xoxo, kren

what do i write?

mostly canon character x fem!reader although, some of my works could be read as gender neutral, i mostly write a story with a female character in mind, so the narrative and descriptions might not someimes work for the other gender. i can write from fluff to angst and up to smut (consensual) i might still be brushing up on my writing right now, but we'll eventually level up and explore different themes.

who do i write about?

currently just writing dean winchester x fem!reader he's the one i'm most comfortable writing about right now (does not guarantee that i portray him perfectly, though). once i get the hang of writing again, i might add sam winchester next and possibly castiel. i am also interested in soldier boy, but i might wait for vought rising first so i can grasp his character more (or maybe not, if i become impatient).

what i don't write?

1. canon character x canon character i have written these types of fics before, but i might not do it here on this blog. although, this one might change in the future, especially when i discover a ship i obsess over. 2. underage characters (unless both are underage) i am good with age gap as long as both are consenting adults and at least above 21 or 25, because 19x40s still feels wrong. 3. incest & dead dove: do not eat i just know i won't be able to write it comfortably and express the theme properly

fandoms (let's find a common ground and be friends!):

“He said he doesn’t get my career path?” You let out an offended sound before downing your nth tequila shot for the night, its heat trailing down your throat and into your stomach. “As if his basketball career is a clear, sure path to success. The guy ain’t even in the starting five of the Stanford Cardinals!”

“Aw, babe… we both know you’re out of his league. You’re too good for him, and you would surely carry the relationship financially in the future.” Jess reached out to squeeze your hand. “Because if Sam just put a tiny bit of effort, he would definitely dominate him in basketball. So his future? Not really promising. You dodged a bullet, trust me.”

“Look, I already told you that I didn’t like the guy in the first place.” Sam opened a fresh, ice-cold beer, its pop punctuating his point. “I let you date him because I respect your decision, even though it was wrong.”

“Hey, now…” You warned as you poured yourself another full shot, the clear liquid overspilling a tiny bit. “Remember, listening only, no judgment.”

“Hard not to judge when you were with him for four years.” The giant muttered behind a bottle of beer.

“Shh…” You shushed him as you leaned over the table to initiate a very unstable toast. “To wasting my four fucking years!”

“Kinda sad, but sure.” Jess shrugged before they clinked their drinks with yours.

You were sitting in a corner booth in the bar near your university, away from the dance floor where a couple of familiar faces spent their night away. The bass from the loud music made it a bit hard for you to spill your feelings out, but it was alright. You could just always shout your bitterness out. Besides, you needed the noise to drown out the stupid thoughts.

You broke up—technically, got dumped—weeks ago, but when you found out that he was already hooking up with the head cheerleader, it triggered you in an ugly way. The type where you want to go out, get shitfaced, and find some cheap validation that would make you look and feel attractive like that certain blonde cheerleader. Maybe getting said validation from some ‘okay’ guy or… maybe from a certain ex.

You knew damn well that it was stupid, but as you watched Sam and Jess flirt in front of you, the answer came easily. With your cheek resting heavily on your open palm, you got your phone and scrolled through your contacts.

!!DO NOT CALL!!

Yeah, right. As if that label would stop you now. Before your thumb could press the call button, your phone was snatched away from your hand.

“Hey!” You instinctively called out to whoever pulled away your pathetic means of getting a confidence boost.

Across the table, Sam, ever the good observer, was frowning as he looked at your screen. His attention to detail would make him a great lawyer one day, but he could be a bit annoying when he wanted to talk you out of a dumb decision.

“Seriously?” He shook his head, lips in a tight line and eyes disappointed. “I’m holding your phone hostage for tonight.”

You watched him tuck your phone inside the safety of his jacket pocket. It was probably for the best, so you wouldn’t do something you would regret tomorrow morning, but that didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes at him.

“Whatever. I’ll be on the dance floor then. You’re coming with me, Jess!” You reached over and pulled the blonde girl from the booth, smiling smugly at Sam for stealing his girlfriend.

The night shifted into high gear from there.

It was the night after the finals, after all, and the bar was full of Stanford students, so it was easy for you and Jess to find some blockmates on the dance floor. In less than a minute, you found a couple of girls from your English class and joined their circle. It was easy to get lost in the upbeat music and strong alcohol. A freshman was busy going around, offering free chugs of a mystery cocktail. Of course, you’ve been a very cool, model senior and downed the monstrosity without blinking an eye.

Some time later, Jess excused herself to go back to her boyfriend. You teased her about it but eventually let her go. You were not alone for long anyway when an Engineering major approached you at the bar. He was cute with his curly hair and glasses, and you liked the attention. Unfortunately, the conversation was dry as the Sahara Desert. The cocktail in your hand was not even enough to be the social lubricant between you two. You could not power through despite the prize of a possible one-night stand.

You don’t know how long it took, but you were able to pull yourself from the conversation as smoothly as your intoxicated brain could manage. You stumbled back to your table, which was now filled with pre-law students and a very inebriated Sam.

“No, Sam!” You dragged out his name dramatically as you landed your hands on the table. “You told me you were going to take me home.”

“Don’t worry, I called my brother. He’s going to drive us home.” He waved his hand. Always the smart and prepared one, even when he was wasted.

His brother? You only met the man twice or thrice, not really enough information to draw any opinions from you, aside from the fact that he did not look really... friendly. He was not exactly hostile, but he didn’t look as warm and approachable as Sam. However, a free ride is a free ride home. You weren’t going to complain.

Shrugging, you slid into the booth and joined in whatever drinking game was happening at your table.

It was after an hour or two when the three of you walked out of the bar and into the chilly midnight air. Sam was hauling you and Jess, holding both your arms to keep you steady even though he was stumbling too. You and Jess were busy laughing as you were led into a parked black Impala across the road.

Sam’s brother got out of the driver's seat when he saw the three of you approaching. You knew he was only a couple of years older, but he was looking at your drunk selves with exasperation, as if you were a bunch of wild toddlers. He might not be wrong, but still…

“Dean!” Sam called out, a little too loud for an empty, quiet street. He then introduced you quickly. “You remember her, right? Mind if you drop her back to her apartment too?”

“Do I have a choice?” His voice was deep and rough, the complete opposite of his little brother.

“Samuel! Thought it was already an okey-dokey with the big bro? Don’t wanna walk home…” You cupped your hand at the corner of your mouth and whispered to your best friend. You tried to be very discreet about it, but miserably failed as your conspiratorial but very slurry voice still reached Dean’s ears.

It made the older Winchester huff, a light smirk appearing on his lips. “I don’t mind. Get in.” He gestured at the door of his car.

Sam and Jess got together in the back seat, which left you to sit in the passenger seat. The interior of the car was rugged but clean, and smelled of leather, oil, and pine, quite similar to the car’s owner. It felt a little intrusive to be the one sitting in front, but you didn’t really want to be a third wheel in the back. Plus, leaving Dean alone in front felt a bit impolite. He was not some personal driver, not officially, at least.

You were already fumbling with the seatbelt when Dean got in the driver’s seat. His presence was a bit intimidating now that he was closer to you, not really helpful as you were currently struggling with the buckle. After a solid three seconds of wrestling with the car’s safety feature, his warm, calloused hand took over for you. He gently moved your hands away and locked the buckle with ease before he started the engine.

Your hands moved to hold onto the seatbelt straps, still feeling the phantom heat from his touch.

The drive to Sam and Jess’s apartment was a quick one, which you were thankful for because the passing lights from the street lamps somehow made you nauseous, and you didn’t really want to throw up in someone’s car.

Sam was leaning over the passenger window when he told Dean your apartment’s address, and then he looked down at you.

“Don’t do anything stupid now, okay?” He handed your phone back. “And please, behave.” He added the warning, his voice firm.

“Oh, come on, Sammy. I won’t—” Dean sounded insulted by his brother’s words and their implications.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Dean.” Sam cut him off, keeping his eyes on you. “This one is dangerous when drunk and needs validation.”

You glared at him despite the dizziness, hoping it was deadly enough to get your message across. Sure, his older brother was intimidating and attractive, making him intimidatingly attractive. Then there you were, looking for a distraction… but you were not a feral animal. You wouldn't jump on the innocent man. Besides, he seemed like he didn’t see you that way.

“I think I can handle her just fine,” Dean replied confidently and dismissively. “Now go away so we can get going.”

You waved goodbye to the couple as they walked toward the front door of their apartment before the car pulled away from the curb. The silence in the Impala was a bit heavier now without the buffer of two people. However, you did not have the chance to be awkward about it when you were too busy fighting the aftereffects of mixing different types of alcohol.

“Sorry, you still have to drop me off.” Your words were steadier when you broke the silence and adjusted in your seat to get comfortable.

“It’s fine. It’s actually near my place.”

“Oh? T-that’s great!” You might’ve said it a little too enthusiastically, which made him glance at you with a raised, questioning eyebrow. “Don’t get the wrong idea! I don’t mean it like that. I am just glad you don’t need to… make a… um, backsies just to get home.”

"Backsies?" He tried to suppress a chuckle at your interesting choice of words. “Don’t overthink it, kid.” He offered a lopsided smile.

Kid. Yep, definitely not interested in me. He probably thought you were just his little brother’s best friend who apparently couldn’t hold her alcohol down, because now you felt a wet heave coming up from your gut.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean panicked when you started to heave again. “Not in the car!”

You couldn't even throw a smartass retort back, not with your mouth tasting like bile and the only thing holding off the unthinkable. Your hand just gave his arm urgent taps while the other searched for the door handle. Before the car could screech to a complete stop, you flung the door open, nearly missing a lamp post. You almost gave the poor guy a heart attack. You knew he was a mechanic, and damaging his car might cost you more than your wallet could afford.

Then you were hurling your guts out on a strip of grass on the sidewalk. Ah yes, here it was: the peak of college life, fertilizing plant life with your own organic material. Very earth-friendly, very humiliating.

Whatever chance you cockily thought you had with Dean Winchester once you decided to shoot your shot just went up in flames.

Soon, you felt a warm hand rubbing your back as another retch shook your frame. “Jesus Christ, how much did you drink?” You felt the slight hesitation in his fingers when he tried to pull away the hair he thought was getting in your way.

The tiny act was thoughtful and dangerous for someone who was still fragile and heartbroken.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you plopped back against the leather front bench seats. He was handing you a candy before you could even pull the door shut.

Again, very dangerous. Borderline lethal.

You muttered a quick thanks as you accepted the wrapped-up hardened sugar, its minty flavor clearing the ugly aftertaste in your mouth.

Shortly, the car pulled up on your street, and you pointed at your humble flat to make it easier for him to navigate.

“Stay seated.” He said casually after he killed the engine.

“Huh? But why?” You demanded, but no one answered as you watched him round the Impala through the windshield. Not seeing the purpose of his command, you decided not to obey it and pushed the car door open.

As soon as you pushed yourself off the seat, the ground felt like it was sinking under you. The sudden shift from sitting for a long time to standing up made your vision spin. One of your feet gave out from under you, and you felt yourself falling with a high-pitched yelp.

Before you could embarrassingly face-plant yourself on the sidewalk, a strong hand grabbed your arm and pulled you up just in time. Your face hit a solid chest instead of the concrete.

“This is why,” Dean sighed from above your head.

He did not let go of you immediately. He waited until you were stable enough to stand on your own two legs. As soon as his grip loosened, you pulled back without looking up. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks, which you blamed on the warmth of his chest, bleeding through his black shirt.

You were still swimming in his scent and perfume as you fought yourself not to sprint to your front door. That sounded like a terrible idea. It sounded like broken bones and a late-night trip to the ER. So you walked normally, or at least as normal as you could allow yourself when you could still feel Dean’s hand hovering near you. The gesture made you feel safe and highly self-conscious at the same time.

When you reached your front porch, you went through your keys, and your fogged-up brain couldn’t remember which one was for the front door. Was it the one with the circular bow or the angular one? What the hell, might as well try everything. The mere act of slotting one into the hole was already an effort, especially when you could see from your peripheral vision that Dean was observing you while leaning against the door frame.

“Want me to turn around so I can’t see you?” He asked, his arms crossed over his wide chest, clearly entertained by you battling with a doorknob.

You threw him a side-eye before rolling your eyes. His teasing just made you more aggressive in jamming your keys into the lock. It did not exactly make the door-opening process any faster; it just produced more noise.

“Fuckin’ finally!” With a prolonged groan and unnecessary force, you pushed your door open.

Dean straightened up and took a peek inside your house. It was dark, and the only light was from the ajar bathroom door, which you probably left open earlier.

“You got it from here?” His eyes flickered back to you. “Got a roommate to help you out?”

“I mean, I used to have one.” You shrugged, slightly distracted as you started to kick off your sneakers. “Until he decided that he was too good for me and broke up with me, so…” Alright, might be too much information, but you were still tipsy. That was understandable behavior.

“Bullshit,” He scoffed so incredulously that it made your movements pause for a second. “It’s his loss.”

Your thoughts travelled back to that one summer when you and Dean accidentally crossed paths near Sam’s apartment. You were crying over your then-boyfriend and were on your way to see your best friends. It was a short encounter, but it was nice to know that he might still remember it.

“Yeah, you tell him that.” Your shoes were finally off, and you got into your house before turning around to look back at him.

The two of you stood there, staring at each other silently and awkwardly, waiting for some divine cue or something on what to do next. His eyes were so green and all-consuming that you couldn't even think of what to say next. What to do next? Well, about that, you have a few ideas.

“Well, go get some rest.” He broke the ice first.

“Y-yeah, yeah…” You stammered as you debated whether to risk it or let it go. “Thanks for dropping me off.”

Fuck it, might as well.

You stood on your tiptoes as you attempted to land a kiss on his cheek, something wholesome and sweet. A safe choice that you could easily brush off as platonic when the need arose. But as you moved closer to him, he was already turning around, making your lips pause a few inches away from his.

You both froze for a second or two before you decided to lean in closer. You felt his hands grab your shoulders, not to pull you in, but to gently push you back down to your heels. The tiled floor suddenly felt too cold for your bare feet.

Oh.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” You finally flinched back at what you did. “I-I didn’t mean…” A shameful shade of red colored your face.

“No, no, it’s not like I didn’t...” He quickly tried to clarify, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. “It’s not like that. It’s complicated. You’re still drunk, and you’re... Sam’s friend.”

“Right. Sam.” You agreed while running a hand over your hair, trying so hard not to look so small after the rejection.

“I just don’t want any regrets here.”

“Yep, very responsible.”

You were restless now as your brain started to catch up. You needed him to go so you could lock in and crash out in peace. Maybe hide under your blankets.

“Look.” His tone was firm and grounding when he called out your name before grabbing one of your arms. “Do you have a pen?”

Weird request, but you scanned around. You ended up fishing an eyeliner from your bag. “How about this? It’s waterproof.” You added trivially.

He got it from you, his hand brushing your fingers for a split second. “Awesome.” He pulled the cap off before trapping it between his lips. He started to scribble on your forearm. “When you wake up sober and you still want to see me… give me a call.”

He let go of you and returned your eyeliner. You looked down at your arm, your eyes moving along his handwriting. It was quick and sharp.

“I could’ve just asked Sam for your number, you know?” You said coolly, despite your heart beating too fast in your chest.

Dear God or whoever is above, please take away this hangover, and I will never drink again, you thought for the hundredth time in this lifetime, sighing as you looked at the ceiling, as if asking for strength to face the day. It was a bit audacious to ask for some help after putting yourself in this situation in the first place. Still, never hurts to try.

You slumped further into your dad’s desk before fishing your phone out of your jean pocket to kill some time. Bobby was out on a hunt today, and you were assigned to research duty. So here you were nursing a migraine in the sanctuary of your father’s office, all curtains drawn shut and only the dimmest lamp available turned on.

You were scrolling through your text messages, making sure you did not miss anything important, when your eyes caught the name of that specific person who triggered your memory from last night. Groaning with embarrassment, you put down your phone face down on the desk, wishing the Advil would kick in soon.

“What the fuck, Jo?” You scoffed before shaking your head incredulously. “You’re crazy.”

“Why, can’t do it?” Jo grinned widely as she leaned in closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “You need more liquid courage for such a simple task?”

Your eyebrow ticked at the challenge as you took a swig of your ice-cold beer. “It’s not that I can’t do it. It’s just that it’s stupid and very unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary? We’re doing this for fun, and you’re fun, right?” When she did not get any confirmation from you, she stuck her tongue out and gave you a very enthusiastic thumbs-down. “Boo! You’ve changed. You’re a coward now.”

“I am not!” You cried out defensively before you finished your bottle and placed it on the bar with a dull thud.

“Prove it then.” The blonde got your phone and held it out to you. “Call the guy or girl—we’re open for anything here—that you find cute and tell them about their features that you find very attractive.”

“There’s no one cute in my contacts, so…” You trailed off in the hope of escaping this very silly, very high-school-like dare.

But Jo did not back down, her hand steady between you two. The music from the jukebox was the only thing you could hear inside the roadhouse. It was playing a Led Zeppelin song, and you felt like it was mocking you. You and Jo were locked in a battle of stubbornness now, or childishness, to be precise. She raised an eyebrow at you, daring you to do it. Well, the alcohol in your system seemed to have choked your rational side to death thirty minutes ago.

“Fuck it, fine.” You said in an irritated, defeated tone as you snatched your phone away.

It took you a couple of blinks to clear the haze in your vision as you scrolled through the names in your contact list. You already had a name in mind, but you kept scrolling past it, refusing to acknowledge it. He had always crossed your mind lately, especially when he started dropping by your house.

Visiting your dad to consult about demonology and other lore; wearing that stupid leather jacket and that equally stupid smirk. His car was the only good thing about him… and maybe those stupid long lashes, as well.

You’d rather die than admit that out loud.

But… what was there to admit if he was just a friend? Hell, he might as well be a work friend. Yeah, work friend, that checked out.

Clearing your throat, you clicked his name and called fast enough to prevent Jo from seeing the screen. When it started to ring, you felt a sudden twist in your gut, which you blamed on the five bottles of beer you had already consumed. Not the work friend who happened to be very attractive.

“Oh, for the love of… move away, Jo!” You groaned loudly as your best friend leaned over your side, sticking her ear near your phone. You tried to push her off, but the girl was determined.

“Yeah?” His gruff voice cut the third ring.

“Oh my god, Dean?! You find him cu—” Your hand flew to her mouth before she could spill anything.

“Shut up, Harvelle!” You hissed and glared at her, which immediately turned into a wrestling match of arms as Jo tried to pull your hand away from her mouth.

“Is this a bad time?” Dean then called out your name teasingly, making you freeze right away.

“What? Uh… no.” You let your hand drop before giving the blonde beside you a pointed look as a warning.

“Alright.” His chuckle almost tickled your ear; it was ridiculous. “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just calling to um… tell you that…” Okay, maybe you did not have this planned out. There wasn’t even a plan in the first place, just pure inhibited recklessness. “Me and Jo are having a drink… of beer, you know, your favorite.”

Your best friend was staring at you with an agape mouth, clearly stunned and delighted at how you were babbling and losing your cool.

“Go say hi, Jo!” You pushed your phone near her mouth, playing dirty to move the attention to her for a bit as you recuperated.

“Heya, Dean!” She greeted a little too loudly, considering how close the mouthpiece was. “We were just talking about you, and my girl here was just telling me about her favorite thing about you.”

“Oh, yeah? What did she say?” He clearly sounded entertained on the other end of the line, enjoying a couple of intoxicated ladies and their intrusive thoughts.

You gave your friend a death glare as she handed your phone back. Bitch was smart, using your own defense to bring you to your demise. “Ignore her, Dean. She’s drunk.” Saying his name made your chest clench like you were saying something taboo.

“But I wanna know.” The bastard joined the game.

Jo instantly exploded in a series of squeals and giggles like a freaking sixteen-year-old. It made you kick her leg with your boot, which she did not find threatening at all as she egged you on to fulfill the man’s request.

“Don’t encourage the girl.” You rolled your eyes before hopping down the stool and flipping off your best friend as you walked out of the bar. Suddenly, you needed fresh air to think and breathe, to be honest.

It took him a while to answer back, giving you a chance to listen to the soft hum of a car’s engine. “Late-night drive?” You inquired casually as you sat down on the front steps of the roadhouse. Also taking the chance to change the topic.

“Hmm?” He replied, a bit distracted. “Yeah, on our way to a job.”

“Demons?” You hoped not.

“Nah, just your classic old ghost.”

“I see, that’s nice. I mean, not nice nice. At least it’s something you have handled before.” Something safer, you thought before collecting yourself. “Well, I’m sorry we disturbed you, especially while you’re driving and all…” You trailed off, preparing for a ‘no worries’ and a ‘bye’.

“I don’t mind. Kept me awake, to be honest. Sam already dozed off hours ago.”

“Oh…”

You were clearly taken aback. His response was not among your list of probable answers, rendering you speechless. You were not sure if you should be the one to say goodbye and drop the call. Instead, you waited for a bit and followed his lead.

He stayed on the line, despite not speaking. All you could hear was the hum of the moving car, the occasional mechanical click as he shifted gears, and his relaxed breathing. There was a familiar tune playing on the radio, and you immediately addressed it, desperate to break the sudden intimacy of the call.

“That’s the same song playing in the jukebox here a while ago.”

“You liked it?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“It’s… alright.” You shrugged as you began to pull at the fabric of your pants.

“Alright? Just alright?” He let out an offended scoff at your feedback. “That’s it, I’ll bring you some tapes when we drop by your house next time. That might change your mind.”

Next time, such a dangerous thought. “We’ll see…”

“Now I am motivated.” You can tell that he liked the challenge just by the way he talked and laughed.

You heard him turn up the radio in the background. “Convincing me already?”

“Maybe,” He murmured, a little bit lower than before, making your heart skip a beat.

You both fell into silence again, the sound of the wind and music accompanying both your nights. If you closed your eyes, it was almost too easy to convince yourself that you were inside his car. But of course, you’re not stupid enough to cross that line… right?

Wrong.

“It’s your eyes, you know?” You mumbled as you rested your cheek on your knee, feeling vulnerable after midnight.

“What are you—”

“What Jo was talking about earlier. My favorite thing about you…”

You had no idea if you should’ve said that or not, but the combination of the alcohol in your veins and the late-night call felt special. It was like both of you were in your own private bubble. You heard a faint exhale and chuckle from the other line.

That doesn’t sound bad, right? Before you could overthink it, a yawn broke from your lips.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. Thanks for keeping me company.”

Sweetheart, the nickname was like a slap of sobriety. You knew Dean used that for almost everyone, but the softness of how he said it caught you off guard. It made you so flustered that you were spouting nonsense the next second.

“Uh y-yeah, good night to you too, sweetheart!” You squeaked before cutting off the call prematurely. It took all your willpower not to throw your phone across the country.

Jesus fucking Christ, get a hold of yourself.

Your hands flew to your face before you let out a scream while kicking your feet. The shame of what you had done was almost physically painful. You dropped your head on the wooden desk with a dull thud as you prayed that you might not see, hear, or even smell Dean Winchester any time soon.

After a few minutes of simmering on your humiliation, the call you were waiting for from Bobby finally came through. Without raising your head, you grabbed your phone and answered the call.

“Hey, daddy,” You called your father that nickname whenever you ain’t feeling like your best self. Maybe you could coerce him to buy some ice cream on his way home.

“Whoa there, slow down with the pet names.” That was definitely not your father.

You bolted upright before looking at the screen of your phone.

“Dean!” You wanted to bury yourself in your dad’s yard. “I thought you were Bobby. I-I… um, do you need any help with the lore or something?” You tried to transition into professionalism as you fumbled with the books sprawled in front of you.

“No, I’m just waiting for Sam to finish up in the library.” There was still a hint of amusement in his voice as he responded. “Just thought I might check on you if you got home safe after last night since you sounded a little drunk.”

“Well, scratch off ‘a little’, and then you’re pretty spot on. But yeah, I got home safe this morning.” You wanted to say ‘thanks for worrying’, but it felt a bit too much.

He hummed before speaking again. “After we finished up with the case here, want to go for a drive?”

“A drive?” You repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, a drive.”

You blinked before letting go of your denial and whispering, “Sure.”

“Awesome.” A short pause. “Maybe you can have your chance to stare at my eyes too.”

“Oh my God, Dean!” You cried out loudly, mortified at his teasing. “I’m not having this, bye.” You dropped the call while he was in mid-snicker.