literature

.one more night | dean winchester.

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bollur
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Literature Text

“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared." -Lois Lowry



Dean Winchester x AU!Reader




    Having a curse upon their family, the mere thought, didn't seem as impossible as the day before or the day before that or even the one before that. The belief it could even be true could have become a religion in it's self as his live evolved around it; lived around it, ate around it, danced around it, slept around it, even worked around it. Thinking of the last subject, he had no doubt in his mind that was the whole reason it all started - and not just with him, but way back to before his father - and the reason it was all ending this way. The reason you ended.

    But you didn't really end did you? No, there was never nothing left of you. Something always lingered in the air around him, or the scenery; something to remind him of your tastes, or your laugh and smile, that would always remind him of your end. Yes, possibly at one point in his life and time, people would expect his mourning phase to pass like a storm, and honestly, he did too. But Dean Winchester was not normal in any sense.

    So no, there was a absolutely no end to you, or anyone, this he knew for sure as his large calloused hand grazed across your bare thigh, feeling the warmth radiate from your radiating figure. Your back was towards him, a thin sheet thrown over your curled up body as you rested in the aftermath of a passionate performance, one he believed you were an expert at. A Broadway performance everytime, and he could remember how you would blush and smile, casting your gaze downwards to the scratchy sheets in embarrassment, becoming extremely bashful at his praise.

    It would always bring the moss-eyed man to the idea that he, the (literally)dirty and ruthless hunter who was infamous for his one-night snagging's on nights after a bad hunt when his adrenaline seemed to pump for hours, could have ended up with a girl like you. Though, as he had learned many times before, looks could be very deceiving and the moment he had laid eyes on you at the run-down, back-water tavern, he wanted to laugh at the possibility you were really there and it wasn't his mind just playing tricks on him. You were completely out of place, and it only got worse when you caught his gaze from your peripheral vision and flashed him a smile as you timidly made your way in his direction, introducing yourself as the partner Bobby had called for them. Dean couldn't deny you had a stunning face, but it didn't do much to cover the 'ugly-as-hell' sweater you had worn, and he remembered asking if it were a joke, stating they had better things to do before pulling out his phone to call Bobby. Before her had the chance to dial the number, you pointed out the person they were looking for and before the night was over, he saw you in from a whole new perspective; one of those being on his bed, writhing under Deans body.

    He knew it was wrong. Of course he knew it was wrong. Dean knew it was wrong to get involved with you or to even get close to you, but you kept picking and prodding your way into his and his brother, Sam's, life, wriggling your 'ugly-as-hell' sweater'd self into their hearts. But as nice as it seemed, the hunter never knew that he was only bringing himself an abyss swirling with monsters greater than the ones he fought waiting to bring him pain beyond his imagination. He thought he had been through hell on his trip to purgatory, but he never imagined the words 'hell-on-earth' could become branded into a metaphorical layer of skin he was unaware of having. But you had been a solo hunter, obviously able to take of yourself in dangerous situations, until you joined them.

    Dean could still remember, but never understood the way you had lied with assurance to their concern, how you allowed yourself to slowly pass in the backseat of the Impala with the mutter of a soft I love you to the both of them that lingered in the air. Castiel had explained to both him and Sam that you had informed the angel one night you were ill, but refused to let anyone else know after years of pity you had been sent. The hunter admitted he was angry, and somewhat jealous deep down inside, even if he would never admit it aloud, and tried not to, to even himself. Perhaps it was the matter you had a way out of this life that didn't involve suicide, or the guilt lingering in your mind that all of that was out there and only you were one of the few could do anything about it or live in constant fear of it all. The way you were now able to be completely happy, but leaving him out of it.

    Remembering it all, thinking about it bought a wave of depression crashing down on Dean, causing his chest constrict and his stomach to clench, along with his fingers that curled around you leg, the tips digging into your flesh. But as you let out a soft mumble and straightened out your bare leg along the sheet, trying to escape the grip, he had to remember.... this was not you and he was not him. This was not you - it may look like you, talk like you, sound like you, act like you, kiss like you, but it wasn't you. Tonight he was not himself either, and maybe tomorrow he would play the same game of parading around as a man named Jensen Ackles, a famous star who was in a TV show(along with you) called Supernatural that was entirely based on their lives(the thought of it was still a little hard for him to wrap his head around).

    Dean could conclude Jensen was a very lucky man, and as you rolled over, wrapping your arms around his waist and tucking your face against his chest, he wondered if maybe it would be so wrong to act out this role for one more night.
deanemotionalromancesortofspndeanwinchestersorrynotsorrydeanwinchesterxreaderdeanxreadersupernaturalxreaderspnxreaderyessortofitwilldestroyyourfeels
omgomgomgomg.
dean winchester.
he's so pretty I stg, but I still have the hots for his taller younger brother. much tall. so sexy.

anyway, I got this idea and thought it was vital I did it or I might just explode aldhdjdjsms. I know it's sad, but the exposal and abuse of feels is the best type of thing ever. ehehehehe

sorry if it kind if sucks. I've never written for SPN before. ;u;
pls dont kill me.

I no own. You no sue.
© 2015 - 2024 bollur
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puqtrash's avatar
puqtrash
/ very loud pterodactyl screeching

i am such a sucker for reader inserts
and this took me on a rollercoaster of emotions