#he can tell that Dean is off the fuckin deep end

[annmariethrush]

Sam needs sensitivity training or an anti work place harassment seminar. Offering to take your brother to a strip club as comfort after the death of his boyfriend is bad form and a micro aggression, possibly a hate crime

#sam Winchester the oblivious brother #Sam is such a good ally except for with Dean #he’s the kind of guy to only realize 12 years into a civil partnership that Dean might not like women #he can tell that Dean is off the fuckin deep end #but can’t put together that there might be a reason for that #something perhaps #lgbtq #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #destiel #castiel #deancas #casdean #widower arc #sam winchester

[impala-dreamer]

Wicked Desire

A Supernatural Story

~There's never any promise in a one-night-stand, never any certainty when you catch a stranger's eye. It's dangerous, but there was never any question when Dean asked you to join him for a drink...~

Demon!Dean x Reader

1173 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Facial Fucking and Blow Jobs and Oh my. 

A/N: This was a TMA ask that I just rolled with...

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

There’s too much tequila in your system and your body is tingling, limp and pliant. There’s absolutely no resistance when he shoves two thick fingers between your lips, no hesitation when he utters a command.

“Suck.”

Your tongue undulates against the pads of his fore and middle fingers and your mouth floods with saliva. You moan as he juts his fingers deeper inside. He wants to hear it, feel your throat contract around his digits, feel your lips block him from crawling fully inside.

“So fuckin’ sexy, sweetheart,” he coos, but there’s no love behind his words. There’s no praise either. It’s almost as if he’s telling himself and not you. You could be anyone, anything; just a bunch of well lubricated holes and he wouldn’t care.

Your eyes flutter closed when he pushes in deeper and your body protests as he skirts the very back of your throat. A lurching gag jerks you forward but he goes nowhere, enjoying the tears that leek out around your lashes.

“Knew I picked a good one.”

His laugh is cold and deep and somehow makes you melt a little more. You can feel yourself dripping, the heat pooling between your thighs, soaking into the thin black panties you’re wearing. Your knees are dug deep into the cheap roadhouse carpet and your thighs are burning from the pose, but he doesn’t seem to want to move, to change it up. He just wants to test your reflexes, your desire.

You look up and he’s grinning down at you, a devilish smirk that makes your heart race. He’s pure danger and absolute sex. There’s something so raw and hungry lurking beneath that beautiful freckled face and you want to know it, to feel it.

It also terrifies you.

There was too much confidence in the way he came at you in the bar, so sure he had you without even saying a word. Without warning, he’d sauntered up next to you, slapped a fifty down on the bar and flashed a smile that nearly knocked you off your feet.

The look of him, the heat pulsing off of his hand as it slid onto your thigh, the smell of him- musky and smoky with a hint of cinnamon- it was intoxicating. He had you hooked before he’d said a word.

“I’m Dean…”

You were lost in his eyes, addicted to the smooth tone of his voice. There was nothing he could ask for that you’d deny, nothing he could attempt that you’d pull away from.

When his fingers slide from your lips, you let out such a pathetic moan that it shocks you. You rock forward on your knees, mouth hung open and drooling, reaching for him again.

“Please…”

He looks down, shadowed chin dipping close to your face. He grabs your cheeks in one big hand, squeezing the hollows inward.

“How fuckin’ lucky am I? Picked up such a willing little slut and all it cost me was a few rounds.” His tongue juts out, thick and pink, and he licks at your puckered lips, teasing, tasting. “Awesome.”

He grins again and you swear his eyes change colors. The green vanishes and black appears, soaking through everything like an acid rain. Your body recoils, your breath catches hard, but he’s got you, his fingers tightening, blunt nails digging into your cheeks.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says, laughter on the end of each word. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He licks his lips slowly and the green returns. “Not unless you ask, of course.”

His wink is insane and stunning and you nearly fall over when he releases his hold. He catches you with a strong hand at the base of your skull, pulling you back to center. He holds you there, fingers splayed across the back of your head as his free hand takes care of his zipper.

His jeans slink down, stopped by the top of his boots and he tugs his boxers from his hips. His cock is long but only half hard and he presents it with a slow thrust forward.

Your gaze settles in the cut of his thighs, those deep v lines that bring you right to his gorgeous cock. Hungry, you flash your eyes upward and pucker your already puffy lips.

“You don’t gotta wait for an invitation,” he jokes. “Have at it…”

He’s thick and deliciously warm. Salty tang floods your mouth as you take him in, lapping at his length with the tip of your tongue. You seal your lips tight around him and he moans, the sound is so beautiful, so deadly and erotic that all you can think about is doing it again.

Deeper and deeper you go until your nose is against him, until your breath is weak and your lips aching.

Dean keeps his fingers locked in your hair, guiding your rhythm, forcing you to keep going when your throat nearly closes. His moans are like a magic spell weaving through your head and blocking everything else out.

“Just like that… Fuck!”

You grab at his hips, holding yourself to him as he takes over, thrusting when he can’t hold back anymore. His cock throbs on your tongue and his pleasure seems to wash through you. Your nipples tighten, your clit pulses.

So wicked, you think, that he’s turned your mouth into a sloppy cunt just like that. It was so easy… all it took was a few shots and a brilliant smile.

Dean picks up his pace, jerking his hips almost painfully into your face. You hold your breath and suck hard, knowing he’s close but praying he lasts. Your pussy is throbbing so hard that it hurts, the wetness leaking down your thighs. You need him to pull away, grab you up and slam you into the wall, fuck you until there’s no more you. You need him to break you, to make you cum so hard you can’t remember your name, your own face, your sense of self.

Your lungs are burning when he cums and you suck in a shaky breath as he coats your tongue. Too surprised to think, a bit squeaks out of the corner of your mouth and you slurp it back in, swallowing him down with a moan.

Hand still locked on the back of your head, Dean thrusts in deep once more and holds you there, loving the feel of your throat constricting around him. He softens slowly and groans out a lazy sigh.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart…”

He backs away and you teeter on your knees, falling forward onto the ugly carpet.

“You got some skill, I’ll give you that.”

He buttons up before you can reach him, crawling like a bitch in heat on your hands and knees. You wait at his feet, still aching and horny.

“But--”

He looks down and sucks his teeth, huffs out a curt laugh. “I’ll getcha next time.”

He’s gone before you can scramble to your feet, leaving you with nothing but a wink and an empty promise.

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @djs8891 @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05  

#demon dean #dean x reader #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #demon!dean #one shot

[incarnateirony]

I genuinely don't understand how or why Jensen supposedly involved Misha in The Winchesters from the start but didn't even tell Jared that something was happening. And I can only imagine how pissed Jared would be at Misha too for not only being involved but not saying anything either. Why would Jensen do that with Misha and not Jared. It makes no sense.

Because it was none of Jared's fucking business. Jared just production burned himself to half the media world with that pissant stunt whether fans realize it or not. It's how to get soft blacklisted.

TV doesn't work on The Power Of Friendship. The story isn't about Jared. And while fans are going WELL ITS NOT ABOUT CAS EITHER lmfao yes it is just fuckin wait. In a different way, from a different focus, but it absolutely fucking is about Cas too, finalizing Cas' story, tying off the bits that got dropped, and most of all highlighting Dean's new profound realization of what Cas is to him (hence chuckling about the Who We Are release. There's a reason the i hate and love you popped up, the underscoring of The Truth, all of it. Like just skim that script and watch your brain explode to get how deep Berens' work is stamped into The Winchesters, regardless of what any credits show.)

That said. Jared just. Didn't have to know any more than Ruthie had to know or any other person that would have some meaningful future cameo or two would know. The critical people involved in it matter.

You want to know fuckin WHY Misha knew first? Because it's a goddamn gift to him, as much as a fix for jensen and dean, and as much as it is for the fans. Misha was in a terrible fucking place in life. He recently opened up that he went suicidal during that period. He was ending a like 20 year marriage, selling his house because of Washington state rules, worrying about his kids, then got cut out of the show and basically erased in an act of malice.

Regardless of what antis say, they're good friends. Even though Jensen didn't have the shape of his product in December, he had already been talking to Misha like, bro. We'll fix it. Okay? You matter man. You matter to me and you matter to Dean and you matter to this whole world of fans. I don't know how, but we're gonna fix it. And then he locked in his first wave of motions and deals, texted Misha, and Misha I mean... Misha got hope back.

That's. Fucking. Why. It's none of Jared's business and was literally built partially for Misha. Jensen already wanted a Dean fix, but he knew that involved Misha. Hell, ever since Dean curled on the floor and sobbed and Jensen had his "new take on it in the next shot", Jensen knew there was no dividing Cas from Dean to fix their resolutions, even beyond how deeply it impacted a dear friend in a troubled chapter of his life.

That's fuckin why.

[timedontgiveashit]

Part 2 and 3 of the dead weather live masterpost! 🖤🖤🖤

The Dead Weather video masterpost part 2 (the deep cuts and other fun stuff mostly in bad quality) 1. The Dead Weather - Hustle and Cuss / New Pony - Don Hills - 8/4/2010 The whole Don Hills show is insane, here's a playlist from it watch every video, this is one of their best shows even if it's unhinged af. You can expect some best of Alison moments. She gets me every time when she ends a song laying on the stage. Bonus: Jack gets pissed and starts yelling at the crowd. I love that LJ just casually keeps playing and Dean tries to not laugh.

2. The Dead Weather - Treat Me Like Your Mother - Celebrate Brooklyn 08/03/2010 If I know it well it was their last show in the 2010 tour circle, one of their best next to the Don Hills one, search for every video from this show, this was the last song of the set. The energy is insane, "Stand up like a fuckin' man" is gold and the audience reacts properly. Also if you want to see Dean spit his guitar pick far while wilding on the keyboard this is your video. Bonus: he gives a hug to Alison in the end which is sweet.

3. The Dead Weather - Rolling In On A Burning Tire (live in Berlin) This is a rare treat, they've had this song as a soundtrack for Twilight, I don't think they played it live any other times. 4. The Dead Weather - Bone House (Live At First Ave) It’s rare again from 2010, Bone house just unexpectedly turned into Mile markers at 3:22. It's cool because 30 seconds of Mile markers was the hidden track on the Sea of Cowards album, later they finished the song and it landed on the Dodge and burn album. This is the only live version from it if we don't count the Dodge and burn promo video series.

5. Dead Weather, No Hassle Night/I just want to make love to you This is one of the hottest shit they've ever done on stage, Will there be enough water is one thing, but you know it hits differently when Jack straight up screams he just wants to make love to you. 6. The Dead Weather - Will there be enough water? - Brixton Academy, London - 29th October 2009 I don't think I have to explain the chemistry and Jack's mic drop + bonus from the end of the same show: Jack drags Alison off stage

7. This is an I can't hear you compilation: -Jack pushes Alison offstage -Dean forgets his part, and Jack gets a "guitar bj" lol -They are not kissing -Alison grabs Jack by the hair - I can't tell where her hand goes at some point, but Jack jumps down from the stage that's sure -One of the first live versions of this song -Early version again, Alison is climbing up to places 8. Will there be enough water compilation: -Jack is drunk -Jack tickles Alison lol -They are just cute in the end -The way she puts the mic in front of him -Best version on guitar with the slide ring -Let's sing into each other's mouth even if the mic is not in front of us -Not the usual video angle, if you ask me that's Jack's way to ask for a hug 9. You just can't win compilation - Jack is drunk again but it's funny -Jack is drunk and starts dancing -Jack is not drunk but "dances" with Alison 10. The Dead Weather - A Child of a Few Hours - Vic Theatre Chicago July 29 Just the usual Jack+Alison thing again This is not all, but I'm gonna stop here right now for the part 2, the list is endless, I hope you find some in these you haven't seen yet.

[blessyourhondahurley]

Gender Roles? Sushi Rolls!

Date Night collides with Daddy Issues.

Suptober prompt: Fish Flufftober prompt: All the Hugs Fictober prompt: "Is this safe?" Inktober prompt: Fairy

(Read on AO3)

He can't help it. The words push their way past his lips again. “For real, though. Is this safe? Cas, are you sure this is safe? We're not gonna get brain-eating worms or something from this?” In the seat next to him, Cas only sighs. With a single gust of air he eloquently expresses both infinite patience and bone-deep irritation. Dean raises his hands in apology.

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry, I'll be quiet.” He clamps his mouth shut but his body language still speaks and Cas hears it, as usual. His face falls.

“Dean, do you want to leave? We can leave,” he offers.

Dean shakes his head. “No, Cas, I–” he protests, but his husband cuts him off.

“I'm sorry I suggested this. You said it was my turn to pick, anything I wanted to do, but I see now that I should have picked something else. Let's just go.” He starts to stand. Dean grabs his wrist.

“No, stop. It's fine. Sit down. I'm sorry. We're doing this. You want raw fish for dinner, we're getting raw fish for dinner. It's fine.” Cas settles back into his seat while Dean fiddles with the menu in front of him and tries once again to sort through the unfamiliar choices listed there.

“See anything you want to try?” Cas prompts.

Dean shakes his head. “Dunno what any of it is,” he admits with a grimace.

“May I order for both of us?”

He nods glumly in reply, eyes cast down. Suddenly, absurdly, he realizes he's going to cry. He has no idea why he feels that way, which sucks. But then a moment later he understands exactly where these tears are coming from, which actually sucks even worse. He sniffs.

“Love, what's wrong?” his husband asks, his voice soft.

“S'just... If Dad was here, he'd be so pissed at me.” Another sniff, and the tears are falling now. He swipes at his face with the back of his hand and continues, “Sittin' here in a sushi bar with my husband? He'd call me a fuckin' fairy and drag my ass outta here. Probably beat me black 'n' blue in the parking lot.”

Beside him, Cas growls, and Dean can hear his teeth grinding when he clenches his jaw. “Dean...” he begins. He picks up a pair of chopsticks off the counter and snaps them in half, lengthwise. Then he bundles the halves together and snaps them all neatly in half again. He clenches the pieces in his fists, then releases them and folds his hands together. “Your father was an asshole.” he states primly.

Dean is shocked into laughter. The awful sick pressure that had been building in up in his chest pops like a soap bubble. “Jesus, Cas, tell me what you really think,” he challenges, feeling almost playful in the wake of that tension.

“This is neither the time nor the place for me to give you my full opinion of John Winchester,” Cas assures him. “Suffice it to say, I acknowledge the struggles which shaped him, but I do not absolve him for his choices. He loved you and your brother very much, but the twisted, destructive ways he expressed that love? I cannot forgive him for any of it. You and Sam deserved all the nurturing care, all the hugs and kindness and support, that a parent could give. But your father chose instead to use you both as a dumping ground for his pain and self-loathing. He was an asshole, and he's dead, and you need to stop letting him express his shitty, uninformed, toxic opinions about your lifestyle choices from beyond the grave.”

Cas punctuates the end of this speech with a beckoning gesture to the waiter. They converse in fluid Japanese for a couple of minutes while Dean sits numbly on his stool, mouth agape, just processing.

After the server departs, Cas turns to him with an inquiring look. “Do you disagree?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Not in the slightest,” Dean admits. “I'm evicting John Winchester from my head.” He pantomimes grabbing something at his temple and throwing it to the ground. He has to admit, the action really does leave him feeling lighter.

His husband nods approvingly. “I'm glad to know it's just the two of us on this date for once.” The waiter returns with a squat ceramic bottle and two small cups. Cas pours each about half full, hands one to Dean, and holds the other up. “To us,” he offers.

Dean returns the toast, knocking their cups together gently. “To us.”

#suptober22 #flufftober2022 #fictober22 #destiel #supernatural #day 24

[nowitswetme]

Body Parts that drive Dean crazy

Word Count: ~700

Warnings: kissing, the tiniest bit of objectification, mostly pure fluff

A/n: part of the Dean Winchester NSFW Alphabet  (most of which promises to be a bit less sweet and a lot more naughty than this particular little piece)

Listen, Dean loves your whole body. Every last inch.

Hell yes, I do. Ain’t a curve on you that I don’t go crazy for, Sweetness. You drive me absolutely fuckin’ nuts, and you know it.

You’re not always in love with your body, but Dean always makes sure you know that he is. Whether you’re all glammed up and dressed to turn heads on a night out or lounging around in sweats and a woke-up-like-this mess of a vibe, he’s addicted to you. It’s torture anytime I have to keep my hands off of you, y/n. Or my mouth for that matter. Or my anything.

But weirdly, he’s kinda obsessed with your hair. It’s gorgeous and soft and it smells like heaven and it distracts him. Like, routinely. He’s always having to pull himself from thoughts of wrapping his hands in it and ravishing you with kisses until your knees give out and your pussy’s throbbing. It’s a little annoying, ya know. Hair really shouldn’t make me hard. You’re too damn beautiful. But he wouldn’t change it. He loves how turned on he gets by every little thing about you. And on the sweeter side, he didn’t expect waking-up-to-your-hair-in-his-face to be something he’d love so much. It reminds him that you’re next to him before he even opens his eyes, and it’s an even better morning pick-me-up than coffee. And your nose crinkles up SO cute when you’re amused with something. It’s adorable. He can’t help but smile when you look so damn gorgeous without even trying.

And your feet. How you manage to keep them looking so pretty and polished when they’re constantly in boots and chasing after monsters is completely beyond him. I’m kinda glad you do though – givin’ you foot rubs is my favorite way to start your, uh…  full-body massages. ‘bout time for one too – lean back and let me make you feel reeeaal good, y/n. There ya go.

And your lips are insanely enticing. Oooo yeah. Definitely your lips. Can’t get enough of those. They’re even more distracting than your hair. You have a tendency to bite on them when you’re deep in thought, and it’s the most tempting thing Dean’s ever experienced. He’d do better to look away so he can actually focus on what he’s supposed to be doing, but he just can’t tear his eyes away from your mouth. Fuck, he wants to have them all over him.   And don’t forget your ass. It’s fantastic, y/n. Walking in to see you bent over takin’ a pie out of the oven was for sure the day I knew I was in love. He says it like he’s joking, but there’s a soft sincerity in his gorgeous green eyes that tells you he means it. He walked in to see your rear end in the air and your hands grabbing his very favorite food that you’d made just for him and he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with that view. Actually, yeah, all of it. It’s all fucking amazing. And it’s time you accepted it, Sweetness.

As far as his body goes, he never really thought that much about it. It’s always been strong and solid and pretty damn attractive and he figures that’s about all he can ask from it. He blushes and brushes you off when you start talking about the parts you love about him, but in reality it makes his heart feel like it’s gonna burst from the warmth of your love and he can’t believe he gets to be with someone who’s so precious. He’s learned to love his freckles and his green eyes and his quick hands and his bow legs and his strong shoulders and his countless other unique details, simply for the fact that you love them so much. It’s just one example of how he’s learning to see himself differently through your eyes, and it scares him a little but mostly he’s just thrilled to finally feel whole for the first time in his life.

Alright, alright. That’s enough about that. Go back to the top and read about you again. I’ll tell you how fuckin’ hot you are as many times as you wanna hear it, y/n – cause it’s all I think about. All the time.

#dean winchester abcs #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #nsfwabcs #supernatural #winniewrites

[jockpoetry]

Dean’s Canon Divergent 42nd Birthday. 

(on ao3)

The bunker was still, Sam and Eileen were...somewhere, and currently they didn’t have any visitors. No guests, no wayward hunters, or any friends stopping by to catch their breath. Not even family. It was, for once, just Dean, his broken leg, and a case of beer that was mostly empties now. 

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me,” the words weren’t slurred, even though he felt the weight and warmth of alcohol resting heavy on his tongue. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d acknowledged his own birthday, but in the solitude of the bunker it felt right to at least say the words aloud.

The hovered above him as he contemplated beer four - five, maybe - and wondered if it was time to hit the harder stuff. An uncomfortable lump had begun to form somewhere above his heart. He pushed out of the chair, half-drunk off the now warm beers Dean heaved himself upward and swayed on his feet for a beat. The main room of the bunk swum before his eyes before he shut them, steadying himself.

He felt stale, sore, and exhausted. Which meant that it was definitely time to switch to something harder. The path to his room was familiar and before he knew it tired hands pulled drawers open until the glass of an unfinished bottle of bourbon he’d opened the other night was welcome against his palm. 

Not bothering to find a glass he took the bottle to his bed, the cap flicked off to the side with a quiet clatter. The cool of the liquor was crystalline after a haze of lukewarm beers. One hand holding the bottle steady he adjusted his pillow behind him and settled down, eyes staring unseeingly straight ahead.

This was kind of pathetic, even for him, wasn’t it? Getting drunk, alone, on your birthday. Another small pull of the bourbon quieted those thoughts, even if it didn’t fully dull the ache of too many questions he never let himself ponder. The bunker was too quiet, though, and Dean wasn’t sure even if he put music on and cranked it as loud as it could go it would drum out the thunder in his head.

How old was he? 

Did he count the years in hell, or not? Does he count the one in purgatory? How about the hundred days he lived and died - were those a part of this life? He ran his free, rough hewn, hand - was this even his original hand - over his face. His breath in soft tatters. Birthdays in the past had been busy, world’s were ending, people were dying, but now here he was. Still. Everything was...okay. It was, there was no crisis at hand. Just busywork, clean up jobs, every day tasks that called people away.

Hell he wasn’t even sure if Sam and Eileen were even on a hunt, maybe they’d just taken a weekend away to breathe. It had to be nice, having someone to breathe with. Having a life with someone.

All Dean had was a life unworthy of any fanfare. Unworthy of a text from Jack or Sam or....

The lump was back this time decidedly higher, threatened to cut off his air and made the backs of his eyes burn.

More bourbon, definitely...definitely more bourbon.

But even the bright burn of warming liquor didn’t stop the way the room was beginning to melt. Or the warm trails that had begun to fall down his face. Was it even his face? He’d only been born to be a fucking meatsuit for an angel. Fucking angels, fucking destiny and fate and - 

The sob that ripped out of him breaks the silence, and for a long time there is only unsteady, heaving, gasping breaths. They fill up the room, and go on for long enough that the bourbon is on his bedside table and both hands are holding his face. It is his, no matter who’s inhabited it, how many times it has died, this is his. He is his. 

He only belongs to himself.

He’s always belonged to himself, an island of one. Everyone always leaves, Sam included. Hell Sam’s got a life of his own, and is happy. He’s got the hunter network running as nicely as Baby’s engine. And Dean? 

Dean’s got a splotchy face long after his tears slow to a stop. He’s in the midst of taking a shuddering, wet breath, when off in the distance there’s the sound of a door shutting. 

Every muscle in his body tenses, his hand half reached under his pillow for the gun stashed there, before he can rationalize to his foggy brain it’s just some hunter, probably. He listens, ears straining, as distantly familiar footsteps draw nearer. The tears have dried on his face, the skin stiff and uncomfortable, but he barely dares to breathe let alone move.

A shadow pauses before his door, as it stealing itself, before the sound of a doorknob and 

“Oh,” Cas’ face slowly comes into focus. 

Cas’ face...Dean stands too quickly and mostly falls off of his bed. He catches himself with one arm, staring wide-eyed as Cas comes closer. As Cas’ warm, familiar, hands rest on his shoulder. As Cas’ impossibly blue eyes look over his face with concern. “Dean,” and that’s definitely Cas’ voice. Deep and rough like tires over gravel and Dean can feel the threat of tears returning as he shakes his head.

Because it can’t be Cas. 

“You’re dead,” the words take far too much effort to form. The not-Cas-Cas’ face crumples, softens, looks at him in that makes the tears come out harder. “Christ I need to stop drinking,” he pulls shaking hands to press into his eyes, willing whatever drunken vision away. But the warm weight of a second hand comes to cup his face, and the sound of fabric crinkling and knees resting on concrete are enough to tell him the not-Cas-Cas isn’t going away anywhere soon.

The soft motion of a thumb across his cheek is enough to ease some of the tension away, and maybe he can just pretend. No one else is around, he can be allowed this? A drunken dream, too good to be true, and lets his head rest heavier on the palm there. His hands falling from his eyes to rest between his legs. 

“You could’ve had me,” the words are so quiet, “I wish you would’ve.” How many times has he admitted these words in his dreams? In prayers that went unanswered? “Too fucking chicken shit to ever do anything, too afraid I’d fuck it up,” the words spill out of him faster and faster. “One good thing, the one good thing this life gave to me was you, but I know me, I fuck everything up. I don’t know how to keep people, only how to push ‘em away and I couldn’t....”

Couldn’t lose Cas like that, in a permanent way, but he did anyways. In the end silence wasn’t salvation, it was just as damning as any words could’ve been. 

“Dean,” and that’s enough to draw his eyes back open. And there’s Cas, as he should be, weary, wary, with that softest trace of hope. “I-I knew,” but the words halt and he can see the way the muscles in this vision of Cas clench. The way blue eyes shift around for a moment, searching for the right words to say. In his dream Cas would surge forward and cover him in kisses. Sloppy and sappy and feeling like everything he’d wanted.

This Cas seems uncertain, “I could feel the way you felt, but you’re so-so complex. I didn’t wish to assume, didn’t want to...hope.” Each words feels like it’s been pulled, painfully, from some deep place. “Dean, please,” and the hand on his cheek tilting his face upwards. “Look at me,” blue eyes pleading as much as the words.

Taking in a steadying breath Dean does, and all he sees is Cas. The open longing and desperation on his face. “Jack,” the words drift over Dean like warm waves, “brought me back from the empty. I wasn’t right, but your prayers...they helped. Jack, Mary, Charlie even they helped me. I would have come back sooner, but -”

Whatever further words Cas might’ve said were muffled as Dean surged forward, arms wrapping around the familiar expanse of the angels back. Hands soothed down his back, a face pressing into his hair, and surely there are words being spoken but Dean can’t hear them. All he can hear is the thud of two pulses, their bodies melded together as close as they can be. A warmth, completely unrelated to the alcohol, surges through his body. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Cas’ voice finally breaks through, “I used my grace to sober you. I wanted you to see this wasn’t,” but again words are interrupted. This time by a suddenly, blisteringly, sober Dean leaning and pressing his lips against Cas’ stupid, eternally, chapped ones.

The sag of relief brings Cas somehow closer to him, and they sit there, Cas knelt between Dean’s knees, kissing until they’re out of breath. Until Cas leans back to press his forehead against Dean’s, both of their breathing uneven and eyes shut. Dean lets his hands slowly drag down from shoulder blade to hips and shifts to rest his head upon one of Cas’ shoulders.

The hand that begins to comb through his hair, soothing away any doubt, any fear. “They kept telling me I could go back when I was ready,” the words break the silence, but Dean doesn’t move and neither does Cas. The only motion is the hand through his hair, “and I never knew.... I didn’t know how to tell when I was ready, but then I remembered.” The hand in his hair pulls slightly, just enough to shift Dean back so Cas can look him full in his face again. 

“January 24th, 1979,” the smile on Cas’ face is sun-bright and warms Dean right to his core. “I was given a gift I didn’t fully understand that day, and I figured it would only be fair if...if I returned the gesture.” Cas’ lips are warm against his forehead, lingering for a beat too long before pulling away again. “Happy birthday, Dean, I hope this is the first of many you’ll let me celebrate with you.”

Dean answers the only way he can, by pressing another kiss against Cas’ lips, and pulling him closer.

#spnfic #destielfic #destiel fic #supernaturalfic #destiel #spn #my writing #i decided to finish this ficlet from last month too. #posting this does mean though that i officially need to get over myself and post ch2 to guiding light. next...next weekend let's aim for tha #*that. #long post

[there-must-be-a-lock]

All That I Ask

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 6990

Warnings: Smut. Smut, feels, and Sam Winchester being wonderful. There’s a brief moment of post-traumatic dissociation, but the traumatic event itself isn’t discussed or really even named. Otherwise, it’s about as gooey and sweet as a fuckin marshmallow. This is like... fix-it fic for life-canon. 

A/N: Whether it was rape or coercion or just a partner who didn’t care enough to make you feel comfortable, I think almost every woman knows what it’s like to feel powerless or unsafe during sex. This is about agency and trust and hang-ups and recovery, and how partners should handle those things.  

This was inspired by a request from @the-departed-patato. Thank you for trusting me with this one. I didn’t realize until I started typing that this was something I really really needed to write.

Also, major thanks to the Slack squad for edits and support and trying to curb my comma habit: @rockhoochie, @icemankazansky, @fangirlxwritesx67, @stunudo​ y’all are amazing.

Here’s my heart, don’t break it.  It’s all that I ask, nothing more.  - “Moonlight,” Future Islands

1.

This is so stupid. 

This is Sam. This is sweet, kind, gentle Sam, and I’m head over heels for him. 

I want him. How could I not? I’ve wanted to do this since I met him, and now I can. He tugs his shirt over his head, and I can run my hand up his side, down his chest, tracing the ripply contours of abs, and god dammit, I want him. 

He rolls me onto my back, hips slotting in against me. I can feel the drag and catch of denim, I can feel where he’s hard against the crease of my thigh, and I can feel his weight on me, holding me, pressing into me, trapping me, and I can feel myself start to shut down. 

This is so stupid. 

I remind myself that I’m safe. He’s being gentle, I tell myself. He’s not holding my wrists, he’s not pinning me, he’s not doing anything that should make me feel unsafe. 

I’m still shutting down. I stare at a point somewhere over his shoulder as he kisses my neck, and I remind myself that I’m being stupid, and I can’t fucking breathe. 

“Hey,” he whispers, and then he’s looking down at me, rolling onto his side again, and I try to focus on him but part of me is seeing someone else. 

“Sorry,” I whisper, voice small and tight around the lump in my throat. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, so fucking sweet with his sunflower eyes wide and concerned. I shake my head. 

“No, it’s stupid,” I squeak. “I’m being stupid. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, you didn’t — we can — I’m fine.” 

“Do you need space, or — how can I help?” 

“Don’t go,” I breathe. “Please don’t, I’m okay, just come… come here?”  

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, putting an arm around me, kissing my forehead. “Hey, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m right here. Take your time.” 

I burrow into his chest, tears stinging my eyes as I start to break the grip of whatever cold thing has been clutching at my ribcage. 

This is so fucking stupid. 

I remember to breathe, and Sam waits. He strokes my hair, whispers soothing nonsense, cradles me close. 

“I’m sorry,” I choke out eventually. I can’t look him in the eye; I look at his neck instead, the steady flutter of his pulse under the skin. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, soft but fierce. “Nothing. You hear me?” 

“‘Kay.” I swallow hard and try to shake it off. “We can — it’s not that I don’t want to. Do you want—” 

“Stop,” he interrupts. “There’s no rush, okay? If you’re doing this because you think you should… for my sake? That’s not how it works.” 

He curls a gentle finger under my chin, tilting my head back until I meet his eyes, and I feel hot all over at the tenderness in his expression. I blink away tears and give him a tiny nod. 

“This is about the guy you told me about?” he asks, tentative. “Was it… it was more than you made it out to be, wasn’t it?” 

I nod again. I don’t trust myself to make words. My heart is racing, and I can feel the panicked beat of it in my throat, choking me. 

“We need to talk about this, at some point. Okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, but I need to know what not to do. I don’t ever want to scare you.” 

“Okay,” I whisper, feeling raw and exposed and so goddamn crazy about him. 

“We don’t have to do that now, though. Just rest. You’re safe with me.” 

2.

 “Good morning, gorgeous,” Sam whispers when I stir. He’s spooned up behind me, one big solid arm around my waist, and I settle myself more comfortably in the cocoon of his embrace. Then I remember. 

“About last night—” I start hesitantly. 

“If you’re going to try to apologize again, stop right there,” he says, and I can hear the wry smile in his voice. “But if you want to talk about it…” 

We didn’t close the curtains, and the morning sun is filtering through the blinds of the motel room, making everything feel clean and bright and fresh. It’s easier like this, too, with my back to Sam. I don’t have to feel his eyes on me. 

“There hasn’t been anyone else, since,” I admit. My voice sounds very small in the quiet of the room. “So… I don’t really know what causes it. Not for sure.”  

Sam exhales slowly, his breath tickling the curve of my neck. “What happened last night, to set it off?” 

“Having you on top of me, I think. It’s not — you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Neither did you. That’s all on him,” Sam says. The faintest hint of a growl in his voice takes me by surprise. “No blame, okay? I’m not going to take it personally. Not ever.” 

“Okay. Um. Feeling… held down, or trapped. And you shouldn’t — don’t grab my wrists?” 

“I can do that. What else?” 

“I think… just, not too rough?” I ask, cheeks burning. “I don’t think I could handle… too much. The first time, at least.” 

“Okay,” he agrees calmly. “And what else? What does work for you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This isn’t about, like, just making it manageable for you,” he says, low and earnest, kissing the curve of my neck. “I want to make you feel good.” 

“Oh,” I say breathlessly. “Oh. Um.” 

I’m suddenly very conscious of his hand splayed over my lower abdomen, his palm warm through the thin cotton of my tank top.  He must feel the way my belly tightens, because he slides his hand a little lower, thumb tucking under the hem and stroking back and forth, tickling deliciously. 

It’s such a light touch, a barely-there brush, but it’s sending sparks down my spine. I wriggle back against Sam, wondering if the sudden crackle of tension in the air is just my imagination. 

“I want to know what gets you off.” Sam’s voice is husky and heated, and my breath hitches. It’s not just my imagination, then. “I want to make you come. It’s not just about… penetration, or whatever.” He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and I wonder if that’s the first time someone has made the word penetration sound sexy. “Do you want me to touch you? Do you want my mouth?” 

I shift, and I can feel him getting hard through his pajama pants. 

“Yeah,” I whisper.  

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I want that. Sam… want you.” 

His hand slides lower, until the tips of his pinky and ring finger are dipping under the elastic of my shorts. 

“When you touch yourself,” he says quietly. “What do you do? Can you show me?” 

“I don’t—”

His hand finds mine where it’s curled loosely on the mattress, slides under it so that my palm rests on the back of his, and he laces our fingers together, bringing our joined hands back to my stomach. 

“Can you show me?” he repeats, and the warmth of his hand is burning through my shirt, pooling in my core, making me want like I haven’t wanted another person in a long time. 

“Oh.” I take a deep breath. 

I guide his hand lower, flush against my skin, under my waistband and down until his fingers cup my cunt. When I press my middle finger down against his, he moves with me, one long finger parting my lips and stroking through silky wet heat. He follows my lead, waiting for me, his knuckle bending when mine does, nudging against my entrance. His finger is so much longer than mine. When I curl it, pressing in, it’s him sliding into me, his fingertip, shallow and easy. 

I exhale slowly, not pushing, and he stays, chest rising against my back as he sucks in a deep breath, waiting for my direction. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” he says, low and gravelly. 

“Good.” 

I’m shaky and wet and aching with how much I want him, and I’m not sure where this is going, not sure I’m ready for more than his fingers, but I need him to understand: none of this, none of my hesitation, is because I don’t want him. 

I draw his hand up, showing him where to stroke with one slick fingertip, circling my clit, and I can feel him trembling too, all down my back, his cock hard where it presses against my ass. This torturous drawn-out intensity, the way he’s waiting for me… it’s almost unbearable, but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to move any faster. 

We breathe in sync, both our chests heaving at the same time as the zing of it ripples out through me, and —

Someone bangs on the door. 

“Up and at ‘em!” Dean shouts. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

“Fuck,” I hiss, as Sam lets out a low groan. It takes every bit of my willpower to pull away. When I roll to face him, he’s just as wild-eyed as I feel, flushed and panting and gorgeous. 

We’re both paralyzed for a second, staring at each other, until he lets out a long sigh. 

“Later,” he husks, and it sounds like a promise. 

“Later.” 

3.

Later, when we fall into bed, I’m shaking for a completely different reason. 

It wasn’t a bad hunt, in the end. It’s just one moment that keeps replaying in my memories on a sickening loop. There was so much blood, all down the side of his face and neck, and he went still in a way that made my heart stop for a second. 

Apparently ears bleed a lot. 

I felt a little embarrassed when I saw the injury, a barely-there slice through the cartilage, but I couldn’t shake the sight of all that blood. There’s still traces of it on his skin, dried in his hair. My stomach churns whenever I catch a glimpse of rusty red. 

He pulls the comforter up over us, lying on his uninjured side, and I kiss him, deep and starved, my entire body vibrating with the tension of lingering adrenaline, like my skin is sparking up with the reminder that we’re still alive and we should enjoy it while we can. 

I can feel it in his muscles, too, the way he’s holding back, holding himself stiff like he has to restrain himself. He rolls onto his back and takes me with him, arms strong around me, body warm and ready under me. 

I choke on a quiet sob, trying to hold it in.

Sam freezes, big hands cupping my cheeks as he breaks the kiss. He looks at me, eyes deep green-gold in the lamplight. 

“It’s not — it’s not that. You scared me.” 

“I know,” he says. “I know. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

“Want you,” I say fiercely, watching the way his swollen-red lips twitch into a bittersweet smile. 

“Not like this,” he says. “Not when you’re already on edge. If your fight or flight system is still all revved up…” 

He’s right, but I hate it. He brushes hair back from my forehead and kisses me again, chaste and quick. 

“Okay,” I whisper, against his mouth. “Just… god, you scared me, Sam.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and I kiss one corner of his mouth, then the other. 

“I need a shower,” he says. 

I frown, feeling childish as I confess, “I don’t want to be alone.” 

“I didn’t mean — come with me,” he suggests. “Shower with me. Not — no sex.” 

I raise an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Really?”

“You don’t have to,” he backtracks gently. “If you’re not ready to—” 

“Sam, I’ve wanted to see you naked since I met you,” I say flatly. “Believe me, that is not the problem.” 

He laughs, dimples flashing as he grins up at me. “Then… yeah. Come shower with me. I don’t want to let you out of my sight either.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

He only turns on half the bathroom lights, keeping it dim. The harsh fluorescents would be too much. It’s easier to pull my shirt off when I feel like I can still hide in the shadows. 

I try not to stare as he strips down matter-of-factly and steps in, but it’s not easy. It’s not easy to look at myself, either, when I compare my body to Sam’s. I get my clothes off before I can talk myself out of it, tripping clumsily out of my jeans. 

He must see something different than I do when I look at myself, because the way he stares at me when I step into the shower… he looks at me like he never wants to stop looking. 

I’ve never felt like this before, shaky and vulnerable and open but in a good way, because somehow I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling like this. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust Sam. That trust is what stops me from covering myself with my hands, stops me from doubting myself as I step under the spray with him and stand up on my tiptoes for a kiss. 

One kiss turns into more, syrupy-slow, water streaming down our skin as we melt into each other. Sam licks and sucks and nibbles at my mouth until my lips feel puffy and bruised. I adjust, slowly, to the feel of his body against mine, the way my soft curves mold to the muscled planes of his chest, the way his cock twitches against my stomach as he gets hard, and even though I can feel the length of him hot and heavy between us, he doesn’t press for more; he kisses me like this is all he’s ever wanted to do. 

By the time he pulls away, I’m light-headed. He looks down at me with water beading in his spiky eyelashes, and he smiles. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, and somehow, I believe him. 

I don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He grabs his shampoo from the edge of the tub and turns me around, my back to his chest. 

He massages little sudsy circles into my scalp and combs his fingers gently through the tangles. He shields my eyes when it’s time to rinse, tilting my chin back gently into the spray. Nobody’s done this for me since I was a child. It makes me feel innocent and serene and fucking treasured, the way he takes care of me. 

Sex has always felt like the height of intimacy to me. I always feel vulnerable, like that’s the closest I can get to another person, the most exposed. 

Sam’s fingers in my hair feel like a better expression of trust than anything I’ve ever done in bed. Sex has never felt this intimate. I’m not sure anything has ever felt this intimate. 

Everything starts to fade, the leftover adrenaline draining out of me, the outside world ceasing to matter. It’s just Sam and me, completely bare, wrapped in our little steamy cocoon. I feel safe. I feel exhausted, heavy-eyed and heavy-limbed, muscles aching, but I don’t feel pressured and I don’t feel nervous. I just feel safe. 

4.

Maybe it’s the booze talking, but I want to lick Sam’s arms. 

He’s stretched out over the pool table as he lines up his shot, eyes laser-focused, hands curled around the cue. He has his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and I can see veins standing out under the skin, corded muscles rippling, bunching and shifting with every twist of his wrist. 

Yeah. I want to lick Sam’s arms. 

Dean spits out a sip of his beer, spluttering out a vehement, “Ew, I don’t want to hear that shit!”  

So apparently I said that out loud. 

Dean stalks away, muttering to himself, and I chirp a quick “Sorry!” to his retreating back. 

He’ll get over it. 

Sam’s done with his game, and he’s walking toward me, grinning in that slow easy way of his as he tucks his hair behind his ears. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I can’t handle not touching him any more. 

“Can we get some air?” I ask breathlessly, and his eyes sparkle with amusement as he lets me tug him outside. 

There are a couple people smoking by the door, so I pull him farther away, down to the end of the building, where a tacky wooden statue of a bear stands between us and the door. It’s close enough to privacy. 

Sam slouches back against the brick, and I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him, leaning against him and trusting him to keep me upright. He goes with it, opening up for me as I take control of the kiss, his lips pillowy, and I can feel him smile. 

“What was that for?” he asks, when I give him a second to breathe. I nuzzle into the side of his neck and nip at his pulse, and his fingers tighten on my hips. 

“Just want you,” I say bluntly. I kiss him again, a deep filthy kiss that I can feel down to my toes. “I was watching you, and… yeah. Want you. Can we go back to the motel?” 

“You’re drunk,” he says, mock-admonishing, but he’s still smiling. 

“‘M not drunk, you’re drunk,” I mumble sulkily. 

“Yep,” he says, popping the P, and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay,” I concede. “Tipsy, maybe.” 

“Which is still too drunk,” Sam says gently. 

I let out a tiny frustrated sound as he kisses me again. “Fine.” 

He laughs, shifting his weight, getting one knee between mine, and when I settle closer, I can feel the blunt pressure of his thigh right between my legs. 

“Believe me,” he whispers, between kisses, “I would really, really love to take you back to the motel right now but… it’s not a good idea.” He shifts, and I whine at the friction. “I’m not going to have sex with you tonight. I want us both to be sober for that. When we get there… I want to remember every second of it.” 

“Kinda worried I’m gonna combust before then.” The drag of denim on denim pulls at the seam of my jeans, almost painfully good, and I shiver. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, like he didn’t realize that he was torturing me. He rocks forward experimentally. It feels like fireworks. 

“Don’t oh me,” I grump, except it comes out more breathless than grumpy. 

“It’ll be worth the wait,” he whispers. “Don’t want to rush it. Want to take my time with you. I want to watch you come for me, want to taste it —” 

I whimper, rolling my hips helplessly, clinging to Sam so tight that my fingers must be bruising his biceps. 

“Do you like thinking about that?” he asks, growling low against my ear. “My mouth?” 

“Please,” I bite out. “Fuck, Sam, I need — something. Anything.” I tilt my hips down again, trying to make my point. 

He hesitates for a split second before rocking up to meet me, and I let out a ragged sigh. 

“I won’t — not tonight, not more than this,” he says hoarsely, stumbling over the words. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as he asks intently, “Are you sure this is okay right now? If you really want —”

“Please,” I say again. I meet his eyes, embarrassed by how much I want him but steady in spite of it. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol making me feel like this, loose and relaxed and reckless, or maybe it’s just Sam, the way he’s letting me take the lead, the way he groans when I shudder against him, the way I trust him with my life and trust him enough to let him see me fall apart like this. 

And I am falling apart. I work my hips in little circles, feeling the dull burn of it clench in my gut with every tiny movement, pushing myself closer to the edge. 

Sam just lets me, chest heaving, murmuring filthy-sweet things in my ear: “I’m all yours. Anything. Don’t care how long I have to wait, just — want to make you feel good. Want you on top of me, want you to just — ride my mouth, rub yourself all over my tongue, want —” 

I let out a tiny, bitten-off whimper, hiding my face against his shoulder. My muscles spasm as I come, jerking against him, feeling it thud through me all at once like a punch to the gut. 

I’m almost surprised by it, and by the wave of relief that washes through me. It’s not the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, but it’s the easiest by far. I never realized I could get off like that. 

Then again, any experience I’ve ever had with dry-humping was with the guy on top of me, hipbones bruising my thighs, and… yeah. No thank you. 

“Jesus,” Sam breathes, arms around me, supporting my weight as I collect myself.

“That was… unexpected,” I blurt out, and I giggle helplessly as I pull back to look at him. He grins back, and there’s something so dazed and beautiful in his expression that I lose my breath all over again. 

“I —” Sam starts, but he catches himself, shutting his mouth abruptly.

I’m falling in love with you, I think, heart pounding, but I know I can’t say it now, can’t say it like this. 

Sam and I look at each other in silence for a second, and then the moment passes. I flush, self-conscious, an apology on the tip of my tongue. 

“Don’t apologize, that was one of the hottest things that’s ever happened to me,” Sam says preemptively, before I can form the words. “You should go inside, before Dean comes looking for us. Just… give me a second?” He adjusts himself in his jeans, making a face, and I giggle. 

“See you in there.” 

5.

“That was easy,” Dean comments, as we buckle our seatbelts. “Where to next? Sammy, did you find anything in the paper this morning?” 

“Actually,” Sam says. “I could really use an evening off. Can we grab some food and go back to the motel and just… chill for the night?” 

He and Dean exchange one of those Winchester looks that don’t mean anything to anyone else but the two of them. 

“Sure,” Dean says easily. Sam smiles at me in the rearview, and I think, oh. 

My brain is my worst enemy. By the time we pull into the motel lot, I’m panicking, and I’m not even sure why. 

Sam’s laughing at something Dean just said, bathed in gold late-afternoon light, and he’s incredible, and I should want nothing more than to get him in our room and jump him, but my chest feels tight and I’m convinced that I’ll freeze up, freak out, mess it all up, and he’ll give up, he’s already been so patient — 

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks. The driver’s side door slams behind Dean, breaking me out of my trance. 

“Fine,” I say, too brightly. “I’m fine.” 

He studies me for a second, head tilted, and I try to smile at him. It doesn’t work. 

“I’m not fine,” I amend, and feel my face crumple. 

“Hang on one sec?” Sam asks, and I take a second to compose myself as he jumps out of the car. He and Dean have a whispered powwow and then Sam returns, key in hand, sliding into the driver’s seat. 

“Come sit up front,” he says easily, without explanation. “Let’s go for a drive.” 

“We can —” I try, but he cuts me off. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like there’s pressure,” he says firmly. “I just want to spend time with you. Let’s just… go for a drive.” 

So that’s what we do. When we leave the strip mall hell that surrounds the motel, Sam gets off the highway and we’re in the woods, driving up a winding mountain road. Sam seems to know where he’s headed; he mutters “Think it’s around here somewhere,” at one point, and then eventually he turns onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. 

He drives slow, easing into the sharp curves. I can breathe again. It’s hard to feel panicky out here, up in the open air, close to the pink-tinted sky. When the trees open up there are views of sprawling valleys, just starting to turn orange and yellow in the first hints of fall. 

There’s a wide pull-off for a scenic overlook, “Rocky Knob,” and Sam parks. The sun is setting behind us and the clouds are lined in deep pink now. 

Sam spreads his coat out on the scratchy grass, right in front of Baby, and we sit next to each other, watching in easy silence as the light fades and dusk falls. 

“Thank you,” I say quietly, tilting my head onto his shoulder. He slips an arm around me and I shift, turning to settle more comfortably against his side. A sliver of moon is just visible on the horizon. 

“You know you don’t —” he starts. His voice sounds choked and strange. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I just like seeing you happy. That’s more important to me than… any of the rest of it.” 

“Thank you,” I repeat, firmly, and he lets out a laugh that’s more of a sigh. 

I twist to kiss him, intending to make it a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, but he turns to meet me, tongue flickering over my lower lip, teeth scraping ever so carefully. One hand finds my cheek, and his fingers are so long that I feel dwarfed by the way they cradle and caress and pull me closer. 

I crawl into his lap, straddling him. He has one hand on the small of my back and the other between my shoulderblades, steadying me. I trace the hard lines of bones under skin, running my fingers along the jut of his jaw and stroking the hinge of it with my thumb, sliding the other hand back to cup the shape of his skull, and for all his size and strength he feels fragile under my fingers. I brush over his pulse and rub the soft hollow behind his ear, and I can feel how fragile this is, this thing between us and the way it makes him shake when he breathes. 

We’re both shaking, I realize, as I rest my forehead against his. The tip of my nose nudges against his. The curve of his lower lip brushes mine, barely, not intentional enough to be a kiss, just… close. 

Not close enough. Never close enough. 

“Sam,” I start, voice wobbling dangerously, but I don’t even know where to begin. His fingers twist in the back of my shirt, fisted in the fabric like he’s afraid to let go. He exhales — inhales — trembles. 

Somehow I never considered that I might not be the only one here who’s scared. 

I kiss him one more time, trying to tell him how I feel even if I can’t say the words yet, and then I pull away to look at him. His eyes catch and reflect the moonlight, glittering in the dark. 

“Let’s go,” I say, and my voice isn’t shaking any more. 

6.

Sam’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to do with himself once the motel room door clicks shut behind us; he turns the desk lamp on and just stands there, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight uncomfortably. 

“We could watch a movie?” he offers. His hesitation makes it easier, somehow, to take the lead; I go up to him and tug at the hem of his shirt as I kiss his jaw. 

“I don’t want to watch a movie,” I say firmly. I slide my hands under his shirt and run my thumbs over the ridges of his hipbones. “Take this off?” 

He strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, smiling, shy and happy. 

We kiss and shed layers and kiss again, stumbling back toward the bed. When the backs of my legs hit the mattress, we’re down to our underwear, and even though I’ve seen Sam naked, now, the sight of him takes me by surprise. It doesn’t seem fair, how beautiful he is. All the bare golden skin throws me off-balance. 

He moves slowly into my space, running his hands up my arms to cup my shoulders, and when he kisses me, my head spins. I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling clumsy and stupid. Sam just folds to his knees in front of me, smiling up at me patiently. 

“Can I?” he asks softly. He runs his hands up my legs and hooks his fingers in the elastic of my panties. When I nod, he tugs, and I lift my hips to let him slide the fabric down until it’s out of the way. 

He moves closer, kneeling between my spread legs. He doesn’t look shy any more. He looks hungry, pupils huge in kaleidoscope blue-gold irises as he watches me through his lashes. 

I nod again, silently giving him permission, and his lips curl into a smile. Sam hooks his hands under my thighs and pulls me forward, until I’m right on the edge of the bed. 

“Give me your hand?” he asks, and when I do, he brings it to his head, tangling my fingers through his silky hair. I lean on my other hand to brace myself and the position opens me up for him even more. “You’re in charge,” he reminds me. 

The first lick is slow, just a smooth wet curl of heat tracing up my center, good in a way that’s easy and sweet even if it’s not the ‘god more now’ kind of pleasure. I run my fingers through Sam’s hair idly, trying to relax. He does it again, dipping down and dragging up, before swirling his tongue over my clit, and the friction coils up and rolls out through my core. The next lush swipe of his tongue has more pressure behind it, and he lingers on my clit, flattening his tongue, massaging. I let out a little sigh, and he hums approvingly. 

“Want you to tell me what feels good, okay?” he asks, mouthing at the crease of my hip. “Or show me. Hold me where you want me.” 

How does he just say those things? 

Sam buries his face between my legs again, not just licking but working me over with his open mouth pressed to my cunt like he’s kissing me. He gets my clit between his lips and sucks gently, and it’s so good that I tug him closer helplessly, giving in to the pleasure before I even have a chance to hold back. 

“Sorry,” I gasp, relaxing my grip when I realize how hard I’m pulling. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to —” 

“I like it,” Sam growls, the words vibrating right up against me. Then he’s doing that thing again, slick pulsing pressure, and I give in, twisting my fingers in his hair and tilting my hips up to meet his mouth as my eyes roll back in my head. He moans low in his throat.

Every wave of suction feels more intense. It’s sharp and bright and perfect, building so fast I’m not sure what to do with myself; all I can do is hold on and arch up and shudder. I can feel it pulling up from my fingers, my toes, an inevitable swell of pressure under my skin until the wave of it finally crests and I come with a shout, long and drawn-out, one shock of pleasure after another. 

“Fucking — fuck, Sam,” I whine, my voice coming out embarrassingly high-pitched and cracked. He flicks his tongue over me again and I twitch, jerking away from the raw-nerve feel of it. 

When I drag my eyes open he’s looking up at me, smiling, a dimple just visible as he turns his head to kiss my inner thigh. 

The fuck am I supposed to say to that? 

Apparently I can’t say anything to that. I think my brain has gone permanently offline. 

Sam sort of scoops me up and deposits me farther back on the bed, where I’m not at risk of falling down on my ass, and I grin dazedly as he stands up. His mouth is red and swollen and it looks like sin. 

“Still with me?” he asks, and I nod. “Be right back.”  

I scoot back until I can get under the blanket and sink into the pillows. I hear Sam rummaging in his shower kit, then the water running, but I don’t have the mental capacity to pay attention. My eyes are half-closed by the time he comes back. 

He sets a bottle of lube down on the nightstand and I avert my eyes uncomfortably, taking the glass of water he offers before he slides into bed next to me. 

“Why did that just make you get all shy?” he asks softly, correctly interpreting my expression. I shrug and twist away to set the glass down, but when I turn back to him, he’s still waiting for an answer. 

I cuddle close, tucking my head under his chin, listening to him breathe for a moment. He’s naked, hard against my hip, and I’m almost surprised by the way my body responds to that; my stomach flips, hot and eager, in spite of my racing thoughts. 

“It’s like… all of this,” I say hoarsely. “It just makes me feel like I’m being a pain in the ass. Because it’s supposed to be simpler than this. It means I’m not wet enough, and… I want you, and that should be the only thing that matters, and instead we have to go through this whole process of talking about my issues and… it’s supposed to be easier than this, and it’s my fault.” 

Sam is very still, muscles stiff, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s angry. 

“It’s not ‘supposed to’ be anything other than good for you,” he says sharply. “Look at me for a second.” 

I pull back, taking in the fierce, raw expression on his face. My chest feels tight. 

“Everybody’s different,” Sam says, quiet and intense. “Everybody has shit they like and don’t like, places they like being touched… it’s not an issue, and it’s especially not your issue. You’re not being difficult by telling me how to help you enjoy yourself. I want that. I want to know how to make you feel good. Okay?” 

“Okay,” I whisper. 

“And if I ever meet any of your exes —” he says, jaw clenching, eyes stormy. I let out a nervous little giggle, and his expression melts from thunderous to soft before he continues, “It makes me happy knowing that you feel safe. It’s hot, watching you get off on it… your reaction is what turns me on more than anything.” 

My stomach swoops. I slide closer, running a thumb over the soft swollen curve of his lower lip. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice dropping down low. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He rubs his palm over the curve of my hip like he can’t get enough of my bare skin. “When you were pulling my hair and just — the way you were shaking —” 

I cut him off with a kiss, melding my body to his, and he smiles against my mouth before opening up easily, kissing me back with these slow, sultry swipes of his tongue. I can feel him everywhere: bare all down my front, hands roaming like he can’t help himself, close and feverish under the blanket. I push it down, shivering at the cool air on my sweaty skin. 

When I tangle a hand in his hair and tug slightly, Sam makes a gorgeous needy sound, and his cock twitches, hard and thick against my stomach. I push him onto his back and he goes easily, pliant under me, looking up with a flush on his cheeks and a smile on his lips as I straddle him. For a moment I feel paralyzed by the sight of him. The moment stretches and I just stare. 

Sam runs his hands up my hips, sliding one hand up between my breasts before tracing the curve of one with his knuckles, dragging his thumb over my nipple and circling as the skin pebbles under his touch. My shivery sigh of pleasure breaks whatever spell we were under. 

I duck down to kiss him again, and the movement presses the ridge of his cock right between my legs, silky skin hot where it slots up against me. When I roll my hips, we both groan. 

I reach for the lube. His smile goes smirky at the edges. 

“If you say ‘I told you so’ right now, I swear to god —” I blurt out, and we’re both laughing as I touch him, slicking him up messily. 

It’s the laughter that erases the last of my doubts. My nervous giggle bursts like a bubble in my chest, releasing whatever tension I was holding there. I just feel light and giddy and happy as I wipe my hand on the blankets and position myself. 

Then I’m sinking down, opening up around him, and the sudden aching stretch turns my laugh into a breathy moan. Sam is watching me as I work my hips down, taking him in. His eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

I understand, now, what Sam meant: your reaction is what turns me on. Because if I’d wanted him before, it was nothing compared to how I feel now. He tilts his head back, arching up and exposing his throat, tendons shifting under the skin as he strains under me and gasps out my name, and the clenching wave of need in my belly is blinding. 

Fuck. 

I shift, lean forward, sparking up some new kind of friction deep inside where I’m so full of him, and I’m whimpering as I kiss him gently. 

“Okay?” he asks. I cup a hand to his jaw and he brings his own up to cover it, an oddly tender gesture. 

“So much better than okay,” I tell him. It’s the truth. 

I take it slow. We kiss, mouths clumsy with need, and I take it slow. 

It takes a few minutes to adjust to his size. I rock my hips in tiny little movements, circling, twisting, feeling all the different ways there are to just feel him. Every movement brings some new sort of sensation as he drags against every sweet spot deep inside me. 

I’m barely moving. I know he must want to fuck up into me, thrust, but he holds back, holds himself steady, lets me take what I need while he whispers sweet bits of nonsense against my lips. He tells me I’m beautiful, tells me I feel incredible, tells me I’m safe, and I trust him. 

Then I grind down harder, and something flares up inside me, quivering out from where his cock is pressing deep in my belly. I do it again. The low dull throb of it has me trembling, panting against his mouth as I brace myself to get more, harder, clenching around him desperately. 

Sam slides a hand down between us, flattening his palm over that spot, and I can feel the pressure building right there, but I need more. 

“Sit up for me?” he asks raggedly. “Lean back, it’ll —” 

He grits his teeth and cuts himself off, but I do it without questioning, sitting back on my heels and bracing my hands behind me. I would feel exposed if I wasn’t distracted by how good this feels. I’m barely moving, still, but Sam presses his palm down and tilts his hips up, and it’s like I can feel the molten force of it everywhere, like it’s going to split my skin. 

Sam looks as close to the edge as I feel, eyes glazed, and I can feel him jerking up to meet me. 

“Do it,” I hiss, and when he thrusts up for real, the surge of pressure makes me cry out, loud and shameless like I never am. 

One last urgent grinding roll, one last surge of pressure, and I’m gone. I let my head fall back and let go, trusting Sam to keep me tethered to the earth as everything else goes brilliant white and sends me flying. 

I’m distantly aware of the way he curses and twists up, the way he swells and twitches inside me, but there’s so much sensation that I can’t separate what’s him and what’s me; it’s all just one hot slick rhythmic pulsing rush as we ride it out, together. 

When I start to go shaky and useless, Sam tugs me so that I flop forward onto his chest. I melt against him, face buried in the sweaty crook of his neck, skin thrumming with satisfaction. I kiss whatever bit of him is close to my mouth, and he tastes like salt. 

“So that’s what that’s supposed to feel like,” I mumble. 

“I don’t think it’s ever felt like that, with anyone,” Sam says quietly, like he’s telling me a secret. “But… I’ve never felt this way about anyone, so.” 

I can tell he’s holding his breath. I put my palm on his chest. His heart is pounding, racing in counterpoint to mine, and I want to tell him that he’s safe; he can trust me with this. 

“Me too,” I whisper, and he exhales. 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or leave me a message? It means the world. 

Thanks for reading. 

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

[hoboal87]

All This Time

Title: All This Time

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 731

Summary: After a hunt, Dean and the Reader confront their feelings.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, implied age gap, implied future smut.

A/N: Requested by a Nonnie. The prompt is “Because I love you, you asshole!”

My Dean Masterlist

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No Beta. I have tense issues.

Tension fills the air of the Impala, it’s nearly palpable. There’s no music playing, and you refuse to be the first to crack. Sam shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat, raking his hand through his hair, and sighs loudly.

Sam clears his throat, and you look up to see him and Dean share a look. You’ve been with the brothers long enough to learn that they could notoriously have wordless conversations, and it irritated you to no end.

“Just say it,” you break the silence. Dean huffs, but doesn’t respond.

“We’re just worried that you’re trying to do too much, Y/N,” Sam sighs, and you see a slight nod in agreement come from Dean.

“I may not be a great and powerful Winchester, but I can handle anything you two can. I’m not a child.”

“That’s the thing, Y/N, you can’t. You can’t take on a nest of Vamps by yourself.”

“Fuck you, Dean.” You snap, and as soon as the Impala is pulled into the garage of the Bunker, you’re out and heading towards your room.

You can hear the trail of feet behind you, and you don’t bother acknowledging whichever brother is following. You fix your gaze on your still shaking hands, cursing yourself for letting that Vamp get the better of you for a moment. You shouldn’t have gone off alone, but you were determined to show the brothers that you could handle yourself without them.

You needed to prove to them that you weren’t going to be some helpless damsel in distress. You were a hunter, maybe a “baby hunter” in the eyes of Sam and Dean, but a hunter nonetheless, and you were never going to learn if the brothers wouldn’t let you go out on your own. You want to punch something, if you’d known this is how the brothers were going to treat you, you’d have left months ago.

“Y/N,” a soft knock comes from the other side of your door.

“Go away, Dean,” you begin packing your things. You may not know many other hunters, but you’re not going to stay with the brothers if they’re going to continue treating you like a fragile doll.

Dean knocks again, and you don’t respond, focusing on the task at hand. After a moment, you hear the sound of your door opening, and you turn to see Dean in your doorway, hands raised in surrender.

“Please, Y/N, just hear me out.”

“Why?” You scoff. “You’re not my brother, you’re not my father, you’re barely even my friend. I’m just some refugee from Apocalypse World, I’m not even supposed to be here. But you, Sam and Jack, promised a safer world. All of my friends, my family, they’re dead because of you. At least here, I thought, I would have a chance to prove myself, but you won’t even let me do that.”

“No one can take on a nest of vamps by themselves, Y/N,” Dean tries to reason with you, and deep down, you know he’s right. “It’s dangerous, and you could’ve gotten hurt, or turned, that vamp was about two seconds away feeding you and if we weren’t–”

“I can take care of myself!” You yell, turning back to your half-packed bag. “And you won’t have to worry about me anymore, I’m leaving. I won’t be your problem anymore.”

“That’s not what I said,” Dean grunts, you can tell that he’s trying to keep himself calm. “Don’t go, Y/N. We like having you here, I like having you here.”

“You gotta real funny way of showing it,” you huff.

“God, you’re so– so fuckin’ stubborn, Y/N. You’re not listening to me!”

“What, Dean?” You turn around so that you're facing him again. “Tell me why you don’t want me to hunt?”

“Because I love you, you asshole!”

You take in Dean’s words for a moment, and fight the urge to tell him that you’ve felt the same for months.

“Did you just call me an asshole?” You question as you take a step closer to him. Dean nods embarrassed, and you can’t help but crack a smile. “You just know all the right words to make a girl’s heart swoon, dontcha?”

Dean quickly closes the distance between you, and presses a bruising kiss on your lips.

“Trust me sweetheart, you have no idea how filthy I can be.”

Feedback is fuel!

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #spnfanficpond #alex writes

[basilhearsanoise]

pleaseee elaborate on your homophobic sam take. it’s very compelling. i always thought sam’s early plotline with the demon blood was a queer allegory, but your explanation for his attitude towards dean’s bisexuality makes a lot of sense now that i think about it

WOW I'M A REAL SUPERNATURAL BLOG NOW YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THIS MADE MY DAY I WILL ABSOLUTELY ELABORATE THANK YOU

there are So Many Layers i probably won't even be able to get them all down but here's some major ones. from the get-go, sam is The Opposite of dean on so many issues, and essentially throughout the show they flip. this is most notably demonstrated by the fact that sam starts out as a Devout Christian (or at least we are to assume that he is christian given his approach to prayer, god, angels, etc) and by the end of the show sam is completely and utterly devoid of faith. whereas dean is like If There's A God In Heaven, What's He Waiting For? - Elton John.mp3 in the beginning of the show, and by the end he's like "i have faith in humanity, in spirituality, in CASTIEL, in MY SON JACK," by the end. but this is just one of the MANY issues they flip back and forth on, or just slowly and surely change their perspectives to be more like the way the other brother started.

1. should we tell people there are monsters? dean says "we can't tell anyone they exist the whole world will panic" vs. sam says "they have a RIGHT TO KNOW WHAT'S OUT THERE"

but also. are all monsters evil? dean says "yes, they kill innocent people and they killed my mother and destroyed my life, they ALL deserve to die" but sam says "SOME of them must be good....it's not THEIR FAULT they're disgusting, evil and eat people uwu"

monsters/cryptids/spirits/folklore etc have virtually always been, in some way shape or form, a queer allegory themselves. the shapeshifter arc spoke to me as a trans person on a deep personal level. dracula was essentially racist propaganda. so if we take this allegory to supernatural, and say, "acceptance of monsters = acceptance of queerness" dean's hatred of them is a hatred of himself, his own inner monster, his own internalized homophobia - in addition to the fact that because he IS a queer man who has been VICTIM to REAL VIOLENT homophobia before, it would make sense that he is #antifa #acab #kill all the nazis forever #don't waste time trying to make monsters good when you could save good people from them instead. which is like. a reasonable response to have to a group of people that systematically try to kill you. but that also makes sam's "oh pity the monster dean, don't kill it, FORGIVE, JUST GIVE THEM A CHANCE TO ~ REPENT ~ THEIR SINS" ....like, even in later seasons he is saying stuff like this, and while it's true that dean SHOULD forgive some of the monsters that sam says this about, it still reads to me as two major red flags of 1. forgive your abusers to be the better person and 2. "hate the sin, not the sinner" rhetoric. sam doesn't actually give a shit about any of these monsters he gives a shit about keeping his own ideological purity. he sounds like scary youth pastors i had as a child.

this is further demonstrated by the fact that as dean becomes more accepting of his sexuality as the show goes on, he becomes more accepting of monsters. that's benny's ENTIRE EXISTENCE AS A CHARACTER: "i accept this vampire because he is honorable, and manly, and looks really fuckin cute in suspenders." that's also why sam hates benny so much even though he's the one who's been like "but monsters can be good T__T" this whole time. what the fuck other reason would he have to hate benny so much?

this is also CLEARLY the ENTIRE subtext of the Demon Dean arc - Sam FLIPS OUT about him going off with crowley because he could FORGIVE one little crush on an angel, because of the fact that he's an angel, and also because dean wasn't "shoving his unholy lifestyle down everyone's throats" but demon dean is....loudly, angrily, gay. demon dean is a manifestation of all the gayness that dean has suppressed his whole life and now he's "too indecent" for sam. this is FURTHER demonstrated by the fact that crowley literally yells at dean to "pick a side" after demon dean sides with the slighted wife in a demon deal instead of the cheating husband, literally because of the fact that the husband says "men are just supposed to sleep around" and dean gets so mad about this sexism that he kills him.

this is dean not only rejecting sexism more than sam literally ever actually does in the show (everything he says about it reads to me as idle posturing Fake Woke Shit whereas dean is a sleazebag, but he's an Equal Opportunity sleazebag) but also his rejection of being pigeonholed as gay when he is, indeed, bisexual. crowley represents the biphobia that gay people enact on bi people, sam represents the homophobia that straight people enact on all queer people.

this brings me to the next part of sam's Not Niceness - he's like, actually 100% more misogynistic than dean is. i know i'm Not A Woman but like i am trans, queer, and not dumb. sam is a fucking sadist serial killer man who treats women like garbage the SECOND they are no longer useful to him, this is most clearly demonstrated when he doesn't have a "soul" but it existed in him basically from the get-go, he is painted as the "more emotionally mature one" but that reading became so inaccurate the show literally started making fun of his character for thinking that sappy fake shit could pass as sincere care for another human being. dean actually talks to women like they're people with feelings. he routinely identifies with the victims and is paralleled against them, especially if they are victims of childhood sexual assault. sam does not talk to women unless they serve some kind of purpose to his goals and is much more routinely depicted weirdly enjoying killing enemies that are women. sometimes not even for plot reasons, it's just weird shots that nobody thought to red flag because this show is. A MESS.

anyway. another example is the one that i mentioned in the post about the confederate soldier, the fact that sam is fucking racist and dean is at least, within the narrative, less racist.

ANYWAY, THERE'S STILL MORE I COULD TALK ABOUT BUT I'LL LEAVE IT AT THIS: sam is constantly telling dean that he's not being sensitive or poltically correct but every single time it comes off sounding like a straight person telling an actual gay person how not to be homophobic. like, please, sammy, touch grass. dean says: touch grass, kill nazis.

#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #soup #trans dean #bi dean #destiel #trans dean winchester #bi dean winchester #homophobic sam hot take

[impala1967dwinchester]

Dean Winchester: Miracle and Simon

Pairing: Dean W. x Wife!Reader Pov: Dean Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst, Dean, dogs, talk of infertility, sadness, overall fluff, comforting Dean, Sam is mention. Summary: Y/n and Dean learn after a long time of trying for children that Y/n is unable to bare a child. With this news, they decide to wait. When Dean comes across two very cute pups how can Dean pass it up? Word Count: 2.3k A/N: Written for band-psychos 1.5 followers writing bingo challenge. This is sad, but good at the same time. By the way, I have absolutely no clue what it's like to be told that I won't be able to have children, so what I may say may be wrong. Also, I'm sorry if this is something that affects you. Square: First Pet

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Main Master List

Tag list: @band--psycho @akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @hit-meup69 @doctorlilo @fofisstilinski @wonderfulworldofwinchester

Month, turned into years of trying for a baby. It was okay in the beginning, but it turned into constant disappointment. Not disappointed in Y/n or myself. Just overall disappointment in the situation.

How we had been stripped of the ability to have kids. Y/n being stripped of the chance of being the best mother I know she can be. I felt more hopeless, and helpless than I had in any other part of my life.

My darling wife unable to bare a child, unable to be the most gifted thing in life. Unable to become a mother. That day was horrific, She cried in my arms and spent the drive back home in silence.

She stayed away, she had moved back into her old room. Forcing everything that we had built to be crushed. She pushed everything and everyone away.

It was horrible, she wore her ring still. Years of marriage, years of trying. Years of our life being shut out. Being put behind a wall because she felt as if she wasn't enough, wasn't worth being with.

There were nights of course I'd try and make conversation with her, but it always ended in silence, or in me talking enough for the both of us.

The few months that she pushed me away were the hardest, hearing the loud sobs echo through the halls. Not hearing her voice at all was the worst of it all, not being able to see the bright smile that used to blossom on her face was horrible.

So many things that I wish that I could change for her, so many things that I wish that I could make better. Better for her, better for me, but most importantly better for our relationship.

Finally one night.

Hearing a soft knock on my door, even with it being ajar. "Dean.. Can I come in?" Y/n asked, barely poking her head into my, our room. I was still a little confused on that one.

"Of course honey," I said pulling the bedspread back so if she wished she could climb into bed with me. She walked in slowly, not bothering to shut the door behind her.

She wore an old shirt of mine, sleep shorts, and her slippers. She looked just like she has always looked comfortable, but the look on her face was a displacement of how she looked. Her voice was white, heavy purple and black circles under her eyes, her face even looked a little bit too skinny.

Y/n say slipping her slippers off before climbing to the bed with me. "Hey." She said timidly like, "Hey baby," I said. During the time she had taken to be by herself, I had done more than enough research about what happened when women learned that they were infertile.

How they need space, or how they didn't like to be touched, how they could have outbursts of many different emotions. It's been five months and now Y/n's back in our bed. I'm hesitant to touch her, I think she can tell.

"Let me first say that"

"I missed you"

We spoke at the same time, speaking at the same was something that we always tended to do... God to hear her voice was amazing, like cutting butter so smooth and calming. She was so perfect to me no matter what was going on outside of this moment right now.

I smiled, and Y/n smiled back at me. It wasn't a full smile, but it was true and halfway there. "Do you want me to go first?" I asked not wanting to push her if she wasn't fully comfortable with it.

But if she wasn't comfortable with it then she wouldn't have come to my... our room and sat down next to her husband. Right? 'Stop asking so many questions.'

"If you want to Dean." She said her voice starting to waver. She's going to start crying, start talking Dean.

"I'm going, to be honest with you here. I don't know what to say.' Smiling afterward, ' I... I want you to know that you aren't alone in this, I know now that you needed your space, I want you to know that no matter what you think I don't blame you at all, not once. Because I'll forever love you. I've also been reading a lot,' Y/n was smiling now, raising her eyebrows at my reading comment. 'Anything for you Y/n you know that, but regardless I've been doing some reading on this situation, how this may affect us, you and myself. I just want you to know that I'm here for you." I said finally shutting my mouth.

She didn't look like she was going to cry anymore. Y/n was smiling a bright tooth-grinning smile. "You know Dean even when you don't know what to say you always manage to say the right thing, every single fuckin' time," She said through her smile.

Is it weird to say, but I know when Y/n is at her most happy because she curses. She spouts out every single bad curse word there is known to man. Just to tell you how happy she truly is.

God, I missed her smile. You don't realize just how much you miss something or even need it until it stops coming into your life and then comes back into your life a bullet.

I reached out to touch her, but I'm still hesitant. Very hesitant she most definitely saw that. When I went to take my hand back to my lap, she reached out grabbing my hand.

She's so soft, and her hands god how I've forgotten how much smaller her hands are to mine. Look at her hands, look at that ring, still shiny and glistening under the light of our room. That ring I think is what brought her back to me, no scratch that I think our love for each other is brought her back to me.

I had been looking for weeks after Y/n finally came back. Everything needs to settle down before I can even prompt the question to her. I want her to feel safe, I don't her to feel pressured or like I might be trying to replace the idea of children.

I again dived in and did the research for my idea. Sam even helped me, helped me to try and find the right one for her and me. Sam knows a lot of things but he especially knows this about me. When I do something I do it all the way, no half-assing anything and that only becomes ten times more when Y/n is thrown into the situation.

Doing the best research I could with the help of my brother of course. I found the best thing, not something I necessarily like the idea of but anything to help Y/n.

Anything for her.

They passed my screen, and before I knew it I was scrolling back up to them. In the loud and bold letter, it read.

These two come together, a pit bull and a golden retriever. Price is free, just come and pick them up today.

It just clicked, you ever have those types of moments. Where you can feel deep down in your mind, and body. Gosh, I'm really starting to get more and more like Sam.

I shouldn't say that because honestly, that's how it was for me when I first met Y/n. But that is most definitely a story for another time. I jumped from my seat sending the library chair to slide and then fall against the tile floor.

"Are you okay?" I heard Y/n's sweet voice ringing from behind me. 'Shit I forgot' "Yeah I'm fine, I just remember that I forgot to grab something when I was out earlier," I said, turning jamming my phone in my back pocket, calmly walking over to her, and kissing her temple saying bye.

I rushed, driving down the gravel road that leads to home sweet home. If nobody knew what I was doing they'd probably all think I was trying to get away from a murder that I just committed.

The drive to pups was silent. I'd driven baby so many times alone, but this time it just felt different. My impala was the first one parked, a few people close behind me. I rushed up to the fairly older man. He looked over my shoulder, he huffed before waving the other people off.

"Now listen heree son, I'm given' you 2 pups for nothing, so I don't want to hear anything." He said stepping down the porch and walking in front of me to the red broke down barn.

"They're in here. All yours." He said pulling back the door and then walking back to his barn house. Pointing in a very general area, there were 2 pups as the old man called them. Curled up into each other, 'cute' I thought to myself.

'I've already been gone for too long, hurry up Dean.' I said to myself. "Do they respond to commands? Like come, or no?" I asked as I slouched down to the height or near height of them. He hummed and said a few things under his breath.

"Come here," I said gently, just like if I were talking to Y/n. I know that as husband and wife you're supposed to talk about things before you just go outright and do them, but I kind of figured that Y/n wouldn't have any cons to having some furry children. It would most definitely take her mind somewhere else for the moment.

Waking them up from their shallow sleep, they were both wary at first, but grow to be giving me kisses had me rolling around on the dirty ground.

"Come on son!" The old man said. I jumped up from the ground dusting my clothes off and whistling for the dog's attention. "Let's go" They followed us out of the barn and chased after each other. There was no need for a transaction seeing as he just wanted them gone.

I whistled again, both chasing each other and coming to a fast stop in front of me. I was hesitant to let these pups in my baby, but anything for my girl, for her happiness, anything for her.

Both jumping up and finding a comfy spot and laying down. I speed back home, I'd already been gone for much longer than I originally wanted.

I once again speed down the gravel road heading to my home sweet home. Parking in the garage caused the pups to raise their heads. That being the first time, at least they don't complain about my driving like Sam does. That's rather nice.

I opened the back door and let both of them slip out. Yes at that moment I had realized that I had in fact told nobody of my plans, and I also had nothing to give them food-wise.

Letting them into the bunker they seemed to feel at home, but the more odd thing was that they didn't seem to care about anything other than finding Y/n.

An odd moment, it's like Sam said years ago sometimes animals can sense evil, so why can't they sense happiness or even sadness. I wonder?

The two of them led their own ways to the door of our bedroom. "Sit," I said quietly. They looked at each other and sat down, well actually they laid down.

I knocked and then came in seeing at it was also my room. "When'd you get back?" Y/n's honey slick voiced asked. "Just a few moments ago, love...." There was a comfortable silence between us, but Y/n always knows.

"What are you hiding Winchester?" She asked, pulling the sheets from her body. 'No don't get out of bed' "I need you to stay in bed for this surprise if you will." I said gesturing her to lay back down. " Be ready okay?" I said opening the door,

There sat a golden retriever and a pit bull. I heard her gasp "Dean?!". Behind me I saw the two dogs slowly sit up fully, they looked over at me, then over at Y/n.

I nodded and whistled. The pitbull was the first one to reach Y/n his nose nudging her arm. "Dean?" I heard again, so I turned I was smiling, the dog has already made a way onto her lap. "We.. are.. you." Y/n was most definitely stumbling over her words.

"Yes, they're ours. I thought that if we y'know. We could find a way to take care of something. I think he likes you, baby." I said walking all the way into the room having the golden following close behind me. "Yeah and I think she likes you, Dean." She said, patting the pits head.

"They need names," I said nodding to let the golden know that it was okay for her to jump up on the bed. I want my bed to remember them too, cause my bed is memory foam.

"Miracle and Simon. What do you think." Y/n said resting her hand on top of the pits head. "Whos who?" I asked, Y/n pointed at the dog taking up most of my lap, "That's Miracle" then moving and pointing over the sleeping pup in her lap snoring "This, sweet boy is Simon." She said a single tear falling down her cheek.

"What's wrong honey?" I asked "I know that I didn't even ask you if this was okay," I said worrying as more tears fall down her soft warm-toned cheeks.

"Nothing is wrong Dean, I just remembered that I wanted to maybe name our son Simon when we finally got pregnant." She said, I wiped her stray tears and said, "We've got our son and daughter just in fur version. And being together is enough for me." Kissing her forehead. A whispered, "Thank you Deanie Beanie." I rolled my eyes and kissed her forehead again.

Completed on: 05/24/2021

Posted on 05/25/2021

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #band-psychos bingo challenge 2021 #supernatural x reader #supernatural fic #supernatualfluff #writing #dean x y/n #dean x you #fem reader #feminine #tw swearing #spn fluff #spn fandom #inner thoughts #dean x female!reader #dean x female #dean winchester x you #love dogs #deanwinchtser #dad!dean

[incarnateirony]

genuinely funny watching antis like Vinnie swirl the toilet on curious cat. "You don't think they'll pander to THOSE PEOPLE"

"No, I do not think they will pander to THOSE PEOPLE!"

well first of all, Vinnie, you just don't think. you never have. you compulsively hate-react.

so of course you're not going to suddenly apply the brain matter the universe gave you to recognize what's happening here.

you're right.

they're not going to pander to us.

The story is FOR us.

They might pander to YOU. Throw a bone or two on the way.

But it's not pandering to develop a series for your largest demographic, sorry sweetheart.

again. believe it or not is up to you. if you want to miserably scream all the way down the same hellhole when you denied the market testing and denied the confession was happening or denied the omissions or denied the original ending contents, or you and wiki even on PAYROLL fucking up about the script because mine was newer and you cried fake, we can repeat this fucking rodeo. like it never seems to click with you guys that when I say this shit, it's not because I want it, it's because it's what's happening or happened. Like there's some real object permanence issues with all of you guys.

just like 2p0 forgot he claimed this wasn't about dean's evolution learning from his parents only to jackassedly tweet that a blatantly named episode is about learning from your parents. No shit, sherlock?

Your previous covid butchered finale was never intended, never wanted, and is a mortal embarassment to the crew. It's not hard to take the skeleton it was and actually put substance on it. And that substance is what has you all shitting your pants, because you know, you just want to convince yourselves and each other that you still have a reason to be here. Because if you don't, everyone that's warned you for the last 5 years that you're money wasting hated cunts has been correct there, like about everything else.

But deep down you even know that. Because y'all celebrated and thanked covid for fucking the finale. You're just trying to neuralyze that out to feel enduringly relevant. Covid's over sweetie.(well, effectively. functional sets are working just fine, sparing a few weird exceptions that keep shutting down--) We're finishing it now. And this version gets a full series instead of an episode. Thanks for that, covid!

again. *you* might get pandering bones, but this show is *for* us, by us, get it through your thick heads. And while you're drilling through that titanium low volume shell, reach in there and plant in some acceptance that Jensen is included in Us.

Us includes the tarot and pagans you hate that are being hired and collaborating with set coordinators to design it to the exact alchemy on my blog for years; the graded lodge members arranging rare layouts you'll never understand, but we do. Us includes the gay rebels that are here to burn it down in rainbows, the creole people that are happy to piss off shrill white culture cunts while dancing in feathers, tits out if it offends you; Us includes the writers, Us includes the crew, the majority fandom, it's Us. Not you. You're not the people this is being given back to.

Catch a clue from jib and marketing and rainbow heads and whatever the fuck else, jackasses

they hate you, i'm not kidding, they literally hate you. the only thing they like you for is your money. this isn't fuckin parasocial, it's not a fucking assumption. It's not me playing connect the dots. It is me telling you to your face that they fucking hate you, whether you accept it or not.

"Hate" may be a bit strong, make you even feel like you have power. but it's an apathetic hatred. The kind you wad up and throw in the trash and move on. The kind you shove down your garbage disposal and move on from. you're the gnat infested fruit. so will you get it over with and go instead of swirling the drain and giving jensen even more fodder from your monitored feed to piss you off with?

this entire thing is even taking a highlighter over the cosmogenics that blows your bad soulmates interpretation out of the water, but you're not smart enough to figure out how yet. This. entire. thing. you're going to hate it 100x worse vinnie than you hated late Supernatural. I promise you.

honestly [checks notes] weird it's almost like this was written specifically to piss certain people off and destroy their bad talking points by closing canon in on them. wild. wonder who would do that or had enough thumbs in fandom to figure out what bad talking points needed sniped.

like. it's so wild. from where it's going with the grand big moments that will set Vinnie's head on fire to this just meticulously dismantling all the bad talking points in heller fandom i criticise. amazing. wild how that's working out. like where extreme cas and dean stans spun john around into headcanon extremes against each other, and weaponized that shit instead of acknowledging the generational trauma story echoing through cas and dean at the end--allllll those videos i had and all the hate i got from hellers too and here we are--... WOW!!! ...must have a lucky charm huh

Your lone hero is Robert Singer, the one motherfucker Jensen magically opted to NOT bring back. His retaliation against Dabb and Berens' method of using his own laziness and absence against him and overwriting him and Eugenie caught by covid managed to stamp it out under covid, but guess what. we have a different production house now, assholes. it's not his game and there's nobody to even appeal to above Jensen beyond the CEO. And everybody's pissed.

now sit down and enjoy your gay ass deep dish overwatched by DC execs like Glen Winter and Renee Reiff, head of the gay asses telling you to sit down at DC and Marvel before here.

y'all really think this man built this whole all powerful Out In Hollywood featured fuckin production company and build up all this shit even with open rainbow marketing accountable on main just to rug pull people, because you guys are such nasty incompetent people you would do something like that, but jensen isn't gonna career suicide to make a bunch of weirdos that might sexually exploit their own kids on a weird corner of twitter happy.

Checkmate, bitches.

i told you like a month ago

it's over. it's well past stopping. deal with it and

#had to add bc goddamn #do you guys get it yet #genuinely lmao #2p0 blease add it up #i told you this is above your paygrade #jules paygrade #buddy #you guys think this is just robbie's revenge? #oh boy

[quillquiver]

DeanCas Coda to 15x16. The amount of phone call codas I’ve written over the past 7 years. Oof. >.<

Dean’s halfway through a beer, his fifth gas station mini pie and an episode of Doctor Sexy when his phone rings. A glance at the small screen reveals it to be—if not Sam, Cas, always—and before Dean can even raise the device to his damn ear there’s a deep, gruff voice going, did you tell him yet?

Dean rolls his eyes and settles into the cushions. On screen, Dr. Piccolo and her newest lover are making out in a supply closet. “Nice to hear your voice, too, huggybear.”

“Dean.”

Seven years, and it’s always his name. It’s a legit question, too, but Dean’s pissed and tired and pissed, so instead of answering like a reasonable adult, he smirks and continues to stuff his face. “That’s my name,” he says around a mouthful of beer.

“Dean, we don’t have time for this. We—”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m alright. Definitely had better days, but on the scale of 40 more years in Hell to the world burning alive it wasn’t a total shit sandwich.”

Silence.

Dean frowns. On screen, Dr. Sexy operates on a patient.

“…You told Sam.”

“Yeah, genius,” Dean spits. “I friggin’ told Sam. And as predicted, he didn’t take it well! But that’s just me ain’t it: messenger of God’s destruction. I don’t have the luxury of fucking off to Timbuktu—”

“—That’s not fair—”

“—Nothing about this is fuckin’ fair!” Dean explodes. “The kid, the case, fuckin’—all of it! Nothing about my life has ever been just or good or easy, and all because of some psychopathic Kerouac-wannabe! I’m tired! I’m-I’m…” He dugs the heel of his left hand into his eye, hand closed in a tight fist. He feels like he’s run a marathon.

“What happened?” Cas asks.

Dean shakes his head. “I can’t do it,” he says miserably. “I can’t.”

“You won’t have to. We’ll find another way.”

“Another way,” Dean scoffs. “I’m so goddamn tired of always having to find another way.”

“I know—”

“I miss you.”

Cas holds his breath.

“A lot,” Dean mumbles under his breath. His picks at a loose thread on his jeans. “More than I should.”

“Dean,” Cas says. Soft. Sweet and punched out and very very far away.

“And I hate fighting with Sam, and not knowing when Chuck’s gonna be back, and worrying about you. You just left, man. You weren’t even gonna say goodbye—”

“I’ll be back soon.”

Clutching the phone tightly to his ear, Dean bites his lip. “…Yeah?” He tries not to sound too hopeful; recent history dictates that shit will only end in tears.

“Yeah,” Cas says softly.

“So you found something?”

There’s a long stretch of silence between them, and as predicted, Dean’s heart sinks like a stone in his chest, all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut. Of course not of course not of course not.

“No,” Cas says, eventually. “But I’m not concerned.”

“Not concerned?” Dean echoes. “Cas, hate the break it to you, but time’s up, buddy. Billie paid me a visit today, and she said Chuck’s done with the other worlds. That means—”

“He’s coming here next.”

“Yeah.”

Dean can practically hear Cas’s gear whirring. He gives a low hum, throat clicking as he swallows. “Dean,” he asks. “Do you truly miss me?”

It’s such a change of subject that Dean’s mouth runs before he can stop it. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I always miss you.” It’s a placeholder for all the things he can’t say; things like I hate it when you leave and I wish you’d just stay and I love you. But Dean was caught off guard, not drunk, so those words remain tightly sealed under his tongue, leaking out in ways he hopes get the message across. It isn’t that he’s lying. It’s just that… there’s no point. Even if they beat Chuck, his life will never have room for Cas to be anything more than a friend who flits off all the time. That’s just the way things are.

“Really?” Cas asks. “You mean that?”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, ‘course I do. Cas, what—”

“Because I’m your family,” he continues. “Because I’m your brother. Because you have a duty to me.”

Dean makes a face. “That’s bullshit,” he says fiercely. “Duty ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. I—” He cuts himself off. Feels sweat prickle at the back of his neck. Bites his lip again. “I’ve only got one brother, Cas.” It comes off a lot breathier than he intended, and Dean looks up at the ceiling like he wishes it’d just collapse on him. Fuck. Fuck.

“…That’s good,” Cas replies. “I have enough brothers.”

Dean freezes.

“I’ve been reliably informed they’re all dicks.”

He sits up in his Lay-Z-Boy.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days,” Cas is saying. His voice is confident. Determined. Dean barely hears him. “I have a plan.”

“W-What?” Blood is rushing in Dean’s ears and his heart is doing a real good reenactment of Prison Break and all he can do is furrow his brow and try and pay attention but I have enough brother I have enough brothers—

“I can’t believe I never considered it before. I’m such an idiot.” Cas’s gotta be smiling now; that little, barely there uptick at the corner of his mouth. It changes his speech a little, makes it lilting and playful. “I’m in Maine, but I won’t stop until I’m back. If Chuck returns—”

“Wait a minute, Rambo, you wanna tell me—”

“No,” Cas says. “Not over the phone.” Holy fuck. “Dean, listen to me: everything is going to be fine—”

“Cas, your definition of fine doesn’t exactly instill confidence.”

He laughs. Sweet and clear over the airwaves, the sound makes itself at home in a corner of Dean’s ribcage. Despite himself, he starts to grin. “C’mon, you gotta tell me.”

“I will. Soon.” His voice is warm, now. “I promise.”

Dean feels himself blush to high heaven. “Yeah?” his heart pounds a mile a damn minute, his knuckles white on the phone. It’s easier not being face-to-face, but this shit is terrifying no matter when, where or how you do it. “…You gonna tell me anything else?”

Cas’s breath hitches. “Yes.”

Holy fuck.

“I have to go,” Cas says. “It’s a long drive back.”

“Okay,” Dean replies, weakly.

“But I miss you, too.”

Dean laughs. “Kinda got that.”

“Right.”

They’re definitely both smiling like idiots, but Dean has never been so happy to be a moron. “So, uh,” he says. “Bye? I’ll—see you later. Soon.”

“Soon,” Cas agrees. “And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s more than one way to rip up an ending,” he says. “This is going to work.”

Dean grins. “Yeah,” he replies. “I know.”

I have faith in you.

**A/N: Cas’s big plan is to summon the Empty during their last face-off with Chuck. He figures he can do this by way of either a kiss or a love confession that he’s certain Dean will reciprocate. Now that he pretty much has confirmation of Dean’s feelings, getting the Empty to come collect will be easy. Once everyone is in the same room, he’ll play one off of the other in the hopes that the Empty is willing to take Chuck in his stead, or take them both.

#destiel coda #destiel fic #coda fic #deancas fic #spn 15x16 #spn spoilers #s15 #adventures in fanfic

[amiwritesthings]

Established deanjohn. The argument that leads to Sam leaving to Stamford were he ends up screaming at John that he knows about his relationship with Dean. Dean tries to explain but Sam starts accusing him too and John kicks him out. Cue afterwards either soft deanjohn scene or them starting fighting, leading then to a more rough scene

so i said i wasn't gonna fill this prompt BUT- here we are. just a warning, sam is, well, let's say harsh

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

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he can feel coming on from hearing his father and his brother yell over his head for a solid half hour. He had given up trying to referee a few minutes ago, hovering uselessly in the middle as a buffer, just in case things turned physical.

“I’m disappointed in you, Sammy. Family comes first. Thought we raised you better than that,” John says, almost eerily calm now, and Sam bristles at the words, fists clenching tightly at his sides. Dean straightens just as a precaution, grounds his stance.

“It’s Sam, I’m not a fucking child anymore! And you really think you have a fucking leg to stand on here? Father of the year, right here, huh? Neglecting one son while fucking the other.”

Dean freezes for a second, more from the shock of Sam knowing than the actual words, his eyes, wide, unsure, flickering to Sam, who’s curled so tight Dean’s afraid he’s going to explode any second. Dean instinctively takes a step closer to his father.

“What, you think I don’t know about that fucked-up twisted thing between you two? You haven’t exactly been hiding it well, not for a long time!” Sam rages and behind him, Dean hears John draw in a breath, feels his father's body tensing, and Dean gives him a short look, silent communication – let me handle this -, before turning his attention back to Sam, stepping closer.

“Sammy-,” Dean starts but then doesn’t continue when Sam huffs, a whole-body thing, his shoulders rising, his chest puffing out, eyebrows drawing together as he narrows his eyes.

“Sam,” he corrects, ignoring the sting in his heart at being forced to do so, “whatever you think you know, it’s not-“

“It’s not what, huh, Dean?” Sam interrupts, nostrils flaring. “He’s got his dick so far up your ass, you don’t even know right from wrong anymore! You know there’s more to life than following orders and bending over, right?”

Dean reels back, feels more than sees John move behind him, only manages to turn and bring a hand up to John’s chest in the last second.

“Don’t Dad,” he tries, but John’s eyes are firmly fixed on Sam over Dean’s shoulder, furious, jaw ticking with anger, muscles tense beneath Dean's palm.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, please, John?” Dean tries again, quieter, putting some pressure into his touch, and John finally tears his gaze away from Sam, eyes softening just a little as looks at Dean.

“Oh, it’s John, now, is it? God, I don’t know who’s more deluded, him for thinking this is okay or you for thinking you actually want this! I’m so sick of both of you!”

Dean recoils at the words, from John, from Sam, and when he finally turns to face his brother, hurt in his eyes, and says ‘c’mon Sammy, you don’t mean that’, so quietly, Sam almost – almost – seems to feel bad, his scowl softening, eyes going wide. It has the opposite effect on John, though, anger flaring, shoulder squaring, as he bellows “You wanna leave so fuckin’ bad, boy? Take your shit and go. Go to Stanford, live a normal life. But you leave now, you don’t come back, you hear me?”

Dean tries his hardest not to flinch, at the words, at the sudden determination in Sam’s eyes.

“Fine by me! You just keep living your backwater hillbilly fantasy, ruin him some more, tell yourself it’s okay. See if I fuckin’ care,” Sam yells back as he shoulders his duffel, slings his backpack over the other shoulder.

“Sam, c’mon,” Dean tries again, hovering uncertainly, itching to stop his brother from leaving but not quite daring to move.

“Sam,” Dean implores when Sam reaches for the door handle and while there’s a slight halt in the movement, it doesn’t stop his brother from opening the door. Dean tenses when fingers curl around his wrist, John’s voice low in his ear a moment later. “Let him go, son. He made his choice.”

Sam doesn’t look back when he walks out, the door falling shut behind him with a heavy thud. The silence feels suffocating, makes Dean swallow against the lump in his throat. John’s fingers are still on his wrist, a light touch that should ground him, would ground him in any other situation, the slight stroke of thumb against his pulse point.

He wrenches his hand free, rubs at the skin as if he could chase John’s touch away. He’s feeling untethered, his whole life upended with the slam of the door, a constant removed, just like that.

“Dean.”

“I need a minute,” Dean manages to choke out, stumbling over the words, stumbling away from the looming presence of his father and out into the dark.

Part of him hopes to find Sam still outside, sitting on the porch, on the curb, but there’s only darkness and rain, cold and damp, and God, he wishes they weren’t staying in this god-forsaken residential area with nothing around them for miles, wishes he was at a motel, a truck stop, somewhere with a bar around.

But here, there’s nothing, no people, no bar, no Sam. Just trees, a rotting porch and darkness. He sinks down on the steps of the porch, the rain only hitting his shoes and legs, fat drops that soak through his jeans.

He couldn’t care less.

He takes a deep breath, releases it again in a shudder, his breath forming a cloud in the cold. He wonders if Sam really meant it, if he’s really sick of them to the point where he can’t even stand being around them anymore. If the boy he’d raised, the boy he’d carried out of their burning home on unsteady feet, can’t look him in the eye anymore, can’t accept what living this life has made of their family.

And Dean knows he should feel bad about what he's doing with John, for loving his father too much, that it’s dirtybadwrong for anyone who doesn’t know this life, their circumstances, how Dean has always been more of a partner than a son.

Sam knows all of this, first hand, and he still doesn’t understand. Doesn’t want to understand.

It hurts more than anything ever has, claws at his insides, makes him feel raw and ripped open and he quickly runs a hand over his face when his eyes well up. He’s not going to cry, not over this.

Fuck Sam and his high and mighty attitude, he thinks, and his brain cheers, but his heart keeps aching regardless.

The door opens, closes softly, heavy footsteps that stop just behind him.

“It’s raining,” John says as he sinks down beside Dean on the steps, the old wood creaking ominously under their combined weight.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, keeping his eyes on the ground, the patchy grass in the front yard, the muddy puddles forming in the spaces between.

They sit in silence for a while and Dean lets John’s presence soothe his nerves, lets his warmth seep into him where their shoulders touch. He’s thankful, for once, that they don’t talk about shit like feelings. They are Winchesters after all, stoic and focused, with no room for something as pesky as emotions.

Dean releases a shaky breath when a big hand settles heavily at the back of his neck, squeezing softly. He bites his lip against the tears surging up again, the sharp point of pain enough to keep them at bay. “C’mon, back inside.” The low rumble of John’s voice is comforting, something that bypasses his brain and goes straight to relaxing his body.

“Yeah,” he breathes, soft, as he follows John in rising, grimacing at the feel of wet jeans sticking to his legs. It’s uncomfortable, like the whole evening has been. And he’s so ready for it to be over, for all of this to be over, for John and him to get into the Impala and just drive, hunting whatever comes their way and forget about Sam.

Not tonight though. John has been drinking, he can smell it on him when he follows him inside, their shit isn’t packed and it’s coming down in sheets outside. Tonight, they are not going anywhere. Tonight, they are stuck here, in this ramshackle house with the memory of Sam haunting the space.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” John says, as if reading his mind, and Dean is glad he doesn’t need to ask for this, doesn’t need to ask to get away from this place.

He follows John up the stairs, to the bedrooms, where they each had their own, a rare luxury. John doesn’t say anything when Dean hovers in the door to his room, doesn’t ask for him to join him in John’s, doesn’t push.

“Night,” is the only thing he says, quietly, before he disappears into the bedroom, leaving Dean alone in the hall. Dean’s eyes linger on the door across from his, the room where Sam slee- used to sleep, and his teeth dig into his lip again, the flesh already sore, the pain a welcome distraction.

His bedroom is dark safe for a sliver of moonlight through the curtain, finding its way between heavy cloud as the rain momentarily lets up. He sinks onto the edge of the bed with a sigh, toes off his boots, then peels the wet jeans down his legs. His calves are clammy, cold, and he shivers in the cool air, mind still whirling.

Did Sam really hate him that much for finding comfort, love in his life? Did he really think he-

Dean clamps down on the thought, forces it back. Fuck Sam. The thought is foreign, forced, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He strips out of the rest of his clothes, slips into his sleep shirt, one of John’s old USMC shirts that still hangs long on his frame.

He eyes his bed, the lumpy pillow, the ugly comforter with the stupid roses.

It’s not even a conscious decision to leave his room, pad down the hall to the door that’s left slightly ajar. “Dad?”

There’s rustling in the dark, like John’s turning over to face the door.

“C’mere,” John says, one hand lifting the sheets for Dean to climb in. Dean hovers for just a second before crossing the distance and sliding under the sheets, fitting himself to John’s body until he can’t tell anymore when one ends and the other begins.

It reminds him of simpler times, when he was just a boy, climbing into his dad’s bed to escape a bad dream, letting his father hold him until his mind quieted down.

There’s a hand softly running through his hair now, the other resting just lightly on his belly. It’s warm and comfortable and familiar and for the first time since Sam had whipped out that stupid envelope, Dean begins to relax.

“Do you really think he hates-,” Dean starts after a while, not even sure if John is still awake, letting his words trail off into the dark. John tightens the arm around him, presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “No,” he answers, a puff of warm air against Dean’s skin, and he sounds so sure that Dean can almost believe it.

#angst #deanjohn #johndean #sam knows #writing #asks #ami answers #ami writes #sorry this took so long #hope you like it #liddellhart #why do y'all always hit me with the angst

[imaginedxlan]

Drivers License Pt. 2 (Ron Weasley)

a/n: You guys absolutely went off for part 1, thank you so so much!! Someone requested that I make a part 2 where y/n finally gets a happy ending, but without ron so I decided to kind of run with the idea, this time sort of from ron’s point of view.

disclaimer: the timeline in the books/movie are gonna line up in this one. I know they didn’t have a seventh year and i know ron kissed lavender before winter but this is obv not cannon, go with it, also fred dying was a prank anyway so YOU THOUGHT it would be included. absolutely not. 

After taking y/n’s affection for granted, Ron realizes he’s made a huge mistake when she’s moved on to be happy without him

warning(s): cussing, sadness, broke my own heart writing this

Pay attention to the gif, keep it in your mind towards the end. 

Part 1

___________________

And all my friends are tired Of hearing how much I miss you, but I kinda feel sorry for them 'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do

It took a long time for you to move on from Ron, you didn’t have to look very far to do so. Ginny had told off Ron one night for hurting you without realizing the twins were awake and hearing all the nasty things Ron put you through. By that point he and Hermione were no longer together, she realized he was too good of a friend to lose to a ‘stupid school relationship.’ So now he was alone, completely clueless to the fact that someone else had begun pining over you. 

“Merlin, not this again.” Harry groans into his textbook. The wizarding world was on the verge of destruction and all Ron could speak about was how much he missed you. “Ron, we get it you fucked up with her, get over it.”

The boys had heard the same speech everyday. He would first start off with ‘I know I say this a lot’ then go onto name the things he misses most about you. Your hair, your eyes, your laugh, how small your hands are compared to his. He then groans about how stupid he is for, well, everything. 

“I never heard you talk about her before now,” Dean adds, actually semi-invested in the drama that surrounded Ron’s love life. “Whats so special about her anyway?”

How could he even begin to explain what was so special about you. As much as he wished he could say he lied to you about everything he said to you, how easy it would be if he never gave a shit about you, that just isn’t the case. You had this way of making him feel safe whenever he held you. He wasn’t lying when he told you that you felt like home, he just didn’t mean to say it to soon. Maybe that was the reason he decided to kiss Lavender Brown, knowing you were watching. He wanted to push you away in the most hurtful way possible that you never even thought about coming back to him, but immediately regretted that decision. 

You also had this weird hold on him, even when he was with Hermione, he would catch a glimpse of your smile and his heart would drop into his stomach. He would see your eyes sparkle in the light of the living room fire place when you were visiting the Burrow and want to scream out that he never meant to hurt you. He notices things about you that you probably hadn’t even noticed about yourself. The way your nose will scrunch when you focus really hard when Ginny tries to teach you wizard chess, how he wishes you would let him close enough to teach you. His heart aches when he notices you shift away from him, even after he and Hermione broke up. When you and Gin walk into the Great Hall for dinner and you go out of your way to sit as far from his as you can. 

“You don’t understand,” Ron huffs out, rolling onto his side, wishing you were laying close into his chest like you used to. “She’s something else.”

“Ron, I know you miss her and everything but I have to tell you that you missed your chance,” Harry tells him. “Ginny tells me more than she probably should about all of this, she’s finally moved on from you mate, let it go.”

But how could he? How could he move on when you’re constantly around? He can hear a laugh from all the way down the hall and immediately know its falling from your lips, he’ll hear the sound of an engine from his bedroom window and know you’ve arrived for one of your weekend stays. The way you get on so well with his family, you’re perfect for him, you always have been but he took you for granted and now all he can do is complain to his friends about how he let you go.

And I know we weren't perfect But I've never felt this way for no one, oh And I just can't imagine How you could be so okay now that I'm gone?

He thought for a long time that you were a temporary fix for his feelings that ran deep within him for Hermione, but being with her only made him realize that it was you all along. How could he have been so stupid? He refused to let his friends know you were together, in fear that Hermione would lose the feelings he had prayed she felt toward him, but in doing so he only pushed you away.

“Ron, we can’t keep sneaking around like this.” You would tell him after he pulled you into a broom closet in the middle of the day. “They’ll find out eventually, it’s not like Ginny would be cross with either of us.”

Ron was never able to give you a clear answer when it came to why you had to hide from everyone, not wanting to admit to you that it was because he was hung up on his best friend. Looking back now, it was the stupidest decision he ever made. While your relationship was chaotic and spontaneous and secretive, it was still something he now yearned for everyday, he needed to feel what he felt for you then. More specifically, he needed you to feel what you felt for him back then too. Admittedly, he never loved Lavender Brown, she was only there to stroke his ego. He thought he loved Hermione, but how can you fully love someone if your heart is connected to someone else? Loving you felt different than with anyone else, his chest burned and his hands tingled whenever you were around him. 

That’s why it hurt him so badly to see you move on, and not to just anyone. After Ginny’s outburst toward her brother over how he continued to treat her best friend, a certain Weasley grew closer to you. At first, George wanted to apologize to you for the way his brother treated you as well as help you navigate co-existing with the boy. However, the more time you spent with George, the closer you became. You found yourself laughing at his stupid pranks that wouldn’t have even warranted a grin years ago. You felt the need to be near him grow more everyday, Ron noticed your sudden draw toward his brother as well.

He couldn’t understand how after, according to Ginny, crying over him for days on end, barely being able to get into your car to drive to the Burrow in fear of seeing him you could all of a sudden move on to his brother. Now that he realized how bad he messed up, he’s miserable that you weren’t around him, that you didn’t love him like you used to. How could you not feel the same hollow feeling he did?

What Ron didn’t see was that you did feel that hollow feeling, for months actually. You watched him fall in love and out of it twice before he realized you were the one, but by that time you didn’t have anything left to give him. You were healing in a way that caused you to grow apart from him even further. You found happiness is sleepovers with Ginny, helping Molly in the kitchen, and now long drives with George. You no longer felt like you needed Ron to survive. You didn’t eat, sleep, and breathe him anymore and that killed him.

You were careful to never make Ron feel the same way you did when you saw him with Lavender and Hermione, you weren’t as cruel as he was back then, but it was no secret that you and the twin had sparked some sort of relationship. Ginny was over the moon, as she began to lose hope in having you as a real sister by being with Ron, George came in and saved the day. If you thought Ron was mature for his age, George was practically ten times more. The more responsible of the twins, he always seemed to know exactly what to do and say in every situation. He always gave the best advice. What to do when a professor wouldn’t let up, how to sneak around the halls of Hogwarts at night, and most commonly how to continue in your growth while the one person who seems to stunt it is living only a stones-throw away. While you were still in school and he was running the shop, he would send you letters updating you on his life and beg you to come work at the shop with him and Fred when you finish school, telling you that you would make an excellent addition to the team. His words never failed to make you blush.

He’s three years older than you, almost twenty by the time you had moved on completely from Ron, so nothing ever really happened with George then, but your growing companionship could only be expected to blossom from there. Ron couldn’t stand it. Of all people you could seek comfort in, it had to be his brother. He would hear you gushing to Ginny about the most recent letter you received in the Common Room or witness you and George chatting about something completely arbitrary over Christmas and seethe with anger. In his mind, if you had ever truly loved him like you say you did, you wouldn’t be so content knowing that you two would never be together.

Red lights, stop signs I still see your face in the white cars, front yards Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

It was no longer a secret to any of the Weasley clan that Ron was miserable. When he’s at school, he’s complaining to his friends about what he could have done differently so that he could have you. At home he begged his sister to stop bringing you around, as if he had any say in whether or not you visited the Burrow. Now being old enough to use magic outside of Hogwarts, he would apparate out any time he heard you pull up to his driveway. He would go to London mostly, distracting himself in the busy streets and crowds of people.

It never worked. Somehow everywhere he turned he thought he would catch a glimpse of your hair blowing in the wind. He would shake his head just to realize you were never there. Any white car that passed next to him would immediately strike fear in his heart, thinking you were behind the wheel, but you never were. He couldn’t decide if he was looking for you in everything or if he was so afraid to see you that he imagined you everywhere. Nevertheless, there was nothing Ron Weasley could do that would effectively distract himself from you, and he’s now starting to realize it’s all his fault.

If he hadn’t been so self centered to fall into Lavender Brown’s compliments and praises due to his egomania, he would have never kissed her in front of you. At the time he thought of it as kind of a test, how far could he push you before you were no longer kissing the ground he walked on. Seeing you still tremble at his touch or your cheeks heat up whenever he said your name made him feel good, like you would never leave him. Now that you’re gone, he’s kicking himself for pushing that limit. He didn’t know it would take him falling into Hermione’s arms in that hospital bed in front of you to ruin your good opinion of him forever, but if he did he swears he would have called out your name that day instead. 

On top of the Dark Lord plotting to take over the wizarding world as he knew it, his last semester was filled with memories of you. Any time he would walk into the common room his heart would fill with sorrow, recalling how it felt to first kiss you there. He would also replay the moment he kissed Lavender Brown in that very spot, after pulling away catching a glimpse of you rushing through the crowd of Gryffindors to get away from him. In that moment he felt like the world’s biggest arse, yet it didn’t keep him from holding onto Lavender a bit longer. He avoided certain hallways that would force him to pass the broom closets and empty classrooms he pulled you into throughout the school day, hiding you from his friends. What a stupid thing to do. Part of him knew back then that he would never feel the way he felt about you for anyone else, but he was greedy. 

Seeing you happy without him ripped his heart out of his chest and tore it to shreds. How you would smile down at a piece of parchment, assuming it was a letter from his brother. The sound of your voice carrying through the dorms as you and Ginny would stay up late in the common room talking about nothing and everything all at once. He couldn’t bear living right next to you, co-existing with you, while you just ignored him and grew apart from him.

“Y/n,” He calls your name. You’re alone in the common room, that is until he came in. You hadn’t heard him say your name in a while, you find it doesn’t have the same impact on you as it did a year ago and you’re grateful for that. “Y/n, can I talk to you?”

“What is it, Weasley?” You ask him, hoping the dismissal you intended in your tone translates. You had spent months avoiding him, avoiding the longing gazes, so that you could pick up the pieces of your heart that he shattered and put them back together. He doesn’t respond for a while, just admiring how you look in the glow of the fireplace. “I don’t have all night, get on with it.”

“Right,” He replies, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He takes a seat on the arm chair across from the couch that you’re sat on, careful not to get too close. Your face is cold, he almost doesn’t recognize you without your smile. “I messed up, Y/n. I know I did. I fucked it all just to have a quick fix because I’m arrogant and selfish. I was so lost back then, in my own pride, that I didn’t know what I wanted out of life. But I know now what I needed then, what I need now.”

You don’t reply. Your heart is sinking but you do a great job of hiding it. Your face doesn’t change even though your inside is screaming. After months of crying and misery, watching the first boy you had fallen in love with fawn over what felt like every girl in the school, you had finally stopped hurting. Your heart doesn’t ache when you see him anymore, you don’t blush when you hear his name and you stopped yearning for his touch. Yet now, he has the audacity to try and fix it. Months ago you would have welcomed this grand gesture of what you can only assume to be a confession of the love he never lost for you, but you’re not the person you were then, thanks to the boy sat in the armchair that forced you to grow up and move on from him so soon. 

“Say something.”

“Say something?” You ask, gawking at his audacity and slamming your book next to you. “You dangle your little relationships in front of me for almost a fucking year, pretending like I never meant anything to you and you’d like me to say something? Do you understand what kind of pain you caused? I cried until I had nothing left because you told me all these nice things about me, you told me you loved me, then you kissed Lavender right in front of me. Not only that but I spent hours, Ron, hours sitting next to your bed in the hospital scared shitless that you were going to die in there. You know who came twenty minutes before you woke up, Granger. I was there for hours and who’s name you did you call out? Hers. Months ago I would have eaten this shit up, Weasley. You could have come in here and told me my hair looked different and I would have fallen in love with you all over again. Not anymore. I’m finally happy, you don’t get to ruin that because things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to with Hermione.”

He sits in front of you, shocked. Part of him expected you to always want him, to come back to him even after all this time but he was wrong. He looked at you, hoping that maybe you were lying, that you were just scared to get hurt again so you put on a face for him but the look in your eyes told him more than what just fell from your lips. You hate him.

“Y/n, please.” He whimpers as you start to collect your things to leave this room immediately. There are only two of you but you feel suffocated. “I love you.”

“Shut up.” You tell him, not in jest, not to tease him but genuinely wanting him to stop speaking. “Don’t you dare say that to me ever again. You don’t deserve to know what it’s like for me to love you, you never did.”

You leave him sitting alone in the common room, heart shattered from your words that dug into him like a thousand knives. He replayed it over and over again, to feel something other than the numbness that was sure to come in time when you love someone you cannot have. He still had to be around you, watch you live your life without him. He had to see you laugh and know he could never put a smile like that on your face ever again. In order to fully heal from the heartache he was facing he knew he had to separate himself from you, to leave for a while so he didn’t have to see you fall in love with his brother, but he couldn’t. He decided he would rather have you in the smallest way possible, watching you from afar, seeing you smile like you once did at him, then never see you again.

Sidewalks we crossed I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing Over all the noise God, I'm so blue, know we're through But I still fuckin' love you, babe

Years Later

Following your last year at Hogwarts, you followed George’s orders and began working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The twins were overjoyed to have your help, George especially so to have you around so often. With you 18 and he 21, after all these year he made his move on you, your friendship blossoming into something more.

You finally knew what it felt like to love and be loved back. George never tried to keep you from his friends, he never snuck off with you to hide your relationship, rather he paraded you around, proud that ‘someone like him was able to swing someone like you.’ He made you blush every time he looked at you, his handsome smile always pulling at your heartstrings. You had become addicted to being loved in that way.

Ron didn’t love your new relationship with his brother as much as as you did. He knew you deserved someone good, someone who would treat you right, he just wished it didn’t have to be someone who placed you in his life indefinitely. His heart ached whenever he would see George’s hand reach for yours as you giggled through the backyard of the Burrow. The worst was when he caught the two of you kiss for the first time.

It was late in the Summer, just after you and Ginny finished your years at Hogwarts. You were visiting just like you always did that time of year and late one night Ron heard rustling down from the main floor. Fearing that an animal had gotten in the house, he immediately searched for the origin of the noise. What he was met with was worse than if an acromantula had found its way into his kitchen. There you were, your hands tangled in his brother’s fiery red hair and his resting on your waist, your body pressed up to the sink. As he watched your lips against his brother’s, he felt as if a fire had engulfed his heart, his chest beginning to sting as it became harder to breathe. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t stop you two, just turned on his heels and darted back to his bedroom. When he was finally safe in his solitude, he slid against his door and broke down. The memories of the two of you in that very kitchen years ago flooded his sense.

During winter break of his sixth year and your fifth, the two of you spent your time cooking and cleaning together in that kitchen, laughing over the littlest things. Even when you weren’t right next to each other, he could still hear your laugh over all the commotion in the house. It was and still is his favorite sound. He wishes that he could bring that sound from your lips again, hoping that maybe one day you’ll realize your love for his brother is really misdirected love toward him, but that all changed.

You’re now 22 and George is 25. You have officially been together for four year. The shop had expanded immensely, renovations to the first store and new shops opening up all over the country and the continent. You count yourself lucky to be a part of it, to be able to say your boyfriend was the co-owner of the most successful joke shop in Europe. Being able to see how his eyes glow like it’s his first day of work every single day still makes your heart smile.

Tonight is another unveiling event of a new shop, this one in Spain. However, this new location being the 10th shop to open up in the continent, the boys decided this launch party would be more formal than the last, a bigger celebration. You all are dressed up, George in a tuxedo and you in a floor length gown. You loved seeing George in his everyday clothes, thinking he would look handsome in a potato sack, but there is something about that boy in a suit. All your friends and family are there, investors too. It’s a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

Ginny is still your best friend, you can’t imagine a day when she isn’t. You still have sleepovers in the Burrow even though you had your own lives and own flats. She’s still with Harry, a ring now occupying her left finger. When he proposed you and Ginny immediately started planning the wedding, there was no question who the maid of honor would be. She practically begs her older brother to make an honest woman out of you every time she sees him because she wants to, like almost everything in your lives, go through this experience with you.

Ron is there, of course he is. One of the biggest milestones in his older brothers’ career paths so far, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He works at the shop sometimes, never with you, Fred and George would never be so cruel to ask him to do such a thing. He watched you for most of this night, his brother’s hand resting on your lower back every time he looked. While he knew your smile that you were putting on for investors and old friends was partly exaggerated so you could better play your role of proud girlfriend to the co-owner, he still admired how it sparkled like no one else’s he had ever seen. You grew more beautiful with every year you aged, this of course hurt him to still see you so happy without him.

You catch Ron’s stares throughout the night, you ignore them for the most part. You have come a long way, you were sixteen with you had your heart absolutely shattered by the boy and now you’re an adult. You have a job, a home, a life that at one point you could have never imagined living without him. The boy you were once completely and utterly bewitched by is now just a faint memory, a small ping in your chest when you think of how someone could hurt you so badly at such a young age. You catch his eye and smile at him, no longer angry with him. Like most things, George helped you process your anger. He couldn’t stand to see you so furious anytime you saw someone who mattered quite a bit to him. George has his moments when he hears something Ron did to you for the first time and becomes outraged, now that he loves you and everything, but he always reminds himself that its in the past. 

Ron smiles back, you can tell he’s forcing it, but it’s a step in the right direction. Something tells him that he’ll never fully get over you, that part of his heart will always be in your possession. The only way he can describe his feelings whenever he’s around you anymore is blue, every shade of blue. Sometimes are better than other, a sky blue, a bit brighter but still a hint of sadness. Other times are a navy blue, complete and utter darkness. He hasn’t decided what tonight is blue-wise. 

“Fred and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight.” George speaks into a microphone placed on an elevated surface in the new shop. You can’t help but admire his features, he looks so mature. “As you all know, courtesy of this bloody massive sign above our heads, this is our tenth shop to open across the continent. It feels surreal to say, eh Freddie?”

“You said it, George.” Fred replies. “Everyone in this room holds a special place in our heart, you’ve all, in your own ways, made this shop what it is today. We are so grateful to have such loyal and fantastic business partners, friends, and family.”

You want to cry, not a sad cry, but burst into tears over how far the two of them have come. When you first joined them in working at the shop, it was just a corner store on Diagon Alley, now it’s a world wide chain. You see the ins and outs of the business, knowing just how much work the two of them put into this dream. You’re able to catch George’s gaze, mouthing an I love you which he returns with a wink. 

“Before we let you all get back to the party, theres one person we would like to specifically thank,” George speaks again before pointing down to you and motioning you to come up with them. You shake your head at him, not wanting to impede on the well deserved attention and praise the boys are getting. “Y/n, this isn’t an option come on up here. Alright, for those of you who don’t know this is my lovely, gorgeous, smart, talented-”

“Alright, get on with it Georgie!” Fred interrupts, making the crowd of people laugh. “I think they get the point.”

“Okay, okay.” George puts his hands up in defense. “Like I was saying, or those of you who don’t know this is Y/n. She’s better known to most of you as the lady who was stupid enough to say yes when I asked her to be my girlfriend, but she was the stores first hired employee. She has been with us for all the renovations, all the expansions and has always supported us in every hair-brained idea Freddie and I have come up with. She has since become our creative director for the company as well as held a seat on our board for, well as long as we’ve had a board. Without her, I think we might just crumble to the ground.”

“Oh stop that!” You don’t mean for it to come out so loud, but you make the crowd laugh again and your cheeks heat up. You slide in front of George to bring your mouth up to the microphone. “They’re making my role seem much larger than it is, all of this that you’ve seen over the years has very little to do with me.”

“Pay no mind to her, she’s being humble.” George retorts, and you decide to stop fighting it. “I guess what I’m trying to say is our lives, especially mine, would be a lot harder if Y/n wasn’t in it. I couldn’t think of a better place, in front of a better group of people, to ask this question.”

Before you can process his words, your boyfriend is lowering down on one knee and pulling a small box out of his pocket. You hear gasps and whistles coming from the crowd, making you turn to see Ginny with the biggest smile on her face. You look back down to George, your hands going to cover your gaping mouth. This is not real. The red haired boy opens the box to reveal a ring, a massive diamond in the center with what seemed like a dozen smaller diamonds surrounding it. So this is where all the money the shops have been making was going.

“Y/n, my dearest love,” He doesn’t even get a full sentence out and you’re already shaking. “It will never make sense to me why you said yes to being my girlfriend, but I’m hoping whatever came over you that day is over you now so you’ll say yes to this one too. Y/n, will you make the happiest bloke to every walk this earth and marry me?”

You can’t even form words, your heart feeling like it’s migrated to your throat. You can only nod and pull him up from his kneeling position to pull him into the tightest hug you’ve ever given. “Yes, yes. One thousand times yes. Georgie, I love you!”

George gives you that smile that melts you in every way and places the ring on your left finger. Ginny finally got her way. He pulls you in for a small kiss and your friends and family clap and shout with joy. You can hear Molly shouting over everyone else. Everyone in the room is clapping and celebrating but one person.

Ron’s mouth is agape, watching as you say yes to spending the rest of your life with his brother. He wants to be happy for the two of you, he wants to be able to celebrate with his family but the dull ache in his heart that has been present since the night in the common room that you told him to never say the words you just shouted to his brother turns into a sharp pain. This is the final nail on the coffin that is the hope Ron held that you would one day be together. That small glimmer dying as the ring is placed on your dainty hand. It doesn’t take long for Harry to notice the look on his best friends face, excusing himself from Ginny for a moment. 

“You alright?” Harry asks quietly, careful not to draw attention to the one person in the room that isn’t happen for the newly engaged couple at the front. “Ron you have to at least pretend to be happy for them.”

Ron looks over to Harry and shakes his head. “I wish I could be happy for them mate. Everything in me wishes I had done something differently so it was me asking her that question.”

Harry is quiet for a while, watching as Ron’s face keeps the shocked and defeated look that its held since he saw his brother get on one knee. He balls his hands into fists every few minutes to keep himself from going completely numb. “You really still love her, don’t you? After all this time.”

“‘Course I fucking do.” Ron whispers, not meaning for it to come out as harsh as it did. He and Harry talk for a little while, just to keep his mind off the obvious stressor in the room, until Ginny is pulling Harry away to come and congratulate her best friend. Ron is left alone as we watches your smile, a genuine one this time, is glued to your face as you show anyone and everyone the ring. George is standing proudly beside you, holding your waist. You never look his way, too involved in sharing the most exciting moment of your life, though Ron wishes you would look over to him. He wishes he could catch your eye and sense some form of regret, then come save the day, but that never happens. Today is the darkest shade of blue imaginably, knowing for certain that your whole heart belongs to someone else. Quietly, for no one else to hear but him, he utters:

“I love you, I always will.”

#ron weasley #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #george weasley #george weasley imagine #weasley imagine #weasley twins #gryffindor #gryffindor imagines

[mummybear]

Demon From My Nightmares

This is Day 23 Of RolePlay May

(Part Two Here)

Words: 4307

Warnings: Smut, Rough Sex, Possessive Demon Dean, Swearing, Dirty Talk, Dub Con With Non Con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Face Fucking, Choking, Throat Holding, Thigh Riding, Name Calling. Think That’s it.

Characters: Demon Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Cas, Reader

Pairing: Demon Dean x Reader

Summary: When your dreams of your mysterious green eyed man prove not only to be your thoughts what will you discover?

A/N: Another Big thank you to my Beta, Bee @negans-lucille-tblr and thank you for all your help my love! This is my first Demon Dean fic so I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know! :D

 You wake with a start. He was back in your dreams again; the handsome green-eyed stranger, with a face so familiar it's like you know exactly who the man is when in actual fact you're almost certain you've never met him before in your life. There's something niggling at the back of your mind that tells you he's dangerous, beyond anything that you've ever experienced before. Yet, you can't be sure that he's even real. 

This dream had been no different from the last dozen or so. The way he looks at you, it sends a different kind of energy coursing through your veins. Something so powerful and incredibly intoxicating that your head feels like it's spinning. His name sits on the tip of your tongue and yet, you don't know it, or at least you don't remember it. That damn smirk of his is downright sinful, his hair is a mess that you wish you could sink your hands into. But it's those eyes that make your heart beat faster and causes the sound of your blood rushing to fill your ears. Then his eyes flash to black and you wake up. Every single time.

It's part of your routine now, so you head down to the kitchen and get yourself a glass of water. Except this time, something is different, there's a smell you somehow recognise but it doesn't belong in your house. It's amazing, like everything you're sure the man in your dreams smells like. Although it's not possible that you would know something like that, right?

Pulling yourself from your mindless thoughts, you place your glass back on the counter-top. Other than the smell, there's something else that's off, you're starting to feel like someone is watching you. 

Swallowing hard your eyes scan the dark space surrounding you, the small light in the living room taunting you from the kitchen because you know that you turned that light off before you’d gone to bed. If nothing else you know you should turn the light off before heading back upstairs. So, summoning your courage,  you grab the first available weapon in the kitchen, which just so happens to be a knife. Your hands are clammy as they wrap around the handle and you slowly tiptoe your way into the low lit room.

You don’t know why you’re surprised but when you walk into the room it’s empty, yet there are goosebumps that are rising steadily across your skin. Your eyes flick around the room until you're at least slightly satisfied you’re alone and with a shaking hand you turn off the light. You keep the knife in your hand as you walk back upstairs to bed.

Leaving the knife on your bedside table you climb beneath your duvet and force yourself to close your eyes. Then you hear it; the deep raspy chuckle at the end of your bed and you freeze. It’s familiar and yet you have no idea why. Your eyes snap open and quickly fall on the tall dark shadow of a figure at the bottom of your bed.

You’re too scared to move, completely frozen in place with only your wildly beating heart and your heavy breathing to distract you. Of course they are failing miserably. You shudder hearing the deep rumbling chuckle fill the room once more. 

“Oh come on baby girl, you really think I’m gonna fall for this. I know you’re awake. Surely you haven’t forgotten about me already sweetheart?”

He’s right, you have no idea how but you know his voice. 

The thought to answer him is on the tip of your tongue but you can’t form the words, it’s like they are stuck in your throat and your fear is taking away any rational thought you have left. 

There’s a snap of fingers from somewhere in the back of your room and your bedside lamp clicks on. You can’t hold in your gasp when you see him, quickly shuffling up your bed you pull your knees up against your chest, feeling your heart rate increasing further still.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” You ask nervously, arms tightening around your legs as you try and fail to hide the shake in your voice. 

You can only watch him as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it over the back of the chair in the corner of your room.

“Trust me you don’t want me to go, not that it’s an option. However, you know the answer to all of your questions if you just use your brain.” He practically purrs as he starts walking closer.

“I don’t care. Get out before I call the police,” you state suddenly feeling angry. Unfortunately, what you had hoped would be enough to scare him off only made him laugh, sharp white teeth flashing in the light.

“You’re still so fuckin’ cute. But they ain’t gonna help you now, nobody is.” The finality in his voice makes the shivers rush up your spine and it’s all you can do not to scream, but you have a feeling that won’t help you.

Before he gets too close, your body seems to react in sync with your brain this time and you quickly jump off the bed and grab the knife on your bedside table.

“Stay back! I swear to fucking God I will use this,” you warn him, your hand shaking as you point the sharp object at him.

“Oh good. I do love a little bit of foreplay.” His smirk stirs something inside you, you’re unsure what it is and that might scare you more than the man in front of you.

Before you can reply he’s on you, one big hand wrapped around your wrist as he slams you back against the wall, his other hand wraps around your throat. The knife clatters to the floor when his fingers squeeze tighter, his green eyes flashing black when he leans in close and inhales deeply. This time you can’t help but scream but it comes out as more of a loud squeak with the way he’s gripping your throat.

“You really don’t remember anything do you?” he laughs looking into your wide eyes. You shake your head quickly and he nods, licking his plump lips which are only a breath away from your own. “You’ve had an angel playing with your memories but you’ve been dreaming about me, haven’t you?” 

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat and the grip of his hand, your free hand wraps around his wrist when he squeezes harder.

“Yes. But I still don’t understand what you want with me,” you croak out.

“Sure you do. But you’re no fun, I like it when you’ve got your fight,” he practically growls roughly smashing his lips against yours, the grip you have on his wrist is useless no matter how much you fight against him. 

Then something strange happens. There's a sharp pain in your head and white blurs your vision. Memories fill your mind so fast it makes your head spin and suddenly you know who the man in front of you is; what he is.

You bring your leg up and attempt to knee him between the legs but the hand gripping your wrist drops and he catches it just in time. 

“There’s my girl.” He chuckles deeply, dropping your leg back to the floor and pushing one of his legs between yours.

“Get off of me you sick demon fuck,” you grunt under the weight of his body, which is almost completely pressed against you. The knee between your legs pushes you up the wall, until your feet are off of the floor.

“Now princess, is that any way to greet your beloved boyfriend?” 

“You’re not my boyfriend! You’re fucking deluded! Dean. Dean was my boyfriend, you’re a poor imitation of the man I love. Nothing more. You make me sick!” You spit back in disgust, trying to ignore when his free hand grips your hip and he starts rocking you along the top of the thick muscle you’re sitting upon. 

“Y’know I forgot how hot you are when you’re angry. Isn’t that sweet you still love me, I bet you still love my cock as well, don’t ya sweetheart?” 

“Fuck you!” You shout back, just about managing to slap him around the face. The sound echoes throughout the room. Before you can bring your fist back for another hit he catches both of your hands, pinning them above your head with one big hand.

“Well, that is the plan. You’re gonna be begging for it baby, just like you used to. I’ll make sure you don’t fucking forget me this time and that’s a promise, my dirty little slut.” 

You know you’re completely screwed, he’s far too strong for you to fight against, especially when you don’t have a single weapon. There’s that part of you deep inside that you’re begging to stay quiet, that desperate part of you that thinks you’re the one who can save him.

“Not a chance in hell you black-eyed son of a bitch!” 

“Doesn’t really matter if you let me, sweetheart. I’m taking what I came here for and you’re gonna love it,” he chuckles when you practically snarl at him. “Eventually.” Dean shrugs with a sinister grin that makes your insides twist painfully.

Ignoring the way his words are affecting you, you meet his eyes for what feels like the first time in ages.

“Why did Cas take my memories? Why did they leave me behind?” You ask suddenly, hoping if you drop your guard enough and do what he wants then you can get the drop on him. 

As much as you hate to admit it won’t be hard, you’re still in love with the man he used to be, God you’d missed him. Maybe you could pretend for a while. He smiles, releasing your throat, letting you gasp for air as he cups your cheek and his thumb roughly brushes across your lips.

“It’s simple really. They knew I could break you without much work, that you’d give into me. You’re weak when it comes to me sweetheart and they know it. I’m the only one who ever comes back for you baby, you need me, demon or not, and everyone knows it.” 

“You’re lying they wouldn’t do that!” You reply angrily but it comes out much quieter than you first meant it to. 

The tip of his tongue presses against the back of his teeth as he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to lie. You’re nothing to them. At least I have a few uses for you.” He moves in closer and his lips brush yours and all you can do is stare into the black of his once green eyes.

“First I’m gonna fuck this pretty little mouth and you’re gonna take me down deep, ain’t ya baby?” He all but purrs, licking at your bottom lip.

“N-No,” you reply shakily, your nails digging harshly into the palms of your hands as he flexes his fingers that are still tightly gripping your wrists. 

His free hand moves slowly down your body, making you shiver when it slips beneath your thin t-shirt and he grips your hip and starts you rocking over his thigh again.

“Oh now come on, be a good girl. Of course you are. You always did take my cock so well.” 

You can’t hold in the gasp when your clit starts nudging against the muscle in his thigh with every rock of your hips, so much so you’re now doing it without Dean’s help.

“Dean, please don’t,” you whimper pathetically.

“Don’t what? That’s all you baby, you’re gonna make yourself come in your tight little shorts while riding my thigh, sweetheart. Then I’ll fuck that pretty mouth until your throat hurts. But don’t even think that I’ll be leaving that tight little pussy out. Gotta make sure I stretch you out for next time. You been with anyone since that last night where I had you begging for more?” 

You shake your head and bite back a moan feeling your pussy starting to clench around nothing.

“No, only you,” you reply quietly, wishing that wasn’t the truth.

He laughs at that and his fingers tighten on your hip, “of course you haven’t. That’s because you’re my little slut isn’t that right, baby?” He asks, pressing his lips against your neck. You gasp when his sharp teeth pull at the sensitive skin a little harder than you’d been expecting.

“Fuck you, Dean. If I wanna fuck somebody else, I will. You don't own me.” 

Dean pulls back to look at you again, with a sinister look on his face.

“You’ve never been more wrong in your life. You’re mine and only mine. Always have been, always will be. Until I get bored of you,” he replies simply. Not giving you time to argue, he roughly presses his lips against yours and it feels like all of the air has been ripped from your lungs.

It all feels so familiar you can’t help but kiss him back. His teeth drag over your bottom lip when you moan into his mouth. Opening his eyes, they lock with yours, the black filling them as he presses down harder on your hips, helping you rock harder and the knot in your stomach snaps. You have to stop yourself from whimpering his name as your orgasm sparks through your veins slowly, sparking every nerve-ending in your body.

He releases your lip and you can feel that smirk spreading across his own.

“You’re still such a cocky son of a bitch, I’m not sure you can live up to it anymore.”  

Dropping your wrists from his grip he moves his knee from between your legs, not even giving you a chance to come down from your orgasm. In fact, your shaking legs can barely hold you up and when he presses against your shoulders you drop painfully onto your knees in front of him. 

“Open your fuckin’ mouth, slut, and we’ll see. Or I’ll just do it for you.” His threat is followed by him pulling the first blade from the back of his jeans. You clench your jaw as you look up at him. You know there’s not a lot of point denying you want this, not when he could make it more painful than it needs to be, so you may as well give in. Tossing the blade onto the bed, he cocks an eyebrow at you as he unbuckles his belt, the metal clang echoing around the room.

You can’t deny you’ve missed his cock when he finally pulls it free of his jeans and boxers, wrapping those long thick fingers around the thickness. His free hand wraps in the back of your hair and he roughly pulls your head backwards. You keep your eyes locked with his as you open your mouth, not missing the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with the wide smile that’s spreading across his plump lips. 

“Don’t forget, I bite.” 

He laughs deep in his chest as he presses the tip of his leaking cock into your mouth. “You won't, not if you know what’s good for you. But don’t forget I like the odd nibble.” His laugh paired with his words simultaneously makes your stomach swim with renewed arousal at the memories and roll with the sickness of remembering what he is now.

You try ignoring the fact that he’s a demon, but it seems like he knows what you’re thinking because a second later his eyes flash black as he starts his shallow thrusts into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks and lick at the vein throbbing along his impressive length. You moan around his length when his fingers tighten in your hair and he groans as the vibrations move along his cock. His thrusts become rougher, more insistent, until the heavy head of his cock is pressing against the back of your throat.

You can feel the tears leaking out the corners of your eyes, he’s a little rougher than your Dean but you can’t deny you love it when those dark green eyes lock with yours once more. You suck in a breath through your nose the best you can when his cock slips into your tight throat. You can feel the tickle of his fingers moving along the bulge in your throat, a satisfied humming leaving his lips. 

When he pulls himself free, you gasp for air, your hands finally gripping his thighs to give you some kind of balance. 

Dean chuckles, wiping the drool from your mouth with his thumb, “so fuckin’ pretty when you’re full of my cock.” He grins widely when you whimper and start wiggling your ass against your thighs. “You want my thick cock stretching open that tight little pussy, baby girl? You’re gonna have to ask really nice, hold the attitude and give in. You know you want it.” 

Dean knows just how to taunt you, he always had probably always would do, but no way were you giving up that easy, no matter how fucking good that sounded. 

“No way. Make me!” You shout back, standing and crossing your arms across your chest.

In a blink of an eye he’s throwing you down onto your bed, your back roughly bouncing against the mattress. His hand lands by your head and you look down, where his other hand wraps around the first blade. 

“You just love playing with fire, sweetheart, don’t ya?” He leers down at you. The blade just barely grazing your skin makes you shiver.

You swallow hard, flicking your eyes back up to his, quickly finding them black as the blade gently moves up your thigh. 

“You gonna finally kill me?” you ask, trying to sound angry but your nerves get the better of you.

He laughs, a deep rumble filling the room.  

“Now baby girl, why would I do that?” he asks, slicing the blade through your shorts and panties with one smooth tug of his wrist. As he moves to the other side your body stiffens, feeling the blade press tighter against your skin.

“I dunno why you bother denying how much you want this. How much you want me. I can see it in those eyes, just begging me to fuck you, demon or not you want it.” 

God, you would give everything to say he was wrong but when he pulls away your ruined underwear and shorts, the evidence is before his eyes. He smirks when you whimper at the cool breeze ghosting over your wet and heated pussy. The blade makes one final movement, slicing through your t-shirt. Dean groans at the sight of your hardened nipples. 

“Dean, please.” 

“Fuck, even better than I remembered sweetheart, look at you.” He groans ducking down and sucking your nipple between his lips as the blade falls to the floor, forgotten. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud repeatedly, his stubble scratching against your skin as he pulls back just slightly biting at the sensitive mounds as he presses them against his mouth. You can’t help but moan, threading your fingers through his long thick hair, so much different to the perfectly styled hair you were used to. But somehow you don’t care anymore.

“Dean, please, I need it, ” you whine pathetically, rolling your hips up into him.

“You can do a lot fuckin’ better than that,” he laughs biting roughly at the side one of your breasts, making you cry out, before he starts licking and sucking his way down your body. You’re falling apart beneath him and you just want him to take you. 

His face presses between your legs and he inhales deeply, a loud groan leaving his lips and he sinks his teeth into your inner thigh. Your hands fall to his hair once more, gripping tightly, until his tongue is moving through your slick pussy. He circles your clit and looks up meeting your eyes.  

“Please Dean, you win, I need your cock,” you beg breathlessly, crying out when he sucks your clit between those plump lips and drags his teeth over it,  pulling away with a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Fuck! Please!” 

“See, how hard was that? Now everyone gets what they want.” He winks, tugging off the red shirt and black undershirt he’s wearing, tossing them across the room somewhere. He wraps his fingers around his thick cock and pumps it slowly, enjoying the way you bite into your bottom lip as you watch him. 

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you baby girl, break you down until there's nothing left.”

Those words both terrify you and excite you. Right now you know the only thing that will stop the ache between your legs is the demon whose cock you’d been dreaming about for months. He lines himself up with your soaked entrance when you spread your legs for him. But he doesn’t ease his thickness inside you and let you adjust the way he used to, instead, he roughly snaps his hips forward, dragging you to the edge of the bed as he fills you in one hard thrust. 

“Oh God! Fuck!” You scream as the mix of pleasure and pain shoots through your body like an electric pulse.

“No, just me” he growls deeply, eyes flashing black as he pulls his cock out all of the way and roughly pushes back inside you. “So tight baby. Look at that pussy, gonna make sure you want nobody else. You’re mine,” he snarls possessively, pushing your legs back against your chest as he thrusts again, filling you so deep that your orgasm hits you from nowhere and you come screaming his name. “There’s my dirty little slut, coming all over my demon cock, screaming my name. Not so fuckin’ high and mighty now, are you?” 

He pulls out and roughly flips you over onto your front, your thighs still shaking from your last climax and he forces you on to your hands and knees. Spreading your ass cheeks, he eases his cock back inside your dripping pussy, groaning at the way your walls clamp down around him immediately. Before your fingers can tighten in the sheets, he pulls your arms behind your back and holds onto them in a vice like grip. 

Dean picks up a rough and fast pace that has you screaming with every harsh slap of your ass against his hips. Your shoulders ache in the best way and you’re so close again already that you’re a whimpering mess beneath him.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ wait until I fill this tight little cunt with my come before you finally get yours again. Are we clear?” 

“Fuck Dean! I can’t!” You moan loudly as he drops your hands to the bed, leaning over you to wrap his hand around your throat, pulling you back against his sweaty chest. 

“Oh you can and you fuckin’ will or I’ll leave you here and go find someone else to bury my cock in. So, you think you can do as you’re told for once?” He growls and you can feel the impatience rolling off of him in waves.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please!” you practically scream, hearing him laugh behind you as his thrusts pick up harder and faster, the hand around your throat tightens and his lips press against your ear.

“There she is. All. Fuckin’. Mine.” He grunts possessively, punctuating each word with a hard thrust, his free hand moving around to play with your clit. His thrusts start becoming sloppy and you know he’s close. You’re gasping for breath, feeling your orgasm at the surface but pushing it back the best you can. 

“Now. Come for me, Y/N,baby,” he moans out and you feel the dam inside you snap, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he lets go of your throat.

You collapse against the bed, breathless and weightless as Dean pulls out with a chuckle, smacking your ass. Your thighs are shaking as you try and regain your breath and you can hear him shuffling behind you.

Gathering all of your strength, you roll onto your back and look over at him, finding him pulling up his jeans. You frown as you look at him. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving that ass, I’m far from done with you. Just gettin’ a beer,” he winks before leaving the room.

Part of you is relieved that he’s staying, then there’s the part of you that isn’t. The hunter side of you which longs to kill him, or at least get the old him back. But at least this way there is a chance of you doing that.

You jump at the loud sounds coming from downstairs, jumping off the bed you grab Dean’s shirt and wrap it around your body. Quickly running down the stairs, you bump into Sam.

“What the hell!?” You ask in shock, seeing Cas holding onto Dean in your kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, it was our last resort. We didn’t have any other choice,” Sam sighs regretfully, but you don’t even look at him. Not when you hear Dean screaming your name in pure anger.

“Y/N! Get this bastard off of me!” he demands, seething with anger.

You walk in front of the man you love and cup his cheek, a tear rolls down your cheek as you shake your head, hoping that one day he will forgive you.

“No baby, I can’t. I need you back, the real you.” 

“Y/N?” Sam asks gently, grabbing your arm.

“I’ll get my bags, Sam. We can talk later.” 

The roars of Dean’s anger vanish just like the angel gripping him tightly.

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