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dean should have ended up with cassie

she made him look 10x hotter

i said what i said

they should invent a sunday that doesn’t have this sinking feeling

Late Night Worries {h.s.}

Hiii!! I’m fairly new to the Harry fic writing, I only intend to use him as a face/name claim. That’s what makes me comfy :))

This is a blurb about Harry and his wife who has a little trouble seeing past the “bad” parts of being a parent. A mention of previous trauma but no details, other than that hopefully it hits you in the feels!

I hope whoever comes across this enjoys it!! Happy reading :) I love getting feedback, don’t be afraid to message me!!

“Harry? Are you awake baby?”

The only times he’s able to be woken up is either from his wife saying his name for whatever reason she has for interrupting the precious few hours of rest he gets, or it’s when he hears his 3 month old baby boy crying. It’s so natural to him now that it instantly jolts him awake. “Now I am, yeah. What’s wrong?” As he rubs his eyes and sits up and rests on one of his elbows.

Y/N, although she knows that it’s a ridiculous and an irrelevant fear now, she can’t help but worry herself to the brink of insomnia. Ever since she gave birth, her already huge heart, got even bigger and even more emotional. Her “mom heart” as she calls it, doesn’t want to see her pure son turn into someone who will resent her for how she parents him. Not letting him go out too late, or grounding him when he gets a bad grade in school, or sneaks in a girl, or a guy, into the house when he isn’t supposed to.

When Y/N is this upset her throat usually closes up because she’s trying to hold in her tears, so they sit there awhile in the darkness. Harry knows exactly what’s going on with her, which is why he’s being so patient. They’ve been together a while and he has learned not to rush her when she gets emotional, it only agitates her more when he is pushy then y/n usually tells him whatever she’s thinking isn’t really important.

After a few long minutes she’s finally able to swallow normally and that’s when y/n gushes all of her insecurities out, “I don’t want our sweet boy to hate me, Harry. I don’t think I can handle that. What if I do something wrong and he wishes that I was never his mother? I don’t want to be broken like that, I’m not ready for that.” Y/N has to take a deep breath to steady herself. Nervously picking at the remaining nail polishh on her fingernails she proceeds slowly, “And what if I break him? I don’t want our son to know the trauma I’ve been through, I don’t want to project that onto him like my parents did to me. What if I’m not healed by then? What if I’m not ready to be a mom, H?”

Everything that y/n has said rings through Harry’s ears and it’s painful. He doesn’t understand how she can be having all of these stressors. Maybe it’s from the lack of sleep? The first thing that he does is turn on his lamp on his bedside table so he can have a proper look at her. And what Harry sees immediately is her purple-blue under eyes, the tears staining her cheeks and her sad but really cute red nose.

“Y/N, honey, c’mere.” They’re both sitting up at this point and y/n crawls up onto Harry’s lap and hugs him. “Take deep breaths for me, yeah? Only gonna make yourself more miserable and tired for tomorrow.”

He rubs her back and then switches to playing with her hair, that’s what calms her and usually it’s a recipe for sleepiness. He doesn’t do it for too long because he still has to make sure she’s not up all night worrying about situations that haven’t happened yet. Sniffling is a good sign, it means that y/n has settled down enough for her to really listen to what Harry has to tell her. A little trick he’s learned, instead of trying to get her to understand where he’s coming from when she’s too stressed to think of another perspective.

Harry breaks the silence, “Y/N, could you look at me please? There ya go, hi darling.” He smiles warming, looking into her eyes with so much reassurance it almost seems impossible. “I know that you haven’t been getting much sleep the last few weeks and it might be hard not to see this, but I promise you that our baby will not hate you. You wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you are the most caring, compassionate, and loving person that I have ever known and probably will ever come to know. Whatever the situation or punishment might be, you will be doing it with the pure kindness that is in your heart. Like you’ve taught me, what comes with mistakes also comes with great lessons, and I’ve made many. You’ll have nice long conversations with our boy about what’s right and wrong, and you’ll teach him in a way that isn’t demeaning or make him feel like every little thing he’s done wrong is the worst thing he could ever do. He is bound to mess up and get in trouble with his Mum and he might get extremely mad at you, but I can already tell that he will have the same heart as you. He will never be angry for long and will come running back, telling you that he loves you.

“You won’t let yourself break him, or let him anywhere near the pain you’ve gone through. You’re taking care of yourself by going to therapy, yeah? Don’t worry about all these future “what if’s” y/n. I know it’s easier said than done but let's just try to focus on the present. We can figure all of that stuff out when it comes to it. For now, let’s take advantage of when he’s this small and young, because we might be wishing he’d stay a baby.”

They both giggle at that last part, it seems like they’re having a hard time now taking care of him, but both y/n and Harry know the storm of child/young adulthood is another ballgame in itself.

“Thank you Harry, for being the best husband. For listening to me, and helping me see things that I can’t in moments like these.”

“Of course, anything for you my sweet girl.” He pushes a strand of hair from y/n’s face behind her ear, looking into her now serene and cloudy eyes and gives her the softest kiss on her pouty lips. “I love you, and I love our precious boy that we made. If he ever happens to make you cry in the future, rest assured, love, that I’ll whoop his ass, not physically but you know what I’m gettin’ at.”

“I do baby, I love you both so much.” Y/N finally slides down and rests her head on Harry’s chest just above his butterfly. “I appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you too. Let’s get some rest now, how does that sound?”

me trying to hold back the involuntary urge to say “i need him bad” whenever i see a photo of jensen or literally any character he’s ever played.

𝓴𝓲𝓭𝓼? D.Winchester

you’re nursing a beer, your legs pulled up to sit cross-legged as you lean back on your palms. dean’s beside you, his own bottle dangling loosely in his fingers. his knee rests against yours, this simple, casual point of connection, but it’s enough to ground you. his shoulders are relaxed, his legs stretched out long, but there’s something... off. you can feel it in the way his gaze keeps drifting, how he’s not quite looking at you or anything in particular. he’s lost in his own head, and you’ve been with him long enough to know that’s rarely a good thing.

“you’ve been quiet tonight,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice is soft, not accusing, but the words seem to snap him out of whatever spiral he was falling into. he glances at you, his green eyes flickering in the dim light, and he huffs out a little laugh. it’s small, almost self-deprecating, and he looks away again, his jaw tightening.

“just thinkin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking a swig of his beer.

you tilt your head, watching him. “about what?”

he hesitates, running his free hand through his hair, and the gesture makes your stomach tighten. whatever it is, it’s big. he’s not usually this careful about his words—dean winchester isn’t careful about much, period—but right now, he looks like a man standing on the edge of something.

“can i ask you somethin’?” he says, finally, and his voice is quieter now, more raw.

“of course,” you reply immediately, setting your beer aside. you shift closer, your knee pressing more firmly against his, your hand resting on the cool metal of the car between you. “what’s on your mind?”

he exhales slowly, staring down at the bottle in his hands. for a second, you think he’s not going to say anything. then, all at once, the words come out.

“you ever think about havin’ kids?”

the question hits you like a punch to the gut—not because it’s unwelcome, but because it’s so unexpected. you blink at him, your lips parting, and he finally looks at you, his expression guarded. like he’s bracing for you to laugh at him, or worse, to shut him down completely.

“kids?” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“yeah,” he says, his voice gruff, like the word’s hard for him to get out. “like... not right now, obviously, but... someday. you ever think about it?”

your mouth opens, then closes. you glance at him, searching his face for any clues about where this is coming from. it’s not like dean’s ever been the white-picket-fence type. hell, you’re not even sure if you’re the white-picket-fence type, given the life you lead. but there’s something in his eyes, something vulnerable and almost... hopeful, that makes your chest ache.

“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “i guess i haven’t thought about it much, with everything going on. it’s not exactly easy to picture that kind of future, you know?”

he nods, like he was expecting that answer, but there’s still this shadow of disappointment in his expression. “yeah. yeah, i get that,” he mutters, tipping back his beer for another sip.

you watch him for a moment, your mind racing. he doesn’t bring up stuff like this lightly—hell, he barely even talks about his feelings unless you pry them out of him. but this? this is something he’s been holding onto, turning over in his mind, and now he’s laid it at your feet like some kind of fragile offering.

“why are you asking?” you ask gently, leaning closer. “is this something you’ve been thinking about?”

he lets out a low laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah,” he admits, running a hand down his face. “i don’t know, it’s stupid. just... sometimes i think about what it’d be like. teachin’ a kid how to throw a football. takin’ ‘em for a drive in baby when they’re old enough. tryin’ to be the kind of dad mine never was.”

the confession is raw, almost painful, and you feel it settle heavy in your chest. dean’s voice drops lower, like he’s afraid of saying it out loud. “i mean, i know it’s a pipe dream, with the way we live. but... if it ever happened, you know? with you... i think i’d want that.”

his words hang in the air between you, and your heart stutters. with you. the way he says it, so quiet, so certain, makes something twist inside you. you reach out, your fingers brushing his arm. he looks up at you, his expression cautious, like he’s waiting for you to tell him he’s crazy.

“dean,” you say softly, “you’d be an incredible dad.”

he snorts, shaking his head, but you tighten your grip on his arm, making him look at you. “i mean it,” you insist. “you’re already so good with sam, and jack... hell, you take care of everyone around you, whether you realize it or not. you’ve got more love in you than you give yourself credit for.”

his jaw clenches, and he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of emotion in his eyes. “you really think that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“i know it,” you say firmly, leaning in closer. “and if that’s something you want... someday... then yeah. i think i’d want that too. with you.”

his head snaps toward you, his eyes wide, and for a second, he just stares at you. then, without warning, he leans in, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate, messy, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally let the dam break. his fingers thread through your hair, holding you close as his mouth moves against yours, hot and demanding. you gasp into him, your hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him like you need air.

his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open for him, letting him in. he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and it’s like a switch flips. suddenly, you’re climbing into his lap, straddling him as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. the heat of him, the way his stubble scrapes against your skin, the sheer wantpouring off of him—it’s overwhelming in the best way.

he breaks away for a second, his forehead pressing against yours as you both catch your breath. his hands are still on your hips, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “you have no idea how much i love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine.

“i think i have a pretty good idea,” you tease, your lips brushing against his as you speak. he laughs softly, the sound muffled as he kisses you again, slower this time, but just as consuming.

the future might be uncertain, but right now, with dean’s arms wrapped around you, his lips on yours, you think maybe, just maybe, you’ve found something worth holding onto.

₊˚♥︎ babygirl ♥︎˚₊

if you think dean winchester DOESN'T eat pussy then you need to see a therapist

“WRITE IT BADLY. Write it badly, write it badly, write it badly, write it badly. Stop what you’re doing, open a Word document, put a pencil on some paper, just get the idea out of your head. Let it be good later. Write it down now. Otherwise it will die in there.”

— Brandon Sanderson on overcoming writer’s block to create a first draft as a professional author (via almost-always-eventually-right)

sooo i'm watching Big Sky for the first time, on 1x3 and i was not expecting dude to be a trafficker?? that really shocked me. and for the park ranger to shoot that ex-cop?? tf!! and tell me WHY JENSEN HASNT SHOWN UP YET. i thought he was gunna be here from day one smh

okay hear me out… early seasons dean winchester ??