Gunna Be Dropping Another Reader! One Shot In The Next Couple Days. I’m Really Liking How It’s Turning

may the fourth be with you or whatever they say

you ask dean, voice low, teasing, like you already know what he’s gonna say. “baby or me?”

his lips twitch, that half-smirk creeping up slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to wreck you. his hand slides over the impala’s hood, fingertips dragging like he can feel her heartbeat under the metal. he leans in, close enough that you catch the whiskey on his breath, the gun oil, the goddamn leather.

“how ‘bout you inside of baby? that an option?”

the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. he watches your throat work as you swallow, the way your breath stutters just a little. his grin widens, downright cocky now, because he can feel the shift in the air, the way heat pools thick between you two.

he moves even closer, pressing a hand flat to the car like he needs the grounding, like if he doesn’t keep himself in check, he might just take what he wants right then and there. his voice drops lower, rougher.

“you keep lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart, i might start thinkin’ you want somethin’.”

his fingers curl around your wrist, slow, like he’s testing, seeing if you’ll pull away. you don’t. a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, pleased, knowing.

“yeah,” he murmurs, like he’s already decided. “that’s what i thought.”

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze

@jackles010378 AAHH THANK YOU!! Yes I’ll tag you in the next part!! I’m hoping to get it finished by the end of the week :)

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

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

Credits: ititen

okay hear me out… early seasons dean winchester ??

I pray everyday that I don’t die whilst tumblr is logged into my phone.

I’d be so embarrassed from the grave if someone went through my tumblr and found everything I’ve written, liked, reblogged, etc. 😭

I’d like to keep my freak a secret

𓂃˖ ࣪ 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤

˚₊‧꒰ა @angels-silhouette ☆ dean winchester ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ⋆˙⟡ where leo, cancer, sagittarius meets aquarius, leo*, saggitarius. ⟡˙⋆

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐

ꔛ. meeting each other,

if fate were a person, it would've laughed when you two crossed paths. you and dean? your energies are like two flint stones colliding--fire, fire, fire! dean's leo rising practically screams for attention, but guess what? so does yours. the moment you walk into a room, people notice. and so does he. so, let's set the scene : it's late, the neon glow of some dingy gas station flickering against the impala's hood. you're leaning against your car, glaring at the ancient-looking gas pump that's absolutely not accepting your card. dean's watching from across the lot, beer in one hand, keys twirling in the other. he's seen that look before--pure, unfiltered annoyance--and damn if it isn't entertaining. "you gotta coax it a litte," he calls over. you turn, raising an unimpressed brow. "oh? and what do you suggest? whisper sweet nothing to it?" dean smirks, pushing off the impala. "nah, sweetheart. just gotta kick it real good." "...you can't be serious." dean shrugs. "worked for me once. or maybe i just have the magic touch." you scoff, but there's something annoyingly charming about him. and just like that? you've both got each other's attention.

ꔛ. friendship compatibility,

with both your moons in sagittarius, there's an instant understanding. you both crave adventure, freedom, and a life that isn't boring. you'd push each other to do the craziest things--late-night road trips, reckless dares, sneaking into places you definitely shouldn't be. your leo sun and mercury mean you love a good back-and-forth, and dean's aquarius sun and capricorn mercury make him the perfect sparring partner. expect witty banter, eye-rolls, and arguments over the dumbest things--but also deep, surprisingly heartfelt talks when it really matters. potential conflict? your mars in scorpio makes you intense when you care, but dean's mars in aquarius is detached. he runs when things get too heavy. you, on the other hand, demand honesty. if he pulls back, you'll call him out. still, as friends? unstoppable duo. the kind of connection that just makes sense.

ꔛ. romantic compatibility,

this? a wild, passionate mess that neither of you can walk away from. dean is irresistibly drawn to your leo sun and venus. you're confident, magnetic, and unapologetically yourself--and he loves that. you shine, and whether he admits it or not, he wants to be close to the light. your mars in scorpio makes you all-in when it comes to love. you don't do half-measures. but dean's mars in aquarius? it's complicated. he feels deeply, but he's terrified of being trapped. this means your dynamic is a push and pull--he teases, you challenge, he flirts, you raise the stakes. strengths? ridiculous chemistry. the tension is off the charts. you'd bring out dean's softer, more protective side, and he'd pull you into a world of adventure you secretely crave. weaknesses? you want commitment, whether you say it outright or not. dean... has a habit of avoiding thing until it's too late. the challenge? getting him to admit he wants you just as much as you want him.

ꔛ. request, strangers meeting for the first time

dean leans against the impala, beer sweating in his grip as he watches you struggle with the ancient gas pump. “need help?” you sigh, barely sparing him a glance. “unless you’re secretly a gas station whisperer, no.” dean smirks, pushing off the car. “lucky for you, i happen to be great with machines.” “is that so?” you cross your arms, studying him now. he’s cocky, all easy confidence and reckless charm. the type of guy you should probably ignore. but then? he kicks the pump, and the damn thing starts working. you blink. “…what the hell?” dean grins. “told you. magic touch.” you scoff, but there’s a flicker of amusement behind it. “you realize you just encouraged every idiot in a hundred-mile radius to start kicking gas pumps, right?” he shrugs. “not my problem.” you shake your head, but you’re smiling now. and dean? yeah. he likes that.

ꔛ. overall, score : 8.5 / 10

explosive chemistry, but can you handle the fire? it's magnetic, thrilling, and impossible to ignore. you challenge him, intrigue him, and keep him on his toes. he pulls you into a world of excitment, but can he give you the security you deserve? that's the real question. but one thing's for sure--neither of you are walking away from this one unchanged.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

* since the birth time of dean hasn't ever been mentioned, I've placed him as a leo rising, since it's the sign that makes more sense to me.

I’m bored and nosy. Please reblog this with the book you’re currently reading.

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????