#dean is the one in plaid | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

usedpidemo · 5 months

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Plaid (Newjeans Hanni)

Hanni Pham is just about the perfect student: consistently top of the class, perennial dean’s lister, well liked among her teachers and peers, an active participant for every co-curricular and extracurricular activity, and overall just a good person to be around.

And you? You’re the exact opposite. Slow, lazy, constantly in self-isolation—always cutting classes whenever you can, struggling with just about everything. You’re surprised you’re still even attending this university as is, despite the countless talks with your professors.

Which is why when she greets you a good morning as soon as you run into each other in the hallway, the books you’ve been carrying crumble like Jenga blocks.

She immediately jumps into action, picking up your dropped books in record fashion to hand them back to you. The cute, irresistible smile etched on her lips is icing on the cake.

“Here you go!”

Admittedly, you feel some type of way about Hanni. It’s conflicting, constantly changing. A little bit of jealousy because she’s the student you wished you were, but also a bit of allure because of how surprisingly attractive she is. You’ve never felt any kind of attraction towards anyone in college besides her. And she turns out to be an exchange student, and you’ve never seen anyone with the combination of cuteness and beauty before she came along.

You take a moment to look into her eyes. Those gentle, warm irises perfectly capture the kindness emanating from her—God, why is she so damn irresistible. It isn’t that you’ve been giving her the cold shoulder, but you’re merely apathetic and neutral with her. Outside of the same brief rote exchanges—good morning, what’s your lunch, what are you doing after class later—you and Hanni have been, for the most part, worlds apart.

The universe is doing its part to bring you two together, because you can feel it. Tension so thin, you can cut it with a knife.

She never lets up.

She wants to know you.

“I-uh, thanks,” you say, suddenly averting her gaze to your locker instead as you snatch your books back, then in the other direction. Anywhere but her eyes.

Fuck. She keeps staring, leaning her head forward with a lively smile, her hands behind her back, waiting for you to continue. She talks with childlike passion and energy, “We have an exam in accounting later, did you study for it?”

“N-no,” you say, almost stuttering through the simplest of responses, as though your tongue is wrapped up in itself. It should be embarrassing for you to act this awkwardly in front of a sweet girl like Hanni. Mentally punching yourself to be better. It never happens. “Not exactly, I kinda forgot.”

More like you willingly neglected your studies for a nightlong gaming session. It’s an addiction.

Her eyes widen with amusement, as if she sees through the lie. Does she? You don’t know. Maybe she does. There’s so many layers to her that you never bothered to uncover. That’s the price for your negligence and decision to be a lone-wolf.

Hanni reaches her hand into the pocket of her dress shirt and presents a folded up sheet of paper. “Then this with you. Just make sure to hide it underneath the test paper, got it?”

From bewilderment to amazement—your face goes through every emotion, unsure of what would perfectly suit the situation. She doesn’t know you well enough to casually entrust you with a cheat sheet, yet she’s perfectly fine handing it to you over her presumed friends, which includes members of the student council.

Initially, you hesitate, but she’s steadfast in her position, as if you receiving this paper is doing her a favor. You ultimately fold and accept it from her. She grins as you tuck the sheet away in your coat.

“See you later!” she says, before walking past you to her next class. You slowly turn around, watch her leave and rejoin with her friends, one of whom is the student council head. Alone with nothing but your thoughts, you put the strange encounter aside and get moving again.

—————

The next time you see Hanni again is during world history class, right before lunch. Your rather senile professor, who doesn’t give a shit that half the class is either fast asleep, on the verge of, or doing everything else apart from listening to his monotonous lecture, drones on about Napoleon’s European conquest for the second week in a row. Even the patient student that you are, you’ve grown tiresome of it, especially with the dreadful pacing. You’re way behind schedule. At the very least, he seems to be paid well, so there’s a little silver lining.

Looking at her, you wonder if the gods were in a good mood on the day they made her. She’s as enthusiastic about the topic as if it's her first time hearing it. Listening to every single word intently, taking down notes furiously, taking pictures of the presentation even though she has it projected on her laptop because why the fuck not—she was born to be the teacher’s pet. Compare that to half of the class: even the supposed top student in the class is barely struggling to stay awake, clinging to the edges of her seat out of fear she could collapse from sheer boredom. It’s a miracle, really, that there’s at least one student showing this much interest.

The notion creeps up in your mind: Hanni’s right over there, without a care except for the lecture at hand. Your phone rests on the edge of your chair. Her smile, her shine—you want to keep more than just a mental image of her. Something to actively remind you that someone like her exists. It’s creepy, but it doesn’t matter when no one’s looking, especially not her. Only you.

Little by little your hand crawls toward the phone. Then the moral compass inside you resists. You don’t know this girl—not in the slightest. Just because of a simple kind act doesn’t mean you’re completely smitten over her. Most importantly, you remember one important point about Hanni: she’s not from here. She’s an exchange student with a one year contract set to expire in—wait for it—two weeks. The semester ends before then, and it’s reasonable to assume she’ll be gone from your life just as quickly as she entered it once the page turns.

Right as the inner conflict inside your head reaches a fever pitch, the bell rings. On one side, you’re celebrating this moral victory; on the other, you’re punching a mental wall for not pulling the trigger. Before the professor even realizes the alarm already sounded off, all the students have filed out of the room in quick succession.

You briefly consider searching for Hanni in the sea of students making their way around the halls, but seeing that she’s disappeared into the crowd, you decide to let her go. Perhaps the logical side of your brain might be telling you the truth: that she will be a mere afterthought to you after today.

But then there’s the unshakeable, unceasing part of you that refuses to give in. Even as you eat lunch at the corner of the cafeteria, you’re still trying to single out Hanni to no avail. A hopeless situation gradually growing worse with each passing hour.

A not so subtle tap on your shoulder. Look to your side and there’s your angel, appearing at your hour of need. Hanni.

“Hey! Still have the cheat sheet I gave you earlier?” she asks. A few meters behind her is the student council president, Minji, and her secretary, Danielle, engaged in their own conversation, presumably accompanying their friend.

You scramble to find the folded piece of paper somewhere in your bag, forgetting that you’ve tucked the sheet away deep in your coat. Panicked, you jump from your seat to search within your clothes, still unable to detect its tiny presence hiding in your jacket. “Shit—”

“I can give you another copy if you lost it—”

“I’m sure it’s in here somewhere!” you interject, tonally desperate, repeatedly swiping your fingers on the same pockets with no success.

Eventually, you frisk the deepest pockets of your coat, feeling something rough on the edge of your fingertips. Reeling it out, you present a folded piece of paper in front of her. It should be a small win, but it’s an embarrassing loss, especially right in front of Hanni.

“Good to know you still have it!” she says, grinning from ear to ear. You’re certain she was trying to suppress her chuckle the entire time, and based on her toothy smile, it’s not very difficult to jump to that conclusion. “Even if you didn’t lose it, I still would have given you another copy if you wanted it.”

“Hanni.” You turn to face her, a complete juxtaposition from her jolly, outgoing personality. Your expression looks stern in searching for answers. “Why are you like this? We barely know each other.”

Surprised by your sudden change in attitude, she takes a step back, pausing to contemplate her answer. Her usually bright demeanor gradually changes to reflect yours. Her smile remains, except it's hiding a little gloom, a little concern. “I just wanted to be kind to you. I saw you were struggling in some of the classes we shared and thought you needed some help. It’s only right to do the right thing, you know?”

In that moment, you regret showing a bit of attitude. Hand to your chest, as guilt occupies your heart and mind. “Oh.” You pause, stare back into those wanting eyes. “I-I guess you were really being kind to me, huh?”

“I don’t make fake answer sheets, let alone give them to people I dislike.” She leans forward, causing you to stagger back, bumping your thighs against the cafeteria stool. “And I like you.”

Your mouth gradually opens, trying to figure out what to say, how to react. Only air and silent noises come out. You genuinely have no idea how to respond to this sudden revelation. It’s not like you’re a popular name among the student body, let alone the ladies; if anything, you were mostly a ghost, only coming into light when needed—and in most cases, when the professors would ask you questions about the topic at hand.

Blinking rapidly, you needed to do a double take. “Say that again?”

“I like you.” She repeats it for you. Twice. With increasing emphasis on those three words to drive the statement home. “I. Like. You.”

Let that sink in. You still don’t know what to say. “I—”

“We can talk about this later in the afternoon. Meet me at Room 204, okay? I’m in a rush and I just wanted to briefly check on you.” You watch her tone revert back to its beaming, bubbly self with each sentence. Before you even have an opportunity to say anything back, she rejoins her friends and walks away again, waving at you while shouting, “Remember what I told you about the cheat sheet!”

————��

Aside from accounting, where you followed Hanni’s advice down to the letter, the rest of the afternoon kept your thoughts mostly preoccupied with Hanni’s departing words. The two classes you shared with her during that period were opportunities to stare at her, watch her from a distance. Three simple words, and yet there’s layers upon layers to uncover. What did she mean when she said them? You barely interacted for most of the semester, yet she still considers you likable. During those long, painful hours of waiting, your curiosity and anticipation slowly built up.

And then, the bell rings at the top of the seventeenth hour. Time to find out.

While students file out in every direction, celebrating their regained freedom, you make your way through Room 204. Peeking from the outside, you see no one inside, not even Hanni. It looks about the same as when you left it—messy. You’re anxious, hesitant, cautious. There’s a part of you that believes she’s merely playing you in front of her friends, and that she might stand you up as a joke. And you have no reason to believe she genuinely likes you, apart from that one simple act of kindness from earlier.

For the next few minutes, in those crucial moments of waiting, all your thoughts and presumptions begin waging war inside your head. You have one foot on the door, with the other looking to go home. It’s not the first time you’ve been stood up; you can write an entire thesis report going over each terrible experience and the feeling of bitterness and pining that followed. At the very least, should push come to shove, this wouldn’t be the worst of them—not even bottom five.

So you pace back and forth in front of the designated room, look at your phone, followed by your watch. Again and again. Minutes, stretching to hours, into days, into a slow eternity. You’re starting to lose hope.

Which is why when she comes across you in the hallway, you feel like a kid finding love for the first time all over again. You’re not even trying to hide your excitement. The stunned and relieved expression etched on your lips, the growing shade of red across your face, the hitch in your arms as they reach out to her because you couldn’t believe she would follow through on her word—

And when she flashes her toothy smile, her mouth speaking words you end up missing—you just want to take her by the hand and run away with her.

She ends up calling your name. Twice, thrice, a dozen times—you’re not exactly sure, but you can definitely lose yourself to the sight of Hanni’s presence over and over. With a hand held on the door, she’s telling you to join her inside, saying she has something important to share with you. At least that’s the very gist of it.

At her request, you leave your bag on one of the vacant seats; you end up sharing the same chair. The tension is palpable. Hanni paces back and forth in front of the desk, quietly ruminating, hiding her concerned look away from your eyes. A wakeup call for you that this is a serious matter. You have a lot of unanswered questions, but seeing the gravity of the moment, you conclude that it’s better to keep them to yourself a little while longer—at least once all the heavy air has been cleared. You stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to make the first move.

“I just want to say,” she suddenly says, still turned away from you, long streaks of dark hair covering her eyes. What they can’t hide is the frown on her lips. “I’m going to miss this place. All the profs, all the activities, but most importantly, all the people. Including you.”

“Me?” You’re not surprised at that statement; you’ve assumed she wasn’t going to be here for the long haul, considering she’s an exchange student. What does confuse you, is how she specifically singled you out from everyone else. You barely know each other. At best, you only teamed up for two group projects, which she mostly did the carrying for. For you, the bar has been set very, very low. “How come me?”

Hanni finally faces you, using everything in her willpower not to cry. Her usually lively eyes twinkle with tears waiting to be shed, but she refuses. Not even the warmest of her smiles can hide the somber and pained expression she has looking at you. “Most of the boys here are—excuse my language—a bunch of fucking jackasses and perverts.”

Not exactly wrong; if you weren’t part of an athletics club or hanging out at bars after class, you were likely to be one of their victims. You know this because you are numb to their asshole behavior. The girls would usually retreat in a subtle manner once they knew their presence, which wasn’t difficult to pinpoint.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “You’re right. I hate their guts too—”

“But you’ve been kind to me from the moment I introduced myself, you know?” Hanni begins to walk toward you, rendering you even more frozen in place. “Even our brief good mornings meant quite a lot. It made me feel welcome.”

You didn’t really think much of it, unaware that it would have this profound of an impact in someone else’s life. And why would you—it’s a habit you’ve been taught since when you were seven. For a moment, you’d think she was being very melodramatic, as if she were practicing theater.

“And—” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “Let’s be honest; I know you like me too.”

When she drops those final words, your eyes pop. Wide. Enough to stretch through your forehead and fly up. It leaves you completely paralyzed. A whole truth bomb dropped just like that. She cusps your hands with hers; you freely allow her. Whether it's from utter shock or the desire to hold her like this for so long, you don’t know, but you definitely want to let this moment linger.

“I-I—”

You can feel her hot breath against yours, her face inching closer, your bodies almost entangling into something passionate and warm. There’s nothing stopping you both from finally bridging the gap that’s been separating you for the longest time. Hanni, the charming, popular girl that everyone either wants to be friends with or to be her, seemingly knows you like a book read from left to right. More importantly, she likes you. Tells it straight to your face.

Her arms snake around your neck, leaving you even more suffocated. No longer in her grasp, you find your hands pressed around tiny, fit waist. Her glinting eyes encourage you to let those innermost desires run wild. The suppressed thoughts you’ve been hiding slowly pull you under their influence. You shouldn’t be doing this, yet they’re right there: those sweet, puckery, inviting lips, waiting to be marked, yours and yours alone.

Instead, you end up in a tight embrace. It’s not as romantic as you envisioned. If anything, it’s bittersweet. Deep down, this is her way of saying goodbye, and you’re only realizing what this is really all about. An opportunity to bid farewell on amicable terms. It’s almost cruel that your first substantial interaction outside of school-related activities has to be like this.

You hold on to her tighter. She does the same. You’re unwilling to let go. She doesn’t want to, either.

Resting her head on your shoulder, Hanni whispers in your ear the most calming and soothing tone, “I’m going to miss you.”

You don’t believe you’ve earned the right to say those words back. So the only thing you can do is hold on to her the best you can—for dear life.

Outside, the setting sun is gradually fading away, and so does the natural light it brings. You can stay here, from dusk to dawn, comfortable in this position if she wants to.

She opens her mouth again, and she continues to hum and speak melodies in your ear. “I have one thing I want to do before saying goodbye. Can you help me?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you nod, saying, “Anything for you.”

Hanni breaks the bear hug then leads you along with her to the desk. With the other hand, she lifts it back to her waist, placing herself in a new and unexpected position: her back arched against the table, with one knee bent beside yours. Her eyes glinting with utter desire, she couldn’t be any more obvious.

Before the realization fully dawns on you, she does the unthinkable.

A simple irresistible kiss, pulling you down by the collar of your coat. Next thing you know, you have Hanni’s back crooked further against the edge of the desk, your lip-lock turning more and more passionate. Nothing overly dramatic and sentimental—only passionate love making.

She wants it. Deep down, you want it too.

“I can’t—” you mutter, drawing your breath, pulling your lips away. But not your hands. It’s in Hanni’s custody now. Your coat halfway down your arms, she sneakily tosses it aside. “Not here.”

Surprised by your sudden change of heart, she leans forward, her fingers now pulling at the hem of your sleeves. “What’s wrong?”

“I mean—look around, Hanni. We’re in a goddamn classroom.”

If only you could throw your arms around in protest to prove a point, but even that wouldn’t save you now.

“This is what I wanted from the start.” Hanni pulls you back in, her eyes hypnotic and irresistible, shining like gold. “You wanted this, too. Don’t play.”

“Hanni—”

She stops you right in your tracks with an impulsive peck on the lips. Curling them through the kiss to form a smile, she murmurs, “Don’t think, just do.”

And you do just that. Kiss her, make out with her as if your life depended on it.

Hanni’s lips taste like they’re meant for you. Sweet like honey. Divine. Heavenly. If it were possible, you’d want to choke on your own breath holding onto them for dear life. Not to mention the hums coming out of her mouth, those subdued mewls that she releases whenever you bite on her bottom lip—you can’t help but sink back in whenever you consider the thought of letting go.

There’s no reason not to; you have this pretty little thing, Hanni Pham, all to yourself. Even your body knows how rare of an opportunity this is. With one hand quietly slipping between her pencil skirt, you navigate your way to the depths of her heat without breaking the kiss. In a flash, she throws her head back, snapping her mouth wide at the new sensation. All that cool, calm expression, gone in an instant.

“Fuck—”

“God, Hanni. You’re so wet.”

She grabs your wrist—that mischievous hand newly buried in her pussy—and urges you further, “Keep doing that. That felt so good.”

And God, does everything about finger fucking her feel incredible. The satisfying squelch of her cunt as your digits press against her warmth, the continuous twisting of her features as she crumbles from the pleasure, leaving her neck exposed for your lips to newly conquer, adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing all over Hanni’s body. Seeing her, this usually larger than life figure, fall under your spell pushes you even further.

Like Hanni, you’re still young; there’s only pleasure and the thrill of moving too fast and reckless. One day you’ll end up regretting this, ruminating over memories that could ultimately end you before you even started, but you’d rather take this memento than leave with nothing at all.

You’re both already past the point of no return. Hanni’s underwear hangs casually between her ankles while they’re wrapped around your waist, her neck filled with bite marks and deep shades of red that no piece of fabric can hide. Her dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing a white camisole desperately seeking to be removed, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s made the crucial decision not to wear a bra today.

Fuck, that bulging ache in your pants is so agitating—both physically and mentally.

“Wait,” you say, suddenly turning around and locking the door quickly, letting her panties fall freely to the floor. It proves to be a little struggle when you unknowingly use your slick-coated hand over your dry one.

“Should have done that first,” she playfully chides, chuckling at you.

Returning to her with your drenched fingers pointed in the direction of her pussy, you respond, “Should have chosen anywhere but the classroom.”

“You’re saying you’d rather do this during our Christmas party?” Hanni lifts an eyebrow, taunting.

“Only if they allowed it.”

“And all those cheat sheets I handed you, all that for nothing?”

“Shut up. Didn’t need them, anyway.”

Hanni can’t help but burst into boisterous laughter. There’s no use locking that door now.

Even with the little time spent together, there’s clearly magic between you, the signs of what should have been a beautiful relationship. If only you both knew that. But now’s not the time to go over what ifs—only what’s next.

She stops you right as you ready yourself, grabbing the top button of your shirt. Using only her expressive eyes for approval, you steadily watch on till they’re completely undone. You’re left with the job of removing your undershirt and helping her toss your clothes aside. On the other hand, you’re in no rush to undress her completely; she’s a perfect mess as is with her unbuttoned uniform, her panties somewhere between your feet, and her taut nipples poking through the fabric.

And Hanni wants it that way. You’ve barely entertained the idea of running your fingers through her skirt when she interrupts your train of thought.

“You haven’t done it yet,” she says looking at your greedy, grubby hands, directing them with hers underneath her garment. “Make me cum. Please.”

As if you had any other intention. Maybe with something better, but that’s usually saved later—and for good reason.

You’re trying so hard not to curse through gritted teeth. Fuck. This. Damned. Skirt. Admittedly, it’s cute and perfectly suits Hanni; it adds to the appeal of seeing this usually meek, well behaved student asking for something more than naughty—it’s downright criminal—but you need to see what makes her really tick. Hanni’s clicking her tongue, growing more frustrated by the second than you are, anxiously waiting for you to come through. Carefully, you push a finger into her, then another, moving in delicate and systemic motion.

Then, it all clicks in perfect harmony:

She releases this pent-up moan from the depths of her chest, as though it were a heave of relief. The initial plunge from earlier makes plunging between her slick folds so much easier. You take a moment to let the satisfying sound sink in: the wet slop of her cunt as it reflexes against your fingers, unable to keep yourself from moaning with delight before you slowly draw back, then in again.

From there, everything takes care of itself.

Hanni dissolves into a whimpering mess, under the hypnotic spell of your fingers fucking her pussy in tempered, intricate strokes, effortlessly and handily. Body shaking, desk quivering under the pressure of her weight, her hands struggling to find reprieve from the overwhelming sensations thundering all over her. She can barely breathe, let alone find the words to speak. Only quick curses. Each and every word so gratifying to hear.

“Fuck—fuck—its—its—so—good—more—”

You don’t give her any breathing room. In the brief moments when you lax, with your fingers either motionless deep within her cunt or pull back, leaving marks on her inner thighs with her own slick, you’re all over her, gently fondling her and kissing her. Half her uniform’s sleeve has fallen down her shoulder, giving you more of her body for you to claim as your own. With every little touch and thing you do, you continue to set her nerves ablaze with nothing to quench her lust.

It’s no wonder she’s such a teacher’s pet; she loves to follow along without any resistance or objection. A fact proven when you lift her undershirt to expose her taut nipples, and your free hand impulsively takes them. You give her left tit a twist, and from her needy lips comes a sharp whine.

“Do it again,” she says, panting, nodding her head wildly, visibly overwhelmed. She doesn’t know what hit her, but it feels fucking amazing.

Of course, you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, even if she hadn’t asked. Hanni’s body, all yours for the taking. Not everyone can say they fucked the top girl in the class in the classroom of all places.

And you let your body do all the talking. No amount of words nor their depth can adequately describe the sensation of tasting and feeling her figure. First your free fingers, then your tongue—they make their mark on her chest while your other digits crawl to a lazy pace inside her cunt. Not that she minds—she’s too engrossed in the blissful sensation to remotely care. Her hands find their way around your neck and back, scratching and digging away at your skin in an attempt to pull you even closer.

It aches—but not as much as the ache in Hanni’s core. As you inch her closer to climax, you can feel her tremble, propping her head on your shoulder now as her outlet, whimpering, crying, mewling. “Almost—” she mumbles, before she’s caught up again in the sea of her own pleasure. Knowing this, the rest of your body moves like it’s second nature. Faster and deeper, you continue your endless assault on her body, until—

Suddenly, Hanni freezes up, moans over your ear as a moment of silent calm follows. In the succeeding moments, you both remain clung together as her orgasm hits. And by god, it hits her like lightning. Sharp and brutal. Fingers stuck deep in her core as she gushes, quivers all over them. It lingers, leaves you both incapacitated.

Minutes that could easily stretch into hours, stuck on a desk, basking in the afterglow of unadulterated bliss. Eventually, she lifts up her head and lets out a deep breath of relief. Her hands remain entangled with your hair as she pulls herself back. A scope down gives you a short but telling extent of the damage: copious amounts of slick dripping on the edge of the table, down to the floor. You’re a little terrified of what your fingers will look like.

Through half-lidded eyes, Hanni flashes you a smile as she slowly realizes the mess she has become. Cheeks flustered with embarrassment, she quickly pushes down her undershirt, but they can’t hide her nipples’ rigidness. You’re both grinning at each other like mischievous pranksters. Something tells you that despite everything, it’s not enough. The fire in her eyes and the confidence in her laugh says it all: she’s looking for more trouble, and one way or another, you’re gonna be her accomplice.

Before you can even utter a word, you both hear a knock on the door. Through the casted silhouette, you recognize that it’s a janitor. Spent energy be damned, you’re brought back to reality. You quickly turn to Hanni in a state of alarm, “Shit. I told you not told to do this in the classroom—”

Reaching out her hand, she replies, “It’s gonna be fine! Give me my bag and I’ll get us out of this.”

You immediately rush Hanni her bag, and while you hastily put yourself back in one piece, she grabs a pack of tissues to clear all evidence of your little escapade. In no time, you’ve somehow returned the place in nearly the same position you found it. Only one difference: her panties are left on the floor, and she hasn’t bothered to pick them up.

“Wait, your underwear—” you tell her as you pick them off the floor. She’s already on the edge of the classroom, opening up one of the windows to escape. It’s not a suicide jump; only someone with brittle bones could possibly break their legs doing the drop, and there’s really no other choice: run away with her or find yourself at the dean’s office on your first day back after the holidays.

“Keep it if you want.” Hanni shoots you a playful wink and a cheeky grin as she lifts one leg over the open window. “We don’t have much time, so unless you wanna explain yourself to the profs—”

“I’m already in trouble regardless,” you reply as you join her on the way out. You didn’t need to think about what to do. “Got eight missed phone calls from my fam. I’m fucked regardless. Might as well make the most of our time while we’re here.”

—————

A/N: Happy new year! I never thought I’d write something for NewJeans, but never say never. Hanni was easily the scene stealer for me at the Asia Artist Awards, she and the other members constantly waved at us from beginning to end, and they were killer performers! I can see why she’s so adored; she’s both talented and adorable. It’s been difficult getting back into writing after one month away, so this definitely is a feel-out attempt, but I hope it’s still good anyway. Here’s to the coming year and hopefully more to come. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I sincerely want to take this moment to apologize for my slow production. As previously mentioned, I got hit with a severe case of the flu, which kept me down for almost two weeks. Since recovering, I’ve been experiencing weird cases of brain fog, where sometimes my mind ‘isn’t there’ and it feels like my body’s been moving on autopilot. I’ve been getting healthier since then, but the so-called absentmindedness still remains. I’ve tried writing a few times since then, and it honestly feels like I’ve forgotten how to write. Hell, this fic was supposed to be out on Christmas day and I’ve struggled to put it together! It’s been very rough. I don’t wanna make promises because I’ll just end up breaking them, so I’ll just say that I’m trying my damned hardest to get back to that level I had been moving before my momentum stalled. I always want to deliver the best possible fic for you to enjoy. Thank you so much for being patient with me as always <3

#smut #kpop smut #newjeans #hanni

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spacedean · 8 months

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DEAN WINCHESTER in one random episode per day ‣ 188/327 5.15 DEAD MEN DON'T WEAR PLAID

#spnedit #deanedit #supernatural #supernaturaledit #bobby singer #dean winchester #deanwinchesteredit #randomep #bobby #5.15

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deanswhiskey · 4 months

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𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲 - 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; it’s deans birthday!!

wc; 844

warnings; just fluff

authors note; real short but just something short for my man’s birthday 🤭

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

“mm, good morning, birthday boy,” you woke dean up by kissing all over his face.

a smile spread on deans face when he felt your gentle lips pepper kisses on him. his hands instinctively moved to hold your waist that was straddled on him. “is this my birthday present?” he asked with a raspy voice and a smirk on his face.

“later,” you just whispered in his ear. dean frowned slightly; he loves morning sex. he groans in response.

you sit up, still straddling his lap. deans eyes finally open and see the beautiful sight before him. the hands that were resting on your waist now moved to a more comfortable position on your thigh; rubbing small circles with his index fingers.

“i’ve got a surprise for you out in the kitchen,” you softly smiled drawing shapes on his chest.

“a surprise? really?”

“mhm, but you have to put pants on and behave,” you nod.

confusion struck deans face, “behave?”

“yep, now come on,” you hurry him.

dean groans as he stands up and makes his way to his dresser, pulling out a pair of blue plaid pj pants. “can’t we just stay here and, you know, fool around,” he whines then smirks. his hands snake around waist and his face buried in your neck. he kisses your neck gently; a breath of satisfaction left your lips as your head leans back, letting him have more access to your neck.

“dean,” you draw out, “we have to go, your surprise is waiting.”

he squeezes your hips one time before pulling away, “okay,” he draws out.

you grab his hand and drag him as you make your way to the kitchen. the two of you had been giggling about something only you two would giggle about as you walked into the kitchen.

“surprise!!” many voices shouted as you entered.

dean jumped back a bit. when he came to it, he noticed his brother, cass, jack, jody, and bobby all there with silly little party hats on. “oh my god, i don’t even know what to say,” his hand laid on his chest. he turned to you, “did you do all this?”

“yep,” you smiled.

dean looked around at everything. there was a cake made by you, a birthday banner, a small pile of presents, everything a typical birthday party had. and a giant pile of pancakes for everyone.

dean was so moved by this; he never had any of this growing up. “i cant believe it, thank you so much,” he pulled you in for a quick kiss and a longing hug. he almost wanted to cry at the thought of all this.

he pulled away and the party began.

everyone had gotten a couple pancakes and ate around the dining table. you all reminisced on memories with your mouths full. laughing so hard you could choke on the pancake bits.

the group of you had moved to the kitchen for the cake. a few candles decorated the cake as the room was dark, only lit by the candles. everyone sang a somewhat harmonious version of the happy birthday song and dean stood right in front of the cake. he had his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you in tight.

he soon blew out the candles and everyone dug in, “what’d you wish for?” you asked him quietly as everyone else was talking and eating.

“i’ve already got everything i wished for,” he smiled sweetly before he leaned in to kiss you.

later on, you all gathered in the living room to open presents. the few he got, he was more than grateful. he never really got presents growing up so he was very excited.

he got a homemade picture frame from jack of you and dean, a couple flannels from sam, whiskey from bobby and jody, and cass gave him a small honey jar he gathered himself along with a new board game for family game night. dean gave out many ‘thank you’s’ before the rest on the day danced away.

the two of you bid your good nights and made your way back to your shared room. you brushed your teeth, showered, and got into your pajamas.

the bathroom light cut off as the two of you made your way into the bedroom. dean turns to face you before you made it to the bed, “thank you for the best birthday ever, baby,” he leans over to kiss you.

“anything for you, handsome,” you return the kiss. your hand moved to cup his face.

deans head tilts, deepening the kiss. “so,” he pulls away, “can i get that birthday present you were talking about this morning?” he says with a smirk.

“mmm, i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you pretended.

“mhm, sure,” dean nodded sarcastically.

you just shrugged in response.

“oh now you’re gettin’ it,” he playfully says lifting and throwing you on the bed. you just giggled in response. he kisses all over you causing a fit of giggles, music to his ears.

this day couldn’t have gone any better.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #supernatural imagine

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sinnadone · 2 years

Photo

[Image description: a fifteen-panel digital Supernatural fan-comic, which begins with the last ever shot of the show, of Sam and Dean Winchester gazing wistfully over a river while leaning on the railing of a bridge with the Impala in the background, as the camera floats up and away from them. The four panels depicting this recede into darkness, which continues for a bit, until it is interrupted by the sound effect of a snap and dissolves to show the brothers waking up on the floor of a motel room, Sam with a headache and Dean with a startled “What the-”. The full, panel-by-panel description is under the read-more.]

Happy anniversary! here’s how gabriel can still win

[Image description, panels 1-4: the last ever shots of the show, receding into darkness until it is interrupted with a snap.

Panels 5-6: the darkness fades away to show Dean bolting awake with a cut-off yell of “What the-”. He is on the wooden floor of a motel room with a dark green-and-brown interior. Sam is on the same floor, in the background to Dean’s left, propped up on one elbow and touching his forehead with a wince. “Hell...?”, continues Dean, quieter, as his hand hovers over where the rusty rebar should be sticking out of his chest, finding nothing of the sort. In the meanwhile, Sam notices that the skin on his hand looks as young as the day Dean last died.

Panel 7: the brothers turn to each other in silent disbelief.

Panel 8: a voice from off-screen draws their attention to the upper left: “A terrifying little nightmare, wasn’t it?” They face the direction, Sam with shock and Dean with a raised eyebrow.

Panel 9: the camera turns 180% degrees to reveal Gabriel, casually laid out on top of the motel room’s desk, looking down at them with a smirk. His torso’s propped up with an elbow, both legs slightly bent, one parallel and one perpendicular to the desk’s surface. The hand of the arm doing the propping up is hanging off the edge of the desk and holding a can on whipped cream, while the other hand is leaning on his raised knee. On the wall behind Gabriel is a large framed painting of many golden wings. He continues, “This is where the fuck you’d be without Cas, blah blah blah...” . The panel stretches down to include the space under the desk, a bit of the floor and the Winchesters’ legs up to the knees.

Panels 10-11: a close-up on Gabriel as he snaps his fingers and a strawberry pops into existence right over his thumb and index. He sprays a dollop of whipped cream onto it, closing one eye in concentration.

Panels 12-13: the camera moves behind Gabriel, looking over the Winchester brothers staring up at him. Leaning the hand holding the berry back onto his knee, he exclaims: “So saddle up, boys!”. The background goes out of focus as he throws the strawberry into his mouth with a flick of his wrist.

Within a half-circle-shaped panel #14, the dome of it intersected by radiating lines, he savours the taste, smiling with his eyes closed.

The camera zooms in on his face, lit up from below by bright flames he is suddenly surrounded by, eyes glowing gold. Looking down and somewhat at the viewer, he says: “We’re going to Super Hell.” End of the main description, only background details and appearances after this point.

The comic is styled to look as if drawn on dark brown craft paper. It is fully colored but completely unshaded, except for the last drawing of Gabriel surrounded by fire, which features fully rendered lighting and flames. The motel room has dark green walls and dark wooden floor and furniture; on the side of the room closest to Sam is a one-person bed, and on the side closest to Dean is a two-person. All three men are white and vaguely in their thirties-to-forties, and all three are wearing jeans in various shades of blue. Sam has dark shoulder-length hair parted in the middle and wears a dark jacket over a red plaid button-up, Dean has dark blond hair in an Ivy League-type cut and an army-green jacket over a dark T-shirt, and Gabriel has blond combed-back waves and a purple short-sleeved shirt with the top two buttons undone. End of description]

#Supernatural #SPN #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Archangel Gabriel #Gabriel SPN #Superhell #(implied)#Destiel #Castiel #Fanart #Comics #My art #An Addendum #Supernatural Finale #Supernatural fix it #S15E20

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zepskies · 8 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 4

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Take It to the Limit” by The Eagles

Word Count: 6,000 Tags/Warnings: Major fluff alert. Some angst(ish). First date part 2…and a second date?

Part 4: Rocky Road

You enjoyed dinner more than you expected to. Dean was funny, and charming, and deeper than you might’ve expected at first glance.

He also didn’t let you even think of paying any part of the bill. In his view, he’d asked you out, so your purse was staying the hell away from the little black booklet.

The only problem was, the freely flowing conversation you and Dean had all through dinner kind of stalled after you left the restaurant. He’d chosen a spot in downtown, so the two of you walked leisurely down the sidewalk, under rows of soft overhead string lights and a gentle chill on the evening air.

Dean had his hands in his pockets, and even that casual gait caught your eye. He looked good tonight in his black slacks and jacket. The dark blue buttoned-down worked for him too, just as well as the red plaid and jeans worked for him last night. Just like his gray lieutenant’s polo and navy pants worked for him.

In fact, you didn’t think there was anything that wouldn’t work for him.

“So, what’s next?” you asked. Dean glanced over at your question, looking a bit uncertain.

“Well, I’m gonna be honest. This is as far as I thought things through,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

You hummed and touched your chin. You paused and considered your surroundings. There were little shops, clubs, and restaurants on either side of the street. But then you spotted something nearby: a cart with a pink overhead. You smiled.

“You up for dessert?” you asked, pointing to the ice cream stand.

Dean shot you a slightly disbelieving look.

“Yeah? Ice cream after that fancy shmancy meal?”

You shrugged. “Why not? Come on.”

You looped your arm through his and tugged him along with you. He smiled at your enthusiasm and let you do it.

He later watched you try no less than five flavors of ice cream before you settled on the first one you tried—chocolate chip cookie dough. Which you ordered on a cone, with brownie pieces on top.

“The only way to do business,” you told him sagely. Dean grinned and held a hand to his chest.

“A woman after my own heart,” he said. “Here I thought you were gonna make fun of me for getting rocky road.”

“Why would I? I don’t discriminate when it comes to dessert…and only fun people get rocky road,” you countered.

“Tell that to my brother,” Dean scoffed. “He gets plain-ass chocolate chip. Every time.”

“Oh, you have a brother?” you noted with interest. “Any other siblings?”

“Nope,” he said, and accepted his cone from Steve, the guy operating the kiosk. “Just my giant little brother.”

“Giant?”

“…You’ll understand when you meet him.”

“When, not if. That’s encouraging,” you said with a smile. Dean shot you an amused grin back.

You held your cone with one hand while you rifled through your purse for your wallet with the other, but by the time you looked up, Dean was already handing over his credit card. Your brows furrowed.

“Dean—”

“This is all still part of the date,” he rationalized. His green eyes fairly danced with amusement, which you begrudgingly accepted with a sigh.

You then looked at your cone from all angles, trying to spy the best spot to start. You decided to go at it from the side. Though you tried to be graceful about it, you realized you hadn’t totally succeeded when a brownie piece almost fell off. You yelped and managed to catch it before it fell on your dress.

“Smooth,” Dean remarked. You shrugged and hummed happily while you took another bite.

“I told you. I don’t play when it comes to dessert,” you told him.

“Clearly,” he teased.

You briefly looked up at him through your lashes, making him smile. You really did have a pretty pair of eyes. And when your tongue came out a little to lick your lips, he was drawn to that as well.

And an even prettier mouth, he thought. Damn.

He raised a thumb to wipe away a bit of ice cream left behind on your lower lip. You blinked up at him, your eyes a bit wider, and he saw the bout of shyness in your resulting smile.

You shivered then with a bit of cold, whether from the ice cream or the chill on the air.

Dean’s mouth quirked, and he gave you his cone. “Hold this for a sec.”

You did so for him, but you watched him curiously as he shrugged out of his jacket. He wrapped it around your shoulders, like this was some kind of Hallmark moment.

Heh. Can’t believe Meg had it right, he thought, as he caught your blush.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

“Can’t let you catch cold in this little dress,” Dean reasoned. He tugged you in closer by the ends of his jacket.

Once again, his gaze was drawn to your face, your eyes, and finally your lips. You still held both ice cream cones between you two, but he could be careful enough to sample something else.

He started to lean in…

“Hey, man!” said Steve. “Don’t forget your wallet.”

Hesitating, Dean’s lips pursed as he turned his head to look back. Sure enough, he’d left his wallet on the counter. Letting out a subtle sigh, he glanced down and found you biting your lip in amusement.

He released you to go back and pluck his wallet out of Steve’s hand. The kid looked college age, and chilled out of his mind, like he didn’t realize he’d just interrupted another dude’s flow.

“Thank you,” said Dean, a bit pointedly.

Steve gave him a bored smile.

While you continued walking and finishing off your ice cream, you went with the flow of people coming and going; couples, families, people walking their dogs and with their children for an evening stroll.

You learned that Dean’s brother was a few years younger than him. The two shared an apartment, though Sam had a girlfriend, Eileen.

She worked at a specialty school, specifically with hearing impaired children, as she herself was deaf. Sam had learned a bit of ASL in school and worked on becoming fluent after they met. He was an assistant prosecutor working in the district attorney’s office.

“Wow. They sound like a power couple,” you remarked.

Dean inclined his head. “Yeah, they’re the smartest people I know, to be honest. They’ve been going strong for a few years now.”

And he learned that you were an only child, raised by your grandparents, and still living in your childhood home with your grandfather.

You admitted to him that after your grandmother passed away a few years ago, you just never found it within yourself to move out and leave George alone. He still needed you…and you probably needed him too, in some ways.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Dean said. "Taking care of your people is number one."

You gave him an appreciative look. He wanted to ask where your parents were in this situation, but he didn’t want to pry if you weren’t up for sharing. It felt like something even more personal.

You then stopped in front of a beautiful French bakery. It was closed, but you could still smell freshly baked bread and sweetness through the glass doors. You leaned against them while you peered inside.

“Ooh, I’ll need to come back here,” you said, before you remembered that you did in fact have company. Dean sidled up next to you and crossed his arms in amusement.

“You want a piece of cake or something?” he teased. “I’ll get my crowbar from the car.”

You grinned. “Not the jaws of life?”

“That’d be a bit extreme for a glass door, don’t you think?” He raised a brow at you.

“Don’t underestimate the lengths I’ll go to for quality cake,” you quipped back.

“All right,” he chuckled. “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

You’d lost count of how many times you’d blushed tonight, but it had to be a record. You turned to him, but unconsciously kept a hand on the glass door.

“When I was in culinary school, I dreamed of opening up a bakery just like this,” you said. There was the gleam of memory and nostalgia in your eyes, and Dean found himself getting swept up in it.

“What happened to the dream?” he asked.

You sighed, letting your hand fall away from the glass. You hesitated to confide in him, to reveal this much of yourself. But there was something about this man that…well, that made you trust him. Even with this part. You tugged his jacket closer to your body.

“My grandma died about a month before I graduated,” you said. “She and my grandpa raised me…after my mom left.”

Dean’s gaze gentled, while his brows drew together. That just about answered his question about your parents.

“How old were you when she left?” he asked.

“Officially? Six years old,” you replied, sighing heavily. “She didn’t want responsibilities.”

He acknowledged this with a slow nod. He got the feeling your dad was never in the picture.

“Have you talked to her since?”

“No,” you said. “I lived with my grandparents from the beginning. She’d breeze in and out of town, from what little I remember. But one day, Gram finally asked her: When are you going to realize that you’re a mother?”

You glanced away for a moment. “Well, after that…I never saw her again.”

You took in a deeper breath to steady yourself. You didn’t often talk about this, let alone with someone you’d just met. Yet again, you felt safe enough with Dean.

“But after Gram passed, my grandfather was already retired,” you continued. “I needed a job, not a pipe dream.”

Dean had been listening to you with rapt attention. This was the first time he truly frowned. The wind was brushing strays of your hair across your forehead. He reached out and tucked a few strands behind your ear.

“Not all dreams are pipe dreams,” he said.

You flickered at a smile, looking up at him.

“Fair enough,” you replied.

Your eyes roamed his face this time, falling to his lips. You found yourself tilting up your chin when his face began bowing toward yours.

You felt his warm breath on your cheek, his hands grasping your arms, your hands gently resting against his sternum. By now, your heart was tripping up, double timing. And yet, you felt at ease as your eyes closed.

Only to be startled out of your wits when a dog yapped by your feet.

Even Dean jolted. His grip on your arms tightened on reflex. Both of you turned with wide eyes at the little Pomeranian that yanked at its leash. The woman holding it pulled her dog back.

“Sorry!” she called as she passed by. And she was still wrangling with the dog as she made her way down the sidewalk.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. You read the thought across Dean’s frowning face. Though you felt the same way, you still smiled.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek instead.

“Thanks for listening,” you said. “I know that was heavy for a first date. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes were warm when he looked down at you. You seemed to be honest and straightforward, which wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, he liked that a lot. In his experience, it wasn’t something he encountered very often with women.

Or maybe just with the women you’ve gone after, he thought.

“Nah, don’t apologize…but I’m sorry for your loss. I really am,” he said, thumbing at your cheek.

You could see that he meant it too. “Thank you.”

You ducked your head, fighting embarrassment. Not that he'd given to reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed, but you still couldn't believe he'd cracked you open like a book, without even trying. Andréa was sure to tease the hell out of you for that one.

You glanced back up and managed to spy something past Dean's shoulder. You smiled and took his hand.

“Oh look! There’s a bookstore open,” you said, and led him farther down the path.

Dean later followed you, once again with his hands in his pockets as you browsed through each aisle. He should’ve known you were a reader. But you were cute, he thought, as your fingers brushed across certain spines of books while you scanned their titles and covers.

You glanced over at him. “I’m sorry. This must be really boring for you right now. I’ll come back another time—”

“No, no. I’m along for the ride,” Dean said with a smirk. It earned another amused look from you.

“Well, buckle up then,” you teased. You led him down to the Mystery section—murder mysteries being your favorite, you told him. He raised a brow at that.

“What? Were you expecting romance novels with telenovela-style covers?” you asked. And you draped yourself across the bookshelf, holding the back of your hand up to your forehead, like you were about to “faint.”

Dean shook his head at you, but his eyes were dancing again.

“Nah, give me a juicy mystery,” you said, as you continued to browse. “Clues, evidence, surprise twists, villain reveals…”

“Well, I’ll say that real life Magnum P.I. ain’t all that fun,” Dean remarked. That made you raise your head from the book you were inspecting and look over at him.

“Hmm, that sounds like personal experience,” you said.

He hesitated, but he eventually nodded. “Yeah. My dad’s a cop. A detective, actually, in homicide. Real Law & Order, you could say.”

Your eyes grew comically wide, and Dean had to laugh.

“Now that is interesting,” you said. “How long has he been a cop?”

“Heh. My whole life,” Dean replied. There was something behind his eyes that you didn’t miss.

“Hmm, something tells me being a cop's kid isn't all it’s cracked up to be,” you said. "Bet you couldn't get away with anything, huh?"

He smirked. "Not a damn thing. I coulda sworn my dad had cameras planted all over the house."

But no, his dad was just that good at reading him and Sam. Granted, it wasn't often that they tried to pull one over on the old man, but their teenage years had been...interesting.

You laughed lightly while you continued to browse.

“Your dad was tough growing up?” you asked. Dean considered you, and your question with a tilt of his head.

“My dad’s a good guy,” he said. “The best at his job. And he’s the toughest son of a bitch I know.”

You knew then that there was a story there, or maybe several, but you didn’t want to push it. Dean seemed to be at the edge of what he was willing to get into on the subject.

So you just nodded and chose a couple of books, which you insisted on paying for yourself. Unlike a meal or dessert, he hadn’t participated in this part, you reasoned.

“That’s not how that works,” Dean said, but he begrudgingly let you pay for your own books. You carried the bag out of the store with a satisfied smile on your face.

Dean shook his head with a smile of his own. Though he did take your free hand in his on the way back to the car.

Dean meant to take you back to your house…but maybe you weren’t quite ready for the night to end just yet. He was driving his sleek tank of a car down the main road when you got an idea.

“Oh, we’re going to drive over the river,” you remembered. “There’s this little spot right before it where you can pull over and park, see the skyline… Have you seen it?”

Dean glanced over at you with a gleam in his eye. “I have. It’s definitely a sight to see.”

“I haven’t seen it in a while,” you said.

A smile curved his lips. “Well, that’s a damn shame. Let’s fix that.”

The Impala soon pulled into a clearing off the side of the road, just before the Kansas River. True to your memory, there was a beautiful view of the city skyline. The half-moon above sprinkled light across the water. The waves were otherwise black and choppy.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen it at night,” Dean said. You turned to him and smiled.

“Thanks for tonight. I had a really good time,” you said.

He raised his brows at you. “We’re not done yet. You’re the one who wanted to sightsee.”

You chuckled and nodded in agreement. You were feeling a bit warm with the heating vents on you, so you unclipped your seatbelt and shrugged off Dean’s coat. You folded it up nicely and draped it across your lap.

You didn’t notice it, but Dean’s gaze drifted over to you when you bared your shoulders again, revealing smooth skin and the tantalizing neckline of your dress. Even in the dim lighting, the vibrant green caught his eye.

But it wasn’t until the car stopped rumbling so much that you noticed the radio playing hard rock in the background. It sounded like a lot of screaming and guitars to you.

“What the hell are we listening to?” you said.

“Hmm, not an Van Halen fan?” Dean replied, giving you a chiding eye. “Aw, I don’t know if I can trust you if you can’t appreciate Sammy Hagar.”

“Oh no,” you said with a laugh. “He likes mullet rock.”

“Yes, he does,” Dean grinned. “The bigger, crazier hair the better.”

You rolled your eyes. “All right, Hendrix. Mind if we change the station?”

You hand reached for the radio knob, but Dean’s hand batted yours away.

“Ey, ey!” he said, though a smile raised the corners of his lips. “Driver picks the music.”

You full on laughed then.

“Okay, but can we please listen to something less grating?” you asked.

Dean snorted. “All right, your highness. Let me see what I’ve got…”

You watched him curiously as he reached over on his side and pulled out a few ancient relics.

“Oh my God. You still listen to cassettes?” you asked in disbelief. Dean shot you another grin as he sorted through a handful of them. He considered you for a moment, debating his decision.

He chose a cassette and popped it in. Soon, the rhythmic melody of a guitar filtered through the speakers. You tilted your head.

“The Eagles?” you guessed. The song was familiar…

“All alone at the end of the evening, and the bright lights have faded to blue,” crooned from the speakers. “I was thinking 'bout a woman who might have loved me. I never knew…”

“Wow, all right,” Dean said, grinning. “Guess I haven’t lost you to the Bieber pop masses just yet.”

You gave him an amused look.

“My grandfather is an Eagles fan,” you smirked back. Though you patted the Impala’s dashboard. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve got an old soul.”

“I prefer the term ‘vintage,’” Dean quipped. He noted the way you seemed to be admiring his car. “My dad played this stuff all the time when Sam and I were kids…I guess the car’s another thing he passed down to me.”

You looked over at him then. “Yeah? He give it to you as a graduation gift or something?”

He inclined his head, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Sort of,” he said. You smiled then, shifting towards him in your seat.

“Ooh, that sounds like a story.”

He acknowledged that with a nod, though he hesitated. “You really wanna hear it?”

You rested an elbow on the armrest between his chair and yours, chin in hand, staring up at him encouragingly. Your brows raised in a “go ahead” gesture.

With an amused sigh, Dean nodded.

“Believe it or not, after I graduated high school, I wasn’t sold on the whole college thing.” His lips twisted wryly. “That was more Sam’s beat. So my dad thought it’d be good if I followed in his.”

Your eyes widened. “You were going to be a police officer?”

Dean smiled. “Well, I got into the Academy.”

That was where he met Cas, all those years ago. First, they were sort of silently competing on their scores, each wanting to be the best in the class. For Dean, it was because John Winchester had been the best. To this day, he still held some of the top scores in the region.

Meanwhile, Cas had come from a strict, religious family that drove him to succeed in whatever he put his mind to. Cas hadn’t liked Dean’s casual, joking, surface-level arrogance, thinking he wasn’t taking it seriously.

Dean had thought the guy had a serious pole stuck up his ass.

“I was about halfway through, but I just…my heart wasn’t in it,” Dean said. “Cas could see it. He asked me why the hell I was working so hard if I didn’t really want this.”

“To beat me?” Cas had asked. “To level your dad’s scores? To prove you can be him? Frankly, that sounds idiotic. Not to mention, utterly pathetic.”

Dean hadn’t wanted to face it at first, but he’d known then that his archenemy was right.

“You know…up until then, I don’t think I’d ever considered what the hell it was I wanted,” he admitted. His fingers drummed on the Impala’s steering wheel.

He knew you were listening. Just listening, like you were taking in his every word. He didn’t know why, but your quiet attention made him keep trying to fill the silence.

“So I quit,” he said. “Didn’t tell my dad…but Sam was the one who put the Fire Academy paperwork on my desk. Once I worked up the nerve, I took the firefighter test on the sly.”

“Was your dad mad?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “At first.”

It had also been the first time he felt like he’d truly impressed his father. Namely, by not doing what John expected of him. That was more Sam’s territory.

“But after I made it through the Fire Academy, he gave me Baby,” said Dean.

He laid a fond hand on the steering wheel. It hadn't been the first time John said he was proud of Dean, but that day was still a good one, etched into Dean's memories. Sometimes it blocked out the darker ones.

“Baby?” you asked in bemusement.

He blinked, looking over at you with a quirk of his lips.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, and swiped a hand over his mouth.

That, and the way his gaze dropped a bit, you thought he seemed a bit embarrassed. Not by his old-ass taste in music, but by the fact that he’d named his car.

What a giant dork, you thought, as your smile grew.

Leveraging a hand on the armrest, you leaned over and kissed his cheek for the second time tonight. This time you lingered a moment, leaving the mark of your lipstick behind.

“It’s a good name,” you said.

Dean smiled back at you. Right about then, that was about the best thing you could’ve said.

He raised a hand to your cheek, brushing the back of his hand along your jaw. He settled on gently taking your chin between his fingers, before he leaned in and finally kissed you.

It started out slow as his lips moved against yours with purpose. Your eyes closed at the feel of him. Each new touch drew you in further, making your head swim with warmth, and your heart begin to race.

You unconsciously reached out and grasped the collar of his shirt. His hand moved to cradle your cheek and guide your head to the side, so he could deepen the kiss. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and his tongue soon swept across to sooth it. You couldn't help the small, pleasant shudder that ran through you.

You weren’t sure who stopped first, but when your eyes eventually opened again, it was to those talented lips curving into a smile.

“Not gonna lie, I’ve been trying to do that all night,” he said, chuckling a bit.

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up into your throat and managed to escape. “I know.”

You leaned against him, with your hand still curled in his shirt. Your eyes briefly lowered.

At the delightfully hair-raising feeling of his thumb brushing back and forth against your cheek, you glanced back up at him. Your smile became more flirtatious, yet still with a bit of nervous energy.

“Want to reenact the moment?” you asked.

Dean grinned and pulled you in again, flush against him this time. All while his music continued to play. You recognized another one from your grandpa’s collection. This time, you didn’t mind.

This man might’ve been vintage in his tastes, but his touch made you feel brand new.

“What would you say…about doing this again sometime?” Dean asked.

That is, between feverish kisses on your front porch. You’d been trying to say goodnight for a few minutes now, but every time you tried, the two of you kept getting pulled back into the feel of one another.

He held you close against him, his hands molded to the curve up your hip and pressing into your lower back. Your fingers were alternatively tangling and soothing into his hair. You clung to his shoulders as his lips and tongue continued to rob you of your breath, as well as your good sense.

You were making out with this man under the porch light like you were a teenager afraid of getting caught by your grandfather. (He was probably asleep by now anyway.)

And you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been kissed like this, touched like this. The evening chill spread goosebumps across your arms, but your insides were warm and champagne-bubbly. All the while, his lips made slow, sensuous movements against yours.

When you caught a moment to pull away, just to take in a few needed breaths, your eyes flicked up to his.

“I’d say make an appointment,” you teased. “I’m a busy woman.”

You tapped his chin with a finger, making him smile.

“Oh, yeah? Can you pencil me in…say, tomorrow at 7:00?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.” You raised a brow. “Anxious, are we?”

His smile faltered, just a little. “Too soon?”

“…No,” you admitted. If you were honest, you wanted to see him too. “7:00 is good.”

Dean was about to reply when the porch lights flickered overhead. Your brows furrowing, you turned and spotted your grandfather in the window by the front door. You didn't like the look of his smile, hinting with mischief.

“Oh my God,” you muttered.

“Did I make you miss curfew or something?” Dean joked.

Embarrassment began to heat up your face in record time. You groaned and shook your head as you turned in his arms.

“My grandfather, ladies and gentlemen.” Your lips quirked. “And his incurable wit.”

Dean’s hands fell away from you so you could reach for the door, just as you heard it unlocking from the other side. George cracked the door open a few inches and peeked his head out.

“If you wanna put on a show, you should sell tickets,” he quipped, giving you and Dean a raised brow.

“Grandpa, really?”

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Just kiddin’,” he said. “Hey there. Heard you’re the fireman who saved the cheeky damsel in distress here. How many does that make for ya this week?”

You sighed. And you pleaded with Dean, via your eyes, to be patient here.

“Well, wouldn’t call her a damsel, but she’s certainly the prettiest one so far,” Dean told your grandfather, though he shot you a teasing wink.

You couldn't help a smile. “Yeah, he’s got a caravan of us waiting back at the station.”

Dean chuckled along with George, who then gave him a more appraising look. Dean knew when he was being silently judged. He met the older man’s gaze directly.

“Anyway, sorry for crashing in. Glad to meet you, son. I’m George,” said your grandfather. He stepped out fully to shake Dean’s hand.

Dean took it with a firm, but relaxed grip. He nodded respectfully.

“Good to meet you. I’m Dean.”

“So I’ve heard,” George said, his tone a little enigmatic. “You plannin’ on seeing her again? ‘Cause I think you might be a special one. She had me approve no less than five different outfits before she decided. And I said, ‘Hun, if he’s half a man at all he wouldn’t care if you were dressed in a woolly potato sack and nothin' else—’”

“All right, is that Wheel of Fortune on back there?” you quickly cut in. A wilder blush was taking root down to your neck. You pointed back inside, where you could hear the TV playing. “I think your show’s back on.”

George’s eyes widened like he was catching on to you, reading between your lines. He “apologized” with placating hands.

“Okay, that’s my cue. Though I’ll have you know, it’s Shark Week on the Discovery channel. Wheel of Fortune’s for old people,” he quipped.

Dean smirked. “Hell yeah. Gotta love Shark Week.”

“Right?” George gestured at him as if he’d just found a kindred spirit. “A whole damn week of sharks.”

“Great! Well, sounds like the show’s back from commercial,” you hinted. Actually, you hoped he recorded those episodes. You loved a good nature documentary that made you fear the beach for another six months.

“All right, I got it.” Grinning to himself, George gave Dean one last tip of his imaginary hat. “G’night, you two.”

“Good night,” you and Dean replied, though yours was distinctly tighter, while he was more amused. He glanced down at you after the door clicked shut.

You bit your lip, meeting his eyes. “Sorry. No matter how old I get, that’s still his way of being protective.”

“As he should,” Dean said, chuckling a little. He bucked a gentle fist under your chin. “You’re like a daughter to him, right?”

Your lingering embarrassment began to even out into a smile.

“Yeah, basically.”

“With a sharp shooter like you, I’ll bet he doesn’t have a lot of chances to look out for you,” he remarked.

You inclined your head at that.

“Maybe,” you replied. You reached out to straighten the lines of his jacket. You’d managed to wrinkle him a bit since hanging out in his car by the river earlier.

“So…you said something about 7:00 tomorrow?” you asked tentatively.

Dean grinned. But it soon faded as reality seemed to interject. “Ah…you know what, let’s do 7:30.”

His hands found your waist, but they soon slid around to hold you securely in his arms. It made a heady feeling rush through you, down to the tips of your fingers. You soothed through the mess you made of his hair and rested your hands on his arms afterwards.

“Are you sure?” you asked. Dean thought about it for a moment.

“Let’s do 8:00, just to be safe. I get off work at 6:30,” he said. He wanted to give plenty of wiggle room, just in case something cropped up.

You agreed, even though this aspect of things had the potential to make you anxious. You knew his job was unpredictable at times, but you were a planner, organized and detail oriented. And you did not like the unknown. Hence your mildly anal tendency to make checklists.

Dean could see the wheels turning in your head though.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. When he gave his word, he fully intended to keep it.

So he kissed away the reservations he saw in your eyes.

Despite the pure magic that had been last night, today, you had a suspicious feeling.

It was 8:30 in the evening, and Dean still wasn’t knocking at your door. He hadn’t responded to your text either.

You were ready for dinner. This time in a black dress, nice, short, and enticing, as your grandma had long ago impressed on you: every woman should have a little black dress.

At 9:00, you gave into your instincts and tried to call him. It rang for a while, but ultimately went to voicemail. You sat on the living room couch with a glass of wine in one hand, your cell in the other, and you frowned.

You still hadn’t moved the vase of tulips from the coffee table, and you noticed them again. They were starting to open up nicely.

Grandpa George glanced over at you from his favorite chair, watching your mood begin to sour with both annoyance and worry.

“He’s probably just caught up on a call,” he said, and raised a teasing brow. “Maybe saving another girl from a crapped out elevator.”

You shot him a droll look. “Thanks. But yeah, he probably just got held up at work…not standing me up at all.”

Logically, you knew it was probably the first option, but the less secure part of yourself wondered.

George relented when he saw how pensive you looked, with a tinge of impatience.

“You must really like this guy,” he said.

You looked over at him with a soft frown, but you didn’t answer. It told your grandfather everything he needed to know. Even with the protective walls you tended to put up whenever you were anxious, he knew you better than anyone.

“It may not be what you think. Just relax,” he said. “He’ll call eventually. And when he does, let him actually talk.”

You huffed. But your lips formed a smile as you nodded in agreement.

Whatever was holding Dean up, you just hoped he was safe.

However, by 10:00 p.m., you were both worried and irritated. You changed out of your dress, but you kept your makeup on in one last ditch effort of hope.

You laid in bed and watched Friends reruns. Even though you knew every joke, it usually still managed to make you laugh.

Not this time, unfortunately.

But, Dean finally called around 10:30. You let it ring a few times before you answered your cell.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” you greeted flatly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. His tone was already full of remorse, but you couldn’t help it. You were feeling petty.

“I don’t think you get to ‘sweetheart’ me tonight,” you said.

“Look, uh…I’m sorry I’m not there,” said Dean. “I really am. I wasn’t trying to do this to you.”

…Damn it, you actually believed him. You heard the sincerity in his voice, along with how tired he seemed to be. And that was before he even got to the explanation.

“There was a five-car pileup on the road, and someone got T-boned on either side,” he said. “It took us basically all night to clear it up and get the injured out of there. Was a big mess. I just left the station a few minutes ago.”

Your irritation soon fizzled into shame. You should’ve known.

“That’s…a really good reason,” you said.

“Just let me shower and I’ll come right out to you.”

You sighed. “It’s okay, Dean. Let’s just try for another time. You must be tired…”

It was his turn to sigh.

“I know it ain’t okay,” he said eventually. “I can hear you clear as day.”

Your lips quirked wryly.

“How can I complain, Dean? You were literally saving people.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re all dolled up, and I’m not gonna get to see it,” he said. A bit of his usual charm and good humor crept into his voice. It made you smile.

“And I really put some effort into this smokey eye,” you quipped. You also curled a strand of styled hair around your finger absently.

“I’m gonna pretend I know what that means, but it sounds sexy as hell,” he replied.

Your smile deepened. “Okay, what about Tuesday night?”

“Hmm…sorry, that day’s no good. I’ve got a 24-hour shift Tuesday to Wednesday,” he said. “What about Thursday night?”

“Ah…I’ve got an appointment after work,” you said.

Really it was George’s doctor’s appointment, but you wanted to go with him this time to make sure the doctor was doing his best to diagnose George’s persistent cough.

He’d also been more tired lately, you’d noticed, even after a full night’s sleep. He was blaming it on old age, but you knew your grandfather. You knew when he was downplaying to avoid the doctor, or to avoid worrying you.

“Friday?” you posed.

“I’ve got another long shift,” Dean said.

Damn it. It seemed like his schedule and yours wasn’t very compatible. You were starting to get discouraged…

“Oh, wait,” Dean said, his tone perking up. “I forgot. I’ve got this Monday off, during the day…why don’t I take you out to lunch?”

“Lunch?” You considered it with a frown. “It can be hard for me to leave my desk. I have to take a lot of calls.”

Most days you worked straight through your lunch hour. But Dean’s reply was smooth.

“That’s all right,” he said. “How about I bring takeout? Office picnic.”

Slowly, you smiled.

“Okay. I’ll see you on Monday then,” you agreed.

“Yes, you will,” Dean said. His tone was firm. “You can count on it.”

AN: Okay! How did you like part 2 of their first date? (And Dean meeting George for the first time lol.)

Hopefully round two of their second date will go better. Though Dean finally meets the infamous boss...

Next Time:

“Hey, what’s your progress on the Greenway account…oh,” said Nick, pausing where he stood.

He took note of Dean in the room and straightened his posture. His expression changed from its lazy gait, to a more tightened one. You swore you could spot a tinge of annoyance as well, like he was surprised that he hadn’t caught you alone in your office.

“I see I’m interrupting,” he said.

Holding in a sigh, you looked over at Dean and found him similarly assessing Nick.

“This is Dean. You might remember him from last week, when the elevator broke down. He’s one of the firefighters who got me out,” you said.

Your hand fell on your companion's arm. “Dean, this is—”

“Her boss,” Nick said. He seemed to lighten up and give Dean a smile, reaching over to shake the man’s hand. Dean obliged him.

“So I’ve heard,” he said.

Keep Reading: PART 5

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#Rocky Road #Smoke Eater #Part 4 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

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taylortots-world · 10 months

Text

Come A Little Closer

Summary: You and Dean spent hours in bed. Not for the reason you may think. Research. Open books and scattered papers. You can visibly see how exhausted Dean is. So, you decide to give him a hand.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni!, smut, handjob,

A/N: Enjoy! Reblogs and likes mean the world to me :) Feel free to leave me requests! I know this isn't my best work </3 I'm also currently working on part two of "On The Clock."

12:43AM. Dean and I have been at this for six hours. Research for a single case. I was sitting against the headboard, laptop resting on my blanket covered thighs. Dean was originally resting against the headboard, now he's fully laid down with an open book resting against his chest.

I glanced down at him, grinning. "Are you just going to lay there?" He rolled his head to the side, looking at me with a tired green stare. “Yes in fact I am. We’ve been at this for hours, I think I’ve fried my brain.” He groaned, tossing his book to the foot of the bed. I softly laughed and tossed my own book aside, still looking down at him. “Just try and relax. We’ll call it a night and pick it up in the morning.” I slightly shifted under the blankets, attempting to adjust my partially numb legs.

Dean slightly shifted, planting his hand on my thigh. My eyes flicked to his hand. Watching as he slowly rubbed up and down my thigh. I turned to look at him again, just to find him already staring at me. Those tired green eyes quickly turned into fuck me eyes. “What?” I asked with a slight smirk. “You know what. C’mon.” He slightly tilted his head down, his gaze still piercing my soul.

“Two can play that game Winchester.” My smirk remained wide and devious as my left hand found his thigh, slowly inching more and more towards his crotch. I lowered my face to his, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. His natural musk filling my senses. “Just relax.” I whispered, our faces still inches apart. His hot breath fanning against the crook of my neck, sending a series of shivers and goosebumps down my body.

Without breaking eye contact, my hand slowly slid past the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. His breathing slightly hitched as I began to palm his cock through his boxers, feeling him grow under my touch. "You're such a fucking tease." He groaned, letting his head hit the pillow. Dean was right, I am a fucking tease.

When we first started dating, I never intentionally teased him. I just slowly began to pick up on the little things I did, that drove him crazy. Wearing oversized shirts with only a thong underneath. The way my cleavage pops when I'm doing research at one of the library tables.

"Y/N- please." He begged. Oh god, he was begging. My core beginning to clench around nothing. My eyes met his, before flicking back down to his growing erection. I could feel my panties getting damper with every touch and twitch of his cock. He lifted his ass off the bed as he helped me slide his bottoms down to his ankles. His rock hard cock now on display, glistening with precum.

I slightly shifted my legs, squeezing them tightly together in an attempt to create any sort of friction. I could've sworn Dean's eyes darkened. He looked at me with lust filled eyed. A blush dancing across his freckled skin. Not wanting to make him wait any longer, I licked a broad stripe from the bottom of my palm to my finger tips. The vein in his cock pulsated as he watched this.

I quickly took ahold of his cock, slowly beginning to pump him in my fist. It felt like I was on fire. My core continuing to clench and throb, my nipples pebbling beneath my tank top. I watched his face closely as I continued to jerk him off, my hand moving a little faster now. His face was genuinely one of my favorite sights, especially during sex. The way his jaw goes slack, his lips forming an 'O'. His brows furrowed in pleasure, a series of moans and profanities rolling off his tongue. Fuck. It drives me up the walls- he drives me up the walls, in the best way possible.

I shifted a little closer to his cock on the bed, now using both my hands to pump him. My left hand continued to work his cock while my right hand snaked down between his legs to gently massage his balls, earning a moan from him. No guy would ever admit it, but it feels fucking amazing when you play with their balls.

"Fuck I'm gonna come," Dean moaned out as his eyes squeezed shut. His hips gently thrusting up into my hand as hot spurts of come landed on my hands and his stomach. I looked at him, waiting for him to open his eyes. Once he opened his eyes, he looked at me. "You continue to amaze me." He said in a breathless tone, still trying to recoup himself after his orgasm. I leaned back and snatched up a wad of tissues from the box that sat atop the nightstand. Carefully, I began to clean up my hands and his cock before laying down beside him.

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jackles010378 · 4 months

Text

Flannel of Desire

(Dean Winchester X you)

(mentions of intimacy nothing too graphic)

Dean catches you wearing his flannel and likes what he sees 😏

Dean walked into the kitchen of the bunker, his eyes scanning the room for a snack. As he turned the corner, his gaze fell upon you, wearing one of his favorite flannel shirts, sleeves rolled up as you diligently cleaned the countertops. Something inside him stirred, a feeling of attraction that he couldn't ignore.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching you intently, his mind racing with thoughts and desires. The way the shirt hugged your curves, accentuating your every movement, sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't deny the rush of arousal that surged through him, and he knew he had to make a move.

Slowly and deliberately, Dean approached you, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Hey there, I see you've found my shirt," he said, his voice low and husky. You looked up, surprise flickering in your eyes.

"Yeah," you replied, a faint blush tinting your cheeks. "I hope you don't mind. It was just lying around, and I couldn't resist."

Dean took a step closer, his body now mere inches away from yours. He reached out, his fingertips gently tracing the fabric of the flannel against your arm, sending tingles of electricity through your skin. "Trust me, I don't mind at all," he whispered, his voice heavy with desire.

The chemistry between you intensified, the air in the room thick with anticipation. Dean's hand moved from your arm to your waist, pulling you closer to him. His hypnotic green eyes locked with yours, a mixture of vulnerability and longing shining through.

Without another word, Dean's lips met yours in a passionate kiss, igniting a fire within both of you. Time seemed to stand still as you melted into each other, the taste and warmth of each other's mouths becoming intoxicating.

Desire surged through your bodies as you stumbled towards the bedroom, leaving the kitchen forgotten and the cleaning abandoned. The intensity between you was undeniable, an electric current drawing you closer with every touch, every caress.

Inside the bedroom, clothes were shed like a trail of breadcrumbs, each discarded garment fueling the excitement. The plaid shirt, once innocent, was now a symbol of provocative desire. The soft fabric slipped off your body, revealing your vulnerability and awakening a raw hunger in Dean.

The room became a canvas of discovery, as your bodies moulded into one, exploring one another with unbridled passion. Skin met skin, creating a symphony of sighs and moans that echoed through the walls. Pleasure surged through every nerve ending, the connection between you reaching new heights with each passing moment.

In that moment of pure intimacy, there was no denying the magnetic pull that had brought you together. Dean, with his rugged charm and smoldering passion, had become an insatiable force in your life. It was a night of unforgettable pleasure, a culmination of desire that left you both breathless, sated, and yearning for more.

The following morning, Dean woke up, stretching his arms reaching out for you, only to realise you had gone. He got out of bed and pulled on a pair of joggers and a hoodie and went in search of you. As he made his way down the halls, he could hear you humming. Yet again he found you in the kitchen preparing breakfast for you both, wearing nothing but his flannel. Leaning against the doorframe again he looked you up and down "you know y/n, you keep wearing my shirts, we're never gonna make it out of my room". You placed the wooden spoon on the counter top and turned around slowly to look at Dean "is that a promise Winchester" you replied with a smirk. It took a second for Dean to walk over to you, tugging you close to him and pressing his lips to yours in a fiery kiss. Pulling away leaving you breathless "oh it most certainly is, I will gladly give you all my shirts to wear" he said with a huge smile, kissing you once more.

In that moment, you knew that his flannel had been the catalyst, bringing you both together in a whirlwind of ecstasy. A reminder that sometimes, unexpected encounters can ignite a fire that burns brighter than anything either of you could have imagined.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @nescavaneck

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #supernatural #jackles #jensen ross ackles #spn cast #soldier boy #deanwinchtser #jensen ackles gifs #beau arlen #dean winchester x y/n #au dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic

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beansprean · 4 months

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I had to...

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Full body of Endverse Castiel sitting on a red bench on a mottled greenish brown background, wearing ripped jeans and a loose teal henley. Straddling his lap is Dean, wearing black tee shirt, boots, and a short blue plaid skirt. Cas is grinning lazily up at him, one hand on Dean's hip and the other holding a joint to his mouth, smoke winding around Dean's shoulders. Dean, one hand braced on Cas's shoulder, looks flustered and confused, sweating nervously with pink cheeks and a furrowed brow. A thought bubble appears above his head with a screenshotted tweet from cisjender that says "The guy I get my weed from told me he was excited for me to try some new stuff today and now I'm sitting in his lap with a skirt on?" /end ID

#spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #mlm #endverse #endverse cas #endverse castiel #endverse!cas #endverse!castiel #idk what tag is used anymore dkjfhdfk #drug use cw #my art #fanart #image described

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waywardxwords · 8 months

Text

I Always Have

Summary: Dean reluctantly agrees to visit a haunted house with you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: Slight language, small mention of claustrophobia, fluff!

A/N: Day 3 of the #flufftober2023 (@flufftober) prompt challenge! The prompt is: "Wait, you love me?" - "I always have." Side note: if you are on my tag list, I am planning/attempting to post once a day during the month of October. I know that’s a lot of tags and mentions, so if you’d like to be removed you can do so through the Tag List linked in my bio.

Enjoy!

Haunted Houses weren’t really Dean’s thing…well, of course real haunted houses were. But this was different. This wasn’t haunted by real spirits or monsters; mostly just local high school and college students who needed extra money in the fall so they dressed up like ghosts and ghouls.

Dean had always hated the idea of actually visiting a haunted house. “You’re gonna pay money to go into an old building and have idiot kids try to scare you? Seriously? That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not just a haunted house, Deanie,” you had egged him on with the nickname he didn’t seem to appreciate. “It’s the pumpkins, and the apple cider, and that fun feeling of experiencing fall and Halloween as a kid.” He had just rolled his eyes. You loved getting under his skin, and as much as you would tell Sam you didn’t know why, you knew (and Sam knew, for that matter).

“Would you two just kiss already?” Sam had teased you from the kitchen of the bunker one night after you had poked and pushed on Dean so hard he had given up and retreated to his bedroom.

“Ew,” you had forced yourself to shudder at the thought. “Don’t make me puke.”

He laughed so hard he tossed his head back as he did it. “Yeah, okay. The tension between you two is about to make me puke, so do me a favor and just keep it outta the main living areas, got it?” He wasn’t able to dodge the sponge you had been washing dishes with as you tossed it right at his head.

So here you stood on this October night in the bunker looking at Dean blankly. You blinked twice.

“You comin’ or not?” He drawled with mock frustration as he pulled his army green jacket over his red and black buffalo plaid flannel. He grabbed the keys off of the counter top and looked at you expectantly.

“You’re taking me to the haunted house?” You still didn’t believe him.

“I was plannin’ on it, but you better hurry the hell up before I change my mind,” he grumbled but couldn’t hide the tug at the corner of his lips as you practically squealed and ran by him to get your jacket.

“Dude,” Sam eyed his brother as soon as you were out of ear shot.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dean held up his hand and went to wait for you in the Impala.

“What made you change your mind?” You finally asked as Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot in the dirt field. There were tons of other cars—this wasn’t just a haunted house, but a haunted trail as well and you could hardly hide your excitement.

“I was tired of hearin’ you bitch and moan,” he shot you a cheesy, over exaggerated smile with his eyes squinted. You rolled your eyes and flung the door open. “Hey, careful with my Baby!” He chirped, his face suddenly morphed into a small scowl.

“I’m not gonna hurt your precious car, Deanie,” you teased as you met him by the front of the Impala. Each step you took almost had a skip to it, and you couldn’t help yourself as you slipped your arm through his and linked it just at his elbow.

You weren’t sure if you imagined it, but you felt like his demeanor softened. The two of you walked like that as your boots crunched against the gravel and dirt. There were quite a few others there and a line had formed. The trail was dark but lit by yellow glowing lanterns strung from trees and solar path lights on the ground.

“Fifteen dollars per person,” there was a teenaged boy at the front of the line with a cash box. Dean’s scowl returned. “Cash only.” He added on at the end.

“Seriously? Fifteen bucks?” He looked at the kid who just pointed to the sign taped to the front of the table he was at. It read in printed font, ‘$15 per adult’. “Great,” Dean fumbled in his back pocket for his wallet.

“I got it, Dean. You brought me here and I know it’s not your thing,” you reached for your cross body bag to fish out the money.

“I got it,” Dean huffed as he retrieved a $20 and a $10 from his leather wallet. “Here.” He handed it to the kid. The kid nodded you both into the event. “What first? Trail or house?”

“Hmm,” you pondered, your excitement had returned. “Let’s do the trail first.” Your eyes wandered for a second and a squeal left your lips again before you could reign it back in as your gaze noticed a booth just ahead.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mumbled, but there was a slight chuckle tucked behind it.

“Apple cider!” You practically pulled him towards the stand. There was no line, so you were under the lights of the vendor almost immediately. “Two apple ciders, please.” This time, you were sure to pull out your wallet first.

“That’ll be six dollars,” the woman returned with two cups of cider. You handed her the cash and handed a cup to Dean.

“Cheers!” You beamed as you clinked your paper cup against his. You noticed a small eye roll from him, but he obliged and took a sip.

He made a sour face. “Why do you love this stuff?” He rubbed his lips together to get the sweet sticky substance off.

“I think the real question is, how do you not love this kinda stuff,” you threw back at him as you looped your arm back through his and slowly walked towards the trail. “Halloween is so magical, Dean! It’s literally the best time of year. I think they’ve even polled people on that and determined it is actually the majority's favorite time of the year.”

“Yeah, well, they forgot to poll me on that one,” he grumbled. “We fight this stuff every day. Not this stuff, because it’s fake. But the real deal—the kinda stuff that could kill us. How are you not jaded by that?”

You took a moment before you answered. Your feet stopped moving, so Dean’s stopped too. He turned to look at you as your arm fell out of his.

“When I was a kid, my Dad loved Halloween. I swear, his whole mood changed when fall rolled around. He built a wooden casket and rigged it with fishing wire to open when our front door opened. We scared every kid that came to our house. And kids would literally come from all over to get spooked,” the memory brought a smile to your lips. “I didn’t even want to trick-or-treat half the time. I just wanted to be at home with my Dad scaring the local middle schoolers. My Dad could be difficult,” your smile fell for a moment as other memories tried to make their way through—memories that Dean was well versed in at this point in your friendship. “But when Halloween came around? Man, those were the best days.”

Dean was silent as his eyes watched your face. He saw the emotions ebb and flow as you spoke. He nodded once. “Okay, then,” he said simply. “Let’s go get spooked.” This time, he held his arm out for you to link yours through, causing you to smile.

The trail ended up being more hilarious than terrifying. But you and Dean had thoroughly enjoyed watching others jump and yell as they made their way through.

Next up, the haunted house. This was a little bit different than the trail, as the hallways were so tightly constructed, only one person could walk ahead at a time. You shuddered slightly as you waited, but it was enough for Dean to notice.

“Oh, come on,” he teased as he glanced over his shoulder at you. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Your face scrunched at him as you gave him a slight nudge. “Not scared,” you emphasized. “Just jumpy…” sounds of other haunted house goers ahead of you erupted from just inside the corridor–it made you excited all over again.

It was your turn to enter the main hallway next. They paused between groups to give everyone the full experience. Dean led the way with you closely behind. The house was even darker than outside, if possible, so it took your eyes a second or two to adjust.

There were fake cobwebs and a strobe light tucked away somewhere that sent flashes of light in the hall. Screams filled your ears, and you weren’t sure if they were from other patrons or if there was an audio playing in the background—probably the latter. Your eyes danced around in sensory overload as you tried to take it all in. As Dean rounded the first corner, you missed the memo that there were holes cut out in the wall, so when the first pair of hands reached out followed by someone growling behind the plywood, you couldn’t help the way your body jumped or the scream that followed.

Dean tossed his head back in laughter and turned briefly to look at you. Your heart beat pretty hard against your chest, but you still reached out to swat at him. He surprised you by catching your wrist with his large palm and carefully pulled your arms so they were around his middle. He held them there, and you realized he was giving you something to hold onto.

“Alright, Kat Harvey,” he referenced your favorite Casper-loving character from the classic ghost movie. “You’re alright.” The hum of his voice vibrated through the layers of clothing on his back. Even though you didn’t feel scared anymore, you couldn’t pull your arms away.

You inched behind Dean throughout the rest of the haunted house, laughter erupted from both of you as teenagers tried to scare you. It was refreshing to see Dean laugh—truly laugh—and it made you smile.

As you exited the house, he released your hands he had clutched against his middle and cleared his throat. “That was…”

“I know, I know,” you rolled your eyes as you shook off the empty feeling you felt without his touch. “It was lame, you can say it.”

He hesitated for a moment as he looked back to the house and then shrugged towards you. “Nah, I was gonna say it was actually kinda fun.” A smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh…” you grinned back. “Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for bringing me here, Dean.” You tucked a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and turned to head back to the parking lot.

“Where are you going?” He asked. When you turned back, you noticed he hadn’t moved from his spot.

“Uh…back to the car? That was all you had signed up for…heck, you kinda threw me a bone agreeing to do both the trail and the haunted house.”

“Nuh uh,” he shook his head. “I spent thirty bucks to get us in here. There’s a pumpkin carving booth over there. You said ‘pumpkins, apple cider and haunted houses’. We’re doin’ all three, dammit,” he said firmly but followed it up with a smile.

Your eyes beamed at at him and you bit your bottom lip gently before striding back over to him, “God, I love you.” Your breath caught in your throat after the last word and you froze. With widened eyes, you refused to meet his gaze.

There was a long pause that felt much longer than it probably was. But very quietly you heard his voice, “Wait, you love me?”

You paused again, but put on your big girl panties and turned to him slowly. “I always have.”

His eyes watched you closely for a moment, and then he moved to you so smoothly. His lips brushed against yours for a moment before he pulled away, but went in for another.

“I love you, too,” he murmured gently just as your lips parted. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach before he held his arm out for you once more. “Let’s go carve some pumpkins.” He smiled at you, and this time you knew it was different. It was a smile of contentment. Like everything he had needed, had come to fruition in that moment.

“Let’s,” you beamed back at him as you tucked your arm through his. He leaned towards you for one more kiss before you made your way to the pumpkin carving station. While you weren’t sure what this meant or how your life was about to change, it didn’t matter at that moment. You had pumpkins, apple cider, haunted houses and Dean Winchester at your fingertips. And with that, you couldn’t think of a more perfect autumn evening.

Thanks for reading!

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @hallecarey1 @zepskies @lyarr24

#flufftober2023 #flufftober #03 #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural ff #spn fanfic #spn ff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic

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holylulusworld · 7 months

Text

Demon Knife - Angsttober 26

Summary: You need something from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, implied abandonment, Lisa is a bitch in this one, mentions of slime (monsters), Dean being a douche, no happy ending

Trope: Friends to enemies

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

“Hey, open the door,” you’re panting heavily, but you made it to Dean’s door. Or rather his new girlfriend’s door. You harshly knock again. He just needs to help you.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Lisa mutters behind the closed door. “I got a gun.”

“I’m a friend of Dean,” you lick your dry lips. “I’m in trouble…or not. I mean…it’s complicated.” You feel dizzier per minute. “Listen, I don’t have time to explain things. But I need to wash this stuff off me." You slur. Fuck. The slime the monsters spat at you starts working. “I need…fuck…”

“You’re drunk or on drugs. I’m not going to let you in,” she says and locks the door. “Go away. I got a child.”

“I only need water and salt to wash it off,” you lean your head against the door. “I’m not drunk, miss. I…the slime…I feel…”

You end up on the ground, darkness consuming your mind and body as loud voices lull you into sleep. You recognize one of them. It’s Dean.

“Lis’ she doesn’t mean anything to me. Y/N is an old friend. A hunter. I guess she needs something from me. I’m not going to go with her or let her stay.”

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Great. That’s the first thing you want to hear after waking from another nightmare.

You groan and rub your tired eyes. “Y/N, you can’t come here, drunk and angry.” He shakes his head. “I got a new life.”

“Christ, you are as dull and unhelpful as your girlfriend,” you jolt up on the backseat of Baby, cursing because you are only wearing one of Dean’s old shirts. “Hello, Baby. I’ve missed you.” You pat the backseat.

Dean watches you get out of his car. He sighs and runs one hand down his face. “She’s not dull, nor unhelpful. But you came here. Drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” you grunt, and stomp your foot. “It was the slime making me feel dizzy. All I needed was some water and salt. I told that bitch so.”

“She’s not a bitch either,” he grits his teeth and jerks his head toward your bag in the front seat of Baby. “You should get your shit and leave.”

“I wasn’t drunk, only influenced by the slime.” You sigh deeply. The man standing in front of you is not the man you used to know. “I came here because I need one of the books in the trunk of Baby.”

“You could’ve asked Bobby,” Dean watches you snatch your bag from the seat to get a pair of jeans and a shirt out. You strip his shirt off, throwing it at Dean. “He’s got more than enough books.”

You ignore his harsh tone and the way he watches your every move.

While he tells you it was a mistake to come here, you throw your jeans on, followed by your shoes.

“I need a specific book to find a way to kill those monsters. The last one belongs to Bobby, but Sam—” You bite your tongue. It’s the first time you have said Sam's name since he jumped into the pit to defeat the devil himself. “He took the book and it’s still in the car.”

Your voice shakes as you remember the day you and Sam bickered about the book. He wanted to read it first but gave in and let you read it first.

“I know there was a remedy to neutralize their slime, and I need Ruby's knife.”

“You came all the way out here for a book?” He cocks a brow. “Really.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “I told you that the book is the last one. Believe me, this is the last place I want to be.”

“Why do you need the knife?” He watches you dress in the hunter’s uniform. A shirt and a plaid you stole from him years ago.

You don’t look at him. Not after what he said last night. His words still echo in your mind, and you once again tell yourself he’s not worth your tears, or the heartbreak you still feel.

“Well, with two Winchesters down, and the last one living the apple pie life, the remaining hunters must do thrice the work. Now the monsters believe they can defeat anyone. If the Winchesters can fall, or if they can make them skip out on the job, those bastards believe we are all quitters.

You sneer when Dean tries to put his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, we talked about this. Sammy wanted me to have a normal life.”

“Yeah, but why did you…Why her?” You sniff. “I thought…maybe…” You shake your head and swallow the words burning your tongue. “Forget it. You’ve got a new life. I hope you’re happy. Now, if you just handle me the knife, I’ll be on my way.”

Holding out your hand you try to not look at Dean. “Sweetheart, maybe you should quit too?”

You chuckle bitterly at his words. “I tried, but the man I loved chose some yoga instructor chick he met once over me. So, stop acting like you care and give me the knife.”

“I-“ Dean sighs deeply. “If that’s what you want.”

“No, but it will keep me alive. Because the man promising me to always have my back left me for some other girl.”

Dean hands you the knife. He watches you grab the book from the trunk, sniffling as your eyes land on the makeshift bookmark Sam made for you stick out of the book. “Do you need anything else?”

You huff and shake your head. “I’ve got it handled. Bobby will help me bring those slimy bastards down,” you lift your eyes from the book to glare at Dean. “He’s going to have my back.”

With that, you turn your back on Dean, to stuff the book and knife into your duffle bag and sling it over your shoulder. “Y/N, wait…”

“Save it, Winchester…” you look over your shoulder. “Maybe you should change your name too. Because we all believed that Winchesters aren’t quitters. At least Sammy was brave enough to save the world…”

It’s a low blow, but you deliver it with a smirk. Dean visibly flinches at your words but doesn’t say a thing. He just stares at you, unsure if anything he says will change your opinion.

“You should tell your girlfriend to not fuck with everyone knocking at her door. Not everyone has enough impulse control to not punch her.”

You walk out of the garage, regretting only one thing. That you must leave Baby behind…

“How’d it go?” Bobby asks as you get into his car. He nods as you show him the book. “I guess now we can get rid of these slimy bastards. How’s the boy doing?”

“Plays house with his yoga instructor. He told me to leave so,” you push the tears away, “let’s roll. I don’t want to stay in his neighborhood for too long.”

“I’m sorry kiddo…”

Bobby and you took the monsters down. It was a hard fight, and you needed the help of another hunter, but you made it.

Even though it was a struggle to forget about Dean, you managed to not think about him for the better of three months.

It gets easier to not have him around, grinning goofily, while telling you a dirty joke. You almost don’t miss his enthusiasm for food, or how he sang along to the songs he loved on the car rides you miss so much.

It almost feels like you never had feelings for him. Almost. Only this dull pain remains in your chest. But it will fade soon, you’re sure about it.

One day, Dean Winchester will only be someone you used to know…

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #angst #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #kinktober vs flufftober 2023 #Demon Knife - Angsttober 26 #female reader

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fanfictionalraven · 2 days

Text

Dream Warriors Chapter 7

Title: Dream Warriors Chapter 7

Summary: The story jumps back a few days. The pieces fall into place.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, other original characters

Word Count: 2,438

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Author’s Note: I didn't realize how short this one was. I hope things make sense.

Read Chapter 6 here.

*Three Days Earlier*

You step out of the steamy shower and grab the nearby towel, drying your arms and legs off quickly. You, Dean, and Sam had just gotten back to the bunker after a long hunt and the shower had been the perfect remedy for your achy, tense muscles. Wrapping the towel around yourself tight, you step out into the hallway. Normally, you wouldn’t have risked a towel-clad run through the halls of the bunker but you’d been in such a rush to get under the hot water you hadn’t bothered to grab your clothes. You round a corner and run smack into a plaid covered chest. Dean’s arm catches you at the waist quickly.

“Whoa, Sweetheart,” he says, looking down at you. The two of you stand there for a moment before Dean clears his throat and lets you go. You tighten your grip on the towel as you take an awkward step away from your best friend. “I, ugh…I was just coming to find you actually.”

“What’s up?” You ask.

“Sammy found a case,” he says. You blink and shake your head slightly.

“Another one? We just got back,” you tell him. He shrugs his shoulders.

“Says it’s a witch and he already knows who it is. Quickie,” he says with a wink. You let out a laugh and nod. “You don’t have to go. You took a pretty big hit on this last one. Rest up and we should be back by the end of the night.”

“Hell, no, Winchester,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “You two don’t get to have all the fun around here. Now, let me go get dressed. I don’t like the way you’re leering at me.”

“I don’t leer,” Dean says, stepping aside. Winking at him, you rush past and down to your bedroom.

You throw on the first set of clothes you find before taking care of your wet head. A few minutes later, you meet Sam and Dean in the garage. Both are leaned against the Impala waiting. Dean laughs and shakes his head.

“You gotta quit raiding my closet when I’m not home,” he says. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?” You ask.

“That’s my shirt,” he says, pointing to the oversized plaid shirt you’re wearing. You look at it then back at him and shrug.

“Is that a problem?” You ask, crossing your arms. He smirks as he looks you over.

“Not even remotely,” he says. Sam rolls his eyes and turns to get in the car, mumbling something about being disgusted.

“You’re leering again, Winchester,” you tell him before going around to the backdoor of the car. Dean rolls his eyes as he gets in as well.

It’s only about an hour drive to their possible witch’s house. You and Dean spend the drive annoying Sam by singing obnoxiously to Dean’s old cassettes. Dean parks the car across the street from the house and Sam quickly shuts the radio off.

“That was my favorite song!” You protest. Sam shoots a look back at you before pointing to the house.

“Kaylee Morgan,” he says.

“And why do we think she’s our witch?” Dean asks, pulling his gun out. Sam glances at him.

“Well, she hasn’t exactly been hiding her feelings about a couple of strange deaths in town,” he explains. You nod slightly as you look at the house.

“Okay. Well…that doesn’t mean she’s behind it,” you object. Sam nods and pulls his phone out.

“I went through her social media, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter,” he starts, scrolling. “Two weeks ago, she checked in at a bookstore. A weird, old bookstore with weird, old books. She posted this picture.” He shows the two of you a picture of a book.

“Weird and old. Sure,” you say, nodding. Sam switches screens on his phone.

“It’s an old witchcraft book. Like…worse than the Grimoire we have,” he explains. “A few days later, she literally tagged both of the victims in a post telling them to watch out.”

“Did the cops check her out?” Dean asks. Sam nods.

“They did but there wasn’t anything to link her to the crimes so they cleared her. But their deaths were definitely…witchy. Called the medical examiner and guess what he found on each of the two bodies?”

“Hex bags?” You ask.

“Hex bags,” Sam says, smiling. Dean nods then shrugs his shoulders.

“Well this should be easy enough. What do you say we waste the bitch then go hit that diner we passed on the way in?” He asks, holding his gun up.

“We still need to make sure,” you tell Dean, leaning over the front seat. You pop open the glove box and dig around briefly before pulling a badge out. You check the ID quickly to make sure it’s one of yours then fall back into the seat. “I’ll go in. Talk to her. See what I can get.”

“What? By yourself?” Dean asks. You shrug and pull your phone out.

“I’ll leave you on speaker. If you hear anything, come running,” you tell them as you call Dean. He takes his phone out and puts it on speaker before muting it.

“Y/N,” he says as you open the door. You look back at him and he��s frowning. “Be careful.”

“Always,” you say with a wink before getting out quickly. Glancing down the street, you rush across to the house. You knock on the door and look around the porch as you wait. It opens a moment later and you smile at the petite blonde behind it. “Ms. Morgan?”

“Yes?” She asks, eyeing you skeptically. You pull the ID from your pocket and show it to her through the crack.

“FBI. Agent Prince. Can I have a word with you?” You ask. She frowns as she looks at it then back at you.

“I already talked to the police. They let me go,” she says. You smile and nod, pocketing the ID once again.

“I understand. This is just a follow-up. Won’t take long. I promise,” you assure her. She watches you for a moment before sighing and pulling the door open all the way. Stepping inside, you look around. The house is decorated simply enough, nothing seemingly suspicious. “I like your hair,” you comment on her blue and green streaks as you follow her into the living room. She looks back at you as she takes a seat in a chair.

“Can we skip the fake pleasantries and get on with it?” She asks. You force a smile and nod, sitting on the sofa across from her.

“Sure. You knew the victims?” You ask. She shrugs her shoulders, crossing her arms.

“We graduated together. They were a-holes,” she tells you. You nod slightly.

“What? Bullies?” You ask. She shrugs her shoulders once again. “Why did you threaten them?”

“I didn’t,” she says.

“You tagged them…”

“In one little post telling them they needed to be careful who they piss off, sure. But there was no threat,” she argues. You nod once as you watch her. “Besides, how would I have done it? I’m a college dropout. Didn’t their hearts explode or something?”

“Well, it doesn’t take a college degree to Google something or…I don’t know…read a book,” you say. She tenses up slightly and you smile. “Anything sounding familiar?”

“No. I don’t think so. Excuse me,” she says, standing suddenly. You watch as she leaves the living room quickly. You take your phone out and hold it closer. “She’s definitely hiding something,” you say quietly.

“We’re coming up,” Dean says before ending the call. You rise to your feet and start to walk around the living room, casually looking for clues.

“Are your friends coming?” Kaylee asks, suddenly behind you again. You spin around and raise an eyebrow at her.

“Pardon?” You ask.

“You’re a hunter, right? Your friends out in that old junker. You tell them I’m a witch?” She asks. Your eyes narrow and you take a swing, hitting her square in the jaw. She stumbles back and grabs a nearby vase, smashing it against your head. Your ears begin to ring and you blink as you take a step away. The door opens and Sam and Dean come rushing into the house.

“Y/N!!” Dean calls out. Kaylee looks over as Dean and Sam step into the room.

“Time to go,” she says. “Somnium clipeum!” She throws a handful of powder at you and everything goes black as you fall to the floor. Dean’s eyes widen as he looks around.

“Y/N!!” He rushes to your side and drops to his knees, checking your pulse. “She’s alive. Where the hell did that witch go?”

“I don’t know. She…she literally disappeared,” Sam says before running into the next room.

“Y/N,” Dean says, shaking you slightly. “Y/N, you gotta wake up, Sweetheart.” Sam comes back into the room and shakes his head.

“She’s just gone,” he says. Dean frowns and moves to lift your body into his arms.

“She hit Y/N with something. We gotta get her to a hospital,” he tells his brother. Sam nods and rushes to the front door.

They get your body out to the car and Dean gets into the backseat, holding you close. “Come on, Y/N, please.” He pleads and begs constantly the entire drive to the hospital, trying to wake you up. Sam pulls the car into the parking lot of a local hospital. The two brothers get you into the emergency room and a couple of nurses jump up from the desk. One runs down the hall as the other approaches.

“What happened?” She asks, checking your pulse quickly. Dean shakes his head.

“She just fell out,” he says. The second nurse returns with a stretcher and Dean lays you on it. They begin to push you back and Dean starts to follow before the nurse stops him.

“You need to wait here,” she tells him. Sam touches his brother’s shoulder and the two move into the waiting room together. Dean falls into a chair and runs his hands over his face.

“I shouldn’t have let her go in alone,” he says. Sam sighs and shakes his head.

“Dean, we didn’t know. We didn’t think she’d be in that much danger,” he tries to comfort his brother.

A few minutes later, the first nurse comes back into the waiting room. Dean jumps up and rushes over to her, Sam right behind him. She smiles at them, reassuringly.

“We don’t have anything yet. They’re still working on her. I need you to fill out the paperwork though,” she says, handing Dean a clipboard. He nods slightly as he takes it.

“Right…right,” he says before returning to his seat. Sam sits next to him and watches over his shoulder as Dean begins to fill out the paper. He raises an eyebrow as he writes a name.

“Y/N Winchester?” He asks. Dean shrugs slightly.

“If they think I’m her husband, they’ll let me go back and see her more easily,” Dean says, not looking up. Sam watches with amazement as Dean moves through the paperwork quickly and easily, not having to think about a single answer.

“She’s allergic to Tylenol?” He asks. Dean looks at him and nods.

“Yea? You didn’t know that?” He asks. Sam shakes his head slightly.

“Why would I know that?” He asks. Dean shrugs and looks back at the paper. He checks to make sure everything is filled out before going back to the desk.

“My wife’s paperwork,” he says, handing it to the nurse. She smiles and thanks him.

The two sit. They pace. They wait. Four hours later, a doctor comes into the waiting room and looks around.

“Winchester?” He asks. Dean, who had been standing at a window, rushes over.

“My wife. Is she awake??” He asks quickly. The doctor frowns and shakes his head. Sam sighs as he walks over as well.

“We have no idea what is going on. Everything seems perfectly normal. By all accounts, she should be awake,” he says. Dean stares at him and shakes his head.

“So…you’ve got nothing?” He asks.

“I’m sorry. You two can go back to her. Talk to her, it might help,” he says. Dean runs a hand over his jaw and nods.

“Yea, okay,” he says.

The doctor leads the two Winchesters down the hall to the room where you’re lying, still unconscious. Dean frowns as he takes in the tubes and wires, connected to you, keeping you alive. Sam pats his older brother on the shoulder before walking around to the other side of the bed.

“Ugh…hey, Y/N. I don’t know if you can hear us but…we really need you to come back,” he says, reaching out and touching your arm. He stays there for a moment before clearing his throat and looking up. “I think…I’m gonna go back to that house. See if I can find the book and what spell she used.” Dean nods once and Sam leaves the room quickly. The older brother walks over to the bed slowly and falls into a chair next to you. He sits and watches you for a moment before reaching over and taking your hand.

“Y/N,” he says before shaking his head and looking away. “This is stupid.”

“I’ve seen it work before,” a woman says from the door. Dean turns and looks to find a nurse. She smiles at him as she walks over. “Sorry. Just came to check her IV.” She picks up the chart at the edge of the bed before looking at the machine. “It does seem a bit ridiculous. Talking to someone who can’t talk back. You aren’t sure if she can hear you or not. But…surprisingly, it does work.”

“What do I say?” He asks, shaking his head. She smiles and shrugs.

“Anything. Tell her about your day. Tell her you love her. Do you have kids?” She asks. Dean lets out a small laugh and shakes his head. “Maybe don’t talk about the kids then.”

“Thank you,” he tells her. She nods and leaves the room. Dean looks back at you and sighs. “Look, don’t kick my ass over the whole wife thing when you wake up. It was just so I could be here without any questions.” He pauses and swallows back tears. “You gotta come back to me, Y/N. You gotta. I can’t…I can’t fight this fight without you. You’re…everything. My best friend. My rock. You’re the only reason I have any hope these days. Please, come back.”

***

Forever Tags: @roseblue373

Jensen Tags: @call-me-mrs-winchester

Dream Warriors: @aylacavebear @winharry @djs8891 @suckitands33 @rickgrimeswifeu @deans-spinster-witch @jackles010378 @foxyjwls007 @alisycsa @lailawinchesterr @urinternetmom @justrealizedimmascifygurl @kr804573 @thej2report @just-levyy @snowayumi @deans-baby-momma @demons-eats-pie-too @brightlilith @kazsmr67 @onlyangel444

#fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #reader insert #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dream warriors #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic

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princessmisery666 · 11 months

Note

Please don't leave. Jensen Ackles and reader

Please Don't Leave

Summary: Friends to lovers to friends, that can work, right?

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, fluff, Jensen in his thicc Soldier Boy era (that’s a warning in itself!)

W/C: 4.3k

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki. Small Parts/Mentioned: Karl Urban, Jack Quaid, Gen Padalecki.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Notes: For the purpose of this fic, Jensen is not and never has been married.

A/N: This drabble got way out of hand.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // any mistakes belong to me.

Graphics: Title card Jensen photo credit - https://twitter.com/_AlanaKing_ Soldier Boy image from Variety. Fly video belongs to me.

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // Main // Made Up Fic Titles

“Help me understand,” you implore.

The first domino to set off the chain reaction was in the form of a famous and beautiful actress, Mae Nova, sliding into Jensen’s DM’s—a very detailed offer with an accompanying photo that you saw by no fault of your own. How is irrelevant. Why is the issue. Why didn’t he delete it or immediately set her straight?

“You’re the one that wanted this, Jay,” you say when he remains silent. “You're the one who pursued me, convinced me we should try and turn the ten years of friendship into something more.”

“I know.” He sighs, pushing a hand through his longer hair. “And I don’t regret a second of the last six months we’ve been together…” he doesn’t say it; however, the ‘but’ demands attention like a flickering light.

“But you're having second thoughts?”

“No!” he denies vehemently, finally looking you in the eye. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, one of us has to!”

He shakes his head, exhaling loudly. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, sounding like a broken record. His heart rate is running high, and his chest heaves with every breath, but his vocabulary appears to be running low.

You tsk, fighting back a scathing comment about needing a script writer to make him talk. But it wouldn’t be fair. He’s not a man who runs from his emotions. He’s just trying to make sense of it all like you are. You have to remind yourself he’s not Dean Winchester. He doesn’t look much like him anymore either; longer hair, beard growing almost wildly, no plaid in sight in the Soldier Boy wardrobe at the back of the fancy trailer.

Is that where the lines blurred? Working together for so long on Supernatural, have you both confused the other for your characters and their feelings toward the other?

“You can stop saying your sorry. I forgive you,” you say, and he turns a watery gaze your way. It almost breaks your resolve, but you realize it’s down to you to be the strong one. “I just need to understand why? Why didn’t you reply and tell her you're in a relationship? You’ve done it a hundred times before.”

“I don’t know.”

To make matters worse, Mae had landed a role on The Boys and would be working alongside Jensen.

“Jensen, you spent fifteen years of your life devoted to Supernatural, ten of those with me around. I think you were scared of the end, afraid of losing such a big part of yourself.”

“I was,” he agrees, in a whisper as if you speaking the words is the reason for his realization of it being the truth.

“Maybe us being together was a knee-jerk reaction?” you suggest, “a way to cling onto the past.” You take a deep breath, and your chest tightens as if begging yourself not to say the next part. “Maybe you need a clean break, see what the world looks like without Supernatural… without me.”

“What? No.” He looks offended but can’t hold eye contact and doesn’t offer anything further.

You can’t keep going around in circles, so you make a decision, sitting down at the small table and firing up your laptop.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, rushing to look over your shoulder, perhaps worried you’ll take it upon yourself to reply to the woman. “Searching for flights back home?” Jensen says, panic clear in his tone. Harshly he slams the laptop shut, and you look up at him. “You can’t leave.”

“Give me a reason to stay.”

“Me, us!” he yells, “we can work this out.”

You stand up and gently press your lips to his. Jensen’s hand automatically goes to the small of your back, guiding you around the chair to better press himself against you.

The kiss is natural and unhurried, but there’s too much tension in his body, and you know it’s because he feels it, too. This is your last kiss.

A little breathless, you pull back. “I don’t wanna fight, Jensen.”

“Me neither.”

“So let me be the bad guy,” you say, heart aching but trying to hold it together. “Let me walk away before the wound is too big to save our friendship.”

He grimaces as if tasting something bitter but nods once, “I’m sorry.”

It’s been a long day. All Jensen wanted to do was take a shower and crash, but Karl convinced him to go for dinner with the cast and crew.

The conversation is light, everyone enjoying their food and making small talk. It’s nice enough, but it’s incomplete because you're not there.

He wishes it was you beside him instead of Mae. The seating arrangements have no rhyme or reason. It just happened that way. But still, he almost resents that she’s the one next to him. So much has happened in the weeks since he last saw you. He wants to share it all with you, and wants to know how you are - if you’re struggling with his absence as much as he is with yours.

“Okay there, Ackles?” Jack asks, “You're a world away.”

“Yeah,” he lies, sitting up straighter and smiling. “Just thinking…”

Karl must know the look of a man missing his significant other because he asks, “About your girl?”

“Yeah,” Jensen admits, sighing heavily. He hasn't told anyone you broke up, and there’s been no speculation in the tabloids.

“Tell us about her. You never did tell us about your first date,” Jack says, “we all know you met on Supernatural, but not the story of your first date.”

Jack’s an awesome guy, sweet and kind, he doesn’t know the reminder is like a kick in the teeth, but Jensen obliges.

Jensen hurried across the lot, a coffee in each hand, the brown paper bag containing two cinnamon rolls dangling from his mouth. He was late, and Jared would give him shit for it, but it would be worth whatever Jared threw at him if it improved your morning.

Your latest Instagram post was a photo of a fly swimming in your coffee with the caption: “It was my last coffee pod. This just topped off a crappy weekend😭. #HappyMonday”. You were one hundred percent a coffee snob. You made it in a particular way using a fancy - and stupidly expensive - machine. You wouldn’t settle for the coffee on set. You’d rather go without. However, Jensen knew when you didn’t get her morning beverage, you’d be grumpy all day, and he hated to see you without a smile.

He headed for the makeup trailer, knowing that’s where you’d be. He kicked the bottom of the door gently as a way of knocking, then waited.

He didn’t expect Jared to be the one to open it. He wasn’t due in makeup for another half-hour, but his lanky frame filled the space of the open door. “Look who decided to show up,” Jared jeered playfully.

“Shut up,” Jensen mumbled around the bag, walking past him.

You were already there, looking through clothes on the rack, but stopped to smile at him. “Morning, Jay.”

“Here,” he said, handing over the coffee that was for you. “Hi, hey, morning.”

Confusion wrinkled your brow, but you took it. “Um, thanks.”

“I saw your Instagram, and I know how cranky you get without your coffee, and you said you had a shit weekend, so I wanted to try and make it better,” Jensen vomited words without thinking. “I don’t like seeing you upset, and you’ve been down a lot lately, and I just thought maybe this would help, some, a little, maybe.” Breathlessly he shrugged and prayed the floor would open up and swallow him.

Your smile beamed, and you lifted the cup to your nose, inhaling the aroma, and hummed contentedly, “Mmm. You even got my order right,” you said and stepped closer to him to place a kiss on his cheek.

“That’s cause you're always posting about it on social media,” quipped Jared.

You tutted, rolling your eyes at your co-star but kept your eyes locked on Jensen. Dropping back down from your tiptoes, you said, “Thank you for this. It means a lot that you thought of me.”

“It’s nothing,” he lied. It was everything, and as your kiss dried on his cheek, it reminded him of your evening plans. “I know you’ve got a long day ahead, especially with your date later.”

As part of a charity event, you had agreed that they auction off a date with you. The auction had been silent, so you had no idea who had hired you for the night. Though the studio had assured you they had vetted the winner, you’d asked that he and Jared be in the bar next door in case of emergency.

“Oh god,” you groaned, “don’t remind me. I wish I never agreed to that stupid silent auction.”

“Ah, don’t be such a downer,” Jared said, winking. “You never know. He might be the man of your dreams.”

Oh god, I hope not. Jensen thought. He’d already had to watch you be in a relationship with Chad, a man who neither deserved you nor treated you well. He couldn’t bear to watch you be with someone else again. He wanted to be next in line, and he would treat you as you should be, like a Queen. He just needed to work up the courage to tell you.

“I doubt it,” you sighed, and Jensen swore your eyes flicked to him and away again. “Besides, who said it’s a man who hired me?”

“C’mon, you two,” Zara, the makeup artist, said, waving them toward the door, “out! I’ve got to get this one ready.”

Amongst a chorus of goodbyes, Jared and Jensen left. “What is it with you when you’re around her?” Jared asked as soon as the trailer door was closed. “You’re a bumbling idiot, and she’s starting to notice.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she asked me what’s wrong with you. Thinks she’s done something wrong ‘cause you either avoid her or barely speak to her.”

“I know, man,” Jensen groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Ever since you put it out there that we could be more than friends, I can't stop thinking about it. I don’t want to blurt it out at the wrong time, so I try to be careful about what I say, but I just end up tripping over myself.”

Jared clapped him on the back, “You just need to fake some of that Dean Winchester confidence.”

“Maybe.”

“You better find a way to be around her ‘cause you’ve got a date with her tonight.”

“What?”

“The silent auction,” Jared explained, “I paid for the date with her for you.”

“Jared, what? No!”

“I think Gen will have an issue if I show up for a date with her, and are you really going to leave her sitting on her own?”

“No, but Jared, I can’t,” Jensen panicked, “I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

“You’re an actor. Just act normal.” Jared suggested before walking off.

Seeing you through the restaurant window, Jensen wanted to hug Jared so tight to thank him he’d crack a rib. But he also wanted to punch him so damn hard in the arm it’d be limp for a week. Why had he agreed to this? Okay, he hadn’t agreed. He’d totally freaked out, drank two beers, took three shots of whiskey, and then forced himself into the waiting car.

He was going to mess this up. He knew it. He was a fumbling, mumbling idiot around you, and dread settled firmly in his gut as he watched you scanning the menu. He regretted the whiskey and allowing Jared to talk him into this.

He swore he was having an out-of-body experience as his feet took him closer to you. You glanced up when he got to the side of the table, and your face glowed with a smile. “Come to check in on me?” you asked, rising and pulling him into a hug.

He held you a little tighter than he usually would, savoring the moment before releasing you and taking a seat. “Not exactly checking up on you,” he said, “this wasn’t my idea, but Jared brought you for me.”

“What?”

“The silent auction, Jared was the highest bidder.”

Confusion took over your features. “Why would he do that? I mean not that I’m not grateful, I’d much rather be here with you, but I don’t understand.”

He realized it was now or never. “‘Cause he knows how I feel about you,” he admits, holding his breath for a reaction.

“Care to elaborate?” you ask after a long silence.

“The truth is, I like you... a lot.”

“I like you too.”

“No,” he shook his head, “you don’t get it. I cherish our friendship and don’t want to lose it, but it's more than that. My feelings for you go beyond friendship, and I want to see if we could be more.”

“I was so nervous,” Jensen chuckles. “I felt like I was auditioning for the rest of my life.” he contemplates it for a moment, “maybe I was.”

“Well then, it’s good she reciprocated,” Karl laughs.

“It took her a minute,” Jensen remembers, “but yeah, she came around.”

Your phone rings as you slot the key into your door’s lock. You’re juggling coffee, a pile of scripts to read, dry cleaning, and a bag of groceries. You have no hope of answering without dropping everything, so leave it to ring. You assume it’s Jared checking in on you after seeing the photos on TMZ. Jensen and Mae were pictured at a restaurant in Ontario.

The phone stops as you enter the kitchen and set everything down on the countertop.

Gen had already checked in to make sure you were okay, and you’d been anticipating a call from Jared to yet again invite you out to the set of Walker to meet one of the crew he was insistent you’d “hit it off with.” You’d politely declined, having already been on a date that had been pleasant and ended with a goodnight kiss, but you’d told the Padalecki’s it had left you feeling guilty as if you were cheating on Jensen. You needed time to let that feeling pass and allow the wound to heal completely.

You set about emptying the bags of groceries, and your phone rings again. You shuffle the contents of your bag, looking for the device, sure that it will cut off to voicemail before you find it.

“Hello,” you answer, pressing it to your ear.

“Hey.”

Jensen’s voice freezes you to the floor, and you hold your breath. It’s been more than a month since you left him in his trailer, and you’ve only exchanged a few text messages. Why is he calling now? Does he want to be the one to confirm that he and Mae are together?

He says your name when your silence stretches.

“Um, yeah. Hey, hi,” you say, clearing your throat to rid yourself of the shock.

“You sound out of breath,” he notes, “is this a bad time?”

“No, no, I just wasn’t expecting it to be you,” you explain, “caught me off guard.”

“Who were you expecting?” he asks, sounding accusatory.

“Jared,” you sneer, unable to stop the ire you feel.

“Sorry,” he says, and the apology tightens your jaw with the frustration it evokes. “I should have called sooner.”

“I haven’t called you either.”

No one is to blame for the lack of communication. You both needed some space, so you were both right not to call.

Neither of you speaks for a moment, and you debate whether to tell him you're busy so you can end the call and be done with the awkwardness. But he obviously put his awkwardness aside to call, so you might as well rip the stitches out and reopen the wound if that's what this is about.

“Why are you calling now?”

“I need you to know that me and Mae aren’t together,” he says, firm and direct.

You try to interrupt, “Jensen, it’s fine.” but he determinedly continues.

“The picture they posted was cropped,” he explains. “The whole cast and some of the crew were there. The photo made it look like it was just the two of us, and that’s not the truth.”

“Even if it was, it’s okay.” It’s not okay, and from the moment you saw it, you’ve felt nauseous. Still, you assure him, “You’re free to do what you want. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

He sighs, and you can hear the scowl in his tone, “It’s important to me that you know.”

You think it’s sweet that he’s taking the time to explain himself, even if it’s not what you expected. But Mae was never the problem. The situation she presented only shone a light into the crack that you had both been ignoring. Yet the information that Jensen has shared is a welcomed relief in the wake of the storm, but it’s just the eye. More questions are coming, questions that will likely only cause more hurt and confusion.

“Why?” you ask, “why do you want me to know?”

“Because I wanted it to be you next to me…” he pauses.

You're not sure if he wants you to say something or read between the lines, but you can’t let yourself trust the spark of hope that jabs your heart like a pinprick.

“Even if we’re just friends,” he adds.

That pinprick pierces the thin shell you’d managed to build, and it feels like a thousand jagged pieces of glass lacerate your heart, and you chew your top lip to stop the emotion from escaping in a sob.

There’s a loud bang on his end of the line, and someone calls out, “We’re ready on set, Mr. Ackles.”

“I gotta go,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, and immaturely add, “Bye, buddy,” before hanging up.

The party has been a monumental success. You helped Gen, along with a professional party planner, to pull it off.

“So you really had no idea?” You ask Jared once everyone seems to have greeted him and wished him a very happy fortieth birthday. Technically it's not his birthday for another four hours, but the surprise party had needed that early element to make sure it went off without a hitch.

“None,” Jared says, smiling. “I was fully prepared to fly home tomorrow to spend my birthday with Gen and the kids. I was looking forward to it, actually. I didn’t want a big fuss,” he chuckles, looking around the room, “but I’m glad you helped Gen make a fuss. It’s nice to see all the old faces.”

“Not all of them,” you note sourly, commenting on Jensen’s absence. “He wanted to be here, but you know how tight filming schedules can be.”

“I know,” he nods with a tight, sad smile. “It would have been good to see him. For me, at least.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s my birthday. I’m allowed,” he teases.

“It would have been nice to see him,” you agree before Jared can start in on the lecture. “I think. I don’t know. It’s weird and painful, and maybe I'm better off not seeing him until it’s not weird and painful.”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Sounds like you have it all under control.”

“Absolutely.”

You mingle with old friends from Supernatural and new friends from the Walker set. The crew member, a camera operator named Vince, is as cute as Jared promised him to be, and you find yourself tucked in a corner talking with him as the night continues.

You hear the cheerful reunion before you see it. People applaud and shout greetings as Jensen crosses the room and embraces Jared in a tight hug. They hug for a long time, whispered words exchanged between brothers, and you see Jared’s eyes tear up. His night is complete now that Jensen is here.

A few people greet Jensen with hugs and shakes of his hand, but his eyes never seem to focus on them. He distractedly looks around them and seems disappointed when he sees the next person waiting to greet him.

You mostly manage to keep your focus on Vince, but you can see Jensen in your peripheral. You don’t react, but you notice when he finds you. He stares for a long moment, maybe hoping you’ll feel his eyes on you and look at him, but you don’t, and he doesn’t approach.

You're doing nothing wrong, but an uneasiness sneaks up on you. It’s not that you feel like you're somehow betraying Jensen. It’s that you're betraying yourself by denying how you feel. It wouldn’t be fair to start anything with anyone new right now. They’d be a rebound.

Vince seems to notice your focus has shifted and politely parts ways with you.

You spy Jensen across the room, catching up with Brianna, and head for the bar, needing something more potent than wine to make it through the rest of the night.

If possible, Jensen seems to have grown broader, arm muscles bulky beneath the material of his shirt, and you're definitely a fan of the Soldier Boy look. He looks good with a now-trimmed beard and long hair. The sight sends an ache of loneliness through your chest, remembering how it felt to be wrapped in those arms.

A shot turns into two, and when the bartender steps away to refill your wine glass, you feel the air next to you shift. You don’t have to turn to see who it is, the cologne gives him away, and as it arrests your senses, he nudges his shoulder into yours. The familiar heat of his body makes your chest tighten. You so desperately want to turn and embrace him, but you know your fragile emotions would crumble under the weight.

“Whiskey, neat,” he tells the bartender, his voice deep and gruff. He turns his body towards you, one arm resting on the bar, and you sip your drink, silently wishing it was hard liquor again instead of wine.

“Hey,” he says when you don’t look at him.

“Hi,” you respond blandly.

“How are you? You look good.”

“So do you. Really. You look incredible,” you say, without actually looking him in the eyes.

“I hate having to do the diet and exercise thing, though,” he chuckles, “it was so much easier when all I had to do was wear flannel.”

You laugh, but it's bittersweet because everything was easier when he was wearing flannel. “How’s it all going? Stepping into the shoes of a new character?”

“Daunting, but fun.” Jensen talks, and you do all you can to listen and engage but can’t bring yourself to fully meet his eyes.

He says your name so delicately it feels like a caress that sends a shiver through you. You close your eyes and know what he’s asking before he pleads, “Please look at me.”

His eyes have always been mesmerizing, and you know if you gaze into them, the spell will be cast, and there will be no escaping him, even when he’s miles away again. He waits for a beat, but your eyes remain firmly shut, and he closes the space between you, demanding attention.

His exhale wafts through your hair. It’s too close because it's not close enough, and you feel the heartache rising in your chest.

“It was good to see you, Jensen,” you flash a smile in his general direction, picking up your glass.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing your wrist as you turn your back to him. “Don’t leave.”

You freeze in place and turn to look at his hand cuffing your wrist. Slowly you raise your gaze from his hold to his face, preparing yourself for the enchantment of his eyes, but his sad expression is downcast. His chest heaves with a deep breath before he finally looks at you, despondence turning to tentative hope.

“I know I should have said it back then, but I’m saying it now.” His voice is nearly a whisper beneath the muted conversation and ambient music, but it’s clear as a bell to your ears. “Please, don’t leave.”

You turn back to face him, and he takes two deep breaths before he finds the words.

“The last couple of months, I’ve been miserable without you.” He admits, “I’ve had to fight myself to eat, to work out, to do anything that didn’t involve staying in my trailer with a bottle of whiskey. I know that things are weird, but I realized my hesitance had nothing to do with the ending of Supernatural. Yes, I was scared. But I was scared of how easy it was with you, how much I cared for you, how quickly I realized that I am head over heels in love with you.”

You choke out his name as tears well in your eyes, and he steps forward to swipe the first droplet from your cheek.

“I was ready to tell you I’m in love with you, and you were booking flights home,” the heartache of the reminder dims the light behind his eyes, and he drops his gaze to battle whatever emotion he’s feeling. “That scared me more than anything. I didn’t want to say it in the heat of the moment or on the phone, and I was terrified you didn’t feel the same. It doesn’t matter if you don’t. I need you to know that I love you.”

You don’t have words, unexpectedly wishing you had a script so you don’t say something stupid. Then, just as surprisingly, you realize you don’t need words. You take a half step forward and kiss him. Jensen responds immediately, a hand caressing your cheek and drawing you closer as the other slips around your waist to tug you flush against him.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and he groans into your mouth. His kiss gets you drunker than any alcohol ever could, and after a moment that could have been a minute or an hour, you feel lightheaded.

Jensen chases you as you pull back, placing swift kisses on your lips and pressing his head against yours.

“Damn, I’ve missed you,” you sigh.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” he says, “I’m never letting you leave me again.”

Tag List Info

Tagging Dean Winchester and Supernatural List. Sorry if you don't like RPF.

@alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r-blog / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

Master Lists: Dean Winchester // Main

#Jensen Ackles #Solider Boy #RPF #RPF FanFic #RPF fanfiction #Jensen Ackles fic #Jensen Ackles RPF fanfic #fluff #angst #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #Jensen Ackles x Reader #Jensen Ackles x You

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underground-secret · 2 months

Text

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x F!reader

Description: After getting a call from John Winchester after no contact for months. The group gets led to a town in which a couple goes missing every year around the same time. But Sam doesn’t want to follow orders anymore, and the town still needs help.

Warnings: Cannon Violence, fight scene (tell me how i did, im still learning how to write it!), arguing, a little angst, talk of crimes, cursing (i think), talk about sacrifices and Pagan rituals (i fricken love learning about Paganism), Y/N gets a little snarky and cocky, use of magic and abilities

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44, @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn

Word Count: …14,005

Scarecrow

(Master List, Prev. Chapter, Next Chapter)

“So you’re with the Winchesters?” Adeline says, her voice just as husky and amused as I remembered. It had been months since we talked, I'm surprised she wasn’t mad at me, though maybe she was and she was just hiding it well. “Yes.” I answer simply, waiting for the impending lecture.

“I should be surprised, but I'm not,” She remarks, and I can hear the smirk on her face.

“You know B/N said nearly the same thing!” I laughed lightly, but it soon died down when she didn't join in instead going completely quiet.

“You should have told me.” She says, venom on her tongue, but I know it’s out of worry. “No text, no call, not even a letter! I show up at your house. Not only are you not there I have to find out from your co-workers that you quit and haven’t been in contact with anyone. Did you quit because of those Winchesters? ‘Cause I swear to God I wil-“

“No!, quitting had nothing to do with them.” I cut her rant off, “Look Addie I'm sorry. I got so caught up in it all I didn’t think of telling anyone.” I sigh, leaving out the part I forgot I had people who cared about me—which is so stupid. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you. But that isn’t what I called for…”

Suddenly a sharp demanding knock sounds at my door. I don’t move for a second, watching it, “One sec, Addie” I place my phone down on the bed pulling back the heavy blankets. I tiptoe to the door, the rough carpet dragging on my feet. I take a deep breath preparing myself for the worst, I unlock the door, creaking it open just wide enough to see who is there.

Dean stands there, his eyes wide and his hair a little messy, still in his pajamas. A black shirt and some plaid pajama pants, though I figured he might have thrown those on before coming to my door- I knew he wasn’t foreign to sleeping with just a shirt and underwear on. I open the door further, “Are you okay? What happened?” I spew out.

“Get dressed. Dad called, ‘doesn't want us following him. He's going after the thing that killed Mom, says it’s a demon. He gave us a bunch of names and needs us to go investigate. Meet by the car.” He answers quickly. I stared at him, all of this was rushed, we barely got any sleep and we were already leaving rather quickly. He looks me over, nods, and then walks away back down the hall to his room, giving me no chance to ask if he was okay.

I closed the door a little shocked, making my way back to my phone and before it was even by my ear I heard the impatient click of her nails against some hard surface, “Now what” she huffed. Definitely mad at me. “I’ll have to call you back later” I sigh, “I need to go.”

“No you don’t get to just call me—“ She nearly yells but I cut her off again, “Addie I promise I’ll call you back.” The line goes silent for a beat and I wonder if she’s still there.

She sighs, “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay” I smiled sadly, yet even as the words passed my lips my stomach twisted itself, “I will call you.”

“Fine.” She huffs but she doesn't sound so convinced.

“I love you, Addie.” I say, and I mean it.

“I love you too. Stay safe, and call me!”

“Alright, just to double check all those names are couples?” I ask from the back seat of the Impala, copying notes down on a little notepad. “Three different couples. All went missing.” Dean confirms from the passenger seat. The darkness of the night cloaks us in its cold embrace.

“You said they were from all different states, Washington, New York, Colorado, and all went missing at the same time each year trying to travel across the country. But is it possible that it’s just a serial killer? Not to undermine your fathers findings.” I explain motioning my pen around as I speak, “I mean it is possible the suspect lives in Indiana, knows the roads well, and which way people go when road-tripping. Then being able to intercept them therefore fulfilling his or her urge. Then that kill can satisfy them till next year.”

“I guess, but they always disappeared in the second week of April. One year after another after another. That’s pretty weird.” Dean points out.

“Not necessarily, serial killers can have a certain connection to a date like an anniversary of something. Feeling only the need to do such an act during said time.” I ramble.

“Well, we’re still checking it out” Dean answers plainly, practically shutting down my theory. I guess it’s safer to check but it’s nighttime. I didn’t get any sleep, they barely got any sleep, and rushing over to Indiana in a 3-hour long car ride doesn't sound so fun if it turns out not to be a supernatural thing. “And this is the second week of April.” Sam remarks.

“Yep.” Dean nods.

“So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?” Sam asks, though it’s clear he knows the answer.

“Yahtzee. Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different obituaries Dad had to go through? The man’s a master.” Dean beams, flipping through the papers he had on the missing couples. He very clearly looked up to his Dad in some manner, even though he wasn’t deserving of such praise. I know Sam feels this way too, he never had an issue calling out John and he certainly can see all that’s wrong with how they grew up. The thing is I know Dean knew too, he was just trained to be loyal.

I watch Sam in the rearview mirror, his nostrils flaring in anger, his hands gripping the steering wheel harder until the knuckles turn white. He pulled the car off to the side of the road, sharply, my body jerking at the motion. “What are you doing?” Dean asks confused, straightening the way he sat.

“We’re not going to Indiana.” Sam says firmly.

“We’re not?” Dean replies, shock and amusement written on his features.

“No. We’re going to California.” Sam answers, “Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.”

“Sam.” Dean warns.

“Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess, and Dad’s closing in, we’ve gotta be there. We’ve gotta help.” Sam reasons, and I don’t disagree.

“Dad doesn’t want our help.” Dean argues, his voice getting louder.

“I don’t care.” Sam answers rather calmly.

“He’s given us an order.” Dean bites, using one of his favorite excuses.

“I don’t care.” He repeats himself, this time more firmly, “We don’t always have to do what he says.”

“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain.

“Please stop fighting, why don’t we work this job, put all our energy into it. Work it quickly. Then immediately head to California, both of you win” I offer, always the person trying to cool the fight down and offer some sort of solution. But even as the words leave my mouth I know I’m wrong, this argument is more than working a case or chasing demons. This is years of grief built up. Sam half turns to view me, his eyes are pained and I almost think he might be close to tears, “It won’t be enough. You said it yourself. My Dad moves fast, if we don’t head there right now we’ll miss him entirely.” He looks between both of us now as he adds, “But I’m talking one week here, to get answers. To get revenge.”

Dean sighs, “Alright, look, I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” Sam spits, nearly yelling. “How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”

Oh. This is old grief on top of new grief, he hasn’t coped with the loss of his girlfriend not that we could have expected him to. It’s too soon. These emotions are too raw, too new. Dean matches his brother yelling, “Dad said it wasn’t safe. For any of us. I mean, he knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”

“I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.” Sam argues, looking at his brother strangely.

“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!” Dean yells. The tension has exploded, the car falling quiet in its aftermath. My dislike for their father seemed to grow ten folds, to make your own child feel like that—

“Dean, that’s no—“ But before I can say anything more about it Sam exits the car. Slamming the door behind him. Dean and I get out of the car following him to the trunk where he unloads his things from. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks.” Dean yells.

“Dean!” I snap, “This has gone far enough, you don’t get to say things like that, he’s your brother! Both of you calm down, please.” I didn’t want Sam to be treated like this, not from his brother who I know cares about him. “No. It’s okay, Y/N” Sam says calmly, his movements slowing as he stares his brother down, “Is that what you really think?”

“Yes, it is.” Dean gives a single sharp nod.

“Well.” Sam shuts the trunk, “then this selfish bastard is going to California.” he puts his backpack on and starts to walk away.

No. This can’t be happening. “Dean,” I say desperately, he has to apologize or stop him so they can talk it out. This isn’t my place but I can’t watch this happen. He looks out at his brother, “Sam, come on. You’re not serious”

“I am serious.” Sam responds, still walking away.

“It’s the middle of the night!” Dean yells out, “Hey, we’re taking off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?”

Sam stops walking, turning around, “That’s what I want you to do.”

I let out a frustrated groan, “What the hell is wrong with you both?! Just talk it out, we can come to some sort of agreement or—or reason with each other.” I practically beg. Both their eyes fall to me but Dean just responds with, “He’s made up his mind” his eyes turn back towards his brother, “Goodbye Sam.”

I stand frozen, eyes wide, this is not happening.

Dean grabs hold of my wrist, his hand warm despite the cold night, practically dragging me to the passenger side of the car. He waits for me to sit and buckle myself before closing the door and making his way to the driver's side. He gets in, putting the car in drive.

I watch Sam turn back around and walk away in the car's side mirror. Dean must have been watching too because he slams his fist on the steering wheel, takes a deep breath, and then does it again and again. I place my hand over his just as it connects with the steering wheel again. “Dean…” I say softly, but it comes out more like a plea. His hand goes still under mine, and when I turn my face to look at him, his eyes are glossy.

He does not turn to look at me though, keeping his eyes straight ahead at the dark road. “Dean” I say weakly, letting out a shaky breath feeling my own eyes welling up, “please, stop the car.” He listens, slamming on the brakes, my body jolting at the sharp stop. He snaps his head towards me, “Why so you could leave too?!”

I lean away from him retracting my hand, placing it on my lap, “No” I say quietly. But his reaction made me want to leave, the tears in my eyes finally fell over, spilling down my cheeks, “Do not take your anger out on me.” He sighs, turning his face away from me, cursing.

“I know you don’t want to hear this…but you must” I begin to say, having to pause to clear my voice of its shakiness, “I care for you both a lot but I’m so sick of you guys constantly fighting over something stupid when all you have to do is talk.”

“That's easy for you to say.” Dean snaps back, still looking away from me.

I huff, annoyed, “See! You get all standoffish instead of dealing with your emotions and I know that's what you’re used to but you don't have to be that way around me of all people.” He goes quiet, with no snappy comeback or even a grunt of annoyance. His jaw clenches and I wonder if that's from anger, trying to hold back tears, or both. “What if were destined to always hate each other,” he says quietly, and I know he means him and Sam. “He doesn't hate you, and I know you don't feel that way either,” I answer softly, even when I know what he truly means. He turns his head towards me, a single tear rolling down his cheek, “Then why does he keep leaving?!” he says through gritted teeth the last word coming out as if he spit venom.

In truth, I can't possibly know what he feels. He raised Sam and was there every moment of every day. He saw him take his first step and say his first word, brought him to school, fed him, put him to bed, and kept him safe. I was more like Sam in that aspect, I was the youngest with an older brother who took care of me and looked out for me. Honestly more than our own Dad, maybe that’s why he and Dean got along together so well- a shared understanding.

So, no, I could not understand exactly what he felt, not even a fraction of it. But even despite that I reached my hand out carefully, my fingertips barely brushing his cheek before pausing giving him time to pull away and hide if he wanted to. He didn't. I cup his cheek, whipping away another tear that fell. His green eyes seemed softer then like his anger had diminished enough but still lay beneath the tears. I don't have all the answers, “I know it may not seem like it, but he isn't leaving you. He went off to college ‘cause he wanted a chance away from this life. Even now he is going in hopes of stopping what started this all, he’s going to come back…your brothers you can't escape each other even if you wanted to.”

It's not a solution, and I don't expect it to help. But all I can do is hope it eases something in him. He leans his face into my hand, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep breath in.

In one quick motion, I unbuckle my seat belt with my free hand. He must have known what I was going to do because he removed his face from my hand only to put the car in park, release his seat belt, and turn his body so I could hug him properly. I close the distance between us so I can wrap my arms around his neck, his body immediately reacts to my movements. His head falls to the crook of my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist. He pulls my body impossibly closer and tighter.

His breathing gives him away, his warm breath coming out uneven against my neck a wetness forming against where he resides. I don't say anything about him crying, or anything at all, I just move my hand up and down his back in soothing motions, hoping to ease him.

I do not know how I managed it but after he finished crying I got him to switch seats with me so he could rest while I drove. I've never driven the Impala before, maybe this was him showing me he trusted me even though I already knew he did, or maybe it was tiredness overtaking him. But the drive was pretty straightforward and it was dark so there wasn’t a worry about other cars.

He managed to drift off, which I was envious of but I was more proud of being able to drive Baby to notice my exhaustion. I even got to play music that wasn’t the usual rock songs he liked to play, which I don’t have any problem with but a change is nice sometimes (even if I played it very quietly so he could rest).

Just as we pulled into the small town he woke up, grumbling a “good morning” before staying silent the rest of the time. He went on his phone at one point, pulling up the contacts but ultimately he did not call anyone. “Ok, ready?” I ask, shutting off the car after pulling into a spot.

“Yeah” He nods, his voice still a little gravely from sleep. I hand him back his keys before exiting the car, the pure feeling of accomplishment pulling over me. I drove Baby accident-free and made it to the destination! I’m so good!!

We walked up to the only person in sight, an older man sitting on a wooden rocking chair in front of a café. Maybe it was too early for anyone else to be out, it certainly felt too early to be up though I guess I never really went to sleep.

“Let me guess,” Dean points to the store's sign that reads Scotty’s Café, “Scotty.” He looked proud of his stupid joke if you could even call it that, a dumb grin on his face. Scotty looks up at the sign and then back at us looking unamused, “Yep,”

“Hi, my name’s John Bonham and this is Pat Phillips” Dean introduces us both, and I want to glare at him for using a member from a popular band's name but if Scotty doesn't know then the glaring would give it away.

But of course, our luck has long run out, “Isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?” He looks at Dean pointedly then at me, “And his wife?” Now I really do glare at him, I didn’t know Pat Phillips was Bonham's wife! I barely knew Bonham was the drummer for Led Zeppelin, only remembering because of Dean rambling about it. Dean looks at me, eyes raised as if to silently say he didn’t think he would know. He turns back to Scotty, shock clear on his face, “Wow. Good. Classic rock fan.” Alright, he wasn’t even trying to deny it, great.

“What can I do for you, John?” Scotty asks anyway and I’m surprised he didn’t completely write us off. Dean takes out two pieces of paper from his pocket, unfolding the missing person's flyers. “I was wondering if, uh, you’d seen these people by chance.”

Scotty takes the flyers, barely studying them before answering, “Nope. Who are they?” Huh, that was a little weird, I would think he would want to think harder about it. I study the older man but his face reveals nothing, no fear in his eyes.

“They’re really close friends of ours, honestly we’re worried,” I explained while trying to test him, if he is responsible and he knows friends are looking for them and hasn’t given up he might crack a little. “They’ve been missing for a year now, passed somewhere through here. And we already asked around Salem and Scottsburg—“ But he doesn't let me finish my list, “Sorry.” He hands back the flyers to Dean, “We don’t get many strangers around here.”

Once more his eyes and face reveal nothing but still something about him is coming off weird.

“Scotty, you’ve got a smile that lights up a room, ‘anybody ever tell you that?” Dean tells him, earning a glare from the man himself. Dean chuckles, amusing himself at this point, “Never mind. See you around.”

I wait until we’re back in the car to say something, Dean taking his rightful place in the driver's seat, “Is it me or was that guy acting weird about this all?”

“Nah, he just doesn't have expressions,” Dean responds. I laughed, “That is not what I meant!”, I turned in my seat to face him, “Okay if someone came to you and was all like ‘my friend went missing and she’s been gone a long time and I think she passed through here do you know anything.’ Wouldn’t you really study the photo and try and think back, especially cause it’s a year ago. Scotty barely looked at the photo!”

He seems to contemplate what I said, “ ‘Could also just be a jerk.” he responds. I let out a frustrated sigh, “Dean.”

“Alright, you could be onto something sweetheart. We’ll keep asking around.”

Our next stop is a sort of Gas Station, all road trip essentials lining the walls from maps to mixed nuts. Aka the perfect place someone would stop at on their trip. “You sure they didn’t stop for gas or something?” Dean asks the older couple working.

“Nope, don’t remember ‘em. You said they were friends of yours?” The man who introduced himself as Harley responded.

“Yes, dear friends,” I answered.

“Did the guy have a tattoo?” A sweet blonde girl probably around our age asks, coming down the nearby stairs with a large box in her hand, her face just barely visible. “Yes, he did,” Dean responds. She puts the boxes on the counter and looks at the picture of the dark haired Vince then back up at the couple, “You remember? They were just married.”

Harley’s eyes suddenly widened making a little ‘oh’ sound, “You’re right. They did stop for gas. Weren’t here’ more than ten minutes.” Dean and I shared a look, now this guy wanted to suddenly remember. “You remember anything else?” Dean pushes further.

“I told ‘em how to get back to the Interstate. They left town.” Harley answers, finally sharing some truth. These townspeople were strange. “Would you be able to point us the same way?” I ask him, eyeing him carefully.

“Sure.”

Dean drives down the long road, slower than usual, both of us looking for anything unusual or suspicious. There was undoubtedly something going on whether it was supernatural or not. But there wasn’t much near us, just trees and endless roads.

We pass by what looks to be an orchard, apples hanging from the lush trees.

If I was kidnapping and possibly killing people I would choose somewhere along this Interstate, it was practically dead and no one would suspect anyone driving here even late at night. My thoughts are cut off by a violent buzzing noise coming from just behind me, most likely in the back seat. I turn to Dean, giving him a confused look, he turns his head to the back of the car looking instead of the road. “Dean. Road” I remind him, his eyes going back where they belong.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, shifting myself so that I was kneeling on the seat. I lean over the back seat, having to drop down low to reach his duffle bag, the top of the seat digging into my gut. My ass is definitely sticking up in the air and most likely close to Dean, but I ignore the embarrassment of that idea as I shuffle through his bag. I move one of his shirts around, finding the cause of the loud noise, “It’s your EMF” I call out hoping he can hear me even with my head still buried in the little space between the floor of the car and the backseat. I grab the box, the medal heavy in my hand.

I lift myself up and back to my seat half turned and sitting on my legs, it continues to buzz violently, the meter blaring to the red. “‘Think it’s the orchard” he announces, pulling the car off to the side of the road. We venture into the trees.

The ground was soft beneath my shoes, a light morning dew still clinging to the grass. If this was any other day or occasion I’d say it’s a rather nice orchard but the EMF has not stopped, and I think if it could go any further red it certainly would be there.

The trees were all lined up, apples scattered about the ground and a potent scent of rotten fruit following it. From where we pulled over it wasn’t hard to find the middle of the orchard, the trees cut down in almost a circle, except some paths that broke away in various directions.

A tall post stood in the middle, a creepy scarecrow on it. It looked rather human and full rather than stuffed with straw. Its face looked like a mask with stitches adorning it and hollow eyes, greasy long hair flowing from beneath his fedora. The only scarecrow-like thing about him was the fact he was tied to a wooden post and had a sort of jumper with patches on it, though the added black trench coat contradicted this. And in his hand was a sickle, what was meant to be used for agriculture only made him that much creepy.

Its head was leaned down, and looking up at it made it only seem like he was staring down at us with those empty eyes. “Dude, you're fugly.” Dean says out loud and I almost expect the thing to move or respond, but it doesn't. “Maybe you should say sorry to him.” I practically mumble to Dean. If it came to life I didn’t want a target on his back for insulting it, or mine if it thought I was guilty by association.

“Why would I say sorry?” he counters.

“So that he doesn't kill you if it comes to life!”

“I think it’d kill us either way”

Rationally I knew he was right, but the thought of something like a doll or in this case a scarecrow coming to life creeped me out a little too much, “Good point, but he is horrifying.”

“Yeah, horrifyingly ugly” He chuckles at his own joke, a stupid smile on his face. I try to hide my own laughing, not wanting to encourage him.

“I think I see something,” He murmurs. He moves back, turning to the closest tree with a ladder against it. He picks it up as if it weighs nothing, placing it right next to the scarecrow. He climbs it until he’s at eye level with the thing. I watch his eyes fall to the hand that held the sickle, his gaze at its wrist. Its sleeve ripped a bit revealing leathered “skin” and a sort of design.

I wrack my brain for any customs or cultures that decorate scarecrows beyond just its clothing and face, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Why would anyone put a design on a scarecrow's wrist?

Dean pulls out a paper from the inside of his jacket, unfolding it swiftly before placing it near the thing, comparing the two. “Look who has a nice tat.” he says, turning the paper down so I could see. He held Vince’s missing poster, the young man holding a mug in his hand the perfect pose to see his tattoo. Detailed ink with all sorts of shapes I could even begin to describe, I look back up at the scarecrows tattoo. The two are the exact same, far too alike to be any sort of coincidence.

“Nice tat indeed.”

We immediately got in the car and turned around back to the town. Something was going on and someone was causing it. Now Dean pulls the car into the local gas station. Turning it off and exiting, I nearly stay put in the passenger seat until I see the same blonde girl from before walking up to the car. We needed answers and she seemed to be the only one willing to help.

I exit the car, keeping the door open as I lean my arms on the roof of the car. “You’re back” she greeted, smiling. “Never left.” He replies smoothly.

“Still looking for your friends?” She asks, acknowledging us both. “Yup, call it stubbornness or what have you but we aren’t given up.” I respond, still pushing the same agenda as before. “I’d call that a good friend,” she smiles.

I don’t think she’s involved in all this, she’s willing to answer our questions when no one else was and she seemed to genuinely care. If she was involved then she was quite the actor. “You mind fillin’ her up there, Emily?” Dean asks her, nodding his head towards the car. The nameplate necklace she wore came into view as she grabbed the pump and began to fill the tank. That’s how he knew her name.

“Did you grow up here?” I ask, starting back up conversation.

“I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents. Car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in.” She explains shortly.

“They’re nice people.” Dean replies plainly. She nods as she speaks, “Everybody’s nice here.”

“So, what, it’s the, uh, perfect little town?” Dean shrugs, nonchalantly.

“Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it.” she pauses for a moment, “I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed.”

Dean turns his head towards me, giving me a look. This definitely was weird, I mean how could every town around them be failing but not here?Were they making sacrifices to the scarecrow? It would make sense considering its tattoo. Dean turns back around to Emily, “Hey, you been out to the orchard? ‘You seen that scarecrow?” We were thinking the same thing.

“Yeah, it creeps me out.” She answers her nose scrunching. “You can say that again” I laugh, “Do you know who owns it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just always been there.” She shrugs.

He nods to something behind her, I turn my gaze to it, my eyes landing on a red van parked by a garage, “That your aunt and uncle’s?” he asks.

She shakes her head, “Customer. Had some car troubles.” That’s a little too convenient, “Is it a couple by any chance? A guy and a girl?” I ask, worried that they might be the town's next victims.

She nods even as her face twists with confusion, “Mmhmm.”

As soon as the Impala's tank was filled, and Emily gestured toward the couple's location, we wasted no time heading straight there. Dean opens the glass door for me, the little welcome bell ringing above us. I walk in first, immediately being hit with the sweet smell of baked goods, the culprit of it being a thick piece of apple pie that Scotty delivered to a couple sitting by the window.

“Oh, hey, Scotty. Can I get a coffee, black?” Dean greets, walking in behind me, adding “And a green tea…actually while you’re at it some of that pie too.” I have to hold back the smile that wants to escape onto my face, he was being slightly annoying on purpose which is proved further when Scotty gives him a nasty look before walking away. But beyond that I’m surprised Dean knew what I wanted, yes I drank tea quite often but how did he know I was feeling that flavor in particular?

He moves to sit at a table right next to the couple, I sit in the chair next to him trying to come up with a conversation starter for the people only a table away. I mean how do you say ‘hey you’re in danger! haha, please leave town’ to someone without them thinking you're actually insane? I am pulled out of my thoughts at the feeling of my chair moving, a soft scratching noise below it. Immediately I see Deans hand at the side of my chair, pulling me closer to him without saying or looking at me.

I try to ignore his strange antics and the butterflies that flutter in the depths of my stomach at his movement as he talks to the dark haired couple, “How ya doin’?” God for someone whose usually so smooth he was being so awkward. They share a weird look clearly looking uncomfortable before waving and smiling. But their uninterest in starting a conversation with strangers is very obvious as the girl leans closer to her boyfriend placing her arm up to lean her head on as if to block us out.

“Just passing through?” Dean continues, ignoring their reactions. “Road trip.” The girl answers plainly, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

“Hm.” Dean hums his hand suddenly finding my thigh. My heart lurches, my leg twitching slightly at the sudden movement but he just gives me a little squeeze before readjusting his hold. Splaying his warm hand against my thigh, his fingers hooking onto the inside of my leg as he pulls them apart slightly, the gap just big enough to hold my thigh comfortably. He gives me another squeeze as if he was testing the feel of me again…oh god.

My brain seemed to short circuit, any logical thoughts I had turning into a mass space of blankness and static. I swallowed roughly, my heart beating out of my chest and the butterflies in my stomach flying frantically in warmth. This was just for a cover, if we acted as a couple too then they might feel more comfortable and inclined to talk with us, I try to reason with myself. But god when did my face get all warm? Stay focused Y/N, stay focused, I repeat to myself in my head. This wasn’t the time. Can’t be thinking of my feelings for him or the fact that this was only making me feel more desperate for him. Stay focused.

“Us too” He adds, and I have to think for a second what he’s talking about…Oh yes, we are also on a road trip, yeah.

Scotty walks over with a pitcher of something brownish orange, maybe it was apple cider considering this town clearly has a large supply of it. He moves right past us, refilling the couples cups, “I’m sure these people want to eat in peace.” he scolds us.

“Just a little friendly conversation.” Dean smiles up at the grumpy man who begins to walk away, “Oh, and that coffee and tea, too, man. Thanks.” Scotty just stares at him, the scowl on his face deepening, but he doesn't say anything as he walks away fully. “So, what brings you to town?” I ask softly, a sweet smile on my face in hopes of erasing the awkwardness in the air.

The girl answers, “We just stopped for gas. And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives.”

“Aw, really!” I respond trying to sound amused.

The guy answers this time, “Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us.”

“That’s really sweet” I nod with a smile even as concern eats at me. They were definitely going to be the next victims. But I’m also terribly confused, I have no idea what he was talking about. I'm guessing a broken brake line means you won’t be able to stop the car but I didn’t know it could leak…

“Yeah.” The man nods trying to go back to his food.

All at once it hits me, I nearly want to kick myself for not thinking about it right away. I want to blame it on Dean's hand placement but it was most likely my lack of sleep because I was in fact enjoying his hand on my thigh…

This small town in Indiana was practicing Pagan rituals, and as much as I hate to admit it learning about Pagans was one of my favorite things to do.

“So, how long till you’re up and runnin’?” Dean asks them.

“Sundown.”

It was common in Paganism to sacrifice something or someone to the gods. It was a time where they didn’t understand why certain things happened like crops dying, so they blamed this on not respecting the Gods enough. When the real cause could have been for a number of reasons from lack of water to not crop rotating…

“Really.” Dean pauses for a minute, “To fix a brake line?” He receives a nod. “I mean, you know, I know a thing or two about cars. I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything.” He offers.

…However in terms of supernatural beings when these sacrifices were made it did work, whether or not it was the Gods “cursing” them or just not understanding agriculture. Either way it did work, the gods answered, and the bigger the sacrifice the bigger the payout which is why they typically did human sacrifices, sometimes even on a mass scale.

“You know, thanks a lot, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it.” The girl replies, looking nervously at her boyfriend.

“Are you sure?” I chime in, “He really is good, I mean you should see the level of care he puts into his own car. ‘Keeping it all good even though it’s decades older than him, he even keeps my old car in check.” I knew with every word I was stroking his ego, but it was true. Beyond his own car I can count on two hands the amount of times he helped with my old Volkswagen Beetle, he’s probably the reason why it still works.

In the corner of my eye I can see his cocky sexy grin, he squeezes my thigh once more and my thoughts fizzle out again as a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in my gut. Jesus Christ, Dean Winchester will be the death of me without knowing.

“Yeah we’re sure” The girl insists.

“Sure.” Dean pauses, his smile dropping, “You know, it’s just that these roads. They’re not real safe at night.” I guess he figures they won’t listen any other way. The couple exchanged a look, “I’m sorry?”

Dean leans in closer, “I know it sounds strange, but, uh—you might be in danger.”

The man finally snaps, looking annoyed, “Look, we’re trying to eat. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean says disappointingly, "You know, my brother could give you this puppy dog look, and you’d just buy right into it.” The couple looks at him strangely.

The bell above the door rings and I figure we don’t have much time left, “Look we aren’t trying to bother you and ruin your day, okay, I’m sorry.” I start, looking back at the Sheriff who had walked in. I lean in, speaking just low enough for them to hear, “But you really are in danger, for the last couple of years couples have gone missing this time of year repeatedly withou—“

“I’d like a word with you both.” The sheriff practically booms. I go quiet giving the couple a warning look both to say to listen to what I said and to not bring anything up now, they look scared and hesitant.

“Come on. I’m having a bad day already, ‘m just tryna make it better with my girlfriend” Dean reasons, I know it’s a lie but the way the word slipped so easily from his lips made my heart flutter.

“You know what would make it worse?” The sheriff replies. Dean releases his hold on my thigh, a tingling feeling taking its place. We got up and followed the man outside then following his orders, he was going to follow us out of town and we weren’t allowed back.

We drive down the interstate, both knowing we would turn back once it was clear. But for now we trudge toward passing by a sign that says ‘Thanks for visiting Burkittsville.’ I check the side mirror, the sheriff making a U-turn, heading back to town. Great.

“Should we find a motel nearby and return at night?” I ask, knowing the couple wouldn’t have a car to leave with ‘till sundown.

“Yeah, you need sleep” He hums. I wonder if he’s saying that because he knows I haven't slept at all. “Unfortunately I will not be sleeping ‘cause I have a very good idea on what’s going on and I wanna research further” I answer, opening up the glovebox to pull out the map that resided there.

I unfold it, tracking down Indiana and then the small town we just left, following the colored lines. “I think if we stay straight we’ll be at a rest stop in about 15 mins” I mumble, hopefully reading it right.

“Anyways!” I place the map down in my lap, “I’m very sure this town is sacrificing the couples to a Pagan God.”

“‘Thinking the same,” He answers.

“Okay, good. Now I'm not 100% sure i’m right on which one it is ‘cause there’s a lot of agricultural Gods as well as Gods of the woods, but the second I can search it up I’ll confirm it.” I ramble, talking with my hands.

“To be honest, sweetheart, ‘don’t know much about Norse Gods except the basics.”

“Oh don’t you worry, I got this” I beam.

I grumble for the fifth time typing different wording into the search bar. I want to scream as the page turns blank, the only words on the screen being ‘No Results.’

“What is it?” Dean asks from where he lays in his bed his fathers journal open, looking for anything on Norse Gods.

“Somehow there is nothing on Vanir Gods and when I mean nothing I mean nothing!” I get up from my bed walking the short distance to his, I climb on it putting my legs beneath me. I turned my laptop towards him, showing him the screen, “See!”

His eyebrows scrunch up looking just as confused as I feel, “I know we aren’t in the town anymore but do you think it’s somehow related?” I ask.

“Maybe. We aren’t that far from Burkittsville” He answers, taking my laptop and searching up ‘Books about Vanir Gods’ but again the same message pops up ‘No Results.’

He types in ‘Books about Norse Gods’ a couple searches pop up the main one being a thick book only available in a college in Burkittsville. “That’s so strange.” I mumble, I mean how could they be interfering with the internet.

“If they can make sacrifices to a god I’m guessing they could mess with google of all things. We’ll go there later” Dean responds and I’m sure he means after making sure the couple is safe. He closes my laptop, “You should sleep, I’ll wake you”

I studied him for a moment, and he was right. I should sleep, it sounds wonderful actually. I nod getting up, I don’t even bother changing into comfortable clothes or even taking off my bra I just crawl underneath the covers of my bed. “Good night, Dean.” But it was hardly close to night time.

He smiles, “ ‘Night baby.”

Dean sped down the interstate, the sun was nearly down and we would have been there on time if not for all the semi trucks in the truck stop not knowing how to exit. You really think it wouldn’t be so hard.

Continuing by the vast orchard, we scanned for a red van parked on the side, hoping to beat them there.

After some more driving, we eventually stumbled upon the deserted car, devoid of anyone. He stopped the car short even as we still had multiple feet between us and the vacant van.

He turns the car off and I meet him by the trunk, he hands me a shotgun, “Go through here, cut ‘em off--get in front” he rattles off the plan as he cocks his own gun. I nod, cocking my gun before shutting the trunk as he takes the lead.

I catch up to him, running at his side, passing through each tree as my shoes crush the fallen apples with a satisfying crunch.

I squint my eyes, the dark haired couple too far away to get there before the dark figure of the scarecrow does. It was a clear distance away, I could bring us there in a moment's time. I’ve practiced this sort of distance before, it was doable, and nothing like the asylum. “Get ready to shoot 45 degrees to your left” I shouted, reaching a hand out to grasp Dean's shoulder. He meets my eyes with a look of determination hard in his irises. I focus back ahead on the target, forcing my energy there.

The air ripples around us even as we continue to run, in a blink of an eye we’re in front of the couple. A loud shot rings out, Dean shoots the thing square in the chest. But all it does is stumble back before it continues to walk forward.

Its head was tilted slightly, that greasy hair dangling on his shoulders, the sickle gripped tightly in its leathery hand. “Get back to your car!” I yell behind me, “Go!” I looked behind me for a split second, they were running and we weren’t too far from the orchards clearing.

Almost at the same time Dean and I start walking backward away from the horrifying thing. I raise my shotgun up, shooting it right in its chest as Dean cocks his gun again. But these salt bullets were doing nothing and was hardly buying us time, “Get ready to run!” Dean orders as he shoots the thing again.

Not needing to tell me twice I shift my footing, running towards the clearing right after the couple. Beyond Dean's own shoes hitting the ground hard next to me I could hear the subtle click of its boots walking the ground. Now I know how every character in Halloween felt as Myers went after them.

I do the thing that you should never do in a horror movie and turn my head to see how close the scarecrow was. It couldn’t be more than 10 feet away, “Screw this” I mumble, twisting my footing again so I could walk backwards as it came towards us. I uncomfortably hold the gun in the crook of my arm as I extend my hands forward, effortlessly calling upon my abilities as I shoot out pure energy from my hands.

The scarecrow goes flying what seems like 100 or more feet, landing harshly on its back. I want to celebrate and get all cocky but this was dealing with Norse Gods and I didn’t particularly feel like getting on their nerves at the moment.

I make it to the clearing, my chest heaving from the running and use of powers. Man, water would be good right now.

A familiar arm wraps around my shoulder, the crook of his arm touching my neck as he brings me into his side. His chest heaves too, “Good job.” The praise makes my heart swell but the sweet moment is cut off by the man in the couple panting, “What—what the hell was that?” He points between the orchard and me. Double yikes.

“Don’t ask.” Dean responds.

We sit in the Impala just outside of town so we wouldn’t technically get in trouble.

After helping the couple officially leave, thank god, we went back to the motel. It would be hours until the college opened so we really just had to wait. We ate at some all night diner before showering and sleeping for a couple more hours. We woke early, I threw on some low rise black jeans and a fitted black & gray long sleeve baseball tee, heading out to grab some coffee before heading back close to town to wait.

Dean had called Sam, placing his phone on speaker and positioning it in the middle of the dashboard so we could both hear and speak. He called his brother on his own accord to talk about the “hunt” and I didn’t dare say anything about it knowing he would just brush it off. The call was certainly more than just letting him know how the hunt was going. “The scarecrow climbed off its cross?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya. Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun Town.” Dean muses, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

“It didn’t kill the couple, did it?” Sam responded concerned.

“God no” I scuff.

“We can cope without you, you know.” Dean adds.

“So, something must be animating it. A spirit.” Sam theorizes.

“No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway.” Dean answers.

“What makes you say that?”

I answer this time, “There’s a lot that points to it, from annual cycle killings to the choice of victims. And I’m sure you know human sacrifices were common in Paganism especially when it comes to fertility. There were even mass sacrifices to even protect them and or help them with wars.”

I begin to speak with my hands again, getting more animated as I get excited, “And according to a local all the towns around them are failing in multiple degrees especially in agriculture, while Burkittsville remains flourishing largely in their apple department. As seen not only through their extensive orchard but their numerous apple products, they practically gloat upon it.”

“And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple. Fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey.” Dean adds in.

“The last meal. Given to sacrificial victims.” Sam acknowledges.

Dean answers, “Yeah, we’re thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god.”

“So, a god possesses the scarecrow…” Sam starts, Dean adding in with their usual weird finishing each other's sentences, “And the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread.”

“Do you know which god you’re dealing with?” Sam asks.

“Well, there’s hundreds of Gods.” I answer, “But it will most likely align with Norse Paganism which are broken up into two sections one of them being Vanir Gods. From what I remember they’re Gods of fertility, wealth, wisdom and two other things. I don’t remember too much and unfortunately there’s an issue with the internet so I can’t even confirm my theory.”

Sam laughs, “What do you mean issue?”

“Long story,” Dean responds, “But we’re on our way to a local community college, they have a book on Norse Gods there. You know, since we don’t have our geek boy to figure out the issue with the internet crap.”

Sam laughs again, “You know, if you’re hinting you need my help, just ask.”

“I’m not hinting anything.” Dean replies quickly with a fake annoyance to his voice, “Actually, uh—“ He looks at me as if he isn’t sure what to say, I nod my head encouragingly, “I want you to know….I mean, don’t think….”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, too.” Sam says seriously, seemingly knowing what his brother was struggling to say.

Dean looks to his hands cradling his coffee cup to straight ahead through the windshield, “Sam. You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” I don’t try to bite back my smile, he wasn’t looking to begin with, either way I was proud of him.

“Are you serious?” Sam asks, probably never expecting to hear that.

“You’ve always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I—“ He cuts himself off, sighing, “anyway….I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Sam says quietly.

“Say you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“Call me when you find Dad.”

“Ok.” Sam responds, though he sounds upset, "Bye, Dean.”

He collects his phone from the dashboard, hanging up. He catches me staring, “What?” I don’t answer, just smile at him, “No. Don’t give me that happy go lucky sweet look.”

“Oh come on!” I laugh, “That was really sweet of you Dean! So can’t a girl be proud of her boy.”

He rolls his eyes, placing his coffee in the cupholder before crossing his arms across his chest, but his face gives him away a light pink gracing his cheeks. “You are a sweetie pie” I declare, placing a hand on his shoulder. He removes one of his arms from their own hold, placing a warm hand on top of mine, grasping it gently to remove it, “I’m not.” he bites. His tough boy act was so cute.

“If you say so” I shrug, the smile on my face giving away the fact that this wasn’t me giving up on the fact he was a total softy. He turns his head away, facing his window, mumbling something incoherent.

I want to start skipping into the library, who knew a community college would have such a nice one. Though to be fair I would say any library was nice as long as it was in good shape. I make my way to the librarian's desk, “Hello!” I greet, my excitement getting the best of me, “Could you point us to the books on Paganism? Or even just Norse mythology?”

The old woman at the desk looks at me a little strangely, maybe I came off too strong. But her expression contorts into a small smile, “One of our dear old professors would have those sorts of books, lucky for you sweetie I think he’s free right now. I can just give him a little call.”

I look back at Dean, who stands a little bit behind me, he shrugs, I guess it wouldn’t hurt talking to a professor about this. Especially if it meant looking at that book.

I turn back to the old librarian, “Yes please.” But she already placed the phone back in its holder, “He’ll be right down.” Oh. Okay, this woman works fast. “You can take a seat there, it’ll be a moment” she points to just behind us at a mostly empty table. “Thank you!” I smile.

“It’s not every day I get a research question on Pagan ideology.” Professor Williams says, as he leads us to his classroom.

“Yeah, well, call it a hobby.” Dean responds, not sounding all that amused.

“Well what are you looking for in particular?” The older man asks.

“Uh, local lore, maybe” Dean answers, looking at me to jump in at any time but I don’t know if I want to put all my eggs in one basket. We had to choose who we could trust here, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so forward with the nice librarian but doing so made getting to the book easier. I hope. “I’m afraid Indiana isn’t really known for its Pagan worship.” He answers.

I can already feel this being a painfully slow lead to the answer, “You know, actually,” I began, “I was interested in the Vanir Gods. It struck me the other day and when I can’t get an easy answer for something I go digging.” The professor stops in his tracts, turning to face me, “Very well. I was not expecting to hear such a clear topic.”

I laugh a little uncomfortably, “I just like to learn.”

We follow him down the rest of the long hallway into his classroom. A small room with desks and chairs lined in order while a large whiteboard rested on the long wall. He beckons us over to his desk, a thick and long brown leather bound book lying there, “Well, let’s see.” He leafs through a couple of pages seeking what seems to be the chapter he’s looking for, “Ah ha, there we are” he declares, turning the book towards us.

I read the first page quickly, breezing through information I already knew. I turn to the next page only to be met with a picture of a scarecrow-like thing on a post in a field with farmers surrounding it. I read out loud the text just below the image, “The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female.”

I looked up from the book catching Dean's eyes, this was definitely it. “This particular Vanir that’s energy sprung from the sacred tree?” Dean asks, gaze flipping to the man in question.

“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.” He answers not all that helpfully.

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it’d kill the god?” Dean questions further. He’s really just putting it all out there. The professor laughs, “Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Yes of course” I fake laugh along with him, “My, uh, friend here just loves the hypotheticals, you know?”

“I do,” Dean nods seriously. The professor just looks at us strangely. God I really hope he just thinks we’re weird people. “Listen, thank you very much.” Dean says, holding out his hand. The professor takes it, giving what seems like a firm handshake before offering one to me, “Yes, thank you so much,” I say sincerely, taking his hand for a single awkward handshake.

I follow Dean to the door, an odd feeling settling itself in my gut as if something was about to happen. He opens the door and the feeling spikes, my heart jumping at the simple action. What the hell. I want to ignore it, push it to the back of mind and chalk it up to just random anxiety. But I can’t, genuine fear twists itself around within me, clawing at the walls of my stomach as if to warn me. Just as my foot breeches the hallway everything in me screams to turn around.

I listen to my body, turning around as I take a half step back, a large book only inches from my face. A small breathy squeak leaves my lips as I duck, a loud bang and tumble coming from beside me. This was a trap.

Using my bent knees as leverage as well as the attackers stumbling at missing me, I latch on to their forearms pushing up and out still holding on tightly as I lift my leg and kick. My foot connects with the soft expanse of the person's stomach, letting go of his arms at the same time. It was no doubt the professor as he was the only one in the room with us. I watch him stumble backwards, knocking into his desk roughly.

My brain works quickly, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The bang and tumble I heard must have been someone attacking Dea—I twisted my upper body to the right, catching the sheriff's wrist before the blunt of his gun could hit me too. I didn’t need to look to know he already got Dean. God this town was crooked.

I bring his arm down closer to my level, twisting it in an attempt to put it behind him, but he uses his free hand to left hook me, his fist connecting with my cheekbone. I let go of his arm at the action, my hand instinctively going to my cheek that stinged until something cold clinked onto my wrist. I knew it was handcuffs but my eyes went to my wrist anyways just as he clicked into place the other half of the cuff.

He looked smug, as if he had won. He must have been stupid. Not that it changed much but my hands were cuffed in front of me, magic aside it couldn’t have stopped me. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a ‘seriously?’ look before kicking him where the sun doesn't shine, immediately he doubles over holding onto his crotch with teary eyes. I guess you could add assaulting a police officer to my list of crimes, he may have been a sheriff but it probably still counted.

He would be down at least for a minute or more so I turned back to the professor who seemed to be stalking closer with the same book raised as if he was trying to kill a bug. The second my eyes landed on him he stopped moving, I foiled his plan. “Could you stop with the book?!” I exclaim. He seems to contemplate what I said, his eyes slipping from me to something behind me. He was not good at this fighting thing.

Thin but strong arms wrap around me, forcing my arms to my chest. I flailed around trying to shake the guy off, I didn’t want to use my magic yet. The less they knew the better. “Watch, she’s a kicker” the professor warns. “I know” the somewhat familiar voice of the sheriff huffed from behind me, his chest rumbling with each word. His chest was rising and falling fast, I wonder if he fully recovered from my crotch attack or if he was pushing through.

All at once I stop flailing, a smirk making its way on my face, and before anyone can do or say anything more I bite down hard on the sheriff's hand, my neck bending at a weird angle to reach him. He yells letting me go to hold his wounded limb.

I take a couple steps away from both of them, “I’m also a biter,” I muse. I look between both men, neither of them seeming to know what to do. They hadn’t expected this. “Which one of you wants to go next?” I point between either of them, the handcuffs rattling with my movement, “ ‘cause I can go all day, baby.”

They look at each other, worried in their eyes. The sheriff's throat bobbed with a hard auditable gulp. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared” I tease, smirking viciously, I was having too much fun with this.

The sheriff reaches slowly for his gun, the one he must have put back after I kicked him. I watch him do it, he’d pull it but wouldn’t shoot and ask me to stand down or come with him. He expects me to be afraid of the gun, at the prospect of being shot which is why he assumes it would work. He pulls it out, holding it firmly out in front of him aiming for my chest, “Get on your knees. Hands behind your head!” he yells. How predictable.

The smirk on my face only deepens, I lift an eyebrow at him, “If you wanted me on my knees so badly you could’ve just asked.” I was never usually so flirty or straightforward, but this was just so fun. I knew I was getting cocky. Maybe I was hanging around Dean too much. “Knees now!” He yells again. At this point he was just feeding me these easy openings. A laugh escapes my lips, I must look like a psychopath.

He readjusts the gun in his hand, his finger scooting back towards the trigger, but he couldn’t shoot, not when they wanted to use Dean and I as sacrifices. “Last chance!” He warns. Last chance indeed.

I catch my eyes flaring purple in his shiny revolver, a look of horror and confusion apparent on his face. A look I was used to, and as much as it normally would upset me I could use it now. The air fizzled around me, maybe I was getting better at this, in a blink of an eye I was right behind him. I kick the back of his knee, the man buckling under his own weight, his gun going off. The bullet hits the ceiling light right above where I stood only moments before.

Shards of glass fall, the light flickering for dominance before eventually going dark. I easily grasp the gun from his hand, turning the safety back on before sliding it across the floor out of the room. Without a plan to actually hurt the man, I used what he gave me, pressing the linked chains of the handcuffs to his neck as I brought the back of his head to my stomach.

He grunts against my hold his hands trying to pry the chain off as his eyes search the professors for help, but his partner backs away hands up in defense. I loosen up my hold, I wasn’t trying to severely hurt the guy or kill him for that matter. “‘Had enough?” I ask, mostly teasing.

Suddenly a soft plush material is pressed to my face, I move to fight or teleport away but my limbs suddenly feel too heavy and my eyes begin to droop. My body feels like it’s falling even as I stand in place, I think. My eyes begin to flutter close, my legs giving out on me. The world turns black.

My head feels fuzzy. My eyes are too heavy to open just yet. It smelt bad, a musty smell combined with a farm-like smell. The ground was comfortable.

I try to open my eyes but they flutter shut again. Someones calling my name, they’re too far away…need to come closer. My head was pounding.

Something suddenly brushes into my hair repeatedly. Even still half gone, fear spikes in me. My eyes shoot open, my upper body jolting up into a seated position. Familiar hands hold my shoulders as I sway, the room seeming to move back and forth, “It's okay, you’re okay” Dean says soothingly. I stare at him, his features becoming less and less blurry as I blink.

He cups my face gently, his fingers barely brushing against my skin. He seems to study me, most likely noting the bruise that is undoubtedly forming where I was hit. His thumb brushes over my wounded cheekbone gently, yet even so I wince sucking in a breath between my teeth. “Sorry” he mumbles, meeting my eyes. I hum, my tongue feeling too heavy to utter a word. “What happened to you?” he asks softly.

I swallow, trying to force my tongue to work enough to answer but my words still come out too quietly, “You went down first. I fought, but I think someone else came. They covered my mouth with a thingy, maybe they used, um, what is it called?” My thoughts felt all jumbled still, fog covering the expanse of my brain. My head was killing me too much to think straight. He practically scowls, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned down in a frown, “Chloroform” he answers. I smile weakly, “yeah that.”

I want to lay down. The room was still spinning, my head hurt. This was embarrassing, I had gotten all confident before– feeling invincible only to be drugged. I remove Dean's hands from my face, holding them instead as I place them on his lap. I looked around us, the room might be moving but it was obvious enough it was some sort of basement. No, a cellar. It was dark and empty, except for the straws of hay lying around. And just across from us was a small staircase up to what seemed like cellar doors. “It's locked,” Dean says, noticing my stare. Of course it is.

But if I could just right my mind, clear the fog, I could get us out easy peasy. Almost as if I willed it, the cellar doors creek open. The sunlight floods through, I try to block it with my hand, the sudden light worsening my headache if that was even possible. I need Advil. Dean lets go of my hand getting up quickly, just watching the quick movement makes me want to vomit. I blink slowly, following suit, with a lot of stumbling I make it to my feet even as it feels like the room is pulling me down.

Four jerks stand just outside the cellar, Harley and Stacy, Scotty, and the Sheriff. Harley moves close to the stairs as if he's about to descend them before getting abruptly stopped by the Sheriff, “I wouldn’t, she's feisty.” Dean laughs at that, my assault on the man very apparent by the various bruises he displayed. I would smirk or laugh too if it didn't feel like I was using all my energy to keep me standing. Harley knocks the Sheriff's hand off but makes no move to get closer, “She’s also still drugged” he bites. “Wrong,” I pointed a finger up, feeling more like a drunk as I spoke, “This would be the side effects or aftermath of Chloroform.” All four of them looked at me blankly, maybe I was wrong. I don't know.

“I hope you both know this is for the common good,” Stacy nods. I furrow my eyebrows, “Thanks for the preaching, lady. It really eases the brain into all this sacrificial nonsense.”

“That's enough” she replies rather calmly before nodding to the others. They begin to close the cellar doors, darkness enveloping us. I sat down rather quickly, landing on my butt harshly, “I'm surprised you didn't say anything snarky to them.”

“You were more entertaining” He answers with a half shrug. He tries the cellar door again but of course it's locked, he huffs moving to sit next to me.

I lean my head on his shoulder. He speaks softly now so as not to disturb my throbbing head, “Where do you think this important tree would be?” He was referring to the tree we would have to destroy in order to kill the scarecrow, and it was a good question. “Hm” I hum, “It would be the oldest tree here, probably the most protected. Maybe the first immigrants brought it over here, so it’s wherever they would plant it. I would say in the middle.” He nods and I swear I could hear the gears in his head turning.

The cellar doors open again, Stacy coming into view “It’s time.” I want to ask why they didn't just take us the first time they opened the doors but I guess waiting to die a little later was better than sooner. I remove my head from Dean's shoulder, do we fight? It would be 4 against 2 except I wasn't completely okay. But we could fight, right? I mean we always make it out, we always wind up fine.

Harley and the Sheriff come down the stairs, the Sheriff watches me carefully as he lifts Dean forcefully up. Harley doesn't show any remorse as he grips my forearm tightly, lifting me to my feet before grabbing my other arm roughly holding them behind my back. I struggle against him attempting to step hard on his foot as he forces me up the stairs behind Dean.

Real fear twirled itself around me, were we not going to fight?

They drag us forward deeper into the orchard, I dig my heels into the dirt trying to slow it down as much as I can. I’m scared. I don't want to die. I don't want to be sacrificed to some god. Please. Please. My headache needs to go away, let me use my powers without pain. I struggle against him more, trying to let my magic seep into anything around me but immediately my headache worsens by ten folds. I grunt in frustration, trying to shake the older man off further but he only tightens his grip. I hope bruises won't come from it, not that it would matter if I died today. I close my eyes tightly, digging my heels in further, please. Please. Anything, please.

Harley pushes me forward effortlessly. I don't want to die. Please. Please.

The ground begins to rumble, shaking violently. Apples tumble from the trees hitting the ground with a bunch of thumps. My heart beats wildly in my chest as if it's trying to jump out and run away. His grip loosens on me as he freezes in place, “It's angry at us!” Stacy yells covering her head. I wiggle out of Harleys hold, taking a couple steps away as my legs wobble like the ground. A familiar click locks into place, I come face to face with a gun, “It’s not causing this. It's her” the Sheriff accuses.

“Dont touch her” Dean yells, struggling against Scotty's hold. The Sheriff must have passed him on to hold me at gunpoint for the second time today. “I'm not doing anything” I spit, the shaking ground growing more intense.

“Your eyes are glowing again” he states. “What are you talking about?” I nearly yell, I think I would know if I was using my own abilities. Plus I've never done anything like this before so how would I be able to do so now?

Before I can react he has my hair wrapped in his fist, pulling my head back forcefully a hiss of pain escaping my lips. It felt like it was going to rip itself right from the roots. “Dont you fucking hurt her!” Dean roars. The ground seems to become more violent, the large trees themselves shaking where they stood while everyone nearly stumbles over. He pulls my hair hard, my neck snapping back as he moves his shiny gun in front of me, showing me its side.

My only slightly blurred reflection stares back at me. My cheekbone had a dark bruise painted there and my eyes were–

My irises were purple. No. It doesn't make sense, I wasn't controlling this. I wasn't making it happen, I've never done this before. The Sheriff pushes me forward letting go of my hair at the last minute, I fall to my knees only a foot away from him. The barrel of the gun is pressed into the back of my skull, “Make it stop or I'll make you stop” he threatens. I can hear Dean struggle against Scotty again, and in the corner of my eyes I see him finally pull away before turning around and punching the man right in the face. Scotty doubles over, but before Dean could do any more damage to anyone else Harvey grabs him.

“You can't kill her, we have to leave them both for it” Stacy argues. The ground seems to roar, the earth shaking so siverley I nearly fall to my hands. “I would stop if I could!” I admit, “I don't kno–” I cut myself off, a sudden deep memory making its way to the surface of my brain. A memory of a deceased corn field, a disaster I caused.

“Make it stop!” the sheriff spits. “I told you I don't know h–” Suddenly the gun is raised up and before I could do anything to stop it, the gun hits the side of my skull. My head feels like it explodes as I hit the ground, my eyes struggle to stay open. The last thing I see before it all goes dark again is Dean trying to lunge forward and the ground halting in its shaking.

My eyes flutter open, my horrible headache accompanied with an even worse head-ache. Both in my head and outside. At this point my brain should be a scrambled mess.

My wrists were zip tied to a thinner part of the tree trunk my back rested on. It was just beginning to be dark out. I move my gaze from above me to across me, Dean sitting against a different tree in the same position I was in. His eyes widen and he attempts to move closer before grunting in frustration at the restrictions of his wrists, “You're awake. Are you okay?” He licks his lips, “I swear to fuckin’ god I’ll kill ‘em.”

I don't say anything, my head is too heavy. He's staring at me with wide eyes, fear clear in his irises. “‘You okay?” he asks again. I nod, my head hurts and I’m confused and upset, but I’m alive so I’m okay. He shakes his head, “No.” I look at him confused, I don't understand. He continues to shake his head, wetting his lips again, “Say it. I need to hear you say it,” he sounded breathless, “I need to hear you say you're okay.”

“Im okay” I say weakly. He sighs, relief clear in the way his shoulders drop. But I had a feeling he knew I wasn't being totally truthful.

He swallows roughly, “Can you see the scarecrow?” Despite my heavy head I look in each direction for the thing, until I can slightly see the post. “Dean” I start and I can hear my own voice wobble with fear, “It's not there.” He fights against his restraints, and I would join him in that effort if my head hasn't already given up on me. “I hope their apple pie is frickin’ worth it” he grumbles.

A shadow catches just behind Dean, I squint hoping I'm just seeing things from potential brain damage then the actual scarecrow. “Dean, I think it's behind you.” Forget everything I said and thought, I begin fighting against my own restraints, the zip ties digging into my wrists harshly. “Dean?” a familiar voice called out.

Sam’s tall figure comes into view as he rounds the tree Dean is tied to. Dean twists his neck oddly to see his brother, “Oh!” he sighs in relief, “Oh, I take everything back I said. I'm so happy to see you. Come on.” Sam takes that as his chance to assess his brother's binding before pulling out his pocket knife, “‘You okay, Y/N?” he asks as he works on sawing the bindings. “Dandy” I respond, truly done with this all.

“How’d you get here?” Dean asks his brother.

“I, uh–I stole a car.”

Dean laughs at that, “That's my boy!” His bindings finally break with a snap. Sam doesn't wait for his brother to get up as he walks the short distance to me, beginning to remove my own restraints. His eyes gaze down at me every now and then, most likely assessing the damage.

Deans at my side a breath later, squatting down to be at my level. He brings his hand carefully to my face, gently moving a piece of my hair behind my ear. Something feels dried and stiff there and I wonder if it's blood from being hit or just dirt. I tilt and roll my head away from him, the pain overwhelming even with the delicate touch.

My restraints snap above me, bits of the plastic tangling itself into my hair. My wrists are raw and red, just one more thing to add to the list. I place my hands on the cold dirt, trying to pick myself up but my ears begin to ring and my vision spins. I sit back down again, huffing. Strong arms grab my arm and waist all but lifting me off the ground and onto my feet, “‘You got eyes on the scarecrow?” Dean asks, looking at his brother who shakes his head. “Alright, I can carry you, the clearing isn’t far off” Dean says looking down at me.

“That's ridiculous,” I shake my head, “I’ll slow you down. I’ll just push through, and we don't have time to argue this.” He grumbles, he doesn't like the idea. But again we don't know where the scarecrow is and we can't waste time bickering over stupid logistics.

I immediately regret not taking the offer. My brain feels like it's jumping around in my skull and swishing side to side as if on a boat. I feel like the orchard is spinning around me, tumbling over itself like one of those tunnels in a fun house.

“Alright, now, this sacred tree you’re talking about–” Sam pants lightly as we run, Dean having filled him in on the information we gathered. “It's the source of its power” I finish, my voice feeling far away even in my own ears. “So let’s find it and burn it.” Sam annonces.

“Nah, in the morning.” Dean counters, “Let’s just shag ass before Leather face catches up.”

We come to a skidding stop, just at a clearing of trees the four jerks from before as well as a couple others stand guard. Sam nudged us in a different direction just to be met with a wall of people, we were surrounded. “Did the whole fricking town come to watch us die?!” I exclaim, “Just let us leave!” I was so tired of this, I just want to go to a motel or something and shower off today's fears before falling into a deep sleep. “It’ll be over quickly” Harley says, and if it was meant to be comforting it was not working. “It's for the greater go–” suddenly a sickle is pushed through his stomach. His mouth opens in shock, blood dripping down the sides. Screams come from all around us, and I hardly know if I was screaming too.

He’s raised off the ground before the sickle is quickly pulled out. Stacy still stands there screaming, watching her dying husband on the floor. But soon her screams are cut off too, the sickle going through her throat. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open too as blood not only spurts out of her neck but spills down like a waterfall onto her shirt. The air fills quickly with all the blood's metallic scent. The scarecrow does not retract its weapon, keeping the curved blade in her neck as it grabs onto Harley's collar dragging them both behind it.

Shock had frozen us in place, but apparently not the townspeople. “Come on let’s go,” Dean insists, leading us away.

Morning came by far too slowly but at least we passed the time by using the stolen car to drive back to the college to get the Impala before returning to the orchard. It all went by so weirdly, I knew I was moving but it felt like I never left that road outside the expanse of apple trees. I hardly remember the drive there or the drive back, everything still spun and the ringing only got louder. I think I might have lost my mind.

We stand in front of the sacred tree though I don't remember how we found it. The tree had Vince’s tattoo printed onto it, that was a tell tale sign it was the right one. Sam pours gasoline all over it, Dean picks up a long branch lighting it on fire before throwing it onto the tree. “‘Think the towns ‘gonna be okay?” Sam asks as the flaming tree roars with the crackling flames. “Don’t know” Dean shrugs, but I think the answer was apparent to all of us.

“And the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?” Sam adds.

“Well, what’ll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough.” Dean answers.

We walk back to the car leaving the burning tree behind us, though I hope it won’t spread and cause a whole forest fire, “So, can I drop you off somewhere?” Dean asks.

“No, I think you’re stuck with me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t. I still wanna find Dad. And you’re still a pain in the ass.” Sam explains, “But, Jess and Mom—they’re both gone. Dad is God knows where. You, me, Y/N. We’re all that’s left. So, if we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”

I give Sam's arm a little squeeze, it was a really sweet speech.

“Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful.” Dean smiles, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder who hits it away. They fall into a fit of laughter, “You should be kissing my ass, you were dead meat, dude.” Sam says between laughs.

“Yeah, right. I had a plan, I’d have gotten us out.” Dean scuffs.

“Right.”

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