pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader
notes: sorry it's so short, finals are a bitch and i lowk forgot to write anything! also, i just realized i post every thursday and next thursday is christmas so. ig im writing next weeks post right after this?? lol. anyway. the tsundere song was stuck in my head when i wrote this erm i dont/havent watched anime so im not too familiar w the trope but ig this is what my brain went to... enjoy? hopefully heh :P
word count: 0.7k
tags: (playful) enemies to erm still enemies but idk you can tell they like each other (its FINALLY not established relationship yw), tsundere-adjacent-ig!reader, sleeping together but not sex, shirtless dean, one bed trope (an accident i swear lol), reader turned into lowk a brat (idk her personality got away from me when writing ??)
The motel smelled putridβartificial lemon cleaner, ammonia, and piss stains they failed to wipe away. Sam was half sure the underpaid and apathetic cleaning staff had accidentally made mustard gas in their rushed attempt at cleaning.
But that's not what you were worried about.
"There're two beds," you said, dropping your duffel by the door as your muscles loosened out of shock. All your attention was on the two queen beds, not on keeping a firm grip on the strap of your duffel.
"Yeah?" Dean shrugged as if it was nothing. No biggie.
"Yeah?" you snapped up at him, eyes wide and furious. "Yeah?? There are two beds! Three of us!"
"Oh, really?" Dean gasped sarcastically. "Well, I'll be sure to check under them for monsters since we're apparently, what, eight years old?"
"Shut up," you huffed, smacking the back of his shoulder and claiming the bed closer to the door, pulling up the duvet and off-white sheet to sit on the springy-hard mattress underneath.
"What, have you never shared a bed with a guy before?" Dean said, fully joking.
Until you didn't respond
"Oh, this is rich."
"I've never had to!" you squealed, glaring daggers into the back of his head as he searched through his duffel for his toothbrush and toothpaste.
He laid a small strip of white, minty paste on the bristles and shoved it in his mouth. "Bad news," he said, muffled, with foamy white bubbles at the corner of his mouth as he tried not to spit out the toothpaste when he talked.
"That's a disgusting habit," you murmured, shying away from his spittle. "And why can't you guys share beds? You're brothers, so it's, like, not weird..."
"Winchester genes mean being a human furnace; we'd die of heat stroke if we shared."
"And," Sam chimed in, "I'm a light sleeper. Erh, lighter... either way, Dean snoring directly into my ear all night would mean I'd get a good two minutes of sleep total."
"...then you're sleeping on the floor," you decided, chin up, avoiding looking Dean in the eyes.
"Hah, fat chance," Dean scoffed, spitting out the toothpaste into a small paper cup next to a coffee machine that's clearly been there since the Reagan administration. He pulled his shirt off over his head, scratching the low part of his back and walking over to your bed.
"What are you doing?" you hissed, pulling the blanket up over yourself as if personal modesty would cover up the lack of Dean's.
"Going to bed?" he said. "When you heard 'human furnace,' did you imagine I could sleep comfortably in a thick cotton shirt?"
"You're disgusting," you scoffed, squinting. If looks could kill, he'd be a pile of blood and guts on the floor by now, but instead, he's just a childish, cocky dickhead walking towards your bed.
"Pity," he huffed, cutting the conversation short. He sat on the opposite edge of the bed from you, manoeuvring under the duvet and curling away from you. "Night, princess," he teased. You grabbed a pillow from your side, reaching back and smacking it against his broad shoulder, eliciting a low chuckle as he flicked off the one lamp meant to illuminate the entire room. "What? It fits. Pretty but rude. And really fucking spoiled."
"Whatever," you huffed, squirming further under your blanket.
"God, get a room," Sam groaned, pulling a wide pillow over his ears. "Settle down, you two."
Dean rolled over, smiling as you looked over your shoulder to see the source of the rustling blanket noises. "What?" you whispered, not wanting to annoy Sam anymore. The brothers were bad, but either was a total bitch when grumpy.
"You're cute when you're mad."
"Shut up."
"Fine," he huffed, grinning, settling to face you. You could feel your vision going hazy, black creeping into your peripheries as your eyelids suddenly felt twenty pounds heavier. The last thing you could see before dozing off was rolling over, head lolling onto Dean's shoulder, hair brushing just under his jaw. It was like you were seeing yourself leaning into him, affectionate as all hell, but couldn't control it.
And be honest. If you could, would you change? Not likely. Not when you have the excuse of being asleep to permit your seldom-seen touchiness.
pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader
notes: it's that time of year (aka december) where despite not being christian anymore, EVERYTHING is about christmas in my life lol. its a secular holiday atp, and there's like a foot of snow by my house, so i rly had no choice in the matter. which means the next few weeks of posts are gonna be christmas!au on christmas!au on christmas!au... enjoy hah
word count: 1.4k
tags: implied smut, basically the whole oneshot is just foreplay lol (i js dont particularly like writing smut even tho the set up is fun), established relationship, sexualizing christmas, lingerie, lots of touching (duhh), prolly very unrealistic depictions of foreplay (its a fanfic its supposed to be a fantasy lol)
Christmas was the only point of contention you and Dean had ever had.
It was understandable why Dean hated Christmas; while for you it was nostalgic for playing in the snow and drinking hot chocolate and getting the things you'd been asking your family for for months, for Dean it was the total opposite. Life on the road meant no Christmas tree, no time to play in the snow, no winter markets, no skating, nothing. And life with John Winchester as a father meant no gifts. At least Sam had Dean to swipe something from a convenience store, and if they were staying with Bobby, then Dean might get a toy truck or two, but nothing he got was really that magical.
That's why this year you were finally going to do it: get Dean Winchester a gift he actually wanted, something that could sway him to put up a Christmas tree and participate in your stupid little traditions and merriment. However, Dean being aβfor lack of a better wordβmanwhore meant there was really only one gift you knew he'd want with no doubt in your mind.
You.
December 17th, you still didn't have a tree up, and Dean refused to even touch the idea. So it was time for your 'feminine wiles' and an early Christmas present to sway him not to be the goddamn Grinch.
"Dean," Sam barked from the doorway. You'd been in the same motel for a week and weren't leaving for at least two; this case was a bitch, but it meant there was time for at least some festivities, if you could convince your boyfriend of that. "There was something waiting for you at the door. I'm going out to grab some takeout for dinner; just... make sure it's not ricin before I get back, okay?"
"Fine!" Dean shouted back from the washroom. Sam sighed and gave you a wordless look to say, 'You're welcome. I'll be gone in a while, so so-help-me-God if I come back and you're not done and fully clothed,' as he pulled up the little corner of wrapping paper and taped it shut over your hair, a barely-sticky bow going right on top. You were covered head-to-toe in green, red, and white paper, covered in checks and plaid and pine trees and bows; it was an abomination to look at but $1.25 from the dollar store next door.
Sam left, shutting and locking the door behind him, leaving you to wait patiently by the door for your all-too-unmerry boyfriend. God, what if he really thought the girlfriend-shaped present by the door really was ricin and just put you back outside in the snow?
Never mind that; the washroom door just opened, so you caught your breath in waiting. "The fuck..?" Dean mumbled, walking over to you (or so you could assume by the sound of his footsteps getting louder, but your eyes and ears were both fully blocked, so it was honestly hard to tell).
"Baby?" he called, "you home?" Great, so he didn't know you were in there. You barely caught a sharp breath, sucking it back down before you made a noise, as he punctured the paper with a pocket knife right in front of the crevice of your elbow. You jerked back barely to avoid the blade, but not enough to arouse suspicion. He got the beginning of a cut going through the paper before setting down the knife and ripping the rest with his hands.
Because he decided to open from the chest level, the first thing he saw wasn't your face or your card but your fucking cleavage. "Holy shit," he mumbled, tearing further upwards to see your face, rosy from the nipping cold in the motel. None of the windows closed all the way. "What the fuck's going on?"
"This is what I've been missing out on every Christmas??" His eyes dipped back down to your chest. Of course they did; you knew your boyfriend too damn well.
Along with the ugly and ornate wrapping paper, you'd found yourself a Christmas lingerie set from the dollar store, choosing that for the little outfit you'd wear as Dean's present. There was faux fur lining the top and bottom hems, red velvet gapping the distance over your front, and a big empty spot along the back, with two small red bows, one at each peak of your chest. The boning of the corset under the velvet pushed your cleavage up and together, practically shining under the cheap motel lights.
Dean licked his lips, sputtering for a moment before getting out a "Jesus Christ, babyβ" before you cut him off.
"Finish unwrapping me, Dean," you murmured, looking up with sparkly eyes, and you didn't have to say another word before he shot into motion. He pulled the rest of the paper over your head and the rest down to the ground, revealing little pearly stockings with lacy red garters digging into your thighs and small bows on the front. You stepped out of the pool of wrapping paper, doing a small twirl for Dean to see the full outfit, catching how his eyes lingered indecently on the high-cut bottom part doing absolutely nothing to cover your ass.
"How are you not freezing to death?" he murmured, still deeply caring even when he was harder than a rock.
"Oh, I am," you grinned, an idea suddenly popping into your head. "I think you need to warm me up." You reached up and wrapped your arms around him, playing with the baby hairs wisping along the nape of his neck. One leg hooked up on his waist, and he quickly grabbed it, digging in so hard you'd surely bruise, before grabbing the other and forcing you off the ground.
"You're a fucking she-devil, woman," he groaned, one arm staying around your thighs and the other wrapping around your middle, forcing you into an almost animalistic kiss. His nose pushed against yours, lips wet and pressing harshly against yours before he moved down a touch and tugged your lower lip between his teeth. That elicited your yelp, which elicited his groan, both of you a total mess before he turned around and threw you on your shared bed.
You landed with a squeak, bouncing on the springy bed before he climbed on over you and caged you in with his harried, broad arms. "Is this supposed to be Mrs. Claus?" he murmured, pressing a quick kiss into your lips before moving down to your throat so you could answer... or at least try, if you weren't too distracted by the wet kisses and suckles at the base of your throat.
"Mm hm," you mumbled, struggling to string words together.
"So, does that make me some... tall, muscular elf keeping Mrs. Claus satisfied while her husband's out making millions happy and forgetting to give gifts to neglected children?" Dean teased.
"No," you smirked, "it makes you Santa. Home for the first time in forever, what with you spending so much time forgetting neglected kids."
"I guess the fast food on the road has taken a toll, huh," Dean laughed.
"Mm, I still love you," you smiled sincerely, cupping his face and bringing him up for a kiss. He reciprocated easily, knee slotting between your icy-cold thighs.
"God, you're freezing," he murmured.
"It's fine. The outfit's cute, ain't it?"
"That's one way to describe it," he said between kisses. "Totally fucking hot is another way."
"Does it change your opinion on Christmas?" you asked sweetly.
"Oh, fuck yeah."
"Yay!" you squealed, arms shooting up in celebration. Your knuckle skimmed his nose, his hand rushing to his nose to make sure it wasn't bleeding. It wasn't, nor was it broken, just a little sore. "Oh, shitβsorry," you rambled quickly, cupping his face and rolling so you were both on your sides.
"It'sβfine, baby, I'm fine," he chuckled awkwardly.
You kissed the tip of his nose. "You sure?" Another kiss.
"Actually," he said under his breath, eyes skimming mischievously over yours, "I think I need you to make it up to me." His hand brushed your thigh, testing the waters, before slipping under the fake fur and over your barely clothed hips and back.
"Oh, whatever will I do," you said, matching his delinquent grin, pressing your lips to his with your eyes fluttering shut. Your hands moved from curled under your chin to brushing his chest, rolling to spread on top of him.
pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader
notes: could you tell i was sick while writing this? the flu is a bitch. hence why the story is abt being sick and also kinda short. enjoy the drabble ig lol, it's all my achy breaky heart can manage haha
word count: 1.2k
tags: you guessed it ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, dean is pushy about kisses and physical affection, very sick!reader, dean is so deeply in love holy guacomole, illness is described in detailed, he kinda mama birds reader a drink which is a little gross but i was in the zone when i wrote it so was too lazy to change it later lol, sexual implications, fluff
divider by @pixopix
"How're you doing, bed bug?" Dean grinned, peeking his head around the corner of the doorway. He'd been hearing you sniffling from your shared bed all goddamn morning, and it was torture. Not only because he didn't like the thought of you in discomfort and more than your usual 'extremely concerned boyfriend,' but also because he was being made supremely aware of the fact you were in his presence while also making sure he knows he's forbidden from touching you.
"Bad." A cough. "Why?" Another cough. God, you felt like you were gonna vomit; every cough rattled around your lungs like you were about to hack one up. The noise clattered like a coin shaking back and forth in your windpipe.
"Oh, suddenly a guy can't care about his girl when she's sick?" Dean mumbled, taking a step into the bedroom, shutting the door before walking the rest of the way to your bed.
"Dean, Dean, don't, I'm sick," you whined, voice cracking, pulling the blanket over your sick mouth to stifle another couple of coughs and protect your sweet-but-so-stupid boyfriend.
"Mm, don't care," he mumbled, crawling in bed and mouthing at your cheek. "I can't handle this anymore." Kiss. "I've been hearing you all day, and," kiss, "it's making me sick." Kiss. "Sick that I can't touch you." Kiss. "Sick of not being in bed with you." Kiss. "Sick of not taking care of you."
"Stop itβstop! Dean, you're gonna get yourself sick," you practically whimpered, trying in vain to shove him off of you.
"Good," he grinned from on top of you. "Then you can take care of me and I can have you all to myself."
You groaned, rolling over on to your stomach, now bracing your back instead of your rosy-patchy face, stuffy nose, and chest heaving with breaths laboured by snot and whatever fluids were clogging your sinuses. "Don't hide that pretty face from me," he mumbled, pulling a lock of hair back from the pillow to lay over your ear so he could more appropriately mumble lowly in your ear.
"Dea-an," you whined trying to squirm away from his kisses.
"You hate me," he huffed, pulling you over and kissing you on the mouth. Even a forced cough from you didn't stop him, and you could feel the diseased little pieces of spittle slipping past your lips and into his open mouth.
"EwβDean, that's disgusting!!" you scream, shoving him off you and eliciting a laugh from him.
"Now you have no reason to roll away in the honourable name of protecting me from your sickness," he grinned, pressing one more peck onto your evading lips. "If I didn't get sick there, I won't get sick. Period." You just huff, raw and red lip jutting out in a whiny pout. "Heyβhey," Dean mumbled, face falling serious. "Tell me you want me to stop kissing you."
Silence. Interrupted by a cough, but... in terms of discomfort? Utter silence.
"Yay," he chuckled, kissing your forehead softly before sitting back on his heels, still straddling your thighs. "Oh, and, heyβI made you tea, soup, there's a half a baguette I saved you in the kitchen. Let me know if you feel hungry for it, 'kay?"
"Mm hmβ" you began before you were cut off.
"And I'll run you a bath, how does that sound? You can get all warm and cozy, and maybe I'll even join you if you want. But either way, at the end I'll be ready with a towel to bundle you up and keep you warm, okay?"
"Deβ" again, interrupted.
"Or maybe a shower together? I just wanna make sure you're all warm and clean and getting better, pretty girl."
"Dean." You barely coughed that out, but it caught his attention. "Do you have an infection fetish?"
"What?? No. That's bizarre."
"You're way handsier than normalβwhich... which, for the record, is a very hard threshold to breakβyou won't stop kissing me, you're running around the house like a rat on Ritalin taking care of me. You have a sickness fetish."
"That's stupid, baby, why would I wanna see you in pain? Uncomfortable at all? I love you."
"Exactly," you grinned, sneezing. He was quick to reach over to the bedside table, grabbing a tissue and dabbing it around the wet corners of your mouth, only proving your point. "You want me to get better, but even more, you wanna be the one who makes me better. You have a kink for being my little... nurse. When I'm sick, I'm dependent on you, and you"βcoughβ"love it, you freak."
He was shocked. Shocked, flabbergasted, utterly in awe of how quickly you picked up on that. "Jeez, and here I thought I was subtle."
"You don't know the meaning of subtle, Winchester. You couldn't even spell it."
"S, Uβ" he trails off. "You know what, you're a little, sassy minx when you're sick, aren't you?"
"No filter. No inhibitions."
"Sounds perfect," he grins to lower himself down between your upper thighs.
"No!" you squeal, grabbing his head and yanking him back up. "Kissing, fine. You can't..."
"Eat you out?" he teased.
"...yeah," you mumble, growing red, half bashful and half sick.
"Fine," he groaned, getting off of you and leaving your aching body to shiver without his warmth and weight holding you down. He quickly scurried off to the kitchen, grabbing your tea. "Three creamers, three sugars. Your usual order," he smiled, stirring softly, "and yet not half as sweet as you."
"Aww," you mumbled, reaching out for the drink, but he just tsked and sat on the side of your bed.
"Ah-ah-ah," he said with a boyish smile tugging at his round cheeks, "I wanna make sure it's not too hot." He took a sip, thinking it over for a moment, before grinning like he'd just had an epiphany. Before you'd gotten a chance to see him swallow, he leaned forward and kissed, prying your lips open so the tea would stream into your bilious mouth.
You swallowed, simply over the idea of fighting Dean on his gross fantasies anymore. "You're a freak," you mumbled, wiping your mouth and reaching for the remainder of the tea left in the mug.
"Maybe," he sighed, handing it over and crawling to lay back in bed with you. "I just want you to feel better," he huffed as though he was the victim of a vicious character attack, large hand stroking up and down your tummy.
"I feel fine."
"You look achy," he murmured. "Where're you sore? Where does it hurt, pretty girl?"
"My... nose, and tummy, and around my thighs."
God, you were driving him mad.
"Great," he huffed, wrapping both arms in an entrapping loop around your middle. "I'll remedy that last ache after you're healthy and it's already gone," he groaned into your neck.
"I think you would either way," you joked, reaching back to scratch his hair as he buried his face further in the crook between your soft throat and shoulder.
pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader
notes: so it will very soon become very apparent that i am not, was not, and never will be a medical student, but between a chronic house md addiction and a pharmaceutical hyperfixation (don't ask, idk either, the names are just fun to me) i felt ballsy enough to write this. also, writing this was hella fun as someone who loves research + biology, so i rly hope y'all like reading it as much as i liked writing it ! :D
word count: 1.7k
tags: established relationship (god im predictable), med student!reader, fem!reader (like i said earlier), second person POV, some sexual implications at the end i think, fluff, dean is an idiot in love, dean is also a himbo in love lol
divider by @pixopix
Being in medical school at twenty-four was hard enough.
Balancing being a full time student with being a full time hunter was a whole other world your 4.0 GPA, daddy's money, caffeine addicted classmates couldn't fathom.
Dean Winchester definitely couldn't fathom it either.
God, he respected you whenever he saw you doing your 'smarty-pants' academia things. To be fair, it's not hard to intellectually impress a high school dropout. He's not stupid, not by any means of the word, but you don't have to be stupid to think it's impressive when your girlfriend can spell choledocholithiasis from memory.
Recently, though, you've been struggling to spell medicine from memory.
"I'm gonna fail this exam," you mumbled, putting down your pencil and pressing the heels of your palms into your retinas, the pressure creating flitting phosphenes when you re-opened them, blinking once or twice to chase away the dancing colours.
"No, you're not," Dean mumbled, pushing himself off your shared, stiff bed, walking over to where you were sitting by the cheap, probably termite-infested desk shoved off-handedly into the corner by the motel staff. "You wanna know why?"
"Because you believe in me?" you grumbled, lolling your head back to look at him as he approached, upside down in your vision.
He chuckled softly. "While that is true," he said, bending down to whisper in your ear, "and, trust me, it is true," he kissed right below your ear, "it's because you're the smartest person I know."
"Sam is way smarter than mβ" you couldn't even finish.
"That dumbass?" Dean laughedβactually laughed out loud. "I know he almost went to law school and all, but medical school is way, way harder... and more useful."
"Right, because the LSATs are so easy and his knowledge of law has never come in handy for your, I don't know, record of murder and B&Es?"
"And yet I'm still on the run," he teased, grabbing the corners of your chair and dragging the feet along the carpet to turn you around, facing him. "You patch me up and get me whatever antibacterials I need."
"Antimicrobials, Dean," you said softly, running a hand up his forearm and into the crease in his elbow, "believe it or not we huff black mold pretty often." You nodded gently to the small black spotting inching from the ceiling corner closest to the door and adjacent to an uncomfortable yellowish-brown stain. "Microbials are for fungi too, not just... bacteria..." you trailed off, realizing Dean probably wasn't catching a single word coming out of your mouth.
"See? You have medical knowledge spouting from every orifice. You're gonna be fine," he reassured, cupping your chin to look up at him.
"This exam is on the musculoskeletal sy..." you trailed off, opting to rephrase, "...bones and muscles."
"I have both," he shrugged. "Study on me."
"You're not a textbook, Dean, you can't correct what I get wrong," you smiled up at him, gentle but genuinely appreciative of the offer.
"So we won't find your errors, we'll find your weak spots. C'mon," he smirked, getting up to lay on the cheap, scratchy motel bed. He spread his arms and legs out, starfishing. "Check me out, doc. I'm real sick."
"Really," you corrected. Then, with a sigh, you shoved off your chair, walking over to the side of the bed. "And the exam's not on musculoskeletal conditions, it's anatomical memorization."
"Okay, well..." he thought for a moment before pressing right below his right rib. "What's this, then?"
"Technically it's your right liver lobe but based on your grin, I'm assuming you mean to touch your heart, which is right here." You pressed two fingers into the left side of his lower chest. "Either way, neither are muscles. Your liver is a digestive organ and your heart is cardiovascular."
"Yeah, my heart," he mumbled. "I think it just skipped a beat." Back comes that boyish grin. It's like his resting face around you.
"Palpitations. You have an arrhythmia?"
God, he looked lost.
You chuckled, walking back to the desk to grab a whiteboard marker. You had a little portable board that you scribbled on when you didn't want things to go on the good copy of your notes. "Relax," you smiled at him and walked back over to his left side of the bed. "This'll wash off when you take a shower." Pop. Uncapped.
"When we take a shower," he grinned, smacking your ass lightly. "Gluteus maximus. That one I know."
"Calm yourself," you teased, running a hand through his hair to subtly shove him down flat on the bed. "Pectoralis," you said, tracing a black outline over the right half of his chest. One of the upsides to having a boyfriend who's constantly shirtless is easy access when you're studying the torso.
"My pecs?" he beamed. God, it made him stupidly happy when he had an inkling of an idea of whatever medical term you were rambling about.
"Correct," you smiled back. "You get a gold star."
You continued with the black Expo marker, outlining the rough shape of every muscle and bone in the area. "And under that is the clavicle... ribs... and sternum."
He hissed a little as the polyester tip of the dry-erase marker cut straight down to his belly button. You stopped straight away. "Friction," he chuckled softly. "You're fine. Keep going, baby."
"Rightβuhm, then is your... your rectus abdominis," you nodded softly, trying your damnedest not to get distracted by your very shirtless, very glimmering, very golden boyfriend's taut stomach. How does he look like that without ever working out? The burgers sure took a toll on your body, all the fast food on the road, who wouldn't it hit? Well, Dean, apparently. Dean Winchester and his stupid, Greek God-ly carved abs.
"Hey, I know what that one means," he grinned ear-to-ear, balling his hand into his fist and lightly pounding once, twice, on his abdominal muscles. "My rock hard abs."
"Yes, I believe that's the medical term. Your rock hard abs," you teased.
"Damn straight," he mumbled as you traced the bones right below.
"Your hipsβ" you're cut off by a soft sigh, a little grunt, just barely audible as you get closer to between his thighs, "βuhm... hips, yourβyour pelvis," you stutter. "Made up of the ilium, sacrumβ"
"That's what I broke on the... the vamp case?"
"Coccyx," you corrected, eliciting a laugh from his childish mind. "God, you're immature. Your tailbone."
"My ass bone."
"There's noβDean!" you whined, unable to focus on your work, your studying. "This was stupid. I'm stupid. I should've just... just stuck with the textbooks. God, I can't believe I thought I would get a glimpse of... of fun, studying for an exam," you huffed, putting the cap back on the dry erase marker and pacing around the cramped motel room.
"Heyβhey, baby, wait," Dean mumbled, a wave of shame washing over him. He shifted, sitting up on the bed but leaning back on his forearms. "You're not stupid. This was my idea, don't blame yourself."
You slowed down a beat, not fully to a halt. "IβI just wanted to spend time with you," Dean admitted, thinking if he kept talking he could keep distracting you from an insecure, panicked spiral. "You've been so busy studying for your exams, every class, and you're balancing it so well with the hunting but between the two there's little time for us to be an us, and I figured if I helped you study, maybe... we could get some time together while you still learn and... get ready for your... exams..."
That finally made you pause. "Oh, Dean..." you mumbled, sighing, grabbing a small paper towel. You walked over to the built in kitchenette, running a few drips of water and dabbing the paper towel under the spout.
Walking back, you wiped off the marks you left over the right side of his torso and hips. "I'm so sorry, babe. I just... you know I get caught up in stress and overpreparing for my classes. I didn't mean to neglect you."
"No," he caught your wrist, looking down at it for a moment before back up at you. "Don't do that. Don't make yourself feel bad. I'm always gonna be here, you aren't going to have 'always' to study. You being my smarty-pants little doctor comes first, 'kay?"
"Okay," you giggled, smiling down at him. It was impossible not to fall for his stupid charms. Back to wiping, you got all the ink off relatively quickly.
"Now I'm damp," he chuckled, patting his abdomen and lifting back beads of water.
"Guess I'll have to dry you off," you smirked, throwing out the paper towel and then coming back over to him. You leaned over the bed, pulling down the sleeve of your college-merchandise sweater and wiping off the droplets. Slowly. Teasingly.
"Baby, go back to your studying. I just said I want you to focus on your studies. I want this for you." God, he was pretty when he was sincere.
"It's late. I'm too tired to absorb anything I'm studying anyway..." you murmur, leaning closer to his face. "I miss you too, Dean. Just... one night. One night where I don't pass out at my desk. I wanna spend the night with you. I love you," you mumbled, pressing a kiss onto the tip of his nose.
He smiled, finally giving in and grabbing your hips, pulling you down onto the bed. A small mmph slipped as you settle over him, one knee hooked over his hip, foot rubbing up and down his inner thigh.
"...I think I have another bone you need to identify," he grinned down at you, perverse as all hell.
"Dean!" you screamed, smacking his chest, all pouty.
"Okay, okay," he chuckled, swatting your hand away. "No sex. Just a nice, relaxing, cozy night." He pressed a loving kiss into the crown of your head.
"Yay," you said, worries melting momentarily, head nestled between his jaw and shoulder, nose brushing below his Adam's apple.
pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader
notes: 1. this is a repost cuz i forgot hashtages before hence why it's off schedule, 2. so normally posts arent this self indulgent but what can i say lol its fanfic. i tried to make it as broad as possible so as many people can enjoy it as possible but its fs a fem, chubby/curvy/mid-sized reader (whatever you wanna call it) :>
word count: 1.0k (i didn't have it in me to do more, lol...)
tags: childhood friends to lovers, we love a glow up, fem!reader, chubby!reader, second person POV, dean loves ladies regardless of if theyre skinny or curvy and i stand by that (like literally in the show he just cares if shes hot), reader has a sick ass classic car, fluff with like sexual jokes/inner thoughts and stuff (it's literally dean x sabrina carpenter song what else could there be?)
divider by @pixopix
Dean was a man of very, very, very few friends.
Very few.
It came with the territory of being a hunter. How are you supposed to be a good friend to someone, to be there for them and hang out and do all it is friends do if you're waking up in a different state every morning? He had Sammy, and that was enough.
Life, however, had a funny way of throwing that back at him.
Things weren't always like thatβDean used to be one hell of a social butterfly, before life decided it wanted to be fucking hilarious and kick his ass. Before hunting was a full time thing, he had a few friends. Other kids of hunters. Kids his age who had even an inkling of understanding for what he'd been through.
Namely, you.
And now, here you were. Apparently you hadn't gotten out of the hunting life like he'd always hoped you could, but on the bright side, that meant fate was able to drag you back to the same small town, the same motel, on the same case.
"No fucking way," he said, grinning ear to ear, watching you bent over the cherry red '66 Ford Mustang your dad passed to you.
If it weren't for the car, he wouldn't have recognized you. You'd spent too many teenage summers growing up working on each other's cars for him not to recognize it, but you? Puberty hit you like a fucking freight train.
The last time you saw each other you were, what, 16? Yeah, puberty had started, but you were still lanky. Lanky with broad, masculine shoulders you hadn't yet grown into, these tired puppy dog eyes, hair fried half to death with a hair straightener (heat protectant wasn't exactly in a single, hunter dad's budget), and for a girl your age? A relatively flat chest and ass. Dean never minded, that wasn't why you were friends, but insecurity often got the better of you.
God, you'd grown.
Not to be crude, but... an ass that filled out your denim short shorts and tits that did the same with your lacy gingham tank, chub spilling over the waistband of your daisy dukes, hair in its natural form (for once), eyes that looked refreshed and softened into a doe-ish shape by time and sunlight, and the best part? Fuck, your confidence. Your smile. The way you stood like you knew how you looked to everyone else.
"When did you get... hot?" Dean sputtered before he could help himself. Sam smacked the back of his head, 'you fucking idiot,' and your head whipped around.
"Dean Winchester?" you sputtered, shock evident. What were the odds?
"In the flesh," he grinned, arms out, as if she needed time to take him all in. To be honest, she probably did. He changed nowhere nearly as much as her, but damn if he wasn't easy on the eyes. Was she seriously supposed to complain about Dean Winchester in a tight, little black shirt? "Speaking of flesh..." he mumbled, half under his breath, eyes trailing down your curves.
"I can't decide if you're calling me fat or pretty," you teased, trying to play it off but genuinely unsure what way he meant that.
Considering what he said to grab your attention in the first place, you probably could've put two and two together, but before your mind could process that fully, he cut in with a very worried "pretty! Hot. Pretty. You're... wow, you look fantastic."
"I like to think so," you giggled, shifting on your feet.
"You in town for a case or something?" Dean grinned, Sam rolling his eyes and walking off, mumbling something about 'getting out before they start kissing.'
"Vamps. The same case I presume you're on..?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, heat shooting up from your stomach and blooming over your cheeks. "It's good to see you."
"You too," you said, surprised with your own sincerity.
"We should get together sometime," Dean mumbled, looking down at his feet before back at you. He'd never been flustered talking to a woman before, why you? Was it because you'd grown up together? Or was it the sheer juxtaposition of what you'd used to be versus how you are now that sent him spiraling?
"Oh, I'm just settling into my motel for now..." you trailed off, looking back at the Mustang for a minute. When you looked back at him, into his glimmering green eyes, the words died in your mouth.
"I could help you unpack," he offered, licking his lips as his eyes flicked down to yours. They'd gone from dry and split to glossy and pink, how??
"I'd like that," you responded, sincerity in your smile but mischief in your eyes. You turned over to grab your duffel from the trunk, bent over, flesh slipping through the hem of your shorts and straining for fresh air.
Dean put a hand on your back, eliciting a full-body blush. "Let me carry that for you," he grinned, reaching over to pick up the duffel and sling it over his shoulder.
"Thanks," you smiled, looking up at him, eyes wide and lashes batting.
He escorted you over to your room, watching your wet, pink tongue peek out from between your two lips, focused on what key it was.
"Sammy!" Dean shouted, hoping the walls were thin enough for his brother to hear him without having to take his eyes off of you. "Don't buy me dinner, it's gonna be a long night!"
"Dean, it's not even 5 PM!" Sam called back, frustration evident in his voice.
"A lo-o-ong night," Dean shouted, smirk getting wider as he followed you through the open door.
pairing: dean winchester x reader
notes: mm so due to the reception of my first post i decided to write another !! winter has struck HARD where i love so thats what inspired this fic lol. again, any and all feedback, requests, or interaction is more than welcome :> enjoy!
word count: 1.3k
tags: established relationship, pre-canon dean (therefor lots of hc), canadian!reader (it's a winter fic, sue me lol), second person POV, john winchester is mentioned and that should be a tw in and of itself, i am a dean-yearns-for-physical-touch truther, tried to make this one gender neutral but it might be fem-leaning (my bad) :>
divider by @pixopix
The delicate snowflakes gently pitter-pattered to the ground, Dean watching from the window of the motel with his chin propped in his folded arms. If you didn't know better, you'd say his expression etched out a sense of... longing. What's there to long for? Numb fingers? Pink and frost-nipped cheeks? Trudging through the snow and soaking your pants in the process?
"You're watching the snow like you've never seen it before," you said, grinning softly, before your expression morphed into confusion. "You... have seen snow before, right?"
"Yeah! Yeah," Dean stuttered, being pulled out of his trance and turning to face you. His eyes softened from awe to love when they landed on you. You, in his plain brown tee shirt and your own plaid sleep pants, hair spiking up in every direction like a well-slept porcupine. Like you'd just woken up even though it was nearly two-o'clock.
Today, though, was reconnaissance, so you could get away with lounging around your shared motel room the whole day. It definitely didn't help that inside the motel was above freezing temperatures.
"I just, y'know..." he trailed off for a moment, thinking about how to put it. "Growing up on the road didn't give way to a lot of opportunities for fun winter activities, is all."
You took a gentle step over, sympathy plaguing your senses. "At least you were spared from Canadian winters," you joked, but it was hardly funny. "November 'till April, knee deep in snow and frostbite," you reminisced softly. Dean felt as though you were looking through him, not quite at him, perhaps staring back the little face of a younger you in those sleet-smothered memories.
"I'd kill to be a kid in a Canadian winter," Dean mumbled, head turning down.
That seemed to break you out of it. "Would not."
"Would too," he shot back, grinning.
"Would not!"
"Would too!"
"Well, you're already halfway there, you're acting like a child," you huffed, holding up his chin to look into his playful, dazzled eyes. As if to prove your point, he furrowed his eyebrows into the sorriest expression and pulled out a trembling lower lip that eerily mirrored a toddler before a tantrumβthe calm before a storm. "Hey," you said softly, moving your hand to run through his short blonde hair. He leaned into it like a purring cat, eyes fluttering shut. "Let's just... go outside and enjoy the snow."
His eyes shot open at that, adjusting, before back to normal and open. "No, weβ" he sighed, "βwe have to be on standby. Recon."
"Your dad doesn't call on your birthday, you seriously think he'd call on a random Tuesday to check if you're manning your laptop?" You didn't mean to kick him when he's downβit had only been a week since his birthday, his twenty-third. His first birthday without Sam. John forgot to call.
"Right, yeah," Dean grumbled, pushing up off his seat and brushing past you. His push wasn't hard, just... filled with hurt. Hurt from his father. His pathetic, deadbeat, sordid, pitiful, good-for-nothing, insufferableβ
Dean felt a tap on his shoulder, derailing his train of thoughts. He turned around to be met with you, your gorgeous face, your warm body, your... abraded hands, holding up a pair of thick, black mittens.
"Thanks, baby," he mumbled softly, taking the mittens from your hand. How could he ever stay mad at you? He slipped his large, gnarled hands into the soft cotton knit of the glove's interior.
"Wanna make snow angels?" you hum, putting a hand over the crux of his neck, angling his head to look straight into your doting eyes.
"You're already my snow angel," Dean mumbled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pressing his lips into your scalp and kissing you through the fluff of bedhead-hair you were still yet to brush out.
"Come onβ" you giggled, groaning, wriggling out of his muscular grip to drag him to the motel room's front. Last night, he'd messily tossed his coat over the chair propped up under the window. You picked it up for him, helping his arms through and zipping it up to his shaggy chin.
You may have been looking at his zipper, but he was focused on your face, all the love in the world in his expression. "I'm not a kid, y'know," he chuckled, softer than he meant to, "I can zip up my own jacket."
"Well, maybe I wanna do something nice for you," you huffed, grabbing a beanie and messily pulling it down over his shaggy blonde hair. "Maybe you never got to be a kid and I wanna give you at least a little of that back."
He went silent for a moment, processing that. Before he let his mind slip, to distract himself from fucking John and every aspect of his childhood (or lack thereof), he grabbed your handβalready mittened, already ready for a snowscapeβand dragged you through the front door of the motel and into the parking lot. It was covered in sleet, slush, snow, iceβeverything that fell from the sky and scattered into thick, frigid layers that Dean trudged through like it was pure, frosty bliss.
"This is awesome," Dean said, and for a second, he sounded like a kid again. That was until a loud SPLAT! and brief stinging on his back dragged him out of his awe. "What was that?" he said, head snapping around to see the source of whatever had just happened.
That was until he saw the devilish, playful grin on your face. Looking down, he saw your hands forming another hard, tightly-packed snowball.
"Snowball fight? Are you serious?" he said, unable to keep down the huge grin tugging at his face. "Oh, you are so on."
He reached down, scooped it up with both hands and pressed it into a little ball no bigger than his palm but twice as dense. You squealed, dashing past him to try and get out of reach. His arm was strong though, and for all your running, the snowball still bit against you coat-clad back. "Dean!" you yelped, "my clothes are gonna get soaked!"
"You started it, sweetheart, you can't back out now." He grinned from ear to ear, bending over to scoop more snow and form an even bigger, even denser snowball.
"De-ean," you whined again, unable to keep the giggle out of your voice as you trudged over to him.
"Stay back," he teased. "I'm armed. Armed and dangerous." He held the snowball up as you walked closer, an immature smile dragging further at the corners of his mouth.
Before he could toss it you leapt, throwing all your body weight at Dean and toppling him to the floor without any time to react. His hands were quick to find your waistβsome may call it muscle memory from times you were in the same positionβstroking up and down through at least three layers of thick winter clothing.
"Is this everything you dreamed of and more?" you said, scooping a small handful of snow and tossing it limply at his chest without even bothering to pack it first. It scattered once it came in contact with his chest, which was quickly rising and falling with deep laughter.
"Oh, it's exactly what I wanted," he grinned, tugging closer at your thighs.
The bright sun reflected on the thick layers of snow and suddenly, you were a kid again. He was a kid for maybe the first time. Playing out in the snow between classes, all goo goo eyes and puppy love before life was scary.
pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader
notes: hiii :> this is lowk my first (public) fic lol so please please tell me what you think so i can improve!! open to most any ideas/prompts so i have a lot in case i decide i wanna write more lol..
word count: 1.1k
tags: established relationship, vaguely early seasons dean vibes, super bratty!reader, passenger princess!reader, second person POV, my music taste is totally injected into this lol, chubby/mid-sized!reader if you squint a little, a few sexual implications but mostly fluff
divider by @pixopix :P
New Hampshire was just about across the country from where the last case brought you.
But, heyβwhen a case calls, Dean answers. It was one of the many things you loved about him. Though for a girlfriend, you were pretty reluctant to admit there were any things you loved about him.
Dean did not have the same problem with showing affection.
He splayed a large hand over your soft thigh, digging his dirt-encrusted nails in a way that was hardly as possessive as it was a habitual comfort. His calloused thumb and pointer alternated in tapping to the rhythm of his tape, Black Dog by Led Zeppelin, as the bass rattled through the Impala's speakers.
"Sam was right," you huffed, "you do have the music taste of an old man. Mullet rock."
"Hey, Sammy doesn't know what he's talking about. Zeppelin rules, sweetheart," Dean grinned cheekily. God, that smileβthat boyish smile, with the faintest dimples, the smile that got you hunting with him in the first place. Why on earth would you go hunting with him in the first place?
"Yeah, yeah, I know," you said sarcastically, "you're God's gift to cassette tapes."
"You think you have better music taste than me, princess?"
"Don't call me that," you snapped. "And for the record? I don't 'think,' I know I have better music taste than you. Because I evolved past what my parents listened to when washing the dishes."
"You don't like 'princess'?" he asked, ignoring your insulting his music taste. "I think it suits you so well, though. You're pretty, you're a real girly-girl, totally bossy, and spoiled rotten. Did I mention you're pretty?"
"Mm, not enough," you giggled and his grip got tighter. He dragged your legs at the knees a little to the left, closer towards him, not letting you pull away in an act of petty defiance.
"What do you wanna listen to, princess?" he finally asked, dragging the syllables of the pet name out to get under your skin.
Bottom lip jutting out in a pout, a non-verbal protest to the nickname, you turned around to snatch your purse and dig through to find one of the two or three cassettes you taped after Dean showed you how to record them. Fiddling with the stereo proved useless until he decided toβwith a bitchy little chuckleβgive you a hand and put in your favourite of the tapes.
Disco.
God, he hated disco.
You could tell by the little vein that popped in his temple, jaw clenched, as Ring My Bell, Anita Ward, whirred to life. "Not a fan?" you asked.
"No, baby, I love this song." Liar.
"You don't lie to me, Dean, I lie to you," you teased.
"Well, I love you, and you love this song, so I love this song."
"God, just skip the song, De!"
"No, really. Disco is great."
You huffed, pouting, arms crossing over your chest and slouching down in the passenger's seat of the Impala. "Oh, babβsit up, baby, the seatbelt doesn't work if you sit like that. It's not safe."
You slouched further. "No."
"Up." That one word, nothing more than a growl, reverberated and rattled throughout your brain. It wasn't the normally soft, playful tone he took with you. What, was he worried? He didn't even wear his seatbelt half the time.
Apparently, however long it took for you to process that one word (or more so the tone he said it in, deep and gruff in a way that made you smush your thighs together before you realized you were doing it) was far too long for Dean's liking, as he slowed just a touch before reaching over with the one free hand off the steering wheel, wrapped it around your upper back and latched onto the plush covering your ribs, and yanked you to a normal sitting position before you could think twice to resist. "Hey!β"
"You're one fucking brat," he scoffed, but you could hear the smile licking at the corners of his mouth. "Your real lucky I like you," he added, fully grinning now.
"Lucky's one way to put it," you grumbled, "'cursed with the misfortune of a man-whore boyfriend' is another."
"Jeez, kitty's got claws."
"Nuh-uh," you protested, kicking your bare feet up on the dash, "freshly pedicured."
You wiggled your toes to taunt him and he smacked lightly at your calves, just enough to say 'get your damn feet down from there,' though it didn't deter you. Anita Ward faded into the Hues CorporationβRock The Boatβand your feet curled to tap at the dash in rhythm with the beat.
"This is gonna be one long drive," Dean groaned, readjusting his seat and grip on the steering wheel.
You pouted, eyebrows pinched. "You hate me." Short, blunt, and just what you knew would pull at his little, lover-boy heart, the one buried deep down. Deep down.
"Not you, pretty girl. Never you. The disco's making it a long drive. You're making it better," he smiled, softer than he meant, dipping a hand under your chin and prodding your pouty lower lip like a cat playing with a mouse.
You couldn't help but giggle, all your brattiness melting away at the sparkle in his expression when he smiled at you through the corner of his eye.
"Well it's already been a long drive anyway," you yawned. Dean pointing out how long the drive had felt triggered the 'tired' part of the brain, suddenly reminding you that you'd already been in the passenger seat for eleven good hours. "It's almost... eight-thirty? nine?" You tried to make out the small number on the clock.
"Mm, just about nine, yeah. Good job, you can read clocks," Dean teased, laughing harder when you swatted his arm.
But sleep was drawing closer and closer, and the more you fought it to stay up and talk to Dean, the heavier your eyelids drooped. "Can I..?" you trailed off, nestling into the crook between the headrest and the window.
"Yeah, sure. Go to sleep, you earned it," he laughed, knowing damn well you haven't lifted a pretty, manicured finger all day. He liked it better that way.
He turned the music down a touch and rubbed softly down your thigh with his free hand until the faint hum of the engine and rhythm of the synth blended into one buzzing background noise in your ear and sleep dragged you under.
The closest you'd come to waking up until the next morning was a half-conscious mumble soothed by Dean's gruff "go back to sleep, princess," as you felt his smooth hands run over your supple form, slipping you out of the jeans and band shirt you wore on the road and into warm, pink cotton pyjamas to insulate you the whole night through until you arrived in Merrimack, New Hampshire.
