.

           They came out a few minutes later, Sam in a fresh t-shirt and DJ looking a little more cheerful coiled into his dad’s side. You bundled up the girls and walked over to your house, tipping your head in thanks as Sam opened the door. The girls were the first to see the spread and took off squealing into the kitchen, where Dean had effectively set up a tiny ice cream shop on your kitchen island. Sprinkles of all different kinds, those 3 tubs of ice cream you’d been right to remember were in the freezer, syrups and whipped cream and cherries and bananas and even chopped up peanut butter cups and Butterfinger bars from the stash Dean hid from the kids. He was already handing out bowls before you got into the kitchen.

           “Ah, ah! Hands need to be washed before anyone gets ice cream,” you insisted, shooting Dean a look of teasing reprimand.

           He rolled his eyes to your oldest daughter, sending her giggling conspiratorially to the kitchen sink. DJ, presumably having already washed his hands at his place, helped your youngest daughter reach by picking her up to the faucet when her sister was done. You crossed over to Dean, kissing him on the cheek and grabbing his hands for inspection. “Babe, you’re literally covered in chalk.”

           “You should be happy about me getting some extra calcium,” he winked, sticking out his tongue at you as you grabbed his ass on the way to the sink. “Mrs. Winchester!” he said in a faux-scandalized voice.

           As you washed your hands Sam manned the ice cream scoop, doling out much bigger bowls than he would normally, seeming to know as Dean did that a little levity might help the events of the day pass faster. After all the kids doctored up heaping mounds of ice cream and toppings to beat the band, you and the Winchester brothers stood around the island while they piled onto the couch to find a movie they could all agree on.

           “How’s our champ?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

           Sam shook up a can of whipped cream as he spoke. “He’s okay. Just feels guilty, I think. He says he should’ve stopped her from going down the hill.”

           “You think any kid of hers would’ve let someone tell her she couldn’t do anything?” Dean ribbed, accepting the gentle elbow you hit his side with.

           “I know that, but you know what it’s like. I think once he sees she’s really okay and no one blames him then he’ll be fine.”

           “Poor guy. Feels like that Winchester ‘weight of the world’ thing must be genetic.” You were partly joking but also partly not and they both knew it, looking pitiful and pitying for a beat before trying to cover with smiles. “He’s a great kid, Sam.”

           “Pretty much feels like you guys raised him as much as I did, I should be thanking you,” he murmured, drawing a lattice of butterscotch syrup over his whipped cream.

           You snaked an arm around his waist and gave him a sideways hug. “No, we’re lucky you let us know him.”

           Sam bent over and pressed his lips to your hair. “Seriously, thank you. I’m—I don’t know where we’d be if we didn’t, you know, I mean if we—”

           “Don’t strain yourself, Sammy,” Dean smiled affectionately, giving Sam a merciful out. “Tell you what, I sure wouldn’t have made it in damn Themyscira without you two around.”

           Sam chuckled down at the counter while you disentangled your arms. You took the chocolate sprinkles from in front of him and scattered a few in your bowl. “Themyscira? The hell is that?”

           Dean set down his ice cream exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes so hard he put a backwards bend in his spine, holding onto the island to keep his balance. “Babe. Themyscira. Home of the Amazons? Wonder Woman?”

           “Riiiight. I forgot I was married to such a dork.”

           “As long as you don’t forget how this ‘dork’ makes you screa—”

           “Dude, enough,” Sam groaned, exasperated. Dean waggled his eyebrows at you as his brother followed into the living room with the kids, taking the opportunity of temporary privacy to slip his tongue along your neck where it sloped into your shoulder.

           “Dean,” you hissed playfully, pushing his chest away from you. “They’re in the other room!”

           “You taste like chalk,” he smirked, before holding your gaze for a gooier beat than you would’ve expected. His eyes softened and he glanced down. “Thank you for letting me—letting us—take that, today. I know you’re better at the Mommy Dearest stuff or whatever, but it sometimes feels like, ah, getting a redo?” He cleared his throat where it had gotten a little thick. “You know, um, like proving that it doesn’t have to be the same?”

           It was a specific vulnerability he doesn’t often let you see, but you could tell by the softness both he and Sam had with all the kids, how they beat themselves up for days if they raised their voice for even a second, that they both thought about it all the time. In so many ways they were still those same little boys who wished they could’ve drawn on driveways with their parents, that their dad could’ve given them Spiderman band aids and told them everything was going to be okay.

           He didn’t have to explain further, and you gripped his hand to tell him so. “They needed you two, not me. For what it’s worth, I think you guys were a pretty great team today.”

           Dean smiled, and it was almost like the sleepy thankfulness he had on those nights when he got home and you’d charitably done a couple of his chores for him. He closed his eyes in invitation and you leaned forward, meeting his lips with the smell of ice cream in the air. “So come on, Super Dad. Let’s go watch a movie with these great kids everyone keeps talking about.”

           The ice cream had gotten put back in the freezer immediately to keep it frozen, but the toppings had all been left out during School of Rock. Sam and DJ had left a bit after the movie, playing a round of LIFE that had been pretty ambitiously started, considering the time, and ultimately abandoned when all the kids’ yawns started to sync up. You came downstairs after trading with Dean for bath/shower duty to get out of cleaning up all the sticky dishes, the girls falling asleep too quickly for a bedtime story after you’d made sure they were thoroughly scrubbed clean and any wet gauze was replaced.

           He was rinsing some bowls in the sink, the majority of the toppings slid to one side of the now wiped-down island. You sauntered up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder. “Your jeans are still covered in chalk,” you sighed into his neck.

           “Your kid was practically using them as a napkin, so I’m not surprised.”

           “Like father, like daughter.”

           You felt the rumble of his laugh through your chest where you were pressed up against his back. “Can’t argue with that. They asleep?”

           “You’d think I drugged them.”

           He chuckled again, putting down the last bowl in the sink and shutting off the water before drying his hands on a dishtowel deliberately. When he turned around, his face was inches from yours. “Is that right?” he asked, and his voice was as smooth and silky as any caramel drizzle you could’ve eaten that night. You nodded into a smile as Dean slid a washing-warmed hand to the nape of your neck and wound into the hair there, pulling you into him where he leaned against the sink and slipped his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like maraschino cherry and chocolate and you pushed up into his kiss hard, jamming him into the counter in a way that made him groan into you, tug that hair tighter. “Careful, baby. Been thinking about scandalizing the mother of my children for hours,” he growled, smirking through a voice rough like the sandpaper calluses of his hands.

           You bit his bottom lip and dragged it back, leaning away from Dean just enough to reach over to the island behind you, finding the whipped cream and starting to shake it fast. “That’s funny, because I’ve just been thinking about sundaes,” you purred into his ear, nipping at his earlobe before tipping back. Dean’s eyes practically glittered as his pupils blew wide. His shirt was off so fast you almost didn’t see it, feeling like you blinked and opened your eyes to him already yanking his belt open to shuck off those chalk-covered torn jeans. Before he could, you turned over the whipped cream on top of his collarbone, dripping a stream of white foam down his chest and letting it drift for a second, melt down his skin then lapping it up with a tongue flattened wide.  You shook the can again, draping a strip onto Dean’s stomach that trailed to his belly button and laying a palm on his chest, leaning him back to the counter on his elbows to watch as you licked the whipped cream with lazy swirls until you were at the hem of his boxers, sinking to your knees and taking them down his legs along with his now-opened jeans. He was already hard as rock when you took him in your palm, laying one last spray of whipped cream along the length of him and humming in delight at the “holy shi—” that punched out of Dean and fizzled into the ether when you sucked it off.  

           It was only a few minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore, bending down to kiss you rough and dirty, tongue darting out to get the little dribbles of cream around the corners of your mouth and dragging you to your feet. With one hand Dean flicked open your jeans, using the freed slack to dive into your panties, middle finger dipping into you as he held your jaw with the other palm. He breathed hot and sticky along your jugular. “Not even close to how wet I want you.” The viscous pour of his words onto your neck sent goosebumps spreading over your skin in a delicate fan and you couldn’t help but smile as he scooped under your thighs and lifted you easily onto the island, slipping the denim off your legs as the same time he stepped out of his. You relaxed onto your elbows, watching those long eyelashes drift open and closed as his kissed a path down your abdomen, gripping handfuls of your t-shirt to get to skin. A lazy hand offered Dean the can of whipped cream.

           The smirk he gave you, bare shoulders between your thighs as he kneeled on the kitchen floor, might as well have been through a time machine for the way it made you see the cocky playboy you’d first met over a decade ago, before the faint wrinkles of years in sunny cars and staying up nights with colicky babies that accessorized his big doe eyes now. It had the same effect on you in a t-shirt that was older than DJ as it had when you were pounding through shots with eyeliner artfully smudged by the power of hangovers: pooling all the blood in your stomach and making you lightheaded. He slowly bit his bottom lip. “You taste way too good to be adding anything,” he rumbled, and when you threw your head back in a shaky laugh his tongue reminded you exactly why smudged-eyeliner girl was ready to drop her independence, jump in the Impala and follow that mouth to the end of the world.

           Dean built the earth up and cracked it into pieces beneath you twice perched on that kitchen island before grabbing the counter edge to haul himself up. “Were these tiles always so fucking hard? Feel like I just took a hammer to the kneecaps.” He shook out each of his bare legs, spring of his erect cock as he did looking silly and out of place with the glisten of his lips and chin, the sultry cast of his eyelashes on angled cheekbones. The juxtaposition made you laugh, breathy as it was with muscles that had been turned to jello, thrown in a blender, and scattered about the room by the deft movements of Dean’s tongue and fingers.

           “You’re thinking about your knees right now?”

           “That’s how hard these fucking tiles are,” Dean chuckled, deep and still sexy somehow, bending forward to catch your lips. When you reached down to stroke him, a hand wrapped around your wrist. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, I’m nowhere near done with you,” he murmured through kisses, a shade of playful challenge in his throat.

           You giggled, leaning back as he dragged a wet path of suction down your neck. “I don’t want to torture those legs, old man.” Running a hand through hair you’d sent spiking in all directions in your writhing, you dragged Dean’s head back on his neck, giving you a chance to meet his eyes, still the same dusted olive they’d been since that first wink. Long past the honeymoon stage when it was appropriate to do that kind of thing, you’d been content to spend hours searching them, cataloguing every spindly muscle of iris for posterity, trying to gather up every grain of him for when he inevitably was lost forever to a hunt or the solitude of the road.

           But here he was still.

           Here you were still. Living a life—living two selves—you never thought you’d get, lucky to have grown in and around each other like mangrove roots. Those eyes still every inch as beautiful, every spark of that electric heat still there now cloaked in layer after layer of what you’d built together: the complete trust and fanatical admiration he had of you flowing out like fountains of sunlight, strong enough they streamed through any raunchy waggle of his eyebrows.

           No time to think about it now with a hungry coil of desire tightening in your stomach. You traced the length of him with your fingertips, feather-light and teasing. “If you give me fifteen seconds to get my sea legs back I’ll show you who’s got tougher knees.”

           “All right, that’s it,” Dean said. He tipped his head forward and bit your bottom lip with that impossible pressure that made you whimper. “I’ll show you how old these knees are.”

           Before you could react, he’d put his shoulder below your sternum and thrown you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When you squealed he smacked your ass. “You’re going to wake up the girls,” he buzzed, starting toward your bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, you draped over his back.

           “Dean, Jesus Christ,” you giggled. “Get the clothes at least!”

            “Don’t need any jeans for what I’ve got planned—quit—squirming—or I’ll give you something to squirm about,” he continued, lowering his voice to a lascivious whisper and giving one of your upper thighs an impish bite as he headed up the stairs.

-

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[impala1967dwinchester]

Sam Winchester: Thoughts

*Credit to the gif owner* 

Pairing: Sam W. x reader 

Pov: Sam 

Warnings: Fluff, Sam can hear the readers thoughts, Sam falling in love with the reader, Dean is here to help the plot

Summary: Sam gets cursed after the Dean, Y/n, and Sam hunt a witch. The next morning when he wakes up all he can hear is Y/n thoughts, and he’s slowly start to fall in love with her. 

A/N: Using @firefly-graphics Sam Winchester divider for this fic. This fic is sorta based on "What women want" with Mel Gibson. A good ol' Romantic Comedy.

Word Count: 2.3k

Main Masterlist Sams Masterlist 

Taglist: @sweetdetectivequeen​

A witch hunt couldn't possibly go wrong, right? Especially with the Winchester boys.

"Look lady, sit down before I shoot," Dean shouted, causing Y/n to flinch. Just enough of a flinch that I would be having a conversation with Dean later about no yelling so much.

The witch sat down, but what nobody noticed she was casting a spell under her breath. Dean, Y/n, and I had huddled together trying to figure out what we were going to ask this damn witch.

My back facing the witch. Dean looking over my shoulder looking angrily at the lady. Y/n had her game face on. She sometimes followed us around like lost puppies, but damn was she a fucking awesome hunter.

Sometimes better than Dean and I put together.

When I say that she followed us around like lost puppies I mean she never said what she thought. Dean or I would come up with a plan and she never put input in. Just kinda did what she was told. Reminds me of a younger version of Dean and myself.

Working our asses off for John, all for it to be for nothing. A good little soldier and that was all we were to him.

In the end, Dean just ended up letting the witch go since she hadn't any information. We all pilled back into the impala for the drive back to the bunker.

Y/n fell asleep in the back seat curled into a ball and looking rather peaceful. "Y'know I was thinking lover boy that maybe she could stay permanently with us," Dean said referring to Y/n in the backseat.

I just rolled my eyes before turning to look out the window. The drive was shortened by the fact that at one point my eyes were open and scanning the passing environment.

And the next minute I was dreaming a nice dream. I had a family a beautiful wife standing on our front patio, and watching our daughter and I play with our puppy.

It was nice, it was peaceful. But when I was looking around my dream, I noticed that every face was blank. Well, there goes the normal dream.

The shaking of my body woke me up. "Yo, wake up. Get your shit and go the bed." Dean said, pushing me closer to the passenger side door.

Stumbling out, I walked groggily to the back of the impala and grabbed my bags. Slinging them over my shoulder, I saw Dean try to pull Y/n from the back.

"Sweetheart, we made it home." Dean whispering. His hands falling underneath her knees, carefully picking her up out of the impala. "Open the door would Ya, instead of just standing and staring," Dean said still whispering.

I ran over to the door opening it. "Dude get some sleep, I'll get Y/n settled in, kay," Dean said passing me. Shrugging my shoulders and yawning as I walked to my room.

Stripping down to my boxers I collapsed into bed, loving the coolness of my sheets. Within minutes of my head hitting the pillow, I was out like a light.

Dreaming wasn't something that always happened for me, not since I first started hunting with Dean. But those weren't dreams those were more like nightmares, of people that I couldn't save.

I fell back into the same dream as before, still no faces. But the woman I assumed was my wife as a familiar voice, our daughter was what seemed like she was tops five or six.

Cute little thing, long brown hair like my own, wearing a cute sundress that was blue with green flowers printed on it. ' Dear, are you guys ready for dinner?' the woman asked me. I tried to not stare at the fact that she had no face, so I just hummed. Picking up our daughter.

'Tank you for playing with me daddy!' my daughter said to me bringing her small hands and arms and hugging me around my neck. Besides having no faces everything else seemed normal, my wife's voice seemed all too familiar and it was honestly getting at me. Before I was able to ask her something I was pulled from my dreams.

Waking up was a bitch. My neck was sore, and so were my shoulders. Deciding that today I wouldn't take that mile run, I opted for staying in bed just a bit longer this morning.

Finally getting up when I smelled coffee being made in the kitchen. Grabbing a pair of sweats that were laying around, I slipped my slippers on and went to go get some coffee.

The first thing I saw when I walked in was Dean dancing along to his horrible 70s and 80s rock. Flipping pancakes and sizzling bacon. 'God, why'd he choose no shirt this morning' "Huh? Did you say something Y/n?" I asked her, looking at her for the first time since last night.

She had her hair up in a messy bun, wearing a flannel of Dean, and a baggy pair of shorts. "No, I didn't say anything, Sam," Y/n said pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, continuing reading her book.

Okay Sam you have to admit that was odd and kinda creepy. Not that I mind being complimented, but still weird. "You gonna get your cup of coffee or just stand there looking like an idiot!" I heard Dean crack.

"No," I answered back grabbing a coffee cup that was next to the machine. 'Jeez Dean way to be an asshole towards Sam.' There it was again Y/n voice.

Turning around rather quickly which only hurt my neck even more. "Did you just say that?" I asked panic starting to overtake my body and instincts. y/n looked over at Dean, causing Dean to look over at me.

"Dude what are you going on about?" He asked me... eyes big I just waved his question off, "Never mind I think I must have hit my head last night." I said just wanting my morning coffee more than anything.

The rest of the morning went by fine. No hearing Y/n voice, but then again, she wasn't around for the rest of the morning. "I'm heading out to the shops; I need a new pair of jeans. If either one of you wanna head out with me that's fine too. If not that's okay too guys." Y/n said mostly talking and looking at me.

'Please come out with me Sammy' I heard. Ignore it, rolling my eyes before speaking again. "No, it's okay. Dean?" I spoke. "Nah, I'm fine dear. But thanks." Dean said using his signature wink.

As Y/n walked away I heard her voice again, 'Jesus Dean, stop with the nicknames, and the winking. Obviously, it's not working.' That was the last I heard the sentence.

Dean wants to be with Y/n. I don't, I can't see that going very well, Dean sees Y/n more as a sister than anything else. What does that mean it's not working?

Hours later Y/n came into the bunker carrying a few bags. "I thought you only needed a pair of jeans, Y/n?" Dean snarked. "I did, but you guys were running out of some things, so I grabbed some other shit." Y/n countered.

Well, I can't deny that Dean and Y/n do have a certain chemistry, one that she and I just don't have. "what did you get?" I asked moving the conversation along. "I umm... I got you guys some t-shirts, some more socks, and just something fun for both of you." She said shyly.

"That's great, thank you. Did you have an okay time?" I asked, 'No, Sam I didn't that's why I wanted you to go with me. So many gross old men hit on me.' I heard Y/n's face was only scrunched up for a few seconds.

"Yeah, I had a perfectly fine time. Really did enjoy the alone time." Y/n said winking at us. Dean just rolled his eyes and jumped up to go through the bags, but Y/n swatted his hands away.

Digging into the bag she pulled out pie for Dean and he took off with it like he was a squirrel. Y/n looked back over to me and then started to look through the other bags. "Here Sam. I didn't know if you already had this book, but I thought why not." She said, shrugging her shoulder in a cute sort of way.

"Here for a gift return, a Winchester hug, yeah?" I said laughing a little bit. "I don't see why not, I heard that they're hard to come by," Y/n said back rounding the table in an effort to get on a very one-sided hug.

I hadn't realized until recently how much shorter Y/n was compared to me. I could fully rest my chin on her head. 'God I could use this more often' I squeezed her in my arms. 'God, he smells so great' I heard again, she nuzzled her face into my chest. 'He gives much better hugs than Dean.' I heard.

Y/n was the one to let go of the hug, not me. I was starting to realize that it was in fact Y/n I was hearing just not the words coming out of her mouth, it was her thoughts.

That night I convinced Dean that I could make dinner. For the time I was at college and dating Jessica I had learned some good enough cooking skills. "Fine whatever you do just don't ruin my pans and pots!" Dean screamed from his bedroom as I walked away.

That night I cooked a shrimp alfredo, and chicken alfredo with noodles. Something simple but it was mostly all the food that we had left in the bunker kitchen.

"Dinners ready you two!" I hollered from the library, Dean running from the garage, and on the other side of me was Y/n walking down the hallway. 'Look at him, damn chiefs' apron' I looked down and saw that the apron said "kiss the cook" Damn Dean.

'I'd definitely kiss that cook.' I heard as she walked past me. I just followed her with my gaze, mouth slightly open. Hoping that it wouldn't fall straight to the floor.

"Well dig in. It won't kill you, Dean." Y/n said. Dean just put his hands up in defense it's not like he had said anything but we all know he was thinking it instead.

Dinner went by quickly, few words from any of us, and not many thoughts passing through Y/n's mind. Besides 'Damn, he's got skills, 'So much better than Dean would ever do' I snorted when I heard that thought. Dean looked over at me, "What's so funny Samuel?" He spoke.

I rolled my eyes, "It's Sam, Samuel sounds like an old fashion name" I said. "Nothing is wrong Dean." I finished. 'If nobody thought you guys were brothers, they should spend at least a few hours with you.' I heard.

"Can we not fight at the dinner table, please Dean," I asked. I was trying to lean into what Y/n was saying, or more thinking. By the end of dinner Dean had eaten another serving and was now on his second piece of apple pie and a glass of hard crown apple whiskey the Y/n had bought earlier that day.

"Good night you two love birds. Tweet tweet. I'm heading to bed." Dean said kissing Y/n's temple, and patting my shoulder he walked out of the library.

"I'm sorry about him, Y/n. He doesn't have a sensor." I said apologizing for my older brother. Y/n got up waving him off and grabbed the leftover dishware.

I followed behind her grabbing what she couldn't. "He's fine. He should know better, but he's okay Sammy." Y/n said. Not many people called me Sammy besides Dean and Y/n, but it always seemed sweeter coming out of her mouth.

Y/n started to wash dishes. "Can I ask you a question Y/n?" She hummed, so I continued on. "Why do you never say anything while we are on a hunt. You don't always have to follow out stupid ideas...." I said noticing that Y/n had now turned around and was facing me.

"Look I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying that I'd like to know what you're thinking for a while. especially when we are on a hunt. Your opinions matter to me. I hope you know that." I said, crossing my arms across my chest.

'Shut up would Ya'. You don't know how much that means to me.' "I know that you can hear what I'm thinking." Well, that went south very quickly and my stupid facial expression doesn't help the situation. "How long have you known?" I asked.... We stood in silence beside the water in the sink running. "Since before dinner when I was thinking about kissing the amazing chef that made dinner. Because I would still kiss the chef." Y/n said. setting the plate down on the kitchen island.

'Do you want me to kiss you, Samuel?' She said in her thought. I hummed. Shaking my head, licking my lips in anticipation. 'Words Sammy Dear.' She thought. "Just come over here. If this is what happens when I can hear your thoughts, I may be okay with being cursed by a witch ever so often." I said before our lips crashed together.

Our kiss was short-lived when Y/n left mine. "What are you talking about the witch from last night's hunt?" I shook my head. "We need to go get that witch, kill her, get her to remove the curse. Whatever, because as much as it's cute somethings a girl wants to keep to herself." Y/n said, coming back up to my lips and pecking them.

"You're gonna be the death of me," I said, before following her over to the sink to help wash dishes. I think I might have fallen in love with you Y/n. I thought.

"Hey... I heard that." Y/n said. I rolled my eyes, "No you didn't." Confusion replaced Y/ns soft features. "Okay, what did I say then, Y/n?" I asked. "I think I might have fallen in love with you Y/n" Y/n answered.

"Damn it. We really gotta find that witch, Samuel." Y/n said.

Completed on: 04/11/2021

#sammy #Sam Winchester #samgirl #sam winchester x reader #sam #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural x reader #supernatualfluff #fluff #fallinginlove #sam winchester #fem reader #fem #dean winchester #supernatural one shot #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #witchhunt #hunting

[tarantula-teeth]

“Rhonda Hurley was the coolest, smartest and funniest person I had ever met. She was tough —tougher than Dean, tougher than Dad—and she made the best grilled ham sandwiches in the world,” Sam says, smiling down at his hands. He’s holding a blue scarf, a filmy silk scrap of fabric. The box he pulled it from, the one stashed under Dean’s bed, sits emptied on the war table between him and Garth. “She had moles under her eyes and down her neck and never wore shoes and she called me ‘Bruiser’ when she helped me with my homework.”

“She sounds like...like she was important,” Garth offers. He runs his fingers over the pile of Dean’s silver and tin rings they’d found in the bottom of the box.

“She was...she was family. Maybe the first person me and Dean ever knew and loved outside of Dad.”

***

He’s 13 and Dean’s working at the garage under the table because he doesn’t have a work permit or degree. Rhonda always helps Sam with his homework while they wait for him to come home, leaning over his Algebra worksheet with her long blonde hair in a peppy ponytail on the top of her head and her yellow waitress uniform on. She works the graveyard at the all-night diner in town.

That’s how Sam and Dean met Rhonda. Well, Sam met her first. He’d been camped out in a corner booth at five in the morning, three weeks out from when they’d last seen Dad. He and Dean were crashing in the car, too broke to keep up the hotel room. Sam was eating a bowl of oatmeal, no fruit or sides but lots of sugar packets, and a glass of orange juice while he went over his math homework. Dean hadn’t ordered anything before he went to work.

“Check that one again, bruiser,” the beautiful waitress who smelled like vanilla had said. She tapped her sparkly blue fingernails over problem six before collecting Sam’s empty bowl. “Don’t forget about PEMDAS.”

“Thanks,” Sam said to the table. A darted glance revealed that the waitresses’ name tag had ‘Rhonda’ written on it in little yellow stick on letters. “Do I need to order something else to stay?”

“Nope,” Rhonda replied, popping her gum. “You’re just fine, sugar.”

“Sorry I don’t tip more.”

“I’m sorry you have to listen to old Fred holler at the golfing channel,” she’d replied and they’d both looked over at the gentleman waving a cane towards the ceiling mounted television.

Sam broke first, breaking into giggles. Rhonda had smiled back with big, bright teeth as white and pretty as hominy. She’d come back twenty minutes later with an obscene stack of pancakes in one hand and a monkey dish of chocolate chips in the other. The whipped cream can was in her apron pocket. She’d told him she was going to split the pancakes with him and then watched happily as he scarfed them all down. Then, she’d helped him with his homework.

It didn’t take long for Rhonda to meet Dean. She kept Sam company most mornings and nights in between waiting tables. Sam knew Dean really liked Rhonda because his whole neck turned red whenever she laughed at his jokes. One thing led to another, and then Sam was waking up on Rhonda’s overstuffed grandma couch every morning and Dean was making scrambled eggs for her to eat when she got off her overnight shift.

***

They’re fishing for dinner while Dean’s at work, sweaty and lazy in the Oklahoma heat, and the fish aren’t real interested in biting. Rhonda’s wearing a gold bikini top and Wrangler cut offs and her blonde hair is pinned up in a blue silk scarf. Sam has never seen a more beautiful person.

He tells her as much.

“You Winchester boys,” Rhonda said through a smile. A cigarette dangled in the corner of her mouth. “You’ll ruin me for the rest of the male population.”

“You don’t need to worry about them,” Sam said, casting his line out again. He’s stopped wearing his shoes to match Rhonda and he sticks his foot into the river while he reels. “You got Dean. And I’ll be your brother-in-law eventually. You’ll have Dad, too. Once he’s back.”

Rhonda, pink across her nose in a way that certainly isn’t a sunburn, stared at him from her side of the canoe. Her eyes are brown like chocolate. She recovered quickly enough, her mouth curving into a little smile.

“Me and Dean are married in this scenario?”

“Yep. And I’m his best man.”

“What if I want you to be my best man?”

“I guess I could do that too. But not a flower girl.”

“No, I suppose we’d have to let old Fred handle that.”

***

Dean really loves Rhonda. He almost tells her about the truth when they leave, about the supernatural. But he stops. And his eyes are sparkly with tears when he looks away. Sam thinks he should.

He tells him as much. They’re about to leave Rhonda’s trailer park, drive back to the hotel dad left them at. Sam’s still crying a little, quiet and painful because he’s trying to stop. He’s got his Algebra book in his lap, close to his chest. They won’t have time to return it to the school, Dad was only a half hour out when he got ahold of Dean. It smells like vanilla.

“I can’t, Sammy,” Dean says. He smudges his fingers, black with car grease, under his eyes. He sniffs. “Dad won’t like Rhonda. Once we see him? We can’t talk about her again. We gotta move on from Rhonnie. For good.”

“That’s stupid, Dean,” Sam says. He’s mad now and it makes it worse that Rhonda’s still sitting on her trailer steps with mascara dripping down her chin and her yellow waitress uniform on. “He’s stupid.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, aiming for firm and landing on heart broken.

Sam gets out of the car. Dean doesn’t stop him. He walks up to Rhonda and sets his cheek on her bony shoulder, wraps his arms as tight around her as he can. She squeezes him back, just as tight.

“I love you, Rhonda,” Sam whispers, tears burning hie eyes. “I was so happy to know you.”

“Oh,” Rhonda says, sniffling. “I love you too, bruiser. You be good. Be safe. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

And she’d pulled the scarf from her hair, letting it down in a blonde cloud smelling of Suave Sun Ripened Strawberry shampoo. And she’d pressed the scratchy blue scarf into his hands. And kissed his forehead.

And put her hands on his shoulders. And breathed in deep. Then out. Then she’d turned him around to face the Impala and given him the gentlest push.

And he’d started walking. And Dean started driving. And Sam watched Rhonda Hurley and her trailer park shrink in his side mirror.

***

“I must have left the scarf when I went to college,” Sam says. He’s a little teary. Garth is flat out crying, hand over his own mouth. “Rhonda Hurley. What a woman.”

“To Rhonda,” Garth says, lifting his wine cooler.

“To Rhonda,” Sam echoes. He takes a long drink from his coffee cup.

Inspired by @skepticalfrog’s Rhonda art pieces.

To Rhonda Hurley.

#Rhonda Hurley #I have a lot of emotions about her #especially when she’s not cis #anywho #Rhonda affectionate #tw dean is dead #sammy centric #tw vague transphobia #my writing

[jay-and-dean]

Yet another thing to celebrate

Dean x reader

Summary (I used the requester’s words) :  Reader’s birthday is on Christmas Eve, which generally sucks because everyone is either skint or celebrating Christmas.

Warnings : Fluffy fluff with a little fluff whipped cream on top. Very implied smut.

Wordcount : 3.6k

Note : This is my fic for @girl-next-door-writes Secret Santa (I reaaally hope you like it lovely, merry Christmas and happy birthday) hosted by @negans-lucille-tblr​ on @spnsecretsantaficexchange​.

I also made my participation to the amazing @acklesterritory​‘s celebration challenge, in the fic, my prompt was “I saw that, you just checked me out”, it’s bold in the fic.

The song refered to is She’s always a woman, by Billie Joel.

The text dividers are from the great @firefly-graphics​

Jay’s Masterlist

          Christmas…

           Before you even open your eyes, you sigh, grabbing the soft pillow in your fist and nuzzling on its softness in a sleepy grunt.

You don’t hate this day, but it often makes you a little sad despite your will to enjoy it fully. It is your birthday. December 24, the busiest day in the country, damn, in the whole West. And even if you are not the kind to want the full attention on you, to be spoiled or anything, you just wish sometimes that, for once, you could have a proper birthday.

           When you were a teen, you more than once even dared dreaming of a party you could throw, but Christmas is about family and basically about everyone. Not you.

           You dream of a little birthday party with friends, some drinks, music, maybe dancing a little... But it would be impossible unless you do it way before or way after, and it wouldn't really be the same...

           This year is different though.

           This winter, even if the celebration of your birth was totally forgotten, you don’t need anything more than what you have now. And what you have is Dean Winchester. Nothing is more important than that, nothing can make you happier.

           In fact, nothing can really make you feel any other way than blessed after this summer. After Dean kissed you on that hunt, after you two had sex in the Impala on your way home ; after later he asked you to stay in his bed for the night that other evening you both ended up naked. And finally, after he asked you to stay in his room for good a few weeks later, and started calling you his girlfriend.

           You smile thinking of waking up next to him and move your feet to find his behind you. But when you don’t, you turn and rub your eyes before opening them.

           Empty. Your shared bed is empty.

“Dean ?” is the first word you say, but the room stays cruelly silent.

Of course… It’s Christmas. He must be busy, like everyone is always on that day… The sting on your heart comes back... You have woken up with the man you love every single morning for the last few months, but not today.

           That is how lame your birthday can be.

           After staying in bed almost one hour, trying to shake that blues off by thinking of how blessed you are, you finally are about to get up and face that stolen day, but the door opens slowly.

           You close your eyes, not really knowing why, maybe just to avoid having to find an explanation for not getting up before if you were awake. The bed moves under Dean’s weight as he crawls on it slowly but you don’t move, even when he clumsily crushes your arm a little while hovering you.

“Happy birthday Baby” he whispers with his coffee breath close to your face. “Have you decided to skip today ? It’s almost noon.”

“Mh…” you hum, lifting your arms to reach his neck, desperate to feel his skin. “Thank you.”

You hesitate a second, wanting to ask him why he got up without you today, why he didn’t wake you with kisses and sweet words like he often does, but you don’t say anything, grateful enough that he got tired of you not being with him and came to get you.

           He lets a part of his weight fall on you, making you huff and laugh softly. His scruff scratches your shoulder, the rough fabric of his jeans is uncomfortable and his belt is digging to your hip but you wouldn't change a thing.

           Your hand goes to his neck and massages it softly, he hums, and you feel his body softly relax. You always know just how to calm him, how to make him fall back asleep after a nightmare, how to make his muscles calm after the roughest hunts. But after less than a minute, he grunts, sitting up.

"No, no" he shakes his head. "You're not making me skip that day with you ! Get up Baby."

He grabs your shoulders and playfully shake them, not realizing that even his kidding strength is huge.

"Geeet uuuup" he chuckles when your whole body is shaken and your laugh sounds funny because of it.

           The warm water runs along your hair and down your spine, and a soft steam fills the bathroom. For sure, that was a great late breakfast, with pancakes Dean had made for you, and his little stolen kisses.

           He is really making this day better.

           Maybe you can forget about your birthday now, and just enjoy Christmas like a normal person. You are loved, and you are happy, you don't need anything else.

           Washing your hair, you smile thinking of the tree the boys have bought, so big that they struggled to carry it up the stairs. You chuckle at thinking of Dean grumbling about the thorns covering Baby's seats. They even bought bags mysterious decorations and fairy lights they never let you see. The library now smells like Christmas tree.

           We're celebrating this year, Dean said. And in the years you have known the Winchesters, you indeed never saw them put so much effort in a holiday.

           A lot of things keep surprising you.

           Sam once told you that his brother had changed a lot since he was with you, making you worry more than anything else. You never wanted Dean to change, you love Dean just the way he is... Then you understood what Sammy was saying...

           You understood in the little things. Like Dean's new love for late mornings in bed, like him drinking a little less, being a little less reckless during hunts, humming in the shower, letting go more in bed, allowing himself to give up the constant control he has on himself... And in his will to celebrate Christmas. Dean is not different, he is just happier.

           Your eyes get a little wet with joy at the thought while your rub your body with the delicious smelling foam.

           Forget your birthday, if Dean's happiness demands this day to be the Christmas he didn't have as a kid, the Christmas he is finally allowing himself to want, then you are honored to help him make it perfect.

           You step out of the shower and your eyes meet the big mirror. In the middle of it, written with a big finger on the thick steam : "I love you Y/n".

           Your choice is made : This will be Christmas. This will be anything to make that man as lucky as you are.

"How can I help ?" you say, entering the kitchen where Dean is apparently trying to make cookies, wearing this apron he only puts on for great occasions.

"I'm making cookies men like in Shrek" he says pointing to the not-so-bad gingerbread biscuits he already cooked with his finger covered in dough.

           You come behind him and wrap your arms around his middle, forehead on his back, just feeling his breathing for a second. Dean doesn't stop what he is doing because he is used to you tenderly and randomly holding him, his clean fingers only come to gently caress your arm for a second before he shapes another cookie, chuckling when he adds a tiny penis to the little guy.

"I love you too" you murmur, nose grazing his back to bath in his smell.

He hums.

"We will eat dinner pretty early, I hope you're hungry" he says, looking at his watch. "I want to enjoy some time with my girl after."

You smile, getting on your tiptoes to kiss the uncovered skin of his neck above the collar of his flannel. He wants a lazy evening, making love like you do, or maybe try a kinky thing ; what is sure is you will gladly give him what he wants.

           Time goes by sweetly as you watch this deadly warrior check the turkey while his equally legendary warrior brother prepares another round of eggnog for the three of you. They move around like busy bees in the room and it's a perfect show.

           You sit on the counter, talking about silly things, sometimes doing something to help, when your boyfriend lets you. You keep sipping from the sugary drink, and watching the beauty of Dean just be before your eyes. Unaware of how perfect he is in his every moves, he just works with his strong arms and skilled hands.

           Your eyes linger a little along his thick thighs, and you bend your head to the side to enjoy the exquisite sight of the sensual curve of his butt.

"I saw that, you just checked me out" he says in a smile without even turning around.

"And ?" you let out in a chuckle. "What are you going to do about that ?"

At your surprise, he starts to rock his hips from right to left slowly in clumsy funny moves of his butt, like he wanted to sexy dance for you without stopping what he is doing, earning an eye roll from his brother when his hip hits him on his way.

           Christmas is already perfect.

           The table is beautiful. Different courses in pretty plates you didn't know the guys had filling it like you have only seen in the movies. There is way too much food for three people but you are so happy that your beloved Winchester can eat like they want for Christmas eve.

           Everything is pretty, the giant messy tree has real bright decorations on it and there are even a few presents at its feet, wrapped messily in colorful papers.

           But their most impressive work is the light in the room, changing the place completely. Almost none of the artificial lights of the bunker is on, and a subdued ambiance with fairy lights and candles make it look even more magical than it usually is.

"When did you find the time to do all that ?" you smile with unintended wetness in your enthralled eyes. "It looks... enchanted in here."

"You stayed in bed until noon" Dean says in a light chuckle, pulling a chair for you and putting a kiss on your cheek. "Merry Christmas baby."

"It's perfect, Deanie" you turn your head so his next kiss lands on the corner of your mouth. "Merry Christmas guys."

Sam sits, rubbing his hands at the sight of the turkey, and starts reminding his brother of an old memory of a past Christmas you listen with all your focus. Everything that can make you know more about their life always catches your full attention. You are, after all, their biggest fan.

           The story is about a Christmas when Dean was a teen. He had spent the night between 23th and 24th December with a girl and was really late to come back to the motel. Sam thought maybe he wouldn't be back for diner, he had already taken the cereals out of the closet when Dean showed up carrying the whole cooked Turkey he had stolen from the girl's parents.

           You look at your boyfriend with all the love in the world and bend to give him a kiss on the forearm while he cuts a piece of this not stolen meat for you.

"Her parents were dicks, and I couldn't let you starve, dad would have killed me" Dean chuckles, filling your plate.

           But you know the story must be really different from just that, Dean never brags about how great he was with Sam.

           You let out a little moan, tasting the food and Dean’s face is lit by a wide proud grin.

“It’s good ?” he asks before he even tastes, an excited hope in his eyes.

“Delischious” you answer with your mouth full, a hand before it.

           And indeed, everything is perfect. Dean, as much as Sam can playfully denies it, is a great cook. He has no technique, no cooking education, but what he has is a real love for food and comfort, a great experience on mixing things and tasting that gives him a perfect intuition. And, above all, the strong selfless will of saying "I love you" with food like some people have.

           Sitting on the floor next to the tree, you hold against you the red flannel Dean finally agreed to give you, and the books Sam bought for you. Your head is leaning lovingly on your lover's shoulder while he looks, exited, at the vinyl records he got, humming his favorite songs.

           You crawl between his thighs and rest your back on his chest, your head back, temple grazing his scruff.

"Best Christmas ever" you smile, feeling his lips graze your cheek. "So what is the program of a Winchester Christmas after that ?"

You close your eyelid and take a deep breath of Dean's scent, expecting a sexy proposition.

"We're going somewhere" he smiles, and, when you open your eyes, you see Sam put on his coat.

"Now ?" you frown, a little confused. "Where ?"

Dean gets up, putting you on your feet with his strong arm, and takes his coat and yours from Sam's hands.

"I'm not telling you. Take your jacket and get in the car."

           He is silent on the road despite all your questions.

           You listen to the car's purring and look outside to try to guess where they are taking you. The white snow covers the sides of the road with a very thin and delicate layer, the headlights are hit with little swirling snowflakes, and no clue betrays their surprise.

           Sam is smiling, looking out the window. You know they have been planning something, and you know you will love it. Maybe they will show you a place they used to go when they were kids, maybe take you to a special place where you can see the stars so clearly, like this time last summer.

"Come on Dean" you say, kneeling on Baby's back seat to wrap your arms around him from behind, going down a little to feel his firm chest though his shirt under your palms. "Tell me."

"You can't wait just five minutes" he tries to grunt, but it sounds more like a chuckle.

           You fall silent, not letting go of him, holding him like the precious treasure he is, occasionally smelling his hair, kissing his shoulder and tracing the contours of his ear. You just can't stop touching him, and since that talk you had after sex once, you know how much he loves it.

"Aw" Sam mocks you like he often does. "You two are so cute."

"Fuck yeah we are" Dean groans, turning right to a one way road.

"You know Christmas is already perfect" you smile. "You don't have to surprise me again."

"Yeah, I know" he says, parking in front of a bar. "But, it's not only Christmas today."

           You look around, confused. The guys open the door, letting the freezing cold enter the Impala, and get out in a perfect sync. You follow them, lifting your eyes to the colorful neon lights reflecting in the snowy night. Around on the parking lot, more cars than you would have expected are parked, and you wonder who would spend Christmas eve in a bar like this one.

           But before you can wonder why they would have taken you there, to this bar you never heard off, your boyfriend's hand wraps around your waist and he guides you inside, pushing the heavy doors.

           The first thing that hits you is the perfect warmth of the inside. The temperature is perfect but not only : the music is smooth like honey, it's this kind of blues that is paradoxically happy and comforting, it smells like wood and whiskey ; and above all, here too, there is something about the light that feels like a hug.

           The second thing that hits you is the welcoming familiar face of Garth smiling to you.

"Garth ?" you frown and feel Dean's lips graze your ear. "Happy birthday Baby."

He lets go of you to walk to the people there at the bar, arms open to greet them, letting you stunned.

           You are recognizing all you friends there, still in their Christmas clothes, walking to you to hug you and bring you drinks and for a few seconds, your body just stays still.

           No one is missing, not one person. And, even if you don't have hundreds of friends since you joined the hunter life, you have never seen a room so full of love.

"Let me take your coat" Jody says, seeing you froze to the spot.

"I... You're here for me ? Th-they planned all that ?" you stammer with some watery emotions filling your eyes.

"Dean did" Jody smiles. "We followed."

             You're sipping from that delicious drink the bartender made according to your tastes, unable to take that smile off of your face. Donna, a little tipsy in her pretty outfit, is telling sexy jokes with a full dimpled smile, making Sam chuckle and Charlie high-five her, spilling a little of her drink on you.

           From the corner of your eye, you look at him.

           He is bending on the pool table with a smirk, his beer next to him. From here, you can't hear what he is saying to the other players, but it seems a little cocky. After only a few seconds staring at him, it's like he felt it and he looks up, giving you the cutest wink.

           And you blush. Because even after all you have lived together, even after the kinky experiences, the intimate moments, after seeing him cry, yell, suffer or come... A wink is still enough to turn you to a blushing mess.

           All evening, he has been keeping his distance just a little. Not avoiding you at all but not clinging to you, to let you enjoy your friends, to let you have the full experience of a birthday party like you dreamed of since you were a teen.

           A birthday with loud silly discussions, a lot of drinks, inventing silly tipsy games with your best friends, trading your clothes in the bathroom, catching up as much as dancing with each other... And you never felt loved that much.

           Dean's love is the sun in the middle of your world, but now you can also see the stars, and it is probably the best night of your life so far.

           He managed to do something you never could for years and all your friends agreed with his crazy plan. They all had an early Christmas diner to be able to drive here, offer you too many drinks and be there for you. They all made it about you and you're both incredibly grateful and emotional. And since most of them will come sleep at the bunker -and eat all the leftovers with you tomorrow- you don't have to care about the time.

           Suddenly, a music note catches your ear.

           You know that note by heart. It is the first note of your favorite love song, it is the firsts notes of what Dean hums in your ear sometimes when he holds you after making love to you, pushing your hair on the side to see your sweaty bliss face.

           You turn you head and meet green eyes, closer than you expected.

"Hey" he says, taking your hand.

"Hey" you smile.

He tugs gently at your arm, pulling you away from the bar to wrap his arms around your waist.

           You have missed him. Of course he was here, but after everything he has done for you, you really have missed holding him, smelling his skin and kissing his lips.

           He starts to sway his hips really slightly, humming the love words of the song, and you throw your arms around his neck, looking up at his perfect face.

"She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes..." he whispers the lyrics, fingers grazing the skin of your neck.

And for the hundredth time today, your eyes fill with happy tears while his fingertips go down on your back to hold your waist again.

"Are you having fun ?" he asks low, one hand stroking your lower back tenderly, thumb pushing your shirt up discreetly to feel your skin.

"It's the best night of my life" you give him your most sincere smile. "Dean... You are really incredible, you know that ?"

"Yeah" he nods, hiding his shyness in a kiss on your lips.

"I really was ready to chose Christmas, you know ?" you state, swaying your hips slowly with him, forgetting the rest of the world in your bubble of love.

His plumb lips gently raise on the corner, and he lets go of you to search his pocket.

"I didn't have to choose between hunter life and happy life thanks to you, so I'll make sure you never have to choose between your birthday and Christmas" he murmurs in your ear, before kissing your temple.

His hand reach yours and he opens it to put a little thing on your palm.

"What do you say we had yet another thing to celebrate on that day ?" his breath tickles  your neck and you look down to your hand, discovering a little golden ring with a tiny blue stone in the middle of your shaking palm.

"Dean ?"

"Marry me Baby ?"

FEEDBACK IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME

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#supernatural #Supernatural Dean Winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #spn dean x reader #dean x reader #dean x y/n #fluff #dean winchester fluff #spnsecretsantaficexchange #jay and dean #christmas

[paralleledmediaexperience]

a part 2 to this ficlet as requested by @xanthomonus in the notes! I’ve got at least one more part conceptualized (no way you can guess what’ll happen there) though i may extend it or add more, so if anyone would like to be tagged let me know!! 

- 

 Sam is insistent that they try to research ways to get Cas back. Jack has explained that Amara won’t fail- it is simply the process of extracting an Angel from the Empty that takes time, since she didn’t want to wake or anger it like… well, like what Jack had done. He could feel Amara’s sincerity in a way that he was certain Sam and Dean wouldn’t understand, let alone be comforted by. She’d been in his head, crossed with his soul in the transfer of power. He’s kind of sure that if he hadn’t missed Cas so much too, she probably would have ignored Dean’s request altogether.

But it makes Sam look less frazzled when he’s able to lose himself in the research for something, and Jack doesn’t mind sitting with him and pretending he’s not hiding chapter books behind the large tomes. He’s been working his way steadily through some books Sam had collected for him last time they had been out shopping, and while he had enjoyed the first one (a mystery about siblings called the Boxcar children even though they no longer lived in a boxcar) he’d chosen Matilda next, because she sounded nice. And he was right! Matilda was his new favorite, even more than his last favorite, which had been Where the Wild Things Are.

He doesn’t even notice when Dean walks in, because Matilda had just glued a hat to her father’s head, but he does when Sam says, “What, none for me?”

“You’re a grown man, Sammy, you can make your own food. He’s four years old with a foot injury.” Dean says, scowling at Sam. The effect is rather ruined by both Dean’s flour dusted apron and the plate in his hands, and Jack smiles when he turns back to him instead. “You both missed lunch.”

Sam grumbles, but gets up anyway, stretching. “If you didn’t make me food how could I have missed it?”

“Shut up,” Dean shoots back half-heartedly. “Here, Jack, and don’t let him steal off your plate just because he got distracted reading.”

“Thanks, Dean!” Jack says brightly, moving his secret reading setup to the table instead of his lap and pushing it away, ignoring the way Sam’s eyebrows raise when he notices his no longer hidden book. Dean sets the plate down and ignores that Sam sends him one last annoyed face before heading off to the kitchen, where Jack knows there is going to be a plate ready for Sam, or at least a serving of the macaroni and cheese sprinkled with bacon bits and breadcrumbs that Dean’s brought him. “Are you making something else?”

“Just some bread,” Dean grimaces down at the mess of flour across his front, and Jack has to contain his giggles when the movement reveals a streak of flour in Dean’s hair. 

“Just some bread,” Sam echoes, swinging back through the door with his own plate of macaroni. “Dean. Do I need to remind you that we need vegetables and can’t live off of carbs and meat alone?”

“It’s macaroni, Sam, quit whining and just enjoy it,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I swear, you’re the pickiest-”

“It’s not being picky, it’s eating healthy-”

“Same difference!” Dean insists, his twitching lips betraying the irritation in his voice.

“Just one meal with something green a day, Dean, I’m begging you.” 

Eyes flicking back and forth as they snipe at each other, Jack takes an appreciative bite of the macaroni. Expectedly delicious, because Dean made it and Dean didn't make bad food the way Sam sometimes did. Mostly.

“Then beg,” Dean proclaims stubbornly, eyes narrowed. Sam doesn’t respond, his own expression pinching up into very familiar exasperation. 

“Actually, I’ve never had brussel sprouts before, and Claire said I should try them!” Jack interjects. He isn’t sure what a brussel sprout is beyond a vegetable, but Claire had said he’d like them and that he should bother Dean into making them. 

Dean looks unimpressed though, gaze switching from Sam back to meet Jack’s eyes. “You want me to make you brussel sprouts?”

“Please?” Jack tries, unsure if Dean thinks there is something wrong with brussel sprouts or if he is still simply offended by the concept of vegetables.

The please works, Dean’s capitulation coming in the form of a displeased huff and an, “Alright, fine.” He swings back around to point at Sam accusingly. “I’m blaming you for this.”

“As long as we get something from each of the five food groups, sure,” Sam says, taking his seat again. “And no, you don’t get to use tomatoes as the catch all.”

“Fine,” Dean bites out again, clapping Jack on the shoulder as he starts to turn away.

“Thank you Dean! Love you!” Jack says, and he hears Sam’s quick inhale just as he sees Dean almost stumble and he smiles to himself.

“Love you too, kid,” Dean manages to get out, hand squeezing just a bit tighter on his shoulder. “Alright, go back to your books, I have to go to the store for brussel sprouts apparently.”

The speed at which Dean walks away couldn’t be called running away but Jack definitely thinks it qualifies as retreating, and he straightens up a bit, very proud of himself for receiving his second ‘love you’ from Dean in twice as many days. He watches Dean get out the door before turning back around in his seat.

Sam is staring at him with a blinking mixture of incredulity and open affection, the smile on his face wide, if confused. “That’s… new?” 

“Yep,” Jack confirms, pulling Matilda back towards himself and abandoning the pretense of reading the book Sam had suggested he search through. Sam had already searched it himself twice. He doesn’t manage to open it, because Sam continues.

“And I don’t need to check that it’s actually Dean?” Sam teases, bewilderment clear and pride clearer. “Saying yes to vegetables AND and I love you?”

“It turns out,” A voice whipcracks out, startling them both, “That Dean Winchester is actually a big old softie at heart. Who knew?”

“Balthazar?” Sam says, and Jack almost gets bowled over by the wave of shock. Balthazar? He knew that name. He stares openly, unheeded as Balthazar talks to Sam.

“Well, except Castiel, of course, but that Profound Bond of theirs hardly makes it fair,” The angel says, stepping forward. “Yes, Sam, I’ve been hand delivered back from the dead, at the temporary cost of my Grace. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Your grace?” Jack asks, curious about how Sam had been looking at him, but unwilling to turn around and take his eyes off of the angel Cas had once killed. “What do you mean?”

“Ah,” Balthazar strides over, and before Jack can say anything he’s got him clasped by both shoulders, staring into his eyes with a curiosity so intense Jack almost steps back towards the table. “And you’re Jack, I assume? I was warned that there would be no murdering of nephilim if I returned.”

“So Amara freed you?” Sam cuts in, and Jack huffs out a small breath as Balthazar lets him go to spin back around and face him. “Did she have a reason?”

Jack doesn’t voice his own question, which feels far more important. He wants to know when Cas will be back.

“Uh, yes?” Balthazar sneers. “Most of the angels are dead, Sam, no thanks to you and your brother and my brother. I’ll admit some of us deserved it- were rather asking for it, if you ask me- but it did leave dear aunty with rather less personnel than she wants to run heaven with.”

“She’s not grabbing all the angels, is she?” Jack breathes, terrified suddenly, despite Balthazar’s assurance that Amara had apparently set him off limits. 

“Not a chance. Seemed to have a list in mind, and I think I was simply the first she found. I thought perhaps…” He trails off, just for a split second before he grins again, bright and covering up anything he might have been about to show. “Well, I didn’t, actually. Rather hard to do when you’re sleeping in eternal torment.”

Jack catches Sam’s flinch, and frowns at the other man. “Are you sure you were the first?”

Balthazar ticks his head to one side, considering. “Well, I’m the first to show up here, I’ll assume by your reactions, and given that she’s bringing us back graceless, I imagine any others will also be sent here.”

Jack scowls. If so, then Cas may be further off than he hoped. But this was- conclusive proof. Amara could do it, and now they would just have to deal with powerless angels until she came back and dealt with them herself. And Cas would be home.

Sam sighs, deep and weary and cheerless. “Yeah. That would make sense. Well, we can put this away, then.” He closes the book on the table with a hefty thump and then stacks Jack’s abandoned tome on top of it. “And I suppose we should try to make sure we have rooms ready. Jack, would you-”

“I’ll call Dean and let him know,” Jack says, suddenly tired and wanting to get away from Balthazar, still staring at him hawkishly, wanting to be away from the library, where more angels could show up without warning. He wants to hide in his room or possibly Cas’ until Amara brings him back and takes all the others back to heaven or whatever she planned to do. He wishes viciously in his head that he hadn’t opened his mouth about brussel sprouts and that Dean was still here in the kitchen where Jack could escape to without feeling alone. As it is, he grabs Matilda and his plate, still half full of macaroni, ready to walk away, but he catches Balthazar’s face again.

“You’re hungry,” Jack realizes as he says it. Balthazar has a facial journey of his own to deal with that fact before he grimaces.

“Human,” he says, displeasure and embarrassment warring on his features, even as his stomach growls.

Jack doesn’t want Balthazar here, he doesn’t want Amara to try to find anyone but Cas, or at least to find Cas first, and he most definitely doesn’t want to share his food that Dean made him, or Dean and Sam’s attention in general, and he swallows all of this down and he says, “Here. If you’ve never been human before, you’ve never really tasted food, right? Dean’s always makes the best food.”

He holds out the plate and drops it into Balthazar’s hands and tries his best not to stomp out like a real child, or run out like he’s scared, but he makes it around the corner and leans against the wall, out of sight.

Except that Sam immediately pokes his head around, following him. “Jack?”

“I don’t like this,” Jack says plainly, staring up at Sam like maybe he could explain why all of the good feelings he’d been having had shriveled up in his stomach and refused to leave, even though Sam clearly didn’t think Balthazar was an actual threat to them.

“I could tell,” Sam says, almost teasing again, but he drops it immediately. “Is it okay, Jack? Because we can absolutely just send him and any others that show up to the nearest motel instead.”

“No,” He says immediately, but he pauses after, thinking. He takes a deep breath in, trying to ease the odd tightness inside his chest.  “No. They can stay here until Amara gets back. I just…” 

“Don’t like it,” Sam nods, as if that explains it, and Jack guesses it does. “Well, Dean won’t like it either, so you can let him know that the two of you are free to hole up wherever you’d like to get away from them, and I’ll try to deal with them myself as much as I can.”

The tightness in his chest does soften, another breath rushing out like he’d been holding it. “Thanks, Sam.” 

“You know I love you too, Jack,” Sam says, earnest and open and Jack barely makes the decision to hug him but he ends up wrapped up in Sam’s arms anyhow.

“I do. I know. Love you, Sam,” Jack says, fixing his grip on Matilda as he pulls away. “Okay, I need to go call Dean, because if he leaves the store before-”

“He won’t want to turn around, yeah,” Sam laughs.

Jack can’t help the smile that bursts across his face. “Well, I can’t use it too often, or it might not work anymore, but maybe if I say please.”

#Jack Kline #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Balthazar #supernatural #my fic #creativecaviar #me remembering that time i tricked my cousin into eating brussel sprouts. ehehehehe. #also!!! what the FUCK balthazar's voice is very difficult but also very fun and rewarding to write so PLEASE tell me whether it reads okay #my in my head: ive seen four year olds become territorial when their parents have visitors this is gonna be SO funny #anyway Jack IS going to get I love you's from all his dads thank you much. we just gotta wait for Cas. #this isn't going on ao3 until i have a good name for it so if you like reading better there suggest a fic name this time so it can go up

[autisticandroids]

now you said don't cross the streams but i am thinking about girls au dean's worldview and how much misogyny and internalized homophobia I could pack in there. first off, picture rufus and bobby as a pair of grouchy old dykes with a complicated on again off again relationship. they've got at least 4 exes in common because the dating pool is tiny. dean's main takeaway from having a butch woman as an aunt/mother figure is "well bobby is permitted to be a mean bulldyke because she's too traumatized from killing her husband to experience real heterosexual lifetime companionship ever again. in every lesbian relationship there must be a butch and a femme. this is synonymous with man and woman."

tangentially, sam is permitted to have a girlfriend at college because that's a silly rebellious phase that women go through when they get a higher education. if dean sees sam hooking up with women outside of college she will pretend not to notice or decide that it only happened because ruby/becky/amelia/rowena is an evil skanky sapphic seductress who is manipulating naive and confused sammy for the purposes of stealing her away. this carries on until finally, eileen is butch, which means there is a man in the relationship, which makes it permissible

conditional acceptance of bobby and sam being gay aside, deanna winchester has to be performing Cool Girl at all times and collect male approval through flings. this results in dean housewififying herself when she's engaged to yoga manwhore, because some degree of masculine behaviors are acceptable and practical in the context of being a hunter, (hunters are rejects from society anyways, and John never "spoiled" her with girly shit) but if she wants to be a civvy with a husband who gets her pregnant with 2 or 3 kids like she promised sammy then she has to aspire to be the most fuckable and feminine 30something in the grocery store by jumping through all of the correct gender hoops 1/2

so dean is trying to learn to cook(wearing an apron and barefoot with her hair curled and perfectly applied lipstick) because that's what REAL women like mary winchester do. cas is absolutely seething because she wants dean to be HER housewife, not yoga manwhore's! he doesn't even appreciate dean! dean doesn't understand why heterosexual suburban contentment is a trap! so cas attempts to sabotage the relationship by invisibly lurking in the kitchen to overseason and burn things when dean's back is turned, but unfortunately manwhore isn't upset that dean can't cook, he thinks it's endearing that she tried and orders takeout instead.

down the line this ends in the same roughly the same spot, which is dean declaring that she is a heterosexual woman but true love trumps sexuality. also it's not gay to have sex with women as long as you're the one taking the strap and the woman you're having sex with is butch AND technically she's not a woman she's only inhabiting a human vessel that happens to be female. as a matter of fact, samantha, all angels are really men, when you think about it, so write that down in the lore. 2/2

no i LOVE crossing these streams. these stream can should must and will be crossed. you are the only person who truly understands the dean of girls au.

#spn #asks #girls au #Anonymous