#deans whole thing is being a bleeding heart

[zepskies]

Sharing Is Caring (I)

Pairing: Sam W. x Female Reader 

Summary: Navigating a new relationship means learning how to share a bed with Sam. [3-part series with Sam, Dean, and Castiel.]

Word Count: 1,200 Warnings: Rated M. 18+ only. But mainly fluffy!

Part 1: Sam

Sam waited patiently for you in bed with a book in hand, his reading lamp on. But truth be told, he wasn’t reading much. 

He was distracted by the sound of you humming “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” in the bathroom. You were also opening yet another bottle of face cream. Or was it a mask? Eye cream?

Well, whatever it was, this one marked mysterious bottle number three of five that he could see on the counter spread out in front of you. 

Maybe it had been a long time since he’d shared space with someone other than Dean, but really. Just how many skincare products did one woman need?

…Still, Sam knew you were a creature of habit. As you often told him, you liked your routine, and sticking to it helped you. The whole world could be going to crap (and with the Winchesters, it often was), but as long as you went through your daily and nightly habits, you could get your mind back on track.

Sam knew all this, but…did it have to take so long?

“Hey…baby?” he called out.

“Yeah?” 

“You plan on coming to bed anytime soon?”

From the corner of his eye, he watched you drop the small bottle in the sink with a yelp. 

“You okay?” he asked, smiling.

“Yep!” you answered cheerfully. “And I’m coming, just five more minutes.”

You said that twenty minutes ago, but Sam wasn’t counting. He did glance at the clock on his nightstand though. 

True to your word this time, a few minutes later you came out of the bathroom wearing one of his old plain undershirts over your underwear. It brought a more amused smile to his face as his gaze followed you to your side of the bed. 

“This thing’s full of holes. Don’t you think you should say goodbye?” he teased, fingering the frayed hem of the shirt after you sidled up next to him. 

“It’s my favorite! So comfy,” you said, and you reached an arm across his broad chest to squeeze him into a snuggly side hug. Your face pressed into his neck. “See?”

Sam chuckled. “Very comfy.” 

He set his book aside so he could slip his arms around you. He was sitting over the covers against the headboard, so it was easy for you to move your knees to either side of his hips and sit back in his lap. You framed his face with your hands, and you both smiled. 

“Hi,” you said. Your cheeks warmed in a blush. You weren’t quite used to being able to touch him so freely yet. But your heart had been in his hands for such a long time. And now, he was yours too.

“Hey there,” Sam replied. His hands slid up your bare thighs to rest comfortably on your hips, and his thumb moved back and forth against your skin.

It had been a long day after getting back from a three-week hunt with Dean, tracking down, then clearing out an entire nest of vampires. 

You leaned in and Sam met you with a sweet kiss. But he knew he couldn’t fully relax until he checked something.

He pushed up your sleeve and checked a scratch inflicted by a vamp’s nails—three sharp, angry-looking lines—healing on your arm. They were no longer bleeding, but better safe than sorry.

“Weren’t you gonna bandage this one up? It’s kind of deep,” he mentioned. You followed his gaze and your brows rose in realization. 

“Oh, yeah. One sec!”

You abruptly climbed over Sam and scurried back into the bathroom. He watched you go with a shake of his head, but he reclaimed his book. He supposed he could get another chapter in. 

By the time you came back, it was three chapters (but to be fair, he did read fast). You unceremoniously plucked the book from his hand and you climbed back into the saddle, as it were—reclaiming your place on his lap.  

“Hello, again,” you said. And you flashed him a grin.

He opened his mouth to reply, right before you claimed his lips with yours. Sam smiled into your kiss, but he still slipped a hand under your sleeve to check that you actually did cover up your wound. 

Knowing you, you’d just spread some antibacterial ointment and consider that good enough. (Sometimes you were a bit too much like Dean.) But you actually had taken his suggestion on the bandage this time.

Sam breathed in deeply through his nose and brought you even closer as you deepened the kiss. His hands were warm splaying across your back. Yours slipped into his hair, massaged the back of his head. 

Then you took things to another level when you rolled your hips and ground your clothed core into his lap, against his rising length. He groaned into your mouth. 

But then, you paused and leaned back. You both were catching your breath, Sam giving you a questioning tilt of his head. 

“Sorry, forgot to brush my hair,” you said. “I do it every night after brushing my teeth and moisturizing—” 

You moved to climb out of his lap again, but Sam held you fast. 

“Can’t you do that later?” he said. His voice was a shade deeper with the desire in his blood, straining in his pants. But your eyes were conflicted. 

“Later I’ll forget,” you pointed out. “It’ll just take a second…”

Sam waylaid you with heated kisses along your neck and jawline. His fingers pressed into your thighs, edging under the lacy hem of your underwear. 

“A second can wait,” he murmured in your ear. 

“But…” You wanted to heed the want in his voice and his persuasive hands. You really did. 

But you had a routine. You followed it every night without fail…

His tongue teased the shell of your ear, making you release a shuddering breath. You felt his thumb drag back and forth along your clothed core. He felt the dampness in your underwear before his fingers hooked on either side, and slid them halfway down your thighs.   

You uttered a breathy laugh at his impatience. “Just give me, literally, a minute.” 

You sat up, intending to extricate yourself from his grip. But he just used that to slide your underwear down even further—down to your knees. You looked down at him with a narrowed smile. Sam gave you a cheeky little grin. 

Hot and slow, his hands traveled up the back of you to grip your waist. 

“Sam,” you tried to reason. You were not above tickling to get your way.

But suddenly, you squawked as he took you down, rolling you over onto the bed and caging you beneath his large, solid frame. 

“Whatever you do with your hair,” he informed you, “I’m about to ruin it.”

You giggled under him and gave up. But you teasingly pulled him down by his long hair, into your waiting kiss.

You supposed you could adjust your routine, just for him. 

AN: Don't worry, I am working on the prequel for "Checkerboard" (Soldier Boy x Reader). But I had to get out this short 3-part series with the age-old "sharing a bed" prompt lol.

Let me know what you think! 😉

To read Part 2: Dean

To read Part 3: Castiel

TAG LIST:

(So far I think this is my "everything" tag list. If you'd like to be added, or need to remind me to add you to it, please do!)

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @this-is-me19

Sam Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#Sharing is Caring #Part 1 #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x female reader #spn #supernatural #romance #fluff #zepskies writes

[profoundbondfanfic]

A Complete Kingdom by komodobits [Explicit, 85k words]

The sea; it swallows me. It comes up to my knees and it swallows me. The boys owe Jody a few dozen favours, and so when her niece goes missing near an old fishing village on the coast of Maine, Dean, Sam, and a newly human Castiel agree to take the case on. They settle into an old abandoned lighthouse-keepers' cottage, and slowly the tide comes in. (post-s8)

Between Love and Agony by Duckyboos [Explicit, 53k words]

Dean Winchester is in love. Like, bonafide heart eyes and deep sighs, hung-the-moon love. There's just one problem: the lucky guy is his husband's identical twin, Castiel. The two of them have been having a kinky affair for years, burrowing under each other’s skin and setting up camp. Which is why, after Castiel goes missing, Dean’s about ready to tear the world apart looking for him. When Castiel eventually returns to him, he’s been through literal hell, managing to drag himself out, bloody and raw, for Dean. Together, they discover a way to make Castiel whole again — though the price will be gruesome... and there will certainly be hell to pay.

Camp by fullvoid [Explicit, 9k words]

It’s 1985 and to say that Dean is relieved when his summer job at the local camp comes to an end would be an egregious understatement. There are about a million different ways he would have rather spent his summer than by being the maladjusted, weird guy that all his coworkers avoid. Nevertheless, in a poor effort to fit in, Dean decides to attend the annual celebration that his fellow counselors organize at the end of every camp season. It isn’t supposed to be anything special, simply a standard party with shitty vodka, late-night skinny dipping, and make-your-ears-bleed soft rock. As it turns out, the hockey-mask-adorned, machete-wielding killer who crashes it has other plans—and no one is prepared for the horrors the night will bring.

et florum magica: (And the Magic of Flowers) by wiccanstiel [Explicit, 52k words]

There’s a large, leafless tree and a road, a hand on a gnarled cane, a stoutly man in a black suit, his face scratched out. When Castiel Novak moves to the small town of Fox Hollow, he’s looking for a fresh start. Only his past seems to be–quite literally–haunting him, and even through his best efforts of settling into his new life, there’s a darkness in the shadows that he can’t seem to shake. And after meeting an otherworldly being named Dean during what was supposed to be a simple walk through the forest, he’s left with more questions than answers. But like it’s residents, Fox Hollow has some well-kept secrets, and things quickly turn to life or death when one of those secrets finally steps from the shadows and into the light.

empty places by dothraki_shieldmaiden [Mature, 71k words]

There’s something outside the house. Something is moving outside the house, moving inside the house. Maybe moving inside him. Something is outside the house, and it wants in. After tragedy derails his life, Castiel Novak needs to escape. He flees to Lawrence, Kansas, where he answers Dean Winchester’s ad for a roommate. There, he tries to mend the shattered pieces of his life. But as he starts to become closer with Dean, Castiel finds that escape isn’t so easy. The past doesn’t want to be left behind, and there’s something inside the house. Something hungry. And it won’t be appeased until it has him.

Good Bones by emmbrancsxx0 [Mature, 39k words]

An apple pie, white picket fence American Nightmare. Dean and Cas, married and semi-retired from hunting, move into their first house together in a sleepy, secluded town. After a few run ins with the ghost that haunts the place, they must come face-to-face with the house's grisly past.

the inexhaustible silence of houses by Askance (doomcountry) [Teen and Up, 31k words]

Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh. But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

Tunnel by deansmultitudes [Explicit, 13k words]

An injury during a hasty job makes Dean, Sam and Cas split up in the underground tunnels. Confused and trapped in a maze of walls that seem to shift at the will of something evil, Dean's frantically searching for his loved ones.

White Noise by saltyfeathers [Mature, 30k words]

in an unnamed, perpetually rainy city on the east coast, something haunts dean and cas’ apartment. they’d like to pretend they don’t know what’s living in the space between them, but feigned ignorance can only keep them above water for so long. something happened nine months ago. something they don’t talk about. but the things people don’t talk about often find ways to speak for themselves, whether dean and cas are ready to pay their dues or not. the rain is an unforgiving entity, and as it continues to pervade the city; as it seeps into their already cold bones, they can feel the ocean rising around them, leaving them choking not on just what happened nine months ago, but what they’ve come to mean to each other since then.

#halloween #destiel #group rec #horror

[zmediaoutlet]

Dean in the hospital bed is white on white, where he’s not mottled bruises. Pale lips and puffy red eyes. Sam can see he’s been crying and doesn’t know what to do with that. Eyes smarting from an overload of pain, he knows, and they’ve socked each other and made each other mad and made each other laugh to distract from that kind of thing. Somehow a joke doesn’t seem like it’d cut it, this time. If he could think of anything.

“You want me to get something from the cafeteria?” Sam tries. “Gotta be something better than, whatever, Jello.”

A short head-shake. So he’s not being ignored, anyway. Nevertheless he feels like—he doesn’t know. Like he’s on the outs of something but he doesn’t know what. He should have been there when Dean finally woke up, after they took most of the tubes out and eased off on the anaesthetic. He should’ve tried to wrestle Castiel down to the linoleum and demanded that he do absolutely anything he could to make Dean better. He should’ve—should’ve. This whole last year has felt like should’ve.

TV’s on in the corner. One of the late-night shows, muted. Dean’s face is pointed that way and his eyes are seeing something entirely else. Sam can guess, maybe. He knows the overview but not the details. He wants them and doesn’t. When he pulled Dean out of that horrific place he saw the blood spilled and the holy water and the blades and it was all just—immaterial, because Dean was bleeding and Dean was barely breathing and all Sam had done wouldn’t have mattered at all if Dean’s heart weren’t beating, steady on that monitor, despite everything. But the blades were still there. Maybe here, still. Dean’s hand curled with bruised cut fingers around empty air and dark in the corners of the room.

The feeling of the blood’s long worn off. The feeling fresh off the kill’s gone, too. He’s tired, and everything is awful, and he wants to take Dean out of here and he wants a motel room and he wants—one bed, for once, and for Dean to lay back and welcome Sam open without that edge of misgiving in him, and without him asking questions Sam can’t answer, and where it’s just—them, in a room together with the night shut out past the heavy ugly curtains, like it hasn’t been since—god, how long has it been? Since before he went to college. Since that summer, in Indiana. Rainstorms and Dean whooping at the clap of thunder and their skin sticking together in the afternoon dim. He wants that back so bad.

“I killed Alastair,” Sam says.

Dean’s eyelids dip, close. He takes a deep breath and then turns his head on the pillow, and looks Sam’s direction.

“He’s gone. Dead, not just sent back. I—” Dean’s not changing expression. Weary and pained and not surprised. Like he’s head-to-toe a bruise and is just expecting another blow. Sam folds his hands together, realizes his shoulders are hunched uncomfortably like a kid waiting to be scolded. “Just wanted you to know, I guess.”

Dean licks his lips and leaves them still-dry. The ice chips Sam brought must’ve melted by now, unused. He waits for a frown or a question or—he doesn’t know what, really. What he gets is Dean looking at him straight-on, for the first time since he woke up this last time—Dean’s eyes on his, and then all over his face. Not mad or happy or anything. Like he’s looking for something, but Sam doesn’t know what, and he doesn’t get to know before Dean nods, and then says in that terrible cracked voice: “Thanks, Sammy.”

Tired. His eyes close and his battered hands lay weak on the white sheets. Like, that’s it. A spilled cup of coffee dealt with. Method or means not of interest and what will follow none of his business. And what did he expect? Not a parade and not a screaming match. Not nothing, either.

Sam sits back in the too-small visitor chair and wonders how much it will take to get back the brother he wants.

#my writing #happy wincest wednesday #ww lottery #--idk how many weeks i can keep going #but this is something to keep my hand in #a random ficlet to take place before episode 77

[tongjingnian]

After Sam had a child, he went to Dean's cenotaph to drink with him (although he had been reluctant to give his brother a hunter's funeral for a long time, in the end, he gave in and let him go).

He got drunk at some point and started crying, regretting that he hadn't preserved Dean's body. He wanted to tear up his brother's grave, dig his brother's corpse out, and resurrect it, even though there was nothing in it. He thought about it and then actually started digging but eventually fell asleep because he was so tired and couldn't sleep well the whole time without Dean.

He started dreaming. They were back in their twenties, hunting demons - "just you and me against the world." There were no angels or demons, only the two of them driving the Impala down the street on an endless road trip on the burning asphalt road in the summer.

Then Dean died. Sam couldn't revive him. He woke up in a panic in the bunker and ran to his brother's room to check if he was still in one piece. Dean woke up to the sound of the door opening and asked Sammy what was wrong. Sam said that he dreamed that Dean was dead, then Dean assured him that it was not true and asked Sam to get into his bed and sleep with him. They ended up in the spoon position.

Sam fell asleep peacefully, and when he opened his eyes, it turned out that he had been sleeping, leaning on his brother's grave for a long time. He could still feel the dried tears on his face. But it was more like he had a sweet dream than lost the one he loved so deeply that it hurt because he hadn't been able to sleep deeply for a lifetime. Except for his stiff neck and aching waist from sleeping crookedly, it was all perfect. A year after Dean died, Sam rarely dreamed of his brother, so it was nice to be able to see him again no matter what.

Then he stood up and filled the hole he had dug yesterday with his feet because his hands were bleeding from digging. He didn't want the soil to look dirty from the blood (he's impure, he has to be) when refilling it. He patted Dean's tomb twice, looked at it for a while, then turned around and drove away.

Prompt: I dreamed that my lover was dead and cried to the point of breaking my heart. Then I woke up and found that it was just a dream. I lay on the bed, being patted on the back by my lover to comfort me. I shrank into his arms and held him while crying for a long time. Inexplicably, I felt that his body temperature was getting colder. When I opened my eyes, I realized that I had fallen asleep holding my lover's tombstone.

I'm bored cuz I'm on a trip but it's raining heavily outside, then I recall I wrote this thing yesterday and my friend literally cried over this so I decide to translate it into English and share it with you😉 bear with me if there are grammar errors, already run through grammarly but i doubt it's completely correct

& here's the original version i put on my sms if you wanna know:

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #wincest #established wincest #established relationship #spn 15x20 #post 1520 #carry on #not actually a fic i guess #just brief description #but i enjoy it #😉😉😉 #i wrote so many of these things in Chinese #i think i need to translate them ALL #i promise all of them are interesting

[jadoue1999]

What is and what could never be

Summary: After the events of Dark Phoenix, Peter wakes up to a world that he doesn’t recognize anymore. After reaching his limit and some impulsive thinking, Peter wakes up in a new world. One where everything he’d ever wanted is his reality. While this world is perfect for him, he soon realizes that it’s not the case for everybody. 

Next parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3,

Chapter 1: The birthday

Pain.

All Peter could remember was horrible, crushing pain. He then floated endlessly through a void until he woke up in the mansion’s medical aisle. Hank was sitting at his desk, his back turned to him.

“H- Hank,” he croaked out, feeling as if he’d swallowed sandpaper.

The scientist dropped what he was doing at turned to him in shock. “You’re awake.”

After a series of countless tests, his questions were finally answered. Jean had died, but not before injuring him to a point that there was very little hope of him ever waking up. Raven was dead too, killed just moments after he’d blacked out. Hank told him he’d been in a coma for nearly two months now, that’d he’d been hanging on by a thread the whole time.

“The probability of you waking up were small, and of those scenarios, even fewer had you come out intact. It’s a one in a million probability.”

The scientist didn’t understand it, but Peter could. His twin sister had always looked over him, even in death. Or at least, that’s what he liked to believe. One in a million were easy for her.

The world he came back to wasn’t the one he left. Hank was the dean now; Charles has taken off to Paris with Erik to grieve properly. The X-men were no more, since half of their team was gone. There were also a lot fewer students, Jean’s attack had apparently scared the world and mutants were once again the enemy. Parents were less likely to send their children to a place that might get attacked.

Peter started teaching again when Hank had deemed him well enough. His fingers were a little rusty on the guitar strings, but his feet were still as eager to run. The questions didn’t bother him, at first. Children were curious by nature, and they seemed to want to know every detail about what had happened to him. But then, they started asking about Jean, if he thought of her as a villain for killing Raven and hurting him. He did his best to give vague answers, how someone being so overwhelmed by their mutation that they accidentally hurt people didn’t make them the enemy. Some older student disagreed with him, blaming his naiveness on spending too much time with Charles.

That was another thing, the telepath was gone. And he didn’t mind at first, but the mood of the mansion was so depressing, and his half-hearted jokes didn’t really do much for anyone and honestly, he didn’t feel like joking around.

Fewer students meant that they weren’t always teaching, so Peter spent those quiet moments training to get his body used to superspeed again or wandering through the many hallways of the mansion. The absence of two of his close friends definitely weighted on him. His nights were filled with nightmares and flashbacks, awakened by Jean’s attack. The way she died was so similar to his own sister’s death, that he often saw her in his nightmares instead of the fiery redhead. Or it would be Jean, dying in his arms as her powers ripped her apart. She would be begging him to get away and he would refuse, until she eventually blasted him away to then burn up into nothingness. Then another night, he would be back in Cairo, failing to tell his father who he was and getting caught by En Sabah Nur again. But this time, Raven wouldn’t be there to save him, so the blade would find its target and he would bleed out in the sand, and Erik’s uncaring eyes would be the last thing he’d see before waking up.

The nightmares were getting more and more frequent, coinciding with that time of the year. The most dreaded event of all.

February 11th.

Their- his birthday.

Only days from now, he’d have to pretend that starting a new decade of his life would be exciting. He’d asked the team to not celebrate his birthday in the past, but Ororo had been adamant that he would at least celebrate his 30th. There had been no room for negotiations, so he’d agreed. Frankly, he didn’t really believe that he’d still be there. But three years later and two close calls with death, there he was, trying not to notice how Kurt and Ororo were just the slightest bit of; how his name was mentioned in hushed conversations.

Sure enough, on the dreaded day, he had been awakened by the pair opening his door and singing happy birthday. A handful of confetti was thrown on him by an unenthusiastic Scott and Peter sympathized with the younger man. He was still deep in grief from losing Jean and celebrating wasn’t something he was in the mood for.

The rest of the day was... a blur. Many students wished him a happy birthday, most of them happy to focus on something else than everyone they had lost. Then it was time for the cake and while he was impressed by the dessert (who knew Kurt could bake so well?) , he couldn’t focus on anything else than the big numbers on the cake. The age Wendy would never reach, another year of growing apart from who he was. Another year where he would be painfully reminded of their broken connection. Back when they were starting their teenage years, he’d complained about feeling everything his twin felt, her and her constant spiral downward towards depression and self-wallowing. Once he finally got his head around to what was truly happening, he had tried to help her, but of course he’d been too late. And now? Well, he had to blow out his candles of an age he never thought he’d reach alone. Everyone was eagerly waiting so they could then cut and eat the cake.

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, blowing out his candles as he made his wish.

‘I wish I could have helped you, so we would still be together.’

He stared at the smoke from the extinguished candles and sighed at yet another moment he wouldn’t share with his sister. The increasing sound of cheers and clapping made him go back to normal time and grin widely, hoping it looked real. Ororo took over the pastry and cut everyone a slice, and he ate his piece quickly before excusing himself.

The woman put a hand on his shoulder with a concerned look in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

He smiled at her. “You know me, of course I am.” His explanation didn’t seem to satisfy his friend, so he continued. “I just need to go see my mom. It’s kinda important to see your parents on your birthday, ya know?”

That excuse worked better, and she let him go, telling him to be careful. He promised and started running. His calves still burned a little when he approached his top speed, so he stayed at a comfortable pace. Soon enough, his childhood home came into view, and he pressed the doorbell.

It didn’t take long for his mom to answer, her usual glass of whisky in hand. She stared at him for a moment, probably wondering if he was really there.

She gestured at him to enter. “I was wondering if you would come.”

Peter crossed the door, and his eyes were instantly drawn to the many photo albums on the floor. Amongst them were gifts and drawing Wendy had done over the years, little messages she had written, everything that was left of her was taken out of its usual stored place.

“Mom...” he started.

Magda took a sip of her glass as she walked to his side. “I can’t help it. It hurts but at least I feel something.”

The speedster glanced at the phone. “Lorna didn’t call?”

His mom shrugged. “You know her, she’s focused on other stuff. No time to spare on her family.”

They then stayed silent, the ticking of the clock and the clicking of the ice cubes in Magda’s drink being the only thing breaking it.

She eventually spoke up. “I got you your usual cupcake, it’s not as pretty as it was this morning, but it’s not like it’ll make any difference; she won’t eat it.”

Peter turned to his mom, shocked at her words. Magda’s eyes opened wide and quickly filled with tears as she realized what she had said. She ran to her room and slammed it shut, it didn’t take long for Peter to hear her sobs.

He approached her door, listening for a moment before speaking up. “I love you, mom.”

There was nothing to be done when she started crying, so Peter grabbed the cupcake and ran to his sister’s final resting place. The ground was frozen, but he knelt down, nonetheless. He put the dessert in front of him and stared at his sister’s name engraved in the stone.

“Happy birthday, Wends, can you believe we’re 30 now?” He chuckled sadly to himself. “So much happened in the last year, I wish you were with me, everything would have been easier. I didn’t tell Erik yet, and I know you didn’t want him to know about you, but I’m sure you would have told him yourself by now. It’s been years that I’ve been trying to tell him, and now that he’s taken off with Charles to Paris, the last thing he needs is a useless son.” He perked his head up to the sky. “Do you think it’s worth it anymore?”

The cold wind was his only answer, and the tears gathered in his eyes before flowing down his cheeks.

“I can’t do it, not without you. I thought I was better, but lately, I can’t sleep, I can’t live without suffering. I just- I just want a break.”

After his one-sided conversation, he stayed there, his head hung low as sadness and grief burned him from the inside. He’d need someone to take his pain away, even just briefly. Suddenly, he remembered someone Raven mentioned to him years ago, the one who had told her that Erik was back. The one who was able to find anyone. Maybe he’d be able to help.

#peter maximoff #Evan Peters #wanda maximoff #x men fanfiction #x men dark phoenix #x men #x men quicksilver #quicksilver #Charles Xavier #ororo munroe #Kurt Wagner #Erik Lehnsherr

[plothooksinc]

For the fanfic ask game: 3 and 17.

19: In Underdark some of my favorite moments are Leo tripping and falling on his face. Feverish Leo cuddling up to Mike twice. In the shaft after they've fallen and Mikey hears Leo scream and goes "oh god, what happened??" Towards the end when the tunnel floods and Mikey's desperately trying to keep Leo upright when he just keels over. The comfort part in last chapter, love tired but relieved Donny and gruff Raph. And the heart to heart in Leo's bed.

In general I enjoy how Leo is written. He has a very calm and quiet presence. I'm not sure what makes the difference in this fic, but in my head I hear him as more soft-spoken than what he's usually portrayed as.( And I mean even before he starts getting sick.) I like it, feels fitting for him.

Ah, I'm glad the shaft scene seems to be well loved, that was definitely one of the high points of it for me. :D ...Leo being a little softer was actually mildly deliberate, because he was with Mikey and thus really being in Calm Big Brother mode because the situation was something he figured Mikey would find terrifying and he wanted to keep things on an even keel. (And then after that he got sick so...) It's also why he cuddled up to Mikey in that last part in sewers because he was feverish and like I can't leave him alone in the dark so I will just octopus so he knows I'm here, basically.

Anyway!

3. What’s a fic idea that you have but haven’t written yet?

Hmm. There are the two teasers I put up for TMNT, both being somewhat in medias res-- one is for '03 TMNT, in which there is a huge ambush meant to collect all turtles in one sweep; Leo escapes it only because he falls off the roof and they presume him dead (instead of merely Very Unhappy) and he needs help to track down his brothers and Casey and Splinter is unavailable for Reasons, so he goes to the only person left who can help him, which is April. He needs answers about who the ambushers were and she's a hacker. And then he still needs her for Reasons so the two of them go and try to break into a deathtrap (while meanwhile everyone else tries to break out, they'll meet halfway).

The other is '07 verse, based on events in the Leo prequel in which he tries to hitch a ride on a ship in Portugal and realises it's full of trafficked children, and he uh. Goes and slaughters every trafficker on board he can find. Which is all well and good, and never mind his hypocrisy when he goes home and lectures Raph about vigilante shenanigans, but doing so canonically starts the legend about the wrath of Enugu the Turtle God against these traffickers and the leader of the ring suddenly finds it's really hard to get people on board to work for him. So he sets out to track this so-called Turtle God down and prove to his remaining men it's just a freak that can bleed. Great! The problem is, none of them expect there to be more than one giant mutant turtle and so they track down and take the wrong one. Whoops. Anyway, Mikey has a Very Bad Day. I also threatened at one point to write a Rurouni Kenshin/TMNT crossover due to the amount of flak I got back in the day of switching from one fandom to another (I could even do it canonically, Renet sure is a character that exists). I had a whole slew of Ruroken ideas that I will now never write because the Ruroken author is scum, so alas.

In other fandoms, just briefly: The Untamed, where Wei Wuxian goes missing presumed dead in a small village where people have slowly been disappearing, only there's flute music in Them Thar Hills that's been playing steadily for days, so Lan Wangji and Wen Ning investigate. Supernatural, in which Dean fetches up in a small town on an investigation and gets supernaturally drugged out of his mind and vanishes, and there's a whole plot to bring back not quite Lucifer but the echo of him, which is good enough for those involved (it's SPN v fae); Tiger & Bunny in which Tiger apparently goes on a rampage for as much human and collateral damage as possible and everyone races to work out why; and FFXIV where the Empire find a way to tap into the Echo and drive it haywire, thus doing their best to drive the WoL mad and the scions close ranks to deal with that issue. One Piece, in which Nami steals the ship for unknown reasons (totally known reasons, she's under a compulsion laid by a Navy Devil Fruit user) and tries to do it while everybody else is offshore. Only Zoro is still sleeping on board, so. That goes down well when he wakes up. ...these will probably never see the light of day, but they are fun to think about. (The two teasers, tho. Those will get written.)

17. Are there any writers and/of stories that you consider an influence?

Not in fandom, in any specific sense. I will absolutely get some kind of osmosis inspiration from reading a whole bunch of extremely well written fics because it will affect how I write if that's what I've been soaking in all day. The Untamed is full of extremely talented writers and I channeled some of that energy to finally finish my Snowblind chapter, which had had me stuck for 13 years because I couldn't quite reach the melancholy introspect I needed for it (but The Untamed writers have that in spades). Published authors? Definitely. I can spot my writing patterning after Janny Wurts and Guy Gavriel Kay, and I picked up Janny's ellipses and Kay's Dramatic Short Sentences, and I probably got my tendency to bracket small phrases from Stephen King, as you do. Thank you! These were fun :D

Ask meme here.

#ask meme #@allassankari

[soaringeag1e]

So Meg, I’m back 😂 and here are my chapter by chapter thoughts as I’m reading the chapters I have missed. Sit down because it’s long 😂😂 and I apologise in advance it’s a bit scattered 😂

61 oh no poor reader. But I’m glad Dean is there for her and support her 🥺

62 omg when I saw the warnings I was like Dean and the reader are going to get in this massive fight and they are going to be mad at each other and I’m not reading for it and wow they are even a better couple than I had imagined 😂😂 they are just so perfect. Could you find me a Dean please? I need one 😂 and I love the support system they both have. Your writing is soooo good!!

63 even though they didn’t get tuxes, we are soooo close to the wedding!!! I am so excited!!!! It’s sad that Dean had to go to the station but Sam being there for the wedding dress is just too cute and I loved the dress shopping. It’s just so normal and exciting

64 ok, domestic Dean is just the cutest and the best and I can’t believe we saw more of that on the show (not with a girlfriend necessarily but just doing normal stuff in the bunker. Anyways I’m digressing 😂). I am right at the moment when Bobby saw the tape and you are horrible to cut it there!

OMG I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT HOW COULD YOU MEG??!! Why couldn’t they just have a nice meal and evening?? Why did you have to ruin it!!!! 😭😭 That is literally the worst ending for a chapter and thank god I don’t need to wait a week to read the next one!! You better make it up! 😂

65 excuse me Meg but how dare you put so much suspense and anxiety in one chapter? Are you trying to kill me??!! The reader and now Dean are in the hands of this killer??!! I need more info NOW!! (And I will have them because I’m going to read the next chapter 😂)

66 I knew it!!! He has been shady the whole time! How didn’t anybody suspect him??!! Omg he is just sick. He’s absolutely crazy. I don’t think I’ve ever despised somebody in a written series as much as him.

How did it get so bad in the span of a few chapters?? 😂 omg Meg. First of all, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, your writing is exceptional. I’m really immersed in the story every time and I can’t let go of the chapters and this story. Second, how could you??!! It was all going well and now, we don’t know where the reader is going with the son of a bitch, Dean is bleeding in a barn, and the police is nowhere in sight 😭😭😭 I think you are trying to give us a heart attack. Third, I hope the next chapter is coming out soon because I need them both alive and having their wedding and to put this behind them. I’m too invested now!

After this massive rant, I can’t wait to read the next chapters and see how this will end - hopefully with a happy ending I’m watching you

I hope you are doing well and sending you lots of love xx Mel

Oh, my amazing, Mel! Your timing is impeccable, my love. Seriously, you have no idea how bad I needed this smile today.

All your reviews....

1} If we could each find a Dean for each other, that would be great! I'll keep a lookout, but you need to keep a lookout for me too!

2} I'm glad you liked having Sam at the dress shopping. I thought it'd be cute, especially considering they have been friends for a while.

3} I also love domestic Dean. I think a lot of us do and that's why we get to live that fantasy life through our fics. We get to give him the life he deserves.

4} You know I love my cliff hangers {Evil laughter}

5} Of course I had to have this cute, lovey dovey moment and make everyone think that it was all going to be ok! Hahaha

Sadly, I'm afraid that you saw the last of the fluff when Dean called her at his car. I seemed to get pretty wordy and the entire thing that unravels now seemed to go on for a bit longer than I expected, so....more angst is ahead.

I don't know how you do it, but you always, ALWAYS bring a smile to my face and you make me feel like I could actually fulfill my dream someday and publish a book, or more. Even with all the sweet words and praises it's hard to believe your own stuff, you know.

Eventually, though. I will hold a hard copy of my work in my hands.

I'm glad you're home safe and I hope you had an amazing Holiday! But I am definitely {selfishly} glad you're back haha You're the best, Mel XOXOXO

#Meg loves Mel #Made my week #SPNFamily

[mlobsters]

supernatural s7e6 slash fiction (w. robbie thompson)

episode title fills me with dread. good sign. another unfamiliar writer. trademark sam forearm flex

DEAN All right. Well, that settles it. We find these ass monkeys, and we kill them ourselves. BOBBY Wait a sec. Every form of law enforcement in the country has seen your ugly mugs this morning. DEAN Exactly. So what's the point in trying to hide?

what kind of dumbass reasoning

okay so is it slash as in slasher? and just a poke at fans to make them think it's gonna be hot man on man action

maybe don't take the impala, a giant noisy incredibly noticeable classic car. is the slash fiction with us in the room right now? all right well i recognize this dude's name because it's got devereaux in it just like one of my all-time favorite hannibal fic writers @devereauxsdisease - so funny, so good. highly recommend if you're in the mood for some hannigram

now. the real question. will the new computer have.. say it with me, untitled 1 and 2. also, the actual real question. this was before having any sort of remote storage was common, and they probably had stuff saved on that hard drive. okay okay WAIT. we could pretend that they back up a snapshot to an external drive.. that could conceivably transfer their desktop settings too. it's conceivable sam's on the ball. (however mister devereaux would want to smash that too, whatever)

seeing jody in her cute little fitted leather jacket and jeans got me wondering how old her actress is - born in 1969 which is the same year as ellen's actress. bobby apparently consistently pulling women 19 years his junior

so like okay with this whole fucking leviathan shifter situation, should they like. stab them to see what color they bleed, before interacting with someone they supposedly know

DEAN You know, it's bad enough that they're ganking people, wearing our mugs, but now this? Have us driving around in this... this caboodle while Baby's on lockdown. SAM It's temporary, Dean. DEAN Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

oh god the eyeroll i did i think i pulled something (i will admit i laughed too). dirty dancing was a very regular part of my childhood. oh, not the lip syncing to air supply. why must they make dean do these things

LEVIATHAN!SAM I'm serious. It's nothing but Satan-vision on the inside.

all right them ragging on the boys with an inside perspective is funny.

okay if they're cosplaying the pulp fiction diner robbery, i think that makes dean honey bunny

whoa jump scare it's teen wolf bad grandpa, my least favorite character! he was on bsg too

teen wolf - michael hogan as gerard argent

appreciate they showed us sam's healing scar without it being the focal point

DEAN Sammy. DEAN Not Sammy.

ok that was cute. and the nickname forever and ever warms the cockles of my heart

LEVIATHAN!DEAN You could be anything. You're strong, you're uninhibited. You're smart enough, believe it or not. But you're so caught up in being good and taking care of each other.

oh GOD fucking stabbing jewel staite i had forgotten this is still a dangling source of conflict. THANKS I HATE IT STILL. they better fucking talk about this instead of oh sam's hiding that he knows and dean's hiding that he did it and feels guilty and doesn't know sam knows bullSHIT.

DICK ROMAN Now it's your turn to listen. I'd sooner swim through hot garbage than shake hands with a bottom-feeding mutation like you. You demons are ugly, lazy, gold-digging whores. You're less than humans, and they're not good for much till you dip 'em in garlic sauce. I'd never work with you, Crowley. In fact, if I wasn't busy with better things, I might actively wipe your kind from the face of the Universe. And you'd deserve it. Are we clear?

well i guess that frees up crowley to work with the good guys

great. what i hate more than them being in trouble with the law, them splitting up/sam walking away. i get it in a variety of ways, but i still hate it. blergh. also what a miserable little outfit he's wearing. sometimes leans into the dadcore a little too much

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 7x06 #spnhiky #hiky #teen wolf #gerard argent #michael hogan #robbie thompson #spn desktop background update #amy pond #jewel staite

[serotonincemetery]

Sam Winchester x Reader

It was all torture. You felt like your body was being torn apart. Which it was. Your body was being torn apart, over, and over, and over, and over again, it was just going in a circle. Being torn apart by demons, being put back together, being torn apart by demons again, being put back together again.

You felt something, out of how long you'd been trapped there, something was grabbing you. At first you refused, but it was warm, you'd let it take you and you woke up cold, and your back hurt, or just your whole body. You couldn't see anything, you always kept a lighter, like Sam and Dean, you made sure to, it may seem cliche but- oh well. You lit the lighter and looked at where you were.

You were in a small box, you kept hitting the top and something fell on your face. Dirt. You were buried. You kept clawing at the wood, you hands started to bleed, but you got a chunk of wood off and was greeted by a bunch of dirt to the face. You had broke more wood off and started digging.

Breathing was hard, you were losing oxygen quickly but your hands seemed free, you kept pushing and crawling and grasping everything and pulled yourself up and breathed heavily in the crisp air. You looked around and saw trees all around that had been pushed down. You looked beside you as you crawled the rest of the way up. You saw another grave. You stumbled over and read the name carved into the wood Dean Winchester.

You quickly looked at your own. Y/N L/N You'd been buried? Let along you're alive?

You, Dean, and the love of your life, Sam. You three had been one of the best teams of all time. You had grown up with them, been with them when their dad was gone for weeks at a time. But both you and Dean had made a deal for Sammy when he died, you'd been stabbed too, but Jake had missed by a few centimetres. but with Sam, Jake didn't miss. You and Dean made the deal, and were haunted and hunted down by Hell Hounds for the rest of the year until you were both killed by Lilith and her Hell Hounds.

Both of you had been tortured in hell, and you don't even know how long you'd been there. But damn were you happy to be alive.

You properly stumbled up and looked around more, you saw that Dean's grave was the same. Dug up like yours and how you'd just gotten out. You examined his grave and came to the conclusion that he'd come up recently and you saw which way he went.

You were about to walk forwards, but you got a splitting headache, not normal, you were hoping that your visions didn't come back. But it came back.

You had been standing in a doorway, looking into a room, with a woman in it, she looked at you confused. Sam came around the corner and your heart shattered, there stood Sam. He looked at you, hair tattered, shirt wrinkled, and just by those two factors you knew what'd happened. Sam ran at both you and Dean with a knife.

And that's where it ended. Your pinched the bridge of your nose and got back up properly and started walking.

You had come across some sort of gas station. And footsteps in the gravel leading towards it, you walked to the small gas station and walked in, you walked around the small isles and picked out a few water bottles and you found a few fruit bars, you checked the date, expired. Damn. You put them back and went to turn when you were shoved back into the counter, you looked and saw Dean. "Dean! Dean! Please! It's me!" You exclaimed.

"I can see it's you, but is it you." He said accusingly as he stared at you.

"it's me, I promise Dean, uh, uh what's one thing only I would know." You said out loud as you were thinking. Dean didn't look impressed.

"I'm waiting." He said roughly.

"Okay! Okay! Uhh, Um," You stuttered, trying to get your words together. "Your necklace!" You exclaimed.

"What about it?" His voice was scratchy and gruff from not being used.

"You got it from Sammy as a Christmas gift! Who in turn got it from Bobby! Bobby said it was special! I was there sitting on the floor beside Sammy, he gave me a small silver ring! I outgrew it and it's on a chain around my neck!" You explained quickly. He let you go and you quickly pulled the ring out from under your shirt and held it in your hand. No sizzling or smoking. "See Dean, it's me, Y/N."

"When we get out of here I'm going to go through the tests." He grumbled.

"It depends, are we going to Bobby's?" You asked, "Because if we are going there then he's gonna end up doing it first." You laughed.

"True. Anyways, do you know how long we've been gone?" He asked. You shook your head. "We've been gone since May, it's September, Y/N." He said.

"September?" You responded. "Never mind we can talk more later. Lets get some supplies and get out of here." You said as you turned.

"Actually, I have to ask you a question." Dean said, looking uncomfortable once you turned to him.

"What?" You asked.

"Do you have one of these?" He asked as he lifted up his sleeve and showed you a red hand print on his left bicep.

"Holy shit." You mumbled. You quickly started to search your body. Your hand grazed over one on your wrist. You jolted and looked. The same hand print, but on your right wrist. "Heyyy, I got one too." You said coolly. "Maybe we should start a band." You laughed and rolled your sleeve down.

Dean just sighed and turned and got more things to take, you did too. Dean chuckled and smiled. You looked over the isle and looked and asked. "What?" He shook his head and put the magazine that says, Busty Asian Beauties, in the bag. You walk over and take it out and look. "Nice." You chuckled. "But not my type." You said as you went and got some Gatorade.

You went over to the cash register and clicked a button and the cash slot shot out. You smiled and took the cash from the register. You put the cash in your pocket and the tv to your left turned on and went to radio static. You turned it off and the radio to your right turned on, you turned towards it and the tv turned back on again.

Dean looked at you and you pointed. "Salt the windows and doors!" And both of you ran over and grabbed the salt and opened them up and were rushing to block the windows and doors.

As you two tried to salt the windows and doors and a loud noise, worse than radio static, was playing loudly in your ears.

Dean heard it too, you both covered your ears and all the glass around you, windows, doors, everything shattered, both of you fell to the ground and braced yourselves.

Both you and Dean ran and tried to find somewhere else to hide, but all the glass kept shattering. You screamed and the noise stopped. Dean looked at you and you looked to him. Both of you had shocked looks pasted onto your faces. You and Dean got up and looked around, looking at the broken glass windows.

You and Dean left and went over to the phone booth. He stood there and hesitated and you grumbled and shoved him aside and went and picked up the phone, put two quarters in and dialed Sam's phone number.

The automated voice said "We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected." You sighed and set the phone down and picked it back up again and put another two quarters in and dialed Bobby's number.

The phone rang before he picked up. "Yeah?" The voice on the other end of the phone asked

"Bobby?" You said.

"Yeah?" He said again

"It's me."

"Who's me?"

"Y/N" You said, hoping he'd listen. But all the hope went down the drain when he hung up and the dial tone hummed. "Damn it Bobby!" You grumbled and set the phone down, and picked it up and called again. It didn't even dial and he picked it up immediately.

"Who is this?" He asked

"Bobby listen to me. It's me Y/N, I got Dean with me too-" You tried to reason.

"Listen this ain't funny. Call again and I'll kill you." And then he hung up. Again.

You grumbled and slammed the phone and turned. Dean was standing there and had one hand on his hip and the other pointing behind him with a smile, at the old car just sitting there.

You smiled and walked out of the phone booth and walked over. "Dean you smart son of a bitch." You laughed. Dean laughed with you. "Wait, can I drive?" You asked.

Dean laughed again and crossed his arms and looked to you and said. "No." And walked around to the drivers side.

You sighed and stepped into the old car as Dean hot-wired the car and the engine boomed to life. Dean chuckled and drove away.

You sighed as you sat in the seat next to him, you hadn't though much of Sam but when you did your eyes watered and you wiped away your tears. "We'll get you to Sammy, okay Y/N? Just we have to get to Bobby first." You nodded and wiped your tears again.

Both of you had arrived at Bobby's and Dean had knocked on the door. The both of you waited and soon enough Bobby opened the door.

Bobby stood there, starstruck. "Surprise." Dean had said with a smile. You smiled too.

"Hi Bobby." You said kindly with your hoarse voice with a small wave. You weren't up for trying to act strong, because now you were tired, covered in dirt, and you now have a runny nose from crying and missing Sam. All you wanted to do was hug him and for him to be in your arms again.

"I-- I don't...." Bobby started.

"Yeah, us neither." Dean said with a chuckle. While walking into the house, you following at his side.

You noticed Bobby back up and grab something, which turned out to be a knife, and lunge at the both of you. You dodge out of the way as Dean quickly tried to disarm him. Bobby hit Dean in the face and Dean stumbled back. "Bobby, Bobby, It's us!" Dean exclaimed.

"My ass." Bobby said as he held the blade up and approached Dean.

Dean put a chair up in front of him to protect him. You quickly ran over and pushed Bobby's arm up so he didn't stab anyone "Wait. Your name is Robert Stephen Singer. You became a Hunter after your wife got possessed. You're about the closest thing we have to a father!" You exclaim. Which it was true. Your mother died the same was theirs did. But the difference is, your father died too but he died trying to save you. You'd been with Sam and Dean for as long as you can remember, you were their live-in best friend. And you didn't mind. "Bobby, it's us." You said as you slowly and cautiously let go of Bobby's arm and backed up a bit.

Bobby looked shook. He stepped towards you and placed a hand on your shoulder and then took a swing at you. You quickly grabbed his arm and pushed it away and behind him and got a hold of the knife.

"I'm not a shapeshifter! Neither is Dean!" You said as you firmly grabbed the knife properly.

"Then you're a revenant" Bobby exclaimed as he pushed himself away from you and turned.

You held the knife up in front of you and said, "All right, if I was either, could I do this with a silver knife?" You asked as you rolled the sleeve of your ripped hoodie up and sliced your arm with the silver knife with a wince and a small grunt.

Bobby looks at you and Dean as you pass him the knife and he does the same thing. Bobby looks shocked at both of you and says. "Dean? Y/N?" His breathing picks up.

"It's what we've been trying to tell you." Dean says as he walks forwards and Bobby lets out a breath he didn't notice he was holding in. He lunges at both of you and you jolt, only to find out he's hugging you and Dean.

Bobby hugs you both tightly and he gasps, like he's starting to cry. You both immediately hug him back, he pulls away and says, while still having a hand on both of your shoulders. "It's good to see you two." He says.

"Yeah, you too." Dean says.

"You're a sight for sore eyes Bobby." You said tiredly.

"But how did you two bust out?" Bobby asked, looking concerned.

"I don't know"

"I don't know"

You both had said at the same time.

"I just woke up in a pine-"

"I woke up in a coffin six feet-"

You both were stopped by Bobby splashing Holy Water in your faces. Dean looked to the side and spat out the water in his mouth. You did the same but spat it out towards Bobby with a small chuckle.

"We're not demons either, you know." Dean says, unimpressed.

"Sorry." Bobby started. "Can't be too careful."

Bobby had gotten you two towels to dry your faces off and followed him into a room with a desk, his study, as he called it.

"That don't make a lick of sense" Bobby said as you two followed him in more.

"Yeah." You said as you tossed the towel over and on your shoulder before crossing your arms.

"Yeah, you're preaching to the choir." Dean chuckled as he did the same with his towel.

"Dean, Y/N. Your chest's were ribbons. Your insides were slop. And you two have been buried for four months." He said. "Even if you could slip out of Hell and back into your mean--" He was cut off by Dean.

"I know, we should look like a "Thriller" video reject." Dean said. Which Bobby asked a followup question.

"What do you remember?"

Dean glanced at you and you both said. "Not much."

"I remember I was a Hell Hound's chew toy." Dean said. "And then lights out." Dean said with his 'Seriously I am an asshole but I'm trustworthy' look. "Then I come-to six feet under. That was it."

"Yeah, same here." You added.

Bobby sat down and looked like he spaced out then you remembered something. "Sam's number's not working," You paused and hesitated. "He's not.." You said in disbelief.

"Oh, he's alive, as far as I know." You let out a deep sigh and smiled and was calming your breathing.

"Good." Dean says as he turns and walks closer to Bobby. "Wait, what do you mean, as far as you know?" Dean asked.

"I haven't talking to him for months." Bobby said with a sigh.

"You mean you just let him go off by himself?!" You cried out worriedly.

"He was dead set on it." Bobby told you. Your heart was racing and you were panicking.

Dean looked over to you and told Bobby. "You should have been looking after him."

"I tried." Bobby countered. "These last months haven't been easy, you know." Bobby said, glancing at your panicking state and looking at Dean. "For him or me. We had to bury both of you."

"Why did you bury us anyways?" Dean asked, you sat down on the floor and pulled your knees up and every possible outcome was racing through your mind. Your anxiety taking over your body, you tried to calm down by rocking back and forth.

"I wanted you two salted and burned. Usual drill, but Sam wouldn't have it." Bobby admitted.

"I'm glad he won that one." Dean started.

"He said you two would need a body...." Bobby cut Dean off. You stopped rocking back and forth and looked at Bobby. "When he got you back home somehow."

"Of course, he knew, I knew, holy shit." You mumbled. No one heard you of course. and that one vision you had when you'd firs come up, that's gonna happen. you knew it, and you had to brace yourself because you knew Dean and Bobby would track his phone.

"That's about all he said."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, with a raised tone.

"He was quiet. Real quiet." Bobby sat down. "Then he just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him, but he don't wanna be found."

"Damn it, Sammy." Dean said as he facepalmed.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"Oh, he got us home okay." Dean sighed. "But whatever he did, it is bad mojo."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You should've seen the graves." Dean sighed. "It was like a nuke went off. Then there was this... This force, this presence. I don't know. But it blew past us at a fill-up joint." Dean explained. "And then this." He said as he took the towel off his shoulder and pulled up his sleeve. Showing the red hand print. "She's got one too." Dean said motioning to you.

Bobby looked to you and you sighed, wiped your eyes with your sleeve and then rolled it up and showed Bobby the hand print on your wrist too.

Bobby stood up and went over to you and helped you up after your small melt down and examined your wrist and glanced at Dean's arm. "What in the hell?" He asked.

"It was like a demon just yanked us out." Dean said. "Or rode us out." He said with a awkward look.

"But why?" Bobby asked.

"To hold up their end of the bargain." Dean said while looking at you, then to Bobby.

"You think Sam made a deal?" Bobby asked both of you.

"That's what I would've done." You muttered and rolled your sleeve down.

You went and sat down on the counter and listened to Dean make a phone call. "Yeah, hi, I have a cell phone account with you guys and I lost my phone. I was wondering if you could turn on the GPS for me." He said, the woman on the other end asked something you didn't hear. "Yeah, the name's Wedge Antilles." He paused as the woman spoke.

"The last four digits of your social?" You heard the woman this time.

"Social is 2474"

"Thank you, sir, it's active"

"Thank you." He said as he hung up the phone and placed it down and walked out of the room, you got down and followed Bobby as he followed Dean.

"How'd you know he's use that name." Bobby asked as Dean sat down.

"Are you kidding me? What don't I know about that kid?" He asked as he started typing on a computer and pulling up the GPS website

"Hey, Bobby. What's the deal with the liquor store?" You asked.

"Like I said..." Bobby started. "...Last few months ain't been all that easy."

Dean looked away from the computer to him. "Right." He said as Bobby looked down, ashamed. Dean looked at the map and the GPS had found the phone. "Sam's in Pontiac, Illinois."

"Right where you two were planted." Bobby said quickly.

"Right where we popped up. A coincidence, don't you think?" Dean asked Bobby, you sighed and shook your head.

All three of you travelled to Pontiac. The three of you walked down the hallway to room 207 with a heart on it.

Your breathing was unsteady and Bobby seemed to notice and turned to you. "You okay, kiddo?" He asked.

You shook your head no.

"This place familiar?" He asked. You nodded.

"I had a vision of this place." You said. Bobby sighed and pat your shoulder.

"Everything will be fine. But you know, brace yourself because guaranteed he will have someone living and not just a blow up doll with your face." Bobby joked.

You chuckled and slapped his arm playfully. "That was funny and not at the same time." You said, but you attention was caught by Dean knocking on the door. You turned and readied yourself.

A woman immediately answered and looked at the three of you. "So where is it?" She asked.

"Where's what?" Dean inquired.

"The pizza that take three people to deliver?" She said sassily.

"I think we got the wrong room." You say to Dean, Bobby, and the girl. Just when you were about to pull them away. Sam walks around the corner. Sam looks shocked. Your heart skipped multiple beats at once.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean said to Sam with a sure smile.

"Hi Sam." You said quietly. Sam looked at you and his face contorted into that sad, puppy-like face he always makes. His breathing got heavy. You walked into the doorway first and Sam came at you with a knife. You screamed and he faltered for a minute and grabbed his ears. He then went in to attack again and you shielded yourself and Dean went in to disarm him.

Bobby went in to help both of you and pulled Sam away from you two. "Who are you!?" Sam shouted at you and Dean

"Like you didn't do this." Dean accused.

"Do what!?"

"It's them. It's them, Sam." Bobby reassured him. "I've been through this already. It's really them." Bobby said as he fought against Sam to keep hold on him.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I know." Dean started. "I look fantastic, huh?" He joked.

Sam took a deep breath before rushing over to hug Dean starting to break, and then he saw you behind him. You looked frail, your body had changed, besides being a bit thinner, you looked weaker. You felt weaker too, ever since you came back up, you'd turned into a wuss. And Sam immediately knew once he's looked at you. You had looked, tired, sick, and dizzy, due to all the headaches and visions, even though you'd only had one, it'd taken a toll on your mind.

And besides all that, your heart was broken, he was sleeping with another woman. But you couldn't blame him. You'd been gone for months, but you didn't expect him to move on so quickly. Which is what hurt the most.

Sam let go of Dean and the girl asked "So are you two, like, together?"

"What? No. No.. He's my brother." He said with a reassuring smile as Dean looked weirded out.

"O-Oh. Got it, I guess. Look, I should probably go."

"Yeah, yeah. That's probably a good idea. Sorry." He apologized, he forgot about you being there for a moment as he talked to the woman.

The woman scrambled around and got dressed, Sam opened the door for her and she said. "So call me."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure thing Kathy."

"Chrissy." She corrected

"Right." Sam said, she looked hurt. Sam closed the door and turned to Dean and Bobby and said, "So.." He said awkwardly

Bobby sighed and shook his head and pointed towards you, sitting in a chair at the desk. Sam looked at you. He quickly walked over and went to hug you but you jolted away, he wasn't surprised. You looked so tired and weak, and you held an expression that broke his heart. He leaned down and closer and hugged you, you tensed as he hugged you. You broke down and quickly wrapped your arms around him and cried. He broke down too.

God you'd missed him so much, his scent, his rugged hair, the way he hugged you, everything, you clung to him like you'd lose him again, he clung to you too, like he's lose you again. In all honesty, he couldn't go through that again. Losing his girlfriend, and brother in the same day. And it was even worse because he's lost Jessica before and was cautious with you, yet he still lost you.

He pulled away and you wiped your eyes and looked at Sam. "I missed you Samsquatch." You said with a smile

"I missed you too Y/N/N." He said simply.

Not enough to try and forget about you by sleeping with other women. The voice in your head told you. You shook your head and smiled. He missed you, even if he was with other women, he still missed you. That's all that mattered.

Sam stood up and sat down on the bed and pulled on his shoes. You leaned back and sighed and closed your eyes for a moment, but you ended up falling asleep. The last thing you'd heard was Dean asking what it cost to bring them back and Sam saying it didn't cost him anything about the girl or the souls. That gave you a small amount of peace that he didn't sell his soul for you like you did him.

You woke up to and a small argument between boys. "You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up." Dean said. which left you completely confused.

"Dean I thought you said it was my car." Sam said to Dean with a chuckle. You sat up, because apparently they had laid you in the back seat.

Dean started up the engine and Vision by Jason Manns plays and you chuckle when Dean says "Really"

Just like old times. You saw an iPod coming at you and you quickly caught it and set it down beside you.

You didn't really know what terms you were on with Sam. But all that mattered is that you two were at least on speaking terms. But you knew you had a lot ahead of you, and a bunch of images and clips flashed before your eyes.

An image of Meg, in a different body

Dean talking with some old guy

A distorted man shoving Sam into a closet.

You, Sam, and Dean at a bar with women in some sort of outfits

Dean shrieking when Sam opened a locker, you jumping when Dean screamed.

Some witchy woman during Halloween

A well in a Chinese place

A red haired woman

One word on a building "Croatoan"

An angel, wearing a trench coat.

And a two pairs of red eyes.

You didn't know what it meant. But you knew you would do it with the help of Dean and Sam, no matter what speaking terms you were on with any of them. You loved Sam with all of your heart, but you didn't know if he felt the same back, if he didn't, you respected his decision and would let him go. But until the time came, you sat in the back of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala, reading a book about demons and helping trying to find out who brought you back. But you had a hunch that it might be someone you saw in one of your visions. You smiled and glanced at Dean and then took one long look at Sam and thought

I love you no matter what and I will never let anything happen to any of us. That's a promise.

When you finished your promise in your head, Sam turned to you and smiled, you smiled back and went back to reading your book peacefully, with the little chatter of Sam and Dean, and the quiet Metallica, playing on the radio as you guy drove to your next destination to find out who did this. You had so many unanswered questions.

Why your screams could stop anyone from doing anything. The hand prints. How you two got out. What is the creature that saved you. But deep in your mind. Those were questions for later.

#serotonin.writes #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #fanfiction

[sleepyowlwrites]

a whole heap of songs that may or may not relate to my ocs

combining a top songs tag from @yejiwritesthings with a wip bops tag from @wildswrites and two oc song tags from @vellichor-virgo and @talesofsorrowandofruin

first, here are the songs I've listened to the most recently:

monday - imagine dragons

awakening - switchfoot

spring bottom - cosmo sheldrake

love is the movement - switchfoot

one wild life - gungor

summerland - half-alive

history maker - dean fujioka

like the night - moonbeau

second, here are some songs I associate with dirt in the doing:

heirloom - sleeping at last

stray italian greyhound - vienna teng

lonely nation - switchfoot

rot - dbmk

mess we made - the paper kites

brother - kodaline

the kids don't stand a chance - vampire weekend

sharks - imagine dragons

sick boy - the chainsmokers

pitchfork kids - ajr

third and fourth, here are some songs associated with specific ocs:

tip toes - half-alive this one is for Jet. the pre-chorus says "tip toes, trying to see past my ego, reaching for something more than, this feeling of being important, leaving my heart behind, it's bleeding, but still my pride is screaming, my future will listen to me" and that's pretty much our boy. he's trying to be an activist and keeps getting bogged down by his own anger and goals that don't stick. he's also compulsively protective and would rather make it his mission to take care of anyone other than himself. "The feeling is creeping in slow, it's feeding my need to be known, and giving me nothing back" and yeah, gradually Jet goes from needing to be recognized as a rebel to preferring to be seen as a person by the people he actually cares about. he can fight against a wall and break his hands trying, or he can fight against flesh with people by his side.

lonesome wolf - dawnson hollow this one is for Mark. he wears his loner identity like a bulletproof vest but the kids come along and slip under his defenses anyway. "Am I the only one that feels alone, I try to patch my heart upon my sleeve, loneliness just seeps inside my bones, my shirt can not support the weight you see" and Mark was not built to be on his own. he thrives on quiet interaction with people who care about little things. he'll try and find ways to connect with his friends and it quickly becomes apparent when he thinks he's failing. he flounders. he's a flounderer. he just doesn't want to be alone, or maybe just be alone with other people.

false confidence - noah kahan this one is for R. his playlist is called tall dumb boi and he's on the very edge of being a himbo. R has a hero complex but also a parental complex but also a lot of false confidence. he projects himself out to the extremities so his bigness will convince people that he's a whole person. "Don't let those demons in again, I fill the void up with polished doubt, fake sentiment, surrender yourself." we've literally seen Evie call him out for this, we've seen Bell pull him back from it, and later, after he starts filling himself out with real confidence, we see him find a new kind of surrender: all his lies to himself.

dunno if I did these tags correctly, but also I do not care. this was how the brain decided to do it.

of all these songs, I really recommend summerland or tip toes by half-alive, they are jams, as well as history maker and lonely nation. I'm going to leave any OPEN TAG this time

#tag game #sleepy stuff

[icecream-and-gadreel]

Is it just me, or did they entirely say "Fuck it" and morph Dean into a one track mind, bigger picture over family, "I'm only a dick because I'm RIGHT" character in season 15?

Like

This is definitely not Dean. And now they've wubbied Sam so much so that he can be the "Reasonable" shmoopykins that wants to save everyone forever.

How do y'all take the very last season and say

#now now #and this is speaking as a dean girl #my boy has had his moments #but COME ON SON #deans whole thing is family! #deans whole thing is being a bleeding heart #so much so that he sometimes does dumb shit DESPITE the bigger picture #im not a sam girl so I cant speak on him really #but yall got my boy dean fucked up #spoilers #i reckon #because character change can be a spoiler

[shatteredatthealtarofwinchester]

I do not support Jared Padalecki because of Jared Padalecki.

Let me get something blatantly clear:

I do not support Jared Padalecki because of Jared Padalecki. Destiel however has nothing to do with that. Stop saying we don't support Jared anymore because of Destiel, that's pure bullshit and simply not true.

Bad news: I can only put 10 pics in this post.

Good news: I'm not going with speculations, I'm only going with facts. Everything is public on the internet. You'll find it.

It's for openly harassing several people on social media, including face photos, names and locations of the victims. Examples attached.

It's for beating up 2 employees until they bleed while being highly intoxicated.

It's for trying to bribe the police when being arrested for assault.

It's for openly making fun of the death of a beloved actor, calling it "not sad, but senseless and stupid".

It's for pulling "pranks" where several people were put in high physical danger, including newborns.

It's for pulling "pranks" that ended in mental breakdowns. You can find a summary with vid's and timestamps here:

It's for making rape jokes on stage. You'll find the video online.

It's for purposely misgendering people in public. Examples attached.

It's for hitting the emergency break on a full train because of a forgotten bag, which resulted in not only their train being stopped hardly at high speed, but ALL trains in the vicinity.

It's for praising the ending of Supernatural in every possible moment while knowing your best friend struggled so hard.

It's for using the ending of Supernatural as a backdoor pilot for the next project.

It's for openly saying Dean's death is a success story while owning a mental health campaign.

It's for openly comparing a deaf character to a demon.

It's for openly hurting and replacing your fandom by saying, among other things, the new project is the "passion project" that "has your entire heart" and "hopefully lasts longer than Supernatural."

It's for reading about children who got ripped away from their parents and were forced into cages at international borders - and deciding to produce a copaganda show from the POV of the law enforcement agents out of empathy, because "let's be honest, the issues are not in law enforcement."

I don’t support Jared because of Jared and nothing else!

That doesn't mean I attack him or fans. It simply means I unfollowed and I don't want to have anything to do with him or future projects anymore.

Thanks for reading.

#misha collins #spn #jensen ackles #spnfamily #spnfandom #castiel #supernatural #destiel #cockles #jenmish #dean #cas #deancas #casdean #dean Winchester #bi dean #w*lker #j*red #j*red p*dalecki

[the-wednesday-tales]

17th Birthday

When he wakes up on his seventeenth birthday, Dean doesn’t expect much. He can’t even remember the last time he celebrated a birthday- Sammy will usually give him a (terribly) hand-drawn card and whatever little gift he’s managed to scrounge up on the road, but John lets the day pass just like any other. Dean doesn’t even want much, a simple happy birthday and candle to blow out would be more than enough..but he knows better than to ask for even that.

It’s been almost a year  since John dragged him out of the boys home and back on the road. He’s been looking at Dean differently ever since, a subtle change that Dean can’t quite put his finger on, but can feel palpably nevertheless. He wants to know what he did, but he’s even more afraid to find out. For now he keeps his head down and does as he’s asked, like always.

Dean sighs and rolls out of bed, gets dressed. He throws together what could pass as breakfast for him and Sammy, and when they’re finished John walks in and hands Dean a rifle. Dean silently follows him out into the forest, where they waste away the morning shooting at trees and tin cans.

Sam sits on a stump reading the whole time.

When they get back to the room, Dean has barely sat down at the table to clean the guns when a stack of papers lands in front of him with a plop. He looks up to see John looming over the table, a hard glint in his eyes. Dean eyes the papers warily.

John clears his throat, “There’s a couple of ghosts terrorizing the convent just outside of town. Two nuns haunting the place”.

Dean glances up at John. “Should I pack a bag, so we can head out right away?”

John shakes his head, slaps a gruff hand down on Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m going to stay behind with Sammy. It’s time you took on a hunt by yourself. It’s a simple salt and burn, so even you can’t fuck that up.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezes hard enough to bruise and Dean bites his tongue and nods, shame burning at the back of his throat. John gives him keys to the Impala then heads over to Sammy without another word.

Dean tucks the papers into a duffel alongside the salt, matches, and shotgun casings then heads out.

**** When Dean gets to St. Stephen’s Indian Mission, he pulls over on the other side of the road and pulls out the papers to read. The stack contains a section from the town’s newspaper and some photocopied files from the church mentioned.

Dean settles back to start reading, and is barely a couple sentences in when his stomach drops.

Two nuns.

Two nuns who were in love with each other and were found out by the townspeople.

They killed themselves shortly after, bled out beside one another in the convent’s cemetery, curled together beneath the statue of St. Stephen.

Dean has to close his eyes and swallow against the bile that rises in his throat.

He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows.

Dean draws in a few shaky breaths and slowly opens his eyes. He finally knows what changed, finally understands why John has been looking at him differently. John knows.

Dean cycles through his memories, tries to pinpoint how John could have figured it out. Dean’s been so careful…so careful. He never looks too long, he never flirts, and he certainly has never brought a boy back to the motel. And yet John still knows.

Maybe he can tell just by looking at Dean.

He spends a few more moments in the car, tamping down the rising panic before he gets out and starts investigating.

*** Night has fallen and Dean has spent the better part of two hours locating the graves of the two nuns- Helen and Adelaide. They were hidden in the forest behind the cemetery, marked by two simple crosses. They weren’t even given the decency of being buried in the cemetery, let alone a headstone.

He spends another couple of hours digging up the two graves. Two graves is so much harder then one, and tiring when you’re the only one digging.

He understands what this hunt is now. He understands why it’s his first one alone.

It’s punishment.

John sent him out here as punishment for what he has done, for who he is.

Dean wonders how many hunts, how many punishments he will have to endure until he is normal, until he is clean.

By the time he uncovered both sets of bones, the moon is high in the sky and lights the graves in an eerie bluish color. The nuns are dressed in plain clothes, their habits no where to be seen. Dean bites his cheek until it bleeds. Of course they aren’t in their habits. They defied God. They defied the natural order. They were sinners…abominations.

And now John knows. He knows Dean is just like them. That he is tainted, wrong, unnatural.

Dean goes to pour the salt into the two graves, but stops.

With tears slipping down his cheeks, he carefully moves one set of bones into the other grave. Places them side by side until they are resting together.

Maybe they couldn’t be together when they were alive, but at least now they will be together forever. They deserve that much.

He pours the salt and lights the match. Drops it in with a shaking hand.

He watches as the flames burn steadily. He contemplates stepping into the flames for just a second, a minute. No one else would have to know if he died. His secret would be safe. And he would be clean, right? The fire would purify him, purge him of sins and cleanse his soul of its stains.

But the thought passes, and he thinks of Sammy. He can’t leave him alone. Sammy deserves a good father and while John damn well will never be one, Dean can try.

Dean watches until the flames burn out, tears silently streaming down his face.

On the drive back he has to pull over on the side of the road to throw up. He retches until there’s nothing left in his stomach and the bile burns his throat. When he’s done his chest is heaving, but he still feels sick. His throat burns and his heart hurts when he thinks of Helen and Adelaide. He wonders if he’ll meet the same fate.

He spends a few minutes kneeling in the dirt panting, then pushes himself to his feet, wipes his mouth clean, and gets back in the car.

When he returns to the motel room, he can’t meet John’s eyes. Dean  knows that look will be written plainly across John’s face, knows now what that look means and why it’s there.

He tells John “It’s done” and goes to bed.

*** The next time John sends him on a solo hunt won’t be for years after that.

Inspired by @halfofmysoull @heller-jensen @bisexualrowena and the gut wrenching thing that is J*hn W*nchester’s journals.

Now on ao3

#dean #supernatural #dean winchester #ficlet #supernatural fanfiction #my writing #john winchester #tw suicide mention #tw homophobia

[little-fics]

glass

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: you break a plate on accident, your daddy and uncle Dean come to the rescue.

Warnings: age regression, broken plate, triggered reader, hints at abuse, blood, cut, anxiety/panic attack, I could've missed some so please babies, read at your own risk

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: really like this oneeeee, thanks for reading lovelies <3

You're walking through the kitchen, minding your own business, and you collide with the sharp corner of the table. The plate resting in your hand hit the floor, shattering. In a split second you're panicking, the sound of broken glass reminding you too much of your bad days.

Memories flooding through your head, voices booming all around you. You're looking at your hands, the slippery culprits now shaking like a leaf. Your vision is spotty, lungs burning, air barely coming in, face losing feeling soon. Your eyes move to the shattered ceramic, overflowing with tears now. You realize the 'mistake' you've made and start clumsily shuffling around. You're picking up the biggest pieces, placing them as soft as you can in your hand.

Sam instantly heard the plate break, immediately jumping up from his chair in the library. He was rushing to you, and when he arrived in the doorway, he takes in your rattling body. Your breaths are choked, whole body racking as you're picking up pieces of glass? Sam instantly rushed over to you, kneeling in front of you, "You with me baby?" A hand coming up inches away from the hand holding the pieces of glass, his other coming around to your shoulder.

As you're picking up a piece Sam places a hand on your shoulder and under your hand holding the glass as gently as possible, but it still scares you. You let out a loud gasp, clenching your hands together, another sob coming out of you, "I-I'm sorry-" He lifts you from your squatting position, pulling your legs around his waist. He's rubbing your back, whispering in your ear as he carried you, "Shhh, my little baby, nothing to be sorry about, you're okay, it's okay." You're sobbing, shaking, mumbling ''m sorry' over and over, you can't open your eyes, you're just stuck gripping onto him and struggling to breathe between broken sobs.

He sits you on the counter next to the sink, your legs and arms still around him. "Hey, baby," he's trying to reach you in your thoughts, "baby, can you look at me?" He's rubbing your back, feeling the wetness grow on his back, knowing he needed to check it. After about fifteen seconds, he decided he had to check your hand. He brought his hands to your ears, taking a deep breath and turning his head as far away from you as possible, "Dean!" His voice was dripping with fear and concern. Your body jolted when he did so, and he felt it, instantly consoling you, "Oh I know, daddy was so loud and it was scary. I know baby."

Dean does into the room, hearing your cries echoing through the room as he sees the back of Sam's shirt covered in blood that's coming from your hand? He's rushing over to you, softly speaking to you, his hand hovering over your wrist, "Hey, little one, wanna let Uncle Dean see your hand for a minute?" He gently grabs your wrist, slowly leading your away from Sam's neck.

You're starting to calm down, Sam's scent engulfing you, his words bringing you back to him. "It's okay bug, I now it's scary but daddy's here. Take a deep breath for me, come on." You're trying to follow along to him, Dean pulling your arm away from him bringing some feeling back into your arm. Your breathing is still scattered, but doesn't burn as bad, Sam's voice coming in clearer as you hear the water coming on. "You feel my hand on your back sweetness?" He makes big circles on your back, applying the slightest amount of pressure. You enjoy it for a moment, trying to take good breaths for your daddy, then nod to him. "You think you can tell me what letter I'm making?" You nod again, "Okay, remember to keep focusing on what I'm writing yeah?" Another nod, and as he starts drawing lines on your back water hits your hand causing you to let out a small cry and jerk your hand away from Dean.

"Hey, baby, you gotta let Dean make sure you're okay," his other hand is enclosing your face, kisses planting on top of your head, trying and succeeding in wrapping you in his love. He continues, "Focus on my hand baby, what letter is daddy drawing?" Dean's hand touching your wrist barely registers as you focus on the letter. You hiss at the water rushing over your hand again, shaking your head at Sam, letting him know you don't know the letter. "Okay, let me do it again," he traces two exaggerated lines on your back, forming a L. "What letter baby?" He is wiping away some stray tears as you choke out, "L."

Sam hums happily, "Such a good, smart girl, it was L!" His voice is soft and soothing, Deans movements on your hand becoming a little more noticeable as you start to breathe better. "Ready for the next one?" You nod keeping your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. He traces a circle on your back, then a line, you shrug not sure, a little too distract by the thump thump thump of his heart. "Circle," he traces a circle, "and a line," he traces the line, repeating the letter once more. Your voice is wavering, not confident in yourself, "a?"

He rubs your back gently, delivering kisses where he can reach, "So smart! Let's see if we can get another, yeah?" You nod, Sam sensing the small amount of eagerness and feeling relieved that you're starting to get back to being his happy little girl. He starts a point at the top of your back, drawing straight down and circling back. I know that one, you thought happily. Your heart skips a beat, excited to show your daddy how smart you are. "That one's d!"

Sam smiles even though you can't see him, knowing that you're gonna be okay. He's been watching Dean, wanting to make sure you were okay. It was a long cut but not deep, spreading across the inside of your fingers. Fingers bleed bad, and look scarier than they are. "Okay, okay, you're too good at this!" A small nuzzle into his chest from you, the praise pleasing your tiny headspace. He traces a v with a tail on your back, causing you to giggle, "I know the word!" He chuckled, "There's more!" He see's your brows furrow in consideration before speaking solemnly, "Okay, papa, write it."

His heart swelled, his perfect baby makes him feel magic running through his veins. He traced, another vertical like and circle, opposite from the d, and you bounced on the counter. "Yes, daddy! I know it!" He glances at Dean, who is putting small gauze and tape over the slices on your fingers, Dean focused on his task, but smiling at you and Sam. Sam speaks softly, but with admiration, "Ya hear that Uncle Dean? My girls got it!" Dean's voice dripping excitement, "Well I don't know what it is! Tell me what it is sweet pea!"

"Issa ladybug right?" Sam quickly litters kisses all over your face and shoulders. Your arm moved around his waist, face burying into him as he makes you blush with his words, "Genius baby! So smart and perfect, did so good!" You're giggling at him, Dean letting go of your hand, "All patched up sweetheart. You wanna come with me and watch some toons while daddy cleans up?" You squeeze to Sam, not wanting to let go, causing his heart to break a little. "Baby, Daddy's got some blood-" you try to raise your head but he stops you, "Little girls are too small to see things like that, right angel?" You blush, nodding, "Yes, daddy."

"Good girl, now I need you to keep your eyes closed while Dean grabs you, real tight 'til he says okay?" You nod, placing tiny kisses on his chest. Dean reaches for you, your eyes close real, real tight. Dean takes Sam's place, moving you to the other side of the sink. Sam's hand didn't come off your back, gliding with Dean. "Good girl," he butterfly kisses your nose consistently, letting you return it with a giggle. "He's gonna clean your hand, and I'm gonna go clean up." He kisses your forehead and you whine when you feel him leave.

Dean is quickly rinsing off the dried blood on your other arm that transferred from your other hand as he shushes you, "I know bug, just a second." After he finishes, he prepares to lift you, speaking softly, "Keep those eyes shut darlin'." When you nod, he lifts you, carrying you out of the kitchen, careful to avoid the plate and blood in the floor. You feel him lean, but keep your eyes closed, clinging to him tightly. He straightens back up and walks you to the tv room, sitting on the couch softly.

"Alright baby," he tapped your shoulder twice with a feather tap, "open up." You lift your head, greeted with Deans wide smile and a lavender beaded pacifier in his hand. You hummed excitedly, bouncing up and whining slightly when he didn't give it to you. He puts it against your lips, your mouth happily taking it in and sucking on it, laying back down on him.

After no more than ten minutes, you're squirming. You want your daddy, not uncle Dean. "Peanut," Dean sighs, "daddy's coming, give him a minute, yeah?" You whine, fussing a bit, Dean stands with you, pushing your head into his neck. He starts pacing the room with you, bouncing you slightly. You're still squirming a little, trying to escape his grasp. "Wan' papa," you whisper, Dean feels a tear slip onto his shoulder and he's shushing you. "He's coming baby, he's gotta get real clean! You don't like when daddy's stinky do you?" You giggle a little, shaking your head, "No stinky papa." Dean coos at you, "That's right little girl, daddy needs to get to smelling good again, doesn't he?" That elicits a heavier laugh from you, tucking yourself back into his neck.

Around ten minutes after that, Sam walks in, holding a pair of rainbow leggings and one of his t-shirts. His hand comes to your back, nodding you out of your sleepy state, and you're instantly reaching for his arms. "Papa," your hands find his shoulders to support yourself while you transfer arms. "I know baby," he's holding you now, but it's short lived when he gently sets you on the couch. You're whining and whimpering, reaching out to him, being careful not to squeeze your sore little fingers. He shakes his head, "No baby, don't you wanna get these uncomfy clothes off of you?" When he says that you realize how tight the clothes you're wearing are, how rough they feel against your skin. You're suddenly squirming, pulling at your clothes messily.

"Oh little girl, arms up now." He's speaking softly but sternly, causing you to stop moving and lift your arms. He picks up your shirt, lifting it up over your face and back down, making silly faces at you repetitively, "Where my baby?" the shirt is covering your face, "There she is!" He moves the shirt out of the way again, only stopping when your giggles die down. He slides his shirt on you, it was a little oversized on him, it swallows you. You're bunching it in your hands, whining when he pulls down your rough blue jeans. He slides the leggings on, the soft, stretchy material making you kick your legs playfully.

Once the leggings are all the way up, Sam grabs your ankles, laughing at you, "Oh! Daddy's got you now little ladybug, what you gonna do?" You giggle at him, a blessed sound to Sam and Dean, twisting your body in unnatural ways to try and escape the mean ankle monster. "Papaaaa," you kick your legs a little seriously, causing Sam to raise his eyebrows, a test telling you that you know better than to hit your daddy. "Pease papa, jus' wan' you hol' me." You reach your arms up and Sam's heart melts.

He tickles up your legs, grazing your sides, causing you to twist and turn again, before he's lifting you by your underarms, putting you around his waist. Dean comes in, you're not sure when he left, but he's got your favorite spaceship sippy cup and your reaching for it. He laughs, handing it to you as Sam sits with you. "I thought we could watch Tink, you wanna watch Tink peanut?" You nod at Dean, he presses a kiss to your cheek and plays the movie, Sam letting you adjust so you can watch the television.

Despite your sore hand, it was going to be a good day with your daddy and uncle Dean. They know when you need extra attention, know when you're gonna be their little baby and they wouldn't change it for the world. They just wish that you wouldn't have regressed this way, forced by a trigger violently. They know you're hurting so they're gonna be by your side all day long.

#dom!sam #dom!Sam Winchester #dom!dean #dom!Dean Winchester #daddy!sam #Daddy!sam Winchester #daddy!sam x reader #daddy!dean #daddy!Dean Winchester #dom!dean x reader #dom!sam x reader #daddy!dean x reader #little!reader #daddy!sam x little!reader #daddy!dean x little!reader #agere fanfiction #agere fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fluff #supernatural fluff #supernatural agere #spn agere

[deancaskiss]

last christmas you gave me your heart

For Day 13 of @drgarth and @starrynightdeancas B&B’s Holiday Advent Calendar Event (this is angsty and includes poetry at the end!)

Christmas Shopping // Christmas List // “"Merry Christmas, " I wrapped it up and sent it, With a note saying "I love you, " I meant it”

For @floral-cas and @mjulmjul Winternatural Celebration, prompt: Snow/Faith and for @acklesology Winter Celebration, prompt: Snow

Also posted on ao3!

The rain slips down the window, sometimes mixed with flakes of snow as it falls from the sky. The Impala is cold; heat long since seeped out into the darkness of the night. But Dean can’t turn the ignition on. Can’t risk hearing the song again. The tears are still clinging to his eyelashes, burning streaks of agony down his cheeks. His heart ripped open and raw. The lyrics claw through his mind again, and another sob tears from his mouth.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. But the very next day, you gave it away.

It hadn’t been Christmas. But the date is seared into his mind forever. November 5th. A year ago. A heart given to him, honest and pure and devastatingly vulnerable. And the hollowness that followed. Words that died on Dean’s lips. A confession he should’ve said. An emotion like a tsunami hurtling out from his chest. A soft smile; a truth that could’ve been more, torn away.

This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.

That was a lie. A filthy life. There was never going to be anyone else. Never going to be anyone more special. Cas was… Cas is… Cas is everything. The air that Dean breathes. The blood his heart pumps. The tears his eyes pour out. The ache is his chest that begs to find his missing half.

How could Dean ever give his heart to someone else?

It had belonged to Cas for so long. Longer than it had any right to be. But God. He fell. Gave his faith to Cas, gave his love, a million times in a million different ways over the years. He’d just never found the way to say the words. But Cas had. Right at the end. He’d said it.

How dare he? How dare Cas say that to him? How fucking dare Cas just go and give his heart to Dean and leave him behind? What the fuck? What did Cas think was going to happen? Did he think Dean was just going to go and live happily-ever-after after that? No. There was no happy ending anymore. If Cas wasn’t by his side, there was nothing.

Actually, there was something.

And Dean hated it.

Despised it.

There was love. Cracked and bleeding, raw and aching.

Why couldn’t Cas take the love Dean felt when he left him behind? Because this was worse. This splitting agonizing love that made Dean want to tear his heart out of his chest. It was too pure. Too much wrapped in the ethereal glow of Cas’ being. It stung like shards, yet it was soft like a cloud.

It ached and it bled, yet it soothed and it comforted. It was the only thing keeping Dean alive, and he loathed it and adored it. His love for Cas never gone, never forgotten. And that was worse. How was Dean supposed to live with this bursting in his chest every second of every day? There was only one cure. Cas’ touch. Cas’ lips on his. Cas’ love melding with his own until it was unified. Until it was whole.

"Merry Christmas," I wrapped it up and sent it, with a note saying "I love you," I meant it.

That was the lyric that had unraveled Dean. Because it was still sitting in his pocket. He carried it with him everywhere he went. Unwrapped the wrinkling page and read the words out loud everywhere he thought of Cas. By the river in a small town in Pennsylvania. Whispered softly in a diner in Nebraska. At the foot of a windmill in a field in Wyoming. And now, in the front seat of the Impala, as snow drifted down around him, near a barn in Illinois.

“Cas. Have you got your ears on? I’m by the barn where we first met,” Dean said, words shattered and falling to pieces in his mouth. Were the words even decipherable right now? Or were his sobs distorting everything he was saying?

“Merry Christmas, Cas.” A whisper. Barely audible.

“I know… giving you the same present I gave you last year. I hope you understand why. But… it means more. Every day. It means more.”

And then, quiet, pained, with hands shaking and breath sticking in his throat, Dean read his poem.

Now I know what a fool I’ve been, but if you kissed me now, I know you’d fool me again.

#b&badventcalendar #winternaturalcelebration #acklesology500 #dailydestieldelights #destiel #angst #poem #destiel poem #destiel poetry #supernatural #becauseofthebowties #userdorksinlove #userbon #alivedean #bend-me-shape-me #bluefirecas #scottstiles #usertabitha #thisisapaige #useranny

[wearywinchester]

Every Time

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When days are off and hunts go wrong, Dean Winchester is always there.

Requested by Anonymous: “Using fabric to try and stop their gash from bleeding so much.”

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, swearing, comfort, fluff, kissing

The hunt didn’t go as planned, they never usually do. Some were good, some were okay, some were absolutely terrible, and it’s always somewhere in the middle. It’s rare for things to go completely smoothly, because the life of a hunter who takes out supernatural monsters isn’t exactly a cake walk. But somehow you manage, somehow you get through each hunt even if sometimes you narrowly escape your fate.

You get through a whole lot better when you’ve got a green eyed hunter who’s got a knack for making things okay again.

Dean Winchester might not be in touch with his emotions, not really, he’s got a whole lot of them swirling around in his mind. He’s got a whole lot that’s pent up and stuck in there. He might not be the best at the concept of healthy expression, but he was absolutely the person you could always fall back on.

He might not have been so good with his own thoughts and feelings, might not have been a comfort to himself. He’d rather push it down further and further and shove it away rather than dealing with a single bit of it. But he’s got a heart of gold and a way of bringing out the better in you when you’re not quite feeling like yourself.

He may be gruff and tough with a string of curses sitting on the tip of his tongue, all to be chased down with a handful of sarcastic comments. He might have one hell of a temper but he’s the sweetest man you’ve ever known.

The hunt was all kinds of chaos, doused entirely in clumsy mistakes that only you could bring to the table with a little help from the younger Winchester. Mistakes that turned into accidents that lead to a werewolf slipping through your fingers quite literally. Mistakes that lead to accidents at your expense, one in particular that had you down for the count for a moment or two as you braced yourself for the initial pain that rushed through you.

Those claws swiped right across your palm as you struggled with him, one good swipe that was unforgiving as ever as it burned. It was blinding at first, the only thing you could think about initially. It took you a minute or two to pull yourself together, to remember just what it is you were doing and that the job wasn’t done yet. That the hunt wasn’t on pause just because you’d gone and got hurt, just because another thing went wrong that day to add to the pile of others.

With a tiny bit of luck, Sam had a handkerchief in his pocket, small, but enough to tie around your hand for the time being until you could figure something else out.

You were on the verge of tears, absolutely you were, frustrated tears having made their appearance on and off throughout the entirety of that hunt because you just wanted it to be over. You wanted to put it behind you as a day that’s not one of your best and go back to the motel room where you couldn’t mess anything else up. You could relax a little, could lighten up and tuck yourself away in bed for a solid few hours of sleep and maybe forget about the embarrassment that was your performance on this hunt.

Somewhere along the line you pulled yourself together, having thought a little bit clearer. You’d split up, you and Sam having gone one route, Dean and Bobby the other. You split up for the sake of saving time and covering more ground and for once, something seemed to work out in your favor. That rogue werewolf was taken care of once and for all and you could call it quits.

Your emotions were so built up, so pent up that you could feel your lip wobbling under the weight of them and you could feel the burn of the tears rimming your eyes. You were easily brought back to the realization that your hand was still very much in pain and that it hadn’t magically healed itself just because you got a little distracted. It hurt like hell.

But things weren’t quite so bad when his voice came into earshot, your pace quickening. Things weren’t nearly as bad as a few moments ago when he came into view as he stood by Baby’s open trunk.

It took all but a few seconds before his gaze fell on you, that ever familiar Winchester smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. That pressure behind your eyes didn’t feel quite so demanding at the sight, didn’t feel quite so persistent when he looked at you the way he does and he’d never believe it if he knew he’d made things that much better for you.

He pushed himself off where he leaned against the Impala, pulling his hands out of his pockets.

“There’s my sweetheart,” he says, walking towards you. “Heard you kicked ass back there.”

You roll your eyes at his words, cracking your first smile since that morning. “You’re pushing it, Winchester.”

He chuckles, swiping his tongue across his lips. “Don’t sell yourself so short, sweetheart.”

But it’s not until then that his gaze darts down to your hand, the one you’ve been trying not to make so terribly obvious from the green eyed hunter because you know how this would go. You knew exactly how it’d go because it’s the same every single time you get hurt no matter how big or small it may have been. He’ll always be the same protective Dean he’s always been and that’s something that will never change.

So his gaze flickers to it, immediate and quick as you watch it narrow and you see the corner of his mouth tug downwards a subtle fraction. You can see those dimples appear by the corners of his mouth all telling of his displeasure and that’s something you knew for certain.

He grabs your wrist gently and raises your hand up to where he can get a better look at it, his hum not so happy. He eyes the blood stain handkerchief that’s far past doing it’s job anymore as it remains tied around your hand. It’s not as tight as it initially was and certainly not as dry or clean, and it’s lost its mojo.

He’s careful as ever as he unties the knot, unraveling the wrinkled fabric to reveal a nasty cut across your palm that didn’t quite look as good as you hoped.

“Son of a bitch, sweetheart,” he says, soft and frustrated but it’s not aimed at you, his lips pursing a little more at the sight.

He released your hand in favor of patting around in his pockets and over the ones on his jeans, turning on his heel and digging around in the trunk. He came up with one of his knives, mumbling a small aha when he’d found what he was looking for. You watch without a word, unsure of what it was he’d been trying to do until you saw him tug at the bottom of his flannel behind the hem of his jacket, piercing through it with his blade to make a hole before tossing the knife back where he found it.

“Dean—” you say, watching as he rips a strip off of the plaid fabric with a good tug. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You bet I did,” he says, that anger simmering in the pit of his stomach at the fact that another monster put its hands on your with the intention to do some damage. It happens every hunt, every single one but it doesn’t make him any less angry about it.

You don’t say anything more as he wraps the torn flannel around your palm, a fresher and cleaner makeshift bandage for now just to get a handle on the bleeding it’s got left. You hear his quiet apology when he ties it tight, tighter than he wishes he had to make it because he hates that wince you did, hates seeing that quiver in your lip because he wants you to be happy more than anything.

He knows it’s not just from the immediate pain in the current moment, he knows that. He knows that it’s a build up from a less than ideal day filled with mishap after mishap. He doesn’t need you to tell him anything for him to pick up on it because he knows you far better than you know yourself sometimes.

You don’t say very much on the way back to the motel, and Dean’s had that classic rock station on, belting out a few Zeppelin lyrics here and there. He’s still got that sorry in the back of his mind, still glances down at your hand you’ve been cradling close just to see if it’s still okay. But he wants to keep that Dean Winchester charm and humor alive right now just for the sake of keeping that lip of yours from wobbling. To keep that build up of emotions from getting any heavier.

You felt a little pang of relief at the sight of that motel, at finally walking through that door after the day you’ve had. It wasn’t the nicest motel room, but it wasn’t the worst. It’s got a comfortable bed that doesn’t feel like you’re laying on a collection of knives and rocks, and it’s got air conditioning. That and it’s got a Dean Winchester to share it with and that’s all you really needed.

He tossed his and your duffel bags on the spare bed, heaving a sigh as he shrugged off his jacket. In doing so, you could see the patch of flannel missing from the hem of it as his t-shirt pokes out from underneath, the sight bringing a smile and a burst of guilt that he’d gone and ripped his favorite flannel just for you.

You made your attempts at shrugging off your jacket without jostling your hand around too much, an effort that took more time than it should have and a whole lot of discontent from Dean once he saw your stubborn independence shine through.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you fixed up,” he says, snagging the first aid kit from his bag.

He always brought his own, always, there wasn’t a single hunt you’d be on where he didn’t bring it along. It’s always fully stocked to the nines in everything you could possibly need. Whether it be shears, suture material, gauze, antiseptic, ointments, bandages and a whole lot of needles for stitches. But that doesn’t even scratch the surface of what he’s got.

He can’t rely on motel rooms to be equipped with a kit, let alone a good one that’s not nearly empty and loaded with only bandaids and a few alcohol wipes. It just didn’t cut it and he always wanted to be prepared.

He flipped on the bathroom light, fluorescent and bright, just a little too bright as you squinted against the adjustment at first. He’d patch you up in the main room but a couple of lamps with dim, warm lighting just wouldn’t do the trick.

You hopped up on the counter with the help of your good hand, nearly forgetting and using the other too. He grabbed everything he needed with a practiced ease because he knew where each and everything was in that kit, pushing it to the side to give himself more space.

His attention is soon directed back to your hand as he takes it in his as gently as before, fumbling with the knot he tied before unraveling the patch of flannel once more, the flannel of his that he’d discarded in the other room. The look on his face was less than thrilled as he turned your hand to see it all, gaze squinted as his thumb brushed across the outer edges of it.

“What a jerk,” he mumbles, his distaste in his voice. “I mean seriously, I could go back and kick his ass a second time.”

You laughed softly then, puffing out through your nose as he grabbed some antiseptic and a clean towel, pouring some along your palm. You’re not too thrilled about the burning and bubbling it’s causing, sharp and unforgiving and he knows that it hurts, he knows that as he murmurs a soft apology with a press of his lips against your cheek.

He may be gruff, but that didn’t stop him from having a soft heart, a kind one beneath those walls he’s got up.

He’s tender as ever as he cleans it up gingerly, revealing a cut that’s not quite as bad as you imagined now that it’s not so daunting with smears of crimson cleaned from it. It wasn’t quite so bad but it still needed some stitches.

You absolutely hated them and he knew that, that was one of the endless things he knew about you and he wishes he didn’t have to do it. You hated them more than anything and he knows it, he knows it all and it doesn’t do much to stave to anger directed towards that hotshot werewolf that’d run around and took swings at his sweetheart with those stupid claws of his.

He was pissed, because who did he think he was messing with you?

You’ve got your distractions, though, ones that are easy to fall into and ones that you find yourself giving into more often than not. They get you into trouble with all the gazing, get you into a bout of lighthearted teasing from the older Winchester but even with that being said, you still can’t bring yourself to stop.

You were distracted with the way he held your hand, tender as it’s cradled in his palm, calloused and warm. You’re distracted with it initially just as you’re drawn to the sharp poke of the first stitch, a hitch in your breath having his gaze flicker up to scan over your face and check for glossy eyes and a wobbly lip. He’s not happy when he sees that quiver ‘cause he knows he’s the cause, his gaze lingering for a moment or two before he continues on because he wants to get this done as quickly as he can for your sake.

But you quickly find it in yourself to push through and distract yourself once more. Your gaze lands on that handsome face he’s got, the one you’ll never tire of seeing and you know that for a fact. You look at that little scar on his forehead from when he’d fallen off his bike at Bobby’s all those years ago. You look at the crease between his brows that’s only gotten deeper since he first noticed your hand. To accompany it, you see the purse of his lips, those dimples ever present and discontent, and you see the tension in his jaw in a show of both concentration and frustration.

But that’s not even the best part, not even the part you fall into most easily.

The part that’s so very distracting are the freckles smattered across his skin, all different shapes and sizes speckling across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Ones that dot across his eyelids and into his lashes, framing green eyes before stretching up into his brows. They get more and more sparse as they move outward, one or two on his top lip, a few making their way on his ears just faintly. He’s got a whole bunch more on his chest and his shoulders, some on his arms and on his hands.

Some are darker than others, some are lighter. A lot are ones that can go unseen unless you’re in close proximity to him which you most often are. They’re especially easy to see under this kind of lighting, making it all the more easy to see each and every one and get distracted.

You’ve come to memorize each one, having tried your hardest to count them all in the early hours of the morning when the sun dances across his skin. You gave it your all, your utmost attention in the task, but it’s a task that proves to be too challenging because you always lose track. You always do and you always try again but it becomes next to impossible in your groggy state and you always end up falling back asleep in his arms if he doesn’t feel your gaze.

He does, he always does, and sometimes he teases you for it and sometimes he doesn’t.

You gaze and gaze as you look over each one, too caught up to focus entirely on the pain in your palm. It’s far too distracting to care too much about that, it’ll certainly hurt later so why not save it for then. Your eyes flicker over each one in a game of connect the dots despite there being no real end result other than the softness of your smile.

But he feels it now, ‘course he feels it.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doin’, sweetheart,” he says, eyes on your hand.

“Doing what?”

“That thing you always do,” he says, tying off his last stitch, lifting his gaze to you and catching the corner of your mouth quirking up. “The one where you count my freckles.”

“I do not,” you say, hearing his chuckle as he tosses his trash in the garbage can under the sink.

He nods, squinting at you as he bites back his amused smile with minimal effort as his smirk shines through. “You definitely do, I can feel you starin’ every morning.”

You roll your eyes then, head shaking as you heave a heavy huff. You feel the bit of heat in your cheeks but it’s nothing you can’t handle, not when you’ve got that smile of his to take your mind off of it.

“Never again, Winchester,” you say.

His hand presses flat to the counter just right if your thigh, his smile still amused. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it, you know.”

His smile softens from a smirk to a sweeter grin as he thumb brushes along your cheek, as your arms rest on his shoulders and around his neck. It’s only a matter of moments before his forehead rests against yours, before his lips brush against yours. His kiss is soft, sweeter than ever as he tugs you closer to the edge of the counter, closer into his embrace as he kisses you.

It was only a matter of time before you forgot things, forgot the tenderness of your palm as you ran your hand over his shoulder and felt that jolt of pain radiating up your arm. He notices your gasp, he can feel the way you tensed up. His eyes fall closed as his forehead rests against yours a moment longer, trying not to get riled up over the thought of you being hurt. Especially not when he pulls back to look at you and sees the way your eyes start to gloss over briefly, and the way you bite the inside of your cheek the way you do when you’re trying to reign in your emotions.

He knows it must hurt, it’s one hell of a cut and you’re one hell of a tough cookie.

He presses a kiss to your cheek— once, twice, three more times. And it’s then that he feels you tighten your arms around him in an embrace you so desperately needed, a Winchester hug that’s so very Dean. One that’s always the cure to a bad day as he holds you tighter than tight for as long as you need as you nestle against him. It was tight and unwavering and the smell of the lingering cologne on his neck from playing detective earlier in his fancy suit. It was everything you needed to piece yourself back together again.

He was solid, he was tender, he was warm. You felt every ounce of love, every ounce of caring in his nature and you knew he’d do it all again in a heartbeat because that’s just how he is. He’d ripped and ruined his favorite flannel just for your sake, after all. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He was selfless and loving even if he was too afraid to say those three words out loud. You didn’t need him to.

Dean Winchester had a way of doing it, a way of bringing out a smile on a bad day, of making things better every time.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @deanswaywardgirl @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @happyt0exist @malindacath @lyarr24 @awkward-and-indecisive @ajreturnstocringeyaccount

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester angst #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester imagine