From your friendly neighborhood organic chemistry tutor:
Well, since college is rolling back around soon, I thought I’d post this for those of you who are new to the scene. These are some general rules/tips to follow about tutoring/tutoring sessions/tutoring etiquette. If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me some messages about college and I’ll try to help out however I can!———————————————————————
1. If you don’t get it, come to tutoring ASAP. A lot of times concepts build off of one another, and it’s easier to remedy one problem in the beginning than twelve at the end.
2. Come to us with questions ready. Nothing wastes more time than coming in and saying “I don’t know any of this at all, help me.” I need you to have an idea of what’s stumping you, even if it’s just, “Okay so I get to aldol condensation and then she completely loses me.” That at least gives me something to start from.
3. We have lives too. Most tutors are students also, so please don’t bombard us when we’re eating lunch or walking to class. We’d love to help you if you shoot us an email or schedule a meeting, but we do have our own priorities, too, and sometimes we’re on our way to a test or lab practical.
4. If you come to one of our tutoring sessions and you’re still not getting it, you might want to try talking with the professor. We can only do so much, and sometimes the way we explain things don’t get through to some students. Don’t lose hope or give up! Try the professor next; they’re WAY better at explaining things than we are.
5. Show up on time to your scheduled sessions!! I know for my school, sessions are in 30-minute blocks, and if you’re 10 minutes late, I only have 20 minutes to help you. And I won’t run over time to make up for you being late (plus usually other students are signed up after yours).
6. Don’t ask us what’s on the test. We don’t know. We can give your our best guess, but we’re not the professor and we don’t make the tests. Besides, it’s better to understand the concepts anyways.
7. A big one: DON’T TELL US THAT YOU CHEAT. Most of the time, we have to report that kind of stuff. I know my school has a very strict policy for cheating. I hate being a snitch, but if it gets back around to my supervisors that I knew you were cheating, I can get in serious trouble. And you bet I’m saving my butt over yours.
8. We’re here to help you, not teach you everything. If you missed a day of class, sure, I’d love to help you out. But if you’ve been skipping class for two weeks and don’t know what’s going on at all, that’s not on me to catch you up. I’m here to facilitate YOUR knowledge. I’m here to HELP you, NOT teach you.
9. Don’t try to be my friend just to get free tutoring outside of my sessions. If you’re my friend, I’d love to help you out sometimes. But DO NOT try to use me by pretending to be my friend.
10. Remember that we’re human too. And while we may be good at our subjects, we don’t know it all. So sometimes we don’t know an answer to a question. Or sometimes we don’t know how to solve a problem. We’re not perfect and we’re not experts in the subject, just slightly better than average.
A/N: I ate a Bavarian cream doughnut yesterday and it inspired this. It’s a good time, y’all.
Pairing: DeanXReader, Sam
Genre: Crack/Humor
Warnings: A whole lot of subtle innuendos in this one…
Word Count: 1432
My Masterlist
~
“There’s no way you can get him to say all of that in one conversation,” Dean remarks, and you grin at him. “He’ll figure out that something is going on.”
“You don’t know how good I am at structuring conversations to hear what I want,” you tell him, patting his shoulder. “Watch and learn, Babycakes.”
He rolls his eyes at the name, and you kiss his cheek.
“Hey,” he calls as you head for the door. You turn back to look at him. “Bet you can’t get a recording of it.”
“Watch me.”
~
“Hey Sam, I need you to settle a dispute,” you exhale, sinking into a chair across the table from him. You take a breath and prepare yourself for this to go down.
He doesn’t respond immediately, instead taking a moment to finish the paragraph he was on in his book.
“Hm?” he hums as he looks up, giving you his full attention.
“Dean and I can’t settle this argument, so we need a tiebreaker,” you tell him, lying easily. “Will you be it?”
“For what?” he asks with a light laugh. “I haven’t heard you two arguing. You two are usually loud.”
“It’s not serious,” you assure him. “More of a... Who’s right? kinda thing.”
“Okay...” he draws the word out. He purses his lips, and you’re not sure if he’s waiting or thinking about your proposition.
“So will you help?” you ask him finally.
“I mean... I guess so,” he shrugs, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
“Cool,” you pull out your phone and show him. “Can I record this so that I can relive Dean’s misery over and over again when you take my side?”
“Why doesn’t he just come out here?” Sam frowns suspiciously. You were prepared for this question.
“He’s sulking because I told him he wouldn’t get any until he admits that I’m right,” you tell Sam, who winces. “So if you and I both agree, maybe he’ll be convinced...”
You leave it open for him to draw his own conclusions on whether or not he wants to help out his brother. You should feel bad for the barrage of lies you’re about to rain on this poor Winchester, but thinking of all of the innuendos Dean and you had been discussing is too tempting.
“Okay,” he sighs, shaking his head. “God, you two are weird.”
“Yeah, but that’s love,” you shrug. You unlock your phone and set it to record. “Okay, so first thing’s first.”
He looks at you, sitting up slightly. He’s taking your questions seriously. Good, the less likely he is to see the innuendos.
“Do you spell doughnut the long way, or the short way?” you ask him, and his face scrunches in confusion.
“You two are arguing about doughnuts?” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Seriously?”
“Just answer the question,” you state, folding your hands in front of you on the table.
“I guess...” he thinks for a moment. “I guess I usually spell it the long way, but when I think about all of the signs I see, it’s always spelled the short way.”
“Wow, way to remain completely neutral,” you sigh, giving him a look. “See, I told Dean it’s supposed to be the long way. Because the short way is do-nut. You know? Like, dough is dough, but do is pronounced do, not do.”
“You’re saying that donut isn’t right, because of the pronunciation?” he laughs. “Because it’s technically do-nut?”
“Exactly!” you lightly hit the table for emphasis. That’s one down.
Get Sam to say ‘do nut’ is checked off of your metaphorical list.
“I mean, that makes sense to me,” he admits. “So I guess I would spell it the long way, even though it’s spelled the short way in a lot of stores.”
“Awesome. Point one for me,” you beam at him. “Second question. Do you like cream-filled doughnuts?”
“Yeah, they’re okay,” he agrees.
“I knew you’d say that!” you lean over the table to fist bump him, and he just looks confused. He does the action anyways.
“How did you know?” he asks. “What about me says that I like cream-filled doughnuts?”
That’s two. ‘I like cream-filled doughnuts’ is checked off.
“Because,” you begin, “you’re healthy. You don’t eat unhealthy stuff a lot. But when you do, it’s gotta be all out. You’re not gonna go for some rinky-dink doughnut when you could have a cream-filled one.”
He laughs again at this.
“It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot,” he states.
“Look, I take my doughnuts very seriously,” you tell him. “Now, going off of that, do you prefer cream-filled doughnuts over other doughnuts?”
“Depends on what the other doughnuts are,” he says.
“Just regular, not cream-filled doughnuts,” you offer, and he cracks a small smile.
“Then I guess I prefer cream-filled doughnuts,” he states.
That isn’t the exact wording that Dean gave you, but you think it’s close enough to count. ‘I like cream-filled doughnuts over other kinds’ is done.
“Oh God, Dean is gonna lose his mind,” you exhale. “You’ve absolutely demolished every side he has taken.”
“I guess you and I just like the same kind of doughnuts,” Sam murmurs honestly.
“Last question,” you tell him. “Going off of cream-filled doughnuts, would you prefer like a long eclair or a regular round doughnut?”
“I mean they’re pretty much the same thing,” he makes a face. “But I guess an eclair.”
“Hell yes,” you throw your head back and laugh. “I love long eclairs. There’s so much more to them. And not to mention, more cream filling.”
“Yeah, I guess technically eclairs have more filling,” he nods, thinking about it. “But why do you keep emphasizing that they’re long?”
“Because it’s gotta be a good, long eclair,” you tell him, feeling your heartbeat pick up with the fear that he’ll see through your whole charade. “Not a lousy short eclair. The long ones are the best.”
He makes a face at you.
“You know what I’m talking about, right?” you ask him, holding his gaze and trying very hard not to give yourself away. “Like, I’ve been to places with so-called eclairs that are barely longer than a regular doughnut.”
“I don’t know what you’re smoking, but most eclairs aren’t as long as you’re making it seem,” he narrows his eyes.
“Damn,” you sigh. “Well, I guess that’s one point to Dean. But the rest, you totally took my side.”
You didn’t get him to say that he likes ‘a good, long doughnut’ but the other three should count.
“Um... Okay?” he seems confused, and you know that it’s time to book it. He’ll start thinking about it in more depth, and then there’s a higher chance that he’ll be onto you.
“Thank you very much, Sam,” you stop the recording and grin at him. “I’m gonna go ruin his day with this.”
You get up and leave him, and it’s not until you make it into Dean’s room that you allow your facade to fall.
“Oh my God,” you exhale, grinning at him as he looks up at you expectantly. You fall onto his bed beside him, muffling your laughter into his side.
“Well?” he prompts when you get control of yourself.
“I got all but one,” you tell him, and his eyebrows raise.
“Holy shit, [Y/N/N],” he breathes, watching as you pulled out your phone. “Let’s hear it.”
~
“Good morning, Dean,” you call, sipping a mug of coffee as he ambles drowsily into the room with his own mug clutched in a hand.
Sam looks up from the newspaper he was reading, smiling slightly as he sees his brother kiss the back of your head.
“Morning, my sugary donut,” he says, and Sam’s face scrunches up in confusion.
“Since when have you called her...?” his voice trails off, and you can almost see the gears clicking into place in his mind. Every statement he’d agreed to yesterday had some kind of underlying meaning, and you see each one filter though his mind.
“You two are disgusting,” he growls, sending a pointed glare your way. “All of that yesterday...?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says sneakily.
“Yeah, Sam. I thought you liked cream-filled doughnuts?” you say innocently.
His gaze darts down your body for a split second before he stands up so quickly his chair falls over. You know he’s just picked up on what you and Dean had done last night, and he now knows his brother isn’t a fan of rubbers.
A/N: I was looking through some of my story ideas that were unfinished and came across this piece. I read through it and finally decided that I knew how I wanted this to end. So here we are. I also have something else in the works still, but it’s taking up quite a bit of time to prepare. I’m not sure when it’ll be out, but I think you guys will like it.
Pairing: Professor! Dean Winchester X Reader
Warnings: We got a little bit of smut in here, but it’s a little more tame than usual. You know the drill.
Word Count: 2543
My Masterlist
Want Sam Instead?
~
“You ready, Princess?” he asks you, moving your tassel to the appropriate side as you fixed your hood.
“You’d think I’d be used to this by now,” you murmur, looking up at him with a queasy smile. “Third time doing this and all that.”
“It’s important to you,” he gives you a little smile and adjusts your cap properly. “But you shouldn’t be nervous.”
“You’ll be with my parents?” you check with him, and he nods, brushing some of your freshly straightened hair back from your face.
After several months of ignoring you, they’d finally realized that you weren’t going to call first.
It had been rocky at first, and there was a huge uphill battle for both parties. You’d finally gotten them to loosen some of their control after a lot of coaxing and persuasion.
In return, you’d kept your grades high and showed them that you could have fun and still maintain your GPA.
Dean had been your rock through it all, holding you after arguments with them when you thought you’d never get your parents back. He’d been the one to push you into talking to them more than a few times, too.
You take a step toward him and press a quick kiss to his cheek, resting your hands on his chest.
“Okay, go sit down. I’ll see you once this is over,” you tell him, and he draws you into a real kiss.
He pulls away and winks at you, then walks off toward the huge crowd of people that were finding their seats.
You take a moment to make sure everything is still in its proper place and then head for the holding area.
You find some of your friends-but-more-acquaintances and talk to them to waste some time, and then you’re walking out to your seat at the front of the large auditorium.
You peek back and look for your family, but there are so many people present that you can’t find them.
You shoot Dean a text asking him where they were, and you see the little bubble pop up like he’s texting.
You’ll know, Princess. ;)
You turn and look again, but the ceremony starts before you find out what he means.
The ceremony rolls on like the past two you’ve been to, and finally the time comes for you to walk across the stage for your final time.
“[Y/N] [Y/L/N],” they call, and you take a deep breath before walking up the stairs and across the stage.
“That’s my girl!” a voice yells, and you look out to the crowd where it came from, and your eyes lock on Dean.
Your cheeks blush pink as you shake the hands of the school’s president and the important board members. You pause for a picture and then accept your degree, then make your way back to your seat.
You shake your head a little when you think of how Dean made a scene, but you smile nonetheless.
The rest of the ceremony continues on, and once it’s all over, it finally hits you.
Happy tears well in your eyes as you make your way to your parents, and your mother engulfs you in a hug first.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says, and you start crying as she hugs you.
You pull away and hug your dad, accepting the flowers he gives to you with a sob.
Then it’s Dean’s turn, and he pulls you into a long kiss before he hugs you tightly.
“That was so embarrassing,” you mutter, poking his chest.
“I had to let everyone know, Princess,” he returns. His lips quirk up in a smile. “Or, I suppose it’s Dr. Princess, now.”
Your cheeks flush deep red at that, and he just grins and kisses you again.
“Darling, we’ve reserved a spot at the restaurant but we only have an hour and a half, we should be going,” your mother states.
Dean links his fingers through yours, and you smile at her.
“Okay, let’s go,” they lead you out to the parking lot, where you ride with Dean to the restaurant your parents had booked.
You really couldn’t care less where it was, but they wanted to have an elegant dinner with you before they went back to your apartment.
“You did it,” Dean remarks as you sit down beside him and lay your napkin on your lap.
“She’s so smart,” your dad praises over his menu, and you beam under all of their support.
Your parents order champagne, and you look to Dean for a moment before ordering a beer. Your mother looks like she might say something, but then Dean orders one too, and she closes her mouth.
“To the smartest girl I know,” Dean holds his beer up to the middle of the table, and your parents clink their glasses to his bottle and yours.
Your food comes out and the four of you enjoy it, celebrating with some chocolate cake as a dessert.
When it comes time to leave, Dean tucks you into his side, and your parents nod at him when you tell them that you’ll be staying with him tonight.
He gets you home and pulls you into his room, where he tosses you to his bed and makes a point to show you just how proud he is of your accomplishments.
~
“And then your dad told me about how, when you were five, you ran around your backyard chasing a squirrel screaming that you wanted to see how many teeth it had,” Dean tells you as you flip a pancake.
“No!” you gasp, looking over to him. “They told me they wouldn’t tell you any embarrassing stories!”
“And he said you did it in just your underwear,” Dean nudges you with his hip as he turns some bacon.
“First off, they were my exploring panties; they were Dora,” you point your spatula at him. “Second off, I was only in my underwear because I chased the squirrel through some mud and my mom wouldn’t let me in the house like that.”
“Your exploring panties,” he looks at you incredulously, and you feel your cheeks flushing.
“They were Dora! I was super into Dora the Explorer!” you cry out, swatting at his chest.
The doorbell rings, and you leave him to breakfast to go get the door.
Your parents walk in and hug you, and you lead them to the dining room.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” you tell them. “Dean’s working on the bacon, then it’s all done.”
“Did you tell him to make it—“
“Soft for Dad, nearly burnt for Mom,” you finish, and your mom smiles.
“Good, you remembered,” your dad nods, and you give him a smile before going to check on Dean.
“How’s it cookin’ good lookin’?” you ask him, flashing him a big smile. “You see what I did there?”
“You’re so weird,” he shakes his head and puts the bacon out on the awaiting plates.
You take two and he grabs the other two, and you both carry them out to the table for your parents and yourselves. You get your parents some juice and milk and then let Dean handle your two drinks.
Breakfast runs relatively smoothly, and soon enough you’re kissing your parents goodbye and ushering them out the door. Your dad calls Dean over, and you stand at the door waiting for him to return. He does after a minute, and you look at him curiously.
“Your dad just warned me to take care of you,” Dean murmurs, kissing your temple.
You wave them off, and then Dean leads you back inside.
“Let’s do something fun,” you take his hand and pull him toward his room, with him grinning as you close the door behind him.
“Look how far you’ve come,” he murmurs, resting his hands on your hips. “You actually want to have fun.”
“I like your idea of fun,” you tell him honestly, reaching your hand under his shirt. You trace his stomach, grinning his way. “How about…” You lean up on your tiptoes and press your lips to his. “…you show me…” You bite his bottom lip and pull lightly. “…something I’ve never seen before?”
“Like what?” he returns, slipping his hands down to squeeze your ass.
“Show me a side of you that you haven’t shown me before,” you tell him, winking as you pulled away to settle down on his bed. “Why don’t you show me what Dean Winchester can do?”
“You want that, Princess?” he purrs, walking toward you slowly.
“I do,” you answer, parting your legs as he knelt in front of you. “You only ever make love to me. I’m starting to think that you don’t know how to fuck.”
He quirks a wicked half smile at your teasing, but his eyes blaze with a need to make you see the error of your words.
His fingers slide up the backs of your calves, halting behind the bend of your knees and pulling you sharply to him. His nose presses to yours, his breath warm against your lips.
“You think I don’t know how to fuck, kitten?” he rumbles in a low voice, and you give him a little smile at the new name.
“I think I’ll believe it when I see it,” you return, and he grins.
“You’ll see, kitten,” he remarks, his fingers inching up your thighs. “I think you’re wearing too much.”
You bite your lip and yelp with a laugh when he pushes you back onto the bed and tugs at your shorts. He takes them and your underwear off in one fell swoop, tossing them to the floor as his mouth attached to your inner knee.
He kisses up your thigh, biting the soft skin and making you gasp. He looks up at you as he settles on the apex of your thighs.
“You might want to find something to hold onto, kitten,” he rumbles as he curls his arms around your legs and holds you in place.
You don’t get the chance to ask him what he means before his mouth is attached to your clit with a deadly precision, his arms holding you down as your body instinctively tried to arch from his actions.
“Dean!” you gasp, lifting up to your elbows as his mouth descended. One of his hands moves just enough to press down on your stomach, forcing you back down onto the bed. His mouth is everywhere at once, sucking and pulling and lapping at you with a skilled precision unlike any you’ve ever known.
“You want rough?” he growls and nips at your belly after he’s made you cum once, and you groan softly as he bites a little trail up your stomach, pushing your shirt up as he goes. “Take this off, now.”
“What if I say no?” you ask him, eyes flashing mischievously.
He gives you a smolder that makes you swallow, and you sit up to pull your shirt up over your head slowly. He attacks, pinning you down with his hips as his mouth claimed yours.
You groan into his mouth as he grinds against your middle. His jeans are rough against the sensitive skin, and you curl a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck to tug on it slightly.
“Fuck me, Dean Winchester,” you tell him, and he grins against your mouth. He slides his jeans down his legs and pulls his shirt over his head as you inch back further onto the bed.
He’s back over you in an instant, his hands settled on your hips. You think he’s about to sink into you, but then he turns you over onto your belly and hikes your hips up. You moan for him softly, rubbing yourself on his length as he grabbed a handful of hair to tug your head back. You look at him and the dark grin on his lips, and he leans down to press a kiss against your lips as he eases himself into you.
The stretch of him is heavenly, and you sigh against his mouth softly. He releases your hair for just a moment to get a better grip, and then he grinds his hips against your ass.
“Oh shit,” you exhale, biting your bottom lip as he started to move.
“You’re so tight, kitten,” he groans into your shoulder, working up to a faster pace as his mouth attacked your shoulder and back and the back of your neck. You reach one hand up to the back of his head, holding it as he started to really fuck into you.
A gasp parts your lips when he slips one arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and his hips snapped against you.
“Dean,” you groan, arching your back when he changes his angle and you feel him deep in your belly. “Fuck, Dean, that feels so good.”
He loves it when you’re vocal to him, even if he’s never actually said it. But the way he responds when you do is enough to tell you that he likes it.
He grunts and shifts behind you, sitting up slightly and bracing himself against the wall with one hand. You look up at the thick muscles of his arms and moan softly at just that, lifting yourself enough to kiss his forearm.
His angle is perfect, and the force behind every thrust makes you have to put your own hands up to make sure you don’t hit your head against the wall. The only thing missing is getting to stare up at his face, but he corrects that when he tilts your head back and kisses you, his hand sitting just under your chin with long fingers curving around your neck.
Even his kiss is rough, and you feel like you’ll fall apart at any moment from his treatment. A few more strokes and he coaxes your release, and he follows soon after with a heavy groan and a biting kiss to your shoulder.
His breath is ragged when he pulls away, a grin on his lips. He shuffles the two of you so he’s laying down and you’re draped over him, laying on his chest.
“Still think I can’t fuck, kitten?” he rumbles. You exhale deeply, a small smile parting your lips.
“I stand corrected,” you finally admit. You feel his smile against the top of your head as he kisses you. “But actually, it’s Dr. Kitten.”
“I already used that,” he reminds you. “You can’t use it twice.”
“Hey, I worked hard for this,” you mumble. “I’m gonna go by Dr. [L/N] for at least a few months.”
“Then maybe after that you can go by Dr. Winchester,” he suggests, tracing his fingertips up your spine.
“Is that implying something?” you ask him with a smile.
“Maybe,” he says cryptically. “Just be prepared.”
You smile and look to your hand, imagining a ring on like he’s suggesting. You realize that the thought makes you feel giddy inside, the same way you did when he announced to the entire convention center that you were his girl.
And you realize that you want nothing more to be with him for the rest of your life.
A/N: I’ve had this one almost done for a while, but I couldn’t quite finish it. Something feels off, but I still don’t know what... I may edit this one later and change something.
Warnings: Dean is kinda mean in this one, but other than that there’s no real warnings necessary.
Word Count: 1109
My Masterlist
~
“You need to get up,” Dean says, speaking over one of the actors in your show.
You shoot him a quick glare but return to watching, trying to figure out who the killer was before it was revealed.
“[Y/N], you need to get up,” he repeats, once more speaking over some important dialogue.
“I’m trying to watch a show here!” you tell him, rewinding a few seconds so you can hear what’s going on.
He looks at your computer, pursing his lips slightly.
“It’s Jacob,” he states, and you shoot him a dirty glare.
Your guess had been on Henry, but Jacob was a close second.
“[Y/N], I’ve seen this episode. It’s Jacob,” he repeats, and you groan aloud, slamming your laptop shut.
“What the hell?” you screech, throwing your hands up in defeat. “You couldn’t let me watch five more minutes before you ruined it?”
“You’ve been laying here all day,” he scrunches his face up, moving an empty chip bag from your blanket. “How many episodes have you watched?”
“Only a season,” you mutter, and he raises his eyebrow.
“How many episodes are in a season?” he asks.
“Sixteen,” you answer, looking away from his judging eyes.
“And how long are these episodes?” he continues.
“Only like forty five minutes, if that,” you answer after a long pause. “Without the intro and everything, it’s probably like, thirty eight minutes or something.”
He pulls out his phone and presses some buttons, then looks back at you.
“You’ve been watching this for over ten hours!” he yells, then reaches down to grab your laptop. “No more laptop.”
“What? No!” you screech, trying to grab it back from him, but he pulls it away. “Dean, that’s not cool!”
“What’s not cool is spending ten hours holed up in your room with food everywhere,” he gestures to the bottles and plates you have scattered around. “You’ve used today’s and tomorrow’s Netflix rations.”
“How come you and Sam can watch Netflix whenever you want?” you snap, glaring hard at him.
“Because we don’t spend the entire day doing it,” he explains. “Get your room cleaned up, too.”
“You’re such an asshole,” you hiss as he heads for your door, and he looks back at you.
“You’re grounded,” he says, and you roll your eyes.
“You can’t ground me!” you yell, getting up from your bed to stand toe to toe with him.
“I can, and you are!” he yells back, holding your laptop out of reach when you try to sneak it back.
“Woah, what’s with all the yelling?” Sam comes into your room, and you turn your glare to him.
“Dean took my laptop and spoiled my season finale,” you tell him the situation.
“You’re just mad because I’m making you get off your ass,” he cuts back.
“Calm down,” Sam states. “[Y/N/N], you have been watching a lot of Netflix.”
“So you immediately take his side?” you cry.
“But, Dean, she has every right to do what she wants,” Sam adds, looking his brother’s way. “It’s summer, give her a break.”
“Summer or not, no one should spend that much time looking at a screen,” he retorts.
“I have to go back to school in like, three weeks!” you moan. “Can’t you let me have some fun until then?”
You’d always thought that Sam would be the enforcer of rules out of the two of them, but Dean was more so than his brother. Ever since they’d taken you in after a shifter had gone on a rampage through your town and killed your family, they’d been acting as parental units-slash-big brothers.
“You can have fun, but you don’t get to just sit there and watch Netflix all day,” Dean says, his green eyes hard and his expression firm.
“There’s nothing to do around here!” you groan, tossing your hands up for them to look around. “I have no friends, I don’t have a car, everything here is cursed or breakable and you won’t let me touch it, and now you’re taking away my Netflix!”
“Dean, maybe we should start letting her come with us,” Sam says after your outburst. “It’s not good to keep someone cooped up like this.”
“It’s dangerous,” Dean returns. He looks your way. “You have no formal training, none at all.”
“Then teach me,” you say. “Teach me how to fight and shoot a gun. Then I don’t have to sit here alone all the time when you two are gone.”
“You have to finish school,” Dean counters. “You’re not in the hunter life yet, and if you can stay out of it then you need an education.”
“What do you mean I’m not in the hunter life!” you screech. “I’m as far into it as anyone else! My family is dead!”
“[Y/N]...” Sam exhales. “You might think it’s fun or you can be a hero, but... It’s not something you want to get into.”
“I don’t want to,” you return, trying to calm yourself. “But the world needs more people like you. It has plenty of doctors and mechanics and whatever else I can be. We need more hunters.”
Sam looks to his brother, who shakes his head.
“Dean...” Sam says in a low voice. “We can at least train her, that way if something happens...”
“No,” Dean shakes his head again. “I won’t do it. I’m not gonna be the reason you get killed.”
With that, he storms out of your room, leaving you and Sam watching his retreating form.
It’s quiet for a few tense moments.
“He means well,” Sam finally says. “He’s showing the tough love in this situation, but he’s just trying to keep you safe.”
“I feel useless,” you tell Sam. “He doesn’t want me to just sit around, and I don’t want to sit around. But there’s literally nothing else for me to do.”
“I know,” Sam sighs. “I’ll try to talk him around, and if he doesn’t... If he doesn’t, I’ll train you.”
“Sam, you don’t have to do that,” you tell him, and he shakes his head.
“Hey, we took you in, we’re like your... fathers?” he winces at the word.
“Ew, no,” you shake your head quickly.
“Brothers, then,” he says, and you smile at him slightly. “We’re your big brothers now, and it’s our job to take care of you.”
“Thank you,” you say, avoiding looking at him because you’ve never been very good at expressions of gratitude.
He walks to your door, pausing to look back your way.
“My laptop is in my room, if you want to finish your show. Just join us for dinner in a little bit?”
A/N: Today’s inspiration was getting some new clothes for college. And a teeny tiny trim on my hair, because I’ve been trying to grow it out for over five years now and have made very slow progress.
Pairing: DeanXReader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort? I guess that’s what I’ll call this?
Warnings: Dean in a bit insensitive but he means well in telling the truth.
Word Count: 390
My Masterlist
~
“So what do you think?” you ask him, giving a little twirl in your new outfit. “You like it?”
“I didn’t know this was your style,” he remarks, and you frown slightly, his unenthusiastic tone catching you off guard.
“I mean...” you look down at the fabric, then back to him. “What with hunting and all that, I don’t really get the chance to wear stuff like this. It’s always jeans and combat boots.”
“But that look makes you look badass,” he informs you, and you purse your lips.
“So you’re saying you don’t like this,” you mutter, and he winces upon hearing your tone.
“It’s just... Not you,” he admits softly. “It looks good, but it’s just not practical.”
“It doesn’t have to be practical, Dean!” you frown. “I don’t have to be a hunter all the time! I can be [Y/N] sometimes!”
“I wasn’t trying to start a fight,” he says after a long pause. “You just asked what I thought, and that’s what I think.”
You sigh and look to the bag of clothes you’d bought from the store earlier today. A wave of frustrated sadness washes over you.
“I... I guess I can return these tomorrow, then,” you shrug, dropping the bag on the floor.
“[Y/N/N],” he sighs, reaching a hand out to your side to turn you to him. “You don’t have to take them back. If you like them, then you can wear them. I’ll just have to get used to you wearing stuff like this.”
“I know it’s not what I usually wear,” you admit, looking at him sadly. “But I’m trying to branch out. Be more... Me.”
He gives you a tiny smile, reaching up to brush his fingers through your hair. He stops, his fingers pinching together at the ends of your hair.
“You cut your hair, too?” he asks, noticing the lack of split ends from poorly made hotel soap and hard water.
“I just got a trim,” you inform him. “I didn’t really think you’d notice.”
“It’s sort of my job to notice when my girl does something new,” he states, giving you a soft smile.
“We’ve still got to work on the reactions a little,” you whisper, and he reaches up to brush your cheek with his fingertips. “But at least you noticed.”
A/N: So I’m seriously considering writing a drabble a day pertaining to whatever I’m doing for that day. Yesterday was my wisdom teeth, today is cleaning up the house I lived over half of my life in one last time because the new owners move in on the 15th. Who knows? Maybe I might be able to stay on track.
Pairing: DeanXReader
Genre: Mild angst, facing the fact that you can’t always get what you want
Warnings: Slightly depressing attitude, but otherwise none. If you’re looking for a cute drabble, this is not it.
Word Count: 660
My Masterlist
~
“Hey, Sweetheart, how’s it going?” Dean’s voice speaks as soon as you answer the call.
You take a break for a breather, walking inside where it’s cooler than the hellhole outside.
“I just about finished the garage,” you tell him, wiping the sweat from your forehead.
“Awesome, so you’re about to come back this way?” he asks, and you laugh loudly.
“Dean, I started with the garage!” you exclaim, stretching out on the cool tile floor of your kitchen. The coldness seeps through the back of your sweaty shirt, and you sigh softly in happiness.
“I thought you said it would only take a couple of hours,” he returns. “You’ve been gone for two and a half already.”
“That’s what I thought, but there were way more cobwebs in the garage than I was planning on,” you state, wiping another round of sweat from your face. “I probably killed thirty bastard daddy longlegs that tried to gank me.”
“They didn’t try to gank you,” he says, and you snort.
“They flew down from the ceiling at me!” you disagree, shaking your head. “If that’s not coming down to gank me, then I don’t know what is.”
He just laughs. “So what are you doing now?”
“Laying on the floor thinking about how much I don’t want to clean the rest of this house,” you admit honestly, blowing out a puff of air. “Three rooms, two and a half bathrooms, a kitchen, the living room, and the dining room.”
“You’re the one that wanted to sell, Sweetheart,” he reminds you. “You could’ve kept it as a place for our future kids or something.”
“Our kids?” you ask him playfully, looking up at the ceiling of the house you’d grown up in.
It had seen over half of your life, and you’re admittedly sad to see it go. But Dean was right. It was your decision to sell it. You’re sure if your parents had still been alive they’d have wanted you to sell it so that another family could grow up in it, rather than letting it sit and collect dust while you fought off monsters and stayed in the bunker.
“I thought that part was already established?” he returns, and you smile a little, thinking about what it would be like to raise a family here.
But you couldn’t, not while the world was so dangerous. Not while every time you left the house, you weren’t sure you’d return.
Dean and you both know that the likelihood of actually having kids was slim to none, but it was oddly cathartic to talk about it like it might actually be a possibility. Like maybe, it’s just beyond the horizon. Like maybe, somehow, the two of you could get out of the hunter’s life.
Dean hears your silence. “Sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” you say with a halfhearted smile, trying to push the gloomy thoughts away. “Yeah, we’ll just have to find something different. I already have a buyer for this place, I can’t really back out now.”
You were happy with Dean, and that was enough. You wouldn’t torture yourself and think about the things that probably wouldn’t happen.
“Okay,” he sighs. “I’ll let you get back to cleaning up.”
“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding to convince yourself. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. If I’m not, come looking, because one of the spiders ganked me.”
“The spiders aren’t going to gank you,” he repeats. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Call if you need anything.”
“Yeah, love you,” you say.
“Love you too, Sweetheart,” he says, and then hangs up.
You sigh. This place wasn’t your home anymore, and it never would be again. But for just a second, you think of the life you could’ve had here, had you not been a hunter.
Then you pick up the broom and set to sweeping, every stroke whisking away the wish, until you’re left with nothing but the harsh reality of life.
A/N: Oh geez, it’s been a while... Oops. I’ve been working on a story of my own for quite a while, and I haven't been paying my SPN boys as much love as I should. RIP.
The inspiration for this comes from having my wisdom teeth pulled a little over week ago and subsequently getting dry socket in one of the holes, even though I did everything I was supposed to. It’s finally starting to feel better, though, so there’s a happy element, I guess.
Characters: Sam, Reader (no established pair)
Genre: Fluff? Does this even have a genre? Who knows.
Warnings: Prescription medications, nothing major
Word Count: 555 (it’s short!)
My Masterlist
~
“Sam,” you moan, rolling your head along the back of the couch I look at him. “Can you get me my meds?”
“Still hurting?” he asks, a sad little smile on his face.
“It’s a dull ache,” you tell him, closing your eyes as your head began to pound. “But I want to get medicated before it gets worse.”
“Sure,” he nods, heading for the bathroom where your prescribed pills were.
It’s quiet for a few minutes, and then you hear the rattling of medicine bottles.
“Are you on the acetaminophen or the ibuprofen this round?” he calls, referencing how you were supposed to alternate the drugs.
“Whichever one is upside down is the one I took last,” you call back, rubbing your jaws with a small whimper.
He comes back with a pill and you pick up your water bottle, drinking some and downing the pill. You wash out the gross taste with some more water, and he hands you another pill.
“It’s almost dinner time, so you need to take your antibiotic, too,” he tells you, and you groan softly to yourself, but do as he asks.
“When does it get better?” you ask him, picking up your ice pack and holding it to your jaw.
“You’ve only had them out for three days, it’s still going to hurt some,” he sits down beside you, and you lay your head on his shoulder.
“I’m just mad that it actually hurts,” you inform him. “I’ve gotten shanked and it hurt less than this.”
“Pain in the mouth can be pretty bad,” he says, trying to make you feel better. “And they did say they had a hard time getting the bottom two out.”
“You’re the one that told me I should go through with it,” you mutter in protest.
“They would’ve crowded your other teeth if you hadn’t done something about it,” he reminds you.
“I know,” you sigh, closing your eyes as you waited for the medicine to kick in. “Did you ever have to get yours out?”
“No, mine fit,” he tells you as you sink down to lay your head in his lap. “I have a big mouth, that’s what the dentist said.”
“You’re big,” you say emphatically, and he laughs.
“Dean had his out, though,” he nods, as if he were thinking. “Back when we were in high school.”
“Was he a baby about it?” you ask him, and he laughs again.
“Worse than you are,” he rubs your side with one of his massive hands. “Pretty sure he complained for two weeks.”
“I hope this doesn’t go on for two weeks,” you mutter.
“I think he whined just to whine,” San admits. “When he came out after the surgery, he was almost crying because he said he wouldn’t be as smart anymore.”
“You know, I had that same though,” you admit with a tiny smile. “One of my first thoughts was, ‘Well, I guess I’ll be four times less wise.’”
“You’re still one of the smartest people I know,” he says, and you give him a smile.
“Says the literal smartest person I know,” you return, and his soft hazel eyes crinkle up as he smiles.
He shakes his head and just continues to rub your side, and as the painkiller finally kick in, you drift off to sleep.
I was tagged by @protegoparker to do this! It was actually kind of hard to come up with some of them and even harder to pick favorites for certain letters.
M: Mambo No. 5 | Lou Bega
E: Eye of the Tiger | Survivor
L: Lucky | Seven Mary Three
A: Animals | Maroon 5
N: Nine in the Afternoon | Panic! at the Disco
I: I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) | The Proclaimers
E: El Perdón | Nicky Jam
-
T: Tequila | Dan + Shay
H: Hotel California | The Eagles
E: Enter Sandman | Metallica
-
N: Neon Light | Blake Shelton
I: I’ll Name the Dogs | Blake Shelton
G: G. D. F. R. | Flo Rida
H: H. O. L. Y. | Florida Georgia Line
T: T-Shirt | Thomas Rhett
-
F: Five More Minutes | Scotty McCreery
O: October | Eric Whitacre
X: XO | Kelsea Ballerini
As you can see, I don’t have a specific music genre. I like everything from country to rock, but I guess there’s more of an emphasis on country than anything else. Also, I didn’t get to include one of my favorite songs, so I put it here as an honorable mention.
If somehow this inspired you and you want to do this, go right ahead! Just tag me so I can see it!
A/N: I have one more final tomorrow and then I’m done with my sophomore year of college! Let’s do this!
This was a request by @candyyyyssss and you can see the request/prompt here.
Warnings: There’s some talk of a child’s death in here, so that might dissuade some people. There’s no real pairing in this, but there are some hints of Destiel undertones.
Characters: Sam, Dean, Cas
Word Count: 4587
My Masterlist
“Dean?” Sam groans, blinking back spits as he lifted his head slowly.
His body aches, and he feels everything sway for a moment. He feels like he’s been through a hurricane, and he knows that that’s blood trickling down his forehead.
He glances up to the wall he’s been slammed against, and he sees a large dent in it, as well as shattered picture frames and glass littering the floor by his head.
“Dean? Cas?” he calls again, struggling to push himself into a sitting position.
Sam looks over and sees his brother, or at least... His brother’s clothes.
He blinks, thinking that maybe he smacked his head harder against the wall than he thought.
It’s still... Dean’s clothes.
His gaze trails to where Cas had been, and a similar picture paints itself in his eyes.
A long trench coat and tie, and no sign of the angel.
Sam struggles to his feet, looking around the room for any sign of his brother or the witch they’d been hunting.
He puts his hand on his gun, taking a steadying breath as he ventured out into the hallway warily.
“Do not trip over me,” a voice says, and Sam instantly aims for the floor where the voice was.
Instead of a full sized person, like he’d been expecting, he finds a toddler with bright blue eyes peering up at him.
“Wh—“ Sam looks around, then back to the toddler, sitting buck naked except for a shirt that was nearly three times too large. “Did you just... speak?”
“Yes, that is what it’s called,” the toddler returns, and Sam swallows, recognizing the voice.
“Cas?” he whispers, looking around.
Had he hit his head that hard? Was he dreaming?
“Yes, Sam,” the toddler responds, standing up and only reaching about waist high on Sam. “It seems the witch has cast a spell upon us.”
“Us?” Sam remarks, looking around. “Don’t tell me—“
“Dean wandered off into the kitchen,” Cas states. “He, too, is small.”
“Small isn’t... isn’t the word I’d use,” Sam says slowly, walking down the hall toward where he heard some commotion. “Dean?”
He peers through the doorway, ready to shoot anything that might be in the kitchen, but his gaze only lands on another toddler, this one with a dusting of brown hair and big green eyes turned his way.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sam exhales, cocking his head to the side as the toddler peered at him curiously.
“Huh?” the child says in a small voice.
“Dean,” Sam calls, and the toddler perks up at the name.
“Dean!” he chimes happily, pointing to himself. “I’m Dean!”
Sam feels a weight against his leg, and he finds Cas poking around him to look into the room at Dean.
“Dean appears to be under the influence of this spell as well,” Cas murmurs.
“Yeah, but...” Sam walks toward his brother, who is now intently staring at Castiel. “Dean, can you talk?”
“I’m Dean!” he points to himself again. “What’s yours?”
“He doesn’t appear to know who you are,” Cas remarks in a thoughtful tone.
“I’m Sam, your little brother,” Sam tells Dean, who squints his eyes at him and then starts to laugh.
“You biiiiiiig brother!” Dean says, and Sam runs a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, um...” Sam trails off, looking over to Cas. “I don’t think he’s like you. I think he’s a toddler in body and mind.”
“It would make sense that my angelic capabilities would send the witch’s spell awry,” Cas states, rubbing his forehead with chubby fingers. “The witch isn’t here anymore. We need to find her to reverse this spell.”
“Yeah...” Sam looks back to his brother, who is once again staring at Cas. “Let’s... Let’s get back to the hotel and get this figured out.”
Sam tucks his gun away and walks toward his naked brother, who eyes him skeptically.
When Sam moves to pick him up, he cries out and rushes on little legs to where Cas is.
“No no!” Dean says, hiding behind Cas.
“Dean, we’ve gotta get back to the hotel so when can get you back to normal,” Sam tells his brother, who looks over Cas’ shoulder.
“Yes, Dean, it would appear that that is the best course of action,” Cas says, and Dean looks at him.
Dean takes a deep breath and then looks back to Sam, a small pout on his face.
“Fine,” he huffs, and Sam exhales in relief.
“I’m going to get your clothes. Cas, can you take him out to the Impala?” Sam asks the angel, and he nods.
Cas and Dean head off for the car as Sam collects their clothes and guns. When he makes it out to the car, he tosses Dean’s shirt at him to put on before loading things into the trunk.
He finds the keys in a pocket of Dean’s jeans, and soon enough they’re on the road back to the hotel.
Sam watches the two small children in the backseat, wondering if this could be classified as the strangest thing to happen to them.
When he makes it back to the hotel, the two of them follow him in, and he closes and locks the door before anyone notices them.
“God, what are we going to do?” Sam breathes. “We have to find that witch.”
“I think we have other needs before that, Sam,” Cas says, holding up his arms so that Sam can see the huge shirt. “Dean will need food, as well.”
Sam sits down on the edge of the bed and places his head in his hands. After a few moments, he looks up, only to see Dean pulling a knife from his bag.
“No!” he yells, lurching for his brother to take the dangerous weapon away.
Dean looks up at him, startled as his brother takes the sharp object from his hands.
“Mine!” Dean yells, and Sam exhales in relief as he places it out of Dean’s reach. “Mine, Sammy!”
“No, it’s not yours,” he says, watching as his brother huffed grumpily. Dean goes looking for something else to play with, and Sam watches him warily. “So, I guess the first stop is the grocery store.”
“That sounds acceptable,” Cas remarks, nodding.
“Come on, Dean,” Sam sighs. “Let’s get you some new clothes and some food.”
“No! You’re mean!” Dean pouts, crouching down in the corner.
“Because I wouldn’t let you kill yourself?” Sam retorts, and then he realizes he’s already lost because he’s arguing with a toddler. “Cas?”
“Dean, we should go with your brother,” Cas says, and Dean looks over at the angel, pouting.
“He’s mean,” Dean protests, frowning deeply.
“Sam is just trying to keep you from hurting yourself,” Cas tells him. He looks into Cas’ blues for a moment before sighing a big sigh.
“You go with me?” Dean asks, looking at Cas curiously.
“We will all be going to the grocery store, yes,” Cas nods, and Dean sighs again.
“Okay,” Dean finally whispers, walking from the corner over to Cas. He gives Sam a wicked stink eye as he walks by, and Sam groans.
“Okay, so...” Sam grabs the keys once more, and once he gets the two boys buckled in the back seat, he drives to the nearest supermarket he can find.
He realizes the mistake in bringing them as soon as he walks in and faces the curious stares of the other customers there.
He grabs one hand in each of his own and speeds them back to the toddler section for clothes, practically dragging Dean from looking at all the shiny things he sees.
“How sweet!” a woman comments to Sam, squatting down to wave at Cas. “And how old are you, little man?”
“My body has aged three years,” Cas tells her, and she flinches slightly.
“W-Wow,” she looks up at Sam quickly. “And how did you learn to talk so well?”
“I have been speaking for many years,” Cas answers, and she gives a nervous smile.
“Well,” she nods at him and stands up, offering Sam a strange look before pushing her stroller away quickly.
“Cas, you can’t talk like that,” Sam tells him in a low voice.
“I am speaking the way that I always do,” Cas returns, and Sam nervously smiles at another lady walking by before turning his attention back to the angel.
“Yeah, but... You said you’re what, three?” Sam returns. “You should talk like a three year old.”
“So I should speak the same way that Dean does?” he gestures to Dean, who is currently picking at the reflective paint on one of the clothes stands.
“Just... don’t creep people out,” Sam finally says. “We don’t want attention drawn to us.”
“I understand,” he nods at Sam, then looks over as Dean presses a small piece of the reflective material into his hand.
“Present!” Dean chirps to him, smiling big.
“Um... Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, squinting down at the reflective piece. “It’s very... Shiny.”
“Pretty!” Dean nods. “Pretty like you!”
“That is very kind,” Cas nods, and Sam watches the interaction for a moment before deciding that he has more important matters at hand.
He picks out several sets of clothes for the two children, not sure how long they would be like this.
“I’m hungry!” Dean pouts after a while, and Sam looks down at him.
“We’ll get some food in just a minute,” he says. “Now let me see your foot, I need to know what size shoes to get you.”
Sam scoops his brother up and grabs Cas’ hand, not wanting to look like an irresponsible parent just leaving him behind. He leads them toward the shoes, passing by some people that give him small smiles.
Another woman is in the shoe aisle, and Sam offers her a smile.
“That shirt sure is big on you, huh?” she asks Cas. “Is that your Daddy’s shirt?”
“No, it is my own,” Cas looks down to his chest, and Sam gives him a look.
“Oh, wow,” she looks up to Sam. “He’s very well spoken. How old?”
“Three,” Sam smiles at her, coming up with something on the fly. “And they didn’t want to put on clothes to go out. I couldn’t get this one to stop crying unless he went out like this.”
He gestures to Dean, who looks at the woman and blinks, flashing her a smile.
“Oh, yes. Those tantrums can be terrible to deal with,” she ruffles Dean’s hair. “But you’re such a cutie pie!”
“I like pie!” Dean brightens. “Sammy, I like pie!”
“Oh, now look what I’ve started,” the woman covers her mouth. “I should be going. Good luck with your two little ones!”
“Thank you,” Sam calls, deciding not to correct her and waste his breath. As soon as she’s gone, the facade falls. “We need to get you two shoes and leave.”
He finds a little pair of boots that fit his brother and gets a matching pair for Cas, then carries the small basket toward the front of the store.
“Sammy, I’m hungry!” Dean repeats, and he sighs heavily.
“We’re gonna eat soon,” he tells his brother, waiting in line behind a woman. She turns at the sound, smiling at Dean.
Here we go again, Sam thinks.
“Look at those eyes!” she makes a face at Dean, and he smiles back before the candy catches his eye.
“Sammy! Candy!” he holds onto Sam’s arm and reaches for the candy, but Sam pulls him away.
“No candy,” Sam says, flashing an awkward smile the woman’s way.
“He sure is a cutie,” the woman says easily. “Are they twins?”
“No,” Sam returns, and he looks down at Cas as if to make sure he’s still there. “They’re cousins.”
“Oh,” she nods, placing her things on the conveyor. “Did they get into a mess they weren’t supposed to?”
She gestures to the clothes in his basket, and he laughs slightly.
“Actually, we just got in from the airport,” Sam remarks. “Luggage got lost, and then this one spilled some milk all over the two of them.”
“Poor things,” she smiles down Cas’ way. “Well, you’ve got a lovely Daddy looking out for you.”
“Oh, no—“ Sam says before he can stop himself. The woman looks up at him, and he feels his cheeks flush. “He’s uh... my brother.”
“Oh,” her eyebrows lift. “He must have been quite the accident.”
Sam can’t help but laugh at that.
“Oh, there was an accident all right,” he says in a low voice, and the woman laughs before going to pay.
“Sammy!” Dean reaches for the candy again.
“Fine!” he sighs, already tired of dealing with his brother like this.
How did Mom and Dad do it?
“Cas, can you get Dean a candy?” Sam asks the angel. “If I put him down he’s gonna ruin everything.”
“Dean, what candy would you like?” Cas asks, and Dean looks down at him, smiling shyly.
“You pick,” Dean says, and Cas looks up to Sam curiously.
“Just get him something, I’m sure he won’t mind,” Sam shakes his head, setting his items on the conveyor.
The woman in front of him finishes her transaction and bids them goodbye, and Sam smiles at the cashier, getting ready to spout off a new lie.
The man doesn’t say anything, and Cas tiptoes to place a candy bar on the conveyor.
“Is that all?” the younger man sighs.
“Thank you,” Sam sighs in relief. “That’s all.”
“That’ll be seventy three eighteen,” the cashier drawls.
Sam looks at the bags in disgust. Why did kids clothes cost so much?
He swipes his card anyway, and finally he’s on his way out the door.
Cas carries one bag as Sam carries the rest and his brother, who lays his head on Sam’s shoulder while looking down at Cas.
Sam gets them into the car and starts his drive for the hotel.
“Sam, were you going to get Dean some food?” Cas asks, and Sam looks in the rear view mirror.
“I was going to order a pizza to be delivered to the hotel,” Sam tells him, keeping his attention on the road, especially since he didn’t have booster seats.
“Pizza!” Dean chirps excitedly.
Sam doesn’t have the energy to respond, and when they finally pull into the motel parking lot, he gets them inside and orders a pizza.
Dean wants to play, and Sam finds a little notebook and a pen for him to doodle with. He turns on the TV to some kid’s cartoon and cracks open his laptop, going for some research while Dean was distracted.
He doesn’t find much before the pizza man comes by, and he drops a few bills in the man’s hands.
He sets the pizza on the table and lets Dean have a go at it, stealing only a piece for himself.
“Cas, you should eat, too,” Sam tells him. “We don’t know what that spell might have done to your vessel, we shouldn’t take any chances.”
“That is a reasonable deduction,” Cas remarks, and he climbs into the chair across from Dean and takes a piece to eat.
“Want more?” Dean offers Cas his piece, and the angel smiles slightly.
“You should eat your piece, Dean. You need sustenance more than I,” Cas says, and Dean cocks his head to the side curiously.
Sam works on what he knows best, researching a cure for this predicament.
He takes the time to dress Dean in clothes to sleep in, and only after he settles in the motel bed does Sam go to take a shower.
He takes one of the fastest showers of his life, and when he makes it out of the bathroom, he finds Dean nearly dozing on the bed with Cas.
Checking the clock and seeing how late it is, Sam turns off the lights and the TV, rubbing his tired eyes.
“We’ll pick this up in the morning,” he sighs, looking over toward Cas. “The witch can’t go too far, not with how Dean injured her before all of this happened.”
“Yes, I understand,” Cas looks at him and nods, and Sam tiredly rubs his forehead.
Sam climbs into his motel bed, sighing heavily.
He needed to get this figured out soon—he didn’t know how much longer he could deal with his brother as a three year old.
He stares up at the ceiling as he tries to remember what had happened, but all that greets him is a wall of black.
Dean had shot the witch, but it hadn’t been fatal, and then she’d flung Sam across the room. And then... Black. And the next thing he remembered was finding the two of them like this.
“Sammy?” Dean’s voice is small, quiet.
“Yeah, Dean?” he looks over to where his brother was laying on the other bed, and he sees green eyes peering back at him.
“‘M scared,” he says in that same small voice, and Sam sits up a little.
“There’s nothing here, Dean,” Sam tells him tiredly. “The door is locked.”
His brother looks to the door for a moment and then lays back down slowly, a frown etched on his face.
Sam starts to doze off when he hears the sound of one of them climbing out of bed. He doesn’t bother, knowing that Dean isn’t tall enough to reach the lock on the door, and that Cas wouldn’t go out in the middle of the night.
When little hands grab his bed and pull themselves up, he looks down to see his brother climbing into the bed with him.
Dean tucks into his side, his head laying on Sam’s chest so that he can watch the door.
“You okay?” Sam asks softly, and Dean nods his little head.
Sam has to smile a little, remembering when he would do just the same with his big brother.
He remembered being left alone, not seeing his father for weeks on end and having only Dean to look after him.
He sighs softly in remembrance and lowers his hand to Dean’s back, patting it gently before closing his eyes.
In minutes, Dean is asleep on him, and Sam drifts off to the sound of soft snores.
When he wakes, Sam finds that his brother is still dozing, and he almost smiles down at his little face. After carefully maneuvering his brother off of him, Sam returns to his research.
An hour or so passes before he finds an answer, one that he should’ve expected. He just has to find and kill the witch that cast the spell and things should revert back to the way they were.
Which meant no more toddlers to watch after.
There doesn’t seem to be any other answer, and he groans to himself as he realizes he has to come up with a plan to kill her himself.
Sam rubs his forehead and pulls up a map of the city, trying to figure out where the witch could’ve gone.
He narrows it down to three places by the time Dean wakes up, and he sits back in his chair, trying to figure out how he would take out a witch without leaving Cas or Dean in any danger.
“I’m hungry,” Dean calls, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
“We can get some food on the road,” Sam tells him, and Dean looks over at Cas.
“I’m hungry!” he repeats, this time to Cas, who looks at him curiously.
“I do still have that chocolate bar from the store,” Cas tells him, and Dean’s eyes brighten.
“I like candy!” Dean tells him, and Cas looks to San for approval.
“No,” Sam says, still feeling somewhat responsible for his brother and making sure he didn’t start the day with a candy bar for breakfast. “You can have that later.”
“I want it, Sammy!” Dean pouts, flashing a pleading look to his brother.
“No,” Sam repeats, getting up to collect his phone. “We can grab something on the way.”
Sam ignores the way his brother crosses his arms over his chest and sits down on the floor, having a little tantrum.
“So, Cas,” Sam looks to the other toddler. “Can you handle Dean while I go kill the witch? I don’t want to take him with me.”
“Yes, I can look over him,” Cas agrees. “But we should travel with you to the witch. Dean will likely want to know what has occurred.”
“Fine,” Sam finally exhales, wanting to get this nightmare over with. “Come on, then.”
Sam packs their things in the car and then they’re headed for the witch.
“I’m hungry,” Dean is still pouting, and Sam has to keep from rolling his eyes. He pulls into a little diner and gets Dean some pancakes and bacon for breakfast and a coffee for himself.
“The little guy doesn’t want anything?” the waitress asks, looking over to Cas as they sit in a small booth.
“I suppose some type of beverage would be acceptable,” he says, and the waitress blinks in surprise.
“Chocolate milk!” Dean says, and Cas looks at him curiously for a moment.
“Yes, chocolate milk is a reasonable beverage,” Cas looks up to the woman. “I’ll have some.”
“O-kay,” she says, shooting a glance to Sam, but he just smiles at her tiredly. She makes her way to the back to put in the order for pancakes and bacon, glancing back at their table once.
Sam rubs his temples as Dean plays with the straw on his milk, and he wishes the service were faster.
When the pancakes and bacon finally come out, Sam watches his brother devour the bacon in just under two minutes flat. Dean offers some of his food to Cas, but none to Sam.
Sam just shakes his head and pays for the meal once Dean is done, and then they’re finally, finally on the way to the witch.
Sam leaves Cas and Dean in the back seat, tucking his gun carefully into his jacket.
He takes a deep breath and creeps into the old abandoned building, wary of creaky steps that could give away his position.
The first floor is empty, and as he heads for the stairs, a picture catches his eye.
It’s a woman and her daughter, only a toddler as she sits on the woman’s lap with a huge grin on her face.
Everything makes sense to him.
Dean had told him that the case had been technically dealt with, but they both had a bad feeling so they’d come to check it out. The hunter that told them about it said that he’d killed the witch that was causing trouble in the town, that everything was fine and they were wasting a trip.
“That’s some hard stuff, that town,” he’d told Sam. “But I dealt with it.”
He hadn’t dealt with it. He’d only made it so much worse.
Sam swallows and walks up the stairs, gun ready.
More pictures for the walls, all of this mother and her daughter.
Sam has to look away from them all, realizing what the hunter had done.
At the top of the steps, he sees a glow from one of the rooms, and he knows he doesn’t have to waste any more time looking.
He steels himself and then bursts through, but the witch is waiting for him.
It’s the woman from the pictures, Sam already knows.
“I don’t want to kill you,” Sam says slowly, and she snarls at him.
“I spared your life once, I will not do it again!” she tells him, and he holds his gun ready.
“Just turn my brother and Cas back to normal and we’ll let you live,” he tries to bargain.
“Why should I grant you mercy when you would not grant it to me? To my daughter?” she roars, and Sam flinches.
“That hunter was wrong,” he shakes his head. “We don’t kill children.”
“He did!” she shrieks. “He killed my only child.”
“That was wrong of him,” Sam says slowly.
“I begged him,” she screeches. “I begged him not to hurt her. She couldn’t even control her magic yet!”
“She’s what was causing the things around town,” Sam says, and the woman’s eyes well with tears. “Not you.”
“She was helpless against him,” the woman shakes her head. “She did nothing! She didn’t deserve what he did to her!”
“She didn’t,” Sam agrees. “But can you see two more children get murdered because of that spell? My brother and Cas will die if you don’t turn him back.”
“Then it’s two less hunters that I have to worry about!” she yells. “Does they feel weak? Are they as helpless as my daughter was when your friend killed her?”
Sam can tell that there is no sense left in this woman, there was no use in trying to bargain any longer.
He aims and fires, but she moves before the bullet hits her, and face carving into a feral snark toward him.
The fight between them is brutal as she flings furniture his way and tosses him about like a rag doll.
He lands a bullet to her side and she goes down, gasping in pain as Sam gets up.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he puts a bullet between her eyes. His stomach is sick as he walks out of the house, thinking about how a hunter had murdered a child with no remorse.
When he makes it to the impala, Dean is standing there looking at him.
“You left me with him!” Dean yells, and Sam grunts as he drops his gun in the trunk. “You went to fight the with yourself!”
“Yeah, I couldn’t exactly take you or Cas with me!” Sam returns, slamming the trunk.
“You should’ve waited for me to wake up!” Dean tells his brother.
“Wake up?” Sam scoffs. “Dean, what’s the last thing you remember?”
“I shot the bitch and she threw you against the wall,” Dean answers him. “Did something happen while I was out or something?”
Sam looks to Cas, who is also in his older form. He looks back to Dean.
“You were a three year old,” Sam finally says. “You and Cas both.”
“A three year old?” Dean blanches. “Why in the hell did she turn me into a kid?”
“It’s a long story,” Sam sighs. “Let’s just... just get headed back to the bunker.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, noticing his brother was hiding something.
They climb into the car, and Sam looks at the house for a moment.
“You remember the hunter that told us about this case?” Sam finally says as Dean starts on the road. “Dillon? Derek?”
“Daniel,” Dean says, looking over at his brother. “Why? What’s up?”
“Just trying to remember who it was,” Sam shakes his head. “Hope we see him again.”
He fidgets with the knife on his belt for a moment.
“You’re not one to say I told you so, Sam,” Cas remarks, and Sam looks back to the angel.
“I just need a few minutes with him,” Sam remarks. “Want to talk to him about this case.”
“I think he was headed for Montana when we left him,” Dean states. “Probably won’t see him for a while.”
Sam looks out the window, watching the town pass them by.
“Maybe our paths will cross again,” Cas says, and Sam nods, clenching his jaw in fury.
One way, that hunter would pay. Witch or not, they didn’t kill children.
A/N: MY FOLLOWERS HAVE SPOKEN!!!! Dean it is (he won by a landslide, you guys)! I didn’t realize how long this was when I had initially written it, but… It’s long. Enjoy your smut, guys.
Pairing: Alpha!Dean X Omega!Reader
Warnings: OH BOY!!! A/B/O themes including [but not limited to]: Alpha in rut, scenting, possessiveness, copious amounts of cum, and some dirty talk. Additional notable sexytime themes include: tit fucking (there’s no chill way to say that, sorry), male masturbation, fingering, and actual P in V sex. Mentions of previous injury for a split second and a teeny tiny bit of angst that gets resolved relatively quickly. It’s pretty filthy for me.
Word Count: 6002 (Now currently my longest fic)
My Masterlist
~
He’s going to start his rut soon, you can tell. He’s been more withdrawn than usual, just watching your every move from afar.
Any time you leave a room, he’ll follow you just to make sure that nothing happens to you. He’s been peacocking himself around you, though if you told him, he’d deny it.
Like this morning, you’d been making breakfast and he’d pressed himself into your back. While such a move was common for him, you’d noticed the way he had ever so subtly brushed his cheek along yours, laying his scent on you.
Or when you’d been reading a novel just before lunch on the couch and he’d come and tucked himself between your legs and pressed his face into your belly just to sit there for several minutes.
And just earlier, when you were doing your daily workout, he’d made it a point to work out in the same room, less a shirt.
You could see the sweat glistening on his muscles, and more than once you’d caught him checking to make sure you were watching him.
He was seeking your attention subconsciously, the alpha in him trying to woo his mate to accompany him during his rut.
After you’ve made him shower to get rid of the sweat from his body, you decide that the two of you should get headed for your den before it gets too dark out to travel.
“Dean,” you say his name softly, and his gaze snaps up to yours, his feet carrying him to you quickly. You reach up and cup his face in your hands, brushing his hair from his forehead. “I’m going to get a bag packed.”
“Where are you going?” his hands grip your hips tightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make sure you can’t go anywhere. You can hear the slight panic in his voice, the thought of not having you during his rut. “You can’t leave me.”
“Shh, Dean,” you rub your thumbs across his cheeks. “We’re gonna go to the den, together.”
“The den,” his grip loosens some at your words, but he doesn’t let you fully go. “Tonight?”
“Right now,” you nod, watching his eyes brighten with happiness. “Now, can you get our bathroom things while I pack some clothes?”
“Yeah,” he nods and finally pulls himself away from you, though you note how he keeps you in his line of sight while in the bathroom.
You pack a couple of changes of clothes, though you know that you likely won’t be wearing them, all necessary phone chargers and accessories, and the items that Dean brings you.
You feel his gaze on your as you check the bathroom, and you see him puff up with pride when he hasn’t forgotten anything.
“Dean,” you call him once more, and he watches you walk to him. “I need you to listen to me right now.”
“I am,” he takes hold of your hips once again, pressing himself into you.
“You have got to be careful with me,” you tell him, patting his chest with one hand. “If you hurt me, you need to understand that I will not be able to help you with the rest of your rut.”
“I won’t hurt you,” he whispers, and you look at him seriously.
“I need you to actively think about that over these next few days,” you tell him, and he nods. “I don’t want to get hurt again and not be able to help you. You were miserable, and I was miserable, and we’re not gonna do that again, right?”
“Okay,” he breathes, and you pull him down for a soft kiss upon noticing him withdrawing from you slightly.
He’d felt guilty for weeks after his last rut, where he’d bruised your thighs and belly and almost torn you with his aggressiveness. You’d felt guilty that you couldn’t help him with his rut without being in pain, and in all the whole ordeal was not good.
“Hey,” you brush his cheek with your hand. “I’m a lot more prepared than I was then. And I can handle you when you get a little too rough. It’s gonna be okay.”
He leans into your hand, seeking contact with you.
“You just need to be conscious of yourself, I’ve got all the rest, Dean,” you tell him, and he nods.
You kiss him lightly once again, then pull away from him.
“Let’s get going, I can make us some dinner once we get there,” you smile at him, and he collects your bag and his before taking your hand.
He grabs the keys to his car, but you hold your hand out for them. He frowns at you, and you just wait for him to give them up.
“You’re hyperaggressive right now. You really shouldn’t be driving, you’ll run someone off the road just to kick their ass for even looking at me,” you murmur, giving him a knowing look that he scoffs in disbelief at. “Dean, you were glaring down my phone when I showed you a picture that Sam sent me. He wasn’t even around and you were jealous of him.”
After a moment, he sighs heavily and passes you the keys and then climbs into the passenger seat. You start the truck and the two of you set off for the den about an hour away, with him watching you intently the entire time.
“Talk to me, Dean,” you tell him, looking up at him as you stopped at a red light.
“I just want to get you tucked away in our den and lock all the doors and windows,” he explains, rubbing his hand slowly.
“We’re almost there,” you tell him, sensing his growing anxiousness to get you away.
When you park in front of the little cabin and kills the engine, you can tell that he’s getting very distressed.
“Don’t move,” he says when you go to open your door, and you freeze where you are at. He climbs out, his gaze shifting between you and the area surrounding you.
You see his nose turn up, searching for the scent of any other male nearby, as he walks to your side of the truck.
He opens the door for you and takes your hand tightly in his to lead you to the front door of the cabin. He stands behind you, so that you’re protectively nestled between the door and himself as you unlock it.
You push the door open and let him in, and he closes the door and locks it. He doesn’t let go of your hand as he checks in the little cabin for anything that didn’t belong.
Once finally satisfied that you aren’t going anywhere, he loosens his grip on your hand.
“Okay, so,” you begin, and he looks down to you. “You get your scent where it needs to be, do what you need to do. I’ll get started on dinner.”
“But—"
“Dean, you’ll be able to hear me cooking and moving around, you’ll know I’m not going anywhere,” you remark, noticing his reluctance. “And if you need to, you can come check on me. I’ll be right in here.”
He takes a few breaths to convince himself, then nods.
It takes him a few moments to finally move away from you, fighting every fiber of his being telling him to keep you close.
You look through the pantry to see what foods he bought at the end of his last rut that you can make. You also know that he drove up here to stock the fridge with goods a few days ago.
There’s lots of foods high in protein and carbs, and you decide that you’ll make him some steak with mashed potatoes and broccoli.
You get cooking, seeing Dean occasionally poke out to check on you before returning to his job.
He finishes before you do, and he comes to watch you in the kitchen.
You pause to allow him to kiss your cheek before returning to your meal, knowing that he likely won’t let you have this much time to cook your other meals.
He’s more relaxed than he was when they first came into the den, and you know that having the opportunity to check over things has put him slightly at ease.
“Can you get us some plates?” you ask him as you reach for some glasses to pour the wine he also bought into.
He collects the plates and silverware, sliding behind you and taking an inhale of your hair on his way to the table to set them out.
You pour two glasses of white wine, then hold those out to him to take to the table.
He sits down, and you serve two plates before sitting down across from him.
He dives in, and you smile as he gives a soft moan of enjoyment.
“I guess I don’t need to ask if it’s good?” you murmur, and he looks up at you with a half grin.
“Eat, [Y/N/N],” he says. “You need to eat.”
“I am, it’s just too hot right now,” you shift your attention to another part of your dish and set to work on it.
He finishes well before you do, but he makes sure you finish your plate before getting up.
“[Y/N],” his voice is low, and you look up to him as he takes a deep breath. “Come here.”
You come to a halt in front of him, letting your hands fall to his sides as he cupped the back of your neck with both hands.
“Dinner was delicious,” he kisses you long and slow, pressing himself further into you so that you have to tilt your face up to look at him. “Come to bed with me.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” you smile at him when he gives a low growl.
“I want to make love to you at least once before I lose myself,” he tells you, nuzzling into your neck.
“Then take me to bed, Mr. Winchester,” you exhale, holding your hand up for him to take. He leads you to the room, where you make a point to deeply inhale his scent that’s plastered over everything.
He watches you take in his scent, then run your hand along the blanket before glancing back at him. He’s waiting for your approval, your agreement that this den is worthy of helping him through his rut, that you accept his courtship.
You crawl onto the bed and posture yourself to him, and he pounces on you, having won you over for this rut.
He turns you over so that your back presses to the bed, nudging your legs open with his knees as he pressed closer to you.
“Your scent is so strong, my alpha,” your words puff him up even more, and he kisses you hard, briefly forgetting his promise to make love to you. “Please put your scent on me, my alpha.”
He groans hard and rocks his hips against your, sealing his lips with yours as his hands dove for your jeans. He slides them down your legs, taking your underwear with them in one fluid motion, before he resumes rocking himself against you, letting the lips of your pussy spread across the bulge at the front of his jeans.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathe at the rough fabric against you, curling your hands into his hair. His mouth darts down your neck, halted by your shirt, which he pulls off impatiently.
You work at your bra as he sucks a deep red mark over where your claiming mark is. You know he’s making an effort not to bite you and lay claim to you this early on, but by the end of his rut you’ll be covered in them.
You free the bra from your skin before tucking your fingers into his hair once more, turning to press a kiss to his temple as he took a few ragged breaths.
“[Y/N],” he groans lowly, looking down at you spread over his pants and the wet spot that has since formed on the front of his jeans from you.
“I’m here, Dean,” you reassure him, helping him out of his shirt as he unbuckled his belt and slipped his jeans down his thighs. He stops and connects his lips with your breast as he kicked his jeans the rest of the way down his legs. His cock, hard and bobbing between you, slides easily through your folds a few times in preparation, distributing your slick across his length.
With his cockhead notched at your entrance, he pulls away to rest his forehead to yours.
“[Y/N], I’m gonna try to be gentle,” he exhales shakily. “I’m gonna try, but it’s coming on so fast.”
“I know, Dean,” you kiss him, and he takes the opportunity to slide into your warmth. You give a soft hiss as he pushes himself all the way into you, brushing your hair from your face as you took a breath.
His girth you could get used to with a little bit of preparation, but his length was always something that took your breath away.
“I’m gonna be gentle,” he repeats to himself as he starts to move in you.
Your hands hold onto his biceps as he holds himself over your, working himself in and out of you at a steady pace.
“Kiss me, Dean,” you exhale, and he does, his tongue sliding with yours as he made love to you.
He knows what spots to hit inside of your that make you writhe and twist and build you up, so he hits them with every thrust as he felt his end coming quickly.
You cum with a soft gasp, clenching tightly around him as your nails dug into his shoulders. He gives a soft grunt into your skin as he releases thick ropes of his cum into you. He breathes slowly, exhaling a few times into your neck before he moves to lay down beside you.
“Better?” you ask him, easing some hair from his heated forehead.
His arms snake around you and pull you into his chest, his heart racing.
“Not completely, but for now,” he finally answers you, his green eyes lifting to look at your as he leaned his forehead to yours. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you tell him, rubbing your nose against his. “You’re such a sweetheart.”
“I know how I can get in my rut,” he sighs softly, closing his eyes. “I just wanted to try to make it up to you before, if I could.”
“Dean, I’ll be fine,” you murmur, tracing over his nose with your fingertip. “I’ve been through this with you many times. I know how to handle you.”
“And how do you handle me?” he asks, nuzzling into your neck.
“Don’t wash your scent off of me, eat all of my food, and let you hear me,” you return. “That keeps you happy, and when you’re happy you’re easy to deal with.”
“Am I hard to deal with often?” he asks quietly, thinking over your words in an effort to be more conscious for this rut.
“No, Dean,” you kiss his forehead. “Just right before you come out of your rut. It’s always right before you’re done.”
“Oh,” he returns, sighing against your flesh.
“Dean, I love you,” you tell him, lightly running your fingers through his hair. “Don’t worry about any of this, baby. I’ve got it under control.”
“I love you, [Y/N/N].”
~
“Hold them together, baby girl, just like that,” his voice is rough as he speaks to you.
You squeeze your breasts together like he’s demanded, watching as he hovered over you. His cock is thick and bobbing, and he rubs it a few times before sliding it between your breasts.
You gasp at the unusual feeling, watching in awe as he fucked your breasts.
He grunts every few thrusts, his hands coming over yours to press your breasts together more. Your mouth falls open as you exhale softly, feeling a nice bubbling in your lower belly.
You like this, you realize.
You’re going to have to get him to do this more at home.
His thrusts grow erratic and he moves one hand up to the back of your head to angle it upwards, your mouth tilting open more once you understand what he wants.
A few more thrusts and he’s grunting as he releases, hot ropes of his cum streaking your neck and chest as a few streams land in your awaiting mouth.
You swallow them down, leaning up to lick the thin line of his cum that remains on his cock.
He groans softly, pulling away from you to watch as you collected his cum from your neck onto your fingers and slipped them into your mouth.
“Such a good girl,” he groans, watching your eyes light up. “Such a good girl, letting me cover you in my scent.”
“Always, my alpha,” you purr, knowing that is exactly what he loves to hear. He crawls off of you, letting your sit up for a moment.
He hands you a shirt to wipe away the mess he’s made on you, knowing that if you try to wash it off he’ll just put his scent right back.
He watches the way you move, the soft curves of your body as you pull on a soft sweatshirt that’s far too large before looking at him.
“Are you done for a little bit?” you ask him, and he gnaws on his lower lip, trying to decide if you need more of his scent on your body.
“No,” his instincts win over and he pushes your back onto the bed, your sweatshirt riding up to show him your soft belly.
You pull it up higher, giving him a little peek of the undersides of your breasts, and he groans as he strokes his half-hard cock a few times.
You watch him as he grows to his full length, watches him get off just by looking at you.
“Are you gonna put your scent on me again?” you ask him, your voice low and breathy. He knows how much you loves his cum, and he’s prepared to give your every drop of it that he can.
“You’re gonna be covered in it, baby girl,” he breathes, quickening his pace. He grunts as he feels his end, and he slips just the tip into you.
You moan softly at his actions, parting your legs more as he strokes himself a few times with the tip still just notched inside you.
“Put your scent in me, alpha,” you moan out for him, and he gives a soft roar as he cums, shooting his load into your pussy.
He pulls out and lets a few streams cover your mound and lower belly, before pressing himself back to your entrance and sinking himself into you. He pushes his cum into you with a few thrusts, then pulls out and slides himself through the lips of your pussy a couple of times.
“Oh, Dean,” you breathe, desperate for relief in your aching core. You can’t just watch him cum all over you twice without needing to cum yourself.
His hand comes up to stroke his wet length, drawing a few more drops from his tip before his hand slides up your belly, spreading his cum across your abdomen.
You moan for him to hear, your hips arching as you sought out more of his touch.
“Do you want me to make you cum, baby girl?” he breathes, his fingers sliding down to rub at your clit slowly.
“Yes, please, alpha!” you cry, trembling as his fingers dipped into your pussy to collect some of his cum before moving back to rub your clit.
“You were such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, rubbing at your clit intently. You jump, feeling your end coming on fast and hard. “Cum for me, [Y/N].”
You release with a cry of his name, and he works your through your orgasm while murmuring at your gently.
“That was so good, baby girl,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss you. “So good, you have my scent all over you.”
It takes a few moments before you stop trembling, and this time he wipes your off with the shirt as you lower your sweatshirt back over yourself.
“I’m hungry,” you tell him, sitting up slowly. “It’s lunchtime, Dean.”
“I think I can handle a slight break,” he tells you, helping you to stand up.
He holds your hand as you lead him to the kitchen, where you make some sandwiches to eat. His rut’s nearly over, so you don’t mind using a little extra ham on his sandwiches.
You set his plate in front of him, three sandwiches piled high with lunch meat and cheese, and then sit down with your own sandwich. You’ve cut them in half for him, and he watches you eat as he devours his own.
You finish your single sandwich, and he looks at you, trying to sense if you need more than just that.
He places a half of one of his sandwiches onto your plate, not saying a word as his green eyes held yours expectantly.
You give him a small smiling sigh, then pick up the sandwich half to eat it.
You finish your food, and he collects the plates to put them in the sink.
“Thank you, baby girl,” he murmurs, pulling you into a kiss. “Now come here.”
He sweeps you into his arms and carries you to your room, kicking the door shut. He drops you onto the mattress, stalking over your as you inched to the middle of the bed.
You shriek a soft sound, then giggle as he pounces on you, pulling you into a kiss as he situated himself between your legs.
He sinks into you easily, groaning into your neck as he smelled himself on you. His teeth nip at your neck, his hands holding your hips as he began to move inside you.
You gasp softly at his pace, linking your arms around his back as he drove into your, pushing you down into the mattress.
“Dean!” you breathe when he bites you, nuzzling the edge of your sweatshirt down so he can suck on your mark. “Here, let me take this off before you tear it. I like this sweatshirt.”
He growls softly, not liking the idea of your pulling away from him. You kiss him, sneaking one arm out of the sleeve, then the other. When he pulls away, you push the shirt over your head and toss it to the side of the bed, having successfully distracted him.
He gives you a look, and you grin up at him.
“I told you, I know how to deal with you when you’re like this,” you mumble, rubbing your nose against his. “I just have to distract you the right way.”
He snaps his hips against yours, and you yelp in surprise, watching his smirk grow.
“You’re an ass, Dean.”
“You love me.”
~
“[Y/N/N],” his voice is soft, gentle.
You stir slightly, turning toward him as you felt him move.
“[Y/N],” he calls again, and you jump, realizing his voice was calling you.
“I’m here, baby,” you say in a thick, tired voice. “I’m here for you.”
You nuzzle into him, preparing for his harsh kisses and to be pinned to the bed. It’s been a long few days, but you know that he must be close to the end of his rut.
The harshness doesn’t come.
Instead, his gentle fingertips brush across your cheekbone, and he pulls you into the gentlest kiss you’ve had in several days.
You look up to him and finds his soft green-eyed gaze looking down at you, a sad smile on his face.
You sigh in relief. It’s done, he’s through his rut, and you’re exhausted.
“I love you so much, [Y/N],” he whispers, kissing you once more before kissing the tip of your nose.
“I love you too, Dean,” you murmur, snaking am arm around his shoulder so your hand can settle on the back of his neck.
“Get back to sleep, baby girl,” he tells you gently. “You need the rest.”
“Mm, okay,” you nuzzle into him, playing with the strands of his hair as you dozed.
He watches you sleep, noting the marks all across your shoulders and neck, along your shoulder blades and the tops of your breasts, and surely down your belly and hips.
His chest sinks with what he’s put your through, the pain you must be in from helping him through this rut. He doesn’t like seeing you this way, covered in scratches and bite marks and little bruises from his tight hold.
He shouldn’t have asked you to help him. He should’ve toughed it out alone like he used to in his juvenile days, should’ve run off for a few days so that you didn’t have to deal with this.
With every exhale of your exhausted body, his stomach sinks lower and lower with regret.
As though sensing his woes, you wake and look up at him, your eyes sleepy.
“Dean, baby,” you lean your forehead to his, letting your nose brush his. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I shouldn’t have put you through this,” he doesn’t try to hide how he truly feels, because he knows you would find out anyways.
“I’m your omega,” you tell him, rubbing his neck. “I want to help you with your rut, just like you help me with my heats.”
“But I’ve hurt you,” he returns. “I’m too rough when I’m in my rut.”
“Dean, I’m an omega,” you look at him with a more awake gaze. “I’m not some helpless little thing. You are mine, my alpha, and you are made for me. You will never be more than I can take. You will never be too rough.”
“Look at your body,” he pulls away from you, and your chest pangs with true hurt. “Look at the marks I’ve left on you.”
“They’ll go away, Dean,” you reach for him, but he flinches away from you. Your chest pangs again. “I helped you, that’s what matters. You don’t do it to hurt me, and I know that.”
“How do you know that I wasn’t intending to hurt you?” he throws at you, and you frown.
“The only time you’ve ever hurt me is during conversations like this,” you whisper, pulling away from him slightly. “You see me as weak and unable to take this, and that’s what hurts me the most. I was made for you, I was made to hold your scratches and your claiming marks and accept your kisses so don’t you try to tell me that I shouldn’t help you through your ruts!”
“[Y/N/N],” he whispers, noticing the sheen to your eyes, like you’re about to burst into tears.
“I help you because I love you and because I want to,” your voice quivers. “Not because you make me. You make me so proud to be your omega that I welcome the honor of helping you with your ruts, but you don’t see that! You only see it as a burden!”
The dam bursts, and tears start streaming down your cheeks.
“No, baby,” he pulls you to his chest as you start to cry, wrapping his arms tightly around you and pressing his lips to the top of your head. “I’m sorry, please don’t cry.”
“I like some of the things you do in your rut. I like being covered in your scent. I like it when you get possessive over me. I like when you pay so much attention to me. Your rut is not a bad thing!” you explain into his chest. “You do this to me every. Time.” You hit his chest twice to convey your frustration. “Every time! You say that you shouldn’t do this, you make me cry, I tell you it’s not a bad thing, you apologize. When are you gonna learn? When are you going to actually understand?”
“[Y/N], I’m sorry,” he whispers, tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I just hate hurting you. You’ve been hurt so much already, I don’t want to add more pain to that.”
“I said it earlier,” you look him in the eyes, your own red and puffy. “You only hurt me when you talk like this.”
“I’m sorry, I won’t speak a word of it again,” he returns, brushing his fingers through the edge of your hairline. “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”
“Are you, though?” you’re in a full-on rage, letting him know how you feel about his self-deprecation. “Or are you just saying that to make me stop crying?”
“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he dips his head slightly, looking directly into your eyes. “Yes, I want you to stop crying, but I don’t ever lie to you, even if it hurts your feelings. You know that.”
You bite your lip, reaching up to wipe your cheeks before he has the chance to, and you see him wince.
“Dean, I want you to think about this from my point of view. Imagine that I was upset and apologizing about my heat, about exhausting you,” you point into his sternum, feeling the hard bone under your finger. “It’s not something I can control, how much I want you. And I know you never get upset about that. This is the same thing. You can’t control yourself in your rut. I know that and I’m not upset about it.”
He looks at you, waiting for you to finish because he knows you aren’t done.
“Imagine that I tried to say that I shouldn’t have dragged you along for my heat,” you push, and his face contorts into a frown. “You’d be furious if I tried to say that. Because you’re my alpha and you love me and you want to help me. That’s exactly what I do when you’re in your rut, our roles are just switched. You need to understand that.”
You huff, then turns to your side facing away from him.
“You can talk to me once you’ve thought about what I’ve said,” you tell him, tucking into your pillow. “I’m mad at you, Dean. I hope you understand that.”
He watches your back with a pain in his chest, wanting to wrap you into his arms and kiss you.
He knows that you mean business when you say his name like that, like his mother used to when he was young. The thought almost makes him smile until he remembers the tone in which you said it. You were furious. Calm and collected, but furious nonetheless.
He lays on his back, staring at the ceiling as your words really drove into his mind. He understands what you’d said, and he agrees with it. He doesn’t blame you for running him ragged during your heat. You can’t control herself, and you trust him to look after you and give you what you need to help you through it. Why should his rut be any different?
But a part of him argues that it’s not the same, that you asking for him over and over was nothing like the marks your left on your shoulders and hips. Your problems were need based and his were just... showing possession over who you belonged to.
He swallows roughly and looks over to you, noticing the stiffness to your back and the slow breaths you like to practice when you try to calm down and slow your heart rate.
“[Y/N/N]?” he whispers, because he just wants to look at your face, wants to see you.
“That was not enough time to think about what I said, Dean,” your voice is ice, and you turn to shoot him a glare over your shoulder.
“I know,” he whispers, reaching up to brush his fingers across your cheek. “I just want to see your face.”
“What part of, I’m mad at you, don’t talk to me, don’t you understand, Dean?” you snap, and he visibly recoils. Your tone softens at seeing his reaction, and you sigh heavily. “I ache, Dean. I’m sore and I want nothing more than to be wrapped in your arms to make me feel better. But I’m not going to let that happen until I know that you’re not going to beat yourself up over something you had no control of. So, please, just get it through your head that I do this for you, so you can hold me and make things better.”
Your voice breaks in your last sentence, and your eyes fill with tears. He gathers you into his arms, tucking you firmly into his chest as a soft, heartfelt croon escaped his lips.
“I’m so sorry, [Y/N],” he breathes, kissing the top of your head as he rocked your gently. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to see things the way that you do. I understand your points, baby girl, but there’s something in me that says that I shouldn’t leave you marked up this way. I know that I can’t control it, but there’s a part of me that says that I need to be able to control it, if it means not marking you up.”
“Why couldn’t you say that in the beginning?” you ask, looking up to him with red eyes. “I know that feeling, Dean. The little voice telling you all the things you should be and should be able to do? God, I know how it feels.”
“I’m sorry, [Y/N/N],” he breathes, leaning his forehead to yours. “I have a hard time admitting my problems and asking for help.”
“It’s because you’re an alpha and you think that it’s a weakness,” you say with a dry laugh.
He doesn’t say anything, and you know you’ve struck the nail on the head.
“I wasn’t saying that to take a swipe at you,” you tell him gently, watching his eyes flicker up to you. “I was just making a statement. I have the opposite problem. I unload to everyone about everything.”
“No, you trust people enough to look for help when you need it,” he says, rubbing the back of your neck. “I try to deal with it myself until it winds up like this, with you angry at me.”
“I’m not angry anymore,” you say, shaking your head and giving him a slight smile. “I can’t stay mad for long, especially not at you.”
“I’ll… I’ll try not to make a big deal about it,” he finally remarks.
“That’s all I ask,” you tell him, kissing his nose. He nuzzles closer and you kiss him deeply for a moment. “Now shut up, I haven’t had a full night of sleep in three days.”
“It’s morning,” he returns when you close your eyes and tuck into him. You move away and open an eye to glare up at him. He smiles down at you, trying to ease the tension that had been between the two of you.
“Then I’m going to sleep a whole morning through,” you tell him, following his lead so that you can put that argument behind you. “You’re free to join me.”
“Would it be too much to ask if you want to—”
“Yes, it would be too much,” you don’t even let him finish. “I’ve had enough of your dick in the past three days to last me a week.”
“A week?” he groans, and you let out a small laugh as you nuzzle into him. “How about—”
“Finish that sentence, I dare you,” you say into his chest. He’s quiet for several moments, and you smile. “Just let me get some sleep and we’ll talk. You did a thing and I really liked it, maybe we can try that.”
“Okay,” he leans down and kisses your head, then adjusts his arm tighter around you. “Thank you for helping me, my omega.”
A/N: This is it! The end of Professor Dean! I have a surprise coming for y’all sometime soon, but I’m still in the process of working on it, so you guys will have to wait just a little longer to see what it is!
Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester X Reader
Warnings: There’s no smut in this. It’s the last chapter, the end of the semester!
Word Count: 938
Series Masterlist
My Masterlist
Want Sam Instead?
WEEK 12: THE END
“Hey, are you...” Dean trails off as you walk through his office door, cocking his head to the side. He stares for a moment, subconsciously licking his lips. “You’re wearing a skirt.”
“Yeah...” you look down to the pleated skirt you’d donned this morning with a wry smile. “It’s the last day of finals, so I figured I’d dress up a little.”
“I’ve never seen you in a skirt,” he states, still sounding just baffled that you’d wear such a thing.
Have you stumbled upon a kink of his?
“Does it look bad or something?” you ask him, now slightly self-conscious because of his reaction.
“No, it looks...” he trails off, biting his bottom lip, and your eyes widen a little. “God, you’re hot.”
“Seriously?” you grin, lowering your backpack to the floor as you walked to him. His eyes follow you the entire time, watching the slight ruffling of your skirt. “Are you seriously... Do you have a thing for skirts?”
His cheeks blush pink, and your smile grows.
“You do!” you gasp, poking at his chest with your index finger.
“It’s not a thing,” he tries to deny, and you hum in disbelief, grinning at him as he clears his throat. “It’s just like... I think it’s hot when a chick looks... a certain way.”
“And what way is that?” you ask him, hooking your fingers in the front of his jeans. His eyes dip to your bold gesture, then lift back to yours once again.
“You,” he returns, and it’s your turn to smile at him. He seriously knows how to make you feel good about yourself.
“Are you sure it’s not a schoolgirl kink?” you ask him, peeking up at him when he turns his face away. “Hm?”
He turns further away, looking at one of the posters on his wall with feigned interest, and you follow his face, leaning into him and resting your chin on his chest.
“Dean,” you murmur, smiling up at him. “I’m teasing you.”
He looks down your way, his green eyes playful.
“I know,” he returns, and you tiptoe up to kiss him. “But shouldn’t you be studying for your last test?”
“Yeah, but I wanted to talk to you about this thing I got in the mail,” you tell him, taking a step back and reaching for your bag.
You find the letter you’d received, opening it and smoothing out the folds. You clear your throat.
“Dear [Y/N] [L/N], you have recently been recommended for a position on our staff,” you begin, looking up at him accusingly before looking back to the letter. “We would greatly appreciate the chance to have an interview with you, at your earliest convenience. We have reviewed your tenure and would consider you a valuable asset to our school. Sincerely, Ellen Harvelle, Senior HR Representative and Head Hiring Chair Member.”
Dean looks up at you, eyebrows raised, a little shit eating grin like he didn’t already know exactly what you were talking about.
“Wow, [Y/N/N],” he says, and your eyes narrow. “A meeting with Ellen, she’s high up on the ladder.”
“I was ‘recently recommended for a position,’” you make air quotes. “I wonder who could’ve done that.”
“I have no idea,” he returns, leaning back against his desk. “Ellen’s known Sammy and me for a while, she believed me when I said you were a valuable asset to us without question.”
“Dean,” you say disapprovingly. “Why did you recommend me? That’s a total abuse of your position.”
“Because you said you had a lot of fun teaching my class,” he shrugs. “And you deserve it. You’re one of the hardest working people I know.”
“I still have another semester,” you remind him, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “And I was thinking about going for my Ph. D.”
“You can still do that,” he says with a easy shrug. “They’ll hold your spot. They did it for my brother.”
“But... Music isn’t a widely pursued field of study,” you remind him. “Why would they hold a position when they already have you?”
“Because they really want you?” he tries, and you shake your head.
“No. I think you did some kinda funny business to get this for me,” you point at him, and he catches your hand, pulling you into his chest.
“I did,” he returns, leaning his lips low to the shell of your ear. “I found your academic records and showed her that, then I showed her all of your community service hours and spoke very highly of you as my TA. She’s convinced you’re a godsend and she’d be stupid not to hire you.”
“That’s abuse of your power,” you repeat to him, and he quirks a small smile.
“When have I been one to follow the rules?” he asks you, and you roll your eyes.
“You are a piece of work, Dean Winchester,” you sigh, but you can’t hold back your smile. “But I love you so much. I can’t believe you practically got me a job here.”
“They still have to do the paperwork and wait for you to graduate,” he remarks, and you shake your head. “But I suspect it will get confusing to have three Winchesters teaching here. People already get confused with me and Sam.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask him, wondering if he was implying that one day you’d have his last name as well.
He winks and takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. He kisses your fingers, then looks to the letter you’d set on his desk.
“You’ll see one day, Princess. So when is your interview?”
