masterlist
ঌ: contains smut

Kiana Khansmith
Claire Keane
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
wallacepolsom
dirt enthusiast

shark vs the universe
No title available

roma★
Acquired Stardust
trying on a metaphor
d e v o n

⁂
Xuebing Du

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

izzy's playlists!

oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
No title available
YOU ARE THE REASON
taylor price
seen from Jordan
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Czechia

seen from United States
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seen from Switzerland

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
@awkawrdgirl
masterlist
ঌ: contains smut
pov | dean winchester x reader
I wanna love me The way that you love me For all of my pretty and all of my ugly too I'd love to see me from your point of view
| synopsis: | one night, Dean decides to show you how perfect he thinks you are.
| includes: | dean winchester x fem!reader, no use of y/n, friends to lovers, established friendship, smut, porn with some plot lol, aftercare (awh)
| word count: | 1,863
| song inspo: | pov by ariana grande
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
You were usually better at leaving work at the office.
You prided yourself that no matter how bad the hunt was, you'd always try to look on the bright side of things. There was too much darkness in the world to let it shallow you whole.
Dean could tell this hunt had gotten under your skin. The way you quietly disassociated out the car window and didn't say a word through all three state lines. Normally, he'd have to threaten to throw you out within twenty minutes of the trip if you didn't stop mindlessly talking. Now, in the loud silence of the Impala racing down the highway, he longed to hear the sound of your soft giggles at his empty threats.
It didn't make you feel any better either, knowing that he had heard the entire monologue the demon had lain into you. How the evil creature chided you, revealing every one of your deepest scars.
A liability. A distraction. A nuisance. Waste of space. Nobody.
Every ugly thought that spun in the darkest depths of your mind was now out there after what happened tonight. And Dean had heard every single word of it.
You knew you didn't have anything to prove to the Winchester brothers. You'd proven yourself to be an asset to their team the moment your paths had crossed four years ago in the swamps of Louisiana. After saving both of their asses, neither of them thought twice when you climbed into the backseat of Baby and never left.
Dean spared a glance down at his watch. 2:37 a.m.
"How about we pull over at the next motel?" His voice came out hoarse, startling you out of your daze.
Your brows furrowed. "Isn't Sam expecting us back at Bobby's?"
"They'll survive." Was all Dean replied.
True to his word, Baby turned into the next motel parking lot five miles later.
You both fell into your normal post-hunt routine. Sam used to say it was weird how silently and synchronously you both moved. No words exchange, just bodies floating through space in a coordinated dance.
Weapons cleaned and packed away. Research tabbed and stored. Showers taken and bloodied clothes soaking in the sink.
Since there were no vacancies in any of the larger rooms, you and Dean lay shoulder to shoulder in the quaint full-size bed. The bitter November wind was persistent against the shutters. Its bone-chilling bite slipped through the thin cracks of broken window panes. Shivering, you silently cursed your clothes for laying in a pool of grim and dirt in the bathroom. You were left only in your underwear and bra, one step above Dean who was trying to hide his discomfort in his boxers.
"Do you think this thing's got bed bugs?" Dean asked. Even though it was nearly pitch black, you could make out his heavy gaze at the popcorn ceiling.
"Most definitely." You replied, keeping your eyes fixed on the water-stain above your head.
Flipping over onto your side to face him, you gazed at his tired features. "You know, we didn't have to stay here tonight. We could've gone back."
Dean shook his head but didn't return your stare. "Nah. It was a long day."
Your face burned in embarrassment. "Dean... about today..."
"We don't have to talk about it." He whispered your name softly.
Though you had put miles between yourself and that awful demon, it didn't stop the replay of the night's events playing over and over again in your head.
Bile rose in your throat at the memory of the black-eyed monster laughing at you. Teasing you. Mocking you.
"He'll never see you the way he sees all those other girls. Those girls have something special. You'll always be less than them." It had circled the two of you, bound together back-to-back on one of the barn's support posts.
"Dean Winchester will never love a worthless nobody like you." Was the last horrid sentence it uttered before Dean snapped the rope you had been filing and killed the wretched thing.
You were suddenly thankful for the room's darkness as uninvited tears pooled in your eyes. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you did your best to steel yourself.
You knew Dean. The days had turned into weeks, months, then years as you joined the Winchesters on their dangerous journey through the nightmares of the world. Earning your spot at their sides, both brothers had also gotten attached to you. The lightness and humanity you brought on every hunt never went unnoticed. It was something Dean appreciated, even if he'd never say it out loud. You knew when he needed to hear a corny joke after a rough day or when he just needed some quiet company when the day didn't go quite how they planned.
You also knew how he operated when it came to women. Sometimes, you'd wind up in a town where a mysterious girl at the bar or damsel in distress caught Dean's attention. When a fun time began to take a wary turn into something more, he couldn't get away fast enough.
There was no way you'd ever risk your friendship over some school-girl crush. You'd rather have stolen stares and a heavy heart than nothing at all.
You hadn't even realized a tear was sliding down your cheek until Dean's calloused fingers gently brushed the wetness from your face.
"Sweetheart, please don't cry." He whispered. The pained expression on his exhausted features was enough to bring another tidewave of tears to your eyes.
"I'm sorry for today. That you had to hear all of those things." You mumbled.
His laugh startled you. "You think that's why I don't want to talk about what happened today?"
"Well, yeah. The things that the demon said... I just—I don't want it to ruin the way things are." Your throat bobbed. "With us."
"And what are we?" He asked.
You suddenly realized how close the two of you had drifted. Merely inches from Dean's face, you could make out every small freckle that dusted his nose and subtle flecks of auburn in his hazel eyes.
"Friends." You swallowed hard. "We're friends."
Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his boyish grin. "You really have no idea, do you?"
His breath fanned across your cheek. Your thighs squeezed together as you did your best not to lean any closer and break the invisible wall.
"Any idea about what?" You asked.
"Fuck it." He muttered. Propping himself up on his elbows, his lips crashed into yours before you could utter a word.
Fuck, you'd daydreamed about this moment for as long as you could remember. The infinite hours of staring at the back of Dean's neck from the backseat of Baby. Wondering just how good it would feel with those hands around your neck.
It was better than you ever could have imagined.
Hot and impatient, Dean's toned frame hovered over yours. His hands were as greedy as his lips; wandering to every inch of your body like you were a treasure he was trying to uncover. You absentmindedly leaned into his warm touch and accidentally dragged your clothed pussy over his boxers.
"Easy there Sweetheart. I plan on taking my time." He groaned, gripping your hips.
The whine that left your lips as he retreated was quickly replaced by a moan while he peppered kisses down your neck. Nipping and sucking as he made his way down to that sensitive spot near your collarbone.
"Dean, fuck." You rasped. His teeth were rough against your skin and you couldn't help but smile at the thought of the deep purple mark you'll be branded with tomorrow.
"Do you know how fucking crazy you drive me?" Dean said. "How many times I wanted to tell Sam to fuck off so I could have 5 minutes alone with you?"
"But I don't—those girls that you..." You could barely finish your sentence, too distracted by his fingers playing with the thin waistband of your panties.
Tortuously, he lightly traced his fingers up and down the length of your swollen lips. A dark damp spot had already begun forming under his dangerous touch. Unashamed, you pressed against his palm and moaned.
"It was always you, baby." Dean's eyes were uncharacteristically soft while he gazed down at you. You rarely saw this side of him and the sight of seeing him so vulnerable, only for you, made your pussy throb.
Shoving your panties aside, his calloused fingers dipped inside your wet folds. You were suddenly thankful for the privacy of the shitty motel room as you groaned Dean's name like a prayer. The darkness became full of your whimpering moans and dripping pussy slamming against Dean's hand.
"That's it baby. Show me how bad you want it."
Stars twinkled in the corners of your vision as you shamelessly came all over his fingers. Giving you one last stroke, Dean slowly removed his glistening fingers. Your core burned like a wildfire while you watched him bring them to his mouth and suck off your cum.
With both of your under garments being shed in a clumsy heap on the floor, Dean dipped his head to your chest and twirled his tongue around your peaked nipples. Your eyes rolled back while his other hand ghosted the tip of his cock over your dripping hole.
"You're so beautiful. Always thought about you like this." He growled, pushing his cock into your tight opening.
Your hips bucked as he fucked into your pussy like the world was ending. He continued to whisper the dirtiest things in your ear with every stroke.
"Such a pretty girl, taking my dick so good."
"Think you can sit back there in your little shorts every day and not expect to get fucked."
"Wanted to bend you over the table in that fucking library."
Every sentence made your walls flutter around him. Cock drunk, you mumbled incoherent moans and broken syllables of Dean's name as he fucked you into the cheap motel mattress. His fingers dug into the flesh on your ass to tilt you up towards him—the new angle allowing him to hit your g-spot.
"Come on, Sweetheart. Cum all over my cock like a good girl."
His permission was all you needed, a wave of pleasure racking through your entire body. Your vision went black with every pulse of your pussy gripping Dean's cock. You could feel Dean's dick begin to twitch inside your pulsing walls. Within seconds of your orgasm, Dean fumbled to pull out of you—cumming all over your stomach and tits.
"One second baby." Dean quickly rolled out of bed and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. You watched him in awe as he gently cleaned you up, making sure to kiss every blossoming bruise on your sensitive skin.
Once you were cleaned up, Dean looped an arm around your waist and tugged you into him, his chest pressed into your back. He placed a light kiss on the top of your head.
"Dean?" You whispered into the dark.
"Shh, I can feel your worrying."
"I don't want to lose you."
"Sweetheart, you've had me longer than you know."
start over | dean winchester x reader
Your tears falling hard on my shoulder
Don't leave, I don't want to start over
Can't you see I've been waiting for you?
Don't leave, I don't want to start over
| synopsis: | your memories of him may be gone but Dean would never let you forget.
| includes: | dean winchester x fem!reader, no use of y/n, angst, pining, found family, friends to lovers, (temporary) memory loss, swearing
| word count: | 2,269
| timeline: | s5 of supernatural
| song inspo: | start over by 5 seconds of summer
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
“Would it kill you to use your wipers maybe once?”
Dean rolled his eyes. It was the fifth time you'd made that request in the past twenty minutes. Even as pounding rain hammered against the Impala while your trio raced down the highway, Dean continued to act as if it were sixty degrees and sunny outside.
“Sweetheart, you ask me that one more time and you'll be walking.”
You sighed dramatically, leaning forward from the backseat between the Winchester brothers. “Hmm, would I rather walk and get a little wet or die in a fiery car wreck because someone didn't take driver's ed?”
Just to nail the coffin a little harder, you made the most thoughtful expression you could muster while stroking your chin with two fingers. Beside you, Sam couldn't help but laugh.
“Keep up those smart comments and we'll see just how much you don't mind the walk. His words were stern, but the corners of his lips twitched in amusement.
Ever since you joined the Winchesters' fight for humanity a few years ago, you'd never been able to shake the subtle chill that coated your insides every time the Impala raced toward the next battleground. Joking around and pushing Dean's buttons always helped ease the relentless anxiety that came with the job.
Tonight felt different. Though you couldn't exactly figure out why, everything felt slightly wrong as Dean put Baby in park.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” You swallowed hard.
The dilapidated farmhouse loomed before you like a bad omen through the mist and rain.
“Let's go, Solo. Sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get the hell out of here." Dean pushed open the car door and jumped out.
Sam paused for a moment before following him. He turned toward you instead. “You okay?”
Shoving the impending dread down your throat, you forced a shaky smile. “Yeah. Probably just tired. Let's go before Dean takes all the glory.”
Your parents had always told you to trust your gut.
Even after all these years, the lesson had stuck with you. It guided you through choosing a college, impulsively moving to New York, and accidentally stumbling across a poltergeist while waitressing in a tiny Italian restaurant in Midtown Manhattan.
That was how you met the Winchesters.
A thunderstorm had trapped a packed dining room full of customers and exhausted wait staff inside the restaurant while the lights flickered overhead. Dean and Sam had spent the week posing as health inspectors, asking strange questions and lurking around the kitchen.
Then the screaming started.
After the dust settled and the ghost was gone, neither Dean nor Sam hesitated when you slid into the backseat of the Impala with a stuffed duffel bag and a hopeful smile.
It took time to earn your place beside them. Sam trusted you quickly. Dean didn't.
Maybe it was because you'd rejected his cheesy pickup line the night you met. Or maybe Dean Winchester had simply gotten too good at keeping people at arm's length.
You noticed it anyway.
The way he'd scoot farther into a diner booth so your legs wouldn't brush.
The way he'd suddenly remember he needed to work on Baby whenever the two of you were alone too long.
The way he'd edge toward the far side of a motel mattress when it was your turn to share.
You'd be lying if you said it didn't sting. Because no matter how hard you tried to fight it, your heart still seized every time you looked at him.
After a hunt. Bent over Baby's engine. Fresh out of the shower with damp hair curling against his forehead. It didn't matter. You loved Dean Winchester so deeply it sometimes felt like another wound to carry.
Thunder cracked overhead as you climbed the farmhouse porch. Wind whistled through broken shutters while rain pounded against the roof hard enough to shake the old house. You just hoped the storm would be enough to mask your footsteps.
Splitting up, you headed upstairs while Sam and Dean took the first floor. The staircase groaned beneath your boots. Every floorboard felt ready to collapse under your weight as the storm raged outside.
Then a bitter chill ran down your spine. That's when your footing slipped.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
dean's pov
Dean barely had time to process the sound of your fall upstairs before the demon attacked. A sick feeling twisted in his stomach instantly. He should've listened to you. It wasn't like you to hesitate before a hunt.
Michael circled Dean and Sam slowly, a grin stretching across his face. “Well, how lovely of you boys to drop in.”
Dean tightened his grip around the blade in his hand. “Just thought we'd welcome you to the neighborhood. Real charming place.”
Michael chuckled softly. “Dean, it's been too long. Haven't you been a busy bee?”
“Fuck you.”
“Now, now.” Michael stepped closer. “That's no way to speak to an angel of the Lord.”
Dean barely heard him; his eyes scanned the room instead.
Where were you?
Michael noticed the shift in his attention immediately.
“See, you could've made things easier on everyone if you'd just said yes.” He sighed dramatically. “But you've become distracted. Too invested in things that don't matter.”
On cue, two demons dragged you into the room. Dean's breath caught instantly. Blood streamed down the side of your face, already drying beneath a blooming black eye. Your clothes were torn, wrists restrained behind your back. Even now, it was obvious you hadn't gone down without a fight.
Then you lifted your head and gave him a reassuring smile.
Dean thought it might kill him.
“What are you doing?” he asked hollowly.
“Showing you the importance of choice.” Michael strolled toward you casually. “Though I must say, she is quite the distraction.”
“Get away from her.” Dean gripped the blade so tightly he thought his knuckles might split open.
Michael ignored him completely. “Time for a practice run, kiddo.” He rested a hand against your bruised cheek. “Your choice. You say yes to me... or I erase every memory she has of you and your little adventures with the Hardy Boys.”
All the color drained from Dean's face. “No.”
Michael tilted his head mockingly. “Oh, I think I can.”
“Dean.” Your voice cracked softly behind him.
Dean looked at you again. Tears mixed with the blood on your face as you held his stare.
“It's okay.”
“No.” He shook his head immediately. “No, it's not.”
“You have to do it.”
Dean understood exactly what you meant. Buy them more time. Save Sam. Save the world. Even if it cost you everything.
Dean didn't realize he was crying too until he tasted salt on his lips.
“I swear to God if you hurt her—”
“Oh, Dean.” Michael smiled coldly. “When will you learn He isn't coming?”
Michael's hands settled against your temples and then both of you disappeared into the storm.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
four months later
dean's pov
“I thought humans frowned upon this sort of behavior.”
“Cass, shut up.”
“I've found they become uncomfortable when watched for extended periods of time.”
“Cass, I swear to God, if you don't shut up—”
“Dean,” Sam interrupted from the backseat, “he has a point.”
Dean didn't answer. His grip remained steady on the old Marine binoculars as he watched you climb the library steps with two friends beside you.
You looked different now. Softer somehow, like the world had finally stopped trying to kill you. The summer breeze tugged at your sundress while you laughed at something your friend said, sunlight warming your skin.
Dean had almost forgotten what you looked like outside of motel rooms and blood-soaked hunts.
Then you turned toward the street. Toward him.
For one impossible second, Dean swore your eyes met his through the windshield. His breath caught.
But then your friend called your name and you walked away.
Again.
Defeat settled heavily in Dean's chest as he drove a few blocks toward the antique shop.
Ever since Michael erased your memories, the brothers had kept tabs on you from a distance. Cas checked in occasionally too, hoping for signs that maybe the memories were returning.
Nothing ever happened.
When you'd moved back to the city a week earlier, Dean jumped at the first case he could use as an excuse to stay close to you.
The hunt itself was easy. A vengeful spirit haunting an antique shop and killing tourists. Normally, it would've been too small-time to bother with while the apocalypse loomed overhead; but Sam knew this case had never really been about the ghost.
As night fell, the three of them slipped into the darkened shop. Dust coated every surface. Shelves overflowed with antique mirrors, porcelain dolls, and stacks of warped vinyl records. The air smelled like mildew and old paper.
“Dean, behind you!” Sam's warning came a second too late.
The spirit slammed into Dean, claws tearing across his back hard enough to send him crashing into a shelf.
Glass cases shattered around him. Pain exploded through his spine as the spirit lunged again.
The shotgun blast nearly deafened him. Salt burst through the air where the spirit had stood seconds earlier.
Dean blinked hard, already opening his mouth to complain about Sam's timing.
Then he saw you.
Standing there that pale sundress with his shotgun tucked perfectly against your shoulder. Like muscle memory, like you'd done it a thousand times before.
Dean forgot how to breathe.
He whispered your name before he could stop himself.
Your brows furrowed immediately.
“How do you know my name?”
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
your pov
"How do you know my name?" You asked again.
Your chest heaved as you stared at the injured man in front of you. Blood soaked through the back of his jacket, but he barely seemed to notice. Instead, he looked at you like you'd just handed him the entire world.
“I—” He swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
You ignored the strange ache in your chest as you helped him stand. His weight nearly knocked you off balance.
“How did you even get here?” He asked.
“I saw you and those other guys coming in here earlier this week.”
A crooked grin tugged at his lips despite the blood loss. “So you were following us?”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. Because yes, you had been. After spotting him watching you from a black car outside work, your curiosity got the better of you. Instead of calling the cops like a sane person, you'd started trailing him around the city.
“What was that thing?” You asked quickly, avoiding the question.
“Angry spirit.” He winced. “Bad manicure too.”
“How did I know how to kill it?” The weapon had settled into your grip naturally.
The stranger stepped closer cautiously, close enough now that you could see the freckles scattered across his face beneath the dirt and exhaustion. A wave of warmth flooded through your body unexpectedly.
“It's hard to explain,” He said.
Breaking the invisible barrier between you, it was your turn to step closer. Your chests nearly touched as you tilted your head up defiantly.
“Try me.”
Dean stared at you for a long moment without speaking. Up close, you could see exhaustion carved into every part of him; in the shadows beneath his eyes, in the tension locked into his jaw, in the way his breathing seemed uneven like he was holding himself together by force alone. It made your chest tighten for reasons you couldn’t explain.
“You really don’t remember me?” He asked quietly.
Something about the question hurt more than it should have.
You shook your head. “Should I?”
Dean let out a humorless laugh and glanced toward the floor before looking back at you again. His eyes looked unbearably familiar.
“You used to know everything about me.” Dean whispered.
Before you could respond, Dean's hand touched your cheek. Your pulse stumbled.
And then he kissed you. Tentative at first, like he was terrified you might disappear again if he held on too tightly.
Your fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his leather jacket before your mind could catch up with your body. The second that happened, something cracked open inside you.
Images flashed behind your eyes so quickly they barely felt real.
The Impala speeding down empty roads at night. Greasy diner food at two in the morning after a long hunt. Dean laughing with his head thrown back over some ridiculous joke you'd made. Motel room televisions humming softly in the background while you tabbed and stored research with Sam. Your hand covered in blood that wasn’t yours. Dean teaching you to shoot. Sam teasing the two of you relentlessly from the front seat.
Then came the farmhouse.
Rain.
Michael.
Dean’s voice screaming your name.
You pulled away sharply with a gasp, stumbling backward as the memories crashed into you all at once, vivid enough to make your head spin. A hand flew to your mouth as tears burned unexpectedly behind your eyes.
“Oh my God.”
Dean looked wrecked standing there, like he was already preparing for you to disappear again.
But then you looked at him, really looked at him, and suddenly four missing months slammed painfully back into place.
“Dean,” You whispered, voice breaking.
The expression on his face collapsed instantly. Relief hit him so hard it almost looked painful as he grabbed you again, pulling you against him while a shaky laugh escaped somewhere from deep in his chest.
This time when he kissed you, you remembered him completely.
And the world finally went quiet.
masterlist
ঌ: contains smut
start over | dean winchester x reader
Your tears falling hard on my shoulder
Don't leave, I don't want to start over
Can't you see I've been waiting for you?
Don't leave, I don't want to start over
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
| synopsis: | your memories of him may be gone but Dean would never let you forget.
| includes: | dean winchester x fem!reader, no use of y/n, angst, pining, found family, friends to lovers, (temporary) memory loss, swearing
| word count: | 2,269
| timeline: | s5 of supernatural
| song inspo: | start over by 5 seconds of summer
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
“Would it kill you to use your wipers maybe once?”
Dean rolled his eyes. It was the fifth time you'd made that request in the past twenty minutes. Even as pounding rain hammered against the Impala while your trio raced down the highway, Dean continued to act as if it were sixty degrees and sunny outside.
“Sweetheart, you ask me that one more time and you'll be walking.”
You sighed dramatically, leaning forward from the backseat between the Winchester brothers. “Hmm, would I rather walk and get a little wet or die in a fiery car wreck because someone didn't take driver's ed?”
Just to nail the coffin a little harder, you made the most thoughtful expression you could muster while stroking your chin with two fingers. Beside you, Sam couldn't help but laugh.
“Keep up those smart comments and we'll see just how much you don't mind the walk. His words were stern, but the corners of his lips twitched in amusement.
Ever since you joined the Winchesters' fight for humanity a few years ago, you'd never been able to shake the subtle chill that coated your insides every time the Impala raced toward the next battleground. Joking around and pushing Dean's buttons always helped ease the relentless anxiety that came with the job.
Tonight felt different. Though you couldn't exactly figure out why, everything felt slightly wrong as Dean put Baby in park.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” You swallowed hard.
The dilapidated farmhouse loomed before you like a bad omen through the mist and rain.
“Let's go, Solo. Sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get the hell out of here." Dean pushed open the car door and jumped out.
Sam paused for a moment before following him. He turned toward you instead. “You okay?”
Shoving the impending dread down your throat, you forced a shaky smile. “Yeah. Probably just tired. Let's go before Dean takes all the glory.”
Your parents had always told you to trust your gut.
Even after all these years, the lesson had stuck with you. It guided you through choosing a college, impulsively moving to New York, and accidentally stumbling across a poltergeist while waitressing in a tiny Italian restaurant in Midtown Manhattan.
That was how you met the Winchesters.
A thunderstorm had trapped a packed dining room full of customers and exhausted wait staff inside the restaurant while the lights flickered overhead. Dean and Sam had spent the week posing as health inspectors, asking strange questions and lurking around the kitchen.
Then the screaming started.
After the dust settled and the ghost was gone, neither Dean nor Sam hesitated when you slid into the backseat of the Impala with a stuffed duffel bag and a hopeful smile.
It took time to earn your place beside them. Sam trusted you quickly. Dean didn't.
Maybe it was because you'd rejected his cheesy pickup line the night you met. Or maybe Dean Winchester had simply gotten too good at keeping people at arm's length.
You noticed it anyway.
The way he'd scoot farther into a diner booth so your legs wouldn't brush.
The way he'd suddenly remember he needed to work on Baby whenever the two of you were alone too long.
The way he'd edge toward the far side of a motel mattress when it was your turn to share.
You'd be lying if you said it didn't sting. Because no matter how hard you tried to fight it, your heart still seized every time you looked at him.
After a hunt. Bent over Baby's engine. Fresh out of the shower with damp hair curling against his forehead. It didn't matter. You loved Dean Winchester so deeply it sometimes felt like another wound to carry.
Thunder cracked overhead as you climbed the farmhouse porch. Wind whistled through broken shutters while rain pounded against the roof hard enough to shake the old house. You just hoped the storm would be enough to mask your footsteps.
Splitting up, you headed upstairs while Sam and Dean took the first floor. The staircase groaned beneath your boots. Every floorboard felt ready to collapse under your weight as the storm raged outside.
Then a bitter chill ran down your spine. That's when your footing slipped.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
dean's pov
Dean barely had time to process the sound of your fall upstairs before the demon attacked. A sick feeling twisted in his stomach instantly. He should've listened to you. It wasn't like you to hesitate before a hunt.
Michael circled Dean and Sam slowly, a grin stretching across his face. “Well, how lovely of you boys to drop in.”
Dean tightened his grip around the blade in his hand. “Just thought we'd welcome you to the neighborhood. Real charming place.”
Michael chuckled softly. “Dean, it's been too long. Haven't you been a busy bee?”
“Fuck you.”
“Now, now.” Michael stepped closer. “That's no way to speak to an angel of the Lord.”
Dean barely heard him; his eyes scanned the room instead.
Where were you?
Michael noticed the shift in his attention immediately.
“See, you could've made things easier on everyone if you'd just said yes.” He sighed dramatically. “But you've become distracted. Too invested in things that don't matter.”
On cue, two demons dragged you into the room. Dean's breath caught instantly. Blood streamed down the side of your face, already drying beneath a blooming black eye. Your clothes were torn, wrists restrained behind your back. Even now, it was obvious you hadn't gone down without a fight.
Then you lifted your head and gave him a reassuring smile.
Dean thought it might kill him.
“What are you doing?” he asked hollowly.
“Showing you the importance of choice.” Michael strolled toward you casually. “Though I must say, she is quite the distraction.”
“Get away from her.” Dean gripped the blade so tightly he thought his knuckles might split open.
Michael ignored him completely. “Time for a practice run, kiddo.” He rested a hand against your bruised cheek. “Your choice. You say yes to me... or I erase every memory she has of you and your little adventures with the Hardy Boys.”
All the color drained from Dean's face. “No.”
Michael tilted his head mockingly. “Oh, I think I can.”
“Dean.” Your voice cracked softly behind him.
Dean looked at you again. Tears mixed with the blood on your face as you held his stare.
“It's okay.”
“No.” He shook his head immediately. “No, it's not.”
“You have to do it.”
Dean understood exactly what you meant. Buy them more time. Save Sam. Save the world. Even if it cost you everything.
Dean didn't realize he was crying too until he tasted salt on his lips.
“I swear to God if you hurt her—”
“Oh, Dean.” Michael smiled coldly. “When will you learn He isn't coming?”
Michael's hands settled against your temples and then both of you disappeared into the storm.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
four months later
dean's pov
“I thought humans frowned upon this sort of behavior.”
“Cass, shut up.”
“I've found they become uncomfortable when watched for extended periods of time.”
“Cass, I swear to God, if you don't shut up—”
“Dean,” Sam interrupted from the backseat, “he has a point.”
Dean didn't answer. His grip remained steady on the old Marine binoculars as he watched you climb the library steps with two friends beside you.
You looked different now. Softer somehow, like the world had finally stopped trying to kill you. The summer breeze tugged at your sundress while you laughed at something your friend said, sunlight warming your skin.
Dean had almost forgotten what you looked like outside of motel rooms and blood-soaked hunts.
Then you turned toward the street. Toward him.
For one impossible second, Dean swore your eyes met his through the windshield. His breath caught.
But then your friend called your name and you walked away.
Again.
Defeat settled heavily in Dean's chest as he drove a few blocks toward the antique shop.
Ever since Michael erased your memories, the brothers had kept tabs on you from a distance. Cas checked in occasionally too, hoping for signs that maybe the memories were returning.
Nothing ever happened.
When you'd moved back to the city a week earlier, Dean jumped at the first case he could use as an excuse to stay close to you.
The hunt itself was easy. A vengeful spirit haunting an antique shop and killing tourists. Normally, it would've been too small-time to bother with while the apocalypse loomed overhead; but Sam knew this case had never really been about the ghost.
As night fell, the three of them slipped into the darkened shop. Dust coated every surface. Shelves overflowed with antique mirrors, porcelain dolls, and stacks of warped vinyl records. The air smelled like mildew and old paper.
“Dean, behind you!” Sam's warning came a second too late.
The spirit slammed into Dean, claws tearing across his back hard enough to send him crashing into a shelf.
Glass cases shattered around him. Pain exploded through his spine as the spirit lunged again.
The shotgun blast nearly deafened him. Salt burst through the air where the spirit had stood seconds earlier.
Dean blinked hard, already opening his mouth to complain about Sam's timing.
Then he saw you.
Standing there that pale sundress with his shotgun tucked perfectly against your shoulder. Like muscle memory, like you'd done it a thousand times before.
Dean forgot how to breathe.
He whispered your name before he could stop himself.
Your brows furrowed immediately.
“How do you know my name?”
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
your pov
"How do you know my name?" You asked again.
Your chest heaved as you stared at the injured man in front of you. Blood soaked through the back of his jacket, but he barely seemed to notice. Instead, he looked at you like you'd just handed him the entire world.
“I—” He swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
You ignored the strange ache in your chest as you helped him stand. His weight nearly knocked you off balance.
“How did you even get here?” He asked.
“I saw you and those other guys coming in here earlier this week.”
A crooked grin tugged at his lips despite the blood loss. “So you were following us?”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. Because yes, you had been. After spotting him watching you from a black car outside work, your curiosity got the better of you. Instead of calling the cops like a sane person, you'd started trailing him around the city.
“What was that thing?” You asked quickly, avoiding the question.
“Angry spirit.” He winced. “Bad manicure too.”
“How did I know how to kill it?” The weapon had settled into your grip naturally.
The stranger stepped closer cautiously, close enough now that you could see the freckles scattered across his face beneath the dirt and exhaustion. A wave of warmth flooded through your body unexpectedly.
“It's hard to explain,” He said.
Breaking the invisible barrier between you, it was your turn to step closer. Your chests nearly touched as you tilted your head up defiantly.
“Try me.”
Dean stared at you for a long moment without speaking. Up close, you could see exhaustion carved into every part of him; in the shadows beneath his eyes, in the tension locked into his jaw, in the way his breathing seemed uneven like he was holding himself together by force alone. It made your chest tighten for reasons you couldn’t explain.
“You really don’t remember me?” He asked quietly.
Something about the question hurt more than it should have.
You shook your head. “Should I?”
Dean let out a humorless laugh and glanced toward the floor before looking back at you again. His eyes looked unbearably familiar.
“You used to know everything about me.” Dean whispered.
Before you could respond, Dean's hand touched your cheek. Your pulse stumbled.
And then he kissed you. Tentative at first, like he was terrified you might disappear again if he held on too tightly.
Your fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his leather jacket before your mind could catch up with your body. The second that happened, something cracked open inside you.
Images flashed behind your eyes so quickly they barely felt real.
The Impala speeding down empty roads at night. Greasy diner food at two in the morning after a long hunt. Dean laughing with his head thrown back over some ridiculous joke you'd made. Motel room televisions humming softly in the background while you tabbed and stored research with Sam. Your hand covered in blood that wasn’t yours. Dean teaching you to shoot. Sam teasing the two of you relentlessly from the front seat.
Then came the farmhouse.
Rain.
Michael.
Dean’s voice screaming your name.
You pulled away sharply with a gasp, stumbling backward as the memories crashed into you all at once, vivid enough to make your head spin. A hand flew to your mouth as tears burned unexpectedly behind your eyes.
“Oh my God.”
Dean looked wrecked standing there, like he was already preparing for you to disappear again.
But then you looked at him, really looked at him, and suddenly four missing months slammed painfully back into place.
“Dean,” You whispered, voice breaking.
The expression on his face collapsed instantly. Relief hit him so hard it almost looked painful as he grabbed you again, pulling you against him while a shaky laugh escaped somewhere from deep in his chest.
This time when he kissed you, you remembered him completely.
And the world finally went quiet.
the prophecy | dean winchester x reader
Please I've been on my knees Change the prophecy Don't want money, just someone who wants my company Let it once be me Who do I have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy?
| synopsis: | somehow, you always ended up being everyone's second choice. but maybe you were just looking in all the wrong places.
| includes: | dean winchester x fem!reader, no of y/n, angst
| word count: | 4,468
| timeline: | s1 & s2 of supernatural
| song inspo: | the prophecy by taylor swift
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
You'd think you would be used to the cloudy haze suffocating your lungs as you wove your way through the thick crowd. Cigarette smoke and something you could only describe as putrid male body odor burned your nose. Still though, even as you stepped over a pile of—you don't even want to guess what—it had been a rough day. Hell, this hunt had been a rough few weeks. The demon who you and the brothers had been hunting, which ended up being a skinwalker disguising as the chief of police, had led you on a wild goose chase for nearly a month.
Everything felt too small after hunts like this. The tiny, dingy motel room with an even tinier bathroom where the water never reaches above room temperature at best or the backseat of Baby where every time you tried to stretch your legs, you'd end up kneeing Sam in the back. So it was going to take a lot more than a crowd of disorderly, drunk old men and sticky floors to scare you three away.
Sliding into a corner booth next to Dean, you pushed the beer you had swiped when the bartender wasn't looking into the center of the table. Nobody said a word as the contents of your bottles were drained in seconds.
"So, where to next?" You said breaking the silence.
"Christ sweetheart, don't make me shove you in the trunk." Dean muttered.
You bumped your shoulder into his, ignoring the usual hum that rattled through your bones every time your body connected with his. "Ha ha, what's wrong? Getting tired, old man?"
Though you were only two years younger than him, that never stopped you from finding any opportunity to tease him. You're not sure what it was about the eldest Winchester but you always found yourself waiting for him to smile. It was an added bonus if you just so happened to be the cause of it.
"Watch it princess or you're walking back to the motel." He threatened, sending you a cheeky wink.
"Actually, I think I might know where we're going next." Sam sighed indignantly, opening up his duffel to grab some crinkled newspapers.
He slid the headlines across the table to you and Dean. The bold text read something about a local teen disappearing during the middle of the school day. None of their teachers, friends, or any of the other faculty saw the kids leave the building from any of the main exits. All of the security cameras caught them going into the bathroom but never coming out. This was the fourth student to go missing in the past two months.
Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes caught on the name of the high school.
Your high school in your hometown.
The beer began to taste stale in your throat and it was an effort not to vomit it up all over Sam's research.
Words caught in your throat as you stared down at the black and white photo of the town you had once called home.
It wasn't like you didn't catch yourself daydreaming out Baby's window. Picturing yourself in one of the many homes you passed in one of the many quaint neighborhoods. A wraparound porch with one of those old, rickety swings; an enormous bay window for your pretend cat to sun bathe; maybe even a tiny version, or two, of you racing around the front lawn.
Sometimes Dean managed to weasel his way into your fantasies too. Him standing over a grill, flipping burgers in one of those ridiculously cliche aprons or tinkering with Baby in your garage late at night after the kids went to sleep.
That life, the porch, the cat—it had all almost been within reach once. But time was cruel and it was certainly never on your side.
"How do we know these kids aren't just ditching out the window?" Dean asked, shifting through the wrinkled pages.
Sam shook his head at his brother. "I don't think so, man. None of these kids showed up at home or around town. Something doesn't seem right."
The familiar feeling of dread mixed with a bitterness you hadn't felt in years roiled in your stomach as Dean gave a heavy sigh.
"Alright. So, I guess we'll check it out."
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
You were silent for the rest of the night at the bar and the entire drive back to the motel. Both Sam and Dean had asked if you were okay a few times but you just brushed it off as being tired from the day's events.
Dean had parked the Impala outside of the motel room almost a half hour ago, yet you still couldn't bring yourself to go inside. Instead, you stayed perched on Baby's trunk staring up at the starry sky.
"Thought you might've froze to death."
Whether it was exhaustion or anticipation clouding your senses, you didn't think twice before you grabbed your knife and whipped around to press it against your assailant's throat.
"Woah, woah easy, crazy." The freshly sharped blade sliced a thin trail of blood down Dean's neck. "I don't get kinky like that until after dinner."
"Jesus—Dean. You fucking scared me." You slipped the knife back into its sheath and went back to gazing up at the stars.
On any other night, this would have been your dream. You longed for the off-chance you could have alone time with him. His attention solely on you; not the hot blonde bartender or sexy redheaded detective in whatever state you found yourselves in. Just you and him.
Tonight was different. For the first time in the three years, you would rather be alone than have Dean at your side. You faced things from the darkest parts of the shadows that would make other people want to hide away for the rest of their lives. But this, real feelings and real memories, that was a nightmare you'd rather keep to yourself.
Dean’s jaw ticked. He lit a cigarette he didn’t smoke as he continued to watch you get lost in the stars.
Most people in your field knew who the Winchesters were. And, more importantly, they all knew to steer clear of the eldest brother's cocky attitude and dangerous habits. But you had broken down those walls a long time ago, so it didn't surprise you when Dean hopped onto the Impala next to you and joined your stargazing.
It was so quiet you could hear the crickets chirping in the pond behind the motel and the gentle rustle of brush lining the empty interstate. You knew Dean didn't care much for astrology and would definitely rather be in bed but your relationship had grown to accomplish communicating without even speaking. You knew he was waiting for you to want to talk. To feel ready.
"[your hometown]." You finally said, not taking your eyes off the Big Dipper.
His hazel eyes tore from the constellations to look down at you. "What's that?"
"Where we're going tomorrow, to find those missing kids. That's where I'm from." You couldn't bring yourself to look at him just yet. The stars began to shiver for a moment and you realized a tear managed to break through and slide down your cheek. You hastily brushed it away, hoping he didn't notice.
Dean just nodded in understanding. And you knew he did. You had been at his side during the haunting in Lawrence. You saw the heartbreak behind the cold front he put on as he entered his childhood home a stranger.
"There's just... I haven't been back in a while." You continued. "Not after my parents died. And there's just some... things there that I would rather not deal with."
Dean's hand rested next to yours, his fingers brushing against your own, and you finally pulled your gaze up to reach his. "Whatever it is, you know Sammy and I have got your back."
You gave him a small smiled and bumped your shoulder on his. "I know. Thank you De."
"I'll always be here for you." You almost hadn't heard him whisper those words as you slid off Baby and headed into the motel.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
The black sheen of the Impala stood out like a sore thumb in your high school's parking lot. Surrounded by battered, pre-owned Honda Civics and at least a half dozen juniors smoking weed near the side entrance of the auditorium, you were ashamed to admit the heavy feeling in your chest warmed the slightest bit at the familiar feeling of home.
Lying your way into the school difficult. As soon as you mentioned you were an alum looking to make a sizable donation on behalf of a bullshit charity, the front desk secretary was more than happy to point you in the direction of the administration offices.
Sam and Dean followed on your heels as you strode down the familiar halls.
"Well what'd ya know—we're right in time." Dean flashed you and Sam a wide smile, pointing at a cheerleading tryout flyer with today's date written in sparkly pink font.
Rolling your eyes at his childishness, you accidently cut the next corner too closing, smacking headfirst into what could only be classified as a wall of cement.
"Oh my—I am so sorry. Are you okay?"
The sound of your name leaving his lips made your heart sink.
He hadn't changed a bit over the last two years. Even the ridiculous gym teacher outfit seemed to work.
"Alex." You frowned up at your ex-boyfriend.
Everyone in your town used to know you both to be inseparable when you were younger. It hadn't come as a shock when the two of you began dating during high school. What was a surprise, though, was the night of your senior prom when you walked in on him and one of your "friends" fucking. In your bed.
"What are you doing here?" He asked. You could tell he was trying to keep his composure but the vein in his forehead seemed to tell a different story.
"We're..." You spared a glance back at Sam and Dean. "We're working. These are my co-workers."
Alex just nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "That's cool."
It took all of your self control to not roll your eyes at his pathetic attempt to casually size the Winchesters up. Alex wasn't a bad looking guy. Back in high school, every girl dreamed of the opportunity to jump his bones and you're positive the feeling is still the same amongst his students. But standing next to Dean, he seemed smaller, despite matching Sam's height.
"Yeah, well we'd better get going." You replied curtly. You started to sneak past him but his hand suddenly shot out to grab your wrist. You could feel the air shift as Dean reached preemptively for his gun.
"Wait! How long are you in town for? We should catch up." Alex's bright blue eyes peered down at you. His perfect smile made you want to grab Dean's gun and ram it into his stupid face.
As if remembering the two hunters behind you, Alex quickly added. "You can bring your co-workers too. A group of us from school who still live around here go to the bar down the street every Thursday night."
Dean cut you off before you could answer with a big fat no. "Thanks teach, we'll see you there."
He wrapped a calloused hand around the arm Alex was holding and gently ripped you from his grasp. You couldn't help but stare at Dean wide-eyed as he led you down the hall. His hand never leaving your arm.
"Who was that?" Sam echoed from behind the two of you.
"A blast from the past." You joked, trying to play off your discomfort. "We obviously aren't going tonight." You directed this part to the sour faced Dean half-dragging you past your old chemistry classroom.
As if your voice pulled him out of some sort of trace, Dean's all-to-familiar smirk crept onto his face. "Now come on sweetheart, Sammy always says the best research is done when whiskey's involved."
"I've never said that." Sam muttered under his breath, pushing past you two to knock on the principal's office door.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
"Remind me again why we're here?" You groaned.
It was like the bar had been frozen in time. The stained walls were plastered with old high school memorabilia that hadn't been updated since the 80s and you were certain the piece of gum one of your high school friend's had stuck underneath the junk box was still there.
"Because sweetheart, we need your old pals to spill all this town's dirty little secrets." Dean teased. He moved to jokingly rubbed your shoulders—as if preparing to shove you into the ring of a vicious MMA match—but paused when he noticed how rigid your shoulders were.
"Whatever. Let's just get what we need and leave." You didn't mean for your words to bite the way they did.
Too ashamed to see the looks on the brothers' faces, you pivoted to push a path to the bar.
Two hours of drunken nonsense and too many familiar faces later, Sam had finally pulled some useful information from one of your former biology lab partners. Turns out, she works as a guidance counselor at the school now and had spoken to each of the disappearing students. All of which claimed to have been seeing strange things in the days leading up to their disappearance.
"Can we go now?" You said to Dean, who was nursing his third glass of whiskey.
"Always in a rush." He said taking a sip of his drink.
"Well unless you find anymore answers in the bottom of the glass, I think we're done here." The slight tremble in your voice made Dean finally look up and assess you.
Even in the dim light, he could see the way your eyes were on a constant swivel—scanning the bar like you were on a battlefield. Your denim clad knee bounced up and down underneath the sticky counter. The dirty Shirley he ordered you remained untouched at your side.
"Alright Cinderella, let's go before you turn into a pumpkin." He teased, throwing his leather jacket over his shoulders.
Your body sagged in relief. Turning on your heel, you were just about to make an beeline for the exit when Dean suddenly clapped a hand around his mouth and shouted, "Sammy! Wrap it up little buddy!"
You weren't sure who's face had been redder: yours, Sam's, or the poor brunette's he had been talking to.
And if the moment couldn't already be a nightmare, you heard someone call your name from the opposite direction. Alex was approaching—notably blocking your path from the door—with a small blonde in tow. It took you a moment to place the last time you'd seen her, but once you pictured her in a white lacy thong and no bra, you remembered exactly who she was.
The sound of your name had pulled Dean's attention from Sam's mortified face to you. All amusement drained from his demeanor when he caught sight of Alex and Sarah.
Anger bubbled in your gut at her perky smile. The last time you'd seen it she had been riding your long-term boyfriend reverse cowgirl style.
"Fancy seeing you here, teach. Don't tell my mom I'm out on a school night." Dean gave them a cocky wink.
Alex's arrogant facade faltered.
"Funny." He replied dryly, barely sparing Dean a glance.
You almost jumped out of your skin when a protective arm wrapped around your shoulders. The smell of Dean's spiced cologne and notes of dark liquor made your legs quake and you were certain if he wasn't holding you right now, you'd be a puddle on the floor.
"Well if you excuse us, we were just leaving." Dean said.
"So soon? We haven't seen each other in ages!" Sarah's chirped from Alex's side, her squeaky voice dragging sharp nails down your eardrums. At least some things never changed.
"We've actually been here for a while—." You said.
Sarah gave you a pathetic attempt of kind smile as she cut you off. "I'm just surprised to see you out. Al told me he had to beg you to leave the house after—"
"Okay, this has been a really fun trip down memory lane but if you'll excuse me." You snapped, pushing past the happy couple and into the damp night air.
Footsteps crushed the gravel behind you. Steeling yourself to face Dean, you took a breath and shut your eyes. "I'm sorry. Can we just go, please?"
"You didn't have to rush out of there like that." Alex said.
Your eyes snapped open. Alex, not Dean, stood in front of you, hands casually in his bomber jacket pockets.
"Why would you tell her that?" The words left your mouth before you had a chance to think.
"Tell her what?" Alex said, feigning obliviousness.
You scoffed. "You fucking know Alex, don't play dumb."
"Always an argument with you." He rolled his eyes, about to turn his back and head back into the bar.
"Always? Last time I checked, we didn't even have the chance to argue before you stuck your dick into the first thing that called you hot." You spat, blood boiling.
Alex barked a dry laugh. "That's right, I forgot I'm the only one to blame in this."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You never wanted to do anything! You locked yourself in your room for weeks! What was I supposed to do?"
You could've blamed it on a lot of things. The never-ending exhaustion of your job, the long car rides, hell maybe even the moon cycle. But you knew it was only time before you snapped.
"My parents died! What the fuck was I supposed to do?" You took a predatory step towards him, voice rising with every syllable.
"They died in that car with me. They died and I didn't. But you never even bothered to ask me how I felt about that." Tears flowed freely down your flaming cheeks but you pressed on.
"I needed you Alex. I needed you and you didn't want to be there." Your voice cracked under the weight of your confession.
"I was hurt too! You shut me out! You practically pushed Sarah and I together."
"Alright, that's enough." Dean stood with Sam behind Alex. You hadn't even noticed them there through the watery haze of your tears.
Any chilliness vanished from Alex's expression, a placid smile spreading across his face.
"Whatever man." He held his hands up in a mock surrender and took a step back. "Good luck with this one."
Alex moved to step around Dean but a strong hand held him in place.
"Now, I don't think that's any way to talk about a lady." There was a chilling edge to Dean's voice you only ever heard out on a hunt.
"Get your hand off of me, pal." Compared to Dean's dangerous expression, Alex's poor excuse of a threat was laughable.
"Tell the lady you're sorry." Dean's grip tightened as he hissed into Alex's ear.
Alex's throat flexed as he swallowed hard. He turned to face you once again. "Sorry."
It was empty and pathetic and he couldn't even be bothered to say the full sentence but you didn't care. You stiffly nodded, pivoting away to get into Baby.
You didn't say a word as the boys followed you into the car. Or into the motel. Or for the rest of the night.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
dean's pov
You hadn't even spared him a glance for the rest of the night. Dean couldn't help but let his mind spiral in a sea of self-doubt. Had he crossed the line back there? He probably shouldn't have grabbed the guy. He was a civilian and you all had a strict policy when it came in involving them.
But he couldn't pretend he didn't hear the words shot back and forth between you two. He couldn't help but almost sink to his knees or pull out his gun the moment the first tear slipped from your beautiful, wide eyes.
"Just give her some space right now man." Sam had said, clapping him on the back before crashing on the couch.
Him and Sam rotated on who usually shared the bed with you (because they would never let you take the couch regardless of how much you insisted their cliche gender stereotypes were "stupid") and tonight was Dean's turn.
You were already curled up into a ball on your side by the time he emerged from the shower. Sam's loud snores filled the room but Dean knew you weren't asleep. He had spent enough restless nights with you by his side, snoring softly and leaning into him for warmth in the middle of the night. No, you weren't asleep. You remained stiff as a board, tucked into yourself like a scared child.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" He whispered into the dark. A few minutes passed and he began to wonder if maybe he was wrong and didn't know you as well as he once thought.
Those fears quickly washed away as you turned over to face him. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at him and Dean's chest heaved at the sight of how emotionally wrecked you looked. Sure, the boys gave you a some flack for being the only girl of their trio. They'd poke fun of you at that time of the month when you wanted to cut their heads off for no reason at all or when you complained about the humidity ruining your hair. But if there was one thing about you, you never showed how you truly felt when your heart was breaking. Not on a case when innocent people died and certainly not now.
"How much did you hear?" You whispered back.
"He an old boyfriend of yours?" Dean asked, avoiding your question.
You shrugged. "You could say that."
Dean felt the sudden urge to reach out and brush a stray hair from your face. His hand twitched at the thought of touching your soft skin—make you feel better.
"Thank you. For what you did back there." Your voice was laced with shame and embarrassment.
Fuck it. Dean couldn't control his movements as he twisted the tendril of hair in his finger before gently tucking it behind your eyes. He could've sworn he heard your breath hitch as his hands ghosted your skin.
"No need to thank me, s'what I do." He meant to say it in a teasing way but there was no humor behind his words.
Your brows knit in confusion. "Stand up for feminism?"
Dean grinned at your attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "No." He dragged his hand tenderly down your flushed cheek. "Protect you."
"I don't need protection, ya know?" You argued quietly.
"I know." His index finger traveled from your cheekbones, to the line of your jaw before brushing over your bottom lip.
A ripple of electricity hummed through his body. You gazed up at him, eyes big and bright. "Do you ever think about it? What life might be like if we didn't do this?"
"Sometimes." He said.
He'd never tell you that those daydreams swarmed vision everyday. Every time he caught you lost in thought, gazing out Baby's windows like the world was yours for the taking. The images of an easy life, with you. A house with a big backyard. Maybe even a few sets of little feet running up and down the hallway. No, he couldn't burden you with those fantasies. Not when your jobs only allowed for the types of dreams had behind shut lids and stiff motel bedsheets.
"I thought I knew what I wanted, the kind of life I was supposed to have. Then my parents died and I don't know..." You trailed off, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the cotton quilt. "Things changed."
"Do you regret it? Things changing?" Do you regret meeting us? Will you leave like everyone else?
You giggled quietly, shaking your head. "Of course not. Just sometimes...I wish it would happen for me, ya know? Not all of it but... maybe just someone."
"That teacher?" His jaw clenched.
You shook your head again. The look you returned burned a hole in his heart. "No. Not anymore. Not for a long time."
Maybe he should've waited for a real answer. A sealed confirmation or a bright green light. But he had waited too long, too long to finally cup your cheek and close the gap between the two of you.
He didn’t hesitate this time.
He kisses you before he can talk himself out of it.
The kiss was slow, deep. Like he’d been holding it back too long and doesn’t quite know how to do this halfway. For a split second you go still in surprise and that flicker of doubt hits him hard enough that Dean almost breaks away.
Then your fingers curl into the front of his shirt and pull.
Dean exhales against your mouth and shifts closer, his body shifting to tower over you. The bed dips and the small, almost inaudible sound you make is enough to send heat straight through him.
He should stop.
Sam is right there. This is complicated and stupid and exactly the kind of thing that makes everything harder. Sometimes a dream should simply stay a dream.
But your hand slides up into his hair and he feels something in his restraint give way. And Dean kisses you like he means it. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want to.
His hand drops from your face to your waist, thumb pressing into the curve there as if he needs to anchor himself. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and he forgets for a second where you both are; forgets the neon buzzing outside, the hum of the AC, or his little brother just mere feet away.
All he knows is the way you're kissing him back.
Dean pulls away only when breathing becomes a problem, forehead resting against yours, both of you a little unsteady.
“You sure?” he asks, quieter than he expected.
Not because he doubts you. Because if you aren[t, he has to be the one who stops.
Your eyes open slowly. No hesitation. “Yeah.”
Dean studies you for another second, searching for the flinch, the regret.
And he never finds it.
So when he kisses you again, it’s with less doubt and more heat, his hand tightening slightly at your waist as if he’s claiming ground he’s been circling for months.
Sam shifts once in his sleep, the mattress springs creaking faintly across the room.
Dean doesn’t pull away.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
people are being chased by monsters and dying and dean winchester just mogs all the time…like baby there is a ghost why are you serving face
it isn't perfect but it might be | dean winchester x reader
I could go back to the old place and write your name on every blank page But it's a story now, just a story now It's the kind of thing that you'd say You say no need to look behind me That I can keep you here beside me To make a mess of it, then make the best of it It isn't perfect, but it might be
| synopsis: | A demon crashes the most corrupt billionaire party of the year, and the Winchesters go undercover to stop it. Black tie attire, overpriced champagne, and one slow dance later, you start to realize blending in might be harder than exorcising the threat. Especially when Dean Winchester decides he’s done pretending not to look at you like that.
| includes: | dean winchester x fem!reader, no of y/n, light angst, fluff
| word count: | 2,297
| note: | happy late valentine's day ! pls enjoy this cute rom-com inspired break from reality. ♡
| song inspo: | it isn't perfect but it might be by olivia dean
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
"So, let me get this straight." You placed your palms flat against the cheap linoleum countertop. "This demon is planning on crashing one of the biggest, and most corrupt, billionaire business parties of the century to cash in on their souls—and we're supposed to stop them?"
"It's our job." Sam argued.
The two of you had been going back and forth for nearly an hour, trying to decide the best plan of attack for tonight. While Sam was taking his usual moral high ground route of a "safe" exorcism, you figured if the demons wanted to clean house of a few dozen pretentious rich assholes—who were you to throw a wrench in their evening?
"I hate to say it sweetheart, but I'm gonna have to go with Sammy on this." Dean emerged from the bathroom. A flimsy white towel hung loosely around his hips. Beads of water trickled from his damp hair down his broad shoulders and if it weren't for Sam clearing his throat, you might've kept trying to urge his towel to slip off by using the Force.
Shaking your head, you slumped into a chair next to Sam. "It's not like they're innocent."
"But they don't deserve to die." Sam said and you knew he was right.
Your soul nearly levitated as Dean placed his hands on your shoulders, leaning down to your ear to whisper. "Come on, sweetheart. When have you ever been one to say no to a party?"
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
You felt ridiculous.
It wasn't like you'd never dressed up before. You went to prom twice in high school and other various formal events throughout your early twenties. But it had been a few years since you'd joined the Winchesters on their quest to conquer evil and gowns usually weren't the best attire when fighting demons.
Tonight was a different story.
Your cheeks flamed as you applied the final touches of mascara to your lashes. You knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about. There were plenty of cases where the three of you had to dress up. Detectives, FBI agents, and Dean's personal favorite—priests and a nun.
Tonight was no different than those cases. This one just happened to include a flattering floor length dress with a tasteful slit up your right leg, showing just enough of your skin to leave a little up to the imagination. The soft material hugged every curve of your body, draping over your shoulders to expose your entire back.
Everything about it was beautiful. The way your hair was pinned up but no amount of clips could stop a few rebel strands from curling around your cheekbones. The dainty necklace Dean had plucked for you from a street faire in New Orleans sat perfectly on your chest between your breasts. Bruises and scraps camouflaged by silk and concealer, your heart swelled at the sight of yourself in the dirty motel mirror.
So, why, beneath all the shimmer and glam, did you still feel like you wanted to hide in a closet?
A fist pounded against the bathroom door. "Cutting it a little close princess, time to go." Dean shouted.
Once you conceded, the three of you brainstormed a plan. Since it would raise a few eyebrows having two men on your arm, Dean insisted he accompany you inside the party while Sam posed as a waiter. None of you were sure where the demon might pop up but it was safer to have all bases covered.
Sam left a little while ago to try and blend in with the wait staff. Which just left you and Dean and your anxiety.
The thought of Dean seeing you in this kind of outfit made you nervous. It had been a long time since you decided to stop denying your crush on the older brother. From the moment you'd ran into the Winchesters on a hunt in Rhode Island, your heart never failed to falter at the sight of him.
Your life had been boiled down to chasing the rush of Dean. His laughter at your poor attempt of a joke, brushing elbows in the tight booth of a diner, him tossing you your favorite candy after you insisted you didn't want anything from the gas station.
Sam had finally had enough and called you out on it after a particular hunt that included a random raven-haired civilian connected to the haunting. You had spent an entire day glaring daggers at her perfect shiny hair before Sam cornered you in the library and made you spill your guts.
True to his word, as always, he never told your secret to Dean. Even though, he swears it would be better if you just fessed up and told Dean how you felt.
The sky has a better chance of falling than you ever doing something incredibly stupid like that.
Dean shouted your name through the door again and you knew your time stalling was up. Taking a deep breath, you shut off the light and twisted the knob.
The sight of Dean standing, waiting for you, in a sleek black tux was almost enough to kill you. He looked devastatingly handsome. You never saw him this cleaned up before—usually Dean opted for the bargain suits at the thrift store, scoffing at spending more than $5 on fancy clothes he'll never wear again. This suit was certainly more than that—the material perfectly hugged every inch of his muscular build. His hair was slightly slicked back except for one strand twisting in protest on his forehead. There was nothing boyish or immature about the man standing in front of you.
When your gaze finally reached his eyes, your chest heaved. His gaze didn’t move from you. Not your face. Not once. You thought you were hallucinating the way Dean shamelessly drank you in, taking his time to assess every bit of you.
"Hi." Could you be anymore lame?
"Hey." Dean sounded almost nervous as he returned your awkward greeting.
The silence in the room was so loud that you could make out the faint hum of the neon sign buzzing from outside your window and a few passing cars on the neighboring highway.
"Should we...?" Your knuckles might begin to bleed from how hard you were clutching your small purse if you stood there for a moment longer.
"Yeah, yeah let's uh—let's go." You giggled softly as Dean fumbled to open the motel door, stepping back to let you exit first.
"Such a gentleman." you teased.
"Oh, I'm full of surprises sweetheart." He yanked open the passenger door of the Impala before you had a chance to. "Just you wait."
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
You couldn't wait to get back to the motel and rub it in Sam's face just how right you were about this evening.
The ballroom was enormous. Tables lined with delicate linens were sprinkled along the extravagant marble floor. Sparkling white lights twinkled beneath the transparent fabric wrapped around the monstrous limestone columns lining the gallery windows. Wait staff moved seamlessly through the room as if they too were ghosts, weaving in and out amongst the crowd of the country's most elite.
Tucked in the corner of the ballroom, a band played elegant interpretations of modern music. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Dean smile to himself as the band played a regal rendition of Knockin' on Heaven's Door.
Somewhere in the sparkling lights and sea of expensive appetizers, you knew the demon could be anywhere. Disguised as any of these privileged assholes. It made your stomach turn—seeing all of these people with more money than you could ever imagine, floating around the room like they owned the world. You understood why you needed to be there tonight, why this job doesn't know stereotypes or bias, but you couldn't help but feel a bitter taste in your mouth as you gaped at the young ladies your age. Dripping in designer and riches, you'd never felt smaller.
"I'll go line the doors and windows." you said, abruptly opening your purse to reveal the bag of salt you stashed.
As you turned to flee towards the shadows of the ballroom, Dean grabbed your hand. "Woah, woah not so fast princess."
You gave him a blank stare. "Dean, we're working."
He shook his head, pointing behind you to where Sam stood awkwardly holding a tray of some kind of fish. "Sammy's got surveillance covered. Time for us to do our part."
Your eyebrows raised. "Which is...?"
Dean swiftly snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress. "To blend in."
Four empty glasses later, you were a giggling mess next to Dean. Leaning against his shoulder, you whispered your theory in his ear. "I think it's her." You tilted your chin towards the gorgeous blonde woman across the room.
"What makes you say that?" Dean whispered. His breath skimmed your neck when he leaned in, close enough that your pulse betrayed you.
"She hasn't eaten or drank anything. Keeps flirting with that entire tech company over there."
"And that means she's a demon?"
You took a sip of your drink, narrowing your eyes. "Maybe."
Dean laughed, a sound like instantly made your heart stammer, and plucked the glass from your hands. "Alright, s'enough of that. Come on, before you start exorcise the poor girl."
He stood up and your brows furrowed as your stared down at his outstretched hand. "Where are we going?"
Dean motioned towards the dance floor where almost half the party swayed to the music. "Dance with me."
"Dance? You?" you covered your mouth, muffling your laugh at the thought of Dean slow dancing.
He didn't waste anymore time. Wrapping a gentle hand around your elbow, he pulled you out of your chair and began to lead the two of you towards the center of the ballroom.
His hand slid to yours, shifting your body to gracefully fall into his chest. Dean's other hand was placed delicately at the small of your back. Your head was swimming in pools of alcohol and desire at the feeling of his calloused hand on your skin.
You couldn't help but stare up at him in utter surprise. You knew Dean could be careful, calculated in every movement. You've watched him on hunts—moving through the forest without making a sound. Silently moving through the night like an invisible assassin. But those nights always ended in violence and pain. This was different.
A crooked smile grew on his lips as he gazed down at you. "Told you I'm full of surprises."
Everything else seemed to fade away. Sam's watchful eye from the kitchen doors. Party-goers who had been eyeing you two suspiciously all night—knowing you had no business being in their company. The likely threat a demon was circling in the vicinity, waiting to pounce.
“You look incredible,” he murmured, closer now, like he didn’t want the rest of the room hearing it. “Should’ve said it back at the motel.”
You kept your head flush against his chest to conceal the traitorous blush spreading across your cheeks. "You don't clean up too bad yourself, Winchester."
His finger hooked gently beneath your chin, lifting it just enough that you had to meet his eyes. You can make out every line on his forehead, the shadow of stubble on his cheeks. How pink and soft his lips looked.
"Dean..." you breathed. Your body trembled under his stare.
The humor and sarcasm that always played on his features was long gone, replaced by something you could swear might be desire. For you.
His thumb was still beneath your chin, tracing lightly along your jaw instead of dropping away. His eyes flicked down to your mouth and then back up again.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said, voice low enough that it disappeared into the music, “and I’m gonna forget we’re workin’.”
Your pulse kicked harder against your throat.
“Maybe,” you whispered, stepping closer, your hand tightening slightly at the back of his neck, “you should.”
That was all it took.
His restraint snapped in something intangible and then his mouth was on yours.
It was warm and certain and extremely overdue (in your opinion).
The world didn’t disappear like the movies promised. You could still hear the band. Still feel the glide of other couples moving around you. Somewhere across the room, a glass shattered and someone laughed too loudly.
But none of it mattered.
Dean’s hand pressed more firmly at the small of your back, drawing you closer until there wasn’t space for doubt anymore. The kiss deepened, slow and intentional, like he’d been thinking about it for longer than he’d ever admit.
You tilted into him without thinking, fingers sliding into his hair, and for a single reckless moment, you forgot demons. Forgot billionaires. Forgot Sam pretending to care about hors d’oeuvres in the kitchen.
You just felt Dean.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. His forehead rested against yours, breath uneven.
“Been wanting to do that for a while," he whispered, almost amused at himself.
You laughed softly. “Should've said something sooner.”
“You know timing's never been my thing, sweetheart.”
As if summoned by the universe itself—a scream ripped across the ballroom.
The music screeched to a halt. The blonde woman you’d accused earlier convulsed violently near the tech table, black smoke spilling from her mouth as guests scattered in shrieking chaos.
Dean sighed.
“You owe me ten bucks.” you said, stepping back. Flicking the slit of your dress open, you snatched the small gun from its holster on your thigh.
“Rain check?” you asked, flashing him a grin.
His eyes dragged over you one more time. “Oh sweetheart,” he said, pulling the demon blade from inside his jacket, “I’m collectin’.”
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
masterlist
ঌ: contains smut
the prophecy | dean winchester x reader
Please I've been on my knees Change the prophecy Don't want money, just someone who wants my company Let it once be me Who do I have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy?
| synopsis: | somehow, you always ended up being everyone's second choice. but maybe you were just looking in all the wrong places.
| includes: | dean winchester x fem!reader, no of y/n, angst
| word count: | 4,468
| timeline: | s1 & s2 of supernatural
| song inspo: | the prophecy by taylor swift
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
You'd think you would be used to the cloudy haze suffocating your lungs as you wove your way through the thick crowd. Cigarette smoke and something you could only describe as putrid male body odor burned your nose. Still though, even as you stepped over a pile of—you don't even want to guess what—it had been a rough day. Hell, this hunt had been a rough few weeks. The demon who you and the brothers had been hunting, which ended up being a skinwalker disguising as the chief of police, had led you on a wild goose chase for nearly a month.
Everything felt too small after hunts like this. The tiny, dingy motel room with an even tinier bathroom where the water never reaches above room temperature at best or the backseat of Baby where every time you tried to stretch your legs, you'd end up kneeing Sam in the back. So it was going to take a lot more than a crowd of disorderly, drunk old men and sticky floors to scare you three away.
Sliding into a corner booth next to Dean, you pushed the beer you had swiped when the bartender wasn't looking into the center of the table. Nobody said a word as the contents of your bottles were drained in seconds.
"So, where to next?" You said breaking the silence.
"Christ sweetheart, don't make me shove you in the trunk." Dean muttered.
You bumped your shoulder into his, ignoring the usual hum that rattled through your bones every time your body connected with his. "Ha ha, what's wrong? Getting tired, old man?"
Though you were only two years younger than him, that never stopped you from finding any opportunity to tease him. You're not sure what it was about the eldest Winchester but you always found yourself waiting for him to smile. It was an added bonus if you just so happened to be the cause of it.
"Watch it princess or you're walking back to the motel." He threatened, sending you a cheeky wink.
"Actually, I think I might know where we're going next." Sam sighed indignantly, opening up his duffel to grab some crinkled newspapers.
He slid the headlines across the table to you and Dean. The bold text read something about a local teen disappearing during the middle of the school day. None of their teachers, friends, or any of the other faculty saw the kids leave the building from any of the main exits. All of the security cameras caught them going into the bathroom but never coming out. This was the fourth student to go missing in the past two months.
Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes caught on the name of the high school.
Your high school in your hometown.
The beer began to taste stale in your throat and it was an effort not to vomit it up all over Sam's research.
Words caught in your throat as you stared down at the black and white photo of the town you had once called home.
It wasn't like you didn't catch yourself daydreaming out Baby's window. Picturing yourself in one of the many homes you passed in one of the many quaint neighborhoods. A wraparound porch with one of those old, rickety swings; an enormous bay window for your pretend cat to sun bathe; maybe even a tiny version, or two, of you racing around the front lawn.
Sometimes Dean managed to weasel his way into your fantasies too. Him standing over a grill, flipping burgers in one of those ridiculously cliche aprons or tinkering with Baby in your garage late at night after the kids went to sleep.
That life, the porch, the cat—it had all almost been within reach once. But time was cruel and it was certainly never on your side.
"How do we know these kids aren't just ditching out the window?" Dean asked, shifting through the wrinkled pages.
Sam shook his head at his brother. "I don't think so, man. None of these kids showed up at home or around town. Something doesn't seem right."
The familiar feeling of dread mixed with a bitterness you hadn't felt in years roiled in your stomach as Dean gave a heavy sigh.
"Alright. So, I guess we'll check it out."
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
You were silent for the rest of the night at the bar and the entire drive back to the motel. Both Sam and Dean had asked if you were okay a few times but you just brushed it off as being tired from the day's events.
Dean had parked the Impala outside of the motel room almost a half hour ago, yet you still couldn't bring yourself to go inside. Instead, you stayed perched on Baby's trunk staring up at the starry sky.
"Thought you might've froze to death."
Whether it was exhaustion or anticipation clouding your senses, you didn't think twice before you grabbed your knife and whipped around to press it against your assailant's throat.
"Woah, woah easy, crazy." The freshly sharped blade sliced a thin trail of blood down Dean's neck. "I don't get kinky like that until after dinner."
"Jesus—Dean. You fucking scared me." You slipped the knife back into its sheath and went back to gazing up at the stars.
On any other night, this would have been your dream. You longed for the off-chance you could have alone time with him. His attention solely on you; not the hot blonde bartender or sexy redheaded detective in whatever state you found yourselves in. Just you and him.
Tonight was different. For the first time in the three years, you would rather be alone than have Dean at your side. You faced things from the darkest parts of the shadows that would make other people want to hide away for the rest of their lives. But this, real feelings and real memories, that was a nightmare you'd rather keep to yourself.
Dean’s jaw ticked. He lit a cigarette he didn’t smoke as he continued to watch you get lost in the stars.
Most people in your field knew who the Winchesters were. And, more importantly, they all knew to steer clear of the eldest brother's cocky attitude and dangerous habits. But you had broken down those walls a long time ago, so it didn't surprise you when Dean hopped onto the Impala next to you and joined your stargazing.
It was so quiet you could hear the crickets chirping in the pond behind the motel and the gentle rustle of brush lining the empty interstate. You knew Dean didn't care much for astrology and would definitely rather be in bed but your relationship had grown to accomplish communicating without even speaking. You knew he was waiting for you to want to talk. To feel ready.
"[your hometown]." You finally said, not taking your eyes off the Big Dipper.
His hazel eyes tore from the constellations to look down at you. "What's that?"
"Where we're going tomorrow, to find those missing kids. That's where I'm from." You couldn't bring yourself to look at him just yet. The stars began to shiver for a moment and you realized a tear managed to break through and slide down your cheek. You hastily brushed it away, hoping he didn't notice.
Dean just nodded in understanding. And you knew he did. You had been at his side during the haunting in Lawrence. You saw the heartbreak behind the cold front he put on as he entered his childhood home a stranger.
"There's just... I haven't been back in a while." You continued. "Not after my parents died. And there's just some... things there that I would rather not deal with."
Dean's hand rested next to yours, his fingers brushing against your own, and you finally pulled your gaze up to reach his. "Whatever it is, you know Sammy and I have got your back."
You gave him a small smiled and bumped your shoulder on his. "I know. Thank you De."
"I'll always be here for you." You almost hadn't heard him whisper those words as you slid off Baby and headed into the motel.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
The black sheen of the Impala stood out like a sore thumb in your high school's parking lot. Surrounded by battered, pre-owned Honda Civics and at least a half dozen juniors smoking weed near the side entrance of the auditorium, you were ashamed to admit the heavy feeling in your chest warmed the slightest bit at the familiar feeling of home.
Lying your way into the school difficult. As soon as you mentioned you were an alum looking to make a sizable donation on behalf of a bullshit charity, the front desk secretary was more than happy to point you in the direction of the administration offices.
Sam and Dean followed on your heels as you strode down the familiar halls.
"Well what'd ya know—we're right in time." Dean flashed you and Sam a wide smile, pointing at a cheerleading tryout flyer with today's date written in sparkly pink font.
Rolling your eyes at his childishness, you accidently cut the next corner too closing, smacking headfirst into what could only be classified as a wall of cement.
"Oh my—I am so sorry. Are you okay?"
The sound of your name leaving his lips made your heart sink.
He hadn't changed a bit over the last two years. Even the ridiculous gym teacher outfit seemed to work.
"Alex." You frowned up at your ex-boyfriend.
Everyone in your town used to know you both to be inseparable when you were younger. It hadn't come as a shock when the two of you began dating during high school. What was a surprise, though, was the night of your senior prom when you walked in on him and one of your "friends" fucking. In your bed.
"What are you doing here?" He asked. You could tell he was trying to keep his composure but the vein in his forehead seemed to tell a different story.
"We're..." You spared a glance back at Sam and Dean. "We're working. These are my co-workers."
Alex just nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "That's cool."
It took all of your self control to not roll your eyes at his pathetic attempt to casually size the Winchesters up. Alex wasn't a bad looking guy. Back in high school, every girl dreamed of the opportunity to jump his bones and you're positive the feeling is still the same amongst his students. But standing next to Dean, he seemed smaller, despite matching Sam's height.
"Yeah, well we'd better get going." You replied curtly. You started to sneak past him but his hand suddenly shot out to grab your wrist. You could feel the air shift as Dean reached preemptively for his gun.
"Wait! How long are you in town for? We should catch up." Alex's bright blue eyes peered down at you. His perfect smile made you want to grab Dean's gun and ram it into his stupid face.
As if remembering the two hunters behind you, Alex quickly added. "You can bring your co-workers too. A group of us from school who still live around here go to the bar down the street every Thursday night."
Dean cut you off before you could answer with a big fat no. "Thanks teach, we'll see you there."
He wrapped a calloused hand around the arm Alex was holding and gently ripped you from his grasp. You couldn't help but stare at Dean wide-eyed as he led you down the hall. His hand never leaving your arm.
"Who was that?" Sam echoed from behind the two of you.
"A blast from the past." You joked, trying to play off your discomfort. "We obviously aren't going tonight." You directed this part to the sour faced Dean half-dragging you past your old chemistry classroom.
As if your voice pulled him out of some sort of trace, Dean's all-to-familiar smirk crept onto his face. "Now come on sweetheart, Sammy always says the best research is done when whiskey's involved."
"I've never said that." Sam muttered under his breath, pushing past you two to knock on the principal's office door.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
"Remind me again why we're here?" You groaned.
It was like the bar had been frozen in time. The stained walls were plastered with old high school memorabilia that hadn't been updated since the 80s and you were certain the piece of gum one of your high school friend's had stuck underneath the junk box was still there.
"Because sweetheart, we need your old pals to spill all this town's dirty little secrets." Dean teased. He moved to jokingly rubbed your shoulders—as if preparing to shove you into the ring of a vicious MMA match—but paused when he noticed how rigid your shoulders were.
"Whatever. Let's just get what we need and leave." You didn't mean for your words to bite the way they did.
Too ashamed to see the looks on the brothers' faces, you pivoted to push a path to the bar.
Two hours of drunken nonsense and too many familiar faces later, Sam had finally pulled some useful information from one of your former biology lab partners. Turns out, she works as a guidance counselor at the school now and had spoken to each of the disappearing students. All of which claimed to have been seeing strange things in the days leading up to their disappearance.
"Can we go now?" You said to Dean, who was nursing his third glass of whiskey.
"Always in a rush." He said taking a sip of his drink.
"Well unless you find anymore answers in the bottom of the glass, I think we're done here." The slight tremble in your voice made Dean finally look up and assess you.
Even in the dim light, he could see the way your eyes were on a constant swivel—scanning the bar like you were on a battlefield. Your denim clad knee bounced up and down underneath the sticky counter. The dirty Shirley he ordered you remained untouched at your side.
"Alright Cinderella, let's go before you turn into a pumpkin." He teased, throwing his leather jacket over his shoulders.
Your body sagged in relief. Turning on your heel, you were just about to make an beeline for the exit when Dean suddenly clapped a hand around his mouth and shouted, "Sammy! Wrap it up little buddy!"
You weren't sure who's face had been redder: yours, Sam's, or the poor brunette's he had been talking to.
And if the moment couldn't already be a nightmare, you heard someone call your name from the opposite direction. Alex was approaching—notably blocking your path from the door—with a small blonde in tow. It took you a moment to place the last time you'd seen her, but once you pictured her in a white lacy thong and no bra, you remembered exactly who she was.
The sound of your name had pulled Dean's attention from Sam's mortified face to you. All amusement drained from his demeanor when he caught sight of Alex and Sarah.
Anger bubbled in your gut at her perky smile. The last time you'd seen it she had been riding your long-term boyfriend reverse cowgirl style.
"Fancy seeing you here, teach. Don't tell my mom I'm out on a school night." Dean gave them a cocky wink.
Alex's arrogant facade faltered.
"Funny." He replied dryly, barely sparing Dean a glance.
You almost jumped out of your skin when a protective arm wrapped around your shoulders. The smell of Dean's spiced cologne and notes of dark liquor made your legs quake and you were certain if he wasn't holding you right now, you'd be a puddle on the floor.
"Well if you excuse us, we were just leaving." Dean said.
"So soon? We haven't seen each other in ages!" Sarah's chirped from Alex's side, her squeaky voice dragging sharp nails down your eardrums. At least some things never changed.
"We've actually been here for a while—." You said.
Sarah gave you a pathetic attempt of kind smile as she cut you off. "I'm just surprised to see you out. Al told me he had to beg you to leave the house after—"
"Okay, this has been a really fun trip down memory lane but if you'll excuse me." You snapped, pushing past the happy couple and into the damp night air.
Footsteps crushed the gravel behind you. Steeling yourself to face Dean, you took a breath and shut your eyes. "I'm sorry. Can we just go, please?"
"You didn't have to rush out of there like that." Alex said.
Your eyes snapped open. Alex, not Dean, stood in front of you, hands casually in his bomber jacket pockets.
"Why would you tell her that?" The words left your mouth before you had a chance to think.
"Tell her what?" Alex said, feigning obliviousness.
You scoffed. "You fucking know Alex, don't play dumb."
"Always an argument with you." He rolled his eyes, about to turn his back and head back into the bar.
"Always? Last time I checked, we didn't even have the chance to argue before you stuck your dick into the first thing that called you hot." You spat, blood boiling.
Alex barked a dry laugh. "That's right, I forgot I'm the only one to blame in this."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You never wanted to do anything! You locked yourself in your room for weeks! What was I supposed to do?"
You could've blamed it on a lot of things. The never-ending exhaustion of your job, the long car rides, hell maybe even the moon cycle. But you knew it was only time before you snapped.
"My parents died! What the fuck was I supposed to do?" You took a predatory step towards him, voice rising with every syllable.
"They died in that car with me. They died and I didn't. But you never even bothered to ask me how I felt about that." Tears flowed freely down your flaming cheeks but you pressed on.
"I needed you Alex. I needed you and you didn't want to be there." Your voice cracked under the weight of your confession.
"I was hurt too! You shut me out! You practically pushed Sarah and I together."
"Alright, that's enough." Dean stood with Sam behind Alex. You hadn't even noticed them there through the watery haze of your tears.
Any chilliness vanished from Alex's expression, a placid smile spreading across his face.
"Whatever man." He held his hands up in a mock surrender and took a step back. "Good luck with this one."
Alex moved to step around Dean but a strong hand held him in place.
"Now, I don't think that's any way to talk about a lady." There was a chilling edge to Dean's voice you only ever heard out on a hunt.
"Get your hand off of me, pal." Compared to Dean's dangerous expression, Alex's poor excuse of a threat was laughable.
"Tell the lady you're sorry." Dean's grip tightened as he hissed into Alex's ear.
Alex's throat flexed as he swallowed hard. He turned to face you once again. "Sorry."
It was empty and pathetic and he couldn't even be bothered to say the full sentence but you didn't care. You stiffly nodded, pivoting away to get into Baby.
You didn't say a word as the boys followed you into the car. Or into the motel. Or for the rest of the night.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
dean's pov
You hadn't even spared him a glance for the rest of the night. Dean couldn't help but let his mind spiral in a sea of self-doubt. Had he crossed the line back there? He probably shouldn't have grabbed the guy. He was a civilian and you all had a strict policy when it came in involving them.
But he couldn't pretend he didn't hear the words shot back and forth between you two. He couldn't help but almost sink to his knees or pull out his gun the moment the first tear slipped from your beautiful, wide eyes.
"Just give her some space right now man." Sam had said, clapping him on the back before crashing on the couch.
Him and Sam rotated on who usually shared the bed with you (because they would never let you take the couch regardless of how much you insisted their cliche gender stereotypes were "stupid") and tonight was Dean's turn.
You were already curled up into a ball on your side by the time he emerged from the shower. Sam's loud snores filled the room but Dean knew you weren't asleep. He had spent enough restless nights with you by his side, snoring softly and leaning into him for warmth in the middle of the night. No, you weren't asleep. You remained stiff as a board, tucked into yourself like a scared child.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" He whispered into the dark. A few minutes passed and he began to wonder if maybe he was wrong and didn't know you as well as he once thought.
Those fears quickly washed away as you turned over to face him. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at him and Dean's chest heaved at the sight of how emotionally wrecked you looked. Sure, the boys gave you a some flack for being the only girl of their trio. They'd poke fun of you at that time of the month when you wanted to cut their heads off for no reason at all or when you complained about the humidity ruining your hair. But if there was one thing about you, you never showed how you truly felt when your heart was breaking. Not on a case when innocent people died and certainly not now.
"How much did you hear?" You whispered back.
"He an old boyfriend of yours?" Dean asked, avoiding your question.
You shrugged. "You could say that."
Dean felt the sudden urge to reach out and brush a stray hair from your face. His hand twitched at the thought of touching your soft skin—make you feel better.
"Thank you. For what you did back there." Your voice was laced with shame and embarrassment.
Fuck it. Dean couldn't control his movements as he twisted the tendril of hair in his finger before gently tucking it behind your eyes. He could've sworn he heard your breath hitch as his hands ghosted your skin.
"No need to thank me, s'what I do." He meant to say it in a teasing way but there was no humor behind his words.
Your brows knit in confusion. "Stand up for feminism?"
Dean grinned at your attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "No." He dragged his hand tenderly down your flushed cheek. "Protect you."
"I don't need protection, ya know?" You argued quietly.
"I know." His index finger traveled from your cheekbones, to the line of your jaw before brushing over your bottom lip.
A ripple of electricity hummed through his body. You gazed up at him, eyes big and bright. "Do you ever think about it? What life might be like if we didn't do this?"
"Sometimes." He said.
He'd never tell you that those daydreams swarmed vision everyday. Every time he caught you lost in thought, gazing out Baby's windows like the world was yours for the taking. The images of an easy life, with you. A house with a big backyard. Maybe even a few sets of little feet running up and down the hallway. No, he couldn't burden you with those fantasies. Not when your jobs only allowed for the types of dreams had behind shut lids and stiff motel bedsheets.
"I thought I knew what I wanted, the kind of life I was supposed to have. Then my parents died and I don't know..." You trailed off, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the cotton quilt. "Things changed."
"Do you regret it? Things changing?" Do you regret meeting us? Will you leave like everyone else?
You giggled quietly, shaking your head. "Of course not. Just sometimes...I wish it would happen for me, ya know? Not all of it but... maybe just someone."
"That teacher?" His jaw clenched.
You shook your head again. The look you returned burned a hole in his heart. "No. Not anymore. Not for a long time."
Maybe he should've waited for a real answer. A sealed confirmation or a bright green light. But he had waited too long, too long to finally cup your cheek and close the gap between the two of you.
He didn’t hesitate this time.
He kisses you before he can talk himself out of it.
The kiss was slow, deep. Like he’d been holding it back too long and doesn’t quite know how to do this halfway. For a split second you go still in surprise and that flicker of doubt hits him hard enough that Dean almost breaks away.
Then your fingers curl into the front of his shirt and pull.
Dean exhales against your mouth and shifts closer, his body shifting to tower over you. The bed dips and the small, almost inaudible sound you make is enough to send heat straight through him.
He should stop.
Sam is right there. This is complicated and stupid and exactly the kind of thing that makes everything harder. Sometimes a dream should simply stay a dream.
But your hand slides up into his hair and he feels something in his restraint give way. And Dean kisses you like he means it. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want to.
His hand drops from your face to your waist, thumb pressing into the curve there as if he needs to anchor himself. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and he forgets for a second where you both are; forgets the neon buzzing outside, the hum of the AC, or his little brother just mere feet away.
All he knows is the way you're kissing him back.
Dean pulls away only when breathing becomes a problem, forehead resting against yours, both of you a little unsteady.
“You sure?” he asks, quieter than he expected.
Not because he doubts you. Because if you aren[t, he has to be the one who stops.
Your eyes open slowly. No hesitation. “Yeah.”
Dean studies you for another second, searching for the flinch, the regret.
And he never finds it.
So when he kisses you again, it’s with less doubt and more heat, his hand tightening slightly at your waist as if he’s claiming ground he’s been circling for months.
Sam shifts once in his sleep, the mattress springs creaking faintly across the room.
Dean doesn’t pull away.
∞ ☼。𖦹 ° . ⋆♡
Bad Performances And Bending Light
✦Read on a03! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦ ✦summary: It's a hard life to lead, when you're in love with your roommate and bestfriend and you know you're never going to be able to have him. But when Dean asks you to be his fake-girlfriend for his brother's wedding, you start to see things you'd never seen before.✦ ✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, roommate!Au, friends to lovers, angst, pining, Dean Winchester needs to talk about his feelings and get a hug, fake-relationship that's not so fake, fluff, shameless smut (oral f!receiving, dirty talk, body worship, p in v sex), no use of y/n✦ ✦author's note: based on an anon request! i had so much fun with this one it's very important to me plz enjoy it thank you <3✦