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♈︎ 𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you both treat it like a competition, and suddenly the fake flirting has real teeth.
๋࣭ ⭑ dean thinks he can out-charm you. hilarious. you push back immediately, sliding an arm around him, calling him “baby” in public with the most innocent smile, and watching his whole system lag for half a second. he plays along fast, but now it’s less about the case and more about who breaks character first. by the end of the night, you’ve sold the act too well, and dean is pretending he didn’t enjoy every second of being claimed by you.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam tries to keep it professional, but you keep making him improvise, which is rude and effective.
๋࣭ ⭑ sam has a plan. you ruin it in five minutes by getting too bold with the fake pet names and casual touching. he gives you that tight little warning look, the one that says please stop making this harder than it needs to be, which obviously makes you worse. still, he adapts better than he wants to admit, and when he finally puts his hand on your lower back to guide you through the room, you both go quiet for one very telling second.
♉︎ 𝖙𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you make the fake relationship feel steady, domestic, and way too believable for his comfort.
๋࣭ ⭑ you don’t overperform. that’s what gets him. you lean into him calmly, fix his collar without thinking, remember the fake backstory, and somehow make it feel lived-in instead of staged. dean jokes because he has to survive somehow, but he keeps looking at you when you’re not watching, caught off guard by how easy it feels. the fake dating ends, technically. his brain does not receive the memo.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam settles into the act too easily, then panics because easy has never been safe for him.
๋࣭ ⭑ you’re warm, grounded, and practical about the whole thing, which should make the case simpler. instead, sam starts noticing stupid things. the way you touch his sleeve to get his attention. the way you answer questions about your “relationship” with quiet confidence. the way it doesn’t feel ridiculous when someone calls you two a sweet couple. he tells himself it’s just good cover. poor man. lying to himself.
♊︎ 𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖎
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ the cover story keeps changing because you’re both committed to the bit, not necessarily the truth.
๋࣭ ⭑ dean starts with a simple fake backstory and you immediately add unnecessary details. now you met at a gas station during a thunderstorm. now he proposed with a onion ring. now you have a dog named meatball. dean should be annoyed, but he’s laughing too hard under his breath. the chemistry is quick, messy, and very obvious, and half the witnesses probably think you’re either deeply in love or about to commit insurance fraud together. both are believable.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam thinks he’s prepared until you start improvising and his brain decides flirting is research.
๋࣭ ⭑ you keep him sharp. every question from a witness becomes a chance for you to add another layer to the fake relationship, and sam keeps up beautifully, even while internally screaming. he corrects your fake anniversary date without missing a beat. you call him “honey” just to see his jaw twitch. by the time the case is over, your fake relationship has lore, tension, and unresolved emotional consequences. as god intended.
♋︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you make the fake affection feel real, and dean starts malfunctioning quietly.
๋࣭ ⭑ you don’t flirt aggressively. you just care too naturally. you brush dust off his jacket, ask if he’s eaten, touch his arm when he gets tense, and suddenly dean is fighting for his life in a public place. to everyone else, you look like a couple with history. to him, it feels dangerous because he can’t tell where the act ends. worse, he doesn’t really want it to end. classic dean disaster.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ you make sam look loved, and honestly, that is almost rude of you.
๋࣭ ⭑ sam is good at pretending when he has to be, but with you, it doesn’t feel like pretending enough. you soften around him in public, and he softens back before he can stop himself. when someone asks how long you’ve been together, he answers smoothly, but there’s something in his face that gets too real. you notice. he notices you noticing. nobody is normal for the rest of the case.
♌︎ 𝖑𝖊𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you look too good on his arm, and dean immediately starts acting territorial while pretending it’s for the cover.
๋࣭ ⭑ this is dangerous because both of you know how to sell a scene. you walk in confident, glowing, leaning into the role with just enough drama to make people look twice. dean loves it. hates it. loves it again. the problem starts when someone flirts with you and he reacts a little too fast, a little too sharp, hand sliding to your waist like the claim is automatic. later, he says it was strategy. sure, dean. strategy with heart eyes.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ you make the fake dating look effortless, and sam spends the whole case pretending he is not affected by your sparkle.
๋࣭ ⭑ sam knows you’re playing a role. he does. he is intelligent. allegedly. but when you smile at him across a room, call him handsome, and tug him closer for the cover, his careful little wall starts cracking. he admires how easily you command attention, but what really gets him is when that attention turns gentle with him. suddenly, the performance has a pulse.
♍︎ 𝖛𝖎𝖗𝖌𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you have the cover story memorized, the details organized, and dean hates how hot competence looks on you.
๋࣭ ⭑ you treat fake dating like a case file with emotional accessories. dates, jobs, backstory, reason for being there—you have it all ready. dean makes fun of you until your preparation saves his ass three separate times. then he starts enjoying it. the best part is how you correct him mid-conversation with a sweet smile and a hand on his chest, fully in character, absolutely lethal. he may survive the monster. you are the real problem.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ you and sam are so prepared that people assume you’ve been married for years, which is inconvenient for everyone’s feelings.
๋࣭ ⭑ you two are a fake-dating machine. coordinated, thoughtful, detail-oriented, almost scary. sam appreciates how seriously you take the cover, but the intimacy sneaks in through the practical stuff: fixing his tie, passing him information without speaking, remembering the exact lie he told ten minutes ago. it becomes less “pretending to be close” and more “revealing how close you already are.” rude.
♎︎ 𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you make the fake romance pretty, easy, and socially lethal, which means dean is doomed.
๋࣭ ⭑ you know exactly how to play a room. dean knows how to flirt, but you know how to make people believe in the love story. you laugh at his jokes, touch his arm at the perfect moments, look at him with warm little glances that make even him forget this is fake. he keeps trying to stay cocky, but you are making him look adored in public, and unfortunately that hits somewhere deep.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam relaxes into your charm until he realizes he has stopped pretending to enjoy your company.
๋࣭ ⭑ with you, the fake dating is elegant. soft smiles, quiet teamwork, easy conversation. sam doesn’t have to force much because you naturally smooth over the awkward edges. witnesses trust you. strangers compliment you. someone says you two make a beautiful couple and sam laughs politely, but later he is haunted by the fact that he didn’t hate hearing it.
♏︎ 𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖎𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ the fake dating is all eye contact, tension, and dean pretending he isn’t one comment away from losing composure.
๋࣭ ⭑ you don’t need to be loud. that is the problem. you stand close, speak low, look at him like you know exactly what he’s hiding, and dean gets defensive in that very specific way that means he is affected. the cover works because everyone can feel the tension from across the room. unfortunately, so can the two of you. by the end, the case is solved and the fake relationship has created several real problems.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam tries to keep distance, but you make pretending feel too much like confession.
๋࣭ ⭑ sam is cautious with you because fake intimacy does not stay fake for long. not with the way you notice every shift in his face, every hesitation, every lie he tells smoothly to everyone except you. you play the role beautifully, but there’s always an edge underneath it, something private and intense. sam starts the case guarded. he ends it wondering when exactly you became someone he doesn’t know how to step away from.
♐︎ 𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you turn fake dating into an adventure, and dean is having the time of his life while pretending you’re a liability.
๋࣭ ⭑ your cover story is barely stable because you keep adding ridiculous details just to make him react. dean complains, but he’s grinning. the whole thing feels fast and messy: fake arguing in public, fake making up five minutes later, stealing food from each other’s plates, flirting with danger and also with each other. he says you’re impossible. he says it fondly. there’s the problem.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ you drag sam into the performance until he accidentally enjoys not being so controlled for once.
๋࣭ ⭑ sam tries to keep the fake relationship believable. you make it memorable. you take his hand, pull him into a dance, invent a wild vacation story, and make him laugh when he absolutely should be focused. he gets nervous because you’re unpredictable, but there’s relief in it too. with you, he gets to be someone lighter for a night. that kind of thing sticks.
♑︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖓
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you both act like this is strictly tactical, which would be more convincing if the tension wasn’t wearing a suit.
๋࣭ ⭑ you and dean fake date like people entering a negotiation. clean, controlled, mildly hostile, extremely watchable. the chemistry is not fluffy—it’s sharp. you correct his approach, he needles your seriousness, and somehow everyone buys you as a couple because apparently bickering with mutual respect is a love language. dean says you’re bossy. you say he’s reckless. both of you are correct and turned on by the argument. unfortunate.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam respects your control so much that the fake dating becomes a slow-burn workplace hazard.
๋࣭ ⭑ you and sam are careful. maybe too careful. no unnecessary touching, no sloppy improvising, no messy emotional leakage. which, naturally, makes every small gesture feel enormous. his hand at your back. your fingers fixing his sleeve. the shared look when someone asks if you’re serious about each other. you both answer the case question perfectly. neither of you answers the actual question.
♒︎ 𝖆𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you refuse to fake-date in the expected way, and dean is attracted to the chaos against his will.
๋࣭ ⭑ dean expects flirtation. you give him weird couple lore, emotional distance, and a fake backstory so specific it sounds real. he spends half the case trying to figure out if you’re messing with him, flirting with him, or conducting a social experiment. probably all three. he acts annoyed, but the truth is, you keep him on his toes, and dean’s stupid heart loves a challenge even when his mouth complains.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam gets your rhythm faster than most people, which makes the fake relationship feel oddly comfortable.
๋࣭ ⭑ you don’t do conventional romance well, even fake. sam doesn’t mind as much as expected. he follows your logic, adds to your weird little cover story, and somehow the two of you become the most believable couple in the room because there’s no performance pressure. just quiet understanding, dry comments, and a shared braincell doing something suspiciously intimate.
♓︎ 𝖕𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you make the fake romance feel tender, and dean immediately starts using jokes as emotional self-defense.
๋࣭ ⭑ you lean into the role with sweetness, and dean does not know what to do with that. he can handle flirting. he can handle teasing. he cannot handle you looking at him like he matters while calling him your boyfriend for a cover. the case works because people believe you adore him. the problem is, by the end, dean is starting to believe it too, and that terrifies him more than the monster.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam tries to keep it fake, but you bring out the tenderness he usually keeps locked away.
๋࣭ ⭑ with you, fake dating turns soft almost immediately. lingering looks, quiet check-ins, hands held a second longer than necessary. sam knows it’s for the case, but you have a way of making pretend feelings feel safe enough to touch. by the time it’s over, he’s gentle in a way that gives him away. he thanks you for the help, then looks at you like the fake part was the thing he liked least.
So let me know if this may be of interest to you but I have a lot of medical bills and expenses these past few weeks that are legit killing me so I was wondering if personalized edits with a fic or making a ship x reader drabbles would be something people would be interested in. I’d set it up somewhere like Venmo or if anyone has a better method we can do that. This is an idea inspired by @wendichester ‘s astrology readings and I’d be happy to do supernatural or any other fandom I have knowledge in. I can try other ones but I don’t want to disappoint if I don’t know all the lore or the character LOL. You can either dm me with the ideas you’d like to see or submit it through asks. Maybe I’ll even make a google survey link, whatever is easiest. I’d charge maybe between $3-5 depending on how complicated or long it turns out. Hope this isn’t stupid as we all are struggling rn I’m sure ❤️ lots of love y’all just thought this was a cute idea!!
you are such a good writer!!! How did you grow your skill in writing? 💕
oh baby 🥺🩷 thank you so much!! i’ve replied to something similar before, but honestly, i think writing is the same as any other skill: you get better by doing it. over and over and over again.
i started writing when i was really little, mostly as a way to cope with emotions i didn’t know how to handle yet. the first thing i actually have proof of writing is from when i was around ten or eleven and my mom had been given two years to live. (she’s fine now though!!) but little me was having a really hard time processing it, so i wrote a little story down on a piece of paper in the grossest handwriting imaginable 💀 she still keeps it in her wallet
and i think that’s always been what writing is for me. a place to put feelings when they get too loud. somewhere to turn when i need comfort, or clarity, or just a little escape
practice matters, of course. reading helps. writing helps. editing your own work and figuring out what sounds right to you helps. but i also think you have to love it. and i really, really do. i love dancing. i love singing. i love playing padel. but writing is always the thing i come back to. it’s my comfort, every single time 🥹🩷
just wanted to say, I really enjoy your winchester zodiac posts, I have so much fun reading them :)
Also side note: I'm not too great at all the astrology stuff, it is the sun sign you refer to or not? I'm not sure haha
Anyways, have a great day/night/whatever it is for you :)
hi baby!! 🩷 i’m so glad you’ve been enjoying the zodiac posts!! they’re honestly so much fun to make eheh
and yes!! for those posts, i’m referring to your sun sign. that’s the main zodiac sign people usually mean when they ask what your sign is. it’s super easy to find out too: just google your date of birth + “zodiac sign” and it should pop right up.
hope you have the loveliest day/night too, sweets 😚
hi lovely! When requests are open again, would you consider writing something about cardiophile Sam x reader? Absolutely no rush, I'm just asking since I'm not sure if this is too much especially if ur not familiar with it (:
hi sweets!! 💗 i think it would really depend on the specific idea and how you wanted it handled. demon blood!sam? sure! i can definitely see the connection there. the heightened senses, the intensity, the way that version of sam gets a little darker and more obsessive... i could work with that.
like i’ve said before, i’m open to writing most things as long as i can genuinely picture the character being into it / acting that way. so when requests reopen, feel free to send the full idea and i’ll see if it feels right for sam 😌
yes, absolutely!! 🩷 smut commissions are available for sam and dean. you can check my ko-fi page for all the details, including the instructions, do’s and don’ts before ordering ☝🏻🤓
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ you can survive hunting beside dean winchester; what’s harder is surviving the slow, unbearable heartbreak of almost being loved by him.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x chubby!oc ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 3580 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ angsty fluff
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ mutual pining, friends to lovers, body-image insecurity, slight age gap, jealousy, mention of dean’s casual flirting and past hookups, emotional avoidance, roadside argument, dean winchester’s spectacularly poor self-worth, crying, comfort, kissing, soft ending!!
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ this is my very first commission for the lovely @croatcan and god damn is it special! 🥹 i think it turned out lovely, so i hope you enjoy reading this 🩷
˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ request your fanfic ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
the problem is that dean winchester touches you almost as if he’s forgotten you’re not his.
it’s never enough to call him out on. that’s the clever part, whether he intends it to or not. his palm settles against the small of your back when he guides you through a crowded bar, warm and broad through the thin fabric of your shirt, but it’s gone before you can turn the moment into anything more dangerous. his knee presses against yours beneath diner tables because he always takes up too much room. he drapes his arm around your shoulders when the three of you are walking back to the impala after a hunt, pulling you close enough that your hip bumps against his side whenever you take a step. and he calls you kid when you elbow him for it.
none of it means anything. that’s what you tell yourself.
dean is dean. he flirts when he’s bored, when he’s nervous, when the waitress is pretty, when the bartender has long legs and a low-cut shirt. the women he notices are always beautiful in that uncomplicated, glossy sort of way. slim waists. narrow hips. the effortless confidence of somebody who knows exactly what happens when a guy like him looks across a room and smiles at them.
you know what happens, too. you’ve been hunting with the brothers long enough to see the pattern.
and the harsh truth is that it shouldn’t bother you. you know the softness of your stomach doesn’t make you less capable of putting a bullet through a moving target. you know your thighs are strong enough to carry you through a graveyard at a sprint, your arms steady enough to haul sam upright when something throws him into a wall. you love your tattoos. you like the curve of your waist and the way your brown hair falls around your face when you stop trying to tame it. you don’t need to become smaller to deserve anything.
it would be easier if he stopped touching you. it would be easier if you wanted him less.
“it’s gonna open up again if you keep glaring at it that hard.” dean’s voice brings you back to the motel room.
rain taps steadily against the window, turning the parking lot outside into a blur of wet pavement and neon. the room smells faintly of bleach, damp denim, and the pizza sam has abandoned on the small table beside an open laptop. sam is in the shower, washing graveyard dirt out of his hair while you sit on the floor between dean’s knees at the edge of one bed.
his flannel is open. the black t-shirt underneath is pushed up far enough to expose the shallow gash along his ribs, angry and red but no longer bleeding. you’ve cleaned it carefully. all that remains is the bandage, which would be easier to apply if dean would stop watching your face.
“i’m not glaring,” you mutter.
“you’ve got the murder eyes.”
“these are my regular eyes.”
his mouth twitches. “nah. regular ones are bigger. cuter.”
you press the adhesive strip down harder than necessary.
dean sucks air through his teeth. “jesus, annie.”
“sorry.” you are not. still, the brief sting of guilt settles uncomfortably beneath your ribs when he lifts one hand and curls his fingers loosely around your wrist.
his thumb brushes your pulse once, absent and affectionate, as if this is not slowly hollowing you out from the inside. his expression changes when you pull away. not dramatically, though. dean is too practiced for that. he drops his hand and reaches for the hem of his shirt, tugging it back into place with a shrug that is almost convincing.
“all fixed,” you say, standing before he can find another reason to keep you close.
his gaze follows you. “you okay?”
“fine.”
“you’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
you busy yourself with the first-aid kit. the gauze packet refuses to slide into the side compartment properly. you try again, jaw tight. “probably because i’m fine a lot lately.”
“right.” the answer is dry enough to scrape.
you’ve been trying to put space between you for three weeks. it’s not working particularly well because hunting doesn’t offer much room for distance. there are still hours folded into the impala beside him, cramped motel rooms, diner booths.
but you’ve stopped curling against his side on the couch when sam puts on documentaries none of you are truly watching. you sit in the back seat more often. you avoid the kitchen when dean cooks breakfast in his robe, bare-legged and half-awake, because he always presses a kiss to the crown of your head when he reaches over you for the coffee grounds.
it’s embarrassing how badly you miss something you never had.
“we should get a drink,” dean says.
you glance at him. “we should sleep.”
“we killed a nest of vamps in a barn that smelled worse than the trunk after that rugaru in ohio. we earned a drink.”
the bathroom door opens before you can argue. sam steps out with damp hair and a towel draped around his shoulders, his eyes moving between you and dean with the cautious awareness of somebody who knows exactly what you’re both feeling and keeping bottled down.
“drink?” dean asks him.
sam looks at you for half a second too long. “i’m going to finish the research.”
“nerd.”
“somebody has to make sure there isn’t a second nest.”
“annie?”
you should say no. you’re tired, and your nerves feel worn thin beneath your skin. sitting in a bar with dean is an exercise in pretending you don’t watch him without meaning to.
instead, you sigh. “one drink.”
his smile comes too easily, bright enough to make your chest hurt. “that’s my girl.”
it’s a thoughtless phrase. dean is already grabbing his jacket when he says it. he doesn’t even notice how still you become.
but sam does. his gaze catches yours over dean’s shoulder, sympathetic in a way you cannot bear to acknowledge, so you look down and zip the first-aid kit closed.
the bar is attached to the motel, a narrow room with battered tables, a glowing jukebox, and the sort of carpet that has survived several decades through sheer stubbornness. a baseball game plays silently on the television above the liquor shelves. dean orders whiskey. you ask for a beer and slide onto a stool with one empty seat between you, a small act of self-preservation that lasts approximately two minutes before dean moves closer when somebody needs to squeeze past. he doesn’t move away again.
you talk about nothing. that’s one of the worst parts. it’s easy with him. even now. you make dean laugh so abruptly he nearly chokes on his whiskey, and the warm, pleased feeling in your chest arrives before you can stop it.
“you’re trouble,” he says.
“i’m delightful.”
“you’re a pain in my ass.”
“and yet you keep me around.”
“somebody’s gotta supervise you, kid.”
the nickname comes softer than it should be, threaded through with fondness. dean shifts closer and drops his arm around your shoulders, drawing you against his side with an ease that feels practiced. his fingers rest against your upper arm. his thumb moves once over the fabric of your shirt.
you know you should push him away. instead, you let yourself have it. just for a minute.
the bartender appears in front of you with dean’s second whiskey. she’s pretty, with sleek blonde hair and a smile that lingers when she places the glass down. her eyes move toward dean’s arm around your shoulders before returning to his face.
“anything else for you two?” she asks.
“think we’re good,” dean says.
she smiles. “your girlfriend keeping you out of trouble tonight?”
it should be nothing. a stranger making an easy assumption. a moment dean could laugh off in a dozen harmless ways. he could remove his arm. he could change the subject.
instead, his body tenses beside yours.
“annie?” his laugh comes out uneven. “nah. she knows better than to make that mistake.”
the bartender gives him a smile, already turning away.
dean’s arm remains around you.
that’s what breaks something open. the weight of his hand still resting comfortably against your arm, the warmth of him wrapped around you while he says it. it’s the easy, careless expectation that you’ll sit here and take whatever scraps he gives you because you always have.
you move before you think better of it, shoving his arm off your shoulders as you stand.
his expression changes immediately. “hey—”
“i’m going back to the room.”
“what? hang on.”
you walk out before your face can betray you. rain catches in your hair as soon as you step beyond the awning. the motel sign flickers overhead, buzzing pink and blue against the dark.
“annabella.” the use of your full name follows you into the parking lot.
you don’t stop.
“come on,” dean calls, closer now. “would you slow down for a second?”
you should go to the motel room. sam is there. the door is less than thirty feet away, warm light visible behind the curtains. but the thought of walking in and seeing the pity on sam’s face makes your stomach turn, so you keep moving, passing the impala and reaching the edge of the lot.
“where the hell are you going?”
“for a walk.”
“in the rain? it’s already dark!”
“i need air.”
“annie, get back here.”
you turn then, rain sliding down your cheeks, anger burning hot enough to overpower the ache lodged beneath it. “stop telling me what to do.”
dean freezes, even if for a second. then, his jaw tightens, his fear disguising itself as irritation so quickly you might’ve missed it if you didn’t know him this well.
“fine,” he says. “you want air? take a minute. but you’re not walking down some dark road alone in the middle of nowhere.”
“just leave me the hell alone, dean.”
dean’s face closes in that familiar, infuriating way. the wall comes up. he stands beneath the motel lights with rain darkening the shoulders of his jacket.
you walk away.
the road is nearly empty, slick with rain and edged by wet grass. you fold your arms across your chest and keep moving, breathing through the pressure building behind your eyes, furious with him and with yourself and with every stupid little moment you have held too close.
you make it less than half a mile.
the roar of the impala reaches you first. headlights sweep across the road before the car pulls sharply onto the shoulder ahead of you, tires spitting water across the gravel. the driver’s door opens almost before the engine cuts.
“get in the car.”
you stop walking. “no.”
“annabella.”
“i said no.”
his hands flex uselessly at his sides. “then talk to me.”
“there’s nothing to talk about.”
“bullshit.”
“go away, dean.”
“not happening.”
“you can’t order me into the car because you feel guilty.”
“guilty? this isn’t—” he breaks off, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. his eyes are wide and bright beneath the passing sweep of another car’s headlights. “i don’t know what the hell just happened back there.”
a laugh catches painfully in your throat. “of course you don’t.”
“so tell me.”
you stare at him. dean has always been able to do this, somehow. he digs and digs until the truth is bleeding between your teeth, then acts surprised that it has a shape. you are exhausted. too tired to make it prettier for him. too tired to protect him from a feeling he has been carelessly feeding for months.
“i’m in love with you.”
you hate how much it hurts that he stills. you hate that some small, humiliating part of you has waited for this exact second anyway, always searching for proof that you might have misunderstood him. but he says nothing, and the silence is unbearable.
you nod once, swallowing hard. “yeah. that’s what happened back there.”
“annie—”
“i know.” your voice cracks. you look away, blinking against the rain. “i know you don’t feel the same way. i am not asking you to. i thought i could handle it. i thought it would pass if i stopped being stupid about every little thing you do, but you keep—”
you press the heel of your hand against your chest, frustrated by the tears slipping free despite your best efforts.
“you keep touching me as if i’m yours. you keep looking at me as if there is something here. you pull me into you, and you call me your girl, and then you flirt with women who look nothing like me because that’s what you actually want. that’s fine. it is. you’re allowed to want whatever you want. but i can’t keep standing beside you while you remind me that i’m not it.”
“no.” the word comes out rough.
you shake your head. “i’m tired, dean.”
“listen—”
“i’m tired of trying to be grateful for whatever version of you i get. i’m tired of feeling pathetic every time you put your hand on me and i let myself think about what it would feel like if you meant it. i never wanted to make this your problem, but i can’t do it anymore.” your breath shudders. “i can’t keep hunting with you. i can’t keep living like this. i don’t want to see you again.”
panic strips every trace of irritation from his face. “don’t say that.”
“dean—”
“don’t.” he moves toward you, then stops himself so abruptly it looks painful. his voice drops, ragged at the edges. “don’t say you’re leaving.”
you wrap your arms tighter around yourself. “what else am i supposed to do?”
for one awful second, he only stares at you. then, dean winchester sinks to his knees on the wet roadside.
gravel crunches beneath his jeans. rain beads in his hair. he reaches for you carefully, both hands settling against your hips as if he needs something solid to hold on to, his fingers curving around the softness of your body without hesitation.
“dean, get up.”
“no. listen to me.” his voice breaks. “please.”
you look at him and his eyes are wet. maybe it is only the rain.
“you’ve got this wrong,” he says, each word unsteady. “god, annie, you’ve got it so so wrong.” his thumbs press lightly into your sides, grounding himself more than you. “i meant it every time i touched you. i mean it right now. you think you’re not what i want because you don’t look like some woman at a bar? sweetheart, i know exactly what you look like. i know how you fit against me. i know i’ve spent months trying not to stare at your mouth whenever you smile. i know i think about putting my hands right here so often it makes me feel sixteen and stupid.”
the softness of it nearly ruins you.
“then why?” you whisper. “why would you say that?”
his expression folds inward. “because i’m a coward.”
you shake your head automatically, but dean doesn’t let you rescue him from it.
“i know how to lose people,” he says. “i’m good at that. i know how to want something for one night and walk away before i screw it up. but you love people with your whole damn body, annabella. you hold on. you make space. you keep showing up.” his grip turns gentler. “and i wanted all of it. i wanted you so bad i convinced myself the decent thing was leaving it alone, because you deserve better than getting stuck with me.”
there it is—the ugliest, most familiar part of him. the piece that believes love is another weapon he might mishandle if he lets himself hold it too tightly.
“dean,” you whisper.
“but i feel it too.”
the words stop you cold.
his hands tighten around your hips, enough to keep you there while his voice turns rougher with every breath. he looks terrified. not of the rain, or the roadside, or the possibility of something lurking beyond the dark line of trees. of you. of what he’s saying and what happens after he can’t take it back.
“i love you too, annabella.” his throat works around the words. “so damn much it scares the hell outta me.”
you stare down at him, unable to move.
“you think i don’t know what i’m doing when i touch you? you think i don’t notice every time you lean into me, or when you fall asleep on my shoulder, or when you wrap your arms around me after a hunt and hold on a little tighter because you know i need it?” his eyes search your face desperately. “i notice everything. i remember everything. that’s the problem.”
rain slides down the sharp line of his cheek. his voice lowers.
“people close to me get hurt.”
“dean—”
“they do.” he shakes his head before you can soften it for him. “and i can’t—annie, i can’t be the reason something happens to you. i can’t get you killed because i got greedy and wanted something good for myself. i can’t watch you bleed because some monster figures out exactly where to stick the knife.” his breath catches, and for a second, he has to look away. “i’d die if something happened to you. i would lose my damn mind.”
your chest aches so fiercely that breathing feels strange.
“something could happen to me anyway,” you say quietly. “i’m a hunter.”
“yeah, well, i hate that too.”
a wet, startled laugh slips out before you can stop it. dean’s gaze snaps back to your face. something fragile loosens in his expression when he hears it, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth despite the fear still sitting plainly in his eyes.
“there she is,” he murmurs.
your fingers find his wrists. his pulse beats hard beneath your touch.
“you don’t get to decide what risks i’m allowed to take,” you tell him. “not for me. and you don’t get to love me halfway because you’re scared of what happens if you let yourself have it.”
his face crumples for half a second before he catches himself. “i know,” he says. “i’m sorry.”
you believe him. that’s the dangerous thing. you believe every messy, frightened word of it.
dean rises slowly from the gravel, his hands sliding around your waist as he stands. he stays close when he reaches his full height, close enough that the warmth of his body cuts through the rain, close enough that his forehead nearly touches yours.
“i’m probably gonna screw this up,” he whispers.
“probably.”
his mouth twitches. “little harsh.”
“you earned that.”
“yeah.” his thumb brushes your side. “fair.”
then his gaze drops to your mouth, and all the teasing drains out of him.
“annie,” he says softly.
dean cups your face with one hand and draws you against him with the other, his mouth warm and careful for all of two seconds before months of restraint crack open between you. the kiss turns deeper, needier, rain cold against your cheeks while his body presses solidly into yours. there’s nothing uncertain in the way he holds you. nothing apologetic. his palm spans the curve of your waist as if he has wanted to know the shape of you beneath his hands for far too long.
when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. both of you are breathing too hard.
“you’re freezing,” he murmurs.
“whose fault is that?”
“yours, obviously. walking dramatically into the rain. real chick-flick behavior.”
you stare at him.
“what?” he gives you a toothy smile. “too soon?”
a laugh breaks out of you, shaky and helpless, and dean smiles properly this time.
“say you won’t leave.” the words leave his lips carefully. there’s no demand in his tone. no typical dean winchester stubbornness. just a little more vulnerability that he’s willing himself to show because he cannot physically move without making sure.
you nod once. “i’m staying.”
relief softens his entire face. he kisses the corner of your mouth before bending suddenly and sliding one arm behind your knees.
“dean!”
he lifts you easily against his chest.
you grab his shoulders, startled laughter spilling out of you. “what the hell are you doing?!”
“saving you from pneumonia.”
“put me down.”
“nope.”
“dean!”
he carries you back toward the impala, holding you securely against him while your arms circle his neck. by the time he reaches the passenger side, your anger has softened into something tender and sore. not gone. not forgotten. but no longer yours to carry alone.
dean lowers you carefully onto your feet and opens the door.
“seat,” he says, pointing inside with a stern expression that lasts less than a second. “now.”
you roll your eyes as you climb in. “bossy.”
“yeah, yeah.”
he rounds the hood and slides behind the wheel, rainwater dripping from his hair onto his jacket. the engine rumbles to life. for a moment, neither of you speaks.
then dean reaches across the space between you and leaves his hand resting palm-up beside the gearshift. an offering. you look at it, then lace your fingers through his. his grip closes around yours gently.
dean pulls back onto the road with one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours between you, as if he’s still afraid you might disappear the second he lets go.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
When the London season begins, you expect nothing more than balls, whispers, and carefully arranged futures—until the Winchester brothers arrive. Dean is reckless charm wrapped in duty, moving through society as if daring it to catch him; Sam is quiet, brilliant, and searching for something real beneath the performance.
You are neither diamond nor spectacle, only observant, restless, and drawn toward both. One connection feels like dawn, full of promise; the other burns like dusk, dangerous and irresistible.
As Lady Wendichester watches and the season tightens its grip, love divides, secrets loom, and London holds its breath—because not every heart survives the space between morning and night.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ 𝒮𝑜𝒸𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓎 𝒫𝒶𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈 ꒱ ˎˊ˗
issue the first — on the commencement of the season
issue the second — on the matter of the most inconvenient duke
issue the third — on the most observant evening at druny lane
issue the forth — on loose pockets and looser manners
issue the fifth — on the weight of a title and the lightness of a promise
issue the sixth — on dukes, daughters, and the art of rehearsed regret
issue the seventh — on brothers, balls, and the dangerous arithmetic of a dance
issue the eight — on the speed with which gentlemen discover their devotion
issue the nineth — on withered ambitions and royal blessings
˗ˏˋ ꒰ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 ꒱ ˎˊ˗
one ⟡ of stars and candlelight
two ⟡ between applause and afterhours
three ⟡ the almost of it
four ⟡ allowance and amends
five ⟡ the price of the first light
six ⟡ the name on the dance card
seven ⟡ the weight of two promises
eight ⟡ a duke's protection
nine ⟡ a love of dawn and dusk
the fact that you had to physically launch yourself out of bed and pace around the room?? that is the exact kind of emotional damage i aspire to cause, i won’t lie 😌 and “heart torn out and put back in over and over” is such an insane compliment for this story specifically because that’s really what writing it felt like too. bridgerton yearning mixed with supernatural emotional constipation was always going to be a dangerous combination 😭
thank you for reading, recommending it, and trusting me with your heart, sweets. love you!! 🩷⭐️
what are some kinks you'd absolutely never write abt ??
hi sweets!! i think most of my hard no’s are already listed in my guidelines: noncon, any form of ageplay or minors in nsfw scenarios, incest (do not ask me for wincest, i will lose my damn mind), racism, sexual assault, pedophilia, animal-hybrid readers, and anything that feels completely out of character.
but those aren’t all exactly kinks, so honestly? it really depends on the request. there are some things i might be totally fine writing for one character but not another, just because i can’t picture them being into it or because it wouldn’t feel natural in the story. you can always send me a message/ask with the kink(s) you have in mind and i’ll let you know if i’m comfortable writing it / if i think it works for the character 🩷
˚₊‧꒰ა dean winchester ☆ @spectralgalaxygauntlet ☆ sam winchester ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
ꔛ. the beginning,
✧ who you are in the supernatural world .ᐟ
stephanie, you feel like someone who gets pulled into the supernatural universe because you’re too perceptive for your own good. with your libra sun, libra mercury, libra jupiter, pisces rising, and aries moon, you have this mix of softness, social intelligence, emotional immediacy, and quiet chaos under the surface.
you might start as a civilian, but not the helpless kind—more like someone who notices tension in a room before anyone says a word, clocks when people are lying, and can tell something is “off” even when the facts don’t line up yet.
your pisces rising gives you that almost dreamy, sensitive first impression, but your aries moon + lilith in aries means there is absolutely a bite under it. you may come across gentle, maybe even a little hard to read at first, but once something triggers your protective instinct, you’re not sitting there politely waiting for permission.
in the supernatural world, i can see you as someone who gets involved through a case connected to a friend, coworker, or community—something unjust enough that your libra placements go, nope, that is not balanced, fix it now, and your aries moon is already grabbing the metaphorical baseball bat.
✧ first meeting + first impression
you meet dean because he’s working a case and you are already inconveniently involved. probably not because you wanted danger, but because you refused to ignore something that everyone else kept dismissing. dean’s first impression of you is that you’re softer-looking than your actual personality. your pisces rising gives him that initial “okay, she’s sweet, maybe overwhelmed” read, and then five minutes later your aries moon comes out and you’re arguing with him because his plan is stupid, reckless, or both. he is immediately entertained. unfortunately for everyone, he loves when someone can push back.
sam’s first impression of you is quieter and more careful. he notices your sensitivity first, but he doesn’t mistake it for weakness. with his virgo rising and your venus in virgo, he catches the practical details: how you’re trying to make sense of the situation, how you notice what needs doing, how you probably ask very specific questions instead of just panicking. he also picks up on the neurodivergent way your attention may move—the way you might hyperfocus on one detail, miss another, then suddenly connect everything in a way that makes too much sense. his first thought is not “she’s too much”. it’s more like, oh, she’s processing this differently, but she is absolutely processing it.
✧ the friendship dynamic
with dean, the friendship has instant spark because your libra sun works beautifully with his aquarius sun, and your aries moon plays really well with his sagittarius moon. there’s banter, teasing, quick reactions, and this slightly competitive rhythm where he pushes, you push back, and suddenly you’re both enjoying the argument more than either of you should. dean likes that you’re not as delicate as you first seem. he likes that you can be kind and still have a temper, soft and still stubborn, pretty socially aware but not afraid to get sharp when something matters. the issue is that he can also trigger you by being dismissive when he thinks he’s being protective, especially because your libra placements want fairness and your aries moon hates being handled.
with sam, the friendship grows more slowly, but it has more practical steadiness. your venus in virgo responds well to his virgo rising and grounded taurus nature, so he feels easier to trust with details, routines, planning, and emotional patience. he doesn’t always match your emotional speed, because your aries moon reacts fast while his capricorn moon processes slowly, but he does take you seriously.
dean makes you feel seen in motion. sam makes you feel understood in structure. both matter, but in very different ways.
✧ quirks + fun things
→ dean absolutely starts calling you “trouble” after watching you look sweet for exactly thirty seconds before verbally tearing apart his plan.
→ sam becomes the one who quietly explains things in a way that actually works for your brain instead of making you feel talked down to.
→ both of them learn that when you go quiet, it does not always mean you’re calm—sometimes it means your aries moon is loading. dangerously.
ꔛ. something more,
✧ are you compatible .ᐣ first steps .ᐣ
with dean, there is very obvious chemistry. your libra sun and his aquarius sun connect easily, and your aries moon with his sagittarius moon creates this fast, fiery emotional rhythm. it feels exciting. immediate. kind of stupid in the way attraction often is, lovingly. he would probably initiate first, because dean is the one more likely to turn tension into action before thinking through the consequences. but long-term, your venus in virgo may struggle with his venus in sagittarius, because you want love that proves itself in practical, thoughtful, consistent ways, while he tends to love through heat, presence, protection, and emotional chaos disguised as confidence.
with sam, the romantic compatibility is less explosive at first, but more sustainable. your venus in virgo fits beautifully with his earthy chart—taurus sun, taurus mars, virgo rising, capricorn moon—because he naturally understands devotion through small acts, loyalty, and showing up. the shift with sam would be slower and probably mutual, though you might notice it first. you’d start realizing that he remembers things about you, adjusts to you, makes space for you, and suddenly it’s like... oh no. feelings. inconvenient. horrible. cute.
✧ the relationship dynamic
with dean, the relationship would be passionate, funny, protective, and occasionally exhausting. he brings out your boldness, your humor, your willingness to be a little reckless when you feel safe enough, and you bring out a softer kind of attentiveness in him because your pisces rising and libra sun make you emotionally tuned-in even when you’re pretending not to care. but the clashes would be real. your mars in scorpio wants depth, honesty, emotional truth, and loyalty that feels almost bone-deep, while his mars in aquarius can detach when things get too intense. that could make you feel shut out, especially if you’re already struggling to explain what you need without sounding “too much”.
with sam, the relationship is steadier and more emotionally useful, but not frictionless. his groundedness helps your nervous system settle, and your libra placements soften his tendency to get serious and closed-off. affection would show up through routines: him checking in before you ask, you noticing when he’s overworked, both of you quietly becoming part of each other’s daily rhythm. the challenge is emotional speed. you feel fast. he processes slow. you may want the issue addressed now, while he needs time to make sense of it. still, with sam, there’s a stronger sense of we can work through this instead of why do i feel like i’m chasing clarity?
✧ their favorite n worst version of you
dean’s favorite version of you, stephanie, is when you stop trying to soften your edges for other people. when your aries moon flashes through, when you’re funny and blunt and a little bossy because someone needs to say the obvious thing and apparently it has to be you. he likes your fire more than you might expect. his least favorite version is when you start acting like your needs are unreasonable, because he can tell when you’re trying to make yourself easier to love.
sam’s favorite version of you is when your care becomes practical. when you’re helping, organizing, checking details, remembering something small, making the space better because you noticed what was missing. he loves the way your venus in virgo loves quietly but intentionally, and he would admire how much thought sits behind your actions. his least favorite version is when you become too hard on yourself, when the neurospicy parts of you feel inconvenient to you, or when you start measuring your worth by how well you’re functioning. he doesn’t see you as a problem to manage. he sees someone who has been managing too much alone.
✧ fighting, hurting, making up
with dean, the damage would come from emotional inconsistency and pride. you both have strong reactive placements—your aries moon, his sagittarius moon, your mars in scorpio, his aquarius mars—so fights could start fast and turn sharp if nobody slows down. you might go intense and emotionally precise when hurt, while dean might deflect, joke, or pull back just enough to make you feel like you’re the only one taking the issue seriously. he would cause more damage long-term, not because he cares less, but because his avoidance could hit your deepest frustration: feeling like you’re trying to create fairness with someone who keeps dodging the conversation.
with sam, the damage is quieter. he might frustrate you by taking too long to open up, and you might overwhelm him if your aries moon demands immediate emotional movement before he’s ready. but sam is more emotionally mature in terms of follow-through. he may not always respond quickly, but he tries to understand.
making up with dean feels passionate but sometimes repetitive; making up with sam feels slower, calmer, and more likely to actually change the pattern.
ꔛ. overall ゛ with dean ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ 7.1 / 10 with sam ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ 8.6 / 10
stephanie, dean is the one with the sharper spark. he’d make you feel bold, desired, entertained, and very alive. there’s real chemistry there, and he would absolutely be drawn to your mix of softness and fire. but sam is the better long-term match.
with dean, the connection is hotter, quicker, more playful, but also more likely to leave you wondering where you stand when emotions get complicated. with sam, it’s less dramatic at first, but it gives your chart more of what it actually needs: consistency, patience, respect, and practical devotion.
so, if we’re talking fantasy? dean makes a very strong argument. if we’re talking who would probably love you better in a real, daily, sustainable way? it’s sam.
ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ request your reading ; all readings ; support my work .ᐟ
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ after sam leaves for stanford, dean shuts down so hard it feels like you lost him too—and one bad joke in the impala finally makes you snap.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( gn )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 842 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ angsty
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ heavy angst, abandonment feelings, grief over changing dynamics, emotional shutdown, argument, no clean resolution
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
the impala is too quiet without sam.
that’s the worst part, maybe. not the empty motel beds or the way dean stops ordering extra fries out of habit, or how every hunt feels a little more hollow now that there isn’t a second voice correcting research from the other side of a diner booth.
it’s the car. it’s the miles of road stretching ahead while dean drives with both hands on the wheel and says almost nothing, jaw set hard, music turned loud enough to pretend silence isn’t sitting between you with its knees drawn up.
before, it used to be you, dean, and sammy.
sam with his too-long legs shoved in the front seat, complaining about dean’s music, stealing your snacks when he thought you weren’t looking. dean calling him princess. you laughing until sam threatened to switch cars at the next gas station. stupid things. little things. the kind of things you don’t know are holding your life together until one person leaves and the other one starts acting as if anything soft has become a liability.
dean doesn’t joke with you anymore. not really. not the way he used to, with his mouth crooked and his eyes bright and all that ridiculous flirting tossed at you just to make you roll your eyes. he barely looks at you unless it’s about the case. location. weapons. salt. iron. exit points.
you miss sam so much it makes you angry, but missing dean when he’s right beside you feels worse.
so, yeah—by the time you pull up outside the old farmhouse, your face is probably doing something awful. dean notices. yet, he picks the worst possible thing to do with it.
“gee,” he says, glancing over as he parks. “poor ghost that has to face you tonight. we might not even need the salt rounds. your face’ll do all the work.”
it’s meant to be nothing. a jab. a little scrap of the old dean, thrown badly into the air between you. but it lands wrong.
you turn your head slowly. “are you kidding me?”
his eyebrows lift, already defensive. “what?”
“don’t what me.”
“it was a joke.”
“no, dean, it was you remembering how to speak to me for three seconds and choosing to be an asshole.”
that wipes the almost-smirk off his face. good.
you hate that it feels good.
he looks out through the windshield at the farmhouse, all black windows and peeling paint, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “we have a job.”
“we always have a job.” your voice comes out sharper than you expect, but you’re already opened up now, you’re already bleeding in the passenger seat, and there is no neat way to stop it. “that’s the problem, right? there’s always some house, some ghost, some excuse not to talk about the fact that sam left and you decided i had to lose both of you.”
his face changes. just a fraction. but you see it.
“you didn’t lose me,” he says, too fast.
you laugh once, ugly and hurt. “didn’t i?”
“i’m sitting right here!”
“no, you’re driving the car.” your throat tightens, and you hate that part. hate the wobble. hate how young you sound. “you’re loading guns and reading police reports and telling me to duck. you’re not here. you haven’t been here since he left!”
dean turns toward you then, anger rising because anger is easier—it’s always easier for him. “what do you want me to say?”
“anything,” you snap. “literally anything real.”
“real?” he repeats, voice low. “you want real?”
“yeah, i do.”
“sam walked out.”
“sam went to school.”
“he left!” dean bites out, and there it is, mean and raw and still not the whole truth. “he left, and dad’s pissed, and everything’s screwed, and i don’t have time to sit around holding hands and talking about feelings because people are dying.”
you stare at him, chest heaving.
outside, the farmhouse waits. the job waits. everything always waits just long enough to take something else from you.
“i wasn’t asking you to hold my hand,” you say quietly. too honest. too tired. “i was asking you not to disappear while sitting next to me.”
dean flinches. then he looks away, swallowing hard, eyes fixed on the house as if the ghost inside is easier to face than you. maybe it is.
you sit there for a few seconds, the engine ticking softly, the cassette still playing low under the silence. neither of you moves for the weapons bag. neither of you apologizes.
finally, dean reaches for the keys and shuts the car off. “let’s go,” he says, voice rough, smaller than before.
you nod, even though nothing is fixed, even though the empty seat still feels louder than both of you, even though you know this conversation is going to crawl into the space between your ribs and stay there.
you open your door before he can look at you again. and when you step out into the cold, you don’t wait for him to follow.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
Could you maybe write Castiel x reader but like the reader smells really good due to their lotion (no specific scent just a lotion that smells really good) and like cas is just constantly smelling them maybe pawsibly could just be fluff but maybe some smut PAWSIBLY.
⋆｡ ˚ close enough to notice
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ castiel keeps finding excuses to stand near you, and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize it’s because of your lotion.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ castiel x reader ( gn )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 546 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ fluff
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ castiel being unintentionally intense, scent-related affection, mild teasing
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
the first time castiel does it, you think it’s an accident.
you’re in the bunker kitchen, half-asleep and waiting for your coffee to become strong enough to fix your mood, when he steps beside you and pauses. just like that. in that same typical castiel-weirdness of his.
you glance at him over your mug. “cas?”
his eyes flick to yours, very serious. “yes?”
“you okay?”
“yes.”
you wait for him to say something else. he says nothing else.
then he leans, just slightly, closer to your shoulder.
you blink. “are you smelling me?”
castiel straightens so fast it would be funny if his face weren’t completely sincere. “no.” a beat. “yes.”
you stare at him.
he looks back, unashamed and somehow a little embarrassed, which is a complicated thing to manage with one face. “you smell pleasant,” he explains.
your brain goes wonderfully blank. “oh.”
“not in an alarming way.”
“great,” you say, trying not to laugh. “love that clarification.”
after that, you start noticing it: he sits beside you during research even when there are six empty chairs. he appears in doorways when you pass, head tilting faintly as if he’s caught some invisible thread of you in the air. once, while you were reaching for a book on a high shelf, he stepped behind you to get it first, and when his sleeve brushed your arm, he went very still.
you turned slowly, then. “cas.”
“i was assisting.”
“you were inhaling.”
his mouth parts. closes. “both things can be true.”
that gets you. you laugh, soft and helpless, and his expression gentles in response, like the sound is something he wants to keep but doesn’t know where to put.
one night, you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, rubbing lotion into your hands because the bunker air dries your skin out terribly. castiel stands near the doorway, watching with that quiet intensity that used to unsettle you before you learned it usually just means he’s curious. or worried. or both.
“it’s this, isn’t it?” you ask, holding up the bottle.
he steps closer. “yes.”
“you could’ve just said you liked it.”
“i did.”
“you said i smelled pleasant and not alarming.”
“that was accurate.”
you bite your lip to hide your smile, but it doesn’t work.
he notices. of course he does. and his gaze drops to your hands, then returns to your face, softer now. “may i?”
your chest gives a tiny, traitorous flip. “smell my hands?”
“yes.”
you should tease him. really, you should. instead, you offer him one.
castiel takes it carefully, his fingers cool at first, then warmer where they settle around yours. he bends over your hand, not kissing it—-just close enough that his breath brushes your knuckles, slow and reverent in a way that makes your stomach twist.
oh. that’s unfair. “cas,” you say, quieter.
he lifts his eyes. “is this uncomfortable?”
you swallow. “no,” you admit. too honest. “that’s kind of the problem.”
something shifts in his face, small but visible, like he’s filing that away with great care.
he doesn’t let go immediately. neither do you. and when his thumb moves once across the back of your hand, barely there, you realize he isn’t there just to smell the lotion anymore. maybe he never was.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
hello! i would love to commission you for a fic but your kofi states that you would only write for char x reader; would you ever consider writing for char x char? ive been dying for a samjess fic and I absolutely adore your writing style so i thought id try my luck and ask :) get better soon angel!
hii sweet thing!! first of all, thank you for the get-well wishes 🥺🩷
and yes, absolutely!! i only listed char x reader because i figured that’s what most people would be looking for, but i’m totally open to writing char x char too (especially jess because she’s such a sweetheart). if you’d like a samjess fic, just fill out the form as usual and refer to the “reader” as jess when adding the details, and i’ll know exactly what you mean 😚
Hii!! I love your stuff, so definitely get better - but don't force yourself to write while sick! Take care of yourself first!
But once you do get better, as long as you keep writing Sam Winchester content, whatever it might be, I'll be one happy anon 🙏❤️
aw baby 🤒 thank you so much, that’s really sweet. i’m trying to behave and actually let myself rest instead of opening my laptop every five minutes like a gremlin (which is exactly where i am rn) 😭
sam winchester content will absolutely continue. i could never abandon my big sad-eyed boy or the people spiritually depending on him 🤭🩷
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♈︎ 𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ insists on sharing
๋࣭ ⭑ he says he’s not sleeping on the floor because you “can’t behave,” which is rich coming from the man already smirking at you from the edge of the mattress. you make it a challenge, obviously. who takes up more space, who moves first, who can pretend not to notice the other’s leg brushing theirs. dean acts annoyed, but he is absolutely enjoying the tension. by morning, you’re both still on opposite sides of the bed out of sheer stubbornness, backs turned, painfully awake.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ prefers the couch, but you make him share
๋࣭ ⭑ he does not trust your restless fire in a shared bed, mostly because he knows you’ll make it weird on purpose. sam tries to be polite about it. too polite, actually. he says you should take the bed, he’ll be fine on the couch, and you immediately call him dramatic because his knees are practically hanging off the end. he lasts twenty minutes before you tell him to stop being stupid and get in the bed. he does. tense as a corpse. adorable.
♉︎ 𝖙𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ offers you the bed, then ends up sneaking next to you
๋࣭ ⭑ he tries to be noble for approximately five minutes before realizing the couch is awful and you look way too comfortable. you don’t make a big thing of it, which is exactly why he relaxes. you just lift the blanket slightly, sleepy and unbothered, and dean grumbles his way into the bed like this wasn’t what he wanted the whole time. you’re warm, steady, not fidgety. by morning, he’s stolen half your pillow and refuses to acknowledge it.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ wants to share the bed
๋࣭ ⭑ you’re safe in a way that doesn’t make him feel cornered, so sharing feels practical… until it starts feeling soft. sam is very calm about it. suspiciously calm. he says there’s no point in either of you sleeping badly when the bed is big enough, then proceeds to lie there extremely still because now he’s aware of every breath you take. you fall asleep first. he doesn’t. not for a while.
♊︎ 𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖎
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ puts pillows between you, but wakes up cuddling anyway
๋࣭ ⭑ he calls it a “safety wall,” you call it pathetic, and by sunrise the whole system has mysteriously collapsed. you talk too much. he tells you this several times. then keeps answering. then starts laughing. then rolls closer without meaning to. the pillows don’t survive the night because apparently banter is a gateway drug to accidental cuddling, and dean wakes up with your face near his shoulder looking deeply betrayed by his own body.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ shares, but overthinks the entire thing
๋࣭ ⭑ he thinks it’ll be fine because you’re fun and easy to talk to, then remembers you are also impossible to predict. sam tries to read before sleeping. huge mistake. you keep asking questions, making comments, stealing glances, turning the room into a podcast studio. eventually he tells you to go to sleep, but his voice is too fond to be convincing. he wakes up still on his side, careful as ever, with you having somehow stolen most of the blanket.
♋︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ shares, no pillow wall
๋࣭ ⭑ he trusts you not to make him feel stupid for needing rest, which is basically emotional nudity for him. dean tries to act normal, but he’s softer with you from the start. he takes the side closest to the door without discussing it, because of course he does, and lets you settle in before he turns off the light. you don’t tease him when he stays awake a little too long. you just say goodnight quietly, and that somehow ruins him more.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ offers the bed, then ends up sharing and cuddling
๋࣭ ⭑ he wants to do the gentlemanly thing, but you refuse to let him fold himself onto a motel couch like a tragic lawn chair. you can tell he’s tired before he admits it. so you pat the empty side of the bed and give him that look—the one that says you’re not arguing about this at midnight. sam gives in because he trusts your care. by morning, there’s barely any space between you, and neither of you says a word about it.
♌︎ 𝖑𝖊𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ insists on sharing
๋࣭ ⭑ he acts casual, but the second you look too good sitting on that bed, his confidence starts doing dangerous little flips. this becomes flirtation with a mattress involved. horrible idea. you take up space so naturally, so warmly, so beautifully, and dean pretends he isn’t affected while absolutely being affected. he says, “don’t hog the blanket,” then proceeds to hover near the edge because touching you by accident suddenly feels too loaded.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ puts pillows between you
๋࣭ ⭑ he needs a barrier because you have too much presence, and his self-control is already filing complaints. sam respects you. admires you. is deeply, privately flustered by you. so yes, the pillows appear. not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he does not trust himself after the way you smile at him in low light. by morning, the pillows are still there, but his hand is resting over one of them, close enough to count.
♍︎ 𝖛𝖎𝖗𝖌𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ lets you take the bed, then gets dragged into sharing
๋࣭ ⭑ he tries to sacrifice his spine until you calmly inform him that being stupid is not actually heroic. you do not romanticize his nonsense, which is why this works. dean says he’ll take the floor, you tell him he has bruised ribs and terrible judgment, and he complains while obeying you. the bed is shared with military precision at first. then he relaxes. then he falls asleep faster than he meant to, because around you, he feels handled in the best way.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ shares very responsibly
๋࣭ ⭑ you both pretend this is a practical sleeping arrangement, which is hilarious because the tension has receipts. sam likes that you’re sensible about it. no drama, no teasing, no weird performance. you each take a side, set alarms, agree on blanket distribution, and somehow that makes it more intimate than if either of you flirted. he wakes up before you and stays still, because your hand is near his wrist and apparently that is enough to destroy him.
♎︎ 𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ shares, but teases you the whole time
๋࣭ ⭑ he cannot let the room stay normal because you look too pretty under ugly motel lighting and he needs to make that someone else’s problem. dean turns it into a bit. “don’t try anything,” “keep your cold feet over there,” “this is a professional arrangement.” meanwhile, he’s the one watching you too long when you laugh. you fall asleep first, peaceful and smug, and he lies there wondering when exactly sharing a bed started feeling less funny and more dangerous.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ offers the bed, then shares
๋࣭ ⭑ he’s too polite to assume, you’re too charming to let him suffer, and suddenly the couch has lost the election. sam starts formal. painfully formal. you take the bed, he’ll take the couch, no problem. then you tilt your head and ask if he’s seriously planning to sleep with one leg hanging off the end, and he folds. not quickly, but he folds. by morning, you’ve stolen the blanket and he lets you.
♏︎ 𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖎𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ shares, but the tension is obscene
๋࣭ ⭑ neither of you says anything inappropriate, which somehow makes it worse. this is the quietest disaster. dean takes the side near the door. you notice. he notices you noticing. the air turns thick with things neither of you is brave enough to name, so you both lie there in the dark pretending sleep is an option. it is not. by morning, you’ve barely slept, and somehow it still feels incriminating.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ prefers the floor at first
๋࣭ ⭑ he does not trust how deeply you read him, and sharing a bed feels way too close to letting you win. sam says he’ll sleep on the floor. you stare at him until the silence becomes a weapon. eventually he gives in, because he’s exhausted and because pretending he’s unaffected by you is taking too much energy. he sleeps on the edge, careful and guarded, but wakes up turned toward you anyway. traitor body.
♐︎ 𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ shares, steals the blankets
๋࣭ ⭑ you make the whole thing too funny for him to be mature about, so naturally the night becomes a low-stakes war. you flop onto the bed first, claim the good pillow, and dean immediately acts personally attacked. the two of you bicker over space, temperature, and who is breathing too loudly. he steals the blankets, you kick him, he laughs, and somehow it becomes one of the best nights of sleep he’s had in weeks. annoying.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ chooses the couch, regrets it instantly
๋࣭ ⭑ he thinks distance will protect his peace, then remembers you have zero respect. sam tries to sleep on the couch because you are chaos with a pulse and he knows you’ll keep talking. you do keep talking. from the bed. across the room. about nonsense. eventually he gives up, gets into the bed with the exhausted patience of a man accepting his fate, and mutters, “go to sleep.” you do not.
♑︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖓
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ prefers the floor, but you don’t allow it
๋࣭ ⭑ he tries to out-stubborn you, which is bold, considering you are professionally stubborn. dean says he’s fine on the floor. you say no. he says he’s slept in worse places. you say that’s not the flex he thinks it is. eventually he gets into the bed with the dramatic irritation of a man who has lost and knows it. you both sleep stiffly at first, then wake up closer because apparently control is fake.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ shares like adults
๋࣭ ⭑ he appreciates that you don’t make it weird, until the lack of weirdness somehow makes it extremely weird. sam trusts your composure. you trust his. so sharing should be easy. clean. mature. unfortunately, quiet tension loves responsible people. you both keep to your sides, but there’s something painfully intimate about the restraint, about knowing neither of you would cross a line unless invited.
♒︎ 𝖆𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ insists on taking the couch
๋࣭ ⭑ he does not know what to do with your emotional independence, so he chooses furniture-based avoidance. dean acts casual, but he’s suspicious of how unbothered you are. you don’t beg him to share, don’t tease him into it, don’t make the obvious joke—and that bothers him more than if you had. he lasts the night on the couch, then complains all morning like he didn’t make the choice himself.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ shares, with a pillow between you
๋࣭ ⭑ he likes your mind too much to risk low-light vulnerability without at least one sad little fabric boundary. sam is curious about you, comfortable with your strangeness, but still cautious. he puts the pillow between you almost apologetically, and you don’t even argue, which makes him feel ridiculous. by morning, the pillow is on the floor. neither of you knows who moved it. both of you are lying.
♓︎ 𝖕𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ gives you the bed, then ends up sharing
๋࣭ ⭑ he tries to protect you from discomfort, then folds the second you softly ask him not to sleep on the floor. you don’t push. that’s the problem. you just look at him with those tired, gentle eyes and say there’s enough room. dean grumbles, acts put-upon, makes one joke to survive the tenderness, then climbs in. he sleeps closer than he means to. wakes up with his hand near yours. pretends not to notice. absolutely notices.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ puts pillows between you, but wakes up cuddling anyway
๋࣭ ⭑ he thinks boundaries will help, but you’re warm and soft and sam is only human despite the giant moral burden aesthetic. sam is careful. always careful. he makes space, checks that you’re comfortable, says goodnight in that low voice that makes the room feel quieter. then somewhere around dawn, all that carefulness disappears, and he wakes up with you tucked close against him. he freezes, panics internally, then relaxes for one stolen second too long.
