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ℛ𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯.ᐟ ᢉ𐭩 “ everything i feel returns to you．”

[deansbestfriend]

⌗ BONJOUR,  MY  LOVERS.

figured we’re overdue for a real introduction.

𐦍༘⋆ kp , she / her — part time hopeless romantic(?) i. no master list of my works just yet but most of them are sporadic musings that came to mind on a whim. will update accordingly. 𑁍ࠬܓ ii. writer for my lovers 𝒟ean & 𝒮am Winchester.  𑁍ࠬܓ iii. drabble request are open ᰔᩚ wait time 1-2 days.

[deansbestfriend]

things that go BOOM (besides my heart) 𐙚 dean winchester

dean winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: fluff, comfort!dean, reminding dean he deserves something other than suffering!! short drabble, (happy 4th, (I guess) to those who celebrate) no angst unless you try really hard

summary: Dean deliriously recalls an old memory months ago and now with him underneath world ending stress, you decide to reignite an old feeling to ease his mood

You found the fireworks in a dusty box at a gas station two towns over,

next to a half-deflated pool float and a faded American flag missing a few stars. They were probably cheap and definitely illegal and completely perfect.

Dean made the mistake of telling you about his Fourth of July memory one night in a tiny motel bed that barely fit you both. Sleep deprived after a long hunt, he told you it like it was a throwaway story, with a level of nonchalant only he had.

“I don’t remember the fireworks, but remember his face, he was so happy.” He said with a lazy smile, “so was I.”

You hadn’t said anything then, but it stuck with you. Like most things he said in his rare moments of vulnerability—whether he realized it or not.

So now, with everything falling apart once again—Dean had been festering in a silence. You could tell his mind was working overtime, he had become distant, not intentionally but to keep you away from the darkness he felt encasing him. But he was cracking around the edges like an old sidewalk—so you decided to bring it up.

Not the past—just the feeling.

You told Sam a half-lie to get him to stall Dean for half an hour, because if you were gone out of his sight, without a word—he was a man on a mission, looking for you. Wanting to make sure you weren’t another person he needed to grieve.

But you worked in secret. The edge of Bobby’s field was perfect, just clear enough to launch and private enough that he wouldn’t be embarrassed if he gets too soft.

You even bought sparklers, the real deal, silver and sleek. Waiting to be lit to showcase their fiery dance.

Like a clock that hit zero, thirty minutes passed and Dean had stomped out the back door. Passing the scrapyard, into the grassy fields, thanks to Sam finally admitting where you’d be.

Clearly mid grumble, slightly confused with both brows furrowed—he stops cold when he sees you standing there, barefoot in the grass, matches in your hand and eyes lit up like something worth believing in.

“What the hell is this?” He says, half a laugh in his throat and half a warning. His arms crossed, but his mouth twitching.

You just smile, “a surprise!” And then you struck it. Before he could protest or complain—the first fuse had been lit and sent into the air.

It was sloppy, bright, and a little sideways as it shrieked into the air—but when it explodes in a lopsided burst of red, you see him smile.

And not the fake ones he likes to hand out like rationed candy, a real one. Small, honest and fleeting.

You light another, this time not looking at him, focused on not starting a small fire or causing a minor explosion.

You light two more,

Popping, Crackling, Blooming—across the sky.

“You got to be kiddin’ me.” He utters, but it’s not annoyance, there’s something softer in it. Something stunned.

You glance over your shoulder with a grin, “happy Fourth of July, De’!”

Dean continued to stare up at the sky, as colors laughed against the night, like it just confessed something to him. His arms hung loose at his sides, his face twisted in awe—he looked unburdened for once.

You light a couple more, bigger ones with longer fuses, probably too many. You scatter backwards out of its blast zone—he looked back at you instead of the sky as if he was ready to catch you in his arms.

He admires you, like you’re something sacred. Like the moment might shatter if he breathes too hard. Or it'll all disappear if he blinks “You did all this,” he says in disbelief. “For me?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “For you.”

The first of many lit fire workers shoot into the air with a yell. It burst, painting your face in blue and silver. And when he sees it—you—lit up like that, something breaks in him in the sweetest way.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He looks at you. Another burst in color overhead reflected on you both.

“Too much?” You worry.

“No, no!” He quickly recanted. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.” He said, quietly, like he was in disbelief. He felt like there was a pit in his stomach, in a good way.

There was no scrutiny here, or world ending consequence, just you and a dozen fireworks.

Continued blossoms of color bloomed overhead with thunderous claps.

“I don’t need the whole world fixed, even though I know you’ll try anyway.” You laugh which brings another, larger, smile across his face. “But I need you to know…you still deserve things, De’. You deserve things that feel like light.”

Dean stepped closer, a hand reaching up like maybe he was going to say something heroic. But then his fingers curled into the collar of your shirt and he kissed you—messy, unsure, reverent.

It was the kind of kiss that said: thank you for remembering me. Thank you for bringing me back.

“I’m so in love with you,” he murmured like it was the only truth that survived the war.

“I know you are.” You tease him in the way he does you. “But it’s nice to hear.”

A smirk comes across his face, his eyes drift from you hesitantly as the last pre-lit firework scattered across the night sky, flowering colors of white, red and blue.

That night, the two of you spent another hour with the rest of the fireworks making booms followed by a flurry of colors against the clear sky.

You both played with sparklers and making declarations of love and more importantly hope. Hope that there was something to this life after all. You saw something in his face again, it was an innocence you had yet to witness. He was showing you something pure—he was showing you him. You studied the fleeting moment like your life depended on it.

There in the grassy field, the smell of fireworks hung over the two of you. Both of you laid in the blades of grass, against the cool earth like you were teenagers again. Giggling and chuckling at jokes and almost forgot memories.

He told you more stories.

You listened like you were memorizing the sound of his happiness.

[deansbestfriend]

just close enough 𐙚 dean winchester

dean winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: another dean drabble. fluff, angst, unspoken romance, TOUCH STARVED!DEAN (my baby) dean feeling undeserving, you feeling otherwise.

summary: cleaning up dean after a hunt leads to a side of him you had never experienced before.

The motel room reeked of antiseptic and exhaustion.

A pale bulb swung from the ceiling, casting its weak light over the cracked linoleum floor and a man who refused to sit still.

"Dean," you warned, clutching the first aid kit in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. "Stop moving."

"I'm fine," he muttered, jaw tight as his green eyes darted anywhere but at you. Blood streaked his cheek, smeared and half-dried, blending into the stubble along his jaw. Neither of you sure if it was his or someone else's.

"You're not fine," you snapped, more forcefully than you'd intended. You softened your tone, getting closer. "Just let me help, okay?"

"I've had worse, this'll heal on its own." He smirked, but held a weariness in his eyes.

"Yeah? And what's your plan for the dried blood? Gonna wear it like a badge of honor?" You fire back.

He huffed a laugh, but when you reached out, he didn't pull away. Instead, he let you stand between his knees, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough to notice the way his breath hitched as your fingers brushed his chin.

"Hold still," your murmured, your voice softening as you tilted his head towards the light.

Dean's gaze flicked up to you, and you could feel the intensity of his eyes even though you focused on cleaning the blood from his face. His expression was unguarded, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be.

"You're gonna fuss over me no matter what I say, huh?" he asked, his tone more fond than exasperated.

"Pretty much," you said lightly, dabbing at the dried streak. "You should be used to it by now."

He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. He was comfortable. "Yeah, I guess I should."

You worked quietly, your touch gentle as you cleaned the wound on his cheek. Every so often, your fingers would graze his skin, and you felt him tense. Not from pain though, from something else entirely.

"There," you said, stepping back to admire your work. "Good as new. Well... almost."

Dean's lips quirked into a small smile. "Thanks, Doc."

"Don't get use to it." You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the grin tugging at your own lips.

"Too late," he said, his voice softer now.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world outside the dingy motel room didn't exist. It was just the two of you, too close, sharing something unspoken.

"You should rest," you said, breaking the moment but not moving away.

Dean tilted his head, looking upwards to you still, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "What, you gonna tuck me in too?"

You swatted his arm lightly, laughing. "Don't push your luck."

But as you turned away from him, you heard him mutter, almost to himself. "I wouldn't mind if you did."

Your heart skipped a beat, and by the time you went to look back at him, his hand had gently wrapped itself around your wrist pulling you close to him.

You stood there, hovering above him, his arms snaking itself around your waist while the side of his head rested against your stomach. His breathing evened out, the tension in his frame finally began to dissipate.

Watching him from above, your chest ached in the best possible way. Though you didn't say it, you knew you'd stay right here, as long as he'd let you.

He nestled into you further, now one of your hands ran through his brunette head of hair, aimlessly.

"You don't have to do this," he said gruffly. His voice was low, laced with something unsaid.

"Yes, I do." You replied soft and gentle but full of intention like the embrace he had you in. "You never take care of yourself. Someone has to."

His arms tightened around you.

"You shouldn't have to," he murmured after a beat, so quiet you almost missed it. Almost.

"What does that mean?" You pause, your breath hitching. He looked up at you, his hands on both sides of your figure now. Your eyes locked with his finally.

"It means," he shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. "It means I don't deserve it. Any of it. This."

Your chest tightened in protest. "Dean."

"Don't," he said, a note of desperation breaking through his usual bravado. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

Your heart stuttered, torn between his pain and your own. You wanted to reach for him, to smooth the lines of worry etched into his face, to tell him he was wrong. But you couldn't, not with the way his walls shot up the second you got too close.

"Why do you do this?" he asked suddenly, voice hoarse.

"Do what?"

"Care," he said simply.

"Because I do."

He didn't look away this time, and it was almost unbearable, the intensity of his gaze. "You shouldn't."

"And yet, here I am." You replied softly, a single hand of yours gently touched the side of his face. His eyes fixated on you, longing for you as your gaze lingered.

"Thank you." His lips twitched, almost a smile. He didn't let you go however, he pulled you back in. The two of you stayed like this for longer than you could remember, but for him you'd stay like this forever. Just close enough to him.

[deansbestfriend]

meet the parents 𐙚 dean winchester

dean winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: season1!dean, comedy - fluff , dean finally admits his feelings, sitcom plot if you add a laugh track. FIRST KISS! YAY!

summary: after lying to your parents that you’re still in school and not hunting alongside sam and dean, you finally bite the bullet and stop by, along with dean after he insists. during dinner, dean makes a shocking announcement.

The car rumbled to a stop in front of the modest two story house, its porch light glowing faintly in the gathering dusk. By the time he put the car in park, Dean’s voice broke the silence.

“Remind me why I’m playing house with you again?” He peered over at you, one arm on the door, there was a smirk on his face. It was both charming and infuriating to you.

“Because— you insisted.” You start, “Something about ‘watching the show’ and ‘laughing at my expense.’”

Dean laughed, “Right, right. You’re cute when you’re concerned.”

You roll your eyes, shoving the passenger door of the impala open to be met with the brisk summer air. Before he could follow your path you turn, your eyes meeting his.

“Leave the gun in the car, Dean.”

He froze halfway out of the vehicle, with a look on his face that screamed incredulity. “C’mon—really?”

“Yes! Really!” You fold your arms in disbelief. “This is my parent’s house and I would like them not to know I’m riding around with a cool gun-wielding, monster hunter.” You kept your voice at an aggressive whisper as if you could be heard.

Dean scoffed—but there was a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe amusement, maybe begrudging respect. With a dramatic sigh, he slid back into the car, tucking the gun underneath the drivers seat.

“Happy now?” He asked joining your side as the two of you made your way to the ominous looking front door. “So you think I’m cool?” He smirked looking over at you.

“Shut up,” you mutter, a smile on your face before you finally knock against the door.

By the time you had finished your first knock the door flung open. Your mother lurching herself forward into your arms. “Oh my goodness!” Her voice rang. “It’s so good to see you, it’s been ages!” Then her eyes landed on Dean. Her eye brows lifting. “And who’s this?”

Crap, you hadn’t thought about that. After all you didn’t even know who he was to you. “This is Dean, he’s—uh,”

“The boyfriend.” Dean cut in smoothly, his hand out to shake hers before you could protest or stammer on any further.

Your mom’s face split into a smile, “Well isn’t that lovely! Come in, both of you, your dad’s just finishing up in the kitchen.” She ushered you both in.

You shot a glare at Dean, he winked at you, entirely too pleased with himself.

The plan wasn’t to stay for dinner. It was suppose to be a quick in and out, a “hello” and a “goodbye” then back on the road. But here the four of you sat.

Dean to your left, your mother and father across the table. Plates of food in front of all of you.

“So, Dean.” Your dad hadn’t said much until now. “What do you do for a living?”

You nearly choked on the water you sipped.

“Security work.” He said, leaning back in his chair with practiced ease. “Family business, private gigs—keeps me busy, lots of traveling.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You didn’t know whether to keep yourself from laughing or to calm your nerves. You couldn’t tell if your parents bought his lie either—their expressions unreadable.

“Oh, wonderful. I feel safer already.” Your mother teased. “So, how did you two meet then?”

Dean leaned forward, “Funny story actually,”

“School!” You blurted out, cutting him off. “We met at school.”

Deans lips twitched, you knew he was biting back a grin. He let you have that one, though, much to your relief.

The evening carried on, smoother than you expected. Despite your initial nerves, Dean kept up the facade with an experts ease.

But maybe with too much ease, you thought, as now desert was being passed around the table.

Just as everyone settled, Dean cleared his throat. “I just wanna say,” he began, glancing around the table till his eyes found yours. “You’ve got a helluva’ kid here.”

Your cheeks burned, you were mortified in what was next to come, but you hoped he was done. You met his eyes and figured out he was not.

“Brave, smart, more guts than anyone I’ve ever met. You should be proud.” Neither of your eyes left one another, the fear of what he would say next subsided—you actually wanted him to continue.

Your heart raced, “And I think I’m fallin’ in love with ‘em.” He finished.

His expression was soft, caring. He wanted to reach out for you, but he resisted.

“Thank you for having me.” He broke away from your locked eyes, your parents were in awe of his speech—captivated by it even.

There were only a few more bumps in the road during desert. But it was nothing you or Dean couldn’t maneuver around. The read on your parents was still a plain one—until the end of the night.

Your mother stopped you at the door, giving you both hugs. Encasing you in her arms, and giving Dean a side embrace for extra measure before sending him out the door.

“He’s different.” She says to you.

“Different in a good way?” You worried she saw through his act.

“The best kind of different.” She gives you a peck against your cheek before sending you on your way as well.

You practically skip out the door. Dean stood waiting for you outside the impala, leaned against its cool metal.

By the time you cover the distance, he welcomes you into his arms, snaking his hands around your waist and your arms connect behind his neck.

“Thank you for doing this.” You say.

“Anything for you.” He replies, his eyes locked onto yours—his voice low and full of meaning.

“Did you mean all of that? That you said in there?” You asked, now realizing that the two of you had never embraced this long—or even looked at each other in this way before.

“That’s the only thing I didn’t lie about.” He smirked, “and my name.” Which prompted a chuckle from him.

Before you could respond, he craned his neck forward. Your lips pressing into his for the first time. He took the lead, and you fell in sync with the way his lips moved.

You felt as if you were melting into his arms, leaving you two meshed together, becoming one. You felt his hands move lower, past your hips. His firm hands groping you in the process that connected the two of you.

His tongue glided between your lips, acquainting itself with your own. You even heard yourself whimper underneath his lips, the muffled sound making him hungry for more.

But, the echo of someone clearing their throat broke you apart. Your father stood in the doorway of your childhood home shaking his head from left to right.

You made a face that read, “I’m so sorry.”

Dean on the other hand gave a polite wave, with a smile as if nothing happened. He opened the passenger door for you to retreat inside. Flustered but amused.

[deansbestfriend]

to grow old in. 𐙚 dean winchester

dean winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: late series!Dean, fluff, happy ending if you don’t think about the last episode of the series

summary: after cleaning dean up from a rough hunt, he realizes just how much you really mean to him. for the first time, dean admits he can look farther than the next hunt,

The impala engine hummed softly,

like a heart beat you had grown so familiar with. The backgrounds of Kansas twisted and turned in front of you. Your head rested on the window, your fingers idly tracing portions of the car nearest to you: the handle, the window trim, the edge of the leather seat. Meanwhile the day you had flickered behind your eyes.

Hours ago, Dean had come back to the bunker in worse shape than he had left. Had it not been for Sam you believed he would’ve been dead, the thought made your stomach churn and twist in knots.

Dean glances over at you, his side profile outlined perfectly by the setting sun. Even with its bruises, you found it perfect—him perfect.

“You okay?” He asks, voice rough and tired. You asked him to rest but he persisted you come on the ride to escape from the bunker’s air tight walls.

Truth was, you weren’t. Your fingers still trembled, because earlier you had to have the stillest of hands when stitching an open wound on his forehead closed and another on his arm—and the daintiest of touches when cleaning his multiple gashes and scrapes with antiseptic.

“It’s nothing fatal, he’ll live.” Sam had tried to reassure you, while he placed him in front of you in the makeshift infirmary that use to be your room—until you began sleeping in Dean’s.

“I’m fine.” You lie, despite knowing he knew you well enough to catch every curve in the words you spoke.

Baby purrs underneath you both. Like a shared pet that longs to bring its parents together, in a peaceful harmony. Dean’s knuckles graze the gear shift, one hand on the wheel as he takes a slower approach to an upcoming turn.

You hadn’t noticed how far out you two had gotten. It was a secluded neighborhood. Houses with neat lawns and wrap around porches. Enough space from one another to feel alone but not lonely.

The streetlights start flickering on, as if they’re welcoming the two of you. Yet, you weren’t sure what exactly you were looking at. Suddenly, the purring you found comfort in stops. Dean cut the engine in front of an empty plot of land at edge of the neighborhood.

“I’m sorry—if I gave ya’ a scare earlier.” He had a hint of nonchalant speckled between his words but that didn’t make them any less sincere. You remember when he told you for the first time, “I know how my story ends.” You cried in his arms that night.

He hadn’t said it again since then.

Your eyes meet his green ones. He’s searching for something in yours, whatever it was, he found it. His lips pressed into a smile. “Here.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead then slipped from the front seat of the car.

Before you knew it, your door was being flung open, and now you both were standing in front of the grassy, empty, plot of land. The night air began to settle between the two of you.

“I’ve been thinkin’” He starts, both of his hands now shoved in his utility jacket, he leans against the impala’s frame—something you’ve seen him do a million times.

“Oh you have—should I alert the media?” You tease, which brings a smile to his bruised visage.

“No, seriously, Y/N.” He tries to ground himself. You watch his chest rise and fall, as if they’re words he’s building up to say keep catching in his diaphragm. “Someday, you’re gonna want a life off the road.”

He sighed. He was right. Hunting had always been something you felt like something you had to do—not wanted to do. Saving people from their untimely demise, losing friends and family to unnatural causes—it was weighing on you and Dean saw it clearer than anyone.

Yet you kept your longing to be free from this life from him. Masked it with smiles, half-hearted jokes and brash actions. Every day you lived like you had something to lose. You did, him.

You knew had you stepped away you were running the risk of losing the feeling of his skin against yours. Hearing the sound of his laughter. The way he smelled when he’d clean up nice for you.

So you settled. Not for him—because of him.

“Dean..” you trailed off, not sure where his speech was headed but feared it was to push you away.

“I know what you’re gonna say, that you’re fine—ready for the next case or world savin’ hunt—but you deserve better than that. I want you to have better than that.”

His words were carefully articulated but they came as natural as the summer breeze that brushed between the two of you. The same breeze that made the blades of grass in front of you gently sway.

Then you notice his hand sifting in his jacket pocket for something. No longer resting casually, he was searching. He found it with ease. Out came a tan colored paper. It was folded carefully at least four times you guessed.

He handed it to you, and you hesitated to take it from him. But you did. You went to speak as you unfolded each careful crease but your voice betrayed you, cracking before you could utter a word.

Your eyes scanned the paper, over and over again.

PROPERTY DEED.

The top of the page read. Loosely drawn floor plans in the center. The plot of lands dimensions on the sides. Plans for two stories, a wide porch that runs the length of the front, three bedrooms, a spacious kitchen and a living room the size of dreams.

Your fingers traced the paper the same way you had done the impala moments ago. Tears welled in your eyes, you looked to him for the answers to the questions you had.

“Dean? What is this?” You asked, your voice thin like if you spoke to loud you’d wake up.

“I told you I’ve been thinkin’.” He grinned. “I know we could do this whole—stayin’ in the bunker, hunting forever but a couple months ago I couldn’t shake the feeling that there’s something more than this. We deserve more than this. And I don’t think I can see you look at me the way you did earlier again.”

He reflected, his eyes falling off of yours towards the end. You could tell he was replaying the same events you had in the car. Your shaky voice, your worried eyes.

You inhale the idea. It’s not abstract or outlandish—it’s possible. That’s what you tell yourself at least. You feel a couple stray tears falling down your cheeks, quickly you shift the paper at the irrational fearing that it’ll dissolve at the slightest imperfection.

“We could grow old here.” He swallows.

He turns to you now, a thumb clearing at the falling tears. “And besides, Sam told me he doesn’t want to hear us through the wall anymore.”

The smile on his face brings one to yours. You even giggle.

“I want that.” You say. “With you.”

He exhales, relief washing over his body language. You take a moment, taking it all in. Your eyes darting from him, to the paper, to the land before you. Your imagination does leaps and bounds. Painting the interior, laughing over pancakes that you probably overcooked, struggling to build a porch swing together—imaging not having to worry about the end of the world.

Up until now any time you had discussed the future with him, it felt as if he created an ocean of distance. If it were more so to protect you than hurt himself by the disappointment of not delivering to your every need.

But this was different.

You hadn’t noticed Dean had moved behind you now, arms around your waist as your back pressed into his torso. He admired the same thing you did, you were sure he was lost in his romanticization of the future himself. Though, he would never admit it.

[deansbestfriend]

two best….friends? 𐙚 sam winchester

sam winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: fluff! slow burn! no smut (I know it could’ve been an easy layup sorry!) mid series!sam

summary: you find yourself sharing a motel bed with long time friend sam winchester on your way back up to jody’s house.

It starts small.

Like the brush of fingertips when you hand him one of the bunkers' plethora of men of letters books underneath dim lights, or the way his voice deepens when he speaks to you across that long, scar-lined war-room table. You've been on more hunts together than you can count, laughed at inside jokes, shared popcorn during late-night research, and in all that closeness an undercurrent builds. It's subtle, insistent.

Every morning you wake up to Sam's quiet humming. Most of the time it's a song Dean over-played in the ride home or a scattered melody just to keep his mind of things. His presence feels like a breath of air after being buried alive by the archives you've had to sift through together.

Sam notices you watching, pausing at least once, offering a gentle smile. You return it, heart threatening to overflow, but you say nothing. Fearing words would break the magic.

Hunts are the crucible. Both of you moving off adrenaline. Sam's brilliant mind calculating still-safe vantage points, you strapped in right beside him, nervously. One particular hunt, a vengeful spirit, shakes you both. Sam reached for your arm when the spirit emerges, his fingers linger, your gaze locks. Your breath catches.

It felt like lighting in a bottle even in the face of danger.

On a Friday, the two of you cruised into a town outside of Sioux Falls. The drive had been to long for either of you to bare, and Jody’s house was another two hours away. It was a routine check in with her, Dean had pulled ahead and left a day before you both—so you left Sam with the responsibility to let him know the two of you weren’t dead.

When he came back to the car, motel room key in hand you were giddy with excitement, the only thing on your mind was the sleep that awaited you.

Once the door swung open, you paused at the lone queen mattress, like it might just split in half or grow if you stared at it long enough.

“I’m sorry, the man said this was all they had.” Sam had muttered behind you, brushing past to drop his duffle bag on the floral comforter.

You don’t say anything. The two of you had shared beds before, but this felt different, for you at least. You were busy cataloguing how your heart skipped a beat when the door opened, then again watching him roll his shoulders—muscles flexing underneath the blue flannel he wore.

“Y/N?”

You think, “huh?”

He’s watching you now, a slight tilt of his head and a quirk at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah!” You say too quickly, “I’m fine, just tired.”

He nods like he doesn’t quite believe you, but doesn’t push. Just bends down to untie his boots and says, “We can build a pillow fort if it makes it less weird.”

You smile. “You saying you snore now?”

“No I’m saying you snore.” He goes without missing a beat, straightening up with that soft, teasing glint in his eyes—the one that makes you feel a little too seen.

You roll your eyes playfully, tossing a sock you had just unpacked at him.

“Hey, Hey! Truce!” He mock surrendered with a smile. “I’ll take the side closes to the door, you know—just in case.”

“How heroic.” You deadpan, but your chest is warm. It always is with him, even when it shouldn’t be.

But somewhere along the last year things have changed. Every time he leans in close over his lap top screen, when your fingers brush to exchange coffee, or when he looks at you a second longer than necessary —

You feel it.

The thing.

The maybe.

The what if.

By now the two of you had deconstructed your day. Broken down into the simplest of clothes. Skin washed, teeth clean, hair messy and damp from the poor water pressure experienced in the shower. It felt domestic.

You stepped from the bathroom last, he was already sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard with a book in his lap. You tried not to stare at the way his grey tee fit against his upper body.

“You’ve brought men of letter lore to read in your free time now?” You tease, while slipping into the comforter on the opposite side to him.

“It’s not lore. It’s..” he flips the book closed, glancing at the cover as if it would help him defend it. “Okay it’s lore. But just light lore.”

“Like a light beer?”

“Way less fun, way more Latin.”

You laugh and he does too. And then, quiet settles. The kind that felt like a conversation on its own.

Laying on your back, you stare at the ceiling feeling your mind drifting in thought.

“You can turn off the light,” you murmur. “I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Then the room clicks into darkness.

And now it’s just you and him. Inches apart, underneath the same blanket, the soft sounds of rain start tapping against the window.

Your breath catches when you feel the barest brush of his arm against yours.

Not a full touch, not even deliberate, maybe. But it’s enough to light every nerve in your body like a switchboard.

You could move, but you don’t.

“You ever think,” Sam suddenly says. “About how different things would be if things were—normal?”

Your throat tightens. “Sometimes.”

There’s a pause.

“What would you be doing?” He asks.

You blink at the darkness. “Teaching probably, worst case bartending in some small town. With a cat—or a dog, sleeping somewhere that has better water pressure.”

He laughs softly, “Yeah, I could see that.”

“What about you?”

He’s quiet for a second. “I used to think I’d be a lawyer.”

“I remember.” You say. You could tell he was smiling, even in the darkness.

“But now? I think I’d still want to help people, just not with silver bullets, a bunch of Latin and holy water.”

You turn your head towards the sound of his voice. Only the outline of his face visible to you, the slope of his nose, the gentle movement of his chest as he breathes.

“You’d be good at that,” you whisper.

He turns his head, too. You’re facing each other.

You could say something to him, tell him about the feeling that’s had your chest in knots for the last year now—but he speaks again.

“You ever think if things were different…we’d—”

You don’t ask him to finish. “Yeah, I do.”

Then his fingers brush yours under the blanket. Not accidental or tentative.

His hands find yours, warm and steady. “Do you think that maybe it’s not about things being different.”

“Yeah.” You reply, but not entirely sure if it were possible—but you drift.

You fall asleep like that, not tangled, not kissing, not even cuddling—just intertwined fingers.

But it’s more intimate than anything else has ever been. And in the morning, when you wake up still holding on—neither of you let go.

Just two best—friends, delicately tangled.

[deansbestfriend]

midnight, eventually? 𐙚 dean winchester

dean winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: early season fluid (or pre season 1 if you squint) alcohol consumption, dean's touch starved is showing, kissing (no smut), dean needing to feel normal for once. fluff! little angst. (I hate you john winchester)

summary: it's new years eve and Dean decides to accompany you to a party he wasn't invited too.

The elevator felt slower than it had ever been.

So much for new beginnings? You thought. You were dressed like you actually cared about the countdown, the dramatic ball drop, the shouting, the false hope that eventually sinks into crushing realization about mid June. But you played along, outfit clinging to the brash optimism you tried on for the night.

The elevator, your worst enemy, lurches at floor three and in he steps. Tall, tired, wearing a worn leather jacket like it's armor. His eyes find you instantly. Green, verdant.

Sharpened by something weathered and weary. And you? You blink at him like he's a mirage in the middle of the desert. "Bringing in the new year with whiskey? Not even a tequila soda?" You joked before your brain could stop you.

He huffs a laugh, "I don't do clear liquor before midnight."

"Two hours to go." You smile, and he mimics a toast. The liquid in the glass bottle he held sloshed. The silence that follows isn't awkward, it's charged with something. Like an old amplifier, waiting to catch sound. You're on your way to the twelfth floor, your friends probably four shots in of any alcohol they could find at the party while waiting for you.

"You've been condemned to the infamous new year's eve party too?" You nonchalantly ask as the elevator drags.

"Depends."

"On?" You reply. "You any good at small talk?" He lifts an eyebrow.

"Terrible."

He grins. "Sounds perfect. Dean."

"Y/N." She smile for the first time tonight.

You arrive together. The apartment was packed. Glitter-slick strangers, noise like broken glass, music rising to the ceiling. Champagne rivers and shuffling feet are interrupted by a girl in sequins. Her screams signal she's spotted you, an old friend, the condemner.

Dean lingers near the entrance, like the wolf at the edge of a territory that wasn't his own. You pull him in, refusing to go down alone.

He sticks close, not in a creepy way, more like gravity. You introduce him as a "friend from out of town" and he plays along. Instantly charming your friends with dry wit and boyish charm. He was a natural socializing.

Flirtatious banter with anyone who crossed his path, sending them swooning in their ongoing travels.

"Champagne," he said after a rough swallow. "Tastes like batteries and bad decisions."

You laughed.

"You're not from here," You said.

"Give it away that easily, huh?"

"It's the leather jacket." you teased.

The night carried on, the music slowed from the high pitched synched or club remixed pop music. It was something older, slower, dustier, a song made from nostalgia and smelled of cigarettes. He seemed to find comfort in it.

"Dance with me."

He blinked in disbelief. "What?"

"Come on!"

"Sweetheart," He said, lips tugging up, "I don't really-"

"Then let me lead."

That shut him up. You stepped closer. He hesitated, then gave in. Maybe just to see what you'd do. His hand found your waist, other taking yours with surprising care.

You fit together awkwardly at first, a little stiff, a little uncertain but you moved anyway.

And then, somewhere between the first step and the second breath, it clicked.

His fingers were calloused, but his grip was gentle. He smelled of leather warmed by the sun, after shave with a sharp edge and a whisper of caramel.

He looked at you like he didn't understand what was happening, but he didn't hate it.

You leaned in slightly. His arm tightened just enough to catch you.

"See," you murmured. "Not so bad."

He exhaled a laugh close to you, "yeah, yeah."

The song stretched on, and for him, it was a golden pocket of time where the world didn't need to be fixed, no one had to be saved.

You laid your head lightly against his shoulder, and he didn't pull away. He melted into you.

No words, just the sway of two people pretending for a night, that this could be something simple.

When the song ended, he didn't move right away. Neither did you. But then someone bumped into you, a girl laughing too loud, a guy with glitter riddled in his beard. The moment broke, reality leaking back in.

Dean cleared his throat, stepping back. You missed his shoulder immediately, and he missed your arms.

By 11:32pm you felt a hand at the small of your clothed back. A light touch, not possessive, just there, lingering. "You want out of here?" He asked low, against your ear.

You nodded.

The party faded behind you. He had found a solution, the roof, that neither of you should've had access too. But you didn't ask questions. The city stretched below, indifferent and alive.

He pulled a flask from his jacket, he had long abandoning the whisky bottle you met him with.

You took a sip. More whiskey.

"You always crash parties alone?" You ask, hiding your distaste in his choice of alcohol.

"I usually crash worse things."

"Like what?"

He gave you a look. Shrugging. "Let's just say, I've seen my fair share of bad nights."

He was silent, in thought. The city lights speaking for the two of you.

"You ever feel like you're living someone else's life?" He dryly spoke after another swig.

"All the time," you said.

He nodded, as if you'd just confirmed something for him.

The December winds picked up like if they were on cue, and he didn't hesitate to offer you his jacket once he noticed it had bothered you. "It's not a proposal. Just take it."

You did.

"Five minutes." He said, checking the time.

You laughed, "You keeping time now?"

"I got a thing for clocks."

You leaned against the railing, back towards the city, eyes center stage. "What happens when it hits midnight?"

He looked at you. For real. It was a heavy look. "Nothing," he said. "Unless you want it to."

You didn't mean to lean in. But you did.

And he didn't mean to meet you halfway. But he did.

The kiss was unscripted. No fireworks, no roar of the party, just a long pull of something aching. You tasted whiskey, a hint of danger, and every missed chance you didn't take before.

Then the countdown roared from below.

Ten..nine...

"You sure?" He pulled back, but not far.

You nodded.

Three...two..

He kissed you again. This time both hands at the small of your back. Your hands found themselves loosely behind his neck.

You craned upwards he met you at the small distance. The kiss began as if the two of you were unsure, but developed into something comforting. You melted at the warmth you sparked in him.

The two of you stood there together, your second chance of perfection a success. Colors blasted overhead, the city beneath seemed to cheer you on.

Dean however, worked as if it was silent. He led the kiss, your lips crashing into each other. He pulled you into his body as if he was afraid to let you go.

He seemed to find comfort in your arms even if it was brief, and you were strangers. He needed this.

But, he tore himself from you, his eyes fluttering open and once they had you could tell he yearned for more of you. But he resisted.

You stayed out there a bit longer after the party below had simmered to a hush.

Dean looked out at the skyline, closer to you than before. "I should get going."

You wanted to ask him to stay, but you didn't.

He didn't want to leave you, but he did.

The elevator carried you both back down to the first floor, you rode with him despite knowing you'd be going back up. There was a comforting silence, your fingers interlocked.

But once the doors of the elevator dragged open, he reluctantly released you from him. At first you didn't think he would turn around once he went forward.

Yet, as the view of his shoulders became bordered by the silver doors of the elevator, suddenly they parted once more. He gave you a smile, full of charm and something else.

He handed you a scrap of paper, a phone number. "If you ever find yourself on the road," he said. "Look for a '67 impala, black, no plates. I'll pull over."

And then he was gone.

[deansbestfriend]

almost was. 𐙚 sam winchester

sam winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: season 1 plot hole, no burning on the ceiling (unless...), angst, college!sam,

summary: you find yourself enamored with a man that inevitably has the world on his shoulders, how can something so perfect be doomed before it started?

You met Sam Winchester on a Tuesday.

The sky had that molasses-colored dusk to it, where the sun bruised the edges of buildings and left people looked as if they had been dipped in honey. You were late to class, American Political Thought, and he held the door open for you with the kind of reflexive politeness that felt like muscle memory, not intention.

You muttered thanks, trying not to relish too long at the six-foot-something figure of him, wrapped in ancient denim and a Stanford pull-over.

You sat two rows apart. For two weeks, you pretended not to notice when he glanced at you. For three more, you let your pens "accidentally" fall under his desk. When he finally asked if you wanted to grab coffee, he did it like it was a favor to him. "Only if you're not busy," he said. "Only if you want." (You always wanted)

You learned to read Sam Winchester in the pauses between his words. He wasn't quiet in the traditional sense. He just had this way holding a silence, stretching it like a string between his fingers, like he wanted to see if it would snap. It never did. You admired that about him. His patience, and unspoken restraint. Like he was always holding some kind of wildfire behind his ribs and didn't want to burn the world with it.

In another life, you were convinced he could've been a writer. He often journaled like it was his religion, once he was comfortable around you. One time, when he left his notebook on your nightstand, you opened it without thinking and felt like you'd walked in on him naked. Pages full of scratchy thoughts and midnight confessions. "I think I hate my father." He wrote on a lone page. "I want a life that doesn't cost anyone else's."

You never told him you read it. You didn't need to. He already looked at you like he was terrified you might uncloak the worst parts of him and love him in spite of it.

The first time he kissed you, it was after finals, 2 a.m, barefoot in a corner store parking lot. You'd been laughing to hard over some joke neither of you could remember, and suddenly his mouth was on yours like he needed to prove something.

It wasn't neat, it wasn't text-book romance, it was messy. Filled with desperation like he had been holding his breath for months and didn't know how to exhale unless it was against your mouth. Later, in your bed, tangled between each other's limbs and sheets, he whispered things into the hollow of your throat. Things like "I think I could be good for you," and "I don't want to be like him." (You didn't ask who him was. You knew)

You never asked about his family and he never really offered. But sometimes, when he was almost asleep, whether in your arms or him in yours, he'd murmur names like prayers.

Dean, Dad, Mom, Y/N.

You never knew if you were a confession or a comfort.

You felt the presence of his family though, he told you bits and pieces. A brother he didn’t speak to, a family dynamic that was messy—you refused to push.

It wasn’t meant to be that serious, you still wanted to focus on your schooling after all.

“This isn’t—a thing is it?” You said out loud, before drinking from a mug that read “WORLD’s OKAYEST STUDENT.”

You crossed your bare legs, only in one of his shirts, none of your armor.

His eyes were soft but unreadable, “I would like it to be.”

From then on, overcame casual. Walking you to and from your apartment, staying in his. He kissed your wrist often, like it was sacred. You even found him asleep with one of your winter scarfs bundled in his fist after being gone to visit your parents for a weekend.

Like a plant growing in the sun, without realizing it, you fell in love with him. The first time you realized it had been a night where you two chose to stay in rather than party.

He laid in your bed, with your fingers laced over his chest, talking about books he had read as a kid. You listened as he danced around his memories—yet you still tried to imagine him younger.

He'd tense at the sounds of sirens, like something instinctive woke up inside him every time the world reminded him that it was dangerous. That it didn't care about a GPA or your future or your shared toothbrush in the bathroom cup.

You once daringly asked, "Did something happen to you?"

And he looked at you for a long time, as if he was debating drawing back the curtain, letting something in. "Things always happen to me." He opted for.

The last week before he left, he started pulling away in microscopic ways. It was as if he felt it coming.

Half-washed dishes in the sink. Late night runs that turned into three-hour absences. Eyes that wouldn't meet yours in the morning, like he'd spent the night bargaining with something inside him and lost.

Then came the night his brother introduced himself. A man standing there like he'd been carved from the same fire Sam tried so hard to hide. "I'm his brother," He said, like that explained everything.

The fight was quiet. The goodbye was quieter.

"Don't go," you whispered, like it could undo the shape of him already pulling away from you.

He shook his head, blinking too fast.

"Our anniversary is next week," you tried. "You promised we'd go to the coast." It had only been eight months of nights together.

"I know," he said, voice thick. "I know. But I have to go. Just for a few days, he needs me."

You wanted to ask: What about me?

But you already knew the answer.

So you helped him pack. Smoothing down the corners of his life, pretending you weren’t memorizing everything—as something about it all felt final.

The night before, you barely slept. You laid against his chest listening to him breathing, like it was something you feared to forget the sound of.

The next night outside of your apartment, his brother leaned against the car, engine still running.

You stood on the steps, barefoot, wearing the sweatshirt you always stole from him. The one he held the door for you in eight months ago. "I'll come back," Sam said, thumb brushing your cheek. "Okay? This isn't the end."

He spoke assured in something, but it wasn't you or the relationship. Because he was wrong, it was.

It was the end of sour library coffees, whispered secrets, running your fingers through his hair while the sun came up. It was the end of what you were before the world came to claim him.

You didn't kiss him goodbye, he pressed his lips against your forehead. Then, you let your fingers fall away from his like a thread slipping loose.

And when he got into the car, you told yourself not to cry, but you failed.

Sam Winchester left you on a Friday.

You never told him you loved him. You thought he already knew.

[hurrems]

SARAH JESSICA PARKER as CARRIE BRADSHAW Sex and the City, 2x01 "Take Me Out to the Ballgame"

[deansbestfriend]

LATE NIGHT PIE & MIXED SIGNALS. 𐙚 Dean Winchester x Reader.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: I’ve returned with a Dean Drabble! Who’s shocked?! No one!

Warnings: Little angst, Implied Smut. fluff!Dean. Comfort!Dean. Dean being Dean.

Summary: You return from a hunt slightly injured where you and Dean’s post hunt ritual goes a little differently than expected—but it’s never really that different.

You come back with blood on your shirt and dried mud on your jeans. Your shoulder aches, and you can still smell the sulfur in your hair. But it’s over. The hunt is done, the witch is dead, and you didn’t die. Again.

Dean was already settled in and back in the kitchen. He always seemed to bounce back faster than you did after hunts. Two slices of pie on the table. Same kind as last time. He didn’t say anything when you sat down. This had become a ‘after the hunt’ ritual for the two of you—meanwhile Sam usually was eager to get to sleep.

He slides the plate towards your direction without even looking up. He was smooth, you liked that.

“Cherry this time.” He says. “Thought you might like a change.”

You nod, fork the crust, and try not to think about the way he’s watching you—like you might fall apart if he looks away.

“How’s your shoulder?” He asks, but the way he says it—low, gruff, like it costs him something—you know he means how are you.

“It’s fine.” You lie, because it’s easier than admitting you wanted you wanted to see him more than you wanted to sleep.

He gives you a look, the kind he usually reserves for Sam when he’s about to do something dumb. Then he moves around the table, unexpectedly. Crouching beside your chair, gently touching the tear in your jacket.

“Still bleeding.” He murmured.

“I’ve had worse.” You whisper, it came out smaller than you meant for it to.

Dean looks up. He’s too close, too warm, too much for you right now.

Your memory relapses to a more intimate time. The two of you tangled between his sheets for hours. Whether it was celebrating a high or mourning a low.

But right now you couldn’t care about the feeling of his tongue circling around your most sensitive parts. Or the way his hands aimlessly explored every curve of the familiar territory that was your body.

Right now, all you wanted was to hear him say he wanted you. Not in a sensually way, although the release would be nice. In a way that would embrace your heart in envelopes of warmth. You knew he wouldn’t though.

“You always say that.” He stands up, disappearing only for a moment before returning back with a first aid kit. He moved as if he had been preparing for this moment his whole life.

You sit still while he patches you up. His hands are careful, slower than necessary.

“Y'know,” he says, breaking the silence, “for two people who keep ending up here like this... we’re real bad at talking.”

You laugh, just a little. “Here? Is that what this is?”

He doesn’t answer you right away. Instead Dean fixates on finishing wrapping your arm, then returns back to his chair. Returning to his pie.

“I think about you,” he says suddenly, without looking up. Refusing to look you in the eye. “When I’m out there. More than I should. Every damn time.” He spoke in spite of himself.

“Dean—”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he interrupts quickly. “Normal isn’t an option anymore, for either of us. But... I keep ending up back here. With you.”

Your chest tightens, “Because it’s easy? Or because you want to?”

He finally looks at you. Really looks at you, and for the first time that you can remember you feel seen.

“Because you feel like the only part of my life that isn’t completely messed up.”

And there it is. Almost.

You nod, like you understood. More out of habit than comprehension. You wished he would come out and say it, straight and simple. “I love you” or “I need you” or even “I want you to stay.” Things you wished he said—but never did.

Dean Winchester doesn’t talk in declarations. Mostly gestures. Pie slices, stitches. The way he watches you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

You push your pie across the table to him. You spoiled your own appetite with your thoughts. “You need it more than I do.”

Dean gives a soft smile. “Nah. I’ve got what I need.”

And for a second—just a second—you believe him.

[deansbestfriend]

An Autumn Chill.↝ Dean Winchester x Reader.

Pairing : Dean x Reader   Summary : A year has passed since the man you loved met his untimely demise and everything you thought you had moved passed comes back full circle. Warnings: Post Series Finale, m!spoilers! Three hundred and sixty five days. That’s how long it's been since you’ve heard his laugh, seen his smile, felt the warmth of his touch. Dean Winchester left you here three hundred and sixty five days ago without warning. It took half of that time accepting the fact he was gone, and up until now you had began to feel normal again. This dreadful day however, came to set you back into your grief. In remembrance in every time you shared a laugh, shared a kiss, felt his embrace, and countless other memories that in the moment felt so small but now meant the world to you. He taught you so much about yourself, and unbeknownst to him, he quickly became the most important person in your life. The day was spent seeing his face in strangers you passed. Little things reminding you of him. Feeling as if he was right behind you, but in fear of disappointment you would never look over your shoulder. Unable to face the reality, the heart break that he was gone for good. There wouldn't be anymore nights in the impala, the two of you singing your hearts out. There wouldn’t be any more cheesy movie nights, or evenings where the two of you would sit in silence holding one another. Furthermore, you recompiled questions you never got to ask. Cursed yourself over the petty arguments the two of you shared over the years. You thought you had come to terms with that months ago but on this day, a year later, those feelings all swelled into your chest, welling up your eyes, breaking your heart all over again.   The night was spent in his clothes. The clothes you formerly pushed into the back of your closet space. Unable to face them, but today you conquered that fear. Welcoming the faint smell of him that lingered on the fabric. The red flannel fitting you loosely, just like most of his other clothes did. For the first time you built the courage to go through old pictures. Scrolling through the digital memories, and although he didn’t typically like taking pictures, the few you had of him and with him were enough to make you cry. This led you to the message thread, a year ago his last text was sent to you. ‘Be home soon.’ Dean wasn't the best at texting, but the effort was there. Especially when you didn’t tag along for hunts. You found yourself curled up in your bed, laughing quietly at how he roughly explained how hunts were going via text. You even found the time he used ‘lol’ for the first time, it put a smile on your face. Eventually you dragged yourself from beneath the weight of your blankets, just to dance around your bedroom space to a playlist the two of you curated together. Between each song for about an hour you found yourself pausing, the feeling of him being heavy in the room around you.   Had you not known the signs of a ghost being near, you would’ve thought he was there with you. But that wasn’t the case. He was gone for good. Jack was at least kind enough to inform you he had his own heaven custom tailored. You knew Dean was happy and content, even without you being there. Even though it comforted you, it broke you all the same. As the night prepared to end your phone buzzed. It was Sam. The youngest Winchester who had been grieving all the same. You two parted almost a year ago from the bunker and hadn't looked back since. This phone call however, it was needed for the both of you. The two of you spent till sunrise recalling the man that you loved. And for a moment, as the sunrise was on the horizon, the room went cold. You could see your breath, and feel a subtle graze against your hand, a chill dancing against your skin. The moment passed quickly but you knew it was him. It was mere seconds but it meant everything to you.

[deansbestfriend]

Happily Ever After. Dean Winchester x Reader!

Pairing : Dean x Reader

Summary : After you and Dean retire, his nightmares return and one night he wakes you.

Warnings : fluff!dean , postseriesfinale!dean .

It had been a few months since the two of you retired from hunting. Alongside his younger brother, you and Dean decided it was time. After years of countless losses, tribulations and triumphs he decided he was ready to hang it up for you. At first you neglected but after Sam agreed, there was no reason for you to attempt to keep him in the dangerous profession.

Settling into a house just south of Kansas in a small town, you and Dean found a perfect balance. He took pride in his small projects around the house. Occasionally tuning up the impala, taking up a few other laboring task in regards to making your house a home. Sam was only a few hours away, which was nothing compared to the long trips you all endured to save the world, multiple times. So everything was good. Or at least on the surface. You constantly had doubts; did he miss hunting, was it being away from Sam, would you amount to what Lisa had given him in the past? You weren’t bold enough to ask, however he wouldn’t give you an answer if you did—but you figured it had to be something that had him uneasy.

Dean dreaded when the sun went down, which is why he kept busy with a countless amount of projects, but the exhaustion always caught up with him. As did the nightmares he tried to outrun. The eldest Winchester never claimed to be the most peaceful sleeper, but ever since he attempted to leave the life behind it seems the vivid memories of blood, gore, ghouls and everything else underneath the shadows came to visit him. He did his best to keep it under wraps. His stoic nature serving as a mask to hide his internal struggles had become a staple to his daily routine.

This particular night, he woke you. Typically, his fidgeting and slight jerking motions wouldn’t disturb you, leaving you curious to why he was up before the sun each day but it was different tonight. You felt an intense grip against your wrist. He was holding onto you as you stirred from your sleep. You were confused at first, lifting your upper body to move closer to him before realizing just what was happening. You didn’t know whether to wake him, or attempt to comfort him.

You wanted to protect him from this, the night terrors he experienced due to the intense amount of trauma he had endured over the years but you couldn’t. The best you could do was hold him. And finally, with your head resting against the head board and his head in your lap now, he began an attempt to rest peaceful; only after freeing your wrist out of sheer luck did you ran your fingers through his hair. His prior motions had relaxed, even the expression on his face had changed.

You fell asleep like this, his stirring once again awoke you from your light sleep but instead it was due to the sun hitting you both in the face. As the warmth grazed both of you, you exchanged looks. A soft smile across his face appeared. “Good morning, sweet heart.” He softly uttered. You stayed silent, attempting to make a decision. Question his nightmares or continue to believe he was fine. Before you could speak, he leaned upwards slightly adjusting to plant a kiss onto your lips. Afterward he slid out bed as the beginning of his daily routine as if nothing had happened; just as you expected him too.

[deansbestfriend]

Be My Valentine↝Dean Winchester x Reader.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 780ish :)

Warnings: Implied sex. Comfort!Dean. Fluff!! drabble. 

Summary: Dean surprises you with a Valentine’s Day celebration. 

    The bunker was eerily quiet upon entry. The hallways were usually echoing with the distant voices of at least one if not both of the boys, but this was an unusual quiet. Your mind immediately thought the worse, you had been convinced by both Sam & Dean that it was your turn to go get grocery’s even if you were sure it wasn’t, the time away to pretend that your life was ‘normal’ was nice. You brought the groceries to the kitchen, still a bit weary from the silence, “Dean? Sam?” Your voice traveled, but there wasn’t an answer. As you continued to explore, you could hear the sound of music playing softly towards the direction of your room.

      Immediately on the defense, you drew your gun, out of habit. You never knew what to expect or what thing you’d be dealing with, life had a funny way of teaching you that. As you got closer to your room, you feet began to step on synthetic petals. Your curiosity was at a all time high as you continued to your venture. Slowly, you used your free arm to open the door that was cracked, and that had petals leading inside of it.

    With your gun raised you finally got the chance to survey the room, and there stood  the eldest Winchester struggling to light the last of many candles that had been randomly placed around the room.

    “Oh?! You’re back!” He jumped at the sight of you, and you holding your gun. Noticing your stand-offish manor, you lowered your weapon. “What’s all this?” You curiously asked. Your room was transformed; a bouquet on display your nightstand, the room lit by the flames of candles, even a few balloons that floated to the ceiling lingered. “Well, Y/N, I know you never got the chance to have a real Valentine’s day, and quite frankly neither have I, so-” He stopped talking as his face brightened with a wide smile, in his hands now, a plush teddy bear holding a heart that read ‘ I WUV YOU. ‘ and with that you couldn’t help but let a giggled slip.

    Dean clearly happy with your amusement extended his arms, handing you the bear. “Squeeze it.” He chimed, like a kid on Christmas. You did, “ You mean the world to me, Y/N. “ It was his voice coming from the bear. Part of you wanted to laugh, the other half cry. Dean wasn’t exactly the type of guy to hand out words of affirmation, you were lucky enough to get an “I’m proud of you.” from him, but this? This felt like he had his hands around your heart, and you didn’t want him to let go. “Oh wait! I did this in the wrong order, you came home too early!” He turned around for a moment while you held the bear to your chest. “Y/N, will you be my Valentine.” A cheesy grin across his face as he extended a single flower to you. You had never seen the Winchester like this but it was an experience you’d remember forever.

    “Yes, Dean. I’ll be your Valentine.” You replied pulling him into an embrace after placing the bear on the corner of the bed. You held onto him and as he held onto you, you spoke again. “I feel bad, I didn’t get you anything.”

    “Did you get the pie?” He momentarily looked down at you, and you nodded. “That’s all I wanted then.” He chuckled. You kissed him. For the first time, all because you couldn’t resist your own overwhelming emotions. The two of you hadn’t been more than platonic cuddle buddies within the last few months, but this pushed you over the edge. You had fallen heads over heels for the casanova turned hero. To your relief, he kissed you back with more authority than you had. While holding onto you, he moved the two of you onto your bed, and now on top of you, he had the smile that you could look at forever on his lips. “You messed up your heart made from rose petals.” You spoke, grinning from ear to ear. “Nah, the only thing I’m worried about is already looking up at me.”

     The rest of the night was spent exploring one another in ways that you felt like would be too vulgar to repeat. He was everything and more, in more ways than one. Intimately, the two of you connected and in his arms, while his hands exploring you, you felt as safe as you had ever felt. This was the best Valentine’s Day ever, for it to be the first you had ever celebrated.

[deansbestfriend]

Right Where You Left Me. ↝ Dean Winchester x Reader

REQUEST ARE OPEN!

Pairing: Dean x Reader.

Word Count: 929

Warnings: fluff! comfort, DeanBeingSappy! Post-SeriesFinale!AU, nonHunter!Reader

Summary: After years, Dean Winchester shows back up to your door. 

a/n: Originally set after the series finale but can set any time. 1/2 Dean writings that I had in my drafts. This an non-angst version of The Only Heart I’m Breaking is my Own. Happy belated birthday to my comfort character this is for u! After the next, I promise i’ll start doing more than just Dean! lmfao!

    You felt frozen in time. You continued to repeat a specific year of your life in your head. Roughly three-hundred and sixty five days, day and night that you spent along side Dean Winchester. It was a short time to attach yourself to someone, and despite your own reserves about it, you allowed it to happen. You allowed your souls to be intertwined, the two of you exploring each other in more ways than one. Until, he was gone. All he left behind was a note, serving as an apology. As much as it hurt, you accepted it.

    Physically you may have moved on. You changed; your taste of music, your home decor, even your hair color. It was a desperate attempt to escape the past but you were frozen in time. The world around you changed as well, time moved around you but you couldn’t seem to shake him or the memories you shared. You were frozen in time, no matter how much you tried to fight it. Your friends had pity for you, your family expressed their concerns but none of it mattered. You could feel him out there, the two of you still tied together with an invisible string. It felt extraterrestrial almost, the connection the two of you had but no matter how much you yearned for him, he would never show. 

    You were coming home after another day that seemed to be identical as the last, until something changed. The driveway that usually was empty pavement unless you were home has no longer vacant. A familiar, black impala rested there. Your heart raced, your mind wandered, so much so you almost forgot to stop at your own house. Getting out of your own car, your eyes finally connected with his. He sat on your porch, the familiarity of his face and stature sent chills through your entire body. He stood as you came closer. Dean Winchester, in the flesh. Time was running out for you to decide your next move.

    It felt like decades that you sat waiting for him, withering away at his absence and now here he was. You wanted to strip him right there, just to passionately interlock yourself with him. Using your mouth to taste every inch of his skin just as he use to explore you. But you also wanted to slap him, curse his name and storm away, but how could you? The man who froze you in time had returned to free you from that purgatory. You could tell he had been through a lot since the last time the two of you locked eyes. Life had worn on his shoulders in ways that you were sure he planned on describing to some extent to you. 

    “Dean.” You finally uttered, the two of you only inches apart. He didn’t know how you were going to react, you could tell he was holding back. “I-” He wanted to explain but you watched the words get caught in his throat. Your body moved for you. Pulling yourself into his arms, wrapping around him and taking in the scent of the man who kept you prisoner for so long. In the same breath, he freed you from those shackles. 

    He followed you inside, and finally he poured his story. Things that were unimaginable to you. Creatures that you only heard of in movies and tales your parents use to tell you. You held onto his hands as he explained the tale of his life, his explanation for leaving you in his past. “All that’s behind me now.” He closed up his life’s story. “And I don’t know how many years I got left, but I didn’t want to spend them anywhere else but beside you, Y/N. And I can understand if you don’t want me here, or you’ve moved on-” He had no idea the affect he had on you, or what he meant to you. You decided to not let him continue, and answer his question. “You’re always welcomed here, Winchester.” 

    You nodded, closing the distance between the two of you. You placed yourself in his lap, and his arms snuggly fit around your waist. The two of you fitting together as if you both were puzzle pieces that finally connected. You weren’t upset, how could you had been? Even in spite, you found yourself to be forgiving. “Another thing,” He pressed his lips against yours, the ice around you that kept you frozen had melted at the heat. Even if it was just a peck in the moment, it was something you had to keep in your heart, for the future. “It’s my birthday, and you’re the only thing I could’ve wished for.” He grinned, ear to ear. A shared laughter coursed between the two of you, you could’ve cried if you weren’t to caught up in his eyes. “Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester.” You spoke softly, your hands running through his hair. 

    Dean couldn’t believe it, he was ready to write himself off in terms of you. But you had given him a reason to continue to believe in the good things. His mind would drift to the thought of his brother, wondering if the two’s permanent hiatus from hunting would last, but he felt most content with you in his arms.  He laid his head into your chest, and for the first time, Dean felt secure, and safe. He wanted nothing more than to start an apple pie life with you. Even despite his failed attempts in the past, he knew this one would work out. 

[deansbestfriend]

Losing Dean.↝Dean Winchester x Reader.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 764

Warnings: season15!SPOILERS!! fluff. Comfort char!Dean

a/n: I havent seen a post d-word dean fic so i figured we all needed a little comfort because that finale was poopoo. 

Summary: In a last attempt to see Dean after his demise, you get your chance to tell him what you’ve always wanted to.

     You weren’t ready to say goodbye. Nothing could have prepared you for his passing, and even if you had been warned, it wouldn’t have hurt any less. Getting the call from Sam and then watching the hunters variation of a funeral, you could practically feel your heart being ripped out of your chest as the flames raised into the air. 

    You only could cope for a few weeks after moving out of the bunker, going against Sam’s wishes you began combing through old methods to bring Dean Winchester back to the land of the living. To no avail, he was gone and you knew it. You got so desperate you began calling on Jack, and he answered. Five minutes, it’s what he warranted you, you had five minutes to see the man you never got to say ‘I love you’ to. 

    It was a flash of light that took you from your dim lit living room to the middle of no where. The forest towered above you, the color of pine trees was a sight to see, and where you stood was on a bridge. You couldn’t see the beginning or the end, but the sight was breath taking as the sun warmed against you. “Y/N?” The voice seemingly appeared out of no where, it was familiar, and it weakened you. You turned around, the threat of tears pooling at your eyes. “Dean Winchester, thought you could get rid of me without saying goodbye?” 

    You attempted to crack a joke, but seeing his face again brought forth more emotions than you could handle. You took off, covering the distance between the two of you and leaping into his arms. He caught you, holding you up and pulling you further into his chest. “Damn, I missed you, don’t tell me you’re. . .” He inhaled the smell of you at first before trailing off unable to voice his concerns. “No, not at all, I have five minutes courtesy of Jack, I had to see you.” He let you down, your legs unwrapping from around his waist. 

    “I have so much to tell you. I don’t know where to start. I feel so lost without you. When Sam told me, I couldn’t believe I didn’t get the chance to say I loved you.” Your words rushed out before you had even realized what you had said. What was to lose? You had already lost the man that changed your life for the better, admitting this in his literal heaven wasn’t going to do anymore damage. “I never knew you felt that way.” You could see him replaying moments the two of you shared in the past.

    A smile pulled at the corners at his mouth. It almost left you breathless. The pain that you had been feeling, it particularly left. He held onto the sides of your face, and you did the same desperately trying to savor the moment so that it’ll last you a lifetime. He didn’t say anything else, instead he took the liberty to kiss you. The two of you worked in sync, clinging to one another, hungry for the intimacy. He pulled away after what felt like an eternity, not that you were complaining. Dean looked past you, his hand raising to wave. You looked over your shoulder and watched as Jack signaled for you. 

    “I can’t let you go, I don’t want to leave you, I don’t know how to say goodbye.” You began choke on your words, the tears from early returning, and this time overflowing your eyes. “Y/N,” He started, his voice as soft as you’ve ever heard it, “I’m already gone. I’m going to miss you every second till I see you again and we will see each other again.” He attempted to reassure you. It wasn’t enough to console you, you wanted so badly to share more moments with him; to laugh, argue, cry, love. You wanted it all but it wasn’t possible anymore. 

    Suddenly, Jack’s touch found itself on your shoulder, and in your last moments you pressed your lips into Dean’s. You tried your hardest to memorize the feeling of him; his warmth, his smile, his lips. You wanted it all in stone, forever in your memory. “I love you too.” You heard him right before the same blink of light that brought you together separated you, leaving Dean Winchester on a bridge in his own personal heaven, waiting for you. You however, back at home. The feeling of heartache crushed you, but the sense of closure and his words held you as you wept. 

----

tags: @akshi8278​ . 

[deansbestfriend]

I’d Die For You In Secret.↝ Sam Winchester x Reader.

Pairing: Sam x Reader.

Word Count: 780

Warnings: fluff!Sam , sappy & romantic happy ending.

A/N i figured I had to give my bby sam some attention too! i’m for sure excited to explore my ideas when it comes to the boys and a few other characters from different franchises. I promise my request will but up soon, however feel free to message me with any! enjoy. xo

Summary:  You could never read Sam. What you would take as romantic gestures could always be passed as his genuine kindness. That was until he gives you the reassurance you were beginning to beg for.

    The bunker was eerily quiet. More than usual due to Dean’s absence. It had been his turn for the food run, and that took on average a lifetime and then some before he would return. That wasn’t your concern though, your focus was on the youngest Winchester whom sat in front of you. His head was low as his eyes scanned a book that he held in his grasp. You sat there, almost as if you were frozen in time; watching the pages turn, his steady inhale and exhale, and his occasional hair movement. You had grown to memorize watching his mannerisms. It was a desperate attempt to discover if it was all in your head, because of course he wouldn’t tell you. Despite the sky-scraping stature, stoic nature, and bloody occupation, the man would never purposely hurt something without reason. 

    There was a tightness in your chest, you wanted to reach and grab your heart by its edges only to tell it to relax. The room felt like it was beginning to close in on just the two of you. Had it just been you or had the lights began to dim? It was definitely just you. What could have been said during a moment like this? You could ambitiously leap the table, straddling his lap just to explore the emotions that he kept from the surface. But instead, you knew you wouldn’t dare move a muscle. 

    “I need some air.” You startled yourself. Your brain had spoken up for you in a last attempt to find an escape route from your heart. You had startled him too, he gave you a slight not but never took his eyes off you. As you turned on the heels of your feet, you could feel him watching you scamper from the confides of the bunker. 

    How was it possible that someone could have this affect on you? You recalled the first time you had seen Sam get hurt. The two of you had spent countless nights talking about his injuries while hunting. Although it never got as deep as his run-ins with death, it was enough for you to realize that you wanted nothing more than to protect him from the very thing he was trying so hard to stop. Dean would always tease the two of you, flustering you and always prompting a casual chuckle from his brother. You could never understand what it meant. 

    The cold air skated across your face as you tugged at the strings hanging from your hoodie. It wasn’t until you realized that you were sharing the space with someone else that your train of thought was broken. Sam had followed you right out the door. He couldn’t quite get ahold of what had you so shaken so, he bit the bullet and decided to ask. “Hey, not to intruded but ... are you good?” 

    ‘Deep breaths’ you told yourself. Your brain and your heart decided together that it was more than past time to get the answers you had been seeking out. “Sam, I-” You started but the words got caught in your throat, meanwhile worry was on his brow as it furrowed. “I can’t save you from the things that you face, I know that. And I can’t be the one to ask you to give it up for me, I don’t even know how you feel about me? Not to be dramatic but I’d die for you, Sam. And I care about you so much, and I don’t think it’s enough.” You spilled almost every part of your emotions right there in front of the bunker door. Surprise had long washed over his face by this point, and then a smile. That same smile is what had captivated you in the first place, it was your kryptonite. “Say something!” you pushed nervously, but before you could continue you were interrupted by his lips.

    He had pulled you directly into him, holding your own frame against his. His hands placed on each side of your face before he pulled away. Sam didn’t leave your personal space, he stayed only inches apart as he waited for you to look him in his eyes. “I don’t need anyone else to die for me, and you’re more than enough. But if you chose this, chose me, I can’t promise you it won’t rain on us.” 

    Your heart felt like cellophane, the thinest needle could shatter it completely, but his words is what you wanted needed to hear. “Whatever it takes.” you softly responded. This time it was you who got the chance to initiate the kiss. Your mouth finding its missing piece when paired against his lips. 

[deansbestfriend]

In Your Arms  ↝ Dean Winchester x Reader.

Pairing: Dean x Reader. 

Word Count: 849

Warnings: fluff! mentions of depression. comfort.

Summary: After a tough hunt, you’re mentally and physically drained causing you to hold up in your room. A few days go by, and the eldest Winchester decides it’s time for some comfort. 

a/n hello! YES, another dean fic, but this is a drabble just to test the tags. my request are open, however you’ll just have to message me since I haven’t set up the tab for it yet. I hope you enjoy. 

    The year had already been a tough one, but this particular hunt had taken a toll on you. Witches always had a way of planting seeds of their presence even after they had been taken care of, you respected that. But the reminiscence weighed heavy on you. The feelings of self-doubt had you strapped to the bed under you. What felt like pounds of blankets found itself over you, blocking out any ounce of light that the lamp on the side of your bed may have created. You’d been like this for days, or so you thought. Time was sucked into the abyss of the creeping depression that lurked around the corners in your mind.

    The witch had unearthed some of your insecurities as leverage and it worked. You secretly had always felt like a liability to the dynamic trio that was Team Free Will, but they were quick to shoot that idea down. This time however none of them even got the chance. A simple ‘ I’m fine- ‘ is what they got after the hunt. Since then you’ve been in silent turmoil. 

    Your eyes weighed heavy but the thought of sleep was far from your agenda, so when a soft knock against your door echoed through the room, you didn’t give it a second thought. You chopped it up to your mind trying to get you out of bed, or keep you there. “Y/N” The familiar voice called to you, and you heard him lean into the door. “I’m going to come in now.” He warned softly. Dean always had a way to put a smile on your face. Which was ironic, because you tried to do the same thing for him every chance you could. The two of you would have conversations in passing about mental health, his specifically, but he would chop it up to nothing. 

     So, hearing the comforting tone of voice was enough to get you to at least remove your head from underneath the pile of blankets. “You’ve been in here for days, we got worried.” He had entered by the time you laid your blurry eyes on him. You could hear a soft exhale come from the hunter after you neglected to answer. Dean kneeled at your bedside, just to come eye level with you as you laid on your side. As his irises locked themselves on yours, you could feel the need to cry swelling up in your chest. “Talk to me, Y/N, whatever it is you’re not alone.” He recited something you had just recently told him. 

    You felt his hand reach out as it found itself wiping a stray tear off of your cheek. You hadn’t even noticed it escaped, silently you cursed yourself for it. His hand moved to running his digits through the sides of your hair. “I’m okay, I promise.” This was the first time you heard yourself speak in what felt like decades, your voice fell flat and you didn’t even believe the lie you told. “Scoot over.”  

    Objection wasn’t an option, not because you couldn’t but because you didn’t want too. His presence wouldn’t solve your problems and the crippling sadness but it was a start. Once you made room for him, he sat up straight against the headboard at first, allowing you to come further from underneath the covers in order to be in his arms. “That witch from a few days ago, she just dug up a lot of stuff for me.” You started talking, and it was to your own surprise. Dean radiated warmth, and it replaced the coldness you had been experiencing, it melted away the layers that had you trapped. “I know.” He didn’t say much else, he just held you as tightly as he could without hurting you. 

    The two of you weren’t the most intimate pair, nor were you the most touchy, but Dean knew you needed something, and his support was the best thing he could offer at the moment. You laid against his chest, the rhythm of his breathing and the beating of his heart putting you further at ease. The slow rise and fall of his upper body swayed you almost like a baby. “You haven’t slept?” His voice questioned from above, he knew the answer however. He could see it in your face that you were tired. You nodded in reply. “Here, let me-uh” He began to adjust, and the casanova that you had grown to love turned out to be just as awkward as you felt when you were around him.

    Now, you returned back to laying on your side. This time you faced away from him, and his arms snaked around your waist. Dean held you closely, and for the first time days you felt safe. You could finally feel sleep coming to take you off your feet, and it brought a soft smile to your lips. The two of you stayed like this four hours, and Dean had no objections. He got the chance to hold you and make you feel as safe as he wanted you to be.