ThatOneWriter15

My Fics | Archive Writer | Reader | SUPERNATURAL Enthusiast Only Here for Positivity | Content May Be 18+ [She/Her]

[thatonewriter15]

Warmth

Relationship: Dean Winchester/Reader; Dean Winchester/Original Female Character

Rating: Teen and up

Word Count: 859

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Reader, Menstruation, Periods, Fluff

Summary: Dean steps up in her moment of need.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[wendichester]

Was thinking of some… touch starved Dean with a female reader?

Smut but very intimate.. just cradling Dean in your arms while you take him. Always had this idea floating around in my head of being on top while holding his big head with my small arms. So my chest is pressed under his chin and he just burrows his nose in my shoulder..

I love your blog sm and couldn’t wait to give you my first ask💕💕

⋆｡ ˚ hold me like this

summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean, aching for touch he rarely asks for, lets you cradle him close while you ride him slow. pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f ) wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 713 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ soft smut!! warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, touch starvation, intimate sex, emotional vulnerability, soft dom reader, gentle penetration, slight size difference emphasis

notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ

you’re on top, thighs bracketing his hips, and the motel room feels smaller than usual. just the low hum of the heater and the sound of dean breathing against your skin. he’s so warm beneath you, broad and solid, yet right now he feels fragile in a way that makes your chest ache.

you cup the back of his head with both hands, your smaller arms wrapping around him like you can hold all of him together. his forehead presses to your sternum, nose buried deep in the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. every shaky exhale ghosts hot across your collarbone.

“that’s it,” you whisper, sinking down another inch. he stretches you perfectly, thick and hard and already twitching inside you. “i’ve got you, d.”

a low, broken sound vibrates against your chest. not quite a moan. something smaller. needier. his arms circle your waist, hands splaying wide across your back like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

you roll your hips slow, grinding instead of bouncing. your breasts press soft and warm under his chin, skin on skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. he nuzzles closer, lips brushing the swell of one breast, then hiding again in the crook of your neck like he can’t decide whether he wants to taste you or disappear completely.

“been so long,” he mumbles against your skin. his voice cracks halfway through. “didn’t realize how bad i… fuck.”

you tighten your arms around his head, fingers threading through short hair, cradling him like something precious. you rock a little harder and he groans, the sound muffled against you. his hips lift to meet yours, desperate and uncoordinated, like his body is chasing contact more than release.

“i know,” you breathe. the words feel too honest, too raw. “i’ve got you. just feel me.”

you keep one hand on the back of his head, the other sliding down to grip his shoulder. every time you sink down fully, taking him to the hilt, his breath stutters.

he’s shaking. actually shaking. you can feel the fine tremors in his thighs, in the arms wrapped around you. his mouth opens against your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly, then soothing with his tongue. needing to taste, to feel, to consume the warmth he’s been starving for.

you tilt your head, pressing your cheek to his hair. “you’re safe here. with me. let it out, baby.”

a whimper escapes him then. real and quiet and so unlike dean it makes your heart clench. you ride him a little faster, still deep, still close. the wet sound of your bodies meeting is soft. sweat slick between your chests. his nose stays buried in your shoulder like it’s the only place he wants to be.

you squeeze around him on purpose and his whole body jerks.

“shit—sweetheart—” his voice is wrecked. “don’t stop. please don’t stop.”

“i won’t,” you promise, lips against his temple.

dean touches people like he’s waiting for them to break at the contact. but right now, he’s letting you hold him, letting you surround him, letting you fuck him slow while he hides his face in your body. your arms start to burn from holding his head so close, but you don’t loosen them. not even a little.

he comes first, hips stuttering up into you with a muffled groan that vibrates straight into your chest. you follow right after, clenching around him, forehead pressed to his hair as the pleasure rolls through you warm and heavy.

afterward, you don’t move. you stay wrapped around him, his softening cock still inside you, his face still tucked into your neck and shoulder. his breathing slowly evens out, but his arms stay locked around your waist.

you stroke his hair, gentle and slow. “you can have this whenever you need it,” you whisper. too honest. a little clumsy.

dean doesn’t answer with words. he just presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, then hides his face again like he’s not ready for you to see whatever expression he’s making.

the ache in your arms matches the faint, sweet ache between your legs. you hold him tighter anyway, and for a little while longer, dean winchester lets himself be held like he matters more than anything else.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.

[thatonewriter15]

IT'S NOT EVEN MY BIRTHDAY.

[zepskies]

Back in Black

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When Dean comes back from Hell, you quickly realize that his subconscious remembers more than his waking mouth admits.

AN: Requested by Ashley Klann on Patreon! I’ve written a “back from Hell” piece before with an Omegaverse twist, called Make it Right. But here’s a more canon-rooted drabble. 💜

Request: After Dean comes back from hell, he has nightmares and a breakdown. The reader is there to comfort him and just holds him, and he ends up letting all pent-up feelings out.

Posted on Patreon: May 15, 2026

Word Count: 1.3K

Tags & Warnings: Set around mid-season 4 (when Sam was traipsing around with Ruby). Established relationship, angst, feels, hurt/comfort to the max

Dean might’ve been able to shrug off ghost sickness. He might’ve been able to look you and Sam in the eyes, with his third beer in hand, and claim he didn’t remember anything about his four months in Hell.

But what he just couldn’t do was make you believe it. Not a month ago, not last week, not tonight.

He climbed into the dingy motel bed, slow and groaning. You could see the exhaustion in the darkness under his eyes, and in the dull green of his irises. You saw the evidence of his lack of sleep pulling at his limbs, because he hadn’t truly rested since he got “topside.”

Since he showed up at your apartment with Bobby in tow, scaring the shit out of you with his half-cocked smile before he proved he wasn’t a shapeshifter or a demon.

The way Dean held you then had been so strong and fragile at the same time; you felt the shake in his arms, the tension embedded in his frame, even while he was burying his face in your hair. You’d blinked hot tears that clung to your lashes, cupped his face between your hands and kissed him just as hard and desperate.

He was alive, so you were alive. That was what that day felt like for you: coming back to life.

But this was a different kind of living.

When you slid into bed beside him, he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t welcome you against his side or wrap his arm around you. He didn’t even pretend to meet your eyes, let alone kiss you goodnight. He just mumbled the empty word, like he already knew it wouldn’t be one.

Sam was still out by himself. He was doing that more often lately, ducking out and taking the car or walking into town by himself. His excuses were always valid on the surface, like getting breakfast at the diner early, or doing some research at a café, or getting an early morning run in before you or Dean rolled out of bed. Still, you had half a mind to call bullshit.

Dean had stopped trying, even though he’d noticed too, sometimes with lips pursing, jaw clenching.

Tonight, he didn’t seem to care about his brother’s nighttime habits or your soft frown as he turned onto his side, away from you.

“You okay?” you asked, despite knowing what it would get you.

“‘M fine,” he said. “Just tired.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. You wished he wouldn’t bury it all so deep. You wished he would let you help him. But Dean had always carried layers behind that stupid devil-may-care attitude, behind that cocky grin on just the right side of charming, and the old leather that draped his shoulders like a second skin of bravado.

You’d noticed that his father’s jacket was still folded up somewhere in the trunk of the Impala. Dean hadn’t been wearing it since he got back.

You couldn’t help but think that mattered, even as you laid a hand on his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss near his neck.

“’Kay, goodnight,” you said.

You felt slightly raised flesh under the thin fabric of his shirt, and you realized then that you were accidentally touching the handprint burned into his skin—the mark of Castiel, the angel who rescued him.

You quickly let your hand slip away, feeling the tension in Dean’s body.

Your heart clenched, and you had to blink the sting out of your eyes when you turned onto your side and tried to get comfortable.

The first jolt stirred the mattress, then tugged at your subconscious.

The second one, and his painful groan, made your lashes flutter. Your eyes slid open as you fought through the dregs of sleep, but his fingers clawing against your arm finally yanked you out of it. 

You sucked in a confused, pained hiss, looking over at Dean. You realized that he hadn’t meant to hurt you. He had a desperate grip twisting in the sheets, his brows tightly knitted, jaw clenching so hard you could almost hear his teeth grinding. But the sounds that were escaping his barely parted lips were too heartbreaking, like a wounded animal unwilling to let their whimpers escape, afraid for something worse to follow.

“Dean,” you rasped, reaching for his shoulder cautiously. You were wary of him trying to knock your hand away, or worse, but he just flinched harder.

It did manage to wake him up though.

His eyes flew open with a sharp intake of breath, following by more labored ones as he struggled to take you in, to realize where he was.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He dragged a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.

“Dean?” you prompted gently. You were slow in the way you slid closer, smoothing a comforting hand up his arm.

He looked over at you, tired of lying, but still unwilling to answer you.

But in that moment, you knew the truth. You knew what he was hiding, deep and dark behind his eyes when they met yours.

He couldn’t hold it for long though. His own self-loathing won out. Even just having you beside him with love and concern in your eyes was too much for him to handle.

He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the edge, but that was where he hesitated. He either lacked the strength to get up and leave you, or he was just that shaken. His eyes closed and an uneasy sigh fell from his lips, making his shoulders sag.

You crawled over to his side of the bed and bent a knee underneath you as you sat just behind him, just barely keeping yourself from touching him. You didn’t want to smother him, but you wouldn’t leave him alone either.

“You do remember everything, don’t you,” you said. The heartbreak was in your throat, but you thought it might help him to say it out loud.

Dean shook his head slowly, but this time, it wasn’t a denial. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, but he still forced himself to speak, his voice thick and rasping.

“Not just…what happened to me,” he said, his voice coarse with fatigue and pain. “What I did.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t understand, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain it to you—why he hadn’t been able to let you in. Why he couldn’t allow himself to touch you with his hands. Every time he looked at them, they were drenched in blood.

And when he tried to look at you, the words died in his throat. It felt selfish to try.

His lips trembled. His shoulders heaved. He covered his face as his eyes burned, and the first sob shuddered through him.

You didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. Not tonight. Once the first tear drew down your cheek, you couldn’t let yourself do anything else but hold him from behind. Your lips pressed to his shoulder, and you held onto him as tightly as you dared.

He held you back, his hand clasping over your arm to keep you there. It gave you the encouragement you needed to slide closer, your hand cupping his cheek and stroking your thumb across his chin. His glassy eyes met yours.

“I love you,” you reminded him. “That doesn’t change.”

Again, Dean shook his head. “You don’t know. You don’t know what I…”

“Right now, I don’t need to know,” you said.

Just then, he was desperate to believe you.

He bowed into your kiss, desperate for your warmth too.

One touch couldn’t make him forget. It wouldn’t heal him either.

All you could do was stay.

AN: My heart gets ripped out every time I watch that ep where he tells Sam about his experience in Hell. 🥲💔 But let me know what you thought of this hurt/comfort snack!

᯽ Tag List Form || Fic Library Blog -> (you can follow and turn on notifications)

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can even send me requests!

Dean Winchester One-Shots 

Dean Winchester Masterlist 

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @waynes-multiverse @lamentationsofalonelypotato @chevroletdean @deans-spinster-witch

@jollyhunter @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @roseblue373 @rizlowwritessortof

@wvffles @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @pieandmonsters

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @jensensswthrt

@winchestergirl2 @spnbabe67 @stoneyggirl2 @my-stories-vault @this-is-me19

@tofics @artemys-ackles @mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @flawlesslyspellbound

@k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @midnightmadwoman @twinkleinadiamondsky @kmc1989

@siampie @masked-lost-girl @suckitands33 @cheynovak @spnaquakindgdom

@mimaria420 @megara0224 @globetrotter28 @illicithallways @castielscaplan

[thatonewriter15]

Buckle up. I've got notes! xD<3

He was alive, so you were alive.

Beautiful!

I was so glad to see you note that Dean did not wear John's jacket once he returned from Hell.

But the sounds that were escaping his barely parted lips were too heartbreaking, like a wounded animal unwilling to let their whimpers escape, afraid for something worse to follow.

Instant heartbreak! Oh, my baby…

The mix of Dean wanting to move away from her and also not being able to go very far. Ugh. <3

“Not just…what happened to me,” he said, his voice coarse with fatigue and pain. “What I did.”

ahhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

His lips trembled. His shoulders heaved. He covered his face as his eyes burned, and the first sob shuddered through him.

Oh, my gosh, ma'am, what are you doing to me?! (Don't stop. xD)

…You couldn’t let yourself do anything else but hold him from behind. Your lips pressed to his shoulder, and you held onto him as tightly as you dared.

I need to do this so badly. Gah!

He held you back, his hand clasping over your arm to keep you there. It gave you the encouragement you needed to slide closer, your hand cupping his cheek and stroking your thumb across his chin. His glassy eyes met yours.

You wrapped this fic up in a bow and wrote my name on the tag, didn't you? =']

“I love you,” you reminded him. “That doesn’t change.”

How much he needed to hear this. Both at this moment in time and so many others.

All you could do was stay.

And how badly he needed someone to do just that. Stay. Always.

As you can probably tell, I was a big fan of this, my friend. xD<3

[mentholmommy]

Burnin’ Up

☁︎ Summary: Dean's down for the count. The perpetrator? A head cold. Good thing he has his loving girl to help nurse him back to health.

☁︎ Characters: Dean!Reader, F!Reader

☁︎ Tags: illness, fluff, one-shot, no use of y/n, no description of reader, bf!Dean

☁︎ Word Count: 1431

☁︎ Author’s Note: Short little blurb ‘cause sick Dean holds a big soft spot in me. Enjoy and let me know what you think! More on the way today so stay tuned! Requests are open! Ta ta, love you lots like polka dots!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ

You'd started paying closer attention to Dean as soon as he started sniffling. A few weeks ago; you, him, and Sam all worked a case in Minnesota. The heavy snow had all three of you constantly shivering, freezing down to your bones. It—unfortunately—made sense that Dean was the only one who managed to get sick.

It started gradually. He'd be crankier in the mornings. Wake with a grumbled whine of protest before he'd pull you back against him and snuggle into your warmth. Then came the headaches and body aches. He rubbed his back more, rolled his shoulders too often, regularly pressed his thumbs against his temples. That lasted on its own for a few days.

By the time you'd settled in the next motel, he was hit with the sniffles. He'd groan every-time he blew his nose, his head sensitive from his sinus pressure. Dean’s voice became nasally and croaky. The coughing had set in soon after. A wet, chest-heaving cough that left his throat hoarse and scratchy. That lasted for a full twenty-four hours before he'd succumbed. After the cough, the fever set in.

You returned to the motel room with two drugstore bags full of medicines, necessities, and fluids. Dean lifted his heavy head from the pillow once you shut the door behind yourself.

"Baby?" He croaked after a cough. Your brows furrowed in sympathy. Your heart swollen with the urge to grab his illness and yank it out of him. It was obvious he felt awful considering he hadn't moved an inch since you left a few hours ago.

"Where'd ya go?" He immediately whined again. With a not-so-convincing attempt to sound less pitiful than he looked.

Poor Dean. In spite of the head cold wrecking his body and the visible suffering, he was still so handsome. Even with his runny nose. You set the paper bags on the motel's table, kicked off your boots and padded to his bedside. With a gentle hand you brushed some of the sweat-damp hair off of his forehead, subtly feeling for his fever.

"Went to the pharmacy to get you some things. I didn't want to wake you since I wasn’t gonna’ be gone long," you murmured softly as you stroked his pale face. He whined again as he turned into your palm. His eyes closed as he nestled his overheated cheek against it with a pouty huff.

"Don't leave again," he muttered after another cough. His bottom lip slightly jutted while he tried to be firm, but only sounded petulant. 

"I won't, honey," you assured with an unabashed kiss to his forehead, "just had to make a run while Sammy works the case. You wanna try to sit up for me? I got you some meds and some soup."

Dean made another puffy mewling sound, but stiffly propped himself up against the headboard. You rewarded him with another forehead kiss and stroke to his cheek.

On the table, you emptied the brown bags of goods. In one: painkillers that doubled as fever-reducers, cough syrup, a thermometer, and a few reusable cold compresses. In the other: a carton of beef stock, some cans of soup, electrolyte drinks, and some lightweight snacks that would be gentle on his tummy.

You grabbed the thermometer and Tylenol first. His temperature read 102.4 °F.

"Jesus, baby. You're burning up,” you murmured with soft concern. You didn't wait another minute. He took the pills and tablespoon of cough syrup without complaint. Then washed it down with a sip of the Pedialyte.

He whined again when you stood. He weakly lifted his hand in an effort to grab your wrist like he normally would've done. You gave him another kiss to the forehead before returning to the table.

You poured some of the beef stock in a coffee cup and microwaved it to warm it up. In that time, you'd opened and activated one of the cold compresses and wrapped it in a rag. Securely placing it on the back of Dean's neck.

He drank the beef stock without protest as well. The warm and nutrient-rich liquid soothed his throat with every swallow. Dean's entire physical state did nothing but make your stomach twist. The circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the faint sheen of feverish sweat. Not to mention he was so pliant and willing that you had half the mind to wonder if he was dying.

"Try to drink it all, okay?" You murmured softly as you rubbed his arm. The steady presence of your hand nearby made him less worried he'd spill it.

He nodded once. It took him a few minutes to finish the cup of stock, but he did. He weakly passed it back to you with another sniffle, then shifted to lie down again. You resumed the soft stroking of his face, but it wasn’t enough.

“Hmph…baby,” whined again as he nestled the pillow. His hand slipped out from beneath the covers and lazily tugged on the hem of your shirt.

“What, honey? I’m right here,” you murmured fondly, your voice carried that soft soothing tone it always did when he didn’t feel good.

“Closer. Please, ‘m so sick. Just wan’ you to hold me,” He sniffled, another tug on the hem of your shirt.

You nearly burst into tears just from how fucking precious he was.

“..’Course, baby. I’ll hold ya.”

You dimmed the lights of the motel room and closed the curtains. After a quick update-text to Sam, you moved some of the goods from the table to the nightstand and adjusted his cooling compress.

Without another moment, you carefully climbed into bed with him. Slipping into the open space behind him and snuggling right up to his back. You lay on your side, your head propped on your palm as you looked down at him. He turned eventually. The action seemed to have drained whatever energy he had left.

You gently guided his arm over your waist and tucked his hand against your back. You rubbed your freehand up his side. Over his shoulder. Through his hair then back down again. He nuzzled between your breasts. A shaky sigh leaving his lips once he’d gotten comfortable. His body going entirely lax against yours from sheer exhaustion.

“Just rest, honey. I ain’t leaving again. I’ll stay right here with ya,” you cooed, placing soft kisses to his temple.

He made a muffled sound in response against your chest. It sounded like a mix between a whine and a relieved hum. Dean nuzzled your breasts one last lazy time before his soft snores filled the silence. You didn’t stop rubbing his aching body and head. You didn’t stop placing scattered soothing kisses to the side of his face.

“Gotta’ get you better, honey,” you murmured to yourself as you gently wiped under his nose with a near-by Kleenex. Lucky that he didn’t stir other than when his body forced a cough out of his sleeping form

He slept until you had to wake him up for another dose cough-syrup. Along with Ibuprofen instead of Tylenol this time. Just incase his fever didn’t break and he needed more acetaminophen later. Each time he had to take more medicine, drink more stock or soup, take a temperature and deal with a compress, he felt a little better. He definitely believed it had more to do with you caring for him than the medicines.

His fever broke within forty-eight hours. After a few more days of care, he began improving. His excess mucus was thinned out by the medicines and expelled healthily. No discoloration that called for an intervention. It wasn’t long before he was fully on the mend. A slight cough and occasional ache lingered for another week.

It was obvious once Dean’s cold cleared entirely, he felt and acted rejuvenated. His energy spiked nearly higher than it usually was. His green eyes bright with health, his face was lively with color, and he could move without the heavy illness that weighed him down.

As soon as he felt better, he kissed you and kissed you. He showered you in attention, affection, and sex in return for how you nursed him so sweetly. For your love and care, he returned it tenfold.

When you inevitably got sick, it was his turn, and the roles reversed.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ

Dedication: @insomnia2love, just for you! It took me a while to get around to finishing it, so I hope you enjoy!

[thatonewriter15]

“Closer. Please, ‘m so sick. Just wan’ you to hold me,” He sniffled, another tug on the hem of your shirt.

I would die, and I would die happy!

Lovvvve me some vulnerable Dean, and the reader was so sweet with him. This was great!

[petite-madame]

The new jacket (Dean Winchester) - (2026)

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles as Russell Shaw | Justin Hartley as Colter Shaw TRACKER (2026) | 3.22– “The Best Ones”

[thebeautyofspn]

15x08 Our Father, Who Aren’t In Heaven

[deanwinchesterswitch]

What Matters

Summary: Sometimes there is no need for words. Author's Notes: Light angst; Emotional comfort Word Count: 270 Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Word of the day (May 25, 2026) - Visit Beta: @princessmisery666 Graphics: Made by me. Master List: Word Of The Day

Shadowed, bloodshot eyes greet her as she opens the door. Rumpled clothing and stiff movements denote the miles he's traveled. He always seems to have come from so far away.

Tracing her fingers over the back of his collar, her hand gently lands on his shoulder.

A tiny flinch …then he settles.

Only slightly, though. It takes time.

Helping him remove the jacket, she strokes his arm and briefly squeezes his wrist.

His eyes close …fingers uncurl.

Flannel is next—so many layers. She's teased him about it, but it doesn't change. It's not important anyway. What matters is him.

A sharp inhale …his feet shift.

She smooths soft, worn cotton over his torso and flattens a palm against his chest.

A tight exhale …slowing pulse.

The soft pad of her thumb strokes along his jaw until it unclenches.

He breathes.

She waits.

When the rumble of the engine is the phone call she didn't receive, she knows. She won't be gifted a brilliant smile or cheeky grin. No darkened, hungry gaze, or bright, mischievous eyes. That will come later—when murky moss gives way to sparkling peridot.

Visits like this start quietly, slowly, with soft grounding touches, unspoken reassurance.

When his muscles finally sag, and a haunted, but grateful gaze lands on her, she blinks away a tear and snuggles against him. Holding him as tightly as she can, she splays her hands across his back. Strong, thick arms encircle her and squeeze as he rests his cheek against her head.

It's difficult to breathe, but it doesn't matter.

What matters is he's here. He's safe. He's with her.

Love Me Some Pie Tag List:

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @cleighwrites

@compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons

@globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @impala-dreamer // @iprobablyshipit91

@irgendwas122 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78

@lyarr24 // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsits // @musicissmylife // @mvdeanw

@pallographsunspot // @princessmisery666 // @raisinggray // @shawnie74 // @solsborg

@thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby

@weepingwillowphoenix // @yvonneeeee

[thatonewriter15]

You packed so much into 270 words!

What I wouldn't give to receive such visits, to be that person for him.

She smooths soft, worn cotton over his torso and flattens a palm against his chest.

Siiiiiiiiigh. Sounds fantastic.

That will come later—when murky moss gives way to sparkling peridot.

Absolutely gorgeous imagery!

When his muscles finally sag, and a haunted, but grateful gaze lands on her, she blinks away a tear and snuggles against him. Holding him as tightly as she can, she splays her hands across his back. Strong, thick arms encircle her and squeeze as he rests his cheek against her head.

I don't want this, I need this!

[thatonewriter15]

I could use a heaping serving of Russell hurt/comfort after that ep.

[mentholmommy]

Poor, Sweet Thing

✦ Summary: Sleepy Dean who believes he doesn’t need sleep. His girl who knows otherwise.

✦ Characters: Dean!Reader, F!Reader

✦ Tags: Sweetie pie fluff, one-shot, no use of y/n, no description of reader, bf!Dean

✦ Word Count: 1395

✦ Author’s Note: Lowkey just shit this out so..enjoy? Enjoy! Let me know what you think, requests are open. Ta ta! Love you lots like polka dots!

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

She sensed it the moment it started. As soon as she looked up from her book and laid eyes on him? It was more than obviously time to call it a night. His breathing had slowed and he’d sagged against the edge of the table. She watched Dean’s eyes droop as he reread the same page.

He hadn’t flipped it in nearly ten minutes.

Suggesting outright that they tuck in would’ve been useless. Dean would’ve grunted, waved his hand, and reminded her how much work he had to get done. Then somehow manage to stay up longer than he would’ve if she’d just said nothing.

His face illuminated by only candlelight—the motel lost power an hour into the storm—made him sleepier against his will. Combined with the heavy rain, his doting girl using the kitchenette to make dinner, and far away thunder. Surprisingly, Dean didn’t snap and pack up as soon as the electricity bit the dust. Claimed the case was too important and the season was too accommodating. Mid-to-late fall in northern Louisiana carried a tolerable chill in the wind. Besides, they still had water.

She turned the pages of her book gently. Quietly waiting him out now that the first signs have shown. Keeping her eyes on words she pretended to read just in case he jumped awake, and checked to see if she caught it. Any minute now he’d slip on his own. Become subdued enough to let her drag him to bed and pull the covers up to his chin. She treated his masochistic insomnia like something to outsmart, and well, it always worked.

Every night since she’d come on the road with him, she exerted subtle (yet very tender) assistance when it came to Dean getting his rest. Not sleep, rest. Did what she could to make beds of various motel rooms more comfortable. Made him cut back on all-nighter’s, only as truly needed. Sometimes she sprayed a bit of lavender water around the bed to lull him just that extra bit.

Dean would've told her ages ago that none of it really made a difference; if he didn't worry about the possibility she'd be even a little sad at the knowledge. Not the all-nighter restrictions, not the lavender or multitude of other tricks she’d tried. Even though he never felt any results from the ministrations, he didn't complain about them either. Hardly put up a fuss when she insisted because, what really chased away the nightmares and restlessness, was sleeping next to her.

The way she'd slide easily as he drew her close. As soon as her warmth and honey-sweet scent encapsulated his weary soul, he'd exhale in relief, and let his body sag against hers. Her arms always wrapped around his shoulders as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, or between her breasts. Her hands softly combed through his hair in the most soothing lullaby he'd ever known. Especially when simultaneously rubbed tension from his back with every exhale. Each hand sent him deeper into pure comfort.

He'd wake up easily the next morning. No achey jaw from ground teeth all night. No headache from repetitive nightmares that interrupted his snoozing. No 1,000-pound feeling in his body from tossing and turning the way he had since he was six. He slept peacefully, as she long as she was next to him, in his arms like his personal stuffie.

Without a word, his chin slid out of his palm, next went the side of his face, until he's leaned so far forward he's completely hunched over the desk. Her face softened as she looked over him; the semi-dark circles under his eyes, the little crease between his brows because he wasn’t comfortable, the way his bottom lip jutted out slightly as if pouting in sleep. Unfairly betrayed by his own body while it succumbed to exhaustion. Poor, sweet thing.

It made her heart do a fond, but sad little flutter in her chest. Seeing him so drained just made her want to wrap him up, tuck him safely inside her ribs, and hold him there until he recharged. That pouty-sleep-face was so adorable, she nearly felt guilty for wanting to kiss it.

She closed her book quietly and stood. Moving through the dim motel room to pull back the covers on the king size bed and fluff his pillow a bit. She blew out the candles on the nightstand before padding back over to him.

"Baby, come to bed," She murmured softly as she gently rubbed his back where he slumped over the desk. He stirred slightly at first.

His taut muscles relaxed under her touch, but he didn't respond. Only made a slight noise of protest from somewhere low in his chest. Could've been a gruff whine about moving or a refusal—his usual response—since he “still had work” and blah blah.

"You're practically drooling on the pages honey, c'mon. Come to bed with me," She cooed this time. Still soft and gentle with her sleepy man. Dean made another petulant sound, but began to rouse reluctantly. That crease between his brows deepening as that plush pouty lip jutted out a bit more.

He sat up groggily as her hands soothed the expanse of his upper back and over his tired shoulders. She eventually coaxed him out of the chair and over to the bed, blankets already turned down for him. He plopped on his back with zero grace, eyes barely opening once.

Her mouth twitched with an affectionate smile before removing his boots and socks. Jeans next, which Dean barely made easier, then his shirt. Leaving him to sleep in just his boxers like he normally did. She lifted the bottom corner of the cover and tucked his legs in. Feeling the warmth and the semi-softness on the sheets, Dean burrowed under them, mumbling under his breath.

He looked so precious when he was sleeping. Not the trauma-hardened hunter with a taste for blood. Something sweeter, entirely vulnerable. Younger to the naked eye and softer in ways he'd never get to be consciously. Like he knew his soul was safe with her, he knew she'd handle him with care.

Which was why he lifted a lazy hand and tugged weakly on her wrist, "lay w'me," he whined. Voice slurred with exhaustion but sweet as pie. That sleepy pout still on his face, even as he tried to force his eyes open enough to see her. His hair already disheveled and sticking out every which way.

"I am baby, let me blow these candles out first," She murmured softly as she brought his knuckles to her lips. Pressing a soft but lingering kiss that elicited a quiet hum from him.

She blew the candles out quickly and straightened up his books before returning to the bed. Already dressed down into pajamas, all she had to do was slide in place next to him.

He sensed her immediately. Whether it was the mattress dip from her weight, her warmth, or her scent. He sensed it and he moved. Clumsily laid on her chest with a half-assed huff, then nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. Both arms snaked under back and wrapped snuggly around her waist.

Hers came up around his shoulders. Pulling the covers up before one hand threaded through his soft hair. Gently cradling his head to her collarbone. The other hand slipping under the covers, undulated over the bare muscles of his back in a soothing glide. His exhale was reflexive. Long and oh so tired.

“Sleep, Dean,” She whispered as she kissed his brow.

Dean made another petulant sound, quieter this time, and nuzzled closer. Hooking one of his legs around hers and tightening his arms just a bit.

“g’ni, l’ve you m-girl,” he slurred once more. Fluent in half-asleep-Dean, she smiled as she heard “goodnight, love you my girl.”

“Love you most,” she whispered, “goodnight, honey.”

And just like that?

His body sagged entirely against her with another exhale. Like he’d been hanging on with the tips of his fingers just to hear her say it back. She pressed another kiss to his brow before settling in herself. She fell asleep thankful Dean always told her goodnight, no matter what.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[thatonewriter15]

Sleepy!Dean is one of my weaknesses, and this fic did him so much justice!

The gentle physical affection was absolutely [chef's kiss], and the way she looked out for him was beautiful. He deserves it all, and I would be honored to be the one giving it to him.

So many beautiful lines, too! A few examples:

Her hands softly combed through his hair in the most soothing lullaby he'd ever known.

Like he knew his soul was safe with her, he knew she'd handle him with care.

His body sagged entirely against her with another exhale. Like he’d been hanging on with the tips of his fingers just to hear her say it back.

[teamackles96]

Headcanon: Hold me, Love me, Touch me

❧ Characters: Russell Shaw, Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy/Ben, Mark Meachum and Boaz Priestly

❧ Scenario: Where you like to touch them

❧ Pairings: Russell Shaw x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Mark Meachum x Reader, Boaz Priestly x Reader

Russell Shaw

Hair

You were obsessed with Russell's longer hair.

Every time your fingers slipped through it, you noticed how soft it was—silky in a way that didn't make sense for someone like him. You didn't know what he used, of it he even used anything at all, but whatever it was... it worked.

In motel rooms, late at night, when the TV droned on in the background, he’d stretch out beside you and rest his head in your lap like it was second nature. Your fingers would drift into his hair without thinking—combing through the strands, gently scratching at his scalp, easing the tension from the day.

On the road, it was quieter. You’d turn toward him mid-conversation, letting your hand brush through his hair or curl at the nape of his neck.

Sometimes, when it got too long, he’d sigh and ask, almost casually, "Think I should cut it?"

And every single time— "No." Immediate. Firm.

He’d glance at you, half-amused, half-curious, like he already knew the answer but asked anyway.

Dean Winchester

Face

Dean Winchester had a face that begged to be looked at.

You could never quite tear your eyes away from those boyish green eyes, the faint dusting of freckles across his skin, or those soft, pouty pink lips. There was something about him—something magnetic. Hypnotising.

He knew it, too. Knew he was attractive—beautiful, even. And he wasn’t above using it to his advantage.

But that’s why you loved touching his face.

Tracing the sharp line of his jaw. Cupping his cheeks in your hands. Letting your thumb brush just beneath his eye. It undid him.

The moment your hands were on him, he softened. The walls dropped. The hunter disappeared, and for a second, he was just a boy again, leaning into your touch like he never wanted it to end.

His gaze lost its edge, turning warm and open. His freckles seemed more pronounced, standing out against his skin. And his lips parted slightly, like he was caught somewhere between a breath and a sigh.

It was your favourite version of him.

Dean Winchester knew he was hot. But he also knew you were his weakness.

Beau Arlen

Hands

Beau was always doing something with his hands.

On patrol, they rested on the wheel—steady, ready, almost restless beneath the surface. Waiting. And when something did happen, they moved with purpose—firm, controlled, tightening handcuffs with practiced ease.

In his office, it was different. Quieter. He’d pace with that old football in his grip, turning it over and over as he thought, or clicking his pen absentmindedly while working through paperwork.

His hands were rarely still.

Which is why it always surprised you how soft they were. Warm and smooth, in a way that matched him perfectly. 

Whenever you walked together, your hand would find his without thinking, fingers slipping between his like they belonged there. He always assumed it was for safety—something instinctive, something protective.

But really you just liked the feel of him.

Even at dinner, you’d reach across the table, tracing over his knuckles, playing with his fingers as you talked. Small, quiet touches that kept you connected.

His warmth anchored you. A steady reminder that he was there. That you were together.

Soldier Boy

Arms

You loved having a superhero boyfriend.

He had infinite stamina, could protect you from just about anything, and—well—his body didn’t exactly hurt either.

You’d always been an arm girl, but with Ben? It bordered on obsessive.

Whenever he worked out, your eyes tracked every single rep. The slow curl of a dumbbell, the flex and release of his bicep, the way the muscle tightened under his skin—it was impossible not to watch. And he knew it. Of course he did. You could see it in the way his movements got just a little slower, a little more deliberate… how he’d casually add a few extra sets just because you were there.

Show-off.

But his arms weren’t just for your viewing pleasure.

They were practical, too.

They’d scoop you up off the sofa when you fell asleep mid-movie, carrying you to bed like you weighed nothing at all. They’d wrap around you from behind while you cooked, his chin resting on your shoulder as he rambled about his day, holding you close like he couldn’t help himself.

And when you were out? One arm was always around you—firm, steady, protective. A silent promise that nothing was getting near you without going through him first.

You didn’t just love his arms.

You loved what they meant.

Mark Meachum

Back

You’d normally wake up to the sound of Mark in the garage.

You’d brew two coffees, still half-asleep, then pad your way outside—barefoot, wrapped in one of his shirts—pausing in the doorway just to watch him finish his set.

Your eyes always followed the movement. The way his back muscles shifted and rippled as he lowered himself, then pulled back up again. Controlled. Strong. Effortless in a way that never failed to hold your attention. It was, without question, your favourite way to wake up.

Later in the day, that same strength would melt into something softer.

He’d come home, barely make it through the door before collapsing on top of you on the sofa, all heavy limbs and quiet exhaustion. You’d laugh softly, adjusting under his weight as your hands found his back without thinking. Your fingers would press into the tight muscles, working out the tension from the day. Slow strokes up and down his spine, gentle pressure easing him down.

And then there were the harder days. The ones he tried to hide from you.

Back when he was at his sickest, he never wanted you to see him like that—didn’t want you to see the cracks, the pain, the moments where he couldn’t hold it together.

But you always found him.

You’d just sit behind him, pressing yourself against his back, grounding him in something steady. Letting him cry, letting him rage, letting him feel whatever he needed to feel.

Your arms wrapped around him. Your lips pressed gently against his back—warm, quiet reassurance that he wasn’t alone.

Priestly

Chest

Priestly was a very affectionate guy.

He never really hid it either. A kiss dropped on your cheek as he passed by, a playful smack on your hip when he needed to squeeze past you behind the counter. It was constant, casual, instinctive.

On his breaks, he’d lean against the counter and pull you into his arms without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You’d melt straight into him, resting against his chest—your favourite place to be, your favourite kind of quiet.

Wrapped in him, everything softened. His warmth settled around you, his scent familiar and comforting, and beneath it all, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear.

It always gave him away—how it picked up when you got close, like his body reacted before he had time to think. It grounded you in a way nothing else did. You could quite literally feel his love in the way he held you.

Even when you were at home, curled up on the couch watching a movie, that need for contact never really stopped. Your fingers would drift across his chest absentmindedly, tracing slow, idle patterns over the broad expanse of him. Shapes you weren’t thinking about, movements that didn’t need meaning. Just touch. Just connection.

That was always where you ended up—safe, settled, and completely at ease in him.

A/N: I've found it really hard to write lately. I have so many WIPs, it's ridiculous. My ADHD has been completely out of whack and I can't get myself to sit and write, even if I want to.

Headcanon Tag List:

Also please comment or fill out the Tag List Form to be tagged with each new post. 🩵

@hayah84 @jaes-last-words @nuoctis @globetrotter28 @ze1nab @star-yawnznn @themidnightwitch44 @kaivxdenny @StoneyGGirl2 @Spam-love @nancymcl @americanvenom13 @blaze3023 @itzpixiebabe @agentorange9595 @jensensswthrt

@ladykitana90 @madelinessss @irrationalmischief @Kay8907 @alexxavicry @cranberrysauce666 @coventina2001 @Ralida @ablondehoe @anniewinchesterr

@thewinchesterwench @ohtobeahobbitgal @biancalinkas @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @chevroletdean @butterphii @kelseaackles @goldencelstialskies @madelynneb @fatimadao28 @Palerogue1 @Ladysparkles78

Feel free to Ask Me Anything or Request

Main Masterlist

[thatonewriter15]

Sighing a very dreamy sigh over here. <3

[deanwinchesterswitch]

I Can Explain

Summary: Beau may not survive. Warnings: Fluff Word Count: 621 Pairing: Beau Arlen x Reader Beta: @princessmisery666 Word of the day (May 18, 2026) - Loath // Master List: Word Of The Day  Graphics: By me

Beau is loath to look at you. He thought he was in stealth mode—a thief in the night. Yet, the entire scheme spectacularly fell to ruin in a matter of seconds. He hadn't made an escape plan because he didn't think he'd need one.

Best-case scenario, you’ll cry, he’ll comfort you, and you'll eventually forgive him. Worst …you’ll never speak to him again. He thinks about denying it, pleading the fifth, but there’s no point. The body of facts provides for a clear-cut indictment.

With a heavy sigh, he turns to face his judge and jury. “I can explain.”

Hands on your hips, brows pulled together, creating that cute little furrow between them he adores, you calmly state, “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”

Your impassive demeanor terrifies him more than if you had yelled at him. He swallows thickly, reaches out a placating hand as he steps forward, but you quickly take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I- I just…” An emergency call from the precinct, knowing how to time travel, a hole opening in the floor to swallow him whole, all would be ideal events right now.

I can do this. I have tactical training. I’ve faced down 250-pound men with guns.

Yeah. The little pep talk didn’t help at all. Best to get it over and done with. Straightening his shoulders, he dives in. “The evidence speaks for itself," he gestures to his shirt, then the kitchen floor, "but in my defense, I was only going for a taste. I know it was supposed to be for tomorrow's picnic, but you know how much I love your baking. I swear, it was just gonna be a little bite, out of the back, near the bottom."

You tilt your head, and he quickly offers a solution. Even though he devised it only to convince himself—an excuse to justify his actions.

"You're so talented. I know you would have covered it with one of those beautifully intricate flowers you make. No one would have noticed."

Silence. Not even a twitch of forgiveness. He's beginning to feel like he's trapped in an interrogation room, and you're eyeing him through the mirror. "I-I was being so careful. Then …the tray caught on the door. I tried to catch it, but I slipped. I can’t even explain what happened next. It was a …a rodeo clown acrobatic act." He smiles weakly, "If you'd seen it, you would have laughed.”  

He swears the corner of your mouth begins to curl, but then your lips purse and your eyes narrow further. Waving his hands in defeat at the dismembered 2-tier cake covering the floor and the front of his shirt, he huffs, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Briefly closing his eyes, he braces for your ire. So when he feels your finger sliding along his jaw, he jerks back, slips on a patch of icing, and lands hard on his ass. You laugh and plant your feet on either side of his legs. Staring down at him, with a sly grin, you slowly lick the frosting you scraped off his face from your finger.

With a sinful smile, Beau tugs at the back of your knees. As soon as you land on top of him, he wraps an arm around you to prevent escape and smears his cheek across yours. Squealing his name, you try to squirm away, which only serves to spread the sticky mess.

Capturing your face in his hands, he sincerely states, “I truly am sorry.”

“Well, you’re lucky I know you so well. There’s a second cake in the other refrigerator.” Giving him a mischievous wink, you lean in for a sugary sweet kiss.

Love Me Some Pie Tag List:

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @cleighwrites

@compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons

@globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @impala-dreamer // @iprobablyshipit91

@irgendwas122 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78

@lyarr24 // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsits // @musicissmylife // @mvdeanw

@pallographsunspot // @princessmisery666 // @raisinggray // @shawnie74 // @solsborg

@thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby

@weepingwillowphoenix // @yvonneeeee

[thatonewriter15]

Oh, my goodness, I had so much fun reading this!

The anticipation to find out what Beau did was palpable! I was devouring every word.

“I- I just…” An emergency call from the precinct, knowing how to time travel, a hole opening in the floor to swallow him whole, all would be ideal events right now.

Loved this paragraph. xD<3

I'm a huge fan of cake, frosting, and Beau Arlen, so putting them all together was fabulous!

[rizlowwritessortof]

The Real Thing

This is the follow-up to Cold Hard Truth - hopefully everyone will be happier with me by the end! This will wrap up my Russell x Andi fics (which started out as just one fic but morphed into four 😂 - it happens!)

Pairing: Russell x Andi

Word Count: 3578

Warnings: Smut, angst, just the usual!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Russell x Andi Masterlist:

Waiting For the Real Thing

Swearing Is Caring

Cold Hard Truth

The Real Thing

Russell pulled into a spot in the far end of the parking lot, a space where the chances of getting his prized convertible scratched or dinged were minimal. He put up the top, locked it up, and headed towards the bar.

The limp was back, but not too bad, considering the two miles he’d run that morning. Yeah, the doctor would probably scold him for overexerting. But in his book, the more you use it, the stronger it’ll get. Big boy version of ‘walk it off.’

He debated going in through the big entrance door under the ‘Mariner’s’ sign, but the huge deck out back overlooking Eagle Mountain Lake was calling his name. He chose a table in a mainly unoccupied area, sitting down with a stifled sigh of relief and stretching his legs out beneath. It was hot for early evening – in the nineties, but for Texas in August, that wasn’t too bad. There was a nice breeze coming off the lake, and it was great to feel the sun after spending most of the last several months surrounded by sterile blue tile and florescent lights.

A waitress approached him with a smile, her eyes scanning his face in appreciation. “What can I get you?”

“Beer, whatever you have on tap is good,” he said, giving her a noncommittal smile in return. She walked back to the bar with a twinge of disappointment, bringing him back a cold brew in short order and taking his money with just a quiet nod of thanks.

He let his eyes roam, behind the anonymity of his sunglasses, over the other people out enjoying the deck. There were several couples at their own tables, flirting or talking together. A family of four occupied another table, the kids making a sticky mess with their ice cream while Mom and Dad scrolled on their phones. A couple of tables away, two women in short shorts and brightly-colored bikini tops were openly admiring him, one of them sending a coy little wave above her margarita glass. He ignored them, turning his head slowly and focusing on watching the sailboats out on the lake.

He didn’t really know what he was doing here. Sweets had told him Andi was spending the weekend at the lake. And now here he was. Probably should get a room - with all the tourists around, it might be hard to find one close by. He looked down at his phone, checking the time, then turned his attention back towards the water.

He stopped breathing for a second, wondering if he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. She had her back towards him, but he could still tell it was her. And then she turned towards the tall, blond guy she was standing near, shoving at his shoulder and laughing. He’d know that laugh anywhere. She hugged the guy, then they turned back towards the water, his arm around her shoulders, still talking and laughing. She looked happy.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he should just get a room for the night and then get the hell out of her life. He watched them for a few seconds longer, then picked up his phone, scrolling through the list of local hotels and checking for vacancies.

“Hey, Russ.” He froze at the sound of her voice, finally letting himself look up into Andi’s face.

“Andi.” He stood up, wincing a little as he put weight on his leg, and pulled her in for a hug. God, it felt good to have his arms around her again. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and taking in her scent, warm sunshine and a hint of coconut. He forced himself to let her go, and when they parted, her eyes were shining with unshed tears that she determinedly blinked away as she pulled out a chair and sat down next to him.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” she asked, clearing her throat to chase away the lump there.

Russell flashed a sideways smile, looking down at the table. “Kind of a long story.” He met her eyes again. “You look good, Andi. And it seems like you two are happy.” He gestured towards where her friend stood by the deck railing.

Andi glanced over her shoulder. “Who, Danny?”

“Yeah, I guess – I just saw you laughing together and – you guys look happy.”

A broad smile spread across her face. “Danny is gay.”

Russell’s eyebrows shot up at the news. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Very gay. In fact, the reason I saw you is that he was looking around and said ‘OMG, there is a hot guy over there, girl. Either you go talk to him or I will.’”

Russell grinned. “Really. Very flattering. But I’m glad you’re the one who came over.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah, I bet you are.” She let her smile fade as she looked at him. “So – the long story. Maybe we should go to my room where we can talk without your fan club listening to every word?” She motioned with her eyes to indicate his bikini-wearing admirers a couple of tables over, and he nodded with a smirk.

“Yeah. Maybe we should.”

She stood, and he followed suit, trailing her across the deck and past the bar. “What about Danny?” he asked, and she laughed.

“Don’t worry about Danny. I’m sure he’s already trolling for hot guys in the bar. He knows who you are, and he knows we need some time to talk. He’ll be fine.”

Her hotel was only about half a block from the bar, and they took the elevator to the third floor in silence. “I’ve got beer in the fridge,” she said as she opened the door to her room, and Russell closed it behind them. “Make yourself at home.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it out of his reach, heading to the fridge to grab a couple of beers. “If you thought I was just gonna fall back into bed with you, you were wrong.” She set a beer down for him on the small table, then plopped herself cross-legged on the bed, opening her beer and lifting it to her lips.

“Didn’t expect you to fall into bed with me.” He popped the lid from his beer and took a long pull from the bottle. “Hell, I didn’t even know if you’d talk to me.”

Andi picked at the label on her bottle, staring down at the floor. “Now that the shock of seeing you has worn off, I’m not sure that I want to.” She looked over at him, her eyes guarded. “I still can’t believe you left the way you did. And then you were gone for almost two years without a word.” Her voice broke a little as she went on. “I didn’t know if you were still alive, or if you just didn’t care enough to let me know you were still breathing.”

Russell stared at the beer in his hand, gnawing at the inside of his lip for a minute before he answered. “I’m sorry.”

“How long have you been back?” she asked sharply.

“In the states? About seven months.” He looked up, her angry stare making him lower his gaze again. “I was in medical rehab until two days ago.” When he glanced back her direction, her eyes were wide, her shocked expression replacing the heated glare.

“Tell me.”

He took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. “There were nine of us on my team. We were on the road, five in the truck ahead of us, I was driving the Jeep with the rest.” He paused for a second, then continued, his voice taut with tension at the memory. “The truck hit an IED, shot it straight up in the air. It came down on top of the Jeep’s hood, sent it flying. I got thrown out. They came back down right on top of another bomb.” He stopped, his jaw working, squeezing his eyes closed. He dragged a hand down over his face and went on. “I’m the only one that made it. I was fucked up, my back and my leg, they flew me back to Horizon’s medical facility in Maine. And, like I said, I just got out two days ago.”

There was nothing but silence. When she spoke a few seconds later, it was a choked whisper. “Why didn’t you call me?” He looked up to find Andi’s eyes full of tears.

“I don’t remember shit except hitting the ground, pain, then everything went black. I was in the hospital for probably three weeks before I even knew what happened. Woke up one day with a tube down my throat.” He bit his lip, letting his gaze slide off past her shoulder. “I ended up with six surgeries, then months of rehab and physical therapy, and it wasn’t pretty. I guess I just didn’t want you to see me like that.”

She stood up, angrily swiping a tear from her cheek. “You didn’t have to go through it alone.”

“That’s how I was raised. Dad drilled into us how to survive, to be self-sufficient and isolated. I learned to plan my reactions before the other guy even knew what his moves were gonna be. Always have an exit plan. Never get tied down.” He looked her in the eye again. “And then I fucking met you. But I don’t know how to change the way I’m wired, Andi.”

“You just let somebody in! You don’t have to protect yourself from me, for fuck’s sake!” she cried out, almost shouting. “You have to trust somebody sometime, Russ.” He stood up and made his way over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder as she looked up at him, the hurt in her eyes sending a wave of guilt through him, caught like a knot in his throat. “I’ve always been there any time you needed me. I told you I loved you. How much more can I do to prove…”

He silenced her mid-sentence with a kiss, then pulled her close as she buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Andi,” he said softly.

She sighed, sniffling a little as raised her head to look up at him. “Do you ever get tired of saying that to me?”

His lips quirked into a sad little smile as he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I know I’m tired of seeing you hurt. I’d really like to stop being the one who does it.” She leaned into his touch, and he smiled again. “I should really go find a room for tonight.”

She shook her head. “You don’t need to. Stay here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, damn it.”

They ordered take-out burgers and fries, sitting on the bed and eating while they watched a cheesy comedy movie, just settling into being near each other again. Andi was quiet, obviously not in the mood to talk things out any further, and Russ was willing to give her whatever time she needed. Being there with her was more than he had expected, and he wasn’t going to push his luck.

“You want another beer?” Russell turned his head to look at her, and he couldn’t help smiling. She was asleep, her head lolling to the side, looking very uncomfortable. “Come here,” he muttered, half-lifting her to shift her down to lie flat with her head on the pillow. She mumbled something he couldn’t understand, then wriggled a little and went quiet again.

He sat there next to her for the next few hours, unwilling to let himself go to sleep. He just kept looking down at her, wondering why she hadn’t just kicked him out, and not wanting to waste whatever time he was going to have with her.

When she began to stir, he slid down to lie on his side beside her, watching her face as she opened her eyes. She stared at him in silence, her eyes searching his, finally reaching out to touch his face. “You told me once to never give up on you. And then you gave up on me,” she said softly, a tear escaping from under her lashes as she closed her eyes, too overwhelmed to look at him for the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I hurt you. All I can say is, I’m not going anywhere again. Unless you want me gone. If that’s what you want – I’ll go.”

Andi opened her eyes, her fingers scratching through his beard. “I don’t want you to go.” She leaned in, and he slipped an arm around her waist to pull her close as she kissed him with a soft moan.

He lost himself in the taste of her lips, deepening their kiss until he had to pull back for air. He nibbled his way along her jaw, then down the smooth slope of her neck. “Damn, I missed you.”

She pulled away, breathing hard as she sat up, stripping her shirt off in one swift move and then removing her bra before she shoved him over to his back and straddled him, bending to kiss him again. “Prove it.”

He laughed softly. “I thought you weren’t gonna fall back into bed with me.”

She lifted her head slightly, pinning him beneath a mock glare. “Shut up, Russ.”

“No complaints here,” he answered with a smirk, then pulled her down on top of his chest and kissed her again, his hands stroking over her back and down to knead handfuls of her ass. He groaned as she began to grind against his erection, then pulled her up so he could raise his head and tongue a hard nipple into his mouth. He sat up slowly, sucking and teasing at the sensitive nub, taking the other breast in his hand and squeezing it in rhythm with her movement on top of him.

“Somebody has too many clothes on,” she managed to gasp, pulling at his shirt.

“Mmmmm, busy,” Russ responded as he moved to tug gently on her other nipple with his teeth.

She let out a half-frustrated, half-aroused sound, her hand shifting to grip his hair as he sent pulses of arousal zipping through her, throbbing between her thighs. “Russell - nngggg - there are other things – uhhhhgh - that need your attention.”

A rather evil-sounding chuckle vibrated in his chest, and he gave one last hard, sucking pull at her breast before raising his head to grin at her. “Just gettin’ reacquainted.”

Andi narrowed her eyes at him. “Clothes off. Now, Shaw.” She rolled off him and laid down, undoing her shorts and removing them as he stood up beside the bed and stripped down quickly.

“Still bossy,” he said, then plopped back down on the bed. She climbed back over him, wrapping her hand around his hard cock and guiding it to her entrance, eyes closing as she slowly sank down to take him in. Russ clenched his teeth, fingers digging into her thighs as he watched her, her head thrown back with a blissful expression on her face. “God damn, honey, you feel good,” he managed to say, reaching for her. “C’mere.”

He pulled her down for a hungry kiss, groaning at the feel of her skin against his, her breasts crushed against his chest. She began to move slowly, shuddering slightly at the feel of him deep inside her, finally raising up to catch her breath and look down at him with shining eyes. “There hasn’t been anybody since you left,” she said softly, and he moved a hand to her face, cupping her cheek as he stretched up to steal another quick kiss.

“Me, either. All I thought about from the time I got over there was getting back to you.”

Her face crumpled a bit as she leaned into his hand, staring down into his eyes, searching. Then she kissed him again, her lips molding perfectly to his, nibbling gently at his lower lip until he opened to her. He groaned, his cock jumping inside her as she sucked gently at his tongue. She began to move, rocking up and down on him with a soft moan into their kiss, and he move his hands to her hips to urge her on.

He braced his feet against the bed, lifting his hips to meet her thrusts, and she finally broke away from their kiss to put her hands on his chest, using the leverage to drive him deeper on every down stroke. They moved faster, quiet whimpers forced from Andi’s lips as she began to quiver and pulse around him. “Lean back,” he coaxed, his voice rough with arousal, and she sat up with a little cry as it forced him even deeper, placing her hands behind her on his thighs. He slipped two fingers between them to brush over where they were joined, then bringing his slick fingertips to her clit to rub in rough little circles. “Come on, honey, let me have it,” he rumbled as he worked her over, and she did, with a wail of his name that echoed through the room.

She rode him hard, punching a grunt from his chest as she squeezed him tight, her entire body trembling as she came. Her thighs burning with effort as she began to come down from her high, she collapsed down towards him. He grabbed her to his chest and raised up, flipping her to her back as he took over.

Russ drove into her, all primal instinct and need, coming hard as Andi was swept into another wave. He fucked into her until his legs gave, swearing between clenched teeth and dropping down exhausted and breathless on top of her. She shuddered hard beneath him, and his hand moved up, seeking until it found hers, lacing their fingers together as he nestled his face into her neck.

A couple of hours later, Andi woke in Russell’s arms, his fingers tracing random patterns on her back. She tilted her face back, watching his lips curve into a slow smile as he felt her looking up at him. She reached a fingertip up to trace their shape, smiling back at him as he took hold of her hand and kissed it. “So – what’s next for you?” she asked, her voice hushed.

He bit playfully at her finger. “Not really sure. Kind of depends on you.”

She laughed softly. “Since when?”

“I’m – uh – I’m done with Horizon. Officially retired. I guess they don’t wanna deal with me any more. Kind of burned my bridges with them after San Antonio.”

“So – is that a bad thing?”

“Nah. It’s time.” He gave her a squeeze. “And after what happened…” He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t know if I was gonna make it at all, and then I wasn’t sure if I’d make it back to anything close to normal. So, yeah – I’m okay not dodging bullets any more.”

“So what depends on me?”

“What I do next.” He turned on his side, scooting down so he could look into her eyes. “How attached are you to your job?”

“My – my job?”

“Yeah. Because I’ve been working for Horizon for years, and they might be assholes, but they pay well. And most of the money I made just got socked away, because everything I did was on Horizon’s dime.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead, looking a little nervous. “I just thought that we could, maybe, go travel for a while. Hit a few tropical islands, Scotland and Ireland – I know you always talked about going there. Spend a little time in Italy? Whatever, wherever we feel like going. And then, when we’re ready to settle down, we can pick a spot and maybe start up that little brewery I always talked about.” She stared at him, her mouth dropped open, speechless for the moment. “I mean, if you really want to keep working, that’s okay, too. I just want to be with you – if it’s what you want.”

“So you’re telling me you’re here to stay?

“The only way I’m leaving from now on is if you kick my ass out the door.” He grinned. “Or if Colter drafts me for help with a case. And if that happens, you can come along.”

She laughed, then kissed him, wrapping an arm around his neck. “Well, I guess I’m not kicking your ass out the door. But you still have a lot of time to make up for, Shaw,” she teased.

His smile faded as he looked back at her. “I never thought I’d see you again. And then I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. So, yeah – whatever you need from me. You got it.”

She kissed him, her lips clinging to his as she pulled away and smiled. “So, how do you feel about Hawaii?”

He grinned back at her. “Hawaii. We can get you a coconut bra and grass skirt. Feeling pretty good about it.”

“A coconut bra? Really?”

He smirked. “You know how much I love your coconuts.”

Andi shook her head. “Hopeless. You are absolutely hopeless. But yes – I will put in my two-week notice on Monday, and we can start making plans. Together. It sounds amazing.”

“And hula lessons. Gotta sign up for hula lessons.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Russ.”

Tag List #1:

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma  

[thatonewriter15]

It was time for a re-read of this series! Still such a big fan of this pairing! And of course, your writing. I would read novels from you, ma'am, and I would read them so happily.

[teamackles96]

The Scars We Have

❧ Summary: The scars we have aren't always visible

❧ Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

❧ Wordcount: 436

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Masterlist

"What about this one?"

Your fingertips traced the thin, pale scar running down the centre of his sternum.

"Colorado," Dean said quietly. "Demon stabbed me."

You hummed softly. "This one?" Your fingers moved higher, brushing over two small bumps on the side of his neck.

"Vampire bite."

Your brows lifted. "A vampire? And you didn't turn?"

His thumb slowly stroked along the curve of your waist where you were sprawled across him. The movement was absent-minded, grounding. He shook his head. "Bite isn't enough. You've gotta ingest blood too."

You scrunched your nose. "Ew."

Dean chuckled, the low sound rumbling beneath you.

Your fingers drifted lower, pausing over the black ink of the anti-possession tattoo on his left pec. You trace the edges of it slowly, studying the faint freckles scattered across his skin, the small nicks and imperfections only visible up close.

"You know," you murmured, "for a hunter... you have less scars than I expected."

Dean shrugged. "Perks of having an angel for a best friend."

"But scars are part of life," you said softly. "Something you can't really take away."

Dean's hand stilled on your waist. "Just 'cause you can't see them," he said quietly, "doesn't mean they aren't there."

Your finger stopped tracing his tattoo. You lifted your head slightly, meeting his eyes. The weight behind his words hung heavy between you. You knew what he meant. Knew the things he carried that didn't leave marks on skin.

Hell.

Loss.

Guilt.

The quiet belief he was somehow too broken to deserve peace. But when you looked at him, that wasn't what you saw. You saw someone who kept getting back up. Someone who kept fighting even when the world knocked him down again and again. Someone who was strong, brave and worth loving.

Without breaking eye contact, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the small scar on his sternum. Then the faint marks on his neck. Your lips brushed softly against sensitive skin, lingering for just a second longer.

Dean inhaled sharply as you move to his arm, pressing a kiss to the thin scar just beneath the crease of his elbow—the one from the angel-banishing sigil.

Your fingers smoothed over the skin before your lips followed.

Every mark.

Every story.

You kissed them like they were something precious.

Dean watched you the entire time, emerald eyes wide with quiet disbelief.

Like he didn't quite know what to do with the softness of it.

He just kept looking at you like you'd done something impossible.

You'd taken every scar he hated and turned it into something soft and meaningful.

A/N: Also that gif! How is a man that beautiful!!!!!!!

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@hayah84 @nuoctis @globetrotter28 @ze1nab @star-yawnznn @themidnightwitch44 @kaivxdenny @StoneyGGirl2 @Spam-love @nancymcl @americanvenom13 @kaiparkerwife @agentorange9595 @jensensswthrt @ladykitana90 @madelinessss @irrationalmischief @Kay8907 @bowahdean @alexxavicry @cranberrysauce666 @coventina2001 @Ralida @ablondehoe @anniewinchesterr @thewinchesterwench @ohtobeahobbitgal @biancalinkas @chevroletdean @butterphii @kelseaackles @jays-bonnie-on-the-side

Also please comment or fill out the Tag List Form to be tagged with each new post. 🩵

Feel free to Ask Me Anything or Request

Main Masterlist

[thatonewriter15]

Oh, my goodnessssss. I don't want to do this, I need to do this. To make him feel worthy and adored.

And seeing this...

Dean watched you the entire time, emerald eyes wide with quiet disbelief.

...would be everything.

[teamackles96]

Wanna Bet?

❧ Summary: No one on the task forces knows you and Mark are dating... Until Mark slips up.

❧ Pairing: Mark Meachum x Reader

❧ Wordcount: 1.1k

Main Masterlist | Mark Meachum Masterlist

"It's so going to be you," you chuckled, standing at the kitchen counter as you prepared two cups of coffee.

"I think you're mistaken, sweetheart." Mark stepped up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. He always loved coming downstairs to find you already up, padding around the kitchen in one of his shirts. "You have a much bigger mouth than I do. "

"Hey!" You elbowed him in the stomach. "You've never complained."

You felt his laugh before you heard it, the low rumble vibrating through his chest against your back. "No I haven't," he purred low into your ear. His hand slid around you to grab his mug from the counter. The smell of fresh coffee filled the warm kitchen as he took a slow sip. "But it's going to be you," he added, kissing the top of your head before turning toward the door.

"Wanna bet?" He stopped short of the doorway. Slowly, he turned back. You were leaning against the counter now, smirking at him over the rim of your steaming mug.

His brow lifted . "A bet? Really?"

"What?" you shrugged. "If you think I'll spill the beans, then it will be an easy win for you"

That did it. You could practically see the moment the hook sank in.

"Fine," he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're on." He pointed his mug at you like a challenge before heading upstairs to jump in the shower.

You watched him take the steps two at a time, shaking your head with a quiet laugh before following a moment later to get ready for work.

By the time you arrived at the floor that held the task force, everyone was already filtering in for the day.

Shepherd was hunched over Bell's computer, the two of them quietly debating something on the database of known Belarusians. Finau reclined in his chair as he spoke into his phone, already chasing down a lead. Down the hall, Blythe and Oliveras stood inside Bylthe's office, voices low as they discussed the next step.

You slipped into your chair, unpacking your bag slowly—more to give yourself some time to let the coffee kick in and wake up. 

The elevator dinged, you know exactly who it was, but refused to look up. Mark stepped off the elevator, heading to his desk to dump his bag with a soft thud.

"Late again, Meachum", you teased casually, eyes on the notebook in front of you.

"Sorry," he shot back without missing a beat, shrugging off his jacket. "Your mom wouldn't let me out of her bed this morning." Finau paused mid-sentence on the phone just long enough to shake his head in quiet disappointment.

"Really?" you scoffed, finally glancing up. "A 'your mom' joke?"

Mark shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging into that familiar smirk. "I thought it was good." He glanced over at Finau, clearly looking for backup, only to find him still shaking his head.

With everyone else already buried in their work, Mark looked back at you—and threw you a quick, sneaky wink.

Your stomach flipped, the butterflies waking up. You stood too quickly, escaping into the kitchen before anyone could notice the heat climbing your cheeks.

That bet had been made three months ago.

And somehow, no one on the task force still had any idea that you and Mark were dating. Had been dating. For years.

You'd both unknowingly joined the same task force, prohibited from revealing any information. Nathan—your Special Agent in Charge—was the only one who knew. He'd pulled you both aside day one and, after a brief conversation about professionalism, had simply nodded in approval at how discreet the two of you were.

It wasn't that either of you were ashamed of your relationship. Or worried about people finding out. You just preferred to keep work and home separate. No arguments spilling into the office. No favouritism on cases. No distractions that could compromise the team.

And right now, the team didn't need distractions.

Everyone was stretched thin trying to figure out who Volchek was—and what the hell he was planning.

You could see the frustration etched on Mark's face as everyone filtered out of the conference room. His shoulders squared, slipping instinctively into lead mode as he started assigning roles.

"Shepherd, Bell—you two keep digging through that database. There's got to be something on this Volchek guy." The two agents nodded, already heading back to their desk. "Finaus, Oliveras and I will get ready for UC. Y/N," he continued, turning to you, "help Drew get me back into Timur's block."

You nodded, already pulling out your phone. "I've got some Palmdale connections I can use," you said, flicking through your contacts.

"Good." His tone was firm, focused. "We've got one shot at this, so we make it perfect." His eyes swept over the group. "We'll see you guys later." Then his gaze landed on you, softening for a fraction of a second. "I'll see you at home."

He turned and started toward the elevators, clearly assuming Finau and Oliveras were right behind him.

The room went completely still. 

Your hand froze halfway to your ear, phone hovering in the air as your eyes widened. Everyone was staring at his back.

You could see the exact moment it hit him. 

His shoulders stiffened. 

Slowly.... he stopped walking, spinning around. "Home, he said quickly. "Home base. As in—here." He gestured vaguely around the room. "I meant I'll see you back here." His voice turned to a whisper. "At home base." 

Silence followed. 

No one looked convinced. 

Mark huffed out a breath. "Screw it," he grumbled.

Before anyone could react, he strode straight toward you, your heart jumping. His hands came up to cup your face, warm and steady, pressing his lips gently against yours. He pulled back, his gaze soft. "I'll come home to you," he murmured quietly.

Your fingers curled lightly around his wrist. "Be careful," you whispered. "Don't do anything stupid."

He winked. "Me? Never."

Finau cleared his throat loudly behind him, shattering the moment. 

Mark rolled his eyes as he stepped back, dropping his hands. "Right."

You could feel every pair of eyes on you as he turned and walked toward the elevators again, immediately getting bombarded with questions from Oliveras and Finau.

You shook yourself back into motion and dialled your contact. Then it hit you. "Hey Meachum," you called.

He stopped halfway into the elevator, grumbling at Finau and Oliveras, and looked back at you. "Yeah?"

You lifted your chin slightly in victory. "I won," you sang.

His brows furrowed, then it hit him. "Shit," he groaned entering the elevator. His voice echoing off the confined space, making you laugh harder.

“So you and Meachum?” Drew asked, just as your contact answered the phone. You smiled at him, as the two of you walked to his office. 

The cat was finally out of the bag and you were relieved.

A/N: Sorry for being a bit quiet recently! Wasn't feeling creative after dealing with a shitty period. I have been writing, just not posting. Been colouring to get away from the screen for a bit and rest my little weary eyes.

Mark Meachum Tag List:

@hayah84 @jaes-last-words @nuoctis @globetrotter28 @ze1nab @star-yawnznn @themidnightwitch44 @kaivxdenny @StoneyGGirl2 @Spam-love @nancymcl @americanvenom13 @blaze3023 @kaiparkerwife @agentorange9595 @jensensswthrt @ladykitana90 @madelinessss @irrationalmischief @Kay8907 @bowahdean @alexxavicry @cranberrysauce666 @coventina2001 @Ralida @ablondehoe @anniewinchesterr @biancalinkas @butterphii @kelseaackles @jays-bonnie-on-the-side

Also please comment or fill out the Tag List Form to be tagged with each new post. 🩵

Feel free to Ask Me Anything or Request

Main Masterlist

[thatonewriter15]

Ahh, this was fun and cute!

Favorite part goes to:

His hands came up to cup your face, warm and steady, pressing his lips gently against yours. He pulled back, his gaze soft. "I'll come home to you," he murmured quietly.

[becauseofthebowties]

DEAN WINCHESTER IN EVERY EPISODE ↳ 4.21 - When the Levee Breaks

[thebeautyofspn]

14x08 Byzantium