You and me — we’re all that’s left.

25, requests open!

[wandering-winchesters]

Masterlist

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

[noorasredlip]

pov: text messages with bf!dean winchester

content warning: suggestive content

author's note: i just LOVE text messages so much and the concept of bf!dean is just *insert cynthia erivo*. anywayssss, as always, feedback is very much welcome bc i looove to hear what ya'll have to say!!! i've been very busy lately w midterms but i'll survive and be back very soon. been working on some requests and some soldier boy stuff bc i miss my wife. hope you guys are doing fine... i love youuu

[godmadeaterribleerror]

And In Health Pt. II

✦Read on a03! - Pt. I ✦ ✦Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦ ✦pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader✦ ✦summary: You get sick, and Dean takes care of you.✦ ✦warnings/tags: Pre-established relationship, domestic, tooth-rotting fluff, sick fic, no use of y/n✦ ✦author's note: Request from an anon. This is sequel to my Dean sick fic from earlier this year, as requested by a few people. Enjoy!✦

Dean pauses, after he kisses your forehead. Freezes above you then leans back in with a small frown, brushing his lips over the exact same spot as before. 

It feels like there’s a little path of fire, where he kisses you. But that just happens every time Dean touches you. It’s nothing strange for there to be a heat rising to your cheeks, just from his attention. It feels like there’s a brand on your hip, where his hand is resting, but that’s normal as well. 

Your head is spinning a little more than usual. 

But he is standing really close. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, which is going to make you warmer. You can lean your brow against his chest when your eyes start to feel like they’re made of lead. He runs his hand through your hair with a low sigh, and you savor the rumbling sound of it in his chest, ignite a new wave of prickling heat over your skin. 

Dean mutters your name in your ear, pulling you carefully back from his chest. “You’re burning up.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, it’s just hot out here-“

The back of his hand presses to your forehead, and he’s cold. You lean in, trying to chase the grounding sensation, and Dean sighs again. 

“We’re inside, sweetheart. And I got the AC on.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, a little too dazed to do anything but speak slowly. “Um... Do you think I have a fever?”

“Can’t be sure, Sammy broke the thermometer throwin’ it at a demon.” Dean traces his nice, cold hand over the side of your brow, and let your eyes flutter closed. “But yeah. I’m benching you, baby. Rest.”

Your eyes fly open. “You can’t bench me, Dean-“

“The hell I can’t.” He grunts. “You’re sick, you shouldn’t be fighting and running. You’ll make it worse. Might get yourself fuckin’ hurt, too.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a fucking doctor, Dean-“

“I ain’t a doctor, but I don’t have to be to know you shouldn’t be chasing a vamp nest like this-“

“Please, I’m fine.”

Dean snorts. “You’re not standing up straight, baby. I’m telling you, you’re sick-“

“I know.” You snap, folding your arms over your chest, and Dean pauses. 

“You know?”

“Yeah. I have a fever, my stomach feels kind of horrible, and the flickering thing the bathroom light is doing is about to give me a migraine.”

He stares at you. “Alright. Awesome. So we’re reading the same page, and you’re gonna rest-“

“No.” You raise your chin, holding his gaze though the haze of your vision, swimming more and more with every passing moment. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine.” He echoes, running his hand over his face with a low chuckle. “Son of a bitch, baby, you look like shit-“

“Hey-“

“Beautiful shit.” He takes a step closer, and it doesn’t do anything to help with the heat. “The hottest piece of shit I’ve ever freakin’ seen. But shit. I got it, you’re strong. Stronger than me and Sammy.” He points to the bed. “Lie down.”

You don’t move. “Don’t patronize me, Winchester.”

“I don’t even know what that word means, sweetheart-“

“Yes, you do.” You narrow your eyes, and his lips twitch.

“Yeah, I do. Lie the hell down, now.”

His voice is dropping down to the commanding one. The one that reminds you he’s still, in so many ways, a solider. That hunters fear his name, and follow his commands because there’s an air around him that waves, and reminds you that you’d have to be a fool to do anything else. 

And you’re not a fool. 

You just know Dean too well. You know he’d never actually hurt you, or even really raise his voice past this low tone. You also know that he isn’t good at holding the facade very long, when it comes to you, because he loves you. It’s the exact same reason that he’s being dramatic about this. 

You’re fine. Really. Maybe you caught something, but worse things have happened. You’ve been in more pain than this by a mile, and you’ve felt way, way worse just from anxiety or your period. Letting one little fever hold you back is for the weak. You can pop a few Advil, keep an ice pack on you for when you start to feel too warm, and everything will be fine. 

Maybe a mint, as well. In case you throw up. Because you do feel as if you might be about to throw up

You’ve felt like that after running to fast, though. 

So you don’t need to rest.

“No.”

Dean exhales—slow and heavy—and takes a firm step forward. “Get in bed, sweetheart. I’m not lettin’ you go out like this.”

You scoff. “You don’t let me do anything.”

“Not normally. But this ain’t a stupid plan I don’t like,” he drawls your name, and there’s a strange kind of fire in it, but you might just be feeling heat everywhere. “This is you, needing to take a day so you don’t get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

“I’m not doing that, Dean, and you can’t- Dean-“

You yelp as he picks you up, tosses you over his shoulder, and carries you over to the bed. He lowers you carefully onto the edge of the mattress, before sitting on his knees and caging you in place. You glower at him, and he just chuckles, scanning over your features and rubbing his hand on your thigh. 

“You can be real stubborn, baby. You know that?” 

He wipes a bit of hair from where it’s stuck to your cheek, and you pretend to try and bite him. He just laughs again. Asshole.

“You wouldn’t bench Sam.” You grumble, and Dean gives you a flat look. 

“I wouldn’t have to bench Sam. He’d get a fever and bench himself.”

“But if he didn’t-“

“This isn’t about Sam, sweetheart.” He mutters, tone dropping to something firmer. Maybe it’s the fever, but he kind of looks like he’s hotter than usual. Almost glowing. “I’m not losing you because you think you can hunt with a 104-degree fever.”

“You’re making that number up.” You grumble, and Dean just shrugs with a small grin. 

“Maybe. But the point is the same, baby. No more hunting until you can get past me.”

“Past you-“

“Yep. You get yourself to the car without me catchin’ you, we’re good.”

You laugh, starting to push up off the mattress. “That’s fucking easy- Dean-“

He pushes you back down, all the way until you’re flat on your back and he’s hovering over you, a smug, amused grin on his face. 

“Easy, huh.” He taunts, and before you can even think of a comeback—all your thoughts feel like they have to wade through mud to get to your mouth, and Dean’s proximity isn’t helping anything—he’s kissing the space between your eyes, and moving away. 

“Dean-“ You manage to whine, but you’re cut off with a stern glare. 

“Stay. I’m goin’ to get Sammy from the morgue. Order food on my card, if you need to. Text me to grab something. Just relax, baby, you don’t have to do anything right now.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “But I want to do things.”

“Yeah, like gettin’ some food.”

“With your stolen credit card?”

“You never had a problem with it before, sweetheart-“

“It’s never been used to hold me captive before-“ Your words trail off as the nausea rises, and Dean sighs.

“Alright.” He walks back to you, passing the card into your hands before leaving one last kiss on your head. “Don’t hurt yourself, baby.”

You glare at him, grabbing his shirt to keep him above you. “You’re being a butt.”

“I know. Rest.”

Dean walks out the door to get Sam, and you wait to hear the rumble of Baby’s engine outside before you’re moving. You had to make sure it wasn’t a trick, and he wouldn’t burst back through the doors and pin you back in bed. 

That wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen. Dean, heavy over you like a massive, weighted blanket that you can hug, and would probably kiss you if you asked him sweet enough. You’ll goad him into that later. After you win his stupid rest because you’re sick game, and get back to doing your fucking job.

It’s not as easy as you thought it would be. 

First, you try to steal a car from the parking lot to drive after them. It does take you five minutes to put on your shoes—your hands keep shaking, and the room was spinning so much you had to fully sit down—but you make it work, and shuffle outside. It doesn’t take long to choose a car, but actually hot wiring it is a lot more difficult than you thought. You’re getting shivers, and they make your hands shake. You can’t remember what’s supposed to go where, and end up staring at the wires for about seven minutes before going for a trial-and-error method. Your best hope is that muscle memory will kick in, or that you’ll just get it right by coincidence, and everything will be fine. 

But you feel Dean’s presence before you hear him. 

Shit. 

He grunts your name, and you turn to give him your best winning smile. 

“Hi, Dean-“

“What the hell are you doing.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He raises his brows. “It sorta looks like you’re failing to steal a car, baby.”

“I am not failing to steal it-“

“But you are trying to steal it, huh.”

“Maybe. What’s it to you, Mr. Felony-“

“Jesus.” Dean snorts, reaching down to move you to your feet, tucking you against his chest. “Keep it down, you’re gonna get both of us arrested.”

He’s warmer than before. It’s a little intoxicating. “Sorry.” You mumble, and Dean sighs.

“C’mon. Let’s go inside.”

You let him lead you inside this time, but not because you’re giving up. It’s just too hard to pull away from Dean when he’s right here and telling you to do something. Fighting with him outright would be too exhausting. 

So you’re resorting to a game of espionage.

First you try to grab the keys while he’s in the bathroom and Sam is getting ice. But it takes too long to get your shoes on, and you’re being carried back to bed. Then you try to run past him when they go out to check on something, and don’t even get out of bed before Dean’s towering over you, blocking your path.

He gets a thermometer. He checks your temperature, holds up the result with a pointed glare, and you roll your eyes.

“So? You got it wrong.”

“Yeah, because it’s a hundred and five, smartass.”

“You love me.”

Dean sighs, looking over his shoulder to where Sam’s at the table. “You gonna help me out?”

Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “No.”

“She’s tryin’ to hunt with a fever-“

“And I’m more scared of her than you, Dean.” 

“Ha.” You stick your tongue out. “I win. Let’s go.”

You stumble a little when you try to stand up, and Dean grabs you in a second, keeping you upright with an arm around your waist. 

“Sure, baby. Lie down.”

You scowl, but obey. Getting past him isn’t as easy as usual. 

So your new method is proving that you can do things. That you don’t have to lie down and let them do everything for you, because they already do enough. You try to go through all the clues about the hunt, but the images make you sick and you end up doubled over the toilet with Dean rubbing your back. After that you try to fold laundry, but you can’t manage to stand up, and Dean carries you back to bed. The attempt to organize your bags ends the same way, and you’re seconds away from talking Sam into taking you to the grocery store before you lose your train of thought, blink at him, and collapse back against Dean. 

He hauls you back to bed with a grunt, and you smile up at him.

“You’re pretty.”

“Thanks.” He mutters, glaring down at you. “Can you just freakin’ rest, baby, you’re trying to kill me-“

“But I’m fine. I feel kinda sick all the time, Dean, and I can help-“

“Not like this.” He sighs, tracing his hand over your cheek before pausing. “Do you really feel sick all the time?”

You nod, and a sour expression crosses his face. 

“You never told me that.” 

“It’s not somethin’ I think about.” You mumble, and your skin is starting to itch. “I mean- You act like it’s nothing when you’re sick-““And you get on my ass until I rest, sweetheart.” 

You flush. “Good point.”

“Do-“ He sighs, kneeling to meet your gaze. “You don’t really always feel bad, right? I’m not- This isn’t something I’ve been missing-“

“No.” You shake your head quickly, giving him a weak grin. “It’s just- I get through it all just fine, Dean. You don’t need to bother taking care of me-“

“It’s not a bother.” He grunts, and you swallow at the intensity in his voice. “Never when it’s you, baby, I gotta- Shit. Sam?”

You blink. “Sam?”

Dean’s glaring over his shoulder, raising his voice. “Sammy, you think you can handle this-“

“Yeah, Dean.” Sam shrugs, reaching for his phone. “I’ll call in Garth or something.”

You shake your head. “Sam, you don’t have to-“

“Yeah, he does.” Dean grabs you, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders on instinct, letting him pull you further up the bed. 

“What’re you-“

“I’m staying here.” He mutters, settling himself against the headboard with you between his legs. “We’re gonna watch TV, I’m gonna get you snacks that you can keep down, and we ain’t moving until your fever breaks.”

“Dean-“ You try to wiggle away, but your limb feel like jelly, and he’s stronger anyway. “You’re going to get sick too-“

“Don’t care.” He kisses your shoulder, and your traitorous body sinks back into him. “I don’t want to have to take my girl to the hospital.”

You lean back to glare at him. “I don’t need a hospital-“

“Cause I’m taking care of you.” He shrugs. “Good point, sweetheart. You’re a freakin’ genius.”

You’re not winning this argument. You can’t get out of his hold. 

And once you sink into him, it’s impossibly easy to stay there. Dean turns on the TV and plays with your hair as the world starts to feel light, and maybe he was right. Maybe you need rest, because the air is filling with dancing light that probably aren’t real, and exhaustion is settling over your bones impossibly fast. It’s comfortable, though, in Dean’s arms. And you’re starting to get shivers that crawl up your spine, but he pulls you tighter against his chest and presses his lips to the top of your head.

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs your name, and you hum softly.

“You can go…” You trail off, thoughts to airy to remember what you wanted to tell him, or even what really happening. “Be a vampire.”

He chuckles. “Be a vampire? You want me to be fuckin’ Twilight?”

“I don’t want you to be the sky.” You mumble, turning to press your face against his arm. “Too big.”

“Sky’s too big?”

You nod. “Wouldn’t be able to hug you.”

“Ah. ‘Course.” Dean pauses, grabbing your chin to gently tip it back. You can fee his gaze, searing over you, even through the blur of the world. “Shit- What’s the name of that medicine you always get me?”

“Advil.” You mumble, everything sharpening enough for you to see his tight features, pretty eyes clouded with worry. “You’re so pretty, Dean. Like a baby bird.”

He blinks at you. “Yeah, you told me already.”

“But you ignored me,” you pout at him, grabbing his wrist, and his lips twitch.

“I didn’t ignore you, sweetheart. I said thank you, you’re just too freakin’ out of it to remember.”

You reach up to trace over his lips, and Dean stills completely, throat bobbing slightly. 

“Sweetheart-“

“Like a baby bird.” You whisper. “With a gun.”

Dean’s lips twitch. “You done?”

“No. I love you. So much.”

He stares at you again, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Yeah, I- I love you too, baby. Can you lie back down for me?”

You hum and nod, snuggling into his chest, and he sighs, running his hand up and down your back. 

“I gotta go get you the medicine-“

“No.”

Dean says your name gently. “You sorta pushed it, sweetheart, I’m worried you’re gonna get worse-“

“You said you’d sit with me-“

“And I will. After I get some shit to help you.” He tries to pry you away, and you just hold on tight. 

“Don’t leave me.” You mumble against his chest, and Dean stops in a second. “I’m gonna miss you, and- What if I need to go pee?”

“You can pee by yourself, baby-“

You shake your head. “But I want you to hold my hand.”

Dean keeps rubbing your back, voice low and soft, and a little oddly strained. “I’ll be gone ten minutes, okay? Swear on my car that you won’t even know I’m gone.”

He kisses the side of your head, and you don’t have the energy to keep protesting. Dean rolls you off his body and onto the bed, swaddling you in the blankets before standing up and walking away.

You hear the door close, and try to drag your eyes open and watch TV. But they’re heavier and heavier by the second. The bed still smells like Dean, still warm from his body heat and combating the shivers, racking your body. 

It’s not clear, how fast you fall asleep. Or even how long you’re out. There’s no dreaming, just easy darkness and sense of safety. 

The most is a brief moment of clarity, when the only light in the room is soft and low. You roll over and feel something solid but soft, pressing against your face. A big, gentle hand is rubbing your back, guiding you slowly upright. 

“Open your mouth, baby.” Dean murmurs, and you listen, eyes still drooping closed. “Good girl, c’mon-“

You whine as something sticky and sweet enters your mouth, but swallow it and slump back forward. 

“Tastes bad.” You grumble, and Dean’s chuckle rolls through your body.

“I know, but it’s gonna make you feel better.”

You grunt, wrapping your arms back around his torso. “You make me feel better.”

There’s a long pause, and you don’t think much of it, already halfway back to falling asleep. Dean’s right here—he came back like he said—and he’ll take care of you. There’s no reason to run around, trying to prove anything or sitting in pain. Not when you can have this instead. 

But right before you drift back asleep, you still hear it, low and whispered in your ear. 

“Thanks, baby.” Dean says. “You make me feel better, too.”

✦End note: Nurse Fantasy (I'm only half joking) ✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[wandering-winchesters]

Nothing says love, like a black eye.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: a dumb argument over mugs, turns into a wrestling match that leads to a black eye.

You had forgotten how easy it was to argue with Dean Winchester.

And how infuriating it was, too.

It started over something dumb. Something like how you load the dishwasher, which was ridiculous, considering the bunker barely had more than three plates between the three of you, and none of them ever made it to the dishwasher anyway.

“You can’t just throw the mugs in,” Dean said, arms folded like you had personally offended the laws of physics.

“They’re mugs, not grenades,” you shot back. “And they’re ceramic, not bone china.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, gesturing at your arrangement. “That mug handle is sticking out. It’s gonna catch on the rack.”

“And?”

“And it’s gonna break. And then I’m gonna have to hear you whine about how that was your favorite.”

You straightened, a slow smile spreading across your face. “You broke it, you owe me a new one.”

“It hasn’t broken yet!”

“Because I have excellent placement skills!”

“Placement skills?” he echoed, laughing under his breath. “What are you, some kind of mug whisperer?”

You smirked, backing away from the dishwasher like you were defending a fortress. “Don’t be jealous because I’ve evolved beyond caveman dish stacking.”

Dean took a step closer, eyes glinting. “Caveman, huh?”

Your smirk widened. “You’re just mad I do it better than you.”

“I’m mad,” he said, cracking his neck, “that you clearly want a grappling match and are using dishes as a warm-up.”

You raised a brow, hands on your hips. “What, you think I can’t take you?”

Dean grinned, slow and dangerous. “I know you can’t.”

That was it.

Challenge accepted.

You lunged before he could finish the thought, catching him off guard and grabbing the collar of his flannel shirt. He laughed, twisting with you as the two of you stumbled into the center of the room. You knew you couldn’t take him down with strength, but leverage? Leverage and pure spite? That was your wheelhouse.

Dean managed to flip you once, half a second where you were suspended in air before he caught you and set you down with a smug, “Need a nap, sweetheart?”

You responded with a growl and swept his leg. It didn’t take him down, but it threw him off balance enough that he stumbled into the couch, and you used the opening to pounce again.

It devolved quickly into full-blown wrestling.

Hands slipping, limbs tangling, breath coming short with adrenaline and poorly disguised laughter.

You rolled across the rug, flipping him onto his back and straddling his hips. He smirked, grabbing your wrist and twisting with just enough force to flip you again.

“Oh, that’s how it is,” you muttered, breathless.

“That’s exactly how it is.”

The grin on his face was pure smugness and so stupidly pretty that for one second, you almost forgot what you were doing.

He went for your wrist again. You dodged, shoved, and turned, too fast, too sharp. His elbow came up at the exact wrong angle as you twisted to gain leverage.

You heard the thud before you felt it.

Deans elbow connected with your face.

His elbow didn’t give.

Your face did.

You cried out, stumbling back and clutching your eye, pain flaring behind your eyelid like a camera flash gone nuclear.

Dean’s whole body stilled.

“Oh, shit. Shit. Y/N…”

You waved him off with one hand while the other clutched your face. “I’m fine. I’m—ow. No. I lied. That hurts.”

“Let me see,” he said immediately, reaching for your hand.

You swatted him away. “Give me a second. I think I just saw God for a minute.”

Dean hovered, helpless and wide-eyed, hands twitching at his sides. “You’re bleeding.”

You groaned. “Wonderful. How bad is it?”

Before he could answer, footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Hey, did someone—”

Sam stopped in the doorway.

The scene in front of him must have been a lot to take in. You, on the floor, half-laughing and half-crying, holding your face. Dean kneeling beside you, shirt rumpled, looking guilty as sin and slightly terrified.

Sam blinked.

Dean opened his mouth.

“It’s not what it looks like!” you and Dean both blurted at the same time.

Sam raised a brow. “Okay, well it looks like Dean punched you in the face during foreplay.”

You barked out a laugh despite the pain. “You’re not completely wrong.”

“I didn’t punch her,” Dean said, horrified. “She ran into my elbow like a damn linebacker.”

Sam crossed his arms, trying not to smile. “So just a romantic injury, then.”

Dean shot him a glare. “She tackled me over a mug.”

“I was winning,” you added helpfully from the floor.

Dean looked down at you, eyes narrowing. “You were not winning.”

“I was on top, jackass.”

“You were distracted.”

You grinned through the swelling pain, and he caught it. Something in his expression flickered. Concern still hung in the air, but it softened with that twist of affection he had never been able to hide when it came to you.

Sam moved toward you, tilting your chin gently so he could get a look at the forming bruise.

“Gonna swell,” he muttered. “You’ll look like you lost a bar fight.”

“I’ll just say it was a demon,” you replied.

Dean groaned. “Do not tell people that.”

“I’ll say it looked like a demon. Talks like one. Smells like beer and leather.

“Alright,” Dean huffed, standing. “That’s it. I’m making you an ice pack before you start composing ballads.”

He stomped off to the kitchen.

Sam handed you a dish towel and lowered himself beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, gently pressing the towel to your eye. “Yeah. I think I just forgot how to duck.”

Sam smirked. “Or maybe you forgot that Dean never knows when to quit.”

You let out a tired laugh. “That part, I remember.”

Dean returned with a lumpy bag of frozen peas wrapped in another towel and handed it to you with exaggerated care.

“For the record,” he muttered, “you fight dirty.”

“You had it coming,” you said, settling the ice against your face and sighing.

Dean crouched in front of you again, eyes flicking over your face like he was counting all the damage.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly.

You softened, just a little. “I know.”

You chuckled, winced, and leaned your head back against the couch. Dean hesitated, then reached out and brushed his thumb just under your good eye. His gentle touch, more of an apology than words ever could express.

Tag list : @hobby27 @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[wandering-winchesters]

Version of you

Summary: Dean makes breakfast, Y/N steals his flannel, and somewhere between Led Zeppelin and burnt toast, everything starts to feel like home.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

—

It started with Led Zeppelin, It always started with Led Zeppelin.

I heard it drifting through the stone halls of the Bunker long before I reached the kitchen. One of those older tracks that wound its way through guitar and smoke, soft around the edges like something half-remembered. I followed it without thinking, bare feet against the cool floor, sleeves shoved to my elbows, hair twisted up in a lazy knot I hadn’t bothered to check in the mirror.

Then came the smell. Garlic. Onion. Something buttery and rich. My stomach grumbled in response. We’d only been back from the hunt for a day, and already the air felt lighter. Less tense. Like whatever followed us hadn’t made it home this time.

I stepped into the kitchen and stopped.

Dean had his back to me, standing at the stove with a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. He wore his usual jeans and a gray henley, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. There was flour on his shoulder like he’d reached for the top shelf and forgot to duck.

On the counter, a small speaker played softly. I recognized the song now. “That’s the Way.” Not his usual speed. There was something gentler in this one. A kind of melancholy warmth. It suited him in a way I wasn’t used to seeing laid out in the open.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched, letting it stretch out.

He didn’t notice me at first. He was humming along, quiet and aimless but sincere. The kind of sound someone only makes when they feel safe.

I couldn’t help the smile. “Since when do you cook before ten a.m.?”

Dean turned, still holding the spatula. “Since someone decided to reorganize the pantry and stashed the emergency Pop-Tarts behind the holy water.”

I raised a brow. “So this is revenge breakfast?”

“It’s survival breakfast.” He pointed the spatula at me. “And it’s mine.”

I stepped further in, the hem of my flannel brushing my thighs. One of his, though I’d pulled it on without thinking. The sleeves were rolled a few times so I could use my hands. It was warm and soft with age, and it smelled like cedar soap and miles of open road.

Dean noticed. His eyes dropped to the flannel, lingered a moment too long, then flicked back up. I smirked.

“This is what you get for abandoning grocery duty.”

“You steal a man’s shirt and talk trash in his kitchen?”

“I live here now.”

“You moved into the pantry.”

“It has excellent lighting.”

“You’re a menace.”

I stepped closer and reached for a slice of buttered toast. Dean swatted at my hand with the spatula, light but deliberate.

“Touch my toast and I revoke your coffee privileges for a week.”

“Harsh.”

“Fair.” I backed off like I was wounded and made a straight line for the coffee pot. The mug I grabbed had a chip on the rim and a faded cartoon moose in a cowboy hat. I poured two cups. One for me, and after a pause, one for Dean.

When I handed it over, our fingers brushed.

Dean took it and didn’t quite look at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrugged. “You didn’t have to make eggs. Or play this.” I gestured toward the speaker. “I thought this house ran on Metallica and Motörhead.”

He chuckled. “Every now and then I let the soft stuff in. Keeps me unpredictable.”

I leaned beside him, hip to counter. “I like it.”

He looked at me then. Really looked. The light caught my face just right, brushed over the edge of my cheek, down to the curve of my neck. His eyes softened in that split-second and something behind them settled. Not quite peace. But getting close.

I caught the look and tilted my head. “What?”

Dean smiled. “Just… you.”

“Me?”

“Here. Making coffee. Giving me crap about my music.”

I took a sip and smiled into the rim of my cup. “I like this version of you too.”

He stepped in closer. I felt the heat of the stove at my side and the heat of him on the other.

“This is domestic as hell,” I whispered.

He grinned. “If you tell anyone I made breakfast, I’ll deny it.”

I plucked a piece of bacon from the pan and took a bite right in front of him.

“Then you better kiss me fast so I can’t talk.”

He blinked, like the words had taken a second to register. Then he laughed softly, set the spatula down, and closed the space between us in two easy steps.

The kiss wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t electric.

It was warm.

Like the coffee. Like the music. Like us, in that moment.

It tasted like salt and butter and everything we hadn’t said out loud in weeks. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes, breathing slow.

“I’m gonna keep you,” he said.

My fingers curled into the front of his shirt. “Good. Because I’m already keeping your flannel.”

He laughed. Really laughed. It filled the kitchen like sunlight cutting through storm glass. The song changed to something brighter, and I grabbed the spatula and waved it at him.

“Move. You’re burning the toast.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky I’m hungry.”

I danced across the tile floor, bad and barefoot and grinning, humming along with the beat like someone who had crawled out of the dark and found something real waiting.

Dean couldn’t stop smiling.

Not because the world was safe. But because I was safe in it.

Tag list : @hobby27 @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: I love you

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time I love you's are exchanged. Requested: @roseblue373 A/N: This was completely inspired by the above Gif.

--

The vampire nest was supposed to be easy—a clean job, quick and quiet. At least, that was the plan when you and Dean Winchester had rolled into town two days ago. The intel suggested maybe half a dozen vamps, tops. It was the kind of hunt that Dean had shrugged off with his usual cocky smirk and a “Piece of cake.” And you… well, you’d trusted him, because trusting Dean had become second nature, no matter how much it scared you sometimes.

Now, standing in the aftermath of a bloodbath, you weren’t sure whether you wanted to punch him or patch him up first.

Dean leaned heavily against the crumbling brick wall of the warehouse, his breathing ragged. Blood streaked his face and neck, some of it his and some of it… not. The torn collar of his jacket revealed a series of lipstick-shaped bruises on his skin, the telltale marks of a close call with a particularly persistent vamp. You could still feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins from when you’d staked her, barely in time to keep her fangs from sinking into Dean’s throat.

“You okay?” you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice as you wiped your blade clean on your jeans.

Dean gave you that infuriating smirk, though it was weaker than usual. “Takes more than a love bite to take me down.” His voice was strained, but the humor was still there, always his default shield.

“This isn’t funny, Dean,” you snapped, your hands clenching into fists. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed. What the hell were you thinking?”

His smirk faltered, and for a moment, he looked away, his jaw tightening. “I was thinking I’d rather take the hits than let you get hurt,” he muttered, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

The words stopped you in your tracks. Anger and worry warred in your chest as you stared at him, your pulse thundering in your ears. “That’s not your call to make,” you said, stepping closer. “We’re supposed to be a team, Dean. You don’t get to play hero and leave me to pick up the pieces.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the vulnerability in his green eyes made your breath hitch. “It’s just how I’m wired, alright?” he said, running a hand through his blood-matted hair. “I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

The raw honesty in his voice knocked the wind out of you. Dean Winchester didn’t talk about feelings, not unless he was three drinks deep and barely holding it together. But here he was, laying it bare in the middle of a vampire nest, his blood staining the ground beneath him.

“Dean,” you said softly, your anger ebbing away. “You’re not gonna lose me. But you’ve gotta stop trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. We do this together, or not at all.”

He nodded, the fight draining out of him. “Yeah, alright.” But the way he said it made you think he didn’t quite believe it.

The drive back to the motel was quiet, save for the low hum of the Impala’s engine and the occasional hiss of pain from Dean as he shifted in his seat. You kept your eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary to keep your hands from shaking. The image of Dean, bloodied and battered, kept replaying in your mind, and it took everything in you not to let the tears that threatened to fall win.

Back at the motel, you set Dean down at the edge of the bed and rummaged through the first aid kit. He watched you silently, his expression unreadable, as you pulled out gauze, antiseptic, and bandages. When you turned back to him, he was already shrugging off his jacket, wincing as the movement pulled at a gash on his arm.

“Let me,” you said, kneeling in front of him. He didn’t argue, for once, and the fact that he didn’t made your chest ache even more.

You worked in silence, cleaning and dressing his wounds with practiced efficiency. Dean flinched occasionally but didn’t complain, his eyes fixed on a spot over your shoulder. When you reached the bruises on his neck, your hand hesitated, the anger you’d been holding back bubbling to the surface again.

“You scared the hell out of me tonight,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

Dean’s gaze snapped to yours, his brows knitting together. “I’m sorry,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice nearly undid you. “I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands.

“You never do,” you said, finishing with the bandage and sitting back on your heels. “But you can’t keep doing this, Dean. You can’t keep throwing yourself into danger like your life doesn’t matter.”

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw working as he processed your words. Finally, he looked up, and the raw emotion in his eyes took your breath away. “It’s not that my life doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s that yours matters more.”

The weight of his confession settled between you, heavy and unspoken. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. How could they, when everything you wanted to say felt too big, too messy for this moment?

Instead, you reached up, your hand brushing against his cheek. His eyes closed at the contact, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. When his gaze met yours again, something had shifted, something unspoken passing between you.

“Dean,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

He swallowed hard, his hand coming up to cover yours where it rested against his cheek. “I don’t know how to do it any other way,” he admitted, his voice breaking.

“Then let me help you,” you said, your heart pounding in your chest. “Let me be there for you, the way you’re always there for me.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours. And then, finally, he nodded, his fingers tightening around yours. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Okay.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of exhaustion and quiet companionship. Dean eventually fell asleep, his head resting against your shoulder as you sat on the edge of the bed. You stayed awake, watching over him, your mind racing with everything that had been left unsaid.

It was a week later, on another hunt, when everything finally came to a head.

This time, it was a wendigo, and once again, the plan had gone sideways. Dean had pushed you out of the way of a swipe meant for you, taking the brunt of the attack himself. You’d managed to take the thing down, but not before Dean had been thrown into a tree, leaving him bruised and dazed.

Back at the motel, you’d had enough.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, pacing the room as Dean sat on the bed, holding an ice pack to his ribs. “Do you have some kind of death wish, or are you just that stupid?”

“I was trying to protect you,” he shot back, his voice rising to match yours. “What do you want me to do, just stand there and let you get hurt?”

“Yes!” you yelled, the word bursting out before you could stop it. “I’d rather get hurt than watch you kill yourself trying to save me, Dean. Don’t you get that?”

He froze, his eyes wide as he stared at you. The room went silent, the air heavy with tension.

“Why?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. “Because I love you, you idiot,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I love you, and I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. And then, to your surprise, he laughed—a soft, disbelieving sound that made your stomach twist.

“You’re serious,” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “You’re really serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” you said, your voice trembling. “Why the hell would I say that if I wasn’t?”

He set the ice pack aside and stood, closing the distance between you in two steps. Before you could react, his hands were on your face, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes were brighter than you’d ever seen them. “I love you too,” he said, his voice raw and full of emotion. “God, I love you too.”

@hobby27 @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[thebiggerbear-deactivated202503]

A little collection of Christmas Fic Recs

Here is a list of some great Christmas fics for anyone who is feeling in the holiday spirit and would like to check them out:

Twinkling Tree Dreams by @winchestergirl2 - Trying to spread some christmas cheer doesn’t go quite how you planned, but maybe it will turn out even better than you hoped. (Alec McDowell x Reader, Dark Angel)

Presents and Gingerbread by @lila-lou - Ben has little interest in the season’s traditions but keeps up with the wrapping and decorations just to see you happy. Still, it didn’t take long for him to draw your attention away from the preparations, making it clear that you’re the only thing he cares about. (Soldier Boy x Reader, The Boys)

Let It Snow by @wayward-dreamer - As snow begins to fall, Dean and Y/N some much needed cuddling time in the perfect ambience they’ve created for themselves. (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Merry Christmas Sweetheart by @jawritter - Time doesn’t heal all wounds, sometimes it just drives them into our bones and festers there, until forgiveness is a four letter word, and it’s to late for second chances. (Jensen Ackles x Reader, RPF) [Warning: ANGST]

Mechanic and Mistletoe by @deanwanddamons - Y/N, an ER nurse is driving home to her Mom on Christmas Eve. Her car breaks down on the side of the road. She calls Winchester Singer Autos and Bobby sends Dean to help her. Will she make it to her Mom in time for Christmas? And will she get back home in time for her shift on Boxing Day? (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Let It Snow by @nesillia - Day 4 of the Christmas advent (Negan Smith x Female!Reader, The Walking Dead)

Operation Christmas Couple by @janicho88 - Some of the cast members of Supernatural have been watching the interaction of two close friends around each other. Neither one will admit to there being anything more between them. With the most magical season of the year upon them, what better time to open their eyes? Brianna and the girls, along with some help from Jared have come up with just the way to accomplish that. But are Jensen and the reader going to cooperate, or are they going to foil their plans? (Jensen Ackles x Reader, RPF)

'Twas the Night... by @zepskies - Dean listens, sometimes when you least expect it. This year, Christmas begins to become something new for both of you. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Snow Globe by @jessjad - A visit from Dean and Sam in the week around christmas is a nice surprise, but will it bring more than just presents? (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Shades of Him by @zepskies - You make sure Beau isn’t alone this Christmas. (Beau Arlen x Female!Reader, Big Sky)

Christmas On The 26th Floor by @wayward-dreamer - Still keeping their relationship a secret, Dean and Y/N attend the annual Christmas party at Smith Construction Co, where they still manage to find a way to spend the night together. (CEO!Dean Smith x PA Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Sleigh Ride by @zepskies - Yet again, you convince Ben to indulge you in a new Christmas tradition. (Soldier Boy x Female!Reader, The Boys)

Bah Humbug! by @crashdevlin - Y/n meets Tony Stark at her job and somehow catches his attention. Y/n’s a bit of a Grinch, but when Tony Stark invites you to a party, you go. (Tony Stark x Reader, MCU)

Love Actually by @zepskies - Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day. (Soldier Boy x Reader, The Boys)

Subtle Hints by @polkadotpenguin16 - Fills the Only 1 Bed square for @storiesofsvu’s Holiday Bingo 2024 (Sonny Carisi x Female!Reader, Law & Order: SVU)

Get Stuffed by @zepskies - Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Dear Santa by @selfcarecap - Your best friend and roommate Wade is a little lonely over the holidays, third-wheeling with you and Logan the entire time. But the holidays are all about giving, so you and Logan decide to fulfil some of the more sexual wishes on Wade’s wishlist. Or: You have a threesome with Logan and Wade. (Logan Howlett x Female!Reader x Wade Wilson, MCU)

The 12 Days of Christmas Masterlist by @winchesterwild78 (Various)

I'll Be Home For Christmas by @wayward-dreamer - Dean resigns himself to the fact that his girlfriend has to miss out on Christmas with him, hard at work and trying to meet a deadline over the holidays, states away. He hopes she can make it. (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Christmas Masterlist by @tortureddarkstar (Various)

The Christmas Party by @bring-forth-his-sac - Your first year at Alexandria High is going smoothly, until you accidentally offer to plan the staff Christmas party. To make matters worse? You're stuck planning it with the one person you made a terrible first impression on; Negan. (Negan Smith x Reader, The Walking Dead)

A Car For Christmas by @legalmente-loca - Dean doesn't seem to want to be there for Christmas, but it seems that it was quite the opposite. (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

full of us by @nochedie - dean pulled your name for secret santa - day 16 of prompt-mas for supernatural writers community! (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

A Christmas Carol by @thesilmarillionblog - Along with other team members and their infants, Soldier Boy and you decide to spend Christmas at Butcher’s house with your three children. He has to act nice. (Soldier Boy x Reader, The Boys)

Christmas Alone With You by @winchester-girl67 - The holiday season is always a little rough for the reader and working as a photographer at Santa’s Village in the mall isn’t helping. When the guy playing Santa gets the flu and is replaced with a younger version with a pillow for a stomach, her Christmas spirit is practically non-existent. Little does she know that he might just be the one to turn things around for her this year. And maybe she can do the same for him. (Single Parent!Dean Winchester x Photographer!Reader, Supernatural)

wish list by @wildwestdean - dean shares his christmas wish with you - a short and sweet piece for day one of the Promt-Mas 2024 event in our lovely supernatural writers community; prompt 1 ’all i want for christmas’ (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

just want you for my own by @witchywithwhiskey - you convince your husband to stay home from work and pretend you've been snowed in so that you can spend the day decorating for christmas. - here's my third fic for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: "It's too cold, stay in bed." (Husband!Bucky Barnes x Curvy Female!Reader, MCU)

"it's a secret, baby" by @figurantedefilme - you just want to have a good christmas this year. - day 1: “all i want for christmas”. for the prompt-mas 2024 event from supernatural writers community (Dean Winchester x GN!Reader, Supernatural)

A Christmas Miracle by @supernotnatural2005 - An imaginative and innocent request to Santa leads to a Christmas morning revelation that brings a new level of joy and excitement to your family. - Prompt-Mas - Day one: “All i want for Christmas” - This is my first tackle at @chevroletdean Prompt-Mas for the Supernatural Writers Community. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

where the love light leads by @elizabethwritesmen - in high school, steve and y/n were the best of friends. now, she’s moved back to hawkins, and he hasn’t seen her since her graduation 7 years before. (Firefighter!Steve Harrington x Reader, Stranger Things)

Wishing You a Merry Christmas by @ask-paralaxis - Soldier Boy surprises Reader at work when her boss doesn’t let her off for the holiday. (Soldier Boy x Reader, The Boys)

One Cold Night by @xylodemon - They work a case, get snowed in, and share a bed, all in time for Christmas. (Destiel, Supernatural)

Christmas magic by @jessjad - Sometimes all you need is a little christmas magic to help you be at ease with the decisions you made. (AU!Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

If You Want It To Be by @zepskies - When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. - Here’s one of my entries for @deanwinchesterswitch’s TGWRC: Christmas in July event! (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader, Supernatural)

Surprise Gift by @bullet-prooflove - Christmas Bingo Card 2024 (Joe Velasco x Reader, Law & Order: SVU)

'Tis the Damn Season by @waynes-multiverse - Dean’s had his eyes on a mysterious girl on campus since his first week at MIT. After yet another accidental run-in with his dream girl, will he finally get a chance for more this holiday season? (Engineering Student!Dean Winchester x Biology Student!Reader, Supernatural)

A Christmas wish by @jackles010378 - Weeks after the death of Dean in that barn, y/n was nearing her first Christmas without her boyfriend, as she sat under the stars and saw a shooting star she prayed to Jack for one last day with Dean as she didn't get the chance to say a proper goodbye, but knowing Jack was hands off she didn't hold her breath. As she woke up on christmas morning a surprise was waiting for her in the bunker library……….. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Sam's Winter Tale by @chevroletdean - Godfather Bobby made a very special Christmas gift for Sam this year. Soon after receiving the Nutcracker doll, he is drawn into a world of wonder and adventure. (Sam Winchester x GN!Reader, Supernatural)

from me, to you by @retrosabers - as bucky’s secret santa, you’re determined to give him the best christmas present he’s ever received. (Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, MCU)

Present by @montimer - Hc's for xmas (Wade Wilson x GN!Reader, MCU)

First Moments: Christmas by @wandering-winchesters - your first Christmas with Dean (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Favorite Gifts by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior - You and Dean know exactly what you want for Christmas…just each other. (Dean Winchester x Reader, Supernatural)

Dig That Crazy Santa Claus by @pamwritessometimes - Your daughter may have uncovered her dad’s greatest secret ever. - A Tuesday’s Gone Christmas drabble (Russell Shaw x Reader, Tracker)

Christmas Wish by @kickingitwithkirk (Jensen Ackles x Reader, RPF)

FicMas List by @retrosabers

also you can check out these events and the incredible works they've spawned: @clexmas24, Supernatural Writers Community Prompt-Mas 2024, @the-slumberparty December Daze Challenge, @spnchristmasbingo

*I will add more as time goes on & I'm able to read more

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[wandering-winchesters]

First moments: Christmas

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: your first Christmas with Dean

A/N: Merry Christmas!!

Your first Christmas with Dean Winchester wasn’t anything like you’d expected—but then again, nothing about Dean was ever ordinary. The Winchesters weren’t exactly known for their holiday spirit, and for good reason. Between hunting monsters and the constant danger that followed them, holidays tended to be just another day on the calendar. But this year, you were determined to change that.

It started as a small idea—a way to bring a little normalcy to your chaotic lives. You’d found a rundown motel in a snowy little town that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a holiday postcard. You had booked the room yourself, surprising Dean and Sam with the plan after your latest hunt.

“Christmas?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow as you carried a tiny, pre-lit Christmas tree into the room.

“Yes, Christmas,” you said with a determined smile, setting the tree on the small table by the window.

Sam gave you an amused look as he shrugged off his jacket. “I think it’s a great idea.”

Dean scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. “Christmas isn’t really our thing.”

“Well, maybe it should be,” you countered, crossing your arms. “When’s the last time you guys had a real holiday? No monsters, no drama—just… family.”

Dean’s expression softened at that word, though he tried to hide it with his usual bravado. “Alright, fine. But if this involves caroling, I’m out.”

“No caroling,” you promised with a laugh.

Over the next couple of days, you went all out—or as much as you could, given your limited resources. You strung lights around the room, hung a few paper snowflakes you’d cut out yourself, and even managed to find a store that sold cheap stockings, which you hung over the heater.

Dean grumbled about it at first, but you caught him sneaking glances at the decorations when he thought no one was looking.

On Christmas Eve, you all sat around a makeshift dinner—a collection of takeout from the diner down the road. It wasn’t exactly traditional, but the warmth in the room made it feel like a real celebration.

Sam was the first to head to bed, leaving you and Dean sitting by the small tree, the dim lights casting a soft glow across the room. You handed him a wrapped package—something small and lumpy.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“It’s called a gift, Dean,” you teased. “You open it, and you say thank you.”

He smirked, tearing into the paper to reveal a pair of socks. Not just any socks, though—ones covered in little pie designs.

“Pie socks?” he asked, holding them up.

“You’re obsessed with pie,” you said with a shrug. “It seemed appropriate.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love it,” you said with a grin.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, hastily wrapped package. “Here. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You unwrapped it to find a silver bracelet, simple but beautiful, with a small charm shaped like a star.

“Dean…” you began, touched by the gesture.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just saw it and thought you might like it.”

You slipped it onto your wrist, smiling. “I love it. Thank you.”

For a moment, the room was quiet, the weight of the moment settling between you. Dean wasn’t usually one for sentimentality, but there was something in his eyes—a softness, a vulnerability—that spoke volumes.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, his voice low but warm.

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, leaning against him as you both watched the tiny tree lights twinkle in the dark.

It wasn’t a perfect holiday, but it was yours—and for the first time in a long time, it felt like peace.

@hobby27 @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: The Hunt

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time a reader goes on a hunt with the Winchesters. A/N: Please let me know if you have any suggestions for Firsts! Word Count: 955

The first time you went on a hunt with the Winchesters, it was a baptism by fire. You’d met Dean and Sam a few weeks prior when a restless spirit had been haunting your town. After crossing paths and lending them some local insight, Dean had been skeptical about letting you tag along, but Sam had vouched for you, impressed by your research skills.

What you lacked in hunting experience, you made up for in sheer determination. When you’d asked to join them on their next case, Dean had flat-out refused.

“This isn’t amateur hour,” he’d said, crossing his arms as he stared you down. “You don’t just wake up one day and decide to hunt monsters.”

“I’m not an amateur,” you’d shot back, meeting his gaze. “I’ve been reading about this stuff for years. I know how to defend myself.”

“Reading about it isn’t the same as doing it,” he countered, his tone sharp.

Sam, ever the mediator, had stepped in. “Maybe she could help. It’s a simple salt-and-burn, Dean. If things get hairy, we’ll handle it.”

Dean had grumbled, but in the end, he relented—though not without making it clear you were on a short leash.

The hunt took you to an old farmhouse on the outskirts of a sleepy town. The local legend told of a woman who’d died tragically on the property, her vengeful spirit rumored to haunt anyone who dared step foot on her land. Dean handed you a shotgun loaded with rock salt as the three of you stood outside the creaking front door.

“Stay behind me,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

You nodded, clutching the gun tightly, your palms slick with nervous sweat.

The house was dark and musty, the air thick with the scent of decay. Every step you took seemed to echo, the old floorboards groaning beneath your weight. Dean moved ahead with practiced ease, his flashlight cutting through the shadows, while Sam scanned the EMF meter.

“Anything?” Dean asked over his shoulder.

“Nothing yet,” Sam replied.

You followed closely, trying to ignore the chills crawling up your spine. For all your reading and preparation, nothing could’ve prepared you for the oppressive atmosphere of a real haunted house.

When the first flicker of activity happened—a door slamming shut behind you—you jumped, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Relax,” Dean said, throwing you a glance. “It’s just a ghost trying to scare us.”

“Great,” you muttered, trying to steady your breathing.

Things escalated quickly after that. The spirit made her presence known in no uncertain terms, throwing objects across the room and shattering windows. You stuck to Dean’s side as he barked orders, his calm under pressure both reassuring and intimidating.

But then, in the chaos, you made a mistake. While backing away from a particularly violent outburst, you tripped over an old, broken chair and fell hard onto the floor. The shotgun skidded out of reach, and before you could scramble to grab it, the ghost appeared—a pale, snarling figure with hollow eyes and a blood-curdling scream.

You froze.

“Y/N!” Dean shouted, his voice sharp and panicked as he raised his own weapon.

The spirit lunged at you, her claw-like hands reaching for your throat. Just as her icy grip began to close around you, Dean fired, the blast of rock salt sending her form flickering and vanishing into the darkness.

He was at your side in an instant, pulling you to your feet with a firm grip.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and fear.

“I—I tripped,” you stammered, still shaken.

“You tripped?” he repeated, incredulous. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

“Dean,” Sam interjected, his voice calm but firm. “She’s okay. Let’s just finish this.”

Dean shot his brother a glare but relented, turning his attention back to you. “Stay close to me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

This time, you didn’t hesitate to obey.

The rest of the hunt passed in a blur. You followed Dean’s every step as he and Sam located the woman’s remains in the basement and set them alight. The spirit appeared one last time, shrieking in rage as the flames consumed her bones, before finally disappearing for good.

When it was over, you stood outside the house, gulping in fresh air as your heart rate slowly returned to normal. Dean leaned against the Impala, watching you with a guarded expression.

“You okay?” he asked after a long moment.

“Yeah,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

Dean studied you for a beat before sighing and running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry for yelling back there. It’s just—this life is dangerous. One wrong move, and you’re dead. I’ve seen it happen too many times.”

“I get it,” you said softly. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Dean frowned, his expression hardening. “Next time? You think there’s gonna be a next time after that?”

You met his gaze, your resolve strengthening despite your exhaustion. “Yeah, I do. I messed up, but I learned from it. I can do this, Dean.”

He shook his head, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small smile. “I’ve been told.”

Dean sighed again, but this time it sounded more resigned than frustrated. “Alright, fine. But if you’re gonna keep hunting, you listen to me and Sam. No going off on your own, no playing hero, and definitely no tripping over chairs.”

“Deal,” you said, holding out your hand.

He rolled his eyes but shook it anyway, his grip warm and steady. “Welcome to the team, rookie.”

And just like that, you knew you’d found your place—stumbles, close calls, and all.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments, Dean Winchester Masterlist

Masterlist of all of the pieces to the First Moments Series.

Kiss

Hug

Hunt

Christmas

I love you's

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Hug

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean hugs you. A/N: I am going to keep it going! Please let me know if you have any suggestions for "Firsts"! Word Count: 1,143

The dusty Kansas sunset painted the world in streaks of orange and purple as you stood outside the small, dilapidated diner in Lebanon. You’d been on the road for weeks, chasing a string of supernatural leads that didn’t pan out, and your frustration had finally caught up with you. The Winchester brothers were somewhere inside, sharing a rare moment of peace over greasy burgers and fries. You’d been tagging along with them for a few months now, after a chance encounter during a hunt in South Dakota.

At first, you weren’t sure how long the partnership would last. Dean, ever the protective big brother, had been wary of letting a stranger join their team. You were no stranger to the life, though—you had your scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it. Still, earning Dean’s trust felt like climbing an impossibly high mountain. He was guarded, sharp-tongued, and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, a fact you’d come to realize more deeply as time went on.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like you—he just didn’t trust easily. You’d seen glimpses of his softer side: the way he’d check on Sam when he thought no one was looking, the gruff jokes he used to break tension, and the rare moments when his walls came down just enough to reveal the man beneath the hunter. But a hug? That seemed as unlikely as a demon voluntarily taking a holy water bath.

You leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, staring out at the quiet stretch of road. Your mind wandered to the hunt you’d botched last week—a werewolf case in Nebraska. It should’ve been straightforward, but a moment of hesitation on your part had nearly cost Sam his life. Dean hadn’t said much about it afterward, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. You’d been carrying the guilt ever since, and tonight it felt heavier than ever.

The door to the diner creaked open, and Dean stepped out. His leather jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he had that familiar look of suspicion and curiosity on his face.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or what?” he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Dean wasn’t the kind of guy you could fool with small talk or half-hearted excuses. He saw through people like glass.

He approached slowly, his boots crunching on the gravel. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, leaning against the car next to you. “Quieter than usual, I mean. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, debating whether to brush it off or let him in. Finally, you sighed. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” he quipped, though his tone lacked its usual edge. When you didn’t laugh, he frowned. “Come on, out with it. What’s eating you?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the genuine concern in his eyes. It wasn’t often that Dean let himself be openly vulnerable, even in the smallest ways. “It’s that hunt in Nebraska,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I screwed up, Dean. If you hadn’t been there, Sam might’ve—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. “Sam’s fine. You’re fine. That’s what matters.”

“But it was my fault,” you insisted, the guilt bubbling to the surface. “I froze up, and—”

“And you’re human,” he said, cutting you off again. “It happens. Trust me, I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. You learn from it and move on.”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “I just... I don’t want to be a liability. You and Sam, you’ve been doing this your whole lives. I don’t want to be the reason something goes wrong.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Listen, this life? It’s not easy. Hell, it’s damn near impossible sometimes. But you’re part of the team now, and we’ve got your back. You’re not a liability. You’re family.”

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Family. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since you’d lost your parents to a demon when you were a teenager. Not since you’d been hunting alone, keeping people at arm’s length because getting close to anyone felt like a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

Dean must have noticed the look on your face because he shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Look, I’m not great at this touchy-feely stuff, but... I mean it. You’re family. And family doesn’t bail when things get tough.”

Something in you broke at those words. The tears you’d been holding back for weeks spilled over, and you quickly turned away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your eyes. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice gentle now. Before you could protest, he reached out and pulled you into a hug.

It wasn’t one of those quick, awkward pats on the back you’d expect from someone like Dean. It was solid, grounding, and full of unspoken emotion. His arms were strong around you, steadying you as you let yourself cry against his chest. You could feel the warmth of his leather jacket, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the faint scent of motor oil and whiskey that clung to him like a second skin.

For a moment, the world stopped. The weight of your guilt, your fears, your loneliness—it all seemed to fade in the safety of his embrace. Dean didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. The hug said it all: You’re not alone. You’re not a failure. You’re family.

When you finally pulled away, his hands lingered on your shoulders, grounding you. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice gruff but kind.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

He gave you a small smile, the kind that didn’t come around often but lit up his whole face when it did. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Ever.”

That earned a laugh from you, and the tension between you eased. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

Dean patted the hood of the Impala, his way of signaling that the moment was over. “Come on,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Sam’s probably eaten all the fries by now, but maybe we can grab some pie for the road.”

You climbed into the car, feeling lighter than you had in days. As the Impala roared to life and the brothers started bickering over music choices, you found yourself smiling. The road ahead would still be hard, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were facing it alone.

Dean didn’t hug often, but when he did, it mattered. And in that moment, it was exactly what you needed.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Kiss

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean Winchester kisses you Word count: 861 A/N: I am debating on making this a series, covering different "Firsts" with Dean.. Any interest in that? Let me know!

The first time Dean Winchester kisses you, it happens in the least romantic place imaginable—an old gas station parking lot on the outskirts of nowhere. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow over the cracked asphalt and the Impala parked nearby, her paint gleaming like polished obsidian. The faint smell of gasoline mingles with the crisp scent of impending rain, a storm brewing in the distance.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about Dean ever feels planned, really. He’s a mess of contradictions—cocky and self-assured one minute, guarded and vulnerable the next. You’ve been riding shotgun with him for weeks now, chasing down leads, salt-and-burning restless spirits, and fighting things most people wouldn’t dare to believe existed. Somewhere along the way, you became more than just hunting partners. You don’t know what to call it yet, but there’s a connection between you, an unspoken pull that you’ve both been too stubborn—or scared—to acknowledge.

Until now.

It starts with an argument. Of course it does. Dean has this way of pushing your buttons, and tonight he’s doing it with the precision of a master.

“You can’t just run in there without a plan!” you snap, your arms crossed over your chest.

“And what was your plan, huh?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “To stand around and wait until the ghost decides to play nice? That’s not how this works.”

“It’s called strategy, Dean. Maybe you should try it sometime instead of going full kamikaze every damn hunt!”

He scoffs, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You think too much. Sometimes you just gotta act.”

“And you think too little!” you retort, your eyes narrowing. “One of these days, your impulsiveness is going to get you killed.”

The words hang in the air, sharper than you intended, and for a moment, Dean just stares at you. His jaw tightens, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“Fine,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you’ve got it all figured out, why the hell do you even need me?”

It’s not the first time you’ve fought, but there’s something different about this one. The air between you feels charged, like the storm rolling in above. You don’t answer right away, and Dean takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the gravel.

“Why, huh?” he presses, his tone softer but no less intense. “Why do you keep sticking around if I’m such a screw-up?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the storm clouds overhead. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Because it’s not that simple. Because you don’t stick around in spite of his flaws—you stick around because of them. Because Dean Winchester, for all his faults, is the kind of person who will throw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to save someone else. Because he’s loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, and has a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the world, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

“Dean…” you start, but his name barely makes it past your lips before he moves.

It’s not hesitant or tentative—it’s sudden, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally snapped. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused but somehow gentle, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed. It’s not perfect—Dean’s lips are a little chapped, and the angle is slightly awkward at first—but it’s real. There’s an urgency to it, a raw, unfiltered emotion that leaves you breathless. His hands are warm against your skin, grounding you even as the world seems to tilt on its axis.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your hands are fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer as if the space between you is unbearable. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss with a low, almost involuntary sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like the dam you’ve both been holding back has finally burst, and there’s no going back now.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. The storm is closer now, the first drops of rain starting to fall, but neither of you seems to notice.

“Wow,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean chuckles, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, uh… sorry about that. I probably should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your fingers still gripping his jacket. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, there’s no wall, no mask, no bravado. Just Dean.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Took you long enough.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and the tension between you finally seems to ease. The rain starts to pick up, but neither of you moves. For once, the hunt can wait. For once, the only thing that matters is this moment—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect all at once.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[wandering-winchesters]

The Weight of Words

Summary: When you reveal a deeply personal truth, Dean's unwavering support proves that no burden is too heavy for him to share. Trigger Warnings: self-harm, mental health struggles, intense emotional conversations, and protective behavior. Requested: Yes, by anon --

Dean hadn’t expected the day to take this kind of turn. One moment, you were sitting side by side on the worn couch in the bunker’s library, sharing stories about your teenage years. Then, you let it slip—a quiet confession you hadn’t intended to share.

“I used to self-harm,” you said, the words barely above a whisper, as though saying them too loudly might bring the memories back to life.

For a moment, Dean froze. The magazine he’d been flipping through slid from his hands and landed on the coffee table with a soft thud. He turned to you, his brows knitting together in that familiar way, his face a mixture of confusion, hurt, and worry.

“Wait… what?” His voice was cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right—or maybe he didn’t want to believe that he had.

You took a deep breath, your gaze fixed firmly on your hands in your lap. “It was a long time ago. Before I met you. I was going through some… stuff, and that’s how I dealt with it.”

Dean was quiet for a beat too long, and it made you glance up at him nervously. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. It was the kind of look you’d seen on him before—when he was barely holding himself together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked finally, his voice low but tinged with an urgency that made your chest tighten.

You shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. “Because it’s not something I like to talk about. And I’m fine now, Dean. Really. It’s in the past.”

His scoff surprised you, a sharp exhale of disbelief. “Fine now? Come on, Y/N, you don’t just… just drop something like that and then tell me you’re fine now.”

“I am fine,” you insisted, your voice firmer this time. “I don’t do it anymore. I haven’t in years.”

“But you did,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and softened his tone. “You did, and I didn’t know. You went through that alone, and I… I didn’t—dammit.” He stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he began to pace.

You watched him, unsure if you should say something or just let him process. This was why you hadn’t wanted to tell him—because you knew he’d take it harder than you did. Dean had a way of carrying other people’s pain like it was his own, even when you didn’t ask him to.

“I didn’t want to burden anyone,” you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Dean stopped pacing and turned to you, his expression somewhere between disbelief and anger—not at you, but at the situation. “Y/N, you could never be a burden. Do you hear me? Not to me, not to Sam, not to anyone who gives a damn about you.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to fall. You blinked quickly, shaking your head. “It didn’t feel that way back then. I didn’t think anyone would understand.”

Dean’s face softened, and he came back to sit beside you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and you could feel the weight of his emotions hanging in the air. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter but no less intense.

“I’ve been through some dark stuff too,” he admitted, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “Hell, there were times I didn’t think I’d make it out. And yeah, I’ve got my ways of coping—most of ’em aren’t healthy, I’ll admit. But I had people. I had Sam. I had Bobby. You didn’t have anyone, did you?”

You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. “Not really. I didn’t let anyone in.”

He looked at you then, his green eyes filled with a sadness that made your chest ache. “Well, you’ve got me now. And you’ve got Sam, and Cas, and everyone else in this crazy life we’ve built. You don’t ever have to go through that crap alone again. You hear me?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I hear you.”

But Dean wasn’t done. He reached out and gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m serious, Y/N. You don’t ever let yourself get to that place again without coming to me first. I don’t care what time it is, what’s going on—you come to me, okay? Promise me.”

You hesitated for a moment, the intensity in his eyes almost overwhelming. But you could see how much this meant to him, how much he cared. “I promise.”

“Good.” He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Now, do me a favor and don’t keep stuff like this from me anymore. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Okay,” you said, managing a small smile. “I’ll try.”

He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You better do more than try. You think I don’t notice when something’s off with you? I notice, Y/N. I just don’t always know how to ask.”

For the rest of the day, Dean didn’t leave you alone for long. He insisted on making dinner—though his idea of “making dinner” was ordering takeout—and suggested a movie marathon to take your mind off things.

As you sat together on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and watching one of his favorite cheesy action flicks, you felt the tension in your chest start to ease. Every so often, you’d catch him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if he were checking to make sure you were still there, still okay.

It wasn’t just the words he’d said earlier that comforted you—it was everything he did afterward. The way he made you laugh with his over-the-top commentary on the movie. The way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, as if to remind you he was there. The way he didn’t push you to talk about anything you weren’t ready to share but made it clear he was there if you needed him.

By the time the credits rolled, you felt lighter than you had in a long time. You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he didn’t move away—just shifted slightly so you’d be more comfortable.

“Thanks, Dean,” you said softly.

“For what?” he asked, his tone casual but his expression anything but.

“For being you.”

He smirked, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Damn right.”

But as you drifted off to sleep beside him, you knew he’d take those words to heart—and that he’d do whatever it took to keep you safe, both from the world and from yourself. Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers

[wandering-winchesters]

Breaking Point

Word Count: 1,402 Summary: After an argument at the bunker pushes you to your breaking point, you storm out to a bar to escape. Trigger Warnings: Alcohol use, Emotional distress, Mention of physical confrontation, Mild language Requested: No

Masterlist

The argument at the bunker had been building all week. Tensions were high, and everyone was on edge, but this time, it had gotten to you. Maybe it was the hunt that went sideways, or the constant weight of keeping everything together, but the words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them. And when Dean pushed back—like he always did—you’d had enough.

Grabbing your jacket, you stormed out of the bunker, not even sparing a glance at Sam or Dean as they called after you. The sound of your boots echoed in the empty hallway, your heart pounding in your ears. It felt like you couldn’t breathe inside those walls anymore. You didn’t care where you went; you just needed to escape.

The bar was the first place you thought of. Familiar, dark, and loud enough to drown out your thoughts. You weren’t planning on getting drunk, but after the first drink, the sting of alcohol dulled the ache in your chest. So you ordered another. And another.

Hours passed, and you felt the familiar warmth spread through your body. The numbness was welcome. It made everything quiet. You didn’t have to think about the bunker, the hunts, the danger, or even Dean. Especially not Dean.

Back at the bunker, Dean was pacing. It wasn’t unusual for you to storm out, but you always came back, always sent a message at the very least. But tonight, his phone stayed silent. Sam tried to calm him down, suggesting you needed space, but Dean knew something was off. His instincts told him that you were in trouble, or headed for it. And Dean trusted his instincts.

Without another word, he grabbed his phone and checked your location. The bar. Of course. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his jacket and keys, his worry morphing into anger. He didn’t like that you were out drinking alone, but what bothered him more was that you didn’t tell him where you were going. That you didn’t let him help.

By the time Dean burst through the doors of the bar, he was half expecting to find you passed out in some corner, but what he saw made his heart drop. You were at the far end of the bar, your head resting against the cool surface, eyes bleary as you nursed what had to be your fifth or sixth drink. He didn’t have to count to know you were wasted.

He crossed the room in long, determined strides, the anger he felt melting into concern as he saw just how vulnerable you were.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low but firm as he placed a hand on your shoulder. You barely looked up.

"I’m fine," you muttered, your words slurred, trying to shrug him off. "Just leave me alone, Dean."

Dean crouched beside you, lowering his voice so only you could hear. "You’re not fine. Let’s get you home."

You shot him a glare, one that was less effective with how glassy your eyes were. "I’m not going back there, Dean. Not tonight. I can’t."

Dean’s jaw clenched. "What the hell does that mean? You can’t just disappear and drink yourself into oblivion. Do you know how worried I was?"

"I don’t care," you snapped, the bitterness in your voice catching him off guard. "I just needed to get away from all of it… from you."

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Dean's heart dropped, but he pushed the hurt aside. This wasn’t about him. He knew you were hurting, more than you let on, but hearing it out loud still stung.

"Y/N," he began, softer now, "I get it, okay? But this—" he gestured around the bar—"this isn’t the answer. You can’t just run."

"I’m not running," you mumbled, your head dropping onto the bar. "I’m just… tired."

Dean could hear the exhaustion in your voice, the weight you carried every day, and he hated that you didn’t feel like you could come to him with it. That instead, you chose to carry it alone. He sat next to you, not saying anything for a while, just being there, hoping his presence would be enough.

That’s when Dean noticed the guys. A group of them had been watching you since he walked in, and now they were making their move. One of the guys—a tall, burly man with a leer that made Dean’s blood boil—sauntered over and stood too close to you for comfort.

"Hey, sweetheart," the man said, his voice thick with arrogance. "Why don’t you ditch the loser and come sit with me and my boys?"

You barely registered his words, but Dean stood up immediately, stepping between you and the guy. "She’s not interested," Dean growled, his eyes narrowing.

The man’s smile faltered, then twisted into something uglier. "What, she needs you to talk for her? I’m just trying to be friendly."

Dean’s hands balled into fists at his sides, and it took everything in him not to knock the guy out cold. "Walk away," he said, his voice a dangerous low rumble. "Now."

The guy sneered, taking a step forward as if to challenge Dean, but the bartender was quick to step in, threatening to call the cops if things escalated. The man finally backed down, muttering under his breath as he stalked off, but not before throwing a final glare at Dean.

Dean turned back to you, his heart still pounding from the adrenaline. You hadn’t even noticed what had just happened, your head still resting on the bar, eyes half-closed.

"Y/N," he whispered, crouching down again so he was eye-level with you. His hand gently cupped your face, turning you toward him. "You’re coming home with me."

You blinked at him, your walls crumbling as the reality of the night hit you. You were tired, not just physically, but emotionally. All the anger, the frustration, it was masking something deeper—fear, pain, the crushing weight of everything you had been through. You couldn’t carry it anymore.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over. "I don’t know what I’m doing, Dean," you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t… I don’t know how to keep going."

Dean’s heart broke at the sight of you like this. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him, his hand smoothing over your hair. "You don’t have to do it alone," he murmured into your hair. "I’m right here. Always."

For a moment, you stayed like that, wrapped in his arms, letting his presence ground you. The fight drained out of you, replaced by a deep, aching sadness you had kept buried for far too long.

"I’m sorry," you whispered into his chest, your voice shaking.

"Don’t apologize," Dean said softly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. "We’ll figure it out, okay? Together."

You nodded, too exhausted to argue. And this time, when Dean stood and offered his hand, you took it. He helped you to your feet, steadying you as you stumbled slightly. He kept a firm arm around your waist, guiding you out of the bar and into the cool night air.

As the two of you walked to the Impala, the weight of the night still lingered, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had to carry it all on your own. Dean was right there beside you, and somehow, that made all the difference.

And as you sat in the passenger seat, leaning your head against the window, you let yourself believe him. You didn’t have to keep running. Dean had your back—he always would.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers

[wandering-winchesters]

Safety

Word Count: 1,398 Pairing: Dean x Reader Summary: After being rescued from a terrifying ordeal, you struggle to come to terms with the trauma of your captivity. Trigger Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping and captivity, Panic attacks, Trauma response

Masterlist

The world felt like it had shattered into a million pieces. You were conscious, but barely. Your mind raced, heart pounded, and all you could hear was the echo of your own ragged breathing. The darkness around you was oppressive, and even though the danger had passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling of terror that gripped your entire being.

You didn’t know how long you had been in that place. Hours? Days? It was all a blur. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth, cold and unwelcoming. The ropes that had bound your wrists left angry red marks on your skin, now freed but still tingling with the ghost of their restraint. You had been trapped, powerless, at the mercy of someone with no mercy to give. And then, just when it seemed that there was no hope, he came.

Dean Winchester.

He moved like a force of nature, tearing through your captor’s defenses with a precision and ferocity that would have terrified you under different circumstances. But now, you barely registered his presence. The moment the ropes were cut, and you were free, your body crumpled to the ground. You weren’t thinking clearly. Everything was a hazy mix of fear and confusion.

Dean’s hands were on you, gentle yet firm, guiding you to stand. He spoke to you, his voice low and steady, but the words didn’t register. You were too far gone, too lost in the echoes of your terror. Your eyes darted around the room, looking for threats that no longer existed, unable to focus on the one person who had brought you to safety.

“Y/N,” Dean’s voice was sharp, pulling at the edges of your fractured consciousness. You flinched but didn’t respond. You were hyperventilating now, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. The walls of the room seemed to close in on you, and you could feel your pulse throbbing in your ears. The shadow of your captor lingered in your mind, more terrifying now that you were free than when you were under his control.

Dean grabbed your shoulders, his grip grounding you even as you trembled. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his voice more urgent now. “You’re safe. You hear me? You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it was as if you couldn’t hear him. Your mind was trapped in a loop, replaying the worst moments over and over again. The fear was paralyzing, consuming every rational thought you tried to muster. Your gaze darted to the shadows in the room, convinced you saw movement, convinced he was still there, watching, waiting.

Dean’s fingers gently gripped your chin, trying to direct your attention to him, but you kept looking away, still searching for a threat that was no longer there. His voice softened as he called your name again, “Y/N, hey, look at me. Don’t look at him, look at me.”

His words broke through the fog, but only slightly. You looked past him, still not really seeing him, eyes wide with terror. Dean’s jaw tightened with concern, his own heart aching as he saw how deeply the experience had shaken you. He didn’t know all the details, but he could see the toll it had taken.

Slowly, deliberately, he moved closer, positioning himself directly in your line of sight, blocking out everything else. “Hey, look at me,” he repeated, his tone both commanding and reassuring. His hands moved from your chin to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t even realized were falling.

You flinched slightly at the contact, but Dean didn’t let go. He kept his grip gentle, but firm enough to keep your focus. His green eyes were locked on yours, filled with an intensity that cut through the haze. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”

You blinked, the first signs of recognition starting to filter through the panic. His presence was like a lifeline, something tangible and real to cling to in the sea of chaos inside your head. Slowly, your breathing began to slow, the frantic gasps easing into more controlled, albeit shaky, breaths.

“There you go,” Dean said softly, his thumbs continuing their soothing motions against your cheeks. “That’s it, just keep breathing with me, okay? In and out, nice and slow.”

You nodded faintly, your eyes finally locking onto his. The connection steadied you, anchoring you back to reality. Dean’s face was a mixture of concern and relief, his gaze unwavering as he guided you back from the brink.

“There you are,” he murmured, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve got you, Y/N. You’re safe.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight, but you managed to speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “He… he was going to…”

Dean’s expression darkened for a moment, but he quickly pushed the anger aside, focusing on you. “But he didn’t,” he said firmly. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, okay? Not ever.”

The conviction in his voice was comforting, and you felt a tiny bit of the weight lift from your chest. You nodded again, more assuredly this time, and Dean released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said softly, his hands still cradling your face for a moment longer before he let them fall to your sides. He stayed close, his presence solid and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Your legs were shaky, but Dean kept a steady hand on your arm, guiding you out of the dark, oppressive space that had held you captive.

As you stepped outside, the cool night air hit your face, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. The world seemed brighter, more alive, and with Dean by your side, you felt the fear begin to ebb away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief.

Dean led you to the Impala, his hand never leaving yours. He opened the passenger door for you, and you slid into the familiar seat. The leather was warm, the scent of the car instantly calming your frayed nerves. Dean rounded the car quickly, getting in beside you, and for a moment, the two of you just sat there in silence.

Finally, you turned to him, your voice still shaky but filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Dean. I… I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t…”

“Don’t think about that,” Dean interrupted gently, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “You’re here, you’re safe, and that’s all that matters. We’ll deal with the rest later.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand in return, the warmth of his touch grounding you further. “I don’t know how to thank you,” you whispered.

Dean’s eyes softened, and he gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly. “Just take care of yourself, okay? That’s all I need.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the last of the fear start to melt away. Dean was right; you were safe. With him, you always would be. And as the Impala roared to life and the road stretched out before you, you knew that no matter what came next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers

[wandering-winchesters]

Beneath The Surface

Summary: Dean struggles to keep his growing feelings at bay.

Dean Winchester wasn’t one to get lost in his thoughts—at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. Life on the road, hunting monsters, saving people, it didn’t leave much room for reflection or introspection. But lately, more and more, he found his thoughts drifting to you.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on when it started. Maybe it was the first time you patched him up after a hunt, your hands steady and sure as you cleaned the blood from his wounds, not flinching or showing a hint of fear. Or maybe it was that night in the bunker when you stayed up late with him, the two of you sipping on whiskey in the library, sharing stories about your pasts, the kind of stories that were usually kept hidden. Somewhere along the way, between the late-night conversations, the hunts that nearly went sideways, and the moments of quiet that were far too rare, you had become more than just a fellow hunter. You had become someone he couldn’t imagine his life without.

Dean wasn’t good with words, never had been. He’d always been more comfortable with action—with a gun in his hand or a wrench under the hood of the Impala. But when it came to you, he found himself wanting to say things he didn’t know how to express. You had a way of getting under his skin, of making him think about things he’d rather not think about—like how he actually felt, or what he wanted out of life. Things he’d buried a long time ago, thinking they had no place in the life he led.

You were different from anyone he’d ever known. You were tough, no doubt about it—you had to be to survive in their world. But there was more to you than just the hunter side. You had this softness, this warmth that Dean found himself drawn to, like a moth to a flame. It was in the way you cared for people, the way you could be in the middle of a fight with some supernatural creature one minute and then offer a kind word or a comforting touch the next. It was in the way you saw him, really saw him, past the tough-guy facade, past the bravado. You saw the man underneath, the one who was tired, who was scared, who was just trying to keep it all together.

Dean often found himself watching you when you weren’t looking. Like when you were hunched over a stack of lore books, your brow furrowed in concentration, or when you were cleaning your weapons with that methodical precision you always had. He noticed the little things—the way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought, the way your eyes lit up when you figured something out, the way you always made sure Sam and Dean had eaten, even when you were just as exhausted and hungry as they were. It was these small, quiet moments that caught him off guard, that made him realize just how much you meant to him.

And then there were the times when you smiled. Dean wasn’t a man who smiled easily—his life hadn’t given him many reasons to. But your smile had a way of breaking through his defenses, of making him forget, even if just for a moment, about all the darkness and the danger. It was like a light in the dark, something pure and good in a world that was anything but. He’d find himself doing things just to see that smile, whether it was cracking a joke, even a bad one, or surprising you with your favorite takeout after a long day. It didn’t make sense, not really, but there it was.

He saw you as more than just another hunter, more than just someone who had his back in a fight. You were his partner, his friend, and, though he’d never said it out loud, you were something more—something he was scared to put a name to. Because if he did, if he let himself admit what he really felt, he knew there’d be no going back. And that scared the hell out of him.

Dean had lost so much in his life—too much. Everyone he cared about had been taken from him at some point or another, and he wasn’t sure he could handle losing you too. That’s why he kept his feelings close, locked away where they couldn’t hurt him. But there were moments, late at night when the world was quiet and it was just the two of you, that he’d let his guard down, just for a second. Like when you were sitting beside him on the hood of the Impala, your shoulders touching, both of you staring up at the stars. In those moments, he’d let himself think about what it would be like to have more, to have something real, something good.

But then the sun would rise, and the hunt would start again, and Dean would push those thoughts aside, bury them deep where they couldn’t distract him. Because he had a job to do, and there was no room for distractions, no matter how much he wanted them.

Still, no matter how hard he tried to keep his feelings in check, they were always there, bubbling just beneath the surface. He couldn’t help it. You had a way of getting to him, of making him want things he’d long ago told himself he couldn’t have.

Dean often found himself wondering what you saw when you looked at him. Did you see the broken man, the one who’d made more mistakes than he could count, who’d lost more than he could ever get back? Or did you see something else, something more? He didn’t know, and he was too afraid to ask. But he knew what he saw when he looked at you. He saw someone strong, someone who’d been through hell and come out the other side, but who still had a heart, who still cared. He saw someone who made him want to be better, who made him believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as lost as he thought.

And that scared him more than any monster ever could. Because if he let himself care, if he let himself love, he knew there was a chance he could lose it all. And that was a risk he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to take.

But then he’d look at you, really look at you, and he’d feel something stir inside him—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers

[wandering-winchesters]

A Quiet Drive Home

Summary: On a Rain-soaked drive back to the bunker, Dean finds solace in the moment.

The rain drummed steadily against the roof of the Impala, the steady rhythm a soothing backdrop to the otherwise quiet drive. Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the downpour, swiping back and forth with a monotonous persistence. It had been a long, grueling hunt, and the exhaustion hung heavily in the car like a thick fog.

Beside him, Sam sat quietly in the passenger seat, his head leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep—Dean knew his brother well enough to tell when he was faking it—but he was trying to catch some rest, or at least a few moments of peace before they reached the bunker. Dean didn’t blame him. It had been a rough few days, and they were all running on fumes.

Dean’s gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, where he could just make out your sleeping form in the backseat. You were slumped against the window, your jacket pulled tightly around you, your breath steady and even. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he watched you. You looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, a stark contrast to the fierce hunter you’d been earlier. It always amazed him how you could switch from being a badass in the field to this—someone who could let their guard down, if only for a little while.

He’d been worried about you. You’d taken a few hits during the hunt, and while you’d brushed them off like you always did, Dean had seen the weariness in your eyes. He knew you well enough to see when you were hurting, even if you never said anything. It was part of what he admired about you, but it was also what scared him. You were strong, but everyone had their breaking point, and Dean feared what might happen if you pushed yourself too far.

As the rain continued to pour, the road stretching out endlessly in front of them, Dean’s mind began to wander. It wasn’t like he could help it; long drives had a way of making his thoughts drift. He thought about the hunt they’d just finished, the close calls, the moments where things could’ve gone horribly wrong. But then, he thought about you—how you’d been right there with him, every step of the way, never hesitating, never backing down.

Dean glanced back at you through the mirror again, his heart clenching slightly. You meant more to him than he could ever put into words, more than he’d ever let on. He wasn’t good at talking about his feelings—hell, he wasn’t even good at acknowledging them half the time—but when it came to you, those feelings were impossible to ignore.

He didn’t know when it had happened, when you’d gone from being just another hunter to being someone he couldn’t imagine his life without. Maybe it was the way you always had his back, no matter how bad things got. Or maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you could see past all the walls he’d built up, past the tough exterior, and saw him for who he really was. Whatever it was, it had snuck up on him, and now he was in too deep to ever turn back.

The rain showed no signs of letting up, but Dean found that he didn’t mind. The steady beat against the car, the soft hum of the engine, the knowledge that you and Sam were safe and sound—it all brought a sense of calm that was rare in his life. For a moment, he let himself just be there, in that car, with the two people who mattered most to him.

He glanced over at Sam, who was still pretending to sleep, and felt a pang of gratitude. They’d been through hell together, and somehow, they always managed to come out the other side. But it was different now. With you in the picture, things had changed. It wasn’t just about the two of them anymore. They had you to think about, too, and Dean found that he didn’t mind that one bit. If anything, it made him even more determined to keep you safe, to protect you from the world that had taken so much from him and his brother.

As they neared the bunker, Dean’s thoughts shifted to what lay ahead. He knew you were exhausted, knew that you’d push yourself too hard if given the chance. He’d seen it before. But tonight, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Tonight, he’d make sure you got the rest you needed, even if it meant carrying you to your room himself.

The Impala pulled up to the bunker, the gravel crunching under the tires as Dean brought the car to a stop. The rain had lessened, but it was still coming down steadily, a constant, gentle patter. Dean cut the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening in contrast to the noise of the road.

Sam stirred beside him, opening his eyes and glancing over at Dean. “We home?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, his voice low. He nodded toward the backseat. “She’s out cold.”

Sam followed his gaze, a soft smile crossing his face as he saw you still sleeping. “She needs it,” he said simply, echoing Dean’s earlier thoughts.

Dean nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to his brother. “I’ll get her,” he said quietly, not wanting to wake you. Sam just nodded, already reaching for his door handle.

Dean stepped out into the rain, pulling his jacket up over his head as he moved to the backseat. He opened the door as gently as he could, leaning in to see if you were still asleep. You were, your breathing deep and even, completely oblivious to the world around you. Dean couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he watched you for a moment, just taking in the sight of you so peaceful, so at ease.

He carefully slid one arm under your legs, the other around your back, lifting you out of the car with ease. You stirred slightly, murmuring something under your breath, but you didn’t wake. Dean held you close as he made his way to the bunker entrance, the rain a soft, steady beat against his back.

Inside, the bunker was warm and welcoming, the familiar scents and sounds instantly putting Dean at ease. He carried you down the hallway to your room, trying to be as quiet as possible. Sam had already disappeared into his own room, giving Dean the space he needed.

When he reached your room, Dean nudged the door open with his foot, stepping inside and crossing the room to your bed. He gently laid you down on the mattress, careful not to wake you. You sighed softly, rolling onto your side as he pulled the covers up over you, tucking them in around your shoulders.

Dean stood there for a moment, just watching you sleep, his heart swelling with a tenderness he didn’t quite know how to handle. You looked so peaceful, so completely at ease, and he found himself wishing he could keep you that way forever. But he knew better. This life didn’t come with guarantees. All he could do was protect you as best he could, keep you safe for as long as he could.

He reached down, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Sleep tight, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room.

With one last glance at you, Dean turned and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the night calm and quiet. As he made his way to his own room, Dean felt a sense of peace settle over him. You were safe, you were home, and for tonight, that was enough.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @mishreem