#the queen of lebanon masterlist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imagineteamfreewill · 4 years

Photo

Pairing: Reader x Sam

Prompt: Two people... One bed

25 Days of Tropes Masterlist

_______________

Sam was driving you crazy. If he didn’t stop talking about his stupid podcast soon, you were going to do something irrational. The two of you had been stuck in the car for almost 24 hours. The hunt in Louisiana had been a bust, and instead of taking your suggestion of a few days off in New Orleans, Sam had decided to start the drive back to Lebanon. Apparently, he wasn’t too keen on spending Christmas someplace warm.

Traffic and the incoming snowstorm had made the drive impossibly longer, and you were at the end of your rope. Usually you wouldn’t mind being stuck in the car with Sam—you’d had a crush on him for as long as you’d been hunting with the boys, and any opportunity to spend time with him was a welcome one—but he’d been getting on your nerves since the minute you’d gotten into the passenger seat.

You were just about to stretch out and try and get some sleep when Sam took off on a rabbit trail about another podcast he’d been wanting to get on his phone.

“Sam!” you snapped. “As great as Martin Luther was, if you say one more word about his theses, I’m going to throw your phone out the window and into a snowbank! I don’t care if you’re using it to get us home faster or not! Snow. Bank.”

The look that Sam gave you could kill and you crossed your arms and glared out the window instead of responding. You knew that you were both cranky and sick of being in such close quarters with one another, but that didn’t make it any better. Eventually, one of you was going to snap, and if Sam was the one to snap at you, you weren’t sure what you’d do. Cry, maybe? Your heart couldn’t take that.

“There’s a motel up ahead,” Sam finally grumbled, and you held back a sigh of relief.

Nodding tersely, you sat up in the seat and started gathering up your things, making sure that it was all in your backpack as he pulled off the main road and into the parking lot of the motel. It was run-down and the Impala bounced over the potholes and crevices in the asphalt as Sam made his way towards the only open spot in the lot.

The motel was busy, that was for sure, but judging by the exterior, you had the feeling that the motel didn’t normally get a lot of visitors. The snowy weather in between you and Kansas had probably stopped a lot of travelers and your stomach sank at the thought that there might not even be any room for you. If a motel as dilapidated as this was full, all the others would be full as well.

As he climbed out of the car, Sam mumbled something along the lines of, “I’m gonna head in and get us a room.”

You nodded in response, climbing out and stretching your arms above your head. “I’ll grab the bags.”

Sam didn’t acknowledge your response as he walked towards the cramped office, leaving you alone in the chilly Oklahoma parking lot. You let out a little huff, trying to keep yourself from being too hurt by his grumpy demeanor, and opened the trunk to pull out your bags. By the time you’d gotten them out and set them on the snow-dusted ground, Sam had returned with a single key in hand.

He looked uncomfortable when you finally looked over at him after closing the trunk. “Something wrong?” you asked.

“They only had a queen,” he said after a moment, fumbling with the key.

You stared at him for a moment, your mind taking off with all the possibilities. Sam was already sick of you, what would he do tonight now that you’d have to share a bed?

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Sam quipped. He picked his bag up from the ground and you watched, not sure what to do.

“I can sleep on the floor,” you offered after a few seconds.

“No!”

Sam’s reply was quick, almost urgent, and you blinked in surprise.

“I mean, it’s okay. I don’t mind sharing,” Sam stammered. “Queen size isn’t too bad, right?”

You nodded a little. “Right.” The two of you stood in silence for a moment, until finally a cold gust of wind blew past and you shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Can we—?”

Sam nodded, picking up your bag and walking off towards the far end of the building before you had the chance to say that you could’ve carried it. You followed after him, your brain still trying to process his sudden change in behavior. He’d been so grumpy in the car. Was the thought of sharing a bed with you making him uncomfortable? Your stomach rolled at that thought. You couldn’t bear it if being around you made him uncomfortable.

Picking up your pace, you caught up with Sam just as he was opening the room. The air inside was stale and you wrinkled your nose as you stepped inside, shutting the door behind you as Sam carried your bags over to the dresser. He set them down on top, then looked around.

“We’ve had worse, I guess.”

“At least it’s got heat?” you suggested, and Sam cracked a smile.

“Unlike that one last year in—”

“In Maine,” you finished with a laugh. “Oh God, that was the worst!”

“I don’t think Dean stopped complaining about it until June,” Sam chuckled, and just like that, the staleness between the two of you shattered like ice.

“You think there’s a pizza place still delivering?” you asked, toeing off your boots.

Sam hummed thoughtfully, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the nearest chair before opening the drawer in the nightstand. He made a disgusted noise and shoved it closed.

“No brochures, we should Google it,” he told you.

“Do I want to know what’s really in there?”

Shaking his head, Sam wiped his palms on his jeans and stripped off his outer flannel, tossing it on top of his discarded jacket. You had to look away before you started to drool at the sight of his shirt stretched across his chest. How was it that Sam looked amazing even after being stuck in the car for almost a full day? You looked—and felt—disgusting.

“I’ll look it up,” you said as you plopped down on the end of the bed. The springs squeaked under your weight and you cringed at the sound.

“I’m gonna shower. Order whatever you want, I’ll just have whatever you have,” Sam said, and you nodded, forcing yourself not to look up at him as he went into the tiny bathroom and shut the door.

As soon as he was gone, you let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the bed you were sitting on. It wasn’t as small as you’d originally pictured… but the thought of having to share it with Sam made you nervous. Usually if you could only get a single, the boys would share and you’d take the couch or the floor, but Sam had been so adamant about you sharing and you couldn’t think of a good reason to argue. Plus, if you brought it up now, so long after the conversation, Sam might think that you didn’t like him for some reason, and you didn’t want him to think that you didn’t like him or that you weren’t friends.

Shaking your head, you tried to focus on ordering dinner. You usually got sausage pizza, but Sam liked veggie toppings… After a brief moment of thought, you added peppers, olives, and spinach to the pizza, knowing that you’d end up picking it off.

But Sam will like it, you thought as you entered in the info from the fake credit card in your wallet. And he’ll be happier when it’s time to go to bed since he’ll have had the pizza he likes.

Your train of thought was completely derailed when the bathroom door opened and you lifted your head on instinct, immediately zoning in on his bare chest. Had you known that he’d have looked as attractive as he did in that moment, maybe you wouldn’t have looked up. Then again, maybe you would have. Either way, you were now stuck staring at him, and him staring at you as he tried to figure out why you were staring.

“Y/N,” Sam finally said, and you blinked, your eyes flying up to meet his. Your face felt hot and you noticed after a second that his cheeks were pink as well, making you feel even more embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you squeaked. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to look back down at your phone. “The pizza’s supposed to be here soon.”

“Great,” Sam replied.

You watched in your peripherals as he pulled clean clothes from his bag, the white motel towel still hanging low over his hips. Your mouth was dry and you swallowed hard, opening up the puzzle game on your phone you’d been addicted to lately. The app had just loaded when there was a knock on the door.

Standing, you quickly threw back an, “I’ll get it,” as you practically ran to the door. You pulled it open after looking through the peephole, smiling in relief when the smell of the fresh pizza wafted in almost immediately. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were.

“Thanks so much,” you told the girl as you scribbled down a fake signature on the receipt. She handed you the warm box, her eyes drifting to look at Sam over your shoulder.

“Is this for him too?” she asked.

“Yeah?” you replied, shifting the box to your other hand so you could grab hold of the door.

The girl shook her head, starry-eyed and practically drooling as you slowly pushed the door closed. “You’re so lucky,” she swooned.

You gave her a strained, uncomfortable smile before closing the door all the way. When you turned around, Sam had disappeared into the bathroom again. You shook off the weird encounter and put the pizza on the table, pulling out a slice for yourself and beginning to pick off the toppings that you could see. A neat little pile had grown by the time Sam stepped out and came to get food of his own.

“Y/N, I told you to just get whatever you wanted,” he sighed and he picked up a piece.

Shaking your head, you looked up at him. “It’s okay. After all, I’m the one who wanted to stop for the night. You should get to have the pizza you like.”

Not a total lie, you told yourself as you looked back down at the food. I did want to stop for the night.

A smile was blossoming on your face as you felt the heat radiating from Sam’s shower-warm body. He was standing closer to you than normal so that he could eat over the box as well, and you pushed away the giddiness so he wouldn’t see you grinning like an idiot.

“You planning on showering tonight?” Sam asked as he finished up his slice and reached for another.

You nodded, picking up another slice of your own, but only ate about half before you decided you’d rather just get clean and go to bed. Maybe you could get some decent shut-eye before Sam climbed in next to you and you spent the rest of the night awake.

By the time you finished your lukewarm-at-best shower, Sam was already underneath the covers, reading something on his phone. You swallowed nervously as you stepped out of the bathroom and turned off the light, heading over to the dressed to put your things back in your bag. You could feel Sam’s eyes on you as you packed your bag for the morning and you tugged on the back of your pajama shirt, suddenly very conscious that it was shorter than anything else he’d ever seen you wear. Sure, Sam had seen you in your pajamas before, but not these. You’d been expecting to have your own room in nice, warm New Orleans, and you’d packed accordingly. Clearly, the snowstorm had decided that you’d be the butt of its jokes tonight.

“There’s an extra blanket,” Sam suddenly said, clearly having seen you adjust the shirt.

You turned and gave him a weak smile before making your way over to your side of the bed. “I’m okay,” you told him.

He nodded, looking back at his phone as you climbed under the covers as well, sticking as close to the edge of the mattress as possible. Once you were settled, you reached up and turned off the lamp on your side of the bed before snuggling down and closing your eyes.

Every muscle in your body stayed rigid as you lay in silence, nervously waiting for Sam to put down his phone and go to bed, too. Maybe if he fell asleep, you could just position your body around where he was.

I’d have more room that way, you reasoned, and the thought helped you relax just a little.

Finally, you heard Sam set his phone on the nightstand, and then the room went dark as the lamp clicked off. He laid still as well, and when you finally thought you heard his breathing even out, you carefully stretched out onto more of the mattress, rolling over in the process. Much to your surprise, however, you came face to face with Sam, who had just done the same thing.

“Sorry,” you both said, both you practically scrambling to your respective sides of the mattress. The middle of the bed remained empty, and you watched each other in the dim light coming through the curtains.

“It’s okay,” Sam replied after a moment, his voice too loud and too bold for the tiny motel room. He continued, his voice quieter the second time. “It’s okay. You can have more space. I’m pretty good at compacting myself since I share with Dean so much.”

You shook your head slightly. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m smaller than you.”

The two of you laid in silence for a while, neither one of you moving to take more space.

“This is silly,” Sam finally admitted, and you laughed. You’d been thinking the exact same thing. “We’re friends, right?”

You nodded, though deep down you wanted to admit that you wished you were more than just friends. Pushing the words down, you answered, “Yeah, why?”

“Well, then we should be able to share a bed. It doesn’t have to be weird.”

Hesitantly, you nodded again and waited until Sam scooted more towards the center of the mattress to copy his actions. Now you were even closer, and you could feel the heat coming off his skin underneath the blankets.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Sam murmured.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

You fell asleep quicker than you’d expected, but that sleep didn’t last long. Hours later, you blinked your eyes open, trying to figure out what had woken you. After a moment, you realized what it was—Sam. He was cuddled up behind you, his arm draped over your stomach and his breath warm on the back of your neck.

We’re spooning?

Panic began to set in at the realization. Though the feeling was nice, and you were definitely enjoying the warmth he gave you and the comfort of his weight against you, what would Sam say when he woke up? Would things be awkward now? If that was the case, you didn’t think you could stand being stuck in the car with him for any longer, and Dean would make life hell if he ever found out what had happened between the two of you.

Sam must’ve sensed your semi-alert state, because suddenly he stirred. His grip on you tightened slightly as he pulled you closer and began to wake up.

“Everything okay?” he mumbled, and you licked your lips, swallowing as you tried to rid yourself of the dryness in your mouth.

“I’m fine,” you whispered back. “Go back to sleep.”

Sam squeezed you slightly as he slurred out, “You too. It’s okay, I’ve got you, Y/N.”

I’ve got you, you repeated to yourself as your belly warmed with the sentiment. You smiled to yourself and closed your eyes. Whether or not Sam’s affection continued in the morning didn’t matter, not while sleep was calling your name. You could figure that out in the morning.

219 notes · View notes

ladyofmaidensandwine · 4 years

Text

Prince of Carrion and Queen of Thieves

For the Pick Two Challenge by @justagirlinafandomworld

This is part one of an ongoing series I am writing. If you would like to be tagged, let me know.

Prompts: Enemies to Lovers AU, and the dialogue “If you touch him/her/them, I’ll kill you.”

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Irish! Reader, John Winchester, Crowley, Lucifer (mentioned)

Summary: Captured and forced to become a spy for the enemy, Y/N’s deception is threatened by the arrival of an unexpected face from her hidden past, and must decide whether the son of her enemy could be her ally.

Wordcount: 1,846

Series Masterlist

Moonlight slanted through the small cracks in the thick stone walls of your prison, the only indication of how many days had passed and what time it was. Time remained mostly meaningless despite that, with nothing to do but think in the heavy silence that settled as thickly as the shadows of your windowless cell. You had been taken by your rivals at long last, and you knew they’d been trying to capture you for almost three years. You had been hell-bent on making it as difficult as possible for them.

They called you many things. Assassin, spy, thief, demon, witch, some names you wouldn’t repeat. After two years in a Southern labor camp, they’d dragged you in heavy iron shackles to the great marble palace where King John Winchester of Lebanon resided, and tossed you into your cell. No one but the stoic and silent guards and a frightened maid ever saw you, and you’d given up mostly on trying to speak to anyone, but you could hear the maids speaking in whispers about you, afraid to even say your name aloud, and even the guards seemed uneasy in your presence. It was fair, and wise, on their part to be so wary. You had earned your fame through blood and blade, and legends spread like wildfire, blurring fact and fiction so that you appeared some savage and death-hungry monster, a creature arisen from the darkest depths of Hell and sent to claim fiery retribution. You could almost laugh at the stories they made up about you.

Perhaps they truly believed the cell would hold you. You had once been caged, a long time ago, and had escaped then, too, and that cage had been made for someone much, much worse than you.

Your eyes shot to the mostly obscured hall as the sound of footsteps echoed against the stone. The first figure you recognized- the maid that came to bring you food and drink and tend to your wounds. The second was new, a tall and broad-shouldered man, nobility of some kind, based on the metal and finery gleaming in the torchlight, though his face was hidden in shadow. You wondered what he saw- myth, monster, or another prisoner?

Crown Prince Dean Winchester had been there, the day you’d arrived, shackled and bound, covered in grime and gaunt and pale from the underground labor camp. He hadn’t known who you were, but you’d impressed him, refusing to kneel before his father, a fire burning in your eyes that no amount of torture or back-breaking work had been able to extinguish. That fire had blazed in promise when you’d looked the King in the eyes, a man that had won the Throne through conquest and ruthless determination, a warrior that claimed the lives of thousands of monsters across the lands, and you’d vowed that one day, you would burn his palace to the ground, and let him live long enough to see his legacy in smoking, charred ruins, before you killed him for what he’d done. John hadn’t answered, but it was clear your threat held water- the guards attending you were doubled, and it made Dean wonder how dangerous you must be, this thin, pale, dirt-caked woman, to be concerning even when completely chained, enough so that six fully-armed men had to escort you away. He’d asked his father what charges you were held for, and John had laughed a low, grim laugh and looked at Dean. “Murder, son. Many, many counts of murder.”

Dean couldn’t reconcile the image painted of you, this fierce, merciless, bloodthirsty killer, with the weak looking woman there in the cell before him. “Who are you?” You called, voice rough, but strong. Your accent was strange, marking you as a foreigner. “No one important. Who are you?” He returned, still concealed in the gloom. You smirked, nodding slightly. “That depends.” You answered. “On?” “Which side you fight for. They call me Y/N, and others call me Morrigan, Queen of Thieves, Bringer of Death.” You said, a sly smile on your lips. “And which shall I call you by?” Dean questioned. “I would not make it a habit to call me either. I do not think I am fitting company for a man as yourself to keep. You knew that, though. Yet, you are not afraid.” You noted, sounding intrigued. Dean shrugged casually. “Your turn, then. What Lord or King are you the son of?” You asked. “King John Winchester. I am Prince Dean.” Dean said at last. Your expression turned cold. “Ah. Son of my captor, King of Conquest. And why are you here?” “To see for myself the murderer that leaves brave men afraid of the dark.” Dean said gruffly. “You have convicted me a killer, and yet, I hear great tales of the blood on your hands, Prince of Carrion, Righteous Man, Sword of Micheal. They speak your name as though you are holy, chosen by divine power to rid the world of evil. Have you come to kill me, Dean Winchester?” You questioned, voice calm and steady. Dean stepped into the light, meeting your eyes. “No. I am here to take you to the King.”

They gave you a contract. The terms were simple, and you didn’t really have a choice. Sign, or be killed. You were to be a weapon for the King, put under the custody and jurisdiction of the eldest son, and given a new identity in order to appear as a foreign Princess, Her Majesty Princess Y/N Lachdunne of Skye, the wolf in sheep’s clothing. You’d been whisked away by a group of handmaidens tasked with making you presentable, and given two months to recover before being presented to court, at which point your mission began. What King John did not know was that you were far more than a simple assassin, more than anyone could expect, and you would take your secret to your grave. You wondered briefly, as you were stuffed into a dress of silks and decorated with fine jewelry, if anyone else could see the deception in your eyes, the predator lurking in your smile.

At first, you were used for observation. People were so often careless around women, and your new guise portrayed you as trustworthy, little more than a pretty decoration. They did not trust you with weapons, an inconvenience if you were to be attacked, but you would rip an enemy apart with your bare hands if you had to. It was a new game you played, so treacherous this deception, requiring attention to every tiny expression on your face, the way you sat or moved, who you spoke with and what was said, what colour dress you donned, and even the way you smiled could be scrutinized, and you knew that like you, the court was made of people wearing pretty disguises to conceal the snakes underneath. And it was not only them you had to fool. The King did not know your secret, could not ever know, and his son was smart, clever, quick to pick up on anything that could betray your true identity, and you knew Dean would be the first to draw a sword against your throat should you make the tiniest slip. Your new persona was something you donned like armor, guarding yourself and everything you loved behind a pretty face and empty words.

Four months in, and you were doing well. Those who knew you were a trained killer would never trust you, and expected you to be planning vengeance, but they still suspected nothing beyond the obvious. The court ladies adored you, and you charmed the men with a smile, so careful to keep that smile polite and inviting, practicing making your smile meet your eyes in the mirror dozens of times, so convincing you would perhaps consider acting as a career. Four months of lying to everyone, of playing your part, of spying and eavesdropping, of giving the King details both true and false, hoping to catch him in a falter and glean information that would tell you why he was willing to let his greatest enemy walk the halls of his castle, to dine at his table, dress in his colors. Four months before anything went wrong.

Another party over, and another night unfurling. You weren’t supposed to see, that much was obvious, but you had already been discovered, and it took every ounce of will within you to keep that pleasant and disarming smile on your lips, to hide the raging fire in your eyes. Eyes that locked with a familiar pair, daring them to speak. “Y/N. I assume you recognize our guest.” King John said, amused. “Perhaps. I may be mistaken.” You said carefully. “I doubt that highly. Allow me to introduce Duke Crowley.” John gestured. Crowley studied you, and you held your breath, praying he wouldn’t recognize you. It had been so long, but you could never forget that face, a face that haunted your nightmares. “A pleasure, darling, I’m sure. You do seem familiar. I can’t quite place it.” Crowley mused, narrowing his eyes. “I’m certain you recognize Princess Lachdunne from a party, Your Excellency. If you would excuse us, we did have something to discuss.” Dean cut in smoothly, saying it with a charming smile as he took your arm. You knew what he was doing, reminding you of your role by using your fake name, and wondered, if he had caught the hatred in your gaze, whether the others had, too.

Dean led you swiftly into a room, glancing around the hall before shutting the door. “What the hell was that?” He demanded. You didn’t answer, eyes unfocused and jaw clenched. “Y/N!” Dean snapped. You blinked, almost shaking in your fury. “Crowley,” you spat, as though his name was poison on your tongue, “is the one who killed my parents. He slaughtered them, and then he took me and threw me into the Cage for Lucifer to have.” Dean paled at Lucifer’s name, eyes wide as he looked at you. “If he recognizes me... there will be no survivors. He would send an army, just to kill me.” “I don’t understand... Crowley is a vile man, and greedy, but he has been allies with my father for years.” “He is no Duke. Nor is Crowley his name. He was Fergus MacLeod, and now he has many titles. King of the Crossroads, King of the Damned, and now... King of Hell.” You snarled. “You went to Hell. You know what will happen if he gets his way. Your Kingdom, and me, we are all that stands between him and his goal. Why do you think he is truly allied with you, when you’ve killed so many of his men?” You pointed out. Dean’s face darkened as you mentioned his own time in Hell, that prison the worst to come of the war. “Tell me everything, Y/N. Tell me the truth. Who are you really?” Dean demanded. You studied his emerald green eyes, measured their intensity, and gave a slow nod.

TAGS-

Forever Tags-

@justagirlinafandomworld

SPN Pond Tags-

@spnfanficpond

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #medieval au #supernatural #royalty au

28 notes · View notes

thecleverdame · 4 years

Text

Gods of Twilight - Chapter Two

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking

Beta: ilikaicalie

Add yourself to the tags list here

*Chapters 1-23 are currently available on Patreon. This story will be completed on Patreon before it’s continued on Tumblr. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

The purpose of any royal marriage is children, there’s no skirting around that fact. It sounds simple but it’s actually a great responsibility to be saddled with, the expectation of carrying on Sam’s lineage. You hope that your body complies, that your womb is ripe and ready for his child because a queen who can’t give her king a son is likely to be cast aside in favor of a woman who can.

In the short time you’ve known Sam it’s become painfully clear that he’s no more thrilled with you than you are him. He doesn’t seem very eager to take his husbandly privileges, so when the two of you are alone in your chambers, as the celebration continues below, you offer yourself to him. You’ve never been shy about your body but you’ve also never let a man see you like this before. You pray that he doesn’t see the flush in your cheeks as you disrobe.

“You don’t have to, not tonight if you want to wait,” he offers setting down his wine glass, eyes fixed on you.

“I’d rather do it now. There’s no sense in a delay.” You continue stripping until you’re completely nude.

You wonder if he’ll be able to tell you’re not a virgin. You’ve only been with one person before and it was only the one time but he’s surely expecting to be your first.

Sam watches you in the candlelight, his expression unreadable as his eyes fall over your full breasts and travel all the way down to the thatch of pubic hair between your legs. You wait for him, shifting your weight from one hip to the other as he stands and walks to you.

He doesn’t say anything, just places his hands on your shoulders and turns you around. You close your eyes as his hands travel from your sides and up your back. He presses forward, bending you over the end of the bed. You stay there, face pressed into the fur of the bedding as his hands leave your skin. Then you hear the rustle of clothes and his trousers hitting the floor.

You hold your breath when you feel the head of his cock pressing for a quick moment against your buttocks. Then the hard flesh moves between your legs. With a brutal thrust, Sam pushes inside your cunt unceremoniously. You bite your lower lip, trying to stifle a pained gasp. It doesn’t hurt like the first time but it’s dry and uncomfortable. His cock is thick and draws a pained groan from your throat when he pushes deeper. You’re glad you didn’t get a look at his manhood before he fucked you because judging from how large he feels, you would have run the second you laid eyes on him.

“Does it hurt?” he asks matter of factly.

“A little.” You downplay the discomfort.

He’s still for a moment before pulling out. You almost ask him what he’s doing until you hear him spit into his hand, grease his cock and press back between your legs. He slides in easier this time and you try to relax your body.

“Better?” he questions flatly.

“Yes,” you concede, screwing your eyes shut.

He fucks you quick and hard, which you’re grateful for. You’ve heard stories about powerful men. He could have taken you any way he wanted, gagging on his cock or forcing you to participate in any number of rough and painful activities. But he seems to have little interest in you outside of finding his completion. He ruts into you for the better part of twenty minutes, his breath going choppy when his rhythm picks up. He stops to hold himself inside but not nearly as deep as he was fucking you, grunting several times before pulling out.

Then he simply pats you on the bottom as his seed runs down your thighs.

“You can dress,” he comments, plucking his shirt from the floor. “I’m going to find my brother. I may not be back until morning. You’re free to do what you like.”

And with a hike of his trousers, he’s gone.

Several Months Later

The castle is more ancient than any bone left in the soil. The once smooth rock is pitted and scarred. The structure itself solidifies how fleeting time is, how soon the present becomes the past and the important becomes irrelevant. In this hallowed, ancient land the trees have seen the centuries blow past in the winds of each season and witnessed the folly of the kingdom’s struggles.

Walls stand mute around the perimeter, water awaits the call of the wind to ruffle and move as molten glass of deepest green. Grey stone rises from the land, unapologetic and bold to defy entrance and protect what has been entrusted to their care. Below the uneven patches of grass are arrowheads of old, hilts of broken swords and armor that failed to protect.

Beneath the chorus of the birds, you hear the voices of old, the clash of metal on metal and the pounding of horses hooves. Every day you stand where knights stood, see what kings, dukes and peasants saw. In this pale light, were it not for the telltale signs of weathering, it could be almost any century in the past seven hundred years.

The castle itself, built on blood and bone, is a complex labyrinth of winding halls and cold, hard stone. The halls wind and weave, stretching on and on until they seem unending.

During the day, when you leave your room and venture through the castle, you have a knight assigned to your care. Phillip is young and bored, taller and thicker than even your husband. He follows you in silent protection, showing you the way when you turn in the wrong direction. He stands behind you while you eat your breakfast, and flanks you tenfold if you decide to wander through the village.

In stark contrast to the life you had before, where you had free reign to go wherever you please, in Lebanon you are never alone.

The first six months pass in the blink of an eye and your first night together proves to be an accurate measure of your entire marriage.

Sam leaves you to your own devices. You sleep next to one another some nights and eat the occasional meal together but for the most part, you’re on your own. Your husband shows little interest in getting to know you or even speaking with you as a general rule.

But your feelings aren’t hurt. You’re happy he’s willing to give you a wide berth. You’ve always functioned best on your own, you’ve never been one to bow to anyone else’s expectations.

The days are spent reading books and taking long walks throughout the countryside.

Once a week he’s waiting for you, sitting on the edge of the bed and offering a look that you’ve come to know well. You strip bare, then bend over so he can take you from behind and the two of you go through the mechanics of becoming husband and wife. When he’s done he often disappears and is gone for a day or two.

You wonder where he absconds to, you want to ask him but think better of it. Men like him have a reputation for a reason. Just because you haven’t been on the receiving end of his bad disposition doesn’t mean he’s a saint.

There’s something lurking below the surface in Lebanon, you can feel it in your bones.

After months of this routine and no telltale signs of pregnancy, your handmaid calls a midwife to your chambers. She feels of your belly, grinds herbs into a tea and tells you to make sure you’re keeping your body warm enough at night.

And that’s how things go as spring turns into summer.

“Phillip,” you begin, glancing at him, riding next to you through the quiet countryside.

“Yes, my queen?” He looks to you expectantly.

“If I were to ask a question, would you be honest with me?” Slowing your horse, you walk the steed toward a patch of apple trees.

“Of course.” He jumps off his horse and taking your reigns, offers you a hand to the ground.

“Even if my question was about the King?” you ask softly, side-eyeing him for a reaction.

He’s quiet for a moment, pondering this request. You’re well aware this puts him in a precarious position but he’s the only person from Lebanon that you have any semblance of a relationship with.

“I don’t know much, m’lady.” His voice is tight, and you begin to walk through the orchard, seeking out the perfect tree. “I spend all my time with you.”

“But before I came here you were one of his body men, were you not?” you inquire, already knowing the answer.

“I was.” He nods, shifting uncomfortably, his thumbs hooking in his belt. “I’m sure you understand that I cannot betray his loyalty, nor would I want to.”

“I would expect nothing less.” You sigh, reaching up to inspect an apple. “Tell me, Philip, if my husband asked you about me, would you tell him?”

“That is not - I do not.” He stops to find the right words. “I am loyal to you, but he is the King.”

“I see.” You pick up your skirts, trying to keep the hem out of the mud as you move on. “Well I’m going to ask you anyway.”

“Whatever pleases you.” He bows his head, taking wide strides behind you, stepping over the soft patches of ground.

“You join him at night.” You state what you already know. “When he and the others abscond into the fading light. Tell me, what is it that you men do until dawn?”

“Nothing of consequence.” He offers casually.

“What is important to you and what is important to me, may be two very different things.” You turn to him, hands on your hips. “Does he seek out other women? A whorehouse?”

“My queen, we should not be discussing this,” he hisses, moving past you.

“That was not an answer,” you push.

“You ask questions which I am not able to give an answer to,” he volleys back.

“I could make your life very difficult…” You try to threaten him but immediately feel bad for putting him in such a position. “Forgive me. You are good to me Philip, I shouldn’t say such things.”

“He…” He hesitates, shaking his head, looking to the side. “There are many things in Lebanon that happen in the dark, secrets that you don’t want to be privy to. But I will tell you the king is loyal to you, as he is loyal in general. You may have heard stories of him before you came here, but since he has been married he has not strayed, at least not that I know of.”

“Thank you.” You offer him a gentle smile. “Now, let us pick enough apples for the baker to make us a pie, shall we?”

#alpha sam winchester #alpha!werewolf!sam #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction

213 notes · View notes

pinknerdpanda · 4 years

Text

Pride and Ice Skating

Word Count: 1,200 Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam Warnings: Fluff, ridiculous reader being ridiculous, long-suffering!Sam Requested by: @amanda-teaches Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda’s Christmas Drabbles. Thank you Name Twin for always being incredibly supportive and wonderful. I hope you enjoy this little slice of ridiculousness.

Gif Credit x

Pride and Ice Skating

“I’ll take one pair, please.”

You shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wishing you weren’t standing so close to the man on your left. The bored teenage boy behind the counter blinked at you.

“What size?” His words would have been monotone, had his voice not cracked on the last word.

You leaned across the counter, mumbling your size to him quietly. He shrugged and turned around to find a pair that would fit you. Happy to have that part over with, you turned to your left and flashed Dean a cheeky grin. He rolled his eyes.

“One pair of size 10 skates for the lady,” he croaked, far too loudly, slamming them on the counter. “That will be $5.”

Jerking the skates from his grasp, you practically threw the crumpled bill at him and turned around. Dean chuckled just as you began to storm off, making your already warmed cheeks flame even more. Stomping down the path toward the frozen lake, you practically ran over Sam in your haste.

“You sure you want to go through with this?” He asked, steadying you gently.

Nostrils flaring indignantly, you wrenched free from his grasp. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam snorted. “Maybe because you don’t know how to skate?”

You glanced back over your shoulder to find Dean strolling toward you casually, a pair of black rental skates slung over his shoulder. The air of smugness radiating off of him was infuriating.

Turning back to Sam you hissed. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t need to know that!”

Sam shook his head, holding his hands up.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” you hummed as you walked past him to find a bench to sit on.

---

“She looks like she’s in a good mood,” Dean mused as he reached his little brother.

Sam scratched the back of his head, scrunching up his face. “Yeah, something like that. Is this really necessary?”

“Necessary?” Dean scoffed. “No. Fun? Yes.”

“Dean, you’ve never been ice skating before.”

“No, but I’ve been roller skating. It’s basically the same thing, right?” Dean grinned, slapping his brother in the chest before moving around him.

Sam’s lips pressed in a fine line as he turned to watch both y/n and Dean work off their shoes and fitting their rentals on. While he could only see their backs from where he stood, the ridiculous indignant pride was evident in both of their movements. He shook his head, shoved his hands in his pockets and began making his way toward them, muttering to himself.

“This is going to be a disaster.”

---

Tying the last lace and double checking it was perfectly secure, you took a deep breath before standing on shaky legs. A myriad of worries buzzed inside your head. What if the ice isn’t as solid as it was supposed to be? What if I fall in and freeze to death? Are my giant feet going to be the cause of my untimely demise? Is today the day I lose a finger? Why did I think this was a good idea?

The last one bolstered your resolve. Why had you thought it was a good idea? Well, you hadn’t - obviously, you still don’t - but Dean, being the cocky little shit he was, had forced your hand. Somewhere between Lebanon and Minneapolis the topic of figure skating had come up. Dean blathered on about the illegitimacy of skating as an Olympic sport, and you - being, well, you - hadn’t been able to keep your mouth shut.

“I suppose you could do better, Winchester?”

“Can, and have.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re taking a case in the frozen tundra of the great, white north, then, huh? I guess you’ll get to show off your incredible skills.”

“Laugh it up, y/n. I bet I could skate circles - or figure eights or whatever - around your ass.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe it is, sweetheart.”

That bastard always had a way of getting under your skin and normally, you didn’t mind. Most of the time when he baited you like that you were able to roll your eyes and walk away, but this time, you couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

And so, you took one cautious step toward the ice. The frozen ground beneath your blades crunched as you took another, and another. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Except it was.

Actually, it was worse.

As soon as the tip of your left skate made contact with the gleaming icy surface of the lake, your foot slipped from beneath you. With your right foot still planted on the edge, you wound up in a sort of spread eagle split like position on the ice. Your back was cold, your thighs - now spread at an unfortunate angle - ached and you didn’t have to look up to know Dean had seen every devastating detail; likely in slow motion, much as it had felt to you.

The worst part was having no earthly idea how to get up. Clearly the ice was not your friend, but it seemed, with each passing second, that it was now your home. Any moment now the hypothermia would overtake you and you would lie here forever. Maybe they would just leave your body right here like they do hikers that died trying to climb Everest; a macabre monument to the feat you’d tried and failed to accomplish.

The tsk tsk tsk sounds of metal on ice brought you out of your rather disturbing train of thought and you glanced up to find Dean making his way toward you. Surprisingly, instead of the smug satisfaction you expected to find on his face, you found a look of concern and - was that regret?

“Y/n? Are you - “ his question was quickly cut off as his skate slipped from under him and he, too, toppled onto the ice next to you. He grunted as his head landed on the cold, slippery surface.

Neither of you spoke for several moments. The sound of your breaths seemed to echo, the air freezing them instantly just above your heads like little fluffy clouds.

Dean barked out a laugh - loud and full of joy. You whipped your head to the side, finding his face lit up brighter than a Christmas tree.

“What’s so funny?” You hissed, a sudden surge of anger overtaking you.

Dean sucked in a breath just as you felt his hand find yours, gloved palms fitting together lovingly.

“We’re idiots.” He chuckled, turning to meet your gaze. The look on his face warm, despite the cold enveloping you.

“That’s for damn sure,” Sam’s voice startled you and you both raised your heads to find him quickly snapping photos of you and Dean sprawled pathetically across the edge of the ice.

“Sam!” You yelped, trying to cover your face.

He bellowed, taking one last photo before stowing the phone in his pocket and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now, if you two dumbasses are done proving whatever point it was you were aiming for, can we please go home? It’s fuckin’ cold out here.”

Dean looked at you, a loving smile playing across his lips.

“Yeah, y/n. Let’s go home.”

---

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

My Forever Tags - Stay weird. I love y’all:

@wheresthekillswitch @pretty-fortune @arryn-nyxx @emlostinwonderland @becs-bunker @cookie-dough-lova @impandagrl @maddieburcham1 @trexrambling @beachballsizeladyballs @hannahindie @rosie-winchester @winchesterprincessbride @that-writer-one @fandomismyspirit @angelsandwinchesters @cfordwrites @charliebradbury1104 @mogaruke @luulaachops @supernaturaldean67 @barbedwireandbubblegum @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @muliermalefici @galaxy-jellyfish-queen @canadianjelly @kathaswings @feelmyroarrrr @lorilane33 @bethbabybaby @myfanficlibrarium @akshi8278 @emoryhemsworth @boxywrites @atc74 @anticipate1003 @super100012 @lovesj2m @masksandtruths @ellen-reincarnated1967 @growningupgeek @there-must-be-a-lock @mrswhozeewhatsis @amanda-teaches @cassieraider @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @its-my-perky-nipples @squirrel-moose-winchester @sandlee44 @paintrider13-blog @arses21434 @petra-arkanian-1497 @sasbb23 @princessmisery666

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #merry manda's christmas drabbles #merry manda 2019 #dean fluff #i lost my queue #panda writes

96 notes · View notes

mrswhozeewhatsis · 5 years

Text

A Woman of Letters (Getting a Feel for Sam Winchester) - Chapter 33

Summary: You’ve just opened an occult bookstore in Lebanon, Kansas, when you fall for a tall, handsome customer…literally. You soon find out that there’s more to the world than you ever suspected, including you. Discovering your heritage puts you directly in a witch’s crosshairs, though, so the Winchesters offer to take you in and teach you how to protect yourself. As you discover your own family history with the supernatural and your own hidden talents, you can’t help but wish a certain brother was as excited about your interest as you are.

Total length: 43 chapters, 70,247 words - Read on AO3 - Series masterlist

Chapter word count: 1083 words

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Canon-level angst and violence

You

A few days after your bullshitting session with Crowley, you found yourself waiting for him with the boys while they nervously checked weapons and reviewed the plan. Cas was off following a lead about Metatron, so everyone was a little nervous about being a man down. Crowley hadn’t wanted him involved, anyway, but he had planned on being nearby in case he was needed. Now, it was just the three of you. Dean was antsy, muttering curses and threats about Crowley under his breath while Sam would continually pull you close to him and kiss your hair. As time wore on, Sam just held you in his arms while you tried not to let the fear rolling off of him overwhelm you.

“I know this isn’t a bad plan, but I seriously hate the part where you have to be a part of it.” Sam kissed you gently and the fear he was feeling momentarily broke apart to make way for a wash of love. You smiled up at him, hoping to reassure him.

“It’s a good plan, Sam, and you guys have been teaching me how to defend myself, so I should be okay. I mean, if everything goes according to plan, I won’t even have to defend myself. I’ll be fine, Sam. I’m more worried about you. You’re going to be on the front lines of this thing.” You ran a hand through his hair, pulling it away from his face while you looked into his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you when I just found you.”

Sam smiled and gave you a soft kiss. “Not gonna happen. It will take more than a 300-year old witch to take me out.” As he leaned down for another kiss, you felt a disturbance around you that you had started to associate with Crowley.

“Seriously, Moose? This is how you prepare for battle? By molesting poor Y/N?” You and Sam both turned to face the demon, giving him identical bitch faces. Sam stiffened as Crowley moved to your side. “Again, my dear, when you come to your senses and ditch this moron, I’ll treat you like the queen you are. I won’t use you as bait like these two are.”

Both Winchesters opened their mouths to argue at that, but Crowley waved his hand and left them both silent and still. You looked at up at Sam’s panicked face and tried to give him a reassuring smile before moving closer to Crowley. Steeling your nerves, you turned to him and put a hand on his arm, looking him in the eyes steadily and giving him a slight shake of your head.

“It was my idea to be here, and if they had their way, I wouldn’t be here, so don’t blame them, Crowley. If you really care about me like you claim to, then stick to your part of the plan and help us when things get hairy.” You tried not to let it show on your face as you evaluated the energy coming from Crowley. There was the usual greasy feeling that was always there that you attributed to him being a demon, and also a warmth underneath it that had only grown with each encounter you had with him. This time, however, his discomfort with the plan was also coming at you, so you pushed at him a little bit, hoping to make that discomfort disappear. It faded, and you saw just a hint of a smile form on his face before he shrugged and resumed his normal sarcastic façade.

“Fine. I’m here to help, as promised. And thank you for keeping up your end of the deal and not involving the rabid angel. This plan is shaky to begin with, without involving someone of such questionable morals.” Crowley smiled his smarmiest smile while you cocked an eyebrow and tapped a toe. He put a hand on your arm near your elbow and tried for his most comforting tone, though it came out more condescending than comforting. “I know, I know, you have a soft spot for the traitorous backstabber and don’t want to hear a word against him.” Crowley rolled his eyes and waved at the Winchesters, freeing them to move and speak. His eyes flicked around for a quick second, then settled back on the brothers. “She’s on her way, so we’d better move this to the staging area, unless you want her right by the door, here?”

The Winchesters both looked like they’d rather take a stab at Crowley just then, and Sam was actually approaching Crowley to tear you away from him when you heard a laugh coming from several yards away behind a scope of trees.

“All of you together right outside your little clubhouse! Why, I didn’t know it was Christmas!” You turned to face the owner of the lilting Scottish brogue with a stab of fear stealing your breath. The tiny redhead walked purposefully towards your group and raised her hands in the air, starting to recite an incantation. As you heard the first words fall from her mouth, the scene suddenly disappeared, and you were in a hot, dingy room that you quickly discerned was a throne room. Crowley, who still had a grip on your arm, led you to the throne, which was sitting on a platform at one end of the room, and gently pushed you to sit down. The shock of the abrupt scene change suddenly wore off and you pulled your arm from Crowley’s hand.

“Crowley! This wasn’t the plan! Where are we? We were supposed to fight Rowena together!” Crowley held up a hand as if to calm you, and you felt an unseen force hold you in place in the chair.

“Now, now, Y/N, no need to worry. The deal was that I would protect you, and there’s nowhere safer for you than right here. Now, I have to be going, so I trust you’ll be kind to the help and allow them to care for you until I return.” He turned around, and you felt the force that held you ease and disappear. Crowley stood for a moment, and addressed what you guessed were various demons in his employ that were standing around. “If a hair on her head is disturbed when I return, you all will be my favorite chew toys until the next Apocalypse. Take care of her.” With a commanding look to each demon in the room, he swiftly walked out.

7 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Known: And the Ass’s Jaw

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Demon!Reader, x Female Vessel OC, Sam, Crowley and some other demon minions

Summary: CC can’t come to the phone right now... Crowley gets our reader out in the open. Dean acquires the First Blade. This turns into an episode rewrite, I hope you enjoy how our reader fits into canon! xoxo Stu

Warnings: Self harm, mental health, possession, blood, “drug” use, violence, murder, sexual harassment, body disposal and a gentle reminder that our reader is a demon.

Series Masterlist

*^*

February 25, 2014

Green Valley, Arizona

Chloe sat in the bed of her truck, knife held firmly in her hand as she let it hover over her thigh. Her cut off shorts accenting the opportunity as a constant taunt. There, beneath six inches of magically strengthened iron, was her answer. She just needed to slide the edge of the blade over her skin, if she was possessed, she would injure or jolt the demon from her body. If she wasn’t, all she would do is leave a simple cut behind. If her hand would just move closer to piercing her flesh, this could all be over.

With a simple flip of her wrist you began. The soft silver edge split her thigh open like a burst seam. The blood blossoming up and out in a swell of heat and a dull sting, she watched you, paralyzed as another gash opened from her cherished blade. You smirked as the letters merged into the simple word, the surrounding skin reddening with each fresh stroke. The mesmerizing power of inflicting damage inside out causing your eyes to blacken, your mouth pulled into a snarl as you jammed the tip of the knife straight on and into the meat, ending the statement. The mixing of metals at the tip was a punch to the gut, the iron carving away at the latches of your control; you slipped back satisfied but laughing at yourself.

Her consciousness rushed forward to feel each throb of her pulse as she read your message.

HI.

*^*

March 5, 2014

Another Penthouse Suite

Crowley didn’t even feel the needle as it left his arm, the rush of human emotions quelled the lust for pain and morphed his perspective. He really didn’t want to break up Dean’s little tryst, it would be so much more satisfying to out the bitch to his face. But these were desperate times and he needed a few more ringers on his side. If he could just figure out what department she had escaped from, perhaps he could exploit her talents as well. If she had any, with demons the odds were less than a crap shoot.

He was going to track her down once he found the First Blade, which he would do after this high ran off. Can’t be doing business with the stink of humanity coursing through your veins. He was a professional, after all. No, he closed his eyes and drifted away in a day dream of smug zingers and disarticulated Abaddon.

March 18, 2014

The Bunker

Blade Runners (s9,e16)

“What do you know about the Men of Letters Massacre of 1958?” Sam stared back at Crowley, who was chained, once again in their dungeon.

“We know Abaddon missed our grandfather and Larry Ganem, was there anybody else?” Dean continued.

“Let me get this straight,” Crowley balked. “You keep me locked up in this closet, ignore my suffering, and then come barging in here and demand my help?”

“More or less, yeah,” Dean agreed.

Crowley looked at Dean and then gaped at Moose. “Did I or did I not keep up my end of the bargain the other night? Quite brilliantly, I might add. We ARE partners and you OWE me!”

After little concession on either part, the brothers caved to the dramatic demon.

“What do you want?” Dean decided it was easier to play along than to argue with Crowley any longer.

Crowley paused a tick, “I wouldn’t turn down more comfortable seating arrangements, a few nips of Scotch, and—” His eyes glinted as he drew out his final request. Dean and Sam raised their eyebrows, fueling his theatrics. “This is paramount. I want Dean’s, how should I put it? Lady friend? To accompany us.”

“Not happening,” Dean interjected flatly.

“Wait, Dean, CC would be there as backup. If Abaddon’s closing in, we could use all the help we could get, especially from someone we can depend on,” Sam grimaced at Crowley’s smug face, he felt dirty agreeing with the crumbling King of Hell.

“Moose is making sense, Dean,” Crowley purred. “Come now, let me meet your pet.”

“No!” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, she booked it last time she knew you were here. She was working with Kevin and the moment you started your belly-aching she was out the door. No, Cease doesn’t deal with this level of crap. Not like us.”

“Shame, really,” Crowley leaned his head back and nestled into the creaky old chair. “I’d thought we had a lot in common, both always getting screwed by the mistakes that are the Winchesters and all.”

Dean stomped forward, just to have Sam pull him back from punching Crowley. When they were out of what they estimated to be earshot, Sam continued, “Look, man, I don’t like it either, but CC’s tough. Just call her, she can always say no.”

Dean returned ten minutes later with a calculated glint in his eye, Sam hadn’t moved from his perch outside of the Devil’s Trap.

“So?”

“She’s about four hours out,” Dean gave Crowley a cold curl of his lip. “If you so as much as look at her wrong, I’m going to let her take it out of your hide herself, you hear me?”

“You give all your mates the possessive alpha male monologue or do I threaten your manhood, Squirrel?” Crowley tutted. “Honestly! I think you underestimate just how charming I can be.”

Sam pursed his lips and spun on his heel while Dean sauntered forward. “Now what was that you were saying about seating arrangements?”

Crowley swallowed at the menace in Dean’s voice, careful to keep his thoughts to himself as the boys set up a suitable Queen Anne’s Wing-back for him in the Library, among the other amenities. After an hour of digging through records, they managed to get real intel out of Crowley. Dean naively hoped that their progress would keep CC out of the hunt for the First Blade, but a demon never forgets.

“Call your little huntress, tell her to meet us there,” Crowley’s dark eyes mocked Dean as he watched Dean as he shoved Crowley’s head into the backseat of the Impala.

*^*

Chloe walked in a hazy forest, the underbrush crunching beneath her boots. She didn’t know if she was tracking or hiding, she just knew she had to keep moving. The sky above was a muted gray with streaks of purple, twilight was approaching, and she needed to find cover. Slowly she realized she had lost her lead with the snapping of twigs somewhere behind her. The farther she journeyed, the more certain she knew what was chasing her and the panic grew. She could keep running, she could stop and fight or she could go quietly. Just when she had made her choice the woods parted before her, revealing her grandfather’s cabin and her old bike topped with a shiny new helmet waiting for her. It didn’t matter, the thing that was chasing her didn’t need transportation, but the sight of home had made her pause long enough to end the game once and for all.

*^*

You flew down the highway with the windows open, letting the winter air bite against your bare arms. Chloe was gone, hiding in some memory and you had been buzzing on the power of absolute control. The phone hummed from underneath her leather jacket beside you and you slid the call open before turning down the radio.

There was no way out of this invitation. In fact, it may have been easier to avoid a summoning spell than Dean telling you that Crowley wanted to meet CC. The King, however incapacitated, requested your presence. It was a death sentence, really, either now or later. The loyalty to the throne may not have been your motivation, but its illusion may be your salvation. That with Dean and Sam on your side, gave you enough confidence to answer it readily. Or maybe you were still a masochist this side of the Pit. Go big or go home. You gathered what little belongings you had back at your motel and climbed back into the truck. You hadn’t quite been able to keep Lebanon far enough away.

*^*

“Well, well, well,” Crowley stood alone beside the Impala. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

You remained in the driver’s seat and peered from the window. “Sir,” you nodded, looking around for either Winchester.

“Your boy toy and his oversized sidekick are fine, Y/N. They’re just chasing down an acquisition for me, sporting lads that they are” Crowley oversold. “Come now, let me look at you, Love.”

You hadn’t heard your name in what seemed like forever, an Earth year at least, it was jarring to be addressed by someone so important so intimately. Your overconfidence in your safety was shaken by the sudden solitude. The glint of spelled handcuffs at his wrists gave the final push which brought you out to stand in a seemingly vacant field, two feet from the King of Hell.

“So, Y/N, Darling, what are you doing topside and riding a hunter of all things?” Crowley tutted, thinking your vessel below demon-kind, sending your defenses back up. You looked down at CC’s legs and arms, flexing the muscles beneath her gentle curves before meeting his eye again.

“It was convenient and proved knowledgeable in the long run,” you shrugged, a thousand words passing between your eyes and Crowley’s.

“What of the state of things these days, hmmm? Abaddon and her scare tactics, a demon really needs to keep their friends close,” Crowley was getting to his point.

You knew there were darker reasons Crowley had coaxed you off the road, but there was no good response to a turf battle you had been avoiding. His dark eyes watched knowingly as you tried to conceal your uneasiness. But before you could satisfactorily reply, Sam stumbled out of the nearby trees.

“Magnus has Dean,” he bellowed before realizing you were there. “CC, hi, uh, Magnus is a collector, I think he wants Dean for his zoo.”

“Well, there are worse mugs to put on display,” Crowley muttered as Sam replied in an exasperated face. Sam stormed over to the trunk of the Impala and began digging while Crowley began working him over. You hadn’t spent much time alone with Sam since the whole Angel fiasco, but you knew when he was annoyed. Crowley was playing dumb, yet was still able to hit all his buttons, it was hard not to laugh at them both.

“You’re gonna need another set of hands when you get in there, unless you think Dean’s gonna want little miss priss over here breaking a nail.”

“Thanks, pass,” Sam snapped.

“Hey, at least he knows where I stand,” you interrupted, the low blow stomping out your amusement in less than two breaths.

“Does he?” Crowley grinned over the trunk lid at you.

“Yeah, I do,” Sam countered. “But he’s got a point. Dean wouldn’t want me dragging you into this, CC, this guy has got a spell for everything.”

“He’s human, right?”

“I think so, a witch-like un-aging human, but yeah I guess,” Sam continued rifling through his files.

“Well, if he’s human, he can die,” you surmised. What you didn’t say was that you wanted to be the one to do it, after snatching Dean for his own sick entertainment.

“I’ll remind you, both, that I am the one who flushed the lout Gadreel out of Sam’s noggin. So! Lately, Big Boy, I’ve seen more playing time than you.”

“Crowley, will you please, shut, the hell, up?”

Crowley shoved his tongue in his cheek and sauntered over to your side of the Impala, he nodded to the woods. You didn’t want to do this, not here or now, especially since you knew it would do little to help Dean. But you followed the King about thirty paces until Sam was out of earshot.

“You care about him, is that it?”

You didn’t respond, crossing your arms over your chest, listening in mild annoyance.

“Fine, be stubborn, but you’re still just a bottom dwelling demon in a mediocre meat suit. I have the juice to stop the sorcerer, now, are you going to help me convince the not-so-Jolly Green over there or are you going to stomp your feet and prove yourself a petulant human?”

You didn’t have to convince Sam in the end. Necessity was the mother of invention and the need of the hour was ingredients.

“I did good, eh, Moose?” Crowley pandered once Sam had prepared the spell, “everything on the list. You’re welcome.”

“Remember, stay close, do what I say, and shut the hell up.”

“I’m growing on you, aren’t I?” Crowley stood between you and Sam as Sam started the chant. Crowley’s voice was pathetic and needy. You knew he was off his game, but the fishing for approval was almost painful to watch, and especially suspicious. As the entryway blazed to life before you, Crowley turned and waved, blasting you backwards ten yards.

“Be a dear and wait in the car?” His voice taunted as they disappeared in the night.

*^*

Dean knew he needed to hold out for Sammy and CC to come through with the prison break. Crowley, well, Crowley was a long shot, but he could be tapped if Sam got desperate. What had they gotten into with this guy, the Men of Letters really gave this nutjob too much knowledge for their own good, didn’t they?

Dishonored and forgotten wasn’t enough of a punishment for Cuthbert “Magnus” Sinclair. This guy needed to be put down, once and for all. So, Dean played along, giving him the illusion of control until Dean had his back up squad on the board.

*^*

You could smell them before you heard them, demons. You spun CC’s knife in your hand and sunk into the cover of some nearby bushes. If you smelled them in a pack, one or more of them would be able to sniff out you and Crowley before long. You circled the invisible fortress, spreading your trail and gaining eyes on them. Over a five-minute wait, three stooges barged into the clearing, glaring at the abandoned vehicles.

“Look-e here, the Douche-chester mobile,” a lanky one drawled.

“Christ, she has us tailing after those two for this blade?”

“We woulda been here first, if you hadn’ta stopped to beat them cops, Morris,” the lanky one was apparently in charge.

They continued on, arguing and muttering about their boss, but they never said her name. It wasn’t like they were being cautious to mask their identities. They must have truly feared her if they didn’t utter her name aloud. Once they started in on the Impala, your eyes blazed black, the rage simmering like water beneath the lid of your skin. Eventually they spread out. Which sped up the chances of them finding and following your trail. Slowly you climbed into a low tree, letting their stomping feet cover the sounds of your efforts.

“So, what’s Crowley doin’ wit the Winchesters?”

“Do I look like his secretary, man, I don’t know. But it can’t be good. They are always getting into Hell’s business. You’d think if they wanted the job Sam would have demon-ed up and not put Lucifer back in the Cage.”

“Righteous little Ken Dolls would be real nice to play with though,” a voice like cracked ice spoke for the first time. The third demon was female, and she was much more torture-oriented than the mission required.

“Tommy, there aint no way of gettin’ in ta this vault,” Morris was now ten feet from the trunk of your tree, all any of them had to do was turn and look up and you were screwed.

Fighting against the compulsive breathing of your vessel, you waited. You slid to the farthest weight-bearing spot of the branch, aiming to get within dropping distance. With a calculated toss, you lobbed your knife holster towards the cars, the sound forced the three demon’s heads to snap to attention. In an instant they took off allowing you to leap from your perch and crash onto Tommy, the leader and the last of the pack. With your knife handle firmly in your mouth, you worked to cover his mouth.

The iron and silver blade sunk into his vessel with a satisfying slice, he spasmed against your hold. Once you knew he was weak enough, you removed your hand, letting him smoke out from the decimated corpse. The woman’s and Morris’s voices called back, both confused and cowardly. You wiped the dead man’s blood on the thigh of your jeans and stalked back to the entrance of Magnus’s hiding place.

Amazingly, your gun was still tight against the small of your back, but its weight left little comfort when you were dealing with your own kind. You threw your voice channeling Tommy’s voice, taunting them as you crouched beside your truck, “Morris, get your ass over here and help me already.”

“What’s he want now,” the tall man muttered, stomping back to where you’d left the body.

“Don’t know, don’t care, but you have fun with that,” she snipped, walking backwards with a mocking wave. Once she was alone in the clearing you made your move.

“Hey,” you greeted her, pulling her away from her mutilation of the Impala’s paint job.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“No one of consequence,” you sighed, whipping your knife into her chest, it was two inches up and to the left from where you hoped, but it still froze her in place before her face was forced into a mask of rage.

“Fucking bitch!” She screamed, cutting your window of opportunity down. You charged her, the vessel was tiny compared to CC, your arms and legs reaching her before she could swing back. You threw her to the ground, her boot catching your stomach as she tried to will you off of her. Then you smiled down and twisted the knife, dragging the iron face across her chest in blistering strokes. The skin split bloodless, falling open like a burst bag of flour, the body that housed her was long dead. Muscles, fat and ribs exposed and ragged as she finally escaped through the yellowing lips.

Morris’s strong hands found you before you could enjoy your handy work, one clamped fiercely on your neck while the other hoisted you up by your thigh. Your knife fell from your hand as he had pinned your arm at an awful angle by way of the throat-crushing.

“One of Crowley’s bitches, eh?” He inhaled the scent of your hair. “Didn’t know the ol’ dog liked the chubby’uns. Can’t blame him, really.”

His hand roamed lower and you pushed back against him, trying to wrestle free. “Yeah, that’s it, Baby. Let me feel that fat ass.” You wanted to vomit, but the fingers bruising your throat would have stopped you, if you got that far. You started to panic, it was the middle of the night and you were completely alone; Chloe wasn’t even helping fight this sick fuck off of her. “Could do wit out that pistol ‘tween us though.”

“Why?” You struggled to speak, “my gun make you, insec-c-c—c.” He tightened his hold, crushing Chloe’s windpipe. As his spindly fingers started to undo your pants, you bent forward, lifting his feet out from behind him and slammed his face against the truck’s side view mirror, breaking his grasp of your throat. You coughed and drew sweet air back into her lungs, she was going to be banged up and your antics weren’t exactly helping that fact. You stomped on his foot and shoved him back against the truck, breaking his last hold on you. You stumbled forward, snatching the knife and quickly spinning to face him. His stance was wide, hoping from foot to foot as you inched closer, he grinned suddenly, the barrel of CC’s gun pointed square at your chest.

“Nice vessel you’ve got, sister, be a shame to muddy it up,” Morris taunted. You didn’t know how it came to mind, but suddenly you smoked out of Chloe’s mouth and straight down his shocked jaw. You hadn’t had a different vessel in months and never an already possessed one. But you found him quickly, blanketing his senses and twisting his essence into thin useless strands, like putty. When you felt him trying to leave you shoved him further back, bringing him inside the dead brain of his vessel and wallowing in the emptiness. Just when you thought he was too tired to keep fighting, you raised his hand and put a bullet in his temple.

“So much for this vessel,” you taunted before leaving him in the un-camouflageable husk.

Sure, he could have tried the same thing with CC, but you had scared him shitless. He shot off after his useless friends, like dogs with their tales between their legs. Unfortunately, those bitches would undoubtedly head home to Abaddon, with your treachery bursting from their lips. There was no hiding from Hell after this.

Once you were back inside Chloe, having righted her weapons and fixed her pants, you started hauling bodies. It was dawn before you had them all salted and stacked on a pyre two hundred yards north from the trail to the old Man of Letter’s safe house. The smell of burning flesh coated your nose and sunk into your clothes. It reminded you of home, a wistful smile came to your lips as you watched the bodies with a filling satisfaction.

*^*

Dean was doing his best to ignore Crowley’s verbal masturbation as they stomped out of the woods from Magnus’s place. He was terrified of the power the First Blade put in his hand and absolutely impressed with the taste the murder left in his veins. There was no high like it and so he tried to bury it. When they reached the clearing in which he had parked Baby, the sight was enough of a distraction as his stomach dropped.

“No, no. Come on!” Dean strode forward. “What the hell?!”

“That’s sulfur, demons,” Sam hurried to the other side of the car, checking their cargo.

“Uh, Abaddons’,” Dean groaned. “Well, she’s just one jump behind us. Guess she couldn’t find Magnus’s joint either. What about the trunk?”

“Safe,” Sam sighed in satisfaction. “The warding kept them out.”

Crowley finally reached the distraught hunters, confusion or concern heavy on his face.

“Demon mitts all over my Baby,” Dean stewed. “Oh, come on! What, now, they’re keying cars?!”

“Gents?” Crowley broke Sam’s focus, but Dean was too far gone, desperately trying to right the wrongs done to the beloved Impala. “Notice anyone missing?”

“Chloe,” Sam’s face fell to the empty spot of the missing truck.

“CC was here?”

“Yeah, Dean, you were inside overnight.”

“Wait, what?! It was like an hour, hour and a half tops,” Dean groaned.

“Must have been a temporal pocket, like Hell, only opposite,” Sam explained, scanning the horizon. He froze when he saw the pillar of gray smoke, “that’s not a good sign.”

“Maybe your bird cleaned up the mess,” Crowley mused.

“God, I hope so,” Dean clenched his eyes shut against the deep gashes in the car doors and slid inside. Whispering to the car the entire way over to the pyre. He parked beside CC’s battered pick up and he crawled out of the driver’s seat. Only to be knocked back against the steel frame as CC ran into his chest, breath ragged, and face covered in tears.

“Dean, thank fuck,” she croaked as he pulled her close. “I don’t know what happened, suddenly I was lighting a pyre with three strangers on it. I, I thought I was dreaming.”

Dean stared over her head to Sam and Crowley, concern of varying degrees on both of their faces. Dean kicked himself for leaving her alone, she reeked of sulfur, gasoline and burning flesh. He held her at arm’s length and examined every inch of exposed skin, they really worked her over, fucking bastards.

“D’you have anything to do with this,” Dean looked Crowley square in the eye.

“I might have left her behind, for her own protection,” Crowley raised his hands in surrender. “I had no idea Abaddon’s goons were right behind us.”

“Who are you?” CC asked.

“Name’s Crowley, Y/N was it?” The Englishman leaned forward with a doughy palm.

“Shut up, Crowley. You know this is Chloe, Chloe Collins. You met her yesterday,” Sam eyed the demon contemptuously.

“Right, Ms. Collins, pleasure,” Crowley smiled smugly.

“He’s sort of the King of Hell,” Dean whispered as she unwrapped herself from his arms to take the demon’s handshake.

“I remember, Kevin told me all about you,” you returned his menacing stare as Crowley broke the handshake.

*^*

@mogaruke @dontshootmespence @mrswhozeewhatsis @smi727 @sassykayla255 @supernaturalboi @dumbthotticus @eve05glee @veroinnumera @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @fanfictionrecommendations-com @soullesscollection-world

Next Chapter: Case of the Weak Part A

40 notes · View notes

impala-dreamer · 6 years

Text

The Last Straw

SPN FanFic

~Sam takes things a little too serious, and all you really want out of life is a freakin’ cookie.~

Sam x Reader, Dean, surprise OC

3,495 Words

Warnings: Supremely Fluffy with a hint of spicy Angst. But mostly disgustingly fluffy. Please brush your teeth afterwards.

A/N: This is another gem for my ‘Give Em A Merry Christmas’ treasure chest. A shout out to @fandom-queen-of-wonderland who submitted an idea for a Dean x Reader with the line “All I want is Christmas is a gingerbread man and some peace and quiet!”. As you can see, it’s not Dean x Reader, but trust me, Dean is as sweet as a freshly baked blueberry pie in this. I hope you like it. Also, there is a surprise for one of my favorite followers in here. I’m not going to call her out, but I’m pretty sure she’ll pick up on it when it gets to that bit. ;) Hope you all enjoy!

Feedback is GOLD ~ My Masterlist ~ Christmas 2017 Fic Corral

Like many things in your crazy life, getting pregnant was not planned. Well, honestly, if you took it a bit further back, meeting and falling in love with Sam Winchester wasn’t planned either. Neither was getting into Hunting, or even being aware that all the things that went bump in the night actually did go bump in the night, but hey, it happened, but that’s a story for another day.

While you and Sam had no plan to officially marry, the unexpected news of the bun now occupying your oven was nonetheless welcomed. From the moment Sam had thoroughly absorbed the news, he went a little bit off the deep end helping you to prepare. Like the true nerd he was, Sam read every single baby book in the Lebanon Library, scoured the internet for information, even joined babycenter.com as Soon2BPapaWin2017. He stalked the message boards, chatted with expectant mothers, and dove headfirst into taking care of you and his future bundle of joy.

He was so adorable when researching baby gear, often spending late nights reading every review of his chosen product only to write it off in favor of something that looked just a tiny bit safer. He filled up his online shopping carts on Amazon and BabiesRUs with the best of the best, never buying anything, because he knew he could find better. He only wanted the best for his child, and in turn, you.

While Sam couldn’t protect you with rubber bumpers on table corners, or wrap you in bubble wrap, he could try to protect you in another, rather annoying way. Sam took it upon himself to get you healthy, and while he meant for the best, and you loved him for it, it was driving you nuts.

He had tried to insist that you stop hunting, but you slapped him so hard upon the first mention, that he didn’t bring it up again. It wasn’t until well into your seventh month that you voluntarily stayed back, not wanting to slow the guys down. The worst part, though, was that during the entire nine months of your pregnancy, Sam insisted you follow a strict diet that he concocted, filling you up with more vegetables and random vegan proteins than you had ever seen in your life. Add to that Sam guilting you into joining him in prenatal yoga, and taking no less than three walks a day while you were home, by your third trimester, you were done.

Through all your whining and discomfort, Sam was by your side, never letting you drink a single kale smoothie by yourself. He was getting you both healthy, and he practiced what he preached. While he was pushing every last one of your buttons, you did appreciate the love he put into every annoying thing he did.

Dean was another story altogether, and the soon to be uncle slowly became your best friend and savior, often sneaking you chocolate when you needed it most, and letting you fall asleep on him when Sam had pushed you an extra mile.

Both Winchesters were excited and happy for the next generation to arrive, but they went about showing their joy in rather opposite ways. Sam answered your complaints with offers of cocoa butter lotion and random science facts, while Dean would tuck a pillow under your back, flip on Netflix, and rub your tired feet. When watching you choke down green leafy things, Dean often jokingly promised to take you out for a steak dinner before the baby arrived, and it always pissed Sam off. He would throw his hands up and stalk away, mumbling to himself about how he was just trying to help and make sure everyone was healthy.

Sure, he was over the top and the food was disgusting, but he was just trying to help.

As Christmas rolled around, you found, much to your dismay, that you were rolling around too. Your ankles were swollen, your back ached, and your stomach shot out so far in front of you that it looked like you were having triplets.

Waddling through the Bunker in search of something to do that wouldn’t get you in trouble with the father to be, your nose picked up a deliciously warm, spicy scent and your feet turned towards the kitchen.

Nutmeg and ginger filled the air, making your stomach grumble as you floated towards the oven. Sam turned around to greet you with a kiss and a smile as he set a freshly cooled plate of cookies down on the counter.

“Hey, Baby,” he said, kissing your nose. “And Baby…” he smiled and bent down to kiss your giant belly.

Laughing at his goofy smile, you shook your head. “You’re gonna have to come up with a new pet name for at least one of us or it’ll be confusing.”

“Well that will depend on what Little Baby is,” he told you, gently rubbing a huge hand over the apex of your stomach. “Still don’t want to find out?”

“Nah,” you said with a tiny laugh. “I’m only doing this once, might as well keep the surprise.” Your smile faded to a deep grimace as the baby kicked hard, and Sam jumped in shock. His face lit up with such a smile as he felt his child press against his hand, that you couldn’t help but smile back.

“That’s so cool,” he said under his breath.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, maybe for you. Little Winchester’s been kicking the shit out of me all day. He’s very aggressive. I think he takes after his uncle.”

“He?”

“Just a guess,” you shrugged and then licked your lips as you looked around Sam to the cookies not being eaten. “And, like his uncle, Baby is also hungry.”

“I made you a treat,” Sam grinned and went to grab the plate.

“I’m starving, thank you!” Happiness filled your soul as you looked down to see what appeared to be a plate of real, legitimate gingerbread men cookies. With an excited grin, you picked up the top cookie and lifted it to your nose, taking a sniff. It smelled right… but…

Sam watched carefully and without comment as you opened your mouth, but something in his eyes made you stop before the treat hit your tongue.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s in this cookie?”

An innocent laugh left his pink lips and Sam shook his head in shock. “What? Nothing.”

“Sam…”

“It’s good, trust me.”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked from the cookie to your boyfriend, not for one second believing his lie. Nine months of quinoa and spinach cakes had made you more than suspicious. Even being Christmas, there was no way that Sam was suddenly going to let you have a normal cookie.

“What’s in this cookie, Sam?”

“Just taste it.”

“Not until you tell me what it’s made of.”

“I’ll tell you after you taste it.”

The baby kicked again, clearly wanting some food, and so, after a deep breath, you closed your eyes, took a bite, and instantly spit it back out. “Oh good God, what is this?”

“Flax seed,” Sam laughed.

“What?” You wiped your mouth with your sleeve and stared up at him in pained shock.

“Flax seed. It’s good for you.”

A deep, burning anger rolled through your gut and pushed out from your lips with a screeching wail that echoed through the Bunker. “Dean!”

Boots pounded the hard floor as Dean flew through the hall, and he jumped down the kitchen steps, out of breath and panicked.

“Y/N! What is it? You gonna have the baby?”

“We’re gonna have a funeral!” you yelled, fists clenched as you stepped forward, scaring Sam enough so that he backed away slowly.

Dean gripped the wall, catching his breath as he assessed the situation. “What?”

“I’m about to murder your brother.”

Sam held his palms up in surrender as you came closer and closer. “Y/N/N, I’m just trying…”

“Don’t!” you shouted and shook a fist up at him. “Don’t you ‘Y/N/N’ me, Sam! This is all your fault! I’m fat and tired and starving and you won’t let me eat! I hate seeds! I hate salad! I want Indian food, goddammit! The baby wants pizza and Hostess cupcakes! You’re trying to kill me is what you’re doing! And now? This cookie?” You threw the offending gingerbread man at his head, barely missing him. Sam ducked and looked to his brother for help, but Dean stood in the doorway, smartly keeping his mouth shut. “How dare you! All I want for Christmas is a motherfucking Gingerbread Man and you gave me this! I hate you!”

Sam’s lips quivered in shock, struggling to find something to say that would soothe you, but there was nothing. He watched with sad puppy eyes as your rage turned to tears and your knees gave out. He tried to catch you as you sank to the floor, but you pushed him away, angry and tired.

“No! Leave me alone, Sam! This is the last straw! I can't...I can't…”

Finally, Dean moved from his place by the door and hurried to your side. He scooped you up without a word, and you gratefully fell into his flannel covered arms.

Ten minutes later, you were out cold on the couch, having passed out with your head on Dean's shoulder. Carefully, and with the finesse of a cat burglar, Dean slid out from underneath you and stretched.

Sam was in the doorway, watching with a frown. “She hates me,” he said as Dean pushed himself up from the sofa.

Dean shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh!” Waving Sam out of the room he went on, “She doesn't hate you, Sam. It's like...hormones and shit. And the poor girl...dude, you gotta let her eat; she's starving.”

“She eats!”

“Rabbit food, man. She's eating for two and neither one of them likes tomatoes. And you know that and still you put tomatoes on everything. Also, seed cookies?” Dean hung his head in disgust. “It's Christmas, Sammy. How could you?”

Sam’s jaw twitched. “I'm just trying to do what's best. You don't know, Dean. You haven't read all the books, you don't know what could go wrong. Gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, placenta previa...You just don’t know!”

“Sam…”

“The baby could be breech! Do you have any idea what that means, Dean!” Sam’s hands swam through his hair as his eyes grew wide with worry. “Peripartum cardiomyopathy...she… she could have a friggin’ heart attack at any time!”

“Sammy…” Dean tried to snap Sam out of his rant, but the taller brother began to spin as his eyes darted about the room, seeming to read all the horrible things he’d seen on the air.

“That’s not even what could happen during labor! She could get an infection, she could bleed out! Just… die. You don’t understand, Dean. I have to keep her safe. I have to!”

“Damn it, Sammy, stop!” Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulder and jerked him to a halt. “Listen to me! You have to calm down. That’s all worst case stuff. Y/N is healthy, so is the baby. You’re the only one causing any problems.” Sam stared at him, silent and pained, but Dean sighed and went on. “Now, just relax. Nothing that could go wrong is gonna be fixed by force feeding your girlfriend plexiglass seeds or whatevers.”

“Flax.”

“What?”

“Flax. Flax seed.”

“Whatever,” Dean cringed. “The point is, you have got to let up. She’s miserable, can’t you see that?”

Sam pulled away enough to look over his shoulder at you. Your cheek was smushed against the seat, your hair a mess of sweat and tears. “She’s fine,” Sam argued. “Besides, we’ve only got a few weeks left.”

“Exactly, so why not let her enjoy it?”

Sam shook his head sternly and turned back to Dean. “No. I have to protect her, and this is the best way I can right now. This baby is…” He paused, not sure how to explain himself.

Dean filled the empty space. “It’s just a baby, Sam. People have them everyday. Sometimes more than one at a time.”

“No. You just don’t get it.” Sam gave up, and after a last look at your snoring face, he pushed passed Dean and set off in a huff. “And you can stop sneaking her Snickers when you think I’m not around, Dean.”

“Well, screw you too,” Dean muttered under his breath. “I’ll give her a damn Snickers if I want. This ain’t prison.”

You stirred on the couch, and Dean popped his head in the room to check on you. He would have attempted to carry you to bed, but you always hated that, and he was afraid he’d drop you now anyway.

“Dean?” You blinked into the dim light, woken by a ridiculously loud grumble in your tummy.

“Hey, Sweetheart, you want to go to bed?” Dean extended a hand, which you took, but shook your head, declining his offer.

“No,” you told him as you tugged his arm, pulling him down close to you. “What I want… what I need… is meat.”

Dean laughed and bent closer to kiss your forehead. “I know, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

“No, Dean, I’m serious.” You lifted your chin to look him straight in the eyes and took a fistful of his shirt between your fingers. “I need you to break me out of here. You’ve been saying for months you’re gonna take me to a steakhouse. Come on, El Chapo, Today’s the day!”

“Y/N/N…” Dean’s hand closed around your fist and he patted your fingers gently. “We can’t. Sam’s just being…”

“Nuts,” you cut in. “He’s insane. Do you know he makes me take this giant vitamin every morning? It’s the size of a golf ball, Dean.” Tears were springing up behind your eyes as you begged him to help you. “And I have to wash it down with… he calls it milk, but goddammit, Dean, it didn’t come from no cow. You gotta help. If I smell another blade of wheatgrass I’m gonna cut my nose off. Please. You gotta help me.”

You could tell you’d won in the way his shoulders dropped. Dean sighed and bit his lip, looking down at you with such sympathy it tugged at your heart. Sure, you were pathetic, but that was your card to play right now. It wasn’t as if you were milking it, Sam was literally torturing you with all the health food. For the last three weeks you’d been dreaming of oreos; that couldn’t be normal.

With one last pitiful pout, you whispered your prayer to the green-eyed superhero you called friend. “Please, Dean.”

“If he finds out, he’s gonna kill me.”

“It’s just a burger, Dean. What could go wrong?”

The steakhouse was not open, as it was nearly one in the morning on Christmas Eve, but Millie’s Diner was open all night.

You sat sideways in the booth because your belly wouldn’t fit, but you couldn’t care less about how you looked. Dean ordered a giant meal for you both, and you matched him bite for bite. The fries were overdone and deliciously crispy. The milkshake was cold and divine. The burger… you couldn’t find a word for it. Your brain frizzled when the rare meat and melted cheese hit your tongue, and all you could do was close your eyes and sigh happily. Dean watched you with a smile as you devoured your dinner, and even gave you a strip of bacon right off his burger. “For the baby,” he said with a wink. You didn’t care if it was for the baby, or your hips, you needed it all.

Smacking your lips, you sat back with a satisfied grin and rubbed your belly. “Thank you, dude. That was amazing.”

Dean mirrored your pose, right down to the belly rub. “It was. Good idea, Y/N/N.”

A flash of pain wrapped around your middle and you cringed as it stopped your breath. “Ow.”

Dean’s head snapped up from his plate where he’d been eyeing a drop of cheese that had been left behind. “You OK?”

You nodded quickly and shifted a bit in the seat. “Yeah, this table is just uncomfortable.”

“Well,” Dean laughed. “We could have sat at the counter, but you’re a little off balance lately.”

“Shut up,” you laughed and then tensed up as another wave of pain circled your belly. “Ouch!”

“Y/N/N…”

Dean sat forward, eyeing you suspiciously, but you waved him off. “Just indigestion,” you assured him. “I’m good.” You hissed at another stabbing pain, this one harder and coming up from below. “Gaah!”

“OK, that’s not OK, Y/N.” Dean scooted to the end of his seat and moved to stand up.

“No! No! Sit.” You took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I’m good.” Another crackle of daggers around your sides. “Fuck!” You gasped but kept your lips lifted in a smile that was nothing short of creepy now. “Pie? They have pie. Let’s get pie.”

“Sweetheart, the only thing we’re getting is you to the hospital.” Dean finally stood up and had your elbow in his hand, trying to urge you up.

“No, no hospital. I’m fine.” The last word came out on the end of a scream that turned every head in the brightly lit diner. “Dean! I think I’m in labor.”

“Yeah, Y/N/N, I know.” Dean picked you up and slung your arm around his shoulder, carefully guiding you to the exit. He paused to hand the waitress some cash, who basically pushed you both out of the door.

“Dean!”

“Oh, Sam is gonna kill me.”

Sam probably would have killed you both, but all of his anger, fear, and months of worry faded away when he held his daughter in his arms. Tessa Rose was born on Christmas Eve after an exhausting seventeen hours of labor. She was soft and squirming, already a loud and feisty Winchester as she cried as Sam tried to adjust her against his chest. He’d read every book ever written on infants, but holding the newborn, his newborn, was something he was not prepared for.

You lay in bed, slipping in and out of sleep, watching with a pain-killer induced smile as Sam struggled in the chair next to your bed. His face was twisted with nerves, but his eyes were calm and happy. Finally, Tessa found a spot that she seemed to like, and fell asleep against her daddy’s chest. Sam rocked gently side to side and looked over at you with a truly contented smile.

“You did a great job, Mommy,” he said.

“Well, I had help.”

Sam frowned and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I went a little…”

“Psycho Father To Be?” you laughed. “Yeah, I noticed.” Sam nodded sadly and looked away, but you sat up and reached for his hand. “Hey, Sam, I get it. It’s OK. I love you. You’re gonna be an amazing dad. You just have to learn to go with the flow.”

Sam smiled and fit his fingers through yours. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Dean appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat. “OK, can we roll the credits on this RomCom? I want to see my niece.”

“Come on in.” Sam sat up and gently lifted Tessa from her spot, showing her off to Dean.

“Oh, she is… awesome.” Dean grinned and took the baby in his arms, smiling down at the perfectly chubby cheeks and dusting of brown hair. Tessa popped open her eyes and batted her delicate lashes, instantly wrapping her uncle around her finger. Dean kissed her forehead and then set her down on the bed. “I got a you a present, Tessa.”

Sam climbed into bed with you and you snuggled together as Dean pulled a red velvet Christmas stocking from his jacket. Before you could stop him, Dean pulled the sock up over Tessa’s legs, and the baby sank down into it, her chin popping up over the white faux fur.

“Dean, what are you doing to my baby?” you asked from your spot under Sam’s arm.

Dean laughed to himself and snapped a picture of your festively swaddled daughter. “That one’s going on the fridge.”

“Take it off,” Sam said with a laugh.

“Why?” Dean picked Tessa up and held her aloft. “She’s the best Christmas present ever.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Sam echoed, and pulled you close. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas, Sam.” You looked up and placed a warm kiss on his lips. “Merry Christmas, Dean,” you added, looking over at the giddy man holding a stocking full of baby.

Dean shifted Tessa to lay in the crook of his arm, and kissed the tip of her tiny nose. “God bless us,” he said softly. “Every one.”

FOREVERS (closed): @akshi8278 @allinhishands @amanda-teaches @atc74 @autopistaaningunaparte @because-imma-lady-assface @blanketmadeofstar @blushingdean @brewsthespirit-blog @brooke-supernatural16 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @cassieraider @charliebradbury1104 @charred-angelwings @chelsea072498 @chrisevansisdaddy04 @chumi-la-chula @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @crispychrissy @daughterleftbehind @docharleythegeekqueen @dustycelt @dylanosprayberry03 @emoryhemsworth @emptywithout @erin654 @evansrogerskitten @evyiione @faithfullpanicmoon @fallenangelsneverfade @fandomismyspiritanimal @fandom-queen-of-wonderland @fangirlofeverythingme @fatalcrossbow @feelmyroarrrr @findingfitnessforme @flormolero @frenchybell @fuckyeahfeysand @geekgirl1213 @ginasmith @grace-for-sale @growningupgeek @hair-dresses @hexparker @icequeen6666 @idreamofhazel @ilsawasanacrobat @imascreamerbabymakemeamute @impalaimagining @im-super-potter-locked @jayankles @jessilliam-caronday @jesspfly @jocelyn-of-the-jellyfish @jpadjackles @just-another-winchester @katelynbkool @katymacsupernatural @kdfrqqg @lauren-novak @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @lefthologramdeer @lipstickandwhiskey @luciisthebest @mandilion76 @meganwinchester1999 @mery-magizoologist @michellethetvaddict @milkymilky-cocopuff @missselinakitty @mistressofallthingsgeeky @mjdoc90 @mrsbatesmotel53 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @musicgleenerd @myfand0msandm0re @naviwhite @newtospnfandom @nichtlisax @notesfromalabprincess @obsessivecompulsivespn @ohmychuckitssamanddean @percussiongirl2017 @pinknerdpanda @poukothenerd @purrculiar @queen-of-deans-booty @ridingmoxley @riversong-sam @roxy-davenport @roxyspearing @samisimportant @saxxxology @sgarrett49 @sireennotsiren @skadi-winterfell @snarkpunsandsarcasm @sofreddie @sophiebobzz @spn-fan-girl-173 @spnjunky @super100012 @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-girl97 @supernaturallymarvellous @super-not-naturall @tennesseewhiskey-and-pie @theoutlinez @there-must-be-a-lock @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thinkwritexpress-official @tmccarney @trexrambling @turnttover @typicalweirdbookworm @walkingkhaleesi @waiting-to-find-myshadows @wayward-marvel-sommer1196 @winchesterprincessbride @wordstothewisereaders @wotinspntarnation @xxmizzlexx

Sammy Lovers:

@akoya-pearls @bambi95-blog @blackfandomtrashandproud @blue-heaven-winchestergirl83 @french-the-llama @frickfracklesackles @jealousbitxh @jenwritesfiction @lavieenlex @melodyhiddleston @m0ther-of-drag0ns @niamandthings @nerdwholikesword ofloveandlonging @oneshoeshort @paleogamrgrl @pilaxia @sammy-moo @samwinjarpad @spnwoman @spontaneousam @winchester-writes @winter-in-wakanda

#spn fanfic #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester #fluff #angst #all the fluff #sam winchester fluff #oh lord did i mention fluff #i cant believe it #fluffy fluff fluff #give em a merry christmas

837 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

The queen of Lebanon - Part 13 – The others will burn

Summary: Your father died years ago, all men in the business believed you are too weak to take over his Empire – they were wrong. Anyone trying to get into your hair will feel your wrath. What happens when a cocky mobster tries not only to steal your empire but your heart too?

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Mobster!Reader, Sam Winchester, Dick Roman, Jimmy Novak, Arthur Ketch, Mick Davies, Charlie Bradbury, Gadreel, Crowley (Fergus McCleod), Garth, Gabriel

Warnings: angst, ‘the family business’, blood, characters death, explosions, language

The queen of Lebanon Masterlist

You’re on the edge as you wait for the teams to head out. Dick Roman agreed to meet up with you, of course you know he won’t come, it’s a trap but he’ll send enough men to make sure you die. This way he’ll be more vulnerable and may have a chance to finally take him down.

“Team one is on its way. Jimmy called; they are ready to storm the mansion. They count five enemies outside and assume at least five more inside if not more.” Charlie explains as you check on your gun once again.

“It’s loaded and ready, Sweetheart. I checked it twice too.” Dean rubs your back gently as Charlie checks on team two.

“Team two in position. Sam reported they set the trap and will make sure all of Roman’s men will go down. The explosives will blow the house. Sam and Gadreel will stay put till they are sure no one survived.”

Charlie is switching between two monitors, checking on the body cams of Sam and Jimmy. Charlie looks like she’s in the zone. Her teeth pressed into a pencil she let her fingers fly over the keyboard.

“Good. Ketch is your friend ready for our part?” Dean looks over Charlie's shoulder, watching Sam and his team sneak toward their hideout to wait for Dick’s men to arrive.

“Mick waits for us at the gate. He hates to wait so we should get going, Dean. We need to strike right before Dick’s team gets the chance to report you and Y/N are not at the agreed meeting point.”

Clapping his hands Dean nods at Ketch before he walks toward you to hand you a bulletproof vest.

“Charlie, you will stay here along with Garth and his family. I don’t want you to leave this house. No one gets in and no one goes out until we or Sam are back.”

“If anything happens, call us Charlie. The house is safe but…” Placing a gun onto the desk Dean gives Charlie a curt nod.

“Only three men remain here. The gates stay closed, the door to my office is bulletproof so…stay inside.” Nodding Charlie looks at the monitors. She won’t risk getting killed, as much as she likes you and Dean, Charlie is not suicidal.

“I leave the fights to you, boss.” Smirking you pat her shoulder. “I will stay here, promised. Maybe Garth and his family should stay in this room too.”

“Good idea, Charlie. I’ll send them here before we go. There’s a tiny fridge in the corner with snacks and soft drinks.” Dean smirks as Charlie’s eyes lit up. “I got sweets in the right drawer of my desk too.”

“Alright. Stop talking and get ready Dean. I know you are the boss and all, but small talk won’t bring Roman down. I’ll be downstairs, waiting for you and Y/N. Be prepared for everything. Dick Roman is the devil.” Ketch smirks at Charlie before he walks out of the room.

“We are no angels, Arthur.” Securing your gun, you grab your shotgun, nodding at Charlie as you follow Ketch.

“Dick Roman will wish we were angels as we will come over him like the sword that he fears.” Dean pecks your cheek, checking on your bulletproof vest while you snicker at his words.

“The Bible? You recite the Bible now, Baby?” Humming Dean leads you out of the room glancing one last time at your vest.

“If I say it would be better for you to stay here…” Your glare let Dean falls silent. “It was worth the try, Sweetheart. Now let’s hunt a dick down…”

“Terrible wordplay Dean…” Ketch snickers as you pat Dean’s cheek. “We have to work on this for sure when we are back. Now let’s roll and hunt Dick down…”

“Ready?” Glancing at the gate Jimmy raises his fist as his team checks out the mansion from their hidden position. “We need to strike when this team goes in. There’s a timeframe of sixty seconds before the next team arrives.”

“We’ve got this boss. You will go with me and George. The others will take the side entrance. According to our information, Crowley must be in the nice dungeon he has to interrogate his enemies.” Gabriel points toward the door as the guards walk into the house.

“Showtime, Gabe. Let’s get the tiny bastard and head back.”

“Are you sure that this is not too much, Gadreel? I don’t want you to overexert yourself. You can stay in the van with Mark.” Sam uses his binoculars to watch the building, concerned Gadreel is not ready to get back to business.

“I am fine, Sam. Don’t worry – I’ve got this. Cole only hurt my pride, not my body.” Smirking Gadreel checks the detonator. “We will wait here, call the phone we left and lure them into the building. Once inside they will attend a nice roast.”

“You have way too much fun blowing up things, Gade. I will have to keep an eye on you.” Sam snickers as Gadreel watches Dick Roman’s men sneak toward the building. “Little bastards are sneaking toward the building.”

“I guess they will love our surprise, Sam. Nothing says better ‘welcome to the party’ than a nice bomb to blow the house.” Gadreel smirks as the men break through the entrance.

“Welcome to the barbecue…”

“Now, strike…” Using the battering ram George breaks through the gate, Jimmy and Gabriel hot on his heels.

“We need to get to the dungeon and get Crowley. Let’s make sure that little bastard will make it out alive.” Jimmy follows George inside as the rest of your team uses the side entrance.

Checking the blueprints on his phone Jimmy leads the others toward the staircase.

“We need to be quick. Gabe, follow me. George join the others and make sure to secure our retreat.”

“Got it, boss. We will make sure to get out of here quickly…”

“Still time for you to stay in the car, Sweetheart.” Glancing at Dick’s hideout Dean grazes his fingertips over your cheek. “I know you want to avenge your family, but I could do this for you.”

“No Dean, I have to do this. Everything that happened over the last years lead me to this point. Let me do it and we can start to rule this town as you wanted us to.”

Checking your weapon one last time you nod at Mick who gives you a wink before he hits the accelerator pedal to break through Dick’s gate.

“Where did you get these armored vehicles?” Dean looks around the car, humming as he would like to have one too. “I like it.”

“Let’s say a friend of a friend owes me a lot of shit and agreed to lend me this nice vehicle and his combat team. We will storm this house and get us a dick.” Rolling your eyes at the next bad ‘dick’ joke glance at Dean.

He seems to be nervous and you know it because you insisted on coming with team three but this is your life, this is the moment you waited for so long and you will be damned if you do not witness Dick Roman’s fall.

“Hello, boys,” grunting Crowley spits blood onto the floor as Jimmy and Gabriel storm into the room. Azazel drops his knife to grasp for his gun, but Jimmy is faster.

Shooting Azazel’s knee, he grunts as Crowley won’t stop muttering as they didn’t free him sooner.

“Shut up, Crowley. We are here to save your sorry as, little bastard. Now let us handle this asshole and get the fuck out of here.” Cutting the ropes holding Crowley restraint to a chair Gabriel sighs as he still won’t stop talking.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t free Crowley. I would run and try to keep my pitiful life. You’ve got no clue what you got yourself into. Dick Roman will rip you apart.” Azazel snarls through gritted teeth as he holds his bleeding knee.

“Good thing you are not one of us.” Without hesitation, Jimmy shoots Azazel’s face before he checks the door. “Get the little bastard and we can get out of here…”

“Bon voyage…” Using the detonator Gadreel snickers as the house explodes. Flames burst through the windows and the alert of the car Dick’s men hid behind the house goes off.

“Good job Gadreel. I take back what I said. You’re a genius with your explosives. Let get out of here and call Charlie on our way back. Our job is done.”

Nodding Gadreel checks the building using his binoculars. “Looks good, boss. No one got out and it will burn down without causing trouble to its surroundings.”

“Perfect. Let’s head back, Gade. I don’t want to spend more time in this deserted place.”

“Team one and two are on their way back. Everything went according to plan. Relax, Sheriff. They will be back in no time. How about a snack for the kids?” Charlie tries to calm Garth who is nervously pacing around Dean’s office.

“I should be out there and help them taking him down. I need to help them bring the monster down. I am the Sheriff of Lebanon and not a clown.” Garth waves his hands, not wanting to sit back and wait for Dean and the others free his hometown of Dick Roman.

“Garth, calm. Y/N and Dean are already on their way, or rather at Dick’s house. There’s nothing you can do right now than sit and wait. Calm your kids and do not bug me while I must check on Dean’s body cam.”

“Sorry, Charlie. It’s just…frustrating…” Garth moves his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily.

While Mick’s tag team storms into Dick’s house, taking most of his men down Dean, Ketch and you run after them. Mick prefers to wait in the car. He’s someone pulling the strings, not a fighter.

“Search the house. Split into two teams. Tell us when you found Roman. Do not kill him – Y/N wants him alive.” Ketch orders and the men follow his orders.

“You are a drill instructor for sure, Arthur.” Dean snickers as you turn to follow team one.

“In another life, I was one. It seems like ages since I gave orders and was on the other side of the law. Must say, I was a bastard back then too.” Snickering Ketch raises his fist hearing a noise coming from the room they wanted to pass.

Kicking the door open the tag team aims their guns at the man sitting behind his desk. He's not moving a muscle, still, there is a smirk on his lips.

“Ah, the lost daughter comes to me, and she brought her king. Let’s talk about the deal…” Dick is full business, not giving away his heart thunders in his chest.

“Well…talk is cheap…” Without warning you plant a bullet to his forehead. “So much about a deal…”

“What about the others?” Ketch points toward the men thetag team two pushes into the room as you step closer to Dick Roman to kick him off his chair.

“The others…will burn…”

Tags will be added to the reblog.

95 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

The queen of Lebanon - Part 2 – The boy trying to make his father proud

Pairing: Young!Dean x Young!Reader, OFC’s, young Sam Winchester, Jimmy Novak, Mobster!Dean Winchester, Benny Lafitte

Warnings: angst, ‘the family business’, characters death (mentioned), a hint of making-out (only kissing)

A/N: Only the backstory of the reader and Dean in this chapter to get into the story. This is Dean’s side of the backstory this time. The story gets into motion with chapter three.

The queen of Lebanon Masterlist

18 years ago, … a few weeks before your birthday…

Watching you play ‘family’ with Jimmy Novak again Dean squares his jaw. He hates he must watch you from afar, not invited to play your husband.

“You should ask them if you can be the husband this time.” Sam points at you holding a doll in your arms. “Y/N is nice, maybe she agrees.”

“I don’t want to play her husband…” Dean angrily clenches his fists, glancing at you pecking Jimmy’s cheek.

“Do you want to play Jimmy’s husband?” Giggling Sam looks up at his brother not missing the longing look in Dean’s eyes.

“Shut up, bitch…” Grunting Dean looks at Jimmy playing with his new car. One look at his father’s bodyguard adn the man knows he shall get the car from your friend.

Sam is watching Rufus taking the toy from Jimmy’s hands, he can see the boy fights so hard to not cry about the loss. Jimmy is a smart boy, knowing Dean’s father holds power over the whole of Lebanon so he gives Rufus his toy, sniffling silently.

Close to tell his big brother what he did was wrong Sam gasps as you walk toward Dean with murder in your eyes. Arms stiff, fists clutched to your sides you go at Dean like a Pitbull.

“Dean Winchester! Do you have no shame in you?” Screaming on top of your lungs you grab Dean’s hand and his heart beats faster.

Getting the car from Dean’s hands, you slap his cheek harshly. “You have enough toys and money. That’s the only toy Jimmy got in a long time. Shame on you, Dean.”

Wide-eyed, Dean gasps as you run back to your friend’s side, handing him the car. Jimmy sniffles, hugging you tightly as Dean looks away, ashamed about his behavior.

“That was not nice, Dean. Y/N is always nice to everyone. If you want to play with her, ask her. Don’t hurt poor Jimmy.” Sam is disappointed in his big brother. “I’ll rather play with Jimmy…”

Watching his brother run toward you and Jimmy, his big brother sighs heavily. Playing the bad guy didn’t make you look at him, only brought out anger.

----

Nervously standing next to his father Dean looks at you following your father outside.

Dean loves the dress you are wearing. His heart beats faster as you smile at him but then he realizes your smile is for Sammy, not him.

Forcing a cocky grin on his lips Dean walk toward you, smirking. “Hey, dork. I’m here for the party.”

While Sam stays by your side to hand you a gift and wish you a happy birthday Dean runs into the house to tame his wildly beating heart. You look stunning today and he doesn’t know why he can’t take his eyes off you.

Dean’s eyes are glued to you when you enter the house with his brother, smiling as Sam talks to you like a friend should do.

“Do you want to steal my birthday gifts too?” You mock and Dean feels a pang in his heart, but he fakes a smirk, hiding you hurt him with your words.

“I take what I want, dork…” Dean grunts, smirking as you kick his shin and he got your attention.

While you scold him about money, the way he treated Jimmy and other things Dean barely listens. He only looks at you point a finger at him, nostrils flaring, and he wants nothing more than having your attention for the rest of his life.

“Bitch!” Dean blurs out as he thinks that’s the only reaction to your harsh words but then he sees you flinch away and wants to apologize but as so often he doesn’t find the right words.

Sam is taking your side, defending your words while Dean can’t believe he hurt you. Close to tears, you sit onto the floor, sobbing. His features soften and he watches you looking at a picture of your family.

Tears slip down your cheeks as you tell Sam about your brother and the accident taking your mom and Michael away from you. Dean swallows hard, knowing how it feels to lose a mother. He doesn’t’ want to imagine losing his little brother.

“He looks tough…” Sam swoons and Dean must watch you press the picture to your chest, telling Dean and his brother how strong your brother was. Jealousy wells up inside of Dean, hating you depended on your brother.

Dean wants to be the one to protect you, he wants to play your husband, and he wants to hold your hand as Jimmy did weeks ago.

Not knowing how to turn your attention back toward him Dean exclaims he will be taller than your brother and you start to bicker with him once again.

He needs to hold back a smirk as you tell him Michael was way taller than Dean. Dean retorts he will be taller than your brother one day and your heart beats faster as he gets closer with every word.

While fighting with Dean you don’t see Sam leaving the room or remember you were sad not moments ago. Your anger rises, so you call Dean a ‘jerk’ and he talks back.

You want to throw another insult at Dean but then his lips are on yours and you gasp as he makes an odd noise against you. Heart beating a mile in a minute Dean smirks as you squeal, telling him he tastes like chewing gum.

Nothing is important any longer but the fact you were Dean’s first kiss. Proudly puffing his chest, he looks at your lips once again as Jody and Sam storm into the room.

That night Dean barely sleeps, he touches his lips now and then, remembering how you tasted or the way your hair felt between his fingers.

“I’ll play your husband next time…”

----

Twelve years ago, …

Dean tried to get your attention once again by lying he wants to go out with your best friend. Jo is your friend so you would never help a jerk as Dean to get into her pants. He’s a Casanova, always promising a girl to be her boyfriend only to have another one the next day.

While you fight with Dean he smirks, licking his lips as he enjoys being close to you after weeks of not seeing you at all. Dean silently groans, hoping you will not see through his lie.

Watching you yell at him Dean doesn’t listen to your words, ‘idiot’ is the only word he hears before you slap his cheek.

Now he has a reason to touch you, so he pins you to the wall behind you, intimidating you with his size. Gasping you watch him place one large palm next to your head, smirking while he tells you he’s taller as Michael by now.

“Size doesn’t matter, jerk. Michael was a kind guy, didn’t have to scare someone smaller with his size.” You retort and Dean narrows his eyes before he claims your lips. Cradling your face he slips his tongue into your mouth, moaning as he can taste your lip gloss.

“Dean…”

Straighten his back he enjoys your state. Kiss swollen lips, eyes glassy you pant against him. Dean knows you would never admit you liked the kiss, so he walks away, telling you are not that bad at kissing for a little girl.

As always you talk back and find yourself pinned to the couch and Dean’s lips back on yours. This time he takes his time, savoring the moment as his growing bulge presses against your thigh.

One hand wanders to the back of your neck, pressing you closer to him as you fist his shirt, opening your legs for Dean. “I still hate you, jerk…” Whimpering you let Dean move between your legs, to feel the length of his body press against yours.

“You don’t hate me, Baby Girl…” Dean husks and you wonder if his voice was always that low. “I know you don’t…”

His hands in your hair, lips moving against yours Dean melts against your trembling body, knowing he will never be able to resist you.

“Dean…”

“I…dad wants me to marry Lisa Braeden…” Your body goes stiff and you press your hands weakly against Dean’s chest, not knowing why tears start to well up your eyes. You hate Dean after all…

----

Six years ago, …

“Shit, are we sure about that?” Dean looks at his closest friend, cursing as Jimmy confirms someone attacked your family. “What about Jody?”

One shake of Jimmy’s head let Dean fall back into the armchair. “He should have asked us for help instead of making a deal with Crowley. I thought Y/N’s dad is smarter…”

“Was…” Benny curses. “Does she already know?”

“According to Cole her father called her. Telling Y/N to stay away and not to come home for holidays as planned.” Jimmy dares not to meet Dean’s eyes, knowing how he still feels about you. “I think Bobby didn’t want to get involved with you because of Y/N…”

“That was years ago for fuck's sake.” Dean starts pacing, looking at the white stripe at his finger. “I never wanted to break her heart, didn’t even know I could. Dad ordered I have to marry Lisa, I followed as always.” Listening to his boss Benny can hear the bitterness in Dean’s voice.

“Boss, in our business is no place for love or emotions. We should take over Bobby’s empire and try to sell his stuff to give Y/N enough money to finish her study.” Benny’s words make Jimmy cringe.

“Bobby is not even cold, and you want to take over his empire, Benny? That’s low even for a mobster. Let Y/N bury her parents and we can talk to her about giving us her father’s part of Lebanon. She’s still my friend. I’ll pick her up from the airport and bring her to a hotel.” Jimmy offers his help, knowing Benny doesn’t have enough compassion for a foreign woman.

“Sounds like a plan, Jim.” Dean’s voice sounds more confident now, knowing you will be in the same town as he after not seeing you for years. “I want to meet her before the burial. We will talk about taking over her empire after helping her with everything else.”

“Yes, boss.” Benny chuckles as Jimmy looks like he wants to throw up at the thought you must bury all you had left of your family.

Benny silently closes the door and Jimmy meets Dean’s eyes.

“Don’t make this harder for her, Dean. You made your decision years ago. John would’ve let you get away with not marrying Lisa, you know that. Pity you were too chicken to admit your feelings…”

Dean jumps up to grab Jimmy’s jacket, slamming him into the wall.

“There were never feelings on my side. We were stupid teens back then, fooling around. If you ever tell anyone I loved Y/N you are dead meat…”

Dropping his friend to the floor Dean turns his back on Jimmy, not wanting to remember the hurting in your eyes…

Jimmy smirks as he walks toward the door. “I never said anything about love, Dean…”

in reblog

#spn #spn fanfiction #dean winchester #the queen of lebanon masterlist #MOBSTER!AU #mobster au #mobster!dean x reader #angst #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #mobster!dean x you #mobster!dean winchester x reader #mobster!dean x mobster!reader #young!dean #young!dean x young!reader

204 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

The queen of Lebanon - Part 10 – The queen of Lebanon

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Mobster!Reader, Mobster!Sam, Arthur Ketch, Cole Trenton

Warnings: angst, ‘the family business’, torture, violence, blood, betrayal, love-hate relationship, smut, unprotected sex, comforting, fluff

The queen of Lebanon Masterlist

“First things first.” Clearing his throat Dean smirks. “I finally made her see I am the man for her, so Y/N agreed to become my wife. This means she will be not only my queen; she will become the queen of Lebanon.”

While Sam and Jimmy eye you warily, waiting for the shoe to drop the others congratulate you and Dean. Your face is stoic, not what anyone would expect from a soon to be bride.

“You sure about this?” Sam is the one to ask you the question swirling in your mind since you made the deal with Dean. “We will fight back together, either way, Y/N. There is no need to agree to an arranged marriage.”

“Sam.” Giving your friend a cracked smile you hold back the tears. “We need to show anyone that Dean Winchester rules Lebanon and that I am his queen. No one will dare to set a foot into our town again.”

“True but…” Leaning closer Sam searches your face. “At what cost?”

“Sammy, I love you like a brother but don’t talk low about my soon to be husband. Dean is…” Laughing you watch Dean exclaim you are his Sweetheart. “An annoying son of a bitch but…”

“I know, Y/N. Just don’t get your heart broken again.” Smiling up at Sam you can’t see his brother's features darken or the way he clenches his jaw.

“Let me tame your brother before he tells anyone I will carry his heir soon or shit like that.” Smirking you walk toward Dean, grasping for his hand to lead him toward the back of the room.

“Dean, it’s time…”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to watch. Let Ketch and me do this.” Glancing at your ringless finger Dean swallows his pride and kneels in front of you. “I know this is not the time or place to do it, but I always loved you and the thought of becoming your husband fills me with pride and joy.”

“Dude, are you going to cry.” Chuckling you glance at the ring Dean gets out of his jacket and your breath hitches in your throat. “That’s the ring I liked…”

“I…I bought it back then. I swear I wanted to run away with you and forget about the business and dad. Sammy was at Stanford, wanted a new life and I…I wanted you.” Dean’s fingers shake as he puts the ring on your finger.

“Dad, he threatened you and your family, told me he will rather kill all of you then watching me marry you…”

“Dean…” For the first time in ages, you see the young and loving boy in Dean. “We…we lost so many years…”

“Baby Girl, please let me show you I am still the man you fell in love with.” Nodding you wipe away a few tears. “I will come with you, Dean. I need answers and only Cole can give them to me.”

You got used to blood, death and the smell of gunpowder but seeing your ‘brother’ restrained to a chair while Ketch cuts into his flesh make your stomach churn.

If not for your father and Jody, you would run out of the room and let Ketch do his job, but you need to make sure everyone knows it was you making Cole pays for his crime against your family.

“I will ask you this one last time. Where is Dick Roman? What is his endgame and is Crowley still alive?” Dean circles Cole while you try to focus on asking questions. “You can make this easier for you…”

“Easier…” Spitting blood into your face Cole laughs at your words. “You will make sure I suffer for killing your parents. I know you can be unforgiving; Y/N. Killing John Winchester is one of the best examples. You hunted him like a deer…”

“You could’ve stopped me anytime, Cole. You knew it wasn’t John killing dad and Jody. He killed my mother and Michael still…” Wiping the blood away you look at Dean. “Maybe I wouldn’t have killed John if only I knew he didn’t kill my whole family.”

“Lies! Only knowing it was him killing your beloved blood-related brother made you forget about morals and living a normal life, Y/N. I was right about you and me not being able to live the apple-pie life.” Cole scoffs, not seeing his fault.

“I was ready to live a normal life, Cole. Only my parent’s death made me come back. Without you letting Dick Roman ruining my life, I could have a husband, a family and maybe even children…”

“Just lie to yourself, sister…” Backhanding Cole your features harden. “Never call me like that again, worthless scum. Bobby Singer, my father took you in, loved you like a son and you killed him!”

Dean needs to hold you back, needs all your strength to keep you under control. “Sweetheart let Ketch handle this. You know he will get all the answers we will need to bring Roman down. Just come with me…”

“I need to…he killed my parents, Dean.” Furious you fight Dean’s hold on you, ready to kill Cole with your hands. “Cole will pay for betraying the queen of Lebanon…”

While Dean uses force to drag you out of the room he nods at Ketch who smirks. “Well, Cole. You are all mine now, I guess.”

The door closes behind you and Cole knows the last moments of his life will be painful and full of regret…

“It’s done…” While Ketch places a little box onto Dean’s desk he waits for your orders. “I let him suffer, boss. I swear, no other man ever suffered like Cole Trenton. Your father was a good friend of mine, always treated me with respect.”

“Ketch…” Clearing your throat you shake the thought away you let someone kill the last remnant of family you had left. “Thank you for your determination, Arthur. My father always appreciated your help.”

“Did you make him talk?” Arthur scoffs, tossing his phone onto Dean’s desk. “I recorded every word he said. Between groaning, screaming and begging me to stop he told me everything we need to know, Dean.”

“Is Crowley alive?”

“According to Cole, and believe me, he wasn’t able to lie to me any longer, Crowley is alive but held by one of his man, Azazel in his favorite house,” Ketch explains Dick Roman wants to force Crowley to agree to a bond between their clans as you glance at the phone.

“Means we need to strike and get Crowley out before that short bastard agrees to save his ass,” Dean grumbles glancing at the box on his desk. “What’s that?”

“A finger…” Smirking Ketch leans closer. “I thought we could send it to Dick Roman after we freed Crowley. We should make sure that bastard knows we won’t hold back either.”

“Do it…” Choking out the words you nod at Dean before you leave the room to take deep breaths.

Days ago, you trusted Cole with your life, believed he is on your side no matter what and now he’s a traitor...

“You okay…?” Watching you step out of the bathroom, only wearing one of his button-ups Dean searches your face. “Stupid question,” Dean mumbles, glancing at you walking toward him.

Your hand slides over his chest up to his neck to bring him down for a messy kiss. “Y/N…”

Ignoring Dean’s question, your screaming mind or your aching heart you slip your tongue into his mouth. “Fuck me, Dean…”

“We should talk…” Biting his lip, trapping it between your teeth you fist his hair. “Baby Girl.”

“Fuck me, Dean and make me forget everything else than you inside of me…”

Pressed into his mattress, your legs slung around his waist you cling to Dean’s body. He’s relentless thrusting into you, making your body jolt with every snap of his hips.

Your mind clouded with lust, you lock eyes with Dean, make sure he can’t look away as you cry out his name every time he hits the sweet spot he got to know so well.

“Baby Girl…” Voice hoarse, lower than ever he hisses when you scratch your nails down his back.

There will be angry red lines, but Dean doesn’t mind, instead, he bites your neck hard enough to leave another mark and you clench harder around him.

“Harder…make me forget…” Desperate to cut out the memories of Cole’s betrayal you get lost in Dean, in his scent and the way he fills you with every thrust.

When you buck against him, cry out in pleasure Dean buries his face into your neck, kissing it softly this time as his cum fills you. “I am sorry, Sweetheart. I know this is…”

“Dean…” Meeting your eyes Dean smiles as you caress his cheek. “Thank you for making me forget everything else and…” Laughing you lick your lips. “The hot sex…”

“Winchester at your service, my queen.” Pecking your lips Dean moans as you slide your fingers through his hair. “I’ll do anything for you, Y/N.”

Humming you move your hands over his back, let him hide his face in your neck, still not able to part from you. “I love you, Y/N. Always have…”

Tensing Dean forgets how to breathe for a moment when you whisper something in his ear. “I love you too, Dean…”

The queen of Lebanon

@alyssaforever2671, @xcastielbabyangelface, @bitchwhytho, @rosiehayes

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @sandlee44, @strayrosesbloom, @notyourtypicalrose, @thewinchesterco, @marvelfansworld @hobby27, @gh0stgurl, @flamencodiva, @jay-and-dean, @voltage-my2dlove, @spnhollis, @chonisberonica, @wittysunflower, @supernaturalenchanted, @shikshinkwon, @yolobloggers, @hhiggs, @laxe-from-outer-space, @ilovefanfic86, @linki-locks11, @eggingamazinglove, @trumpettay, @fandom-imagines1, @thenamelesschibi, @waywardbaby, @straycuties9, @drakelover78, @stuckys-whore, @zxph-yr, @i-love-superhero, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @deepmuffinspymaker, @katsav17, @heyitscam99, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @neii3n, @exo-nova, @cocklesbelli, @echoesofpassion, @lauravic, @shatteredabby, @deanmonandnegansbitch, @sea040561, @lemondropirwin, @lonewolf471, @wronglanemendes, @juniorhuntersam, @helpmeluci, @goodgodimaweirdperson, @shadowkat-83, @alltimesamantha, @officialmarvelwhore, @meganywinchester, @miraclesoflove, @maniacproffesor, @hollymac79, @kayla-2000, @gracefultrenchcoat494, @babygirls-fav, @spnwoman, @amiquette, @alexoloughlinlover32, @geekofmanyforms, @jessica-marsh09, @spnficgirl, @shut-themoonscone, @thequeenreaders, @countrygal17a, @atomicfandombomb, @kteelou, @soryuwifeyxx, @kricketc28, @defenderrosetyler, @shortwinchester, @maybesomedaygayyyy, @tmiships4life, @sabascio, @that-place-called-middle-earth, @the-broken-angel-13, @bunnybaby89, @pandabiiissh, @maddiedott, @lilulo-12, @theoneandonlymelol, @mblaqgi, @clawsandshotguns, @justsomedreaming, @cassiopeia-barrow, @its-the-timey-wimey-winchesters, @mscarter213, @jo-like-josette, @mep6811, @prettydeaneyes, @rvgrsbrns, @deanwanddamons, @tearsforhan, @skittlebittz @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2, @supernatural-bellawinchester, @negans-lucille-tblr, @deans-baby-momma, @thefaithfulwriter, @squirrelnotsam, @roonyxx, @neerness, @deansgirl-1968, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester, @butifulsoul125, @lyinginthegingerlocks, @20gayneen, @janicho88, @woodworthti666, @thevelvetseries, @dreaminemz, @akshi8278, @midnightsilver16830, @mrspeacem1nusone, @ria132love, @caligraphee, @the-witch-in-silence, @justanotherwinchester, @multisuperfandom, @jason-todd-squad, @jadesupernatural, @psychicforest, @luciathewinchestergirl, @magssteenkamp, @palefiregiver, @tranquility-or-chaos, @jxackles, @michellemxndes, @addictedtofictionalcharacters, @gabifernandessn

105 notes · View notes