Title: During School Special
Author: constipatedsam

Word Count: 906
Original Imagine/Request/Summary: I love you writing and your blog!! Can I have a oneshot request: Dean and the reader go undercover in High School because a teacher is killing somebody and the reader as to go undercover a cheerleader (Dean and the reader are dating)

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Mention of Blood, Mention of Alcohol
Fic:

      The halls that built the school felt more like a prison rather than a structure that was meant to enrich the youth of America’s minds with extensive knowledge on information that they would more than likely never use again. They were pearl white excluding the pointless graffiti that was strategically placed on the cement blocks that also supported posters here and there on upcoming community events. The floors were riddled with loose papers and rubber bands that the attendants had dropped or lazily thrown away on the tile that custodians were sure to clean up later. You weren’t seeing the surroundings in such a bad view on purpose. All of the different characteristics that were being housed in the building seemed like one great, burning shot of alcohol that was concocted from a messy mixture of memories and experiences from your own years at high school. The tangy liquid wasn’t soothing contrary to it’s usual impact upon your worn body, but instead it was sour as you could feel the thoughts invade your mind. High school hadn’t been too taxing of an adventure if you ignore the memories of constant anxiety of grades, rumors being spread every which way, and cruel words being tossed around. That was the typical teenage experience, right? Of course, other people had a worse time during their four years, but you managed to pull through with only a few emotional scars. Your boyfriend, Dean, didn’t know much about the harassment that ensued within these types of halls since he jumped from school to school during his childhood, along with his brother, though he was familiar with the tiresome ordeal that still haunted you to this day. Through the teachings of cliche movies that centered around the teenage life within the heart of America, Dean had pieced together the perfect plan that could spare you from any more torment and scars: you needed to try out for cheer leading. You had originally protested the the idea and thought that he had accidentally dropped some acid, but after you determined that he wasn’t intoxicated, you fell into the plan. You had always wondered what it was like to waltz around the halls in a short skirt that broke dress codes, but you would get away with it anyway because the school staff favored the athletes. Carrying pompoms in your hands would be a change from the typical hand gun and Kurd’s knife, but if it meant that the killings could stop, then it was worth it. So here you were, wandering around the halls in the outfit that had made many suburban housewives miss their glory days as you kept any out for any hint of something evil lurking. The demon knife didn’t exactly match your red and white uniform, but if you were able to slaughter the creature, his blood certainly would. You stepped quietly around even though you were the only soul in the hall, but you didn’t want to risk getting caught on school property with a weapon. As you crept past the bathrooms, your heart nearly jumped out of the uniform as you heard a clang ring out in the deathly silent hall. A shadow raced by the wall, leaving his silhouette painted upon the it for your eager eyes to detect. Your feet crept closer to the wall, anxiety building up inside of you each time your heel hit the floor as you turned to peer your head around the corner. While you were distracted by the leering image, a pair of hands lunged out at your hips and forced you into the water closet, the fluorescent lighting illuminating his delicate features. You allowed your fist to biff the annoyance in the shoulder as you crossed your arms in irritation and cautiousness. “Was that necessary? Was it really? I could have stabbed you!” The complaint slid from your lips as they caressed Dean’s ears as they took in your words. A mischievous grin sewed onto his mouth as he pressed you against the wall of the less than romantic room, his hand on your thigh. He started to plant light kisses on your neck as you felt yourself wanting to give into him, but there was a greater task at hand. 

      “You’re really working this uniform, you know that?” His words vibrated into your skin through muffled pecks as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Give me an F. Give me an I. Give me a V. Give me an E. Give me minutes,” He chuckled against your skin as he attempted to slide his hand underneath your top, but you released your arms from around his neck and slapped it away.
      “Dean, I saw the damn thing until you tried to come around and satisfy your sudden needs,” Your figure began to hike away from the passion filled event, but he wasn’t letting you get away that easy. His strong, granular hands flung out and grasped your wrist, pulling you back to him once again. “What do you think you’re doing?”
      He pulled his lips temptingly close to yours as his eyes stabbed your own. “I’m about score a touch down,”
      “I think you mean home run,”
      “I don’t care whatever I score as long as you’re on my team,” His serene yet flirty smile felt like a pill of distraction as you fell into his ways, letting the monster be your concern after the game.

Title: Family Jewel

Author: constipatedsam

Word Count: 906
Original Imagine/Request/Summary: Do you think you could do an imagine where the reader and Dean are like training and fighting and he doubts the reader can fight so she goes to fight him and he talks trash and in the middle of their fight she kick him in the family Jewels and He never doubts her and says something like “Man my dream girl can fight even.” And then they get together????

Trigger Warnings: Cursing
A/N: I wrote this late at night while very sleepy so if there’s errors or it’s not my best work I am so sorry. I just hate having requests sit in my ask.

Fic:

      Dodge left. Kick right. Block right. You kept repeating small phrases within your head, trying to reassure yourself that you were certain of how to protect yourself and keep on your sanguine disposition. The only sense of protection that floated through your veins was the image of your own forearms blocking any potential biff that would come from your boxing partner. His green gems which were painted with determination and amusement would illuminate as they passed through the cracks between your knuckles, giving off the impression that he was the proud predator, while you were only a weakened prey that would be easy for the kill. His fist flung out as it berated your fortress in front of your head as you dodged the attack and pushed your body away from the overzealous man. “You know, I don’t know why you even wanted to try this. You know I’m gonna kick your ass because girls can’t fight anyway,” His words were intended to be a poisonous drink of intimidation, but you perceived it as a shot glass of confidence and motivation as you strained every muscle in your body to it’s highest performance as you lunged and let your fist meet Dean’s face who failed to dodge the attack in time. You let a playful and satisfied smirk kick away the determination that was poured over your mouth as it flung a speck of embarrassment through the oldest brother. It wasn’t more of the fact that he was ashamed that a girl had hit him, if anything it made him feel better because he was reassured with every kick and punch at him that you were gong to be okay in the world with all of the creatures and things that go bump in the night lurking around at every corner. He was trying his best to get you fired up so that your full potential to kick the living shit out of someone could shine through and you would know that it was within you if a time may come that you need it. “Oh, come on. You can do better than that! That was like getting tickled by Danny DeVito; give me a Hulk Hogan knock out!” His voice felt like another swig of liquor that was laced with encouragement and spitfire as you hungrily soaked it up.
      “You better shut your trap, Dean. You’re going to regret it,” Your voice sung out with a melodic tone about it as you started to jump lightly from side to side, building up ambition. It felt good to get the chance to knock the living daylight out of the annoying, chauvinistic, and brash man who you were around almost every second of every day. Even though he had bad qualities, and many at that, he still managed to grow on you like an irritating vine that sprouted in the most inconvenient places.
      He lowered his arms down as he strutted over to you, hands rested confidently on his hips. His face was inches from yours, his heaving breath sending chills on your body from the sudden advancement. He was partially taller than you so his face had to be angled down slightly to look into your eyes which were being stabbed ferociously with his green spheres. The flirty smile that was sketched on his face was mirroring yours as you tried to catch your breath. “It’s gotten us this close, so why would I feel any repentance?” You could feel each gust of air seep from his pink lips which were approaching yours slowly, but surely. You saw this as your chance to attack, to win the pointless battle that was flaring up between the two of you as you bit your lip. Dean shut his eyes as he prepared for his lips to be met with equally anxious ones, yet was greeted with a knee to his second most prized possession next to the Impala: his privates. He hastily back his head away from yours which was sprawled with a grin as he struggled to breath. His hands shot down to his knees while he crouched, his legs squeezing together tightly. You felt a wave of regret pull you into it’s tide, but an ocean of satisfaction washed over you as he fell to the ground on his back. He almost resembled a turtle that had accidentally turned itself over on it’s shell which you would usually help the animal in need, but you were getting way too much happiness out of seen the ever strong, resilient Dean Winchester dying on the floor from a small kick. You spread your feet apart as you stood over the wounded, yelping man which shined you a painful scowl.
      You zeroed your face in on his, making sure the he heard you loud and clear. “You feel any repentance now?” You grinned as he attempted to roll his eyes, but was more distracted from the pulsating pain rolling around through his, well, you know. You grabbed his face in your hands as you locked your smirking mouth with his and despite his intense, debilitating injury he thirstily bit back, taking in your long-awaited taste. You pried your mouth away from his as you stepped over and made your way towards the door. His gaze met yours as you were about to take your body from the room, but he decided to leave you with one last statement.
      “No,”

constipatedsam:

Title: The Artist

Author: constipatedsam

Word Count: 864

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: could you do a dean song ficlet (nobody singing please) based off of the song help me loose my mind by disclosure ft. london grammar? -anon

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Alcohol

A/N: This came out…

Title: Pretty Mad Syndrome
Author: huntinghellhound
Word count: 1590
Original Imagine/Request/Summary: Could you please do a oneshot where the reader is PMSing and Dean doesn’t know that, so he teases her like he always does, and the reader can’t help being extremely offended and moody towards him. So he goes out of his way to make it up to her and it just ends really fluffy? Thank you! -anon

Trigger Warnings: Cursing

A/N: This is kind of in that area when the angels were being bitches about the brother’s playing their roles (season 5????) idk. And sorry it took so long for me to write it!

Fic:

      Rage. That four letter, simple word couldn’t possibly convey your emotions even the slightest as you could feel an indescribable feeling take place of your normally calm conscience. You didn’t attack, oh no. The anger didn’t even make you lose your senses to lunge out and wrap your precious little hands around the man’s neck until the last breath in his body had left his lungs. You just sat with your quiet body in a chair, your mind fuming as countless curses danced within your head. There he sat, your tormentor, your aggravation lying silently on the couch while flipping through a magazine that he had picked up from some sex shop in town labeled ‘Busty Asian Beauties: The Chopstick Series’. He would occasionally raise his eyebrows at a fantastic photograph in the sinful book that was paired with a ‘wow’ or ‘how’d she get that there?’ which resulted in constant eye rolls from your irritated figure. You hadn’t been too upset until you had taken it upon yourself to actually leave your room while your Aunt Flow was visiting which as soon as your feet left the flooring of your room, you knew you should have turned back around. The emotions and feelings that you felt during your period weren’t too bad. If you had to rate it on a scale from Justin Bieber terrorizing the paparazzi to Mel Gibson almost fist fighting with a stewardess because he wasn’t allowed to play Words With Friends on his plane, you were Kanye West running up on stage during Taylor Swift’s performance. Dean Winchester wasn’t completely aware of the emotional instability that you faced while your uterus literally shreds itself, so he thought a little joke here and there on your appearance was harmless with no impact. Period or not, a girl has her right to call someone out especially for criticizing someone’s appearance. The few words that had left his lips were ‘I see you weren’t trying to look good today’ as his reaction to your sweats, no make up, and messy bun. He typically joked about small things like that, but you were an ocean of fury and his words were a merchant’s ship caught up in the deadly waves, about to be wrecked.
      A few moments had passed since the encounter, so you figured it was time to bring it up. Now or never, right? “Hey, Dean?” Your voice carried through out the living space in the bunker, standing out like a soccer mom at a night club. His eyes didn’t falter from the distracting and derogatory images that were displayed in front of him as he soaked in your words. You knew that he had heard them, but was too busy being a dog to reply back, which made you even angrier. “I think Sam brought home some pie last night,” The lie fell from your lips easier than you had expected as you studied him for a reaction. The magazine was forcefully closed by his coarse hands as he pulled his worn body from the similarly banged up couch as he drudged over to the kitchen that was only a few steps away. His eyes were eager as he pried the white fridge door open, only to have his dreams crushed and his heart crumble into irreparable pieces. His hopeful smile was torn to shreds as an angry frown reassembled in it’s place.
      “Y/N!” An agitated roar erupted from his wide mouth. causing you to smirk in undeniable victory. You knew there was no pie in the fridge, but hey? What was wrong with sharing some of your bad mood with the person who caused it? You leaped from the seat and innocently waltzed your way into the cold floored kitchen which sent chills up your spine each time it touched your feet. There was the hunter, standing in a pool of pure devastation and embarrassment while his mouth was gaping to match his demeanor. “What the hell was that? There are many things you don’t do in the world. For example, you don’t kill people,”
      “We do that with the demon knife,” You interrupted his rant with the sass-filled comment as he rolled his eyes at you. He shrugged his shoulders in acknowledgement as he absorbed the fact that you were right, but pressed his lecture on.
      “Okay, Well- we do. That’s not the point, though. One of the golden rules in this bunker is-,”
       ”Always replace the toilet paper when it’s empty?”
      “Oh, God damnit, Y/N. You just don’t lie about pie, okay? That isn’t allowed in this crumbling, horrible excuse of a family. I don’t know what kind of sick amusement you got from this, but that wasn’t okay,” His balled fists hit the island that stood in the middle of the fighting ring as he stared at you intently with his piercing green eyes.
       ”The same kind of amusement you get for telling a girl she doesn’t look presentable. The same kind of pleasure you get from always accusing a girl of constantly being on her period when she’s emotional, even though I am, that doesn’t allow you to joke about it, you bag of viagra-pumped dicks,” Your words fell from your tongue like alcohol. They burnt as the came from your throat and out into the air and intoxicated Dean with realization of why you had been a bit more sensitive than usual. Sure, it wasn’t your cycle doing all the talking; Dean had always bantered with you like that, but words can cut deeper than any knife can. He knew that he had to repair the damage that he had inflicted up on with just his murmurings and light jokes, even if it meant he had to spend some time away from his precious Asian Beauties.

      “Hey, Y/N?” Dean’s voice sounded like a gunshot as it shattered and wounded the silence that had been dangling in the air. His head popped in your room as he creaked the door open slightly, making sure that you were dressed before he completely let himself in. Your tense body was lounged across your bed, looking at your bully from afar while he examined your body that was so comfortably relaxed. He shifted his figure completely into your room, having his hands tucked behind his back. He furrowed his brows and squeezed his lips tightly as if he were afraid of letting the apology flow from his mouth.
      “You gonna stand there like a nervous child before his first school play or say something?” You shot out as you picked your body from the mattress and sat with your legs crossed. You raised your own brows and gave him a sly smirk, but it wasn’t the least bit playful. You were living up to the hype around the woman scorned, to say the least. The hunter’s eyes didn’t roll like you had expected, but it seemed as if they had a hint of regret and sorrow sing in them, giving off the impression that a melodic apology was about to be played. His arms began to unravel themselves from behind his back as he revealed a large box of Midol and a giant box of chocolate in the other hand. The heart-shaped plastic case had a printed drawing on the top of the lid of a cartoon teddy bear holding a sign that said ‘I’m Vewy Sowwy’. The innocent looking beast had a cheesy teardrop seeping from one of it’s eyes and he held a balloon shaped like another heart in his paw. Dean positioned his body down on your bed as he laid your new possessions in your lap. You let your gaze drift from the box and up into the hunter’s eyes which no longer irritated you to look at. “Thanks, asshole,” You jokingly replied as you tossed the gifts aside and punched the hunter in a kiddish manner on the shoulder.
      “You’re welcome, bitch,” He smiled back as he dressed one hand on the back of your head and left a minute peck on your forehead. His lips coming into contact with your skin caused an army of goosebumps to rise on your body as he pulled away against your inner desires. He rolled over your legs as his weight felt like they were about to crush your limbs and he settled his skeleton on your bed. He propped his head up with his arms behind his head, grinning foolishly at your bright face.
      “Don’t you have some Asian Beauties to ogle at?” You interrogated him as you smiled while raising an eyebrow in suspicion, almost giving off the impression of scolding him for not eyeing the women.
      “Nah, I have no need to. I have this beauty right here to stare at instead,” He explained as he winked an eye in your direction, popped open the chocolates that were meant for you, and tossed one into his mouth while knowing that he had fixed at least one problem going on in his life. He still had arch-assholes banging on his door every second, but he made things right with you, and that was all that mattered to him.

Title: Heaven, This Can’t Be Forreal

Author: huntinghellhound

Word Count: 1758

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: I have a request- Could you write a oneshot where Dean gets into a fight with the reader about how she messed up a hunt and could’ve gotten killed and she keeps apologizing then near the end Dean tells her to stop saying sorry then it end somewhat fluffy?

Trigger Warnings: Guns, Drowning, Cursing, Death, Channing Tatum(Some people become enraged by him because he kind of looks like those peanut beings from the proud family movie idk)
A/N: I need to quit making pop culture references in my one shots holy shit
Fic:

                The darkness of the sky seemed like a desolate blanket that laid as a backdrop for your surroundings. A few street lamps lit up the black space as a lake was laid out just a few yards away with the moonlight reflecting off of its ripples that were caused by innocent fish below the surface. The streets were empty, only your body and your erratic breathing filling the space. You knew that you weren’t supposed to be hunting alone. Hell, ever since you joined in with the Winchesters you weren’t even supposed to go out to eat alone. You were shocked that you could even go to the bathroom without someone keeping watch, but you knew it was just because they cared about you. So, that’s why you didn’t tell them that you were taking this haunting case by yourself because: A, they would probably shit themselves at the thought of you hunting with no backup, and B, they would probably never allow you to leave their sight again. Sam and Dean didn’t even know about the case; they thought that you were at a spa getaway to catch a break from the monsters and demons, but you happened to be excellent at lying.

                You had your hip pressed against the brick wall which was chilled from the brisk air that was encasing the city. Your gun was cocked in your head, prepared to fire it’s deadly bullet at any minute. You were tailing the suspect, Vincent Blansett, who was next in line to kick the bucket if you were right. He hailed from a family of wealthy millionaires who had a couple of skeletons in their closet, literally. They didn’t get their way to the top without making a few demon deals and bargains, so sometimes the demons would make them sacrifice someone since their soul was already taken by another abomination. His mother, father, and two of his sisters had already been slain, and he was the last one who could be the next victim. You heard a door on the other side of the building fly open with fear and anxiety pushing it out. Vincent ran from the plant with his face contorted with terror as he ran from what you suspected was the ghost you have been waiting for. Your legs took off at an alarmingly fast rate as Vincent ran right past you, leaving you to deal with the ghost. It was standing in the middle of the road, not even chasing him which scared you even more than you already were. You were expecting the angry soul to be running, moving, or even twerking to it’s victim, but no. It was standing in it’s place. The girl had messy brown hair that clung to her oval face from the sticky blood that covered her on nearly every inch. Her white dress was even stained with her own red liquid, but it didn’t even look like she had noticed. You ran towards her and raised your gun up to her level. You were praying to God that you had grabbed the iron bullets and not the silver ones this morning when you left the bunker, but at the moment there was only one sure way to find out. You pulled the trigger, the echo of the springs and gun powder reacting sounding like fireworks in the city-like street. You knew that when you shot the bitch, you had nailed her right in the head, but it seemed to have gone right through her with no effect. Shit, you thought as no plans were coming into mind. The spirit lifted her arm up and flung you over the railing and into the lake that you had just been admiring moments before. You felt the harsh wind hit your face as you plummeted into the cold water. It felt like needles taking their hungry turns pricking your soft skin as you took in the pain. You started to paddle your hands and feet to rise to the surface as you dropped your gun to give you more leverage. You kept swerving your limbs side to side, upwards, and any other movement you could think of, but your fatigued body wasn’t moving anyway. You kept trying and trying; you even began to yell while you were underneath the chill liquid, but you knew nothing was going to help. The ghost was holding you under and you had no way to save yourself this time. Your chest started to ache as the deadly fluid filled your lungs and you wanted to stop breathing, but your human nature took over and wouldn’t let you stop yearning for oxygen. You took one more look at the streetlight that had been reflecting on the beautiful lake, but instead as seeming like a source to provide you vision, it seemed more like a sign to stop fighting and let death take it’s  nasty course.

                You awoke with your head bobbing against the glass window of the Impala. Your eyes shot open, shocked at your surroundings. Dawn was beginning to break outside slightly over the trees which caused romantic shadows to be cast on the roadway, but it was still pretty dark out. Dean’s recognizable, leather jacket was covering your upper body which was wet from the water that had absorbed you earlier. You lifted your head slowly off of the glass with a pounding headache radiating through your tired skull. You raised your arm slightly and massaged your temples trying to rid yourself of the excruciating pain that was dancing within your head. You scanned your eyes across the front of the Impala, taking a deep breath and inhaling. The familiar scent of liquor and Dean’s cologne was present which sent a ping of comfort through your tense body. Your gaze drifted over and focused on your chauffeur who was staring down the road intensely. Both of his hands were wrapped tightly on the leather stirring wheel which made the stress in his body obvious. He always operated Baby the way that he felt. That’s why you and Sam never let him drive after he would splurge on Dr. Sexy M.D. He would always be too emotional, honking at other drivers and pretending that you and his brother weren’t aware of his obsession with the drama. Times like this were your favorite. Being in the Impala with one of Dean’s old CD’s playing softly from the radio, the car rumbling down a seemingly endless highway. Were you really dead? The longer you sat in silence, the more it felt true. This felt like heaven, more or less. You threw your head back onto the comforting head rest as you looked at Dean and started to chuckle. Was this really your paradise in the clouds? I mean, you weren’t disappointed, but, really? You were expecting Channing Tatum and a few hundred pizzas, but you couldn’t complain.

                “Well, well, well. God didn’t hesitate to shoot out the confetti on this one,” you chortled as you stared at Dean as he didn’t even glance at you. “Nothing like spending an eternity with Smoke on the Water playing on repeat in the same car with the same person. I just wish that there was more of a music selection. Do you think God carries Beyonce-,”

                “You could have died,” The quiet hunter finally spoke, eradicating your sense of silliness and laidback attitude. Your smile faded from your face and reappeared but dressed as a frown. What did he mean ‘could have’? Weren’t you dead?

                “You mean I’m not dead?” You murmured, your words falling from your tongue with disappointment holding on each syllable. Dean took his eyes off the road after he noticed how let down you were from not floating in the sky.

                “No, because I saved your ass. But you know, Y/N, I wouldn’t have had to save you if you wouldn’t had hidden this case from me. I knew something was up when you told me that you were going to the spa; you’re not the pampering type. So, I tailed you and if I hadn’t,” His words trailed off as he was unable to finish his statement. The thought of your body being fished out of the lake crossed his mind like it had been doing for the past few hours since he had pulled you out himself.

                “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to apologize for attempting to do something by myself for once? I’m orry, Dean. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” With each apology that dropped from your mouth, the next one was coming even more aggressive than the one before. You eventually got to the point where you were screaming in the enclosed space. The hunter slammed the car on breaks in the middle of the road, not caring if any traffic was going to approach. It also took your off guard that he would treat Baby in such a way, so that softened your yelling. He turned to look at you, his eyes filled with a concoction of fear and aggravation.

                “Y/N, you can’t be doing shit like that! You have proved yourself many times to Sam and I; we know you’re a badass. You have saved our asses more times than we could ever repay, so even we need backup and we’re two people. And let’s not dodge the obvious, we’re the freakin’ Winchesters so we’re not expected to need any help. So, stop saying sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong and neither did I. When we agreed to become hunting partners, part of that was that we would always have each other’s backs. We both have lived up to those expectations, sometimes at a deadlier level than expected, but we’re both doing our jobs,” Dean explained as he looked deeply in your eyes, making sure that you heard every word that left his pursed lips. You stuck your arm out from under his jacket and caressed his face with your cold hand that was still damp from the water. He shut his as eyes at your touch, just happy that you still had the ability to touch him, or even breathe for that matter.

                “Thank you for doing your job, but don’t expect a raise,” You kidded with a soft smile on your face as he returned the same.

                “Well, I needed that raise, but I guess there could be something better in order. You could repay me with a date,”

                “Fine, but you pay the bill,”

                “It’s worth it,“

Title: Dean Winchester, Soon To Be Father Of The Year

Author: huntinghellhound

Word Count: 1217

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: may I please have a Oneshot request when it comes back up: The reader has been dating Dean for a while and one day she founds out she is pregnant and she is worried (even though he is dead) something like the yellow-eyed demon will come after their baby. I just love your writing and Thank you so much!! :)

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, mention of death
A/N: Thank you (about loving my writing)!
Fic:

                You sat there waiting for the timer to run out, each menacing click feeling like a schoolyard bully trying to provoke into attacking. You were sat on the toilet with the lid covering up the water, trying to fight the urge to shake and scream from anticipation filling every cell in your anxious body. Your foot was tapping along with the ticking machine as a beat to calm yourself down, but it wasn’t working too well. Your gaze drifted away from the wall ahead of you and over to the stick that was laying innocently on the counter. To someone else, that stick was meaningless, just a piece of garbage. But to you, that piece of plastic meant the world at the moment and not just yours. It meant the universe to Dean, but he just didn’t know it yet. Hell, you weren’t even sure if it was going to come out positive or not so sure, you were jumping ahead of yourself like you always did. It wasn’t the fact that you were afraid to be pregnant, it was more of the fact that you were so cognizant of all the evils in the world. It was truly a wonder that you had survived so long with how clumsy and accident prone you were, so how would a child with possibly those same traits as you survive? Of course, the child would have it’s father’s genes as well which were packed with bravery, cunningness, and cleverness. So, basically the human being that was possibly growing inside of you was going to be a brilliant fool.

                Your train of thought crashed as the much anticipated paralyzing ding from the ticker sounded into the tense air. Your foot stopped it’s obnoxious tapping and froze along with the rest of your body. You could barely bring yourself to look at the answer, your breathing becoming a bit of a faster pace with every unknowing second passing. You jerked your hand up suddenly and clutched the test, but didn’t flip it over to see the result. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath as you were about to find out if your life would change from that point on. Your fingertips slid along the granite of the counter as you slowly turned the plastic to see a bright visible plus sign on the white strip. You dropped the test on the counter and covered your mouth with your hand as if it were a blanket to tuck in your anxieties that were awakening and running around through your head. Your thoughts weren’t that of a normal expectant mother, filled with lullabies that you would sing one day and what color you were going to paint the baby’s room. It was creations of the amount of murder and death that could possibly surround your child one day, and the destruction it could bring itself. Memories fit together like a puzzle in your mind as you recollected the images of Sam using his abilities from the Yellow-Eyed Demon on demons, as well as humans at one time or another. The chilling revelation that your child could be enslaved by the abomination shot through your mind like a bullet and the demon was pulling the trigger. You dropped your head in your hands and began to whimper like a wounded puppy. The cold tears burnt down your hot face like dry ice, reminding you with each drop why you were sobbing. The door forced open as Dean walked in, his face dressed to it’s finest with concern. He knelt down before you and tried to remove your hands from your wet face and you gave way, letting him see the smeared makeup and fears that were evident across your eyes. He traced his hands over your cheeks, wiping away any evidence that you had been bawling just moments before. You still wanted to cry and let the inner demons and thoughts out, but you didn’t want to worry him more than he already appeared to be. He looked away from your moist eyes and peered over to the counter since a bright purple stick was attracting his vision. He looked back to you briefly with bewilderment, but stuck his hand out and grasped the test hungrily. His eyes soaked in the news that he was going to be a father, and he did the complete opposite of the scenarios that you have predicted inside of your worried head. A smile. There was a smile painted across his joyous face, and your growing child inside of you was the artist. He seemed as if he were about to join in with the crying, but not from the heinous possibilities that had been trailing their way in your head. He actually seemed thrilled.

                “Y/N, this is great! I’m gonna be a dad!” He murmured with excitement scribbled across his mutterings. He looked up to you, his green eyes expanding in happiness, but they fell quickly as they recognized your obvious discomfort. He placed the test back down onto the counter, letting you become his main concern once again. His hands wrapped themselves around your wrists lovingly as he put his elbows on your thighs as they dug into your skin. “What’s wrong?”

                “Dean, what if the Yellow-Eyed demon comes for our baby like he did for Sam? What if I end up burning on the ceiling with you having to witness that? I can’t put you through that again,” You confessed as you felt sobs starting to entangle themselves within your throat. You felt like a total piece of shit for bringing his mother into this, but you couldn’t help it. Sure, it would be the opposite of terrific to have your flesh singed into the ceiling, but you wouldn’t want another woman in Dean’s life to be ripped out so harshly.

                “Y/N, he’s dead. He’s not coming back. I shot the fucker in the head myself, and you know how I remember doing so? Because it felt damn good to kill him. And I promise you no monster, demon, or evil being will come near you or our baby for as long as I live. I will kill any evil son of a bitch who walks in the door, is in a twenty mile radius, or even on the same continent. I promise you that, Y/N. I have a habit of breaking promises, but this is one I will always keep,” His words felt like a numbing medicine that was seducing your worries into a deep slumber, putting them permanently to sleep. You combined your lips with his, reassuring him that you believe every word that left his comforting lips.

                “So, you wanna name it Mary if it’s a girl and Bobby if it’s a boy?” You suggested to him as he gave you a grin, knowing that everything was going to be okay. He knew that he was going to be a terrific father; he was going to be the opposite of his own and everything that Bobby was. He was also certain that you were going to be an excellent mother and that you would care for the child like Mary did her own. Dean was also hopeful that the baby would grow used to having a moose for an uncle.

Title: Menstrual Medalist

Author: huntinghellhound

Word Count: 686
Original Imagine/Request/Summary: Ok! I guess ill just leave this request for when u get back. A dean one shot where its the readers time of month and he just helps her out and its fluffy? Akikdkdks its adorable in my head - @gostiels-fallen-angel
Trigger Warnings: Pain, Mention of Medication
A/N: I think this will validate for me that I’m not the only one who acts like she’s possessed by the anti-Christ when I cramp unless I am?? And also I’ve never taken Pamprin before tbh. I’m on muscle relaxers for my cramps they’re so bad.

Fic:

                “Dean! Find the Pamprin!” You boomed from your room as your body was folded over in armadillo position. It felt like your uterus had stolen a razor from your bathroom and was trying to shave itself, but kept slipping and causing pain to shoot through you. You laced your arms around your stomach and hugged yourself tight, trying to forget about the pain. Dean came racing in the room with a glass of water and some pills. You chugged them both down as you fell onto your back and let the bed take in your body. You flung your hands up to your face and covered it as your hips bucked into the air and let out a groan from the fluctuating pain. Dean’s face contorted into a look of confusion, and he couldn’t lie, and little bit of horniness mixed into it. You dropped your hips back onto the soft mattress as Dean’s hands slipped under your back and flipped you over. His hands began to rub themselves around your back as he massaged into your muscles to give you some sort of relief until the pills kicked in.

                “Are you feeling any better?” The makeshift masseuse questioned you as he peered over so he could see your face. You felt like you could have gone to sleep if it weren’t for the radiating pain that felt like a punch in the gut.

                “A little. Do it harder,” You ordered him as he raised his brows from the sudden scolding. He dug deeper into your back, which caused you to moan a little from the relaxation.

                “You know, I didn’t think I’d hear you say that until we finally hook up and rid ourselves of the sexual tension between us,” He jested as he removed his hands and sat down on the bed with you. You sat up and propped your head on his shoulder.

                “Shut up,” You muttered as the pain pills started to take affect and relieve you of the horrendous cramps. He pulled his arm over your draped his muscular limb over your shoulder as he pulled you into him. He left a small peck on the top of your head as you shut your eyes in bliss. Whenever your cramps would end, it felt like a new day had started and that you could just get up and break into song from how great you felt, but you wanted to stay right there with Dean. It was always hard getting him to act affectionate to anyone besides his brother, so you were going to take as much advantage as you could in this situation. “Thanks for the massage, though. I don’t see why you have to get girls drunk to sleep with you if you have hands like that,”

                He chuckled at your comment and you could feel his body shake against yours. “I don’t have to get girls drunk, okay. All I have to do is give them the look,”

                “And what look is that?” You asked as you pulled your head away so you could see. He shot you ‘Blue Steel’ as you immediately broke into laughter at the douchey look. He lightly punched you in the shoulder for finding his face hilarious as he joined in with your giggling. “You look like you’re constipated, but you’re strangely aroused by it,” You pulled your body back into his as he grasped you tighter, his head propped on the head board. He felt as much at ease as you did. You weren’t aware of it, but he had wanted an excuse to hold you this close for as long as he could remember. In the worst comparison imaginable, it was like you were his Pamprin. He quietly scolded himself for thinking of something so chick-flicky, but acknowledged that he was in fact happy and he couldn’t hide it.

                “Even though you’re mean, rude, and absolutely annoying, I love you, Y/N,” He murmured against your head. You could feel the vibration of his voice on your head, which comforted you.

                “You’re irritating, cocky, and overly confident, but I love you, too,”

Title: Dirty Double

Author: huntinghellhound

Word Count: 782

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: I have a request: The reader is dating Dean and she has a best friend who is dating Sam and the girls do not want anything to do with the hunting business but they still support the boys. -anon

Trigger Warnings: Mention of blood, being anxious

A/N: I gave the best friend a name so it wouldn’t get confusing if that’s alright.
Fic:

You sat at the booth, tapping your fingers anxiously. Your nails were clinking on the wood, serving as a timer to remind you of how worried you should be. The atmosphere of the restaurant was crisp, clean, and looked like a celebrity should walk in any second. You were shocked that your boyfriend, Dean, could even afford a place like this even with his fake credit cards. Girls were sitting with their charming, handsome boyfriends looking smitten at their candlelit dinners which caused you to roll your eyes obnoxiously. You flipped your vision to your best friend, Liv, who was on her phone absent-mindedly. She seemed as if she didn’t even noticed that the Winchesters were twenty minutes late for your double date. You usually would be preparing a nagging speech in your head to yell at Dean when he would arrive, but you were more distracted with the fact that he was going on a hunt with his brother before the date would start.

                “You aren’t the least bit concerned that they’re late? They were hunting an entire pack of Acheri’s, you know. Those things are vicious. They’re worse than that biology teacher that we had in the ninth grade that was practically Satan,” You droned on, concerned for your boyfriend’s safety. He later confirmed for you that the teacher was in fact not Satan, but you still held your belief. “Liv!” You yanked her attention away from her phone as she put it down with a scowl on her face.

                “Y/N, calm down. If those boys can surpass the grasp of Lucifer himself, get one of their souls back, escape from hell-,”

                “Hey, ladies,” Dean’s voice rang out like a gunshot that killed your worries as he sat himself next to you. He draped his arm over your shoulder with a goofy grin on his face as Sam slid is body next to your friend. You immediately pried his touch from you because his entire body was covered with mud from head to toe. Sam was as clean as a new found Christian, but your partner was as dirty as a businessman on Wall Street. “What was that for?”

                You gave him a look of disbelief, partly because he thought he could touch you when he was so out of shape, and secondly because he was pretending he didn’t do anything wrong when he knew he did. “What the hell happened to you? I thought it was just some Acheri’s,”

                He shrugged his shoulder as a few specks of dirt fell onto the floor while a hostess glared at him with aggravation at a mess that someone on the staff was going to have to pick up. You also imagined that they were irritated because the chairs at the tables were white. “It was some Acheri’s. There might have also been an underground demon ring going on, but we handled it,” He looked to Sam as he stuck his hands out for help in the discussion, but Sam flung up his hands as a sign that he wasn’t getting involved. “I’m sorry for being late,” He looked over to Liv who was trying to hide her chuckles at the argument between you and Dean. Sam was also trying to disguise his look of amusement, but he was failing miserably. “and making Sam late. You know that if there’s something evil within a mile radius, we’re gonna kill it,”

                You put your hand on his dirt covered palm and looked him deeply in the eyes, trying to pass a wave of forgiveness along with an apology through the gaze. “I know, I know. It’s just hard sometimes not knowing if you’re safe or not. I was also worried because we had already bought some drinks and neither of us were prepared to pay the bill,” You joked as your fit your lips into his, trying your best to ignore the fragments of dirt caught on his face. You didn’t mind, though. He could be covered in blood, and you’d still hold him as tight as you could; you loved him that much.

                “How are you guys affording this place, anyway?” Liv spoke up, breaking the passionate moment. Dean had a playful and clever smile play on his face.

                “I told the guy at the front that Sam is Fabio’s cousin and that he’d be paying the bill sooner or later,” He smirked as his younger brother gave him an aggravated glare. You really hated the two going out and risking their lives every day, but you and Liv both knew that it was for a good cause. It was also kind of hot, but that was just one of the perks.

Title: The Family Business
Author: huntinghellhound
Word Count: 961

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: May I please have a one shot where the reader and Dean are dating but she doesn’t Hunt but they need her to go undercover as a bartender and Dean is protective of her?? Thank you -anon

Trigger Warnings: Sexual Harassment, Alcohol

Fic:

                “No, no, no. Nah uh, nada, never,” You argued, crossing your legs defensively over each other. You stabbed your eyes into your boyfriend’s green orbs, not leaving his gaze to show you meant business. There was no way in hell, or heaven, that you were going on a hunt. You saw what those ‘road trips’ could do to someone physically, mentally, emotionally and you wanted no part of it. You preferred to have your sanity intact, thank you. You had been with Dean when he went to hell, when he came back as well. You saw how his humanity was torn to shreds; he was barely able to look you in the eyes for a few weeks, ashamed of what he had done down there. You knew that going on one measly hunt wasn’t going to wind you up in Satan’s barbecue, but you didn’t want to risk it.

                “Y/N, nothing will happen to you, alright? Sammy and I would have your back at all times. Why don’t you trust us?” Dean defended, his voice sorrowful and soft as he pulled his face closer to yours. You were sat in a chair in the study of the bunker, and the hunter was crouched so he was level to your face, which was displaying an obvious tide of irritation.              

                “Don’t you dare try to guilt trip me. I know that you two would keep me safe, but people around you do have a habit of dying, and I don’t want to become another one of them because I didn’t listen to my gut,” The words felt heavy on your tongue as they left because you knew you were hurting him whether he displayed it or not. His stare fell from you and to the floor as your words sunk in. You groaned as you put your hand underneath his chin and raised his face back up to yours. “When do we need to leave?” A grin broke his frown, his eyes glimmering astonishingly bright as they poured into yours. You immediately regretted saying yes, but seeing your boyfriend finally happy was worth it.

                “All you have to do is make drinks, take orders-,”

                “The family business,” You jested as you interrupted Sam. He was sitting in a booth at the bar, irritation seeping from his eyes as he rolled them in your direction. Dean gave you small smirk, trying to hide it from his brother. You stood in front of them both, clad in the typical bartender clothing that you would find in the south. A blue, unbuttoned plaid shirt hung on your body as a blank tank top covered the rest of your upper body. Light blue jeans clung to your legs and you wore your favorite pair of boots to give you some amount of comfort in this situation. “What? That’s basically all you two do,” You continued to kid as you playfully grinned at the younger brother as you had their father in mind.

                “Just keep an eye out for the shape shifter, alright?” Sam finally finished his original statement, taking a sip from his beer while taking his phone out to pass the time.

                “And be safe,” Dean added in as you gave him a polite smile and tore away from the conversation to start your shift. You knew that you were getting stares in your outfit, not because only the tight pants, though. You also happened to be the only girl in the bar which kind of made you a little worried since most of the men looked like they could have some felonies under their belt. The walls were made out of wood paneling and the floors were, well, wooden so it felt like a cabin. The dim lighting made it a bit harder to tell what drinks were what behind the counter, but you always figured it out. One of the men, a tall man of light skin that was styling ripped jeans and an Iron Maiden t-shirt had sat at the bar for over an hour, constantly taking in your figure with his hungry, yet creepy eyes. His face was laced with a white beard that covered most of his mouth, but you could still see him lick his lips at you every now and then.            
                “Hey, little lady. You think you could give me another shot?” He boomed over the bar while you were serving someone else. You excused yourself and poured another small glass of tequila for the man, and you could feel his glare pouring into your body. You got chills from the eerie feeling, but poured the drink anyway. “And how about a show as well?” He chuckled over his glass while he downed it hungrily. He slammed it down on the counter top as Dean appeared from behind him, putting on the façade of being stranger. He sat down on the bar stool right next to the man when there were plenty of other stools available which made you want to giggle at the unsuspecting man.

                “I’ll have what he’s having,” Dean ordered as he pointed to man beside him. The man started to chortle with his new companion as you heard a few whispers leave the man’s mouth and into Dean’s ear. You weren’t sure what was said, but the next thing you knew the man was lying on the floor, unconscious while Dean was standing above him, his arm raised. You crossed your arms over your body in disbelief; you were struggling to understand what the man could have possibly said to anger Dean so much, and how the young hunter could knock out a Santa Claus look-a-like for you. All you really knew was that you loved this man and the anger issues that were tailing along with him.

Title: Daddy’s Demons
Author: huntinghellhound
Word Count: 1618
Original Imagine/Request/Summary: Can I please have a oneshot where the reader is Bobby’s daughter and she’s dating Dean. She gets kidnapped on a hunt by an old friend of Bobby’s and Dean rescues her

Trigger Warnings: Hostage situation, cursing, death

A/N: I kept imagining the reader as Jo for some reason and I almost cried

Fic:
                “Would you two knock that off? I’m trying to find out what the hell a buruburu is,” Bobby ordered from the study, his voice drenched in agitation. You and Dean giggled from the kitchen as he put his hand over his mouth to stifle your chortling. His had was covered in flour because you two were trying to make a cake for Sam since he was sick on his birthday, but you two had gotten side tracked to say the least. A few eggs sat splattered on the old, rustic tiled floor, milk was spilt all over the counter, and flour was covering your boyfriend from head to toe. You stuck your tongue out and licked his hand to get it from over your mouth, which he fell into your trap and yanked his hand away.

                “That’s what you get for trying to shut me up. The only person who chooses when and when I don’t talk is myself,” You kidded as slid over to the fridge to yank out more eggs since the ones you had planned to used were ruined.

                “And me!” Bobby shouted as his face was buried in an aging text book. There was a case over in Kansas that he was going to have to do since two people had already died. The people who had seen the victims in their last days said they claimed to see their old business partner days before they died. The partner was also dead, but his passing was much more gruesome. He had fallen into a wood chipper at the paper mill that they owned, and he became one with nature.

                “Shit. We’re out of eggs,” You complained as you shut the fridge door, reaching for your purse. As your hands flew out to grab the bag, Dean plucked it from your reach as he dangled it on the edge of his pointer finger. You threw your hands on your hips and propped a leg up in annoyance.

                “Nah, uh. You’re not getting away from me yet,” He smiled with confidence as he swung the person lightly on his finger to tempt you to grab it.

                “Sam needs a cake Dean. He has the flu on his birthday. It’s the least we could do,” You pleaded and you laid your arm out in front of you as if your palm were a pedestal for the bag. He reluctantly laid the treasure in your hand as you said your goodbyes to everyone in the house and went on your way.

                One, two, three, four, you counted in your head. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. You began to tap your foot to the rhythm in your head as you checked each carton before you plucked one to be taken home. You needed a total of six eggs, but the market had a severe problem with shoplifting eggs. “This place never has the right amount of eggs that the cartons say,” A man strode up to you as you slowly placed one back in its place. He had dark skin and was of slim build, styling a business suit. He didn’t look like he had any business being at a farmer’s market, but who were you to judge?

                “It’s been like that for years. Guess the chickens are fighting back,” You joked as you reached your hand out to count another carton. The man’s hand flung out and rested itself on your wrist, tightly. You looked up to man, your heart starting to race at the unexpected physical contact.

                “Let’s hope you’re not like a chicken,” He slyly whispered as the whites of his eyes turned black.

                “Bobby, I don’t like this,” Dean sat in a hard chair in the study. Your father refused to throw it away because it was your mom’s favorite before she passed it away, so it had never even left that spot. The worried hunter sat with his elbows poking into his thighs, his hands propping up his stressed head. He was tapping his foot against the wood flooring beneath him out of impatience.

                “Calm down, boy,” Bobby interjected as he finally lifted his face away from the hundred year old book. He scanned Dean with his eyes, afraid that the frantic pacing of his foot would force a hole through the floor. “She’s been to the market by herself before. She’s fine,”

                “The market’s only five minutes away. She would have been back by now. It’s been an hour,” He argued, standing from the chair while he relaxed his tense arms on his hips. He stared at the clock as the seconds past. One, two, three, four, five, he counted in his head, like you had done earlier, only a slightly less worried about it. The red stick ticking on the timer seemed as if it were mocking him, reminding him of every moment he didn’t know whether you were okay. “I’m going,” He muttered as he grabbed his jacket from the counter along with his keys, and sped away to the market.

                When he arrived, he immediately checked the chilled section of the market that was located indoors. He checked every cluttered isle, making sure he didn’t miss a thing. The dirt on the floor stirred up as his tense footsteps lurked around, his eyes scanning everything. He carried his body past the last isle of eggs when something out of the corner of his eye captured his attention. He strode over to the freezer and opened it up, running his finger over the yellow powder: sulfur.

                The air was damp and the steel that made up the chair that you were bind to sent chills throughout your shaking body.  The rope that was tying your hands together behind your back felt like a million knives trying to cut at your hands since it was so coarse. You wriggled around a bit to loosen it’s grip, but nothing faltered. You tried to move your feet as well, but those were strapped to the chair as well. You were blind folded, so you couldn’t see anything that was going on. All you could hear was light breathing nearby and footsteps. “I see you’re awake,” A familiar voice struck through the air and hit your ears like a bullet, shaking you to the core. As his voice entered your ears, you started to recollect little fragments of what had happened. The last thing you remembered was seeing his eyes turn black, and then your world did the same. “So, Y/N Singer. How’s your dad? Still rockin’ that creepy truck driver look?”Your mouth pursed out of anger, his insult towards your father stinging. You wished you could have ripped right through the rope and worked the demon over with the demon knife, but if you even fidgeted the twine would probably slice your hands right from your arm. The demon took a few steps over and pushed his face right next to yours as he took in your scent. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry. I meant to make you infuriated,” He chuckled as he backed up slightly. “You see, you might not know who I am, but your father sure does. He probably never forgot the first time he saw me, because I know I sure didn’t. When I walked into his house, he kissed me. At first, I was a little shocked until I remembered that I was wearing his wife, then I just went along with it. I held you in my arms, sang you a lullaby and lulled you to sleep. You were such a cute child; your soul was so pure, it was tempting. I remember your father almost shitting himself when he saw his lover’s eyes turn black. I also remember him crying when I rammed a knife through my meat suit,” He chuckled as he strolled away. A few tears rolled away from your eyes, but the bandana covering your eyes caught the droplets. You heard the sound of a knife clinking, and your stomach dropped. Not for your own life, but rather your father’s. How could he possibly live with the last woman in his life being killed by the one demon who always seemed to slip out of his hands? And what about Dean? First his mom, then Sammy a few times, and now you? You wanted to break down in sobs, but you weren’t going to give the abomination that satisfaction. You were really kicking yourself in the ass for never learning the anti-possession chant.

                “Kill me. I don’t mind. I just hope you’re prepared for the amount of hunters that’ll be searching for your ass. You know there’s hundreds of us, and more than half know my father. I want to cry, but not for myself. Rather for you and all the hiding you’ll have to go through,” The demon slid his way over to you, but you didn’t stop rambling because frankly it was making you feel slightly better. “I’m sure you’ll be comfortable not killing for a while to not tip anyone off,”

                “Good thing I’m about to kill you. That’ll be my fix,” He grunted as he pulled his arm back to plunge the knife in your stomach, but it never made it’s way to it’s destination. All you heard was the demon moan slightly, and then quietly slump to the floor until the bandana was pulled from in front of your eyes. There stood Dean, the Kurd’s knife dressed in fresh blood.

                “’She’s fine’ my ass,” He murmured as he began to unstrap you from the chair, and silently prepared his speech to Bobby about how you needed to learn a few things about the supernatural.

Title: Distant Father, Dead Daddy
Author: huntinghellhound

Word Count: 2126

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: I wanted to make a one shot request while i still remembered it. Could you do one where the reader is working a case with sam and dean, the dead victim is her old step-dad? (Long story short her mom and the stepdad got in a huge fight then broke up, and the mom go together with someone else but the reader still loved the other guy like a father?) so the reader runs off and dean goes after her. She explains everything and it just gets fluffy? Sorry for it being complicated ^^ - godstiels-fallen-angel

Trigger Warnings: Death, mentions of a distant father

A/N: I think I just wrote an entire episode holy shit where is my social life

Fic:

                “I thought we had a deal, Sam! If you’ve got to do that, get Dean to pull over!” You scolded with disgust trailing every word on your spiteful tongue. You slouched down in the passenger seat, tugging your body into yourself as you covered your nose with your shirt. The younger brother was rested in the backseat, stifled laughter trying to break through his lips. The older hunter, Dean, was just grinning at the fiasco, keeping his line of sight entranced with the road ahead. They were both donning suits that hugged their muscular bodies in all the right places and ties that you had to adjust for them since neither of them were raised how to dress properly.

                “I’m sorry! I wasn’t the one who chose to eat at that Mexican restaurant back in Irwin County. Remember?” He reminded as he pulled his upper body over the top of the leather seat and brought his lips to your ear. “That was you,” He coolly murmured, then launched himself back into his seat and strapped a seatbelt across his midsection.

                “Well, I didn’t know that a few burritos would turn you into a weapon of mass destruction,” You sassed as Sam chortled out of amusement. “There’s probably a hole in the seat,” The repulsive joke slid off your tongue and into the nauseous air and caught the attention of the older brother.

                “Sammy, you ruin baby, I ruin you,” He sternly said, eyeing his brother in the rearview mirror while shaking a menacing hand. You giggled at the scolding, which Dean saw and gave you a small smile. “So, what exactly are we looking for on this hunt? A witch?”

                Sam shook his head in disagreement while he pulled out a few papers that he had printed off at a library on the case. He unfolded them and studied them with interest for a few moments. “No, I don’t think so. Can a witch cause an entire body’s blood to turn into bleach?” The image of some poor man dying in his home, unaware that his insides were turning into white liquid sent a pulse of disgust and motivation to find whoever, or whatever, committed the heinous act.

                “Sure, one could. You remember that case back in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana where that witch was turning people’s brains into fruits?” You spoke up as you all recalled that insane case. You all never really found out why she did it, but bodies were turning up with apples, papayas, and any other fruit you could think of in their noggins. Everyone simultaneously shuddered at the memory of discovering the body with the watermelon, but continued the conversation.

                “Okay, so maybe it is a witch. We’ll just look for a hex bag when we get there,” Sam tied up as he slouched back into the seat and stared out the window as you followed suit. You had six more hours until you were going to reach the scene of the crime in Kensett, Arkansas, so you thought it was best to get some sleep before you reached the murderous site. Who knew when was going to be the next time you would sleep again?

                When you pulled up to the crime scene, it was the typical kind you saw on television. Nosy neighbors who claimed to be concerned stood outside of the tape that stretched around the perimeter and looked on, hoping to overhear any official business. The real police force stood with their beer bellies pooching out over their belts as they talked among each other about the wildness of the incident. While you were asleep in the car, Dean had gotten an alert from Bobby that yet another body had turned up in the same town, fresh. He wasn’t sure what the cause of death was yet, but he already had his suspicions that dark magic was at work so he didn’t hesitate let you all know. You opened the car door to the impala and strutted out, your pencil skirt hugging your body. You knew every time you had to dress up in your own personal monkey suit, Dean didn’t take his time to examine your body with his eyes, but you didn’t mind. You did the same to him whenever he was dressed up as well. Your group strode past the first line of caution tape, flashing all of your badges to the lazy cops who didn’t even investigate into why the feds were there. The house was enormous with pale green paint decorating the outside. The landscaping wasn’t too marvelous, but trees were attempting to sprout here and there. The home was easily detected as being old, being made towards the early nineteen hundreds. The smell of cleaning supplies conquered the air as your heels clicked on the ancient wood floors. You circled around the house and followed the sounds of unfamiliar voices murmuring until you located the scene that had four people surrounding the space. Dean took the lead and spoke up first to the detective that was overseeing the case. “I’m Agent Whitford,” He cleverly spoke as he pointed towards you and Sam. “This is Agent Perry and Agent Tyler,” He smiled.

                The detective who was a woman of dark skin in her late forties gave your group a suspicious look, examining Dean’s badge with deep concentration. Her brown eyes scanned the flimsy piece of plastic as she handed it back to the older brother. “Nice names. You could impersonate Aerosmith,” She joked as she began to walk around the body to give all three of you room to investigate. You crouched down over the body that had a plain white sheet casing it’s deceased state. If you had a blindfold on, you would have guessed you were in a public restroom since it smelt so strongly of bleach. Sam and Dean continued standing and discussed clues that the detective’s team had picked up as you tuned the talking out and studied the body. You had an eerie feeling biting at your bones and subconscious. You slid your finger’s along to corpse’s arms, the coldness nipping chills in your spine. You fought with your body telling you to not remove the sheet, yet you did anyway. The top of a nearly bald head was shining through, then a wrinkly forehead, and finally a face that you had never expected to see again. His eyes were blue, when they were actually brown during his life, but death and bleach changed their shade. His skin was almost as white as the sheet that had concealed his vessel; he even lacked the ability to breathe like the piece of cloth. “His name is-,” The detective started.

                “Jeffery Donovan,” You muttered out as you continued to hunch next to the body, fighting the urge to shake from fright and cry from a sudden loss. The detective looked at you warily, her eyes squinting in wonder. The brother’s stood next to her, mimicking her glare.

                “How did you know that?” She asked, her voice waiting for an answer. You stood up, and neglected the urge to continue to stare at the man in the corner of your eyes.

                “I interviewed him the other day to see if he knew anything about the first murder,” You lied. The detective shook her head in understanding, shook hands with you three, and left the room. The brother’s stared at you with an intense gaze, Dean peering around the corner to make sure the woman truly left.

                “So, how do you really know him?” He asked with wonder in his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, and copied the detectives concern about the discovery. You let a stressed sigh slide from your lips as you gave the man a powerful gaze in return.

                “He was my stepdad at one time,” You admitted. You turned your head down and started at the body, memories flooding back to you of your childhood. You could vividly remember Jeffery taking you to your first baseball game and buying you your first slushy even though your mom had told him not to. He was the one who had gotten you interested in knives and guns, and every killer weapon in between. Hell, he was even the one who introduced you to hunting, and that’s why your mom left him.

                Your young feet creaked on the tile that covered the floor of the hallway that lead to the attic, sending your body the message to raise goose bumps from the cold surface. You knew that you weren’t supposed to wander around the second floor of the house, but curiosity had filled every cell in your body. A few days ago, you had seen your stepdad, Jeffery, lugging some sort of chest up the stairs while your mom was asleep. You were supposed to be asleep, too, of course, but you decided to sneak a few cookies before you had gone to bed. The chest was large and had ‘Don’t Touch This’ written all over it, but you decided to ignore your gut and give in to your mind.

                You placed you small hand on the golden doorknob that would allow you to access the stuffy attic, and you turned it with anticipation filling your body. The door creaked open, letting a smell of dust and old paper fill your nose. You stepped into the space, eagerly searching for the chest that had piqued your interest so many days ago. You found it covered with many old blankets, and you hungrily uncovered it and studied it with your eyes. It had black outlining that made it seem like a pirate’s chest that had somehow winded up in your house. It wasn’t locked, so it easily opened to reveal many books and papers that had confusing scribbles all over them. One paper had a drawing of a large star with a circle encasing it with weird words etched on it. You threw that behind you and tore the biggest book out of the wooden chest’s grasp and studied it. The title read, ‘The Campbell Gospel’s’. You were confused then since you had no idea who the Campbell’s were, but you later found out. The author’s name was sketched on the bottom of the book in elaborate cursive: Vince Shurley. You laid the book down in front of you, and began to hungrily read the pages, beginning to end.

“I need to go outside,” You muttered as you left the room with quickness and unsteadiness about your every step. You threw the screen backdoor open and marched outside, putting your hands over your face when you reached the grass. It was an odd feeling not seeing someone who played such a big part of your life for nearly fifteen years, and finally finding him dead. It was almost like being twenty years old and running into that gold fish you had when you were eight, and finding it was dead when your parents had always told you he ran away. You sighed as another revelation hit you with the gold fish, and you felt tears begin to sting away at your eyes, but more from the death of your father figure. You didn’t even hear the sound of the door reopening as the eldest hunter stepped down onto the grass behind you and sighed.

                “I know it’s hard losing someone. Hell, I’ve lost Sammy, my mom, my dad,” He rambled one. You pulled your face from your hands and turned to face the improvised therapist. “I’m guessing you two were close?”

                A small, tearful smile spread on your face as you recounted some of the memories with him. “Yeah. He taught me how to shoot my first gun, how to kill a vamp, how to accessorize with a low cut top,” You kidded to lighten the mood. Dean huffed out a laugh because he knew how you were during a stressful or melancholy situation. You always tried to brighten it up, no matter the devastation. He held his arms out towards you and you obliged, letting your body give into his as you held him tight. You had already lost one man in your life, and you weren’t about to let go of this one. His grip was tight around your hips as he placed a small peck from his lips on the top of your head.

                “You ready to go find the son of a bitch that did this?” He slyly asked you. You nodded your head as he let you lead back into the house with him to follow, but he wasn’t watching your body. He was watching himself, because he was starting to think he was falling in love.

(If I get a good enough response to this, I’ll write a sequel!)

Title: Blood Bath

Author: huntinghellhound

Word Count: 662

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: OS where reader hates blood and Dean forgets and gives reader a hug leading to reader freaking out and in turn gets a kiss from Dean later leading to reader slapping Dean and telling him to get a shower?

Trigger Warnings: Blood

A/N: I was listening to Pandora like I always do when I type these things and ‘Heat of the Moment’, ‘Dead or Alive’, and ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ all came on. I feel like I’m starting to turn into the literal embodiment of Becky Rosen. Also, I made a pun in the title. (:

Fic:

                “God, you smell like death,” You muttered under your breath as you turned your fatigued head towards the window that displayed the dark presence of night. Passing street lights would paralyze your vision temporarily, but unfortunately your sense of smell was unaffected. The older hunter sat in the driver’s seat, his hand coolly relaxed on the leather steering wheel as he traced the twists and turns of the road with the car transporting you all back to the small motel you had rented. Sam was asleep in the back of the car, his mind delving deeper into the dream world that his tired body desperately needed. Lucky, you thought since he didn’t have to have his brain cells dying off from the intense smell.

                “I think you’re mistaking death for victory,” He grinned as his glare stayed intensely focused on the road ahead. You rolled your eyes and laid your head against the window, feeling like the drive would never end.

AT THE MOTEL

                You stumbled into the room, sleepiness from your short nap in the car currently trying to win back over your body. You plopped your overnight bag onto the bed that you and your boyfriend were supposed to share that night. You were dreading the moment that he was going to walk in the door, fearing for your nose and sense of wellbeing. You had always hated blood, the smell, look, and taste of it. It smelt of iron which disturbed you, looked like, well, blood, which shook you to your core, and tasted salty from all the times you had bit your lip harshly. You shuddered as the memories recollected in your head, but you were so distracted, you didn’t hear the walking massacre stride in. The squishing of the blood cells in his shoes didn’t reach to your ears, so you didn’t know his figure was even in the room before he wrapped his adoring, yet bloody arms around you. Your eyes widened in shock as you computed your worst fear appearing right before your eyes and around your waist. You put your excellent defense skills into action as you flung your elbow back and jabbed into the man’s stomach, earning you an exaggerated grunt. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry! I forgot!” He claimed out in apology. He started to walk towards you, but you backed your body up to avoid his grasp and touch. Your back hit the soft mattress that many had slept on before you, but that eerie thought didn’t even crawl through your mind. Only the bloody mess approaching you was the main concern. He pulled his knees up and sat over you as he forcefully held your wrists down next to your head. “You don’t forgive me, do you?” You shook your head as you grimaced at the texture of the skin walker’s blood that was laced all over your lover’s hands. He leaned his face down towards yours at an alarmingly close distance.

                “Yes, I do! Now, let me go, Dean Winchester!” You yelled. If anyone had been walking by, you could only imagine the thoughts going through their head. Ponder walking past a motel room to see a man bathed in blood crouched over a young girl screaming for help. Yeah, nothing was sure to going wrong with that.

                “You don’t forgive me and I know it. Kiss me to prove it!” He whispered into your ear as shivers danced along your spine. You turned your head to face his and forced a quick peck on his lips, to which he tried to continue, but you wouldn’t stand for it. When he attempted to pursue things further, you slapped him on the arm over his leather jacket.

                “Get a shower and then we’ll see,” You sassed as he got up disappointedly and made his way to the bathroom door.

                “Come in here with me, and you’ll see,” He winked as he left the door open, awaiting your body to join.

Title: Wounded Warrior

Author: huntinghellhound

Word Count: 912

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: I was wondering if you could do a dean x reader one shot? Do you remember when dean was messing with that sword in the bunker and didnt think it was sharp but he found out it was when he pricked his finger? Maybe his finger starts bleeding and the reader kinda doctors him up and it just ends it so much fluff? Maybe a kiss?

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Cursing (it’s Supernatural. When is there not cursing and blood?)

Fic:

                Your eyes were racing across the pages of a book that you had found shoved in the back of the bunker’s library titled ‘When Witches Get Scorned’. It had to have been written back in the fifties since it described women as ‘broads’, which resulted in the occasional eye roll at the bonded papers. The younger hunter of the Winchester brothers was sat next to you with a book that he had personally plucked from the infinite amount of choices which was titled ‘What To Expect When You’re Expecting An Acheri’. He would huff every now and then at the new found information, but continued to scan the dust ridden book. His fingers were flipping the pages quickly as he fussed with his older brother, Dean, about how to take care of the newly found haven.

                “You know, they probably never even used this stuff,” Dean retorted as he yanked a long Samurai sword from it’s holster that rocked back and forth as his quick hands snatched it’s centerpiece. He swung it around with a pleased, goofy grin on his fresh face as he posed with it which provoked a cute grin on your face as you turned in your seat to face him. He took his body forward and swiped the sword close to Sam’s head, nearly cutting his luxurious mane off at his neck. You let a stifled giggle escape your grinning mouth as Sam turned around in his seat and gave the older brother a stern gaze.

                “Watch out with that stuff, Dean,” Sam advised as his brother backed up as if he hadn’t been right behind him. Sam threw his arm on the back of the chair and turned slightly towards the childish man. “It’s probably sharp,”

                Dean rolled his eyes and slid his finger along the line of the tool. “It’s not sharp, Sa-,” His voice was cut off as the tip cut a small incision on his daring index finger, resulting in embarrassment so he quickly placed the blade back in its rightful place.

                “You okay?” You shot out as Dean walked past you with a hurried and panicked pace, his borrowed robe trailing him.

                “There’s blood,” He dramatically responded, panic in his voice. You got up from your seat to assist the wounded warrior as Sam turned another page in his book, rolling his eyes. You quietened a giggle that tried to slip from your lips as you strode to the kitchen and left your book wide open. When you arrived, you saw Dean plundering through the cabinets to locate a first aid kit, but he failed in every attempt. You slid past him and bent down to one of them and pulled the healer out from it and plopped it on the counter. He leaned his back against the granite as you pried open the case and took the alcohol and band aids out. You started to doctor his finger at first, which he hissed as the cool liquid touched his minor wound.

                “You know, for being someone who has been shot by a gun, you aren’t taking this very well,” You kidded as he gave you a joking grimace. He straightened up a bit when it started to burn again, but he settled back down.

                “For someone who claims to have a wide knowledge on repairing the human body, you sure are doing a crap job,” He jested. You slid his finger across your palm so his torn skin would scrape the rough surface, and he fell into your trap and took his finger back into his reach. You pulled the bandage up and flashed it to him so he knew that it was the last step as he reluctantly gave you back control. “Thanks, Y/N. It’s great to know that you can patch people up instead of just hearing talk that you can. I’ll come to you the next time Castiel gets hypnotized by a psychotic angel bitch and is ordered to kill me,”

                You peeled the wrapper off of the bandage and stuck it over his injury. You never liked thinking about that accident. Watching Castiel kick the ever living shit out of someone you cared about so much was a memory that you wish you could erase. Okay, so maybe you liked Dean more than a friend and that’s why it scarred you so much. “I hate remembering that,” You admitted.

                The patient put his hands on your shoulders and stared you deeply in your eyes, his green emeralds sticking out over all of his other handsome features. His grip on you was strong, even more so than the grasp he had had on the sword from earlier. “You know, I do, too. But I try to look at it in a positive way. Sure, I got the living crap kicked out of me, but I also learned if I ever get into a fist fight, he’s the second person I would call,”

                “Why not the first?” You interrogated him with a confused look on your face. He had a sly smirk stretch onto his face as he brought his face closer to yours.

                “Because I’d call you first. I just found out you can really hurt people with that alcohol,” He kidded as he relaxed his lips onto yours. You brought your hands up and placed them comfortably on his chest, giving into his intentions. This was the first time a hook up wasn’t going to involve any alcohol, more or less.

Title: Miss Badass

Author: huntinghellhound

Word Count: 718

Original Imagine/Request/Summary: can i request a one shot where the reader and dean go to a bar after a hunt and he has to take care of her the next day when she’s hungover? thanks! :) xx

Trigger Warnings: Alcohol, cursing

A/N: I’ve never been drunk, actually I’ve never even had alcohol, so I’ve used my experience from sitcoms or whatever. I hope I got it right!

Fic:

                “How many beers is that tonight? Seven?” Dean shouted over the loud music in the bar, his hand jokingly trying to pry the numbing goodness from your lips. You scooted away out of his reach and chugged on the glass bottle that was soothing your nerves from the hunt you two had just wrapped up. Two Vetala’s had been stalking local businesses, getting jobs as temps so they could suck the blood out of promiscuous, unfaithful husbands that took interest. You were in a tight spot only three hours ago, tied up in one of the copy rooms. Now, you were tied up with a good time and good alcohol.

                “Try nine,” You mumbled over the bottle as a drunken smile played on your face. Dean returned one back at you as he studied you over his own bottle. He had only limited himself to a water since he knew that you were going to get trashed tonight, and someone had to drive baby back safely. He placed his hand on your back to motion you out of the booth as you followed his unspoken order and hocked down the last of the burning medicine. Your feet stumbled over each other as your patted stranger’s shoulders in apology after knocking into them and causing their drinks to splash. Dean would also apologize for you since you didn’t make any sense when you attempted, but you didn’t notice because you were too distracted by all your surroundings and sounds going on around you. When you stepped outside, the brisk night air felt like a lullaby that was trying to lull you to sleep. You had at least made it to the passenger seat of the Impala before your whole word turned black.

                THE NEXT DAY

                “God, damn it,” you murmured as your head tilted back towards the toilet. You felt sick. Actually, you felt like you contracted the Black Plague. Your palms were sweaty as you gripped the sides of the porcelain throne and your entire body was shaking. You felt like you could use a drink, but just the thought of something going down your throat made you want to gag. You coughed into the toilet repulsively as some of the remnants from last night spewed out. The hunter who was holding your hair back, Dean, started to pat you on the back to ease the process. He was crouched on the tub, his knee rubbing across your arm since the motel bathroom was so small. “There’s more of it inside of me. I can tell. I just can’t get it out,”

                “Oatmeal smothered in ranch dressing and topped with anchovies and cinnamon,” The hunter whispered in your ear as you hacked out the last of your insides. You flushed the toilet, turned away and sat yourself between Dean’s legs, expecting to get sick again. “I hate seeing you like this,”

                You craned your head slightly and rested your temple on his right knee. You heaved out a tired breath. “Hung over?”

                The hunter stood up and lifted you up and carried you over his shoulder and onto the single motel bed. The muscular man plopped your fatigued figure down as you felt your stomach do flips at the sudden plummet. Your makeshift caretaker pulled the covers over your shaky and unsteady body as he turned on the television to your favorite cable channel since that’s all these crappy motels ever had. “No. I hate seeing you helpless. A little alcohol isn’t going to bring down Miss Badass, okay? I’ve seen you rip the head off of a vampire while he had a knife to your throat, so I know you’re going to survive a little hang over even if I have to help,” He sassed while he reached into a fridge and tossed you an ice cold water bottle. He slipped himself into the bed next to you as he draped his arm across your neck and pulled you closely into him.

                “Thanks, Dean. I owe you one,” You sighed softly as you relaxed your head into his chest. You could feel his heart start to beat faster as you wrapped your arms around his waist. If this was how it was going to be every time you got drunk, you were going to start drinking a whole lot more.