#supernatural reader insert

[dianawinchester03]

Season 1, Episode 21 - Salvation

Series Masterlist

Third Person POV

The silence was deafening as Sam drove down the interstate to Kansas. They decided to take F/N back to Kansas and give him a proper send off. His body was wrapped in a white blanket in the backseat of the Impala. Dean was behind him on Y/N's bike. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, her helmet covered head buried into the croak of his back. She was in no condition to drive at this very moment. The boys had to be strong for Y/N's sake right now, but seeing her so broken.

It tore into their souls. They lost a father figure themselves, but y/n lost her last bit of blood family. 'Family don't end in blood' as Bobby always said, but it still hurts like hell to lose those you care about. As much as Y/N and her father argued, she loved her dad. He was everything to her, a place in her heart no man could fulfill.

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Lawrence, Kansas

Y/N stood infront of the Hunter's Funeral Pyre, her eyes swollen and red, her face blank. A half drunk bottle of Jack in one hand and a almost burnt out cigarette butt in the other. She has cried her eyes out already, she felt drained as she watched her fathers body, wrapped in a white sheet on the pyer in flames. She left empty on the inside, constantly telling herself it should've been her on that pyre and not her dad.

She hadn't noticed when an unfamiliar van parked behind them. "Dad" Dean says in relief when he sees his father jump out of the van f/n loaned him for emergencies. Sam and Dean give their dad a quick hug, "How's she doing?" He asks his sons, concerned about Y/N. They look back at her with pity etched on their faces.

She was lost in her own thoughts, still not aware of John's presence. "She hasn't said a word since we left, Dad. Sam and I had to strap her in and everything. I rode her bike back and we took all the weapons from F/N's truck but abandoned it" Dean tells him, his voice broken. Seeing Y/N so pained yet so emotionless was heartbreaking for him. Not only losing a father figure but also the woman he loves looks like she's on the brink of insanity.

"She tossed that vampire through the air and made those car windows shatter with just her scream, Dad." Sam whispers to him. "You sure it was her?" John asks for confirmation. They both nod in unison. They shared a silent look, contemplating whether or not to tell their dad what they saw in her eyes when she shattered those windows with her mind.

"What is it boys?" John asks them when he noticed the look his sons shared. "Her eyes. They um...they turned...." Sam whispers, trailing off. "They turned what?" John asks him. "They turned white" Dean informs him. John nods, already having a mind of what's happening. "You're not concerned?" Dean asks him, surprised that John didn't have much of a reaction.

"It's typical for psychics' eyes to turn white when using an immense amount of power. It seems as though the trauma from...." John tears up a bit, taking a deep breath, "The trauma from F/N's death activated her powers. It's rare but not unlikely" He informs his sons who are astounded. Y/N is a full blown psychic now, they have no idea what her powers would be like. And neither does she.

"Is it true? Is the Colt real?" John asks them. They both nod, "Yeah. F/N used a bullet to kill the vampire that was going to kill Y/N. It's in the car" Dean tell him. John nods, stepping forward to walk closer to Y/N who's still stood infront of her fathers burning corpse on the pyer. "Hey sweetheart." He says gently, Y/N turns around eyes wide. "John" She croaks, tears again begin to well up in her eyes.

She flicks the cigarette butt to the side, John wraps his arms around her shoulder, pulling her in to a hug. "I'm so sorry about your father, y/n/n" John says genuinely, his chin resting at the top of Y/N's head, allowing his tears flow as he takes in the burning pyer with his fallen friend. A man he trusted with his life, a man he raised his children with side by side when their wives were taken from them.

A man he was proud to call his best friend and hunting partner, dare say, his brother. Now reduced to ash. "It's my fault" She drops her head, now sobbing again. "It's not your fault, Princess" Dean walks closer to her. Y/N breaks the hug with John, "You can't convince me otherwise charming" She says dryly sniffling, handing John the bottle of Jack. Dean pulls her in for a hug, she doesn't shrug him off this time.

She wraps his arms around her shoulders as John walks back to Sam who's leaning on the Impala, tears in his eyes. "He died protecting me, Dean. If Luther had just killed me first he wouldn't be-" She rambles but Dean cuts her off. "If you finish that sentence I swear Y/N...." He clenches his jaw. She sighs, sobbing. "Blaming yourself will send you down a deep rabbit hole, princess. We're here for you. And we'll never leave you...I'll never leave you" Dean promises her sincerely, tucking a stand of her messed up hair behind her eyes.

"Please don't" She pleads sniffling, her heart aching. Deans heart pangs painfully at her tone, she sounded absolutely broken. "Your father died getting that Colt, we have it now. And we're gonna get the thing that killed our moms. In honor of F/N. It's what he would want and you know it. We're stronger as a family, together. We'll get the son of a bitch" Dean assured her softly.

She looks back at the pyre, the heat from the flames gushing over her face. "Hey..." Dean uses his pointer finger to turn her face back to look at him. "I pinky promise" He gives her a small smile, putting up his pinky finger. She chokes back a sob, chuckling weakly. She puts her pinky finger up. "Pinky promise" She croaks, smiling tearfully as she locks her pinky with his.

Sam and John, who are leaning against the Impala, hands in their pockets. They tearfully smile as they look on at the two locking their pinkies together. John takes a swig of the whiskey before handing it to Sam, who accepts, taking a swig also.

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Sam, Dean, Y/N and John are now in a motel.

Their motel room was swarming with all of the information of the supernatural John and F/N had collected over the years. Papers stapled and tapes to the wall, John sat at the table while Sam and Dean sat on the bed. Y/N by the window, smoking again. Her expression blank, staring out the window. She nurses a glass of whiskey as she takes a drag.

"Here's to F/N L/N, a damn amazing hunter, a kick ass player of pool and poker, a father, a man I'm proud to have called my best friend. He didn't die in vain, he will be avenged" John and the kids toast to the life of f/n. They look up to the sky, "This one's for you buddy" John says heartedly. Tears in all of their eyes as they throw their heads back, gulping down the last of the Jack, her father's favorite.

Y/N grimaced harshly from the burn of the brown liquid. "So, this is it. This is everything I know" John begins, gesturing to all the information he had stuck to the walls. "Look kids, our whole lives we've been searching for this demon, right? Not a trace, just nothing" He adds. "Until about a year ago. For the first time, I picked up a trail" He explains.

"That's when you took off, then f/n found you and you guys conspired" Dean says. John nods. "The demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation" John suggest. "So, what's this trail you found?" Dean asks him. "Starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California. Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after all of us" John explains.

"Families with infants?" Sam asks. "Yeah" John nods. "The night of the kids 6-month birthday" He adds, this catches y/n's attention. "We were six months old those nights?" Y/N asks him in a croaky tone, finally speaking up. "Exactly 6 months" John sighs nodding. "So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason" Sam says. "Same way it came for us" Y/N scoffs, flicking her cigarette out the window.

"So Moms death, Mrs. L/N....Jessica. It's all because of us?" Sam says in disbelief. "We don't know that, guys" Dean says. "Oh, really? Because I'd say we're pretty damn sure, Dean!" Y/N snaps, raising her voice that cracks from her sore throat. "For the last time, what happened to Mom and Jess is not your fault, Sam!" Dean stresses. "And what happened to your mom and dad, isn't yours either, y/n" Dean tries to assure her but she rolls her eyes.

Shaking her head, "Yeah you're right, it's not our fault but it's our problem!" Sam defends, raising his voice. "No it's not both your problems, it's our problem!" Dean raises his voice. "Okay. That's enough" John cuts into their argument, he stands up from his chair. They all subside the argument, sighing.

"So why is it doing it? What does it want?" Sam asks him as Dean moves to where John was sitting. "Look, I wish I had more answers. I do. We've always been step behind it" John says a bit frustrated. "Look, I've never gotten there in time to save..." He trails off, it's painful enough to talk about Mary and now F/N's death was so fresh.

Silence fell in the room, "So how do we find it before it hits again?" Dean asks quietly. "There are signs." John answers, turning to his elder son. "Look. It took us a while to see the pattern but in the days before these fires, signs crop up in an area" He begins to explain. "Cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms" John lists off.

Dean looks up in realization when his father lists off the signs. "And then, I went back and checks, and..." John trails off. "These things happened in right here Lawrence" Dean points out. John nods. "A week before your mother and m/n died" He confirms. The three young hunters share a look before John turns to Sam. "And in Palo Alto....before Jessica" John says lowly, Sam's eyes filling with tears.

"And these signs, they're starting again" He tells them. "Where?" Y/N asks John. "Salvation, Iowa" John responds.

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Salvation, Iowa

The Impala, Harley and Ford Ranger drove past the sign leading into Salvation, Iowa. Sam in the Impala, John in the Ford Ranger and Y/N with Dean on the Harley. He refused to leave her side, she said she was okay to ride but he still didn't want to leave her to ride alone. Y/N and Sam notice John swerve into a track on the side of the highway, they're confused but follow him in.

John jumps out of his Ranger frustrated, "Goddamn it! Son of a bitch!" John punches the van. "What is it?" Dean asks him confused and concerned as he and Y/N take off their helmets. "We just got a call from Caleb" John tells him as Sam jumps out of the Impala. "Is he okay?" Sam asks him concerned. "He's fine. Jim Murphy's dead" John informs them, his tone angry. "Pastor Jim?" Sam asks him in shock, tilting his head.

John nods. "How?" Y/N asks. "Throat was slashed. He bled out" John looks down, still in shock that he not only lost his best friend but another one of his longest friends. The three young hunters are grief stricken, "Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place." John adds. "A demon.." Dean says.

A look on his father face makes him raise his eyebrows. "THE demon?" Y/N asks shocked. "I don't know. Could be he just got- He just got careless, he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close" John shakes his head in disbelief. "What do you wanna do?" Dean asks him firmly. "Now we act like every second counts" John responds.

"There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, and we cover more ground. I want records, I want a list of every infant that's gonna be 6 months old in the next week" John orders. "John, that's could be dozens of kids." Y/N exaggerates. "How the hell are we gonna know which ones the right one?" Sam questions his father in agreement to Y/N's point.

"We'll check them all, that's how" John answers firmly. "You two got any other idea?" John asks them in a hard tone. Sam and Y/N share a look, "No, sir" They respond in unison. They all turn to jump back on their vehicles, John stops and stares down for a second, Dean notices this. "Dad?" He calls out for his father in concern. "Yeah?" John responds turning back.

"It's F/N and now it's Jim" John says in a tearful tone. "You know..I can't" He looks up, tears welling in his eyes. "Yeah. Me neither" Y/N agrees in a croaky tone. John gives her a sympathetic look. "This ends now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes" John says firmly. Opening the door to the Impala, he jumps in.

Sam follows behind as Y/N and Dean hop back on Quinn. John starts the ignition, driving out. Y/N places her helmet on, Dean doing the same. He wraps his arms tightly around Y/N's waist. She dismounts her bike, the roar of her engine filling the quiet area. Riding out behind John.

Sam and Y/N are now at the Salvation Medical Center, looking over birth certificates after posing as officers. "Here you go, officers". A nurse approaches them, handing them another file of birth certificates. "Thank you" Sam thanks her. "You're welcome" The nurse smiles before walking off.

As Sam and Y/N walk out of the hospital to meet John and Dean. Their heads begin to pound, the familiar feeling of a building pressure in their heads. Flashes of a vision as they hold their foreheads in pain.

A lit lamp.

A dangling toy clown.

A woman in a white night gown and her baby, she's rocking her baby to sleep. A smile on her face.

She rests her baby down in her crib. Before giving her baby a kiss.

The sound of a train whistle blowing draws the mothers attention outside.

She walks downstairs to look out the window.

She then makes her way back up to her babys nursery, the sound of a music box playing.

When they open back their eyes, gasping from the pain. "Did you just.." Y/N asks him. Sam nods breathing heavily. "A train" Sam says. "Holy shit." Y/N gasps, she digs into Sam's bag and takes out a map. Shakily opening it, they both look for a train line on the map. "That's not too far from here" Sam points out. They share a look before following the map.

A couple blocks over, they run through a park. The pressure in their heads building up again. They hold their heads in pain, as a vision comes flashing again.

The woman opens her baby's nursery to see a strange hooded figure leaning over her baby's crib.

Sam and Y/N open their eyes again, walking a bit forwards. "You okay, Sammy?" Y/N asks him concerned. Sam seemed to be in more pain than her, "Yeah, I'm okay" He nods shakily. Her eyes flicker behind Sam, her mouth agape when she notices the house. "What is i-..." Sam asks her concerned, he turns around. His statement cutting short when he sees the house behind him.

The window identical to the one from the vision they both had. They look over to the sidewalk to see the same woman from their visions, walking with a umbrella over her head pushing a stroller. They share a look, "We gotta go talk to her" Sam says. "We can't just approach her Sam. It'll seem weird" Y/N says exasperated.

"We don't have a choice. Follow my lead" He grumbles. Y/N huffs, shaking her head. She obliged, following Sams leads. "Hi, here. Let me hold that. You look like you don't need that anymore" Sam says politely. Gently helping her hold the stroller. The woman smiles gratefully. "Hi. Thanks" She says sweetly. Closing her umbrella.

"She's beautiful. Is she yours?" Y/N asks her, smiling down at the baby. "Yeah" The woman responds smiling. "Oh wow. Hi" Sam waves at the baby smiling. "Oh. I'm sorry. We're rude. I'm Y/N and my fiancé Sam. We just moved in up the block" Y/N apologizes, putting her hand out to shake the woman's.

Sam raises his eyebrow at her lie but goes with it. "Oh hey, I'm Monica and this is Rosie" The woman politely introduces herself and her daughter. "Rosie? Hi Rosie" Y/N smiles, waving at the little baby. "So welcome to the neighborhood. It's good to have new couples in the neighborhood." Monica smiles. "Thank you" Sam says gratefully.

"She's such a good baby" Sam compliments Rosie. Monica smiles "I know. She- I mean, she never cries. She just stares at everybody. Sometimes she looks at you and I swear it's-" Monica chuckles. "It's like she's reading your mind" She says ironically. The two hunters share a look.

"What about you, Monica? Have you lived here long?" Y/N asks curiously. "Oh, my husband and I, we bought our place just before Rosie was born." Monica tells them, pointing to the house they saw in their vision. "And how old is Rosie?" Sam asks. "She's 6 months today" Monica says proudly.

Their faces drop, "She's big, right? Growing like a weed. I'm sure you guys can't wait to have your own" Monica says, she notices the sad look on Sam and Y/N's faces when she says this. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to assume-" Monica apologizes profusely, assuming Sam and Y/N are having trouble procreating. "No! It's fine, we just uh...we-" Sam says awkwardly, internally grimacing at the thought.

"Just take care of yourself, okay?" Y/N says sweetly. "Yeah. You too, guys. We'll see you around" Monica says politely, pushing her stroller towards her house. "Yeah, definitely" Sam says, looking down. They both move across the street to hear a car honk. "Oh, there's Daddy" Monica says in a baby voice to her daughter.

A red SUV pulls into their driveway and a tall man exits, giving Monica a kiss. The two look on but are cut off when the pain in their heads hit again, a vision flashing again.

The music box in the Rosie's nursery is playing, a clown with other ornaments hanging above the baby's crib.

The music suddenly stops and the toys begin to move. A figure approaches the crib as Monica walks in.

She gasps when she sees the strange man in her room. "What are you-" She yells but is thrown into the wall by a force.

Monica grunts and screams as she's slid up the wall and onto the ceiling. "Rosie!" She screams, crying on the ceiling above Rosie's crib.

A familiar wound appears in her stomach, blood dripping down down into her crib.

Monica then bursts into flames, screaming as she burns on the ceiling.

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After their visions returned, Sam and Y/N met back up in the motel room with John and Dean. Now explaining it, they're basically getting chewed out. "A vision?" John is in disbelief. "Yes" Sam and Y/N answer, sat by the table, groaning in pain as they rub their heads.

Dean and John were sat on the bed. "We saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling" Sam says. "Right. And you think it's gonna happen to this you guys met woman because...?" He asks them. "Because these things happen exactly the way we see them" Y/N responds. Dean gets up, walking over to the fridge. "Yeah, they started out as nightmares. Then they started happening when they were awake" Dean explains.

"Yeah. It's like— I don't know. It's like the closer we get to anything involving the demon....the stronger the vision gets" Sam says, the two younger hunters still holding their heads in pain as Dean pours them some coffee. "Alright, when were you gonna tell me about this?" John asks a bit angry. They all turn to him.

"We didn't know what it meant" Dean puts it simply. "Alright, something like this starts happening to your brother and y/n, you pick up the phone and you call me" John states firmly. Y/N's eye twitches angrily towards John at his tone while Sam shakes his head annoyed. Dean places the coffee next to Sam, handing Y/N hers. "Call you? Are you kidding me?" Dean scoffs in disbelief at the irony, walking closer to his father as the agitation builds.

"Dad, I called you from Lawrence. Alright? Sam called you and I called f/n when y/n was dying!" Dean exclaims angrily. "I mean, getting you on the phone. I got a better chance at winning the lottery" Dean further retaliates. John looks down in shame, nodding his head at the fact his son was right. "You're right" John admits.

They were all surprised when those words came out of his mouth. "Although, I'm not real crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry" John apologizes. "Look, guys, visions or now visions, the fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight. And this family's gonna go through the same hell we all went through" Y/N chimes in, stating the fact of the matter.

"No, they're not. No one is, every again" John says determined. Sam phone rings, he answers it. Putting it to his ear. "Hello?" He answers. "Sam?" A familiar woman's voice chimes over the phone in an excited tone. "Who is this?" He cocks his eyebrows. "Think real hard. It'll come to you" She smirks over the phone. Realization dawns on him, shock taking over. "Meg" he says in recognition.

Dean and Y/N's ears perk up at that name. Their gazes snapping to Sam. He turns to Dean and Y/N as John gets up from the bed. "Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window" Sam states. "Yeah, thanks to your bitch of a friend. That really hurt my feelings, by the way" Meg responds snarkily. "Just your feelings? That was a seven story drop." Sam scoffs. "Let me speak to your dad" Meg demands

He looks over at John nervously. "My dad? I don't know where he is" Sam lies quickly. "It's time for the grownups to talk, Sam. Let me speak to him now" She further demands. John puts his hand out for Sam to give him the phone. He hesitantly does so, Dean and Y/N look on, not knowing what to say or do. "This is John" John presses the phone to his ear.

"Howdy, John. I'm Meg. I'm a friend of your boys and their bitch" Meg introduces herself. "I'm also the one who watched Jim Murphy choke on his own blood" She smirks. John heart drops, "Still there, John boy?" She says in a mocking tone. "I'm here" He answers gruffly. "Well, that was yesterday. Today, I'm in Lincoln....visiting another old friend of yours and f/n" She tells him, looking down at Caleb who's tied to a chair in a basement, gagged.

"He wants to say hi" She pulls the bandana she gagged him with off of his mouth, putting the phone to his mouth. "John, whatever they do, don't give-" He goes to warn John but she pulls the phone away, "Caleb?" John gasps. "Caleb. You listen to me. He's got nothing to do with anything. You let him go" He demands. "We know you have the Colt, John" Meg says.

"I don't know what you're talking about" John denies. "Oh, okay. So listen to this" Meg smirks, wielding her knife, she slits Caleb's throat. John hears him gasping, gargling om his blood. "Caleb? Caleb?!" He calls out worried. "You hear that? That's the sound of your friend dying. Now let's try this again" Meg says menacingly, tears welling up in John's eyes.

"We know you have the gun, John. We know F/N found it and is dead. Word travels fast. So as far as we're concerned, f/n declared war and now you're in charge commander. This is what war looks like. It has casualties" She smirks. "I'm gonna kill you. You know that?" John growls angrily. Meg chuckles arrogantly. "Oh, John, please. Mind your blood pressure" She retorts dryly as John wipes his tears away.

"So this is the thing: We're gonna keep doing what we're doing. And your friends, anyone who's ever helped you and F/N, gave you shelter, anyone you ever loved. They'll all die unless you give us that gun" Meg threatens. John doesn't answer, the three young hunters looking on in concern. "I'm waiting, Johnny. Better answer before the buzzer" Meg says mockingly. "Okay" He responds quietly.

"Sorry. I didn't quite get that" Meg smirks. "I said, okay. I'll bring you the Colt" He says firmly. The boys and Y/N looks at him in disbelief. Y/N specifically getting angry. "There's a warehouse in Lincoln on the corner of Wabash and Lake. You're gonna meet me there" She orders him. He looks over at the younger hunters, only to be met with Y/N's furious look.

"It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there." He tells Meg. "That's impossible. I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on a plane" John scoffs. "Oh, then I guess your friends die, don't they?" Meg says ironically. "If you do decide to make it, come alone" She orders, hanging up. John then takes the phone off his ear, turning back to them.

"Are you kidding me?!" Y/N yells at John pissed. "Calm down, I think she's a demon" John says calmly, this makes Y/N's eye twitch more. "You think she's a demon?" Sam asks, "Either that or she's possessed by one. Doesn't really matter. I'm going to Lincoln" John says firmly. "Oh you've gotta be fucking with me" Y/N scoffs, chuckling humorlessly. The boys look over at her worried, "Excuse me?" John says baffled.

"I don't have a choice, y/n. If I don't go, a lot of people are going to die. Our friends die!" John says defensively. "MY FATHER DIED GETTING THAT GUN! He laid in my hands bleeding and took his last damn breath! The demon is coming for Monica and her family tonight. That gun is all we got, you can't just hand it over!" Y/N grits her teeth, eyes wide in anger. Tears streaming down her face.

Sympathy etched on all of their faces at her out burst. "Who said anything about handing it over sweetheart?" John says calmly, her anger diminishing a bit. "Besides us and a couples of vampires, no one's really seen the gun. No one knows what it looks like" John states. "So what, you're just gonna pick up a ringer at a pawnshop?" Dean scoffs. "Antique store" John responds.

They look at him in disbelief. "You're gonna hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?" Dean asks. "Look, as long as it's close, she should be able to tell the difference" John states. "Yeah but for how long? What happens when she figures it out?" Y/N asks. "I just- I just need to buy a few hours, that's all" John reasons. "You mean for me, Dean and y/n" Sam says in realization.

John doesn't answer, "You want us to stay here...and kill this demon by ourselves?" Sam says as Dean and Y/N look between him and John. "No, Sam. I wanna stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean and Y/N to have a home" John croaks, turning away so they don't see him crying. "I want my best friend back.....I want Mary and m/n alive" He sobs lightly, putting his hand over his face.

Their hearts panged hearing John sob. He turns back to them, his face stained with tears. "I just- I just want this to be over" He sniffles. Sam, Dean and Y/N share a painful look.

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It's the middle of the day. Sam, John and Dean are parked below the train tracks, rummaging through Dean cars anything John could use against demons. Most items were found from F/N's truck. The engine of Y/N's bike roar draws their attention to behind them. She swerves it, putting it in park. She turns the ignition off, then taking off her helmet. She then swings her leg off her bike before mounting her bike.

"Did you get it?" John asks her as she walks towards them. She nods, taking the paper bag with a gun inside from out of the inside of her jacket. She hands it to John. "You know this is a trap, don't you?" Dean tells him father as he takes the gun out of the bag, it was almost identical to the Colt. "That's why Meg wants you to come alone" Dean further states.

"I can handle her. I got a whole arsenal loaded" John states smirking cockily. "Holy water, Mandaic amulets-" He lists off but Dean cuts him off. "Dad" John looks up. "What?" He asks. "Promise me something" Dean says. "What's that?" John questions. "This thing goes south, just get the hell out. Don't get yourself killed, alright. You're no good to us dead" Dean pleads.

John looks down nodding. "Same goes for you" He responds smiling a bit. "Alright, listen to me." He begins, pulling the Colt out from his pocket. "They made the bullets special for this Colt. There's only four of them left and without them, this gun is useless" John explains to them. "You make every shot count" He orders them. "Yes, sir" The three young hunters respond in unison firmly.

"I've been waiting a long time for this fight. Now it's here, I'm not gonna be in it. And neither is f/n. It's up to you kids now" John says sadly, y/n looks down painfully at the mention of her father. "It's your fight. You guys finish this. You finish what we started. You understand?" John says firmly. They all nod.

Dean still looking unsure about the whole thing. John then hands the Colt to his elder son. "We'll see you soon, John" Y/N says to him. He turns to her and smiles, "I'll see you kids later" He pats Y/N and Sam on their shoulders. Walking over to the van. He opens the door and jumps in. Starting the ignition, he drives off.

Sam, Dean and Y/N look on as he drives away. "Later" Dean finally says. His mind still telling him that John shouldn't have gone.

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John pulls into the location Meg gave him, taking off his headlights. He jumps out of the van, the gun in his hand that he was gonna pass off as the Colt. He picks it in his pant and pulls out the holy water and Mandaic amulets from his pocket. Gripping them, he sticks them back in. Now walking towards the warehouse.

Meanwhile. Back in Iowa. Sam, Dean and Y/N are outside of Monica's house in the Impala. Y/N having left her bike at the motel. "Maybe we could tell them there's a gas leak. Might get them out of the house for a few hours" Sam suggests. "Yeah, and how many times has that actually worked for us?" Y/N scoffs ironically. "Yeah" Sam sighs in agreement.

"Could always tell them the truth" Sam shrugs. The three of them look at each other in silence before bursting out laughing. "Nahhh" Dean and Y/N laugh. "No I know I know I Just-" Sam laughs. "With what's coming for these people..." Sam sighs. "Guys, we only got one move and you know it. We gotta wait for that demon to show itself and then...we get it before it gets them" Dean says firmly.

"I wonder how dad is doing" Sam thinks out loud. "I'd feel a lot better is we were there backing him up" Dean sighs. "I'd feel a lot better if he were here backing us up" Y/N chuckles humorlessly. The boys nod at her statement, now looking back at Monica on the window.

Back in Lincoln, Meg enters the warehouse while John creeps around the side. Climbing up a shaft. He opens a tank with water that connects to the warehouse pipes, he begins praying in Latin, holding up the Mandaic amulet. After finishing the incantation, he drops the Amulet in.

Back in Iowa, "This is weird" Y/N says as they stalk Monica's house. Dean turns to her, "What?" He asks her. "After all these years, we're finally here" She says. "It doesn't seem real" Sam adds in agreement. In the back of deans mind, he agrees but they've gotta stay strong. "We just gotta keep our head and do our job, like always" He says. "Yeah, but this isn't like always" Sam further states. Dean turns back to them before saying, "True" He sighs.

"Guys, uh....I wanna thank you two" Sam says genuinely. They look at him confused, "For what?" Dean asks. "For everything" Sam smiles tearfully. "You two have always had my back, you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyways, I could always count on either of you. And now..." Sam says sincerely, trailing on. "I don't know, I just wanted to let you guys know that. Just in case" He finishes.

Y/N's eyebrow raises at the last part while Dean scoffs. "Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Are you kidding me?" Dean scoffs. "What?" Sam asks confused. "Don't say 'Just in case something happens to you'. We don't wanna hear that fucking speech man" Y/N says annoyed. "Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family. Nobody!" Dean says in a hard tone.

"Except that demon. That evil son of a bitch ain't getting any older than tonight. You understand me?" Dean adds firmly, determination in his voice. Tension thick in the air. Sam and Y/N nod as they look back at the house.

Back in Lincoln. John appears behind Meg. She turns her head when she hears his footsteps. "John. You made it" She smiles darkly. "Too bad really. I was hoping to kill more of your friends" She smirks, her tone menacing. "Sorry to disappoint" John responds in a dry tone. "I can see where your boys get their good looks" Meg says in a flirtatious voice.

"Though I must admit, considering what they say about you, I thought you'd be taller." She mocks. John just stares at her, not answering. "Well, aren't you the chatty one" She says sarcastically. "Shame I never got to meet F/N, I'm sure he was just as yummy" Meg chuckles darkly hoping to take a bite at his grief, John narrows his eyes at her angrily. "You keep his name out of your filthy mouth" He growls angrily.

"There's the Winchester in you. You sound like Dean" She snaps back laughing. "You wanna get to business" She says, walking closer to him. "Fine. Why don't you hand over the gun" She puts her hand out for it. "If I give you the gun. How do I get out of here?" John says plainly. "Well if you're as good as they say you are, I'm sure you'll figure something out" Meh smirks. "Maybe I'll just shoot you" John says dryly.

"You wanna shoot me, baby? Go ahead, it won't end anything" Meg responds in a coy tone. "There's more where I came from." She says firmly. A man approaches from the dark behind her, "Who the hells that?" John asks. "He's not nearly as much fun as I am, I can tell you that. So I suggest you give us the gun" She smirks, demanding the Colt.

John smirks, looking at the man and back to Meg. "Now!" Meg demands, getting irritated she raises her voice. Putting her hand out. John hands her the gun, she examines it a bit and then turns back to John. "This is the Colt?" She cocks her eyebrow. John nods in confirmation. She hands it to her friend, "What do you think?" She asks him.

The man takes it, then looks back at John with a blank stare. He cocks it and in a swift motion. He aims it at Meg and shoots her. John begins to internally panic as she gasps in shock and pain. "You shot me!" She yells. "I can't believe you just shot me!" Meg further screams. "It's a fake!" The man yells before tossing the gun aside. Identifying it as a fake.

They glare at John who looks between the two of them nervously, both demons moving menacingly closer to him. "You're dead, John. Your boys and y/n are dead" Meg grits her teeth angrily. "I've never used the gun. How could I have known it wouldn't work" John lies fluidly. "I'm so not in the mood for this. I've just been shot!" Meg bellows.

"Well, then I guess you're lucky the hun wasn't real" John snaps back. Meg chuckles darkly, "That's funny, John. We're gonna strip the skin from your bones, but that was funny" She smirks, walking closer as John backs up. That's when steam starts hissing from the outside, drawing Megs attention away from John. He then makes a break for it, locking a door behind him.

He jumps down from the side he crept up to the warehouse, running down the hall. John then turns on a pipe that's attached to the tank he throw the amulet in. The water spraying, coating the floor as it runs down the drainage. Meg and the man look at each other while John has a smirk on his face. The man then steps onto the water, only for the water to burn through his shoes. He groans painfully, falling back toward Meg.

They look at John in shock. "Holy water, John. Real cute" Meg snarks. John's smile widens, strolling away from the two demons who're stuck.

________________________________

Back in Iowa, Dean tries calling his father. Huffing when he doesn't pick it, "Dads not answering" Dean huffs, flipping the phone shut. They look back at the window of Monica's house, "Maybe Meg was late. Maybe the cell receptions bad" Sam suggests. "Yeah, well..." Dean sighs, shaking his head.

The radio then begins to ring a static like noise, this makes Y/N's head snap towards it. "Fellas, wait..." She says, turning the radio up. They look curiously, "Listen" She whispers, raising it louder. The wind outside begins to accelerate as the radio booms a voice mutter, sounding almost like a man. The leaves outside blowing towards the house. The lights inside and outside of the house flickering.

They call share a terrified look, "It's coming" Sam gasps. They all immediately jump out of the Impala, running towards Monica's house.

Back in Lincoln. John finally reaches his van, stopping in his tracks when he sees the tires have been slashed. "Damn it!" He huffs. Checking his phone, only to have no cell reception. "You gotta be kidding me!" He groans in frustration, running out into the street.

Back in Iowa. Dean opens the door to Monica house after Y/N quickly picked the lock. The quietly enter as Dean closes the door behind him. They slowly walk in but then, "Get out of my house!!" Monica's husband screams, swinging a bat at Dean, who quickly dodges, making the bat swing against a lamp, smashing it into pieces.

Dean grabs the bat and slams the man into the wall. "No! Please! Please!" Sam and Y/N plead with him to listen. "Be quiet and listen to me. We're trying to help you" Dean tries to explain to the man, having him up against the wall with the bat to his neck. "Charlie?!" Monica calls out for her husband from upstairs.

"Okay?" Dean pleads as Charlie breathes heavily. "Everything okay down there?!" Monica asks from upstairs. "Monica, get the baby!" Charlie screams to warn Monica. "No!" Y/N yells. "Don't go in the nursery!" Sam screams. "You stay away from her!" Charlie screams trying to push Dean off but he punches him, knocking Charlie out instantly.

Sam and Y/N made a break for the stairs as Monica opens the nursery door to see a strange man leaning over Rosie's crib. "What are you—?" She gasps terrified, only to be slammed against the wall by a force and slid up the wall onto the ceiling. They run into the room, Y/N with the Colt in her hands.

"Rosie!" Monica screams tearfullly for her daughter. Sam and Y/N are now toe to toe with the demon who turns to them, glowing his yellow eyes. They're terrified but Y/N raises the Colt and shoots instantly, only to miss because the demon had disappeared in a ball of smoke. Monica screams when she falls from the wall infront of Sam and Y/N.

"Where the hell did he go?!" Sam yells shocked. "My baby!" Monica screams, "No, hey. Wait!" Sam and Y/N try to stop her from going over to Rosie's crib. "No!! My baby!!" Monica's cries. Dean emerges through the door, "Get her out of here. I got it. Take her and go!" Dean orders them loudly. They drag Monica out of the room as Dean wraps Rosie up.

After taking her out of the crib and running back downstairs, the crib almost immediately bursts into flames. "Deans got her!" Y/N assures her.

Meanwhile, back in Lincoln. John runs around the side of the building to get some cell reception. He pulls out his phone and begins dialing. Only to be thrown into the wall by a sudden force. "Aah!!" He grunts in pain, groaning from the force crushing him. The man from earlier with Meg, emerges from the dark as the force drags him up the wall. John grunts in pain as the man walks closer to him. A dark smirk on his face.

Back in Iowa. They all run downstairs, Dean with Rosie in his hands. The house in flames. All coughing from the smoke. "You get away from my family!" Charlie, who was outside, yelled at the three hunters, going to attack them.

"No, Charlie, don't. They saved us!" Monica stops him from attacking. "I mean, they saved us" She chokes a sob, putting out her hands so Dean could hand her Rosie. She takes her baby crying, going over to her husband. "Thank you" She thanks them tearfully. They look on at the house, Y/N's eyes widen when the the figure of a man appears in the nursery window that's in flames.

"It's still in there" She growls, ready to run back in but Sam and Dean stop her, holding her back. "Y/N. Y/N! No!" Sam yells as they hold her back to push her towards the Impala. "Sam! Dean! Let me go, it's still in there!!!" She screams, trying to break out of their holds. "Its burning to the ground! It's suicide!!" Dean shouts. "I don't care!" She screams.

"Well I do!" He bellows, her heart dropping. Y/N calms down a bit as Sam and Dean turn back to the house. Their eyes landing in the shadow of the man, it then disappears in the fire. Y/N clenches her jaw angrily as they look on at the house engulfed in flames, burning to the ground.

________________________________

Now back at their motel room, Dean is trying to get a hold onto John. "Come on, Dad. Answer your phone, damn it!" Dean grumbles exasperated as Sam sits on the bed fuming, his head buried in his hands while Y/N sits on the window still, her face blank as she stares out the window. Her jaw clenching. Dean hangs up the phone after not getting onto John.

"Something's wrong" He says to Sam and Y/N. Sam nor Y/N answer, he looks up from his phone turns to them. "You two hear me? Something's happened" Dean states again. "If you had just let me go in there...I could have ended all this" Y/N's tone is low, shaking her head is frustration as she takes a drag from her cigarette.

Dean moves closer to her, his face contorted with disbelief just like Sam's. "Y/N, the only thing you were gonna end was your life" Sam scoffs. Y/N's gaze snaps to him, "You don't know that" She says firmly, blowing out the smoke. "So, what, you're just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?" Dean says irritated.

Her eyes wide with determination, she gets up from the window still, walking up to Dean. "Yeah. Yeah. You're damn right I am" She says firmly. Dean is stunned by this, "Yeah well that's not gonna happen. Not as long as we're around" Sam responds in the same tone. "What the hell are you two talking about? We've been searching for this demon our whole lives! It's the only thing we've ever cared about!" She argues, pacing the room.

"Y/N, I wanna waste it. I do. Okay? But it's not worth dying over!" Dean further argues. "What?" She says in disbelief looking over at Sam. "I mean it. If hunting this demon means you getting yourself killed, then I hope we never find the damn thing!" He adds angrily, his heart pumping out of his chest.

"That thing killed Sam's girlfriend. It killed my mom and yours. It's the reason my dad is dead!" Y/N defends. "Y/N....please" Sam says softly, pleading with her. "We'll get it" He assures her, tears in his eyes. She huffs, taking a drag of her cigarette. "Look, Sam said once and you agreed. That no matter what we do, they're gone. And they're never coming back" Dean tries to reason with her.

Her eyes widen with anger, a laugh rolling out of her tongue. She chuckles humorlessly, strolling back over to the window as the boys look at her in confusion. She takes a drag of her cigarette again before crushing it in the ashtray. She turns back to Dean, her shoulder shaking as she laughs, tears still in her eyes. A look on her face that they've never seen before and to be quite frank, it scared them.

"You son of a bitch" She chuckles dryly. Her face then contorting into anger before swiftly grabbing him by his collar and slamming him into the wall roughly. "You don't say that! Not you!" She growls enraged. Sam shoots up from the bed but Dean puts his hand up, stopping him. Indicting he's fine. "Not after all this. Don't you say that!" She breathes heavily, her entire body shaking from the rage and grief.

"Princess, look...I am so sorry about your father. I really am" Dean says sincerely, his tone breaking, still up against the wall. Tears well up in y/n's eyes again. "But the four of us....that's all we have" Dean voice wavers. "That's all I have" He adds, tears welling up in his eyes also as Y/N grips his collar tightly, shaking her head angrily.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, babe" He admits tearfully. This makes her feel terribly guilty. She huffs, tears falling down her cheeks. Her heart aching as she shakes her head. Her grip loosens on his collar. "Without you, Sam or Dad. I..." Dean stops when she fixes his collar back, patting his chest, "Fuck. I'm so selfish" She wipes her tears, walks back to grab her phone.

"John...he should've called by now. Try him again" She sniffles, trying to calm herself down. She hands Dean her phone, he takes it and dials Johns number. Y/N sinks in the bed next to Sam as Dean puts the phone to his ear, "You kids really screwed up this time" Meg answers smirking. Deans face drops, looking over to Sam and Y/N.

Y/N sat on the bed next to Sam, her head bowed as he rubs her back comfortingly. "Where is he?" Dean clenches his jaw. His tone makes Sam hand holt from rubbing Y/N's back, the two younger hunters looking up at him in concern. "You're never gonna see your father again..." Meg says menacingly. Both Sam and Y/N's face and heart drop when they see Deans fearful expression.

To Be Continued...

________________________________

Author's Note: AHHHHHHHH!! One more episode and we're ready for Season 2 babbbyyyyy. I must say, I am kind of sad that this season has almost come to an end but I'm also excited to roll into another chapter of this series. I can't believe I actually made it through, I swore I was going to lose motivation but the wonderful comment and love I've been receiving means the world to me🥹I appreciate every bit of love and I send it back to you time a million!!❤️Just a reminder, this chapter is unedited.

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor

Xoxo

#dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #dean and sam #dean winchester fanfiction #sam and dean #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fandom #eventual smut #supernatural tv show #supernatural fanfiction #the winchester brothers #ao3 writer #supernatural series rewrite #eventual romance #eventual relationship #series rewrite #dean winchester x female!reader #x reader

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Husband Effect

Summary: The reader is struck with a love curse that leaves her feeling more than a bit attached to Dean...

Pairing: Dean x reader (eventual)

Word Count: 2,200ish

Warnings: language, angst, love curse, fluff

A/N: Y’all don’t even want to know how old this fic is. Pretty sure it was written during S13. Figured it was time for it to see the light of day!

__________

“Y/N. Y/N. Giggling woman,” you heard Dean say, clapping his hands together. “Hey! Focus.”

“She’s cursed Dean,” said Sam with a smile. “It was some harmless witchcraft. It’ll wear off soon I’m sure.”

“Is she currently trying to climb into your lap? No?” said Dean, pointing at where he was continually shoving you back from him. “Y/N, stop it.”

“I wanna sit with you,” you whined, throwing your arms over his shoulder, nuzzling your cheek against his.

“This is weird,” said Dean, trying to scoot away, Sam biting back back a laugh. “A little help, Sammy!”

“So she’s a little extra clingy. We’ll put her to bed, she’ll sleep it off and in the morning she can be completely embarrassed about this whole thing,” said Sam.

“Why would I be embarrassed about my Deanie?” you asked, squeezing him harder, Dean rising to his feet.

“Come on, Y/N. Off to bed with you. Now.”

“Good morning,” said Sam to you with a teasing smile. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” you said, giving Dean a big hug when he came in the kitchen. “Good morning!”

“Oh no,” said both boys, grimacing as you smushed yourself into Dean’s chest.

“Get the jaws of life for this one,” said Dean, trying to squirm away while you clung tighter. “Y/N, please let go of me so I can eat breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” you said releasing him, moving your hand down his arm to hold his hand. “That was silly. Your arms are huge by the way. All muscle and strong. They’re so...mmm.”

“Uh huh,” said Dean, giving Sam a death glare. “Sam, your harmless little curse don’t seem so harmless right now.”

“She should have slept it off,” said Sam, taking a seat at the table, Dean pulling you over into one, resigning himself to the fact he wasn’t getting the hand you were holding back anytime soon. “It must be a different curse.”

“No shit. Figure it out for me, would ya? It’s weird having Y/N act all...cuddly,” said Dean.

“Well, she is a girl, Dean,” said Sam.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Dean, your head resting on his shoulder.

“It means she likes hugs and you know, human affection...like a normal person,” said Sam. “You treat her like a guy sometimes.”

“Again, what does that mean?” asked Dean.

“It means when you tell her to buck up and kill the damn spider herself, she comes and asks me to do it. Or when you don’t help her with heavy stuff. She’s tough, don’t get me wrong, but I get the feeling she doesn’t think you care about her nearly half as much as she does you,” said Sam. “...Maybe that’s why she’s only sticking to you. It’s got something to do with that.”

“Y/N,” said Dean, your head lifting up with a smile. “You know I care about you, right?”

“Of course you silly boy,” you said with a smile, bopping him on the nose. “I love you different than Sammy is all.”

“See? She knows,” said Dean, giving you a smile that made your heart flutter.

“You’re so pretty,” you said, Sam rolling his eyes. 

“Hey, Y/N. Why don’t you eat breakfast and then Dean can spend the whole day with you while I figure out how to fix you, huh?” asked Sam.

“The whole day with Dean? That sounds amazing,” you said, leaning up and giving Dean a kiss on the cheek.

“Please hurry Sam.”

One Week Later

“I want Dean,” you grumbled as Sam brought your dinner by your room. “Please? I need him.”

“Dean’s researching right now, Y/N,” said Sam, locking up the door behind him, spotting your barely eaten lunch. “You need to eat, Y/N or Dean won’t be happy.”

“Why do I have to stay in my room? I’m not doing anything wrong,” you said, Sam sighing as he took a seat.

“You’re making it hard to research out there, Y/N. You...you’re kind of all over Dean,” said Sam. “He’s not used to attention like that and it’s making him uncomfortable.”

“But you love him and you get to be near him,” you said, scrunching up your face. “Tell him I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever he wants. I just want to see him. Please.”

“Sweetie, it’s the curse that’s making you all nuts for Dean, you have-”

“I always liked him and now that I came out and said it he’s scared of me. Tell him I take it back. I’ll really try to be better,” you said. 

“If you eat your dinner, I’ll talk to Dean about coming to see you, alright?” asked Sam, watching as you grabbed your fork. “Good girl.”

“Hi,” you said when you saw your door open, a pair of green eyes peeking in. Everything in you wanted to hop off the bed and run over to give him a hug but you said you’d try to keep it under control.

“Sam said you wanted to see me,” said Dean, hanging by the doorway, watching you start to fidget. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine. Are you okay? Can I do anything for you?” you asked, leaning forward and clenching your hands into fists.

“Just give me a hug before you have a heart attack,” said Dean with a sigh, your body responding before your brain, up and over to wrap him up in your arms. “Better?”

“No,” you said. “You don’t like it.”

“I’d rather have a hug because it’s real, not forced,” said Dean, moving your arms away. 

“It is real,” you said, cocking your head up at him. “I want to hug you.”

“No, the curse is making you think you want to hug me,” said Dean with a smile. “There’s a slight difference there, sweetheart.”

“But I love you. Everything I’ve said or done, I always want to do,” you said. “I just...don’t have a filter to say ‘don’t do that anymore.’”

“It’s a curse and we’ll solve it, alright?” said Dean. “I don’t want you to get upset about it. We’ll figure it out and get everything back to normal around here.”

“Dean,” you said, moving forward again, Dean already with a hand on the door.

“I promise, Y/N.”

“I don’t know why it didn’t work but you shouting at me doesn’t fix it!” yelled Sam, both boys in the middle of screaming at one another as you sat in the library, doing your best to stay in your seat.

“It’s been two weeks, Sam. Look at her. She’s barely keeping it together,” said Dean, waving over in your direction.

“If I was under a love curse and the other person resented me, I might start to get upset too, Dean,” said Sam. You got to your feet, forcing them to move away and for your bedroom, your movements slowing as you hit the edge of the library. “See?”

“I’m just going back to my room, Sam,” you said over your shoulder, frozen in place with the need to stay near Dean. 

“It’s got to be that spell. Figure out what you screwed up,” said Dean, his hand on your arm melting away your bubbling anxiety, replacing it with something soft and warm. Dean didn’t immediately leave when he got you back in your room, instead laying down on your bed, turning on your TV and throwing an arm behind his head.

“What are you doing?” you asked, sitting down next to him, curling into his side with a smile.

“I miss you,” he said, moving his arm around your shoulders, a rush of relief flooding you. “...I’ll take care of you. I know it hurts and yeah I’m not used to all this lovey dovey crap but I’m going to help you through it. If letting you crawl all over me makes you feel better, we’ll do that.”

“Hey, bozos,” said Sam, standing at the end of your bed, stirring you awake. “I didn’t mess it up. It’s on a time delay.”

“Well,” said Dean with a yawn. “How long until it works?”

“Judging by the look on Y/N’s face, it already did,” said Sam. You were glancing at your lap, sitting as far away from Dean as possible. “Are you...”

“I want to be alone, please,” you said, Sam nodding his head and leaving. “You too Dean.”

“It’s okay, it was just a curse,” he said, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I told you two weeks ago, Dean,” you said, turning your head over your shoulder. “I don’t love you and Sam the same way. It was a love curse, Dean. All I was trying to do this whole damn time was to make you feel loved.“

“I do feel loved,” said Dean.

“You don’t get it. This isn’t something I can explain to you, Dean. Either you get it or you don’t and you obviously don’t so please give me some space today,” you said.

“I get it,” said Dean, grabbing your wrist and spinning you to face him. “It’s been very clear to me since this whole thing started. I don’t want you to want me though.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me. It’s my life,” you said, trying to shake him off. “Dean...”

“It’s different when’s it’s staring you right in the face and you can’t run away, right? To know that deep down that what someone is saying is true?” he asked.

“If you got hit with that curse, what are the odds that everything you’re spewing out is bull and you do want me but are too scared to say it,” you said. Dean was silent, dropping your hands as you nodded your head. “So what do you want to do about this?”

“If you want to...try, I guess I’m cool with that,” said Dean, shrugging like you were discussing dinner.

“Cool with it?” you asked.

“I ain’t turning into a Hallmark card anytime soon,” said Dean, holding up his hands. “But...your hugs aren’t so bad.”

“Ah, yes. Your definitely wooing me, Dean,” you said, shaking your head.

“Y/N, I’m trying,” said Dean.

“I know. We’ll...take it one day at a time.”

One Year Later

“Hey, you guys remember that freaky curse that made Y/N stick to you like glue?” asked Sam at lunch one day. 

“Yeah,” said Dean. “What about it?”

“Well...I translated another spell that references it,” said Sam. “It was used back in the day to help men find wives.”

“That seems like a douche move,” you said, leaning back against the wall, tossing your legs in Dean’s lap.

“No, no. Not like that. It was meant for when a guy loved somebody but was too shy or insecure to say something. If the person didn’t have a reaction, they didn’t feel the same way. If they did, then it sort of proved there was something there,” said Sam.

“It took you a year to find this out?” you asked, Sam shrugging. “Why do I feel like you’re lying Samuel...”

“You know, we never did find out who put such a strangely harmless curse on Y/N either,” said Dean, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Sammy?”

“Not a clue,” he said with a smile, glancing back at forth. “Weird, right?”

“I’ll get my fiance to kick your ass you ever pull something like that again,” said Dean.

“I’m really good at kicking ass,” you said, Sam shaking his head.

“I got no idea what you guys are talking about,” said Sam, standing up with a stretch. “I think I’m going to go for a second run while I think about who could have ever done this to you two.”

“Want to destroy him later?” asked Dean, wearing a smirk once he was out of earshot.

“Of course. Not too badly though,” you said.

“Just a touch of destruction for our devious Sammy coming right up,” said Dean with a chuckle. “While we’re at it, it’s been a year since our first date tonight.”

“You got something special planned?” you asked.

“Obviously,” he said. “Mess with Sammy first though?”

“You read my mind.”

#dean x reader #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #one shot #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean fanfiction #dean reader insert #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #dean winchester x #winchester #dean x #dean winchester x reader #supernatural one shot #spn one shot #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester supernatural

[waynes-multiverse]

Ok hear me out. I got this idea after the episode of Dean getting his "virginity" back and hooking up with the porn star when he's digging through her dresser and finds the DVD of her ANYWAY

Best friend Dean who's been pining after you for sooo long but doesn't want to fuck it up and lose you. You're hanging out when you ask him to go grab something from your room and he's digging through your drawers looking and accidentally comes across some lingerie and now it's days later and he's so hot and bothered cuz he can't think of anything else (the boy has a serious panty kink lets be honest) and you catch him in your room going through your drawers again and OH

A/N: As I warned y'all, this is a longer DD because, well, the prompt was long, so it's not really my fault. All that backstory took on a life of its own, but I think no one will be mad about it 😅 Again, I had tons of fun with this one! You'll see 🤣

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSWF, a ridiculous heat wave, friends to lovers (Wayne's Version), crack, a panty kink, some sneaky fluff, and some hot lovin' aka smut (oral f & face sitting)

Word Count: 4.5k (whoops)

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles

Cruel Summer

“You open the beaches on the 4th of July, it’s like ringing the dinner bell for Christ’s sake…”

As Jaws flickered across the screen in the Dean Cave, the green-eyed hunter adjusted himself in his seat. Usually, he had perfect control over himself and his feelings for you.

But on some days – like today – when you sat right next to him on the couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and some short sweatpants, fanning yourself with an old magazine of Busty Asian Beauties as beads of salty sweat collected on your forehead and trickled down your neck, you made it hard for him.

“God, I’m so hot,” you sighed exhaustively and sunk further into the couch cushions, lifting your shirt from your sticky skin to let some cool air to your boobs as a heat wave ravaged through Kansas.

Painfully hard.

“Dean?” You pouted with your best puppy dog look at your best friend.

“Huh?” Dean was in trance, watching you more than the movie, always on the edge of getting caught one of these days.

“We’re out of Sour Patch Kids. I have more in my nightstand. Can you get them for me please?” you asked sweetly. “I don’t wanna move. I might actually die from heat exhaustion.”

Dean sighed and wordlessly rose from his seat. He knew you always kept an array of salty and sweet midnight snacks in your room in case you got hungry and didn’t want to wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Moreover, he was grateful for the break. God knows he couldn’t stand to be around you any longer, or he would’ve been too tempted to rip your clothes off and really make you sweat.

I’ll show her a damn heat exhaustion, he thought with a scoff.

Hastily grabbing the desired snack, his green eyes then caught something red and lacy sticking out from the first drawer of your dresser. The hunter knew the decent and honest thing would’ve been to just keep moving and leave your godforsaken room.

Turn around, as Bonnie Tyler sang. But for some reason, his bright eyes couldn’t resist, his curiosity overtaking him.

Dean opened the drawer with the intention to push the naughty little clothing item back into its place and out of sight. Get rid of the temptation, so to speak. It sounded like the perfect loophole. He got to touch it and look at it, but for a very heroic and noble reason – not because he was a creepy perv, violating his best friend’s privacy.

On some level, Dean knew he’d never stand a chance with you. He wasn’t good enough. He had so much baggage all his suitcases wouldn’t even fit into the bunker.

A damn touch of a pair of panties you weren’t even wearing was all he would ever get from you.

But then his fingers touched the soft and see-through material, his pads tracing every delicate scarlet thread with precision and care. It was game over for him then and there, cursing himself internally for not resisting harder as his cock twitched joyfully in his jeans.

Dean had laid his eyes on you the second you strolled with swinging hips into that diner in Wichita for your very first case together, a werewolf hunt six years ago. And he had managed to get by without an incident for years since then, even when you moved into the bunker, being rather proud of that achievement. He never wanted to lose you as a friend and didn’t dare to cross a line. Ever.

Recently, though, it became more difficult to keep his distance and not let his thoughts wander. His feelings were magma that slowly had filled a volcano over the years. Each time you did something sexy or sweet or goofy or smart, another drop was added. And now, that damn fire mountain was overdue for an eruption – no thanks to that stupid heat wave.

“Thanks,” you said absentmindedly as the hunter handed you the candy but didn’t settle back down. Instead, he stood behind the sofa and leaned his hands on the backrest.

What you didn’t know, though, was that Dean was sporting quite the boner and wouldn’t dare to come into your line of view. He was surprised he could even walk up straight and not like a caveman early in the evolution.

A hunter gathering panties.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” he told you with a somber clear of his throat. As the fan carried a breeze of your perfume to his nose, his grip tightened on the couch.

You turned in your seat and looked over your shoulder at him, raising a surprised brow. “Already? But the movie’s not over.”

“Yeah, I’m beat,” he excused and tried his best not to look strained. He forced a tight smile to his lips while his little dude celebrated Spring Break in his jeans. “‘Sides, we’ve seen Jaws like a million times now, Y/N.”

It was a cherished summer tradition between the two of you, watching it every 4th of July.

“I guess so.” You shrugged disappointedly, watching your best friend retreat to his room. Truth was, you loved spending time with Dean and held those little traditions close to your heart.

The Winchesters were your family, the only one you ever had. And while some families wore matching pajamas on Christmas morning, you watched the first two Die Hard movies. You would watch Dean’s favorite horror movies on Halloween. Sixteen Candles and High Fidelity on your birthday, Tombstone and The Great Escape on Dean’s, and some lame-ass foreign language documentaries that you both snored through on Sam’s.

Valentine’s Day was a dreaded non-holiday for all three of you, but for the past four years, someone would leave a box of chocolate in front of your door. The salted caramel ones would always be missing, and it always came with the same Forrest Gump quote:

I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is.

You knew the anonymous someone was Dean, and you knew he meant it as a joke. Still, you clung to those little traditions. They might seem silly and stupid to some, but to you, they were your lifeline in a world full of darkness.

So, you felt rather saddened Dean didn’t seem to honor them anymore. It wasn’t just Jaws, either. He’d been withdrawing from you for a while, and you didn’t understand why.

Unbeknownst to you, the green-eyed hunter had kept a lacy souvenir from your room.

Now, Dean had managed to avoid you for four days. Every night since his stealthy excursion, he would lie in his bed with your stolen panties in one hand and his throbbing length in the other, feeling goddamn pathetic for sinking so low.

It was probably so low that even his memory foam mattress would remember it.

With closed eyes, he then imagined how the perky globes of your ass would look like covered in crimson lace. How you would stretch out on his bed on all fours, with your ass high in the air and wiggling in front of him. How his fingers would push the wicked material aside to push into you, taking you deep and hard while you moaned his name.

As he ruined tissue after tissue, the guilt would wash over him as soon as he was done. Call it a post-nut epiphany.

Dean knew it was wrong to think those things. He knew he only made it harder for himself to ever look you into the eyes again. Hell, he barely could do it now, even though a part of him audaciously wondered what other treasures were hiding in that drawer of yours. And more pressingly, what ultimate wealth he would find beneath your clothes. If your lingerie was gold, he’d be a creepy-ass dragon sitting on it.

So, Dean tried to avoid you as best as possible. Mostly because, well…

“God, fuck me,” you groaned exhaustively and opened the refrigerator door, leaning against it as the refreshing cold hit you from behind. On top of that, you held a big bag of frozen peas to your sweaty chest. You already wore the bare minimum – some short denims and a white tank top, your hair up in a messy bun.

“I swear underboob sweat is the worst. Just be glad you don’t have tits,” you complained. “Guys, seriously, can we invest in an AC? This heat wave is killing me! This bunker is like one giant oven…”

You watched as Dean squirmed in his seat as he ate his cereal, looking as uncomfortable as you. Surely, the boys were suffering just as badly during those sweltering temperatures, already forgoing the usual flannels and opting for plain t-shirts instead. How they were still wearing jeans was beyond you. When you first moved in, you protested against Dean’s suggestion of Naked Tuesdays, but these days, you were actually giving it a second thought.

“Well, I’m gonna drive to Kansas City today and see if I can get us an AC. Apparently, they’re all sold out, but I figured maybe with a bit of flirting and some cleavage, I can still get us one,” you explained your plan with a bright smirk and wiggled your eyebrows. “What d’you guys think, huh?”

Dean then abruptly banged his fist on the table, spilling some milk from his bowl on the surface. “For God’s sake, Y/N!”

You frowned in confusion at his unexpected outburst. “What’s up with you? Are you having a heat stroke?”

“Flirting, really?!” the hunter barked, his brow shaped into a deeply furious v.

“What’s wrong with that? Double standard much? You do it all the time to get shit,” you countered and watched his jaw clench in anger.

“I do-... not,” he remarked snappily with a fierce finger drilling into the table, clearly lacking a good argument. Sam cleared his throat in agreement with you, but that only earned him a glare. “And Jesus fucking Christ, would it hurt you to put on some goddamn clothes? You’re not even wearing a bra!”

“Did you not hear my tits rant just now? Of course I’m not! ‘Sides, those boobs are gonna get you an AC, so be a little more grateful to them,” you retorted, annoyed with his attitude. You’d think of all the people in this world, Dean Winchester would understand. (And maybe even appreciate it.) “And how can you even tell, huh?”

“‘Cause science, Y/N! You’re literally cooling your tits! What did you think was gonna happen, huh? Nipples!” he vented outrageously. “This ain’t a strip club!”

“It’s 102 degrees, Dean!” you argued, throwing your arms up. “Look, if I could, I’d even go naked, alright? It’s fucking hot!”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Dean shook his head and stormed out of the kitchen without any further comment.

Confused, you blinked at the younger Winchester. “What’s up with him?”

But Sam only shrugged, shaking his head. “Uhm, I don’t know,” he replied, although he could take an educated guess, suspecting his brother’s feelings for you as the culprit.

“Well, alright, I’m going to Kansas City,” you decided without wasting another thought on the older Winchester’s strange behavior. “Text me if you guys need something. I can pick it up on my way home.”

Dean knew he was in deep trouble as his bow legs bolted down the bunker’s hallways. He tried so hard to keep it together, but when he saw you, half-naked and panting in front of the fridge, he quite literally lost his coolness in this goddamn heat wave.

The green-eyed hunter understood a thing or two about torture, but this was the worst of all. He’d rather have a demon repeatedly peel off his skin in hellfire than endure a day more of this fucking madness.

If the temperatures didn’t drop soon, it would be a cruel summer ahead of him.

As Dean heard the door to the garage close, he knew you’d left for your trip and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. At least he’d get a few hours of peace.

With the best intentions, he strolled to his bedroom, but as he passed your room on his way, he found the door ajar. Whatever good motives he had up until this point, went quickly out the window right then.

His hand twitched at the thought of more riches, worse than any trigger finger and competing with a California earthquake, and well, so did the dick in his jeans. It was an addiction at this point, an obsession he couldn’t resist nor get rid off. The fact that it was forbidden and wrong only made it even more appealing. The apple in the garden of Eden.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t an anonymous support group for this kind of sickness.

As unbearable shame and guilt collected in his stomach like rainwater in the gutter, his eager hands rummaged through your dresser drawer. There was purple lace and black satin, navy G-strings and white Brazilians. It was never ending, and the hunter couldn’t stop as he picked up each item and let his fantasies roam wild.

God, the things he wanted to do to you were as colorful as your rainbow full of underwear.

“Dean?!”

The green-eyed hunter froze in his place, a white lace panty still bunched up in his large palm. The hair in the back of his neck stood up in shock, a part of him refusing to turn around at the sound of your voice. He was caught red-handed, and he knew it.

“What are you doing in my room?” you prompted, suspiciously cocking an eyebrow. It looked fairly obvious what your best friend was up to, but you didn’t want to accuse him right away, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Frankly, it was quite unbelievable.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dean replied and swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held up his hands like a criminal during an arrest, the evidence still in his grasp.

“Well, it looks like you’re snooping through my lingerie,” you pointed out bluntly.

Dean nodded, guilt-ridden and reluctant. “I can explain.”

“Good,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m waiting…”

“Right, uhm…”

“Oh, before you scramble for an answer, you should know, though, that I’m aware a pair of red lace panties is missing, and I know the washer didn’t eat them,” you said and raised an expectant brow.

You had a feeling your pervy best friend was behind the mystery of the missing item. Now you knew for sure.

“Man, I always knew you were a kinky son of a bitch, but this is a new level, Dean,” you scolded.

Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor in shame, scratching the nape of his neck. “Look, uhm, there’s no good excuse. I know I fucked up here. I’ll sleep in a motel tonight until I find my own place. You can stay here with Sam, alright? I’ll move out and won’t bother you anymore.”

As he tried to brush past you, you blocked his exit and grabbed his arm. “So, you’re gonna leave? Just like that?”

“What other choice do I have? I don’t wanna make you more uncomfortable,” he stated without glancing at you once. He couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes and see the disappointment and disgust there. “I know what I did was wrong.”

“Oh, so wrong,” you agreed. “I just figured you wouldn’t run away like a coward and take your punishment like a man, you know? Aren’t you at all curious what I’m wearing right now?”

That was when Dean’s juniper eyes slowly wandered to you and caught your gaze for the first time. You smirked as his breathing became heavy and his look darkened and filled with lust. It seemed like he wanted to rip your clothes off with his goddamn bare teeth like a wild animal.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or if I’m dreaming,” he admitted, his deep voice part harsh swallow and part nervous chuckle.

“Neither,” you said, biting your bottom lip.

Carefully, you leaned closer, your hands reaching up to cup his scruffy cheeks. Noses nuzzled as your lips ghosted against his with a daring grin. You wouldn’t go further; it was up to Dean to make that final decision.

And then, as no more than a mere second ticked by on the clock, the hunter crashed his lips against yours in a kiss so scorching it made the current heat wave look like an ice age. If you thought you were hot before, now it felt like you were burning in a wildfire.

Dean roughly pushed you against the door, his kiss all teeth and tongue in an uncontrollable frenzy. His dick was hard and thick, straining against his jeans and rubbing along your thigh. Pantingly, you gasped for air and grabbed his hand, guiding it down your body and into your shorts.

“Feel that?” you asked mischievously as his fingers dug through your soaked folds and collected the arousal he caused. A wanton growl left his plush lips. “All for you, baby. You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”

“Shit, yeah, so bad…” Dean rasped huskily against your throat as he worshipped his path down your body, forcing your shirt up till his wet tongue rolled over your pert and still cold nipple.

“Gonna make it up to me, huh? Show me how sorry you are?” you prompted, your fingers raking through his sandy blond and soft hair, eliciting a groan from him every time you tugged a little harder.

Teeth pinched your skin, tongue cherished your taste, and lips left your throat bruised. It was equal parts hot, sweaty, messy, naughty, dirty, and sticky as your bodies rutted against one another, looking for dire release.

With swollen and plumper than before lips, he came back up for air and found your eyes. He kissed you with heated passion once more as if he couldn’t resist to touch you over and over again. He had to restrain himself to be able to speak.

“So, uhm, you sure about this?” Dean asked between labored breaths with an insecure gleam in his green eyes. “‘Cause if we go further, I don’t think I can stop. And I don’t mean just this time but ever… If you want this to be a one time thing, you gotta tell me, sweetheart, so I can mentally prepare myself. I mean, I’ll take what I can get, you know? Not that I care either way… Well, that’s not true. I do care. A lot… But, you know, you’re you, and I’m me, so I’m not delusional. I know there’s no way you would–”

You interrupted his babbling with a kiss, causing the hunter to lose his words. You looked deeply into his eyes and offered him a small smile of comfort.

“Dean, listen to me, okay? ‘Cause this is very important,” you urged, your hands gripping his shirt tightly.

He nodded, gulping anxiously. “O-Okay.”

“You’re incredible,” you said and watched him inhale sharply at your words, blinking at you in disbelief. “Absolutely fucking bonkers incredible. You’re right – you’re you. And thank God you are, because you’re the best, funniest, smartest, kindest, and goddamn hottest man I’ve ever met. I’m tired of you not seeing that. As my boyfriend, I really need to you to see that, alright?”

As Dean pensively took in your words, his brow began to furrow. “Boyfriend?”

The corners of your mouth rose to a beam. “Yeah, boyfriend,” you confirmed. “That’s what you want, right? ‘Cause I’d really like that, too.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah… That’s what I want.” Dean nodded eagerly before another swallow followed. “I mean, among other things…”

You bit your lip, smirking. “What other things?”

“Well, uhm…”

Dean didn’t finish his sentence, his lips impatiently claiming yours instead. He pressed you hungrily back against the door, massive hands sliding down your sides till they hooked into the hem of your denim shorts and ripped them down to your ankles, leaving you only covered in teal lace. He growled shamelessly at the sight, his thick digits eagerly diving inside.

“Wanna be inside you,” he groaned into your ear, thumbing furiously at your clit. “Every hour of every day…”

“We can do that,” you agreed with a giggle, your arms locking around his neck, fingers carding through his hair in the back.

“Wanna feel your mouth around my–” The last word was muffled as he ravaged your neck, but you understood where he was going with this.

“You can do that,” you said with a smile.

“And fuck, I want you to ride my face,” he declared. That demand left you speechless, making even Dean stop for a minute and look at you. “Too far?”

You shook your head and smirked. “I can do that.”

Before Dean’s mind could fathom your words, you shoved him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress. When you stood before him, slotted between his muscular legs, his gaze trailed up and down your body, memorizing every beautiful curve. As your fingers curled into the waistband of your panties, however, the hunter stopped you.

“Leave ‘em on, sweetheart. Don’t you dare take those off,” he told you, his hands rapaciously reaching out to you.

You played with the hem of your top and smirked, your tongue licking over your lips. “What about this? On or off?”

“Off,” he shot back faster than a bullet leaving a barrel.

“You first,” you demanded and grinned. “Remember, this is still your punishment.”

“God, I love getting punished,” Dean mumbled and slipped out of his shirt. He then swiftly shimmied out of his jeans, discarding each item carelessly around the room.

He then took a deep breath as he tugged the waistband of his boxers, his erection already fighting its way out. “Well, here goes nothing,” the hunter said and pulled his underwear down.

You tilted your head to see his hard cock from a better angle as it sprang against his stomach. Your lips parted in anticipation, wondering what he’d taste like on your tongue and how deep you’d be able to take him. You guessed there’d be a struggle ahead, considering how huge and wide he was.

“Oh, I would not call that monster nothing,” you commented with a scoff, your pussy throbbing with need. “Explains all that BDE.”

Dean blushed. It was cute to watch. “Thank you.”

Giggling, you removed your shirt and tossed it at his face, blinding him for a second. You used that momentum to slide onto the bed and straddle his torso. As his eyes finally found you again, he almost choked on his spit when he gazed up at your perfect tits above him. A primal grunt escaped his throat.

With a mesmerized sparkle in his eyes, his hands trailed up your body and cupped your breasts, massaging them roughly as your panties grew damper by the minute. He then pulled you down to his lips and kissed you breathless before he left them with a boyish smirk on his freckled face.

“Hop on, sweetheart.”

And as if his words hadn’t been enough motivation, his hands wandered to palm your ass and hauled you closer to his mouth. He was an impatient one – or maybe he’d waited years for this and was finally tired of it.

Your knees sunk into the mattress on either side of his stubborn head. His fingers dented your flesh as they grabbed onto your thighs. Yours held onto the headboard for support. You tried not to look down, because then you’d see his big lopsided and full of excitement grin.

The same one he had when you found a diner in Kentucky that advertised the biggest burger in America (it wasn’t). The same one he had when he thought he had run into a member of Metallica at a gas station outside of Phoenix (he didn’t). The same one he had when you and Sam gifted him his own beer brewing station for his last birthday (which tasted horrible, but neither you nor Sam had the heart to tell him).

And now, he had that same grin when he was about to be with you.

As your pussy dripped above him, Dean couldn’t hold back his lewd groans any longer. You didn’t even have to lower yourself; he just dragged you down onto his face all to eagerly. His fingers swiped your panties to the side, and before you could even adjust your grip on the bedpost, his tongue darted into your soaked channel as deeply as he could and sucked you goddamn dry.

With several whimpers, you clenched around his wet muscle. If you were water in the desert, he was parched and drinking to survive.

His nose was buried in your folds, rubbing deliciously against your clit as he lapped your pussy in a vicious attack that left you squirming and moaning to a pornographic degree above him. Because Dean was just that – pure porn.

Instinctively and irresistibly, you ground your cunt against him, the vibrations of his keen groans against your sensitive flesh rocking you to the edge of your climax. He ate you out and devoured you like that damn gigantic burger in Kentucky. And as you dared to blink down and watch him in action, he had the audacity to devilishly smirk up at you with the crinkles around his green eyes alone, gauging your every reaction to his touches as if you were a goddamn movie on a silver screen.

You trembled and quivered and screamed as your orgasm electrified every molecule in your body. You white-knuckled the wood in your grip, your body only held up by Dean’s strong arms because God knows your weak legs were useless now.

As wave after wave washed over you, Dean drank every drop of yours, his tongue never getting enough of your taste. The sounds that filled the room were carnal and obscene.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed blissfully and lifted off his face and captured his swollen and red lips in a grateful kiss, your palms finding purchase on his broad shoulders. Your drenched and sensitive cunt settled on his thighs as an egregiously large erection poked your belly and tempted you further.

Dean smirked up at you, all satisfied and confident with his achievement. “I think we have a slight problem, though.”

Your brow knitted, your heart tightening with anxiety. Had you been as disappointing as the burger, beer, and that fake Metallica band member?

But Dean only grinned teasingly at your confused face. “There’s no way I learned my lesson here.”

You snorted and sought out his lips, the kiss giving you a taste of yourself. “We’ll work on that. I might have to nickname you Jaws after this,” you joked.

“Can’t wait for you to explain that one to Sammy.” Dean snorted, chuckling. “Now, how about you hop on again, but this time a little further south, huh?” he proposed with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a suggestive twitch of his cock for emphasis.

You giggled with a few nods. “I can do that.”

Was it worth the words? 😝

For all you newcomers and as a general reminder, Dirty Drabbles are always open. I still have quite a few left, but you're welcome to send more in, and we'll add it to the collection at some point 😎🔥

PUT YOUR DIRTY THOUGHTS HERE

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#dirty drabbles #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester reader inser #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic

[gilverrwrites]

Hello, me again

Could you make also, a Dean having erotic/dirty dream with his female best friend or rival (or a best friend that is also a rival).

And all that she does remember him of his smut dreams

Not So Sweet Dreams

Author note: Sorry for the delay, I've been super busy with unrelated things, but I had a lot of fun writing this and trying to get into Dean's mind set. I hope it's what you wanted and that you enjoy it!

Pairing: Dean Winchester/F!Reader

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3349

Content: Dean being jealous and over-protective. Male gaze/male fantasies, drinking, swearing, violence, blood, vampires, arguing, hatesex, (kinda) subby Dean, teasing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v sex, woman on top.

Please remember: That you deserve love.

Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Request Info

You were being surprisingly level-headed about the whole thing. The two of you had inadvertently wound up at the same nightclub, hunting the same nest of vampires. You’d begrudgingly agreed to work together, two hunters are better than one, after all. But you’d been reckless. You, strutting around in your skimpy black dress to get their attention, acting drunk and helpless, had been part of the plan. Watching you had undoubtedly been his favourite part. You letting one of the vamps take you into the back office without warning and without backup was not. You were supposed to lure them outside, not deeper into the building, behind far more security. By the time Dean had found a way to stealthily follow, he’d found you in a precarious position. Time seemed to stand still as he took a moment to process the sight. Your dress, or what was left of it, was all but hanging off as you fought back against not one but THREE bloodsuckers. The image of your ass in that tiny little thong, would be etched into his mind until the day he died. When he found his bearings again, he stepped up. If there is one thing he’s good at, it's decapitating vampires. Even you couldn’t deny how quickly and skilfully he’d taken out your opponents before swooping you into his arms and taking you back to the car. He’d expected your normally ungrateful ass to be, well… ungrateful. After years of reluctantly crossing paths, he’d come to expect your brash, defiant attitude but you were taking the whole thing pretty well. In fact, he was considering how he might slip you some holy water when your voice interrupted his thoughts. “Thank you so much again, Dean.” You purred, and he looked over at you, sitting in the remnants of your disguise and his jacket, comfortable and safe in the passenger seat of his baby. The words sounded all wrong coming out of your mouth, but he wasn’t complaining. You reached over and patted his inner thigh, making his breath hitch as you continued. "Really, I’m so grateful.” At that moment, he pulled up outside the motel the two of you were checked into, separately. Taking advantage of your newly found pliable nature, Dean asked, while cocking his thumb towards his room; “You wanna come in? Have a drink?” You nodded and allowed him to slip his arm around your waist as he led the way. You didn’t object when he guided you to sit on his lap or brush him off as he examined the scrapes and bruises on your arms. “I didn’t know you could be so well-behaved.” He teased as he finished tending to the worst of your wounds. You giggled in response, actually fucking giggled; it was magical and confusing as hell. “What is up with you today?” “I want you, Dean,” you replied, looking down at him through your lashes. You placed your hand on his cheek, gently pulling him closer until your lips locked. Your lips were so soft against his, and in that moment, he decided to stop questioning your personality transplant and just go with it—at least for the night.

Every tiny detail of his illicit dream flashed through Dean's mind now as he watched you across the dancefloor. Your little black dress wasn’t quite the same as in his dream, but it and everything else was damn close enough. Where your weapons were hidden was totally beyond him.

You’d been less than thrilled when you’d bumped into him at the motel, but had reluctantly agreed to team up with him for the hunt. The similarities should make him nervous, but he just couldn’t seem to make himself care in the moment. Not at the sight of you, seemingly lost to the music, dancing beneath the flashing lights. Your body was so much hotter than he’d dreamed it. He was so engrossed in the sway of your hips that he barely noticed the glare you shot him before shimmying further into the crowd. 

Dean takes a swig of the beer he’d bought as a prop, attempting to clear his head from the fantastical image of your hips, naked and riding him, from the way your body curved with each move. This is gonna be a long night. With another sip of his beer, he starts walking, patrolling the club, taking stock of the exits, the staff, all the things he should be keeping tabs on.

When he sees you again, you’re seated at the bar, smiling, chatting with a bloodsucker whose hand is so far up your thigh he’s surprised you aren’t squirming. In his dreams, your skin burned hot, and your breathing hitched when he ran his hand between your legs.

He slows, trying to eavesdrop, but he can’t make out a word over the booming music and the hustle of the crowd. He wants to head up to the bar to get closer in case you need help. But he can’t afford the risk of making a scene, so he keeps walking, intent on circling the building once more before finding a vantage point he can monitor you from. But when he returns, you’ve left the bar.

Cursing under his breath, he scans his environment; he finds you on the other side of the floor. Stumbling around in the arms of the same handy bloodsucker you’d been pawing at the bar. He should have fucking known this would happen. Exasperated, he watches as you’re guided through a door with a keypad, not an exit door. You were being herded into some kind of off-limits staff area. This was not the plan. 

He pulled out his phone, watching intently as he waited for the time display to change. As much as it killed him, he couldn’t hurry in, guns blazing. That would put you at even more risk. As soon as 3 minutes had passed, he checked his surroundings for fangbangers before marching to the door. Luckily, the keypad was old, and the numbers 1278 were worn. He started punching in codes until the door gave way on 1827.  The hallway was clear, and he could hear commotion coming from a room at the end of the hall.

When he entered, you were anything but the helpless damsel he’d saved in his dream. You looked powerful and radiant. You were stood tall, fully dressed, and swinging your knife at one of the four vamps as they attempted to advance on you, until you locked eyes with Dean. The swing of you knife had stuck the landing, but the distraction had opened you for an attack from behind. The biggest of your opponents had grabbed you, forcing you into a full-nelson, rendering your arms almost entirely useless. Regardless, you bucked your hips up and kicked at the vamp still in front of you.

That’s when fight mode kicked in for Dean. He pulled his machete from its risky position tucked in the inside of his jeans and started swinging at the other two vampires, taking one out almost instantly. The other was smarter and faster, dodging his strikes and mouthing off every chance he got. Dean didn’t bother quipping back. This was the same vamp who’d been cosying up with you earlier, and he didn’t want to waste any more energy on him.

By the time he’d taken the vamp out, you’d gotten free and were evading the big guy. It seemed your knife was laced with some potent dead man’s blood, because the one you’d stabbed earlier was whimpering on the floor. Dean put the thing out of its misery as he crossed the room to help you.

You had to tag team the last one, taking turns distracting and swinging for it until Dean landed the decapitating blow.

He turned to you, grinning and ready to brag about taking out most of them alone, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the nasty gash you were cupping, leading from your shoulder and over your chest. There were more, up and down your arms. Instead, he barked, harsher than intended. “We should get out of here. Fast.”

“But there’s still more.” You argued. 

“I don’t care.” His anger didn’t let up. He grabbed you by the wrist, ensuring there were no injuries there first, and began pulling you into the hall. “We’ll deal with that later, let's go.”

He’d offered you his jacket, but you’d declined. This was not how he’d dreamed it. You sat in the passenger seat of his baby, your dress torn and bloodied, your face sour, refusing to look at him. He heard you take a deep breath and braced himself for your snide comment.

“What were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed.” You didn’t even sound mad, you stated it like a fact.

He couldn’t help but do a double take as he processed your words. “Me? We had a plan, and that wasn’t it. What were you thinking, going off alone with them?”

“I had to think on my feet, and it was going perfectly until you barged in and fucked it all up. God I am so sick of you.”

“Perfect my ass! Putting yourself in dange-”

“I was fine, YOU put me in danger.” He opened his mouth to interject but you continued, going full rant. “They saw you sniffing around the club, and when you broke in, they saw you on the CCTV. It wasn’t exactly hard to put 2+2 together. You always do this, you underestimate me. I am not some damsel in distress, I can handle myself.”

The air was thick with bitter tension as he drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence. He didn’t like you going off alone like that, but maybe you had a point. Hunting wasn’t exactly the safest of jobs, and you’d made it this far without him. He should have apologised or tried to smooth things over, but instead, he asked, “Well, princess, will you at least let me patch you up?”

You watched with furrowed brows as he cocked his thumb to point at his room. He’d expected you to ignore him and head for your own room, but you agreed with a nod and crossed your arms as you followed him inside.

He didn’t try getting you to sit in his lap. You sat yourself on the end of the bed as he located his makeshift first-aid pack.

“Should I put the TV on?” He asks, knowing it’ll likely be a long, quiet process if not. 

You glare, and he knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s reminded of the look you’d given him across the dancefloor earlier and everything else he’s associated with it. Eventually, you answer. “Whatever.”

He sighs, switches on the TV, and begins patching you up in silence. He tries to be gentle, but the alcohol makes you hiss and groan as he cleans you up. Every moan evokes an indecent image that makes his skin burn with inappropriate arousal. He wonders if you sound the same in bed.

When the worst of the damage is patched up, he starts cleaning up the excess blood, checking for any he might have missed. Blood from the cut across your chest has gathered and congealed in your cleavage. He hooks a finger on the low neckline of your dress and looks to your face for approval. You’re unbothered, eyes fixated on the TV screen with such distaste he wonders if inanimate objects can take offence.

He tugs at the dress, not enough to expose anything but enough to get your attention. You glance down at his hand, then to his face, and shrug before diverting your attention back to the TV. Taking that as permission, he pulls your dress down, almost certainly too far. He takes an involuntary moment to soak in the image, blood and bandages included, you were a vision in your lacy black bra.

Your deliberate coughing brought him back to the present, and he made quick work of cleaning your chest, avoiding your gaze as he worked. When he was done, you pulled your dress back up without delay. You made no move to get up, and he made no effort to move you. Instead, you continued to sit in awkward silence. Both of you too stubborn to speak first.

When you finally broke the silence, you didn’t sound angry anymore, just tired, worried. “The rest of the nest is gonna be on our trail.”

“I know.” He conferred, trying to match your energy. “But it’s almost sunrise, we have time to rest and regroup before tomorrow night.”

“And will I be allowed to fight them, or would you like to cover me in bubble wrap?” Your voice still lacked malice, just sarcasm.

Without taking the time to think through his words, Dean replied. “You can do whatever you want. Just don’t blame me when you get yourself killed, or worse turned.”

“There you go again.” You leaned away from him, rolling your eyes, exasperated. “All your mouth does is talk dumb shit.”

“My mouth does plenty, thank you very much.”

“Like what?” You ask, tone defiant as you watch him through your lashes. The words were wrong, but the intense gaze matched his fantasy. He half expected you to reach out and pull him in for a kiss. When you don’t, he does it for you. You taste like salt and booze, but your lips are so soft, they melt right into his.

When you pull away, he braces himself for you to yell, or punch, or leave, but instead, your eyes rake over his face. He notices the heat in his cheeks when you comment, “Are you blushing, Winchester? Because of me?”

“No, it’s hot in here.” He replies curtly, still not wanting to give you the upper hand. 

“Funny.” You aren’t laughing as you look around the room. “I’m pretty cold.”

“You lost a lot of blood. That’s one of the symptoms.”

“Isn’t delirium also a symptom. If it’s that bad, are you taking advantage of me?” You raise brows at him, challenging him.

In return, he shoots you with the most puppy-dog concerned face he can muster. “Are you? Delirious? Should we stop?”

“No, get back over here and kiss me.” Now you reach for him, placing both hands on his cheeks and pulling him closer until your lips lock again. Mid kiss, you straddle him, holding him still with your arm around his neck as you begin to grind against his clothed erection.

He paws at the skirt of your dress until you get the hint and pull it over your head. He only gets a second to enjoy the view before you return the gesture, lifting his shirt up until he finishes the job for you. By the time he’s done, you’ve removed your bra as well. He greets the unobstructed sight of your breasts by planting himself between them, lavishing them with his mouth, sucking and nibbling at your nipples as you roll your hips against him.

Offering you reprieve, he pulls back to watch you as he dips his hand into your panties, happy to be greeted by the slick between your folds. Not bothering to tease, he plunges a finger straight in, enjoying the way your heat immediately clenches around him. He pumps the solo digit a few times before adding a second and a third, and you take each one perfectly. The sounds you make are just how he’d dreamed it, but also somehow better.

The best sound is the squeal you make as he quickly retracts his fingers and switches your position, laying you flat on your back as he straddles your thighs. You take it in your stride, however, and plant your hands on his shoulder before slipping them down his chest to hook into the waistband of his jeans. You work together to undo his belt and jeans. Dean shimmies them down just low enough to expose his dick. You must like what you see because he notices the way you lick your lips at the sight. He makes a mental note to see about putting your mouth to good use at a later time.

Your whole body seems to shiver when he runs the tip of his hardened cock between your slit, deliberately circling your clit.

“You like that?” He coos.

You respond by pushing him off you. He concedes, rolling onto his back and letting you mount him once again. “Shut up.”

He laughs but otherwise does as he’s told, barely able to keep his composure as he takes in the sight of you. You grip his cock, pumping a few times before you start lining him up with your entrance, and he prays you don’t mock his blushing again.

You don’t say anything, but you lock eyes with him as you slide his cock between your lips and sink down onto him. Fuck, you feel so fucking good, better than he could have imagined. Your walls are tight and wet around him, and he can’t help but grip onto your hips, not to force you down, but to make sure you don’t retreat.

When you reach the base, you seize all movement, presumably allowing yourself to adjust, but he can’t help rocking his hip beneath you. You both groan in sync at the feeling.

“Impatient.” You scold, but your voice is soft and dreamy.

“Can’t help it.” He returns, thrusting up again and enjoying the way your eyes roll back in response. “You feel too good, you take it so well.”

You glare at him, challenging him as you reposition your feet, readying to start, and he bites his lip in anticipation.

With no further warning, you start riding him, setting a fast, reckless pace, and releases your hips to fists at the sheets, trying to distract himself from the fact he’s already about to blow his load.

“I think I’m gonna-”

He’s cut off by the immediate narrowing of your eyes. “Don’t you dare, not until I’ve cum first. You owe me.”

“Fuck. Yes ma’am.”  He groans through gritted teeth as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock.

It’s agonising, watching you sway above him, taking what you want from his body. He watches with bated breath as you start to play with your clit, pleasuring yourself. His whole-body jerks, trying to hold back when he feels your walls squeeze around him.  You lol your head back, moaning to the ceiling when you finally hit your climax.

Your body slows as you try to catch your breath, but it’s Dean's turn. He sits up, lifting you by your ass just enough to ease the process of him rutting up into your leaking cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum deep inside you.” He chants.

You nod, blasé and tell him; “Do it.”

As if on demand, he shoots his load, spilling inside you with a loud, animalistic groan.

Your weight falls on him, your head resting against his shoulder. He feels his own energy slowly draining as well, but that doesn’t stop him from placing absentminded kisses on the back of your neck as he carefully falls back against the bed, taking you with him. Of everything that had happened that night, cuddling was the most surprising to him.

After a few minutes he speaks up, shifting to guide you back up. His soft cock slips out, and he feels his own cum drip back onto him. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, taking his queue, standing from bed, and heading for the bathroom to get cleaned up. “And we should really start working on a plan nightfall.”

“Maybe we should get some rest first. Regroup when we're not both exhausted.”

“Are you kidding.” Your head pokes out of the bathroom door. “They could be on our trail right now… What?”

“Nothin’.” He shrugs. All the tension you’d just released together was already building back up. “You just don’t ever fucking change.” 

#supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester smut #gilverrwrites

[couldyouimagine-that]

Safe With Me

Genre; hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count; 1.0k

Warnings; talk of nightmares, nothing described.

Pairing; Dean Winchester x Reader

Reader is woken up by a nightmare and asks Dean to let them stay with him.

I hope this is a somewhat relaxing story (I think it is) and also I really enjoyed writing a sleepy Dean. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

-

You regained consciousness with a deep gasp, adrenaline running through you and your breathing much heavier than it should have been. Your room was dark, the covers on your bed pushed down around your legs where you had no doubt been thrashing in your sleep. you gave yourself a moment to remember where you were, that you were safe and nothing was wrong. It served to calm you a little, but you realised it hadn’t really helped at all when you closed your eyes and were immediately confronted with the horrors from your nightmare. You turned on your side as you started trying to go back to sleep, but the images in your mind’s eye were shockingly vivid and more persistent than you could ever remember a dream being. It was almost like you had never even woken up.

Chased by your own imagination, you lurched towards the switch of the lamp on your bedside table. You were a hardened hunter, acclimatised to violence and risking your life on an almost daily basis – but even you felt a pulse of relief when light flooded your room and there was nothing there but you. You glanced around regardless, just to make sure, and only laying back when you were satisfied that you were truly alone. Then, of course, it was your isolation that became the problem. Each time you closed your eyes, even with the light on, you only saw the returning nightmare. You went through the repeating cycle of trying to sleep and trying not to, even as tiredness began to pull at your eyes, and you eventually realised that rest was going to allude you.

With a tired huff, you sat up on top of the covers and resigned yourself to being completely awake, at least for the moment. You knew you wouldn’t get back to sleep on your own and you didn’t want to run on so little rest for yet another night in a row, which left you with one other option. You did feel a small jolt of nerves at what Dean might think, but it took you very little time to decide that he probably wouldn’t mind. Even if he did, you reasoned, you could talk about it and try to explain it away in the morning when you could think a bit more clearly.

You slipped through your door without wasting another moment and padded along the corridor on bare feet until you got to Dean’s door, knocking a few times before slowly pushing it open. A narrow beam of light shone into his room and you squinted as your eyes adjusted to the lower light on the other side, just able to discern the outline of Dean beneath his comforter. He was laying on his side, one arm visible and the other tucked beneath his pillow. You murmured his name from your place by the door, calling it a little louder when he didn’t stir. You wouldn’t approach him while he was still asleep, knowing you would be met with the barrel of a gun if you woke him too suddenly.

Dean grunted lowly at the third call of his name, shifting slightly more onto his back to look towards you, face screwed up against both the light and the intrusion on his sleep. He blinked once, slowly, eyes still mostly closed.

“Y/N?” You smiled gently at his sleep-roughened voice.

“Hey, Dean.” He pulled himself up a bit further to lean on his elbow, his other arm resting on top of the comforter and across his ribs.

“‘S goin’ on?” Your grip tightened on the door handle as you thought briefly about how silly you were going to sound, but you had already woken him up. It really was too late.

“I um… I had a bad dream.” You scoffed lightly at your own words, the sound self-deprecating. “I just – would it be okay if I slept in here with you?”

Dean flopped onto his back, eyes already closed again, and raised his arm without a word. You pushed his door closed and crossed his room quietly, slipping under the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world. His warmth was a soft comfort as you slotted yourself beneath his arm, sighing in content as he curled it around you and pulled you close to him. You felt a hum reverberate through his chest as his other hand landed on your hip, rubbing up and down a few times. His movements were direct, tiredness allowing his strength to come through just a little more than usual – you liked the feeling.

“S’alright sweetheart,” he murmured, words blurring together. “You’re safe with me.” His breath moved your hair as he pressed his lips to the top of your head, then shifted down in the bed to get comfortable, taking you with him.

Your nightmare didn’t even cross your mind as you closed your eyes, your head resting on one of Dean’s shoulders and your hand running over the other one. His breathing slowed in no time and sleep slowly pulled you under as you listened to Dean’s strong heartbeat, relaxed into the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. As he drifted off, his arm became a comfortable weight where it crossed your shoulder and rested over your back. A light smile curved your lips as you felt yourself joining him in a real, restful slumber more quickly than you could ever recall managing before.

Unbeknownst to you, Dean had been able to hold onto a sliver of consciousness for a little while longer, just enough to make sure you fell asleep without meeting any more difficulties or worries. It was only when he squeezed you and got no response that he finally let go of it, secure in the knowledge that he would be there for you if anything frightened you again. The thought of you coming to him when you needed someone made a little warmth bloom fondly in his chest, and he simply enjoyed the feeling of you laying securely in his arms as he finally surrendered to sleep.

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #supernatural dean #supernatural dean x reader #supernatural reader insert #supernatural #spn fanfic #spnfamily #spnfandom #spn dean #spn dean x reader

[imagineteamfreewill]

Cursed

Title: Cursed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Brief heavy drinking, suggested dub con (nothing actually happens besides PG-13 touching, but more is suggested and the reader does not want to participate), cursed Dean, language, angst, a little fluff

Summary: Dean’s cursed after a witch hunt and Sam and Y/N are left to deal with the consequences.

A/N: This is a super random one shot I started writing in 2018 that I just recently found in an old WIP folder. I’ve changed it a lot from what it originally started as, but I hope it’s enjoyable nonetheless. As always, thanks for reading and for supporting me in all the ways you do!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Dean,” you sigh. You steal the sweaty, half-drunk beer bottle from his hand. “You can’t just drink until you black out!”

He rolls his eyes at you, pulling another bottle from the paper carton beside him. It’s already empty and he huffs in annoyance, setting it aside before grabbing the fourth and final beer from its slot.

“Dean!”

He doesn’t respond, instead choosing to pry the top off the bottle and take a long swig, then let out a satisfied sigh. The bottle cap clatters to the concrete beneath his pool chair. He smacks his lips and you try to disguise your disgust, even if he won’t care either way.

Frustrated, you stomp back to the motel room and push the door open, slamming your room key and the bottle you’d taken away on the table in front of Sam. The door hits the door jamb on the wall before bouncing back and slamming shut with a bang.

“Your brother is going to be the end of me!” you growl. 

Sam looks up, eyebrows raised as he tries to transition his mind from the lore he’s been reading to what you’ve said. “Hmm?”

You groan and run a hand through your hair, inwardly praying for some patience, then look back down at him. “I said,” you begin, unable to even vaguely disguise how you feel, “that your brother is slowly annoying me to death! Please tell me that you have a cure, or at least a counter-curse! I don’t know how much longer I can take this!”

“I haven’t found anything so far,” Sam replies, shaking his head apologetically. He reaches for the beer bottle and you snatch it away, grinding your teeth in frustration. Though you want to take a sip of it yourself to make the next few hours—or days, depending on how long it takes you and Sam to find a cure—easier, you grip it hard in one hand for a second before sighing and putting it back on the edge of the table. Just because Dean was drinking himself to death, doesn’t necessarily mean that his younger brother had to suffer.

“Just… Just figure something out. I need to go back to keeping an eye on Mister R&R out there.” You gesture towards the door, then press the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re exhausted; not only had yesterday’s witch hunt been nothing more than a dead end, but somehow, Dean managed to get himself cursed. It’s up to you and Sam to find the witch and a cure, and Dean’s no help. The curse has left him incapable of doing any actual work, instead convincing him that all he should do for the rest of his life is relax. All you’ve done for the last day and a half is chase after him to make sure that he doesn’t break any laws or get himself hurt.

“We’ll figure it out, Y/N. I promise,” Sam reassures. “Why don’t you try to get some rest? Maybe we can convince Dean to come relax in here. If we’re lucky, he might sleep, too. Sleeping isn’t work—if we spin it the right way he might go for it.”

You nod wearily and pick up the beer again. You dump its contents down the bathroom drain before tossing the empty bottle in the plastic trash can. “Are there any more of those in here?” you ask, heading back out to the main part of the room.

Sam turns in his seat to glance around the room, then shakes his head. “Nope. I think Dean got ‘em all already.” He closes his laptop and pushes the chair back from the table, standing and grabbing your keycard. “You take a shower and I’ll go get Dean. You look like hell.”

Snorting, you send Sam a grateful look and go over to your duffel, where you pull out your bag of toiletries and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. After a second of thought, you grab a pair of shorts, just in case he’s feeling grabby. “Gee, thanks.”

The sound of the door closing is Sam’s response. You shut your eyes for a second, soaking in the still, peaceful silence of the room before going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. It’s the first time since yesterday morning that you’ve been alone, and it’s the first time it’s been so quiet, too.

Minutes later, you’re scrubbing yourself down and ignoring the way that the dirty water pools around your feet as you rinse away the grime from the past two days. It feels good to finally be clean. You’re just rinsing off your face and hair when you hear the bathroom door open and you freeze, carefully peeking open an eye to stare at the frosted white shower curtain. The person on the other side doesn’t move, nor do they make a sound.

“Sam?” you ask after a second. “Is that you?”

“Guess again,” Dean replies, a bit too cheerily for your liking.

You can only see his vague silhouette through the shower curtain, but you can clearly picture the arrogant smirk on his face. It’s been one of the few expressions on his face since he’d been cursed. The others in the rotation have left you equally as irritated.

Pursing your lips, you quickly finish rinsing off and turn the knob to shut off the water. “Hand me my towel,” you say, sticking a hand out around the curtain. It’s a request you’ve made many times in the past, yet now it comes out harsher, more like an order or a command than a simple task.

“Why? It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked before,” Dean counters.

You sigh, your arm dropping slightly as you keep it held out. “Dean, come on. This isn’t you. Please just hand me my towel.”

“Of course it’s me,” he says. “I’m just wondering why my girl won’t let me see her wet and naked. We could have a lot of fun that way…” His fingertips brush your forearm as his silhouette moves closer, and you snatch your arm back.

“You’re cursed, Dean. We’ve talked about this. Now please, hand me my towel.” Dean only hums in response and you growl quietly to yourself before yelling, “Sam! Sam, get in here!”

A moment later, the bathroom door squeaks open again and you hear Sam shout in annoyance.

“Jesus Christ, Dean! Put on some clothes!”

“Of course he’s naked,” you mumble under your breath. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Dean chuckles and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to slip and fall. The chill from the bathroom has started to set in now that you’re no longer under hot water, and goosebumps have broken out over your damp skin. You shiver.

“Sam,” you call, a little louder so you can be certain that he’ll hear you. “Sam, please just hand me my towel. Your idiot brother refuses to.”

You feel the rough fabric in your hand as soon as you stick your arm out again, and you quickly yank it inside the shower with you before Dean can snatch it. After wrapping it around yourself, you pull the shower curtain open to find Dean buttoning his jeans, his upper half still bare.

“Thanks for putting pants on,” you say, pushing him out of the way so that you can get to the sink. Hopefully, your praise will incentivize him to do what you ask. Maybe he’ll be more willing to nap that way. It’s only a thread of hope, but you’ll cling to it until it breaks.

You wipe the fog off the mirror with your hand and peer at your reflection for a second before grabbing your comb and starting to comb out your hair, shivering when cold water drips onto your bare shoulders.

“Let me do that,” Dean says. He grabs the comb before you can answer and picks up where you left off, leaving you to hold up your towel in silence. His hands are gentle and for a moment, you forget that he’s cursed. This is something he does for you all the time. It’s one of the ways he shows you that he cares for you, even when he’s wrapped up in his own thoughts or when the two of you are too tired to even talk.

When the thought pops into your head, however, you begin to analyze the situation, trying to figure out exactly how this is helping Dean relax. So far, he’s only done things that help him relax, not others, which means that this somehow has to be more beneficial to him than it is to you.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you reach up and take the comb from his hands, ignoring the spark of electricity that runs up your arm when your skin brushes against his. “Why are you doing this?” you ask, crossing your arms over the top of your towel as you turn to face him.

Dean shrugs, glancing at his reflection in the mirror behind you. His expression seems more normal than it has since the witch hunt, and you grip the edge of the towel a little tighter, watching him carefully. Has the curse been broken somehow?

“Dunno. I like playing with your hair, I guess.” A familiar, lazy smile crosses his face as he meets your eyes a second later, and he takes a step forward so his hips pin yours against the bathroom counter. “Plus, I know what happens when you get relaxed and you feel taken care of.”

Scoffing, you push Dean off of you and toss the comb down, then grab your shirt and shorts off the counter. “Get out. I need to change. Go…” You pause, frantically wracking your brain for some suggestion he might actually go for. “Go wait for me in bed, okay? Yeah? I’ll come join you in a minute.” You hope that your words sound promising enough, even if you don’t really plan on doing anything with him while he’s cursed. You couldn’t stomach it.

Dean dips his head to stare down at you with the same lazy, drunk smile on his face as before.  “Okay. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart. Don’t take too long.”

He slips out the door, finally leaving you alone, and you quickly push the door shut and flip the lock—something you should’ve done in the first place. You shudder, then glance at your phone on the counter. 

“Come on,” you mutter. “Anything is better than this.”

Reluctantly, you force yourself to pick up the phone and send a short, carefully worded text before setting it aside and changing into your clean clothes. Rowena’s response comes just as soon as you’re dressed, and you close your eyes when you read her message, relieved. After forwarding it to Sam, you carry your things out to the main room, only to find that Dean’s just where he had promised he would be. A quick glance around the room shows that Sam has chosen to make himself scarce, and you silently curse his name in every language you know.

“Hey there, Y/N,” Dean drawls, directing your attention back to him. His jeans are unbuttoned again, though not unzipped, and you swallow the lump in your throat at the sight of his half-naked frame sprawled out on the bed, trying to focus on the task at hand. You need to sleep, and you figure that if Dean is sleeping, he can’t get into any trouble. It’s getting him to sleep that will be the problem.

“Hey,” you casually reply. You set your things down in your bag, taking a minute to rearrange them with your back to Dean. You hear noise coming from the bed as you plug your phone in on the TV stand and you slow your movement, listening as Dean moves the pillows and blankets around to his liking. When you turn around again, the extra pillows are all on the floor and he’s settled in the middle of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest as he regards you with a cocky smile.

“You gonna come over here or what?”

Forcing a smile of your own, you cross the room and grab a pillow off the floor, then crawl into bed with Dean. His hands immediately go for your hips in an attempt to pull you on top of him, but you push them away.

“Roll over,” you say, tucking your wet hair behind your ear. “Let me give you a massage first.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, clearly liking your suggestion, then moves over to lay on his stomach. You get to work, doing your very best to get him to relax as much as possible.

You must’ve massaged Dean’s back and shoulders for an hour before you finally hear him let out a soft snore. Your hands are sore, but relief floods you and you carefully move to the opposite edge of the bed and lay on your stomach. You close your eyes, desperately hoping that you’ll fall asleep quickly so you can get as much rest as possible before he awakes.

When you wake up, you can hear Dean arguing with Sam, their voices hushed despite the anger lacing their words. Slowly, you open your eyes and lie still, listening. You’ve rolled over onto your side in your sleep, so you can stare at the wall and watch their shadows as they argue.

“Dean, you can’t go out right now. Y/N is sleeping and I’m not going with you,” Sam huffs. He’s all at once placating and annoyed with his older brother, the same way a parent who’s fed up with their child’s antics might speak. “I have better things to do than pick up chicks at a bar, including finding something to help break whatever curse you’re under.”

“I don’t need your help, Sammy. I’m fine! And I’m not going to a bar, I’m just going to get some food from the taco place down the street!”

“Really? You’re not cursed? Is that why you were taking up most of the bed and Y/N’s only got the edge? Because that’s not like you, man. You’ve been acting differently since we got back yesterday.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” Dean hisses. “Just drop it.”

You listen intently for whatever Sam has to say in response, but it’s too quiet for you to make out anything. After a minute, the door to the parking lot opens, then slams shut. You don’t hear Sam go after his brother, nor do you hear anyone moving around the room, and you frown against your pillow. 

Confused, you sit up in bed and rub your eyes before going over to the window, carefully pulling the curtain away from the edge so you can peek outside. It’s pitch black outside. You hadn’t glanced at the clock on the nightstand as you’d crawled out of bed, but you’re certain it’s the middle of the night. You’d slept for almost eight hours, which is practically a miracle.

The boys are just outside the door, on the walkway that runs from the motel office and past every room, all the way to the end of the building. They’re still arguing, but Sam looks more shocked than frustrated. The parking lot lights flicker for a second, and when they come back on, you realize that both Sam and Dean are staring at you.

Feeling a bit guilty that you were caught eavesdropping, you drop the curtain. Then, you step over to the door and pull it open so you can stand in the doorway. Though it’s dark out, Sam and Dean are close enough where you can see them clearly in the overhead lights, and you look between them.

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

The two brothers glance at each other, their unspoken conversation ending with Dean’s shoulders slumping, before Sam bitterly answers, “Dean has something he’d like to tell you.”

“Okay…” You turn your attention to Dean, unsure of what to expect.

It takes him a minute to speak up. “I, uh… I wasn’t cursed.”

You stare at him for a second, trying to understand how his behavior the past 36 hours lines up with that statement. “What?”

“There’s no curse. I wasn’t cursed before, and I’m not cursed now. I’m fine,” he says.

Anger is starting to rise up into your chest and you clench your hands into fists. Slowly, in a way you hope will get you the clearest answer possible, you reply, “What do you mean there was no curse? If there’s no curse, then why have you been acting the way you have?”

Dean has the decency to look ashamed, and he looks away to stare at the window leading into the motel office. The employee manning the front desk looks asleep, with one hand propping his head up on the laminate countertop. The vacancy sign in the window flickers. Sam leaves and heads to the Impala, but you only spare him a glance. A few moments later, the car starts up and drives off toward the main part of town. 

“I don’t know. I needed a break from the responsibilities. I wanted to live like there was nothing to worry about, just for a day,” Dean tells you after the parking lot returns to silence once more.

You can’t decide if you’re more shocked at the revelation that he’s not cursed, angry that he’s done what he did, or saddened that Dean felt the way he had, yet he hadn’t felt like he could talk to you about it. You would’ve given him the best day off ever, had you known that’s what he needed. Instead, he’s taken advantage of you and his brother, and he’s treated you poorly in the process. He’s acted like a complete and total selfish asshole.

“I can’t believe you,” you finally scoff. You cross your arms over your chest, but you drop them back down to your sides almost immediately. Angry tears fill your eyes. “You are so selfish! If you had just said something, we could’ve done whatever you’d wanted, but instead, you had to act like you’d been cursed! We were worried sick, Dean!”

You step forward into his space, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I was terrified that we’d never find a cure, and the way you treated me?” You scoff again and shake your head. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable, Dean! I can’t believe you’d treat me like that. I can’t believe you’d treat Sam like that! Do you know that we were this close to making a deal with Rowena?” You bring your hand up between his face and yours, holding your thumb and index finger only an inch apart to emphasize your point. “This close!”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he answers, his voice quiet. He stares down at the sidewalk.

You drop your hand back down your side. “Are you?”

He nods and lifts his head to look up at you. In any other situation, you might’ve broken at the grief in his eyes, but you’re too furious to back down now.

“Y/N, you gotta believe me! If I’d known how out of hand this was going to get, I wouldn’t have done it, but by the time I realized how far I’d taken it, it was too late! I hadn’t thought of a way to get rid of the fake curse without it being too big of an issue, so I had to keep rolling with it.”

You shake your head again, shocked and disgusted that he’d done something so drastic. Throwing up both your hands, you take a step back towards the motel room. “You had to keep rolling with it? I can’t. I can’t deal with this right now! I’m going back to bed.” You turn and start to dig for your keycard in your pajama pocket, even though you know it’s not there.

“We can talk about it whenever you’re ready,” Dean says. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“You know, I honestly don’t even know if I want to talk to you,” you snap, turning to face him again. “And I’m not sure that there even is a way for you to make this up to me, Dean. This is so far beyond the realm of things that you could’ve done that I can’t even wrap my brain around it!”

You stomp back to the motel room door and yank on the handle. Predictably, it doesn’t budge, and you let out a shriek of frustration. Dean silently offers you his keycard, holding it by your hand though he stands just beyond your view. You snatch it from him and shove it into the slot above the handle. When the light turns green, you shove the door open and step inside, then slam it behind you again, leaving the Dean standing alone on the walkway.

Though you’d said you were going back to bed, you’re too riled up to sleep, so you grab your toiletries and head to the bathroom for your second shower of the day. Thankfully, this is the nicest motel you’ve had in a while. The water pressure may not be great, but the hot water lasts for a long time and there’s nothing suspicious growing anywhere in the bathroom. Once inside, you lock the door behind you and toss your stuff onto the vanity, ignoring it when it slides into the sink instead of staying on the countertop.

As you stand under the hot spray of the shower, you stare hard at the wall. You half-listen to the room, too, just in case Sam or Dean comes back in after you, but mostly you let yourself stew.

Dean’s a great guy. He’s an even better boyfriend, despite all his flaws; he’s attentive, kind, protective (to a fault), and he makes you laugh. He knows when to be gentle and when to leave things be, especially when you’re in a mood. You love him. That thought makes you frown harder, and you cross your arms over your bare chest. You love Dean, but he’s treated you so poorly that you can only doubt if he loves you in the same way. Surely someone couldn’t do something so horrid to someone they loved?

One of the boys knocks on the door and you ignore them. You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard them enter the room. When they knock again, you roll your eyes and drop your arms, then grab the conditioner.

“What?” you snap.

“Sam came back. We’re going out to get some food. Do you want your usual?” Dean asks.

Huffing, you squirt a handful of conditioner into your palm and close the bottle, and you practically slam it onto the shelf in the shower. It immediately slips off and clatters to the floor, narrowly missing your foot. You curse and leave it there.

“Y/N?” Dean asks again.

“Sure! Fine! Whatever, Dean! Get whatever you want for me, I don’t care!”

“Y/N—”

“Just leave me alone? Okay?”

There’s silence on the other side of the door, and you think for a second that Dean’s actually done what you’ve asked for the first time since the hunt, but then he asks,

“Do you need a break? From me?”

You pause, your hands frozen where they’ve been working the conditioner into your hair, and you stare at the shower curtain for a moment or two while you think over Dean’s words. 

“I don’t know,” you finally reply. “I’m angry, and I’m really fucking hurt. Do you know how exhausted I was, Dean? How worried I was that the second I stopped making sure you didn’t do something stupid, you’d get hurt or arrested? I didn’t shower after the hunt, and I’ve barely eaten anything.

“And when you came in here while I was showering earlier? I was so scared you’d do something that you couldn’t truly agree to. And then, for a minute, when you combed my hair, it was like everything was normal again. I guess it was normal, but I didn’t know that then, did I? And then, after a while, I thought you were doing it just to come onto me, and you played that up. You made me so uncomfortable, Dean, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop you from doing something if you were really dead set on having sex with me. If you’d really been cursed, you wouldn’t have been in your right mind to agree to anything, and I would’ve had to live with that thought if something had actually happened! I was so terrified of that, and yet the whole time you were just pretending! Like it was a game to you, or something!”

There’s a strangled noise from the other side of the door and you close your eyes, hands trembling. Dean doesn’t speak again for a minute. When there’s only silence, you start rinsing out your hair, and then you turn off the shower and grab your towel from the bar.

“I don’t know how to make it up to you,” Dean says, startling you as you reach for your comb. It’s exactly where you’d left it last night, after you’d thrown it aside. You stand on the cheap bath mat, holding the tiny plastic comb as you wait for Dean to continue.

“I probably never will, but I want to try. I know I’ve messed up, and I know I did horrible things. You have no idea how horrible I feel and how sick it makes me that I made you so uncomfortable. I should’ve stopped right away. I shouldn’t have even pretended to want that from you. If you can’t forgive me for what I did and how I made you feel, I’ll understand and I’ll leave you alone forever, but I love you, Y/N. I never meant for this to happen. I don’t know what got into me.”

“This isn’t like you, Dean,” you interject, quieter than before. You feel deflated after his speech. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he says, almost pleading with you, as if you have all the answers. You wish you did.

You lean sideways against the door. It’s cold against your shoulder and you hold the towel tighter, staring at your blurred reflection in the foggy mirror. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?” 

“I don’t know. I should’ve. My head’s messed up and I was afraid you wouldn’t react the way I needed you to.”

“It’s okay to feel scared when you talk about how you feel, but we’ve gotta be honest with each other if this is going to work. You have to be honest with the person you’re dating, no matter what. That’s a big thing, Dean.”

“I know.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

The two of you stand there in silence, each of you on opposite sides of the door. Finally, you straighten up and turn the handle. It unlocks automatically and you pull the door open to meet Dean’s eyes. He looks shocked that you’re facing him so soon, and though his eyes flicker down at the white towel you’re still wearing, he mostly just holds your gaze, waiting for you to speak first. His eyes are red and puffy. He’s been crying, and though he’d mentioned that Sam was back, the room is silent.

“This kind of thing can never happen again,” you tell him firmly. “If it does, I’m out. I’m telling Sam that, too, so that if you pull something like this again and then try to find me, he can stop you.”

Dean nods. His voice breaks as he replies, “That’s fair. You deserve to be with someone who’s good for you, even if it’s not me.”

“And we have to talk about how we’re feeling, even if it’s hard. Maybe we should come up with a plan for when you feel this way.” Dean nods again and you look down at the comb in your hands. You pause for a second to collect your thoughts. “Dean, I’m still angry with you, and I probably will be for at least a little while, but I’m also hurt that you felt you couldn’t talk to me. I know Sam probably is too, but I do understand how you feel. You’re not alone in this.”

“I know that now,” he softly answers.

You look up. “Do you?”

He nods. “I’m sorry,” Dean repeats.

“I know.” You look back at the comb, then up at him again. “You can start by combing out my hair and braiding it in those fancy braids you pretend not to know how to do.” You hold out the comb and when Dean opens his mouth to protest, you raise an eyebrow at him. “You wanna fix things? This is step one, Dean.”

He sighs and takes the comb, his shoulders slumped dramatically. There’s a hint of his normal self in his expression now. You step further into the bathroom to allow him room to stand behind you.

Dean’s hands are gentle as he begins to comb out your wet hair. You glance up at him in the mirror. He catches your eye almost right away, then smiles slightly. You smile back, just enough for him to see it before he focuses back on your hair, the first olive branch that you’ve extended him.

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[winchester-girl67]

Wild Hearts (Part 1)

Summary: Y/N tags along to a bonfire on the beach with her brother and his friends. She tries to fit in with them, but winds up finding more of a connection to the guy crashing the party. 

Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader 

Square: Age gap @spnfluffbingo Meet cute @spnaubingo “Are you stupid or stupid?” 

Word Count: 3,374 

Warnings: underage, age gap (reader is 16, Dean is 20 but closer to 21), underage drinking, mostly implied physical abuse, past injury (bruising/scars), language, slow burn, a little angst, arguing, maybe a little gaslighting, mutual pining, a kiss to the forehead, fluff 

A/N: Also written for @spnfluffbingo and @spnaubingo. 

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A/N #2: Masterlist summary and warnings have been updated. Please review before reading. 

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Your brother grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you back towards the party going on down the beach. "Stop being such a bitc-" 

"Ow! Quit it, jerk." You tried to shake your arm from his grasp but his fingers dug in, "You're hurting me." 

"Don't be such a baby," he growled, stopping far enough away from the bonfire so the crowd of his friends wouldn't overhear. There was a chill in the air and his friends were gathered closer around the flames now. "I told you, if you wanted to tag along you can't just wander off by yourself. Mom would have my ass if something happened to you on my watch." 

"Screw you, I'm not a baby. Let. Go." 

He finally did. 

"They're all ignoring me. I wanna go home." You said, pointing to the mean girls a ways away. 

"Well, I'm not taking you. I'm not ready to leave yet." He said, crossing his arms over his chest with a glare. 

You knew it was a mistake taking a ride from him in the first place, but you didn't have your own car. And you failed your driver's test over the last weekend. Fun way to spend your sixteenth birthday, with your brother mocking you the whole way home. 

"Then I'll walk or call mom to come get me." 

"No, you won't. Unless you want her to know that I was right and you are a baby." He stared you down, "Just have a drink and relax for a bit, maybe it'll loosen you up and people will want to talk to you." He glanced back at the busty blonde he'd been eyeing all night; the girl you knew he came here for. He'd only been following her around like a lost puppy all summer. She waved and gave him a little wink. "Stop being so selfish, Y/N, and maybe we'll get along for once." 

"I'm selfish?!" You scoffed, you'd only sat around watching the sunset and shuffling your feet in the sand for the past couple hours while he chatted up said blonde. His friends weren't the only ones excluding you. Not that you wanted to be in on that conversation, but you thought the night was going to go a little different. You thought it would be like the old days when things between you weren't so tense all the time. "Just leave me alone and go drool already."

"And you wonder why I never wanna hang out with you anymore." He snapped and stalked away, throwing his arm over the blonde's shoulders when he reached her. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight and you heard her giggle echo along the shoreline when he tickled her sides. 

Everyone liked your brother and you tried to be just like him when you were younger. You were only a year apart but it made a world of difference. You didn't even mind wearing his hand-me-downs until you got to high school and got made fun of for it. But you made your peace with it now, you'd always be more of a tomboy and you couldn't be anyone but yourself. Graphic tees, jeans and sneakers were the epitome of comfort and that's what you wore now while the mean girls had skimpy dresses and tank tops that did nothing against the cold breeze that wafted in from over the open water. 

But a drink might help. 

The beer cooler was up the beach from the horny seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, but you didn't have to pass them to fish one out from melted ice. You cracked it open and took a sip, souring your face instantly and spitting it out onto the sand. 

You heard someone chuckle and whipped around. A tall guy with shadows cast on his face stood a few feet away, watching you. You glanced down to the bottle in your hand, then back at him. He followed your eyes, his expression turning stoic before you could read him. 

"What?" You asked. 

"It's kind of an acquired taste." He nodded towards the bottle in your hand and you took another sip, choking it down to prove him wrong. He wasn't wrong. Beer was gross. "Are you okay?" 

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" 

He cocked his head towards your brother who was now chasing the blonde down towards the shoreline. You didn't think they'd go in, since it was nearly winter and the water was freezing this time of year. But he teased her and grabbed her like he was going to drag her out into the icy depths. 

"Oh. Yeah, he's just an asshole is all and I needed a drink." You explained, raising the beer to your lips for a third sip. 

You wanted him to leave already so you could dump the rest out in the bushes. 

"Same," he nodded and chugged the rest of his own beer. "He shouldn't treat you like that, though." 

You didn't think he overheard but he'd certainly seen the two of you, "He's my brother, that's what brothers do." 

You toyed with the label on your beer, peeling it back from the glass. 

"No, it's not." 

He stepped forward, setting his empty bottle in the bin next to the cooler. The light of the bonfire catching his features enough for you to finally see him. The first thing you noticed was that he was not a friend of your brother's. He was older, too, though you couldn't tell by how much. 

He was a party crasher. Probably here for the free beer. 

"Whatever. It's not like he hits me, he just gets mad and pushes me around a little." You said, stepping back a foot when the guy took another step towards you. 

"He shouldn't. That's called abuse." 

"Not when I do the same to him. Then it's called sibling rivalry." 

"I know abuse when I see it." His voice lowered as he shoved his hands in his pockets. His words held a story he wasn't telling and you didn't ask. 

You eyed him again. Between the full moon and the light of the fire you noted a few details that jumped out at you. He wasn't bad looking, actually kind of cute. His eyes held a world's worth of emotion as if he vaulted it up inside himself and swallowed the key. Days old bruising covered the left side of his face, particularly around his jaw, cheekbone, and eye. And he intermittently sucked on the split in his bottom lip that had reopened, probably from when he first smiled at you. 

"Well, your story isn't mine." You said, having had enough of this stranger who thinks he knows your life at a glance. He sighed and looked away, steeling his jaw and rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes cast down to his stomach when his shirt lifted and your heart sank at the sight. A thick scar stretched up his torso from his hip and disappeared beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, peeking back out around his collarbone where the neck hole had been worn loose. Someone had hurt him, badly; you thought that must've been why he was so conscious towards abuse. "Sorry, I didn't know-" 

"Do you wanna go for a walk?" He asked, meeting your eyes and taking another step forward. 

You didn't back away this time, though he was still a good five feet away at least. 

"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, taking off with some judgy guy I just met and wandering down a dark secluded beach alone with him. Real smart. Maybe wait until I've had a couple drinks first, then try again." You rolled your eyes making him laugh silently. 

"I don't hurt women. Ever." He said as if it was a law of his own. 

"What about men?" 

"Depends," he shrugged. 

"On?"

"I've never started a fight in my life." He said, answering a question you didn't ask rather than the one you did. 

"Somehow I don't believe you." You squinted up at him, trying to read him. 

"Then why haven't you walked away yet?" He looked at the party continuing around the bonfire and then back at you. "You don't wanna be here any more than I do, so let me show you something."

"I swear if that something is your-" 

He raised his hands from his pockets and smiled, "I promise it's not. You'll like this." 

"You get five minutes and I'm counting. Also, I'm a black belt so don't even think about trying anything." You lied, although he didn't strike you as the violent type despite the evidence on his face and stomach. 

You scanned the beach for your brother, spotting him still engrossed with the blonde, so you knew he wouldn't notice any time soon if you'd left without causing a scene. You dumped your nearly full beer out onto the sand and set it in the bin with the other empty bottles. Ignoring the knowing smirk from the party crasher as you did so. 

"Beer is kind of gross." 

"Yeah, it is." He chuckled, "but it's cheap and gets the job done." 

"I don't see the appeal," you said, following in stride with him down the beach. The sand beneath your sneakers making it hard to keep up with his long legs. "Can you walk slower?" 

"Sorry," he slowed his pace and you easily caught up. "Drink a bit more than a couple of sips next time and you will." 

"I'd rather waste the calories on chocolate, thank you." 

He laughed silently again and sucked the split in his lip, "What's your name?" 

"Uh, Y/N, you?" 

"Dean." He smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets again. "So, how come I haven't seen you around here before, Y/N?" 

"We just moved here," you said, not wanting to explain how you didn't exactly get out much and explore the town over the summer. 

"Then you haven't been to the pier?" He asked, cocking his head towards the end of the beach where you were headed. 

It wasn't so much a pier as it was a small row of shops and a parking lot. Some storefronts were still lit up against the darkened sky and a lighthouse sat on the rocks near the shore. The light at the top swung around and around over the jagged rocks reaching into the water. 

"Seriously? You wanted to show me a lighthouse? That's not exactly special. Lighthouses are a dime a dozen around here, if you haven't noticed." You said a little disappointed and glancing back at the party. 

The bonfire merely a speck amongst the stars along the beach now. If you accounted for the walk back it would definitely stretch over the five minutes you'd promised him and you stopped walking. 

Dean noticed when you fell behind and turned to you. He laughed a little and smiled, "That's not where we're going." 

He reached out to you and grabbed your hand, tugging you gently until you laughed and skipped a step. He was troubled, that was for sure, but you didn't have a reason not to trust him. Not that trust should be given easily without question; but still, you welcomed the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours as he led you across the parking lot and up to one of the shops. 

"Ice cream," you stared up at the sign before Dean pulled you into the store. 

"Mhm," he licked his lips, guiding you up to the display of tubs sitting in the freezer and separating you from the older blonde woman behind the counter. 

She nodded to Dean like she knew him and he smiled back, "Hey, Donna." She didn't react at all to the bruises on his face and your mind started to wander. 

"I was starting to think I wasn't gonna see ya before closing," she said, retying her pink apron as if she was getting ready to close up for the night. 

"You know me better than that," he feigned hurt and wrapped an arm over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. 

You scanned over the flavours, some so bright you wondered if it was possible to taste a colour. "Isn't it kinda cold for ice cream?"

"Never," Dean shook his head like you'd said something foolish. "These shops are seasonal and it's the last night they're open until they close for the winter. You'll have to wait at least four months before you get this again. And trust me, once you try it, winter will feel like an eternity for your tastebuds." 

You smiled, you couldn't argue with that logic, "What flavour should I get?" You asked, assuming he'd probably have tried them all by the looks of it. 

"My favourite is the mocha with all the little chocolate pieces. It's basic, I know, but classic." He pointed to a tub filled with dark brown speckled ice cream. 

"Two mochas, please." You said. 

"Sure thing," Donna said and scooped you out a couple of cups. 

Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze before giving you some space to enjoy your ice cream.  

He kept eyeing you as you took your first bite, then your second, "And?"

"Okay, you're right. It's fudging amazing! Can we get more?" You asked, glancing back at the shop from where you sat outside on a bench under a streetlamp. 

"You still have a whole cup.” He barked out a laugh and you shovelled a few spoonfuls into your mouth. 

A chilled throb wracked through your brain and you paused mid-bite to squeeze your eyes shut and fan at your frozen mouth. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth and just as the feeling started to ebb away you felt hot, sticky lips lay flush against your forehead. Dean’s hand held the back of your head and you blinked open your eyes, feeling warm and fuzzy. 

"Better? My mom used to do that for me when I was a kid. Always seemed to help." He said and tilted his head to the side. 

You weren't sure if it was what he did or the shock of the unexpectedness of it, but it dulled the pain. He hadn't backed up an inch and you could see the gold flecks in his green eyes under the streetlamp. Framed by the yellow edges and purple patches of the bruising next to his left eye. His hair was sandy brown and short but still fell over his forehead and brushed the tips of his ears. And freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose on pale skin. He was pretty cute and different from most of the boys you usually met. 

You nodded and blushed, sneaking another spoonful of mocha ice cream between your lips. He laughed silently and leaned back, picking back up his own cup of ice cream from the bench next to him and digging in. 

"You're strange and kinda wonderful." You said around a bite full, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth when the brain-freeze threatened to come back. 

"That's oddly the nicest thing someone's said to me in a very long time." He took a bite and licked his spoon clean. 

"That makes me sad." 

"Makes me happy," he mumbled and smiled. 

"Like I said, strange." 

"Because you're so cool and composed, right?" He's teased, pointing with his spoon. 

"I'm a delight and you know it. That's why you just had to get me away from all those other guys down on the beach. Before they had the chance to notice too, of course." You joked, brushing your hair back when the breeze carried it away. 

"You caught me, I'm a sucker for a girl who tries to bite my head off with one wrong look." 

"You make me sound like a praying mantis." 

"In that case, I guess I'm safe as long as we don't have sex." You both frowned. "Sorry, that was awkward, I swear it sounded funnier in my head. Because you know they only eat their mate after-uh-mating..." He stuck his spoon in his ice cream and stirred until it was smooth like soup, "What?"

"You're blushing," you said, "it's cute." You liked being able to do that to him. "But you should know I'm sixteen." 

"Wait. What?" He looked like you'd just punched him in the gut. "But you were drinking." 

"When did you have your first beer?" 

He thought to himself for a moment, clearly he had been younger than you; then he abandoned his ice cream on the bench beside him. “What about your friends?” 

"Some are eighteen. But most are seventeen, same as my brother, they're his friends." You explained. "Don't ask me how they got the beer." You attempted to lighten the mood but he just stared down at his hands, rubbing at the cuts in his knuckles. "How old are you?" 

“Too old for you,” he shook his head and picked at one of the scabs. “Twenty-one in January.” 

So essentially there was a five year age gap between you. It wouldn’t be a big deal, if only you were older; but for now it didn’t mean you couldn’t be friends. Your gut twisted at the thought of never seeing him again and you could use a friend; and it looked like he could, too. 

Your cell rang and you fished it from your back pocket. Your brother's name sprawled over the screen. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes, then answered, "What do you want?"

"Are you stupid or stupid? Where the fuck did you go?!" He shouted and you were sure Dean could hear, so you turned down the volume on your phone. 

"For a walk." 

"We're leaving." 

That meant the blonde was tagging along, either hitching a ride home with you or your brother was just going to drop you off at home before taking her to park somewhere and... -You didn't want to think about it. Your brother, like that. Gross. 

"Maybe I don't wanna leave yet. I made a friend." Dean mirrored your smile. 

"Find your own way home then..." he grumbled a few choice words and hung up. Asshole.

"Any chance you have a car?" You asked, silencing your phone and shoving it back into your pocket. "I need a ride." 

"Uh- no. But I know where we can get one." Dean said as he checked the time on his wrist. You fingered your ice cream and booped him on the nose. "What was that for?" He laughed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 

You shrugged, "Just trying to lighten the mood. You look so sad," you raised his chin with your fingers, "Chin up, Dean." 

"Did you mean that?" He asked. 

You lowered your hand to rest on the bench between you, "Mean what?"

"That we're friends," he asked, chewing on the split in his lip. At this rate you didn't think it would ever heal over. "I mean, that we can be friends." 

"Uh-huh, unless you don't wanna be my friend." You nodded and searched his eyes, some kind of hurt flashing through them. 

"I think that's all we can be. At least, until you have a couple more birthdays." 

Your typical luck, the one guy you could see yourself interested in and he's too old. It was only nearly five years, sure, but you were only sixteen and he'd probably had a lot more experience that you couldn't compare to. But he was cute. 

Window shopping couldn't hurt right, until you had the means to buy. 

"I can wait," you teased and laughed. "But you look like you could use a friend. And I got your back, since I kind of owe you one for introducing me to this ice cream." 

"You don't owe me anything, Y/N." 

You shivered when the ice cream was gone and Dean stripped out of his hoodie, draping it over your shoulders as you walked along the side of the road towards his house. He apparently didn't live far away and if his father was home, he could 'borrow' his car to give you a ride. He actually used air quotes when he said borrow though, so you were a little skeptical. 

_________________________

Part 2

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28

SPN: @hobby27

Wild Hearts: @justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @globetrotter28

#spnfluffbingo2022 #spnaubingo #au!dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x #spn fanfic #dean winchester #dean x #au!dean winchester #supernatural reader insert

[uncouth-the-fifth]

(you are a) natural, baby - p.2

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Virgin!Sam Winchester/AFAB!Reader (vaguely s1 or 2) Tags/Warnings: sex in the Impala, oral sex (f receiving), whiny/submissive Sam (with hints of the opposite), Sam being a pussy fiend, you get it 💅 Word Count: 16,202. Notes: part two, aka: THE GOOD STUFF. this bad boy has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. i thought it would be a fun little Halloween present while I'm between other projects :) pure sam goodness ahead, chaps ✨ enjoy! Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

"Every time you go down on me," his hungry, sultry gaze devoured yours, "I get to practice on you, too."

You adjusted your clammy hold around his neck, reminded of the emptiness between your legs. “Every time?”

“Every time,” Sam nodded. “But… mostly… other times, too. Any time. That I want. If you want, of course.”

You panted. “Yeah. A-anytime,” you echoed.

“S’ gonna be… a lot,” Sam warned. His chin dipped, stealing an open-mouthed, burning kiss against your quaking pulse. The sound his mouth made against your flesh was sloppy and hot in ways that would’ve destroyed anyone, but you most of all. “M’ not a quick study, ____. I’m gonna have to… take my time with you.”

“Uh-huh,” you squeaked.

Sam laved his tongue—which was ridiculously, pussy-wettingly broad—in one passionate drag from your collarbones to the center of your throat. “…I’ll have t’ be thorough. You know I only do things the right way, baby.”

Mindless, you squeezed your eyes shut. “I know y’ do,” you whined.

“You might have to coach me.” Sam pressed further, plotting open-mouthed kisses all over your pliant neck, just to make it clear the kind of things that tongue could do. “I wanna do it good for you…”

If you had the wherewithal to step back, you should’ve known that Sam was a quick study. A ridiculously quick study, since you’d had him under your spell for a little under an hour and he was already echoing back all the filthy things you’d said to him. He did learn fast. These next parts… he’d learn these very fast, too, even if you couldn’t keep up. The thought thrilled you. For once, a partner that could match you, surpass you. Sam being that partner… God. It wouldn’t have mattered if Sam was good—honest to God, it wouldn’t have. He could be the shittest partner on the planet, and you would still be here. But he wasn’t. What heroic, selfless feat had you accomplished to get this kind of good karma? To have Sam, and selfishly, for him to want you too?

Sam grinned up at you, feeling that same streak of luckiness. His accent was laden with sex, and hearing it in Sam’s voice—your best friend since childhood—when your head was (mostly) clear made you flush like a schoolgirl. It was every stupid high school fantasy come to life. Like the hot professor you had a crush on had asked to see you after class, but instead of boring homework talk, Sam had bent you over his desk and shoved his hands up your skirt like you wanted him to.

“Can you show me, ___?” Sam tilted his head until your noses were nudging, drawling into the immediate heat of your mouth, “How to make you feel good?”

You were so pumped full of arousal that you could hardly talk. You were aware again that you were topless, since the swell of your chest surged up against Sam’s, like the rest of you. He might’ve palmed you there if it wouldn’t mean peeling you off him, but it was clear that was all Sam could ask for—the shivering shape of you melted entirely against him. That was exactly the prize he’d carved out for himself. The bulb of Sam’s nose was smushed into your cheek and your breath mixed in the hair’s width between your mouths, which waited half open. Sam’s fingers sloped into the curve of your lower back, then up around your hips, tracing your waistband again and again. Jesus, he wanted it.

“You sure you’re a virgin?” You managed, laughing between pants.

Sam nodded, less bashful than he’d been when you’d poked him with that word before. He repeated himself: “But… you’ll show me?”

He was serious. Your legs were shaking without shame now, each tremor pouring straight into your helplessly wet core like you were sitting on a washing machine on its highest setting. You were sure you’d never been wetter in your entire life. It had left your underwear entirely, coating your inner thighs. Sam’s gaze never left yours if he could avoid it, yet you could tell that every fiber of his being was hyper-focussed on that space.

You still couldn’t believe your luck. You leaned back, just enough to get a read on Sam with your eyes instead of your hands, and tested.

“You really want this?” You resisted for his sake. “You don’t need t’ feel pressured or anything like that, okay? This is your first time. It should be about you. If you’re not 100%...”

Sam dipped his head in thought. When he came back up, his brow was set. “I want to try… And this is our first time.”

Your head shook of its own accord, mystified. You brushed your fingers over one of Sam’s dimples and downward, just feeling him, and the soft, yielding skin of your lover’s face. He gazed at you with big puppy eyes, mumbling, “How many times s’ somebody done this for you?”

“A couple,” you answered, purposefully bland. “Mostly, y’know, as a lead up to the big part.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. The big part. Like that,” he gestured at his lap, “wasn’t the big part. Right.”

You allowed yourself to be smug. “I told you, baby. No complaints.”

Sam kept looking at you with those big, pretty eyes, and with each passing second you felt more like an ice cube in a bowl of hot soup, dissolving completely and effortlessly into him. He nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

You let that request sizzle comfortably under your skin for a moment, before taking Sam’s face between your thumbs and greeting him with a sweet kiss. A deep, pleasured sound seeped out of him, and you deserved some kind of reward for managing to peel yourself off Sam just as he was humming in your ear like that. 

Maybe you're giving yourself away when you giddily order, “Let’s go to the backseat, huh?”

You helped Sam get his jeans back around his waist. This was accomplished with a generous amount of petting, from Sam and from you, squeezing him through his briefs and kissing him a little meaner than you should’ve. Now that you were permitted to touch him, nothing could stop you.

When you bend below the seat to pull the front bench forward, pouring heat across Sam’s lap and bringing your face close enough to nuzzle his dick, he flashes you a look that’s written all over with the bossy Sam you remember. 

Technically you could stay up front, but there were fewer controls to collide with and more space in the back seat. You enjoyed the thought of fucking Sam in the back of the Impala, too… The whole car rocking, the glass fogging up… Dean was going to kill you if he ever found out. A nonsensical part of your mind that had been spoiled too much today almost wanted Dean to know, just so everyone would. Just so it’d be in the air that Sam’s virginity had been taken, and you had been the one to do it.

“Think you can climb over?” You cleared your throat.

Sam waved for you to go first. You weren’t halfway over the bench, sweat-slick and nude but for petal-thin underwear, when Sam darted out the passenger’s side—into the furious rainstorm. Your back hadn’t even hit the other seat by the time Sam was back in the car, but still. The door slammed behind him, softening the sound of the rain. You shuffled up onto your elbows, cursing him, but Sam didn’t care one bit. Just two seconds outside had soaked him from head to toe. Rainwater twisted in his bangs and slithered in long lines down his back, dotting his shoulders. You hadn’t been too diligent putting his pants back on, so the droplets rolled over his hips and into the low waistband of his jeans too. You maneuvered so you were sitting on your calves in the back seat, and Sam paralleled you, wild and determined. He took up half the backseat with his legs alone.

“Don’t give me that look. It was faster,” he mumbled, smiling.

You played annoyed, but then Sam slithered in and kissed you again, greedy and desperate: conditions impossible to pretend in. You give up on scolding him. Getting your arms around his shoulders, you dragged yourself into his lap and struggled a bit on his slippery skin. He helps you the rest of the way. Sam goes the extra mile, too, putting all of your weight on his thighs and rolling his hips up. A little shock of pressure meets you once you’re seated on him.

“Sam,” you yelped.

“You like that?”

He asked as if you weren’t white-knuckling the meat of his shoulders, but you nodded anyway. Throatily, you managed, “Keep going.”

Sam does as told, stirring his bulge up between your legs, making your head loll back until your throat is vertical and you’re purring like a new sportscar. Tortured pleasure throbs up your body. After almost an hour of teasing, of getting off just watching him, even the smallest contact is explosive. You’re honest-to-god quivering. You huffed out deep, rattling breaths and kissed him until your lungs burned. He yields for you—he always does—letting your tongue lick hot through his parted lips. You want him like nothing else. Between your legs, yes, but kissing is closer and you throb every time he surges up in response. Sam is nothing but pretty, senseless noises. It devours you from the inside, how precious and perfect and everything he is, your Sam. Kissing him kickstarts a chemical reaction in your body unlike anything else you’ve ever felt before, soft and musical, like a field of a million fireflies blinking in a hundred ways at night. You rock your body into his and Sam responds every time, the push and pull of your hips rolling to a hypnotic tempo. The next time you withdraw from him to breathe, you stroke his face in both hands, your baby, and kiss him all over until he’s sick of you, kissing his cheek, his chin, his dimples, his jaw, his brow.

Sam had to close both eyes to protect them. “_____,” he whined.

“Quit complainin’,” you drawled, grinning, “let me be obsessed with you.”

Sam squinted, and even in the dark you could see how blown his pupils were. He smiled. “You gonna start kissing up my arm, now? Like in the movies?”

You, of course, took this as a request.

“Oh, cara mia… ”

Collecting his hand in yours, you turned inwards and pushed a deep, lingering kiss into Sam’s palm, then his wrist, looking up at him through your lashes after each devoted press. By the time you were in the middle of his forearm he was sucking in air through his teeth. He’d been playing, but it seemed to be really riling him. You gleamed with delight. You surged one into the center of his elbow, then his warm bicep and up, across his rain-slick shoulder and all the moles there. Sam’s chest heaved. The taut muscles in his arm twitched after each touch, sensitive after so much. Maybe you cheated a bit, skipping straight to his neck after that, but it was a miracle you’d held out any longer. You twisted and plotted open-mouthed, possessive, fervored kisses all over Sam’s throat.

“Oh god,” Sam shudders. His head thudded against the seat. “____. Please.”

The salty tang of sweat and the earthy touch of rain in his taste turned on your lewdest instincts, and all you wanted was Sam’s fingers on you. Inside you. Some part of him, any part of him. Your core blazed with an empty, bottomless feeling. You’d put yourself aside to give your all for Sam, but now the pounding neediness of your arousal was too strong to ignore.

You captured Sam by the wrists and brought his hold over your breasts, moaning, “Touch me.”

Sam gave you a wild look. His warm, huge hands sloped around your ribs and tentatively slid up to cup your tits in both palms. It wasn’t a forceful examination. It’s Sam, greedy and turned on, sure, but he’s nothing but gentle with you, squeezing you feather-light and testing the feel of you in his palms.

“I wanna—” Sam groans, going shy, “I wanna bite you. Can I bite you? Not hard, o-or—”

You're grinning before he can finish. “Fuck yeah.”

Sam goes for the closest thing, your jaw, breathing loud and shaky. Whatever it is about the sound that squeaks out of you unlocks some primal urge in him. Sam bites the meat of your shoulder, using just enough teeth to leave a mark. The stinging pressure is soothed immediately by his hot soft tongue in starved little licks. Sam's learned to just take—both of your tits are squeezed in big, calloused Kansas hands as you're nibbled on.

While you’re sucking new red patches into Sam’s spit-soaked throat, he gives himself one last second to soak in the feel of it before he nudges you away.

“Enough. It’s your—god, s’ your turn,” he insists. “C’mon. Let’s get these off. Please.”

Sam pets at your underwear. Wiping the spit from your chin, you tilted back in Sam’s lap, wincing at even that pressure, and thought. “Al-alright. But… but maybe I should start on my back.”

He pouted. “I wanted to—”

“I know,” you shushed, and grinned filthily over his ridiculousness. “I’ll sit on your face, I promise. But it’ll be better if we start this way, okay? You need to crawl before you can walk here, Sammy.”

You expected Sam to be stubborn as usual, since he insisted on proving himself with everything else. Your resolve was so weak-kneed for him that you probably would’ve let him. It was Sam, begging through sex-swollen lips to just let him fuck you with his mouth, which any reasonable person would’ve crumbled for. And your throbbing, neglected core made you more than reasonable. Instead, Sam went out of his way to surprise you for tonight's hundredth time. He wasn’t always stubborn. He could beg for you to suck his dick like no one else. And, he would forever be keeping you on your toes.

Sam kept you sturdy with both unreasonably huge hands clamped around your hips. Then, he turned up onto his knees, dunking you out of his lap and back onto the seat just hard enough to make you bounce. The Impala creaked in protest. When your spine was flat to the black leather, Sam slithered over you and uttered into your ear, sexy and starved:

“It’s Sam.”

You couldn’t help the grin that transformed your face. Or the senseless, merciless throbbing in your panties. Your hair was a mess around your head (or in general) because of him, and with how dark your eyes were, you must’ve looked a few steps away from rabid. Sam did; he panted above you, his seething, ravenous body hanging over yours like an predator over a prey animal. From this angle, the view of him was fucking spectacular. Sam was a wall of taut, sloping muscle covered in all these pretty little freckles. An old pair of jeans hung uselessly on his hips, open at the zipper around an ardent hard-on. Since all of that apparently wasn’t enough, your center was flush right up against it, so when Sam leans forward you feel—all of it, big and warm and iron-hard for you. Just fuck me already, you almost groaned.

You’d barely thought about your own body since Sam’s had captivated you so much, but it was clear he was just as consumed by you. Mouth watering, Sam dropped his hands to frame your ribcage and just looked at you, awed and enamored with what he was seeing. Who he was looking at.

You gazed up at him the exact same way, biting down a mean grin. “Sam, huh.”

He shot you a dark look, which was just hilarious, since he was still looking at you for guidance.

You reached up and slid your fingers into Sam’s damp, lush bangs, stroking them away from the gleaming eyes you loved. You teased, “That’s what you want me to call you when you eat me out, baby? Sam?”

Sam’s lids slid closed. You brushed over his brow with your thumb, maybe enjoying torturing him a bit too much for your own good. His silhouette snaked up to hang over you, and in the dark Sam oozed affection and love.

“My Sam?” You murmured, “That’s what you want me to scream, huh? When you get that pretty mouth between my legs?” 

A groan bubbled up from his chest, and Sam poured it into the valley between your breasts. In it was the result of more than an hour’s worth of ruthless, unsatiated teasing, plus at least twelve years spent with a painful crush on you. Before Sam did anything else, he removed his worst enemy from the equation. The skimpy black underwear you had worn were on you and then they weren’t. You opened your mouth to rib him for his haste and Sam was already there, kissing you into the seat so furiously the springs squealed. You squealed too, arching up and finding a broad, heated body layered over your own. The untouched backseat was freezing cold, which was just another reason to soak into Sam and Sam’s touch. Now entirely nude, it was painfully obvious how soaking wet you were. You should’ve been lightheaded with how much slick your body was making for Sam.

“S’ what you’re gonna be screamin’ when I make you cum,” he dared.

You did your best not to let the cartoon hearts floating around your head seem too obvious. “Show me.”

Sam hovered over you then, lips parted and eyes shining. “How do I start?”

“Okay, cowboy,” You adjusted yourself on your back, forgetting to tamp down the euphoric, thrilled energy that had already put you on cloud nine just laying there. You’d tried to put a lot of your own feelings aside for Sam, but now that he wanted them you could only willingly hand them over. “When you’re… doing this for somebody, you should—”

“No, no,” Sam shook his head. His bangs tickled your forehead. “I’m not doing this for somebody, I’m doing this for you.” Wetting his lips, he said, “Talk like it’s for you. Please.”

Your blush was not a horny blush or a drunk one, but a result of your stupid, inescapable crush on him. Holy hell. You might’ve been smiling. “...Okay. Sam. To start, just… kiss me all over. Anywhere you want. You don't always have ta’, but it's the warm-up before the—”

“—other big part?” Sam finished.

You nodded as casually as you could. “Yup.”

Sam raised a dry eyebrow. “Want me to kiss you like you kissed me?”

“You like me that much?” You joked.

Sam’s head tilted, eyes alight. “Oh, mon cher… M’ crazy about you.”

So maybe the two of you had watched too much Addams Family as kids, but if this was the result, you couldn’t mind if you tried. Your pounding heart could’ve burst, you loved him so much.

Sam proved what he said. Bent over you, he lingered for a moment, trying to decide where to start. He ended up in his new favorite place. Drinking you in with low eyes, Sam tipped your faces together and met you with a surging, devouring kiss. Instead of the possessive pawing or the filthy groping you had expected, Sam dragged just his fingertips over the slopes of your curves. The gentleness of it somehow gushed with intensity, so just the slightest touch from him had you hissing with want. His fingers were calloused. They pet from the dip of your collarbones all the way down to your belly button in the most sexually agonizing minute of your life, each inch of flesh enjoyed to the absolute fullest. You rolled your hips up, hoping and praying that he’d drag those fingers further, but Sam didn’t. Again: a quick study.

One long finger tapped the softest part of your belly. “...Can I bite you here?”

“Sammy,” you felt your eyes glaze with desire. “You can do anything you want to me.”

The line he’d drawn on your chest tingled hard enough to send every hair on your body on end, so Sam’s mouth—that hot, wet, gorgeous mouth, made to be between a woman’s legs—was a million times more intense. Sam took his time. He got comfortable, urging your thighs apart with his hips, then dutifully bent to kiss your collarbone. Those maddening hands traced down your ribs, then your belly. He applied just enough pressure to make lines in sand. Sam kissed and caressed you like he was sculpting you right there in the car, squeezing your clay-malleable body for its shape. Again, his soft seeping kisses were improved by needy bites.

You knew that you probably shouldn’t compare, but Sam was… Sam was leaps and bounds more passionate than any other partner you’d ever had. This confirmed it: you were madly in love with him, movie-in-love with him, which might’ve made you a bit biased, but it was true. Sam was fucking awesome. He felt fucking awesome. His soft lips seared down the center seam of your ribs with intent, smushing his nose and chin into your breasts, your belly, licking wide stripes over each hollow and nuzzling his face into you. Other men had done something similar, but none of them were him. So none of them had felt nearly as mind-whiting. Maybe it was because Sam had never done this before, but there was something different in how he went about touching. It wasn’t exactly methodical. He was trying to do a good job, but more than that he was trying to juice some real pleasure out of you. For Sam, the act of eating you out wasn’t an obligation. It was a damn pleasure.

You weren’t sure if you believed all the stuff they said about true love, but man, you hoped it would feel like the first time every time with him. Like it did now.

Sam shuffled forward to give the underside of your chin a brief peck, then turned both his hands onto your tits, kneading and appreciating them until you were making the same noises he’d been making earlier. You're drooling like a camgirl when Sam nuzzles his face between them. His eyes flick up to you once, turning audience into performer, and you're left wriggling and bucking when Sam bites the underside of your breast, crazed with an endless appetite for your skin. He really is a biter.

“So soft,” Sam husked. His eyes flicked up at you from below his bangs, instantly making you clench.

Your laugh tinkled like sleighbells. Your whole body blazed with light and energy in ways you didn’t know you could feel, all of it filling you in surging, boundless waves. And every bit of your reactions were so honest. It made you realize just how often you’d lied during sex, before. You ramped up the little pornographic sounds you thought boys liked, bucked when expected, and closed your eyes more. Sam coaxed those whiny little noises from you anyway. With his face smushed into your breasts and those fawn-brown eyes just craving you, you closing yours would be the dumbest missed opportunity of all time.

“Talk to me,” you gasped. “I love it when you— ah .”

“You’re beautiful,” Sam gushed, like he’d been waiting for permission. He gave your left breast one last kiss, then started to crawl down your body in earnest, shocking your system with anticipation. “So damn pretty. And so soft … Losin’ my damn mind, you’re so good, ____… Gonna fuck you with my mouth. Gonna fuck you so good.”

You whimpered, “Yeah, baby?”

He nodded messily. “Mhm. I’ve thought about it,” he sucked saliva back through his teeth, closing his eyes just to revel in the mounting excitement of it, “all day.”

Then Sam’s plush, wet lips pressed open-mouthed into your stomach, kissing your belly button then the skin below, bumping his teeth on you, making you writhe and mewl. He made all these desperate keening sounds into your flesh as he went. Coupled with his panting and his lips puckering and popping as he kissed you, you knew you were fucking done for. The second that tongue laved over you for the first time you’d be three miles over the edge already.

Now that he was so close to where you wanted, you got your fingers in Sam’s luscious hair and tried to reign yourself back. You were embarrassingly close and Sam hadn’t even kissed you there yet. The space between your legs was so desperate it was sore , this strange, hollow soreness that craved something thick to fill it end-to-end. It was damn evil. You didn’t have to rely on fantasy anymore when it came to what could fill you, but you resisted the urge, knowing exactly what it would do to you. One too-intense thought about Sam’s dick… his huge, filling cock, which had felt so good puffing out your cheeks… inside you, scratching that itch… satisfying that soreness in one great thrust… or a dozen… and you might die. You had to hold out. But Sam Winchester was about to eat you alive, so you stood absolutely no chance.

He waited for his next order. Sam must’ve been truly intent on destroying your psyche, since he scraped his nails around your hips and ass as he did. You couldn’t drag your eyes away from his face. Soft, hazel and mouth-frothingly ravenous, Sam’s gaze raked over you in long and possessive drags.

You suppressed the instinct to squirm with Sam watching you like that, directing, “Spread my legs more, then get them where you’re comfortable.”

He was listening before you’d even finished your sentence, bracing two man-paws over the swell of your thighs and pressing them apart. Wetness cloyed just inches away from his fingers. 

“God,” Sam sighed at the sight. He sounded awed, not fully believing his own influence over you: “You’re really, really wet. This whole time…”

You cursed with him, hissing at the freezing air on your exposed pussy. Sam tilted closer and closer to you, drawn in like a magnet, until his hot breath was fanning deliciously close to your core. You choked down a second hiss, wetting your grinning lips, “Yeah. I’ve been half-soaked since this afternoon.”

Sam’s eyes lit up with his scoff, delighted yet sympathetic. “Why? That’s almost half a day.”

“At the laundromat,” you confessed, “n’ we were washin’ everything… you just had that stupid thin t-shirt on and your jeans were so low I knew you weren’t wearing anything under em’… I wanted you to fuck me so bad , Sam, right then and there on the machines. Drag down my leggings and just wail on me…”

Sam’s patchy blush returned in full force. He ducked his head, huffed a breath in disbelief, and pretended he wasn’t entertaining the idea just as thoroughly. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you aren’t?” You snickered. You flopped backward, hair splayed out behind you and your hands lounging beside your face. “You can’t share a bed with me without practically shoving my hands down your pants, Sammy.”

“It was under my shirt,” he corrected, pinching the meat of your thigh where it was hooked around his. “And—it’s Sam .”

Even that felt shamefully good. You ground into the touch and played up an erotic moan for him, and of course, grinned like an asshole the whole time. “Mmmn, Sam . You don’t know what it does t’ me when you get all demanding.”

Sam dragged in a deep, sucking breath through his nose that almost failed to keep his restraint in check. His palm passed over his bulge in thought, instantly loading you with a truckload of adrenaline. Jesus—like a dog with the dinner bell. Instead of giving up and drilling you into the seats like a part of you wanted right now , Sam’s hands nudged your thighs apart again, patient, and spread your pussy open with his thumbs.

“Jesus fuck , Sam,” you choked.

“You’re so pretty down here.” Sam sounded amused. He makes pretty sound like purty .

“Thank you,” you panted, and somehow kept yourself from shoving Sam’s face where he was staring. “Okay. Okay. When you’re… doing this for a girl—” Sam’s eyebrow raised. “When you’re eating me out, there’s a couple places where it’s gonna feel really good. Like really good. That’s where you need to aim. I know all the tricks, so listen closely.”

Sam nodded, 100% serious. Because of course he was. Your chest felt like it was stuffed full of whizzing sparklers when you held eye-contact, and they went off all at once when Sam neared his face to your sobbing core. Your breath stuttered in your lungs. You realized you couldn’t explain it well enough with words alone, so you brought your hand off the seat and slid it between your legs. A pleased sound jumped out of Sam’s throat. And shit, did all that attention—your finger sliding over yourself, Sam’s thumbs parting you for him to see, and his focus rapt on your cunt—feel fucking great .

Wetting your lips and bracing yourself, you shyly found Sam’s thumb and pressed the blunt of it against your clit. “Right— oh , right here,” you panted.

You guided him around each part, explaining to him through clenched teeth and a little bit of humor. Sam was nothing but a devout student. You couldn’t lie to yourself: it drove you fucking insane, how dedicated Sam was to knowing how to make you feel good. It was so strange but so him—his brow furrowed and his eyes sharpened the way they always did when he was truly absorbing something, listening to you walk him through licking you open. He hung on your every word, storing the knowledge beside his laundry list of demonic omens or hexbag herbs. You were crazy for him. He was crazy.

“...and brace your hand right here when you’re ready.” You modeled for him where to place his palm, right on the height of your pelvic bone. “I might wiggle around, so you might have to—”

Sam was way ahead of you. He snuggled up between your legs, saddled the one closest to the backrest over his shoulder, and hugged that thigh against him. Then the whole breadth of his left palm clamped down on your twitching belly exactly where you’d directed, pinning you to the spot. You yelped. Sam’s smoldering cheek smushed into your inner thigh, and he simpered at you from his new comfortable nest. He blinked slowly on purpose, a cat expressing its love. After all the filth that you’d heard from him, nothing could change your mind that he was the sweetest, most basic definition of goodness there was.

Sam watched you with hungry, devouring eyes, and felt lust pulse in his cock when you smirked down at him. Your dark eyes glittered with challenge and fondness. “Samuel…” you warned.

“Shh,” he said, and did what he’d always wanted to do.

The first kiss of Sam’s mouth to your weeping pussy is… it is…

Your entire body pulls together, thread pulling two pieces of cloth into a single seam, toes curling, fingers knotting, jaw dropped, belly twitching, and back snapping up. The slow open-mouthed kiss finds a little suction around your clit, flooding Sam’s tongue for the first time. He basks in you—in your taste, your reaction. An onslaught of pure enjoyment envelops him, drinking you down. Sam’s brows furrowed up in ecstasy, and the bastard actually grinned into your cunt, satisfaction pouring off him in waves. You watched him and those low eyes watched you, already spellbound. This strange brand of utter happiness consumed his gaze, devouring you with his eyes—and you realize with burning heat crawling up your body that Sam just loved to watch you. He wanted to watch you squirm and twist up into him. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, just so he could feel the effect he had on you in real time. Your pussy sobs in bliss, pulsing and pulsing under painfully soft kisses.

“No wonder you’re so wet,” Sam rasps, “you’re already close, aren’t you?”

You conceded with a pathetic nod, breathing hard.

“All this just from blowing me…” Sam smirks.

That smirk opens up, and so do you—two licks and you’re his, all his, giving yourself over to him completely. Sam accepts you at his own pace. The abused blunts of his free fingertips just barely ghost over your open, trembling thigh, bewitching every cell in your legs. Somehow, the lighter he pets you the more intensely you feel it. Perfect ghostly tingles sizzle hot under your skin—the flesh of your pelvic bone, your core, following Sam’s touch. He’s examining you. Feeling you out. You realize that nobody’s taught him how to activate that sensory secret, so Sam is doing it purely because he wants to.

There’s a dim thought in your mind that the backseat of the Impala is pretty cramped with Sam bent over you like this, so you try to squirm back to give his poor legs some room. Your head doesn’t even glimpse the armrest. There’s a flash of vieny hands and a black jelly bracelet, then you’re ripped forward by both thighs down into Sam’s blazing hot mouth again.

“Sam!” You squeal a laugh. “Haha—ah, oh… ”

Sam remained devoted to your clit, kissing it with the same passion he kissed you. At first he seemed hesitant to go where his intuition was taking him, but you’d made it more than clear that his intuition could fuck you six ways to Sunday if he wanted, so Sam went with his gut. Now, with both of your thighs wrapped around his head, he was truly in his happy place.

Letting his mouth slip open, Sam splayed his tongue and shook his face back and forth between your legs. Your moans were helplessly involuntary. The sight of him alone was enough to make you question how real this was, but the pulses of slippery pressure surging up your cunt confirmed it. Some creature on your last hunt hadn’t missed their chance—meaning this, your highlight reel of reserve Sam fantasies, was your heaven. Sounded about right. You dragged your heavy head off the seat long enough to look at him, only to clench so hard that even Sam felt it. He beamed. Fuck, he was gorgeous. And Sam only looked prettier with your slick drooling down his chin like that.

He was so fucking good. So good. Inexperience be damned, this boy could fucking eat . Even better, he fucked you into a nice, warm, sloppy mess and gorged blatantly on the sight of you the whole time. 

When you mewled and begged, when your back cinched up, when your breasts rolled with your heaving breaths, Sam drunk you in. You were so sweaty that the two of you were sliding on the seats and you probably looked as pleasantly manhandled as you felt, but Sam loved it. Craved it. His eyes were glittering black slits beneath his bangs, just rushing with lust and overwhelming devotion. Laying in that backseat, you were the hottest woman alive—a statue of Venus come to life, plush, naked skin and all—because it was written all over Sam’s taste-drunk face. 

You couldn’t resist stroking your fingers through his sweaty, rain-curled hair, and Sam followed the motion to push a tender kiss into your clit.

Again, his strong, worn hands slid down to cup around the round bottom of your thighs so he could spread you with his thumbs. Sam made a gratified sound in the back of his throat. For a long time he just stared down at your open folds framed by his thick fingers, watching his spit sink into you and getting redder and redder by the second. This was what you meant, thinking his inexperience added something special to this. He had so little reference for what to do, so he acted on craving and instinct alone. And if his instinct was to slot his tongue into you and moan loud enough to shake the car at your taste, then… well…

“Soaking,” he muttered. Sam’s low, dark eyes glittered up at you, “You loved blowing me, didn't you?”

“I do,” you panted.

Sam brought your knees around the back of his head, then rasped: “Tell me how much.”

Perv. You tried to come up with something to say. Something more sexy than revealing, but it was impossible to think, breathe, or talk when Sam started flickering the tip of his tongue over your clit until his jaw was sore. What drools out of your mouth ends up sounding needy and clingy and possessive:

“I love sucking your dick, baby. F-felt so good… so good and big filling up my mouth, pressing into my cheeks… Chokin’ and gaggin’ on it… God. Fucking fuck , Sammy—”

He pinches both your thighs in one mean singe, but his eyes gleam with playfulness.

“— Sam! ” You correct yourself.

Satisfied, he resumes, nudging the long point of his nose into you just for the fun of it. Sam keeps tossing his head back and forth to feel your thighs around his face, and more than once he uses you as earmuffs to thrive in the crushing softness. You know Sam isn’t trying to coax any confessions out of you. All he wants is to make you feel good. But love glows from his eyes and his mouth and his hands. Sam full-on snarls with relish when you squeeze your knees and ankles together behind his head, so he could get anything out of you right now. All he’d have to do is ask: and you would answer in a heartbeat.

“I’m so… oh, fuck fuck fuck—m’ so happy m’ the only girl who’s blown you, Sam… I wanna be the only girl, I wanna be your only girl…”

Sam’s mouth pops off you in shock. He’s the prettiest silhouette, all gleaming spit-white outlines and red-patched shadows. Real horror drops like a rock into your stomach. Shit. You’d read into all of this wrong. Sam just wanted someone he could trust to do this for him, not some idiot crying over him for closeness.

He catches his breath.

“You can be,” Sam croaks, sweetly. “Y-you are.”

Happiness explodes in your chest, but you don’t trust it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. He slides up your body all of a sudden, long limbs and bull-wide chest coming to hang over you. A big, dimply smile smushes into your cheek. “You’re my girl.”

Just like that. Oh my fucking god.

“I’m your girl?” You repeat, feeling stupid and crazily, madly, obsessively, fatally in love with him at the same time. He’s sober. He’s saying it to you like he means it. Definitely a heaven fantasy.

“Not like… you know. Mine . I don’t own you,” Sam flushes into your neck. He’s so shy . “But. Yeah, mine. My girl. If you… want that.”

You feel the dark car get darker, bathed in quiet, sacred night, so all you have left to see him by is your hands. Sam is miles of smooth, warm skin that smells of a buttery home that nobody could ever take from you. When you relax your legs by his hips and hug him against you, Sam drizzles himself over you like oil in a hot pan. He’s careful not to hurt you so the weight is nothing but good. You both linger there, pressing the tension and anxiety out of each other. His hard-on is trapped between your hips and his jeans, but instead of it being just arousing, there’s an element of plain intimacy there that you suddenly love. Sam’s close to you and you’re close to him. Maybe you’re as touch-starved as he is, because you’re just as quick to slide your naked belly flat to his and get your hands on him. It’s hard to pet someone all over and hide how in love with them you are at the same time, and you’re plain awful at it. Sam too.

“M’ all yours,” you find yourself saying, in disbelief. “You know that.”

Sam does that little breathless laugh you’re pretty sure you’re gonna hear a million times in those seven minutes before you die. He makes a soft rumbling sound as he rises onto all fours again, flushing all the blood in your body back between your legs. The blunt pad of his thumb brushes down to stir your clit, so you’re already pliant and boneless for him when Sam melts down to kiss your whining mouth. It’s a soft and open and wanting kiss, like usual, but you both linger in it for so long that it feels like the first time all over again.

You come out of the kiss giddy, over-teased, and flustered beyond your wildest imagination, so you blurt the first obscene thought that comes to mind. Just to throw him off, per routine.

Pushing your hips into his agonizingly slow touch, you purr, “You gonna fuck me, Sam?”

Sam blinks down at you, serene, and doesn’t change pace. He keeps one lazy hand attending to your sobbing, desperate clit. “Mn-mn,” he shakes his head, and there it is—the patented Winchester panty-dropping smirk, 100% effectiveness guaranteed. “I’m gonna make love to you.”

It is embarrassing enough how hard you throb at a promise so sentimental, so it’s downright mortifying that molten-hot butterflies explode through your crush-pumped body at the sureness in Sam’s face. Not fuck. He’s not going to fuck you—it’s clear in his eyes and the slow circle of his thumb how all that’s for later. Sam’s going to make love to you, because apparently he’s from the fucking fifties, and oh my god, he’s in love with you and he actually means it and you’ve been stupidly calling all of this a game.

Shyer than you’d ever been in your life, you murmured around a cheek-aching smile, “...I think I really want that.”

“So she can be shy with me.”

You gave his shoulder a playful little smack, which just spurs Sam into giving you the hottest, smuggest glare he can manage. With his big, rough thumb keeping you sensitive literally anything he does is fuckin’ life-alert worthy. It’s almost getting to be too much, and it shows in how you squirm into his hand harder than before. Sam coos.

“You’ll have to wait a bit to have me that way,” he apologizes, like that’s something to apologize for. “I still want you on my face.”

“M’ not gonna make it,” you swallow. Just the coarseness of his voice brings you closer. “Sam. It feels—nnngh. I-I’m not gonna…”

“Then I’ll make you cum twice,” he says, simply, and how were girls not crawling all fucking over him everywhere you went?

Sam replaces his thumb with his mouth, but not before sucking off your wetness like it’s melted ice cream. He is full of millions of these soft, tender, greedy urges he’s all too eager to chase, and it is stupid-hot.

Sam indulged one of those urges, pulling your folds open with his thumbs and filling them with his tongue. You shrieked. A happy hum sighed out of him. He was an excellent kisser, but, like always, he was even better for you, slurping and licking until you’re lightheaded. The delicious tension in your body ratcheted up and up toward that white-hot end, tearing straight for it on rumbling racecar wheels. Sam drew circles around your pulsing clit with his velvet tongue, then surged it hard into your weeping center, satisfying, for just an instant, the unforgiving emptiness there. Shit. Now he really knew where you wanted him. A long, savage whine hissed out of you. Fucking hell.

“Oh my god, please , Sam. More, please please please. Fucking—”

Your toes curled into Sam’s bow-taut back. He smushed himself in even harder, nuzzling his nose into you, stirring the bulb around your clit and god , tongue-fucking you in earnest. It was—holy shit, holy fucking shit, you couldn’t even think. All your body knew was open: your legs, for Sam, your body, for Sam, and your pride. You wailed and sobbed like no other man had ever made you before, reduced to shameless pleasure-drowned scraps. Every fiber of your useless, pliant form was heaved toward the center of the universe where your body met his, the black hole, the singularity, back bent, toes and fingers curled to a snapping point, Sam’s mouth oh god his fucking mouth —

“Tell me you’re mine,” Sam begged, licking and licking and licking until you couldn't think, “ Tell me .”

“I’m yours Sam m’ all yours m’ all fuckin’ yours—”

You were his. You came in great, crashing, seizing waves that rippled hot and harmoniously through your entire body, from the curled tips of your toes to your tingling scalp, so intensely—because you were Sam’s, Sam wanted you, he loved you—that you felt dangled over the most thrilling brink of your life. You’d cum enough times in your life to know it wasn’t possible to feel this good—slippery velvet heat good, oh god his mouth good—so it had to be some kind of magic, something close to death, to heaven, and Sam had killed you. If that was what was happening outside the planet-wide fireworks show sizzling and popping behind your closed eyes, you’d have everything you’d ever wanted and more. Sam keeps lapping between your legs a-and what a way to go it is, because you know, instantly, that no other man could even nudge you in the direction of the orgasm Sam had just brought you through. No one else could ever compare. The moment when it all will slow, you’re sure that you’re never going to be the same person again. You’re his. The words sing through your whole fizzing, flashing spirit.

After what felt like hours of delicious, mind-blowing, heart-stealing pleasure, you curled back into the ice-cold relief of the Impala’s leather and gasped for your life.

Sam was still going. His tongue never stopped, scooping in to taste the fruit of his labor. He slurped your orgasm down like he’d been chasing your peak just as fervently as you had, like it was his favorite part of his fantasies and the real slippery wetness of it was a million times better. You keened. Sam persisted. You squirmed away, groaning at the overload of soft tongue and deep hot breaths on your core. Your sex wept for mercy. Sam had reduced you to a weeping, twitching, floundering mess, yet he still wanted more—and you were dying to give it to him, but it was too much to o much too m—

“Sam,” you choked.

It took a push to the face to get through to him, and even then, Sam retreated with a soft mournful sigh. Jesus. He was obsessed with you. You wanted this, him, the aftertaste of him in your mouth, to never fade. So the feeling is definitely mutual.

The air in the Impala cloyed with sticky sweet warmth, coating the windows and the seat with the smell of you and him. Your throat ached from hoarse moaning. Slowly, your soul started to sink back into your body, reminding you again of your situation. A tacky layer of sweat clung to your skin. Your toes and your belly and the muscles of your legs were raw from clenching so hard, and Sam was blowing hot breaths across your tummy as he gathered himself. His damp hair tickled your hip and jesus , your slick was all over his face, smeared down his chin and his nose and his lips most of all. You realized that happy tears had made tracks down your temples. Sam must’ve realized this too, because he rushed to peel himself off your soaked and sticky inner thigh to scoop you up.

“Honey…” he cooed.

You reached out for him and Sam lifted you up himself, completely changing the bloodflow in your body by seating you on his lap. His whole figure was blazing hot, and watching you cum because of him was definitely not helping him cool off. It was an emotional orgasm as much as it was a physical one, so nothing stopped you from rolling your fingers through his floppy bangs or burning kisses into his grin or digging your nails into his firm back. You could feel the raised scratch marks there, bright red and drawn like wing scars down his shoulder-blades. His skin felt ridiculously nice smushed around your own, and Sam was so big and huggable that you disappear in his arms.

“You did so good , Sam,” you croaked, and didn’t bother to wait until you’re not kissing him to talk. “So good. So fuckin’ good. Never came fucking harder in my entire life —” you seared a kiss into his pink mouth, “—holy—” another, “—fucking—” and a third, even deeper, “—shit.”

Sam met you halfway for each, but the moment your assault was over, one big hand supported your jaw as he plants a sweet, slow, sappy one on you that makes you wonder just how necessary condoms are, anyway. He’s laughing to himself the whole time, gleaming with mole-speckled pride.

Draped in his arms like a damsel, you drawled, “You’re a damn natural.”

“You know that after one round?” Sam smirked. He was all too aware that his lips were all glossy from tongue-fucking you, and he licked them without shame when he offered, “I dunno. Maybe I should give it a second go, just to be sure. What do you think?”

Your pussy is raw with millions of zinging overstimulated pulses, but the question buries you under a cement truck’s worth of pure want. 

“...Mmm, I guess you’re right. Better get a bigger testing pool here, Sammy.”

The force of your high is still pulsing in your core, so when Sam growls at you through a laugh, bangs astray, drops onto his back and snaps those man-paws you love around your waist, you throb hard enough to stop your heart. Sam’s hands are beautiful and sinewy in all the right ways, so you can’t help but submit when they, coupled with Sam’s arms, bodily haul you onto his face. You pant, giggle, and try not to crash face-first through the window by catching yourself on the armrest. Sam helps to brace you with a hand curled around your hip and another surged up the flat of your back.

Your thighs aren’t even settled on your calves when his tongue slips into the clutch of your pussy again. The squeal that shocks out of you makes Sam chuckle. (Which you feel up close and personal). His first suckling kisses are so perfect, you swear you could split the leather armrest with your nails. Tense overstimulation ratchets your cramped limbs to a snapping point, until Sam’s insistent lapping draws you… slowly… into rampant pleasure. Your joints melt into the inside-going-out burn just under your skin. All your worries about choking him dissolve like salt into water; the next rapid flicks of his tongue underline in red, please don’t be gentle .

And fuck, does he look sexy suffocated by your cunt like that. Your thighs swell around his face so prettily, and he’s already so invested that you can’t see his mouth or nose—just feel them all wedged up against you. He closes his eyes to savor that first taste of you again, giving you a flash of soft dark lashes on cheeks flushed hot enough to melt ice. His happy groan vibrates right to your core. Sam is already intimately educated in ways to drive you crazy, so he returns to them straight away. He licks you soft between your folds then darts his tongue hard into your center. If he wants to make you gasp a certain way, he knows where to lay open-mouthed kisses. But above all else, Sam fucks your clit good and sloppy, whorling and flicking his tongue in all the right ways. There's a dim, pussy-throbbing idea in your mind that if this is Sam on round two, you hope you survive this to see round fifty. Or round one hundred. Fuck. You were his.

Silently, you pray to the universe that someone won’t walk past and think you’re being murdered. Heavenly, loudly, hands-to-the-glass murdered.

You burst into tears, it’s so hot all at once. There are big hands kneading you all over and lips sealing warm and familiar around your clit right away—it’s fucking maddening. Dots start to fuzz in the ends of your vision.

Hoarse, you plead, “H-holy, holy fuck, Sammy, please.”

“So sensitive for me,” he hushes. It’s more than true; he parts your soaking folds with one big lave of his tongue, instantly making you sob.

When you’re not being eaten out like a four-course meal, you’re a tough, unshakable hunter, so all this whining desperation makes you yearn for a bit of leverage. Scrambling for something to say that will affect Sam how he’s affecting you, you hiss through a sultry moan and look him straight in the eyes: “Imagine how sensitive I'll be on your cock, Sam.”

Sam smiles dirtily. “I have been.”

An unbidden mewl seeps from your mouth just hearing that, confirming, once and for all, that you’re done for. It's half a moan of pleasure and half a moan of indignation. Of course Sam is better at this than you already. Of course he, of all people, can make you miserably horny with just one sly smile. Fuck him. Hopefully.

For your own survival, your brain filters out everything but him for just an instant. Your own fiery arousal fades to background noise, so you’re left swamped by the sight of him, lips puffy from kissing, his chin glittering, his brow furrowed into cute little creases, the light playing on the low slits of his green-brown-whiskey eyes. Nothing but bliss glowed from his face. Two coarse palms surge down on your trembling hips, pushing your pussy onto Sam’s velvet-wet mouth. You couldn’t escape if you wanted to. He has to be an angel, because these feelings gushing from your vessel are too good to contain or understand.

It was so fucking much but somehow, to your most primal instincts, it’s not enough. Dire need exploded through your every pore. You forgot about holding yourself up straight and root both hands into Sam’s thick, sweaty hair, flushing your blazing cheek and nose against the cold window in the process. Hoarse, ragged moans poured from your mouth. The instant you started to roll across his face, a harsh, lewd noise escaped Sam and he followed those magnificent instincts straight to your next climax. His lips parted and then his whole mouth splayed open, giving you something to rock properly against. Take it, his eyes urged. Take what you want from me.

You do. You roll and grind on his tongue until your pulse is throbbing in your cheeks and echoing in your ears, until Sam’s fingers are bruising your thighs, until he’s just as wild-eyed and lust-crazed as you are, chasing the circle of your hips. Looking down, all the pictures and white noise floating around your mind coalesce into the realization that you’re riding Sam Winchester’s face. A flood of heat burns through your sopping core. If he’d made a mess of you before, then you made the same of him now, your bodies meeting with obscene shlicks and slurps that Sam revels in. He groans like an animal with each slide, only adding to the filthy music.

“ C’mon,” Sam swallows.

The next peak comes even faster than the last, slamming your accelerator hard, tearing faster, faster, faster through you, the dial inside you climbing higher with every mewling breath. And just like before, you’re brought to a place that no other man could even hope to take you. Your sobs were interrupted by a sharp gasp of pleasure. Sam is big, safe, enveloping arms and loving hands and fuck—fucking hell, that perfect tongue, just as wet as your sex, flickering so fast over your clit you swear he’s vibrating. Y-you can’t… god, you can’t even think. You’re so close, so close—so close for Sam, fucking fuck—

“—am Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam please please Sam please— ”

Just as that thrilling rush of throbbing, ecstatic pressure punches through you, Sam takes over, riding you through it. He coasts your hips over his face, sealing his mouth around you and just going for it. Your mind—explodes, just as sweetly as the first time. It does always feel like the first time with him. With Sam taking care of you, your hands scramble for purchase on the sex-fogged window but miss terribly and you end up flushed to it by the forearms, huffing brainless, helpless, wordless nothings into the glass. Your thighs quake, your toes curl, your hips ache, every molecule of tissue in your feeble body surged toward him in ecstasy. Perfect rippling pulses hammered between your legs. You were there.

“Sam,” you sobbed, “Oh god, Sam.”

You came with a voiceless wail. Sam was still his insatiable self, drinking up your slick until you’re squirming and spent. He learned to let you go eventually, as much as it dissapointed him. When he does you feel the outline of huge handprints bruised into your hips, and combined with everything else, with the sticky spit in the creases of your thighs, with being in love with him, you knew if you looked him in the eye right then you could cum all over again.

You do anyway. Sam is already smiling up at you, sex-dazed and shining with spit. There’s so much of it—that special concoction of your slick and his saliva—that it drools down his neck and glitters on his cheeks. He sucks your taste off his swollen lip like it’s the last cool drink of water he’ll ever have. Your fingers had made his hair into a crazy, sultry mess, and behind his bangs, his dark eyes are charged with something hot and powerful. To make matters worse, Sam knows how devastatingly sexy he looks. Between sharp gasps for air, he swirls his tongue across his chin to get another taste of you, and when you’re sitting thick and good in his mouth, the fucker grins. A sly, unsubtle grin. This is everything he’d ever fantasized about.

He’s gonna be the fucking end of you. God.

“You did so good,” Sam murmurs, like you’d been the one to dig in and do all the intense, mind-whiting work. He swallows. ‘Cause he’s only on round two, and nothing in this world could slow Sam Winchester down.

Holy fucking shit. You pressed your forearms into the stinging-cold window to remind yourself that all this was real, then made an attempt to roll off him. It ends before it even starts.

Sam, your quick study, realizes that he’s fucked your legs numb, and helps you unsaddle his face—not before stealing one last kiss between your legs, though. A thready cry squeaks out of you. He coos you through it, and knowing Sam, he is more than willing to have you again, so you’re only half-surprised when he guides you to lay down beside him instead. Big, sweet hands thread through your hair. Sam’s sex-rasped voice satisfies the greatest itch in your mind, and you can hear it through his chest where your cheek is lazily smushed on his skin. Without looking you know that those lanky legs are bent up uncomfortably against the opposite door, so you scooch up and roll Sam onto his side to face you. Because he’s still sensitive, considerate Sam, who can apparently eat pussy for ages, he tries not to suffocate you between him and the seat. You really want him to. After a bit of lazy adjusting and prying your hot skin off the leather bench, you’re sandwiched happily just like that.

And while you’ve shared a bed with Sam before, not once had you even had a taste of what it’s like to snuggle with him. No gap is spared when he closes in, so you’re pressed together in every possible way—your belly against his toned stomach, your face into his cheek, your legs smoothed between his. There’s so much skin and muscle and Sam that you just drown in it. The best part of it is easily his arms. You don’t remember how Sam got one smushed around your head, but his bicep is the perfect pillow and his hand curls around to run his fingers down the side of your neck. His other arm has you in a comfortable vice, hooked around your waist, and for no reason at all his palm comes up to spread between your shoulder blades. Just one of his hands feels like it could cover your entire back. Fucked out as you are, just the notion makes your core feel tight and hot. 

Your first dose of clarity after Sam has tongue-fucked you into not one, but two full-body orgasms, drops the most glorious realization on you of all fucking time: all that? All, what? Two hours of being all over each other? That was just the fucking foreplay.

Into your cheek, Sam whispers, “Th’nk you. M’ real glad it was you, _____.” His whole body swells up with easy happiness, and he teases in a sigh, “My girl…”

Your mind floats back into your body as he says this to you, soft and loving in your ear. Sam keeps going, mumbling about how much he appreciates you, how grateful he is that you’re his first time, and all you can do to keep yourself from blurting out three dangerous words to him is kiss him. Sam moans. You get your fingers into his hair and sear your lips to his, over and over again until Sam’s tilting so far into it that he’s half on top of you. Each kiss is barely a kiss at all, open-mouthed and mostly tongue. It was your turn to be a quick study: when his need for air hits a breaking point, you let him go and drag your tongue from his chin to his jaw, tasting yourself on him with a giddy moan.

Sam stutters your name.

“Too fuckin’ good to me, sweetheart,” you curse, hoarse, “Can’t even—nngh, can’t even think, you made me cum so good.”

Sam hums. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. So fuckin’ good,” you repeat. Riding a wave of possessive desire, you plant a sloppy kiss on him and gush, “You’re all mine. Gonna hoard you like gold, Sammy.” Cupping his jaw in your palm, you hiss for the second time, “Wanna be the only girl you fuck like this,” you pop off his mouth to gasp, “wanna shout in the fuckin’ street that I took your virginity.”

He starts laughing, which dissolves into a deep, bassy moan when Sam meets your next kiss. Coy, he grumbles behind a smile, “Haven’t taken it yet.”

You slither the flats of your hands down on his chest, which is a bit of a squeeze, but feeling the heft of his pecs in each palm is easily worth it. “Then get on your damn back already so I can ride you til’ I pass out.”

Sam groans at the thought. “You’re so vulgar,” he blushes.

“Sammy,” you say near his face, smirking. “You’ve got no idea the kind of dirty shit I’m keeping myself from saying right now.”

His face makes an interesting journey from horny to hornier. “...Well. C’mon. Don’t leave it to my imagination.”

That invitation just begs for you to drool out every disconnected filthy thought you’ve ever had of him in the past year. A buzz of embarrassment seats itself in your gut, but it sits in the skyscraper shadow of your post-three-orgasm arousal, which conquers everything in a hundred-mile radius. You’re easily convinced.

“I’ve had the stupidest, biggest crush on you for the longest time, Sam,” you said. “And since you’ve got back from Stanford, s’ gotten a million times worse. Half the reason m’ so fuckin’ turned on right now is because this is you, not anyone else. Every time I’ve touched myself in the past year, I’ve thought of you, of that fuckin’ horsecock in your pants, of you splitting me open til’ I’m ruined for any other man. I wanna fuck you so hard that we break the shocks on the car and have to explain it to your brother. Wanna fuck you so hard we pass out. But the dumbest, hottest part of it all is that you don’t want to fuck me, you want to make love to me, and I’d totally let you just cause’ you’re you.”

He sucks in a breath.

Sam covers his face, eyes gleaming with love and boiling hot flattery,  “You’re—y-you’re shameless.”

You’re kissed so hard that you think you see stars. In agreement, you sigh, and Sam swallows that too, his kiss wet and devouring. “I love it,” he swears.

Sex should be a pretty passionate activity, but Sam turns it into something beyond. He reduces your body to it’s rawest, most honest instincts, so it’s more than easy to lay out all your feelings on a platter for him. A set of calloused fingers splay around the hinge of your jaw, and Sam’s thumb pushes up your chin so he can take his time with you. The jet-engine lust pumping into the kiss slows. He takes it somewhere else, somewhere you’ve never been with anyone before. Sam punctuates his ragged breathing with sweet, chaste kisses, dipping his head so your lips brush together feather-light, your noses bumping.

“In fact, ‘got a big crush on you too, pretty girl,” Sam husks. His fawn-brown eyes are blown black, like a doe’s. “...You wanna see what I do for the women I crush on?”

Your cheeks hurt from sly smiling. “Funny. You Winchesters think you’re so clever—” 

His hand scrambles across your back, cupping your ribs, then skipping all pretense and shooting straight for the bend of your knee. You assume he’s just aiming to get you closer when he needily jerks your leg over his hip—then the full shape of Sam’s thick, panty-dropping hard-on grinds between your legs, crystal-hard and eager in his boxers.

“Sam!” You squeal.

He’s harder than a guy has ever been for you, and so, so much bigger. Sam’s dick makes a huge, handsome outline in his ridiculously tight jeans.

“Can’t wait any longer,” Sam confesses, shaking all over with restraint, “want you—now. Right now. Please—_____—please please please—”

That desperate, gluttonous emptiness from before rules over you again, and your brain is so fucked out and needy and desperate already that just the thought rearranges the atoms in your body. Having Sam inside you. Before, it was just some fantasy—pasting a Sam mask over sensations that other people had given you. But Sam wasn’t the guy who’d taken your virginity or the others that’d followed. Regardless if it’s the same equation as always, it will be Sam pounding you into the seat and it’ll be Sam losing the rhythm of his thrusts as he cums inside you. He’ll make the prettiest noises buried in you to the hilt. He’ll fuck you—make love to you—good and right. The emptiness in your core is so all-consuming that your muscles twitch and tremble of their own accord, and only Sam, your Sam, could fix that.

The hand by your face gathers your hair out of your eyes and groups it in one fist, not quite pulling, but holding, as Sam starts to saw himself against you recklessly. “Can I?” He slathers your abused throat with kisses, “Please, _____ please can I—?”

“Fuck yes,” you gasp, sinking your nails into his shoulders. “Fuck me, Sammy, baby, god fucking drill me through the seat—”

“Show me how,” Sam demands, wiped of all shame, and holy mary mother of fucking god is it the sexiest thing he’s ever said.

You order him onto his back, and Sam, your dutiful student, immediately listens. He adjusts so his head is propped up on the armrest, reminding you of his fixation with watching you during sex. Each new thing you discover about Sam’s sexual tendencies flies straight into a special locker in your mind, safe where you can (hopefully) revisit them. He’s a whiny, noisy bed partner. His appetite for cunnilingus is bottomless. He feels even bigger than he looks, especially when you wobble up into a kneel on either side of his shuddering thighs.

“Gonna ride you,” you tell him, swallowing down the rush of drool that follows the idea. “You're gonna hold my hips to keep me steady, ‘kay? Pull n’ push with me.”

The thought of any pushing or pulling at all in your position makes something deep in your hollow gut blaze. Twitching with desire, Sam nods. His palms have this coarseness from labor that feels way too sexy on your waist.

Sam squirms under your shadow. His legs are too long to lay vertically along the seat, so they prop up a bit behind you to give your back a comfortable rest. Sam’s blush has graduated in rosy patches down his neck, and holy shit you’d almost forgotten about the freckles underneath. They’re sprinkled all around Sam’s big, trusting doe-eyes and spiral down the center seam of his body. If you think about Sam’s muscles—the miles of tension-squeezed abs and corded ribs, the… fuck, the heavy rise and fall of his pecs… and just… everything, you’ll probably forget a couple of important phone numbers. His chest is peppered with moles too. But in the process of riding his face and sucking his dick, you’d painted Sam’s whole torso with pinkened nail marks. They’re scratched down his abs and pressed in little crescents along his hips. His back being flat to the seat means nothing. Some of the lines there, the epicenter of your marks, creep over his shoulders. No wonder he looks so pleasantly lovesick. You’d really made it clear that he was yours.

He outlines one precious keepsake with his finger as you hang over him. It feels good, being in control again. You’d forgotten Sam was a virgin, since God didn’t give skilled mouths like his to just anybody.

Balancing yourself with a hand on the ceiling, you throw him your sexiest grin and wiggle your hips for him, “I look pretty like this?”

“As a picture,” Sam rasps, fondly.

“Hold that picture in your mind a second, then.”

Halfway between awkwardly bending over the front seat to dig around for the condoms Dean must keep in here, you realize how unsexy you probably look. Then one of Sam’s hands drops onto your thigh, lazily hooked around it for no reason other than to touch you, and you stop worrying altogether about any problem you've ever had.

“Holding…” Sam murmurs, tapping your leg.

After a bit of fishing around the glovebox, you uncover an untouched condom. You turn the wrapper over in your hand, checking it for punctures, and once you’re sure it’s safe, your libido shoves your brain aside and takes the wheel.

You could be sexy about it. You could pounce low on him, ass in the air, and take your time pulling his jeans off til’ he’s truly starving for it. But Sam already is—he’s so desperate to feel you that he keeps rasping it, over and over. Please _____ inside please please, he chokes. Hours and hours of his sweet soft pleading has made you just as rabid, so you tear the condom open with your teeth and jerk his jeans and boxers down in one tug. Your free hand is trembling so hard that you’re thankful Sam lifts his hips to help. His cock slips free and arcs up toward his navel. It’s flushed and handsome, just like before, and seeing it instantly makes the ache in your core fucking starve. The itch crawls within you, fierce with need.

Sam takes one look at you eyeing his cock like that and drags you down to steal a dizzying kiss. His hand covers the whole back of your neck. You get one deep, shattering taste of him before you’re reminded how insanely lucky you are.

“M’ not gonna last, seein’ you on me like this,” he warns the second his lips pop off yours, “Please, _____—”

“Shh, baby,” you soothe. Sam lets you push yourself up again. “Let me go first. I promise you’ll get your chance. Just enjoy yourself, huh?”

“Hard not to.”

Sam slumps back, relieved. His hands slump similarly on your thighs, wasted by exertion, but his eyes gleam with trust and humor and lust in ways that you’ll never forget. The familiar sparks of a Sam rush roll through you, happily married to feelings so new they’re still pounding hard through your chest. He’s gazing up at you and all you can think on loop is, I’m his girl. I’m his girl cause’ he wants me to be his, cause’ he’s thought about it before, wanted me before.

Your legs are jelly. But you’ve never needed anything more than you’ve needed him right now, so you haul yourself up onto your shuddering knees, notch the condom around Sam’s flushed head, and drag it down with you as you saddle him—

—filling yourself with Sam’s cock.

You’re so wet and so needy for him that you just slip right on, almost to the hilt. You settle on him completely when your fucking legs give out. Because. Holy shit. Holy fuck—fucking. God. Holy fucking shit.

Sam’s ragged chant of your name becomes a belly-deep groan. 

Stars spin behind your eyes. Jesus, it’s a stretch, but he more than prepared you for it. The pressure is too blinding for you to blink your spotting vision clear. You’re thrust full-throttle into your other senses instead, which are flooded with nothing but your singularity, the center of your universe, Sam, Sam, Sam. The burn of the first push is barely a thought in the sloppy pile of feelings, pictures, and undeniable want that he’s reduced your mind to. Fuck, does he fill you good. Fuckin’ perfectly. You think your weight drops all the way on his lap, but there’s so much to take that you can’t be sure. His breath catches. His hands claw, scratch, grope around for your hips. When he finds them, you’re ground down on him deep, and—and—gggoddd, that itch. A genuine wail sputters out of you. The spot deep within your core that’s been dying to be just fucking reamed explodes with slippery pleasure. And Sam is so absolutely massive that he brushes up into it with every breath, making you sob with want before either of you even moves.

You bite down on your knuckles, keening, “Sam.”

So full. So full of Sam’s cock. Holy fuck.

Below you Sam is flushed scarlet, his head lolled back, his dark lashes squeezed shut against every perfect rippling pulse squeezing around him. Rough gulps of air drain into his chest. You balance both palms flat to it and dizzily glance between you, where your cunt has greedily swallowed every inch of him you can get. The massive length of him looks like it's disappeared, but for… f-for you, fuck, it's done anything but, twitching in you and filling you snug as a glove. Smaller guys were usually easier to track inside you, so you figured it'd be twice that with someone as big as Sam. He'd be so big that you couldn't not feel every inch of him. Instead, you're turned into a star, a mess of heat and light and energy radiating around a single point too powerful to feel through mortal senses. There's no separation between what's you and what's him. He becomes you. 

Sam stares at the spot where you're stretched tight around him, transfixed and panting and hornier than he's ever been in his entire life. Gazing at him in a haze, you remember what you’d planned to do.

You could sit there until the car was rusted and the asphalt was gray instead of black, just breathing, and with every breath soaking up each twitch and flutter Sam gave you. He moans and shuffles his legs further apart like he’d kill for the same thing. But as fucking delectable as it would be to just grind yourself down on his willing cock forever, Sam deserves more than that his first time. If it was someone else in your position, you’d hope they’d give him a good time—but this responsibility was yours, and you were determined to prove that not one other person in the history of dick-riding could blow Sam’s mind like you could.

“Gonna move, Sammy,” you warn him, and he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even snipe at you for the nickname.

Squeezing him inside you, you caress the hands on your thighs and follow them down to Sam’s shoulders, really kneading him, feeling him, with your hands. The lightest of touches has him squirming with need, so a few piercing clenches one after the other makes him groan open-mouthed. It’s when you lean some of your weight onto your toes and tilt yourself off him that Sam’s breath stalls. He finds it again the moment you drop yourself back on those last few inches, gasping as you start a pattern. Elastic pleasure pools fiery-hot down your inner thighs. You could feel the rolling pulse of Sam's cock as you rocked on his lap, the throb of it filling your whole sparkling body.

Sam curses. “G’nna cum s’ deep inside you, baby…”

You don’t know how it’s possible for him to make you any wetter, but he manages it. Again, you see-saw off and on him, “—shit, s-so deep,” Sam snarls. His neck chords with handsome muscle. Slow pulls turn into rocks. “So deeeeep—”

The pleasure is incomprehensible, whiting out all other pitiful, useless sensations. There’s nothing else but him and his big hands on your back and the curve of his dick swelling thick and hard between your quaking legs. There’s a big difference between him and the other men you’ve had, and already you know exactly what it is—the feeling of him is going to sit hot and satisfied in your gut for damn weeks. Tomorrow you’re going to feel so thoroughly fucked and empty that you’ll never think of anything but Sam ever again. You bite down on your lip and add a little swish to the end of each bounce, and sure enough, Sam chokes on his last groan.

“You fill me up s’ good, Sammy,” you rasp, curling your fingers on his twitching stomach.

“Mm-mm. S’ you,” he echoes, swallowing, “god, s’ all you. Takin’ me perfect.”

He is so fucking wonderful. When you rake your palms down the soft yielding flesh of his middle, Sam’s head thrashes back and he clamps down hard on his tongue, whimpering and keening through his teeth. You get enough leverage on your hands to really start screwing yourself down on him, and every drive is a full-body taste of silky throbbing euphoria. There’s no plan beyond fucking him senseless, yet your hands and your mind are more connected than ever. Fuck, he’s perfect pinned down like that, your brain thinks. Your hands hear this and suddenly you’re pressing Sam’s wrists into the seat beside his head—

“Yes!” He squeals.

Over an hour of foreplay has rid Sam of his last shred of embarrassment. His face, upturned and so pretty that way, advertises a swath of open throat for your taking. His bangs are a sweaty mess all tangled up in his face too, but you can’t get your fingers through them without sacrificing the fuckin’ renaissance painting underneath you. He drapes himself out for you like a girl, his jaw slack and his wrists daintily posed beside his face. 

He is so, so generous and just as smart, since the second he realizes how you want him Sam gives you exactly that. 

His wrists pry free from yours with embarrassing ease. You don’t waste a second sealing the fingers of one hand around them both, and from there it’s just instinct to slam Sam’s bound hands overhead and kiss him stupid. His excited squeak melts from your crown to your toes, adding this electric edge to the mind-numbing heat exploding inside you. This is only the second time you’ve ever felt it, but Sam is long enough to jumpstart the sparkling glittering radiation feeling that makes your pussy see stars. The sharp percussive mewls jumping out of you spiral into something purely animal. When you finally get to brush back Sam’s rain-tangled hair, the dirtiest, happiest grin is waiting for you there.

“____—yes, yes oh my god  ____ yes —” Sam drawls between searing kisses. His head lolls at each vicious bounce.

“So noisy,” you grin.

Sam melts at this small praise, as well as your next kiss. “You like it,” he dizzily smiles.

Of course. Clenching on him hard, you drop into a few mean, fulfilling grinds and tease into his sensitive ear, “Love it when you won’t shut up, Sammy.”

Sam laughs, and despite your experience, you’ve never made a guy laugh during sex, so. Wow. You only have a bit to enjoy it before Sam’s getting his revenge. You feel him plant his heels in the door and then—oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, he’s slamming up into you, the huge line of his cock sawing without end against the spot tha—t-that… the spot… Your whole body explodes with happy flashes of light. It spurs from you the filthiest, most obscene kinds of moans a man has ever made you make, almost weeping for joy at the perfect velvety pressure flash-flooding your cunt.

“So noisy,” Sam husks back.

That’s the last thing he says for a while, because everything after that dissolves into delectable broken noise. Since he knows you love it so much, Sam chokes and moans until he’s out of breath and slack-jawed. His face fixes up like—well—like he’s being ridden all the way to Texas, sweaty temples lolling against his raised arms. You usually fixated on your partners during sex like this, but only because there wasn’t typically much on your end. Now there’s so much packed into every acute shift that you take it greedily by the handfuls. It’s the sloppiest, hottest, most delectable sex of your entire life. Sam’s brain apparently remains intact despite the nuclear meltdown sizzling through you both, because your low bounces start to be met by fierce upward twists of his hips. New colors join the stars spinning behind your eyes and your pussy throbs with new intensity.

“Mnmmn yes yes yes fucking yes—” you rattle in a sob.

And when your lungs are empty Sam’s still cork-screwing hard against that raw bundle of nerves inside you, stealing the rest of your breath so you’re left hanging there with your mouth open, thunderstruck. For a few breathless beats all you can hear is the percussive wet pull of him plunging into you. He seethes in absolute delight, back curling, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen Sam enjoy something that much. Somebody. You.

A few more heavy grinds and you know you’ll be done with. Your legs burn thigh-to-toe with weighty exhaustion, and even the sweaty muscles in your belly are knotted to a breaking point. Sam’s losing his patience. Most of his writhing is playful, until his wrists really start to twist in your grip for freedom. It would be easy to give Sam what he wants, especially when that means immediately being flipped over, spread apart and fucked senseless, but your tank’s not empty yet.

With the last of your strength, you slam Sam’s hips down onto the seat to keep him in place. (So full so full so fulllll.) A good rippling squeeze lets you feel just how deep he is. He’s not trapped a second before he’s trying to earn back enough room to meet you bounce for thrust. But, again, Sam is a damn genius. You sink him into a kiss that leaves your ribcage singing with love and stir your hips around his lap, murmuring between breaths, you’re perfect Sammy. Every starved inch of him calms for just a moment. When the tension roped in his wrists relaxes, you release them, and Sam melts into everything you give him: the slow, soft kissing, your hands caressing from his forearms to his triceps to his chest, and the heat of him radiating inside you in more ways than one.

On the next circle of your hips, you see it on the horizon: the finish line. Your whole body sings with the urge to fuck yourself on Sam til’ you’re spent, and orgasm number three has made your already thin self-control grow microscopic. Sam takes one look at you, crawling inside and out with fever, and asks to take over.

“Baby,” is all he says, pleading. His voice is so stringy with worn patience that it cracks.

“Yeah,” you rasp. “Please.”

On top of being beautiful and smart and patient, Sam is incredibly merciful. Instead of ruining your life by pulling out and leaving you empty as he fucks around positioning you, Sam sits up, shifts you into the safe bowl of his lap, and lays you both across the slick seat while you’re still connected. Then he does what your Sam apparently does best, and makes love to you.

There’s no shyness this time. Sam greets you with a happy, sloppy, moaning kiss that fills your gut like fire. He drapes over you like a new sky, too broad and big for his own damn good. Then he fills you like fire, until you're a pathetic, keening mess greedily writhing down on the cock you're already full of. Riding him had put into perspective just how long he is, while this position made it jaw-droppingly clear how thick. And vieny. And perfectly curved. One little jostle rubbed all the happy places in your pussy that made your brain melt out of your ears. Sam hasn't even started and the fabric of your reality is already twisting and unknotting. You're drooling and your hair is a nest and your lipgloss smeared off ages ago, dried on Sam's throat and probably Sam's dick, but you can't be bothered to care. One broad palm rakes soft down your belly. Sam coos as he pushes into you, murmuring apologies like you’re not spreading your legs for him as wide as they’ll go. He loves you.

“Always wanted this,” Sam prays, and decides at that moment, for no tactful reason, to start petting your swollen clit with his thumb. “Always wanted you.”

“Mmnn—mee too,” you hiccup. “Ssso muh—much, baby.”

The swath of hot-hot skin previously only available to your hands squishes you against the leather head-to-toe. Sam's arms tremble just trying to hold himself up on his hands, so he gives up all together and smushes himself all over you, especially where it really matters. His hips stir in and in and thank god they never stop. It's almost embarrassing how easily you disappear in Sam's shadow, until you think about it a little harder… get that image of yourself absolutely dwarfed by Sam's back, or Sam's hands, or Sam's fingers… Sam's huge cock… and suddenly... Something deeper than your gut tells you to dig your nails and knees into him for dear life, and that instinct finds its ground fast.

It only takes a few experimental drags for Sam and Sam's sexy ragged breathing to get you where you need to be. With his face nestled in your neck and the powerful line of his body curled over you, he has room to get a hand splayed on your bare thigh—pinning it back for himself—to fuck you honest. You think/hope/pray that Sam is winding up to do just that. He pulls out in a way that makes you both take in a breath, then sinks home with the kind of thorough, aching, agonizing focus that makes you sob openly in the backseat. Because he's well and truly evil he nuzzles in close to your neck with noisy kisses as he goes, and never once closes that perfect mouth.

“So tight,” Sam groans. “Take the whole thing so good,” he praises, genuinely impressed, and you can't help the tingly pride that sits hot in your gut when he says that.

“I do?” You ask, just because you're a cocky asshole.

Entertaining your cockiness, Sam thinks for a minute. “Yeah,” he breathes, then suddenly all that delicious heat sitting pretty inside of you draws out in one pull. Sam shushes your frustrated whining and drawls a single request: “Feel it again.”

At first you're not sure what he means, and no one can exactly blame you, since that's what Sam Winchester and three orgasms can do to the human psyche. He's also fucking pulled out of you, which you rightfully react to like he's just dropped you naked in the Australian wilds and flown off. You haven’t been lonely and empty for more than a second when Sam returns every inch he stole. His bulbous tip spoons through your folds, and everything after that is filling, surging, slick velvet heat so stellar your limbs go numb.

“Hah—ah—hoollee—holy shit,” you stammer.

“Feel it?” Sam hums.

Brain melted, you answer, “Feeeel—?”

“This, _____,” Sam replies, all sweet and patient.

Knowing exactly the kind of puddle he’s reducing you to, Sam does it again. He pulls out fast and sinkssss in, slow and hot while making all sorts of pretty sounds. This time he kisses you as he blows your mind. Considering how Sam’s already mastered staring hungrily at your cunt stretched tight around his base as he sinks in, it’s an uncoordinated kiss. All of his student ambition has been poured by the truckload into fucking you—and reminding you that he is.

“You n’ me,” he whispers, starry-eyed. “Perfect fit.”

In a daze, your hands clamber for something to cling to besides Sam’s poor, abused back. They end up smoothing soft and needily through his silky hair, so it’s a matter of circumstance when Sam starts pumping his hips and you pull so hard that he howls with pleasure. A very happy circumstance. 

Somehow, Sam is lucid enough to still be thinking about the how in all of this. He tests. Slow, stomach-deep, thorough thrusts that blend into wild snapping ones that jellify your surviving senses. Because he apparently doesn’t understand that fucked-out squeals of his name mean harder, Sam asks:

“Want me gentle?” He mumbles pretty against your cheek. “Or more?”

“Plea— please sah—Sammy,” you sob into his hair. “Please go harder. Hard s’ you want. Won’t hurt.”

“Mn—m’ not gonna—can’t hold—” Sam chokes, and whatever he’s trying to say dissolves when he shamelessly licks open your mouth. You’re lovingly kissed, put nose to nose with him, and made victim to Sam’s warm whiskey eyes—

—then you're fucked inside out.

Before you can even suck in a full breath, you’re being deliriously pounded into the trench you and Sam have dug into the seat. Viciously, beautifully pounded, too-good-to-make-noise pounded, arms-locked-still pounded, jaw dropped and toes curling. The kind of sex that’s born from years of wound-up, silent frustration that erupts all at once. Sam’s fingers curl into your thighs like he needs this. Every stroke is life or death, consuming him with an insatiable, maddening craving for more more baby closer s-squeeze me harder so fuckin' pretty n’ warm . Thready sobbing gasps punctuate each thrust, but you're too busy being disassembled atom by erotic atom to know if it's you or him. His dick starts to blaze deliciously hot inside you, closer, closer…

Sam’s teeth snap together. “Oh shit oh shit yes—can’t—get—enough a’ you.”

Your hands are jostled back down to his shoulders, and you feel like if you don’t hold on you might be drilled straight through the crust of the earth. The second you sink your nails into Sam’s back, that’s it. Something in him splits, then his hands are clamping down under your thighs and you’re being bent in half. Knees to your chest, hips curved up, pussy spread for him—everything. Every one of his breaths is coarse with a throaty whimper. He could’ve given out ages ago, but Sam just keeps going, hips pistoning, nails digging, until sweat is beading down his flushed neck and he’s panting with his tongue splayed like a dog. Your ass is going to be all sorts of colors tomorrow morning.

Of course, it’s when you can’t feel your legs and your blazing lungs stop working that the whole Impala starts to rock. The leather seat squeaks on beat and the carriage bounces harder and harder on its shocks. You swear the damn car’s going to flip when Sam’s thrusts stutter, losing their tempo. Sam twists his hand to get two fingers rubbing like lightning at your clit and you’re gone, too exhausted to do anything but cry, blissed-out tears pooling in your collarbones.

“Sammy please,” you weep.

He pants, “Gonna—gonna—”

You're pretty sure that's when the orgasms start. Maybe it’s not just one of them, but a million little zinging ones blending together in one deliciously long stroke. Slick is rolling down your ass and Sam’s cramping thighs, and his voice is muffled in your neck, cursing filthy half-words like he does in your fantasies. You melt helplessly at the seams through it all, clenching on him without end. Sam moans hoarsely through his broken voice and fills you for good. The last of his weight comes crashing down on top of you, beautifully squishing you between a swath of broad chest and the seat. Pinned down, fucked open, and flattened to the leather, you try to stay conscious as Sam’s climax wracks through his whole body—and yours, fused to him in a sloppy puppy-love kiss. Together, your finales hit a fever pitch too fantastic for mortal bodies to handle. It sings through you to him, where Sam’s skin meets your skin, his lips to your lips, the two of you ringing like bells until finally, finally, finally they coalesce into the same vibrating frequency. You’re him and he’s you and holy fuck, Sam Winchester just made stupid, crazy love to you. 

Two heaps of clay, you collapse into each other. Sam’s mussed hair tickles your neck where he’s gulping down deep, rattling breaths. It’s the first thing you notice when you regain your sense of what-fucking-dimension-am-I-in. Each filling inhale presses you down a little, and god should it not be as awesome as it feels. A couple more minutes and Sam could easily suffocate you, which is why you don’t move, content to die as you lived: utterly obsessed with him.

Somehow your brain is still capable of drawing connections to your body, because your fingers are curling into the soft tuft at the back of Sam’s neck of their own accord. An obscenely happy cocktail of endorphins throbs between your spent legs and swirls around in your brain, blissed out. 

Sam pets your waist with just the tips of his fingers. After a long, euphoric sigh, he murmurs with a dizzy smile, “How’s my girl?” 

You’re too out of your mind to speak. All you can think to do is throw your arms around his neck, and Sam, your genius, just gets it. With a lazy pull of his hips, his warmth leaves your very happy core. That itching sense of emptiness starts to ghost through your system the moment he’s gone, though, and you can’t help but sigh at yourself. This is not over. You’re never gonna get enough of him.

Sam handles the condom, then, to your delight, returns to his earlier spot cuddled up between your legs. This time, he’s brought blankets with him. In moments (that fly by even faster in your cum-drunkness), you’ve got a fluffy one propped up under your head and a big, warm body at your front, who squeezes you closer the same way he had before. Sam doesn’t wait a second to squirm his arms under and around you. He gets you all wrapped up in an cozy embrace, only to be consumed by cuddles himself. Greedy and unafraid, you haul the other blanket over you both and hug Sam tight enough to squeeze out a few giggles. 

“That was—” Sam starts, grinning all handsome and sleepy-like.

“Wait, shh,” you stop him. “You hear that?”

Sam tilts his head to listen. He studies you, intent, his whole face swimming with satisfaction. “Huh?”

You twist up in the mess of blankets to kiss Sam’s ear, snickering to yourself. “S’ your brother, revving a chainsaw,” you tell him, dryly, “cause’ he’s gonna fuckin’ kill us for doing this in his car.”

Sam’s eyes drifted peacefully shut. Since he is forever out to get you, one pretty hand of his smooths between your own. He confesses, grinning, “____. Not even that could ruin this for me right now.”

You can’t help it. He flushes your whole body with love in the dumbest way. In a moment of glorious, beautiful weakness, you brush the hair from Sam’s face and murmur, “Guess you are a quick study, then, Sammy, cause' that's how I've felt this whole time…”

-

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#supernatural reader insert #supernatural #spn #uncouthspn #user uncouth #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #there ain't no me if there ain't no queue

[kryptid-writes]

Sabotage

After one too many failed dates, Y/N finds out the real reason Gabriel has sabotaged her love life.

(3.5k)

Warnings: Smutty smut

“Check please,” you politely ask the waitress as she passes by. 

She nods and digs the checkbook out of her apron pocket and leaves it at the edge of the table, next to your empty plates and half finished glasses of red wine. 

You were lucky enough to get a reservation at one of the nicest restaurants in the city that’s typically booked out months in advance, accompanied by your lovely date.

You were skeptical about trying dating apps, claiming “they’re for losers who don’t go outside.” But the Winchester brothers had convinced you to give it a try after the countless dates before that had ended in disaster, to say the least. Dean even helped you set up your profile, choosing the best photos on your camera roll, limited to the ones without the blood and weapons.

You had almost given up in total, on the verge of deleting the app, when you matched with a nice man named Daryll. He’s a few years older with a steady job as a physician and a luxury car. Not to mention that he’s tall and clean shaven, with rich umber skin, and a smile that could light up a room. He’s dreamy, to say the least.

“So…” He trails off with a suggestive smile, taking a meticulous sip of his drink.

“So,” you repeat, your gaze getting lost in his dazzling amber eyes. The tension hangs in the air, cutting through the sound of plates and drinks clinking, and muffled chatter from the other patrons.

“I had a really nice time tonight, we should do this again sometime.” He reaches his hand across the table, resting it on top of yours.

You blush and nod your head. “Yes, I would really like that.”

After a short debate on who will pay, Daryll insists and grabs the check, slipping his sleek metal credit card into the folder. 

The waiter whisks it away and returns shortly, thanking us with a polite smile.

You exit the restaurant with Daryll, the smell of extravagant food fading from your senses as the door shuts behind you. You stop to admire the twinkling stars in the dark summer night sky, a light breeze blowing your hair back in the wind. 

There’s an unspoken debate, as you stand shoulder to shoulder in silence. It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten this far on a date and you're left feeling rather nervous.

You bite down your nerves and decide to speak, choosing not to waste this opportunity. “You know, I have an unopened bottle of Italian Riesling back at my apartment,” you say, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “It would be a shame for it to go to waste.”

“Riesling?” He chuckles, “Count me in.”

------------------------------------------------------------

You fish out your keys from the bottom of your purse and shove it in the lock, with a light jingle, the door opens, revealing the tiny apartment that you call home. “So, this is it,” you say, inviting him in and gesturing for him to sit on the gray loveseat in the living room. 

You hope he doesn’t mind the organized clutter of your apartment. Books, paintings, and houseplants tastefully strewn throughout the rooms. Of course you had hidden away your hunting gear in a small closet, given the small chance the night ending at your place

“It’s nice. Cozy.” He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack. He takes a seat in front of the roaring fireplace, the warm orange glow illuminating the room and the burning wood giving off a pleasant aroma.

You hastily search your cabinet through the countless bottles of wine until you find the Italian Riesling you have been saving for special occasions. It must’ve been sitting there for god knows how long, but wine gets better with age, right? 

You pour the wine into two of your fanciest glasses, careful not to spill a single drop over the edge. Clicking the button on your stereo that sits on the kitchen counter, the soft sound of classical music fills the room. You pick up the glasses and take a seat next to Daryll, handing him the other one with grace.

“To us,” he says in his smooth voice, lifting his glass in the air.

“To us,” you repeat, clinking your glass in a toast and taking a sip of the wine. The semi-sweet liquid flows down your throat, leaving a dry aftertaste of peaches and grapes.

Daryll scooches closer, placing a hand on your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine. His thumb rubs teasing circles along your skin, your flesh heating up at his touch. 

It’s been a long time since anyone has touched you, let alone someone as attractive as Daryll. Your breathing becomes heavier as you try to quell your growing excitement.

“Tell me, Y/N, do you usually lure men back to your apartment with fancy wine?” He says with a flirty smile, lightly squeezing your thigh.

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure before. Why, is it working?” You giggle.

“You know,” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, “I think it is.” He leans in close, his lips just inches from yours, the sexual tension growing by the second.

You close your eyes and lean in, desire burning in the pit of your stomach. Just before you can break the distance, you’re interrupted by the sound of blaring music and flashing lights.

You both jump back at the surprise, looking around at the once calm room turned chaotic. The swirling rainbow lights and reflections from the sizable disco ball dropped from the ceiling dances across the walls. The stereo that previously played peaceful classical music, now plays the best of 70’s disco at the highest volume, so loud that it sounds distorted and rings in your ears.

“What. The. Fuck,” Daryll yells over the music, his face scrunches up in a mixture of confusion and anger.

“I- I can explain!” You yell back, covering your ears as you desperately try to think of a reasonable explanation for the sudden madness. You’re interrupted by the feeling of something small and furry scurrying past your feet, making you gasp and tuck your feet onto the couch cushions. 

A mouse dashes across the floor, barreling directly towards Daryll, catching you both off guard as you’ve never had a rodent problem before. 

Despite carrying himself as a strong, fearless man, he runs for the door in a panicked hurry. “Look, I'm out!” he shouts with a disgusted look and slams the door behind him.

Anger surges through your body as you witness the one successful date you’ve had in months storm out the door, and you know damn well who’s to blame. You grab the stereo, ripping the plug out of the wall and smash it on the ground, the pieces scattering across the floor, halting the music mid track.

“GABRIEL, GET YOUR FEATHERY ASS DOWN HERE!” You yell, shaking with anger, and looking to the ceiling. 

“Hey sugar, you called?” The familiar voice of the mischievous archangel says from behind you.

You turn on your heels to face him. Of course he’s dressed for the occasion, wearing a stupid dress shirt with an obnoxiously loud pattern, the first few buttons undone, exposing the skin of his chest, and black bell bottom pants, with slicked back hair, and a fake mustache. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he’d fallen right out of the 70’s.

 The way he stands nonchalantly with an amused smile on his face, leaves you fuming. “What is wrong with you! You ruin everything!” You yell, your face heating up. 

He stares back at you, seemingly amused with your little outburst, conjuring a lollipop in his hand and sucking on it. 

“All I want is one successful date! One!” You point at him angrily, taking a step closer. “First it was the nice girl from the bar that you sent to some alternate reality that definitely scarred her for life, then it was the cute mechanic that took me to the movies who, may I remind you, you released a dozen snakes on him.”

Gabriel snickers, recalling the antics that he found so enjoyable.

“And now, this!” You snap, walking forward til you’re all but a few feet away. You take a deep breath, collecting your emotions. “I get that I'm a hunter, but maybe I don’t want to die alone,” your voice takes on a melancholy tone.

His face softens, his signature cocky smile melting into a frown.

“It’s like you don’t want me to be happy,” you whisper, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

“Hey! That’s not true!” Gabriel snaps in an offended tone, suddenly taking this very seriously.

“Then why, Gabriel? Cause I don’t find this funny! At all!” You look up at him with pleading eyes, desperate for some kind of an answer to all this torment. What did you do to deserve this?

He stays silent, but his soft, bashful eyes says it all. 

“Oh,” you whisper, something inside of you clicking, finally connecting the dots that should have been so obvious. “Are you… Jealous?”

He scoffs, looking away, but doesn’t deny it.

“You are! You’re jealous!” You say in disbelief with a shameless smile. 

“No! I just… I just don’t think they deserve you,” he replies, trying to keep his cool demeanor he’s worked so hard to curate. “You deserve someone capable, someone who’s gonna treat you right and take care of you.” He straightens his posture and subtly puffs out his chest, which might have been effective at impressing you, if he wasn’t dressed like the long lost member of the Bee Gees.

“Someone like you?” You say, lifting a brow and stepping closer, now invading his personal space, not that he seems to mind.

“I didn’t say that.” He furrows his brows, taking a daring step forward, nearly closing the distance between the two of you.

“You didn’t deny it either,” you say with a cocky smile.

He stares at you intently, his longing eyes falling to your pink lips.

Feeling a rush of boldness, you lean in close, placing a hand on his chest and whispering in his ear, “If you want to take me on a date, you could just ask.” You pull back smiling.

His face flushes a light pink, his lips curling into a grin. “The night is still young, cupcake, how about we fix this?” He says, ushering to the chaotic room, lights still spinning and remains of the stereo scattered across the apartment.

He snaps his fingers and your apartment is restored to its former glory, this time covered in candles that illuminate the room in romantic lighting. The repaired stereo sits on your counter, soft jazz music playing. Gabriel playfully dances to the music, taking your hands and encouraging you to join him.

You smile, admiring his work and casually sway with him. He always did know a thing or two about style.

He leads you to the loveseat, skillfully pulling you into his lap. With another snap of his fingers, a tray of chocolate covered strawberries appears in front of you, as well as two glasses of strawberry champagne. 

Gabriel is notorious for his love of sugar, always snacking on some kind of candy, even in less than appropriate settings. Lucky for you, you’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and being with Gabe certainly promises more of where this came from in the future.

You take a sip of your drink, the sweet taste of strawberries dancing on your tongue. You smile, maintaining playful eye contact as you swallow. “This is nice Gabe, you should’ve started with this.” You chuckle.

He laughs and rests one hand on your hip, the other grabbing a strawberry. “Now where's the fun in that?” He teases. “Open wide, sugar.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You blush at the innuendo, but do as he says, chuckling as he guides the tip of the strawberry in your mouth. “Mmm,” you hum in satisfaction as the dark chocolate melts in your mouth, mixing with the sweet flavor of the fresh strawberry, much sweeter than any strawberry you can buy from the supermarket. 

Gabriel smirks at your reaction, taking the rest of the strawberry in his mouth, his eyes lighting up as he savors the flavor, tossing the stem aside. “You have a little something here, cupcake,” Gabriel says flirtatiously. He places his thumb on the corner of your lips, swiping a smidge of chocolate off, his finger lingering on your lips for a moment before he sucks the chocolate off his thumb, never breaking eye contact.

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, suddenly feeling hot and flustered.

“Don’t sweat it.” His eyes fixate on your lips, studying every curve. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He asks in a soft, caring tone.

You stare at him in shock, his genuine compliment feeling out of character from his usually sarcastic, dickhead self. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply.

He grins like a cheshire cat and pulls you into a kiss, catching you by surprise.

You quickly melt into the kiss, all of your frustration from your failed date melting away. All that matters right now is Gabriel, and God does it feel so right.

He pushes his tongue in your mouth, tangling with yours. The sweet flavors of lingering chocolate and strawberry mix together in the most pleasant way, eliciting a moan from you that only spurs him on.

You tangle your fingers through his golden locks, lightly tugging on the ends, earning a groan from him. You grind down onto his lap as you deepen the kiss.

He reluctantly pulls away for air, both of you out of breath. “You taste so good, sweetstuff,” he purrs, letting his hands roam from your hip and down to your thighs. “But I want to taste you elsewhere,” he whispers seductively, sending a shiver of arousal down your spine.

“Please Gabe,” you beg, desperate for more.

Pleased with your reaction, he lightly peppers kisses from your jaw, down to your throat, licking and nipping as he goes. 

You lean back, giving him access to every inch of your skin.

When he reaches your collarbone, he furrows his brows in frustration at the constriction clothes that hide your body from him. With a snap of his fingers, they’re gone.

You gasp, feeling completely exposed to him, but don’t protest.

He pulls you off his lap and kneels on the floor in front of you, sitting back on his heels. He drinks in your form, completely entranced in your beauty. “Like I said, Gorgeous.” He smiles like a kid on Christmas. 

You blush profusely, but before you can respond, he kisses down your chest and takes your nipple into his mouth. You throw your head back and bite your lip to stifle a moan, the sensation sending arousal straight to your core.

He sucks and bites, lightly rolling the bud between his teeth and tongue. Once he’s satisfied with leaving you a quivering mess, he moves his way down. He kisses from your sternum, to your stomach, and down to your hips.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he places his hands on your thighs and spreads them apart, revealing your aching pussy to him. 

“There’s the good stuff,” he says with a stupid smile that just screams ‘Gabriel’.

“You’re such a dork,” you retort playfully. 

He gives you a flirtatious smirk, before placing kisses on your knee and working his way up your thighs, painfully slow, taking his time to tease you. He maintains deep eye contact with you as he inches ever closer to exactly where you need him most.

You tremble with anticipation, your body aching with arousal, craving him in every way possible.

He kisses to the crook of your thigh, biting down playfully, surely leaving a mark where his teeth dig into your flesh. He kisses right next to your pussy, painfully close, yet not close enough at all.

“Gaaabe,” you whine, tired of his teasing. You run your fingers through his hair and lightly pull, silently egging him on.

He smirks, enjoying keeping you on edge, desperate for him. “You gotta beg for it, sugar. Tell me how much you need it,” he says in a mischievous voice

You clench your jaw. He’s the trickster, of course he would enjoy teasing you. “Please, gabe,” you plead.

He raises his eyebrow, not satisfied with your feeble attempt.

You swallow your pride, the need to feel Gabriel, taking priority over your ego. “Please Gabe, I need you so bad. Please touch me!” You beg him, pulling on his hair.

“Much better,” he purrs. He uses his grace to pin your hands to your side and spread your legs wider, keeping you in place.

You whine in anticipation, trying to grind your hips forward, but you’re completely immobilized by his grace.

He laughs, enjoying watching you helplessly struggle. Deciding to give in, he licks a long stripe up your pussy and swirls tight circles around your clit.

“Oh, Gabe,” you moan, shocks of pleasure send through your every nerve.

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking with the perfect amount of pressure to drive you crazy. The movements of his tongue goes from planned and strategic to sloppy and passionate, lapping up all your wetness like he’s a man starved.

A string of expletives fall from your mouth as your brain goes foggy, reality and pleasure mixing together and becoming one. 

“Mm… sugar, you taste amazing, better than any candy I've tried, and I've tried them all.” He winks.

“God Gabe, are you trying to kill me?” You pant, your eyes meeting his, pupils blown wide with lust.

He scowls at the mention of his fathers name, but his expression quickly morphs into a cocky grin as an idea dawns on him. He presses his finger against your entrance, teasingly circling it, but never pushing in like you need.

“Please, no more teasing,” you pout, trying to grind down onto his fingers.

He scoffs, looking rather amused. “You have no idea how long you’ve been teasing me, sweetstuff. Seeing you going on dates with other humans, flirting with them right in front of me. This is just a taste of what you’ve put me through,” he says in a low, seductive voice. He pushes in the tip of his finger ever so slightly.

You bite down on your lip. You should feel bad about putting him through that, but all you can focus on right now is the way he’s teasing your aching cunt.

He slowly pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, before pulling out completely.

“No! Please!.. I need you,” you confess with wide eyes.

He smirks, getting exactly what he was looking for and pushes his finger all the way in, eliciting a deep moan from you. He starts slowly fucking you with his finger, building up pace until you’re a writhing, moaning mess.

You fight against his grace, desperately wanting to run your fingers through his hair and kiss him, but the struggle is ultimately useless against the overwhelming power of an archangel. 

He pulls his finger out, and you whine in disappointment that’s quickly cut off by him shoving two fingers into you, fucking you relentlessly. 

His fingers feel like heaven as that burning feeling builds in your stomach, the muscles in your body slowly tightening, reaching the point of no return. His name spills from your mouth over and over like a prayer, as your brain drowns in pleasure

He smiles, knowing just how close you are, and curls his fingers forward, pressing up against your sweet spot.

It’s all over as the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum harder than you ever have in your entire life. “Fuck! Gabe!” You moan loud enough for your neighbors to hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Every nerve in your body lights up, your walls spasming around his fingers as you ride out your high. 

“There you go, sugar,” he coo’s, his eyes tracing over every inch of your body, thoroughly enjoying the show. Once you’ve come down from your orgasm, a panting and sweating mess, he releases you from his grace and sucks his fingers into his mouth, his tongue licking off all your cum. “Mm, I could get used to that,” he says with a cocky smile.

“Me too,” you reply, leaning your head back against the couch.

He shuffles onto the couch next to you, pulling you into his arms. He feels a sense of peace and happiness as he finally gets to be with the human he had fallen for long ago.

Bathing in the afterglow, you feel his hard cock pressing against your ass, giving you a sense of pride and a new pang of arousal. You palm him through his jeans and he groans at your touch. 

“Woah, sugar,” he says, removing your hand. “We’ll get to that later. Trust me, tonight is far from over. But for now, you should relax. I’m here to take care of you, and if you let me, I'd like to be with you full time,” he admits, scared of being rejected.

“An archangel boyfriend? Count me in.” You smile, nuzzling your head against his chest.

He pulls you closer and hums in content.

Maybe the happiness you were searching for, has been here all along.

Masterlist

#gabriel x reader #gabriel supernatural #gabriel #Smut #fluff #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #gabriel fanfic

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester’s Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 984

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnaubingo true mates

A/N: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

PART V

Dean angrily stomped down the hallway and burst into the exam room, yelling, “Do you have any idea how fucking backasswards this state is, Dad!”

John blinked in surprise. Dean rarely spoke like this towards him as a Subordinate Alpha, which meant something was very off. Sam's ignored inquiry was another red flag. “Dean, what happened?”

“Do you know what they mandate done to prove ownership of O’s?” John was about to respond when the doctor reappeared, clearly unnerved by the angry scent rolling off Dean. “I need to speak to you privately, Mr. Winchester.” John doesn’t answer them back. “Dean, you got all the paperwork squared away?”

Dean acknowledged it was complicated, shifted his focus to the doctor, staring oddly at Sam, and barked, “You’re not his type, Doc!”  John ignored Dean's outburst and ordered them to wait outside the O’s room. They walked to another exam room, shutting the door. The doctor handed him a file. “This is the reason I asked to speak privately. It concerns your sons and the O.”

John read the first page. “The O’s file is flagged in the database? It was part of a lot taken during the bust of an illegal Pack distributor, and federal law requires spaying before resale?” The doctor interrupted, “Since I just examined it, I can attest this O is still fully intact. Heaven knows how Helms got hold of it.”

Anger crossed John’s handsome features, and snarled, “That son of a bitch! Her original purchaser accused Helms of selling them misrepresented goods. No wonder that Alpha sold her so cheaply.” He flipped to the next page and continued reading.

The next thing John was aware of was that he was seated on the floor. He knew most people would find this situation impossible, but he had had too much personal experience with the unbelievable to doubt it. “Mary’s obstetrician never said anything about us having twins!”

The doctor rolled a stool over and sat down before the big Alpha. “Was her physician at a government clinic?” John affirms the question, which makes the doctor sigh. “I bet she had an amniocentesis performed.” At John's expression, they said, “Some of their OBs order testing even if the ultrasound or blood work doesn’t show anything concerning.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Money. They use it to determine the sub-gender and designation because there are those among the elite wanting specific types of newborns. And twins with designations of Pack Omega and Breeder Alpha? It would’ve created a bidding war.”

John felt his lips moving, unable to vocalize the questions spinning in his mind. He did not want to believe the information when the doctor gestured to the results in his hands.

“I’m not lying about Sam and the Omega being twins.” John shook his head. “But I saw the ultrasounds. I would have known if I had a daughter!”

“With the older equipment, they could have already loaded someone else’s tape in the machine to fool you. And were you present during delivery?” John responded negatively.

“They drugged your mate, so she won’t remember the birth to smuggle the newborns out of the hospital directly. Something must have gone wrong since they only got your daughter, but it doesn’t explain how she ended up with that illegal distributor.”

John flashes back to seeing Mary and remembers how out of it she seemed after having Sam. Later, a shorter man appeared out of nowhere when he took Dean to the nursery, holding him up to see his new brother through its large window. He doesn’t remember their conversation, but Dean’s comment about not letting the man with the spooky eyes get Sammy stuck with him.

John's voice is hoarse. “How can she be a Pack Omega? And Sam a Breeder? They don’t exist anymore!”

“We might have evolved into civilized beings but still carry our ancestors' genetic makeup.” The doctor tapped a finger against their lips, “There was a theory that the reintroduction of Wild Pack DNA could reactivate Breeder genes within certain bloodlines, which would explain why the twin turned out a Pack Omega. She is your son's true mate.”

The doctor's words, certain bloodlines-true mate, pounded like a drumbeat, repeating in his keen mind and boarding on deafening when it hit him.

All this has something to do with Mary's death too.

“As that character in Jurassic Park said, life finds a way.” The doctor looked pained. “I must report all these results to the federal authorities by law. They will request a local retainer immediately and take them into custody. But since you have a court date,” the doctor calculated by wall clock, “In roughly thirty hours. I won’t send the results until then.”

John grew suspicious. “Why delay it?”

“I may participate in this system, but I’m not heartless. I have pups myself, and I’ve just dropped a metaphorical bomb on you. If these weren’t extenuating circumstances, you’d have legal recourse against Helms.”

John nodded in acknowledgment. “Thank you. Are you obligated to tell all my pups about these findings?” The doctor replied yes but gave a pointed look, “Your party has left before I could notify them.” They paused to ponder a moment.

“Perhaps this is an unexpected blessing. The judge must accept these test results, negating your son’s conviction because now they’ve been brought together, their wolves won’t allow them to be separated easily.”

John left the office but slipped out of the clinic's rear entrance instead of returning to the exam room. He walked out of the security cameras' range and pulled out his phone, dialing a number he swore never to use again. It rang twice before answering.

“I told you to lose this number, you son of a bitch!”

“It’s about my pups.” There was silence, then, “I’m listening.” John released his held breath, “Bobby, I need your help, or I’m gonna lose them all.”

Part VI

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

#winchester's folly #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #dean x reader x sam #dean x reader #sam x reader #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #dystopia #alpha dean winchester #alpha dean x reader #alpha sam winchester #alpha sam x omega reader #alpha john winchester #supernatural #spn au #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfic #spnaubingo

[dianawinchester03]

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist by @dianawinchester03

In this rewrite of CW's hit TV Show 'Supernatural'.

Y/N L/N is a longtime friend of the notorious Winchester Brothers, coming from a long line of hunters herself. Growing up with them, their fathers had a goal of avenging their wives deaths. Currently on her own hunting, much to her own fathers demise, she gets a call from her childhood crush, Dean Winchester. Notifying her of his fathers disappearance, will she join the brothers on the hunt to find their father? And will she resolve her relationship with her own?

=====================================

Season One (ongoing)

Prologue - Enter Y/N L/N

Season 1, Episode 1 - Pilot

Season 1, Episode 2 - Wendigo

Season 1, Episode 3 - Dead in Water

Season 1, Episode 4 - Phantom Traveler

Season 1, Episode 5 - Bloody Mary

Season 1, Episode 6 - Skin

Season 1, Episode 7 - Hook Man

Season 1, Episode 8 - Bugs

Season 1, Episode 9 - Home

Season 1, Episode 10 - Asylum

Season 1, Episode 11 - Scarecrow

Season 1, Episode 12 - Faith

Season 1, Episode 13 - Route 666

Season 1, Episode 14 - Nightmare

Season 1, Episode 15 - The Benders

Season 1, Episode 16 - Shadow

Season 1, Episode 17 - Hell House

Season 1, Episode 18 - Something Wicked

Season 1, Episode 19 - Provenance

Season 1, Episode 20 - Dead Man’s Blood

Season 1, Episode 21 - Salvation

_____________________

Also available on:

📖; ao3

📖; wattpad

_____________________

Authors Note: I finally learnt how to do a Masterlist! Hallelujah now life will be easier for you guys. Hope you check out my book and enjoy🫶I’ll update the list after each chapter release

Xoxo

#dean winchester #sam winchester #spn #supernatural #dean and sam #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #sam and dean #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fandom #supernatural tv show #supernatural fanfiction #masterlist #dean winchester masterlist #supernatural masterlist #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #wattpad #dean winchester x female!reader #series rewrite #rewrite

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

No Such Thing As Monsters

Summary: Dean is injured on a hunt and at first glance, appears to be fine. Quickly though, the reader and Sam learn something far more serious is going on...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: language, injury

“Dean,” you said, shaking on his shoulder, his eyes flashing open, fist tightening around his angel blade. “You’re okay. Sam took care of the ghoul. How’re you doing?”

“I feel like I just went through a wall,” he said, shakily getting to his feet, cocking his head at the damaged sheetrock in front of him. “Looks like I did.”

“You sure you okay?” you asked, his head nodding. “Sam’s driving us home, just in case.”

“No arguments from me,” he said, giving Sam a nod when he showed up, following his brother the few blocks over to where you’d parked Baby. Dean grabbed the passenger door, slamming his hand on the roof.

“Dean...” said Sam. Dean scrunched up his face, placing a hand on his head. “Dean.”

“Take me to a hospital,” gritted out Dean, your eyes wide. “Now.”

“What’s wrong?” you said, shoving him in the backseat instead, climbing in beside him as Sam started gunning it for the closest one.

“My head. Something’s wrong. I don’t...just hurry.”

Eight Hours Later

Your excuse of Dean taking a hard fall worked with the doctors but you and Sam were staring at one another after finally getting to see Dean again.

“Let’s talk outside,” said the neurologist, Dean giving you a smile as you followed her out.

“What is wrong with my brother, Sally?” asked Sam the second the door to Dean’s room was shut. 

“Retrograde amnesia as far as I can tell. He remembers certain things like his name, date of birth, address when he was a child. You’re lucky I was on call tonight to take his case. Neuro patients are hard enough, especially one’s that are hunters and have to lie about everything,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Sally, amnesia...isn’t that supposed to fade after a few hours at most?” asked Sam.

“Normally,” she said, taking a deep breath. “My best guess is a combination of lasting amnesia which will be hard to recover from but we can help him...and then he’s repressing all the hunting without realizing. You guys have seen some serious crap I’m sure he’d rather forget.”

“What do you mean repressing?” you asked. 

“I mean, Dean thinks monsters are made up, creatures from stories. He doesn’t know they’re real,” she said. You raised an eyebrow, Sam shaking his head. “He doesn’t remember the ghoul, he doesn’t remember the Vamp you guys took care of for me years ago. Monsters aren’t real to him,” said Sally.

“He’s known monsters were real his whole life,” said Sam.

“Technically, since he was four, almost five,” said Sally. “There was a time when he didn’t think any of this was real so it is possible.”

“You’re telling me Dean thinks he’s five?” you said. “He’s in his thirties.”

“He doesn’t think he’s five. He just doesn’t remember certain things. Like he understands basic long term memories, who his parents are, who Sam is...more recent things he’s blocked out,” she said. “Either by choice or because he really can’t remember.”

“Does he remember me? I only started running with the guys about five years ago,” you said.

“He knows your name and that he loves you but that’s about it. The details are all fuzzy for him. Now Dean’s not exactly what I’d call a normal patient. He’ll get thrown in an institute if he starts remembering here in a hospital and God knows what’ll happen to him in there,” she said.

“What do we do then?” asked Sam, Sally sighing and grabbing a chart from the nurses station.

“He has no bleeding in his head, just a few minor cuts and bruises from his tussle. Take him home, try to get him to remember. Any problems and you guys call me. I’ll get you some materials that help sometimes,” she said.

“What if he doesn’t remember?” said Sam.

“Then he doesn’t. Either way, you need to be there for him. You guys gotta get going. The other neurologist starts his shift in an hour and he’s going to want to look at Dean if he’s still here.”

Dean was quiet on the way home, sitting in the backseat, leaning against the backdoor as he stared out the window. Sam simply went through the motions, making him dinner, sending him to bed after checking his bandages, Dean wearing a confused but happy smile the whole time. 

“Y/N,” said Sam, catching you sipping on a drink the library, stealing the bottle to pour himself some.

“What are we going to do Sam?” you asked. “He’s...”

“Do you remember when I saved you from that fire? You promised you’d do anything I wanted. Anything. I told you maybe someday I’d take you up on it. We both know I was never going to but this...I’m cashing that favor in, Y/N,” he said, taking a long swig.

“Using a spell to get his memories back might be dangerous, Sam,” you said, earning a head shake.

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that my big brother thinks the world is normal. The weight of it isn’t on his shoulders anymore. He’s so light and happy. You’re gonna pack up his stuff, pack up your stuff, and you’re going to take him to a little cabin that used to be Bobby’s. It’s not that far out in the boonies so you’ll have electricity and internet and then...you’re gonna help him get a job, get a job yourself and you two are going to get the hell out of this life,” he said.

“Sam that is not-”

“You’re doing this. If something comes after you, you can protect him. Try it for me. If he starts to remember on his own, come back but please, give it a try.”

Two Days Later

“I thought we lived at the bunker place?” asked Dean, sitting down at your new kitchen table, watching you whip up an easy dinner. 

“We live here now,” you said, stirring the pot, taking a deep breath. 

“What do we do now?” he asked with a smile. “Do I go to work?”

“We’ll find you a new job,” you said, Dean pursing his lips. “What is it Dean?”

“You’re not happy,” he said. “I want to fix it but I don’t remember how to do that.”

“We both have to get used to this new life,” you said, giving him a nod. “We will. I don’t want you to worry about me, Dean.”

“I love you though. Of course I worry about you,” he said with a smirk.

“You don’t even remember my birthday,” you said with a smile.

“I guess I get to learn everything I love about you all over again then,” he said. “I do know I love you. I definitely remember that.”

“I love you too Dean. Every version of you. We’ll get through this too.”

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #one shot #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 22

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, injuries, hospitals, jealousy, drug use, angst, smoking everywhere 'cause it's the 80s, girl fights, a whole lot of FLUFF

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your comments last week! So happy to bring these two idiots back to your screens of choice and give them an ending they deserve! Now, buckle up! We have some bitchy moments in this one 👀😇

<< 21 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

22. Girls, Girls, Girls

The gym smells of blood, sweat, and tears tonight. More so than ever before. The tensions run high.

It’s the first live taping since the show’s official cancellation. The first three matches have already run their course, the rest of the women joining Dean in his office, using the platform as the perfect viewing room. It’s like an NFL suite at Super Bowl. Everyone’s drinking, celebrating, and has gathered here to watch the biggest match of the night:

Red Sparrow vs. Liberty Bell

Usually, the green-eyed director would be bothered by the constant chatting, shrieking, and yapping. But tonight, he could care less as he passed the director’s crown on to his spawn, leaving Claire to man the booth and direct the show on her own, putting her AV skills to the test.

After all, the show’s already canceled. What’s the worst that could happen? Might as well let a rebellious teenager call the shots. Who gives a shit! Isn’t it awesome to be this carefree?

“Can you guys keep it down?” Claire hisses with an annoyed roll of her eyes, her shoulders tense with stress as she tries to concentrate on the monitors. “I’m trying to direct a show here! I can’t fucking hear anything!”

Amused, Dean chuckles. Now, his daughter finally knows what it’s like to be in his shoes. He’s tried telling everyone for ages that these women are fucking annoying and that being a director ain’t easy.

While the women are busy talking up a storm and pay attention to the match, Dean sneaks to his desk and opens the first drawer. He pulls out his pack of cigarettes, but it’s not a smoke he’s in the mood for. To his surprise and shock, however, the little bag of white powder he hides in there is gone.

Did he put it somewhere else?

Frantically, he starts opening every drawer, moving stuff in and out of them. He rummages through his folders on his desk, sees if he placed it there somewhere, but it’s nowhere to be found. His green eyes then dart to his kid and an eerie feeling settles in his stomach. Surely, Claire didn’t take it, right?

Like father, like daughter, it echoes through his mind.

He always loved the fact that his kid was so much like him – the love for good movies, the humor, the sass, the sheer unabashed talent. But not in that regard. God, does he hope she didn’t inherit his drug addiction, too.

“Claire?” Dean knows he has to be careful in his questioning, not wanting to alert the other women in the room to the pressing issue. But his daughter skillfully ignores him, too focused on her current task. “CLAIRE?!” he barks loud enough to rattle the entire office.

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t as smooth and inconspicuous as he had hoped, but he’s fucking panicking on the inside, alright? He has entered worried dad mode.

Don’t act so fucking surprised, okay? He has evolved like man is supposed to do.

In all honesty, Dean wanted to get completely clean two weeks ago. As soon as Y/N waltzed into his office and slept with him, he swore he’d never touch the toxic and nasty stuff again. He was done, and this time, it’d be final. No going backsies. But he had one teeny-tiny baggy left, and well, he hates to be wasteful. So, his plan was to slowly stop and keep the withdrawals at a minimum. And it worked great so far. It hasn’t snowed in four fucking days.

“What?!” his kid grunts back, audaciously annoyed.

“Did you snoop through my drawers and take my smokes out?” Dean asks her in his best dad voice. He’s gotten quite good at it since he practiced it over the last few weeks.

Do your homework!

Eat your vegetables!

Tell that fucking boyfriend of yours to stop sneaking in through the window, or I’ll get my gun!

“No, I don’t smoke!” Claire huffs without missing a beat and doesn’t take her eyes off the monitors even once.

Dean believes her. Usually, when she lies, there are a few seconds of thinking that pass by before she comes up with a reasonable excuse. Not that he buys any of them, but whatever. This time, though, she answered right away, and he knows she has no idea what he’s even talking about.

So, did he misplace it? You’d think he’d be more careful with drug storage, but sometimes it’s a glass of whiskey too many, and stuff gets lost. Did he leave it in the car? Is it at home?

But then it dawns on him. Joanna.

The blonde storms into his office, forcing the director to look up. Her mascara is smeared across her cheeks, her hair disheveled and overall she seems upset and out of breath.

“I need my own goddamn dressing room,” Barbie demands. “I can’t get ready and in the right head space with all of these women down there. I’m the star of the show. Some of us need peace and quiet to wash the shit of the world from us before they have to fucking perform!”

“Whoa, whoa, easy, alright? Sit down,” Dean tells her calmly and gestures to the seat in front of him, where the blonde immediately plops down with an exhausted huff. “You can get ready in my office tonight, okay? You want a drink? You look like you need one.”

Jo nods with a sniffle and accepts the flask he’s offering her, almost downing the whole thing.

“What’s going on? You good?” Dean checks. Usually, he wouldn’t care about the blonde’s feelings, but since she’s up against Y/N tonight, he wants to assure himself nothing goes wrong.

“Yeah, it’s just… Sam.” She scoffs and takes another swig. “He’s got a new girlfriend. His secretary, Jessica.” The blonde rolls her eyes at the name. “Who knows how long he’s been fucking her. Our divorce isn’t even final.”

Dean nods understandingly as he rises from his chair and pats the blonde’s shoulder. “I know. Divorce is shitty. You’ll get through this. Trust me.”

“Shit…” Dean mumbles.

He left an emotionally vulnerable woman alone in his office with a bunch of booze and drugs. How could he be this stupid and reckless? He doesn’t even suspect Jo took the coke on purpose. She was probably looking for a smoke and stumbled upon it, thinking, “What the hell? My day is already shit, maybe this makes it better.”

Dean knows because it’s usually what he thinks as well when he’s at his lowest. How do you think he got addicted to drugs in the first place, huh?

Here’s how: two divorces and a failing career.

“Boss?”

“Dean?!”

“Dad!”

The green-eyed director snaps out of his thoughts and turns to the room full of women upon their calling, all of them looking quite panicked and worried. It’s like a fox got loose in the coop.

His brow furrows as he approaches the booth and big windows, trying to see where the concern is coming from. “What? What’s going on?”

“I think there’s something wrong, boss,” Donna informs him. “That’s not the fight they’ve practiced during training. They’re going off script.”

Fucking shit…

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” Billie cocks an eyebrow at the director, but he can’t get himself to focus or reply as his green eyes are glued to the match downstairs.

Dean’s too cynical to believe in a God and has certainly never prayed before, but tonight he can’t help it and utter a quiet prayer, hoping for a goddamn miracle.

His heart is racing as he watches the match unfold. There’s nothing he can do about it. Nothing can stop it. It’s like watching a fucking car crash as a bystander on the sidewalk.

Looking at Y/N’s face, he can see that she’s panicking as well and getting scared. It breaks his goddamn heart. The actress tries to talk to the blonde and get through to her but to no avail. Killer Barbie is on a mission, and her target is clearly Y/N.

And then, it all happens fast. Jo throws Y/N onto the mat and grabs her leg, raising it up by the ankle. There are tears in Y/N’s eyes before an audible crack echoes through the gym. Y/N screams out in pain. Jo drops her foot and backs away in shock, hands high in the air. The entire gym becomes mum, only a few quiet gasps uttered by the audience bounce off the tall walls.

Dean’s heart is about to explode as he bolts down the stairs and almost takes a fall. He hasn’t even reached the ring yet and assessed the damage, but he already blames himself. This is all his fucking fault. Donna warned him, and he didn’t listen. Y/N was obviously not fine, and neither was Jo. How many goddamn warning signs did he choose to ignore? And for what? For fucking ratings no one even cares about?

Y/N’s agonizing scream rings in his ears as the director makes his way to her. Rufus is already there in his referee costume, trying to help her as best as he can. Dean’s so close he can practically count the steps to the ring. Has this gym always been this huge? It feels like he’s been running a mile.

But then, he’s abruptly stopped by Cas’ announcer voice and what his green eyes find unfolding in front of him.

“And here comes a camera guy to save our Russian warrior!”

Oh hell, no!

Dean should probably be glad that someone is helping her and not let his jealousy win. But does that someone really have to be fucking Benny of all people? The green-eyed director truly thought he was done worrying about that guy. Now, however, he has to watch that douchebag heroically carry Y/N out of the ring while the audience cheers and claps.

It’s his worst goddamn nightmare. Well, that and Y/N getting hurt in the first place.

“Put her down,” Dean demands fiercely as he faces Benny, his blood boiling as he watches the actress hold on to the guy’s neck and wince in pain. A bit of guilt mixes with his jealousy at that.

Don’t be an asshole. Focus, he reminds himself. Y/N’s more important than your fucking ego.

“What? No,” Benny denies his request with a confused and irritated frown.

“That’s an order,” Dean grits boldly.

“I don’t care. She’s hurt,” Benny snaps back with emphasis and acts like Dean doesn’t know what that means. “Fucking fire me if you have a problem with that. The show’s done anyways.”

That fucking little prick…

Dean purses his lips in frustration. What is he supposed to do now? Rip her from the guy’s arms? Start a fist fight?

“I can take her. I’ll drive her to a hospital,” the director insists with a little more reasoning.

“Let’s take my limo! There’s enough space for her,” Ruby chimes in as the whole pack of women flock to the rescue and worryingly gather around Y/N.

Great. More helping hands is what Dean needs right now.

“No, we’re taking my car,” Dean maintains, trying to remain calm amongst the concerned chatter. “Baby’s backseat got plenty of space, alright?”

“True,” Bela agrees with a dirty smirk.

Dean sighs, Billie rolls her eyes, and Y/N frowns at that. Dear God, these fucking women…

“How about we ask Y/N what she wants, huh?” Dean proposes, knowing the actress will surely pick him. God knows she’s picked him yesterday all night long…

Benny smiles as if he could win this battle. “Fine.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what d’you want? Who do you wanna go with, huh?” Dean asks, lowering himself down to her with a gentle look in his eyes and a warm, caring smile.

“I don’t care!” Y/N whines with pained features and a high level of annoyance. “I just wanna go to a hospital! Any hospital in any car.”

Fair enough, Dean thinks dejectedly. Still, she could’ve done him a favor and picked him. He hates losing to a fucking camera operator.

“My limo it is!” Ruby exclaims and bolts ahead to the parking lot, keys jiggling in the air.

With a triumphant smirk, Benny turns and follows Valley girl outside, Dean swallowing down the urge to punch the guy as Y/N throws him an apologetic look over camera guy’s shoulder.

These fucking women…

Dean has floored the gas pedal of the Impala, but it’s fucking LA, so an hour was spent standing in traffic on the freeway. Moreover, he had to gather Claire and Cas as well and check on Jo, while Benny and the girls were already at the hospital with Y/N.

When Dean finally arrives, he rushes through the glass doors into the waiting area of the emergency room, Cas and Claire on his heels. His group is easy to spot, considering they’re all still in their fucking wrestling costumes.

His hands ball into fists when he sees Benny holding an ice pack to her injured ankle as she sits in a wheelchair, the girls scattered around Y/N on creaky hospital seats as they keep her company. He hates that camera guy is taking care of his girl. It should be him by her side, not some fucking footnote in this story.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on? Why is she still waiting?” Dean asks furiously, charging in full-throttle. His heart is burning for Y/N, and nothing can extinguish it.

Hell, if she isn’t getting help soon, he’ll burn this goddamn hospital down.

“Because she’s not a gunshot wound?” Ruby answers wryly, earning her glare.

But Dean supposes party girl has a point. It’s an LA hospital in a bad neighborhood.

“Want me to lick your wound? Saliva helps with blood clotting,” Meg offers as she holds Y/N’s hand tightly.

“She’s not even bleeding,” Cassie counters with a raised brow.

“She might be bleeding internally,” Meg argues and places her palm on Y/N’s forehead, taking her temperature.

“Stop it! You’re freaking her out,” Charlie scolds from the seat behind her.

“Why is this taking so long? My friend is in pain! Do you hear me?” Meg whines, calling to the nurses’ station.

Why are girls so exhausting? That question has been running around Dean’s mind for months now. He’s still lacking an answer.

Ignoring the female turmoil around him, Dean lowers himself down in front of Y/N and finds her eyes, smiling gently. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing, huh?”

“Dean!” Y/N smiles broadly when she recognizes him, her face lighting up and beaming brighter than the fluorescent lights above her. It warms his heart.

The director’s head then tilts slightly, inspecting her closer. She seems awfully chipper for someone in pain. Her pupils are gigantic, too.

Ruby leans in and whispers, “I gave her a Valium… and then half a Klonopin.”

Ah. There it is. She’s fucking high. That explains it.

Dean reaches out his hand and caresses her pink cheek, feeling her lean into his touch. “You feeling good, sweetheart?”

“I’m awesome,” she replies with a drowsy giggle.

He grins. “Yeah, I bet you are…”

Is it weird he’d like to fuck her in this state? Right, probably not a good time to ask those questions. (But he swears he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Just play with her and test her senses a little.)

“You’re so pretty,” Y/N tells him dreamily, making him blush hard as she touches a few strands of his hair and plays with them.

“And the first pill is kicking in,” Ruby notes, amused.

A nurse then finally walks into the waiting room with a tired gleam in her eyes and clears her throat to catch everyone’s attention. Dean can’t blame her. He knows it’s like a fucking circus in here.

“Good news. We have a bed ready, so I’ll take her back and all of you can leave?” the nurse explains and looks at the wolf pack hopefully.

Meg stares her dead in the eyes and replies flatly, “Not a chance.”

Yeah, Dean could’ve told that nurse those girls weren’t going anywhere.

Benny rises from his position and attempts to push Y/N’s wheelchair, following the nurse. But Dean will be damned if he lets him. Provocatively, he pushes the camera guy aside and scowls at him, making his territory and claim clear. The girls aren’t the only wolves in this waiting room.

“I got her. You can leave,” Dean growls with a deathly stare. “My show, my actress. I’m the director, and she’s my fucking responsibility, got it?”

Benny raises his palms in surrender and takes a step back. He already knew he lost when Y/N only had eyes for Dean as soon as the director showed up. A pill-high never lies.

The nurse helps Y/N into a bed in a small, quiet room. As they wait for a doctor, Dean impatiently paces the room, fuming away on his smoke. If you can’t tell, he’s far away from relaxed.

A man in a white coat with a friendly smile then finally strolls in and introduces himself. “Hello there, Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Gabriel Piccolo. Are you with the circus?”

Dr. Sexy, as Dean refers to the guy, lifts an eyebrow at Y/N’s unusual costume. You’d think as a doctor at a hospital in Hollywood, he’d see more people like this.

“I’m an actress on a wrestling TV show,” Y/N replies, not offended by his question in the slightest.

“Oh, uhm, I’ll have to watch it,” Dr. Sexy says politely and then gets straight down to business, cocking his head at her injured leg. “Okay, so left ankle. We’re gonna have to cut off this boot.”

“Oh! No, no, no. Sorry, these are important.” Y/N protectively throws herself over her knee-high army boot.

Dean sighs a little. Even high on pills and in unbearable pain, Y/N still prioritizes her silly job. “Alright, Doc. I got it,” the director relents and shoots the man a look.

Carefully, Dean unties her laces, loosening the shoe enough. “I’m gonna go slow, sweetheart. Just take it easy, alright?”

Dean flashes her a smirk and watches as she bites down on her lower lip, nodding. She inhales sharply and whimpers when he slips the boot off her foot. His fingers smooth over her leg, soothe the skin, and elicit a shudder from her. He can tell the action turned her on, can see the goosebumps rise on her arms as she presses her thighs together. He can practically hear her drip.

He smirks devilishly. Y/N sends him a knowing frown.

Dr. Sexy clears his throat and interrupts their heated moment, causing Y/N’s cheeks to flush furiously.

The doctor then assesses her ankle. It’s swollen and the skin a purplish-blue. Dean knows it doesn’t fucking look good. He guesses it’s not a simple sprain.

“Can you feel your toes? Can you wiggle them?” the doc checks. Y/N does as asked and moves her toes as best as she can. It’s not much though before she winces in pain. “How does that feel?”

Dr. Sexy touches the swell on her ankle, and Y/N squeezes her eyes shut and locks her jaw, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Fucking hurts,” she grits through strained teeth.

“Okay, we’re gonna take some X-rays. See what we’ve got,” the doc finally says and disappears out of the room.

Y/N exhales an exhaustive breath and looks at the director. “Distract me,” she prompts with desperate eyes.

“Well, I’m not gonna be my regular chipper self,” Dean quips, making her laugh. He smiles, too, and leans in closer. “How about this?”

He wiggles his eyebrows and then dips his head, claiming her lips in a blistering kiss that makes her legs quiver. His tongue slips inside her mouth, swipes deep as teeth scrape her lower lip. Upon her first moan, he draws back with a smug smile.

He leans close to her ear, whispering against her shell, “You know if curling your toes didn’t hurt, I’d make you come so fast on my fingers right now, baby girl.”

Her eyes widen. She gasps and gently hits his arm in a scolding manner. “Dean!”

“What?” He chuckles and pecks her crown. “It’ll be alright. Don’t worry so much, okay?”

The girls then soon flood the room, one by one providing endless entertainment that surely no other patient at this hospital receives. Y/N’s a fucking star here, although she always is to Dean.

First, there was Claire, who practically emptied the vending machine, buying sweets and snacks for every taste (with Dean’s money). He’s nothing more than a wallet to that girl.

Meg, on the other hand, stole more pillows and blankets from other patients, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. Ruby read Cosmopolitan to her and filled out the magazine’s sex quiz, intriguing Dean a lot.

Every girl pretty much brought their unique sense of entertainment, making Y/N laugh and smile so much she almost forgot why she was here. Only one woman was missing from the wolf pack – Joanna.

As Y/N is finally wheeled away to her X-rays, Dean decides to join the other women in the waiting room. He’s more than happy to discover that Benny actually left when he can’t catch sight of the guy anymore.

Guess the director is the true winner, after all.

Donna then approaches Cas, who’s nervously sucking on a cigarette in the corner by the vending machine, and hands him a clipboard with a hospital form.

“Y/N doesn’t have insurance, and we don’t know what to fill out,” the blonde tells him and meekly saunters back to her seat.

Cas frowns and looks at the women in disbelief. “How could she not have insurance? She’s a professional wrestler.”

Billie arches a sarcastic eyebrow at that and replies wryly, “Yeah, employed by Novak Productions, who doesn’t provide health care.”

Cas swallows guiltily and purses his lips. “How many of you don’t have insurance?”

Almost every woman in the room raises their hand, except for Jo, Billie, and party girl.

That tracks, Dean thinks and is not the least bit surprised. Judging by Cas’ shocked expression, though, this revelation clearly shatters the privileged rich boy’s world.

The producer nods earnestly. “This is my responsibility, and I will take care of it,” he promises. Dean gives him a pat on the back, letting Cas know he’s doing the right thing. If the producer hadn’t footed Y/N’s bill, Dean surely would have.

The director then glances around the waiting area, noticing the sad faces and depressed mood. “Alright, she’s not dying, okay?” he tells them and catches their attention. “You guys did a great show tonight. Why don’t you go back to the motel?”

“Great?” Donna cocks a brow at his word choice. “We were amazing.”

Charlie looks up at him, a hopeful look in her eyes as her red hair shimmers in the fluorescent light. “You think we get our old time slot back, Dean?”

Dean smacks his lips, scratching the scruff on his chin. He then shakes his head. He can’t lie to them. Knowing what he knows, he also knows it’s over. “No, I don’t. I think we’re gonna die at 2am… But we’ll die on our own terms, alright?”

Nodding, Ruby sighs loudly. “I’ll drive everybody home. And then, we get drunk while we ice our knees.”

As the girls start to gather their belongings and rise from their seats, Jo rushes through the glass doors. The women punish her with little glares on their way out. No one buys it was an innocent accident. In fact, Dean’s pretty sure the wolf pack believes the blonde tried to murder their beloved leader.

Dean, however, doesn’t.

“She’s in room 3,” he tells Jo without further comment.

The green-eyed director didn’t know what he had expected when he sent Joanna into Y/N’s room. Maybe that they’d talk like adults, get it all out in the open, and finally make amends. Be best friends again.

But maybe that was a little naive of him.

It all started out innocently. Dr. Sexy entered the room with a set of X-rays and left happily a few minutes later. Meanwhile, Dean and Cas smoked in the hospital’s corridor and drank the most awful-tasting coffee out of plastic cups.

Then, the mood started to shift. The guys could hear the girls arguing with slightly raised voices, just loud enough for it to drown out into the hallway.

“Eight to ten weeks? It’s not that long,” Jo could be heard saying.

“It’s the rest of the season. I won’t be on the show,” Y/N threw in through gritted teeth. Dean could hear the upset in her voice.

Jo scoffed, brushing it off. “Well, we’re getting canceled anyways, so… It’s just a job, you know.”

“No, it’s not!” Y/N’s voice went up a notch in volume. Dean knew she was close to reaching a boiling point. This wasn’t good.

“Okay, geez, you don’t have to lash out at me. I did not mean to break your ankle, okay?” Jo countered, pushing all blame off her.

“I don’t fucking believe you!”

And that was the turning point. That’s when the yelling started. The one that could be heard throughout the hospital, spilling into every room and probably several floors.

“No, no, no…. See, that was an accident, Y/N,” Jo says with a jittery voice. “Unlike the time you accidentally fucked my husband! TWICE!”

“You made out with my prom date on prom night!”

“That is not the same thing, and you know it!”

“Oh? Is it the same thing when you hooked up with your co-star at your stupid soap wrap party one week before you got married? And coincidentally, Sammy was born nine months later! Is he even Sam’s? ‘Cause he looks a whole lot like what‘s-his-face!”

“How dare you!”

“You didn’t even love Sam! You only married him for his money!”

“You don’t have the fucking right to say anything about my marriage!”

Cas swallows down a big gulp of coffee, sharing a nervously concerned look with Dean. “Should we, you know, go in there?”

Dean’s eyes widen as he vividly shakes his head. “Fuck no! Are you nuts? We stay right here. Look, men are simple. They throw a few punches and then share a drink. And women… Well, women do fucking this. Bottle everything up, even for years sometimes, till it fucking explodes. Trust me, they need this. Let ‘em get it outta their system.”

Fucking women…

“Oh, do I have the right to talk about your power complex?” Y/N yells. “Or do I have to schedule a meeting with all the producers?”

“I’ve earned my title!”

“Right, your fucking work ethic is legendary! I’m so sick and tired of apologizing about Sam! I don’t care anymore! I have eaten shit for months! I have done everything I can think of to make this right!”

“You can’t make it right!”

“Great! Then I’ll stop trying!”

“Fine!”

“Yeah, fine like you telling me I should get raped to save our show! The show you don’t give a shit about!”

“God, you’re so melodramatic! I just figured you’re already screwing our director for attention, what’s one more network executive!”

Cas blinks at Dean with wide eyes and a raised brow. “Are you-… Are you and Y/N dating?”

Dean averts his eyes to the blue wall opposite him and wordlessly sips his coffee. He has a feeling the girls’ fight is about to take a turn, going into a direction he doesn’t particularly care for. Why can’t they just leave him out of it?

Cas, however, takes Dean’s silence as what it is – an admission. The producer’s face lights up with joy. He excitedly rubs Dean’s shoulder and gasps giddily. “That’s so great! You haven’t dated anyone since Amara! I’m so happy for you! I love Y/N! Are you guys getting married? Did you buy a ring? Can I be best man? You know what they say, third time’s the charm!”

Dean scowls at the producer and heaves a deep sigh. “Calm the fuck down, would you? No one’s getting married.”

“Go to hell! I’m not fucking Dean, okay?” Y/N denies Jo’s accusation loudly.

Dean thinks she’s a hell of an actress. If he didn’t know for a fact that he was balls-deep inside her last night, he would’ve bought that little lie.

“Oh please! It’s so obvious!” Jo counters. Dean can practically hear the exhaustive eye roll that followed. “He’s following you around the gym like a lovesick puppy!”

That’s what Dean was afraid of. He does not like where this conversation is headed.

“He is not! Shut the fuck up!”

“Are you really trying to fucking lie to me, right now? I’ve known you since middle school!” Jo snaps. “And he certainly fits your glorious dating choices! Drug addiction? Check! Asshole? Check! Commitment issues? Check! He’s perfect for you. I’m surprised your slutty ass didn’t jump him the first day!”

“Oh, fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

Then, more yelling, more accusations, and more tears follow before Jo storms out of the room and bolts past the boys down the hallway.

Fucking girls…

“I’ve never felt so guilty about anything,” Cas mumbles next to him, completely distraught and shaken.

Dean scoffs. “Geez, you’ve lived a charmed life.”

“Thought I was gonna have a wrestling show, and no one was gonna get injured?” Cas shakes his head at his own nonsense. “What the fuck is wrong with me? I destroyed our little family! I mean, Y/N is a gimp.”

The director rolls his eyes and sighs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She’ll go on to have a full life, okay?”

Somehow that causes Cas to smile cheekily. He nudges the director’s shoulder. “With you?”

Dean sends him a thundering glare and dumps his burning cigarette bud into the producer’s coffee cup as he walks past him and returns to Y/N’s room.

Dean sat quietly next to Y/N as a nurse put a cast on her leg. The ankle, much like the women’s friendship, was broken, and the actress was out of commission for the foreseeable future. She hadn’t spoken a word yet, only sniffling and crying silently to herself. Dean left her alone and only handed her a tissue every now and then, figuring she needed some time to calm down and think. But he still wanted her to know he was there in case she needed him.

As the nurse finally leaves, Dean reaches out his hand and takes hers, drawing comforting circles on the back of it. Patiently, he waits till she’s ready to look at him.

“Well, I won’t be needing these anymore,” Y/N mutters with a pout and dumps her army boots on the little bedside table. “You should give them to Claire. She’d make a great replacement Red Sparrow.”

Dean purses his lips. It takes a lot out of him not to roll his eyes at her dramatization. He supposes that’s what he gets for falling in love with a goddamn actress – fucking theater no less. But he knows she’s really going through it right now, so he’s willing to cut her some slack.

“Relax, I’m not giving your part away,” he assures her with an easy smile.

“Well, you have to, if you want to keep the storyline moving forward,” she mumbles grumpily.

“Who cares? It’s just a TV show,” Dean argues.

However, that particular line seems to anger her. “Everyone keeps saying that. It’s not to me,” she contends and finds his eyes, her teary-eyed and desperate look boring into him. “I have people now. People who come with me to the ER. People who care if I’m hurt.”

Dean nods his head in understanding. He knows Cas and Y/N are essentially right, as much as it hurts him to admit it. They are a little family – a weird and incredibly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the easiest thing to say, you know?” he says and lets out a sigh. He rests his palm on her thigh and squeezes reassuringly. “How’s this? I don’t wanna make this show without you. I’m not gonna make this show without you.”

Y/N sucks in her lips, forming a tight line as she stares at her hands in her lap. “I thought we were all replaceable.”

Dean’s lips twitch with a smile. He lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Well, you’re not, sweetheart.”

He leans closer and kisses her ardently till her toes curl. When she hisses slightly in pain, he pulls back, both of them chuckling.

Then, Dean swallows the heavy lump in his throat. He knows he has to come clean, literally and figuratively. He takes her hand in his again. This time for his own comfort.

“Listen, uhm, tonight was kinda my fault… on some level, at least,” the director starts.

Y/N’s brow creases, but she brushes it off with a disbelieving snort. “Why? Did you tell Jo to break my ankle?”

Dean chuckles lightly, although he doesn’t feel like laughing, considering he’s scared to death she’ll dump him in a few seconds once she hears the truth. “No, uhm, but she might’ve found something in my office that caused a lack of judgment on her part. I-, uhm, I might not have been as clean and drug-free as you believed me to be.”

“Oh. I see…” Y/N bites her lower lip and averts her gaze back to her hands, her fingers fumbling in a nonsensical pattern like a nervous tic. And then, she doesn’t say anything for serval minutes, while Dean slowly feels himself go crazy.

“So, uh, where do we stand? Are we mad? Disappointed? Disgusted? Sad?” Dean pries and pokes for an answer.

“I guess, uhm, disappointed,” she says finally. Dean sighs internally as his heart tightens. He had hoped it wouldn’t be that one. It’s the worst one. “And sad,” she adds.

Strike that. This is the worst one.

“Okay, uhm, good,” he replies before noticing her cocked brow at his answer. “I mean, not good-good, obviously. Just good to know where we are… So, where are we? Is this-, you know, is it over? Between us?”

Y/N glances at him slightly and takes a thoughtful breath. “No,” she says, and his heart rejoices with relief. “I kinda already knew you’re not perfect.”

Dean’s brow furrows momentarily before he smirks cockily. “Agree to disagree.”

Y/N tries to hide a smile at his joke. She’s unsuccessful in her endeavor. She squeezes his hand in reassurance. “It’s not your fault. It was still Jo’s choice,” she tells him. “Are you, you know, still…?”

Dean vehemently shakes his head. “No, no, I’m not. I haven’t for a couple of days, and I won’t anymore. I promise. Especially after tonight. I learned my lesson. I’m done with it. For good.”

“Okay,” she accepts.

Dean frowns a little because her forgiveness feels too easy, but he doesn’t get a chance to prod some more, her soft lips on his shutting him up for now. The kiss is fervent and sweet all the same. It makes his head spin and provides him with a completely different high – a much better one.

“Well, looks like we’re gonna have to get creative with this thing, huh?” Dean grins smugly and gently pats her cast.

Y/N throws him a raised look that borders on amusement. Of course, all he ever thinks about is sex. But she doesn’t mind a little sexy goofiness in her life right now and leans in for another kiss. He is a pretty fantastic kisser, after all.

“I got markers!” Cas hops cheerily into the room with a few pens held high in the air, watching the two of them quickly pull apart with red-tinted cheeks. The producer smiles adoringly at them. “You guys! Look at you! This is so exciting!”

“Oh, uh–”

Dean sees the panic spread on Y/N’s face and quickly swoops in, sending Cas a friendly but threatening look. “Hey, uh, buddy? Keep this between us, alright?”

“You got it! My lips are sealed.” Cas winks and locks his lips with his fingers, but his excitement isn’t even close to disappearing. “And I paid your bill, by the way!”

“Oh, Cas, you didn’t have to do that,” Y/N tells him sweetly and seems clearly flattered by his care.

“Yes, I did, ‘cause you couldn’t possibly afford it,” Cas says bluntly and uncaps a marker, signing his name on her cast. “And I felt so guilty.”

A knock on the door makes the three look up and watch Jo hesitantly amble inside, her head lowered in resignation and guilty admission. She holds up a duffel bag with a nervous smile.

“I thought you might wanna leave the hospital with pants on, so I brought you your favorite sweats from the motel,” she says and hands Y/N the peace offering. Y/N accepts it with a small smile. Jo then glances awkwardly at Dean and Cas. “As you may have heard, Y/N and I got into a big fight,” she explains the general tension in the room.

Dean nods curtly. “Oh, yeah, everybody heard.”

“Yeah, the cashier at the gift shop couldn’t stop talking about it.” Cas chuckles, causing Y/N and Jo to blush in embarrassment.

“So, what’s the plan, Dean?” Y/N looks expectantly up at him like he’s an oracle with all the answers.

Lucky for her, though, he’s cocky enough to provide them.

“You know what? We got four episodes left, right? Fuck it. No one’s watching. No one cares. Y/N can’t even walk. So I say we do whatever the hell we want,” the director suggests and grins broadly. “Let’s just set the weirdos free and see what the fuck happens.”

“I hope you guys have fun,” Y/N mutters with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“Oh, you’re not getting out of it,” Dean interjects her pouting and self-pity. “You’re like a one-woman idea machine. I need you. Where we’re going, you don’t need legs.”

Jo smiles encouragingly at her and sits down on the edge of the bed as Cas hands her a marker. The two women then chat as if nothing ever happened, while the producer and the director share a confused look over the sudden ceasefire. But they take it as what it is – a gift from above.

Girls…

“Hey, uh, there’s something I need to do,” Dean says then. “Are you guys okay here to keep Y/N some company? I’ll pick you up right after.”

The three of them nod, and Dean feels confident enough to leave Y/N’s side. After all the emotional turmoil and chaos over the last week, the director direly needs an appropriate outlet.

The Impala pulls into the parking lot of H-ELLTV in Anaheim. It’s early in the morning, the sun barely up but still powerful enough that the beams sting his green eyes. Maybe it’s also the lack of sleep that causes it to hurt more.

Drugs aren’t an option. It’s too early to drink, even for him. And sex would’ve been possible, but he doesn’t want to be the ass that asks for it while his not-girlfriend is suffering in the hospital.

So, here he stands, next to Dicksuck Roman’s spot, where a beautiful dark blue Aston Martin V8 is parked.

Ever since Y/N told him what that creep tried to do, Dean’s been raking his brain with different revenge fantasies. Sure, he could cut off the guy’s dick and make him eat it, or cook his balls over a BBQ grill, or chop his head off and dunk it in acidic cleaning supplies. But Dean knows the only way to truly hurt a man is through his car.

The green-eyed director then pops open Baby’s trunk and hauls out a golf club. It was a gift from Cas that came with an invitation to hit the green in Pasadena for “networking purposes.” As if. Cas eventually accepted that Dean would rather kill himself before setting foot in that country club. (He might’ve also threatened to kill everyone else in it, which scared Cas enough to drop it.)

Dean’s heart soars high to the cloudless sky above as he administers the first few blows, shattering the front window and thoroughly denting the scratch-free and glistening hood.

Not anymore, Dean thinks with sinister joy.

He stops mid-swing, though, when Crowley walks by. The two men look at each other for a moment. Will the manager call the cops? Will Cas have to post bail on top of paying hospital bills?

But Crowley only bobs his head in acknowledgment. “He pisses off a lot of people,” he offers as an explanation and strolls ahead into the building, not paying Dean any more mind.

So, Dean continues hitting and swinging and batting until his lungs burn and his arms hurt. Only then does he drive back to the hospital across town to pick up his friends with a lightener heart.

23. Every Breath you Take

*sighs blissfully* Aah, some sweet fluff before all the drama starts... (And yes, I consider this chapter less drama and lots of fluff. That's how far we've come 😂)

Let me know how you've enjoyed this part! Are we rid of Benny for good? Is Y/N going to break Dean's plastic heart? 👀

TAGS:

Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity

#plastic hearts #dean winchester #director!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester reader insert #director!dean winchester x actress!reader #dean winchester series #actor au #dean winchester au #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #supernatural au #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n

[gilverrwrites]

Skinny Dipping

Pairing: Dean WInchester/F!Reader

Authors note: This has the been the hardest, and biggest of my re-mastered fics so far. I’m pretty sure the original was an amalgamation of imagines from supernaturalimagine and dirtysupernaturalimagines but I couldn’t even guess at which imagines exactly. This is like, my 4th public/semi-public fic in like 3 months, I’m starting to feel like this is a kink I didn’t know I had.  Also, Metallica have not cancelled anything, don’t worry. (and I don’t know jack about cars, people that do, please don’t come for me, I really did try, k, thanks, bye.) 💖

Plot: Reader is a mechanic who Dean's been checking in on, and checking out for a while now. Dean has the perfect excuse to see her after baby breaks down nearby.

Rating: M/18+

Words: 2936

Content: Swearing, consumption of alcohol, reckless drunken/tipsy behaviour, being submerged underwater, skinny dipping, teasing, brief retraining, size-difference, dry-humping, (or I guess wet-humping), semi-public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, water sex, mild angst.

Please remember: If you never try, you’ll never know.

You switch off the radio, listening to the purr of your car's ignition as you pull up behind a familiar black impala. It was a beauty, but it was nothing compared to your ‘70 boss. You watched as its owner climbed out of the front seat and headed towards you.

Its owner being your old friend Dean Winchester. He and his brother had saved you from a coven of witches a few years back, and ever since he’s been popping back into your life every few months. ‘Working on a case nearby’, ‘just passing through’, ‘baby needs a new compressor’. Every visit he laid the flirting on thicker. You weren’t sure if he was just joking around with you, or if he was serious, or if he saw you as a challenge. Either way you’d been making him work for it. Today it just so happened that his car had broken down a few miles out from your shop, the perfect excuse to see you on a Friday night.

You were pulled from your train of thought by a light tapping on your window. You snapped your head to the side to see Dean hovering over your door. His familiar smile set your heart racing. Okay, so maybe his seduction tactics were working, he was hot, who could blame you?

“Is there a problem, officer?” You joked, rolling down your window.

Dean rested an arm on the hood and leaned in. “No, no, just a routine check.” You knew he impersonated officers and agents all the time, but you hadn’t seen it firsthand. It was impressive how easily he slid into character.

“I am, however, gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle for a full strip search.”

Act ruined.

“At least buy me drink first.” You quipped.

“If you can help me, I’ll buy you a whole dinner.” He winked and opened the car door from the outside. You raised your brows at him but climbed out anyway before making a b-line for the impala’s engine.

“What’s wrong?” You directed your question to the car in the same tone you would address a small child or animal, gently rubbing a hand across its roof as you walked beside it. "Has someone been neglecting you?”

“Hey!” Dean barked, clearly offended. “I take better care of this baby than I do myself.”

At that you looked back over at him. He’d forgone his usual flannel today, leaving him in a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places and a grey t-shirt that clung tight and accentuated his broad chest. By the time your eyes reached his face, Dean was sporting a wicked grin, clearly ecstatic to have caught you checking him out. You avoid his smug gaze by popping the hood of his car to take a look at the engine.

“You weren’t kidding.” You whistled; Dean really was taking care of the thing.  The motor was almost gleaming. You felt his warm hand suddenly press against your lower back and turn to look up at him. The expression on his face could only be described as that of a proud father.

“Yeah.” He agreed before pointing to the main battery with his free hand: “This is the problem. It’s busted.”

“Ah, you’re gonna need a new one. I’m surprised you don’t keep a spare.” 

“Yeah.” To his credit, he looked pretty sheepish. “I normally do, but guess I forgot when the last one went out.”

“I don’t have one.” You said, pursing your lips to express your sympathies.

Dean didn’t respond, biting his lip while he waited for you to continue.

“But I could give you a jump start if you gotta head out soon.” You bring the hood back down and start heading to the boot of your car.

“No good,” Dean calls after you. “I’m not in a rush, but I don’t have enough gas to get me where I’m going.”

“Well… I’ve got a guy. He’s a few towns over. He’s closed at this time.” You inform as you open your boot and pull out your tow rope, flashing it to Dean with a smile. I can tow you into town for tonight, then drive you there and back in the morning.”

“I knew I could count on you!”

An hour later, you’d slowly but surely managed to drag Dean and his baby back into town, argued with him about him staying at a motel or on your couch (you’d won), and successfully swindled him into buying you that dinner he’d promised. Dinner being take-put pizza and over-priced ice-cream. Now, the two of you were sitting in your backyard, sharing the aforementioned ice-cream and an old bottle of Jack Daniels you’d pulled from the back of your cupboards. 

“So,” Dean began, his speech slurred by the spoon hanging from his mouth. How’s the garage doin’?”

You take a sip of the JD and proceed to suck on your teeth as you consider how to respond.

“Honestly, bad. Ever since that shitty corporate place set up shop down the road, we’ve been going downhill.” You punctuate your statement with another sip from the bottle before offering it to Dean. “I’m keeping it up and running by tooth and claw, but truthfully, it’s probably only got a few months left in it.” 

He gives you a sombre smile as he exchanges the tub of ice cream for the bottle. It's a touchy subject, but you can’t help admiring the way his neck moves as he tilts his head back to drink. You avert your eyes by scooping up the last bit of cold, sugary goodness and placing the empty container on the grass beside you.

“That sucks.” He places a hand on your shoulder, attempting to offer comfort. “That really sucks. Do you have a back-up plan?”

You grab the bottle back from Dean and take another sip before answering.

“I dunno. Sometimes I think about doing what you do. Kinda.” You begin. You don’t miss the way his entire body stiffens before you clarify. “Without the monsters. Just hit the road, get drunk at every bar in the country, visit Disney, become Metallica groupie, an-”

“You know they cancelled that tour, right?” Dean butts in.

“WHAT?” You shake his hand off and stare up at him in disbelief.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. The smile on his face is anything but sympathetic.

“Bastards.” You cross your arms and pout dramatically. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but the laugh that escapes Dean's lips is magical, and you can’t help but join in. When he returns his hand to your shoulder, this time reaching for the furthest from him, thus wrapping himself around you, your skin tingles, and you let yourself fall into him.

As the two of you slowly seize your giggling, Dean checks his watch. He quirks an evocative brow at you when he speaks, “It’s getting late. Maybe we should head inside?”

You mull it over, dramatically swaying your head from side to side before you voice your decision. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

You stand up, offering your hand to Dean, who eyes you sceptically. Nevertheless, he takes the bait, placing his hand in yours and allowing you to lead him toward the footpath just outside your garden.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks, and you can sense the caution in his voice. You assume it’s the hunter in him being paranoid, and you know for a fact that his free hand is hovering over the knife he keeps tucked into the back of his jeans at all times.

“I’m taking you here,” you answer as you pull him through the last set of trees and onto the shore of the local lake. You scan the surrounding area as you kick off your shoes. Satisfied that nobody is nearby, you start pulling off your trousers.

As you bend down to pull your socks off, you look up at Dean. He’s staring back at you intensely, mouth open, cheeks pink.

When you start pulling your top over your head you feel his fingers lightly brush against your hips. He’d stepped closer, and you’re tempted to touch him back or to reach up and kiss him. But you don’t. Instead, you throw your top over his head and sprint for the water.

“RACE YOU!” You challenge, discarding your bra and panties before you reach the water and forward dive in. Dean follows you moments later with a cannonball that splashes your face just as you’re resurfacing from your own dive.

“Fuck! That’s colder than I expected.” You yell to him.

“I’ll warm you up.” Dean replies as he swims close to you. You let his hands return to your hips, not expecting it when he dunks you back under the water.

You cough and splurge as he brings you back up. You flail your arms around until you find the top of his head, and you cling to him for dear life, but Deans is stronger, taller, and he’s found solid ground to plant his feet onto below the water. He escapes your grip and throws you under again.

“STOP. MERCY!” You yell when you come back up. This time, you use your legs for safety, wrapping them around his hips. You'd be safe if you could just get a grip on his arms. You’d been too distracted to notice his erection until you feel it poking at you. You’re about to make a comment about it, but Dean speaks first.

“You’re cute when you’re scared.” He laughs, you silence him with a swift but playful punch to the chest. In defence he grabs at your wrists, able to trap both in just one of his hands. His other hand slides up your arms, over your shoulder, your neck, until he reaches your cheek. He leisurely rubs his thumb against your wet skin.

You stay like that for a while, watching each other, before you finally ask, “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Without any further hesitation Dean lunges forward, forcing his lips against yours. His kiss is hard and animalistic; he skips straight past the pecking and teasing to roaming your mouth with his tongue. His fingers leave your cheek and weave into your hair, holding you against him, his stubble scratches against your skin.

In a play for dominance, you dart your own tongue out, grazing his chapped lips, but he denies you. Instead, he pulls away from your lips, refocusing his attention on nipping and kissing at your jaw, neck, and collarbone.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been imagining this.” He utters onto your skin.

“What, this exact scenario?” You joke.

“Not exactly.” He lets out a breathy chuckle, and the gust of air against your skin makes you tremble.

“Then what?” You challenge. Your inability to touch him is frustrating you. In an attempt to stimulate him back, you grip your legs around him tighter, using him as leverage to grind against him. The tip of his cock doesn’t quite reach your clit, but its added pressure helps it spread your lips. “Tell me.”

He drops his hand from your head, and cups it under your asscheek. Firmly guiding you up and down, assisting you in rutting against his cock. Shakey breaths become grunts, and after a few seconds he releases your wrists so that he can grip you with both hands. Free to move, you shimmy down his body until you can feel his dick brush against your clit with each grind.

“Come on, tell me.” You plead, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, your grip tightening every time he hits your sweet spot. You know he's not shy, that he’s just getting lost in the feeling, and it pains you to say it, but eventually, you taunt. “I’m not gonna fuck you if you don’t tell me.”

He whimpers at your empty threat but finally confesses. “Just you. Your body, under me. Every night, I think about how you’d look, how you’d feel squirming, moaning my name.”

“Fuck. That’s hot.” You reply and he smiles as you plant your lips against his once again.

“Can I fuck you now?” He asks, speech slurred as he tries to speak between kisses.

“Yes.” You respond instantly, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Please fuck me, Dean.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His grip on your ass is like a vice as he lifts you up slightly. You both work in sync to position yourselves just right until he lowers you onto his cock, slowly pressing into you. There’s some resistance as he stretches your walls, but the sound of his whispered praises helps you relax until he finally bottoms out, stretching you in all the right places.

“Fuck, that feels so good. You took me so well.” He affirms, and even though he’s already balls deep, you can’t help the heat that spreads across your face.

He begins lifting you again before you can respond, sliding you up and down his cock in slow, steady movements. You grip tight to his shoulders and hips with your hands and knees, using them as leverage points to help move your body up and down. Each thrush is slow and shallow, but Dean seems to be loving it; his head rolls back, and he releases breathy moans with every rock.

“Shit.” You shout, holding tighter still when Dean unexpectedly shifts below you, repositioning his legs to a sturdier position. You watch through hazy eyes as he reaches up and grips your hand, before guiding it down the tight space between your bodies. You get the message quickly, and begin rubbing your clit in lazy circles, keeping in time with the pace of Dean's cock.

The added stimulation had your toes curling in no time. When your pussy starts clenching around Dean’s cock, you see the sudden concentration in his face. His brow furrows, and he bites his lip as he focuses on riding you through your orgasm. The sight was the final push you need to take you over the edge.

“Fuck, Dean. Fuck fuck fuck, that feels good.” You cry out as you hit your climax.

“Keep saying my name, baby.” Dean begs as he continues rolling your hips together. You feel his body shake as he starts to struggle with your combined weights as he chases his own release.

You try to assist, desperately pumping yourself up and down despite the newfound sensitivity as you chant his name.

“Fuck, yes baby.” You feel the twitch of his cock inside you. He buries his head in the crook of your neck as he hits his orgasm, rutting his cock as deep as he can as he cums inside you. “oohhh yeah.”

You stay in position for a long time following, holding on tight to each other, listening to each other's breathing as you come back down, until Dean guides your body backwards so that you’re face to face again. “How you feelin’?”

“Good.” You reply with a smile.

“Good.” He grins at you mischievously before plunging backwards into the water, taking you with him.

“So, was that everything you imagined it to be?”

He purses his lips in thought before teasingly responding. “Eh, it wasn’t bad.”

You both laugh as you lay your head down on Dean's bare chest; his arms envelop your body as you both blankly look up at the stars. You play with the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him when you emerged from the water and re-dressed.

“You should do it.” Dean says when you're both fully settled down.

“Do what?” You query, popping your head up to look at him, unsure what he’s talking about.

“Hit the road.” He clarifies, revisiting your earlier conversation. “I mean, life on the road isn’t easy or sustainable, trust me, I know.”

“But…” You prompt, knowing fully that he wasn’t going to stop there.

“But it could be fun for a while. If it’s what you wanna do. Hell, I’d totally be a roadie if… you know.”

“I know,” You reply. You’re smiling at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The reminder of your failing business stung, but you didn’t want it to spoil your night. You lean forward, caressing his cheek; his stubble feels rough against your fingers. You gently pull his face forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “I might. I probably will. If it comes to it.”

“I can’t come with you.” He says when you lean away. You hadn’t expected him to want to come with you. Hoped, maybe? But you knew it wasn’t a possibility.

“I know.” You repeat.

He carefully reaches up to run his hand across your damp hair as he pulls you in for another kiss. This one is longer, softer than any you’d shared all night. When you’re done, he lets his head fall back against the ground, and you perch yourself against his chest once more. 

“You’ll still call me though, right?”

“Always.” He replies instantly. “You’re my best girl. Well, second-best girl.”

“The car?” You ask deadpan. Of course, the car is his number one.

“Who else?” He replies shamelessly.

You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, entwined in each other’s arms, spent and damp under the stars, until eventually, you feel your lids growing heavy. You fight it for a while, willing yourself to remain awake, until eventually your tiredness wins out. You cuddle closer into the warmth of Dean's chest as you fall asleep.

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural reader insert #supernatural imagine #dean winchester smut #dean winchester imagine #gilverrwrites

[couldyouimagine-that]

I gotcha

Genre; Hurt/Comfort, the Fluffiest Fluff

Word Count; 1.0k

Warnings; Nothing I can think of, just reader feeling a bit unsteady and getting hugs and care from Dean.

Pairings; Dean Winchester x Reader

It's me, I'm alive! I've finally started watching Supernatural and I just. Love Dean so much. So, have some fluff and comfort!

Masterlist

You leaned back against a heavy oak table, a warm mug slowly cooling to your side. You felt a little unsteady within your mind, an uncomfortable feeling having settled in your stomach. There was no particular reason for it so far as you could tell. Nothing had happened, nothing was wrong (the latest world-ending crisis notwithstanding). You had been trying to talk yourself out of it for a while by this point, to explain away the feeling through rationalisation, but none of it was working. The length of time you had been hovering around the table was evidence enough of that.

With a sigh, you drummed your fingertips against the tabletop then pushed yourself to standing. You took a few steps to take a pointless glance out of the nearest window then turned to eye your mug. Finally, you decided you would have to do something other than just keep standing there. Maybe getting out of your head would be the best thing for you, you thought humourlessly. It was at that exact moment that a sudden flurry of activity arrived at the door. Dean and Sam bundled inside, one slamming the door shut whilst the other knocked into a table. Such an exaggerated groan of pain issued forth that you couldn’t help but smirk in spite of yourself.

The door from the hallway to the kitchen swung open as Sam made a beeline for the fridge. Dean followed, dropping a heavy duffle bag to the floor with a thud and swiping a beer from his brother’s hand as he straightened, completely unsuspecting. Dean flashed him a grin as he began complaining, hands spread in a gesture of come on.

“Sorry, Sammy. Too slow.” He appeared at the doorway to the room you had been deliberating in for you didn’t even know how long, his other hand poised to twist the cap off the beer bottle. “Hey, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, smile bleeding into his rich voice. Sam raised a hand in greeting behind his brother’s head, then announced he was heading off to watch the television.

“Hey, Dean.”

You felt a content warmth in your stomach at the sight of him, no matter how long you’d known each other. You walked straight over and slotted yourself beneath his outstretched arm, looping your arms around his waist and pressing your face to his chest. You felt rather than heard the chuckle rumble through him as he pressed his hand to the back of your neck and head, his other arm moving around your waist to hold you close. You raised your head when he pressed a gentle thumb beneath your jaw, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss against your lips.

The entire world seemed to fall away as you stared into his eyes, pressing yourself flat against him to get as close as you possibly could. When you finally looked away, it was to nose along the edge of his open flannel shirt, taking in great lungfuls of his familiar scent. His eyebrows drew a little closer together at your actions, knowing they usually meant something was wrong. Dean put his beer down on the nearest available surface so that he could wrap his arms around you properly. A great feeling of pride bloomed in his chest at the long, content sigh you gave as he pressed his arms against your lower back and over your shoulders. His lips found their way to the top of your head and your eyes closed at the feeling of his breath moving your hair.

Dean, infamous for making himself tough in a way that forbade him from talking about his feelings, understood your every unspoken word clearly. He began to relinquish his tight hold on you, the one he knew made you feel safe and secure, in favour of running his palms along your back. One eventually traced a path across your collarbone and up to the side of your face, gently cupping your cheek to encourage you to look up and meet his soft gaze.

“Anything you wanna tell me about?” It was asked in such a way that there was no pressure, no judgement. If he had thought you were hurt or in danger it would have been a different story, but he could clearly see you weren’t. You shook your head with a small smile and he ran his thumb over your cheekbone, his expression fond if not still slightly tinged with concern. He pushed that away though, for your sake, hoping you would find some strength in seeing his own. Suddenly sporting a wide grin, he reached down to hook his hands around the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, brightened by your own grin as your automatically wound your legs around his hips.

“What are you doing?!” You got out through your laughter, only for him to lightly swat your leg.

“No questions!” He whisper-yelled, but he was laughing too. In retaliation, he grabbed your by your ribs and threw you up over his shoulder, holding you there easily with an arm around your waist. You had no choice but to hang there, his shoulder digging into your stomach until he finally dropped your down onto your back. You found yourself on Dean’s bed where he soon joined you, laying on his back and pulling you towards him. You ended up half draped over him, propping yourself up on an elbow for a moment to give him a gentle kiss. He gave you a boyish grin as you remained there for a moment, before laying down on top of him.

Dean’s hands resumed their gentle tracing over your back, his head leaning against your own. Your incessant worrying had abated entirely, your mind blissfully calm and filled only with Dean. You placed a hand against his ribs, relaxing into the steady rise and fall of his chest, the regular beating of his heart.

“Just stay with me, darlin’,” he murmured, voice low and soft. “I gotcha.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #spnfandom #spnfamily #spn fanfic #supernatural reader insert #spn dean #spn Sam #sam winchester

[scribeofwinchesters]

Secrets and Lies: Chapter 12 - Absolution

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 5,280

Summary: “I can’t change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolution–or–or salvation… Just… forgiveness.”

Series Rating: Explicit/18+ TW: Rape/Non-con

Previous chapters:  One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Sevenandahalf Eight Nine Ten Eleven

A/N: I hope you all like this chapter and if my story makes you feel something, reblogs, comments, asks, etc are always welcome <3 Alsooo don't worry. This is not the end. I felt like this seemed like an ending so I wanted to be clear. I feel like I've been giving y'all blue balls so don't worry, we're gonna get our smut on real soon, folks! ;) Most likely the next part will also wrap everything up and will be the last part but I'm already working on a new sam x reader fic that takes place at the beginning of s.10 but is a continuation of the same relationship that is present in all my fics.

Tag list: @lauraashley93 @stoneyggirl2 @tiggytaylor @park-simphwa @dottirose

When you first woke sometime later, you continued to drift in and out of consciousness for what seemed like hours. You were faintly aware of Sam’s presence on the other side of you–your feet tangled with his legs as he curved around you. But the meds Dean gave you were strong and continued to pull you back down into unconsciousness. 

In the hazy moments of awareness, you could hear Sam and Dean talking quietly to each other. Their voices lulled you back into a comforted sleep. Another moment, despite your back to him, you could feel Sam sitting back against the headboard, reading. Each rustle of the pages turning was a quiet thrill that made you smile unconsciously in your sleep, even more so when he began using his free hand to casually caress figure eights onto your back.

Sometime after that, you found Sam alongside you, over the blankets but still snuggled against you, his flanneled arm draped over you. He’d laced fingers with yours and held your hand over your heart. You felt him nuzzle his nose into your hair and inhale deeply before gently pressing his lips to the crown of your head. This, combined with the sun shining in from the window by the door and your desperate thirst, was enough to finally push you fully into consciousness. 

The ice bag rested heavily on top of your cheek and was as cold as ever. Dean must have made a fresh one. 

You whined softly as you stretched your legs and let out a yawn. Instinctively, you moved your arms and Sam withdrew his, allowing you to stretch them out in front of you, noticing with each shift the aches in parts of you that you didn’t even know could ache. Your lungs felt bruised, somehow, from the strain the shifter had put on them in its attempt to suffocate you. The large bruises on the back of your arms, your waist, and your thighs where it had coiled itself tightly around you pulsed out painful reminders.

You turned over, taking the ice bag with you, and nestled it between your cheek and the pillow. Each movement brought on more frustration, stirring you further from your sleep as you wrestled with your appendages in a vain attempt to settle into a position that didn’t hurt.. Grasping the top sheet in your fingers, you pulled your hands together and rested them beneath your chin.

You blinked slowly as your eyes adjusted to the light.

Sam was right there, watching you. His face lit up as your eyes settled on his. His shaggy, brown hair was tucked behind his ears and he was dressed in jeans and an old grey and blue flannel. You took stock of the bandages on his neck and cheek and chin and wondered how many more there were that you couldn’t see.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you croaked. A beat passed before you painfully cleared your throat and asked, “When was the last time you laid in bed this late?” 

Sam smirked as he thought about it for a moment. “Laid in bed with you, like this? At three in the afternoon? Hmm…,” his eyes narrowed on you as he thought. “Probably a few months… Was it New Year's Day? … Certainly not often enough.”

Your heart raced and you took as deep a breath as you could manage. Sam wouldn’t be talking to you like this if he hadn’t decided to stay, right?

“New resolution: stay in bed more,” you rasped with a careful smile before a tiny cough caught in your throat and you pulled the sheet over your mouth as you let it out.

“I can get on board with that,” Sam said grinning broadly as he climbed off the bed and made his way around. He grabbed the full cup from the nightstand as you carefully pulled yourself back to rest against the headboard. A groan or a hiss escaped your lips with each painful movement. Sam leaned over you, careful not to spill the water, and adjusted the pillow behind your back before moving the ice bag to the nightstand. He crouched down and handed you the cup which you drank down in seconds, stopping once to cover a painful cough. 

Sam’s brow furrowed as he tried to force his concerned frown into a smile. He grabbed Dean’s steel water container and refilled your cup as you held it out for him. Once he was sure you weren’t going to chug the second cup as well, he joined you back on the bed. This time he sat with his legs crossed under him and faced you. 

You glanced around the room. “Dean?”

“Supply run,” Sam said. You nodded before taking a sip of water. He watched you for several long moments before looking away, as if steeling his nerves. He took a deep breath and when he turned back you saw that his eyes were glistening again, like last night, and you were back in that old place, the place where your heart ached and begged to stop all of his pain and guilt and regret and longed to remind him how worthy and caring and honorable he was and how all the bullshit he’d endured wasn’t on him...

You took another sip and closed that door in your mind. You weren’t sure Sam still wanted you to take care of him in that way and until you were, that wasn’t a weight you could take on… not right now.

“Y/n… I’m so-” 

“I’m okay, Sam,” you said, cutting him off. The corners of your lips twitched up into your best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Dean stopped it. I’m still here. You’re still here. Everything’s okay.” 

Okay, so maybe that door didn’t close so easily…

“Please, y/n, just let me say this,” he said before inhaling sharply. “I— I never should have left.” 

You shook your head at him. “Please don’t do that.”

“What?”

“We both know by now that shit just happens and all any of us can do is be there to help pick up the pieces, maybe stop it if we’re lucky. We’re not always going to be lucky,” you shrugged. “So don’t act like you should have done something–like you could have done something… because clearly, life doesn’t work that way.” 

Sam swallowed hard and looked away from you. “I never should have taken that damn case. I should have given it to Dean. I should have come straight home,” he muttered. 

“Sam,” you said before biting anxiously at your bottom lip. The thing that had been gnawing at the edge of your thoughts was finally ready to bubble out. “Look, I know this has thrown a wrench in your, uh, plans. I still mean what I said the other night–if you’re not ready to come back, don’t do it just because of–because of all this. I’ll be okay for a bit. Awhile even. If you have any doubts… about–about us–I need you to deal with them before you–if you decide to…” You stumbled over your words and took a sharp breath, ready to push past the one word you couldn’t get your mouth to utter. “if you can– if you can forgive me.” 

Sam dragged his hand down his face as the tears started to slip down his cheeks. He pinched his bottom lip anxiously like he did when research was beginning to fail him. Normally, when you caught him doing that, you’d walk up behind him and pull his hands into yours as you leaned over and pecked little kisses down the side of his face until you found his lips, and–still grasping his hand in yours–tilted his face up and pressed your lips to his, taking a long, silent moment before opening your mouth to him and slipping your tongue gently and momentarily between his lips. Your breath turned shallow from the memories and you quickly wiped away a tear as you wondered how you’d ever be able to keep yourself from him. 

Sam stared up at the ceiling a moment before looking back and studying you for a long moment. His brows knit together and suddenly he leaned toward you and pulled you into his arms as he lifted you with an almost disconcerting ease. You fought through the ache in your muscles as you shifted your legs and nestled yourself around his hips before resting your chin on his shoulder and encircling him in your arms. He slowly caressed his fingers up and down your back.

“Sam…,” you said softly against his ear, your chin pushing into his shoulder as you spoke. 

“You know… when I was out in the woods, setting up my tent, hiking the trails, just trying to clear my mind–that plan completely backfired. All I could think about was you. I watched the creeks flowing, saw little pools of minnows and frogs and swimming ducks and I thought of you and how much you’d love it. I saw an owl up high in a tree and I wished I could show you. I watched the sunset and I wished you were there holding my hand, telling me what the colors reminded you of. I stared up at the stars and I swear I saw your face. The moon was a beautiful, clear, perfect crescent–just like you always love to point out to me when you see it. You were everywhere. It was so much that I almost prayed to Cass, sure that he was doing this to me on purpose. But I knew better. It wasn’t Cass or any other magic. It was just… you. My love for you.” 

Your heart caught in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks as he spoke. You pulled your chin down to the fabric above his clavicle and pressed a kiss into him as you shifted your grip on your forearm, squeezing him tighter as your tears dripped onto Sam’s back. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I debated calling you–debated if I should just pack up and drive back home to you. Then I got news from a hunter about a case close to home and decided I could wrap it up quick and be home in a couple of days and that way you’d still get your space–in case you needed it now–after–after the way I’d treated you that night.” 

“Sam,” you said, whispering his name again. That wasn’t your favorite memory but you didn’t want it to be something he berated himself for forever.

“I know, just let me finish. I need to say this.” 

You loosened your embrace on him and trailed your fingers up his neck, unintentionally eliciting a soft gasp from him at your touch. Your fingers found your target as you brushed them–opened and closed–around his crown, gliding slowly through his hair. His chest, pressed to you, fell and rose shallower now. 

“Oh my god… you're making this… more difficult than I imagined,” he said, his voice strained.  

“Sorry,” you said, the small smile evident in your tone. “It’s just… this last week has been incredibly–excessively–unbearably shitty and I needed you so bad–not needed you, needed you–just–you know–needed you. Dean did his best–the best friend I could ever ask for–but when you hold me–I feel… healed… salvageable… I’m not-”

“Shh…,” Sam soothed you as he gripped your shoulders and pulled you away from him so that he could look into your eyes. “I’m here and I got you and I’m not going anywhere. Now, listen to me. Of course I forgive you, okay? I forgive you a million times over. Tell me you’d make the same choice again and again and I’ll say, ‘Yes, do it’. Tell me you need to wipe my mind again right now and I’ll say, ‘Please’ without giving it another thought. If you made a call then it was the right one. Full stop. I know you, and you know me,” he said, squeezing your shoulders before letting go and cupping either side of your face in his wide palms, ensuring you couldn’t look away from him as he spoke but careful to avoid the laceration on your cheek.

“It took me a little bit to sort through the memories of that night after Cass gave them back to me. At first all I could see was you–bloody, screaming in agony as I lifted you–I woke up hearing that scream in my nightmares, y/n… but then, there it was, a thought that prickled at the back of my mind as I held you so still that my arms were cramping–you didn’t deserve this life and Dean and I were monsters for pulling you into it–for keeping you in it. This is why we don’t do attachments in this life. It’s not safe. And loving me was going to be the death of you.” 

You shook your head and he let go of you, dropping his hands to find yours, weaving each finger with his.

“You were right, y/n,” he said. “Don’t you see? You were right.” 

“No, Sam,” you said, still shaking your head. “Don’t do that. I was wrong, okay? My choices were wrong. I can’t change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolution–or–or salvation… Just… forgiveness.

Sam closed his eyes and was silent for several long seconds as your words washed over him. Finally, he whispered, “I love you,” and leaned forward to press his lips chastely against yours before he pulled back just enough for his heavy breath to warm your skin. “Is this okay?” he asked. 

You paused, surprised at yourself for not immediately responding, ‘yes’. And realized you were not sure what to make of it, of him. And his beautiful words were too much. It was all overwhelming.

“Y/n?”

“I’m so sorry,” you said as you dropped your head into your hands and squeezed your eyes shut. Fresh tears dripped into your palms as you quietly sobbed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me–I know you’re Sam. You are Sam. You are my Sam. And I adore you, too. You know that, right?” you asked. “I can’t find all the words right now to convey it the way you did. I’m so–it’s just been a–a shitty fucking week,” you said as you lifted your red, blotchy face up to look at him and took in several slow, deep breaths. 

Sam’s eyes widened with concern and you saw his chest rise and fall rapidly with panicked breaths. “I do–I do know that,” he said as fresh tears misted his eyes. You could see he wanted to comfort you, to hold you, but he wasn’t sure anymore if that was right, so he pulled himself away. 

Your tears came harder then and you gripped the comforter into a ball. You were furious, you wanted to scream out in anguish. You wanted to stop. fucking. crying. But you couldn’t. It all just spilled out and all you wanted was for Sam to wrap you in a hug and hold you and kiss your forehead and stroke your back, but there was another part of you that wanted him to stay away from you–to leave you the fuck alone. 

You felt like you were being torn in two and it was an emotional agony that paled in comparison to what you felt the night you and Sam fought or even the misery of the days after. You stood and fumbled around your boots and clothing, looking for your phone. Sam’s voice sounded like it was being carried over a pool of water that sat above you as he called your name. You ignored him. You found your phone on the nightstand, no doubt plugged in and charged thanks to the ever thoughtful Sam, and made your way to the bathroom where you shut the door behind you, too scared to look back at him. It broke your heart to imagine his expression upon hearing the soft click of the lock but you did it all the same.

You turned the cold knob on the sink and tried to focus on the sound of the rushing water as you cupped your hands under the stream and watched the water rush across your skin in airy streams. It was cool and calming and you splashed several handfuls over your face before patting it dry with the hand towel, careful of your cut. 

You unlocked your phone and called Dean. 

“Y/n?” Dean asked as he answered the phone before the first ring had even finished.

“Dean?” 

“You good?”

“I, uh–yeah, I’m good,” you lied. 

Dean could hear the congestion in your voice and knew you’d been crying. 

In an instant his tone turned gravelly and flat. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just, um, I know it’s Sam but–I don’t know why but I suddenly wasn’t so sure–but that doesn’t make sense because I do know–I do know that’s Sam,” you choked back your tears and swallowed hard. “He–I just…,” you trailed off. There was a silence between you for a moment.

“Y/n, the shifter’s dead, okay? I killed it. And I just got the other one into the trunk so we can burn it, too. I’ll be there in ten but in the meantime, I’m sure Sam won’t mind if you have to test him again to be sure, okay, kiddo?” 

You nodded to yourself. “Okay,” you whispered before sniffing and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

“Deep breaths,” Dean reminded you. 

You took a deep breath and winced at the sharp pain in your lungs as you inhaled.

“Sorry,” you said as a guilty tear spilled down your cheek.

“Don’t be. I’ll stay on the phone with you ‘til I’m back,” he said.

You took another deep breath and counted to five before letting it out and counted to five again as you exhaled, ignoring the pain. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay, Dean,” you said as you hung up the phone before he could counter you.

You glanced in the mirror for the first time since you weren’t even sure when. Your hair was a crazy, tangled mess and your face was stamped with a bright splotch of red across your cheek, an almost perfect handprint. The two butterfly closures held the broken skin together. There was a big, dark bruise forming beneath your eye, above the cut. The shifter really had hit you as hard as it could, which was saying something for a monster. You quickly brushed through your hair with your fingers and pulled it into a manageable but loose bun. You turned to face the door and shut your eyes as you gently shook your whole self, before slowly opening the door. Sam sat at the edge of the bed, waiting quietly as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“You scared me,” he murmured as he looked up at you.

“Sorry,” you said as you hesitated in the doorway. “I know you’re not…,” you trailed off and took a slow step toward him.  “Your whole being–your whole presence is the opposite of it so I know you’re not–but for a second a part of me was there again and–well, without Dean here–I’m sorry. Not that you–” you said, fumbling over your words before Sam cut you off.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Sam said. “I know exactly what it’s like to have no idea what’s real and what’s in your head.”

Of course Sam would know; he’d told you vague stories of the torture he’d endured in the cage before you’d met him. The other pieces Dean filled in, about his visions of Lucifer taunting him, and the scar on his palm that reminded him he was safe. When Sam was having a really bad day you’d sometimes gently trace a finger across that scar to remind him of that fact. And on even worse days, when you had a moment alone, you’d peck small kisses to it.

He held his hand out and waited for you to take it as you approached him. When you did, he pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around your hips as he nestled his face into your waist. You twisted your fingers in his hair as he sighed a ragged breath into you. You stood there just like that, silent, as Sam breathed in and out, comforted by your fingers tracing up and down his scalp and twisting idly in his hair. 

“Will it help if you tell me about it?” he asked after a minute. 

You considered the idea. “Maybe–later though, or tomorrow–not yet–and besides, Dean’s gonna be back soon,” you said. He looked up at you. Those big, pitiful–beautiful eyes that you’d walk across shattered glass and hot coals to see just one more time. You didn’t need to cut his arm to know he wasn’t a shifter. This was all Sam. You disentangled a hand from his hair and lightly prodded at his left arm causing him to release you. You slid your fingers down the length of his arm as he bent it up to you. When you reached his wrist you gently grasped it in your palm and pulled it up to your lips so you could press a kiss to his scarred palm. 

“I love you,” you murmured as you released his wrist. He glided his palm across your jaw and cupped it as he rose to his feet. Your other arm slid down and you slipped it under the back of his shirt to hold him just above his hip, urging him to stay close.

“Love you,” he whispered back. He held fastly, now, to either side of your face as he ducked down and pressed his lips to yours. You released his hip and lifted your hands, resting them over his as he held you, ensuring he didn’t release you before you were ready. You opened your lips to him and he hesitated for the briefest second before deepening the kiss and slipped his tongue momentarily along yours. You could feel the electricity buzzing between you as he started to pull back. You leaned forward and captured his lips with yours. 

“More,” you murmured against his mouth. Obedient as always, Sam kissed you back, hungrily now, like he needed your lips on his to sustain himself. He angled your face up and deepened the kiss with his tongue. Gently, he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it and going back to your lips for more. You sighed into him as you released his hands. He let one trail over your neck as the other gripped your waist, pulling you closer and eliciting a low gasp from your lips. You cupped the side of his face with one hand as you let the other one return to his hair, just behind his ear where you drew light circles with your thumb. 

“I should shower,” you said, remembering Dean was on his way.

“I’m the one that needs the cold shower,” he whispered with a smirk as you rested your hands on his chest. 

“Oh please, it takes way more than that to get you going.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” he said as he gently grasped your hand and pulled it down so that you could feel his partially stiffened cock beneath his jeans. He smiled at the blush that flushed your cheeks as he shifted sideways, turning his back to the door and walked you backwards toward the bathroom. 

“I really missed you,” he said as he pressed his lips to the juncture of your neck and jaw. 

The roar of the Impala broke the trance and you broke apart. You listened as Dean pulled the car to the door and cut the engine off. Dean entered the room in a rush, not even bothering to shut the car door behind him. He looked to you and then to Sam and arched an eyebrow. You made your way to Dean as Sam sat uncomfortably down at the edge of the bed, tugging at his jeans as he crouched.

“You good, sweetheart?”

“Something like that,” you said as you hugged him. “Thanks for–” 

“ ‘Course,” he said as he continued to study you before glancing again to Sam. “Okay, well, you two ready to put this place in the rearview after we eat a quick bite? Because I sure as shit am,” he said as he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. He turned and made his way back out the motel door, leaving it hanging open as he rifled through the back seat before returning with a plastic bag and a paper tray with three sweating cups of ice cold soda in one hand and a brown paper bag that smelled greasy and warm and delicious in the other. The smell awakened your appetite and your stomach rumbled in response. 

“Holy shit, I’m fucking hungry,” you said, eliciting a small chuckle from Sam. 

“Good, cause I got your favorite cheeseburger: extra mustard, extra pepper, add jalapenos,” Dean said as he kicked the door shut behind him and set the drinks down on the table. 

Your mouth watered as you took the bag from Dean and set it on the table, hungrily pulling a fistful of fries from the bag, and stuffing them in your mouth as you took a seat. You didn’t have the heart to tell him your throat may be too sore to enjoy mustard and jalapenos and you were too hungry to really care.

“Hey, those better not be my fries!” Dean shouted. You stiffened and glanced hesitantly in his direction. Sam’s lips twitched up into a small smile at you before he saw that Dean was handing him the plastic bag. 

“Oh, thanks,” he said hesitantly as he squinted at the bag. 

“Only thing around here was a wally-world so those’ll have to do,” Dean said as he made his way back to the table and sat across from you. He pulled one of the cups from the tray and took a long pull. 

You were already three bites into your burger and had dumped the fries on to the paper wrapping when Dean fished his food out of the bag. You turned and watched as Sam pulled a large shoe box from the bag and lifted one of the boots out. They were steel-toe, dark brown work boots. “They’ll definitely do,” he said as he pulled them on and fussed with the laces. To you, they looked closer to something Dean would choose for himself than what Sam normally wore but the options were surely slim.

“You gonna eat, Sammy?” Dean asked a moment later. You looked back to see Sam was still at the edge of the bed, watching you and Dean devour your meals. There was a hesitancy in his eyes that confused you and you furrowed your brows at him. He shook his head and smiled as he stood up.

“So, the bunkers good?” you asked Dean after handing Sam his burger. There were only two seats at the small dinette table so Sam sat at the foot of Dean’s bed and took a careful bite of his cheeseburger. 

“Good as it can be,” he said as he chewed a large bite. “Cass said everything was fine. Had to have been some kind of spell–a cloaking spell or an entry spell–that either the shifter already knew or got from, you know, Sam’s beautiful mind,” he said before taking another pull from his soda.

You grimaced at the thought. Sam let out a guilty huff before leaning his long body off the bed and over to the table and to take one of your fries as he kissed your cheek. 

“S’okay,” you said as he sat back down. You lifted your leg and rubbed your pointed toe along the side of his calf. A pained smile crossed his face as he looked to you.

You finished the last bite of your cheeseburger and took a giant gulp from the soda, tossed a few fries quickly in your mouth and stood up, wiping your hands off with a napkin. “Finish my fries for me, Sam,” you said. “Gonna shower real quick.” 

Sam’s palm rested on his knee and you made sure to pass him closely enough that you could graze two fingers over the back of his hand. His hand twitched reflexively from the sudden, unexpected touch. 

“Be careful of your cut,” he whispered. You smiled tenderly at him from the doorway before turning and shutting the door.

You showered–for the first time since–and it felt so good to finally, really wash the shifter off. You let the hot water relax the tension in your shoulders and neck and scrubbed gently at your scalp with the motel shampoo. You paid extra attention with the sudsy washcloth, trying to make sure you scrubbed every part of you that the shifter touched. It wasn’t enough, you could still feel it and as the memories started to enter your mind, you hurried through the rest of your shower, not comfortable to be alone with your own thoughts. 

When you were done, you put on fresh clothes you had tucked away in your go-bag. More plaid flannel, t-shirts and dark-washed jeans. The clothing was just practical for hunting, more than anything. Although, it was nice to look like you actually belonged with Sam and Dean when you went anywhere. Sometimes you would see other girls in their crop tops or chunky sweaters, baggy jeans and sneakers, floral dresses that cinched at the waist paired with platform boots–all things with even the vaguest whiff of a ‘fashion sense’ and you’d feel a pang of jealousy for yours long lost. 

You brushed gently through your wet hair and pulled it into a quick braid, easy and out of the way, the short pieces fell loose around your face. You peered out of the bathroom. Sam was packing his bag on top of his side of the bed.

He looked up when he heard the door open and turned back to smile at you. The front door hung open and you could hear Dean packing up the Impala.

“You’re so cute,” he said. You shrugged as you slung your duffel over your shoulder. 

You arched a brow at him. “I look like I went three rounds with a lawnmower,” you said with a huff of laughter as you sat at the edge of the bed to pull on your boots, dropping your bag back to the floor.

“I like when you braid your hair,” he said as he brushed one of the loose pieces back and tucked it behind your ear. 

“Cut to me–practicing a dutch braid–then–cue the montage–as I perfect the waterfall braid, the half-up half-down twist, the mermaid, the fishtail and the low plait as ‘Every Little Thing She Does is Magic’ by The Police plays,” you said with a grin as you laced your boots. 

Sam playfully rolled his eyes as he slung his bag over his shoulder before picking up yours and doing the same. 

“I can carry it,” you said, as you stood up and slipped your phone into your back pocket. 

“I know you can,” he said as he indicated for you to walk on in front of him. You shook your head before walking to the car and climbed in the backseat. Dean didn’t protest as Sam, too, climbed in back. You fell asleep, slumped against Sam’s shoulder, hands laced together over his knee as CCR crackled through the speakers.

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