Imagine...Dean Wanting You To Stay At The Bunker

daylight .ᐟ

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; 'I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night. And now I see daylight, I only see daylight'

Requested; @jellyfishjo

Notes; requests are open again!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

For as long as he could remember his whole life had been shrouded in darkness. From the first lick of fire which took his childhood home, Dean’s life had seemed to dull to the same colour as the ash which had covered his brother's nursery the morning after.

The last time Dean Winchester saw light was when his mother kissed him goodnight before turning back to his little brother.

In some ways, he thought it was the universe playing some sick joke. His life had gone up in flames so bright that his eyes had watered only glancing towards the house, only for the sun to come up and cast his world into a neverending darkness. 

Tragedy, after tragedy, after tragedy.

That was until he met you. 

The first time he’d laid eyes on you it was almost as if for the first time in his adult life the sun finally seemed to peak over the horizon. Even now, the darkness of night surrounding you both like a blanket the world seemed lighter.

“You okay?” Your voice broke through the silence, the wind blowing your hair gently as you turned to look at him from where you were sitting on the hood of his car. He hummed leaning back against the hood. “M’fine.” He said turning to face you fully.

“Really? Cause you look like you're about to give yourself an aneurysm.” You joked lightly your hand finding his on instinct. You squeezed his hand for a moment as he rolled his eyes. “That's a lotta large words sweetheart.” He mused, a playful glint in his eyes. 

You raised an eyebrow gently pulling him closer, to stand in front of you. “Do you even know what an aneurysm is?”

Dean scoffed. “Course I know what it is? I did go to class…sometimes.” He smiled rubbing his free hand over your knee.

“Yeah. Sometimes.” You squeezed his hand again as he rolled his eyes, his finger jabbing into your knee for a moment. 

You both fell quiet again, eyes on the sky above. The night was surprisingly clear for September, the moon cast a dim light across the field you’d both taken refuge in for the moment. The stars themselves seemed to be out in the masses, a sight which was so rare and almost jaw-droppingly beautiful.

Dean’s gaze flicks back from the sky to you, his face showing a rare moment of vulnerability as his eyes trace the shape of your face, watching the way your eyes seem to light up just slightly in the moonlight.

His thumb rubbed over the back of your hand as he cupped your cheek with the other. Your own eyes moved back to him, a small smile tugging at your lips as his thumb brushed your lips for a moment.

“I love you.” 

Dean’s voice was barely a whisper as his eyes darted over your face, logging details he’d long since memorised. “I love you too.” Your voice matched his as you subconsciously leaned into his hand.

His own lips pulled into a smile as he hummed lowly. He could happily live in this bubble forever. 

You, him, his car, and peace.

He knew in the morning you’d both go back to everyday life, back to the horrors which were your normal and this simplicity would fade away until you had enough time to yet again step into this small bubble.

Yet, for the first time in his life, he realised he didn't hold resentment to the idea. Hunting was okay, he was used to it. It was his normal. The darkness had become his normal, had been his normal.

Yet the darkness didn’t seem to matter anymore. 

For the first time in almost 20 years, he finally saw the light again. 

yeah deancas is cool but you know what else is cool? they gave dean a best friend. dean who never stayed in a school long enough to bond with other boys. he never had inside jokes or slept over at his friend’s house. always an outsider, loner. john even suggested staying away from others in their line of work because no one survives. so they gave him a best friend who’s immortal and who lives with him. someone to have movie nights with and to laugh harder than he has in a while with.

Get that sausage girl!

Sexy, right? 😂 

Yes @impala-dreamer it is. Thank you for sending it. 

~

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You answered Dean as you grabbed a slice of pizza from the box.

“Slide that over here would ya?”

“Sure. This is the sausage, or did you want the pep…” Your voice trailed off when you closed the lid and you saw Dean. He was crooking to fingers at you. Two fingers that not so long ago were making your eyes roll back.

The smug smile on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you. You knew you’d been silent for too long when you saw the look Sam was giving you.

“Sorry.” You laughed. “Completely zoned there for a minute.”

“Have you not been getting sleep?” Sam asked, concern obvious in his voice. “You’ve been kinda spacey for the past few days.”

The truth was, he was right. Dean had been occupying most of your alone time, and teasing every chance he got. You felt riled up constantly and it was getting harder and harder to keep your budding relationship quiet like you’d promised each other.

“Yeah, Y/N/N. Something keeping you up all hours of the night?” Dean sassed.

Instead of answering either of them, you took an extra large bite of pizza and looked at anything but a Winchester.

“Are you two? I KNEW IT!” Sam yelped.

Dean pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about Sammy.”

“Oh my God. Seriously, how long?”

“Guys can we just eat? I’m starving.” You tried to push the conversation to the side.

“No.” They replied, at the same time.

“How long have you been sleeping together?”

“It’s none of your business!” You snapped.

“Ha! So I am right.”

“Fuck.”

“Alright, alright.” Dean spoke up. “Long enough. Now, drop it.”

Sam just smiled, shook his head and went back to his pizza.

Dean stood, and walked over to you. “I wanted the sausage.” He said softly and bent down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. He didn’t say anything else, just grabbed the box of pizza and returned to his seat.

“Apparently so does Y/N.”

“Sam!”

"Tell her about the biscuit rule"

Late nights and soft saviors

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Genre: Comfort? Fluff?

Summary: Dean has a nightmare but a soft little something comes to the rescue

Warnings: none, has one curse word

A/N: somebody hold this man and tell him it’s all gonna be ok 😭

Dean and y/n had a bit of a rivalry going on to say the least. When she first moved into the bunker, on account of Bobby’s recommendation, her and Dean clashed almost instantly. She was smart and mouthy and absolutely loved correcting him and back-talking him. But Dean being the sassy man he is, often retorted with a clever comeback, building a small fued between the two hunters.

It wasn’t like they hated each other or anything. They were more like frenemies, though they’d never admit it. Some would even say there were other types of tension to be lingering between the two hunters.

It wasn’t long until y/n found out about Dean’s frequent nightmares, considering that their rooms shared a common wall. She would hear his mumbling late at night, or the sound of the tv he used to drown out his thoughts. She felt a bit sorry for him, even if she never let it show.

She was almost like Dean in that sense. Hesitant to show emotion, to show people she was vulnerable. Her heart was locked away, surrounded by a wall, just as fortified as that of the city of Jericho— impenetrable, or so she thought.

But unbeknownst to her, Dean was slowly chipping away at her walls, starting to weasel his way into her heart with every snide remark, or witty comeback, but especially the stares she pretended not to notice or return.

***

One night she was up especially late, trying to finish a book she had started a few days prior. She did in fact finish the book, and as she was returning it to the lofty stack in the corner of her room, that’s when she heard it— the pleas, the mumbles, the groans.

Dean was having another nightmare. A bad one. Y/n stood there of a moment, conflicted. She could pretend she didn’t hear anything, act oblivious, and just go to bed… or she could go try and wake Dean, maybe comfort him, make sure he was ok.

After one instinct won over the other, she began to head for her door, picking up a small stuffed teddy bear she had on her bed, one that had a lot of meaning to her. She padded over to Dean’s door and knocked. It wasn’t loud enough to wake him so she knocked louder. She heard groans and cusses on the other side of the door as the man woke from his sleep. She heard him make his way to the door so she quickly set the bear on the floor and rushed quietly back to her room.

When Dean opens the door he didn’t see anyone and was rather confused as he looked down the hall. That’s when he noticed it, the bear. “The fuck?” he mumbled as he bent over to pick it up. He recognized almost immediately, even in the dark, as he made he way back into his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, just looking at the bear in his lap, playing with it a bit, moving its paws around, as he fell deep into thought.

Why’d she do that? Does she know about the nightmares? Could she hear me through the walls? Does she hear me every time? Does she pitty me? Does she care?

He sighed deeply and lied back down in bed, propping the bear up next to his face. He continued to stare at it for a bit before he hesitantly took it into his hold again, even going as far to bring it up to his face and smell it. Amber and vanilla. Smells just like her, He thought. And with that he closed his eyes pulling the bear closer to his chest, setting his masculinity to the side for a while and indulging in the comfort of a soft stuffie, something he seldom experienced in his childhood.

Before he knew it a single tear was sliding down the side of his face and dripping onto his pillow. Not long after he was reaching for his phone and typing out the simple message,

“Thank you”

before attempting to surrender himself to sleep once more. She read the message and smiled into her own pillow and she drifted off to sleep soon after.

Yet another thing I find absolutely wonderful about how Jonathan Stroud wrote Lucy Carlyle is how he betrays her with the narrative.

In The Screaming Staircase, at the start of her story, Lucy gives us an idea of how she wants to be perceived; unaffected, unbothered, unburdened by fear or particularly revelatory emotions. She drops horrifically painful realities about her childhood on us as if she were describing a dull gray rock she found on the ground. She tries very, very hard to school her emotions around Lockwood and George. And if she had been written by anyone else, she might have fallen prey to the "strong independent female character" tar pit of a stereotype.

But then along comes Annabel Ward's ghost.

And the narrative looks at Lucy and says "I know how you wish to present yourself, but that's not who you are."

And Lucy is repeatedly shown to be incredibly Sensitive in so many ways. She is under the influence of the ghost of Annie Ward, but the emotions are still partly Lucy's. And most of the time she has the emotional intelligence to differentiate which feelings are hers and which ones are Annie's, and where they overlap. She chokes up with empathy on multiple occasions in the process of uncovering what happened to Annie Ward. She becomes enflamed with the desire for justice for someone who was murdered decades before she was born. She's shown that by her very nature, her emotions are her strength and not her weakness. Because she has a narrative that loves her and isn't lazy about her. She is the narrator and she tells us who she is, but the narrative shows her and us who she really is.

“Cas! What the hell are you doing in here?!” Dean practically yelped. Castiel stood frozen, phone in one hand, the other half-raised and immediately forgotten. His mouth hung open as if every functioning brain cell had spontaneously vacated the premises. His eyes were growing to a worrying size with each passing second, steadfastly fixed at waist level. He unabashedly stared at the frilly pink lace peeking out of Dean’s ripped, borderline-offensive cut-off jean shorts. Both men stopped breathing. An entirely awkward second later with Dean's face color shifting through exciting undiscovered shades of red, Castiel swallowed audibly.  Dean stared daggers. “You know what, Cas? I own it." A wet sponge hitting Castiel square in the face pulled him back into reality. "Now get working and help me clean Baby!"

I HAD SO MUCH FUN DRAWING THIS!! I should draw more ridiculous things in the future :D

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"At the top of the steps the front gate swung gently, gently. It came slowly to a halt."

8 random lockwood hcs bc im bored

probably not realistic at all, also keep in mind i’m really bad at writing.

-he’d DEFO have a little section for your books in his library

-i feel like he’d love jam but have the strongest hate for marmalade to the point he’d comically smash jars of it whenever he sees it

-he’s memorised how you like your tea but always has to ask how you like it

-he’s the type of guy to ask ‘you eating that?’ after he’s already taken the food off your plate

-talks about kipps way too much to the point you and lucy have made an inside joke about them being gay

-he tells a bad lockwood one liner and he feels so chuffed about himself until he looks over at you and the others cheesing at his words

-the type to secretly shazam songs at the function after saying shit like ‘the music here is terrible’

-hasn’t drank water in 3years