#spnsc

Even though your leg’s been fully healed since a couple of days, Dean insisted that you should take it easy. Restless as you were, however, you offered to tag along, join him after all.

His response you couldn’t have anticipated.

“I’m on my way home already,” he said through the phone, the curl of his lips audible. “Surprise, sweetheart.”

You immediately dropped everything.

That thick novel you’ve been reading? Shoved back onto the shelves. Your warm cup of tea to comfort that empty feeling in your chest? Left behind to cool entirely. Blanket? Who needed that when soon you would have your boyfriend’s arms back around you!

You nearly tripped over your own two feet as you rushed to your wardrobe. If you’d manage to break another bone in the process of exchanging your pyjamas for something nicer, Dean wouldn’t let you hear the end of it.

However, in your giddiness you could not be bothered to care.

Dean informed you that he’d be at the Bunker in an hour or two, which was just enough time to prepare everything. Like cleaning your room and making yourself presentable.

Absorbed in your own world, you hummed along to your playlist as you did the finishing touches of your makeup. Though, when your door creaked open, you squealed— half surprised, half flustered.

“You’re early,” you huffed, though the wide smile and the brightness in your eyes belied your attempt at scolding him.

You jumped up from the bed, practically flinging yourself into his arms. His eyes almost appeared greener than you remembered, or maybe you just missed the color so badly that seeing it again made your heart flutter even more than usual.

“My bad,” he played along with a chuckle and the deep rumble of his voice sent your pulse skyrocketing, “Want me to leave again and come back later?”

“Don’t you dare, Winchester,” you retorted, grin still wide on your tinted lips. Before he could even think about abandoning you again, whether in jest or not, you pulled him into a kiss, the familiar taste of him melting your heart right away.

Despite being worn down after a long drive and an even longer hunt, Dean soaked up your excited welcome, mimicking the effortless smile you wore.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against your mouth with a relieved sigh.

“Missed you too,” you whispered back, connecting your lips with his in another chaste kiss.

“I can tell,” he grinned, leaning back only to scan you up and down. You had picked one of his old Metallica shirts, paired with a denim mini-skirt. One that left him no choice but to whistle.

“Two weeks without me and you turn into a caveman,” you quipped teasingly. Still, that look of approval and desire caused your skin to tingle.

“Can’t blame a guy for appreciating his pretty girl,” Dean shrugged, boyish grin plastered across his face. “You look like a work of art.”

“And the canvas isn’t even done yet,” you chuckled. “Can you grab my lipgloss from the bathroom real quick?”

Dean didn’t respond for a second, too busy taking in the sight of you. His hands lazily trailed up and down your sides, testing the material of his shirt, the fabric old and worn and falling softly over those irresistble curves of yours. You were asking the impossible of him—no way did he want to pull away from you for even just another minute.

“What’s the point if I’m gonna kiss it off that pretty mouth anyway?,” Dean tested, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

“Hold your horses, Cassanova,” you clicked your tongue with that flustered grin of yours, shyly shoving at his shoulder to nudge him towards the bathroom. “It’s the cherry flavored one, your favorite.”

Dean’s eyes lit up to match the flirtatious sparkle in yours, both thanks to the heavenly sound of your laugh and your little promise.

“Should’ve said so sooner, sweetheart,” he hummed with that wide, giddy grin of his. Though he did not let you off the hook that easily — giving you another peck, along with a well measured squeeze of your ass that had you yelp and giggle again — he turned on his heel and retreated to the bathroom.

“Gotta freshen up a bit anyway,” was the last thing you heard him mumble.

As for you, you swiftly finished the last bits of preparations. The moment you learned he’d finally come home, you knew just how to welcome him back properly. Microwaved popcorn, some slices of greasy pizza, one or two of Dean’s favorite old Western classics.

“Steve McQueen or John Wayne?,” you called as you were shuffling through the DVD collection in the box, which usually sat under your bed. You’d found it pulled out already and, what can you say, sometime’s not tidying up immediately has its perks.

And sometimes it’s a bulletproof set-up for failure.

Dean returned just then, though it’s the rasp of his voice that grabs your attention rather than the steps of heavy boots you expected to appear behind you.

“Wanna tell me what this is?”

Curious, your head turned to him. Your gaze fell on his frame first, much closer than you thought he’d be and half-naked. He’s washed the grime off his skin, which thus was slightly damp and smelled like the perfect blend of citrus and spice.

Once finally managing to peel your eyes off his broad chest, your eyelashes flickered upwards. Though your heart sank right to the bottom of your stomach as you realized what he was holding might’ve been pink, but it definitely wasn’t your lipgloss. Instantly the shade of your cheeks matched the silicone toy he waved around.

Your Satisfyer. Of course, you’d just cleaned it in the bathroom and forgot to put it away. Hence that box not being stashed away yet either.

“I can explain,” you muttered shyly, almost timidly and tense, though your defensive response earned you just a smirk from Dean.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he hummed. “Didn’t say I was mad.”

He turned the small vibrator in his hands, once, twice, eyeing it with curiosity. Not anger. Not disgust or any of that.

“Didn’t know you owned one of these,” he spoke, casually, as if he didn’t just jumpscare the shit out of you by wiggling your sex toy in front of your face.

You’re not sure what prompted you to even attempt defending yourself: “I only use it when I miss you too much…” While justifying why you had it, that explanation certainly didn’t make you feel any less exposed.

A thick silence followed, so heavy between you you could hear your own blood rush through your ears. The blush crept from your face to your neck, darkening into a tomato-red.

Dean stared at you as if you’d grown a second head, and you couldn’t possibly maintain eyecontact with him anymore. Although, when you averted your gaze, he lifted your chin up again, looking down at you with an intensity that overwhelmed you.

“When you miss me,” Dean echoed, voice low and laced with something dangerous. Something proud. Like the secret you just revealed equated to you handing him a trophy.

Shyly, you nodded. Barely.

“You’re thinking of me when you’re touching yourself, sweetheart?” His words had you shudder. And swallow. Thickly. Though your throat remained dry and you didn’t trust yourself to speak up just yet.

“Hmhm,” you hummed quietly, nodding again. Wasn’t it self-explanatory? Of course you were. It was always him you imagined in those moments. It was always his touch you wished would explore you. His hands, mouth, thick cock—

“Show me,” Dean spoke, holding the item out for you.

Bewildered, you blinked at him, unsure if you understood correctly.

“Wh-what?”

He took a step forward, towering over you in a way that made you feel small, but desired all the same. Instinctively, you staggered backwards, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, causing you to sit down.

“Show me what happens when you miss me, sweetheart,” Dean elaborated, placing the toy in your lap and then pulling back.

Your eyes, wide with shock, never left him as he pushed a chair over to the bed and made himself comfortable, sitting there leaned back and ready to enjoy the show.

“But I— You…”

Dean tilted his head, one hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “What? I wanna see my girl make herself feel good. Just do it like you normally would.”

It’s not that you were uncomfortable with the idea, knowing he’d never push you to anything you don’t want. It’s rather that his request made heat pool at your core, so fast that it made you dizzy. He couldn’t possibly hold you getting so flustered against you.

This felt like a damn ambush, one that made your brain short circuit.

Hearing the gears turn in your head, Dean leaned forward, supporting his elbows on his knees and tilting his head. “Not your cup of tea, sugar?”

Damn bastard knew what he was doing, letting his wolfish eyes roam your body like you were some frozen-in-the-headlights deer. The low rumble of his voice was enough to make you instinctively squeeze your thighs together.

“No— I mean yes? Just…,” you stuttered, making a complete fool of yourself. This was uncharted territory. You knew your body and how to explore it. Dean knew your body and how to explore it. But in this constellation, the alignment of stars painted a new picture.

While you didn’t want to admit how awkward you felt, not wanting to sound lame, Dean understood without you having to spell it out for him. He got up from the chair and settled on the bed instead, making himself comfortable right behind you.

Biting your lower lip, you let his arms circle around your waist and pull you closer until your back was pressed flush against his chest. The heat of his skin seeped through your clothes and you relaxed into his embrace right away.

“This okay?,” he whispered, the gentleness of his voice contrasted only by the brush of his stubble against your cheek. As his fingertips slipped under your shirt, erasing the tension from your middle, you leaned back into him even further.

“More than okay,” you answered, voice soft but sure.

You felt the smile tugging at his lips against your neck, along with the kiss he placed there. Slow and deliberate. Reassuring you while his fingers made quick work of your skirt’s button. He unfastened it, helping you lift your lower half to slip the denim down and taking your panties right with them.

Both items discarded onto the floor, you shifted into a more comfortable position. You settled between Dean’s legs and slowly spread your own, following the guide of his palms that stroked the plush of your thighs.

“Show me, please?”

The way he asked for it had your heart and pussy flutter in tandem. That desperate edge to his tone, the subtle twitch of his fingers against your inner thighs — as if he was itching to touch you himself, but wanting you to do it instead.

You bit your lower lip and pressed the toy’s switch, its soft buzz making both yours and Dean’s breath hitch.

You guided the vibrator to your slick folds, your center already throbbing with anticipation. Dean’s chin settled on your shoulder, eyes glued to your ministrations. Having him watch you at your most vulnerable, such a private moment suddenly so intimate, it drove you to the brink of insanity.

“You’re tellin’ me this is what I’m missing every time I’m gone?,” Dean huffed through a clenched jaw, absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of him. You, all splayed out for him, letting yourself fall apart, unwavering trust behind your actions.

A whine left your lips as you shook your head shyly.

“No?,” he hummed, hands still tracing lazy circles over your thighs, occasionally lifting your oversized shirt out of the way.

“Mmh, ‘s different when you’re here,” you replied in between ragged panting.

“Different how?”

“Better.”

You had no idea what those words did to him. Or maybe you did, judging by the way you arched your back and pushed your hips back, just to feel the tent in his boxers.

“What’s it like when I’m not here?” Maybe Dean was pushing his luck, asking you to share the most scandalous of your thoughts, wanting a glimpse of your fantasies. Or maybe he was pushing your buttons in just the right way, relishing in the flush of your cheeks and the tremble of your lips. “What’re you imagining then, baby? Bet you wish it was me touching you, right?”

The moan bubbling from you was broken but beautiful, accompanied by another nod of yours.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

You angled the toy up slightly until the ring suctioned right over your clit, pressure and friction so delicious you sobbed softly.

“Wish you’d fuck me, keep thinking ‘bout your cock filling me,” you rambled to your own surprise.

“Keep it up, and I might,” Dean chuckled lightly behind you, his only reward for now another kiss to your flushed skin.

Eager to please him, more than pleasuring yourself at this point, you turned up the setting. Though your thighs twitched, you kept chasing the feeling. Your hips automatically bucked into the smooth surface of your toy. It was practically drenched already, glistening with your essence.

“So fucking pretty,” Dean rasped, large hands holding your legs open from behind.

You whimpered, throwing your head back against his shoulder as the pressure between your thighs became nearly unbearable. Dean used the opportunity to plant wet, hot kisses across your neck, burying his nose in the curve of your shoulder.

“Doing so good, baby,” he whispered. “Just a little longer, can you do that for me?”

“Dunno, ‘m so close,” you cried, coil in your lower stomach so damn tight, so damn close to snapping.

“’s alright,” Dean purred, his own hand maneuvering their way between your legs. You yelped softly as you felt his fingers collect your wetness and run right through your slit. “Almost there.”

Overwhelmed, you almost squirmed away, but his grip on you was iron, his words whispering sweet affirmations into your ear. How pretty you looked. How good you felt. How perfect you were. And the best part about it? He was actually, really, right there—not some flicker of your imagination, not the ghost of his touch or the memory of his voice.

Dean slipped one finger inside of you, then added a second one. His thrusts were steady, a welcome scratch to the itch you could never quite manage on your own. A soothe to your nerves only Dean was able to accomplish. He was making you sing and curse and worship his name with your voice.

“Let go for me,” Dean spoke, talking you through it as all that you managed were moans and slight thrashes.

He pushed you over the edge with ease, catching you all the same in the storm of your orgasm. The intense crash of heat washing over you caused one of your hands to grasp his wrist—you weren’t entirely sure whether you were trying to make him slow down or asking him to keep going.

Dean slowed his movement, the pulsating of your heat subsiding gently until all that was left was you, sweaty and shaking in his embrace.

“Good to be back,” Dean quipped jokingly, sealing your long awaited reunion with another lock of your lips.

Dean Winchester Taglist:

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@spacecowgirl126 @spn-reader @spookyfunhottub @supernotnatural2005 @whichwitchwanda

@whormotional @winchester-whiskey @zepskies

The two of them stood together peacefully, allowing the world to rush around them when a courier ran up to them. “Pardon the interruption. I hate to interrupt a lovely scene, but I come with a message.” The courier handed the envelope to Dorothy and bowed their head before running off again.

Dorothy’s eyebrow perked up curiously. “Either it’s a summons, or they’re not expecting a response right away.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Charlie leaned back and tilted her chin up to kiss along Dorothy’s jaw, attempting to distract her.

“Stop, Red.” Dorothy giggled as she attempted to read the message. She placed a kiss against Charlie’s temple and refocused her attention on the letter. “Strange.”

“What is?”

“They told me to not worry about coming back this evening. Or tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“What?!” Charlie stood up straight and turned to face Dorothy. “Are they overthrowing you? Demoting you? What’s going on?”

“None of those.” Dorothy smiled and handed the letter to the nervous redhead. “They understand that I’ve been working hard and haven’t been spending enough time with my consort. They want me to take a break.”

“Consort?” Charlie tilted her head in thought. “I know that word.” Her eyes went wide. “Wait, they’re acknowledging us?”

Dorothy nodded. “Yeah Red, why wouldn’t they?”

“Because we’re two women?”

“So?”

“Dorothy, how old were you when you came to Oz the first time?”

“Twelve, why?”

“In 1899, right?” Charlie offered a sad smile as Dorothy nodded in confirmation. “So you missed so much back where we’re from.”

“Sounds like this is probably a good thing?”

Charlie nodded. “When did you know that you liked women?”

“I always knew.”

“So did I. But back home, it was, and still can be frowned upon for women to love other women.” Charlie took Dorothy’s hands in her own. “There’s been a lot of fighting for people like us to have the same rights as others. To even be accepted.”

“Why? Love is love, isn’t it?”

“Holy hell, this is incredible and unbelievable and amazing all at once.” She bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath. “You’ve never been judged for loving a woman, have you?” Dorothy shook her head. “There’s no shaming like that here in Oz, is there?”

“No. You don’t need to be afraid of being seen with me.” A look of realization crossed over Dorothy’s face. “Were you?”

Charlie blushed and looked away, suddenly finding a fascinating spot on the ground.

“Charlie!” Dorothy hooked her finger gently under the other woman’s chin and turned her head to look back at her. “This isn’t like you. This isn’t my fiery, confident know-it-all. While I don’t expect a full history, I am going to need some kind of abridged version.”

“Maybe later?” Charlie asked. “I’m busy trying to figure out how to remove my foot from my mouth currently.”

“You’re not ashamed of-”

“I’m not ashamed of you. Or of me. I wasn’t what we called ‘in the closet’ back home.” Charlie played with the ends of her hair. “I was nervous that if you were in a relationship with a woman, it would undermine your authority. Not that it should. But back home, it could and would.”

“I don’t understand. Love makes people feel good. Seeing people in love spreads love. Why would people want to hide that away or punish it?

“Because they’re scared of the things they don’t understand or are taught to hate.”

Dorothy took Charlie’s hand and ran her thumb over the knuckles. “There are bigger issues here than who loves who. Life is too short for it to matter.” She nodded at the letter. “The Resistance knows, Red. They accept us. They accept you. Hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid to take my hand.”

“My hand does fit well in yours…”

“I know.” Dorothy entwined her fingers into Charlie’s. “I know the stars are lovely tonight, but we’re going back inside.”

Charlie tilted her head. “Why?”

------

During her years alone, and even after she moved in with Jody, Claire would go to bars at night, flashing a smile and her fake ID to get her past the bouncers. Men would hit on her, and she would flirt back, but it was never them she ended up making out in alleys with. She never told anyone, certain that Jody would freak if she knew that Claire was going out on her own at night, let alone hooking up with random girls she didn't know.

But it wasn't just that.

Much as Claire hated to admit it, she was scared. She was already a Problem Child, with a broken home and a myriad of issues and a piss poor school record. She didn't need another thing to add to the long list of reasons why she was lucky to even have a stable roof over her head. Of course, logically, she knew that Jody would be fine with it; this was hardly the worst thing Claire had ever told her, after all. But Claire had never been a very logical person, and so the worry persisted, locking the words away in the recesses of her mind.

Kaia was different. Special, even. Claire knew it from the moment she first laid eyes on her in the hospital, and it only became more evident the longer she spent in her company. And, yeah, sure, Claire knew she shouldn't get attached, but it's just.

------

She'd never met a girl like Kaia before. Someone who was just as scarred as she was, both physically and not so, someone who had bounced from place to place, never fitting in, never even knowing if she could fit in. And maybe it was a fucking cliche, but Claire thought she could take on the world, as long as Kaia was by her side.

Yet, it wasn't until Kaia almost died in the Bad Place that Claire finally found a word for was she was feeling.

Love.

She loved Kaia, everything about her, from her smile right down to the scars that criss-crossed her body. It was frightening, but not in the way that monsters were frightening, not in the way that the thought of Kaia's death was frightening. It was the good sort, the kind that set off butterflies in her stomach and thrilled her, just a little bit.

Claire stayed by Kaia's side nearly all the time she was unconscious, holding her hand and watching fearfully for any change. It was only when Kaia's eyes cracked open and the beginnings of a smile appeared on her face that Claire finally felt she could breathe again, hastily wiping the tears away as relief washed over her in waves.

Later that day, as Kaia was sleeping, Claire nervously approached Jody where she was still cleaning up the house. "Um, Jody?" she said, her heart suddenly beating a mile a minute. Jody turned and grinned at her, dusting her hands off on her jeans.

"Yeah? Everything okay?"

Claire nodded, twisting her hands together. "Everything's fine. I just... I wanted to tell you something."

"Okay." Jody was still smiling, but her brows were creased with worry, and Claire felt a little guilty for causing that.

"I'm... I think I'm... I think I love Kaia," she said eventually, watching Jody anxiously. Jody didn't say anything for a moment, but then she walked forward and hugged Claire tight. Claire breathed out shakily, burying her face in the crook of Jody's shoulder.

"That's okay," Jody said. "That's okay."

Claire smiled into the embrace, feeling as though she was lighter than she had been since before Jimmy left all those years ago. She returned Jody's hug fiercely, thanking every star in the sky that she had this little family of hers.