Not Me Absolutely Fucking Up My Sleep Schedule The Last Couple Weeks Cuz I’ve Been Trying To Think

How many Supernatural fans are there on Tumblr?

You are only allowed to reblog this ONCE. Any more than once and this is completely ruined. 

Reblog if you’re a Supernatural fan so we can see how many of us there are out there!

real writers don’t have writer’s block because they never start writing in the first place.

Over halfway done with it but what if y'all are like wtf?? I'm exhausted from work and it took me an hour and a half to write 5-600 words (yikes)

Gunna be dropping another reader! one shot in the next couple days. I’m really liking how it’s turning out so far

I've been working on part 3 of Ten Years Gone I swear, I have this big exam coming up on tuesday that I've been studying for and if all goes well then I'll be back on my bullshit. BUT I'm revamping a previous harry styles fic that i began writing YEARS ago. I'm switching it to a Dean fic. I'm gunna try and edit it tonight and have it out by tomorrow!

Ten Years Gone

3. Invited In

Warnings: Emotional distress Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I didn't proofread this thoroughly, if there's any discrepancies that's my bad.

The driveway was almost snowed over after Novena had shoveled that morning, but wasn’t too deep to stop Dean from pulling in closer to the house. The visibility was only getting worse and it was a miracle that they’d made it back safely. It still baffles her that only living ten minutes inland can affect how much snow her area gets.

“Dean, please stay for tonight. I’d hate for you to get into an accident…”

“I’ll be fine. Driving in a bit of bad weather is nothin’ new to me. I’ll stay until you get inside.”

Such a typical man answer. Rolling her eyes and pressing her lips together in frustration at his comment.

 Huffing out a deep exaggerated breath she says, “That’s unacceptable. You’re coming with me.” 

“Are you detaining me…” Dean lets out a small giggle.

Then he realizes that she’s actually serious, he raises his eyebrows in curiosity. She had a worried look on her face, and it makes him wonder if it’s just for his safety or if there’s something bad hidden beneath those eyes of hers. “Fine, fine. First thing in the morning, I’m outta here.”

Novena nods her head in approval. Dean shuts off the ignition and the pair get out of the car and walk across the driveway to get to the porch stairs. The porch light flickers on once they’re close enough. 

Must be motion-sensored, Dean thinks to himself.

He didn’t see her pull out her keys to unlock her door, she just walked right in.

Weird, who doesn’t lock their doors? 

When entering the house there’s a sign hung up on the stair banister in front of them that states, “No Shoes Beyond This Point!” Dean is self conscious only because he didn’t have time to shower this morning, and he’s been wearing shoes all day.

The house smelled of lavender and cedarwood. There were things everywhere but not in a hoarding type of way. Everything seemed to have a purpose. To the right of the staircase was the living room, an old box tv sat atop a refurbished entertainment center. She motioned for him to walk down the hall and follow her to the back of the house. Pictures littered the walls in the hallway, some of nature and some of her family. 

Then there was the kitchen. It felt like home to Dean.

There were no overhead lights in the ceiling, only smaller lamps everywhere. Again, pictures were covering the walls, cookbooks and coffee mugs sat in built-in cabinets that are on either side of the small circular dining table—with a big window that leads out to the backyard above the table. Plants hanging in front of the window that’s above the sink. A baby pink vintage fridge reminded Dean of the one his parents used to have in Florence, only theirs was light green. And it smelt of homemade bread.

“You want any water? Food?” She asked.

Cinnamon rolls.

“Could I have one of these?” Dean was already taking the lid off of the glass cake stand before Novena had the chance to say anything.

“Mmm, these’re good. You make ‘em yourself?”

A huge grin spread across her face, “I did. Family recipe.” She slid a glass of water to him anyway. 

“Damn. I’d die for these rolls…”

That’s when he heard a thunderous bark come from the other side of the kitchen. A huge, midnight black pitbull was lurking in the shadows, glowing gold eyes shining brightly in the dimly lit room. It made Dean jump for a second time, quickly moving off of the stool he sat himself on. Instinctively reaching for his gun. He almost choked on his cinnamon roll. Trying to cough out the small piece of bread that went down the wrong pipe.

“Sorry about that. Ghost can be very quiet when he wants to be. Come here Ghosty, say hi.”

The dog is cautious, as he should be. Dean was a stranger after all. Ghost slowly lurked towards them, every muscle becoming visible in the more illuminated area of the kitchen, and sniffed Dean’s hand when he extended it out towards him.

Ghost stared intently at Dean, as if trying to determine if he’s worth trusting. If he’s worth being in his owner's home. It almost felt like an interview? The nervous eye contact, heart rate increasing, if Ghost had opposable thumbs, they’d be shaking hands right now. Dean had hoped he wouldn’t smell all of the old blood that remained embedded in his leather jacket and his boots, or sense that he had killed countlessly–or that he had lost part of himself in Hell and in Purgatory…

After what felt like hours, Ghost gently licked Dean's fingers that were lingering in the air and rubbed his head against his palm afterward. Patting his head and taking a big sigh of relief, Dean relaxed back onto the stool, and was met with the sweet, intoxicating laugh from the woman who is too trusting of him. 

Like mother like son, he couldn’t help but to think.

“I’m surprised he likes you. He usually hates men.” 

“Well, that’s good to know after the fact. Thanks for the heads up…” Rolling his eyes not so playfully this time.

Novena saunters over to him, stands between his spread out legs, and places both of her hands on his face, whispering, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, scaredy cat.” Gives him a wink and boops his nose. He is so whipped already, his mouth agape and eyes pining into hers. The trance she causes him to go into is irresistible.

“Um–uh, you should really lock your doors. Noticed it when we walked in.” He places his hands at the small of her back, inching her closer to him.

“Attentive now, are we?” Still maintaining that breathy tone.

“Yes, ma’am. Wanna know you’re safe.” What the actual hell? Why did he feel the need to say what he was truly thinking?

Novena was so close. Her long hair that smelled like coconut was tickling Dean’s thighs. He was looking up at her, head inclined to keep his eyes on hers and not her bust…

“Trust me, it’s safe in this town. More so in this house–”

“If it’s so safe, tell me why your ex ruined your car? Sounds dangerous to me.”

Her demeanor changed instantly. Defensively backing away from him, she crossed her arms and looked down towards the ground. Eyes starting to water, cheeks turning pink with anger, voice quivering, “I think it’s best that I get to bed. If it clears up tomorrow, I need to leave early for work.” 

“I, I’m sorry Nov–”

“It’s fine, let me show you to the guest room.”

—

Novena had shown him upstairs to the room he was to stay in, was provided a towel, travel sized toiletries, and pajamas. Dean watched her walk with her arms wrapped around her, as if she was comforting herself, down the hall until she turned the corner to get to her room.

He felt like shit even after his shower. There must be more to the story if she got this upset over a simple comment. The self guilt that radiated from her was worrisome–like Novena should’ve known Vince was going to act that way. Almost as if she couldn’t predict it. How would she be able to? But why did it seem that way? And what makes her think this house is ultimately safer, especially with the doors unlocked?

Dean padded across the hall towards the room, dried off, and put on the clothes he was given. They fit well. He couldn’t help but to wonder if these were her dad’s or her ex’s pajamas. Hopefully the former. Is that even appropriate to hope for since he’s dead? Dean guessed it was the better option, he didn’t know either of them but he already wants to kick the ex’s ass. Novena was better off without any of his possessions around.

Laying down on the bed was like laying down on a woman’s breast. Soft but firm, warm, and heavenly. The only thing missing was listening to a heartbeat lulling him to sleep. Instead, thoughts of Purgatory plagued his thoughts. The sleepless nights, killing over and over again, looking for Cass, almost getting killed hundreds of times whenever he had tried to get rest. It’s safe to say that it’s a long night riddled with insomnia. 

Two hours had passed before Dean knew it. The hum of the radiator in the corner of the room was somewhat soothing. Every so often the house would creek, causing him to be on high alert. Worried that someone, or something was roaming the halls. At times he thought he heard whimpering coming from the other side of the house, which Dean dismissed–phantom noises like that happen more often than you think working in this business. Especially when you protect more people than you can count. Although, it could be Ghost or Novena. He was conflicted on if he wanted to check on her, since he had upset her. At times it wouldn’t be surprising if Dean was losing his sanity by worrying so much. She’d be fine. He would make it up to her in the morning.

Dean was finally drifting in and out of conscientiousness–focusing on the radiator was the trick to ease his brain into submission. 

Then he heard her blood-curdling scream. 

He wasn’t exactly sure where her room was but he was running in the direction she had gone earlier. Looking behind every door until he found her. Ghost was whimpering somewhere at her bedside when he flung open the door. Flicking on the lightswitch Dean saw that Novena was thrashing in her bed. Grasping at her throat. Tears running down her face. Moving swiftly towards her, Dean sat beside her and held her down while whispering her name, and to wake up. That nothing bad was happening. That she was safe. 

The sadness that her sobs entailed was heartbreaking. What happened to this woman to provoke these night terrors? She still wasn’t waking up but she had calmed down slightly. Calling out for both of her parents. The weak “mommy’s” and “daddy’s” escaping her raw throat made Dean tear up. Her inner child called out for her guardians that she had to mourn; he knew how that felt. And all he could do was hold her close to him, murmuring that he was right there whenever she woke up.

—

tags! @ambiguous-avery @aylacavebear @jackles010378 @deans-spinster-witch

The revolution ‘bout to be televised, you picked the right time but the wrong guy.

The balls for Kendrick to utter this in front of him along with dissing Drake? Cinema? No, modern protest that’s recapturing decades of protest culture within music, specifically black music. Major props to Kendrick and I hope more are to follow

no but yesterday my boyfriend was taking me out to dinner and we had to stop for gas and he saw me typing up my little fic through HIS TINTED WINDOW?! and he aSKED ME WHAT I WAS WRITING!! and i admitted that i was writing fanfics about DEAN. literally so embarassing

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.

Until the bed breaks and the neighbors know your name baby boy