No. I don't have time and it doesn't look that interes-
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Summary: The reader stumbles upon Dean’s biggest secret. Dean’s not happy about it. He thinks…
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester
Word count: 500 (look at me, I can drabble!)
Warnings: Uh, language, I guess. And so much fluff, guys. So much fluff.
Author’s Notes: This is my sumbission for @trexrambling Daring Drabbles. My dear Jess, congratulations on your milestone and thank you so much for letting me participate (see how I was on schedule this time, even I can’t believe it lol.)
Special thank you to my wonderful twin @ravengirl94 for helping me figure out what I wanted to do with this. I wouldn’t have come up with this story if it weren’t for her (shocking, I know).
My prompt for this was the world “befuddled” and has been inserted into the fic.
Dean keeps a
picture of you in his wallet.
It’s an old photograph,
a fading reminder of all those mornings you’d spend at Bobby’s back yard, back
when the world wasn’t such a complicated place.
Sunshine sweeps over your face while you’re sitting on the hood
of the Impala, mug of coffee in hand, laughing at something Dean’s said. It’s loud and warm, a real laugh that makes
your eyes crinkle and shine, and you wonder if you can still laugh
like that after everything you’ve been through.
Relationship: Dean x Reader Rating: Mature-ish. Warnings: attempted crack [emphasis on attempted!] A/N: This is for @trexrambling and @wheresthekillswitch #crackitbaby challenge! Special thank you to Jess for answering all of my questions and being an overall delight!
You’ve been living in the bunker long enough to have made a plethora of discoveries (actual magical beans, shrink ray (defective), home videos (exactly what it sounds like)). Not one captured your attention, your fascination, quite as much as the Orange Phenomenon.
If you’re honest with yourself, you might have gone a tad bit overboard. A smidge, really. But you couldn’t help your mind from straying from whatever task you had at hand, at any given time, to fantasize about the orange thing.
When you first come across it, it’s mostly an accident. Or at the very least a coincidence. Or maybe the Gods orchestrated the whole thing as a gift for all you’ve done for humanity. You don’t know. You don’t care. You’re too busy thinking about it.
It happens as you’re sitting at the table adjacent to the kitchen. You’ve got a sour expression on your face when Dean walks in with an empty mug.
“Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?” Dean snickers and your frown deepens. “What’s going on?”
You nod to the plated orange in front of you. “I started to peel it and I already have the stench sticking to my skin like it’s not planning on going anywhere this decade.”
“It’s twenty seventeen. Decade’s almost over at least.” Dean chuckles, because he thinks he’s funny- which he definitely is not-, and places his mug in the sink. “You hate it that bad?”
“Yes. Won’t go away no matter how many times I wash my hands. It distracts me during hunts!”
“Oh well, if it’s a safety hazard,” He intones dramatically with an easy smile on his face as he settles in front of you and drags the plate across the table top towards himself.
He foregoes the knife you’d started to use and digs into the slit you’d already made, tearing the skin of the fruit right off.
You watch his capable hands work the orange, flexing minutely as they remove the peel. You watch his ridiculously long fingers pluck the white string off and find your mouth watering. He pushes his thumbs between two wedges and splits the fruit open.
Immediately, juice oozes, coating his fingers. A drop runs down his palm and past his wrist. He catches it with his tongue somewhere on his forearm, licking all the way back up to erase the rivulet made by the errant dribble.
You swallow thickly, your eyes trained on the way Dean distractedly licks his lips to taste the traces of nectar and, in the foreground, on the way a large hand cups one half of the orange to free up his nimble fingers so they can remove the core stuck at the center of the other half. Then he’s separating a segment and extending his, still sticky with juice, hand to you in offering.
Summary: Dean Winchester didn’t know what having a home felt like. Not until he met her, anyway.
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester (briefly)
Word count: 1418
Warnings: This is pure, unadulterated fluff (with tiny, light references to sex because Dean can’t help himself, okay?)
Author’s Note: This is my submission for @atari-writes‘ Birthday Challenge. Amber, thank you so, so much for letting me participate and granting me an extension for this. I’m glad I took my time with it because I kind of love how it turned out.
My prompt for this were “I hate to see you leave but love to watch you go. ‘Cause of your butt.” from The Office and “You’re so cute when you’re half asleep
like this…” from Parks And Recreation.
Dean isn’t sure he
knows what having a home feels like.
He remembers he
used to have one, of course, back when the monsters and the demons weren’t a
part of his life, but that was ruined the moment they killed
his mother and burned his childhood to the ground, and he’s certain that he
wouldn’t want to go back, even if he could.
He never settled
after that, never stayed in one place long enough to call it home, but that doesn’t matter anyway, because, to him, home isn’t really a place. He has heard the sayings, after
all, knows that, for most people, home is
where the heart is.
thing though; Dean is not most people and he doesn’t believe love’s something that can
be measured.His heart, he
knows, is not at one place; it’s
strapped to his brother’s existence, but there are parts of it, bloody and
weathered, that have stayed with his parents, and others that belong to the
friends he’s come to consider family, both the ones he’s lost and the ones that
are still around.
So, yeah, perhaps
Dean has many homes but it never feels like it, never feels like he truly belongs somewhere other than the Impala.
There, holding the steering wheel, with the scent of leather and whiskey and
dry blood filling his senses and a classic rock song blasting through the speakers,
he feels free.
And yet, there’s something
He can feel it in
moments like this, moments when he’s returning back to the bunker with his brother
after a fun night out because everything around him is still and nobody needs
saving, and he wants to feel happy, wants to feel content and at peace, but he can’t.
And then, he sees
asleep on the sofa, dressed in that ridiculous cable-knit cardigan of his that
she seems to love, the book she’d been reading for the past few weeks still in
her hand and she’s so beautiful and
stunningly innocent in that moment, so vulnerable and strong all at once, that he
can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips.
disgustingly in love with her.” Sam announces, barely
able to contain his amusement when the tips of his brother’s ears flush pink. “You
know that, right?”
Hey, did you ever see that one movie, the one where there's this cowboy and he's the king of the castle... And then this astronaut shows up and tries to take over, so the cowboy attempts to murder him. But instead, the astronaut is taken hostage by this evil psychopath. And the cowboy has to rescue him. And then they end up becoming really good friends.