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summary dean is with you always. especially when you can't sleep after a hunt !
content gn!reader, fluff, quiet comfort, unestablished relationship but dean and reader are very in love, dean is yearning badly, use of sweetheart and angel !
masterlist ♡ requested
wc 469
⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Dean doesn't mean to wake you. He only wants to keep you warm, crouching low to the couch, admiring you in a way he hopes isn't creepy or unwanted. Eyes gentle, adjusting to the dark shroud of the room, he blinks and pulls a knit blanket over your body.
You're pretty in the dark. Pretty in the light.
He can barely see you. Soft puffs of your breath pillow the silence and turn it soothing. He could sleep on the floor. Stretch along the scratched, motel rug and ignore the dusty smell and ensure you're okay all night long.
"Dean," you murmur. He squints. You look dead asleep still.
"...How d'you know I'm here?"
You rustle, and tiny crescent gleams make up your eyes. His chest does something funny, patters light and sweet when you reach a hand out to his shoulder. Your thumb kisses his neck. He's glad the lights are out.
"You make noise," you whisper succinctly.
His lips tug and he smiles mild, fond, and brings your hand to slip down into his palm. He squeezes twice. Your voice snags on his ear, just subtly tense. Maybe he's imagining it, too attentive. But when has he ever let details fall to chance? He can handle being called annoying, overbearing. A small chip to take for worrying over you.
"Have you been sleeping at all?"
"...A little. My brain won't shut off."
He feels that like a velvet thud of knuckle to his heart. Familiar. You sit up and back against paled cushions, hand still caught in his.
"I'll listen, sweetheart. If you wanna talk."
You nod slow and look so far away. He'd like bring you back but feels a little out of his depth. What can he offer that isn't among the secret, tender things he wants so badly with you?
I love you. You can come to my bed and stay there forever and sink deep into the mattress springs with me.
"Wanna take a drive?" he asks instead.
Your hands together are melding heat. He watches as you lean close and his lungs hiccup when your forehead plants lightly to his. He doesn't know if he's allowed to move. Frozen as a statue, he thinks you'd be one of those smooth, marble ones in museums.
"That would be nice," you say. "Please. Thank you."
He's the only one in the world who can hear you right now. Sweetness fills every inch of his chest, it overflows in a big rise to his face, and stains your nose where the tip of his nudges.
"Yeah, angel. Anytime, c'mon."
There's a tingling to his lashes, eyelids leathery. Doesn't matter. He pulls you from the couch and isn't sure which fingers are his or yours anymore. He will drive on and on and ache.
✸ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗔𝗨 : 𝖢𝖠𝖱𝖬𝖸!𝖣𝖤𝖠𝖭 𝖶𝖨𝖭𝖢𝖧𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱 x 𝖲𝖸𝖣!𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖤𝖱.
" 乇very second counts, ɪ don't wanna talk to you anymore.
Ƭell you how I felt, sugar coated melting in your мoυтн. Know you'd make fun of me. "
❝ 𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖨𝖲𝖤: After taking charge of The Original Beef of Chicagoland, now The Beef—because what a tediously long name, long enough to tighten the knot in his throat before he can even finish saying it out loud—, his late younger brother's will, Dean finds an absolute mess as soon as he walks inside to which he cannot smile tenderly to. Nothing is romantic or good enough anymore when he's spent these last four years away from home working at the best restaurant in New York.
His reputation proceeds him, he knows he's good, but that's not enough for him to magically teach his new skills to the people in The Beef his brother has left behind. Everything feels unknown to him now.
It takes him nearly half a year to put order to this place, to make it feel like a workplace and not the bodily remains of Sammy, but he finally gets it.
And then you walk through the door, stars in your eyes and that kind of hope he'd kill to feel again, asking him for a chance to prove yourself to him. He says yes.
Your recommendations are impeccable, everyone has something impressively warm to say about you, and there's not a single thing to cross out of your long list of abilities. Except for when there is, and it's never fair, Dean knows that. He feels envy's heinous sneer tugging downwards at the corners of his own mouth whenever you beat him to something he should've come up with— more acid for the sauté asparagus, or extra butter for the purée, or some other absolutely petty shit like that. But, at the end of the day, when he looks over his shoulder and you're still there arranging recipes and silverware at midnight, he can't help but feel a little mushy on the inside.
He kind of sees you as a Saint reaching her hand reaching down to bring a sinking ship to the surface. He's gonna end up drowning you with him if he holds on too tight. ❞
“ As I'm ɠetting older. ꘘull of reɠrets. ”
CW: (it will be specified whether each part does or does not have +18 content, and it will be tagged accordingly ((mdni)) ) — mental health topics like: ptsd, ocd, depression, severe anxiety, panic attacks, anger issues, + (it will be tagged). dean's chronic manchild behaviour. fighting. stress, etc. (to be added)
™️i think you have such an identifiable ambiance with your writing and blog, even when you switch up things with your theme, it always has this soft, slightly somber undertone, but its all so peaceful ! oh and the nickname "pretty" i've grown to completely associate with you
oh my gosh this is so incredibly nice and means so much to me 😭 you are very lovely and i'm soo happy to know you ! your writing is so beautiful and light and warm, like a sweet breeze, and you're such a wonderful person !!
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summary dean is with you always. especially when you can't sleep after a hunt !
content gn!reader, fluff, quiet comfort, unestablished relationship but dean and reader are very in love, dean is yearning badly, use of sweetheart and angel !
masterlist ♡ requested
wc 469
⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Dean doesn't mean to wake you. He only wants to keep you warm, crouching low to the couch, admiring you in a way he hopes isn't creepy or unwanted. Eyes gentle, adjusting to the dark shroud of the room, he blinks and pulls a knit blanket over your body.
You're pretty in the dark. Pretty in the light.
He can barely see you. Soft puffs of your breath pillow the silence and turn it soothing. He could sleep on the floor. Stretch along the scratched, motel rug and ignore the dusty smell and ensure you're okay all night long.
"Dean," you murmur. He squints. You look dead asleep still.
"...How d'you know I'm here?"
You rustle, and tiny crescent gleams make up your eyes. His chest does something funny, patters light and sweet when you reach a hand out to his shoulder. Your thumb kisses his neck. He's glad the lights are out.
"You make noise," you whisper succinctly.
His lips tug and he smiles mild, fond, and brings your hand to slip down into his palm. He squeezes twice. Your voice snags on his ear, just subtly tense. Maybe he's imagining it, too attentive. But when has he ever let details fall to chance? He can handle being called annoying, overbearing. A small chip to take for worrying over you.
"Have you been sleeping at all?"
"...A little. My brain won't shut off."
He feels that like a velvet thud of knuckle to his heart. Familiar. You sit up and back against paled cushions, hand still caught in his.
"I'll listen, sweetheart. If you wanna talk."
You nod slow and look so far away. He'd like bring you back but feels a little out of his depth. What can he offer that isn't among the secret, tender things he wants so badly with you?
I love you. You can come to my bed and stay there forever and sink deep into the mattress springs with me.
"Wanna take a drive?" he asks instead.
Your hands together are melding heat. He watches as you lean close and his lungs hiccup when your forehead plants lightly to his. He doesn't know if he's allowed to move. Frozen as a statue, he thinks you'd be one of those smooth, marble ones in museums.
"That would be nice," you say. "Please. Thank you."
He's the only one in the world who can hear you right now. Sweetness fills every inch of his chest, it overflows in a big rise to his face, and stains your nose where the tip of his nudges.
"Yeah, angel. Anytime, c'mon."
There's a tingling to his lashes, eyelids leathery. Doesn't matter. He pulls you from the couch and isn't sure which fingers are his or yours anymore. He will drive on and on and ache.
™️ u remind me so much of tchotchkes!! Like cute trinkets u find in antique stores while going on a road trip
yes!! how wonderful i love that i will happily become a tchotchke. to me you are made up of pretty books about mythology and folklore and vintage ceramic figures of cute animals like these !
it’s not really a thing but like softness? i just associate super soft sweet fluffiness with your writing! but you also remind me of the colour white ™️
awww yay that's so lovely !! you're very colorful to me, you remind me of little paper stars <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i think we should be ridiculing them more for this. you don't get to try and go all "queer website" when your staff likes to go on nuking sprees targeting the trans fem users
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
content quiet, shy gn!reader, established relationship, soft sweetness, dean being very in love, reader is easily flustered, use of angel and pretty and sweetheart ! a kiss<3
masterlist ♡
wc 432
⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ ❤︎ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Dean smiles at you like he can't help himself, a saccharine pull of his lips that comes so easy and brings out a small divot on his cheek. The sight makes your feet shuffle and your heart spin.
"Hey, angel," he calls, and stops close.
Angel. You can't look at him and blame it on the sunlight. It pours over and around you in a buzzing beam. You squint and stare at his chest, but the smooth, gray fabric of his shirt stretches very nicely there, so you've got to look low at his boots instead.
"Hi," you reply. "It's hot out."
It's really not. Light dapples lovely on the ground and in the air, sends you aglow, but there's a chill breeze that kisses the heat away from your skin. You're just not sure what to say right now, a little abashed, and more so for even feeling this way.
He's ridiculous, you decide. Massively ridiculous, as his thumb coaxes your chin high with a gentle nudge, and he's still grinning. Warm, amber musk wafts dreamily up your nose and you sigh.
"You smell good," you say, pretending it's a bother.
"Thanks," he hums. "You're pretty."
Stupid boy. Calling you pretty like he means it. It's worse that you know he does, because he says it every hour, and the compliment sticks like sweet honey. You blink owlishly at him, tiny stars in your eyes.
"That's sweet," you say. "Super sweet, for you."
He tilts his head and bends over himself to bump his nose against yours with a quiet laugh. "I can be super sweet," he retorts, looking faux offended as his brows raise.
So close, you feel giddy and want to hold his cheeks between your palms and press thousands of fluttering kisses to his nose and chin and white teeth. Would he find that weird? You don't get to dwell on it much, his face pulls back too soon.
"I know," you murmur. "What're you doing?"
He twirls his keys around a ringed finger and you watch even after he's clasped them from view. His knuckles are a faint geranium pink under a dewy swath of sun. Your stomach swivels.
"Gonna start up Baby." He nods to where she rests across the lot. "Then we'll hit the road. Wanna get milkshakes on the way out?"
You nod. "Yes, please."
"Okay, sweetheart."
Dean ducks down again and you're kissed with lips that taste like your very own bergamot chapstick, you smile into it and curl your fingers through the soft hair at his nape. His smile has yet to falter. You feel opalite.
. ꕤ ｡ ˚⋆
i love writing for quiet & awkward readers :) very self indulgent but i think that's a big point of writing fanfic really! listened to kitty craft while writing because um yes
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