Hi I'm a new follower and I was wondering if you can possibly do a Hotch x plus size reader and could u add like hotch defending plus size reader thank you
Aaron Hotchner || Beautiful
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Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader
Warnings: plussize!reader, fem!reader, reader blushes, Jack mentioned, reader is cat called (?), men being gross and making rude comments about reader's body, a bit of British slang popped out in some parts. Nicknames used: Honey, my love. Possibly a suggestive mention at the end, but it's open to interpretation.
Contents: You're used to taking people's comments about your body and brushing them off like they're nothing, but when Hotch is around, you no longer have to do that.
A/N: Of course I can! ^^ I've never written for plussize!reader before so I apologize if this is worded incorrectly or isn't accurate to what you had in mind, but I did try and take from my own experiences as a "curvier" person, so i hope it's okay and that you enjoy! :)
Comments about your body weren't something you took to heart, or at least, you tried not to take them to heart. Your body shape isn't something that you should be ashamed of, and you would remind yourself of this daily.
But it's hard to ignore them sometimes. The dirty looks, the passing comments about your figure, the way women shamed you and men looked at you differently. It definitely has a way of getting under your skin.
That was no different when you were out and about with Aaron. He had taken some time off recently to spend some time with you and his son, Jack. You had decided to use one of those days to spend some time alone together, leaving Jack with his Aunt whilst the two of you ventured around the city, doing whatever came to mind in the moment.
You and Aaron had just finished eating at a fancy restaurant he had recommended, and were walking through the city, window shopping, and talking about anything that came to mind.
"I think that was the best meal I've had in a long time." You sighed, your arm hooked around Aaron's as he held you close, he smiled down at you and the content expression on your face.
"Told you it was good." He placed a kiss on the hair at your temple, letting you guide him to a nearby store front, you looked at the small porcelain pieces behind the glass.
Just as you pointed to a piece that you liked, you were both interrupted by a whistle behind you. "Look at the arse on that one..." The voice of the boy, who couldn't have been older than a teenager, murmured to his friend behind you.
Your face quickly turned a deep shade of red, embarrassment and shame from being cat called in front of your boyfriend filled your mind.
Aaron stiffened next to you. The city was busy, but there weren't that many women around you, and he was sure the voice had been directed in your direction. He could still hear the boys laughing as he turned to look at you. His free hand rubbed your elbow gently, as you continued looking at the small porcelain pieces in the window.
"Nah man, she's too chunky. Couldn't afford to keep that fed." The boys cackled behind you again. You couldn't stop the surprised sigh that left your lips, the tears that filled your eyes.
Before you could process what had happened, Aaron had turned his head to the boys. "Excuse me?" He said sternly. The laughter quickly stopped as the boys stared back at Aaron with wide eyes.
"Nothing. Just admiring the pottery." They snickered, elbowing each other. Aaron didn't budge, the wrinkle in his eyebrow deeply set as he stared down the boys. You could feel his arm move to his coat, where he kept his badge. He didn't often use it to scare away immature teenagers, but something inside of him boiled at the way they ridiculed you.
"I'm sure the comments you made weren't ones that could be said about pottery." His voice was low and serious. He radiated an aura of authority, which made the boys shrink slightly.
"W-Well, we were... just..." The boy's voices grew quieter as Aaron scolded them.
"You know, it's a crime to catcall women, especially in the tone that you were." Aaron pulled out his badge, clearly showing off the big 'FBI' printed at the top. You both knew that he was lying, despite how disgusting it was, it wasn't a crime, but the boys didn't know that.
You turned to face Aaron in shock. He never used his badge for reasons like this, never to get people to leave him alone, or for something he didn't like.
The boy's faces dropped, you could hear them hitting each other's arms, blaming the other for possibly getting them in legal trouble l. "S-sir, I'm sorry! We were only joking!" They both fought to defend themselves.
Although Aaron held up his stoic look, you could see the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Do not do this again." He told them sternly. The boys quickly nodded, practically dragging each other away from the "scene of the crime" so to say.
Aaron turned back to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "You okay, Honey? I'm so sorry that happened, don't listen to them. Immature pricks..." He murmured the last part, more saying it to himself than to you.
You placed a hand on his cheek, kissing his lips softly. "Thank you, Aaron." You smiled. And the two of you continued on with your date, trying to not let that small event ruin your day.
---
But now, you were back at home. You stood in front of the mirror, in the same outfit you had been wearing, looking over each and every curve and ridge in your body. Your hands ran over every roll and fold. Your thoughts came back to what the boys had said earlier. It was so embarrassing... And in front of Aaron too? What if he believed those things... What if he remembered them too and was thinking about them, about how disgusting you were, about how unattractive you were?
You were broken out of your thoughts by Aaron clearing his throat by the doorway to your bedroom. You quickly turned away from the mirror and faced him, your arms instinctively wrapping around your torso, trying to make yourself look smaller, to hide the way your body filled your clothes.
"Everything okay in here, my love?" He asked gently, pushing off of the door frame and taking small steps towards you. He could see right through you, but it didn't take a profiler to do so.
The tears instantly filled your eyes again, the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment, shame, hatred towards your own body filled you. Your hands quickly covered your face as Aaron's steps sped up. You tensed as his arms wrapped around you.
He could feel your shoulders stiffen under his touch, how you sucked in a breath as he pulled you into him. He knew you struggled with body image. He always had. And so these small actions to you, were mountains of worry to him. "Baby, what's wrong?" His voice was full of surprise and concern. He couldn't understand how you could look at yourself in the mirror and see anything but beauty.
"It hurts, Aaron... What they said..." You sobbed quietly between breaths. He just nodded his head, kissing the top of your own, hugging you even tighter.
"It's okay, Honey. It's okay." He reassured you. His hand ran over your back comfortingly. You let out the breath you had been holding in to make yourself look thinner. He cradled your face to his chest as he held you. "Don't believe them. They're stuck up and immature. Eventually they'll learn in life that not everyone looks like the supermodels they drool over, and that's okay. Youre infinitely more attractive to me than any of them."
His voice was equally as gentle as the way his hands ran over your body soothingly, appreciating every curve. Your sobs turned into hiccups as he spoke endless words of praise and affirmation into your hair, placing kisses to punctuate each one.
"You really think so?" You asked quietly. You didn't have to clarify that you wanted a straight answer, he would never give you anything but. Not that he would ever think anything but.
"I know so. I'm addicted to you. I'm so in love with you that sometimes I think my heart is going to explode. You're so much more than what you see in the mirror, and what you do see isn't even a bad thing. I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and that I ever will see." He speaks gently.
No matter how much the thoughts in your head ate away at your confidence, how much they told you he was lying, you knew he wasn't. Aaron would never lie to you. Not even about something like this. He held you close as your breathing calmed, and that night, he showed you just how much he appreciated every curve of your body.
The really unfortunate thing about mental health progress is that sometimes you realize you've made it in the form of "wow, I haven't felt this bad in a fucking while"
On the one hand it's a bit of a pick me up in a dark place to know that this will pass because it has passed before on the other hand sometimes it isn't entirely a pleasant thought to go "wow, I used to feel like this all the time. That was pretty fucking bad. It's pretty bad right now too also."
"imagine showing insert blank to a medieval peasant they'd die lol" personally i think if i saw the medieval peasant's night sky i'd start crying and never stop
Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester x Grad Student!Reader (Plus-Size)
Series Summary: Forbidden fruit. Dean knew there was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was — is it worth how good it tastes? Remembering the feeling of your soft curves under his hands, the look in your eyes, and the temptation of your lips, he had a feeling it would be more than worth it.
AN: We’re headed somewhere over the rainbow in this one. 🌈 😅
Chapter Title: "That which I would discover / The law of friendship bids me to conceal." — Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 3, Scene 1; Proteus to the Duke of Milan
Word Count: 5.1K
Posted on Patreon: Nov. 7, 2025
Tags & Warnings: (18+ only) Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, college party shenanigans, pranking/accidental drug use, Protective Dean, and more SPN Easter eggs
♬.ᐟ Playlist: YouTube || Spotify
ᝰ.🖋️ Series Masterlist
Part 6: The Law of Friendship (Bids Me to Conceal)
Spring Break drew near, but not fast enough. You were trying to juggle two part-time jobs, a full course load, tutoring on the side, and your relationship with Dean.
A relationship you felt you couldn’t talk about with anyone, not even Charlie. It was safer that way.
But it was starting to get to you, pressure from all angles forcing you down with every step you took through the halls.
No matter how much you needed the money, you had to cancel your afternoon TA shift and stay in the library to work on your midterm papers, all of which were due soon. Exhaustion was a useless word that didn’t mean anything to you anymore. You’d pulled two all-nighters in a row, and at this point, your blood was basically comprised of caffeine and protein bars.
Dean ran into you in the hall on your way back to the library after your last class. You were dressed down in sweatpants and a hoodie, your messy hair thrown into a haphazard bun on your head, no makeup. Your eyes looked more tired than anything, lacking their usual vim.
“Hey,” he said. He had to resist the urge to touch you in public. He frowned in concern. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, but you hesitated like you had to even remember what English words sounded like.
“I’m on a cram this week, but I’m heading for a double espresso. Hoping they’ll throw in a side of crack,” you said, trying at a smile. “What’s up?”
Amusement tugged at his lips, but Dean paused for a second. He pulled out a couple of tickets from his pocket.
“Wanted to surprise you. I’ve got us some decent seats to see the Knicks on Saturday.”
Your muted reaction wasn’t quite what he expected. You glanced down at the tickets, biting your lip. Your gaze flicked back up to him guiltily.
“You can’t go?” he asked.
You sighed and led him away from the middle of the hall and around the corner for more of a semblance of privacy.
“I wish I could, but I have four essays due next week. Four,” you said. “I also had to reschedule two of my tutoring sessions because I missed my stop on the subway this morning. Why? Because I fell asleep.”
Dean frowned in concern. Falling asleep on the subway was dangerous as hell, especially for a young woman alone. “Sweetheart, look at you. You need a break, okay?”
You laughed humorlessly. “You think I don’t know what I look like? That’s the least of my worries right now. I’m fucking exhausted. But no, I can’t just take a break. I’ve been spending too much time going out as it is.”
Dean's brows rose incredulously. He crossed his arms.
“So, what, going out with me is a chore now?" he said. "Am I distracting you too much?”
You briefly closed your eyes. “No, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Dean didn’t escalate, but he didn’t relax either. “Okay. Fine.”
You sighed. You didn’t want to hurt him, let alone say no to going out with him, especially since he’d already spent money on the tickets. But you really didn’t have time for this, and…maybe he was a little right about being a distraction. A good one, and usually a welcome one, but a distraction nonetheless.
“Look, can we talk later?” you asked. You checked to see if anyone was watching before you tentatively squeezed his arm, but you left first.
Dean shook his head and stuffed the tickets back in his pocket.
He didn’t see you for the rest of the day, or the next two after. You texted him to ask about his day, and again, to apologize that you couldn’t go out this weekend, but he couldn’t help feeling that something was still off between you.
He actually hadn’t seen much of you outside of work in the past couple of weeks, which was why he thought he’d try being a little spontaneous and do something for you that was more of a gesture. He thought things had been going well overall, but he guessed you didn’t see things the same way.
He put more of his newfound free time into his book, finally. He’d started transferring the stories in his journal onto his computer, typing them up, but it still needed more cohesion to tie them together. There were a few other mythological stories he wanted to include and some commentary from other academics he wanted to cite.
That research led him down to the library. He was trying to find a couple of specific books. According to EU's online database, they were supposed to be toward the back by the reference section. While he was browsing, he stopped short in the aisle. He thought he could hear someone sniffling, crying.
He turned the corner, and there, through the glass door of one of the private study rooms, was you. You sat on the floor against the wall with your laptop in front of you, stacks of books, notebooks, pens, and highlighters all around you. He wondered why you weren’t sitting at the desk. Maybe you were more comfortable on the floor.
What made his face fall was the way you kept wiping tears from your eyes while you tried to write. Eventually, you gave up. You set the laptop aside and tried to breathe through it all. You were failing.
Dean’s steps compelled him forward. He knocked on the glass, feeling bad when you flinched. Your tearful eyes met his, and something broke a little more inside him. He stepped into the room and shut the door. He kneeled down beside you, laying a hand on your shoulder.
You couldn't even form words. You were too stressed, too overwhelmed. Too much. You shuddered, then dissolved into a sob.
“Okay, sweetheart. Come ‘ere.” Dean sat down beside you and guided you to rest against him. You went willingly, gratefully, hiding your face in his chest and staining his plaid shirt with tears.
“Breathe for me, okay? It’s gonna be fine. You got this,” he said. “I know it’s hard, but hell, if I could do it, you definitely can. You’re a hell of a lot smarter than me.”
You snorted and shook your head. “You’re plenty smart.”
He smiled a little. “How long have you been here? You know it’s close to eight.”
“I was here until midnight last night. Still not done,” you sniffed, brushing tears from your cheeks. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you ate either. Was it the Cliff bar for lunch, or the packet of blueberries for breakfast? Either way, just the mention of food woke up your stomach, had it growling like a bear over a salmon.
You hid your face again in embarrassment. Dean chuckled and rubbed your back.
“What do you feel like eating? I’ll go pick something up.”
You managed to lift your head, meeting his eyes with your bleary ones.
You reached for his cheek and guided him down to you for a slow, lingering kiss.
“Thank you,” you said.
He shook his head. “Sorry for somehow forgetting you’re still a student.”
You let out a soft sigh.
“Soon enough, I won’t be," you said. "But for now, I’m really glad you’re in my corner.”
After you made it through the hell week of midterm essay submissions, you were looking forward to Spring Break. There was still a whole week before that for midterm exams, but some grad students were celebrating early.
You were invited to a party at Joey Mason’s apartment to kick things off. Joey's parents owned the brownstone that he, Adam, and two more of their friends lived in, so the party was basically going to span the whole apartment building. You weren’t planning to go, until Charlie heard about it. She convinced you that you needed the break.
“You can bring this Andy guy you’ve been seeing,” she said, only sounding a little bit dry. She was still skeptical that you were still dating someone, since you hadn’t been overdosing her with details and asking for advice from day one. But she couldn’t deny the fact that you stayed overnight pretty often, if less so recently.
“Well, he’s a few years older than us. He probably wouldn’t be interested in a college party,” you said.
“Okay. Whatever,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant about it. She still peered at you closer. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why? Do I look as run down as I feel?” you said, with a slight laugh.
“No, I just mean…you know you can tell me anything, right?” Charlie said. “As long as this guy’s not a Grade A asshole, I’m not gonna scare him off.”
You softened with guilt. You reached over and squeezed her arm. “Of course, babe. I’m fine. You know I haven’t dated in a while. This is honestly just a casual thing to get me through all the crazy stress of this semester. It’s not serious enough for you to meet him.”
You didn’t know if you were convincing enough, considering it was one of the biggest lies you’d ever told in your life. And you especially felt bad about lying to your best friend.
She always shared what was going on in her life—like how she and Dee were going through a bit of a rough patch right now. Not unlike you and Dean, their schedules were hard to match up now that Dee was doing night shifts on the Security team. This was her first night off in a while, so this party was going to be a much needed night out. Charlie was ready to let loose.
She took your explanation with a slow nod.
“All right. That’s understandable, I guess.”
Inside, you were relieved, even though your guilt weighed that much heavier.
“A party?” Dean asked skeptically. “What kind of party?”
You laughed and teased his chin with the tip of your finger. He could be kind of an old man sometimes, but you didn’t mind it. You’d rather have an old man than a man child.
You definitely preferred this man’s bed to your own at this point. The mattress was softer, more welcoming to your tired limbs while you stretched out beside Dean. He eyed the way the sheet pooled down your back, just barely covering your ass. It revealed some nice side boob too.
He settled his hand along your lower back, steadily traveling up your spine.
“You’re going alone?” he asked.
“No, of course not. I’m going with Charlie and her girlfriend.”
“Yeah, what if they get too wrapped up in each other to stick with you? Anything can happen at these ragers.”
You snorted.
“What?” Dean blinked. “Are they not called ragers anymore?”
He knew you were a bit younger than him, but it wasn’t like he was opposed to having fun. He just didn’t like the idea of you at some frat party with a bunch of animal guys, boozed up and drugged up—at least, not without him there with you. And he certainly couldn’t go. How would it look if a professor showed up to something like that?
You stifled your giggles and offered him a kiss of reassurance.
“Look, it’s not some undergrad keg party, and this isn’t 2005,” you said teasingly. “It’s probably just going to be a bit of food, a bit of booze, some house music and a few potheads. A chill time.”
Correction: The party was not, in fact, a chill time.
Things were cool at first, if a bit too loud. But you were used to that. As hard as you worked in school, you deserved times like these to relax and let a little looser than you typically allowed yourself. Charlie was a great influence for that.
After a couple rum and cokes, you got separated from her while she and Dee crept upstairs to “talk.”
You just rolled your eyes and stayed on the main floor where it was safe. Kind of. The basketball team was tearing around from the kitchen to the living room. You almost got a nerf football to the head. Am I getting too old for this shit?
You found a spot on the couch to hang out, vibing to the music with your red solo cup that was two-thirds more Bacardi than soda, and chatting with some people you hadn’t seen since last semester.
Adam Milligan came by with a tray of drinks that looked neon blue. He started passing them out.
“Hey, guys. You know what time it is, right?” he said with a wink and a grin. The others greedily took the drinks, including Joey.
“Oh, hell yeah. Been waiting for this,” he said.
Adam even gave you the last one, like it was a party favor. You examined the radioactive-looking cocktail warily.
“What the hell is that?” you asked loudly over the music.
He smirked. “Oh, just a little vodka, a little absinthe. Probably a little too much for you with your basic bitch rum and coke.”
Your eyes narrowed. You were probably a little tipsier than you thought, because that goading actually worked on you. You sipped the drink first, smacking your lips in distaste.
“Ech. What the hell is that? Like a blue Jolly Rancher that fell in the dirt. With a tinge of ass.”
Adam shrugged. “That’s probably the blue raspberry mix. It might be a little off the expiration, but hey, those are just suggestions, right?”
You shook your head. “You’re an idiot.”
“Hey, if you can’t take it—”
“Shut up.”
Clearly you were the bigger idiot. You just didn’t want to lose face in front of this guy. You knew he thought you were a teacher’s pet, a fucking nerd, a try-hard—whatever word he might use to make it seem like you couldn’t hang. So you downed the entire rest of the glass in one sitting, one long gulp. You almost gagged. Shit tastes weird.
Adam’s eyes widened, half impressed, and half worried. “Oh, shit.”
“Oh shit, what?” you asked, wiping the corners of your mouth as you coughed. You didn’t like that look in his eyes, like he was actually concerned for you.
He laughed nervously. “Well, I take it back. You’re not a puss.”
He leaned in and stared into your eyes like he was waiting for something to happen. You pushed him away from your face.
“Excuse me? I’m not a fucking pussy. Also, tell me what the hell was in that drink, because you’re freaking me out.” You gasped as it dawned on you. “Oh my God. Is it acid? Is there acid in this?”
“No, calm down,” Adam said, grabbing your arm. “There was a lot of shrooms though. Heavy dose of shrooms.”
Your eyes widened in shock, and your mouth fell open.
“Goddamn it, Adam!” You hit his shoulder. “What kind of burnout shit is this? Why the hell would you put shrooms in alcohol? And why the hell didn’t you stop me?”
He fended off your hands. “Ow, fuck! I didn't think you'd chug it, Jesus! But I’d get somewhere safe, because in about half an hour, things are gonna get fucking interesting.”
He dipped away before you could keep hitting him. Your anger quickly faded into panic. Raw, unadulterated panic.
You texted Charlie, called her twice, looked into every room you could find, and collected three more traumatic memories in the process, but you still couldn’t find her or Dee.
Get somewhere safe. Somewhere safe.
Your shaky legs brought you up a flight of stairs, into the first empty room that had a door you could shut yourself in, and you called the only other person you could think of.
At a little past midnight, Dean was in deep communion with his pillow. He was so tired he fell asleep in his sweatpants and a ratty old Metallica sweatshirt. When you were around, he pretty much forwent everything except boxers at night. You were a cuddler, and you seemed to like body heat more than anything.
So deep was he in sleep that he didn’t hear his cell phone buzzing on his nightstand until the fourth or fifth ring. He growled like a bear having his hibernation disturbed, but he still grabbed the thing and held it up to his groggy face. He frowned at seeing your name flash across the screen, until he remembered you were at that party. He answered.
“Hey,” he cleared his throat past some gravel. “Everything okay?”
“Dean,” you said through tears. You sniffled. “I’m really sorry about this, but can you…can you come and get me?”
He began sitting up, his chest tight at the distress in your voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just drank approximately twelve ounces of magic mushrooms, and the countdown started ten minutes ago,” you said.
Dean blinked. That wasn’t even on his top five list of things he feared you would say.
“What? You did fucking shrooms?”
“Not intentionally! Adam gave me this bullshit cocktail and didn’t tell me what it was, and now I’m freaking out because things are about to start happening any minute, and I’ve never done hard drugs, you know? I mean, I’ve smoked some pot, but who hasn’t? Dean, I don’t wanna live in a yellow submarine!”
“Okay, okay. Calm down,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. Jesus Christ.
He pulled back the covers, turned on the bedside lamp, and got out of bed to find his shoes.
“I’m comin’ to get you,” he said. “Where the hell is this place?”
“I texted you the address. Please, I mean, I don’t wanna rush you, but please. As soon as you can.”
“I know, sweetheart. Just relax and stay exactly where you are. I’m leaving right now.”
Dean paid extra for a cab instead of waiting on an Uber. He was out of the car a second after it stopped, paying the driver with his credit card and telling him to keep it running. Dean wanted the getaway car waiting right here when he came back.
He could hear the bass-pumping music from outside the brownstone. He shook his head and went inside. He texted to ask where you were, but all you could tell him was—
Hiding in a closet.
Then you stopped answering, both calls and texts.
His worry intensified as he started his search for you on the first floor. The collar of his black coat was popped high to partially hide his face, but with the main lights off and a few streaks of blue, green, and purple to light up the room, he doubted he’d get recognized. The downside was, he couldn’t find you anywhere.
He opened the door to a bathroom and saw Adam, one of his students from last semester, getting head from some girl Dean taught in Humanities III.
“Bro! What the f…Professor?”
Dean shut the door quick. A shudder of disgust and embarrassment ran through his body.
“Shit,” he muttered. “This place is a fucking maze.”
He could only hope Adam would be too plastered to remember him tomorrow.
But Dean’s luck finally struck. He slipped by some people and ran into Charlie near the kitchen. Some broody brunette was at her side. Charlie herself seemed worried, but also confused when she looked up at him.
“Uh, hey, dude. What're you doing here?"
“Charlie!” He grabbed her shoulder in relief. He was too worked up to care about how it looked and sounded when he asked where you were. Her face became even more puzzled, but then, her eyes widened in realization, a hand flying over her mouth.
“Oh. Oh, shit. Are you—you’re her secret boyfriend, aren’t you?”
Dean’s lips pressed together, but he confirmed her suspicions with a nod.
“Where is she, Charlie?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to find her for twenty minutes after I saw her text. Did she call you?”
“Yeah. She sounded real scared. Why’d you leave her alone in this fucking place?” Dean groused. He squeezed past another 20-something girl spending her last brain cell lighting up a bong in the (highly realistic) shape of a penis.
“It was more chill an hour ago. I didn’t think she’d get roofied with shrooms. I mean, Jesus,” she said. She opened the door to a bathroom and got an eyeful she didn’t expect. Two guys, one cup. “Sorry, dudes. Carry on.”
Dean grimaced. Fine. He’d scrub his eyes out with bleach later.
“I don’t think she’s on this floor,” Dee said. “Maybe she tried to find somewhere else to hide.”
It was plausible, but Dean was growing more frustrated with every minute that ticked by. What if you were completely out of it? What if you tried to leave on your own?
What if someone had tried to take advantage of you? Tried to hurt you?
There was real fear coiling in his gut. It fueled every one of his steps and firm gait as he pushed people out of his way. Charlie and Dee followed him up the stairs to the next floor, where they did similar check ins by knocking first on each door as they called out for you.
Dean knocked on a hallway closet. By now he was weary and pissed the fuck off. If they didn’t find you soon, he was going to call the cops and shut this goddamn party down. He wasn’t leaving until he knew you were safe.
“Hey, anybody in there?” he called out.
He heard a gasp. “Dean?”
His jaw clenched. He wrenched the door open and found you there huddled on the floor. You had your knees tucked to your chest. Your mascara was smudged around your eyes, but otherwise, you were beautiful. Sexy really. He’d never seen you in a black dress before—or at least, not that tight, let alone with those knee-high boots.
But he focused on helping you up off the floor, and into his arms. You clung to him so tight, burying your face in his neck. He could feel you shaking. He felt your tears slipping against his skin.
“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he said. His fingers tangled in your hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Charlie was close to tears too. She rubbed your back and spoke soothingly.
“It’s okay, babe. We’re going home. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you said, your voice muffled both by Dean’s shirt and your tears. He leaned back just to get a good look at you, caressing your cheek.
“You okay? How do you feel?” he asked. You were blinking weird, like you couldn’t quite focus on him. Your pupils were dilated as your eyes traveled around the dim room. He held you steady by your waist.
“Is it just me or is the hallway breathing?” you said. “Someone needs to give it a breath mint.”
Dean leaned in and gave you a cursory sniff.
“Nah, I’d say that’s you. You had a lot to drink, huh?”
He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and guided you down the hall. Charlie and Dee had to help spot you down the stairs. You kept losing your balance, convinced it was going to be like the cartoons where the stairs fell flat like a terrible slide, and quicksand would be there at the bottom. Or at least, that’s what the beige tile looked like to you.
“When I get my fucking hands on that Adam kid, I swear to God,” Dean growled. “If by some miracle he graduates, he’s gonna walk with a goddamn limp.”
“Maybe don’t threaten a student out loud right now,” Charlie said.
“What? He can’t hear me. But you can bet your ass, he fucking will.”
“Is that cab for us?” Dee said, pointing outside. She could see it through a window up ahead. Dean confirmed with a nod.
“We’re going home, right?” you asked.
“Yeah, sweetheart, we’re taking you home,” Dean said. He shared a look with Charlie. She nodded, a silent understanding struck.
He was going to make sure you were safe.
While Dee had to take the front passenger seat, you gasped and clung to Dean and Charlie in the backseat.
“Oh, shit! Is it an earthquake?!”
Dean rubbed your shoulder. “Nah, sweetheart, that’s just the car starting up.”
The cab driver glanced at you over his shoulder with a frown.
“Shit. Is she high?”
Dean glared at him. “She’s fine. Just fucking drive, all right.”
“Hey, man, you better make sure she don’t throw up on my seats.”
“Like I said, she’s fine.”
The car began to move, and you stared at the colors outside the window of the backseat as they seemed to fly by.
“Whoa, it’s like we’re going to the future,” you said.
“Yeah, we found a DeLorean! Cool right?” Charlie played along. Dean shot her a frown over your head. He didn’t think it was a good idea to fuel your tripped-up fucking ideas.
You turned away from the window. On second thought, the colors were making you sick.
“Oooh, don’t feel good.”
Dean’s eyes widened. You were turning paler by the second. He saw it all in your eyes too.
“Aw, shit. Charlie—”
“On it.”
She rubbed your back, grimacing while you threw up into the one girly purse she owned.
You gasped and started weeping all over again.
“You’re wiping my whole face off! Look, there it is!”
“Girl, it’s just your makeup,” Charlie said tiredly. It had been a bitch to get you into your pajamas too. She tried to dress you in a loose-fitting shirt and some sweatpants, but even with Dean holding you upright, you swore if you lifted even one leg off the ground, you’d fall into quicksand.
Girl’s seen too many cartoons, he thought.
Charlie gave up on pants and just tried to get the raccoon rings off your eyes.
Dee had left your apartment after ordering you guys some Chinese food as her way of helping out. She didn’t know you that well, so she didn’t feel comfortable seeing you like this. Dean, and even Charlie agreed this would be best handled between the two of them.
“Okay, let’s get you into bed,” Dean said. He helped you up from where Charlie had you sitting on the toilet lid in the bathroom. Then he led you by the small of your back to the living room.
You stopped at the edge where bathroom tile met the navy carpet. You yelped and almost fell backward in your haste. Dean jolted too.
“What? What’s wrong?” he asked in alarm.
“What do you mean? There’s no floor! It’s like the edge of an abyss.” You cautiously leaned over the “edge” of what you must’ve thought was a cliff.
Goddamn. She’s really tripping, Dean thought. He tried to smother his laugh, sharing an almost uncontainable look with Charlie.
“Only she would use the word ‘abyss’ while she’s high,” she remarked.
Again, Dean was tempted to laugh, but he managed to stifle it and focus on you.
“Okay, uh, but it’s not really a cliff, remember? The penitent man—woman, shall pass,” he told you. “It’s a leap of faith, like Indiana Jones. Just trust that I’ve got you, and I’m not gonna let you fall.”
Charlie looked over at Dean, and she smiled. His bullshitting seemed to get through to you. Or maybe it was just the thread of honesty underneath.
You slowly nodded. With his hands supportive and firm on your waist, you took a step into the abyss. You didn’t fall. A smile graced your lips as you glanced back at Dean over your shoulder. He gave you an encouraging nod.
“See? You got it.”
You took a second step, then another, like a baby horse learning how to walk on her hooves. Dean and Charlie took the same we landed on the moon steps behind you, until they got you into your room.
While Dean settled in with you on the queen-sized mattress, Charlie started up The Wizard of Oz on your TV.
“It’s our favorite comfort movie,” she explained.
She crawled into bed and hugged you from behind while you cuddled up to Dean’s chest, hooking your nails into the fabric of his shirt. He held you in return. Charlie found a small throw pillow to fit behind his head, making his neck more comfortable.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, more pointedly.
His lips twitched. “All right, time for some Oompa Loompas.”
“That’s Willy Wonka,” she corrected.
Thank God you were dialed into the movie the second Charlie turned it on. You were still shaky though. When Dorothy started singing her classic bar, “Over the Rainbow,” Dean thought it was all too fitting. He noticed your mouth trembling, the tears welling back up in your eyes.
You whispered to yourself, over and over, “Troubles melt like lemon drops, troubles melt like lemon drops…chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me…”
Dean let out a long breath through his nose. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head.
“It’s gonna be okay. You’re riding it out.”
Tears slid down your cheeks, but you kept humming and nodding yourself into a calmer state. Charlie’s hand soothing over your hair helped, just as much as the sound of Dean’s voice, and the grounding of his hand stroking your arm.
Safe.
Within an hour, you were in a more zen-like, vibey state. The “bad high” seemed to be over. Though Charlie told you to close your eyes a couple of times while she fast-forwarded through the flying monkeys. She thought that would just set you off again. Dean agreed—better to be safe than sorry.
Eventually though, you all got to a more peaceful end.
“And remember, my sentimental friend,” said Professor Marvel. “That a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”
Soon enough, the credits began to roll. You had finally fallen asleep tucked against Dean’s chest. He brushed a few strands of hair away from your cheek. It was around 5:00 a.m., officially Saturday, so he didn’t have to work. Would it be a big deal if he stayed over? He was reluctant to leave you.
“It’s probably best if you stay with her,” Charlie said, getting up from your bed. She smiled at him. “You’re her brave lion tonight.”
She set the remote on your nightstand and offered a peace sign, both to your sleeping form, and the man who had you in his arms.
“G’night, dudes.”
Dean’s lips tugged at a smile. “Goodnight.”
She turned off the light, allowing him to rest his head against yours, and finally close his eyes.
AN: Poor girl lol. 🥲 But hey, at least she had Dean and Charlie tag-teaming for her. ❤️🩹 And now Charlie knows. You'll just have to see what other consequences this night might bring...and how things are about to get even more complicated. 😆
Next Time:
He heard Benny’s voice before he came into view, talking to a young black woman. From behind, Dean noted her dark curly hair, her petite frame.
“There he is,” Benny pointed out.
When she turned, Dean felt the proverbial sucker punch they always talked about in the movies, the cliché that time stood still, his lungs taking a break.
“Cassie?” Her name fell from his mouth, the way it hadn’t in eight years. It was familiar, a bittersweet taste to match her smile.
“Hey, Dean,” she said.
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as we see reprisals of Y2K skinny culture (as part of fascism) people are making a lot of posts like ‘if you’re too young to remember, it was so toxic. people shamed [skinny woman] for being fat!’ and perhaps it’s useful to bring up someone like kate winslet circa 1999 being fatshamed to express how truly dire the situation was/is but i find it increasingly frustrating that the response seems by and large to be ‘wow that’s awful! she wasn’t even fat!’ [so clearly that was wrong!] and not the real point: ‘so imagine how horrible it was for actual fat people, who also don’t deserve the far worse treatment they got/get.’
tl:dr if your response to fatphobic bullying/harrassment is “but they’re not even fat,” you have not gotten to the core issue. you haven’t even considered the core issue.
i’m not capable of lezzing out myself (diagnosis: man) but i think it should be an olympic sport. and you should get 3-4 days off a week from work to lez out. and you should get paid for it. big fan
Dean x Reader
Summary: You and Dean can barely stand each other on a good day. Now you have to play the perfect newlyweds for a hunt, all while hiding from him the one secret you can never share. What could possibly go wrong?
Genre: Angst, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, fake marriage
Theme Song: Wicked Game by Chris Isaak
When the living room clock struck noon, you took a cursory glance outside, sure he’d be there or reach you soon enough.
No one was in the yard, though - no one but Bobby, tinkering with something near the shed.
Eyeing the small silver suitcase sitting next to the door, you wondered if something had happened.
Sam was never late. Had something stalled him?
After a brief consideration, you pulled out your phone to call him. That’s when the familiar rumble of the Impala caught your attention.
Finally.
You slipped on the high heels waiting by the couch and stood, pacing a few steps to get used to them. It wasn’t your usual gear - no flannel, no boots, no backup knife tucked in your belt - but it looked right for the job.
For the next few days, you were going to be a brand-new wife on vacation with your fake husband, Sam.
Your destination? A cozy bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere.
Recently, it had gathered quite a bit of attention, promising and supposedly delivering to troubled couples the solution to all their problems.
At first, it hadn’t looked like much. It certainly didn’t look like a case. You’d figured the so-called “miracle” came from the ambience, the fireplace glow, maybe a bottle of wine, and a night without fighting.
But then the guests started dying.
And nothing about it looked natural anymore.
You straightened the skirt sitting high on your waist and crossed Bobby’s study to grab your jacket and purse. That’s when Sam walked inside.
“Hey, I’m ready,” you said with a glance. “Just a sec.”
Sam didn’t reply. He cleared his throat, a hesitant sound that made your stomach twist.
“Is something wrong?”
“No-no,” he said quickly. “Just... there’s a minor change of plans.”
You raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, waiting.
“I’m sorry, I can’t go with you,” he admitted. “I checked the place out yesterday and they, uh… caught me. I had to flash my FBI badge, so I can’t go back today.”
“Oh.” You nodded slowly, already calculating your next move. “Okay, so what now? I guess I can go by myself and-”
“Like hell you are,” Bobby cut in, stomping into the room with Dean right behind him.
“Bobby-”
“Don’t start,” he warned you, pointing a finger. It wasn’t unexpected, not from your father figure, but it still made you roll your eyes.
“Okay, then what?” you countered. “We can’t just sit on it while people keep dying, so what’s the plan?”
Sam cleared his throat again, looking even more uncomfortable. “Bobby’s too old to play your husband. But... maybe-”
“Garth!” you interrupted, grabbing your phone before Sam could finish, not even willing to consider the alternative, the one standing behind Bobby, rolling his green eyes. Always the dramatic.
“That’s not a good idea,” Sam said, already in full persuasion mode. “You and I both know, Dean’s a better hunter an-”
“I’m not going with your brother,” you cut him off. “That’s out of the question.”
“Look-”
“No, you look,” you shot back. “This isn’t a normal hunt, and he and I –" you waved a finger between you and Dean “-we can’t work together. Playing husband and wife is not a good idea. We wouldn’t be convincing.”
Dean scoffed, earning your glare. Then, predictably, he opened his mouth. “And with Garth, you would be convincing?”
You sighed long and loud. “I thought you’d agree with me for once, but that was really stupid of me to think. Never mind.”
“It’s not like I’m dying to play your husband, sweetheart,” Dean said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But this is the job, so you’ll suck it up and do it.”
“Okay, first of all, I told you to quit it with the pet names. Second, you don’t get to tell me what to do. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“He doesn’t, but I do,” Bobby interrupted, crossing his arms. “You can work with Dean on this, or you can stay here.”
Oh, man. Why did he have to go there? Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. You hated the idea of heading out with Dean, being alone with him for days, pretending to be his wife on top of everything else. But as much as you tried to come up with another plan, your mind came up empty.
Ultimately, you sighed in resignation, eyes shut tight, knowing this choice would only bring regret. “All right. But he can forget about sleeping in the same bed. That’s not gonna happen.”
“Yeah? If you like the floor so much, knock yourself out,” Dean muttered like a petulant child. When Bobby’s glare landed on him, though, he swallowed hard and looked away. “I’ll shut up.”
“Please do,” you said. Then you grabbed your purse and gave Bobby a quick hug before heading outside. When you reached for the suitcase, though, Dean took it from your hands, eyes cast low. He just mumbled, “I’ll take care of it,” and walked out the door.
The drive dragged on long enough that even the silence started to sound good. Anything was better than his questions or his attempts to fix whatever was wrong between you.
Dean, on the other hand, didn’t seem to enjoy the quiet as much. He shifted often, restless in the seat beside you, glancing your way now and then.
“Need a stop? Food? Bathroom?”
You shook your head.
He nodded once, jaw tight.
“I know you don’t like this,” he said finally. “I get it. But can’t we just... be a team, just this once?”
“I’m trying,” you replied, sinking further into the seat. “Trust me.”
No other words followed. Dean turned up the radio loud enough to drown the silence and kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
You spent the first half of the drive regretting your decision, not out of some childish impulse, but because fear had set in, fear at how dangerous this could be for you, for him. But there was no backing out now, so you were gonna suck it up and do it. You’d be careful and, above all, you’d keep him away. At all costs.
With that decision made, you let your shoulders sink into the leather seat and turned your gaze to the trees lining the road. They stood tall and silent, untouched by you, your thoughts, your fears.
It was a lonely world, the one inside you. No one knew. No one could. And maybe that was the worst part.
You told yourself it was safer this way, the small word on your wrist a constant reminder of what could never be, whether you liked it or not.
“We’re here,” Dean announced, pulling you out of your thoughts as the B&B came into view at the end of the narrow road. The sky was already yellowing as the sun dipped lower, making everything look softer, the scattered leaves glowing with color, the small lights flickering to life around the building’s windows.
He eased the car to a stop and leaned over you to rummage through the glove compartment. Instinctively, you pressed closer to the door, putting space between you. He glanced at you, but didn’t say a word.
He pulled out a small box, flipped it open, and revealed two simple rings. Without a word, he handed one to you and slipped the other onto his ring finger. You hesitated, fidgeting with yours, then finally slid it on. The weight of it ached. Overcome by a sudden sadness, you pushed open the door and stepped outside, not giving your hand another look.
Dean grabbed your suitcase and his duffel, waiting for you at the base of the stairs. You walked toward him slowly, trying to steady yourself. The B&B wasn’t imposing in any way; its modest front was almost comforting, yet it still sat like a rock on your chest, and you couldn’t say why.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked beside you. He followed your gaze to the building, scanning it out of reflex. Whatever he saw must have looked harmless, because his eyes came back to you. “You okay?”
You drew a slow breath in, then out, and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
With the luggage balanced in one hand, he offered the other to you. “Shall we?”
You took it and walked inside, pretending not to notice, even for a second, how good it felt in yours.
---
Dean held your hand through the check-in and up the stairs, so delicately that it felt like a contrast to the roughness of his hands, the fingers used for fixing, for hunting, as if he were trying to invade as little of your space as possible. When you reached the top of the stairs and no one else was around, you finally shook free of his hold, as if he had been burning you the entire time.
Dean didn’t comment, although you noticed him flexing his own hand. Perhaps he had been burned, too.
When you stepped into the room, the façade finally fell away, and you could breathe again. You stepped back from his side and moved to the other end of the room. You watched him set down the luggage and shrug off his jacket, and then you both got to work. Or at least, you tried.
At first, it didn’t register, not immediately, the strange, gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach. It grew, ebbing and flowing in waves, expanding out of your ribcage, glowing, searching. Searching for something. For someone. For him.
Something was wrong.
Raising your eyes to find him, you realized he was no better off, if his posture and the expression in his eyes were any indication.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, looking back at you, then swallowed, forcing himself steady. Then, mostly to himself, he muttered, “What the hell?” He scanned the room, and you mirrored him, trying to locate the source of this invisible weight.
By now, it was a race. Whatever this thing was, it wanted you near him. And judging by the intrusive thoughts clouding your mind, it didn’t just want you to hold his hand. No, it was something visceral, dark, demanding. It wanted you near, around, with him in every way possible. To consume him and be consumed.
“There’s something in the room. There has to be,” you said, forcing your gaze anywhere but his.
You watched him scan the room, around the door, his side of the bed, the pillows he’d tossed aside. He crouched to look under the bed, and you mirrored him on your side, checking the carpet, the armchair, the fireplace, racing against the invisible force that was growing, ever stronger.
“You find anything?” you called, but he didn’t answer. That’s when you saw him standing, head pressed against the wall, facing away from you, his hand clenched in a fist until his knuckles were white.
“You need to get out,” he groaned. “Now!”
“What?”
“Step out of the damn room!”
You didn’t want to leave. Well, the force didn’t want you to. It pulled you closer, urged you to close the space between you, to meet his lips with yours for the first time, to kiss him like the world would end if you didn’t, to hold him, to feel him respond in kind.
“Now!” he barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the pull.
That snapped you back. You rushed to the door, yanking it open. The gnawing called you back, stronger than ever, but you forced yourself out and slammed the door behind you.
Then, collapsing to the floor, you finally breathed.
It took him about five minutes to open the door and let you back inside.
“Damn fucking witches,” he muttered as you stepped in.
“The hell was that?”
“Hex bag,” he said tiredly, ruffling his hair like he’d just wrestled with the devil himself. “Some kinda… sex-crazed spell. You good?”
You nodded, hesitating as you stepped fully back into the room.
“That’s one way to fix a broken couple, I’ll tell you,” he added. Then he glanced at you as you scanned the room. “Don’t worry. I checked every damn nook and cranny. I think we’re good.”
You still crossed to the farthest corner in the room and sank into the armchair, just to be sure. Luckily, the feeling didn’t return. He had probably turned the whole room upside down to make sure.
Pulling your legs close, you watched Dean move back the nightstand and its lamp and rearrange the pillows on the bed with a careful precision that somehow made your chest tighten. This case was going to be the end of you; you could already feel it. As if you didn’t have enough demons to fight on a regular basis. Coming here with him had been a terrible idea, and the case had barely even started. How were you supposed to survive this… with him?
You hugged your legs tighter and let out a slow breath.
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