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zepskies · 5 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 14

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.

AN: Welcome back! Get ready for some more detective work, a pinch of Jo drama, another fire, and the reader finally meets John Winchester...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,500 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fire hazards, threats, and hurt/comfort.

Part 14: “Message in a Bottle”

A week before Christmas, John Winchester left his house for work before the sun had even risen in the sky. It was still dim when he stepped out onto his porch, which is why he didn’t see it at first.

He heard the clink when his boot kicked at something metallic.

He glanced down and found a small badge lying on the ground. He bent to pick it up, and on further inspection, it was a fire department’s badge. A replica, probably, because it had Dean’s number on it: 20579.

The badge was also splattered with blood.

Later at his office, John handed it over to his partner for his inspection.

“It’s actually paint,” John said. “Forensics looked it over. No prints, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Cas said. His tone was mild, but his face was as grave as John’s as he considered the crimson-stained badge. They stood together in the bullpen of the 84th Precinct.

“And I got this little present a few days ago,” John admitted quietly. He grabbed a folder off his desk and showed Cas its contents: a picture of Sam leaving the courthouse while talking on his cell, climbing into his car. Someone was watching his sons.

“I already have a police detail on him,” John said, heaving a sigh. “I requested approval for Dean’s this morning.”

Cas’s frown was deepening, along with his furrowed brows. “We may need to ask for backup on this.”

John shook his head. “Rufus won’t give it to us.”

Their esteemed Lieutenant thought John was on a vendetta with a ghost, stirring up a conflict of his own making. He only approved a temporary police detail for Sam, with the condition that John stopped what he was doing, let the Fire Department handle the serial arsonist, and let this blow over.

But Rufus should’ve known better than that by now. This was personal, and John wouldn’t tolerate these yellow-bellied threats to his family.

“Azazel’s applying pressure, hitting your weak spots,” Cas said, perhaps pointing out the obvious.

“So let’s hit him back, goddamn it,” John growled. He threw down the folder back onto his desk.

“How?” Cas asked. “We still don’t know who Azazel is.”

The other man thought hard, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and feeling the overgrown stubble. He didn’t remember the last time he’d shaved.

“How’s your progress on questioning Savage & Co.?” he asked.

“Stalled. Nick Savage has lawyered up,” said Cas.

His face slackened from frustration to realization. He didn’t seem happy about his next idea, but it looked like he had one.

“Though now that I think of it, we may be able to apply some pressure of our own,” he said.

John raised a brow and crossed his arms. “How’s that?”

“Dean’s girlfriend works there, if you remember,” Cas said. “Something happened this past weekend at her company Christmas party.”

John nodded, despite his frown. He was set to meet you in a week, but it looked like they might need to question you before then. What a pleasant first meeting that was going to be.

But if you had anything on Savage, on the company, or even better, if you were willing to wear a wire, that could be the break they needed to get some headway on this case. They could squeeze Savage for any information he might have on Azazel—like his real identity.

“Tell me,” John said.

You returned to work on Monday with steel in your veins (and a taser in your purse).

You had about an hour of peace in your office, catching up on your emails and calls. Then there was a knock on your door before it pushed open without your consent.

Damn it, should’ve locked it. Your lips pursed when Nick Savage came in.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said firmly. Already you were opening a drawer in your desk, reaching into your purse.

“It’s my goddamn office,” Nick replied lazily. But he crossed his arms and stopped just behind the spare chair that sat in front of your desk. It gave you a good few feet of distance.

You stared back at the man with hidden satisfaction through your disdain. It seemed Dean’s threats got to him.

“Just thought I’d let you know that Josh’s been promoted to Senior Sales Manager,” Nick said. He checked his watch absently.

Your teeth clicked in irritation, but you let it pass. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you no longer gave a fuck about this company anyway. What you told Dean before was the truth: you were now here just to collect a paycheck, until you could find a new job.

“Good. He’s been working hard, kissing your ass,” you said with a fake smile. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”

Nick made the mistake of taking a half-step forward. Your hand subtly clenched on the weapon in your purse, but you tried your best to seem relaxed. In control of yourself. This was your office that you’d occupied for three years.

This was your space, and this man didn’t control you.

“Take one step forward, and I will quit today,” you threatened. And then you bluffed.

“I’ll call Mr. Greenway,” you said. “In fact, he offered me a job last month. Then I’ll make a few more calls, and I’ll take all of my accounts with me. I’ll kill your fucking sales team and leave Josh to continue sucking your lackluster tequila dick.”

Nick stared back at you with thinly veiled shock. You’d always been “no nonsense,” but you’d never spoken to him like that before. He smirked.

This was why he liked you. And hated you.

“All right,” Nick said. He didn’t come any closer, but he did rest his hands on the back of the chair. “How about I buy out your friend Greenway. His whole damn company. And then I’ll blacklist you with every other company that calls for a reference. Even the ones that don’t call.”

Your eyes widened incredulously. He had the gall to wink at you, boiling your blood.

“I’ll fucking sue you,” you said, hating the slight tremor in your voice.

Nick rolled his eyes. “This again? Please.”

You couldn’t help it. Your temper snapped, and you pushed away from your desk to stand up. You gripped the edge of it to steady yourself. You quirked a humorless smile.

“As it happens, I know a damn good lawyer,” you countered. “He puts murderers in jail every day. I doubt he’d struggle too much with a corporate asshole. And I’ll remind you, Dean’s father is a police officer. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to lock you up after I report you for what you did. And I will.”

Nick scoffed at that, his eyes narrowing.

“If you take it there, I’ll have every resource at my disposal to make your life a living hell. I’ll drag this out for years. Until you’ve got nothing but your boyfriend’s charity to keep you from living in a fucking box.”

You were seething, trying to stay in control. He knew it too, and he smirked at you. He pushed away from the chair and started to leave.

But then, he tossed you a smug look over his shoulder.

“Just remember,” he said. “You could’ve just spread those legs for me.”

It took everything you had within you not to hurl a stainless steel stapler at the back of his retreating head.

“A double please, Ellen. Dry, lots of olives,” you requested.

After a ridiculously long day at work, you were now trying to let go of your frustrations at the Roadhouse, while you still had the money to drink. You rubbed through the ache in your temples.

“Long day, hun?” Ellen asked you. Her eyes were sympathetic as she made you the martini you ordered. You gave her an attempt at a smile.

“Long life,” you muttered.

“Hmm. Asshole boss?” she surmised.

You met her gaze with a note of suspicion. “Did Dean tell you…”

You knew he’d told his brother about what happened at the Christmas party. And you had a feeling he’d told Cas as well, to try and see what you could do from a law enforcement standpoint. The first step was filing a report. Now you knew, however, that you couldn’t. Not if you wanted your life to remain in one piece.

“Nothing, hun,” Ellen shook her head. “You’ve just got that look. I reckon every woman in the world has worn that face. Usually because of a man.”

You sighed and chuckled at the same time. It loosened some of the tightness in your shoulders.

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

You were soon distracted though, giving your boyfriend a smile to try and cover up how exhausted you were, in every sense of the word. He greeted you with a warm hand along your lower back. He dropped a kiss to your forehead.

“Waiting long?” he asked.

“No, just a few minutes,” you shook your head. You laid a hand on his thigh when he took a seat next to you at the bar. “How was your shift?”

This week he was on three 12-hour shifts instead of his usual 24-hour shifts, which meant you got more of him in the evening.

“Fine. Just a couple of accidents to clear off the road, nothing major,” he replied. He ordered a beer from Ellen and gave Jo a smile. He was surprised to see mother and daughter working civilly together under one roof, after the scene he saw last week.

“How’s the studying going?” he asked Jo, once Ellen was out of earshot to serve further down the line. He turned to you and filled you in. “Jo’s gearin’ up to hit the Police Academy.”

“Oh wow, that’s great!” you remarked.

Jo glanced over at her mom, but then she smiled, looking back at you and Dean. She focused on him.

“The test is in a few weeks,” she said. “I think I’m ready, but I don’t know…”

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said, with easy conviction. “You’re stubborn enough to know it’s what you want. So I got no doubts about you.”

Jo’s smile was warm, with a hint of shy and gratefulness. You smiled at Jo encouragingly, but inside, you had a familiar unease churning inside your gut.

Dean then turned to you with expectant brows. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, curling it behind your ear.

“And how was your day?” he asked. His tone was quieter, laced with double meaning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jo moving on to another waiting customer with a small sigh.

You met Dean’s gaze and you nodded. “It was fine.”

His brows rose a touch higher. “Very convincing. You took the taser with you, right?”

You sighed and had to smile a little. His concern warmed you, made you feel protected, even though you’d had to do that part yourself today. You soothed a hand over his chest, between the open panels of his plaid shirt.

“Yes, I did. I’m okay, baby. We’re at a standstill,” you said. And you reminded him, “I can handle myself, you know.”

Dean nodded, sighing through his nose. His hand rubbed up and down your back, whether to comfort you or himself, you didn’t know. Your fingers curled into his shirt, and you smiled up at him, just before you tugged him down for a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, until you became a bit more than sweet, grazing his bottom lip with your teeth. His hand came up to cup the back of your head as he accepted the warmth of your kiss.

You knew that you couldn’t tell Dean what happened this morning in your office. He’d likely go for the Halligan in his trunk and beat Nick Savage within an inch of his life.

While the idea appealed to you for several reasons, you didn’t want to be the reason Dean lost his badge, or ended up in jail.

So over a couple of drinks, you distracted him by having a healthy debate over what you two were going to have for dinner later: sushi or pizza.

You ultimately won with sushi. (Or maybe he let you win. Either way, you were getting salmon rolls tonight.)

Still, you had that uneasy feeling when you and Dean left the bar. You wondered how the hell it had taken you this long to notice the starry look of longing in Jo’s eyes.

You fell into step with Dean as you two headed for the sushi restaurant down the street. It was already dark out, but even on a Tuesday night, the streets and sidewalks of downtown were busy.

“Can I ask you something…potentially uncomfy?” you said.

Dean’s head turned to you, with a raised brow.

“Uncomfy?”

You let out a breath, and you could see it on the December chill in the air. Your hands were tucked into your pockets, and so were Dean’s in his.

“Did you and Jo ever have a thing?” you asked.

Dean blinked, but then his lips pressed together. “What makes you say that?”

You sent him a suspicious look. You’ve known him long enough to know when he’s hedging.

“Just please, answer the question,” you said.

He blew out a breath. After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah, for a few weeks,” he admitted.

You sighed. That sure explained a hell of a lot. And really, with his track record, you couldn’t be surprised.

“You dated her, or you hooked up with her?” you clarified. Dean shot you a look.

“Dated,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Your brows furrowed. “When?”

He’d told you that he’d been in one relationship before, briefly…

“About a few months before I met you,” he said at last. But he saw the incredulous, almost upset look on your face. “Obviously it didn’t work out.”

“You couldn’t have told me that earlier?” you asked. Your hands slipped out of your pockets to gesture at him. “How did it end?”

The man sighed, looking up at the sky.

“Come on, Dean,” you prodded.

“All right,” he placated with a hand. “It didn’t end great, put it that way.”

You couldn’t help a frustrated huff. You crossed your arms and kept walking beside him down the street, albeit in silence.

Dean glanced at you in slight exasperation. He was with you now. Why did it matter to you so much?

“She still has feelings for you,” you said, though you still weren’t looking at him.

“How do you figure?” he asked. But if he was honest, even he knew the truth.

“Because I could see her eyeing you like a honey glazed ham,” you snipped. At that, he let out an incredulous chuckle.

“Are you jealous?” he teased.

You stopped walking and looked up at him, frowning. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean stopped as well. He sobered, realizing you weren’t in the mood for jokes. You’d been through a lot recently, and he knew then that you didn’t need this kind of stress on top of everything else. He drew closer and gently grasped your arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. Though he thought to himself, I’ll talk to Jo if I have to.

You sighed in frustration, but he soothed his hands up and down your arms. His touch plied you, along with his smile.

“Hey,” Dean said, dipping his chin so he could catch your eyes. “You should know how I feel about you by now.”

You sighed and nodded in agreement. He wasn’t satisfied.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing your arms and earning your eyes on him. It took him a moment, letting out a breath, but he was honest.

“I love you," he reminded. "And if that damn elevator hadn’t broke down on you, I’d still be missing something.”

…Damn it, you thought, even as a blushing smile grew across your face. Dean Winchester was too smooth for his own good.

But you also saw the sincerity in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be warmed by his words, down to your toes.

“There she is. All right,” he said with a grin. He nodded in satisfaction and gathered you into his arms. “My soft girl again.”

Your smile deepened, but you still pinched his side, making him flinch and laugh. You held him back and looked up at his handsome face. He still looked amused and his eyes were warm. You leaned up on your toes for a kiss that lingered on wind-chilled lips.

“I love you,” you whispered back, against his lips.

His smile against yours was your answer.

Two hours and two salmon rolls later, Dean drove you home. You had taken an Uber to the Roadhouse, which reminded him that he needed to make another trip to Singer Salvage.

He’d been scoping out potential cars to fix up for you. He’d even recruited Bobby’s help to find something good, something with strong bones. Dean could do the rest.

Even after he watched you get inside your house safely, he let out a subtle breath before he peeled away. He wished you were coming home with him tonight. More often, he was feeling your absence when you weren’t in his bed. But it also reassured him, that he knew you were safe with him and Sam at their apartment.

He later found his brother eating leftover chicken parmesan at the kitchen counter.

“Why’re you eating standing up?” Dean asked, tossing his keys onto the counter. He reached into the fridge for a beer. “You look like Big Bird if he wore a suit.”

Sam sent him a dry look. “I don’t know. Force of habit.”

He barely had time in his day for an uninterrupted coffee, let alone a meal. When Dean wasn’t here, Sam fell back onto his work habits. He took his plate and actually went to the table.

“You eat already?” he asked. Dean nodded and said he’d eaten with you.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed and sank down heavily onto the chair opposite his brother. He rubbed at his forehead.

“She’s okay, considering,” he replied. But he knew you hadn’t told him the whole story about how your day went at work. Whether you were trying to spare him, or protect him, or yourself, it still drove him up the wall. Knowing Nick Savage was still your boss, and he was there, an ever-present threat just a few floors above you in that building…

It made Dean’s skin crawl. It had his teeth grinding and coiled his spine tight with repressed rage. And worry.

He met his brother’s eyes. Sam had been watching him, hiding his wariness.

“What can we do about him?” Dean asked. He knew he didn’t have to explain who he was talking about.

Sam started to shake his head, but Dean wouldn’t have it.

“I mean it, Sam. Because I almost…” His hand and forearm clenched and unclenched on the table. He could almost feel the way his arm had pressed into Nick’s throat, slowly but surely crushing his trachea. Just a couple of minutes more, and Dean could’ve done it. In that moment, he saw it so clearly.

It was the first time he’d ever wanted to take a man’s life.

“I know,” Sam said. His brows furrowed in sympathy. “But you did the right thing.”

Dean’s lips pursed as his hand once again fisted on the table.

“If I hadn’t been there,” he said. “If I had been just a few minutes off…”

These were the what ifs that kept plaguing his mind, ever since the party. Sometimes, it added to the catalogue of waking nightmares that wouldn’t let him sleep.

“And now she’s gotta go back there, every day, where that animal is just waiting for an opportunity,” Dean gritted out. Then his fist dropped more heavily onto the table, rattling Sam’s silverware.

Sam held the table steady and looked at his brother, calm but firm.

“You can’t touch Savage,” he said. “Don’t even go near him. Whatever you do, he’ll use it against you, and potentially against her. Unfortunately, she’s got the best plan right now.”

Dean looked up at him with angry eyes.

“Wait him out,” Sam said, “until he makes a mistake he can’t easily cover up. In the meantime, she’ll find a new job and get the hell out of there.”

Dean forced a sharp breath through his nose. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fist more calmly on the table.

“I don’t have to like it,” he said.

Sam nodded in agreement. “No, you don’t.”

The fire was wild. It was eating up the four-story apartment building in a full blaze. The Truck 79 team was geared up outside of it, with Chief Singer already calling out instructions along with Dean.

Benny and the Rescue Squad were already on the roof, rappelling down to get the ones trapped on the top floors out through the windows. Dean was on the ground. He had Gordon, Jack, and a few others behind him. Meg and Chuck were on standby, waiting for the firefighters to pull out any residents still trapped inside.

Dean had to wonder if he was walking into another arson, like the Richardson fire. Against his will, he thought of that day. He thought about everything his father had told him about that arson, about Azazel and his mom’s death. He thought about you, working for a man who was potentially tied to Azazel.

“Winchester,” Gordon tapped him on the arm. “You good?”

Dean glanced over at him, then nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s rock and roll.”

When Dean was at work, he couldn’t let the outside world into his mind. All he could let himself focus on was the scene ahead after he put his mask on.

Inside the first floor of the building was like entering a living furnace. It was hot as shit, and layers of smoke choked the room. The mask was the only reason Dean could see, let alone breathe.

He turned to Jack. “All right, take it room by room. Stay close. We don’t got a lot of time.”

Jack nodded his agreement, and Dean split his team. A few of the others took the first floor on his orders. Dean, Gordon, and Jack would take the old stairs to clear the second floor.

Fuck. This whole place is just wood and plaster, Dean thought, shaking his head. These old buildings were all the same. Easy to build, easy to knock down. And usually they weren’t up to code, often thanks to cheap property owners.

He got apartment 201 open with his Halligan. The shoebox studio was smokey as all hell, but it was clear of any tenants. Gordon moved on ahead quickly, but Dean’s brows furrowed as he listened to the unsteady creaking of the floorboards. He moved more carefully forward.

Until he felt the warmth under his boots, saw the orange glow underneath a thin patch of flooring.

“Walker, wait!” Dean called, at the same time he held Jack back.

He reached out, just as the wood floor splintered and broke underneath Gordon. His eyes flashed wide just before he fell.

Dean dove for him. His Halligan clattered away, but he managed to grab onto the man’s sleeve before he disappeared. Gordon grabbed onto Dean’s arm and nearly pulled him down too. Luckily, he managed to grab onto the splintered edge with his other glove-covered hand. He gritted his teeth at the strain of the other man hanging off his shoulder, but he didn’t dare let go.

Jack grabbed Dean’s belt to keep him from sliding further down. It let him grab onto Gordon with both hands. The men panted for breath; Dean had a better vantage point to see that the middle of the ground floor below was engulfed in flames. The glow of it flared in the corner of Gordon’s eyes. He could feel the heat making both of them sweat.

The wood flooring under Dean creaked ominously, but before anyone could move, it broke further. He almost lost his grip on Gordon as his torso hung over the edge. He managed to get a new stronghold under the other man’s arm, and Jack did his best to keep Dean from falling by pinning his legs down. Jack was strong, but he was still a smaller man than Dean.

“Jack, call for backup!” Dean gritted out. Jack nodded behind him and radioed in for help.

Gordon stared up at Dean with wide, but resigned eyes. “The floor’s gonna cave before you can pull me up.”

Dean stared down at him, even as lines of sweat poured down his forehead from within his mask. They both knew that if that happened, Dean would be pulled along for the ride down, maybe even Jack too. Dean gave a sharp shake of his head.

“Just hold on. Backup’s comin’,” he said. All his strength was going into keeping a firm grip on the man’s arm and jacket. He called to Jack over his shoulder. “Can you get next to me and grab him?”

To his credit, Jack tried. But the jagged edges of the floor around Dean were unsteady, creaking and groaning under Jack’s added weight, a bit too much.

“Stop, stop!” Dean shouted, halting Jack’s movements.

Gordon licked his dry lips and blinked sweat out of his eyes. “This might be the part where you let go, Winchester.”

Dean took exactly a beat to process his shock. Then he glared down at the man.

“Shut the hell up, Walker. You don’t let go, you hear me?” he barked. “Jack, grab the back of my jacket and my belt.”

Jack followed the order, and a combination of him pulling Dean up and Dean straining every muscle he had to heft up Gordon slowly, painfully, brought them back up and over the ledge.

Jack had an easier time then of helping Dean pull Gordon the rest of the way out of the hole.

And the rest of their Truck crew came to help them onto their feet, before the fire consumed the rest of the second floor.

Once Dean was out of the building, he took off his mask and breathed in cooler air on his face. He made a beeline for the fire truck. In the back was a cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water to dump over his overheated head and face while he caught his breath. Gordon and Jack were following suit, and the men stared and one another. All of their faces said the same thing.

We made it. We’re alive. That was almost fucked.

Gordon’s gaze met Dean’s, sobering further. For a moment, he looked like he was searching for words.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked eventually.

Dean nodded, rotating his right arm. He was going to feel that bitch tomorrow.

“Fine,” he said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Gordon nodded. Another hesitation, followed by an honest gaze. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Dean’s face broke into a smile, wry but also genuine. “Yeah, thank me by layin’ off the burgers.”

He swatted the other man’s stomach and went for three more waters. He handed two of them to Jack and Gordon. One was smiling, while the other just smirked and shook his head.

“You callin’ me hefty?” Gordon remarked. “I’m averaging 6% body fat, man.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right. What’re you, the Rock? That’s why you almost sunk.”

He dropped his fist into the air and made an exploding sound. Jack was wide-eyed, but Gordon just chuckled. They started making their way to the front of the truck to start packing up their gear. The Truck and Rescue teams had done what they could, and all the residents that made it out of the building were being seen to by the paramedics.

“I’d rather be weighed down by muscle than all them Little Debbie’s you’ve been putting away at the station,” Gordon shot back. “Cheap cake is not your friend.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s just uncalled for.”

“Dean,” Chief Singer called, beckoning him over with a hand. His free hand wore a glove as he held something steaming.

Dean nodded at his men and joined Bobby outside his department-issued SUV. Dean’s gaze focused on the bottle-shaped object in Bobby’s hand. There was a small digital box attached to the front, with wires wrapped around. The entire device was now blackened, but the smell of chemicals was unmistakable.

“Molotov cocktail?” Dean quipped, but his face was as grave as Bobby’s. The Chief nodded.

“Lafitte pulled this out of the fourth floor,” he said. “Looks like the same kind of incendiary device Arson found at the Richardson fire.”

That night, you made dinner for Dean at your house. He was forced to explain what happened at the apartment building, and why he had his arm pinned to his side like a chicken wing. You made him sit down and relax, all while you tried to hide your worry and relief that he was mostly all right.

Later in the living room, you sat on your knees beside him on the couch and lifted the bag of ice from his shoulder. You peered at it in concern, gently rubbing your hand over the joint and surrounding muscle. Dean sighed through his nose as your gentle touch was both soothing and painful.

“Are you sure you should do another shift tomorrow?” you asked, replacing the ice. He shot you a glance.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Right,” you said dryly. “That’s why you can barely move this arm.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made his point by raising his right arm, slowly, but easily back down.

“I’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Just need a good night’s sleep.”

“Dean, are you sure? You seem to be in a lot of pain,” you asked.

He tried to hold in his annoyance. “I think I’d know if I’m fine.”

“You forget, I know all too well what downplaying looks like,” you countered, giving him a chiding look. Dean didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t need you to mother him.

“This is my job, all right,” he said.

You gave him a steady look. Your hand moved up his shoulder to rest along the back of his neck. Your fingers slipped into his hair.

“I know that. But I’m allowed to worry,” you said. Your brows furrowed. “Please don’t get upset at me for that.”

Dean let out a breath. He relaxed against the couch and met your gaze. He knew he had no right to ask you not to worry about him.

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

To you, he still seemed a bit annoyed. You nodded and continued to gently sift your fingers through his hair. You had to wonder if his resentment was coming from a different place.

“Are you still mad at me for going back to work?” you tested.

Dean breathed out deeper this time, but he didn’t answer.

Bingo, you thought with a frown.

“Dean—”

“All I want is for you to be safe,” he said. His voice was harder as his face tightened up. His hand gestured in frustration. “This whole thing…that fucking douchebag…it’s killing me. Fucking killing me. And you know that.”

Your eyes softened, and you unconsciously bit your lip.

“Ditto,” you tried to joke. It landed flat, because your boyfriend was deadly serious.

He looked away from you with pursed lips and a frustrated shake of his head. You sidled closer to him and tried to soothe, with a hand on his chest.

“Look, I’m trying to find a new job, but it takes time,” you said.

“You could quit. You could quit right now,” Dean replied hotly.

You sighed; you couldn’t believe you had to remind him about this. “I can’t, Dean. I have bills to pay, just like you do. You think I like this situation any more than you? I’m the one who’s had to deal with this for months!”

“I know that!” Dean snapped back. “Or should I say, now I do.”

He pulled away from your touch and pushed off the couch, onto his feet. You looked up with your mouth agape as he left the room. You got up and followed after him.

“You’re leaving?” you asked in shock. You watched him grab his keys and his wallet from the kitchen counter.

“I’ve got a long shift tomorrow and I gotta sleep,” Dean said, rather gruffly.

You followed him all the way to the door, where you grabbed onto his wrist. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“Dean, please,” you implored. “Don’t go like this.”

After a beat, he seemed to soften. Just enough to lean over and press a brief kiss to the side of your head.

“I gotta go.”

He left you in the doorway with tears swimming in your eyes, and he pretended not to notice them.

When Dean woke up the next morning, his shoulder still ached, and he still felt guilty. He rubbed the offending join and tried to slowly roll the stiffness out of his arm. Fuck.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes next. They blearily took in the digital numbers on his alarm clock: 5:00 a.m.

He slid out of bed and got ready for work. He definitely wanted to check in with Arson about the device that likely started that fire, and he knew his dad would need to be brought in on it. It would give Dean a reason to press John for an update on his investigation.

By 6:00, he was finishing his coffee, about ready to head over to the station. He could hear the pipes running, meaning Sam was in the shower.

Dean was startled only slightly by his phone vibrating in his pocket. His brows furrowed, but he fished it out and found your name crossing the screen, along with a smiling picture of you. He sighed.

Part of him hesitated. If you were calling just to try and convince him to call out of work, he was going to get worked up again. And he’d rather not have anything disturb his first cup of coffee of the day.

Still, he answered. “Hey.”

“Dean, did you come into the house last night?” you asked.

He didn’t like the wary, almost scared tone of your voice.

“No.” His brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Look at the text I just sent you.”

He put you on speaker so he could check his messages. Sure enough, he found a picture from you. It was of a glass bottle-shaped object on your nightstand. There was a black box attached, but its digital screen was blank. Dean’s breath caught in his lungs as his eyes widened. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Dean, what is this thing?” you asked. Your voice was shakier, more worried. “It looks like a bomb. And it smells awful, like chemicals.”

“Don’t touch it,” he said quickly. “Get out of the house…better yet, wait for me at your neighbor’s place. I’m coming over right now.”

And I’m calling Dad.

Dean tried his best to calm you while the police and the Arson Department swept your entire house for devices, fingerprints, and any other evidence on who broke in.

You had a hand over your mouth by the front door as you watched them turn over cushions, move tables and shelves, ruck through cabinets. Your entire life turned inside out.

Dean’s hand rubbed up and down your back. You eventually had to look away and sigh. You pressed closer to his side, and he wrapped his good arm around your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said quietly, and kissed the top of your head. Inside, he was furious. Mostly at himself.

If anything had happened to you last night, after he left…he would’ve never forgiven himself.

So it was a welcome distraction when John and Cas’s police car finally pulled into the driveway. Dean led you outside, away from the chaos happening in your house.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, with a nod at Cas. Both men nodded back.

“Son,” John greeted, His brown eyes turned to you next. He offered you a hand. “Good to finally meet you, despite the circumstances.”

You blinked up at him and curled a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a bit nervously.

“Oh, it’s…it’s great to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” you said, sticking out your hand and shaking his.

A smile flickered across Dean’s lips. He realized then that this was the first time you were meeting his father. You were adorably nervous.

A reserved smile tugged at his father’s lips as well.

“John’s just fine.”

You smiled back, with a bit of a blush tinging your cheeks.

“Now, can you tell me what happened here?” John asked you, not unkindly.

Dean’s good humor faded away as he explained about the device left on your nightstand. He filled them in about the fire he’d responded to yesterday as well.

“What the hell is happening, Dad?” he demanded to know.

John let out a breath and nodded, swiping a hand through his dark hair.

“It’s another one of Azazel’s signatures,” he said, lowering his voice so only the four of them could hear. “It’s a message.”

“To who?” Dean asked.

“To me,” John said. “Warning me to back off the case…there’ve been other threats. I’ve finally got a police detail on Sam, and I just got approval for you. I’ll add her to the list.”

John glanced at you. Your eyes widened in confusion as you tried to hold in your fear.

“Who the hell is Azazel?” You turned to Dean. “Is this…does this have something to do with your mom’s killer?”

John’s brows shot up at his son. “You told her?”

“You’re over here talking about him too,” Dean retorted. He gathered you closer and met his father with steely eyes, to mask how his gut was churning with worry.

“You need to get this guy,” Dean said, almost through gritted teeth. “Get him now.”

John agreed with a nod.

Once again, you covered a trembling hand over your mouth. Dean squeezed your side a bit to earn your attention.

“I want you to come stay with me,” he said. His tone was boding no argument, not that you would. You nodded and fairly melted against him. Your head rested against his chest.

“Dean, this is insane,” you whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know. I’m sorry…I’m so fucking sorry about this.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s not your fault.”

Dean met your gaze, but he couldn’t quite believe you. He was the one who kept pushing his dad for answers, to let him in on this. This was his family’s bullshit, not yours. You didn’t deserve to get dragged into it too.

The spell between you two was broken by Cas, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“We do need to ask you some questions,” he said. “About Nick Savage.”

You frowned. You peeled yourself away from Dean enough to face the detectives.

“What does he have to do with this?” you asked.

“His company is linked to a money laundering scheme, which ultimately leads back to Azazel,” Cas explained. “But we’re having trouble getting through his wall of lawyers.”

You scoffed. “Not surprising.”

However, it did worry you that Nick was possibly doing business with a criminal. Not that that should surprise you either.

“What do you want to know?” you asked.

“Well, first of all, would you be willing to file a police report,” Cas said, more gently, “regarding your assault at his home.”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth fell open slightly before you looked over at Dean. His face tightened, along with his hand on the curve of your waist.

“Why do you need me to do that?” you asked Cas.

“It’ll give us the leverage we need to dig deeper into his business,” John said. “Knock loose any shady dealings. We could get him to cough up what he knows about Azazel.”

You wanted to help, but at the same time, you were reluctant to mire yourself deeper in this. Dean saw your reservations, and he could guess why.

“Won’t that just paint a bigger target on her back?” he asked.

“We’re gonna protect her,” John promised. His eyes went from Dean, back to you. “But we need your help. This could be the break we need to get to Azazel. To find out who this bastard is.”

John could see your indecision. “All you need to do is fill out the report. Maybe get up in court to testify.”

You tightened up at that. “Testify?”

“If it gets that far,” John nodded.

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head. “That man can make my life hell without a serial killer’s help.”

You looked to Dean for support.

In the beginning, he had all but begged you to do what his father and Cas were asking. But now, this was just too much. He pressed you more securely to his side.

“Dean?” his father prodded.

“You heard her,” Dean said. “It’s her choice.”

You sighed and held onto the back of his shirt gratefully. The detectives shared a look, with John’s brows furrowing. He regarded you with a gruff, slightly strained look.

“Listen, don’t you want Savage in a cold hard cell?” he asked. “You could put him there.”

“Dad, she said no. Lay off,” Dean’s tone sharpened. Unfortunately, he knew how stubborn the man could be.

“Dean, I’m trying to nail this guy, but I’m missing pieces,” John said. “Right now, I can’t do it without her.”

“Well, figure it out,” Dean snapped.

John frowned in near disbelief. "Excuse me?"

“Look, I know where your priorities are, but mine is making sure she’s safe," said Dean. "If you can’t handle that, then we’ve got a problem!”

The strength of his retort took everyone by surprise, but no one more so than John. He hid it well behind a deepening frown.

He glanced between you and his son. You were looking up at Dean with unshed tears in your red-rimmed eyes, grateful, and holding on tight to his shirt. He still held you to him. His entire frame was tight and angry.

And John knew that he would react the same way, if he were Dean. He also knew then that he was pushing too hard.

So he sighed, and pulled out a card from his wallet. He handed it to you.

“I’m sure you’ve got Cas’s number already, but here’s mine,” said John. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I’m sorry for invading,” you told Sam that night. He was helping you and Dean bring in your suitcases. You were pretty much moving into their apartment, indefinitely.

“You’re not,” Sam said, shaking his head. “We’re happy to have you here.”

You gave him a tired, thankful smile. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

“We’ll get to have an in-house chef,” Dean chimed in, earning more amused look from you.

“Need I remind you that I’m not an actual chef?” you said. You set down your smaller suitcase, full of shoes and toiletries, to grasp the front of his shirt. You leaned up on your toes and met him with a kiss. It was sweet, but it was also tender. His arms came around your lower back and pulled you flush against him.

He parted from you gently, afterwards pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a brief sigh through his nose.

“I’m sorry, about how I left last night,” he said.

You shook your head, despite the tears that wanted to burn in your eyes. You wanted to tell him, It’s fine. I’m fine.

But you couldn’t lie to him.

“You came back when I needed you,” you said instead. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his hand resting along the back of your neck. It was familiar, and soothing.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to move in,” he admitted. You chuckled wryly.

“Really,” he said. “…I was thinking of asking you. But not ‘til, you know, down the line.”

You softened at that. You raised up on your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you circled your arms around his neck and hugged him close. He held you back just as tightly.

“Thank you for always being there for me,” you said. He couldn’t see your smile, but somehow, he knew it was there. But he could also hear you sniffle, and feel your body tremble with tears.

“You’re safe here,” Dean said softer into your ear. “Nothing’s getting to you, all right?”

You nodded, pressing your face into his neck. He continued to say and do whatever he felt he had to in order to reassure you that night, and make you feel safe.

All the while, he was trying to reassure himself.

AN: *burrr* That tension, huh? What did you think of her finally finding out about Jo's lingering feelings, plus a bit of Dean's resentment, him and Gordon coming to an understanding, and the reader meeting John for the first time! 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Good news though. Next time, we'll take a huge break from all this drama and have a nice fluffy Christmas special. (Plus a healthy dose of spice. ❤️‍🔥)

Next Time:

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Keep Reading: PART 15

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 @katherineann814 @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

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luna-writes-stuff · 1 year

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The types my favourite Supernatural characters would fall for:

Includes Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Castiel, Gabriel, Lucifer, Jack Kline, Crowley, and Rowena Macleod

————————————————————————

Sam Winchester:

Surprisingly, I don’t think Sam would go for a nerd, or a bamf. No, I think he loves the gentle people most. Those who - regardless of whether or not they know about monsters - see the good in everything. Those who share a positive mindset and manage to smile through every situation. Sam has been through hell and back, and he needs that place of solitude more than he cares to admit. Someone he can run to who he knows will make him feel better. Comforting arms, gentle words, reassuring kisses: he craves those things more than anything. And he will damn well do anything he can to keep you safe from all those things he fights against. God forbid you are the one to be faced with those evils. His face always seems to light up upon seeing you. He has this habit of walking to you and wrapping his arms around you, lifting you off the ground slightly. But when he is exhausted, or something goes wrong, he will saunter, place an arm around your waist and pull you in for a side hug, his face buried in your hair, simply grateful to be back home. With you. He needs those things and we all know it.

——

Dean Winchester:

Now, Dean is the exact person to fall head over heels for nerds. People who can kick ass? Sure. But someone who knows a lot of things about a lot of different subjects? Very attractive. We all know Dean is somewhat of a nerd himself - we’ve seen it on multiple occasions - but he buries it deep down. But once you start rambling about a book series you love, or a game you’re really into, 90% chance he’ll give it a go behind your back. When you find out, he always plays the “so I can talk along” card, but let’s be honest: he’s genuinely curious. It sounds so stupid and nerdy, he wants to know what it is all about. Opposite of him, you love books. Unfortunately, he used to take advantage of this. He’d let you do all the reading while he sits in the chair beside you. Doing nothing. But he’s learned to love research with you. Somehow, it is very calming to him. He tends to let go of his emotions easier when it’s the two of you nose deep in books. And that’s something so delicate to you, because you know how Dean can be during these times. It is a sign he trusts you a lot.

——

Charlie Bradbury:

Golden retriever girlfriend golden retriever girlfriend golden retriever girlfriend golden retr-. She has a lot of nerdy hobbies, if you will. But if you are willing to participate in them, she’ll do a double take. In her eyes, you had always been attractive, but she is awkward, so she pushed those feelings down. But now you are actually interested in playing a game of DnD with her? Maybe she is over analysing things, and you are just being polite. But one event turns into two, which turns into three, which turns into four. And when she announced your fifth shared event with Dean, he’s had enough. He is the one to actually encourage Charlie to ask you out. In his words “grow a pair and get it over with”. Very inspiring. So, that day, she starts stumbling over her words. Anxiety overload. And that’s when you interrupt her and ask her out for dinner. A dinner as in a dinner date. And after that, everything just happens on its own. You don’t care what Charlie comes up with, as long as she doesn’t have to do it alone. And for her to have someone to share her interests with, is all she could really ask for. It makes her so happy, it becomes difficult to contain. All in a good manner, of course.

——

Castiel:

You guys know Folklore/Evermore (you should)? Cas would definitely be attracted to someone with those vibes. Someone calm and gentle, very laid back, bookwise, and imaginative. Perhaps an author, or a musical s/o. Someone who outs expressions and emotions through art. The look of focus and dedication on your face is simply so entrancing. Oftentimes, he’ll simply sit beside you and stare at you while you work. At first, it was very distracting and made you grow all flustered, but you got used to the feeling. Now, instead of intruding, it is soothing. He’d met you through Sam and Dean, who you knew in your youth. They kept in touch. And then one day he shows up in the middle of your bedroom, claiming he would bring you somewhere safe. And just like that, you had found yourself in the bunker. The boys had been hunting a pack of werewolves with a grudge against the Winchesters. And they had found out about you. As the pair was out, you and Cas got to know each other fairly well, and things just took off from there. He claims your works are some of the best his father ever created, and that he can spend hours looking at them, or listening to them. And he will. He actually keeps an entire journal with ideas he finds throughout his life and offers it to you, hoping to help you somehow. It’s endearing.

——

Gabriel:

Gabriel has seen some stuff, okay. He has heard and seen stories happen throughout many lifetimes. And he’s always been a sucker for a good story. If you are an author or bookworm, he’d grow enthusiastic at the thought. Sure, he loves looks, but he has a soft spot in his heart to those who love stories as much as he does. That entire Casanova attitude drops when he’s around you. He’s gentle, careful, almost as if you are the most precious cargo in the world. You have to share your works with him, would you have them. He wants to know everything he can, and everything you are willing to share with him. Read any good books? Tell him all about it. In detail. Rant about it, he doesn’t care. Late nights are spent on either the couch or on the bed. His head is in your lap as you drown yourself in a good book, reading aloud to him as he hums occasionally, letting you know he is still reading. And in exchange, he’ll tell you the things he has seen (though, only the good things). His entire personality seems to change around you, and is something he is so grateful for.

——

Lucifer:

Lucifer isn’t usually the type to fall in love quickly. But it’s all about playful banter with him. You dare argue back to him? You’re lucky you’re cute. Your initial meeting was after the whole Amara debacle, and - suffice to say - you were pissed when you saw him. You full-out shouted in his face, pointing accusing fingers and yelling words you probably shouldn’t. And he just smiled. He’d probably say something along the lines of “you’re adorable when you yell”. Now, that pisses you off even more. It takes some before you finally have a good conversation with him. And that’s when you realise, he might not even be that bad of a guy. If anything, you are the one who argues back and forth with him because you know he loves it. It’s that playful and loving mocking, you know? He lives for it and you know it. That satisfied smirk? Those joyful eyes? That’s all admiration, darling. He is taken with you from your first shouting match at him. “Asshole” “Minx” “Mister ‘I like to make others feel bad because it makes me feel good’” “Who am I? ‘I like to pile up all my emotions and stuff them down somewhere until I explode’” “You insufferable prick” “Your insufferable prick ;)”

——

Jack Kline:

Jack loves a person who lives more in the present. He worries a lot. Like, an unnecessary amount. There’s a lot of things swirling in his mind constantly. He needs a significant other who will take him on walks in nature. Someone to take him shopping just for the fun of it. Spontaneous dinner dates, taking the car to a random destination, changing the rooms just because they can. Someone who is spontaneous enough to drag him with them constantly. He needs the distractions, whether he likes to admit it or not. But he goes with you willingly. Regardless of what you say or offer; his answer always seems to be ‘yes’. He has fallen for you the moment he set eyes on you. He didn’t even know what that feeling was at first. It led to a very uncomfortable conversation with Dean. He said things he probably shouldn’t have said to Jack. He feels inexplicably happy around you, as if all worries and care simply disintegrate in your presence. It’s so relaxing to him, he doesn’t find himself wanting to part with you anytime soon. He is smitten with you and everyone can see it.

——

Crowley:

Crowley appreciates honesty more than he lets on. Does he lie? Yes. Does he do it on a daily basis? Yes. Would he lie to you? Only if he had to to protect you from something. But he needs a break from that constant nagging from demons, or the calling of the Winchesters. He needs a place to rant and sigh. Someone who he could explain all his irritations towards. But he wants that person to actually form a conversation with that person. Not just be heard, but also receive caring words. Honest words for when he needs it most. But, besides those moments, he needs someone with somewhat of an intimidating atmosphere around them. This already comes naturally when seeing Crowley, but you need that neutral face, set in stone, safe for when it’s just the two of you. Someone who can help him with difficult decisions or orders. But also someone compassionate enough to slow him down at times. Ironically, the Winchesters really like you. Crowley hates it.

——

Rowena Macleod:

Rowena is a lady and she loves to be reminded of it: take her out on dates, buy her flowers, engulf her in affection and offer her compliments on the daily. She returns the gestures twice as much. I mean, she puts spells on you just to make sure you are okay. That spell she uses for herself so she cannot die easily? She will 10/10 do that on you too. Once she finds someone to settle for, someone she truly loves, she’ll do anything for that person. Your opinion and well-being comes first, always. It’s almost as poetic as swans; she can and will dedicate her life to you. The Winchesters didn’t even know about you until Lucifer got out to look for his son. Rowena hid at your place after she was burned. You were her one safe place and she did not hesitate to run to you. She is the person to put her life on the line if it meant getting you to safety. Hell, even Crowley was in it for as long as he could. And he did a great job, because - when he was still alive - the Winchesters never found out about you. Rowena is the type to be all domestic with someone: A home, a cat, cooking in kitchens - though she does love fancy restaurants. At first you wouldn’t really believe it, but she would love to get settled down somewhere. As long as it means she gets to keep her craft there as well.

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kaleldobrev · 10 months

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Y/N: Would you like your pizza cut into six or eight slices, Jack?

Jack: Oh just six, I don’t think I could eat eight.

#jack kline #jack x you #Jack x reader #incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes SPN #incorrect quotes supernatural #spn incorrect quotes #supernatural incorrect quotes #Jack Kline x you #Jack Kline x reader #supernatural #SPN #SPN imagine #supernatural imagine #incorrect SPN quotes #incorrect supernatural quotes

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ya9amicide · 7 months

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♡ supernatural masterlist ♡

pov: your camera roll if you were dating jack kline.

#𐙚 sfw !#supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural aesthetic #spn fanfiction #spn fic #spn #spn aesthetic #jack kline #jack kline aesthetic #jack kline x reader #jack kline x you #jack kline x y/n #camera roll fic #camera roll fanfiction #jack kline fluff #jack kline fanfiction #jack kline fic

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kazuiislazy · 9 months

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MY SILLY MASTERLIST!! 🥳

Basically a masterlist of stuff i write except i haven't really written much (haha, i'm crying, i'm so busy rn)

Supernatural "Don't Leave." [Dean Winchester x reader]

"You're Perfect To Me." [Jack Kline x reader]

"Oblivious or Obvious?" [Castiel x reader]

some spn characters as college/highschool students [no pairing, just headcanons in general]

"Entranced." [Castiel x reader]

"Stop Pulling Away." [Sam Winchester x reader]

"No One Deserves That." [Dean Winchester x reader]

"Don't Stop." [Sam Winchester x reader]

"Take My Hand." [Dean Winchester x reader]

"All For You." [Michael x reader]

"Kill For You." [Michael x reader]

"You Drew Stars Around My Scars.." [Dean Winchester x reader]

LOTR/Lord of the Rings

"There's No Need To Apologise." [Aragorn x reader]

"The Plan." [Aragorn x reader]

"What's There To Like?" [Aragorn x reader]

Shadow & Bone

"You Should Be Scared Of Me." [The Darkling x reader]

"Did You Just-" [Kaz Brekker x reader] "Promise Me?" [Kaz Brekker x reader]

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inthemytdl · 8 months

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Somewhere Only We Know

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

The whirl of wind trumped the gentle voice of the boy beside you. He wore a letterman jacket. A yellow hue reflected off its stripes from the street light next to the bus stop.

“What?”

“Oh, sorry.” He raised a jazz hand. “I’m Jack. I’ve noticed people here like to claim benches. Is it okay if we share?”

You shrugged then scooched over. Your phone lit up with the time as you moved. The bus would arrive soon. After that was one long trip to nowhere. You’d figure it out on the way there. That was part of the adventure.

“Where are you going?” Jack’s cheerful voice startled you.

You rubbed cold arms. “Nowhere.”

“Right. You don’t know me.” He faced you, lowered his head. “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

“Didn’t think so.” You studied him for a lingering moment. He looked too young to be some psycho killer but was lanky enough you could beat him in a fight if he was. “Where are you going?”

“I don't know.” He tilted his head toward the sky. “Wherever the bus takes me?”

“Nebraska.”

“There. I’m going there.” Jack smiled, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him Nebraska was just… Nebraska. “Are you cold? Here. Have my jacket.”

“What? No.” You swatted his hand away.

“It’s fine,” Jack said. “I don’t get cold.” He placed his jacket on your shoulders then returned to his dreamy state, practically drooling.

You were staring at him now, but he didn’t seem to mind. The gap between his teeth broke through his smile; his bright eyes lit up in the street light, the yellow hue reflecting off his irises now. He had this innocent look, like all the pain and despair of the world couldn’t hurt him. Not now, at least. Right now, all that mattered was Nebraska.

“I’m running away,” you blurted. “Sort’ve.”

Jack’s smile broke. “Why would you do that?”

“Well, it’s not running, really. I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’m just going on an… adventure.”

“I like adventures.” His smile was back. That gap in between his teeth.

The bus parked in front of you. It was empty, aside from a few scattered passengers. The doors opened. The driver made eye contact.

“Do you want to go on an adventure with me, Jack?” you asked.

He pressed a thumb on the dip of his chin. His hair blew into his face. “I’m not sure,” he said.

A pin dropped in your stomach. You spent five minutes talking and jumped straight to fifth base: asking him to travel with you. You didn’t even know him, really. He could’ve been a serial killer, a really nice one. And if he wasn’t, he must’ve thought you were weird now.

Jack inhaled a swift breath and released it with a sigh. “Are you a serial killer?” he asked.

“What?” you laughed. “No, of course not. I’m Y/n.”

“Then yes. I would like to go on an adventure with you, Y/n.” He pushed up from the bench and that lulling smile on his face met yours.

A warm heat encompassed you as you stepped onto the bus. Jack took the cushioned seat next to the window and looked out at the night sky. You took the aisle seat.

The bus shook as the engine rumbled to life. You were going to Nebraska. The land of farms, corn, prairies, and the occasional city. You could picture it now—the petrichor smell of wet grain, the bright lights illuminating cities—and while you weren’t sure if you’d stay, you were ready for your next adventure. And happy it wouldn’t be alone.

Jack traced a smiley onto the condensated window glass before relaxing into his seat. "I've never been on a bus before," he said.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

Trees flew by as the bus began to move and you became more comfortable with Jack. You had only just met him but traveling together felt right. And you weren’t sure what he was leaving behind, but were glad to have him by your side.

You took Jack’s hand in yours, startling him a bit, and said, “Next stop, Nebraska.”

#jack kline #jack kline blurbs #jack kline x reader #jack kline fics #jack kline x yn #supernatural fics #jack kline oneshot #spn fics #jack winchester #jack kline imagine #supernatural fanfiction

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 1 year

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birth plan

masterlist

summary: you’re pregnant with castiel’s baby… or is it babies?

pairing: castiel x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 1.5k

warnings: pregnancy, language, medical inaccuracies i think (i’ve never been pregnant so i don’t think i describe the feeling well)

timeline: this is set in no particular season/episode but there are spoilers for the later seasons (certain characters).

author’s note: i’m basing this off a dream i had - before said dream i never even thought of cas this way at all (gotta love that subconscious, huh?) anyway, i couldn’t stop thinking of this dream so here’s a cas fic :)

when you found out you were pregnant with castiel’s baby you freaked out. not the expected ‘holy fuck there’s a living thing growing inside me’ but more like ‘holy fuck i’m gonna die in a few months cause there’s a tiny angel in my uterus’.

you cried while telling castiel, you were terrified. he assured you he wouldn’t let you die, he promised you would be okay and that the two of you could raise the baby together. if you did live, you had no clue how to raise a kid, or if you even wanted to. you had been raised a hunter and you hated it. when you were six your biggest fear was tornadoes but by the time you were seven your biggest fear was being torn apart by one of the monsters you had learned to fight.

castiel was so happy about the baby, so excited. he knew you would be a fantastic mother and he couldn’t wait to have a baby with you. he knew the baby would be loved unconditionally by so many people, too; you, him, dean, sam, jack, mary, and eileen - all of whom lived in the bunker.

as the months went by the pains grew almost unbearable. you took time away from hunting and had to stay in the bunker. castiel always made sure someone would be in the bunker with you (preferably not alone with jack, who tended to ask questions that scared you - “what if the baby is like me and you have to push a full sized person out” for example). most days cas would stay right next to you but on the rare occasion he needed to be on a hunt, you’d be alone with either eileen, mary, or one of the brothers (rowena visited a couple times, but that was more for trying to find some magical tylenol for the immense pain). you didn’t mind castiel going on hunts, in fact you wished he’d go on more so you wouldn’t feel like you were holding him back.

one morning you woke up and the pain was horrible - it felt like the baby was stabbing you from the inside. castiel tried healing you, but it was no use. the two of you decided an ultrasound was necessary.

“what?” you practically screamed, your eyes wide with fear.

“there must be some kind of mistake?” castiel knotted his brows and stared at the black and white screen in shock.

“no mistake, three heartbeats,” the doctor smiled slightly, wanting to make you feel better, but it obviously did nothing.

“cas i can’t push three kids out!” you whispered. he was holding your left hand in his and standing beside you, his right arm was draped over your shoulder. “cas- castiel i can’t! i- i’m not strong enough! i won’t!” tears were streaming down your face when you turned away from the screen and to the angel.

“could you give us a minute?” cas asked the doctor, she nodded and left. “honey it’s gonna be alright.”

“three baby angels, cas! three! how- how the fuck am i supposed to push three angels out of me, cas?” you were practically sobbing at this point. “i- i’m gonna die, aren’t i?”

“no! no you won’t! i promise you, i will not let you die,” he pulled you into his chest and rubbed your back lovingly. “i know this must be scary, triplets is- it’s gonna be painful.” he kissed the crown of your head.

“but three babies! i mean if i do, by some miracle, manage to give birth and survive, how are we gonna raise three kids, cas?” you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him as close to you as you could.

“well, we do have four adults and a nephilim excited to help,” he answered, causing you to laugh lightly. it’s true, you had all the support you could need.

cas drove the two of you back to the bunker and you were met with said four adults and nephilim immediately asking where you had been. the five of them were on a hunt and got back while you and cas were at the ob/gyn. you hadn’t left the bunker in months so they had assumed the worst.

you told them the news and they all reacted differently than you and cas. they were so excited, it made you realized they really wanted to help raise the kids. (infact, they had all began thinking of names and had cleaned out the room next to your’s and cas’ for the babies.)

castiel knew that your pregnancy wouldn’t last as long as a normal pregnancy so he wanted to come up with a birth plan. dean purchased new burner phones for each person that were never to be silenced or turned off and the only people who had the numbers were the seven of you. the second you went into labor, someone near you (or you, if you could) would call castiel immediately. if possible they would also notify the others.

another couple months or so went by. you were due any day now - but you had been due any day for over two weeks. you had gotten somewhat used to the pain and rowena had come up with a simple spell with some herbs that you’d mix with your tea every couple hours to help with the pain. garth had moved into the bunker temporarily - he was a trained doula after having to deliver werewolf pups. rowena moved in temporarily too, but that was more for moral support and pain management.

“cas you haven’t left the bunker in over a month! go on this hunt,” you assured him. it was a hunt close by and he was going to take jack with him.

“promise you won’t go into labor til i get back?”

“i won’t let these kiddos leave,” you smile, patting your stomach playfully. he gave you a peck on the lips before leaving with jack.

a couple hours in, you began getting long, sharp pains every few minutes. rowena was the one who recognized the pains as contractions.

“you’re going into labor, we need to get you to the birth room.” she took your your hand gently but you whipped it away.

“no, no i promised cas i’d wait for him,” you shook your head. “the babies are just gonna have to stay put for a whi- ah!” you scrunched your face in pain, holding your stomach.

“okay, we’ll get cas on the phone, we can pray for jack - they’ll be here before you know it,” she tried to reason with you and motioned you to follow her. you shook your head vigorously and didn’t move your feet, absolutely terrified of what was about to happen.

“holy shit,” your eyes widened, cloudy with tears. “my water- i think my water just broke!” you both looked down. “that’s- that’s broken water!”

“exactly hun, you’re going into labor you need to let me help you to the birth room, okay?”

“oh- okay,” you nodded and she helped you to the room. she called out that you were going into labor as she walked you over.

about a month ago the brothers and jack came home to the bunker with a hospital bed from the maternity ward. you didn’t ask how they got it, but you were grateful they did. everyone helped set up the room; towels, blankets, a mini freezer for ice chips, and just about anything you might need while in labor and giving birth.

sam and dean carefully helped you onto the bed. mary called cas and within seconds he and jack were in the room.

“cas!” you smiled, relieved to see him.

“hey, y/n, how are you?” he asked, rushing to your side and tightly holding your hand.

“i’m in pain, cas, i’m about to push three celestial beings out my vagina!” you said dryly.

“right, right, okay it’ll be okay, though,” he kissed your forehead. “you’re gonna be okay. jack’s here and he will keep you alive and well.”

“okay,” you whispered.

“time to start pushing, y/n,” garth announced.

within the hour you had pushed all three babies out. three identical baby boys; with cas’ piercing blue eyes and your winning smile. you were absolutely exhausted, but you were alive. you were holding one baby, cas was holding another, and garth was holding the third.

“so, what’re we naming the little guys?” cas asked, a huge smile on his face and his eyes not moving away from his new baby boy.

“this one’s sam,” you smiled down at the tiny being in your arms. “he’s the biggest.”

“then that makes this little guy dean, he’s a smallest,” cas laughed a little in response. dean would’ve been annoyed at the height joke but he was so honored you were naming a kid after him.

“what about this little guy?” garth asked.

“bobby,” you smiled.

no one went on any hunts for almost two weeks. they all stayed and helped with the babies. baby dean would be named dean jack y/l/n, baby sam would be named samuel charles y/l/n, and baby bobby would be named robert garth y/l/n.

#supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #jack kline #rowena macleod #garth fitzgerald iv #mary winchester #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fluff #castiel fanfiction #castiel x reader #castiel comfort #castiel x pregnant reader #pregnant reader #by mind empty just fictional people #by jean

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literally-noone83 · 10 months

Text

Supernatural Headcanons: Receiving Affection (1/?)

About: female!reader×platonic!everyone, teenage/young adult reader, reader's love language is touch: hugging, hanging off the boys' shoulders, falling asleep on their shoulders and the like :) just wholesome things (with some angst).

Word count: It's a long a one...

Warning: Angst, Shouting, other than that it's just fluffy :)

A/n: This reallt isnt a head cannon tbh. Started with an idea, created an OC then a background and then and then and then — it spiralled into this mess haha.

I meant to go further - provide that conclusion to create a holistic narrative... but it's already really long and atm felt uninspired to keep going with it. So we wait, sorry !

Welp, enjoy!

Let's imagine your love language is touch. The crave and the lingering need to touch, hug, lean on, hold onto someone, some one you felt safe around and loved by was a instinct you've always had.

Surrounding yourself with some of the most emotionally stunted and constipated people — emotionally unavailable car, pie and ACDC loving hunter, his emotionally neglected brother and monotonous 'I don't understand the reason for handholds if you're not lost' angel boyfriend — your touchy feely nature was met half-heartedly.

Given the moment you first met them was amidst a series of tumultuously devastating events — one easy case turned bad, the loss of family was never easy on a adolescent. And for the most part that's all you were to them. Another poor young soul caught up in the cusp of a terrifying world Dean and Sam intended to protect. To save. It never came without consequence — it's just this time in came in the form of a teenager, tear stained and alone.

Dead of night, once the vampires who took your mother and little brother were resolved with a few knife swings and burning bullets — it was the embrace Sam offered that changed things.

You needed it. Solace, comfort. Something to keep you grounded.

The Winchesters would do more than offer a hug. Decisions and shots were called, arguments sure did occure — another mouth to feed, a head to look out for — but in the end life kept moving and this was all you had left; a reason, an opportunity, to help.

A Winchester. You were the rookie who could barely hold a gun. Then you were the amature that fought to fight; snooping for cases, sneaking out for a chance to shoot and to prove you can contribute. Couple years fly by and now you're family.

So many night spent trading stories, on the stupid shit Dean pulled and Sam moments of pubescent embarrassment among the pockets of normal school life, or your gems of memory with your mother you missed and a brother you had teased. The banter was rich on both ends — most prominently with Dean. It was just so easy. A grumpy old man who dished out the rules and stomped around with that voice of his — you couldn't help yourself.

*in Dean's voice* "Its too dangerous, me macho man will take care of it" *normal voice* "y'know I didn't realise you were one grey hair away from being my father..."

He lets out a humorless laugh, rubbing his chin and gesturing to you at Sam. "She thinks shes funny huh? youre real comedian— thats it!"

He chases you down the bunker and you run away. Deans yelling and your laughter ringing behind Sam.

Sam truly was enjoying to have someone on his side — till at times he wasn't so lucky. You and Dean were a little too powerful once you joined arms...

Amidst this new found family, Dean and Sam quickly noticed how much you liked to hug them... almost clingy.

Granted, it wasn't like you smothered everyone who walked into your life — with Dean and Sam it was different. They saved you, welcomed you, took care of you. You trusted them.

It qas noticeable during the early days of your stay. After long hunts when you were left behind, in security of the bunker, those hours felt like days and days felt like years. Crippling fear of losing the only formed tether of family and safety frightened you.

The moment the door clicked open, "Hey, Y/n, we're back," a bag of take out ready and jackets being torn off in lethargic movements of a day's struggle, "got some burgers and those curly fries as remembered and—"

Frantic steps and a leap, Dean was almost knocked down by the force of your hug. Wrapped around his neck, face buried in his collar. "Woah there, Kid." He stumbled and huffed from the suddenness.

"Y/n? you ok?" Sam asked at your long passing moments in embrace. Words of gladness and "Thank god"s poured from your lips, stepping back to look at how they're really here. Alive. Safe. The brothers noted it was probably because of your family — you were dealing and I think they are one of few people who could really understand that.

However, this passing moment became everytime. They'd come home and you'd hug them briefly. Once you were coming with them than waiting patiently, you'd embrace them before bed.

Huddled around the table, Sam reading, Dean nursing a cold beer whilst flipping through a magazine as you ate and prompted Dean into weird topics of 'never have I ever - monster edition'. You'd bid yourself adue.

"I'm gonna hit the sack, weirdos." You'd walk around to them. "Enjoy your light reading, Sammy. And enjoy your pervy magazine, old man." Passing by, wrapping your arm their shoulders, affectionately nudging cheeks with them — Sam would accept them graciously, the loving gesture comforting to him. And Dean would simply hum at you, trying his best to look indifferent or exasperated by such contact. But you knew he silently enjoyed them, and Sam did especially; knowing his older brother, the boundary of affection was never crossed but from you — a semblance of a younger sister — was soothed but this entry of comfort. Shoulders slacked, posture less tense, you were a reminder of everything was okay.

"Now get off me - you need a shower."

When Castiel was around it, too, didn't take long before he was another victim to your embraces. Seeing how close Cas was to Dean and Sam, it meant he was good.

Late night car rides, slumped against the worn leather of Baby as the soft rock channel hummed alongside the murmuring engine pushing the hunters and a angel home. The orange street light continuously ran over their laps, exhaustion lingered in the vehicle — Dean's raw red knuckles were prominent, wrapped around the steering wheel. Sam sported a scrape on his cheek bone, exchanging hushed words between his brother and Castiel. Sat in the back with Cas, you couldn't bother chipping on the discussion. The headache you endured only just subsided, with just a bruise that ached at your side, both the dull music and gentle voices did well to block it. Soothing you into a lul.

"Someone's uncharacteristically quiet..." Sam humoured. The two shared a peak through the review mirror to catch your heavy eyes and tilting head you struggled to hold up. Dean couldn't help but smirk, chuckling under his breath at your disgruntled hum towards Sam.

"It's a nice change," he joked.

"Dean," Cas warned, glancing attentively to you, "She did a lot today."

"Yea... she did." He said silently proud. Of course she did.

Moments passed and next thing you know, Cas felt your held fall on his shoulder. Almost surprised, he didn't move an inch. Tossing and turning, laying on him finally made you settle. Staring down at you, he was glad to see you sleep — you took too many nights to sitting on thay laptop keen that every minute need not be wasted. And so he laid back a bit more comfortably, mindful on how much he moved. He understood, humans needed their rest.

Dean couldn't help but find it endearing.

The boys did their best to revieve your affection in stride. Cas was always naturally stiff when you slung your arm over his shoulders. Dean tried his best to act annoyed when you attack hug him from behind, and awkwardly patting your back. Sam never minded the time you'd sit beside him, leaning against his larger stature while he read or researched.

Then Jack showed up. Between losing Mary, Crowley, the fright of Cas' death and so much more — times weren't the easiest. Lucifer's son, the premeditated anti-christ that was the cease all life and goodness, the first day of getting to know Jack was a rocky path. While Sam continuously sympathised the young man and Dean couldn't even look at him, you remained initially indifferent. Just like your brothers, you were scared more than anything, grieving over the losses especially Cas — you didn't know what to think but you did know they needed you.

Jack noticed how you kept wrapping your arms around them every time you left off to somewhere or twist your twist your face into something warm at the much angrier man. It was so peculiar to him that he asked Sam when they were in the cellar, "why does she do that?"

"What?"

A look of seriousness worried Sam, "Do that - hold him. Dean." And he looked at him confused.

"You mean— she hugging him." Jack's face didn't change, "she's embraced him because she's worried about him," it sounded more like a question as he mimicked the gesture, "you embrace someone when you want to comfort them, or show them affection."

"'affection'?"

"It's means to show care for someone."

Jack looks at him, "She does it a lot." He noted.

Sam omitted a breathy laugh, "Yea. She does - she cares a lot, I suppose."

Soon your apprehension grew to empathy for the nephillum. His innocence and innate kindness baffled you at times. He borne no essence of evil - he rather carried Kelly's sweetness, and a fear that made you realise that Jack was far from anything like his father. He was just Jack.

The realisation settled within you as you sat on that crate where your breath transpired in the cold, facing Jack curled up beside the dumpster. Large shadows drew over his furrowed brows, deep with sadness and hurt as he said, "Maybe I'm not worth all this". Your heart sunk. All alone without the comfort of his mother and guidance of the angel she promised, made to feel like he was something he wasn't — worthless.

"Stop." The words escaped your lips faster than you could think and he stared at you saddened. "Don't..." You hesitated, too many things you want to say and you settle with reaching out a gentle hand. "Can I please uhm..." Jack slightly confused gave his hand at your hushed question. And he was surprised by your warm and firm grip; holding his palm with your other hand instantly clasping over his knuckles, you told him "Jack, you are worth all this..." staring intently into his eyes. "Sam thinks your worth it, so did Castiel, your mother. And so do I."

His eyes softened, and a small smile slipped onto your lips. Hope seeping into his features, he asked, "Really?"

"Really." You said.

That night you shared a room with Jack, agreeing with Sam things were too tense with Dean. You'd continue to be at Jack's side, speaking to him, answering his questions, simply being with Jack whilst mediating your brothers. Meaning, your constant defense of Jack caused a constant bickering and arguing with Dean. Unlike Sam the Diplomat, you two were almost explosive. Dean hated how close you'd stick by that thing, that freak; he was dangerous, he could hurt you! And you hated Dean's merciless disdain for him — always throwing warnings at the names and disregarding statements Dean would say without a thought with Jack.

At times, when Sam was with Jack, the moment he'd leave you and the eldest alone, stiff muttering of words escalated into loud yelling. Seething at each other until your red faced. Sam would always have to intervene, assuring Jack they're just "hot headed".

This anger festered into Dean's asserting orders; regulations, rules, reprimanding of your interactions with Jack. You were holding Jack's hand cause he seemed nervous, Dean would explicitly say no handing holding with devils. Alone in a room with him on an off chance again? Dean's dragging you out on errands or telling you to go to your room. Walking around the table offering your bidding night hugs, your affectionate squeeze on Jack's shoulder earned a warning glare from Dean.

You always made a face back, countering his overprotective as overbearing and stupid. When you finally had a go at him for it, Sam was out and there was nothing holding them back. You both pushed at each other to your limits. Comparing Jack to you when you some kid helpless and alone too, or Sam deemed bad before he could do any good, really sent Dean down the rails — because you're family. Jack is Lucifer's son, not you.

"Does he look like Lucifer's son to you, Dean?! He does nothing but be kind, gentle. He listens to your orders, he's even terrified of you!"

"And so he should be!" His voice booms with anger you hadn't heard from Dean till now and it shakes you. "You think I care that he can smile nicely at you, and say 'thank you' and 'sorry'? That doesn't matter. Cas is gone because of him, Mum is gone because of him. Wake up, Y/n, he can't change what he is and what he is, is a freak, an inevitable danger to you, to us, this entire freaking world- I'm sorry youre too damn stupid and niave to realise that." His starn, harsh words push past his lips in a burst of thoughts that seemed like he's been holding in forever, and he has to lean back for a moment to sigh. You stood there without moving, your eye glisten against your will as you swallow his words. He paused before turning to walk away without another word — the knife sunk a little deeper.

"I know you're hurting, Dean," your voice went small, and you caught him mid step. "but you're not the only one." His face grew sullen: he was too angry, too tired. He hadn't the energy to say or do something. Looking at you, he noticed your quivering lip you tried so hard to hide and instantly in his eyes you reverted back into that small 14 year old girl he and Sam decided to take under their wing. An image that flashed by and then you were walking away. To the other side of the bunker. And after a few heart beats, he did too.

Without either of you knowing, Jack had heard the entire altercation. Your purposeful steps rushed past him and you didn't see him — too busy fiercely wiping away escaping hot tears you didn't want. Jack had never seen you this upset and quietly he followed you to your room. He heard you slam the door shut and heard you sniffle inside. Hesitant he slowly cracked the door open to see your back facing towards him, sat on the edge of your unmade bed, silently crying.

A sensation of sorrowful guilt imbued in the centre of his chest. This was his fault wasn't it?

"Y/n?" His sudden appearance finally made known surprises you and you whip around. "Jack," your voice is thick with emotions, harshly sniffed back as your wiped your cheeks several times. "What are you..." You took a deep breath. Seeing his worried eyes you realised your attempt to appear unphased and normal was feeble — your eyes were puffy, flushed cheeks and red nose. And then it hit you, "I'm sorry, Jack. Sorry you had to hear that it's just, he's just..." you lett your hands fall to your lap defeatedly and head hung low. You looked him and flashed a weak smile, "Don't worry," Jack moved to sit on your bed, "It's just everything's a bit weird."

"I'm sorry." He finally said simply.

"What? Jack-"

"I'm sorry," he looked at you with those same eyes that night. "that you, Dean and Sam are hurting - because of me."

You shook your head, "No, no Jack, you have done nothing wrong, we're fine. We will work this out-"

"But you are crying, you are upset."

"I'm fine, Jack, don't-"

"Why are you lying?" He places a hand over yours, catching your evasive and scattered gaze. He pulls you to a halt, forcing you to meeting his big attentive eyes. They were so kind and gentle. And the warm of his hand stopped your racing heart. "You can tell me." He said softly and such simple words crashes over you. Your eyes locked onto his, you let silence hang in between as you soaked in this blooming comfort from someone you least expected it. It was overwhelming. And the longer you looked at him, all thoughts and emotions started to feel too real, too much, and your eyed began to well up in tears. Trying to blink them away made them fall faster and your gaze fell to his hand. "I- I'm sorry."

Your voice cracked and your instinctively tried to cover your face; to hide from Jack which you were sure you were confusing him even more with your immense and sudden outpour of emotions. You muttered your apologies, intending to turn to avoid overwhelming him further until the mattress dipped this way and there and a pair of arms embraced you. The foreign feeling of his body against yours made you hold your breath for a second — digesting the unexpected gesture of comfort from Jack and one that you didn't know you needed.

He held you firmly, his head tucked beside yours, eyes scrunched tight as if desperate to make you feel better. Seconds pass before you relent into his touch, wrapping your arms around his neck and burrying yourself away into the nape of his neck. And Jack squeezed you a little tighter.

You and Jack would stay like that for a while. Until your quiet sobs muffled into his shirt quietened down to weak sniffles and your arms loosened, feeling yourself wafting into sleep.

Once Sam came home from his grocery run, he was met by the unsuaul silence and brooding Dean who fixing himself a sandwich.

"Dean, I literally went shopping to cook now why are you-"

"'s not for me." He finished it before pushing it towards Sam, "Mind giving this to Y/n?" It was hardly a question.

The way his brother barely looked at him leaning back with a drink, and the sullenness of his voice, Sam knew something must've happened, "...And why can't you do that?"

"I don't think she's in the mood to talk to be right about now."

Sam walked up to your door, sick with worry and anger to hear what had gone down between you and Dean. The steam from yet another argument with Dean came to a simmer seeing your door not locked but left ajar. He slowed, softly calling out "Y/n?" coming closer he heard not only your soft snores he knew well after years but another's.

Entering he stopped — there you were deep in slumber. And in the arms of the nephilum. Your head lay in the croock of his neck, arms loosely fallen across his torso while his around your shoulders. Sam noted your red eyes and nose, stains of tears that revealed the severity of this argument with Dean had a toll on you. It pained his heart yet seeing Jack with you overturned such hurt — he comforted you. A cosmic being does not need sleep yet Jack visibly chose to rest with you — to show you he cared too. However it there was no doubt you had fallen asleep on him first — a sign of your trust.

The two of you have connected, and Sam quietly left, clicking the door shut with a relief and no plan on letting his older brother know about this.

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #jack kline #fluff #fanfic #fluffy headcannons #reader x dean winchester #reader x sam winchester #reader x castiel #reader x jack kline #platonic #i should be studying #haha

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lost-between-letters · 1 year

Text

Acquired Taste

Pairing: Jack Kline X Reader (she/her)

Requested by: @cherryyyangel

Word Count: 1,710

Summary: Jack discovers his love for music and Y/N discovers that having a cuddly crush sucks. (Or maybe that it doesn't at all)

A/N: remember how I asked for Jack prompts? Like a million years ago? Yeah, this is one of them, sorry that it took me so fucking long - but hey, I'm back! (We're ignoring that this fic is just three moments in a trenchcoat, okay?)

"What are you doing there?" Jack leaned down and peered over her shoulder in an attempt to get a better look at her phone.

Y/N looked up, startled by his voice cutting through the music blaring through her earphones. And his presence behind her. She could have sworn that she had been alone in the library a few moments ago. "Hm?"

"On your phone," he clarified and pointed at the list of songs she was contemplating, "what's that?"

"Oh that." Y/N stopped. Stared down at the device. Was he asking how Spotify worked or about the concept of music? "I'm making a playlist. For the next road trip."

"But Dean's choosing the music?"

Jack's forehead crinkled up cutely and Y/N had to physically stop herself from reaching up and smoothing it over. Instead she snorted once. "Yeah and it's always the same fucking three albums. No offence to AC/DC but there's only so much I can hear of back in black before I start to bite things."

"That's true." Jack nodded and pulled out a chair for himself.

Y/N swallowed the giddy feeling she got when their knees touched. Angels. No concept of personal space. That had to be it.

"And Dean's okay with your playing your own music in the car?" Jack's voice pulled Y/N from her daydreams. The second time today.

She snorted again.

"One, I don't particularly care if Dean is 'okay' with my choice of music," Y/N made air quotation with her fingers that made Jack laugh, "and two, I'm using earphones. Saves me quite a lot of headaches usually."

"That's very smart."

A moment of somber musing followed where Y/N alternated between watching Jack's face and pretending that she wasn't.

Then, Jack perked up again. "Can we share?"

"What?" Her weird staring obsession?

"The earbuds," he clarified, "I wanna know what kinda music you like."

Oh. Yeah, that made much more sense. Y/N scrambled for them, hoping that her cringing wasn't showing too hard on her face. "Sure, here."

"Thank you," Jack smiled politely and plucked the tiny bud from her fingers as if he was totally unaware of what their brushing fingers did to Y/N.

Which was mostly due to the fact that he probably was totally unaware of what their brushing fingers did to Y/N. Jesus Christ, she had to get a grip.

Then, Jack tapped her forearm excitedly and pointed to her phone. "I like that song!"

Oh, he was going to be the death of her. Why did he have to have good taste on top of everything else?

"Me too," Y/N smiled weakly when the familiar tunes of her favourite song filled her ear. At least Jack was too absorbed in his own mind to notice that her voice wasn't as cheerful as it should have been.

Having a crush sucked.

Twenty minutes into the drive, Y/N felt something poke her shoulder. Grudgingly, she pulled one earbud free and looked at Jack.

Who was smiling at her hopefully. "Can we share the music again?"

It took her a moment to remember what Jack was referring to - she had been halfway asleep already when they had entered the car. "Uh, sure."

Y/N handed her left earbud over and stifled a grin. It was just music. Nothing to get excited about.

She skipped through her playlist, rearranging and deleting a few songs that felt too off to listen to with Jack together. Too intimate, too much like baring her soul already. Not that she would say that out loud.

"Can we keep listening to the last one?" Jack asked softly when Y/N changed her mind just short of the chorus.

"Oh, sure." And really, she had to expand her vocabulary sooner or later.

It didn't help that Sam was watching them, an amused sparkle in his eyes at her fumbling. So Y/N glared at him through the rearview mirror to which he merely raised an eyebrow.

Jack - unaware of the silent argument - nodded once and scooted a little closer so that the chord of the earphones was hanging loosely between them. "Thank you. I really like your music taste."

"Thanks," she said softly, afraid that if she spoke any louder she might be squealing. Good job at playing it cool, Y/N.

It didn't get any better when Jack's head dropped on her shoulder another twenty minutes later or when he snuggled into her side like he belonged there.

She pointedly ignored Sam and Dean's glances while she tentatively relaxed against the boy next to her and drifted off.

Slowly, a habit formed from there on.

At first, the sharing-music-thing was strictly related to the long hours on the road when neither of them could stand Dean's tapes anymore.

But soon Jack got his own phone and set up his own Spotify account. He was almost constantly listening to music then, together with Y/N or on his own.

They had multiple shared playlists to which they listened to almost every waking hour. It drove Dean up the walls for some reason.

Not that Y/N cared particularly about what Dean thought about her music consumption or who she shared it with. She had to admit that it was pretty funny though to see him fume whenever he spotted the two of them connected by the chord of the earphones snuggled up on one of their beds. Which was all of the time.

"Hey Y/N," Jack was leaning against her doorframe - he was hovering uncharacteristically.

"Hi Jack." Y/N smiled and didn't even try to fight the warm feeling bubbling up. "Did you turn into a vampire or why are you waiting to be invited inside?"

Jack frowned at her (admittedly awkward) joke. "I never quite got that piece of lore. What sense would it make that a vampire couldn't get inside without explicit permission?"

"Dunno, makes you feel like you're somewhat in control?" She guessed half heartedly.

"I don't get it."

Y/N chuckled. "Yeah me neither. Did you want something Mr vampire?"

"Oh uh-" it actually looked like Jack was blushing, "-I uh wanted to show you a playlist I made."

Her heart was doing somersaults already. This is not a rom com Y/N scolded herself before her hopes could get the better of her. So she planted a friendly smile on her face and patted the empty spot next to her.

"C'mon then. Show me."

Jack smiled back somewhat nervously and sat down a little closer than she had anticipated. But again, no protest from Y/N. He nearly dropped his phone when he unlocked it though he managed to reduce the shaking to a minimum when he handed the earphones over.

Y/N was positively melting.

It got better though.

The first song in the playlist was a familiar tune - it was the one she had played for him when they had started this.

She was bobbing her head to the beat by the time it moved to the second song - a much slower one. More romantic, maybe a little cheesy but she liked it.

And Jack seemed to do so too. He was watching her intently so Y/N spoke up. "It's really good! I like the playlist."

"Thank you." Jack was still studying her, a glimmer in his eyes that she couldn't pin point.

A wave of sadness crashed into Y/N unexpectedly. Surely, Jack didn't know about the implications of making a playlist full of romantic songs for someone. Probably just had discovered them by accident and wanted to show her.

Deflated by her own mind, Y/N dropped back against the pillows, fighting to keep the smile on her face.

But something must have slipped.

Jack's expression fell. "You don't like it, do you?"

"Of course I do," she assured hurriedly, "I really like all those songs."

Somehow, that seemed to make it worse.

Jack pulled his legs up to his chest, eyes trained on his phone. "But that's not what I meant."

Colour her confused.

When he made no move to elaborate, Y/N reached forward and placed a tentative hand on his knee. "What did you mean then?"

"You don't like what I was saying with the playlist, right?"

And God, Y/N would give her left arm to wipe that expression off his face. But Jack wasn't making sense right now so she had to keep asking.

Surely he couldn't mean what she was hoping he did, right?

"Can you say it directly for me then? Maybe I like that better," Y/N tried again.

Jack just looked at her miserably. "I was trying to say that I really like you. But you don't like me back."

Dumbfounded, Y/N stared at him but Jack was already barreling on with a smile that looked closer to tears than anything else. "And that's okay! I just - I just need a moment."

And then he got up to leave.

He made it to the door before Y/N had processed what Jack just said.

Faster than she thought it possible, she had jumped up and blocked his way. It was definitely possible that she was feeling a little dizzy from the motion though.

"What do you mean I don't like you back?"

"You don't," He said but his voice was wavering, "or do you?"

"Wasn't that painfully obvious?" Y/N asked, a helpless laugh stuck in her throat, "Jesus, I've been pining for you since you dyed Dean's apron pink with me and you never noticed?"

"I didn't," Jack was looking down at her so earnestly, so full of painful vulnerability that Y/N just had to reach up and cup his cheek.

Briefly, time froze. Did she really do that? Jack's eyes were wide as saucers, maybe not as surprised by the touch itself but the intention behind it. Not that Y/N could blame him.

She was pretty sure that the last time she had had this kind of courage scraped together she had just killed her first monster.

"Can I kiss you now?" Y/N was whispering. It felt wrong to break the silence but she had to. Or else the tension might kill her.

Jack turned his cheek deeper into her touch. Reached around her waist gingerly. Tilted his chin just a fraction and let a radiant smile overcome his face. "Please."

General Taglist: @immrbrightsideee, @fandomfoodiedancer, @lovesfandoms, @nyotamalfoy, @stixnstripesworld , @foxyjwls007 , @amythedoctor , @alexxavicry

Jack Taglist: @sweater-weather-spn , @xoxokiaraaxoxo @theslawstee (no blog found, sorry)

Join a Taglist

#jack kline x reader #jack kline x you #jack x you #jack x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction

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thatonewriter15 · 6 months

Text

If anyone wants to celebrate with some reading, here are my Halloween fics:

A Halloween Off

Characters: Jack Kline, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader/Original Female Character

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 3,018

Additional Tags: Halloween, Fluff

Summary: A monster-free Halloween night in the bunker.

Treats and Tricks

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

Rating: Explicit; 18+ only

Word Count: 813

Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Dry Humping, Thigh Riding

Summary: Your mind is on something other than the horror movie playing in the Dean Cave.

#spn fanfic #halloween #dean winchester #jack kline #castiel #sam winchester #jack kline x reader #castiel x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #fluff #dean x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #content 18+

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gilverrwrites · 2 months

Note

belphegor possesses jacks body, reader who is grieving jacks death finds comfort in belphegor? maybe a bit of a crush..

Close As Strangers

Belphegor/GN!Reader

Author note: I tried to keep the exact nature of Jack/Readers relationship ambiguous, so you can fill in the blank as you please. Similar with Bel/Reader, but it has very much enemies to friends/lovers vibes.

Rating: Teen +

Genre: Hurt/comfort, angst

Words: 1624

TW: Grief, arguing, manipulation, crying, very minor mentions of gore, mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Please remember: You are allowed to make a big deal out of things that are really big to you.

“See something you like?” Your heart feels hollow as you watch him wiggle his Jack's brows at you. Blackened, bloody skin peeks out from the top of his sunglasses. His words, his movements, the whole thing made you feel sick.

“No.” You respond curtly, intending to stop there. You can’t help the bitter word vomit that continues. “Just you, defiling the body of someone I love.”

Belphegor inhales through his teeth in mock pain. Not a hint of sympathy or remorse. When he alters his stride to walk closer to you and drapes an arm over your shoulders, you’re too shocked by his audacity to pull away.

“You know, babe, I think I know a way to help you feel better about all this.” He says, offering you a smile that is too sharp, too smug for Jack's face.

“What?” You ask, your eyes darting back and forth between his face and his unwelcome arm.

With a gesture to his Jack's body, he answers, “You could love me.”

You scoff, ready to respond with something harsh and mean, but when you look at his face again, his expression has changed. His head tilted back, chin pointed out, mouth closed and stretched into a familiar smile. There’s that empty feeling again. You know that’s not Jack, but that’s his face, his smile, and at that moment, you couldn’t snap at him like that.

Before you can think of a response, you’re both distracted by the sound of a shotgun being cocked. Dean, who had been walking a few paces behind, presses the barrel of his gun between Belphegor’s shoulder blades.

“Get your arm off them and keep walking.” It’s an empty threat, and all three of you know it.

Dean wouldn’t shoot Jacks's body any more than you could insult it. Even if he did, it wouldn’t do anything.

Regardless, Belphegor, with a smirk, releases you and picks up his pace, but not without raising those scorched brows at you one last time. “I like it when he’s bossy.”

“If we’re all gonna work together, you’ve got to shut up.” You call after him, slowing your footsteps until you fall in line with Dean.

“Awwwh, I’m starting to have an effect on you.” He calls back, refusing to give you the last word, and you concede, crossing your arms over your chest and walking in silence.

"Are you thinking about me?” The sound of Belphegor’s Jack's voice so close to your ear, the feel of his unnatural breath against your skin makes you almost jump out of your skin, makes your body tingle in a way it definitely shouldn’t have. “Is that why you're so unfocused?"

"You wish.” You retort, snapping your head to face him. Admittedly, you had been slacking off, unable to keep your mind off the chaos that had been the last few days. Particularly Jack.

Belphegor doesn’t appear offended by your response. Hands in pockets he offers you a casual shrug before stepping back and leaning against the nearest wall. The two of you were alone, guarding the back entrance of the High School. There had been a lot of debate about who would be ‘left with’ who and for what purposes. It seemed nobody wanted to leave you alone with Belphegor, but nobody else wanted to be stuck with him either.

“What were you thinking about then?” He asks.

Without processing, without thinking clearly, you reply. “You. No, I mean Jack. I was thinking about Jack.”

“Am I sensing a little Freudian slip?” That smile is back, the one that’s too much for Jack. But for a moment, you think to yourself that it actually looks attractive in a roguish sort of way.

Feeling flushed and guilty at your laps of judgement you look away. Hiding your expression. “No. It’s just… I don’t know.”

“It’s just hard to differentiate us sometimes?” He offers, in a tone much softer than you’d come to expect. You know he has self-awareness, but you’re surprised he’s showing it. When you nod your confirmation, he continues; “It must be hard. I mean, I’ve seen loads of people die, probably millions, killed most of ‘em. But no one that I ever cared about. At least, not for a loooooooong time. I don’t really remember it.”

When you hear his feet against the concrete you watch him from the corner of your eye. It only takes a few steps before he’s in your personal space again, but he’s slow and calm. His face is solemn as he gently places a hand on your shoulder. You think he’s trying to comfort you, maybe? But it all feels wrong.

“I’m just saying, I can tell the two of you had some kind of connection. If you want to talk about it, I-”

“Stop.” You shrug his hand off and turn your back to him completely.

“Stop what?” You don’t know if he’s faking it to play with you or not, but the confusion and the hint of worry in his voice, Jack's voice stings.

“Stop being nice to me.”

“Fine, maybe you didn’t care about him all that much.” The softness and uncertainty is gone in an instant, replaced with pure venom.

You’re grateful your back is to him. It takes everything in you not to spin around and go off on him. A part of you knows you’d likely lose your resolve the moment you look at him anyway; you’re inches away from the brink of tears already.

“Oh, blow me!” Is all you can muster.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Malice, all malice. It sounds so wrong.

“I’m gonna sweep the building.” This is too much, and you can’t cope. You need to clear your head. “Don’t follow me. In fact, just don’t move.”

You don’t turn to look at him as you leave, if he says anything, you don’t listen.

You hadn’t told the Winchesters or Castiel about your spat the night before. So here you were, patrolling quarantine with Belphegor. Alone. Again. You’re certain any one of them would swap with you if you asked, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. They were hurting too. Besides, you figured after last night that Belphegor and you needed some kind of conflict resolution; you were just surprised when he broached it first.

“You haven’t insulted me all morning.” Belphegor nudges your shoulder with his own, and you can’t help the quiet chuckle that escapes you. “What’s up?”

“No… Yeah.” You’re not really sure what to say, so you offer him the only thing you know for sure. “My head is a mess right now.”

“I know.” He gives you that relaxed shrug you’ve begun to associate with him. There’s no way of knowing how earnest he’s being, but he seems surprisingly understanding, for a demon at least. “This whole situation is a mess, and you’re grieving. Can’t blame you.”

“Thanks. And thank you for helping us.” You smile at him, it’s a weak smile, but he smiles back and that tingle from last night returns. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“I know one way you can make it up to me.” You hold your breath in apprehension. Certain he was about to spoil the moment. “You can talk to me.”

Still tense from your moment of dread, you respond immediately and defensively, “We are talking.”

Clearly unbothered by your cautious reply, Belphegor goes on, “You can talk to me about Jack. It's not good to keep it all bottled up.”

You feel bad for assuming the worst. You’ve felt bad for a long time. How good would it feel to get some of that off your chest? How easy would it be to talk to Jack about it? Only, this isn’t Jack. This is Belphegor, who, for all his apparent kindness, is still a stranger. A dangerous stranger.

“I really don’t think I can do that.” The tingle on your skin is gone, replaced by the ever-lingering emptiness.

“Why?” The familiar venom creeps back into his tone.

“Because y-” As much as you want to tell him it’s because you can’t trust him, you don’t. You can't afford to lose his assistance right now. “Why do you want me to?”

“Oh what? Because I’m a demon I can’t care about you? Is that it? I find that offensive.” There’s a tinge of humour in his voice, but you’re still shocked by how accurately he hit the hammer on the nail. So shocked, in fact, that your only response is to stare at him slack-jawed. “You don’t have to be strong and good all the time, you know? Let me help you. I’m begging you to let me help you.”

He stops his strides, forcing you to halt with him and turns to look at you straight on, jaw clenched as he impatiently waits for you to say something. Anything.

In that moment, with explicit permission to be vulnerable, the tears you’d held back last night, the tears you’d been holding back for a long time, finally come out. It starts slow, a tear rolls down each cheek, and you sniff to try and hold them back. You press your jacket sleeve to your eyes, but for every tear you soak up, another falls, until you’re heart-pounding, blurry-eyed sobbing.

When you feel Belphegor’s cold hands on you, you don’t pull away. You let him come close, you let him cup your face and use his thumb to wipe your tears, you let him guide you until you're chest-to-chest, your face cradled in the crook of his neck, you let him caress your neck and rub your back. You let him Jack lean down to whisper in your ear. “It’s okay. I’m here, don’t worry.”

#belphegor x reader #spn belphegor #jack kline x reader #supernatural reader insert #gilverrwrites

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zepskies · 7 months

Text

In Bad Weather

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader || Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy (background)

Summary: You and Dean tackle the biggest possible monkey wrench in your relationship yet: could Chuck have been manipulating you two all along?

[Set in S15 - "Fix It" for season finale]

AN: I had to finish the finale (maybe?) of this story verse before the end of Hispanic Heritage Month. 😘 This is the third installment of "Midnight Espresso!"

Song Inspo: “We Made It” by H.E.R. (<- On repeat. Seriously if you haven't heard this one, you'll thank me later.)

Word Count: 7,600

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smutty smut, angst, hurt/comfort, body insecurity, body appreciation, heartache, followed by the fluffiest fluff…

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Al Mal Tiempo

Dean can’t remember the last time he woke up quite like this.

“Shit,” he grunts, clenching fists into the sheets.

He hears a muffled giggle underneath them.

He’s lying on his back, one knee starting to bend as he jolts on reflex. But familiar hands are holding down his thighs, as even more familiar lips caress him through his sweatpants.

Dean raises up the blankets and sheets to see your slightly frizzy-haired head pop up. Your playfully mischievous eyes meet his.

“Hey,” you greet him.

He raises a brow at you, smiling incredulously. “Hey.”

You then give him an annoyed look. “Do you mind? I was working on something.”

You try and cover yourself back up with the blankets, but Dean tosses them down your body. He wants to see you in that tank top and those little shorts. He's already getting a nice view of cleavage, no bra, and you’re straddling his thighs. His knees slide up to press against your ample behind.

“I do mind, actually.” His voice is still coarse with sleep. He clears it a little, and he smirks. “I was getting some good Zs in. You know, before I was interrupted.”

Your hands glide smoothly up his thighs, your nails catching on the fabric. You tilt your head at him.

“You really want me to stop?” you ask. Dean can’t readily respond, because he felt the shape of your words against his dick.

He moans, his eyes closing, fingers gripping the mattress under him when your mouth and tongue continue to outline the shape of his cock through his pants.

“I think I could finish you just like this,” you tell him, and still, your lips never leave him. “Or…maybe I’m feeling generous.”

Your nails hook on the waistband of his old sweatpants. The elastic has practically no give as you pull down the hem and expose his risen length. Shooting him one more smile, you let your hands glide across his sternum and hips before you finally take his waiting cock into your mouth.

You love the sound of Dean’s voice, especially when you have him like this. His hand buries in your hair, tangling in the curls.

“Fuck, baby…” he mutters.

That’s kinda the idea, you want to say, but your mouth is preoccupied. Your lips and tongue move over him slowly. And soon your hands join to wrap around the base of his cock, stroking whatever you can’t take fully in your mouth.

You know he’s enjoying himself when his hand tightens in your hair. His breathing becomes labored, but still too steady for your liking.

You decide to pick up the pace. In your mind you think of a song to keep a good rhythm.

Devórame otra vez, ven, devórame otra vez…

Que la boca me sabe a tu cuerpo. Desesperan mis ganas por ti…

“Wait, wait,” Dean says, guttural in his throat. He stops you for a moment with his hands on your shoulders. You look up at him in confusion, but you oblige him.

“What’s wrong?” you ask in concern.

“Nothin’.” He shoots you a weary, lopsided smile. “Just thinking I want to have enough mojo to give you a good morning too.”

You snort. Mojo. This man.

But you shake your head. “You’re the winner today, baby. I just wanna make you feel good.”

It’s been a long year. You all had dealt with Michael taking Dean from you, at least for a while. Now Michael is gone, thanks to Jack, and they’d managed to reunite Jack back with his soul…but there’s still Chuck to deal with. It hangs over you all like a malevolent cloud.

So you want to help Dean take his mind off all that, just for a little while. And maybe part of you thinks that if you love him that much more, he won’t despair as much over how Chuck has been manipulating the brothers Winchester…basically their entire lives.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, however, when Dean grasps your arms and tugs you up until you’re level with his chest. His hand finds your cheek, brushing his thumb there, then slides into your hair.

He smirks. “We can both be winners.”

A smile spreads across your lips, just before he pulls you into a kiss. Passion grows one into many, with hands disappearing under each other’s clothes to remove them.

Strong hands part your thick thighs further, and long fingers find their way down between them. First teasingly along the seam of your pussy, then slipping inside to get you ready for him.

Your face buries in his neck as you moan encouragements into his ear, not all of them in English. By now, he’s learned a lot of what you whisper in Spanish. It still makes electricity spark down his spine, no matter what language you’re speaking in.

He knows when it’s time when the warm inner walls of your core are slick and gripping his fingers tight. But when he removes them, you shudder.

Both of you are breathing hard by the time he actually lines himself up inside of you. You use his shoulders for leverage, and the pads of his fingers circle insistently around your clit as you slowly sink down on his cock.

A keening cry escapes from your throat, while his free hand grips hard on your ass.

“Ah, fuck,” he grunts. Your walls are already fluttering around him, squeezing him like a vice.

You pant for breath. Your loose hair falls around both of you, shielding you from all other thoughts and sensations other than this.

“You feel so good,” you breathe, shifting your hips experimentally. “Always so good.”

Dean nods, and you know what it means: For me too.

He sits up and crushes you against him, bare breasts against his chest. (He loves the feeling.) He wraps an arm around your back and twists, until you’re underneath him and laying against his pillows. He encourages your thighs to stay wrapped around his waist as he begins to pound into you.

You breathe a short laugh. “Can’t let me stay on top?”

Dean grins. He grabs your hand and manages to press a kiss to your palm in between strokes. He knew what you were trying to do earlier, by taking care of him, but he can’t help it. He’s a giver.

And he knows exactly how to give it to you, shifting the angle of his hips to have you arching underneath him, gasping, clinging to his arms.

Thanks to your earlier treatment, that about does it for him. He can’t stop himself from a shuddering release inside you (praise fucking be for birth control, he thinks), but he still makes sure you come with him. He strokes your clit at the same time as his last deep strokes, and soon your voice washes over him as you call his name.

Afterwards, Dean rests his forehead against your shoulder, laying a kiss above your breast. He just woke up a few minutes ago, and he’s already tired.

“Okay. I need a damn nap,” he pants.

A giggle pours out of you. You rub his back soothingly.

“That’s what you get for doing all the work,” you tease. “I tried to help you.”

“Help with what?”

Both you and Dean freeze at the sound of Jack’s voice. He’s just opened the door to your bedroom like you two hadn’t expressly reminded him about privacy.

You yelp in shock, and Dean’s face screws up in a glare as he reaches back fast for the closest blanket to yank over you both.

“What the hell!”

“Oh…sorry,” Jack says, shielding his own eyes. “Sam just wanted me to tell you that breakfast is ready.”

“You didn’t need to tell them right this second!” Sam calls from down the hall.

“Knock, man! We knock on closed doors in this house!” Dean says. House. Bunker. Whatever.

He adds, “Or better yet, when my door’s closed, you give it a five-foot perimeter. Understand?”

Jack nods quickly and flees the room. “Sorry!”

The door slams shut behind him. Dean shakes his head. You can almost see the fumes coming out of his ears. You’re embarrassed and blushing, but you’re also biting your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing.

Dean looks down at you.

“It’s not funny. He needs to fuckin’ learn,” he says. His brows are still furrowed, but his mouth twitches upwards. “Should’ve locked that damn door.”

You reach up and twine your arms around his neck. Your lips get tantalizingly close to his.

“You’re still balls-deep inside me,” you remind him, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s kinda funny.”

Dean’s lips purse. He doesn’t want to smile, but you’re making it difficult. Your hands slide down his chest, toying with his nipples as they go. You press a kiss to his throat. Meanwhile, your thighs squeeze his hips, reminding him of where he's still deeply buried. You smile when he utters a faltering sound.

"You tryin' to start something else I'll have to finish?" he teases. You give him a playfully narrowed look.

"Sure you got the mojo?" you toss back.

Raising a brow, Dean shifts out of you a few inches, just to push his half-hard cock back inside. You moan a bit, brows furrowed when the move stirs a tremor of arousal in your core. He hardens up fully at the sound, at the feeling of you clenching around him.

He smiles. “Well, well. I’m thinkin’ Round 2 after all.”

You smirk up at him and give his ass a nice little smack. “Then it's my turn for a ride.”

With a huff, he lets the twist of your hips and soft hands push him onto his back.

In the aftermath of Round 2, both of you are spent before you’ve even gotten out of bed. It’s a rare lazy morning where you don’t want to be bothered with another hunt, or even getting dressed just yet.

You have the cover of the warm sheets and blankets. Your back rests against Dean’s side, up against the headboard. His arm is wrapped around you, his hand intertwined with yours as you play with his fingers.

He’s catching up on Dr. Sexy MD, but you’re admittedly lost in thought. You bring his hand to your lips, and you just hold it there.

Dean glances at you and finally notices your contemplation. He strokes a thumb over your ring and pointer fingers.

“You okay?” he asks.

When you register his voice, you merely nod. But Dean isn’t convinced.

“Baby,” he presses.

It finally earns your attention. You look over at him, and you realize that he knows you too well to be fooled. You sigh, in a way that has Dean pausing his show and giving you his full attention.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks.

With your free hand, you rub at your eyes and cheek. “Sam and Eileen. My heart just fucking breaks for them.”

You’re thinking about what happened a couple of weeks ago. After learning that Chuck manipulated Sam, who found the spell to bring Eileen back to life, she just…left.

Part of you wants to be angry with her; you love Sam like he’s your own brother. But you understand her as well. Being tied to Sam and Dean Winchester is like being tied to twin hurricanes. You’ve just been in this for far too long to let go of them now.

Dean nods at your admission, but he doesn’t have an answer for you. He hurts for his brother too. Part of him even feels a little guilty, having what he has with you, when Sam’s bit of happiness just keeps slipping out of his fingers.

“Maybe they just need some time to sort themselves out. Cooler heads and all that,” he says.

Time. You hope that’s all they need. However, it also makes you wonder about other things.

“That’s not it, is it?” Dean asks. He’s watching you shrewdly, and your lips thin into a line.

“Dean, what if…”

“Yeah?”

You hate yourself for even thinking it, let alone saying it. But you and Dean had survived this long on honesty, above all else. You can’t hide this from him anymore.

“What if Chuck manipulated us too?” you ask, in a small voice.

Dean’s face slackens. His hand releases yours, and he turns to face you more fully.

Emotion begins to clog in your throat and burn in your eyes.

“What if you and I would’ve never met if…” Your voice trembles, unshed tears clouding your vision. “And even if we did, would you still have kissed me that night? When we got back from that hunt—”

“Hey,” Dean protests, but now that you’ve begun, you can’t stop yourself from spilling your latest insecurities—the ones you’ve been holding onto ever since Chuck revealed himself as the villain of the whole world.

“I mean, what am I?” you ask. “Just the diversity casting in Chuck’s story?”

“Don’t you say that shit to me,” Dean angrily snaps.

You gape incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me.”

You feel how tense his body is, but your temper snaps just as well.

“Oye, mira ver,” you warn him.

You’ve levied that at him enough times that he knows all too well what it means.

“Watch it, my ass,” he retorts. “You should know better than that.”

You frown at him, but he reads the thread of insecurity in the downturn of your lips, in your eyes that are starting to shine with tears. That always breaks him down.

Dean sighs and reaches for you then, cupping your cheek and brushing a thumb tenderly at the corner of your eye. He’s even angrier at Chuck for making you doubt yourself…and doubt him.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says.

You hesitate, but you go willingly back into his arms. You turn over and let him gather you against his chest. You rest against him. Your head tucks under his chin, and your leg slips between both of his.

“I love you,” he says, and his voice rumbles above your head. “That’s it. That’s all that matters.”

You bite your lip. “But—”

“No buts,” he says. Though his lips slowly tug at a smile. “Well, not that kind anyway.”

He gives your bare ass a playful squeeze under the sheets. You huff in amusement and swat him back.

“Ya, coño. Enough,” you say with a laugh. “I probably have bruises back there.”

He just grins. “So you get what I’m saying?”

You let out a sigh. You push back enough to see his face, and you give him a soft smile.

“Yeah.”

Dean nods, but he still sees the worry in your eyes. He tries to stamp down the rest of your insecurities with a kiss, slow and deep.

You break away from him after a while to ask, “Ready for coffee?”

Dean sighs through his nose, but he hums in agreement.

“Will you make it how I like?” he asks.

A smile breaks across your face.

“Café con leche?” you offer.

He nods. “Yeah, please.”

“So polite,” you remark with a raised brow. “What a change of pace.”

His mouth edges into a smirk. When you turn to get out of bed, he makes sure to give your ass one last smack. You jump a little with a yelp, but he catches your smile in the mirror above the dresser.

Dean watches you shake out your curls and get ready for the day. You spend a lot of time blow-drying and straightening your hair, but he likes it like this too. Natural and wild.

He likes that you wear the “dream catcher” (formerly known as your hole-ridden Journey shirt) a lot less. He likes that you’ve stopped feeling the need to wear anything to bed at all, if you don't feel like it; that you’re more comfortable with yourself. Comfortable with him.

But your smile drops. Dean sees the gears of your mind continuing to churn as you get dressed.

He has a feeling, despite his best efforts, that you’re still not convinced about the Chuck thing. And while Dean won’t admit it, that cuts him deep.

Three years ago…

Las Cruces, New Mexico

The first time Dean met you was, of course, in a bar.

It didn’t take all that long for him to notice you, if he remembers right.

You’d agreed to play pool with some guy who also speaks Spanish with you, and you seem genuinely into the game. So much so, that you don’t seem to notice how the guy is eyeing you.

Dean doesn’t like the way the man’s gaze drags over your every abundant curve. Yeah, he’s been doing the same thing, but he likes to think he’s a little more classy about it.

He’s sitting at the bar with a half-drunk beer in his hand, watching the game out of the corner of his eye. He’s so invested that his beer is already flat and unpleasant, but when has that stopped him before?

…But then, Dean notices what you’re doing. You’re playing possum, making bad shots on purpose. His mouth curves behind his beer.

Little minx.

Until you sweep the guy for all his money, that is.

Dean watches the show in amusement. Secretly, he notes appreciation for the tight jeans, V-necked top and ankle boots. The red lipstick is the same shade as your manicured nails, and it all works well for you. The fullness of that pretty mouth would certainly work well for him.

He catches the way you sweep your hair out of the way, and the deceptive concentration in your eyes when you line up a shot on the second round. Your first turn.

You then sink each of your cue balls expertly, without missing one.

The swindled man gets mad, shouting at you in Spanish. You reply to him calmly as you lean on your cue stick. He gets even louder and reaches for the money, but before Dean would’ve intervened, you stab at the man’s foot with the cue.

Your quick and clever hand gathers the money that you won, but because you seem to be kind at your core, you leave him thirty bucks for “gasolina” while he holds his foot.

You surprise Dean further by joining him at the bar.

“Good game,” he says, giving you props with a smile.

You give him a smile back. “Thank you. Want to join me for another one?”

Your English is smooth, and so is your voice. Dean raises a brow at you.

“Even though I saw your little takedown there?” he asks. “Think I just saw all your moves.”

You laugh a little. “Not all of them.”

Was that a bit of flirtation in your eyes? Dean’s smile deepens into a smirk.

“But don’t worry,” you say. “I know how to play fair.”

He hits you with a bit of charm, lowering his voice with (he thinks) just the right amount of flirtation back.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Your smile deepens too, despite your blush.

Cute, he thinks, before he follows you back to the scene of the crime. AKA: the nearest pool table.

Dean wracks up the billiards and sets up a new game. You hand him his cue, and he gestures at you.

“Winner goes first,” he says graciously.

“Hmm, thought you were gonna say ladies first,” you reply.

“That too,” Dean says. “I’m a gentleman, after all.”

You snort in response. “I’m sure you are…”

“Dean,” he supplies. He earns your name by the time he sinks four balls in a row.

You sigh as you level him with a look. You seem to realize that the two of you are more than evenly matched.

“Don’t worry,” he says, shooting you a grin. “I won’t take all your money.”

And yet, when it gets down to it, he misses his last shot by a hair.

You watch him suspiciously when you two make it back to the bar.

“You wouldn’t have thrown that last shot on purpose, would you?” you ask.

Dean ducks his head and smiles, somewhat liking the fact that you caught him red-handed. You’re smart.

“Now, what kind of gentleman would I be to take your ‘hard-earned’ cash?” he asks. It earns a burst of laughter from you, with the shine of your teeth.

“You could buy me a beer though,” he shrugs.

“Wow. Okay, Señor Smooth,” you tease. Though you get the bartender’s attention and get him a fifth of whiskey instead, of the good stuff too.

Dean considers asking you out right there. Sam is waiting back at the motel, but Dean is willing to book another room just to get you to himself for the night. And if possible, for however long he’s in town.

“You know,” you say after a while, halfway through your Long Island iced tea. “The thing you’re hunting? It’s not a garden variety spirit…it’s El Duende. Creepy hobgoblin, basically. I’ve been tracking it from three cities over.”

Dean is figuratively (and almost literally) set back on his heels. He tilts his head at you, furrowing his brows.

“You’re a hunter?” he asks.

You laugh at the look on his face. “I saw you and another mountain man at the police station earlier…though nice look on the FBI get up. Think your ID guy could hook me up with a new CIA badge?”

Dean smiles. This is gonna be fun.

Now:

People were starting to disappear.

Billie, the new Death, was doing this. Dean was convinced. And Sam thought everyone from the Apocalypse world (and others who shouldn’t exist in this world) would be on her list. Ultimately, you all couldn’t save anyone. Not even Eileen.

You and Dean both comforted Sam on that terrible night. Though he was still distraught as he decided to organize the other refugees with Jack and Donna.

You stuck with Dean in his plan to raid Death’s library for Chuck’s book; the only thing in the world that told the story of how he would meet his end.

You chose to back up Dean in his plan, but really, neither you or Castiel thought it was a good idea to poke the bear known as Billie. Not for a book that none of you could read, except for Death herself.

But now here you are, in Death’s library, watching with worry as Dean holds Death’s own scythe against her.

“I didn’t hurt your friends,” Billie grits out.

“What?” Dean asks.

She laughs humorlessly. “You’re in the wrong place, Dean.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“People are gettin’ gone. I’m guessing it’s Chuck,” she says. “And that means, you’re just wasting time.”

Her hands are braced against the weapon poised at her throat. She already has a stab wound in her shoulder. She tells him that the earlier wound he gave her has festered. It’ll never heal. Eventually, it’ll kill her.

But she intends to take you, Dean, and Castiel with her.

Billie becomes the hunter, following the three of you back through the portal into the bunker. Dean’s hand is so tight around your arm, making sure you’re keeping up with him and never falter. Castiel does his best get you and Dean to safety. And after he wards it against her with his own blood, only the old dungeon is safe for you all.

For now.

Billie pounds on the door, over and over. She’ll break through the warding eventually.

You grab onto Dean’s sleeve, just to hold onto him. He brings you close to him in a protective embrace. You see the panic in his eyes as his mind scrambles to find a way out of here, knowing deep down that there’s nothing any of you can do. Castiel is nearly powerless. You’re all trapped.

“That wound is killing her,” Cas says. “We might be able to wait her out.”

His gaze is on the floor, though he briefly looks up at Dean. He shakes his head.

“And if we can’t?”

“Then we fight.”

Dean shakes his head. He pulls away from you to lean against the wall.

“We’ll lose,” he says. Your heart breaks at the way he looks, shame-ridden and defeated. “I just led us into another trap…all because I couldn’t end Chuck. Because I was angry, and because I needed something to kill, and because that’s all I know how to do.”

His eyes are red and burning. Yours swim with tears of dismay. You want to correct him as he continues to vent, speaking with a certainty that it was Chuck all along.

Dean looks at you then, and at Cas. He’s close to tears when he says they should’ve stayed with Sam and Jack. That everyone was about to die. And he can’t stop it. And he can’t stop Billie when she breaks through that door.

You don’t know what to tell him to ease his guilt. All you know is that despite everything, you made your choice to support him in this. To stay with him.

You made your choice a long time ago, you realize.

“Wait,” Cas says. His blue eyes burn with realization. “There’s one thing she’s afraid of. One thing…strong enough to stop her.”

Dean’s eyes widen. Cas uses what strength he has left to push you and Dean away, and he summons the Empty.

Dean pulls you further along with him as the formless void coils up like ink through the walls and cement floors. It drags Billie into its darkness, but it claims Castiel with it, as it once promised it would.

After the angel gives up his life, you and Dean are holding each other against the wall, on the ground, shaking and each rocked to the core.

You’re able to break out of your shock sooner than Dean, who just saw his best friend die.

You kneel beside him while he sits, and you hold him to you while you cry. He can’t speak, but you know his guilt is eating at him.

His phone rings, startling you both, and it’s Sam. Dean can’t answer it. He covers his face, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if that could stop the ache in his chest. You press a kiss to his hair, his temple.

“He saved us, Dean. It’s not your fault,” you tell him. He shakes his head. You know he doesn’t believe you, but when he grasps your arm, his hold is desperate.

“It’s me,” he says. His voice is shaking and ragged. “Everything I do turns to shit. Everyone around me pays the price. That’s just how it is…if you were smart, you’d hightail it as far as fucking possible from me.”

Your breath gets trapped in your lungs. Your heart feels like it’s shattering.

“Dean…baby, look at me,” you say with a sniffle. You gently hold his face, and he lets you raise him up. Your eyes are bright with new conviction.

“No one," you tell him, "not even Chuck can force me to love you the way I do. And not a damn thing can stop me from staying with you.”

Dean has tears burgeoning in his eyes. You caress his cheek, rough with stubble he’s let go too long.

“There’s a saying. Al mal tiempo, buena cara,” you tell him. His face shows a glimmer of confusion. “At bad weather, put on a happy face. It means even in difficult times, there’s still a reason to keep going. Right now, you are my reason.”

Dean considers that. He squeezes your arms unconsciously, as if grounding himself in you.

At the very least, he’s grateful that he’s not alone. And after a moment, he nods. You press a kiss to his cheek, and then his forehead. His eyes close at your comfort, your affection. He doesn’t think he deserves it, but he accepts it anyway.

“Come on, let’s get you off the floor,” you say. You start to help him up…but your body stills. You feel a strange prickling across your skin.

Dean notices the shift, with growing unease in his gut. He grips you tighter and calls your name in concern.

Your gasp is the last bit of your voice that Dean hears before he watches you turn to dust in his arms.

Buena Cara

Last year…

It’s the morning after you and Dean shared a midnight espresso. The morning after your first kiss, your first confession, and your first time.

He wakes tangled up in you, and the sheets, which are somehow tied up in knots around his legs and yours.

“What’d you do here, woman?” he asks.

His voice is still gruff with sleep, and he lays on his stomach. You giggle almost silently next to him. You’re lying on your back with the sheets somehow covering up to your chest. One of your legs is tangled with his.

“Nothing,” you claim. He snorts and moves closer. His lips find your shoulder, lazily burning a path downwards. But when he grips the sheet and tries to expose more of you, you grasp his wrist on reflex.

Brows furrowing, Dean glances up at your face. You’re biting your lip, and he sees signs of insecurity in your eyes.

“You haven’t seen me in the daytime yet,” you joke. Yet another one that isn’t really a joke, Dean realizes.

He really wishes he could find your goddamn ex and bash his skull in. Because Dean would like nothing more than to just spend the rest of the day in this bed, mapping out the smooth expanse of your tan skin.

So he slips his arm underneath you. You utter a little squeal in protest, but he manhandles you until you’re resting on his chest, bare skin against bare skin. You look down at him with fondness, touching his cheek. Dean stares up at you with a reserved frown.

“What’s it gonna take, huh?” he asks. It’s like you don’t believe he wants you, even now.

You bite your lip as your fears creep in behind your eyes, like black ink coiling in your mind. That he just likes your personality. That maybe he just wanted to try something “different” with you, a thicc-thighed, fat-assed Latina, instead of the petite, slender girls you’ve seen him go after in bars.

“You could have anyone, Dean,” you point out.

Dean’s frown deepens, his brows furrowing. His hands lower on your back, squeezing the curve of your waist and soft hips.

“Anyone’s not naked in my bed,” he says. His voice is stern and matter-of-fact.

You attempt a smile, but he’s not convinced. He blows out a breath and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Your ex sure did a number on you, didn’t he?” he remarks.

Your eyes widen. The more you think about it, maybe he did.

But maybe it wasn’t just him…

You tear up and blink against them, trying not to let them fall. You had thought you were happy with your curves. You really did.

You didn’t realize you had internalized so many of these negative thoughts about yourself, but here Dean was, forcing you to confront them. You’re grateful, but you also don’t know what to say.

Dean’s brows draw together. He holds your cheek.

“Okay. It’s all right. We’ll work on it.” He kisses your forehead. He also wipes a tear from your cheek. “Don’t cry, baby.”

A laugh gets choked in your throat. “You should know this about me by now. I’m a crier.”

“Yeah, you’re also rockin’ a bit of sex hair,” he says, tangling his fingers further in the wily strands. “My kinda woman.”

You sigh through your nose. This man.

You can’t help but smile softly. The tip of your finger traces his jawline, down to his chin.

“Want me to make some coffee?” you offer. “I can have you try a cortadito with breakfast.”

“What’s that?” Dean asks.

“Two shots of espresso, warm frothy milk on top,” you reply.

“God, two shots? It’s a wonder you ever sleep,” he quips. “But I do like the sound of frothy. I’ll whip us up some eggs.”

“And bacon?” you ask.

“Of freakin’ course, bacon.”

With that agreement, you two slowly get out of bed, shower, and go to the kitchen, where Sam looks bleary-eyed and annoyed at the kitchen table with his coffee mug. But he doesn’t have it in his heart to truly be mad at you and Dean.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Sam says wryly. “Just, next time, put a sock on the door or something. So I know when to break out the ear plugs.”

Now:

Sam finds Dean sprawled on the dining room floor the next morning after Castiel has died, and you have disappeared, along with everyone else on Earth.

Dean is surrounded by empty beer and liquor bottles. Sam’s heart clenches as he starts to help his brother.

“All right, let’s get you off the floor,” he says.

In his words, Dean only hears your voice. He shoves Sam off him and stumbles into the kitchen.

There Jack is starting to wash dishes. He takes your little cafetera coffee maker from the stove, preparing to dump the old grounds. Dean grabs it out of his hand.

“Leave it alone,” Dean snaps. He slams it back on the stove where you left it.

Jack is wide-eyed, but Sam gives his brother a patient warning with his eyes. Dean ignores it and heads for his room.

“Sorry,” Sam says on behalf of his brother.

Jack shakes his head with tears in his eyes. “It’s okay, I…I understand.”

He already misses you too. You’d become a kind of older sister to him…and Castiel. Well. Cas was the father Jack will never have again.

Sam agrees with a nod, clapping Jack comfortingly on the back.

Sam ventures down the long halls of the bunker to Dean’s room. He pushes the cracked open door, and sees his brother sat hunched on the edge of his bed, hands bracing on his knees.

Sam walks in, swings Dean’s desk chair around, and sits down across from his brother. He rests his forearms on his knees and waits.

When Dean eventually looks up with red-rimmed eyes, Sam’s heart breaks a little more. For Dean, and for himself.

“We’re going to end this,” Sam promises him.

“We tried to give Chuck what he fucking wanted,” Dean reminds. “We offered to end ourselves, man. He wouldn’t bite. He won’t bring ‘em back.”

Dean’s voice cracks at the end there. Sam takes a deep breath, and lets it out just as slowly.

“We’ll figure out a way,” he says. “We always do.”

“That’s just it,” Dean says, with tired, glassy eyes. “I don’t think we can do it this time.”

Sam’s throat tightens. “Then I’ll believe for both of us.”

By the time Chuck is done snapping his fingers, Sam, Dean, and Jack are the only people left on Earth.

Until they encounter the Michael of this world, formerly trapped in the cage. They hatch a plan. And even though the angels don’t cooperate, they manage to play straight into the real plan.

Jack is the ace up Team Free Will’s sleeve, and as it turns out, that bomb inside the kid (made of the first Adam’s rib) was good for something. The nephilim absorbs the power of Lucifer, Michael, and ultimately Chuck himself.

Jack is the one who saves the world.

Before Dean leaves with his brother and Jack, away from that grassy cliffside in Lebanon, he turns to Chuck.

“Answer me this. Did you…” Dean says, struggling with how to formulate his question. “Meeting my girl. Was that us? Or was it just another manipulation?”

Sam watches his brother with concern. He sees the way Dean’s hand is already itching for his gun. Chuck is human now, and Sam knows how tempting it would be to truly end it.

Chuck himself is still prone on the ground, sitting up with wariness behind his eyes.

“I didn’t tug on that thread, actually,” he admits. “Made sense to let you have a glimmer of happiness, something to hold onto. To fight for.”

Then he looks up at Dean with a tremulous smirk pulling at his lips.

“But I did wait for the perfect moment to dust her, didn’t I?”

Within seconds, Dean’s gun is slipping into his hands with the safety cocked back, the barrel lined up for a straight shot between Chuck’s eyes. Sam barks a warning, but Dean doesn’t altogether care. He’s furious, sneering at the former god who cowers like the coward he is.

“Dean?” Sam calls to him. It’s a question and a warning all at once.

Dean’s mouth works, quirking at a humorless smile. He cocks the safety back in place and lowers his gun with a shaking hand.

He stalks back to the Impala and doesn’t look at his brother.

The only three people left alive in the world ride back into the empty streets of Lebanon, Kansas.

When Jack snaps his fingers, it’s like this little planet is reborn.

Suddenly, it’s filled with life. People walking their dogs, their kids, hailing cabs, nearly rear-ending each other’s cars in traffic while texting. It’s like the chaos never happened, and equilibrium is restored.

Even the shaggy dog Dean found last week bounds up to him. He bends down to pet the dog’s furry head, scratching behind his ears. Dean’s going to actually have to come up with a name for this thing now.

And yet…

In a world full of color, Dean still just sees gray.

He and Sam say a bittersweet goodbye to Jack, who ascends into Heaven. Dean can only hope the kid has a good WiFi signal if they ever need him again, like if he can’t find…

The forgotten cell phone in his pocket buzzes on a ring. He shares a wide-eyed look with Sam, licking his dry lips before he reaches into his jean pocket. He flips the phone over and finds your name across his caller ID.

With a shaking hand, he swipes his thumb across the green button and raises the phone up to his ear. He can’t even make his voice work right away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.

“Dean?” your beautiful voice greets him.

His lips pull at a tremulous smile. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You let out a relieved breath.

“Oh, thank God. I’m here at the bunker. Where are you?”

Dean wants to quip that Chuck had nothing to do with it, but he humors you.

“Not too far,” he says. He gestures to a smiling Sam, and together they haul ass back to the Impala.

“Promise?” you ask. Dean grins.

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

Once again, you’re tangled up in the bed you share with Dean. Almost every morning without fail, he teasingly grumbles as he tries to free his legs from the knotted sheets.

“What the hell did you do here, woman?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you refute. Though your giggle betrays your guilt while he continues to struggle. “You’ll just have to stay in bed then.”

You drag him back to you, and it’s not unpleasant to be welcomed back to the soft warmth of your body.

“We’ve got some monsters waiting,” he reminds you.

“They can wait,” you say, and ply him with a lazy morning kiss. It heats up in passion as your hands slide under his shirt…

But of course, one of said “monsters” predictably starts banging at the bedroom door. It opens a crack, revealing a head of light brown hair and tearful hazel eyes.

“Mo-oooom! Cari keeps hitting me after you told her not to,” cries your son.

His older sister stomps behind him, so he ducks into the room to flee from her, heading for the bed and jumping into your arms.

Dean sighs, hiding his disappointment. You give him a secret smile while brushing back your son’s hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. To Dean, you gesture with your eyes at the doorway, where your nine-year-old daughter peeks in. She eyes her little brother in annoyance.

Tattletale, her face says.

“Caridad,” you call to her in your sterner mom voice. “Come here, please.”

Cari is most definitely a daddy’s girl, and she beelines for her father. He picks up the nine year old and settles her on the bed, tucked into his side.

“Robbie’s a crybaby,” she says.

“No, you are!” Robbie cries indignantly. He tries to push her, but you grab his hand and push it down to the bed. Dean has to do the same with Cari when she tries to pinch her brother.

“All right, all right, enough,” Dean says, with all the authority his own father once had. “Can’t we all just have one morning in peace?”

That’s when Dean’s phone rings on his nightstand. He sighs and answers it, and it’s Sam, asking what time you and Dean plan to come over his house today for the Fourth of July barbecue.

“Give me a couple hours to wrangle the kids,” Dean replies. He has to curl an arm around Cari so she won’t throw another pillow at her brother.

“Tell Eileen I’m bringing the dessert,” you chime in, calling to Sam in the phone.

“You got that?” Dean asks his brother. A moment later, he reports back to you with a nod.

“He’s wanting the fluffy cake thing,” Dean says. “The sweet one with the lil’ cherries on top.”

“Tres leches?” you supply with a smile.

He nods again. “Yeah, that one.”

“Not a problem, but let’s get them cleaned up so I can start baking,” you say. Though you grunt as a small bare foot kicks at your side.

“Hey!” you reach for your daughter’s arm. “Ya, that’s enough. Te calmas, o te calmo. Los dos, coño.”

Dean snorts, watching his children now wrestling each other in the middle of the bed despite your best efforts to keep them apart.

“Easier said than done,” he mutters. He hangs up with Sam and then surveys the familiar chaos in front of him.

“All right, you guys want to see your cousins?” Dean bribes. The kids actually pause and perk up at that.

“We’re going to Uncle Sammy’s house?” Cari asks.

“Yep, so quit screwin’ around. Let’s up and at ‘em,” Dean says. “Brush your teeth and wash your face, then meet me downstairs for breakfast.”

“Can we have Cap’n Crunch?” Robbie asks.

“No, Raisin Bran,” Cari insists. You have to laugh a little, reaching out to stroke her cheek. Your daughter surely is a special sort of child for genuinely liking Raisin Bran.

“Fine,” Dean agrees to both with a nod. “Get to it. Come on, let’s go!”

He claps his hands until the kids are up and out of his bed, running to the door.

“Don’t run!” you warn them. “Caridad Marie Winchester, stop pushing your brother, or you’re not going anywhere.”

The door hangs open as the sounds of small feet patter down the hall, accompanied by childish giggling and yelling. You sigh and lean back into the pillows, closing your eyes.

“I’m already tired. Why did we have two of those?”

Dean smirks and leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. You keep him close with a hand in his shirt.

“If I remember right, having the first one was so much fun, you just couldn’t keep your hands off me,” he teases.

“Is that what happened? I seem to remember some tequila and cajoling involved,” you smirk, cracking your eyes open. You pull him to you and kiss him thoroughly.

Both of you try not to lose track of time, but in the ten years since retiring from hunting, learning how to be civilians, true partners, and parents, you’ve become pros at stealing the small moments for yourselves.

“Come on, babe. Don’t you want Cari to have a little bro?” you mock in his deeper voice. “They’ll protect each other, be each other’s best friends.”

Dean chuckles at your interpretation of him, giving a teasing yank to one of your stray curls.

“They will, one day. Sam and I didn’t really get each other until later on.”

You smile at that and raise your hand to the beard he’s trying to grow out. You remember him teasing Sam for sporting a “ferret” on his face, once upon a time. But it seems that both Winchester brothers are well-suited to the lumberjack look.

“Maybe we can get Sam and Eileen to keep the kids tonight,” Dean suggests.

You like the sound of that. Cari and Robbie take any chance for a sleepover with their cousins.

You run a hand down his chest. “You’re saying I’m going to get all this to myself tonight?”

He grabs your hand and kisses it. His gaze holds a familiar heat that makes you smile. Your fingers wiggle teasingly in his grip, which curves his lips as well. Your wedding rings gleam in the lamplight.

We don’t have time now, but we will later, his gaze promises.

So with a sigh, he releases your hand.

“All right, lazy. Time to get a move on,” he teases. He then points at you. “Good face.”

Buena cara. Your smile deepens as you start to rise out of bed. It’s become his thing with you, starting the day with a good face.

Nowadays, you don’t often have a reason not to.

“I’ll make coffee,” you offer, as you do most mornings. The one time Dean tried to make it your way, he burned the bottom of your coffee press.

He tosses you a smirk as he pulls on a new shirt. He then digs in his side of the dresser for a pair of jeans that don’t have jelly stains, imprinted on with small fingers.

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” he agrees. “I think today’s a two-shot kinda morning. What do you think?”

You sidle up behind him at the dresser and swat him on the ass. He jolts a little, making a rumbling sound as he eyes you in your little black nightgown. It’s a warning, not to start something you two won’t have time to finish.

“Sounds about right.” Bracing your hands on his hips, you lean up on your toes so you can rest your chin on his shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror. You smile.

“Two cortaditos coming up.”

AN: Aaaand I am soft. 🥹 I've been wanting to get to this for a while now. If you like it, let me know! ❤️

Some more Spanish translations for ya:

This is a callback from "Devour Me" with “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez.

Devórame otra vez, ven, devórame otra vez… Que la boca me sabe a tu cuerpo. Desesperan mis ganas por ti…

Translation:

"Devour me again. Come, devour me again…

Because my mouth has the taste of your body. My lust for you is exasperating."

“Te calmas, o te calmo. Los dos, coño.”

Translation:

“Calm down, or I’ll calm you down. Both of you, damn it.” [😂 I think every Latina mom has spouted this at least once lol.]

Read From the Beginning:

Want to go back to the beginning of this series? Start with "Midnight Espresso":

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson.

▶️ First Story: Midnight Espresso

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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