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tastethewinchester · 7 years

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Samson

Author: @tastethewinchester Word Count: 2160 Summary: Reader attempts to make Sam’s pain go away after the death of Dean Warnings: SO MUCH ANGST AND SADNESS, slight smut

Based off of this song by Regina Spektor

Sam had been your last salvation and you're sweetest downfall.

You loved him so much, in fact, he was your first and only love, the sole person you trusted to take care of you after your parents died. Yet a blinding pain ripped through your skull, your chest, every damn time you looked at him now.

Dean had been gone for weeks, and Sam had yet to brush his hair. It remained in his face as he picked at breakfast each morning, or when he read about where Dean might have gone. In the last three weeks you watched the strongest man you knew shrivel into nothingness.

When you first met Sam, you were both so young. His hair curled out just past the his jaw line. He stood tall, even when he watched the life leave someone he couldn't save. He would wrap himself around you whenever he felt your fear, your pain, your anger, your love. His arms were your asylum. But they were only half of what made him strong. He faced down the devil, multiple times, and came out with a smile on his face. Sam’s love for you made you both invincible.

Until the day they killed Dick. Until the day you both were scraped empty, left as hollow shells.

He came out of his room each morning, well if eleven still passed as morning. You’d tense as the sting of alcohol hit your nostrils as you feel his hangover looming. His hair hid his expression, the way it always falls in front of him, seeming to break his back at how heavy it is, pulling him forward into his hands as he sat across from you. All Sam ever gave you was a grunt as a “good morning.” Majority of the sound came from you, as your spoon clanked against your bowl as you fish out the last of your cereal. When Dean first died, you attempted conversation to diverge Sam’s mind from constantly thinking about him. You tried light topics about the food or the weather for the day. Sam refused to say anything in reply. You wondered if somehow Sam’s tongue was cut out in the middle of the night without anyone noticing.

No one really did notice you or the Winchesters anyway. You spent majority of your young adult life catching monsters and saving the world, but the history books will forget all of your names. Sam has seen the devil, but the bible won’t mention him. Dean has met angles and died for the greater good yet no one will call him a martyr.

Sam could only stomach bread after his brother was ripped away from him. After multiple attempts to force some food into his body, and many nights spent rubbing his back as he vomited into the toilet, a silent agreement was made for him to only eat what he could keep down, which happened to specifically be Wonder Bread.

It was on one particularly bad night, four weeks without the eldest Winchester, that you woke to find Sam climbing into your bed. Immediately, you sat up. It was entirely too dark, all you managed to make out was his outline, no expression to tell you the intensity of the situation. You quickly leaned to your bedside table to flip on the lamp, a dim yellow light filling part of the room.

“Sam? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” your voice was hoarse from sleep.

Sam sat on the edge of your bed, shoulders still hunched forward, hair still in his face. Once you had moved to sit next to him, he met your gaze. It had been the first time you had really looked into Sam’s hazel eyes since his brother died. Specks of gold and green were hidden behind the pain that appeared in his eyes, tears on the edge of spilling.

However instead of bursting into tears or divulging you into his thoughts, his head tilted slightly and he told you that your hair was red.

It was, you had since dyed it, desperately wanting to get out of your old skin and wash away everything Dean ever complimented you on. It broke your heart to know that Sam only realized the dramatic change then, but you simply put on a smile, happy to hear more than two words out of him at one time.

“Yeah Sam, it is.”

He looked at you again, silence surrounding you for more than a few moments before he said, “you’re beautiful Y/N.”

Relief filled your heart and you audibly gasped at his compliment. You could feel tears well in your eyes yet you successfully held them at bay much like Sam had. All you could bring yourself to do was to reach towards him. He didn’t move as your fingers softly met his hair, pushing it back behind his ear. Time moved slowly as you took in his features like it was your first meeting. Sam’s eyes were puffy like he had been crying for a long time, bloodshot as well. He was unshaven, however it was mostly stubble on his chin and cheeks.

You both stared at each other for a long time. You watched as Sam continued to breath in and out, his chest rising dramatically with every intake. Your fingers ached as all you wanted to do was fix his hair. To brush out all the tangles and make the pain stop.

It was several moments before you gave into your desires. You stood quickly, however the walk to your dresser to grab the brush took millennia. The metal brush your mom left for you was cold against your skin. It has been one of the only things left of hers. A few years back, when you had left the boys to try and get away from it all, you tried to pawn the ancient metal brush. Although you were desperate for food and the brush itself cost a pretty penny, you couldn't bring yourself to lose that part of her.

Its smooth surface shined in the yellow light as you made your way back to Sam. He didn't seem to even flinch as you sat behind him, whispering that everything was going to be alright. You started your strokes at the ends of his dark brown hair, even those completely ridden with knots. The attempt to be gentle was definitely made, but there was no way around the fact that the untangling of Sam's hair was going to be slightly tortuous.

As your hands moved further up his head, and despite Sam's efforts to be still, he occasionally winced whenever a knot would catch. His hair slowly evolved, changing from what was a tangled mass of chestnut weeds to something much softer.

By the time you were finished, Sam's fingers were digging into the cotton of his pajama pants.

"I promise it's almost done Sammy," you said, you're voice cracking as you said his name, remembering Dean's affection towards his kid brother and the pet names he gave to belittle him in the way only a brother could.

It was with your words or maybe the fact that you had untangled a particularly nasty knot, that Sam pulled away from your hands. His face was much more visible with his hair, now smooth to the touch, was tucked behind his ears. You could see that it wasn't the last knot that made him flinch away from you.

"I'm sorry Sam. I wasn't thinking and it just sorta slipped-" you tried to backtrack, erase the memory from both of your heads.

"You've done alright" Sam said shaking his head, hair almost completely empty of knots other than a few stray hairs that whisper around his chin and the back of his neck. He stood from the bed, waking in the same direction you had hours ago. Well it felt like hours ago.

He stared into the mirror above your dresser. His eyes were fixated on the dramatic change of his demeanor. He appeared more approachable, even if he looked as if he hadn't slept in eighteen years. His eyes shined.

"Thank you Y/N," was all he said, not turning to face you but rather look at your reflection in the mirror. His voice riddled with melancholia.

It was you who stood then, making your way towards Sam. He didn't move as you approached him, or when your hands made contact with his hair. You ran your fingers through his locks, desperately trying not to burst out into tears at his beauty. You continued to move through his hair, soon forcing him to face you. The two of you stood so close now, you could feel the other's breath.

Sam caught your hand as it brushed past his face. He pressed it against his cheek, and you felt the prickle of his stubble against your palm. His eyes were closed then, hiding his anguish from you once more.

Rather than prying them open or convincing him that it was you in front of him, you leaned forward. You were sure that you caught him off guard, as Sam made noise of confusion. You felt the memories rush back to you as you familiarized yourself with the curve of Sam's lips once again.

You saw flashes of the first time you two kissed, right after you killed your first monster. You saw the first time Sam saw you naked, the way his eyes lit up and tongue darted between his lips. You felt the first time his fingers curled inside you as your heart pounded furiously in your chest while you gasped for more. You heard his words circle around you when he said he loved you for the first time, before any of this madness had started.

He brought you back to reality when his arm snaked around you, slowly backing you to the bed. His fingers met the small of your back, fiddling with the hem of your tank top. He traced it before lifting the thin material from your head and discarding it on the floor. Your hand had traveled to the back of his neck, where your fingers laced with his hair.

Sam then stood back, opening his eyes to admire your body. You had never been confident with your figure, but when Sam's eyes feasted upon you as if you were the most beautiful thing he could ever look at, you never felt the need to hide. One of his hands traveled across the curves of your hip, settling itself on your breast. He squeezed, causing you to moan his name softly. His other hand remained at your back, pushing you closer towards him as the two of your hips moved against each other slowly. You could feel him harden through the thin layer of your panties and his sleep pants. You could feel yourself begin to grow wet with the thought of being with him again.

It wasn't long until Sam was on top of you as you shred the last item of clothing from your bodies. His hair already clung to his forehead and neck as he reached for your hand, putting it above your head and he deepened your kisses.

A loud groan escaped you as you felt him enter your slick folds. He sprinkled kisses across your neck and collarbone while his tongue danced across your skin. All you could do was remain with your fingers in your hair, as you had the strong feeling that by doing this Sam's pain would remain at bay.

The weight of the world seemed to hit you like a ton of bricks as Sam continued his rhythmic movements in and out of you. When he made his way up to your mouth once more, you tried to mask the taste of your tears by pulling him closer. But there was no way around Sam.

He pulled away instantly feeling the wetness on your cheeks. Rather than interrogating you or joining along, Sam simply whispered what you had been telling him since the day his brother died.

"We'll be okay."

The two of you knew that being tangled up in sheets with one another wouldn't fix the damage that Dean left within your hearts, but the two of you would heal. As you both hit your climax, you found each other's lips, whispering "I love you" and "I've missed you's." The two of you kissed until the morning's light shined through your small window.

Sam and you knew that it would take time to mend the wounds of loss. You also knew that everything you have done won't be remembered. You knew that the pain you inflicted on each other and inability to be independent for long was your greatest downfall. Yet it was the sweetest in the fact that you were each other's guiding light through the darkness.

You can't save everyone. All you can do is mend each other.

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tastethewinchester · 7 years

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song fic ideas

lately, i’ve been running low on fic ideas :/ and i really wanna know y’all’s thoughts. obviously, telling from most of what i’ve posted so far, i love to base my fics off of lyrics and i want to know what you guys want to hear/ read next

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tastethewinchester · 8 years

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Monster in the Mirror

Author: @tastethewinchester Word Count: 1315 Summary: The reader and Sam always find relief in one another, but this time something’s very wrong Warnings: smut, angst, finger fucking, mirror sex, cursing, slight description of death

Loosely based off of this song by Meg Myers

You could feel Sam’s energy shift as soon as you stepped inside the bunker. Dean’s arms had already reached up and into a long stretch as he mumbled a half-coherent “goodnight.” The three of you exhausted from the previous hour, but that didn’t stop Sam from silently telling you he wasn’t ready to sleep.

The tickle in the back of your mind wasn’t felt until you had entered Sam’s bedroom. It poked and prodded around the inside of your head, snaking black ichor around your thoughts momentarily, then dissolving into nothing a second later.

The hunt had been fairly simple, no casualties and only a few bruises to you and the brothers. There was no way you could have suffered from anything other than that. The demon was dead and you could find your relief with Sam.

His hands were on you in a matter of seconds after the door shut. Sam was quick to find your lips, fumbling for the lamp to offer some amount of sight. His strong hands pressed into your thighs as he lifted you, your sweat-soaked t-shirt already on the floor. Your hands were in his hair immediately, pulling at his brown locks as you locked your legs tighter around him. The heap of clothes was quite large by the time you were pressed against the door as Sam’s tongue traveled down your neck and chest.

One of his hands remained on your thigh, supporting your weight. The other, however, slid down your chest and found its way into your slick folds. You moaned loudly, not considering if Dean could hear you. Your head was thrown back against the door as he curled his fingers inside you, finding your sweet spot instantly.

This had been a routine of yours for the past two years. After every hunt, Sam and you found a secluded place to relieve your anguish in each other. This included plenty of public bathrooms, three times in the Impala, a dark alley behind the bar, or one of your rooms in the bunker, however the latter of the places was a rare occurrence.

You felt the prickle again when Sam brought you near the edge, this time more of a jab at the inside of your head. Darkness, now in the form of a black fog, surrounded your brain. The jabs grew, pushing harder against your skull. You unwrapped yourself from Sam, sliding down the wall as you buried your head in your hands, gasping at the pain.

Sam was talking to you, you could hear his voice, but it sounded far away. Instead, the sound of shallow breathing filled your thoughts. The black smoke only grew thicker and you could feel it seep throughout your head. The breathing lasted a few moments before it changed, turning into some sort of deranged giggle.

When the dense cloud was absorbed into your brain, the pounding stopped. You realized then that the hunt did not go as smoothly as previously thought. The laughter that consumed you stopped and you could hear a voice, low and scratchy. Your vision cleared and the voice command you to stand, for some reason, you did as you were told.

“You okay Y/N?” Sam asked, his face struck with confusion as he stood with you.

“Yeah just a weird headache, I’m good.” You reply wasn’t your own, but the monster who occupied your head.

You suddenly threw yourself at Sam, landing in his arms once again. He attempted a muffled protests but the voice in your head pressed further. The voice faded and your own body took over. However, you only deepened the kiss, as if you liked the idea of a demon controlling you as you had sex with Sam.

Your position against the door resumed once more. Sam seemed to stop his dissent, and that’s when you saw the insanity of the situation. You tried to pull away, but the demon pushed forward, gaining control once your mind became its own.

I want to watch us… Go in front of the mirror, the voice said, the sharp sound scratching down the inside of your skull.

You're eyes opened, glancing at the full length mirror that sat in the corner of his room. “Sam,” you gasped against his lips, “I want to watch.”

He took your suggestion with a smirk, pulling away in order to lift you around him. Sam stumbled, regaining his balance in front of the reflective surface. A small part of you protested when you saw the reflection of the two of you, scolding yourself for how wrong everything was. But your arms remained locked around Sam’s neck as the voice subsided your thoughts.

I’m going to fuck until you’re nothingness, you said to the voice. The idea hit you as Sam aligned himself with your entrance. You're breaths were heavy, lips barely pressed into kisses against his. You brought one hand down around his dick, stroking enough times to hear an audible gasp. He bit your ear as you turned your head to the side to watch him enter, a shudder visibly ran down your bodies.

Your eyes turned black, but you only moved against him, positioning yourself so that he hit you perfectly each time. His arms flexed as he held onto you, his eyes not noticing the change in yours. You watched each thrust, how your skin hit his, the way you stretched against him, how he shifted his hands to cup your ass.

The demon pounded against your head, forcing you to nip at Sam’s ear, his neck. Your fingers were buried into Sam’s skin by that time and the minimal control you had disappeared quickly.

“I’m a fucking monster Sam,” you said in-between pants, desperately trying him to look at you.

“I got you baby, you're safe now,” his response was fragmented by his breaths. You knew he didn’t understand, and wanted to die as you felt him squeeze you harder against him. You could hear the demon swirling inside you, darkness consuming your skin.

It prickled like a thousand needles attacking your skin. His love wasn’t working, yours, too much. You couldn’t snap away from the demon’s control. You screamed inside your head, attempting desperately to push the demon away.

Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as Sam brought you to the edge. Flashes of you and Sam replaced the two of you in the mirror. You watched as you brought a knife to his throat, slicing without a moment’s hesitation. Yet you were trapped inside your own head, watching everything from above.

You watched yourself become undone. You watched yourself lose control.

Sam made you come and the visions grew more gruesome. Stabbing him, breaking his neck, blinding him before cutting off his head. Each blink of your eyes brought something new.

You forced yourself to press against Sam, feel his body still beat with life. You moaned loudly as you rode out the last of your orgasm, squeezing your eyes shut, away from the mirror, in order to stop the visions. He ripped you away from your reflection, laying you on the bed as he too was sent over the edge with one last groan.

By the time be pulled out of you, your thoughts were no longer coherent. All you could make out was the demon’s commands, forcing you to roll onto of Sam.

Too late sweetheart, the caustic voice whispered.

You watched as your body reached for the knife he keeps under his pillow, screaming internally as you begged it to stop. His eyes opened and everything moved in slow motion, yet Sam was in no state to defend himself. You saw the realization strike his face as he saw your onyx eyes.

I love you Sam, but I’m a monster and it’s not enough to save you, you said as you drove the knife through his heart.

#sam winchester imagine #sam winchester #sam imagine #sam smut #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester #dean imagine #supernatural imagine #supernatural fantasies #spn family #fics #reader insert #cas imagine #castiel #smut #angst #spn smut

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tastethewinchester · 8 years

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Not In That Way

Author: @tastethewinchester Word Count: 1534 Summary: Reader has finally given up on trying to get Dean to love her in the same way Warnings: Angst, Fluffy

Based off of this song by Sam Smith

You had been in love with Dean Winchester since you were twelve. He and his younger brother had rescued you from the scene where your parents were murdered by demons and all you could feel was your love. That was six years ago and every waking thought continued to revolve around Dean.

His twenty-something, disheveled self reached a hand out to you. You could remember backing further into the corner, refusing to meet his gaze- terrified. You could still picture his wild smile, eyes sparking up as he began coaxing you out of your hiding place.

“Hey sweetheart, we ain’t gonna hurt-cha,” his voice was so smooth, even your pre-pubescent self melted, “I’m Dean and this is my kid brother Sam. We kill the bad guys.”

You would only look at him now, still mortified to say anything. When you began to shake and your legs gave out on you, it was Dean who caught your frail frame. It was Dean who promised to be your new family.

And so it stayed that way, until the day you knew you couldn't have that anymore.

Three days after they rescued you, you told Dean you loved him. It was one of the only things you had said to him in that short span of time, other than please and thank you. He just gave you his trademark grin and said “If that’s what you really think.” And you knew that was his way of saying “I love you too.”

Well, you thought you knew.

Now you stood in front of the bed, staring at the single green duffle bag that held all of your belongings. You took in all the walls of the unfamiliar hotel room. Even with the atrocious smells and stains, you were going to miss this place. These places.

It was a miracle you got into college, and both Winchesters pushed you to accept, especially Sam. Dean seemed half hearted in his efforts to get you out of the hunting life.

So you tried everything you could to get him to tell you to stay. You acted excited about going to a real campus, sleeping in the same bed for more than a week, actually getting to have friends. It wasn’t like you were trying to hard to seem excited, but you pushed to make him jealous, you wanted to get him angered and have him begging for you to stay.

But instead he just stood quietly during each of your boastings. His only words were those encouraging you to go, to get out. And that’s when everything was made clear to you.

Hardly a week had passed since you realized he didn’t, and would never, want you. Your stomach flipped like it would when he came home in the same clothes from the night before or each time you heard him through the walls with another girl. You could feel your entire world begin to crumble around you, all the fantasies you had built up of Dean professing his love to you in some dramatic gesture, all the dreams where you felt his hands on your body, all the images you ever conjured up of him loving you back, came crashing into oblivion.

You were still a child in his eyes. The eleven year age gap separated only your romantic relationship. In every other way you were like an old married couple. The two of you bickered, you joked, you teased Sam. But your tender age prevent him from seeing you as anything other than a kid.

Sam was the only one that knew your thoughts, the only one who could keep secrets that big. He tried so many times to get you to tell Dean. However, you knew what he would say now. And you were certain you never wanted to actually hear it fall from Dean’s lips.

“I’m sorry, believe me I love you, just not in that way.”

You now saw the relationship for what it was, eerily one-sided. You were the only one who would be caught staring for slightly too long, or who would make compliments. You hated yourself that you didn’t see it for so long.

You hated yourself for each time you said you needed him. Every stitch that he put into you, every time he mended you until you were fixed. Hell, you could barely leave the motel room without him by your side. You were too reliant. Too dependent. You hated yourself for being such a fool for Dean.

Now as you continued to stare at the forest-colored duffel, you could feel Dean behind you.

“What?” you asked him, your tone coming out harsh. That seemed to be only way you could talk to him without bursting into tears.

“Sam and I are almost finished loading Baby with snacks for the trip. We wanted to know if you were done packing so we could put your stuff in,” his voice was so sweet, smooth just like the first time you heard it.

“Yeah,” you handed him the duffel, “Here. Take it before I think of anything else to steal from the hotel to seem like I have a house.” He chuckled at the joke, the humor the only way to keep the tears at bay.

You had to turn back to not face him. Your heart sank further into your chest as you heard him walk out of the small half room your beds were in.

But then his footsteps stopped, “What the hell is the matter Y/N? You seemed so happy about leaving. Why are you moping?” His soft tone turned bitter.

The heavy heart in your chest plummeted into nonexistence. You couldn’t bear to to hear Dean tell you that you were silly to be sad over something as petty as a crush. You couldn't face the actual truth of Dean telling you to get over it, that you had no chance. So instead you stood quietly, refusing to let your composure falter.

“Please tell me Y/N,” his edgy voice was already back to normal as he walked toward you, “I can’t leave you knowing you're sad. Please let me fix it.”

And with that you wanted to melt into the floor. You wanted to fall right back into the trap you’d been caught in for six years. You quickly let the anger overtake you.

“You’ll never know this feeling Dean.. You’ll never feel unloved. You will always have Sam. You will always have women lining around the block for you. Everyone you meet falls head over heels for you. And don’t you dare bullshit me on how you're actually alone. I’ve tried to give you that. How can you expect me to leave the only person I’ve ever loved and not be upset. You obviously don’t seem that upset by it. But then again you don’t love me in that way,” you stopped there, automatically wanting to throw up in embarrassment.

Dean’s features fell, a mixture of guilt and sadness marked his face. “Y/N I-”

“Save it Dean. I don’t want to be the last thing you tell me that you see me like that. I might seem young to you, but I’m old enough to read the situa-“

This time it was Dean who cut you off. This time it was Dean who cut you off with a kiss. This time it was Dean kissing you as his hands cupped your face.

The similarities in how you imagined things stopped there. You were so shocked, you pulled back and pushed him away, immediately angry at yourself for stopping what you had been waiting for since you first met him.

“I do mean it Y/N. This isn't for some half-assed goodbye with petty ‘I love you’s’. I do, and I want you to stay Y/N, I don't think you realize how much Sam and I need you. But we know you need to be independent. You will be stronger than us, safer too. Dammit this is hard,” he put his face in his hands.

Your tongue was swallowed and swimming in your belly, so you wrapped your arms around him. He looked up at you. You kissed his cheeks, he kissed your neck. The two of you stayed like that for a long time, you swayed in circles refusing to let go. You could feel the other’s heart hammering inside their chest.

It was Dean who finally pulled away after several minutes of relentless honking from Sam. His palm found your cheek and gently stroked away hairs, tucking them behind your ear.

“I have and will love you until my heart stops beating,” he said, placing a final, lingering kiss on your lips before leading you to the car.

Sam was sitting in the back waiting impatiently. Somehow he psychically knew you two would be closer when you came out. His grumpy face was replaced by one much sweeter as he saw your hands interlock between the seats.

As the car drove down endless interwinding roads, you knew Dean and you would see each other again. There was only so long these two could keep you out of danger before it found you again.

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tastethewinchester · 8 years

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requests are always open

feel free to message me anytime, i love to hear new ideas! i’m amazed at how well yesterday’s fic is doing and i want to please y’all more than anything, so let me know what you want read in the future :) also, message me if you wanna talk, rant, gossip, etc. making new friends with the same interests is my new goal! a new fic should be up in a few days... yay!!!

(obviously i’m very enthusiastic about starting this blog) (sorry for all of the exclamation points) (i’ll get better at this)

#supernatural imagines #supernatural #supernatural smut #supernatural fantasy #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester imagines #sam winchester imagines #cas imagines #dean x reader #sam x reader #cas x reader #angels #demons #spn family

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tastethewinchester · 8 years

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Chipped Nail Polish

Author: @tastethewinchester Word Count: 2182 Summary: Dean helps the reader patch up after a hunt gone wrong Warnings: angst, smut, finger fucking, torture

You don’t speak when you get in the Impala. Only the previous events play in your head, allowing no room for thinking of words to say to either of the Winchesters. All you can do is stare at your fingernails, the red polish chipped and caked with dirt and the blood of both the demon and you.

There is only darkness when you think to the beginning, and it stays that way until voices being to surround you. Caustic voices that sounded like pure venom and made your spine curl in fear. Then the darkness is ripped away and all you can see is slightly dim lighting and two pale faces with black eyes. You remember groaning in frustration.

Witty remarks were exchanged between both parties for a short while before the torture began. The two demons started with your forearms, slicing deeper with each sarcastic answer you gave them. They wanted to know where Sam and Dean were, but your loyalty to the brothers was too sacred to ever betray them. You never thought their trust was given to many.

“Come on angel, all you have to do is tell us where those two sorry sacks of meat are hiding and you're free to walk out of here,” said the taller one. He wore a black blazer and slightly-too-casual jeans. He was handsome, yet he looked like a twenty something wannabe actor trying to make it in Hollywood, but would end up working in a juice bar until the ripe age of 67. The other was a lot smaller and chubby in stature. His hair was cut choppy. You felt bad for the poor guy who served as the demon’s meat suit.

You spit at them in answer this time, and they moved their knives elsewhere. They began cutting further up, lightly tracing their weapons over the skin of your neck and cheeks, applying just enough pressure to draw blood. You clawed at the wooden chair you were tied to until your fingers felt like bloody stumps.

The screams you produced as they continued grew strained. They cut jagged shapes into your chest, your thighs. All you could hear was their snickering and your screams, growing weaker with each slice. Soon enough your throat was raw and you were practically praying for a miracle.

Then the Winchesters came barging in.

Dean took on the taller demon as Sam moved to you, frantically trying to undo the knots that restrained you once the fat one was knocked to the ground. Black spots began to fill your vision as you stood, practically falling into the younger Winchester’s arms. The last thing you saw was Dean stabbing the other demon. Your world went black.

When you woke, you were on the floor, the brothers looking down at you in anticipation. You lifted your head slightly to catch a glimpse of the bandages that covered majority of your arms before you were pushed back down by Dean.

“Woah, hey there. You lost a lot of blood,” his voice was thick, full of guilt towards the events that occurred.

You sighed, “Don’t the two of you go blaming yourselves. They are dead and I am fine,” you attempted a half smile. Sam and Dean stayed quite. “Listen, I’m alright. I just need some aqua.” And with that you stood.

It took a second for you to regain your balance and center yourself after all the blood left your head. It was then that you realized that Dean’s hand had been wrapped tightly with your’s since you had woken. His hand remained that way until you reached the Impala, where you both quickly pulled your hands to your sides.

“The bandages will only stay like that for a while. When you get home you’ll need stitches,” Dean said with almost no emotion this time. You were curious at his sudden change of tone, but pushed the thought away.

You sat in the passenger seat at Sam’s request. He knew you got sick whenever you sat in the back and with your current condition it was perhaps not best to lose anymore fluids. The ride was almost an hour and you didn’t have the energy to argue.

So there you sat silently, staring at the chipped nail polish. You had treated yourself the previous day with an actual professional manicure, and of course, living as a hunter, you couldn’t have nice things, even if they are intended to be temporary.

You soon shifted your gaze at your reflection in the rearview mirror. Your greasy hair was plastered to your face with sweat, blood coating each cheek. The cuts on your face were light enough to stop soon after they were opened, greatly minimizing the chance of having scars… at least, not on your face. As for the rest of your body, each time you moved it felt as if you were tearing open the cuts once more. Pain shot up from each limb and it took every fiber of willpower for you not to hiss. The entire drive Dean’s hand rested on your knee.

Getting home to the bunker couldn't have come soon enough. It felt as if every inch of you was on fire. Your arms and chest hurt from the cuts, your fingers hurt from fighting, and your head hurt from thinking. Dean’s touch seemed to be the only thing that brought you comfort.

Sam and Dean carefully helped you out of Baby, and the three of you wobbled to the bunker’s entrance. You were practically carried down the stairs by Sam, Dean trailing close behind, eyes trained on you. You could feel them on you without looking up. You knew he was afraid for you and angry at himself.

You were gently placed on the bed by Sam, who quickly left you and Dean in the room alone, claiming he was in desperate need for a shower. Dean already had the first-aid kit in his hand by the time the door was closed.

“Do them quickly, I already hurt enough tonight,” you said, attempting to be humorous but, like most times, the joke was too dark to be funny.

However, Dean didn’t flinch. He moved to sit in front of you as you attempted to free your legs from the blood-soaked t-shirt and jeans, leaving yourself in a white tank top and embarrassingly childish underwear. He didn’t seem to care about how you looked nearly naked, yet he still sat close enough in front of you to make you instinctively shift away. You could feel the frustration and anger radiation off of him as he threaded the needle.

Dean and you had always been total opposites. If he were apples, you were oranges. If he were the North Pole, you’d be the South. It was inevitable that you butt heads like there was no tomorrow. But somehow you two managed to share a bond stronger than industrial magnets, and somewhere along the line, you’d made a silent pact to fiercely protect each other until the sun was no longer in the sky.

You were never anything more than friends, another silent agreement that was established when you moved in. Of course there was the awkward moments of staring at the other for slightly too long, or brushes of a hand against skin for a few seconds that left you holding your breath. But nothing more than friends.

His touch was light as he brought the needle through your skin. He laced up the cuts on your arms first, moving then to your chest and finally your thighs. He worked diligently yet stopped every time you flinched.

“Get it over with,” you tried to encourage each time his hands froze.

When Dean reached the cuts that crisscrossed your thighs, he looked up at you. You let your eyes squeeze shut, ready for the prick of the needle. Instead you felt his lips and you instantly opened your eyes. Dean kissed a few times up your leg and goosebumps instantly raised on your skin. He quickly pulled back when he felt them appear.

“I um…” he lingered on what he was going to say, or maybe what he wasn’t going to say, “I can’t fucking see you like this Y/N. It tears me down each time you come into the bunker bloody,” he threw his hands back, shifting to sit on his heels, “And it’s always my damn fault. I let you be the bait to lure demons. I let you go on dangerous hunts by yourself. I let you get hurt.”

It should have flattered you, like it would’ve any other girl, but instead anger rose in your throat, “I’m a big girl, Dean, I can handle myself. It’s not up to you what hunts I go on, even if you think they’re ‘too dangerous.’ You can’t control me and can’t keep blaming yourself every time I get a few cuts and bruises.”

“It wasn’t a few cuts and bruises this time though. Look at you, you’re almost a human filet!” He put his face in his hands, pulling his skin down to expose the little red sockets under his eyes.

“Dean, I’m here. I’m still breathing. Don’t blame yourself for letting me die because I’m still alive. See look,” you took his hand away from his face and leaned down to put it on your cheek, “You can feel me. I’m still here.”

His thumb brushed across the thin cut that had clotted itself. However, it was after a few moments in that position that Dean noticed your hands. They were still a bloody mess, fingernails nearly gone from your attempts to mask the pain.

“I’ll kill the guy who did this,” Dean uttered, his voice barely a whisper.

“You already did, remember?” you told him with a half-hearted laugh. The forced try at humor caused you to lock eyes, and the air in the room changed once more, falling silent. He took your hands in his, brushing lightly over them before bringing his lips to each fingertip.

He continued to kiss up and down your arms, lifting himself to reach your shoulder and up your neck. By the time your head rolled back, you were were practically straddling Dean, who was on his knees in front of you. His tongue glided down the muscle on the side of your neck before he playfully nipped, soon sucking hard enough to guarantee a dark purple bruise in the morning. The pain was clouded, distant and pointless, by Dean’s mouth. You shifted to wrap your legs around him and it suddenly felt like you couldn't breath without feeling his touch. His fingers, his lips, his strained muscles.

That’s when you felt the pain from the tops of your thighs. The two cuts that slashed each leg were oozing, completely drenching Dean’s shirt in crimson. He pulled away, uttering obscenities underneath his breath.

Collecting himself, Dean resumed work on your leg. He ignored the blood that covered his blue flannel. He didn’t say anything. You couldn't help but watch the way his fingers moved and only wish that they were pulling at your hair, running down your sides, and pushing against your clit.

You needed to feel him. You needed Dean to make you feel safe.

His fingers continued diligently against your skin, yet you were so caught up in your own fantasies of Dean that you hadn’t realized he had stopped. No, it wasn’t until you felt the sudden pressure of his hands squeezing your bare inner thigh as he blotted away the last of the blood with a wash cloth. The stitches burned, but were muted by Dean’s fingers, which were inching closer and closer to your aching core, his thumb twisting your panties down to your ankles.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Dean whispered against your leg, already breathless.

You could only shake your head in reply before he entered two fingers into you, curling them up to find your g-spot immediately. He swirled his thumb against the bundle of nerves at your entrance as he rose to kiss you.

Moans fell out of your mouth more times than you could count as you slumped further into the chair. You moved your hips into his fingers as he moved faster. One hand moved to run through his hair, deepening the kiss, the other was placed over Dean’s as he worked. You forced his fingers to go deeper, showed him the angles that made you squirm.

You soon approached the edge and a loud groan escaped you as you came. Dean continued to kiss down your chest, slowly removing his fingers.

He found your hand, observed the chipped polish and bloody nail beds, and laced it with his. He gave you one last kiss on your lips, slow and lingering - your tongue pushed against his for only a split second before he moved away.

“You’re safe Y/N,” he whispered, shifting his eyes from your hand to you, “Now let’s go to bed.” And with that, you did, Dean protecting you the entire night.

#supernatural imagines #dean winchester imagines #dean x reader #imagines #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam imagines #dean imagines #cas imagines #smut #spn #sam x reader #cas x reader #demon

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tastethewinchester · 8 years

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My Reason

Author: @sugarlips-jensen Words: 2,267 Summary: For the anon request of “#38 (gentle sex) with Cas” Warnings: possible trigger, reader insecurity, minor breakdown, fluffy as fuck smut (IS THaT A THING?)

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tastethewinchester · 8 years

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Swan Song

Author: @tastethewinchester Word Count: 2108 Summary: Reader spends one last night with Sam before he says yes to Lucifer Warnings: Angst, Smut, Cursing, Dom Sam

Based off of Swan Song by A Fine Frenzy

The only thing you can notice in the entire room is the small beauty mark between Sam’s nose and cheek. For some odd reason, you’d never made any note of it’s existence, it was just a part of him, but now? It seemed like it was the only thing you could see. You knew it was because of how hard you were trying to distract yourself from the pool of tears forming within both of your eyes.

You also knew that the look on Sam’s face meant that he was going to say yes to Lucifer. It was contorted to hide any emotion, lips trapped between his teeth and eyebrows furrowed. The determination in his expression let you know that no amount of pleading would convince him otherwise. The gears in your head, the ones in which kept you sane after Dean had died two years ago and even more so when he came back, began to spin out of control. Smoke was surely coming out of your ears, but not in anger. No, you couldn't wrap your mind around the idea of Sam willingly giving himself over to the devil.

As you slide further into the chair, you feel ws if you’re melting, while your brain is enveloped by a dark haze. The poor excuse for a dining table was the only thing to stop you from falling apart completely. That, and the newly-discovered birthmark on Sam’s face.

More than anything, you wanted to be selfish, to keep Sam for yourself. There was still so much you needed to say to him, things that had been swarming around in the forefront of your mind ever since they’d saved you. All three of the Winchesters, father and sons alike, had stuck their neck out for you more times than you cared to count, more times than you could remember. You needed to do the same for Sam, because you wanted him to remain yours, and only yours, forever.

Deep down, past the soot that the haze and smoke left on your mind, you knew that losing Sam would be for the greater good. The world would fall back to normal and only those who really knew reality would know your names.

Something stabbed violently against your heart and you gasped, wretchedly trying to collect enough air to fill your lungs. You’d almost forgotten that he was still in the room with you until his strong hands were on your shoulders. He lifted you from the puddle you had been on the table. You avoided his sad gaze by staring at his beauty mark, bringing you back down to some sort of sanity. The nails that you had just painted that morning were already cutting into your palms as your hands formed into fists. A small part of you was mad for ruining the manicure you’d given yourself, back when you thought the world could be fixed without anyone dying.

“I blame me,” was the only thing you were able to get past your lips. In a way, you did blame yourself for the hardships Sam endured for the past two years. You were the one who begged him not to leave after Dean went to hell, in turn, he fell for Ruby and finally lead to Lucifer’s release. You were the one that kept him in this life.

“Y/N,” Sam sighed, sniffing weakly, “You know that isn't true. Even without you I’d still be Lucifer’s vessel. Please don’t make it harder than it already has to be.”

A rise in your temper flared when he said this. You let it simmer and eventually cool before saying anything more. “You’re right,” was all you could utter. You met his gaze for only a second before your stomach churned and you looked away.

Everyone had a part to be blamed for in all this mess. You, Sam, Dean, Cas, even Bobby. You should have worked faster, been quicker to find the rings. But having individual pity parties would be no help to their cause. For now, you decided that Sam deserves his own with a guest list of one, you.

“I am foolish though, you do got that right,” Sam said after he cleared his throat, interrupting your train of thought.

You looked up at him again, this time confused at his random statement. “What?” you asked, feeling guilt start to creep its way into your heart for an unknown reason. At least, that was until you saw the reminisce of a smirk on his lips.

“Hell- you know I’d do every idiotic thing in the book to be with you. To save you.”

This time, anger did make its way past your lips, and the reasonable empathy you just held slipped out of your grasp. “Dammit Sam!” You felt your nails dig further into your palms before you stood, slapping your hands on the table. Being a motel room, there was really no place for you to go other than the small bed area. You sat on one of the twin beds, facing away from Sam who still sat in the kitchen. Even without looking, you could feel his stare on your back.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” you spit, and forced the tears that were forming in your throat back down, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid any from slipping out, “You’re foolish not to save me? What about you Sam? Huh? Am I just supposed to sit back and watch my best friend give his soul away to the devil? How am I going to live knowing you did everything to save me but I couldn't do enough to save you. How dare you leave-” You stopped yourself there, before things got out of hand. Well, more out of hand than they already were.

“But you can let me die knowing that you did do enough. Y/N, think of all the people we’ve saved, that we will save from the apocalypse. If our plan works, which it will, I’ll be saved in a way. This endless cat and mouse game will end and all of us can go back to what we do best. Saving people.”

You knew half of the things he said were utter bullshit. There was still the very big factor of him dying. Then what? He spends eternity being the meat suit for Satan himself?

Yet somehow these thoughts of doubt slipped out of your brain with a single deep breath. Your eyes were still closed, but you knew that he had moved to be in front of you know, kneeling to be eye level.

Giving up Sam, your treasure in this world, was the only thing to do. You knew Lucifer hated the idea of you having him for yourself. Constant nightmares flooded your sleep warning you of Sam. Getting to close would only end in both of your demise, yours’ especially bloody.

By the time you opened your eyes, Sam was only inches away. He had been gradually moving closer to you during your entire thought process.

“How did we let this world turn so ugly, Sam?” you asked, nearly breathless at his proximity.

His eyes were closed now, “I don’t know, but please-”

You both were dying, one just faster than the other. All you could do was feel, and that you did.

Hands were on the other in seconds after his plea. You hadn’t realized how much the two of you needed to be touched by one another. Every place his fingers brushed against left a fiery trail across your body. His lips tasted of the mint gum he always chewed. You took in his scent, every scar and curve on his body.

Tears slipped from your eyes as you began to remove Sam’s clothing. When he tasted the saltiness that stained your cheeks, he pulled back.

“I’ve wasted too much time Sam,” you muttered as you brushed away the tears that refused to quit falling. You felt angry for crying, for making him stop, but you couldn't help yourself.

You wanted to punch through walls then snap Lucifer’s neck like a twig. You wanted to go back in time and move on with Sam. You wanted to have a normal life with him.

It was too much to tell him the night before his probable demise. Instead, you lifted your shirt above your head, flinging it across the room. He watched, slight confusion marking his face when you slid out of your panties and reached around to unclip your bra.

“Could you touch me again?” you asked, voice barely a cracked whisper.

That’s all it took for Sam’s hands to be on you once more. His kisses were rough, covering your lips fully before moving to your jaw and eventually the sweet spot on your neck. Both of you slid back to be lying in the cheap, probably bug-infested, motel bed. He hovered over you while your hands continued to explore the entirety of his chest.

You weren’t at all surprised at how chiseled his features were. It was a known fact that he bulked up in the year after Dean went to hell. You lightly traced the anti-possession tattoo and he pulled back, watching you with the same curiosity he had just a moment ago when you undressed yourself. You were able to lift your head enough to kiss it, swirling your tongue softly around the pentagram. This caused him to groan quite loudly.

There was one more known fact about Sam Winchester, and that was he was rough when he wanted to be. He nipped at your ear before reaching to slide off his boxers. When you glanced down at him, your abdomen flipped. You felt fire erupt across your body when he aligned himself with you.

He was inside you within a matter of seconds and giving only a few more to adjust yourself before his thrusts began at a steady pace. Your arms were wrapped around the back of his neck as you pulled him into you. He bit and licked just behind your ear and the spot where your jaw meets neck.

Sam’s movements sped up and slowed down as if he had you’d been doing this for years. He soon flipped you to your side before re-entering into you. His kisses resumed to mark your shoulder and down to your arm. Groans escaped both of you when he bent your leg up to meet your chest, allowing him to hit you perfectly.

“Fuck Y/N,” Sam said, loud enough to be considered a yell. Your hands tangled into his messy hair at your shoulder. You pulled to bring him closer to you, and this caused more groans to pass Sam’s lips.

The two of you quickly approached the edge. The fire that consumed your body converged in your abdomen, causing you to moan loudly as you released. Sam was quick to follow, and soon both of you were lying on your backs, covered in a thin sheet of sweat.

Neither you nor Sam wanted to speak. You were counting down the hours until you had to say goodbye to him, perhaps for the last time. Yet, through the endless thoughts of what ifs, you found your eyes growing heavier. Sam’s breathing, along with yours, slowed to a normal pace and you soon were pressed up against him once more. Only this time when you were back to chest, his arms were around you as you lied still.

Just as you were falling out of consciousness, you heard two whispers.

“I love you,” Sam’s voice said against the back of your neck.

“He’s not going to make it back,” said an unfamiliar, slightly sinister voice. This time, the sound came from in front of you. Seconds later you were asleep

...

You woke to an empty bed. A sudden shiver ran up your spine and you began to shake at the realization of the morning.

Sam had already left to go tell Dean his plan. You knew that the would refuse to bring you to the fight and you knew that Sam wasn't going to make it back. It was the first and last time you allowed yourself to love Sam, and you didn’t tell him.

By early afternoon your small duffel of belongings was packed and the cab waiting outside. Dean would be calling by the evening to give an update of the situation, but you’d be long gone by then. Something in your heart, the same thing that warned you about Sam, told you that they’d finally beat the devil.

But you couldn't bare the idea of the devil beating Sam.

#sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #supernatural imagines #supernatural smut #sam winchester smut #one shot #supernautal #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #castiel #castiel imagines

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