#deansposessive

𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙮 @deansposessive

if anyone would like a personalised moodboard hmu! i just gotta know your; [preferred name, spn/jackles character of choice, trope/theme/scenario + any other details]

viv being dean’s forbidden fruit was a downright understatement,

growing up, dean was taught by his father, to hate and hunt down any witch that crossed his path,

to have no mercy with such women as they have no heart and will eat you alive if you let them.

but while on a trip in europe, working a case with his brother sam, he met a potentially powerful descendant of one of the oldest families in the history of witchcraft.

it started with stealing glances, shy smiles, pushing hair behind her ear when she caught him staring.

she knew how dangerous this man and his brother were, but something drawn her to him,

and he knew this wasn’t right, the winchesters don’t mix with witches he’s been raised to hate,

so why did he feel the opposite?

one night, one thing lead to another – the witch had his heart,

but so did he, have hers.

but the tragedy of this slow burn is,

that no one could ever know,

the desire between the hunter and the witch.

© pics/gifs from pinterest

colour: dark red season: autumn chosen word: empathy

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ your chosen weapon is a throwing dagger set. they;re sleek, balanced, and precise. you wield them with care, much like your heart. they allow for distance when needed, yet always return to your hand, ready to protect those you love. the daggers suit your devotion—sharp, steady, loyal, and always coming back to where they belong.

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ dean notices the small details: how your green eyes soften when someone’s in pain, how your laugh can fill a room, how your signature dark red nails flash in the sunlight like a warning and a promise all at once. he sees the way you care so deeply, giving yourself fully to those who matter. your empathy is your strength, and he admires it fiercely.

The leaves crunch beneath your boots as you move through the woods, autumn clinging to everything in shades of rust and fire. Dean’s a few steps behind you, shotgun ready—but he’s watching you. The way you pause when you hear something shift. The way you check over your shoulder to make sure he’s still there. “You know you don’t always have to be the brave one,” he mutters. You glance back, blonde hair catching in the wind, blue-green eyes soft even in the dark. “Someone has to care first.” He huffs. “Yeah. You.” When the fight’s over, you’re kneeling beside a shaken victim, hands gentle, dark red nails a flash of warmth against their sleeve. You don’t rush or harden. You stay. Dean stands back, chest tight. Later, as you walk toward the Impala, he falls into step beside you. “You’d run straight into hell for strangers,” he says. You shrug. “I’d do it for anyone I love.” He looks at you and understands that some people don’t save the world by fighting. Some do it by staying.

here's your cake:

AWW THANK YOU DEAR!! 🧡 Yum, I’d like to take a bite out of that pie 😏 (I hope Butcher back there is also part of my birthday cake?)