Follow Your Passion: A Seamless Tumblr Journey
Pairing: Dean/Reader
Rating: PG 13 for heartbreak
"No."
"Sam, I'm not a child. I can do this."
"No. You're not going in there."
"Well, why do you have to do it? What makes you more qualified than me?"
"I'm his brother."
"I'm his girlfriend. Have been for three years."
Sam sighed and looked down at his shuffling feet. The bunker was quiet, and felt almost suffocating today. There was a table covered in empty coffee mugs, and a dungeon that was all too full.
This was the third time you and Sam had had this debate, and you were determined to win, close to tears or not. When he finally looked up and nodded, you blinked.
"You're gonna let me do it?"
He gave a very weary smile. "Like you said, you're not a kid. And...Maybe you would be better."
He was nearly knocked over by the tight hug you gave him, and stroked your hair.
One... Two...
Breathe.
Three.
You slid the door open slowly, the creak and groan of metal filling the silence. Not looking up from the ground, you came into the room.
There was the sound of movement, a moment of surprised hesitation, then...a laugh. And it wasn't his laugh.
"I was wondering when Sammy would let you down here, (Y/N)."
You tried very hard not to wince at your name in that mocking tone, eyes still glued to the ground as you shut the door and went to the small silver table with the roll of syringes.
"Aw, you're gonna drug me up. Baby, that's adorable-"
"Don't call me baby." You could almost feel him smile; it made your skin crawl.
"Why not? You love it when I call you baby."
"I love when Dean calls me baby."
"I am Dean. Just-"
"You say a newer model and I'll punch you in the goddamn face." He chuckled.
You picked up a syringe, and a needle. Put the two together. Started to roll up your sleeve.
"You know you can't fix me, right?"
"Watch me."
"Well," he shuffled again, relaxing into the chair a bit, "you can make me human again, sure. But you can never fix me. I'll always be broken. I was when I met you, I was before I got the Mark, I was when I was human and had it. This is the closest to whole and happy I've ever been."
"Shut up." It was practically a whisper.
But he kept on, and the words hurt worse than the needle in your skin.
"See, now I'm not worried about anything. I don't care if Sammy dies, or Cas. I don't care if you die-"
"Shut. Up."
"-I wouldn't feel a bit of guilt, even with your blood on my hands. Actually, that'd be kinda fun. Chasing you around, hunting you down-"
You pulled the needle out sharply and stalked over to him, jabbing it in mercilessly. He hissed and fought, crying out as you pushed in the plunger and the blood flooded his system again. As you walked back over to the table, he began to scream.
"Why the hell are you even trying?! This won't work! It can't, and I don't want it to! Why does it matter what happens to me?!"
"Because I can't lose you, and I won't, even if I have to go to Hell and back again. Because Dean Winchester, I love you, and I won't stop until you're human or I'm dead."
As you walked out, you kept your eyes fixed on the door, trying desperately to ignore the tears blinding you at least until that door was shut behind you again. To your surprise, he said nothing else, and the only sound from him was heavy, ragged breathing.
You didn't look back as you shut the door, but if you had, you would have seen the demon staring at you, face slack with shock, frozen.
Just for a moment, right before the door closed, he moved forward, and opened his mouth as if to speak.
And there was a flash of green in those black eyes.
Pairing: Dean/Reader
Rating: PG 13 for sexy situations (It’s really not bad at all.)
Dean had you against his bedroom door, your hands pulling at his short hair. His hands were raking down your back and you were gasping in his ear as he managed to pull your shirt off, grunting in frustration when he had to break contact with your lips even for the second it took to pull it over your head. It was tossed unceremoniously aside as you worked your way toward the bed. He pushed you down onto it, and you landed flat on your back, smiling up at him mischievously as he gripped the bottom hem of his shirt and pulled upward.
He got it as far as covering his face before he got stuck.
You would've fallen over laughing if you hadn't already been lying down. As it was you were helplessly giggling as he struggled, flailing his arms. "This is so not funny!" came a muffled yell from inside the cottony mess. "Oh, babe," you choked out over your fits, "it really is. Seriously. Way to go Casanova." He gave you the finger over the top of his shirt.
It felt like five more minutes before you finally caught your breath enough to help him. Standing, still shaking with mirth, you grabbed the shirt and joined in the fight.
"How the hell did you even get this stuck?"
"Shut up and help."
"Quit moving your arms!"
"Quit pulling them!"
"How else am I supposed to get this off you?"
A minute later, you were holding his shirt and he was scowling at it. You held it up and shook it, smiling with your tongue between your teeth. "So, shirt one, hunter zip, yeah?"
"Shut up." But he cracked a grin, and pulled you over to him, kissing you again and tangling a hand in your hair. Pulling back, he smirked at you. "Now, where were we?" You pulled him back to you, and lent him back so you were lying on top of him, legs tangled with his.
"This time, let me take the clothes off."
"Gladly."
Pairing: Nothing really, Sam/Reader ish
Rating: PG for language
You were asleep. Everyone was, it was 2 am. And you were having a damn good dream, too.
And then they rolled up. Doors slammed, there was a lot of shouting, and you were suddenly wide awake, standing in the middle of the motel room, pointing a sawed-off shotgun loaded with salt at the door.
"Dean we have to talk about this at some point!"
"Not tonight, Sammy! It's 2 am, and I wanna get some shut eye!"
So do I, you thought in annoyance. You froze, poised for action, when you heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. Then the door handle twisted, and it opened to reveal two hulking figures, shadowed and possibly malformed. The lights clicked on.
"Who the hell are you and how the hell did you get my key?"
It turned out that neither boy was malformed at all, just covered in about four layers of shirts each for some reason. The shocked looks on their faces made you pause. Had they expected you to sleep through that racket? Both boys' hands shot up, and the taller one dropped the set of keys he'd been holding. The shorter one, stepped forward, blocking what he could of the big one, and smiled in what he must have thought was a charming manner. It might've been, too, at any other time of day.
"Um...hi. Sorry, we must be in the wrong room, so if you don't mind, we'll just-"
"Don't move, Model Boy." He blinked, glanced at the bigger one and mouthing "Model Boy?". He shrugged, and Model Boy looked back at you, not moving. You stepped closer, pulling a flask out of your bag as you went and unscrewing the cap with one hand, using the other to keep the gun pointed. When you got it off, you splashed the contents at them, and when the did nothing but flinch and sputter a little, you relaxed a little more.
"Okay, not demons. Still doesn't explain why a moose and a model are standing on my doorstep."
"Again with the moose thing?" the bigger one complained, and after a jab in the ribs from the model, he sighed and said, "Are you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?"
"Who's asking?"
"I'm Sam, and this is Dean. Bobby Singer sent us. Said you needed some help with a pack of demons down here?"
At that, you finally smiled, dropping the gun to bounce against your side. "Oh, so you're the Winchesters! Bobby talks about you boys all the time. I didn't know he'd be sending you to help me out." You laughed, gesturing for them to come in. The relief on their faces as they did, sitting at the little table and dropping their bags around them, made you laugh again. You plopped down on the corner of the unoccupied bed after shutting the door and locking it again, dropping the gun back by your bed.
"Tell me something, guys," you said conversationally as Sam set up his laptop and Dean pulled out a rather heavy looking old leather book, "Why are you in my room and not your own?" The boys exchanged a look, then Dean said, "The uh...the manager said that this one was free." You rolled your eyes and muttered, "Damn idiot's never gonna remember I'm here, is he?" All three of you laughed. "We'll get our own in a couple of minutes, once we're set up in here. No point in having two work stations, right?" Sam said, smiling at you goofily.
"No point in having two rooms either, I think." They looked at you curiously. "What? I'm perfectly willing to share a bed if you are."
You could almost hear them yelling "Dibs!" at each other, and you giggled. "Just for sleeping, you overgrown teenagers." The offended looks this earned you had you trying desperately not to fall over laughing. When you'd calmed down enough to speak again, you stood and walked back over to your bed, slipping back under the sheets.
"Fight it out amongst yourselves. As for me, it's too damn early for research, don't ya think? I'm hitting the hay again, as I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted."
The following whispered argument lasted twenty minutes before the lights snapped out again.
Sam won.