"likes Mean Nothing On Tumblr" You're Sending Me A Little Heart. That's Not Nothing It's Your Heart.

There’s no way I just stumbled across the first 6 seasons of smallville on dvd. Do I get it???

The first clip 😭🤣

CR: @ackleslut TikTok

Yeah now we've entered the back pain stage

HARRY STYLES | GOLDEN (BEHIND THE SCENES)

ok but dean just lying on top of reader completely, pressing her into the mattress as he buries his head in her neck while she plays with his hair and soothes him and he’s just so relaxed and calm and loved and CDDGFCYFYTVUGVGVCXERTDCYFYFFFG

SCREAMING BC YES !!!!! full body weight on her, entirely relaxed and mushy-brained bc he can finally be soft :(( like patting his head like a lil puppy and just basking in each other’s warmth and company ???? yes pls my turn when ???

i also hc that dean likes having ur full body weight on him too !!!! like that man is so clearly adhd and being compressed into the mattress under ur body? uh huh 🙂↕️

❝ love ends in blood . . . ❞

❝ at least it does for dean winchester. ❞

dean's hands tremble as they make contact with your body, his eyes brimmed with tears as he took in your injured state.

"shh, baby girl it's okay..you'll be fine–" his words came out breathy, "we'll get you fixed up, good as new, angel." you heard a crackle in his normally gruff voice.

with all the strength you could muster, you brought up your palm to his cheek. the once warm touch was growing cold. you knew the end was nearing, and dean couldn't grasp onto the thought of life without you. his palms unlike yours were warm, but not from his body heat—blood.

you were bleeding out rapidly, in no way would you ever be able to stay alive for long. you tried to speak, yet nothing came out. you knew dean would try everything to bring you back—he could never let the dead stay dead—and you didn't want that.

"no, please, honey.." his bottom lip trembled and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.

dean couldn't let you go, not when you were his anchor, his life line, his everything. but he knew deep down if you were to die, you didn't want to be brought back. and damn if he didn't want to push that aside and let his own selfishness take over; he just couldn't and if this was your wish, so be it.

his forehead came to rest on yours, noses touching as he planted a soft kiss on your lips. your eyes once bright with life now dark. his tears fell onto your face, his eyes shutting as he holds you for the last time. his clothes were stained with your blood, his skin dyed a crimson red. he held you close as the life faded from your figure.

sobs wracked through his body as he came to realize you were truly gone.

sunny yaps! oh hey guys.. heh just stopping by to put this here!! 😽

special tags! @bluemerakis @littlesoulshine @h8aaz @figthoughts @deansbeer @liiiilsss @fuckedupfate @bejeweledinterludes

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

dream ride( not the car )

he is 46, dude.

@aylacavebear thank you for reading and leaving a comment! I’ll tag you :) <3 I’m gunna do my best to get it out by this weekend!

Ten Years Gone {d.w.}

1. Strangers in a Bar

Hi everyone!! This is my first Dean Winchester fic! Please let me know what you think of it, happy reading!

Summary: Dean hasn't been out of Purgatory for long and finds himself in a small town on the coast of Maine. He runs into a mysterious woman and she makes him question his retirement? Will Dean actually step away from the job? And what is this woman hiding from him? Warnings: slight aggression. +18 MDNI (even though there’s nothing R rated in this)

It’s late on a Tuesday night, the jukebox is humming in the corner of the bar playing slow country music. The air smells of liquor that’s dried on most surfaces of this place, a smell that’ll cling to your clothes until you wash them. It was the kind of late where only the restless or wrecked hung around, and tonight, Dean Winchester felt like both.

He sat at a table nursing a whiskey, tracing the edge of the glass with his middle finger. The bar was mostly empty, but Dean always made it a point to observe even when it’s not needed; the bartender wiping down the counter, two guys at a table loudly arguing about whether the Bruins are going to the playoffs or not, and a woman a few seats away from Dean, scribbling away in a notebook. He can’t tell if she comes here often or if she’s in the same boat he’s in, restless. Making sure to keep a watchful eye on her, especially since she’s the only woman in the building.

Dean shifted in his seat, trying not to think about the fact that he’s on the road by himself, again. It wasn’t the first time his brother needed a break from this life, and it wouldn’t be the last. They’ve been hunting nonstop for eight years, and after everything Sam has been through with the demons and Lucifer, the Leviathan’s and not knowing if Dean was dead or not for a year—he was bound to crack. The two of them fought over the fact that Sam didn’t hunt for a year, that Kevin was abducted and nothing was done about it. Sam was adamant about stepping away for a while, so he’s with his girl, while Dean is on the lookout for The Prophet. 

For some reason this time feels different. Dean’s gotten older, he’s not young and stupid anymore, and he sure as hell has been through the wringer more than he’d like to be. He has a hard time lying to himself that he’s fine on his own. He needs Sam. The feeling of crippling anxiety that won’t cease is new, and it’s a feeling that’s not easily quieted by liquor. His hand shakes while he downs the remainder of his whiskey. The job is his life but is his life worth the job? It’s a hard decision to make, almost impossible.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice that the woman had gotten up and started walking towards the bar. She distanced herself as far away from the other two men as she could then ordered, “A margarita with a salt rim and a double whiskey, please.” It didn’t take long for them to notice that she’d gone up there. Dean didn’t like the looks of them, they had a mischievous gleam in their eyes when looking at her. One of the Bruins fans stood up and advanced towards the bar.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” the man slurred, propping himself up against the counter. “What do ya say I buy your drinks for ya, sweetheart?”

Dean sighed, his grip tightening around his glass. He knows how these movies end, and they don’t end well. 

The woman didn’t so much as flinch, without turning to look at him, she said, “I can take care of it myself, thanks.”

Her voice was cold and sharp, the kind of tone that could cut through steel, but the drunkard didn’t take the hint. He leaned in closer. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, see his eyes narrow in determination, and sense his bad intentions. 

“Aw, come on honey. Let me treat ya, then maybe we can head back to my place, if you know what I’m sayin’?”

“I said no. Walk. Away.” Her gaze finally snapping to him, one so chilling that it could turn a man to stone if she tried hard enough. 

Dean was not expecting her to be as harsh and as direct with the guy, he admired that. He knew that a guy like this wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he pushed out of his chair loudly and started to make his way towards them.

As she was turning to leave the counter, the guy grabs her by her bicep and pulls her into him, “You’re a good for nothing bitch, is what you are–”

Dean walks faster, boots thudding against the worn out floorboards. “Hey!” he barked. His voice low and dangerous as he got right in the drunk’s face. “When a lady says no, you listen. Now, let her go before this gets ugly.”

The man sneered then released her, muttering curses under his breath as he stumbled back to his friend. Dean turns to the bartender, his expression sharp. “And you–what kind of place are you running where this shit flies? Do better.”

He turns around to meet the woman, “You okay?”

She nods, her hardened features softening just a fraction at his kindness. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem, Miss..?”

“Novena.” She smiles up at Dean and reaches her hand out to shake his. 

“I’m Dean.” He gave her a warm smile back and took her hand in his. Her handshake was firm, he’s even more impressed.

“I was actually getting you a drink, believe it or not.” Her voice was rid of any trace of bitterness that had been there before, “I saw you sitting by yourself and you looked upset. Thought I’d bring you another round.”

“Thank you, I definitely need it.” Dean takes the glass from her, his fingers brushing against hers. Novena tenses up and her gaze immediately meets his, but within a second her state of shock is gone. Dean notices but doesn’t think too much of it. He doesn’t mean to be cocky, but a lot of girls in the past have frozen up around him before. Usually from being a flirt but he’s made no effort tonight—maybe he still has the juice after all.

Novena gives him another smile, then makes her way back towards her seat. This was the first act of kindness anyone has shown him since he got back from purgatory, and it was refreshing. A total stranger noticed that he wasn’t doing alright. He had been standing in the same spot, staring into space long enough for the bartender to give him the look of, “dude, you good?” He wasn’t good, but maybe he could distract himself from his anxiety for a little while, she was mysterious and that intrigued Dean. 

Making his way over to her slowly, he notices that she had been making a sketch of someone. “Mind if I sit with you?” She closes her book when she hears his voice, as if not to be caught with her doodle. “I know it’s late and I, I don’t wanna seem like that scumbag over there—“

“Sit. I can tell a tortured soul when I see one,” she gestures with her hand for him to take the chair opposite from her. Novena emphasizes, “Please.”

Also not what he was expecting, but her voice was calm. Demanding but gentle. He does as he’s told.

“Yes ma’am.” They stare at each other, scanning each other's features in a way that is more intimate than it should be. Dean finally speaks up, “So, if you’re a tortured soul like me, what’re you doing out so late on a Tuesday?”

Novena sighs and takes a sip of her drink, “There’s a lot going on but to keep it sweet and simple, my dad recently passed, my boyfriend, well…ex now, destroyed my car when I ended things,” with sad eyes, she looks down at her fingers, fiddling with one of the rings she has on. She clears her throat before asking, “What about you, Mr-New-In-Town? What brings you into The Salty Dog?”

Dean lets out a small chuckle at her enthusiasm when saying the name of the bar, but says seriously, “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, I am. It’s not easy losing a parent,” He takes a swig of his whiskey, thinking of Bobby especially. “I uh, lost my father figure not too long ago as well.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Novena’s brows furrow and she places her hand over Dean’s so naturally, gently rubbing her thumb over the top of his knuckles. 

He’s taken aback by this, he almost jumps at her touch. His eyes dart to hers and he’s met with empathy and compassion; there’s a lump in his throat that’s unbelievably painful with the grief that’s been hidden away. Not one soul has been able to break through Dean’s wall as easily as the woman before him. His eyes are jumping from their hands to the table, scoping out the rest of the bar to see if anyone is paying attention, which no one was, then back up to Novena. Tears were threatening to escape the corners of his eyes and once he saw that her mascara had run down her face, was when Dean let go. She removed her hand from his, leaned over the small table, cupped his face and wiped away the dampness on his skin. 

It almost felt like Novena was taking away his pain with her touch, and it looked like it too. The eye contact hadn’t broke since he looked up at her. Dean was a mess and he couldn’t decipher if what he was seeing was a figment of his imagination or not—but it seemed like his struggle was held within her eyes? There was this humming noise that was coming from somewhere, the jukebox or the overhead lights maybe, that was soothing. Ultimately easing Dean to breathe slower and to quiet his racing thoughts. 

“I, I don’t know what that was.” Dean whispers, “I’m sorry, that’s embarrassing. This never happens to me…” he gestures at himself.

Novena pulled away from him concerningly, “Showing human emotion never happens to you?” 

“Wow—that’s not what I was expecting you to say. But, yeah. I usually don’t allow myself to show people how I’m feeling. To be frank, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Long day I suppose.”

She didn’t know how to respond to him. He’s different from other men she’s met, that’s a given. Dean almost immediately crumbled under her touch. It felt like he was begging to let someone in, wanting to be understood. If they hadn’t mentioned that they’ve both lost someone dear to them, then Dean probably wouldn’t have been easy to get a reading from. Novena liked that he related so much to her, that Dean felt so deeply that his emotions had transferred through their touch.

He was trying to brush off what had just happened. Novena could see it in his eyes, that he was questioning the intense moment they shared. Dean covered his face with both of his hands and sighed. This was the perfect moment to change subjects.

“I better get going, it’s getting late–I have to be up early for work. But I’ll see you around?”

—

A/N: Any and all feedback is appreciated! Feel free to send me asks or dm’s :)) I'm just making things up as I go, so be patient with me lol. This will be multiple parts as well as blurbs. I have a busy schedule but I’m going to try my best to write these chapters cuz I’m really obsessed with the idea I have!

tags! @ambiguous-avery