#almost out one of those dean boxes

[fatecantstopme]

This Isn't Real

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: When you get kidnapped by a Djinn, Dean and Sam risk everything to save you.

Warnings: canon violence, talk of death, cursing. Shit ton of angst. Some fluff. SMUT, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V).

You woke up in an unfamiliar room as the sun began to peek through the curtains. Your eyes took a moment to adjust as you glanced around the room, desperately trying to remember where you were and how you got there.

Your mind flashed to a dark warehouse and vague memories of searching for something there, but the harder you tried to remember, the farther away those memories became.

You sat up with a groan and began to rub your temples. Where the hell am I?

You felt someone stir in the bed beside you and realized you weren't alone. You turned to look at the person, but you heard his voice before your brain could process what you were seeing.

"Hey baby, you okay?" he asked groggily.

"What?" you managed to croak out--shock settling into your bones as you stared at the man beside you.

He sat up, revealing his bare, toned, muscular chest. You looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. Why the fuck am I in bed with Dean Winchester?

He touched your cheek and turned your head towards him. "You okay? I heard you groan."

"I--um...I'm fine," you stuttered. "What, uh--what happened last night?"

He raised his eyebrows as he regarded you. "We came home from the party early because you were feeling a little...frisky."

"Party?" you asked in confusion.

"Damn, baby, how much did you have to drink?" he asked with a chuckle.

Your face must have show how deeply confused you were, because he seemed to take pity on you.

"It was Sam's birthday party, babe. Remember? We came home, had some damn incredible sex, and fell asleep. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Sam's birthday?" you muttered, then belatedly yelled, "WE HAD SEX?"

Dean laughed. "Girl, you gotta lay off the whiskey sours. They're messing with your memory." He kissed you on your forehead before dragging himself out of bed.

You were now faced with a very naked Dean Winchester and you averted your gaze out of habit.

"I'm gonna take a shower. Wanna join me?" he asked with a smirk.

"I...uh--I...not right now."

He looked a little crestfallen, but he simply shrugged. "Suit yourself."

As soon as he'd entered the bathroom, you jumped out of bed and looked around the room. Something had to be going on. Something insane. This wasn't real life--it couldn't be.

You glanced down at yourself and realized you were completely naked. You quickly threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before continuing your search around the room.

You saw a couple framed pictures sitting on the bureau near the bathroom door. You picked one up and felt your jaw drop. It was you and Dean on a beach. You grabbed the second one and found it was also of you and Dean, only this time you were apparently in Paris. The third and final picture was, of course, of you and Dean. It looked like some kind of park and he was on his knee in front of you, holding a small blue box in his hand.

You glanced at your left hand in disbelief, but there it was--a very large, very beautiful diamond ring. "We're engaged?" you mumbled in shock.

You set the picture down and collapsed onto the bed. Your mind was reeling and you had absolutely no memory of any of this.

You knew Dean--you'd known him for years--but you were just friends. You hunted together. That was all. Sure, you'd always liked him more than you should have, but he didn't reciprocate it. You certainly didn't wake up in the same bed, and you definitely weren't engaged to him.

When you woke up yesterday, you'd been in a motel room with Sam and Dean...you were hunting something. You closed your eyes and desperately tried to remember what it was. It was almost as if something was blocking that specific memory--no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't grasp it.

Dean appeared from the bathroom, clad in nothing but a towel around his waist. He saw you sitting on the edge of the bed with your head in your hands. Concern knotted his eyebrows together and he immediately crossed the short distance between you.

"(Y/N/N)?" he asked softly when he reached your side.

You looked up at him and felt your heart skip a beat. He was beautiful and perfect...and it was downright offensive. How anyone could look that good was a mystery. An even bigger mystery was why in the hell he was engaged to you.

He knelt down in front of you and took your hands into his. You stared at them, feeling the warmth spread throughout your body.

"What's going on with you?" he asked gently.

Tears filled your eyes as you looked into his beautiful green ones. "I don't know where I am," you whispered. "I don't...I don't remember any of this. I--I don't think it's real."

Dean's face lit up in surprise. "What do you mean? Of course it's real." He squeezed your hands comfortingly. "Do you feel that, baby? I'm real and so are you."

"Then why can't I remember?"

He looked sad. "I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe you just need to give it a little time and then your memories will come back."

You shook your head. "I was in a motel yesterday. A motel with you and Sam. We were going hunting."

Dean looked confused. "Hunting? I've never been hunting and I'm pretty sure you haven't either. Are you sure that wasn't a dream?"

"It felt--real. It was real," you insisted.

"Okay," he said soothingly. "What makes you think that was real and this isn't?"

"I remember it," you whispered.

"And you don't remember our lives together," he finished softly.

You nodded.

He reached up and tucked a hair behind your ear. "I don't know why you can't remember, but I'll be damned if I don't help you figure it out."

He stood up. "Why don't we go see Sam? Maybe going to his house will jog your memory of last night?"

"Okay."

He grabbed your hand and helped you to your feet. "Let's get dressed, pretty girl. Everything's gonna be okay."

You nodded, feeling a little more confident that everything might really be okay.

**********

When Dean pulled up in front of Sam's house, you looked out the window, but didn't have any rush of memories. Nothing about it looked familiar.

Dean came around and opened the car door for you and took your hand as you stepped out. He watched your face for any sign of recognition, but he saw none.

"Come on, beautiful," he said gently, leading you to the front door.

A few moments after Dean rang the doorbell, Sam appeared at the door with a warm smile. "Hey guys! Come on in."

Dean led the way and you followed gratefully.

"So, uh...Dean mentioned you're having some memory problems?" Sam asked gently.

You nodded. "I--uh--I don't really remember much of anything really."

"Hmm," Sam hummed. "Sit. Let's talk."

You and Dean sat on the couch and Sam sat across from you on a chair. Dean explained the morning's events to his brother, while you sat quietly. There wasn't much more to say.

"So what do you remember?" Sam asked you.

"Hunting," you answered honestly. "I remember hunting with you and Dean. We've been doing it for years together."

"Hunting?" Sam asked in surprise. "We've never been hunting in our lives--and certainly not all together."

"Do you believe in ghosts?" you blurted.

Both men looked shocked. "I'm sorry, what?" Sam asked.

"Ghosts, goblins, ghouls, vampires, werewolves...all the things that go bump in the night. Do you believe in them?"

Sam and Dean exchanged worried looks. "No, (Y/N)...those are just stories," Dean said gently.

You sighed sadly. "That's what we hunt," you whispered so softly they almost didn't hear you.

"We hunt monsters?" Sam asked incredulously.

You just nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

"Baby, that really does sound like a dream. An intense dream, perhaps, but a dream nonetheless," Dean said calmly.

"Then why does it feel so real?" you asked softly.

He looked sad. "I don't know, sweetheart. I really don't."

"What about right now?" Sam asked. "Does this feel real?"

You nodded.

"As real as hunting monsters?" he prodded.

You nodded again.

"Then why would you think this isn't real?"

"I guess I don't have a good answer for that," you admitted. "Hunting monsters does sound kinda crazy, doesn't it?"

Dean offered you a soft smile. "A little bit, baby. Especially for a lawyer, a mechanic, and a veterinarian."

Hearing the careers the three of you apparently had sparked another question in your mind. "Dean, how did we meet?"

"What?" he asked in surprise.

"How did we meet?"

"We met when Sam found that stray dog with the broken leg. He asked me to drive him to the nearest vet office...you happened to be the vet on duty that day."

You closed your eyes and tried desperately to remember meeting him, to no avail. You also couldn't remember veterinary school or even having a job at all.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean said sweetly, upon noticing your distress. "You don't have to remember right now."

Tears filled your eyes again, upset and ashamed at your inability to remember your life.

Dean wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. He kissed the top of your head and whispered, "Everything's okay, baby. I love you. You're safe."

You knew without a shadow of a doubt he was right about one thing--you were safe. You had never felt safer with anyone in your life than Dean Winchester and it didn't matter that you couldn't remember this reality...you still knew he would protect you with his life.

**********

Dean's POV:

It had been three hours since (Y/N) went missing and I was losing my mind. Sam and I had looked everywhere...we should have never let her wander off on her own.

My brother was clearly having similar thoughts as he said, "You shouldn't have let her go out there alone."

"Let her?" I asked in annoyance. "I didn't let her do anything. She got mad at me and stormed off. That's not my fault."

Sam glared at me. "You're the one who pissed her off and you didn't go after her."

I kicked a rock that was at my feet as hard as I could. I hated that he was right and I hated myself for upsetting her. I was terrified of what would happen if we didn't find her in time. "I know," I admitted softly.

Sam's expression softened. "We're gonna find her, Dean."

I looked up at him and sighed. "We've looked everywhere. It's like she just disappeared."

"She didn't just disappear. Something or someone took her."

"We've been in this town for 6 hours. It's not like we've pissed anyone off yet," I grumbled.

"Yeah, I know. Besides, (Y/N) could fight off most humans she came across..."

"She went looking for the Djinn, Sam. I just know it."

"Why would she do that on her own? She's not stupid."

I groaned loudly. "Because she had something to prove!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I was mad at her, okay? I was mad she was so reckless during our last hunt and I lashed out at her. I told her there was no way she could do this job without us, but we were perfectly capable of handling it on our own. I wanted her to stay at the motel while we took care of the Djinn."

"Dean, she saved your life!"

"I know!" I yelled. "I didn't ask her to do that! She could have died."

"That's the life, Dean. We all could die at any time."

I glared at him. "If she died saving me, I would never forgive myself. Never."

Sam sighed. He knew what I was trying to say without me having to say it. I wouldn't admit the truth and he knew it. "You should've known telling her she couldn't do something would make her want to do it."

I closed my eyes. "I'll regret it for the rest of my life, Sam."

Sam shook his head and opened the passenger door of the Impala. "You won't have to because we're going to find her."

I watched my brother get in the car and I took a deep breath. "I hope you're right," I whispered before getting into the car myself.

**********

It had been a couple days since you'd woken up in a strange place. You weren't sure why your memories were gone, but you'd started to feel comfortable. You'd settled easily into a routine, and those memories you'd had of hunting had begun to fade.

Dean had suggested you take some time off of work until you felt more comfortable...and perhaps your memories would return during that time. You'd taken his advice since you had zero memory of college and you didn't feel comfortable having animals' lives in your hands.

Dean had been the perfect boyfriend--fiancé. He was incredibly patient and sweet and it warmed your heart to know just how much he cared. Any time you forgot something that had happened, he would gently remind you about it without making you feel embarrassed or uncomfortable.

It surprised you to realize how deeply you cared for him--how much you truly loved him. He loved you, that much was clear, but you had yet to share those feelings with him. At least, not in your recollection.

You'd spent the day relaxing on your back deck with a good book. You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt this happy. An hour before Dean would be home from work, you went inside and began preparing dinner. You wanted to make him something special as a thank you for being such a good partner.

You were standing in the kitchen finishing up dinner when Dean got home. He came into the room and inhaled deeply. "Smells amazing, babe. Whatcha making?"

You turned to him with a smile. "Lasagna."

He grinned. "I freaking love lasagna." He came over and kissed you softly. "And I love you."

You smiled warmly. "I love you too, Dean."

His beautiful green eyes lit up at your words. He stepped forward and pressed you up against the counter. His arms snaked around your waist and he kissed you deeply.

You squirmed a little when it became hard to breathe. Dean chuckled as he broke the kiss, allowing you to inhale rapidly.

"You're covered in grease and you're getting it on me," you teased. "Go shower and dinner will be ready by the time you're done."

He smiled and kissed you again. "Fine, fine. I'll shower." He stepped away from you and turned to go towards the bedroom.

"Oh, and Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I've got a surprise for dessert. I think you're gonna like it."

He grinned ear to ear. "Is it you?" he teased.

"Dean Winchester!" you yelled with a laugh. You threw a hand towel at him and he ran from the room to escape, laughing all the way to the bathroom.

You rolled your eyes and went back to finishing dinner. You also pulled a pie out of the fridge and set it on the counter to finish defrosting. You'd gone to the store earlier that day and picked up an apple pie--Dean's favorite.

15 minutes later, Dean came into the kitchen looking refreshed and clean. You were setting the table, so you told him to have a seat and you'd bring out the lasagna.

"Do you want a beer?" you called from the kitchen.

"Water's fine, babe," he called back.

You froze for a moment. In all the time you'd known Dean, he had never turned down a beer...certainly not in favor of water. A voice in your head was screaming that something wasn't right, but you ignored it. You shook your head to clear your mind and quickly poured him a glass of water instead.

The two of you ate dinner, enjoying each other's company. You listened to Dean talk about his day and he asked about yours. It all felt very mundane...very domesticated.

You kept a smile on your face throughout dinner, even though something was bothering you. You couldn't help but feel like you were meant for something more--like your life had a different purpose. Maybe you were just in your head too much since you weren't working at the moment. That had to be it...

"Sweetheart?" Dean asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"Hmm?" you hummed in response.

"You okay?"

You smiled. "I'm fine, Dean. I was just lost in thought."

His eyes scanned your face for a few moments, but he eventually smiled. You were doing a good job of hiding your thoughts from him, but you weren't sure if that was a good thing.

Once dinner was done, you began to clean up. Dean insisted on helping, which you appreciated. You kept him busy with packing the lasagna away in leftover containers so he wouldn't notice the pie on the other counter.

"Ready for dessert?" you asked sweetly.

He smiled. "Sure, baby. What'd you make?"

"I bought it, but I think you'll still like it. Go sit back down and I'll bring it out."

He nodded and went back to the dining room.

You cut a generous slice of the pie for him and a much smaller piece for yourself. Pie had never been your favorite dessert, but Dean loved pie more than he loved anything in this world. You didn't mind having something that wasn't your first choice because you knew it would make him happy.

You came into the dining room and placed the large slice in front of him before sitting down with your own.

He was quiet for a moment and you felt that same voice creeping into your head again. "Dean? It's apple pie..."

"Yeah, thanks (Y/N/N). Kind of a big piece though, don't you think?"

The voice in your head got a little louder. "Sure, but you never turn down a big piece of pie. I've seen you eat an entire pie before." You chuckled at the memory...except Dean looked different in your mind. Rougher, but somehow happier.

"I suppose you're right. I can make some room in my stomach for it. I guess I'm just not the biggest fan of apple pie."

You froze and the voice began screaming at you. SOMETHING IS WRONG! "Apple pie is your favorite," you said quietly.

His face changed as he looked at you. He smiled warmly and said, "You're right. It is my favorite. Thank you for thinking of me."

Your heart was beating so quickly you thought it might actually explode. The man in front of you had gone from 'not the biggest fan of apple pie' to 'apple pie is my favorite' in the span of 30 seconds.

In that moment everything changed. It was no longer just a voice inside your head screaming at you to leave...you realized it was your voice.

"This isn't real," you whispered.

"What'd you say, sweetheart?"

You looked up at Dean--the man wearing Dean's face. "None of this is real." You stood up. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

He sat there in shock as you rushed towards the door. You weren't exactly sure where you needed to go, but you had a feeling you would find it. You were out the door and running down the street before he even realized what had happened.

**********

Dean's POV:

"This is the last vacant warehouse in this godforsaken city and I swear to God if she's not here, I'm going to kill someone."

"Since I'm the only person here, maybe you don't kill anyone," Sam said calmly.

I glared at him, but didn't say anything. We'd been searching for hours and we hadn't found a damn thing. Not even a clue. This was a last ditch effort to find (Y/N) and I didn't know how I would handle it if she wasn't there. I wasn't sure I could handle it.

I parked the Impala a little ways away from the entrance to the warehouse, just in case the Djinn was there. I didn't want to tip it off. We grabbed our weapons from the trunk and headed inside.

We'd only been inside the building for a few minutes when I heard a sound that sent chills down my spine. It sounded like blood dripping and my only thought was of her before I took off running.

Had I been thinking rationally, I would have realized it was just the sound of water dripping onto the floor, but I was far past rational. There aren't many people in this world that I would die for, but (Y/N) was second on that list right after my brother. She didn't know it, but she meant the world to me. I had to find her--alive.

Sam grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. He gave me a look like I was being reckless, which I suppose I was. He pointed to a room up ahead that appeared to be dimly lit. He started walking towards it and gestured for me to follow.

The moment we turned that corner, my worst fears came to life. The only thing I saw was the woman I loved strung up from the ceiling by her wrists, feet barely touching the floor. She was extremely pale and I could see blood slowly draining from her body into an IV bag.

I moved towards her with a speed I didn't know I had. Terror filled my lungs as I reached for her, worried that I was too late. There was a lot of blood in that bag and I had no way of knowing how many had been filled already.

I touched her cheek with shaking hands and I whispered her name. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears as I begged her to wake up. I tried to feel for a pulse, but my hands were shaking too much to tell.

Sam came up beside me and pressed his fingers to her neck. I watched him in terrified silence, waiting for him to shatter my heart into a million pieces.

"She's alive," he whispered in relief.

My eyes widened in surprise and my heart practically flew out of my chest with joy. "We need to get her out of here," I whispered back as I unhooked the IV to stop the blood flow.

Suddenly, Sam went flying across the room and I turned around in surprise. I came face to face with the Djinn, who was reaching for me with blue electricity crackling from his fingertips. I ducked to avoid his hand and the fight began.

**********

You had no idea where you were going, but your feet were on a mission. You felt like you'd been walking for days, but in reality it had only been an hour or so. You belatedly realized you could have just stolen a car, but on the off chance you were wrong about all of this, you didn't want to commit a crime.

After almost two hours of walking, you found yourself standing in front of an old abandoned warehouse. Something about the imposing building felt strangely familiar, but you couldn't put your finger on why.

You entered the building cautiously, silently cursing yourself for not bringing anything that could be used as a weapon. You'd been so focused on getting away, that you hadn't done much--any--planning.

The building was dark and you didn't have a flashlight, but thankfully you'd had your phone in your pocket when you left the house, so you pulled it out to use the built in flashlight.

When you looked at the screen, you saw you had several missed calls and texts, mostly from Dean, but several from Sam as well. You ignored them both and turned on the flashlight.

You began to wander through the giant space, looking for something--anything--that felt out of place. It was a lot harder to find something when you had no idea what you were looking for.

After several minutes of wandering aimlessly, you noticed a room up ahead that appeared to be dimly lit. Well that's weird. You slowly made your way closer, trying to be as quiet as possible.

As you rounded the corner, everything changed. You nearly dropped your phone at the sight before you. You were hanging from the ceiling by your wrists, feet barely touching the ground, blood slowly filling an IV bag to your left.

In an instant, everything fell into place. Your memories--your real memories--flooded your mind. You remembered your argument with Dean and your foolish arrogance as you sought out the Djinn on your own. Clearly you'd been unsuccessful in your attempt to kill it--so here you were, trapped in a dream in your own mind while your body slowly died in the real world.

"(Y/N), stay," you heard Dean's voice say from behind you.

You turned to face him, knowing he wasn't real--he wasn't your Dean. "I can't...this isn't real."

"You're right. It's not. But it will feel real. You'll live out your whole life with me. We'll be happy and normal. Isn't that what you want?"

You thought about it for a moment. "No," you answered honestly. "I wasn't meant to be normal, to live a normal life. I'm a hunter...I save people. If that means I'll never be truly happy, if it means I'll die alone, then so be it. I can't stay here no matter how badly I want to...my real life is out there. The real you is out there."

"The real Dean doesn't love you the way I do."

Tears filled your eyes and you nodded. "I know...but at least he's real."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, desperately trying to wake up.

In the distance, you heard a voice yell your name. You focused on the voice, but you couldn't figure out whose it was. The voice begged you to wake up, to fight..."come back to me," it pleaded.

You began to sink into darkness, unsure of whether you were about to wake up or die. In the moments before the darkness overtook you, you realized who the voice belonged to. "Dean..." you whispered.

Then, blackness.

**********

Dean's POV:

"Sam!" I yelled as my brother was once again tossed across the room. This Djinn was seriously starting to piss me off.

I knew I needed to get (Y/N) out of here, but I was a little preoccupied trying not to end up strung up beside her. I'd managed to disconnect the IV, so at least she wasn't losing blood anymore.

"Shit!" I yelled as I once again dodged the Djinn's hands.

Son of a bitch! I saw Sam's silver knife lying on the floor, a short distance away from me. I moved towards it quickly, grabbing it before the Djinn noticed.

The creature approached Sam, clearly about to zap his ass into dreamland. I rushed up behind it and stabbed it in the back, bringing it to its knees.

The Djinn seemed surprised and I smiled ruefully. "Lamb's blood and silver--lethal combination, you son of a bitch."

Sam started to pull himself off the floor, retrieving his knife from the dead Djinn's back. One glance at my brother told me he was fine, so my focus turned back to (Y/N).

I rushed over to her and held her up while Sam started to work on the chains tying her to the ceiling. "(Y/N)? Can you hear me?"

She didn't respond, not that I expected her to, but that didn't deter me. "Come on, (Y/N). I need you to wake up."

Sam finally got the chains removed from her wrists and she slumped into my arms. I sunk to the ground, holding her close, and continued to beg her to wake up. I knew I sounded pathetic, but I didn't give a damn.

"(Y/N), please. I know you're mad at me, but I need you to wake up. I need you to fight. Please." I laid my head against her forehead and I whispered so softly only she could hear, "Come back to me."

To my surprise, I heard her whisper, "Dean..."

My head shot up and Sam's eyes widened. (Y/N) didn't say another word, but I knew she was alive. I picked her up and carried her to the car, gently placing her in the backseat before speeding off like a bat out of hell.

I pulled into the nearest hospital in record time, throwing the car into park without a thought. I carefully pulled (Y/N) from the backseat and carried her into the ER.

Sam had gone ahead and gotten a nurse to get a gurney, which I placed her on gently. I watched as the nurses took her back to an exam room and I sent up a silent prayer that she would be okay.

**********

You awoke to the sound of beeping and it didn't take you long to realize you were in a hospital. With that realization came a flood of memories. You had no way of knowing how long had passed here in the real world, but for you it had been days.

You began to stir and you let out a groan as your eyes started to adjust to the brightness in the room.

"(Y/N)?"

You turned your head towards the source of the voice, but you couldn't quite make out the person's face.

"Hey," the voice said again. "You're okay. It's me."

Your eyes were still struggling to focus, but you recognized the voice. "Dean," you mumbled.

You didn't see it, but he smiled warmly. "I'm right here, sweetheart. You're okay."

Your body tensed slightly, unsure of how to feel. He didn't normally call you by any pet names and you suddenly feared you were back in the dream. "What happened?"

"You were captured by the Djinn. Sammy and I found you."

Your whole body relaxed and you let out a relieved sigh. Dean didn't understand why that would calm you, but he didn't question it.

"Thanks for saving me," you whispered. Your eyes finally focused on his face and you knew in your heart this was your Dean. He just looked different and your heart tightened at the sight of him.

"You don't have to thank me. It was my fault you ran off in the first place."

You shook your head. "I was an idiot."

"No you weren't. You could have taken him if you weren't distracted by my asshole comments."

Surprise lit up your face. "So you're admitting you were an asshole?"

He chuckled grimly. "It's a one-time deal, so don't get used to it."

You smiled. "I expect nothing less."

Dean shifted slightly, clearly wanting to say something, but he remained silent.

"What?"

He seemed to debate for a moment, but finally asked, "What did you dream about?"

You sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does," he insisted. "The Djinn lets you live out your dream life...so what's your dream life, (Y/N)?"

"Technically, the Djinn grants you a wish and the life you see is based around that wish."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're avoiding the question."

"It was my dream, Dean. You don't need to know about it." You spoke a little more harshly than you'd intended and you hated yourself a little for it. Especially when you saw Dean wince.

He quickly recovered and threw his hands in the air in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I won't press, I promise."

"Thanks."

"Let me go talk to the doctor and see when we can get you outta here, okay?"

It was like he knew exactly what you needed. It warmed your heart and broke it all at once. "Thanks, Dean."

"Sure, (Y/N/N)."

**********

"Will I ever not be tired?" you complained grumpily two days later.

Sam laughed from the small table across the room from the bed you were currently curled up in. "It'll just take a little time. You lost a lot of blood, so your iron levels are low. Be patient."

"I hate being patient," you grumbled.

Sam chuckled again. "You sound like Dean."

As if he'd been summoned, Dean himself walked through the motel room door. "Dinner is served!" he announced happily.

You sat up and started to get out of the bed, but Dean ran over to you. "You can eat in bed, (Y/N). You need your rest."

"I appreciate that, Dean, but you're smothering me. I'm tired of laying in this bed."

Sam laughed and Dean just shook his head. "Alright fine."

He helped you to the table and you sat down across from Sam. You were grateful for his help, even if you didn't want to admit it.

"I got you a burger," Dean began. "I wasn't sure if you'd be feeling up to eating one, but you could really use the energy."

You smiled warmly. "A burger sounds amazing, Dean."

He handed you your food and gave Sam his. He pulled out his own, then reached into the bag and pulled out a small item, which he handed to you. "They, uh...they had freshly baked brownies, so I got you one."

Your eyes lit up as you took the neatly wrapped brownie from him. "Thanks," you said softly.

"They're your favorite, right?" he asked.

He remembered. "Yeah. Especially with the--"

"--little chocolate chips," he finished for you.

You stared at him for a moment, a soft smile gracing your features. Your eyes began to water, so you looked down at your food to keep from embarrassing yourself. "This looks delicious."

The three of you ate your dinners in companionable silence. When you were finished, you got out of your chair and started to make your way back to the bed. You were still tired, but you felt stronger than you had in a few days.

Dean immediately jumped out of his seat to help you, but you gently told him you were okay. "I'm alright, Dean."

His hands seemed to twitch as he watched you walk away, clearly wanting to make sure you were okay. He didn't relax until you sat down on the bed and started to unwrap your brownie.

"She's strong," Sam said lowly.

Dean turned his attention to his brother. "I know. I just worry about her."

"You know I can hear you both, right?" you said from your bed.

Both men chuckled lightly.

"The room's small and voices carry," you teased.

"You're not wrong," Sam said as he got up with a stretch. "I actually think I'm gonna hit the bar. I could use a drink after the week we've had."

Sam looked pointedly at his brother, which didn't go unnoticed by you. You watched as some sort of nonverbal exchange happened between the two men.

"I'll be back later," Sam said, getting what appeared to be the final word in whatever discussion they had been having. He walked out the door with his jacket and Dean locked it behind him.

"Since when does Sam go to bars by himself?" you asked.

Dean shrugged, but didn't meet your gaze. "Guess he really needed that drink."

"Or he wants to get laid," you mumbled.

Dean groaned. "Gross."

You laughed. "He's not a monk, Dean."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want to think about him getting jiggy with it."

"Did you just say 'getting jiggy with it'?"

"I was trying it out."

"Maybe don't," you said with a laugh.

He grinned and flopped down on the other bed. "I'll make a note of it."

The two of you fell into silence, but unlike during dinner, this one felt uncomfortable. The tension hung in the air and there was so much you wanted to say to him...and so much he wanted to say to you.

"Do you wanna watch TV?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"Not really."

"Okay."

The silence continued to drag on until Dean finally couldn't take it anymore. He sat up and looked at you, gaze seeming to bore into your soul. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"When you saved my life, I was pissed. Beyond pissed. I haven't been that angry in a long time. But it wasn't because I wanted to die or anything like that...I just didn't want you to. When that vampire sent you flying and I heard you hit the wall, I was terrified. More terrified than I've ever been before."

He took a slow breath before continuing. "Once the vampires were all dead and you started to get up, I felt relieved--you were okay. But then all I felt was rage. I was so angry with you for putting yourself in harm's way like that...for risking yourself to save me. I'm not entirely sure I deserve saving, but I do know if you had died to save me, I would have never forgiven myself."

You stared at him in silence, lips parted, eyes full of emotion. "Dean..."

He held his hand up to stop you. "That's why I yelled at you...that's why I said everything I said. I didn't--I didn't know how to explain what I was feeling, so I lashed out at you. You didn't deserve it and I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry, (Y/N)."

"I appreciate your apology," you said softly. "But I won't apologize for saving your life. If I'd let you die? I wouldn't have forgiven myself."

He looked a little surprised. "I didn't think about that."

"You never think you deserve saving. You don't think you deserve happiness or peace, a normal life--god forbid love... You think you're some kind of monster, but you're not, Dean. You're the best person I know. You're loyal to a fault, strong and brave, but also kind and gentle. No one hates you the way you hate yourself, Dean Winchester, and I'm tired of you projecting those feelings onto other people."

This was absolutely not the direction he'd imagined this conversation going...but here they were. "I don't know why you think that...you've seen me at my worst."

Your expression softened. "You're right. I have. But I've also seen you at your best--and that is a sight to behold. You're incredible, Dean...in all the ways that matter."

His eyes roamed your face searching for any sign of deception. When he saw none, he decided to seize the opportunity to ask you the only question he was dying to know the answer to..."What did you dream about?"

"What?"

"What did you dream about?" he asked again.

You inhaled sharply. It wasn't that you didn't want to tell him about the dream...about the life the two of you had shared...it was just that you were afraid. Afraid of how he would react, what he would think, what he would say...you weren't sure if you wanted to risk it.

You looked into his eyes for what felt like eternity. They seemed to swirl with emotion while silently begging you to tell him the truth.

You sighed. "I dreamed of a normal life...nice house, good job, friends, a fiancé...the whole nine yards."

His lips parted in surprise. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask, but he needed to know. "Fiancé?"

You nodded. "Yeah...I, uh--I was as surprised as you are."

"Is that what you want? A normal life with some random guy who doesn't really know you?"

"He wasn't some random guy," you admitted quietly.

"What?"

"In my dream...my fiancé was someone I know."

"Like in the real world?"

You nodded.

"Who?" Please don't be Sam. Please don't be Sam. Please don't be Sam.

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to you or you wouldn't have dreamed it...the Djinn wouldn't have chosen him."

You hated that he was right and you didn't want to tell him. You were afraid it would ruin your relationship...you loved hunting with Sam and Dean. You loved traveling the country with them, hunting monsters, saving people, living in shitty motels...you loved it all, but most of all you loved Dean...and that was something you had never shared with anyone.

"It wasn't real," you whispered. "It was just a fantasy."

Dean decided to take a risk and he prayed he wouldn't regret it. "It doesn't have to be a fantasy."

"What?" you asked in surprise.

"If you tell him...maybe it can be real."

There was something in his eyes that gave you pause. After a few seconds, you realized it was fear. He was afraid of what you were going to say...and it gave you hope. Why would he be afraid of what you were going to say if he wasn't hoping it was him?

"It was you," you admitted quietly.

His lips parted and he inhaled deeply. "Me?"

You nodded slowly, suddenly unable to speak.

He stood up and crossed the short distance between you. He very gently pushed you back against the pillows and crawled on top of you, hovering mere inches from your face. "Do you love me?"

Your eyes widened in surprise. This was not at all how you imagined telling Dean how you feel, but you found yourself incapable of lying to him. "Yes," you breathed out.

"Say it," he whispered.

"I love you, Dean," you said softly.

He closed his eyes and laid his forehead against yours, his breathing labored and his hands shaking slightly. "(Y/N)..."

He stopped thinking then and let his body guide him. He'd loved you for so long--wanted you for even longer--and now he was finally going to have you. He pressed his lips against yours and kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips.

The kisses you'd shared with the fake Dean in your dreams were nothing compared to the real thing. Actual sparks flew, igniting a need for him deep within you. Your hands clung to his flannel shirt, pulling him even closer to you.

He moaned softly against your lips and you parted them to allow him entry. His tongue dominated yours in a passionate fight for power. His hands began to roam the soft curves of your body, eliciting low moans of desire from you.

"I don't remember a time when I didn't love you," he admitted against your lips. "I don't want to remember before."

Your heart seemed to sing at his words. Dean had always been a deeply emotional man--he felt things more strongly than anyone you'd ever known, but he bottled up his emotions and hid them from the rest of the world. Hearing him finally confess his deepest secret made you feel incredibly special.

"I love you so much, Dean Winchester. So, so much."

He smiled. "I love you more, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)."

He kissed you again and you melted into him. His hands continued to roam your body, and yours did the same to his. A passionate need for one another had been ignited within each of you and neither of you could deny it.

You began to peel off his clothing and he did the same to you. The idea of being completely naked with Dean would have normally terrified you, but you could feel the waves of love oozing from the man above you. You knew you weren't the kind of girl Dean normally brought home, but none of that mattered--not when you could feel the love he had for you.

By the time you were both naked, you were overwhelmed with the desire to feel him inside you. He, however, had other plans. He began to slowly work his way down your body, stopping to show your breasts some attention.

"You know, I always loved these," he mumbled as he nipped and sucked at your breasts, earning sweet moans from you.

He continued his journey down your stomach, placing kisses to the scars and stretch marks littering your skin. You felt worshipped in a way you'd never experienced before.

Finally, Dean landed right where you wanted him, but he didn't give into you easily. His lips kissed along your inner thighs, appreciating the soft skin, biting gently to see your reaction.

Your breathing was ragged and you began to beg him to do something, anything. "Dean please," you murmured. "Stop teasing."

He chuckled lightly, but he didn't deny your request. His lips pressed against your core and he pushed your legs as far apart as he could without hurting you. His tongue darted out and licked a stripe up your pussy.

He let out a deep growling sound and dove into you like a man starved. He dug his fingers into your hips as he tugged you closer to him, feasting on you like you were the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Your moans spurred him on, the sweet sounds like music to his ears. He could have happily stayed here between your legs until the end of time, but he had a feeling you would make him stop eventually.

Your fingers were interlaced in his hair and you were begging him not to stop. Not that he would have, but you didn't know that. "Dean...I'm so close."

He moaned in response, sending shivers of pleasure up your spine. His tongue focused its assault directly on your clit and you cried out. Your legs began to shake and he could feel you nearing the edge.

He sped up his ministrations, earning another cry from your lips. Your hips bucked slightly and he shifted his arm to hold you in place. "Oh god!" you yelled.

You tightened your grip on his hair as you felt the impact slam into you, orgasming with a cry of his name. He worked you through your high, only stopping when you squirmed out of his grasp.

"Dean," you murmured as he crawled back up towards your face.

He kissed you softly. "I wanna be inside you so badly, baby," he whispered into your ear.

"Please..."

"I don't have a condom," he said softly.

"I don't care. I want you, Dean. Please."

He could never deny you, especially when you begged him so prettily. He lined himself up with your entrance and sheathed himself inside you with one quick thrust.

You gasped his name and dug your fingers into his shoulder blades. The feeling of him filling you up was enough to push you closer to a second orgasm.

Your pussy gripped him like an iron vice and he had to take a deep breath to control himself. He hadn't felt like this since he was a teenager. He needed to get a grip or he was going to cum embarrassingly early.

Your hips shifted beneath him and he hissed softly. "Dean," you begged. "Move."

He started to move and the sounds of wet skin against skin began to fill the room. Those were soon overpowered by your moans and his low groans.

"Fuck, baby...feels so good," he whispered. "Such a sweet, tight, little pussy."

You moaned and your pussy clenched even tighter around him.

He groaned and his hips stuttered to a stop. "You gotta stop doing that baby, or I'm gonna cum."

You grinned wickedly. "Isn't that the point?"

He nipped at your neck playfully. "Not until I get another one from you."

He started to move again, which wiped the smirk from your face in an instant. You wrapped your legs tightly around him, effectively locking him into place inside you.

"Normally I'd have you in a hundred different positions," he muttered, "but I wanna see your face when you cum. I wanna watch my pretty girl fall apart because of me."

Your pussy clenched and you moaned softly in response.

"Yeah? You like that? You like that I wanna watch you?"

You nodded.

"Words, baby."

"Yes, Dean," you gasped.

"That's my good girl."

You practically preened at the praise and Dean made a mental note of it for later. For now, he was focusing on drawing another orgasm from you and staving off his own.

"You're so tight, sweet girl. Feels so good."

Your moans spurred him on, forcing him to keep up his pace. He pulled himself up slightly, tugging your hips with him, allowing him to reach your g-spot with each thrust.

You let out a cry a pleasure that he knew he would die to hear again. He closed his eyes for a moment as he sped up, desperately trying to keep himself from cumming before you did.

"That's it baby, I know you're close," he murmured.

"So close," you cried out.

"I know," he whispered. "I want you to cum for me, baby. Cover my cock with your sweet juices."

Your legs tightened around his hips and your nails dug deeper into his back. He watched your face as you began to shake--orgasm mere seconds away.

"Eyes on me, baby," he demanded.

Your eyes flew open and met his gaze. You gasped--the intensity of it all pushing you over the edge. You yelled his name as you came, explosions of light flashing behind your eyelids as they fluttered closed.

He watched your beautiful face as you rode out your high with him. He shifted focus to his own quickly impending orgasm. His breathing became more ragged and you opened your eyes to find his again.

"Feels so good, baby," you murmured.

His eyes locked onto yours and he panted heavily.

"I know you're close, handsome. I want you to fill me up."

His green eyes widened. "You sure?"

You nodded. "I need it, Dean. Please." You clenched down on his cock to emphasize your words.

That was all he needed in order to reach his peak. He moaned your name as he started to cum, whispering it into your skin like a chant as he emptied inside of you.

You held onto him tightly as he came down, his body shaking slightly from the intensity of his orgasm. He finally collapsed on top of you, unable to hold up his own weight.

You placed a soft kiss to his head and listened to his breathing begin to regulate.

Eventually, he rolled off of you, leaving you feeling strangely empty. He managed to drag himself off the bed with a murmured "I'll be right back."

You watched him walk to the bathroom, and for a moment you worried he'd regret it, but your fears were assuaged by his reappearance with a wet washcloth.

Your face must have betrayed your thoughts because he knelt before you and said, "I love you, (Y/N), with everything I have."

You smiled. "I love you too, Dean."

He returned your smile and began to carefully and gently clean you up with the washcloth. It was warm and it felt nice to be cared for like that.

Once he was finished, he threw the washcloth into the bathroom and crawled back onto the bed. He tugged you close to him and pulled the covers up over you when you started to shiver.

"Anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you cum?" he asked softly.

You laughed lightly. "You would be the first."

He kissed your hair and tightened his grip on you. "I intend on being the last."

You turned your head to look at him and felt your heart melt a little. You didn't have a good response for that, so you simply kissed him, hoping your emotions were conveyed in the action.

He leaned into the kiss and whimpered slightly when your lips left his. You kissed him one more time and he let you pull away after several seconds.

"You should get some sleep," he murmured. "I'll keep you safe."

You knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would die to keep his word. You settled back against him, a silent response of trust and gratitude. He gave you a soft squeeze as you began to drift off to sleep.

This life might be hard...it might be full of pain and loss, but it was real. The man holding you in his arms was real. The love you felt for each other was real...and you wouldn't change any of it.

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x plus!size reader smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x reader #plus sized reader

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Four

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters/Pairings: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau and Soldier Boy/ Ben (and Eric the black cat.)

Warnings: Language, mentions of divorce, mentions of manipulation, typical Soldier Boy behaviour.

A/N: If you've noticed continuity errors regarding the divorce timeline, that is entirely my fault. I write these chapters on the fly, with the bare minimum on how the chapter will end, and the scope of the story. Excuses aside, I am making amends as I go. If you see any continuity errors, please let me know. Sometimes I just forget.

W/C: 1,726

Feeling lighter, thanks to Beau, you headed down after him. Checking your phone, you almost baulked at the time. It was half eleven at night. Where were they all going to sleep?

Two spare guest bedrooms were left free. One had been your ex-husband’s gaming room, and the other you’d wanted to turn into a nursery, but your ex had shot that idea down not long into the marriage. You’d talked about having kids, and he’d agreed. You’d show him cribs and strollers, and he’d smile and comment pleasantly. He fed into your dreams only to destroy them. You’d kept the gifts from family and friends, hiding them in boxes, unable to part with them no matter his insistence.

He had decided to sleep in that room during the separation. Out of fear of him finding the items, you hid them in your room, only to return them once he had left.

Now you had two guest rooms, both with double beds. You were sure none of them would share, and why would they? They were grown men, for God’s sake. That left the couch, which would not fit any of them on. You could barely fit on it. It was more of a loveseat and not a comfortable sleep. You knew from experience. It taxed the back if slept on for too long. This left you with the final option—your bed. And you hadn’t had a man in your bed since your ex a year and a half ago.

You scratched your chin lightly and walked with purpose towards the kitchen. You stopped in your tracks when you saw Ben. He sat at your table, a half-empty bottle of rosé clamped in his fist, and the rest was quickly following down his gullet. You knew for a fact it had been full the last time you’d checked your fridge.

After finishing the wine in mere seconds, he clunked the bottle down and belched loudly, then pronounced—

“You’ve got God awful taste in wine. A nun couldn’t get pissed offa that. Don’t suppose you’ve anything stronger?”

You blinked in astonishment.

“Uh, no. Only rosé.”

His lip curled, and he huffed but stayed seated. What could you do? You didn’t have the time to go to the store. He could wait.

“I’ll pick something up tomorrow.” You said pulling open a drawer.

He replied with a grunt as you were taking out paper straws. All equal in size, you cut one in half, then tucked them into your sweater pocket when you were finished. Behind you, a chair scraped back, and when you turned, Ben was rising to his feet, shield in arm.

“C’mon, I need to figure out where you’re all sleeping.”

“Oh,” His voice perked up. “Bet you’ve never slept with three blokes at the same time, eh?”

His eyes twinkled, and a smile slipped out. God, he was an asshole, but that smile…that smile made your stomach flutter.

“Lemme guess—one for each hole, right?” You said deadpan.

“You guessed it, sugar.”

You shook your head and patted his arm, striding past him to the living room. Dean was still inspecting the box, lips moving silently as he attempted to read the inscription. Working this whole thing out without his hunter contacts would take much longer. Beau had his fingers deep in Eric’s fur, who was purring loudly on the cowboy’s lap.

Ben sauntered in, smirk on his lips. He propped his shield down and perched against the couch’s arm, crossing his arms against his broad chest. Out of the three, he was the one that intimidated you the most.

You wiped your hands along your lounge bottoms. This needed sorting. It couldn’t wait any longer. You turned slightly, pulling out the straws, making sure the tops were of equal length, before presenting them to the boys.

“Pick one. This is gonna determine your sleeping arrangements.”

Dean looked up from the box, and Beau’s brows raised in wonderment. But they both reached forward, picking a straw. Each one was long, which left—

“So, what’s the short straw? The couch?” Ben inquired as he plucked the remaining straw from your hand.

“No.”

It was damn typical of him to get the shortest. It meant bunking with you. In your bed.

“The short straw is my bed. With me.”

“Ohoh.” Ben rubbed his hands together in glee. There was that twinkle in his eye again.

Oh, brother. You took the opportunity before something else came hurling out of his mouth.

“Lemme show Beau and Dean to their rooms, and tomorrow we’ll head into town and pick up some essentials.”

“Skin mags and lotion,” Flew out of Ben’s mouth. He nudged Dean beside him. “Gotta clean those pipes out, amirite?”

You sighed and scrubbed a hand down your face. Damn that man. Dean chuckled lightly but otherwise didn’t engage.

Before Ben could say anything more, you spoke up. “Why don’t I show you to your rooms.”

All three stood up. All right then. You picked up the box sets from the coffee table, quirking your eyebrows at Dean with a smile as you held the heavy set to your chest. You turned off the light and made your way upstairs. You showed Dean and Beau to their rooms, told them where the bathroom was and if they had any problems, told them which room was yours.

Then you retired to your room with Ben following.

“Betcha never slept with a Supe before, eh?” There was that teasing tone again.

He closed the door behind him and instantly started stripping. You looked away, heat rising in your neck and cheeks.

“Whatsa matter, sweetcheeks? Never seen a specimen as fine as myself before?” He chuckled lightly.

The box sets were getting heavy in your arms, so you dropped them onto the bed. Sighing, you knelt down and pulled out a suitcase from under the bed. In one of the pockets was a TSA-approved padlock.

Ben huffed a small laugh. “You think that piddly ass of a lock is gonna keep any of us out? I’m sure if we wanted, we could get past it. Real fuckin’ easy.”

You looked up. He only had his Supersuit pants on, top stuffed in his hands. He was in peak physical form. Perfect abs and pecs you wanted to run your hands over. Hard and toned, with thick biceps that could crush heads.

Damn.

You swallowed thickly.

He smirked.

“You wanna put your eyes back inside your head unless you’re lookin’ to ride the stallion?”

You closed your mouth and resumed your task—zipping and locking the suitcase.

“It’s a matter of principle. And respect. I wouldn’t delve into your belongings, so you won’t do it with mine.”

Ben snorted. “Believe what you wanna believe.”

“Well, I’m asking you not to.”

You pushed the suitcase back under the bed.

“Why you hiding them away anyway? Afraid we’ll watch our own shows?”

You rose to your feet. Now he had his Supe pants off and stood in his boxers.

“You know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat.”

He raised his eyebrows as you snatched your pyjamas off the bed and headed for the ensuite. No way were you comfortable with changing in front of him.

“I don’t bite. Not unless you want me to.”

He laughed as you closed the door on him. Sitting on the toilet, you rested your head in your hands. Oh, why did it have to be him? He was so toxic, so destructive, but dammit, he was so fucking hot. You’d thought about him in the worst ways, and they’d always give you the hardest orgasms.

But this wasn’t you and your imagination. He was really in there, almost naked, teasing and testing you. The sight of his body conjured all kinds of things and would be used when appropriate.

You changed, did your business and brushed your teeth before heading out. Ben was sitting in bed on your side. He had his hands behind his head, wearing a smirk.

“That’s my side…but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

You dropped your clothes in the laundry basket and slipped into bed beside him. Now, how were you going to do this? Form a pillow blockade? No. He’d most likely laugh at that, and you didn’t have the pillows for it.

You shuffled your pillow down a little bit and laid down, making sure the back of your head only just touched the mattress and pulled your hair up in a pony. You turned to see Ben giving you a strange look.

“What the fuck? You special or something?”

You frowned. “No. I’m just…particular.” You had the duvet up to your chin, lying dead straight.

“You look like Dracula in his fucking coffin.”

“We all have quirks.”

He quirked his eyebrows.

“That’s saying something.”

He pushed himself from sitting to lying down, causing you to sway as he did. He leant on one arm, looking your way.

“You look like you haven’t had a shit in a week. You nervous?”

“Little bit, yeah. You’re a bit of a wild card, and it’s been a while since a man has been in the same bed as me.”

“Like how long?”

“A year and a half.”

“Wow. You must really be gagging for it, huh?”

You huffed a small laugh.

“Contrary to popular opinion, no, actually.”

“Well, despite what you may think of me, I’m not gonna jump on you. Though if I knew I’d be picking the short straw, I’d have asked you to go to the store sooner. Dry rubbin’ fuckin’ hurts.”

Huh?

Ohhh.

You pulled a face and stared up at the ceiling. Ben laughed at your reaction and turned out the light, finally putting his head on the pillow.

You laid there, staring at the ceiling and minutes later, you heard his snores. They were loud, like a bulldozer. You stuck your head under your pillow desperately trying to sleep, but, God, were they so fucking loud. In the end, you gave up. You slipped out of bed and headed for the linen closet. You grabbed extra blankets before going down to the living room. You made yourself comfortable on the sofa. Eric meowed quietly, jumped up, and you kissed his soft head. He curled up, and you closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to take over.

Tags

@deans-spinster-witch, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelican

#The Choice #julesthequirky's fics #spn fanfic #reader insert #dean winchester #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x you #big sky fic #big sky #crossover #crossover fic #soldier boy x reader #ben x reader #soldier boy reader insert #the boys #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x y/n #dean x reader

[deanswhiskey]

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 - 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; you and sam get stuck in an elevator. what could go wrong?

wc; 1,622

warnings; sam having a panic attack :(, cursing, kissing

authors note; this is partly inspired by the book stinger by mia sheridan and a little by that one episode of teen wolf (not proofread)

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

sam wasn’t scared of many things. how could he be? he had to fight vampires, werewolves, and a ton of other monsters only you could dream of on an almost daily basis.

he was scared of two things, however; clowns and elevators.

so, he wasn’t too thrilled about having to ride one, especially in this circumstance.

the day had gone great so far. he was the one to figure out who the monster was. he was the one who figured out how to kill it. hell, he was the one to find the hunt in the first place.

now, you and sam had been tasked to interview someone who was close with the victim. you had reached out and contact them asking if the both of you could interview her. she had triplets at home and she explained how chaotic it’d be to try and interview her from home, so she suggested her workplace.

the two of you had made your way to almost the dead center of the city. it wasn’t a tall building thankfully, so the flight of stairs wouldn’t be daunting.

you had known of sams fear of elevators. it was something you’d completely understood. trusting a metal box to bring you up several stories doesn’t sound too pleasant.

so when the two of you went past the revolving doors and checking in with the front desk, you bother were frozen at the sight of the two poorly taped up pieces of caution tape between the stair railing and the wall and the two yellow caution signs propped up on the floor in front.

of course they had to be cleaning the day you two arrive.

you were frozen because you knew you had to take the elevator which sam was not going to be happy about. sam was frozen because he realized he had to take the elevator.

you looked up at him, his face displeased and almost a bit pale. it was a mixture of anger and fear that you saw in his eyes.

slipping your hand into his, you spoke up first, “are you gonna be okay to do this?” sam broke his gaze from the stairs to look down at you, then at your hands and back up to your eyes. he could tell you were concerned for him.

sam put on his best brave face, which wasn’t fooling anybody, and nodded, “yea, let’s just get this over with.” he gulped. “no turning back now, right?” he let out a half-assed laugh.

there really was no turning back. you couldn’t send dean to do it, he was already off on a different interview.

you wanted to give sam one last reassurance before heading to the elevator but sam whisked you away before you could; hands still interlinked.

thankfully the elevators were away from people so no one could see his jittery stance before he pressed the up button next to the doors.

“sam, it’s okay if you don’t want to do this. i can go up there myself.” you unlaced your hands to step in front of him.

he shook his head, “i got this. just an elevator, right?”

“you don’t have to pretend not to be scared, it’s okay?” sam just nodded in response. you grabbed both of his hands after noticing his fidgetiness with them.

you looked up at him; boy, could sam get lost in those eyes. he knew he was going to be fine because you were there; you made him brave.

the elevator dinged, signaling it was ready. the two of you hopped in and you pressed the 10 button.

it was silent until you spoke up, “so i was thinking, what if it’s a vamp nest? instead of just the one like we thought. i mean it doesn’t make sense, how can it? the killings are too fast and too close together. it definitely has to be more than two, at least. another wild theory, what if it’s a couple shapeshifters. i mean how else could you explain the weird goopy stuff near the bodies.”

you looked over at sam, he was deep in thought, clearly not lying paying attention. you couldn’t blame him, you were slowly going up 10 floor in an elevator. so you decided to mess with him, “and i’m also pregnant. yea, i don’t know who the father is.”

“what?!” sams eyes nearly flew out of his head. he looked over to see you nearly doubled over laughing. he started to chuckle too once he realized you were joking.

“oh man, you should’ve seen the—”

your sentence cut short but a couple loud clicks and clanks, followed by a loud bang, and the elevator coming to an abrupt stop. the light in the elevator flickered a few time before going on and the emergency one cutting on.

“shit, shit, shit.” sam kept repeating to himself and his hands became more and more sweaty, knees weak, while slowly backing up into the wall behind him. “no, no, this can’t be happening.”

you looked over at him, worried for his wellbeing. “sam? sam, look at me. everything will be fine. i’m gonna call someone on the emergency phone.” you grabbed one of his hands, not caring about the sweat. your other hand reached up to the side of his face to make him look at you.

“just— uh,” you were stuck in thought, you didn’t really know what to do, “just sit, right here, on the floor. hold on.”

the guy on the other end of the emergency phone said there was a power outage in the building and they were working to get the power back on and emergency services to you. you didn’t bother telling sam that it would take an hour or so to get the paper on and you both out; he didn’t need that in the moment.

you crouched down in front of sam, “sam, are you okay?”

“yea, yea, what’d the guy say?” his breathing was labored, struggling to maintain eye contact.

“he just said there was a power outage and they’re working hard to get it back on while sending someone to come get us.” your hands grabbed his in attempts to calm him down.

it didn’t look like much but it calmed some of his nerves.

sams breathing still labored. god, what could you do to help, you thought. “talk to me, sam. tell me something, anything.” you encouraged.

“i— uh,” he struggled to think of something. words formed in his mind but nothing was coherent, nor coming out.

his hands grew more shaky while his breathing became shallower, tears pricked his eyes.

“sam, look at me. can you breath with me? i’m gonna take some deep breaths, can you follow?” he only nodded in response. sam couldn’t really follow your breathing but he tried, for you.

the only thing running through was you. the look on your face saddened him. he wish he didn’t feel this way, he never wanted to bother you with this. your soft and delicate features now filled with worry and panic of your own.

“you gotta breath sam; please don’t pass out on me.” you let out a sad chuckle. one of your hands reached up to push the hair out of his face. sam leaned in your touch, feeling comfortable by any sort of touch you provide.

then you remembered, and old tale, holding your breath can slow your breathing. “hold your breath!” sam just looked confused. “holding your breath can slow your breathing. try it, sam!”

so he did, thought it was unsuccessful. “it’s not working.” he breathed out.

the fireman weren’t even close to your guys yet. your brain was racing a million miles a minute. you had to do something, and you needed to do it now.

before you even knew it, your lips were on sams. you hold your breath for a kiss, right? in this case you both did.

you pulled away after a few seconds. “what was that?” sam half smiled.

“you’re not breathing heavy anymore.” you smiled at your accomplishment.

sam took a moment to realize this. “oh, yea. i guess not.”

his eyes searching for he doesn’t even know. he couldn’t help stare into your beautiful eyes. he had pictured a million different ways he’d kiss you but he never thought it’d be this way; same goes for you.

“sam, i—” you didn’t get to finish before sam gently placed his lips back on yours. the kiss was sweet, like a give you’d give your high school boyfriend on prom.

you kissed back with more passion, prolonging the kiss. sams head tilts and so does yours to deepen the kiss. his hands find their way to your waist pulling on top of his lap.

the kiss only lasted a few more seconds before you pulled away. you just smiled, “what was that for?”

“thank you, for everything.” his eyes saying what he couldn’t get out at the moment.

“i hope that’s not how you thank everyone.” you joked with him.

“only you, sweetheart.” he winks and leans in for another kiss.

not but a few minutes later the rescue squad came and got the two of you. you had to cancel the interview but that was okay, dean had figured out who the monster was and the three of you took them down the next day.

the hunt was successful for many reasons. you took down a vamp and shapeshifter who teamed up, in record time too. sam had somewhat conquered his fear of elevators and finally gotten the girl of his dreams. and you had gotten the man of your dreams, too.

maybe you and sam should get stuck in elevators more often.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

#spn #supernatural #sam winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic

[gococogo]

♡ Destiel Valentine's Day Special ♡

Synopsis: Castiel has never celebrated Valentine's Day and so he wishes to do so with Dean. He wishes to show Dean how much he loves him and from the YouTube tutorials he's watched, things seem to work

Word Count: 3.4K

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: Childhood trauma/anal/biting/marking

Notes: @ja3hwa helped me a shit ton on this fic. I couldn't have finished it without her ehhe. But I did it, it is here on time and I'm quite happy with it. I wish I had more time, but eh, what are you going to do? Sue me!?

Flowers had just been the beginning of it all. He had found them by his bed side when he woke up. Being very confused and still very tired, he went to seek out anyone in the bunker for an answer.

Then it had turned into petals down every single corridor in the bunker. That had Sam laughing up a lung when all Dean could do was look around confused in the main foyer. Everywhere was covered in red rose petals. On the chairs, on the table, on the bookshelves. It was like some cupid had come around and vomited up petals.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Dean had asked with his face scrunched up with one of those looks.

Sam had only shrugged and said, “Maybe.”

Then, he had walked away with a shit eating grin on his face that had Dean boiling with anger. With that, the discission to go back to his room was adamant. He wanted to change and get dressed for the day. But, he found something else.

Castiel, an angel of the lord and a warrior for heaven, throws unwrapped chocolates onto Dean’s bed.  

For a moment, the hunter can only stand there and watch the angel grab a handful of chocolates from a larger than life box -most likely from Costco with Sam’s membership if his brother is in on this- before throwing them onto the bed like he’s throwing a frisbee. The sight is… it’s a sight.

Dean clears his throat and Cas whips around with wide blue eyes. If the angel had any feathers, Dean can take a guess that they would be ruffled.

“Was that you with all…” Dean waves his hand as if shooing a fly, “that out there?”

“Do you like it?” Is the reply he gets from the angel as he takes a step away from the bed.

Dean can only stare, his gaze flicking to the chocolates on his bed to the angel with his brows raised waiting for an answer. He clutches the large box to his chest, almost like holding a child it’s that big. But Dean doesn’t know what to say. Like, yeah he likes it but… this has never happened to him before.

“I uhh-“

Cas’s brows furrow before he crosses the room to Dean, throwing the box of chocolates beside the bed.

“You do know it’s Valentine’s Day today, right?” Cas asks.

Valentine’s Day!? It’s February already!? Dean tries to hide his panic but it’s clear on his face. Where in hell did January go!? They’ve been on so many hunts lately that they nearly missed New Years! And now Valentine’s Day!? This year was going by quicker than he thought.

He tries to play it off with a smirk and a gruff, “Of course I knew!”

But the angel doesn’t look impressed.

He raises a hand to cup Dean’s cheek who flinches slightly at the touch. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Cas, but he makes no comment of it.

“It’s alright if you forgot,” Cas says softly.

Dean chortles at this as he softly takes the angel’s hand off of his face. But he doesn’t let go of it, holding onto it between them.

“That’s not the point,” Dean murmurs.

Cas raises a brow with a tilt of his head, urging the hunter to go on. This leads to Dean letting out a staggered sigh. He didn’t really know the point himself, nor why he constantly acts so recoiled with Cas’s affection at times. He did love the angel, but the image of his father would come creeping in his mind at times. And it always left a distaste in his mouth.

Why couldn’t he just love the angel they way Cas wanted, the way he needed.

“I’m just…” The hunter huffs, rubbing his scruffy chin, then his eyes. Before pinching his nose with another huff. Cas could see Dean turn on himself, something he did a lot. He’s self-destructive.

“Dean. It’s okay.” Cas can’t recall a moment he didn’t say this to his lover.

It’s okay. Two simple words that humans use to reassure one another. Normally it’s always hollow and more of a silent lie, but Cas had never meant it as such. It’s okay meant; I’m here. I understand. I love you.

“How did you get stuck with me?” Dean scoffs, thinking low of himself.

Cas is so attentive; Dean would always question if he would be a perfect fit for someone else. Someone more like him. Maybe another angel perhaps? Not some hunter that can barely face the fact he is in love with such an angelic man.

Someone that it’s been drilled into his head time and time again that all creatures are bad. That it’s always shoot first and ask questions later. That did happen the first time he met Cas, but beside the point.

Something has changed inside of him that’s changed only for the angel.

“I like being stuck with you,” Cas tries his luck again, tugging a hand free from Deans tight grasp to lay a cupped hand on his bearded cheek.

Dean doesn’t flinch this time. In fact, he moulds his hand over Cas’s much softer one, his rough palms such a wild contrast to the angelic beings. One would thing that a warrior of heaven would have a soldier’s hands. But Dean doesn’t care, he leans into the touch and lays a small, soft kiss into the palm of the angel. Cas chuckles softly to himself, a deep rumble that Dean always loves.

“Thank you…for the uh stuff.” Dean mumbles letting go of Cas’s hand so the angel could place his it back to his sides in almost an awkward manner.

Cas turns to face the bed again inspecting his work. He spent almost three whole days with Sam trying to find the best way to please Dean with this human holiday. So, to say he was nervous that Dean was not going like it was an understatement.

“I’m glad. I watched a tutorial on that YouTube thing you showed me.” Cas emphasised the word Tube with a strong ‘B’.

Cas then begins to ramble on about how he purchased such items and how he managed to use one of Sam real credit card. Dean rolls his eyes with a grunt before coming forward and wrapping his arms around Cas’s waist. He kisses the nape of his neck where the skin is exposed above his trench coat and the angel goes ridged, his words getting caught in his throat.  

“Oh…” The angel peeps out. The tutorial was correct.

Dean begins undoing Cas’s buttons from behind, his fingers skilled from doing this many, many times in his past. He may not be great at sappy words, but he could classify himself an expert in other departments.

Cas turns around in the hunter’s hold to only have a pair of desperate lips crash into his. The angel grimaces but holds onto Dean’s face and doesn’t let him go. He pulls the hunter closer as his shirt is pulled out his pants. He’s slowly walked backward into the back of the bed. As soon as his knees hit the bed, he spins Dean around as if they were dancing.

Dean lands on the chocolate ridden bed with a gruff, “Oof,” before he can even register what just happened.

The hunter watches Cas shrug off his trench coat that flops to the ground heavily. Then, he pulls off his jacket and already undone shirt in the same motion. Dean can’t help but let his eyes wonder over the angel’s toned chest.

A little heavily, Cas sits down a top of Dean’s hips. The bed creaks under the added weight, but it’s nothing it can’t handle. Cas grinds down ever so softly but the motion has Dean grunting deep within his throat, his hands instantly grabbing onto the angel’s waist.

“Let me show you, Dean,” Cas grumbles deeply as he bends down, so close to the hunter that their noses touch, “Let me show you that you’re loved. That you’re cared for. That I love you.”

Dean breathing hitches in his throat as the angel kisses him deeply. Many would dream of this moment. To be kissed by an angel that they’ve read about in the bible. Or heard about from their priest and how the lord will send one down to help them in their worries. Well, Dean has many worries and problems, but he doesn’t think any priest or bible reader would be able to wrap their head around a sight like this one.

One that has an angel of the lord, grinding his hips down on his hardening crotch. One that has him doing something special for Valentine’s Day. Showing him how much he loves him and how much he’s cared.

At this affection, it has Dean feeling all weird and gooey inside. Something that he has never felt before with his one-night stands. There’s something about Cas that has Dean feeling desperate every single time. Out of breath, red in the face, weak in the knees.  

It’s Dean that has to pull away from the kiss for air. He pants as his head spins from lack of oxygen and because Cas is still grinding down onto him, it makes his feel even dizzier in the head. The angel’s been either watching too many pornos or he’s picked up some shit from the hunter.

“Get these clothes off me,” Dean growls deeply before bringing Cas down for another kiss with a hand on the back of his head.

The angel groans as Dean tugs at his hair, keeping him as place so that he can abuse his mouth. But he does as the man wishes, breaking the kiss once again. He begins taking Dean’s clothes off as quick as he can. Pulling his shirt off over his head and unbuckling his jeans to pull them down. Dean’s half hard cock becomes exposed to the cold bunker air and he hisses through his teeth.

Cas is quick to follow suit, slipping his own pants off as well. And Dean soaks up the view all the same. He’ll never get over seeing the angel like this.

And certainly, won’t get over how the angel plods over to the bedside drawer and opens it up. His bare ass is open to the world and Dean can’t resist. It’s like there’s a massive red, neon sign pointing to his lily white ass saying, Smack me. So, he leans over where he is on the bed and slaps it.

The only reaction Dean gets from Cas is a slow turn of the head with a frown deep set on his face. He’s slightly disappointed in the hunter. He grabs Dean’s still outstretched hand and pins it to the bed as he climbs onto the bed again and over the top of the other.

“That was impulsive,” Cas murmurs.

“Hey,” Dean pipes up. “It was right there.”

Cas rolls his eyes at this but let’s go of his hand so that he can pop the lid of the lube he grabbed from the bedside table open. It should be embarrassing that he knows where to look without asking Dean, but he shouldn’t be all too worried. All worrisome thoughts are quickly ridden of though. Dean can’t help but runs his fingers over the angel’s thighs as he pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

He's all too tempted to reach in between Cas’s legs and touch. But he holds himself strong, waiting for the angel to say he can. He’s learnt well in the past to not touch in certain places without asking. The angel explained it as overwhelming but in a way that every single sensitive touch is like a hundred fireworks. What a thought.

Touching your own dick and fireworks begin bursting out of you.

Then, the angel lifts himself up a bit. And all while making eye contact with Dean, those blue eyes so dark now that they’re almost like midnight, he pushed two slicked fingers into himself. Dean bites the inside of his cheek as he grips Cas’s thighs tighter. Small grunts escape the angel’s throat as he leans over Dean more, working himself open for him. Dean swallows thickly, a warmth coiling in his gut at the sight. All for him. He grips Cas’s thighs tighter again, not being to break eye contact with him.

He feels like he’ll miss something. The sight of Cas is intoxicating. He wonders why his father saw this as wrong and unnatural. There’s nowhere else Dean would rather be right now. He would never be able to admit that out loud, but he just hopes that his angel knows that. Maybe one day he’ll be able to speak his mind without thinking he’s sounding like a little boy.  

Then all of a sudden, like something out of Dean’s pornos, Cas reaches around to grab the hunter’s cock. He gives it a few strokes with his lubed-up fingers and each touch feels like fire to Dean. He holds his breath as the angel lines himself up, biting his lip with the amount of concentration on his face. The head of Dean’s cock pushes in smoothly and it feels like the hunter can’t breathe, all the air being punched out of him.

Slowly, the angel works himself onto Dean’s cock. Inch by inch, he’s determined to get every bit of the hunter into him. Cas breathes heavily through his nose as he closes his eyes, getting lost in the feeling himself. Dean can’t help but imagine the fireworks and it has him grinning.

Finally, the angel sinks down fully and sits on top of Dean with a shaky sigh. Dean can’t let go of the angel’s thighs. If he does, he reckons he’ll float away and never come back.

Only because it’s Cas, it feels so much different for Dean. The angel has Dean throwing his head back into the blankets and chocolates with a little movement of his hips. His finger nails scratch into Cas’s thighs and he can’t help but pant and groan deep within his chest. His angel hasn’t even done anything special, and he feels his skin buzzing.

Cas spreads his hands out onto Dean’s chest, his thumb rubbing over the tattoo on his peck. He sits on Dean for a moment, fully flush against his hips. He breathes slowly, taking in the beautiful sight of Dean trying to hold it together. He begins a slow yet brutal pace to watch Dean writhe. Moving his ass up an inch before moving back down with a twist of his hips. Each movement he’s able to get a small whine from his lover beneath him.

He keeps up the slow and agonizing pace though, waiting for Dean to say something. But he won’t force it out of him, he likes seeing him squirm a little.

“C-Cas,” Dean pants out. “Cas, please move fa-ah-ah,” he’s cut off for a moment, having to find his words in the muddle of moans and groans that force their way from his mouth. “Faster,” he gets out finally.

The angel can’t help but grin as he does as Dean wishes. He rises up until the head of the hunter’s cock sits at his rim then comes back down with another twist of his hips. He quickens his pace and his own hard cock bobs between his legs. The heat that coils in his own gut is intoxicating. Something he’s had to get use to with feeling everything tenfold.

With the new pace, Dean quivers and groans with every movement and coarse of pleasure that strikes through him. He looks to the angel through squinted eyes and feels his heart jump in his throat. Cas, his angel, he’d have to be an idiot to not see beauty in him.

He brings his angel down with his hands on either side of his face to kiss him. He just needs him close. Needs to feel his breath against his face. Needs to taste him on his tongue. He moves his hips upwards every time Cas comes down and each time it gets a grunt from the angel. A beautiful sound that is silky to the ears.

Dean pulls away from the kiss, having to catch air. But it’s very hard when Cas begins pecking and sucking at his jaw and neck quickly after. It’s all too much. He tries to flip Cas over like he’s done so many times. So that he can get at a better angle to fuck into Cas. But the angel holds him down tight on the bed.

Cas continues his pace, working himself on Dean’s dick without a faulter in his progress. He also continues nipping at Dean’s skin, kissing and sucking at him. Leaving marks wherever he��s been that will be there for days to come.

Dean holds onto Cas as his gut tightens, everything becoming fuzzy. He’s close and Cas is going to make him come his way tonight. And he holds on for dear life.

“C-Cas,” Dean pants out. “’M close.”

He can feel the angel smile into his neck as he changes the pace again. To something that has him taking the entirety of Dean and grinding down where he sits. Dean splutters, trying to move his hips but his legs begin to feel like jelly. He moves his knees up the best he can, so that he can move his hips in a way that he’s actually getting a grip on Cas. What the angel is doing to him is torture.

Cas sits up again and arches his back. He breathes heavily, sweat trickling down his chest and stomach. He rests his back against Dean’s knees, using it as a support so that he can concentrate on what he’s doing.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, his breath hitching in his throat at his loss of simple thoughts. And he doesn’t register it at first. The thing that’s pressing up against his flushed lips. But when he opens his eyes, he gladly takes the sweet chocolate being pushed into his mouth. Two fingers follow after it and Dean sucks at them before he knows what he’s doing. The chocolate breaks inside of his mouth and a gooey caramel covers the angel’s fingers and his tongue. He groans at the taste of the chocolate. If only if the brown sweet could taste this amazing all the time.

Without even asking, Dean begins licking and cleaning the angel’s fingers from the sweet and salty caramel and chocolate. He never breaks eye contact, looking at Cas through long lashes. His tongue twists and curls around Cas’s soft fingers, not leaving an ounce of caramel behind.

Once deemed acceptable, Cas removes his fingers and smiles at Dean’s work. He wishes to grab another, but the hunter has other plans.

With this new found position from Cas, Dean is finally able to move his hips properly. He grips onto Cas’s waist and begins driving his cock into the angel. The angel shivers and trembles at the abuse, having to hold onto Dean’s chest for support. He’s so close and he needs that little extra oomph. He grunts and whines as he comes closer and closer until finally.

Cas lays a hand over one of Dean’s hands as the hunter comes undone deep inside of the angel. His thrusts stutter but he gets a few more in before letting himself go fully. He can’t help but moan as his body goes ridged. He doesn’t let go nor does he move from inside Cas. He lets himself get lost in the orgasm and the sticky feeling dribbling down his balls.

It takes awhile before Dean comes back to the land of the living. Out of breath, sweaty and having lust filled eyes stare down at him is a wonderful mixture of things.

Cas moves off of Dean and the hunter’s softening dick flops onto his thigh. The angel sits down on his stomach gently, his stare never leaving the man under him. Dean swallows thickly, licking his caramel sweet lips. He looks down at Cas’s still hard and reddened cock between his legs and grunts in his throat.

“Give me,” Dean swallows thickly again. “Five minutes and we’ll go round two,” he says as he holds up two fingers.

Cas raises his brow. “Are you sure?”

Dean nods with a snort. “Of course, it’s Valentine’s, isn’t it?”

-

Happy Valentine's Day bitches :)

#coco posts #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #spn #destiel fic #destiel valentine's day #valentine's day #destiel smut #destiel fluff #destiel fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester smut #castiel smut #castiel fanfic #castiel fic #spn fic #spn smut #castiel x dean winchester #castiel x dean winchester fic #dean winchester x castiel #dean x cas #dean x castiel #supernatural fluff

[imtheindiekid]

Supermarket aisle.

Prompt: Reader goes to the supermarket for the monthly groceries, and while running errands she encounters familiar yet unfriendly faces at one of the aisles. Great thing her mommy Gwen is there to scare them.

Ship: Gwendoline Christie x fem!reader.

Warnings: mid foul language, Gwen's big d1ck energy (yassss), reader is not a minor! Fluff FLUFF in the middle of chaos, reader obsessed af with mother Swift (Taylor's version lmao), reader being the lil shit she knows she is and making mommy proud; just reader and Gwen being goals relationship for almost two thousand words.

A/N: I'm back (? 🙉

-----

The supermarket wasn’t full. And thanks, the universe for that.

Doing groceries every few weeks it seemed like a complicated affair, in the words of Y/N, who seemed to completely want to avoid people in general when stepping outside. Yet, she loved going through the market aisles and double checking nothing was missing from the list she wrote patiently on the morning – so even on a Monday afternoon, dutifully Y/N went to buy the monthly groceries at the local supermarket.

Although the music at the building was nice and low, she did not like to run errands without her chunky black headphones and a Spotify playlist; lately she had gotten into hearing Taylor Swift, so reputation blasted through the speakers while she concentrated in her task. It also made a statement to other folks: do not talk to me, because I will not pay you attention on purpose. Benefits of being an introvert, she guessed, while inside her little bubble, nobody could annoy her.

Well, until now.

In retrospective, Y/N should’ve have surmised that not even England was big and far enough to build a bridge between her and the old life she had. That and the fact that Catherine Dean is still rich enough to places like this for vacation or whatever. And what’s worse, her whole bunch of plastic rich barbies were with her.

Some years ago, Y/N would’ve been gone the moment she encountered them, not wanting to deal with their mean taunting and overused insults in the form of harmless chat. Now, it’s pretty much the same, but at least she had the decency of flipping them off and tell them to eat shit – a little violent, but enough to having those plastics leaving her alone.

“Well, look who we bumped into. Dear dummy Y/N.” Said Catherine, with a smile full of amusement. The mentioned only stared at her and the others, Taylor’s voice filling her ears with her high notes. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

“Did you say something? I can’t hear you over the sound of Mother Swift.” She didn’t really have the energy to nor wanted to remove her headphones, in any moment delicate could start playing and God knew Y/N loved way too much that song.

Catherine now changed her smile into a scowl, it was not the result she expected ever since she saw Y/N at the supermarket. Which bring the question about miss Dean: why on earth she was doing in a supermarket, when she could be anywhere but there?

The curiosity stirred inside, wondering by herself if there was once a time where Catherine Dean went into a store like the market. Apparently, the smaller woman fell into a deep trance figuring things out when another two people appeared into the aisle and snapped her out of her wondering.

Both were blonde, but one more pale than the other and taller; Y/N knew both of those people very well, one from a long time ago while the other was more recently. It was indeed strange to look at them side by side, and that made her smile softly – many things have changed, but not her taste in people. The taller one, a pale blonde woman made hastily her way to her while she carried a single biscuits box which were drop into the shopping cart; then, she smiled and kissed the messy mane that was Y/Ns’ short hair.

The other blond, this time a man looked utterly confused and kept glancing between the two parties, then proceeded to speak.

“Um hello everyone, what’s going on Cat?” A voice Y/N thought she would never hear again asked. Once she marveled at the tone and rhythm of it, but nothing compared to her lover’s silky voice.

“Just having a chat with your dear Y/N, that’s all Alex.”

Oh, so that was it, Alex Heughan is the new dumb boyfriend of Catherine Dean. It explained so many things; Y/N giggled, making everyone in the aisle to look at her. A slender hand went up to her neck and then one of the headphones sides, which carefully pulled them down and made Taylor Swift fade away for the moment.

Distracted by it, the small woman lifted her head up to look at her lover, whom she had a soft smile and a glint on her sapphire eyes. Gwen then combed very delicately her little one’s hair, tucking loose strands of hair out of her face; a pinkish flush appeared in Y/N's cheeks, but that did not stop her from clinging to the other woman’s touch.

“Why are you giggling kitten?” asked calmly the blonde, now petting her beloved in her chin, rubbing smoothly her fingertips along the skin.

“Dummy Alex is now Catherine’s dummy boyfriend, mommy.”

“MOMMY?” a series of voices exclaimed at the same time, all of them a mix of horror and amazement. Now Y/N could totally feel the stares of the plastics, her ex and other costumers who passed along them doing their business. All because the way she addressed the older woman.

Guess the cat is out of the bag then, Y/N Bennet is someone’s baby and it’s to a very tall and gorgeous woman. Three wonderful years and counting with her dear mommy Gwen, the one who loved her fiercely and showed her how much money she could spend just for the sake of making her happy. It was so fucking great.

She took with her smaller hands the one that was petting her so lovely, holding it and placing a small kiss in the middle of the palm; and after making her mommy melt with love, she then finally turned to the others. Y/N smiled smugly in many years, pride rising in her body at seeing the faces she once hated with her guts so much, full of utter shock – it was no secret that Bennet loved both men and women, people as she calls it, because she rathers love and care for someone's heart no matter who it is.

Well, she thinks that is debatable when it comes to certain people.

“Cat got your tongue, Cat dear?” asked with false innocence; her mommy chuckled behind her. “I don't think I've introduced you properly. Plastics, dumb toy, this is my mommy. Mommy, these are the little shits who made my life hell back in America.”

She then smiled as she were buying a pair of Jimmy Choos or a seasonal dress from Miu Miu, and oh, how she loved smiling just like that. Getting everything her heart desired. Mommy knew the game she was playing, and always liked the way her little dove became a ferocious beast – so, without asking questions, mommy Gwen followed her. Y/N was pulled by her hips into the lean and strong body of her mommy, who kept her secure in her embrace.

“I can't say I am pleased” mommy stated, voice full of disgust. “nor expected the fuckers who pissed off my little dove.”

Alex then stepped in, perplexed by the whole situation. “I'm sorry miss, I believe there is a misunderstand. I never hurt Y/N in any way, I swear it! Must be Catherine and the others you are talking about.”

“Yes, I do know very well your history with Y/N. Ex boyfriend, always right to her and all that stuff. Yet you are on their side.” Gwen glanced at the rest. “Not very sure where your loyalties lie, mister.”

“Not with them.”

“Dumb toyyyyyyy. Look, mommy? He can't see past his own dubmness.” Responded Y/N, midly desinterested. This was getting boring, groceries were almost done and she really wanted to go back their penthouse to get some snuggles.

“Shut up dumb whore, you can't even afford a decent life and you have to fuck someone to get money.” The irritating voice of Catherine Dean said, and God help her, she seems to meet the wrong end of mommy.

It's not that common for Y/N to see mommy being angry, let alone furious; yes, she has seen her annoyed or frustrated, but never full of ire that she might scalp with her bare hands someone, in this case Catherine Dean. But oh well, the idiot got herself in trouble, and Y/N won't be stopping her beloved to ripping the ugly one appart.

Her bets were with mommy. Always with mommy.

“Then you must be talking from experiencie.” Gwen answered, barely contaning her spite and anger while never letting go of her baby. “Although my sweet can afford a very comfortable life by herself, it is me who keeps her within luxury and thousands of hundreds worth lifestyle. And why? Because she is my princess and she deserves everything.”

A smile tugged Y/N's lips as she heard the rumbling of her mommy's voice through her small frame; how she loves her. Her and the big heart full of love only for her.

“Mommy.” The soft tone made the taller woman return her gaze to Y/N, who looked at her with such big adorating eyes. Gwen couldn't help but kiss her nose and stroking her short hair, calming the anger that still boiled inside her body.

“Yes my love?”

“I want to go home, dumb people tires me.” Y/N casted a smirkful smile and look at the group of former classmates, who responded with mixed reactions and not a single word.

Gwen laughed silently and pressed another kiss to her baby's nose, gently tucking her into one of her own arms, while pushing the cart around and far from the aisle. Neither of them looked back nor wanted to, right now, Y/N and her mommy were the only thing that mattered at the moment. And her shopping cart full of groceries.

At the self-checkout, as they were putting out their items, Y/N turned to her mommy and asked.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“How did you know I was there, in that place?"

The blonde laughed and held both of her hands out for her princess, who she eagerly welcomed them by placing them in her waist and get pulled against her mommy's chest. Gwen observed for a moment the face she fell in love with, tracing in her mind all of her curves and lines of it; her dear baby was absolutely perfect.

“Well, everytime we go grocery shopping, you always spend too much time looking for the fluffiest loaf bread you can find. And all because you love when the bread of your sandwich is soft as a cloud.”

Y/N giggled, nodding at the fact that she liked fluffiness and soft things.

“I know where to find you, sweetling, because I know which supermarket aisle is your favorite.”

-----

The end.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #brienne of tarth #larissa weems x reader #gwen christie #captain phasma #miranda hilmarson #the sandman #lucifer the sandman #imtheindiekid writes #im back (? LOL #mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy? #gwendoline christie x reader #mommy gwendoline #GWEN

[ellieslittleburrow]

🎄 Christmas time with Dean

Warnings : none

Pairings : Dean x sister!reader.

-------

Little old you had just woken up when the door to your room clicked shut.

You lifted your head to look out and then dropped it back against the pillo-

Ouch-

A fairly soft but painful-nonetheless- object collides with the side of your cheek, you slide your hand under the pillow, fingers rumming around for the pain inducing thin- a box?!

You pull it out and a smile flashes on your face. It's a little blue box. You open it and your eyes glint with absolute astonishment as a bluish translucent stone sends adrenaline pumping through your whole body. It's a fucking jeremejevite!!!!

-----

Softly opening the door after knocking, you peek into the room when a soft chuckle leaves your lips at the sight in front you, Classic old Dean while laying in belly, eyes you from the side.

"What do you want?" Carelessness laces his voice. He almost sounds annoyed that you're there. Fucker.

"What's this?" You hold the box up and he looks away, munching on his pizza.

"What's it look like? It's a stone for your dumbass brain. It'll help you get smart-"

"Shut up, Dean" you cut him off before heading over to the side of the bed. "Help me put it on." You sit on the edge as he gets up on his knees, shifting over to kneel right behind you.

You hand him the necklace. And all suddenly quiets down. It's not uncomfortable. It's just weighed with unspoken words. A prison of things to say but things that neither of you can say.

"How'd you find it?" You speak. "I've been looking for it for so long." You try to sound neutral as excitement slowly builds up again. This stone has been on your list for ages. It's one of the rarest-And- the fact that you have one in such a tiny and elegant little form just sent you over the moon. "How?!"

Dean humms. " A special girl deserves a special christmas present."

A smile creeps up on your face, even though Dean is not be able to see it. You couldn't even think of how much he had to pay to get you this stone. And although it's very small, the idea of it being there was more than enough to fill you up with absolute joy.

"Merry christmas, buddy." The hunter snaps you out of your thoughts, slowly wrapping his arms around your chest as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

It must've been a bit uncomfy, considering that he's pretty big even when kneeling down. But he still held you tight anyway.

He, probably, couldn't say it to you in your face, either, resorting to hiding behind you.

You decide to lighten up the mood for him. Change subjects before he gets too uncomfy. "I'm...sorry, Dean. I didn't g-"

"Don't worry about it, no need for any of that."

You turn around, cocking your head to the side. Dean confidently smiles. But you know him well enough. You can tell.

"I'm just fucking with you." The second those words are processed, a grin takes over Dean's face and he laughs, nervous and excited.

"You got me, little goose. Now where's my christmas present?" Your brother rubs his hands together eagerly, but he stops when devilish smirk appears on your face. He really thought it'd be that easy?

"Where's the fun in that? It's somewhere around the house." You turn on your heels, chest puffed up and triumphant. Gotcha' Dean. "Summon me when you find it. Merry Christmas, D."

------

I just wrote this reeeally quickly so i'm sorry if there are any incoherences. I'll make sure to reread it when i have the time. I hope yall enjoyed iit. Peace and kissies. ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

#sister!reader #sister x brothers #daughter!reader #sibling fic #winchester sister #baby winchester #little winchester #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x daughter!reader #adoptive father troop #father figure fic #protective brother #christmas fic

[redmyeyes]

superstition

for @wincestwednesdays

On bad nights, Dean takes the car out.  There's no memorial, no resting place, so.

He tried a picture once. After the crossroads but before the third breakdown. A therapist of a friend of Lisa's boss suggested it. Which means his level of fucked-up was enough to warrant four degrees of casual-aquaintance separation. My friend's co-worker's bf is a real mess. Lost his brother, poor guy. Any suggestions? 

Pretty impressive, if he does say so himself. 

So, the picture. You speak to a picture of, of the loved one, she phrased it. Tell them all the things you meant to tell them. You know.

Dean couldn't do it. Can't do it. The one picture he has of Sam is tucked safely away in a cigar box in the trunk, but he can't, still, bring himself to look at it, no matter how old and faded or unfamiliar or different from the way he looked when he—

When.

People think the legend of the crossroads is superstition. What they don't know is, they're right. And wrong at the same time. Started as superstition. Demons just got wind of it, and started taking advantage.

Sometimes you can make a superstition real, if enough people believe. 

That's what he tells Sam in the dark, when he's driven so far out into nowhere on a moonless night that he can almost pretend the shadows to his right engulf a missing person.  Like they're working a case. Like Sam will turn to him in the dark and say, Maybe it's just about finding the right demon to apply pressure, and he'll feel the heat of Sam's breath as the words come or he'll see Sam gesture with his ginormohands out of the corner of his eye. 

Well. Those days when Dean could still pretend are long past, so he mostly just sits silent now.  He's not delusional.  But this is sacred. This ritual. This… communion. Sitting in the dark on the hood with a whiskey.  Talking or not talking. 

Most days, Dean thinks this is the only thing keeping him sane. 

He takes two deep pulls of whiskey, and starts choking when one hits the wrong way. "I am not, shut up," he mutters around a cough. 

So much effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other; he doesn't know how people do it. He needs a project, something all-consuming enough to take his mind off— take his mind out. 

He's trying.  He's trying to put in the same effort to taking care of Ben, to the work, to Lisa, to friendship. All of these half-measures to replace one person and it doesn't come close.  Like filling in blanks with stick figure drawings of a copy of a copy of a picture. 

"Not replacing, you know what I mean," he says to the air.  

"I am trying though, I—"  Another swig of whiskey, it always takes him a minute to warm up to it.  "Today was a bad day, Sammy.  Guess they're all bad days but—"  Dean shakes his head.  He's careful to stay on his side of the hood, to keep staring straight ahead, or up at the stars.  They used to get like this sometimes, whiskey-loosened lips and the dark and the one person in the world who'll actually get what you're saying right there next to you…

"You remember that time in, uh— I dunno, Ohio I think. You woulda been about ten, eleven.  Same age as Ben.  Actually, you probably don't remember.  Woulda been one of a thousand to you, but— I remember it. So clearly, man.  First time I—"  A gulp of whiskey.  "You were out.  Me and Dad were off on a quick recon and got back—quicker than you expected I guess—and you were gone.  This was before Flagstaff, before things got real bad between you and him.  You snuck into the movies or some shit, or maybe you were at the arcade, I don't know. 

"I remember your face when you came in.  You were—happy.  Like, light.  Like a kid. Like, you didn't even get what was about to go down.  Didn't bother sneaking in 'cause you thought you'd done nothing wrong, and Dad was— " He huffs. "You don't need me to tell you how he was, 'cause he always was.  But you started arguing like the stubborn ass you always were.  Are.  And— Sammy, I remember the way you looked at me. Like— pleading for help or backup or— no, not pleading. Like— betrayal. Like I betrayed you. I— I don't know why that stuck with me. That stupid moment from when you were ten, when we've had shit a million times more serious gone down since then."

Dean's silent for a moment, and when he starts speaking again he's forced to clear his throat.

"I kept thinking... if he would just obey.  If he would just listen, just— shut up, sometimes. Just let Dad talk. As if that— was something of value. But you never could.  Always had to have your say, always stood up to him, and I didn't back you up and I kept not backing you up with Dad, and maybe if I'd done better you wouldn'ta left for Stanford in the first place, even though, I dunno man, maybe we were always destined to end up here anyway, but—"  

He cuts himself off and gets his breathing back under control.  Another swallow of whiskey, craving the burn in his throat.

"I saw that same look on Ben's face today.  From me.  He was scared of me, looking at me like— just like you used to look at Dad. Except without your piss-ass stubbornness. " A moment passes before he continues, his voice strained. "It's not just me here, Sammy.  I mean, you begged me to do this. To live this life, and I'm trying, I am, but— it's not just me, okay?  Lisa and Ben, they— you know. I was so messed up when I knocked on their door I'm shocked she didn't call the cops. I came to them. Because you wanted me to and they took me in and now they're just there, suffering, because I can't get my shit together and—"

His gut wrenches. It's a long time before he can speak again, and he has to uncurl himself to do it.

He takes a breath in.

And out.

Sam used to do this when—

Sam used to do this.

"Okay, yeah. Maybe that's a cop-out.  Maybe I just don't—"

He cuts himself off again and sighs, banging his head lightly against the windshield.  He survived forty years in Hell, you'd think he could do Suburbia.

"It's different.  Hell was survivable because I was there to keep you alive."  Not strictly true.  He tries again.  "Hell was… I thought you were okay.  I thought you were okay, and that made it worth something. And even when it wasn't, it was so intense that I— couldn't think.  Couldn't.   And that was a blessing."

I'm not strong enough for this, Sammy.  Not without you.

He can't say those words aloud yet.  To do that would be to admit— too much.

"I don't know how long I can keep doing this," he whispers instead.

Even that admission… it's enough.  For now.  It's enough to get him through the next however many days until things get so bad that he needs to come out here again.  Sam's silence feels like acceptance, and Dean breathes it in.

He's not resigned. Not yet, anyway.  He still hasn't given up hope that there's some way to get Sam out.  But, he knows, the moment that last shred dies is the moment he goes with it.

Until then, he'll keep talking to the dark.

"Call it superstition," he says.

#just a lil thing for #wincest #wincest wednesday #and inspired by my s6 #spn rewatch #who knew that watching canon would actually make me want to write ._. #(she says sarcastically) #im really obsessed with this in-between time though #where dean tries to make it work bc he promised sam he would #'white-knuckling it' as lisa says #how much longer until he gives in and gives up #good thing s!s showed up when he did ig #redrites

[hoshologies]

8:41 pm, kim m.

genres &&. warnings — timestamp, fluff, established relationship &&. lapslock intended, mingyu being sweet.

word count — 1.3k

you stand in the center of your bedroom, or what used to be your bedroom. the only remnants of it a bedframe, mattress, and dresser you no longer need. as excited as you are to be starting a new chapter of your life, there’s a bittersweet emptiness that chills you through to your heart. this apartment has never objectively been the best, but there are so many good memories carved into the very floorboards: first dean’s list, your twenty-first birthday, first kiss with your first real boyfriend. it’s hard to accept, the idea of leaving all of that behind, even when you’re moving to a place where you’ll make better memories.

lost in your own world, mingyu’s footsteps don’t register until he’s right behind you, wrapping strong arms around your waist and resting his chin atop your shoulder. the affection shocks, but doesn’t startle you; rather, you lean into his body, welcoming the warmth of him against you.

“just put the last box in the car,” he says, breath hot and comforting against the exposed skin of your neck. “are you ready to go?”

you nod absently, hardly acknowledging his words, but you make no move to leave. you’re too focused on the fact that over the course of the last two days, every trace of you in this apartment has disappeared. every framed picture, every half-read book, every little shoe scuff by the front door left after a long night of studying or partying with mingyu and his friends. it’s like you never even existed in this space, four years wiped clean or moved out.

“you okay?” your boyfriend’s voice is light as air, warm like hot chocolate. he snuggles in closer, arms wrapped impossibly tighter around you; if you focus enough, you’re sure you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your shoulderblade.

“yeah,” you respond in kind, soft and quiet so as to not break the silence, strangely peaceful. even the quietest sounds echo off the now-bare white walls of your bedroom. “just reminiscing, i guess.”

you can feel him nod against your shoulder, soft hair brushing against your temple. he probably feels that same cool sadness that permeates the entire apartment that you do. of course, he’s spent less time in this apartment than you have, two out of four years of residency, but so many milestones of your relationship have happened in this apartment. it’s sad to be relinquishing your claim on this apartment, to allow someone else to come here and overwrite everything with their own memories.

“i get that,” mingyu affirms, voice rumbling in his chest. “so much of our relationship happened here. like, remember before we were together, we got so drunk and i was craving one of those microwave macaroni cups?”

you laugh at last, a breathy little giggle that has your boyfriend pressing his cheek against yours, a smile evident on his face. “yeah, when you tried to open it but spilled noodles everywhere and then forgot to put water in and nearly caught my microwave on fire?”

his chuckle is deep, resonating against your back, through your shoulder, a comforting sensation. “that’s a little dramatic–”

you slap playfully at one of his forearms. “no, it isn’t, gyu! the cup was literally on fire! there were flames!”

if he wasn’t currently using you as a prop to lean his weight, he’d be doubled over at the waist right now. for two and a half year, he has claimed that the macaroni incident really wasn’t as serious as you’ve always made it out to be, but it is true; he’d been so blasted out of his mind that when he’d tried to make a snack at almost two in the morning, he’d nearly ruined your microwave because there wasn’t any water in the cup and the noodles caught fire. even in the haze of alcohol and mild anger towards him for it, you’d known how much you liked having him around, always making you laugh and warm from inside out like he was kindling a fire that burned in your bone marrow.

“or how about that time i was visiting over here and it snowed so much that i couldn’t leave and we got stranded inside for, like, a week?”

you nod, smiling to yourself at the memory. it was just after new year’s and he’d come over for a movie night and sleepover before the spring semester started since you’d have less time to see him. as luck would have it, it started snowing a quarter of the way through the first movie; the next morning, snow was still coming down and weather reports said feet upon feet of snow. you hadn’t been together long at that point, just a few months, so it was a long six days for the two of you. but you had come out of it stronger and the better for it; there was tangible proof that you could cohabit a space and not kill each other or want to break up.

your shared laughter peters out and quiet overtakes the space once more, the both of you snuggling into one another, each considering your own favorite memories that were made within these walls. so much has happened here. the two of you have changed so much. the idea of moving on, of changing is something daunting, insurmountable even, like you’re leaving an integral piece of you behind. but the most integral part of your life stands with you now, his arms wrapped tight around you, his nose buried into the junction of your shoulder and neck, something stable in the midst of a big tidal wave that threatens to upset your whole life.

eventually, mingyu leans back and sets his hands on your shoulders, turning you in a slow half-circle to face him head on. his face is soft and welcoming, comfort to the highest degree that belongs solely to you. his eyes are warm, dark serenity.

“i know you’re sad about moving out and honestly…? i kind of am, too,” he admits, a bashful expression passing over his features for a fleeting moment. he has reason to, memories and a toothbrush on the bathroom sink counter and a shelf in the pantry just for his favorite snacks. this has been his home just as much as yours for the past few years. “but it’ll be okay. we’re in this together.”

his hands find yours and he holds them up between your bodies, palm to palm, fingers locked together.

“we’ll make new memories in our place. you hear that? our place. we get to officially share a home. like, we can say that we actually live together. isn’t that so cool?” his eyes light up and he’s right, it is cool, being able to say that you live with your boyfriend. “and just so you know, there’s no one else i’d rather be doing this with. it’s scary, sure, but anything is possible with you.”

and there’s hope and possibility shining on his face. there’s trepidation, yes, but you can feel the trust and the optimism he has like it’s transferring through the press of your palms. it’s intoxicating and while the fear of moving on is still there, it begins to melt away under his touch. so you nod and shake your joined hands a little bit, which makes him grin bright and beautiful.

“you’re right.”

“i know.”

you roll your eyes at him, but smile anyways. your hands fall apart from each other and mingyu turns on his heels, slipping an arm over your shoulder and tugging you close to his side. there’s a confidence in his stride as he leads you towards the front door of the apartment, past the echoey emptiness.

“let’s get out of here. let’s go home.”

how can you say no?

© hoshologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

#mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #kim mingyu x reader #kpop x reader #svt.fic #mingyu.fic #timestamp.fic #writing.fic

[castieldelamancha]

Castiel stands still as Dean approaches him. He briefly eyes the light blue box he just left on the table, recognizing the logo of a bakery they drove by on their first day here.

He stands still as Dean stops in front of him, stretching the elastic band of the party hat in his hands in order to get it on Castiel, adjusting the hat on his head so it's slightly tilted to the side, on the opposite direction Castiel's head is tilted to in confusion.

Dean takes a short step back and Castiel briefly wonders when is and isn't right and acceptable to invade someone's personal space, but he doesn't say anything he simply watches Dean as he admires his work, his gaze focusing on the way his hands twitch slightly, how he lifts them as if to reach to touch Cas only to lower them down again, he does so a couple of times until he finally settles for adjusting Cas' tie and brushing off some non-existent dust off his shoulders.

"Happy birthday, Cas." He smiles brightly and Castiel, if that's even possible, feels even more confused than before.

"It's really not my birthday, I don't have one of those," Dean's face falls slightly at that, but the expression is gone almost as quick as it appeared in his features, not like he even understands why some logical reasoning would upset Dean.

Dean rolls his eyes, "I know that, but we humans have that one day where we celebrate a person, I thought you could have one too and I-" he trails away, now staring anywhere but at Castiel when before it seemed he couldn't look away from his eyes, "well I thought we could celebrate you on the day we met."

September 18th. Castiel remembers now. That's the day on the calendar today.

Sam, who had been watching the scene unfold up to that point from the motel room's table, with its wobbly legs and it's scratched wooden surface, turns his head away, probably trying to school his features because in Castiel's opinion, he made a quite strange face at Dean's statement.

Castiel doesn't see the point on telling Dean they met before this day, so he doesn't say anything at all, part of him not wishing to be the cause of another hurt look in Dean's eyes

"It's stupid, really, uhm." Dean is rambling, nervously, he is also blushing, lightly.

Castiel reaches out and awkwardly pats his shoulder, he smiles softly, the gesture still feels so unfamiliar to him, "thank you so much, Dean." They stare at each other for a while and Castiel, usually aware of everything around them, forgets about the Earth spinning slowly around the Sun, about the noise outside, the heat of billions of stars and the voices of his brothers and sisters echoing in the back of his mind. There is only Dean, and the easy smile on his lips that reaches his tired but bright green eyes, and the brilliance of that soul that still catches Castiel off of guard with its love and bravery.

Sam clears his throat, breaking the stillness of their shared moment, "have you bought a candle too or something? I mean not like we can get a cake big enough-"

"Pie." Dean interrupts.

Sam huffs lightly, "a pie big enough to get all the candles for Cas' age on it."

Dean laughs at that with a muttered, "you are too old buddy," that has Castiel nodding in agreement because he is, indeed, too old. Dean proceeds to take a little plastic package out of his pocket with a single blue and white candle inside, "I got everything we need."

And Castiel doesn't know it yet, but Dean also has a hastily wrapped present for him in that very same pocket of his jacket.

.

Castiel stands still as Dean approaches him. He knows well by now that glint in his eyes, his barely contained excitement and the playful smile on his lips. He doesn't even need to look at the party hat in his hands or notice the familiar smile of freshly baked pie coming from the kitchen to know Dean has planned something.

Castiel is a bit at a loss here, he knows it's not their anniversary yet, it isn't Dean's birthday either.

So he simply waits. He stands still, feeling a sense of deja vú as Dean stretches the elastic band of the hat to put it on Castiel's head, slightly crooked to the left. Dean doesn't step back, his eyes moving from the hat to Castiel and, with sure and steady hands testimony of how far they have come after all these years, his right hand closes over Castiel's jaw and the other settles on his lower back pulling him closer.

"We haven't really got the chance to celebrate your birthday since that time, all those years ago," he explains, a hint of guilt in his voice, " so, since the world isn't ending for once, I thought it would be nice to do it again."

September 18th, Castiel remembers now, that's the day on the calendar today.

"It's really not my birthday, I don't have one of those," Dean's face falls slightly, "but if I had one," he adds, trying to avoid upsetting Dean when this is clearly something important to him, and Castiel sees the appeal in this too, stop mourning and start celebrating, " I would love it to be today, the day we met again all those years ago.

The day that started it all.

September 18th.

He had never felt as alive as in that moment, with his wings manifesting with the power of a thunderstorm, a knife through his heart and the brightest soul he had ever had the honor of holding close right in front of him.

He had never felt as alive as he did fighting side by side with Dean, as he did in their shared laughter and sorrow.

As he does now, in their love.

They stare at each other and he gladly loses himself in the depths of Dean's gaze. He can't feel the Earth turning anymore, he can't hear the noise outside or feel the warmth of all the stars in the skies above, it has been a long time since he last heard another angel's voice echoing in the back of his mind. If he could still experience all those things they would be gone now, completely forgotten.

He crosses the short distance between them and presses his lips to Dean's, "thank you so much, my Dean." He then chuckles lightly, what makes Dean, that was leaning forwards, chasing his lips, stop and frown at him, "how many candles do I have to blow? I am concerned, see, my lungs aren't what they used to be anymore."

Dean laughs too, shaking his head lightly, "just the one, I actually managed to find the same one we used the first time around." He takes the candle, safe inside a plastic package, out of the front pocket of the flannel he is wearing and proudly shows it to Cas, and there it is, the single candle with its white and blue swirls.

"C'mon," Dean kisses Cas once more, stepping away from him and offering him his hand, "you actually can eat pie this time without tasting every molecule in it."

Castiel takes the offered hand and allows Dean to guide him to the kitchen.

#destiel #long post #september 18th #it's cas' birthday today bitchesssssssss #and i just got out of work and i am so tired i could pass out right now #ficlet #vanessa writes ✨ #tuserpris

[holewithinahole]

The Spirit’s in It | Egon Spengler x nb!reader [2/3]

Summary: “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Warnings: dubious science, non-native writer, non-beta’d

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

And here's part 2! I'll probably post part 3 tomorrow so I can upload everything on Ao3. I realised this work is super underwelming compared to what I've been releasing lately haha But well, if one person like it that's all I'm asking!

I also love write all the different dialogues I have in mind for the Ghostbusters. It's like I can hear the voices of the actors in my head! It's all very amusing.

EDIT: I hate the third part so I'm rewriting it lmao

Fall, 1984

“What are they doing?” You mutter under your breath as you step into the psychology aisle of Columbia University. It’s the most animated you’ve ever witnessed Weaver Hall be.

Clutching your latest research papers, you stride to the paranormal studies labs, almost running into a green-shirted man in the process. You mutter a quick apology without looking back. Inside the lab, a few men are busy getting boxes on trolleys and carrying them out of the room. You clear your throat as you stand close to one of them.

“Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Spengler is?”

The man arches an eyebrow and shrugs. “No idea who that is.”

Putting down a box labeled ‘Electronics’ on his trolley with a loud crashing noise – which makes you wince, he starts making his way out of the room, smacking your flank in the process.

“You do know those items partially belong to the researchers working here,” you argue, clutching your side and standing in front of him. “You can’t just take them without permission.”

“Listen, I’ve been asked to remove this stuff, ok? So move out of the way.”

You swallow back your irritation, ready to conjure up every ounce of antagonism, but you’re halted in your need for confrontation by a giddy tone.

“Ah, Professor.”

You turn back to face an uncharacteristically smirking Dean Yaeger: a self-satisfied smug that would deserve to be wiped right out of his face. It makes you fear the worst.

“I’m sorry to announce to you that Dr. Stanz, Dr. Venkman, and Dr. Spengler have departed our university,” he declares, voice devoid of any empathy.

“Departed?” you ask. “Did they quit?”

“Oh no,” he laughs. “We’ve terminated their contracts. The psychology pole deserves better than three frauds ridiculing our university.”

It is, indeed, the worst that could happen. Baffled, you watch as the dean gives directions to the workers with a large smile. You’ve never wanted to hit someone more.

“Frauds?” you scoff, trailing behind him. “Dr. Stantz has a doctorate in parapsychology, so does Dr. Venkman. Dr. Spengler graduated from this very university and possesses several diplomas notably in nuclear engineering and psychology. What makes you possibly think they don’t deserve their places here?”

Another worker almost bumps into you. You glare at them.

“While I admire your lovely attempt at defending the undefendable, the decision is taken. This room will be emptied and used by actual scientists.”

The dean has started making his way out of the room, radiating self-satisfaction and throwing prideful looks at everything his eyes come across. You run after him, pushed forward by this revolting sight.

“Those files are their own research! You can’t take them away without consulting with them first! Yes, they were working for this university, but it’s still years of their work that you’re just confiscating.”

The smirk he gives you makes you regret your words instantly. “Since you’re so willing to maintain your questionable relationship with the three of them, you won’t see any problem with being entrusted with those files? I’m sure you can return them in person.”

“Questiona–” you stutter, but Dean Yaeger claps his hands obnoxiously.

“It’s settled then.”

Shit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Accepting to take care of Dr. Venkman, Dr. Stantz, and Dr. Spengler’s stuff had been both your good deed of the month and a middle finger at the face of Dean Yaeger. Stuffing piles of boxes in your tiny car hadn’t been easy. Especially since the dean had decided to dump everything in front of the university, grinning all along, savoring his cruel little prank. It says a lot about the actual interest Columbia University has in the work of its researchers.

There were at least over thirty different boxes, filled to the brim with research papers, littered all around your apartment. Obviously, Yaeger had made sure to take back all equipment – broken or not, leaving you with pounds of paper stored in their cardboard containers.

That is to say, after a month, you're starting to regret it.

The cluster of your home is slowly but surely disrupting your peace of mind. It’s almost as if the air has been saturated by dust and cardboard specks, the lack of luminosity not helping. Browsing through research papers and ordering everything has been fun at first, your curiosity satisfied, but you couldn’t decently keep digging through personal stuff. Therefore, you stopped, and now you loathe the view of these boxes.

The problem is that you have absolutely no idea where the three men went, and even on your deathbed, no one would witness you ask the dean for information. You simply can’t believe they would just switch universities, despite it being the ‘logical’ course of action. Mainly because Yaeger would behave like a goddamn leech and talk shit about them ‘till all universities in the country know about their turbulent history. You hoped for one of them to drop by your department but no one ever showed up.

Opening the door to your apartment and immediately feeling dejected at the view of the stacked boxes, you let out a sigh, getting rid of your work clothes and falling head first on your couch. You grab the TV remote, zapping mindlessly before deciding to let the device run in the background as you stand up to prepare something to eat.

During the small amount of time you’ve spent with the doctors this month, you’ve learned more about spooky theories and proton cages than about their actual life stories. Well, sort of. Dr. Stantz was certainly the most open of them all.

“Have you ever experienced a paranormal experience before?” he had asked, one morning, as he leaned conspiratorially towards you.

“I don’t think so?” you replied.

He had then talked extensively about a plethora of incidents, most notably a sponge migration which he’d assured was clear proof of paranormal activity. You had simply nodded, not wanting to question nor deter his enthusiasm. You quickly noticed – despite Dr. Spengler’s eclectic choices of study which could testify about his interest in science in general, Dr. Stantz remained the most passionate of the two; his obsessions towards specific subjects going further than a simple craving for knowledge on a Sunday afternoon. He kept lending you books on the supernatural which you had to decline after a fifth one joined the pile on your bedside table. It made wonder if the man didn’t own a secret bookshop somewhere. It left you with a sour aftertaste, knowing you had some of his prized possessions in your bedroom but couldn’t return them.

Dr. Venkman was– well… he was something else entirely. If Dr. Stantz was eager to share clever insights, Venkman was eager to share made-up stories. The diplomas on the wall did attest to his title of ‘Doctor’ but he couldn’t be more detached from it. Oh, he was researching psychological phenomena alright, but never knowledge for knowledge’s sake or even out of pure professionalism as you could expect from a researcher. If psychology books were leafed through, it was for manipulation tactics and to weaponize the uses of sugary words. In that, he was talented.

“Is it my time to interview the case subject?”

It was your third time in Weaver Hall. Both Dr. Stantz and Dr. Spengler had looked up from their ‘ghost trap’ schematics as Venkman took place in the chair in front of you.

“You never do interviews,” Dr. Stantz had said, deadpan.

“I feel magnanimous today.”

Venkman was a case study on its own, a study you weren’t willing to commit to. You had trouble understanding his true intentions most of the time. In the end, he remained the most enigmatic of the three, despite a boastful, overly dramatic persona (All the world’s a stage!). In the end, you couldn’t genuinely despise the man when he was driving away nosy students and even nosier teachers with phlegm, or when, during his rare excursions in the lab, he would bring sweet treats and coffee.

As for Dr. Spengler, well… he was brilliant and devoted to his work. Alike Dr. Stantz, although sporadically, he would sometimes get caught in a tirade of explanations and postulates. Every day, you resented the apprehension that staved off your second meeting for he could make your neurons flare and burst into ideas that’d spin in your head fast enough to weave entirely new conceptions. You were somewhat drunk on the feeling, making you distracted which even your colleagues noticed, embarrassingly enough. It all ended up in a self-deprecating mantra that led you away from Weaver Hall and back to the arms of your students and lab partners.

Now, they are gone, and you have no idea how to reach out.

“Are you troubled by strange noises in the middle of the night?”

You know Dr. Spengler has spent his entire life either studying for new degrees or researching. Universities are probably all he has ever known, and that makes you wonder how he’s managing the whole thing. Maybe he was hired by another university; with his degrees, it shouldn’t be too hard, despite what happened. Damn it, you should have given either of them your number. What if he’s already halfway across the country by now?

“Do you experience feelings of dread in your basement or attic?”

 What the–

You glide out of your kitchen, spatula in hand, almost falling as your sock-clad feet slide on the wooden floor.

“If you or any of your family ever seen a spook, specter–”

“You’re fucking with me.”

As the three of them stand inside your TV offering ghost-hunting services, it makes you wonder if they didn’t take things a tad too far – or too seriously, this time.

“Call the Ghostbusters! We’re ready to believe you!”

Well, you certainly don’t believe it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Phoning the place has been like stepping into another dimension. You’ve been bombarded with words you’ve never heard in any discussion, except in Dr Stantz and Dr Spengler’s endless chatter about compendia and other mystical publications. 

“Is your haunting an apparition, poltergeist, phantasm, wraith, banshee, demon, specter, tortured soul, or–”

“Excuse me but–”

“For your information, we do not summon dead family members.”

“I’m not calling for that–”

“Wait, hold, please. No Dr. Venkman I haven’t–”

And that was the end of the conversation. It left you with a strong puzzling sensation and a definitive confirmation of your aversion to discussions happening over the phone. The secretary never called back and you were secretly glad, leaving you time to summon all of your courage and go there directly. Which you did… eventually.

Funny how when you’re not searching for something, it comes to you from every angle. After discovering the strange choice of reconversion the doctors took, you were bombarded by advertisements, radio talks and covers of magazines. The men have managed to put all of New York in their pocket, and half if not as many ghosts in their traps. You’ve never been a firm believer in specters but Dr. Spengler and Dr. Stantz had talked extensively about them and their prototype to finally be able to catch one. You’ve been more interested in the physics aspect of it all; Dr. Spengler has been more than willing to explain and you’ve been more than willing to add your own theories.

You now stand in front of their headquarters, preparing to face them. And once again–

“Hey, it’s you!”

–it’s Dr. Stantz who nudges you in the right direction. The man smiles widely, face darkened by car oil and dirt, a crooked cigarette hanging from his lip. His uniform is equally as dirty, and he looks more like a mechanic than a ghost hunter… but no one has ever been a ghost hunter before so, what do you know?

“Hi, Dr. Stantz.” You smile. “It’s been a while.”

You can see he’s struggling to not pat your shoulder in a welcoming gesture. “Man, we thought we’d never get to see you again! Spengs’ gonna be so happy to see you!”

Somehow, you have trouble imagining Dr. Spengler overjoyed or overexcited. It’s not in his character.

“Come on!” He gestures for you to follow him. You’re barely inside that he has already strode through half the hall. “Sorry for the mess! It’s so hectic these days.”

“I saw the articles,” you say, taking in your surroundings.

At the front desk sits a fashionable lady whom you guess to be the secretary. She’s busy answering the phone, munching at her pencil and looking exhausted. She barely acknowledges your presence as you follow Dr. Stantz up the stairs.

The man never stopped talking. “Venkman is out right now; he wanted to check on one of our clients. The woman had blood dripping from her chimney, can you believe that?”

You clearly have trouble to. The blood part, not the seducing clients part.

Upstairs is as messy as the hall if not worse. It rivals the state of Weaver Hall. Dr. Stantz throws his extinguished cigarette in a nearby bin before grabbing a paper napkin to wipe his oily hands.

“Egon!”

Dr. Spengler appears from behind a desk, light on his forehead, and invested in organizing a large number of electric cables. “Ray, I found the problem with the Aura-Analyzer–”

He pauses when he sees you, which you can’t say that you did, blinded by the light of his lamp. “Hi,” you say, smiling while protecting your eyes.

“Oh,” he answers, turning it off. “Hello.”

The uneasy silence that follows throws you all the way back to your first meeting as if a month of socializing had suddenly vanished in the span of four tiny weeks.

“Do you have issues with a ghost?” he ends up asking, putting down his torch.

Your eyes widen in surprise, unsure of how to react. Dr. Stantz, however, lets out a strong laugh so you chuckle awkwardly to echo him. “No, no ghost.”

“It’s crazy that you came in today,” Dr. Stantz says, throwing away the dirtied napkins. “We have to improve the storage facility and we need to be able to boost the grid while saving as much power–”

As he speaks, he disappears behind a wall, the sound of running water overlapping his words. You stay silent, watching Dr. Spengler rearrange electric cables until his friend emerges from the bathroom, clean-faced.

“But anyway, Spengs can give you the big tour,” he declares, grinning. “I have a check-up to do at Tai Hong Lau! If we’re lucky, I’ll come back with dinner as well.”

This time, he gives you a clap on the shoulder before running to the stairs but turning back at the last minute. “You’re staying to eat with us right? The owner has the best Peking duck in town, I’m sure you’ll love it! See you later!”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with Dr. Spengler. The distance separating you makes the room feels even bigger. You clear your throat. “I see you were able to create your ghost trap after all.”

He nods. “The day we were… dismissed, we managed to have enough readings on our first supernatural encounter to finalize the prototype.”

“Incredible,” you praise before realizing how uncaring you might sound. “I mean, I’m sorry about the whole Dean Yaeger situation.” 

Dr. Spengler shrugs, stepping out of the corner of the room he crammed himself in. “There’s nothing you could have done to change the outcome.”

You decide not to comment. There’s a certain tension behind his words that makes you think he might truly have been upset about the situation.

“So, what’s up with the… grid?” you ask, looking at the different types of equipment stacked in the room.

He does sound relieved by the change of subject. “The Containment System is the storage facility we use for paranormal entities. Lately, the growing number of stored entities has put a strain on the main chamber.” As he explains, he searches in a pile of paper, extracting a large sheet. “The simplest course of action would be to enlarge the room but in case of an exponential increase in psychokinetic energy, it wouldn’t be possible to expand indefinitely and I’m not even addressing the energy consumption problem.”

You saunter closer to him. Half of your brain is focused on how easily he slipped back into his rambling habits. Perhaps not all socialization has been lost, you muse delightfully.

“What’s the worst that could happen? An explosion?” you joke, hands on your hips.

There’s a moment of hesitation. You stare at him in disbelief. “Don’t tell me–”

“The system has a high-voltage laser grid.”

You gape at him for a second before clearing your throat. “Uh, you’ll have to tell me more I’m afraid.”

On the table, he puts down what seems to be the blueprint of the storage chamber. You study it from the side.

“PKE bounds together the negatively charged particles composing a ghost. Our two laser grids…“ He ignores your bewildered expression. “…prevent the entities from escaping.”

He continues, “But we’re completely dependent on the city’s power grid.”

“No redundancies?” you ask, starting to see the problem.

He shakes his head. “We had no way to generate our own power supply when we moved in – we still don’t, and we weren’t planning on a strong surge in PKE.” There’s a tremor at the corner of his eye, perhaps from tiredness. “It makes us vulnerable in case of a power outage.”

It all sounds very hazardous. “I’m surprised you still haven’t had Public Services knocking at your door, with you powering high-voltage grids and…” You throw another look at the blueprint. “…a penning trap of this size.”

Dr. Spengler looks up solemnly. “We have been drawing attention.”

That’s one way to put it, you think. “Won’t you also have problems with your… residents in there?”

“It’s complicated to assess the level of ionization inside the chamber,” he explains, lost in his musings. “I do daily samplings to monitor psychokinetic energy but it’s a time-consuming process and as minimum as it is, there’s still a risk of slippage. Stronger entities could attack the grid from the inside, despite the threat of–”

He comes to a sudden stop. “...perhaps I can just show you. If you’re willing to.”

Blinking away the feeling that is suspiciously looking like infatuation, you smile, trying to convey what you hope is a convincing agreement. “Of course.”

Dr. Spengler nods, putting away the scheme of the Containment System as you stare, unable to stop yourself. Funny how history repeats itself, you think, already picturing how you’re going to neglect your work just to hear him talk more. You can’t bring yourself to care the right amount. The concretization of it all – this whole Ghostbusters thing – is exhilarating. It was fascinating when it was mere speculations but now it’s all real. Right here, in an old firehouse in the middle of New York, are new forms of life; new not in age but in terms of discovery. Your work has always been focused on the future, so this is just another step toward it. It’s – funnily enough, all thanks to the past: the dead, the undead and the spiritual.

“Say, Dr. Spengler.” He turns back. “Have you been able to learn more about that psychokinetic energy?”

“Ghost energy can take various forms. I don’t have a clear idea of what it could be yet.” He frowns. “Which makes the improvement of the unit even more complex.”

“If you and Dr. Stantz are ok with the idea,” you say, heart beating faster. “I’d like to study this matter further. Apart from the effect on the valences, there could be laser-nuclei reactions that are worth looking into, as well as interactions between the entities themselves. Perhaps, it’s too soon to theorize about potential ‘ghost particles’ though...”

Dr. Spengler looks pensive for a minute, and you’re afraid he’ll chastity you – gently, but he just walks closer, extending an arm. “I’ll show you the unit, and we can talk about a new schematic.”

The ‘we’ is a heartwarming promise. “Lead the way, Dr. Spengler.”

As you approach the stairs, he has a small smile on his face. “Egon, please.”

You’ll have to tell him about his stuff at your place someday.

#egon spengler x reader #egon spengler #ghostbusters #ghostbusters imagine #ghostbusters reader insert #non binary reader

[waywardxwords]

2. Blame it on the Whiskey

Chapter 2 of Little Secrets

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 1,611

Warnings: Fluff? No warnings, really.

MASTERLIST

Y/N tried not to fumble with her key card as she slid it through the motel door’s automated lock. At least if it did seem like she was struggling, she could still blame the looming alcohol in her system. That whiskey had really done a number on her. She made a mental note to not accept celebratory drinks from the Winchester brothers for a while; it was taking a toll on her sanity and creating warmth in the pit of her stomach from the lofty man behind her.

Sam didn’t seem phased as he entered the room behind her and removed his jacket. “I’m going to run down to our room before Dean gets back so I can grab my laptop and my bag,” he explained as he moved to the door.

“Sounds good, I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Y/N thumbed to the bathroom door behind her while she awkwardly rocked on her heels. He nodded and left the room after grabbing her room key card. After the door clicked shut, she let out a hot breath of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Pull it together, Y/N,” she gritted her teeth through her own personal pep talk. “It’s just Sam.”

She shook her head and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. She certainly wouldn’t be trotting around in her normal bedtime get-up of a tank and underwear. She had already blushed enough for one day.

She closed the bathroom door and gave herself a once over in the mirror. A groan came from the back of her throat. She looked tired; dark circles were beginning to form under her eyes and her complexion was still slightly flushed, a result of mixing whiskey and her feelings for Sam. Y/N always managed to keep those feelings stored in a box in the back of her mind–it was a box she wouldn’t dare open. But tonight, tonight was different.

She blamed the whiskey.

She turned the faucet in the shower to cold; maybe a cold shower would do her worn body some good. She removed her clothes and rushed through her thoughts. She found herself asking whether Sam maybe had feelings for her too. But again, with a shake of her head she made those thoughts get back in their box.

The cold water cascaded over her hair and aching muscles. She closed her eyes and relished in the oddly relaxing sensation. She turned the water a bit warmer and after she felt satisfyingly clean, she turned off the water and pulled one of the itchy motel towels into the shower with her to dry off her skin.

Her ears strained to listen to see if Sam had returned. She was sure he had; she had already been in the shower for at least ten minutes.

She got dressed and piled her dirty clothes together with one arm while the other hand gripped the towel to her head to dry her dampened tresses. She juggled the dirty clothes tucked under her arm as she opened the bathroom door into the main part of the motel room.

Sure enough, Sam was settled in on the bed that didn’t have Y/N’s bag on it. His laptop was open, the light illuminating the features of his face. When he heard the bathroom door open, he glanced up at Y/N with a nervous look on his face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Y/N asked as she tossed her dirty clothes on top of her duffel bag and pulled the towel through her hair a few more times for good measure.

Sam moved the computer off of his lap and swung his legs over the edge of the bed to stand in front of her. His hands instantly moved in front of him and his eyes seemed almost apologetic. Y/N’s heart rate sped up rapidly.

“Y/N, please don’t be mad,” well, shit. Nothing good ever came after that kind of opener. Y/N braced herself internally for him to continue. “You got a text and I’m so used to checking Dean’s phone when it goes off just in case it’s about a job…and so I looked, and…” he trailed off as Y/N reached for her phone she had placed on the nightstand between the two beds.

Her heart felt like it had skyrocketed and gotten stuck in her throat as her eyes grazed the preview of the message on the phone screen.

Mom

I know you don’t want anything to do with us right now, but please call me as soon as you can.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it was. And somehow, Sam could sense that before he even told her he had read the message by mistake.

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed and kept her eyes on the cell phone. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in almost a year. At the beginning of her “hunting hobby”, she had tried to keep up with her family while she simultaneously kept them in the dark about her newfound pastime. But then her mother found out. And she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around what her baby girl was involving herself in. Y/N had to do everything she could to focus on the job at hand. In Bobby’s words, “You got bigger things to worry about, girl,” and he was right. She had people to save, things to kill.

But it still hit her harder in that moment than she realized she would. She blamed the whiskey.

“I didn’t mean to invade your space,” Sam’s words were soft as their knees almost touched while they faced each other on opposite beds. Sam didn’t know specifics, but he knew that Y/N had very limited contact with her family and that she never wanted to talk about it.

“It’s fine, Sam. It’s not a big deal,” it really wasn’t a big deal, him seeing the text. The words in the text were what felt like a big deal in her heart. They were words she really hadn’t wanted to hear, or expected to receive, anyway.

“The text feels like a big deal,” Sam took the initiative to sit next to her on the bed. “You wanna talk about it?”

Y/N couldn’t help but smirk a bit at the question. It was very Sam of him to ask her if she wanted to talk about it. He was always the one talking things out with her; making sure she was okay.

“My mom and I just don’t see eye to eye on the hunting thing,” she explained cautiously, still not willing to meet Sam’s gaze. “She was never supposed to know about it, anyway. I had worked hard to keep it from her–from my entire family. It was easy when I was just hunting on the side and living a somewhat normal life. But then it kinda took over.” She played with a stray thread on the towel in her hands. “And then there was a hunt that involved them. A vamp from my old roommate’s nest had escaped our raid. The vamp went after my family. I busted in on the night of the attack with Jeff and Lily. I’m not sure if my mom was more upset by what I was doing or that I had hidden it from her.”

Sam nodded silently as he gathered his thoughts. “You’re good at what you do, Y/N. This job isn’t for everyone. You were just trying to keep your family safe by not telling them. As hunters, we have to make so many sacrifices, and it sucks.”

Y/N laughed softly, realizing that her throat had tightened involuntarily as she spoke about her family. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

“Hey,” Sam reached over and placed his hand on top of hers, which sat on her knee. He looped his thumb under her palm in a way of holding her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. “Do you wanna call her?”

Y/N smiled at his touch and shook her head ‘no’ as a silent tear managed to sneak out of the corner of her eye and down her cheek. She hastily reached up to swipe it away before he noticed. “No, not really. Is that bad?”

Sam seemed to brighten a little as he noticed her smile. “Not at all,” he shook his head. “Ya know, I think I’ve done enough research for tonight. Wanna watch a movie?” He nodded towards the paper advertisement on top of the TV broadcasting that the motel offered HBO.

Y/N nodded with a wide grin as she looked up to meet his gaze. “I’d like that. Thanks, Sam.”

Before she realized what was happening, Sam scooped her face towards his, his thumb swept across her tear-stained cheek just under her eye. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat, her eyes widened as he closed the distance between their faces.

His lips were on hers before she could comprehend what was happening. He was gentle; his lips smooth against her own as they both relished in the sweetness of the moment. After another second, his lips moved carefully upon hers. And then the moment had passed and they broke away with a soft sound echoing in the silent motel room as their lips parted.

Without a word, they crawled into Y/N’s bed together where Sam sat against the headboard and pulled her into his side. She curled there while he channel surfed, her head spinning like the teacups at Disneyland. She still blamed the whiskey.

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural ff #supernatural fanfic #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female reader #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn ff

[fanfic-corner]

Lesser Known Destiel Fics pt 2

Hi everyone! Here's the second part of Destiel fics which have fewer than 5,000 hits. I hope you enjoy them!

Once a Day by followthattardis (2.4k)

Castiel has just enough control left over his body and mind that he steps into the Ma’lak Box on his own.

L’Oréal Féria 1-Step Lightening System for Men by gayliens (2.5k)

His hair had been the same since he was eleven, a tight almost-buzz on the sides, a little longer on the top. Brown, unassuming, military-issue. Never long enough to fall in his eyes, not like whatever Sam had going on on that head of his. His face had been changed by thirty-something years of slicing and dicing, aging out of those delicate features. If he dropped dead now on the bathroom floor, the coroner wouldn’t call him pretty. But his hair stayed Ken-Doll-identical all the way through.

or: dean fucks up dying his hair. cas helps

Rinse, Repeat by Ias (3.3k)

He's killed Dean hundreds of times. What's one more?

Extra Sauce by anomalation (3.4k)

Cas confides in a poor unfortunate McDonald's cashier, who is a little shit and makes Dean jealous to prove a point. Nothing but fluff and gritty fast food realism.

Mary Winchester, Lesbian at Large by alectolee (4.2k)

Mary Winchester is a lesbian. She has no idea how to tell her children.

The Passion of the Christ (and his angelic ex-boyfriend) by Bzzee (4.9k)

Dean and Cas are happy in heaven until Cas's ex-boyfriend saunters in. Dean discovers you can be jealous in heaven and that, apparently, Jesus fucks.

New All Over Again by Castielslostwings (5.7k)

Dean and Cas as childhood sweethearts separated as teenagers who have been searching for each other for years without success. Against all odds, they reunite in the middle of Times Square at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

preaching to the choir by piesexuality (7.9k)

“So, tell us—are you a religious man?”

Steve grimaces. "It's, um. Complicated. Very complicated."

or, There's no way Castiel lived that close to BYU-Idaho without running into some Mormon missionaries.

Speak Silence No More by rea_of_sunshine (8k)

When Dean imagined this moment, it went like this:

Dean bursts into the Empty—guns blazing, chin high, righteous anger coursing through him. No matter what form his plans and fantasies and whiskey-drunk-whispered-promises took, he is always, always successful. When he imagined it, he was finally the hero Cas deserved.

The reality of the moment is this:

It’s fucking cold.

Veil by evol_love (8.1k)

Not that Ed keeps tabs on anyone from his past life as a paranormal investigator, but he’s about 99% sure he heard through the grapevine that Dean Winchester fucking died, so getting a text from him on a random Thursday inviting him to his wedding is in the top ten weirdest moments of his life. And that’s really saying something. Ed’s had weirder weird moments than most.

His first instinct is No, absolutely fucking not, why on earth did you even invite me we’re not friends and we haven’t spoken in six years, but. But.

Maybe he misses the weird a little.

the pie isn't a metaphor (it's just pie) by noviembre (9.3k)

“I watched the Garden of Eden grow out of the desert,” Cas informs him. “And I’ve read everything Stacy has written on Bumbling Bee Gardener dot net. But please, Dean, share your wisdom about apple horticulture.”

Every Road Leads To You by songbvrd (9.9k)

When Cas gets poisoned by a djinn and is unable to be woken, Dean gets sent into his head to wake him up.

While Dean is expecting something that's hard to pull Cas from, he never expected to find Cas married with kids and a dog.

Dean has to confront what all this means to him and Cas has to decide whether to stay or go.

Won't You Stay? by allmystars (18k)

A week before Christmas, a weekend with his brother, and a hike into the mountains shouldn’t change a single thing about Dean Winchester’s life. It’s just a trip, just to distract Sam from everything he’s lost.

But, when a blizzard blows in, stranding the Winchesters, Sam finds a crack in the rock-face, and everything changes.

A pit, and pain, and every broken thing inside Dean, discovered by angels.

Well, one angel. One powerless, exiled angel.

Angel Recovery Project by keylimepie (20k)

An ordinary woman attempts a very extraordinary spell and brings back the wrong angel. But he's here and he needs help, from sandwiches to love advice, so what else is a girl to do?

5 Times a Member of Team Free Will Kills John Winchester and the 1 Time he is Kicked out of Heaven by bisexualsharks & Hazloveshisboo & jeremycarver (21k)

The 5 times different members of TFW (and a few others) got the chance to murder John Winchester, and the 1 time he was kicked out of Heaven because it was too late to kill him.

These are all separate one-shots that are not connected or set in the same timeline.

No need for dreaming by AsphodeleSauvage (24k)

Castiel loves his job as a wedding photographer. He loves nothing more than to capture the pure love in a couple's eyes as they say 'yes' - soulmates or not soulmates, he doesn't care. Yet, he can't help wondering about his own soulmate and about the mark on his chest that promises him a love story for the ages. There is also the fact that he keeps bumping into the charming Dean Winchester at every wedding he goes to...

A Hard-Won Peace by patheticfangirl (28k)

“Afterlife” no longer means forgetting what happened during life.

In Heaven, Dean is tormented by peace and freedom until he reunites with an also-struggling Castiel. Together, they work through issues they couldn’t leave behind, hoping to find something resembling happiness.

Diagonally Parked in a Parallel Universe by TheBlackLagoon (37k)

Cas Novak can’t see an escape from the life of hunting. Even with the frequent pleas from Jessica to leave it all behind, where in the world is he supposed to fit in? Dean Winchester can’t see a life beyond pencil-pushing for the Men of Letter’s Midwest branch. Even with the responsibility he holds to upkeep his family name, is it really what he’s meant to do? The two duos meet on what appears to be an easy salt and burn but which quickly spirals out of control.

Just for the Holidays by Fallen_Angel_Meg (41k)

After going through some tough times, Jess, Castiel's best friend, decides the best thing for him to do is to get away for Christmas. She secretly signs up their shared house on a home exchange website and it doesn't take long for them to get some interest. Castiel ends up trading houses with Sam Winchester, despite his hesitations to do so. So now Castiel has to spend his Christmas alone in Lawrence, Kansas. Which isn't so bad because Castiel is looking for some alone time right now, not wanting to get romantically involved with anyone. That is, until he meets Dean Winchester and things get complicated.

And that's it! If you have any other fics with under 5k hits that you love — whether they be your own or your friend's — please share them with me! Often these fics are swept under the rug when the authors put so much time and effort into them, so I hope you enjoy reading them :)

#destiel #supernatural #spn #lina lore #fic recs #castiel #dean winchester #lesser known

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Three

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy/Ben.

Warnings: Language, angst.

W/C: 1,644

Ben turned to exit your room, leaving you standing like a moron, stuck on what to do. Fuck! Your ex always said you were shit with making tough choices. Said you always looked like you were forever stuck in a damn action, like a mannequin. He always saw the pain in your face as you struggled to decide. He’d clap his hands in front of you, and you’d look at him in annoyance. Then he’d choose for you, and that voice in your head would chime up.

Inadequate.

Useless.

Can’t even make a single decision for yourself.

Well, it wasn’t true, and you could. You pushed yourself. If you followed after Ben, you’d just have to get the box again. But if Ben left…No, the door was locked. Unless he broke the lock. Would he? Fuck!

Your clenched and unclenched your fists. Your heart raced in your chest, your body heating as you continued to struggle.

“Wait!”

Your voice sounded so strangled, so strained. From outside your hallway, you heard a huff. That seemed to snap you out of your mannequin state.

You rushed back up the chair and reached to grab the box, and once it was in your grip, you jumped down from the chair and ran out. Ben was making his way down your stairs.

You followed him as he headed into the living room. He bent to retrieve his shield. You shoved the box in Dean’s hands and hurried to pick the DVDs from your shelf. The Supernatural box set almost knocked the wind outta your chest as it fell into your grasp. You grabbed The Boys and Big Sky and dumped the sets on your coffee table. Ben had turned around at this point and was looking at your display with his signature look of disgust.

“The fuck is that?”

“I tried to tell you. You’re fictional.”

“What?”

You let your words sink in. Turning to Dean and Beau, you rubbed your forehead. This was not how you wanted them to find out, but Ben had forced your hand. You hadn’t planned on a way to tell them, it wouldn’t have been like this. You would have softened the blow.

You paced in the limited area.

His brow furrowed, deepening, his lip curled, he snarled. He picked up the DVD set with Butcher’s face on the cover.

“I knew I had to tell you. Not like this but— but shit…this world, my world. It’s the real world. And the same man plays each of you. Look.” You slipped your phone from your sweater pocket. Your hands trembled as you typed the name in, and then you passed the phone to Dean. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened, only to close a moment later. His head tilted to one side as he took in the information. There were those damn butterflies in your stomach again.

“It’s like that time Balthazar sent me to that alternate dimension.”

“Yeah, except this time, you’re not Jensen. Jensen is an actor who plays a character on screen. God, this makes no sense.”

Yeah, it made no sense. It was fucking insane. Jensen played Dean, Beau, and Ben. They shouldn’t even exist. Yet somehow, they were here.

“This ain’t makin’ a lick of sense, darlin’. You’re sayin’ we’re not real. None of us? Except you?”

“Exactly.”

“Yet, somehow, thanks to a picture frame, we are.”

You nodded.

Ben’s gruff pants pulled your attention to him. He had his fists tightly clenched, his eyes squeezed shut, and his chest heaved as he huffed breaths in and out. For someone so tough and brave, seeing him like this killed you.

Your hand reached out to comfort him. His eyes snapped open and shot you a glare. You pulled your hand back in fright.

“Fuck you. I’m real!” He spat and stormed off.

Your first instinct was to follow him. To smooth things over. Apologise.

“Ben!”

As you stepped towards the hallway, a hand rested on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

“Let him go, darlin’,” Beau said softly.

You watched Ben’s hulking frame leave your sight. Shaking your head, you turned to Beau. Dean was inspecting the box the frame came in.

“I can’t. He could break something. He could hurt himself.”

“Give him space to process.”

You pressed your lips together, grimacing, not fully agreeing with the Texan. Your eyes darted towards the hallway. God knows how he was feeling. Or what he was even thinking.

“You go in there, you’re just gonna make everything a million times worse. He needs space.” Dean said a matter-of-factly, looking at you momentarily.

You stood there, hand on a hip, chewing your bottom lip, finger twirling and tugging absentmindedly on the hair at the nape of your neck.

“You don’t know what he’s like.”

“And you think you do? Because you’ve seen him on TV.” Dean asked pointedly.

Wow.

Hurt flashed across your face. The air whooshed from your lungs as your mouth fell open.

Right here. Was reality. His words stung. Sure, they’d never affected you before. But that was because you were never on the receiving end. Reality struck. What the fuck did you think was gonna happen? That he would fall madly in love with you and live happily ever after?

You heaved in breaths as you stared at him. His words rang in your head over and over. Your ex’s voice collided – “You don’t know anything!” – making Dean’s jibe that little bit more painful. You felt your throat constrict painfully. You strengthened your resolve. There was no way you were crying in front of Dean or Beau.

“What the fuck do you know? You’ve barely been here ten seconds, and suddenly you think you know everything?”

You lashed out and stormed off, stomping up the stairs like a child having a tantrum. You slammed your bedroom door, huffing and puffing, pacing, fingers rubbing your temples. Fuck. A year after the divorce, your ex was still inside your head, finding ways to assert his control. And you were no better, throwing your ex’s words right back at Dean. Dean didn’t deserve it, of course. He had only been trying to help, and you’d gone and made it worse.

It was time to face the facts. You always made things worse. Everything you touched turned to shit.

You slumped on your bed, gripped your pillow, and stuffed your face into it. You screamed, releasing all your pent up anger and frustrations. The initial release felt cathartic as hell, but on the third, it just felt pathetic.

They were right. What the hell did you know? You didn’t. He was just a damn character off a dumb TV show. A show you took way too much of your time, consuming. Just to escape reality. It didn’t mean a damn thing.

You didn’t know Ben.

You didn’t know Dean.

Shit, you didn’t even know yourself half the time.

You brought your knees up, hugged them and sobbed. Great big chest heaving ugly sobs, clutching the pillow. Your mother was right. At thirty-six, you were a divorced loser with nothing to call your own except your dead dad’s house and a black cat.

Perhaps you were just being overly sensitive, melodramatic, or self-pitying, but the truth was the truth.

You mourned the breakup of your marriage, your dad, and your sad, pathetic existence. Fuck, you wished your dad was here. He always knew the right thing to say. He’d wipe your tears and tell you it would be if it was meant to be. He’d kiss your forehead, stroke your hair and then he’d tell you a corny joke only dads find funny, like – How do you get a country girl’s attention? A tractor.

You smiled and chuckled a little. He always knew how to cheer you up.

A soft knock roused you from your reverie, and you sniffed, wiping your tears from your cheeks, and eyes.

“Hey, you in here?”

“Yeah.” You called out, sounding so small.

The door opened, and Beau stepped in. He eased himself down beside you.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head.

“Talking does nothing.”

“Oh, I dunno ‘bout that. In my experience, talking does a world of good. So does a punch list. And breathing exercises.”

“Yeah, I know. You got Musk on there.”

Beau smiled and nudged you with his arm.

“So, come on, what’s really going on? I may not know you, but I can see there’s more inside than you’re letting on.”

You stared at the pillow in your hands. It had soaked up your tears. Soaked up your screams. Now, it was going to soak up your fears.

What to say? Your throat felt painful and tight, like something constricting your airways. You swallowed thickly, hands tightening their grip on the pillow.

“Last year, I got divorced. I’m thirty-six with no kids and a broken marriage. That’s my legacy.”

Beau shook his head.

“Hell no. That’s not your legacy. You’ve got plenty of life still left in you. There’s still plenty of time.”

He spoke kindly, softly.

“Divorces suck. I should know, and it’s only been a year. You’re still grieving. It’s natural. Your fears will only manifest if you let them. Don’t listen to the naysayers. Ignore them. They only feed into them. You’ve come this far. You’ve got so much further to go, and you know what? It gets easier. You just gotta take one day at a time.”

You smiled faintly, and he pulled you in a side hug. You said your thanks, and he smiled warmly.

“Come on, darlin’, let’s get back down there. Gotta check on Grumpy Captain America in the kitchen.”

You snorted and placed your pillow back on the bed. It seemed that he, too, possessed the ability to cheer you up, just like your dad used to.

Tags:

@deans-spinster-witch, @curlycarley

#The Choice #julesthequirky's fics #spn fanfic #reader insert #dean winchester #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #big sky #the boys #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #beau arlen x you #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x female reader

[zmediaoutlet]

you look like trouble (but i guess i do too)

for @wincestwednesdays - reputation

A motel, halfway between Washington and Kansas, cowboy-themed—or rather, cowgirl, since she's sitting pretty on the neon sign tipping her hat up and winking at people who'd be dumb enough to drive past. Cute enough to get past the almost rent-by-the-hour vibes, though it's not like those are unfamiliar, and inside the room Dean picks it's clean enough, and certainly cleaner than a lot of the places Dean's been staying in the last few months. No smell of sulfur, for one. That puts it pretty high on the list.

Sam's in the shower. Dean cracks the bottle of JD they got when they pulled into town and sits on the bed, and by the time the water creaks off—a long shower, by Sam's standards—he's made a pretty sizeable dent in it, and also into his current project.

The door opens with a decent billow of steam and a vision of Sam with a cheap white towel wrapped low around his hips, which is good enough to help alleviate the embarrassing skin-crawl Dean's been dealing with, the last twenty minutes, if not dissipate it entirely. He whistles and Sam rolls his eyes, going to dig one-handed through his bag. "Don't blame me for enjoying the show," Dean says, and Sam huffs but doesn't smile.

"What are you doing," he says. Kinda just saying it to say it. From his bag he pulls his pajama pants, that shirt he wears to sleep in. Rolls his right arm, free of the sling, and stands there holding his elbow, his face even in profile tight and strained.

Dean drains his glass, and sets it on the bedside table, and drops his phone on the mattress. "Texting hunters," he says. Sam's brow furrows and he looks over, and Dean shrugs. "Going through the rolodex, you know? Figuring out who we can still talk to."

Sam's brow clears and he stands up straight. His fist clenched in the towel. Too bad—but then, those kinds of shows, they don't always let you drink. He watches Sam's jaw flex and then also watches Sam clearly decide not to say the first thing that comes to mind. "You don't have to clean up my messes," he says, finally. Very even. Like Dean can't see his shoulders twitch. Only person Dean's ever known to throw more punches inside his head than otherwise.

They're not fighting, though. Ever since Dean's whole body washed clear, all the roiling smoke and salt and pain draining out of him like someone pulled the plug on a bath, so he was left just with the guilt and misery and Sam, six inches away, watching, desperate—Dean hasn't wanted to pick a fight. No matter what drags at the very back of his hindbrain, scratching.

"First of all," he says, easy, "that ain't true. You think the WC in the bunker just gets all sparkly by magic? I've seen things, Sam. Horrors." Sam's face kind of flinches and Dean smiles at him in the most annoying way he can muster, but then he shrugs, relaxed back against the stacked pillows. "But you aren't the only one who makes messes. Not sure you heard, but I was a demon."

Like acid in the throat to say. It's never actually funny, no matter how many times they repeat it.

Sam takes a deep breath. "I didn't tell anyone," he says.

"Doesn't mean word didn't get out," Dean says, and Sam's eyes close. Like he really didn't think about it. Singleminded, where Dean's concerned. Sometimes Dean can't believe it, the cold shock of what it means that Sam loves him back—but sometimes it's worrying, too. Like whatever demons Dean met or that Crowley used would just clam up and keep it under lock and key, or wouldn't tell whoever had them in a trap ringed with salt and holy water any nasty, humiliating, evil thing that Dean did—that he'd chosen to do—that had come up out of him, some place he didn't look at, that he'd kept closed in a box and refused and never wanted to believe he could ever even think of, much less put into action. The things that could be done to a person. Things you could do to yourself.

"Hey," Sam says, and Dean blinks and looks up and Sam's—there, sitting on the side of the bed by Dean's hip. His hand heavy on Dean's thigh, hot through the denim. "No one will believe it, man."

Dean tips his head back against the headboard. "You remember Walt and Roy?" he says, and Sam's mouth gets thin and flat. "Or—that girl, Tracy? People can believe a lot, Sam. Especially when it's true."

Sam turns his head. His hair's already curling at the ends, around his ears and at the back of his neck. Damp down his back. Even like this, thin from the months Dean was gone and pale with working too long through the night and tired, Dean just—can't get tired of looking at him. Starved after the months without and he can't get his fill.

"Before I stopped drinking," Sam says. Careful. Dean refocuses and Sam's looking at the half-empty bottle of whiskey. "I mean, before I stopped getting drunk. When you'd been gone… three weeks, maybe. I couldn't get a line on Leroy Baldwin. Remember him?" Takes Dean a second, but yes: white guy, hunted mostly crossroads demons, mostly in the bible belt. Asshole but got the job done, and you couldn't expect much more of most hunters. "I went out and found him. Alabama. He was working a job and didn't want to talk. Told him I was trying to track down the demon who'd killed my brother, and he said if I was that cut up about it, maybe I should get someone else to fuck me."

Dean's whole body flinches. Sneaking through the dark until a floodlight snaps on and catches him in his tracks. Sam swallows. "He was one of the ones I punched," he says, after a second, and Dean sits up and gets his hand on Sam's face and Sam closes his eyes, and turns in, and ducks his head down against Dean's shoulder. All damp-warm and smelling like mint from the shower. The curve of his neck hot against Dean's lips.

Crowley joked about it. In bed. Sucking Dean's dick and then lifting up and saying, not quite the same without those down-home charms, hm? and laughed when Dean kicked his shoulder and demanded he get back to it. After the triplets, when the scuttling sycophant demons cleared the bodies away, Crowley covering his back and whispering pretend it's whoever you want, darling, and Dean hadn't been thinking about anything other than getting off one more time but then he couldn't help remembering, and it was worse because Crowley was good, he'd made very sure of that, but it wasn't the same, and even if Dean's heart had been scabbed over and discarded he sure as hell knew the difference. Wondered if Crowley did. Or could.

Sam's hand slides from Dean's thigh to his hip. "Okay, so maybe we won't call Leroy," Dean says, and Sam kind of laughs and then he picks his head up and he kisses Dean, no pussyfooting around, no second-guessing. Dean grabs Sam's shoulders and opens up for it, flipped over. He thought Sam was—freaked, or upset, but he should've known better. All these years of knowing his brother. In short order he's on his back, hauled down with jeans slicking against the polyester comforter, and then there's—Sam leaning over him, and then his mouth dragging down the side of Dean's throat, and then—teeth—

"Christ," Dean puffs out, and feels Sam smile against his skin before he bites again, harder. Makes it hurt. He spreads his knees and Sam settles heavy there—his hand sliding up under Dean's shirt, making his stomach shudder—and the towel's pretty well given up the ghost but Dean tugs it out from between them anyway, and feels Sam's dick thick and getting thicker up against the inseam of his jeans, and his nuts heavy in his sack. Palms them there, feeling. God, how much he loves them. Just how soft, and tender, and full. What he'll give up, under Dean's hand. Although—he drags his heels up, bracketing Sam's thighs between his, and gets his other hand in Sam's hair, and tugs, and asks, "Hey—hey—your arm—?" Not wanting it over before it starts.

Sam pushes up over him, his eyes dark and his hair half-dry and wild around his face and his teeth bared, almost, his grin looks so wild. Dean's dick aches in his jeans. "My arm's good," he says, and grips Dean's crotch whole-handed and tight, defiant. Makes Dean arch into him, proving how much he means it. How much he always has.

#wincest wednesday #wincest #my writing #lisa leblanc is extremely canadian and kinda banjo-y #but she knows how to write people in confusing love #particularly in this part of s10 #where it's rough and hard-won and they're doing it anyway

[locke-esque-monster]

You know what I find really fascinating about the destiel confession? The entire discourse about if it's canon or not.

Let's ignore those who say Cas's speech wasn't romantic love for the purposes of this post (though I beg them to try to limitus test I've seen of giving that speech to a platonic friend or relative and it not being uncomfortably weird).

I'm talking about how the argument I've seen, both by Destiel shippers and non-shippers it isn't canon if Dean never responded.

And like yeah - that's fascinating.

First because it means everyone has their own definition of canon. Is it someone confessing their love to the person they're in love with? Is it both parties confessing? Is it a physical action like a kiss or sex? Do you have to have both the love confession and the physical act or will only one suffice? Is it someone acknowledging to themselves or another 3rd party their love for someone even if it's not to the person in question?

We all have our own definition of canon intrinsically and this one happens to fall in an incredibly loose gray area.

And that's because there's the other limbo of this confession in Dean's lack of response. I actually can think of no other example of a show that does anything like this (though if they exist I'd love to know). Any other show would have something definitive at some point of Dean acknowledging the sentiment. Dean confessing back. Dean telling Cas he loves him, but as a friend. Dean telling someone after Cas's death he was in love with Cas. Dean being confused by Cas's confession and him dealing with that love after the fact that he doesn't share. Dean acknowledging afterwards he doesn't know how he feels about Cas's confession. Quite literally - any verbal acknowledgement either during or after the fact this confession happened.

And it doesn't exist. It's Schrodinger's confession. Or maybe Schrodinger's response. We all (Destiel shippers) assume the cat is dead because all evidence points to the fact (it's been in the box 3 years after all). But there are factions pointing to the lack of proof because it isn't official because we haven't looked in the box. And frankly, a lot of people would love to look in the box, find out definitively, but it's not an option on the table. The box isn't in our hands to check.

So instead we treat it like a knock of "Shave and a haircut" without the two knock response. If there's a call, there has to be a response. And we all fill in what we assume the last two knocks are based on our own individual definitions of canon and fight over why our knocks don't match someone else's.

And, on top of that, Cas's confession is all about the being and not having. We can be in the moment and enjoy this ship is canon. But we also can't actually have it (it being a concrete response, a kiss, a happy ending) as much as Cas couldn't. It's prophetic - breaking the 4th wall by accident - it's something almost not quite nothing - regardless there's something about the parallel here that's telling about the ship itself.

So yes, while the shipper in me is eternally torn between this being somehow both terrible and great, the English major/secret TV critic in me finds this terribly fascinating.

#credit to a comment i saw today that called destiel only “canon” if you consider a stalker confessing their love a relationship #my soul died a little #like even if you don't ship it that's a disservice to cas's character and memory #and that inspired me clicking some existing discorse i had on the subject into me trying to understand that kind of response #or at least general fandom discourse bouncing around in my brain for awhile #spn meta #spn #supernatural discourse #supernatural #destiel #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #nov 5th #november 5th #november 5 2020 #schrodinger's cat

[autisticandroids]

anyway the thing about sam pov on toxic destiel is like. okay. list of things sam sees from the outside:

i think sam HAS to know that cas has a crush on dean. that seems too obvious not to have at least crossed his mind, and once you think of it it has a lot of explanatory power for cas' actions. sam might frame it in his head as cas is/was obsessed with dean but acknowledge that that has gay/crush-y undertones

this gets crazier the longer cas stayed dead after despair. like if he was dead a couple weeks it's a little like he wasn't gone at all but if our timeframe stretches to months or years that's a lot more time for dean's personhood to narrow down to the single point of "get cas back." which will affect both dean and cas' relationship when he is back and sam's perception of it

don't think sam really has an idea of dean having any feelings for cas. dean's feelings for cas are generally a private experience requiring significant interpretation so sam would not see them. he would just think of cas as dean's best friend

rest under a cut because good lord.

thinking about what sam has seen over the course of the show... he has missed a lot of crucial destiel moments both in terms of affection and also perhaps more pertinently in terms of conflict. like, i love to pull on the thread of the fact that he doesn't know dean kicked cas out of the bunker in i'm no angel, but like he also doesn't know the divorce arc happened. almost every emotionally significant moment between dean and cas has been totally private

so like what has sam perceived, really? well okay. chronological order: cas' behavior in the godstiel arc: cas perhaps being a little obsessed with dean, and definitely having a huge capacity to get his feelings hurt by turbulence in their relationship (with attendant capacity to lash out: sam is dean's bunny and cas will boil him if need be). additionally, in the godstiel arc cas proves himself to be like. extremely lovehungry, in general. next, dean being crazy post purgatory, which sam may or may not have picked up on as related to cas. next, cas defending dean and trying to repair the brothers' relationship in first born. this is something that sam would mostly probably have processed as deeply hurtful to him (sam) at the time, but in retrospect might see differently, especially with respect to the next incident he saw, stairway to heaven, in which cas proves very publicly that dean can do anything he wants to cas and cas will forgive him instantly. it seems like in season ten, see: soul survivor, cas might do some similar go-between buffer shit as in first born? it's less explicitly present on screen but i think the evidence of soul survivor plus cas' behavior in the back half of season nine is enough to speculate that season ten was a lot of that. we don't know how much sam saw in the aftermath of the prisoner; we know he mopped up the blood in a deleted scene but whether cas was still lying there when he came in is up to headcanon. i like both interpretations and haven't really picked one. in season eleven sam would have seen dean mother henning depressioncas and then freaking out over casifer. i don't know what he would have made of those but i do think it would strengthen his idea of the significance of their relationship. next thing he sees is stuck in the middle with you which is like. yeah if sam has been sitting on a hypothesis that cas has a crush on dean that's proof. then he would see the widower arc happen and see how losing cas really wrecked dean and getting him back totally fixed him. then i guess... cas' inability to recognize that he was truly on the outs with dean in absence? cas protecting jack by lying for him pre-absence, and cas standing up to dean for jack's sake in jack in the box/moriah. all of which would put sam in a complex emotional position because like. okay. cas trying to fix things in absence is from sam's perspective obviously foolish. cas trying to protect jack in jack in the box/moriah is also obviously foolish to sam because sam believes that resisting dean is an unwinnable battle but then like... cas kind of succeeds a little? and is definitely in the right. which is going to fuck up sam's head. he's not going to be sure what to do with that. and then cas hiding jack's soullessness pre-absence is going to fuck up sam's idea that cas is too dumb to know better than to behave this way. anyway the end of s14 is going to shake up sam's idea of cas and cas' relation to dean and cas' relation to sam a lot. and then dean's freakout post-despair. that's the evidence sam is working with to perceive cas and dean's dynamic

so the empty rescue goes like this: after the several-months timespan of inherit the earth, once the world is fixed, a year and a bit go by where first dean seems to be in a deep, silent depression and goes days without speaking to sam. and then sam realizes that dean has started researching how to get cas back in between bouts of drinking himself to sleep. sam offers help and is aggressively rebuffed. sam moves on with his life a little for a while, then is finally recruited into dean's obsession and brought into the research and rescue attempts. and eventually it works! after a year or so, cas is stumbling out of a gooey portal on the basement wall and collapsing on the floor

and dean is picking him up bridal style and carrying him to the room they prepared, and sam is just standing there watching this happen

for the next several weeks cas is convalescing in bed and dean is like. he's in there. he's in there all the time. sam knocks on the door once and dean blocks him from even seeing cas through the doorway. he's like. he's gotten territorial

cas is still an angel but he's functionally human for now, it could be months or even years before his grace replenishes enough that he doesn't have to eat or sleep you know

anyway. eventually cas is up and about. and sam sees him. occasionally. but he's still basically convalescent and dean is basically standing over his bed like a guard dog

at some point dean walks into the kitchen where sam is eating his cereal, announces "so me and cas are together now," and just walks back out again, leaving sam to just stare after him

break here because i got character limited. anyway.

the thing about this is that sam would parse this as. the thing is that the information dean has just given sam, as sam understands it, is "i have been in the closet for four decades." like dean has now recontextualized his entire life in sam's eyes. because sam now knows that dean has been In The Closet. sam right now is thinking back over shit like nick the siren and the whole benny debacle and being like. well. and like i think sam might assume that dean is gay? the thing about dean is that like. at this point it's been like six years since dean has hooked up with a woman. sam is still hooking up and having girlfriends but the one and only time dean had a long term relationship with a woman it was *checks notes* lisa. canonically, before lisa, dean had never had a relationship last longer than two months, and after lisa it's pretty much crickets. anyway salmondean are NOT going to have the "are you gay or bi?" conversation and in fact they will probably never, ever again have a conversation on the topic of sexuality. and so sam is just gonna sit there and stew in like, his own pity for dean, and his genuine recognition of the tragedy of dean's situation. like sam is also extremely aware of toxic masculinity and the way dean has struggled with it. he has frequently been the target of dean's toxically masculine bullying, but the thing about sam is he prides himself on not buying into his father and brother's toxic ideas (not totally true, but sam believes it), so the bullying mostly annoys him or rolls off him, but as part of his defense mechanisms against it, he already pities dean because dean buys into what sam recognizes as a toxic and bad system, and sam has to believe he (sam) is better than that in order to not be affected by the ways in which he (sam) is not suited for that system, so he has to look down on dean for buying in, in order to function himself. to be clear i think this is like a perfectly reasonable set of justifications one is inclined to generate if one is living with someone who is mean to one. it's like very much the "he can't help it he doesn't know better." which is i think sam's go to, for justifying the bad behavior of those around him. except with cas it's like "he's too Autism to know better" and with dean it's like "he's too Bamboozled By Our Father to know better." so sam is definitely reacting to dean with pity. but also dean's situation is genuinely tragic (deeply toxically masculine man takes forty years to finally stick one toe out of closet) so sam is very much processing that. and he's kind of in the back of his mind processing it For dean because dean is not visibly processing it at all, but sam knows that the processing must be Happening somewhere

sam never ever ever talks to dean about his relationship with cas. like. sam's not dumb enough to bring it up because he would get his ass kicked

he would ask cas about it though

okay so sidetrack. we have to talk about where cas is at. emotionally. because the thing about this situation is it's like simultaneously great and horrible. for cas. and cas being cas is going to plug his ears to the horrible stuff and only think about the good stuff. the thing about cas in this situation is that like. he's grieving jack. like he is knowingly grieving jack. and missing him. like if dean is resurrecting cas post despair, like. jack is functionally dead, at that point. like godjack is deadjack as far as cas is concerned. so cas is absolutely destroyed about that. and he's also terrified that his grief will be found out. and he also has a lot of background anxieties that kind of come from shit he's repressing. like, deep down, way under the hood, he's ashamed of the divided loyalties. he's ashamed that he has chosen dean over jack in the past, he's ashamed that he is currently right now in some way choosing dean over jack. he feels guilty that jack might in some way be out there and in need of his help and not actually functionally dead after all. and he is unable to deal with the idea that he could miss jack even when he has dean, like he can't deal with the idea that his world can be more than one other person to mold himself around. deepest of all he is so, so angry at dean (and sam!) for what they've done to jack, both in the context of letting jack become god and things before. but cas can't really process or acknowledge any of that. and so he just processes it as a vague miasma of anxiety. like it's very kleinian; cas feels this anger deep down at dean but he represses it and the anger is still there but the only way to see it is cas' like. fear of reciprocal anger. like he's so afraid all the time, and the reason he's afraid is that he's aware that he's angry on some level and he's afraid that dean is also aware of his anger and is mad at him in return. obviously none of this is conscious cas is just kind of anxious for no reason as far as he knows. plus it feeds into cas' anxiety re: he has dean now, and he has nothing else. like he has something to lose, but it's also The Only Thing, so he's clinging for dear life, which is a very anxious position to be in. but crucially cas is trying very hard to plug his ears and shout LALALALALALA to all the bad things and only pay attention to how happy it makes him to finally Have dean. anyway that's cas' emotional state during this fic

anyway from the outside, what sam sees is a cas who is like. quieter than usual, more subdued, but who absolutely lights up when dean comes up. like, from cas' end, dean is his one Safe Topic. dean and his current romantic relationship with dean is one of the few things he can really contemplate without hitting landmines. so from the outside cas would absolutely blossom when asked about dean

another government mandated break here.

oh it's also crucial that sam really doesn't see like. he doesn't understand about jack at all. like he can't really acknowledge the grief and guilt cas should be feeling (and doesn't, from the outside, seem to be), because like, if cas is on the hook for how dean treated jack, sam is really on the hook for how dean treated jack. like sam doesn't really see cas as More Jack's Dad than he is, and if sam is as much responsible for jack as cas is, then sam is doing a much worse job. and if godjack is a kind of death for jack, then that is absolutely sam's fault as well. so sam can't really like. use his logic to work out that cas is probably hiding some feelings about jack, because he can't acknowledge a lot of stuff going on

also like in sam's mind cas kind of won because he's been in love with dean for years? like sam has known about that. and sam understands cas as deeply lovehungry (to potentially a dangerous degree. remember when dean and cas had a breakup and cas lashed out by letting all of sam's hell trauma out of the box and into his brain?) and having been obsessed with dean for years and so kind of having like... won a war of attrition for dean's affection. like cas was so doggedly in love with dean that dean finally decided to accept him

anyway so cas is the person sam can ask about their relationship. and he is curious. and cas definitely gets all sunshiney about it and gives sam a very rose tinted account of things. this is partly because of all the issues enumerated earlier and partly because of like, a power dynamic that cas sees and sam doesn't where sam kind of outranks cas? and cas definitely feels like anything he says will be reported to dean. so he's definitely anxious to give sam a positive impression. this is also related to cas repressing shit, namely all the resentment built up over the years due to how horrendously dean has treated him. like cas cannot acknowledge it in any way but deep down, it's there, and that's another anxiety inducing thing, like the anger about jack. so cas has this nebulous fear of punishment that he can't name or really even acknowledge if he isn't the most grateful possible about how dean is soooo good to him and they're sooo in love. and so that's the face he shows to sam

that's all i've got so far?

#spn