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zepskies · 8 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor.

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile.

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time).

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea.

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up.

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.”

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable.

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth.

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful.

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out.

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed.

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense.

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him.

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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welldonebeca · 8 months

Text

Stupid Squeeze (1)

Summary: Sam and Dean meet a girl up in a bar. She is hot, with the hottest tits and ass, the softest body and curves, and wants the two of them. Good thing they know how to share. Pairing: Sam x Lily (OC) x Dean WC: 1.7k words Warnings: Sexual tension. Flirting. Older men/younger woman. Dirty talking. Seduction. Degrading kink.

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Masterlist

Dean sipped his beer, crossing gazes with the pretty curvy thing in the corner, sipping a glass of dark liquid on her own after her friend had gone and abandoned her.

She looked like she had just walked out of a porno: tight skirt with a shirt that cut deep, although she acted shy as if she didn't know the effect she had.

And those tits... those huge tits...

Fuck.

When was the last time he had gotten laid? Felt too long.

It wasn't like he could just pick up some hot twenty-something like the used to, he was over 40 now.

And it wasn't that he couldn't get up - well, there was this one night but it didn't matter! - just girls now didn't like the idea of more experienced men.

They always went to the young guys, the green ones.

Her brown eyes met with his again, and Dean just knew that if she let him take her to bed he would work all of that frustrations out of her and spoil her of any other man, just because he could.

Dean glanced at Sam, expecting to be on his phone or staring off into the distance, but no. His brother's gaze was laser-focused on her tight little skirt, and he was just as hungry as Dean.

Dammit.

He slapped Sam's arm with a hand as he put his glass down.

"She's been eyeing you for a while," he told him. "You should give it a shot."

His brother nearly gasped, eyes widening.

"Dean! She looks, like... 18!"

Dean scoffed at his deflection.

If only.

"At least 22," he corrected him. "You can ask for an ID if you want to, I bet she'd give you one."

She looked too nervous to try to have a fake ID.

Sam moved hesitantly.

"I don't know, Dean," he mumbled. "I think she was looking at you."

He shook his head.

"Give it a shot," he insisted. "And, hey, maybe she will want us both."

Dean chuckled at his own joke, but his brain quickly caught up with it.

"Like that little redhead back in Wyoming," he licked his lip.

That was a memorable night.

Sam chuckled, flustering.

"God, that had to be... what?" he looked at him. "Twelve years ago."

Dean just nodded.

"Fun night, wasn't it?" he asked.

His brother just chuckled, and Dean slapped his arm again.

"Do it," he insisted. "Before she finds someone else."

That was enough to make him move, at last.

Dean sat back, watching as his little brother walked up to the girl, looking a little awkward as he did.

How he had managed to get women, Dean never understood.

The girl turned to him with a large smile, puffing out her chest to show off to Sam, and he had to hold back a shake of his head.

She was fucking eager, wasn't she?

He couldn't hear them for a moment, but he knew two things - Sam was being awkward, and she was giggling very much, tossing her hair out to show him her tits, cocking her hip to show off her curves.

She pointed behind herself, to where Dean had seen her friend leave her and grinned largely, shaking her head, saying something that made Sam smirk too.

He couldn't help himself, walking a little closer while she looked away, and it was enough that he could pick up on what they were saying.

"That's not good," Sam hummed a little.

"I mean, you're here now," she giggled.

"Well..." his brother purred. "You could come to sit with me and my brother. And maybe we can talk a little?"

Her eyes darted up, and the moment she saw Dean, her flushed cheeks got even redder.

"Talk?" she asked, innocently.

Sam chuckled and Dean smirked.

"Maybe more, if you want to."

She looked at Sam again and then at Dean.

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently.

His brother slapped his arm as if telling him to play it cool.

"We just find you very interesting," his brother shrugged.

"And very beautiful," Dean added.

She looked at Dean again.

"We will talk, then?" she asked him.

He simply nodded, humming, amused.

It was a little game for her, he could see. She was already looking like she wanted to follow them anywhere they called her.

Little prey.

"Yeah," he confirmed softly.

They walked down to their table again, and she sat on the chair closest to the wall.

"So," Dean looked at her. "How old are you?"

The girl looked at him, seeming surprised by the question.

"24," she told him.

He hummed a little. Good, good.

"Is that important?" she leaned a little closer to him, smirking, almost serving her tits on the table. "I thought we were talking."

He didn't phase.

"You look a little young," he noted. "Had to make sure you weren't being a little tease."

She just shook her head, looking amused, and Sam got her attention back to him.

"What is your name?" he asked, tapping his beer. "I don't think I remembered to ask."

She sipped her drink - wine, Dean supposed.

"Helen," she told them, at least. "But you can call me Lily. Or Hela."

Sam chuckled.

"Why would anyone call you the goddess of hell?" he asked her.

The girl shrugged, amused.

"Cheat on me and you'll see."

Dean shook his head. Feisty.

"Lilies are my favourite flower," he noted. "They smell wonderful."

Lily raised her chin.

"What do you think," she cockled her head. "Do I smell wonderful?"

Dean leaned onto her, taking the invitation, inhaling the sweet perfume on her neck, and kissed her skin, making her breath in deep.

"You do," he agreed with a purr, lingering before moving away.

She moved, and he could see her cheeks flushing right when Sam moved by her side, his arm out of his view.

"So," she cleared her throat, all red on her face. "Do you two just casually talk to young girls all along at a bar?"

He chuckled.

"Well, you're not wrong," he looked at his brother, who was watching her face. "You see, little flower, Sammy and I... we don't mind sharing."

She licked her lips, relaxing some more on her chair.

"Sharing?" she asked, sultry voice soft.

Dean hummed positively.

"We are used to sharing stuff," he shrugged. "We're brothers, you know? Especially when we see a girl we both really like."

Sam leaned a little closer to her, speaking near her ear.

"Can I smell you too, little flower?" he asked.

Lily swallowed down, and nodded.

"Yeah," she spoke softly.

His brother leaned in and ran his nose over her neck, sniffing her.

"Why don't you tell her what you first saw, Sammy?" he told him. "For me, it was those tits."

Sam bit her neck, his arm moving discreetly.

What was he doing under there?

"That tiny skirt," he bit her earlobe. "Showing off those meaty thighs, made me want to bury myself between them."

"Is that why you got your hand there?" he asked.

Sam chuckled, and she blushed.

"Push that tablecloth away," he commanded her. "Show Dean where you put my hand."

The little minx complied, sheepish, and Sam's fingers were already rubbing her over her panties under her mini skirt.

"She tugged on my hand herself," his brother told him. "I can feel her panties getting wet already."

Fuck. She had come looking for someone to fuck her, she had to.

Dean leaned over, nipping at her neck and climbing slowly, until he was kissing her lips, and she moaned into his mouth.

Lily gasped and pushed her fingers into his hair, pulling her closer.

Oh, he loved a girl who knew what she wanted.

"Please," she whined in a little whisper when he pulled away a bit.

Dean looked down, finding his brother’s hands making circles and circles over the fabric.

Sam pressed his lips to his ear, though his eyes were focused on the bar, looking for people, making sure no one was watching them.

"Do you want more?" he offered darkly.

"Yes," she moaned softly. "Please."

Dean moved a hand to her face, raising her chin.

"You'll have to be quiet," he told her. "Or we'll be kicked out before we can even start having fun."

She stiffened up, as if trying to keep herself from moving.

Dean looked down, her white - fucking white - panties now with a big wet patch, and he watched as Sam moved his hand a bit to pull her lips apart, so he could focus on her stiff clit.

She squeezed the table, breathing very, very slow.

"I think she is close to cumming, Sammy," he tilted his head.

His brother's lips curled in a smirk.

"Oh, is she now?"

He nodded slowly.

"Look at her cunt," he pointed with his chin. "She has soaked through her panties. The seat will be all messy."

Her face turned very red.

"Such a dirty little minx," Dean purred. "Are you going to cum for us in the middle of this bar?" Public masturbation.

Sam continued to rub her, though a little more focused.

"I think our sweet little flower is going to blossom for us," he hummed.

Dean watched her legs flexing closed and Lily's dazed eyes fluttered shut.

"Cum for us, pretty flower," Dean coached her. "I promise, it'll be just the beginning of what we can give you."

She did, moaning very softly, and he would see Sam practically drooling.

Fuck, Dean wanted to get between her legs and make her cum again right there.

They needed to get somewhere private.

"Come on," he stood up. "Have you paid for your drinks?"

Lily opened her eyes, looking a little soft and lost.

"I... have," she spoke slowly.

Sam took his hand from between her legs and placed a finger on her lips before tilting her chin up, giving her lips a little peck.

"Come with us, sweet flower," he whispered.

Dean adjusted himself, feeling his cock so hard it was practically bursting out of his pants.

She followed him holding her bag close, and he wasn't surprised to see his brother holding her hand as they walked out, guiding her.

"Where are we going?" she asked softly.

Oh, he was too hard to drive to the motel.

"Our car."

…

“Stupid Squeee” was posted on Patreon on February 2023. To read it now before anyone else, subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month and it helps a lot.

…

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dw19791967 · 3 months

Text

That Type of Girl Part 3

Pairing: Dean x reader (Eventual), Sam x reader (Platonic)

Warnings: language, unrequited love, angst, mentions of torture, mentions of self-hate.

This is the third fic I have ever written, all mistakes are my own. Please be gentle on me!

______________________________

What does one wear to church? I wouldn’t know since I never really went as a kid and as an adult well, once you know who God really is, it can be hard to get past that.

I decided on a long oversized maroon sweater, black leggings, and boots. I never really was a heels girl. Sure, I could handle a wedge or boots with a chunky heel, but I definitely wasn’t the type to wear six inch heels. I decided to leave my hair in its natural state, but I did twist my bangs together and pinned them back. I can’t braid, no matter how many times I have tried to learn. So twisting two pieces together is my go to, especially to get hair out of my face. I applied my regular makeup routine. I do it for me, not to impress people. I may be overweight and unappealing in other aspects but my makeup is something I am proud of. Years of practice have helped make it easy, and quick.

I walked out of the bathroom ready to go. “Alright boys, let’s do this.”

__________________

When we arrived at the church not a ton people were there. There was a small group gathered. A few women, they seemed to be in their late 20’s and a couple of men who seemed to be around the same age.

“Ok Y/N you ready? Remember, Dean and I will be here if you need us. We are going to try to scope the place out a bit” Sam looked at me. I am glad he was confident in my people skills, cause right now I am not. I do fine talking with people I know and even strangers. But the pressure of trying to force a conversation can be a struggle sometimes. And since Dean didn’t seem too confident in my skills earlier, I have been dreading this. How is it that the man who is supposedly my best friend, doesn’t believe I am capable of doing something I have done a hundred times before.

“I guess.” I started heading towards the group of people.

__________________

We just arrived back at the motel. Sam sat down next to me “Well we found nothing, we checked all over the place. Nothing suspicious, no sulfur or EMF.”

“Yeah and all the single chicks were a bust too.” Dean smiled.

Of course he would be worried about chasing tail.

I sighed. “Ok, I talked to a group of people at the church. They mentioned a guy Sarah worked with, his name was Ryan not sure on last name (Sarah was the most recent victim). They also mentioned Sarah had a crush on a dude at the church, Marshall. And last one, she had talked to Rick quite a bit at the church. One of the ladies said Rick has just been in town the last 2 weeks. Something seems off with Rick, but I’m not really sure what.” I looked over the case files again. I always like to make sure I am not missing anything.

“Well since we are at a stand still, I say it’s time to hit the bar. We need a break from researching and thinking.” Dean stood up.

“Maybe you're right, we can take a break and come back to it later.” Sam looked at me. “What do you say Y/N?”

“I think I’m going to stay here, try to figure out what is happening. Something is wrong in this whole equation.” I kept reading the files. I am also not in the mood to see Dean flirt tonight. But I will keep that thought to myself.

“Well party pooper, call if you need us.” Dean patted my shoulder.

Maybe a break from the boys will do me some good.

I had just changed into a t-shirt and took my makeup off when there was a knock at the door. I figured one of the boys was back and forgot their key.

“I swear you guys can’t survive without me.” I headed for the door.

I cracked the door open. Rick. What the hell is he doing here?

“Hi Y/N, I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I just wanted to check on you and see if you maybe needed anything.” He rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous tick maybe.

“Um, I appreciate that. How did you know I was here?” This is weird for sure.

“Oh my aunt owns this motel, so I checked with her and she said you were here. She also mentioned you had two guys with you. Are you going to let me in?” He smiled at me.

“Uh, I guess.” I grabbed my knife and stuck it in the back of my leggings. A girl can never be too safe.

“So who are the guys here with you, brothers?” Rick made his way into the room.

“No, just friends. They came to be supportive. Can I get you a beer or water?” I had told the group of people at the church I was a cousin of Sarah’s, since she had no family in town it was an easy lie.

“I’ll have a beer, thanks.” I handed him the drink. “So where are your friends?”

“Out, they should be back shortly.” I was getting nervous. Something was not right here.

“Oh I doubt that Y/N. You know Dean always enjoys working on his night moves.” Rick's eyes flashed black. Next thing I know everything went black.

Oh I am so screwed.

_______________

“Wakey, wakey sunshine. God, I can’t believe how stupid you are for a hunter. Who the hell lets someone they barely know into their hotel room?" Rick poked at me.

We were in an abandoned warehouse. I was cuffed to a chair. This wasn’t exactly how I planned on my night going.

“Well, what can I say? I’m prone to making stupid decisions. So why don’t we just cut the foreplay. What do you want? ” I smiled.

Whack. Damn. I almost had forgotten what it was like to get the shit knocked out of me.

“You know, all of the women I took. There was nothing exciting about them. I mean they wonder why they are single. Maybe it’s because they are so damn boring. But you, I mean besides being overweight and homely, there's a certain spark to you. And once I found out you were a hunter, well you had to be my next victim.” He smoothed my hair out.

“So are you doing this for shits and giggles or is there a bigger agenda you are playing into?” He made his way over to a table and brought back a knife. Great.

“Oh sweet Y/N, of course I am doing this for me. You see, I have played by all the rules and followed the main man's plan. But it’s time for me to shine and this is just the beginning. So whatcha say, are you ready to have some fun?” Rick started to slice into my arm.

Lucky for me, I have a high pain tolerance.

“You see, you were an easy target. Your self esteem is so low. Plus can’t forget your little crush on the elder Winchester. What makes you think he would ever look at you twice?” Rick now started slicing my thighs. “I mean you have a pretty face for sure, but you know Dean prefers his women slim. You will never be that type of girl ya know?”

“Screw you. You don’t know the first thing about me. I mean you do realize anything you say to me, I have either heard or said it to myself a thousand times before? Way to be creative.” I laughed. I have always been stubborn. I’m sure as hell not going to stop now.

“You know, you are really starting to get on my nerves. How about I find a way to shut that pretty mouth up. I doubt the Winchesters would even miss your annoying ass.” Rick punched me in the face.

I spit blood out of my mouth. I hope he gets this over with soon.

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sailorsally · 5 months

Note

Asking a „sense of life“ kind of question - So, why do we ship cockles? There is so much more „physical“ footage of misha and the other spn cast like kissing and intense hugging, let’s take Rob… why is it not Robisha (well, not in this extent)? Why is it Jensen and Misha, bc of destiel? What is it what cockles makes a difference to other relationships with the cast? Just me having another cockles-crisis, need. new. fluffy. cockles. content! Maybe we can have an analysis here 😅

This is a great question actually and I think it's due to two things:

1) we never got closure over destiel. I mean don't get me wrong, I know we aren't toddlers and very much understand object permanence and know that actors =/= their characters but I as a heller, have a primal need to see Dean & Cas together and happy and at this point Cockles is the only place I'm getting a knock off version of that.

Plus, to return to the topic of object permanence here, Supernatural is unlike any other show in regard that it is so closely intertwined with real world events - from the writer's strike causing Dean to go to hell and have a need for an angel to raise him to Destiel trending over US elections. And don't forget 'French Mistake' !

Frankly the topic of the later seasons - God being evil and trying to control Dean & Cas, Becky telling Chuck his ending sucks etc is impossible not to parallel with CW and the SPN fandom. So all these further blur lines between real world and tv show and make the Destiel - Cockles pipeline easier to race thru.

2) You pointed out correctly there is plenty of footage of Misha being flirty and vice versa with other cast members and yet, Cockles is the heaviest of hitters. Again, partly because they are the in-universe version of Destiel but also a big part of it is because their flirting feels different to when they are flirting with others.

For example I do like Rob & Misha, they are super cute together, I think they would make a cute couple and frankly I think if propositioned by Misha, Rob would go 100% with it (or would have gone before Ruthie). They have done silly grabs and shared plenty of kisses but none of it could turn my stomach the way one yearning look from Jensen towards Misha can.

Jensen & Misha's dynamic, as playful as it is most of the time, always feels incredibly high stakes. You put them next to their costars/friends and you can instantly tell there is something different going on between those two. I am really curious to experience them together in a room live this Purcon because I can just feel that different vibe from them in videos and keep wondering if it is real or even worse in person. For the lack of a better word, it feels like they are drawn to each other and unable to do much about it really. There is a degree of possessiveness they have for each other that is very subtle but also very akin to how lovers are about/with each other.

I think what perhaps makes us scratch our heads every now and then when it comes to these men is the sincerity with which they joke/fake kiss/etc. With others, it might be camp and might be queer but it's just until the punchline, until the audience laughs. But with Jensen and Misha it feels like their little flirty interactions are never for show or to make the audience laugh. If anything they are always extra silly to make each other laugh. It feels like in a way their silly and sweet onstage moments never end. After all, as Jensen said, he is living it.

So in conclusion I think that yes, a part of it is due to us kinda expanding Destiel into this world but also I think that we humans are pretty good at picking up signals and queues in other people's behaviour and a lot of people watching Jensen & Misha together feel like there is something there that they might be unable to name (*points at this rambly answer*) but that doesn't necessary mean they are wrong.

#sorry for this very long ramble #that literally says nothing #cockles #ask sally

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10blue10 · 6 months

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The Hidden World Themes

(Rediscovered this on my computer and decided to dust it off and post it here on Tumblr XD)

The intended themes of HTTYD: THW, as far as I can tell, are about maturing, letting go, accepting change and standing on your own. These are all good themes and I agree with them in theory. The problem is the way they were handled. I’m sorry, but if the themes have gotten mixed up with implications about segregation and ‘otherness’, romantic vs platonic relationships being portrayed as a binary or one better than the other, and looking for a quick fix solution to avoid problems rather than face and solve them…then something has gone very wrong. I’m sure many of you may insist that Dean didn’t intend for these implications to be in the movie, but they are there regardless. If anything, the fact that Dean apparently didn’t notice or dismissed these issues with his script makes him more culpable, not less. Furthermore, does a franchise based on the premise ‘Vikings who ride dragons’ really need to be realistic? I’m not expecting a play by play of how history would change, but when you put dragons, or any supernatural element, in the ‘real world’, that changes things by definition. ‘Realism’ means addressing typically ignored consequences, not ‘copying’ reality (I recommend Overly Sarcastic Productions ‘Trope Talk: Realism’ for a more comprehensive exploration). That’s what reality TV is for. As I was saying…

Theme One – Coming of Age Dean wanted HTTYD to be Hiccup’s coming of age story, but he also projects onto Hiccup, and therein lies the biggest problem with the movie (and really the franchise as a whole). It revolves entirely around Hiccup, to the point that the other characters feel like NPCs, and Dean is simply ‘playing’ as Hiccup. Snotlout, the twins and even Fishlegs are all portrayed as being way more immature, irresponsible and ignorant than Hiccup ever was, but their complete lack of development is used for ‘comic relief’ (and I use the phrase very loosely). They don’t actually matter, because this is The Hiccup Show, aka The Dean Show.

What gets me is the fact that the movie seems to equate ‘coming of age’ with “get married”. Right from the start Hiccup is told he should marry Astrid, and then at the end when he sends the dragons away he’s rewarded for this ‘mature’ decision by… marrying Astrid. Something that was going to happen anyway, because of course it was. There was no way the franchise wouldn’t end with a Hiccstrid wedding scene. Let’s give the ‘coming of age’ arc to Snotlout instead, shall we? After all, he’s had development before regarding his dad Spitelout, so we can run with that. Instead of flirting with Valka (eww), we can have him be overly competitive towards Eret, to the point it’s affecting missions. Snotlout blames Eret for leaving Ruffnut behind, and Eret asks what Snotlouts’ problem with him is. To which Snotlout responds that he’s jealous, because Eret is tall, strong, handsome (wait what?), talented… even Spitelout likes him more! So Eret tells Spitelout that if he really said he prefers a complete stranger over his own son, he’s a shit dad, and then he punches Spitelout in the face. Because who among us hasn’t wanted to see Spitelout get punched in the face? Seeing this would give Snotlout the courage to stand up to his dad later in the movie. / Theme Two – With Love Comes Loss Oh boy. I get it; Dean was going for a classic ‘if you love them, let them go’ message and used this flashback scene to foreshadow/parallel it. But Stoick and Hiccup’s situations are completely different! 1) Stoick thought Valka was dead. It’s not like she decided to go and live with dragons, and he respected her decision to do so. They were separated by something outside of his control and he had to come to terms with that. 2) Stoick didn’t expect the other men on Berk to give up their wives because he’d lost his. Now then, who shall we give the ‘with love comes loss’ arc to? How about Valka and Gobber, who are also mourning Stoick. Perhaps they both unintentionally put pressure on Hiccup to be like his dad, trying to vicariously have Stoick with them through his son, if that makes sense. We could replace the flashback with a scene of them worried about Hiccup. One thing leads to another and they realise that they’ve been so focused on wanting Stoick back in some way that they haven’t just mourned and reminisced together. / Theme Three – Embracing Change “Look at you, embracing change. I’m proud of you” – says Astrid, to… I’m sorry, who? Hiccup? As in Hiccup ‘changed the whole of Berk’ Haddock? Hiccup ‘first Viking to ride a dragon’ Haddock? What the fuck? This line is stupid and makes no sense. Actually a lot of Astrid’s lines are stupid and make no sense, but I won’t get into that. The point is, Hiccup is the last person who needs to learn to ‘embrace change’. In fact, let’s just cut this theme entirely. There’s such a thing as having too many themes crammed into one story. / Theme Four – Stand/Fly on Your Own

Now for the theme that even the marketing played up. Hiccup thinks he’s nothing without Toothless, so he needs to let Toothless go. That’s the only way for him to stand on his own… or is it? Yes, in real life circumstances change, friends and even families drift apart, and people should be able to ‘stand on their own’ as independent individuals, absolutely – but we do this all the time without having to cut off ties to those we care about. There are hundreds of people in healthy, balanced relationships who still have friends beyond their significant other. ‘If you love them, let them go’ is a nice sentiment, but to me it applies better to unhealthy, imbalanced relationships i.e.: a parent who can’t deal with their child growing up, or an ex-lover struggling to accept that their partner has moved on.

As a real world example, if someone is dependent on another (often a romantic partner) for self-worth, the solution would not be to have them cut ties with their source of affirmation. It would be better to help them find self-worth within themselves, so they can ‘stand on their own’, without having to rely on another person’s approval or support…but that other person can still be there. So let’s address the Buffalord in the room; Hiccup’s apparent dependency on Toothless. For the sake of argument, we’ll assume he is too reliant on his best friend as a source of self-worth. The issue that needs addressing isn’t his reliance on Toothless, it’s his lack of self-worth without the dragons. Sending the dragons away didn’t need to be the ‘solution’ to this problem. He and Toothless had an equal, healthy partnership, shown through their matched missing limbs, similar personalities, and the way they treat each other.

HTTYD1 gives us a perfectly valid reason for why Hiccup would associate his self-worth with Toothless and the dragons. After all, if it weren’t for training Toothless, he would have stayed an outcast in his own tribe. People tell him “You’re nothing without your dragon”, but these people are usually the villains. As in the ones he has no good reason to listen to. If he believes them on some level, then that means neither he, Stoick, Gobber or Astrid ever addressed the issues that led to his lack of self-esteem and his need for an emotional crutch (which ends up being Astrid). That is the real problem, not his friendship with Toothless. If we want to give Hiccup an arc about ‘standing on his own’, let’s pick up where the second movie left off and have him still be torn between his duties as chief and what he actually wants to do with his life. At the end he understands that he doesn’t need Toothless or the dragons to define himself with, but he wants to keep studying and rescuing the dragons regardless. He chooses his own path rather than trying to follow in his father’s footsteps, thus culminating the arc of individualism/self worth that started in the first movie. I’ve also come up with a parallel negative arc for Grimmel that can tie into this ‘rewrite’, but that can be it’s own post, since this one is long enough as it is. So, how would you guys improve on the themes in THW?

#Thw criticism #httyd thw #thw rewrite

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malachiexists13 · 1 year

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Gay Or Nay?: Ikemen Series Edition

86% voted yes, 14% voted no, so here’s the post. Reminder that these are MY impressions of the characters, and this is entirely a joke. No need to take me too seriously. If you disagree with me, that’s fine. No need to argue, just make your own post.

Also small spoilers for my ikemen ocs series.

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

Ikemen Sengoku

Nobunaga Oda

Have you SEEN his right and left hand men? He’s either an ally or bi-curious. Can’t decide.

Masamune Date

He flirts with Mai to hide his homosexuality /j

Nah, I’ve seen how he admitted that he’d kiss Nobunaga. He’s gay. Bisexual if you please, but gay.

Mitsuhide Akechi

Is that even a question? Have you somehow not seen the way he flirts with Hideyoshi? Let’s be honest, he’s bisexual.

Keiji Maeda

Idk him well enough to judge that.

Hideyoshi Toyotomi

I know a lot of people are going to want me to say Hideyoshi is gay because of Mitsuhide... But honestly, Hideyoshi gives me the vibes of someone who says gay shit without realizing its gay. He seems more like a very supportive ally to me.

Ieyasu Tokugawa

Idk but I can see him as like, panromantic or something. He also screams femboy to me but we dont talk about that

Mitsunari Ishida

Confused ally <3

Ranmaru Mori

Confused ally pt.2 + closeted ace

Yoshimoto Imagawa

Gay (they try to push so hard that he’s pretty, and no straight man is supposed to be that pretty /j)

Sasuke Sarutobi

Nerdy gay

Kanetsugu Naoe

Either indifferent so like, some kind of mspec or somewhere on the ace spectrum, maybe both, not too sure

Yukimura Sanada

Awkward gay (secretly dating nerdy gay)

Kenshin Uesugi

That one token straight guy who no one is completely sure that he’s straight or not.

Shingen Takeda

In my brain, major flirt = major bisexual so-

Kicho

I’ve seen other people write him as like, indifferent or pansexual so I’m leaning towards that

Kennyo

Wdym? He’s homophobic- (THIS IS A JOKE. NO HATE TOWARDS KENNYO)

Motonari Mouri

Kinda gives me either disaster bisexual or ace/aro vibes.

Ikemen Revolution

Lancelot Kingsley

Gay but in the closet about it

Jonah Clemence

Confession time: I thought he was a woman at first LMAO-

Gay

Edgar Bright

He’s straight and an ally, but enjoys teasing the others

Zero

I dont think he’d care tbh

Kyle Ash

Didnt realize he was gay until after he started dating his boyfriend

Ray Blackwell

His whole thing about freedom and living how you want to or whatever makes me think he’s bi

Sirius Oswald

He’s an ally <3

Luka Clemence

Shy gay

Fenrir Godspeed

Overly supportive ally (especially since his gf is MTF)

Seth Hyde

Everyone thinks he’s gay, but correction he’s pan

Harr Silver

He’s pansexual

Loki Genetta

I dont know him well enough??

Blanc Lapin

He’s straight, maybe a little curious tho

Oliver Knight

He’s another ally, gives me the vibes of someone who would punch a homophobe in the face for insulting his friend

Mousse Atlas

I chronically forget he exists, so idk

Dean Tweedle

The gay twin

Dalim Tweedle

The straight twin that gets confused for the gay one

Ikemen Vampire

Napoleon Bonaparte

As far as I’m aware, in history he had two different wives and he kissed the tsar (even apparently said if the tsar was a woman, he’d make him his mistress soo--) Napoleon definitely isn’t straight

Mozart

He’s straight and hates everyone equally (/j)

Leonardo da Vinci

Gay

Arthur Conan Doyle

WHORE- this is a disaster bisexual

Vincent van Gogh

the supportive straight brother

Theodorus van Gogh

the angry gay brother

Isaac Newton

Too anxious to question his sexuality

Jean d’Arc

I like to joke that he’s bi but denies it because he hates men

William Shakespeare

not too sure tbh

Osamu Dazai

another disaster bisexual

Comte de Saint-Germain

I feel like he’d be omni. Like he doesn’t care, but still has a slight preference. Also supportive father figure <3

Sebastian

Serious gay

Vlad

I pondered on this one for a long time.. and I still have no answer

Johann Georg Faust

Closeted gay who suffers with internal homophobia (i literally wrote a oneshot for him where this was the main premise-)

Charles-Henri Sanson

another bi guy

Ikemen Prince

Leon Dompteur

straight but supportive

Chevalier Michel

Bro, it’s CANON that he’s pansexual (I think- idk. I played his route when it first came out in english so its been awhile)

Yves Kloss

I feel like he’s bi but doesnt really talk about it

Nokto Klein

He’s too slutty to be ONLY into women

Licht Klein

Straight but an ally

Clavis Lelouch

gay ass clown

Jin Grandet

Straight

Luke Randolph

I HAVE NO IDEA????

Sariel Noir

I feel like he’s straight but also an ally, like he doesn’t care but absolutely will NOT tolerate homophobia

Rio Ortiz

unsure.

Gilbert von Obsidian

Silly little gay man <3 I can see him as like, pan or something.

Keith Howell

Excluding his “other” side.. I can see Keith as straight, but a supportive ally

Silvio Ricci

He’s homophobic (secretly not straight but in denial)

#ikemen series #cybird ikemen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen prince #ikemen revolution #ikemen vampire #ikepri #ikevamp #ikerev #ikemen headcanons #ikesen headcanons #ikerev headcanons #ikevamp headcanons #ikepri headcanons

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winterandwords · 10 months

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📝 Contextual use of physical description and how it informs a character's identity

THIS IS NOT WRITING ADVICE! At its core, I guess it's about showing-not-telling, but I'm not into issuing instructions. There are no rules here.

It's an approach I take in my own writing that I've thought a lot about, refined over years, and am sharing because it might be useful or relevant to other people. I am in no way saying this is the only way or the best way or the way that will suit your story or your characters. It's the way that suits my stories and my characters. OK? OK.

I use physical descriptions very sparingly and rarely outright state someone's height, build, hair colour, or eye colour. When those traits are mentioned, it's usually from another character's perspective - what would they notice and why? I tend to refer to physical traits only when they inform a character's personality and experience in relation to the story.

This is partly because I love the idea of readers imagining my characters how they see them. Do I have a clear image in my head of every character I write? Yes. Do you have to have the same image in your head? No. It's also just a matter of preference. I don't particularly connect with straight-up physical descriptions of characters in stories. They're not bad or wrong. They're just not really something that clicks in my head as significant when presented as a list of details.

Example: Noah from November Breaks and Spin Cylinder

So what does he look like?

Noah is in his mid-forties at the beginning of November Breaks and getting closer to fifty in Spin Cylinder. He's 6ft 4 with a muscular build and broad shoulders. He has greying dark hair that's short in the flashback parts of November Breaks and longer in the later parts. He grows a beard before the present-day section of November Breaks. His eyes are dark blue. He's conventionally very attractive. Does he look like a big, built Jeffrey Dean Morgan in my head? Yes. Does he have to look like that in anyone else's head? No.

(Did I choose his height because that's my spouse's height and it's really handy to have a living human reference for height, build and physical strength so I can ask someone things like "Could you lift that?" etc? Also yes. Welcome to why that specific height and build shows up in my MCs more than once)

At no point do I outright state any of those descriptive traits (apart from his eye colour, but we'll get there in a minute). So how do I show them?

People get out of Noah's way in the street. He's accustomed to it but feels not-so-great about it sometimes, suggesting that it relates to a consistent aspect of his appearance.

He feels uncomfortable in small spaces, for example, not feeling like he fits right at tables in cafes (borrowed from my spouse's experiences and something I would never have thought about on my own because I'm 5ft 2)

He can physically overpower other adult men easily and doesn't feel intimidated or threatened by objectively threatening people or situations, even when there are weapons involved.

He can move corpses around without much effort.

Brett's first impression of him is He could really hurt me (desirable) with the observation that he looks like "someone who could throw a heavy punch" and has "shoulders that could hold up the world" and "arms that could crush the breath from my lungs and stop my mind from racing" (Brett is a very poetic masochist)

Brett also mentions "Silver like the strands interrupting the dark of your hair" when he's remembering a grounding exercise that involves counting things of a chosen colour.

Perry flirts shamelessly with him, refers to "Those big blue eyes" and asks if he used to model with "You look like an advert for everything you’re wearing" (Perry is a delightful twinky surfer who is one of the lighter elements of the books and a joy to write)

Noah is neither surprised nor flattered that someone assumes he might have been a model when he was younger, showing that he's accustomed to moving through the world as A Handsome Man rather than being perceived that way by one person who happens to find him attractive.

Growing his hair and beard is part of an attempt to distance himself from Clichéd Contract Killer Aesthetic. These traits are first referenced by Max, who has known him for years, as recent changes at the beginning of November Breaks, and Noah talks about them as aspects of his appearance that he struggles to reach decisions about or make peace with.

His mid-life crisis is also referenced at the very beginning of November Breaks, giving a suggestion of his age.

He goes to the gym. It's about routine and control, not about looking a certain way, but it still indicates what his physical build is likely to be especially when combined with Brett's descriptions of him.

Another layer of connection between his appearance and personality is that he never once describes himself as being good-looking, fit, strong etc or shows that he values those traits. Why does this matter?

Trope subversion, my beloved! Noah could easily be perceived as an aggressively no-homo big macho meathead tough guy based on his appearance and his job, but he isn't. At all. He is, in fact, 100% pro-homo, charming and polite, and has extremely refined tastes, valuing luxury not for status but for quality.

His observations of other people rarely relate to specific physical traits. Rather, he compulsively notices how people behave and how they connect with their environment and the people in it. How everyone else looks is mostly irrelevant to him. How he looks is mostly irrelevant to him too.

This isn't as much to demonstrate depth (this isn't a "not like other men" situation, I promise) as it is to show the privilege inherent in not having to care about his own looks because he's always been perceived as attractive. This exists in contrast to Brett, who is fully aware of the power of his appearance and knowingly uses it to his advantage at every available opportunity.

If you want to see any of this in action, November Breaks lives on Tumblr at @novemberbreaksbywintersimpson. Spin Cylinder's WIP info is here (correct as of August 2023) and snippets can be found in my #spin cylinder tag.

That's it for now!

I have lots of topics like this that I could happily ramble about if anyone's interested. I really don't want to come across like I'm telling other people how to write or suggesting that I know better than anyone else - I'm not and I don't. I'm just an obsessive weirdo who thinks a lot about everything.

Let me know if you'd be interested in similar posts in future about other aspects of how I build characters and stories 💜

#the shit in my head #writeblr #writing process #character creation #writers on tumblr #writeblr community #writers of tumblr #writing community #november breaks #spin cylinder

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 1 year

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Past Due (Dean/OFC)

Title: Past Due

Rating: Mature

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Original Female Character

Pairing: Dean x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has an effect on an older woman he's known for years. Kansas, Men of Letters Bunker Setting. Set around Season 15 with some canon-divergent plotting.

Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Explicit Language, Smut, Angst, POV First Person, POV Female Character, Librarians, Friends to Lovers, Protective Dean Winchester, The Winchesters Are On A Case, The Boys Deserved A Better Ending

Chapters 1 to 3 Word Count: ~ 5K

Notes: Posted on AO3 10/2/20; Completed 7/16/21.

Chapter 1

Am I being checked out while checking him out?

I scan the barcode on the back cover. His eyes are trained on my face with a little more interest than usual.

Do I have some spinach between my teeth from the salad I had for lunch? God, why does he have to do that thing with his tongue?

I readjust the glasses on the bridge of my nose and make some quiet small talk with the gorgeousness in front of me. I do most of the talking and he does most of the nodding.

No. Dean Winchester is not checking me out. He’s just existing and breathing and short circuiting my brain as he tends to do on occasion with his proximity.

I will not fuss with my hair like I always do when he’s close enough for me to smell him. Oh, Goddammit.

I feel like a sixteen year old around this man. Every damn time. It’s not fair. It happened the first time I met him six years ago. He’d handed over the paperwork and I processed his library card application. He smiled that lopsided grin that says, You poor unsuspecting creature. I’m so handsome I don’t even have to make much of an effort .

That was the day he and his mountain man of a brother, Sam, walked into the Smith Center Library. Back when they had used Campbell as their last names on the application. And before they had helped with a haunting that blew their aliases. At least with me. It was a “job” for them that involved my brother five towns over. The house he had bought for a song at a sheriff sale, turned out, came with a supernatural squatter.

“No shit it was cheap. Because someone was murdered in it. No offense, but your brother was pretty much asking for trouble knowing that going in.” I still remember Dean’s very accurate logic when they’d gotten the full history.

I shouldn’t feel like a sixteen year old - when I’m 46, speeding toward 47 in a couple months - with a man five years my junior. Even if it is Dean Winchester.

He reminds me of my second husband, Lou. Full of sass, rounded out with some grump, and a sprinkle of edge. He drinks like Lou did. I only know that because I’d bought Dean and Sam a round of drinks one night a few years back. It was a thank you after they’d burned the remains of the poor soul that was stuck in what they called a death echo in my younger brother’s house. Top shelf scotch is Dean’s preferred drink of choice when someone else is buying, by the way. And he has a high tolerance for alcohol that one only gets after decades of experience. Like my second husband, Lou.

He drives a vintage muscle car like Lou did, too. You can hear it ten seconds before it turns onto West Court Street and pulls up to park in front of the library. That engine sound always gets my fellow co-workers on high alert and wide eyed, just like me. It’s a disappointment to all of us when it’s not Dean.

He flirts with every female between the ages of eighteen and eighty that crosses his path. Again, like Lou. It’s his default setting. He seems to prefer a tight skirt from what I’ve gathered through my research. But he rarely slights and denies the opposite sex his charms or thorough assessment if they decide to don pants or shorts.

My brain finally registers the title of the book he’s checked out on the computer screen. The attraction fog has lifted for a brief second. I turn the tome over on the counter and read the title aloud. “Fairies and Wood Nymphs? Do I want to ask?”

He shakes his head. I twist my fingers near my mouth to indicate my lips are sealed. Then he flashed me that weird look again. Almost like he’s processing some data. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in here for over a month and I’m paying every flinch and twitch even more attention than usual. I realize in real time I’m cataloguing all of these In case I don’t see him for another month. Or, God forbid, two months. “You really are, aren’t you, Winter?” He finally pipes up with a question, using my surname as usual. The smile returns to his face.

“What’s that, Mr. Campbell?” I respond with a way too giddy smile and slide the book back to him. My coworkers are probably snickering at me behind the periodicals as they watch the show. Sure, like they wouldn’t be putty in this man’s hands, either. Even Ronald turns into mush around Dean.

He bends and leans back a bit to rest those thick forearms on the counter. Plaid clad shoulders, green eyes, freckled skin, and pouty lips are now at eye level with my five foot four frame. “Good at keeping a secret.” He mumbles and lowers his voice more with every syllable.

That voice triggers the floodgates down below.

What the hell is going on right now? “Friends don’t call me ‘The Vault’ for nothin’.” I somehow get the sentence out. Being this close reminds me of the night at the bar. When the scotch had worked its magic at the Mexican restaurant. The neon green cactus aesthetic and terra cotta motif had lulled Dean into some sort of sarape security blanket. He’d divulged a lot after Sam, downing only one drink, had left in the Impala with the promise to pick up his brother in a couple of hours. By the end of the night, Dean said I was a good listener and not quick to judge. That I had a nice calming presence. That I’d must have seen some heavy shit in my lifetime, too.

“Can I ask you something?” His brows raise.

My mouth has dried up so I can only nod in response.

He cocks his head to the library entrance. “Do you have a minute to talk outside?”

I nod again. I may not be the boss, but my seniority and elder status give me a little leeway.

He rises up, taps the counter and grabs the book. “I’ll be waitin’ in the car.” I get a full smile this time and almost pass out.

I push the front door of the library and spill out on the sidewalk a couple minutes later. His black beauty of a car is still there, waiting. The nippy Fall temperature is enough for me to wrap my cardigan tight around my middle. Dean is in the driver’s seat, windows open, with Lynyrd Skynyrd playing on the radio.

He has an eager and appreciative look on his face when he exits the vehicle and walks toward the hood to meet me. “Thanks.”

I shrug. “What did you want to ask me?” I wrap some stray, windswept strands back behind my ear.

“Sam and I, we could use some help at the bunker.”

I can’t help but gasp at the word. Bunker. This legendary place I’ve gotten sparse, verbal descriptions of here and there over the years. Their home base. Sam has boasted of its library to me.

“Well, mainly Sam could use some help. Because I’m useless when it comes to the library. And, he also doesn’t trust me when it comes to the books.”

Library. I’m able to stifle another gasp. I stand in silence, waiting for more.

He sighs. “Let’s just say we had an accident. A lot of the books got damaged, flew off shelves into a massive paper mountain.”

My head nods in a fury. “Yes, I’d love to help.”

He chuckles at my eagerness. “Great.” He hands me a note, like we’re in high school. “Meet me at this intersection and I’ll show you the rest of the way there?”

“When?”

“Whatever's good for you.”

I realize how non existent my social life is lately and offer, “Friday night?”

He nods. Another grin. “Eight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“It’s a date.” He winks.

Lou NEVER winked.

Chapter 2

I left my cottage in Smith Center that Friday after the sun had set. It was a twenty minute drive before I came upon Dean at the crossroads, waiting for me with a grin and a goal when my headlights spotted him. I followed Dean’s Impala in my Wrangler down the long, winding prairie road eventually overtaken by trees for another ten minutes. The radio kept me company in the dark. The wooded area closed in on each side as I drove behind the Impala’s wake.

A clearing amid the trees to the right gets my attention. I peer up and gasp, braking in time to avoid a mild fender bender after Dean’s abrupt stop.

The bunker looks like a massive detention center or secret government facility built into a rather large hill. It’s intimidating in its grey, drab, and impenetrable appearance. Illumination from the moon and stars in the Kansas sky provide a perfect backdrop. I can see the outline of the sharp roofline structure high above the tree canopies.

What the hell am I getting into? These brothers have provided the occasional glimpse into their lives with the weird research requests over the past few years. I should feel scared or worried. But, the quick pace of my heartbeat has more to do with the excitement of peeking at what’s behind the curtain. And, finally seeing the place Sam and Dean Winchester call home in Lebanon, Kansas.

The squeak of Dean’s driver side door as it opens and he plants boots on the gravel makes the blood pound in my ears. He eases, almost pours out. The door cinches shut with a creak. My headlights spotlight him again. He strolls over on those bow legs. I kill the engine. He leans against my open window, staring down, a hand and forearm reclining on the rooftop. “Still okay with this, Winter?”

I smile. He’s such a perfect mix of rugged and that kind of handsome they don’t make anymore. He reminds me of Paul Newman, Robert Redford, John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in their heyday. But, then he’ll shine some cheekiness that gives me the vibe of a Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin hosting a variety hour from the 60s. I stare at those lips a little longer than I should. Again. “Yep. This is already the most eventful Friday night I’ve had in forever.”

He taps the roof. “Alright, then.”

The temperature has dropped and I’m glad I wore a heavy jacket. The gravel crunches underfoot and Dean has enough courtesy and manners to lead the way in the dark with a flashlight.

“Got a few concrete steps here. Careful on the way down.”

I chuckle. “So nice of you to look out for your elder.”

He waves the flashlight in my direction, but low to my chest so it’s not directly in my eyes. “You do that a lot, you know.”

I stop in my tracks. “What?”

“Point out that you’re older than me.”

“Do I?”

“Mh-hm.” The flashlight rotates back around in his hand so we can continue the trek. He waits until we are both at the threshold of a large door. It looks like a bank vault. The click of a key in a lock is heard when he adds, “Why do you do that?”

I shrug in the shadows.

The door gives to Dean’s pull and sounds like he’s breaking some type of hermetic seal. In moments we are atop a stairwell. The door slams behind us and makes me jump. My eyes widen at the view below, something out of a 40s war room. Dean’s already halfway down the iron staircase before my feet are able to move. I track and inventory the vintage communication devices, the art deco architecture, the solid build of this secret place with brick and stone and marble. A huge table in the middle of the room has a world map lit up from below as its surface. Dean drops his backpack on the table without a second glance. “Sam!” He yells.

He walks to a large open entryway into another room with a step up. I glimpse the row of tables and shelves. And the books. The books scattered everywhere. The smell of leather and musky paper fills the air. I inhale deep and get that little whiff of smoke and vanilla that I love.

“I’d invite you to make yourself at home, but that’s not really possible at the moment.” He motions for me to follow. Dean shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the back of one of the chairs. I’m attracted to a nook in the beautiful hall filled with clutter. I drape my jacket on a wingback chair and pick up a hardbound book on one of the stacks. There are dozens of these book pillars piled in various heights, some reaching to my shoulders. “Where the hell is he?” Dean asks no one in particular.

I notice a Samurai sword on display to my left when Sam’s free floating voice calls out. “Be there in a minute, Dean!”

Dean sighs and slinks through the maze of books. He lands on my right and stares down at me. “Are you hungry? We’ve got a stocked kitchen for once. Sandwich? Snack? Beer?”

I shake my head, too busy splitting my gaze between his expectant green eyes and the volume in my hands. “Is this an actual first edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales?”

Dean opens his mouth but Sam answers, peeking over the Samurai sword on the bookshelf. “Yep. From 1909. Thanks for coming to help out.” He smiles.

“This is… wow.” I’m speechless.

“Well, I’m hungry.” Dean pipes in. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He darts and bounds up another small set of stairs leading out of the library.

“Remember,” Sam begins.

Dean halts in the other doorway. “I’m not bringing any food in here. I got it, Sam, nothing that might mess up your precious. You're worse than that goblin thing in Lord of the Rings.”

“Gollum was a hobbit.” I correct him.

“Stoor hobbit, actually.” Sam nods in agreement.

Dean purses his lips and raises both hands, then slams them in mock defeat against his thighs. “Thanks for clarifying. Looks like we found the best person to help.” He shakes his head and gives me a tiny smile before disappearing.

My heart beat skips at that smile.

Sam and I spend a good fifteen minutes deciding on a strategy to divide and conquer. He’s as giddy as I am to get these things back in their proper spots. The Dewey Decimal system makes the overwhelming task a bit easier. He really only needed another pair of hands and a bookish mindset. I’ll take one side of the library, Sam the other. He’s pulled out a pencil sketch of the shelves and their categories, as best as he can recollect.

“Dean got this glazed look when I asked him to help organize after we got them piled up and out of the middle of the room.”

I thumb through the index cards in the catalogue to get my bearings and hope to find homes for a couple books to start. Anything that doesn’t go on my side that I come across, I’ll leave for Sam on the table closest to the war room. He’ll place anything for me on the other table. “An actual explosion?”

Sam nods. “It was like an earthquake. Shook everything. And, then, there were the…” He clamps his lips tight and runs his fingers through his long hair. “Too much information for your first night. I want you to come back and help.”

I narrow my eyes. “I was already crazy enough to come. It would have to be pretty terrifying for me not to return.”

He shrugs and only repeats, “I want you to come back.”

We talk. He’s hesitant to indulge me with certain facts. But when I ask if Dean has any culinary skills to speak of, he’s almost an open book. Burgers and charring meat appear to be Dean’s specialty. I smile, feeling the tap and tug of my heart, thinking about how good my first husband, Rick, was with a grill and a smoker. I ask about Jack. Sam tells me that he’s staying with Cas for a while.

One afternoon, a couple years back, Dean and I stood huddled by a monitor in the technology area. He was dressed in a sharp blue suit and wore a cologne that filled my nose with citrus and cedar. To this day, I’m not sure how I managed to remain upright.

He was in need of some topographic maps of Lebanon. I didn’t ask why and he seemed grateful. I asked about Jack, since he was fresh in my mind from a recent visit. Dean steeled his jaw before confessing he and Sam were having difficulty with their new charge. I learned they had saved Jack from a dangerous situation. I assumed it was something supernatural. His mom had passed when he was born and their friend, Cas, had taken the boy under his wing not long after that. Now that friend was in need of more assistance with Jack. There was more to the story, but I didn’t press.

I knew why he mentioned Jack’s mom. He knew about my first husband. It had been one of my confessions over those drinks years back. Rick had been my high school sweetheart. We’d married halfway through university at KWU in Salina. I got my bachelors. Rick had turned his volunteer firefighter position into a career, dropped out after two years at university, and kept telling me he was going to go back to school after. After was Rick’s favorite word.

We moved back to Smith Center after school. I got a job at the library soon after that. Our son Ricky came along a year later. Rick had promised a five year old Ricky at the dinner table they would go to the neighbor’s farm over the weekend. He’d get his first pony ride. After his 24-hour shift at the firehouse.

Rick never came home after that shift.

Chapter 3

I shake myself from the memory. I’m not sure how long it is before I turn around to grab from a new stack and find Dean standing right there. My nose brushes against his shirt. I avoid slamming the rest of me into him.

I smell the fresh clean showered scent of him. He’s sporting loungewear like a male supermodel. The spiky damp hair is doing weird things to my insides. I want to run my fingers through them like I’m sprinting through a field of wheat. And, then I want to tug on those strands while he…

“Is Sam taking advantage of you?” He smirks, chin to his chest, looking down at me. “Free labor and all. Sure you aren’t hungry?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Getting in the zone.”

He nods into his chest. “Well, if you plan on it being an all-nighter, we’ve got plenty of space for you to crash.”

“Dean…” Sam side eyes and scolds him with a slight shake of his head.

I realize how curious I am to explore more of this amazing place. I also realize how much being this close to Dean makes me wish he’d never be more than an arm’s length away. See? Sixteen year old. My twenty-three year old son would be mortified at his mother’s behavior right now. Thank God he’s on his own and away at school, working on his Master’s in Library Science. He would love this book collection, though. “I could use directions to a bathroom.”

Dean smiles. “Sure. Follow me.”

I nod to Sam. His gives me a hesitant smile.

Dean leads out the library in slippers that remind me of something my father would wear. I stare at the heels of his bare feet peeking out from the slippers when he steps up. For a second I get an image of the two of us on the couch watching television. His long and solid frame spread out across all the cushions. I’m seated at one end with his calves propped up on my lap, massaging his tired and sore feet. “Coming, Winter?” Dean’s voice calls out. He’s turned to wait, a quizzical stare at me. Shit, how long have I been daydreaming?

I join him. He’s along my left down the marble and stone corridors. They contain a plethora of doors and intersections that turn my sense of direction on its head. The halls feel cold, antiseptic, even though the design and style is meticulous and elegant.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “You probably have a dozen more questions now.”

“Try a hundred. It’s just the two of you in this huge place?”

“Well, sometimes Jack. And, Cas.”

“Do you have a cleaning service come in or something?” I run a finger along the marble wall as I pass. I tilt my head in approval at the lack of dirt.

He chuckles. “We’ve got a really great filtration system. Just have the usual upkeep with the common areas and our rooms.”

“I need to get me one of those.”

“Or live in a secret lair with no windows.”

“Hm, that’s true, you don’t have any. You really could not know what’s going on outside while you’re in here.”

“It’s a hermit’s fantasy. Like that hobbit.” He grins and stops at a door. “It’s the bathroom slash showers. Don’t get lost in there. Or on your way back. Make a right out the door, left at the dead end.” He points down the hall with two fingers like a cop directing traffic. “Pass two cross streets, then make a right onto the next one. You’ll see the library entrance on your left. Eventually.”

I frown. “If I get lost?”

“Just call me, Winter.”

My flats shuffle down the hall. I make my way back to the library and feel like I’m at work. I shift into my quiet and unobtrusive mood. Unseen unless needed or called upon.

Dean’s instructions were clear and easy to follow. The slight panic at being in an unknown maze subsides when I hear their voices. I turn down the hall. The warm amber light from the library spills into the corridor yards away.

Their voices travel toward me. The acoustics are quite good in this place. I can tell they are trying to keep their voices low.

“You should ease up.” Sam sounds irritated.

“What?”

“Not every woman needs to be a conquest, Dean.”

“Shut it. I-I don’t think about Winter like-.” Dean stutters. “I’d never think of her as a conquest.”

And that. That’s what makes my heart drop into my stomach. Of course he doesn’t think of me that way.

Sam sighs. “I can really use her help. And, she’s always been nothing but nice to us.”

Dean sighs back. “I know that.”

I take a deep breath, beat myself over the head with reality. Cough for good measure so they know I’m coming. When I turn the corner, Sam is busy in his section and Dean is between the tables, ringing his hands, and smiling at me.

He’s been sweet because, why, felt bad for me? Placating me, maybe? He just knows he’s got that effect on women?

“Great at directions, Sam. Told ya.” Dean claps his hands. “I’ve been told enough space has been cleared and that snacks may be brought in.” He raises a finger in the air for emphasis. “I’ll be back.” A quick turn and dash around the corner of a table has him disappearing through the war room.

When I step in to assume my spot I catch his figure heading through a doorway by the stairwell entrance. I resume the work. Quiet and unobtrusive.

“Everything alright?” Sam notices the change.

“Yep.” I flash a smile full of teeth. “This is an amazing collection.” I pretend to rifle through the pages of one book with interest before placing it on a shelf.

“Did Dean… say something… to make you uncomfortable?” Sam strolls closer and leans on the table to sit. I think it’s an attempt to shorten our height differential. “He can get a little carried away.”

I fidget with the frames of my glasses. “No. I’m used to it. He’s like that with every woman, right?” I grab two books and study the spines.

Sam shrugs. “Kind of.” From my peripheral view, I can see him lean down farther and try to make eye contact. Or get a read on me. “I mean, it’s not like you’d be interested, right?”

This weird sound comes out of my mouth that resembles a laugh being choked out of my windpipe. When I look up Sam has a deer in the headlights expression. The wrinkles on his forehead have multiplied.

He chuckles and blinks. “Right.” Fingers tap on the table surface and he��s back to work on his side.

I spend another hour and a half with the brothers in the library. Dean brought a variety of things to munch on. My heart feels a little heavy at my assumption about his interest. The fantasy couldn’t last forever in my head. But I try to enjoy Sam and Dean’s company and take everything at face value. They are nice guys, after all. I’m sure there wasn’t any intentional misleading on the part of my emotions.

I crunch my last carrot stick and slide another book home. “Alright, gentlemen. I do know how to party it up on a Friday night. But it’s close to 10:30. I should get myself home.”

Dean squints. “If it’s too late for a drive back…”

I raise a hand in protest. “They haven’t taken my driver’s license away from me yet due to old age. I’ll be fine.”

Dean’s half-hearted smile disappears. He stuffs a few potato chips in his mouth as he gets up. “Let me put on some shoes.”

“What for?”

He lifts both hands up. “Want to make sure you get home safe. I’ll follow you back.”

My mouth opens. There’s a thrill that I’m quick to squash down. “I might not want you to know where I live.” I interject without thinking.

His eyes widen and then he smiles. “It’s cute that you think we don’t already know where you live.”

My head whips to Sam. He shrugs. “Part of the job. We vet everyone who gets let into our little circle of chaos.”

“Be right back.” Dean confirms there’s no way I’m getting out of an escort home.

Sam is ever so grateful for the assistance tonight. He wraps me up in a huge friendly hug that’s warm and comforting. He thinks he can manage the rest of it on his own. But he offers to have me come back soon, inspect and approve what he’s done. The library is always open for me to visit in case I want to do some actual reading.

Dean returns a few minutes later, fully dressed again. The man is quick and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Could have been a firefighter.

I’m quiet on the way out. I follow him down to our cars. He provides the lead and lights my way to the Wrangler. He clicks the driver’s side door closed once I’m in and suggests a three point turn to head back the road we came in on. He offers to lead in the Impala. I decline, sure in my navigational skills.

I keep checking my rear view mirror on the drive back. I see the silhouette of the assured, confident Winchester. I’m positive that man has broken many hearts. But, probably provided some amazing memories for some lucky women. I’m also positive he’d be a hard act to follow for anyone that came after him. I’m not sure I could handle either of those scenarios at this point.

And how lucky could one woman get anyway in a lifetime? I think back to Rick and the memories that have a grainy film overlay to them now. How special those years were. How misguided and unfair I was to Lou, constantly comparing him to the man I lost. Knowing that my expectations and a multitude of sins on his part led to our divorce five years back.

It’s better like this: to admire Dean Winchester from afar with the occasional heart palpitations.

I pull into my short drive. I’m self conscious about the loud rumble of the Impala’s engine as Dean rolls past me to stop in front of my house. My neighbors are scattered here and there along the prairie road. No one is on top of each other. But it’s usually quiet this time of night. Jody or Harry will be peeking because of the noise. A second later my prediction is confirmed. I stare off to the right through my passenger window to see a light snap on in the Wilson’s kitchen window.

I hop out of the Wrangler, ready to walk over to Dean’s driver side and thank him for seeing me home. Dean cuts off the engine and emerges with an energetic self propulsion. I stall in my tracks. Even in the dark I blush at those eyes that I know are trained on me. Goddammit.

“Thanks.” I squeak out and clear my throat.

“No problem. Wanted to make sure you got home safe.” I hear his hands slide into his jean pockets. He’s closer now. My eyes have adjusted to the dark. His tongue peeks out and brushes that full bottom lip. It glistens in the moonlight. He cocks his head to my porch. “Alright if I watch you get inside?” He raises a hand. “Not me being stalky. Just cautious.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you have a target on your back or something?” A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s due to fear or standing for too long in the chilly October night.

He grins. “Not at the moment.” My mouth opens up at the cavalier response. He turns serious, maybe because of the look I gave him. “We didn’t want to tell you, didn’t want to worry you…”

“That’s a great way to start things off.” I frown and cross my arms.

“You should get inside, Winter. Gettin’ cold.”

“You can’t do that to me. Leave me hanging like that.” I hear a familiar screen door screech open on hinges that need greasing.

He sighs and nods past my shoulder to something behind me. “I don’t want to explain out here. We’ve got an audience.”

I turn around, past my Jeep and the drive to see Harry in his sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s leaning against a pillar under the floodlight of his porch. A sharp nod in my direction. Jody’s voice travels in the night air, asking her husband what’s going on over at my house. I sigh and give the neighbor a wave. “Well, we’ve given them something to talk about.” I mumble. “Might as well come inside for a minute so I get all the facts.”

#spn fanfic series #dean winchester fanfic #dean x ofc

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pentacentric · 7 months

Note

Oooh, tell me about "pretty when you cry"....??? 😊

copying some of what i previously answered for the background, since this is from the same series that's already stsrted being published. Things That Can't Be Seen is canon-divergent (but not excessively) AU, wincest, powers/magic-adept sam, heavy on the world-building (there's a bit more backgound and 2 excerpts under the cut)

firstly, i have to say Pretty When You Cry is named after the VAST song not the lana del rey one which i didn't know about at the time (it's also good but a very different vibe). the story's actually about 2/3 done and already ridiculously long. it was also actually originally started to fill a kinkmeme request (ikr) and it got out of control and then i ended up fitting it into the series

it's set during sam's years at stanford. sam's experiences have made him a lot more comfortable with the more extreme side of his sexuality than in the show, and he's lacking a very good idea of what normal is as well. he continues to mourn his relationship with dean throughout, but he meets brady and they become cluelessly reciprocally-pining friends and eventually lovers. they're into kink pretty heavily (sam's subby and masochistic and bratty, brady is brash and has some lovely repressed aggression but is also very empathetic). but also he and brady genuinely love each other. i'll admit this story is somewhat self-indulgent since i discovered i really love sam/brady while writing this. it's like 50% kink, 50% sam/brady banter, 30% world-building, 20% sam being awkward while trying to figure out how to act like a person. it will get around to demon brady and also jess as well

series background: the major world difference is that the hunting community is slightly more structured (though no less dysfunctional or dangerous, maybe more so) and that it includes dedicated magic users within it (though on the fringes and generally with a lot of reticence and, for some, active resistance). the magic and its systems are also somewhat different and much more developed than in the show. as far as the winchester family goes, john never bothers to hide hunting or the paranormal from either of them. sam starts showing signs of powers (and not necessarily demonic) from a young age. there's also a family ritual that involves painting sigils on one's body that is central to the story

excerpts

this is prob more than you wanted, but you get 2 excerpts because i couldn't decide. 1st is some banter between sam and brady because there's a lot of that in the story. the second is one of my favorite parts that shows some of the magic in this world. they're both kinda long, sorry!

excerpt 1:

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

He shrugs. "And, to top it off...I really didn't know if you were into guys, even."

Brady stares at him. "How could you not know??"

"Well, I mean, I never really saw you flirt with men or anything."

"Yeah, ‘cause I was kinda focused on getting into your pants, you know? Um, had my hands all over you? Sleeping together in the same bed?"

Sam flushes. "C'mon, you're pretty affectionate with everyone, so how was I supposed to know?!"

"You really think I treat all my friends like I do you?" Brady shakes his head in disbelief. "Damn, I'm kinda proud that you think I'm that easy."

"Well, you kinda are. Once you get past the do-you-like-me-check-yes-or-no notes stage." Sam grins.

"Maybe I should have given you one of those in the first place." He looks at Sam. "You know what it finally took to get me to man up and do something?"

"Um, getting me desperate and naked and sobbing in your bed?"

"Well, now you're just giving me ideas for later..."

"It's Thursday tomorrow."

"...seriously, you can be such a buzzkill." He huffs. "Sure, that was the spark and all, but the fuse was already primed."

"...you don't prime fuses."

"Well, maybe you don't...you know what I meant, bitch. Anyways, it was Nathan."

"Nathan? What does he have to do with it?"

"Well, what he wants to do is you."

"What?"

"...well, I'm kind of reassured that at least it's not just me you're oblivious to. Anyways, he saw you at The Crucible."

Sam almost chokes. "What??"

"C'mon, Sam, you think you're the only kinky bastard in our group of friends? I mean, you might be the most extreme and all, but, really? Like, tell me you at least know that Tara does photography for the kink scene?"

"..."

"Oh, c'mon! It's not like she hides it!"

"Well, she didn't show us her actual pictures! When she said sexy photos, I figured, like, standard boudoir stuff, maybe some pinup."

"Nope. I mean, I think she does a little of that on the side, but most of her stuff is pretty hardcore. Beautiful, though. Hot. You should ask her to see it sometime."

"Huh. Wow. But, um...yeah, Nathan saw me at the goddamn Crucible. And told you about it?"

Brady shrugs. "He worried you might be runnin' around behind my back. Said he wasn't sure it was his place to get involved, and maybe we had an open thing going on, maybe at least where scening was concerned, but that if it were him, he'd want to know. When I told him we weren't like that, he was genuinely surprised. Didn't believe me at first, said everyone would be cool with it, we didn't have to hide anything. Once I convinced him, he was all well, I gotta warn you, if you don't go for it, I will. Told me I had no idea what I was missing out on, by what he saw."

"Oh my god. I only went there once, and...fuck." Sam shakes his head, swallows. "I'm surprised he can still look me in the face and act like everything's normal."

"Well, it's not usually your face I catch him staring at.' Brady smirks.

Sam groans and buries his face in his hands. "I think I've hit my RDA of humiliation today."

"Pssshh, Nate definitely didn't think any less of you for what he saw, I can tell you that much. Anyways, he musta seen something on my face, cause he backed off a little on the goin' after you. Said he didn't really believe in the 'calling dibs' thing, but it was clear you and I had something goin' on, even if we were clueless, and that he wanted to give us a chance to get our shit together. Told me not to wait too long, though. That was about a week before you showed up all fucked up at my door that morning." Brady rubs at the back of his neck. "Was gonna say somethin' to you on the night I made you dinner. Chickened out."

"Declarations of love over spaghetti? Very Lady and the Tramp of you."

"Shut up, bitch. You love to suck my noodle."

Sam shakes his head with a grimace of disgust. "No...just no, dude."

"Eh, can't land 'em all...shoulda gone with 'you're the one that's both the lady and the tramp,' yeah? Anyways, it all worked out in the end, obviously. I got my Disney princess." He picks up his pencil and turns his attention back to the papers in front of him. "Still kinda kickin' myself that I missed that night at the Crucible. Sounded pretty fucking memorable. 'S not my usual club, though."

Sam's brain stalls, reboots a few times. "Wait...you have a 'usual' club? You go to kink clubs?? Which ones? When?"

Brady smirks, doesn't look up, though. "Hmm, yeah, but I think that's a talk for another night. Might get us a little worked up, you know, keep us from gettin' to sleep right away." He turns a page in his book. "And it is Thursday tomorrow, you know."

"...I hate you."

"Whatever you say, Sammy." He innocently bats his eyes at Sam, who hasn't moved and is still staring holes into Brady's head. "Don't you have an essay to finish, baby?"

...

The next morning, as Sam's getting ready to walk into class, he feels the buzz of his phone in his pocket. He smiles, pulls it out, sees a message notification. Flips it open, and his smile disappears as he freezes in front of the doors of the Keck Building.

G (2 new messages)

Gideon.

His heart clenches. Misses a beat, maybe two. He barely even notices the annoyed girl with the curly pink hair that elbows him; absently stumbling out of the way of the flow of students without lifting his eyes from the phone.

He selects the notification, presses the green button.

-Sam. None of your dreams will come true.

He lets out a long, shuddering breath, the relief outweighing the resentment. Thumbs down to the second message, opens it.

-I won't have to hold your debt for long. I'll contact you soon for assistance.

That feeling at the bottom of his gut; that cold, that clenching. It's not fear.

It's not.

It's just relief that Dean, his dad are ok. Will be ok, for now. Everything else, he can deal with. It's all worth it, for that.

Right?

___________________________

excerpt 2:

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

"So," Brady says, arms spread out, slowly spinning, inviting Sam to take in the whole of the small harbor as if he, himself, had made the sand, waves, and towering cliffs. "This is Gray Whale Cove."

Sam tilts his head back, turning in place to take it all in. "It's amazing." He says, sincerely. "Beautiful."

So maybe he's looking at Brady when he says it.

"Yeah, not too shabby, right? I thought you'd like it here."

And Sam does. It really is spectacular; the slopes and peaks of the cliffs around them a mix of jagged grey stone and ground-hugging green brush, the half-moon of faded gold sand between the promontories jutting into the water on either side of them, the deep steel-blue of the Pacific churning itself through green into foamy white as it thrashes against the sand and crags. The air smells of salt and growing things, but with that base note of mineral you sometimes find in places surrounded by exposed rock. Everything's a little washed over and silvery with the sharp, pale winter sun. His skin prickles in the wind that whips through the cove.

But beyond even that there's a fierce power here that buoys and exhilarates Sam, sets his heart racing. Brady, while he's often so empathetic to the moods and needs of people around him that it still surprises Sam, doesn't have an ounce of sensitivity to the supernatural (and Sam has said a prayer of gratitude for that more than once). But even those without any gift sometimes feel the pull of places like this, without really knowing why. Sam can feel it thrumming through him, ramping up with each deep pulse through him, making his nerves twang like plucked chords, sparking tiny fires in his subtle body. It reminds him of the bass in the Impala vibrating through the seats when the sound's turned all the way up and they're pushing past a hundred on some straight-as-an-arrow, cornfield-choked, midwest backcountry road or a sandswept, broadly curving desert highway in the salt flats of the southwest.

Combined with his already nebulous state from the events of the nights before and today's blessing, he's soaring on it like a leaf in a whirlwind. He can't put away the grin that's cracking his face open. He'd worry about how his eyes must look to Brady (mad, crazy, dangerous) if he could bring himself to grab even a tiny thread of the concrete, the practical world right now. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to center himself a little. If he lets this build too much more he's gonna spin out. Do something dumb and hurt himself or Brady, or, at the very least, the surge is gonna burn through him too fast and he'll be left even more depleted and thinned-out after it's gone.

Regretfully, he pulls up a few of his barriers; not all of them, not all the way. Modulates the rush of energy tearing through him. Less firehose, more broad river to float in. He opens up his eyes slowly, nictitating their astral membranes at the same time, to get a look at the source of the energy swirling through the cove.

It's magnificent. A light-limned nest, a vast net of vital elemental magic and intrinsic etheric energy, woven, knit, exquisitely around them.

The major ley line that skims along the California coast, but only touches shore rarely, intersects here, running right up the length of the beach: a spitting, twisting, living rope of light, pulled taut between the bookend promontories, right over their heads, wide as a 6-lane interstate. But it also crosses no less than six smaller, less-deeply-sourced power lines. They spiral up and over and through the surrounding cliffs and hills; one even snakes up from the ocean floor, through the waves, its light refracting and breaking all green glowing through the turbulent water. But on top of that, there's also the confluence of three fundamental elements—the vast waters of the ocean, the earthy bare rock of the cliffs and hills, and the air of the blue sky high above and the wind funneled down into the cove. They're balanced well, the tension between where they push and pull and merge sending out fountains of branching, fractal luminescence at sudden and irregular intervals.

Sam doesn't know all the power places in North America, of course, but he knows of the biggest, most important ones, and this place he's not heard of. It's much more modest than many of those famous ones in terms of sheer power. It's doesn't have the gut-wrenching sheer force of the convergence of two major ley lines that some spots have, nor does it have the fulgent potential of a place where all four elements meet in equal power, but the mix of the two types of earth energies makes for a delicious nexus of magics. It makes Sam want to strip his clothes off and bathe naked in it.

Which, considering the few other groups of visitors speckled across the beach, might not be the best idea.

Though he'd bet Brady would appreciate it.

With that thought pulling at the corners of his mouth, he turns and looks at his boyfriend standing on the sand behind him.

He's never looked at Brady before with the astral veil lifted, it's not something he wants to make a habit of in his new, normal life. But he can't resist, just this once, and he's not surprised to find the view just as magnificent as what surrounds him. In his own, entirely non-biased, opinion, of course. Brady's aura isn't simple, but Sam didn't expect it to be. It's tangled, knotted, bruised in some places, in others loops in on itself protectively. But it's bright, and threaded with colors that resonate and shift. And it's warm, so warm. It sends tendrils out in some place, seeking out the light of others; vulnerable, but full of a pure kind of desire to connect. Many of them keep drawing back to Sam, slipping along his edges, under the surface. Their borders melt together briefly when they touch, and Sam lets one of his barriers down, just a little, feels Brady penetrate him, warmth spreading out from where they touch. He shivers; it's so incredibly sensual, intimate; he can't help himself. He surges forward, drops his mouth to Brady's, slips his eyes closed; lets Brady's warm tongue and warm emanations push into him.

Breathless minutes later, he opens his eyes, the mundane world filling them now, all glimpses of the metaphysical tucked away again. Brady's smiling at him, bemused and fond.

"I guess you really needed this, huh?"

Sam smiles back. "I guess I did."

With his boundaries tamped down now, the thrumming energy of the place is muted now, in the background. And, while Sam’s still feeling some of the residual euphoria, it's more of a gentle invigoration instead of the inundation from before. He'll only leave here a little recharged compared to how he felt before, but he's also not at risk of spinning out on energy intoxication.

"C'mon," Brady gestures with his head towards the north end of the cove. "Let's walk a little."

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moteldogs · 1 year

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stanford era dean is everything 2 me. he’s sleeping in the impala in bar parking lots and in the apartments of girls he’ll never see again and he’s not sleeping at three a.m. on a hunt or wrapped around a bottle of whiskey. and he’s showering at truckstops and never getting a motel room if he can help it because the cheapest room’s a double and he can’t look at the other bed without feeling sick. and he’s calling his dad and he’s not calling sammy and he’s flirting with men twice his age. and he’s puking up liquor in alleyways and somewhere in michigan he tries coke for the first time and somewhere in arizona he drops acid, and a few days later he thinks about getting a tattoo but chickens out. and he’s shoplifting butterfly bandages and whiskey, and he’s getting fucked on top of a dirty mattress thinking about how he needs to find a laundromat tomorrow. and he’s meeting his dad at a diner and his dad hands him a case and leaves before the food hits the table. and he still has sam’s number memorized even though it’s disconnected

#spn #.txt

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multidimensional-trashcan · 1 year

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So i saw @bobwess bi-section of Dean Winchester again and now you have to suffer through the consequences aka.:

Option 1:

the Bert and Ernie scene, you know the one, the one where they basically laid out the train of thought: gay - sex - me (Dean Winchester)

memory protocol: "There's two things i know for certain: 1. Bert and Ernie are gay, 2. You're not gonna die a virgin - not on my watch!"

Option 2:

dr. sexy, do i have to say more? really would like the reasoning behind this from a heterosexual perspective

Option 3:

Aaron Bass and the "rom-comy fluster" played by one jensen ackles. probably one of my favourite moments generally

Option 4:

The writers (and actors and also some of the fans) insistance that Dean is straight because he said so, while simultaneously showing that Dean often hides and represses his true feelings by acting a certain way (cue the "overcompensating" line), it is not uncommon for Dean to lie about himself especially about his sexuality

Option 5:

The audacity to have someone say "I cannot flirt with men because I am only interested in women" only for Dean to say "Okay, then I will flirt with this man for you." There are literally a thousand different ways this scene could have gone where the direct conclusion even a fifth grader would have come to wouldn't be "Charlie can't flirt with men because she isn't interested in them. Dean says he can do it, therefore he is interested in men". (Also the split screen *scream*)

Option 6: John - Dean parallels after Mary's, respectively Cas's death

Option 7: None of those. Please put your favourite in the tags because I'm very sure these aren't all of them.

Option 8: Okay, the siren also gets a place, even if there is a half-assed in-universe explanation but definitely counts into the WTF category. Also Sam's and Bobby's (non)reaction to the sirens "seduction" of Dean.

I'm also gonna make a specific poll for the Aaron Bass scene, if anyone is interested.

#polls #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #bisexual

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hannahssimblr · 1 year

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Dean: A case study & my justification.

Now that part 2 is over, I can finally share my feelings about Dean, the thought behind him and where he came from.

First off, I didn't think he'd cause so much discourse. To me, because I knew who he was from the moment he was introduced, I was surprised to find that so many people liked him. I kind of thought "oh no, maybe I've done something wrong here" But then I realised that actually, that probably sounds about right. If I didn't know his motives I would have liked him too.

When I was twenty three I knew a guy a bit like Dean. Our relationship was complicated, and the exact ins and outs of how it was defined aren't really relevant, but the point is, he was manipulative and emotionally abusive.

I was young and fresh out of college, and he was in his late twenties and yet somehow there was a part of me that felt like I always had the upper hand on him, like I thought always knew what he was thinking. I'm a bit ashamed to admit that I thought I was able to handle him, and I'd always believed deep down that I was too clever, too astute to be one of those women who ended up with an abusive partner. Now I know that I only felt that way because I'd never been in their shoes.

Abusive people don't come into your life announcing that they are going to hurt you. They come in quietly and nicely, they make you laugh and give you the type of attention they've figured out that you want. At the beginning, when I met him, I actually wasn't remotely interested, but he viewed this fact as a challenge, and tried extra hard to get my attention. He'd play all kinds of mind games - the same way that Dean did. Dean deliberately insults Evie's work in order to check how much it will bother her, and then acts like he's just being constructive. He blocks her from his phone just to test her and see if she'll come crawling back begging for attention. Every time they're together he's reading her, he's checking her face, he's watching her every movement to see if what he's doing is working and if he's bringing her around to being with him. He knows she is too good for him, but her self esteem is so low that she doesn't know that. He will play that to his advantage.

I got wound up around my guys finger without even knowing it, and looking back, I can't even tell you how I got there. But I know that there was one time that I began to get bored and lose interest in his flirting, and he came over to my house with a wrapped gift and a poem he'd written about me. Then we lay on the couch with the sun streaming in the windows and he stroked my hair for an hour. He didn't want to be with me, he didn't want to be my boyfriend, he was just reeling me back in. He was seeing what it would take to get me back in his orbit again because he could sense I was slipping away and he had a hunger for attention. Dean does the same thing to Evie when he sees that he's made a potentially disastrous mistake and let his mask slip. He goes to a bookshop and tries to find the most personal gift possible. Not because he cares about her, but because he needs to keep on playing the game. Men like this know the right things to do, they know perfectly well how to appear sincere.

The moment I confessed feelings to him, I'd lost. For me it felt straightforward, it felt like, oh, well we obviously like each other so let's date now. He didn't want to date. He "couldn't". I can pinpoint that as the day that everything took a sudden nosedive. Within a few weeks I felt completely trapped. He stopped pretending to be nice, and he took advantage of my feelings and my willingness to be kind to him. He asked me to do unreasonable things. He'd impose on me, force me to complete tasks and then insult me for doing them wrong. He camped out in my house one weekend working on a project he wouldn't let me help him with (because I mess everything up), and made me cook him three meals without ever saying thank you. In fact I think he said "I don't like this type of food." it was horrifying, humiliating, and for some reason I felt like I couldn't get away from it. There was a visceral moment when I cried in confusion on a set of stone steps in my town with my best friend, and I told her that I felt like I was in an abusive relationship, but couldn't have been because he wasn't my boyfriend. I didn't have the self esteem to get away from him.

Many of the things Dean says to Evie in the final chapters are variations of the things said to me during this time. I think that's why writing those parts was so painful for me. I literally paced around my apartment trying to get the nerve to do to Evie what had been done to me. In the story, Dean starts turning on Evie the moment they agree to date non-exclusively in the park. From chapter 16 until the end he is, in my opinion, horrendous with her. He struggles to keep the mask on at all in 16 and 17, covering up his rage and impatience with thin layers of rehearsed understanding. He says what she needs to hear, but he's not even really bothering to make it sound genuine anymore. She won't have sex with him. He says it's fine, but then leaves the library in annoyance five minutes later. She finally gives in and does it, and he doesn't enjoy it. He worked so hard and gave so much of his time and effort to getting her clothes off, and now she's let him do it and he wasn't satisfied. All of his manipulation was for nothing.

Dean eventually just uses her for her central apartment by the end. It's closer to work than his own place, and it's easier to crash there after a night out. He doesn't care about any of the promises he made to her, and even though they continue to have sex, he's not doing it because he has affection for her. She's just conveniently there. He cares about her feelings so little that he's happy to tell Marnie all of the personal details that Evie would be mortified to share. He doesn't care about her, nor does he care about Marnie or Fiona or anybody else. He cares about the pursuit of women, the challenge of snagging those who are 'out of his league' just to prove to himself that he can. I wanted to show that by chapter 20, he actually only wants to have sex with Evie when he's on MDMA, that's the only time that he enjoys it, and she, with self esteem whittled down, has accepted this as her reality, for any of his chemically enhanced affection is better than his sober disdain. She has nobody else in her corner anyway, so she might as well just let him drag her to the bottom with him.

I like to think that the hints of Dean's motives would be obvious if you were to go back and read it again. I was honestly, incredibly fascinated by the response to him and the debate around whether he was bad or good. It felt like there were people who could plainly see what he was doing and people who, like me once, saw the things he was doing as normal and easy to explain away. That's the thing though, he was doing normal things. Walking someone home is okay, maybe touching someone's palm at a party is okay, but it's not always about these singular actions. It's a gut feeling, something inexplicable. A heightened feeling, you noticing that something is missing from their gaze, a feeling of being observed or tested by them. I know to be aware of these things now, but I would have never ever known that when I was 19.

I’ve been holding off talking about my intentions for him for a very long time, and honestly, chomping at the bit to tell you who he really is, but the discussion was so varied and interesting that I was actually happy to step back and let everyone talk. I was also a little afraid of admitting my own blindness when I was in a similar situation. I realised during part 2 that I really don't have control over the characters and how likeable or unlikeable they are. A hero to one person may be a villain to another.

I know this is a long post but I'm glad to get it off my chest. Now you know ;)

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welldonebeca · 1 year

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The Pack (II)

Summary: Sam and Jess decide to spend Spring Break with you and Dean and finally - after a good night together - join your pack. And you all mate. Of course. WC: 3.7k words Warnings: A/B/O dynamics. Tension. Hurt/Comfort. Flirting. Lactation kink. Masturbation. Spanking. Degrading kink. Foursome. Exhibitionism. Praising kink. Alpha/Omega Mating and Omega/Omega Mating. Smut. Vaginal sex. Oral sex. Breeding kink.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

You smiled at Jess when she sat between you and Sam, waiting as Dean set up whatever he had chosen for you all to watch.

"What's it about?" she asked.

You giggled.

"No idea," you shrugged. "Today is his day of picking what we watch."

Sam and Dean seemed to have settled their differences and were back to their normal selves now. You are all in comfy clothes now, waiting on your big bed-like couch.

"Place your bets, though," you joked, eyeing her with a little smile. "I think it's a western."

Jess's version of comfy was very skimpy, though. It made you regret trying to stay more covered up.

"I present to you," your husband announced. "No Country For Old Men."

Jess cooed in excitement, snuggling with Sam as he sipped his fourth cup of hot chocolate.

"Cold, Sammy?" Dean asked. "That's a lot of hot chocolate."

Sam's cheeks pinked.

"Your cocoa is really good," he mumbled.

"Oh," Jess perked up. "Can I have some?"

"Oh, yeah... sure."

You felt your cheeks hot when Jess took a sip and moaned a little.

"Oh, this is good," she praised. "Dean, that's very good cocoa! And the milk!"

Dean chuckled.

"Fresh milk from the nearest farm," he affirmed, not a full lie. "I'll make sure to get more while you two are here so we have enough."

You exchanged a look with him, who smirked.

"My favourite," your husband winked to you.

She giggled, giving Sam the mug.

"Thank you, Dean."

"Now shut up, everyone," he hopped by your side. "It's starting."

You pulled away from Dean and scooted closer to her, who just left Sam too.

"Everything alright, Jess?" you whispered.

"Warm," she mumbled, eyes shifting, and put her head on your shoulder. "You smell good, you know that?"

"I got a new shampoo," you told her.

"No," she moved closer, practically snuggling you now, and put her head on the crook of your neck. "Really nice. You smell really nice."

You adjusted yourself, leg between hers, and her chest just pressed against yours.

"Really good," she squirmed her hips.

You licked your lips, reflexes just making you do like Dean when you snuggled him like that, holding her hips and Jess cupped your face randomly with her hands, looking at you achingly.

"Please," she whispered.

You kissed her right away, and her lips were still sweet from the chocolate made with your milk.

Jess ground her hips against your thigh, tiny shorts warm and feeling a little slicky with each movement.

You were never dominant in the bedroom, but before you could overthink things, Jess took the lead, moving her hands over your body hungrily.

"More?" you panted, confused.

She pushed your robe away.

"Want more of your milk," she pulled your dress gown down, groping your tit. "Tasted so good."

You moaned.

What a smart Omega, she was.

"Of course."

Jess moved her lips down, thighs still moving against yours mindlessly, and you moaned when she wrapped her lips around your nipple, licking and sucking it hungrily, and your milk was quick to flow into her mouth.

It was only then that you looked at your husband and his brother, realising you weren't alone.

Sam and Dean were shocked, but positively. Looking like they were seeing something wonderful.

Oh, Alpha men…

Sam most definitely heard what Jess had said, and was looking at his cup and you, again and again.

"Omegas," he groaned.

You moaned, cunt flooding wet.

"Alpha," you reached out to Sam. "Please?"

Sam tossed his empty mug away before throwing himself at you, kissing your lips hungrily as his Omega drank your milk hungrily.

He gripped your chin, lips so rough you imagined he was desperate as he kissed yours, nearly overwhelming you with his suddenness.

Jess raised her hips from your thigh for a brief moment, and when they came back, her cunt was fully rubbing in your skin.

"There you go, good girl," Dean cooed. "Get yourself off on her thigh."

Sam pulled his mouth from your lips, rising down your neck, and you could see Dean behind Jess, speaking into her ear.

"How about we get you out of these," Sam hummed, pulling your robe away, and pulling you gown up.

Jess whined when he made her take her mouth away from your chest, but she was soon back to it once you were undressed, and Sam put his hand between your legs.

"And this," he growled, just ripping your panties.

You whined at the roughness, but it only made you wetter.

Suddenly, Jess's mouth was moved, and she whined in protest.

"Let Sammy have a turn, you greedy brat," Dean chuckled, pulling her to his lap.

"But she has two," she whimpered.

Dean held her close, spreading her legs.

"Don't make me spank your pussy," he threatened her.

Jess pouted and you whined.

Oh, you loved when Dean spanked your pussy.

"Oh, we don't..." Sam raised his head to look at him. "We don't do that."

Dean straight up laughed.

"Oh, how boring of you," you scoffed. "You know, Jess... my Omega loves it. It makes her leak like a tap and cum oh so sweetly."

She squirmed on top of him, and you could see how she was dripping slick.

"Do you want me to try it with you?" he purred into her ear. "Want me to spank you good?"

"Please," she pleaded. "I want it, Dean, please."

You rubbed your thighs together, needy, and Dean didn't miss it.

"Spank my wife's pussy, Sammy. Let's see who can make their Omega cum first."

More milk trickled down your chest and Sam licked it eagerly, hand still a bit soft on you.

"You want it, baby?" Dean hummed.

"Please," Jess begged. "Please spank my pussy."

"Harder, Sam," you whined.

Jess cried out in pleasure, and you arched your hips, jealous.

"Don't wanna hurt you," he tried to justify it.

"You won't," you assured him. "Please, please, Sam."

He hesitated, and an idea sparkled in your mind.

"Show Dean that you can spank me better than he can," you commanded him.

Sam looked at you, eyes sparkling with a challenge, and said nothing, just smacking your pussy like he meant it.

His hands were softer than Dean's - he was, after all, not a farm boy - but he still had a firm grasp, and you were moaning soon enough. But Jess was much, much louder.

"See how she likes, Sammy?" Dean hummed. "She's just a little Omega in my arms, right Jess? My needy slut, sensitive and hungry."

Your cunt squeezed around nothing at the degrading praise.

"Dean," you whined.

"Sammy doesn't treat her well enough," he cooed. "And he is being just as not-nice to you, baby?"

Sam growled.

"He denies you of so much, doesn't he?" your husband continued as Jessica cried and squirmed. "Won't even put a pup in your belly."

Her eyes rolled back.

"Please," she cried. "Dean!"

"Say it, baby," he purred. "Tell him what you want, but a good slutty Omega."

"Want a baby," she cried. "Wanna be bred, please, please. Fill me up with a pup."

Sam softened, moved by the conversion, and moved from you to kiss her.

Jess came very loudly, shaking on top of Dean.

You would find it cute if you weren't so on edge from being denied.

He moved to his girlfriend quickly, and you pouted, but Dean didn't leave you alone for long.

"Guess the happy couple needs a few minutes to celebrate," he hummed, hand already between your legs to rub.

"Alpha," you whined. "He didn't do it right."

“Oh, I know," he mocked you. "Sam is such a meanie, not slapping your pussy.”

You pouted at him, but didn't stay mad for much longer when he started smacking you the way you liked it.

"Dean," you cried.

“Don’t scream so loud, baby," he instructed you. "Hear them."

“Jess..." Sam moaned into her mouth, kissing her passionately. “I’ll give you so many babies, sweet girl.”

“Yes, Sam, please!" she ground against his hips. "Want your big babies, want them so badly. Please, please."

You came, shaking on top of him, though your cunt still ached, needing to be filled.

“Dean?” you whined, squirming. “Please? Fuck me?”

“Shh, Omega,” he cooed, kissing your neck and shoulder. “Look at them. Watch them.”

He pushed his fingers into you, fucking your cunt at the rhythm Sam was pounding into Jess.

“Feel how hard I am, baby?” he ground his cock against your ass. “Gonna fuck you deep.”

“Please,” you whimpered.

Jess’s voice was loud when she came, taking your focus right to her.

“Sam,” she cried, wild as she shook on top of him. “Alpha, yes, please, please. Cum in me. Fill me up, knot me up, please, please. I need your knot, I need it, please, I need it.”

He had his face buried in her chest, sucking on her breasts.

Oh, how big would they be when she got pregnant? She was already bigger than you before you got pregnant!

“Cum again,” Sam growled. “Not gonna knot you ‘til you’re just a sloppy mess of me, Omega.”

Oh, the poor thing.

Your eyes narrowed down her cunt, watching as Sam’s cock went in and out of her.

“Sammy?” you found yourself calling him. “Can you turn her around? Please?”

Sam raised his eyes to you, seeming surprised with your request, and chuckled.

“You want to see her cunt better I fuck her?” he asked, eyes dark. “What a slut you are.”

“Please, Sam,” you whined, feeling mouth watering. “Please turn her around?”

He did, manhandling her to face you, making her bounce on his cock, and you took a glimpse of her tits before focusing down to her pussy again, and raised yourself off of Dean, crawling between her legs and holding her legs open.

Jess looked down at your face with a pleading pout, and nodded at your silent question before you stuck your tongue out and licked her folds and clit.

She moaned so pretty, sounding like those porn stars in Dean's videos, the ones he had on his computer.

You ate her out, trying to focus on her clit the way Dean played with you.

Now, hers wasn’t the first pussy you ate, but it had been quite a bit since you did, and you never ate one while the girl was being fucked.

Sam moaned behind her when you gave her clit and good suck, and pushed his fingers into your hair.

“Just like that,” he growled. “Gonna make our little slut cum while she is bred.”

So you did, licking and sucking her clit, holding her open, taking a little bit of her taste at each lick, and didn’t stop when she screamed your name.

You felt it as she came, and you pulled away just to watch Sam’s knot forming and filling her up before going back into devouring her, not stopped by her movement anymore. You only had a couple of licks and sucks before Dean pulled you back.

“Enough cunt for you for now,” your Alpha commanded.

You whined.

“But I wanna make her cum again,” you looked back at him.

Oh, to make her squirm on Sam’s knot, overwhelmed with the touches but locked into place, unable to do anything but cum and cum and cum…

"How about you make me cum, huh?" he teased you, like a big jerk, and you moaned when he made you sit fully on his cock.

“Dean,” you panted.

His cock stretched you quickly, thick and hot, demanding space inside you.

“Let’s make her watch,” he made your bounce. “Look at her, milky slut.”

You did, and Jess was watching your chest with hypnotised eyes as your milk dribbled down your skin, licking her lip and nearly drooling.

“Oh, she wants my little fleshlight so much,” he cooed.

Sam chuckled, smiling at the scene.

“Look at that, baby,” he slapped her cunt. “Left your cunt for cock.”

She pouted, and whined when he slapped her again, apparently learning his lesson now.

“She’s always been a needy cockslut, even when she acted like she didn’t want it,” he accused you. “Denying all the Alphas, making them all crazy for her and never giving them the littlest bit of attention.”

Your cheeks felt red, and he laughed, rubbing her clit hard.

“Look at her,” he spoke into her ear. “Must have fucked so many other Omegas while we all thought she was an innocent little virgin.”

You closed your eyes, head falling onto Dean’s shoulder, and your husband nibbled on your neck, scraping the skin of your mating gland.

“And now she’s an eager milk slut just for her Alphas,” he pulled your head back, showing your unmarked neck to him. “Maybe we should edge her up until you are ready to bite her, Sammy.”

He pulled one of your arms, exposing your wrist.

“Or maybe we will wait for you to take your claim, Jessica,” he suggested. “Do you want that? Uh? Be bonded to our milk slut?”

You squirmed.

Oh, he would let you claim her and be claimed by her too?

“Please, Jess,” you squirmed. “Want you, wanna be a pack.”

Dean laughed behind you, breathless.

“What, baby, no words to Sammy?”

Fuck, and Sammy too!

“Alpha,” you whined. “Wanna be theirs. Sammy…”

“Omega,” he hissed between his teeth, jaw tightly clenched.

“Make me yours too,” you panted, feeling close to an orgasm at the thought of being claimed by them.

Not just Jess, not just Sammy. Both.

“Please,” you cried, Dean’s cock pulsing inside you.

They moved closer to you, and you devoured Jess’ lips the moment they touched yours, holding her by her hair, but you were sent over the edge when you felt Sam’s teeth sinking into your neck.

You came right away, and Jess kissed you right through it, holding you close.

“Good slut,” Dean growled, sounding like he was trying to hold back behind you. “There you go, there you go.”

You felt yourself be filled up with his cum, but didn’t feel his knot, which was very confusing.

You were very puzzled when he slipped out of you, almost at the same time Sam pulled back, thought Jess stayed in place.

She kissed her way down your neck, licking your freshly bitten gland, and you whimpered, feeling your cunt fluttering around nothing, leaking cum already.

“Bite me,” Jess whimpered, though you weren’t sure it was to you or Dean. “Wanna be yours.”

You opened your eyes when you felt her being moved, and watched as your husband raised her ass, pushing her to lay by your side with her hips up and face near yours.

“Go on, baby,” he looked at you. “I’ll get her neck. You take her wrist.”

An Omega’s neck was usually reserved for their Alphas, but not their wrists. Their wrist were for their Omegas.

The deep bond of two people sharing a designation who want to show their fidelity to one another in such a sensitive and weak spot, where any bite out of place can be dangerous.

You took her wrist in your hand, sniffing her skin to find her gland until, and Jess moaned when you licked it, teasing it and teasing it to make it puffy.

She was so sweet against your lips. You had never tasted such a sweet thing before.

“Please,” she moaned.

You looked at her, tongue out, lips teasing her growing gland.

“Gotta see it,” you told her. “Gotta make sure my Omega is perfectly ready to take my bite.”

You heard Sam’s moan before you felt him spreading your legs, cock resting over your wet folds.

It was just then that you realised they had switched, and gasped when Sam nuzzled against your neck, licking his bite.

“I am,” she pleaded, eyes watery. “Please, Y/N, bite me.”

“Go on, Omega,” he moved his hips, not pushing into you but rubbing his cock all over your wet cunt. “Bite her. Take her.”

Dean pulled your free wrist, licking and sucking on it, and you rolled your eyes back, suddenly needy.

He let you go, though, maybe to show you how much of a tase you were being with your Omega.

“Please, Omega, please,” Jess pleaded.

You sunk your teeth into her skin the moment Sam pushed the tip of his cock into your cunt.

Jess cried out loud when you claimed her, sounding animalistic as she did, and you opened your eyes, finding your husband buried in her neck, and you didn’t need to see much more to know he had claimed her at the same time as you.

“Ours now,” he growled.

Your vision started getting hazy with pleasure as Sam slammed into you, and you moaned when you felt sweet, delicate lips on your wrist.

"Jess," you squirmed.

"Gonna claimed you," she promised, a single hand moving down your belly to play with your clit as Sam fucked you. "You're gonna be my Omega now. My own milk slut."

You trembled, closing your eyes, blinded by desire. Her lips were relentless, merciless as she sucked and licked your sensitive wrist, but not giving you want you wanted.

You could feel your tits still leaking, and cried in pleasure when Sam wrapped his lips around your nipple.

"Jess," you pleaded. "Please, bite me. Please, Omega."

Why wouldn't she take you? You needed it, you needed her mark, her claim.

Her finger played with your clit mercilessly.

"Bite Sam," she commanded, voice cut by her moans and the sounds of Dean fucking her hard. "Bit him and I'll bite you. Claim our Alpha."

You claimed him eagerly and cried in pleasure when Jess did the same to you, cumming around Sam's cock just a second before he knotted you, buried deep inside you.

"Fucking boy," Dean laughed. "Already knotting her, couldn't even hold back."

Sam huffed, hips still shaking over you.

"You try not cumming being claimed," he growled.

But you shushed him, brushing his hair with your fingers.

"Good Alpha," you cooed, panting. "So good."

Sam rested on top of you, exhaustion finally hitting you two as Dean kept torturing Jess, fucking her slowly.

"And here I thought you would be another load into our sweet Omega before she claimed me," your husband mocked. "Now I gotta keep your cum nestled into her until you're up again."

You ran your nails over his scalp and Sam whimpered into your neck, hips twitching.

"You like this, Sammy?" you cooed, ignoring them for a bit.

“I like you,” he hummed, and raised his head to look into your eyes. “I love you.”

You smiled at his sweet confession.

“I know,” you caressed his hair.

He kissed you, and you rubbed your nose on his when Sammy caressed your growing belly.

“Dean, please,” Jess whined.

You looked over at them, and your husband was holding her close to his body, holding her head back, pining her by her hair, so she wouldn’t bite him.

“Wanna claim you,” she pleaded. “Please, Dean.”

Your husband chuckled, breath shallow as he fucked her very slowly.

“Just gotta lay down some rules, sweet omega,” he affirmed simply. “I’m not like Sammy, you know that. I’m the head Alpha of this family.”

She pouted, trying to grind her hips on his.

Oh, poor girl, she was just all needy.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“I’m not all sweet and gentle, sweet Omega. I’m here to protect you. Been doing this since I was a pup, I’m not going to stop just because I’m sharing two Omegas with my little brother.”

Sam scoffed, annoyed.

“He also has a big ego,” he huffed.

Dean just ignored him.

“I value your opinions as part of our pack, but I will always be protecting you, even if it means doing things that annoy you. Any of you.”

Jess nodded, and he kissed her sweetly before letting her hair go, showing his unmarked gland to her.

“Go on, sweet Omega, claim me.”

She put her head on his neck eagerly, and you watched in near awe as your husband’s face showed his deep pleasure when she bit him, and he grunted darkly in a way you knew too well.

“Fuck,” he held her close, hands nearly bruising her skin.

“Told ya,” Sam quipped. “Gotta be a machine not to cum with an Omega’s teeth on your neck.”

Dean scoffed.

“Well, got her bred up,” he pointed out.

Jess stiffened and Sam chuckled into your neck.

“Oh, shit,” she gasped.

Dean moved back, looking at her face, and raised his eyebrows to her.

“I took my pill today,” she confessed, and though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she was probably embarrassed.

Your husband stared for a while, and you held your giggles in response, but Sam just laughed aloud.

“We’ll throw them away tonight,” Dean decided. “If that’s what you want, of course.”

“I do,” Jess agreed, nodding. “I do, I really do.”

Sam raised his head from your neck.

"You still want to go tonight?" he asked, shocked.

Your husband smirked.

“What, two knots in a row is too much for you?”

Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean sighed.

“But you’re right, we should let them rest,” he petted Jess’ hair. “I think our sweet Omegas had enough cock for the day.”

He picked Jess up and adjusted her in his arm before looking at Sam.

“Get her too,” he told him. “We have a big mattress. You two can fit right in.”

Jess gasped, squirming.

“You don’t have to,” she tried to argue.

Dean pinched her nipple right away.

“Hey,” he chastised her. “No back talking.”

You giggled, and held onto Sam’s shoulders as he carried you up.

“You better get used to that,” you told her. “Dean’s very good at spoiling us.”

She nuzzled onto him and you exchanged a little look with your husband.

"And punishing too."

He chuckled.

"I only punish brats," he pointed out. "And you won't ever be a brat, will you?"

"Never, Alpha," she promised him.

Sam snorted, scoffing.

"Are you kissing me? You are the brattiest Omega I've ever known!"

Dean shook his head.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll work that out of her."

Sam snorted.

“Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” he held you. “You’ve never seen Jess during New Year’s.”

Your husband didn’t look affected at all.

“We’ll see,” he promised. “We have a whole week, after all.”

. . .

"The Pack" is the second part of "The Milk series". To read its sequels "The Farm" - a Castiel x Reader x Dean - and "The Family" - a Jess x Reader & Sam x Reader - subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and helps me a lot through these hard times.

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