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#probably would pop in and out of the bunker just to fuck with sam and cas
miss-madness67 · 6 months
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Massages and More (Dean)
Dean really likes your massage.
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“Would you please quit moving?” you berate Dean, who instantly stops squirming under you. Your hands travel through his back in a calming manner. His muscles react to your touch.
“Sorry,” Dean murmurs, “I’m just not used to this.”
You had convinced Dean to let you give him a back massage. He had come to the bunker tired after a long hunt. He claimed that his back was sore, and you jokingly commented on his age. You didn’t mean to make him feel bad, but as an apology, you offered to relieve his pain a little.
That’s the reason why you’re on top of Dean Winchester -in a nonsexual way- caressing all of his back muscles. He is resting face down, shirtless, and you are straddling his hips. Some sexual innuendos pop into your mind, but you decide to remain quiet. The point of this is not sex. You want Dean to relax and make his poor back feel better. Of course, you cannot deny the enjoyment from touching that perfect body of his.
Dean and you have always had a weird thing going on. You are friends who have sex and have feelings for each other but don’t acknowledge them head-on. It’s been months since it started; you dance around expecting the other to confess their love. Even though you know you both feel the same way, neither says anything. It’s exhausting, really. Several times you’ve considered maybe, just maybe, being the first one to say it. And then you would think, why you? Why not him? Yeah, you both were stubborn, alright.
With the help of your index and thumb finger, you press into his lower back upwards, trying to release some tension in there. Dean sighs in contentment. You do it again on the other side. It’s a good thing that you made him take a shower first. His skin is still wet from it, and it’s easier to slide your fingers up his back into the juncture between his shoulder blades. You stop briefly to admire the strength of his upper body. His broad chest always makes you swoon a little bit… or a lot. Even if he’s not a big fan of workouts like Sam and eats a lot of junk food, the hunt keeps him in shape. His muscular arms are strong enough to tackle down a vampire, or to lift you up while he fucks you against the wall.
When he moves slightly, you go back to work. You don’t want him to find out that you’re probably enjoying this more than he is. With both of your hands, you press him down into the mattress in several key spots. He doesn’t complain, so you do it again. Dean has gone so quiet that you think he might’ve fallen asleep. You’re not a massage therapist at all, you’re just doing what feels right. You lower your hands to the hem of his sweatpants and work there for a few moments. Then you slide them up and to the left, and do the same to the other side. You’re getting the hang of it. You’re even focusing on the movements instead of Dean’s gorgeous back.
A/N: If you wish to continue for the adult part, click here.
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riverwithoutbanks · 9 days
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Since we’re doing s16 wish lists, here’s what I wanna see (in no particular order except for the first one):
Reunion episode(s). Can take up to three episodes because I’m okay with suffering. There are several ways this could go and I have a couple fics on the back burner about it so I won’t elaborate.
Beach episode: they planned to spend a few days near the sea, but a case falls on their laps. Dean is in denial and just wants to chill. The universe seems to be on his side as every time something supernatural happens, he barely misses it (think Linda from Phineas and Ferb). Cas, Sam, and Eileen are slowly losing it, being bullied by a giant squid. Dean is in a long chair, reading Vogue, and sipping Piña Coladas. Jack pops by and goes ‘wow, you guys look like shit!!’ (Dean fell asleep and got a massive sunburn).
Weekend at Bobby’s but Cas, and more comedic. I want this one to expose the shit out of the brothers. Have them be in a middle of a tiff and make it everyone’s problem. Point of the episode being, Cas loves them (especially Dean) a lot. But sometimes he wants to throttle them.
Bittersweet episode about aging. I’m thinking parallels with a monster/human relationship and hunters who got out. Saileen talking about having/adopting children question mark. Potentially dismissed after hearing Dean and Claire having a row whilst Cas tries to defuse the situation (he makes it worse).
Theee Destiel episode (they’re all more or less destiel but this is the big one. Can take place during the reunion arc). They talk about it ™️. It can last the whole season as long as they end up in a relationship by the end. I’m not particularly into domestic portrayals (nothing against them, just not my cuppa tea) so you can make the drama last. Especially if it’s getting on everyone’s nerves.
Oblivious Sam. ‘He meant as a friend, right? 😀🌸’. Would be especially funny if Dean is trying to talk about it but Sam is just not computing. Especially especially funny if he tries to defend their friendship being all like ‘yeah they’re weird but you’re an arsehole for assuming that there’s something more!!’. Dean and Cas look like they were dragged through a hedge backward and mugged by a pack of clowns. Turns out Sam’s right in the end, they weren’t doing anything YET. But now that he has contemplated the possibility, he can’t unsee it. To be continued
Continuation of the previous episode. Sam is looking for a memory erasing spell because he just CANNOT with those star crossed losers. He find Naomi’s… what the fuck was her lobotomy stuck, anyway? Some kind of sonic screwdriver? Moving on, he realises it’s been used recently (traces of grace or whatever, pick your poison. The magic system doesn’t make any sense anyway). Oops :) looks like someone has been messing with them. Wait. Wasn’t there someone else? Where’s Eileen?
The Big Bad. I love me some Chuck won and possessed Jack so it would go in that direction. The sonic screwdriver was in the bunker because Eileen caught Chuck!Jack’s new creation fucking with their brains. I wish it could be a cool uncanny monster, but let’s be real it will probably be just some dude ™️. She walked in on it lobotomising Cas (because it’s iconic<3) and tries to fight the thing off. Epic and terrifying chase scene through the bunker, especially since Eileen can’t hear the creature. She hides in a room where they keep spell ingredients and finds Sam’s conveniently placed recipe for calling Rowena. You can figure out the rest.
[end of part 1]
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Stranded - Bucky Barnes Bingo B3
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AN: Here is my next fic for @buckybarnesbingo 
Thank you for @yarnforbrains for beta-ing. Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics
Please check out my BBB master list, my SamBucky Stories master list and my main master list.
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WC: 1.3k 
CW: Angst, Injury, and Fluff.
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Well, Bucky thought, this was just great. This was why he didn’t come on missions often, because if anything was going to go wrong, it was going to go wrong for him. He should have known when he found out that the recon was going to be in the Alps that he should have just said no. But then, he’d have had to say no to Sam, and it would have to be a cold day in hell before he said that.
He snorted. He was fucking cold enough for it to almost be that day.
Bucky shifted how he was sitting and then wished he hadn’t, as pain lanced up his left leg and he stifled a yell. 
He’d been searching the first floor of the bunker they’d infiltrated. It had appeared abandoned, which was what was expected, and he, Sam, Joaquin and Yelena were searching for anything that might be useful. Not expecting any trouble, he’d taken the first floor, ‘Quin and Yelena the second and Sam the third. Fifteen minutes into his search, and he’d taken out his earwig because ‘Quin’s inane chatter was getting on his nerves. Of course it was then that the universe decided that Bucky had had too smooth a ride of late.  
Why there was a hole in floor of a bunker – one that had been hastily and shoddily patched – he would never know, but one moment he’d been walking across the room, sweeping his rifle from side to side, the light attached to the barrel lighting up the room and it’s contents, and the next he’d been falling.
Bucky hated falling.
He also hated landing.
The floor had been uneven, and the crack of his leg had been audible as he’d hit it. He’d somehow managed to drag himself to the side, away from where any debris may fall down and land on him before he’d collapsed against the side of the space he was now in.
The light on his rifle flickered as he moved it around, and he was able to identify that he was in some sort of natural cavern that had been altered by humans, before the damn thing gave out, leaving him in the dark.
He’d shuddered, more a psychological reaction than a physiological one, but he was sure he could feel a cold breeze washing over him. His left hand felt around his neck and shoulder for the earwig and cable.
Shit.
It wasn’t there. Had it snagged on something as he fell?
So, no light, no way of contacting the others, and a broken leg. Normally this would be no biggie for Bucky, but unless his leg got set properly, it would start to heal wrong, meaning that when he did get out of here, it would have to be re-broken again. It had happened before, back in the past when he’d been The Soldier, and the problem with Shuri having unscrambled his brain, it meant that he remembered the pain. Of course, the HYDRA doctors hadn’t used any anaesthetic, just popped in his mouth guard and got on with it.  The SHIELD doctors would be a lot nicer about it, of course, but it wasn’t something he wanted to go through if he didn’t have to.
He rested his head against the cool rock behind him and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see anything anyway, no point straining his eyes. No point in shouting either. He’d fallen from one dark room into another, although he reckoned it wasn’t more than 35 feet. Either way, given the others were on different floors, until they got closer to him, they wouldn’t be able to hear him.
Bucky wondered how long it would take them to realise that the fact he wasn’t answering was because of an actual issue, and not because he was being his normal, stoic self. 
Obviously, he thought, Sam would notice first. 
Right?
Bucky smiled to himself in the dark.
Of course Sam would realise first. He’d probably swap to their private channel, say something sweet, maybe a bit suggestive, and then the concern would come when Bucky didn’t respond.  Then Sam would swoop down to the first floor, discover the hole, and come down to rescue him, like an angel descending to earth.
However, Bucky would never hear the end of it; of that, he was certain. Although it might be worth it to have Sam scoop him up gently against his broad chest and have Sam coddle him for a few days while he healed.
Another breeze came whistling through the room, stronger and colder and this time Bucky’s shiver was most definitely physiological. He was probably losing blood from his leg, and he ought to do something about it. Gritting his teeth and shifting his weight to his right leg, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it free from his pants in increments. He tried not to bite his lips too hard as the pain wracked through him; he needed to kiss Sam with them when this was all over.
Muttering under his breath, Bucky slipped his belt under his left thigh. The break was in his shin bone, so hopefully a tourniquet above the knee would work. He hissed as he tightened it, the leather creaking, and the lancing pain changing to a dull throb.
How long had he been down here? And why was he getting antsy? He’d stayed still in worse places for longer. Maybe he was getting tired of all this? It wasn’t like he was always on missions now. He’d slowed down, only coming along when he was needed. Or if Sam persuaded him, and Sam could be very persuasive. Like he had been this morning, when Bucky didn’t want to get up and was questioning whether he was truly needed, but it really was hard to say no when you’re having your soul sucked out…
Bucky’s mind drifted through his memories, but his eyes snapped open as his head nodded sharply. He was so tired, but he needed to stay awake. He needed to listen out for Sam; he needed to let him know… let him know…
“Hey, Buck!”
Pain bloomed across Bucky’s cheek from a light slap. Not anything he couldn’t cope with, but definitely unexpected. He opened his eyes and then snapped them shut against the bright light.
“Hhhmmmpphh”
The sleepy mumble of disgust he let out elicited a chuckle from behind the light. He cracked one eye partly open and tried to focus, but the light was blinding.  
“There’s my Jamie…”
“Sammy! You found me.”
“Of course I did, baby. You don’t shake me off that easily. But please, next time, you want some attention, just tell me. Don’t go off disappearin’ and breakin’ somethin’, okay?”
“It’s a good thing I love you,” Bucky mumbled. He could almost feel Sam grinning. This was going to be as bad as he thought.
Sam moved closer, bending down to help pull Bucky upright.
“There we go, let’s get you up and…”
There was a bit of manoeuvring and a lot of grunting as Bucky felt himself being lifted up into Sam’s arms.
“Right, let’s get outta here, yeah?”  Without waiting for an answer, Sam lifted off, flying along in the direction of the air flow and Bucky watched the light from his partner’s head torch skim over the rock surfaces.
He’d been stranded before, but he knew that Sam would never let him be left behind again.  
And if anyone should ask, he was holding onto Sam tightly because of the pain, and not because he craved the closeness. No, siree.
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Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @tuiccim @beelicious-barnes @sidepartskinnyjeans @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions
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mlobsters · 4 months
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supernatural s12e3 the foundry (w. robert berens)
we're back in minnesota. i lived in st paul for a few years. here waxing poetic about the skyways in minneapolis while watching 8x03
avocado toast, dude with a bun, how very millenial?? (me trying to remember when hipsters died out and it went to just ragging on the whole generation. dean and i are at the cusp of gen x but sammy is solidly geriatric millenial, right :p)
you understand babies crying is like. me fighting against every instinct to find and help the baby. which is especially annoying when it's a baby on the tv. it's not as bad now since my youngest is 5, less on red alert for baby crying but it's still a thing for me and it can stress me the fuck out
i would not be able to pass the crying baby haunted house lure
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MARY After you left heaven, when did it start to feel like...like you fit, like you...belonged here? CASTIEL Well, I'm still not sure I do. Mary...you do belong here.
my feelings aside, boys think you do too, cas. and feeling for mary. she got pulled out of heaven (presumably - and with john, presumably? may have read something saying they shared a heaven too) and plonked down with her adult sons who she doesn't know at all, really.
egads what is this music? kind of sounds like recorder/theremin solo. also that's really short you're going there mary! new hair new you, i get it, but doing that big of a chop at home is an undertaking
suspension of disbelief that she managed that very modern cut and styling all alone in the bunker
MARY I'm gonna keep it short if I'm gonna go out on a hunt, you know? Why give the bad guys the advantage of long pullable hair right? DEAN Wow. I've been trying to tell Sam that for years.
vry cute. i'd seen that in a gifset and i was looking for it but searching for the episode just gives me wall to wall cas gifs :p
MARY It's probably nothing. I just thought I might...get out there, stretch my legs. SAM I-I thought you-you weren't down to hunt in the first place. DEAN Well things change, right? Family hunting trip.
poor mary. just trying to get some time alone to sort out her head and dean's not picking up what she's putting down. E for effort
ok i can see some potential with the grumpy and obnoxious buddy cop routine between cas and crowley
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aw they're holding hands, how nice
CROWLEY So mother and I had an unfortunate, if not rather embarrassing, run-in with Lucifer. You're just mad because you're only my second choice for a Lucifer-hunt team-up. CASTIEL (said sarcastically) No, actually I think it's sweet. I thought your motivation was ambition and revenge, but now I know you just wanna save your mother. CROWLEY It's not about saving her. Lucifer has made off with a colossally powerful witch who, by the way, is the only person alive who can slam him back in the cage. He will either kill her, control her, or she will offer her services to the biggest bad in town in order to save her neck, like she always does. Do any of those sound like particularly good outcomes to you?
crowley comin in hot with the logic. see that's another thing that irks me about how they write cas. he's snarky, then he's a buffon. he understands sarcasm and knows every pop culture reference via metatron zap, the he takes everything literally and is constantly confused. PICK ONE. preferably the sarcastic snarky one :p
quietly asking for mark pellegrino to get magicked back for lucifer
MARY Hmm. Mm, maybe, but...all I know is, that little boy who grabbed me, I...he didn't wanna hurt me. He was scared. SAM Yeah, um...it must've felt that way, but, mom, the victims were all lured to their death by a baby's cry. Uh, the spirit marked Natalia right before she was killed, the same way the spirit marked you. I mean, if we hadn't gotten there in time...
mushy music returns but i already used my video quota on the weird recorder music
SAM Look, I'm happy, too, Dean. I am. I'm overjoyed. But...there's something about her. I mean, something's going on with her. DEAN Yeah, she's adjusting. SAM No, she's struggling. I mean, she's trying to bury herself in hunting to avoid dealing. DEAN And how do you know that? SAM Years of personal experience. I don’t know man. Uh...like mother, like sons.
hey sammy, does that mean you're gonna force dean (and yourself) to deal with all of y'all's shit too :p
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ok also slightly suffocating that she's trying to get some space and now she's crammed into one hotel room with her very large sons. so who got the rollaway bed? mary because she's the smallest, but i can't imagine dean standing for that. maybe rock paper scissors with sam
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okay that made me laugh. here for rowena being tricksy
the music in this episode continues to be weird. i really don't understand why it stands out so negatively so frequently to me
DEAN Mom, it's okay. All right? You're home now. MARY No. I'm not. I miss John. I miss my boys. SAM We're right here, mom. MARY I know. In my head. But I'm still mourning them as I knew them. My baby Sam. My little boy Dean. Just feels like yesterday, we were together in heaven, and now...I'm here, and John is gone, and they're gone. And every moment I spend with you reminds me every moment I lost with them. And I thought hunting, working, would clear my head. SAM Mom...w-what are you trying to say? MARY I have to go. I'm sorry. I'm so...so sorry. I just need a little time.
(mushy music round 2)
well. that's shitty. can see where i'd gotten the "mom walked out on them" thing from fic. but as ever, i can see both sides on that one. being yanked out of literal heaven without any say in the matter, thrown into an unfamiliar world and feeling useless. some time and space is totally reasonable. and i don't know that dean would have given that if she stayed in the bunker. but also, can see how hurt and abandoned that could leave the boys feeling. no-win situation. and not entirely sure why we're even doing this resurrected mary plotline.
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fromcenotaphy · 3 years
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okay okay! have we have hbo demon!dean? because I think it'd make a Concept
hbo demon!dean is a concept inDEED just [flirting with anything that has a pulse] [hair always unkempt and flecked with someone’s blood] [can’t keep his eyes away from the guttering candle of stolen grace under castiel’s ribs] [constantly drinking but can’t even get buzzed, not anymore] [smile that’s too hard, too bright, too cold] [cutting swaths through the hordes of hell just because he’s bored] [guts every demon that dares so much as mention sam] [enjoys himself in a thousand petty, meaningless ways, trying to stem the tide of his own pitiless self-loathing] [hunting down angels and ripping out their grace, leaving vials of it on the bunker doorstep] [fucks crowley in hell’s throne room] [breaks both cole’s knees and leaves him in the parking lot without bothering to finish the job] [lets a group of men shove him up against an alleyway wall, lets the anticipatory scent of their lust become overpowering, then turns and grins and rips out each of their throats, one by one] [off the grid for weeks at a time, traceable only by the bodies he leaves in his wake] [uneasy dreams where he’s on the dock of a quiet lake with someone standing beside him, just out of view] [cuts himself on the first blade just to watch sam’s pupils dilate from the smell] [back arching as crowley works him over, eyes stuttering void-black, hands curled in the silk sheets, someone else’s name catching mutely in his throat] [deep in the forgotten bowels of hell, looking impassively at the rack where alastair took him apart for 30 years] [walks into the room where soul contracts are held and burns half of them to ashes before anyone can stop him] [tips his head back and pants when castiel touches the mark on his arm] [runs into dagon at a haze-filled dive bar and smirks into his whiskey as she cuts him a wide berth] [trails the first blade along crowley’s ribs, laughs when crowley flinches] [screams when the first dose of purified blood hits his veins, cracks his head against the stone floor] [bares his teeth at sam and castiel, flicks his eyes black, strains his true form against the edges of the devil’s trap] [tries to rip out his own heart once he realizes he’s nearly cured] [because he still remembers what humanity felt like, and it terrifies him]
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schmerzerling · 3 years
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A saccharine, pointless fix-it fic, set post-15x19. Because you deserve it.
Dean doesn’t even make it down the stairs into the bunker before he’s already praying.
Dear Jack, who art in heaven, hope you’re eating your vegetables and wearing deodorant—being a noncorporeal celestial entity is no excuse not to—and, oh, could you please bring your dad back from black goo mega hell?
It seems a little selfish at this point to pray to Jack—kid just brought back the entire human race, so he could probably use a bit of a breather, but it can’t hurt to add just a little tick to his to-do list. Besides, maybe Dean’s earned being a little selfish. Maybe it’s finally Dean’s opportunity to cash in his “whoops, I killed your mom” favor with his wayward antichrist slash omniscient deity slash son.
He gets to the bottom of the stairs, tosses his bag down on the war room table, starts down the hallway toward his bedroom, and.
Oh. There’s Cas.
“It was the first thing he did,” Cas says, like he heard Dean’s prayer. He’s in the kitchen, looking consideringly between a frying pan and a recipe on his phone. From the smell of it, he could be making French toast, maybe, if French toast were black and hard and dense as a brick. “Well, after resurrecting all life on earth, I suppose.” Then Cas says, wistfully, like a proud father who’s just seen his son off to kindergarten, “I hope he’s having a good first day.”
His nose gets that—wrinkle it gets. Dean’s memorized that wrinkle. He knows that wrinkle, and yeah. That’s definitely his Cas filling his kitchen with toxic French toast smog.
“I got back early,” Cas continues, casual like he didn’t do anything more than dodge out of work at four to miss rush hour, “and I figured you and Sam would be hungry when you got home.”
Dean gapes like a fish, mouth open to gulp in toast fumes. Behind him, he hears Sam clang down the spiral stairs in the war room. When he hits the bottom step and clunks onto the concrete floor, he says, “Hey, what do you bet Chuck’s already knee deep in Naked and Afraid territory—”
He rounds the corner, sees Cas in the kitchen, and smiles like it’s his birthday. Then he looks at Dean briefly, uses two fingers under Dean’s chin to close his hanging jaw with an audible click-pop teeth-jowl combo, and flashes Dean a double thumbs up before he retreats quietly down the hallway.
Because he’s an asshole.
Cas looks up from the mess he’s making of Dean’s favorite pan and the nose wrinkle is still there, right above a sweet, wistful smile. He’s really fucking—cute. But he’s an asshole too. The absolute king of the assholes. Because the last time he saw Cas, saw Cas’s eyes, they were spilling over with tears that Dean put there, that loving Dean put there. They were wide and clear and almost reflective, so that Dean could see himself crying back, and so that Dean could see his own devastated face when he realized that Cas was saying goodbye a-fucking-gain. And the worst thing, the absolute worst thing about all that is that he’s smiling now like he was smiling then, like giving up his life for Dean makes him happy in the same way cooking Dean shitty French toast does.
Cas’s smile fades the longer Dean looks at him and doesn’t say anything, and Dean sees when the skittish uncertainty starts taking him over.
“Dean. We can—I know…” He licks his perpetually chapped lips and huffs a quick, fortifying breath. “I didn’t mean to ‘make it weird.’”
He curls his fingers around air quotes when he says it, and a feeling of nostalgic fondness swells up inside Dean so fast it hurts his chest, bursts up against his throat to produce a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. He’s the same fucking Cas he’s always been, Dean realizes. He hasn’t changed, just like Dean asked him not to all that time ago. So the only explanation for the paralyzing feeling of earnest affection bubbling up his throat like top-shelf sangria vomit is—
That Dean has. That Cas hasn’t changed, but he has cast a new light on everything he’s ever done, and now Dean can plainly see that their whole history is painted over in colorful shades of I love you. Dean knew it before, he thinks. That Castiel loved him. But there’s knowing, abstractly, and then there’s seeing and hearing. There’s believing. There’s recognizing that Cas has a secret smile, just for Dean. There’s internalizing his I love you until it buoys him, until it keeps his head above water long enough to see that maybe that secret smile means exactly what he always hoped it did, because maybe he’s been worth that secret smile all along.
Dean lurches clumsily forward, promptly forgetting the two steps that lead down into the kitchen. He trips over his own feet, straight into the kitchen island, with a disastrous clatter. Every spoon and spatula and pot and pan hanging over the top of the island clatters. He can almost sense Sam listening from his bedroom, can almost hear him laughing about how Dean just went toe to toe with God, but one awkward blink of Cas’s baby blues turns him into an bumbling, lovestruck idiot.
Dean skitters around the island, straight into Cas’s space like Cas is always up in his. He says, “No, no,” desperately like that means anything, like he’s afraid Cas is going to disappear before he can make it clear. He breathes right into Cas’s mouth, sharing air like he can’t stand not to. Cas exhales softly as those fucking eyes flit worriedly over Dean’s face. He says, “Oh, Dean, you’re hurt—”
And Dean plants his lips right on Castiel’s.
It’s not much of a kiss. It’s chaste and subdued against the subtle background chime of settling pots and pans. But Cas brings up both hands to cup Dean’s cheeks, just gently, like he’s afraid of exacerbating wounds but can’t stand to let Dean pull away, either. And when Cas finally does pull back to look into Dean’s unfocussed eyes, the sense of beaming contentment that Castiel positively glows with pours directly into Dean through a long, lingering look.
It settles something tumultuous inside Dean. A quiet leaches down into his bones, nestles up against his heart like a purring kitten. And in the sudden silence of his scattered head, he can actually hear himself when he says, “I—I mean. You too. I do too. Love. You, I mean.” He almost ruins it by giving Cas his patented no-homo back pat, but he restrains himself at the last second. He finger-combs Cas’s fringe back from his wrinkled forehead instead.
He wasn’t expecting to say it, because he doesn’t say it, not even in the pathetic, fragmented way he just managed. And Cas clearly wasn’t expecting it either, because his eyes go wide like they were then and he says, “Oh,” on a gentle exhale. “Oh.”
Dean sees his own lovestruck astonishment, reflected again in Cas’s eyes.
Cas drops his hands from Dean’s face and says, all business, “Well. Good.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Dean clears his throat and steps back. Then he nods down at Castiel’s disaster toast and says, “Can I help you not burn the bunker down?” And Cas nods, slowly and fondly, and laughs because there’s no one to tell him not to. They bump shoulders while they cook and sit on the same side of the dining table while Dean eats and that’s that.
That’s all there is.
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syven-siren · 3 years
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To Be Bred
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Summary: Dean finds out about a secret the reader has been keeping from him. He makes sure to take full advantage of it.  Warnings: SMUT, breeding kink, lots of dirty talk, A/N: I made my damn self horny with this one. This is pure fucking filth.  Requested by Anon: “sam or dean + breeding kink”
“(Y/N)! Do you know where...What are you looking at?”
You jump as Dean unexpectedly pops up and scares you thoroughly. Slamming the laptop closed to avoid an awkward confrontation, you don't make direct eye contact.
“Nothing! Just some research.”
He eyes you suspiciously, a smirk forming on his face. “You were looking at something naughty, weren’t you?”
“N-No! Of course not.”
“Oh come on! Let me see, sweet cheeks.”
“Fuck off, Dean.” You grumble. Your face heats up considerably at nearly getting caught. Holding onto the computer tightly, you shuffle out of the room. His loud laughter echoes after you causing you to curse him and his ability to always sneak up on you. It isn’t like you both haven’t caught each other watching porn or exploring various stimulating items but this was something you definitely would not want him seeing. He’d probably find it weird or something much worse. Definitely not something you want to bring up.
.
.
.
Dean doesn’t usually snoop. Your relationship is all about openness, honesty, and mutual exploration. There has never been a need for him to do something like he is doing now: sneaking a look through your shared computer after you’ve gone on a grocery run.
Perusing the search history, Dean finds the normal sites you both use, for hunts and other more recreational activities, but an unknown source catches his eye. This was what you were viewing the other day. It’s what got you all hot and bothered. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t spark something within him too. Shifting in his seat, Dean finds himself palming his now growing erection. Never would he think something like this would be a turn on but holy fuck just imagining the scenario playing out with you now has him horny, and very thankful that you two have the bunker to yourselves for the next week.
“Oh (Y/N), you’re in so much trouble when you get home.”
.
.
.
Strong arms grip your waist and a defined body presses into your back as you place the last of the groceries away, “What are you doing, Dean?”
You chuckle but make no attempts to pull away from him. He leaves a trail of kisses along your neck, only stopping intermittently to nip at your skin.
“I’m about to turn you around, bend you over this counter, and fuck you senseless.”
You suck in a sharp breath at his bluntness. Your panties dampen at the imagery that flashes through your mind. If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s that Dean can turn you on at any moment and that moment, no matter how long, will always end with you blissed out of your mind.
Clothes are scattered across the kitchen, thrown haphazardly in the midst of passionate impatience. He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to fuck you over the counter. As soon as your bare before him, Dean turns you around roughly and bends you over the countertop. A hand in between your shoulder blades keeps you in place. The edge of the counter digs into the flesh of your hips as two fingers slip through your glistening folds.
Something has your lover riled up but you’re not complaining. Although you love it when Dean takes his time and leads you both slowly towards a spectacular finale, you can’t help but relish when he decides to plow into you with an unrivaled motivation.
“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already drenched. Is this all for me?”
“I’m all yours, baby.”
You whimper when his fingers pull away from your pussy, never having even entered you. But, your dissatisfaction dissolves into pleasure when the tip of Dean’s cock begins to stretch your entrance.
“I. Know. You. Fucking. Are.” Each word is exemplified by his member sinking further into you. Dean lets out an obscene groan when he bottoms out and you clench at the sound of it.
The pause is short-lived. As soon as Dean has collected himself, he’s thrusting into you like a man who has gone without for far too long. Your moans, his grunts, and the squelch of his member pumping in and out of you echo off the walls. It's a sinful melody that only adds to the enjoyment. Your fingers claw at the countertop but your nails are met with nothing but the smooth surface. There’s nothing to anchor yourself to as Dean pounds into you relentlessly.
The coil begins to tighten within you, turning with each wild thrust of Dean’s pelvis. His fingers sneak beneath your breathless form, seeking out the small bundle of nerves that sends jolts throughout your pussy. His index and middle fingers circle your clit, pressing harshly every so often and then repeating their original pattern. He’s using you perfectly and you love it.
Your mouth falls open with a silent scream as the coil finally snaps, sending your mind reeling, making your toes curl, and your body tremble. Dean bites harshly on your shoulder before huskily whispering filthy words of encouragement to you.
Your core continues fluttering around him once your orgasm passes. The aftershocks are just as pleasurable as the first impact. Dean doesn’t slow though. His pace is steady as he begins to work you towards another climax.
“Dean, you’re amazing. Let me finish you off now.” You make a move to stand up and provide him with some attention from your skillful tongue. You intend to fully reciprocate the amazing orgasm he gave you with one of his own but his large hand pushes you back down and into your original position.
“Oh, no sweetheart. We aren’t gonna waste this load. The only place it’s going is this pretty little cunt of yours. You’re gonna keep it in. I don’t want a single drop to go to waste.”
“W-What?!” Does he know about your kink? The question is in your mind for only a minute before it’s scrambled by the constant pounding of his cock into you.
“That’s what you want, right? For me to fuckin’ fill you? For me to breed you? You’d look so hot all round with my kid.”
“Dean,” You pant out his name, eyes nearly rolling back as his thrusts become more pointed.
“I can feel you clenching around me. This turns you on, huh? You really just want me to fuck a baby into you?”
“Yes! Yes, please.”
Dean tangles his fingers through your hair, yanking your head back. “Well then you better get ready because I’m about to give you one,” he growls into your ear before kissing your cheek.
You cry out as he releases his grip and your forehead rests on the cool countertop, seeking out any way to calm your frantic nerves.
“Please, Dean. I need it. I want you to cum inside me. Please give it to me.”
Your desperate begging is all he needs. His large hands grip your hips as his cock surges deeper than before. You clench around him, milking him. A string of unintelligible noises leave his mouth. His member twitches as he spills deep within you.
His breath is hot on your back as he pants hurriedly. His fingers massage the bruised skin of your hips as he begins to pull away from you. You whimper as his cock slips out. Although he's gone, you don’t feel empty at all. You’re full. Full of him. Some dribbles out, staining your thighs.
You squirm and gasp as he collects what’s dropped out of you and stuffs it back in, tutting about you being wasteful. You move to turn around and seek out some afterglow comfort, but Dean just shoves you back onto the counter.
“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet. I told you I was gonna fill you. I was just getting started, so get that pretty ass of your back over here.”
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perlukafarinn · 3 years
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this is a season 9 au i guess. don’t ask for more specifics, i just wanted to write dean and cas getting drunk and making out “for practice”
Thank fucking God, Dad can’t see me now.
The thought flutters through Dean’s mind, a tiny, bitter thing there one moment and gone the next. He’s too comfortable right now to dwell on such negativity, laying on the couch, warm and loose-limbed.
They’ve been drinking - him and Cas, that is. Sam is nowhere near the bunker right now and honestly, thank God for that too, because all they’ve had tonight is pitcher after pitcher of margaritas.
Not Dean’s idea, for the record. Neither is the music currently playing on the radio, some upbeat bubblegum pop that he usually wouldn’t be caught dead listening to but can right now admit, at least to himself, that he kind of digs.
Cas picked the music, and the margaritas, because it turns out he doesn’t really like beer or hard liquor but he wanted to try getting drunk anyway. Dean’s the sucker who went out and bought all that margarita mix, because he’s finding it more and more difficult to tell Cas no these days.
Which might be why he’s currently letting Cas paint his toenails, with some polish Charlie left behind after her last visit. 
It’s bright blue and Dean is pretty sure Cas is getting it all over his feet but he can’t be bothered to care. It feels kind of nice, Cas’ hands brushing against his skin as he carefully applies the polish. Like being taken care of. 
“Fuck me,” Dean mutters and he’s sure Cas hasn’t heard him over the music but then his hand stills.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just-” Dean laughs, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “Are we having a slumber party right now?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Cas resumes his work. He’s sitting on the floor next to the couch, which can’t be comfortable, but he’s probably too drunk to care right now. Just like Dean. “I’ve never been to one before.”
Dean hums, staring up at the ceiling. 
“What does one do at a slumber party?”
“I don’t know,” Dean says. “This kinda crap, I guess. Paint each other’s nails, listen to music, get drunk on girly drinks. Talk about boys.” He snorts. “Or sex, if you’re not a preteen girl.”
“I’d rather not.”
Dean winces, thinking of Cas’ one sexual experience so far. Yeah, he wouldn’t be eager to talk about that either. 
Still, “You’ve at least rounded first with some chicks worth talking about.” Dean wracks his brain - Meg is the first to come to mind, but he knows better than to bring her up, even drunk off his ass. “Daphne, right? She was hot.”
“I suppose,” Cas says. 
“Why didn’t you ever hook up with her?” The question tastes bitter on Dean’s tongue and he’s not sure why. “Can’t tell me it’d be a sin, it’s not fornication if you’re married.”
Cas pauses his movements. Dean thinks he might have offended him so he raises his head, craning his neck to get a proper look at his face, but Cas doesn’t looks pissed, just deep in thought.
“We did round some bases,” he says, the words sounding stiff and alien coming from him. “But we rarely did more than kiss. Once tongues are involved the whole process becomes...” he makes a face, “unpleasant.”
“Unpleasant?” Dean repeats. He gets up on his elbows, sparing a glance at his toes - a whole mess of blue, Picasso would be so proud - before looking back at Cas. “Dude. You sure you weren’t just bad at it?”
Cas turns away, blushing. “Possibly. It’s not as if I’ve had much practice.”
“You learned some stuff from the pizza man,” Dean points out.
Cas huffs. The back of his ears have turned red, too. It’s kind of cute. 
“If you want, you can practice on me.”
The words tumble out faster than Dean can stop them. His mouth goes dry when Cas turns to look at him, eyes wide with shock, but there’s a reckless pounding in his heart that makes him push past the doubt.
“Do you want to?” he asks Cas. 
Cas glances down - at Dean’s lips and Dean licks them instinctively, heart racing faster. He’s not sure what he’s doing but his head is buzzing, a combination of alcohol and excitement, and he decides he doesn’t want to think too hard about it. Second thoughts can wait until tomorrow, when he’s sober.
“It would... just be for practice?” Cas asks.
Dean grins, easy. “Call it part of the slumber party experience.”
He tries to sit up further and Cas takes the hint to help him but between the efforts of two drunk, uncoordinated people, Dean somehow finds himself slipping off the couch, landing halfway on top of Cas and halfway on the floor. 
“You’re heavy,” Cas complains. 
“Fuck off,” Dean says but he’s laughing, giddy and for no real reason. He’s drunk and there’s some girl on the radio singing about being in love and Cas is right here, human but alive, smiling at the sound of Dean’s laughter and leaning in and, oh -
Right. They’re doing this. 
Dean is still kind of on top of Cas so he has to grab Cas’ shoulder to keep his balance, which has the added benefit of bringing him even closer. Cas is a little sloppy right at the beginning, teeth bumping against Dean’s lower lip as they kiss. 
Dean laughs, a little breathless already, mutters, “Careful,” against Cas’ parted lips.
Unpleasant is definitely not the word Dean would use to describe this. Cas’ lips are warm and he’s a bit clumsy, a little too eager, but then he sucks on Dean’s lower lip and bites down, gently, and Dean thinks he might have a knack for this, after all.
Dean’s the one to deepen the kiss, licking the seams of Cas’ lips until they part on a sigh. He tastes sweet and sour like those stupid margaritas, and Dean thinks he might be intoxicating like them too, because he’s sure as hell feeling more buzzed by the second.
Cas shifts underneath him, bringing one hand up to cup the back of Dean’s head, fingers digging into his scalp and Dean just about melts, humming nonsensical encouragements against Cas’ lips. 
Dean feels like he’s in free fall, head swimming at the hot twist of Cas’ tongue, stomach swooping when Cas pulls away to take a shuddering breath and then trails his lips down Dean’s neck, licking, biting.
Dean should discourage him - like this whole thing isn’t middle school enough, now Cas is gonna give him a goddamn hickey - but he just tilts his head back, gives Cas more room to work. Cas presses a kiss against his Adam’s apple and then licks the dip of his clavicle, slow and hot like he’s savoring the taste of Dean’s skin. 
At some point, Cas’ other hand landed on Dean’s waist and it’s maybe the only thing keeping him upright. Dean is on fire, he’s melting, he’s dizzy with desire, almost nauseous, and all they’ve done is make out for a couple of minutes. 
“Dean,” Cas says, whispers into his skin, and fuck, he sounds wrecked. “Dean.”
He’s hard. Dean can feel it, poking him in the thigh, but somehow that doesn’t scare him half as much as his own answering hardness, quickly growing uncomfortable in his jeans.
“We should-” Dean pulls away, puts his hand on Cas’ chest to keep him from chasing, “-we should stop. That’s enough practice.”
Cas stares up at him, challenging. “Is it?”
Dean doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a stare down, clambering off his lap and out of his embrace. “Yep.”
He sits down on the floor next to Cas. He hears Cas huff and feels a little guilty, winding the poor guy up like that and then stopping as soon as things were getting good.
But they were just practicing, Dean reminds himself. If they’d gone any further, it wouldn’t have been practice anymore. At least not anything Cas could put to practical use the next time he hooks up with a chick.
Dean swallows past the sudden bitter taste in his mouth. He looks over at Cas, who’s staring at the ceiling.
“Want me to paint your toenails?” Dean offers.
Cas sighs. “...Yes.”
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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years
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God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning
Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader
Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.
Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder
Requested ✖️
Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬
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Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.
They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.
Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.
There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.
It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.
The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.
Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.
Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.
But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.
“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.
“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.
“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.
“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”
He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.
“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”
You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”
“Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.
Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.
To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.
Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.
As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.
“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.
“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.
“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.
You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.
He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.
This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.
Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.
Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.
His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.
To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.
But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.
“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.
His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.
Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.
Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”
In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.
Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.
“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.
He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.
Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.
“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.
And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.
Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.
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mlobsters · 2 days
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supernatural s15e7 last call (w. jeremy adams)
this bit with eileen is cute
DEAN It means I got to... I got to get out of here, okay? I just... I got to... I'm gonna take a drive, clear my head. SAM Alone? DEAN Yeah, you know, you and Eileen, you guys are having fun. I don't want to spoil that, you know? SAM Yeah, go, go. Clear your head. Eileen and I have stuff to do. DEAN Yeah, I'll bet you do. Yeah? Hmm? SAM It's not like that. I-I-I meant looking for Chuck and Lilith and... DEAN Sure. Got it. Um, okay, but if, uh, things go your way, just make sure you put the sock on the door so I know.
throwing a love interest at sam real fast out of the blue and i'm like hey wait slow down what now? and i mean, we're not completely blindsided, they set up the flirty thing between them before she died and all. but having her pop back up, sam turned into a witchy genius and finished rowena's spell licketysplit, magicked up her a fresh body and now they're getting drunk at night and making hangover breakfasts in the bunker in the morning. that's a lot. and dean bolting out of there too to stay busy and let them be alone. anyway, solo hunt and lying about it, that always goes well
i dunno, man. i'm having a hard time believing dean would be okay with dumping his cell off no questions asked just walking into this bar
i don't think i'm in the right mindset to watch dean flirting and gallivanting living his swayze road house dreams
next day, not sure it's improved (i've been sick [stomach variety] coming up on a week, i am so tired of this) but maybe i can get it done anyway.
i gather this dude christian kane must be a music friend too since i guess they have a bandmate in common, steve carlson? i tried to watch leverage but it didn't grab me, i think it made it through a season or so? and funnily enough, the music kind of put me off 🥴 the cheesiest of heist music
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i watched the trailer for road house from 1989 (because apparently there's a new road house (2024) with gyllenhall) and wow. something about bouncing people in pleated pants. i probably would have enjoyed it when i was teenager but i think i need the modern sensibilities of the remake if i'm gonna enjoy a big ridiculous action movie that focuses on just punching the shit out of each other :p
the tone of this scene where sam's about to kiss eileen is just weird. the music is kind of.. mushy wistful, like the mushy music theme but different. and there's a lot of awkward exchanging of looks. and then sam gets clued in what eileen's talking about. i'm just really not picking up what they're putting down. but get a big dramatic interruption with cas popping back in.
also fucking netflix and its caption placement is consistently awful.
CASTIEL Good. I've been thinking about that gun, the, uh... the Equalizer? When you shot God, it fired a piece of your soul.
his SOUL. sure. SURE
DEAN Man, so I don't think I've seen you since Sammy was in college.
gotta tally up all the hunters they mentioned he worked with while sam was in college. think richie too? sure there's others
from 3x04 sin city SAM Not too bad. How do you two know each other? DEAN You were in school. RICHIE It was that succubus, in Canarsie right?
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CASTIEL No, but I am sure I can't heal the wound. Maybe I can probe it. SAM Probe it? CASTIEL Study it, see if it can lead us to Chuck.
jamming his fist into sam's chest rooting around for his non-existent soul, sucking the leftover angel grace out of his neck with a needle, what's a little probing of a soul wound from god
DEAN Okay. One, three bottles of Jaeger is nobody's friend, and "B," they were twins.
may have just yelled, BRO! DAMNIT! lol i thought we were done with the 1, B (A, 2) thing that drives me up a WALL whenever it comes up because i can't find the paul reiser mad about you reference to him doing it despite being quite sure that he used it a lot in that show
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LEE Whoa, no, they were not twins. They were triplets, uh, and we split them up fair and square.
dean and dudes and triplets.
from 10x01 black DEAN Okay, see, the deal was we howl at the moon -- no time stamp, no expiration date. CROWLEY We've howled. We've bayed. We've done extraordinary things to triplets, all of which have been massively entertaining. I will treasure our Flickr albums forever. But now it's time for us to accept what we are and go back to work.
--
DEAN Trust me, uh, bigger doesn't always equal better. Besides, who's gonna look out after the little guy? God certainly isn't. LEE Damn, brother, that's dark. DEAN Yeah, it's been a rough, uh... it's been a rough decade, Lee.
understatement of the century
(wiki)
The band at Swayze's Bar is a band made up of the Supernatural crew called The Impalas that has played together for many years. Here they are called "The Texas Impalas" and are made up of Perry Battista, Tracy Dunlop, Dave Webb, Cam Beck, and Chris Glynn Jones.
that's neat. i'm glad at least we got some dean singing that wasn't intentionally cringey. i feel like this episode is fan service, but dean/jensen is the main fan in question lol
SERGEI Small thing. CASTIEL What is it? SERGEI Sam is... dying.
of course he is! he's almost dead or actually dead CONSTANTLY. jesus.
and dean's buddy acting shifty, of course. also rolling my eyes that they had this friend insist that the car was raptured based on no info
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SERGEI Ah, well, there you go. Most wounds want to be healed, to be whole. But this, this wound is different. It goes down to his very soul. But also out into the world. From what I can tell, his soul, it's connected to something or someone somewhere. Except, as you probed deeper, you forced the soul to stretch from Sam's body to... EILEEN Where? SERGEI I don't know. But now it's like a rubber band. If it is stretched too far, too long, pop, it snaps, and Sam dies.
LOL sure. they've destroyed my suspension of disbelief i just can't haha and castiel's face made me laugh
and now cas just had supposedly bobby?? watching this rando's niece so he could threaten with killing her to get what he wants? sure!
LEE Well, not the old me, anyway. I wasn't kidding about Arizona. What that thing did to that family, those kids, it stuck in my head. If evil like that exists in the world, then guys like you and me, we ain't ever gonna win. The best we can do is just have a little fun. The last Hunt I did, the one right around here, I found something.
very logical and sense-making
LEE You don't, Dean? I am you. I'm just you that woke up and saw that the world was broken. DEAN Then you fix it. You don't walk away. You fight for it.
dean-o gets to remember the lesson that he does actually care and is willing to fight even if it's unclear what's god pulling strings vs his distinct choice
LEE Why do you care so much, Dean? DEAN Because someone has to. LEE Well, then... I'm glad it was you.
uh huh. insert another eyeroll lol. ugh. i'm being an asshole but they lost me :p
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SAM Dean, Chuck is weak. I think we can beat him. I think we can beat God.
okie doke. team free will whatever dot whatever, back at it
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2 Oct. Suptober: No Vacancy
"There were no vacancies for a radius of nearly 25 miles. But I did find one room, finally. I'll text you the address."
"Thanks, Cas." Sam paused. "Have you spoken to Dean today?"
snippetfic; deancas
"Is this what it's like in Norway?" Dean asked, faint horror dripping from every word as he pushed a few cable knit sweaters from one side of a circular rack to the other.
"Sweden," Sam corrected. Off Dean's blank look, he clarified, "The store's from Sweden."
"Well, whatever. Happiest people on earth, my ass." Dean flicked the strings of a gray hoodie on a nearby hanger and sighed. "This place is giving me the heebie jeebies. Everything in here smells like ink."
Sam rehung a shirt the price tag referred to as 'muscle fit band collar' and prayed for strength. "We just need a few new clothes, and this place is closer than the nearest army surplus." And it wasn't like the three-acres large sentient mushroom purportedly threatening citizens two towns away was going anywhere quickly. In theory. 
"There's gotta be a thrift store around here somewhere. Suburb like this? There's probably nine different churches running a yard sale outta their basement."
"We have a gift card, thanks to Donna." Sam shrugged. "May as well use it."
Dean opened his mouth, no doubt to protest again, then spotted something in a far corner. Sam wanted to try on a pair of trousers and he was willing to let Dean work out his aggression towards moderately priced fast fashion by himself for a few minutes. In the cramped, smudged dressing room, Sam decided that maybe Dean was right to be unimpressed. Why did these khakis have elastic bands at the bottom of the legs, like a pair of sweatpants from the 1980s? Why were Sam's bony and pale lower shins so hideous by the glare of fluorescent lighting? 
He was spared further inane inner commentary by his phone bleating in the pocket of the jeans he already owned. "Hey, Cas."
"There are many young athletes in this county." Cas's tinny voice bled frustration. "They are energetic and loud."
"The tournament's over tomorrow."
"That did not help me today." It sounded like Cas was pulling a boulder out of his truck, with more difficulty than an angel should have had. "There were no vacancies for a radius of nearly 25 miles. But I did find one room, finally. I'll text you the address."
"Thanks, Cas." Sam paused. "Have you spoken to Dean today?"
A mirrored pause. "No?" Cas made the word seem multisyllabic.
"Okay." Sam put the terrible trousers back on their plastic hanger. "We'll see you in an hour or so." 
"Wait," Cas said. "Is something wrong with Dean?" 
The concern that radiated from the phone could have powered a nuclear warhead. Sam thought it prudent to keep his smile out of his own voice when he said, "Dean's fine, man. You just left the bunker without telling him you were leaving, is all."
"Oh." Cas was squinting; Sam just knew. "I didn't tell you either, Sam."
Yes, but I'm not butthurt about it, Sam thought. "It's fine, Cas. You found us a case." So far, all the case had really yielded in Sam was a desire to eat pizza loaded with portabellas as soon as he could get his hands on a pie, but Cas didn't need to know that. "No worries."
"All right. I'll see you…when you get here." Cas disconnected.
Sam rubbed a hand over his face to try to remove the exasperation from it. He braced himself for whatever mood he would find Dean in now.
This did not prepare him for how depressed Dean was, still in that one corner of the store, looking at flannel shirts. 
"You can't complain about the selection here," Sam said, nodding at the rack of buffalo plaids. "You own at least four shirts that look just like these."
"I hate this fucking music." Dean rolled his eyes up to the ceiling like he might try to bite one of the speakers embedded between the acoustic tiles. 
The song the ceiling blared, made more grating by a short somewhere in the speaker, was pretty bad, Sam had to concede. Why Dean couldn't just tune it out was a question Sam had no answer for. Perhaps they were no longer fit for mainstream shopping, Sam considered. Perhaps they never had been. A nearby salesclerk frowned at Dean's scowl and hightailed it away from his general grumpiness. 
Sam decided to try his luck with a different pair of trousers, checking the cuffs on them first, and was just about to head back to the dressing room when the disembodied ceiling voice sang, "Used to be that I felt so damn empty. Ever since I met you, no vacancy."
Yeah, okay. Not Sam's cup o' rock-n-roll tea either, he would readily admit. But he glanced over at Dean, and Dean was not grinding his teeth or clenching his jaw or glaring disdainfully. No. Sam saw, with both a pang of sympathy and a generous helping of humor, was that the subpar blah pop lyrics were getting under Dean's skin. 
In the midst of a bunch of mall clothes too trendy for the Winchester boys, Dean Winchester was pining. 
"Cas called," Sam said, casual as a crew neck t-shirt. "He's got a room for us an hour from here."
The transformation Dean underwent in that moment, from despondent Gen Xer disillusioned by consumerist propaganda and the kind of lonesomeness that only afflicted those lonely for a specific person to Man with A Renewed Sense of Purpose, was so instantaneous Sam physically could not keep from laughing.
"What?" Dean said, his expression morphing into a masterpiece of confusion.
"Nothing." Sam let his laugh trail off with a reasonably content, if also defeated, sigh. "I'm trying these on." He hoisted a pair of jeans aloft and headed back to the dressing room. "I like this blue plaid," Dean called out, suddenly the store's biggest fan.
"You should buy it for Cas," Sam called back. "It'd bring out his eyes."
That Dean seemed to be seriously considering the purchase was enough to start Sam smiling again. The dressing room was still unpleasant, but at least he knew the drive to even-more-middle-of-nowhere, Ohio, would be, if nothing else, fast. 
(with apologies to fans of OneRepublic :))
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calaofnoldor · 3 years
Text
Sixth Time’s the Charm [3]
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(not my gif)
Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean
Words: 3,695
Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you.
Chapter Summary: Dean suggests the two of you pose as a couple for a case. Sam objects wholeheartedly. (aka Sam and Y/N go to therapy.)
Warnings: jealous!sam, jealous!reader, language, idiots in love, mutual pining, fake marriage, kind of a case!fic, slow burn, fluff, basically all the tropes
A/N: hi loves, sorry this took so long! had some trouble with this one and i’m still not completely happy with it but hopefully you guys enjoy anyway. and i’m sorry the chapters keep getting longer, haha this whole series was only supposed to be a one-shot. oops.
written for @spnfluffbingo and @girl-next-door-writes make me feel bingo!
Square Filled: Fake Marriage for @spnfluffbingo and Mutual Pining for @girl-next-door-writes​
← BACK UP | MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST
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The third time was honestly quite fun for Dean. It started with a rare night of relaxation. The three of you were hanging out around a table in the bunker library, steadily working your way through a six-pack Sam had brought back from a supply run earlier. Dean had his legs crossed and feet propped up casually before him, while you and Sam were scrolling leisurely through the internet on your respective laptops.
“I think I just found us a case,” Sam had started with furrowed brows, as he sat up to get a closer look at his screen. “So get this, two married couples in Wisconsin were found dead after visiting the same couples therapist.”
“Does it say how?” you asked, fidgeting with the label on your beer bottle.
“Yeah, they all fell from windows in upper stories.”
Your brows flew up and you huffed in disbelief, “You’re right, seems like a rather unlikely coincidence, probably something up our alley.”
At this point, Dean was ready to burst with glee. God himself could not have presented a better opportunity. If things worked out, he could finally put an end to Sam’s petulant spasms and eradicate the sexual tension that hung so potently (and disturbingly) throughout the air whenever you and Sam were in the same room.
“Well, I guess we know what we gotta do…” Dean tried to fight the grin on his lips as he turned to you, “Hey, Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
With a perfectly straight face, he managed to ask, “Will you marry me?”
The mouthful of beer that Sam was about to swallow erupted forth in a cascade of tiny droplets, spritzing through the air as he began to cough and choke on what little alcohol had somehow made it down the wrong pipe.
You immediately looked over to see if he was alright, not expecting to find the usually adroit and graceful man a sputtering, red-faced mess, “Geez, Sam. Are you okay?” Rising from your seat to move towards him, you stopped when he held out a large palm and waved it at you as a form of both reassurance and interception.
“Yea- yeah, I’m fine,” Sam wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, taking a moment to recompose himself before sending you an awkward little smile of gratitude.
Dean cleared his throat, “So whaddya say, Y/N/N?”
“Huh?”
“About my proposal, before Sammy so rudely interrupted.” Sam was glaring holes through his brother now, but Dean paid him no attention.
“Oh, right,” you chose your next words carefully, “Umm, you mean you wanna go undercover?”
Dean shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side as he raised his eyebrows in a suggestive smirk, “If the shoe fits…”
“Well aren’t you romantic?” you quipped sarcastically.
“Oh sweetheart, just you wait and see,” Dean sent you a wink that you were sure had dropped many a panty in his time yet held little to no effect over you because… well because you were busy being a little too enraptured by his baby brother. That didn’t seem to stop Dean though, “Trust me, as your loving husband-” It was Sam’s turn to clear his throat, but again Dean ignored him, “I'm gonna romance the shit outta you.”
You scoffed at him in amusement, “Right, you mean when we go to couples therapy?”
“Baby girl, you’d be surprised-”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Sam couldn’t hold it in any longer, throwing both hands up in objection, “Can we just back up for a minute? Why does anyone have to get married?”
Dean shot him an incredulous look, “Come on, Sam, we've worked enough of these cases to know this is always the easiest and fastest way.”
Through stiff jaws Sam released a harsh, conceding sigh, “OK... then... why does it have to be you and Y/N?”
“Cause we’re best friends; it'll be more believable,” Dean answered easily with a grin.
A disbelieving stare crossed Sam’s indignant features before he looked down to suppress his emotions with a sardonic nod and pursed lips. It was one thing for Dean to suggest playing your husband but to claim that you're his best friend instead of Sam's... That was too far.
“Plus, you've always been better at playing FBI,” his brother continued with that irritating smile.
Sam gave himself a moment before stating adamantly, “I don't think it should be you.”
“What, why? You don't think we can get the job done?” Dean’s tone was accusing, and you knew he was trying to provoke Sam, but ever since the notion that two out of the three of you needed to play a married couple had been introduced, you found yourself at an inevitable impasse.
“No, I-“ Sam could barely get any words out before Dean circled back to you instead.
“Y/N?” The look Dean sent you forced you to face your inner dilemma head on. On the one hand, you wanted nothing more than an excuse to get close to Sam, to hold his hand and gaze at him adoringly without worrying about anyone seeing, and so much more… but on the other hand, you feared that a glimpse of the ‘real deal’, however contrived, might just push you over the decisive edge. What if you couldn’t go back to your platonic guise after? What if you broke your own heart?
“What? Um, yeah, I think it could work,” you rubbed the back of your neck nervously, keeping your eyes on Dean’s to avoid meeting Sam’s.
Your response elicited a smug expression on the older Winchester’s face however, as he returned to questioning his brother, “So what is it, Sam? You don't think I can pretend to be in love with Y/N? Cause trust me, that'll be easy.” There was that wink again, prompting a roll of your eyes.
“No, I just-“ You were worried Sam’s jaw might fall off if he clenched it any tighter. Why did he seem to care so much anyway? Was he jealous? The thought popped into your head almost as quickly as you dismissed it.
“Then what, Sam?” Dean plucked at that final straw and an explosion of the type that had seemed to become increasingly common from the ordinarily calm and gentle giant followed.
“IT SHOULD BE ME, OK?” Sam roared in frustration, his expansive chest was heaving and his hazel irises had darkened immeasurably. “It should be me,” he repeated more quietly.
Dean smirked; this was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he expected. “Well geez, Sammy. If you wanted to get with Y/N so bad, you could’ve just said so.”
“Wha- that’s not- I don't,” Sam looked extremely distressed and you couldn’t blame him. Whatever Dean was playing at had led him to essentially force Sam to reject you out right, and being the compassionate soul that he was, you knew Sam never wanted to hurt you that way, even if it was indirectly. “I just- I think it would work better this way. You're not exactly the marriage or therapy type and you're just not-“
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You wanna shack up with Y/N and who could blame you? There’s no need to throw a hissy fit, baby brother. She’s all yours.” Dean chuckled at the sight of your averted eyes and Sam’s burning cheeks, thinking his work was just about done, “Alright, I’m gonna go get Baby ready. You kids have fun.”
When the echo of a closing door filled the room, Sam turned back to you, “Y/N, look I-“
“Don’t worry about it, Sam, I know what you meant,” you brushed him off hastily, “And you’re right, Dean would probably have a hard time keeping up the act. He’d end up flirting with the therapist or something.” Laughing always did help you conceal the pain in your chest.
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As it turned out, it was a flirtatious therapist you should have been more concerned about. The woman had eyes for Sam only as soon as the two of you walked into her office and sat down on the tiny loveseat before her.
“Welcome, I’m Dr. Ryan, but you can call me Marlena,” she paused to perform a not-so-subtle scan along the length of Sam’s body before smiling at him seductively, “Why don’t we start by introducing yourselves?”
You kept your expression neutral though there was an urge to glare at her. After all, didn’t she think Sam was a married man? Perhaps this was part of the scam that got the couples before you killed, your rational side countered.
“Uh, OK…” Sam appeared rather uncomfortable beside you, pressing his lips into a tight semblance of a smile, “Umm, I'm Sam and this is my wife Y-Y/N.”
The damn Winchester was always so adorably flustered every time someone hit on him, something you never failed to find incredibly endearing, especially considering he was a 6'4” hunk of a man who could surely get inside the pants of any woman he wanted. You assumed, being that good looking, he’d be used to the attention by now, but the fact that he still reacted this way was a true testament to his humility.
“And how did you two meet?”
“Through work,” Sam answered shortly. A resounding pang had shot through his chest when he introduced you as his wife and he was still trying to recoup. If only this wasn't all make-believe, if only he could sit close to you and hold your hand in his whenever he wanted and not just for the sake of a ridiculous pretence. The Mr. and Mrs. titles and matching rings weren't even necessary. He just wanted to make you his as much as he was already yours.
Fuck, Dean was right; Sam was in deep. Just the thought of Dean acting as your husband had his heart racing and every muscle in his body tense with envy. There was no way he could have handled seeing his brother all over you, even if it was pretend. And if the fact that he had to make Dean go get the rings for your current ruse, because he had a strong suspicion the act of buying you a ring yet knowing it wasn’t real might just annihilate the final pieces of his fragile heart, wasn’t telling enough... Sam was finally beginning to realize that he could no longer deny his feelings for you.
“Tell me about that. What is it you two do?”
Although the questions were directed at both of you, Marlena’s gaze remained resolutely transfixed upon Sam, but the man was much too busy thinking about you to notice.
“Uh, well it was about 3 years ago. We’re firefighters and Y/N had been sent from another division to help out with a particularly bad… fire. But she somehow got there before we did, and when I arrived on the scene, I saw her walk out of the burning building in a blaze of smoke and dust. She was carrying a little boy, who she had just saved, covered in ash and soot, a-and there was scrape above her left brow that had left a trail of darkened blood down the side of her face,” Sam smiled to himself at the memory, “But I couldn’t move. It was just all so surreal because it was the last thing I expected to find, and I thought she was the most beautiful soul I had ever set my eyes on. I knew right then that I would gladly devote the rest of my life to getting to know her better, to becoming worthy of her, but when she came up to us, I could barely speak in full sentences and I made a fool of myself by stumbling over my own feet. My brother, who’s uh- also a firefighter, later told me he thought I was having a stroke.” Sam chuckled softly. His eyes were downcast, and he seemed to be a little lost in his own world.
By contrast, you were staring at him in shock. You remembered the day quite clearly, although in reality it was a wendigo that you were forced to kill by starting a fire since your flare gun wouldn’t work, but Sam got the rest of the details spot on. The lilt of his voice as he spoke had made it all sound so real, for a moment, you nearly tricked yourself. Who knew he had such incredible acting chops on top of all those other skills?
“Well, that sounds like a beautiful start. I’m assuming you work together now?” Taking note of the new edge in her voice, you gave her a nod and Dr. Ryan continued, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a pen, “It must be terribly hard to maintain a work-life balance and keep the romance alive. I’m sure there are issues from work that you’ll often bring home, conflicts that can never be resolved considering the lack of alone time? Maybe something you found annoying about the other that seemed bearable in the beginning but has now festered to become an unmendable chasm between the two of you?”
Your eyes narrowed of their own accord. Between the obvious flirting to the now obvious attempt to instigate discord between you and Sam, you were starting to think Marlena was undoubtedly the monster (that or she was an awful couples therapist). Her motive remained unclear though, so you played along.
“Uh, well Sam can be a bit… overprotective, at times, when we’re working, and sometimes it can get in the way of the job.”
“Ok but that’s only because Y/N can be ludicrously stubborn, at times, and she has a habit of running headfirst into danger." Sam was surprisingly quick to retort.
"It's literally our job to run into danger, Sam.” Your body was now twisted to face his, “And if I recall correctly, my ‘ludicrous stubbornness’ has led to the saving of multiple lives, yours included."
Sam lowered his head and scoffed lightly before he too turned to face you completely, golden eyes boring into yours with an intensity you were not prepared for, "I know it has but sometimes you act like other people's lives are worth more than yours and that's not true. Besides, it's my job to care about you, to protect you… I-I mean as your husband."
For a second, things got a little too real there, but you took a deep breath to remind yourself this was all just an act, "And I appreciate that Sam, but sometimes it can be a bit overbearing-"
"Well if I'm overbearing it's only because I'm terrified every time we go out there,” Sam began to enunciate every word stiffly, speaking almost entirely through gritted teeth, “Because I can't bear the thought of losing you, because I can't fathom living a life without you!"
And once again, you were left staring at him with your mouth agape. He sure was laying it on thick, or perhaps he just wanted to win the fight, because you had no idea how to argue against that.
“Alright, I think that’s enough on that topic. Maybe we should try something else,” Dr. Ryan interjected, “Oh look at that, time’s almost up! I always end my sessions with a fun little exercise. I want you to look each other in the eyes and take turns coming up with one positive word to describe the other, something you love about your partner, but it must be genuine.”
Quirking your brow, you struggled to restrain the smile on your face as you turned back to Sam. Well this’ll be easy.
“Intelligent,” you stated matter-of-factly, figuring you’d start with something relatively un-incriminating.
“Strong,” Sam came back at you immediately. There was a fierceness in his eyes, almost as if he was daring you to bring it on.
“Kind,” came your simple response.
“Discerning.” His voice seemed lower for some reason.
“Capable,” you kept your eyes locked on Sam’s as you lifted your chin.
“Tough.” There was an undeniable fondness that accompanied the word when it left his lips.
“Sassy,” you replied, unable to stop the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth.
“Tenacious,” Sam narrowed his eyes at you.
“Selfless.” Why did you sound so out of breath?
“Complex.” He was smiling at you now.  
“Protective,” you finally admitted despite your earlier complaints.
“Beguiling,” Why were you both whispering?
“Tall.” Was that lust you could hear in your own voice?
“Badass,” Was that lust you could hear in his voice?
“Gorgeous… or handsome if you prefer.” When did your faces get so close?
“So fucking beautif-”
“Woah! OK, I think we’re done here.” Shit, you had almost forgotten about the therapist. “That was… excessive. I don’t think I’ll be needing to see you again,” she declared as she stood up rather suddenly, prompting you and Sam to do the same though you were both still a little caught up in your game.
“Wow, you really are tall,” Marlena breathed out as she smoothed a hand down her pencil skirt. The provocative tone of her voice had you back down to earth in no time. "And those years of firefighting have definitely paid off, what with all those big muscles.”
Sam gave an awkward half laugh as he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you tight against his side. You weren’t sure what compelled you to but as if on instinct, you raised your outer hand and placed it lightly on Sam’s stomach, feeling his abs contracting even through the soft flannel beneath your fingers as you replied, “Yeah, that’s just another one of the many things I love about Sam.”
The laugh that escaped Sam this time was much more sincere, “Thank you for your time, Dr. Ryan.” He kept his hand on your waist as he led the two of you out the door, trying his damnedest to ignore the enticing sensation your touch had evoked throughout his body, as well as the subsequent questions of what your little hand might feel like on other parts of him if a simple graze of his abdomen could produce such a dramatic effect.
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“Did it seem like she was rushing us to you?” you questioned Sam pensively when you were back at the motel half an hour later.
“Yeah, like the more we spoke, the more she lost interest in us,” he agreed.
Your next words tumbled out without permission and you could only cringe at the bitter inflection of your voice, “Well, she didn’t seem to lose any interest in you.”
Sam felt himself smile at your adorableness; he couldn’t help it when your bottom lip jutted out like that. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought you were jealous.
“Are you two outta your damn minds?” Dean looked from his brother’s face to yours. “Did you even check the time? She only gave you about half of what we paid for!”
“What, really?” you and Sam responded in chorus.
“Yeah, but luckily I’m a genius and I got everything we needed within the first few minutes.” Grinning in that cocky way of his, Dean explained, “Your EMF sensors were off the charts as soon as you walked into her office, and I found ectoplasm in the bathroom.”
“She’s a ghost?” Sam did that adorable scrunchy thing with his face and you had to physically stop yourself from staring.
“Possessed by one, yeah. And I checked the records. She spent at least an hour overtime with both of the dead couples.”
“So, what, are we not good enough to be her next victims?” you wondered.
“Maybe she saw through the act?” Sam suggested.
Dean was fumbling through a stack of papers until he found something, “Yeah, I don’t think that’s it. Here, check this out.”
Sam started to read out loud, “’Grave of local girl found desecrated by joggers passing through the cemetery early Sunday morning…’”
“Turns out the kid got pushed out a window accidentally when her parents were fighting... Splat.” Dean elaborated, ever so tactfully.
You were starting to piece it together though, “So now she’s seeking out dysfunctional couples to kill them the way she died… for what, revenge? Or to stop them from accidentally murdering their own kids?”
“That’s my best guess,” Dean confirmed.
“Huh… nice work on research, buddy. I’m impressed,” the playful grin you sent Dean’s way was not lost on Sam.
“Yeah, well your husband’s not the only one who can look stuff up around here. Besides, someone had to do the work while you two were off playing Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
“Sam and I have never tried to kill each other,” you argued.
Dean snorted while grabbing his jacket, “And that’s about the only way your relationship differs.”
When he saw your brows pull together in confusion, Sam quickly cut in to change the subject, “So uh- what’s the plan?”
His brother was nearly out the door when he responded, “Nice and easy. I’ll go burn the bones while you guys go back and distract her with your little love fest, capiche?”
The ghost was surprisingly open this time around, admitting freely to her past crimes and even explaining her methods. Apparently, flirting with the husbands was a routine and easy test to spot any cracks in the relationships, one that she claimed Sam had passed with flying colors. But you knew better than to assume his achievement had anything to do with you. After all, you’d seen the man hold fast against the fervent advances of a high-end stripper before, while he was drunk. This was nothing.
“But why kill them?” Sam questioned, with the kind of genuine curiosity that only he could exhibit towards a murderous monster.
“Because it’s better to die than stay in a loveless marriage… But of course you two wouldn’t underst-“ Dean must have completed his task because the therapist was interrupted by a shapeless black plume bursting through her mouth.
‘Oh Shit,’ you thought relentingly as you watched the spirit eject itself and disappear into a fiery cloud of dark fumes, a forlorn expression upon your face, ‘I’m in love with Sam Winchester.’
→ CARRY ON
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