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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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@cherrymoonmotel
virgo. canadian. lana del rey enthusiast. knitting=life. i <3 sonny angels. book lover. otters. diet coke. scrapbooking. dean winchester. sneakers. playlists. pinterest. popcorn. ⇉ masterlist.⇉ spotify ⇉ pinterest
write for: dean w. on my knees for him. other works/fandoms: @cherrymoonafterdark
oh to be 13 years old again, staying up late to read fanfiction
#and nothing has changed
since countdown premiered i keep seeing articles about how jensen should star in a romcom. he literally did. it was called seasons 4-15 of supernatural. hope this helps
I hate when people ask me what I do to relax because they’re expecting something normal but I get home from work and read Dean Winchester angst fanfics before bed.
#yeah this sounds about right
Jensen Ackles, EW Cover Story, July 15, 2025 (x)
HEY 😀
#i’m freaking out
ok and...?
.
.
.
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at least I have a sense of whimsy and an imagination...
.
.
.
It's like a reward ☕︎
#me when i'm home from work
✧ au!knight!dean x princess!reader
✧ he will guard. and he will wait. and he will not want. for wanting will do him no good.
✧ cw: more MEGA yearning, medieval au, deans pov, no use of y/n, not necessarily a happy ending to his one sorry
✧ wc: 1.5k
the castle is alive with motion. servants, gardeners, workers, all buzzing about.
they move fast and quiet. courtiers are whispering in corners. something feels shifted. he can feel it in his bones. in the way everyone seems busier than usual.
he finds her in the gardens. she’s alone, well not quite. her handmaiden lingers a few steps behind her, as if she was told not to tread closely.
when her eyes find his, its immediate.
“sir winchester”, she says. it’s too formal. too composed. entirely not her.
he bows his head, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his side. “your highness”
“walk with me?” she asks, not waiting for his response, already turning. her voice is soft. controlled, and yet she seems unsteady.
he falls into step beside her. its quiet between them, the only thing he can hear is the wind rustling the leaves around them.
“i received word this morning” she begins, “from the council, my mother, my father” her voice is light. nervous. he doesn’t like it.
he says nothing. just waits. watches the way her hand twists in her skirts.
“they’ve made arrangements, for tomorrow” she continues, her eyes falling over the gardens as they walk side by side. “a union. political. strategic. for the good of the people”
his jaw tightens. his hand that rests on the hilt of his sword tightens too.
of course they have.
he forces a curt nod, not daring to look at her directly. “he’s a nobleman?” he manages to say.
“a king” she says. the words sound foreign on her tongue. “from the north”
a pause passes between them.
then she speaks. “he’s….kind, from what i’ve been told”
he lets out a breath through his nose. and he can’t help the feeling rising through him, was it bitterness? he couldn’t be sure.
“thats good then” he says, they still walk step in step, both of their gazes looking forward.
but she stops then. turns to him. and for the first time since they’ve started walking her voice drops the royal tone. its her voice now. the one she uses only for him.
“i didn’t want to tell you like this”
he swallows. still not wanting to meet her eyes.
“dean”, she says quietly.
he almost flinches. gods, the way his name sounds on her tongue, it isn’t fair.
“you don’t–” he starts, then breaks off. “you don’t owe me anything”
“but i do”, she says.
silence.
he meets her eyes then. looks at her. sees the faint tremble in her hands. the glassy look in her eyes.
he wants to take her face in his hands. wants to hold her close. tell her it will all be okay. but he won’t. he can’t. not now.
so instead, he gives her the only thing he can.
“my sword is yours, my lady” he says. “always has been”
and when she wipes a single tear that had slipped from her eye. fixes her posture. puts her armour back on. they turn their gazes from each other. and they walk.
he realizes then, what he feels. it is not bitterness. it is not disappointment. it is grief.
and somehow that is so much worse.
the day had come and gone. the castle preparing for what was to come tomorrow. the festivities. her handmaidens fawning over dresses and ribbons, how she would wear her hair.
he felt ill.
he could not bear it. kept himself occupied. security arrangements. weapons cataloging. training. anything and everything that would take his mind off what was to happen tomorrow.
but when night fell he took his place in front of her door, like he had thousands of times before. his boots planted, spine straight, one hand on the hilt of his sword. eyes forward, tracing the curves of the cobblestone.
all was the same, and yet tonight felt different. felt like the end of something, something he never truly had in the first place.
the corridor was quiet. the stone beneath his boots cold. torches burned low. and her door– carved oak, worn at the edges, the only thing separating him from her. and gods, he wanted to knock. to press his palm flat against the wood and beg, for something he had no right to ask for.
he hated himself for it.
inside, she was preparing for tomorrow. for her betrothal. for a life spent beside a man who does not even know her, who’m she did not pick.
his chest ached.
she was royal. she was promised to someone else. and he– he was a blade with a heartbeat. a knight who had sworn to protect her, not love her.
and still that had not stopped him.
had not stopped the way he watched her eyes searched the stars. had not stopped the way her laughter made heat bloom in his chest, like spring in a world frozen. had not stopped the way she would lean on him, not only in moments of danger, but in the quiet ones too.
she trusted him. it felt sacred.
so he said nothing. stood his post.
he heard a rustle come from her room, her feet padding across the stone floor. and then her voice followed, soft and cautious through the wood separating them.
“are you still there?”
he closed his eyes. let the sound of her voice coat him.
“where else would i be?” he says gently.
there was a beat of silence. he could feel her behind the door. swore he could feel her through it.
“you didn’t say much at supper” she murmured.
he exhaled a breath, his eyes still closed, his back still to the door. “i did not have much to say”.
“that is unlike you”
“i did not want to lie”
silence stretches between them again. he imagines her expression, the little furrow between her brows when she thinks too hard.
“you have been quiet all day, avoiding me” she whispers. “ever since i told you abou-” she pauses. like she can’t bear to say it again.
his eyes open. and he stares ahead, his vision blurring.
“i am your guard” he says. “it is not my place to feel anything about it”
but he did. gods, he felt everything.
“you feel something” she said, her voice more certain now. “i know you do”
he tips his head back. it falls lightly on the door behind him, eyes burning. tears threatening to fall, and if they did, he’s not sure they could ever stop.
he wanted to tell her everything. wanted to say “yes i feel everything, i dream of your voice. i stand outside of your door long after i am supposed to retire, just to be near you. when i think of anyone else laying a hand on you it makes my blood run hot, my stomach twist, and i hate myself for all of it.” but alas, he does not.
for what good would it do?
“i think about the life you deserve” he says instead. “the kind where you ride bareback through fields, where you are loved out loud.” he swallows. “not in silence. not like this”
he hears her breath hitch.
“i used to think” she says, almost whisper quiet. “that i- that we would have more time”
dean swallows. something thick and hot is creeping up his throat. “time is cruel”. he says, his voice trying to be stern, yet failing.
“so are kings” she replies, he can hear the bitter smile on her lips. can hear her sniffle behind him.
his head is still tipped back against the door. his breathing feels un-steady. his eyes are still burning.
“dean..” she says his name like it meant something. like it always had.
he lifts a fist to his mouth. bites down like if he doesn't he would turn around. beg her to let him inside.
“i did not ask for this” she says. “you know that”
he takes a deep breath. “i know”
he hears her footsteps retreat from the door. soft against the stone, like she was giving him one last mercy.
and then the door was just a door again. solid and cruel.
he stood there long after the candles burned low.
the weight of his sword felt heavier tonight. he felt every inch of the ache he had carved into himself by loving her.
and so morning came. slow and golden.
hoofbeats echoed through the courtyard. servants hurried past him in the corridor. soft waves of linen and hushed excitement.
and he stood. feet rooted in front of her door. he did not move. did not knock. but when the light streaming through the windows of the corridor shone brighter, he turned. laid his palm flat against her door. a silent goodbye pressed into the grain.
and when her handmaidens came, when servants with arm-fulls of silk and lace, carafes of water, flowers, needed to enter her chamber, all he could do was stand there. move to the side. pretend it caused him no pain.
and still he did not move. did not flinch.
he faced the cold stone wall across from her chamber and whispered in his mind the only prayer he had left.
“i shall not want”
✧ other fic's in this medieval au -> and i shall not want
✧ i definitely plan on doing more of these, i'm just obsessed with it
✧taglist: @supernat7 @youdontknowmethatwell
Countdown || Bite 'Em Down (1.04)
#i can't handle this #feral for him
sam: lol you’re good with kids? who would’ve thought
dean: … I’m literally your mother
I need to ride his shoulders
I LOVE UR KNIGHT AU.
AHHHHH thank you!!!!!!!☺️☺️
im so obsessed with it atm so there will most definitely be more 🙂↕️🙂↕️
✧ au!knight!dean x princess!reader
✧ he will guard. and he will wait. and he will not want. for wanting will do him no good.
✧ cw: mega yearning, medieval au, deans pov, no use of y/n
✧ wc: 580
✧ this has been sitting in my wip's for a loooong time, and i'm obsessed with fics like this (if anyone has any good recs PLS shoot them my way!!!), this is me if i were a trope. if theres one thing y'all need to know about me, it's that i have a deep yearning obsession for anything medieval. i'm a fantasy girl at heart.
the stone beneath his boots was cold.
he shifts his weight just slightly. the torchlight that fell along the halls flickered against his armour. the steel dull, polished and worn like everything else in this castle.
the corridor was quiet at this hour. that kind of still quiet that only came once the servants retired and the flickers of candle light behind doors had all gone out.
all except hers.
his eyes ran over the stone in front of him. he didn’t glance back towards her door. he didn’t need to. he knew every sound that came from behind it. every quiet sigh, every rustle of parchment. every footstep in the early morning, how she rose before the maids came to help her dress.
he’d stood outside this room for years.
since the both of them had been younger.
since he was knighted. given his charge: protect her above all else.
and he had.
through a fever that nearly took her. through a palace siege last winter. through that night in the spring when she’d ran barefoot to the stables to save a foaling mare and the queen had nearly had him dismissed.
through every moment that drew them closer. in quiet. in glances, in things unsaid.
they were older now. she was a woman. and still he kept vigil.
he ran a hand along the hilt of his sword. his knuckles white beneath the leather of his gloves. he wasn’t cold. the chill that broke through the the stone of the castle didn’t matter.
the ache in his chest did.
he had no right to her.
and he would sooner plunge his own blade in his chest than touch her in a way that was unbecoming of a knight.
and still–god help him–he would die for her. kill for her. already had.
“dean?” she called softly from within her room. her voice muffled by the thick oak door between them.
he closed his eyes for a moment before answering. she always refused the formalities. had since she was eighteen and decided “sir” was far too stiff for the man who stitched her arm after she’d been thrown from her horse.
“my lady?” he managed, his voice low.
a pause.
“can you hear the rain?”
he tilts his head back slightly. letting it fall gently on the door behind him. the sound of the rain was faint but present. he listened as it tapped softly on the stone and windows.
“yes” he said, his voice quiet. “i hear it”.
another pause.
“will you stay until morning?”.
he closed his eyes again. his throat dry.
“always.”
and he meant it.
even if she married a prince.
even if he was sent away to die in a war she’d never know.
even if she never looked at him the way he looked at her when her back was turned.
even if she never longed for him in the dark.
he would stand at her door. at her side. at the foot of her pyre if thats where she led him.
until the end of his days he would stay. stand guard. his heart bleeding silently for a girl made of stars and silk and summer rain.
made of everything he could not have.
and so he stands there. eyes tracing the lines in the cobblestone of the castle walls. hand on his sword. repeating the same words in his mind, the words he's told himself since the day they met all those years ago.
"i shall not want".
a/n: i'm going to keep this little fic open to more instalments/parts because i'll never get enough. i NEED THIS SO BAD. love me some yearning.
part II
✧ taglist! : @supernat7
comment if you want to be added/removed!!!
Oh my god.
found this on pinterest, thought of tumblr
part two of 'bonsai's stolen memes'
me looking at my imaginary audience as i click on a fic about the same ship in a slightly different situation for the millionth time
#yeah pretty much
