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aylacavebear · 20 days

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Dimensional Shift - Chapter 7 S4E3-6

Story Summary: Maria was just a regular girl, worked at a gas station, wrote fanfic, and loved Supernatural. She even created her own supernatural creature for her writings. When the aurora borealis comes to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, one Halloween night, everything changes for her in ways she never expected. Will she be able to navigate this new world she's thrown into?

Word Count: 3688

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will eventually be 18+!

Warnings: Angst, some Fluff/Comfort, Alcoholism.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 7 - S4E3-E6

(Sep. 20/08 - Oct. 28/08)

Maria stayed out of the next case, knowing that this would be when Castiel would come to Dean in his dreams and then send him back in time to see what happened between his mother and the yellow-eyed demon Azazel.

After which Dean would be confronting Sam about being on demon blood and working with Ruby. Then they’d have a Rurguru case, which was when Sam would choose to stop drinking the demon blood all on his own. She also had no desire to watch Dean flirt shamelessly with the waitress when they’d deal with the shapeshifter at the Oktoberfest.

She told the boys to be safe and that they could handle it, but if they needed anything, she and Bobby were there and only a phone call away. After the boys left, Maria filled Bobby in, swearing him to secrecy because, in her words, “This needed to happen a specific way.” Bobby wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed.

“Kid, they should know more than what you’ve told ‘em,” Bobby sighed after she explained some things.

“I can’t risk changing too much, though. I know they both miss her, and I don’t know another way to bring her back,” Maria practically mumbled.

“But do they really need to go through all that crap?” he asked, not completely sure how it all fit together.

She sighed, staring at the coffee table, “Over the time that passes, the two of them learn things on their own and it helps their bond eventually get stronger. Those two would do anything for each other. Even Cas ends up being family, but he does some stupid shit too.”

Bobby sipped his whiskey as he eyed Maria momentarily, concern etched into the lines of his weathered face, “How are you holding up?”

She shifted in her seat, her gaze flickering to the floor before meeting Bobby’s eyes, “Honestly, it’s both weird and cool, being here. I fell in love with all of the show's characters. It’s why I wrote fanfic. I just never thought I’d actually end up here,” she chuckled dryly, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her with a mix of sympathy and understanding, “Just know, I still see you like my daughter. You can talk to me about anything,” he tried to reassure her.

“I know, and I appreciate it. I just don’t know how to act around the boys sometimes,” Maria sighed.

Bobby chuckled, “Well, the you from here has had a crush on Dean since she was about thirteen. Swore me to secrecy back then. I’m gonna guess you probably have more than a crush.”

Her cheeks warmed as a deep blush appeared, and she was thankful neither of the brothers was there, “Yeah, that would go over really well. The girl from another dimension is in love with what used to be a fictional character in her world,” she said fairly sarcastically, then sighed and looked back down at the table. “He’d laugh at me.”

Bobby sighed, not quite sure how to say what he was thinking about, “You could always just be blunt about it. Don’t live with regrets, kid.”

She knew exactly what he meant. Bobby had regrets, most of them having to do with his deceased wife and choosing never to have kids himself. He’d broken her heart and then had to kill her three days later due to her getting possessed by a demon. She debated telling him he should get an anti-possession tattoo, but that would have changed far too much.

“Dean isn’t the kind to settle down, Bobby. He likes his “freedom”,” she replied, rolling her eyes and putting the word freedom in air quotes.

He eyed you for a minute before he continued, “He may be an idjit, but he has a good heart. I think he might surprise you if you were honest with him.” After sipping his whiskey, he realized something, “Is that why you didn’t go with them?”

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with him, “You try to watch someone you love flirt with every girl but you. Can we talk about something else, please?”

Bobby sighed, deciding he’d try to figure out a way to help her, but kept that to himself for now. “Then, while you’re here and not on a case with those two, you’ll train. That way, I don’t have to worry ‘bout you so much when you do go out with them.”

“Thanks,” she replied, giving him a thankful smile.

During that month, she spent a lot of time practicing movements, using her Touched abilities to get the hang of them better. It was the training she needed to reacquaint herself with what the character from her fanfic had been doing since her powers manifested. One thing she was having the hardest time with was feeling so alone.

She was a fangirl and had been for over a year, and now she was in her favorite show with a fictional character she’d gone and fallen in love with. She also figured this entire situation had to be weird for all three of them.

When she slept, memories of “her past here” played through her mind, and she began missing the man who was her father here. She also got memories of the times she had hung out with the brothers, Bobby, and even with John.

Bobby made sure to reacquaint her with how to shoot a gun. Her body knew what it was doing, but she had to grasp the feeling of it when she pulled the trigger. Each gun felt different. She didn’t want to be afraid of them, so she managed to stay serious while Bobby taught her.

Castiel couldn’t infiltrate Maria’s dreams due to her being a Touched and having the protection of Bastet by a birthmark or, more, a brand of a small, one-inch black cat mark on the back of her left shoulder. Most monsters couldn’t use their energy powers on her due to that. It did depend on how powerful they were. Of course, she wasn’t invulnerable.

When Dean got Ghost Sickness, Sam called Bobby in for some help, so Maria tagged along. She stayed in the motel room with Dean while Bobby went to help Sam. Dean didn’t have long left, a couple of hours if he was lucky, and the hallucinations were bad at this point. Maria did her best to keep him distracted but couldn’t when the sheriff showed up, worse off than Dean was.

Maria’s blood could only heal so much, and this was not one of those things. Even though she tried, cutting her finger and dripping blood into Dean’s wound that he had scratched into his arm, sadly, it had no effect. All she could do was hold him as he held his chest, gripping where his heart was. She knew he wasn’t meant to die here, but being a part of this was hard for her, far harder than watching it on the show.

“Bobby and Sam will fix this, I promise,” she tried to tell him, even if he was in too much pain to hear her.

Then, out of the blue, he was fine, and Maria let out a sigh of relief. The blood she had dripped into his wound now healed his injuries fairly quickly. Dean looked up at her, slightly confused as to why she was holding him. He got to his feet and then helped Maria to hers.

“Thanks for trying at least,” he told her with that smile smirk of his.

“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t at least try?” she replied, smiling more with one side of her lips than the other, not quite a smirk though.

This was the first time the two of them had been alone since she had arrived in their world. Dean was relaxed as he headed over to the fridge, grabbing himself a beer and chuckling slightly. Maria, on the other hand, felt nervous and anxious around him. Keeping her composure took quite a lot, but Dean noticed the smile she couldn’t completely hide, as well as the emotions in her eyes.

“Well, I appreciate it,” he finally told her before he took a drink.

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt as she went over and sat on the edge of the bed. Her nerves felt as though they were on edge. Maria knew there was more to Dean than just his outer appearance. But dear God, that outer appearance was something she’d fantasized over on numerous occasions.

He was the epitome of rugged charm. With broad shoulders and a sturdy build, he exuded an aura of strength and confidence that drew people in effortlessly. Along his chiseled jawline was two-day-old scruff since he hadn’t bothered to shave, accentuating his rugged good looks. Then, there were his piercing green eyes. They held a hint of mischief, always ready with a smirk or a cocky grin that sent hearts racing.

Dean had the most expressive eyebrows that could convey a range of emotions, from determination to vulnerability. He moved with a relaxed, self-assured swagger, every step exuding a magnetic charisma that made it impossible not to be captivated by. From his leather jacket from his father to the worn-out boots, he was the embodiment of any girl's wet dream.

“Want a beer, Sweetheart,” he asked, that damned smirk plastered on his lips again.

“I’d say sure, but beer doesn’t do anything. It’d kinda be a waste to drink it,” she chuckled, hoping he hadn’t noticed the blush that had crept into her cheeks. She also hoped he hadn’t caught her staring at him, again.

He chuckled, “I’d offer you whiskey, but I don’t have any here. We can get some at the store down the block if you want.”

She tilted her head slightly, wondering if he had something else on his mind, but was too nervous to ask at the moment. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure Bobby and Sam will be back soon.”

Dean leaned against the counter, sipping his beer, occasionally looking over at her, but hadn’t said anything. She could tell he was in his head, lost in his thoughts while still paying attention to everything. It was moments like this that his personality captivated her. He had the kindest heart and the sharpest tongue that cut with a pain that was capable of pushing someone away forever. Just as their eyes locked, Sam walked through the motel room door.

“You two okay?” he asked, concerned for his brother still.

“Yup. Hunky-dory,” Dean replied, sporting that playful smirk of his again.

Then, the three of them drove back out to the factory. Maria had been lost in her thoughts on the drive. Dean kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror, which his brother did notice, but neither of them said anything to her. They met back up with Bobby, and after Dean parked, he pulled four beers out of the green cooler, but Bobby declined. Maria leaned on the trunk of the Impala, thinking about the events that were about to play out soon when Sam pulled her from her thoughts.

“So, Maria, you comin' with us, or heading back with Bobby?” Sam asked, glancing over at her.

“I could do either, but it’d probably be more fun going with the two of you,” she chuckled playfully.

Dean raised an eyebrow, as did Bobby, “Bobby can’t be that boring,” Dean stated, that smile smirk on his face again, which made Maria roll her eyes, but in a playful way.

“Well, if I’m gonna be here, in this world, I might as well get to hunting,” she told him.

The week she’d spent at Bobby’s while Dean and Sam were working out their issues, she had begun practicing with her abilities, feeling how her body had moved. It was almost muscle memory for her, which she found only slightly odd.

She had also been having more dreams that consisted of memories of her life in this world, things that her character may have dreamt about in her fanfic. Maria was done questioning going back or even attempting to find a way back.

She’d already decided she was going to stay, and no one was going to change her mind on the matter. This whole thing reminded her of a few different anime shows she had watched where a player got sucked into the game they had been playing.

Maria’s words made Dean chuckle, “Alright, Sweetheart, but you’re in the back seat.”

She rolled her eyes before grabbing her bag from Bobby’s back seat and putting it in the Impala’s trunk. Then she hugged Bobby, promising to check in with him while she was out with the boys. Maria had gotten better about Dean’s scent not affecting her as badly as it had in the beginning.

Her main reason for going with them was because she wanted to see the angels, knowing they were going to show up. She’d already told Bobby about the seals that were being broken, telling him what books were going to be the most helpful. Maria had also gotten more confident over that week, smiling as she walked over to Dean and Sam.

“Ready when you two are,” she told them with a smile before climbing in the back seat of the Impala, getting comfortable in the middle.

Dean, Sam, and Bobby looked at each other, all exchanging looks while signing to each other.

Bobby: Keep an eye on her. I don’t know if she’s really ready for this yet.

Sam: We will, and we know. She seems eager, though.

Bobby: She’s been training the whole time the two of you were gone.

Dean: Really?

Bobby: Yeah, really. Just watch her. I worry.

Dean: She’s family Bobby, and our old Maria was a damn good hunter. We’ll keep an eye on her, we promise.

Sam: Yeah, Bobby, we promise.

They said their farewells before Bobby got in his car and drove off. Sam and Dean exchanged another look before they got in the Impala. She knew they had just over a week before Sam would find the next case. This was one of those timeframes the show hadn’t added for the fans to watch. She was curious as to what the two would end up doing.

She stared out the window at first, just watching the scenery pass by while Dean drove. Her mind wandered again, thinking about the future events and how pissed he was going to end up being with her.

“So, since you know the future, Sweetheart, what’s our next case?” Dean teased her playfully, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

Maria rolled her eyes, “You’ve got roughly ten days before the next one comes up.”

“Didn’t answer my question,” he sighed.

She clenched her jaw, still looking out the window, “It’s in Red Wing, Minnesota, okay? But nothing is gonna show up for a case till around the twenty-ninth.”

Sometimes, she hated her memory. She’d done so much research in her world on locations that weren’t easily found when it came to towns that weren’t listed on regular fan sites. This had been one of those that took far more research than she was willing to admit, putting together bits and pieces of information and asking numerous other fans on several chat sites.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Dean smirked, feeling accomplished that he got something out of her.

“So, what are we gonna do for just over a week?” Sam thought out loud.

They normally didn’t have time to themselves, and now they knew they had a week off of hunting monsters or dealing with a case. Maria was pretty sure what Dean would want to do, and she didn’t want to think about it.

“Well, I say we go find a nice small town near there, get a couple motel rooms, and relax,” Dean said happily.

As long as my room is on the other side of the building entirely, Maria thought to herself.

“Sure. It’s been a long while since we’ve had time to relax and do nothing,” Sam chuckled, looking forward to it now, too.

The drive wasn’t horribly long, just under half a day, but they got in sometime near three in the morning. When the brothers went in to get a couple of rooms, she followed them after grabbing her bag. Dean wanted her room next to theirs, but she asked for one as far away from theirs as possible, making sure it had two beds. She had a feeling Sam wasn’t going to want to spend much time in the room with Dean or would end up getting kicked out due to Dean needing some private time.

“What was that all about, Sweetheart?” Dean asked, trying to catch up with her, “Don’t want to share a room with me now?”

She rolled her eyes, “I know what “relaxing” means to you, and I’d prefer not to hear it.”

He smirked, which Sam saw, and he shook his head, knowing his brother was an idiot, having no clue why she really didn’t want to be near his room.

“Oh, and Sam, you’re welcome to bunk in my room, when Dean picks brings a chick back,” she added, making her way to her room on the far side of the motel building.

“Thanks,” Sam chuckled as he and Dean headed to their room.

Maria locked her door behind her before tossing her bag on the bed, grabbing some fresh clothes, and taking a shower. It wasn’t the best water pressure, but it did the job. She threw her hair up in a ponytail and went to the closest corner store, purchasing five bottles of whiskey. Her excuse to the cashier was that she was hosting a party, which he bought.

She hadn’t planned on drinking that night. She just wanted it on hand for the next day. So, when she got back, she tucked it away and out of sight, then crawled into bed. Her dreams were again of memories of this world and her character's past, things she’d never added to her fanfic.

It was a long week for her, and she mostly hid from Dean more than anything. Sam spent several nights out of the week in her room on the other bed, as Dean had done exactly what she knew he would.

“How long are you gonna not tell him how you feel?” Sam asked on the next to last day.

“He’d laugh at me, Sam. I mean, seriously. A girl from a world where he’s just a fictional character, and my dumb ass had to go and fall in love with him,” she retorted with a humorless chuckle.

“He might take it as a compliment?” he replied, raising an eyebrow

“He’s also not the settling down type. He likes his freedom. Then there's the way he always worries about losing those he cares about most. That somehow being close to him puts them in danger,” she sighed, then groaned, “He’s so stupid in that though. Any person he’s helped is in danger if a monster wanted to get to him.”

“Looks like you know him pretty well,” Sam chuckled, realizing that just because she looked like “their” Maria, she was very different, in all the best ways.

She rubbed her face with her hands, mildly frustrated, “He’d think it was creepy. I could probably tell him what he was thinking most of the time.”

“Not sure I’d want to know what he was thinking most of the time,” he laughed.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t know,” she sighed.

The alcohol was long gone at this point, and she knew they’d be heading out the following day for the next case. She again offered the other bed to Sam for the night in case Dean picked up yet another girl at the bar he’d been spending far too much time in, at least in her opinion. He did take her up on that offer when he saw Dean’s car gone, yet again, around dinner time.

Maria and Sam had pizza for dinner while watching a movie when they heard the Impala pull up at the motel. She didn’t even need to look out the window to know he had another girl with him. She could hear the woman giggling after the car doors closed.

“You’re only torturing yourself,” Sam sighed, hating seeing her sad like she was now.

“Not like I can just turn off my hearing,” she grumbled, turning up the TV.

She barely slept that night, unable to get him out of her head, so the following day, she looked as tired as she felt when she and Sam joined Dean at the Impala. Dean just watched her, attempting to read her expression, body language, and what she wasn’t saying.

“Never saw you at the bar. You into Sam now?” Dean asked, leaning against the driver’s door.

“He’s like a brother to me, and I’m not into family like that,” she snapped, not looking at him.

“Geeze, Sweetheart. Sounds like you just need to get laid,” he teased.

“Dude? Seriously?” Sam questioned him from the opposite side of the car.

“What?” he asked, acting innocent before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Maria ignored him on the drive, sitting behind Sam and keeping her gaze out the window. She was still fighting with herself on how to handle future events and deal with the man she loved, having no clue how she felt toward him. Knowing him the way she did, she knew how he was going to react to numerous things, especially since if she shared the information, he’d stop it. Her only thought was that she wanted the brothers to have their mom in their life again, and one family dinner that they never got. The one day where their dad got pulled from the past, but that was a great many years from now.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 8 - Coming Soon

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spneveryseason · 2 years

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Results of the Supernatural Origins Survey: Part 2 of 2

Part 1

Part 2 has finally arrived! I hope you guys enjoy it and thanks again so much for participating.

Have you watched the entire show?

Pretty straightforward here: most people have watched the entire show, meaning here every single episode. However, significant portion (35%) have not. This encapsulates people who have missed and episode here and there, who’ haven’t seen entire seasons, and have barely seen any episodes at all.

Your relevant comments are below:

when i think about supernatural i generally think about seasons 1 to 9/10, because i stopped watching for a while after that but eventually got back into it. so my answers may be skewed in favor of those seasons? if that makes sense? like i love the general aesthetic of supernatural...... when it's about the earlier seasons. i am trying to be kinder and learn to love the later seasons but it's hard! anyways thanks for the survey it was fun <3

I’m curious to see if there are others like me who came into the show with Destiel goggles on, but quickly realized Sam is thee only character and then lost interest in Dean/the Big Ship. Also would like to add that I started with season 13 because I wanted to meet Jack and didn’t think I would end up watching the rest of the show, and I still feel a little guilty about it lmao

It's got a good foundation but it's inconsistent both in worldbuilding and characterization. I guess that's why fandom can just take off with it and make it fantastic

If you answered no, how much have you watched?

This answer was a little more varied, but for the most part people stopped watching up season 9/10. Second is up to season 12, third is the random scenes/episodes, and fourth is up to season 14. The specific seasons mentioned are generally seen as the weakest in the show’s run, so it makes sense that these are the spots where people would get frustrated enough to stop. Also represented here are people who watched the show in a non linear and scattered format.

Your comments are below:

The show was great until season 13. After that point, it lost its footing by trying to placate a vocal but misguided segment of the fandom. Jack was a stupid character that ruined the show. His story eclipsed the Winchesters' story, and that should never have happened. That ridiculous "confession" in episode 15x18 was just to satisfy the Destiel people. And the finale was a horrible disappointment lying squarely on Andrew Dabb's shoulders.

Hope I helped even though I technically havent watched it. Also, absolute worst theory for me personally is the Chuck Wins theory bc that means my baby boy Jack is being puppeted around hurting his family and I CANNOT take that. Also if they had framed the finale as a tragedy instead of a happy ending it would've made more sense.

I gave this show so many chances and it continued to disappoint every time. In the end all my interaction with the show is second hand/fan revisionism

I watched up to season 9 and between how that went and the descriptions i’ve seen of the later seasons, I’m not going to watch the rest.

What do you like most about the show?

Pretty clear winner here: what most people like about the show is the depth of characters, aka the emotional attachement to the characters themselves. Second was the platonic relationships, and third was the general aesthetic. This also tracks: the show’s characters inspired multiple emotional reactions from the audience, and many tended to get attached to one character or the other. Some of the write ins even specified characters that respondents enjoyed. This also implies that people stuck around the show primarily to see the characters and not for the plot or general themes.

Here’s what you guys said:

I really enjoyed how the show introduced one plot point (Chuck is God and he has written/controlled basically everything that has happened so far), then it made me shift my entire view of the point of the series. There's the old idea of the show (brothers fighting evil and saving the world and family) but that's Chuck's back cover blurb of his book summarizing the story. The real plot is underneath the control and puppeteering. It's The Truman Show. It's about these people who go from thinking they have free will, thinking they achieved it, then discover that they were still being watched and controlled. So they go on a journey to look God in the eyes and earn their first taste of free will in their entire lives. I'm just sad that most of them die before they can enjoy the free will or discover who they are once free. It felt like Truman slipped and broke his neck before he could step into the real world and that's how it ended.

While I think the show is terrible at following through on metaplots or character development, I am constantly in awe of how fantastic they consistently were with setups. Whether they show you a character in one scene and make them feel fully fleshed out or if they're starting out a new storyline and it seems so creative and laden with possibilities. Yes, they usually resolve it far too quickly (or with what feels like the most mediocre option) but the creativity behind the concepts is always a genuine source of joy for me.

things i love about the show? boy am i glad u asked!!!! i love sam winchester!!!!!! sam is why i wake up every day and sam is why i go to bed every night, sam is my reason for everything i do. i only apply for college bcs sam would want me to. everything i believe in is due to him. i love him. i am off to listen to my sam playlist now (also i am aware this paragraph implies that i am a destiel hater as per usual tumblr culture, but i am not. some of us are samgirls [gn] AND hellers. we just have the range)

I am incredibly deep into the complex jungian thought process meta for supernatural and although you can kind of lose yourself in the context of that and how much it actually matters, it got me interested in a lot of things i would've otherwise never learned about. I joke all the time and yes truly supernatural is deeply, deeply flawed even at it's core, but saying its a bad show as a reason to degrade myself (as alot of people do) doesn't feel right. I do legit love engaging with supernatural.

i unfortunately am very interested in something that the show itself fell flat on and nobody in the fandom seems very interested in, which is the lore. like we get what they read aloud when planning to gank the motw sure but i'm talking about the bitches we interact with constantly that's right angels and demons which we know actually surprisingly little about idk i might write up my theories one day for a podt that gets like. two notes

Supernatural is a mid-tier show in terms of being a CW drama but is top-tier for being good and camp. I like the serious emotional aspects esp wrt the brothers but would not be this into it if it wasn't batshit insane fun too

This show has really stuck with me because of how real the characters are and how easy you can connect to them and the story contains every genre and there’s always more to go with the story. This really was a show

I like meta analysis that breaks down where exactly characters actions don’t seem like ‘them’ because writers didn’t understand them, but where fans still find some way to make it coherent within canon.

I love how unintentionally and intentionally messed up so much of this show is. The relationships, the consent issues, the unanswered question of what a monster really is, oooh boy are they a lot!

It's got a good foundation but it's inconsistent both in worldbuilding and characterization. I guess that's why fandom can just take off with it and make it fantastic

Honestly one of my favorite parts of the show currently is the brain rot I get if I think too hard about the narrative potential that was never carried out.

I enjoy the Supernatural the fandom creates and manifests and writes. The actual show… hurts.

What do you hate most about the show?

What most people hated most about the show was the problematic narrative context, aka the elements of the show that had racist, homophobic, or misogynistic elements. Writing and plot were also popular choices. I believe the first part is pretty self explanatory, while the second is no surprise as the writing is well known to be disjointed and a little lost, especially later on in the show’s run.

Relevant comments below:

Sorry, this is a downer, feel free to ignore, lol. I watched the show in a vacuum for like 6 or 7 years, and it was fun. The fandom cult of the show that grew out of control as the show neared its end almost ruined the show for me. I hated the pandering of the writers to shippers, which is embarrassing and nonsensical from a plot perspective, and downright insulting to certain characters. I hate the obvious favouritism of Dean after Sera Gamble left the show, and the bizarre sidelining of Sam that began in season 10 and became ridiculous by season 15 - so ridiculous that people were baffled when Sam was the one to outlive Dean. I hate the demonisation (ha) of Sam for adopting a traditionally feminine role in TV and film, and I hate that he's still mocked or belittled for suffering r*pe, gaslighting and emotional abuse - often by characters beloved in the fandom. Basically, half the people who watched the show consumed it so differently to how it was supposed to be consumed I felt pity seeing their reactions every week. Like watching someone try to eat a sandwich via their rear end. Sad and weird and ruining my experience. Anyway. Stan Sam Winchester

will die mad that sam's addiction wasn't fully realized and i take it personally. i miss what the show was and mourn what it could've been. i used to see myself in sam but i had too much self esteem to keep watching him be victimized and pushed around and his own free will be like.. that. and i used to really like dean but he became so boring and controlling and close-minded and never learned and they didnt feel like brothers anymore. they felt more like cardboard cut outs and no longer like,, individuals. the thesis of the show started feeling like 'if your family is making you uncomfortable you grin and bear it and dont leave, dont change anything, because they are your family, and your family comes first, even before yourself and your own desires and aspirations', and as a gay mexican raised in a religious household that shit is so stinkyyyyy.

I really loved this show for a long time because of Sam's story and his connection to feeling monstrous but honestly the show never fully commits to this and slowly it becomes a deeply tragic story about abuse with the problem of the writers having no awareness of this reality and being able to deal with it effectively. everytime i though the show could go somewhere with sam's trauma or the fracture in Sam and deans relationship as an extension of John's mistreatment of them or even become a horror show where dean and sam's codependency is exposed/utilized as a psychological element. it just never happens. plus the show never crucified sam. lame.

Tbh my least favourite bit was whatever went on bts after/ around Covid. Misha was there but then he wasn’t. He was just breaking the law(?!) for a camping trip. The fact that there was 3 (THREE) montages and an extra ad break in the finale of the longest running sci fi show on American tv. Because they cut out Cas. They cut out the queer because god forbid we actually see ourselves in their all American Kansas red-blooded hunters.

Idk I kind of hate how the plot arcs are kind of abandoned in the later seasons and how the characterizations are not followed through, but in the earlier seasons I thought they did that really well and that’s one of the reasons why I like(ed) it so much.

Still mad about: the special children storyline being dropped/Sam losing his powers, the not-all-monsters are evil not being explored enough, Ruby 1.0 is the superior Ruby and more people should know that, MEG GETTING FRIDGED FOR NOTHING

if some writers & showrunners had stronger skills, cared a bit more abt the show and it’s stories, and cared less abt alienating/pissing off certain groups of viewers i think spn could have been much more cohesive and impactful

Supernatural had such brilliant ideas and plot points they consistently overlooked to drive a simpler narrative that was more able to fill the white man hero complex. It wounds me deeply.

Honestly, I just wish spn fleshed out it's main characters more. Dean has a shit ton of conflicting background information and Sam just doesn't have enough. Sam just deserved better tbh.

I wish I lived in the world where the supernatural writing room was not oddly preoccupied with how their soapy drama cw tv show appealed to white conservative men.

Do you enjoy participating in fandom?

When it comes to fandom, a majority of people enjoy participating only in their specific niche. However, people saying yes to general fandom participation was a pretty close second! This tracks as well, because the participants of the survey are in the fandom and are more likely to enjoy being there if they still engage to this degree.

Comments below:

The thing about Supernatural is- it’s an okay show on a surface level, as casual watching. Go down a level, start paying attention to the acting choices and stuff and it becomes frickin awesome. Another level down, you start noticing narrative inconsistencies and also the racist elements and you realize it’s a terrible show. Yet another level down, connecting the dots and thinking on a meta level and paying attention to the fandom? INSANE BRAINWORMS HOLY SHIT THIS SHOW IS SO AMAZING AND NOT ENTIRELY ON PURPOSE- WHAT THE HECK- In short- it’s simultaneously a terrible show and an amazing show, and you just gotta watch it with the right mindset, and make sure you’re following the right peeps in the fandom and blocking the people who are crappy, and you’ll have so much fun

The fandom is fun but only as experinced through carefully curated discords and only checking tumblr once a week. Probably my favorite thing is the volume of cool fanfictions! The last few fandoms I've participated in are much smaller I'd literally run out of fics to read, but that's never a problem here :) I started watching the show because of the Nov 5th memes. I connected with Sam the most as a character. The brother and family stuff along with the spooky creepy aesthetic is my favorite stuff about the show. Makes me wish I had chosen to watch this instead of the wholock stuff back in middle school when it was the hot thing. Supernatural has a ton of problems but overall I did still enjoy it a lot!

When I say the fandom isn't positive, that's not quite true. I love my corner of the fandom; they make me enjoy the show infinitely more, contribute to my brainworms, and add so many layers to the experience of watching the show. But as soon as I go outside my "section" of the fandom, it gets pretty rancid. The last survey results just reminded me of how much I disagree with so many other fans (how could you hate Cas???) in the other parts of the fandom.

i feel like its hard to talk about the experience in the supernatural fandom bc its like i love being here as in my little corner but also i hate it bc you can never keep to your corner and always have to beat uglies off with a broom… also please for the love of god can these people read anything other than tumblr excerpts from gender trouble and apply queer theory from the 80s to 2000’s television its making me break out in hives

I have a love/hate relationship with the show and the fandom. But I'm not sorry I found it or became part of the fandom. It's been a huge part of my life because I've been watching for 15 years and I still love discussing the nuances of the show whether they were intentional or not.

Honestly at this point I've separated my fandom experience from canon so much it's basically a separate entity by now, especially since my favorite ship is contained in like,, three-five episodes. It's just me and ten mutuals vibing lmao

Its so lovely to me that we have our own vocab and terminology and that we have theories like chuck won theory and the ghostfacers effect like i feel like a scientist kfjfkf

The fandom was significantly more tolerable when it was on livejournal.

Is the overall fandom a positive place to be?

People saying yes were given the edge here. Interestingly, when compared to the previous part, the numbers for yes were almost exactly the same as the numbers for enjoying fandom in a specific niche. However, this answer also indicates that many people enjoy participating in fandom while also believing the general fandom is not a positive place to be.

Here are your comments:

I love the show and i used to enjoy the fandom. maybe i’m just getting old and nostalgic. but i think a lot of the fandom has become too toxic and too wrapped up in trying to make the show something it wasn’t(?) i think there are certainly things that are best left to fanfic. i will always love sam, dean, and cas with all my heart, but the show became so outrageous and far fetched and downright blasphemous at times, and that’s saying a lot for a show literally about the supernatural. i think the show fell out of touch with its origins and the fandom fell out of touch with reality. i don’t know, like i said, maybe i’m just old and worn out from everything. don’t get me wrong, i love it so much, but i honestly keep to myself about it.

I enjoy the fandom, but its very clique-y, and it seems like if you're not in with a specific group you're not really in. I think it's difficult to get to know people and a lot of memes aren't explained unless you already understand them because you're in one of the it-groups. And I don't care about the actors or RPF and there seems to be a lot of that lol. I mainly look at memes, read fanfic on my own, and talk about the show with my irl friends who are also fans. Hope my answers weren't a mess, great survey :)

i know my answers are extremely negative but i really do like the show and fandom quite a bit ghkjfdghfk it is both fascinating and extremely frustrating to be playing in the world's most horrible and pessimistic sandbox, because on the one hand you truly can take any old garbage and turn it into a beautiful gem and that's so satisfying when it works out, but on the other hand the sand you are forced to work with IS soaked in homophobic piss. so.

I think you would all enjoy the show more if you stopped interacting with weird people online. I do Not Know Anything about Jared or Jesen. I cannot spell Jareds surname. And I am happier for it. Every time I think it would be fun to come on the little blogging website and look up the tag, there are people saying incredibly weird things. Also Dean should have gone back to Cassie Robinson instead of Lisa.

I think because Supernatural has so many episodes and ran for so long it offers a unique amount of longevity to fandom that are on par with Star Trek and Harry Potter, and it will be around for a long time. I met my soulmate through a destiel fanfiction, this show isn't good. Idk. There are SO many layers............... an onion…………

To be clear about the fandom, I definitely think some parts of it are toxic and can make things a drag on everyone else, but other parts of it are very enjoyable and that's why I'm still in the fandom.

I think the healthiest the fandom has ever been was during the superwholock days. We were honestly just having fun and I know it's cringe now but it was just so genuinely fun I look back to it fondly

I enjoyed fandom so much more a few years ago. Not so much anymore. It's gotten so toxic.

Is shipping your favorite part of the show?

A pretty big majority here ruled that no, shipping is not their favorite part of the show. This may be a surprising or unsurprising result depending on the specific parts of fandom that you’ve seen. Of course, the people the survey reached does have an impact on the validity of these results, but this large a skew indicates that shipping is not the overwhelming element of fandom as it may appear to be.

Here’s what you said:

I'm not going to lie, I really do love Destiel, but I get really frustrated when fans act like the show is ONLY about Destiel. Where we robbed? YES. Did the CW behave like a little turd baby? FUCKING YES. But those two are not the end all be all of the show, there are so many other characters and themes and story arcs that are so so wonderful, and those things are not wasted because the CW chickened out and behaved like bratty children. Also I'm sick of the double standard around Jensen and Jared. I see too many people defending Jensen's bad or poor behavior but shitting not just on Jared, but Sam, when Jared behaves badly or poorly. The characters are NOT the actors and I've had to many interactions with fans who don't understand that. I'M TIRED. I adore this show, I really genuinely do, and I've had great interactions with fans. My roommate/best friend/pseudo-sister is literally a 5'5 Ginger Dean Winchester and it's AWESOME, we talk Supernatural all the time even though we have very different views of the show and the characters, but online I've been seeing less and less civilness between people with differing opinions. I've also been harrassed for being a Sam girl over a Dean girl, which makes no sense to me. I relate heavily to Sam Winchester, of course he's going to be my favorite character, I understand his brain space in a way I don't with other characters. But some fans act like I've committed a war crime when I say he's my favorite character, (It gets worse when they find out Cas is my second and that Dean is only like my fourth favorite character, I still love him to pieces but gosh damn it, he does not have to be my favorite character! I've gotten genuine hate in my ask box over this!!!). Sorry this is such a long rant but it weighs heavily on me because it just seems to be getting worse since the finale. It makes me not want to interact with a fandom that I truly love dearly, and one that helped me survive one of the darkest points of my life. It sounds cheesy and fake, but this show genuinely helped me stop self-harming. I can't stand seeing how things seem to be shifting, even as I try desperately to surround myself with positive fans and fannish things. Also, Gabriel is not dead because I said so. He is currently on a date with Sam in the Library of Alexandria. They're going to get lunch in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon later. No one is really dead and rusty nails do not exist. Rowena is the Queen of Hell and Jack and Cas are co-leading Heaven and they are working with Rowena to make the afterlife as good and fair as it can be. John Winchester is still burning in hell though.

I said "Yes" to the "Is shipping your favorite part?" question because it's related enough, but my actual favorite part of this show is the whole "good Supernatural in our heads" bit. I love that there's so many potentially amazing ideas and compelling characters / relationships and instances of REALLY good writing that - even when the execution in the show sucks - we can build something there. Whether it's a "society if..." tumblr post or a half a million word fanfic, there's so many good things in this toolbox (and so many bad things that can be looked at in fascinating ways if you just hold them up to the light and turn them a little). On one site we've written over 100,000 ways for just *two characters* to love and want and deeply affect each other. That's so nuts (in a great way)!

There's a lot good and a lot bad about Supernatural, but my overall feelings on it are very positive. The ship wars that plague Tumblr have gotta be the most obnoxious part of the fandom - and I say this as someone who does occasionally enjoy ship content. To me, what makes the show great is its compelling and charming characters, and solid attempt at a tragic story about family, free will, and generational cycles, although unfortunately I found a lot about the last two episodes disappointing. It didn't quite stick the landing. Also, as an aside, the meta episodes ruled and were definitely one of the things that made the show memorable and set it apart, on my first viewing.

I enjoyed the show, but it got many times deeper and I joined the fandom to start thinking about it all the time when I started rewatching with shipping goggles on :D

If you have one, which ship is your favorite?

Destiel wins handily here with over half of these respondents choosing it as their favorite ship. The second place ship, Sastiel, is a distant second at almost 10%. This isn’t a very surprising result, as the ship is undoubtedly the most represented in fandom. A large number of ships were also represented, indicating that the shipping landscape is actually quite varied here.

Relevant comments below:

when i first got into this fandom in 2013 i was equal parts a sam girl and a destiel shipper but as time passed i became more and more of a bitter sam stan? i mean i still ship destiel (and it’s probably still my otp) but i don’t get people who make it like it’s the show main thing OR the most interesting thing to talk about. you have a show that focuses on PLATONIC relationships and then you go make it all about romance? like, it’s so rare to find shows that don’t focus on sexual or romantic drama as it is. also i wanna add that sam winchester is my main concern and idk who was she (me in 2013-14).

Watching for the first time in 2021 and I keep thinking “this is what the og Destiel shippers have been going through this entire time???” INSANE. Purgatory is gay. Dean absolutely fucked Benny. Hell, I would have fucked Benny.

dean saving cas from empty would have been the ultimate ending for destiel cause like it bookends their relationship with saving each other and the goddamn writers/network were too homophobic to actualize that

I wish the fandom didn’t so heavily focus on destiel or see Dean as a hero. I am a queer neurodivergent fan and while I am disappointed with the show, the fandom itself is so much worse.

Look i don't connect with romance of destiel really as an ace but im so indignant about the homophobia of it all that i ship it out of spite and make whole fanworks about it lmao

I wish the writers didn’t queer bait us as much they did. Destiel is a powerful story and shouldn’t have been treated like garbage.

destiel is endgame but megstiel was real. samwena supremacy

In your opinion, what is the show about?

Interestingly, the top three spots here are family related: first place goes to family don’t end in blood, second to family is hell, third to family and brotherhood. Free will, a main theme, is in fourth place. While these three themes of family are interpreted differently in these answers, the overwhelming consensus seems to be that the show is about family first and foremost.

Relevant comments below:

society if we got spn ending where sam married eileen and start a hunting community where you can go if you're traumatized by supernatural events (humans and monsters alike) it's not about killing monsters it's about sharing resources and helping each other and monster rehab/therapy (i think i saw a post abt sam helping people like magda? thats what inspired monster therapy thing like hes not just gonna be men of letters 2.0 establishing a new hunting network) hunters dont have to be isolated and depressed and alone you have a support system it's about COMMUNITY and monsters can coexist and dont have to killed :( as much as i like destiel if you kept the finale the same but added destiel at the end i still would have hated it, what spn needed to address was how it treated monsters, ultimately it keeps flip flopping on who "deserves" to be saved and if monsters can be "good", and it's pretty anthropocentric idk it's frustrating. i also dislike human!cas because he doesnt HAVE to be human to be accepted, monsters/creatures/angels can live alongside humans you dont have to turn them human :// also I really hated how dabb era in particular treated angels and there was such an easy fix for it in the end like it wouldnt have been hard to write rescuing cas from the empty also brings all the other angels back so heaven isnt practically empty with a three year old in charge. yes im a new fan but it would have been so healing to see the other angels come back anna and uriel and raphael and balthazar and hannah like at this point theres no reason to fight beyond regular insane family drama stuff so they argue and stuff but theres no genuine animosity anymore and it would have been a cool throwback to see them again anyway yeah angels are the coolest part of the show but sadly...... </3 also hated how the show kept insisting on keeping sam and dean isolated and killing off side characters etc. also they left adam in hell for ten years WHAT THE HELL adam and michael deserved better too, anyway i think people often attribute problems with the show itself to dean but it's not his fault and i love him (i hope this was coherent sorry)

I had a really hard time picking a favorite and least favorite aspect of the show! Overarching plots especially, because some I thought were very compelling and there were some that fell very flat for me. Also picking what the show is about is so hard for me to narrow down to one thing. To me, I feel like it’s a show about brothers and their found family trying their best to make the world a better place and save people/keep them safe. Wait actually I would like to say my least favorite part of the show was how overplayed the whole “what did you do to my brother” plot point was. It’s always the brothers choosing each other and it got stupidly repetitive any time they put that to the test.

"Are All Monsters Evil? Yes" made me laugh out loud because that's a great incapsulation of a huge problem I have with the show: no matter how many non-human people we meet and befriend, no matter how many times the main characters deal with feeling monstrous themselves, no matter how much we wrestle with the moral dilemmas inherent in the institution of hunting - we always come back to non-human demonization and Murder Is Cool as our central tenet, to the detriment of the show's story and character arcs :C Not only does it annoy me personally, it leads to nothing making any goshdarn SENSE at the end of the day! Justice 4 Jack

i mean it’s not so much family is hell as it is you are destined to become your father. cycles of violence infinitely more powerful than you are at play and you are completely helpless in the face of it. i think that sam dean and cas are each living out entirely different and contradictory narratives which i find really compelling

To elaborate on the last question: they spent so long on this humanizing the monsters plot that didn’t go anywhere. It was so horrible for real. Sam kept being like “I think this is a person actually” and then repeatedly Dean and other characters and the narrative itself told him he was wrong. What was it all for

that last question was kinda hard cos i honestly do not know what its about at this point. the secret good spn in my head is all about horror, found family and destroying the cycle of abuse but it seems canon disagrees with me :/ anyway love ur surveys ur honestly doing a service for this fandom

i genuinely can’t imagine watching this show for anything but “family is hell” bc like. damn it really is hell for these dudes. all they do is suffer and hurt each other and everyone else. i love it <3

I think this show is an exaggerated study of living with trauma, loss, guilt and redefines the meaning of what love really is ...depending on who's watching. Survival against all odds is a comfort.

I think the writers destroyed everything the show was about with the last two episodes and the only message left was gay love is powerful enough to defy god himself.

In the later seasons, the writers seemed to forget that family didn’t end in blood, wrote scenes for characters that went against their character arcs.

It's a really interesting study in generational trauma and toxic masculinity even though the creators kinda didn't mean to do that lol

Thank you to everyone who participated, and a special thanks to the people that interacted with these results. I really appreciate it! If you have any questions about the data and extra info let me know.

My 26th birthday celebration day 4: possession OR the end

#spn #supernatural #anases26 #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #Jack Kline #speaks #spn surveys

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mittensmorgul · 1 year

Note

Re: your ask about Sam vs Dean as the nain character/POV character. Do you think Sam as the intended POV character had anything to do with class and intended audience? Even though Sam wasn't raised white collar he goes to Standford for law, his vision of normal is white collar/middle class (and that's what he wants to be seen as), etc. Whereas Dean is very much not that - his world is Other (for the intended audience of white middle class teens/early 20s) not just because of the monsters.

I don't know that they ever thought about it that specifically? I mean in the post I made earlier and linked to his original pitch and first draft, for reference purposes. In those drafts, Sam and Dean are absolutely raised white collar in the suburbs, and the intent was for them to learn all about monsters and hunting by the seat of their pants from week to week. I don't know if Kripke's original story idea was consciously tailored to appeal to middle class folk or if the switch to them having been raised hunters on the outskirts of polite society was done with any specific awareness or intention of a class shift, either. It just feels like kripke finding his story, finding a version of the story that also worked for the network.

He's said in the past that he went through multiple pitches of the concept that would eventually evolve into Supernatural as we know it. The network repeatedly passed on those earlier concepts. I don't know if that was a class demographics issue, though, or just because those earlier concepts weren't really meaty enough to sustain a series. I mean, Kripke's original intent was a pure MotW series with barely a thread of an overarching mytharc. (and in his original concept, it was Dean with the psychic abilities/mystical afflictions, not sam...)

So was that a conscious choice about class versus "intended" audience? I don't know, but I kinda doubt it. If it was the network attempting to reconfigure the show to a specific demographic or whatever, about the only thing I know about the network and the show's demographic is that they never really understood or cared for at least half the audience. (and arguably that was/is the half that was most willing to shell out cash money to attend cons, invest in the fandom, and are still engaging with the show years after it ended, so they done fucked that up too lol)

So based on the WB/CW history of apparently not understanding their audience, I don't know how relevant the question is... >.>

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scoutdoesstuff · 2 years

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day eleven!

today's flavor was Emma - The Savior, which is another fandom blend based off of the Emma Swan the main protagonist (ish) of the show Once Upon a Time (aka we put Disney in a blender and put it on network television for a couple of seasons). I might've taken some liberties with the character but I'd like to think I kept her can do attitude.

this prompt is also a direct continuation of this

Sam, Dean, and Soarise find themselves in a bit of a bind. They potentially make a new friend.

Sam wakes up not long after Dean. As is Sam’s way, he wakes up like a complete goofball, bound legs and arms flailing wildly until his brain catches up to the fact that he’s tied up. He rolls around a bit, head swinging back and forth, as he gets his bearings and eventually finds Dean in his line of sight.

Dean waves. Sam whines in response.

“You got kidnapped!” Soarise’s voice booms from her disembodied head. Sam’s head snaps up, trying to find the source of the voice. When he does, he stares for a moment and then shoots Dean a panicked look.

Dean shrugs. They’re both gagged, but it’s not like Dean has much to add anyway. They’re kind of boned for the moment. Sam deflates, and glances back at Soarise’s whole .. deal. Dean takes the moment to study Sam to make sure that he wasn’t hurt too badly while they were brought in. He seems ok, so Dean does his own head to toe scan. Nothing seems overly broken or bruised, which is either very good or very bad. It’s hard to deal with these kidnapping deals. Sometimes the ones were they get grabbed and left in pristine condition wind up being the gnarliest.

Dean shifts to look back at Soarise again but his bonds are too tight for him to really move much, which sets off another wave of panic that he has to breathe through for a minute. Fuck, Dean hates how his brain gets worse at this every time.

He comes back to himself a few minutes later and feels Sam’s feet resting against his own. Dean glances over at his brother. Sam watches Dean back, eyes worried. Dean shakes his head. Sam wants to press the issue, but it’s not like they’re physically able to talk, so Sam turns back to look at Soarise. He sees Dean follow suit out of the corner of his eye.

“Found my head, though,” Soarise says, now that both Sam and Dean are looking at her again.

Sam sighs through his gag, bitchface at eleven. Dean’s tempted to join him.

“No idea why they wanted my head, however,” Soarise continues. Sam sighs again and Dean joins in. “The alter’s very creepy by the way. Also cold, if you care.”

The brothers hum in response. Dean settles in to wait until their captor shows up, wiggling his body back and forth until he’s as close to comfortable as he can get. Soarise watches him the entire time. While Dean understands she can’t actually more her head, it is still unbearably off-putting to be watching while he flops around on the floor like a fish. He grimaces at her and jerks his head to the left, hoping she’ll take the hint and at least move her eyes somewhere else. Instead, she smirks at him. Ugh.

Sam waits until Dean has settled himself, with frankly entirely too much wriggling and grunting, before he flips onto his stomach and begins to inchworm his way towards the alter. Dean gives a high noise of concern. Sam grunts back at him that he’s fine, or attempts to anyway. Soarise’s eyes follow his frankly embarrassingly long journey towards the extremely DIY alter where her body and head have been positioned.

“Wanted to say hi up close?” Soarise asks, potentially going for flirty but missing it by a mile. She grimaces. Sam gives her a look meant to say nervous talker huh but he isn’t sure if it lands. Soarise gives him a tight smile in response. Sam makes himself get to work.

He can only see what he’s able to scoot himself up to, but Sam takes advantage of the fact that he’s tall. The writing appears to be some of the worst written Gaelic Sam’s ever seen, which tracks given that Bobby said dullahan’s originate from Gaelic (or Irish) mythology. Sam frowns. God, the writing really is atrocious, though. It’s like they didn’t even try.

The rest of the alter isn’t much better. An effort was made to make things look appropriately witchy, for lack of a better word, but the ephemera looks like it was picked up from the sale bin at the local craft store and Sam’s pretty sure the fabric covering the table Soarise’s body is laying on top of is a repurposed bed sheet. There’s also some weird string designs going on across the table, but Sam’s pretty sure that’s just for flavor. Whoever set this up made the odd choice of putting Soarise’s head in a large gold (plated) bowl on a side table, maybe because they couldn’t get a bigger table and had run out of room.

Dean thumps his feet against the floor behind Sam. Sam rolls over to look at his brother. Dean’s eyebrows are raised in that grumpy way he gets when he wants the magic answer. Sam shrugs. The spellwork is a clusterfuck. There’s no way to know what the fuck is supposed to be happening here, besides someone seems hellbent on bothering Soarise.

Dean sighs dramatically, head falling backwards.

“I take it that means you two also have no idea what the fuck is going on here,” Soarise says, still in that somewhat chipper tone she’d adopted since they woke up. Her hands flex around the ropes tying her to the table. It’s the only tell that betrays how nervous she is.

Both Sam and Dean grunt the affirmative.

It’s Soarise’s turn to sigh.

While Sam did his best imitation of a very drunk caterpillar over by the creepy but super messy alter, Dean scanned what he could see of the room they were in. He’d found a pillar to lean against as comfortably as possible and used that to leverage his body around so he could see the darker corners of the area they were in better. The room was dark, contained what looked like one exit in and out that required individuals to go down a set of stairs to get to the main floor, and very little in the way of natural light. Dean could smell old paint and turpentine and was certain he’d seen some old metal shelving on the other side of the room from the alter. The only source of light is a series of unfinished bulbs dangling from the ceiling. The bulbs are so old that they hum. So, most likely a basement then, and probably in an old building. Great.

Now they just have to figure out how to get the fuck out of here. Sam and Dean stare at each other and then start looking around for something sharp. Naturally, that’s when they hear a massive bang up stairs, followed by an “ow!”, and then footsteps.

Sam and Dean freeze. Soarise’s breathing becomes labored.

Footsteps cross the ceiling above. Sam and Dean hold their breath, waiting for the moment when the door creaks open. When it finally happens, there’s a short figure crouched in shadow in the doorway. The figure moves into the light and hurriedly closes the door behind them.

“Sam and Dean?” A young girl, no more than ten and in a bright yellow raincoat, is standing at the top of the stairs. She’s got pigtails and freckles. And somehow knows Sam and Dean’s names. At a lost, both men nod.

“Awesome!” She cheers and then shushes herself. She creeps further down the stairs towards them. Dean tries to figure out how to hide the lady with a separate head and body from the kid, but she just smiles at Soarise’s face and gives a little wave. “Hi Mrs. Dullahan! My name’s Emma and I’m here to save you!”

All three adults stare blankly back at the kid.

She helpfully produces a pocket knife.

#honestly having a blast writing case fic which isn't something i thought i enjoyed until now #spn #my fic #tea prompts

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wearywinchester · 3 years

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Not Going Anywhere

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When he nearly loses you, Dean finds he can’t stand the thought of that happening.

Requested by Anonymous: “May I please request a one shot of dean and reader with her having an internal bleeding. You know when the character seems fine but then boom they collapse and turns out they're not fine at all?? I LIIIVE for that shit... The shock, the realization, the worry....”

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: angst, injury, bleeding, shock, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, guilt, fluff

You sat slumped in the backseat of the Impala, exhausted from the hunt. Fortunately, it’d been close to the bunker, close enough that you didn’t need a motel room overnight. Close enough that the drive hadn’t been terribly long like most cases were. You felt like you’d been run over by a semi two times over, a certain weakness running through you that left you feeling less than okay.

You watched quietly as the rain came down and trickled against the chilled windows of the car, falling into each other as they raced down the glass before fresh ones took their place in an instant. It was gloomy weather, something you could have found yourself seeking comfort in on any given day, something that otherwise would have been cozy had you not felt the way you did.

But you did, and it wasn’t leaving any time soon.

Dean had the heat cranked up because he could see that you were cold, could tell by the way you wrapped your arms around yourself. The ache and burn in your stomach had yet to subside, Dean having cleaned your wound before setting off to go home earlier that day, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

You were less than comfortable, as far from it as you could be as you sat behind Sam. You missed the way Dean had glanced at you in the rear view more often than not, his concern evident in the crease between his brows, deepening each and every time he looked. He saw your agitation, the way your face contorted in discomfort as you slumped against the seat. You couldn’t sit still even if your life depended on it, constantly moving in your seat despite the way the hurt in your abdomen is screaming at you otherwise.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so restless in your life more than you were in that moment, anxiety settling in heavily the more you sat stuck in that car. There wasn’t anything in particular for you to feel this way over—you’d ridden in this car more times than you could count for years, having sat in the very same spot for far longer than this trip has been before. You’d done it all before without fail, without a problem, but this time was different.

It was different and he knew it.

Any other time you’d start a conversation about any and everything, singing along with him to nearly any song that came on the radio for the sake of getting on Sam’s nerves. Any other time you’d take a nap if you were tired, especially on a day like that where the clouds and rain offered ample comfort to allow you to do so, but this wasn’t any other time. This time you looked like you were two seconds from hopping out at the next red light, and it didn’t sit right with him.

“Sweetheart, you okay back there?” He calls out over his shoulder.

You’re not even sure if the words came out of his mouth, not even sure if you heard him as you shifted your gaze. When he didn’t get a response he looked in his mirror at you, calling out your name once more with more concern than the last.

You sat up a little straighter, glancing at him with eyes squinted slightly in confusion. “‘M fine, De.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that, not even a little bit as you blinked, trying to gather yourself a bit more than in that moment as he turned down the road that led to the bunker. You had a habit of saying you’re fine when you’re not, and you’re so clearly the opposite and he finds himself grateful he’s home, you’re home. But that doesn’t soothe the worry boiling over in the pit of his stomach, clouding his mind of anything and everything revolving around you.

Your words were merely words as they fell from your lips, that feeling simmering within you feeling awfully bad as you sit there, as the impala descended down into the bunker’s garage. The fluorescent lights were harsh on your eyes, your wince inevitable as you fought the groan sitting in the back of your throat. Dean didn’t need to be worrying over you, though he surely already was.

You think you just need a rest, a few hours sleeping in your own bed would do you some good. It had to.

You hadn’t fully registered the fact that the car had come to a stop, put in park in its usual spot and it gave Dean enough time to round the back end of it before you tried to get out on your own. When he pulls the door open you’ve got that look, one that tugs at his heart because you look so miserable, so tired and defeated. He crouches down closer to your level as you sit there, watches as you take a deep breath to try and steady the race of your heart. To try and calm the queasy feeling in your stomach.

“Sweetheart?” He asks, eyes on you in search of any indication that you’d been listening. You were, you really were, but you were trying to get a handle on how you felt. “Baby, we’re home.”

You nod then, turning your head to look at him with a soft smile in an attempt to assure him you’d heard him. He stood to his feet and held his hand out, gentle as he helped out of the car. You tried to ignore the rush that came down over you the moment you got up, tried to swallow down the intensifying nausea that’d swirled around in your stomach just begging to come up. You tried your hardest and it was proving to be a challenge.

You were dizzy when you stood to your feet, almost overwhelming, but you were quick to balance yourself and you brushed it off. You’d been in the car for the past two hours, doing nothing but sit in the same position for the majority of that time and you’d yet to eat or drink anything. A little dizziness seemed reasonable upon standing in your mind, not to mention the way your head had been hurting for nearly the same amount of time as the drive home.

You felt his hand slip from yours in favor of wrapping around you to steady you, to help you as you walked but you shrugged him off just as quickly, flashing him a look.

“De, I’m fine. You don’t need to fuss over me,” you say, and the look on his face shows just how much he disagrees with you. You could see it with the dimples forming by the very corners of his mouth and the raise of his eyebrow.

“Y/n—”

“I’m serious. I just need a little sleep and I’ll be fine,” you say, smiling once more in hopes he’d settle down, but you knew he wouldn’t.

It took a few moments, but eventually he dropped his hand to his side reluctantly and eyed you carefully, cautious as he watched you walk ahead into the bunker’s hallway towards your shared room. He knew you better than you thought, better than you knew yourself. He knew you like the back of his hand, but you were just as stubborn as he was and that’s the problem.

You flickered between bouts of nausea and none at all, between feeling fine, like you said you were, and feeling like you’d been drug all the way home tied to the trunk of the Impala. It was something that worsened the more you dwelled on the feeling, something you wished would subside.

You felt a beat of relief upon seeing the golden eleven mounted on that familiar wooden door come into view just down the hall, could smell the faint scent of Dean’s cologne wafting over you as he walked by towards Sam.

You were almost there, then you could lay down for a good long while, tuck yourself into that memory foam bed that was unbelievably comfortable and smelled every bit like Dean, and rest like you’d been longing to do since the moment you left to come home that day. You could rest in the comfort of your shared space for as long as you needed to get better. You were almost there.

But you weren’t.

In that moment, you felt like you were miles away from your destination, you felt like the conversation the two of them were having just a few feet away had been miles away from you, their voices muffled far more than they should be for how close they’d really been to you.

You slowed yourself to a wavering stop for a minute just to gather yourself a little more than you were then and there, reaching out for the wall that was just a little farther than you anticipated it to be. Your ears began to ring slightly, gradually, as that same nausea made its unpleasant return in your stomach, eyes squeezing shut just for a moment. You weren’t aware of just how awful you looked in that moment, but you knew it couldn’t have been too good if it was a reflection of how you were feeling in that very same moment. To be quite honest you felt like you’d just run a marathon with the way you couldn’t catch your breath, with the way your heart had been hammering within your chest at a faster than normal pace.

You felt like a walking, breathing disaster, and sure enough, you looked like it too.

Dean’s brows furrowed when he followed Sam’s gaze, to you, to you who stood there unsure of yourself as a flurry of emotions flashed over your face within a second’s time. A number of emotions, none of anything positive being displayed and it intensified the worries he’d had running through him. A sheen of sweat had glistened over your skin despite the chill that ran through you, your vision doubled as you opened your eyes once more to try and give Dean a glance.

“Y/n?” Your name fell from his lips, soft and hesitant at first as the initial confusion took over, his mouth going dry as he approached you.

“I’m…” you start, nodding your head as you swallow thickly. “I’m fine, Dean. I just…"

Your words were failing you, your ability to form a coherent thought failing you in that moment as you lost all means of balance, teetering on the edge of collapsing before you’d gone and done it. The shout of your name had come off as an echo to you, the impact of the floor having been cold and unforgiving as you fell, too weak to catch yourself.

He hated just how limp you felt in his arms as he knelt beside you, the pain jolting through him from dropping to his knees on the concrete floor having been the very least of his concerns as he watched you. Panic had lanced through him as your head lulled, caught in the crook of his arm as his other hand grabbed your face. Despite the sweat gleaming across your skin, your cheeks were void of any heat that you’d expect to feel and it only added to his upset.

“Y/n!” He called out, your brows furrowing as you felt yourself go from bad to worse, a steady declining feeling blanketing you. “Sweetheart, stay with me.”

His voice was loud, carrying through the winding hall in an echoing display of his fear, the sound taunting him as it bounced off the walls. You nodded weakly, despite the way your heartbeat hammered loudly in your ears enough to muffle what he’d been saying to Sam, or the way you couldn’t hold yourself up if it weren’t for the way he held you. Despite that, you nodded for him.

That ache from the wound you’d walked away from that hunt with was still very much there, that you knew. You knew things didn’t look good for you in that moment, not with the way Dean looked at you as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, or the fear in his eyes when he’d pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, your pulse faint but bounding beneath his fingertips. Things were continuing to go from bad to worse, to far beyond that and you knew that wasn’t a good sign.

You knew it the moment that feeling hit you in the car an hour earlier and the panic you felt was only increasing the more you thought things over.

You should have said something then, you know that now. You should have stopped saying you were fine when you so clearly weren’t, should have stopped doing what you always do and downplay a situation in fear of thinking about the outcome. You should have known better than to think it’d be as easy as Dean patching you up, not after what that spirit did to you. Nothing in hunting is ever as good as it seems, as easy as it seems, and you should have said something earlier.

Because now, now you were quite sure you were facing your fate when you didn’t have time to prepare for it. And that’s what scared you the most. It could have been something trivial, that’s what you’d been longing for it to be, but you knew it was just your own denial telling you that.

“Dean,” you say, taking a breath as you look up at him. The green eyes you loved so much were filled with a kind of emotion you never liked to see. “I—I just want you to know—”

“No, no c’mon. We’re not doing this sweetheart, okay?”

Nausea hit him like a ton of bricks at the sight of the crimson that slowly began to stain your teeth when you coughed, rage bursting through him in waves over the situation he doesn’t know how to control the ending of. Over the fact that he doesn’t think he can control the outcome for the love of his life in his very arms. He knows nothing in this life is guaranteed, not for the life of someone who hunts the world’s worst monsters.

He’s lost so much in his life, but damn does this one hurt.

“I don’t feel so good,” you murmur instead, watching the expressions flicker across his face through half closed eyes as you groan, brows furrowing at the expression he’d been looking at you with. “What is it?”

He couldn’t tell you what he saw, he wouldn’t do it.

“I know you don’t,” he says softly, chuckling despite it being void of humor, running his hand over your head. “I know you don’t but you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

All you could do was hum and nod, a soft noise you can’t quite tell had left your lips as the weight of your eyelids grew heavier and heavier. You were tired, that much was true. But he tapped your cheek with his hand lightly, grabbing ahold of your face.

“Don’t do that,” he urged, “please, don’t do that.”

He looked to Sam, a mirrored look of panic looking back at him that didn’t do much to soothe his stresses.

He feels near paralyzed when his gaze drops to you again, your eyes closed. He’d grabbed your face and called your name till his throat felt like sandpaper, till it felt like he swallowed a thousand knives he shouted your name. He held you tight in his arms as his mind worried in a frenzy of fear, calling out desperately for the one person that could help.

Cas.

If there was one thing that Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was worry. He’d worry himself to death over the ones he loved, in fact, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe. But worry is what he’d done for the last two and a half hours and nothing else.

If it was possible, one might think he’d wear a hole in the floor from his pacing at the foot of the bed in the bunkers infirmary. Cas had come in a moment’s notice much to Dean’s relief, had swooped in quite literally and healed you the way he hoped you could be.

It turns out that spirit had done more than just graze you, had gone a little deeper than either of you had thought. It turns out you’d been bleeding more than just on the surface, and that it hadn’t actually slowed to a stop once he’d patched you up back there. You were bleeding this whole time, you just didn’t know it until it almost became too late.

It all made sense now, the way you were acting in the car. The restlessness, the agitation and the way you couldn’t sit still. He knew there was something wrong even when you refused to admit it, and he hated it when you did that. Hated it when you kept your pain to yourself when you really didn’t need to, in favor of staving his worry and trying to be independent, and that’s something he knew well.

But that wasn’t the point, the point was you were lying there in that bed almost within an inch of your life had Cas not come. The point was he nearly lost you in his arms and he couldn’t help the blame that sparked and burst within him that maybe he shouldn’t have believed you when you said you were fine. He didn’t, but he felt he should have kept pushing, kept prying to get you to admit it. Thinking that maybe he should have known there was more to that injury by the way your face crinkled up when it happened, by the way you fell to the floor for a moment or two before you stood back on your feet.

He felt like this was on him, and it was tearing him up from the inside out.

Dean ran through a myriad of emotions that night, each one hitting harder than the last. He was scared, the mere thought of losing someone he found himself rapidly not being able to see himself living without having scared him more than he’d care to even admit. He was angry, his fear masked behind clenched jaws and hands running through hair, chairs kicked and chest heaving. Angry at himself for not having gotten to you sooner back there.

It was a never ending cycle of fear and anger and guilt, a cycle he felt he’d always feel in one way or another so long as the ones he loves keep getting hurt when he feels he has the means to prevent it somehow.

For the better part of that two hours, apart from the anxious pacing, he sat at your side as you rested. He was reluctant to leave your side should something happen again. He couldn’t handle that and he knew it. He sat there with his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He held your hand for a while, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles as his foot tapped and his knee bounced subconsciously.

For the better part of that two hours, the events of what lead up to that point had replayed in his mind over and over in a taunting loop, having worsened the feeling he held each and every time it restarted. Each time he recalled something more in the way you’d looked in the car, in the way you acted, in the way you felt in his arms.

Cas had to tell him a million times over that you’d be okay. That wound on your stomach had been healed, everything had been healed as though it was never there. He told him a thousand times over that you were stable, you were okay. You were okay, but he couldn’t find it in himself to get over it just yet.

The last time Cas had said it was when he believed it, it was when he couldn’t be in that room another second otherwise he just might crack. He couldn’t bear to see you laying there like that, no matter the fact that you were just fine. It made his stomach churn and twist in knots.

He left, the stack of lore books swept off the table in the library in his wake, a string of curses leaving his lips. He went to your shared room first, the door slamming roughly behind him. He was angry at no one else but himself despite the fact that he shouldn’t be, but he’ll beg to differ on that a thousand times over.

When you woke up, the infirmary was empty. You’d seen the chair at your bedside that hadn’t normally been there. And if it wasn’t telling enough of Dean’s presence, the weight of his jacket splaying warmly overtop of you was sure to make it all the more obvious he’d been there.

You were sore as you sat up, stiff from having been laying in the same position for an amount of time you were sure of. But, when you lifted the hem of your shirt, that burning wound had no longer resided where it’d been. That nausea had since dissolved, that headache had gone away for the most part, and the weakness you felt, the dizziness, it’d all gone away. You knew it was done with the help of no one other than Cas.

You were sure Dean had been there with you for quite some time, but you also knew Dean better than to think he’d handle it well. You knew by the way you’d woken up by yourself that he’d handled it horribly. He gets worked up over injuries that are on a smaller scale, but this, this was far different than that. Inches from meeting your fate had been much too different than that and you knew he’d disappeared to sulk by himself.

You sighed when you pushed yourself off the bed, leaving the empty infirmary before navigating the bunker. The sight of the books splaying messily across the floor had been an indication of something you already suspected, the quiet in the air having added to the tension only followed when one of the three of you had been angry.

Your bedroom was empty, the blankets stretching over to his side of the bed having been wrinkled some from where he’d been sitting. A photo of the two of you had been sitting there on the nightstand, half-tucked under the base of the lamp sitting lit atop it, the drawer not closed all the way.

The Impala was still in the garage where he’d parked it hours ago, a frown tugging at your lips at the sight of the very hallway everything had taken place.

You knew where he’d be at this hour, at one where everyone should be asleep. Sam had been, you were sure of that, but if Dean hadn’t been in either of those places, you knew where he’d be.

A knowing sigh left your lips as you stepped down into the kitchen, the very one you’d been looking for sitting at the table. You saw the bottle of whiskey on the table and you saw the glass in his hand. You saw the way his hair had been a ruffled mess and you saw the ivory of his knuckles as he held that very same glass. You knew that all too well, you knew he’d been all sorts of torn up inside. He was.

“Knew I’d find you here,” you say, his head turning at the sound of your voice.

You could see the relief flooding his expression as he looked up at you, at the way his eyes widened and the way his face lit up just a little bit more than before, though it didn’t take long for the crease between his brows to deepen once more as you sat down next to him. He’s quiet for a moment before he presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and another as his next words are murmured against your skin.

“Sweetheart, you should be in bed, you’ve been through it today.”

You could hear the fatigue in the softness of his tone, could feel his nose brush against your temple before he turned away.

“Without you?” Your words are lighter as a soft smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles, half-humorous as he shakes his head, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. He swallows thickly, thoughts weighing heavy on his mind as a million words sit on the tip of his tongue. You knew a little humor didn’t do much to stave off that feeling he held.

“‘M fine, Dean.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, head shaking before he brings the glass up to his mouth and swallows the rest of his drink, pouring himself another.

You saw the way his eyes were rimmed a pale shade of pink. Dean Winchester wasn’t one to cry too often, but you could always tell when he had been. His eyes were red and so was the very tip of his nose, flushed a soft pink and the quiver in his lip hadn’t quite left just yet.

“I’m serious, Dean. I’m okay.”

“Well you weren’t a few hours ago, Y/n. You were damn near dead,” he says, louder than before as his jaw tenses.

“Well I’m not,” you counter, the huff that puffs through his nose an indication of his frustration.

“I’m glad this is just another day to you, Y/n.”

He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing over it in frustration as he sniffs. You saw that quiver just a little more now, one he hid behind his glass as he tipped his head back and drank it.

“For cryin’ out loud you still got blood on your teeth, Y/n,” he says, softer this time as the tension in his jaw loosens.

You sigh softly, more so to yourself as you stay quiet for a moment or two, your tongue swiping over your teeth before you bite the inside of your cheek. You can see the emotions flicker and roll through him, can see the guilt written clear across his face to match the feeling simmering in the pit of his stomach. When you got up, he’d expected you to just walk away, though instead you find yourself leaning atop the wooden table.

You snag the glass from the loose grip he had on it, setting it aside as he drug his hands down his face.

Your shoulders drop a fraction as you look down at your hands for a moment, foot tapping quietly against the floor. When you looked at him, his gaze was on the table, the inside of his cheek between his teeth. You bring your hand up to smooth over his hair before your palm settles on his cheek, thumb brushing over his chin. His eyes lift to yours, weary and upset.

You don’t fail to miss the way he leans into your touch no matter how subtle, or the way the clench in his jaw dissipates the rest of the way before your hand drops to your lap.

“There was nothing you could’ve done differently back there, De. No matter how much you think otherwise,” you say, watching that tension return as he looks away. “I know that’s what you’re thinking right now, but I’m still here. Now you don’t have to believe me on this, and I know you won’t, but you were there when I needed you the most. And that’s the only thing that matters to me. So you can be mad at yourself all you want, you can blame yourself all you want, but I’m not blaming this on you.”

He sat quietly, simmering in his own silence with closed eyes as his chest heaves a bit more than normal. You swipe your thumb across the crease between his brows, smoothing it softly as you watch the way he bites the inside of his cheek. Dean Winchester’s got a whole lot of stubbornness in him, but a whole lot of softness no matter how many layers of anger and frustration and worry sit atop it.

You move from the table after a beat of silence, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He relaxed under your embrace, more so when you dipped down from behind him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, one more for good measure.

You don’t know what to say for a little while as your head rests against his, arms dangling over his shoulders as you clasp your hands together loosely. You know for a fact he’s still beating himself up for this, that was something you knew was unavoidable. But that was something you could handle.

“Come to bed, De, it’s late,” you murmur, kissing his cheek once, twice, three times.

He hums at first, nodding his head. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You let him go with a soft squeeze to his shoulders, spinning on your heel as you sigh softly. But it doesn’t take more than a mere few seconds before you hear him move around.

“Sweetheart, wait.”

You turn around once more, brow raised in curiosity.

He’s hesitant for a moment before he crosses the room in a couple of steps, arms around you in an instant. You wrap yours around his neck, his embrace near bone crushing as his face tucks into your neck. His stubble is rough against your skin, the softness of your smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He’s got fistfuls of your shirt in his palms, holding you close as you stand up on your toes.

“What do you say we ditch hunting for a little while?” He mumbles into your neck, your soft laughter immediate as you lean back to look at him. “Don’t want you dyin’ on me again, sweetheart.”

You bit your cheek for a moment as you shook your head, fighting a smile. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Winchester.”

He rolls his eyes, looking to the side as he fights the beginnings of his smile. “Yeah, well, I’m good with that.”

The tension he held minutes ago lessened some, his expression softer as he looked down at you. You lean on your toes and kiss him softly, lingering just over his lips for a few seconds before kissing him once more with a smile as you speak up.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x you

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makeadealwithdean · 2 years

Text

Bleeding In Love - Part 2

Hi again, so many apologies for the fact that this took so long!! i wasn’t inspired for like forever, and then suddenly i was, so here’s the product. love to you all xx

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader x Dean Winchester; no wincest

Summary: Sam, Dean, and Reader are out on a hunt when the reader gets injured. It’s funny how life-threatening injuries make secrets spill out.

Divider:

@firefly-graphics

Warnings (tags apply to every part): language, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, blood (show-level graphic), injury, the boys take care of you, eventual smut (not in this part, but they do discuss sex and doms/subs), dom/sub dynamics, i think that’s all :)

Word Count: 2961

Masterlist // Part 1

AO3

You blinked, staring at him in shock. Was this even real? You’d never suspected that from the Winchester brothers.

Individually, you’d thought they might’ve been fairly, ah – open to exploration, to put it delicately. When you’d thought about it, of course. Not that you’d thought about it a lot, but-- well, okay, you’d thought about Sam and Dean’s “love lives” (if you could even call them that) more than you liked to admit.

Sam, well, the quiet ones are always the kinkiest, just as a general rule, so you suspected he might’ve been into some interesting stuff. Nothing you weren’t into yourself though, if you had to admit it.

And Dean? Well, Dean was the one you’d just expect to be kinky. With his flirty nature and that cocky attitude, you just knew he had to be into some stuff.

But now, with the both of them sitting there beside you, staring, waiting for your answer, all those thoughts flickered through your mind before evaporating completely, leaving you open-mouthed and speechless.

“Y/N? Well?” Dean said, clearing his throat and trying to make eye contact with you. Oops, you realized you’d created an awkward silence with your lack of answer. You tried to force your mind to focus on the conversation at hand. After all, the three of you hadn’t agreed to anything yet.

“And, um,” you said, shifting your weight a little as you readjusted your sitting position in bed, “what, exactly, would ‘sharing’ entail?” You swallowed nervously as Sam and Dean visibly relaxed a bit, now that you’d responded, and not in a horrified way.

Sam shrugged, clearing his throat and looking you in the eye, “Well, uh, it depends on what you want it to entail, Y/N. We can wait to talk about it until you feel a bit better if you’d like…”

“No,” you cut him off. “I really feel fine, guys. Cas mojo’d me good as new, remember? I just meant, do you mean share as in, you both want to be with me? Like, be with me, or just um… sleep with me?” You looked down, ‘that’s probably what they meant, no way they both want to date me.’ Less-than-pleasant thoughts ran through your head as your voice trailed off. Sleeping with both of them would still be amazing of course, but you didn’t just want sex from them. But that was too much to ask for, right? You stared at your hands clasped together nervously in your lap.

Dean spoke then, jolting you from your mind, “Sweetheart, it was never just about sleeping with you. Sammy and I both… we don’t just want in your pants. It’s up to you; we’d never force you into something you don’t want, but we were thinking more of a relationship than just hookups.” The tips of his fingers brushed gently against your chin, begging you to look up at him, which you did hesitantly.

You spoke quietly before growing more confident. “Well, I don’t just want sex either. Ideally, I want something more, but I don’t see how that’s fair to either of you guys. How can I have you both, but ask you to sacrifice hookups and be exclusive to me?”

“You’re not asking us to sacrifice anything, Y/N. We’re telling you we want to. Why would we want meaningless hookups when we could have you? That’s what’s important to me, to us,” Sam reassured you. “You aren’t forcing us to do anything, baby, so don’t let that affect your decision, okay?”

“Okay, um– I can think about it though, right? Like I don’t have to decide right now, do I?” You sounded a lot more hesitant than you felt. To be entirely honest, the boys’ proposal sounded like a dream come true, especially since it was their idea. Still, this solution was anything but conventional, and wasn’t it that way for a reason? Though, nothing about any of your lives was even remotely conventional. Maybe irregular problems warranted irregular solutions.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Dean reassured you. “Like I said, we’d never force you into anything. You’d be completely and totally in charge. You want it? Just say the word. You want it to stop at any point at all? You just say the word, and it’s over like that,” He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point.

You thought about his words for a minute, nodding as you processed, “And what if, hypothetically, I don’t want to be in charge?” You smirked a little as Sam and Dean’s heads snapped towards each other. They exchanged looks quickly, somehow managing to keep their expressions mostly neutral.

Sam had the faintest smile playing on his lips when he turned back to you. “Well, hypothetically, darlin’, that can be arranged; though everything Dean said about if you wanted to stop, that part still stands.”

You nodded, “So like a safe word then?”

“Yep, exactly. You’d pick it, of course, and then if you ever, and I do mean ever, wanna stop, you’ve got that to fall back on.”

“Or,” Dean added, shifting a little closer to you on the bed, “if you like the stoplight system better, that’s an option too.”

Thinking about that, you leaned into Sam’s right side and nuzzled gently against him, shivering slightly, hoping he would take the hint and put his arm around you. Dean watched you snuggling up with his brother, and the look of jealousy you expected to see on his face never came. He simply gave Sam a “go ahead” nod, and within seconds you were tucked cozily under Sam’s arm, his body radiating so much warmth, you instantly felt better.

You beckoned Dean closer with grabby hands, peeking out from your spot pressed against Sam. Sam scooted over to the left side of the bed, taking you with him, so Dean had room to sit on the other side of you, which he did, leaning into you and pressing his left leg up against your right. Dean smiled in that a-little-bit-cocky, very Dean-like way of his and kissed the side of your head gently, “Is this what you were asking for, sweetheart?”

You looked at him, suddenly shy, and gave him a tiny nod before hiding your face in Sam’s pec. Sam chuckled lightly, bouncing his arm a couple of times to get you to come out of your little hiding spot. Once you finally looked up at him, pouting a little, he gently nudged you again, “ Since when did you get shy, pretty girl? You’re always our little firecracker – haven’t known you to be shy around anyone.”

“Since I told you I like you. Now, hush,” you sassed, sticking your tongue out at him before hiding again. You could practically feel the boys exchanging looks over your head again.

Dean clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a tut of disapproval, “Oh, looks like someone has an attitude. Good thing you’re still recovering from the hunt, or I don’t think we’d be able to let you get away with that kind of tone.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes. His tone had changed from that sweet compassionate tone that he’d had at the beginning of this conversation up until three seconds ago. Now it had a much harder, sterner edge to it, one that made you want to sit up, look him in the eye, and say “yes sir.” You resisted the urge for the time being, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that that exact scenario might be in your near future.

It was almost a week later by the time you got the courage to bring up the conversation to Sam and Dean. The three of you had traveled back to the bunker a few days prior, since you now felt fully healed from your little brush with death and quite frankly, just wanted to be home. Crappy motel rooms are only tolerable for so long.

Both boys were sitting at the table in the library, buried in dusty research books and papers they’d probably dug out of the boxes in the room leading to the dungeon. Dean looked up immediately when you walked into the room, dressed in your cutest silk pajama shorts and a tank top that left little to the imagination. He shoved the book he’d been reading back eagerly— he was probably relieved to have an excuse for a break. You knew Sam had been forcing him to help with research at this point.

You couldn’t blame Dean though, honestly; you’d done almost as much reading as the boys had for this particular on-going case, but ever since your head injury, you’d been claiming to get a headache whenever you tried to read. You knew Sam especially was suspicious, but thankfully, he’d let you get away with it so far.

Sam finally pulled his attention away from the papers he was shuffling through when you sat down at the table next to Dean. You pushed the chair back a bit and drew your knees up to your chest, hugging your legs tightly.

“Hey Y/N, what’s up?” Sam could tell immediately that you weren’t just here out of boredom. He’d always been good at interpreting body language.

“You remember that conversation we had back at the motel about us, right?” you asked, chin resting on your knees.

Dean readjusted in his seat, “‘Course we do, sweetheart. It was kind of a memorable one, hmm?” he chuckled, kindly.

“Yeah,” you laughed a little nervously. You’d think that after that original conversation, this one would be a piece of cake, but this was still a sensitive topic, and well, anxiety’s a bitch. “Anyway, so I’ve been thinking more about it, and— I wanna do it.”

If you didn’t completely have their attention before, you certainly did now. They both nodded, and Dean cleared his throat, “Okay, sunshine. Well, tell us a little bit about what you’re looking for then. ‘Cause remember, we don’t want you to feel forced into anything. We can always make adjustments until you’re completely comfortable with it,” he gestured a little to emphasize his point.

“Um, well— you both said you’d be okay with being with me exclusively, right? ‘Cause I don’t want to ask either of you to agree to something that doesn’t feel fair.” You chewed a little on your lower lip nervously.

Dean said, “That’s right,” just as Sam said, “Yes, of course,” so you figured they really were fine with it. You quickly realized this would be a lesson in trust for you, not that you didn’t already trust them with your life. You did, but this was a completely new territory, so you figured you better start trusting they meant what they said now.

“Okay,” you nodded, relaxing a little. “Well, I want to be exclusive to both of you, if that’s okay. And also, um— I would prefer for you guys to be in charge.” You stared hard at your knees waiting for their answer.

Dean chuckled again, “I kinda wondered about that when we first talked about it. Usually you’re so headstrong, but during that talk, we both noticed you’ve got a little sub in you. Is that what you’re referring to?”

You nodded, relieved that they’d understood and you wouldn’t have to further spell it out. “And I think I just have one last question — when you wanna, um, be with me, is that like a one-on-one thing or…?”

Sam spoke up then, “Two-on-one? Whichever one you want, darlin’. Dean and I had talked about that awhile back, so honestly, it really is up to you. Even if you wanna start one-on-one before you try both of us, it’s perfectly fine. But yes, if you’re wondering if we’d be willing to do that, the answer is yes.” Sam’s brow was furrowed, eyes in full puppy mode, and he leaned forward a bit, as if to stress how much he wanted you to be comfortable in whatever the three of you decided.

You raised your eyebrows a bit, surprised that they’d already talked about it, albeit relieved. A threesome was definitely something you were interested in trying eventually, the best thing about being able to have both of them, in your opinion. And just like they did everything else better together, you had a feeling that, whenever you did get to experience that, it would blow your mind.

“Can we start one-on-one first? I’d kinda like to experience you separately before we all go, but that is something I wanna do eventually, a threesome, I mean.”

Dean nodded at your words, “Sounds good, honey. I have a question though — just to confirm, you’re wanting for us to be your… dominants, as well as your boyfriends? Or are you wanting to just keep all that stuff in the bedroom exclusively?”

At Dean’s question, you could feel your cheeks heating up a bit. Across the table, Sam was smirking. What a question. Of course you’d expected him to be that kind of kinky. But asking that question so blatantly? He was already turning into your dom. Good thing that’s exactly what you’d been hoping for. You could already tell he was the kind of dom who’d test your limits, get you out of your comfort zone — but never to the point that it hurt you.

“No, that sounds good, really good even. As long as I get to keep a little of my freedom.”

“Oh, we don’t want you to feel trapped, sweet girl,” Sam added. “It shouldn’t ever feel like you need more freedom, and if it does at any point, we would want you to come talk to us immediately. I think what Dean’s getting at is that we just want to be able to protect you more, in the same way our relationship is about to change and grow. We just wanna be able to help you decide what’s best for you.”

“I like that,” you smiled shyly at him, already feeling yourself tapping into your submissive side. Sam and Dean had always had that effect on you, but now you were able to show that, rather than hiding it.

“When are you wanting all this to start, darlin’?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you and causing your cheeks to darken even more.

“Uhhh, now?” you asked. Sam and Dean exchanged looks again. Honestly, how did they always know what the other was thinking?

Apparently they’d reached a consensus, because they both turned back to you. “Sounds great,” Dean smirked. “And in the spirit of us being your doms, there’s something Sam and I both want you to do.”

‘Wow,’ you couldn’t help but think, ‘they’re, like, really prepared for this.’ But what you said was, “Okay, hit me.”

“We know you get shy talking about this sort of thing,” Sam started. “Sex, your wants, desires. We’re gonna fix that right up front. If you want something from us, or want us to do something for you, you have to ask us directly— look us in the eye— or we’re gonna say ‘no’ every time, until you can ask properly. Is that clear?”

It was crazy to you how easily Sam slipped into his no-nonsense dom persona. Usually he was hesitant to ask you to do anything, and here he was telling you. Eyes wide, you looked him in the eye and nodded.

“You speak when you’re spoken to, Y/N. Now, let’s try this again. Is that clear?” Dean stared you down. He was still sitting, but the look he was giving you made it seem like he was towering above you.

You cleared your throat and alternated which of them you looked at directly. You felt small, and you really liked it. “Yes, it’s clear. I understand.”

“Good,” Sam nodded his approval. “Now, I know we mentioned it last time but we never did settle on a safe word, or the spotlight system if you prefer. So, do you have a safe word?”

“Impala,” you said. At that, Dean smiled, “Atta girl.” You blushed at his approval, pleasing him was quickly becoming one of your favorite things to do.

“But,” you wondered aloud, “could we also use the stoplight system just in case? It would make me feel better if you could ask me for my color sometimes.”

Sam agreed instantly, “Of course, baby. And we’ll keep that in mind and make sure to ask and check in on you. And also, honey, you don’t have to sleep with either of us immediately, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “You tell us when you’re ready for that, and whenever you’re ready, you just make sure to remember what we said about asking for things, okay, sweet girl?”

“Okay, Dean,” you turned to Sam and looked him in the eye, practicing what the boys had told you. “Sammy, will you…hold me, please?” Your cheeks flushed, and every fiber of you wanted to stare at the ground, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze, even doing a tiny grabby hand motion towards him.

Sam grinned and pushed his chair back, “Of course, especially since my pretty girl asked so nicely. C’mere, darlin’.”

He held out his big hand for you to come take, so you clambered out of your seat and hurried around the table. You took his hand, and he helped steady you as you climbed into his lap and curled up against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tight, chin resting on your hair. His thumbs rubbed lightly against your arms, comforting you. Dean watched the two of you from across the table, smiling fondly. Feeling Sam and looking back at Dean, you swore you’d never felt happier.

a/n: thank you a bunch for reading! i hope you liked it, and 3000 apologies for the fact it took months for me to update (oopsies). all my love xx

Tags: if you enjoyed this and want to add yourself to any of my taglists, here’s a link, and thank youuuu :))

Forevers: @downanddirtydean @deanwanddamons @katelyn--renee @lassie-bird @jensengirl83 @superfanficnatural @deangirl93 @that-one-gay-girl @writercole @flamencodiva

SPN: @meeshw777

Dean Winchester: @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @spnfangirl1314

Sam Winchester: @watermelonlipstick

#spn fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader x sam winchester #sam winchester x reader x dean winchester #sam winchester smut #dean winchester smut #spn smut #supernatural fics #supernatural fanfiction #bleeding in love

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violenceenthusiast · 3 years

Text

ok i had a thought that makes me wanna dip my head in acid but in a soft way...

dean and claire having a father/daughter saturday of fun and low-grade mischief, going to an arcade and joke-fighting over what stuffed animal to get with their tickets and getting slushies and while they’re taking a break to grab burgers claire says “yknow i’ve been meaning to go get- wanna come with me while i get a new piercing??”

and dean pinches in the direction of her ear a little and says “what, you don’t have enough of those already?” as if he doesn’t think they’re the coolest thing.

she waves him off, eyes flicking between the burger in her hands and the table “i don’t know i just thought it’d be something else fun to do today.”

dean’s only half teasing when he asks “you want me there to hold your hand?”

claire rolls her eyes and looks to the side with half a smile, “oh shut up.” but it’s true, she does want him there to hold her hand– she may be a hardcore hunter who will take a knife cut or a monster bite in stride, but she always gets a little nervous before each piercing. maybe having dean there will make it just a little more manageable.

––

they get to the studio and claire signs the forms, picks out her jewelry, takes a seat to wait while they get ready for her. dean is pacing, looking carefully in each case, at each display. the nice person behind the counter sees him looking and asks “did you want to get something pierced today too?” claire cracks a smile at that and dean looks up at the counter clerk a little wide-eyed, eyebrows raised and mouth half open in surprise, huffs out a breath and looks down as half a nervous smile pulls at the left side of his mouth. he sticks one hand in his pocket and gives one wave with the other as he says “ha. nah, no- just here for her today” as he gestures at claire. he goes to sit with her until the piercer calls them back to the room that’s set up for them.

claire is getting a conch piercing and it’s going more easily than usual- partly because dean is there with her, partly because there are shockingly few nerve endings in the middle of the ear cartilage, and partly because the woman doing the piercing is insanely pretty and insanely good at what she does (she used to be a phlebotomist so she knows a little something about blood, needles, nervousness, and a given person’s propensity for fainting). while the piercer is busy marking the ear, claire looks over at dean in his chair and unable to contain the question any longer asks him, “you ever thought about getting a piercing?”

“me? nah.. it’s just not- i mean they would’ve gotten ripped out for sure by some- by accident.” he was about to say ‘by some monster’ but caught himself before he really weirded out the nice piercer woman. he hadn’t thought about him and piercings in a long time. he had slowly stopped wearing even rings and bracelets as much over the years in case they got caught on something during a hunt (though now he had a new ring on his left hand that he never took off). a piece of jewelry actually in the body was even more of a ridiculous idea for a hunter. but he wasn’t a hunter any more, not really. hadn’t been for about a year. after chuck and getting cas back safe and human.. with sam and eileen running their witchy little hunter hub from the bunker.. it had just seemed like his opportunity and his time to break out of it all. wow okay in that split second he trailed so far off from where he started.. where did he start? ...piercings! right. he remembers being young and not being able to take his eyes off the men in bars with the metal glinting in their ears, noses, lips.. now he knew the staring had been more about the men than the jewelry but it hadn’t not been about the jewelry either. was this one of those things he got to think about now, again, for the first time in a lifetime?

claire takes a moment to make sure she isn’t woozy any more and gets up to go look in the mirror at her new adornment. she smiles and dean snaps out of his own little world to say “you like it?”

she looks at him through the mirror “love it.” and then, mischievous, “your turn.”

“my turn??”

“oh absolutely.” a moment of raised eyebrows and incredulous silence then, “if you decide you hate it you can just take it out. c’mon i saw your face, you want one you can’t hide from me.”

she’s right. he protests weakly, but she knows him all too well at this point and she’s right and the goading from the piercer only encourages her.

“okay okay fine. but nothing too showy.”

they decide on a rook. it’s not too prominent but it’s definitely there, definitely unique, it will look okay on it’s own if he never gets another piercing, and if he has to jump in on an odd hunt it’s far enough into the ear that it would be hard for it to get caught on anything or ripped out. dean picks a simple, stainless steel piece with a lapis lazuli setting– blue for his husband (though if you asked him he would deny that’s why he chose it. but only at first).

he can’t believe how jittery he is about the whole thing, but this time claire holds his hand. it’s over before it’s begun and he thought it might be painful like the tattoo was, or like any of the number of painful little things that have happened to him over the years but it’s not, it mostly just feels strange. it’s nice to be surprised like that.

dean hops off the bench like claire did and goes to the mirror half expecting to hate what he sees. but he’s surprised for the second time in barely a minute. the glint of the metal in his ear doesn’t just look good, it looks right. like it was meant to be there and he had been awaiting it’s arrival but didn’t know it. something hard to name, something small, something he didn’t know was missing until he found it had just found its way to him, slotted into place and settled in his ribs. he feels quieter but also on fire– like he’d be satisfied to just sit and read a book, like he could face god and win (again).

from behind him claire asks, “like it?”

he smiles. “love it.”

––

they kick around for a little while longer, each of them forgetting about their new piercings until they catch sight of the other’s or until they catch their reflection in a shop window and take a second to admire the newness. eventually claire begrudgingly admits she has to get back to campus to get some work done. dean drops her off at her dorm with a hug and a “stay out of trouble”.

dean makes the drive home to cas, just lost enough in happy thoughts and memories from the day that he forgets to put on any music until he’s already half way home.

he gets to the house and finds cas watering the plants in the living room. he leans in the doorframe, watching his love gently tend to each plant in turn. dean doesn’t say anything, he knows cas knows he’s there and will greet him when he’s finished seeing to his darlings. in the meantime dean gets to delight in the sight of the curve of cas’ back as he bends this way and that to reach the plants, the delicate and reverent care he shows each leaf and vine.

cas finishes his routine, sets the water down and turns to greet dean. he freezes half way to saying hello because something is.. something.. something is... he can’t put a name to it, nothing is wrong but dean is.. shifted. not different.. but different. dean is holding his head oddly turned to the side and it doesn’t help either that dean is smiling around a secret and they both know it. cas narrows his eyes but brushes off the feeling long enough to cross the room and give dean a kiss, quick but whole and familiar. dean turns his head to look at a plant and ask a question about it and “accidentally” reveal his new addition. cas, who hasn’t taken a single step backwards since coming over to kiss dean, of course sees the jewelry immediately and exclaims before dean even has a chance to start his made-up question.

after some very amusing joke-yelling from both sides, it’s revealed that cas just absolutely loves it. and not that dean was worried cas would hate it but dean was a little worried cas would hate it. or worse, that he would judge it. but cas loves that dean tried something new, loves that he chose something blue, loves that dean seems just that little bit more at home in himself. and from the slight blush in his cheeks and ears, dean can tell cas thinks it’s a little bit sexy too.

––

dean keeps thinking about how much he liked getting a piercing. he gets it on a fundamental level now, gets claire and her array of silver and gold. he’s got the taste for it now, the itch. he’s thinking about going back for another one. or two. but what else, what next? he cheekily wonders about picking based on what would drive cas wild.

...dean goes back in secret a month and a half later to get his nips pierced. it doesn’t stay secret for long. not from cas, at least.

#dean winchester #claire novak #dad dean #bi dean #destiel fanfic #destiel #retired dean #supernatural #spn fic #spn fluff #finale fix it #saileen mention #dean can have a little gender euphoria as a treat #gay angel but make him more jewish #1.7k words #ok maybe i need to follow more spn blogs i only have like 5 rn #anyone wanna guess how many piercings i have based solely on reading this fic lmao #fern posting

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

All That I Ask

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 6990

Warnings: Smut. Smut, feels, and Sam Winchester being wonderful. There’s a brief moment of post-traumatic dissociation, but the traumatic event itself isn’t discussed or really even named. Otherwise, it’s about as gooey and sweet as a fuckin marshmallow. This is like... fix-it fic for life-canon.

A/N: Whether it was rape or coercion or just a partner who didn’t care enough to make you feel comfortable, I think almost every woman knows what it’s like to feel powerless or unsafe during sex. This is about agency and trust and hang-ups and recovery, and how partners should handle those things.

This was inspired by a request from @the-departed-patato. Thank you for trusting me with this one. I didn’t realize until I started typing that this was something I really really needed to write.

Also, major thanks to the Slack squad for edits and support and trying to curb my comma habit: @rockhoochie, @icemankazansky, @fangirlxwritesx67, @stunudo y’all are amazing.

Here’s my heart, don’t break it. It’s all that I ask, nothing more. - “Moonlight,” Future Islands

This is so stupid.

This is Sam. This is sweet, kind, gentle Sam, and I’m head over heels for him.

I want him. How could I not? I’ve wanted to do this since I met him, and now I can. He tugs his shirt over his head, and I can run my hand up his side, down his chest, tracing the ripply contours of abs, and god dammit, I want him.

He rolls me onto my back, hips slotting in against me. I can feel the drag and catch of denim, I can feel where he’s hard against the crease of my thigh, and I can feel his weight on me, holding me, pressing into me, trapping me, and I can feel myself start to shut down.

This is so stupid.

I remind myself that I’m safe. He’s being gentle, I tell myself. He’s not holding my wrists, he’s not pinning me, he’s not doing anything that should make me feel unsafe.

I’m still shutting down. I stare at a point somewhere over his shoulder as he kisses my neck, and I remind myself that I’m being stupid, and I can’t fucking breathe.

“Hey,” he whispers, and then he’s looking down at me, rolling onto his side again, and I try to focus on him but part of me is seeing someone else.

“Sorry,” I whisper, voice small and tight around the lump in my throat.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, so fucking sweet with his sunflower eyes wide and concerned. I shake my head.

“No, it’s stupid,” I squeak. “I’m being stupid. I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, you didn’t — we can — I’m fine.”

“Do you need space, or — how can I help?”

“Don’t go,” I breathe. “Please don’t, I’m okay, just come… come here?”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, putting an arm around me, kissing my forehead. “Hey, I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m right here. Take your time.”

I burrow into his chest, tears stinging my eyes as I start to break the grip of whatever cold thing has been clutching at my ribcage.

This is so fucking stupid.

I remember to breathe, and Sam waits. He strokes my hair, whispers soothing nonsense, cradles me close.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out eventually. I can’t look him in the eye; I look at his neck instead, the steady flutter of his pulse under the skin.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, soft but fierce. “Nothing. You hear me?”

“‘Kay.” I swallow hard and try to shake it off. “We can — it’s not that I don’t want to. Do you want—”

“Stop,” he interrupts. “There’s no rush, okay? If you’re doing this because you think you should… for my sake? That’s not how it works.”

He curls a gentle finger under my chin, tilting my head back until I meet his eyes, and I feel hot all over at the tenderness in his expression. I blink away tears and give him a tiny nod.

“This is about the guy you told me about?” he asks, tentative. “Was it… it was more than you made it out to be, wasn’t it?”

I nod again. I don’t trust myself to make words. My heart is racing, and I can feel the panicked beat of it in my throat, choking me.

“We need to talk about this, at some point. Okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, but I need to know what not to do. I don’t ever want to scare you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, feeling raw and exposed and so goddamn crazy about him.

“We don’t have to do that now, though. Just rest. You’re safe with me.”

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Sam whispers when I stir. He’s spooned up behind me, one big solid arm around my waist, and I settle myself more comfortably in the cocoon of his embrace. Then I remember.

“About last night—” I start hesitantly.

“If you’re going to try to apologize again, stop right there,” he says, and I can hear the wry smile in his voice. “But if you want to talk about it…”

We didn’t close the curtains, and the morning sun is filtering through the blinds of the motel room, making everything feel clean and bright and fresh. It’s easier like this, too, with my back to Sam. I don’t have to feel his eyes on me.

“There hasn’t been anyone else, since,” I admit. My voice sounds very small in the quiet of the room. “So… I don’t really know what causes it. Not for sure.”

Sam exhales slowly, his breath tickling the curve of my neck. “What happened last night, to set it off?”

“Having you on top of me, I think. It’s not — you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you. That’s all on him,” Sam says. The faintest hint of a growl in his voice takes me by surprise. “No blame, okay? I’m not going to take it personally. Not ever.”

“Okay. Um. Feeling… held down, or trapped. And you shouldn’t — don’t grab my wrists?”

“I can do that. What else?”

“I think… just, not too rough?” I ask, cheeks burning. “I don’t think I could handle… too much. The first time, at least.”

“Okay,” he agrees calmly. “And what else? What does work for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t about, like, just making it manageable for you,” he says, low and earnest, kissing the curve of my neck. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Oh,” I say breathlessly. “Oh. Um.”

I’m suddenly very conscious of his hand splayed over my lower abdomen, his palm warm through the thin cotton of my tank top. He must feel the way my belly tightens, because he slides his hand a little lower, thumb tucking under the hem and stroking back and forth, tickling deliciously.

It’s such a light touch, a barely-there brush, but it’s sending sparks down my spine. I wriggle back against Sam, wondering if the sudden crackle of tension in the air is just my imagination.

“I want to know what gets you off.” Sam’s voice is husky and heated, and my breath hitches. It’s not just my imagination, then. “I want to make you come. It’s not just about… penetration, or whatever.” He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and I wonder if that’s the first time someone has made the word penetration sound sexy. “Do you want me to touch you? Do you want my mouth?”

I shift, and I can feel him getting hard through his pajama pants.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I want that. Sam… want you.”

His hand slides lower, until the tips of his pinky and ring finger are dipping under the elastic of my shorts.

“When you touch yourself,” he says quietly. “What do you do? Can you show me?”

“I don’t—”

His hand finds mine where it’s curled loosely on the mattress, slides under it so that my palm rests on the back of his, and he laces our fingers together, bringing our joined hands back to my stomach.

“Can you show me?” he repeats, and the warmth of his hand is burning through my shirt, pooling in my core, making me want like I haven’t wanted another person in a long time.

“Oh.” I take a deep breath.

I guide his hand lower, flush against my skin, under my waistband and down until his fingers cup my cunt. When I press my middle finger down against his, he moves with me, one long finger parting my lips and stroking through silky wet heat. He follows my lead, waiting for me, his knuckle bending when mine does, nudging against my entrance. His finger is so much longer than mine. When I curl it, pressing in, it’s him sliding into me, his fingertip, shallow and easy.

I exhale slowly, not pushing, and he stays, chest rising against my back as he sucks in a deep breath, waiting for my direction.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, low and gravelly.

“Good.”

I’m shaky and wet and aching with how much I want him, and I’m not sure where this is going, not sure I’m ready for more than his fingers, but I need him to understand: none of this, none of my hesitation, is because I don’t want him.

I draw his hand up, showing him where to stroke with one slick fingertip, circling my clit, and I can feel him trembling too, all down my back, his cock hard where it presses against my ass. This torturous drawn-out intensity, the way he’s waiting for me… it’s almost unbearable, but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to move any faster.

We breathe in sync, both our chests heaving at the same time as the zing of it ripples out through me, and —

Someone bangs on the door.

“Up and at ‘em!” Dean shouts. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

“Fuck,” I hiss, as Sam lets out a low groan. It takes every bit of my willpower to pull away. When I roll to face him, he’s just as wild-eyed as I feel, flushed and panting and gorgeous.

We’re both paralyzed for a second, staring at each other, until he lets out a long sigh.

“Later,” he husks, and it sounds like a promise.

“Later.”

Later, when we fall into bed, I’m shaking for a completely different reason.

It wasn’t a bad hunt, in the end. It’s just one moment that keeps replaying in my memories on a sickening loop. There was so much blood, all down the side of his face and neck, and he went still in a way that made my heart stop for a second.

Apparently ears bleed a lot.

I felt a little embarrassed when I saw the injury, a barely-there slice through the cartilage, but I couldn’t shake the sight of all that blood. There’s still traces of it on his skin, dried in his hair. My stomach churns whenever I catch a glimpse of rusty red.

He pulls the comforter up over us, lying on his uninjured side, and I kiss him, deep and starved, my entire body vibrating with the tension of lingering adrenaline, like my skin is sparking up with the reminder that we’re still alive and we should enjoy it while we can.

I can feel it in his muscles, too, the way he’s holding back, holding himself stiff like he has to restrain himself. He rolls onto his back and takes me with him, arms strong around me, body warm and ready under me.

I choke on a quiet sob, trying to hold it in.

Sam freezes, big hands cupping my cheeks as he breaks the kiss. He looks at me, eyes deep green-gold in the lamplight.

“It’s not — it’s not that. You scared me.”

“I know,” he says. “I know. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Want you,” I say fiercely, watching the way his swollen-red lips twitch into a bittersweet smile.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not when you’re already on edge. If your fight or flight system is still all revved up…”

He’s right, but I hate it. He brushes hair back from my forehead and kisses me again, chaste and quick.

“Okay,” I whisper, against his mouth. “Just… god, you scared me, Sam.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I kiss one corner of his mouth, then the other.

“I need a shower,” he says.

I frown, feeling childish as I confess, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I didn’t mean — come with me,” he suggests. “Shower with me. Not — no sex.”

I raise an eyebrow at him skeptically. “Really?”

“You don’t have to,” he backtracks gently. “If you’re not ready to—”

“Sam, I’ve wanted to see you naked since I met you,” I say flatly. “Believe me, that is not the problem.”

He laughs, dimples flashing as he grins up at me. “Then… yeah. Come shower with me. I don’t want to let you out of my sight either.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He only turns on half the bathroom lights, keeping it dim. The harsh fluorescents would be too much. It’s easier to pull my shirt off when I feel like I can still hide in the shadows.

I try not to stare as he strips down matter-of-factly and steps in, but it’s not easy. It’s not easy to look at myself, either, when I compare my body to Sam’s. I get my clothes off before I can talk myself out of it, tripping clumsily out of my jeans.

He must see something different than I do when I look at myself, because the way he stares at me when I step into the shower… he looks at me like he never wants to stop looking.

I’ve never felt like this before, shaky and vulnerable and open but in a good way, because somehow I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling like this. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust Sam. That trust is what stops me from covering myself with my hands, stops me from doubting myself as I step under the spray with him and stand up on my tiptoes for a kiss.

One kiss turns into more, syrupy-slow, water streaming down our skin as we melt into each other. Sam licks and sucks and nibbles at my mouth until my lips feel puffy and bruised. I adjust, slowly, to the feel of his body against mine, the way my soft curves mold to the muscled planes of his chest, the way his cock twitches against my stomach as he gets hard, and even though I can feel the length of him hot and heavy between us, he doesn’t press for more; he kisses me like this is all he’s ever wanted to do.

By the time he pulls away, I’m light-headed. He looks down at me with water beading in his spiky eyelashes, and he smiles.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, and somehow, I believe him.

I don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He grabs his shampoo from the edge of the tub and turns me around, my back to his chest.

He massages little sudsy circles into my scalp and combs his fingers gently through the tangles. He shields my eyes when it’s time to rinse, tilting my chin back gently into the spray. Nobody’s done this for me since I was a child. It makes me feel innocent and serene and fucking treasured, the way he takes care of me.

Sex has always felt like the height of intimacy to me. I always feel vulnerable, like that’s the closest I can get to another person, the most exposed.

Sam’s fingers in my hair feel like a better expression of trust than anything I’ve ever done in bed. Sex has never felt this intimate. I’m not sure anything has ever felt this intimate.

Everything starts to fade, the leftover adrenaline draining out of me, the outside world ceasing to matter. It’s just Sam and me, completely bare, wrapped in our little steamy cocoon. I feel safe. I feel exhausted, heavy-eyed and heavy-limbed, muscles aching, but I don’t feel pressured and I don’t feel nervous. I just feel safe.

Maybe it’s the booze talking, but I want to lick Sam’s arms.

He’s stretched out over the pool table as he lines up his shot, eyes laser-focused, hands curled around the cue. He has his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and I can see veins standing out under the skin, corded muscles rippling, bunching and shifting with every twist of his wrist.

Yeah. I want to lick Sam’s arms.

Dean spits out a sip of his beer, spluttering out a vehement, “Ew, I don’t want to hear that shit!”

So apparently I said that out loud.

Dean stalks away, muttering to himself, and I chirp a quick “Sorry!” to his retreating back.

He’ll get over it.

Sam’s done with his game, and he’s walking toward me, grinning in that slow easy way of his as he tucks his hair behind his ears. He’s so fucking gorgeous. I can’t handle not touching him any more.

“Can we get some air?” I ask breathlessly, and his eyes sparkle with amusement as he lets me tug him outside.

There are a couple people smoking by the door, so I pull him farther away, down to the end of the building, where a tacky wooden statue of a bear stands between us and the door. It’s close enough to privacy.

Sam slouches back against the brick, and I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss him, leaning against him and trusting him to keep me upright. He goes with it, opening up for me as I take control of the kiss, his lips pillowy, and I can feel him smile.

“What was that for?” he asks, when I give him a second to breathe. I nuzzle into the side of his neck and nip at his pulse, and his fingers tighten on my hips.

“Just want you,” I say bluntly. I kiss him again, a deep filthy kiss that I can feel down to my toes. “I was watching you, and… yeah. Want you. Can we go back to the motel?”

“You’re drunk,” he says, mock-admonishing, but he’s still smiling.

“‘M not drunk, you’re drunk,” I mumble sulkily.

“Yep,” he says, popping the P, and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay,” I concede. “Tipsy, maybe.”

“Which is still too drunk,” Sam says gently.

I let out a tiny frustrated sound as he kisses me again. “Fine.”

He laughs, shifting his weight, getting one knee between mine, and when I settle closer, I can feel the blunt pressure of his thigh right between my legs.

“Believe me,” he whispers, between kisses, “I would really, really love to take you back to the motel right now but… it’s not a good idea.” He shifts, and I whine at the friction. “I’m not going to have sex with you tonight. I want us both to be sober for that. When we get there… I want to remember every second of it.”

“Kinda worried I’m gonna combust before then.” The drag of denim on denim pulls at the seam of my jeans, almost painfully good, and I shiver.

“Oh,” he says quietly, like he didn’t realize that he was torturing me. He rocks forward experimentally. It feels like fireworks.

“Don’t oh me,” I grump, except it comes out more breathless than grumpy.

“It’ll be worth the wait,” he whispers. “Don’t want to rush it. Want to take my time with you. I want to watch you come for me, want to taste it —”

I whimper, rolling my hips helplessly, clinging to Sam so tight that my fingers must be bruising his biceps.

“Do you like thinking about that?” he asks, growling low against my ear. “My mouth?”

“Please,” I bite out. “Fuck, Sam, I need — something. Anything.” I tilt my hips down again, trying to make my point.

He hesitates for a split second before rocking up to meet me, and I let out a ragged sigh.

“I won’t — not tonight, not more than this,” he says hoarsely, stumbling over the words. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as he asks intently, “Are you sure this is okay right now? If you really want —”

“Please,” I say again. I meet his eyes, embarrassed by how much I want him but steady in spite of it.

Maybe it’s the alcohol making me feel like this, loose and relaxed and reckless, or maybe it’s just Sam, the way he’s letting me take the lead, the way he groans when I shudder against him, the way I trust him with my life and trust him enough to let him see me fall apart like this.

And I am falling apart. I work my hips in little circles, feeling the dull burn of it clench in my gut with every tiny movement, pushing myself closer to the edge.

Sam just lets me, chest heaving, murmuring filthy-sweet things in my ear: “I’m all yours. Anything. Don’t care how long I have to wait, just — want to make you feel good. Want you on top of me, want you to just — ride my mouth, rub yourself all over my tongue, want —”

I let out a tiny, bitten-off whimper, hiding my face against his shoulder. My muscles spasm as I come, jerking against him, feeling it thud through me all at once like a punch to the gut.

I’m almost surprised by it, and by the wave of relief that washes through me. It’s not the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, but it’s the easiest by far. I never realized I could get off like that.

Then again, any experience I’ve ever had with dry-humping was with the guy on top of me, hipbones bruising my thighs, and… yeah. No thank you.

“Jesus,” Sam breathes, arms around me, supporting my weight as I collect myself.

“That was… unexpected,” I blurt out, and I giggle helplessly as I pull back to look at him. He grins back, and there’s something so dazed and beautiful in his expression that I lose my breath all over again.

“I —” Sam starts, but he catches himself, shutting his mouth abruptly.

I’m falling in love with you, I think, heart pounding, but I know I can’t say it now, can’t say it like this.

Sam and I look at each other in silence for a second, and then the moment passes. I flush, self-conscious, an apology on the tip of my tongue.

“Don’t apologize, that was one of the hottest things that’s ever happened to me,” Sam says preemptively, before I can form the words. “You should go inside, before Dean comes looking for us. Just… give me a second?” He adjusts himself in his jeans, making a face, and I giggle.

“See you in there.”

“That was easy,” Dean comments, as we buckle our seatbelts. “Where to next? Sammy, did you find anything in the paper this morning?”

“Actually,” Sam says. “I could really use an evening off. Can we grab some food and go back to the motel and just… chill for the night?”

He and Dean exchange one of those Winchester looks that don’t mean anything to anyone else but the two of them.

“Sure,” Dean says easily. Sam smiles at me in the rearview, and I think, oh.

My brain is my worst enemy. By the time we pull into the motel lot, I’m panicking, and I’m not even sure why.

Sam’s laughing at something Dean just said, bathed in gold late-afternoon light, and he’s incredible, and I should want nothing more than to get him in our room and jump him, but my chest feels tight and I’m convinced that I’ll freeze up, freak out, mess it all up, and he’ll give up, he’s already been so patient —

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asks. The driver’s side door slams behind Dean, breaking me out of my trance.

“Fine,” I say, too brightly. “I’m fine.”

He studies me for a second, head tilted, and I try to smile at him. It doesn’t work.

“I’m not fine,” I amend, and feel my face crumple.

“Hang on one sec?” Sam asks, and I take a second to compose myself as he jumps out of the car. He and Dean have a whispered powwow and then Sam returns, key in hand, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Come sit up front,” he says easily, without explanation. “Let’s go for a drive.”

“We can —” I try, but he cuts me off.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like there’s pressure,” he says firmly. “I just want to spend time with you. Let’s just… go for a drive.”

So that’s what we do. When we leave the strip mall hell that surrounds the motel, Sam gets off the highway and we’re in the woods, driving up a winding mountain road. Sam seems to know where he’s headed; he mutters “Think it’s around here somewhere,” at one point, and then eventually he turns onto the Blue Ridge Parkway.

He drives slow, easing into the sharp curves. I can breathe again. It’s hard to feel panicky out here, up in the open air, close to the pink-tinted sky. When the trees open up there are views of sprawling valleys, just starting to turn orange and yellow in the first hints of fall.

There’s a wide pull-off for a scenic overlook, “Rocky Knob,” and Sam parks. The sun is setting behind us and the clouds are lined in deep pink now.

Sam spreads his coat out on the scratchy grass, right in front of Baby, and we sit next to each other, watching in easy silence as the light fades and dusk falls.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, tilting my head onto his shoulder. He slips an arm around me and I shift, turning to settle more comfortably against his side. A sliver of moon is just visible on the horizon.

“You know you don’t —” he starts. His voice sounds choked and strange. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I just like seeing you happy. That’s more important to me than… any of the rest of it.”

“Thank you,” I repeat, firmly, and he lets out a laugh that’s more of a sigh.

I twist to kiss him, intending to make it a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, but he turns to meet me, tongue flickering over my lower lip, teeth scraping ever so carefully. One hand finds my cheek, and his fingers are so long that I feel dwarfed by the way they cradle and caress and pull me closer.

I crawl into his lap, straddling him. He has one hand on the small of my back and the other between my shoulderblades, steadying me. I trace the hard lines of bones under skin, running my fingers along the jut of his jaw and stroking the hinge of it with my thumb, sliding the other hand back to cup the shape of his skull, and for all his size and strength he feels fragile under my fingers. I brush over his pulse and rub the soft hollow behind his ear, and I can feel how fragile this is, this thing between us and the way it makes him shake when he breathes.

We’re both shaking, I realize, as I rest my forehead against his. The tip of my nose nudges against his. The curve of his lower lip brushes mine, barely, not intentional enough to be a kiss, just… close.

Not close enough. Never close enough.

“Sam,” I start, voice wobbling dangerously, but I don’t even know where to begin. His fingers twist in the back of my shirt, fisted in the fabric like he’s afraid to let go. He exhales — inhales — trembles.

Somehow I never considered that I might not be the only one here who’s scared.

I kiss him one more time, trying to tell him how I feel even if I can’t say the words yet, and then I pull away to look at him. His eyes catch and reflect the moonlight, glittering in the dark.

“Let’s go,” I say, and my voice isn’t shaking any more.

Sam’s nervous. He doesn’t know what to do with himself once the motel room door clicks shut behind us; he turns the desk lamp on and just stands there, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“We could watch a movie?” he offers. His hesitation makes it easier, somehow, to take the lead; I go up to him and tug at the hem of his shirt as I kiss his jaw.

“I don’t want to watch a movie,” I say firmly. I slide my hands under his shirt and run my thumbs over the ridges of his hipbones. “Take this off?”

He strips his shirt off and tosses it to the side, smiling, shy and happy.

We kiss and shed layers and kiss again, stumbling back toward the bed. When the backs of my legs hit the mattress, we’re down to our underwear, and even though I’ve seen Sam naked, now, the sight of him takes me by surprise. It doesn’t seem fair, how beautiful he is. All the bare golden skin throws me off-balance.

He moves slowly into my space, running his hands up my arms to cup my shoulders, and when he kisses me, my head spins. I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling clumsy and stupid. Sam just folds to his knees in front of me, smiling up at me patiently.

“Can I?” he asks softly. He runs his hands up my legs and hooks his fingers in the elastic of my panties. When I nod, he tugs, and I lift my hips to let him slide the fabric down until it’s out of the way.

He moves closer, kneeling between my spread legs. He doesn’t look shy any more. He looks hungry, pupils huge in kaleidoscope blue-gold irises as he watches me through his lashes.

I nod again, silently giving him permission, and his lips curl into a smile. Sam hooks his hands under my thighs and pulls me forward, until I’m right on the edge of the bed.

“Give me your hand?” he asks, and when I do, he brings it to his head, tangling my fingers through his silky hair. I lean on my other hand to brace myself and the position opens me up for him even more. “You’re in charge,” he reminds me.

The first lick is slow, just a smooth wet curl of heat tracing up my center, good in a way that’s easy and sweet even if it’s not the ‘god more now’ kind of pleasure. I run my fingers through Sam’s hair idly, trying to relax. He does it again, dipping down and dragging up, before swirling his tongue over my clit, and the friction coils up and rolls out through my core. The next lush swipe of his tongue has more pressure behind it, and he lingers on my clit, flattening his tongue, massaging. I let out a little sigh, and he hums approvingly.

“Want you to tell me what feels good, okay?” he asks, mouthing at the crease of my hip. “Or show me. Hold me where you want me.”

How does he just say those things?

Sam buries his face between my legs again, not just licking but working me over with his open mouth pressed to my cunt like he’s kissing me. He gets my clit between his lips and sucks gently, and it’s so good that I tug him closer helplessly, giving in to the pleasure before I even have a chance to hold back.

“Sorry,” I gasp, relaxing my grip when I realize how hard I’m pulling. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to —”

“I like it,” Sam growls, the words vibrating right up against me. Then he’s doing that thing again, slick pulsing pressure, and I give in, twisting my fingers in his hair and tilting my hips up to meet his mouth as my eyes roll back in my head. He moans low in his throat.

Every wave of suction feels more intense. It’s sharp and bright and perfect, building so fast I’m not sure what to do with myself; all I can do is hold on and arch up and shudder. I can feel it pulling up from my fingers, my toes, an inevitable swell of pressure under my skin until the wave of it finally crests and I come with a shout, long and drawn-out, one shock of pleasure after another.

“Fucking — fuck, Sam,” I whine, my voice coming out embarrassingly high-pitched and cracked. He flicks his tongue over me again and I twitch, jerking away from the raw-nerve feel of it.

When I drag my eyes open he’s looking up at me, smiling, a dimple just visible as he turns his head to kiss my inner thigh.

The fuck am I supposed to say to that?

Apparently I can’t say anything to that. I think my brain has gone permanently offline.

Sam sort of scoops me up and deposits me farther back on the bed, where I’m not at risk of falling down on my ass, and I grin dazedly as he stands up. His mouth is red and swollen and it looks like sin.

“Still with me?” he asks, and I nod. “Be right back.”

I scoot back until I can get under the blanket and sink into the pillows. I hear Sam rummaging in his shower kit, then the water running, but I don’t have the mental capacity to pay attention. My eyes are half-closed by the time he comes back.

He sets a bottle of lube down on the nightstand and I avert my eyes uncomfortably, taking the glass of water he offers before he slides into bed next to me.

“Why did that just make you get all shy?” he asks softly, correctly interpreting my expression. I shrug and twist away to set the glass down, but when I turn back to him, he’s still waiting for an answer.

I cuddle close, tucking my head under his chin, listening to him breathe for a moment. He’s naked, hard against my hip, and I’m almost surprised by the way my body responds to that; my stomach flips, hot and eager, in spite of my racing thoughts.

“It’s like… all of this,” I say hoarsely. “It just makes me feel like I’m being a pain in the ass. Because it’s supposed to be simpler than this. It means I’m not wet enough, and… I want you, and that should be the only thing that matters, and instead we have to go through this whole process of talking about my issues and… it’s supposed to be easier than this, and it’s my fault.”

Sam is very still, muscles stiff, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s angry.

“It’s not ‘supposed to’ be anything other than good for you,” he says sharply. “Look at me for a second.”

I pull back, taking in the fierce, raw expression on his face. My chest feels tight.

“Everybody’s different,” Sam says, quiet and intense. “Everybody has shit they like and don’t like, places they like being touched… it’s not an issue, and it’s especially not your issue. You’re not being difficult by telling me how to help you enjoy yourself. I want that. I want to know how to make you feel good. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“And if I ever meet any of your exes —” he says, jaw clenching, eyes stormy. I let out a nervous little giggle, and his expression melts from thunderous to soft before he continues, “It makes me happy knowing that you feel safe. It’s hot, watching you get off on it… your reaction is what turns me on more than anything.”

My stomach swoops. I slide closer, running a thumb over the soft swollen curve of his lower lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice dropping down low. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He rubs his palm over the curve of my hip like he can’t get enough of my bare skin. “When you were pulling my hair and just — the way you were shaking —”

I cut him off with a kiss, melding my body to his, and he smiles against my mouth before opening up easily, kissing me back with these slow, sultry swipes of his tongue. I can feel him everywhere: bare all down my front, hands roaming like he can’t help himself, close and feverish under the blanket. I push it down, shivering at the cool air on my sweaty skin.

When I tangle a hand in his hair and tug slightly, Sam makes a gorgeous needy sound, and his cock twitches, hard and thick against my stomach. I push him onto his back and he goes easily, pliant under me, looking up with a flush on his cheeks and a smile on his lips as I straddle him. For a moment I feel paralyzed by the sight of him. The moment stretches and I just stare.

Sam runs his hands up my hips, sliding one hand up between my breasts before tracing the curve of one with his knuckles, dragging his thumb over my nipple and circling as the skin pebbles under his touch. My shivery sigh of pleasure breaks whatever spell we were under.

I duck down to kiss him again, and the movement presses the ridge of his cock right between my legs, silky skin hot where it slots up against me. When I roll my hips, we both groan.

I reach for the lube. His smile goes smirky at the edges.

“If you say ‘I told you so’ right now, I swear to god —” I blurt out, and we’re both laughing as I touch him, slicking him up messily.

It’s the laughter that erases the last of my doubts. My nervous giggle bursts like a bubble in my chest, releasing whatever tension I was holding there. I just feel light and giddy and happy as I wipe my hand on the blankets and position myself.

Then I’m sinking down, opening up around him, and the sudden aching stretch turns my laugh into a breathy moan. Sam is watching me as I work my hips down, taking him in. His eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

I understand, now, what Sam meant: your reaction is what turns me on. Because if I’d wanted him before, it was nothing compared to how I feel now. He tilts his head back, arching up and exposing his throat, tendons shifting under the skin as he strains under me and gasps out my name, and the clenching wave of need in my belly is blinding.

Fuck.

I shift, lean forward, sparking up some new kind of friction deep inside where I’m so full of him, and I’m whimpering as I kiss him gently.

“Okay?” he asks. I cup a hand to his jaw and he brings his own up to cover it, an oddly tender gesture.

“So much better than okay,” I tell him. It’s the truth.

I take it slow. We kiss, mouths clumsy with need, and I take it slow.

It takes a few minutes to adjust to his size. I rock my hips in tiny little movements, circling, twisting, feeling all the different ways there are to just feel him. Every movement brings some new sort of sensation as he drags against every sweet spot deep inside me.

I’m barely moving. I know he must want to fuck up into me, thrust, but he holds back, holds himself steady, lets me take what I need while he whispers sweet bits of nonsense against my lips. He tells me I’m beautiful, tells me I feel incredible, tells me I’m safe, and I trust him.

Then I grind down harder, and something flares up inside me, quivering out from where his cock is pressing deep in my belly. I do it again. The low dull throb of it has me trembling, panting against his mouth as I brace myself to get more, harder, clenching around him desperately.

Sam slides a hand down between us, flattening his palm over that spot, and I can feel the pressure building right there, but I need more.

“Sit up for me?” he asks raggedly. “Lean back, it’ll —”

He grits his teeth and cuts himself off, but I do it without questioning, sitting back on my heels and bracing my hands behind me. I would feel exposed if I wasn’t distracted by how good this feels. I’m barely moving, still, but Sam presses his palm down and tilts his hips up, and it’s like I can feel the molten force of it everywhere, like it’s going to split my skin.

Sam looks as close to the edge as I feel, eyes glazed, and I can feel him jerking up to meet me.

“Do it,” I hiss, and when he thrusts up for real, the surge of pressure makes me cry out, loud and shameless like I never am.

One last urgent grinding roll, one last surge of pressure, and I’m gone. I let my head fall back and let go, trusting Sam to keep me tethered to the earth as everything else goes brilliant white and sends me flying.

I’m distantly aware of the way he curses and twists up, the way he swells and twitches inside me, but there’s so much sensation that I can’t separate what’s him and what’s me; it’s all just one hot slick rhythmic pulsing rush as we ride it out, together.

When I start to go shaky and useless, Sam tugs me so that I flop forward onto his chest. I melt against him, face buried in the sweaty crook of his neck, skin thrumming with satisfaction. I kiss whatever bit of him is close to my mouth, and he tastes like salt.

“So that’s what that’s supposed to feel like,” I mumble.

“I don’t think it’s ever felt like that, with anyone,” Sam says quietly, like he’s telling me a secret. “But… I’ve never felt this way about anyone, so.”

I can tell he’s holding his breath. I put my palm on his chest. His heart is pounding, racing in counterpoint to mine, and I want to tell him that he’s safe; he can trust me with this.

“Me too,” I whisper, and he exhales.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or leave me a message? It means the world.

Thanks for reading.

#spn fic #sam winchester fic #supernatural fic #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader

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adammilligan · 2 years

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i do think supernatural is one of those shows where you can't really properly analyze it as a whole until you've seen all fifteen seasons but that being said. you only need to watch one episode to know it's bad

#i've SEEN the newer fans that formed in the wake of 15x18 who refuse to watch any episodes that aren't dean and cas centric #and there are some who haven't watched the show at all in any capacity and it's like. girl you gotta experience the cringe #how are you a fan of the media if you've never even see the media.......#it just confuses me mostly! i don't get it. like love for whatever characters aside you can't really get around the fact that #this show has always been about dean and sam. always! like that's just because of the dudebros sitting in that writing room #going uehehehehehe codependent brothers #but like. regardless. it's why 15x20 made sense for them to come up with as an ending even though it sucked so much ass #because the focus of the show was still dean and sam. and they accomplished that in the worst way possible but still #though really the show eventually shifted from the dean and sam show to the dean show. but i digress #quite frankly if you refuse to watch entire parts of the show you ARE kind of missing. the point of it all #but also it's not really that deep. it's just a bad show lmao #kate rambles

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wayward-dreamer · 3 years

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A Man of Action

Square/s Filled: Intercrural Sex (Kink Bingo), Director!Jensen (AU Bingo)

AO3 Link: Read Here

Pairing: Director!Jensen x Female!Actor!Reader

Word count: 6,516

Rating: Explicit - 18+!

Summary: While directing his episode of Supernatural, Jensen and Y/N, the female guest star of the week, can’t hide their attraction for each other any longer. A little fun in his trailer is nearly over before it starts, but they find ways to keep each other satisfied.

Created for @spnkinkbingo, @spnaubingo

Warnings: Swearing, Dirty talk, Smut: Oral Sex (Male and Female receiving), Intercrural sex, ‘Sir’ kink, Implied protected sex in the future.

A/N: My first Jensen one-shot! *cue nervous laughter*... A HUGE thank you to my sister from another mister, my twin @downanddirtydean for being beta on this one! I love her to bits and she really helped me get over my lack of confidence in this one-shot. I hope you guys like it! Happy reading and enjoy! :)

Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Y/N lightly bopped her head along to the slow melody playing from her earphones, as she flicked the page of the book she was reading. Crossing one leg over the other, she steadied the folding tall chair she was sitting on. Glancing up from her book, she smiled as she looked around at the set, waiting for the signal that they were ready to resume.

Y/N watched the crew, hard at work as they fixed lighting, checked the sound and redressed parts of the bunker. Her eyes scanned over the many people who worked tirelessly to make this show, feeling grateful to be even a small part of it herself.

This was her second time on the Supernatural set. She had guest starred in an episode last season, with Kim Rhodes who played Sheriff Jody Mills. Kim had quickly become a great friend, showing the ropes of the set, as did everyone else. She laughed as she remembered messing up her first scene with the stars of the show, Jared and Jensen, and how they quickly reassured her that she didn’t do anything for them to be mad at. They loved to have a laugh as much as the next person and were more often than not the ones who did most of the messing up of takes on purpose.

The first time was quite civil, but considering this was her second episode, Y/N was no longer off limits from the guys’ antics. Jared in particular was a giant goofball, doing everything perfectly on his coverage, and then purposely being bad on hers. Jensen was a little subdued this time around, as he was the director for this episode, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t had any fun.

There was an attraction between them. She felt it from the moment she laid eyes on him when she walked onto the set the year before. He was incredibly kind and absolutely hilarious, and not to mention insanely good-looking. They had talked and laughed about so many things in those 8 days, and she felt herself beginning to feel things for him she probably shouldn’t have. This time around, he may have been directing, but they still talked a lot. He showed her different parts of the stages during lunch breaks, walked her to lunch every day for the last 7 days, and made her feel so welcomed.

Y/N sensed that maybe the attraction wasn’t one sided as she often caught him looking at her, but she couldn’t be too sure and didn’t want to make a fool of herself in case she was wrong in her assumptions.

Y/N smiled as Frida, one of Supernatural’s assistant make-up artists, approached her. Her make-up bag, as well Jensen and Jared’s, were all hanging off of her as she returned a genuine smile to Y/N. She took out her earphones and closed her book, shifting in her chair to face Frida properly.

“Touch up time, already?” she asked, pushing her hair back slightly.

“Yep, we’ll be good to go in about 5,” Frida replied, taking out a brush and running it lightly through some powder. She applied it to Y/N’s face and then worked a little on the touching up the eye make-up. “Looking forward to it?” she added with a laugh.

Y/N cringed, lightly shaking her head. “Dear god, give me strength to get through it.”

“Get through what?” she heard a familiar voice ask.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up to look at Jared as she sat down in his chair, next to her. “To get through your unrelenting need to ruin my coverage.”

Jared laughed, clapping his hands. “It’s just too easy.”

“I know how Misha feels now,” Y/N laughed, closing her eyes as Frida worked on her eyelids.

Frida laughed along with her, nodding. “And Alex too.”

Trish, the head make-up artist, came up behind Frida and took Jared’s bag, getting him ready for the next scene.

“Pretty sure he’s still scarred from that time everyone was out to get him to crack, even Misha,” Trish added, chuckling.

“We’re up and running in 2!” they heard one of the assistant directors call out.

Frida finished up with Y/N as Trish finished touching up Jared’s make-up, allowing Y/N to get up and walk over to the war room set. She walked past crew members and smiled at them, a quick ‘hey’ to each of them as she did. She loved this set more than any other she had worked on. It was only her second time here, but it felt like home, with everyone always welcoming her back with open arms. She didn’t think she would be back a second time, but she was incredibly glad that she was. She loved her character, Lyla, so much and she was over the moon to explore her again.

Y/N felt the butterflies in her stomach erupt as she spied Jensen, in a deep conversation with Bob Singer as they looked over some of the dailies on the screens in front of them. He looked amazing, dressed as Dean in his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the white and black flannel draped over a chair close by. He was frowning but nodding along as Bob explained something to him, his scowl making him look even hotter if that was possible.

Suddenly, Jensen turned and walked towards her, his frown immediately morphing into a genuine smile as he approached her. She felt her heartbeat pick up, but she tried to calm herself down as she turned to face him.

“Okay, so we’re getting your coverage first, then Jared’s. I know he’s meant to go first, but making him wait tends to make him cooperate,” Jensen informed her, laughing lightly.

“Going easy on me, huh?” she joked, smiling up at him.

“A little, but you’ve handled it pretty well so far,” Jensen said, folding his arms across his chest. That gesture had killed her every time he did in the last several days, and this time was no different.

“Meh,” she shrugged, laughing. “I can throw it back at him if and when I need to.”

Jensen gave her nod, smiling with an approving look. “I won’t even try to stop you.”

She laughed as she shook her head, Jensen’s relaxed laughter joining hers.

She cleared her throat as she calmed herself, looking up at him. “Do I look okay, Mr. Director, sir?”

Jensen looked into her eyes, finding himself getting lost in Y/N’s beautiful features. He certainly wasn’t good at hiding his feelings for her, not the first time he met her and definitely not now. She was stunning, but she was also open and generous, kind and a total badass. He really wanted to ask her out and see where things went between them, but considering they were in their last day of filming, and she was more than likely leaving the next day, he knew he had missed his chance.

“You look great,” he told her, honestly and hoping she’d see how he meant it as more than just a director approving of her look for the episode.

Things moved pretty quickly from there, as Jensen left to sit behind the screens at video village, the cameras turned on and framed Y/N in the shot with the rest of the war room behind her, Jared stood to the side making sure to hit the mark and be in her right eye line. Everyone buzzed around them before José came in with the tail slate and called the take.

“Action!” they heard Jensen call out.

Y/N instantly fell into character, looking at Jared as ‘Sam’ and smiling. “How does Dean feel about this?”

Jared didn’t move considering the camera wasn’t on him, but he delivered the next line. “It took him a while to get used to the idea of Jack, but he got there eventually.”

Y/N nodded, staying in character. “You know what you’re doing, teaching Jack the ropes of this life… that’s amazing.”

Jared scoffed. “It didn’t exactly work though.”

“He’ll come back, Sam. He will. He just has to figure out what’s going on with his powers and he’ll come back to the bunker.” She finished the line but frowned, thinking it over. “Wait, sorry. Is it “come back to the bunker” or something else?”

One of the crew members quickly looked over the sides, and then shook their head. “It’s ‘come back home.’”

“Fuck, okay,” she groaned, annoyed with herself. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine, Y/N. Just take it from the same line,” Jensen reassured her, and she took in the patience in his voice. He was so damn good at this and she felt incredibly safe with him as a director and as an actor. She recalled how many times someone was awful to her just for messing up slightly, and how crappy she felt afterwards. She had never felt that on the Supernatural set, and she was so thankful for that.

“Let’s keep rolling,” Jensen informed everyone. “Y/N, when you’re ready.”

She nodded. Waiting a few seconds, she then continued. “He’ll come back, Sam. He will. He just has to figure out what’s going on with his powers and he’ll come back home.”

“It’s ‘to the bunker’,” Jared said, trying to be serious as he tried to mess her up.

“You’re an ass,” she laughed, shaking her head.

Jared laughed that mad laugh she had actually come to love very quickly, and she joined in. They descended into a fit of giggles, knowing full well it wasn’t that funny, but it somehow got to them anyway.

Jensen watched the screen in front of him, his eyes never leaving Y/N. Her laugh was infectious, and she looked even more beautiful when she did, making his heartbeat wildly in his chest. Knowing he had to break up the laugh fest, regretfully, he stood up from his chair.

“Alright, we’re good on Y/N’s coverage. Let’s move on and then we can break for lunch,” he announced.

The bell sounded as every present crew member hurried around the set, getting set up to shoot Jared’s coverage.

Y/N looked up and saw Jensen glance over at her. He smiled that smile she found herself wanting to see every second of every day, making her feel lightheaded and the butterflies flutter in her stomach again. He truly was a sight to behold and she only hoped that something more came of her time on Supernatural.

They managed to get through Jared’s coverage pretty quickly, Y/N doing off-camera dialogue for him as he had done for her. The bell sounded again, and Jensen called lunch. Everyone walked towards craft services, chatting about different parts of their lives. Jensen was talking with Bob, but after quickly making some decisions, he moved away and walked up to Y/N.

She looked up at Jensen as she felt him next to her, smiling brightly. They walked side by side through the lot, past all the pick-up trucks, SUVs and large trailers that housed the different departments of production. For the last 7 days, this had been a regular occurrence, him walking her to the lunch tent. On the 8th and final day of filming, it was no exception. She could feel the attraction between them, and a part of her hoped that he might ask her out, but she would even settle for a casual hook-up at that point.

“Ah, fuck,” he muttered, as he suddenly stopped short while looking down at his phone. “My phone’s about to die. Mind if we make a quick detour to my trailer so I can charge it up?”

“Lead the way,” she said, smiling as she gestured for him to go ahead. She followed him to his trailer, stepping in behind him.

As he looked around for a charger, she turned to every angle of the trailer, taking it in. It was big and spacious, with a large flat screen and comfortable couch, a bed at the other end and a nice kitchenette, but that was it. There was nothing outlandish and unnecessary in there.

“Nice to know there’s no aquarium in here,” she laughed, folding her arms.

Jensen scoffed a laugh as he shook his head. “Yeah, they really went overboard with that one.”

Finding a charger, he plugged it in and put his phone on charge. He turned to her, arms out as he brought attention to the trailer.

“So, this is it,” he said, his hands coming down and straight into his pockets. “As glamorous as you pictured, right?”

“Oh, much more than I was expecting,” she said, pretending to be serious. They looked at each other and laughed, as she shook her head. “I like it. It certainly doesn’t scream lead of a TV show slash on and off director.”

“What does it scream then?” he asked, looking down at her as she moved closer to him.

“Just a regular guy underneath all that star power,” she replied, her hand coming up and softly grazing his covered bicep.

She looked at him, her eyes never leaving his. It was clear to both of them that there was something between them. The minute she stepped onto set earlier than week, Jensen knew he was done for.

“Can I ask you something?” he wondered, his tongue darting out and licking at his lips, nervously. That little gesture had nearly sent her to her knees so many times that week, and in that moment, she felt like she would if he did it again.

“Shoot,” she told him.

His hand came up and took hers, his fingers intertwining with her delicate ones. “When can I see you again?”

“I don’t know. I’m leaving at noon tomorrow,” she said, moving closer to him and taking in the smell of his cologne.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered, his head dropping forward to rest his forehead against hers. “Tell me I’m not fucking insane, and you feel something for me too.”

“You’re not,” she whispered in return, shaking her head against his. “The only thing fucking insane is that we didn’t do anything the minute we met.”

That was the only in Jensen needed. His hands cupped Y/N’s cheeks and pulled her face up, his lips pressing into hers in a rough but sensual kiss. Her hands roamed his chest, fisting his black t-shirt in her hands, trying to bring him in closer. They pulled away for a brief moment, breathing into each other heavily as they tried to catch their breath. They quickly stripped out of the clothes they were wearing, careful not to tug harshly as they were the costumes they’d have to put back on. Cupping her face again, he smirked as he moved them over to the couch.

“On your knees,” he instructed.

She huffed a laugh as she grinned. “Yes, sir.”

He quickly unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down, sitting back on the couch as she moved down to her knees in front of him. She tugged at his boxers and pulled them down, his hard cock springing free. She gasped as she smiled, her hand slowly wrapping around the shaft.

“Put my cock in your mouth, baby,” he demanded, his hand coming up to her hair and wrapping into it, tugging her closer.

She hummed as she moved closer, her tongue licking a stripe up his shaft. “You gonna direct me, sir?”

He groaned as he bit his lip, smirking. “Yeah, and if it’s anything like it is on set, I know you’ll hit your mark.”

She sucked at the tip of his cock, her tongue circling the head before she moved down, taking his length into her mouth. She bobbed her head, her spit coating his cock as she built up a rhythm.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Your mouth’s so fucking perfect, Y/N.”

She looked up at him, taking him deeper into her mouth.

“Hold still, darlin’,” he muttered in his sudden Texas drawl, his hand gathering her hair into his palm, the other cupping her face.

She stilled her movement, as he began thrusting up into her mouth at a fast pace. His cock hit the back of her throat, causing her to moan each time it did.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, looking down at her. “Look so good with my cock between your lips.”

Her saliva covered his cock, the glugging sound loud as he slipped in and out of her mouth. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening from the pressure of his hard cock against the back of her throat. His hand pressed down on her head, making her take his length into her mouth all the way to the base, holding her in place. She moaned to avoid gagging, thankful she didn’t have a gag reflex. He pulled her up, his cock leaving her mouth with a wet pop, a harsh breath leaving her lips as air came back into her lungs.

“Can’t wait to fuck you,” he said, cupping her face in his hands and bringing her lips to hers.

He lifted her up and carried her to the bed, throwing her down on it. She squealed as she bounced on the mattress, a naughty smile on her face as she looked up at him.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” she muttered, as her eyes raked over his body.

“I should be saying that about you,” he smirked, getting onto the bed and holding himself up above her.

He leaned down, kissing her passionately, before trailing down her jaw, neck and down to her breasts. His flicked his tongue over her nipple, his hand coming up to roll the other between his fingers.

“Fuck,” she moaned, as his felt his other hand move down her body.

He smirked as he sucked her nipple, feeling the slick between her legs. He released the nub and looked down at her, his fingers running through her folds and finding her clit. She moaned loudly, forgetting where she was for a moment, as she felt his fingers circle the bundle of nerves.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, as he looked down into her eyes. “Can’t let the crew hear us.”

“Jensen… fuck me,” she whimpered, as she cupped his face.

Taking one of her hands off her face, he pinned it to the bed above her head. A chill ran down her spine as she looked into his eyes, now dark with arousal.

“Say it properly and I will,” he ordered, his voice gravelly and demanding.

She gulped but smiled tentatively. “Please fuck me, sir.”

“Good,” he said, before he leaned down and kissed her lips, once then twice.

They continued their passionate embrace, Y/N’s arms wrapping around Jensen’s neck as one of her hands combed into his short hair at the nape of his neck. Their lips moved against each other’s roughly and sensually, as they became desperate to feel more of each other. He held his cock and ran it along her folds, her wetness slicking his shaft and a clear sign that she was more than ready for him. However, his movements suddenly stopped as an unfair realization came to him.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling his lips away from hers. He looked down at her as an annoyed expression graced his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, suddenly worried she had done something wrong.

“I just remembered… I don’t have any condoms,” he replied, grimacing as he held himself up above her. “I don’t do this… well, ever. So, I don’t have anything.”

Her frown matched his. “I’m not on the pill right now, either.”

He nodded, trying to smile reassuringly and hide his disappointment. She knew that he was though, because she was too. She was desperate to feel him against her and inside her.

“I guess we better get to lunch, then,” she muttered softly, pushing herself up on her elbows. Her face was close to his, causing her to lean over and kiss his plump lips, softly.

“I just want to feel you,” he whispered against her lips, leaning in.

“Me too,” she said, in an equally hushed tone before his lips claimed hers again.

An idea suddenly came to him and he just hoped that she would be okay with it.

“Trust me?” he asked, softly as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled up at him, nodding slowly. “Yes, sir.”

He smirked as he helped her lie down on the bed again, bringing her legs up to rest her ankles on his shoulders. He shifted back until he was standing, her behind now on the edge of the bed.

Jensen smirked as his eyes darkened, taking hold of his cock and slapping it over her mound a few times. He moved Y/N’s thighs closer together, until they met around his cock. Slowly, he began to thrust, sliding his cock between her thighs in a gentle and sensual pace. She moaned softly, the new sensation of feeling his shaft against the skin of her inner thighs awakening something within her. He groaned, biting his lip at this new found arousal as he continued to move between her legs.

“How do I feel, sweetheart?” he asked, looking down at her.

“So good,” she moaned, looking at him. His ‘sweetheart’ gave her Dean vibes, which was definitely something she was adding to her list of kinks.

He picked up speed, his thrusts between her legs now a moderate pace. He gripped her thighs tight in his hands, which would no doubt leave bruises that she would get to admire later.

“Fuck,” he growled, his jaw clenching as he felt the pressure around his cock. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Shit,” she hissed. A small laugh left her mouth as she shook her head. “If this is anything to go by, I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

He chuckled as he nodded. “Can’t wait to fuck you either, Y/N. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock, taking me so well.”

“Jensen,” she moaned softly. She remembered to keep quiet in case of wandering ears of crew members.

His hand came up and back down on her thigh, smacking her hard enough to make her yelp and get her attention. He looked at her with his darkened eyes, stern and somewhat frightening, which only aroused her more.

“Last time I checked, I’m still your director,” he groaned, grasping her thighs tight. “Touch yourself.”

She moaned as her hands came up to her breasts, her fingers tweaking her nipples as she looked up at him. He grunted as he watched her, one of hands slipping down between her legs. His fingers found her clit, rubbing them in tight circles around the swollen nub.

“Fuck! Jensen,” she moaned, breathlessly. “Make me cum.”

He chuckled as he shook his head, his fingers slowing down to a torturous pace. “Not yet, baby.”

“Please,” she begged, her chest heaving with her shallow breaths.

“You have to ask better than that, Y/N,” he informed her, the smirk still on his face.

“Please,” she whimpered. She moved one of her hands down, trying to touch her clit but he smacked it away, not giving up the control he had in that moment. “Please, sir… please make me cum.”

“Let’s make a deal, baby,” he suggested, an eyebrow raised as he continued to thrust between her thighs. He groaned, knowing he was close to his own release. “Make me cum first between these perfect thighs, and I’ll let you cum… all over my face.”

She moaned loudly, nodding frantically. The idea of his mouth on her where she wanted him most was too much to bear.

Pressing her thighs together firmly, Jensen’s thrusts became quicker and erratic, getting closer to falling over the edge. He growled as the pressure around his hard cock built, feeling it pulse with his impending release.

“Fuck,” he groaned. His hips faltered as he gripped tightly at the flesh of her thighs. He threw his head back, as he let go of her legs, and grasped his cock in his hand. He pumped his hand along his shaft, biting his lip as he looked down at her spread out on his bed. She sat up on her elbows, smiling up at him as she moved his hand away, taking over for him as her hand moved up and down along his cock.

“Oh fuck, Y/N,” he let out a guttural moan as her hand picked up speed. Ropes of his cum spurted out of his cock, landing on her stomach. She continued to pump him, making sure he gave her everything he had, relishing in the warmth of his release against her skin.

He breathed heavily, his hand cupping her face as he smiled at her. “Your turn.”

Moving his hand to her shoulder, he pushed her back lightly, smiling as she laughed. He got down on his knees, grasping her hips and pulling her to the edge of the bed. Y/N laughed as she slipped down, moving her hands up to her breasts and pinching her nipples. He smirked as he looked up at her, his tongue licking a stripe up her folds. He moaned at the taste of her, feeling how wet she was already from just fucking her thighs.

“Oh fuck,” she moaned loudly, as she felt his stubble against the inside of thighs. She bit down on her lip, trying to keep herself quiet as he continued to run his tongue along her folds, the vibrations of his moans running through her.

“Taste so fucking good, Y/N,” he muttered against her mound, looking up at her. “So perfect.”

He moved his mouth to her clit, moving his tongue in tight circles around the nub. Her hands came down and grabbed his short hair, clenching tightly as she pressed her lips together. His hand came up, slowly inserting a finger into her wet entrance, moving it in and out of her. He added another finger and began to thrust them back and forth, the pads of his fingers hitting her g-spot every time. She whimpered as he picked up speed, his perfect mouth sucking at her clit as he continued to move his fingers.

He released her clit from his mouth, kissing her inner thigh as he moved up her leg.

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered against her skin, placing small nips along the inside of her thigh.

He looked at her, the smile never leaving his face. She pushed herself up on her elbow, her other hand still in his hair. Leaning up, he kissed her roughly as he continued to thrust his fingers into her. She moaned into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue. She felt the familiar feeling of her release approaching, the coil winding tighter and tighter.

“You ready to cum for me, sweetheart?” he asked, his breath fanning against her lips.

“Yeah,” she gasped, nodding as she looked into his eyes. “Make me cum.”

“Make me cum… what?” he asked, his voice gravelly. A deep rumble erupted from his chest as he laughed with a mischievous grin.

She whimpered, gripping his hair harshly. “Make me cum, sir.”

“Good girl,” he praised, moving his head back down again.

Jensen moved his mouth back to her clit, his fingers picking speed as he hit that sweet spot inside of her with precision. Y/N looked down at him, still leaning on her elbow to give her a better view. She held his head in place, fearing he’d move if she removed her hand. He licked at her clit, the sounds of her wetness and his ministrations reaching her ears and causing a string of soft moans and whimpers to leave her lips. His mouth sucked at her, his tongue moving around the nub tightly and his fingers thrusting, faster and faster. She bit down on her lip, nearly drawing blood as the coil in her belly snapped. A harsh, strangled whimper of his name left her lips, as she came hard on his tongue and fingers. He lapped at her folds, taking in her juices before he moved his head away, smiling at her.

With a quick kiss to Y/N’s thigh, Jensen got up and fell back on the bed next to her. She breathed heavily as she looked at him, trying to catch her breath. Turning his head, he looked into her eyes. He turned onto his side, moving closer to her. His lips hovered close to hers, his eyes flicking between all the features of her face. She moved in the rest of the way, kissing him softly. Their lips moved passionately against each other’s, not wanting to let go. As much as he didn’t want to let go, he knew they had a schedule to keep today before they wrapped later that night.

“We only have 20 minutes left,” he mumbled, regretfully against her lips.

She nodded, sadly. “We should go.”

They both got up from the bed, cleaning themselves up and getting dressed again in relative silence. The only sounds were the rustling of fabrics and shoes on the floor of the trailer. Y/N fixed her hair as much as she could in the mirror, her eyes continuously flicking over to Jensen as he did the same, fixing the mess she had made of his short locks. With one last look at each other, Jensen opened the door of the trailer and looked around, letting her out first when he saw that no one was around. They walked to the lunch tent, receiving a few questions on their whereabouts. Jensen was quick to tell everyone he took Y/N to see some of the fan favourite props of the show, and Y/N was glad that people believed him, for the most part.

They ate quickly, both of them silent as they sat across from each other. Y/N didn’t know if they weren’t talking because they are was awkwardness after what happened, or whether it was because he didn’t want to accidentally say something about it in front of the crew. Quite frankly, she was fine with not talking about it just yet. She wasn’t sure where they go from here. Did Jensen want to see her again? If so, would it be just to sleep together finally, or did he want more?

She didn’t think she wanted to know the answers to those questions. Not yet anyway.

Little did she know, the same questions were running through Jensen’s head. He enjoyed what happened back in his trailer, but sue him if he didn’t want more with her. He wanted to go the full home run with her, but if he was being completely honest, he wanted to see her again and again. He wanted to ask her out and see where they go from there.

He knew he had to take a leap of faith and ask her before she left town, because who knew when she would return.

They were back on the bunker set, this time in the war room to shoot the last scene Y/N would be in. It was interesting that Y/N’s character leaving at the end of the episode was the second last scene they were filming, but that was where it happened to land. It was like it happened organically, which was rare for their set during filming.

Jensen was standing at the head of the map table, Jared next to him as Y/N stood across from them. Video village was set up at the other end of the library, giving them more room in the war room for lighting and boom mics. Things were quiet as they fell into their characters, Y/N slinging the duffle bag over her shoulder, as the assistant director called ‘action’.

“Thanks for your help. We really owe you one,” Jared said as ‘Sam’.

She smiled at him, shaking her head. “You really don’t.”

Jensen gave her that signature ‘Dean Winchester’ look, the one that said he was thinking about how to approach a subject. “You know where to find us if we do.”

“You’re buying the six-pack next time,” she said, chuckling slightly.

“Done,” ‘Dean’ said, smirking at her. She smiled at Jensen, finding that her genuine smile to him seeped into the scene.

“See you boys around,” she said, nodding at them. She turned on her heeled ankle boots, walking towards the staircase. With one glance over her shoulder, she gave them a small wave which they returned. She took the stairs all the way up, hearing the AD call ‘cut’.

“Alright, let’s see,” Jensen muttered as he walked over to video village.

Y/N walked down the stairs and over to the map table and placed the duffle bag on it. She waited to hear whether they would have to do another take or not.

“Alright, check the gate! Moving on!” Jensen called out. “That’s a wrap on Y/N Y/L/N!”

He quickly came out from behind the screens, walking over to her and Jared. All the crew around her clapped, as she gave them a small curtsy, laughing as Jared came over and hugged her.

It wasn’t the usual treatment of guest stars, as they usually came in and did the work and then left but considering there was buzz that her character might make a return, they wanted her to feel at home with all of them. They were kind to people with even the smallest of roles, so Y/N always knew she’d be in safe hands with the Supernatural crew.

Y/N hung around to say goodbye as they shot the last scene between the boys. In that time, she sat with her laptop, hoping she could change her flight to leave in a few days. With luck, she managed to find one leaving Vancouver in 5 days’ time, giving her plenty of time to stick around and explore these feelings she had for the handsome green-eyed actor. She couldn’t wait to tell him.

Given that Jared and Jensen had such a great shorthand with each other, they worked quickly to get the work done. Jensen called a wrap on the episode, and they all congratulated him on the amazing work he did. Everyone began to pack things up, the make-up ladies heading to their trailer as Y/N walked with them. She removed all her make-up, freshened up and then got changed into her clothes she wore to set that morning.

Y/N said her goodbyes to Trish and Frida, followed by the rest of the crew and Bob Singer. Jared swooped in for another big hug, nearly breaking her in half with the pressure of his arms around her.

“Jesus, you don’t know your own strength, you know that?” she said, cringing in slight pain as she turned and twisted, trying to get feeling back in her body.

“Hey, not my fault you can’t handle it,” he laughed, patting her back. “Alright, I’m out of here. I hope I’ll see you soon.”

“Me too,” she smiled, as he enveloped her in a softer but still warm hug. She decided to leave out the fact that she wasn’t going anywhere just yet, wanting to tell Jensen first.

Jared walked towards the parking lot, heading for the SUV that Cliff was waiting by. They were no doubt waiting on Jensen, who had been finishing up some paperwork after wrapping the episode. Y/N slung her bag over her shoulder, walking towards his trailer in search of him. Reaching the door, she knocked a few times and waited. The door opened, a tired but smiling Jensen greeting her.

“Hey,” he smiled, leaning against the door frame.

“So… I have some news,” she told him, a smile playing at her lips.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, his eyebrows raised as he folded his arms across his chest. His arms were exposed thanks to his black t-shirt, and she suddenly felt like her skin was on fire. She tried not to show her disappointment when he put on his jacket and grabbed his backpack, shutting off the light in the trailer as he closed the door.

She nodded, stepping down from the stairs to the trailer and turning to him. “I changed my flight. I’m leaving in 5 days.”

Jensen felt his heart skip a beat with that news. He nodded, the smile growing bigger on his face. “Well… you want to come over tonight? We can pick up where we left off.”

She bit her lip, nodding slowly. “I’d love to.”

Keeping up the pretence that there wasn’t anything going on, Jensen went back home with Cliff driving him to his apartment. Y/N called an Uber, knowing that if she had joined them Jared and Cliff would question what was happening. She and Jensen hadn’t spoken about it, but they both knew that there wasn’t anything to say to anyone until they figured it out themselves. For now, she wanted him in ways she’s never wanted anyone else and she was more than ready to see what he was capable of.

Reaching Jensen’s apartment, Y/N went up to his floor and down the hall, knocking on his door, noting that it was the right one from the text he had sent while she was in the Uber. The door swung open, and she grinned as Jensen smirked at her, letting her in. She took in the apartment, with its beautiful view of the city lights twinkling at night, a large screen TV and comfortable couch, and his guitar on the wall closest to her. However, as nice as it was that wasn’t where her mind was in that moment.

Turning around, Y/N looked at him, his eyes reflecting the same things she was feeling. They moved towards each other, their lips meeting in a rough, but sensual kiss as they wrapped their arms around each other. Pushing and pulling at each other’s clothes, their lips continued to move against each other, not wanting to stop.

“Thank god you changed your flight,” he mumbled against her swollen lips. “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked, grabbing his shoulders and jumping up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

His hands immediately supported her as he carried her off to his bedroom.

By the time they came up for air, the sun was rising, and Jensen had to leave to go to work for the first day of the next episode. With a promise of returning later that day, he told Y/N to stay at his apartment, telling her she could use whatever she wanted before he had to leave.

As she stood on the balcony and looked out at the view with her morning coffee, she had never been more thankful to a job she had taken. She made some great friends already, there was a buzz that she may come back for more episodes, and she had met the most incredible man who she couldn’t wait to explore more with.

She found herself repeating Jensen’s words from the night before as she smiled into her morning cup of caffeine.

Thank god she changed her flight.

-x-

If you’re crossed out, I couldn’t tag you :(

Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @downanddirtydean @jensengirl83 @wonder-cole @that-one-gay-girl @flamencodiva @ellewritesfix05 @roonyxx @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05 @kyjey @halesandy @440mxs-wife @stoneyggirl @deanswaywardgirl @redbarn1995 @marianita195 @babypink224221 @deans-baby-momma @parinarain @thoughts-and-funnies @mandalou29 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @superaveng @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624 @prettyboyswow @lunarmoon8 @supernatural-bellawinchester

#spnkinkbingo #spnaubingo #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen x female!reader #jensen x reader #jensen ackles one shot #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles fanfiction #director!jensen #actor!reader #supernatural one shot #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction

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googledocsdyke · 3 years

Note

if they let mary be mad at john they would have had to let dean examine his relationship with john and spn isn't brave enough for that 😔 they're not brave enough to let mary be mad even if it didn't lead to dean examining his relationship actually

oh for sure. mary processing and getting angry at what john did would have huge implications for dean's (and sam's) relationship with john and make his role as abuser textual in a way it was never allowed to be in later seasons. however i do want to emphasise the second half of your message — mary reckoning with her relationship to john matters in its own right, not just in relation to dean's growth. like you all KNOW i love dean, would have killed for an arc with him properly coming to terms with his abuse, he's the protagonist so it makes sense we want other things that happen in the show to reflect on him, etc.

but mary was specifically brought back in a de-fridging that shifted her from a Trope into a Character. where she was once an inciting incident for: the beginning of the show, the encroaching of the supernatural into their family's lives, and a newly fucked-up, abusive, and tense relationship between the family members that she left behind, she now gets to be a PERSON. with motivations beyond protecting/preserving The Family. with motivations of her own at all! and one of the few opportunities lost in her shift from Stock Element of the story — because really, pre-s12 mary might as well be a setting or some set dressing or a bit of context, as much of a predictable and empty thing as the dilapidated house with a new family moving in, or an old framed family photo, or trees silhouetted against the moonlight — to actual, present character is the opportunity for her to reckon with john. to not just deconstruct the fiction of the perfect motherwife he produced to motivate his revenge, but specifically take apart the cost at which he produced that fiction. the truth of their marriage and the truth of her reaction to how john treated their children.

and eventually, of course, this would culminate in a heartbreaking conversation between mary and sam and dean about how john acted after her death. and of course, it naturally leads to dean finally processing his relationship with his father as abusive. BUT. i think to make dean the focal point of this conversation or this part of mary's arc (i am imagining a world in which i rewrite supernatural as we speak) is to replicate the very terms under which she was disappeared from the story in the first place — to further the development and personal tragedy of a man.

of Course mary gets angry on sam and dean's behalf, of course this reckoning is in part about her relationship with her sons. but i also want to see her get angry on her own behalf, in her own right. i want the show to sit with that until it feels uncomfortable. i want to see the madonna in the nightgown, the tragic blonde white woman who must be avenged say Hey. everything about the way you produced me as some object to be fought for, everything you justified in my name as though this marriage was a holy thing, is abominable. and i want her to find out about the cupid thing. GOD i want her to find out about the cupid thing. and i want her to be ANGRY at the fact that she was made into some cosmic/narrative pawn. i want her to direct that anger at john and heaven and the relentless insistence of the Author and i want that to happen not for dean, but for mary herself

#sorry this got long #answered #anonymous #spn

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impala1967dwinchester · 3 years

Text

Dean Winchester: Change is due

*Credit to gif owner*

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader

Pov: Reader

Warning: Fighting, Swearing, fluff, angst, Dean being a douchebag, guilt.

Summary: What about talking instead of fighting.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/n- This is for band-pyschos 1.5 followers bingo writing challenge. This makes me sad, but whatever.

Square- "Stay with me"

Dean Winchester Master List

Main Master List

Tag list: @akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @wonderfulworldofwinchester @doctorlilo @hit-meup69 @fofisstilinski

The drive to the bunker was quiet. The rev of the engine. The downright scariness of the way that all I could hear was the passing of other vehicles on the road. That sound too eventually stopped as the driver back to the bunker was much longer than originally anticipated.

Dean had a temper like nobody's business. The temper of a wild dog, or maybe it was a wild bear. Regardless Dean's temper was downright scary most times. But then again most times that temper of his was never directed towards me.

Yes between miniature fights, and getting annoyed with each other fights did occur, but nothing too bad. You see, three years into hunting and now living with the famous Winchesters. I had fallen deeply for Dean Winchester.

Falling for someone is an already dangerous game, but falling in love with a Winchester. The most hunted after, hunters of them all that was a dangerous game to start playing.

I played the game regardless. Can you imagine falling for someone so much that your worlds just connect so well? Like amazing jigsaw puzzle pieces. Or maybe falling in love was like finally figuring out the correct word in a crossword puzzle.

Like Forrest says "Life is like a box of chocolate, you never know what you're going to get." I would have never been able to tell you that when I was a little girl playing in my room running around in the pure white dress that I would one day grow up kill the monster that haunts this earth, and fall for the most righteous man, the fallen soldier, the best hunter I had ever met.

Could you imagine a six-year-old, coming up to their parent and saying that one day they'd fight monsters, and fall in love with the greatest monster hunter of them all. In your dreams.

Life with the Winchesters was most of the time pandemonium. Life with them was like living in the thunder dome. Like driving on the icy roads and hoping that you don't fall off the cliff. But life was calm sometimes, being able to have a half-assed normal life was good for all of us.

Sam was the best brother a person could ask for. The best friend a person could ask for. I think the moment I met the Winchesters, Dean and I were like magnets dragging each other together. Slated to be together for the rest of our lives, soul mates if you will.

This last hunt was nothing like we had ever dealt with before. So many children had been killed. I had put myself in the way, getting hurt instead of letting more children get hurt. A natural mother... or maybe just a natural instinct of a woman.

Dean, of course, was anger like normal, but usually, his anger would blow over and we'd either make-up or like the band, AC/DC says "You shook me all night long".

this night was different though. Something was off, something felt wrong. Yes, the drive was long and very fucking quiet but something in the air felt wrong. I'd like to think that I'm a tough cookie, a queen disguised as a princess.

I always think that Dean forgets that the reason he and I get along so well is that we are almost alike, in almost every way. We act the same way, love the same things, react the same way. Two peas in a pod if you will.

Dean tends to forget that when he gets angry, but comes to his sense rather quickly after, he either gets blown off, or the subject gets changed, something that he does often to Sam or me. In the situation where he knows he has no control, or where he is uncomfortable, feeling like he's being pushed into the corner.

I used to let Dean act like a douchebag. I let Dean get mad, yell, throw things, get in my face. But recently. Dean's anger has been out of this world, too much to bare, too much to handle. he almost turns into the hulk. It's like he forgets his normal manners and just wants to hulk smash literally everything around him.

How do you make someone realize what they are doing? How do you show someone how they are acting is affecting you?

Finally after what felt like days, but was really just hours of driving we pulled into the garage, the sound of the engine bouncing off of the cinderblock walls. During said drive Dean and I made eye contact once, his green ember eyes staring deep at me through the rear-view mirror. My own eyes making sure to stare at him with just the same amount of deep soul searching Dean was.

Sam steered in his sleep, the coldness of the garage and the car smell waking him from his sleep. Not a single word was said. Sam was the first one out of the car, opening the impalas back, grabbing his bags, and making a rather quick exit of the garage.

Neither of us moving from our spots. We sat in silence. A silence that's a funny word if you think about it. It the most screamed word when you're being told to be quiet. But it weighs heavy between two people.

Fighting was and has never been my style with Dean. Dean wants to yell and be an idiot then I'll let him be, but I won't go without saying my peace. I'll get up and leave if I want to. There's nothing holding me to the man, an argument is just a battle of words.

Finally, Dean moves, moves to look in the back seat. His eye passes over my figure like always. Passing by over my crisscrossed shins up to my jean-covered thighs, over my hips, up my t-shirt and flannel covered belly, up to my tall shoulders, and to my face.

The little light that was streaming into the impala's backseat. "Why?" Was all Dean said, staring at me. I chewed my lip thinking of anything to say. "Stop chewing on your lip. It's finally started to heal." Dean said.

Still, my body stuck in my crisscrossed position. I heard the creak of the impala, as I saw Dean shift from the front seat to the back seat. "I'm pretty sure that I just told you to stop doing that." He said bringing his thumb up to my lips, gently pulling down releasing my bottom lip from my teeth.

"What were you thinking?" Dean asked picking once again at the issue at hand. "I was thinking about the children," I said looking at the man next to me. It was quiet for a moment, then a heavy sigh filled the air.

"The children?" Dean said questioning me. A cocked-eyed eyebrow raised in confusion to my answer. Sometimes it's like my answer is either not good enough, or isn't the right one. "Yes, the children," I stated calmly.

"I'm getting confused here Y/n," Dean said shifting causing the smallest of creak from the old impala. "I stepped in front of the children," I said.

"Yeah, I kind of figured that but why?" He asked. This firstly is going calm, and Dean's asking questions just before assuming shit, but why does this seem odd, kinda like all of the sudden protecting the young kids isn't enough to get a few scrapes and bruises.

"Did the great Dean Winchester just ask me that?" I said now turning the tables and questioning him. "Yeah, I did." He said so cut and dry-like. "You really wanna know why?" I asked

We were still sitting in the back of his precious car. I had rested my head on the headrest, closing my eyes. Dean was just staring, it had become a bad habit of his after we got together.

"Because Dean those kids didn't deserve whatever that monster did to them. Hell, I just pulled ten kids out, you and sam pulled at ten each. Can you even imagine that, because I can. Being so scared that I can't even protect myself." I said.

Taking a deep breath in and sighing loudly.

"What are you talking about Y/n?" Dean asked, looking at me now with more intent. Wanting yearning to get to the bottom jar of worms we had so carefully opened.

"You know what ignore me, it doesn't make any difference," I said uncrossing my legs and turning to unlock the back door. I was stopped before my fingertips even grabbed onto the cold metal on the handle.

"Do you remember that promise you made me? All those years ago." Dean said, pulling me into his warm touch. His scent of bourbon and wood fell down around us. "No, I don't Dean," I said honestly confused about what I had promised.

"You promise me that whatever was on your mind you would come to me and talk about it. I know six years is a long time, but that day you promised that you've never broken that promise." Dean said while he drew small circles into my lower back.

"Tonight though right now, you're breaking that promise. You don't have to give me every single detail but just don't go walking in front of a monster because you don't know what else to do. You know that you can talk to your boyfriend right?" He said questioning me towards the end.

I only shook my head in response Dean took that as his sign to continue talking. "I just, I'm fearing that you're starting to drift away, and honestly Y/n. Honest;y Y/n I don't think I would know what to do without you." Dean said.

This is different, new, and odd. This Dean is someone who only comes out when the world is ending or the tears are about to be shed for the umpteen amount of time. This Dean, this is the Dean I fell in love with. "So make me this promise now, stay with me," Dean asked.

"Stay with you?" I asked, "Of course stay with you, I guess I just have to learn to be able to ask for help, right Dean." I said hugging him from the awkward position we had fallen into when he pulled me away from the back door.

"No more running, no more fighting alone. We do everything together now." Dean said, cupping my slightly tears stained cheek." Bumping our foreheads together in a sign of good faith you could say. I hummed and returned the favor.

Moments like this the calm, and the quiet. These were those times where I felt at home. I've realized with this job, hunting home isn't a place with four walls and a roof over your head it's about the people in your life. Make a home with the people who care about you. Make a home with the people you would fight anything to hurt, Make home able to be anywhere.

And when you can do that finally you can make home turn into love, and love into strength. Having all three makes you happier I'd like to think in the long run of things. So just "stay with me" that's all I'm asking of you, the rest we can do together.

Completed on: 05/06/2021

*Happy Throwback Thursday*

#band psychos bingo challenge 2021 #dean winchester #deanwinchtser #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural fic #supernatualfluff #angstspn #spn angst #spn fluff #supernatural fluff #tw swearing #tw panicking #tw guilt

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wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

Stubborn

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Even though you’re just as stubborn as Dean, you can never stay mad at each other.

Word Count: 3.8k

Requested by @flamencodiva: “You did what?”

Warnings: injury, blood, little bit of arguing, fluff, kissing

Dean Winchester

Fiercely protective of those he loves without a second thought on the matter. In fact, you’re starting to think there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep you safe, you knew there wasn’t. He’d go to the very ends of the earth if it meant you’d be okay, if it meant you were safe. He’d stop at nothing to keep it that way no matter what that meant for his fate. He was selfless and you knew that to be true for as long as you can remember.

With such traits came with the stubbornness should you try and do the same, came with hard stares and furrowed brows. It brought with it his reluctance to let you stray too far on a hunt; if he had it his way, you wouldn’t tag along on hunts at all. But Dean Winchester met his match when it came to you. Equally as stubborn, casting him the same narrowed stares and furrowed brows, the same determination to look out for him just as much as he did you.

It brought on a great deal of huffs and puffs, and that certainly hadn’t changed now.

When he’d caught sight of the fact that you’d been injured on a hunt he didn’t even want you on in the first place, he didn’t take too well to that. Not that you were expecting him to, nor would he ever. You had dreaded the very moment when he’d see the scarlet smeared across your cheek, knew for a fact that he’d be anything but thrilled to see you hurt no matter what it was. And you were right.

He’d pushed himself off the Impala, releasing his lip from between his teeth where he’d been biting it out of nervous habit. He came to you the moment he saw the cut grazing your cheek and the way you held your side cautiously, your face twisted partly in discomfort and partly to brace yourself for what was to come next. But he came to you immediately— always did and he always would. Yet the words that came to follow, the attitude, that was always something you could count on with all the certainty in the world. It was Dean.

The very first thing that came out of his mouth was a question of if you were okay, that was on the forefront of his mind as he’d made his way to you and Sam with quick strides. He was careful when he peeled back the bottom of your shirt, patchy blotches of crimson just barely staining through the soft cotton material to reveal a less than ideal scratch. Not deep enough to need stitches but enough for him to tense his jaw with worry. When his eyes fell on you, brow raised in anticipation of an answer, you had simply nodded in return.

“That was really stupid,” he muttered once he knew full well you’d be okay.

You rolled your eyes.

“‘M fine, Dean.”

“You’re bleeding, Y/n. And it could’ve been way worse than that, you know,” he said, voice raising a bit more than it was.

“Well it’s not,” you counter, narrowing your eyes only briefly before the action had pulled at the cut on your cheek that you’d seemed to have forgotten. Your wince, no matter how subtle, had only proved his point and only made you angrier.

“I told you to stay back on this one.”

“Well, I didn’t!”

“If you’re gonna fight with me, sweetheart, at least change up your comebacks.”

“I’ll do what I want,” you say, looking away from him only briefly to gather yourself, a huff puffing out from your nose.

You’ll do what you want.

That was the problem. You always did what you wanted, when you wanted to. It was something he loved about you more than he’d admit because it only brought with it fear. He admired your independence, your ability to handle things yourself, your stubbornness when someone tries to stop you from doing anything but that. He loved it and he hated it because he knew it all too well. It was reckless and dangerous to go off and do that on your own the way you did.

“I’ll be fine till we make it back to Bobby’s. I can patch myself up there,” you mumble, voice softer than moments ago.

He bit his tongue then, jaw tense and eyes narrowed down at you to meet an equally frustrated stare. As much as he loved how stubborn you were, as much as he admired your ability to hold your own and refuse to back down—those qualities about you had been working against him in that moment, had been pushing his buttons because now was not the time to be so stubborn.

You were hurt.

He wanted to tell you just how upset it made him that you’d gotten hurt, how guilty it made him feel that it happened on his watch because he felt it was his responsibility to protect you. He always felt that way even when he’d just been your best friend who was too oblivious to see you were the love of his life. He wanted to tell you how angry it’d made him that you went ahead and tagged along on that hunt even when he told you not to get involved. But there was no stopping you—you did what you wanted whenever you wanted and that’s one of the things he loved about you.

Though in that very moment he wished you would have listened just that once.

Even with everything running through his mind in a heap of worry and frustration, he’d left it at a tense jaw and a hard gaze but that had only lasted all of ten seconds with the way you looked at him. The argument that had been sitting on his tongue, ready to be spoken in harsh words and loud tones had melted away.

He was ready to tell you just how ridiculous you were to not let him patch you up right then and there, for thinking he’d let you do it yourself. But he didn’t. Instead, he purses his lips and clears his throat, offering a barely there not before moving around you to get in the car. He knew full well he wouldn’t let you tend to your own wounds, he would never let you do that no matter how angry he might be. But he decided not to say any more until you got back, didn’t want to argue any more than you already did.

That was where he left it the entirety of the drive back. No classic rock playing on the radio for a good while until Sam had decided the tension was far too unbearable for things to be absolutely silent. It was spent with you sulking in the backseat, your brows furrowed and the inside of your cheek between your teeth in your attempt to will away angry tears and stave off how much you wanted to give into the fact that your wounds hurt a little more than you let on.

His knuckles were white with how he’d gripped the wheel, his gaze flickering from the road ahead to the rear view in a constant pattern of glances just to see if you’re okay. And each and every time he laid eyes on your frown, at the crease between your brows all telling of your emotions— it made his stomach twist and churn.

When you got back to the house you were quick to try and disappear off to the bathroom, entering the house first as you rushed past a confused Bobby Singer without a greeting, Dean hot on your heels with just as much determination leaving the man to be doubly confused at the sight. It’s when he turns to Sam that he gets a little bit of an answer, the younger Winchester offering a shrug and an awkward smile at the ever present tension in the air.

“Will you slow down?” Dean asks when you pull the first aid kit from under that bathroom sink. You’re moments away from closing the door when he beats you to it, hand wrapping around the edge of the wood and boot stepping in the way of its closing. “I’m patching you up.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Your gaze shifts to him and your jaw tenses at his insistent tone, he’s got a stare to rival yours and you knew there was no changing his mind on this no matter how tough you made yourself out to be.

“De,” you exhale, your initial anger beginning to fade some but just that. “Fine.”

With a huff and an eye roll you hop up on the counter, the smile on his lips less than sincere and more so that of a teasing act in favor of getting his way before a softer look falls over his expression. One that was still a ready display of his anger but not enough for you to think that he hadn’t cared, that he wasn’t clouded with worry.

That was one thing he was terrible at—hiding his emotions. He could bite back his words and stuff them down, bottle them up for a good long while. He could leave them there to simmer in the back of his mind with the help of some beer and whiskey until it all eventually boiled over in a show of anger and frustration. But he was bad at hiding the very emotions he felt.

You could see it with the way the crease between his eyebrows hadn’t left since you insisted on going on that hunt. You could see it with the way the tension remained in his jaw, intensifying each and every time he saw the scratch on your cheek or the ruby stains on your shirt. His lips will purse till those dimples show in the corners of his mouth, and his grip will tighten on anything he touches. Dean Winchester was a terrible actor.

He sifted through the old plastic kit, pulling the peroxide from the cabinet as he grabbed more than enough cotton pads and a few too many bandages from their rightful spots. He laid everything out on the counter, soaking a pad in the clear liquid before his gaze returned to you.

“This’ll hurt a little,” he mumbled, his other hand settling on your cheek.

“Can’t hurt more than this.”

He wasn’t happy with your words, that much was obvious, the look on his face telling you just how much before his expression softened. He brushed the material over the wound, the sting you knew all too well burning atop the fresh scratch as the peroxide bubbled over the irritated area. You moved back from him only slightly, his hand on your cheek keeping you from straying too far. He was patient, though, angry with the fact that you were hurt to begin with but patient.

“He really got you good,” he murmurs, gentle as he continues to wipe away the blotches of crimson sitting smeared around the mark adorning your cheek. You could hear the frustration in his voice despite the softness of his words, the pad of his thumb swiping lightly over your skin.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, less defensive than the last time you’d said it but it hadn’t comforted him in that moment.

“Would you cool it with the tough guy act, sweetheart?” He huffs, dropping his hand from your face and tossing the dirtied cotton pad in the trash.

A few moments passed before he sighed, focusing his attention on opening a bandage to let his anger simmer down some more. He crinkled the wrapper in his hand and tossed it in the small garbage can, his eyes moving back to you. You give him a half smile then, the corner of your mouth quirking up only slightly as you breathe out a sigh of your own through your nose.

The simple action seemed to cool him off as his shoulders relaxed a fraction, and you even caught a glimpse of a hint of a smile. One that faded just as quickly as it’d come as he pressed the small bandage over your cheek. You rest your hand over his, the action stilling the thoughts that had been swirling around in his mind for a few moments. It was then that he looked at you again, the close proximity having given you a flurry of butterflies in your stomach as if you hadn’t already kissed the Winchester a thousand times over. But you were sure that was a feeling that would never go away.

You smile then, one he sees immediately as he flashes you an inquiring look with a simple raise of his eyebrow.

“You’re cute when you’re angry, you know,” you say, paired with a tilted of your head and your smile widening, hand squeezing his.

You barely got the words out before he rolled his eyes, turning his head away from you in favor of hiding his half smile, an effort that hadn’t worked quite as well as he’d hoped but he tried his best anyway. He even shook his head in an attempt to stave it off, running a hand over his face.

“You’re a pain, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

He gave in and smiled then, head still shaking as he moved onto the scratch across your hip. He was just as gentle as the first time he peeled back your shirt, revealing a similar situation as the one he’d just tended to and he heaved another sigh that was more than telling of just how he’d felt about it. If it was possible, you were quite sure that steam would be coming out of his ears in that very moment, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin around the scratch as he huffed through flared nostrils.

“I’m okay, Dean, it’s okay,” you remind him, trying your best to make him realize that though you know he won’t.

“It’s not, Y/n. Quit sayin’ that,” he grumbles, “it could’ve been worse out there.”

“You said that already,” you sigh, and he’s not amused but he refuses to admit the way he feels the slightest bit better at the nonchalance of your attitude. It calms him and stresses him all the same to be perfectly honest, but he’ll keep the former a secret for the time being.

“Yeah yeah,” he mumbles quietly.

He says nothing more as he works, gentle as ever as he cleans everything the best he can. You said you were okay but he notices each time you tense up, can see when you clench your fist or suck in a sharp breath no matter how hard you try and hide it. But a simple soft glance your way, a gentle swipe of his thumb over your skin was enough to make it all the more better each of those times.

After another minute or two passes things become more bearable than they had been, and you were beginning to become less focused on the pain that ebbed away and more on the man tending to your wounds. He’s got more than enough attitude for one person, quick wit and sarcasm falling from his lips even in the scariest of moments. His words could be venomous to those he’s not too wild about, but he can also be one of the sweetest people you’ve ever known all the same.

You couldn’t help the smile trying so desperately to show, one he’d noticed the moment he pulled his gaze to you.

“What?” He asked curiously before looking down once more.

“Nothing,” you say, spotting a small grin forming as he shook his head. It was not nothing and he knew it.

But that smile soon came back to tug at the corners of your mouth, a soft laugh falling past your lips that you knew you couldn’t help even if you had tried to. You were done stifling it at this point.

“Remember that time I baited that werewolf?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek once more in an effort to stifle your smile.

He paused what he was doing, gaze lifting to meet yours as the crease between his brows deepened at the mere thought of it. His palms rested on either side of you atop the counter for a moment, lips pursed. “You mean that ridiculously stupid thing you did on that hunt? How could I forget.”

You give up on fighting your widening smile completely now, huffing out another soft laugh instead as you shook your head at his grumpy words. “I did it to save you, you know.” He laughs softly, a bittersweet one at that. “I did it today too.”

He barely finished bandaging your hip when his stare returned to you, narrowed with bits of anger seeping in more and more with each passing second.

“You did what?”

You give him a knowing look, one he’s come to know all too well. He wanted to be in disbelief, wanted to think you wouldn’t put yourself in danger just for the sake of saving him. He didn’t feel he was worth it, not enough for you to wind up with even so much as a scratch as a result. But all you do is shrug, you shrug and you give him that smile that makes him weak in the knees every time you grace him with it. That smile that makes even his angriest moments melt away in a single second. That smile that’s getting him to soften his frown and lighten the heaviness of his glare just by the simple sweetness of it even if he wanted to hold onto that anger so you know just how much he disagreed with what you did. But he couldn’t help it.

“You don’t need to save me sweetheart, trust me you don’t,” he says, averting his gaze as he busies himself with packing up the first aid kit just as it was before.

“You’re not always the quick witted hunter you make yourself out to be, you know. Somebody’s got to do it,” you counter, your tone nothing but light and teasing as your words grab his attention just as quickly as ever.

“Very funny. I meant what I said,” he grumbles, fidgeting with the bandage on your hip before picking at the loose string dangling from the hem of your shirt.

“So did I,” you say, head tilted and smile bright as you brushed the hair away that stuck to his forehead.

“Yeah, you’re a pain.”

You puff out a sigh as your smile stays, more sincere than the teasing grin you once held mere seconds ago. The grumpy look on his face became more amused, unable to stay too angry when you keep looking at him the way you do. The way you always do and he always knows just how soft it makes him, because if there’s anyone in this world that can make him feel butterflies of all things, that can even slightly sway him with even so much as a glance in his direction—it’s you. It’s always you.

You couldn’t stay mad at each other for very long.

You reached up and pressed your hand to his jaw softly, the more than obvious tension in it melting away under your touch. Those little dimples by the very corners of his lips were still very much there, though his humor was still shining through all the same. You could see each and every freckle that dotted along his nose and cheeks at this proximity, could see the ones that were hidden by his lashes and the ones that splayed all the way over to his ears. Each one was a different size and each one even cuter than the last, all complimented by the pale pink shade in his cheeks from the anger that once had him so burned up that day.

“You’re not the only one that gets to save the ones you love, De,” you say softly, an even softer smile on your lips to go with it.

He sighed at your words, an eye roll soon after as he pulled your hand from his face and held it in his own. You could tell he disagreed with that, you knew he would, because the thought of someone he’d cared about putting their life on the line just for the sake of saving him wasn’t one that sat well with him. Especially when that person is you.

“You keep sayin’ that and I keep hating it,” he murmurs, and you laugh quietly, the action causing the corner of his mouth to quirk up.

“And I’ll keep saying it.”

He laughed then, soft as it puffs warmly against your lips. He knows there’s no convincing you otherwise, there was no changing your mind on the subject just the same as there was no changing his. You were tough as nails and he could argue till he was blue in the face but there was no chance you’d miss an opportunity to protect him just as much as he does you whether he likes it or not. He doesn’t.

He leans in a little closer, so much so his lips brush over yours with each word he speaks in that moment. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“I think I know someone who just might be worse than I am,” you say, his hum sounding mere centimeters from your lips as cue to keep talking as if he hadn’t known just who it was you were talking about. “You see, he’s got these pretty green eyes and he’s devilishly handsome,” you start, his smile widening. “But he’s got a mouth on him, like seriously, he just might be one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever—”

“Okay, okay c’mere,” he sighs, amusement woven around his words as he quiets you.

His lips meld with yours and cut the rest of your own words short in favor of your affection, his smile pressing into your lips and lingering there as he makes no effort to stray too far from you. His hands come up to settle on your cheeks again, the pads of his thumbs brushing lightly over your skin in the sweetest of touches as he kisses you once more before his hands fall down your arms to rest over top of your hands.

“Try and be a little more careful, sweetheart?” He asks softly, the tip of his nose bumping against yours. In other words, I love you.

You simply nod, smile sweet as your forehead rests against his. It’s not his ideal answer, because ideally, he didn’t want you in danger at all. Ideally, he’d rather you stay back when it comes to hunts. But he knows you wouldn’t go for that idea, and he knows he’s got to deal with that though he’ll always put up that fight even though he knows he won’t ever win. You’re stubborn and he loves you.

He’s got you.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff

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fictionalabyss · 3 years

Text

Mated : You should be out there, somewhere, happy.

Pairings : Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam.

Word count : 4,130

Written for : @spnabobingo

Square : Motor oil / cut grass / gunpowder

Warning : Angst ahead! a/b/o dynamics, heat / rut, minor smut, possessive Dean, Dean doesn't think he deserves nice things, lonely Sam, hunting talked about, some fluff too.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

Part 2 of Mated.

SPN A/B/O Bingo Round 5 Masterlist.

Dean had had to leave Palo Alto the day after meeting him in the bar, and you had a feeling that had something to do with Sam. Dean had called, apologizing and mumbling something about work, but you assured him it was fine, that you understood. You’d be seeing him in a few days anyways.

Now here you were, the same motel room as every other time, sitting on the edge of the bed and waiting for him. He had shot you a quick text earlier saying he was about an hour or so away. You glanced down at your phone, checking to see if another had come through when you hear the engine outside and smile to yourself.

Putting the phone down, you barely had time to stand before the door burst open and you’re faced with Dean. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow and his chest moves with heavy breaths. “You smell so fucking good.” He growls, shoving the door shut before surging forward to grab hold of you. His lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, and his body relaxes a little as it presses up against yours. “So fucking good.” he whispers, mouthing down to your jaw.

“Bet I taste better.” you tease with a smile, your fingers running through his hair.

“Oh, I know you do baby. Can’t fucking wait to taste it again.” You couldn’t help but giggle as his tongue ran up the length of your throat. “Get it all off before I tear through it like last time.” he breathed out heavily, his lips just leaving your skin as he started to yank off his jacket. “Need you so fucking bad.”

You smiled as you reached for his bulge, cupping it in your hand and giving him a squeeze. He was throbbing hard under that denim and you could feel slick pooling between your thighs at the thought of it soon being inside you. “I couldn’t tell.” you teased.

Dean growled, throwing his jacket aside. “Don’t tease me. I can smell you want me just as bad.” his hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer again, his lips latching onto your throat as he sucked and bit into it. “Get it off.” the rumble of his words vibrating against your throat making you whimper.

The two of you barely parted, both of you watching the other with parted lips and heavy breath as you scrambled to rid yourselves of the rest of your clothing. As soon as you were bare to him, he was on you again. His overheating body tight against yours, one hand cupping the back of your neck as his tongue invaded your mouth to seek out yours, while his other grabbed at your ass and tried to pull you closer, not that you could get any closer.

A step at a time, he moved you backwards until you felt the bed behind you. It took a coordination the two of you developed over the last year, but without breaking the kiss, without fully parting, you found yourself laying in the bed with him over you, his hands running down your thighs to your calves before wrapping them around his waist.

As he finally settled over you, he rutted against you, his cock sliding through slick soaked folds, and he groaned. “So fuckin’ wet for me.”

“Been wet since you told me your rut was coming.”

Dean chuckled as he nuzzled into your neck. “Just the thought of me fucking you gets you going, huh?.” You nod, bottom lip between your teeth and whimper when his hips rut forward again and you feel him slide the entire length of his cock along your clit. It’s covered in your slick, and so warm against you. “What a good little Omega.”

You smile at the praise as Dean’s hips pull back and he reaches down to line himself up. He teases you with the tip, prodding at your entrance but never pushing in, and you give him a frustrated whine as you try to pull him with your legs. “Come on, don’t tease me.” Dean chuckles again and pushes home, your lips fall open in a soft gasp.

“Did you miss me?” Dean smiles against your throat, and you nod. “Good. Because, baby, I’m going to fuck you senseless right now, I can’t hold back much longer, but afterwards,” he pressed a soft kiss under your ear. “I’m gonna make you feel really fucking good.”

“You always do, Alpha.” Dean growled at the title, hips pulling back then slammed them forward making you cry out.

It took Sam a bit, but he eventually managed to track down his brother. Dean had ditched him 3 days ago with barely a word. A simple note that said “I’ll be back” left on the motel room table, calls going right to voicemail. The car Sam had hotwired to get down here, he left parked in some back alley two blocks away, and he walked his way to the motel.

The Impala was parked right outside room 9, and a peek through the crack in the curtain confirmed that Dean was inside. Sam could see his bag on the bed, open. Heading for the door, Sam glanced around before trying the knob. Locked, which didn’t surprise him, so he got to work getting it unlocked. Didn’t take too long before he was stepping into the room, hearing the shower going in the bathroom.

Sam shut the door behind him, and glanced around. Dean wasn’t alone, that much was obvious, but it wasn’t just the items scattered around that confirmed it, it was the smell. The room reeked of rut and sex, and-

Sam froze.

He could smell fresh cut grass of an open field after a cool autumn rainfall. He knew that scent, he’d smelt it a thousand times and could pick it out of anything, even this room, overpowered by Dean's own scent. Motor oil, gunpowder, and his own fresh cut grass, though more like a hot summer day than a cool autumn. Slight difference, so slight most people might not notice but Sam knew both of these people really well.

Dean hadn’t just left, Dean went to you.

“Sammy?” Sam snapped out of his thoughts and looked up to see his brother, sweat pants low on his waist, hair wet and a few stray water droplets running down the side of his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, got a call for a case, I-”

“No. Not taking it.” Dean cut it right off and started for the bed.

“Dean, someone called in a favor, we can’t-”

“Can and will. I’m busy.”

“I already said yes.”

“Then you call back, and say you're sending in someone else.” Dean shot his little brother a glare. “How the fuck did you even get here?”

“Hotwired a car..” Sam’s words trailed off as he turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening and he saw you walking out, not yet seeing him as you towel dried your hair. But he saw you, so much of you. His brother’s t-shirt showed off the swell of your breasts perfectly, and likely brushed along the tops of your thighs but currently giving him a peek at the panties underneath since your arms were up drying your hair. A ghost of a smile on your face before you looked up and it faded when your eyes landed on him.

“Sam?”

“He’s leaving.” Dean practically growled.

“We have a job.” Sam countered, unable to take his eyes off of you. Yours were on him too, watching him as his eyes scanned over you once more.

Suddenly Dean was behind you, arm wrapped tight around your waist, pulling your back against him and a step farther from Sam, his growl loud and threatening and directed at his baby brother. “Fuck off, Sam, before you get hurt.” Dean threatened.

Sam was confused by the threat, his eyes shooting to Dean with a furrowed brow. “Dean, what the hell? Since when do you threaten me? Especially over some girl-” His eyes had shifted to you again, as he gestured, but another growl from Dean cut him off.

Dean’s grip on you got tighter, pulling you impossibly closer. He was possessive as all hell, and honestly, it was kind of a turn on. Sam just looked more confused. “He’s 3 days into his rut, Sam.” You informed him. “His rut is throwing me into my heat a week early, and you just walked into the room.”

“I’m his brother, I’d never-”

“You’re another Alpha. Do you think straight mid rut?” Sam seemed to stop and consider that for a moment. “If Dean had walked into your house when it was you and blondie-”

“You're not his mate.” Sam snapped, but calmed when he saw Dean’s lip curl back. “But I get what you’re saying.” His attention turned to his brother. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll find someone else for the job.”

“Good.” Dean grumbled, glare still holding firm on Sam.

“I’ll get a room close by. If you need anything, just call me.” You gave Sam a small smile, letting him know you would if anything came up. “I’ll drop off dinner later, okay? I know how you sometimes forget to eat.”

“Thanks, Sammy. But you really need to go. Now.”

Sam nodded, sending you one last look before he left the room, the door closing quietly behind him. You breathed out a sigh of relief before turning to face Dean, who was still glaring at the door. “Hey.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me.” You cupped his cheek as he looked down at you. “He’s gone. It’s just you and me again. He wasn’t going to touch me, Dean.”

“You didn’t see how he was looking at you.”

“I did see it. It’s how I used to look at him.” you gave him a shrug. Dean growled, and you chuckled. “But now, it’s how I look at you.” you smiled fondly at him. “But I must say, I am tempted to call him back in here.”

“What!?”

“I like possessive Dean.” you teased with a wide grin, reaching up on your toes to nip at his chin.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” he growled. “I swear to god-”

“You’ll what?” you asked, pulling away from him and taking a few steps backwards. “What will you do, Alpha?” With a growl, Dean surged forward, scooping you up into his arms, his lips pressing to yours with bruising force. You couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh yeah, I like possessive Dean.”

When Dean opened his eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. You were still asleep in the bed next to him, and he let himself admire you unnoticed and uninterrupted. The way your hair was mussed, not just from the romp in the late night hours, but also from how you moved in your sleep. The breath that lightly fell from slightly parted lips, making your chest rise and fall. The softness of your face as you sleep safe and warm in his bed, not a worry in the world to be had.

He enjoyed these quiet little moments where he could just marvel in how beautiful you looked to him. His rut over, your heat finally died down. No biology dictating what happens. He liked this. It was just him, and you.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the intake of breath, not until there was someone looking back at him. “Morning.” you smiled, stretching your arms and legs, back arching before settling in again.

“Morning.”

“What? Did I drool?” you ask, wiping off your mouth with the back of your hand, and Dean just smiles even more and shakes his head.

“No. Just glad you’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” you chuckle softly and Dean shrugs.

“Living your life.”

“I am living it.” your eyes start searching his face. “What’s going on, Dean?”

“I just can’t believe an Omega like you isn’t mated yet. What is it? What’s stopping that? Is it you? Is it them?”

You chuckled softly and shook your head, looking up at the ceiling. “Honestly, I just never went looking for it. I wanted college, I wanted a fun and free life, I didn’t want to just be someone’s Omega, ya know?” you glanced at Dean, hoping to see understanding in his face. “I wanted to live for myself. Do what I wanted to do, so that’s what I did. And then…” you sighed.

“Sam?”

“Yeah.” the chuckle you let out that time was half scoff. “It crept up on me. Literally, one day he’s just Sam and the next… he’s Sam.” you sighed. “I realized I was in love with him, but.. He met her, and he was barely even my friend anymore.”

“But after that? After you left, after you headed home? Why me and not someone who wanted more?”

“I was hurt. Casual was easier to deal with at the time.”

Dean’s beautiful green eyes have been watching you, studying your face as you answer him. Taking in the words you say and how you’re saying them. “What about now? What if I stop calling?” Your eyes shoot to his and he can see something in them, something he didn’t expect. Worry.

“Do you regret me?”

“No, I don’t regret you.” Dean reaches over, fingers brushing over your cheek to try and soothe you. “But I regret keeping you.” The worry in your eyes changed to something else, something that made him need to explain. “You should be mated, sweetheart. You should be out there, somewhere, happy.”

“I am happy.”

“With someone who can make you happy.”

“You made me happy!” Dean sighed and got out of the bed, and you shot up, clutching the blanket to your chest as you sat there in the bed and watched him. “What the fuck, Dean?”

“You deserve more, you deserve a mate who can give you everything. A house, kids, happiness, the whole 9 fucking yards. All I got to give is a week in a shitty motel room once a month. That’s not a life, it’s not happiness.”

You swallowed, trying to keep as calm as you could. “I come because I want to, I come because I love being here with you.” your eyes, locking on his, not letting him turn away or shut you down, not until he heard you. “I know I can go look for more, Dean, I know full and damn well what this is, but I don’t. I don’t because this, right here, you and me, it makes me happy. Nothing else exists when I’m in here with you. It’s just us, and I like that. I look forward to you, Dean. When you text or call, it makes my fucking day because I know I make you smile too. You say it’s not enough, but it’s open, it’s honest, there’s no bullshit between us and for the first time in a long fucking time I feel wanted. I don’t have to beg for your time because you give it, even if it's just a text, you give it.”

Dean stood there quietly, eyes searching your face as he weighed those words.

“You make me happy, Dean. And I know I make you happy, too, so I don’t know why you’re doing this right now.”

With a sigh, Dean got back into bed, wrapping his arms around you as he pulled you down against him. “I’m sorry.” he mumbled, nuzzling himself into your neck. “I just get in my own head sometimes. I’m sorry. You’re just so fucking perfect, and I’m-”

“Perfect.” you assured him with a smile. “Perfect enough for me, anyways.” you corrected, before he could protest. “I promise you, Dean, if I’m ever unhappy, I’ll tell you. But I’m not. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Dean buried his face deeper into your neck and breathed you in, letting your scent soothe him. “It’s so fucking hard not to claim you sometimes.” he muttered to himself, not meaning for you to hear him.

“Then why don’t you?” Dean froze and remained quiet for a while. You were about to pull back from him and ask again when he spoke.

“It doesn’t end well for us.”

“How do you know, we’ve never-”

“Winchesters, I mean. Mates, they.. they die.”

“Everyone dies.”

He shook his head, but didn’t pull it out of your neck. It was like he was afraid to. “They get killed. Killed for just being with us. Mom, Jess.. As shit as it is to say, I’m glad Sam hurt you because if he hadn’t, it would have been you who died in that fire.”

“What are you saying, Dean?”

“There’s something you don't know about us. A lot you don’t know about us.”

“Tell me.” Your voice was as quiet as a whisper, half afraid to hear, but needing to know. He was quiet again, but you gave him time, let him tell you at his own pace.

“It started with mom. She died in a fire, like Jess did. Exactly like Jess. Sam in bed, her in flames on the ceiling above him, me pulling him out before he burns too.”

“On the-”

“It wasn’t a house fire.. It was so much more.. Been hunting the fucking thing my whole life, it consumed my dad, it’s consuming Sam now. It’s what we do, we hunt. Sam tried to leave it, tried to do college, tried to have a mate and a life outside of this, but no one gets out, not alive. I’m scared. Every fucking time I meet up with you, I’m scared that I’m followed. I’m scared that I’ll leave and something else will walk in and you’ll stand no fucking chance..”

“Then teach me what I need to know.” At that, Dean pulled away. “Living your life in fear is not living, Dean. You’ll let it taint what we have, you’re already doing it. So teach me. Whatever it is that you do, whatever it is that you’re afraid will get me, prepare me so I have a fighting chance.”

“You’re serious?”

“I told you, Dean. You’re my happy.” Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Happiness is worth fighting for, so teach me to fight.” Dean nodded, letting his forehead rest against yours as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “And stop holding back. If you want to claim me, Dean, just ask.”

Dean pulled back. “But I thought-”

“How many times do I have to say that I’m happiest with you?”

The grin that spread over his face was the most beautiful one you’d ever seen. He pressed his lips to yours, soft, tender and loving. “I want to, I’ve wanted to for months.”

“I’ve been yours for months.” you answered with a smile.

It was a bit after 10 when Sam knocked on the motel room door with two bags of takeout in his hands. He waited patiently, not wanting to risk getting his head ripped off if he just walked in like the first time. He’d been dropping off a meal or two all week to be sure you were both eating, and this was how it went, he’d knock, the door would open, Dean would snatch the food and grumble a thanks before shutting the door in his face. It’s what he was expecting when the door opened.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Hey.” Sam greeted his brother, and held out one of the bags.

“Is that Sam?” Sam heard you from inside. “Stop being mean to your brother, Dean, invite him in.” Sam cocked an eyebrow at that, but Dean just smiled.

“Would you like to join us?”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t, Sammy.” Dean took the bag from his brother and walked away from the door, leaving it open as an invitation to Sam.

Sam weighed the options, join you and Dean for breakfast and be reminded of the best friend he’d lost and what his brother found in her, or go eat in his own room and be reminded of just how alone he was. Both options sucked. With a sigh, Sam stepped inside and shut the door.

Dean was taking out the containers from the bag when he glanced over and motioned for Sam to come in and sit. The table was small, only two chairs, one on either side, so Sam sat in the closest one, Dean dropping into the one opposite him.

The water in the bathroom turned off, and Sam glanced up from opening his breakfast container to see you come out with a smile. “Morning, Sam.”

“Morning.” he answered, taking you in. You were wearing a hoodie and sleep shorts, and he almost smiled to himself about how some things don’t change. He remembers countless times showing up at your dorm room to find you dressed like that, nose buried in a book. He could smell you, not as strong as last time, but you smelt different. The same, but something about it was different. It was so slight, but he chalked it up to the week you’d spent with Dean locked away in this room.

“Oh, he brought breakfast.” you grinned, happily making your way to the table. Sam was about to offer up his seat when Dean wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you onto his lap. You didn’t seem to care as Dean held on to you and ate with his free hand, just focused on getting your own breakfast container opened before reaching for the plastic fork that had come with it. “So where were we?” Sam furrowed his brow as Dean seemed to be thinking. “Ghosts?” you asked, fork coming up to your mouth and taking a bite.

“Hmm.” Dean nodded and swallowed. “Salt. You got a ghost problem, salt lines, salt circles, shoot ‘em with rocksalt.”

“Why is everything bothered by salt?”

“What is going on?” Sam looked between the two of you.

“I’m learning.” you smiled over at him between bites.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Iron.” Dean added, ignoring his brother’s question. “Crowbar or fire poker, swing at ‘em. They won’t leave for good, but it’ll give you time to move.”

“Oh! Finally, a reason to buy one of those nice fake fireplace heater things.” You got a weird look from both of them and shrugged. “It’s going to be weird having a fire poker but no fireplace. People will think I’m crazy.” Dean just rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast. “I suppose I could just say I collect them..”

“Shifters.” Dean continued. “Look human, but not human. Not fully.”

“Why are they called shifters?” You turned to look at Dean behind you, and that’s when Sam saw it, the mark at the base of your neck.

“Because they can shift to look like anyone. Oh! Hang on, I’ve got something for you.” Dean gave you a nudge, and you stood, letting him up and he hurried to his bag.

“You claimed her?!” Sam was stunned.

“Yeah, Sammy, I did.” Dean answered, digging through his bag. “We got a problem?”

Sam looked to you and you gave him a soft smile. “He makes me happy, Sam.”

Sam just looked away, looked down at his food and nodded. “Just be careful.” he mumbled, making you furrow your brow in confusion.

“Here.” You turned to Dean and found him holding a ring. “Silver.” he smiled, taking your hand and sliding it over your finger on your dominant hand. “If you touch someone, and they pull back like they were burned, run. So many things are hurt by silver.”

You gave him a nod, looking down at the plain silver band, then looked over at Sam who still wasn’t looking up at either of you. Dean sat back in his chair and pulled you back onto his lap so you can both continue eating.

“Now you know why I’m teaching her.” Sam looked up at that, meeting his brother's eyes. “She won’t end up like them.” Sam just nodded and looked back down at his meal. “Oh, and I’m going to have to teach you Latin.”

“Latin!?”

“Demons.” Sam piped up, but didn’t look up. As much as he hated this, he wasn’t going to let Dean’s decision lead you to your death as much as he could help it. “Exorcism is in Latin.”

“It’s going to be difficult, isn’t it?” you pouted.

“Oh yeah.” Dean chuckled. “But you’re smart, you’ll get it.”

“God I hope so..” you sighed.

“Speaking of demons..” Dean took a bite of bacon. “Salt.” he chuckled.

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Tagging : Dean - @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @evyiione @karikatz12481 @idksupernatural @deandreamernp

Sam - @evyiione @hoboal87

SPN - @sandlee44 @just-another-busy-fangirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @deanandsamsbitch @deans-baby-momma @thebescht @67-chevy-baby @supraveng @musiclovinchic93 @holyfuckloueh @ksgeekgirl @hobby27 @maddiepants @roxyspearing @onethirstyunicorn @fandom-princess-forevermore @kalesrebellion @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies

All tags - @sorenmarie87 @artemisthebadger @winchesterprincessbride @iflostreturntosteverogers @akfonkin @rebelminxy @foxyjwls007 @onethirstyunicorn @shaelyn102 @supernaturalenchanted @kazkingdom @babypink224221 @emoryhemsworth @ilovefanfic86 @pie-with-hunters @anaelsbrunette @lazinessisalliknow @feelmyroarrrr @letsdisneythings @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose @xostephanie @ilovedeanspie @defenderrosetyler @amandamdiehl

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buddielove · 3 years

Note

Hi! I'm a gay fan of 911 and I have a question about the whole Buddie fandom. As much as I like Buck and Eddie, it's frustrating that a HUGE part of the fandom is pushing for these two characters to get together instead of putting energy into supporting Hen & Carla and Michael & Dave. Not to mention Carlos and TK in Lone Star. Can you explain to me the appeal of wanting these two men together? Wouldn't it be more interesting to see two heterosexual males just be able to bond in a non-toxic fashion? That's something we don't get to see often on television.

Hey! This is MAD long lmao I am so sorry! You caught me on a day I felt like talking! Also this took like a year to answer you lolololol. This does have a few ʻhot takesʻ so please be warned! So like in this essay....

So first I am also apart of the LGBTQIA+ community, so I do understand how it could come across as a fetish or being non supportive of the current canonically LGBTQIA+ characters, however I think a lot of the interest around Buddie and the want for them to be confirmed as a couple is how they are being written. Me personally I knew since s2 e1 Buck and Eddie were written not as rivals but as two people who would eventually become friends, but it wasn’t until the Christmas episode with the elf assuming Buck was Chris’s dad and Eddie’s partner that I was like ‘hold on!’ because I was really hoping Abbey would return and I didn’t see Eddie as a possible Buck live interest because of that. The elf’s comment wasn’t played off like most other shows would (think Dean and Sam arriving anywhere in Supernatural) it made me go back and look at the other episodes to see exactly how Buck and Eddie were being framed/written. And as we have moved into further seasons I think there has been a shift in how Buddie is being written, in s3 it was very much like two people progressing into a deeper friendship then the blood clot/lawsuit gets in the way and they both have to deal with emotions surrounding that, then Buck’s response to Eddie being trapped (we see how is he when Boddy is trapped in a fire WITH A GUNMAN, it’s emotional but not to the point is is with Eddie), even the love interests feel very pushed on us and there’s so little banter between Buddie about their gfs and how they feel about these new beginnings. It feels off, not like a friendship in the slightest, more like two people trying to force something and not wanting to deal with any other feelings. Then when Eddie gets shot and reveals Buck is Chris’s legal Guardian in the event Eddie dies, that’s huge, and he did this after only a year of knowing Buck (I have friends with kids. I’ve known one of them for FIVE years, I’m at their house every week, the kid calls me family. I’m person #10 on the list of ‘who gets my kid if I die’, not #1 lol) It just feels like it’s all building up to something, and people are getting tired of waiting for that something! We’re all emotionally tired from the past two years, and probably from many shows queerbaiting us and this is something that could happen, seems to be something the actors are ok with and the fans want. So why do they keep drawing it out. This isn’t about us demanding they ignore the chance to write a healthy platonic male friendship, or forcing two characters to be gay, it’s about holding the writers to what they’ve implied and seeing what could come of it.

Also think of it like this; If Buddie is confirmed it will still be a good example of a healthy friendship which then developed into something else, like Booth/Bones! Showing the natural progression of friendship to relationship that happens a lot in real life. It’s two men who previously (on screen at least) have only been with woman, but now they have an emotionally connection with someone which they then develop and explore. This could be 911’s first nontoxic depiction of two gay characters coming together, because sorry not sorry the canon couples aren’t perfect (which does humanize them) but they also reenforce harmful troupes that plaque the LGBTQIA+ community, which I’m sure you understand: TK was a drug addict, who only got with Carlos at first cause he was hot and sex was TK’s new addition (all gay men are sex addicts who do drugs and sleep with anything that moves). Carlos was ashamed and wanted to keep TK on the downlow (poc gay men want to pretend to be straight but have free access to gay sex). Hen cheated on Karen seemingly the first chance she got (lesbians can’t handle monogamy when pushed, and cheat on their long term partners). All known and documented troupes that happen far too often.

I’m not saying Buddie is some gay jesus ship that’s gonna save the entertainment industry but if done right it could prove to be one of the few healthy depictions of two men getting into a gay relationship we have. If they plan it out correctly, show us the relationship development, like they did with Maddie/Chim for example, Buddie could be used as a positive example of a gay fictional relationship (I really could go into depth about this. I probably should tbh).

As for not supporting Hen and KAREN, or Michael and DAVID, I think fans do support them! The writers don’t. If you read fanfics Henren and Michael/David are featured heavily in many fics, and ik some people might say ‘well they’re only there so Buddie can talk about their gay side!!’ but both these couples have their own fans and fanfic tags! They aren’t just plot devices in Buddie stories. There is a huge side of the fandom that supports Henren and wants to see more of them and their family. Same with Michael and David, during the episode where Michael and Bobby team up to find that plastic surgeon who was working illegally many people where ecstatic that we were getting more Michael/David content and that David was getting more than a couple lines. But sadly it seems like the writers only want to delve into these story lines when they need filler, they even miss opportunities to include these other LGBTQIA+ characters when it makes sense;

(Someone came for me about this but I am going to bring it up again)

When Chris is sad and wants more human connection, instead of bring Harry + Michael/David and Denny+Nia+Henren back into the picture (and yes I understood at the time the pandemic was bad (lmao still is!!), but all the actors at some point would have/had crossed over into each other’s ‘bubbles’, so ALL the actors would have been exposed to each other so getting the children together with adults they had ALREADY been with during shooting wouldn’t have been a super spreader event) but instead they brought in Ana after only two on screen dates and pretended like it was a logical thing for someone who’s up to that point been extremely careful with their child.

They really could have pushed the ‘118 is a family!’ message here and included the canonically gay supporting characters, and the lesbian main character(s) but they did not and instead chose to push the Ana/Eddie coupling even though they hadn’t properly developed it yet. The writers themselves don’t seem to care about developing their canonically gay characters and including them more than they have to but fans are continuously developing Henren and Michael/David with hc and fics.

I’d like to use your logic against you for a second, in s1 we have a very healthy, platonic friendship between Chim/Bobby but that got written out to the point they are more like boss/employee unless the scene calls for them to seem closer, we now have Bobby and Michael friendship but again we hardly see Michael. On Lone Star we have Owen and Judd as a really, really good example of a healthy male friendship but we see Judd more often with Tommy now then we do with Owen, and in s2 it’s overshadowed by Owen trusting Charlie from Twilight and constantly getting fucked over! Why can’t the writter just be happy with these happy, healthy, emotionally well male-male friendship they’ve already included and expand upon them. There’s enough drama because the show literally involves burning buildings and people’s lives being at risk from some natural/man made disaster ever 12 seconds. Does it need to have so much interpersonal conflict and male peacocking??

#Buddie #Please donʻt get offended by anything in this!!!#These are JUST my opinions which MAY change the further we get into this show!!#ALSO IT IS JUST A TV SHOW!!!! PLEASE BE KIND TO ME AND TO EACH OTHER

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