Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
izzy's playlists!
if i look back, i am lost
Show & Tell
i don't do bad sauce passes
Misplaced Lens Cap
No title available
Three Goblin Art
noise dept.
blake kathryn
Mike Driver
occasionally subtle
Xuebing Du
No title available
will byers stan first human second
Stranger Things
h
taylor price
Product Placement
Peter Solarz
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Panama
seen from United States
seen from Slovenia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
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 Türkiye
@bellaspnn
୭ ݁ 𓈒 ꒰ “that’s your problem dean — you have no faith.” ꒱ ݁
꒰୨୧◞ 。bella⠀.ᐟ⠀bellaspnn⠀₊ ˚⊹
ɞ⠀.⠀17 ﾉ⠀she.her ﹗ ໒꒱۪
. this is a blog for supernatural oneshots // wincest dni !!! x
꒰ I don’t have an uploading schedule but try to stay active! ꒱
♱ request guidelines // about me // supernatural moodboards // supernatural masterlist
♱ tracy winchester: tracy winchester masterlist + character aesthetic
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color tag game !
thank you for the tag @devisedplan <3
go to pinterest and type in these prompts, whichever image is first is yours!
prompts : color, quote, character, accessory, song lyrics, hobby and flower!
lilies are the translation of my name..gulp
no pressure tags!!: @batwngs @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger
Thank you for the tag pookie!
No pressure tags: @clemeowntine @reginaphalangelobster @lechelovestoyap @iridescentlightshow @saturnst4rs + anyone else who would like to join 🫶🏽
color tag game !
ty for the tag :]
go to pinterest and type in these prompts, whichever image is first is yours!
prompts: color, quote, character, accessory, song lyrics, hobby and flower!
no pressure tags: @mythandmemories @dontlistentodaisy @castielscaplan @violained @daytonadean @soapyspurnell @heapingfern @reginaphalangelobster @grahamschewtoy @princegabriel0096
Colour Tag Game!
ty for the tag @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger & @clemeowntine !!
Go to Pinterest and type in these prompts, whichever image is first is yours!
Prompts: colour, quote, character, accessory, song lyrics, hobby and flower
That accessory was not planned but is absolutely perfect lol - the lyric is rudely appropriate
npt: @saltnburnbaby @cantchooseafav @sunkissedson @s0ullesslullab1es @s0urw00lf @casanddeanswife @gemini-serpentis @yaboyguzma69 @alasdecas @aegonslut + anyone interested!
thank you for the tag!!
Prompts: color, quote, character, accessory, lyric, hobby, flower
@iv-j1 @islaymonsters @theedaythatnevercomes @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @alasdecas
Thank you so much for the tag, Hon.✦ ݁: @casanddeanswife <3 Prompts.✦ ݁: Color, Quote, Character, Accessory, Lyric, Hobby, Flower!
I added extra pizazz to mine because I'm in a good mood today! ;)
.✦ ݁˖ @windfall-prophet @liljojoslays27789 @mortluvr @jackalope-woman @howdoyoustopthisthing @kblognar @kurtcocain67 @s0ullesslullab1es @saltcirclesigil @piexperiment .✦ ݁˖
Thank you for the tag!!
౨ৎtags: @stephtuckerwriting @musubi05 @shimmeringterroroblivion @velvetwinchester @kissthigh +anyone else!!
Yay!! I love tag games! Thank you for the tag 🫶🫶
Taglist: @notmeolive @s1m3tra @bellaspnn @stargazedwinchester
prompts: colour, quote, character, accessory, lyric, hobby, flower 𑣲⋆
thank you for the tag lovely!!! this is so fun xoxo @sunnys-struggles @marsinthespace @officallyunstable @k-winchester
happy first birthday sam winchester !!
Could I request a Tracy Winchester x Dean and Sam little fluffy bit where it's Christmas season and theyre in one of the northern states for a case so it's like extra cold. after a little while of them walking around, Dean notices shes shivering, looks at her weird and asks what the hell is up with her (cause he didnt even think it was that cold). she responds to him with something like, "I'm freaking cold, Dean!" i know tracy is supposed to be more quiet and whatever so you can change that obvi "i dont have all the insulation you do" while gesturing to his whole body (which she quickly regretted when her hand met the freezing air) Dean lets out an exasperated sigh before turning to face her and simply opening his jacket. she instantly read his mind and practically crashed into his chest with her hands folded between them. she let out a sigh of relief and he closed his arms around her (his hands are in his jacket pockets so the jacket is around her too) hopefully this makes sense. I just went through the whole masterlist and I love Tracy sm <3
. ⟢ i’m freaking cold dean! ˘ ˎˊ˗
summary: tracy learns two things during a hunt in Minnesota: vampires are annoying, and dean winchester somehow functions as a human furnace.
pairing: dean winchester x little!sister, sam winchester x little!sister.
warnings: none x
tracy winchester masterlist // navigation // requests
note: it’s getting so cold where i live!! thank you for the request it’s such a cute idea x
snow had been falling for hours.
not the light, pretty kind either, the wet, relentless kind that soaked through boots, stung your face, and made every street in the small town look equally miserable.
somewhere in northern minnesota, according to sam.
dean’s exact words had been:
“fantastic. another postcard from hell.”
the case had dragged longer than expected, and now the three of them were walking back from interviewing the sheriff, cutting through the town square under strings of christmas lights that would’ve looked nice if none of them were freezing.
well—
two of them.
dean walked ahead like the cold personally offended him but wasn’t actually winning. leather jacket, flannel, no gloves, because apparently hypothermia feared dean winchester.
sam was only slightly more reasonable, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, scarf doing absolutely nothing.
and then there was tracy.
thirteen years old, stubborn, trying very hard not to complain.
her nose was pink, her fingers felt like actual ice, and she’d reached the point where shivering wasn’t even subtle anymore. her whole body gave small involuntary shakes every few steps, shoulders pulled tight as she tried to tuck herself further into her coat.
she thought maybe if she ignored it, it’d go away.
it did not.
dean slowed slightly, glancing over his shoulder.
then again.
his eyes narrowed.
he stopped walking altogether and turned, giving her a once over like she’d personally confused him.
“what the hell is wrong with you?”
tracy blinked at him, teeth almost chattering. “what?”
“you’re vibrating.”
sam made a quiet noise beside them that was definitely him trying not to laugh.
tracy shot him a look before glaring back at dean.
“i’m freaking cold, dean!”
dean frowned like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.
“it’s not that cold.”
she stared at him.
actually stared.
snow was actively landing in his hair.
“i don’t have all the insulation you do,” she muttered, gesturing vaguely at… all of him.
broad shoulders. layers. general dean ness.
the second her hand left her pocket and met the freezing air, regret hit immediately.
“bad choice,” she hissed, shoving it back under her arm.
sam laughed outright this time.
dean just looked offended.
“insulation?”
she shrugged, shivering again. “i said what i said.”
dean let out a long, dramatic sigh like raising her had been the greatest burden of his life.
“unbelievable.”
he stepped closer.
for a second, tracy thought he was about to argue more.
instead, he turned to face her fully and just—
opened his jacket.
that was it.
no explanation.
just a silent, deeply annoyed invitation.
tracy blinked once.
then immediately understood.
“oh.”
dean raised an eyebrow. “you gonna stand there and freeze to death dramatically, or?”
she practically launched herself at him.
straight into his chest, cold hands tucked tightly between them as she buried herself against him with a sigh so relieved it was almost pathetic.
“oh my god.”
“yeah, yeah,” dean muttered, wrapping the jacket around her as best he could. his arms folded around her automatically, hands shoved into his jacket pockets so the leather closed around both of them. “you’re welcome.”
she was warm instantly.
or at least warmer.
which, at this point, felt life changing.
“this is the best day of my life,” she mumbled into his flannel.
dean snorted. “your standards are embarrassingly low.”
sam, still standing there in the snow like he was witnessing something sacred, shook his head.
“you two look ridiculous.”
tracy, still firmly attached to dean like a very cold barnacle, lifted her head just enough to look at him.
“you’re just jealous.”
“of what?”
she pointed vaguely from inside dean’s jacket. “this. emotional support body heat.”
dean made a face. “absolutely never call it that again.”
sam smiled despite himself, breath fogging in the cold.
“c’mon,” he said. “before you both fuse together permanently.”
dean started walking again with tracy still tucked against him, moving slower now so she could keep up without losing her human heater privileges.
the christmas lights glowed overhead, reflecting off the fresh snow.
for once, the case could wait another ten minutes.
tracy stayed exactly where she was, warm and safe and listening to dean complain under his breath about winter, minnesota, and probably christmas itself.
she was smiling too much for someone supposedly freezing.
but she figured that was fine.
dean would just blame it on the insulation.
this was their 3rd episode together, mind you
guys so sorry for being a hoe and not posting i’m in a writers slump rn but ill get some motivation again soon !
I think it would be funny if like Dean and Sam's little sister was into old r&b like boyz ii men because they're so into rock, idk lol they like ask to hear what she's listening to or something
. ⟢ you know the lyrics too?! ˘ ˎˊ˗
summary: sam just wanted a quiet afternoon researching cases. instead, he ends up witnessing dean spiral after discovering you share his favorite music.
pairings: dean winchester x sister!reader, sam winchester x sister!reader
warnings: none!
supernatural masterlist // navigation // requests
notes: i’ve been so unmotivated lately..but thank you for this request i love it!
the motel room was quiet in the way it only ever got when there wasn’t a case pressing down on all three of you.
no police scanner.
no research books open across the bed.
no arguments about lore.
just the low hum of the motel air conditioner and the soft afternoon light spilling through the thin curtains.
sam sat at the small table with his laptop, scrolling through something that looked suspiciously like law school articles again. dean was sprawled across his bed with one arm behind his head, flipping through the channels on the tv like he’d personally declared war on boredom.
you were on the other bed, cross-legged, digging through a pile of cds dean kept in a scratched black case.
the thing looked ancient.
most of the discs were labeled with messy sharpie.
zepp
ac/dc
metallica
motown mix
you slid one out curiously.
dean wasn’t paying attention.
sam barely glanced up.
you popped the cd into the old portable player sitting on the nightstand.
a few seconds of soft static crackled through the speakers.
then music filled the room.
smooth. slow. layered harmonies.
girl, you know we belong together—
dean froze.
the remote stopped mid-click.
sam looked up from his laptop.
you didn’t think anything of it at first. you just leaned back on your hands, nodding a little to the rhythm.
“this is good,” you said casually.
dean sat up slowly.
very slowly.
“…what?”
you glanced at him. “what?”
he pointed at the speaker like it had personally betrayed him.
“do you know what that is?”
you shrugged. “yeah.”
sam leaned forward slightly, clearly intrigued now.
“okay,” dean said carefully. “what is it.”
you looked between them like the answer was obvious.
“boyz ii men.”
the silence that followed was ridiculous.
dean blinked at you.
sam blinked at you.
dean pointed again. “you— you know boyz ii men?”
“yeah?”
“how.”
you frowned. “what do you mean how?”
sam started smiling already. he could see where this was going.
dean swung his legs off the bed.
“that,” he said dramatically, “is premium early 90s r&b.”
“i’m aware.”
“that is sophisticated heartbreak music.”
“yes, dean.”
“that is not something you just stumble into.”
you stared at him.
“you literally have it in your cd case.”
dean waved that off immediately.
“that’s different.”
sam snorted.
you crossed your arms. “why is it different?”
dean squinted at you like you’d just confessed to a crime.
“because this is my thing.”
“your thing?”
“yeah.”
“dean winchester owns boyz ii men?”
“i discovered them.”
sam laughed out loud at that.
“oh my god,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “dean.”
dean ignored him.
he looked back at you, suspicious now.
“name a song.”
you rolled your eyes.
“i’ll make love to you.”
sam choked.
dean slapped a hand over his mouth, staring at you like you’d just grown a second head.
“nope,” he said immediately. “no. no way.”
“what?”
“you did not just say that with a straight face.”
“it’s literally one of their most famous songs.”
sam was fully laughing now.
“dean, she’s right.”
dean pointed at sam like he’d betrayed the family.
“you stay out of this.”
the song on the speakers shifted into the chorus, the harmonies filling the room.
you leaned over and turned the volume up a little.
dean gasped like you’d committed treason.
“hey! “
“what?” you said, completely unbothered.
sam shook his head, grinning.
“this is the funniest thing that’s happened all week.”
dean stood up and walked over to the cd player like he needed to inspect it personally.
“okay,” he said, pointing again. “name another one.”
you didn’t even hesitate.
“end of the road.”
dean’s jaw dropped.
“sam.”
“yeah?”
“this is unnatural.”
you threw a pillow at him.
“what is wrong with you.”
he caught it, still staring at you in disbelief.
“how long has this been happening.”
“what.”
“this.”
he gestured vaguely between you and the music.
“i don’t know,” you said. “i just like it.”
sam leaned his elbows on the table, watching dean unravel with great interest.
“dean,” he said calmly, “maybe she just has good taste.”
dean whipped around.
“sam, this is my emotional genre.”
“your emotional genre?”
“yes.”
sam rubbed his forehead, trying not to laugh again.
you shook your head and flopped back onto the bed.
“you’re ridiculous.”
dean turned back to you.
“no, listen. you don’t understand.”
“apparently.”
he crossed his arms like he was about to give a lecture.
“this music is important.”
you stared at him.
“dean.”
“yeah.”
“you cry to this in the impala, don’t you.”
sam burst out laughing so hard he had to grab the table.
dean pointed aggressively.
“i do not cry.”
sam could barely breathe.
“oh my god—”
“i don’t!”
you were smiling now, the kind that made dean immediately defensive.
“i’ve heard you,” you said.
his eyes widened.
“when.”
“that time outside omaha.”
“that was a rough night!”
sam wiped tears from his eyes.
“dean winchester. secret r&b enthusiast.”
“shut up.”
the song shifted again.
dean looked back at the speaker, then at you.
his suspicion slowly turned into something else.
pride.
he tried to hide it.
he failed.
“…okay,” he admitted reluctantly.
you raised an eyebrow.
“okay what.”
he shrugged.
“maybe it’s not the worst thing.”
sam smirked.
“high praise.”
dean ignored him and reached over to the cd case again, flipping through it.
“hold on.”
he pulled another disc out.
“if you’re gonna listen to the good stuff,” he said, sliding it into the player, “you gotta hear the real classics.”
you grinned.
sam leaned back in his chair, watching the two of you like he’d just discovered a brand new form of chaos.
the music started again, another smooth r&b track filling the room.
dean nodded along immediately.
you did too.
sam shook his head.
“i leave you two alone for five minutes,” he muttered, “and suddenly we’re in a 90s slow jam convention.”
dean pointed at him.
“don’t act like you’re not feeling it.”
sam paused.
listened for a second.
then sighed.
“…okay, maybe a little.”
dean grinned triumphantly.
“see?”
you laughed.
and for a little while, the motel room didn’t feel like a temporary stop between hunts.
it just felt like music, teasing, and the three of you being siblings.
even if dean still looked mildly offended every time you sang the lyrics before the chorus.
wanna make a request about a sister!reader fic, not specifically Tracy oc but a different character
wanted to ask for a story where the character is Dean's twin sister, both the reader and Dean are very overwhelmed with hunting and Sam gives the idea of a day off on their birthday
after Sam insisting a lot they accept and head to a festive city
on the night before their birthday they go out and Dean and reader drink...a lot!
Sam gets crazy trying to take care of them and make sure to keep both in line
a lot of fluff and siblings enjoying each other!!
︵ ⠀✦ㅤִㅤ⠀ BIRTHDAY CHAOS⠀ৎ . ★ ꕀ D.W + S.W
summary: after months of hunting non-stop, sam convinces you and dean to take a rare day off for your shared birthday. but when you and dean let loose in a lively city, the night spirals into chaos!
pairing: dean winchester x sister!reader, sam winchester x sister!reader
warnings: generally none, mentions of alcohol and being intoxicated.
timeline: set during season 3
supernatural masterlist // navigation // requests
note: sorry this took so long! hope u guys like it <3
these past months felt like a clock ticking in a quiet room.
you couldn’t see it.
you couldn’t stop it.
but you heard it in everything.
every hunt. every motel check-in. every time dean got a little too quiet after a kill.
the year hung over all three of you like low cloud cover.
you and dean had always been the same in the ways that mattered, loud when things were easy, reckless when things weren’t. twin symmetry. same sharp edges. same refusal to look too long at anything that hurt.
lately, it felt like you were both running on fumes.
the motel room smelled like old coffee and gun oil. the tv was on but muted, flashing some late-night infomercial no one was watching. you were at the tiny table cleaning a blade that didn’t need cleaning. dean was on the edge of his bed reassembling a gun with more force than necessary.
sam stood by the window, arms crossed, watching both of you like you were about to implode.
it was two days before your birthday.
he cleared his throat.
“so,” he started carefully, like he was diffusing a bomb. “i was thinking.”
dean didn’t look up. “that’s always dangerous.”
you snorted faintly but didn’t lift your head.
sam ignored him. “we’ve been going non-stop. like, actually non-stop.”
“we’re fine,” you and dean
said at the exact same time.
sam pinched the bridge of his nose.
“that,” he said slowly, “is exactly what i mean.”
dean snapped the slide of the gun back into place with a sharp click. “sam, i don’t need a therapy session.”
“it’s not a therapy session. it’s a day off.”
silence.
you finally looked up.
“a what?”
“a day,” sam repeated. “off. for your birthday.”
dean barked a laugh. “oh, yeah. great idea. demons will totally respect that. ‘sorry, hellspawn, can’t exorcise you today, it’s my cake day.’”
but sam didn’t back down.
“it’s one day. we pick a city that’s not currently infested. we stay somewhere decent. no cases. no research. just…breathing.”
you could see the resistance in dean’s shoulders. the idea of stopping was worse than exhaustion. stopping meant thinking.
sam softened a little.
“it’s your birthday,” he said quietly. “both of you. and this year—”
he didn’t finish that sentence.
he didn’t have to.
the clock ticked louder.
dean looked at you.
you shrugged one shoulder, trying to play it off, but your eyes betrayed you. you were tired. bone-deep tired. of pretending this year wasn’t slipping away.
“festive city,” sam added, like he was pitching a vacation package. “lights. music. something that doesn’t smell like sulfur.”
dean rolled his eyes, but the edge was thinner now.
“fine,” he muttered. “one day.”
you blinked at him. “seriously?”
he shot you a look. “don’t make it a thing.”
it was already a thing.
the city sam chose was loud and alive and glowing like it had no idea the world could end at any second.
neon signs reflected in wet pavement. street performers played off-key saxophones. there were strings of lights zigzagging over outdoor patios. music drifted from open bar doors. people laughed without flinching.
it felt unreal.
you and dean both slowed when you stepped out of the impala.
for a second, neither of you said anything.
sam noticed.
“see?” he said gently. “not everything is doom and gloom.”
dean adjusted his jacket like the brightness offended him. “it’s excessive.”
you elbowed him. “you love excessive.”
he smirked. “yeah. when it’s me.”
the motel sam booked wasn’t five-star, but it didn’t have mysterious stains on the carpet. that
alone felt like luxury.
you dropped your bag on the bed and flopped backward, staring at the ceiling.
no emf meter on the nightstand.
no lore books spread across the floor.
no police scanner crackling.
it felt wrong.
dean stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching you.
“you okay?”
the question was casual. too casual.
“yeah,” you said quickly.
he nodded once.
neither of you believed each other.
that night, technically still the night before your birthday. the three of you went out.
sam insisted on dinner first. real food. not gas station garbage. dean made sarcastic comments about overpriced burgers but ate every bite anyway.
you felt lighter with every step away from the motel.
by the time you found a bar with live music and too many colored lights, something in your chest had loosened.
dean ordered the first round.
“to us,” he said, lifting his glass.
“to us,” you echoed.
sam hesitated, then clinked his beer against your drinks.
the first shot burned.
the second didn’t.
by the third, the tension in your spine had dissolved into warmth.
dean’s laugh got louder. yours did too.
you started talking over each other, old stories, stupid memories, impressions of dad, impressions of bobby. at some point you were both half-yelling the words to a classic rock song playing over the speakers.
sam watched the descent in real time.
“okay,” he said cautiously after dean ordered another round. “maybe pace yourselves?”
dean threw an arm around your shoulders. “sammy. it’s our birthday.”
“it’s not technically—”
“midnight’s like, five minutes away,” you slurred confidently, even though it wasn’t.
dean squinted at the clock behind the bar. “time is a construct.”
sam stared at both of you.
“you’re already gone.”
you leaned across the table. “sam. live a little.”
“i am living,” he said. “i’m supervising.”
dean raised his glass again. “to supervisory buzzkills.”
you clinked against him, missing slightly.
midnight crept in unnoticed until the bartender shouted something about last call for the “birthday twins.”
dean froze.
you blinked.
“wait,” you whispered.
the room erupted into half-hearted cheers when dean announced it was official.
he turned to you, grinning wide and reckless and too bright.
“happy birthday, twin.”
something about the way he said it, like it might be the last time. hit too hard.
you swallowed it down with another shot.
bad decision.
from there, things spiraled.
dean decided he needed to prove he could out-drink you.
you absolutely refused to lose.
sam tried cutting you off. dean convinced another table to send drinks over “for the birthday legends.” you attempted to stand on a chair to make a speech and nearly face-planted.
sam caught you mid-wobble.
“okay. that’s it,” he muttered. “we’re done.”
dean was arguing with a jukebox.
“dean,” sam called.
“i’m negotiating!”
“with a machine!”
you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.
by the time sam managed to herd you both out of the bar, you were clinging to dean’s arm and dean was dramatically declaring his love for streetlights.
sam walked between you, one hand ready to catch whichever twin tipped too far.
“you’re both impossible,” he said.
“you love us,” you sang.
“i do,” he admitted, exasperated. “that’s the problem.”
dean stumbled slightly, then leaned his head briefly against yours as you walked.
for a moment, the chaos quieted.
“you okay?” he murmured, softer now. not drunk loud. just honest.
you nodded against him.
“yeah.”
he didn’t look convinced.
neither were you.
back at the motel, sam wrestled dean out of his boots while you attempted to brush your teeth and nearly fell asleep standing up.
“sit,” sam ordered you gently, steering you toward the bed.
you squinted up at him. “you’re bossy.”
“i learned from the best.”
dean, already half horizontal, pointed vaguely. “i am an excellent role model.”
“you’re thirty seconds from passing out,” sam shot back.
dean blinked slowly. “rude.”
you crawled onto your own bed, staring at the ceiling again. but this time it spun slightly.
dean’s voice drifted across the room.
“hey.”
you turned your head.
“yeah?”
he was looking at you like he memorized faces when he was afraid of losing them.
“happy birthday,” he said again. quieter.
your throat tightened.
“happy birthday.”
sam stood between the beds, watching both of you with something complicated in his expression. protective. worried. determined.
he flipped off the lights.
“get some sleep,” he said softly.
outside, the city kept glowing. music drifted faintly through the walls. somewhere, people were celebrating for reasons that didn’t come with expiration dates.
inside the motel room, the clock kept ticking.
but for one night, just one. you and dean weren’t thinking about hellhounds or his deal.
you were just twins.
exhausted. a little reckless. a lot overwhelmed.
and still here.
and thats all that mattered in the moment.
Are you okayyy??
yes i’m okay :) sorry for being so inactive i was celebrating my birthday yesterday!!
︵ ⠀✦ㅤִㅤ⠀ OOPS, NOTICED! ⠀ৎ . ★ ꕀ D.W
summary: dean has a habit of noticing, even if it’s small. even if it’s just his sister trying out something new and not wanting to be payed attention to.
pairing: dean winchester x little!sister reader.
warnings: none!
tracy winchester masterlist // navigation // requests
note: sorry im so late with the requests! ive just had some life stuff going on but i promise theyll be written/published soon (i’ve had this in my drafts for like a month so hope you guys like this)
its subtle enough that dean almost misses it.
almost.
tracy comes into the kitchen late that afternoon, hoodie half zipped, hair falling straight down her back. she moves like she is trying not to be seen, eyes down, footsteps quiet. dean is halfway through pouring coffee when something about her face feels… different.
he squints.
not in the critical way. more like the confused, headtilted, something is off way.
she reaches for a mug and that is when he sees it. a faint shadow along her lashes. a little color on her lids. nothing heavy, nothing dramatic. just enough to look like she tried.
dean opens his mouth before his brain catches up.
“you got something on your face?”
the second the words leave him, he regrets them.
tracy freezes.
her hand tightens around the mug like it might shatter. her shoulders go stiff, chin lifting a fraction. she does not look at him.
“…what?”
dean backtracks immediately. “no, i mean. not like something something. just… uh.”
she turns then, eyes wide, scanning his face like she is bracing for a joke or a lecture or worse.
he sees it click.
her cheeks flush red, fast and deep.
“oh my god,” she mutters, horrified. her free hand flies up, rubbing at her eye like she can erase it if she tries hard enough. “i didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“hey, hey,” dean says quickly, setting the coffee pot down like it might explode. “no, don’t do that.”
she stops, fingers hovering uncertainly near her face.
“it looks fine,” he adds, then winces. “not fine like you needed it. just fine like… normal. good. whatever.”
she looks like she wants the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
“i was just trying it,” she says, voice small, rushed. “i didn’t mean to, like, wear it wear it. i was bored and i found some stuff in claire’s bag last time she was here and i just wanted to see if i could do it without looking stupid.”
that last word comes out sharp, defensive.
dean feels something twist in his chest.
“trace,” he says more gently, “you don’t look stupid.”
she huffs out a breath that is half laugh, half mortified groan. “i knew i shouldn’t have.”
she turns toward the sink, clearly intent on washing it off and disappearing into her room for the next six hours.
dean steps closer, careful, keeping his voice low. “you don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to.”
she pauses.
“…seriously?”
“seriously,” he says. “you’re a teenager. you’re allowed to try stuff.”
she peeks at him over her shoulder, still unsure.
he rubs the back of his neck. “i mean, i’m not exactly the expert here, but. you did a better job than i would’ve.”
that gets a tiny snort out of her despite herself.
“you’d poke your eye out,” she says.
“absolutely,” dean agrees. “blood everywhere. very dramatic.”
she finally relaxes a little, shoulders lowering. the embarrassment is still there, but it is softer now. manageable.
“please don’t tell sam,” she says quietly.
dean lifts two fingers. “cross my heart.”
she nods, then hesitates. “do you… think it’s too much?”
he looks at her properly then. really looks. at the careful way she tried. at how young she still is, even while reaching for something grown.
“no,” he says honestly. “i think it looks like you.”
she ducks her head, hiding a shy smile.
“okay,” she murmurs, and for the first time since she walked in, she takes a sip of her drink instead of running away.
dean watches her over the rim of his mug, heart full and a little wrecked, realizing that somewhere along the way, she started figuring herself out.
and he is trying very hard not to notice how fast that is happening.
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would anyone like to be tiktok moots?? 🪽
i follow back !
literally someone commented on my tiktok with a ai photo of jared i fucking hate this generation
I'm sorry I thought it was y/n stories!! I didn't mean to say Sister!reader when her name was Tracy, I hope it didn't upset or annoy you🩷🩷
I had another request, Tracy is like maybe 15 at high school and she gets invited to a party that most the kids in her high school are going to and she has to ask Sam and Dean for permission. I don't knowww do whatever you want 💕
⤷ borrowed normal — .°. ݁₊ ۶•ৎ. ݁ ⁺₊
summary: when tracy gets invited to a high school party, sam and dean are forced to confront how much of her childhood has already slipped by.
pairing: dean winchester x little sister!reader, sam winchester x little sister!reader
warnings: none x
tracy winchester masterlist // navigation // requests
note: thank you for the request, and i’m not upset or annoyed 🤍 i write for both my supernatural oc and sister!reader!! if you ever want to request for either one i do not mind at all <3
the bunker is unusually quiet when tracy finally works up the nerve.
she’s been sitting on her bed for nearly an hour, knees pulled to her chest, fingers worrying at the hem of her shirt. her room is still the same one she’s had for years. soft lights. her art taped to the walls. comfort layered carefully on top of a life that never really allowed it. tonight though, the room feels smaller.
because tonight isn’t about a hunt. or training. or lore.
it’s about a party.
the invitation had come that afternoon at school, slipped to her awkwardly between classes. a girl she shares english with. friendly enough. curious enough. “you should come,” she’d said, like it was no big deal. like everyone did this kind of thing all the time.
tracy had nodded. smiled. said she’d think about it.
now she’s thinking about it way too much.
asking the brothers feels harder than facing down most monsters. there are rules in the bunker. curfews. safety plans. check ins. and tracy knows that even if they trust her skills, they don’t trust the world with her.
she takes a breath. then another.
and finally leaves her room.
sam is in the library, laptop open, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration.
dean is nearby, leaning back in a chair with his boots on the table, cleaning a gun more out of habit than necessity.
they both look up when tracy stops in the doorway.
“everything okay, sweetheart?” dean asks immediately.
that makes her pause. she hadn’t even said anything yet.
“yeah,” she says quietly. then hesitates. “i just… um. can i ask you something?”
sam closes the laptop gently. “of course.”
she steps farther in, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. her shoulders are slightly hunched, like she’s bracing for impact.
“there’s this thing,” she says. “at school.”
dean straightens a little. “what kind of thing.”
“a party.” she rushes the word, like if she says it fast enough it’ll hurt less. “a high school one. this friday.”
the silence stretches.
tracy stares at the floor, already preparing herself for the no. for the lecture. for the disappointment she knows too well.
instead, sam glances at dean. dean glances back.
“where’s it at?” dean asks.
she looks up, startled. “um. someone’s house. parents are supposed to be gone but like. people said there’d be older kids there too.”
sam studies her face. “will there be drinking?”
she shrugs. “probably.”
another glance between the brothers. something unspoken passes between them.
“what time does it start?” dean asks.
“seven.”
“and when does it end?”
“i don’t know,” she admits. “i wouldn’t stay late. i swear.”
dean exhales slowly, then nods once. “okay.”
tracy blinks. “okay?”
“okay,” he repeats. “you can go.”
for a second, she genuinely thinks she misheard him.
“wait. really?”
sam smiles softly. “yeah. really. you’ve earned some normal, tracy.”
her chest tightens in a way she doesn’t quite know how to name. relief. disbelief. something close to fear.
“thank you,” she says quietly.
dean nods toward her room. “just keep your phone on you. text us when you get there. and when you’re ready to come home, we’ll pick you up.”
she nods quickly. “i will.”
when friday evening rolls around, the reality of it hits her.
she stands in front of her mirror, surrounded by clothes she suddenly hates. everything feels wrong. too much. not enough. too childish. too serious. her long hair hangs straight down her back, heavy and unfamiliar, refusing to curl no matter what she does to it anymore.
she tries on a henley. takes it off. puts on a fitted jacket over a lace singlet. stares. changes again.
her stomach twists with nerves.
what if she looks stupid. what if she doesn’t belong there. what if everyone can tell she’s different.
there’s a soft knock on her door.
“trace?” dean’s voice. careful. “you okay in there?”
she hesitates, then opens the door a crack. “yeah. just… trying to figure out what to wear.”
dean leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. his eyes flick briefly over the scattered clothes, the nervous energy in her posture.
“you’ve been in here a while,” he says gently.
she shrugs. “i don’t really know what people wear to these things.”
he studies her for a moment longer, something thoughtful settling into his expression.
“you look fine,” he says. “in pretty much anything.”
she lets out a small, humorless huff. “that doesn’t help.”
he smiles. not teasing. just soft. “yeah. i know.”
there’s a pause. then he adds, quieter, “it’s weird, you know.”
she looks up at him.
“seeing you worry about stuff like this,” he continues. “first parties. school things. feels like it snuck up on me.”
her fingers curl into the fabric of her jacket. “i’m still me.”
“i know,” he says immediately. then, after a beat, “you’ve just grown. that’s all.”
the words land heavier than she expects.
he straightens, giving her space again. “take your time. sam and i aren’t going anywhere.”
after he leaves, tracy stands there for a long moment, breathing through the tightness in her chest.
she ends up choosing the lace singlet, a henley layered over it, her favorite flared jeans, converses she’s broken in a hundred times. it feels like her. familiar enough to hold onto.
when she comes out ready, sam looks up and smiles. dean pauses mid sentence.
and for just a second, dean sees it.
not the kid he taught how to hold a gun. not the girl who memorized lore late into the night. but a teenager standing on the edge of something new. nervous. hopeful. still fragile.
“have fun,” sam says.
dean nods. “and call if you need us. for anything.”
she does.
and when the bunker door closes behind her, dean stands there a moment longer than usual, jaw tight, realizing that the world keeps moving forward whether he’s ready or not.
and so does she.
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. CASTIEL MOODBOARD . .ᐟ.ᐟ
supernatural moodboards .
"now I realize that there is no righteous path. It's just people trying to do their best in a world where it's far too easy to do your worst."
heyy
would like to request a story where Tracy is around 4 and Dean receives a call from school that they should pick her up because she has a fever, threw up and is feeling down
Sam and Dean get worried and immediately go get her
they try to figure out what happened, since she was fine when they dropped her off that morning
she spends the whole day and night very sad and quieter than usual
after looking for answers they question her teacher and she tells they were learning about family dynamics, which got Tracy very sad and feeling like she was missing out the experience of having a mother, for example
basically lots of fluff and angst and family drama, typical of the Winchesters
sorry if that was too long, love your works!!
⤷ the truth, and how much it hurts — .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 . ݁ ⁺₊
summary: when tracy is sent home from preschool sick, sam and dean assume it’s just a fever, until they learn what really upset her. a quiet, painful look at childhood, missing pieces, and the weight of family she’s only beginning to understand.
pairing: dean winchester x little!sister reader, sam winchester x little!sister reader
warnings: generally none, minor mention of being physically sick & some angst !
tracy winchester masterlist // navigation // requests
note: thank you for this request I hope you like it <3 & hope everyone’s 2026 is going well! I’m currently working on more requests that will be posted soon!
The call comes in the middle of nothing.
Dean is elbow deep in the Impala’s engine, sleeves rolled, grease on his hands, when his phone starts buzzing against the hood. He ignores it at first. Lets it buzz. Lets it buzz again. Sam is inside Bobby’s house, papers spread across the table, flipping through lore with one ear tuned to the radio.
The phone keeps buzzing.
Dean sighs, reaches out with the cleanest part of his wrist, and checks the screen
Unknown number. Local.
Something in his chest tightens before he even answers.
“Yeah?” he says, sharp, distracted.
There’s a pause on the other end. A woman’s voice. Polite. Careful. Professional in the way that makes his stomach drop.
“Hello, is this Tracy Winchester’s guardian?”
Dean straightens immediately. “Yeah. That’s me. Is she okay?”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“She’s safe,” the woman says quickly, and Dean exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “But she’s developed a fever over the last hour, she’s been sick, and she seems very withdrawn. We think it would be best if you came to pick her up.”
Dean doesn’t even hesitate.
“On our way,” he says, already moving. He hangs up without waiting for a response.
“Sam!” he calls, voice sharp, urgency slicing through the quiet.
Sam appears in the doorway instantly, already reading Dean’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“The school rang, said Tracy threw up.”
Sam’s color drains. He grabs his jacket, keys already in his hand. “Let’s go.”
The drive is too quiet.
Dean drives faster than usual, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Sam keeps glancing at the clock on the dash, counting minutes, replaying the morning in his head.
“She was fine,” Sam says, more to himself than Dean. “She ate breakfast. She was talking. She didn’t feel warm.”
“I know,” Dean mutters. “She was normal.”
The word feels fragile. Breakable.
Dean pulls into the small parking lot out front of the preschool and barely puts the car in park before he’s out the door. Sam is right behind him
Inside, everything feels too bright. Too cheerful. Children’s voices echo down the hallway, laughter and crying and chatter mixing together.
Dean spots Tracy immediately.
She’s sitting on a little plastic chair near the front desk, wrapped in a thin blanket that’s clearly not hers. Her curls are limp, plastered slightly to her forehead with sweat. Her shoulders are slumped forward, small hands folded in her lap.
She doesn’t look up until Dean says her name.
“Hey, kid.”
Her head snaps up. Her eyes go watery instantly.
“Dean,” she whispers, voice hoarse.
He’s across the room in three steps, crouching in front of her. He presses the back of his fingers to her forehead and immediately swears under his breath.
“You’re burnin’ up,” he says softly.
She leans forward without thinking, pressing her face into his chest. Her arms wrap around his neck weakly, like she doesn’t have the energy to hold on very tight.
Sam kneels beside them. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently. “You feel sick?”
She nods, a small movement. “My tummy hurts.”
Dean scoops her up without asking. She doesn’t protest. Just melts into him, head dropping onto his shoulder.
The teacher explains what happened. Fever spiked quickly. She’d gotten sick in the bathroom. Hadn’t wanted to talk much afterward. Just sat quietly.
“She kept asking if she could go home,” the woman adds, her voice soft. “She seemed… sad.”
Dean nods, jaw tight. “We got her.”
Back in the car, Tracy curls up against Dean in the passenger seat, seatbelt loose enough to let her lean into him while still being safe. Sam watches her from the corner of his eye, concern etched into every line of his face.
“Did you eat something bad?” Sam asks gently.
She shakes her head.
“Did someone hurt you?” Dean asks, sharper.
She shakes her head again, curls barely moving.
They exchange a glance.
By the time they reach Bobby’s, Tracy is quieter than either of them like. She doesn’t complain. Doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t ask questions. She just follows directions, curling up on the couch under a blanket while Sam fetches the thermometer and Dean brings water.
Her fever is mild. Not dangerous. Enough to make her miserable, not enough to explain the way she looks hollowed out.
“She’s sick,” Dean says, trying to convince himself. “Kids get sick.”
Sam nods. But he’s watching Tracy too closely.
The afternoon drags.
Tracy sleeps on and off. When she’s awake, she stares at nothing. Picks at the edge of the blanket. Doesn’t ask for cartoons. Doesn’t want to color.
At dinner, she eats two bites of soup and pushes the bowl away.
“I’m not hungry,” she murmurs.
Dean’s chest tightens. “You gotta eat a little, kid.”
She nods obediently, takes one more spoonful, then stops again.
That night is worse.
She wakes up crying once, quiet tears leaking down her cheeks, face flushed and hot. Dean carries her to the bathroom when she says her stomach hurts again. He sits on the floor with her, rubbing her back, murmuring nonsense reassurances while she retches weakly into the toilet.
Afterward, she just sags against him.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
Dean’s throat tightens painfully. “Hey. No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She nods, not really hearing him.
He carries her back to bed. She doesn’t protest when he stays, sitting on the edge, one hand resting lightly on her back until she falls asleep again.
Sam watches from the doorway.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Sam says quietly once they’re sure she’s asleep.
Dean runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”
When the next morning approach’s, Tracy’s fever is gone.
But she’s still wrong.
She moves slowly. Speaks softly. Keeps close to Dean in a way she hasn’t since her first day of preschool. She doesn’t want to play. She doesn’t want to watch TV. She sits at the table with her crayons but doesn’t draw.
Sam tries gently. “You wanna tell us what happened yesterday?”
She shrugs.
Dean crouches beside her chair. “Did someone say something to you?”
She shakes her head.
Sam frowns. “Did you feel sick before you threw up?”
Another shrug.
Dean exchanges another glance with Sam. Something’s missing. They can feel it.
They decide to go back to the preschool.
The teacher looks relieved when she sees Tracy’s brothers again. Concern creases her face when she hears Tracy is still withdrawn.
“I was hoping you’d come back,” she admits. “I was worried.”
“What happened yesterday?” Sam asks carefully. “Before she got sick.”
The teacher hesitates. Then sighs.
“We were doing a lesson on families.”
Dean’s stomach drops.
“We were talking about different kinds of families,” she continues. “Moms, dads, siblings. Who lives in your house. We asked the kids to draw pictures of their families.”
Sam goes still.
“And Tracy?” he asks quietly.
“She didn’t draw,” the teacher says. “She sat there for a long time. When I asked her if she wanted help, she just… looked really sad.”
Dean swallows hard.
“She asked me where her mom was,” the teacher continues, clearly uncomfortable. “I didn’t know how to answer. I told her that families can look different, and that sometimes people aren’t around. She nodded. And then later… she got sick.”
The silence after that feels heavy.
Dean thanks her, voice stiff, and ushers Sam back outside.
They don’t speak until they’re back in the car.
“She thinks she’s missing something,” Sam says finally, voice tight. “Something everyone else has.”
Dean grips the steering wheel. “She is.”
They sit in that truth for a long moment.
That night, Tracy is sitting on the bed in Bobby’s spare room, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the wall when Dean knocks softly.
“Hey,” he says. “Mind if I come in?”
She shrugs.
He sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd her.
“Your teacher told us about yesterday,” he says gently.
Her shoulders tense.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he adds quickly. “Okay?”
She nods but doesn’t look at him.
“Do you wanna tell me what you were thinking?”
Silence stretches.
Finally, very quietly, she asks, “Why don’t I have a mommy?”
The question hits Dean like a punch.
He swallows, choosing his words carefully. “You do. She’s just… not here.”
“Everyone else’s moms pick them up,” Tracy whispers. “They draw pictures with them. They make lunches.”
Dean closes his eyes briefly.
Sam appears in the doorway, leaning quietly, listening.
“It made my tummy hurt,” Tracy says, tears finally spilling. “I think I got sick ‘cause I was sad.”
Dean’s chest aches painfully.
He reaches out slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants. She doesn’t. She leans into him, forehead pressing against his shoulder.
“Oh, kid,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
Sam steps closer. “You’re not missing out because you did something wrong,” he says gently. “None of this is your fault.”
She sniffles. “I just… wanted to know what it’s like.”
Dean wraps an arm around her fully now, holding her close. “Yeah. I know.”
She curls into him, small body warm and trembling.
“You still have us,” Sam adds softly.
She nods against Dean’s chest. “I know.”
They sit there like that for a long time.
Later, when she finally falls asleep again, breathing even and calm, Dean stays seated beside her bed long after Sam leaves.
Because for the first time, it’s hit him just how much she understands.
And how much it hurts.
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