#flowerjensen

Ooooh, I’ll add right that right in. She’s yours :)

character: hate them | don’t really care | like them | LOVE them | THEY ARE MY PRECIOUS

ship with: dorothy, gilda, jo!!

brotp friendships: dean, sam, cas (she should’ve met everyone else lol i’m so mad)

You’re welcome!

url: cute | amazing | fan-freaking-tastic | love love love | MISHA’S EYES

icon: sweet | love | i’m jealous | i’ve never seen anything so beautiful | JARED’S HAIR

theme: nice | fancy | wow wow wow | fan-freaking-tastic | JENSEN’S FRECKLES

posts: cool | multi-fandom | super duper | i really love them | ROB’S SMILE

overall: good job | amazing blog | how did you get so awesome | i’m jealous at your coolness | MARK’S ACCENT

Hi, 

How have you been? I hope you’re doing well. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you, but that’s what a hunter’s life is like. I don’t mind it much, I enjoy the time I do get with my friends. 

This particular hunt seems to be taking longer than what we’re used to. But I have a good feeling it’s going to be over soon. I went to a little local bar and had a beer with Sammy last night. And it turned out the bar owner’s wife is an aspiring baker, so she let Sammy and I sample all of her pies and other desserts. It was a great end to a long day! She even gave us an apple pie to take with us, free of charge. It’s probably good we won’t be in this town for much longer otherwise I think I’d put on a few extra pounds! 

Write back soon, we’d love to hear from you! 

Dean W. 

💖💖💖💖💖💖

Thank you, babe, it comes and goes to be honest. You just gotta grin and bear it until things clear up. But I’m feeling much better. 

This got a bit away from me.

Dean watches from across the bar, he watches as shethrows her hair over her shoulder, watches as she bites into the full plumpline of her bottom lip. Dean watches some asshole sidle up to her only to placehis hand low on the curve of her back, and he can feel the fury burning alonghis skin, can feel the air leave his lungs.

“You gotta breathe, dude,” Sam tries tocalm, taking a long pull from his beer, but Dean finds it hard to hear hisbrother over the ringing in his ears, finds it hard to concentrate when somedick is whispering something that has y/n’s cheeks reddening in response.

Dean watches her throw her head back, soft delicatehand going to her cleavage, a trill superficial laugh falling from her lips.The sound reminds him that this is all fake, helps him pull it all together,because that is definitely not an authentic y/n laugh. The man talking to herright now, he goes to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, hand stopping tothumb just below her lip and Dean catches her eye when she turns to look at himover her shoulder.

She winks at Dean, smiles this tight-lipped smile andDean tips his beer in her direction, mouths ‘You’re doing great.’ And shevisibly relaxes into the man before her.

It pleases Dean beyond belief to know that he canease her worries with just a look in her direction, but it doesn’t change thefact that he thinks this was a bad idea. In fact, Dean is 100% sure this is theworst of ideas. They don’t do baiting, they don’t like risking the life ofsomeone they care about just to catch some monster. But she had been ready tovolunteer, had been gung-ho to play damsel, and Dean didn’t have it in him toargue with her against it.

And while Dean is nervous about whatever sick monsteris out there hunting women in bars, he’s even more terrified about the possibilityof her being swayed into the arms of some lecherous asshole.

“Dude,” Sam chances and Dean’s head swingsin his direction. “There’s no way we’re gonna catch the guy if you spendthe whole night eyeing the low hanging fruit.”

Dean doesn’t like that analogy, doesn’t like the easein Sam’s voice when he says it. “She’s not low hanging fruit,” Deansnaps, words sharp and forceful as they push past his lips. “She’s ourfriend, and she can be in danger.”

Sam chuckles from beside his brother, lets the soundfall from his lips, disbelief so evident that Dean can taste it on the tip ofhis tongue. Dean shoots him a look, daggers pinging from within the forestgreen of his eyes.

“I’m getting another one,” he throws at Samswirling his empty bottle around, ignoring the look Sam sends him as he pushesup from the barstool.

Dean doesn’t need Sam’s judgement, doesn’t need hisknowing glances and snide remarks. Dean needs liquor and the scent of hersmooth skin to calm him down.

The chair next to her opens up just as Dean gets tothe bar. If asked later on, Dean will deny with all his might the fact that hesprinted to catch it before someone else did. But nonetheless, Dean gets hishand on the cracked leather of the stool before someone else does, slides into itcasually as he signals for the bartender.

The low rumble of voices makes it hard for Dean tocatch the whole conversation, but he hears y/n giggle, hears her laugh beforetelling the man, “Oh stop, I am not pretty enough to be a model.”Dean can’t hold back the cackle that flies out of his throat, can’t keep it in,and y/n whirls around to catch his eye.

He pales at the fire in her eye, freezes under herglare.

“Something funny there, mister?” She askshim, and Dean most definitely does not shiver at her tone. The man over hershoulder eyes the back of y/n’s head for a moment, watches intently as Deanlooks her up and down.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Dean throws back,“Just, this asshole has been chatting you up for so long that I assumedhe’d be past the point of pickup lines.”

Y/n’s jaw ticks as she narrows her eyes at Dean.She’s mad at him, probably because Dean interrupted whatever type of game shehad going, but this guy isn’t who they’re looking for. He didn’t react to theliquid silver in her nail polish when she ran her fingers over the back of hishand, didn’t recoil at the holy water slipped into his gin and tonic; not ademon, not a shifter. He’s useless, but that doesn’t lessen the burning fire iny/n’s gaze.

“Who says it’s a pickup line? You don’t think Icould be a model?” Dean wants to reach across the small distance the barhas put between them, wants to wrap the waves of her hair around his fingers,but he thinks better of it, settles for hiding his wide grin behind the lip ofhis beer. She huffs at his silence, the guy behind her reaching out to gentlywrap his hand around her exposed elbow. Dean watches her pull out of his grip,watches her lean onto the sticky wood of the bar, crowding into Dean’s personalspace, “Hang on–” she’s telling this to the man behindher–“Seriously, am I not pretty enough to be a model.”

Dean places his beer back on the paper coaster layingbefore him, smiles this warm charming smile before meeting her in the middle.“Sweetheart, you’re the most beautiful thing in this room right now, themost beautiful thing in most rooms, I’m sure.” Y/n’s eyes widen at hiswords, a soft gasp rolling off her lips and right into Dean’s mouth.

The man behind her calls her name, says it in thisnasally whiny manner that has he rolling her eyes. “Fuck off, yeah?”she throws over her shoulder and Dean smiles out of victory and complete self-satisfaction.

“Seriously?” he questions, like he can’tbelieve for one minute that she’d walk away from whatever he was offering her.But Dean doesn’t doubt for one moment that he can give her everything that dudehas to offer and a million things more.

“Seriously.Fuck off…I mean it.” The man scoffs at her words, sends her a nastyglare mixed an even nastier comment, but neither Dean nor y/n seem to care,seem to pay attention. All Dean can see is the glint of something fierce in hereyes, something primal and inviting.

He watches as she climbs off the stool next to him,watches as she slides between the gap he’s left between his body and the bar.“So…you think I’m beautiful?” She asks and Dean settles for noddinghis confirmation, settles for threading her hair through his fingers until hecan tilt her head up and back.

“God, yes,” he breathes against her mouth,nose nuzzling against hers, the smile on his lips so wide that he can feel thesoft skin of her cheek against them.  

in solidarity and celebration, i’ll be nomination my lovely, lovely sister, @flowerjensen for #givelovetoday:

We aren’t sick. We aren’t poor. We aren’t dying. We’re a middle class family of five, my sister the oldest, my brother the middle, me the youngest. I’ve never been the most sociable kid, despite the people who know me today that’d argue otherwise. I barely talked, kept to myself, and read until I fell alseep on the pages. I wasn’t like my sister, Deena --- raising hell, making friends, gaining maturity. She was an idol that I never found the courage to aspire after. I was always too scared, too lonely, to quiet. I didn’t make many friends that lasted, and got bullied from kindergarten to the first grade. I never said anything about it, but I had learned what anxiety meant from an age too young, a mind too fragile. Deena was my closest friend, joined at the hip and we liked it that way. I’d get lost, I’d leave the house without telling anyone, I’d get myself into trouble with my parents. She was my shoulder to cry on, she still is. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay her for that.

By the time I’d graduated elementary school, I was stressed beyond comprehension. School, friends, and my own worried secrecy led to crying often, and with no way to explain it. I’d chalk it up to anything else but ‘I write with people on Tumblr. Somehow, this is a life-changing secret that my anxiety won’t let me tell you, in fears that the only person I trust more than anyone will make fun of me.’ I grew a debilitating fear of saying the word ‘roleplay,’ out loud. I thought she’d hate me, call me weird, remind me of what it felt like to be bullied. I told her at 2AM on a dateless night at the end of last year. It rolled right off her back. I didn’t sleep for two nights straight, but I felt relieved. Deena is the only person in my life who knows the things I keep to myself. My trust for her grows by the day, and I see it being reciprocated at the same rate. 

I’m fourteen and she’s eighteen, but we are inseparable, still. I’m fed up with everyone and everything, but not her. Never her. I look to her for guidance, for laughter, for the light that too often gets blown out by my own worry. I know she’s stressed --- stressed people know all the signs, y’know? --- but she never shows it. She’s strong and wise and sets everything aside for my future and happiness. She started watching Supernatural because I begged her, helps me with my homework because of my procrastination, takes the fall for my mountains of mistakes. With such an age gap, such a giant bridge between interests, she makes time for me. She cares for me constantly. I’m making steps to overcome my anxiety, and she is the reason for that.

Thank you, Deena, for being the brightest light of my life. I hope you find the most wondrous happiness in life and wish you the best.

omg that sounds so fun!! let’s do it!