A multi-ship, gen-friendly Supernatural bang dedicated to all things rock and metal music. Modded by Danni with help from Sann and hexentaenzerin, and advice from tea-or-die. DM/Ask any questions!
Your work must feature an alternate universe (AU). Yes, canon divergence counts as an AU for the purposes of this fest.
It's simply too hot to be more restrictive than that.
Fill as many or as few prompts as you like, in whichever order you like.
Interpret the prompts how you like.
Ship who you like, or ship no one at all.
Cross over with another fandom if you like, as long as at least one SPN character is the main focus of your work.
Make it as spicy as you like. (Just, y'know, keep in mind Tumblr's rules, and tag accordingly if you post on AO3.)
Post where you like, any time between now and the end of August. (But let's be real, if you tag me in September, I'm still gonna reblog you. Like I said, rules are for cooler weather!)
If you post here on Tumblr, don't forget to tag me @spnheadbang so I can reblog you! If you post on AO3, here is the collection.
Message or send an ask if you have questions, but otherwise, have fun and stay cool out there!
Holy crap, y'all. Watching the works inspired by Hot AUgust Nights prompts roll in has been so much fun. This is one creative fandom and I love it!
I'm not closing the AO3 collection yet, so if you're still working on a piece, do not despair! You still have time. (It's still hot as balls here in the desert, so you're not too late in my book.) Buuut, if you wanted to get started on checking out all that's been added so far...
Finding Castiel in a human form and dead for a few seconds strikes Dean's protective side. He chooses to keep him safe in the bunker and to take care of him. By spending time together, Dean witnesses many of Castiel's endearing firsts as a human, until one makes him suddenly see Cas as more than an angel, and certainly more than a friend...
A/N: Hey, lovelies! So...my brain decided to drop another plot bunny on me, and well...Omega!Dean. I'm diving headfirst into the A/B/O 'verse for the first time, so please be kind while I figure things out (and it is a lot to figure out!). Hope you enjoy my new WIP, "Call Out My Name"!
So, I was scrolling through prompts posted by @spnheadbang and my brain latched onto "going into heat." I'm not sure what that says about me 🤷♀️ . Thanks, I guess? 😂
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Original Character (Alex Donovan); Alpha!reader x Omega!Dean
Summary: Sent by Garth to meet a mysterious contact named Alex, a skeptical Dean Winchester walks into a roadside diner expecting a seasoned hunter. Instead, he finds himself face-to-face with a powerful Alpha. The simple hunt quickly spirals into a desperate rescue mission, forcing Dean into a reluctant alliance with Alex. The target: a friend, Taylor, kidnapped by none other than an obsessive, tech-billionaire ex-fiancé.
Taglist: @jc-winchester @ladysparkles78 @kazsrm67 @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @deans-baby-momma @hobby27 @kickingitwithkirk @lyarr24 @krazykelly @chriszgirl92 @barewithme02 @kjah97 @roseblue373 @bumbleb10 @nancymcl @suckitands33 @x-nine-x-epic @emmily33 @denimoveralls @alwaysthebiggerbear (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list. Thank you.)
The bell over the door of the Beaver Dam Diner chimed a weak, tinny sound as Dean Winchester pushed his way out of the Oregon night. He gave the room a practiced sweep, his hunter's instincts cataloging exits and threats.
His eyes slid past a long-haul trucker nursing black coffee like it was penance at the counter, a bleary grad-student type whose eyes were swimming over a half-lit laptop screen at a small table away from possible interruptions, and a cardigan-wearing tourist cheerfully humming along with the jukebox.
His gaze finally passed over the petite woman in the corner booth without a second thought, not his guy, and he settled onto a stool at the counter. "Coffee, black, and a slice of apple pie," he ordered.
Fifteen minutes later, the coffee was sour in his gut along with annoyed. He pulled out his phone, muttering as Garth finally picked up.
“Garth, I got three dudes here, none of 'em our guy.” He said, scanning the three men in the diner again. None of them fit the bill. "So unless your guy is five-foot-nothing and looks like a stiff breeze could knock her over, your contact is a no-show." His eyes on the woman in the corner booth then looked away.
Before Garth could even reply, a new voice cut across the diner. Calm. Low. Steel under velvet.
“And here I was thinking Garth would send something taller.” A pause. A faint smirk. “Can’t get everything we want, hunter.”
“Black Widow,” the thought hit fast, uninvited. He froze, phone still pressed to his ear. He snapped his head back toward the booth. The woman was looking straight at him, amber-brown eyes catching the weak neon light. His ears betrayed him, flushing red even as the rest of him tried to play it cool.
Through the phone's receiver, Garth’s voice chirped, smug as hell. “Ooooh, burn.”
Dean hung up before he could hear the laugh. He shoved the phone into his pocket, grabbed his pie, and made the reluctant walk to her booth. Sliding into the vinyl seat across from her, he tried for easy charm and landed somewhere closer to sheepish.
“Well, touché,” he said, cutting into the pie. “Guess I gotta work on my inside voice.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Her tone was cool, but when her scent hit him, he almost choked. Redwood. Ozone. That smell in the air right before a big thunderstorm. Sharp. Clean. Power. Inherent power, undeniable. It wasn't aggressive, but it was absolute.
Something deep in him buckled. The parts he kept drugged and chained shuddered awake. The Omega in him staggered back. Alpha. A real one.
“Alex,” she said simply.
“Dean,” he returned, covering his shock with a nod.
Whatever amusement she’d had was gone now, replaced by something heavy, worn deep. “This isn’t a hunt,” she said. “It’s a rescue. If you don’t want wrapped up in this, leave.”
"Okay, guess we're skipping the part where we pretend to like each other." He welcomed the distraction of the folder she slid across the table. Inside: a photo of a smiling young woman with bubblegum-pink hair, and behind it, schematics of a fortified compound.
“Her name’s Taylor,” she said tightly. “She’s a friend. Taken three days ago.”
“By who?”
Her gaze dropped to the battered tabletop. Weariness flickered across her face before snapping back into hard control. “Everett Bloom.”
The name landed like a gut punch. He let out a low whistle. “Bloom Industries? The tech psycho? What does he want with your friend?”
“He doesn’t want her.” Her jaw clenched. “He wants me.” She lifted her eyes, and for the first time Dean saw anger sharpened by shame. “Everett Bloom was the man my father chose. The fiancé I walked away from.”
He laughed, but it was all edge and no humor. "Of course. Of course your fiancé had to be Everett freakin’ Bloom. Why wouldn't he be?"
Something about his scent, underneath the stress and the suppressants, was steady. Grounding. It pulled the truth from her before her human side could stop it. Her jaw tightened, her voice cutting clean and cold, each word precise as a blade. “His family holds the Blue Moon Pack. Old blood, grasping at relevance. My father thought marrying me into Bloom’s money and machines was evolution. I saw a prison cell.”
“So you bailed,” Dean finished, the words tasting familiar.
“A week before the ceremony,” she confirmed. Her hands curled into fists on the table. “I vanished. Built a new life. Started Aegis. Met Taylor. Thought I was free.” Her next words cracked under the weight of anger. “But he never let go. He’s obsessed. He sees me as a prize that was stolen from him. He’s hurting my new life to drag me back into the old one. He took her to get to me.”
The vinyl squeaked as he leaned back, letting out a low breath. This was a whole new level of messy. This was personal, ugly, and had the kind of price tag that got people killed.
“I can’t go in alone,” She continued, the iron control in her voice cracking just enough to show the desperation beneath. “His compound’s a fortress of tech, mercs, the works. I need someone who can fight men, not monsters. And Garth highly recommended you.”
He studied her, recognizing the cornered look he’d seen in his own mirror. The weight of family. The red thread of destiny. He let out a heavy sigh, the decision already sitting in his gut like a lead round.
“You realize he's not gonna stop until he puts you in the ground.”
“Not if I kill him first.” Flat. Cold. Final.
That, Dean understood perfectly. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fine,” he muttered, stabbing at the pie again. “But you’re buying dessert.” He jabbed his fork in her direction. “And I’m driving.”
Your work must feature an alternate universe (AU). Yes, canon divergence counts as an AU for the purposes of this fest.
It's simply too hot to be more restrictive than that.
Fill as many or as few prompts as you like, in whichever order you like.
Interpret the prompts how you like.
Ship who you like, or ship no one at all.
Cross over with another fandom if you like, as long as at least one SPN character is the main focus of your work.
Make it as spicy as you like. (Just, y'know, keep in mind Tumblr's rules, and tag accordingly if you post on AO3.)
Post where you like, any time between now and the end of August. (But let's be real, if you tag me in September, I'm still gonna reblog you. Like I said, rules are for cooler weather!)
If you post here on Tumblr, don't forget to tag me @spnheadbang so I can reblog you! If you post on AO3, here is the collection.
Message or send an ask if you have questions, but otherwise, have fun and stay cool out there!
Content Warning: A/B/O dynamics, heat fic / omega in heat, loss of control, panic attacks, vulnerability, dub-con undertones, cursing/swearing
Summary: One crappy motel room. One Alpha. One Omega running out of time.
Dean’s walls don’t just crack...they collapse when his suppressants fail, dragging him into a violent, unplanned heat. Instinct takes over, raw and merciless, and the secret he’s buried all his life is suddenly impossible to hide. And worse, it happens in front of an alpha.
Alex is left standing at the edge of a choice: answer her instinct screaming Mine. Protect. Claim., or fight it to keep him safe.
Either way, the mission’s blown wide open. The hunter and the Alpha aren’t just partners anymore. They’re exposed. And that changes everything.
Taglist: @jc-winchester @ladysparkles78 @kazsrm67 @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes @deans-baby-momma @hobby27 @kickingitwithkirk @lyarr24 @krazykelly @chriszgirl92 @barewithme02 @kjah97 @roseblue373 @bumbleb10 @nancymcl @suckitands33 @x-nine-x-epic @emmily33 @denimoveralls @alwaysthebiggerbear @spnheadbang (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list. Thank you.)
The Impala’s engine ticked softly in the near-empty lot of the Sleep-4-Less Motel, a name that felt more like a warning than a welcome. Dean killed the ignition and rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours settling in his body.
“Okay. I’ll grab two rooms so we don’t have to share the bedbugs,” he said, reaching for the door handle.
“One,” Alex corrected him, her voice quiet but absolute.
He froze. “Nope. Not happening. Two rooms. I need my own space.” He needed walls. Thick ones. And a lock he could trust. The ache in his spine pulsing sharp, insistent.
“We’re a two-person team on a hostile mission,” she said flatly. “We stay in the same space. Easy to defend that way. One room.”
He tried for a smirk, brittle around the edges. “I’m not gonna sleep with you three feet away.” But the words tasted hollow. Heat prickled at his neck, that low ache spreading. He needed to be alone. The need was clawing.
Alex’s gaze pinned him, unreadable. She didn’t speak, just watched his hand shake, the beads of sweat on his forehead, the restless way he carried his shoulders. She didn’t miss a thing.
He looked away first. “Fine. One room. But I get the bed by the door.” He hadn’t liked it, but he couldn’t argue with her logic. Still, once inside, the room felt less like safety and more like a cage.
The air reeked of bleach and stale smoke. Alex had claimed the small table, laptop open, blueprints filling the screen. Her fingers were flying across the keyboard, eyes fixed on the screen, pulling up blueprints and security protocols that shouldn’t exist outside of a government server.
Dean couldn’t sit. He paced, restless energy running under his skin. He told himself it was the case, the psycho billionaire, the impossible compound, the stakes. But it was more than that. The ache was spreading, heat gathering in his blood, the clamminess was getting worse. It never hit this hard, and never this early. Something was wrong.
“Bloom’s property is a smart fortress,” Alex said, not looking up. “Facial recognition, pressure plates, thermal grid. No weaknesses.”
“So, no kicking in the front door. Got it,” Dean grunted, rolling his shoulders again. “What about the good old-fashioned power grid? Cut the lights, we go in dark.”
“He’s got three redundant power sources. Off-grid. Guards with thermal imaging. And some aren’t even human. They can read shadows like daylight.” She zoomed in on a schematic. “There’s a sewer main that runs under the west wall. Old, probably not on the new security plans. That’s our way in.”
“Great. A crap-chute express.” He stopped pacing and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, a wave of dizziness and nausea slammed through him. He braced his hands on his knees, taking a slow, deep breath. The air was covered with redwood and ozone, the storm-sharp scent rolling off the small Alpha across the room. It was making it hard to think.
Alex finally looked up. She’d been tracking it for twenty minutes: the shift in atmosphere, the sweet and sour scent bleeding through his usual leather-and-gunpowder. Like apples left too long in the oven baking with too much cinnamon. It was a sign that the suppressants were failing.
“You okay over there, Winchester?” she asked, her tone neutral. “You look a little green.”
“Peachy,” he lied, forcing himself to stand. He rifled through his duffel bag for painkillers, his movements jerky, defensive. He felt the urge to check the salt line, to barricade the door with furniture. Instinct, irrational and clawing. He shoved it down.
He turned back to his bed and, without thinking, grabbed his leather jacket and the lumpy pillow, piling them together. He started to arrange them before he caught himself, shame flared hot. He shoved them away, like the touch burned. This isn't right. My clock's never been off. Never. What the hell is happening?
“Dean.” Her voice was quiet but cut through his confusion like a knife. She was on her feet now, arms crossed, gaze steady. “This isn’t going to work,” she said.
“What? The brilliant sewer plan?” His voice cracked sharp.
“No. You.” She stepped closer. “The mission. It’s blown. Your suppressants are failing.”
The blood drained from Dean’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled, a cornered animal’s response.
“Stop.” The word wasn’t loud, but it hit like a hammer. Her alpha authority threaded through it. Her scent sharpened, sliding over his frayed nerves. “Lying wastes energy you don’t have.”
Dean’s Omega flinched first, a shiver rippling through him, knees wanting to bend, his chest tightening as though the only answer was obey. For a heartbeat, his body leaned toward it, toward her. But he backed away, his hunter instinct snarling back. His jaw locked, hand reaching for the bathroom door handle.
He wrenched himself away from her scent, her voice, her authority, every nerve screaming in protest. He staggered toward the one thing that meant control: a closed door, a lock. His plan was simple and desperate. “Stay away from me.”
But before he could make it, his body betrayed him. Heat exploded, violent and absolute, his blood on fire. His legs buckled. He collapsed against the wall with a strangled gasp, sliding to the floor. The dam didn’t just break; it shattered.
And then his scent hit the room. It was heavy, suffocating, impossible to ignore. No longer a leak, but a flood. No longer masked by pills, no longer controllable. He was not a hunter, not now. Right now, he bears the raw, intoxicating mark of an unbound Omega in heat.
For Alex, the scent wasn’t just smell. It hit like a blow, a biological command slamming into her senses. Her Alpha instincts surged, feral and undeniable, roaring three words into her blood: Mine. Protect. Claim.
The urge to go to him, to cover him with her own body, to soothe the distress in his scent nearly tore her apart. Her Alpha roaring for it, the word mine etched viscerally on her bones. Instinct clawed at the inside of her skin, demanding she give in, demanding she claim what was rightfully hers.
But Alex was not just her instincts. She was will, carved from years of refusing what was demanded of her.
Teeth grinding, fists curling tight, she shut her eyes and forced a long, centering breath. One heartbeat. Two. Wrestling her primal side into submission. When she opened them, her gaze was clear-eyed, stripped of anything but resolve. He is not a potential mate. He is a partner compromised in the middle of a mission. A liability that needed containment.
She moved with cold purpose. First, to the door with the deadbolt thrown with a sharp thunk. The heavy particle-board dresser scraped loud across the floor as she shoved it into place. Perimeter secure.
Then she crossed to Dean. He was curled against the wall, shivering even as heat poured off him in waves. “No, no, please.” His words came broken, half-coherent lost to fever and instinct.
He flinched when she knelt, her hands carefully kept away. His shoulders hunched inward, his head dipped low, a defensive curl he probably didn’t even realize he’d made. One hand twitched toward his chest as if to shield it, but the movement faltered, trembling in midair. Every line of him screamed submission even as his hunter’s pride forced the word through cracked lips.
“Don’t," he pleaded, raw and broken.
It would be so easy for her. One touch, one breath against his throat, and the bond would take root. He would be hers. Safe. Untouchable.
“No!” She resisted out loud. “Not this. Not here.” No matter how vulnerable he was. Her instinct snarled at the refusal, but she held the line.
She forced herself still, voice iron-flat, stripped of everything but control. “I’m not going to hurt you, Dean.” Nothing comforting about it but more commanding. She snatched the spare blanket from her bed and laid it over him. Then, with ruthless precision, she stripped off her Henley, down to her tank top, and tossed the shirt onto the blanket.
“Right now, you’re a flare in the dark,” she said flatly. “Mine will help mask your scent. And ground you.”
His hand trembled as he reached out, fingers closing around her Henley. The fabric was soft, but that wasn’t what hit him. Her scent poured off it, redwoods, threaded with something deeper he couldn’t name.
It slammed into his senses like cold water. The chaos in his blood bucked against it, but her scent pulled harder. His breath caught, body stuttering as his instinct latched on. His Omega quieted. Not exactly gone, not exactly soothed, but leashed. Tethered to her.
He clutched the shirt to his chest like something precious, dragging it closer, eyes squeezing shut. The shivering slowed, his ragged gasps smoothing little by little. Still lost, still fevered, but no longer drowning alone.
Alex rose and crossed to the far side of the room, putting as much distance between them as possible, both for his peace of mind and for her own control. She braced herself against the wall, a predator watching over its den. The mission was compromised. They weren’t just partners anymore. They were a liability to each other and a weapon…if they survived it.
When your buddy delivers such banger prompts, one must oblige with a cheeky one-shot!
The following fic was written for the @spnheadbang Hot AUgust Nights 'Barbecue' prompt.
Title: Sizzle and Scheme
Rating: Mature
Words: 4,266
Summary: Dean and Cas are best friends and roommates. They’re also in love with each other, and the only people who can’t see that are themselves. Their friends and family can’t take it anymore, conspiring to get them to admit their feelings at Charlie’s annual summer barbecue.
Your work must feature an alternate universe (AU). Yes, canon divergence counts as an AU for the purposes of this fest.
It's simply too hot to be more restrictive than that.
Fill as many or as few prompts as you like, in whichever order you like.
Interpret the prompts how you like.
Ship who you like, or ship no one at all.
Cross over with another fandom if you like, as long as at least one SPN character is the main focus of your work.
Make it as spicy as you like. (Just, y'know, keep in mind Tumblr's rules, and tag accordingly if you post on AO3.)
Post where you like, any time between now and the end of August. (But let's be real, if you tag me in September, I'm still gonna reblog you. Like I said, rules are for cooler weather!)
If you post here on Tumblr, don't forget to tag me @spnheadbang so I can reblog you! If you post on AO3, here is the collection.
Message or send an ask if you have questions, but otherwise, have fun and stay cool out there!
Another quick one for the Hot AUgust Nights Fest, this is 5. Lifeguard.
Instructor Cas is having a hard time with his latest group: Charlie and Gilda who are just making 🩷eyes at each other instead of anything useful, Ash who is either asleep or stoned, annoying Sam always asking more questions taking endless notes but mostly with sassy Dean, making fun of this important and solemn profession.
Braty, beautiful Dean because of whom the whole class is wearing the official uniform even in the scorching heat as Castiel cannot be held responsible for his actions if Dean shows up only in swim trunks.
Distracting, disrespectful Dean who still turns out to be the only member able to actually save someone’s life when they run into a real emergency.
Another submisson for the @spnheadbang Hot AUgust Nights Fest.
7. Vacation
Oh, I don’t even know what AU. Every Cas and Dean deserve cool waves, warm sand, golden sunset, sex on the beach….I mean…. a Sex On The Beach cocktail. That’s what I meant. Yup.
Just a quick sketch for today’s Hot AUgust Nights Fest. Heatwave was the prompt and funnily enough it’s quite a cool and cloudy day for me.
Did the shorts make it hotter? Maybe?
Popular weatherman Dean Winchester is known for his unusual presentations of next week’s forecast but his fanbase multiplies as he appears in very very short shorts and a hose making everything in the studio-including himself-really wet.
Cameraman Castiel Novak can’t stop watching the viral video again and again feeling hot and bothered and a bit….jelous?
