A breakdown of the five specific places Dean Di Laurentis loves to claim you with his palms.
word count : 1.5k — explicit — SMUT minors DNI — spanking / slapping kink — impact play — established relationship — consent is sexy — enjoy and please tell me what you think !
There was one thing Dean Di Laurentis particularly loved in the bedroom—one vice he was completely, unapologetically obsessed with—and that was giving you the sharp, intoxicating sting of a slap.
He loved the friction of it. He loved the way the sudden, biting heat of his palm against your skin shattered whatever wall you had up, pulling you violently and beautifully into the present moment with him. Dean was a man who commanded space, whether he was dominating the ice or wearing that smug, untouchable grin around campus. But behind closed doors, that confidence turned into something primal, intensely vocal, and deeply tactile.
Before a single hand ever came down, there was always that quiet, heavy conversation—the checked boxes, the established safewords, and the dark, intense look in his eyes when he asked, "You ready for me?" and only when he heard your breathless, enthusiastic "yes" did he let that cocky hockey-star exterior melt away into something demanding. He didn't just want to touch you—he wanted to mark you with your full permission, to hear the breathy, undone sounds you only made for him, and to feel the physical evidence of his possession warming up against his hands.
He had five very distinct, highly choreographed ways of taking exactly what he wanted.
One — your ass
This was his go-to when he wanted to assert total control, usually happening late at night when the rest of the off-campus house was dead quiet. He’d have you on your hands and knees in the center of the mattress, completely exposed to him.
Dean never rushed this. He would stand over you for a moment, his eyes tracking the line of your spine, his fingers tracing the curve of your hips just to watch you shiver. Then, his large, heavy hand would anchor firmly on your waist, keeping you perfectly in place so you couldn't shrink away. When the first slap landed, it was a deep, heavy, echoing thud that seemed to vibrate through the entire room.
The shock of it would make you arch your back, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your skin instantly blooming into a deep, burning crimson. Dean loved the rhythm of it. He would use the slaps to drive the pace of the sex—worshiping the way the heavy impact made your ass cheeks roll and jiggle violently with every hit. He’d bring his palm down hard just to watch your flesh shake against his thighs, the visual driving him absolutely crazy as you trembled beneath him. By the time he was done, his wide handprints would be burned into your skin, a visual map of exactly where he’d taken you.
Two — your tits
This was a purely visual, frantic kind of worship that usually happened when the tension between you two had been building all day. He would be sitting up against the headboard, and you would be straddling his lap, taking him in slowly while your hands rested on his broad shoulders for balance.
Even though you technically had control over the depth and the speed, Dean’s hands were never lazy. He would watch you intently, his gaze heavy and darkened as he tracked the flush rising from your throat down to your chest. Suddenly, his right hand would leave your waist, his palm flattening out as he brought it down in a swinging slap right across the plush fullness of your breast.
The sound was entirely different from the ones before—it was wet, heavy, and loud. The sudden, biting sting would make your hips stutter, your spine locking up as you cried out, your chest immediately blooming a vibrant, angry pink under his touch. Dean would smirk, a low, pleased rumble vibrating in his chest as his other hand came around to strike the opposite side. He would alternate his palms, striking the soft skin of your breasts in perfect time with the frantic rhythm of your hips, driving you into a breathless, desperate haze where the burning heat on your chest mixed with the friction between your thighs until you were completely unhinged. Only when he was satisfied with the deep blush did his harsh strokes melt into a heavy, thorough massage, his large hands kneading the flesh to soften the sting while his lips followed behind, soothing the fire with hot, bruising kisses.
Three — your pretty face
This was reserved for the most intense, emotionally raw moments in the bedroom—the times when he needed you completely bare, with nowhere left to hide. It usually happened while you were kneeling between his thighs giving him head, or right in the middle of sex when the pleasure became so overwhelming you tried to close your eyes and turn away.
Dean wouldn’t let you. His large hand would slide up your throat, his fingers framing your jaw and tilting your head up, forcing absolute, unbroken eye contact. He would look down at you, his expression dead serious, completely stripped of his usual cocky playfulness.
Then, his palm would snap against your cheek. It wasn't a heavy, brutal blow meant to cause real harm, but a sharp, delicious slap that sounded like a quick clap echoing in the quiet room. The sudden shock of it would make your ears ring a little, a breathy sob catching in your throat. Before you could even blink, Dean’s thumb would gently, almost clinically, swipe over the hot, flushed mark on your skin. "Look at me," he’d rasp, his voice thick and demanding. "Keep those pretty eyes right on mine." Another slap would follow on the opposite cheek, shattering any lingering thoughts, leaving you utterly helpless and entirely focused on the weight of his gaze.
Four — your pussy
This was an exercise in pure vulnerability and exhibitionism. Dean would drag you off the bed entirely, pulling your shaking body down onto the hardwood floor. He would sit with his back pressed firmly against the wooden frame of the bed, pulling you back between his thighs so your spine was flush against his broad chest. Your legs would be forced wide apart, spreading you completely open in front of the full-length mirror leaning against the opposite wall.
"Look," Dean would whisper against your ear, his hot, uneven breath making you shiver as his heavy arm wrapped securely around your waist, trapping you against him. "Watch what I'm about to do to you."
You would be forced to watch in the reflection as his free hand slid down between your thighs, his fingers damp as they parted your sensitive skin. He would draw his hand back, and instead of one heavy strike, his fingers began to rain down on you in a flurry of small slaps—very, very fast, small taps that peppered your swollen, wet pussy. The sound was a rapid, obscene, pattering rhythm that echoed off the glass. The sheer speed of the tiny taps sent a jolt of pure, blinding electricity straight up your spine. You would try to twist away from the ticklish, hyper-sensitive ache of it, but his grip around your middle would only tighten, holding you perfectly still as his fingers continued their relentless, rapid pacing, reducing you to sobbing his name into the empty room.
Five — his personal favorite (both at the same time)
This was the absolute finale—the position Dean turned to when he wanted to completely break you down and rebuild you. He would lean comfortably against the headboard and drape your body completely over his lap. You would be lying flat on your belly across his thick thighs, your head hanging uselessly off one side, your legs slightly parted over the other.
Dean loved the absolute helplessness of this position. You couldn't see him, you couldn't move away, and you were completely at the mercy of his hands.
He would start slowly, building a relentless, punishing rhythm that you had consented to, but that still made your mind go entirely blank. His heavy palm would come down on your ass first—a deep, thudding strike that left a wide, pale imprint that slowly turned a throbbing crimson. But before the heat could even begin to fade, he would slide his hand lower, his fingers catching your highly sensitive pussy. He would alternate between the two: a heavy, resonant thud on your ass cheek, followed instantly by those rapid, stinging slaps directly to your slit.
The contrast was maddening. The heavy, aching bruise of the spanking on your ass cheeks followed instantly by the blurring, rapid-fire electricity of his fingers stinging your front. Your hands would grip the bedsheets so tightly your knuckles turned white, your hips twitching helplessly against his thighs with every single variation. Dean would take his time, listening to the shift in your cries, building the heat higher and higher until the sting transformed into a heavy, uniform, throbbing ache that colored your entire lower half red. He wouldn't stop until you were weeping openly, completely undone by the overwhelming intensity, right before he finally pulled you up into his arms to hold you close against his chest in the quiet afterglow.
🗒️ 𓈒 . “stop it,” you mumble, shoving munch! dean’s face away from your thighs. recently, you could never get any research done — at least not with dean around.
sitting comfortably on his bed in the bunker, you had hoped to get a little information about a case, but that soon failed the second dean walked in. he was on the bed, tucked between your thighs as he often liked to lay there, but this time? his fingers teased at your clothed pussy under your t shirt. just light little touches at first, tracing the outline of your puffy folds, rubbing tiny circles on your clit. but then he moved his mouth to your thighs, sucking loudly on the skin and inching closer to your core. it was obviously distracting.
“sweetheart,” he groans. “just let me. wanna taste you.” he pleads, already in the process of stretching your panties to the side. “d-dean, i’m trying to do research.” you complain, hoping he wouldn’t make a remark on how wet you were just from a few touches. but of course he notices.
“right, n’ that’s why this pretty pussy’s all soaked for me.” a nasty smirk curls onto his lips, using his other hand to spread your pussy lips wide to look at you. “fuck..” he grunts under his breath, watching the way your cunt tightened around nothing.
another complaint died on your tongue the second his licks a long, flat stripe up your center, drawing a pretty moan from you. “taste so sweet, baby.” his lips suction around your clit, tongue swirling with skill around the pulsating bud. “ohmygod—” the pen slips from your hand, newspaper following as he pushes your thighs further apart and devours you. he always does, moaning into it like he needs it more than you.
he leaves sloppy kisses to your pussy before dipping down and plunging his warm tongue inside your hole. his hot breath fans over the expanse of you, making you twitch. “h-haah.. dean..” you fingers curl into his hair, keeping him there. he laughs lapping up your arousal messily. “keep researchin’, darlin’. thought you had stuff to do?” he grins, not wasting any more time before spitting a glob of saliva onto your clit before watching it drip down to your hole. “god, i love this pretty ass cunt.” he praises, sucking juices out of your tight, fluttering hole.
A/N: I normally don’t write this young but this was a fun little step back in time!
When you heard a car door slamming down the street you just about jumped over Dean in the backseat of his car, instead landing in his lap and laughing body.
“Something spook ya sweetheart?” asked Dean, your head whipping around to see no one there.
“I thought it was my dad ready to kill us both,” you said, wrapping Dean’s flannel around yourself more.
“You said your parents go to bed at like 9,” he said. “We’re just making out, not like we’re having sex parked right out front of the house.”
“You haven’t met my dad. That’s just as bad to him,” you said, relaxing into Dean again, running your hand through his hair.
“You’re a cheerleader, in a hot little uniform. He should be proud you ain’t putting out,” said Dean, giving you a tiny kiss along your neck.
“Thanks for…” you said, Dean giving you a smile.
“Gary’s an ass. You told him no and he didn’t listen so I told him no,” said Dean.
“You punched him,” you said, Dean shrugging. “You know the football team is going to make life hell for you on Monday.”
“So? You don’t walk up to someone and kiss them without permission,” said Dean, brushing a strand of your hair that’d fallen from your pony tail behind your ear. “You ask the girl nicely and hope she lets you.”
“You realize the whole school thinks you’re some cocky scary freak,” you said, giving him a slow and drawn out kiss, smiling against his soft lips.
“The whole school?” he asked, looking up with half hooded eyes, a teasing look on his face.
“Maybe not the whole school,” you said, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “You’re a gentleman under that leather jacket and tough guy demeanor.”
“Well I’m the one making out with you while Gary’s got a swollen face to match his ego. I must be doing something right,” said Dean.
“You really should get out of here before my dad catches us,” you said, neither one of you moving. “Wouldn’t want you to get a black eye yourself.”
“I’ll see you at school then sweetheart. I won’t take offense if you pretend I don’t exist anymore,” he said, giving you a smile that he meant it.
“We’ve got lunch same period, right? I’ll sit with you,” you said, Dean raising an eyebrow.
“You really shouldn’t. Our social circles don’t exactly mix. I’m out of here in a few weeks anyway when we move again,” said Dean.
“So you aren’t allowed to have friends?” you asked. “That’s stupid.”
“Y/N, I think you should get out of the car now,” said Dean, his face scrunching up.
“No, I’m sitting with you and that’s final. I’m your friend as long as you’re in this town,” you said.
“Y/N, I-” said Dean.
“What are you doing young lady?” you heard behind you as the door opened.
content: smoking. shotgunning. gentle n' loving Dean. kisses. fem!reader. established relationship. pet names. suggestive antics.
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Dean had pulled you under an awning when the rain started pouring on your way to a bar late at night, just enough to shelter the two of you, water droplets glistening on both of your hair, the shoulders of your jackets already felt heavier as the water seeped in between the stitches. Watching you as you gaze out into the darkness of the night with your hand sticking out to feel the rain on your hand.
The sound of your laughter is muffled as the clouds made their presence loud and clear with a flashing smile, thundering through your heart to let you know that she likes the attention that you give her, how you were never scared of her loud speeches, if anything, you always told her to talk more, and sometimes she would reply, just so she could hear the giddiness through your smile.
"You'll freeze, sweetheart." He nudges, his own smile creeping in as he props his weight on the wall behind him, one leg over the other while he fidgets with his lighter. The first time you gasped when a thunder rolled into town, he thought you were scared, was ready to throw his heroic embrace around you, til he saw how you would do a little happy dance whenever thunder announced its arrival. His heart beat was ringing louder in his ears that night than any thunder.
The sound of metal clanks behind you, catching your attention to find that he was lighting up a cigarette, the amber glow of the small flame illuminating his features like an oil painting, making the green in his eyes more pigmented, the distant light coming from a lamp post creating the perfect contrasting background, his gaze locks with yours, tugging at your heartstrings like a moth shamelessly drawn to the flame.
Smoke billows out into the sky, mixing in with the milky way, his cigarette held between his thumb and forefinger, the cherry looking like a firefly every time his hands move. His lips twitched into a smile, asking you "what?", silently. Your eyes drop to the packet in his hand before raising back up to him and his smirk only widens, putting out his arm for you to take.
He pulled you closer towards him, his hand, calloused and warm yet still the most gentle when it comes to you, always gentle, moved your wet hair away from your forehead, "Your lips 're turning blue, princess." He notices, pressing a steady kiss to your temple. "They're naturally that color." You jab and feel his chuckle against your skin more than hear it.
His free hand finds your side, his warmth anchoring your shivering to a mild shake. He flips the packet open with one hand and lets you pick between the last two sticks, eyes gazing at how the filter sits between your lips while he fishes for his lighter, flinging it open to clank just like it did earlier, the flame dancing while he lights up your choice of poison for the night.
The smoke fills your lungs ardently, kissing every concave wall behind your ribcages. Dean flicks the butt of his into the corner, pulling out the last stick and crumbling the packet back into his pocket. "C'mere, baby.." his hand tilts your chin upward, bringing your cigarette to his level before he aligns his over it. Your eyes flutter weakly as you watch him inhale a few times, letting your cherry light up his own before he finally exhales the smoke away from you.
A gush of wind howls while thunder sings, letting your heightened senses flinch for the first time at your friend, making your still shaky hand drop the cigarette into a puddle, a quick hiss before drowning completely into a sheer iridescent film.
Dean chuckles at your surprised disbelief before you join him, laughing at the situation. He holds his cigarette in one hand while he takes yours in the other, blowing warm air over them and pressing featherlight kisses to your knuckles. Making you even more putty under the warmth of him.
"I can't believe I dropped it.." You pout, already missing the lightheadedness that came from the smoke tingling your brain while he takes your other hand and repeats the process. "We'll share mine, hm?" He coos, rubbing your back and arms while you wrap a lazy arm around his waist. Wishing you could turn into a cat just to be able to curl into his body heat.
Unbeknownst to you, he takes a long drag and holds it in, his hand cupping your face to bring your gaze up to him, "Open up, baby." He whispers, already resting his forehead against yours, and your lips part for him while he hovers over them, blowing into your mouth slowly. His thumb caressing your cheek tenderly.
The smoke fogs up the bubble you two were in, inhaling it like a whispered secret that's made of all elements Dean; tobacco, leather, motor oil, and the remnants of apple pie, nicotine luring your brain away from functioning, making you addicted to the feelings you were under, his gaze and smirk getting you lightheaded more than carbon monoxide ever could.
"Again.." you whisper, your weight dropping more onto him, his knee slides in between your legs, his hand moving to your waist to keep you up. He searches your expression for a moment, seeing how dazed you were and if only he knew how much of it was about him.
His thumb runs along your bottom lip, resting his forehead against yours, "Say please.", he teases, his own eyes turning heavy from the sight and feel of you, the ashes falling off his stick and flying in the wind while the fire simmers along the vines of tobacco.
"Please, Dean, baby.." you drawl out, feeling the heat in your body move to your cheeks, earning you a chuckle that spills out of him and makes you giggle, "That's my girl." He takes another drag, the last puff before the fire eats at the filter, flicking it away while he aligns his lips over yours once more, exhaling into you, just to lock his lips with yours in a soft but not any less hungry kiss
The smoke dances around your lungs for longer, making you even more lightheaded but all you could feel was Dean, his warm hands pulling you closer against him while sharing the metallic taste of smoke. He pulls back, letting you breathe out what was left while catching his own breath. "You ok, sweetheart?" His hand rests above your chest, feeling how hard your heart was pumping, hoping that he didn't get lost in the moment for too long.
"Mhm.." was all you managed to put out, smiling up at him, still entranced and lightheaded. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple as he wraps you up in a hug, the two of you exchanging body heat, the rain finally starting to go from a downpour to a drizzle.
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ᝰ.ᐟ dreamers: @islaymonsters @honeybeechestnut — 𑣲 (still can't believe this is actually happening, insane, wdym!? thank you sm for being here <3)
Summary: You're working on a case and interrogate one of the eye witnesses with the Winchesters, who just happens to be your ex-boyfriend.
☆☆
You were working on a case with the Winchesters and were about to interrogate one of the eye witnesses to get more information on what had exactly happened. You didn't know who it was just yet but as you were standing at the doorstep and the door opened, your stomach dropped and eyes widened.
"Y/N?" a familiar voice with an even more familiar face said, surprised as well.
Oh, hell no. No no no no no no.
"What are you doing here? God, it's been such a long time. How are you?" the guy asked. The guy who had been your first boyfriend and first everything. Date, kiss, sex... And after all these years, there he was again.
"I'm... fine, thanks," you said quietly, awkwardly shifting your weight from one leg to another and wrapping your arms around your body as if to protect yourself from something.
"You guys know each other?" Sam asked with furrowed eyebrows.
"Yeah, we used to date in high school. You know, high school sweethearts," he explained, letting out a chuckle. He was much more relaxed in this situation than you were. Maybe just the presence of Sam and Dean made you unease. Maybe. But why?
You hadn't seen him since you departed ways after high school, him going to a college in a different state and you deciding to stay in your hometown and work.
"Uh, why don't we just get to the case and get this over with," you quickly said and started walking towards the couch in the living room.
The three guys followed you, and Dean made sure to sit next to you, his thigh brushing yours.
When you were done with getting the information you needed, you headed towards the door with Dean and Sam but didn't manage to exit the apartment when a voice stopped you.
"Hey, Y/N," your ex said and grabbed your arm, making you turn towards him. "Can i talk to you for a minute?"
"Um, i, uh..." you stuttered, not wanting to stay here any longer because of Dean and Sam but a part of you knew that there was still unfinished business with you that you needed to talk through.
"We'll wait in the car," Sam said and led Dean out of the apartment.
When the door was closed and you were left alone with your ex, he continued, "I was wondering... since we're more grown up now, would you like to give us another go?"
"You want to get back together?" you asked, lifting your eyebrows.
"Let me take you to just one date and we'll go from there, okay?" he pleaded and took your hand in his, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. "I've missed you, Y/N. You have no idea how much and now that you're here, i..."
You hesitated. Sure, he had been your first love and the one who you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with when you were teenagers, sure that you'd stay together forever. Get married, have kids, buy a house... It had been years since you last saw him and whatever feelings you had had for him had now faded. Not entirely, some part of you would always love him, but you didn't need to have him in your life anymore. You had moved on, as you thought he had done as well.
Dean was sitting in the car behind the wheel, looking at the two of you talking in the apartment, he could see you through the window. He examined every reaction you got from his words, every slight smile you gave him. He took your hands in his, brushing your knuckles. You didn't pull your hands away as Dean had hoped. Step away from him, push him away to tell him it was all over. What was he saying to you?
Dean turned his head away from you, clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth.
"She's not gonna get back with him," Sam reassured him, able to read his brother's mind just by examining the expressions on his face.
"Why would i care anyway if she did," Dean mumbled.
Sam was aware that Dean fallen in love with you, it was clear to anyone around him. It had first started as just a small, innocent crush and a little bit of flirting but as time went by, his feelings grew and grew, starting to be too large for him to handle. Dean wasn't able to confess his feelings to you, though he knew he should if he didn't want to look at you in someone else's arms. See someone else holding your hands.
One thing what also bothered Dean was that your ex was totally different compared to Dean, at least by the looks. Was he your type or would you be attracted to other types too? Shut up, Dean thought, almost wanting to slap himself on the face to get control of his mind.
Then, as Dean turned to look at you again, you were hugging your dear old ex-boyfriend, arms wrapped around his neck, his arms around your waist. Dean's heart dropped at the sight, chest tightening and both anger and sadness starting to take over his body. Dean had no right to be mad at you, of course he knew that, but his body didn't.
Sam witnessed the sight too: you with your ex and Dean losing his mind.
Eventually, you returned to the car, opening the impala's backseat door and hopping inside. Dean pretended like he hadn't paid any attention on your absence.
"Ready to go?" Dean asked. You didn't pay attention to the slight cranky tone in his voice but Sam could hear it loud and clear.
"Yeah, let's go grab something to eat. I'm starving," you groaned and slumped back against the seat.
Didn't want to go get dinner with that lover boy of yours, Dean thought. He had to bit his tongue not to let the words accidentally out loud. He wasn't jealous, you'd definitely catch up on it. If you didn't, Sam would and wouldn't stop teasing him about it. He was not jealous.
Fine, maybe he was a little jealous. Maybe he was the one who wanted to hug and hold you. Maybe he was the one who wanted to –
"Dean?" Sam said, startling Dean from his thoughts.
"Huh?"
"I asked if we could go to the diner where we ate at last time," you repeated.
"Oh, right. Yeah sure," Dean said, shortly glancing at you from the rearview mirror until turning his head to look back at the road.
☆☆
The three of you sat at a diner eating burgers and fries. It felt like several hours since you'd last gotten anything to eat.
You couldn't help but notice that Dean was much more quiet than usual, avoiding eye contact with you and just concentrating on his own meal.
Dean's mind and thoughts were wandering to several different directions all at once. How many times had your ex taken you out to eat burgers? How many times had he done this and that what Dean had done with you but in a romantic way?
"So," Sam broke the silence, quickly glancing at Dean before aiming his gaze on you on the other side of the table. "Are you going to see him again?"
"What?" you asked. "Oh, right. No, i've moved on from him. I wished him all the best in life but i'm not going back to him anymore."
"Really? You just... looked awfully close over there," Dean mumbled, and you weren't sure if you even heard him correctly.
"Were you watching us?" you asked, narrowing your eyes and a teasing smile lingering on your lips.
"Me, i, no," Dean stuttered, quickly turning back to his food and taking another bite from his burger, now slightly larger so he wouldn't need to reply to anything for a moment.
Dean wondered how many exes you actually had, you had never talked about any of them. Why would you? It was none of his, or Sam's, business and in the past. But how many were there? How many men had been with you and –
"Dean?" you said. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah, of course," Dean replied and pulled on a smile which might have managed to convince you but not Sam.
Why did you have to look so pretty even when you had mayonnaise sliding down from the corner of your mouth and a piece of lettuce stuck between your teeth? So pretty when you had dark bags under your eyes for not having slept in the past 32 hours? Hair greasy for not having washed it in the past three days? None of those things could take away your beauty.
Dean wanted to tell you how much he cared about you. How much it hurt him when he saw you hugging and holding hands with a guy who wasn't him. But every time he would have had a chance to do so, the words were stuck in his throat and he couldn't get a single word out. Not when you were looking at him like that with those pretty eyes of yours. God, your eyes were pretty.
Maybe some day he'd be able to tell you how damn deep in love with you he was.
☆☆
On the drive back to the motel, it was getting dark outside and you were growing more and more tired, eyes feeling heavy and closing themselves. You tried to stay awake, it wouldn't take more than 20 minutes to get to the motel, if even that much.
However, you soon gave up and fell asleep, head against the cold window.
When Dean had parked the car in the parking lot, he turned to look at you over his shoulder just to see you peacefully asleep, forehead against the glass. Great. Dean didn't want to wake you up, this wasn't the first time he'd had to carry you out of the car, but now if he opened the door, you'd fall on the ground.
With Sam's help, Dean managed to get you out of the car without waking you up – Dean had learned quickly since he had met you that you were a heavy sleeper. He carried you into the motel room, your head resting against his chest, ear right against his beating heart. You were a heavy sleeper, sure, but Dean was afraid that his rapid heart beat alone was enough to wake you up.
Dean carefully laid you on the mattress, placing your head comfortably on a pillow and pulled your shoes off. He covered you with a thick blanket, tucking it all the way to your jaw to keep you warm and safe while you were asleep.
He couldn't reveal his feelings to you, no. What if you didn't feel the same? Saw him just as a friend? He didn't even want to imagine how awkward things would become between the two of you.
Also, if others, such as demons or other creatures who wanted Sam and Dean dead, found out about the person Dean was in love with, they would definitely turn it against him.
But the image of you hugging your ex was still bugging his mind, glued there. He wanted to be the one to do that. To hold you, to kiss you – to tell you how much he loved you. For fuck's sake, he was a coward but he wasn't someone to have good things stay in his life longer than for a short moment.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," Dean whispered, taking one last look at you and walked to the door, silently closing it behind him.
Can I please request one where maybe Nelli is 12 and got her first period and shes with Sam as Dean is doing something idk just not with her at the moment and Nelli gets kinda freaked out and she just wants Dean and wants his comfort. I feel like Nelli would still be very affectionate at times even though she’s about to be a teen lol 😂
100% your choice
You’re not dying
The cheap motel mirror was spotted with old water stains, but twelve-year-old Nelli didn’t care. She leaned in close, aggressively tugging a brush through her tangled, light brown hair, trying to make it look halfway normal. She was supposed to meet up with Sarah, a girl she’d met at the local diner the day before, and she was already running late.
“Hey, lightning,” Dean called out from the main room. He was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, cleaning a disassembled shotgun with a greasy rag. “You got five minutes before I revoke your hall pass. Come here.”
Nelli let out a loud, theatrical sigh, rolling her green eyes so hard it practically hurt. She grabbed her denim jacket off the bathroom doorknob and stormed out into the cramped bedroom, her sneakers dragging against the ugly carpet. “I’m literally just going three blocks down to the diner, Dean. It's not that serious...”
Sam looked up from his laptop at the rickety table, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter if it's three blocks or three miles, Nels. You know the drill. What are the rules?”
“Stay where there are people, keep my phone fully charged, don't talk to creepy guys, and if anything feels weird, use the code word,” Nelli recited in a flat, monotone voice, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can I go now? Feels like I’m in freaking jail.”
“Hey. Drop the attitude, kiddo,” Dean said, his voice instantly dropping into that firm, older-brother register that meant business. He stood up, towering over her, and deliberately reached out to messily ruffle the top of her hair, completely ruining the brushing she’d just spent ten minutes on.
“Dean! Stop it!” she snapped, batting his large hand away and taking a sharp step back, her temper flaring. “Seriously, you ruin everything!”
Dean didn't laugh this time. His green eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching slightly as he pointed his finger directly at her face. “Watch your mouth, Nels. I mean it. You've been snapping at us since we pulled into this town, and my patience is running on fumes. You want to go hang out like a regular kid? Fine. But you don't talk to me or Sam like we’re your punchlines. You got me?”
Nelli bit the inside of her cheek, her chest heaving with a mix of embarrassment and sudden, unexplained irritation that made her want to scream. “Yeah. Whatever. Got it.”
“Say it like you mean it,” Dean pressed, his voice stern but grounded.
“I got it, Dean,” she muttered, looking down at her sneakers.
“Alright,” Sam cut in gently, trying to defuse the tension before it blew up. He gave her a soft, encouraging smile. “Have fun. Be back by five, okay?”
Nelli didn't answer. She just snatched her keys off the nightstand, spun on her heel, and slammed the heavy motel door behind her, the glass rattling in its frame.
The diner had been fine, but by the time four o'clock rolled around, Nelli was exhausted. Sarah had been nice enough, but the constant effort of trying to act like a normal, carefree teenager when her entire life was lived out of a duffel bag felt draining. Her lower back was aching with a dull, heavy throb, and a strange, cramping pain was beginning to knot up her stomach.
She walked back to the motel, her feet dragging. She felt a sudden wave of guilt for snapping at Dean earlier; her mood had been entirely out of her control all day, swinging from furious to miserable for absolutely no reason.
She unlocked the door to Room 14, fully expecting to see Dean watching a wrestling fight on the tiny TV and Sam drowning in research.
“Hey,” Nelli called out, closing the door behind her. “I'm back.”
Silence greeted her. The motel room was completely empty.
Dean’s jacket was gone from the back of the chair, and Sam’s laptop was shut on the table. A small, familiar yellow sticky note was left on the wooden dresser in Sam’s neat handwriting: Had to run to the hardware store for salt and check a lead at the county records. Back in an hour. Lock the door.
Nelli groaned, tossing her jacket onto the bed. The cramping in her stomach suddenly spiked, a sharp, twisting ache that made her double over slightly. Wincing, she rushed into the bathroom, figuring the greasy diner fries were just messing with her stomach.
She pulled down her jeans, and the second she looked down, her entire world came to a sudden, terrifying halt.
Bright, dark crimson blood stained her underwear.
Nelli’s breath hitched in her throat, her heart instantly hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her mind raced through every horrible thing she’d ever heard about hunts, cursed objects, and internal injuries. Was she bleeding out? Did something curse her at the diner? Was she dying?
Panic, cold and absolute, washed over her. She scrambled for a handful of toilet paper, trying to wipe it away, but there was more. The sharp pain in her abdomen twisted again, and a sob tore out of her throat.
“What’s happening…” she whispered, her voice breaking into a high, frightened cry as she stared at the tiles. She was completely alone in a dingy bathroom, and the only person who had ever kept her safe from the terrors of the world wasn't there.
The heavy rattle of the Impala's engine pulling into the gravel lot outside cut through the quiet room, followed a moment later by the loud, familiar clatter of the motel door swinging open.
“Nels? You back?” Dean’s voice boomed through the space, carrying a paper bag that smelled strongly of greasy takeout and onions. “We brought burgers. Get your butt out here before Sam eats yours.”
Nelli was still sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, her knees pulled tight against her chest, her face buried in her denim jacket to muffle her crying. At the sound of his voice, a sharp wave of relief crashed over her, but the sheer panic kept her entirely paralyzed.
“De…” she tried to call out, but the word caught in her throat, coming out as a tiny, pathetic squeak. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice through the knot of terror. “Dean?”
She didn’t even know why she called him, she wasn’t going to let him in but just knowing that he was there, and she wasn’t alone, calmed her nerves.
In the main room, Dean froze mid-stride, his green eyes instantly darting toward the closed bathroom door. He’d spent fourteen years tracking the slightest shift in his sister's tone, and the fragile, shaky vibration in her voice right now set off every hunter instinct he had. He tossed the takeout bag onto the table, his posture instantly going rigid.
“Nels?” Dean walked over to the bathroom, stopping right outside the door, his hand hovering near the knob. “Hey. Everything okay in there?”
“Yeah,” she choked out, trying desperately to sound normal, but it ended up sounding high-pitched and completely breathless. “Just... give me a minute.”
Sam stepped up behind Dean, his brow furrowed in concern as he looked at the closed door. “Nelli? You're not sick, are you? Did something happen at the diner?”
“No! I'm fine!” she yelled back, her voice cracking under the stress. “Just go away!”
Dean’s jaw clenched. He didn't like the sound of this at all. If she’d been targeted by something supernatural, or if she was hurting, he needed to know now. He knocked firmly on the wood, his voice dropping into that low, no-nonsense, commanding tone he used when there was absolutely no room for arguments.
“Eleanor. Unlock the door and get out here right now. I'm counting to three.”
The use of her full name did it. The lock clicked, and the door swung open a mere couple of inches.
Dean didn't wait. He pushed the door the rest of the way, his eyes instantly scanning her for a hex mark, a wound, or an injury. But the second the space opened up, Nelli didn't say a word. She lunged forward, burying her face straight into the rough canvas of his shirt, her small hands clutching the fabric of his jacket with a terrifying, white-knuckled grip. She was shaking violently, her tears instantly soaking through his sleeve.
“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Dean’s sternness completely evaporated, replaced by a sudden, protective panic. He hooked his large arms securely around her shoulders, anchoring her against his chest as he looked around the tiny bathroom, trying to spot the threat. “Kiddo, look at me. What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did someone touch you?”
Sam was hovering at the doorway, his face pale as he looked at how frantic she was. “Nels, talk to us. What happened?”
Nelli just buried her face deeper into the crook of Dean’s neck, her breath hitching in a ragged, miserable gasp. The shame and the sheer terror of what she’d seen were fighting for dominance in her chest.
“I'm... I'm bleeding, De,” she choked out, her voice a tiny, muffled whisper against his collarbone.
Dean went entirely rigid, his heart hitting his ribs like a sledgehammer. His hands automatically moved to check her sides, his voice sharp with terror. “Where? Where are you bleeding, Nels? Did you get cut? Did someone follow you?”
“No!” she sobbed, pulling back just enough to look at him, her face completely flushed and wet with tears. She looked incredibly young in that moment, her green eyes wide with a desperate, primitive fear. “In the... in the bathroom. On my clothes. There's blood, Dean. Lots of it. I don't know why, my stomach hurts so bad, and I think... I think I'm dying. I think something's wrong with me.”
Dean stared at her, his brain frantically trying to piece the clues together—the moodiness all morning, the dull back ache she’d mentioned, the sudden cramping, and now this.
Slowly, the frantic hunter panic in Dean's chest hit a sudden, screeching halt. A completely different kind of realization washed over his face, his expression freezing into a mix of utter bewilderment and profound, older-brother awkwardness. He cut a wide-eyed, slightly panicked look over his shoulder at Sam.
Sam’s jaw was slightly slack, his eyes widening as the pieces clicked for him, too. He took a cautious half-step back into the bedroom, rubbing the back of his neck, looking entirely out of his depth.
Dean looked back down at Nelli, who was still looking up at him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. He let out a long, slow breath, his large hand coming up to gently smooth back her messy hair, his voice dropping into a soft, grounding rumble.
“Hey. Look at me, rugrat. Look at my face,” Dean murmured, his touch incredibly tender. “You’re not dying. I promise you, you’re completely fine.”
"You're not dying, Nels. I swear to you," Dean repeated, his voice solid and completely steady, though inside, his brain was scrambling at a hundred miles an hour. He cleared his throat, trying to force down the massive wall of older-brother awkwardness currently choking him. “Look, it’s just... it’s a girl thing, alright? It means you’re growing up. It’s called a period.”
Nelli blinked up at him, her tear-stained face scrunching into a look of pure confusion and lingering horror. “A... a what? Dean, I'm bleeding! How is that normal?”
“It just is, kiddo,” Dean grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his face definitely heating up a little. He kept his arm securely wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her grounded. “It happens to every girl. It just means your body is doing what it’s supposed to do. You're completely healthy, Nels. I promise.”
From the doorway, Sam finally cleared his throat, his face a sympathetic shade of pink. “Yeah, Nels. Dean’s right. It’s completely normal. You’re okay.”
Nelli looked between the two of them, her breathing finally starting to slow down from the absolute panic, though her stomach still gave a nasty, painful twist. “So... I'm not sick?”
“Not even a little bit,” Dean murmured, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He pointed toward the shower. “Alright, here's what we're gonna do. You’re gonna go take a warm shower and get changed into some fresh clothes. Strip those off and put 'em in the sink, I'll handle the laundry part. Go on.”
Nelli nodded miserably, sniffling as she stepped back into the bathroom.
The second the bathroom door clicked shut, Dean spun around and glared at Sam, his eyes wide with a silent, frantic panic. “Sam. Supplies. Now.”
“On it,” Sam said, already reaching for his jacket and the car keys.
“Don't go to a store, man, she’s in there right now,” Dean whispered urgently, gesturing to the door. “Go to the front desk. Hit up the vending machines or ask the manager’s wife. Just get whatever they have.”
Sam didn't need to be told twice. He turned on his heel and sprinted out the motel door, his long legs eating up the pavement as he dashed toward the main office.
Dean let out a long, heavy breath, leaning his back against the wall next to the bathroom door. He could hear the shower water start to rumble against the old pipes, punctuated by Nelli’s occasional, quiet hiccups. He hated this for her. He hated that she had to go through regular, scary teenager milestones in a dingy, drafty motel room with two brothers who knew way more about silver bullets than feminine hygiene.
Less than five minutes later, the motel door burst open again. Sam rushed in, slightly out of breath, holding a small plastic grocery bag tightly in his hand. “Got 'em,” Sam whispered, handing the bag over. “The lady at the desk gave me a handful of stuff from her own stash.”
“Good. Nice work, Sasquatch,” Dean muttered, taking the bag. He knocked gently on the bathroom wood. “Hey, Nels. Open up a crack.”
The door opened just enough for Nelli to peek her wet face out, a towel wrapped tightly around her frame. Dean awkwardly thrust the plastic bag into her hands, looking absolutely anywhere but at her. “Here. Sam got this from the front desk. There’s... pads and stuff in there. You figure out how to use 'em, or you need Sam to look up a manual on his computer?”
“Dean!” Sam hissed from the kitchen area, his face turning bright red.
A tiny, breathless watery giggle finally broke through Nelli’s misery. “I know how to do it, idiot. I can figure it out…” she mumbled the last part under her breath.
“Yeah, well, don't scare me like that again,” Dean grumbled, though a massive wave of relief washed over him at the sound of her laugh. “Get dressed.”
When Nelli finally walked back out into the main bedroom, she looked entirely exhausted. She was swallowed up in her oversized gray sweatpants and one of Dean's old, soft flannels, her hair damp and clinging to her neck. The cramping in her lower abdomen was still a dull, heavy throb, making her drag her feet.
Dean was already sitting on the edge of his bed, having cleared off his shotgun parts. He held up a thick, warm mug of hot chocolate Sam had made using the kitchenette microwave. “C'mere, rugrat.”
Nelli didn't hesitate. She crawled straight onto the mattress, curling her legs up tightly against her chest and burying her face right back into the crook of Dean’s neck, the heavy mug clutched between her small hands. The hot ceramic felt good against her shivering fingers.
Dean wrapped his large, calloused arms around her, securely anchoring her against his chest. He began to rock her back and forth in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, his large hand coming up to gently, rhythmically stroke through her damp hair.
A stray, exhausted tear slipped down Nelli’s cheek, her voice muffled against his flannel shirt. “My stomach hurts, De.”
“I know, kiddo. I know,” Dean whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, soothing rumble that always acted like a security blanket for her. He pressed a long, tender kiss to the top of her damp head, his touch incredibly careful. “S'alright. The hot cocoa will help. There’s no need to cry anymore, Nels. Me and Sam, we got you. We’re right here.”
Beside the bed, Sam silently dragged a chair over, setting down a bottle of ibuprofen and a fresh bottle of water on the nightstand, giving her a soft, encouraging smile.
Nelli closed her eyes, her breathing finally leveling out into a calm, steady rhythm as she melted into the solid, unyielding heat of her older brother’s arms, the scary world outside fading away into the quiet safety of the room.
A/N: I absolutely loved writing this!!! I actually need more requests like this, with teenage Nelli, cause they’re fun to write
