Dream Ride( Not The Car )

Getting so many notes on that little blurb is making my heart go🥺🥺🥺 thank you all for liking it, it truly means everything to me!!!

𝓴𝓲𝓭𝓼? D.Winchester

you’re nursing a beer, your legs pulled up to sit cross-legged as you lean back on your palms. dean’s beside you, his own bottle dangling loosely in his fingers. his knee rests against yours, this simple, casual point of connection, but it’s enough to ground you. his shoulders are relaxed, his legs stretched out long, but there’s something... off. you can feel it in the way his gaze keeps drifting, how he’s not quite looking at you or anything in particular. he’s lost in his own head, and you’ve been with him long enough to know that’s rarely a good thing.

“you’ve been quiet tonight,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice is soft, not accusing, but the words seem to snap him out of whatever spiral he was falling into. he glances at you, his green eyes flickering in the dim light, and he huffs out a little laugh. it’s small, almost self-deprecating, and he looks away again, his jaw tightening.

“just thinkin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking a swig of his beer.

you tilt your head, watching him. “about what?”

he hesitates, running his free hand through his hair, and the gesture makes your stomach tighten. whatever it is, it’s big. he’s not usually this careful about his words—dean winchester isn’t careful about much, period—but right now, he looks like a man standing on the edge of something.

“can i ask you somethin’?” he says, finally, and his voice is quieter now, more raw.

“of course,” you reply immediately, setting your beer aside. you shift closer, your knee pressing more firmly against his, your hand resting on the cool metal of the car between you. “what’s on your mind?”

he exhales slowly, staring down at the bottle in his hands. for a second, you think he’s not going to say anything. then, all at once, the words come out.

“you ever think about havin’ kids?”

the question hits you like a punch to the gut—not because it’s unwelcome, but because it’s so unexpected. you blink at him, your lips parting, and he finally looks at you, his expression guarded. like he’s bracing for you to laugh at him, or worse, to shut him down completely.

“kids?” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“yeah,” he says, his voice gruff, like the word’s hard for him to get out. “like... not right now, obviously, but... someday. you ever think about it?”

your mouth opens, then closes. you glance at him, searching his face for any clues about where this is coming from. it’s not like dean’s ever been the white-picket-fence type. hell, you’re not even sure if you’re the white-picket-fence type, given the life you lead. but there’s something in his eyes, something vulnerable and almost... hopeful, that makes your chest ache.

“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “i guess i haven’t thought about it much, with everything going on. it’s not exactly easy to picture that kind of future, you know?”

he nods, like he was expecting that answer, but there’s still this shadow of disappointment in his expression. “yeah. yeah, i get that,” he mutters, tipping back his beer for another sip.

you watch him for a moment, your mind racing. he doesn’t bring up stuff like this lightly—hell, he barely even talks about his feelings unless you pry them out of him. but this? this is something he’s been holding onto, turning over in his mind, and now he’s laid it at your feet like some kind of fragile offering.

“why are you asking?” you ask gently, leaning closer. “is this something you’ve been thinking about?”

he lets out a low laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah,” he admits, running a hand down his face. “i don’t know, it’s stupid. just... sometimes i think about what it’d be like. teachin’ a kid how to throw a football. takin’ ‘em for a drive in baby when they’re old enough. tryin’ to be the kind of dad mine never was.”

the confession is raw, almost painful, and you feel it settle heavy in your chest. dean’s voice drops lower, like he’s afraid of saying it out loud. “i mean, i know it’s a pipe dream, with the way we live. but... if it ever happened, you know? with you... i think i’d want that.”

his words hang in the air between you, and your heart stutters. with you. the way he says it, so quiet, so certain, makes something twist inside you. you reach out, your fingers brushing his arm. he looks up at you, his expression cautious, like he’s waiting for you to tell him he’s crazy.

“dean,” you say softly, “you’d be an incredible dad.”

he snorts, shaking his head, but you tighten your grip on his arm, making him look at you. “i mean it,” you insist. “you’re already so good with sam, and jack... hell, you take care of everyone around you, whether you realize it or not. you’ve got more love in you than you give yourself credit for.”

his jaw clenches, and he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of emotion in his eyes. “you really think that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“i know it,” you say firmly, leaning in closer. “and if that’s something you want... someday... then yeah. i think i’d want that too. with you.”

his head snaps toward you, his eyes wide, and for a second, he just stares at you. then, without warning, he leans in, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate, messy, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally let the dam break. his fingers thread through your hair, holding you close as his mouth moves against yours, hot and demanding. you gasp into him, your hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him like you need air.

his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open for him, letting him in. he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and it’s like a switch flips. suddenly, you’re climbing into his lap, straddling him as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. the heat of him, the way his stubble scrapes against your skin, the sheer wantpouring off of him—it’s overwhelming in the best way.

he breaks away for a second, his forehead pressing against yours as you both catch your breath. his hands are still on your hips, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “you have no idea how much i love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine.

“i think i have a pretty good idea,” you tease, your lips brushing against his as you speak. he laughs softly, the sound muffled as he kisses you again, slower this time, but just as consuming.

the future might be uncertain, but right now, with dean’s arms wrapped around you, his lips on yours, you think maybe, just maybe, you’ve found something worth holding onto.

if you think dean winchester DOESN'T eat pussy then you need to see a therapist

₊˚♥︎ babygirl ♥︎˚₊

my girl nervous as hell, brought her journal on stage, hat fell off, put down her grammy and talked abt how badly her label fucked her over when they signed her as a minor and dropped her over covid instead of sucking up to the grammys I LOVE CHAPPELL ROAN ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The revolution ‘bout to be televised, you picked the right time but the wrong guy.

The balls for Kendrick to utter this in front of him along with dissing Drake? Cinema? No, modern protest that’s recapturing decades of protest culture within music, specifically black music. Major props to Kendrick and I hope more are to follow

never letting yall forget this look 🫠

The Photo Booth✰⋆

Summary: Dean confesses to you in a photo booth with the hope that you will reject him so he can move on... things don't go exactly as planned.

Warnings: mild cursing

A/N: I've never written for Dean before so please have mercy on me if this sucks

.........................................................................................................................

He can not believe he let you drag him into this stupid booth. It's not big enough for the two of you, so you're sitting cheek to cheek, and you're practically on his lap. Dean knows he's probably acting like an idiot because of the proximity. He keeps thinking about how easy it would be to just grab you by the chin and kiss you right here. But instead, he just smiles into the camera with you.

3...2...1...flash!

"Okay, now a silly one!" you say, returning his attention to the booth's camera. Dean uses his fingers to pull back his lips and expose his teeth while he crosses his eyes. You start laughing at him; god, he loves your laugh; he would make a million more stupid faces to get to hear it. He shivers to think how Sam would tease him for his usually stubborn attitude turning complacent just because it's you he's talking to.

3...2...1...flash!

It's not just the proximity that makes him think of you; even during long weeks apart, you are all he can think about. He tells himself he prefers it when you're apart because at least his chest doesn't ache with the weight of how much he cares for you. You put a hand behind his head and give him bunny ears.

3...2...1...flash!

Dean can't take this anymore. He's got to do something to help soothe the burning he feels.

3...

"I love you."

2...

You turn to him in shock, your eyes wide as you observe him. This is what Dean needs, rejection. He needs you to shoo him away and tell him to get lost so he can get over this stupid infatuation he has with you and get on with his life.

1...

"I love you too."

You gaze at each other for what feels like an eternity before closing the gap between you with a searing kiss. Dean feels incredibly grateful for the invention of the photo booth.

Flash!

Sunflower Vol. 6🌻

This is my first short story about H, which I posted on my main blog. I’m not really used to writing anything longer than three paragraphs lol, so writing 3k+ is new to me. I hope anyone who comes across likes this little thing I made up :)

Where Harry is caught up in his lingering emotions about Camille...

It’s been a longer day and more difficult than usual and it’s only almost noon. Since Camille, he’s had days that are damn near perfect, others have been like this; sluggish and dreary. His friend has been tending to him, making sure he’s there to support his moods.

Haven’t been out all day, why would they be? It’s raining. A perfect day, perfect excuse to stay in and simply do nothing. At least that’s what Harry thinks, not so much of his friend. “Harry, mate, we’ve got to cheer you up, yeah? We can’t keep you watching romances, just not healthy, not now at least. What do you say?” It takes a moment for the words to reach him, and he takes his time to think about it, but nothing sounds appealing and he hasn’t even heard what Oliver has in mind.

Very slowly Harry pulls himself up onto his elbows and looks at Oliver who’s on the opposite side of the couch. “Little seems to intrigue me today Ollie, but if you think you’ve got something that tickles my fancy then have at it.” The tone in his voice is irritable, and he doesn’t want to deal with anything that Oliver has to offer him. As maddening as it makes him, Harry understands that he’s just trying to help, so if it’s a good enough distraction he’ll consider it.

“I know you’ve got a lot on your mind with finishing the last few tracks on the album and... Camille, even though that subject seems to have been at ease until today. You shouldn’t let the idea of the situation tear you down mate-”

“I don’t need a lecture here, okay? I thought you wanted me to get off my ass and do something?”

“Calm down H, really. This is what I’m trying to get on about. Now listen, I was getting at that we need to get you out of the house and go for a jog, yeah? Clear your thoughts and talk about it afterwards. You don’t have a choice, actually, because I hate seeing you like this and quite frankly, I’m sick of the attitude.” Oliver then chucks an oversized pillow at Harry’s face which caused him to giggle and is an indicator that he’s in acceptance of the small gesture.

The jog was miserable yet effective. There were moments where it didn’t seem worth it to finish, but knowing Olly, he wouldn’t allow quitting. Quitting means not growing and not growing means you stay in the same place and rhythm you were in when you started. Hard work pays off after all. It’s moments like these that he appreciates Oliver for knowing exactly what Harry needs, clever bastard.

Now that Harry was thinking more about his state of mind, in the fucking rain which is drenching him, he realizes that he needs to accept his feelings, and at the same time he needs to learn how to manage them and work through the hardship. There’s a point where he needs to move forward instead of stopping in one place when thinking of Camille, similar to going for a jog. Damn Oliver always getting in his head. He gives him a glance after this thought and raises his hand to give Oliver the finger to which he finds amusing.

“You know how much I hate you for that God awful jog?” Harry says breathlessly while trying to dry himself off with a towel. He’s only being sarcastic which is being caught on by Oliver, who knows it was much appreciated.

“Oh but how you love me for it brother, I saw some gears turning in that massive head of yours!! How are you feeling? Tell me about it.”

“I’ve just come to notice that I can’t let myself stop in my tracks whenever I’m upset about Camille, you know? I need to be able to accept how I feel, learn from that, and move on because I’m getting nowhere being like this.” He points to himself and shyly looks down at his feet. “I’ve got to be happy where I’m at, sometimes I am but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite there yet and it’s frustrating…”

Harry takes a deep breath because he feels himself getting a bit emotional, throat closing up and all. Playing with the areas where his rings usually are, a nervous tick he has. How is it that it’s been half a year and he’s still somewhat sad over her? Why is it taking him so damn long to let go? Harry then continues in a sad, quiet voice, “I have all the intentions of trying to move on, I’ve been chatting with people, but there’s just something keeping me.”

Oliver understands that there’s not much he can do or say in this moment, just to let him say what’s on his mind, and Harry loves that about him, that he just knows when to be silent for his friend. The pair just sit peacefully for a while until Harry speaks up, “You know what, this whole morning has been eventful and I’ve started to get inspired by that pesky little run of yours. I’m in need of that extra inspiration if you know what I mean mate.” His whole demeanor changes, eyes gleaming and a smirk emerges, then there’s this mischievous look on his face and that’s when Oliver knows exactly what to do.

--

During the creation of this new album he’s been experimenting with substances most find questionable, shrooms are one of them. It’s something he’s been afraid of admitting since he’s supposed to be a role model, but if he’s not being himself can that be deemed upon him? It’s a different perspective for sure, and maybe he does it to look at life in a way that he just can’t accomplish sober. To give himself access to more ideas which could aid in his writing process. It’s worked for a few tracks and he wouldn’t change how the songs came about, not in the slightest. Other times on his trips, it’s just been a mess of crazy animations and colors to which nothing arises and it discourages him a little but there’s no fault in it. Just wasn’t the right time or right trip.

Before Harry takes the shrooms, he meditates and allows his previous, heavier emotions go to ensure that his trip will be a good one. He sits in a dark room with a salt lamp that illuminates the space with its orange tint, just enough to make figures out. He sits with his legs crossed and his hands laying on his knees, keeps his eyes closed and breathes evenly. This goes on for about half-hour. Thinking to himself, everything that has been, is out of his control and everything now is what he can control. The jog helped him ease into positivity and meditation is helping this process. A positive mind leads to a positive trip. He then moves onto what he wants to try to focus on during his time away from reality…

Harry looks back at the conversation he had with Oliver before his time to himself.

--

“So what song do you want to focus on H?”

“I’ve been having a hard time figuring out what I want Sunflower to be like. It’s been all over the place, I’ve written it about Camille, written it about men and women that I talked with briefly. That song has been rewritten five bloody times. I need to focus it on one thing but I don’t know what...”

--

When everything is sorted out in his mind, Harry meets Oliver in the living room where they were hours before. All the lights are off except another salt lamp barely lighting the room, blinds are drawn so no light can interrupt his journey into the unknown. Oliver has the shrooms mixed in some green tea, it’s cooled off enough to sip on generously. Harry doesn’t want to admit it but he’s eager to get high. Not in a sense to escape his problems of course, just to have perspective and an open mind more so than what he’s experiencing at the moment, and he wants it now. Usually it takes him, minimum, thirty minutes to feel the full effects, so the tea is gone sooner rather than later.

He’s lost all concept of time and more so reality, he can still feel his weight heavily sunken into his couch. A sign to him that he’s still on the incline to the climax of his trip. It feels like he’s about to pass out, but that’s how he usually gets when he takes shrooms.

It feels like it’s been hours since he’s drank his tea and notices disappointment in his mind because nothing has presented itself to him, but he isn’t feeling any emotional connection due to the overpowering euphoria the shrooms have on him. Harry is looking into the darkness that seems infinite, he can barely make out some colors in the distance which are slowly getting bigger? Closer even? Are they swimming towards him? Tries to reach out for them but can’t move his arms quite yet.

All that’s on his mind really, are the colors and shapes moving toward him. Getting bigger the closer they get. They’re moving around in a spiral, then moving over and under one another, then before he realizes they’re engulfing him. Very vivid shades of yellows, pinks, blues, purples. They’re flying around him like Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother’s magic stars wrapping around her, turning everything into beauty. With Harry, though, it’s not stars, the colors are outlined with black and the strands of colors are bubbly in shape, like some hippy styled font.

The flamboyant yellow animation is what attracts him the most, and it begins to pull at his shirt. He notices when he looks down, hands being molded from the shape and when he looks back up he’s met with a Sunflower.

In this particular moment Harry can’t feel the weight of his body anymore, he’s not paying attention but he’s reaching the peak of his high. He’s not worrying about Camille or figuring out how to construct his song, in fact those thoughts are completely absent. And suddenly the Sunflower has a face? Its mouth is moving and Harry can hear something coming from it, he just can’t make out what it is. He’s gotten impatient trying to guess it’s vernacular so he gives up. He can’t take his eyes off it, the way its petals are slightly red on the bottom and progress into a rich orange to a bright yellow on the very ends. The way its hands feel brushing over his arms, so silky. A pretty, beautiful, gorgeous flower it is, isn’t it?

All the while the other strands of color have disappeared from around him which he cesses to notice because he’s too fixated on this heavenly creature. The way it’s looking at him, the way it has to look up to meet his eyes. It smiles and Harry is just mesmerized. How can something be so breathtaking?

Then something comes over Harry and before he really has time to think he says aloud, “Sunflower, my eyes want you more than a melody.” Once this phrase is said the Sunflower disappears and Harry is engulfed in darkness again. Confusion takes over him because he was wanting to get to know it and understand why it came to him. There’s a period where he tries walking around but it’s not doing any good, there’s nothing to see. Maybe she’ll come out if he tells her something else. But how does he know its a woman? Can’t place a finger on how, he just knows. He coos, “I don’t wanna make you feel bad, Sunflower… Sunflower?”

Harry spots her in the distance, seems as if she’s peeking from around a corner in this sunless void, so he walks to her. She’s the only thing that lights up in the darkness. Turning around the invisible wall where she once was, he admits, “I couldn’t want you anymore-” he’s suddenly in a house and he has the slightest idea of how he got here, but this feeling of familiarity consumes him. Feels like he’s been here before, knows where everything is, could point out her favorite book on the bookshelf in the living room, which he’s standing right in front of. There’s also a sensation that comes over Harry, he knows that she’s in the kitchen, making him breakfast. And he also has some knowledge of who this is, like someone he used to know.

He makes his way towards the kitchen which is through a doorway that connects to the living room, he’s remembering the emotions he’s had for this not-so-stranger. The all consuming love he has, the adoration, the curiosity of knowing every aspect of who she is.

When met with her back facing him, Harry takes a few strides forward then wraps his arms around the slim waist of the Sunflower. Taking in her wonderful sweet scent from her petals, he lays his head on hers, humming by the contact that he’s making with her. “Sunflower, sunflower, sunflower” he keeps repeating near where her ear would be if she was human. She’s paying no mind to him while she’s fixing up pancakes and eggs.

The pair stay comfortably where they’re at for a few minutes before Harry can’t help himself. He turns her around to get a proper look at her beautiful face, shining eyes, pointy nose, nice full lips that he can’t take his eyes off of. Just amazed that he’s in the presence of her, again, remembering the countless times they’ve done this before.

She smiles at him like she had done before and Harry can’t take the butterflies that rumble in his stomach, they’re too overwhelming. He leans down to connect his lips with hers, and he’s remembering a scene almost identical to this. Where’s he’s kissing her and dancing in the kitchen early in the morning. The sun hasn’t quite warmed their house yet and he knows she’s cold even with her thick pajamas on. Harry’s warmed by the mere sight of her, the sight of her being happy. Mainly because of him.

“I couldn’t want you anymore, tonight” He whispers against her lips, leaving noticeable goosebumps all over her vined skin, he has just enough time to witness how she looks before he’s falling into the abyss of darkness. It’s swallowing him. Then hears his voice echoing all around him, “Tonight, tonight, tonight…”

He shakes his head, wondering where he is, again. His eyes are the death of him, so tired and throbbing. Realizing he’s in his bed, weakly pulls himself up and to the bathroom to brush his teeth because he has this weird taste in his mouth. A bitter taste.

Taking it to mind this is how he spent some of his mornings getting ready, hardly any motivation to get the day started. Before he got to know her. He wanted to come home to someone who would love him, to share dreams and ideas with. Someone who just got him. To find comfort and trust in.

Then he remembers how they met…

—

It was during some random trip to whatever country it was, can’t seem to remember clearly enough. But, he met up with his friends at this nice restaurant. Wasn’t particularly interested in what everyone was talking about, so he occasionally looks around the restaurant to see other people enjoying their conversations. This particular time though a woman catches his attention. He immediately knew that she was something he needed to have in his life. The way she carried herself so confidently and so elegantly has him weak in the knees.

Fortunately enough she was there because Oliver wanted to introduce them so Harry had every excuse to talk to her. And he was beyond ecstatic about it when he realized she was walking towards him, with a smile she was so desperately trying to contain.

(Oliver met her at some fashion convention he went with with Harry. She mentioned his name to Oliver and told him that she’d like to get in contact with Harry. She had to leave abruptly for a reason and the opportunity hadn’t arrised until later. Eventually the Sunflower told Oliver she’d have a few rest days during one of her business trips, and they planned the trip for Harry to meet her. He’s never told Harry that’s why they had a “boys trip”.)

From then on though, he was always wanting to spend time with her. She was reserved for the first few months and that’s why Harry pines over her. The mystery of it all excited him. Something was keeping her though, she didn’t know exactly what but she knew that Harry could make her happy. And the whole point was for her to get close with him. She planned a trip for fucks sake. When the time came it all just scared her, having someone knowing, or wanting to know everything about you.

So all Harry could do was wait patiently for her to know what she wanted, but it wore on him sometimes. He wanted nothing more than to get to know what she was about but she was out of reach, barely. Wanted so badly to make her his. To give his love to the girl he’s been admiring from a distance. A distance that she’s been keeping. The girl that made his heart jump out of his chest whenever she spoke or looked him in the eye.

—

She was what motivated him, when they were finally together. She gave him an energy that consumed him. Always wanting to learn from her, about how she thought or the experiences she’s had that deeply impacted her. Endlessly wondering what makes her, her.

He couldn’t want her anymore than he already did.

And when he thinks that thought he’s dropped back in their home, staring at the bookcase like he had been doing before. Walking towards the kitchen like last time, “Kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor…” he blurts out with a smile that consumes his face. Recognizing that he’s looking from an outside perspective this go around, watching him and the Sunflower do the exact thing he experienced not too long ago.

But then his heart drops, that isn’t him dancing with her. It’s another man dancing with his girl. He pictured a whole life with her, their kids dancing with them in their kitchen. A tradition he’s always wanted to start with the love of his life. But now she’s sharing something with this man that they’ve done, something that was supposed to be theirs. Harry wishes at this point that he could start over, to do things different. Where had things gone wrong between them? How long has it been since went separate ways?

“Sunflower, let me inside, wish I could get to know you…”

There’s this feeling within him that he knows it’s been too long for him to convince her that he’s everything that she needs. (More selfishly though she’s everything he needs). When clouds cover the sky he wants to be the light that she requires to stand tall.

The euphoria from the shrooms is strong still so he hasn’t had time to dwell over this sadness too much. Merely just a feeling, no attachments. It’s an upsetting sight to see but there’s this airiness to it. Room for understanding is the best way Harry can make sense of it in his current state. What once was, is. Nothing he can do but understand. Be grateful that he got to live a portion of his life with her. To be happy for her.

So he lets her die, metaphorically. “Sunflowers just died, keep it sweet in your memory…” The memories are for him to keep but no longer dwell on. And that’s when he knows. He’s happy. Happy by himself, about his situation with the Sunflower, happy that he’s taken the time to realize that things come and go. And new seeds can be planted in a different melody with someone else.

When Harry’s no longer thinking about the Sunflower, the colors come back to pick him up, almost desperate to whisk him away. The pinks, yellows, blues and purples bring him to a destination unknown and he doesn’t give a damn. Just floating endlessly. He’s basking in his euphoria, not chasing after anything anymore. Giggling to himself because he’s carefree and joyous. Cheering himself on, “Woo-woo, woo-woo, woo-woo, yeah!” That sound is all that surrounds him as he drifts off into a sea of color.

he is 46, dude.